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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 wants to believe that.

He does.

Yet the frown doesn't shift from his brow, even as his fingers flex around Anduin's.

"Even if Genn advised you against it?" That's an easy one to guess, after all. He doesn't need to see into the timeways to know what Genn Greymane would think. "Even if Jaina asked how you could trust me again? Even if Tyrande, Baine, everyone who attended the trial in Pandaria asked you when my trial would be for freeing Garrosh Hellscream?"

Anduin can feel his heart twist in his chest as Wrathion's fingers tighten around his. In response to how earnestly he asks those questions. The look on his face as he does. As though they may have been weighing on his mind for some time now.

He understands that the response he gives in this moment matters. Not that he doesn't always try to at least give some thought to his conversations, but this...

"Genn and Jaina will always have their own opinions of what is best for me," Anduin says, softly. "But my heart is my own, as are my decisions. You have made mistakes." He squeezes Wrathion's fingers gently, to soften his words, as he continues, "But they do not define you. You have also done Azeroth a great service. We would be in a very poor place indeed, without your bravery. I would remind them of that."

And then remind them that he is King of Stormwind, if all else fails. But he'd certainly start with the rest of it first.

Mistakes.

Just because you have hurt me does not mean that I do not still care for you, Wrathion.

He did hurt Anduin, though.

He did.

He caused... so much pain.

As much as Wrathion craves Anduin's forgiveness -- craved Anduin's forgiveness, he supposes -- even having it he knows is only the beginning of the battle here. There are many others who still need to accept him, and that process will be... slow. It may never truly resolve in Anduin's lifetime.

It wouldn't do for the Grand Alliance to fall apart over something like this.

As much as he'd selfishly like to keep Anduin to himself. To spirit him away from his troubles, kidnap him in the family tradition. For them to live quietly together, to go on adventures. For Anduin to be away from the stress of war and politics, to live a life of indulgence with him where their most difficult decision is where to travel to next --

Anduin would not be happy. He's a worrier. As much as he claims he would be firm, would push back, it would hurt him. Any happiness they had would be mixed with more pain. His burdens would not truly be shed, and the guilt would eat him alive.

It isn't a problem yet, at least.

Not yet.

Not here.

Not until they return, if they return.

If they return together. If they remember.

"Well," he says finally, "Genn and Jaina are not here -- but I am."

He pushes back the unease, gives in to the urge to lean forward until their foreheads touch and lets his eyes slip closed.

His pulse races unreasonably fast, and one hand slips free to gently rest on Anduin's side. Perhaps they will never truly have what they dream of but they could have this, they could have this and it could be enough. It could be.

"I am here," Wrathion repeats, "for you."

Anduin can feel his own pulse pick up a little, as Wrathion leans forward to tip their foreheads against one another, and he has to shut his eyes as Wrathion's hand comes to rest against his side. As Wrathion says that.

I am here for you.

He doesn't know why exactly it hits him so hard. As hard as it does. Perhaps because, in the back of his mind, he understands that it is what he has needed for some time now. Genn and Jaina have always done their best to look out for him. They have also done their best to try and better him, to make them into who they imagine he could be, and in recent days, on top of everything else...

Genn and Jaina are not here. Even if they were, Anduin would handle them. They are important people in his life. But so is Wrathion. He has to wonder whether Wrathion understands just how much, quite yet.

"You are," he says, softly, trying to keep his voice steadier than he feels himself just then. "You have been my strength these past few months, in this strange new land. I know it may not mean much, coming from someone such as myself, but. I will always fight for you."

Always.

Always is quite some time.

Wrathion very carefully shifts his hand from where it's resting on Anduin's waist, arm sliding around him to secure the priest in place.

"That," he murmurs, "is quite the promise."

Always.

Anxiety crawls under his skin, yet Wrathion equally feels a possessive urge to hang on to Anduin as firmly as possible -- to keep him.

His body feels as if it's thrumming with tension, with anticipation -- although he could not say what for. He feels exhausted, yet also somehow flooded with adrenaline. Too much of his skin is still bared to Anduin's hands, but he doesn't want to release his grip on the man to pull a shirt back on.

His chest aches, and the mass of conflicting urges and sensations only ticks his anxiety slowly higher.

