Chapter Text
Vance hadn’t realized he’d dozed off. The last thing he remembered was loosening the laces of his second hand boots, complaining to Rolf how they were chafing his healing scars. His foot, rather his whole body was numb— the burns and the surgery saw to that— but he could still feel a deep constant ache. Especially with the scavenged shoes pressing into all the wrong spots, molded to some other poor soul’s feet. When Asher gave them to him he asked if he knew who they belonged to. The haggard chem-hound just shrugged. He pulled them off a faceless comrade while his squad mates stripped him of everything else.
They were barely broken in, which meant their previous owner didn’t last too long. Most of them didn’t. It also meant that Asher fought to keep them. Better gear was always coveted, so finding any usually led to a brawl. Anything, let alone new, was hardly issued to them despite their colonel’s and commissar’s constant demands. Even their Inquisitors’ influence had little sway.
The good stuff was for the more reputable troops. Troops that weren’t disposable. That wasn't the scum pulled out of the bowels of second rate hive worlds like Centralia Binary. But that's what the Dingos are. A disposal unit. A troop of bastard sons the Imperium turns their noses at, tasked with the wet work the glory boys don’t want to dirty their hands with. They’ve gotten less than nothing their whole lives. Not getting new gear wasn’t the end of the world. The Dingoes always get the job done, no matter the odds. They scavenged and stole and made due with whatever they could get their hands on. Including the broken minesweeper that caused him to need new boots in the first place.
Rolf couldn’t help but smile when he felt Vance relax against him, softly snoring. He needed the rest. He was still healing from having his body blown apart and stitched back together. There was a genetor who was able to help him and Doc Frost fit him with a replacement for the leg he lost and insert augments for the rest that was too badly burned. His work wasn’t done out of altruism. With the Mechanicus it rarely was. The cost of his skills was that Vance would let himself be a trial.
The archio-tech Magos Malik wanted to study seemed dubious at best, heretical at worst. With sepsis setting in and being useless to the regiment in that shape, Vance agreed without a second thought to the tech priest’s terms. Rolf insisted he be the one to open up his friend and attach the prosthetic. But the medic was forced to stand helplessly outside when the time came— laymen weren’t permitted to witness the mysteries of the Omnissiah, let alone a potential miracle. Instead the Magos had ushered in a minyan of tech priests, including their own, Skilati, to aid him and pray for guidance from their clockwork God. He wasn’t a particularly pious man, but he prayed too. Reciting every healing litany he knew, clutching the beaded magpie feather Vance had given him.
The scent of the machine cult’s incense still haunted him, the way it seeped into the hall and mingled with the stale blood and filth from the ancient bunker they were using as a medicae. The heady mixture made his stomach churn while their binaric chanting grated his ears. Their trills and chittering drowned out the sound of their mechadendrites slicing through muscle to stringing strange nodes and wires along his body, and drilling through flesh and bone to insert odd looking ports.
Rolf’s attention turned as Vance stirred in his sleep, shifting in the uncomfortable bench seats of the transport ship as they coasted through a cloudless sky to their respite. The tall medic gently rested a hand on the sergeant’s thigh, knowing it made little difference to whatever unpleasantness Vance was dreaming of, but he couldn’t help but want to comfort him. At least that was his justification, he’s comforting a friend. Yet his heart throbbed every time they were this close, longing to be closer.
He’d felt that way since they first met on that blistering day on Centralia Major. He appeared like a mirage, shimmering into view through the heat and dust of the landing deck. Vance shared those feelings since that fateful meeting. He wasn’t sure if he was still coming down or woozy from Doc’s methadone but he swore he heard a choir of birds singing hymns when Rolf stepped off the transporter, as beautiful as the sculptures of His Almighty’s Angels.
The flight was short, and soon hard-faced troopers were pushing one another like juvies to catch a glimpse of the perfect garden world. A giddy buzz broke out amongst them, the weight and fatigue of battle shrugged off for the excitement of an extended holiday before being thrown back into the meat grinder. The overexcited chatter finally woke Vance, everyone making plans to spend their next idle month.
The lush flora was something the troopers rarely saw. Most of them were born amidst the choking industry of the manufactorums or the oppressive depths of the mines, then sent off to fight within the dense urban sprawls they were so comfortable with. The others were from the few remaining Bushranger clans of the outbacks, growing up among the ochre of the vast arid landscape alongside their sacred animals. Green was foreign to them. On the rare occasions they were sent to fight in open land it had been corrupted by the ruinous powers or burned to cinders by upheaval.
For Rolf, seeing the ruined landscapes of twisted crops and slaughtered livestock always set his nerves on edge, like it was a personal threat to his homeworld. Vance always told him to ignore the nagging whispers that crawled through his brain. That it was only the daemons trying to get to him. He’d tell him to pick up his lasgun and destroy everything that wasn’t theirs with that crooked smile and that dead look in his grey eyes. It was a relief to see the picturesque little city, reminding the medic of the safety of his family, worlds away from their battles.
As Vance woke he pressed himself against the hulking frame of his friend, trying to see what the medic was pointing at. Vance felt dwarfed by the man like this. The demolitions expert wasn’t the biggest, but he was no longer the waify teen that joined up a few years ago. Centralians were all a bit small. Between the dense gravity and malnutrition, the average height was about 170. There were exceptions like Bull, but even he was nowhere close to Rolf. The blonde giant was over two meters tall and all broad muscle. “They always grow bigger on fringe planets”, he thought when he first met the older man. On the untouched agri-world of Paaras they most certainly did. The fertile land bred well fed farmers and ranchers.
Rolf leaned against the trooper, both trying to ignore the sparks they felt igniting between them. The blonde pressed against his shoulder, pointing out where they would be staying amidst the emerald forests. The sergeant’s breath hitched anytime Rolf got that close and his heart threatened to give out when he could smell his familiar scent. The pair sat like that, huddled against one another in the window watching pastoral hills roll past, refusing to acknowledge the feelings that went beyond friendship and the joy that they both made it out alive once more. Their anxious stubbornness kept them quiet all these years, forcing them into this flirtatious dance, ringing around their feelings.
