westwhere | [ CLOSED ] Twisting, constricted

It falls open, the last button giving way easily afterwards, and Wrathion realises if he wanted it off he'd still have to let go of the blanket.

"It fastens in the normal way," he protests, and shifts one hand from clasping the blankets in place to run over Anduin's own jacket thoughtfully. What if he did the same for Anduin? Is that too forward? He has no idea, but the concept is... pleasant. They could press together more comfortably. His eyes flit up to Anduin's face, trying to read what the man himself wants. Will he be cold if Anduin removes layers from him? Or will the proximity to Wrathion's own warmth keep him comfortable?

Anduin supposes that Wrathion is right, that the issue is more with his own experience than the jacket itself. Regardless, he does manage to get all the buttons undone -- which leaves the pair of them with a larger question of, where to now?

He glances down to catch the movement of Wrathion's hand against the front of his own, raising his gaze to meet Wrathion's in return. Oh. Well, it might be somewhat cool in the cave itself, but they do have the blanket and besides that. Wrathion is his own source of heat in and of himself.

Anduin offers his companion an encouraging smile.

"Please," he says, softly.

Well, that's certainly encouragement. He does feel... encouraged. Wrathion shifts to clutch the blanket more firmly and begins to make a one-handed attempt to undo Anduin's buttons. It's slow progress, but oddly that seems to... add to it. To build anticipation.

Wrathion is not sure what, exactly, he is anticipating -- not sure what this is all building to but it's... enjoyable. He likes the tease of it, likes the way Anduin smiles at him.

By the time Wrathion is at the third button he's gotten into the rhythm of how to do this one handed, but his impatience is also starting to set in. He makes a soft sound of frustration as he undoes the fourth, and grumbles as he eyes the vest underneath.

"You always dress as if you're attending a formal event."

In truth, Anduin is not entirely certain of where this is going either, but he is enjoying it himself as well. This quiet moment between the pair of them, where they can just take their time and explore together.

He flashes Wrathion a smile himself, in response to the tease. He isn't wrong, necessarily. As much as he had prodded Wrathion on his choice in attire, Anduin's own clothing is hardly simple.

He tilts his head at Wrathion, in what might possibly be considered a challenge.

"Usually," he replies, wryly, "I am."

Wrathion's eyes lift from Anduin's vest to meet the pale, icy blue of the priest's own. He fumbles open the vest buttons one handed, then eases that hand underneath it, seeking to press at Anduin's lower back through the thin layer of his shirt.

"You needn't dress up on my account," he murmurs, "although, of course, I can appreciate the result -- buttons aside."

Anduin does look good, even if shedding all those layers is a slow and frustrating process.

"Buttons aside," Anduin repeats, amused. Anduin has not had a lot of time to acquire too many more outfits -- for the most part he has only been adding the odd piece here and there to the court attire he had arrived in. This does mean that he winds up looking more formal than not, but. It is also as much habit as anything else. Clothing can be an armor as much as an ornament.

"It suits me," he declares, after a moment, leaning into the press of Wrathion's warm hand against his back -- only the fine linen of his shirt now separating Wrathion's hand and his skin. "Just as your attire suits you," he adds, tilting his head to the side with a smile.

You know. The whole open shirt bit. Anduin's just saying, he approves.

He swallows, eyes still locked on Anduin.

His chest aches, and he feels dizzy with some whirl of emotion. It's too much, too strong, and he should distance himself from it until he better understands it --

Yet he can't. It's heady, addictive this way that Anduin makes him feel. He wants more of it.

Wrathion's fingers gently bunch up in the back of Anduin's shirt, begin to carefully pull at it to untuck it then slide underneath to press directly against the small of his back.

"I'm glad you approve," he whispers.

He doesn't know why he's whispering. It feels right, somehow. More intimate, private.

Anduin swallows thickly as he feels Wrathion pull the back of his shirt out from where he had it tucked into his trousers, as he feels Wrathion's large, warm hand settle on his back. He can feel his heartbeat picking up at the touch of skin on skin, the rough whisper of Wrathion's voice, and wonders if Wrathion can sense it, being inherently non-human as he is.

He wonders, distantly, whether he should be reciprocating this gentle exploration. As it is, he's fastened his hands on Wrathion's shoulders -- as much to keep himself steady as to keep himself safe. He is sitting on Wrathion's lap, after all, and while he's enjoying this, he's not quite certain exactly where Wrathion would like for it to lead. He wouldn't like to give the wrong impression if he were to... Start enjoying it a little too much.

He flushes, wondering if such a thing may be inevitable, regardless.

"I do," he replies, pitching his voice equally as soft. Changing to move a hand to place it just there, in the center of his chest, the skin already exposed as his shirt and jacket never manage to cover the spot. "What was it you said about low-cut shirts drawing the attention? It does that."

"Yours is the only attention I desire."

