FIC: Remember To Forget
Title: Remember To Forget
By:
prettymanly and
punchdrunkard
Fandom: Warhammer 40k, The Horus Heresy series
Pairing/Relationships: Horus/Sanguinius
Characters: Horus Lupercal, Sanguinius
Rating: R
Words: 841
Summary: "There are two indelible memories Horus holds in his mind. One which he wishes to forget. One which he cherishes."
Warnings: canon-level violence, canon character death, mild gore, sexualized death, wings
Notes: Trying again for more porn
Written for the Porn Battle XIII - Lucky Thirteen
Original prompt was Warhammer 40K, Horus/Sanguinius, fall, hubris, sin, we used fall
Link to AO3 | Link to Battle on Dreamwidth
-----
There are two indelible memories Horus holds in his mind. One which he wishes to forget. One which he cherishes.
One:
Wings outstretched to form a powerful, shuddering canopy backlit to a burnished red-gold by low-hanging glow-globes. It isn't their first time together this way. It is perhaps their fifth or sixth, but there is something about this time, an emotion, an intimacy, that sears into Horus the way a thousand thermal knives could not and have not.
Sanguinius is still wearing the pearls he presented to him just that morning.They were strung together in an intricate lattice that sat on his hair and cascaded down his neck like a beaded curtain over his bare chest. The silver bands around his wings, the gold chains looping around his arms and legs, and those pearls, lightly binding his form -- all Horus's gifts, and all that he wears as he stands before him.
His hair is red tonight, as red as the light cast across his wings, the strands falling like soft lava through Horus's fingers and over his chest as he pulls his brother close. Horus touches him possessively, sliding his large, scarred hands over every inch of skin. He runs his palms down hard muscles, strokes a firm back and the sharp angle of a hip. He drags his calloused fingers over the thickly corded arms that are strong enough to crack a world in half.
Sanguinius is strength. He is beauty. He is rage and power. He has no weaknesses. Horus traces a long line across Sanguinius’s chest with his tongue, licking nipples and collarbone and the soft folds of the armpit.
Even suffering from mutation, Sanguinius is perfection. There is a deep, competitive part of Horus that needs to win over him. To beat back that perfection. Some might argue that being able to touch Sanguinius this way, to bend his body into positions Horus finds pleasing, to spread him across sheets with no resistance, to be given access to whatever he wishes, is already winning. But it isn't enough. Horus wants to ruin him. He wants to press so deeply into him that his hands break through that perfect skin to touch and hold in his hands the hidden parts beneath.
Oil spills across the sheets as Sanguinius twists beneath him and Horus replaces his fingers, stifling a groan as he slips into Sanguinius. Sanguinius has no such restraint.
This act is something at least. He gets a little closer to cracking Sanguinius open with every thrust, every time they are alone and tangled together with teeth and tongue. One of Sanguinius's wings spasms outward and knocks an ornamental helmet, sending it flying across the to embed itself into the wall.
The other wing slaps Horus in the face, nearly knocking him off the bed. He grabs an ankle, groping along its length up to cup and hold the firm curve of buttock. Horus rolls onto his back, bringing Sanguinius along with him. A hanging decoration falls with a crash from the force of Sanguinius’s beating wings. Horus swears, holding on grimly as Sanguinius clenches tightly around him and they lift into the air, higher and higher until long pinions brush the high arched ceiling. His brother cries out and they crash back onto the bed. The bed breaks under the force of their bodies slamming into it. They tumble, thick splinters of wood flying in every direction as they thrash wildly together.
Horus ends up on his back again, Sanguinius' fingers digging tightly into his shoulders with a twisted face and bared fangs. Then Sangiunius moves above him, hot as fire, gleaming and flushed. He bites Horus, fangs piercing and drawing blood.
Sanguinius pulls back, touches his face and smiles.
Dizzy, as if he is falling, Horus loses.
The other:
Horus wins. He won't lose even to the one he loves.
He stares as blood, warm and thick as lava, runs over his lightning claw, but he can't feel it.
Sanguinius lies on the ground, his armor cracked open, his pale body revealed like the soft grub within a beetle's carapace. His hair lies snaking across the ground like a gleaming Medusa's halo, shadowed by blood and dirt. With each breath, each twitch, a faint sliver of bone is revealed, hidden, then revealed again within the thick gash split across torso and armor.
Horus bends, taking the claw off, and places his fingers within that gash. He can feel the heat now. Blood pulses, the slick edges of the wound becomes tacky with clotting blood. Spongy pink muscle and fat tremble around his knuckles, rippling like the toothless mouth of a suckling babe. He fancies he can feel as Sanguinius's heart slows, flesh and nerves shifting softly at his fingertips.
Horus feels when Sanguinius dies. He comes in his armor.
These are the two memories he remembers best, most lovingly. Which should he keep? Which should he purge? They swirl in his mind, bound together, shifting as Horus's moods shift and he is undecided.
The End.
This entry was originally posted at http://twopunch.dreamwidth.org/2448.html where there are
comments. Please comment on dreamwidth.
