Work Text:
Lift
“Another stuffy, royal affair with so many courtiers that you can’t get a breath of fresh air over the scent of self-importance? Do I have to go?” Lothar wasn’t whining. But almost.
“Everyone is expecting you,” Taria had said. She overruled his protests with only the practiced ease that comes from sibling relationships. “Just family and a few close friends.”
“You have to come, Uncle Andy!” pleaded Varian, clinging to one of Lothar’s knees. “You have to. There’ll be Greatfather Winter, and presents, and candy!”
What could Lothar say to that? It was unfair for Taria to use Varian. She knew there was nothing he’d refuse for his tiny nephew.
“Alright, alright,” he agreed, responding to Varian’s plea but directing his pointed glare at his older sister. “I’ll go. I can only stay for a little while.”
“Wonderful,” said Taria warmly, completely disregarding his unvoiced protests. “It’s just a little get-together, Anduin. I think you’ll survive.”
Obviously, that was a load of junk. When your sister was the Queen of Azeroth, there was no such thing as a “little party.”
Unfortunately, there was no way around it. He’d dressed to the nines in his dress uniform, all blue and silver with a great gold lion’s head glitzing like a beacon on his chest – feeling ridiculous as always in the formalwear. He’d kissed and shaken hands, made toasts and small conversation, and smiled politely until his teeth hurt. Somewhere between the six and seventh course in the meal (the traditional break between dinner and dessert), he’d managed to give her the signal and slip away. Now it was his turn to ignore her unspoken protests! She was lucky he’d stayed as long as he did. It was good to see Taria and her little family, and of course his good friend Medivh, who was visiting for a few weeks, but he could have done with the rest of them.
Escaping into the night, Lothar called for his horse from the stable. Although he’d implied to Taria in parting that as commander of the army he had many other important things to be doing, the truth was that he had nowhere to go. Not wanting to be surrounded by the chaos of Taria’s party did not mean that he wanted to go home and sit alone in the dark. Especially on the Feast of Winter Veil. Lothar headed for the nearest tavern instead and began working his way through a tankard of mulled wine.
Sometime later, but not dangerously later, he’d headed for home. Passing by the Sow’s Wallow tavern, Lothar was pleasantly surprised to be hailed by two of his former lieutenants from when he used to lead the guard himself. Now, as commander, much of his time was spent behind a desk. He was still on horseback, chatting easily with the others, when the young man approached.
Walking out of the tavern with a very slight stumble, a dark haired young man leaned against the hitching rail and carefully gathered his balance. Years of military training kept a sliver of Lothar’s attention on his slow progress towards the group. Still, he was a little surprised to find the young man suddenly at his knee, clearing his throat as if bashfully trying to get Lothar’s attention.
“Can I help you, boy?” he asked, putting a little edge into his drawl. The last thing he wanted was to deal with the tavern’s drunks.
“Yes, please, actually,” said the young man, weaving slightly where he stood. “I need lift. I’m not going far, it’s just, I don’t remember the way.” He seemed terribly embarrassed by this. “I don’t understand how I got lost. It was only a few minutes of walking, but I’m new here, and anyway…” His voice trailed off distractedly and he peered forward, staring at the large lion’s head on Lothar’s chest. “Um. So, are you free for hire?”
Lothar and his friends guffawed out loud. The lad had drunkenly mistaken the sigil on his chest for a transportation service. The idea of the great commander of the Azerothian armies, Anduin Lothar, being mistaken for a mere cabbie was, apparently, hilarious. Lothar waved his hand at them with a grin before they could spoil the joke.
“Might be. Where you headed?” he asked, ignoring the fresh peal of laughter as they realized that he was playing along. Looking the lad up and down, Lothar decided that he was probably a student of some sort. He was wearing one of those winter hats that came to a point with a ridiculous puffy ball on the end. A Winter Veil reveler, then. Probably out for a little seasonal merriment with his mates and had a bit too much fun. Harmless.
Harmless, and pretty cute, actually. Although a bit younger than the type that would normally catch Lothar’s eye, the young man was undeniably attractive. Under the silly winter hat, his cheeks were ruddying up from the cold. Dark hair pushed back from equally dark brown eyes – eyes that looked up at him guilelessly wide. Lothar found his posture shifting slightly on the horse, sitting up a little straighter. He knew he looked good on a horse, and used that shamelessly to his advantage.
“Stormwind keep,” the boy replied. His teeth were beginning to chatter. “We’re close, aren’t we?” The keep wasn’t especially close by, actually, so the kid was more lost than he realized. Still, Lothar would have been heading back home anyway, so… Hell. Why not? he thought. It’s Winter Veil, for fuck’s sake.
