[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 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.
[ 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. ]
[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?]
[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.]
[ 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.
[Ah. A pity he is such an imaginative being. Anduin mentions the act of falling to his knees, and the memory of their earlier encounter suddenly warms him. His grip on the king becomes possessive, and he can feel himself stirring again -- to his own surprise.
He never bothered to spend an extended period of time with most of his partners. No, there was too much trust involved with that. If Anduin had not managed to tire him out, it was equally likely that he would have found his way back to his own apartment after he had returned the favor.
One hand plants itself firmly upon his chest as he rolls half way on top of him, like a predator pinning prey.]
I suppose that depends on who taught you to behave in such a way.
[He cannot help his curiosity, but he has a hard time believing that Anduin had learned through his instincts on the matter, even if it was likely. He was a healer after all -- who was a better match to pick up on the physical cues of pleasure?
While he ponders on whether or not to answer his mostly unasked question, Wrathion's head lowers again, dragging both the points of his teeth and his tongue along his shoulder and eventually to his neck. It is a slower, more intimate sort of gesture.]
[ Pressed back into the sheets once more by the weight of him, Anduin deliberates before deciding to hold his tongue. There will be time to talk of Jacob, and now doesn't seem like the right moment...
Never mind that he's thoroughly distracted by the scrape of teeth against skin. After all, Wrathion isn't prone to gestures like this, letting his guard down enough to enjoy the closeness of the moment. He doesn't want to interrupt them for anything when they're already this rare, this precious.
Bad enough that Jacob has started to see the bruises and bites left behind by the dragon as a challenge that needs answering, new marks left along the inside of his thigh in answer. This is not a practice that needs encouraging. ]
Is that disapproval?
[ The words come out in a lazy murmur, eyes sliding shut as he follows the trail of Wrathion's mouth by the heat of his breath, the nerve-tickling scrape of his fangs. It's easy enough to encourage him, with the slow curl of his fingers, scraping lightly against the other's scalp. ]
If you're attempting to reprimand me, I don't think it's working as intended...
[There is a heavy pause -- not necessarily due to the fact that he notes how Anduin dodges his question, but encouraged by the statement that comes after. He pulls his mouth away from the other man's skin with a soft huff out of his nose, pushing back against the (admittedly distracting) hand still tangled in his hair.]
I am capable of taking a different approach.
[His fingers curl a bit on Anduin's chest, his weight shifting to his hip. He had been under the impression that Anduin had endured more than enough punishment, recently. And, though he might never admit it out loud, he was still particularly ruffled by the entire affair that had happened just a few days ago.
And he was beginning to think he might be riled over it for some time, until he found this 'Hellboy' and worked through it himself.]
[ Lest Wrathion become mired in those dark thoughts, there's still the steady stroke of Anduin's fingers through his hair, a semi-sleepy smile on his lips. ]
I like this approach better, I think.
[ Not that he's afraid of more. Of a 'different approach', as Wrathion had so tactfully put it. But how to put that into words? How best to tell him that he trusts him to know when to listen, when to stop, when it's too much--
Without re-opening a larger issue he's not yet confronted on his own. ]
[Indeed, it is difficult to wallow too deeply when Anduin is petting him like he is, though the pause of silence suggests that he is searching for something in his answer that he does not find. He takes that moment, tracing a pattern thoughtfully on the other man's chest until he catches himself doing it, at which point he pulls back from it.
Instead, that scaled hand plants itself on the other side of Anduin for leverage, lifting himself just enough so that he hands over the other man, rather than remaining curled at his side.]
I might have thought to return the favor.
[But the way his tongue moves across his teeth beneath his upper lip, he is questioning the wisdom of it -- which is perhaps why he's yet to migrate that way. He was not as patient as Anduin was, not for most things.
Nor is he particularly enthused about needing to ask for guidance, judging by the concentrated furrow of his brow.]
[ For some reason, it hadn't occurred to him that Wrathion might want to. Though now that he considers it -- thinks on it, imagines it vividly in his own mind -- he is not at all opposed to the idea.
If the way his face suddenly colors is any indication. ]
[There is something in the way that Wrathion's red eyes drop away from Anduin's to instead glance at some spot on the other man's chest that does the favor of answering his question.]
No.
[He'd grown enough to admit when he did not know something, even with the accompanying and unfortunate nudge to his pride. His tail drags heavily behind him, back and forth across Anduin's legs until the rest of the confession surfaces.]
[Wrathion was the epitome of grace. This was not a graceful act. His hand resumes its tracing pattern, the points of his claws slowly moving down the center of his torso. They halt just above the line of his natural waist.]
[ Because he clearly intended to, before something tripped him up. He sees it happen so often, the intent and then the backtracking, caught by the tangle of his own thoughts.
He lets his own hand drop, fingertips tracing the scaled ridge of his knuckles. ]
[He says it thoughtfully, without looking up to meet his eyes. It is not the only thing on his mind -- but, given that he mentioned his path to learning, he cannot help but be nagged by it.
Not that he is jealous. That would be ridiculous.]
[ True, it would be. And Wrathion has of course never done anything ridiculous in his life. To claim anything else would be lies and slander. ]
The one you never actually asked?
