A/N: Heresy of the highest order.

Let all who enter here be cautioned under the cleansing fires of exterminatus.

In the pitch blackness of a Dark Eldar torture barge, there were only two. An Iron Lord, forcefully stripped of his armour, and his torturer. The razor walls of the ship bounced the hollow, taunting cackle of the torturer, as she danced around her captive. He was strung up, crucified on a spiked table, made a spectacle for the alien.

"You will not get anything from me, Xenos filth." The Lord breathed, his unkempt hair falling past his eyes, pikes digging into his spine as he failed to keep himself standing. Said Xenos sighed and knelt in front of the lord, dragging an errant blade down the cheek of the Astartes.

"My mon-keigh, I've gotten all I needed! I'm just thinking on how I could dress you for my display – armour on, armour off? Helmet on, and nothing else?" With a lick of the bloody blade, she brought the Astartes' hanging head up, and caught his steely gaze.

The twinkle in her dark eyes sickened the Space Marine to no end, yet he stored his rage for a later time. Hive Fleet Kraken was currently tearing up the world beneath them, and his chapter were slowly being picked off, one by one. Whether by the cross-attacking Drukhari or the Bio-Titans, he couldn't care to distinguish.

His brothers needed him. One slip up from the taunting bitch who'd caught him, and he'd be free.

"I will die in my armour, and you will die screaming, Xenos."

Her fanged smile only grew.

"Oh how I'll cherish this bravado when I finally render you mute, mon-keigh… It's not every day we capture one of your kind…" She got up and searched for a sharper, angrier-looking tool with which to torment her captive.

"Let me think… Something with teeth, or something with spikes? Oh I'm simply too giddy to decide~!" She sung, bracing herself as a shockwave hit her ship. The Iron Lord's hairs stood on edge, and his eyes widened.

The ground beneath them had quieted. No one paid attention to the roars of battle – such a sound was accustom to daily life in the 41st Millenium, but silence?

The two shared a look, the Dark Eldar torturer clawing at her tools in a haze. The Iron Lord's resolve burnt anew as he attempted to break free whilst she was distracted.

And then the ship rocked once more. A warmth burnt in the Lord's core, and his gaze softened. His mind spun in a haze as he struggled to keep his eyes on the Xenos torturer.

"What… What have you done to me?" An organ of his, ignored for centuries or more, vied for his attention as a certain torturer calmed herself and sighed. Only the Emperor himself would know why a sigh set him off.

Perhaps it was the context? Such a calming and high pitched sigh it was, escaping from the Eldar's full lips, so easily… Maybe it was the connotations of such a sigh? The Eldar seemed to have nothing to worry about – and such a sigh was warranted!

Or maybe it was the way her shoulders relaxed as she did so. A façade faded, and her body relaxed – gone from a murderous psychopath to a honourable, resting warrior. Maybe it was to say "the pain is over, I've had my fun"?

Her back turned, and her grip on her tools loose, she stripped her armour off, piece by piece. The distant shrieks and cackles of his fellow captives faded quickly as well – a pregnant pause coming over the torture barge's halls.

"Tell me, mon-keigh, what do you call yourself?" If she was turning, the movement was torturously slow. The Space Marine swallowed, and panted for breath with each harsh crash of armour to the ground.

Inch by inch, pale, dirtied skin was revealed to him. No doubt marred by the quick scuffle the Dark Eldar found themselves in, swooping for captives. With every little nick and scar she revealed to him, the more he craved to touch it – to run his fingers over the woman's hard past.

She kept her breaths steady, her ears tuning out the gleeful shrieks and rapturous roars of her comrades, who'd no doubt lost control of themselves.

"Castillus… Yoriel Castillus…" He managed to enunciate, practically huffing as his member stood proudly, eager for contact. The torturer let out a chuckle, quiet and quick, and reefed through her tools. Yoriel's body tensed as she continued rooting through the shelves and boxes of the dark ship, but he stood, still.

"You may call me Lae'Gura... Or queen… Or motherBy the muses, if you can still speak when I'm done with you, you can call me just about whatever you want, Yoriel…"

Like lightning, the cross he was tied to flipped, the spikes retracted, and Yoriel fell flat on his back, knocking the air from his lungs. As he struggled to catch his breath, Lae'Gura had set her lips upon his, her arms pinning him down flat against the cross-turned-table.

Blood from his dual hearts blared against his eardrums, blocking out the rising sound from beneath them. His lips lit anew with a golden fire, and he kissed the Eldar back with fervour, savouring the taste of the Xenos' hunger, as if it were his last. The same flame that burnt within him surged within her lithe body, reacting and feeding into his desires.

She parted from him, and he reached out to capture their kiss again, craning his neck up to meet her once more. Lae'Gura shuddered at the contact, but broke nonetheless. She danced a hand over his hardened chest – the faded surgical scars of his Astartes uplifting, and the fresh, harsh marks of battle.

