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Visenya was about to lose yet another game of regicide. Terribly.
While she wasn’t a master tactician, she’d experienced a streak of victories that had subsequently gone cold after she’d been stolen away to Commorragh. Since returning a few months ago, she and Heinrix had restored their weekly match, and her losses were beginning to stack up. An itch of doubt at the back of her mind asked if Commorragh was perhaps the reason? Emperor knew Tervantias had not been gentle while rooting around inside her head. Every few days Visenya would realize she’d forgotten yet another arbitrary piece of information she should know. Hugo’s favorite curse words, Church’s favorite meal to cook…the name of her former crews’ ship. All things that were sacred, now scattered and lost. It felt like losing pieces of herself. Like someone had undone a few stitches in the fabric of who she was.
Visenya breathed in, trying to refocus herself, and glanced across the board at Heinrix who was still hunched over in intense examination of the game pieces. A pang of warmth twisted in her chest, blooming and warding off the dark memories swirling in her mind. Despite Visenya’s lack of prowess at regicide, Heinrix always treated their games with a respectful seriousness she found excruciatingly endearing. It didn’t matter how mediocre she was, he’d always take time to carefully consider the board during his turn and gave her far too much credit for coincidental successes.
It was nice, the amount of confidence he placed in her regicide abilities—regardless of whether he was humoring her or not. It made her feel wanted in a way that was irrationally silly, the way a character from one of Cassia’s romance novels might describe it: Cherished. Valued. Loved…
She looked away, feeling her face grow hot; desperate to distract herself from the pathetic way her heart quickened at the thought. Emperor fucks, she really was devolving into trashy paperback territory.
“Your move.”
Visenya glanced up at Heinrix, who was now leaning back in his chair with a self-satisfied look on his face as his eyes slid from the board to her. Her eyes dropped to the regicide table, and his reason for the expression became apparent. Her Emperor was currently living out the sunset years of his reign as Heinrix slowly closed in with a multi-approach assault that would win him the game in the next few rounds. And there was little to nothing she could do about it.
She frowned, the amasec they’d been sipping suffusing throughout her blood—dismantling what was already a defective verbal filter.
“Seems you’ve got me cornered, Interrogator,” Visenya mused, leaning forward over the board while holding his gaze. Below the table, she slipped off a shoe and stretched out her foot. “What would you like to do with me?”
She pressed the ball of her foot against the inside of one of his thighs and smirked when he glanced down. Surprise flashed across his face for a fleeting moment before he glanced back up with a chiding frown—which was betrayed by the twitch of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. Heinrix tried so hard to be the stoic gentleman, but she’d seen him come undone. She’d seen the man behind the Interrogator and on more than one occasion had watched how his eyes devoured her—soon followed by his mouth not long after.
His eyes were roving over her now with that same subdued heat.
Wrapping a hand gently around her ankle, Heinrix brought her bare foot up and propped it on his knee.
“Is this your way of telling me you’re surrendering?” Heinrix asked, voice emotionless as rockcrete—though his stare was communicating a far different sentiment.
Visenya felt his hands beginning to work at her foot, his thumbs pressing in to massage the sole while his other fingers rubbed along the top, encouraging her to relax. The amount of willpower it took for her to slip her foot from his grasp bordered on heroic, but there was a plan beginning to formulate in her mind and she would not be waylaid.
Rising from her seat, she closed the gap between them and smirked when he reached out to place his hands on her hips, eagerly pulling her in as she slid a knee between his legs to hover over him in his chair. She bent down as if to kiss him, pausing just before their lips met as his eyes fluttered shut.
“Nothing so pedestrian as surrendering,” she whispered against his lips.
Over their time spent together, both in conversation and in more intimate situations, Visenya had come to appreciate the many facets of Heinrix’s personality that he tried so very hard to keep hidden. Despite what his outwardly aloof demeanor would have some believe, he was capable of being deeply caring. “An ember the color of amber” was how Cassia had described him once—an ember surrounded by oppressive ice. And when it came to targets of that care, namely Visenya von Valancius, Heinrix was exceedingly giving. It seemed to make him happy, being the one to lavish her with pleasure. The way he’d lost himself more than once during sessions when she’d been particularly vocal came to mind, like the first time he’d taken her from behind in the ablutions chamber.
She’d been smoking a new strain of lho Idira had passed along. “Grown by this lower decker who don’t take no ration cards as payment, so you know it’s good.” Idira had been correct; it had been really, really good.
