Author’s Note: They said it couldn’t be done. I said Challenge Accepted.

Disclaimer: I don't own the PPC or any of its agents. The PPC was invented by Jay and Acacia, whose boots I am not fit to lick. Derik belongs to Neshomeh, and Thoth belongs to Thoth (shocker, right?). Their totally obvious yet criminally unfulfilled chemistry is my gift to you, dear reader.

Over the two years Derik and Thoth had known each other, they had settled into a routine. They met in Response Center 2112r weekly, give or take: less often if the Duty interfered, more often if they had the chance or if one of them called for it. Their meetings had a comfortable pattern. First Thoth would lead them in meditation and lofty mental exercises, and then Derik would share a chapter of a book, a poem, or a song. They both expanded their canon knowledge in this way. Often they would discuss the piece afterward, which led to long, rambling conversations about life, the universe, and everything.

The room had slowly altered to reflect the needs of its users. There had once been a console, but then Tom had decided it would be clever to hack his way into it to alert his partner to a pending mission. Thoth had done the Duty, then promptly returned and torn the entire system out of the wall. Building Maintenance had patched the damage with concrit, but hadn’t bothered with especially good concrit, so now that wall was covered with curtains of swirled midnight and cerulean blue velveteen.

Thoth didn’t need much in the way of physical comforts, but he and Derik both had mats to sit on. When not in use, they were stored in a tall cabinet against the bare side wall, along with a pair of metal drinking bowls, a few tea tins and liquor bottles, and the occult paraphernalia of Derik’s psychic education. He was only an empath, and only a receiver at that, but Thoth still occasionally tested him for other manifestations of subtle powers, or engaged him in uses of his own vastly greater abilities. The room smelled of the incense and aromatic oils that had permeated the curtains, and the sweat of two men concentrating hard in a small, enclosed space.

Derik sometimes came here just to practice music without the distractions of his partner, her dragon, and the minis that shared his response center. Several of his instruments, nearly all rescues from badfic, had migrated here and not found their way back. Most were kept in the RC’s closet along with such things as spare strings, reeds, resin, and polish, but his favorite guitar lived on a stand in the back corner next to a small writing desk full of sheet music from multiple continua. He’d also acquired a three-legged, padded stool to sit on when he played, or just when he got fed up with the floor.

Today, Derik had sung a tune of his own making. He maintained that he was not a composer, and he was still reserved about singing, but his confidence that it wouldn’t turn him into a basement-dwelling madman had grown such that he was using his voice now as often as anything else. He had to admit, it felt good, and he was smiling as he returned his guitar to its stand.

“You performed that very well, brother,” said Thoth, sitting in his usual cross-legged position with his back to the RC door. As always for their sessions together, he wore a blue robe and, somewhat ironically, an enormous pair of sweatpants as a precaution against the Narrative Laws of Comedy.

“Thank you! I think the refrain still needs a little polish, but on the whole . . . ” Derik trailed off, suddenly feeling Thoth’s gaze on him. He turned. “What? What is it?”

“There is . . . something you should know.” The Astartes was looking at him with an unusually open and intense expression in his green eyes. An invitation?

Derik wasn’t sure what he would find, if anything, but he opened his mind. He couldn’t see auras like Thoth did, but after a lot of hard work, he had learned to separate the sensations of external emotions from his own in order to interpret them. He was instantly taken aback by what he felt, rolling off his friend in slow but powerful waves. There was no mistaking that heat, that ache, which rooted deep in the pit of the stomach and radiated outward. Derik’s breath hitched in his throat.

“But . . . I thought your conditioning did away with all that.”

“Mostly,” said Thoth, and Derik recalled that he had always included that word when the subject of his asexuality came up. “And it has been a very long time since then. The conditioning has, perhaps, faded.”

Derik’s head turned minutely back and forth as he processed what was he was being told. “Starting when?”

“Recently. In the last two months or so.”

“I had no idea.” Derik sank back onto his seat and pushed his long hair off his face. “Two months?” He couldn’t believe it—neither that this was happening, nor that he’d been blind to it, nor that his friend had hidden something of such import from him for so long.

“I . . . did not wish to tell you until I was certain.” Until this point, Thoth’s expression hadn’t wavered, but a slight flick of his eyes betrayed his anxiety.

“Certain?”

“Certain it would not go away. Certain it was . . . real. Yes.”

The full import of Thoth’s admission began to sink in. This wasn’t him telling Derik something strange that had happened during a mission, or sounding him about a perplexing interaction with other members of Headquarters. It was altogether more deep and more immediate.

“You are, then.” Derik’s throat had gone dry, so the words came out half-voiced. “You’re telling me . . . you want me.”

Thoth gave him a pained look that might have signified anything from irritation to pity. “Who else?”

“Oh, my friend,” Derik said, shaking his head. He didn’t know what to think, how to feel. “This is so sudden. And I’m not—you know I’m not—inclined that way.”

“Yes,” said Thoth, and he had closed himself off again so that the word was without inflection. “However, I thought it best to make you aware of the situation so that you may judge for yourself whether you wish to continue our association with this knowledge.” He rose to his feet, the slow unfolding of his massive frame always unexpectedly graceful. “I will leave you to think on it . . . brother.”

He turned and reached for the door. Derik almost let him go, mind and heart racing, but at the last second before Thoth turned the handle, Derik jumped up and put a hand on his friend’s forearm.

“Thoth, wait. Don’t be ridiculous—of course I want to continue! How could you believe otherwise?”

Thoth fell into one of his long silences, choosing his words. “This occurrence is . . . unexpected. Unnatural. Dangerous. Perhaps you would not wish to expose yourself to such a thing.”

“‘Thing’?” Derik scoffed, hearing the two-pronged meaning of the word even if it wasn’t intended. “Don’t say that. And how dare you imply that I would ever reject you for such a stupid reason? You should know me better by now.”

Thoth didn’t reply, and his face was set in the stony mask more typical of the early days of their friendship.

Despairing, feeling as though something precious was slipping away, Derik shook his head. “Don’t you understand? You are . . . ” He took a breath, sighed. “So many things to me. My brother. My mentor. My confidant. My greatest friend.” He tightened his grip on Thoth’s arm. “I’m closer to no one, not even my partner. Nothing can change that.”

“Perhaps,” Thoth said softly. “In which case, I could not become more than that to you, even if I were another mortal. As you said yourself, you are not inclined that way.”

“Mostly,” said Derik, and he had the satisfaction of seeing Thoth blink in surprise. “I was a dragonrider, and I was young once. I experimented.” He made a decision. On the end of another deep breath, he said, “For you, I would do it again, if you wish it.”

Thoth stood silently peering down at him for a long moment. He took his hand off the door handle and raised it to Derik’s face, using one broad thumb with utmost gentleness to stroke his unscarred cheek. It was such an incongruous gesture, and Derik felt his breath flutter in his chest.

His expression must have read as concerned, because Thoth abruptly pulled his hand back. “I do not desire your pity, or your condescension.”

“You haven’t got either!” Derik reached out and caught Thoth’s hand, clasping it tightly between his palms. “Read me, brother. Feel what I feel. I beg you.” Emphasizing his words, he pressed Thoth’s hand against his chest, over his pounding heart.

Standing like that, with the heat of Astartes blood radiating through his shirt into his flesh, Derik knew he wasn’t pretending his interest. And as he knew it, Thoth knew it, too. As his mental barriers lowered, his face softened, and a gleam of what might have been hope came into his eyes.

Derik smiled. “I only fear that I’m no match for you, in any regard.”

Thoth nodded slowly, never breaking his gaze. “The difficulty is . . . a practical one. Practical difficulties have practical solutions, for those willing to seek them. But let us not rush ahead. You are certain you want this?” His deep voice dropped to near inaudibility. “Me?” Psychic or not, some things needed to be said out loud.

“Yes,” Derik said, leaning forward into his touch. “More certain every second.”

A small smile twitched at the corners of Thoth’s mouth. “Your emotions still overrule you, brother. Have I taught you nothing?”

Derik smiled back. “You have taught me how to control them when I want to. Right now, I don’t want to.”

He pressed forward again. Thoth moved his hand around Derik’s shoulder, bent down, and tilted his head just so. Their lips met.