By:
prettymanly and
punchdrunkard
Fandom: Warhammer 40k, The Horus Heresy series
Pairing/Relationships: Horus/Sanguinius
Characters: Horus Lupercal, Sanguinius
Rating: R
Words: 841
Summary: "There are two indelible memories Horus holds in his mind. One which he wishes to forget. One which he cherishes."
Warnings: canon-level violence, canon character death, mild gore, sexualized death, wings
Notes: Trying again for more porn
Written for the Porn Battle XIII - Lucky Thirteen
Original prompt was Warhammer 40K, Horus/Sanguinius, fall, hubris, sin, we used fall
Link to AO3 | Link to Battle on Dreamwidth
-----
There are two indelible memories Horus holds in his mind. One which he wishes to forget. One which he cherishes.
One:
Wings outstretched to form a powerful, shuddering canopy backlit to a burnished red-gold by low-hanging glow-globes. It isn't their first time together this way. It is perhaps their fifth or sixth, but there is something about this time, an emotion, an intimacy, that sears into Horus the way a thousand thermal knives could not and have not.
Sanguinius is still wearing the pearls he presented to him just that morning.They were strung together in an intricate lattice that sat on his hair and cascaded down his neck like a beaded curtain over his bare chest. The silver bands around his wings, the gold chains looping around his arms and legs, and those pearls, lightly binding his form -- all Horus's gifts, and all that he wears as he stands before him.
His hair is red tonight, as red as the light cast across his wings, the strands falling like soft lava through Horus's fingers and over his chest as he pulls his brother close. Horus touches him possessively, sliding his large, scarred hands over every inch of skin. He runs his palms down hard muscles, strokes a firm back and the sharp angle of a hip. He drags his calloused fingers over the thickly corded arms that are strong enough to crack a world in half.
Sanguinius is strength. He is beauty. He is rage and power. He has no weaknesses. Horus traces a long line across Sanguinius’s chest with his tongue, licking nipples and collarbone and the soft folds of the armpit.
Even suffering from mutation, Sanguinius is perfection. There is a deep, competitive part of Horus that needs to win over him. To beat back that perfection. Some might argue that being able to touch Sanguinius this way, to bend his body into positions Horus finds pleasing, to spread him across sheets with no resistance, to be given access to whatever he wishes, is already winning. But it isn't enough. Horus wants to ruin him. He wants to press so deeply into him that his hands break through that perfect skin to touch and hold in his hands the hidden parts beneath.
Oil spills across the sheets as Sanguinius twists beneath him and Horus replaces his fingers, stifling a groan as he slips into Sanguinius. Sanguinius has no such restraint.
This act is something at least. He gets a little closer to cracking Sanguinius open with every thrust, every time they are alone and tangled together with teeth and tongue. One of Sanguinius's wings spasms outward and knocks an ornamental helmet, sending it flying across the to embed itself into the wall.
The other wing slaps Horus in the face, nearly knocking him off the bed. He grabs an ankle, groping along its length up to cup and hold the firm curve of buttock. Horus rolls onto his back, bringing Sanguinius along with him. A hanging decoration falls with a crash from the force of Sanguinius’s beating wings. Horus swears, holding on grimly as Sanguinius clenches tightly around him and they lift into the air, higher and higher until long pinions brush the high arched ceiling. His brother cries out and they crash back onto the bed. The bed breaks under the force of their bodies slamming into it. They tumble, thick splinters of wood flying in every direction as they thrash wildly together.
Horus ends up on his back again, Sanguinius' fingers digging tightly into his shoulders with a twisted face and bared fangs. Then Sangiunius moves above him, hot as fire, gleaming and flushed. He bites Horus, fangs piercing and drawing blood.
Sanguinius pulls back, touches his face and smiles.
Dizzy, as if he is falling, Horus loses.
The other:
Horus wins. He won't lose even to the one he loves.
He stares as blood, warm and thick as lava, runs over his lightning claw, but he can't feel it.
Sanguinius lies on the ground, his armor cracked open, his pale body revealed like the soft grub within a beetle's carapace. His hair lies snaking across the ground like a gleaming Medusa's halo, shadowed by blood and dirt. With each breath, each twitch, a faint sliver of bone is revealed, hidden, then revealed again within the thick gash split across torso and armor.
Horus bends, taking the claw off, and places his fingers within that gash. He can feel the heat now. Blood pulses, the slick edges of the wound becomes tacky with clotting blood. Spongy pink muscle and fat tremble around his knuckles, rippling like the toothless mouth of a suckling babe. He fancies he can feel as Sanguinius's heart slows, flesh and nerves shifting softly at his fingertips.
Horus feels when Sanguinius dies. He comes in his armor.
These are the two memories he remembers best, most lovingly. Which should he keep? Which should he purge? They swirl in his mind, bound together, shifting as Horus's moods shift and he is undecided.
The End.
This entry was originally posted at http://twopunch.dreamwidth.org/2448.html where there are
comments. Please comment on dreamwidth.