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The craven-hearted say that the career of every Inquisitor ends either in death or in heresy.
In truth, Heinrix van Calox had not given a great deal of thought as to how his own might end. It was naïve, he had acquiesced long ago, to believe only in the puritanical inclinations of agents of the Golden Throne; when faced with the unimaginable horrors wrought by the enemies of Humanity, radicalism walked hand-in-hand with progress, promising victories with poisoned words that bled into even the strongest of wills.
He had seen as much on Phton IV. On Eufrates II. On Epitaph.
Xavier Calcazar always had been a thorough tutor.
Perhaps it was, in a way, a self-fulfilling prophecy. The fear of one such inevitability pushing even the most devout of souls towards the other; scales, delicately balanced, toppled by the slightest of hesitations.
Because that was, in the end, all it had taken— a single thought, planted in the soil of a tumultuous soul, nurtured by a touch more loving than any Heinrix had known since the day the trajectory of his life had been forever changed. A touch that had promised mercy, a life free of sacrifice.
A life of his own making.
In the second drawer of the dresser beside the window, tucked beneath data-slates and shipping manifests, an Inquisitorial rosette lay untouched; discarded.
It was of little use now to the Master of Whispers, the chain that had once hung so heavily around his neck reduced to naught but a gilded paperweight, stripped of all power. On the day he had interred it within its final resting place, Heinrix had felt no animosity nor regret towards its fate. Instead, he had simply seen the ornament for what it truly was for perhaps the very first time— a remnant of another world, another life; the possession of another man.
In this new world, he had sworn fealty to a different throne, worshipped at the altar of a different god, entirely devoted to the one who had forever thawed the ice around his heart.
The one he now held within his arms; safe, and whole.
In the eyes of the Imperium, Interrogator Heinrix van Calox was a heretic and a traitor. Yet here, in the chambers of his beloved, swathed in the warmth of a happiness he had so scarcely dared to dream of, he was simply Heinrix.
And he was content.
Lumens dimmed, the amber glow of candlelight threw shadows across the ceiling.
On his first visit to the chambers of the newly appointed Lord Captain Livea von Valancius what seemed like aeons ago, Heinrix had wondered how a space so silent could exist on a voidship as vast in magnitude as the Pentimento. Haunted by its previous tenant, the silence had hung then like mourning drapes; the last vestiges of Lady Theodora, as proud and as undeterred as the woman herself. There, perched awkwardly at the desk that mere days prior had belonged to the woman she had known for an even briefer time, the newest scion of the von Valancius dynasty had welcomed him, hand outstretched.
Upon it, a promise of a life neither of them could have possibly imagined in that moment; a future, bathed in the light of a thousand shining stars, brighter than any Heinrix had ever deemed possible.
He found he could not recall when exactly the silence had lost its frigid edge, softened into one of curiosity and playful intrigue with each conversation shared over a regicide board. How it had warmed into a soothing balm that had eased the aches of duty, if only for a while.
Now, Heinrix would be inclined to argue that such serenity had precious little to do with the internal logistics of the voidship and was, in fact, owed to its new sovereign. Wherever Livea von Valancius went, the radiant warmth of a burning star followed, the world around her forever softened in her wake.
Tonight, the bedchambers of the Lord Captain were as tranquil as ever. It had taken many months for Heinrix to grow used to the lavish opulence of its crimson silks, unaccustomed to sleeping on anything designed more with comfort in mind than practicality. It was a luxury to be sure— not only to sleep on a bed that did not leave its mark upon his spine the next day, but to share such a space with the woman he loved; to wake in the morning not in the clutches of another nightmare, but in the tender embrace of the one who had forever conquered his heart.
Propped against the plush pillows, Livea lounged beside him, her usual garb discarded in favour of a delicate silken chemise of deep indigo, lustrous in the glow of the chandelier.
The steam from her bath still lingered in the air, its warming caress curling around them as they sat upon the bed, their limbs entwined. They had nowhere to be, no one to command, no duties to fulfil. For the first time in a long, long while, their evening was theirs and theirs alone, and Heinrix had no plans of squandering such a rarity.
His eyes soon settled on Livea, as they were wont to do. Time had not lessened the pull she had upon his heart; like a planet aligned with its star, his soul moved in perfect harmony with her own, tethered irrevocably by love.
Heinrix did not think his pulse would ever cease to quicken as he looked upon her form. Those stolen glimpses of her beauty, secreted away like transgressions against that which was most holy… His eyes a laity undeserving of their virtue, unworthy of her divinity.
