Reassignment
Outside the bunker the snow eased, drifting slower on it’s way to quilt the already thick white blanket covering the hills. Dimly aware of the change, you stared out the gunport towards the bay below, iced edges broken by the turquoise swirl of briny slush in the center of the cove. Beyond, the colour eased into it’s signature deep lapis. Nothing marred the waters. No ships from either side, no skimmers skirting along the whitecaps.
She’d been too quiet, too intent on the lasgun stock she had been crafting from a broken hardwood bough the quartermaster had hefted outside the pillbox. Even though all Vostroyans give one in every ten hours in the service of the Emperor to creating weapons for the cause, it had never been like this. There would be idle chatter. Reminiscing about conflicts. Laughing about Commissar Dorf’s freshly acquired clipped accent, in an attempt to curry favour with Command. This was absolute silence, steely and almost hurtful. You leaning on the Heavy Bolter, her focusing her soul into the wooden stock. Nothing more.
It got too much for her after a few more minutes.
“I’m being transferred.” She had said it so bluntly that you could scarcely believe it. Outside in the snow would have been more hospitable.
“What?! Why? Where to?” you managed to stammer. She didn’t even look up from her work.
“Inquisitor requires my services.”
“Who, Bryce?” She nodded detachedly. Images of the one-eyed bastard conjured in the empty space between the two of you. How he had ordered Karker, Webs and Arlsby to their deaths in the ice caves and sipped his Distillac while their screams echoed across the tundra outside. The tortured wailing still kept you awake at night.
You wanted to do something. To go to Command. To approach the Planetary Governor. The Ecclesiarchy. Anyone who could stop this Bourgeois from taking her. But there was nothing. He was a Holy Inquisitor of the Istvaanian sect. You were a lone Vostroyan Firstborn. The best possible outcome would be a lashing for contempt of Command.
After the horrible moment eased into a bleeding agony, you stared across at Tory. The pair of you had been posted together just after basic, and were part of the same heavy weapon detail throughout your military careers. You weren’t friends, it was more. Comrades. Mates. Two soldiers combined to be one, united in the defense of the Imperium of Man.
And now that she was being taken away with less than a thought from some arrogant Inquisitor, it wasn’t the separation that killed you inside. It was her cold, uncaring detachment. As if all those years of action together, almost your very lives, meant nothing to her.
“So that’s it?” you said, voicing the screaming pain your viced heart felt. “After all this time, you’re leaving us, me. And you can’t even look me in the eyes?” At a loss you strode to her side and stared down at her, almost contemptuously. “Don’t you feel anything, Tory?”
At the sound of her name she threw the stock aside, the wood hitting the Bolter as she locked eyes with yours. Tears had welled up in her brilliant green orbs, and her soft face was paler than the cold should have been able to make it.
“Of course I do, you bastard!” she screamed, leaning her head against your leg and bashing it with a closed fist before she heaved once, a speck of water pattering onto your boot. “Can’t you see that my heart is breaking?”
Her tears flowed, dampening your uniform as you realized what a dick you’d been. So certain that she had discarded all that time together that you couldn’t see the throes of her emotional death.
Sighing, you knelt beside her, taking her in your arms softly. She leaned her head on your shoulder and wept unashamedly as you looked out the viewport, not seeing anything at all. She filled your senses as you realized that soon all of this would be just a memory. Her long, black hair which cascaded down her back, over her greatcoat. Her pleasant smell mixed with the damp plascrete of the pillbox. Her very presence alone, one of the reasons it had been so good to be alive at all.
She leaned into you until all of her tears had dried up, still unable to let go. She knew that these times would be gone soon too, nothing more than pleasant reverie for her to remember whimsically. You broke the silence, touched by the strength of her emotion.
“Tory… I’ve only ever seen you cry one other time.” It was on Blackspire, when you had taken a round from an Ork mob. The Medicae had worked on the wounds as she knelt next to you, refusing to leave. No-one else had seen it, but through the pain and system shock you recall tears rolling down her cheeks to mingle with the obsidian and dirt under you. It had always been a source of warmth for you that she had cared so much, that someone may be there to cry and mourn for you after all if you died. So much more than anyone else could hope for.
She sniffed once softly and nodded, rocking back on her heels so that she could return your soft gossamer gaze. Her eyes were a little red, and the water on her cheeks had begun to disappear, the droplets frozen on the floor already. Her arms remained on you as she smiled a little. “I was so sure you were going to die.”
“Not rid of me so easily, huh?” you said playfully, despite the mood. Tory laughed a little before wiping the tears from her cheeks through a gloved hand before it was returned to you.
“You know, I had already decided that if you died I would charge the Ork lines.”
“Why? It’s just me. Someone else would have come along.”
At the words she smiled sadly, a distant gesture. “It’s not ‘just you’. I don’t want to live in a universe without you. Out of everyone I have ever met, you’re the only one who has looked out for me and cared about me.” She pulled you in and embraced you warmly, her tight body seeming closer than both your uniforms away. “That means worlds to me.”
