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inquisitornocturn · 12 days ago

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◇ Inter Stellas Inveniam Te ◇

◇◇◇ Chapter VI - Sic Mundus Creatus Est

⚜ 𝖕𝖆𝖎��𝖎𝖓𝖌: Xavier Calcazar/Volenta Calcazar (OC)/Heinrix van Calox

⚜ 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖘: Overall story rating - E. Overall tags - romance, disaster polycule, smut. This chapter - PTSD, forced voyeurism, smut, vaginal fingering, anal, threesome, cunnilingus.

⚜ 𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖞 𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: Even the most powerful have their weaknesses. Volenta has more than a few of her own. One such weakness being her husband. Another - her love for toying with others. Her station permits it, but it doesn't come without consequences, because Lady Inquisitor soon finds herself entangled with another man. And she doesn't know just what events will unfold when the man she's married to gets assigned to look over the Koronus Expanse.

In the 41st millennium, there's only war. Be it on surfaces of planets, on the decks of spaceships or… in personal lives. And those battles are not easily won.

⚜ 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: Memories of the past haunt Volenta, but just one vox, one message and she pushes that away to go and see the one who has need of her. Information is exchanged, promises made, but she is forced to confront the truth of her liaison with Heinrix.

⚜ 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 11,989 | AO3 | Chapter navigation

⚜ 𝖆/𝖓: Every time I plan a short chapter the prose shoots me in the back with no mercy. Enjoy!

Eyes closed, eyelashes trembling, bare fingers gripping the lip of the sink so tightly that the already pale skin over the knuckles is now completely white. And breathing. Heavy, interrupted by a sort of choke that happens when one sobs, except she’s not crying. Her lungs are constricting when she tries to inhale. The sweat on her brows accumulates and trickles down in rivulets down her temples.

The uniform on Volenta’s body feels uncomfortably tight even though she’s used to it, to the comforting skin-tight feeling of the clothes she picks. “Shit.” She tries to inhale again and her chest contracts again as well. “Shit.”

She has seen worse than this. But the knowledge doesn’t help to discard the memories that resurface like a needle full of toxins pushing through the skin. The flames, the barrels full of corpses, laughter, strangely. Hers and the boy’s running close. “You should’ve seen his face, Len! You should’ve seen his face when I blew his head off! This baby is worth every Throne I had to pay for it!” He laughs again and she does too, eyeing the exotic gun in the boy’s hand, all putrid glow and dark, purple orbs all over it. In her own hand there’s a beaten up las pistol that Volenta lifted from a man who tried to rape her. She seduced him into it, got him with his pants around the ankles and then slit his throat as he tried to put his dick in her. Appendage that most likely hasn’t seen a spec of soap since birth. She bathed in his blood and laughed. And laughed. And laughed. But had to ask Carynth to help her move the body off of her.

She was twelve then. He was fifteen.

“Stop it!” Volenta hisses in the present. At herself, at the memory that keeps unraveling in her head scene by scene. Her and Carynth in the underpass of the low level of the Hive, counting dirty coins. Her and him, rummaging through the pockets of a fallen woman who has been caught by a gang and left for dead after they had their fun with her. Them, trying to survive the jabs and mockery of the gang that Carynth talked Volenta into joining. He didn’t need to do much convincing.

“STOP IT!” This time she shouts and rises a hand faster than the woman herself can comprehend, a fist reeling back before it launches forwards, towards the mirror above the sink and she stops herself at the last moment. Eyes snap open and Volenta sees her own ghostly pale face, wet with drops of sweat, hair sticking to her temples and collar of the shirt soaking up the rivulets that haven’t stopped running from the moment they built up momentum.

Wide eyes, her eyes, eyes of a little girl, before the face of her reality morphs into the visage, erasing the young impression of Volenta entirely. She lowers the fist then and with trembling fingers activates the faucet, letting it run until the water is ice cold. Only then she cups two palms and begins washing her face.

“God-Emperor help me.” A whisper escapes the Inquisitor when she pauses to gather more water into her palms. “Please, Emperor, remove these memories.” She’s begging and she knows it, but Volenta allows herself to. The only times she truly, earnestly begs are in her private conversations with Him.

But no relief comes and she keeps washing her face, then sighs, gripping the lip of the sink again and hanging her head low while the water is still running. “I know, I know…” Volenta whispers to words that she imagines, said by the Emperor through His silence. They speak to her, tell her that she can survive this, it’s just memories, it’s not dangerous. And she rises a wet hand to grip the silver rosette hanging from her neck with a firm fist. “I know.”

Len… No one calls her that. No one ever did, except for Carynth. And the memory of how the nickname sounded in a joyful voice of a boy she remembers growing up with, squeezes her eyelids shut once more. She can’t let it consume her.

This time, when the Lady Inquisitor inhales it’s without a hitch and she exhales slowly, through pursed lips to even the flow of air. And does it all over again a handful of times before she starts feeling dizzy from the deep breaths and controlled exhales. “Shit.” Suddenly she laughs and deactivates the faucet, snatching the towel from the hook nearby, drying her face.

She nearly gave in. Nearly succumbed to the memories that gnaw at her like rabid rats the moment she forgets herself. “Fucking Rashakht.”

It was him who led her to this state and she walked into as if led by a hand held upon her wrist. Mer reported his findings. She went to inspect them. What they found was not that drastic, but the amount of young, teenaged boys made it difficult for Volenta to go through the torture cells, stepping over the limbs akimbo or just torn and strewn about. One of them looked like Carynth and while she held her bile down then, upon returning to the safety of Volenta’s office, she closed herself in the bathchamber and heaved.

She heaved but nothing came out. Volenta forgot to eat again this morning and the alcohol she consumed has long been absorbed into her system. Still, she spasmed over the sink, mouth open, chocked gasps coming out of her to the oppressing, lonely silence surrounding her. Only Carynth could provoke such response and it wasn’t even him there, laying among the bodies, cut from navel to throat.

Stop thinking about it, Volenta scolds herself within the safety of her thoughts and then straightens her spine, rolls her shoulders and looks into the mirror again. What she sees there is a pale, haunted face of a woman that despite being over eighty years old stopped aging around mid-thirties. And she wonders how she would look like without the rejuvenation treatments, without the highest grade technology that supports her youth to prolong functionality and extend Volenta’s service to the Inquisition far more than anyone else in the Imperium can afford.

Attempting a smile the Inquisitor is met with a ghastly mockery of it and immediately stops, sighing heavily and throwing the towel back onto the hook. And she refuses to look at herself in the mirror again. To the hallowed cheeks and dark shadows beneath the eyes. Food, that’s what she needs.

With that thought, Volenta exits the chamber and gets greeted by her servo-skull, hovering in complete silence. It’s optic implants are waiting for a hand gesture or a whispered command, but she just passes it and walks to the desk cogitator, reaching for a button.

The moment she attempts to summon the serfs to bring her whatever meal they can put together in five minutes, the message comes in with a familiar name.

“Come.”

It’s the only word being displayed and she sighs, closes her eyes and sighs again. But if Xavier wants to see her, then she won’t refuse.

Volenta’s heart beats faster at the thought of forgetting her distress in his embrace and she grabs at the rosette again, squeezing it tightly. She does it until the edges of silver begin cutting into the palm, nearly breaking skin. Only then the Inquisitor relents her grip and tries to breathe slowly again. Because she knows that her reaction to the murdered boys is not welcome. That she shouldn’t share it, shouldn’t speak about it. Not to Xavier. He tried to root out this shortcoming in her. First through tough talking, then with a scar, one of the first upon her back.

And Volenta should’ve learned her lesson, should’ve discarded such a weakness long ago, and yet…

And yet she fails still. Albeit in the privacy of her own loneliness, but she still fails and the thought alone makes Volenta’s body tense and fingers twitch with desire to grab something and throw it. To destroy, to break, to express the accumulation of feelings within the woman that she can’t seem to get rid of, no matter how many decades pass.

She does not think of Carynth often or his nickname for her, but when it happens – it’s always…

Shaking her head, Volenta tries to remove the nasty remnant of a thought from her mind and attempts another smile. This time it comes more naturally so she lets go of it and repeats the process until finally it feels like she has gotten herself back.

And Xavier is waiting. Waiting for her. She won’t deny him even a moment longer than she has to.

Deleting the vox message, Volenta grabs her gloves from the desk where she has thrown them upon return, and while pulling them onto her still slightly trembling hands, she marches out of her office.

Teleportarium has been fast to assist the Lady Inquisitor Prime and in just twenty minutes she already is on Merciless Wrath. The officers there immediately greet Volenta and direct her to Xavier’s office even though she knows the path perfectly well. This ship, after all, has been a home to her for many years.

The corridors Volenta passes are familiar in a sentimental kind of way, but she does not linger on the thought, wondering why Xavier summoned her so unceremoniously. Last time she saw Heinrix was three days ago and while Xavier was, again, informed about what exactly transpired, it appeared that her husband gave up his displeasure. For the time being at least. Volenta knows that Xavier, for all his strengths, has a few shortcomings. And one of them is that he catalogues all her transgressions only to make a lesson out of them when the time is right. She bears the marks of such reminders both internally and externally.

Volenta does not expect another teaching opportunity has fallen into her husband’s hands, but his vox, sent through regular channels and not the private one they had set up for themselves that is counting decades now, is not exactly unusual, just not that common either. And as she passes the deck officers, agents of varying ranks and crew members of Merciless Wrath, the woman realizes that she recognizes less and less faces each time she’s back aboard. Such is the life in the Imperium.

Still, the whispers follow her like ghosts of the past, haunting her in cut-off sentences. While most of the Inquisition know who she is and the most barest facts of Volenta’s life – it appears it’s no different here, on a spaceship that she still thinks of as her home. Not the hiveworld from which the Lady Inquisitor hails and definitely not the regiment with which she served two grueling years. But this sword-class frigate that has been her schola, her home and the center of her personal life for many years, until Xavier sent Volenta to serve under the Ordo Hereticus banner. A banner, that technically the Inquisitor still waves on the battlefields, but considers herself less part of a specific Ordo and more the overseer of the entire Inquisition.

The whispers, however, caught not only by hearing but by her augmetic implant, are only slightly different from the ones that permeate the corridors of the Headquarters. The wife, the Inquisitor, the Hereticbane. Volenta dislikes the name people have given her. Much below her to wear the word heretic proudly, no matter the context. But she understands the need for such titles. Oftentimes they work as well as any purity seal detailing deeds of glory, or a bolter’s explosive shell to sow fear among the unbelievers and the traitors.

Still, she sometimes wishes it was something more than just terror tactics that spoke of Volenta’s deeds. Rarely does Ordo Hereticus pick non-psykers to become inquisitors. Even rarer such inquisitors climb any higher or survive in the field longer than their inhuman counterparts. Fight fire with fire is not just a sentiment when entire Ordo deals with witches that go rogue, with mutants that have slipped beyond permitted parameters via their genetics, and a wide array of heretics that vary from traitors to those born into heresy itself.

Hereticbane.

Volenta scoffs to herself when she hears the name repeated again. Do they even know what it entails? Most likely not, ignorant to most of everything that Imperium is built upon. But still, the nickname irks the Inquisitor in a way that only steel walls of her home can amplify. It’s because there was once a time when she wanted a name for herself, but it was less about destroying and more about her faith. Inspired after reading texts about Adepta Sororitas and their saints, Volenta dreamed to be one day called Emperor’s Justice or Bringer of His Light. But it’s not the path that has been chosen for her from the moment Xavier laid his eyes on the emaciated soldier, back on whatever world he picked her up from. Volenta never cared enough to memorize the name.