She had caught that penitent gaze of his before— lips widened around a smile that had cleaved his resolve in two, the herald of a laugh that Heinrix had prayed his life would never be without. She had kissed him breathlessly then, her soul alight with a fire that had consumed his own, until his traitorous thoughts had quietened into nothing.
Now, he allowed his gaze to linger unabashedly on her features; on the curves of her cheeks and the inviting arch of her lips; on the way she so effortlessly occupied the space beside him, an extension of his own heart.
Auburn waves, darkened still with dampness, draped over her shoulder. The sweet scent of her lotion filled his senses— a decadence she had permitted herself the last time they had visited Dargonus, its indulgent caress one she savoured sparingly. It reminded Heinrix of the sweet treats he had loved so much in his youth, of sticky, sugared dates stolen from the kitchens of his family’s estate when the head chef was not looking.
His sweet tooth had landed him in trouble more times than he would like to recall. Now, a different sweetness tempted him so; long, toned legs thrown over his own, her skin soft where it brushed against his thighs.
If Livea felt his wandering gaze, she gave no indication of it— her nose buried so deep in the text she had pulled from the shelves in her study earlier that evening that her brows furrowed adorably of their own accord. They had sat as they were now for the better part of an hour, content simply to bask quietly in each other’s presence, unburdened by the titles that awaited them on the decks below.
Heinrix settled back against the headboard with a smile.
The book in her hands bore the hallmarks of a well-loved treasure. It was a hefty tome of faded blue; its edges worn, beloved pages folded in the uppermost corners. Heinrix could not discern the gilded text upon its cover— concealed both by the markings of age and the slender fingers that now cradled it— but it had captivated her attention all the same.
His own book, however, was long forgotten, discarded in favour of simply observing. So rare were moments of absolute serenity in the life of the Rogue Trader and her retinue that Heinrix felt no guilt in savouring such a luxury, indulging unhurriedly in the press of her body against his own, safe in his arms.
A familiar warmth settled in his chest as her gaze met his over the pages of her book. Heinrix smiled down at her with a tenderness he had not known he could possess until he had held her in his arms that very first time; an all-consuming love, so intrinsically tied to the woman beside him that Heinrix had found it as natural as breathing, forever warmed by its embrace.
On their bodies, scars told stories of battles fought, and battles won. Through it all, that love had not faltered— had only grown defiantly around the sharp thorns of duty, smothered not by the darkness that lurked in the depths of the Expanse.
Their path to freedom had not been an easy one, but it was a path Heinrix knew he would walk a thousand times over to hold her as he was now.
Unharmed. Unafraid.
Complete.
“Are the illicit secrets of the Lucid Palace too bland a topic for you tonight?”
Roused from his study by her playful lilt, Heinrix followed her gaze to the leather-bound tome that laid abandoned on the bed, entirely forgotten.
His lips stretched into a broad, shameless smile.
“Something else has captured my attention, I fear.”
His right hand settled around her ankle, fingertips tracing idle patterns into her skin.
“Is that so?” Livea smiled coyly. “And what might that be, I wonder?”
Heinrix charted the length of her shin languidly, unhurried palm skirting along until it came to rest atop her knee, squeezing lightly.
“I think you know.”
His voice had dropped to a heated murmur— breath catching in his throat as she brought her knees together, trapping his hand between them.
“I had no idea the poets of Ancient Terra had that effect on you.” Livea reclined further into his embrace, raising the book to her eye level. “How selfish of me to keep them to myself.”
Heinrix laughed softly, his chest blooming at just how easily she pulled such sounds from him.
“I fear they would pale in comparison to you, my love.”
Even after all they had seen together, the time they had spent beside one another— the time he had spent inside her— Heinrix marvelled still at how sweet praise alone could colour her cheeks with scarlet.
He watched on, eyes crinkled with fond amusement, as she fought to school the shape of her mouth into a straight line once more, only to fail beautifully as her dimples deepened with a growing smile.
Far from the first time— and certainly not the last— Heinrix found himself rendered speechless by her beauty, by the ease with which she stole away his breath, claimed the beating of his heart. To love Livea von Valancius was to be a part of her; a love as gentle as a breath in the night, which filled his lungs with life anew.
“Would you share them with me, then?” Voice low, Heinrix sought out the sensitive patch of skin behind her knee, coaxing a shiver from her form. “Indulge my poetic curiosity?”
Livea hummed contentedly with his touch, grey eyes half-lidded in bliss.
