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[ It's a good look for him, admittedly. Though used to Wrathon's general bravado, this is a different animal entirely. The sensuality of it is deliberate, the way his lips glisten wetly as he draws back and the slow burn of his gaze, as if daring him not to look away.

There's no hiding how pink he is now, even in the low light. The ropes strain with the unsteady rise and fall of his chest, which of course tugs at everything else, tightening those knots and pulling them closer and he can feel where it hitches up between his thighs in time with those shortened breaths.

Close to where Wrathion is currently resting his head, at the moment. ]

Somehow...I don't think you'd mind all that much.

[ It would certainly be a boost to his ego, wouldn't it? ]

Perhaps not. But I imagine it might dampen your desire to reattempt, if I were so careless.

[He is not entirely unaware of the concept that actions have consequences -- he is just used to avoiding them for as long as possible while still doing exactly what he wants.

Still, he's declared his intent, which means Anduin will have to wait a moment longer to have Wrathion's attention back upon his cock. The dragon stands, stretching upwards as he does, and proceeds to guide him back to the mattress. The light near the mirror fades as he puts distance between them and the spell.

When they reach the bed, Wrathion has the presence of mind to guide Anduin down to his back this time rather than just sitting him upright. Once that is done, he returns a hand to massaging his cock, spreading the saliva already present rather than adding to it. He has better control of the progression of things, this way.

But that does not stop his tongue from sliding thoughtfully across his canines.]

After all, there exists an entire library of additional things to add to the...experience.

[ The moments between are actually a boon. It lets him settle back into his own skin once more, catching his breath as his bare feet pad across the carpet.

He can't help but be grateful he'd chosen to have his hands tied in front when Wrathion presses him back into the sheets, and Anduin draws up a knee to catch his heel on the edge of the mattress, pulling himself up as best he can to make room. The dragon has all the appearance of a large predatory animal settling in for a meal, the way he drapes himself nearby with his gaze full of promise.

The blond's tongue darts over his lips almost in answer, eyelids fluttering slightly at the renewed touch to his cock, now fully hard and standing proudly, glistening wetly in the candlelight as strong, warm fingers wind and glide around him. ]

You sound like you have something in mind, already...

[ Harder to tease when he already sounds a little breathless. ]

A few things, truth be told.

[His hand continues to shuttle lazily, the other gently playing across his chest and pausing to flick a nipple as his fingers wander past. The dragon's eyes lift to the ajar armoire, but he makes no movement to lift himself. Additional accoutrement could be introduced at another hour.

He does not want to leave him tied for longer than necessary. Even with his hands tied in front of him, it wouldn't be too long before his bones found fatigue and that they would need to talk of disengaging.]

You will just have to indulge me, your highness.

[When his hand closes a bit tighter around his shaft, that appears to be the sign that Wrathion is done talking and his focus is shifting. His mouth lowers again, taking place of the hand ghosting across his chest. The dragon drags his teeth along skin there, where it has grown most pink. He soothes the marks he leaves behind with his tongue.]

Will I?

[ Anduin almost chuckles. There is always this aspect to it, no matter how they engage one another. That bite of pain with the pleasure seems inherent to this dance of theirs, and its return settles something deeper than bone and muscle.

The priest's eyes shut with a hitched breath, feeling the scrape of teeth in every detail, the warm wet dart of the dragon's tongue, the way his breath catches beneath the rope where it's almost certainly left an indention in his skin from being held taut for so long.

The descent is slow, almost excruciatingly so. Time stretches as the pressure of the knots, the slick strokes of Wrathion's fingers, and the pinch of teeth all vie for his attention and focus. His fingers curl and uncurl, hips arching in an almost languid stretch, as much as he dares without tugging at the rope further. ]

Nn. Who could refuse the Black Prince?

[Wrathion, on the other hand, does chuckle when Anduin volleys it back toward him. It is enough to coax him to halt his descent just enough to rest his head upon his stomach, turning to glance up at the young blonde with -- something. There's something different there in his eyes this time.

Adoration? Perhaps.]

You are certainly doing your best.

[It doesn't have the same flippancy to it when he says it. And, rather than return to abusing his torso, Wrathion returns to placing his lips upon the head of his cock. His hand, still wet with saliva, wriggles beneath the priest and through the small bit of rope between his cheeks.

The next time his mouth comes down, one probing finger slowly slips inside of him.]

[ There's warmth in those words he's not used to, sentiment in those eyes that rarely shines through. Even in the haze of sensation, an intrusive thought finds its way through.

