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The encampment stretches across the Ullanor plain, mortals and Astartes alike celebrating in less formal ways now that the Triumph and its attendant announcements are done. Horus strides across the field, passing the banners of dozens of companies, smiling at soldiers who are bold enough to meet his eye. His destination is clear ahead of him: a tent of scarlet trimmed in gold, far larger than a mortal man's proportions would require, flying a banner marked with pristine alabaster wings.
"Commander," he says in greeting to the man standing outside.
"Lord," Azkaellon replies with a shallow bow. Even now, on duty, implacable.
"Is my brother accepting visitors?"
Azkaellon hesitates a fraction. "For you, lord, I think he will." Another fractional, guilty hesitation, as though he's unsure whether to say more. "Perhaps you might give him counsel he would accept."
Horus smiles. He expected that Sanguinius would take this news with some humour less buoyant than that which shares his name. "I shall aid him in any way I can, now more than ever."
"I have no doubt of it," Azkaellon says, stepping to one side to show he will not attempt to block the entrance to the tent. "Thank you." He's a good man. Horus is glad for his dedication.
Inside, the tent is lit with gentle golden lumens; a table near the door holds a carafe of wine and goblets fit for Primarchs. Horus fills two and crosses the tent to sink down in the scattering of pillows where Sanguinius sits with his head in his hands.
"All hail the Prince of the Imperial Host," Horus says, offering Sanguinius one of the goblets with a nudge.
Sanguinius groans. "I should have known you'd be the first to come tease me about this." He takes the offered goblet but doesn't move to drink.
"No teasing here," Horus promises. He clinks his glass against his brother's. "I'm proud, and glad you've been honored." He takes a drink, and Sanguinius looks up skeptically for a moment before following suit. "You really didn't know it was coming, did you?"
"No," Sanguinius says. "Of course I'd heard the rumors—there's been speculation about Father leaving the Crusade for years—but nothing more concrete than that. And certainly nothing suggesting I'd be given a role like this." He takes another, deeper drink.
Horus reaches over to smooth a stray lock of hair out of Sanguinius' face and tuck it behind his ear; his brother leans just slightly into his touch. "You aren't happy about it? All your hard work and valor recognized, and your Legion held in high esteem..."
"I'm glad, especially for the sake of my sons. It's just a big change to take in." He takes Horus' hand, interlacing their fingers: his own long and elegant, Horus' blunt and brawling-scarred. "We've always been equals, the lot of us. I know not how to be set above."
"You've been a shining beacon to the rest of us for years." Horus lifts their joined hands so he can kiss Sanguinius' knuckles.
"It should have been you," Sanguinius says, swirling the last of his wine in the goblet.
"No," Horus answers. "I could lead our armies to victory, certainly, but you win our brothers' hearts better than anyone. There's no better man to inspire seventeen fractious, prideful Primarchs to truly follow his lead."
Sanguinius gives him a wry little smile. "At least I know who to come to if my confidence falters."
"Any time you need reassurance—or someone else to pick a fight so your hands stay clean—you know where to find me."
"I couldn't ask for a more devoted brute squad," Sanguinius says dryly.
Horus grins. He gives their joined hands a little tug and Sanguinius leans closer to kiss him, soft warm lips and the scents of incense and steel and—always, almost hidden—the faintest trace of blood. Horus runs his fingers through the satin fall of Sanguinius' hair as their tongues meet, and he can feel the gradual release of tension in his brother's frame. The issue isn't truly dealt with, of course, but it's a good sign that he can set it aside enough to enjoy the moment.
When he judges Sanguinius relaxed enough to allow it, Horus climbs into his lap, straddling the Angel's strong thighs. Sanguinius' wings flare out for balance and he laughs into Horus' mouth. "Here? Now? It may have escaped your notice, brother, but the walls of this tent are scarcely soundproof."
"And if anyone hears anything," Horus answers, plucking at the catches of Sanguinius' ceremonial half-plate, "he'll say to himself, Ah, some lucky bastard is worshiping our lord's cock in there. Wish that were me."
"You're shameless," Sanguinius says, clever fingers unfastening Horus' cloak.
"I've yet to have anything to be ashamed of." Horus shrugs out of his cloak and tosses it aside, and Sanguinius runs his hands up Horus' arms, fingers spread as if to measure their girth. Horus basks in the attention just for a moment—he's considerably more heavily built than Sanguinius with those elegant bird bones, and he's noticed the way Sanguinius enjoys the power in his frame.
But he was here to pay his respects to his new lord, not to get his own ego stroked. Horus pulls away Sanguinius' ruby-encrusted breastplate and leans back in to taste the warm skin of his throat. He slips a hand between the straps of Sanguinius' cingulum and kneads his cock through his loincloth until it swells to full hardness and he's pushing up into the touch.
"Have you orders, o Prince of Hosts?" Horus murmurs.
"Blood and bone," Sanguinius swears. He grips the back of Horus' sword harness and tugs downward. "Suck my cock, then, if you're so eager."
"With pleasure," Horus says, delighted as much by getting vulgarity to pass Sanguinius' lips as by the demand itself. He eases himself down and stretches out on his stomach, weight propped on his elbows as he buries his face between his brother's thighs.
Sanguinius hastily unbuckles his cingulum and pulls it out of the way, then pushes his loincloth down as Horus nuzzles his cock through the fabric. Here, as elsewhere, Sanguinius is a feast for the senses: golden curls surrounding rosy flesh, the mouthwatering scent of his skin, the rich Primarch taste as Horus laps at his cockhead. He lets out his breath in a soft, needy hiss when Horus' lips encircle him, and makes a quiet, secret moan as Horus slides down on his shaft.
