Void Changes Redeux - azurehue22 (2024)

Chapter 1: Torment

Chapter Text

Kale lay on his back, completely winded. Every muscle, every piece of bone and sinew, was agony. Breathing was difficult. He raised a shaking hand, and noticed it jagged, cracked. Scales, glowing green with fel, permeated his once pale skin. The fingertips ended in torn claws. He let the hand fall. N’Zoth had taken back the power he’d stolen. He was a broken husk again. He tried to focus on his surroundings, but found it difficult. He was laying on sand, that was certain, but it wasn’t the hard packed sand of silithus. More dusty. Tanaris? Uldum?
“You’re awake.” Oh that voice. It was everything he hated, boiled into one annoying whelpling. He groaned, closing his eyes, his hands gripping the sand. “To answer the question that must be upon your lips, we’re at the abandoned resort between Feralas and Silithus. Kale heard movement beside him. Opening his eyes, he sat up with difficulty.
“They are called the Steam Pools.” He grunted. He examined his wounds; a bloody gash tore up his side, bleeding onto the pale sand.

“It makes no difference.” Wrathion sat down beside him, looking none the worse for wear. It was galling, that the young whelp was left with nothing but a scratch running down his face, but Kale could barely breathe.
“You are…yourself again.” Wrathion said the words as if he wanted to laugh, but when he turned to look at Kale, there was concern in his eyes. Kale bit back a retort.
“This is not me! This is what the Legion left of me after they had finished their experiments.” He spat the words, anger coursing through him. If it weren’t for the dragon next to him, it would never have happened. Azeroth would be in relative peace. N’Zoth would still imprisoned. This was all down to Wrathion.
Who seemed to understand that. He bowed his head for a moment, before glancing at Kale’s middriff. Kale sucked in painful breaths, steadying himself.
“You need to wash your wounds.” Kale ignored him, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth. The shirt he’d worn in tatters, his pants in worse shape, he finally heard Wrathion’s words. Shucking off what little clothing remained, he scooted down the beach, feeling every grain of sand against over sensitive skin.

He’d almost forgotten this existance. How could he? Had he really assumed he’d be able to borrow the power of a god forever? A particular jolt of pain sent him into spasms. In a flash, he felt Wrathion at his side, pulling him the rest of the way. Water lapped at his ankles, and finally, washed over his body. The pain receded, replaced by a calming sort of serenity as the water slowly turned scarlet. He probed at his side, wincing as he felt around the gash.

“You lived like this? For years?” Wrathion asked, kneeling in the water. Kale glanced at him, scowling, only to find the dragons handsome face filled with concern.

Handsome? Kale blinked, looking away.
“For around four…or so I’ve been told. I’ve lost track.” He chuckled. “It’s easy to forget when you can walk without pain. Breathe again.” He stretched out, looking at the permanetly clouded sky; the clear blue obscured by geysers that belched steam into the local atmosphere. “My…drake form gives me some comfort.”
“Why?” Wrathion asked. Kale looked for other wounds; a gash on his leg, which had split his pants into shorts. He tore them off, unconcerned about his nudity. He’d have to scavenge clothes to wear later. In the meantime, he could make well enough with his drake form. He twisted, hissing with pain. Wrathion, his cheeks rosy, was looking determinedly away.
“The Legion tore me apart while alive and put me back together. Whether they had no idea what they were doing or just torturing me for the fun of it, I don’t know. All I know is my bones are in the wrong places, tendons and ligments either too short or too long, and I am, in general, cursed.” He scowled. “How did you make it out of there unphased?” Wrathion looked at him sidelong, pointing to the graze on his cheek. Kale snorted. “Please. That hardly constitutes as a papercut, let alone an injury.” The whelp smiled.

“I suppose not. Perhaps it is because I haven’t stolen power from a monster.” Smile turning into a smirk, he looked away. Kale scowled. He scooted up the embankment, only to stop a few feet in, gasping for breath. Water rushed over him. Agony. Pure agony, an existance he wanted to forget. Warm hands found his own, tugging him up the sandy shore. Wrathion’s voice was soft as he spoke to him this time.

“Do you have any spare clothes?” He asked. Kale grunted.
“I’m a Planore. I have several shapes to chose from.” He meant to roll onto his belly, to become a drake, only for a hand to stop him, resting on his shoulder with warmth Kale hadn’t felt in years. He glanced at it, looking up at its owner, who looked down at him with glowing red eyes, concern spread over his features.
“You nearly died back there.” Kale stared. Wrathion was seriously beautiful. Had he always thought that? No; he had been a small child when they’d first met. He’d seen him again at Garrosh’s trial, but that had been years ago. Now…he had shaped himself into a man to fit the twenty or so years he’d been alive. Seeing him in the throne room back in Stormwind, Kale hadn’t realized just how…gorgeous he’d been. He’d been too busy gloating, too busy tossing him around. He felt something shift within him, glancing at the hand again.

“Not…not the first time.” His breath catched. When had this started? Wrathion squeezed the shoulder, letting go, but Kale grabbed the hand, pulling him back. Glowing red eyes met his own.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” Kale breathed. Why did he want to taste those lips? He’d never, in his entire life, wanted so desperately to kiss someone. To devour them whole, wrap his body around them.
“Yes?” Wrathion asked, brow furrowed, looking at the hand that held him fast. Kale tightened his grip. Wrathion began to bare his teeth.
“Why do your eyes glow?”
“I’m a black dragon, Kale. Use that scholarly mind of yours and-.” He was cut off as Kale kissed him, tugging him down next to him, hand running through thick, luxurious hair. Wrathion didn’t pull away. He groaned, pushing deeper. Kale pushed him in turn to the sands, landing atop him, their hands clasped together. He pulled away from his lips, trailing kisses down his jawline.
“K-Kale…” He heard him breathe. He didn’t stop. He moved to his neck, sucking at soft, sensitive skin, wondering at how beautiful a form could be. Dragons sculpted their forms. He’d learned it from Nefarian, who had explained that every curve, every pore, was meticulously crafted. A dragon never chose to be ugly. He felt nails become claws that dug into his back, drawing more blood that oozed and dribbled into the sand.

“Stop.” Kale didn’t immediatly cease; his mind too focused on the beauty under him. The word slowly drifted into place, and as he parsed it, he rose, wincing with pain.
“You’re bleeding on me.” Wrathion moved out from under him, shrugging off the coat he wore. It fell, forgotten, in the sand, as he undid the shirt he wore underneath, tearing that in two. Kale raised a brow, admiring the muscles underneath. Wrathion shrugged at his look of surprise. “I can make new ones.” He pressed Kale backwards with a hand to the chest, who acquiesced, grunting as Wrathion wrapped the fabric around his belly, tying it tight.
“I heard-,” He winced as Wrathion worked on his leg. “That dragons generally made them as part of the illusion.” He felt at the cloth; silk from the Broken Isles. It immediately stained scarlet. Wrathion sighed, sitting back on his heels. He eyed him.

“A mage conjures mana biscuits. They’re edible. I conjure clothing that exists. I don’t know, ask Kalecgos.” Silence fell between them. Kale looked away, desperate to continue their earlier kissing. Wrathion still held that flush. Confusion welled up inside him. Had he…always been attracted to men? Now that he thought about it, he’d never really been attracted to anyone. Certainly not Alycia.

Was it gratitude? The fact he’d saved his life? Or had this attraction been building over the few months they’d been working together? And why did the whelp seem just as attracted, if not more, to him? Kale had nearly killed him a decade and a half ago. He reached out a hand, which Wrathion grasped, fingers closing around his. Kale pulled him close, free hand running through hair, thumb down his jawline. He felt small, pointed ears under the hair, pulling it back to expose them.
“Half-elf?” Kale kissed them, feeling Wrathion smile.
“I like the ears. Normal elves tend to be…ostentatious.” Kale snorted, breathing in his scent. He had a spice that lingered in his nostrils, intoxicating.
“Wrathion…you are the definition of ostentatious.” He pulled back, smiling. “Though I suppose you look better without the foot long ears and eyebrwos.” He kissed him, pulling him to the sand. Kissing Wrathion, he forgot his pain, forgot that every joint was in agony. He felt him chuckle, a vibration from his belly.
“Oddly virile for wounds such as yours.”
“I’ve always been this way.” Kale grinned. Wrathion co*cked his head, hands on Kale’s bare chest.
“Pointed teeth?”
“You didn’t know?”
“Obviously not.” Kale smiled, leaning down to kiss him again. He felt Wrathion arch his back, arousal tenting trousers.
“Planore have pointed canines. We hunted, back when we first lost our stone and became fleshy beings.” He ran his hands down Wrathion’s body, gazing at his face, which eyed him, one eye open, the other closed in bliss. Kale let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding, his hands settling on the waistband of Wrathion’s heavily adorned trousers. A mixture of leather and silk, they felt smooth under his hands as he tugged them down, excitement prickling his body.
“Fascinating. Does not explain your kinship with dragons.” He felt hands tug at the corners of his undergarments. Sitting up with difficulty, he let Wrathion take the lead, pulling them to his ankles, feeling himself spring free. He had never been this aroused. Oh, he’d masturbat*d a few times when he was younger, but sex had never appealed to him. Now… he craved it.
“I…” He swallowed, unable to focus with this man in front of him, raw sex appeal gazing at him, his own naked and subpar body on display. “I can’t explain that myself. I’ve researched most of my life. It seems to have started with me.” He watched Wrathion study him, feeling vulnerable under those scarlet eyes. He again pulled him close, hands wrenching his pants down to his ankles, feeling him spring against his him.
He rolled into the sand, pulling Wrathion astride him.
“You’re certain this resort is deserted?” Kale asked. Wrathion chuckled.
“Quite. Why? Ashamed to be seen?” He fell over him, barraging him with kisses. Kale arched his neck as the attention, bliss blossoming in rosy patches across his pale, sickly green skin. He reached down, grasping Wrathion who gasped at the attention.
“Surely you expected this…” Kale whispered, running lips up his jawline. Wrathion sucked in a breath.
“I…didn’t know what to expect. This is all so new.” There was tension in those words. Kale pushed his face to meet his, kissing him deeply. He continued to grasp his length, giving him firm, slow strokes, his own twitching against his belly. Glancing down, he was awed by his beauty.

“You put in a lot of detail down here.” He teased. Wrathion chuckled, nuzzling him.
“I’ve always found mortal men to be very attractive.” Kale stroked his hair, kissing him once more, drinking him in. With a jolt, he felt himself rolling on top. Wrathion held strength that belied his small form. Looking down at that small body, lush with heat, sweat beading, eyes lidded and vulnerable, Kale felt a very primal need. Wrathion gripped him in both hands, giving him easy, firm strokes. Kale gasped.

“You’ve…you’ve done this before, haven’t you?”
“No.” Was all that he said. Kale kissed him again, running his tongue up his jawline, over he cheek. He felt soft moans escape from his companion. Legs gripped him closer. “This is all…very new to me.”

Wrathion wanted this. Kale desperately wanted this. He pressed his forehead to his companions.
“New to me as well.”
“You have a wife.” Kale felt his heart sink. No. He didn’t want to think of Alycia. Of the sex they’d had, twice in their marriage. The hatred he felt for her, a bubbling mess of anger and bitterness.
“No, I don’t.” He replied, rising. Wrathion co*cked his head.
“Oh? Don’t you have a son?”
“I don’t have a wife. I never had a wife.” He looked at Wrathion, urging him to understand his words, and he did. Understanding dawned on him. Clawed hands gripped his chin, pulling him into a hungry kiss. Kale drank of him, pulling away only to yank his hips close to his own. The hands moved to his shoulder blades, digging into skin, white hot knives that send surges of brilliant pain through his shoulders. A new sort of agony, an agony he could live with if only it came with this heart-stopping, addictive pleasure. Suddenly primal, he pushed himself in. The man under him let out a shout of pain, raking his back, teeth bared in anger, tears running down his cheeks. Kale felt a twisted sort of pleasure; a mixture of elation at the tightness that squeezed him so wonderfully and concern at the obvious pain Wrathion was in.

He was glad the resort was deserted. Moans echoed through the valley, glancing off the water. Wrathion shouted with a mixture of pain and pleasure as Kale thrust into him, his movements furious, pounding into the man in an attempt to forget the pain he’d felt, the torment of his reality, the fact he’d been bested. He hadn’t had sex in years, and this sex was glorious. He could live off it. Books had ever been his lover, and now…

Wrathion had awoken something inside him. His thrusts rose to a fever pitch. Wrathion was an excellent lover; holding Kale close, hands raking yet more tracks in his back. He was so damn beautiful, with that dark skin that contrasted against the white sand. Why did he feel this way? He hated this man! He snarled, slamming into him. Wrathion let out a yelp underneath him, face turned into the side, eyes wide and fearful. Kale gripped his chin, forcing him to look at him, kissing him with renewed vigor as he came, screaming into lips locked about his own.

Silence. Sweat beaded down his hair, dripping down his nose. Chest heaving, he pulled away, looking at his lover. Wrathion had his eyes closed, arms splayed out next to him, face screwed up. He cracked an eye. Kale fell to the side, his pain flaring forth. Ignoring it, he ran his hands down his face, wiping sweat from his brow.
“I have to ask why. Call it the scholar in me.” A watery sun peeked through the clouds above them, illuminating them in soft light.
“I suppose…” Wrathion began, rolling onto his side. Kale resisted the urge to look at him. “I suppose I have…what’s that word you mortals use? Feelings?” He heard him snort, sitting up. He was clearly disgusted by it. Kale looked at him, incredulous.
“I nearly killed you.” Wrathion shrugged.
“I’ve seen what you’ve done, Kale. Your abilities, your power…the sacrifices you’ve made. What you did for Lordearon…” He paused, turning to look at him.
“I understand why you did what you did, back then. I’d have done the same, for my friends.”
“We’re categorically different, you an I.” Kale spoke, still looking at that sun. Kale was a reclusive scholar; Wrathion craved company. Kale cared nothing for his appearance or his surroundings, Wrathion was meticulous. Kale loved shadow magic, and Wrathion was repulsed by it.
“Part of your charm, I suppose.” He scooted closer to Kale, leaning over him. Kale looked at him, raising a hand to wipe sand from his beard. Wrathion leaned into his touch. “All my life, short as its been, has been spent fighting the shadows. Yet you’ve embraced them to great affect…” He trailed off, looking over Kale, his serene face suddenly concerned. Kale coughed. His wounds began to crash down on him, the blood he’d been leaking throughout his activity a damp puddle in the sand.

“You need stitiches.” Wrathion spoke in clipped, hurried tones. He grabbed Kale by wrists, hauling him up. Kale swooned, caught in the smallers mans arms. “You need ot get back to the heart chamber.”
“I…I can’t enter the heart chamber.” Wrathion looked alarmed, realizing Kale was right. He settled Kale upright, dressing himself in a whorl of energy, steady hands holding Kale as he swayed.

“I…I’m still naked.” Kale didn’t want to be dragged to the encampment with nothing on. Wrathion tutted, pushing him back into the sand.
“Does it truly matter? You are dying, Kale.” Kale sighed, pulling the strips of bloody cloth down, to zero effect.
“Mortal dignity is a strange thing. I’d rather the world not see my co*ck and balls.” Sighing in indignations, Wrathion leapt into the air. He flew away, towards the resort, and Kale slumped into the sand.

Nefarian? He called. Nefarian, I need you. Silence. He’d never heard silence before. He ran hands over his face, panic rising in him. He’d never called out for Nefarian and not receieved an answer. The dragon had always been there for him. Always.

Kale had sent him away. He lay there, struggling to maintain conciousness, until a sheet fluttered down around him. Wrathion materialized, wrapping it around his waste, before, quite roughly, hoisting him upon his back. Kale didn’t have time to blink before they were flying.

Chapter 2: Respite

Chapter Text

Why is Wrathion so stunning?

The thought burst upon him one evening as he leaned against a tent, hastily built in Magni’s Camp next to the sword. Arms crossed, face impassive, Kale stared at the blade stuck in the crust of the planet he called home. Multi-colored blood, blood they’d deemed Azerite, oozed from the ground, crystalizing into brilliant shards of radiance. Elementals raged, pounding the earth in fury. People milled about. Ignoring him.

Everyone ignored him. Except Wrathion, who seemed drawn to him. He’d been that way for awhile, long before Kale had his way with him. He sagged, mixed feelings bursting in his chest. The normal agony of his existance was added to be shame.

Not shame for having slept with a man. That he was adamant had been a good idea. No. That he had slept with Wrathion. Scowling, he stalked out of the camp, into the open desert. Every step culminated in pain, a dull agony that never ceased. Tendons stretched too far, others far too short. Ligaments and muscles out of place, bones smashed together in the wrong places. He was, in truth, lucky to be alive, after the Legion’s torture. But this agony…was it luck? That he was alive? Or was this more torture?

He had felt BRILLIANT when holding the power of N’Zoth. He had been a god! Power coursing through his veins, his body wreathed in shadow. The maddness so close, as it always had been, but his body…whole! As it hadn’t been for years.

You could have kept it. You were offered that choice. You should have kept it. Give in. What’s the point?

He ignored the voice, recognizing it as not his own. He continued his walking, meandering to no where, feet falling on the hard packed sand with deadened beats. His mind held onto a name, held onto it with an iron fist, digging it into his brain, carving it into his skull.

Wrathion. His voice, his body, his touch, sent shivers down his spine. He collapsed into the sand, staring at the sword, curled wisps of gaseous azerite puffing into nothingness around the wound. For a moment, he was free of that name, as he thought about what sitting in those pools would do to his body. Nothing good, surely. Azerite gave one a euphoria, coupled with a feeling of absolute power. Kale’s already…taxed mind couldn’t handle that burdan. That name came back.

Wrathion. Wrathion. He dug the palms of his hands into his eyes, trying to focus on something else, other than the dragon and the pain. Oh, he’d felt so blissfull as he drove into him. The pain gone, the shame of his defeat gone, only pleasure and the hot, sweat soaked body of the one he took.

Gnashing his teeth, he smashed both fists into the sand, dragging his nails through it. Silithus sand was hard packed; only the first few layers gave under his beating, the grey granules sliding under his fingernails.

The sensation temporarily drove the pain from his mind. Oh, he was a mess. An absolute mess with a chaotic mix of emotions that he had never felt before in his life. Lust, pleasure, companionship… He’d never felt these things. He’d always been focused on his studies. Human relationships meant…nothing.

But Wrathion was so tempting. Had been, for months. The way he walked, the way he spoke. That tilt of his head as he spoke to you. That smirk, taunting and addicting and infuriating.

He laid back, staring up at that sword. Taller than any mountain he’d flown around, surely. It’s hilt obscured by clouds, the fiery red glow it once held dead. He sighed, cracking his knucles, wincing at the pain.

Footsteps.

He sat upright, turning, to see the object of his thoughts approaching him. Wrathion stopped, raising his chin.
“Am I interrupting your musings?” Kale scowled, turning away. Wrathion approached, sitting down beside him.
“I didn’t invite you to join me.” Kale looked at him. Wrathion held a smirk; a smirk that didn’t quite reach those eyes of his. Eyes that glowed red as embers.
“I don’t really care, Kale. I’ve been thinking.”
“Dangerous activity, at least for you.”
“Hush.” Wrathion hesitated, and Kale, used to his behavior by now, looked to him.
“What?”
“I…am not entirely sure how to word this.” He stood up, flexing his hands, before turning to Kale.

“You are in constant pain, are you not?” Kale raised a brow, scratching at the scales of fell that encrusted his jawline, poking through beard.
“How could you tell?” Wrathion rolled his eyes.
“Why do I bother…I can fix that for you.” Kale stared at him for a moment, before chuckling.
“Fix it? Wrathion, this is a permanent condition.”
“But the pain doesn’t have to be. I can’t fix your bones, or…whatever the Legion did to you. But I can take the pain away. Remove their taint, if only for a little while.” Kale looked at him, quizzical.

“What are you, a red? You can-.” Wrathion held up a hand.
“Enough. Do you want this, or not?” Kale stared. A soft wind caressed their faces, blowing sand grains and sweeping through Wrathions hair. Strands crossed into his face, which he ignored as he looked at Kale.

“…Why? You hate me.”
“Do I, now?” Was all he said. Kale swallowed.
“Seriously. I tried to kill you.”
“That was years ago.”
“I…”
“Do. You. Want. This?” Kale stood, knees popping. He winced, and as he stumbled, Wrathion reached out to steady him. His hands warm on his skin, Kale felt himself flush.

“I do. Even if I don’t understand it.” He closed his eyes, gripping Wrathion by the wrists. “Anything to get rid of this pain…” Wrathion wrenched himself free.

“Where are you sleeping? I know it’s not in the camp.” Kale opened his eyes, pointing beyond the sword, towards the eastern mountains that bordered Ungoro Crater.

“An old Kaldorei ruin. Still has a functioning house.” Wrathion smirked.
“Functioning?”
“Dust has…never really bothered me.” Kale slumped forward, transforming. Wrathion did the same, albiet in a puff of smoke. Kale lead the way, his scales a sickly green, his talons glowing in the eternal twilight of New Silithus. His drake form hurt less; the bones seemed to align. Everything was more of a dull ache instead.

The flight was short; Kale stumbled upon landing, his feet falling out from under him as he tumbled into a ball. Wrathion landed far more gracefully.
“You must have practice flying at this point.” He lectured, walking up to Kale, who untangled his limbs and wings with effort. “Why?”
“If you must know, flying isn’t as easy as it used to be for me.” Kale barked, shaking himself free of grit and sand. He stretched his wings; showcasing the rips, the tears, the veins that stretched in foul yellow lines across the sinew. Wrathion co*cked his draconian head. Kale folded his wings, and in an instant, became a man.

Pain. He grit his teeth, walking with deliberate steps into a hovel. It was a typical ancient Kaldorei dwelling; one room with table, chairs, bookcase and bed. The bed Kale had outfitted with sheets and pillows from the hotel at the Steam Pools. Wrathion wrinkled his nose as he entered, clearly disgusted. Books littered every surface. Scraps of food Kale had attempted to eat and forgotten lay scattered about, on plates or on the ground.

“I…wasn’t expecting company.” Was he ashamed? Yes, that was shame… “Excuse the mess.”
“You are quite possibly the most filthy mortal I’ve had the pleasure of working with.” Kale turned, smiling sardonically.
“Oh?”
“Then again, I am in very few of their dwellings.” Wrathion moved a book from the bed, sitting down. Kale stood, awkward. He was completely unsure of what to do with his hands.

Why was this happening to him? He sighed, running fingers through hair and sitting beside him. Putting on a mask of confidence, he scooped Wrathion in his arms.

Wrathion pressed into the touch. Kale held him, feeling his warmth; a fiery heat against his chest, the softness of his hair, the breaths that caught and shuddered at his touch.
“You give in so easily…” Kale whispered. “Why?” Wrathion didn’t answer, but Kale felt him set his jaw, his body stiffen. Kale kissed his temple, running down his jawline, distracting him. “You are far too beautiful for your own good.”
“I made this visage deliberately.” Wrathion pulled away, only for Kale to pull him back, holding him tight. He continued, turning to face him. “I am well aware of the effects it has on people.”
“Were you aware of the effects it would have on me?” Kale asked, pushing back his hair, running a thumb over the half-elven ears. Wrathion raised his chin, defiant.
“Of course not, don’t be-.” Kale kissed him. He felt the raw heat and fire of his body but not the softness of his lips and the subtle gasps of breath. He smiled, pressing his forehead to his companions.

“It’s infuriating.” Kale whispered, still smiling. “How you affect me.”
“You are smiling.”
“I am. You’re dizzingly beautiful.” He pulled him back against him, back to chest, pinning him place. Wrathion could, with ease, break from such a hold. He stayed fast, letting Kale do as he pleased with him. Letting him undress him as he planted kisses on his jaw and neck. Gasping and moaning as Kale grasped him.

“Beautiful…”
“Can…you…” Wrathion shuddered against him. “Honestly say that? How many naked people have…have you actually seen?”
“I’ve seen quite a few in my time, Wrathion. Men and women both. Walked in on quite a few orgies in Blackrock Mountain. Been to plenty of military camps. Seen my share of shady underbellies in cities across the world.” He kissed him again, longer this time. “I’ve never seen anyone quite as gorgeous as you.” He gazed at the co*ck in his hand.

Being with a man didn’t disturb him. In fact, it felt right. Being with Alycia; that had been strange. Nothing about his encounters with her had felt good. They had just felt routine. Obligated. Having a man in his hands…that felt right. Had he always been attracted to men and never known it? Why had Wrathion unlocked this in him?

I’d never seen absolute perfection before. He mused, his hand moving in firm, gentle strokes. Wrathion’s breath began to hitch, pushing into Kale’s chest as the pleasure mounted. Kale paused, a sudden thought crossing his mind.

“Wrathion…” He asked, pausing in his stroking. “Did you ever have feelings for the King?”

Wrathion jolted forward. Kale let go with an intake of breath. Probably shouldn’t have voiced that particular thought…

“Why would you ask such a thing now of all times?” He glared at Kale, who glared back.
“Curiosity.” Wrathion glared for a moment more before sighing, running a hand through thick dark hair.
“I…I suppose I did. Not that I knew what those feelings were.” He looked at Kale, as if to say “…what they are…” Kale tilted his head.
“What about now?”
“Nothing remains of…whatever I felt. I admit I felt a sort of…companionship, but that is gone.” He set his jaw. “Mortals are frustrating and yet they are all I know.”

Kale raised a tentative hand, placing it on the mans shoulder a moment later. Wrathion meant to shrug it off, only to sigh and accept his touch.
“If you…don’t…” Kale bit his lip, unsure of what to say.
“Of course I don’t want this.” Wrathion spat, turning to him. “And yet I can’t help it.” He leaned in close; every eyelash visible. Kale sucked in a breath at his beauty. “I can’t stop thinking of you. Why are you doing this to me?”

“I can attest I’m doing nothing on purpose.” Kale attempted a smile. Wrathion stared, and the smile faded. “You are…intoxicating, Wrathion.” Wrathion smirked, turning away. “When I’m with you, the pain…seems to lessen.” Wrathion looked to him, as if remembering.