“I can’t promise a performance worthy of the halls of Holy Terra,” she replied around a soft sigh, the ghost of a smile upon her lips, “but since you asked so politely…”
Heinrix welcomed her eagerly as she settled further into the space beside him; a steadying hand against the small of her back, wandering fingertips slipping briefly beneath the silk, lingering only for a heartbeat. It mattered little to his helpless heart how often he had held her in his arms, felt the brush of her skin against his own— each sacred touch was as intoxicating as the first, his very soul alight with the radiance of her love.
Even now, he felt the quickening of his pulse within his veins, the enthralling rush that threatened to consume his mind entirely, thoughts filled only with her touch. Her light. Her scent.
As she began to read aloud, the Expanse stopped to listen. She spoke not with the voice Heinrix was so used to hearing on the voidship’s bridge— far softer than any tone her officers were privy to— but it commanded his attention all the same.
“Where, like a pillow on a bed
A pregnant bank swell'd up to rest
The violet's reclining head,
Sat we two, one another's best.”
He did not recognise the poem. It was not one he had read on Guisorn III, in those sacred days of youth when rose-tinted fantasies had not seemed so entirely out of reach; when he had lain in the gardens with his sisters, their heads buried in tales of chivalry and romance as summers passed them by.
If he were to close his eyes, allow his thoughts to wander back to home as they so often did, he could almost feel the grass beneath his palms, hear the distant chatter of the nobles in the courtyard…
With each line of the poem, it was easier to imagine her in a grand hall of splendour; the eldest daughter of a planetary governor, aflame with beauty and with youth, an effortless gravitational pull that captivated every pair of eyes in the room.
She spoke little of her homeworld, of the land that had shaped her, body and soul, into the woman she was today; some scars cut too deep for even biomancy to heal, the bitter ache of a home one cannot return to a pain Heinrix himself knew well enough not to pick at such a scab to sate his own curiosity. Instead, he had seen its rugged coastline in the grey of her eyes, felt the ocean breeze in the waves of her hair, and the warmth of its sun in her smile.
He knew Livea. He knew her pain. And he knew her light; bright enough to banish even the shadows of the lives they had once led, when they had both been two very different people.
“As 'twixt two equal armies fate
Suspends uncertain victory,
Our souls (which to advance their state
Were gone out) hung 'twixt her and me.”
Livea’s voice reverberated against his body like a caress, the beat of her heart in perfect unison with his own. To love another so completely as to be forever changed by their embrace… Such a fate had never once crossed his mind, cast aside with all that had once seemed unattainable under the oppressive chains of obedience.
Until her.
In truth, Heinrix would have been content to sit through the entirety of the Pentimento’s three-volume collectanea of Imperium theology if it meant listening to the melody of her voice; that siren song of unwavering love that had steered him not into the jagged rocks of despair, but instead guided him through the storm of his own heart, into calmer waters new.
Heinrix had long forgotten what it meant to be the helmsman of his own fate, the weight of duty upon his shoulders his oldest friend and confidant. It had been hard to glean a spark of hope from the dark recesses of service, hard to carve a future from a life of sacrifice.
And yet, she had shown him how; the reins of fate held boldly in her palms, a light within her soul that even the deepest depths of Commorragh had not manage to snuff out. She had warmed his heart and his life with her presence, burning brighter than any of the stars beyond the voidship’s hull.
It was here, entangled in her warmth, that Heinrix understood what peace meant.
“And whilst our souls negotiate there,
We like sepulchral statues lay;
All day, the same our postures were,
And we said nothing, all the day.”
Soft lips curled around the verse, words melting into the warmth of a smile Heinrix knew he would never tire of beholding. In the glow of the bedroom, the weight upon her shoulders was harder to discern, her form tucked so perfectly against his own that Heinrix wondered if perhaps they had both been carved to sit as they were now, a fulfilment of their souls’ designs.
It was easy to get lost in the softness of her voice, swept along so gently as she read aloud. So intently she followed the words upon the page that Heinrix indulged in her distraction, studying the constellations of freckles as if they were the stars outside; the way the scar at the corner of her mouth danced in time with her recital.
How he longed to follow its pearlescent journey across her lips, taste the music on her tongue as devoutly as his ears had basked in its cadence. Heinrix had never once considered himself ignorant of the arts, but immersed in such rapturous study, he wondered idly if he was listening to the poem at all.
“We then, who are this new soul, know
Of what we are compos'd and made,
For th' atomies of which we grow
Are souls, whom no change can invade.”
Had it not been for the stillness of the room, Heinrix might have missed the way her breath hitched mutedly as his hand joined her own upon her thigh. Fingers entwined, his thumb traced soft circles over her skin, mapping the form of that which had guided him so staunchly into this new world, through darkness and through pain.