[ But it's unfair to play coy. Anduin knows it was meant as a question, even if it hadn't been phrased as one, and at last he relents with a sag of his shoulders. ]
[Unsurprising, to the point that he has to wonder why he'd hidden it to begin with. He's familiar with Jacob only in the sense that he'd spoken to the man once, and had seen him talking to Anduin on the network occasionally.
He had a hunch. It is nice to be right, on the one hand. On the other...
Well. Perhaps it was payment for withholding information about Ramir.]
I also don't want to hurt you.
[He admits that, skipping over Anduin's confession partially as a courtesy, and partially due to the fact that the withholding of information was not actually a barrier here.
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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.]
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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. ]
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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.]
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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. ]
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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.]
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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. ]
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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.]
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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. ]
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[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?]
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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.
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[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.]
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[ 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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He never bothered to spend an extended period of time with most of his partners. No, there was too much trust involved with that. If Anduin had not managed to tire him out, it was equally likely that he would have found his way back to his own apartment after he had returned the favor.
One hand plants itself firmly upon his chest as he rolls half way on top of him, like a predator pinning prey.]
I suppose that depends on who taught you to behave in such a way.
[He cannot help his curiosity, but he has a hard time believing that Anduin had learned through his instincts on the matter, even if it was likely. He was a healer after all -- who was a better match to pick up on the physical cues of pleasure?
While he ponders on whether or not to answer his mostly unasked question, Wrathion's head lowers again, dragging both the points of his teeth and his tongue along his shoulder and eventually to his neck. It is a slower, more intimate sort of gesture.]
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Never mind that he's thoroughly distracted by the scrape of teeth against skin. After all, Wrathion isn't prone to gestures like this, letting his guard down enough to enjoy the closeness of the moment. He doesn't want to interrupt them for anything when they're already this rare, this precious.
Bad enough that Jacob has started to see the bruises and bites left behind by the dragon as a challenge that needs answering, new marks left along the inside of his thigh in answer. This is not a practice that needs encouraging. ]
Is that disapproval?
[ The words come out in a lazy murmur, eyes sliding shut as he follows the trail of Wrathion's mouth by the heat of his breath, the nerve-tickling scrape of his fangs. It's easy enough to encourage him, with the slow curl of his fingers, scraping lightly against the other's scalp. ]
If you're attempting to reprimand me, I don't think it's working as intended...
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I am capable of taking a different approach.
[His fingers curl a bit on Anduin's chest, his weight shifting to his hip. He had been under the impression that Anduin had endured more than enough punishment, recently. And, though he might never admit it out loud, he was still particularly ruffled by the entire affair that had happened just a few days ago.
And he was beginning to think he might be riled over it for some time, until he found this 'Hellboy' and worked through it himself.]
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[ Lest Wrathion become mired in those dark thoughts, there's still the steady stroke of Anduin's fingers through his hair, a semi-sleepy smile on his lips. ]
I like this approach better, I think.
[ Not that he's afraid of more. Of a 'different approach', as Wrathion had so tactfully put it. But how to put that into words? How best to tell him that he trusts him to know when to listen, when to stop, when it's too much--
Without re-opening a larger issue he's not yet confronted on his own. ]
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Instead, that scaled hand plants itself on the other side of Anduin for leverage, lifting himself just enough so that he hands over the other man, rather than remaining curled at his side.]
I might have thought to return the favor.
[But the way his tongue moves across his teeth beneath his upper lip, he is questioning the wisdom of it -- which is perhaps why he's yet to migrate that way. He was not as patient as Anduin was, not for most things.
Nor is he particularly enthused about needing to ask for guidance, judging by the concentrated furrow of his brow.]
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[ For some reason, it hadn't occurred to him that Wrathion might want to. Though now that he considers it -- thinks on it, imagines it vividly in his own mind -- he is not at all opposed to the idea.
If the way his face suddenly colors is any indication. ]
Have you...ever...?
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No.
[He'd grown enough to admit when he did not know something, even with the accompanying and unfortunate nudge to his pride. His tail drags heavily behind him, back and forth across Anduin's legs until the rest of the confession surfaces.]
You surprised me.
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But rather than tease him, Anduin settles the rest of the way back against the sheets, sighing quietly. So. His first all around, then? ]
You should have seen me when I first tried. Less than graceful, let's say.
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[Wrathion was the epitome of grace. This was not a graceful act. His hand resumes its tracing pattern, the points of his claws slowly moving down the center of his torso. They halt just above the line of his natural waist.]
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[ Because he clearly intended to, before something tripped him up. He sees it happen so often, the intent and then the backtracking, caught by the tangle of his own thoughts.
He lets his own hand drop, fingertips tracing the scaled ridge of his knuckles. ]
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[He says it thoughtfully, without looking up to meet his eyes. It is not the only thing on his mind -- but, given that he mentioned his path to learning, he cannot help but be nagged by it.
Not that he is jealous. That would be ridiculous.]
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The one you never actually asked?
[ But it's unfair to play coy. Anduin knows it was meant as a question, even if it hadn't been phrased as one, and at last he relents with a sag of his shoulders. ]
My Submissive. Jacob.
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He had a hunch. It is nice to be right, on the one hand. On the other...
Well. Perhaps it was payment for withholding information about Ramir.]
I also don't want to hurt you.
[He admits that, skipping over Anduin's confession partially as a courtesy, and partially due to the fact that the withholding of information was not actually a barrier here.
He was just a brat.]
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