No, her path to recognition trailed over bodies, twisted from either mutations or torture, through oceans of blood and mind-numbing battles for her soul. Many a psyker had tried to break her. Many a heretic had tried to destroy her. And the job got harder when she took the role that Volenta represents right now. It’s been what, more or less forty years? Just a drop in the endless sea of the Imperium’s millennias. And still, despite that, she started getting a new name that she does not like any better than the Hereticbane.

Inquisitor of the Inquisitors.

This name, a mouthful for anyone with even one drink in their stomach, has started to emerge some ten years ago. After Volenta killed the previous Grandmaster of Solar segmentum. She nearly put her own head on the chopping block in the process, but the Emperor favorited the woman and she emerged not disgraced and thrown into the Inquisition’s holding cells for the key to get lost forever. No, she made a name for herself. And many, many enemies.

In the end, maybe it’s a better fitting title than the widespread one Volenta carries now. In the end – her duties have her chasing fellow colleagues rather than demons, witches or traitors et all. In the end… it’s her judgement behind which the Emperor stands. And in this moment, it’s like Volenta can feel the wonderful presence of Him near her, a hand on her shoulder. Heavy as it is liberating and reassuring.

“Emperor’s Throne.” She suddenly mutters when, nearing the goal of the journey towards Xavier’s command bridge, she is met with a view of two acolytes, no younger than two decades in age, on the floor on their knees, gathering las pistol batteries that Volenta immediately recognizes as weaker caliber practice ones.

The moment the acolytes notice Volenta, they don’t get to their feet but instead bow deeply, pressing foreheads to the floor. The young women wear similar robes that she herself wore in her early years aboard the Merciless Wrath and her expression hardens.

“What is this mess, acolytes?” She says in a commanding tone and notices one of the women flinch. “What disgrace and failure you have performed here?”

“Lady Inquisitor, it was an accident. We just dropped them, they were so heavy-“

“Quiet.” This time the command is said in a voice that could sound almost understanding if not for the steel encasing it. Volenta steps closer, eyeing the batteries that the acolytes have been well underway in putting into stacked piles before she appeared, and considering what to do with this, the woman remains silent for a moment.

Two trembling forms before her. One’s hair is red, another wears a crown of rich brown. Both of them shaking no matter how hard they are trying to hide it. They know who she is, how can they not. But irritation still rises in Volenta at the less than stellar view that she is presented with. These young women can’t even take a stock of las pistol batteries without spilling them everywhere like children. Did Xavier’s recruitment has turned so poorly that now he takes people who can’t perform the simplest of tasks? She will need to speak to him about this.

All the while Volenta contemplates about her husband’s recruitment choices, the right hand moves to the holster of the plasma pistol strapped over the Lex Imperialis at her waist and unclips the button. By the time familiarity of holding her hallowed gun is recognized by Volenta’s body, the two acolytes are already dead. Shots quietly let out plasma blasts that got drowned out by the dying breaths of the two women, who slump in the spots they have been kneeling at. Then the pistol gets holstered again, even before the singed holes the shots have left in the two skulls release thin tendrils of smoke. With an expressionless face Volenta steps over the bodies and proceeds.

A waste, really, not to make a more direct path to the command bridge. It’s taking her forever to get there but only because Volenta refuses to use the lifts, that are usually stuffed with either servitors or agents losing their minds for being in her presence. As if she’s a curse that will end their lives if they come too close.

Finally, she sees the all too familiar door and stops, gloved palms smoothing over the front of Volenta’s uniform. Then fingers run through loose strands of her hair, making sure that they are flowing in a way Xavier likes. Again the woman practices a smile, finds it completely natural and with a genuine one slotting instead of a fake, she enters the office.

She finds Xavier standing behind his desk, power armor abandoned somewhere else and just a sleek, black suit he wears beneath it being what covers the man from neck down. Trimmed with red and gold, it emphasizes the classical look for inquisitors, contrasting Volenta’s own choice for black and silver. His palms are pressed onto the desk, face turned down onto the data-slates shining in green hue below the man.

He does not rise his head when Volenta enters.

“I don’t have a date for Koronus yet, but I have been given a more immediate assignment and was granted a choice of inquisitors to take with me.”

“Splendid. I need to be here - why?” Volenta asks as she walks around the desk and places a quick kiss to Xavier’s augmetic on the left side of the skull, then turns to the liquor closet.

“Volenta.” Xavier says and she stops in her tracks, then looks over the shoulder to see her husband push a cup of recaf alongside the edge of the desk. She rolls her eyes but obeys and turns back, taking the still steaming cup with one hand.

After a sip at which she frowns because Xavier was never known to sweeten his recaf, something that Volenta personally does, she focuses her grey gaze upon the side profile of a man who’s a pict-perfect image of concentration. Absentmindedly, she reaches and brushes a strand of hair behind his ear and only that grants the woman a look from Xavier. “I will need your assistance on the mission.”

“I’m not Ordo Xenos, love.” She reminds him but the frown does not disappear from upon Volenta’s brow and Xavier straightens his spine, rising almost a head taller than his wife.

“No, but the available inquisitors at my disposal are far from being my first choices.”

“And you want my presence to instill enough fear in them so that they don’t betray you or sabotage the mission.” She finishes for Xavier and sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose with two fingers. “You can’t just whisk me away at a whim like you used to.”

It’s not a conversation they are having for the first time. A handful of times before Volenta felt like she had to remind Xavier that she’s not his acolyte and hasn’t been for what is nearing four decades? She’s not sure. Simple fact is - she has other duties and other responsibilities.

And despite that - she follows him every time.

“My dear, you’re the best of the best. When was the last time you saw real battle?” There’s a sneaking sensation of Xavier’s bare touch against the side of Volenta’s face and she lowers her own hand to look at the man to whom she gave everything – body, mind and soul.

“Is that mockery?” Despite the smirk on her face, the woman still leans into Xavier’s touch and he rubs the prominent cheekbone with a thumb in slow circles.

“I think you could use an exercise, that is all. Lords of Terra will try to keep you pinned, you know that. Don’t let them.”

How clever, Volenta thinks to herself as Xavier gazes into her eyes with pure affection. How clever to make her rebel against those who think they control her. He knows all her buttons, all the triggers and this time it is no different.

“So what’s the mission?”

Xavier’s smile widens at the swift victory he was able to achieve and leans closer to Volenta, at the same time pulling her face up, angling it for himself to plant a kiss upon the waiting lips of his wife. “There’s this planet-“ He starts but stops when the door to the office opens with a smooth slide of well-calibrated hydraulics.

He turns only to see Heinrix, and immediately drops his touch from Volenta, who glances at the Interrogator and allows Xavier step away before taking a sip of recaf. This – has not been in her plans. Not in today’s schedule, at least. And as she sees a veil of mortification slip over Heinrix’s expression, however momentarily, Volenta knows that Xavier didn’t talk to him yet.

Ignorance is bliss, some say, but Volenta knows her husband better than to pretend that he will forgive and forget. No, especially because she gave no indication of wanting to cut Heinrix off. Still, allowing herself one nod to the dumbstruck agent, she takes two steps to lean her hip against the side of the desk. Xavier, in turn, shuts off all the data-slates with a wave of a palm over them, then affixes Heinrix with a look that is betraying absolutely nothing at all.

“So you’re here.” Newly appraised Inquisitor Lord says and Volenta looks at him, taking another slow sip from the cup. “Good. In a week’s time we will be leaving on a mission. I was informing Lady Inquisitor here of the situation.”

Heinrix’s eyes flick to Volenta, then back to Xavier and the urge to tug at the collar of his jacket increases as the perceived tightness of it begins choking the man. He nods to his mentor and approaches the desk. “Will Lady Inquisitor Prime be joining us?” He asks and Volenta doesn’t notice it, not yet, she hasn’t been around Heinrix for long enough, but Xavier does. The hint of foolish hopefulness that permeates the words in the most delicate way.

“She will indeed. We have agreed that Lady Inquisitor Calcazar will accompany the forces as a boost to morale.”

Volenta laughs. She can’t help it. “Drop it, my dear. You can tell him that I’m needed there to scare the men shitless.” Chuckling, she chooses not to mention how Xavier picked her title specifically to include the shared last name, as if trying to make a point before Heinrix even rises any objections. Jealousy.

“I tried to put it in a way that is not as jarring as your usual choice of words.” Xavier grumbles but far less chastising than he could become. Volenta puts the half-empty mug on the desk and makes towards Heinrix, in whose eyes she sees an unspoken plea.

“My usual choice of words usually gets the point across much faster than skirting around it.”

“I don’t mind it, really.” Heinrix joins in and Xavier just shakes his head, then looks for something on the table. The manilla folders rustle as he rummages through the never-ending presence of them upon his desk. If it’s not one thing, then it’s always another.

“Of course you don’t.” Volenta’s voice gains a crooning quality and Heinrix’s eyes fixate back onto her after briefly glancing at his mentor. He watches, as if in slow motion, how the woman pulls off a glove and caresses first his chest, then lets her fingers climb up. The moment her palm presses against the side of Heinrix’s face is when all tension seems to dissolve in the man, leaking out like a punctured waterskin.

“Lady Inquisitor, if you could spare me a moment, I’d like to discuss something with you.” An attempt is made, but Volenta only smiles.

“Indeed? Discuss what?”

“It’s confidential.”

She laughs and Heinrix’s eyes flick to Xavier again, catching the man scan the open folder before him and take out an intricate box that the Interrogator knows well. It’s where Inquisitor holds his cigars. In which he doesn’t partake often, when the occasion calls for it. And that is what puzzles Heinrix, as he observes Xavier take out one cigar, clip the end of it and light it, all the tools returning safely to the box right after. Then it is closed and hidden again.

As he does this, Volenta only observes Heinrix, the way his throat moves when he swallows nervously. At the click of a jet lighter, that she is all too familiar with, the woman slips her palm into Heinrix’s hair, to the back of his skull and pulls his face towards her. Their lips meet and Heinrix, too stunned to do anything at first. A frozen second before he forgets himself for just a briefest of moments and reaches to embrace Volenta, to pull her against him.

“I think that’s quite enough of a display.” Xavier’s voice snaps Heinrix back to the present and he immediately steps backwards, hands now risen not to embrace but in show of surrender.

“Inquisitor, I didn’t- She-“

Volenta chuckles again and raises an eyebrow at the man, clearly terrified of his own transgression, that she can’t help but find hilarious.

“She what, Van Calox?” Xavier says and, in her amusement, Volenta just pulls off the second glove, watching the situation unfold.

“You saw.” Heinrix replies, sounding defeated and Xavier inhales the smoke, then looks at his wife’s back, the cascading white hair covering it to the waist of a body that knows very inch of.

“Volenta, come here.” He demands and she smiles to Heinrix, then swiftly and smoothly turns on her heel, before letting her steps take her around the desk and to Xavier’s side.

When she stops there, there’s a flick of a motion and Xavier’s mechanical fingers grip her jaw, squeezing tightly, edging the threshold of pain. The look in his eye is the one that tells most – he wants to make a point.

“Why did you do that?”

