Work Text:
After a long day of negotiations between the Alliance and the Horde, Anduin wants to scream, cry, or perhaps both. No one seemed to care about what he had to say, despite the fact that he knew his actions had directly influenced the course of the Fourth War and the removal of the sword from Silithus. He rubs his hand over his face and heads towards his room for a good long soak and cry. He can’t even get his husband’s support, considering the dragon was in Blackrock with their children.
Apparently, a whelp’s first shed is immensely unpleasant. Who knew?
So when he pushes the door to his sitting room open, he’s taken aback when he’s greeted by a very enthusiastic and tiny whelp and his husband’s tired smile. Anduin deftly wrangles Varian into his arms and cuddles his son close.
”Hello, da’len! My poor little one, I missed you too…” Varian chirps and grips his father’s shoulder with strong clawed paws, making the blond wince. Not that Anduin would dream of discouraging his child despite the pain.
Wrathion stands from the chair in front of the desk and closes the distance between them so he can pry Varian’s claws out of his husband’s flesh. “I feel so loved, no words of pining for me!” He says sarcastically.
“Of course not, you pest.” He wraps his unencumbered arm around the dragon’s waist and draws him against his side to give him a kiss. It’s soft and sweet, both of them too tired from both parenting and running kingdoms to put any heat behind it. They break apart when Varian churrs in annoyance at being excluded. Anduin kisses his son’s forehead, then looks again to his husband. “I thought you were staying in Blackrock.”
Wrathion shrugs. “Ebyssian kicked me out. Said I was too cranky to handle the whelps and maintain the collective sanity of the family. He’s taking care of the others, but Varian put up a royal fuss when I tried to leave. The others didn’t care, but this spoiled little whelp--” He growls at their son, who simply sticks his tongue out like a blepping cat. “--had to come with me.”
Anduin smiles down at the whelp. “I think your papa’s upset you inherited his separation anxiety.”
“Ha ha.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Wrathion. Today’s been…” He struggles for the right words. Wrathion shakes his head.
“A day?”
“Mm.”
“Only one thing to do, then.” The dragon takes Varian from his arms and makes a shooing motion. “Go get in the hot bath I’ve drawn for you. I’ll join you in a moment, but I have to get the oils for our son’s scales first.”
It’s easy to let Wrathion take the lead after a long day, so Anduin just follows directions and groans when the near-scalding water soothes the tension in his muscles. He barely has time to close his eyes before there’s the familiar gleeful screech of a black dragon whelp and a loud splash on the other end of the tub. He opens one eye.
“Did you just throw our son in the bath?” Wrathion’s grin is answer enough. He rolls his eyes. “And you wonder why he was the first to learn to fly.”
“Because he’s the lightest and I gave him a running start, so to speak.” The older of the two dragons joins them in the tub and settles back to allow Anduin to curl against his side. He chuckles when Varian occupies himself with splashing on the far end. “Tell me I didn’t look like that in the hot springs.”
The blond king snorts. “I would, but it would be a lie.”
“Hmph. I don’t suppose you’ll skip that bit when regaling our children about our escapades in Pandaria.” Wrathion comments dryly.
“Not a chance.”