The silent spell between them was broken when the shuttle landed. Vance tried to hide the flush that ran down to his chest by quickly lacing up his boots, morbidly wondering who’s feet could have been that narrow. Rolf turned away just as fast, grabbing his kit bags and trunks. Vance stood shakily on his toes trying to grab his own gear. He still felt stiff and sore, and the uncomfortable nap did him no favors. His hands moved jerkily, like a servitor in need of maintenance. In a way that wasn’t too far off. The sergeant wondered if he looked like one of those brain-dead automatons, focusing on the port in his wrist and the line of stitches leading from it. His bag dropped from his loose grasp as he scowled at the mess of fresh scars. Cursing, he bent to grab it, but felt someone move him out of the way.
“I can carry my own shite, mother chook.” Vance huffed halfheartedly. He grabbed at his void bag, but Rolf lifted it out of reach above his head.
“Nuh-uh. I might’a cleared ya, but Magos still needs ta run tests ‘n’ calibrations.” Rolf drawled, pulling the bag further away as Vance tried to swipe it.
“Nuthin’ heavier than a plate a’ food.” His playful smile hid his concern.
“That an offer to take me out to dinner?” His pukish expression spoke to his charms, and Rolf had to work to swallow the lump in his throat.
“If it gits ya ta follow doctor’s orders.” Rolf didn’t know that those words lit a kindle of hope within the sergeant.
“It’s a date then.” Vance winked. He had fantasies about going on a real date with him— a posh dinner with real flowers on the table and a live band playing. But those were just that, fantasies. He flashed Rolf a smile, smothering that wish.
* * *
On the much more comfortable aquila lander behind the pair, Colonial Commissar Kincaid, looking exhausted, frantically scoured his data slates trying to find last minute information about their accommodations. His adjutant Alexis Mazur on the other hand, was happily gossiping away with their Inquisitorial retinue about how they would spend their time and coin.
The youthful aide had made fast friends with the women, finding good company with fellow nobles. It wasn’t that he thought less of anyone, he just felt painfully out of place amongst the hardened troopers. His shy yet blunt nature made him fear they distrusted or disliked him. An assumption that wasn’t wrong for most of them. He was told Centralians couldn’t respect a man who didn’t have to kill for his supper. Once they saw that he could— and very effectively with his saber— they actually listened when he gave orders. Though his feminine looks were still the butt of their jokes.
“Didn’t know sheilas could piss standin’ up.” “Nah mate, that's just his clit.” “Pull your flaps back and show us where ya piss from!” Were just a few of their usual vulgarities spat at him at the latrines. Vance told him he needed to show his teeth. Asher said he needed to show them his agates. He wasn’t sure if they were being literal. It was hard to tell with Centralians. He ended up taking the chem hound’s approach one day when the Commissar had him feeling particularly wound up after putting him through the wringer in every sense. As soon as one of the lieutenants opened his mouth at the urinals he looked him dead in the eye, unzipped, pissed on his boots, shook, zipped up, and left. He could hear the howls from outside and a string of profanity that would’ve turned even the Commissar blue. “You're his bitch now, Stonecutter!” “He marked you good!” The effects of his display lasted only about a month, but at least the second lieutenant let him be since.
Alexis turned to his commissar, watching him grow increasingly frustrated as he turned out his pockets. He fumbled through scraps of paper, a half eaten carb bar, matches, an empty pack of lho-sticks, and a few collar control switches until he muttered a prayer and started digging through his void bag for the second time. The aide smiled to himself, wondering how long he was going to let his commander flounder before he gave back the slate he’d been asked to hold on to.
“Emperor damned warp fuck me sideways and leave me dead in a ditch! Where the fek is that bloody tablet!?” Kincaid growled, tossing a pile of slates onto the floor and starting daggers at them, as if that would mystically make it appear.
Alexis turned to the tech priest beside him,
“Should I help him?” He murmured.
Skilati shook her head. Her optics twinkled as a hiss escaped her vox grill.
“You two are cruel.” Kahina whispered as she reached across to fish the slate out of Alexis’s bag.
“Don’t spoil the fun!” The adjutant pulled the leather satchel against his chest.
“His thoughts are so disorganized! And he keeps cursing over and over, it’s giving me a headache.” The telepath ran her slender fingers over the gilded veil concealing the neural implants embedded in her shorn scalp.
“Too much ugly, horrible yellow!” She scrunched her face in pain.
“Fine.” Alexis’s face softened seeing her large dark eyes watering and her lips quivering. Her pouting could get him to do more than any of her powers could. It reminded him too much of his younger siblings running to him crying about their tutors being mean.
He held out the tablet and waited for Kincaid to notice.
“Fekin’ hells! Where the shite was it?” The commissar grabbed the slate, bloodshot eyes scanning for the information he needed.
“You gave it to me before we left. You said you’d lose it otherwise.” The aide said flatly.
“Oh…”
Alexis watched the commissar’s face fall as he trailed off, disappointed and irritated that he still couldn’t find what he was looking for. The fatigue that finally caught up with Kincaid was showing his age. Alexis noticed new wrinkles between his brow and at the corners of his eyes as he scowled at the tablet. Their last battle seemed to add ten years.
The aide smiled to himself, remembering laying awake in bed with him the other night, tracing the creases in his forehead. It was after another one of his episodes, stumbling around his quarters shouting and waving his bolter at horrors that weren’t there. He understood his sleep-addled ramblings this time, “Their faces! That’s not their face! That’s not your face!” He could remember the ravenous look in those horrible glowing blue eyes behind the shifting masks of living flayed skin. It haunted him just as vividly as his commissar. Alexis had pulled him back into the blankets and held him until the shaking stopped. When Iris found his voice he asked if he looked as old as he felt. He’d just laughed as he shook his head, kissing every line he saw.
In the morning Harland decided he wanted a rejuvenation treatment. Alexis joked if it was because he couldn’t keep up with him again. The “no” and laughter was tinged with the shame and embarrassment that Kincaid kept hidden from his younger, energetic lover.
“Just would be nice not to be sore all the time.” The commissar rubbed at his knees and rolled his shoulders.
“And looking a few years younger wouldn’t hurt.”