“Xavier-“

“Answer me.” The hand squeezes further and she lets out a grunt, after which Heinrix moves towards the desk.

“Xavier, release her.”

But the look that the Inquisitor shoots to his acolyte is danger spelled out in clearest of warnings. “I will deal with my wife in whichever way I please, Van Calox.” Then, back to Volenta. “Answer me.”

“You already know why.” She says but doesn’t move to pry the augmetic hand away from her jaw, doesn’t even flinch, just looks straight ahead of herself. Straight into the face of a man she married all those years ago.

There’s a sneer, so uncharacteristic to him, and Xavier takes a long pause to make use of the cigar, blowing smoke straight to Volenta’s face. She only squints, then allows herself a smallest of smiles.

“You have forgotten yourself.” At last he says and blows the smoke again, noticing with his ocular implant the heat signature of Heinrix twitch with a jump that he suppresses before it happens. How badly does he want to protect the Lady Inquisitor. He’s almost ready to risk his own safety. And life.

“No, I haven’t.” How does Volenta defend Xavier’s need for show of dominion over her without giving up her own desires? Those that Heinrix has risen within the woman? Those of excitement and being wanted in a similar but such a different way from her husband.

Why can’t she have both. If only to make a point that Volenta too has wishes. That she, too, can have it her way even if Xavier doesn’t like it. Because every single time in their shared history when Xavier seriously pushed back against Volenta – she relented. She always does. Because she loves him more than herself.

But now it feels different. Why him sleeping with Dec is not an issue, even if it was a one time thing? Why she has to forgo what she wants, even if it’s a wish driven by desire?

Why he sees Heinrix as such a threat?

Surely it’s not the proximity, Volenta thinks to herself in the two seconds while all these thoughts run through her head. It can’t be that, because like every agent - Heinrix rarely spends time in his mentor’s company. The Inquisition separates everyone. The service demands it. Even this meeting of three of them is not a common occurrence, despite it being decades of them being intertwined.

No, even if it’s just a fling. Even if Volenta will bore of Heinrix tomorrow. It’s not about that. It’s about putting her foot down which she has every right to do. Is she not Volenta Calcazar? The Hereticbane, the Inquisitor of Inquisitors? She has a right to permit herself this because Xavier has broken their agreement first.

She swallows before continuing. “Dear, surely you are not threatened by Heinrix here, are you?” The small smile slowly becomes a smirk, mischievous and bratty. One that Xavier knows well. A muscle under his eye twitches and the ash from the cigar drops onto the folders loudly in the silence encompassing all of them. He doesn’t move, just thinks of what his dear wife has challenged him with.

And he boils with fury.

The notion that his wife, one person that knows Xavier perhaps better than he knows himself, is pushing just the right buttons to get her point across. Heinrix doesn’t matter, her insubordination doesn’t matter. No longer these occupy the front of the Inquisitor’s mind. Instead, it’s the sheer thought that she thinks that Xavier is threatened by another man. His acolyte, above all things. The point has been made on Volenta’s part and now… Now he knows he has to make one of his own.

A smirk appears when an idea forms in his head and Xavier releases Volenta, turning to tap the ash of the cigar into the unfinished recaf mug. It quickly sizzles out and while her jaw aches, Volenta refuses to bring her hand up and soothe the marks that most likely will appear later. She watches Xavier instead, observing how he lowers himself into the armchair that has been in this office for far longer than the Inquisitor himself served the Ordos. A flagship he inherited from his own mentor and he – from his.

Despite the centuries, the armchair has been a comfortable companion to Xavier for many missions, tragedies and joyous moments. It’s the same chair that Volenta herself has made use for in the past, many a time. And not for the first time it will serve as a podium for punishment.

“Remove your coat.” Xavier gestures to his wife and she pauses, but only for a fraction of a moment.

First gloves are out down on the desk, then her pauldrons. The cloak is draped over the other, lesser chair to the side, and her fingers work the front of her greatocoat.

“You see, my dear Heinrix.” Xavier does not look at the younger man, rather preferring to watch his wife work the buttons on her front. “There are some things that you don’t know about in dealing with a woman like Volenta.” Drawing onto his cigar, the Inquisitor pauses, waiting until the greatcoat joins the cloak and smirks slightly. “I’m about to show you what exactly that means.”

“You don’t have to do this. I can leave.” Heinrix tries not to jump closer because he senses that something will happen. He knows not what, but this situation doesn’t bode well.

“No, stay. Let the man show his power.” Volenta winks at him with a smile and Xavier scoffs with disdain and raises an eyebrow.

“Come to me.” He commands and with ease Volenta obeys, in two steps ending up before her husband again, facing him.

For a moment Xavier doesn’t do anything, just taps the cigar over the mug and partakes in the rich smoke again. But the moment the rolled up, brown leaves leave his lips – the Inquisitor takes Volenta by the shoulder and spins her to face Heinrix instead of himself. Their eyes meet and while Heinrix looks concerned and partially cross, Volenta, on the other hand, only appears to be amused.

She feels how Xavier’s mechanical arm moves behind her and then wraps itself around her shoulder at the front, pushing the woman against his chest. Blowing smoke to the side of her face again, the Inquisitor smirks. “Tell me, my dear wife, what do you see?”

“I see Heinrix.” She responds calmly, although not without squinting slightly at the smoke in her eyes. “Your acolyte, High Interrogator in your retinue. Your right hand man.”

“No, tell me what you see.”

She thinks and eyes Heinrix again who looks like he would prefer to be fighting hordes of deamons alone rather than stand here, feeling helpless. It’s a familiar feeling to her, one that Volenta experienced before. When Xavier was injured, when she lost members of her retinue before. And back on the planet that was nearly wiped off by a psyker gone rogue. Elio.

It clicks.

“A psyker. Sanctioned.”

“So he is.” Xavier’s voice drops to almost a whisper and he leans to Volenta’s ear, keeping eyes on Heinrix as well. “And that means?”

She doesn’t know and at her delay in answering Xavier’s mechanical fingers close around her left shoulder even firmer, bruising the skin beneath the shirt. But that hurts less than failing to deliver what he wants. “I don’t know.” Finally Volenta admits and a scoff brushes against her ear. “He’s no different than countless other psykers serving the Imperium and the God-Emperor.”

“No?” There’s mockery in Xavier’s tone now and her stomach sinks.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing here, Xavier, but this is enough.” Heinrix rejoins and his gaze moves from Volenta and onto his mentor. The air grows colder and she winces when in response Xavier’s grip becomes even more suffocating. The forearm against her chest squeezes harder, trapping Volenta against his chest as if by chains.

“No, Heinrix.” In a calm voice the Inquisitor relishes the smoke of the cigar again, creating a pause during which only the sizzling of the leaves can be heard. “I want her to answer. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

But Heinrix doesn’t need to answer for both Volenta and Xavier to understand that he does not know. His eyes flick to the woman, almost pleading for help, the emotion muddled when it intertwines with increasing anger.

“I’m not going to be a prop to a malicious game.” Heinrix says and begins turning until one simple command comes. One not meant for him.

“Strip.”

Volenta tries to turn her head and look at Xavier but the side of the jaw that he has against her temple prevents the woman from achieving an exchange. He cannot be serious, can he?

“You heard me. I’m going to release you and you’re going to undress.”

“I won’t stay for this!” Heinrix raises his voice and is only met with Xavier’s oppressing look.

“You will. That’s an order.”

“This is a travesty. You can’t-“

“But I can, my dear Heinrix. You will soon understand why.” And then to his wife: “Follow your order.”

Volenta stands still, quiet and unperturbed. Heinrix searches her eyes for something. A sign of distress? Of unwillingness to go along with this? Sadness even, perhaps? He sees nothing in the glacier grey. And when her gaze turns away, Heinrix clenches his fists but keeps them at his sides. Whatever show Xavier wants Heinrix to witness – he’s been ordered to see it through.

There’s a handful of seconds while Xavier draws on the cigar, then, finally, his mechanical arm releases Volenta and she lingers by his chest for a moment longer with a small smile playing at her lips. “Naughty.” She whispers and feels a rumble of a chuckle against her back but it doesn’t escape her husband’s mouth.

“You like this.” Xavier whispers back right into her ear and Volenta’s smile grows wider, painting her pale face in colors of amusement.

She only clicks her tongue and steps half a step away from Xavier, then begins to unzip the front of her shirt. Heinrix immediately turns his eyes away and there’s a hue of a blush creeping up his neck and face that Xavier doesn’t miss. He only taps more of the ash into the tainted recaf mug and scoffs at the younger man.

“No need to be pretending now, Heinrix. Don’t you think I know? Not for even one second doubt that I didn’t know from the very beginning. Started with a kiss, did it not?” He’s mocking the Interrogator while Volenta lets her black shirt slip off her white shoulders and pool on the floor by Xavier’s feet.

“Inquisitor, I implore you to understand-“

“No, you will listen to me.” Xavier cuts him off and with free hand slips a strap of Volenta’s bra off her shoulder while her hands are working the clasp at the back. “You should count yourself lucky that you live to draw breath, Heinrix. You do understand that it is my wife that you touched?”

At the words Heinrix’s face becomes fully red but whether from shame or anger, perhaps both, Volenta can’t discern just yet. His eyes are downcast, fists still clenched and she smiles to herself again. Of course he knew that, how could he not. But there are other things that Heinrix doesn’t know and that thought amuses the woman to almost no end.

Relieving herself from a bra, Volenta breathes easier and rubs one shoulder where the strap of the garment dug painfully into her skin. Same shoulder that is sore from Xavier’s grip, but she doesn’t linger long and proceeds to undo her belt, placing it atop the table and onto the data-slates. It doesn’t bother her in the slightest that Xavier seems to be in a mood to use her as a proof of his power. In fact, she’s having quite a bit of fun at the way Heinrix seems to be squirming within his own skin, the way he refuses to raise his eyes to her.

“It was the most grievous mistake, Inquisitor. I take the blame and I will accept whatever punishment you want to sentence me for.” Heinrix says and his voice sounds firm despite the blushing, partially angry expression. Xavier chuckles.

“Really? How generous of you to take the blame for a married woman’s mistakes. Even if you have not conveniently forgotten that she is mine, Volenta is still the one who broke the bounds of our marriage, is it not, dear?”

“Hm?” Volenta glances over her shoulder at Xavier and has to enforce near all the will not to start giggling. “Yes, my love. It’s all my fault.” She responds but the amused tone surprises Heinrix and he forgets himself for a moment, glancing up. Upon seeing the Lady Inquisitor bare-chested he quickly stakes his gaze back to the floor.

“Seems Volenta is ready to take her punishment.” Xavier smirks and she sees venom in the expression, but turns back to the task at hand, unbuckling her pants, then bending down to unclasp the heels. There’s a hand over her rear, rubbing two lazy circles and then a touch upon the tattoo on her back, tracing the middle of it, the inked skull there.

“She doesn’t have to. Transfer the punishment to me, Inquisitor.” Heinrix mutters, not sure what’s even happening. He feels like a fish being fried in a red-hot pan and Volenta doesn’t even sound distressed or worried at all. There’s something missing, some fact that escaped the Interrogator, and he can’t quite come up with the answer as to what it might possibly be.

“You both will take punishment if you are so eager to be sentenced. This – is part of it.”

“Inquisitor, with all due respect, this is humiliation.” Heinrix finds the words of protest at which Xavier chuckles.