How do you know if someone is in love with you? I guess if they tell you but... what if they don't?

I'm not sure I know how to answer that. No one's ever been in love with me.

He doesn't have time to dwell too long on that conversation with Jacob, not so very long ago. Instead he's treated to the sight of Wrathion wrapping his lips around him, a sight which scatters all other thoughts like dry leaves in the wind. That's even before the clever fingers plying at the rope tug in such a way that nudges that knot up beneath his balls, with a pressure that has him momentarily seeing stars and knocks the breath from his lungs.

It's not a surprise when the slick, dexterous slide of a finger joins the fray, but the soft moan that follows is by all accounts obscene, even to his own ears, thighs spreading wider of their own accord. ]

I...I was going ask if you would...

[ Now it seems there was little need. Somehow, Wrathion had known exactly what he needed anyway. ]

[Wrathion hums notably with his mouth still around Anduin's cock. Oh the desire has certainly been there, for quite a long time. Perhaps if he had planned this better, it would not just be his finger the king was treated to. It would be unkind to spend the time he would need to prepare him for more than just fingers, given how much he has been stringing him along with the rope and his mouth.

And yet, the way his legs spread, the way he moans for just that alone -- it grabs his attention in a way that pulls at something primal within him, enough that he finds himself chaffing between his own bedsheets and the silk pants he still wears.

The best distraction is honest work. He did have a plan, and it is easy to fall back into it. He continues with his mouth (and how he salivates for the depths he allows Anduin's cock), faster now as he continues to probe with his finger, curling just so when he cannot go any farther.

If anything could coax him to forget what lies beyond the apartment door--]

[ Oh, he finds what he's looking for. He'd know it the moment Anduin's head jerked to one side, biting back a cry at the sudden surge of crackling pleasure that blurs the edges of his senses, narrowing his scope down intensely. As if he were nothing more than so many parts that could feel, so many sensations he could process.

Free of everything else.

His cock twitches against Wrathion's tongue, toes curling against the sheets as he tries to move, back against that insistent pressure pressing snugly inward, until he can feel that same jolt rushing through his body once more. Of course every movement twists his bonds tighter, maddeningly so, until the young king was left desperately panting against the sheets crushed against his cheek. ]

[The dragon's heart twists ever inward the more he feels the king come apart beneath him. Of course, he wants to bring him over that ever looming precipice, but there is equal need for -- something else. Something he cannot dedicate the brain power to unpack just yet, and something that causes him to roll sideways to wrap himself around one of his legs.

He holds himself still when he feels Anduin beginning to squirm beneath him, dutifully swallowing him down as he had never had the chance to do previously for the lack of experience, all while his finger continues to work him.

Around and inward he presses, eventually slipping in a second finger to join the first.]

[ That gentle, familiar haze settles in, but it lacks the sense of completion that usually accompanies the act. Breathless and trembling, there's a sense of something still left undone...and the answer soon follows.

It's easier once his body has gone somewhat lax, shivering in the wake of that blinding rush of heat and pleasure. But he can still feel it acutely, the stretch of that second finger sliding in, and without hesitation he rocks his hips back again. Willing himself to take it, to let Wrathion ply him open.

Urging him to, in fact. ]

Please...

[His head comes off of his cock to stare upward at Anduin, tongue sliding across plush lips with just a dose of surprise. Lust consumes him when he is offered that plea, causing him to sit back up and crawl on top of him. Unfortunately, there are several carefully and artfully tied ropes in his way, and he will still need to pack his patience for just a bit longer.

Hastily, he stretches himself toward the nightstand to reach for the bottle there. So distracted by the desire to meet his need that he forgets he is still in a pair of pants, and thanks to how erect he's become, getting them off with one hand would prove to be something of a challenge. Suddenly, he is out of order and out of step -- but he does not want to lose the momentum.

First thing is first: better access. Two fingers come down to pluck just above his cock, singing the ropes until the heat of the magic he has called burns through them and releases the tension on the other man's body. It becomes easy to carefully lift it off of his cock and out of the way -- though he opts to leave his arms tied, for the time being. Instead of addressing that, he returns to the bottle to place a generous amount into his hand.

The temperature of it in comparison to the heat of his body leaves him momentarily quivering with cold as he rubs some of it off upon his cock -- a momentary sacrifice so that when his two fingers return to Anduin's ass to continue the task of stretching him, he does not fall victim to the same fate.]

