massrez | IC Inbox

[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.]

[ 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. ]

I would do you the courtesy of warning you first.

[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.]

All the way to the Lion's Pride, for an hour or two.

[ 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.

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. ]

[A smile curls at the corner of his mouth. It causes the points of his teeth to stick out on his lower lip.]

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.

[ 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.

Another quiet invitation. ]

[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.]

[ There's no sharpness of teeth breaking skin this time, the gesture almost a tender one. It still drives a noise from him, a soft gasp as one hand lifts to thread through dark curls and clasp tight to the nape of Wrathion's neck, his pulse quickening under his tongue.

When cool air tickles the damp mark blooming under his skin, Anduin shivers with the loss and turns, seeking those lips out with his own. It feels good, having that familiar ache back where it belongs.

A vivid but silent rebellion. ]

[As Anduin's lips find his, he allows himself to be coaxed away from his neck, though he is less gentle when redirected from his task. The hand fisted in his hair invites him to bare his teeth again, this time finding purchase in the other man's lower lip when they come to rest against his own. They drag backwards, along with the hands now seeking purchase on the king's spine beneath his bunched shirt.

This had not been his plan for today, when he came to visit. He is ill prepared, dressed in attire not nearly as form-fitting as what Anduin had chosen. As his claws quest downward, he is quickly made aware that he cannot squeeze his hands past the waistband there, for how well it hugs him.

A problem for future Wrathion, then.]

[ A problem as easily solved as the flick of a button and tug of a zipper, but first things first.

Right now his focus is entirely on that kiss, the pinch of teeth and his own answering nip to the edge of Wrathion's mouth as he smiles against it, pressing in with a growing heat in his chest while claws trace the familiar ridges and knots across his back.

When he finally needs breath again, he only draws back far enough to finally hook his fingers into the hem of Wrathion's shirt, peeling upwards.

Fortunately it's a much less tricky prospect than getting him out of those pants. ]

[Getting the shirt off means he must let go of Anduin, a prospect he is suddenly less than pleased about. At first, he stubbornly clamps his arms at his sides so that he cannot move it -- just long enough to get the point across. After that, he reluctantly unwinds his arms so that he may finish the task of exposing his bare chest. Much like the rest of him, it still blooms heat, and the hint of his scales remain visible just below the surface of the illusion of dark skin. They are easy to feel under pressure.

He does not leave the distance between them for long, though the way his arms wrap around the other man's waist is more loose than it had been just a few moments ago.]

That was much less eventful. Perhaps I ought to take a page out of your book.

[Undoing buttons offered so much more ... je ne sais quoi.]

[ That momentary rebellion earns a raised eyebrow -- this is what he's doing now, really? -- before Anduin chuckles and finally toss the shirt aside. Once the dragon allows him to, of course. ]

Efficient, I would have said. Much less trouble than all of this...

[ Though his thoughts trail off as fingertips trace the edge of those just-visible scales. Then, a small smile ticks at the corner of his mouth. ]

Is it strange that I miss these?

[ Much more interesting than buttons. ]

[Wrathion pauses in whatever quip he was going to offer in return, following Anduin's eyes to the scales he's settled on.]

Do you? [A thoughtful hum passes his lips. He reaches to where Anduin traces, his fingers following the path to pull them to the surface.] I think you are more equipped to answer that than I.

[After all, he missed his scales all the time. But it was hardly Anduin's fault that the city was not built with dragons in mind]

I think some would call it strange. You do make a handsome human.

[ A fact he'd noticed even while infuriated at his presence. But there'd been satisfaction in seeing the illusion shatter, even for a moment. To see the truth of him just under the surface.

Now, he knows what he truly looks like. Though the circumstances of that particular reveal could have been better.

As he's done so many times before, Anduin bends his head to kiss those shining black scales as they rise into view, warm to the touch. ]

But I like seeing the real you, too. Even just glimpses like this.

I will have to file a formal complaint with the architects. Quite unkind to abduct a dragon to a city he can hard fit in.

[Anduin's opinion on the matter is the only one that matters to him, at the present. But he was inclined to agree with him on the former point as well -- there were not many humans, he thought, that would appreciate his scales the same way he was now.

His eyelids drift shut briefly, and then open again. The texture of his lips upon his bare scales was a strange thing, but not at all unwelcome. He stops just short of carding a hand through the other man's hair when he does, instead opting to run the back of his knuckles appreciatively across his cheek.]

I confess -- I am certain I have spent more time as a human than I have as a dragon. Collectively.

[A small, wry smile falls upon his expression as he considers it. He was among mortals so often, after all, doing this or that. He had not really thought much of it until that moment.]

[ That's not a surprise to hear, now that he says it. For someone so focused on hiding, guarding himself, why wouldn't he try to blend in as much as possible? Wrathion's been hiding from those who'd seek to kill or use him for their own ends for his entire life.

Had it even really been a choice, on his part, to remain this way for so long?

Anduin's eyes lift as Wrathion's knuckles drift down the edge of his face, frowning as though in consideration of something. ]

Does it have to be all or nothing? Does it feel any different when you take on some aspects, but not others?

[ It might seem like idle curiosity. It isn't, of course. ]

Not necessarily.

[Wrathion observes him in turn, shifting his weight onto his other foot as he does so. The next time his knuckles brush against his cheek, it is with the same scaled texture that he'd rested his lips against a moment ago. The sharp point of his nails are likely visible in his peripherals.]

It is usually all or nothing. But that does not mean I am incapable.

[He was not like the Aspects -- his power was great, but his strength was in his ability to blend with the mortal races. Tails and horns and other adornments did not do very much to help him with his goals.]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject