westwhere | [closed] Somewhere in the distance, I heard you calling

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[closed] Somewhere in the distance, I heard you calling

WHO: Anduin Wrynn & Wrathion
WHEN: Post-Baby Dragon Drama
WHERE: Wrathion & Anduin's shared abode
WHAT: "Seeing Wrathion distraught take 2, but this time it wasn't obscurely caused by magic"
WARNINGS: none more than the baby dragon incident, will edit as needed!

Anduin sits at the little table in his shared rooms with Wrathion, nursing a cup of tea and trying to pretend like he isn't fretting about his companion, waiting for the sound of that frankly ridiculous door to signal his arrival.

It has been a very long day, following an even longer night. After the news of the dragons from Eidris, he isn't certain how much Wrathion had slept, if at all. He isn't certain how much he had slept, come to that. Wrathion does not like to wear his emotions on his sleeve, as Anduin himself, but it had been clear the possibilities weighed on him. The uncertainty, of what could be.

The wait for the morning and the next crossing to be possible had been excruciating. When morning finally does dawn, Anduin recognizes that Wrathion does not need him tagging along. He has already made plans to do further investigation with Wei Wuxian, and there are tasks that he can do here in Minaras, to try and get to the bottom of this. Still... It had been difficult, to stay behind.

Glancing aside at the mechanical wolf where it has powered down for the day once more, Anduin wishes in this moment that it were a real dog. That he could at least take comfort in petting it.

That he might have heard at least something from Wrathion since he left this morning, that might ease the growing knot in his stomach. No. He would have sent word if something had happened, if he could not return. Anduin takes another sip of tea and wonders whether he should prepare a second pot.

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Such a thing would be easier to answer if Wrathion knew what, in truth, he needed.

He does not.

Instead, he lets out a grumble of discomfort, slowly attempts to loosen his grip.

"Something to drink, at least," he says finally. He did have a glass Anduin poured him, but he's left it aside with little more than a sip. Drawing back, Wrathion looks a toucher paler than is natural. He picks up his glass and takes a bigger drink this time, trying to steady himself. Both hands fix around it, as if to keep his grip firm -- and perhaps to hide any quake they might develop.

Anduin's frown deepens as Wrathion steps away from him. He takes the opportunity to study his companion as he does, and he does not like what he sees there. The cracks in his facade are starting to visibly deepen, for all that Wrathion may want to try and pretend otherwise. And Anduin knows that he does. That he'd like nothing better than to patch it all over and pretend he was untouchable. Invulnerable.

Anduin knows from experience that such things never work. That you can bottle your problems up as much as you like, but there comes a point when they'll come spilling out over the edge.

The alcohol in the drink that Wrathion is clinging to might take the edge off of his nerves, but it will not be a comfort to him. Anduin hopes he is not being too presumptuous, as he closes the distance between them once more, placing a hand on the small of Wrathion's back as he does.

"Come," he says again, making to direct him again towards the little kitchen once more. "I will make you something warm."

Wrathion sways into the touch easily, turning to press his face against Anduin's hair for a moment before allowing himself to be guided along. He's not sure exactly what the man plans, but whatever it is he's sure is likely better than continually drinking just alcohol.

"Something for yourself too?" he prompts softly. He did say he hadn't eaten, after all. He doesn't want Anduin to neglect himself in favour of Wrathion, however much he is in a way enjoying the comfort and attention.

"Something for myself as well," Anduin agrees, moving his hand to rest more securely around his companion's waist as they walk. He is not truly hungry himself, but he should eat. Keep his strength up, especially when Wrathion is feeling so low. He resolves to grab something quick as they make their way to the counter and Anduin presses a kiss into Wrathion's hair before stepping away to ready his supplies.

Setting a pair of pots on the stove, Anduin moves to the cupboard to fetch down a small, unassuming box.

"Jaina would always make me peacebloom tea, whenever she felt I needed something to settle me," Anduin explains. "But she had other responsibilities, naturally, as I was growing up, and a great deal of the time the duty of comforting me fell to Wyll. He was... A servant in the keep, but he grew to be much more to me than that. And -- this is what he would make for me."

Opening up the box, he selects a square of chocolate, breaking it into small pieces into the pot. He sets it onto the stove to heat before turning back to reach for Wrathion again, beckoning him closer.

Ah!

Understanding dawns quickly for Wrathion. He takes another sip of his drink, sets it aside as he watches Anduin work. Having something else to focus on does help, lets him redirect his mind from circling around things.

"Hermione made this for me, in Ellethia."

The similarities here are not, in fact, lost on him -- although here he has no magical doorway to blame for the way he is feeling. He supposes it is equally good the reaction is not quite so... violent. The hour long tremors had left him aching for quite some time, and the loss of control had been... unnerving to say the least. Here, at least, he does feel himself -- just.. greyer. More listless, defeated.

In Ellethia?

