#AND THEN THEY FUCKED

[xenwrites]

I'm not the only one who heard "I'm gonna fuck you now" coming out of Wades mouth in the Honda Odyssey, right?

That's what he was really saying, it had to be. Especially considering Logans reaction. Not anger or tensing or cursing or glaring but, laughter, disbelief, teasing. "Oh, are you-"

And then he did

[shadowkira]

[andyundan]

@ghostbatweek ghostbat week day 4: jealousy (open for better quality)

ghost-maker: no. 1 bat breaker

[jjongslutz]

more jay thoughts plz 😵‍💫 like give me anything ill take it

i think about silver undercut jay giving the absolute worst (best) fuck boy energy like,,, he's your roommate and you have to deal with him bringing different girls to bed every single night.

you decide enough is enough when he's bringing someone new the week of exams, literally barging in before he and his latest fuck have the chance to do foreplay. after you've successfully scared the girl away, jay's looking at you not at all defeated like you hoped he would be, but cocky.

he raises a brow, "you weren't enjoying the show?"

"i was trying to study."

"oh c'mon y/n," he says with a taunting pout. "i try so hard to impress you, but you're giving me nothing back. do i have to show you what you've been missing out on?"

heat rushes to your cheeks. "i don't know what you're talking about..."

jay makes his way to you. he leans forward until your noses are almost touching. you brace yourself to feel contact when he raises his arm, only to hear the door shutting behind you. "you don't feel this?"

he's not touching you, but you do feel it. the tension. you always have. whenever you're in the kitchen together, your arms brushing against each other as he walks by. when you make eye contact across the room. it suffocates you.

you'd hoped he hadn't noticed its effect on you.

"c'mon y/n," he repeats. "let me show you what i've been wanting to do to you."

[deoidesign]

I want you dead.

Is that what you tell yourself?

[spicylotus]

Redson, crying: I-I just wish I had a suitor! B-But- *sobs* no nobility has taken interest in me yet! Oh boohoo :<

MK: I mean…. I like guess you could say…. I’m like… a king in training… which is like a mini king…. Which is like a princ—

Redson: LETS GET MARRIED!

[monster-cock69]

Twitter au where Peter keeps retweeting Tony’s professional tweets with increasingly horny shit and one day Tony replies from the official account

[fatale-distraction]