“You almost made me forget why I came with you to this…filthy place.” He made to stand, only for Kale to pull him back by the wrist.
“Don’t go.”
“I was not planning on it.” He glanced down at his wrist, gripped as it was by Kale. Kale didn’t lessen his grip. He had the unfathomable urge to kiss him.

He did so, pressing his lips to his companions with force. Wrathion pressed deeper, eager for the kiss, hands intertwining with Kale’s as they fell backwards onto the makeshift bed. He felt something shift within him as they kissed, felt energy rush into his core. Warmth filled his body, warmth and power. The pain vanished. His head felt clear. He pulled away, grinning like a mad man, as Wrathion swayed above him, eyes closed.

“I feel incredible! What did you do?” He laughed, clapping his hands as he sat up. Wrathion leaned back against the wall of the hut, eyes still closed, looking drained.
“Wrathion?”
“I…gave you apart of myself.” Kale stopped his jubilation, concerned.
“Wrathion. I. No. You can’t.” He frowned. “I don’t deserve it, for one, and you need your strength, for another.”
“It will return in time…” He sighed, opening his eyes. “You don’t deserve it, Kale? I don’t believe you have a choice to whom I grant my boons.”

“I…” Kale had to admit the lack of pain, the clear head, the feeling of virility that filled him was intoxicating. He pulled Wrathion into a rough kiss, gripping his chin.
“I hate owing you, whelp.” He growled. “What do you want?”

“To be held…” His voice, so soft it was barely perceptible, gave Kale a double take. The man seemed to regret his choice of words immediately, scowling and attempting to pull away. Kale held firm.

“No sex?” Kale had been hopeful. Wrathion chuckled.
“Did you expect it? No, Kale.” He paused. “Not tonight.” Kale grunted, pulling Wrathion towards him, holding him close. Breathing him in. Wrathion settled against him, falling asleep almost immediately. Kale felt a mixture of elation and confusion.

He hated this man. He annoyed him, infuriated him, and yet…he intoxicated him, entranced and enthralled him.

Chapter 3: Attack

Chapter Text

Kale awoke to soft rustling, a form crossing over him in the darkness. He awoke, instinctively forming a ball of shadow which he let loose in the room. It’s soft light illuminated Wrathion; the fine contours of his body showing keenly as he stood. He’d undressed in the night, or perhaps Kale had undressed him. Either way, the result was stunning; the violet light showcasing muscles and curves, along with that long, white scar that Kale had given him, so long ago. Wrathion turned, red eyes glowing in the darkness.

“Did I wake you?”
“Yes. But I’m glad you did.” Wrathion eyed him for a moment, before rolling his eyes and raising his arms. “Wait!” Kale sat up quickly, scooting to the edge of the bed. “Don’t get dressed yet.”
“I’m in a hurry.”
“For what?” Wrathion rolled his eyes.
“We’re at war, Kale.” He simply stood there, completely naked, tantalizing to Kale’s eyes. Kale licked his lips, feeling heat rise in his face. Wrathion waited for a response, before turning back around, hair swaying with the movement. “I believe we have been missed.”
“You mean you have been missed.” Wrathion co*cked his head.
“Do not discredit yourself, Kale. It’s because of you that the Forge is working again.” His graceful, smug motions captivated Kale, who held out a hand.
“Come here.” Wrathion stopped, freezing in place. He turned again, gazing at him, every trace of annoyance gone. He obeyed, and Kale, excitement sending shivers and jolts over his body, ran his hands down his chest. Wrathion inhaled at the touch, eyes closed.
“Kale, we really don-.”
“N’Zoth isn’t going anywhere.” Kale soothed. “And I’m feeling particularly amorous at the moment.” He wasn’t in pain.

He wasn’t in pain! It was the first time, since N’Zoth took his power back, that Kale had awoken feeling no pain. As if he was a normal man again. Wrathion placed hands on his bare shoulders, running them down, over his back. Raw heat flared over Kale’s shoulder blades. He ran his lips down Wrathion’s chest, past his navel. The ball of shadow split into two at his command, hovering in mid air around them.

“Must you play with shadow around me?”
“It’s a simple trick, Wrathion.” Kale waved a hand, and the violet orbs burst into pure arcane energy, crackling in the dusty air. “It’s not void energy; I just prefer the violet color.” Wrathion looked at the orbs, lips parted slightly.
“You truly are amazing.” Kale held Wrathion in his hands, licking his lips.
“You have the most beautiful body.” He admired him for a moment, and without hesitation, wrapped him in his mouth. Wrathion let loose a low gasp, hunching over, fingers raking through Kale’s hair. He felt himself grin, running his lips along him. The man tasted as good as he looked; soft skin, made ever sweeter by the moans he elicited from his companion. Wrathion gasped once more, tugging at his hair by the handful, hips thrusting into Kale’s face.

He’d never given head to a man before. This was heavenly; fifty-five years old, and he’d just now done this? What else had he been missing out on while buried in books? He grunted, continuing to work the man his hands, who whimpered and groaned at his ministrations. Wrathion had single handedly unlocked Kale’s sexuality, and Kale had no idea how he felt about that.

“D-don’t stop.” Kale replied with a low murmur of assent, mouth full as it was. The whimpers were too sweet. Kale pulled away, looking up at Wrathion, whose eyes were closed, his features serene.
“You taste amazing…” Kale whispered, running his along his shaft as he looked up. Wrathion opened an eye, looking down at him through heavy lids.
“I…don’t know how to respond to that.” Kale buried his face in him, breathing in his scent.
“I wouldn’t know either.” He grinned, a feral need driving him forward. He dove back in; Wrathion’s hands on the back of his head, forcing him deeper. Kale sputtered, feeling his own arousal strain at his trousers as Wrathion’s moans reached a fever pitch. His eyes widened as warmth flooded his mouth. He gasped for air, swallowing as Wrathion muttered apologies.
“I’m sorry, I…didn’t expect that.” He eyed him. Kale smiled, pulling him by the chin down for a kiss.
“Don’t apologize.” Wrathion smiled, tugging Kale up.

Kale was tall for his race; his people were shorter than humans over all, and Kale was taller than most. Wrathion, however, was over a head shorter than he. Kale grasped him by the chin again, smirking as he raised his head to meet his gaze.
“If you’d based your guise on humans, you’d be taller, whelp.” Wrathion yanked his hand away, scoffing.
“And miss out on all the fun elves have? Please.” He turned away, his gait incredibly inviting as he crossed to the door. Clothes materialized on his body. Kale stopped short from standing.
“Thank you for that.” Wrathion turned in the entrance, looking at him. Kale swallowed, finally rising and striding over to him.
“I expect you to return the favor.” Wrathion smirked, looking down at the tend Kale had pitched.
“I intend to…eventually.” He raised a hand, cupping Kale’s chin, who snarled somewhat at his touch. His smirk broadened. “But I have buisiness I must attend too.” He let Kale go, who co*cked his head.
“Oh? What’s better than this?” Kale teased. Wrathion snorted, turning away.
“I promised King Anduin I would update him on the situation several months ago.” He let his head loll back lazily, sighing. “I suppose it slipped my mind.” Kale snorted, turning to grab his shirt from the bed. He held it in his hands as Wrathion exited, transforming. Kale smirked.
“You enjoy that.” Wrathion chuckled, a deep resonating note as he shook his draconian head.

“Don’t die on me, Kale. I won’t be here to save you this time!” He took off in a spray of sand and debris. Kale blinked granules out of his eyes as he watched him speed away, shirt still held in his hands. His heart sank. Sighing, anger rising in his chest, he tossed the shirt to the side, striding back into his hovel.

He paced for awhile, back and forth. Stared outside the window, it’s panes encrusted with thousands of years of grime. From his vantage, he saw the sword and the elemental chaos clearly, the drifting streams of Azerite rising and puffing to nothingingness. Gritting his teeth, he rested his forehead against the glass.

His life was a mess. It had always been a mess, but now…it was confusing. Before, he knew what to do. Had a plan. When people were too much for him, he could always retreat. When Alycia was horrid, he could banish himself to his library. He avoided people, avoided relationships. He only dealt with them with a proper plan in place. It was the reason he buried himself in books. Couldn’t get feelings for books. Couldn’t break a books heart. Couldn’t cover a book with kisses, want to devour his body…This? This…thing with Wrathion? All that was him. A desire he didn’t know he had, a need he hadn’t understood he needed.

What did he want? What did he need? He had been quite comfortable remaining celibate and without attachments. The only one he kept close was Nefarian. The only people he loved were his son, his grand daughters, and his bond. Everyone else he kept at arms reach; for his own safety and their own. Now?

Why do I feel this way? About a man who almost destroyed the world with his foolish decisions? He slammed his fist against the glass. It shattered, it’s strength gone after all this time. His lip raised in a snarl, drawing his fist away. He needed to fly. Clear his head.

He could fly again. He could always fly, but now, he could enjoy it. He could soar again, flap his wings and scream as he used too, draconian maw gaping wide with exultation as he climbed. Silithus had lovely thermals, transporting him high, allowing him to crest at about the hilt of the massive sword. He rode them for a time, flapping little, simply thinking, his mind back on it’s previous track.

Wrathion. Why did he desire him? The scholar in him needed to know why. He soared over Magni’s encampment, letting his mind wander. Had he always desired him? No. That was a fact he could completely verify. These feelings were recent. Had he felt anything in the throne room? He thought back to that time, when Wrathion had walked up into view, smug smirk plastered over his face. Kale’s anger tantamount. The satisfaction he felt at witnessing King Anduin’s fist colliding with Wrathion’s jaw. Had he felt something there? Kale released several bulkheads in his mind, allowing repressed emotions to surface.

The voices that followed him grew louder.

Yes, he had felt something. A tickle of attraction, the briefest flutter of the heart. He hadn’t recognized it at the time, but it was there. He flapped once, propelling himself onward, crossing over Ahn’Qiraj. He changed course, falling into a lazy circular pattern as he gazed down at the deserted, ancient kingdom. Once deserted, actually. As he gazed he noticed new life crawling amidst the sandstone and obsidian; Silithid, or something else, he couldn’t tell, but it was definitely Aqiran. He kept a healthy distance, old eyes given new life by Wrathion’s magic adjusting the the light, observing.

Nothing as of yet. Just…activity. He checked the sky; the sun was rapidly rising, turning the pinkish Silithidian sky of morning into the normal, dusty yellow of day. He continued, urging himself to focus.
Was it loneliness? Nefarian was gone; he’d sent him away. No. Couldn’t be that. He forced himself to face reality: He was simply attracted to Wrathion, and had gained that attraction recently. Wrathion was, in actuality, incredible. There was truth behind his smugness and arrogance. He deserved quite a few of the accolades. His knowledge of the Black Empire, of the Void, and Old Gods astounded Kale, and there were things in that young whelps head that even he hadn’t heard of.

He was also beautiful; uniquely tailored for Kale’s tastes, though he hadn’t realized he had one. He continued his lazy soaring, his mind racing, his frustration peaking, the voices in his head growing louder, almost tangible. He ignored them, as he always had, until he noticed the sky growing darker. Puzzled, he paused, flapping his wings in place as he examined the sky. Yes, it was definitely darker. He turned, continueing his hover, as he gazed at the eastern horizon, the sun cresting the jagged Ungoro mountains. There. A dark blot, blocking out the sun. He co*cked his head, starting to move towards it, but stopping himself.

The blot was growing larger. He blinked, surging the opposite direction, away from the darkening sky and growing blot of darkness. As he flew, he turned his head; it had gained on him; the blot now perceivable objects: Insects. Thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions of insects, buzzing, swarming, gaining on him with every second. He picked up speed, fear beginning to etch its way across his chest. The shape undulated in on itself, a writhing, twisting mass of black flies that threatened to overcome him. Already they completely blotted out the southern and eastern horizons. He screamed, turning and spraying shadowflame, as they overcame him.

Biting, stinging, razor bladed wings battered him. His scales, thick as they were, were nothing. The webbing of his wings suffered the most; thousands of tiny knicks. He swatted, talons raking, the insects tearing into his flesh, digging under his scales. He felt himself falling, falling down, the tears in his wings unable to support flight. In a last ditch effort, he breathed flame, incinerating much of the insane swarm, only for more to take its place. They invaded his mouth, biting his throat, stinging his eyes, his nostrils. His eyes rolled back into his head.

So this is how it ends? A swarm of biting insects I can’t escape from? He refused to accept that. Breathing hard, he dove, feeling the swarm splat against him, blood oozing out of thousands of bites. Front paws raked out, talons slicing through insectoid bodies. Shadow coalesced in front of him, a portal oozing from nothingness. He zipped through it.

Only to find nothing. He didn’t pass into the void; he passed into Silithis. Silithus as it should be; Silithus with its watery sun, shifting sands and massive sword thrust into the planet. He looked around him, panicked, feeling blood seep from hundreds of wounds. The swarm? Where had it gone? It couldn’t have just-!

You think you can best me?

The low, droning voice echoed maddeningly inside his skull. Kale screamed in agony, finally recognizing what had happened.

You are nothing. A gnat. A speck of dust. A pawn on a chessboard of eons.
His talons, covered in blood. His body, raked by thousands of cuts, many of them serious. Long, bloody tracks scored his wings; they could no longer catch air. He was falling.
I am infinite. I am eternity. I am what was and will ever be.
He had attacked himself. The entire experience; the swarm, the stinging insects, the darkening sky; had been an illusion. An attack. He’d let his defenses lapse.
You are mine. Delicious irony.
The ground. Fast approaching. Kale made one last feeble attempt to flap his wings, to at least soften his fall, only to feel air sear through them, dust and grime stinging his wounds. He closed his eyes.

He hit.

“Kale?” A voice entered the haze of his mind, piercing through the fog. A familiar voice. Nefarian?
“Nef…farian?” He croaked, unable to open his minds. He felt…nothing. He remembered…nothing. What had happened? He struggled, fighting against the haze.
“Kale! What the hell happened?!” He felt hands on him; the moment those hands touched him, agony surfaced, white hot and brilliant. He let out a scream. Memories flooded back into his mind; the swarm, the voice, the blood, the fear…
“Kale…what has happened to you?” That voice was filled with concern. Kale forced his eyes open. Through a haze of red blood he saw a handsome face; scarlet eyes and curly dark hair. Kale closed them again, unwilling to witness that terror that held plain on the mans face.

“What happened?” Kale attempted to speak; only for a sharp pain to shoot up his face. His jaw felt dislocated. He let his head loll back into the sand, feeling blood ooze. Wrathion laid fingers on his draconian jaw, hushing him. Standing up, he heard him transform. Kale opened his eyes once more, watching as the great drake picked him in tender talons.

“Don’t try to speak just yet, Kale. There are several shamans in the encampment that can heal you.” Silence. Kale felt watched blood fall into the sands as they passed, leaving scarlet droplets. “I just healed your body, and you go breaking it again.” He heard a deep chuckle from the dragon. Kale had only a noncommittal grunt in reply.

“What attacked you, Kale? Aqir? Faceless?” Wrathion’s voice had lowered as he mused aloud. Kale attempted to swish his tail, trying his best to shake his head, do anything to answer the drake.
“Do not move!” He felt the talons squeeze him. “You’ll only injure yourself further.” Miles passed. How large was Silithus? It felt like hours had passed. The agony was acute. Kale felt on the verge of passing out.

“You’re lucky I found you, my friend. You know, I don’t like it when you wander so far from the encampment.” He heard a note of forced humor in the drakes voice. “I grew worried. Hadn’t heard from you, and so I went out looking.” The sands changed, becoming hard pack stone, marred by golden cracks pocked with blue. Elementals raged underneath them, several looking up. He felt himself deposited on the campsite’s inner circle. He heard gasps, shouts of alarm, the surging of bodies as many pressed in. Many hands, searching, prodding.

“By the ancients! What happened?” The familiar voice of a Tauren woman. She lowered herself in front of him, lifting his head in her hands. Kale tolerated it, unable to draw his head back.
“Heal him best you can. My friend here has…gotten into quite a scrape.” He felt Wrathion adjust his wings in the lead uncomfortable fashion, his head lolling back, broken jaw forcing his tongue to fall out of his mouth. He felt energy enter him, and stop.

“My healing…it’s not taking.” The Tauren spoke, voice worried.
“Druidic magic will not work on him; only shamanistic magic takes in his corrupted hide.” Wrathion’s soothing voice. Kale flicked his eyes back and forth.
“He’s broken nearly ever bone in his body and…was he attacked?” He felt his wing lifted. Kale hissed in agony.
“Don’t move him. He was attacked. Fell from a great height.”
“Ah mon, his face be a real mess.” A troll loped into sight. Kale felt his hands on his jaw, resisting the urge to shudder back in disgust. He felt water penetrate his hide, deep into his body, easing pain and knitting up cuts. Gashes closed.
“Heal his jaw first; I need him speaking.”
“Workin’ on it, mon.” The hands shifted. The water bored into his soul. His wings felt plump, full of life, his talons lost their chips and bloody lacerations. His body healed before his eyes, and suddenly, he found he could speak.

“Enough!” He beat back with his wings. Everyone shuddered back, fear plain on their faces. Everyone but Wrathion, who stared at him with an even gaze.
“There is the Kale I know.” He watched him squat in front of him, hands on his knees. “What happened?” Kale snapped at him; Wrathion smirked. “Come now Kale. Don’t be upset I rescued you for a second time.”
“I would have been fine.”
“Oh? Bleeding out in the desert, picked apart by wild animals as you lay there, immobilized from your injuries? I suppose that is “fine” to some.” Wrathion knelt down, leaning in, humor fading.
“What happened?”

“Nothing important.” Wrathion snarled.
“You’re lucky you’re injured.” Kale’s lip curled. His body healed, he transformed, looming over Wrathion.
“Or what?” Wrathion rose, unphased by their height difference.
“What happened? It’s obviously pertinent.” Kale inhaled, looking at that face he used to loathe. Now…his eyes took in defined cheekbones, perfect skin, long lashes and beautiful eyes. Kale sighed.
“I was attacked.” Wrathion inhaled sharply, glaring at him. “Just not in…the way you think.” He glanced around. “Thank you for…rescusing me.” He bow low, arms flourished. Straightening, he looked around, finding the troll that had healed him.
“Thank you for your timely healing.” The troll bowed low.
“Anytime, mon. Don’t be fallin’ apart again, tho. Gotta save my energy for Azeroth.” He winked. Kale attempted a smile, his lips uncooperative. Turning on his heel, he stalked away.

“You won’t walk away from me!” Wrathion yelled, keeping up.
“I appear to be doing so just fine.” Kale scratched at his beard, feet moving quickly from the hard packed encampment to the dustier wilds.
“Attacked by what?” his companion hissed, keeping pace. Kale turned, grabbing Wrathion by the chin, forcing his head up. Wrathion gasped, teeth bared, staring at him.

“N’Zoth attacked my mind, little whelp. While I was busy ruminating on you.” Kale hissed the words, voice low. “While I thought I was fending off an…opponent, I was actually tearing myself apart.” Wrathion ripped himself free, grasping Kale by the wrist, nails digging deep.

“You…did that?” Kale stared for a moment, before nodding, looking away.
“Do you understand why I didn’t want to blabber my weakness in front of everyone?” He wrenched himself from the grasp of the young dragon. “I need rest.”

He walked several feet, transforming in a flash before flying away. Anger, white hot and blazing flared in his gut. Embarrassment laced the flames. He’d been attacked. He’d been fooled. That entire sequence of events had been nothing but an illusion, an illusion brought on by his lax defenses. He grit his teeth, snarling, wings flapping with purpose. Behind him he heard wingbeats. Checking behind, he noticed Wrathion, keeping an even pace.

“Chase me if you must, little whelp. I’m going to sleep.” He sped up. Wrathion easily kept up.
“You forget what I am if you think you can outfly me, Kale.” The younger man mused. “I will not let you rest until you’ve told me all.” He gazed at him sidelong, scarlet eyes boring into his as they flew. Kale shook his sinuous head.
“Leave me!” Wrathion, surprinsgly, let up. He paused in midair, his draconic face looking concerned, even hurt, as Kale flew onwards, away from his companion.

He stewed on the flight home, muscles aching from their quick healing. N’Zoth had attacked him. Terrified him, really. That swarm… It had all felt so real, the biting, the tearing, the feeling of blood dripping down his scales. The feel of them in his mouth, in his nostrils, crawling over his eyes… N’Zoth was toying with him. A fall from that height…Had the Old God spared him? Or had that been a coincidence? Anger boiled over, he flew into his hut, careening into the wall. Dazed, he transformed, laying on the bed, head in his hands.

N’Zoth had attacked him. Beaten down his defenses, used his distraction as a weapon. Snarling, he raised his hands, carving runes into the air, hot white and violet. They flared to life, opening a pocket in the Void, through which he reached. It was his own little pocket dimension. The spell he’d discovered only recently, quite literally stumbling into it as he traversed the Shadows. He fumbled around, gathering everything he’d stored and pulling it through. Several tomes, journals, quill and ink. That little dimension would be useless now, with N’Zoth aware of him so keenly. His scowl deepened, dismissing the portal. It faded, puffing away into vapor. Grunting, he gathered the quill and ink from the bed, setting them on his desk before hefting an age-weathered tome he’d found in Naz’jatar. He studied it, admiring the craftmanship of the cover, before cracking it open.

It was time, finally, to get to work.

Chapter 4: Clean

Chapter Text

Three days passed, not that Kale noticed much. He slept every now and then for short periods, only to awaken and begin again. He entered a haze of research and study, a haze that was very hard for him to break out of. Everything became secondary; the only thing that mattered was this tome in front of him, it’s secrets needing to be unraveled. The first chunk of the tome was the accounts of Naga sea witch and her trials, following the words of her queen, and through Aszhara, N’Zoth. It detailed the hideous machinations of the Old God, going into some detail of the history of the Black Empire. Instead of the Naga language, it was written entirely in Shath’yar. Kale understood it well. He’d begun the translation, inking out several pages before, frustratingly, he ran out of ink.
He sighed at his quill, scowling as he checked around his room. At the turn of this conflict, he had left everything behind. Sealed up his library in Aquila, taking nothing with him but the barest essentials. Now he was regretting that lack of foresight. He did, however, have a sizable stash of coin on him, one that could be used to buy more ink and parchment.

He closed the tome, tucking it securely on his person, before exiting the hovel and taking flight. Gadgetzhan was an easy 4 hour flight, across the vast jungle of Un’Goro and into the sandy plains of Tanaris. Kale spent the time bolstering his mental defenses, adding layers and wards against encroachment. He landed just outside the city, sitting on a rock, gazing with co*cked reptilian head at the stucco and daub walls.
It used to be a bustling city, set upon a well that had been dug thousands of years ago by the Farraki. Now, with the Shattering, it was a bustling port down, with triangular sails dotting the horizon and the deep, resonating trumpet of horns as ships entered and exited the harbor. Kale leapted of the rock, transformed, and set out, hands in his pockets.

The center of the city lay a cage, meant for gladitorial fights to the deaths. Kale raised his hands, grasping the metal bars as he looked inside. He’d wanted to fight in this arena before; if only to find a way to escape. Now he looked upon with disgust as flies swarmed upon bits and pieces of gore that cluttered the sand. He wrinkled his nose, pulling away.
The lunch crowds were in full swing as he pushed his way through, turning corners and meandering down back alley ways, ignoring the washed up drunk goblins and squatters, their hands held out in want. He tossed a few silver at them absent mindedly, looking for a particular shop he’d visited when younger.

It may not even be around anymore; that had been long before the Shattering. He turned another corner, flexing his arms curling and uncurling his fists, reveling in his new found strength. Wrathion had given him quite a boon. He thought about ways to repay him; the man seemed to love his attention and his company. He felt conflicted; on one hand he loved the time they spent together. On another, he felt it was unfair to Wrathion, who clearly cared for him deeply. The way he looked at him; those blazing red eyes filled with tenderness…

Kale just couldn’t feel the same way. His begrudging acceptance of him was turning into care, however. Wrathion had saved his life; twice now, in fact. Perhaps a gift? No. Wrathion would see through it, and now wasn’t the time for gifts. He stroked his chin, so absorbed in his thoughts he walked right past the shop he was looking for. Doubling back, he stood for a moment outside the shop, trying to remember what it looked like in the past.

Nothing had really changed. A little corner shop, with hand painted sign in kitschy green ink “Quills n Ink’s n Things.” Smirking, he entered, ducking under the low, goblin made frame. The scent of incense filled his nose, and he was accosted by the sight of towering stacks of books, parchment, and inks of all colors and varieties. A wizened goblin stepped up onto the counter, tufts of white hair poking around large, sagging ears. He peered at Kale, who smiled.

“What can I getcha today, my dear fella?”
“Ink. I need quite a lot of it.”

“A, a scribe. I getcha, I getcha. Don’t see too many of you these days.” He hopped down from the counter. Kale followed him to the back of the shop, where shelves lined with inks displayed their wares. “Here’s my selection at the moment.” He smiled, eyes following the shelf as it ran the entire length of the shop. “Could be worse.”

“A vast selection, but I’m looking for black ink.” Kale smiled. His teeth must have shown, as the goblin brightened considerably.
“A Planore! We don’t get many of ya in Kalimdor!” He pulled a stool up to the shelf, standing on it and reaching for a vial of plum colored ink.
“If you buy five vials of black ink, I’ll throw this in for only twenty-five copper.” Kale took the vial, holding it up the candle light. Metallic flecks swirled in the vial.
“The color of our capital.” He placed it back on the shelf. “Tempting, truly, but I need black. At least fifteen vials, along with five vials of red ink.” The goblin looked crestfallen for just a moment, before realizing what a sale he was about to make. Kale eyed the shop, thinking.

“And parchment. How much do the boxes run?” The goblin had scooted to the counter, climbing back on top of it to do calculations.
“Fifty copper a box.”
“Four boxes then.” The goblin peered over his shoulder at him.
“Four boxes? That’s quite a load, along with the ink.” Kale smiled, saying nothing. The goblin eyed him for a moment longer, before shrugging and calculating the total. Kale gathered his items, placing the inks in a leather bag he’d relieved from a previous owner in the city. The goblin began stacking his boxes of parchment.

“That’ll be twenty gold.” Kale handed him the money, taking the parchment under each arm.
“Hope you have a cart. That’s not an easy load.” Kale smiled as he faced the door.
“Oh, I’m strong enough. Thank you!” He exited into the sunshine, leaving the goblin to stare.

