Dreams In Darkness

From 1d4chan
Small Book.pngThe following article is a /tg/ related story or fanfic. Should you continue, expect to find tl;dr and an occasional amount of awesome.
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I look to the skies and they brighten, as another soul crosses into my realm. I smile.

I turn my attention back to my surroundings, hurrying to apply the final touches. Make the sand whiter, finer, calm down the rolling waves of the ocean, clear the last remnants of clouds... No, I will leave those as is for now. For now, it's perfect. The thick wall of foilage parts, letting through a lithe figure in body-tight armor. Her waist-length hair billows in the the breeze like a sail of black silk, small clouds of sand lifted by her boots as she walks. Made it a bit too fine, my mistake...

She looks around for me, but I'm nowhere to be seen.

I hide.

She calls out my name, smiling. I think she liked the decorations. I sincerely hope so.

I slowly approach, transparent and incorporeal, taking this time to admire my lover. She has beautiful amber eyes, a little too large and slanted to be human, shining from under arching brows. Short slender nose, flushed sensual lips and a pair of pointed ears dispel all doubts.

I step in behind her, wrapping my hands around her thighs, and she purrs, pressing back against me. Where is that snobbish, upstarted attitude we are so used to from their kind?..

"Yana... My little kitten..."

Of course, "little" in this case is completely arbitrary— she is about four times older than me, somewhere near her third century. Then again, for the eldar that's probably barely past adulthood. They are a peculiar race...


San. Hasan. Inquisitor Hasan... Well, it's not like I'm ever going to hear the latter two, so let it be San. Human, as you've probably guessed. So, about herself and me?.. Long story.

She turns sideways, and we lock lips in silence, broken only by our jagged breaths. I slip inside her mouth, and she chases me around it, with occasional slurps whenever I get caught.

"So... What do you think?" I finally manage to ask, leaning my chin on Yana's shoulder. With a content sigh she smiles and answers:

"It's beautiful, San. Just like real..."

And in a sense, it was. For the eldar, the dreams follow the same set of rules as reality. If I hadn't filled my world with air, she would choke. If I had dreamt of an arctic desert — she would freeze. If I had conjured a bolter and shot her through the heart — she would feel pain... And wake up. I won't say how many times I've failed to restrain my mind from wandering off and causing havoc, for they are many. Learning to dream lucidly has been my main project for Emperor knows how many years. River of time makes some strange bends around here... Then again, what have I got except the time and patience?

And my dark-haired angel, of course.

Yana's armor slips off piece by piece, almost loathe to give up her body. With every stripped segment, I feel my heartbeat doubling. I wrap my hands around her bare stomach as she bends down to dislodge the leggings gripping her curvaceous thighs. The line of her spine practically begs for a kiss and I oblige, trailing my lips along the small of her back. She has beautifully smooth and tanned skin which would have been the envy of every last designer guilds' models. It tastes a little of sweat, perfume and the barely detectable scent of her pheromones. I inhale deeply. It's ethereal, but unmistakeable, and it's a clear indicator of how nervous my little angel is. Their gods indeed have a sense of humour— the males of her kind would have reacted by backing off, until the female calms down. Us, humans, on the other hand— nervous angels just spurn us on...

She turns around and I immediately feel like I'm drowning in her eyes. They are deep and soulful enough that I wish I had a map to get around. Her lips brush against my cheek and she gently pulls at my earlobe. Seems like nothing more but a cute playful jab, but it's an almost ceremonial gesture of intimacy for the eldar. Not sure if biting is a part of it or just something she threw in for fun, though.

"I miss you." I whisper half-absently, enthralled by the rhythm of her body.

"I miss you, every time I close my eyes."

"Then look where you shoot."

We laugh quietly at the black humour, though it's painful to laugh a the truth. I truly do miss her, more than I can express with mere words.

Then again, we never needed mere words. Not when we could see eye to eye.

"Feeling good for a dip?"

