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bleedingichorhearts · 4 months ago

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𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 (𝐏𝐭. 2/2)

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: Ruslans’ moments in the 40K Universe.

𝕿𝖆��𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: Ruslan finds his lover over 15 years and something a bit more while he’s at it.

TW // Yandere Themes, Slight NSFW.

|°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| |°ɪᴄʜᴏʀ’ꜱ ᴀᴏ3°| |°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°| • {Pt. 1}

Ruslans black armor works fluently with his limbs as he crosses the densely fogged woods. The base of the trees on the planet looking a dry grey despite the grounding fog holding condensation in them. Their leafless branches winding up and tall above him, creating some sort of natural overhang. The strong scent of mire covering his own tracks and her scent better from what he overestimated for this murky planet.

His sabatons make a light squelch sound on the muddy soil every time he makes a haste forward, lumbering over any trees that have been ripped from their roots and fallen to the ground with ease. His gauntlet tightening on and off around the hilt of his sword, thinking of his next motion of his plan.

He knows the Interrogator-Chaplain Zophiel will be on this planet with him, trying to find Ruslan himself and make him repent, but he isn’t idiotic to trust the words of his once fellow brethren. He knows what he is there for and he isn’t willing to give him another pearl to add to his arsenal. He knows what his path is, but he questions that for the Interrogator-Chaplain himself, he’ll need it after his little disrespect to his Angel. Something he also notices on the much younger Astartes. The uncanny disrespect they have now days for the more older, higher ranks. He wonders what has changed for the Primaris Angelus Mortis to make them so… irritable.

The old veteran sighs and shakes his head. That is not a thought he needs right now. Right now he needs to find what he was promised by the Interrogator-Chaplain. Not that Ruslan would be absolutely sure of the Interrogator-Chaplains’ compliance, such as his own, but he has an inkling this Dark Angel has a bit of a daring soft spot to him, unlike a true Dark Angel that doesn’t hesitate. Ruslan can sense it, and not because of the Warp, but because they may have something in common between them. Something that only the both of them may understand, and perhaps he can use this knowledge against him.

Weaving around a thick trunk, he briefly stops to the side of it. Letting the tree protect him from his side as he listens to the silence of the forest. His ears pricking up for anything that maybe be to use of him or alert him. His helm tilting a little to side to side before he decides to continue on. A little disappointed with the blankness of this world.

Their planet was… different from his original tastes. He liked the tang of pines, spring waters and even wildlife to invade his smell. To hear the local birds sing on their perches and fresh water to run down through a rocky river and fall strongly into another body of water. He likes to touch the ferns that may grow around the springs and look up at the many webs of branches to overlap another with the plants suns or moons shining through the needles or leaves, creating a radiant glow over the thick vegetation he admires. That he thinks his little Angel would look perfectly good in. Resting by a flowing spring with the suns heating her form. A warm smile of hers given only to him.

Oh, how deeply yearning he is for his little Angel. To have her by his side again. To kiss the soft flesh of her neck and lips with his own scarred lips. Nip a little of her skin to get her pulse running with a gradient laugh escaping her. Her hands fruitlessly pushing the top of his head in order to lean away from his devious attacks. Yet nothing could keep him away to taste the cream of lotion on her skin. To nuzzle his way back into her neck, his hands gently guiding her down onto a bed of ferns with his shadow engulfing the glow of her innocent body. Looking up at him with trusting, hooded eyes through his darkness; through his iniquity. Her body open and relaxed just for him to devour and claim, and that’s what he did.

He remembers that day like it would be his future. Bedding his pure Angel on the rich, green plushness of the ferns in the middle of the flourishing forest. Taking what was rightfully his from the burning dawns of the beginning. Their soft breathes painting each others’ skin as her nails claw at his back in desperate ecstasy. Pliant, wanton moans of his name leaving her lips every time he shifts, finding all the secrets inside and out of her.

Lord, he wants to do that again, in the same spot. He wants to touch her again and to kiss her all over again. To make love to her again. It has been so long without her heart beating rhythmically to him and his ears; to his soul. To have her small fingers thread through his hair after he provides rather primitive aftercare for his little Angel. Both of them just relaxing in each others’ embrace, listening to the forest that sings quietly around them.

He… he doesn’t really remember what had happened afterward though, as it was about 17 to 20 years ago. Not that his mind was failing him.(Nor will it ever.) He just needs to focus on what’s around him in this foggy forest at the moment. He can’t be occupied with his thoughts and eagerness to find his little Angel with the Interrogator-Chaplin Zophiel running about on this planet too, trying to make him repent and potentially to steal what is his. Not that would ever happen on his holy oath. He made it, he is going to have to be slain by it.