Of course -- of course.

[There is a soothing note to his voice, an unspoken promise as he tosses the bottle away from him in favor of rubbing along the friction marks left by the rope upon Anduin's stomach.]

[ While he's grateful the black dragon hadn't burnt him loose entirely, the rope that falls away has certainly left a reminder behind. Standing stark against his pale skin, thick bands of skin rubbed a vivd red, the texture of the marks pebbled from the weave of the rope itself.

Nothing he couldn't heal, of course, but...not yet.

Just feeling cold air hit it again causes a reflexive shiver, before the heat of Wrathion's palm follows. Tension grips his thighs for a moment upon that initial push back within, but it's growing easier to breathe deep. To relax wholly. Honestly the way he worked with his hands was remarkable, as methodical and purposeful as anything else he ever did.

...and If he'd noticed the earlier fumbling in the dragon's rush to comply, there's no sign of it. Endearing as it might be to realize that he'd managed to catch Wrathion off guard, for a change. ]

[Wrathion leans in when he feels Anduin relaxing, eager for more contact to soothe his impatience. The rope left upon the other man's arms chafes against his chest when he does so, but it does not stop him from seeking out a kiss -- needy, with a small touch of desperation.

He's painfully oversensitive, enough that the high points of his shoulders go tense when his already lubricated cock brushes against Anduin's body as a result of their close distance.

The third finger slips inside after his tongue presses past his lips.]

[ What a dizzying rush that is. The additional pressure stings, sharp and prickling on the edges of his nerves, but the intake of breath parts his lips, just enough that Wrathion finds almost no obstacle to his kiss whatsoever.

Then the sting fades to a burn, to warmth that spreads under his skin. Moments later, he slowly breaks the kiss, head bumping briefly against Wrathion's. It's good, but he can take more.

He knows he can, now. ]

You don't need to...come on. I'm not made of glass. It's alright...

[ Anduin can feel precisely how desperate he is right now, after all. ]

[The direction -- it helps. It is good and possibly even necessary, though he would never open his mouth and admit it. It likely becomes obvious enough anyway, when he merely returns the small headbutt rather than actually moving to withdraw.

But eventually it processes and he does withdraw, instead taking his own cock in his hand to guide it to him. The process of entry, despite Anduin's words, is still slow -- though not necessarily because he is afraid of hurting the man underneath him. Wrathion is too sensitive for this, and despite his attempt to hold his breath, it bursts out of him in a heady exhale the further he pushes inward.

He clings to his forearms to steady himself, to leverage himself as he pushes along.]

Anduin...

[ For this, he doesn't turn his head. Doesn't look away or close his eyes. Instead his eyes follow the edges of Wrathion's frame illuminated in the soft candlight, the way it washes gold over his skin as he leans closer.

Save for the rope, it's at the risk of approaching romantic.

The idle thought earns a faint smile to himself, up until the moment that Wrathion actually starts to ease himself in. Even relaxed as he is, it's still not something he's used to, that sudden inescapable heat and pressure. With a strangled moan, his heels dig into the mattress beneath, adjusting the angle just so and... ]

Light, Wrathion...

[ Maybe he's underestimated himself--

No. No, it's alright. More than. It feels like he's slowing as he sinks in, giving them both a chance to remember to breathe. ]

[He has to pause, something in his lower back screaming at him to still for a moment. Wrathion's breaths come heavily, like a horse who's been put through its paces. It is hard for him to reconcile the fact that they could have been doing this the whole time -- and the way Anduin says his name triggers something in him that makes his bones feel soft.

The emotion that comes with it allows him to sink further until he finds himself at a hilt. Wrathion's forehead briefly comes to rest against Anduin's, lightheaded from the pressure and the flood of adrenaline still slowly mounting.

Anduin had specifically noted that he was not made of glass, and he has so clearly proven so with his ability to take him. So there is only a moment of shared breath between them before he starts to move. Wrathion's hands remove themselves from his arms and instead squirm beneath the king's body, hugging them as near as the bindings between them will allow.]

[ All the easier to feel the shakiness of the dragon's breath, as his chest hitches against Anduin's.

Wrathion's held out for so long, hasn't he? If he weren't bound, Anduin might have urged them over, settled atop his hips, and sweetly wrung that release from him. But there's little room for that now, barely able to curl his fingers. And he has no desire to break away from Wrathion's hold, that warm dark a welcome refuge with the familiar scent of the dragon breathed in.