Yana smiles, nodding, and we take off, making a sprint for the crashing waves. I simply dive head on, she jumps with a gracious sommersault, barely making a splash. We row closer, and now, our bodies bound in a tight embrace against each other, a knot of hands, legs, hair, lips and tongues, now we can talk.


The sun has already hidden beyond the horizon, painting the sky in shades of crimson, when we finally scramble to the land. Of course, "scramble" is a very generous word, more like "surface some thirty metres from shore, barely able to crawl".

Breathing heavily, aching in every joint from exertion and suddenly oppressive gravity, I offer Yana a hand, helping her stand up. She nods her thanks, but looks like she could collapse at a breeze's touch, so I pick her up in my arms. Her body is light as a feather, and her warmth slowly dissipates my fatigue. Her arms embrace my neck, and her tongue suddenly ravenously stabs at my lips. I pause to consider conjuring up an island right where we stand, but proceed to keep walking. Keeping this place from being a chaotic mindfuck that my usual dreams are is already a strain without modifying it on the fly.

I can't help but smile as she wiggles her feet in the waves running past us. A picture of provincial innocence, no more no less. We kiss again and again in short, precise strikes, flesh momentarily brushing against flesh, rushing blood, arousing the senses. Our time together is slowly trickling out like sand in an hourglass, and our embrace is nothing but an attempt to grasp at the falling grains. Even if we had more, more than what's beneath my feet on this beach, it would never have been enough. Don't get me wrong, and forgive me if I sound unappreciative of what I already have, I would gladly crusade to the death for every second we can be together. I only wish that, just once, the sands were not rushing us into each other's arms, that we had the time we needed before bidding farewell until the next day...

Yana presses her face into my shoulder, the long eyelashes tickling my skin as they flutter. Oh, who am I kidding, there is not enough time in the world. Not in here. Though perhaps... Perhaps it is for the best. Who's to say she wouldn't have grown sick of seeing my face every time she looked around her shoulder? Who's to say I wouldn't have? Emperor preserve, I pray that I never have to find out.

A gentle breeze touches us, and even though it's warm, I can feel Yana shiver, a shower raining from her dripping hair. The dusk has given way to the moonlight-soaked night, and politely hinted that a hug won't be enough to keep warm. I set Yana down into the grass and lie down beside, leaning against the surface of a rock. She sits up, leaning on bent elbows and smiles, but I can see the slight nervous twitch in those seductively parted lips. I calm them with a quick kiss which she doesn't return, and smile back. Oh, it's always like the first time with her; in fact, I'm rather certain that without our encounters, she would eventually go virgin once again...

My hand glides down the side of her stomach, coming to rest on her firm butt cheek, and I can feel her position shift a little towards me. I plant kiss after kiss on her divine skin, stopping to probe my tongue in her belly button; feeling her arousal (as well as my own) yawn, stretch and leap up.

I hear a short gasp and feel the longing urgency in her trembling hands. I draw her in and she kisses me, slow and unsure at first. But like a berserker that tasted blood, her advances become braver and braver, more passionate, more intimate. Our hands roam each others' bodies, followed by trails of lips and tongues and eyes dparkling with anticipation. I sit her upon my lap, and release a content murmur as Yana's legs trap my thighs.

I gather her hair up in a ponytail, wrapping it around my hand. She presses her forehead against mine, closes her eyes, smiling as we rub skin. There's irony I think. We all worry about heaven or hell, praise of virtues or retribution for sins. I've come to learn that there the only difference between them is who stands next to us. Right now, I'm in heaven.

Yana rests her head on my shoulder, the strands of her hair completely obscuring my arm. I blow into her ear and kiss the tip to provide a distraction maneuvre, before advancing down her supple stomach, towards the sacred region of her thighs. I can feel the muscles tensing beneath my fingers, and feel our hearts climb a few beats. I close my eyes and ignite the sky.