Alexis scoffed and chided his vanity, but told him he’d make arrangements when they arrived. He secretly hoped the treatment wouldn’t get rid of all of the wrinkles and scars. Or the grey at his temples and beard. He’d probably ask him to dye it back if it did— there was just something so attractive about his salt and pepper hair.
Suddenly a voice like shining crystal broke his thoughts.
“I’m upping the stakes to ten credits that Vance won’t have the stones to confess to Rolf by the end of our little holiday.” Iona Decima’s dark painted lips curled into a smile as she peered over her compact, idly fixing the stray white-blonde locks that escaped the paste holding up the mohawk she adopted since requisitioning the Centralian Dingos.
Olena rolled her ice blue eyes at yet another wager from her twin.
“You have such little faith in love for someone who’s obsessed with romance dramas.” Kahina lamented.
“I have faith in love, not those two doughnuts.” The inquisitor snapped her compact shut.
“I see your bet and raise you a data slug of new music.” Skilati stuck out a skeletal metal hand in agreement. Like Iona, the tech priest had grown fond of their militia, especially their music. She claimed their ear splitting noise carried the voice of the motive force. He didn’t hear anything spiritual in the agitated oscillators other than bass levels that would give anyone in a five kilometer radius hearing loss. Which was an effective battle tactic, he supposed.
“Stop encouraging her.” Olena clicked her tongue. Her bored expression never changed as she skimmed through a fashion magazine, dogearing a page with a fitted silk suit.
Iona shot her the kind of look only a sister could give, which just made her smile behind the glossy pages.
“And if I win, it’s a slug with the new season of Love Manor.” The intense gaze she, her sister, and seemingly all inquisitors shared, shifted into something dangerously playful as she grasped Skilati’s hand. The hard glinting chrome contrasting with her own willowy limbs.
“You still in on this Lexi?”
The aide glanced over at his commissar, still wrapped up in trying to organize an entire regiment to pay them any mind. He knew his commander would disapprove. He was such a hypocrite. Always taking bets with the officers, even that slippery eel of a sergeant, Eli. Well, whatever he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Alexis shook her hand.
Kahina was about to open her mouth to defend the guardsmen when her head snapped over to stare at Kincaid.
“No. For the hundredth time I will not divine what you’re looking for. My sight is not some cheap parlor trick for you to summon whenever you like, Commissar.” Her voice reverberated eerily, shaking the thick hull of the transporter, and her breath puffing in the now frigid air. They felt the pilot fumble at the controls from the sudden burst of empyrean energy, cursing under his breath through the comms as he righted them.
Harland dropped the stack of tablets as he felt the ice cold thorns of Kahina’s gift encircling his mind. Wincing in pain, he looked back at her, mildly guilty. Before he could open his mouth the tawny psyker spoke again softly.
“Ask Lexi. He has notes on your accommodations and itinerary. And yes, he’s doing it just to be a brat.”
The commissar stared at her trying to rub the chill out of his skull. He would never get used to that. Then turned to his adjutant with a narrow glare and stuck out his hand. Alexis sighed and pulled the small data slate from his pocket.
“Thank you.” Kincaid pulled him in close by the wrist as he took the tablet.
“You’re really asking for it, aren’t you, pet?” The way he enunciated each word made Lexi’s guts tighten.
“You know I don’t reinforce bad behavior. Or are you looking to be punished? Hm?” His breath ghosted over his ear, and his trim beard tickled his cheek, making the aide flush.
Lexi dug his nails into his palm trying to keep his mask of professionalism in front of the women.
“Answer me, pet.”
“No, sir.” His voice was barely audible, drowned in lust.
“You sure about that answer? You know I hate lying.” It only took a few moments for the commissar’s hazel gaze to break him.
“Sorry sir. I was, sir. Please…” Alexis squirmed in his grasp. He was embarrassed that everyone could see how flustered he was, and it was only serving to excite him more. He swallowed hard, trying to compose himself.
“Please, what?” The look in the commissar’s eyes was ravenous hunger hiding behind cold indifference.
“Punish me.”
“There. Was that so hard to ask for? Next time use your words and I’ll let you cum on my fingers afterwards.” Kincaid’s voice devolved into a horse whisper.
Alexis nodded meekly as his master let him go, urging him to sit down.
Kahina had to look away from the couple. Their absolutely filthy thoughts made the blood roar in her veins, exciting the whispering colors dancing around her head.
* * *
The cobblestone square was a welcoming sight to all as they filed en masse from the small landing strip outside the city limits. Flower boxes and imperial flags hanging from gas lamps lined the winding, shop filled streets of the quaint town. Banners bearing their heraldry hung above a few of the hotel doors, inviting the regiment to their new lodgings. Many of the men didn’t bother unloading their packs, or even checking in, instead beelining it for the bars and restaurants in the town center. Others quietly slipping away, wandering down back alleys in search of something more than a bottle of amasec could satisfy.
Rolf and Vance opted to head straight for their shared suite to each enjoy a shower that actually got hot and wasn’t decades old recycled water. And sleep on real beds for the first time in months. They parted with their friends and made their way to the Grand Hotel flanking the square. Their room lived up to the hotel’s name. A gift from Iona and Olena for the sergeant’s sacrifice, and a prodding from Skilati for their bet. Vance never experienced this sort of luxury, only glimpsing it in high officer’s quarters. He could’ve wept when he lay across the soft blankets. Rolf felt a pang of homesickness for the quilt his grandmother made him as he flopped against the pillows.
When they woke it was already dusk, the sound of a distant raucous floating up through the open window on the warm breeze. They decided that it was too late to try and meet up with any of their friends; Iona surely led the inquisitors on another one of her “adventures” that hopefully didn’t end in an hour duel. Vance’s squad mates were probably hopping from one gambling hall to the next, and Asher and Eli were definitely elbow deep in grog in a seedy red light district club. Opting for a more mundane evening, Rolf volunteered to grab them a table at the bar attached to their hotel while Vance finished smoking his last lho-stick, hanging his head out the window as his friend insisted.
