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It begins, like many things, with an observation of Magnus'.
"You're working yourself to the bone, brother," he says, chiding but gentle, visiting Perturabo's planetside strategium for another conference on their progress. From anyone else that statement would make Perturabo snap back in irritation, but in Magnus' tone he hears more affection than any of the others have for him.
"Our most optimistic estimates give us six weeks to accomplish a task that demands twice that," he reminds Magnus, not looking up from the most recent projections of evacuation rates. "It has left me little time for recreation."
"Your dedication is admirable," Magnus says. He rests his elbows on the table, interlacing his fingers, leaning forward just the way he would when he was pressing a line of philosophical argument some late night on Terra. "But the mind is more acute with adequate rest. Even your war machines need to cease their work at times to avoid overheating, do they not?"
"A limitation I seek ever to overcome," Perturabo mutters.
"One day, may we all perfect our endeavors," Magnus says agreeably. "Yet in the meantime, I hope I can persuade you to take at least a short break from your labors. You must have some pastime you rely on to soothe your mind and body, to ease a demanding project's strain. Meditation? Music? Sexual congress...?"
Perturabo shoots him an alarmed glance.
Predictably, Magnus takes that as a request for elaboration. "I've found the latter to be an extremely effective method to relax the body and refresh the mind. Indeed, there have been numerous instances in history where it's used in ritual for just such a reason."
"Ritual and magic have never been my field of study, brother."
"The idea is the same without the ritual framing," Magnus says with a shrug. "Do you not find it so?"
"I wouldn't know," Perturabo says. "I have always classed it as a human pursuit, unimportant bordering on irrelevant for one of us." Magnus stares at him as though he's admitted that he doesn't know how to read or grasp tactics, some skill actually relevant to their lives. "Where would a primarch even find a partner? By the time I was old enough to begin considering it, I towered over every inhabitant of Olympia, a giant more capable of snapping mortals in half than of careful intimacy. The only prudent course was to set the idea aside. It's not for us."
"The practical considerations with mortals do take some work to overcome," Magnus allows. "But you didn't reevaluate your position once you were reunited with the Imperium and your Legion?"
"No," Perturabo says flatly. "Fraternization with someone in my chain of command would be nothing but an invitation to disciplinary problems."
Magnus nods thoughtfully. "Rigid structure would make that an issue, I suppose." Is he implying that he has had relations with his legionaries? Perturabo can't decide whether he wants to ask for clarification or pretend the thought never crossed his mind. "What about me, then?"
Perturabo pushes his data slate aside. He's not going to be able to focus while this conversation is happening. "What about you?"
"I have nothing of a mortal's frailty, and the relationship between us has no hierarchical dimension. Unless you have other objections to raise, I could offer you a little," he smiles, a little twist of his lips to acknowledge he's making a joke for his own entertainment, "initiation."
You're propositioning me? is the first thing Perturabo thinks to say and he discards it immediately. You would want that? follows suit and is equally inadequate; worse, it sounds insecure. Magnus the Red, brightest burning star of the Imperium of Mankind, brilliant and gifted and reckless, has suggested that he—that they— "Fine," Perturabo says before he can talk himself out of taking the opportunity. "Yes."
Magnus sits up straighter, a brief laugh startled out of him. "Yes? Wonderful! I admit I wasn't expecting you to simply agree—not without more of an argument—but this will be excellent. I swear, you won't regret it." He reaches across the table and takes Perturabo's hand, his grasp warm and firm.
"I know no other man who could so completely upend my plans and have me so sanguine about the fact," Perturabo says as he clasps Magnus' hand in return.
"A fact I take as a high compliment," Magnus assures him.
Of course he does. Perhaps Perturabo can spare an hour or two from his work to indulge his brother's impulsive generosity. He rises from the planning table. "If you actually mean it, we should retire to my quarters," he says, tapping the fingers of one gauntlet on his breastplate. "The strategium is no place to try to take this off."
