"How long have you lived, Mon'keigh?"
Oasatera asked incredulously, her slender hands exploring the divots and ravines that pockmarked Thetan’s battle-scared panoply; the doffing of power armor usually required the assistance of numerous serfs and tech-adepts, though an Eldar’s dexterous touch was equally worthy.
"Four hundred forty five standard Terran years, roughly, but the Immaterium is a fickle thing." He responded matter of factly, standing perfectly still so that Oasatera may unbuckle the latches and release him of the shell that made his life bearable in the vacuum of space. "But I suppose the last three decades of my life have been far more important than any others I have experienced before." The astartes paused for a moment, "Thanks to you."
"Hmm, flattery will get you everywhere.” Oasatera grinned. While no less beautiful than her kin, there was a certain coldness to Oasatera. Her features were angular, sharp and to the human eye, uncannily enchanting. Yet despite this, the Eldar’s countenance assumed a certain levity in the company of Thetan. Her violet, almond-shaped eye — the other shielded by a rather fanciful platinum eyepatch — shone in the light of her quarters, staring unflinchingly at the imposing figure of her companion. A warrior’s knot of ashen hair crowned her head and a few loose strands occasionally twisted along her brow. She had seen her own share of conflict, as was evidenced by the jagged scars across her forearms and thighs; the worst of them running across the side of her head, passing through where her other eye had once resided. But despite all this, she still exuded a certain effortless grace and beauty.
“We have time,” Oasatera raised to the tips of her toes, pressing her lips along the shell of Thetan’s ear. A quiet murmur of anticipation was all Thetan gave her before he scooped the Eldar up into his arms, carrying her over to a more intimate setting — her bed.
“You left scars last time,” Thetan’s voice was a smooth baritone, devoid of inflection or emotion; in truth it was difficult to read him. His pale flesh was a map of scars, all the same tone and texture as the rest of his body — the only exception were his eyes; his eyes were the only thing to convey his emotions. A dull, grey shade, his gaze was that of the calm ocean.
“Hush, they blend in with the rest,” Oasatera mused, pressing her hands to Thetan’s shoulders and giving a light push; not quite insistent but just enough to prompt the larger man to sit on the edge of the bed. A cheeky smile crossed Oasatera lips. The eldar seated herself on Thetan’s lap, leaning close. Her tongue grazed over a scar, tracing along it until the flesh rose beneath the slick heat of her mouth. Thetan growled, low and possessive; his hand grasping the Eldar and enveloping her waist entirely, keeping her in place.
A dark, breathy chuckle bubbled in Oasatera’s chest; she always found his lack of control intoxicating. He always put up a good show — stoic and disciplined to a fault. But in private moments, she always brought him back to base instinct — a mindless brute. The thought alone was enough to quicken Oasatera breath. Her gaze was smoldering; she wanted this — she always did.
Oasatera rolled her hips against Thetan, pressing her form against him. A small shiver went through her, she could feel the heat radiating from him — his power armour stripped away, the musculature of his chest pressed flush to hers. Transfusion nodes dotted the lengths of Thetan’s arms, legs and chest. Oasatera had learned them well, as the sensitive flesh surrounding each of the nodes was but an instrument of the Corsair’s love.
“You’re teasing.” Thetan said dryly, the statement a truth and yet a jest at the same time. Oasatera tilted her head and feigned ignorance; in the low, warm light of her quarters, her hair was the color of sugar, falling in messy locks along the curves of her body. A mischievous little grin quirked on the Corsair's lips and she dipped her head to the hollow of his throat, tongue tracing along the pulse of his jugular before her mouth closed along the flesh and began to suck, incisors grazing. Thetan hissed, a shudder racking through him; her tongue traced over the mark once more and Oasatera hummed contently — pleased with her work.
The XXth Legion were masters of surprise and the lost son was no different. Oasatera’s composure crumbled in a matter of moments as the giant’s fingers tweaked at the edge of a pointed left ear. Oasatera yelped, arching into Thetan; her cheeks flushed a vibrant pink and she shot the Astartes a pout.
“Do you remember our time in Osfol? The glass mountains were like frozen fire against the horizon-” Oasatera began, intent to distract from her own pleasure — but the Astartes was crafty and his calloused fingertips wandered to the other ear, eliciting another short gasp from the Eldar.
"Osfol was cold. We hunted the target for days, spending long nights lying in wait. I remember that planet well." Thetan interjected, a slight smirk curling along his lips; he knew her game. There was something within the Aeldari that bucked submission, perhaps an inborn trait that refused to go quietly into the embrace of a lesser species, but Thetan was not that. He was calculating, measured…powerful.
"It smelled of metal and ice." Thetan paused for a moment and before Oasatera could protest, his free hand wandered along the curve of her spine; following along the rigid line of bone and cartilage until his hand found a rather familiar spot.
Oasatera bit her bottom lip, stifling a whine; Thetan was unfair — utterly so.
“Enough,” Oasatera murmured, guiding Thetan's hand away from her ears and around to the swell of her breast. The Astartes hummed, a low and reverberating sound; his fingers splayed across the Corsair's lithe, finely sculpted form. Both Aeldari and Astartes were creatures of immense sensitivity — the gentlest breeze, the softest touch, the faintest scent. It made them excellent warriors, soldiers and assassins but was a double-edged sword nonetheless. While their senses could be a boon on the battlefield, it could equally be a detriment in their personal lives, perhaps even in the battle for their very souls; Oasatera had strayed from the Asuryani path for decades and the Thirsting Gods was always privy. Yet with Thetan she felt protected.
Oasatera’s heart was like a thundering drum, the touch of her skin almost a blistering heat. Her scent was like a bouquet, the sweetness of an alien flower interwoven with the familiar tang of metal and gunpowder. She was exquisite.
Thetan leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the swell of her breasts. He could taste the sweat on her flesh, the salt a curious contrast to her usual sweet aroma. Thetan trailed kisses along her chest, pausing every few inches to lavish attention on a nipple; his tongue and teeth teased the flesh. Oasatera shuddered and her fingers dug into Thetan's shoulders; she had always been particularly sensitive there.
"I love you." Oasatera confessed, a breathy sigh tumbling from her lips. It was true, though the Aeldari did not speak such things easily. But there was a sincerity to her words, a gravity that was impossible to ignore.