The din of the crowd assaulted the young sergeant when he pulled open the heavy door, momentarily overwhelming him. But the sound of revelry rather than gunfire was a much welcome change. In the center of the room by the crackling fire, troopers and officers were singing a bawdy tune in a drunken memoriam while a handful of navy men argued over someone cheating at cards. In a far corner a rowdy group had gathered around a few logistics officers calling bets on the game of dice they started.
Over the noise Vance heard his name. Paying no mind to the crowd, he focused on where the voice was coming from. Rolf waved, trying to direct him even though he didn't really need to, standing head and shoulders above most of the patrons. Even if he hadn’t seen him, at this point the sergeant could find his friend by voice alone. He's done it countless times on the battlefield, so finding him in a bar was nothing. He weaved his way gingerly to the small table in the back, still unsteady on his new prosthetic.
“You didn’t buy us drinks yet?” Rolf teased as Vance eased himself down into the chair.
“Always carry my own.” He smiled and patted the hip flask in his pocket. He was a cheap bastard, sure, but he mostly liked drinking from the flask that the medic had given him, already engraved with a gothic V. Rolf found it in a pawn shop after their first battle together while Vance and a long line of other troopers were selling off their lesser gear and whatever they’d pulled off the enemy and dead civilians. It made him happy knowing that the unsentimental sergeant had taken such good care of it all this time.
“Well you won’t have to suffer through that rotgut tonight.” Rolf briefly wondered where he got the moonshine, praying he’d learned his lesson after the engine coolant incident.
“Tonight's on me now I’ve cleared ya. Not that my orders stopped ya from havin’ the nurses sneak grog inta the infirm’ry.” The older man sighed and shook his head.
“Aw c’mon now, I deserved it after I saved the day!” Vance grinned as he slapped the taller man’s muscular shoulder. He always wondered how his friend was built like an Astarties. Rolf had shown him the picts of his family he kept tucked in his primer. He could tell his parents and three sisters were tall, but they looked average compared to him.
“Yeah, yeah, the mighty hero deserves a drink.” Rolf chuckled dryly.
“Anyway, how’s everythin’ feelin’?” He looked serious now, inspecting the tired looking soldier with a clinician's eye.
The already lean trooper had lost weight, his angular face now overly exaggerated and sallow from the weeks laying in med-bay, most of which in an induced coma. Rolf had insisted to Doctor Frost that it was the most humane thing to do, rather than keep pumping him full of stims and pain meds he would’ve refused. His leg had troubled him the most— reduced to charred bone fragments and a few smoldering strands of muscle and tendon. Rolf remembered only blurred bits and pieces. His shaky hands went through the well practiced motions of trying to save his friend through a fog of anger and fear that replaced his usual detachment in the field. Rolf found he had to look away. A feeling of relief mixed with something he didn’t want to name, caused heat to creep across his face the more he thought about it.
Vance looked down at his new leg and flexed and rotated the ankle joint. Still fascinated by the inner workings of the limb. He wished he could’ve seen it get attached.
“Stiff. All the joints are. And my hands are still numb. Most of me is.” Vance stretched his fingers across the worn wood of the table, trying to feel the grain, but could only sense that it was solid.
“It feels a bit… unreal, I guess?” Searching for the right way to describe it.
“Tha’s fairly normal, Magos Malik says ya might not fully regain feeling, but I think it’ll come ‘round even'chally. He and Skit can hopefully fix the tightness though.”
“Sounds good.” Vance wanted to end the discussion. He was tired of getting poked and prodded by doctors and tech priests and interrogated on how he was feeling. They all meant how his augments were responding, not what he actually felt. He desperately wanted to say he still felt the pain of his flesh burning away, still smelled the stink of thermite, still heard the cultists’ horrific screams and Rolf’s voice calling out to him.
“Vance?” The medic repeated his name, as he reached across the table toward the smaller man. The sergeant realized that he actually was calling his name.
“Le’s get ya that drink. I think we both need it.” He placed a hand on top of the sergeant’s head, ruffling his hair. He meant it as a joke, a mock of how one would pat a child. His regulation high and tight had grown out to a messy mop of soft, black waves he had a hard time pulling away from. He worried he left his hand too long, if it wasn't for how the other leaned into the gesture. A blush flushed his face again and he hurried off to the bar.
Avoiding the situation, that’s what he’d always done. All the times Vance made lewd jokes at his expense or even those lingering touches always made him want to run for the hills, unable to simply confront how it was making him feel. He always justified it as just being his personality. Raised as a crude ganger from a lower hive slum. He always assumed he never truly meant anything by it. How could he when he was always joking and flirting like that with everyone.
Their first pints of ale were soon joined by cheap bottles of amasec bought by some green infantrymen that ran into them, hoping to play a few rounds of cards with the hero from 52-Rho. Evidently tales of sergeant Neems’ valiance were spreading quickly, and if that meant free alcohol, who were they to say no to that kind of generosity? They played for smokes or who bought the rounds and the evening quickly slipped away amongst the flowing drinks, idle scuddlebutt and laughter.
Vance always loved how Rolf’s backwater drawl became exaggerated whenever he drank, coming out slow and thick like treacle. When they first joined he always tried to hide it, worrying he sounded like a bogan and no one would take him seriously. Vance had wanted to say how cute he sounded, but instead assured him he was so much more eloquent compared to the crude, harsh sounding low gothic they spoke. Over the years his accent mellowed a little, he even picked up some of their slang, but that melodic twang that sounded so wonderfully exotic to him remained.
Slowly as the night began to fade into the early hours of dawn, the guardsmen left one by one, retiring to their own rooms or eagerly following behind a starry eyed local girl. The bar died down and most of the others followed suit, leaving them once again alone with each other.
“Suppose we should git to gittin’?” Rolf sighed, eyeing the empty bottles littering the table. How much had they drunk?
Vance yawned an agreement, gathering up the lho-sticks he’d won, greedily accepting Rolf’s pile that he pushed toward him.
“At least we can have a lie in, thank the Dreaming Emperor.” Vance steadied himself against the table and heaved himself up, his limbs feeling stiff and alien. The table groaned under the pressure of his efforts and suddenly it cracked, then caved. Bottles and cards scattered across the floor. He stumbled forward, shocked at what he’d done. Rolf lunged for him, trying to stop him from falling, instead they both ended up on the sticky floor in a heap of limbs.
