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Summary
“Your wings are dirty.”
Sanguinius supposed he ought to be grateful that Perturabo had waited until they were alone on Sanguinius’ ship to say such a thing.
Granted, the Lord of Iron wasn’t wrong; Sanguinius’ wings were in dire need of both a cleaning and a preening, but that didn’t mean he was happy to hear it pointed out so bluntly.
“I am aware. I haven’t had time to groom them since the final battle,” Sanguinius said, and didn’t point out that there had been literally no time between the battle’s end and the current moment where he could have done anything to fix his feathers.
“Would you like some help with that?”
Prompt: Accidental Stimulation