Wow look some Rolan smooches no one asked for

Part of something longer but who knows when or if I’ll finish. I’m still working on stuff for Barcus and a pretty long concept for Kar’niss as well.

~~~~~~

Rolan made an ugly face and rolled his eyes at her approach. "Don't start with me, Tav," he snapped, tossing back what remained of his mug. "I'm staying put. No more vengeful wandering in the Shadowlands for me."

Tav tilted her head at him in concern. She separated from her companions and made her way to the Tiefling's side. He looked even more of a mess than he had when they'd found him surrounded by malignant shadows. His hair was falling loose around his face and he hadn't bothered to tend to the scrapes and cuts marring his handsome face, much less mend the rents and tears in his clothes. She reached a hand up to brush away a strand of hair that had stuck to the sweat and dirt and blood on his cheek, and Rolan flinched away. Tav paused, keeping her hand close but not touching him. Then, gently, she brushed it away again, a bit of filth flaking off as she did so. Rolan squeezed his eyes shut and bit down on his lips.

"Let me help," she murmured.

He couldn't tell if she meant his disasterous appearance or if she spoke more generally, but he took a shaky breath and allowed her to dab at his face with a mostly-clean cloth dampened from her own waterskin.

"You could heal these yourself," she scolded, taking particular care over a nasty cut bisceting his jaw. "It's foolish self-flagelation not to. Since when did you start worshipping Loviatar?"

He snorted, then winced. "It's not worshipful. I deserve it, don't I? For being such an idiot? For letting them--letting them take my siblings." His voice broke and he bowed his head, letting his hair fall in a tangled brown curtain around his face. "My family."

Tender hands smoothed the hair back, tucking it behind pointed ears as Tav cupped his face and turned him to look at her.

"We'll find them," she assured him. She was suddenly very close, speaking so only he could hear, their chests very nearly touching. Rolan stared down at her with wide, damp eyes. "I promise you, we'll find them, and I will personally rip out the spine of every single person who dared to lay a hand on them."

The violent words were said with such earnest compassion it was almost enough to make him laugh. She was a vicious little thing, but it came, oddly enough, from a place of deep love and righteousness.

Rolan lifted a clawed, beaten hand to her face, trying to still his trembling lips. He traced the line of her jaw with his thumb while her expression shifted between confusion and determined sympathy. "Why?" he asked. "I've been nothing but rude to you."

"So has Astarion, but I keep him around," she pointed out.

Rolan snorted. "I suppose I can't argue that."

"I help those who need it," she insisted, suddenly stern. "Even if they're rude, stubborn, pompous, self-absorbed windbags who--"

"I get it," he stopped her with a wry arch of an eyebrow.

"Good." Her eyes searched his face, then she tilted her head and let her eyes drift shut as she lifted onto her toes and gently pressed her lips to his.

He drew a long breath in through his nose and moved his lips against hers. His arms circled her waist and she twined hers around his neck. Their noses bumped and he deepened the kiss, clinging to her like a lifeline.

"You're a very attractive windbag," she ammended once they parted, each breathing a little harder than before. Rolan choked out a pathetic, tear-filled laugh. Tav squeezed his arms. "I will find them," she promised again. "And the cultists will pay with their blood. Now, let's get you fixed up."

[pells-beautiful-wife]

Your bar boyfriend

Zoro x F!reader

Not my gif

Warnings: creepy men, fake relationships, no use of yn, drinking, making out in public, suggested smut,

Summary: in an attempt to escape a creepy ass man you ask a stranger to pretend to be your bf, a rather handsome stranger ...

"Whats a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this," slurred the middle aged drunk as he slid into the seat next to you.

"Drinking," you answered bluntly sipping your vodka lemonade mixture.

"Why drink alcohol when you could be drinking me?" He laughed heartily.

You felt vomit in your throat as you prayed for someone to burst in and start a raid.

"So beautiful you gonna tell me your name or not?" He said through his cigar smoke.

"Not," your eyes scanned the bar for someone, anyone who could help you.

"Cumon gorgeous don't be like that," he took a long puff letting the smoke engulf his face.

"I should really get back to my boyfriend now," your eyes landed on a tall man with bright green hair, you recognised him from wanted posters.

"Boyfriend?" Asked the man.

Instead of replying you simply smiled and speed walked towards him.

Glancing back at the man you saw him watching you carefully from his seat.

"Excuse me?" You cleared your throat grazing your hand across Zoros bicep.

He turned to you his deep brown eyes piercing your soul.

He was so beautiful you almost forgot why you were there.

"Sorry, but could you please pretend to be my boyfriend?"

You could see the confusment in his eyes but his face remained stone cold.

"There's this man you see and-" you were cut short by his arm wrapping around your shoulder.

"Say less," he smiled pulling you into him.