“I guess I still don’t know my own strength.” He chuckled. For a moment he felt safe beneath his friend, his familiar smell comforting. He felt at home.
“S’rry, I shoulda helped ya up in the firs’ place.” Rolph lifted them up off the ground.
“Oh stop, I’m not an invalid.” He grumbled, but took his friend’s hand all the same.
“When I’m not completely legless at least.” He laughed darkly at the double entendre.
Rolf, after some coaxing, managed to get his friend to agree to a piggy back ride to their room after watching him teeter on the steep staircase.
“How’re you this strong?” Vance slurred as he let himself completely relax against the broad plane of his muscular back.
“Ate my protein as a kid.” Rolf joked.
“Also ya know yer supposed to be stronger than me now.” Reminding the drunk sergeant of his new augments.
“An’ ya feel heavier now too!” He huffed from the effort of carrying the man up the second flight of stairs, though he guessed it was mostly just the liquor.
“Ya gonna’ be okay ta put yerself to bed, or ya need help?” The medic asked when they finally reached their landing.
“Can you help? I’m a cripple.” Vance smiled against the taller man’s shoulder, deciding he enjoyed the soft treatment he was getting.
“What happen’d ta ya “not being an invalid”?” Rolf smirked.
The two arrived at their suit exhausted. Rolf dropped his friend unceremoniously and unlocked the door. He hauled Vance onto the bed and started to unlace his boots.
“Thanks love.” Vance murmured half asleep, seemingly completely unaware of the affectionate pet name that slipped out. He had never used that term for him before, not even as a joke.
The older man’s face and ears grew unbearably hot. He wasn’t sure if he should take it as a joke, if he forgot who he was, or if he actually meant it.
“Why’d you stop? My foot really that bad?” Vance worried the burns and staples looked as disgusting as he thought they were.
A million thoughts raced through the medic’s mind. He wondered if he was too drunk to finally have this discussion or not drunk enough. There were countless times where he wanted to ask his friend if his deeper feelings were mutual, but always talked himself out of it, justifying that it would ruin their friendship. After a few calming breaths he concluded that he was indeed drunk enough to ask, and Vance was drunk enough that he would hopefully forget in the morning if he was rebuffed.
“Did you just call me love?” He finally asked, tossing the boot to the floor before scooting closer.
“Yeah, you’re being so sweet to me.” Vance smiled, voice breathy and soft. Rolf didn’t know a hiver could sound that gentle.
“You’ve always been so sweet.” He added, his smile widened as he locked eyes with the taller man, even in the dim glow of the lamplight he could see how stunningly green they were.
“Ya know how that sounds, right? How ya always sound ta me.” Rolf inched closer, his eyes returning the hungry gaze, letting his hand trace a light path to his thigh.
“You know I do.” The sergeant’s smile became predatory. Slowly he reached behind the other man’s head, fingers entwined in his long locks.
“I, I really want to, can I?” His voice barely above a whisper.
Rolf chuckled at the fact that Vance would be the type to ask permission, he really was all bark. The medic, seeing the need in his friend’s normally steely eyes, nodded.
That small movement flipped a switch in Vance, and suddenly the dam that had been holding back the urge to just mount the older man broke violently. Vance grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled him into a kiss. It was tactless and sloppy, but Rolf thought it was perfect and wouldn't want it any other way. Vance’s hand dropped from his friend’s head and slowly worked its way down his back, trying to feel the ridge of each muscle through the thin material of his undershirt. When his hand dipped beneath the waistband of the medic’s fatigues, he slapped at it and broke away from the kiss.
“Wait, I don’ wanna be one’na yer easy conques’.” Rolf suddenly felt too sober. He wanted to live in that love drunk feeling of that kiss for a lifetime, but the anxiety of not knowing how the other man thought of him made him stop himself from going any further.
“Easy? Throne! You’re the bloody opposite of easy! You know how long I’ve been waiting for you? I couldn't tell if you were dense or if you didn’t care for me in that way, but then you would look at me with those puppy dog eyes and,” He was cut off with another deep kiss.
“Yer infuriatin’! Ya know that? How was I suppos’ t’ know when you would flirt with anyone with a pretty face right in fron’a me?” Rolf was doing his best to keep his voice down not wanting to wake any of their neighbors.
“I thought it would get you to finally say something.” The younger man pulled back, looking genuinely confused as to why his methods didn’t work sooner.
“So ya bed’d anyone who ass’ed ta make me jealous? How old are ya?” Rolf asked in exasperated disbelief.
“You make me sound like a slag! I haven’t “bedded” anyone who asked!” Vance protested.
“Yer such a galah. I don’ know how I fell for ya.” Rolf shook his head. This time the kiss was chaste, trying to convey how much he truly cared for his best friend.
“You’re so sweet.” Vance murmured against his cheek. His breath sent a pleasant chill down the other’s spine.
“I think it’s time I return the favor.”
Desire bloomed in the Medic’s chest, spreading a feverish heat throughout his body making his dick stir with interest. Vance grabbed the taller man’s waist and encouraged him to roll beneath him. He made quick work of their clothes, letting his fervor unabashedly take control. When he got to Rolf’s skivvy shorts, he made a show of pulling them down slowly over his toned thighs, enjoying how his heavy cock sprung free and slapped against his abdomen.
“Damn, look at’cha. You’re definitely worth the wait.” Vance purred, raking his eyes up and down, admiring him wolfishly. It felt as if he were truly seeing him for the first time.
Rolf wondered how he looked. If he was anything like the farm hand Kent, his family had hired when he was 21. The man splayed out beneath him in the hay loft, dark hair tangled with golden straw. His coveralls tugged down around his strong thighs, revealing the rosy flush accentuating the tan lines around his neck and wide biceps. He was so handsome in that warm fall light. Rolf felt ugly in comparison, ruddy and sweaty trying to figure out what worked. It was awkward and he remembered a lot of knees and elbows, but Kent made it good. Talked him through it until his blue eyes rolled back. He always wanted to experience the ecstasy Kent felt writhing beneath him. He desperately wanted Vance to make him look like that, for him to be the first to claim him in that way.