“Is that not one of many possible disciplinary actions, Interrogator?”

Heinrix flinches as if scalded by a lash of a whip and falls quiet, listening to Volenta as she places her heels to the side once they are off her feet. The shuffle of fabric indicates that she’s proceeding to undress further and the Interrogator shuts his eyes, squeezing them firmly.

“There.” Xavier’s eyes row over Volenta’s back when she at last throws her pants and underwear with the coat and cloak and straightens her spine.

With a brush of a hand the man moves the luscious white mane away from her back, eyeing the scars surrounding the Inquisition symbol that hasn’t faded even one bit throughout the decades. The bend of her back, the curve of her rear, strong muscles, relaxed for now, but he knows better than anyone what she’s capable of on a battlefield. He made the right decision to let the assassins train her and to send her to Ordo Hereticus that sharpened Volenta to a razor-like finesse. If she wished she could take both him and Heinrix out before they even managed to put up a fight. And yet here she stands, in the glory of her nakedness, pliant and obedient as he honed her to be.

He’s her maker and he’s her very own god.

The thought is satisfying as it always is, and Xavier presses his chest to Volenta’s back once again, feeling her body mold against him. Putting out the cigar into the mug, Xavier leans down and presses a kiss to the naked shoulder that is beginning to bear a shade of blue. He won’t apologize, it’s not in the manner of the man to do so, but she will learn from this and from what’s to follow. Of that – he will make absolutely sure.

With growing enjoyment of the situation he created, Xavier rises his bare hand and places it upon Volenta’s left breast, exhaling slowly at the tickle of a piercing against his palms. The other one, the bionic hand, he uses to first trace a line over her right thigh, then splays the hydraulic fingers and grips at the flesh. The Inquisitor Lord doesn’t need to imagine how soft she is even if the sensation itself is not there – he knows Volenta’s body, every part of her etched into his memory and senses like an icon of a saint upon the altar.

She, in turn, grips at his wrists, but not to pull them away or stop his lingering touches. It’s simply to hold onto her husband and Volenta relishes the feeling of being in his arms again. There’s not a care on her mind that Heinrix is here. She wouldn’t care if anyone else, besides the Emperor Himself, was here to witness her in the nude. And especially not a man who already has seen her like this, had her like this. It’s not a concern on her mind at all.

“Look at her, Heinrix. Actually look at her.” Xavier commands and squeezes the overspilling through his fingers breast harsher, making Volenta gently inhale.

She turns her gaze to Heinrix and witnesses his flushed face lifting as if moved by an unseen force. The mismatched eyes of his, only by a shade or two, sweep over the form that can be observed from mid-thighs up due to the desk between them. But he sees her. The pale skin, the round hips, flat stomach and heavy mounds of her chest, one of them gripped tightly. Heinrix remember how she felt under his own touch, under his own lips, and swallows thickly. Forcing his eyes even higher, he is met with Volenta’s gaze betraying her never-ending amusement. That look, one not of distress or shame, surprises the Interrogator and he swallows again. Lips part but no words come out.

Behind her, like a dark shadow, Xavier stands, looming unlike a curse that is surrounding her and that will descent upon any man who might dare come closer. Yet he is smiling, however vicious that smile is. His ocular implant flares with a flash when the Inquisitor tilts his head downwards, to look at the woman against him. His very own wife, his very own perfect soldier. Both in one and yet so much more than that.

“Do you think she’s embarrassed, Heinrix?” Xavier asks and Volenta bites her bottom lip, restraining a chuckle threatening to emerge. She wants to give Xavier this chance to flex the power he has over her and if the woman has to be honest with herself – watching Heinrix struggle in this situation is just beyond entertaining.

“I don’t think I’m fit to answer this question for her, Xavier.” The words come out through clenched teeth and Xavier scoffs again. He’s bemused by Heinrix’s attitude and is starting to get irritated.

“And yet you are asked to answer.”

Silence falls because Heinrix does have the answer Xavier requires, but refuses to give it. Who is he to speak for Volenta? A woman of her magnitude doesn’t need others speaking for her. But this whole situation is beginning to confuse the Interrogator even further. What’s the point of all of this? Sure, part of it is clearly to show Heinrix how easily Volenta obeys her husband, but there ought to be something else. Something more.

And Volenta can almost hear the gears turning in Heinrix’s head. She says nothing, remaining quiet. Not because she herself has nothing to add, far from it, but because this stand-off between the two men is of most curious nature. She knows the goal of it, unlike Heinrix. Xavier will establish that he’s the captain of this ship-like situation and will relent, letting her keep Heinrix in a way one keeps a pet. She knows this because the fact that she’s standing naked and is near paraded before the flustered and partially offended man is proof enough. If Xavier made his mind strictly against involving the Interrogator – he would be laying on the floor with a smoking hole in the skull the moment her lips left his.

But he’s not. Instead Heinrix is looking her strictly in the eyes, like he’s too ashamed to let the gaze wander. She tries not to chuckle again. Just days ago he had her on the back and on a desk, legs spread. And now he’s playing the timid one.

“I see you don’t quite yet understand what is asked of you.” Xavier sighs and releases Volenta from his grasp, sitting into the armchair behind him. He pats a thigh and Volenta glances back then slips onto his lap smoothly like a serpent. Not straddling him, but draping her feet over the armrest, forcing Xavier to put his hand over her knee. The Inquisition rosette dangles from his wrist and Volenta glances at it with warmth. It has seen more than just heresy and battle.

“No, I don’t. Why… this?” Finally Heinrix moves and gestures to the display before him: Xavier with his legs parted so that Volenta’s rear rests upon the chair; her relaxed position as she observes the Interrogator with a curious spark in the eye; Inquisitor’s augmented fingers reaching to the side of his wife’s face and grasping a strand of white silk, toying with it gently.

“Why not, my dear Heinrix? You have seen Volenta naked. You have taken her. Is seeing her like this while in my presence disturbs you?”

Of course it does, how can it not. Out of countless possibilities of what kind of reprimand the Inquisitor Lord might have enacted upon Heinrix for sleeping with his wife – this one was not among them. Again words like humiliation, disrespect, show of power flash in the Interrogator’s mind and he tries not to feel even angrier at them.

And then there is a part of him that still craves and yearns. A part of him that is jealous. This woman that he so desperately craves could be sitting in his lap, naked like a trophy of a conqueror. But instead he’s forced to observe another man taking the spoils of the battle that Heinrix didn’t want to admit in fighting. And losing. Now she will never be his. Xavier will establish that Volenta is not to be touched, or come near to, and that will be that. The last thing that Heinrix will see of her, tender and barren like this, is this very scene – of her in another man’s arms. He’s not stupid enough not to realize how unfair and bitter Heinrix sounds even in his own mind, but since when emotions were rational? That’s why he has tried hard to root them out, to clad himself with steel and duty.

Only all of it had been for naught. In this very moment Heinrix understands, that whatever training he has gone through in the decades serving the Inquisition – none of them could have prepared him for how badly it aches to want something and be mocked for not having it.

She was never his.

But could’ve been.

If only he tried harder, talked to Volenta perhaps, maybe she would have… left her husband for him.

Stupid, stupid idea and seeing the woman’s content smile and relaxed pose tells him everything that he needs to know. She would never leave Xavier, neither for him or anything else. And the thought becomes poison that floods the nerve centers of Heinrix’s thoughts.

All of this he thinks in a second or two, the maximum appropriate time to make his mentor wait for a response and Heinrix straightens his back, finding a degree of dignity within himself at last. “No, it does not disturb me, Xavier. She’s a very beautiful woman and I understand now what is it that you’re trying to show me.”

“Do you now?” Unexpectedly Xavier chuckles and strokes Volenta’s thigh, up the side, over her right breast. His rosette drags against her skin and she smiles wider. “Then do enlighten us both, dear Heinrix. Do tell us what you think this is all about.”

It’s not a question, but not exactly a command either and Heinrix swallows dryly, watching fingers toy with a pierced nipple, release it, slide down over the pale thigh again. It’s disgusting, to be taunted like this with a body of a woman that he- Doesn’t matter. And yet the heat in the office becomes more oppressing and Heinrix’s pants sit somehow tighter around his hips. He tells himself not to think, but it’s near impossible not to. The taste of her, the eyes that made him feel like he was the only one for her.

How unfair.

“You want to make your claim obvious. I think the point has been made. You didn’t need to put Volenta through this.” Heinrix gestures and is met with her raised eyebrows.

“No?” Xavier scoffs and his fingers begin trailing on the inside of her thigh, higher, as if testing if Heinrix will look. He does, but only for a second. “Do you think she appears to be in distress about the situation at hand?”

“Xavier, dear, I think he doesn’t understand.” She chimes in and Heinrix frowns at this. How both of them can keep saying that?

“Then explain to me, Volenta, what is going on because I clearly don’t understand, and both of you insist that I don’t.” He tries to bite back the harshness with which the words come out and fails. His foot moves forwards. Just one step and Heinrix is not even sure why, so he stops himself before more such steps are taken.

“May I?” She looks at her husband, who’s fingers already found the soft heat between her legs and is beginning to stroke there lazily. He smiles to her, finally content with how the things are turning out and that she didn’t put up a fight that he almost half expected.

“You may.” Xavier grants the permission and Volenta smiles wider, then kisses him. It’s a deep kiss, slow one and she mewls into his mouth when his fingers find the entrance of her and begin slipping in. It’s easy, she’s wet for him already, and the pride at her being so ready for him swells in the Inquisitor’s chest.

While she kisses her husband, she can sense the heated, scalding look of Heinrix upon her body and it makes her shiver with excitement. To be so desired is what speaks of most profound feelings to the woman and she drinks it in while, allowing the kiss to continue for just a little bit longer. Her tongue tastes the cigar smoke, the faint notes of recaf, and Xavier responds to her growing passions. His augmetic hand grips the underside of Volenta’s jaw and holds her there until he senses her pulling back. Time for words. Time for action will follow.

Yet before she turns to Heinrix, there is an exhale against Xavier’s lips when his fingers slip into her further, to the knuckles, and he senses her tense in a familiar fashion that stirs fire within him and ignites desire in his loins. An idea of taking her, in front of Heinrix, emerges in his mind. It is not what he had planned, but now he wishes for it.

Xavier will let Volenta explain it first.

With a smirk he begins to move his fingers, two of them, curling them upwards and eliciting another moan out of her, however subdued. “Go ahead, love, tell him then.”

The smile on Volenta’s face that appears at Xavier’s words near makes his heart skip a beat, but he responds with a smile of his own and nods again, reassuring her.

Finally she turns to Heinrix, her pale face beginning to gain a shade of pink that the Interrogator himself has seen before due to how he touched her, how he- Heinrix doesn’t allow himself to think further, not right now. He is fighting a losing battle already not to let his gaze drift down to Volenta’s heavy chest or to the fingers between her legs, even if partially hidden by a pale thigh. Oh to have her one more time…

“You see.” The woman starts and Heinrix focuses back on the grey eyes, trying not to see how Xavier’s attention is taken away from the situation and how his lips begin trailing Volenta’s shoulder and up, to the side of her neck. Desire like an electric rope wraps itself around Heinrix’s spine. “My beloved husband here just wants to establish one thing. And that is quite simple – that it is him who I am bound to.”