And yet, not once had those hands faltered— not once had they left him wanting, clutched so firmly between her fingers that Heinrix could not discern where he had ended and she began; the same fingers he now caressed, woven intricately through his own.
Through body and through soul, she had rewritten that which had been preordained, cast shadow into light and forged a future far more tender than any he once believed himself deserving of.
He had served the Golden Throne. He had paid his dues in sacrifice. Now, he served her— a duty of his own desire, veneration in every touch.
Her voice was but a whisper as he raised her palm to meet his lips; a trail of heat, drawn from her fingers down to her wrist, feeling her pulse dance beneath.
“On man heaven's influence works not so,
But that it first imprints the air;
So soul into the soul may flow,
Though it to body first repair.”
Livea shuddered as his lips found the bare skin of her shoulder, brushing upwards towards her clavicle. The thin strap of her nightgown departed with ease, slipping down to pool in the crook of her elbow.
With each chaste kiss laid upon her skin, the poem grew fainter, softened around wistful exhales drawn forth by his lips. She chastised him with a sigh— lost in the smile reserved only for him, the smile that had rid his world of shadow and forever warmed his heart.
Yet still, she continued; eyes no longer following the text as Heinrix took the book from her hands, guiding her form to sit astride his lap. With the grace and decorum of a noble Rogue Trader, Livea ushered him softly through the final verses of the poem, her hands coming to rest atop his chest, tracing the muscle beneath his nightshirt.
Leaning forward, her breath ghosted enticingly across his lips; the distance between them imperceptible, and yet, still too far.
“To'our bodies turn we then, that so
Weak men on love reveal'd may look;
Love's mysteries in souls do grow,
But yet the body is his book.
And if some lover, such as we,
Have heard this dialogue of one,
Let him still mark us, he shall see
Small change, when we'are to bodies gone.”
Silence marked the conclusion of her reading. Its languid warmth curled lazily around his heart, woven inextricably through his ribcage.
How easily she had settled there within his chest so many years ago, found the open wound of longing and soothed its ancient ache; filled his heart and his life with a love so intense that oftentimes Heinrix did not quite know what to do with the dizzying surge of happiness that stole away his breath, made his vision dance with golden hues.
There would never be enough words in all of the languages touched by the Emperor’s light to convey his love for her; instead, he vowed always to show it, as earnestly and as often as he could, until the day his heart ceased to beat.
Heinrix drew her close and brought his lips to her forehead.
“I think you perhaps sold yourself short, my dear.”
“Maybe.” Livea smiled, toying with the collar of his shirt. The first of the buttons parted under her delicate touch. “Perhaps having the right audience made all the difference.”
With his arms around her waist, Heinrix ran a hand along the length of her spine— slowly, indulgently, his very touch eliciting a shiver as his palm met the bare skin between her shoulder blades, covered not by the silk of the chemise.
She sighed serenely in his lap; his breath hitched at the sound.
“I had the very same book as a teenager,” Livea offered, her voice scarcely above a whisper. “It was my mother’s. I read it front to back, then back to front again. I knew almost all of them by heart.” She smiled sadly. “When I found that copy in Theodora’s study…”
Her voice trailed off into silence. Heinrix brushed his fingers tenderly over her cheek, and she leaned into his touch.
“Even here, she finds a way to reach me.”
Livea’s hand joined his own against her face, their fingers interwoven.
“She would have liked you.” She professed with confidence, drawing his hand towards her lips.
Heinrix smiled.
“Is that so?”
“Undoubtedly.” He felt her smirk in the curve of her mouth against his fingers, supple flesh tracing slowly over each digit in turn. “She would have chastised me for keeping you locked away on this ship.”
“I find my situation to be agreeable enough,” Heinrix replied huskily. “Three square meals a day, a place to rest my head…” With his thumb beneath her chin, he tilted her face to meet his heated gaze. “And the Lord Captain herself is something quite remarkable indeed.”
Livea laughed fondly. It was a sound Heinrix knew he would never tire of hearing; a sound he vowed always to protect, lest the galaxy ever be without its melody.
“Careful now, or the flattery might just go to her head.”
Heinrix’s eyes creased with his smile.
Lilac hues shone behind her, a halo of stars dancing in the deep red of her hair. Cast in her hallowed light, Heinrix found himself transfixed by the vision before him, awash in a glow more vibrant than any that could be captured in the stained glass of the chapels on Holy Terra.
He reached to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Impossible,” Heinrix hummed lowly as his hands settled upon her hips, fabric pooling beneath his fingers, “for mere words alone could never do her justice.”