“Master Ruslan!” A masculine voice booms through the fog, echoing to his left. His gauntlet on the hilt of his sword firmly grasping at the metal, eager to unsheathe his weapon. “I would have thought you would have made this a much more tantalizing experience!”

“You talk as if you were a daemon, Zophiel.�� Ruslan insults the Interrogator-Chaplin in a collected tone. His mind thinking of a Slaanesh daemon to appoint as the scanners on his helmet search the area around him. His eye also scanning the seeable, grounded horizon. The fog growing thick enough to only see at least a mile in front of him. “Are you foolish enough as one?”

“You offended me Fallen, but I believe that is what you want.” Zophiel sighs, the light sound of armor and cloth shifting, echoing to his left again. “A pity you older ones are.”

“Pity? Pity is what you are.” Ruslan huffs, only merely disgruntled by his choice of words. His subconscious taking in the account of not stepping on anything on the ground that could prove his position. “You know nothing of shame as you are the humiliation. You’re feeble, flimsy, made by fragments and falsehood. You are the sin of the Imperium. You do not have the skill of what it takes; what it means to be a true Dark Angel.”

“Now you talk as a daemon has possessed you Fallen!” Zophiel huffs an echoing laugh. A soft shink flowing through the fog. “I might have to cut out your tongue and serve it to you.”

“Perhaps one has, but you don’t quite sound like a Dark Angel yourself either Zophiel.” He hums, his scans picking up nothing, but his sense of smell does. Having to lose an eye having some benefits for his other senses. “A true Dark Angel is quick and efficient to succeed, but you? You sound like the brash of a Night Lord. Another legion that you would put to shame, not like they already were.”

“Your voice of mental pressure does not sway me Fallen.” The Interrogator-Chaplin states, a tree groaning out with another echoing shink to his left. “You’ve got to be better than that.”

“That is not my intention.” Ruslan admits, a little confused on the scent he picked up because it smells just like you, but there was just something… odd to it, like it was somewhat new. Not fresh, but just like when he would first catch your scent.

“Then what is your intention? I am truly curious about your motive.” Zophiel asks through the fog, a close snap echoing through what Ruslan perceives is an empty valley; a deathly valley. “What is your infatuation with this Angel of yours that it overrules the Emperor himself? That has you abandoning your own Legion?”

‘I did not abandon them! They had abandoned me!’ Thats what Ruslan wants to roar out at that subject, but keeps himself strictly in check. He must not let the Interrogator-Chaplin know what may get him to go berserk. So he simply responds with a targeting approach of his own. “I believe you already know the answer to that, Zophiel. You have your own Angel, Да?(yes?)”

That gets the Interrogator-Chaplin to go silent for a second. The hollow branches shivering up above Ruslan as he takes this brief time to follow your off and on scent through the fog. Each step bringing him closer and closer to what he hopes is not a trap for him to be dishonorably led into. It would be a foul play for the Interrogator-Chaplin on his part.

“What do you know of what I seem to take a fondness for?” Zophiel questions, the foggy forest being a bit more eerie the normal that what it had been just minutes before.

“You feel a bit more… confiscating with your Angel. You feel as if one should touch your Angel they shall lose their hand or perhaps a bit more.” Ruslan more like states to the Interrogator-Chaplin rather than answering clearly. “You are too enraptured with their body and their soul like a Word Bearer.”

“Hmm, and this is what you feel with your Angel? That you would displace what you were meant to be?” Zophiel rumbles in a more quieter tone, making Ruslan to be more alert than what he already is.

“What I am meant to be is not in the hands of another, but mine.” Ruslan asserts his voice. His eye barely catching the indenting fog to the right of him. Finally his avid gauntlet taking out his sword and catching in with another, blocking the opposing metal that sparks against the sharp blades of both weapons. The struggle of strength ensuing.

“That is where you are wrong, Master Ruslan!” Zophiel hisses out, both sides struggling to keep their swords from scratching their armor. “Your existence is bound to bleed from my hands; to become yet another pearl.”

“Oh, how witless you have become Zophiel! So greedy to claim what is not rightfully yours.” Ruslan grunts, looking down on the Interrogator-Chaplin. “What would your Angel think?”

“Мой Ангел?(My Angel?) They know I shall return to them with righteous hands; stained with crystalline blood.” The greed Dark Angel huffs, changing his tactic. Leading Ruslans sword away with his own and an uppercutting his cuirass. Creating a distance between the two as the older Space Marine stumbles at the hit.