Didn’t take long to find leather strips the fasten the boxes around his ankles. With the bag firmly around his neck, and each box tied together and around his legs, Kale was able to carry them with ease. He grinned, taking off and darting away as shouts alarm and arrows filled the sky at the sudden appearance of a dragon.

Dusk had fallen by the time he arrived back at the hovel. The power that Wrathion had bestowed upon him was wearing off quicker than he liked; already his joints felt stiff, his hips aching, and fel scales began to pierce through his skin. He scratched at them absently, sitting down with a grunt. Staring at his hands, he flexed them experimentally. Dexterous enough to write. All he needed. Tearing open the boxes, he began to write a fresh, reveling the smell of fresh ink.
The tome, he discovered, was part of another mystery. Xala’tath, Blade of the Black Empire. It seems it had not been penned by a Naga sea witch, as he had previously thought, though the Naga had certainly gotten her claws into it. The original manuscript had been written even earlier than they, with yellowed pages and binding deterioarting, held references to the blade. He gazed at the text, scratched his chin with the tip of his quill, unconcerned about ink stains. Lighting another candle, he pulled it close, angling the book to read.

It stated that Xala’tath, or more so the blade, was used to home a “long forggoten evil.” He paused, thinking. A fifth old god, perhaps? So deep in his ruiminations, he didn’t hear the flapping of wings until a silken voice reached his ears.

“I msut admit, I grew worried about you. I can see I needn’t have been.” Kale looked up, vision adjusting to the darkness and depth. Blinking, he focused.
“You never need worry about me. I am just a book worm.”
“A bookworm with a penchant for violence and getting himself into scrapes.” He saw the shadowed form of Wrathion at the entry, and with a splay of his fingers, let loose five brilliant violet orbs. They hung in the room, illuminating its corners. Wrathion’s nose curled in disgust as he glanced around at the filthy surroundings.
“You, my friend, are in desperate need of a bath.” Kale ignored him, continueing to pour over the tome. “You reek of sewage and unwashed body.”
“I’ve discovered something amazing.” He beckoned Wrathion in, who braced himself, grimacing as he stepped into the hovel. He saw the destruction Kale had caused earlier, doing a double take.
“What happened?!”
“I was a bit over eager to land. Listen, read this.” He pushed the tome at Wrathion, who, using his own flame as illumination, glared at Kale for a moment before taking it in his hands.
“How long as it been since you slept?” His eyesbrows were knitted in frustration. Kale took the tome back, annoyed.
“What do you know of sleep?”
“I know that all mortals require it.” He took the book back, finally reading it. He raised a quizzicle brow, eyes flitting back up to meet Kale’s. He felt his heart leap. “This is written in Shath’yar.”
“So?”
“I was under the assumption that most cannot read it.” His gaze returned to the book. Kale smiled.
“I can read it just fine.” He patted the stack of parchment near him, which was covered in his lazy scrawl. Wrathion stared at him, lips parted.
“You learned Shath’yar? All on your own?” Kale nodded, pushing the tome yet farther in Wrathion’s hands. Wrathion finally took the hint, reading. After a moment’s persual, he spoke. “I was unaware the tome concerning Xala’tath had left her side. Where did you find this?” Wrathion asked, after finishing the paragraph.

“Nazjatar. I had no idea it was about the dagger.” Excitement bubbled inside him. Finally, real progress! “The dagger is a prison. Empty now, by the looks of it.”
“Aye.” Wrathion replied, setting the tome down with distaste clear on his beautiful features. “It seems Aszhara is in possession of it.” Kale took it in his hands, opening it back up.
“How did she come to procure it? It seems to have changed hands many times in the last few years.”
“Yes. The blade once housed Xala’tath, a being of great malignance. Now that it, or rather, she, has been released…it is empty. It proved very useful to a certain sect of shadow priests during the last war with the Legion.” Wrathion stepped out of the hovel. Calling from outside, “Now please, Kale. We can discuss this more over a bath.” Kale froze, hands in the process of gathering his things.

“Are you…offering to join me?” He stepped out of the hovel himself, standing in the doorway, hands gripping the frame. Kale eyed the man, his eyes running down his coat, settling on the hint of bare chest at his collar. Wrathion noticed, smiling.
“I am. As long as it gets you out of this filthy hovel.” Kale shrugged.
“Alright. If you insist.” He ducked back into the hovel. Wrathion followed him, curious. Kale set his hand on the tome; it’s cover shifted to that of a rather raunchy novel, with art depicting a lurid scene between a human female and a male Tauren. Wrathion raised an eyebrow.

“Interesting disguse spell.”
“Isn’t it? I picked up a few things when I haunted Dalaran for a few months.” Wrathions brow’s rose further, his eyes glinting.
“Another story you will have to tell me.” Kale gave him a small smile.

“Quite the line up you’ve asked of me.” He gathered his things into a small satchel, slipping it over his head. Walking out of the house, he realized he did reek. Sheepish, he turned to Wrathion, whose head was co*cked, smirk on his lips. “So…the Steam Pools again?” He asked. Wrathion gave him a sharp nod, jumping into the air not a moment later and flying away. Kale did the same, exalting in the feeling of flying again after a period being cramped in the hovel. It was only a thirty minute flight, and he enjoyed keeping pace with the younger drake, whose graceful motions in the air spoke of much practice. Wrathion let out a roar as they neared their destination, surging forward, and Kale grinned. He let him lead the way, staying on his tail, as they crossed the mountains. His companion landed gracefully on the sands, while Kale, shouting in exuberance, splashing into the water.

He closed his eyes, letting the water rush over his scales, soaking into his skin. It was an exultant feeling. Spreading his wings, he laid his head against the surface, semi-floating, allowing himself to relax. The pain in his joints seemed to lessen somewhat. He heard the flapping of wings, and something hard hit him on the head. Turning, he glared at the chuckling drake. Beside him, floating in the spring, was a soft pink bar of soap. The drake must have looted it from the nearby resort. He took it in his front talons, flying to the beach, where he transformed.

“I see I’m not the only one thats been looting.”
“I noticed many of the beds lacked sheets. I wonder who that could have been.” Kale smirked, removing his clothes. Tugging his shirt off in one pull, he threw it to the ground, stopping as he noticed Wrathion doing nothing. He pulled up short, hands on the drawstring of his trousers.

“You going to join me, or just watch?”
“I was thinking of doing the latter, actually.” Wrathion popped a hip, smirking. Kale walked up to him, soap held in one hand, working the strings of his trousers with the other. Wrathion lazily as Kale took hold of his chin. Kale studied him a moment. Those lips were divine, that skin soft, those eyes…

He kissed him. Wrathion sucked in a breath, allowing Kale to pull off his coat, letting it fall unceremoniously to the sands. Wrathion wrapped his hands around Kale’s head, fingers running through his hair.
“You’re still disgusting.” He breathed, letting Kale kiss his neck.
“Yet you’re letting me kiss me.” Kale pulled away. “Come on. This was your idea, after all.” He took him by the hand, guiding him into the water. He kicked off his trousers. Wrathion pulled away, Kale looked back, in time to notice Wrathion simply magic his pants off. He smirked as Kale gaped, following him into the water, kissing him deeply. Kale let himself be guided, pushed into deeper waters. He felt Wrathion smirk under his lips, his hands reach up, running through his chest hair, only to be suddenly thrust from the man with a push. He yelped, falling backwards in the water, sputtering.

“What was that for?” Wrathion grinned.
“As I’ve said, you stink.” Kale growled, aroused and annoyed. Wrathion reached for an arm, yanking him up with strength that belied his small form, before wrapping arms around him. Kale kissed him, licking and kissing and devouring every piece he could reach. Wrathion melted in his arms, his smugness gone, replaced with submission and tenderness. He heard him take shuddering gasps as Kale kissed his neck.

“What’s wrong?” He finally asked, looking at him. Those scarlet eyes of his were shut, his face serene.
“Nothing.” An eye opened, a smirk crossed his face. “You needed this.” Kale smiled, his heart swelling. What was this emotion? This feeling of…joy? Or was that simply lust? Kale had never felt it before. Wrathion took a step back, gripping Kale’s chin. Kale gritted his teeth against the gesture, and Wrathion held firm, his smirk growing broader.

“Where did you drop the soap?”
“Does it matter?”
“We’re in here for a reason.” Kale groaned.
“I don’t know where it is…can’t we-.” He grabbed Wrathion, pulling him into a kiss against the grip at his chin. He accepted the kiss; he felt his smile against his lips, before he was forcibly pushed away, held at arms length.

“Find the soap, Kale. I promise to do you the honor of lathering you up.” Kale gaped. Wrathion turned, walking towards a soft waterfall that fell between levels, the soft water splashing into a thick layer of steam that obscured the rock face behind it. Kale watched him go; watched that incredible, impossible body of his left his side. He licked his lips, glancing around him. He found the soap floating next to him.

“Hey, I found it. It’s here.” He grabbed it, splashing up to Wrathion, who let out a chuckle, taking it.
“You’re impossible.”
“What do you mean?” Kale asked. The other man, half way to the shelf, tutted.
“You’ll need the falls. Come.” He pulled Kale by the wrist, who accepted, his toes digging into the sandy bottom of the pools, staring at the crack of the perfect ass before him. He felt himself pushed into the falling water, it’s warmth caressing his skin. Then came the rubbing. He gasped as his arms were lifted, and every part of him was lathered, up and down. He opened his eyes, warm water streaming from his hair.

“This seems rather beneath you, bathing me like this.” He pointed. Wrathion smirked.
“I enjoy the work. It’s akin to perfecting a nearly complete statue.” Kale co*cked his head, confused. Wrathion chuckled, rolling his eyes. “You’re hopeless.”
“And impossible, so it seems, though you’ve still not explained-.” Wrathion kissed him, hands running through chest hair, before wrapping themselves around him. Kale pressed deeper into the kiss, hungry, desperate for this man beside him. He felt his body press against his, felt arousal send jolts of tingling electricity up his spine. Wrathion pulled back. He clung to Kale, eyes closed, lips parted, face pressed to his chest. Water dripped down them both; Kale ran his hands through Wrathion’s hair, loving its soft voluptuousness, the way his ears ended in a soft point, the warmth of his neck, his very body as his hands traveled down, the curves of his body and hard, rigid muscles. He pressed his cheek to his hair, reveling in his scent.

What was this? He certainly loved the closeness; but was he really…falling for this dragon? Wrathion had caused the fourth war; he had set in motion events that had resulted in the deaths of millions. The dragon seemed to understand that; Kale could see pain in his eyes at times when they spoke, and he often saw him staring into space.

“I’m going to get some materials.” Wrathion spoke, withdrawing a little, looking up. “You are going to sit down and gather your thoughts.”
“Gather-,” He paused, confused. “To what end?”
“Oh? You do not know?” Wrathion co*cked his head, climbing out of the pools and clinging to the rock face. The dripping water only highlighted how absolutely delicious his body was. Kale licked his lips, mind blanking. “You are going to tell me exactly what happened when I found you broken and bleeding in the sands.” His mind slipped back into place. He scowled.

“I can just leave, you know.”
“Oh but you won’t.” Wrathion turned, walking away. Kale sighed, watching as he transformed and flew to the hotel. The drake flitted above a balcony and, in a split moment, he transformed again, entering a room and out of sight. Kale leaned against the rock face, it’s edged worn smooth by years of erosion, and thought.

How to tell Wrathion about his weakness? He stretched out his arms along the side, letting the water fall over him, it’s steady beat against his head and neck a pulse. He thought back to how Wrathion behaved around him; that melting in his arms, the soft voice, the shuddering gasps. He became a completely different person when around Kale. How did he have that power of the dragon? He mused on this for a moment longer before wingbeats heralded Wrathion’s return. He looked up, eyeing the dragon through streaming hair. In his talons he held a basket of goods. The drake set them down on the rock face above them, motioning Kale to move to the side, away from the falls. He did so.

“What are you planning to do?”
“I think that’s readily apparent.” Kale sat on the stone bench cut into the rock face, annoyed. “You ready to tell me?” Wrathion voice spoke in his ear. He felt hands run themselves through his hair. Kale leaned into the touch.
“No. But I suppose I have no choice.”
“That is correct.” A low chuckle. “I have my ways of wheedling information from others.” Kale looked at him, arching his neck.
“Oh? Standing there naked had a great effect on me.”
“Does it? I must confess, that never occurred to me.” He pushed his head back, far more tender than before.
“You going to wash my hair?” Kale teased.
“Yes. And you’re going to talk.” He felt shampoo massaged into his scalp. He turned, eyeing his companion side long. Wrathion gave him a glare. “I don’t see how this is surprising to you. You stink, and I don’t trust you to rid yourself of it.” Kale smirked, turning back around.
“Thank you.” He whispered. Wrathion didn’t respond; doubtless he hadn’t heard over the falls.

“Now. Explain. Why did I find you crumpled in the sands?”
“I already told you.”
“Ah yes, that N’Zoth had attacked you.” Sharp nails dug into his scalp. Kale closed his eyes, smiling at the touch. “That tells me shockingly little.”

“Alright.” Kale splashed at the water with indignance. “Alright, fine.” He thought for a moment as Wrathion dumped water over his head, rinsing his hair.

“I fancied a flight after you left me. To clear my head.”
“Of what?” Kale didn’t answer. He wanted to reply “Of you.” But thought better of it. Wrathion had been on his mind incessently, and it was only the past few days of study that had rid him of the man. Now he was back, washing his hair, his scent heavy and intoxicating, in the luxurious warm pools of an abandoned resort.
“Just…things.” He finally said. “I flew, and I suppose I…” He chewed his lip, not wishing to speak the truth. “I…let my defenses lapse.”
“The defenses, I assume, that allow you to use your power unharmed?” Wrathion asked, working in some other product. Kale nodded. He felt warm thighs on either side of his cheeks. Kale looked up, noticing the haughty gaze on him, legs to either side of him, feet planted beside him on the bench under the water. He leaned back, relishing this intimacy. “How incredibly asinine of you.” Kale rolled his eyes, letting his head rest against one perfect thigh.

“I never said it was smart.”
“Why do it in the first place?” Kale bit his cheek, unwilling to respond.
“My…defenses stop me from…” He paused, gathering his words carefully. “My defenses stop me from analyzing choice emotions and deep set memories. I can’t really look inwardly without letting many of them lapse.
“Oh, that explains much.” A choice pull of his hair, a chuckle. Kale smiled.
“And then?” he felt a lurch in his stomach as the memory resurfaced. Insects. Thousands, millions, billions. Blotting out the sun, biting, stinging, cutting.

“Insects. So many. Biting and tearing and stinging.” His voice fell. Wrathion leaned in to hear him, his hands at his ears, massaging them.
“It was all a vision. Nothing but a nightmare. There attacks were…merely myself.” He raised a hand, watching the fel glow resurface, the scales bulging from under his skin.

“You did all that…to yourself?” Wrathion sat, stunned.
“Apparently. There was no other explanation.” He felt Wrathion’s warm thighs leave him, leaving his exposed cheeks and neck cold. A small splash, and the man curled up next to him. Without thinking, Kale pulled him close, breathing him in.

“I was thinking of you.” He whispered. “And how you vex me so terribly.”
“Is that so?”
“Why are you so beautiful to me?” The words came out as half a whine. Wrathion kissed his neck.
“I could ask the same of you. Why do you have this power over me?” These words came out accusatory. Kale looked at him. Wrathion’s brow was wrinkled, a soft frown on his face. “I hate it. I despise it.” He pressed deeper into Kale’s hold, who held him. “And yet I…can’t help it.” Kale kissed the top of his head, pressing his cheek to that curled hair, holding that smooth body next to his.

“I’m overthinking it, I’m sure.” He eventually said. “I can’t say I’m not enjoying our time together.” Wrathion drew himself away. Kale saw, for a split second, fury in his eyes, before it was replaced with a soft smile.
“Nor can I.” Kale took his chin in a hand, cupping it towards his face.
“Do I hurt you?”
“Did you, you mean? Oh yes.” Wrathion bit down on his thumb. “But I enjoyed it all the same.” Kale frowned.
“I’d rather not…repeat that.”
“Do you suddenly care about my well-being?” Wrathion laughed, pushing his hand away.
“I would rather not cause pain to whomever I’m having sex with, yes, Wrathion.” Wrathion froze in the process of getting out of the pool. “Does that surprise you?”
“I…I don’t know.” He glanced at him. “You’re clean enough. Rinse your hair and come with me. I want to show you something.” Kale eyed Wrathion, his eyes running down his body, settling on his clear arousal. Wrathion made no attempt to hide it. Kale licked his lips. Dunking his head and scrubbing his hair in one furious motion, he hopped out of the pool, following the man. He loved watching him walk, loved his water dripping in steady rivulets down his back. How white sand clung to his ankles, contrasting brightly with the darkness of his skin.

Hurrying up beside him, Kale was suddenly aware of how awkward his gait was. It was more of a lope than a walk, and he walked with that hunch. He attempted to straighten himself out, only to revert in a matter of seconds to his original posture. Too odd. He frowned.

“Why do you walk that way, anyways.” Wrathion asked. He led him into the walled section of the resort, up a cobbled road and past several abandoned eateries. The cobbles felt cool on his bare feet, the sand grating.
“Most Planore do. It comes from how we transform. It’s an action, less a mental command.” Wrathion looked at him, fascinated. Kale shrugged. “We hunch forward and roll our shoulders to transform; I do the same to become a drake, though that’s mental. It’s just a habit.”

“Interesting. May I see it?” Kale looked at him, then down his body. His eyes fixing on one spot, he asked,
“Now?” Wrathion chuckled.
“I suppose not.” They’d reached the front of the hotel. Kale stopped, looking around. He felt uncomfortable with his nudity, having to constantly remind himself they were very alone.
“Odd, that they simply abandoned this place.” Wrathion turned in the entrance, eyes glancing southward. The hilt of the massive sword was an ever present reminder of just why they abandoned this place.
“I imagine the sword strike scared them off.” Disinterested, Wrathion turned away. Kale followed him into the hotel. He had an urge to take his hand. Actually, had an urge to take him in his arms. He was intoxicating, with that walk, that hair, that skin…

The hotel was rather small; only two floors, but it made up for its size in grandeur. A crystaline chandelier hung from the ceiling, it’s many facets dull and dim without light. The flooring was of inlaid turquoise tile, the walls carved reliefs, detailing depictions of underwater fantasy. It was beautiful, but nothing was as beautiful as the man beside him, who looked at the decor, smiling softly.

“Goblins do know how to decorate.”
“Not usually. I’m sure they got help from someone with actual taste.” Wrathion smirked.
“I suppose you’re right, now that you mention it. They do, however, know how to use their money.” Kale nodded.
“Where are you taking me, Wrathion?”
“Be patient.” Wrathion gave him a smug smirk, turning a corner. “Good things come to those who wait.” Kale growled.
“Very hard to wait when you’re walking around naked.”
“You’ll just have to suffer, then.” Wrathion called from down the corridor. Kale followed. Around and around they went. Kale watched that figure before him, that perfect, pert bottom ever in his gaze.

Kale didn’t care he was attracted to men. Honestly, he was glad he was attracted to anybody. He was beginning to think, at forty-eight, he would never be attracted to anyone. Wrathion had unlocked something beautiful in him; the ability to love and worship another man’s body was perfect. As he watched him walk, Kale realized, with a gutteral reality, that he could never think the same way about a woman.
What will Nefarian think? He thought, as he climbed a beautiful set of mahogany stairs, eyes still fixed on Wrathion, who, as he climbed the stairs, held a fixed smirk upon his lips. Will he be disappointed? Disgusted? Amused?

Amused, Kale thought, as they landed. Especially when he finds out it’s with Wrathion. He thought about this with a smile for a moment before realizing that Nefarian would possibly never see him again. Kale didn’t plan to live out this conflict. His last goodbye to his bond and foster parent had been, more than likely, his last. He frowned.

“I’ve been meaning ask you…” Wrathion purred. Kale’s head snapped up from his musings.
“Yes?” Kale was beside him. Wrathion chuckled under his breath.
“Settle down. I’ve been meaning to ask you what it was like, growing up under my Uncle.” Kale stratching his chin, thinking.
“Must I answer that, now? As we’re walking towards…” he paused. “Where are we walking too?”
“A room.” Wrathion answered. They were in a long hallway. He turned, up another flight of stairs. Kale waited for more, but his companion didn’t give it.

“I can see how excited you are, but really Kale, we have time for conversation.” He spoke as he mounted the stairs.
“I’d rather talk about what I plan to do to you.” Wrathion turned on the winding staircase, a twin to the one below. Kale was eye level with his navel, and he had the greatest desire to take him in his mouth.
“And what do you plan to do to me, Kale?” He asked, leaning over him. Kale looked up, licking his lips.

“I have half a mind to bend you over this staircase.” He spoke it without thinking. He cringed, realizing the absurdity of his words, not wanting to repeat what he had done on the beach a few days back. “Sorry, I-.”
“Don’t apologize. I find it…” Wrathion trailed off. His brow furrowed, ever so slightly, and he turned, walking up the staircase with a more hurried gait. Kale followed. He wanted to hold him. To kiss him, to shower him with devotion. Why?
They finally arrived at an ornate door, carved with a relief of a Kal’dorei watch tower.
“The Feathermoon Suite. It is apparently the most grand, most expensive room in the hotel.” Wrathion held a hand to the door knob, and the door swung open, the lock magically picked.
“At least no one will mind us tramping sand onto the carpets.” Kale spoke as he entered the room.

A long, circular room, with an attached kitchenette behind an arch on one side, and another, a bathroom. Blue was the dominant color, along with accents of violet and indigo that showcased murals and intricate carvings. He gazed at it, his eyes taken away from Wrathion for just a moment.

“What a beautiful room.” He remarked. “How did you find out about it?” Wrathion raised his arms; candles flickered to life, basking them in a warm glow. He walked to the other side of the room, throwing open the curtains and balcony door, bathing them in warm, if indirect, light.

“I happened to read a map, Kale.” He smiled. Kale rolled his eyes. His mind was back on the man in front of him, who now that he’d shown Kale his surprise, seemed rather lost of what to do. He shifted, poise and confidencet replaced with uncertainty. Kale was very certain of what he wanted, and it took him two steps to reach the man and lift him into his arms. His kissed him, desperate, hungry, arms wrapped around him, skin on skin. They stumbled backwards to the massive four-posted bed, it’s curtains wrapped around it’s posts, inviting them into the soft, voluptuous covers as their feet tracked sand and they fell upon the mattress. Wrathion had grown more bold; he nibbled at soft, sensitive flesh, his hands digging into Kale’s back and neck as they roamed. Kale grinned in a primal sort of pleasure.

“Do you enjoy this?” He teased, tracking his lips from the mans jaw up to his temple. Wrathion snorted, pulling him into a kiss. Kale took that as a yes. He pulled away, forcing Wrathion down, staring at him through lidded eyes. Wrathion mirrored his gaze.
“That’s a foolish question, Kale.” He finally answered. “Of course I enjoy it.” Kale stared at him for a moment, images and thoughts running through his mind. As he did so, Wrathion reached out a hand and began to stroke him, never breaking eye contact. Kale’s head lulled back at the mans touch.

“How are you so tantalizing? You act like you’ve pleasured men for years and yet-.”
“What about me is to tantalizing, Kale?” Wrathion sat up, taking him in both hands, face close to his. Kale bit his lip. “Tell me.”
Where did Kale begin? His skin, his hair, his lips, his beard, his perfect eyes. The way he held himself, those hands that ran up his chest. That smug smirk he always wore. Kale didn’t answer. Instead he leaned in, kissing him. Wrathion accepted the kiss, before placing a hand on his chest and easing him backwards. Kale fell upon the mattress, and Wrathion, kissing both thighs, wrapped his lips around him.

It was a beautiful sight. Kale watched, opened mouthed, as the man worked on him. His eyes closed, he seemed to thoroughly enjoy his duties, running his lips up and down, taking him deep into his mouth before withdrawing, holding him tight. Kale’s moans became louder as time went on, his pleasure reaching a climax before Wrathion suddenly stopped, eyes snapping open. He held him in one hand, looking up at him from between Kale’s legs.

“Oh, you can’t finish just yet.” Wrathion teased. Kale grit his teeth, lurching forward and pinning Wrathion to the bed. He grinned, co*cking his head.
“You’re incredible.” Kale whispered, leaning in close. “How are you so good at that?”
“Perhaps we’re both merely inexperienced.” He kissed his cheek, nuzzling him with his nose.
“Probably.” Kale accepted the gesture, forehead to forehead, breathing him in. He took him in his hands, feeling his girth, his weight, breathing in the scent of sweat and that natural musk that drove him crazy. Wrathion buried himself under his arm, breathing deep.

Kale laid there in a daze, a co*ck in his hand, a beautiful man lost in lust beside him. He rolled over him, hands running up tight pectorals, lips trailing down his belly, kissing that perfect co*ck, before lifting his legs. He was so flexible; bending easily, exposing that tender, sensitive area. He locked his gaze with Wrathion, who closed his eyes, lips parted.

“I don’t want to hurt you this time.” Kale whispered. “I didn’t care for.”
“You don’t want to hurt me?” Wrathion opened an eye. “You won’t, you know.”
“You were in pain, Wrathion. I could hear it in your voice.”
“It was nothing compared to the pleasure.” He scooted forward. “Are you going to keep me waiting?” Kale thought for a moment, eyes gazing at that perfect ass with that perfect co*ck attached to that delicious, perfect body. He sucked in a breath.
“No.” He slid in. Wrathion seized up, and Kale fell over him, embracing him, kissing him.

“Relax.” He thrust, holding that man in his arms, feeling his companion’s hands grip his back, nails turn to claws as the pleasure mounted, digging deep into skin. He grit his teeth, grinning, feeling sweat drip down his head as he thrust, first slow, moving faster. He leaned back, up on his knees, taking Wrathion’s legs and slamming into him. He writhed on the bed, back arched.
He could get lost in this. The room seemed to fog up as the energy mounted. It grew hot, stuffy, and exhilerating. The scent of their bodies only turned on Kale on more. He grinned, falling over Wrathion again, kissing his chest. He gripped his body, pulling up, into his lap.

“You let me do whatever I want.” He whispered, running his tongue over his neck and down his chest. “I can completely man handle you.”
“Don’t…” His voice sounded weak. “Don’t…point…” He trailed off as Kale gave him a particularly violent thrust. He moaned. Kale grinned, feeling beads of sweat drip down his forehead and onto his nose. Wrathion was so tight, so perfect. Every bit of him intoxicating.

With a shout of agonized pleasure he came, shooting perfect white droplet’s over dark, luscious skin. Kale couldn’t handle the sight, he pulled out, letting the man fall backwards and adding his own paint to an already used canvas. He panted, breath coming in heaves. Wrathion’s eyes were closed, arms covering his eyes. Kale felt himself grin.

“That was incredible…” Kale whispered. He felt upon him, kissing him up and down. Wrathion didn’t join in. Kale froze, leaning back.

“Wrathion?”
“I should go.” He was roughly pushed off of him. The juxtaposition if just a few moments earlier stunned Kale, who watched him stand up, a mixture of pain and revulsion on his face.
“Wrathion, I-.”
“I’ve wasted enough time already.”
“Wasted, we-.” He reached out, grabbing his wrist, only to have it wrenched from his grasp. He sat on his knees in the bed, watching Wrathion, who stood facing the wall, chest heaving.

“I want you to stay…” He whispered.
“Do you? What am I to you, anyways?” Wrathion turned. Kale was surprised to see anger behind those beautiful eyes.
“A nice companion…” Kale whispered, hanging his head. “I…I just don’t want you to go. Isn’t that enough?” Wrathion stomped a foot, sitting on the bed.
“I don’t know…what I want…” He whispered, almost inaudible. Kale crawled over to him, wrapping his arms around him. “I hate feeling this way. I just…” He turned. “I shouldn’t feel this way. Not towards you…”
“And I shouldn’t feel this way towards you…” Kale held him tight, cheek to cheek. “But I do. Funny how emotions work that way…” He kissed his temple. “What do you want?” Wrathion was silent for a long, weighty moment.

“To be held. Like before.” Kale smiled softly, kissing his shoulder.
“I can do that.” He pulled him backward, onto the bed, leaning down against the piled pillows and enfolding him in his arms. Wrathion nuzzled against him, kissing his skin.

Kale listened as his breathing slowed, eventually falling into the rhythm of sleep and oblivion. He looked down at him, down that perfect body, still spotted with their earlier pleasure. The emotions Wrathion had just displayed…

How much did he keep from him? What was he going through? Kale worried about how attached the dragon was becoming. As for himself, he had no idea how he felt. He loved holding him in his arms, but hated the thought of growing too attached. Not just for the fact it was Wrathion; but for the fact that Kale didn’t plan on living much longer. He closed his eyes, his thoughts troubled, his nostrils filled with the sweet, heavy scent of his lover.

Chapter 5: Gift

Chapter Text

Kale felt Wrathion stirring towards the beginning of dawn, when light crept in through the open windows and cracked patio door, bathing them in a soft, ephemeral blue glow. He gradually awoke into conciousness, feeling Wrathion moving his limbs in a gentle, caressing way, unwrapping himself from Kale’s embrace. Kale held him tight, undoing the mans efforts.

“I woke you.” He stated, a note of amusem*nt in his voice.
“Maybe.” Kale grunted, breathing him in, nose pressed to his neck. “I don’t want you leaving just yet.”
“You,” Wrathion began, unwrapping himself more forcibly, “don’t have a choice. I am needed.” Kale opened his eyes. In the low light, everything was simple black shapes. The only thing he could make out was Wrathion’s eyeglow, and the barely perceptible smirk as he sat up, scooting to the edge of the bed. He turned, running a hand down Kale’s face in a caress, before standing up.

“Am I?” Kale asked, not bothering to stand up. He was dreadfully tired. He knew the answer, of course.
“No. Not by Magni. You are, of course, needed by others.” Wrathion looked at him for a moment, as if caught between two actions, before shaking his head and turning away. He dressed with a flourish, arms raised, eyes closed in concentration, before turning.

“I’ll be back to see you later. And I’ll have a gift for you.”
“A gift? You spoil me.” Kale yawned. Wrathion chuckled.
“I suppose I do. Judging by your past, Kale, I think you may deserve it.” He watched him transform and take flight, before closing his eyes and thinking about his last words.
I suppose you deserve it. The spoiling? Kale smiled. Turning on his side, thinking of last night and the heat of it all, he slipped into a doze. A doze that became reality.

Walking the shadows was more of a meditative trance. Kale could move his entire body into this reality, lying side by side with the physical world, but it took far more effort. His dreaming form was much easier, far more malleable, and thus, using his dreams, he could sneak and spy on his enemies and allies.

The void was a realm filled with twisting shadows and long stretches of midnight, inky blackness. Horrific noises, the screeching of nails on stone, the scream of an unknown being in a dark wood, the haunting, never ceasing footsteps of one pursueing, always just a foot behind you.

Kale was used to these horrors by now, after forcing himself to wade through them for so long. Mental barriers intact, he waded through the mire, listening for key words, hiding in the shadows, masking his presence. Much of what he found out he already knew, but it gave added context:

N’zoth was sending agents to Uldum and the Vale of Eternal Blossoms. Both of these locations are historically and presently relevant; Uldum having the Machine of Origination and the Vale being the location that Garrosh destroyed in the Pandaren conflict so many years ago. He had figured N’zoth would attack those places he had in the past; Twilight Highlands and Dragonblight, but those locations were oddly quiet. Nigh a whisper from them. He touched upon major cities; Ogrimmar and Thunder Bluff being the closest, and noticed machinations present as he crept through the mire. Orcs, Tauren, and other Horde races were slowly being manipulated by agents in the shadows.

When he found his way back to his body, it was nearing midday. He stretched, sliding off the bed. Wrathion hadn’t returned. He thought of him for a moment, scratching his beard and rubbing his eyes, before standing up and gathering his things. He’d left his materials on the beach. He fetched it, chiding himself at leaving it in so vulnerable a position, before flying back to his balcony and setting to work.

A flap of wings at around late afternoon announced Wrathion, who thrust a large box into the room with a draconic paw before walking in himself. He froze, noticing Kale’s nudity.

“Did you not find the wherewithal to put on clothes?”
“I’m rather lazy.” Kale shrugged, eyeing the crate. “What’s in the crate?” Wrathion ignored the question, approaching him.
“What have you been working on?” He dragged one of his pages towards him, eyeing it through thick eyelashes. Kale stared, unable to respond for a moment.
“…Translations, mostly.” Wrathion glanced at him. “I’ve discovered from important text, but most of you can’t read it.”
“I’m efficient at reading Shath’yar.” Wrathion pulled out a chair, sitting down. He was wearing a different outfit today; regal looking black trousers with a loose coat over them, all adorned with red embroidery and inset with rubies.
“But do you enjoy reading it?” Kale questioned, eying him. The coat buttoned up to the chest, as with his usual wardrobe, exposing muscular pectorals and a delicate splashing of chest hair. Wrathion sniffed, raising his chin.
“No.”
“Exactly.” Kale rose. Resisting the urge to pull Wrathion into his arms, he crossed behind him, towards the crate. Wrathion turned in his chair.

“Curious?”
“That’s a good word, yes.” He heard a chuckle as he pried the lid off. Inside was…clothes. They ranged from hardy work clothed to delicate finery. He looked up at Wrathion, who looked back at him, lips curling.
“Did you make these?” He asked, holding up a shirt.
“That I did. Materialization is a hobby of mine.” Kale ran his fingers along the fabric.
“This is high quality linen.”
“Did you expect anything less?” He huffed, clearly joking. Kale smiled. “Try them on.” Kale looked at him, surprised. Wrathion gestured to the box. “Try them on, Kale. I made them for you. I think it’s high time you stopped dressing like a vagrant in the same filthy shirt and trousers.” Kale raised a brow, giving him a mocking smirk before digging through the crate and selecting a few pieces. They were still simple; work clothes, but instead of tying with ill-fitting strings, they clasped. The pockets were outlined with delicate black stitching. The shirt, with it’s loose, wavy fabric matched the pants. The swooping neckline exposed his chest as he puilled it over his head. He looked at Wrathion, whose smirk broadened.

“There is a braided string for you to tie that closed, if you desire. You misplaced it in your rummaging.” Kale raised his brow again, laughing.
“I misplaced it, did I?” He pulled on the pants, forgoing under things. With any luck he’d be removing these in a moment. He crossed to a full length mirror, feeling Wrathion’s gaze. He rather liked what he saw. He’d never fancied himself a handsome man; but the clothes fit him well. Those eyes though…his face fell as he saw them, stained from blue to violet. He turned away.

“Thank you.” Wrathion crossed to him, looking him over. Kale, unable to resist the urge, pulled him into a rough kiss. His chapped lips met Wrathion’s, who, surprised, didn’t return it immediatly. He fell into it with vigor,n however, as Kale pressed deeper, back Wrathion up, against the bed frame. “Thank you.” He pulled away. Wrathion ran his hand through Kale’s hair, silky from its recent washing. Kale closed his eyes at the mans touch.

“Do you like them?” Wrathion asked. Kale opened his eyes, noticing his smile.
“Like them? They fit well. How did you know?” Wrathion extricated himself. Kale let him go, heart sinking. He watched him cross to his writing desk, pulling his work towards him.

“We’ve made a discovery.” He spoke, looking at Kale. Kale stared, taken aback by his beauty. Wrathion seemed to notice his vacant stare, as he snapped his fingers. “Kale. We’ve made a discovery.”
“We have?” Kale asked, shaking himself. He pulled out a chair, sitting down. Wrathion shook his head.
“No, “we” has in, myself and the Champion.” Kale’s heart sunk. He didn’t know why.
“And what is this discovery?” For answer, Wrathion turned to the crate. He rummaged around, pulling out an aged tome, about the size of large gold bar. He held it gingerly, lips curled in disgust, as he placed it on Kale’s work desk.

“This…was found within the visions that the Champion and I have been…” he paused, sitting down. “Traversing.” Kale examined the tome; it was more a stack of papers, bound together in a hurry with a practiced hand. He opened it, eager.
“Have you read it?”
“A bit. It’s mostly innane ramblings.” He smirked. “I figured you, more than anyone, could make sense of that.” Kale gave him a dry, side long look.” Picking at an itch with his quill, he asked,
“How is working with the Commander coming along? I’ve heard…things.” Wrathion rolled his eyes.
“She has zero sense of decorum or professionalism. I do believe death has rotted her mind.” Something catching his eye, Wrathion leaned over the table. Kale watched the fabric of his shirt tighten and outline muscles as he grabbed a sheet of paper, pulling it closer.

“You’ve been doing research on Xala’tath?” Kale nodded, beginning to rewrite “Fear and Flesh” (as that it was called.) on a separate sheet of parchment.
“That I have. I’ve traced it’s movements of the last half decade or so. From the time the priests exhumed it from its resting place to present day.”
“It was last seen in Stormsong Valley.” Wrathion eyed him. “How do you know this?” Kale inked his quill.
“Meditating for several months generally leaves one bereft of information. I spent the better part of a month after my recovery just interrogating people.” He smirked. “I have my ways of getting people to talk.” Wrathion’s smile broadened.

“I may have a lead on that.” He pointed to the end of the page, where Kale had left off. “I believe the Banshee may have gotten her claws on it somewhat recently. It was last seen in the hands of Nathanos Blightcaller, shortly before the seas opened up and Naz’jatar was uncovered.”
“Source?”
“Unfortunately, nothing credible. But I take every lead I can get.” Kale paused in his transcribing, tapping the feather of his quill against his chin. He noticed Wrathion’s gaze on him a few moments later.
“What?” Wrathion looked away, a flush appearing in his cheeks.
“Nothing at all.” Kale smiled, setting the quill in it’s inkpot, leaning over the table. He took Wrathion’s chin in his hand, forcing him to look at him.

“You can tell me things, Wrathion. I think we’ve passed that point.” Wrathion stared at him. He pressed into his touch, almost subconsciously.
“Have we, Kale? Passed that point?” Kale froze. He withdrew his hand, caught in the middle of the table.
“I…I like to think so.”
“Isn’t it just sex to you?” His companion made a show of examining his spotless fingernails, then the ceiling, the the windows. Anything rather than looking at Kale.
“It…no. Not anymore.”
“Not anymore?” Wrathion gave him a look. “It’s happened twice.”
“And the…” Kale’s turn to flush. He just wanted to hold him. “Damnit Wrathion, I just want to hold you.” He huffed, sitting back down. “Why do you have to make it so complicated?” Wrathion inhaled a sharp breath, standing up.

“I have been missed, it seems.” Kale stood up as well. He wanted to prevent him from leaving, but realistically, there was nothing he could do. Wrathion could incinerate him. At this point, Kale would let him.

“Wrathion, wait.”
“I will see you soon, Kale. Sort through those clothes!” He took off without another word. Kale rushed after him on the balcony, only to the retreating figure of a drake flying fast towards the sword.

“Damnit Wrathion…why are you so confusing?” He muttered, staring after him. “I…I think I’m falling for you.”

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

Days past. Kale finished his transcription, and had begun working on studying the pages Wrathion had left for him. It consisted of many scrawls of insane ramblings by a priest of Yogg-Saron. The work was thousands of years old, perhaps older, and the dialect of Shath’yar had changed several time over since then. It took Kale an entire day of cross-referencing other works to decode the documents. The most important part was the mention of the Curse of the Flesh, an event that Kale had been researching for years. “Event” wasn’t a proper term, really, as it was more of a slow descent from titanic construct to fleshy mortal, happening over several generations. It was still an important discovery, from one who was directly affected.

Another mention, deep within the insanity, was Xala’tath. It was a sibling entity of the main four, locked away for disobedience, so the pages said. It was intensely critical of the malignant being, detailing how much the author wanted it to suffer. Kale wrote it all down, thought Xala’taths beginnings weren’t as important.

Towards the third day, Kale found himself growing irritated. He had made discoveries and had no one to speak too. Wrathion had not returned, and he found himself longing for him. He sat, looking towards the great sword on the horizon, longing to join the others in their fight.

Why was he ostracized so? He had envisioned this to be so much different then it was; him at the center, giving much needed advice and wisdom to others who had neither his knowledge or his first-hand experience. Instead he was left out. It never used to bother him; being a leader of the Alliance, he had frequently been left off of invitations, or forgotten among his betters for strategy meetings against the Horde. It had never used to bother him; he wasn’t what they needed. Now was different. This was his specialty, a time he had been working towards his entire life. He had shed blood, sweat, tears and plenty of pain to come this far, and…for what?

He felt left out. To make it worse, Wrathion was avoiding him. He found himself staring blankly at the paper, unable to work, his mind filled with Wrathion’s last words, his last actions. He felt an overwhelming anxiety at what he thought he was losing, a desire to fly over to the encampment and see him, to speak with him.

He walked through the lonely, abandoned hallways of the hotel, fingers trailing the wall with one hand as he put one foot in front of the other. He had never felt this way before. Never felt an this terror at the potential to lose someone. He had felt anxious over his dealings with King Varian, back when the Planore still had no place in the world. He had felt anxious when forced to speak, surrounded by so many illustrious leaders. He was generally calm, confident, and in control. Alycia had made him angry, made him irritated, made him so exhausted that he had run from her, anything but to be rid of her whining, her complaining, her screaming and her attacks.

Wrathion…he desired him. And not just his body; Kale had to admit to himself that that was long gone, replaced by a far stabler, warmer glow. He did care for him; he couldn’t help it. Perhaps these feelings were simply lust, disguised as burgeoning love. Kale wouldn’t allow himself to say that word outright; he’d never felt it before, and had no idea what it felt like. He sighed in frustration, gritting his teeth, turning on his heel and stomping into the lobby. He’d passed through the entire hotel in his meandering, and as he paused in front of a relaxation area, he noticed a particular book, left out on a side table, as if it had been in the process of being read.

“The History and Anatomy of the Planore” stamped in bold, golden letters across a plum colored linen cover. He froze, stared at it for a moment, before crossing over and picking it up.

The first book he’d ever written. Light, it was a mess. Brann had helped him publish it. That was decades ago. He hadn’t kept up with its sales; that had never been his interest in publishing it. He had, at the time, simply wanted people to know of his people. He gripped the book tightly, his mind circling back to Wrathion and his constant wish to know more of his race. He eye caught his name, stamped in the same font, in the same golden lettering, on the spine. He resisted the urge to toss the book in disgust.

His frustration turned into anger, and that anger boiled out in destroying abandoned structures, smashing them to pieces and flinging the remnants into the springs, watching them splash thousands of yards away. He sat, fuming as a drake, club tail swinging back and forth, his claws raking the stony earth. Wing beats from the south alerted him to a presence, and he turned his repitlian head sharply, violet eyes searching.

Wrathion. Mixed feelings erupted from his chest; a torrent of passion, of excitement, of desire and a putrid anger, a whirling resentment. How dare he work to end N’Zoth without him? Wasn’t he just speaking with him about his work? He turned away. Wrathion landed in the soft sand just outside the villa, head co*cked at the destroyed food stand.

“You’ve been…busy I see.” He remarked, head tilting the other way as he examined the wreckage. “What did the cotton fluff to do you?”
“I haven’t seen you in awhile, Wrathion.” Kale ignored the question, raising his head. “Been busy?” Wrathion’s tail shifted, and his head bobbed. Excitement? Nefarian would do that at times.
“I have been, I’ve-.”
“Must be nice.” Kale transformed, striding past the dragon and towards the springs. “Having things to do. A place to be.” Wrathion stared after him. He too transformed, looking puzzled.
“I don’t get what you mean.” Kale snorted, staring as a geyser erupted, spraying fine mist into the air.
“You know exactly what I mean.” He looked back at him. “I’m ostracized and ignored. I’ve spent my entire life working towards this goal I happen to share with many.” He began to stride closer. Wrathion took a step back, alarmed at his behavior. “Why, Wrathion? You come here to-.”
“You’ve given this a lot of thought, it seems.” Wrathion cut across him. Kale looked away. “Are you really that surprised the others don’t trust you? I’ve spoken of you a great deal.”
“Oh? Why haven’t I seen you in three days, then?” Kale asked, his eyes back on Wrathion’s. “Tire of me that quickly?” Wrathion snarled.

“I wish I could tire of you. Especially if this is what I come back too after working day and night on a way to allow you into the chamber.” He walked up to Kale, jabbing a finger into his chest, teeth bared, eyes narrowed in anger. “I’ll have you know the feelings I have for you disgust me.” Kale felt a knife dig deep into the flesh of his heart. Dig deep and twist.

“Then why haven’t you ended me, Wrathion? Why give me this wonderful boon of yours? Why give me your body?” He leaned in, mocking him, sneering smirk crossing his face only for a fist to collide with his jaw. A solid blow, a blow that sent him sprawling. Wrathion had acted so fast he hadn’t time to dodge. He wheezed on the ground, clutching he face.

“Because I love you, you void-riddled, uncultured sh*tstain.” He advanced on Kale, who struggled to get up, his head still spinning, Wrathion’s words cutting him deep. Stars sprung up across his vision.
“I know you could never care about me, that you use me only to throw me away. Daily I struggle with my-.” He sucked in a breath, pausing for a moment. “These feelings that drive me insane! I can’t tell if N’Zoth playing with my mind or if it’s real!” Kale stood up, swaying as a bruise bloomed across his face, his eye rapidly swelling shut. He advanced on Wrathion, his chest heaving from anger. Kale lunged, grabbing him. Wrathion resisted. “Don’t touch me. I wish I felt nothing but contempt for you, but all I feel when I see you is a need.” He hissed those last words, his face contorted in despair and anger, arms raised and muscles tensed. Kale spoke over him, voice raised.

“Stop it! I don’t use you!” He yelled. “I have no idea what came over me that first time, but after that I…” He wiped away blood from his eyes. Wrathion stared at him. Kale raised his head, flipping hair out of his face. “I…I care, Wrathion.” He took a breath, forcing himself to look at him, to drink in those eyes. “I find myself just…wanting to hold you and never let go. I’ve never felt this way. I don’t know why, alright? I just…” he trailed off. “You love me?”

Wrathion sighed, his anger evaporating. He looked down for a moment, before looking back at Kale, chuckling.

“Are you serious?” He asked. “Do you care?”
“Desperately.” Kale massaged the mans hands with his thumbs, urging him to feel what he felt. “I can’t…say anymore. Not as of yet.” He wanted to kiss him so badly. There was just so much he couldn’t put into words. “I’ve been so alone. I was alone my entire life with nothing but an ill-mannered dragon as a companion and then you come along and spoil me with your presence.” He mock glared at him through his good eye. “You’ve ruined me.” Wrathion gazed at him for a moment.

“Yes. I do love you. I have no idea why…but I do.” He leaned up and kissed Kale, who pushed into the kiss. Kale smiled as he pulled away.
“I suppose I’m a very lucky man.” Kale pulled him into an embrace, breathing him in. After a moment of silence, Wrathion spoke.

“I’m sorry for striking you.” He heard him whisper.
“I deserved it.” He pulled away. “Do you still think of me as a sh*tstain?” Wrathion shook his head, turning away. Kale laughed. He tugged him into his arms, holding him tight. “I don’t mind, Wrathion. Call me more names.”
“The names I want to call you would only annoy you.” He pressed his face into Kale’s chest.
“And those are?” Kale asked, looking down.
“Handsome.” Wrathion muttered, words muffled.
“Oh?”
“You heard me.” Kale chuckled, holding him tightly, feeling the softness of his hair against his chin, blood from his split cheek trickle down his face. Wrathion pulled away.
“Let’s take care of that face of yours.” He smiled, tugging him into up the path and into the hotel. Kale followed him, his body aglow with warmth and the tingling numbness of barely noticed pain. He loved watching him walk, those light steps, the way his hair moved, the even canter of his breathing…

Do I love him? Kale wondered, as he was led into the kitchens. Light. I must. Kale knew, however, that lust was a tricky emotion, easily concealed as love. He kept that word to himself as the beautiful man in front of him led him down into a cellar, filled with foodstuffs, and, oddly enough, ice. It kept the contents of the cellar frozen, and his breath puffed before him. He pressed closer; Wrathion was a steady warmth.

“How did you know this was here?” Kale asked. Wrathion unhooked himself from Kale, stepped forward and smashing the ice with a kick.
“Lucky guess. They serve quite a few drinks here.” He looked back at Kale. “You don’t happen to have a cloth on you, do you?” Kale gave him an incredulous look. He chuckled, pulling a kerchief out of his coat. “Figured.” Gathering ice chunks into the cloth, he handed it to Kale. As Kale took the bundle, setting it against his stinging cheek, he realized.

“Wait. You said you were working on a way to get me into the heart chamber?” Wrathion smirked, chuckling softly to himself.
“You completely missed that in your anger, didn’t you?” Kale stared at him, following him back up the stairs into the relative warmth.
“I wasn’t in a listening mood.” Wrathion turning on the landing, raising his chin. Kale smiled, winced, and looked away.

“Yes. I’ve given it some thought. Let us head to your chambers, I’ll explain it on the way.”

“You are a unique individual, Kale.” Kale stumbled as he walked up the stairs, catching hold of Wrathion. He looked at him.
“What do you mean? Obviously I am, we all are.”
“Ah, yes, but you are the only one, aside from your son, with three unique forms, and the only one, to my knowledge, that wields the shadow.”
“Where are you-.” Kale began, Wrathion turned, holding up a finger.
“Ah. No interruptions, please.” He smirked, leading him out of the kitchen and down the hall. Kale clamped his mouth shut, amused.

“To ward the chamber of your presence, I’ll need a sample of the three unique variations of you.” He turned, walking backwards down the hall. Pressing his hands together, he smiled. “A sample of your current form.” Kale raised a brow. “A sample from your planore form and-,” Kale co*cked his head. “A sample from your drake form.”

“What sort of sample are we talking about?” He co*cked his head the other direction. “Hair? Nails?”
“A hair will do.” Kale smiled.
“How did you come up with this?” They climbed the stairs. At the landing between floors, Kale pulled Wrathion into a kiss. “It’s extraordinary. And…” He paused, gazing at the other man. “Rather sweet.” Wrathion blushed, pulling away.

“I’m not doing it for you. You’re an asset. We need you in the chamber.” Kale smiled, pulling him back into his arms. Wrathion laughed.
“You’re not fooling me.” He kissed his neck, reveling in his warmth, breathing him in. “I heard what you said.” Wrathion purred underneath him, going limp for a moment. He pressed up against Kale, who ignored the pain in his face and just…breathed. Just took in the moment. Wrathion turned in his arms, kissing him, then pulled away.

“You look dreadful.” Kale gave him a look.
“It’s your fault, don’t complain.” Wrathion chuckled, nodding.
“I suppose it is.”

Once inside his room, Kale gathered the necessary materials into a small leather pouch. Hair from his head, plucked from the root, fur from his planore form, plucked from his mane, and scales, gathered as they worked their way loose from his drake form. He eyed the odd reagents as he closed the bag.

“This is very strange.”
“I assure you, it will work.” Wrathion took the bag from him. He looked excited. “I’ll be back in a flash.”
“You’re doing it now?” Kale asked, alarmed.
“Why not?” Wrathion eyed him. “You wanted me to stay?” Kale scratched at his beard, looking away.
“Just…oh nevermind.” He’d wanted to spend time with Wrathion, though he supposed his blackened face ruined what little mood there was. He heard a snicker, and before he could register, lips were pressed to his.

“I’ll be back, and I’ll bring something for that face of yours.” Kale grinned, wincing.
“Uh, thanks.” He watched him step onto the balcony, following him. He watched him fly away with fondness blossoming in his heart. Wrathion had been thinking about him the entire time, thinking up ways for him to be able to join them. He watched his shrinking form vanish into the horizon, elbows resting on the wooden barrier, chin in his hands. Wistful. He turned away, back to his studies.

