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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.

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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)

Distantly, Anduin marvels at how Wrathion can be so matter-of-fact as he delivers lines like those. Fire is in my blood. Honestly, though...

"It is, yes," Anduin says, swallowing thickly. Letting out a shaky breath, uncertain where to focus his attention. There is danger everywhere he looks. In the burning intensity of Wrathion's eyes, as he studies his response. The sight of Wrathion, half-undressed on the bed before him. The press of his fingers, sliding across the skin of his palm, so attentive, so...

Anduin shifts in his seat, feeling his pulse beginning to beat faster now.

"I, uh," he says, quickly, trying to force himself to concentrate on his words and not -- everything else. "I'll have to ask around the village. Maybe there are hot springs around here too? It seems... Possible...?"

"A hot springs would help, or simply a hot bath."

Either way, if the water is hot enough surely there is relief? He releases Anduin's hand carefully, gestures for the other one.

His body has, subtly, grown more tense the longer this goes on. His shoulders lifted a little, his muscles stiff with carefully controlled restraint despite the more casual tones of his voice. Given how loose Wrathion's body language is when relaxed, how easily he will lounge the slight hunch to his shoulders is telling. Perhaps more telling mixed with the continued, attentive intensity of his gaze.

It's difficult for Anduin to concentrate on much of anything but trying to maintain the pretense of being in control of himself. Keeping his breathing relatively steady, his heart from beating out of his chest. As such, while he's aware of the tension that is now starting to build within his companion, he does not quite have the facilities to devote to ruminating on its cause.

Regardless of the reasoning, Wrathion gestures for his other hand. Anduin considers the idea that it really might be better to refuse him. But sitting there with the ghost of Wrathion's fingers upon his skin and the question of whether he will ever really get such an offer again -- does Wrathion know what he does to him? -- Anduin makes a possibly reckless decision and accepts.

"I will have to try a bath, perhaps," he replies -- more evenly in his moment of reprieve. "Despite the visitors, I suppose that I am fortunate to have been assigned to this house. Though I do wonder about the family assignments..." Had there been a rhyme or reason to them? Would it have been better or worse if they could have chosen to be in the same house together?

"I can find no pattern to them. People who already have an association seem not to have been grouped together."

The two of them included, but he's gathered Lorna's partner is here in this house -- were they deliberately split up perhaps? To what end? Wrathion frowns in thought, thumbs running along the centre of Anduin's hand then sweeping outward.

"It may be there is no pattern, or of course it may be that we have been split apart from those we know best on purpose."

Does the Merchant know them well enough to do that? Wrathion cannot really say.

Anduin is hoping that turning the conversation away from himself will help to distract from the sensation of Wrathion's touch. To preoccupy his mind, and hopefully divert his attention from the slow, dangerous spread of warmth that has started to dance its way over Anduin's nerve endings.

It's... Half working. Anduin swallows thickly and tries harder.

"It is not a bad thing to get to know the others," Anduin allows. "I would rather not consider the idea that any separation might have been done on purpose, but I suppose. Anything is possible."

Wrathion considers that a long moment, the small hints of reaction from Anduin as he continues pressing in with his thumbs, and frowns in thought.

Anything is possible, he says, and it is of course true but... mixed with other information they've been provided there are definitely questions to be asked.

"Do you recall the Merchant's note about smuggling," he says, "to the undead legions?"

Underground trafficking, he thinks he'd called it. Any connection to the undead is unpleasant, especially after how Taravast went in the end. This isn't about Taravast, though. It's about the connection here, about the village having a patron.

Well, now that is a distracting question. Distracting enough to bring a frown to Anduin's face, even though the pleasure-pain of the slide of Wrathion's fingers across his palm.

"Yes I do," Anduin replies, his expression tightening slightly as he glances up at him. Anduin has been so distracted, with the villagers coming to the house and these curses and the fox spirits (and the aftermath thereof). There's been so much to take in here, he feels as though he has only scratched the surface. Smuggling to the undead...

That in letting her live, you enable her and those like her, who trade in death. That you are now complicit.

"I have not seen any sign of it myself, though that is not to say it is not happening."

"Nor have I, first-hand, but I did learn something interesting. This village has a patron."

His eyes drop down to Anduin's hand, thumbs sweeping out from the centre to apply steady pressure against the muscle around his thumb.

"The Beastmaster, it seems. He returns seasonally, and is due back sometime soon."

Which is interesting for many reasons. One, because the smuggling may be towards the Beastmaster's faction.

Two, because Wrathion would rather not be here when this arrival happens. A pity they couldn't give specifics, then.

Anduin has been having a difficult time staying entirely present for the conversation thus far, but his attention snaps to Wrathion at that.

The Beastmaster. Due to return.

It's as though a bucket of ice water has been dumped over his head. All the heat and the breath gone out of him in a rush as the knowledge of what might be settles in its place. Anduin has not faced the Beastmaster directly himself, of course. But he had healed Wrathion from the aftermath of his last encounter, and he has witnessed his fear.

"Wait." Anduin sucks in a deep breath, reaching out to place a hand on Wrathion's hands and still them. His eyes are impossibly wide and blue as he searches Wrathion's face himself this time. "Wait. When -- how? Wrathion."

There's three prompts there.

Wait. When? How?