“Why, that’s right your way, isn’t it?” asked Varis, not hiding his grin.
“Yes,” said Lothar smoothly, “It is. Get on, lad.” Reaching down, he offered his fare a hand up onto the back of his horse. The dark eyes blinked at him for a moment, their owner biting at his lower lip almost nervously before responding with one sharp nod. Lothar pulled him onto the horse easily, tossing back a terse “hold on” before spurring his horse to a brisk walk and leaving his snickering friends behind.
Lothar wondered belatedly how much his new companion had had to drink that evening – would he even be able to hang on during the ride? His fears were unnecessary, as the young man wrapped his arms around Lothar’s torso firmly and his face was tucked into his shoulder.
After some moments in silence, Lothar asked, “So. Where are you from?”
“Me?” The kid sounded surprised, although there was no one else that Lothar could be speaking to. “I’m from Dalaran. From the academy at the Violet Citadel. Well, I was, I mean. Now I’m apprenticed here. But we’re not from here. Just visiting.”
Ditzy, or tipsy? Lothar wondered internally. Out loud, he responded with, “Hm. That’s nice. What’s your trade?”
“Oh, I haven’t got one,” said the boy, sounded surprised. “I’m a mage. Achoo!” He sneezed, rather wetly, into Lothar’s shoulder. “Sorry. Cold.”
“Right,” said Lothar, connecting the dots as they clopped along easily. Dalaran was a realm that seethed with spell-chuckers and their ilk, clustering together to study the arcane in secretive orders and brotherhoods. “You study with the Kirin Tor?”
“Mm-hm. I did, before I was apprenticed.” The passenger was speaking directly into his shoulder, so tightly he was pressed against Lothar’s body. Was he imagining things, or was his passenger snuggling up a little more than necessary? It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, but Lothar felt a little bad for enjoying it. A professional cabbie certainly wouldn’t have felt that way.
“And where’s your master tonight? Let you have the night off, hm?”
“Dunno,” the kid shrugged. Lothar felt the movement against his back send a little shiver down his spine. “He had some dinner party to attend at the keep. Dignitaries and royals and all that. Just a small group though, so apprentices weren’t invited. I guess.” Khadgar was trying to hide his disappointment at not being invited and failing to do so.
“Huh,” Lothar agreed. He was beginning to have a sneaky sensation that he might know what party the kid’s master had attended. There had only been one mage at Taria’s gathering that Lothar had been aware of and that had been his friend Medivh. Interesting. Medivh hadn’t mentioned taking on a new apprentice, although he’d tried (and rejected) several in the past. “I’ve been to a few of those. You weren’t missing much. You wouldn’t believe what my sister had planned tonight.” Lothar didn’t care if the kid believed him or not.
As they rode along, he learned that his passenger was named Khadgar, and he was staying with his master at the Stormwind keep for a few weeks during the winter celebrations. Khadgar had hoped to explore the palace and meet some of the royal mages, but apparently had been instructed to stay put and continue his assignments. Khadgar, however had other plans, as he confided to Lothar, and he’d been sneaking all over the keep whenever his master went out. His favorite spot apparently was the library.
“It’s so wonderful,” he raved, “And clean and well organized. You wouldn’t believe how awful the one back home is. Nobody’s done any proper shelving in years. It’s totally worth the trouble. I don’t even care if my master finds out.”
Despite himself, a small chuckle escaped from Lothar. Khadgar’s idea of getting into trouble being the fairly innocent sin of sneaking into the library was cute. Lothar’s ideas of trouble had been much more grandiose, in his youth. “And what about tonight? Does your master know that you’re out?”
“No,” said Khadgar, with exceptional cheer. “He certainly doesn’t.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially and continued, “I would be in big trouble.”
“Why? Is he that strict?”
“Awfully,” said Khadgar honestly. “It’s not like I expected. Most times apprentices get some time off or at least a stipend for extra work and such. In fact, actually…” His voice trailed away, and he sounded embarrassed again. “May I ask how much is the fare? Because…I don’t have any money.” Not embarrassed, actually. Despair? Dying of embarrassment, maybe?
Young scoundrel, thought Lothar. Hiring a ride without any money? “Oh, yeah?” He inquired politely. “How’d you pay for your drinks back there?”
“Drinks? I didn’t have any,” Khadgar replied, surprised. “It’s the cough syrup. My cold.” As if on cue, he planted another series of sneezes into Lothar’s shoulder. “Excuse me.”
