[NSFW] An Unplanned Alliance, Chapter 5: Tactical Cross-Training

    "I don't understand the tactical value of such a maneuver," Guilliman said, the rumble of his voice rattling the desk Yvraine was seated on.
    Yvvy rolled her eyes and leaned back on her hands, huffing haughtily as she replied, "The 'tactical value' lies in the divergence of attention and processing power to an auxiliary attack that is ultimately unlikely to deal any lasting damage, but is extremely high-profile. It’s no different from Steel Rain or firing artillery for effect."
    Guilliman's eyes lit up as the idea clicked in his mind, and his face shifted into a soft, understanding smile. "I see," replied the Patrician, "I think we should run a practice drill..." His right hand came up to Yvraine's head, and she leaned against it as he stroked her long, pointed ear. Yvraine uncrossed her legs and a red blush infused with lustful intent spread across her face.
    Guilliman leaned forward and kissed Yvraine, his left hand sliding past her to rest flat against the tabletop. She tasted like sugar and lavender; her lips were his favorite dessert. He pulled away, opening his eyes to see her face looking up at him, her breasts lifted and locked in by her corset. It was a view he’d never tire of.
    Guilliman felt her hand brush against his toga, slipping under its folds and making its way to his Spear of Destiny. His smile widened, and he leaned forward again, this time kissing her neck and jaw, making his way towards her right ear as he stroked and fondled her left ear. Guilliman bit the tip of her ear gently, and felt himself blush as Yvraine moaned, grabbing the nape of his neck with her free hand.
    “Really, Miss Yvraine,” Guilliman whispered into her ear, “we must stop meeting like this. What if someone found us?” He felt her grip on his power sword tighten.
She exhaled lewdly and replied, “If you’re worried someone is watching, Lord Commander, then we should at least give them a show…” She leaned back, supported by his right hand, and undid the quick release knot on her corset. She pushed his hand away from her head and then let herself fall back to his desk, laying flat on her back before him. She unclasped the buckles fastening her ball gown to her waist, letting it fall open.
    As she slid her hands into her loose corset, pulling it open and lifting it over her head Guilliman tried to run his hands along her body-suit covered form, but found a psychic field interposing itself between his touch and her soft curves. Guilliman frowned and asked, “What is the meaning of this?”
    Yvraine giggled, her corset having cleared her head and shoulders, her breasts still at least somewhat pinned in place by her body suit. “You’ll just have to watch,” she replied, “but no touching yourself, Primarch. That would be simply uncouth.”
    She watched as indignation splashed across his face with glee, sliding her hand down to her womanhood, covered by a thin layer of flexible fabric, rubbing her fingers across her concealed labia, moaning and squirming as she did so. She brought her free hand up to the back of her neck, operating the release clasp on her body suit, causing a line to appear down her spine which could be pulled apart to remove the covering.
    Guilliman’s mind thundered with rage and confusion. How DARE she, he thought, I should not be denied…
    His hand drifted up to the pin holding his toga in place and pulled it free. His clothing fell from his godly form, and his concealed bolter thudded down upon the table from where he had pinned it to his abdomen with an under wrapping, his barrel pointing directly between Yvvy’s thighs. She pulled her first arm free of the undersuit and laughed with joy at Guilliman’s clear frustration.
    Roboute tried to move his hand down to his semi-hard flagship, but he felt an invisible warp-tether pulling his arm back to the table. After a moment of resistance, Robu gave in, once again placing both hands on either side of Yvraine’s chest, watching her peel her bodysuit off her pale skin, glistening with sweat. He resisted the urge to take her as she lifted her legs and bottom vertically into the air and slipped the rest of the undersuit off.
    With one leg hanging off the edge of Roboute’s desk, and the other bent at the knee with the heel of her foot pressed to her tight elven posterior, she spread her thighs apart. Guilliman struggled with an overwhelming desire to pull her down onto his erect cock, its tip mere inches from her womanhood. She was laying atop her pile of clothing and stretching her arms in a way that caused her breasts to pile irresistibly atop her chest.