With the physical connection came a sharper, clearer sharing of feelings. Thoth’s attraction to Derik was like a landmass built up slowly over eons, finally breaching the surface of the waves that had buried it. It was subtle, but inexorable, and Derik thrilled to be the object of such power. The only feeling that had ever been more potent was—

Derik slammed his barriers back into place, and they both stepped back.

“I’m sorry,” Derik said quickly. He had caught a frisson of trepidation just before the connection cut off. “It’s not you, not you at all. It’s—shards, it’s what it always is.” He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead and dug his fingers into his hair. He felt his anger rising and struggled to tamp it down again, repeating the first Enumeration in his mind.

“I understand,” Thoth said, but not without a hint of injury. “I recognize the signs in your aura.” He gave Derik a moment to collect himself, then said, “We will continue this discussion next time.”

Derik’s head snapped up. “What? No, I—”

“Yes. This . . . ‘experiment’ is as good a word as any. If we are to embark on this experiment together, there is much to consider. You must consider your needs and your safety. And I . . . I must consider whether I truly wish to become what this may make of me. It may not be worth the pain for either of us.”

Derik knew that if the two of them couldn’t live with pain, they would both have died long before they met. He knew that Thoth was one of the people in his life who made it bearable—better than bearable. Occasionally, even wonderful. And he didn’t give a shriveled fig for his safety.

He couldn’t muster the words to say all this, and he didn’t know if Thoth was still reading his aura. He said: “I won’t change my mind, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I know you believe so. You are a stubborn man. It is sometimes quite irksome . . . and endearing.” Tentatively, he extended his hand, and when Derik took it without hesitation he pressed his lips together in a grim smile. “You would leap into a fire, knowing you would burn. So I tell you: Go home, brother. Consider long and well. I am patient. I can wait.”

“Patience isn’t always a virtue,” Derik muttered, frowning down at their feet. He hated that his psyche still was not proof against intrusive thoughts of the past and the attendant soul-deep agony of his loss; that he could be so rapidly chilled, as though someone had thrown a bucket of ice over him. He wanted the fire back.

But, he recognized that leaping into this would end up burning both of them. There was indeed much to consider.

He looked up to meet Thoth’s eyes again. “You’re right. We can’t go off half-cocked, as it were.”

No response to the admittedly tasteless joke.

Derik shook his head. “All right, don’t laugh. The point is, I’ll do as you say, because you’re smarter than I am. We will go—and when we meet again, we will make a plan.”

“As you say.” Thoth inclined his head. “Until then.”

He turned toward the door, but Derik was still holding his hand and didn’t let go.

“Brother?”

“Once more,” Derik said, turning up his chin. “Please. So you know there’s nothing wrong with it.”

Thoth hesitated, and Derik thought he might refuse. Just before he resigned himself to give up, though, Thoth responded, “As you wish,” and leaned down, supporting Derik’s back with his off-hand.

Derik was careful to keep his empathic sense locked down and simply focused on the physical sensation of the kiss. It was odd—Thoth’s mouth was over-sized, and his own was distorted by scar tissue. It was awkward, with the ten-inch height difference between them. It was, frankly, underwhelming.

Part of the problem, he realized with a twinge of compassion, was that Thoth had no idea what to do beyond the basic act of touching lip to lip. It was a skill he had not practiced for millennia, no exaggeration, and he was stock-still, stiff, barely even breathing.

Derik was out of practice himself, but at least the instinct was still there. With both hands, he reached up to stroke the smooth-shaven sides of Thoth’s head. His scalp felt warmer than the rest of him, and with hands like heating pads, that was saying something. Derik felt Thoth’s fingers clench into his jacket at the unfamiliar, too-familiar touch and was reminded of the Astartes’ sheer strength. One wrong move, and Derik’s life could be in very real jeopardy.

Perhaps that was something to think about later.

Thoth didn’t pull away, so Derik continued the motion, drawing his hands down slowly over Thoth’s ears and cheeks until they rested along his jaw. Like the rest of him, his face was heavily boned and thick with hard muscle, courtesy of the super-engineered growth hormones that went into the making of a Space Marine. The only softness to it was in his generously proportioned lips.

With that thought, Derik opened his mouth, just a little, and pulled Thoth’s upper lip into the gap, which it filled pleasantly.

Thoth made a low rumble in his throat: a hum of surprise or the start of a moan, Derik wasn’t sure. Either way, he broke it off there and withdrew altogether. He looked at Derik with inscrutable eyes. A light flush colored his pale cheeks a shade of rose.

“There, now,” Derik said, his voice roughened around the edges. “That was a kiss worth the name.”

No answer.

Derik grew concerned. “Are you all right with what I did?”

A curt nod. “Are you?”

Relief set loose a giddy laugh. “Yes! Trust me, please. This is real. I promise you.”

“I will not hold you to any promise that comes with so little thought as to the consequences,” Thoth said sternly. Before Derik could protest, he added, “But I thank you for the intent behind it. And for . . . ” Lost for words, he made a helpless gesture toward Derik.

He understood, and nodded.

Before things could get any more awkward, they left the room and went their separate ways, until next time.

Scene 2.1 (SFW, hurt/comfortish)

The Duty intervened such that it was nine days before they were able to meet in RC 2112r again. To Derik’s chagrin, he had indeed suffered from second thoughts, both figuratively, in that he despised himself for having them, and literally, in that his preoccupation had made him careless in the field. On the sixth day, failing to duck under cover at a crucial moment had earned him a beating from a Stu with momentum-based superpowers, and he had the bruises to show for it. He had thought and imagined, fretted and planned, and after three particularly restless nights with an overactive brain and sore ribs waking him up at every turn, his eyes were shadowed and bloodshot.

To compensate, he had made an effort to wear freshly laundered clothes that weren’t wrinkled, and between missions he’d gotten his hair cut back to a faded crew with long fringe in the front, which the stylist had laughingly called “Gibbs hair.” Whatever the joke was, he liked the result: it made him look more like his old self, before all the bad things had happened and he’d stopped caring about his appearance.

He arrived bursting with talk, but Thoth refused to listen to anything he had to say until they had gone through their normal routine of mental discipline. Derik gave in with ill grace, but afterward, he had to admit it was a good thing to do. It put them back on familiar footing, and Derik felt less jittery with nerves and exhaustion.

He gingerly stretched and pulled out his stool. Even with a mat, the Generic Surface was hard, and the stool had the added benefit of putting him at eye-level with a seated Thoth.

“Now,” Thoth said when he was settled, “we may continue our discussion from last time.” The look in his eyes turned cold. “You must have realized, as I have, that to pursue a romantic experiment between us is both madness and folly.”

Shocked and hurt, Derik almost played right into it with a furious retort, but instinct made him dart out with his empathic sense, and he tasted the anguish behind Thoth’s words before the Astartes could fully conceal it.

“Don’t do that,” Derik said softly. “You don’t mean it.”

“It is the truth,” he replied.

Derik gave a frustrated groan and rubbed his hands over his face. “Thoth, please. I see through you. You told me how you feel; you can’t take it back, and I don’t want you to. What are you afraid of?”

His eyes flashed angrily at the word. “I am not afraid.”

“All right, not afraid. Anxious. Tormented. Whatever you want to call it: I have felt it. And last time you spoke as though you thought there was something wrong with you. I hope you have realized that’s not true.”

“It is.” Thoth blinked, startled by the vehemence of his own admission, and said more quietly, “Not in the way you mean, I think, but it is.” He sighed and shifted in place as though physically uncomfortable.

Derik knew he must be very upset indeed. His irritation evaporated. “Tell me, brother. Please.”

Thoth thought a moment, and then, not meeting Derik’s eye, he said, “You must understand that Astartes warriors do not feel the way I feel, regardless of inclination. It is impossible, except, perhaps, under the influence of Chaos. Or bad fanfiction, which is somehow worse. Much worse.” His lip curled, and his fists clenched. “I cannot become like the depraved excuses for Astartes in those stories. I must not.”

“And you won’t!” Derik got up and came to stand before him, placing one hand on his shoulder.

Thoth tensed and twisted away further, fighting a muscular urge to strike out.

“Oh, my friend.” Derik stepped back with his hands raised in a submissive gesture. “I do understand. How long did it take me to stop fearing I might become that other man with a face like mine?”

