massrez | IC Inbox

[Excuse you, he has zero feeling. He manages to keep the offense off of his face.]

It is not the feeling that is the issue. It is that you regulate it improperly. As if everyone else is somehow more important than you. That is the sort of attitude the Corruptor and others like him feast upon.

[His arms fold again, the cup of tea tucked under his arm.]

...you're worried the city will take advantage of that fact.

[ After a moment's thought, he moves forward, slipping down off of the counter and to his feet. ]

I'm not sure that's what I was expecting.

And those living here, perhaps.

[Of course it would not be what he expected. Why would he expect it, when Wrathion took great pains to keep his orchestrated observations to himself until precisely the right moment?

He does not move off of his place upon the wall just yet.]

Go on, then. Do not leave me in suspense.

[He does not sound in suspense. He's picked up from the school of the Shado-Pan in regards to compartmentalization -- perhaps a bit too well.]

I just...I would have thought you'd have already figured this place out, by now.

[ Another step closer, like a piece moving across the board of their game. ]

This place wants to break us down. These games of theirs, they're meant to study us. To push at our insecurities, our weaknesses, our greatest fears. Bringing us face to face with our shadows and watch us struggle in the face of them.

[ Another step closer, his hands clasped quietly in front of him. ]

Feeling isn't going to be the thing that dooms us. They're going to target us all, regardless. And the people with the most to hide will be the ones to suffer the most.

[ He hesitates, just for a moment. ]

I'm not the one most at risk, here. Even at home, even if they were targeting me, it wasn't really me they were after, was it?

[Wrathion stays perfectly still against the wall, save for the subtle shifting of the cup in his hand. He does, of course, know all of this. In giving the information in the first place, he had perhaps confessed some of that knowledge without explicitly saying so.

No one in the city has more exposure to him than Anduin. Getting to Anduin is the first logical step in getting to Wrathion. It is not a difficult leap to make, for anyone who has discovered they are connected in any way.]

The King of Stormwind would have been a nice consolation prize.

[But no, of course N'zoth was not after Anduin. He was after the Black Prince.]

[ It takes a moment, before the realization slots into place. Before his eyes widen ever so slightly. ]

...but N'zoth knew the way to get to you was to threaten me.

[ Suddenly the reason Wrathion was so angered by his own disregard for his own life makes so much more sense. Unknowingly, he'd been flirting with pressing that very large, obvious red button that he somehow hadn't noticed before now. And as a dragon with more self-preservation instinct than most, Wrathion would of course want to safeguard and defend any weakness he had while vehemently denying he had one at all.

But that's not true at all, is it? I'm his weakness.

He's not sure what to do as the weight of that realization starts to settle in, not right away. Anduin stands frozen for a moment, his grip on his own hands tightening. ]

[When Wrathion spots the recognition in Anduin's eyes, he finally unfolds to drink his tea. The smile that crosses his face does not reach his eyes.]

Wouldn't that be something?

[And the city had made it so that they could, in theory, regulate the amount of prolonged contact he had with Anduin thanks to the rules regarding Dominant relations. Small bits of control taken from him, in a way he had no easy path to combat.

He won't confirm it openly -- he does not need to. Anduin had asked, after all, and Wrathion had killed two birds with one stone.

With that, he turns, intent on returning to the game to distract from the awkward revelation. It had been his move -- so he must reacquaint himself with the board.]

[ It's that movement that spurs his own. Wrathion turns, and Anduin's hand reaches out, clasping hold of his wrist before he can think about it.

There's a great deal churning through his mind at the moment, but what comes out is: ]

I'm sorry. I didn't...I was being thoughtless, and I didn't realize.

[ And contrary to what might have been expected of him, given the way he'd greeted Wrathion's return back in the keep, hurting the dragon is the last thing he wants to do. ]

[He freezes, not because he is surprised, but because an instinct to dislodge himself swiftly arises quickly enough that he needs to put energy into ... not doing that. Wrathion half turns, looking over his shoulder at the other man with the same unreadable expression on his face.

He doesn't really want to unpack this. But now that it is out in the open, is there any real avoiding it?]

You do not need to do that.

[Apologize. That wasn't the point of him telling the truth, even if he had danced around it for a bit and left the king to come to the conclusion on his own.

That would imply that he was hurt somehow. And that would be ridiculous because feelings are fake.]

[ There's an almost wry smile that threatens the edge of his mouth as he moves closer, releasing his hold when Wrathion tenses and goes all inscrutable all over again. That was it. That was the glimpse to the inside that he wanted, and now the walls were up again.

Fair enough, he supposes. Be careful what you wish for. ]

I know. I know you'd rather I didn't say anything at all. And I won't again after this.

[ He's close enough now to be reminded of the way the dragon throws heat like a furnace, brow furrowed. ]

So let me just this once.

[ Him, and the frail, silly, pointless human feelings he does have. Then Wrathion can go back to plotting in peace, as he so clearly wants to do. ]

[That smile.