    He fought back these urges even as Yvraine began flicking away at her clit with her right hand and clutching her right breast with her left hand. Her monumental tits were pressed together, nipples firm and dark brown against her ash-white skin. Guilliman fought back against her psychic probes into his mind, trying to inject her self-pleasured sensory input into his body to tease him even more thoroughly.
    Guilliman’s jaw tightened as her entrance was penetrated by an invisible shaft, watching her moan and whimper as the speed of her psychic auto-intrusions increased. Guiliman’s member was fully erect, and his tip was soaked in pre-ejaculatory lubricants. “Enough games,” he growled.
    Yvraine, tugging at her nipple and running her index and middle fingers along either side of her clit, with her head tilted to the side, mumbled back, “Or what, Robu? You’ll take me by the waist and use me as some sort of conduit for your primitive mon’keigh desires? How terrible… I’d never want that…” She sighed loudly as she began to shake from her first orgasm, spraying a fine mist of feminine fluids across Guilliman’s cock and abdomen.
    Guilliman collected himself and backed away from her, seating himself in his chair a few meters away, holding his chin in one hand and resting his other on the hilt of his Father’s sword, which leaned against the simple throne. “No,” Roboute replied, “I will simply outlast your petty and short-lived blockade. I am no stranger to siege tactics, Miss Yvraine, and I know that you need a shipment of what I have sent up your canal.”
    He heard a huff of displeasure come back from her. “You’re being no fun, Robu,” she replied, “you’re supposed to stand over me and drool hungrily for want of my perfect body, not pout on your throne like a bored and petulant prince.”
    Guilliman grinned behind the cover of his hand and said, “Then give me a reason to drool.” He watched as a second semi-visible shaft of warp-energy began penetrating her rear, sliding in as her first masturbatory aid slid out. She continued like this for some time, moaning and whimpering as she churned her insides.
Guilliman, however, found himself quickly bored. He stood and walked over to the far end of his desk. As he did so, Yvraine began to ask what he was doing, but the Father of Ultramar cut her off, saying, “If I wanted you to ask questions, Miss Yvraine, I’d have opened a forum, and as entertaining as the idea of forcing you to humiliate yourself before a council of prim, proper, and easily offended nobles sounds, I have other ideas.” She heard a shuffling of papers for a moment, and then he returned, holding a sheaf of documents.
    Guilliman held the stack out with his hand and said, “Technically, we are meeting under the pretense of sorting out foreign affairs. This is a finalized draft of my proposal for the Craftworld of Ner-Eht’hul’s integration into the Masali star system.” Yvraine looked up at him, confused and distracted by the furious penetration she was giving herself.
    Roboute hardened his expression and continued, “If you wish to mix business with pleasure, Miss Yvraine, I suggest we do so in equal measures.” He dropped the bound pages atop her chest, sending a rippling shockwave through her breasts and knocking the wind out of her with their weight.
    Recovering swiftly, Yvraine replied, “R-Robu-” but was cut off by the Son of the Emperor.
    “Don’t ‘R-Robu’ me,” he said, his voice harsh and powerful, “just read the documents. If you want to be in a foolish gaming mood, I will award you with a fool’s bounty.”
    Yvraine lay there for a moment, her mouth slightly ajar, trying to recollect her thoughts even as she rearranged her internal organs. He can’t be serious, she thought, before immediately correcting herself, he’s always serious…
    Roboute spoke once more, “To clarify, I’m asking you to read these documents out loud, without stuttering, moaning, and whining. No cheating, either, you’d best maintain that rhythm you have going, I find it quite appealing.” She felt the mirth he gathered from this interaction at the surface of his mind, and it infuriated her.
    “Very well,” she replied, taking careful measures to speak slowly and clearly, “I’ll appeal to your bureaucratic fetishism, you dullard.” She removed her hands from her breast and clitoris, gripping the sheaf in both.
    Before she could begin speaking, Guilliman interrupted, “Oh, and I want you to generate a revolving cylinder of force pressed against your clitoris. No point in making a challenge easy, after all.” Yvraine gritted her teeth, but did as she was told. “If you cum, Yvvy, I’m going to punish you. I hope you’re good at edging.”