"I should think not. Lead the way."
Perturabo brings Magnus with him to his quarters in the heart of the fortress, where he applies the security setting on the door that will deny anyone else entrance except in a state of emergency. There's a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he thinks is nervousness, and he does his best to quash it. This is Magnus. Hasn't Magnus often said that there is no shame in not knowing, only in refusing to learn?
"You aren't even going to need assistance with yours, are you?" Perturabo asks as he activates the servo-limbs of his arming chamber. He watches Magnus' eyebrows raise as the mechanical arms lock onto each detached segment of his Logos and lift them away. The weight of his armor is enough to give an average legion serf difficulty and he prefers to share his vulnerability with as few people as possible, so designing the chamber was an obvious solution.
"No, I'll manage somehow," Magnus says with a smile. He goes only demi-armored, in a finely tooled breastplate, vambraces, and greaves; Perturabo assumes he trusts in his subtle arts to do the real work of protecting him as such minimal armor cannot. And indeed, he unbuckles and strips off all of its pieces in less time than it takes for the servo-limbs to divest Perturabo of enough of the Logos that he can step out of the remainder.
Magnus, without his armor, is in sandals and a white robe, suitable for an evening of study or regicide; Perturabo's bodyglove, while plenty to preserve his modesty, feels inadequate by comparison. This was foolish. He shouldn't have agreed to this. He's managed just fine for decades without needing to indulge in carnal nonsense. What did he think he would prove?
"What troubles you, my friend?" Magnus asks, taking a step toward him, reaching out.
"I am making an error," Perturabo replies. This is not his realm.
"My dear brother," Magnus says, placing large, warm hands on his shoulders. "Always more comfortable when you're well armored, in both body and mind."
"It is how I was made," Perturabo says.
"And yet you are more than what you were made." Magnus steps yet closer, so the heat of his body and the strange tingle of his presence—the latter, Perturabo assumes, the tangible evidence of his power—are perceptible. He slides one hand up to Perturabo's scalp, fingers threading carefully between cables to touch skin, and tips Perturabo's head back just enough to bring their lips together.
Perturabo has been kissed before but not like this, the gentle press of Calliphone's lips to his cheek a far cry from the way Magnus leans into him and makes that heat spread over his skin too. He reaches for Magnus, resting his hands cautiously against narrow hips, and Magnus embraces him, pulling their bodies flush against each other. There's comfort in the solidity of that heroic frame against his.
He kisses back, following Magnus' lead until he feels confident enough to make sorties of his own. Warmth builds all through him, and he lets himself hold tighter, his hands exploring the terrain of Magnus' back. This is not what they were made for, far from it—but Magnus is right, as is the case maddeningly often; they are more than a set of blueprints and genetic plans, no matter how masterfully crafted.
Magnus starts to unseal his bodyglove and a pleasant shiver runs down Perturabo's spine. He wants those clever hands on his skin. It's nothing like the sudden physical-emotional explosion of charging into battle, but there's a change happening in him all the same, a growing sense of urgency that spikes sharply when the scrape of his teeth against tongue makes Magnus moan.
"Undress me," Magnus suggests, a slight roughness in his tone, the sort of thing Perturabo thinks must be what people mean when they describe a voice as smoky. It's thrilling.
Perturabo unties the golden rope belt around Magnus' waist and tosses it away. He pulls up the white linen robe until Magnus takes hold of the hem himself to pull it off and discard it. Beneath, his skin is the same red all over, deep and rich as an iron clay, a striking contrast to the pale hand Perturabo lays against his chest.
And then slides further down, watching himself move. He is so far out of his depth, and yet the shifting lights of Magnus' eye are warm and encouraging. He pushes down Magnus' loincloth; it slides down muscular thighs and falls to the floor. Perturabo is left staring: garnet curls frame copper-red flesh, Magnus' cock somehow even bigger than he would have expected, thick and heavy, foreskin just beginning to draw back with arousal. Perturabo feels his secondary heart start to work as he takes in the sight.