“Sick and breathing all over me? Wonderful.” Lothar didn’t bother hiding the disgust in his voice.
“I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to stay home alone on Winter Veil. Would you accept payment by credit?” asked Khadgar, probably already knowing the answer was no. After a moment, when Lothar did not reply, he leaned forward, pushing forward in the saddle until his lips were nearly brushing Lothar’s neck. “Or bartering?”
Lothar grinned. Did Khadgar actually think he could seduce a cabbie into accepting a kiss for a fare? Germy, plague-laden kisses at that? Maybe things worked like that in Dalaran, but not in Stormwind. Still, not actually being a cabbie, he wouldn’t mind stealing a kiss or two from those soft lips, cold or no cold. “What do you have in mind?” he asked carefully.
“Well,” said Khadgar, thoughtfully, “I do have this fantastic Greatfather Winter hat, of course.” He used one hand to grab the pom-pom on the end of his plushy, velvet hat and tickle the side of Lothar’s face. “All this could be yours.” He found this hilarious, but Lothar brushed the pom away irritably.
“I already have a hat,” said Lothar. “Got anything else?” They were approaching the keep now, and Khadgar was going to have to produce something for his fare.
“Um. Why don’t you come inside and I’ll see if I can find something…?” Khadgar was beseeching him innocently, and Lothar wavered between thinking the kid was coming on to him, or was naively unware of the suggestion that lurked behind his words and mannerisms.
“Sure,” Lothar agreed, wondering how far to take this charade. Only one way to find out, he decided. Once inside the main gate, Lothar jumped lightly from his horse and handed the reins to a waiting stable hand. He helped Khadgar down, catching him by his elbow as he staggered slightly again. “Pretty strong cough syrup, huh?” Lothar asked, wondering exactly how sick this kid was. He didn’t look terrible. Just a little sneezy.
“Yeah,” Khadgar agreed. “It’s awful. It’s just the cold air doesn’t help. I’m so dizzy. Do you mind if I lean on you?” Without waiting for a reply, Khadgar hooked his arm into Lothar’s and began dragging him down the hall.
“See? Pretty short trip,” said Khadgar, almost short of breath the time they arrived at their destination – a chamber of rooms in the guest wing of Stormwind keep that Lothar knew well. “Please come inside for a moment. I’m sure my master’s left some emergency funds somewhere.” Lothar never had occasion to stay in this wing himself, having his own quarters in the main living areas. He had, however, visited his friend Medivh, the Guardian of Azeroth, in these very rooms on numerous occasions.
Lothar told himself the reason he’d allowed Khadgar to drag him along was that he wanted to make sure the young apprentice got home safely. Just as a favor to a friend. Nothing to do with those brown eyes, or the cheerful grin that flitted across Khadgar’s face despite his embarrassment at the situation.
Once inside, Lothar pulled his cloak and jacket off from habit, tossing them onto the large, stuffed chair by the fireplace. Ignoring the little sound of surprise from Khadgar, he dug into Medivh’s liquor cabinet for some glasses and helped himself to the dwarven whiskey.
“Um,” said Khadgar, “Make yourself comfortable. I’m just going to look in the desk here.”
Lothar listened to the rustling sounds of papers and books being moved around the desk and found himself hoping that Medivh hadn’t left a red cent for his young apprentice. Lothar wanted something…more tangible. By the time Khadgar turned around again, Lothar’s feet were resting on the low table and his shirt strings had been loosened. He was definitely making himself at home.
Lothar had expected to catch the apprentice off guard, but instead of being flustered, Khadgar just nodded as if that’s exactly what he meant by ‘comfortable.’ Moving to the other side of the room, Khadgar slipped behind a screen that partially obscured Lothar’s view. “I’m sorry,” he called, “Do you mind if I change? It’ll just take me a minute.”
“Not at all,” Lothar said. He watched with interest as Khadgar shed a most ridiculous amount of clothing – including a cloak, belt, waistband, jerkin, long shirt, second shirt, and an undershirt, followed immediately by his boots, socks, pants, long underwear, and small underwear. Unabashed by his nudity, Khadgar pulled on loose night pants and thin linen shirt of midnight blue. He wrapped himself in a thick, creamy wool robe two sizes too big that Lothar thought he recognized as Medivh’s.
“Well,” said Khadgar, “I’m sorry. My master didn’t leave anything that I can find.” He moved closer, kneeling down apologetically on the floor beside Lothar’s chair to rest his head sideways on the arm. “Achoo!”