Wrathion lets his fingers rub gentle circles into the small of Anduin's back, eyes half-lidding as he shuffles to press their bodies more fully together -- to bury his face into Anduin's neck.

His scent invades the dragons senses, and he lets out a low rumble of pleasure as warmth coils in his body.

"I'm glad you are here," he murmurs, "with me."

Anduin can't put an exact word on the way that it makes him feel to hear that. Yours is the only attention I desire. It makes him feel good though, in a possessive sort of way that should make him feel uncomfortable. It only makes him happy though, to know that Wrathion should desire his affections as much as he has desired Wrathion's in return. This handsome man, who really could have anyone he wanted, if he liked...

He turns his face into Wrathion's hair, burying his face in his curls and trying to remind himself to keep breathing -- that this is real.

"Of course I am," Anduin replies, lifting his free hand to run through Wrathion's hair. "I am right where I want to be."

The hand smoothing through his hair makes Wrathion's rumble of contentment redouble, a pleasurable tingle crawling over his skull.

"As am I," he answers. That's probably obvious, given his previous statements. He's starting to talk nonsense, why is that? He should be more -- more charming, articulate. Tongue running over his teeth, Wrathion pulls back and reaches to smooth back Anduin's hair. Some primal urge shudders under his skin, and he leans in to gently press a kiss to Anduin's neck, to a small patch of shoulder he can just about reach.

He's never... felt quite like this before, this focused interest in Anduin. The distracting flood of thoughts associated with him, making it hard to consider anything else.

Anduin's breath catches slightly as Wrathion dips forward to kiss at his neck, his head tipping back unconsciously to give his companion better access.

Anduin's fingers tighten despite himself where he's tangled them in Wrathion's curls. It feels good. The warm press of Wrathion's lips. The slight scratching of his beard. Fingers, gently stroking through his hair...

Anduin has been doing his best to keep a fairly tight grip on his reactions, but that grip is slipping further and further, with each brush of Wrathion's fingers -- and now his lips.

"Wrathion..." he murmurs, shifting in his lap to press himself ever-so-slightly closer.

Wrathion draws back at the sound of his name, eyes unfocused as he studies Anduin.

Why is he saying his name? Is he drawing his attention for a reason? Encouragement? Protest?

The hand resting on Anduin's back moves as his arm curls more around him, nails digging into the priest's side as he holds him close. The press into his lap is not unwelcome.

"Yes," he responds, a little drunk with the warmth and stimulation. He can feel himself balking, shying at the threshold. The contact is good, pleasurable, and he wants more of it -- yet the lack of knowledge leaves him uneasy. There's a high chance he could make a fool of himself here. How experienced Anduin is still remains a mystery, but Wrathion suspects he is in some way more so. He's at least a little more confident in directing their kisses.

"If I am being too... forward, tell me."

Wrathion's senses tell him that Anduin is interested, but the mind and body don't always agree. Always better to check.

Anduin cannot help the somewhat confused expression which passes over his face as Wrathion pulls away again. Too forward? He can't think what would have given him that impression. It's all that Anduin can do to keep himself from rocking himself on Wrathion's lap, and Wrathion is wondering if he is being too forward?

"No, not at all," Anduin assures, trying to do his best to rein himself back in. "It's nice, I -- I like this." He flashes Wrathion what he hopes is a reassuring smile, moving a hand to brace gently on his arm. "I like you."

Now that he's given himself a moment to cool down, he notices the semi-wild look in his companion's eyes, the way that his fingers are digging in just a little too hard.

Anduin strokes his fingers in place against Wrathion's arm. "But this is not only about my comfort."

The gentle touch to his arm has Wrathion twitching in place, tension alerting him to even the slightest contact from Anduin.

"Yes, of course," he says. He doesn't really know what he's agreeing with. That it isn't just about Anduin's comfort? That it's nice? That Anduin likes him?

He hesitates, trying to decide the best way forward. To address this, to navigate these waters without any sort of directional guide.

"You have experience with this?"

Not that it -- changes much. He feels like he might be stalling, digging his heels in to slow this down while somehow also desperately wanting to throw himself into it. It feels like he's on the threshold here, and perhaps if he could just push himself over and through everything would be fine but -- but getting there without a solid plan is proving... challenging.

While it has been obvious, at least in some regards, that Wrathion has been enjoying this moment of privacy they have found together -- it has been equally clear that Wrathion is not entirely comfortable with himself in the contact either. Anduin can feel him practically vibrating with tension, and while some of that may be excited anticipation, he's starting to wonder if a larger amount than he'd realized may indeed be... Nerves.

He hums softly at the question, before nodding his assent. It would be silly to pretend otherwise, when all of the signs are there.

"I do, a little," he admits. "It wasn't... Easy. I mean. Most of the people at court -- have expectations of me. But I -- do sneak out. Sometimes."

Well, that's one suspicion confirmed. Wrathion nods in understanding, mind whirling a little as he tries to decide what to do with this information.