“I can see that already.” Heinrix grumbles with apparent indignation, eyebrows furrowing even deeper.

“But you don’t see the full picture. He’s also permitting you access to me.” She smiles and then gasps when the digits inside her curl even more.

“Access.” The word sounds bitter on Heinrix’s tongue when he repeats it, but the hope that he tried to kill within himself emerges and he sighs. He doesn’t like how Volenta has framed it. As if she’s an item to have, a luxurious commodity to own. She’s more, so much more. But who he is to argue with her or with Xavier. Who he is to dismiss the chance of still having her, even if these are the terms he’s been presented with.

“You most likely don’t appreciate how I have put it, but I prefer to keep it simple and clear. So yes - access.” Volenta tilts her head and feels Xavier’s teeth sink into the side of her neck, eliciting another sigh. Yet her eyes remain on Heinrix. She doesn’t have to tell him that they fought about him, that she stood up against her husband just to defend him. Let him think that it’s a whim they both want, for Heinrix to be included.

Let him think that, lest he thinks Volenta will throw her marriage to the wind one day. That’s not going to happen. Not for Heinrix, not for anyone. But fun is still to be had and that’s what she’s looking forward to. To have them both, to let them have her.

Another moan, louder, when Xavier’s finger presses against her clit and her body shivers, growing more aroused. Coaxed into desire that she knows he will use against her and Heinrix both.

She will let him.

“Now that you explained to the Interrogator what he couldn’t apparently grasp himself, why don’t you show me how much you appreciate my willingness to let you play around?” Xavier whispers against Volenta’s ear, leaving the throbbing bite for a moment. His breath brushes against her skin, fawning over the hair strands here and she smiles.

“You surprise me still, my love.”

“One has to keep marriage interesting. I’m sure you can agree.” To emphasize the words, Xavier presses onto her clit harder, the thumb sensing the swelling nub and her body responds with a tremble and another moan escaping Volenta’s mouth.

“Oh I do.” She smiles without taking her eyes from Heinrix, feeling almost bad for having him stand there and watch, but this is not about him. Right now it’s about her and her need to be taken, audience or not.

The moment Xavier’s fingers leave her, Volenta bites her bottom lip at the absence of relative fullness, but doesn’t linger hoping for the digits to return. She wants more than just that and finds herself thrilled at being watched after all. It’s not that it has never happened before. She’s been walked in onto multiple times, but never someone was stood there like a prop and made watch so openly. She swallows at the thought, at the arrangement. Because Heinrix’s emotions are worn on his sleeve.

He doesn’t need to tell or express how he’s feeling. The yearning look, mixed with a degree of embarrassment and a hint of anger are obvious upon his strong features, but he stands. Letting the scene unfold. Watching Volenta move.

She gracefully slips out of Xavier’s lap and with a moment to spare for him to caress the side of the woman’s face, she proceeds to undo his pants, pull the zipper down. Swiftly she takes out his hard length and gives it a few strokes. Heinrix tries not to watch but he can’t stop himself, wishing it was him instead. And there’s shame that he’s feeling in this very moment. Shame for enjoying the show put up just for him. He should hate it, but finds himself unable to.

There’s a pause when Volenta leans down, drags her tongue against the underside of Xavier’s dick and he exhales, running fingers through her hair when she does it once, twice and then stops, smiling all the while.

“Turn around, let Heinrix see you in your glory.”

There’s a flicker of surprise in Volenta’s eyes that are gazing up at her husband, but she smiles again and complies with ease. Turning around she feels Xavier’s hands grip at her slim waist and pull her backwards. It takes just a moment for her to straddle him, back against his chest and his cock between her legs, hot and hard as it presses against her.

She looks down and exhales, wanting it, needing it. Heinrix becomes forgotten, the so-called lesson Xavier is trying to teach them both gets forgotten. There’s only desire. Only the need to be loved in the only way she recognizes love – by being claimed.

The hands slip to her hips and lift them. All that Volenta can do is grip onto the armrests of the chair and let herself be guided. A breathy chuckle escapes her when the hold on her right hip leaves only for Xavier to take his cock into the hand and tease the tip against her entrance. She wants to sink onto it, to experience the fullness that fills her soul as well, but he squeezes the other hip tighter, making her stay still. “Follow my lead, dear.”

There’s pressure and not where she hoped for it. Not that this is unwelcome, the intrusion that makes her gasp and sink deeper, letting Xavier’s length force its way into her. He holds himself still and Volenta can hear him grunt with satisfaction at the tightness of her body and how it yields to him. “There, there, you’re doing so well.” He murmurs and her eyes flick to Heinrix, who’s standing there with face fully red and his own desire betraying him in unabashed baring.

Whatever restraint the Interrogator has, gets forgotten when his gloved hand moves to the front of his pants, adjusting the taunt fabric that is becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Heinrix never imagined himself to be this turned on while watching the woman he near worships being taken right in front of him, but it becomes an undeniable fact before he can even process the adjacent feelings. He wants to join, he wants to take her like Xavier is taking her. He wants to be what she needs him to be. Yet he stands, because the order of him to watch reminds of itself as an echo of the past.

The moan that escapes Volenta nearly breaks his resolve. She takes Xavier in full, her beautiful face flushing gentle red, the expression strained but also needy. With a gasp the woman sinks down onto her husband’s lap, feeling the pleasant fullness that being taken this way provides her with. Something she enjoys immensely, and then with a rise of her hips the Lady Inquisitor sinks down again, drawing another cry out of herself. The grip on the armrests become firmer and there’s an attempt to increase the pace despite the partially uncomfortable friction that she’s trying to adjust to, to the sheer size of Xavier inside of her.

“Move your legs, dear.” Xavier whispers behind her, voice taunt from pleasure and she pauses, gasping for air already, but obeys and with his help she unfolds the legs from beneath her. When she loses the base under the knees completely, Volenta sinks even further onto Xavier’s cock, new position allowing for even deeper penetration and she gasps, thighs shaking.

“My love-“ She glances back, heaving every breath but Xavier only smiles and shushes her. One hand, his right and bare from the glove, returns to the center of her, tracing the slit with two fingers while the rosette that’s at his wrist drags against her skin again.

“Just relax.” He presses a kiss to the side of Volenta’s hair and begins circling where she’s most sensitive, where her own desire throbs, escalated by the mind-numbing fullness in her backside. She whimpers at the touch, fingers still gripping the chair and her legs spread over Xavier’s thighs. And then she gasps when his fingers spread her folds. She looks down, not seeing or caring that Xavier is doing this for Heinrix.

She doesn’t see it, but Heinrix does.

It’s this moment that his eyes meet the Inquisitor’s. Only when Heinrix is finally capable of peeling his eyes from a body on display, and he swallows, trying to think of something to say, but Xavier speaks first.

“You want her, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Barely a whisper, barely a plea.

“For how long have you wanted her?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Xavier scoffs and slips two fingers into his wife, near groaning at the wet heat once again. How is it that no matter in which way he takes her – it’s still never enough. Volenta arches against his chest and his fingers start to move, the rosette bouncing against the underside of her thigh. She moans, louder now and so beautifully too. The sweetest noises that she makes, he can’t have enough of them.

“You don’t know.” The Inquisitor Lord has to remind himself what this is about and it’s not only his pleasure. Not quite yet.

“For a while, Xavier. I don’t know. It’s been… It’s been long.” Heinrix finally admits and his eyes flick to the moving digits, to the glistening wetness that is seeping out of Volenta as she gasps every time the fingers are shoved back into her. She’s only looking down, too absorbed in the pleasure to care for what the conversation is about. By the Throne, her body is so inviting…

“It’s been long.” Xavier echoes the words, losing his own train of thought at the moment and pulls out the fingers, making his wife gasp in mild protest. Before she can say anything, beg for more, he brings the fingers to her mouth and watches Heinrix’s face as she obediently licks at them, heavy gasps escaping her mouth as she loves him with her servitude.

“I…” Heinrix tries to find the words, but his own thoughts are slipping and he pulls open the collar of his jacket and shirt, finding it hard to breathe. “Xavier, you know what you have.”

At this the Inquisitor Lord chuckles, a breathy kind of sound and he pulls the fingers away to grip Volenta’s hips. “I do, trust me. And that’s why I need you to understand one thing and one thing only.” With a grunt he begins moving the woman atop him as if she weights nothing, augmetic hand easing the task significantly. “Even though you are permitted to join, even though Volenta herself wanted you…” He pauses just to listen to the sweet moans his wife is letting out at the beginning of movement, her body accepting him with increasing satisfaction. “Even though it is because of her that you are getting a chance to enjoy her body, it is me who she belongs to. And always will. Never forget that. Or else the consequences will come in spilled blood. Yours.”

“I- I know.” Heinrix swallows again and looks at Volenta’s face, so beautiful when she’s in the throes of passion. If his dignity and a threat to life is the price to pay just to have more chances to see that face contort only for him – so be it. He will pay it and gladly so.

“Xavier.” She moans, casting a glance behind her shoulder and he nods. They don’t need further words than this to communicate, the decades and marriage creating a language that is unique just to them.

The moment the approval is given, Volenta’s eyes turn to Heinrix and she reaches out to him, beckoning for him to come closer, to indulge in the first taste of what will be a new arrangement until one of them decides to end it. But it’s only the start, the beginning, and Heinrix steps forwards. Couple tentative steps and then he’s before her, watching her white hair bounce together with the heavy breasts as Xavier now turns his attentions to his own pleasure, moving her upon him harder and faster.

Heinrix leans in and cups her face with both palms, kissing Volenta deeply and swallowing her moans with a swelling chest. He needs her, but he’s not willing to risk upsetting Xavier and for him to retrieve back the offer of sharing. Instead, when he pulls back leaving her lips glistening, Heinrix bends over and first licks one nipple, letting it dance against his tongue while she’s being moved faster and harder, then another one gets same appreciation.

Volenta’s fingers tangle in his hair, making a mess out of it immediately and Heinrix sinks to his knees, facing the most tender display. And he craves to fill her even if not with his cock, not this time. Unwilling to beg but having almost no other choice, the Interrogator glances up at Xavier and receives a short nod, as if given absentmindedly.

That’s all he needs.

Gripping the undersides of Volenta’s legs, just above the bend of her knees, Heinrix lifts her legs higher, spreads them wider and indulges himself. Mouth pressed to her pussy, a gasp scalding it with the heat of it. He hears her moan loudly above him, fingers clenching into the dark hair and the Interrogator indulges himself not unlike Xavier. His tongue slips inside and he himself moans against Volenta’s flesh, nearly releasing the pent-up desire in the confines of his pants already. What little restraint he has – he uses it not to mess himself up.

He tastes her like a man starved, like it’s his salvation and damnation both. Letting Volenta’s legs fall onto his pauldrons just like he has done before, Heinrix spreads her folds for himself again and feels the body shake in response.

“Fuck, I’m going to-“ Volenta breathes heavily, barely able to speak and Xavier smirks to himself, feeling sweat peppering his brow.

“Then do it. And I’ll follow.”

There’s only this that Volenta needs to let herself go. The fullness that Xavier is giving her, the tongue that is deeply tasting her. And Heinrix’s face, with eyes closed in so much need it verges on reverence. The way he moans against her just at the sheer taste and feel of her.

Volenta cannot take it anymore.