A light rain began to fall, a light rain that became a heavy one. A rare rainstorm had crested the mountains and was beginning to flood the grounds, it’s excess pouring down the cliffs and into Silithus, where it formed little creeks, eddys and streams that spilled out in every direction. Kale lit the fireplace and several candles, his violet balls floating in the room, giving him ample light to see by. The crashing of the rain muffled sound, so much he couldn’t hear the scratching of his quill upon the parchment. He looked up, gazing out the window at the gathering darkness. Where was Wrathion? He should have been back by now. The rain continued to patter, the clouds thickening as dusk fell, and Kale began to nod off.

He woke up to a hand on his shoulder. He started, tearing a knife from his belt, only to find Wrathion eyeing the weapon with curiosity.

“Where do you keep that? I’ve never found it on you.” Kale twirled the object in his fingers, sheathing it with a flourish.
“I have many pockets.”
“Do you now?” He stood, grabbing Wrathion in his arms and kissing him deeply. Wrathion pushed into the kiss, grabbing him by the front of his shirt.

“Is it done?” Kale asked, kissing his forehead. Wrathion hummed a single note at his touch. He didn’t answer immediately; he pressed himself into Kale’s chests, allowing Kale to push him onto the bed and roll on top of him.
“Yes.” He finally spoke, unbuttoning Kale’s shirt. “Though I do not know if it will work.” Kale tilted Wrathion’s chin, kissing up his jaw line.
“We’ll figure that out tomorrow. Now…” He ran a hand up his leg, covered as it was. “Let’s enjoy ourselves.”

Kale woke to Wrathion leaving, his lips brushing his forehead tenderly before pulling away. He remembered struggling to wake, only to fall back asleep, his dreams heavy with soft skin, supple lips and silken black hair. He awoke to sunlight, weak as it was, filtering through the sheer curtains of the suite. He sat up, blinking, looking beside him at the empty spot. He momentarily was lost as to what to do with his day, only to realize, with a jolt of excitement, he could enter the Heart Chamber.

He dressed quickly, in clothes he found in the crate that Wrathion had given him, flying away with his materials in hand. Fear and Flesh having been finished, he was eager to get the others takes on it. Underneath him, the sands of SIlithus passed by quickly, the beats of his wings and the rushing wind the only sound he heard. The encampment, sprawling out underneath him, a plateau of white tents and marquees with hundreds of people milling about. He slowed, landing with soft grace at the entrance to the chamber.

He co*cked his head, looking at the teleportation pad. It had been forbidden to him previously; the chamber wouldn’t even allow him in. Now? Would Wrathion’s wards work? He stepped onto it as a man, ignoring the shouts of alarm his sudden appearance had arisen. A second later, he was blinking in the darkness.

Gloom met him as descended the gentle slope in the chamber proper. Low lighting glowed through cracks in the floor; murmuring voices could be heard just ahead of him. He stopped, slipping into the shadows out of habit. He may be welcome here, but he had zero interest in making a display of himself. He just wanted to access the terminals, maybe get a glimpse of Wrathion, and drop off his work. Maybe another day he could speak. Without thinking, he reached into the shadows, willing it to dampen the sound of his footsteps…only for the chambers sanitization protocals to go haywire. He immediatly stopped the channeling, gritting his teeth against the noise.

“What in the blazes is that?” Magni yelled over the din.
“I believe…” The sound stopped. “We have a visitor.” Kale sighed, stepping into the chamber.
“That you do. It appears your wards work, though I have an ever increasing ache in my head.” Kale smiled at Wrathion, who returned it. Butterflies. He swallowed them, looking around.

“You let him in, Wrathion?” Another voice. Kale looked around. The chamber wasn’t large, but it was shadowy, and figures could hide in the shadows as they read.
“He is an ally, Kalecgos.” Kale inched around the perimeter, towards a titanic console. He held out a hand, knowing well how to work them.
“Och! Don’t touch that!” He withdrew his hand, looking around. “I don’t wantcha touching anything in this chamber.”
“I’m not poisonous, Speaker.” Kale spoke, voice cool. “My touch won’t harm the consoles.”
“I’d rather not risk it. Sorry lad.” Kale resisted the urge to defend himself, setting his jaw.

“There is no reason for worry, Speaker Magni.” Wrathion’s voice met his ears; Kale had returned to look at the console. “He’s marvelous at controlling his abilities.”
“I don’t trust him.” The snap of a book as it was shut. Kalecgos spoke next; Kale turned to look.

“While I understand your misgivings, Speaker, Kale is no different then the priests we allow into the chamber. Perhaps more powerful, but there is no reason to limit his access, especially since he’s a critical asset.” Kale met Kalecgos’s eyes. An icy blue, with long hair tied back in a short, low tail.

“This is a wonderful conversation, but I have work to do.” Kale began before Magni could reply. “Magni, I am perfectly capable of withholding my powers; I no longer hold the power of a god, and am no risk to you or anything inside this chamber. He stepped forward, resting the manuscript he’d brought on the table. “And I do need access to this chamber in order to aid you.” He smiled at the dwarf made of diamond, who stared at him with cool intensity. Turning on his heel, he strode back to the console, ran his hand over the command orb, and set to work.

“Fascinating…” he mused aloud. “None of this is written in books. The Black Empire…” He trailed off as he heard heavy footfalls behind him. He paused.

“Me brother Brann speaks highly of ya, lad.” Magni spoke as he took a place beside him in front of the console. Kale eyed him.
“Brann? I think highly of him as well.” He turned back to the console, reading the text as it appeared before him. “He helped me figure out who I was. What I was, really." He paused, gazing at the read out. “He helped me publish my first book.”
“I gotta ask, why the shadows, lad?” Magni almost seemed to plead with him.
“Tell me, Speaker, if you weren’t in the position you’re in now, would you honestly care?” Magni opened his mouth, but didn’t reply. “You’re own daughter wields the shadow to great affect.” He saw, out of the corner of his eye, Magni set his jaw, diamond eyes flashing.

“Leave me daughter out o’ this, Kale. You stole from N’Zoth; took his power inside o’ you.” Kale inclined his head, not looking at him.
“That I did. My reasoning was purely selfish at the time.”
“And that is?”
“I wished to be able to live without pain. I did, for several months.” He sucked in a breath. “N’Zoth took his power back, in time.” He tapped his head, turning to Magni. “The study of the Void, over the course of my life, has taught me to never take them for granted. I have barriers, wards, and mental lockdowns I use to keep the whispers at bay.”

“I still don’t understand.” The dwarf couldn’t understand. Wouldn’t.

“Live with an insane black dragon for a few decades, and you will quickly understand why I choose the path I did. The Black Dragonflight is a victim, one I wished to champion. Long ago, Nefarian was a noble soul.” He turned away, refusing to answer anymore questions. Magni stared at him for a time, eventually leaving.

“What have you accomplished?” Wrathion asked, as Kale circled the chamber, taking in it’s wonder. He stopped next to the dragon, who eyed him. Kale resisted the insane urge to take his hand and press it to his lips.
“Today, I just read what I haven’t been able. So much history, locked into a single chamber. A miracle I’m able to finally be apart of it.” He held a hand to his head.

“Though I think I’ll have to leave before long.” Wrathion frowned.
“What does it do?”
“It’s an ever increasing pounding in my head.” He glanced down at Wrathion, who held sheets of paper in his hands, scrawling text upon it.
“More pages?”
“The last few, actually.” Wrathion held them out. “Would you mind transcribing them?”
“I never mind.” He smiled. Wrathion grinned in response. Kale, feeling eyes upon him, turned. Kalecgos had been watching them, and upon Kale’s gaze, quickly turned his eyes back to his work.

“I need to leave. I’ll see you later.” He was desperate to kiss him. As he walked out of the chamber proper, he heard Wrathion follow him, and as they were out of sight, he felt a hand slip into his, a light brush of lips upon his own.
“Thank you.” Kale whispered. “For supporting me.”
“I will not let their prejudice stop one of our greatest assets from doing his work.” Kale co*cked his head.
“Just an asset, Wrathion?” He kissed his forehead. The man smirked, saying nothing.
“I will see you later tonight.” He heard him say, as Kale stepped upon the pad and disappeared.

Wrathion appeared just after Kale ate his dinner, setting the plate aside as the man walked into the circular suite.
“Make any headway?” Wrathion asked, crossing to the table. Books were scattered across it, many of them torn to pieces by age, their covers faded, the pages yellow and frayed.
“I have. In fact, I need to request your help.” Wrathion eyed him, a smirk spreading across his face.
“Oh?” Kale steepled his hands, pointing them at Wrathion.
“I need you, or rather, your agents, to survey a few locations for me.” Wrathion pulled a sheet of paper his way, reading Kale’s cramped scrawl.
“These locations are?”
“Area’s of titanic or Old God influence. Specifically Storm Peaks, Twilight Highlands, Ahn Qiraj, Dragonblight…” He trailed off as Wrathion caught on, nodding.

“I have already sent agents to those locations. Two of them have reported back; there has been no activity in the Twilight Highlands nor Dragonblight. Storm Peaks will take longer, I’m afraid. Magical communication in that area is rather…odd.
“Ahn Qiraj?” Kale asked.
“I visited that location myself.” He looked at Kale. “It’s vicinity to Uldum and it’s plethora of Silithid have left it a bustling hive of Aqir life.” Wrathion grimaced, shuddering. “Disgusting things.”
“N’Zoth seems to have his own race of aqir.”
“So it would seem. They share some traits with him; an overabundance of tentacles and icthyphilia.” Kale chortled. “What?”
“Just your way with words.” Kale leaned in, pressing his lips to Wrathion’s forehead. Wrathion chuckled, sighing. Kale withdrew, sitting back down.

“How goes your work with the visions?” Wrathion smiled.
“Very well. Puriaa is managing to delve deeper and deeper into the visions. There are still areas she cannot penetrate, but we’re working on it.”
“I heard you designed yet another cloak, Wrathion.” Kale smiled. Wrathion waved his hand.
“They are, how shall I say it…a specialty of mine. Easy to make and enchant.” Kale took his hand in his.

“I plan to work through the night.” Kale lowering. “Will you join me?” Wrathion thought for a moment, looking at the large array of volumes.
“Yes.” He finally said, pulling one close to him. “I think I will.”

Their quest to work through the night failed. Kale fell asleep at around midnight, dozing in his chair. Wrathion caressed his face, kissing his forehead, before waking him and taking him to bed. It felt good, Kale thought, to be wrapped in someones arms. Someone so very warm.

Black dragons would be warm… his sleep addled brain thought. Does that mean blue dragons would be cold? What about bronze? I imagine they would be warm too… He drifted off, wrapped tightly in Wrathion’s arms.

Chapter 7: Hunt

Chapter Text

They fell into a pattern, the next several days. Wrathion would sleep beside him, awaking in the early morning to fly off, and Kale would drift back asleep. He’d wake and begin his days work, and Wrathion would join him around dinner. They’d sometimes meet in the Heart Chamber, where Kale would research and commune with those there, before being forced to leave by the sensitization protocols.

During one of these times, he met Ebonhorn, or “Ebyssian” as Wrathion called. He’d known of him for years, but had never met the dragon, and was impressed by his gravity and sense.

“I understand,” the dragon began, gesticulating as he spoke. “That you’re practiced with the shadow.” He wasn’t judging Kale. He was merely curious.
“I am. I have studied it all my life.”
“Because of my brother?” Kale co*cked his head, eyeing the dragon masquerading as a tauren.
“Correct.” Kale fingered a piece of parchment, smudging it with ink stained fingerprints. “I…Nefarian means a lot to me. His maddness, and the maddness of most of your flight, concerns me greatly.” He looked up at him. “I wish to do what I can to ease it.”

“From what I’ve heard.” The dragon spoke, voice soft, though seeming to boom with its low, resonating notes. “You’ve already done much to ease it.” Ebyssian looked around the chamber, sighing heavily. “I had no idea how protected I was in Highmountain. The moment I stepped away I could feel something was wrong. It’s only because of Wrathion’s draft I’m able to stand here and communicate with you.” He gave Kale a piercing stare. “I am far weaker than I’d believed.”

Kale shook his head.

“Not weak, Ebyssian. Vulnerable. You aren’t like Wrathion; you were sheltered up there, amongst the peaks and your people. You had no reason to fight for your freedom.” He made a fist. “Now you can do so. Freedom for everyone on Azeroth.” Wrathion had looked up at the sound of his name. His gaze bored into Kale; who felt its heat and intensity. He resisted the urge to look at him, to gaze upon dark curls and soft skin that seemed to merge with the darkness of the cavern.

“I have met with other dragons since my coming here…” Ebyssian began. He sounded awkward. “They are…” He trailed off.
“Judgemental?” Kale offered. He pulled a stack of sheets towards him; transcriptions he’d made. He began organizing them by page number.
“That does seem to be the correct word. Has it always been this way?”

“Yes. Your flight is almost universally reviled.” Kale’s lips thinned to a line. “My son, he is bonded with a bronze dragon. When he was young and I still lived in Marder, they hated being near the others, especially Nefarian.”
“Can you blame them?” Ebyssian asked, voice soft. “For being nervous around a flight that hunted them?” He seemed asking for a reason, rather than judging his own members. Kale paused.

“Nefarian, yes. For what he’d done. I saw first hand the…twisted experiments he conducted. The others?” He paused in his organizing. “The black flight is principally a victim. The whelps born into madness are still innocent, are they not? Yet they were hunted. For the crime of growing up to be a monster.”

It was one lazy afternoon, sitting in the sun reading, that Kale looked up, gazing at Wrathion, who appeared to be deep in thought, book laying open in his lap.
“I think we should take a break. Go hunting.” Wrathion blinked, as if just noticing Kale was there. He turned, meeting his eyes.
“Go…hunting?”
“Yes!” Kale snapped his book closed, setting it aside. “Hunting. You know, when you find your own food?” Kale gestured to Feralas. Wrathion rolled his eyes.

“I do not hunt.” Kale stared at him, a sly smirk beginning to crease his face. Wrathion noticed, scowling. “Don’t look at me like that. I have people that cook for me. I don’t eat raw food, it’s barbaric.”
“Wrathion,” Kale reached out a hand, laying it on front of Wrathion. “You cook the food you hunt. It’s part of the process.”
“I? Cook?” Wrathion shook his head. “Nonsense.” Kale stood, stretching. He noticed Wrathion eyeing him, lips parted ever so slightly.
Whatever he sees me, He thought as he crossed the room. I’ll never understand.

Kale walked onto the balcony. A hot wind blew from Feralas, soaking in him sweat. He felt like the breath of a massive beast. He frowned, gripping the railing, staring off into jungle. Wrathion joined him, unperturbed by the heat.
“What are you going to hunt?” He asked, leaning his back against the railing. Kale thought for a moment.
“Whatever strikes my fancy.” He glanced at him, foot raised to jump off. “You sure you don’t want to come with?” Wrathion rolled his eyes.

“Fine…I’ll come.” Kale grinned, leaping off the railing and transforming, shooting down the cliff and into the jungle. Wrathion joined him. The pair surged into the thick foliage. Wrathion expertly dodged the thick leaves and branches; Kale, out of practice with agile flying, smashed into many. He heard Wrathion’s deep laughter. Grinning, Kale caught up to him, grabbing at him with talons. Wrathion dove out of his reach.

The two played in the air, flying towards each other, grabbing each others clawed paws and falling several hundred feet, before unlocking their grasp and doing it again. They buffeted each other, they practiced their fighting, and they soared just under the canopy.

“You are a fantastic flyer, Kale.” Wrathion spoke, his normally sauve and collected voice deep and resonating. His turned his massive head to Kale, who blinked reptilian eyes, dodging a rather tall sapling.
“I’ve had quite a bit of practice.” He replied. He alighted on a stone outcropping, overlooking the ruined Kaldorei city of Eldre’thalas. It’s current name, Dire Maul, fit it far better. Wrathion joined him. He looked down at the city himself.

“Dire Maul?”
“Correct. A stories history it has.” Kale sat upon his haunches, thinking. “Do you think a hyena is too much meat?” Wrathion blinked scarlet eyes.
“A…hyena? I would prefer to not eat a carrion animal, Kale.” Kale tilted his head.
“Fair enough, I suppose, though you shouldn’t be so picky.” The dragon snorted.
“I am a prince. I eat as fine as I can manage, which, I assure, it most of the time.” Kale gave him a sardonic smile.
“One of these days, Prince Wrathion, you will find yourself alone in the wildeness with nothing but your teeth and claws to aid you.” Wrathion shifted his tail, upsetting stones that tumbled to the forest below.

“Hardly. I will fly until I find a village. People will cook for me if I pay them.” Kale opened his mouth to reply, only to see a smirk settling on the dragons lips. He was joking.

“Ah well.” Kale settled down on his foreclaws, thinking. “A rabbit will do us well enough.”
“What about a deer, Kale.” Wrathion groaned. “Isn’t that the go to animal to kill?”
“I’m not in the mood for venison, Wrathion.” Another exaggerated eyeroll. Kale smiled.

“Tell you what. I will kill the first animal that suits us.” He took off. He heard a soft sigh and the flap of wings and Wrathion joined him.

“Keep back.” Kale ordered, ignoring his companions glare. “I need stealth for this.” Wrathion, irritated but understanding, kept his distance. Kale dove.

He’d hunted plenty of times before. His first few attempts had been hard, but he’d managed to perfect the art of the kill. He was, in truth, searching for a stag. Wrathion had been right, it was the easiest and best meat to eat. He found a herd grazing in a clearly, and swooping in, managed to grab one before alarm had been raised. Snapping it’s neck in one swift motion, he carried it away as the herd panicked, darting into the thicker trees.

“A clean kill, Kale.” Wrathion spoke, eyeing the lifeless stag in his claws. “Effortless.”
“I try my best.” Kale gazed underneath him. Earlier, on their flight, he’d noticed a field of wild carrots. Ah. There it is. He swooped down, setting down his kill and becoming a man. Wrathion co*cked his head, hovering in mid air.

“What are you doing?”
“Carrots, Wrathion. Help me pick them.”
“I will do no such thing!”
“Then shut up and let me do it myself.” A grumble from the drake and he transformed, dropping the ten or so feet to the earth. He watched Kale, hands on hips.

“What are we looking for?” Kale paused, his hand already full of carrots. He showed him the tufted tops.
“Carrots. Pretty easy. Oh!” He lunged, grabbing another vegetable. “Wild onions! I wonder…” He glanced around. No sign of a previous settlement, but it was such an odd coincidence he felt that someone must have farmed this area years ago.

“Do you think someone farmed this area?” Wrathion asked. Along with a few onions, he had picked some bright orange flowers. Kale smiled.
“I was just thinking about that myself. We might be able to find an old foundation, if we look closely enough.” Wrathion looked as though he wanted to search immediatly. Kale laughed.

“Go. Search. We’ll set up camp here.” He watched as the man walked off, poking around in the tall grass, examining each and every thing he found. Kale smiled. Perhaps a bit of him was rubbing off on the whelp.

Kale found stones, carrying them and setting them in a circle. He found firewood, which he piled into a the center. Conjuring the arcane, he set it alight, relying on a simple magic trick rather than his usual powers over the shadow. As he worked, he continued to shoot looks at Wrathion, who seemed to have found some ancient foundation and was busy calculating it’s size in his head. He was a beautiful man; lean and muscular, with long flowing hair and well cut beard. Kale knew it was all by design, but cared little. Wrathion was beautiful. He enjoyed the word, and its pairing with that name.

Upon one of these looks at him, Wrathion caught his gaze. Kale paused in the process of spearing meat on sharpened sticks. To his relief, Wrathion smiled. He looked far happier than he had even several days ago; perhaps his internal battle had finished. Kale wished he could settle his own thoughts on him. Truth was, he did care for him. He wanted nothing else but to hold him in his arms, ravish his body, and spend the rest of his, rather short, days with him.

But he didn’t plan to live long. There was no way he would survive this conflict. How could enter into a serious relationship with someone and then die? Not to mention…Wrathion was so much younger, and he was…

“There is a foundation.” Kale continued his rumination, turning the spit. “Kale? Are you listening to me?” That annoyed tone broke him from his thoughts; he looked up, and upon seeing Wrathion’s narrowed eyes and raised brows, he smiled.

“My you’re beautiful.” He blurted out. He paused, reddened, looking away. “Er, what were you saying?” Wrathion chuckled. He crouched on the ground.
“Distracted by me?”
“I am…stuck in my thoughts, unfortunately.” He turned to look at him. “Grappling with an internal conflict.” Wrathion eyed him.
“I see…” He paused, opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and with a slap of his hands on his knees said “Anyways, never mind that.” Kale snorted. “There is a foundation. You were correct.”
“I figured.” He put the vegetables onto a flat stone over the fire, using oil he’d collected from bulbous fruits in the area. Wrathion looked at the refuse from the preparation.

“How did you know all these was edible?” He picked up one of the fruits. “These…look vile, Kale.”
“Oilbuds.” Kale explained. “They grew in tropical regions, particularly those with Kaldorei influence. The oil is rich and wholesome, and works great as a cooking base.” He eyed Wrathion. “I read it in a book.”

“I see.” He set the fruit down. “And these?” He picked up a few flowers that Kale had picked. “Are these particularly tasty?”
“No.” Kale began, moving the vegetables around with a stick. “No, those are for you.” He looked at him. “I…thought you’d like them.”

“Me? Like flowers?” Wrathion looked at the flowers. They were simple, inornate wildflowers of the deepest red. “I…”
“Listen, I kind of abandoned the idea after I picked them. It was-.” He cut off as Wrathion sat down close to him, drawing him into a kiss. He tasted wonderful; of honey and nectar and everything sweet in the world. Kale drank of him.

“Thank you. No one has ever…well, I’m a dragon.”
“Doesn’t matter. You should still get flowers.”
“Have you ever recieved anything…like this?” Kale thought a moment.

“No. Nefarian got me flowers once, though.” Wrathion co*cked head. His closeness made Kale dizzy with desire. “They were toxic blooms of a variety of pea. He figured I’d appreciate them.” Wrathion laughed.

“You will have to tell me more of my uncle sometime.”
“He won’t be gone forever…” He had a sudden thought. “Wrathion, promise me something.” Wrathion looked up from examining the flowers.
“Yes?”
“That you’ll bring Nefarian and the others back. I’m sure they could find a way, but travel into Outland is so difficult and…” He swallowed. He hated thinking of his bond being trapped on a dead world. Wrathion eyed him.

“Do it yourself, Kale.”
“I…” He looked down. Wrathion scoffed, looking away.
“You still believe you’re going to die?” He stood up, holding the flowers tight. “If you believe it,” He turned, looking at him with intense scarlet eyes. “It will happen.”

Kale stared at the fire. How to explain?
“I cannot survive this conflict, Wrathion.” He voice was low. Wrathion took a step forward to hear. “There is no way N’Zoth will let me live.”
“That doesn’t make any sense to me, seeing as we’re killing him. He doesn’t have a choice.” He bent down on one knee, and as Kale looked at him, he noticed a look of pleading on his face.

“Fight to live, Kale. If every hero on this planet decided that a single conflict was there last, we wouldn’t have gotten as far as we have.” He gestured around him.
“How many people have fought and won? Kale, we beat back the Legion! We defeated my grandfather!” He prod him in the shoulder. Kale smiled, looking down.

“I appreciate the motivational words, Wrathion.” The dragon sniffed.
“I doubt you’ll listen to them.” He in turn, stared at the fire. Without warning, he said, “You mean more to people than you think, Kale.” Kale stared. Wrathion refused to elaborate.

“Tell me…” Kale ventured around for something to say. “Tell me about what you found over there.” Wrathion smiled.

He told him of the foundation he’d found, what remained of it, and the various items he’d found laying in sheltered corners. He’d left them where they lay.

“…you, I imagine, know quite a bit more about Kaldorei history than I.” Wrathion finished, glaring at a flat rock topped with food that Kale passed him.
“It’s food, Wrathion. Eat it.” He looked up at him, incredulous.
“With my hands?” Kale rolled his eyes dramatically.
“Yes, Wrathion. I can fashion you a stick to spear your vegetables but the meat you have to eat off the bone.” He took a haunch of meat and tore into it; it’d been too long since he’d eaten freshly cooked meat over a fire. Wrathion sighed.

While tentative at first, the whelp fell into base instincts and began to eat with gusto, and the two were laughing over their shared primitive meal.

“Thank you for this, Kale.” Kale, lost in thought, raised his brows as he looked up. Wrathion smiled at him. His heart burst in his chest at that smile. “No one has every…cooked me dinner and shared it with me.” He set the rock he used as a plate down, before moving the few feet between them and settling down beside Kale. Kale, still working on his meal, continued to eat.

“Nor really, have I.” Kale admitted. “I usually eat alone. Or with Nefarian, and let’s be honest: Nefarian isn’t much of a companion.” Wrathion rolled his eyes, chuckling.
“You always say that, and yet…I feel he was a greater companion than you realize.”
“Oh I realize it.” He glanced sidelong at Wrathion, winking. “He raised me. I owe him a lot. Supported me throughout…a very turbulent marriage.” He took finished his plate, setting it down before him and watching the flames.

“Would you ever marry again?” Wrathion asked, voice tentative. Kale looked at him, thinking.
“…No.” Wrathion looked down. “Well.” Kale began, head co*cked. “Not a woman, no.” He glanced at his companion, who smiled just somewhat.
“Not a woman, huh?”
“I’ve realized something in the time I’ve spent with you.” Kale cupped his chin. Wrathion gazed at him, pressing into the touch. “Realized that I’ve been wrong my entire life. Wrong and…unknowing.”
“That you’re attracted to men?”
“That would be it, yes.” He leaned in, kissing Wrathion’s nose, his forehead, and temple, before pulling away. Wrathion lunged after him, pulling him into a deep kiss. Kale laughed, pushing him into the soft mossy ground, nuzzling him.

“We’re losing daylight.” Wrathion rolled his eyes.
“As if we need the sun to do our work.” Kale chuckled, letting him go.
“Be that as it may, I do prefer to work by it, if at all possible.” He glanced at Wrathion, who still lay on the ground, gazing at him. With his shirt unbuttoned, exposing dark skin and darker chest hair, it was the sexiest thing Kale had seen by far. He licked his lips, forcing himself to remain focused.

“As much as I would love to continue…” He trailed off, looking at the canopy above them. Wrathion shook his head, smirking as he straightened up.

