westwhere | [ CLOSED ]

Entry tags:

[ CLOSED ]

WHO: Wrathion, Anduin
WHEN: Late Feb - Early March
WHERE: Ke-Waihu, the house of the old village wise man
WHAT: Curses, scratches, and aches
WARNINGS: Wrathion will likely scandalously take his shirt off so Anduin can see what he's healing. Or not healing, as the case may be. There may be disgusting hand contact. There is definitely UST.

In Ke-Waihu, the darkness at night is thick, the silence as heavy as a blanket muffling everything around them.

Wrathion finds it both reassuring and a source of unease. He hears nothing coming, yet neither is there a gentle hum of activity to mask his own movements.

In truth, he should not be out in the dark at all. He should be in his own assigned home, sticking to their cover story. Yet he has grown... accustomed to Anduin's close company, and the scratches that recently appeared on his skin have begun to bother him.

He simply wants him to examine them. As a healer. That's all it is. He isn't thinking about anything else. Not the union ceremony Anduin got swept up in, not the prospect of the Beastmaster being here, not the sick unease he feels wondering if he should leave in case something happens. If he should leave Anduin behind, for his own safety.

Not Anduin's gentle sympathy as they traversed the forest, chased by fleeting visions of Azeroth taunting them with something they could not have.

Not the reminder of how he had faced down Fahrad, devoid of a way to save him as the whispers twisted his mind.

Wrathion feels... strange. He cannot say he has ever particularly been troubled to only have himself for company, yet in the inky darkness here his own thoughts feel... loud somehow. The rooms he stands in feel big, and he feels uncommonly ill at ease.

He sends Anduin a simple message:

I'm outside.

Then waits to be let in, a ghost lurking around the window of Anduin's room in the wiseman's old abode. It seems fitting Anduin has been placed here, since he seems well suited to resolving disputes and giving advice. Then again, he'd likely been enjoying the respite -- or what limited respite he had.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"A little sore," he admits. Nothing he can't tolerate, in that regard. His skin twitches just a little under Anduin's touches, but Wrathion keeps himself otherwise still -- endures it without complaint, even when it does sting.

"They don't appear particularly deep...?"

A comment as much as a question -- Wrathion cannot see the things on his back very well, not without some awkward twisting and squinting. Anduin can judge better. He doesn't seem to be alarmed, so he... assumes they aren't horrific?

"No," Anduin agrees, moving the cloth gently along the line of one of the scratches then wetting it again. "They're fairly shallow, but the skin is broken. It doesn't seem to be bleeding, at least."

Not for now, at any rate. If it's anything like Anduin's own affliction, it has been getting slowly but steadily worse since the first day it had settled into his skin. He's doing his best not to think about how much worse it could get, if they do not solve these ancestral curses soon.

"Do you suppose that your other form would also sport these curse scratches, if you were able to transform?" Anduin asks, lowering his voice just in case. He cannot, of course, so there's no point in wondering. But it's something to discuss and it is an attempt to take Anduin's mind off of the smooth span of dark skin in front of him, warm underneath his touch, and the scratches that run down the line of it which are... Not that further spaced than the span of his own fingers, he has not failed to notice.

"They would carry across," Wrathion admits, then hesitates -- turning just a little to try and catch Anduin's eyes.

"It would be better if they did not bleed. You are... familiar with my blood."

It's hot, remember? Unusually hot. Burning hot. It will be a problem if he starts bleeding, and he'll need to start binding them all somehow. Wearing layers of clothing. Titans, what a mess. Should he mention the other scratches? He can wash those himself, and Anduin might be upset there are more injuries he cannot heal. Surely if he just bathes them daily? Is there anything more to what Anduin is doing?

Anduin meets Wrathion's eyes, the weight of the implication of Wrathion's words settling in along with Anduin's understanding of them. Wrathion's blood. Dragon's blood. It had stung him when Wrathion had used it to test their connection, on the shore by the lighthouse. Hot, almost too hot to touch. Despite himself, Anduin's eyes trail down to where his hand has come to rest against Wrathion's shoulder, the skin underneath his palm warm, so warm.

