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[ His eyes rise at the groan, watching the telltale twitches and shivers play out across his face, his body. Rather than letting himself come apart, Wrathion is rather predictably trying -- and failing -- to hold himself together.

Rather than tease him for it, the blond draws back enough to press a kiss instead to the jut of his hip, allowing him space to breathe, to piece himself back together if he wishes. The tip of his tongue darts briefly over his lips. ]

Should I slow down?

[ He can. If he wants. If that's what it takes for him to find a way to enjoy this the way it's meant to be enjoyed. ]

What?

[Though his voice doesn't quite crack. There is a hoarse quality about it. He knows what Anduin said, of course. But he instantly feels the loss of his mouth, and he shoves another resulting shiver down in order to focus on the man between his legs again.

He clears his throat before trying to speak. The hand fisted in his hair relaxes as a result -- and eventually withdraws.]

No. No, you don't have to slow down.

[He pauses. His tail turns over itself as he processes a thought. Wrathion is self aware enough to understand that there is something he is doing that made Anduin stop, but not necessarily enough to pick up on the why. And he is certain that he wants to do this -- even if the aspect of being so vulnerable and turning over control still discomforts him on some level.]

Is there something I am doing incorrectly?

[Best to ask. As long as they are not laughing at one another.]

You're still tense.

[ He misses the hand as soon as it's gone, but he tempers his disappointment, instead leaning in to start kissing a trail back inwards, before starting to rub his cheek gently against the warm, ridged shaft. ]

I was wondering if there was something I did.

[ But if it's just a matter of Wrathion taking longer to let go, he can work with that.

It felt as if they might have been someplace close, and he starts anew with a delicate swipe of his tongue over the tip of his cock. ]

[He makes another low sound when Anduin leans back in to affectionately lavish attention on his cock again, though this time he does not hide his face. He is quickly discovering things about himself through this. But Anduin has specifically mentioned that he had seemed tense, and it helps him to isolate why he had paused.

So he shifts some of his weight again and allows himself to brace himself more heavily against the wall, one hand dropping to the king's shoulder. Almost instantly, he is able to relax -- less focused on standing up straight, on keeping his cool, and more easily able to watch what is going on between his legs. His breathing starts to come a little heavier as a result, and the resulting tension bleeds out of him -- save for when he tenses as a result of oversensitivity.]

Anduin...

[The next time he takes him into his mouth, his name tumbles out on the heels of an exhale, like a thought that never fully finishes forming.]

[ The way he says his name settles somewhere in his chest, warm and heavy, and there's a soft hum in reply as he takes him in deeper. Shallow still, only a few inches at a time, feeling out the difference in texture and where he might be most sensitive.

It's one thing to try this with another human. Another still with this change in anatomy to consider. But he's every bit as dedicated, tracing his tongue with purpose along the underside, every movement slow enough to let Wrathion feel it in full.

And the more pleased he sounds, the more he feels himself start to stir in kind. ]

[There is a moment, when Anduin manages to pull a fair portion of him inside of his mouth -- where the head of him brushes some low part of his mouth, while his tongue works below -- that his hips buck unexpectedly, seeking more of that same warmth and pressure. Instantly, he goes tense in an effort to keep himself still.

Titans, how embarrassing. He very nearly apologizes, but briefly hesitates when it occurs to him that Anduin may have been searching for exactly such a reaction. Still -- he cannot imagine it is particularly polite to let him choke on his cock, and he is not exactly gentle.

The scales along his thighs pull slightly taught as he makes another effort to keep himself still.]

Apologies.

[Though, really, he'd asked for that.]

[ The sudden jerk is unexpected, suddenly there's more of him than he was prepared for, and those blue eyes water abruptly as he draws back, coughing weakly against the back of his hand for a moment.

He. He needs to get better at that. Perhaps he ought to have practiced more, before trying this with him, but... ]

...It's alright. Just give me a moment.

[ He just needs to catch his breath, swallowing thickly and swiftly moving in to try again. A little less this time, but if Wrathion wants to move his hips, at least there's less of a risk, now.

And what he can do instead is start to move his fingers, slipping upwards from where they'd been resting at the base of his cock, to try and touch whatever his lips can't reach. ]

[Wrathion shifts slightly, glancing away while Anduin catches his breath. He cannot help but feel on display, waiting like this -- it is not necessarily a bad thing, but. Well, Anduin is the only one who has uniquely requested to see him this way, and he still isn't sure if it is offering anything unique or if it is just strange.

But then he puts his mouth back, and applies his hand and -- Oh. There it is. It takes him a moment to find that spot again, where he can dig his heels in and simply enjoy the feel of Anduin's mouth and the new addition of his hand. This time, he tries to pre-empt the instinctual movement and follows the rhythm that he starts to establish for him.

And it quickly begins to feel like a unique sort of magic as they fall in step. Wrathion's breathing turns heavy again, his scales growing warmer to the touch with each passing second.]

[ Rather that fight the impulse, he lets it become part of the motion. Wrathion cants his hips forward, muscles tensing under the gleam of textured black hide, and Anduin lets the weight of him slide forward over his tongue, damp eyelashes lowering to brush the flushed top of his cheeks.

Slow. Steady. Fingers squeezing and cheeks hollowing as he draws back, free hand smoothing over his thighs in quiet adoration.

This is what he wanted to show him. Obscene? Perhaps. But intimate as well, in ways yet unexplored for them. ]

[There is a scraping sound that breaks up the rhythm of heavy breathing, following Anduin's choice to hollow his cheeks. Later, Wrathion will perhaps apologize for the marks he leaves in the wall of the other man's apartment as his claws slowly drag downwards. He can feel something creeping up on him -- and he's done this enough now to recognize it, even coming from this angle.

He stops moving, tense in his shoulders when he forces himself to freeze. The tail behind him, lashes to one side. The hand that had been bracing on his shoulder wanders haplessly to Anduin's head, combing back blonde hair.]

Anduin, I--nrgh.

[There's some strain in his voice that comes in the form of a growl, a hint of concern. He does not want him to stop, but truthfully, he hasn't conceptualized what the end of this looks like. Of course, he has some logical ideas, but thinking about them too hard only brings him even closer to flirting with that horizon that is just barely in reach.]

[ In answer, there's a soothing touch down the outside of his thigh. He knows what it looks like, he's been to this place before, though never with him. And far be it for him to ever back down when he was this close.

Because he wants this. He wants Wrathion to come undone, to see what it looks like, to catch him when he shudders loose. And his only response to that half-voiced plea is a soft hum of acknowledgement, lifting his eyes as the untidy mess his hair has become is raked back by those sharp claws.

Claws that would never hurt him. Part of a creature who by all rights could do him harm but he knows could never bring himself to, not on purpose. Not by design. Not ever. ]

[He stays at that peak for a long time -- longer than is probably healthy, both as a result of trying to decipher what is expected of him as much as not wanting it to end. He'd been flirting with both physical and emotional intimacy more and more over the past few months, but this was different. It was spontaneous, and still carefully agreed upon, rather than something he'd been coerced into.

Hard to believe, harder to let go of.

But when he meets those bright blue eyes, the perfect swell of his lips, and feels him hum around his cock, it feels like being given permission. The deep, feral and hypnotic breathing tips over like twine being snapped. His back bows a bit more until his forehead is pressed to the wall, unaccustomed to the lack of body to hang upon as he spills over. His entire body is a powerful ripple of release -- a release that carries him to the point of feeling almost boneless, by the time it is done.

Perhaps it was a good thing that Anduin had done him the favor of using his mouth to catch him.]

[ Watching release play through Wrathion's body is in fact everything he'd hoped it would be.

Swallowing him down, Anduin keeps his eyes open and locked on the dragon as Wrathion shudders and tips inward against the wall, like his strings had all suddenly been cut. He can feel that quiver of tension shivering its way free under his fingertips, and he allows himself to feel just the smallest shred of victory for all that.

Satisfied, the young king finally closes his eyes, drawing back just enough to lap the last traces of evidence from the dragon's cock. The bitter taste lingers on the edge of his tongue as he presses his forehead to the dragon's hip, breathing deeply.

Well worth it. ]

[He doesn't know what comes after that. When the weight appears at his hip, joined by the sound of Anduin breathing deeply, he becomes vaguely aware that he has arrived back inside of his body. All of his limbs feel heavy, and there is a hazy buzz in front of his forehead. A cold feeling behind his ears.

And when that all settles in, he feels another shiver tremble down his body-- like an unwelcome breeze hitting his warm scales. He is so incredibly oversensitive, enough that he swears he can feel every bead of saliva left upon his cock as Anduin rests against him.

This intimacy -- so often, he shied from it, discomforted by the expectation it often placed upon him. But right now, all he really wants to do is curl around Anduin and sleep. A pity that he could not manage his full form in the apartment. They would have kept warm much easier.

But he suspects this night would have gone very differently if that were the case. Instead, he stays pressed against the wall, his frre hand still blindly petting through Anduin's golden hair. It is the only thing he can think to do.]

Anduin. [He should say something. Something other than just his name.] That was--you have finally managed to render me speechless.

[A feat of strength, to be certain.]

[ A gentle laugh catches warm against his scales, as Anduin shakes his head. ]

All these years, and that was all it took.

[ But he's teasing. It's plain from the look in his eyes when he shifts to stand at last, the heel of his hand swiping delicately at spit-slick, reddened lips. It's suddenly not enough to just lean into him.

That, and kneeling on the floor does his bad knee no favors.

Besides, the bed is so close at hand, and Wrathion still looks so dazed, softer around the edges despite his draconic affectations, and Anduin presses a kiss to the hollow of his throat before tugging him in that direction.

Sprawling together on the bed sounds like an excellent plan. ]

[He almost complains, when he feels Anduin start to move. But he is practically liquid and much more agreeable post-orgasm, and he is easily tugged in the direction of the bed. Were he less graceful, he might have stumbled -- it feels as all of the blood has pooled somewhere below his belly, making his limbs heavy and disagreeable.

But fortunately, the bed is not far, and he collapses into it heavily once he feels his knees hit the edge. Had the city made them any smaller, his tail would not have fit upon the bed with the rest of him -- but it is one of the few blessings they have, for the time being.

When Anduin joins him, there is little that stops Wrathion from turning over and smothering him with the entirety of his scaly body. There are no colorful quips to accompany it -- just the possessive slip of his arms around his chest, guarded and instinctual. This is always the part he skips, and even now, there's an awkwardness about him as he avoids Anduin's eyes and settles for just ... hanging onto him tightly for a moment.]

[ There's something about being engulfed in that warmth, entangled in lean limbs and feeling the fiery heat of Wrathion's core pressed against his chest and belly. It should be terrifying, pinned here under the weight of such a being, but--

He instead lets out a small, happily relieved breath it feels he's been holding onto forever. Lowers his head, nose brushing into the dark curls as his fingers lift to stroke against his scalp. Tangles one leg between his, half-hard against his hip but largely unconcerned with that in the moment.

These stolen moments are theirs, and he'll drink them in for all they are worth, pinning them into his memory with gold thread and wearing them close to his heart when they must keep apart for appearances.

That is the illusion. This is the truth, strange as it is. He can be satisfied with that. ]

[He stays like that for a few moments. The hand carding through his hair puts him to sleep for a moment and he begins to breath deeply, scale-decorated shoulders rising and falling. In his chest, a low rumble vibrates -- it isn't quite a purr, but the unmistakable sound of a completely content reptile.

It is brief, for when he shifts subconsciously to get more comfortable, he seems to also remember that he cannot safely indulge in this particular thing. Red eyes drift open reluctantly, and the rumbling sound quiets when they do.