“Gonna be so good to you, love.”
Rolf swallowed hard when he heard the pet name again, realizing how much he enjoyed the endearment.
The sergeant took the blond into his grasp and gave a few experimental strokes, trying to judge what his friend liked. Tight and slow, apparently. But he was quickly frustrated he couldn’t feel much more than its weight. A flash of worry came over him, if he’d be able to feel what he needed to. It was one of the first things he checked when he woke up. And still checked. He should now, but thumbed his palm just in case.
He decided to throw foreplay aside and took him in his mouth. Rolf gasped at the sudden action. Vance felt him twitch excitedly in his mouth, and smiled around him. He replicated his earlier pace, this time enjoying how well he could feel his partner and taste the bitter saltiness of his precum. He hollowed his cheeks and laved up and down the velvet soft skin as he tried to turn him into a whimpering mess.
Vance always loved giving head, which was in part, why he reckoned he was so popular. This felt better than it ever had and he quickly felt himself becoming overly sensitive. Every movement of his skivvies against his drooling erection elicited a quiet groan. There was always the excitement of being with someone new, but this was so much more than that. It felt like they were truly connecting. Skillfully, Vance swallowed down his entire length, attempting to express his affections. Rolf let out a low whine, the sound music to Vance’s ears. Taking that as encouragement, he did his best to control his gag reflex and double his efforts. Relaxing so he could take as much of the medic’s thick dick as he could. Vance groaned, his own cock twitching at how his throat strained around Rolf’s prick every time he bobbed his head forward.
He saw Rolf tens with the effort of trying to hold himself back, and he could hear his muffled moans he desperately wanted echoing off the thin walls of the bedroom. He pulled off with a wet smack, meeting his companion’s eyes as he let a trail of saliva drip from his tongue down onto his bobbing cock.
“None of that love.” He cooed, reaching up to pull the medic’s large hands away from his face.
“Don’t be so shy, I want to hear you.”
“Don’ wanna wake anyone.” Rolf trembled.
“Let them, they’d be so lucky to hear how beautiful you sound.” Vance’s voice came out hoarse, completely fucked out of him.
Rolf had always been forced to be quiet out of fear of being caught, the sergeant had never had such anxieties. He grabbed the base of the medic’s dick painfully tight, causing him to gasp.
“I’ll only go further if you promise not to cover your mouth. I wanna know how good you feel.” He loved when his partners were loud. Loved the praise they would cry out for him. Rolf nodded, panting in desperation.
“Good,” He smiled. “Let's get you nice and open now.”
Vance let go of his companion, who shuddered with relief. Without warning Vance pulled Rolf’s legs up and over his shoulders, and with the enthusiasm of a starving man began lapping at his hole. As startled as Rolf was, he was glad Vance took the lead. He wasn't even sure how to ask for what he wanted other than just opening his legs. Vance pushed the tip of his broad tongue against the tight ring of muscle until the medic relaxed, letting it fuck into him.
Rolf squirmed at the intrusion and the feeling of Vance’s stubble tickling his sensitive skin, though none of it unpleasant. The rhythm of his partner’s wet mouth gently stretching him began to make his stomach flutter, pleasure building until it worked its way out in a shaking sob. The medic didn’t know he could even make that sound, but he loved the way it made Vance’s flinty eyes light up. He’d never been eaten out before. Throne, before he met Vance he never would’ve considered it. His deft tongue worked him open while he began to slowly stroke his spit slicked dick. As promised he kept his hand away from his mouth, instead clawing at the sheets with such ferocity they threatened to rip, freely letting his moans fill the bedroom.
He just about screamed when the younger man started to finger him, almost immediately finding his prostate. Rolf whined at the loss when the brunette pulled out, only to spit on his fingers before adding a second. The stretch burned slightly at first, but soon the friction bloomed into maddening waves of pleasure that were just short of being enough.
“More, please!” The medic gasped, toes curling whenever he felt Vance brush against the bundle of nerves. The younger man was more than happy to oblige, reveling in how easily he made Rolf’s straight laced façade crumble away.
“So impatient.” Vance hummed. He scooped up the precum Rolf was steadily leaking onto his abdomen before slicking his entrance and slowly pushing back in with three.
Rolf keened at how open he felt, the stretch now on the edge of being too much. The sergeant saw how his companion’s brows knit together, his jaw tightening, the ache starting to overwhelm him.
“Breathe for me love.” He encouraged sweetly before dipping back down, hoping his tongue would help ease the friction. After the initial strain, the pooling heat in Rolf’s belly returned, his legs shaking, as his cresting waves of moans filled the room again.
“You like that princess?” Vance rumbled, pulling his face away. Rolf was beginning to learn a lot about himself tonight— if being called “love” made his heart stutter, this made it beat out of his chest. The phrase made him feel like he was short circuiting, and all he could do was stare dumbly at his partner. He was such a sight, his dark eyes wild and twinkling with lust. Swollen lips glistening with saliva that had been smeared across his chin. He wished he had a pict recorder to have this moment preserved for all eternity.
“Wouldn’t’ve guessed that’s what does it for you.” Vance smiled wickedly, realizing how much his partner liked the pet name. The medic threw his arm across his face to hide his embarrassment.
“No! I like it! It’s hot.” He reassured, pulling his arm away with his free hand.
“C’mon now princess, let me see how beautiful you are.”
Rolf felt his cock throb and himself tighten around the fingers that were still lazily scissoring him open. He was quietly thankful for how dark the room was so he couldn’t see how red he’d become.
“Think you’re ready for me?” He asked, pulling his fingers out. Rolf nodded meekly. The sergeant pulled away, reluctant to leave the warmth of his partner.
He stumbled over to his pack, digging around in the side pockets until he found a bottle of lubricant. He groaned in relief as he peeled off his shorts. When he climbed back onto the bed, he found his friend had grown impatient and started fingering himself.
“Eager, princess?” Vance asked, warming the lube on his fingers before working it into Rolf. Many things could be said about Vance but an inconsiderate lover was definitely not one of them.