"Quite the rebel," he responds. "I'm surprised you go unrecognised."

Anduin Wrynn has, in his opinion, a distinctive look. His pale blue eyes, his fine blond hair, elegant features. Who could possibly mistake him for anything but the King of Stormwind?

"Well..." Anduin hedges. He's honestly surprised he has thus far as well, if he's being honest. He isn't so sure that there aren't some who aren't just being polite. Although he appreciates that, for what it's worth. His people do love him, as he loves them in return.

"I wear a disguise," he says, at last. Flicking his eyes up to meet Wrathion's, to judge his reaction as he offers him a rather self-conscious smile, as he continues to explain, "And... I darken my hair. I don't suppose that people expect to find the king, sharing an ale in the tavern with the common folk. Dressed in plain clothes and, you know. Not surrounded by guards."

He offers a half-hearted shrug, his eyes falling to rest somewhere in the middle of Wrathion's chest as he continues, "Guards make it rather difficult to do a lot of things, if I am being honest."

"You've managed to evade them successfully, however."

In Pandaria, and more recently as well. Wrathion considers that, head tilted.

"I can't imagine you with dark hair."

He's always had this halo of bright gold, of warm sunshine that matches the warmth of his personality. The thought of him with dark hair feels impossibly strange, as if it shouldn't exist. An alternate version of Anduin, perhaps, who took more after his father in looks. Long dark hair, perhaps a more fixed frown that was less of concern and more of distaste.

"No?" Anduin asks, tilting his head to the side with a smile. He reaches a hand forward to tuck a curl of dark hair behind Wrathion's hair himself, playing the softness of it between his fingers as he does.

"I suppose that no one else could either," he observes. "I didn't let many people get all that close. It was not a very good disguise, if you must know. But I just needed to..."

He shrugs again.

"Not be myself, for a while. And I suppose that -- while I was someone else, I did manage to learn some things."

Wrathion's eyes flutter a little at the gentle touch to his hair, at the feel of Anduin shifting in his arms to perform this act.

"Did you?" he prompts, trying to imagine what Anduin is even implying. Learn some things? Something from his people? Not how to form a better disguise, from the sound of it. Is he still talking about... acts of intimacy? Has Anduin been out kissing people in disguise? It's a bewildering thought, and Wrathion isn't entirely sure what to make of it. A lot more daring than he imagined Anduin's adventures to be, but -- well. Admittedly, he did remove himself from Anduin's life for several years.

"I did," Anduin hums, in agreement. The corners of his lips flick up into a smile at the way that Wrathion reacts to even so simple a touch, and he cannot help moving his hand to thread his fingers through Wrathion's curls again, scratching his nails gently against Wrathion's scalp.

"My advisors gave me the best education they could. But there are some things that a person must come to know for themselves. Like... this," he says, scratching his nails against Wrathion's scalp again. "And... This."

He slides his hand back to cup the back of Wrathion's head, sitting forward on his lap and gently pressing his lips to his companion's once more.

Ah.

He... isn't sure he enjoys the thought of Anduin doing this with other people. The touch is nice, of course, and the kiss is nice -- but the thought of Anduin kissing other people stirs the embers of his jealousy.

Strangers.

Strangers while he was out in disguise.

Did they mean anything to him? Or were they simply... educational encounters? Exploratory?

He doesn't want to hear about them. He does, but he doesn't. He wants to know, but he doesn't want to have to imagine it.

Wrathion's returning of the kiss is more wary this time, distracted, even if his arm still stays firmly wrapped around the other man -- fingers of his other hand still keeping the blanket in place.

Anduin likes touching Wrathion. He likes sitting on his lap like this, he likes kissing him. He can tell, that there is something on Wrathion's mind, however. That Wrathion isn't quite enjoying this as much as he had been previously, and he can't help but wonder why. If perhaps it doesn't have something to do with... Him, for that matter.

He sits back after another moment, carding his fingers through Wrathion's hair again, offering him a softer smile before letting his hand fall to rest on Wrathion's shoulder. Wrathion's blanket is still firmly wrapped around the pair of them, and he appreciates that fact. At least he has not done anything to make him so uncomfortable as to abandon their cocoon of warmth.

"We — don’t have to…" he says, moving to cup Wrathion’s face with a gentle hand. Not even quite sure what it is that he’s saying, but he wants to be reassuring nevertheless. He feels as though Wrathion needs it, somehow.

Edited 2022-05-30 14:09 (UTC)

Wrathion blinks at that, adjusting his grip as Anduin sits back.

Don't have to what? Has he done something to give Anduin the impression he doesn't want this? He was returning the kiss, was he not?

He leans into the touch to his face, savouring the contact.

"I can assure you, there is no shortage of desire in me."

Instincts war. He wants to kiss Anduin again, to question him, to hold him closer, or maybe to go to work peeling back more clothing layers. Undecided, he simply waits -- face rubbing affectionately against Anduin's hand.

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