“Yes. Let’s get back to work. I’ve idled away enough time with you.” He stood, dusting himself off. Kale looked at him, nonplussed.
“Shall we see who will get back to the room fastest?” Kale snorted, stamping out the flames.
“No. You’ll win. I’ve a belly full of food to digest.”

Back in the room, Kale sat back down to work. Wrathion pulled his notes closer, reading through them. Raising his brows, he looked at Kale.
“You’ve found Xala’tath? Why was I not informed of this earlier?”
“I haven’t found it. I found it’s last position. Where it is now is a mystery.” He inked his quill. “Read the notes further, please.” Wrathion glowered at him, his eyes slowly sliding back to the paper.

“…Last seen in the hands of Lady Sylvanas Windrunner. Thought to have been given to…Queen Aszhara?” Wrathion looked at him.
“A bargain.” Kale answered his unspoken question. “Or so I believe.” He looked up at his companion. “You should ask her.”
“Ask whom, Aszhara or Sylvanas?” Wrathion asked dryly. Kale chuckled.
“She may grant you an audience, Wrathion. You are rather important.”
“I assume you’re speaking of Sylvanas, and no.” He laid down the paper, examining his nails. “I’ll have nothing to do with her.” Kale smirked.

“I thought you’d admire her.”
“Admire her?” He gave him a withering glance. “Her methods are nothing but needless slaughter with no payoff. Casualties may be necessary, but if there is no method to the madness, it is a waste. Teldrassil was a waste. The Horde is nothing but a grand mess.” He exhaled, annoyed.

“I need a drink.” Kale glanced at the bar in the far reaches of the room.
“Help yourself. Bring me some wine.” He smiled as he noticed the look the command brought upon him. He heard footsteps, and the distinctive sound of glass on glass, the turning of shoe on tile.

“Not to mention,” Wrathion began. Kale smirked, scratching in a note about the whereabouts of Nyla’lotha. “The Alliance is no better than the horde. The horde may be a mess internally, but the Alliance has literally split in two.”

Could there be entrances in the areas N’Zoth has been focusing on? Kale scratched his chin, splatting his beard with ink.

“I heard about that.” He answered, scratching down his thoughts.
“About the Alliance? What do you know?”
“Just things my son told me before I left.” He began to piece something together in his mind.

“Aszhara…” He whispered. He searched through his notes. Wrathion paused in his ranting.
“What?”
“I know where she is.”
“What?!”
“I know where Aszhara is. She’s in Nya’lotha.” Wrathion crossed to the table. He set a glass of wine in front of Kale, who glanced at it.
“Speak your piece.” Kale eyed him.

“I should have seen it before. N’Zoth ripped her away when she fell before the armies of the Horde and Alliance champions. Of course she’d be in his seat of power.” He found a large map of the world, with indices's of where other maps of specific regions and locals could be found.

“I theorize.” He began, pointing at two locations with both hands. “That Nya’lotha breaks through the fabric of reality at key points. Here.” He tapped the Vale of Eternal Blossoms in Pandaria. “And here.” He tapped Uldum.”

“You theorize?”
“It’s the best I can do with what I know.” Wrathion stared at the parchment, eyes burning.
“Then we have much work to do. I’ll send my agents at once.” He downed the rest of his drink, slamming the glass on the table. Turning, he stopped, facing the balcony.

“I’ll continue working.” Kale added, sipping his wine. He heard Wrathion turn, and then hands grab him by the front of the shirt. He snarled, only for lips to press themselves against his. He blinked.

“Thank you.” He sat there, blinking, shocked.
“You’re welcome.” Wrathion smirked, shoving him back into the chair, before striding out of the room. Kale watched him go, mouth agape.

Chapter 8: Tension

Chapter Text

Kale, being the way he was, had to keep tabs on the world at large somehow. He recieved his information through a series of informants; some of them paid, some of them legitimate friends and allies. They had ways of contacting him, through couriers or magical means.

Several days after their sojourn in Feralas, Kale awoke to a ringing. A soft ringing, it reminded him of the chime of bells at high noon. Believing it to be in his dreams, he snuggled closer to Wrathion, who slept soundly beside him. The ringing continued, growing louder, more insistent, until he realized, with a jolt of awakness, that it was one of his contacts attempting to reach him. Grunting, he unentangled himself, slipping out of bed. He cross to the table, fumbling around for a quill and blank sheet of paper in the gloom of pre-dawn.

Finally prepared, he released the spell, alerting his contact he was ready. The quill, held loosely in his hand, jerked as if on strings. The tip settled against the parchment, and if in a trance, it began to write. Kale watched it’s progress, his eyes narrowing, brow furrowing further and further as it reached down the page. The quill dropped after the spell was finished, blotting the end of the parchment with ink.

Kale! It’s me, Brann. I’ve been meaning to speak to ya, or at least write ta ya, but with everything goin on I’ve lost track of time. I cannae say I bring good tidings, either, with me’ letter. The Alliance…she’s falling apart. Muradin has sent me word of some troubling rumors coming out of Kalimdor. The High Priestess has gone missing, along with King Genn. I…dunno what to think of these two running amok; I know their anger is very great. I cannae say I blame Tyrande any, for her fury at the Horde.

What I principally wanted to write ta’ about was Zeke Firebrand. He’s left the Lord Admirals service, it seems. If I were to guess it, he’s thrown his lot in with the rebels. I’ve heard rumors of orcish and troll corpses, burned to a crisp, showing up in areas of confirmed Horde activity.

This isn’t good, Kale. I know you have a plate full of horrors at the moment, but I had to warn ya!

Take care o’ yourself,
Brann

“Awake so early?” He heard a tired voice call from the bed. He turned. Wrathion gazed at him, head co*cked, still laying down. Hair splayed out beside him, he was the picture of beauty. Kale sucked in a breath.
“Recieved a message.” Wrathion raised a brow.
“Oh? What of?”
“It’s…complicated.” Kale was unsure whether he should tell Wrathion the contents. He crossed to the bed, leaning over it. Wrathion gazed at him with that one cracked eye, slowly opening the other.
“What?”
“It’s nothing concerning our fight.” Kale began. “It’s…a personal issue.”
“Spit it out, then.” Wrathion sat up.
“Do you promise to stay out of it?” Kale asked. “It’s an issue for me alone to solve. Wrathion rolled his eyes.
“I’ve no interest in butting into your problems, Kale. Yes, I promise.” Kale smiled.

“Zeke Firebrand has been attacking Horde encampments; slaughtering combatants and non-combatants alike. With the cease fire, temporary or not…” Kale swallowed, looking away.
“Zeke Firebrand?” Wrathion asked. “Who is he?”
“I…introduced him to Khadgar, several years back. I figured the two would work well together. He’s a hot headed man, capable of great feats and just as great villainy.” He sighed. Wrathion gazed at him for a moment, before slipping off the bed.

“Well, since I’m already awake, I suppose I’ll get to work.” He gave Kale a pointed stare; he snorted. Standing, he kissed his forehead, lingering for a moment.
“I’ll be back. None the worse for wear, I promise.”
“That’s impossible for you.” Wrathion whispered. “But I appreciate it.”

Kale dressed, grabbed a few snacks for the road, and took off. Wrathion watched him go, leaning against the balcony.

He flew for several hours, the dense forests of Feralas passing underneath him; a rich green blanket that stretched for miles and miles. Alighting on a peak, he looked over the grey rocky dunes of Desolace as he thought, talons digging deep into the rock.

What to do…

He hadn’t been apart of the Alliance for years. True, he cared about it. Cared about it’s wellbeing and it’s strength as a group of allies. Part of him hoped to use what little influence he had left and stop this maddness. The other was simply curious as to why they were doing this. He transformed, carving runes into the air which dispersed. He grimaced. Again and again he attempted his spell, until finally, a rune lingered. He grabbed hold of it, urging the magic to open to him, prying open the lid of a metaphorical box as he worked.

The runes were souls. He was sorting through them, narrowing down the list further and further until he found the one he needed. As it turned out, a mortal soul was quite unwilling to be manipulated into giving its exact location, especially to the void. Kale, however, was excellent at manipulation, and Zeke Firebrand was easy prey.

Ah. There you are. He grunted, sweat beading on his brow. Haven’t changed your last position. He released the soul. In reality, it was a doppleganger; a little piece that everyone left behind whenever they made their mark on the world. These pieces could aid in finding the real deal. The piece was merely a shadow. It would eventually fade into non-existence, replaced by an updated, more accurate shade. He crouched, recovering, breathing deep. The traitors were in Darkshore. Sighing, he stood, stretched, and leapt off the rock. Mid air he transformed, wing beats sending up whirls of dust from the mountain side as he regained height.

Zeke Firebrand had made his mark on the world with Kale’s assistance. If Kale hadn’t introduced the then young mage to Khadgar, he would still be struggling to find place. He grunted.

Perhaps not. Zeke had a personality anyone would gravitate towards. It was the exact opposite of Kale’s; headstrong, brash, charismatic without trying. Handsome as well. He was many things Kale was not; perhaps that was what pushed him to introduce him into these particular circles.

Unfortunately, he had a personality that was easily swayed, easily manipulated, and easily corrupted. He shook his head, sinuous neck stretching and undulating as he flew.

Hours passed. Kale took advantage of daytime thermals as he flew, riding from one to the other as he lost himself in thought. The scenery changed, gradually, to red mountains. He skirted past these; their tops too high to comfortably fly among. Peaks lost in snow, ruins of temples and dwellings could be seen decorating the cliffs and precipices; evidence of a long gone Kaldorei society. Those ruins had to date prior to the Sundering. He almost did a double take; so curious he was. He stopped himself before he stopped his flying, shaking his head.

Later, perhaps.

I could bring Wrathion here. He smiled, draconic lips stretching over needle like teeth. Although…I won’t live that long, will I? His smile faded, replaced with a somber sort of melancholy. He flapped his wings, crossing into the verdant oasis’s in Desolace.

Should I even try? He asked himself, gazing down at the green surrounded by lifeless grey. Does he even want me that way? His heart seemed to shudder at that thought. Wrathion had said he loved him, but realistically, what did either of them know of love? Wrathion was barely twenty, and a dragon. Kale was…Kale had been raised by an insane black dragon, had stuck around a loveless, horrific marriage just for show, and spent more of his time buried in books.

Despite it, he felt something for the man. He could feel it whenever he looked at him, whenever he felt his lingering gaze. Felt the heat in his cheeks whenever he was complimented or insulted. The touch of his hand…the smell of him underneath him as he pounded into him…

He shook his draconic head, gnashing his teeth. His inability to figure out his feelings frustrated and embarrassed him. Best to push Wrathion from his mind for now.

He flew for several more miles until the sun set. Alighting on a lush mountain top glade, he rested among the fallen leaves and underbrush, flying again come dawn. He was approaching their last position. Taking a breath, he dove into the thick, decaying canopy of Felwood.

He pulled up short as he felt the heat. Landing on a pinnacle, he crept up at the edge, overlooking what appeared to be a centralized fire. He blinked, snout peeking over a cleft in the rock.

Zeke Firebrand stood, wreathed in flame, red hair billowing around him, robes mirroring its movement. Kale shrouded his position, crawling up further. The flames intensified, wind picking up around him. The heat reached Kale; a familiar, awful heat. He narrowed his eyes, watching.

Without warning, flaming tentacles rose up from the ground, writhing and undulating to an unknown rythem.
There it is. Kale thought. That familiar sense. He looked towards the mage, who twisted, eyeing his summons, before snapping his fingers and dismissing them. The tentacles sunk back into the ground. The fire died back, the mountainside returned to its benign calm. Kale studied him, unsure of what to do. An idea sparked; a foolish idea, but an idea nonetheless. Transforming, he stepped into the shadows; parting the fabric of reality. Akin to draping a blanket over a playful kitten, he moved between the planes, striding up to the mage and stopping short before him.

Zeke was taller than him. He wasn’t used to that. He reached inside him, for confidence he’d never had, pulling it over him like a comfortable cloak, before stepping up just beside Zeke.

Do you think you can manage the power you’ve stolen?

Zeke snapped to attention, looking around him. Kale smirked wider.

“Who said that?”

Don’t play games, Zeke Firebrand…we’re always watching. Zeke twisted, hands engulfed in flames as he wheeled back and forth. Kale dug in further, sending out tendrils of dark energy to attack his mind, mirroring his movements, staying close to his ear.

Always so arrogant. Always so smug. Do you think your little shows mean anything to us? Your games mean anything in the long, dark future of this world? Kale wove shadow; real shadow, not wrapped in fire and smoke. It tore into Zeke’s mind. He gripped his head, letting out a shout.

What is your end game? What is your desire? Kale heard footsteps. He clawed his hand, piercing his mind further. Thoughts raced by him at lightning pace; he attempted to grab one, any of them, as they flew by. Shouts; a lanturn swinging into view. Kale tore into his mind, fervent.

A memory. A memory of Zeke tapping into latent void energies and reveling in their power. He felt the mans desire, his victorious triumph as he weld flame and shadow as one. Kale examined it as it bled by him, its colors fading as quickly as it appeared. More shouts; Zeke had fallen to his knees at the torment, his body seizing. Kale turned on his heel, facing the newcomers. His vision fuzzed from his place between realities, he could make out several normal soldiers and a hulking, wolfish form. He turned to go.

Searing agony ripped through his shoulder. He stumbled backwards, teetering precariously on the cliff face, pulled back into physical reality. He fell to his knees, looking left, at an arrow with silver fletching buried deep.

Tyrande.

He grunted, hand gripping the wound. Warm blood pooled and dripped, a blossom of scarlet appearing across the brand new shirt. He stared up, forcing himself to stand. The hulking form, a snow white worgen he recognized as King Genn Greymane, looked at him with abject surprise; Zeke stared at him with unconcealed rage, and Tyrande looked at him as she perched atop a rock, her expression one of cool anger.

“Kale Zaxon. What a surprise.” He attempted a smile, managing a grimace.
“Always a pleasure, Tyrande.”
“What were you DOING TO ME?” Zeke howled. He struggled against the hold of his rescuers; Greymane latched onto him, growling. Kale ignored the pain, answering him with a smirk. The man snarled, breaking free and lifting Kale up my front of the shirt. His shoulder seared.

“I could sear the flesh off your bones.” The man hissed, nose to nose. “I could brand that self-satisfied smirk permanently onto your vile face, you monster.”
“Monster?” Kale laughed. “I’m not the one murdering children. Or are those small corpses down there just malnourished orcs?”
“You know nothing of what happened here, Zaxon.” Greymane stepped forward, wrenching Zeke from him, his voice a barely audible rumble.

Kale backed up to the precipice, his heels kissing open air as he stared at the company.

“You never answered his question, Zaxon.” Tyrande twirled an arrow around her fingers, staring at him with calculated disinterest. “What were you doing to him?” Kale smiled, shrugging.
“I required information and I recieved it through force. I’m sure you’re very familiar with the tactic.”
“You’re back against a cliff with no where to go, Kale.” Zeke growled. “Why did you do this? Surely you knew you couldn’t win.”
“On the contrary…” He winced. “I didn’t expect to be seen.” Hje glanced at the once High Priestess, who smirked. He opened his mouth to continue, only to be interrupted.

“Why do this, Kale. This isn’t your fight. It hasn’t been your fight since you left the Alliance.” Greymane’s voice was level and calm; perhaps the only calm person in the vicinity. The foot soliders stared, expressions hard, lanturns held high.

“Why?” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “Because there are more important-.”
“Do not dare tell me what is and is not important, Zaxon.” Tyrande bared her teeth, snarling. Kale clamped his jaw shut. “I care nothing for the Old God.”
“He cares very much for you.” He looked at her. A once beautiful face twisted by time, by sorrow, by trauma. Silver eyes turned pitch black pools of inky darkness; hair a filthy braid that coiled over one shoulder. “He enjoys these little games you play.”

“This is not a game!” Zeke bowed his head. In an instant, he became a hulking Planore, his teeth bared, snorting in rage. “The Horde must pay for what they’ve done.”
“Haven’t they?” Asked Kale. Escape plans began to blossom in his mind. The shadows? Flip off the edge and fly away? Fight his way out?
“Not even slightly.” Tyrande knocked an arrow. “It’s a pity you came here. Though the world will have no real loss at your death. I did enjoy meeting you, but our short time as equals has long been over.” Kale grunted.

“You will find it’s far harder to kill me then it seems.” The arrow seared. Zeke roared, charging.

Kale wove shadow.

It pooled across the ground, erupting from the earth in a sickening geyser of black tendrils. It grasped at the legs and arms of the onlookers, searing their flesh in entropic boils. The tendrils grasped at Zeke, holding his legs fast. He let out an equine scream as he was pulled to the ground, the earth shaking at his impact. Kale leapt backward just as Tyrande took aim, the arrow she’d been holding loosed in a second. He felt it sing past his ear as he fell off the cliff.

He fell, feel the air rush by him as he plummeted, headfirst, into the destroyed Horde encampment. Blood sailed in stream of droplets, leaving a trail in his wake. Gritting his teeth, he transformed.

Agony as the arrow tore into muscle, his wing muscles clashing with the shoulders. He forced himself to balloon out his wings, slowing his fall, before risking the shadows. A doorway appeared; he flew into it. He let it shut, sealing himself in shadow just as he slammed into the ground.

Blackness.

He didn’t know how long he was out, only that when he came too, creatures had begun to crawl towards him, leaving slimy trails as they slithered and danced towards his prone form. Pain seared through him; aches from his fall, the arrow still stuck awkwardly in his shoulder. He stumbled to his feet, walking away, masking his presence best he could. He would have to make his way back to the encampment this way.

Several hours later, soaked in sweat and blood, he stumbled into the bright afternoon sun of Magni’s encampment. The brightness shocked him, sending him to his knees. Several people cried out in alarm. Many shied away, staring at him from in tents or behind boxes. Others ran to his side.

“It’s Zaxon again.”
“He’s always injured.” Kale felt too weak to response.
“Lemme have a look at him.” A trolls thick dialect met his ears. “Ah mon, injured again? Let Hen’riki help ya.” He felt someone lift him, wrapping his good arm around their shoulder. Kale glanced at him through streaming eyes; the pain was horrific.

“Who shot you, mon?” The troll asked quietly, bringing him to a somewhat secluded area, away from prying eyes. Two more shamans approached, looking concerned. “This arrow looks…” Kale opened his eyes to see the young troll eyeing the shaft of the arrow in his arm. He muttered an incantation, splaying his three fingers. Water begin to fall around him, soothing his pain. Kale breathed a sigh of relief.
“Would you believe me?” Kale asked. One of the shamans sat him up.
“Ah, I tink I would believe anyone. This arrow-.” He glanced at Kale. “Looks to be Kaldorei. Now, I mean no disrespect mon, but Kaldorei and Planore be allies.”
“Once, they were.” Kale grit his teeth as they began to pull at the arrow; it’s barbed head digging deep into muscle.
“Ah…” Hen’riki frowned. “I be pullin’ it out now. This will hurt.” With a yank, and a scream from Kale, the arrow came free. Immediatly, rain began to pool in his shoulder, dripping into severed muscle, tendon and bone, healing and easing pain. He felt his shoulder reknit, and tested it experimentally.
“Ah, no doing that.” Hen’riki put a hand on his shoulder. “Those muscles, still very tender. Don’t be moving it. No flying and no running.” He pointed one long blue finger at him. “Stick to this form, ya here me? I’m tired of healin’ ya!” He barked a laugh. “Do ya need anything?” He paused. “Oh, here.” He took a sling from one of his attendants, handing it to Kale, who slipped his arm inside, feeling weak. “Anyways…need anything?” He asked again.

“I…” Kale looked at him. Trolls had been his enemies at one point in time. Now this one was happily healing him, cracking jokes.
“No. I thank you, Hen’riki.” Hen’riki bowed.
“Just say da word, mon. I’ll be around.” He loped away, followed by his two students, a small tauren girl and an orc woman.

Kale sat on the slate they had laid him on for a few moments, thinking. He was stuck here now. Arm in a sling. Helpless. Alone.

Alone…

No, he wasn’t alone. Just a few heartbeats away was Wrathion. He could join him in the heart chamber. A shiver ran up him. He closed his eyes at the reaction, willing himself to be calm. No need react that way to someone he was merely close with. He stood, walking through the camp, ignoring the glances, the stares, the whispers behind hands. As he grew closer to the teleportation pad, he witnessed a group of druids planting Silithus native plants, coaching them into growth. Cacti and ground hugging lichen blossomed where they stood, crawling or branching mighty arms.

“The azerite, now…” A deep, resonating voice reached his ears, and he witnessed a massive tauren druid hold out azerite to a cactus. Wisps of rainbow light infused itself with the freshly grown plants. It seemed to grow for a moment, before rapidly decaying and dying before their eyes; Kale watched in confusion as a skeleton lay before him. The druids sighed.

“The energies are too much for it…” The tauren spoke, voice soft. “Living tissue reacts differently.”
“Perhaps less azerite will be beneficial?” Another druid asked.
“I don’t think azerite is beneficial at all.” Yet another responded, poking at the skeleton. “Archdruid, what is your course of action? What are your thoughts?”

“I believe we’ve hit a wall.” He snorted, looking at the life they’d spread. “Leave these plants be, for the time being. A time may come when we are forced to remove them, but for now, let them sprawl and flourish.” Kale watched them disperse, thinking.

He was still deep in thought about living things and their reactions to azerite infusions when he stepped into the chamber. Looking around, he noticed several new faces; a few adventurers, tinkering with equipment. A few scholars, noses buried in journals, and Alexststrasza. Kale blinked. Alexstrasza?

She happened to look his way at his entrance, her features shrouded in shadow. Kale set his jaw, stepping forward. All eyes turned to him as his steps echoed in the entrance. Many turned back to their work. Wrathion stared at him; he heard his huff of indignation as his eyes looked upon his arm in a sling. He turned determinedly away from him, striking up a conversation with the nearest adventurerer. Kale sighed, moving onward. Best to distract himself; he had to wait for Wrathion to be done with his work and be in a good enough mood to help him.

He settled behind a console, beginning to research. Invested after a few minutes, he didn’t notice the foot steps until a small statured elven woman stood beside him. He blinked, glancing at Alexstrasza, who peered at him.

“I know you from somewhere…ah yes.” She smiled. “You were King of the Planore.” Kale stared. He did not like this woman.
“Yes. I was.”
“I’ve heard much about you from Wrathion. He speaks of you endlessly.” She tilted her head ever so slightly, bangles clanging.
“Does he now?” Kale exited out of the console, leaning against it. He chose his words carefully. Despite his feelings, he was speaking to a queen. “If I may ask, Queen of Dragons, what does he say?”
“That you are a valuable asset, despite your unique proclivities.” She scanned the chamber. “Tell me, Kale. Why did you choose the shadow?”
“Choose?” He licked his lips. “I didn’t choose. I was raised by Nefarian. The shadows chose me.” Her eyes flickered back onto him, saying nothing. She apparently wanted more. Kale set his jaw, unwilling to give her more.

“Your people intrique me.” She spoke after a long enough pause. “So many eons away from their rightful home. You did right returning them to us.”
“I did what I could.” Kale looked over the room. He caught Wrathion’s gaze. The man looked away from him pointedly; Kale frowned. “Why are you here, Alexstrasza?” He asked, looking at her.

“I gave up a part of the Red Dragonflights essense many months ago. I stop in from time to time.” She peered at him. “Where are your black dragon allies, Kale?”
“Why do you wish to know?” He asked, voice grave. “They’re far from the reach of your assassins, Alexstrasza.” Her pleasent smile faded, replaced with a frown, bordering on a scowl.

“I have never lifted a claw against the dragons you call allies, despite all the harm they have evoked upon my flight.” Kale set his jaw. He knew all to well the hunting parties sent out against black dragons. He knew how many, insane or not, were butchered, all in the name of protection.

“They are safe. Away from N’Zoth influence.” He muttered. Alexstrasza took a step away. With one last studious look, she turned and exited the chamber. Kale sighed, rubbing his temple. Why did he have say that?

“You seemed to have annoyed her, Kale.” That voice. He turned, his lips curling ever so slightly as Wrathion approached. “I commend you.”
“I shouldn’t have done so.” Kale admitted. “But I detest hypocrits. Especially ones that hold nigh heavenly mandates.” Wrathion chuckled.

“What happened to your arm?”
“I got shot.” An eyebrow raise. Kale smiled pleasently.
“You’re obnoxious.”
“I try to be.” Wrathion leaned against the console.

“Tell me what happened, Kale.”
“Not…here. But I will.” He rolled his good shoulder, looking around. Wrathion sighed.
“I suppose I can take a break to placate you.”
“Excellent. I could use a ride back to my lodgings.” Wrathion raised his brows.
“Oh? A ride you say?” Wrathion exhaled, amused. “Fine then, you invalid.”

Kale followed him outside, several paces away from the camp. Wrathion turned on his heel, looking up at him.
“I’ll carry you in my talons.”
“Er…” Kale grimaced. He’d prefer to ride on Wrathion; far more comfortable. Wrathion smirked, recognizing his thoughts.
“You thought you could simply ride the Black Prince?” Kale gave him a non-commital grunt. Wrathion laughed.
“Come now, Kale.” He transformed, looking at him with glowing red eyes set deep in a handsome reptilian skull. “It isn’t so bad, being carried.” He proferred his back; Kale gratefully climbed on.

He ducked low, clinging to Wrathion’s scales with his good arm, letting the other hang. Wrathion flew with easy grace, wing beats steady, making it easy to hang on. Kale felt miserable, watching the sands pass beneath him. Flying was a treasure to him; ever since he was a boy, it had been his escape; his respite. Being unable to fly, even if just for a short time, bothered him greatly.

Wrathion landed half an hour later, coming to a stop in the sands. Kale slipped off, rolling his shoulder; it felt a bit better, though a scar still pulsed with pain where the arrow dug in. Wrathion transformed, stepping up in front of him. Without preamble, he ripped the sling off Kale’s arm, tearing his shirt away from his injured arm. Kale gaped as the fabric, clothes that Wrathion had made himself, fluttered to the sand.

