Wrathion hesitates, surprised by the touch. Anduin is... warm, as warm as he remembers. The soft fall of his hair, the clean scent of soap.
His heart stutters in his chest, and he can't help but wonder --
Why?
At the same time, a selfish part of him doesn't want this to end. Anduin is offering this kindness, unwitting, and to indulge would be to abuse it. Wrathion supposes he's never been a wholly good person. He lifts a hand slowly, sliding his arm around Anduin in turn.
"You're most welcome," he offers a little quieter, "but I'd rather avoid a repeat if it's all the same to you. Running you through with a blade once was unpleasant enough."
He knows, of course, knows it wasn't Anduin but that's still a memory he has to live with now. The feel of it, the brief flicker of expression across Anduin's face, and the pervasive fear that at any point he might have made a lethal mistake.
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Wrathion hesitates, surprised by the touch. Anduin is... warm, as warm as he remembers. The soft fall of his hair, the clean scent of soap.
His heart stutters in his chest, and he can't help but wonder --
Why?
At the same time, a selfish part of him doesn't want this to end. Anduin is offering this kindness, unwitting, and to indulge would be to abuse it. Wrathion supposes he's never been a wholly good person. He lifts a hand slowly, sliding his arm around Anduin in turn.
"You're most welcome," he offers a little quieter, "but I'd rather avoid a repeat if it's all the same to you. Running you through with a blade once was unpleasant enough."
He knows, of course, knows it wasn't Anduin but that's still a memory he has to live with now. The feel of it, the brief flicker of expression across Anduin's face, and the pervasive fear that at any point he might have made a lethal mistake.