"You look starved," Magnus observes. He tilts Perturabo's chin up for another kiss, gentle but lingering, and then asks, "My turn?"
Perturabo nods.
Magnus smiles, kissing him again and starting to peel the bodyglove away from Perturabo's skin. He traces the contours of muscle and bone as if he's exploring, reconnoitering new territory. His fingers trail through Perturabo's chest hair as though he's just as fascinated with it as Perturabo was by his smoothness. It... feels good, all the moreso when Magnus leans down to follow his first explorations with kisses. He goes to one knee so he can peel down the fiber mesh the rest of the way, and then his hands slide admiringly up Perturabo's thighs. He kisses the trail of dark hair that leads down toward Perturabo's stiffening cock and looks up. "And at this point, typically, you take me to bed."
"Well." His own voice has some of that smoky hoarseness now, too. "Best to start by learning typical procedure."
Magnus laughs and throws his arms around Perturabo's waist, nuzzling at his chest like an affectionate beast. Perturabo buries his fingers in that wild mane, marveling at the softness of it. "I have such admiration for your thorough approach," Magnus says warmly, and there's no hidden barb in the words at all.
Perturabo pulls his brother to his feet. "Come on, then. Let me reap the benefits of your expertise."
They fall into bed more easily than he could have imagined doing with anyone—but Magnus has always refused to believe anything impossible, and perhaps his influence is having an effect. He reaches out, wanting to take advantage of this chance to touch while it lasts, and Magnus presses into his arms without hesitation. He thinks he would be slow to tire of kissing, especially like this, pressed naked against each other and with Magnus hooking an ankle around his for leverage. The friction of their bodies sliding together brings him fully erect and aching, and he moans into Magnus' mouth before he can think to swallow the sound.
"You know how it's done in a general sense, I assume," Magnus says. Perturabo can feel the vibration of his voice in his chest.
"I do." He's read widely enough to encounter descriptions, and primarch senses are sharp enough that likely all of them have had the occasional problem with accidental eavesdropping on mortals who believe themselves unobserved.
Magnus' hands keep moving over his skin, making him feel sensitized to simple touch like nothing else ever has. "Most of the texts agree that receiving penetration has the greatest benefit to one's subtle energies, but given our circumstances I'd suggest instead—"
"Wait, what circumstances?" Perturabo interrupts.
"Well, you're beginning training in a new skill," Magnus says, "and I'm..." He gestures downard. "Not the easiest partner to start with."
Perturabo glances down. Yes, Magnus is impressively well endowed, and no, he's never taken a man before, but still. "You think I can't handle it?"
"That's not what I said," Magnus says, the gentlest rebuke. "I'm sure with patience and the increased comfort that comes from practice you could handle it just fine. Admirably, even."
"Don't patronize me." Perturabo takes hold of Magnus' cock and squeezes, drawing out a low moan. "I can take it and I will, and if you want to show me the effectiveness of your methods, then do it like you mean it."
Magnus smiles, warm and sincere so the corner of his eye crinkles. "I should have known you would refuse to do anything by half measures. I yield, brother. Let me help you prepare."
Preparing appears to first involve kissing again, and Perturabo is privately so grateful that Magnus understands him so well, to take no offense when his words come out sharper than he might intend. He hums into Magnus' mouth as Magnus' knee presses between his thighs, coaxing them parted. Magnus reaches down, stroking Perturabo's cock for a moment before pressing his advance further: gentle caresses to Perturabo's balls that make him shiver, stoicism forgotten; then pushing further still, teasing at the crack of his ass.
Then for a moment Magnus pauses, muttering something under his breath. Perturabo's skin tingles in a way that reminds him of the feeling of staring too hard at the star maelstrom. He tenses. "What was that?"
Magnus chuckles. "Lubrication," he says. "I almost never remember to carry something mundane for the purpose."