Thoth’s eyes flicked toward him. “Do you not still fear it?”

“Yes, and that’s the point. As you keep reminding me, fearing a thing does not make it true. You must trust yourself.”

The Marine jerked his head in negation. “I cannot. Blindly seeking my pleasure would lead down a path of destruction.”

“Then trust me.” Derik dropped into a crouch, trying to find Thoth’s eyes again. “I’ll show you the way. I will not let you fall.”

“You do not know what you are saying.”

“Yes, I do. I’ve had yonks to think about it, and this—us—we can work. Will you please look at me?”

Slowly, Thoth turned his head until he made eye contact.

In full view so it wasn’t startling, Derik reached out and took his hand. “It won’t be conventional,” he said. “It won’t be easy. There may well be pain and strife. But it will be worth it, because you make me feel almost whole again.” His throat constricted, and he roughly forced out the rest of the words. “I need you in my life. So I’ll have all of you. Every inch. Every fault. Every step of the way.”

Thoth’s eyes squeezed shut; his mouth pressed into a thin line; his fingers tightened around Derik’s hand. After a moment, he opened up again and raised one eyebrow a hair. “How long did you spend composing that little speech, Harper?”

Derik cleared his throat. “Ahuh, well . . .” He sat back on his heels and ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “I did have nine days and most of nine nights; there were alternatives . . .”

“It was very good. I believe it has had the effect you desired. . . . It would be more correct to ask for your permission to kiss you again, would it not?”

With what he thought was a heroic effort of will, Derik managed to hide his bemusement as he raised his head. “No—because you already have it.”

“Then . . . let us attempt this.” He widened the circle of his legs and guided Derik to kneel there, which effectively eradicated the height difference. His hands rested around Derik’s waist. “Is that all right?” he rumbled.

“More than all right.” He laid one arm over Thoth’s shoulder and with his opposite hand stroked Thoth’s cheek where it had turned pink again. “So, then.” He had to ask. “You do still want this broken shell of a mortal man?”

“Do not disparage yourself,” Thoth said, peering solemnly at him. “This is madness, and folly, but if you will have all of me, I will have all of you. Every scar. Every hurt that will not heal. Every step of the way.”

Derik’s heart leaped and his eyes prickled. He laughed. “Shards, man. That really does work.”

“Indeed.” Thoth’s arms slid up around Derik’s back, pulling him in.

Just as Derik tilted his head to seal the kiss, Thoth squeezed his ribs in just the wrong place, and he hissed in pain and self-recrimination. “Oh, shaffit!” He should’ve seen this coming.

Thoth immediately removed his arms to his sides. His expression was pure stone, but a tidal wave of dread rolled off him. “I apologize if I have—”

“Nononono, it’s all right, it was my own fault,” Derik assured him, gripping Thoth’s shoulder and reinforcing his own psychic shields. “Shards and shells. I should have told you, but . . .” He shrugged and settled back onto the floor, gingerly massaging his bruised bones. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it, and he hadn’t been given an opportunity anyway.

Thoth grimaced; he knew. “You may tell me now, then. I did intend to inquire about your altered appearance, as well. Is there a connection?”

It was tempting to claim the haircut was simply because he’d felt like a change, but there was no putting one over on an Athanaean telepath, so he told the whole truth: he had been an idiot, it had gotten him into trouble, and he had spruced himself up so he’d look less like death warmed over for this crucial encounter.

“I didn’t want to distract you with any completely unnecessary concerns for my health,” he finished wryly.

“I see. In that case, you failed.”

“Rub it in, why don’t you,” Derik groused, turning his head in irritation; but he realized he might have focused on the wrong thing. He turned back, searching Thoth’s face for an answer.

Gazing steadily at him, the Marine said, “You will always fail at that.”

“Oh.” Derik had to look down. A silly smile was trying to take over his face. It was extremely undignified for a man his age.

“However,” Thoth added, “I approve of this haircut. It suits you handsomely.” He raised a hand from his thigh, but stopped. “I may touch you?”

“You really don’t have to ask,” Derik said. “Where is this coming from?”

“I am given to understand that enthusiastic consent is a necessary component of healthy romantic relations.”

Derik blinked. “You read some relationship how-to book, didn’t you? I assume this was before you decided to try and run me off?”

No answer, which was answer enough.

“Thoth . . .” Derik chuckled and shook his head in amazement. “My dear Thoth. You’re not wrong, and I appreciate that you feel the need for caution, but don’t let it ruin a perfectly good moment. Go on.” He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

Thoth hesitated a moment longer, as though he hadn’t understood, but he got past it and lightly brushed the back of one finger against the short fuzz over Derik’s left ear. “Quite different,” he remarked.

“I used to keep it like this all the time,” Derik said, his eyes fluttering to a close. “Easier to manage short hair with a helmet. Don’t stop,” he added when he felt Thoth’s hand move away. His scalp was still unused to being mostly exposed. Every stimulus was new and delightful.

“As you wish.” Thoth explored the gradient texture of the fade, eventually using his whole hand to rub up and down the back of Derik’s head and neck.

Derik sighed. “That’s nice.”

Scene 2.2 (SFW, hurt/comfortish)

Time passed.

“Brother? . . . Derik?”

“Hn?” His eyes snapped open and he started up with a sharp intake of breath. He’d almost drifted off. How pathetic.

Thoth took his hand from Derik’s shoulder. “You are injured, and today’s mental effort has drained you. It would be wise to go and rest.”

Derik shook his head mulishly. “Stop trying to get rid of me.” He rubbed his face vigorously, stretched, and rolled his head to rouse himself further.

“I am merely pointing out the obvious. If you choose to resist good sense and stay . . .”

“I do. I waited nine days for this time; I’m not wasting it.”

Thoth nodded. “As I anticipated. In that case, I thought I might attempt to heal you, if you wish it, although I cannot guarantee such excellent results as I achieved with Nurse Robinson’s assistance.”

Derik thought a moment. He vaguely recalled Tom being very concerned about the Astartes using his psyker powers to repair Derik’s foolishly broken knuckle on the day they had met, but it had been perfect afterward, never so much as a twinge. Yes, Jenni had been there, but she had simply been supervising, he thought.

He shrugged. “I don’t see why not.” A thought occurred, and his mouth twisted into a teasing smile. “Are you trying to get my shirt off?”

Flatly, Thoth said, “Viewing the injury makes no difference to the biomantic healing process.”

Derik sighed and shook his head fondly. “One of these days, you’ll learn when to play along with me. Look, if it makes no difference, it can’t hurt, right? I’ll feel better if you see it with your eyes first.” He shucked his jacket and pulled his shirt off over his head.

There were actually several yellowing bruises across his torso, courtesy of the super-Stu’s fists, but the worst was on his left side, near the bottom of the rib cage but above the floating ribs, where he’d been kicked twice before Gall got behind the Stu and caved his head in with her mace. (She’d thrashed Derik a bit herself for hashing the mission and nearly getting himself killed, but her blows, moved by rough affection, hadn’t left marks.) The main injury was still a livid maroon in the middle with a blotchy blue-black corona.

Derik set himself on his stool and raised his left arm over his head. Thoth leaned in and ran his hand down the smaller man’s ribs, framing the bruise in the angle of thumb and forefinger. Derik felt a mild electric tingle as Thoth psychically probed the extent of the damage.

“I know it looks awful, but nothing is broken; I did get it checked. Medical cheerfully turfed me out with a bag of ice and some arnica gel.”

Thoth snorted softly. “Clearly an inadequate remedy. Your pain tolerance is impressive for a mortal.”

Derik rolled his eyes. “It only hurts when I breathe. But honestly, your psychosomatic techniques have helped, when I’ve been able to use them. For some reason, my focus has not been at its peak, which is how this happened in the first place.”

“Indeed.” Thoth sat back and studied the floor. He spoke through clenched jaws. “It is humiliating to admit, but my own may not be sufficient to perform this task.”

Derik lowered his arm and turned toward him. “What do you mean?”

“You are distracting me.”

“Well, I can shut up, if—”

“No. That is not the issue.”

Derik cottoned on and felt like an idiot. “Oh. Oh.”