You almost swooned as you felt his muscles through his tight tshirt.

He chugged his drink and you stared wide eyed as he didn't even take a breath.

"So sweetheart what you drinking?" He flagged the bartender.

"Oh um, just vodka lemonade," you blushed a little at the use of the word sweetheart.

"Isn't that to strong for you sweetheart? Don't want to have to carry you home."

"I could say the same for you," you retaliated you'd never been good at acting but this man made it feel quite natural.

He ordered your drink and refilled his own, whilst the barman was making it he whispered close to your ear. "Whats your name? We'll need to sell this if you wanna get that guy off your back."

You told him your name and he smirked.

"Pretty name for a pretty woman."

"Th-thank you," you blushed profusely.

"You know my name?" He sipped his mystery drink which you presumed to be rum.

"Zoro, seen it on wanted posters," you sipped your own drink.

"You make my name sound so good when you say it," he grinned, and it made you giggle. "But I think it would sound better with you screaming it underneath me."

Your entire face flushed bright red and you slapped him lightly on the shoulder.

Then you caught it zoros breif glance at the man in the corner.

You'd completely forgotten about him.

"Is he looking?" You asked dread filling your stomach.

"Yeah, but don't worry I'll keep you safe," his hand shifted over his sword.

"Thanks," you offered a smile.

He returned it before looking back at the man and pulling you closer.

"He's coming over," zoro whispered his hand fully grasping his sword handle.

"Kiss me," you blurted panicky.

It only took him a second before his mouth was on yours.

He brought his hand off your shoulder to grasp your chin instead. Tilting your head up and angling your lips perfectly against his.

You almost moaned when his tongue slid across your bottom lip. Opening your mouth wider he slid his tongue inbetween your plump lips.

"Z- zoro," you panted and he smirked against your mouth.

"Just like that sweetheart," he grasped your face between his hands and pulled you closer into him.

He sunk his teeth into your bottom lip making you gasp. You could feel his smirk as he sucked your lip.

When he pulled back you were both panting.

"How was that sweetheart?" He grinned mischievously.

"G- good," you stammered your face and neck flushed pink.

"Good?" He frowned, "well guess I'll have to try again," he moved in to kiss you but your lips didn't quite meet.

"What are you waiting for?"

"You."

You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him fully against you. He let out a small gasp as you pushed off your seat and onto his lap.

He pulled you impossibly closer one hand on your ass the other cupping your face.

Moaning into your mouth he started needing your ass, you scooted closed on his lap your core brushing against his buldge.

He hissed and you smirked.

Bringing your lips back to his you started grinding down on his growing buldge.

He whimpered and grasped you hips tightly stopping you.

"Tease," he glared at you through his eyelashes.

"Well why don't we go back to my place and I can tease you more."

"Please," he moaned into your mouth.

@zorosbigbootyassgirlfriend we don't know each other but I think your cool. So I wanna know what you think of my first zoro fic 😁

[knightfall-4-life]

Knightfall For Life 2

Jaune: *currently tied to a chair* Whatever you do to me, I’m not telling you anything!

Cinder: *caresses Jaune’s cheek* My, those certainly are some brave words. Fitting for a Huntsman of your stature.

Jaune: *glares at Cinder* What do you want?!

Cinder: Impatient, too? Surprising. What I want is information. Namely, the location of the Relic of Knowledge.

Jaune: And if I refuse to tell you?

Cinder: *chuckles* Then I predict you will have a lot of blood on your hands by this time tomorrow.

Jaune: You monster!

Cinder: *rolling her eyes* Haven’t heard that one before.

Jaune: You’re psychotic! No wonder your stepmother never loved you!

Cinder: *a frown replacing her coy smile* W-well, you-

Jaune: I see now why you were always alone as a kid. 

Cinder: I-I wasn’t always-

Jaune: Because you’re just a deranged lunatic who can’t even realize when she’s out of her depth.

Cinder:

Jaune:

Cinder: *sniffles*

Jaune: Oh, I’m so sorry, my love. Was that too much?

Cinder: *nods as she wipes away a tear slowly sliding down her face*

Jaune: I’m so sorry. Come here.

Cinder: *sits on Jaune’s lap before nuzzling into him*

Jaune: There, there. You’re not any of those things.

Cinder: *hugs Jaune tighter*

Jaune: You’re the most brilliant, wonderful, and most beautiful woman on Remnant. Nobody else comes close.

Cinder: *whispers into Jaune’s ear*

Jaune: You’re also the smartest! Not to mention an amazing mother and wife!

Cinder: *whispers some more into Jaune’s ear*

Jaune: And you're also the best cook on the planet!

Cinder: Do you mean it?

Jaune: Of course I do! In fact, the number three thing I look forward to after a successful mission is to eat your delicious and scrumptious dinner!

Cinder: What are the first two?

Jaune: Coming home to my beautiful wife and amazing daughter, of course!

Cinder: *blushes* Thank you.

Jaune: Feeling better?

Cinder: *nods*

Jaune: So, shall we go back to where we left off? Or do we start all over again?

