Chapter Text
Illidan is slumped on the couch, busy being quietly miserable about his existence, when he hears a crash followed by someone yelling his name.
“Illidan!”
“What?” He calls back, narrowing his eyes at the tv. It’s off. He wants it on but he doesn’t really want it enough to get up, find the remote, and actually turn it on.
“You left your bloody costume in the bathroom! Again!”
Illidan lets his head fall against the seat of the couch, trying to look in the direction of the aforementioned bathroom. A grin blooms on his face, and genuine amusement makes him forget the way his split lips stings at the movement.
“Did you slip on it?”
“No!” Grumbling, and then, “Yes! Of course I did! It’s dripping blood everywhere!”
Illidan chuckles and slowly, carefully pushes himself out of the couch. Everything aches, without exception. He’s discovering new muscles in his body just because they hurt right now. He drags his miserable body to the bathroom and leans against the doorway. Kael’thas doesn’t look at him.
“Kael…”
He’s still stubbornly staring at the bloody fabric that used to be Illidan’s uniform, arms crossed, tapping his foot. It’s more of a rag now. Rommath is not going to like having to make him a whole new one.
“Are you giving me the cold shoulder, Phoenix?”
Kael'thas’ shoulders hitch with barely-concealed laughter, but he still doesn’t look at Illidan. Drama queen, Illidan thinks fondly.
He limps toward Kael’thas and loops his arms around the smaller man’s waist, resting his chin on his head.
“Kael,” He singsongs. “Are you mad at me?”
“Yes.”
Illidan sighs, good-natured, and presses his cheek against the crown of Kael’thas’ head. “I’m sorry I put blood everywhere.”
“Mh-hm.”
“And I’m sorry you slipped on my blood and almost cracked your head on the tiles.”
Kael’thas turns in Illidan’s hold and puts his own arms around his neck. “You are terrible at apologies,” He says, but he’s smiling.
“I promise I won’t do it again?”
“That’s what you always say.” Kael’thas rolls his eyes and pushes against Illidan’s chest to make him step back. He gives him a once-over and frowns. “You’re hurt.”
By the state of his suit, that should be obvious. Illidan shrugs but doesn’t say anything. It’s not like there’s anything he can do about the situation.
“Oh my god, Illidan.” Kael’thas throws the torn suit in the bathtub and storms out of the room. From outside, he yells, “Get on the couch! Now!”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” Illidan throws his arm up and follows him. “And stop yelling!”
Kael’thas suddenly appears in front of him and jabs his finger in Illidan’s chest. “You. Don’t get to whine. Couch! Now!”
Illidan grumbles a bit but he complies all the same, because he’d need to be a far braver man to say no to Kael’thas.
He sits on the couch gingerly. Kael’thas rummages in the kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers while talking under his breath. When he comes back in the main room, he’s holding their first-aid kit — it found a permanent place in the kitchen after one too many accidents with Illidan’s jumpy nature and a knife.
Illidan lets out a sigh.
“Is it really necessary? I’ll heal next time I shift.”
Kael’thas kneels in front of him and opens the kit. “Illidan, I love you and respect you and your capacities, but I’d like to suck your dick at some point in the close future and you bleeding out on my nice sheets isn’t part of the fantasy, alright?”
Illidan swallows with some difficulties. “Yeah, okay.”
“Good. Now, do shut up while I try to recall my sewing lessons.”