He suddenly was aware of his bare skin. He was a warm brown, like many born in sunny Southern Boll Hold. A few stray Threads from the same clump that had scarred his face had bitten into his right shoulder, leaving scraggly white lines behind, and besides the recent bruises, he had a few other miscellaneous souvenirs from fights and accidents. The most prominent was an old lash across his left forearm, faded to a dully gleaming pink, that had been made by a snapped harp string. That had damn near crippled him. There was also a pair of jagged scratches across his belly, made by a young green watch-wher he’d rescued from some ignorant boys when he was ten. The wher had been so worked up and confused, dragged out of her den in daylight, that she hadn’t been able to tell him apart from her tormentors and nearly gutted him like a fish with a stray swipe of her paw.

All in all, though, his hide was remarkably intact, and he kept himself fit by running, working with weights, and swimming when he could (though he’d never managed to find the fabled pool in Headquarters). He had broad shoulders and a deep chest, full but not strained with muscle, and little hair except on his limbs. Exposed to the air, and to Thoth’s gaze, his nipples had puckered into dusky rose nubs.

“You haven’t seen me like this before, have you?” Derik sometimes went topless when he exercised, but he and Thoth had very different physical regimens, so that wasn’t something they’d ever done together. In the past two years, there was no other occasion he could think of where it might have happened.

“No. I have imagined, but I am no longer familiar with what might be considered normal human physique. The reality is . . . most pleasing.” He didn’t sound comfortable saying it, and he gave Derik that invitational look again.

Since Thoth was being forthcoming, Derik joined him in a state of heightened openness and perception. He felt the same turmoil of conflict as before between his friend’s intense affection and yearning for him and what Derik could only call dread of the consequences. Given the context, he thought he understood.

“You can still do it,” he said gently. “Your powers aren’t gone. You just need to focus them in a slightly different way.”

“If I were distracted and they were to fail at a crucial time—”

“Stop right there. This is not a crucial time. This is just you and me, learning something new together in our safe place. Take a moment to look at me if you want to—I certainly don’t mind. Then put all that aside, as I know you can, and do what needs doing. You are very capable, and I trust you.” He knew Thoth would feel the truth of that, and in return he tasted the bittersweetness of gratitude spreading through Thoth’s aura. “When I’m healed, come back to me, and we’ll go from there.” If he was still awake, anyway. Stringing all that together had been a major effort.

Which Thoth also sensed. His brows drew together in a crease. “I will ask no more of you today, brother. I shall do this, and then you will rest.”

Derik gave in. Fighting it anymore was too hard. “All right. I promise.”

“Good. Now, I request your silence. This may take a few minutes.” He closed his eyes and settled into a meditative attitude. His aura receded; Derik could no longer sense him.

Derik followed suit and worked on smoothing out his own mental patterns. It could only help if they were both calm and contained within the Enumerations.

Time was funny in that state, and it might have been a minute or an hour when Thoth finally opened his eyes and said emotionlessly, “Come to me. It would not do for you to fall from your seat if you should be overly depleted by this healing.”

That made sense. As Derik understood it, Thoth would use energy drawn from the Empyrean to speed up his body’s natural repair processes, but some of Derik’s own energy would be involved, too. He scooted back to the floor and sat cross-legged with his left side turned to Thoth.

The Astartes nodded and laid his broad hands on Derik’s back and abdomen, bracketing the injured ribs between them. Abstractly, Derik appreciated the warmth, but made sure to check himself at merely observing the experience, not getting swept up in it.

“I will begin,” said Thoth.

A stronger current of power than before made the muscles adjacent to the area twitch like the shoulder of a horse bothered by a fly. Derik didn’t remember the effect being this harsh the last time Thoth had healed him, but he’d been very drunk then, his nervous system depressed. It wasn’t painful, or at least no more painful than the swollen contusion itself, and Derik didn’t complain. He couldn’t see what was happening with Thoth’s hand in the way, but he could feel a bone-deep itch that waxed at first, then finally waned to nothing.

Thoth sat back and regarded his work critically. “Hm. It is not perfect, but you should no longer be in pain.”

Derik raised his elbow and peered down. There was still a faint tan stain where the angry red had been, nearly indistinguishable from his normal skin color. Within it he could make out what looked like a craze of filament-fine stretch marks, presumably where his subcutaneous tissue had reknit itself in an unnatural hurry. Rubbing it, he found no difference in sensitivity between this patch and the surrounding skin. He nodded. “Thank you.”

“The discoloration may go away in time,” Thoth said, frowning. “I cannot be certain.”

“It’s all right,” Derik assured him. “It’s interesting.” He traced over one of the pale lines with his index finger. “Think it might turn out to be a map of the London Underground or some such?”

Thoth opened his mouth, looking as though he meant to disagree, but thought better of it. “In this place, very little would surprise me. But, apart from that, how do you feel?”

Derik evaluated himself. He still clung to the lower Enumerations, but he sensed exhaustion waiting to claim him as soon as he released them, and he wasn’t sure he could hold on all the way back to his RC. “Would it be entirely too clichéd if I passed out in your arms?” He was only half-joking.

“It would be extremely clichéd. . . . But under the circumstances, perhaps it is an acceptable compromise between your desire to remain with me and my desire to ensure that you are properly rested?”

“Yes.” Derik pointed his finger at Thoth in affirmation. “Brilliant. Makes sense to me.”

So that was what they did. Thoth braced himself against the wall, and Derik leaned back against him in turn, secure in his tireless embrace.

Scene 3 (SFW? - body mods and makeouts)

Some hours later, Derik woke gently with Thoth’s mouth and nose pressed to the top of his head, arms holding him in a comfortable squeeze, mind quietly reveling in his scent and vital presence. Derik could feel that he wanted more, wanted everything, without even knowing where to start. The harper would have happily stayed in that warm cocoon of wanting until it birthed a bright and beautiful animal of doing, but even Astartes bodies had needs. Regretfully, they parted to attend to necessities, and to check in with their partners.

Tom and Gall were both astute enough to realize something unusual was going on, but the truth of the healing was its own excuse. They’d more or less given up teasing Thoth and Derik about the nature of their relationship ages ago, when the idea of a romance between the asexual Marine and traumatized ex-dragonrider had been categorically absurd. Now it was the truth, but could scarcely occur to them. They would just have to wonder.

Derik slept a solid eight hours overnight in addition to however long he’d napped, and the next day he felt more himself. Yesterday’s experience had given him a lot to think about, and he began formulating what might generously be called the plan he’d promised at the outset. He knew the first step, at least, and he spent his time between duties reading as much as he could to prepare himself. He was not certain how it would go in person, but if this was an experiment, there would have to be trials.

In that venturesome mindset, he returned to RC 2112r the following week. He found Thoth waiting for him outside the door, his arms folded forbiddingly. Derik raised an eyebrow. What on earth now?

“Have you realized yet that this is both madness and folly?”

“This again?” Derik shook his head and crossed his own arms. He searched his friend’s green eyes for a hint to how serious he was. He couldn’t tell. “You may be mad, and I may be a fool,” he said, “but I haven’t changed my mind.”

As he pushed past Thoth into the room, he caught the other man’s smile, and knew everything would be all right.

“Before we begin,” Thoth said once the door was closed, “how are you? Have your injuries fully healed?”

“Oh, yes.” Derik shook his left arm out of its sleeves and pulled up his shirt. “Have a look.”

Thoth knelt and examined him. The yellow-brown color had faded with the other, minor bruises, but the pale striations remained.

Smiling, Derik said, “I still don’t know what it means, but I’ll be sure to tell you when I figure it out.”

“I would not dwell on it,” Thoth advised solemnly. “Just as well if it is innocent of meaning. But if you are sanguine about it, then I will be content.”

Derik laid his hand reassuringly on his friend’s bald dome. “Quite sanguine. Rarely better, in fact.”

“I am pleased to hear it. Now, if you will restore your clothing . . . ”

He did, and they settled down to work through their habitual meditations, knowing the importance of maintaining control of their respective abilities. But they were both eager to pursue the new frontier of their relationship, and by unstated agreement, it was a short session.

“I have a request,” Derik said when they’d grounded themselves.

“Yes?”

“You got a good eyeful of me last time. I think it’s my turn, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Thoth’s brow creased. “You wish to look at me?”

“Yes, I do. Fair’s fair—only if it’s all right.”

“Of course. Fair is fair. But I am concerned that you may be alarmed by what you see. Astartes augmentations are . . . functional. They are not aesthetically pleasing. And I have survived many dangers besides.”