That seems a frivolous way to use his powers, but before Perturabo can point that out Magnus moves his fingers again, hot and now slick so they slide easily against skin. Perturabo's breath hitches as Magnus' fingertips find his asshole, massaging the ring of muscle with a slow, firm insistence.
"Trust me, brother," Magnus murmurs in his ear. "I am no enemy at the gates. You can let me in."
He couches everything in such portentous symbolism, but Perturabo loves him nonetheless. "Go ahead, then." He keeps his breathing even and slow, and the pressure Magnus applies gradually increases until he slides in. It feels strange, this awareness of vulnerability where nobody has ever reached before, but he doesn't mind it. Not in this circumstance. Once he has a sense of what's necessary, it isn't difficult to relax key muscle groups on purpose, allowing Magnus to add a second finger and then a third.
"I should never have doubted," Magnus says, admiring and needy. "You're going to feel so good."
Perturabo can't tell whether that's a promise of his pleasure or anticipation of Magnus' own, but either way he thrills to it. He listens to the instinct telling him to move, to grind his cock against Magnus' hip, and the pressure inside him shifts in response in a way that's unsettling but strangely pleasant. "How much—ah, how much more preparation is required?"
"If you feel you'd be comfortable with more, we can go ahead." Magnus' fingers flex and Perturabo groans. "It doesn't feel like you're having trouble."
"Nnh—no, except with how obnoxiously imprecise that determination is," Perturabo retorts.
Magnus kisses his temple. "I'm afraid it'll never be as precise as engineering," he says. "What I want to feel to proceed is ease in the muscle here." His thumb massages Perturabo's rim, slow and firm and almost unbearably sensual. "Some flexibility instead of flesh that's tense or stretched to its limit."
Perturabo nods. That's still less concrete than he would truly prefer, but it helps, and he's grateful that Magnus wants to address his need for more information. "Agreed, then. I'm ready."
Magnus withdraws, gently, and his absence is a strange thing to be aware of. "Here," he says, rolling onto his back and stroking his cock to leave it slick. "If you ride me, you'll have control of all the variables, so you can determine what you prefer."
"Considerate of you." Perturabo throws a leg over Magnus' hips.
"There's no substitute for gathering your own data, is there?" Magnus has one hand braced around the root of his cock, holding it steady for Perturabo to take. Positioning himself is momentarily awkward but Magnus doesn't offer any biting commentary the way one of the others might, and after a moment he starts to push himself down.
It feels every bit as big as it looked, stiff and thick, stretching his rim so that he has to turn deliberate attention to relaxing for it. As he lowers himself down, a centimeter at a time, he watches Magnus for cues. Magnus' eye flutters closed and his breathing comes quick and shallow, and after a moment Perturabo is able to identify his expression—that he is moved by this, perhaps some fraction as overwhelmed as Perturabo feels himself.
"Tell me how it feels," Perturabo says.
"Wonderful," Magnus assures him. "To be held in such an embrace is pure delight." His hands slide up Perturabo's thighs as if he's admiring how they feel. "Focus on what brings you pleasure, and I'll be fine."
Perturabo rocks his hips slowly, taking in the sensations of friction and pressure, the way they change with the shifts in his position. The points at which he can feel the nerve connections between his prostate and his cock. "What if I want your feedback?"
"Then of course you shall have it," Magnus says. "You're doing well. Nnh, the way you move, just like that." His hips arch off the bed just slightly, as though he's restraining himself from pushing harder.
Throne, it's far too compelling to hear him say things like that, fervent and admiring. Perturabo's face feels hot and his hearts beat harder. He pushes down harder, fucks himself harder on Magnus' cock. The friction has an illicit thrill to it as he grows more accustomed to it and better able to move. The pressure against his prostate makes a bead of fluid well at the tip of his own cock despite the lack of direct stimulation. It feels tantalizing, just enough pleasure to make him crave more but not enough that it seems likely to satisfy, even with Magnus making those low, needy moans that send shivers up his spine.