"I... yes, I am," Anduin agrees. He looks back to the scratches then back to Wrathion himself, a worried look in his eyes. "There is a chance that they might. We should. Prepare ourselves for how best to tend to these when they do. If you do not think you will be resolving your curse in the next several days or so."

Of course he is including himself in this. They are in this together, and he would hardly expect Wrathion to be able to care for a wound he can hardly see for himself. He wets the cloth again, and asks the next, most obvious question.

"Did they only appear here, on your back?" He does not see any others on Wrathion's arms or chest. (Not to admit that he's been looking...)

Ah, the choice is being removed then. Wrathion isn't about to lie about this.

"No," he admits. "There are some on my legs too."

Will Anduin want to bathe those too? Wrathion can reach his own legs, he doesn't need him to. The thought of him doing so feels... strange. He cannot quite describe it, like something is happening to his stomach. The muscles are... clenching, in some way. He's sure it would be helpful, perhaps Anduin would feel as if he is doing a better job as a healer, yet Wrathion thinks it would be... unwise. Unnecessary? He feels warm, tense. He should discourage it, he thinks, if the priest asks.

Ah. On his legs.

Anduin carefully moves to dip the cloth back in the basin then moves on to the next scratch, doing his best not to picture the image of these finger-spaced scratches raking down the line of Wrathion's calf or thigh. No, better not ask exactly where.

"I'll take care of these," Anduin offers, "but there's really nothing more to be done for the rest that you can't do yourself. Warm water, a soft cloth, and just be careful to make sure that it dries properly before you cover it up again. We'll... Revisit what to do if it starts getting any worse."

If, not once, though the assumption is there. Sitting heavy in the back of Anduin's mind.

A small mercy.

"I believe I can handle them myself," Wrathion says, trying to sound as smooth as he can. "I will let you know if they progress."

To the point where they might need... intervention. He certainly hopes not.

"You said your marks are not painful? Only... stiff?"

A topic that isn't Wrathion's legs, and if Anduin will need to tend to them or not. A topic that is also not Wrathion thinking about the warm hand on his shoulder steadying him. This is... a lot of continual physical contact.

Anduin wets the cloth again, moving on to the second to last scratch, carefully cleaning it as he answers Wrathion's question.

"They're not -- exactly," he replies. "It's not painful in the way that a wound or a scratch might be. But it's not... Comfortable. I suppose it's not unlike the feeling of the stiffness and ache of the Bell," Anduin explains, with a shrug. "It's just that I am usually able to relieve myself of that discomfort. This..."

This is weighing on him. He has to wonder how much worse it will get, how much worse he will feel, before he manages to resolve the ancestors' curse that has been assigned to him.

Not wanting to be one to sit there and complain, Anduin shakes his head. "It is no matter," he says, aiming for levity. "I will survive."

"Is there anything beyond healing that helps with the stiffness you get from the Divine Bell? Warmth, perhaps?"

Something to... ease the tension, if the stiffness is akin to that? It's all guesswork on Wrathion's part, in truth. Human bodies are so... different, sensitive in ways his natural shape isn't. Often the way his visage behaves is strange to him, the signals it sends him a foreign language. He's heard some dragons prefer their visage, after a while, and certainly for ease of interaction with the mortal races he can see that but... the lack of control in the way it behaves can still be... uncomfortable.

Anduin considers the question as he works the cloth slowly down the line of the scratch and, consequentially, Wrathion's back.

"Warmth, yes," he replies. "I used to spend quite a lot of time in the hot springs, when I was first recovering in Pandaria. The healers showed me some physical exercises that help, sometimes, when I have the time for moving around. And -- breathing exercises for the times when I do not."