Derik nodded. “I’ve done some research recently. I think I know what to expect, and I must find out eventually. Best sooner rather than later, don’t you think?”

“You may be correct.” Thoth gave a small sigh. “Very well.”

He loosened the sash that bound his robes below his massive chest and slipped his arms out of the sleeves. The royal blue garment pooled around him, leaving him naked above the waist.

Of its own merits, his physique was a pleasant surprise. His muscles were enormously bunched, like a body-builder’s, and might have been grotesque, but the great width of his shoulders and depth of his chest served to support them such that a new harmony of line was created. Next to a normal man, he would seem too broad, too bulky; but he was not a normal man. He was a normal Astartes, with all the grace coupled with strength of that superhuman breed.

It would have been easy to appreciate the sight of him if that was where the divergence ended, but it wasn’t. Derik had learned enough of what made a Space Marine to know what he was seeing, but it didn’t make the first sight less shocking in the flesh.

The nineteenth and final gene-seed organ, the black carapace, was a fibrous bio-synthetic material surgically implanted under the skin of a man’s torso. It hugged the muscles of his chest and the smooth surface of his flattened rib plates, and granted an extra layer of protection to his more vulnerable belly. As it matured, it hardened on the outside and grew tendrils that wound their way throughout his body and meshed with his central nervous system.

Thoth’s skin was pale—his melanochrome organ kept it translucent and permeable to the wan and mysterious light in Headquarters—and it had the worn quality of an old record-hide that had been rewritten and scraped clean a few too many times. The carapace showed through as a gray shadow like faded ink across his trunk. Furthermore, at certain points all over his body, incisions had been cut through his skin to the neuroactive carapace and fitted with cybernetic sensors and input/output jacks that allowed him to connect directly to his power armor, with all its performance-enhancing controls and support systems. They looked threatening, like hard, cold, life-sucking parasites.

And then there were the battle-wounds that had left their marks on him. Over centuries in an environment as hostile as the Eye of Terror, even someone as canny as Thoth would rack up a frightening number of near misses that would have meant death for a mortal man. He’d been battered, burned, stabbed, sliced, and torn every way you could imagine. Astartes clotted and scarred quickly, but not cleanly. His forearms in particular were a knotted mess of defensive injuries, but the most horrible scar was a curving slash that started high on his left pectoral and plunged across his primary heart.

Derik had been careful not to outwardly react, but he was shaken. He sublimated his feelings onto the big scar, imagining what had caused it, and how close it must have come to killing his seemingly invincible friend. “By the Egg,” he whispered, raising his hand.

Thoth took it in his left, stopping Derik from touching his chest. “As I thought, you are perturbed.”

“Damn right I am,” Derik said, boldly looking him in the face. “What happened there? That had to get past your powers, your armor—”

“I am well aware,” Thoth bit out, but immediately reined in his choler. He closed his eyes briefly, stroking the back of Derik’s hand with his thumb, and said, “It was an unforgivable but singular lapse of judgement coupled with exceedingly bad luck. In fact, the story is not dissimilar to yours.” He nodded, indicating Derik’s Threadscars.

He rubbed the roughened side of his jaw. “Personal hubris, promptly punished? I suppose. But, what did it? Will you tell me about it?”

“I would rather not, at this time. And you are disguising the true root of your feelings. It would work on many, but not on me. The sight of my flesh repels you.” It was pronounced as a cool statement of fact.

“That’s not true,” Derik snapped.

Thoth stared at him with unwavering skepticism.

Derik sighed and ran his free hand through his cropped hair. “It’s just . . . the hardware. It’s a lot to take in.”

In full honesty, he didn’t approve of the Space Marines at all—taking half-grown boys, cutting them open and shoving unnatural parts and hard metal things into their bodies, putting them through agonies so those who survived the process could go suffer more agonies in the name of the misguided notion that humankind had a right to rule the stars. According to Thoth, in the beginning, it had been a necessary matter of survival, and a noble crusade to reunite the galactic diaspora of humanity and save its loyal children from the unimaginable dangers bearing down on all sides. Derik wasn’t so sure, and the intrusive, bloody nature of it all made him angry.

But he wasn’t looking for a fight. This Marine was his friend, more than a friend. The past was the past; he was what he was. Derik had already sworn to accept every inch. He wasn’t about to go back on his word over mere aesthetics.

He sighed again. “Listen, Thoth.” He clapped his second hand around the other man’s. “You’re not going to win any prizes for beauty, but look at who you’re talking to and rest assured that I’m not complaining. It’s you, who you are, that I care for. The rest is secondary. Only give me a little time, and I’ll get used to you.”

They weren’t the most reassuring or romantic words ever uttered, and Derik was professionally ashamed of such a weak delivery, but after a moment, Thoth gave a slow nod.

“Will you let me touch you?” Derik asked. “I want to know what you’re like.” And how he’d feel doing it.

He saw every enhanced muscle tense at the suggestion. Otherwise, Thoth didn’t move. He spoke haltingly: “I . . . think . . . I would like that. But be careful. Please.”

“I understand. I’ll go slowly.”

He started with the hand he was holding and palmed the back all over. Subconsciously settling into the gentle rhythm he would have used to massage oil into an itchy patch of his dragon’s hide, he worked his way up Thoth’s wrist. His skin was, in fact, slightly oily thanks to some protective compound of his sweat. But it was just skin, warm and soft to the touch even with its marbling of raised and sunken scar tissue. The only exceptions were the round, metal interface jacks. Derik skirted the first of these with his forefingers, hesitant to touch the alien material.

“These . . . I know what they’re for, why they’re there, but I admit they give me the shivers. Do they bother you?”

“No.” Thoth turned his arm to bring more into view. “The black carapace is a part of me. Do not fear to touch its external nodes.”

Derik nodded. He swallowed his unease and brushed across the spot. He wasn’t sure what he was afraid of—an electric jolt, maybe; or less rationally, something darting out to grab him—but nothing happened. It wasn’t even cold, only smooth and hard and inert. Just an unusual piercing, really.

He was relieved. “Hah. That’s—that’s not so bad.”

“Indeed.” Thoth sounded a little relieved, too.

“And you’re sure it doesn’t bother you? Pull, or twinge?” Derik prodded it a little more firmly and immediately jerked back. Still nothing happened, and he felt silly for being so jumpy.

“Not at all.” More softly, Thoth said, “You may continue what you were doing, if you wish.”

“Heard,” Derik replied with a small, gratified smile.

He resumed his exploration of Thoth’s arm, taking his time to cover every square centimeter, with or without hardware. His hands were rough with calluses and they dragged oddly over the metal ports, but Thoth didn’t seem to mind. Gradually, though the nodes were strange, they ceased to alarm him.

Along the way, he also found a few little organic oddities: a patch of discoloration here, a skin tag there. Nothing Derik would have regarded as unusual—every body had a few little oddities—so he could only wonder why Thoth, watching him like a hawk, tensed up all over again whenever he came across one.

When Derik rose to his knees to continue with Thoth’s shoulder, intending to go around his back, Thoth stopped him altogether by putting his hands around his upper arms.

“That’s enough,” he said in a gravelly timbre. “Do not misunderstand: I have enjoyed this experience. But it is not easy to make myself deliberately vulnerable, and I am struggling to remain in balance.”

Looking into Thoth’s eyes, Derik could see that his pupils were wide, and his cheeks were flushed; but he sensed a diversion in the words, much as he himself had attempted earlier. Whatever was bothering him, there was more to it than what he was implying. And Thoth was letting him know it, practically begging him to go along.

He nodded slowly. “What if I just switched sides—for symmetry?”

Thoth’s mouth pressed into a line; no doubt he saw the transparent probe for what it was. But he didn’t immediately object. After a long pause, he nodded. “Yes, if you wish, that would be . . . nice. But carefully. You must stay where I can see you.”

Derik knew it wasn’t that Thoth didn’t trust him, exactly; more a matter of old habits dying hard, and some barriers being more difficult to break down than others. This was an old trouble in their friendship. It had now reshaped itself along with the shape of the relationship, but as close as they already were, it had no power to sting anymore.

“Same as before,” he agreed. “And stop me anytime.”

“Your respect, as always, is appreciated.”