"I want—more," Perturabo says. "This is good but too indirect."
"Good," Magnus says. "As much as I'm enjoying just watching you, I'd like to be touching, too." He wraps one big, warm hand around Perturabo's cock, stroking firmly, and it feels glorious.
But also— "You're enjoying watching me?"
"Of course I am. My handsome brother enjoying himself, giving himself over to the pleasure of discovery—what's not to love?"
Perturabo huffs. "The pleasure of discovering your cock," he says, but again it makes a shiver run down his spine to hear Magnus speak of him in such terms. To be so casually held in such esteem, to be told he's wanted and admired... It's almost as affecting as the physical stimulation, and between the two he's trembling. Surely he shouldn't be so overwhelmed by such a simple thing.
"You take it so well," Magnus says, rough and earnest, his hand moving in perfect time with the roll of Perturabo's hips. "You make me feel so good, my brother, let me share that with you."
"Yes," Perturabo says, thrusting into Magnus' hand, feeling Magnus' cock drive deep inside him. "Harder, it's almost—almost enough."
Magnus hums, squeezing Perturabo's cock just a fraction tighter and snapping his hips up hard. Stars burst in Perturabo's vision as the full length of that massive cock drives into him, and he cries out sharply. He pushes himself down as soon as Magnus starts to withdraw, keeping himself filled with it, taking it all despite Magnus' initial reservations—taking it and thriving. The growing tension in his muscles, the way his balls draw up tight against his body, feels far more urgent than it ever has on his own. His breath stutters.
"Let me see you come," Magnus says, pleads. "Let me feel it when pleasure overtakes you."
Perturabo nods, unable to spare the breath for words. He's perched right at the precipice, so close, straining for it, and then climax finally detonates. It starts at the base of his cock and the pleasure spreads out through his body, drawn out longer and more diffuse than usual—the presence of Magnus' cock inside him forcing his muscles to respond differently, making the sensation radiate through his body like the shockwave from an explosion moving through unconsolidated earth.
When the pulse of climax finally abates, he manages to open his eyes. "Oh, fuck," he says, "look at you." His come has splashed Magnus' chest and stomach, white against red, and the surge of fierce, possessive delight catches him off guard.
"You look so pleased," Magnus replies. His back arches and he shudders hard, all the way down his body, his cock pulsing. Completely in control of himself, Perturabo realizes. Waiting until his partner was satisfied before letting go.
From anyone else, that would seem intolerably smug. From Magnus, it seems... sweet. Giving him the chance to focus on his own experience without being distracted the first time. Perturabo takes his hand and just holds on.
"Come here." Magnus reaches for him, and Perturabo lets himself be pulled down, easing free of Magnus' cock and lying down beside him. Their limbs tangle loosely together. "How do you feel?"
"...Good." He shifts closer, taking a moment to appreciate the relaxed ease of his limbs, the quiet comfort of Magnus' body against his. "You were right."
"I often am," Magnus says lightly. "It's a curse."
Perturabo sighs in mock exasperation. "So insufferable." Magnus chuckles, and he locks that sound away in his memory to keep it always. Everything seems more tolerable in Magnus' presence, and for a minute Perturabo just basks in it.
Then he sits bolt upright. "Magnus. How many of your legionaries would it take to lift a passenger shuttle off the ground?"
"Fully loaded? Three, maybe four if none of them specialized in kinemanipulation. More if you want that lift sustained for a substantial length of time. Why?"
"This might be the answer I'm looking for. If we can burn less fuel per trip to orbit, we can make more trips and maybe get everyone off the surface in time—"
Magnus laughs, sitting up as Perturabo gets out of bed. "Sounds promising! Shall I come with you to draw up the plan after we've washed up?"
"Yes," Perturabo says. "Yes, you can check my assumptions and make sure your sons' capabilities are accurately represented." He feels freshly alert, energized, ready to tackle this problem anew.
With Magnus at his side, everything seems possible.