They have been over this already, there's no use in feeling self-conscious about his injuries when Wrathion has seen him at his worst already. All the same, speaking of it like this still makes him feel... Lesser. He never aspired to be any great warrior, but he would still prefer to be a whole man, if given the choice.

It takes all Wrathion's focus not to squirm. Human skin is peculiarly sensitive, it's a wonder to him they get through each day without being distracted sometimes by how everything feels.

"Might exercises help?" he prompts, glancing over his shoulder at Anduin again. Is he still cleaning the cuts, even? He's going about it at a very leisurely pace. "Where is the stiffness worst?"

Perhaps that might help narrow down the most useful exercises? Wrathion is no expert, this is all theoretical.

Anduin dips the cloth into the bowl one last time, turning his attention towards the one remaining scratch before he can bring himself to respond to Wrathion's questions.

"Perhaps," he says, voice uncertain. "I don't know. It's... My hands, so far, mostly. I've never really had to worry about such things in the past, not specifically anyway." Different areas of his person, yes, but he's never especially had trouble with his hands before.

There are also rings around his ankles of course, and he's worried that the stiffness will spread there in the same way, but that is a... Private concern, for now. He would rather leave it at such.

It makes sense to be worried about movements in your hands, of course. Most mortal races require their hands for most of their daily activities.

"Something to keep movement in the joints, then," he suggests, waiting until Anduin seems to have stopped running the cloth over his skin. Is he done? He'd... quite like him to be done, the stimulation on his skin is beginning to be a little much. "May I see?" he prompts, turning a little sideways and holding out a hand to the priest curiously. He's curious if the stiffness is palpable, if the muscles are genuinely beginning to seize in some way or if there's something more to it. His cuts seem real enough, after all.

Edited 2022-02-28 01:51 (UTC)

Anduin hesitates, setting the cloth aside as he finishes with the last of the cuts, but he sees no reason why he should not allow Wrathion to investigate his wrists and hands. He has after all just spent the last few minutes caring for Wrathion's own curse wounds.

"I... Yes, of course. Here."

Drying his hands hastily on the sides of his trouser legs, Anduin raises one to hold out towards Wrathion's outstretched hand, palm-up, glancing uncertainly at his companion as he does so.

"I do not understand what significance the marking has, but it seems to be radiating out from there," Anduin observes.

Interesting. Wrathion turns properly to sit facing Anduin, one leg drawn up more onto the bed, and carefully takes his hand in both of his own -- examining the band around his wrist.

"Is the band itself sensitive?" he prompts, lightly brushing a thumb over it to test. Is it some manner of bruising, in and of itself? Or simply a mark, indicating something they do not understand?

Anduin watches as Wrathion traces his thumb over the band. Wrathion's hands are warm, warmer than his own, which should not surprise him all things considered, and yet somehow he still finds it fascinating.

"No, not really," he answers, after a moment's thought. "It just feels like... I've been working all day with my hands, I suppose. But I've barely had any time for anything but talking. And it isn't that cold today, so..."

He shrugs again.

Wrathion leans forward a little, inspecting the mark more closely as if he might discern something from it. By appearance alone, nothing about it is... unusual. He gives a frown of thought, adjusts his grip on Anduin's hand.

"Is it more muscular, or is it the joints?"

Experimentally, Wrathion begins pushing his thumbs into the muscles of Anduin's hand. If they are tense, perhaps he could ease out the tension with the right application of pressure? He thinks that is what people do.

"I, uh," Anduin says, his voice wavering slightly as he finds himself transfixed by the image, the feeling of Wrathion's fingers smoothing their way across the palm of his hand. He clears his throat and tries again.

"I'm not sure. Maybe a bit of both?"

Is that even possible? Pull yourself together, Anduin.

"The muscles are definitely tighter than they'd normally be."

Better.

He hums in thought, pressing his thumbs more firmly into Anduin's hand.

"You said you were taught exercises?"

