Work Text:
"You're so unbelievably childish, Aurelian," Roboute lectured in a scathing voice. "The most petty man I ever had the displeasure of knowing. And to think I once called you Brother. How far you've fallen. It's pathetic. You're pathetic."
Lorgar laughed. "Is that anger I see painted across your face, Roboute? My, so even you can feel something after all? Hm. I'm genuinely impressed."
Roboute's striking blue eyes burned with barely repressed fury as he glowered at Lorgar from a distance. His patience had worn out, the sting of betrayal overpowering his typically pragmatic mindset as he was forced to accept that all the horrible, recent events were not accidental nor anything less than by design. Lorgar had been treacherous from the start and had used his mercy and willingness to discuss matters against him so that he could carry out his foul plans for far longer than would have been possible otherwise.
"You love to hear yourself talk, Aurelian — but I don't share in your immature, pointless little pastime," he retorted, deep voice scathing and bitter; looking at though he would surely commit murder if pushed just a little farther.
Lorgar found himself nearly captivated by those furious, brilliant eyes, enjoying the certain knowledge that he was the one that put that roiling rage there; and the well-earned misery that churned just beneath it. He'd never known that payback could taste so sweet. He dearly hoped that it hurt. He hoped it hurt so much that Roboute would suffer for the rest of his life. Once, he'd toyed with the idea of corrupting Roboute and bringing him over to their side, convincing him to turn his back on their abusive, tyrannical father. But he knew now that such could never happen and in the end he'd found that he much preferred it like this.
"And apparently you have finally succumbed to passion. It took a lot—to be fair—but it amuses me all the same."
"Father should have killed you that day," Roboute said dryly, "and I regret ever speaking up on your behalf then or giving you the benefit of the doubt now."
Lorgar scowled, all pretense fading as his features contorted into a demonic mask that held not one hint of the divine radiance he once embodied. "Did you like it, Roboute, humiliating me as you tore my perfect city to the ground? Did it bring you pleasure to watch everything I worked for reduced to nothing but ashes and dust as your sons burnt it down? Did it make you hard to watch me suffer? Oh, how you always strive to maintain your pristine, respectable image. But I know you better than that. I bet it got you off then, and I bet thinking about it still gets you off now."
Roboute charged at Lorgar, closing the distance with frightening speed as his clamoring angry footfalls carried him across the large assembly room. "How dare you say such vile, despicable things, Aurelian. You prove my point with your embarrassing, repulsive bullshit. And don't you dare call me Roboute ever again. You don't know me anymore. And I certainly don't know you."
Lorgar tsked. "And yet, here you stand right where I wanted you; such a disciplined, rational man — so easily baited, so easily provoked. Pompous and the very picture of hubris. And not nearly as smart as you seem to think you are."
"I will skin you alive, slowly. Cut every single one of those filthy marks out of your flesh first. Then I will eviscerate you with my bare hands and boil your wretched guts. And when I am done, I will cut off your head, maggot."
Lorgar was unmoved by such threats despite knowing Roboute meant every word he said. Lorgar cackled, his voice quivering with insanity as his hostile golden eyes stared with unfiltered enmity into the face of a man who was so close to losing himself entirely with only a few puerile words serving as the catalyst to stoke his temper. It was always so comically simple to get under his skin, but Lorgar had expected to need to provoke him a little longer to get him to approach. It was almost too easy this time. Who was really the childish one, here?
"Mm, as you wish Guilliman. Consider it a courtesy, and know now, that it is the last one you shall ever receive from me." Lorgar smiled, and it was a hateful thing. "But I will give you credit where it is due. That depiction was very colorful. And here I was thinking all this time that you were insufferably boring. I didn't know you possessed such an active imagination."
Roboute's shoulders were shaking with barely repressed rage, mere seconds from snapping free. He did all he could to refrain but it was already a losing battle as he closed the distance further still, unsteady hands already taking an aggressive position and trembling as if the energy they contained was an entity he only barely controlled.
Lorgar smirked as he endured that hideous expression, thinking it ironically somehow made such a truly revolting man marginally less unpleasant to look at.
"And I bet everything you just described doing to me..." Lorgar leaned in close, gleaming white teeth catching the light as his expression transformed into a haughty, condescending grin. His voice dropped in both pitch and volume, little more than a whisper as he made his filthy accusation. "Also makes you hard. You're genuinely disgusting, but in a way I'm finally starting to like you. A pity."
Roboute swung at Lorgar's insufferable, ugly face; and carried it through with a power behind it strong enough to shatter his reinforced bones to splinters. But his force met nothing but air, as Lorgar had dodged the blow without a care.
So easy. Too easy.
He turned and reoriented his stance as he ducked beneath Roboute's strike; gliding back in one smooth, graceful motion that both carried him away from the attack and granted him the ideal position from which to retaliate — and he did without hesitation. And it was there that he proved to Roboute that he was not weak, nor ever lacking in any of the traits that flowed through his Primarch blood. He simply disliked waging war in a way his Brothers did not; preferring diplomacy to aggression, placing higher value on a clash of words than a clash of fists.
But when the situation made violence appropriate, he was just as strong and just as skilled as any other Primarch; and when those conditions were met even he, the pacifist, enjoyed it — after all, it was coded into his very DNA.
And there had never been a punch he'd enjoyed more than the one he'd just brought down to bear against the side of Roboute's skull. He felt the skin pull against his knuckles as flesh compressed beneath the force; heard bones crack and pop as the hit connected, elated as he watched Roboute launch from the ground before sailing away from him through the air — a huge, scrambling blur of azure and gold as it crashed heavy and loud against the floor.
"You're such a fool, Guilliman!" Lorgar taunted as he watched Roboute attempt to rise, scrambling to his feet with clumsiness, proving further that he'd managed to at least temporarily disorient him though Lorgar didn't expect it to last long. That didn't matter. It was still one of the best feelings he'd ever known. He should have laid Roboute out ages ago.
"Theoretical: I am very likely goading you into attacking me. Practical: Maybe you should think before you act." Lorgar laughed, the once-bright chiming of his voice now little more than grating inflammatory chiding as he mocked Roboute's analytical thought processes. "I'd think you were the one spending so much time with Angron these days, throwing yourself at me so recklessly, Brother."