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.]
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.]
[ 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.]
[ 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.]
[ It's hard to feel pleased and annoyed at the same time, and yet. ]
You say that and I swear he's going to appear out of the shadows, somehow. I'm lucky enough he didn't catch me at it the last time. At least as far as I know.
[ Forgetting of course that Wrathion doesn't necessarily know about his misadventures in Goldshire.
But it seems Wrathion's picked up on the silent invitation, and Anduin's restless hands fall still as the tension in the fabric eases, one button at a time. ]
Not completely. But for being so the King of Stormwind, that is certainly not bad.
[He has seen what completely out of hand looks like. He is not in a hurry to see it again. But he is at least impressed that Anduin managed to get as far as he did without being dragged back by SI:7.
Then again, perhaps he hadn't managed it at all. His blacktalons were rarely far from exactly where they needed to be. He has to imagine that Shaw is at least that competent.]
Not to worry -- you still have over half a life to live. Plenty of time to be a miscreant.
[And speaking of being a miscreant, Wrathion is still undoing buttons now that the vest is out of the way, without missing a beat.]
[ The most obvious thing once the shirt is peeled away is how quickly he's healed. Most of the surface injuries are gone, bruises faded, though even the bite left behind at the curve of his shoulder couldn't stand up to the combination of healing potions and Light being poured through him. Nothing but pale skin and the usual number of scars left behind. ]
Then I couldn't have chosen a more appropriate place to be abducted to. Some deviancy is to be expected. I'd hate to be a poor guest.
[In hindsight, it is probably not a bad thing that all of Anduin's various markings have been healed away, save for those that had been there for years on end. His hands rest tentatively at the other man's sides once he's managed to open the shirt, thumbs rubbing thoughtfully over his ribs.
It is a bittersweet taste, knowing very well that they'd been abducted to a place where their indulgence might have been acceptable -- only to find that they'd been regulated to roles which prevented it. A cruel sort of irony.
There is something comforting in seeing that he had no lasting injuries, even if it didn't wipe away the knowledge of what had happened. His touch is oddly gentle.]
I'm afraid it is a bit late for that.
[Wrathion was no stranger to the thrill of doing things he ought not to be doing, no matter how bittersweet the reality was. But were they still poor, law-breaking guests if they weren't caught?]
[ 'Gentle' is not a word he'd often ascribe to the dragon. It's notable when it happens, and Anduin's gaze falls briefly to where those warm fingers graze against skin.
The hurt was still there, buried. But he could keep it there, do what needed to be done. Every hurt faded in its own time, if Wrathion was anything to learn by. ]
Perhaps so. Here I am, being a bad influence on you, for a change.
[ His own fingers lift to curl into the loose fabric of Wrathion's shirt, thumbing the hem. ]
[ Those teeth. A reminder, like those eyes, of just how thin that veneer of humanity really was. Not that what Wrathion is has or will ever frighten him, and in fact Anduin tugs him closer as his shirt shifts free to hang off of his bent elbows. ]
Well. So long as we're already breaking the rules.
[ When he leans close, it's not to take Wrathion's lips, but to brush against his temple, shoulders going lax with a sigh against his ear...and head tilted to leave his throat open.
[Wrathion does not take the invitation right away. After posturing about hating to be predictable, that would just ruin the anticipation. His arms slip back down off of his shoulders to rest instead around the other man's midsection. And, after feeling Anduin's breath graze his ear, he turns his head just enough to rest it upon his shoulder. Long enough to fix him with the same, mischievous glance in those bright red eyes.
But, as highlighted, the allure of rule-breaking is far too strong for him to play coy for more than a few seconds. His pale skin, stretched thin enough that he can spot his pulse at this distance, receives a wet kiss. The grazing of his teeth is lighter than it had been the night the shadows claimed them both, more respectful in the way he marks him at first -- and then, progressively, with more pressure until he can feel that pulse against his tongue.
It is a brief thing -- he lets go before he can break the skin, soothing the bruise he leaves behind with the press of his lips.]
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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.]
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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. ]
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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.
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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. ]
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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.]
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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. ]
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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.]
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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. ]
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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.]
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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. ]
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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.]
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[ 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. ]
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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.]
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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. ]
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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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You say that and I swear he's going to appear out of the shadows, somehow. I'm lucky enough he didn't catch me at it the last time. At least as far as I know.
[ Forgetting of course that Wrathion doesn't necessarily know about his misadventures in Goldshire.
But it seems Wrathion's picked up on the silent invitation, and Anduin's restless hands fall still as the tension in the fabric eases, one button at a time. ]
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[Because even the Spymaster could not outdo a dragon. Of this, he is confident.
But his hands still not long after that, taut in the fabric as he undoes the last button so that he can't escape from the inevitable question.]
The last time, you say? You've grown mischievous in your old age. How far did you manage?
[Don't worry, he won't judge. Much. Probably.]
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[ His eyebrows lift as he shifts his shoulders, enough to letting the vest slip free and away, to drop unceremoniously to the floor behind him. ]
I know. I've gotten completely out of hand.
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[He has seen what completely out of hand looks like. He is not in a hurry to see it again. But he is at least impressed that Anduin managed to get as far as he did without being dragged back by SI:7.
Then again, perhaps he hadn't managed it at all. His blacktalons were rarely far from exactly where they needed to be. He has to imagine that Shaw is at least that competent.]
Not to worry -- you still have over half a life to live. Plenty of time to be a miscreant.
[And speaking of being a miscreant, Wrathion is still undoing buttons now that the vest is out of the way, without missing a beat.]
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Then I couldn't have chosen a more appropriate place to be abducted to. Some deviancy is to be expected. I'd hate to be a poor guest.
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It is a bittersweet taste, knowing very well that they'd been abducted to a place where their indulgence might have been acceptable -- only to find that they'd been regulated to roles which prevented it. A cruel sort of irony.
There is something comforting in seeing that he had no lasting injuries, even if it didn't wipe away the knowledge of what had happened. His touch is oddly gentle.]
I'm afraid it is a bit late for that.
[Wrathion was no stranger to the thrill of doing things he ought not to be doing, no matter how bittersweet the reality was. But were they still poor, law-breaking guests if they weren't caught?]
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The hurt was still there, buried. But he could keep it there, do what needed to be done. Every hurt faded in its own time, if Wrathion was anything to learn by. ]
Perhaps so. Here I am, being a bad influence on you, for a change.
[ His own fingers lift to curl into the loose fabric of Wrathion's shirt, thumbing the hem. ]
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I could grow accustomed to that, perhaps.
[It was certainly proving better than the alternative. His hands move upwards slowly, brushing the shirt off of Anduin's shoulders as they go.]
If there is anything I loathe to be, it is predictable.
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Well. So long as we're already breaking the rules.
[ When he leans close, it's not to take Wrathion's lips, but to brush against his temple, shoulders going lax with a sigh against his ear...and head tilted to leave his throat open.
Another quiet invitation. ]
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But, as highlighted, the allure of rule-breaking is far too strong for him to play coy for more than a few seconds. His pale skin, stretched thin enough that he can spot his pulse at this distance, receives a wet kiss. The grazing of his teeth is lighter than it had been the night the shadows claimed them both, more respectful in the way he marks him at first -- and then, progressively, with more pressure until he can feel that pulse against his tongue.
It is a brief thing -- he lets go before he can break the skin, soothing the bruise he leaves behind with the press of his lips.]
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