Ruslan groans at the fast paced hit, but doesn’t falter to recover and circle with the Interrogator-Chaplin, swords ready at their sides. This new Son of the Lion having his own sets of moves he must first pattern down. “Yet, are you sure you want to take that sacrifice?”

“You talk as if I would never see them again Fallen. Do you have something in that ancient brain of yours?” The Interrogator-Chaplin taunts, twirling his sword in his gauntlet once then twice. Side stepping with his bigger opponent.

“I am merely stating what could be.” Ruslan answers, calculating the few possibilities that he has. “How would you feel if you were left to the hands of death without seeing your Angel once more?”

Zophiel huffs and takes the first action, thrusting his sword forward while Ruslan takes the defense. Both their swords hitting with sparks and echos as Ruslan pushes the opposing sword away from him. Grabbing the Interrogator-Chaplin by his right pauldrons and chucking him to the side, loudly snapping a few trees in half.

“How would your Angel feel without your return? To leave her a widow for someone else to love?” Ruslan continues to pressure the Interrogator-Chaplin himself, stalking forward through the fog where he threw the man. Snapping some splinters and branches beneath his weight. “That would be a pity wouldn’t it? To never feel the warmth of what your Angel could give you again. To touch their frail body.”

“Enough Fallen!” Zophiel roars, the form of his body rising from the ground with his sword acting like a cane. His skull-like helmet looking up at the one of many of the Firsts slowly emerging from the fog. “You have had your play long enough!”

The younger Space Marine makes the effort to stand back up on their two feet. A little wobbly as they take their sword from the ground, but it flys from his gauntlet, landing somewhere within the fog with a thunk. His gorget suddenly being firmly grasped by a black gauntlet as he is lifted and pinned against the trunk of a tree. A soft crack going off while the helmet of the Fallen leans down to his head level, the glowing red visor of Ruslans helmet glaring into his own. Sending a feeling down Zophiel bones that he thought would be impossible.

“Your life will be wasted on this day, Interrogator-Chaplin.” The Fallen Dark Angel lowly speaks, and Zophiel swears he can feel the heated breath of his words underneath his helmet. “I believe it’s in your best interest to cooperate with me.”

“W-Why is that, Master Ruslan?” Zophiel asks, his gauntlet’s struggling with the Fallens own. Pulling and scratching at his armor with no luck of a weakening grasp. “Afraid to tarnish?”

The Fallen Dark Angel hums, pulling his upper body back a little while he positions the tip of his sword at an angle that would avoid the first, heavy layer of ceramite and cloth below his chestplate, but would penetrate the body of his organs. His eye watching the Interrogator-Chaplin closely for anything more than to just claw at him. Giving the younger Space Marine to plead for mercy if he so chooses.

“Ruslan?”

Ruslan nearly folds at all things holy and corrupted. The feminine voice giving him a instant wave of prickling remembrance; washing over his nerves as he takes in how her voice still sounds like the last day he had lost her: Sweet, innocent and soft as the petals on a lustrous flower. His helmet turning towards the sound of her voice. (All while never losing his grip on the Interrogator-Chaplin.)

“Мой Ангел.(My Angel.)” He nearly purrs, his fingers inching to just release the Interrogator-Chaplin in his hands so he could embrace you with all the years he has been roaming the galaxies without you. His hearts yearning to be touched by your soul.

“Who… who is that Dark Angel you are… holding?” She asks him, gesturing at the dark green armored man pinned to the tree, and Ruslan can’t help by scowl underneath his helmet. Looking back at the Dark Angel. He’s going to have to make another deal with this Dark Angel.

“This is Interrogator-Chaplin, Zophiel.” Ruslan introduces the former Dark Angel, letting go of his gorget and sheathing his sword as the man nearly falls down onto his knees. His eye watching him closely for any more moves of unthoughtful aggressiveness.

“…Interrogator-Chaplin?” She questions, bringing her hands closely to her body in a lovable, nervous manner. Swooning the older Astartes with just her form.

“An Interr—” Zophiel starts, but Ruslan quickly shuts him up with a harsh smack to the back of his helmet. A loud, metal thunk echoing out as the Interrogator-Chaplin nearly topples over again as Ruslan quickly send him a vox to ‘shut the hell up.’ With other vox following up with a practical ‘terms and agreements.’ He is not going to fight in front of his Angel. (Unless he has to.)

“Ruslan! That isn’t nice!” His Angel scolds him, coming forward to stand between the two squabbling Dark Angels. Barely getting two steps in before shes wrapped up in his black armor, an ‘eep!’ escaping her. “Ruslan Fallen!”