A smile spreads its way slowly across Anduin's lips as Wrathion shifts his hand -- not to pull away, but to secure him further in place.

"I believe that you are worth it," Anduin says softly, as he moves to tentatively raise the hand that Wrathion does not still have clutched in his own and places it on Wrathion's chest. If he could not feel his companion's heart racing before he certainly can now.

There is a part of Anduin that dearly wishes to take advantage of their current closeness. It would be so easy, foreheads pressed against each other as they are, to simply close that distance between them. With Wrathion's heartbeat thundering underneath his palm, however, he wonders if his partner is quite ready for that. With Wrathion's fingers clutched as tightly as they have been around his own...

Anduin forces himself to pull back slightly, enough so that he has the space to look at Wrathion and think again. He offers him a soft smile.

"Need I remind you, I have already put you to the test here. Capturing Rigarda, then again at the lighthouse. As I have made myself my own dangerous enemy in the Merchant, you have stood by my side. Let me stand by yours."

Anduin draws back, and the space is enough for Wrathion to begin to breathe a little easier. There's still tension in him, though, enough that there's a slight tremor to his hand as he flexes his fingers into Anduin's shirt.

"I believe," he says softly, "that you are a fool."

His fingers flex tighter into the fabric, holding him there regardless.

"But I would not object to the support."

He hesitates, tongue running over his teeth as he thinks, then lifts their joined hands -- gently presses a kiss to the back of Anduin's. It feels... forward, but he has to do something. He has to make sure he understands, somehow.

"Thank you."

Another slow smile spreads its way across Anduin's face, in response to the gesture. It's soft, gentle. Wrathion has obviously never done a thing like this in his life. But he is doing it for Anduin himself, and that means something.

"You are most welcome," Anduin says, softly. His fingers curl slightly where they rest against Wrathion's chest and he strokes his thumb back and forth for a moment before tapping them gently against his bare skin.

"Not that I object, by any means," he says, a bit self-consciously. "But you are welcome to put your shirt back on. If you are getting cold."

"Dragons do not feel cold."

Said near enough reflexively. He swallows, manages to let go of Anduin and reach for the shirt anyway -- now self-conscious himself.

"Forgive me, I was -- waiting for the cuts to dry, as you instructed."

After he bathed them. Which was... a little bit ago now but, then he became... distracted.

He didn't really mean to sit around shirtless, it just... happened. Anduin regularly manages to make Wrathion's mind drift. It's a talent.

Anduin regrets the contact almost immediately, as Wrathion releases him. Though he takes the opportunity as Wrathion is pre-occupied with his shirt to shift and set the bowl of water aside, before they accidentally spill it all over the bed somehow.

"It's alright," Anduin says, turning back to Wrathion with a smile. "I am sorry I could not do more to heal them. I can help you keep them clean and bandaged, if they do get any worse."

He hesitates for a moment longer, before continuing to hesitantly ask, "Will you stay tonight? It's late, and I. Would rather that you stayed. If only for tonight."

Stay.

Wrathion regards Anduin warily, adjusting his shirt. The dissonance of being asked to re-dress and then to stay gives him pause. What is the meaning of it? What manner of quality is it Anduin seeks?

"If that is what you wish of me," he allows. "It seems I am unable to deny you."

Whatever it is Anduin wants, Wrathion will give.

A little thrill of warmth goes through Anduin at those words, and Anduin thinks it is perhaps for the best that Wrathion has put his shirt back on, for all that he does miss being able to see, to touch his bare skin.

It seems I am unable to deny you.

His cheeks coloring slightly, Anduin offers him a smile in return.

"Well then," he replies. "In that case, yes. I would like it very much. I am hardly about to send you out my window into the dark, in the middle of the night. And besides..."

He flicks Wrathion another self-conscious smile. "You have shared your warm bed with me before. Now, it is my turn."

Ah.

The bed.

Wrathion lets his eyes run over it, thoughtful. Something in him finds the idea appealing, the concept of being so close to Anduin. Of curling up in the sheets with him, falling asleep tangled with him.

If he could even sleep under those circumstances. The thought of it is already making his heart race.