The slow, sleepy awareness that he achieves allows him to take note of the fact that Anduin is still half-hard against him, saving him the question of whether or not he had gotten out of this what he had come in for. Wrathion adjusts how he is laying, enough to allow him to keep the tangle of their legs while he sits up to prop himself up on Anduin's chest with one arm folded over the other.

His lips are still swollen with their recent abuse along his cock, now soft to the point that it hardly stands out against the armored scale of his underbelly. The observation briefly overwhelms him with curiosity as he leans down to kiss him, tongue sliding across his lips searching to taste himself there.]

[ The soft, sleepy rumbles put a smile to his lips as he realizes what they are, vibrating quiet against his ribs. It's a much different sound than when they were younger -- and the dragon in question was considerably smaller.

Anduin doesn't sleep, but he drifts in this warm tangled contentment for a while, thinking of nothing at all but the sensations of it. The rise and fall of his chest, the softness of his hair and the smooth catch of his hide against his skin, heat against heat.

Then, Wrathion is shifting back to awareness. The rumbling stops, and Anduin's brow pinches faintly, hoping it isn't all over so soon.

But he isn't going far after all, and the small thread of tension melts away with the slow press of his lips. The blond hums quietly against his mouth, tilting into the kiss and opening to him, fingers curling to grasp tenderly at the nape of his neck to draw him in all too happily. ]

[He lingers for a long moment like that, allowing himself both the answer he sought and a small moment of further intimacy. But, perhaps unsurprisingly, it is a short lived thing. The hands at the nape of his neck keep him from pulling back too far, but he does eventually withdraw from the kiss.]

You allowed me to sleep.

[There is something chiding in his voice, but there is a gravelly quality to it that keeps him from sounding too serious or put out. In truth, he would have liked to have slept more. Sleep was still a rare commodity, some days.

But they both know better than that.]

[ Rather than confining, those fingers stroke coaxingly, tangling through thick curls before they taper and give way to the thicker plating of scale along his spine, broadening as they descend between his shoulders. ]

Mm. Was that wicked of me?

[ He doesn't sound very repentant either way, looking just as drowsy and content as the dragon, before boldly leaning up to press his lips to the corner of his mouth.

Far from the initial uncertainty he'd felt the first time they'd laid together like this. ]

Mm. Terribly.

[That gravel in his voice turns to a growl of interest when Anduin leans in to kiss him. The boldness feels organic in a way the tepidness had not.

But yes -- it might have been considered rather wicked, in the city's opinion. Wicked, and dangerous. Who didn't love flirting with danger, just a bit?]

[ Someone who probably would have thought sleeping with a dragon a terrible idea, for a start.

Certainly not Anduin, smiling into the kiss before nipping gently at the edge of his mouth. Light, how that growl just sinks down to his very bones. ]

Well, you are the expert in the matter.

Oh? Am I?

[Even as the affection makes something in him squirm with discomfort, Anduin's complements stroke his ego far too much. He could listen to him praise him for hours -- and the moment that thought surfaces, Wrathion is packing it away again before he can think about it too much. The discomfort never quite finds purchase as a result, one canceling out the other.

The nip, however, is returned with a small shifting of himself within the tangle of limbs.]

I would not exactly call you pious, your highness.

[Certainly not anymore, at least. His tongue drags along his own upper lip in memory. One day, he would certainly have to attempt to beat Anduin at his own game -- once he figured out how to hollow his cheeks without risking the sharp points of his teeth injuring the other man.]

No? A grave accusation.

[ Not that it troubles him. The Light had blessedly little jurisdiction about what goes on between a man and his bedfellows, even if that man should be a priest.

No, the inner conflict that Wrathion often inspires is far removed from his faith, far enough that he can smirk at the tease and shift his thigh, rubbing slow but idly against the inside of the dragon's own. His lips meanwhile continue their travel to the edge of Wrathion's jaw, the dense scratch of his beard, slowly nosing his way up to his ear before delicately nipping at the lobe.

Then he sighs quietly, breath warm against already warm skin and scales. ]

Here I thought my willingness to go to my knees would have convinced you otherwise.

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