After the incident with the doorway. It takes Anduin a moment to make the connection, feeling a momentary twist of -- something at the memory of that time. Sitting at Wrathion's bedside, once he had fallen unconscious, and the encounter afterward, when he had had to leave. He had meant to be there for more, but...

It is no matter. He is here now.

"Hot chocolate," Anduin elaborates, just in case. "It will take a few minutes for me to prepare -- I do not have Hermione's skills I am afraid."

"There's no rush."

Wrathion lingers close to Anduin, trying not to get in his way but still gravitating to press into his side every opportunity he gets. The scent of hot chocolate is certainly perking his interest, although equally Wrathion leans to rest his face on Anduin's shoulder every so often. He doesn't seem to mind it, so the dragon doesn't see any particular reason to stop.

"Perhaps we should make sure we keep a stock."

Of hot chocolate. Should they fail to leave this place via the beacons and move on, they can bring some with them then. Just in case their next location doesn't have any such thing.

Anduin smiles softly at the suggestion.

"I would like that," he says, turning to press a kiss into Wrathion's hair as he monitors the temperature of the pot. Sliding away for just a moment to get the milk out of the icebox -- a real luxury in this world, to be sure -- before setting it on the stovetop to heat as well.

Anduin reaches for Wrathion again once there is nothing to do but stir pots and wait.

"I think this is one of the first things I was trusted to make on my own," he says. "After boiling water, I suppose."

Wrathion moves into the touch easily, eyes on the stove as he leans into Anduin.

"I must admit, I have little experience with cooking myself. It isn't strictly necessary."

Wrathion can, after all, hunt. He can drag a wild creature to the ground and eat it in his true form, no searing of the meat necessary -- although equally he can do that under his own power too. Sometimes he has, when the catch is to be shared with his staff. Easier for him to scorch the whole thing and then it can be cut up.

It takes Anduin a moment to understand exactly what Wrathion means by that. After all, he is only human, and thus his first response is to think like one. He has had some experience with raw food, but for cooking not to be necessary at all...?

Ah, yes. Dragon. He can't help but shake his head, smiling to himself as he wraps his free arm around Wrathion's waist and sways the pair of them together in place.

"I cannot say I have much myself," Anduin admits, although no doubt Wrathion has noticed as much by now. Has assumed. He suspects this channel of conversation is soothing, more helpful than allowing Wrathion to dwell on the day he has had however, and so he continues, "The chefs in Stormwind did allow me to help, sometimes. And some of the innkeepers, in Pandaria."

The swaying is, perhaps, a little much for Wrathion's dignity. It feels dangerously close to being rocked like an upset child, and he shoots a hesitant sideways glance toward Anduin as he begins.

"Your cooking repertoire extends to Pandaren food, then?"

Not that he thinks they're likely to find the ingredients here, but good to know should they find themselves somewhere else where they have the time and the ingredients are plentiful. He does miss good Pandaren food, after all.

Anduin meets Wrathion's gaze with the soft curl of his lips, although he does catch his intent in the look and stills the motion.

"As a matter of fact, it does," he replies, peering into the pot of milk for any sign of a simmer before turning back to the chocolate and stirring it as it melts. "I would not expect much of me, but given the chance -- I can make a few dishes."

He turns back to Wrathion with the wry twist of a smile. "Dumplings being among the number, of course."

Dumplings! Wrathion hums in thought, weight leaning into Anduin properly again once the swaying stops.

"Spicy shrimp dumplings I particularly miss."

In truth, he doesn't think he's had any particularly good dumplings for some time now. The thought is enough to make him feel hungry, and he frowns in thought at the stovetop.

Anduin hums in agreement with the thought, the mention of it making him feel a bit hungry himself.

"Yes," he says, giving the chocolate one last poke before taking it off the heat. "As well as Chun Tian Spring Rolls, and Seamist rice noodles. And... lotus buns."

The last said with a particular reverence. Although it should be no surprise. Wrathion should know of Anduin's affinity for lotus buns. And -- most Pandaran cuisine, for that matter. He had been injured, when they had first met, but it had certainly not affected his appetite.

"One day," Anduin promises, as he tips the milk into the chocolate and then begins to stir, "I will make these things for you."

"I look forward to it."

Wrathion shifts back a little to give Anduin space to work, watching curiously. The last thing they need is to be spilling hot liquid all over each other, after all. Still, he moves to retrieve two mugs and set them nearby. Hot chocolate was served to him in a mug before, and so he assumes that is right.

It is indeed right, and Anduin offers his companion a soft word of thanks as he finishes stirring the chocolate and milk together and begins to serve it out.

"They would always have something sweet to give me with this, in the kitchens in the keep," Anduin muses as he works. "A cookie or some sort of bun. You would not suppose it was necessary, as sweet as hot chocolate is. Though I think you will find I did not mind it."

He smiles softly at the memory of it. "Which I suppose was rather the point, in hindsight."

"Well," Wrathion says, "I think I have something sweet accompanying this already."