"You're certain?" he prompts. This somehow feels more... real than sharing blankets on the floor of the house they'd occupied in Taravast. He hesitates, then adds, "I don't doubt you've noticed I'm a restless sleeper."

He'd prefer to pretend otherwise, but by this point Anduin had to know.

Anduin reaches to place a gentle hand on Wrathion's arm, offering an equally gentle smile at Wrathion's hesitation.

"I will be fine," he reassures. "This bed is really quite comfortable, for the spare room of an empty house. And with you here with me to keep me warm? I am sure I will sleep better than I have in months."

He really has no way of knowing that, in truth. He will likely be very self-conscious of himself, at least at first. He is already quite self-conscious of himself now. But he is also equally certain that this is what he wants.

If he can just keep him here with him, for this one night. Come what may. It will not be enough, it will never be enough. But it will have been something.

Edited 2022-03-21 14:30 (UTC)

Well, that he can certainly do.

Wrathion squeezes Anduin's hand clasped in his, then withdraws just enough to sit more on the edge of the bed. He leans down to begin pulling off his boots, setting them aside and moving to stand.

"If warmth is what you desire, you've picked the right person."

He picks up his coat from the edge of the bed and re-folds it loosely, moving to set it away to one side then moving his boots closer and beginning to draw off his socks. He tucks them inside his footwear and then begins to carefully unlace his trousers.

"Do you have something I can tie my hair with?"

So it doesn't end up a horrendous tangle when he wakes. He didn't bring anything, since he wasn't actually expecting to sleep here.

Anduin watches as Wrathion leans forward to tug off his boots, his eyes lingering for perhaps a little too long, only managing to tear himself away once Wrathion begins to unlace his trousers.

"Ah, yes," he says, moving to push himself to stand and cross the room towards his bag. Anduin has long hair himself, and being taken to having it tied back more often than not, he's managed to acquire a number of ties for it over his time here.

"This should work," he says, producing one and padding back across the room to hand it to Wrathion.

He supposes he should get ready for bed as well. It isn't as though they have not gone through these motions any number of times before. But not to lie down together. Not like this. It adds a certain level of consciousness to every action he takes, where he might not otherwise be aware of himself.

Wrathion folds his trousers neatly and places them in the small pile with his coat and socks, turns to take the tie and begins finger combing it back.

"Thank you," he murmurs, and begins to twist hair back out of his face and tie it. "I'm afraid I didn't come... prepared for this."

You know. For staying the night and sleeping here. He tugs absently at his shirt, but given he just put it on he supposes he should... keep it on. Crossing over he sits on the edge of the bed, glancing over it then at Anduin.

"I am shocked," Anduin says, sounding more amused than anything. He steps back a little, towards his pack where it sits on the opposite wall, and begins to tug off his socks and starts unlacing his trousers as well. He'll never be able to sleep if he doesn't at least remove that much.

He glances over his shoulder, casting the flick of a smile in Wrathion's direction.

"You're fine," he reassures, gently. "It isn't as though you could have predicted I might ask." His smile quirks a little wider. "It isn't as though I was exactly sure that you'd agree."

Wrathion blinks at that, tilts his head and offers a faint smile in return.

"As has been established, I cannot deny you."

He leans back on his hands, watching Anduin curiously. He doesn't see any particular reason not to look, after all. If the man did not wish himself to be known he could easily have not undressed, and it seems like it would be a desire at odds with choosing to share a bed with him.

That, and... perhaps he'd like to see.

Those words again.

"So you have said."

Anduin's cheeks flush as he turns back toward his pack. He ducks his head slightly. He can feel the weight of Wrathion's eyes on him, and he does not need to look back over his shoulder to understand that he is still watching him. The thought of it sends an odd thrill of sensation through him. Also a little bit of nerves. They have undressed in the room with each other before, and he has always been aware of how difficult it's been not to watch Wrathion himself. But never the other way around. The idea of it is... New, but not unwelcome.

"How do your own 'family' accommodations compare, now that you have been allowed inside the house?" Anduin asks, understanding that he is making idle smalltalk but unable to stop himself, when the other option is to knowingly continue undressing in front of Wrathion without it.