As the fire within them roared, they appeased the other, taking in the form of the other in a way they hadn't bothered to before. Her hair, a gentle, glowing blue, cascaded down, framing her pale face. For their time together, the harsh, dark edge of Lae'Gura's smile faded, and the memories of the pain she'd inflicted on him had faded away.

And whereas she once saw the pure, burning hatred of alien-kind in his eyes, Lae'Gura now saw a man, lingering for the embrace a father.

She'd chide him about the homosexual undertones of the fact after, and instead brought a daring hand to play with the Marine's long locks. As she did, he maintained steady breaths, inhaling the scent of the Xenos. Lae'Gura cracked a toothy smile, and brought her lips down upon the Lord again, fingers wrapping deftly around his length.

Yoriel's breath hitched as the Eldar's tongue danced around his, probing him for whatever tastes she could. Her hands were elegant, teasing, and pleasing – softly yet firmly gripping around the Space Marine's hardening cock. Her movements were almost a blur to him – presenting a truly inhuman grace and poise with every jiggle of her hips, or darting of her tongue.

He groaned into their coupling, eyes half-shut and mind in a daze, trying to keep his focus on the smiling torturer. His stomach tightened as his lower half gave way to a feeling he'd thought he'd shunned out decades ago. Lae'Gura was quick, though, and slowed her movements, softening her already heavenly grip to prolong her captive's torture.

He groaned again, and he could taste the curl of her lips – and the enjoyment she gained from watching him squirm. Lae'Gura parted her lips from his again, and took a single, deep breath, idly licking the trail of saliva that connected them.

"You didn't think it'd be that easy, did you? I want you to earn that, dear Yoriel… I want to hear your screams before you… Meet the muses," She drawled, whispering against the Marine's ear in hushed, careful tones. Yoriel kept his half-lidded gaze upwards and shuddered as Lae'Gura picked her pace up, nibbling at his earlobe.

"By the bloody Emperor…"

She took position on the table next to him, bare skin pressing on bare skin, the Astartes' hardened tissue layering against the Drukhari's nubile dermis. The Dark Eldar continued her agonising pattern of edging, challenging the Marine for his right to release. It drove her mad knowing that each twitch, grunt, moan or prayer was because of her.

Sure, the prayers might've been addressed to the Emperor and went on about "forgiveness for such a Heresy", but they were because of her!

As with the others captured by her kind, the walls soon bounced with Yoriel's yearning cries. He tried cheating – bucking his hips against the grip of his lover as she slowed her pace, but she was faster, and released her hand entirely.

"Oh… Oh curse you Xeno…" He chuckled, biting harsh breaths of air in between words. Lae'Gura's grin spread from ear to ear, and she giggled in delight, resuming her grip again.

"Come now, Yoriel, surely we can move past name-calling…" She cooed, thumbing over the tip of the Lord's dick, thoroughly coating her fingers in the Marine's pre. A grunt pushed its way out his lips, and he bit down, drawing blood. She kissed him again, freely, and licked the errant fluids away, drawing him under trance once more.

As their lips broke again, Lae'Gura took in her partner's scent as he did hers, layering kiss after kiss to the Lord's neck and collarbone as sweat, iron, blood, and gaseous lust flared into her nostrils. It stirred her, stirred her until she came to a boiling point. Lae'Gura kept her calm façade, and separated from her lover's side, blowing cool air where she'd left her mark on Yoriel.

He cried out again, eyes bolted to the ceiling as he writhed under the fingers of the Xeno.

"Look at me, Yoriel... I will let you meet your release if you meet my gaze…"

And so, with quick deliberation, he did. A part of him didn't want the moment to end. To be introduced to such a pleasure – to elope from the horrors of the 41st millennium, even if for the brief time he and Lae'Gura had spent together…

His training, indoctrination, and faith all crumbled to dust as they looked into one another, connecting. His younger days of torment and training gave way to a calm – a complete and utter lack of urgency.

Lae'Gura couldn't even feel the pull of She-Who-Thirsts. Whether to take that as a blessing or a sign of things yet to come, she didn't really care. Her mind was clouded with… Warmth.

Her formative years, spent in a tube, being fed images of those she'd topple on her way to the top became faded, giving way to security – peace. This wasn't some trick to lower the Lord's mental guard – there were a million and one ways to do so that did not require her hand around Yoriel's begging cock.

Perhaps that was the moment she decided to unclothe herself? To take a chance, one in quadrillion, that this mon-keigh before her would not cast her away? By the muses, even after she'd stripped and humiliated him?

Yoriel could see it in her eyes now, caring not if her movements slowed down. Her guard was lowered. Her smile had dropped as they shared a calm between them, her errant arm wrapped around his massive frame.