Derik moved over and repeated the slow, steady process of massaging the right arm. He had no illusions of either skill or strength enough to make a real impact on the tough muscle and sinew beneath the skin, but that wasn’t the point. The point was simple familiarity, and it was working. Through his hands, Derik felt he was gaining an important new knowledge, and he enjoyed both the soothing, repetitive motions and the effect they were having. Thoth never quite relaxed, and still watched closely the whole time, but his occasional reactions became less pronounced, his breathing deeper and steadier.

As he worked over the deltoid, Derik asked, “What do you say to lying down? Or,” he quickly amended, seeing that was going to be a no, “just lean up against the wall? If you’re comfortable with it, I’d like to keep going. I think this is a good exercise for you as well as me. You’re not flinching so much.”

“Hm,” Thoth grumbled, but without real annoyance. “If you had spent millennia living on the edge of survival in the Eye of Terror, where the only touch was that of pain and horror, you would flinch, too. But I believe I am comfortable enough now.”

He shifted himself into a semi-prone position with his back against the wall, knees drawn up. Derik knelt by his right side, and Thoth guided his hands to an acceptable starting place, just below the collarbone. Derik leaned into him and felt the firm resistance of the black carapace over taut, piled muscle and ceramic-infused bone plates. Thoth’s rib cage was more than a cage; it was a nigh-impregnable fortress. Mundane weapons fire would bounce off it like arrows off the walls of the mightiest castle.

“Shells,” Derik said softly, shaking his head. He threw off his amazement and resumed his task. “I never want to give you pain,” he said, using a low, mellow tone. “I want you to know gentleness at my hands. Gentleness for now, and someday soon, great pleasure.”

“Ah,” Thoth sighed. His right hand curled around Derik’s body, resting at the joint of thigh and hip. “I also want that, for both of us. But it is not an easy thing to want.” A wave of hungry desire rolled through his aura, shot through with nauseous anxiety.

Derik reinforced his mental shielding. He felt a three-beat rhythm pounding beneath his hands as he kneaded. Thoth’s secondary heart had kicked in, answering his body’s call for increased blood flow without understanding the complex reasons. Derik, on the other hand, did. “It’s all right,” he said, never stopping the motions of his hands. “Remember what I told you: You’re not falling. We’re learning, together, step by step. And this has been a very good step.”

His fingers traced the edge of Thoth’s nipple, and it struck him as strange that a feature whose only purpose on a man was to give pleasure was allowed to remain in place when pleasure was explicitly denied its bearer. Perhaps the intellect behind the design of the Astartes had known that taking it away would remove one of the crucial shreds of humanity left to them. Perhaps it had even dared to imagine a time when the simpler joys of human existence might be returned to its immortal children.

The idea was too complex to explain as quickly as he wanted to, so Derik sat back and looked at Thoth beseechingly. “I just had a thought. Let me share it with you, and tell me what you think.”

He opened the way to his mind and felt Thoth’s presence, sifting through his surface thoughts as easily as running his fingers through water. He also felt the other man’s mood change from anxious to amazed.

Thoth tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. “You made this deduction about the mind of the Emperor of Mankind on the basis of a superfluous anatomical structure?”

“I’ll allow it’s a little ridiculous.” A smile tugged at the corner of Derik’s mouth. It was a lot ridiculous. “But just imagine with me for a moment that what’s happening to you isn’t an aberration; that it was intended, when the time was right. When peace was at hand, when the Adeptus Astartes would need pursuits other than war and rewards other than conquest to occupy them. Why not?”

Thoth sighed. “You are attempting to soothe my worries with a pleasant fiction, as you would tell a fanciful tale to a child who fears the night. I should be offended.” The gentle workings of his fingers at Derik’s side and the lapping wavelets of affection in his aura said that he was not.

“Not fiction. Informed speculation. We can’t know for certain, so why not choose to believe this is the right and proper time for you to regain something that was taken from you?” He shook his head, signaling a change of direction. “You say you want this, and I feel and believe that you do, but I also feel the horrible doubt eating at you. I can’t stand it—and I can’t push you along half-unwilling. That’s not right. ‘Enthusiastic consent’ goes for you, too.”

Thoth chuckled, a rich bass note rolling in his chest. “The cheek! Thinking you could push me somewhere I do not choose to go! Should that concern not belong to the one of us whose mental and physical power far outstrips the other’s?”

“Who’s the one giving all the assurances here?” Derik countered. “Who’s actually had romantic relationships in the last century, willing and unwilling? I think I know what’s mine to be concerned about.”

Thoth turned contrite. “I was not considering your previous negative experience. I apologize. That is one more reason I must be wary of pushing you.”

Derik made a derogative noise. “That’s not why I mentioned it at all. You couldn’t be less like Alanna if you tried, and I’m not the one wrestling with issues of agency over myself at the moment. Having been through all that, I am attempting to help you find peace with yourself, as you’ve helped me. I’m trying to give you a way forward.”

“Words,” Thoth said with a minute shrug, looking away. “Very pretty words, but just words.”

“I am a Harper; that is my craft. I seem to recall having recently made quite a good showing at it.”

“Several, in fact. And Derik, it is very tempting to let this be another. As a . . . a ‘fan theory’, if you will, the one flaw I find with it is that I do not believe the Emperor had any care for what became of his instruments after he had finished with them. We were a means to an end, no more, and if we failed to serve our purpose precisely according to his scheme, we were cast aside or destroyed utterly.” He scowled. “I have had no regard for his designs in millennia.”

Derik raised his hands in a revelatory gesture. “Well, that’s your answer, then. Forget what the Astartes were meant to be under the Emperor, forget what you had to be in the Eye, and embrace what you are now. You’re a free man. You may do with yourself as it pleases you.” He smiled. “Or, of course, let me do with you as it pleases you.”

Thoth looked at him, and Derik felt hope gaining a foothold on doubt. As it passed back and forth between them, it was magnified, like the ebb and flow of a tide building up to a crest.

Before the tipping point, Thoth shook his head with a soft, rueful laugh, collapsing the wave. “I give you credit for this much: you have a talent for making difficult things sound simple. It is not that simple . . . but I will think about what you have said.” In gratitude, his fingers pressed the top of Derik’s thigh.

Derik nodded. “Can’t ask for more than that.” With Thoth’s hand still on him, keeping him in place, he tilted his head. “In the meantime . . . should I pick up where I left off?”

“Yes. The exercise is not complete.”

He chuckled. “No, well, we can’t have that.”

Derik rose on his knees again. He braced himself on Thoth’s shoulder with one hand and drew the other across his chest from left to right, over the swell of each pectoral where it arose from the collarbone, then back again. As he reached the origin of the big scar over Thoth’s heart, Derik watched his face.

Thoth inclined his head and said softly, “I did not want you to reach for me in a show of false bravado before. This is better.”

“Yes, it is.”

Derik splayed out his fingers and swept his hand in a broad caress over Thoth’s left bosom, scar, biosensors, and all, then repeated the gesture on the right, and weaved a slow figure-eight back and forth, never breaking his gaze into Thoth’s eyes. They were quite captivating, even pretty: a soft shade of seafoam with a darker ring around the outside. He’d seen them aglow with the power of the Great Ocean, but somehow, he’d never really noticed them before.

All the time, he could feel Thoth’s hearts pounding away like a pair of kettle drums, and the deepening swell of his breath. On impulse, Derik ran his hand down the center of Thoth’s chest to the solar plexus, where anxiety liked to gnaw, to smooth away any lingering traces. The black carapace resisted his efforts, but Thoth covered the smaller man’s hand with his and sat up.

“Derik,” he said roughly, “would this be a ‘perfectly good moment’ to thank you for your kind and patient attentions?”

He could read Thoth’s intent in his face, and he nodded. “Oh yes.”

Thoth wrapped his arms around him and drew him within the girdle of his legs for a deep, needy kiss.

Derik responded with an ardor that surprised him. One hand went around the back of Thoth’s head and the other gripped the prominent ridge of his shoulder. There was no pain this time, and he kept his psyche isolated from Thoth’s. He still felt the other man’s desire in his grasping fingers, so powerful and so carefully controlled, and in his heavy breathing. Thoth’s need inflamed his own. It had been so long, so long since he’d last felt this way. A cry of yearning trembled in his throat. He sucked on Thoth’s full lower lip and ran his tongue over it, drawing what was definitely a low moan out of him.