Would any of them help with hands? To ease these aches. Wrathion is not at all trained in the best way to do this sort of thing, no doubt a professional would make light work of this, but perhaps something Anduin was taught might give him an idea. Perhaps there are specific places one should apply pressure, for example?

Anduin breathes in sharply at the pressure of Wrathion's fingers, doing his best to school his face into the most neutral expression he can as he catches his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Mmm," he hums in acknowledgment of Wrathion's question. "I have had lessons in sword training and --" His breath catches slightly as Wrathion's fingers catch a particularly stiff, and therefore tender, knot at the base of his palm. "Sword training and other basic areas of self-defense, but these exercises are more to do with. Movement? Than strength training."

He hopes that makes sense. He's suddenly finding it difficult to concentrate on anything other than the warm pressure of Wrathions fingers against his skin.

Wrathion's eyes lift curiously as Anduin's breath catches, watching his expression as he continues to speak.

There's a thread of tension between them suddenly, and Wrathion isn't entirely sure what it is. All he knows it, he's caused a reaction. He thinks he could cause it again.

"Were any focused on your hands, your fingers?"

Then, after a moment's hesitation, he pushes his thumbs firmly into Anduin's hand again -- eyes fixed on his face this time to study the reaction.

"Uhhhh," Anduin says, on another exhale, doing his best to sound at least relatively decent and keep himself still in his seat.

He doesn't know when the last time anyone has done something like this for him, but the fact that his hand feels the way that it does, the fact that this is Wrathion, it's making this... Difficult.

"Some of them do have some -- hand pieces, I suppose," he replies. "I could try and -- adapt them? The principles would be the same, anyway. If I just keep moving...?" Perhaps it would be enough to keep the curse from seizing things up completely. Although if Wrathion is offering this again...

"It may be worthwhile."

Wrathion eases back the pressure, predator-sharp gaze still fixed on Anduin's expression. He's aware, distantly, that when muscles become sore it can be pleasurable to work knots from them. He's also aware Madam Goya offered many things in the guise of massage that were not, actually, massage.

The detail here is where it gets fuzzy.

Is this... inappropriate? He had, genuinely, only wanted to help Anduin feel more comfortable. Yet now he feels... transfixed, somehow. His pulse is hammering rapidly, all the way down to the tips of his fingers and thumbs. Can Anduin feel it? It seems so heavy, so fast. Wrathion blinks placidly, then slowly increases the pressure and pushes out with his thumbs again.

"Is this helping?"

He should check. Perhaps Anduin would want him to stop?

Edited (Belated typo correction ) 2022-03-01 11:36 (UTC)

Anduin's own heartbeat is rapidly increasing underneath the careful pressure of his companion's fingertips. Underneath the steady gaze of those eyes.

Is this helping, he asks.

Anduin wants to laugh. Wrathion sitting there, with that look in his eyes, studious and attentive. Wrathion, still having yet to pull his shirt back on. Wrathion, with his hand clasped between his own and his fingers so warm, and when did he get so good at this? Or is it just that he has yearned for the dragon's attentions for so long that this is all it takes?

"Yes," he breathes on an exhale, managing to remember to smile at him in reassurance after the fact. "It is, yes. Your hands are... Very warm."

He doesn't know why he's added that. Perhaps because he keeps thinking it. Thinking about Wrathion's hands, warm on his skin...

A flush starts to creep across Anduin's cheeks.

"Naturally."

He is, after all, a dragon. Anduin knows how hot his blood runs. Shifting his grip, Wrathion moves his thumbs to rub down the centre of Anduin's palm from just below the dark band around his wrist.

"Fire is in my blood."

So obviously he will be warm. He tilts his head slowly, taking in the uptick in Anduin's pulse.

"The warmth is useful?"

If so, perhaps something could be done -- some item given to Anduin to generate warmth when he needed to ease the ache?

Edited (i said helping before) 2022-03-02 22:26 (UTC)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject