[The weight of that leg settles over him with possessive need, and as it does, Eridanus only seems to relax beneath it as if it brought with it the comfort of nostalgia. To watch his Eternal from under his grip, under his ownership, flutters his heart like the beating of a hummingbird's wings in his breast. He swallows, and his tongue suddenly feels too big for his mouth as his reverent gaze follows the sharp curve of Lucius' grin. And his laugh, the way it washes across his skin, shivers fawning affection through him.

A part of him wishes to argue with those teasing words—that there is no cruel memory, no possible event of his lover's past that would mar the adoration he holds for him. He doesn't as the words that follow distract him from voicing that fondness he holds so fervently, and instead he draws his claw-tipped touch across the expanse of corded muscle that wraps Lucius' forearm.]

Even without your primarch's favor, to compare himself to the Eternal at all... what a fool's errand he endeavored. [Eridanus hums in response, his gaze dropping as his touch ventures higher, over the strong curve of Lucius' bicep—just another show of his prowess with the sword.] You can never compare dirt to gold, and yet... moth larvae will always gaze upon the beauty of the butterfly, and yearn to share their destiny. Won't they?