“Know what happens to good boys, Aethas? They’re forgiven.” Or, the one where Halduron, on request, smacks Aethas silly but after many hugs and kisses Aethas feels better than he did before.
Written for @syrosaur, for the love of all things holy please do check them out! Their art is absolutely stunning <3 Also yes hi hello I do comms lol. Anyway. Enjoy the good good boys!
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The rug beneath Aethas’ bare feet is plush and dirt-free, in spite of the boots that cross it daily. One of those very same boots rests on a knee, the other is firm on the ground: the knee not supporting a resting ankle instead supports an elbow, which leads up an arm to a fist, upon which Halduron Brightwing’s chin rests.
Aethas’ own hands grip his elbows behind him, forearms at the small of his back. No bonds except his word. The rug is enchanted, Aethas thinks, a common enough household spell used in any home that can afford to. Rejecting dirt, keeping cleaning simple and maintaining color and shape for longer.
“Something interesting down there?” Halduron drawls sarcastically.
It’s a struggle and a half to not just grab one of the flaky buns from the bag. The bakery where they make them – for the Legerdemain Lounge among others – is not very far from Aethas’ apartment, and Dalaran isn’t an especially big city either, but Halduron can feel the fresh-from-the-oven warmth of the honey croissants through the paper and he just knows that they’re sweet and buttery and delicious. He takes the stairs two steps at a time.
Hip-checking the door open he fully expects Aethas to still be asleep, wrapped up in a ball beneath his covers, but the scent of brewing coffee wafts over to the entryway. Hal grins, kicks off his boots, and all but bounds into the kitchen. He comes to an abrupt halt in the doorway.