Her uniform always hugged all the right places, and you had broken more jaws than she had hearts just protecting her honour. Not that she really needed your protection. Once she had said that the Emperor himself would have to take absolve her of her chaste lifestyle, until she had found the one she had wanted to spend eternity with. True, it wasn’t very soldierly chatter. But you two had never had much of a soldierly relationship; more like awesome friends who got paid to liquidize aliens and heretics with a huge gun.
“I’m going to miss you more than you’ll ever know.” You whispered resignedly, rejoicing in this Emperor-sent moment. Tory stiffened for a second before drawing back for a moment, a slight rose bloom on her cheeks.
“I just decided something.” She declared before breaking the embrace and walking over to the bunker door, grit grinding underfoot. She swung it closed softly and activated the electromagnetic lock, a light hum audible for a moment, before crossing to the gunport and shutting the blast shutters. An amber light flashed on automatically, bathing the bunker with a golden candescence. Leaning against the bolter, she was smiling shyly. Her gloves were already on the plascrete floor as she slowly undid the gleaming buttons on her overcoat.
“I know now who I would rather spend the rest of my life with. And seeing soon I won’t be able to live that life with you, I want you to do me one last favour…” her voice was husky, a tone only used in jest before now. In shock, you slowly approached her, the dark eyes beckoning you. You were completely powerless, compelled to obey your best friend. As you undid the last buttons she timidly shrugged the overcoat away, the shirt’s top three clasps already open, as they always were on the hotter climate planets. The amber light played on the top slopes of her perfect breasts as slowly you reached forward, her shuddering an inhale gently and Command got scared and said “You’re moving with the Five-oh-Fourth to Voltaire.”
You whistled for a Lander and when it came near there were fresh painted dice on the landing gear. If anything you could say this ‘Hawk was rare but you thought, ‘Now forget it’ – “Yo Holmes! To Voltaire!”
You touched down planetside about seven or eight and you yelled to the pilots “Yo Holmes, smell ya later!”
You looked at your posting, you were finally there. To sit on your throne as the law on Voltaire.”
Alternate Ending
Starting at "the amber light"... The amber light played on the top slopes of her breasts as you slowly reached forward. She shuddered an inhale gently as your hands felt above her bra and you stopped for a moment- she looked a little hesitant.
"Nervous?" you inquire, your eyes inches from hers. You can see Tory blush, more than you expected- you haven't seen her like this anytime before. "Y-your hands... colder than I expected, that's all." You have an idea then.
You shift your hands slowly, from the tops of her breasts to to her back, and unclasp her bra- you can feel the goosebumps on her back rise as you do it. The bra falls to the ground, but to her credit, she doesn't let her gaze fall off your face. You let your eyes- and hands- wander back onto her breasts for a few moments, feeling her various nooks and crannies. Her breathing seems a little more ragged now. You look back to her face and smile, her still unsuspecting of your next move, to say, "I know just how to warm them up."
You slide your hands quickly from Tory's back up past her shoulders and neck to her cheeks, and before she has a chance to respond, you lean in and kiss her. Her lips, usually so hard like the banter you spit at each other, quickly soften further with yours. It feels like a moment that lasts an eternity. And yet it doesn't seem to last long enough.
Tory pulls out of the kiss before you do, flustered further than before. "Wh-What made you think of doing that?!?" Internally, you wonder why she reacted so much more explosively to a kiss than you fondling her breasts.
"Your cheeks are a lot redder now." She feels them instinctively, then almost seems to get more embarrassed, turning away to the corner of the pillbox. "I figured it'd be a good way to warm my hands up," you tease. She doesn't respond.
"...Tory?" You're a little concerned now, and move cautiously closer to her. Maybe you went too far. "Tory, I didn't mean to-"
Her tackle takes you by surprise; thankfully, your blow to the floor is cushioned by the sandbags near the firing slits. You are dazed but for a moment; when you come to, she has positioned herself to straddle you, sitting right above your pelvis. "What- why-" your startled question to ask why she did that is silenced by Tory's finger upon your lips. She shushes you, and positions herself to whisper into your ear.
"I'll admit, that was pretty good. Threw me off guard." Her cheeks are still noticeably red, though not nearly as much as before. One of her hands, formerly at your lips, trails down to remove your own overcoat, button by button. You almost miss it- you're rather distracted by her face, sporting what almost seems to be a grin. Not to mention, her breasts are in your face. You try rather hard to look somewhere else, but then she starts to grind on you. The jiggle of her tits catches too much of your attention, and now it's a list cause- you feel your face start to burn and your dick start standing on its own.
"But now," she says, throwing your armor aside and working off your gloves, "it's my turn to take the lead-" Tory's other hand reaches to your belt buckle and undoes the strap. "-and your turn to feel embarrassed." You feel your own cheeks flush crimson as she backs off your groin, only to slip her hand down your pants and feel on your cock, already hard from feeling her breasts and having her body rub your dick.
__To Be Continued__