Cinder: *gets up from Jaune’s lap before grabbing a nearby whip with a sly smile on her face* Let’s start all over again.

Jaune: *gulps*

[im-getting-help]

Felix, trying to confess: I care about you, here are some pinecones on a stick... I- ehm, they're lovely.

[laniardraws]

Back on my inquisitor Anders bullshit. Also I couldn’t resist making a meme version

[letters-of-fire]

that smoking scene from Better Call Saul but with Howard and Florence (this loser failed his bar exam)

(as always, Florence belongs to @neathbound-fiends)

[ray935sworld]

Beznaia forcefully, please?

Sure thing! Thanks for the idea! So this was intresting to write. I hope you'll like how I wrote it, I'd love to hear your thoughts on this. It got a little more possessive and jealous as I expect.

(Potential dub-con but everyone is happy about making out and consents to it so not actual dub-con. More lack of discussion) And allusions to NSFW content

"Satisfied" Marco Bezzecci x Pecco Bagnaia - forcefuly - 1.8k words

Sure. Pecco was definitely calm. He was known to be mostly calm and collected – if he wasn’t being irritated.  There was no anger buzzing with the same rhythm as the loud music. Why would there be? He had won the championship for the 2nd time. His veins weren't flooded with frustration. He was the king of his sport, wasn’t he? No need for frustration when his holidays had only just started. His hand definitely hadn't gripped his drink just slightly tighter as he watched Bez basically being publicly fucked on a dance floor in Valencia.

Bez was dancing with good 5 centimetre space between them, a stranger. He looked like a local men, his body tanned and his hair black. He seemed to be around their age. Maybe older. And there was no denying that the other was very hot. He was taller than Bez, a little bulkier with handsome features.

Pecco continued to watch him while drinking his vodka. The alcohol burned his mouth. For some reason he had decided to keep it in just for a few seconds longer. He felt the drops burn his cheeks from the inside. He felt the heat radiate under his tongue. Then he swallowed.

He felt it ran down his throat. It felt like daggers stabbing him from the inside. Even his stomach felt like being ripped apart. He closed his eyes for a seconds and shacked himself to made the feeling go away.

He had done it. For the 2nd time. In a row. He had won motogp. He had won the 2023 titled and therefore reclaimed his victory from 2022. He had archived what they all - included Bez - wanted. He had fulfilled his childhood dream not once but twice.

And still he felt angry. Dissatisfied. There was a pinch in his chest that wouldn't go away, no matter how many wins he got. Even winning the championship by winning the race had done nothing to make it go away. He still wasn't happy.

It wasn't the same as last year. Last year he had felt like the king of the world. Last year he felt like he could do anything he would set his mind to. He had been undefeatable. He had felt like a winner . He had been fulfilled.

But something had changed. Something had changed him since last year.

Cause now he felt like he could only get a quarter if what he actually desired. When he found the second glass of vodka in his hands, he wondered why he had even bothered ordering lemon vodka. The stuff tasted all the same to him. Maybe some people could taste a difference. But he couldn’t and he didn’t really care.

It was way past 2am. Maybe even 3... Or 4?  He had lost track of time. At some point Vale had insisted he should stop drinking. He did. For a few hours. He had water and lemonade and cola - more than he ever did in his life. But nothing seemed to help. Not even when he and Bez, Vale, Luca and some of his friends  had taken a midnight McDonald's break when changing clubs. The feeling stayed in his veins.

He hold the liquor in his hand as he watched Marco. His dark brown curls were shaking. He was throwing his head back, his neck exposed. The skin looked soft. Perfect to place a hickey there. It’d be a shame not to. He saw the sweat reflecting the damp light of the club. He felt his blood shoot up.

Yeah… He wanted to know how the Italian would taste. He wanted to know what his naked skin would feel like if he sucked it enough to create a violet colouring and present the world the evidence of what they had done together. He wanted to make him sweat like that.

He watched his best friends smiling about having the hands of another man around his neck. Seeing the scene unfold as careless as right now, made the unplaceable feeling in his body grow. He was angry. On the day - or night - of his 2nd MotoGP championship, his 3rd overall, all he felt was rage. And he hated it. Shouldn’t this be a great night? One of the few when he could get it all.

But he didn’t had it all. He fucking didn’t. Because he wanted Bez. There was no denying it anymore. He had decided on him. Maybe it had happened today or last year. Or maybe when he had cursed himself as a teenager for having a crush on the new boy in the academy and he had promised himself that it wasn’t love, just a friendly adoration for the newcomer.

Instead of him, that fucking stranger had what he wanted. Why even him? If it'd be Cele, he wouldn't feel this way. Pecco was sure about that. He had seen the two friends flirt many times and dance together. As friends. But this stranger? He could smell his attention from over here and he wouldn’t let him get away with it.