With the added buffer of conversation, he's given himself enough courage to continue unlacing his trousers, then slipping them off to fold beside his pack. He hesitates for another fraction of a second before deciding he's already come this far, so he reaches for the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and over his shoulders, before crouching to dig around in his pack for his sleepshirt. This is normal, yes? Entirely normal...

It takes all Wrathion's considerable self control to stay put as Anduin begins to undress. His shirt is pulled over his head and Wrathion surveys the expanse of skin, the faint imperfections he can make out from this distance. Life has treated him unkindly, but Anduin is still quite the vision. He's seen him undress before, but never with the knowledge that he might be permitted to notice.

The thought makes his heart hammer.

"More relaxed than yours," he admits. "As it happens, several of my household have connections to yours. It appears I am not the only one making illicit excursions under cover of darkness."

He moves up the bed for something to do, carefully peeling back the blankets and situating himself on one side. He props himself up against the edge and tries to embody an air of insouciance, bare ankles crossed as he waits patiently.

It makes Anduin smile, as he reaches to pull his shirt out of his pack and slips it on over his head. The image of it -- perhaps a group of them together, sneaking around in the dark, trying to breach the fortress that Lan Wangji has made of this house. He doesn't need Wrathion to name him directly to understand exactly who has made this house so impenetrable.

"I don't suppose it would be very difficult at all to be more relaxed than this place," Anduin replies, turning back to Wrathion, amused.

His smile warms as he catches sight of Wrathion's position on the bed and he takes a few tentative steps forward, moving to take a seat on the edge of the bed beside him.

"Comfortable?" he asks, softly.

It's sometimes difficult to remember how quickly time passes for humans.

There was a time Anduin was much slighter, his shoulders less broad. A time he struggled to walk, weak from his long recovery. A time his hair was shorter, his eyes less shadowed, face less lined.

Now, as Anduin sits on the edge of the bed he's a young man. A king, carrying countless burdens.

Wrathion does not deserve such easy atonement, does not deserve the grace of this man's forgiveness. His gentle smile.

Oh, but he wants it anyway. He wants it, selfish to the last. Wants the soft tones of Anduin's voice, the soothing melody of his laugh, the affection in his light corrections. He feels like a desperate addict, eager to take anything he is offered. To hold on to anything Anduin will give him for the scant time they have together.

It will not be long before the lines in this young man's face deepen, before the colour in his hair fades.

"Quite," he says, and rips his gaze away from Anduin to idly explore the room. "This bed is suitable for me. I was wonder where you might sleep."

Joking. It's a joke.

Anduin rolls his eyes at that, reaching out a hand to give Wrathion's legs an affectionate shove.

"You will make room for me, you great beast," he replies with the huff of a laugh, crawling up the bed to settle himself at Wrathion's side. He takes a few moments to situate himself, crawling under the blankets and tugging them up to his waist before he turns toward Wrathion with a sheepish smile.

This is... Odd. It feels more than a little strange, to be tucked into bed with him like this. But not unwelcome. Certainly not.

"This bed is more than large enough for the pair of us to share, such as it is," he explains. "Besides. I distinctly remember the offer that you would keep me warm tonight. Or have you forgotten so quickly?"

Wrathion watches Anduin as he shoves at his legs, as he crawls up the bed and settles himself in -- drawing he blanket up over them both.

"I have not forgotten."

He considers Anduin a long moment, body frozen with the preternatural stillness of a predator waiting for the moment to strike, then slips sideways -- turns to straddle Anduin's legs so he can face him as they speak.

The skin of his bare calves presses against Anduin, and his pulse begins to race in anticipation. With Anduin laid out beneath him, something primal in him claws for freedom. For the right to possess this human, to sink his claws and teeth into his skin and hold on. He feels unsteady for a moment, but has enough practice by now to stay relatively cool on the surface. A slight tilt of his head gives away that he's thinking before he speaks again.

"I'll have to leave before your household wakes up," he says finally, "to give myself time to return to the farmhouse and change. If your curfew here persists, you might visit me occasionally. You'll be permitted through the front door there, at least."

Less sneaking involved. There's a long, tense pause before he moves again suddenly -- slips off Anduin and moves to lay himself down beside him.

[ CLOSED ]

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