While the priest might have already come, Wrathion was quickly proving there was still pleasure to be felt. When the other moves his hips, it still drags up a thrill from the friction, and a strangled sound slips free of his lips. It's almost this side of too much. Almost a little too raw for over-sensitive nerves.

Truthfully, he doesn't care if it is. There's clarity in this, simplicity. A moment where everything feels right for a moment, and not like an endless struggle, like reaching the eye of a storm. Stretching that moment out to last as long as possible sounds the perfect sort of agony. ]

[Perhaps fortunately for Anduin, Wrathion lacks the stamina to pursue for long, already strung out by how swiftly he'd aroused himself with the intimate activity of binding the priest with rope. His head bows, curls falling over his shoulders, the oppressive heat of his skin only growing with each thrust of his hips.

The release creeps up on him quickly, so quickly that he does not have room to silence the moans of pleasure that sweep him away in the first moments of climax. His voice waivers with the effort to wrest control of it, and when that fails, he simply allows himself to fall near-limp against Anduin beneath him, instead hiding his face in the crook of his neck.

It all does little to hide much of anything, but once the last of his orgasm has been wrung from him, he finds himself taken by the urge to press his lips against his neck and submits to it in spite of himself.]

[ A lesser tragedy, then, that he can reach up as he wants to, curl his fingers in at the nape of Wrathion's neck as he wishes to.

Instead the blond turns his head, nose drunkenly pressing into the ridge of his jaw just beneath his ear. His senses are swimming in him. His too-warm skin, the smell of sex and smoke and something mineral filling his nose. Wrathion's rapidly skipping heartbeat pounding against his own, slick with sweat and still rising and falling rapidly. The stretch and burn and shivery ache of where he remains pressed in against him, hips flush against Anduin's.

One thigh rises, pressing in against the side of his hip as he rests there, a heavy but not uncomfortable weight. It's the most he can do to return that hold, at the moment as his own body thrums softly in contentment.

That. That was. ]

[Anduin's shift to hold him with his thigh shakes him out of his momentary exhaustion, though it remains a struggle to push himself up enough to wriggle himself free of him. It is a slower process than he might prefer for how oversensitive he still is but -- better to do it while he is still hard than not.

Unfortunately, when he does finally come free, the temperature difference hits him immediately. A sound of discontent mumbles out of his chest, but with lack of anything better to correct the problem close at hand, he instead simply reaches for one of the thinner sheets to briefly wipe the mixture of fluid away. He can wash it later. He does not want to move right now.

Shifting up on his knees half way also makes him aware of the ache that runs down the entire center of his body from rubbing up against all of that rope. With one momentarily clumsy hand, he feels his way to the end of the knot and works to pull it free until the rope goes lax.]

[ One long, deep breath is enough to earn some slack from the bonds, enough to feel the pressure lessen around his chest and hips. Now, only the rope around his wrist remains...that and the vivid red lines left in their wake across his body, the cool air against raw skin earning a faint shiver.

As had the feeling of Wrathion pulling free, that heat and weight and pressure suddenly gone, the loss keenly felt at once.

But it doesn't appear that the dragon was making any rush to leave, and that's enough for Anduin. That momentary tension goes lax once more against the sheets, and another deep breath settles him further as his eyes lift towards burning red in silent question. ]

[Wrathion hesitates to undo the binding of Anduin's wrists, one hand resting there briefly as he ponders something privately.

That is when he catches the blue-eyed stare underneath him, and his grip cinches a little tighter. Of course, it was impossible to be upset for the slight detour the night had taken, but he cannot help but feel something small deep down that he had skipped a step somewhere along the line.

So he continues the task of undoing the rope until it falls away and leaves the other man's hands mostly free--save for the fact that Wrathion's fingers return there to rub small circles of apology. He had gotten carried away, perhaps. Even if it was to their mutual benefit.

The correct thing to do would be to pull away and ask what the king beneath him needed from him. And yet the thought of falling back into that role just yet feels...loathsome.]

[ Exhausted, Anduin doesn't fight against the gentle touch to try to pull himself back together again. Not just yet. Instead a soft sound passes his lips, a murmur of pleasure as those fingers rubbed against the indentations in his skin, easing some of the soreness that had already started to settle in.

As usual, it's impossible to parse whatever it is Wrathion is thinking of. That doesn't keep him from peering up at the edges of his expression, the low glimmer of red embers, and wondering. Something to do as his heartbeat starts to slow at long last. ]

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