“Hey! You made that, you know!”
“I can always make others.” He tutted. “You got shot?” Kale stared, watching as Wrathion lifted his arm, examining the wound with lidded eyes.
“Yes.”
“By what? Bullet, bolt, or arrow?”
“Take a wild guess.” Wrathion tugged the arm. Kale let out a shriek.
“Tut tut. Now, tell me.” He reached over, pushing the rest of the shirt off him, which fluttered to the sands, picked up in the wind and tossed away.
“An arrow. Tyrande shot me.” Kale grunted. Wrathion stopped his ministrations, looking up at him with alarm.
“Tyrande Whisperwind?” Kale nodded, grave.
“She almost killed me, to tell the truth.” Wrathion pulled him by his good arm to the waters, yanking him close to him.
“Tell me everything.” He whispered. Kale stared. He was so intoxicating.
“I’m tired-.”
“I don’t really care. I just gave you a ride.” He wrenched down Kale’s pants, pushing him into the water. Kale tripped, stumbling, his shoes soaked. “Not everyone gets the privledge to ride the Black Prince.”
Kale pulled off the loafers, glaring up at Wrathion, biting back a retort.
I’ve ridden you before and you didn’t complain…

He watched him pull of his own clothes, stepping into the water. Far more gently, he helped Kale up, walking with him to the deeper side of the pools.

“I’ve been…unable to concentrate.” He mused, wrapping his arms around him from the back. He felt him press a cheek into his shoulder blades. “I hate you for it.”
“I’m sorry.” Kale hung his head. “Trust me, I ddin’t expect to get caught, let alone shot.”
“Growing old?”
“I didn’t have the power I do now when I was younger, but… perhaps.” He rotated the arm. “Let’s sit on the edge. I’ll tell you waht happened, Wrathion.” Wrathion followed him to an edge that bordered a the pools; a gentle fall splashed into the pool from a higher level. He groaned as he tugged himself up, sighing. Wrathion joined him. The water, dripping down hard lines of muscle, was incredible. He swallowed, looking up. Wrathion sighed, sliding onto his lap, pressed up under his chin. Kale closed his eyes, breathing in his scent.

“Did you find him?” He asked, his voice reverberating in his chest cavity. Kale nodded.
“I did. Among others. I…don’t know what I was thinking, really. That I could stop it?” He raised a hand, looking at himself. “I’ve…never meant much, in anyones eyes.”
“Speak for yourself.” Wrathion responded. “I’ve heard people speak of you in high regard.”
“Not…leaders of the Alliance.” Wrathion pulled away. He looked at him, curious.
“What do you mean? You convinced Varian Wrynn to allow you in. That takes some skill in negotiation.” Kale let out a harsh chuckle.
“No. The thing that convinced him was me returning a sentimental item that was lost in the war. I tried speaking; I tried negotiating. I tried showing him my peoples prowess in battle. Nothing worked, but that one, small return of a family heirloom…” He sighed.
“What was it?” Wrathion asked.
“A locket of his mothers. I found it in the rubble and kept it. Returned it all those years later… I don’t know why it convinced him; perhaps he realized I knew what he’d been through, that I was a witness to his trauma.” Kale shrugged, wincing.
“Did you return it because you knew he would allow your people in?”
“No, I just…figured it was the right thing to do. At that point I was at a loss. I didn’t want to consider the Horde, but knew if the Alliance wasn’t going to be an option that was the only choice.” He sighed.

“I was a terrible king.” Wrathion gazed at him. Kale continued, smiling somewhat as Wrathion hooked a foot around his own under the water. He scooted closer.

“After about a year I just…quit trying. Became too much.”
“You took on the responsibility.”
“I know.” He frowned. “I’m aware, Wrathion. But it was never…I’m not made to be a leader.” He looked up. “Not sure what I’m made to be, really. But not that. Luckily, I married a woman who, even with all her many-.” Kale spat the word. “Faults, she was a damn good leader and politician.”
“And your son? You gave over control when he was only sixteen.” Wrathion co*cked his head, hair falling to one side, exposing one of his small, pointed ears. Kale looked at him, running fingers through his hair, a thumb up that ear.
“During the campaigne in Pandaria. I…had been missing for months. It was time to just stop holding everyone back.”
“From what I’ve been able to discern, your subjects-.”
“They aren’t my subjects, Wrathion. I just went over this.” Wrathion waved a dismissive hand, pressing into his touch. “See him as an excellent, fair leader. What’s he like?” Kale sighed, pulling away.

“Light, wish I knew. I barely know my own son. Alycia poisoned him to me, and some of it I suppose I deserve. When I did get to spend time with him…It was wonderful. The one good thing to happen in that relationship. If you can call it that.” He slipped into the water, only for Wrathion to take his shoulder, restraining him.

“Not yet, Kale. You still have to tell me what happened.” Kale looked at him. That face filled with compassion and warmth. And understanding. So few people understood him.

“Right. I…” He swallowed. Instead of returning to his seat, he pressed his face into Wrathion’s chest, pulling him tight.

“What can I say. I was caught.”
“How?” Kale grit his teeth. He looked up at him.
“I wasn’t…paying attention while I tormented Zeke for information.” Wrathion raised a quizzicle eyebrow.
“Look.” Kale muttered an incantation, stepping backward into the in-between. Wrathion let out a yelp of alarm. Kale moved, and, reaching forward, took his hand. The result was a strange sensation, like pressing ones hand through a plate of geletin. Wrathion shuffled away in alarm.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kale stepped out.
“If you can access the shadows, you can access the…” He paused, head tilted, thinking. “In-between.” He smiled, sitting back on the ledge. He did, however, resume his earlier embrace, laying down in Wrathion’s bare lap. The man glared down at him.
“I’ve never heard of that magic.”
“Haven’t you? Void Elves practice it.” He sighed, somewhat content, laying there among the heat and the warmth. A mixture of the humidity of the pools and the latent heat of his companion. “Anyways…Tyrande saw me. Shot me, and it ripped me back into reality.”
“So wait.” Wrathion held up a hand. “This…In-between, isn’t reality?”
“Not ours, no.” Kale gestured around him, gesticulating. “This is our reality. There are others.”
“And what of Dreanor? Isn’t that another reality?”
“That’s a time distortion. Different concept altogether.” Kale sat up, scooting closer. “Look.” He drew in sediment they sat on. “On Azeroth, current time line, there are two distinct realities. Potentially a third. Calling them that is a bit of a misnomer, because they are all overlapping, but…” He shrugged. He drew circles, all over overlapping each other.
“Physical world. The air we breathe and the space we take up. This is the physical world.” Wrathion nodded. Kale marked that circle with a P. “The Shadows. That is the way I travel.” He marked that circle with an S. “And the IN-between.” He crossed the lines overlapping the circles with an I. “I’m basically forcing myself in between the two realities. However, I’m tied to the physical one, so any harm done to me rips me out and places me back.”

“Interesting. I’ve never heard of this.”
“It’s something I only discovered about a decade or so ago. I mostly keep my discoveries quiet.” Wrathion nodded. He drew another circle, to the left of the Physical reality and the Shadows.
“What of this third you mentioned?”
“Everything has it’s opposite. I imagine there must be a Light as well as a Shadow.” He scratched at his beard. “But dimensional travel is more of a void thing than a holy thing.” Wrathion thought for several moments.

“You fascinate me, Kale.” He felt a hand cup his cheek. He turned to kiss the palm before he realized what he was doing. As he did so, lips met his own. “Fascinate me and astound me.”
“I astound you?” Kale whispered. “Me? You’re…incredible.” Wrathion chuckled.
“You are brave, insane, intelligent, foolish, amusing and…” He gave him a wry smile. “Handsome.” Kale looked down, he felt a kiss press itself to his forehead. “Thank you for telling me this.”

“I’ve told you more than I planned too.” Kale laid back down. “You have a way of making me open up.”
“Did you ever confess anything to Nefarian?” Kale snorted.
“No. Do you think he’d have cared?”
“I do not know.”

They sat for some time in silence; Kale dozing, head settled on Wrathion’s thighs.
“Alright, enough chatting.” Wrathion pushed him off. “Get clean.”

They bathed. Kale felt himself laughing, truly laughing, as the two messed around; rough housing between kissing. He found himself in his room, making love. He had no other way to put it; just that the way he held him, the way he thrust, the way he watched every movement of Wrathion’s face as he writhed beneath him, it was far more loving than not. Kale felt his heart burst in his chest, peppering his lover with kisses.

Lover.

Did he love him? Hell, he didn’t know. He didn’t know what love was.

“Wrathion.” He whispered as they settled down to sleep. The dragon tilted an ear, wrapping as he was in Kale’s arms.
“Stay with me here from now on. Or at least, sleep here.” There was no reply for a time. Kale felt his heart beginning to sink, only for a murmur of assent to filter to his ears.
“I will. Gladly.”
Gladly. He grinned into his shoulders, kissing them gently. Gladly would suit him nicely.

Chapter 9: Family

Chapter Text

Weeks passed. Wrathion spent most of his days in Kale’s company. Kale found it amusing that the little things he did had a way of annoying the dragon; his frequent meditations most of all.

“If you dislike it so much…why do you sit and watch?” Kale rolled on his back as a dragon, warming his belly. “I need to do this.”
“Laze around? You’re wasting our time! N’Zoth is out there and you’re here, sunning yourself!” Wrathion fumed, scratching at the sand with his talons.
“Yes. I need to laze around. This meditation keeps my mind sharp.” Wrathion paused.
“It does?” Kale cracked an eye.
“Indeed. Now, shut up and let me concentrate.” Wrathion grumbled. He paced around the beach front, before settiling into a spot a few paces from Kale.

Kale compelled himself to focus, re-knitting barriers and bulkheads in his mind, shutting out voices and whispers and the drowning, incessant whine of insanity that constantly threatened him. He reached out to each of his wards, placed weeks ago, and re attuned them. Wrathion huffed a whine. Kale, broken out of his stupor, raised his head.

“Have I made it clear I need to concentrate?”
“I didn’t break your concentration.”
“You made a noise.” Kale stood up, folding his wings back into place. “Quit that.”
“I’m bored.” Wrathion cracked an eye from his curled up position. “I hate when you do this.”
“Oh, apologies, my Black Prince.” Kale crossed over to him, laying a reptilian head across his companions own. “Do my efforts to maintain my sanity bore you?”
“…Yes.” Wrathion grumbled. “There are other things we can do to relax.” Kale smiled
“Like what?” He felt the other dragon slide out from underneath him, becoming a man before his eyes. Kale blinked, before mirroring him. Wrathion grabbed his collar, pushing him into the sand.

“Something like this.” He kissed him. Kale grinned, drinking him in. Pulling away, he grunted.
“This is the opposite of relaxation, Wrathion.” Wrathion smirked.
“But it is fun.” The other offered. “And I’m in the mood.” Kale growled, pushing him backwards. He pulled off Wrathion’s clothes; a simple shirt and trousers today, running hands through that thick, glorious hair. Wrathion groaned, biting his lip. Kale pressed his lips into his neck, his chest, running them down his taut abdominals. He lingered at his waist line, breathing him in, kissing his thighs one by one, before taking him in his mouth. He heard his arms hit the sand, felt his body twist and turn with each pump of his mouth, his hands running tracks though Kale’s unkempt hair.

“K-Kale!” He moaned, neck arching, cheeks flushed. Kale let him fall out of his mouth, kissing his navel.
“You taste good.” Kale pressed his nose to his. Wrathion flushed further. “And your cute when you blush.”
“I’m not blushing.”
“Oh yes you are. Full on red, like a dragon.” Kale winked. Wrathion plucked at his shirt.
“How insulting, comparing me to a red dragon.”
“Oh just your cheeks.” He kissed him again, making his way back down his body, peppering him with kisses as he went.

“You know I wanted to do this to you.” Wrathion whined.
“You can still do it.” Kale responded. “Just not now.” He resumed his careful worship. Light he craved every part of him. He felt himself stiffen as he worked him. Every scent, every little sound his made, every drop of beaded sweat on that delicious skin sent him into titters of ecstasy. He took his legs, pushing them up, diving into his backside without thinking.

“Wa-wait!” Kale ignored him, feeling fingers clamp themselves into his hair, scraping his scalp. “Kale, what the-.” Kale looked up at him.
“What.”
“What the hell are you doing?!”
“Does it feel good?” He kissed his thighs.” Wrathion staired, nonplussed, eyebrow raised in incredulity.
“You’re insane.” Kale tapped his temple.
“Comes with the job.” He managed one more lick before being yanked up by the hair and thrust backwards into the sand. He shouted in surprise as Wrathion fell over him, unbuttoning his shirt.

“Not going to just rip it off?”
“I regret doing that.” He grunted. “I work hard on these.” Kale raised a brow, raising a shoulder to help him slip the shirt off.
“You magic them into existence.” Wrathion stopped, shirt off one shoulder.
“Kale. Magic takes effort.” He continued, throwing the shirt to one side.
“Hmmmm. You know what else takes effort?” Kale drew him into a kiss. “Keeping my hands off you.” Wrathion smiled. He pulled down Kale’s pants, smile broadening at the spring of his erection.

“I rarely see you smile so wide.” Kale grunted as the man took him in his hands.
“You happen to make me very…” He paused, hands running up and down smooth, soft skin. “Happy.” Kale’s head lolled back at his touch.
“I’m-.” He grunted as Wrathion wrapped his lips arounds him. “Happy you feel that way. Oh!” He felt him chuckle. The vibrations drove him wild. Wrathion worked him into a hip thrusting frenzy, pausing just when he reached the pinnacle of climax. Kale, taut, bursting, sat up, pulling him by the chin into a rough, sloppy kiss. He felt him growl, felt him reach and grab his neck. Pulling away, Kale spoke.

“I think I know just how to treat you.” He pressed a kiss into his cheek. “Up again the resort wall, Wrathion. Now.”

Slowly, considering obeying, he stood. He glared at Kale for a moment, before turning and leaning against the wall, hands splayed out and pressed against the stone. Kale walked over to him, running hands down his body, reveling in every curve
“N’Zoth is still out there, Wrathion.” Kale teased, running fingers down his spine. He felt him shiver under his touch.
“Yes. It is.”
“Aren’t we wasting time?” No response. Just a growl of annoyance. Kale admired his body for a second longer, leaning over him, taking him in a hand and giving him long, luxurious strokes as he kissed his ears and temple. Wrathion turned to putty in his hands, completely submitting to his every whim. Kale drank of him, before pulling away and lining himself up. He stood there, hands against the wall, breathing heavily, body quivering and covered in sweat.

“Enough!” He felt him tugged up by the hair, lips pressed to his own. Kale grunted, pushing him back against the wall, hands clasped together, locked tight. Wrathion wrapped his legs around his waist, back pressed to the cold stone wall.
“Too much?” Kale asked, running his lips across his cheekbones. Wrathion shivered. He raised his chin, not responding.
“I’ll take that as a no.” Kale grinned, lining himself up. Pushing in, he wrapped both arms around him, hugging him tight. Wrathion groaned, back arched. Kale kissed and bit his shoulders, tasting sweat flecked flesh, before beginning his thrusting in earnest.

Hot, insatiable lust took over him as he drove into him, reveling in the moans and yelps of pleasure he elicited. A feral frenzy took over him, lips parted, hair sweaty, beads dripping down his cheeks and nose as he lost himself.
“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered in Wrathion’s ears. “So tantalizing, so perfect.” Wrathion whimpered, looking at him sidelong, grasping Kale’s hand to his chest. “How close are you?” Wrathion squirmed at his touch. Kale grinned into his neck, lost in his scent, lost in his body.

With a yell, Wrathion collapsed. Kale supported him, holding him tight as he came, grinning as he watched the white drops drip to the sand below. He continued his thrusting, close himself, breathing deep. So lost he was, so wrapped up in the rapture of passion, he almost missed the trip of his wards. It began as a tickling in the back of his mind, almost an itch, and grew more and more pronounced. He froze as he finally recognized it, on the brink of euphoria.
“Wha-What?” Wrathion opened his eyes, glaring at him. “Why’d you-.” Kale held a hand to his mouth, hushing him. The prickling grew stronger in his head.
“Be quiet.” Kale glanced around, still holding Wrathion by the bottom. Wordlessly, he slipped out, staring. There. In the distance. Just barely visible. Wrathion huffed next to him.

A bronze drake. Kale narrowed his eyes. He let go of his lover, staring up. Could it be…? He looked around for his clothes.

“What are you-.”
“We’re being watched. Or we were.” Kale stepped forward. Wrathion cooled, stepping beside him, eyeing the sky.
“By whom?” Kale pressed his lips to a line.
“I have an inkling.” Kale hastily pulled on trousers, forgoing a shirt.
“What, are you-.”
“Yes I’m going after them! Don’t follow me.” Wrathion’s eyes smoldered with irritation.
“You’re asking me to follow you, you idiot.” Kale turned on his heel, staring at the dragon, who looked taken aback by the look on his face.

“This doesn’t concern you. I know who that was.”
“And who was it?” Wrathion demanded, taking a step towards him.
“My son.” Kale jumped in the air and flew away, leaving a disgruntled Wrathion behind.

Kale caught up to Nyota a few miles east. The man stood on a stone outcropping, overlooking the sword, blond hair tied up in a tail as he leaned on his cane, held in front of him like a sword. Burn scars laced his arms, stretched skin pulled tight, almost melted in places. He was, however, still the picture of regal authority. Haughty expression, impeccable style and handsome face all tied it together. Kale landed just behind him, transforming immediatly. While Kale walked with a slight hunch, Nyota had mastered his races inclination to stoop forward; he stood straight and proud.

“Nyota.” His son didn’t respond. His son had never been good at concealing his emotions. Unlike Kale, he wore them on his sleeve. He was a blistering ball of disgusted fury, positively vibrating in front of him. He turned, his nose turned up in disgust. Not taking his hands off his cane, he spoke.

“I heard you left mother.” He spat out, not looking at him. Kale snorted softly.
“I left your mother long ago, Nyota.” Nyota turned to face him.
“I’m speaking of what I heard. I heard you left her, left all your contacts behind. You left nothing; no way to contact you.” Kale stared, chin raised, feeling exposed with his bare chest held high on the mountain.
“Nyota, you-.” Nyota interrupted him, voice growing louder.
“I had to follow your presence. Lost you at Blackrock Mountain.” He strode over to him, holding the cane aloft, prodding him in the chest with the blunt end. Kale ignored it. Nyota’s face twisted as he spoke next.

“I found you where I expected you to be. What I did not expect-” Nyota prodded harder. Kale raised his chin further, staring at his son. “Was to see you engaged in…doing…” Nyota shook his head. Disgust and revulsion passed over his features. “I’ve never understood you.”
“You’re mother never let you understand me. She did a very good job of keeping us apart.”
“You never wanted to see me.” Nyota hissed, prodding him again. Kale took a step back, hand wrapping around the cane.

“Bold faced lie, Nyota.” He paused, eyeing his son. The picture of his mother, down to his nails, his skintone. The only vestige of Kale was his eyes; a pure sky blue. Nyota snorted.

“Why were you trying to find me, regardless?” Kale asked, hand still holding the cane. Nyota glanced at it, then back at him.
“I…” He paused. “I needed advice on the current situation.”
“I see.” Kale continued to study him. Nyota, uncomfortable with the silence, raged on.
“Wrathion? You’re sleeping with Wrathion?”

“What does it matter to you whom I find pleasure with?”
“He’s a dragon! And…” He trailed off.
“A man?”
“Yes! Did mother mean so little-.”
“I have felt nothing for your mother the entire time we were in that sham of a marriage.” Harsh words. Nyota stepped back as if he’d been slapped. Kale yanked the cane forward. Nyota stumbled forward, teeth bared in a snarl.
“The only good thing she gave me was you; and she poisoned my very name to your ears.” Nyota’s snarl softened, replaced by the slightest hint of fear in his blue eyes. “I am fighting,” Kale hissed, “For the freedom of every living thing on this dying planet. I am fighting for Azeroth, while the Alliance I helped build fights itself”
“YOU helped build?!” Nyota snarled, drawing closer. “MOTHER helped build our people! I helped build our people a place. You sat in the shadows!” He raised the sleeves covering his arms. Gristly burn scars crisscrossed their way up his flesh. Kale stared.

“I watched children burn.” He hissed. “I fought to save as many as I could while those I couldn’t screamed and begged for aid. I felt my flesh melting off my bones.” He pressed the cane harder into Kale’s chest, who gripped it still harder. “And for what? A king to not give justice to the one that perpetrated it? For peace?” He pulled away. Kale paused, still looking at those scars.

He knew Nyota had suffered. Knew he had nearly died rescuing those he could from Teldrassil. He had no idea just how bad his scars were.

“I do not blame you.” He whispered. Nyota scoffed. “I want the banshee dead as much as anyone.”
“And yet, you do nothing about it.” Kale rolled his eyes, sighing. “Tell me, Father. Could you kill her?”
“Probably not. I heard she has some strange, new found power. I haven’t much practice dealing with the undead. That is, however, beside the point.”
“Yes, it is.” Nyota continued to stare off at the sword. “You’re still sleeping with a man.” Kale grimaced. This again? He dropped the cane. Nyota pulled it close to him, looking back at Kale.

“I have found someone who understands me.” Kale raised his voice. “And I am NOT going to squander it.”
“Wrathion?” Kale raised an eyebrow.
“And?”
“He caused the deaths of millions!”
“He’s aware of it.”
“And yet you’re with him?”
“I’m sleeping with him. We’re not together.”
Not yet.

“There isn’t a difference, Father!” He turned again, chest heaving. “You couldn’t even be bothered to get clothes on before pursuing me.”
“Son, you set off my wards. You could have been any sort of malignancy. Luckily, you were you.” Kale turned, catching sight of a rapidly expanding blot on the horizon, growing closer.
“You disgust me.” Nyota looked away. Kale’s felt parts of him sink and shatter with every word uttered in this conversation, settling to the bottom of a very, very deep lake within his soul.

“I’m sorry for finally finding love, Nyota.” Kale whispered. He turned away. “I am…doing what I think is best. Warped as my mind may be.” Nyota turned. Kale looked up. That spot was behind Nyota, rapidly approaching, taking the form a familiar drake who flew, wings pressed against his body, at high speed.
“And what is it you’re doing? All I saw-.”
“You saw a moment of passion among many moments of agony, Nyota!” Kale yelled, finally losing patience. “I will not go into every little detail, but I, WE are fighting this ancient evil.” Nyota took a step back. Kale looked beyond him; the drake was very close now. He smirked; Nyota frowned.

“You should watch out.” Nyota raised an eyebrow.
“Why? For you? You don’t scare me, father.”
“No. For that.” Kale nodded at Wrathion. Nyota looked behind him. He took a moment to register what he was seeing, before jumping into the air with a yelped. Wrathion converged, talons ready, baring his fangs.

“Aha! So the little bronze drake can fly! Let us see how good you are!” Wrathion laughed, talons raking at empty air. “The chase is on, little one.”
“Little one?! I’m older than you!” Nyota yelled, his voice wavering in fear as he descended, hugging the craggy mountainside. Kale, a drake in a flash, ran up to the side of the cliff, watching them. Nyota had only ever used his wings for transport and minimal combat. Wrathion, however, was a dragon, and a young one. No matter how fast Nyota flew, Wrathion would catch up. As he watched, mouth open, eyes wide in alarm, Wrathion caught up, snapping at Nyota’s back feet. Kale leapt off the mountain, rocks crumbling beneath his talons.

Nyota flew for several miles at breakneck speed; realizing he would never outpace Wrathion, he dove. Wrathion mirrored the gesture. Nyota ascended, winds pressed flat against his back. Wrathion, taken aback, attempted to do the same. Nyota slashed out with claws. Wrathion roared in anger, snapping at his legs. The pair fell tens of feet before righting. This pattern continued; a chase, an aeriel display, and close combat. Blood flew through the air, spraying Kale who tried to keep up. After each fight, Nyota drew away, covered in gashes.

“Why are you fighting me?” he finally asked, diving under outstretched talons.
“Protecting what is mine.” Wrathion snarled, jaws snapping. Nyota swung his tail; Wrathion dodged with ease.
“My father isn’t worth protecting!”
“Then you never knew him.” Nyota howled in anger. He dove once more. Wrathion followed. Kale, shocked by the display, followed a moment later.

“Trying to escape me?” Wrathion teased. “You fly like a newborn.” Nyota didn’t respond. Sand materialized out of thin air. Wrathion let loose a draconic curse, avoiding them by a hair. Kale, however, became trapped.

“Your magic is no match for me!” Wrathion’s words came out highpitched, sped up as Kale fell through the sands. He watched the two of them zip by, their movements ultra fast; blood hit the air as Wrathion managed a hit on Nyota’s flank. He heard his scream of pain. Fighting the magical hold, Kale broke free, falling several hundred feet before righting himself. Ascending, he watched Wrathion pin Nyota; the two, locked in a grapple in mid air, caterwauled end over end, a flurry of gnashing teeth. Kale looped; wings flattened against his body, determined to knock Wrathion off.

The ground was only a few hundred feet away.

I’m not going to make it. Kale realized. Wrathion was too strong, his draconic face split in a furious grin. Wrathion is going to kill him. He let out a scream that echoed across the desert, bouncing off mountains. Wrathion looked up, distracted by his cry. In that moment, Nyota both raked his belly and blew molten glass into his face. Agonized, bleeding, Wrathion let go. Nyota stretched out his wings, slowing his descent just enough before crashing into the sands. Wrathion landed hard; front paws kicking up dirt and sand as he skidded to a halt. Kale landed with much more grace, loping up to his son.

Nyota struggled to right himself; his front paw had snapped in two, his scales ripped and battered, his wings filled with holes and long gashes. Kale attempted to help him up, only for Wrathion to lunge at Nyota, who shied back. Kale snarled; Wrathion ignored him.

“Why are you fighting me?!” Nyota roared, shying away from Wrathion. The two began to circle, Nyota limping, Wrathion ignoring the gashes oozing blood into the dust.
“Protecting what is mine.” Wrathion hissed.
“What? My father?” Nyota shrieked. “You protect what isn’t worth protecting!”

With a snarl, Wrathion lunged towards him, wings outstretched, back arched, clubbed tail at the ready. At that same moment, Kale leapt, smashing into him with a snarl of razor fangs. The pair landed in a heap. Wrathion struggled, baring and snapping his teeth. Kale rolled, freeing himself. Wrathion stood, turning and leaping for Nyota. Kale roared, spinning in a circle and clubbing him in the side. Wrathion faltered, skidding in the sand.