Honestly, I could never understand Yana's fascination with the stars. The skies of my homeworld, Talorn, were perpetually covered in heavy clouds, so we had learned to look elsewhere for comfort. The observatorium deck of a starship was a whole different story, yet the stars just seemed so... Distant. Cold. Removed from matters at hand. And the warp... I take no pleasure in recalling the psychodellic face of that insane reality.

For her, though, I had painted the black void every time.

My kitten's gasp is music to my ears, and it turns into a very soft moan as my hand finally reaches and parts her own "kitten". Her fingers grip subconciously, threading a strand of hair between them, caress after caress. I am still at loss whether it's simple shyness that keeps her from vocalising, or some aspect of her culture, a deeper understanding of which I lack. I admit, it's the main reason I feel comfortable with her, despite the age gap the size of an Imperial battleship. There is something humbling in seeing emotions come to bear, to feel life-hardened (and simply hardened) and a little protective... Her body though, seems to understand full well when its mistress is "distracted", and does a good job at communicating its needs.

For a brief moment, her tight inner walls hug me before I withdraw, finger coated with her warm sticky fluids. It glides along her lip to the now erect and firm nubbin, stroking it around in slow circles. Even these seemingly rudimentary caresses send Yana spiralling into muscle seizures, a sure predecessor to an orgasm. I can feel it as clear as if her body was my own, and I relent, letting her stamina recover. I find it works best to distract her with a little kissing, to which she eagerly answers, and in turn, reaches for me. Considering that I am about as hard as I can get, her touch is more than welcome.

Now it is my turn to grit the teeth and take a long slow breath, as her thin, musician's fingers glide along my shaft. I have to pull together every fibre of my will to keep still for Yana, until she gets comfortable, and her strokes— longer and faster. With the full weight of her upper body now resting on my chest and shoulder, I shift around, making a better backrest, quickly lick a finger and make for her shapely chest.

Ever since our first sharing a night under the same blanket, I could tell Yana was a little unsecure about her bust. It is a C cup, perky and firm, yet she believes that it's her weakest link. I'm not sure if I could put her mind at ease, but I made certain to give special attention to her frontal assets.

The staccato of her heart pounds against my skin as I cup her, gently catching the stiff dark nipple in a pinch between the sides of my fingers. As the shivers of feedback ripple through her body, Yana arches her back, pressing against my hand.



But as I feel her lips tickling my ear, and her hot breath whispering my name, I feel that I've reached my limit. In fact, I think I heard it creak and give way.

Yana guides me to her lips, and I enter her in a single fluid motion. There is just the warmth of her embrace, the sweet scent of her musk and the maddening tightness gripping me below the belt, as our movements pick up pace. Her trimmed nails bite into my skin, but I barely feel the discomfort beyond the adrenaline which has substituted my blood.

Yana's whole body tenses like a string, toes of her bare feet digging into the ground, and she goes under a tsunami of pure bliss. Normally, this is where one would put a full stop, but not us. The psychic backlash of her orgasm hits me, tears through the flesh and bone like a flash of lightning, but we don't stop. We can't stop. She shrieks, giving voice to her raging sensations for the first time, shrieks to the envy of any banshee, and gasps for breath as the second wave hits her shore. Then the third. Then the fourth. And the next one...

They crest and overlap, building a pyramid to take her to further and further heights; she doesn't scream any more; like me, she just tries to control her breath and avoid blacking out. I don't count them, it's like trying to count droplets in an ocean. It doesn't take long for me to be breathing down her neck in this race. My own climax goes almost unnoticed in the maelstrom, simply the sensation of being inside her changes from tight and wet to tight and dripping. Within a few tries, I manage to slide out of my angel, her internal spasms waving me farewells, and watch the white fluid dripping from her lips while the sense of euphoria drips from my head, clearing up the perception. It's hard to even think straight through this candied fog, much less move, as the cramped and seized muscles refuse co-operation. If this is what it feels like for Yana every time, then I think I can empathise with the Fall of the eldar. Sex has always been a hell of a drug, let alone having a dozen orgasms in a row.

I draw her into a close embrace. She murmurs something in her own language, shakily shuffling closer and let's out a quiet sigh as her skin brushes against mine; the scent of her sweat fills my nose as I draw a kiss to the base of her neck. This is my drug. She is my drug. I don't care if we are fucking, sparring or just sitting against each other without dropping a single word. I... Sounds idiotic, but I'm still unsure if it's love or need that binds us. It is said that acolytes of Officio Assassinorum can't love. They are bred to fight, kill and die in the name of our Emperor. Inquisition is no different. In the end, we are no different in everything but modus operandi. Our weapons are words and power, we flex the brains and stab with our tongues, a single gesture from us consigns whole worlds to oblivion. Vindicaire are the tip of the needle, Astartes are the edge of the blade, the infinite ranks of the Guard are the blow of the warhammer, the accusing glance of the Inquisition is the severance of the skyline, but... In the end, we are no more than killers. Weapons of our Lord and our Imperium. Weapons can't love. Not allowed. Not designed to. Not supposed to.

I need her.

But I also love her, for she needs me. Yes, I'm certain, I love her.

Her whole body shudders, and I lean forward to kiss away the tear from her cheek, and rub my fingers along the ridge of her spine in consolation. If only I had more than words... But it is the grim reality we cannot face away from.

The stars dim, as if a veil has fallen over the sky, snuffing out the light. The darkness creeps around us, swallowing the last breath of the fading world; our rock is the only thing keeping us afloat in the black and hollow nothing. She will leave soon, and the last spark will go out. Why?..

Because I am Hasan Ignatius Kasarev, Inquisitor of Ordo Xenos, human, psyker. Born on Talorn, 145.M40, inducted into the ordos of Sub-Sector Allesandros in 177.M40. Attained the full rank and privellege in 189. Carried out an investigation of a Chaos Cult on a miserable and Emperor forsaken fortress world Zastava-IV. Lead the loyal forces of the Guard, Hellias Firehounds Regiment, in a purge of the cult. Attained victory. Did not live to see it.

And yet... This is not death either. My body may have crumbled to dust long ago, but my soul lingers. An eldar spirit stone, a tiny lump of a blueish crystal, was my saving grace. The last resort, the last lifeline before the devouring Maw of the Warp. Yana sacrificed the only insurance she had against unfathomable tortures in the talons of Slaanesh should the battle claim her too. I pray she will never come to regret it.

Yana... Yana... Thigh-length hair and pointed ears. I'm not naive enough to believe in innocence, but merciful Emperor, what have you done to deserve being their whipping doll?.. I haven't forgotten, I will never forget the aura of Despair Absolute in the air of your piss-stinking cell. Even if we were enemies, I would not have wished it on you. Was it then that we took our first step towards each other? To fight a mutual enemy?

I didn't care about what protocol demanded. I am an Inquisitor, the gut feeling of justice is as much my tool as a sword. I promised you vengeance, made it my personal agenda. What does it matter, if you're still here?.. Life's cheaper than you think, Yan, and this is much more of a heaven than I deserve. Even with just a single angel, who comes and leaves... Beside me, Yana shifts, and I can feel her soft, burning lips upon mine. There is no erotica, just the bitter aftertaste of tears. She doesn't want to go. I don't want to stay. But she will come back. And so I will wait. And dream up a new decoration for our theatre of two actors.

She closes her eyes...

... And wakes up.

I can't pierce the shell that holds me intact, but I know what she does next. First she sits up, shaking off the silken blankets. Then she looks at the warm wet spot in the fabric, a mockingly glinting reminder of the passed night. And finally, she takes the pendant which hangs around her neck on a hair-thin chain, and presses it against her lips. And as my spirit stone warms up, I see a single star in the now absolute darkness.

Though, perhaps, that's just my imagination.

See also[edit]

A Night in the Dream Garden

Author's note[edit]

If you got this far - grats, and a thank you :-)