His breath hitched in his throat as her own fingers began their slow descent. One by one, the buttons of his shirt were deftly undone, his pulse racing beneath her touch. Satisfied with her work, Livea’s hands began to traverse the planes of his chest, curling leisurely over muscle and dark hair, before settling atop his heart.
Under the warmth of her palm, it beat ardently for her.
On the Black Ship, Heinrix had often dreamed of all that he had lost. He had dreamed of his family’s Knight, so regal and grand, never to be his. He had dreamed of his sisters, of the lives they would lead, the stories he would never hear them share. And he had dreamed of a love, of a soul linked so intrinsically with his own; a love that cared not for the scars on his face or the curse that he bore, a love that looked beneath his fractured surface and saw only him.
It had been a foolish dream. A pitiful fantasy conjured by the mind of a scared and lonely child, swept swiftly under the heavy rug of duty.
And yet…
On the day he had held her, hands shaking, teeth chattering with the cold that had so very nearly ripped that sole spark of happiness away from him, he had realised that such a love was real— that she was here, alive, clutching at him with hands that had cared not for the ice on his skin, the hands that had saved him from himself.
An anchor of hope in a world of sacrifice. A place to call home.
Livea’s fingers combed gently through his hair, his eyes closing with her loving touch.
To think there had been a time he had come so close to losing this… The thought settled heavily in his stomach.
The Imperium warranted any sacrifice. Duty had taken much from him, but he had not let it take her.
As if sensing the knot forming in his chest, her hands moved to trace along his jaw, his face held in her palms as she soothed over lines of worry. Featherlight kisses were placed beneath his eyes, on the bridge of his nose, at the corners of his mouth, until his lips stretched into a soft smile once more.
It was here, beneath her, that Heinrix felt most holy; face cradled in the loving hands of a god that had never once turned its gaze, never held mercy out of reach.
His hold upon her tightened, and Livea smiled down at him warmly.
Such delicate things, those strings of fate that had bound them so, woven through the stars... Heinrix had not known that inside his heart lay a space only she could fill until he had clasped her tightly to his chest that very first time, chasing away the cold embrace of hopelessness with her light.
Under the pallid glow of stolen stars, watching on as she slept fitfully in his arms, the ache of far more than mere fatigue tugging at his soul, Heinrix had vowed then to forever protect that sacred light, his soul imbued with a purpose of his own desire, unused to such a feeling.
In a galaxy that demanded sacrifice, she had taught him choice, and he had chosen her.
He felt the ghost of her breath across his lips; that hallowed promise of salvation, offered unconditionally by her love.
Heinrix knew in his heart he would never tire of adoring her, of worshipping at the altar of her radiance, as if his entire being had been crafted for that singular purpose. Sculpted with love and hope, she had forged a future for them both— triumphed over nightmares untold, until the shadows of the old world had faded into nothing.
In that dark hour, her love had shone as bright as the sun, and his world had been forever changed.
Heinrix crushed her to his chest. He kissed her until his lungs ached, until there was no breath left inside them that she had not touched, her heart beating into his own through flesh and through bone. Reaching out through the Warp, he sought the shape of her form and felt the rush of her blood within her veins; the shiver across her skin at feeling him inside her, cells entwined, spun together like living thread.
With her lips against his own, Heinrix felt whole.
Livea moaned into his mouth, her nimble hands drawing him closer still. Her thighs trembled where they clutched at his hips, reluctant to part even for a second— as if the very notion had even dared to enter his mind, with her so delectably positioned upon his lap.
His palms trailed unhurriedly along the curves of her legs, settling over her rear. Livea shuddered in his arms as his lips found her earlobe, relishing in the sweet sounds of her pleasure as he drew the heated flesh between his teeth.
“Heinrix.”
His name had never sounded quite so holy as it did upon her lips, ordained in amorous rapture; Heinrix felt his heart clench.
The fabric of her chemise gathered delicately between his fingers. Inch by agonising inch, it glided against her skin, over the curves of her thighs, clinging sinfully to the shape of her rear. He paused upon reaching her waist, the silk pooling in her lap, before her hands joined his own in their endeavour.
Folds of indigo parted to reveal the skin beneath; Heinrix’s eyes greedily drank in each inch as it was unveiled, his hands sweeping reverently over the most sacred of icons.
Were he a more pious man, perhaps he might have pondered her sublimity from afar, reluctant to tarnish the divine with his mortal touch. But mere canticles alone had never been enough to convey the way he adored her so— the way his heart beat only for her, how she had filled his life and his soul with a love so immaculate he had been remade in its light.
And so, with his lips at the hollow of her throat, Heinrix began his fervent worship anew.