“Leave him alone, Wrathion!” He warned, tail writhing back and forth. Wrathion snarled once more, smoke billowing from his nostrils, clawing the ground.
“He threatened what is mine!”
“He’s my son!” Nyota watched, limping, front paw useless, the webbing of his wings torn and battered. Infuriated, Wrathion lunged at Kale, who flapped back, rearing up and kicking him with hind legs. The drake skidded in the sand on his side, heaving.

“ENOUGH!” Kale leaned over him. “Leave it alone, Wrathion.”
“You do not own me!” He hissed, eyes flashing.
“I have a right to my own son.” Kale pressed a forepaw to his throat, pressing lightly. “Walk away. You’re battered enough as it is.” Wrathion glared at him, breathing hard, gilded horns catching the sunlight. With a roar he shoved Kale off him, flying away. Kale watched him go, feelings mixed.

Protecting what is mine…

“I…I didn’t need your help.” Nyota gasped. Kale spun, looking at him with violet, draconic eyes. He moved towards him.
“You need help.”
“Not from you!” His son spoke, words spilling out of his mouth. He backed away. “Don’t touch me. Don’t come near me!” His voice rose to a shriek. “Just leave me be!” Kale froze, heart shattering at his tone. He pressed on, determined.

“Don’t be ridiculous; your arm is broken.”
“I’ll get it fixed myself!” Nyota continued to back away. Kale pleaded with him, cutting in front of him.
“Please I-.”
“I want nothing to do with you!” Nyota flapped his wings, ascending. Sand blasted into Kale’s face. Blinking stinging eyes, Kale called out after him, pleading with him to return. Only to be met with silence. He rubbed at his eyes with a forelimb, some of the tears falling unrelated to the sand. He watched his son bob and weave in the sky, his torn wings unable to fly steady.

With Nyota’s wing beats fading away, Kale was left with only the wind as a companion; its breath stirring sand into heaps and piles around him, the sword a mockery of a mountain in the distance. He snorted, looking down. Frustrated tears worked their way out of his eyes, spilling down scaly cheeks, blemishing the ground below. With a snarl, he flew off, in the direction of the resort.

Half an hour later, he flew into the room, standing tall. His eyes immediatly found Wrathion; the man was examining himself in a mirror, stark naked. He’d obviously healed himself of his critical injuries, sporting only a massive dark bruise on one side. The long perpendicular scar Kale had given him long ago seemed to glow against his dark skin. His eyes, reflected in the mirror, met Kales. His expression darkened.

“I didn’t expect to see you so soon.” Wrathion spoke, voice airy. Kale’s gaze returned to his injuries. Kale approached; his despair throughly choking any arousal he might feel. He stopped a few paces from him, gazing at his his reflection.
“I couldn’t let you kill him.”
“I wouldn’t have killed him!” Wrathion spun. Lightning quick, he grabbed Kale by the throat. Kale choked, tripping, falling. Wrathion pinned him. “I wouldn’t have killed him.” He repeated, slamming his head into the marble tile. Kale clawed at his hand, head spinning, terror filling him.

Why is he attacking me?!

With effort, he kicked out, catching the other man in the chest. Wrathion grunted, letting go. As Kale attempted to straighten, the man back handed him. Claws raked his cheeks. He screamed in pain, wheeling backwards, blood leaking into his eyes. As he pressed a hand to his cheek, Wrathion took him by the hair.

“I don’t appreciate,” Wrathion began, dragging him, “being CLUBBED in the side by that tail of yours.” He pushed Kale forward. Off balance, he collided with the wall. Kale sputtered, seeing stars. Wrathion advanced. Kale, instinctively, threw up a shield of violet energy, turning on his heel and holding up twin bolts of writhing, violet energy. Wrathion stopped in his tracks. Head still spinning, Kale abandoned his magic, pushing the man to the ground and wrapping his hands around his throat.

“I-.” Kale collapsed on top of him. “Don’t appreciate my son being used as prey, Wrathion.” Wrathion snarled, hands raised, fingers tipped in claws that raked themselves down his arms. Kale didn’t let go. “My son.” He choked, his previous tears welling in his eyes. “Has been raised to hate me. Don’t-.” He choked, “Take out your aggression on him.” He let go, rolling off him. Wrathion, his eyes softening, sat up, staring at him. All fury evaporated. Kale attempted to stand, failed, and gave up.

“Kale, I…”
“I understand your frustration and anger.” Kale sighed, sitting back on his heels. Head swimming, he fell backwards, sitting down, legs splayed out beside him. Wrathion crawled over to him, pressing the back of a hand to his bloody cheek.
“I…” He began, lips parted, eyes wide. Kale stared at him. Despair washed over him, shame, mixed with feeling of awestruck beauty at the man sitting in front of him, looking at him with those eyes.

“You’re so beautiful, Wrathion.” He whispered. “So damn beautiful. Why are you so beautiful to me?” He took the hand, examining the fingers, kissing the back. Blood smeared across his lips.

He felt faint. Wrathion pulled him into his arms.
“I’m sorry, Kale.” He whispered, voice cracking. “I..” He pressed his lips into Kale’s temple. With a tug, he straightened, pulling Kale with him, settling him on the bed.

“Why?” Kale asked. Wrathion tore sheets off the bed, wrapping them around his arms. “Why did you…” He let him fuss over him.
“I don’t…” Wrathion sat down, holding a sheet to his cheek. It rapidly reddened. “I don’t know. I was just so…” He shook himself. “I can’t find the words, or the excuses.”
“I know you were angry…” Kale whispered, looking at his bandaged arms. “But now look what you’ve done. I’ve gotten hurt again and this time it’s your fault.”

Wrathion choked out a laugh.

“You idiot.” He stroked his hair. “You beautiful…perfect…idiot.” The words grew softer as he said them. Kale closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry I stopped you.” He whispered. “From killing my son.” Wrathion hissed in a breath.
“I…truly didn’t mean to hurt him so badly.” He paused. “He pulled you away from me. I was angry.”
“Jealous?” Kale opened his eyes, smiling. “He’s only my son, Wrathion.” Wrathion chuckled darkly.
“Perhaps. I saw him berating you, I just…”
“My wonderful ex-wife…” Kale began, taking in a long breath. His head had begun to clear somewhat. “Monopolized my son. Taught him that I was a layabout, good for nothing, pathetic weasel of a man. I had comparatively short time with him. I…” He closed his eyes again, fresh tears welling to the surface. “Was not a good father. I left him at her mercy. She was horrible to me but the damage she did to him…” He felt thumbs wipe away his tears, felt arms wrap themselves around him and hold him tight. He clutched the man next to him as though his life depended on it, weeping silent tears.

He had, his entire life, been alone. He’d had Nefarian, who wasn’t much of a companion, and that was all. He’d spent over a decade in a sham of a marriage, being belittled, mocked, insulted, and struck. He’d had the only good thing to have happened to him ripped away from him and turned against him. The hatred in Nyota’s eyes…Kale let out one, choking sob. Wrathion held him tighter.

Would he leave? Seeing him like this? Kale didn’t know; he didn’t know anything when it came to love. He looked up, bleary eyed, wondering if he’d see revulsion in his eyes. Instead, he saw pure tenderness, raw, unadulterated, true. He closed his eyes, feeling a thumb tuck hair behind his ears, wiping away stray tears.

“N’Zoth has been…meddling with our emotions.” Wrathion spoke, his voice cracking. “Our anger, our saddness, our…”
“Fear.” Kale finished. “Nyota would not have normally acted that way.” He frowned. “He shouldn’t be able to affect me.” Wrathion smiled sadly.
“I suppose your tears are truly your own then, Kale.” Kale let out a dark chuckle, rising. He took Wrathion’s hands in his own, kissing his knuckles.

“I love you.” He confessed, letting the words he’d been wanting to say out. “I don’t know what love is, but…I do.” Wrathion’s eyes grew wide. He leaned in.
“Truly?”
“I wouldn’t tease you like this, Wrathion.” Kale smiled. “It is…one way to confess your love, after having cried and snotted in their lap.” Wrathion laughed, taking Kale’s hands, squeezing them tight.
“I will hold you to these words, Kale.” Kale grinned.

“I expect nothing else.”

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

Several weeks later, Kale had mostly recovered from his impromptu emotional distress. Barriers had been broken that day, barriers he would never recover, and as he gazed at Wrathion, he realized he didn’t need them. He’d found someone. Light, he had thought he was broken as a younger man, feeling unattracted to everyone he met. He’d felt nothing for everyone but esteem if they deserved it, or loathing if it was required.

Wrathion had changed that. He didn’t know how; but he had. A slow, gradual leak from a tap, had filled a bowl and overflowed. Kale felt his heart soar whenever he was around the man. Wrathion felt the same; a permanent smile on his face, the corners of lips twitching as they kissed. Passionate love making when studious hours grow boring.

“Do you think,” Kale asked, running his fingers up his lovers bare thigh, “That this helps fight him?” Wrathion co*cked his head, curls bouncing and shifting.
“What? Sex?”
“Exactly.” Kale leaned in closer, resting his hand on his hip. “It’s the exact opposite of what he, or rather, it, revels in. Hatred and rage and fear and confusion.” He moved the hand to Wrathion’s chin, who smirked. “This…” He leaned in, brushing his lips with his own. “Must disturb it.”

“A mortal and a dragon? Or just sex in general?”
“Two beings it works very hard to corrupt, lost in one another’s bodies.”
“Perhaps.” Wrathion rested a hand against Kale’s chest, running fingers through chest hair. “It sure helps me.”
“Oh?” Kale grinned lazily. “Explain. In detail.” Wrathion’s smirk broadened.
“You feel incredible.”
“How so?” Kale rested his head on the pillow, imploring him to keep going. Wrathion rolled his eyes. He took Kale in one hand, beginning slow, tantalizing tugs and jerks. Kale bit his lip, eyes closing.
“I have never felt so complete,” Wrathion began, holding him for a moment, before continueing. “As to when you’re inside me.”
“Am I good?” Kale asked.
“I don’t have the experience to make an accurate comparison.” Kale’s eyes snapped open. Wrathion grinned. “Of course you’re good.” He nuzzled him, pressed close. “Am I?”
“Good?” Kale stroked his hair.
“Yes.”
“You’re astounding. Every fiber of you rigid with ecstasy, vibrating with every thrust…” He kissed the top of his head. “Beautiful. Incredible.”
“But you’ve had sex before.”
“I would not count the two times I had sex with Alycia has anything compared to what I experience with you, Wrathion.” He scowled, groaning. “Just remembering it makes me cringe. It was…not pleasant.”
“Mortals find sex wonderful.”
“With the sex they’re attracted too, I’m sure. I’m…” He felt a sense of freedom uttering the words. “Not attracted to women. Never have been.”
“Oh?”
“You made me realize who I was by falling in love with me.” He kissed his temple. “Thank you for that.” Wrathion laughed.
“If it makes you feel better…I am the same way.” He froze. Kale waited. Wrathion rose from the reclined position, hands settled in his lap. Kale eyed him, concerned.

“What is it?”
“It’s just.” He paused, turning. “If I am to become aspect, an important part of my duties is to…carry on the line.” He swallowed. “And I can’t do that with a mortal man.”
“We’ll find a way around it.” Wrathion chuckled.
“Kale, if you can lay eggs, that would be incredible, but I hope you cannot.” Kale grimaced.
“That isn’t what I meant. I mean, there are others. Ebyssian is uncorrupted and to my knowledge, interested in females.” Wrathion sighed, laying back down.

“Do you think of this often?” Kale asked, taking a hand and pressing his palm against it. His hand was somewhat larger, more calloused and worn, then the softer, darker toned hand he held.
“More often than I’d like to admit.” Wrathion admitted. “It concerns me.”
“Well, stop worrying about it.” Kale kissed his temple again. “Or I’m going to f*ck you senseless again.” Wrathion’s frown turned in a lazy grin.
“I can deal with that.”

Right on que, Love is in the Air blossomed, an entire week of saccharine goods and gift giving. Despite the severity of the situation in Magni’s encampment, the holiday infected its denizens just as it did those in major cities. Kale watched people laugh more, kisses shared, hands being held in public. Kale picked his way through the encampment, watching others perform these acts of affection, and wanted desperately to join in.

What could he get a dragon? Flowers? No, too cliche. A book? Wrathion had plenty of those, and not enough time to read. Himself? Well, Wrathion would enjoy that but he could have Kale anytime he wished. He felt at a loss as he trudged through the camp, stepping on the teleporter pad and into the chamber.

Lights had finally been added to the hallway directly before the chamber. Soft lights that lined the floor, illuminating without blinding. Kale admired them as he walked into the main room, his eyes immediatly finding Wrathion, who sat at a desk covered in sheets of paper, leafing through them. He walked over to him, unconcerned of the eyes that followed. Wrathion glanced at him as he approached, dipping his head lower to hide his smile.

Kale leaned over, looking at his work.
“Looking over my translation?” Kale asked, noticing his lazy scrawl.
“Yes. I could have sworn there was…Ah! There it is.” He pulled a particular sheet forward, grabbed a blank sheet of parchment, and began to burn words into it.
“You flex your abilities far too often, Wrathion.” Kale teased.
“This? Any mage can do it.” He replied, unconcerned. “I don’t have the time for ink and quill.” Kale wanted to desperately to kiss his hair, hug him from behind, but refrained.

“If you say so.” He smiled. “When will you be able to get away?” He asked, voice lowered.
“Not for awhile, Kale.” Wrathion looked at him. Their faces were mere inches apart. “Commander Puriaa is inside a Vision at the moment; I need to be close in case she needs an out.” Kale frowned, looking at the shifting, undulating portal on the other side of the room.
“I see.” He leaned backwards. “I suppose I-.”
“If you want to do something.” Wrathion cut across him, taking his hand. “Speak to my brother.” He paused. “Uncle. He seems out of sorts.” Kale co*cked his head.
“Ebyssian?” Wrathion eyed him.
“There are only two black dragons in this chamber, Kale. Use your valuable deductive reasoning.” Kale smirked.
“I love when you tease me.” He saluted. “I will, though I’m not sure what it will solve.”

“You cheer me up.” Wrathion smiled. “I’m sure it’ll work on everyone.”
“Oh, you’re wrong there.” Kale gave his hand a soft squeeze, letting it drop.

Ebyssian sat against a wall, reading a book. He seemed lost; his eyes not moving across the page as the open book rested against his hooves. Kale leaned against the wall, looking at him.

“Ebonhorn, you seem out of sorts.” Kale spoke in Taure’he, hoping that Ebyssian’s people spoke a close enough dialect. His own grasp of the language was pathetic, but he knew enough to get by. Course, he used a word that more meant “lost” in the directional sense, but hoped the dragon would understand.

Ebyssian looked at him sharply, his eyes a burning red, similar to Wrathion’s.
“You speak Taure’he?” He asked, picking up the book. Kale shrugged.
“Not very well, as you can see.” He answered. The dragon smiled.
“Better than many. It is not the easiest language to learn.” He paused, before patting the ground beside him.
“Come. Sit. I’ve been meaning to speak with you.” Kale raised a brow before obeying, sitting next to the imposing tauren.

They sat in silence for a moment, Ebyssian gathering his thoughts, Kale wondering what he wanted. Finally, the dragon spoke.

“I have noticed you with my nephew.”
“We’ve been working closely together.” The tauren chuckled.
“Very closely, it would seem. Wrathion brags about you, he speaks of little else.” Ebyssian looked at him. “I know love very well, Kale. I have married hundreds of couples over the years, watched that many more marriages be performed. Love is beautiful, transfixxing and ephemeral.”
“Not if you’re a dragon.” Kale interjected. Ebyssian smiled.
“No. Especially if you’re a dragon. There is nothing worse than watching a loved one grow old and die before your eyes.” Kale looked at the ground. “I digress. I know what love is; I see it between you. But are you…certain?”

“I don’t udnerstand the point of the question.”
“There is no point. I just wish to understand you. All I know is Highmountain.” He gestured to the room, meaning the world at large. “I never though I’d see Wrathion of all people falling in love with a man as married to the void as you are, and yet, he has.” He tilted his head ever so slightly, the delicate chimes and bangles adorning his antlers tinkling. “The question I have is…do you love him back?”

“Yes.” Kale whispered, looking at him. “Yes. I do.” Ebyssian studied him.
“You are very far apart in ages.”
“He’s a dragon.” Kale said. The dragon before him nodded.
“True. But he is still young. Take care of him. He and I are too different to truly bond as relatives. A shame, truth be told.”

“You are very different.” Kale smiled. “You would find Nefarian amusing.” Ebyssian raised a bushy brow.
“Nefarian? The first son of Neltharion?”
“Yes.” Kale smiled. “He raised me. Black dragons are generally sarcastic, self-centered if not narcissitic beings. You are…very different.”
“I imagine it is due to me being raised by Huln Highmountain.” He thought for a moment. Kale spoke, looking at his shoes.
“I miss him.”
“Nefarian?” Kale looked up, jolted out of his thoughts.
“Yes.”
“When…did he die?” Kale smirked.
“He’s not dead, Ebyssian. He and the others are situated in Outland until this problem can be dealt with. But being so far from my bond is taxing at times.” The dragon’s eyes widened with interest.
“I have heard of this magic. It’s very interesting to me!” Kale smiled.
“I will have to tell you sometime.” He glanced at Wrathion, who continued his studious work, head bent over the desk, now actually writing with pen and ink. “But…I have a favor to ask.”
“And what is that, young one?” Kale smiled at the term. To a ten thousand year old dragon, he was indeed very young.
“It’s for advice.” He glanced at Wrathion again. “I…don’t know what to get him for Love is in the Air.”

Ebyssian stared for a moment.
“I know nothing of this holiday.” Kale grimaced.
“You don’t have any days where you give gifts to loved ones in Highmountain?” He asked. The dragon thought for a moment, pondering, hooves tapping against one another.
“Yes, a few. Serenity Day and the Spring Equinox are two days we give gifts and thanks to one another.”
“Well, this is similar.”
“I know Wrathion little.” Ebyssian said, voice low. “But I believe he would like a hand made gift. Flowers would do, as well.”
“Flowers…” Kale muttered. “So cliche. He’s the Black Prince. I have to go above and beyond.”

“Make some of your own scales.” Ebyssian suggested. Kale thought for a moment, then stood.

“Thank you, Ebyssian. I will…” He smiled, turning. “Talk to you later.” With those parting words he rushed out of the chamber, forgoing a parting goodbye to Wrathion, who stared.

Kale flew home, immediatly soaking in the pools. After a few minutes of quiet soaking, he began to groom; running claws underneath loose scales and allowing the older, worn ones to pop off and sink into the water. He gathered these as a man, carrying them to the beach where created a make shift forge out of stone and shadowflame. There, he began his work.

The scales were mealleable like metal; in fact black dragon scales were usually a mixture of stone and metallic material, generally iron, but you could find precious metals in other dragons. His were simple iron, and he pounded them into shape with rocks and other debris he found on site. He originally wanted to make an amulet, giving it up when he realized it would clash with Wrathion’s normal dress. From there, he moved on to making a box. The box was just the size of a small book, and, using hinges he found on various items in the resort, he created an obsidian creation out of his own shed scales. He inlaid them with carvings of dragons and various impressive fauna, then set it aside to cool.

He flew up into his room, rummaging around in his many sacks of books. Many he lost himself in, having to remind himself that now was not the time and set them aside. He was looking for a particular volume; one he held onto more for sentimentality than any real value. He finally found it; smashed into the corner of the rucksack, the cover bent, much of the leather peeling. He swore, pulling it out and attempting to fix it. Sitting back on his knees, he ran a hand through his hair, swearing under his breath.

There wasn’t any time to go buy a new one. Hell; most book stores didn’t even sell this book. He pulled it out, bending it this way and that, hoping by some miracle one of the ministrations would work. As he did so, he cleared his head with a walk through the halls, settling in the lobby with its beautiful mosaic tilings and massive chandeliers. He imagined, in a sick sort of fantasy, spending time here prior to the sword strike, with Wrathion. Chatting on those leather chairs…right there. Drinking on the patio. Making love in one of the rooms. Didn’t have to be a hotel room.

He shook himself, wandering up to one of the bookshelves. He ran his thumb along the dusty spines, gazing at titles, when he did a double take, retracing his steps. There, in dyed leather, was the book he currently held in his hands.

The History and Foundation of the Planore

His own book. He licked his lips, pulling it out. It was in impeccable condition. He gazed at his copy; the first edition, printed long ago with the help of Brann Bronzebeard, and this one; the last edition printed. Some scholar had either donated this book or stayed here. He smiled, running outside to the box which lay, well hardened, next to his make shift forge.

The book fit well. Snug but not tight, and he snapped the lid closed, admiring his handiwork. Hard to believe these were his ow scales.

Would Wrathion’s scales be different? He wondered, placing the box in his rucksack tied about his waist. Would he have precious metals running through his shed? He’d have to examine him; he was sure Wrathion wasn’t all that familiar with the make up of his body, naturally having better things to do.

He spent the next few hours making dinner. He laid out a blanket he’d looted from a bedroom, along with snacks and meats he’d cooked or foraged from the forest. Kebobs, roasts, and steamed vegetables lined the blanket, along with sugared fruit with bread and preserves. (The preserves he’d taken from the basem*nt.) He was quite proud of his industry; normally he’d grow bored and give up half way. As he sat on the blanket, snacking on fruit, he heard wing beats, and the light shifting of sand as Wrathion landed and transformed.

“You ran out of the chamber in a hurry.” Wrathion huffed, walking up behind him. He paused, Kale turned, smiling. “What is all this?”
“A picnic. Have you ever heard of one?” Wrathion eyes went from Kale’s crosslegged form to the various foodstuffs. His eyes snapped back to Kale.
“No. Never.” Kale patted the blanket next to him.
“Slip into something more comfortable and join me. Plenty of food for both of us.” Wrathion joined him, looking confused, but pleased.

“The strangest occurence happened today.” He began, eyeing the roast. “What meat is that?”
“Elk.” Kale answered. “What happened?” Wrathion dug in, taking a healthy helping.
“A woman cornered me in the encampment, giving me a rose.” Kale snickered, looking at him with disbelief. Wrathion colored, scowling. “It was not funny! I had no idea what to say! She seemed put out by my lack of response but…” He sputtered, shaking his head. “I am a dragon! Everyone knows that!”
“Plenty of mortals are attracted to dragons visage forms, Wrathion. I am.” Wrathion glanced at him.
“That’s not the point!”
“What kind of woman? A gnome? A tauren?”
“An ELF, thank you very much!” He colored further. “She told me to keep the rose and nevermind her asking.”
“Did you keep it?” Wrathion nodded, pulling a long stemmed, red rose from his belt that Kale hadn’t noticed before. He handed it to Kale, who look at it.

“Why?” Wrathion asked. “It’s confusing.”
“The holiday, Wrathion. Love is in the Air.” Wrathion looked down.
“I’ve heard of it. Didn’t realize it was happening today…” Kale smiled. He pulled the man close to him, kissing his temple. Wrathion looked at him sharply.
“What? Do you plan to celebrate it with someone else?” Kale asked, raising his brows. “Why do you think I did all this? To show you I can cook?” Wrathion chuckled. He took the rose back, staring at the intricate petals.

“I…didn’t get you anything.” He spoke, still staring at the rose. “I didn’t know what day it was.”
“Neither did I, in the morning.” Kale smiled. “I don’t need anything, Wrathion. I’m lucky you’re simply tolerating me.” Wrathion raised a brow.
“That is a difficult task. Though it’s one I’m happy to do.” Kale smiled. He reached in his bag, pulling out his gift.
“I will say, I did make you something. I…” He paused, swallowing, realizing the whole thing looked a bit foolish now that he was about to give it. “I hope you like it.” Wrathion’s eyes widened as he gazed at the black dragonscale box. He picked it up, running a finger over the carvings.

“Did you do this?”
“Yes. Carved it with a claw.”
“And the scales?”
“My own. I needed a good scrub down, anyways.” Wrathion looked amazed. He lifted the lid, drawing out the book.
“Your book.” He said, voice flat. Kale let out a soft sigh, looking away.
“Yup…first book I ever published. You were…moderately-.” He was interrupted by a rough grab of the shoulder and lips pressed to his. He grunted, lips curving into a smile as Wrathion pressed hard. He pulled away, grinning.

“It’s a wonderful gift. I was just surprised.” He held the book tight. “Where did you find it?”
“I had planned to give you one that I kept. But it was…rather messed up.” He drew it out of the bag. Wrathion took it, amused. “I happened to find this copy in the lobby!”
“What a coincidence.” Wrathion winked. Kale beamed.

“I will look this over later.” He set the book aside, beginning afresh to eat.
“First, we feast. I’ve waited too long to eat.” Kale dug in, piling a plate high with the meals he cooked.

After a few hours of good conversation and laughter, they retired to the room where they poured a glass each of wine. Wrathion lay on Kale’s bare chest, listening to him read aloud. Kale paused between paragraphs; Wrathion looked up at him.

“What?”
“I…” Kale smiled. “I love you, is all.” Wrathion nuzzled into his chest.
“I could hear you say that over and over again.”
“It may lose its meaning then.” Kale stroked his hair. “But know that I do. Desperately.”
“Funny how it worked out.”
“Nothing funny about it.” Kale wrapped a lock of black hair around his finger. “I am so glad for this. So happy. You saved my life, Wrathion. Before…all this…” He set the book aside, mind racing. “Before this, I was planning on dying.” He looked Wrathion in the eye, who sat up, staring at him, elbows propped against his chest. “I fully expected not to survive this conflict.” He stroked his lovers bearded chin.

“And now?” Wrathion ask, head co*cked.
“Now I will fight to survive it.” Kale hissed. “I don’t ever want to think about my life before this moment.” He ran a thumb over his lips before leaning in, kissing him. Wrathion smiled.

“Think about it. There are good things there.” He smiled sadly. “You know what my life was spent doing previous to this.”
“True.” Kale smiled. “We’re both bastards, after all.” Wrathion slipped off the sofa, and Kale sat up.
“I think we’re in for more wine.” The former spoke with vigor. “More wine and more reading. What do you say?”

Kale responded with a smile, accepting the wine, and Wrathion’s body pressed against his, with serenity.