Another smile – not a garish grin nor sinister smirk – curled her lips. It wasn't practiced, and it looked goofy, but it was a smile nonetheless, one that Yoriel was happy to share in. She closed her eyes, and met his lips again, quickening her movements. As the Lord attempted to protest, and his throat went ragged from his orgasmic roar, Lae'Gura moaned in kind, taking a wicked pleasure in her lover's ire.

4 or 5 stupendous ropes slapped onto Yoriel's chest, simmering. Lae'Gura's gentle grip slowed down further, and became drenched in the Lord's seed, slickening her pumps. Tears pricked at the corner of Yoriel's eyes as he lay his head down gently, the Dark Eldar's tongue still entwined with his.

He was the first to break their union this time, and did so with an errant cry, lowering his gaze back down to his lover.

"L-Lae'Gura…" He grunted, chest rising and falling with massive gulps of air. She mewled with delight as his cooing tones hit her ears, and straddled him, dancing a long leg to the other side of the Lord's frame. His eyes widened as he caught gaze of Lae'Gura's salivating sex, positioned precariously over his own.

"Still… Standing, I see. Ever the Marine…" The torturer joked with a dry chuckle, swallowing an errant lump in her throat as she sized up the Lord. Throwing away all pretence of teasing, she locked eyes with him again, and took his length inside, squeaking out in her favourite mixture of pleasure and pain.

"W-w-word of w-warning, Y-Yori-el… Ej-jaculate makes terrible lubricant…" She grunted, loathing herself for not being adaptable enough to take on an Astartes in such a manner. Lae'Gura maintained her focus on pleasuring the both of them, leaving herself completely open for Yoriel to take her.

So focussed the Dark Eldar was, that she couldn't even remark on Yoriel's grotesque, sex-warped visage. Though he still wished for his chains to be broken – now it was for an entirely different goal. Pleasure and warmth consumed his mind, stoking the sweet fire of his being as Lae'Gura opened herself to him and let him in.

She found a suitable length that she could take, and a gentle rhythm, that had beckoned to her torturous strokes and banished them, surrounding and constricting a good part of the Marine's dick. Her Xeno nethers drooled in celebration of their union, and dripped, trickling past her folds and anointing the Marine, over, and over again.

With no pretence, Yoriel "met the Emperor" once more, rocketing the Dark Eldar full of his seed. Each shot of pure white fire tightened and flared her core, culminating in a mighty scream that put her sisters on the Barge to shame. Inch by inch Lae'Gura lost grip of her sanity, waves of pleasure gently rocking her kneeling body.

As she came down, upon Yoriel's broad chest, and back to the reality of the Barge, she mewled into her lover, wrapping her arms around him tightly. Gentle huffs and the idle hum of the ships' engine filled her ears – a sound she could've grown quite used to.

"My… Queen…" Yoriel whispered into her ears, crooning against her resting head with his. She smiled, and her core lit again, the beckoning of the words making the Marine twitch inside her still. Lae'Gura sighed, and after some time, brought a finger up to trace Yoriel's scars.

Minutes passed in a calm silence as the armies below echoed with the grunts and roars of coupling like theirs, likely contributing to a latent, innate calm the two bathed in. Yoriel grunted and shifted uncomfortably about, before clearing his throat, shattering Lae'Gura's calm.

"Uh… If I may… Could you release these binds?" He mumbled. The Dark Eldar giggled at him again, and crawled upwards to come face to face, giving the Marine an up-close view of her perky breasts.

"Say please, Yoriel. Call me a name. Any you'd like," she beckoned him, pretending to shiver, shaking her chest for the Marine to see. Clearing his throat again, Yoriel tore his stare away from the Eldar's sizable tits and met her gaze again.

"Lae'Gura… My Queen, release me please, from these binds…" He begged, making the woman squeal in delight. A quick thumbing around for a button and some harsh whirring later, Yoriel's hands and legs were unbound, and he immediately began scratching various itches, sighing and huffing with sweet relief after some seconds.

Lae'Gura shook her head and giggled again.

"My, it's been a while. Sorry about that…"

"It's fine, truly…"

And as quick as he could, though easily predictable to Lae'Gura's keen eyes, Yoriel wrapped his massive arms around her tough, nubile body, etching each scar of hers into his mind. They spent minutes again, waiting to see if the sounds below would die out, waiting to see if their coupling would wear off and their hatred would rise.

And after waiting, Yoriel grunted again, and traced a thumb over a large slash on Lae'Gura's shoulder.

"Where did you receive this?" He mumbled again, catching the Dark Eldar's attention quickly.

"Oh… I… Can't quite remember, actually… Potentially from another mon-keigh's bayonet, some years ago. On a dark, damp, dump of a planet…" She swallowed another lump in her throat and repeated Yoriel's smooth ministrations, asking him in kind about the scars he'd adorned himself with.

Though he did not boast, Lae'Gura saw the mirth bubble behind Yoriel's eyes as recounted his adventures. And though she'd go on about her other conquests, Yoriel witnessed the calm take a hold of her as the stories came, trading words like lovers did…