With a gasp she unravels, closing her eyes and shaking with wave after wave of bliss that wash over her and create a sun behind the eyelids. She barely even hears herself, but she’s crying out, repeatedly. And then somehow even louder when Xavier reaches his peak and fills her even more, spilling himself deeply into his wife to the point her lithe body cannot contain it anymore. His seed leaks around the length still embedded in her and with a jerk of hips and fingers squeezing to the point of bruising, Xavier finally stops.

Heavy breaths are escaping him and he looks down at Heinrix, who has pulled back and places a kiss at her stomach, appearing strangely chaste. Volenta remains unmoving, relaxed in the grasp of the two men, but finally a smile appears on her face and she swipes a hand over the flushed face. Her eyes, pale grey that now appear warm, find Heinrix’s.

“I’m not sure either of us got punished.” With the voice coarse, the woman chuckles slightly and Xavier clicks his tongue.

“Maybe next time your punishment will be taking both of us, at the same time. Since you can’t seem to learn your lesson.”

Looking back, Volenta places a sweaty palm at the side of Xavier’s face and pulls him into a short kiss. “You make it sound like I should disobey more often.”

“Don’t push your luck, my dear.”

“When did I ever stop doing that?” She laughs a little louder now, but then turns to Heinrix and he rises just enough, not letting her legs slip from upon his shoulders.

“Then misbehave and see what happens, Lady Inquisitor.” Heinrix whispers and dominates her mouth with his own, fingers finding space just below Xavier’s hands and gripping at her thighs as well. She moans into the kiss, but he feels a smile there too. He smiles in return.

P.S. Anyone who might be complaining that it's not realistic because there was no prep - well, apologies, but sometimes realism is not sexy and I'm not trying to educate anyone on safe sex practices through fanfic. Sure there are plenty of works that do that and I have written some myself, but in this case I let fantasy be a fantasy♡

#rogue trader #rogue trader crpg #xavier calcazar #xavier fic #heinrix van calox #heinrix fic #fandom: wh40krt #oc: inquisitor volenta #volenta calcazar #inquisitor volenta fic #nocturn writes

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inquisitornocturn · 4 months ago

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◇ Inter Stellas Inveniam Te ◇

◇◇◇ Chapter I - In Nomine Dominae Inquisitoris

⚜ 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: Xavier Calcazar/Volenta Calcazar (OC)/Heinrix van Calox

⚜ 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖘: Overall story rating - E. Overall tags - romance, disaster polycule, more tba. This chapter - some fondling and erections.

In the 41st millennium, there's only war. Be it on surfaces of planets, on the decks of spaceships or… in personal lives. And those battles are not easily won.

⚜ 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: Volenta has been busy while her husband is away, but upon his return to Terra, Xavier calls her asking for a favor. He needs her to question and inspect his own right-hand man, Heinrix van Calox. But Interrogator doesn't know just what exactly awaits him when he's summoned to the Lady Inquisitor's office. He will learn soon enough.

⚜ 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 6,236 | AO3 | Chapter navigation

⚜ 𝖆/𝖓: Aaaaalright, where do I even begin. Let me put it under the cut.

For those familiar with the name and who haven't seen me speak about this - this is the second reiteration of my OC, Lady Inquisitor Volenta. What changed? Well, I have decided to scrap the story I was writing and restart it. Why? Because the first story was my attempt to adapt this character to a Rogue Trader playthrough. And thus I attempted to make her a Rogue Trader. However, that's not how Volenta was "conceived" nor was it the truest version of her story. I wanted to get there, but the path appeared tedious and, truthfully, dishonest to her. And so I'm writing her story anew, from an angle I always envisioned.

Some of you might have noticed I made some new adjustments. I am no longer going to be using second POV for this, and the events that were in the first version of the story simply never happened, except from the flashbacks, that I might include in this story as well, eventually. For the time being - if you read the first fic, please forget everything you knew about Volenta. It wasn't her. Or rather it was her, just not the most honest and true to heart version of her. This, however, is it. Enjoy♡

Oh, and for those curious - the title translates to Among the Stars, I Will Find You♡

I'm sure most of the men in the galaxy are familiar with the sinking feeling that accompanies the words "Do you think you could do me a little favour, darling?", but when the woman asking the question is an inquisitor it's even less wise than usual to say "No". – Sandy Mitchell “Duty Calls”

“You can do this favor for me, can’t you?” Xavier’s voice comes through the receiver and Volenta sighs, leaning back in her chair. Her leg is draped over the other, wrist on the armrest, fingers relaxed. Black cloak with silver trimmings is hanging on the wall nearby, Inquisition’s symbol facing the room. But she’s not looking at it, she’s looking outside the window and down onto the life below.

“I can, but I’m not too sure if it’s my jurisdiction, Xavier.”

“Everything is your jurisdiction if you want to make it so.”

“It’s not that simple.” She turns to her desk and looks down at the folder that a servo-skull delivered to her office before the vox call came. Printed pict of a man she knows decently, but not too well. Heinrix van Calox.

“Volenta, I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t think it was of utmost importance that you personally look into this.” Xavier says calmly and she hears some sort of clicking on his end. She knows that because he left to another sector some weeks ago he is only now returning to Terra.

“Are you sure it’s worth this much attention? People will talk that I’ve called him to my office. It might do more harm than good. Why your own people in Ordo Xenos can’t check him?” Tapping her fingers on the papers, Volenta looks at the face in the pict.

“Because they are not Ordo Hereticus and they are certainly not you.”

“You must really hate him.” Volenta smiles slightly, amused by the fact that Xavier got so concerned about his own interrogator to a point he wants her to question and inspect him.

“On the contrary. In fact, I am just making sure that my retinue is not compromised.” A sigh, a pause, then Xavier continues in a more tender voice and more quietly as well. “My dear, you can do this favor for me, I know you can.”

Volenta smiles despite herself and leans back in her chair again. “Of course I can, but should I? Are you not abusing your private ties for personal gain?”

Xavier chuckles and she can imagine him giving her a look full of humorous spark. “Absolutely not. Ensuring that an agent of the Golden Throne has not been corrupted by Ruinous powers benefits all of the Imperium, not just me.”

And she knows he’s right. But Volenta is right as well. No other inquisitor can just call her like this and ask that she personally looks into someone with no other proof of heresy besides that an agent has been on a risky mission. Xavier is pulling the strings to protect himself and her heart warms at the thought.

“When he is coming back?” She looks down at the printout and taps her finger over Heinrix’s face in the pict.

“He should be arriving at Headquarters in about half an hour.”

“Did you tell him to meet me?”

“No. He only reported to me about his mission few hours ago and I instructed him to go to his own office and await my return there.” A pause, some sort of interruption and Volenta has to move the receiver away from her. A crackle as loud as a clap of hands rings out and she winces, but then presses the machine back to her ear. “You can summon him upon the return.”

“Right.” She sighs again and flips through the report pages on just what kind of mission Heinrix has been sent.

“I have to go. We’re about to enter Terra’s segment and I need to be on the bridge.”

“Xavier?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“I miss you.”

A pause, a heartbeat and a breath. Painful silence near tears at her throat like a rabid dog. She has never been an emotional woman, Inquisition didn’t train her to be one, but Xavier is her weakness, just as she is his. “I miss you too. See you tonight?”

Smiling again, Volenta closes her eyes for a moment. “Yes.”

The connection cuts and she looks outside of the window into the skies above, wondering where his spacecraft is right now. Is it above? She didn’t ask where he is going to make planetfall. Not with the flagship, it will most likely get moved to a nearby station for maintenance and necessary repairs. But her husband could either come here, to the Inquisition’s Headquarters, or just head home. Home, to where they spend time together when the Imperium is not calling for them to serve dutifully. And it often does, making moments of serenity even more precious.

Volenta herself has been on Terra for a while now. Besides an odd mission here and there, she mainly attends meetings and dictates operations that draw her special attention. As someone who hunts down heresy within the Ordos itself – she’s tasked with a duty that alienates her from her own people, but also gives her a barely comprehensible amount of power. She is the authority that everyone fears. She is the Inquisitor of Inquisitors. And she does not take her duty lightly.

She also knows that to every agent, being summoned to her office, or if she finds someone herself, that usually means one ending, and one ending only. Her marriage to another inquisitor doesn’t make things easier for her either. Many despise her and Volenta has lost the count of times when someone tried to ruin her marriage and hurt her this way. Out of hatred, out of retaliation but mostly out of fear. Everyone fears her. Everyone, except for Xavier.

He was the one who picked her up from the trenches of an Astra Militarum regiment when she was barely seventeen and he was the one who made her an acolyte. She owes him everything and now she’s… Well, she’s someone he is proud to call his wife and has been doing so ever since that shotgun wedding ceremony fifty-three years ago. It happened fast, just before they both marched into a battle against the Chaos forces. Xavier had a Ministorum priest in his retinue at the time and the man married them in a shadowy armory, with sounds of gunnery muffled by the steel walls. Xavier could’ve sanctified the marriage himself and Volenta, being an Interrogator in her own right at the time, could’ve done the same in a pinch, but someone else there to witness them swear undying love to the Emperor and each other felt more special.

It still feels special whenever she thinks of it, but right now Volenta knows she shouldn’t give into the sentiment or melancholy. So instead of letting her heart beat fast at the prospect of meeting Xavier who she hasn’t seen in weeks, she focuses on the file again and catches the necessary details of Van Calox’s mission. Planet name, mission he was on, the success of such a task, losses reported. Seems Heinrix has been briefly cornered by the cultists. And the more Volenta reads the report, the more she understands Xavier’s personal caution. For three days Heinrix has been missing until his colleagues managed to extract him from the heretical lair. Who knows what could’ve happened there.

Still, according to the report, interrogator has been inspected by the on-board technicians and not have been found to bear the mark of Chaos, but through last few decades their tools have become different. Not more sophisticated per se, but more prone to being overlooked even by those skilled in seeking such signs of betrayal. Very well, Volenta thinks to herself and lets the pages drop, she will inspect him herself.

Reaching to the vox communicator, she presses the button. “Summon Interrogator Heinrix van Calox of Ordo Xenos serving in Inquisitor Xavier Calcazar’s retinue.”

“Any specific time, Lady Inquisitor?” A male voice responds without delay, as if his sole purpose in life is to answer her.

“As soon as possible. It’s not urgent, but I prefer not to delay the inevitable.”

“Understood, Lady Inquisitor.”

Releasing the button she takes a cup of recaf that thankfully hasn’t gone fully cold yet and drinks from it. Half an hour is not much time, but her duties never end, so she puts Heinrix’s file to the side and begins flipping through folder filled to the brim of rumors and gossip about one Inquisitor Gisbern Ghaul, who seems to be collecting enemies faster than tyranids procreate. Glancing at the servo-skull, one of the two, hanging over her right shoulder and making sure it’s ready for her diction, Volenta takes another drink from her cup and begins: “Inquisitorial Enquiry #58963, performed by Lady Inquisitor Volenta Calcazar on 840.M41. Location – Terra, Segmentum Solar. Subject: Suspicious heretical activity by Inquisitor Gisberd Ghaul of Ordo Malleus, Neutra Conclave.”

<Pict attached of the suspect named.> Servo-skull chirps in and Volenta looks down at the file. It also has pict of a man. No way to tell when this was taken, but the inquisitor in question appears to be around sixty. He’s without doubt much older than he looks. Short cropped brown hair, brown eyes, augmetic over his chin and nose. He doesn’t look much different than any other man of the Imperium besides clearly hailing from some Hive world or another, just like herself.