He pursued the blush blooming beneath her skin with chaste kisses, lips trailing from her cheeks down to her neck, to the curve of her collar bone and beyond. Words of praise were laid upon her form, spoken like secrets in the darkness of the room; a private worship meant only for the one who held his heart beside her own, his every touch a prayer.
Livea arched into his embrace. A soft gasp left her lips as his mouth descended further still to tease at her breast, tongue and teeth roaming over sensitive flesh. Her hands found his hair with a sharp tug, and Heinrix moaned against her skin, the nails at his scalp eliciting a thrill of pleasure along his spine.
His cock stirred in his briefs, its half-hard length pressing into her thigh.
With a restraint that surprised even himself, Heinrix pulled back to regard her. Her skin was flushed, hair unkempt, lips swollen so delectably that he ached to taste them again and again, to feel their plush caress across every inch of his body; a vision of brazen desire, sculpted by his touch.
Heinrix drank in the sight ardently.
His entire universe was cradled between his palms. He traced the sharp contours of her cheekbones, ran his thumb along her bottom lip, parted around a soft sigh. Against his chest, her nipples pebbled in the still air of the nightcycle where saliva dried like pearlescent brushstrokes.
Livea rocked against his hardness with a licentious mewl.
It was overwhelming, the urge to roll his hips upwards, to quench his thirst in the valley of her thighs... Every cell within his body thrummed with arousal, the taut muscles of his abdomen flexing beneath her fingertips as she trailed a torturous path along the dark swatch of hair, curling under his waistband.
A lesser man might have caved, then— allowed her to take him into her hands, to ride his cock until they both fell apart in fervent bliss, consumed by animalistic lust. It would have been easy to rid himself of that last barrier, to slip inside her wet and wanting heat and claim her as his own; to fuck every doubt, every worry, every fear from her mind until all that remained in the galaxy was the blistering light of their love.
But Heinrix van Calox had always been a patient man, and tonight, he had a plan of his own.
Hooking his arms beneath her thighs, Heinrix allowed his form to recline fully, his back hitting the mattress as he coaxed her further up his torso to the sound of surprised laughter.
His heart lurched with her giggle.
“What are you doing?”
“Indulge me.”
Ever the tactician, Heinrix relished in the rarity of having caught her off guard, watching on with amusement as her eyes finally widened in understanding.
“Are you certain?”
His answer came in the form of his hands upon her hips, guiding her gently to her place above his head, his neck betwixt her thighs.
Livea shifted above him with each exhale of breath against her core. He explored the soft skin languidly, unhurried kisses trailed along her flesh as his hands sought to know the curves of her hips, the taut muscles of her legs as they tensed and flexed around his head.
How easy it would be to leave his mark upon her skin, etched in a place only he would ever see… A heady surge of vanity clouded his mind, making his cock twitch where it tented his briefs. He drew his teeth lightly across her inner thigh, and Livea mewled above him.
“Heinrix.”
“Yes, Lord Captain?”
Oh, how he loved the way she pouted so, lips fending off the smile that threatened to crack through her performance…
She huffed an impatient sigh.
“Stop. Teasing.”
“I would never.”
He turned to hide his smile in the warmth of her thigh, lips brushing over a scar long since healed.
Heinrix would have been content to spend hours laid as he was now, drawing those sweet supplications from her mouth, luxuriating in the knowledge that they had nowhere else to be. He wondered how many times he could bring her to the edge of ecstasy, ghost his fingers across the entrance to her cunt, before her hands finally fisted in his hair and she took from him the pleasure he so hungered to give her.
But Heinrix was not unjust, and even his own thirst had its limitations.
Her form stiffened when his touch finally met the apex of her thighs, muscles taut with an anticipation Heinrix felt stirring in his own blood, eager to taste her essence on his tongue.
Her folds were slick as they parted around his index finger, the breath leaving his chest amidst a low rumble.
“You are divine.”
Livea whimpered with the first flat stroke of his tongue over her folds, the sound stifled where teeth bit into the plump flesh of her lower lip.
That would not do.
Heinrix repeated the action, slower this time, drawing a languorous path from her core to her clit before circling the sensitive bud with his tongue— smiling against her warmth when a whine broke free from her restraints.
“Throne damn you, Heinrix.”
He breathed a laugh against her, delighting in her reaction. Livea looked down at him with a fondness that made his heart clench, a gaze so full of light and love that Heinrix found himself at once unworthy of such rapturous devotion and made divine in its glory, sanctified by the one who held his heart and his soul so delicately in her palm.