He felt the glass on his lips. The burning sensation that hadn't really left, returned. He drank again.

Then he saw Bez putting his hand on the other man's cheek. And he lost it. With a loud stomp he smashed the glass on the table. He stood up, paying the bartender who gave him a judge look. She obviously wasn't a fan of the way he treated her glasses. As a silent apology he gave her an extra tip. She hadn't done anything after all.

Then he went for Marco. All the anger, all the emotion took form. The rage in his eyes were unmatched. He went straight for the curly hair rider.

Bez spotted him before he even approached him. He gave him a short smile but his hand continued to rest on the other man's hip.

„Please excuse us" Francesco hissed at the stranger, giving him an angry look. He hoped to shoot him a clear message as he forcefully took Bez hand - the one that had rested on the other man's hip.

He pressed himself between the two as he pulled the younger rider towards the other side. As he did he whispered an audible „Bastardo" to the man. Just for good measure. He had to make sure he wouldn't try that again.

He felt Bez tugging at his hand. „Pecco!" For a moment the Italian felt like he was being scolded. Marco had apparently heard the insult and was now a little too hesitant to follow the other for his liking.

He turned around to see Bez look at him questionably. „We need to talk. Now." he hissed against the loud music. Before the other could answer, their fingers let go of each other and he instead felt Peccos arm around his lower back. He was basically now pressed towards the other side of the dance floor.

Bez decided to obey. Mainly cause he was curious what was going on in Pecco's drunk head and cause he didn't want to annoy anyone around them.

Like that, they went towards the exit.

They left the club and Bez felt the coldness of the Spanish night hit him. He smiled, happy to get some fresh air in his drunk mind. He was still able to think enough but he felt tipsy.

Pecco on the other hand only felt one thing. Hate. Desire. Anger and love. Admiration and rejection. Everything was mixed in his body and he was unable to tell one from the other.

Before he could stop himself, he acted. He  grabbed his best friend by the waist and pushed him back. He pushed him against the wall of the club and placed his hands on his shoulders. He felt his muscles. He felt how tense his whole body suddenly was.

If he had been sober enough he would have realized that it's a sign of fear. But he wasn't sober enough. Instead he just realized that this might be the only chance he ever got.

His other hand caught Bez chin. He hold it up, making him look at him. There was a weird look on Marcos face. Confusion. Fear. Maybe a hint of arousal. All in one. Not that a drunk Pecco had the brain capacity to realize that.

Instead he just kissed him.

He pressed his lips against Bez. For a moment he felt the other move his body. Without hesitation he fixated the younger one more against the cold stones. His frustration was boiling to the top. He was so close to finally getting what he wanted. He wouldn't let him slip away now.

There was a roughness as he moved quickly and demanding. He stepped even closer, close enough for their whole body to touch as he adjusted the other's jar slightly.

He had a new angle that gave him more access to those plumb and full lips that had started to move according to him. In a way he wished. He could make them move like he wanted. It wouldn’t even be complicated.

Marco has just obeyed. He had accepted being taken like that. And when he did, when Pecco forcefully kissed his best friend like they would both die any seconds, he moaned quietly against him.

Fransceso took that as an encouragement. He was determined to get that sound out his best friend once more. But more intense. More desperate. More everything. He needed it. He wanted to make him feel the same rage and frustration he had felt the whole evening.

And he started at his mouth.

All it took for Pecco to get full access was to slightly open his mouth and Marco did the same. He groaned as he felt the other ones tongue against his own. He had always thought a kiss like that might be weird, even disgusting but this feeling was nothing like that. It was everything. It was full and made him feel powerful.

He couldn’t help but wonder what that mouth might feel like if explored. Marcos breath was already hot. His whole mouth must be as well. His mouth must feel hot and wet, reaching perfection with his skilful tongue. He needed that mouth around a certain part of his anatomy. As fast as possible.

Then he let go of Marco. Both men were breathing heavily, trying to catch their breath after being unable to gain new oxygen for some time.

They shared a look. Both unable to really react. Both unsure what to say. So instead, Marco rested his forehead against Pecco's head.

„That was hot" he whispered. „You wanna continue, bello?"

Pecco let out a laugh he hadn’t noticed he was holding in as his arms found their way around Marcos waist. The hate was gone. The anger had disappeared. The knot in his stomach had been uncurled. He felt satisfied. Well… Almost.

„You really think I want to stop now?"

But he knew there was a way to make him fully satisfied.

[nevesmose]