“Holy…” the rest of the exclamation died in the medic’s throat when he finally noticed his companion’s size when he coated himself in a generous amount of the gel.
“What?” He chuckled. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me before.”
That was true. As the doctor’s assistant, and as his friend he had seen him naked countless times, but this was very different. They were roughly the same size, he was possibly a bit thicker, but seeing what was proportional to his broad figure looked huge on the brunette’s small frame.
“Please be gentle.” He murmured while the sergeant lined himself up.
“You trust me love?” Vance asked, stroking his sides as if soothing a skittish animal. The nod Rolf gave was from years of well deserved trust. He entrusted him with his life in the field, and though this was a hundred times more intimate, it was that same faith.
Vance let out a low moan as he pushed the fat head of his cock into his friend’s— his lover’s— tight heat. He honestly thought he was going to cum from just that first slow sink in, infinitely better than anything he imagined.
“Fek, you’re tighter than virgin cunt!” The sergeant growled. His fingers digging into the meat of Rolf’s hips trying to control himself.
Between the vulgarity and the burning stretch, it made Rolf clench down on his girth. He wanted to admit that he was actually a virgin in this regard, but his brain felt so fried from the dizzying pleasure all that came out was a moan.
“Princess likes my filthy fuckin’ mouth, ay?” He punctuated the question with a snap of his hips.
Rolf cried out at the electrifying movement. If he knew that Vance could make him feel this way he would have climbed into bed with him a lot sooner. The medic wasn’t sure what came over him, maybe his lover’s crudeness was beginning to wear off on him, but when his mind finally let him speak what came out was,
“This cunt is virgin.” He managed in between thrusts. Vance slowed to a gentle rock of his hips, trying to make sure he understood what he heard.
“I, I’m your first?” He stammered, not believing the words. They’d always joked about him being a virgin. That was just a joke, right?
“I mean, you’re not my first, but you're the first to…” Rolf trailed off, suddenly feeling shy about what he admitted to. The brunette stilled completely.
Brief flashes of his first time resurfaced from that deep, dark pool at the back of his mind. Jayce had him bent awkwardly in the back seat of the car they’d hotwired and drove pedal to the floor, laughing and howling all the way until they hit the badlands overlook. There were no lights on that edge of the hive and they let themselves melt into the darkness of the winter night. Jayce became just a mouth pressed against him. Hands holding him still. A cock driving into him over and over until he bled. The older ganger only stopped to tease him for losing his cherry like a girl. He felt sick with embarrassment. He pushed him back and tried to ride him, to show him he wasn’t wet, until Jayce got tired of his slow, uncoordinated pace and flipped them over to finish. Vance swallowed thickly, drowning that memory again.
“Hells, why didn’t you say something sooner? I would've been so much gentler. Is this okay? Is it too rough?” He looked down to make sure he wasn’t bleeding. He couldn’t see anything and cursed the dim lights.
Rolf felt Vance start to pull out, but he brought his hips up sharply to meet him. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the look on Vance’s face. Not once since he’d known the man, has he ever seen him scared. Not even faced with hundreds of cultists. Somehow this made him falter, and Rolf realized it was because it was him. His heart fluttered at the fact that Vance, as ruthless and fearless as he was, was reduced to a nervous, lovesick juvie.
“It’s fine Vance, I’m fine. Really.” He smiled, slowly fucking himself against the sergeant.
“I didn’ know when ta say it, sorry.” He let out a moan, feeling Vance rub against him.
“Please, keep going.” He whined, dying to feel the pleasure he felt before.
“Don’t have to apologize love, just don’t wanna hurt you.” Vance said dryly, starting to thrust into his lover’s tight heat once more. It took more willpower than he wanted to admit to go that slow. He understood why Jayce had such a hard time. Knowing he was his first made him feel that much tighter, the pleasure that much sweeter. He groaned as Rolf twitched around him as he bottomed out, making his cock throb in response. Fuck, he felt perfect. He's perfect. He forced himself to still, trying to commit the feeling of this maidenly embrace to memory.
“Promise to stop me if it’s too much?” And he promised himself that he’d actually listen if Rold told him to.
Rolf groaned and nodded in agreement, letting himself get lost in Vance.
The sergeant picked up his pace, unable to control himself any longer. He prayed this was just as good for Rolf. He had a good feeling based on his expression and the noises he was making. He’s so beautiful. But he needed to make sure this was better than his first. He bent down and kissed him like he wished Jayce had, only now he knew what a kiss could say.
Rolf moaned against his lips. He could tell how much Vance meant it, four years of pining distilled into one act of passion. Rolf’s pulse thundered in his ears, despite his heart working double time he still felt faint. He clung to Vance, and he held him tighter, fingers digging into him, promising not to let go.
Vance’s emotions swirled, urging him on. The feeling of finally being with the one he loves and knowing he’s the first to claim Rolf this way, it was all too much for him. His belly tightened, the pleasure building to a climax he couldn’t contain.
“Fuck, I swear I’m not usually this fast, but I, I love you.” The confession tumbled out of him abruptly, in a painfully honest way.
Rolf felt his heart spasm at the word “love” and he realized the mutual depth of their emotions.
“I love you too.” The medic cried, his own orgasm just as close.
“Please, can I cum in you?” Vance pleaded, his movements starting to become erratic.
“Saint’s blood! Yes!”
Vance shuddered at the words, a heady mix of begging and a demand. He grabbed his lover with a brutal grip and started slamming him into his thrusts. It didn’t take much more to have him spilling into his partner. Rolf rolled his hips, trying to milk his orgasm, half remembering what Kent had done to him years ago. Clearly he remembered enough based on the string of curses he was rewarded with. Vance reached out to take him in his hand. It was just a light touch that was his undoing, his throbbing cock making a mess of his lover’s grasp. His eyes rolled back in his head, a cry of ecstasy shaking him. He finally understood what he had been missing, what Vance had finally given him.
“Shite, I’ve never cum that hard.” Vance admitted, laughing breathlessly when they finally stilled. His glassy eyes gazed down at him softly, enjoying the look of bliss on the blonde’s face.
“I could feel it.” Rolf smirked.
