̶W̶R̶A̶T̶H̶I̶O̶N̶ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
blackscales) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
westwhere2022-02-25 09:50 pm
blackscales) wrote in westwhere2022-02-25 09:50 pm
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.
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.
no subject
Wrathion doesn't know what it is. It's a gentleness he is unused to, a level of care that is... difficult to process. He doesn't know that anyone has ever cared for him so wholly as Anduin Wrynn does.
He swallows, shuffles his grip on Anduin to squeeze him a little tighter.
"Well," he allows, "right now I am feeling sufficiently well guarded."
no subject
Therefore, when Wrathion shifts his grip and squeezes him close -- perhaps a little bit tighter than is comfortable -- Anduin makes no comment. Instead he moves his own hand on Wrathion's back, rubbing slightly, breathing in the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his shirt.
"Good," he replies. "Because should anyone appear through that door just now, I am prepared to fight them for you." Mostly.
no subject
Wrathion huffs in amusement, imagining this. Anduin Wrynn, leaping out of bed to defend him half dressed. He thinks he wouldn't mind watching that.
"I should put up a sign," he murmurs, "like they do for dangerous dogs. Beware of the priest."
Feral priest on the loose. What would the Church of the Holy Light say about such a thing? Then again, he's not entirely sure what they'd say about laying down with a black dragon to begin with. No doubt it is at least frowned upon to some degree.
no subject
"A sign on my own door?" he asks, trying to imagine what his housemates might think of such a thing and smiling at the thought. "Well... I suppose it would only be right to give them a fair warning."
Anduin shifts slightly against Wrathion's chest, rubbing his cheek against the fabric of Wrathion's shirt as he considers it.
"Your guard priest?" he muses, obviously amused by the idea of it himself.
no subject
It's hardly seen a lot of use here, after all. Perhaps this would give him something to do with it, if he was so inclined. Stand around outside whatever room Wrathion chose to be in, playing at being a guard.
no subject
"Shalamayne would help me look quite threatening," he agrees. "Surely only someone who is truly fearsome would be able to wield such an impressive weapon, yes?"
In truth, Anduin is no master of Shalamayne himself. But he's trained with it enough to be able to wield the greatsword in battle, which must count for something.
no subject
Such a legend? A blade passed down from father to son? Heavy, battle-forged, used in several memorable battles? Surely this is it, yes?
no subject
Anduin won't say he isn't at least strong. He's had to be, to wield Shalamayne of course, and to be able to fight in the decorative plate armor they've given him without falling over. Horseback riding helps with that, of course, and he's always had a passion for riding. Genetics gave him a bit of a boost as well, and while he has been told he more resembles his mother, there is no denying he is the son of Varian Wrynn.
"And what of the men who wear dangerously low-cut tops in my presence?" Anduin asks, after a moment. He shifts a hand to rest on Wrathion's chest, just in case it wasn't clear just who he was thinking about here.
no subject
"Do you object to such a sight? I can cover up more if the vision of my chest offends you."
It certainly doesn't seem like it. If anything, he'd suspect Anduin appreciates the sight of his chest on display. He thinks a moment, then his lips twitch in a barely suppressed smile.
"Perhaps you should wear something in the same style yourself."
Display himself a little more, so they're equal. How's that?
no subject
"Perhaps I should," he agrees. "In self-defense? Or to further demonstrate how powerful and strong I am. Just in case there should be any doubts, with the sword and all."
He hums, as if in thought. "Perhaps this is why you wear such a style yourself? Lest any of us fall in danger of forgetting how attractive you are, surely we cannot with so much of you on display."