Perturabo was silent for a long time, his attention completely focused on the disassembled objects spread out before him.

"No, Fulgrim," he said eventually. "I am not fun at parties. Why do you ask?"

The Primarch of the III Legion smiled. "No reason in particular. I merely wondered if you'd like to take advantage of so many of the family being close by."

Fulgrim stepped away from Perturabo's worktable, elegantly avoiding the discarded parchments and empty grey plastek sprues littering the room.

"Goodnight then, brother. I shall leave you to your..." he paused briefly, for once unable to find the right word. "Figurines," he finished.

"They're miniatures," the Lord of Iron said bitterly. Fulgrim gave the briefest of shrugs and left the room.

Oh, Perturabo, he thought fondly as his brother's door slid closed. Don't ever change.

"I told you he'd say no," a rough, low voice called from further down the hallway. "If it was anyone but you he would've started throwing things."

"Very comforting, Ferrus." The two primarchs walked together for a few moments in a close, pleasant silence. With anyone else Fulgrim would have found the quiet oppressive, felt the need to speak, to act, to perform in some way.

It had never been like that with Ferrus, and in his introspective moments he treasured that quiet as something uniquely theirs.

"How goes the process of civilising our newest brother?" Ferrus asked.

Oh, Konrad, Fulgrim thought. Please change, even just a bit.

"He has been a challenge," Fulgrim admitted. "More so than I expected."

"Really?" Ferrus asked, amused. "I thought you relished a challenge."

"Not this one," Fulgrim answered. "Have you ever considered the logistics of bathing a fellow Primarch?"

"I could be persuaded," Ferrus said.

Fulgrim gave him a pointed look. "Not like that. I mean someone of our size and strength who adamantly refuses to even consider basic hygiene. And our father wants me to turn this... being into a capable leader of his own Legion."

Fulgrim sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"At the moment it's a miracle if he sleeps through the night without some kind of outburst. His latest development is wandering the corridors to scream at every mortal he sees about the exact time and nature of their deaths."

"You must be tired."

Fulgrim laughed bleakly. "Tired," he said, as if it were some arcane alien concept. "Yes, I suppose I am."

"Come in, then." Seemingly without intending to, they'd arrived in the hallway outside Ferrus's chambers.

"The Gorgon of Medusa invites me to his quarters," Fulgrim said archly. "People will talk. What scurrilous rumours they might spread."

Ferrus shrugged. "Let them."

The room was cool, sparsely lit and, with the exception of Forgebreaker in pride of place on a wall rack, minimally furnished. The opposite of his own in every possible way, but at times like this Fulgrim found the contrast refreshing.

Ferrus flung himself down onto a primarch-scaled couch as Fulgrim's gaze was drawn to the incongruous sight of a rectangular open-topped frigerator unit containing ice and several glass vessels.

"And what might this be?"

"Oh, that," Ferrus said. "One of the latest archaeo-tech recreations based on analysing residues from ancient Terran artefacts. It's an alcoholic drink somehow brewed with crystals."

Fulgrim took a single delicate sip and wrinkled his nose slightly.

"Apparently it was extremely popular on old Earth, but only for a very short time before something else replaced it. Magnus would be able to tell you more."

"I imagine he would," Fulgrim said, turning his attention back to Ferrus. "But with the greatest of respect to the Primarch of the Fifteenth, I don't particularly care about Magnus just now."

For a long moment neither of them said anything. Then Ferrus slid back on the couch, legs parted, and patted a hand on the seat just in front of him.

"Come on, sit down."

Fulgrim quirked an eyebrow.

"Did I stutter, Phoenician? Sit down. You need to relax."

"If you insist," Fulgrim said. He moved to sit cross-legged in the space between Ferrus's legs. After a moment's hesitation, he leaned his full weight back against Ferrus.

"There you go," Ferrus said, starting to run his hands through Fulgrim's long hair. "You don't have to be perfect every single moment of the day."

"Perhaps," Fulgrim replied, closing his eyes. "But then what would I be instead?"

What is this called, he wondered, sudden and cold. What are we doing? The idea threatened to ruin everything if he dwelt on it. To ruin this, whatever it was that he and Ferrus had.

We're Primarchs, he thought. There isn't any existing human word or concept for what we are or choose to be, other than what we decide for ourselves. Like the first ancients naming the stars.

A single cool metal finger poked him gently in the back of the head. "You're thinking," Ferrus said. "I can tell."

"Congratulations. I knew if you saw other people do it you'd eventually start to recognise the signs," Fulgrim replied without any real malice, tilting his head back as Ferrus's hands resumed their movement through his hair.

He felt Ferrus's chest move behind him as he laughed. "You wound me, Fulgrim. I'll withdraw from society to weep and write poetry."

"Anything but your poetry, I beg of you," Fulgrim said quietly. "The galaxy isn't ready for that level of pain and suffering."