Something uncomfortable and heavy sits in his stomach after Anduin let's go of him. Ugh. He was getting worse instead of better at finding ways to engage with complex emotion. He had hoped to be done with it -- make his point, allow Anduin to reflect, and then move on without further examination.

But the stuff in between is never anything he is able to calculate, and once it surfaces, it never goes back in its box the same way.

His jaw clenches slightly. His tongue, pressing against the back of his teeth.]

Anduin.

[There is something unspoken in the usage of his name. They can't. They shouldn't.

But he wants to, and that's the core of the problem. He has had enough side lessons now on the benefits of emotional intimacy to know that he will be ruined if he allows Anduin that close.]

[ There's always something unspoken. Too much that can't be said out loud, with a hundred reasons why not.

But Anduin wants to. That's what it keeps circling back to, this inevitable pull back into one another's orbit no matter what they do, what is or isn't said.

His fingertips brush that clenched jaw as he leans inward, until the burning red of Wrathion's eyes falls just out of focus, and his own drift almost shut. Almost close enough to press his lips to his, even knowing the smart thing to do would be to let it go and return to their game.

They can't. They shouldn't. ]

...I concede.

[ So soft it's barely audible.

And then he's tilting in, lips brushing against his, and it feels like it will never feel like anything other than something stolen, something he shouldn't be allowed to have. ]

[He has enough time in that short span of breath to add distance and to retreat from -- whatever this is they are doing to each other. Their game has been played, Anduin has conceded, and they could go back to anything else but what they were doing.

But even as he thinks about it, even as his own eyelids draw downward in slight melancholy, he finds that his legs will not move him. His neck will not turn his face away from the hand resting against his jaw. He has all the power to make the decision. This time, there is nothing about this that is forced.

And instead, he gives into it anyway, leaning in to meet the soft press of other man's lips. Because if he could not have this, if he could not have the one person who inspired him to be better even for just a moment, then--what was the point of confessing?

The gesture is equally soft and cautious -- nothing like their previous encounters. And when Wrathion finally pulls away from it just enough to speak, he feels like he might be leaving something behind.]

...perhaps we call it a draw.

[ A perfect end to the game, after all.

That smile tugs free once more, his touch straying up along the edge of Wrathion's cheek, where he remembered those scales having been before. A mere hint of what was really there, what he'd finally had the chance to see that night.

Nothing like any black dragon he'd seen before. Elegant. Beautiful. Other words that would doubtlessly have Wrathion preening should he speak them out loud. ]

Mm. A draw, then.

[ The second kiss is no less tender, but perhaps a little more certain now, knowing the stolen moment for what it is and determined to make the most of it. After all, having worried Wrathion so with his recklessness, perhaps some small comfort is the least he can do. ]

[If he was going to be reckless, he could at least do so with him.

But Wrathion was not an overly affectionate creature -- until recently, he simply didn't possess the emotional sensitivity for it. The series of unfortunate events that had walked him down the path to that understanding where still churning in his mind. And, when Anduin seeks his lips again, he is a little quicker to give into it. After all, the stolen moments were all they would ever be permitted.

If they did not take advantage of them, they would simply have nothing.

One hand drifts upward to rest upon the other man's arm to leverage himself -- the one nearest his cheek. He allows the kiss to linger longer this time, pressing into his touch in an attempt to dispel the pit that had formed in his stomach. Such open displays of vulnerability would never be overly comfortable for him -- but Anduin, at least, was a more familiar soul.]

[ It's perhaps a little closer to what might have come around, if things were different. Some fleeting imagining or another in the long absences between meeting again. Maybe that's why something as simple as a kiss has his chest tightening like a vice, less base desire than it is...something else he can't quite put a name to.

The same sort of strange sentimental tug he'd felt changing in the morning for weeks and spying the indent of teeth along his shoulder. Oh, the marks were long healed, now. There was no way not to, in the process of trying to put himself back together again. But for a time, it'd been a tangible reminder that despite all evidence to the contrary, Wrathion did feel for him in some capacity.

How bittersweet the sight had been.

But there's none of the bitterness here, now. No, when Anduin draws back just enough to draw breath once again, he feels...strangely light. And he fixes Wrathion with a soft smile, reaching up to absently stroke a curly lock of dark hair from his temple. ]

Come with me.

[ Even if it's not to do anything but rest near him, wouldn't it be a nice change of pace to just...be, for a while, in each other's company?

They hadn't had that simple indulgence for a long, long time now. ]

[Another moment, where he knows the smartest thing would be to disengage. It was the perfect opportunity -- he'd given Anduin what he'd asked for, he'd allowed himself to indulge a little, and now ...

Now Anduin is smiling at him, and it sparks some recognition. He has not seem that smile on the king in some time -- not in the way that it reached his eyes. A genuine smile, left in the wake of this small, shared affection. How could he possibly deny him?