Oh, how the older Space Marine takes in the rapture of having her back in his arms. His helmet gently nuzzling into her neck as he gently thumbs at her skin. He doesn’t care if the Interrogator-Chaplin was watching him, it has been far too long without her embrace and the purity of her laughter. Not to mention her sudden scolding tone, and the use of his full name! He shivers and wonders when she had started to use it.

‘Fine, I’ll except these terms for now, but this doesn’t mean I’m done with you, Master Ruslan.’ Zophiel voxes him back, taking his leave with a shake to him helmet, and Ruslan couldn’t care less if he came back or not. He won’t hesitate to put the Interrogator-Chaplin back in his place if he has to.

“Ruslan, please! Spare me your love!” His Angel pleads as she smiles, trying to wiggle out of his embrace. Pushing her hands against his pauldrons. “You still have time to give!”

“Always trying to avoid my affection I see.” Ruslan rumbles, inhaling her scent despite still wearing his helmet. Yet he picks up another scent in hers and pauses mid nuzzles, confusion wrapping his mind as he holds her a bit more tightly than before. Was there someone else he wasn’t aware of? Was this just a passing scent? Was there something his little Angel needed to tell him?

“Angel.” He starts leaning a little away to look at his Angel who looks up at him with concern. “You smell… different, of somebody else.”

“Of somebody else? I haven’t been with anybody else since—” She pauses, looking away from him. Wincing a little when his gip tightens just a little bit more around her body. “Since you disappeared.”

Disappeared? He has never disappeared? She’s the one that left the planet without his knowledge. She clearly has a lot of explaining to do, and he has to admit too, so does he.

“Then why do you smell of another?” He asks for the thing that bugs him the most. Patient with his Angel as she becomes more shy in his hold rather than humiliated. Seeming like she just wants to wither away, not like he would allow such thing upon her.

“You… you remember the time in the forests?” She asks him, unable to look him in the eye as she blushes at the thought. His helmet tilting as he observes every little thing his Angel does.

“Да,(yes,) how can I forget? You were remarkable.” He softly coos, trying to encourage his little Angel more. Moving one of his gauntlets to lightly trace the dip of her back up and down while he holds her with the other.

“Well I… you—” She’s huffs, flustered with her own words. Burying her head in the palm of her hands, but she try’s again. “I maybe have… you have—”

“Mother!” Another voice calls through the fog; masculine as his Angel perks up at the call. Suddenly bouncing up and balancing herself on his paldrons, her bust in the visor of his helmet as she tries to pin point where the call is coming from.

“That, that is what happened.” She finally answerers him and it leaves him, for a second, confused again. Just what is exactly is ‘that?’ “Conayn! Over here!”

Conayn? Who in the right mind is that? A brother a sister? Father? Uncle? A new suitor? Oh, Ruslan does not like that thought. He’s not the one for sharing. So his little Angel is not surprised when a near Astartes-sized male comes out of the fog and Ruslan quite literally hisses at him. Putting his body forward and his little Angel behind him in his hold as the other male hisses at him as well.

“Ruslan Fallen! Be nice!” His little Angel smacks him on his cuirass then gives a stern glare to the other male. “You too Conayn Fallen!”

“I am sorry mother, but he hissed at me first!” The male points out, carefully looking between him and his little Angel. “Is he holding you against your will?”

“No, he is not—” His Angel starts, but Ruslan goes into a dazed-like state, questioning on what in the hell happened when he was gone all those years. Mother? Conayn Fallen? His last name. Was… was this his son?

Observing the young male some more as they bicker about her wellbeing. He does notice the similarities he has with the boy. His obvious height definitely being one of his genetics, and his lean body figure of when he started off as a Neophyte himself. He also had the blond hair of him. Which admittedly is longer than his own as his is a short cut, but he had gotten the radiant eyes of his little Angel. His mother.

By the Fallen, this was his son.

“He smells old; Looks old!” Conayn complains with his mother, trying to state the obvious. “How did you fall for an old man like him?”

“Oh, I’ll show you old, you Neophyte.” Ruslan growls, a little offended that his son was already calling him old as he kneels down to the ground for the safety his little Angel to hop off his arms.

“Mother? Mother, what does he mean?” Conayn asks, his body tensing up the more Ruslan stalks closer to him, his shadow barely touching his son before he eventually takes off. Circling the trunk of a poor nearby tree with Ruslan following shortly after. Keen to prove that he was still strong and healthy like he was before. Ready to provide once more.

“Come here boy!” Ruslan rumbles, trying to catch his rather quick son around the tree trunk. “I’ll show you old!”