Lothar grimaced at the sneeze. “Well, then.” He didn’t want to be the one to bring it up. He wasn’t exactly sure if Khadgar was offering what he thought he might be. He wasn’t sure he should be accepting what Khadgar might be offering, either. “Ideas?”
“Would you consider taking something…non-monetary?” There was no mistaking Khadgar’s meaning now, as his hand drifted lightly to Lothar’s knee. He pushed himself upward, tipping his face back and letting Lothar’s gaze drift across his body. His lips parted slowly as they brushed against Lothar’s hand where it rested on the chair, more of a question, than a kiss.
Lothar’s fingers trailed down the side of Khadgar’s face, running lightly down his neck to the silver apprenticeship chain that hung there. The chain had no clasp – it could only be removed by being broken and on it hung a small, silver medallion that rested just at the base of Khadgar’s throat. One side was engraved with his master’s sigil, a raven in flight, and the other with the eye of the Kirin Tor. Lothar wondered how Medivh would feel if he bedded his friend’s apprentice. The apprentice certainly had no qualms.
Realizing that he’d been staring too long, Lothar responded to the kiss by placing a hand behind Khadgar’s head and pulling it gently closer as his mouth moved confidently into Khadgar’s, claiming those soft, plush lips for his own. Khadgar clambered eagerly on top of him in the chair, straddling his waist and kissing with an intensity that belied his earlier innocence. Bodies were moving together, thighs pressed against groin and fingers touching urgently across new territory. Lothar began to work at the waistband of Khadgar’s thin pants, one hand on the hardness of his groin and the other exploring gently between his legs.
As he touched, Khadgar broke away from the kiss with a jump. “Um. I’m sorry. Actually. Another thing.”
Lothar sighed, impatient. He wanted those lips planted somewhere on his body, not spilling another secret. “Yes?” he asked, continuing to move his hand up and down Khadgar’s hardness and enjoying the expressions of pleasure that were working across his face at the touch.
“I, um, have a vow of celibacy. So I can’t. Um. I don’t want to write a check that I can’t cash. You know?”
“Seriously?” Lothar was incredulous. “You’re a mage, not a monk.”
“I know,” said Khadgar, squirming deliciously as Lothar’s hand moved around the sensitive head of his cock and squeezed. “But I’m not just a mage. I’m the…novitiate. It’s different.”
“Your master really is a hard ass, isn’t he?” Lothar muttered, releasing his grip and mentally cursing Medivh. He’d forgotten about that stupid vow of celibacy that Guardians took. Well, it had never stopped Medivh from getting busy, that was for damn sure. Apparently, his apprentice took the vow a little more seriously than Medivh ever had. Before he could spill any of this secret knowledge, however, Khadgar slipped from his lap and knelt on the floor between his knees.
“I can’t have intercourse, that’s all,” he said brightly. “But they didn’t say anything about kissing. That’s perfectly acceptable.” Khadgar’s hands pulled at Lothar’s pants, slipping inside and working across his genitals before slowly lowering his face. His tongue lapped experimentally across the shaft of Lothar’s cock, sending a responding wave of pleasure across his body. “If you wouldn’t mind, I mean,” said Khadgar, breaking off to stare impishly at Lothar. He squeezed the shaft slowly, releasing a bead of pre-cum down and rubbing it obscenely across his lips.
“I wouldn’t,” Lothar managed to growl, then Khadgar’s lips were wrapped tightly around his cock. Khadgar’s mouth was soft and warm, his tongue working magic as it lapped variations across his skin.
Khadgar moved with a kind of urgency that wasn’t exactly practiced, but made up for the lack of skill with eager responsiveness. Closely watching Lothar’s reactions to his movements, Khadgar alternated between his mouth and hands as he sent Lothar into the sublime, large brown eyes staring worshipfully at Lothar’s face. The view alone of Khadgar’s soft lips wrapped around Lothar’s cock was nearly enough to bring him to climax, aided immensely by the wet sounds of licking and sucking and the big grin that crossed Khadgar’s face whenever he came up for air. It was only from serious effort that he managed to last even a respectable amount of time. Khadgar took the shuddering finish inside his mouth, sucking gently until every drop of cum had worked out of his cock.
Satisfied, Khadgar climbed up and kissed Lothar’s cheek. “Was that acceptable payment?” he whispered, hands gripping tightly as he planted soft kiss after soft kiss.
“Mmph,” Lothar managed, dodging another kiss, still panting heavily from the release and not ready to form words. Or thoughts. “Very.”
“Good,” Khadgar sighed happily. He moved away for a moment, pulling a blanket from the bed and piling Lothar’s clothing into a heap.