This mon’keigh had best watch his arrogance before I flay his foreskin with my mind and turn it into a fashionable leather bracelet, Yvraine thought.
    “In regards to the Craftworld of Ner-Eht’hul (hereafter variably referred to as ‘The Craftworld’, ‘Craftworld’, ‘The Aeldari Populace’, or simply ‘The Aeldari’), there is area available within the distant and well-defended agri-system of Quintarn,” she began, her voice even, sultry, and inviting, “though the question of which planetary orbit therein shall be possessed by the Craftworld is under scrutiny due to concerns that the system’s occupants may exhibit irreconcilable levels of xenophobia, as each of The Three Planets (that is, the colloquial euphe-”
    Yvraine paused for a moment and cleared her throat, her body burning with the tension of an orgasm just barely denied as her penetrative psychic members slowed and twisted in their insertions, and her revolving stimulator begin to decrease in revolutions, instead shifting to a forward and backward stroking motion along her clitoris and labia.
    Hearing Guilliman shift slightly, she continued her reading, intent on denying the Primarch the satisfaction of victory, “- that is, the colloquial euphemism used to refer to the trio of habitable planets within the Masali star system, designated, in order of distance from their star, Masali Major, as Masali, Tarentus, and Quintarn) have been under assailment in the past five hundred years by rogue Aeldari bands, numerous recurring Tyranid assaults, Orkish war-tribes, and the Heretek Dark Mechanicum forces led by Votheer Tark under command of M’kar the Reborn-”
    Yvraine paused again, fighting off an orgasm. Ynnead DAMN him, I hate how he stares… she thought, why can’t he just lose his temper already!? She swallowed and recomposed herself, continuing, “M’kar the Reborn, a Daemon Prince venerating Chaos Undivided who had originally been born under the name Maloq Kartho, a treacherous Astartes of the Word Bearers Legion and gene-seed. In each case, the roving bands of xenos and Chaos forces were driven off by my esteemed sons-” Yvraine paused, glaring at the page, her leg shaking as she struggled to quell the force of yet another orgasm battering itself against her resolute mental barriers.
    “Robu,” she asked, “must you be so prideful of your sons’ work? It comes off as blatant favoritis-” Guilliman cleared his throat harshly, cutting her off.
    “I will, in fact, be proud of my sons,” the Genesire of Ultramar said, “they fended off nearly ten millennia of incursions made against my glorious empire, and I will not be dissuaded from recognizing their valiant efforts. Keep reading.” Yvraine rolled her eyes, which were clouded with tears.
    “- my esteemed sons,” she continued, “Chapter Master Marneus Calgar, Chapter Champions Cato Sicarius and Uriel Ventris, Chief Librarian Varro Tigurius, and all their subordinates within the Chapters of the Ultramarines and all their Successors, supported in their efforts by the indispensable-” she gritted her teeth and tears streamed from her eyes as she inhaled deeply, “the indispensable Ultramar Auxilia…”
    Her abdomen seized as she finally crumbled before her orgasm; she whimpered, cried, dropped the papers, and shook bodily as she squirted a simply embarrassing amount, soaking herself and the table she laid upon. She wrapped her left hand back around her breast, and dug the nails of her right hand into her right thigh, drawing blood as she came. “P-please, Guilliman,” she begged, “I’m sorry… I want you…” Guilliman stood, stone-faced, and rounded his table, not approaching her from below, but above.
    He gripped her just below her shoulders and pulled her across the table so that her head was hanging off the edge. He rested his cock across her throat and collarbone, the tip prodding her cleavage. She bathed the base of his spire in a flurry of mindlessly lustful kisses, and her grip on her breasts tightened, causing more of her bountiful chest to spill out between her fingers and over her forearms. “Robu…” she said, her voice whiny and demanding.
    “What,” growled Guilliman in response, “do you want?” His hands were placed on either side of her ribcage, his thumbs wrapped around the top of her round breasts. “Use your words, Miss Yvraine,” he continued, his voice filled with a cold fury.
    Yvraine whined again, a haughty, entitled, desperate sound, and she replied, “Please, Primarch, take my throat…” She was licking him now, the warmth of her tongue almost breaking his resolve. Yet still, he persisted.