Haloed by stars, cast in the iridescent glow of the Expanse, Heinrix understood then what the Ministorum priests had meant when they spoke of the beauty of worship, the sacred veneration of looking upon the divine and knowing that in your soul resided a devotion unshakable and pure.
For as long as he drew breath, Heinrix vowed to worship at the altar laid before him; fervently, and thoroughly.
Livea’s fingers tangled in his hair as his tongue sought the taste of her eagerly, delving between her folds in ardent adulation. With each sharp tug at his scalp, Heinrix groaned against her slick heat, the tantalising pull sending a rush of arousal straight to his cock.
“Throne…”
Thighs clamped around his ears, Heinrix found the galaxy reduced only to her; the world around them muffled but for the sounds of her pleasure, a psalm sang so beautifully that Heinrix prayed his life would never know a moment without it.
He coaxed each breathless canticle from her lips with the workings of his own, savouring the taste of her pleasure upon his tongue with unhurried devotion. Slowly, tentatively, her hips began to move in tandem with his mouth, each flex of muscle closing what little distance remained between them.
“Livea,” Heinrix moaned unabashedly against her, entirely unfazed by the pleasure laden thickly in its wanton gravel. “Please, my love. Don’t hold back.”
His name left her lips amidst a shuddering gasp as she at last seated herself wholly upon his waiting mouth, hands immediately lurching to join his own where they kneaded indulgently at the flesh of her thighs. Surrounded entirely by her love, her light, Heinrix made his devotion known with unrepentant ardour; on his lips, a promise of loyalty eternal, sealed with each loving caress.
Livea whined as she rocked keenly against his tongue, Heinrix feeling his own desire pool hotly in his stomach. His cock strained against the fabric of his underwear, neglected in favour of the taut flanks surrounding him. He pulled at her fervently, each cant of her hips perfectly aligned with the working of his jaw; an ebb and flow that threatened to consume him entirely.
And oh, what a fate that would be, he mused idly, drunk on the taste of her communion. To exist solely to worship at the altar of another, bound not by chains of duty but by love everlasting...
Heinrix drank from her eagerly, slipping one hand from its grip upon her thigh to slide a finger inside her, knuckle-deep, welcomed readily by her cunt. Livea shook as a low moan was drawn from her throat, her hips moving instinctively, driving his digit deeper and his nose against her clit. A second was swift to join the first, and she rewarded him with unabashed cries of pleasure that stoked the flames of his own arousal into an inferno.
By the throne, but he loved the sounds pulled forth from her lips; a hymn more heavenly than any he had heard before, sang with a reverence Heinrix felt across every inch of his being. For that was how it had always been with her— his Livea, his guiding light, a warmth seeping into his very soul until he had found himself fearing the numbing cold that would surely return in her absence.
How easily she had slipped under his skin, spread within him until all he knew was her. This unfathomable woman, so utterly committed to prematurely greying his hair with worry; so unwaveringly benevolent, even when the universe demanded otherwise. She perplexed him as much as she did endear him, vexation thawing into affection, into devotion.
To know Lord Captain Livea von Valancius was to love her, and Heinrix did so ardently.
Such a love he would never tire of showing, that he knew, be it by her side or as they were now; prostrated at the holiest of altars, reciting prayers he had whispered against her flesh so many times before. If his tongue could weave the tapestry of his devotion, then he would do so gladly— over and over, until his jaw ached with the sweetness of worship, until there was no doubt left in her mind as to who his faith was promised.
Once, he might have considered such notions heretical. How different they seemed now, with the taste of their consecration on his tongue.
Mind reeling with desire, Heinrix returned his attention to her clit, chasing her cries of pleasure as he drew the sensitive bud between his lips. His cock throbbed intensely against his stomach, each flick of his tongue edging Livea ever closer to her release, feeling her walls tighten around his fingers.
“Heinrix,” she pleaded around a whine, bucking brazenly against him, “please, I can’t—”
That he could see the illustrious head of the von Valancius dynasty blush, be the one who had painted the scarlet flush across her cheeks… Such indulgence was liable to drive a lesser man insane.
Heinrix felt her pace falter, her legs shake, muscles trembling with the strain of staying upright. One hand a steadying weight atop her thigh, holding steadfast against the needy cant of her hips, the other delved deeper between her folds, feeling her slick stain his wrist.
She had been the one to teach him mercy once; who was he to deny it now?
Heinrix sought the patch of nerves along the front of her walls, fingers curling as her thighs tensed around his head.
“Let go, my love.” He crooned soothingly, his voice a low rumble against her balmy heat. “I'm here.”
Always.