“Sorry that was quicker than I would’ve liked. I’ll have to make it up to you.” He winked.
“We’ll’ve plen’y a time.” The medic smiled, pulling himself off of his lover’s softening prick. He leaned up and kissed the scar on his shoulder from where he dug a piece of shrapnel out of him. He remembered that was the first field dressing he’d ever done.
“I love you.” Vance repeated, letting himself collapse against Rolf’s chest, nuzzling into the crook of his shoulder.
“I love you too.” The medic murmured, wrapping an arm around him, enjoying the steady rise and fall of his chest.
They lay like that for a few minutes, basking in the afterglow until the stickiness of their sweat and spend became too much for Rolf to put up with.
“We should shower.” He groaned, peeling Vance off, who was completely content sleeping just like that.
Rolf stepped under the warm stream and looked down at his hips. He knew the moment his lover had grabbed a hold of him he was going to have bruises. He was astounded at how swollen they were and had already begun to turn purple. Then he realized they haven’t fully tested the limits of his augments yet, and wondered if Vance could easily lift him, or how that strong grip would feel wrapped around every inch of his body. Coming out of his fantasy, Rolf poked his head around the shower curtain to see what was taking Vance so long.
He caught him staring into the large mirror, twisting to try and inspect the new scars and ports that decorated his spine, shoulders and the backs of his arms, hands, and leg. They easily got lost among the marred patchwork that already covered his body. Many of the scars were badges of honor, proving more than any metal could. Others were symbols of shame he carried as atonement for the losses he blamed himself for. The silvery scars were woven in with the dark ink illustrating most of his tan skin. Their talented friends had adorned him with a mix of Imperial and Centralian icons, and a few others he asked for on a whim. One of Vance’s favorites being an Emperor’s ascended tarot hand on his inner bicep he always attributed to his luck at cards. Rolf preferred the sword bearing angel on his back. He was instantly taken by it the moment Brock had wiped off the blood and ink smudges revealing her finely rendered features. It broke his heart when the Magos had to split open the fearsome woman to operate on him.
“Those should heal well, you’ll pro’ly barely be able ta see ‘em in a couple months.” Rolf finally spoke.
“Doesn’t matter, feel like that’ll be the last thing people’ll notice about me now.” He shrugged, taking a step forward with his bionic leg.
It was a fine piece of tech he had to admit, though not as refined as what he had seen wielded by commissars or generals, it was still a sleek model that fit him well.
“I think ya look jus’ as handsome.” His voice came out like honey. He held out his hand to help him into the tub, noticing he was still a bit wobbly from the drinks and the augments. Vance grasped it, bringing it close to his chest.
“Flattery will get you everything, love.” He smiled, reaching up to kiss him. Rolf winced when the brunette grabbed his hips in the same spot as the fresh bruises. Vance pulled back immediately in shock, frantically looking him over for the cause.
“I did that? Shite, I'm sorry! You okay? I’m so sorry!” He stammered, horrified at the thought of hurting him. Panic coursed through him as the realization hit of what he was capable of without even trying. The medic took him back into the embrace replacing his strong fingers on the purple marks.
“I’m not that fragile, yer gonna have’ta try ‘lot harder next time.” Rolf’s eyes twinkled roguishly, full lips curling into a smile that made him look like the cat that got the canary.
“I really must be rubbing off on you, no way you’ve always been this kinky.” Vance mused, still weary of hurting him.
“That poorly hid’n collection a’ smutty magazines in yer foot locker def’n’tly gave me ideas.” The blond teased. Now it was Vance’s turn to blush, embarrassed by the thought of his friend knowing all of his dirtiest inclinations he hoped to keep secret for a little longer. One picture immediately came to mind that made him turn tomato red.
“What? You thinkin ‘bout that bimbo from the cen’er fold ya keep at the bottom?” Rolf snorted.
Vance looked away abruptly, reaching for a bottle of soap on the ledge in a poor attempt to avoid the question. Rolf leaned over to catch his lover’s eye. The centerfold was from an old issue of “Ass-tra” he’d torn out. It was of a fit trooper, sprawled out on silky sheets in a matching set of delicate lace and satin panties that left little to the imagination.
“I wouldn’t be opposed to it. Could really make me into your sweet princess.” Rolf whispered in Vance’s ear.
The mental image he conjured was too much for the younger man to handle. He fumbled the bottle in his wet hands and nearly slipped out of the tub, almost taking down the curtain trying to right himself. Rolf nearly fell too, laughing at the ridiculous reaction.
The couple finished their shower and crawled into Rolf’s bed, deciding that the mess they left in Vance’s would be tomorrow’s problem. Vance nuzzled into Rolf’s shoulder, tentatively pulling the larger man closer as if moving too quickly would break the illusion and none of this actually happened. Rolf sensed his hesitation, also feeling the surrealness of finally holding him after all this time.
“I…” Vance trailed off as he tried to figure out a coherent sentence.
“I really do love you. I know my track record is… long, and I’ve never done this before, and I don’t want to fuck it up. But I promise I’ll do right by you.” Vance had found his partner’s hand beneath the covers and intertwined their fingers.
Rolf knew that that promise was stronger than any battlefield oath he’d ever taken, more genuine than anything he’d ever said during confessionals. For a moment Rolf remembered how young Vance was. Despite his smarts and talents, there was plenty the young sergeant didn’t understand, things that seemed to highlight their age gap. Things that Rolf considered regular life experiences, like relationships.
“I love you too. Truly.” The words coming out choked as emotion tightened Rolf’s throat.
“I’ll always be at your side.” He pulled him in closer, kissing him, binding their pledge.
Something his eldest sister Vera said came to mind, “You’ll know it when you feel it.” Rolf had asked her how she knew she wanted to marry her husband. His girlfriend at the time had been not so subtly hinting at getting married but the thought had never crossed his mind. Their parents were all too eager at the prospect, both of them being successful farmers, so seeing an opportunity for their businesses to expand delighted them. He knew she was beautiful, inside and out, but he never thought of her as anything more than a close friend. “You’ll just know.” Vera had smiled and shrugged. Rolf silently thanked her as he let himself drift off to sleep in Vance’s arms.