Wait he can do. His hands still as Anduin's comes to rest on his, and his eyes lift to meet the young king's.

"They gave no specific timeframe," he answers. There's a pause as he considers the 'how' aspect, head tilting slightly. "If you're asking how I know, one of the villagers mentioned it."

Presumably not... how will the Beastmaster arrive? He has no idea, does it matter?

In truth Anduin is not sure what exactly he is asking either. It’s a lot to take in all at once. Wrathion, shirtless in his bedroom at night, his hands warm around Anduin’s, pleasure still singing down Anduin’s nerves in response to his touch, his voice so calm — too calm — as he explains…

Anduin’s pulse had been fast before, although now it is racing for a different reason. There is danger in this. The Beastmaster knows Wrathion. Knows what he is. If he should come now…

He forces himself to say something, to formulate words other than the denial that is rattling around in his brain. No, not now. Not him. Not you.

"You need to do what you can to break this curse," Anduin concludes, voice low and intense as he studies Wrathion’s face. "We both do. There is no telling whether it’s effects hold only to this area of the land or not, but." His expression tightens. "As we have proven tonight, I will not be able to heal you otherwise."

That's true. If these cuts continue to progress, and he's still injured when the Beastmaster arrives then he'll be fighting at less than his best.

If he has to leave in a hurry, he may become unable to break this curse if the resolution has to be... localised.

"Of course," he agrees. There's a pause, as he weighs up how to address this. "I may need to leave."

Not we, necessarily, he wouldn't assume Anduin will run with him. Wrathion may be fleeing flat out for days again, trying to stay one step ahead as he's chased through the forest.

Something in Anduin's chest constricts, almost painfully, for he recognizes that he had not necessarily been included in that statement as well. But of course, if it came to that, he would only wish for Wrathion's safety. There is a chance that, if it came to that, he would only slow him down.

Now it is Anduin's turn to look away. Turning his gaze down to Wrathion's hands, now clasped between his own, feeling suddenly, overwhelmingly... Helpless. There has to be something that he can do. He needs to do something. He can not, will not let this person harm Wrathion. Not without giving everything of himself in return.

"I understand," he says, softly. Shutting his eyes and sucking in a breath to try and collect himself, but everything is a jumble of emotions now, raw and vulnerable after Wrathion had lulled him into such a state. "You will... Keep me abreast of what more you learn?"

He can at least rest assured that Wrathion will not be disappearing tonight. (At least, he hopes not...)

"Of course," Wrathion allows.

He hesitates, then adjust his grip on Anduin's hands -- threads their fingers together.

"I would ask only one thing of you. Do not let me share my family's fate."

If he turns, don't let him continue on some endless, mad rampage. He doesn't want that. Doesn't want to become a part of that legacy.

Anduin has known that Wrathion was afraid of the Beastmaster. Of hearing his voice in his head. Of falling under his control. He had understood there were similarities of the undead liege to the thrall of the Old Gods, but he had not realized until this moment exactly what such a loss of control might cost.

Anduin's fingers convulse around Wrathion's, his eyes flashing wide as he drags them back up to meet Wrathion's gaze. The full weight of Wrathion's request settling upon him like a rock upon his chest. Making it equally as difficult to breathe.

Anduin is vaguely aware of the fact that Wrathion hardly ever comes to him willingly for aid, and here is the second request in one evening. He had not been capable of fulfilling the first. And now...

He wonders whether he could live with himself if he did as Wrathion asked. He knows that he would be unable to if he did not.

"I will not let it come to that," Anduin replies, almost desperately. He understands that in the end he may have very little power over such things, but he feels as though he has to hold on to some hope. It may be all that's left for them, in the end.

Wrathion nods in response, flicking Anduin a small smile.

"I know if anyone has a chance of helping me, it would be you. You have always been an exceptional individual."

Clever, patient, someone strong in the Holy Light despite his father being a warrior, who survived Garrosh Hellscream attempting to end his life, who has chosen repeatedly to befriend those should be his enemy and managed to sign into place an armistice against all odds.

Anduin may doubt himself, but to Wrathion he has already achieved more than many others could manage in a lifetime. His will is strong. If he puts his mind to it, he doesn't doubt Anduin could achieve much more.

Anduin had half-expected Wrathion to press the point. He recognizes it had not been the promise that his companion had asked of him, and wonders whether it is enough. Whether it is a comfort, or...

But then Wrathion smiles at him. It may not be a very expansive gesture, but at this moment Anduin will take it.

Anduin squeezes Wrathion's fingers in response to his words. He has no concept of whether Wrathion truly believes what he says. About him being exceptional. About him standing a chance in this. But he appreciates the sentiment nevertheless. Even if he is not certain that he should be the one most in need of reassurance just now.

"I don't know about all that," Anduin replies, with a soft twist of his lips. "But I know that I will do everything that I can. I promise you that, Wrathion."

"That was never in doubt."

Wrathion has complete confidence that Anduin will throw himself into the task, likely even when he should stop. He squirms one hand free, moves it to rest on Anduin's upper arm in what he hopes is a gently reassuring gesture.

It didn't really work on Hermione, but he's trying it again. Maybe he'll work out the right way to do touching one day, if he keeps practicing.

"Thank you. I know this is coming... faster than we both wanted. There's never enough time."

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