Profits And Pleasures, A Warhammer 40k Story : Chapter 1 (M/m, scifi, mature rogue trader x underhiver boi, gay male, cowgirl position, kissing, oral, creampie)

**The sound of flesh meeting flesh almost echoed within the otherwise silent captain’s quarters,** the room proofed against the pervasive noises aboard any voidgoing vessel. Only slick obscenity could be heard; the slaps of sweat and lube-slicked skin mingling with the pleased deep grunts of the rogue trader lying on his back, along with the sweet mewling moans of the young man riding him. Even in the dim light of the half lit luxglobes and the cool recycled air, the sheen of sweat sparkled over the captain’s swarthy skin and the much paler complexion of his current paramour, the pearly froth of mixed sperm and coitus gels clearly visible at the point the two were joined.

The older man – just past a Terran objective century in age, but looking closer to a very well maintained fifty, thanks to an active regimen and generous favors lavished on the Magos Biologis – growled in pleasure, feeling the skilled sphincter of his lover ripple up and down his length. Those slick inner muscles eagerly milked the thick shaft penetrating them, hungry for another hot, thick helping of seed he’d already planted in the boy earlier. One dark, calloused hand gave his rider a stroke around the uncut cock bouncing up and down on his defined pectorals with each downthrust the younger man made. The captain smiled between heavy breaths, toying with the tiny metal ring at the tip, before traveling his fingers up the pale slender body, touching a trio of studs above the navel – the skin below it stretching almost imperceptibly as cock pushed up into rectum – and tugging at a nipple piercing, before reaching up to grab at a shoulder.

The former underhiver – roughly almost two decades old, though like with many of his kin, the reckoning of age was inexact – tossed his head back and made an animal noise, his hands behind him leaning against the rogue trader’s trunklike thighs as he ground the older man’s shaft against his prostate. The young man was close, but not nearly close enough, his own cock drooling thin precum on the captain’s abdominal muscles. His thighs were beginning to ache from the effort, the black synskin leg sleeves he wore soaked with sweat, but the agony sweetened the sparks that exploded behind his eyes every time the captain’s cock pressed against his most sensitive point. Oh, but he *wanted* it – wanted it *all*, wanted the heady shock of orgasm traveling up his spine and down his cock, wanted the sticky heat of the captain’s pleasure shooting up his guts again.

The older man purred, vainly trying to slow down the pace by firming his grip on the boy’s shoulder. “Mmm… Our shifts ended but an hour past, Zerim… mmm!” He choked out a noise as a delicious shudder of anal muscles suddenly contracted around his entire length. “Surely there is no need for such… haste.”

The slender, pale underhiver above him clicked his tongue, stippled and ring pierced eyebrows waggling coquettishly at him as their movements slowed. “Yeah, or maybe the power cell’s runnin’ on neg, huh?” One hand – the bionic augment that replaced the flesh torn away by a genestealer – reached back to teasingly cradle the captain’s balls. “That right, Noaz? Oh, beggin’ your pardon, *Lord-Captain sir.*” Zerim punctuated the tardy honorific with another squeeze of his experienced rear.

Noaz’ hips jerked up at the sudden sensation, snugging him deeper into that delicious clench. He growled, raspy voice sanded rougher with pleasure and want; the hand at Zerim’s shoulder reached up to grab at the boy’s sweat matted undercut mohawk, bunching up the dark strands between thick, rough fingers. The young underhiver had always been impertinent, a trait only exacerbated by his recent meteoric rise from the common rating-gangs of the low decks. Zerim was clever enough to know exactly what he could get away with in public – his snide Low Gothic always dancing on the edge of respect and insubordination – but in ‘private consultations’ with the captain, the unruly brat shone through.

In truth, it was something the veteran rogue trader, no sycophant to authority himself, rather enjoyed – especially at times like these.

Zerim’s smile grew tight and triumphant as the captain tugged his head down, tongue flicking over a molar filed sharp. “*Ooooh.* Mebbe the *lord-captain-sir’s* still gots some juice inna stick, neh?” He leaned down and forward, his forehead resting on Noaz’, their eyes looking right into each other’s, intent on catching their expressions of carnal pleasure.

The motion nearly caused Noaz to slip out of Zerim, only to be stopped by his cockhead catching on the tight ring of the underhiver’s gripping asshole. In response, the older man pulled up his knees and slid his other hand up to his lover’s tailbone, keeping the boy pressed down and allowing him to stroke a good portion of his considerable length into Zerim’s sweet grasping flesh. The boy groaned at the change of angle, Noaz’s dark cock furrowing right along one side of his plundered anus, the captain’s lush silvery curls tickling at his own, shaved balls. Obscene fluids dribbled down from where cock repeatedly plunged into asshole, the bubbly admixed remnants of Noaz’ previous spending and Zerim’s entire tube of coitus gel flowing frothy lines down the broad, veiny shaft.

Noaz growled again, staring right up into the young man’s eyes even as his waist pounded up into Zerim’s willing ass. “You ARE a disrespectful little bitch, you are aware? And that is why… *mmmf*! … It feels so *good* to take you like this… needy and desperate for my cock.”

Zerim’s tongue snaked out again, licking at the snowy strands that made up the rogue trader’s mustache and beard, before flicking at his lips. “Fuck yeah, old man. Fuckin’ *need* that thick meat wrecking my little boyhole. *Need* your hot sperm painting my guts white, needta feel it shooting up my belly so hard I can taste it onda back of my teeth.”

Noaz groaned at the filthy words, his own cock beginning to twitch and throb inside the pulsing asshole it was using, the captain’s lust addled mind vividly imagining how his seed would spurt and splatter against Zerim’s insides – how it would spray, gooey and thick, right up into the young man’s rectum and drip back down, tacky and slow and clinging to those soft, warm, inner walls. An unfeigned cry of lust escaped him as he yanked Zerim’s head down, tongues twisting together and hungrily dancing, threads of their spit meeting and mixing and breaking upon their lips.

Zerim suddenly broke the kiss, pulling himself back upright as the jerking of Noaz’ cock grew more frenzied and insistent inside him. The rogue trader hissed and took hold of his waist, even as the underhiver grabbed at the older man’s wrists and began to impale himself over and over on the warm flesh that filled and stretched him so deliciously. Again, the sounds of unrestrained lust and mating began to fill the room.

“Take that cock, you sweet little bitch, fuck yourself on my meat – no one fills that slutty little asshole like I do!” Noaz spat out the words, looking up at his lover as he felt his own balls begin to clench, his shaft shuddering with each tight slippery stroke up.

“That’s cuz no one takes your fuckin’ cock like I do,” Zerim panted back, raising himself and then dropping back down on the flesh impaling him in a frenzy, each thrust accompanied by a wet noise and a splatter of lube. “That’s cuz you hain’t had boy-cunt like mine, yeah, cuz you hain’t get nuff of it, all wet an’ tight an’ *achin’* for your cum!” His fingers dug into Noaz’ wrists, the augmented hand clutching hard enough to make the void toughened captain wince, as the underhiver just *slammed* himself over and over on the cock he was riding, the skin below his navel stretching out with how deep he was taking the rogue trader. “Shoot it all up in me! Fucking *glaze my guts white with your seed!*”

Noaz’ hands grabbed at Zerim’s ass, clutching at the round soft globes as he roared his ecstasy. His cock seemed to throb and twitch for an infinite, Warp-damned second before it pulsed and spat out hot globs of semen, each one splashing against the roof of the young man’s rectal walls and drooling down the sides. The captain lost count, lost in the electric completeness of his orgasm, but his cock must have released at least a half dozen spurts into that tight little hole.

The young underhiver’s eyes rolled up in his head when the first pat of sperm exploded against his innards, Noaz’s cockhead nearly bulging out his belly button and the shaft practically vibrating against his prostate. He whined his captain’s name in a sweet alto, revelling for a few moments in the gooey heat of the older man’s spending, before his own body began to shake and twitch in a sudden orgasm from his overstimulated insides. Zerim’s pale, smooth cock twitched over the rogue trader’s stomach, and then spilled all over his abs, the boy’s cum filling in the grooves between the lightly defined muscles.

Both males stayed like that for a minute, locked in place like a pair of hounds in a rut, their breaths labored and heavy, emptying out their seed with long shudders in and on each other. It was only after complete satiation did Zerim move, mewling as he tugged off of Noaz with a wet pop accompanied by a white dollop plopping down out of his ass and into the captain’s crotch. He immediately turned to lean over, laving the cock that was just inside him with a practiced, dark stained tongue, leaving Noaz to enjoy the cleanup even as he sat up and gently pumped two fingers into Zerim’s upturned pucker.

A few comfortable minutes passed, the only sounds those of Zerim slurping up the leavings on Noaz’ cock and abdomen, as well as the captain’s fingers lazily squelching inside his asshole. The underhiver finished by licking around the rogue trader’s pectorals, and then kissing his belly, before resting his head on Noaz’ chest and looking up with a coy flutter of his eyelids.

The wily old voidfarer gave him an indulgent smile, chuckling as he tugged out his slimy fingers to reach for a snifter of amasec on his nightstand with the other hand. “The answer is still no, boy.”

Zerim suddenly snarled and tossed a nearby pillow at the captain, the hardly aerodynamic projectile going wide and bouncing off the headboard onto the deep Scaran rug covering the floor. His thin, pale lips pouted and he crossed his arms, falling heavily on the bed and petulantly turning his back on Noaz. “You *promised*, you lying arse scab!”

“I promised that you would make master-at-arms when you were ready,” the reclining captain reminded him, chiding. “Two blowjobs and two admittedly fantastic creampie fucks do not make you any more ready than you were a couple of weeks ago.” He took a sip of the vintage – Igricus ‘05, a fine year and a heady brew filled with fruity notes – before continuing. “You will do well as chief bosun for now, and by the time you do rise to master-at-arms, you will have earned the respect and fear of the crew who will serve you.”

“*Tch.*” The noise the ambitious lad made was dismissive and indelicate. “Respect, yeah, fear, yeah, I can teach ‘em that. Kilt people fer less.” He mumbled the next sentence, still loud enough for Noaz to understand. “Kilt things hain’t people too, yeah.”

The rogue trader knew how true that was – he’d seen it for himself. About two solar years prior, the boy had been part of a most unusual impressment; he’d strode openly and confidently up to the sergeant-recruiter, an entire underhive gang at his back, offering their services to the house of Vem Hinzgof. By the time the local enforcers had caught up in their wake, furious that an entire tribe of scum had managed to claw their way to the dockyards, it was a *fait accompli.* They were below-hive scum, but they were a *rogue trader’s* below-hive scum now. A few stern words from his factotum, a pittance of a palm greasing, and the matter slid forever out of the landbounds’ minds.

The matter, however, had marked out Zerim as one to watch among the crew. The crafty boy quickly took to the voidfaring life, claiming the only real difference between the claustrophobic passages of an Imperial vessel and the sewage labyrinths of his childhood was a vast improvement in the air and the food. He and his gang quickly assimilated with the rest of the ratings, the rate of violent death accrued in the process deemed well below acceptable limits. During the rare boarding actions, an occupational hazard of life in the void, Zerim would gleefully lead his gang into the thick of it, his evil looking sawtoothed knives in hand, and reap a goodly share of their spoils. It had been at the end of one such action that Noaz took to personally meeting with the rising crewman; it had been at the end of said meeting that Zerim bluntly commented on his attractiveness, and so they found that they enjoyed each other’s company indeed. Rogue traders have needs and appetites, and in fact theirs are larger than most; fucking an enthusiastic young man who was eager to take his seed was, certainly, safer for the dynasty than risking bastard get in some woman with an agenda.

Hard work and disciplined action alone does not advance one in the Imperium, even on a Darwinian meritocracy like the vessel of a Warrant holder. Even sleeping with the captain and dynastic head can only get you so far (especially if said dynastic head has any competence), and this was something Zerim surprisingly understood and accepted. He and his gang earned better quarters, better food and better favors by dint of their efforts, but the best such as they could make would be veteran boarding party – respected, well treated, but still with no real power and influence on board.

That was until the Throne-damned shipment of Mukaali nearly wiped out his whole crew.

It was supposed to be like any other transport job – some fool of a Chartrist had failed to deliver a herd of the desert beasts on time to serve as steeds for a Rough Rider regiment, and now the Commissariat itself was gazing upon him with gimlet eye and cocked bolt pistol. The fellow was faintly acquainted with the dynasty, and was willing to pay tenfold the going rate in order to avoid an acute case of mass-reactive diamantine head fever. His factotum had bargained it up to fifteen, and that’s how Noaz’ light cruiser, *The Chancellory Of The Void*, found itself docked in an orbital above some groxstain agri-world a solar month ago.

As it turned out, the Chartrist’s delay was due to something nearly as bad as Adeptus bureaucracy – the placid desert creatures had come down with cultist. Some xeno lovers had been long at work on the agri-world and attempted to seed its outgoing shipments with the horrific taint of Tyranid; it was in the middle of the *Chancellory’s* in-system approach when the genestealer had burst from the command bridge’s engineering tunnel, killing a quarter of Noaz’ senior staff in scant seconds as its scythelike claws tore through meat and armorplas with equal ease in a whirlwind of xenos limbs and teeth.

Noaz himself had barely managed to escape the slaughter, emptying two power packs of hotshot las into the accursed thing just to slow it down. His master-at-arms had been by his side when it appeared – he was quickly rendered mere mangled ribbons of meat across the deck, bravely but vainly attempting to slay the beast with his shock maul. Thus the first waves of armsmen who charged at the monstrosity had no leadership to fall back on, many of them struck mad at the mere sight of such an abomination, and fell like grain to the harvester’s sickle.

When it seemed like all was lost and nothing could stop the alien, the chief bosun appeared, leading Zerim and his gang in a last ditch attempt to take the genestealer down. The underhivers poured shotshells into the abomination at point blank, in a lunatic act of courage heedless of friendly fire. Nearly as many died to ricocheting pellets as to the monster’s claws – the bosun, dying from his innards being yanked out of his belly, tried to take the thing out with a melta charge in a suicidal embrace. It had failed to kill the Tyranid – though it managed to vaporize two limbs off, slowing it down enough that Zerim could pick up the bosun’s chainsword and jump on top of the alien’s back, stuffing the wildly kicking weapon down its gullet. That was how Zerim had lost his right arm – the beast lashed out in its death throes, gurgling foul ichor as it blindly clawed at its killer, taking the brave lad’s arm clean off at the shoulder.

Such insane bravery was seen as part and parcel of life in the Imperium – however, Noaz Vem Hinzgof was a generous lord, and unlike the Imperial Guard he was in a position to reward valorous loyalty with better things than a shiny breast trinket. The loss of much of his senior staff was a bad blow, but it was one he could recover from. Promoting deserving crew would ensure his new officers already knew the ship and its workings, as well as cementing their loyalty.

Some positions, however, would require replacement from outside, and that was the crux of his spat with Zerim. The underhiver had his eye on the vacated rank of master-at-arms, that much was clear ever since he was released by the medicae with his new arm (a fine pattern too, forged from Mars itself and acquired at significant expense as a sign of the captain’s gratitude and fondness). In the seat of such a position, Zerim would be able to raise his kin to shipborne troops, perhaps even House guard. And by the Throne, few onboard could begrudge them of fine rewards after that lunatic display of courage.

But the post was a senior one in both service and expectation. Full command of the ship’s troops, including hired mercenaries and requisitioned Imperial Guardsmen, control over the ship’s personal arms, leadership of security and boarding actions – no stripling of barely two decades old could handle all that. More importantly, no void crew would believe such a thing, and as such there was no way Zerim could be entrusted with such a duty. Yet.

Noaz took another sip of the Igricus, letting its heat draw a line down his throat, before leaning over and teasing the glass in front of Zerim’s face. The soon-to-be chief bosun gave a sniff – at first in dismissal, and then another one in grudging appreciation. Finally he raised an hand to take the glass, sitting up to take a gulp of the amasec. “ ‘s good,” he mumbled, before reluctantly leaning back against his captain’s broad chest.

“There, now.” The rogue trader leaned down to lick up the line of the young man’s neck, causing Zerim to start and giggle despite himself. “It’s not like you’ll get to drink this any less as chief bosun, rather than as master-at-arms.”

“Hmmph.” The underhiver sounded slightly mollified, if still somewhat resentful. Certainly, the material benefits of either ranks would be comparable – as a member of the lord-captain’s personal staff, he’d have fine quarters, good food, and access to luxuries he’d never have imagined as hiver scum. A chief bosun’s coterie wasn’t nearly as privileged as House guards – but it would still be a big step up from a lowdeck labor gang, and he’d have enough clout to spread around to his close friends and true loyalists. Not as much as what a master-at-arms would have, true, and Zerim would probably also have to spread his legs a few times to keep the complainers in line – but he was enough of a slut to admit that he’d enjoy it anyway. The thought of some of his gangkin, angrily hatefucking their own boss in recompense for broken promises, sent a delicious shiver up his spine. Would they do it in a train, he wondered idly, a line of horny men formed up behind his helpless ass? Or would they just pin him down, crowd around and gangbang him? The images ran vivid in his quick mind, and he absentmindedly reached down between his legs to scoop up a dollop of the captain’s sperm running down his thighs, bringing his hand up to carelessly slurp up the pasty white gunk. “Yeah, then. I’ll shut my trap about it. F’r now.”

Noaz smiled against the boy’s neck. He enjoyed Zerim’s flighty contrariness, even his petulant mood swings; but the boy would have to learn to separate them from his working demeanor if he wanted to rise to command. “Much better. We have a long night ahead to enjoy, after all.” He ran his teeth along the young man’s earlobe, reaching around to slide the two sticky fingers Noaz had fingered Zerim’s asshole with over his lips.

Somewhat distracted with his own thoughts, the future officer absently ran his darkened tongue over the slimy digits. He blinked, and then took a quick gulp of the carnelian amasec, before placing the empty snifter on the nightstand and then eagerly sucking on the captain’s fingers, bobbing his thin studded lips over first one and then the other and sucking off the coating of Noaz’s sperm. He tilted his head to look coyly at his captain, as his tongue flicked at the dip between the two fingers. “Bet’cher new Mister-Arms hain’t givin’ you tongue like I can. Some stuck-up high-spire bitch, bet.”

“Mmm, no, I highly doubt I’d find anyone who uses their tongue like you do,” Noaz grinned down in agreement, enjoying the debased, filthy way the lad was cleaning his fingers. “But no. I’d called in a favor from a friend in the Administratum, had someone from the Astra Militarum assigned to my service. Stormtrooper, in fact, and appears to be a fairly well regarded one.”

“Tch. Like I said, stuck-up high-spire bitch.” Zerim made a disdainful sound, even as he leaned down to nibble at Noaz’ wrist. “Prollie usedta open fields an’ parades an’ such useless like. Wonder iff’l she be pukin’ all the time once we fly void.” There was a malicious grin on his face, the sharpened molar flashing bladelike in the poor light.

“Him, actually. And judging from his service jacket, that seems… unlikely. In any case, I suspect that he should be, if nothing else, interesting company. But that’s enough talk tonight about another man.” The rogue trader chuckled again, pulling the lad’s face up and towards his own, their lips clamping over each other and tongues sparring wetly all over the insides of their mouths.

Zerim purred within the captain’s kiss, his own tongue running under the older man’s and pricking it lightly with his one filed tooth. “Now you’re talking *fun*, lover.” He grinned toothy and feral against Noaz’ lips, reaching down with his flesh hand to stroke the thick, half hard length jutting out from its nest of silvery curls. One sleeved leg began rubbing against the rogue trader’s beefy thigh, the young underhiver’s pert, soft bubble butt wiggling in anticipation even as bubbling goo slowly dribbled out his pink pucker down his perineum. “Now you’re makin’ me wonder if that big brown dick still fits up my guts all snuglike.”

Noaz growled back, rumbling gravel over slate issuing from deep in his wide chest. His cock began to twitch and slowly return to full rigidity from the short slick tugs of Zerim’s slim, smooth fingers. “Well, then… *we must certainly find out.*”

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/jagiiy/profits_and_pleasures_a_warhammer_40k_story