    Guilliman shook his head and replied, “No, Yvvy, not until you apologize to me for being so obstinate.” His voice took on the harsh quality of a schoolmaster rebuking a student for teasing her classmates.
    Yvraine whined, wrapping her lips around the side of his shaft and leaving a black smudge of lipstick behind. She mumbled something, but Guilliman’s cock stood between her words and his ears. He took her by the hair and pulled her head away. “Has no one ever told you not to speak with your mouth full?” The Avenging Son growled.
    Tears were again forming in Yvraine’s eyes and her lipstick was smeared as she said, “I-I’m sorry…” Guilliman, however, was not satisfied.
    “Sorry for what, Yvvy?” he demanded, his eyes alight with fury.
    Yvraine whimpered and replied, “I’m sorry for being a brat…”
    Guilliman’s harsh expression melted into a warm smile, and he released her hair, instead stroking the side of her cheek. “Good girl,” he replied, his voice calming her slightly as he lined the tip of his cock with her mouth. Yvraine inhaled sharply, a hungry expression spreading across her mascara-stained face, and she opened her mouth, the tip of her tongue pressed out just past her bottom lip.
    Guilliman chuckled and said, “No, Yvvy, ask nicely. Don’t just expect me to give you what you want.” He felt a psychic jab of frustration bounce off his mental defenses as she poutily replied, “Please, Robu, I am begging you to throat-fuck me.” Her voice was drenched in a completely disheveled tone, with a hint of impatience, frustration, and anger welling up behind it.
    Guilliman grinned and replied, “Well, if you insist, Miss Yvraine, I suppose it would be rude to not accommodate a foreign emissary according to their customs.” As he gripped his cock, he heard Yvraine start to say, “Thank you,” but he cut her off by his swift and forceful insertion.
    He felt her gag against his girth as he hilted himself in her arrogant mouth, admiring the bulge he’d formed in her neck, when she came yet again, shaking and squirming as her own pyschic toys increased in speed. Guilliman took this as a suggestion and began thrusting away at her as she further drenched his desk in her emissions.
…
    Cato Sicarius was staring down the twin-linked barrels of a storm bolter, held off-hand by a Black Templar Terminator. The son of Dorn held in his other hand a power sword. His shoulder mounted grav-gun pulsed silently with an eerie purple glow.
    “State your business, cousin,” the Templar demanded.
    Emperor, protect me… Cato thought, feeling naked without his power armor and iron halo, armed “only” with a power gladius, suppressed bolt pistol, and a cameoline cloak which had not served him as well as he had hoped.
    I suppose I could try the teleportation functions of this damnable xeno-tech that father seduced out of the Aeldari whore… thought the (former) Grand Duke of Talassar, before shaking the idea from his mind. The less I venture into the warp, even for a moment, the better, he decided.
    Cato called out to the Black Templar, “Brother! Perhaps we could make a… gentleman’s agreement here?” Cato’s proposition was poorly received, judging by the Black Templar’s decision to ignite his power sword, sending flaming warp stuff sputtering and sparking out from its ebony blade. I should have listened to Marneus’ lectures on diplomacy… Damn rambler, just like Father. Must be something in the gene-seed… he thought.
    Tensed and ready for the blast of a bolter shell igniting, hoping against the odds that he’d be able to dive under the stream of mass-reactive warheads and roll past his cousin to freedom. He waited for three seconds, then five, then ten. His stare was so intense that he thought he might bore holes into the view ports of the Templar’s helm.
    Then, eleven seconds later, the Terminator spoke, “I have communed with my brothers. You are free to rescue Brother Titus. The Black Templars will be exfiltrating the vessel as soon as we have disabled the reactor of the station. We will destroy or detain any Inquisitorial vessels that leave. An assortment of battle-sisters are stationed aboard. They will provide you evacuation. Do not delay.”
    And like that, the terminator took off, pressing the servos of his suit to their extremes as he sprinted down the hall.
    Taking his Dornian cousin’s actions for advice, Cato sprinted down a different hallway, heading deeper still into the decayed star-station.