“Inquisitor Ghaul is accused of-“

“Lady Inquisitor.” The vox on her desk clicks to life just as she is about to begin narrating the most credible rumors about the inquisitor, but looks at the machine instead and enables the receiver. “Interrogator Van Calox has been informed of your request to see him and is proceeding towards your office.”

“Very well. Thank you, Antonius. You know the protocol. I am not to be interrupted during the preliminary interrogation.”

“Yes, Lady Inquisitor.” A pause, as if the man on the other end of the vox is too scared to make a mistake. “More recaf?”

“No.”

“Very well, Lady Inquisitor. The Emperor protects.”

Volenta releases the button and waves at the servo-skull for it to drift away, where it lingers by the cogitator right by the other one. The second servo-skull is constantly scanning inner channels of Inquisition’s communicators for any trigger words that a tech-priest in Volenta’s personal employ has invented for her. Nobody knows of this little thing that has delivered her more proof on some traitors than eye-witness accounts through the years. Well, nobody except for the HV-871, who for the sake of laymen goes by the name of Nesex. She considered getting rid of him. One less mouth to speak of secrets it shouldn’t spill, but in the end Volenta prioritized maintenance of the servo-skull over secrecy. She didn’t make a mistake, Nesex is still in her retinue, serving obediently and with pride.

While she’s setting away the files that nobody else except for her should see, Volenta finishes her recaf. She knows that after this she will need something stronger. These past few days have been long and she barely slept because a very panicked servant girl reported three acolytes and one Trusted harassing her with tales of heresy. Volenta’s job, because it happened on the premises of the Headquarters, was to interrogate the four acolytes. None survived.

Still, the job was unpleasant and tedious, and Volenta is trying not to dream of going home. Maybe Xavier will be there, although it’s too early to say. Upon her own returns to Terra, she is usually assaulted with endless tasks and reports thus she doesn’t expect Xavier to go through anything different. Especially because Terra’s own Grandmaster has been sending more and more of his inquisitors to far sectors. Sometimes it feels like Imperium is burning.

A knock on the door and Volenta leans back in her chair, gloved fingers steepled and elbows on the armrests. “Come in.”

Without a pause, the door slides open, activated by her voice command, and behind it stands Heinrix van Calox. His expression is unreadable, icy but not apprehensive. After all, they have met many times. Volenta even goes out of her way to make the man squirm in his uniform when she’s in a more elevated mood. Although most of those meetings happen when she works with Xavier, so she rarely has any private time with him. Not that either of them need it. He respects and fears her, and on Volenta’s end if an agent of the Golden Throne escapes her notice, that’s all the better for them.

“Lady Inquisitor Calcazar, you wanted to see me?” He enters and stops far away, bowing his head.

“Come closer, Heinrix.”

A slightest of pauses, but interrogator does step forwards, reaching two carved armchairs. They are not as elaborate as Volenta’s own, but still nonetheless impressive. Everything in her office oppresses him. From gilded columns to vaulted ceilings painted with images of Emperor’s grace and Inquisitorial moments of historic pride. A wooden desk, several wooden bookshelves, neatly filled with black boxes full of casefiles. A dresser, also wooden, has a plate of drinks in crystal decanters upon it. And of course, countless skulls, aquilas and Inquisition’s own symbols tastefully adorn almost every surface. He sees the candles, the servo-skulls, her cloak hanging from the hook in the wall, and a stand where Volenta’s power sword and a plasma pistol rest, close enough for her to just reach out and take them.

Lingering by the chairs, Heinrix casts just one cursory glance around, allowing himself inspection of the room that he has never been in before. His Adam apple bobs when the man swallows with increasing nervousness.

“I did indeed request to see you.” She begins and watches him with keen interest that makes Heinrix’s palms itch. “Do you know why?” The way she speaks, slow and with every word clearly pronounced, it’s like a weight upon his shoulders.

“No, Lady Inquisitor.”

“No, you don’t.” She exhales slightly and lets her gaze openly roam over his form and stance. “Would you try and guess?”

“With all due respect, Lady Inquisitor, I would prefer if you got straight to the point.” Again he bows his head and she smiles slightly, then stands, making Heinrix immediately fixate his look on her.

“Yes, wasting time is not a habit you have, correct?”

“No, Lady Inquisitor.”

Heinrix watches her walk around the table so that she can lean against it before him. Folding arms on her chest, Volenta eyes him again. “Very well, if you want to proceed with the procedure, I won’t deny your request.”

“Excuse me, Inquisitor Volenta, what do you mean by procedure?”

Her eyes meet his and she notices the slight difference of color in them once again. She finds it endearing and that makes her smile, but just a little. “You have been named to me as a possible victim to heresy. Specifically, you are suspected of being brainwashed and marked by Chaos forces during your capture on Steflin Prim.”

She watches Heinrix’s eyes widen and his face blanch with every word that leaves her mouth. His fingers begin to tremble before they ball into fists, like Heinrix is trying to stave away the shakes that threaten to overtake him.

“Lady Inquisitor, in all my years I served the Imperium and God-Emperor without a fault, who could even suggest such a thing?” Even Heinrix’s voice trembles, although barely noticeably. Maybe someone else wouldn’t notice, but Volenta does. She notices everything and especially the beads of sweat that begin to appear on the interrogator’s forehead.

“Your question should be not who accused you, but what you can do to clear your name of this accusation if you find it duplicitous or fallacious.”

Heinrix pales even further and immediately clenches his jaw like he’s trying to prevent something incredibly stupid from leaving his mouth. “Yes, Lady Inquisitor.” He swallows, feeling his throat become parchment dry. “Please, forgive my shock. I just didn’t expect this to be the reason of why I am here.”

Volenta smiles wider and rises an eyebrow at him. “Really? And what did you expect? That I’ve called you over for a cup of recaf to discuss the weather?” Something almost friendly is in how she speaks, but definitely taunting too. It’s if she’s telling Heinrix that he was stupid not to suspect something dire and potentially endangering his life.

A sweat drop rolls down Heinrix’s temple and he attempts to swallow again then exhales slowly, shallowly. “No, Lady Inquisitor, of course not. I just thought-“

“You didn’t think, clearly. Because if you did think, you would’ve avoided making assumptions about why I call anyone to my office.” Volenta’s smile is gone like it was never there to begin with and for a long moment Heinrix forgets to breathe. He hopes that he can survive this encounter because it doesn’t matter that his mentor is married to this woman right in front of him. One word from her lips can become a death sentence and she won’t even need to have a reason if he displeases her so.

“My deepest apologies, Lady Inquisitor.” Heinrix immediately bows his head, deeper than before, and closes his eyes for just a moment when his rosette swings below him, catching his gaze. Panic is beginning to rise in his heart and throat, choking him not unlike Emperor’s justice he inflicts upon the others. Is it his turn now? But he still has yet so much to do.

“Disarm, Interrogator Van Calox.” She speaks and Heinrix has to use every ounce of his willpower to straighten upwards, meet her eyes and begin the process of removing his weaponry.

Thankfully, he only has his sword and a pistol strapped to the belt. The heavy psyker staff Heinrix only brings when he expects a fight, and this is of course not such an encounter. And even if it were a fight, it’s not the one that he would live through to relish the victory of. Placing his items on the chair on his left, Heinrix stands straight again, jaw clenching so impossibly tight that his teeth begin to feel loose in their sockets.

“Very good.” Volenta doesn’t move, arms still crossed under the chest, emphasizing the heftiness that is clad in black. Heinrix tries not to look. Inquisitor’s own grey eyes row over his form again and Heinrix feels a chill run down his spine. He doesn’t know what to expect.

“Lady Inquisitor, if I could only explain the mission and what happened, I’m sure you would see that this is all just a huge misunderstanding, if not outright a smear campaign against my person.” How weak his voice sounds doesn’t escape Heinrix’s notice and again he tries to swallow but by now his throat is too dry.

“I’ve read your file and your report.” Volenta pointedly glances over her shoulder at a black, open folder, clearly placed in such way that even from where he stands the Interrogator can see his own pict looking at the ceiling. “I don’t think anything you can tell me will clear the suspicions cast upon you, Van Calox. The only way to prove your innocence, if I shall so desire, is to make sure that you don’t carry any heretical markings, willingly taken or otherwise.”

“Lady Inquisitor, I have been inspected upon my return to the spaceship and-“

“Strip.”

One word and yet it sounds as loud as a whip crack in the air. Heinrix just stares at Volenta, completely speechless. Can she do this? No, of course she can. A proper question would be what she cannot do and this clearly is something that Lady Inquisitor very much intends to do. There’s no humor in her eyes that he sometimes sees when she is in the presence of his mentor and there’s not even a cruel yet somehow playful smirk on her lips. Nothing, just a stony expression betraying nothing and her pale grey eyes glaring at him with such power that his knees begin to feel weak. He has no choice.

“Yes, Lady Inquisitor.”

Turning his gaze away to preserve his dignity, Heinrix begins to remove articles of clothing. First the pauldrons and the cape, then his jacket follows. He pauses only one time, to glance at Volenta before unbuttoning his shirt and when she nods, he proceeds without a fuss. Internally, however, he’s burning with shame and Volenta knows that. No matter how stoic or icy Heinrix’s demeanor is even as he undresses, she still notices a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

When Heinrix’s shirt gets draped over the chair’s backrest, atop his jacket and cloak, he takes off his boots, then socks too, placing everything neatly by the chair. Then he pauses again, giving Volenta a second questioning look and when she again patiently nods to him, he lets out a defeated sigh and unbuckles his belt, dropping his pants.

Complete silence in the room doesn’t help Heinrix feel any more comfortable and he knows that it’s on purpose. Left in only his underwear, the man stands tall and hopes to appear dignified enough despite the undignified situation.

“Your rosette, remove it as well.” With her voice illustrating her own casualness about the situation, Volenta pulls off her black gloves without even looking at Heinrix. He hesitates again, then removes the object that he perceives no less holy than the items touched personally by the Emperor.

Before putting it away, Heinrix looks at the rosette, then exhales slightly and sets it aside with respect over the rest of his clothes. Suddenly, his attention is stolen by Volenta when he hears an unpleasant snap. Trying his hardest not to show his alarm, Heinrix watches Lady Inquisitor pull a pair of black latex gloves over her slender hands and feels panic rising in his chest.

“Lady Inquisitor?”

“Lose your underwear, agent.” She says still without looking at him and this time Heinrix just stands, completely taken aback.

“What do you intend to do?”

“My duty to the Imperium and the God-Emperor. Follow my orders or I will be forced to subdue you by any means necessary and proceed with my inspection in conditions that you will find far less pleasant than these.”

Here it is, that sharp look of her eyes that makes his knees nearly buckle and this time more intensively than before. He wants to argue, to defend his pride, his damned dignity. To rise his voice and scowl at this woman that outranks him so much he might as well count himself just a mere canon fodder. He knows that refusing will spell his death. He knows that asking her for mercy will doom him. He has no choice, yet again.

For just a moment, which Volenta permits him without a word, Heinrix closes his eyes, fighting the embarrassment that is burning his face and makes his entire body sweat. One drop slides to the tip of his nose and before doing anything just yet, the Interrogator wipes it off with the back of his hand. Finally, with an exhale, he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear, scowls at the inner conflict and disgrace he’s going through, then in one swift motion he pulls the article down.