Visenya’s brain had fogged with the intensity of incoming sensations: Heinrix’s arms wrapped tightly around her as she arched her back against him, the heat of his breath on the back of her neck, the water lapping against her midriff as he thrust into her below the surface of the pool, their bodies half-submerged. She’d called out his name with a pleading, frantic edge in her voice and begged him not to stop, to fuck her through her climax as a heady high engulfed her mind. He’d enthusiastically obliged, pinning her against the rim of the ornate and colossally oversized tub as he sank into her over and over while she constricted and spasmed around him. He’d bitten down onto her shoulder in the midst of it while she writhed in his arms, then had apologized profusely afterwards—acting glum and embarrassed any time she teased him about it.
There was also the time she'd ridden his face so hard he'd come, letting out a strangled moan against her clit as warmth spattered onto her lower back. His fingers had left dark bruises over the rounds of her thighs, and she remembered how horrified he'd been...and how she could not have cared less.
Emperor be praised for potent strains of lho and the perversion of sorcerous powers.
It was clear Heinrix got off on gratifying her, and a delightfully silly idea had formulated in her mind over the past few weeks: what if gratifying her meant allowing her to pleasure him?
Would he balk at the idea? Likely so.
But, would he then settle in and enjoy himself? Visenya intended to find out.
Tilting his head up, she kissed along the underside of his jaw while sliding a hand down his torso—over the ornamental ropes connected to his spaulders and down the line of buttons on his coat. Of course, Heinrix van Calox would never be so presumptuous as to show up to the Lord Captain’s chambers in anything less than full ceremonial dress. A more casual outfit might give the wrong impression to any roving eyes on the bridge. Never mind the hours, and sometimes nights, he spent in her quarters.
“Is this a new strategy, Lord Captain?” Heinrix asked contentedly, his voice cracking with a sigh as she kissed and nipped at his throat.
She felt the cool touch of his fingers on the back of her neck before they tangled into her hair—his gloves and bracers having been discarded before their game. His other hand slipped down to her hips, fingers sliding along the waistband of her trousers before they began fidgeting with the buttons at her navel.
Visenya responded by dragging a finger along the firming bulge between his legs, which he responsively opened wider as a growl rumbled in his throat. She palmed him and chuckled when he reflexively hitched his hips, the hand in her hair tightening its grip.
“Let me taste you. Please…”
This time his voice was heady and needful, causing a pool of warmth to stir just below where his hand worked at the fastenings of her pants.
He managed to undo them and slid his fingers below the hem of her underwear, pulling her back from his neck in the same moment and capturing her mouth with a hungry groan. She felt one of his fingers slip teasingly between her folds and her body tensed in response, a simmering want growing hotter in her core as he rubbed slow circles around the sensitive nub of her clit. She gasped and Heinrix pulled her closer, his tongue parting her lips as he continued to kiss her with a ravenous desire that still had the ability to catch her off-guard and leave her breathless.
Her plan nearly in shambles, it took almost all of Visenya’s willpower for her to pull away from Heinrix and fix him with a wolfish smirk.
“Me first,” she quipped.
Then, she sank to her knees.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
It would not be incorrect to say that Heinrix had limited experience when it came to intimate encounters. His life had not exactly been flush with opportunities for such things—and considering the fates of most souls transported to Terra aboard the Black Ships, Heinrix was glad for what scant experiences he'd been afforded. Besides, it wasn't as if he was woefully naive or celibate. As an acolyte of the Inquisition, he was privileged to be able to travel and, on occasion, meet engaging people whose company served as a nice respite from the unyielding demands of duty.
It was simply that those moments of respite had all played out in similar fashion. As a biomancer, Heinrix had an advantage when it came to understanding what sensations the human body was capable of—as well as how to best...arouse the more pleasurable of those sensations. Activating nerves. Stimulating senses. Kindling emotion. These were all skills that could translate from his work into more sensual engagements. Torment and pleasure were familiar bedfellows, and the histories of flesh-and-blood beings were stained by countless atrocities where the boundary between them blurred.
Heinrix was comfortable within the confines of his knowledge and experience. Comfortable in the role of catalyst; the one who catered to wants rather than voiced them. And with Visenya, he was more than happy to serve in this capacity. To be the one to lavish her with bliss and coax whispers from her lips meant for him, alone. To be that for her—to be the hand she trusted to hold her heart—it fulfilled him in ways he didn't understand.
And it was what he knew how to do.