A fractured moan heralded her climax as Livea fell apart with the careful crook of his fingers; one hand buried in his hair, the other entwined with his own against her waist. Heinrix coaxed her through each cresting wave of pleasure as his tongue lapped at her devoutly, drinking in the heady taste of her love.
Senses flooded entirely with her, Heinrix moaned unabashedly against her core as her release coated his mouth, hips thrusting needily against nothing.
His tongue trailed lazily through her slick pleasure as she came down from her high with heaving breaths, his name interspersed tenderly between contented sighs.
“Throne, Heinrix…”
Voice still choked with pleasure, his very name was a prayer upon her lips.
With one last, leisurely taste of her, Heinrix pulled away.
His arms secured around her form as she made to move from him with unsteady limbs, her gentle laughter weaving its way into his chest where it warmed his very soul.
She fell back against the mattress with a satisfied hum and tugged him down towards her, her smaller frame penned in by his arms. The hard length of his arousal poked at her thigh; Heinrix pressed her hips tightly against his, muffling a groan in her chest.
“Perhaps I ought to read to you more often,” Livea reached for him, her hands twining through his tussled hair, “if this is the effect it has on you.”
She pulled him in to meet her lips in a fervent, searing kiss.
Livea moaned at the taste of herself upon his tongue, the heat coiling in his stomach threatening to consume him entirely. His hips rocked against hers of their own accord, his self-control balanced on a knife’s edge from the simple act of tasting her, of hearing her wanton cries of his name.
He felt her fingers skirt along the waistband of his briefs once more, this time tugging the fabric down to free his aching cock.
“Livea,” Heinrix drew his lips along the hollow of her throat, “You don’t… This wasn’t what I—”
“I know.” She kissed him sweetly, and the turnings of his mind stopped. “I want to.”
Reaching between them, her hand closed around his length, and Heinrix’s head fell forward.
Her touch was light and delicate, a savouring of their private worship much like his own had been— though, if she expected him to last half as long as she did after having had his tongue buried in her cunt for the last hour, she would be sorely disappointed.
With a roll of his hips, Heinrix thrust into her waiting touch, the head of his cock brushing against her stomach.
It was too much and not enough— his skin ablaze with pleasure, mind empty but for the adoration on his breath as he gasped against her skin. With a gentle squeeze to his base, Livea pulled her hand away, his sound of protest silenced when he felt her legs widen beneath him.
Heinrix watched on, transfixed, as her hand dipped between her thighs. Livea whined as she parted her folds—nerves alight with pleasure still from the workings of his tongue, a heady rush of pride swarming his mind— and gathered her wetness upon her fingertips.
Her lips found his with fervour, swallowing his moan as her touch, featherlight, circled the head of his cock.
“Livea.” Heinrix scarcely recognised the desperate plea as his own voice, rutting into her palm. “Please, my love, I won’t last long.”
She slid her hand right down to the base and stole his breath from his lungs.
Heinrix groaned, his face buried in the crook of her neck. Open-mouthed kisses were drawn messily along her throat, beneath her jaw, her skin dampened by his heated puffs of breath. His world had culminated into a single point, lost entirely in the warmth of her hand around his cock, the taste of her skin upon his tongue.
“Throne, don’t stop—”
Livea’s pace quickened, her other hand drifting to smooth over the muscles of his flank; beneath her fingertips, his blood pulsed with zeal, the heartbeat in his ears drowning out everything but her.
Supporting himself with one arm, Heinrix allowed the other to drop between their bodies. His hand dwarfed hers where she gripped at his cock, fingers entwining with his own around his pulsing length. Wrapped in her warm embrace, Heinrix shuddered at the increased pressure, the cant of his hips stuttering as his end rapidly approached.
Livea’s lips found the sensitive patch of skin beneath his jaw and sucked.
One small change of her grip— a thumb pressed against his head— and his resolve erupted in a blinding flash of light.
Heinrix spilled over their joined hands with a brazen moan, his release marking their stomachs.
With lazy thrusts, he came down from his high in her arms, words of worship whispered against the flushed skin of her neck, sealed with each adoring kiss.
The pleasant ache of tiredness began to creep across his body. Livea cradled his face in her palms, tilting his chin to meet her tender gaze.
“My love.” Heinrix kissed her deeply, and his heart soared. “My star.”
He tugged her closer still, slotted so perfectly between her limbs that their bodies had become one. There, wrapped in her warmth, his heart beating steadily against her own, separated only by flesh and bone, Heinrix’s soul felt complete.
The craven-hearted say that the career of every Inquisitor ends either in death or in heresy; Heinrix van Calox’s had ended in the arms of the woman he loved, and his life had begun anew.