The Astartes copied him, hesitantly at first, then with more vigor as he gained confidence. Derik welcomed the explorations of his tongue, touched it with his own, and got a taste of him for the first time. Not musty-sweet or sour like anyone else Derik had kissed (not counting Alanna; never counting Alanna), Thoth was sweet-acerbic, with a chemical tang like a smith’s workshop, like that which underlay the musky smell of his sweat. Derik had long ago gotten used to that. It was an acquired taste, one he associated with the sanctuary and peace of mind he’d found in this room, with this man. He eagerly went back for more. Thoth wouldn’t allow Derik’s tongue to pass his lips, but those were enough.

After a breathless minute, Thoth pulled back. He stroked Derik’s face (only ever the fully sensate left side) and peered at him with concern. “Derik. Is something wrong?”

“What?” He blinked, panting and confused.

“Your mind is closed to me, and your aura is damped. I cannot read you. Is something wrong?”

“Oh.” He made a grimace. Of course the Athanaean would wonder at that. “No, dear heart. Not really. I’m just not prepared for all of this in my head, that’s all. I’m fine, I promise you. And I want you.” He gripped Thoth’s head below his ears and planted several fierce kisses on his mouth and jaw and throat.

Thoth gave a very interesting growl as he tilted his head to one side to give access, half pleasure and half protest. “Derik . . .”

“I know . . . I know we’re not prepared for that, either . . . but shards I want you. Since you can’t feel it, I’m telling you.”

“You are mistaken. I feel that well enough,” Thoth said, pulling Derik against him with a hand low on his back.

“Ah.” Derik pressed himself in harder and shuddered pleasantly. “Then you know . . . I speak true. And I know . . . you share my predicament.”

“Yes.” Thoth slid his hand up the back of Derik’s shirt and hesitantly lipped the side of his neck. “But Derik . . . I had anticipated clear sight to guide me so that I might please you. So that . . . ” His voice dropped to a whisper. “So I do not hurt you.”

“You won’t.” Derik leaned back and cupped Thoth’s cheeks with both hands. “Listen to me. That’s not going to happen.”

His eyes were haunted with doubt. “You cannot be sure of that.”

Derik scowled at him, at once angry at and sorrowing for the intrusion of yet another barb of torment into their enjoyment of each other. “Yes, I can, and I’ll tell you how. Do you break a glass when you hold it?”

Thoth didn’t answer.

“Do you crush a soft fruit? Do you ever harm anything you don’t intend to harm? You don’t, because you’re neither a soulless monster nor a mindless beast. You’re a man—my man. You know your strength, and you are in control of it. And furthermore, I am not that fragile.” The sinews of his body flexed with an urge to show his own strength, but he held back from any aggressive action.

Thoth’s eyes flashed, but his fingers longingly traced the valley of Derik’s spine between the muscle-ridges of his back. “Reckless. Have you considered that my control could slip in a moment of passion?”

Derik jerked his head in the negative. He had considered it, but it didn’t matter. “We’ll take it slow. We won’t behave like a pair of idiots caught up in their first flight. We’ll take the time to learn each other’s limits . . . ” he ran his hands down Thoth’s neck and chest, “and we’ll come to know what’s right.” He dug his fingers into soft skin over hard carapace and leaned in to kiss the hollow of Thoth’s throat.

He felt as much as heard the rush of breath and profound hum in response. Thoth spread his hand across Derik’s back, pressing on him more firmly. “Just how much do you intend for us to learn today?”

“Not so much.” He kissed his way up Thoth’s neck, avoiding the tracheal sphincter associated with his third lung, and kept his balance with one hand while running the other all over Thoth’s right bosom. “Nothing we haven’t already covered. Uncovered. Both.” At Thoth’s chin, he halted. “Yes?”

“Yes.” Thoth closed the gap and tenderly kissed Derik’s lips. “Yes.” Again, more firmly. The fingers of his free hand trailed across the other man’s chest and curled loosely into the fabric of his shirt. “And if that is the plan . . . I find it most unfair that you are covered while I am not. Will you join me?”

By the time he finished the question, Derik had already shrugged off his jacket. He tossed it aside and placed Thoth’s hands at his waist. “Only if you’ll do the honors.”

“As you wish.”

Thoth took his time sliding his hot hands up Derik’s sides. Derik stretched his arms over his head like a feline in the sun and thrilled to the touch.

As soon as the material was out of the way, Thoth gathered him in and bent to kiss his throat, again mimicking something Derik had done. “Much better,” he rumbled, and continued up the side of his neck.

Derik would have agreed but for the fact that he could now feel the hard metal of Thoth’s arm ports against his bare back, and he hadn’t quite been prepared for the creepy sensation. “You liked it when I did that, did you?” he said, talking to take the edge off while he unfroze.

“Yes.” Intent on what his lips were doing, Thoth didn’t seem to have noticed any adverse reaction.

Derik sighed in mixed relief and enjoyment as Thoth’s breath caressed his ear. “Good.” He squeezed Thoth’s shoulder. “I like it, too. And—ah.” Thoth had just licked his earlobe, sending shivers down his spine.

Thoth reared back. “Was that wrong?”

“No—just right.” He gave another squeeze to reassure him and chuckled. “Where’d you get that idea?”

A small smile crept up on Thoth’s face. He shrugged. “It seemed obvious at the time.”

“Full marks for innovation, then. Now let me return the favor.”

Thoth lowered his head a little to accommodate, and Derik kissed the hinge of his jaw, the shell of his ear, then the lobe, and finished by licking and gently sucking on it. “How’s that?”

Thoth had pressed his face against Derik’s shoulder, heaving hot breaths down his back. He shook his head without breaking contact. “It is not the same for me. But I like it here.” He kissed the place where Derik’s neck joined his shoulder and lightly touched his tongue to the skin. “You have a scent unlike other men. Something of your world. Exotic, like precious spices. Too faint for others to notice, I think, but to me, most alluring.”

Derik knew immediately what he was talking about—it was the smell of dragons that lingered in his blood. Even as the compliment warmed him, the reminder of what was missing sent a spike of icy pain through his heart, and he was glad he’d walled off his emotions so Thoth didn’t have to feel it. He did not intend to dwell on the absent part of his soul, but rather on the fully present parts of his body. Using the techniques he’d learned, he put the old sorrow aside.

“Is that so?” he murmured, rubbing his palm up and down the other man’s arm.

“Yes.” Thoth kissed his neck again. “It is something I noticed early on, when I began to feel unusual in your presence. That . . . ” Again. “The sound of your voice calling me ‘brother’ . . . ” And again. “And the way you look on me with compassion even when your pain is greater than mine, and my deeds have been darker.” He sat back, leaving Derik panting for more. “These are just some of the things that draw me to you. I cannot imagine what you find in me that is worth overturning your usual preferences, and all good sense besides. I am glad of it, but I do not understand.”

Derik rolled his shoulders, loosening muscles that had tensed with anticipation, and thought a moment. What to say to a thing like that? “Well . . . would you believe it’s that you smell nice, too?”

Thoth stared at him. Derik kept a straight face as long as he could, but finally he cracked with a soft snort. They both laughed.

“No, really, though,” Derik said, caressing Thoth’s brow and cheek. “My reasons are very much the same as yours. You were the first to name me ‘brother’, and I have never forgotten it. You set me up as your equal. And, soul-shattered mess that I was, you treated me as someone worth spending time on, not out of pity, but interest. You alone saw me not for what I had been or even what I was, but for what I might yet be. I am deeply privileged to know the true compassion, understanding, patience, and wisdom in your heart.” He pressed his hand over the scar that crossed it.

Doubt had edged into Thoth’s eyes again. Derik knew he didn’t think of himself as a good man. There had been times Derik struggled to reconcile himself with how cold he could be toward others, too. Yet, he himself had always felt at home in his presence. Even when Thoth made him angry or pushed him too far in his attempts to help Derik master himself, he was able to talk him down again with that seismic voice and make him feel safe. There was just something about him.

Solemnly, Derik proclaimed: “And you smell good.”

The quip dispelled the building unease, and they shared another quiet laugh.