So, when Visenya pulled away from his touch and knelt before him, Heinrix was left floundering and uncertain. The sheer ludicrousness of it—of a Rogue Trader anointed by the Emperor of Mankind genuflecting to him, of all people...normally it would turn his stomach with revulsion to even humor such thoughts...
And yet, now, with Visenya peering up at him from between his legs—her seaglass eyes searching his for something Heinrix couldn't begin to fathom—he felt a very different emotion stirring.
"What are you..." he started, then swallowed as he felt a hand rub up the inside of his left thigh and pause atop it. He cleared his throat. "Visenya, what are you doing?"
There was a thickness to Heinrix’s voice he couldn't mask as unbidden thoughts danced at the edges of his mind. Enticing. Tempting. Ludicrous. Thoughts of her head in his lap, his hips bucking…
His hand remained twined in her hair, and a heat stirred between his legs.
The barest hint of a smirk pulled at the corner of Visenya’s mouth, just a twitch, and Heinrix found himself staring—breath shallow in his lungs as his eyes traced along her lips. A slight blush tinted the top one a faint pink, the ghost of a bite mark fading from where he'd nipped at it moments ago.
She didn't answer his question.
He gently cupped her chin with the same hand he'd had between her legs—fingers still slick with her want as he traced the pad of his thumb along the ridge of her lip. She parted them, just barely, and the tip of her tongue emerged to meet him. His cock throbbed in the confines of his pants, and Heinrix felt his face grow hot. She’d undone his belt and was tugging at his pants, encouraging him to stand, before his brain rebounded and he found his voice.
“No, darling, you don’t have to…” he said in a low rumble tinged with apology, trying to banish the blasphemous images from his head.
A laugh bubbled up from Visenya’s throat and Heinrix felt his blood warm as she peered at him with a clever look.
“I am aware I don’t have to,” she nearly purred, and he felt gooseflesh break out over his skin, nerve endings coming alive with anticipation. “Pants down, Interrogator van Calox.”
Heinrix didn’t have the willpower to refuse—and Throne preserve him, he didn’t want to. He lifted himself out of the chair for a moment, bracing a hand on the armrest as the other did as he’d been instructed. When Visenya leaned in to help, frost spiderwebbed in a rush from beneath his palm along the fabric of the cushioned armrest. Face burning, Heinrix glanced to the side as he reseated himself, cock fully erect between his spread and bare legs while he sweated beneath his lapels.
His current situation had not been something he’d foreseen as a possible outcome of the evening, and he felt unprepared—unsure of what was expected of him. There was a small, miserable thought lurking in the back of his mind—castigating himself for never even considering…he didn’t want to be presumptuous. It had never been an option before. And now it was happening he didn’t know what he should do, how he should move…would she be disappointed…
“Heinrix.”
He felt a hand run up the inside of his left thigh, and the shiver it set off sent a shudder through his navel down into his balls. His dick gave an enthusiastic twitch, and when he looked down to see Visenya peering up at him—her cheek against his leg while the swollen head of his cock bobbed an inch from her mouth—he had to tighten his grip on the armrest and felt that side of his seat grow cold.
“Eyes on me, love,” Visenya said, pressing a kiss into the inside of his thigh.
She smiled when their eyes met, and he felt himself let go of a breath he’d been holding. Doing as instructed, he watched as she took him in-hand—managing to choke down a small groan as she pumped him once, then twice. It was wholly unnecessary, and Heinrix recognized the delighted way her smile brightened as precum beaded then rolled from his tip. Warmth pooled in his navel, and he reached for her just as her tongue licked across his throbbing head—his hand fisting tightly in her hair.
She sucked him down, and every thought in his head evaporated into a fog of exhilaration. He bent forward, a breathy moan he had no hope of stopping breaking from his throat as Visenya’s mouth wrapped around him, wet and warm. He watched in a sort of daze as her lips slid half-way down his cock, then loosened his grip on her hair to brush it back from her face in a gentle, near-reverent manner. He felt what he thought was her tongue pressing along the bottom of his shaft and the muscles in his legs tensed as he fought the urge to buck up and push himself deeper.
Visenya pulled back, sliding him out until her lips were pressed to the top of his full, throbbing head. She found his eyes with her own again, then held his gaze as she swallowed him once more—deeper this time. Electricity shot down his legs and up his spine, the sensation so intensely euphoric he had to muster his biomancy to keep himself from climaxing then and there. He swallowed down a grunt as frost spiderwebbed across his right cheek, then melted and ran down his neck—cool against the heated skin beneath his collar.