Forced not to only undress, but to put his underwear aside, Heinrix opens his eyes and keeps them on his hands while folding the piece of clothing and putting it next his rosette, on a neatly balanced pile of his belongings. He refuses to look at Volenta, unable to keep his expression blank and to pretend that this is not affecting him.

“Good. Shall we start?” Without waiting for his reply, Volenta approaches and he hears dull thuds of her adamantine heels on the carpet when she walks closer. One step, two, three and he sees her before him, although only her bottom half.

At first she just looks at him, smiling to herself upon seeing how distressed and uncomfortable Heinrix is. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch when Volenta reaches out and begins inspecting his body. She starts easy, lifting his chin and looking at his neck, then shoulders, feeling out muscles beneath his skin. There have been reports of heretical tech being implanted in loyal citizens before, she’s not going to make a mistake of letting one of her own walk around with such a contraption. If there is one, of course.

When Volenta takes Heinrix's hand in her fingers, feeling out the flesh, he finally manages to forget the shame of his nudity and observes how carefully Lady Inquisitor is inspecting every inch of his body, bit by bit. He swallows, at last a little bit more at ease. “Did Xavier ask you to do this?” His voice is strained, but he doesn’t care how he sounds anymore.

“Does it matter?” She takes his other hand and despite the heavy blush still coloring Heinrix’s face, he can’t help but rise his eyes to Volenta’s face, seeing nothing but professionalism there.

“No, I guess… I guess it doesn’t.” With a sigh he rises his arms when Volenta begins working on his chest, trying to find the microchip that he knows doesn’t exist. Still, he also understands why she has to look. “I am still honored that you’re doing this yourself, Lady Inquisitor.”

“A blade grows dull if misused. Turn around.” When he does so and Volenta starts the inspection from the top again, moving her fingers over his back with precision as not to miss even the tiniest spot on his body, Heinrix closes his eyes again. “And my senses will grow dull if I’m seated behind my desk, all day, every day, with just the files to look through.”

Heinrix scoffs with amusement before he can stop himself and looks at Volenta over his shoulder, but only sees the top of her head, white hair splayed over her back, loose and silky. “So I have been chosen as a… practice piece?”

“Not at all, the suspicion of heresy is very real.” Glancing upwards at him, Volenta offers him a small smile, but dread fills Heinrix’s chest once again.

“Who… Who accused me?”

“That is classified.” As casually as if she’s doing the most mundane task known to mankind, Volenta squats with ease and makes Heinrix flinch when her fingers now knead his buttocks. Dread is immediately replaced with a new wave of embarrassment and he stands completely still, every muscle on his body taunt from tension.

“Relax. Or are you trying to hide the chip?”

“No! No… of course not. Apologies, Lady Inquisitor.” Sighing, Heinrix tries to relax his body, but the lower her fingers move, the harder it is to actually remain relaxed. Chip be damned, maybe dying is simply just easier than letting her finish. And what about his dignity…

“Part your legs.” She orders with calmness of a slumbering predator and he obeys immediately while staring blankly at the door through which he came. Maybe all of this is a dream after all. Maybe it’s not happening. Maybe the heretics tortured him so severely his mind broke and now he’s living a nightmare without knowing it.

To Heinrix’s relief, Volenta doesn’t actually touch his genitals. She could, he guesses, but she doesn’t and he breathes slightly easier at that. Relaxation becomes simpler to achieve as well. Perhaps he can go through this and come out of the ordeal unscathed, with his reputation cleared.

Movement of cloth reminds Heinrix where he is, for he has gotten momentarily distracted with his own thoughts. He hears Volenta stand and then soon hears her speak. “Turn around again.”

Suddenly reminded of his nakedness once more, Heinrix blushes fiercely and turns around, fighting himself with all the willpower he can muster so that his hands don’t move and attempt to cover the most delicate part on his body. Volenta doesn’t even look at his face and her dark eyelashes are casting delicate shadows beneath her eyes. Beautiful, he catches himself thinking and immediately looks away, to the side and up. Anything to avoid gazing at that face that seems like it’s carved out of purest marble.

Lady Inquisitor is not giving any indication that she’s seeing or even sensing his struggle. Instead she again drops lower and Heinrix inhales sharply. His fingers twitch, and if not for the ardent training as a psyker and an acolyte, he probably would’ve jumped back just now. Her face is so close to his genitals and he prays to the God-Emperor that he doesn’t get an erection. Could Heinrix get sentenced to death for getting an erection? He only knows one thing for sure – absolutely not worth the risk.

Think of something else, anything else, he chants in his mind like it’s another prayer, but Volenta’s fingers become more and more distracting. Sure, they are moving lower, but he doubts that she will skip inspecting his scrotum. No good agent would and what he knows of Lady Inquisitor – she’s the best of the best. He swallows dryly and firmly shuts his eyes, praying every prayer he can recall, even if partially. And yes, here it comes, he knew it would, he knew-

“Don’t twitch so much, Heinrix.” Volenta says and he snaps back to present, forgetting himself and looking down, first seeing rather than feeling that her palm is cupping his balls, so warm through the latex over her hand.

He just gasps, staring down and unable to look away. She doesn’t look back at him, not right away. Only when she uses her fingertips to trace over his shaft, again and again but in slightly different position each time, he makes one tentative step back. It’s not enough to remove himself from her gentle grasp, and he has to admit that she is being extremely careful there, but the attempt is made and this makes Volenta’s eyes snap at him. “Don’t move. This will go faster if you don’t.”

The way she speaks, as this is the most normal thing in the galaxy. He can scarcely believe it. Frozen in spot and with growing terror Heinrix realizes that he lost his focus and thus lost the composure. As if the time itself slows, he watches his shaft swell, lengthen, grow firmer. Pulling back is not an option.

“I’m… I’m sorry.” Is all he can stutter out, shame completely overwhelming him and Volenta smiles, skin crinkling around the corners with the genuineness of it. Emperor… she’s not making this any easier.

“Calm down. You’re a man and these things happen. You’re not the first or the last. I’ve seen everything.”

And yet her face is so close. She’s inspecting his cock as closely as she inspected all of him and Heinrix almost lets himself get carried away by the fantasy. Of Volenta sticking out her tongue, tasting him, letting Heinrix experience hot wetness of her mouth. Oh Emperor…

With a pad of her thumb, even though through the glove, Volenta slides over the tip of his erection, making Heinrix flinch at the sensation. It’s not the most pleasant thing he has experienced, but not really unpleasant either. And why he can’t stop himself from looking? What is wrong with him? He swallows again. Why she’s still smiling?

With an amused expression, Volenta finally lets go of Heinrix and stands. Suddenly, her quite lighthearted smile turns into something almost dark, quite sinister and she raises an eyebrow. “Turn around and bend over.”

“W-what?!” Gasping for air, or maybe a breath of dignity, Heinrix just gawks at Volenta. Sweat is dripping down his body and his cock twitches, making Lady Inquisitor glance down for a moment. Then she suddenly laughs and it’s like crystal ringing within these walls.

“I’m kidding. You can dress again.” With a wink and clearly satisfied with her joke, Volenta pulls off her gloves and throws them into a chute that is uncovered only until a small panel in the wall slides open, then closes. Then another door slides open and she disappears out of sight, leaving Heinrix alone and staring at where she was just a moment ago.

Hearing running water, and assuming it’s a faucet where she is washing her hands, Heinrix begins to dress with trembling fingers. He doesn’t care to put on his clothes properly or in tidy, orderly manner. Instead he keeps throwing article after article onto his body, rushing like he never rushed before. He manages to finish before Volenta returns and while his cloak is askew on his shoulders and he missed a button when doing up his jacket, at last Heinrix feels like he has gotten a shred of his dignity back.

He sighs and closes his eyes, calming heavily beating heart that drums against Heinrix’s ribcage like a trapped grox. Inhale, exhale, just like this, slowly. Finally, he begins to feel like himself and opens his eyes just in time to see Volenta returning.

She approaches with confidence and grace, eyeing his far from perfectly assembled uniform and slightly smiles. “You survived and you get a clean bill. From heresy.” She pauses, then smirks a little wider. “I didn’t find any suspicious lumps either. So, maybe a clean medical bill too.”

Volenta looks way too smug and Heinrix blushes heavily again, trying to find words to respond, but instead of letting him pour platitudes about her doing her job, or anything else, Lady Inquisitor grabs his rosette by the chain in her fist and tugs on it. Immediately he bends down towards her, reacting with preservation so that the chain doesn’t snap and is now face to face with Volenta who looks completely satisfied with his embarrassment. “What do we say?” She whispers and Heinrix gulps down something heavy at the back of his throat.

God-Emperor, her eyes, so uncanny and yet it’s like drowning in a pool of moonlight. And her smile, it looks… inviting. No, he shouldn’t, but it’s almost like she’s daring him.

“T-thank you, Lady Inquisitor.” Heinrix whispers and his jaw clenches. His brain is trying to remind his body not to move, not to lean in even further, not to kiss her because… because… because…

“Wonderful!” She teases, of course she does. Volenta sees the mix of emotions on Heinrix’s face, warring with each other. Fear and respect, need and shame, desire and longing. Duty and passion. She can sense the fire beneath his composed demeanor even if she rattled it significantly just now. “I’ll make sure that interested parties are informed about what transpired and that you do not have any signs or heretical technology upon yourself.”

With that, she releases his chain and Heinrix expects himself to bounce back like a dog that is trying to escape and its lead has been cut, but no, instead he lingers like this for a moment longer, yearning despite himself. Finally, he clears his throat and his back is straight once again.

“Thank you, Lady Inquisitor.” Heinrix repeats, not sure what else to say and he knows that she sees the cracks in his demeanor. What he doesn’t know is just how wide those cracks are.

“Leave now, I have to fill in the report.”

She turns so suddenly that her longcoat swishes behind her like a ship’s sail, then she walks back to her desk, picking up the gloves that got discarded at the start of this. Yet Heinrix doesn’t move. He watches Volenta’s white, long hair draping over her back, over the symbol of Inquisition there, and for just a moment, he finds himself immersed in a vision of running his calloused fingers through that hair while his mouth is pressed to hers.

But then, suddenly and like a thunder, reality comes crashing down. He almost thanks Volenta for a third time, but manages to collect himself and bowing to her back, the Interrogator finally turns as well and walks towards the door. It immediately slides open and without a fraction of a pause, Heinrix marches out. This time, he’s cursing himself in his mind. For being weak, even if the weak part of him was his heart.

But when the door closes behind Heinrix, Volenta smiles and sighs, running a hand over her hair, pushing the strands back. She has done what Xavier wanted of her, but she didn’t need to do it so slowly. Not that Heinrix needs to learn this, of course. What’s important is that she had a little bit of fun with him, and that did brighten her day more than she expected. The way he looked at her, like a starved man. Volenta sighs, still with a smile. Fool, he believed her too, that it’s common for men to get erections. It’s not true, almost everyone has been too damned scared of her to barely not piss themselves, let alone feel aroused. But he doesn’t need to know this either.

Or maybe she will tell him if an opportunity arises. She does like teasing him. A little too much, some would say, but seeing Heinrix so flustered is quite entertaining.

Volenta hopes that she meets him again. She hopes she meets him soon.

But she doesn’t have a way to guess just how soon she will see him.

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