Thoth laid his hand over Derik’s on his chest, wordlessly expressing his thanks. “And that is another thing. I enjoy your play—even when you force me to be stern with you to maintain focus.” He gave a mock-serious look.

“Maybe I enjoy it when you’re stern with me,” Derik purred, grinning.

“Oh?” Thoth’s eyes danced, and he sat forward.

Derik leaned back into his supporting arm. “Sometimes,” he said seriously. “Sometimes it’s good to know that someone has everything under control. But then again . . .” He slipped his right hand free, took Thoth’s head, and kissed him.

With a nasal sigh of resurgent pleasure, Thoth put both arms around him with one hand on the back of his head. His fingers carded through Derik’s short hair, sending a frisson of delight down his neck. With determination, Derik pressed the kiss until he’d gotten Thoth back up against the wall. Both were breathing hard by the time they broke off.

“You were saying?” Thoth rasped, looking at him with a strangely vulnerable expression, something like awe.

“Sometimes it’s good to take the lead.” He stroked Thoth’s forehead and brushed over a raised eyebrow with his thumb.

Thoth ducked into the caress. “And sometimes it’s good to follow one who knows where he is going.”

As Derik ran his hand over Thoth’s scalp, their heads touched. They held there, feeling the bond of trust the gesture had implied since the dawn of humanity. Some things didn’t change, not even in forty thousand years.

“I will take care of you,” Derik promised.

“I know.” Thoth gave a little nudge and lipped Derik’s jaw. “It is so strange to need and relish the care of a mortal. But you . . . ” He took a deep, bracing breath and whispered, “You are the one who holds my heart.”

Those unfamiliar and unexpected words were the most beautiful Derik had ever heard. His chest constricted and his eyes brimmed. “My dear Thoth.” He kissed the man’s cheek, then threw his arms around his neck and held tight.

Thoth held him back, nestling into the curve of his shoulder. “I am yours.”

“And I am yours.”

It would have been sweet to add “forever,” but Thoth had reminded him that it would not be forever. Only for as long as Derik lived. The thought broke his heart, and he held onto his immortal lover even more fiercely as his tears fell.

Thoth’s shoulder twitched when he felt the drops, and he raised his head as much as Derik’s embrace would allow. He rubbed hesitant circles on the smaller man’s back. “Derik. I sense you. What troubles you?”

Derik gave a minute shake of his head; sniffed. “I, ah—” He had to clear his throat. “I suddenly thought of something you must have already understood. What I must eventually do to you.” He knew the devastation of being left behind by a soulmate all too well, and the thought of perpetrating such a hurt undid him. The old grief mingled with the new in an intense surge of agony, and his body shook with the effort of containing it. It was too late to stop it; his control had utterly fled.

He felt Thoth’s sympathetic touch on his mind, offering him a figurative hand out. He took the assistance gratefully. As the Athanaean stemmed the worst of the torrent, Derik’s breathing eased, and he was able to take over for himself.

Thoth took Derik by the shoulders and guided him back to a seat on the floor so they could look directly on each other. It was hard to be sure, but Derik thought his eyes were a little misty, too. “Do not dwell on it, my heart,” he said. “Yes, I know what lies at the end of this path. Of course I do. That is just one reason this is—”

“Madness and folly,” Derik finished with him, thinking that he was indeed the greatest fool in the multiverse.

“But . . . ” Thoth forestalled him from saying more by putting a hand to his face and wiping away the residual moisture. “Nothing is eternal. Even I am only . . . mostly.” One corner of his mouth turned up.

Derik had to smile back, though it was a hollow thing.

“In the meantime, do not waste the present by mourning for the future. Who knows? Perhaps, if I am becoming less Astartes and more human, the end of my span may be sooner than we think, and we will meet death together.”

“That should not make me feel better,” Derik growled. After a moment, he admitted, “But it does.”

Thoth inclined his head in understanding. “You do not fear death, but await it as a welcome release. If I were certain my ethereal remains were not destined for the clutches of my former master”—he never named the Chaos God Tzeentch, not once in the two years Derik had known him—“I would, too. Feel no guilt or shame for not wanting more time on my behalf. I have always known I must someday let you go.” His eyes squeezed shut against the thought of the inevitable. Even his iron will was not impervious.

That nearly set Derik off again, but he steeled himself and clasped Thoth’s hand as hard as he could. “But in the meantime . . . ”

“Yes. In the meantime . . . ” He opened his eyes, and they were limpid like the sea after a storm.

Derik’s chest swelled with fresh determination. “I’m still in my prime. I’m fit, I’m healthy, and I’m very likely to live another fifty years or more, most of them hale and sound, if I didn’t shave off too many before I met you. We’ll make the most of them.”

“Indeed we will.” Thoth reached out to touch the place he’d healed on Derik’s ribs. “On that note, I would ask you to take greater care with yourself. Will you do that much for my peace of mind?”

“It isn’t as though I lie down in front of rampaging Stus on purpose.” Derik looked down, frowning in thought. “I wish I could promise to stay out of trouble, but I’ve never lived meekly. I gave my parents fits as a child.”

“I can well believe that.”

He raised his head, smiling at a memory. “Did I ever tell you about the time I snuck onto my father’s ship when I was, oh, four, going on five?”

Thoth tilted his chin down just so, fondly, but in the way that said he wasn’t going to be diverted. “Later, perhaps.”

Derik made a mock-disgruntled noise and flicked his fingers. “Fine.” With a sigh, he met and held Thoth’s eyes. “I will do my best to avoid unnecessary risks to life and limb. That’s as much as I can truthfully promise.”

“Then it will have to be enough.” He gave Derik’s hand a soft squeeze.

After a short silence, Derik said, “This did not end up like I imagined it.”

Thoth nodded. “Life rarely unfolds according to plan. Out of curiosity, what did you imagine?”

Derik shrugged. “At first, the idea was just to explore you. That evolved into ‘fool around as long as we can stand it’ . . . then probably do what decent men have always done in situations like ours: excuse ourselves and try not to draw attention as we limp off to the nearest private washing place.”

Thoth looked at him with a mild frown of confusion, and Derik was afraid he’d have to explain things to the poor fellow, but the light went on in his eyes. “Ah.” His lip curled now in distaste. “I would not do that.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because . . . ” Thoth shifted defensively in place. “Sharing these feelings with you is one thing. Indulging in self-gratification would be another.”

Derik shook his head. “But I don’t want to torment you.”

Thoth surprised him by smiling, though his eyes were shadowed. He stroked the short fuzz of Derik’s temple. “It is far too late to worry about that. But, what is it the small animated dog says? ‘If this is torture, chain me to the wall.’”

Derik snorted, then laughed outright. Thoth rarely cracked jokes; even with the sorrow underpinning this one, it was a thing to savor. “All right, if you’re going to quote children’s cartoon movies, I’ll believe you.” He took Thoth’s hand and kissed the palm. “So . . . you’re all right, then? With everything so far?”

The Astartes looked down, reviewing and considering. “I enjoyed it. It remains to be seen how it will sit with me outside this room.” He raised his head again. “And you?”

“Well, it was my idea, wasn’t it?” Derik smiled. “No complaints—except . . . except one thing.”

Thoth froze and watched him with trepidation. “What?”

“My damn knees.” Derik gestured. “I didn’t notice in the moment, but now they’re protesting. We’re going to have to find another way around the height difference. Maybe get a mattress, or what are they called, a futon?”

“If that is all,” Thoth said, plainly relieved, “then I will gladly make it my task to accommodate. As you care for me, so I shall care for you.”

He didn’t say it, but Derik just knew he was thinking something along the lines of how breakable he was. It irked him, but there was nothing he could say in the face of the facts. He just nodded. “That’s how it works.”

“Indeed.” Thoth glanced at the door. “I think we still have time before we will be missed. I would like to hear your story, if you still want to tell it.”

Derik brightened and sat taller. He’d felt the gravity of obligation pulling them toward parting, too, and was glad to be given a reprieve. “Certainly! It started with shipfish—dolphins, really, but we hadn’t yet regained the word. I was fascinated by them, and . . . ”

It was a simple story of childish adventure, but he drew it out as long as he could.

Leaving wasn’t any easier.

A/N: Did I rustle everyone's jimmies with this one? Too unsophisticated and slow? Too much like real life?

I do hope so. :3

--Lemony