“’Senya…I…ah….”
He’d started to speak, unsure of what he even meant to say, then immediately abandoned the attempt as she pulled back then took him into her mouth again, then again, and again.
Soon, shuddering, whispered noises of desire and adoration were the only sounds that spilled from Heinrix’s lips as he began to press himself up into her. He was hesitant at first, unsure if it was appropriate to do so. But he was unable to resist for long and soon found himself rutting into her mouth in-time with the bobbing of her head—the hand she had wrapped around the base of his cock encouraging him towards release.
Heinrix settled into a gratifying rhythm, pulses of momentary toe-curling ecstasy shooting through his core and down his legs as his mind fuzzed to a pleasant blankness. The acute self-consciousness dissipated, and his concerns about appropriate conduct faded into the background—washed out by the rhythmic creak of the chair as well as the rising heat beneath his jacket and in his groin. He could feel sweat building beneath his collar and seeping down his chest, his muscles straining and clenching as he sought to satiate himself to the extent Visenya would allow—which, he would soon discover, was more than he'd permitted himself to hope.
There was something unseemly, and yet wildly arousing, about the view of the Lord Captain between his legs—the gold of his still-buttoned uniform glinting in time with the sway of his rosette above Visenya's head. Heinrix groaned as the pressure in his crotch built to an insistent need. His hips stuttered—breaking rhythm with the tempo Visenya had set—and a shameless whine stole its way from his throat.
A thought slammed into him, then, shattering the haze he'd fallen into. He squeezed at Visenya's shoulder as desperation and urgency boiled below his skin, his mind trying to form something coherent.
"I think—Visenya, I'm—"
He felt her smooth a hand along his upper thigh, soothing and firm as she continued to encourage him towards climax, and he silently prayed he understood her intention. It was too late, anyway.
Heinrix cried out as he came—full-throated and feverish as a congregant caught up in worshipful exaltation. The muscles in his legs seized, and in his limbs his nerve-endings lit up with a thrumming that discharged into a static tingling across his skin. Visenya worked him through his release as he spilled himself into her mouth. The warmth and feel of her took everything he had, and he gave it with her name reverently on his lips.
Once drained, he collapsed back against the chair, breathing hard as his head lolled back and he stared unfocused at the ceiling. His body hummed with a pleasant euphoria that settled beneath his skin, and when he glanced down to see Visenya pulling away from his softening cock—her lips wet with the remnants of his spend—an intensely gratifying shiver coursed the length of his spine.
Visenya smiled up at him, mouth crooked triumphantly as she ran a hand down his thigh and gazed at the outcome of her labors. An adoration so profound it bordered on painful wrenched tightly in his chest, and Heinrix grabbed for her—pulling Visenya into his lap and into a deep kiss. She gasped against his mouth, then pressed into him as he slid a hand into her hair and the other down her back. He could taste himself on her lips, and his body shuddered with the memory of his release. Visenya laughed into his kiss and he drank it in, losing himself in the thrill of her presence. The feel of her being here—with him. Despite all his failings—the numerous ways he'd faltered and nearly lost her for good—she still chose him...
"You're incredible," he murmured, moving down to kiss at the hollow of her throat—an area he knew was sensitive to his touch.
Visenya shivered and threaded her fingers into his hair, a contented sigh vibrating in her throat and against his lips.
"That good?" she teased, a smile in her voice.
Heinrix laughed and rested his forehead beneath her chin, eyes closed. Happy; wildly so.
"Didn't mean it like that," he breathed, soothed by the trailing of her fingers as they carded through his hair.
"No takebacks."
Heinrix smiled at the delight in her tone, and something warm and reassuring grew quietly in his chest. Something that had taken root ages ago—cultivated in countless small and tender moments like this. There were times it frightened him, the unwieldy strength of that feeling—the potential it had to rend his soul and crush him. Right now, however, fear was the furthest thing from his mind as Heinrix pressed another kiss into Visenya's throat.
Gathering her in his arms, he stood and made quick work of kicking off his boots and stepping out of the trousers around his ankles. Relieved of his clothing from the waist down, and with a highly-amused Rogue Trader in his embrace, Heinrix swayed for a moment on unsteady legs—bumping the table and unceremoniously toppling his own emperor.
As he carried her to the bedchamber, Visenya was quick to declare herself the victor of their match, and Heinrix did not object. In fact, he had an idea or two about how he might reward her for the win.