Their game has been abandoned, and so he is out of excuses to escape that Look of his. Wrathion exhales in soft surrender, the eye nearest the hand in his hair closing.]

As the king commands.

[And he dislodges himself ... reluctantly.]

[ Never fear, Wrathion. The king is kind to those that surrender.

The smile broadens, and Anduin nods before moving to collect their cups, refilling them once more with tea before quietly leading the way back to the bedroom.

He can clear the board away later. It won't be going anywhere. Besides, if they're going to do this, it's preferable they not do so here, under the watchful gaze of the royal portrait up on the living room wall.

He definitely does not need to consider what his father would think of where his son's affections have fallen. ]

[Wrathion allows himself to be lead, massaging the wrist of his once-broken arm to work out a tension cramp forming there. He hadn't bothered to wear his bracelet when he had ascended to Anduin's room -- it was in the same building, and he did not need anyone to notice it while he was visiting. Of course, it was easy enough to see the lack of submissive tattoo and collar, but...well. He did not need additional hinderances.

He glances at the board as they pass it, a small furrow of thought in his brow. He was not one to doubt himself often -- but walking past it, as well as the watchful eyes upon the wall, it is hard not to be reminded that this scene might not have played out anywhere else.

It was perhaps the chief reason to take advantage of it, while it was there to experience and before some inevitable reality brought them back to the present.

The dragon moves closer before Anduin can set the cups of tea down, reaching out to slip his hand beneath his own cup so that he might take another drink. Somewhere between the living room and the bedroom, he had realized how dry his mouth had become.]

[ Anduin pauses as Wrathion reaches for the tea, brow lifted in question. One he won't ask, as he already knows what will happen. A question of whether or not he's alright will be dismissed out of hand, even now, when it's so clear that there's conflict and hesitation there.

At last he understands why it is. Why he's so hesitant to tamper with something he sees as a vulnerability. While he understands that fear to a degree, he'll never know it as deeply as the dragon does, and it's with bitter resignation that he understands that, too.

Instead what he can offer is reassurance. Treating that knowledge of his fear with respect.

He lets him take his time, offering a smaller smile this time as he reaches to work open the buttons of his vest. Tight-fit as it is, it's not terribly comfortable to lie down in. ]

[There aren't many places for him to hide that still allow him to watch Anduin unbutton his new clothes. Of course, he'd been aware that he found the look attractive, but what he was feeling now was something else. To his own surprise, he can feel a rising desire to stop him, and to continue undressing him himself -- even if it is just the vest. After all, it fit him so well and --

His cup of tea is nearly empty when he realizes that he has been staring this whole time, and Wrathion has to clear his throat and set the tea down on the nightstand with purpose in order to regain his focus. His beard and dark skin do well to hide the warmth that he feels briefly rise in his cheeks -- there is no way he won't be caught out there, even if Anduin does him the mercy of avoiding comment.]

I do not think I have seen this attire on you before.

[A small deflection, even as he wipes excess tea out of his mustache.]

It's new. I had to find replacements after...

[ He shrugs, trailing off as Wrathion sets the tea cup aside, and while blushing isn't something he's seen Wrathion do often enough to know the signs, perhaps it's something in his voice. Or the way he averts his eyes. ]

Do you like it?

[ And there might be the barest thread of teasing in his tone, but only just. ]

[There is something in his expression that pinches when Anduin asks him that question in that particular tone -- but it is a short lived thing. After all, there was nothing wrong with a small, entirely neutral compliment to his appearance.

Wrathion has the charisma stat to play this off. He allows his hand to fall from his face and back to join the other arm folded across his chest.]

It suits you.

[Entirely neutral. Focusing on that prevents him from the anger he feels simmering at the corner of his consciousness, prompted by the mentioned hint of the incident.]

[ Folded arms. Guarded, again. He resists the urge to sigh and instead steps closer, gaze falling and observing the half-undone buttons with wry humor. ]

Honestly, it fits a little tight. Though I'm told that's on purpose. I suppose that shouldn't be a surprise.

[ A one hand drops to fiddle loosely with the gold band around his wrist. ]

A little strange, too. Like I'm in disguise, somehow.

[ No insignia, no rings, no emblems. Perhaps the most far removed from any sense of 'home' thus far, and over so simple a thing.

But maybe the opportunity to laugh at him will put the dragon a bit more at ease. ]

[And he does chuckle, watching Anduin fiddle and fuss and speak of disguises. He does not, however, remark upon the tightness. It is indeed very tight. He is not upset about it.]

Oh yes. You are entirely unrecognizable and unremarkable in all of this. Who is that mysterious golden haired boy? Someone simply must call the Spymaster.

[He says it with drama to heighten the sense of sarcasm he wishes to convey, unfolding his arms to boldly reach and finish what Anduin had begun. It feels easier to engage, when they laugh like this. Less serious, less final, less chance to have a lasting impact that might change their relationship with one another.]

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