Everything about him is so lovely. He hums in pleasure, his hands roving over Horus' back and shoulders, stroking his scalp fondly. Horus makes room for Sanguinius' cock in his throat, rocking down to envelop the whole thing. The weight and smoothness on his tongue feel good, but it's the sweetness of Sanguinius' reactions that really make this worthwhile. His touch, his soft gasps, the creamy salt of precome as his cockhead rubs against the roof of Horus' mouth.
"You're here to give me what I want in celebration?" Sanguinius asks, his melodious voice turning breathy.
"Mmmn," Horus agrees, squeezing one of his thighs.
"Then undress for me," Sanguinius says, quiet but with a thread of iron through it. A commander's voice.
Horus looks up to find Sanguinius watching him, eyes turned a rich and hungry green. He reaches for the buckles of his leathers without pulling up.
He gets harness and jerkin off without having to sit up, but there's no graceful way to get out of a mail shirt while sucking cock. Horus sits up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and watching Sanguinius' eyes tracking him hungrily. His cock is heavy between his thighs. He peels off his mail and the shirt beneath, then rises up on his knees to push his trousers down. "Where do you want me, my lord?" he asks with a grin as Sanguinius' admiring gaze flickers down to his erection.
But Sanguinius keeps up his role, shoulders back and chin lifted as he says, "In my lap. I want you riding my cock, general."
Horus' own cock can't argue with orders like that. He strips out of the rest of his clothes in a hurry. "As you command, o radiant angel." Sanguinius' mouth twitches like he's trying to hold back a smile, and Horus counts that a victory.
He straddles his brother's hips and Sanguinius leans back to give him room to position himself. He steadies Sanguinius' cock with one hand around the base, aligning his hips so the head nudges at his asshole, and pushes himself down with a groan. The stretch stings, going this quickly and with nothing more than spit to ease the way, but sometimes that hint of spice is just what he wants.
"Some lucky bastard," Sanguinius murmurs.
"Right this moment," Horus answers as he slides down, "so many of them wish they were me."
Sanguinius catches him by the nape and pulls him down into a kiss, proving his point entirely. Horus pushes his hands into Sanguinius' hair, letting it fall through his fingers as he leans into the kiss. Their tongues tease and curl against each other as Horus rolls his hips, taking pleasure from the thick shaft pressing deep inside him. They match each other's tempo as well here as on the battlefield, meeting each other's movements stroke for stroke. Sanguinius sweeps his wings forward to wrap around them both, driving up harder and making Horus groan as his nerves spark and his cock jumps.
"You won't be the only one coming to see me," Sanguinius says as he takes Horus' cock in hand. "We shouldn't draw this out."
"You could turn them away," Horus suggests, shivering as Sanguinius' calluses drag over his cockhead. "Flaunt your power a little. Let them wait."
"Be kind, brother. Poor Azkaellon would be mortified." Sanguinius smiles, taking any sting out of the reproach. "You can always come back tonight to press your suit further."
"I'll do that," Horus promises. He thrusts into the hand around his shaft, pushing himself toward completion. "Hunt up a bottle of something stronger and come back for a more indulgent second round."
"Do that," Sanguinius says. "I'll look forward to it while I'm soothing bruised egos and making promises for the last phase of our Crusade."
Horus smiles. "There, already a capable statesman," he says. "Nnh, that's it, just there." Heat thrums through him as Sanguinius drives into him again, repeating that targeted strike. He closes his eyes, feeling each pulse of increasing arousal.
"I love that look," Sanguinius tells him softly. "When you forget about flirting, about charm, and your face is so honest. Let me see you come, brother."
It's too gentle to be an order and yet Horus couldn't possibly refuse. He nods once, focusing on the sensations of being stroked and filled, the rising tension, his balls drawing tight. Close—so close—climax bursts at the root of his cock, surging outward, come spilling over Sanguinius' fingers.
Sanguinius moans in response as Horus clenches down around him, and his wings rustle as he trembles. The sound cuts off in a gasp as his whole body tenses, his cock throbbing. Horus opens his eyes just in time to see his expression relax from the tension of orgasm into the soft contentment that follows.
"Beautiful, my brother." Horus leans forward and kisses Sanguinius' brow. "But then, you always are."
"You're too kind," Sanguinius says. He tips his face up for another kiss, so of course Horus indulges him. This kiss is slow and gentle, pledging anew their affection for each other, and every second of it is precious.
But Sanguinius is right; he will have other visitors coming to congratulate him, or complain, or make their cases for one campaign or another. Horus lets go and they disentangle themselves, cleaning up and dressing to make themselves presentable again. The air in the tent still smells like the Prince of the Imperial Host has been fucking someone, but that can hardly be helped.
Horus helps to smooth Sanguinius' hair back into place and straightens an earring that was hanging crookedly. "Don't forget," he says. "I'll be back tonight for another round."
"Don't you forget," Sanguinius answers with a smile, "you promised me stronger wine."
Horus chuckles. "I did indeed. I'd best go see what I can convince the quartermasters to part with."
He gives Sanguinius one last quick kiss before he leaves. As he steps out of the tent, he spots Azkaellon standing to one side, still keeping watch if not quite so close to the entrance. His cheeks are quite flushed, and when Horus winks at him they turn just a fraction redder.
You're shameless, Sanguinius says in his memory, and he can't deny it.
Jaghatai is striding up the path as Horus leaves, calm and confident. Clearly not one of the ones who was displeased with Father's decision, from his body language. Good. Let Sanguinius count his allies this day. And let him have many of them.