The hand he slips to rest at the small of Anduin's back hopefully indicates he isn't talking about food. Anduin is being very patient with him, and Wrathion does appreciate it. Does appreciate the space he's being afforded, the gentleness the priest is handling him with.

Anduin had been contemplating digging around in the cupboards to find whatever the next thing resembling cookies might be, but the hand on the small of his back stills him. Along with Wrathion's soft words of -- flirtation?

He turns to his companion, his cheeks slightly pinked but certainly not looking displeased by the attention, and offers him the twist of a smile in return.

Setting the now empty pot aside, he reaches up to run a hand through Wrathion's hair -- a different texture than his own, for the curls, but still soft. Tucking it back behind his ear with the motion. He has not forgotten the reason why the pair of them are standing here in this kitchen. Why Wrathion has found himself so in need of his comfort, just now. Wrathion very likely has not himself, for that matter. But Anduin figures he must be doing something right, that Wrathion can find it within himself for soft touches, and softer words.

"You are not so bad yourself," he replies, and gently tugs Wrathion in for a kiss.

Wrathion would not, exactly, have ever called himself sweet -- but he can appreciate the compliment nonetheless. It's always nice to get positive feedback.

Still, even despite the gently offered compliment Wrathion is still ill at ease. Anduin tugs him into a kiss and Wrathion cannot quite relax into it, keeps it chaste and breaks to rest his face into Anduin's neck eventually.

"Is it ready, then?"

He draws back, focus turning to the hot chocolate. It's a much better topic than him.

Anduin nods at the question, picking up a mug and pressing it into Wrathion's hands.

"I would warn you that it is still hot, but -- I suppose that I needn't worry about that, for you," he says, cocking his head to the side. Wrathion's very blood is hot enough to burn, after all. Hotter than the drink itself, Anduin is fairly certain. A little hot chocolate wouldn't hurt anything.

Picking up his own mug -- which he does have to wait to cool -- he moves to take Wrathion's hand.

"Come," he says, softly. "Let us go make ourselves comfortable."

Wrathion takes the cup, holding it easily with both hands at first and lifting it to inhale the scent of hot chocolate.

It is... pleasant. Sweet, rich. Certainly the liquid is hot, but Anduin is right -- that does not bother him. He takes a sip slowly, glances down and aside as Anduin offers him his hand. It's not... usually in his personality to allow himself to be led along. Especially not while feeling vulnerable, as if his defences are already in tatters.

Still. Rejection of this would likely be unwise. He hesitantly lets their fingers slide together, moves ahead so he's slowly drawing Anduin along instead of vice versa.

"You want to take these through?"

That had been the suggestion before, after all. So long as they don't spill them, he supposes, it should be fine.

Anduin does not mind being led himself, sliding his fingers through Wrathion's then trailing along after him.

"We'll be careful," he reassures his companion as they go. He did not wind up preparing any food so they do not need to worry about crumbs. Curling up in bed with blankets, hot chocolate, and his own personal furnace... Anduin counts himself lucky it is perpetually cooler here underground in Minaras.

"I have always found hot chocolate is better the more comfortable you are," Anduin explains, as they cross their little apartments.

That does sound sensible.

Wrathion takes a sip of the hot chocolate as they cross into the bedroom. It's certainly rich in flavour, as he expected, and he mulls that over as he sets the cup down on a bedside table.

"Then I suppose we had better get comfortable."

He begins slowly unwrapping the layers of his clothing, unfastening laces and freeing buttons. Presumably, if they are to lounge in bed then doing so fully dressed would not be appropriate? Still, he does so carefully -- allowing enough time for him to register if Anduin is doing the same or if he's alone in his undressing. If Anduin did, after all, intend to stay dressed then he can... pass it off as him loosening his clothing and just climb onto the bed this way.

Anduin moves to set his own mug down, blinking slightly as Wrathion reaches for the laces on his clothing. It -- does make sense though. If they are to get comfortable, then they should be comfortable.

"I suppose that we should," he agrees, offering a smile and reaching for the fastenings on his own vest.

For better or worse, the clothing he wears for his own role is decidedly less complicated than Wrathion's, with fewer amounts of layers besides. A bounty hunter does not need to look nice. It is some of the most practical attire he has ever worn, in that regard.

Wrathion's shawl is folded and set aside, his vest unbuttoned and removed, his shirt unlaced and pulled clear of his rumpled hair. Everything is neatly hung up, ready to sorted out at another time. Satisfied, he begins unbuckling his belt -- coiling it and stashing it away in a drawer.

"You're sure you won't be hungry?" he prompts, picking up a hair tie and a comb to begin pulling back his curls more tidily. "We can go back for something later, of course, although once you're comfortable that may be less appealing."

After they've curled up in the pile of blankets and cushions Wrathion has fashioned, he can only assume comfort may take precedence over food.

[closed] Somewhere in the distance, I heard you calling

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