“Could you start the showerfall?” Lothar called. Medivh’s rooms were equipped with a most wonderful contraption that Lothar wished was available in every room. A combination of gnomish engineering and magical enchantment produced a delicious, steamy showerfall of water from the ceiling onto the slate floor of the washroom. Excess water trickled down a drain in the center of the floor, and the lucky washer got to clean himself as if standing in a warm summer rain. The only catch was that the showerfall could only be triggered by a magic wielder – a mage, like Medivh or his apprentice.
“Yes, of course.” Khadgar was staring at Lothar wide-eyed, the pair of boots forgotten in his hand. He spoke a soft word and made a casting motion with his hand, and Lothar heard the showerfall water begin pattering in response.
“Thank you,” said Lothar, wondering now about Khadgar’s own need that was apparently also being forgotten. Maybe they could continue their activities in the showerfall. “Would you care to join me?” There was a considerable pause, as Khadgar continued to stare at him.
“How did you know about the showerfall?” Khadgar asked at last. His brow was furrowed, and for the first time some of his cheer had slipped away.
“Oh,” said Lothar, realizing the jig was up. “I’ve visited Medivh’s rooms before. They’re some of the finest in the keep, actually. It’s a pity he isn’t here more often to use them.” Lothar was immensely pleased to see the crimson blush that spread immediately across Khadgar’s face at the mention of his master’s name.
“You know Medivh?” Khadgar asked weakly.
“Of course,” Lothar grinned nonchalantly. “I saw him tonight at my sister’s party. Horrible, stuffy affair. Still, being the Guardian celebrity that he is, poor Medivh is still probably trapped there. Don’t you think?”
Khadgar did not yet appear capable of rational speech, so shocked was he by the revelation. “I don’t even know your name,” he whispered at last.
“Come now,” teased Lothar. “Surely you didn’t think I was a transportation cabbie, did you?”
The dark head before him shook wordlessly from side to side. A bit of the kid’s sparkle was coming back, now that the shock was wearing off. “No. I didn’t. I just wanted a kiss. The ride was leverage.” Now the crooked little grin was back. “How do you know the Guardian?”
“Anduin Lothar,” Lothar said simply. “Commander of Stormwind’s army.” Another delicious blush. Ooh, Khadgar had a lovely pink color that was actually spreading down his neck towards his collarbone. The rest of his body was hidden by the plush robe, and Lothar was tempted to pull it back and see how far down the crimson went.
“Oh,” Khadgar said. “Of course. The lion on your tunic, it makes sense. The Lion, I mean.” He was stammering again. Lothar was beginning to think that this was a personal mannerism, and not the cold medicine. Most mages he’d ever met were more than half cracked, anyway. So what if Khadgar was a little spacey? Khadgar was regarding him gravely now, his head cocked slightly to the side.
“I’m in big trouble, aren’t I?” he asked at last.
“What do you mean?” asked Lothar.
“I’m not supposed to leave these rooms,” Khadgar confessed. “The Guardian is very strict. He hates it when I go snooping around. And um, if we know each other, I guess you’ll have to say something to him…”
“I won’t lie to Medivh,” Lothar acknowledged, watching the apprentice squirm and sighing resignedly as he realized that Khadgar’s desire had completely drained at the turn their conversation had taken. So much for the pleasurable showerfall he’d hoped for. “What’s the worst he could do to you?”
“Don’t even ask,” Khadgar warned. “I’m probably the dozenth apprentice he’s had. None of them last. I’m already on thin ice for breaking into some of his…well, nevermind. That’s the worst.” Khadgar breathed another deep sigh. “Alright. I’ll tell him everything. He’d find out anyway. Better I tell him myself. Achoo!”
Lothar doubted that Medivh would send Khadgar away for one instance of indiscretion. Over the years, he’d seen several of the Guardian’s apprentices come and go. None of them had quite been like Khadgar – so full of life and curiosity. Khadgar had spunk. He had personality. He was probably more than a little cracked, to be perfectly honest, but he was also smoking hot.
“Well,” Lothar said with a wink, “I don’t think you have to tell him everything.”
“No,” Khadgar agreed, choking back a laugh. “Maybe not.”
Lothar moved for the showerfall at last. “Are you coming?” he called back over his shoulder, shedding clothing as he went. Khadgar hesitated for a moment, biting again at his lower lip in a way that made Lothar notice all over again how very soft and kissable that mouth was. Finally, perhaps noticing Lothar’s midsection which was, against all odds, becoming visibly aroused again, he made up his mind and hurried after.
---
Later, Khadgar was limp and lazy and allowing Lothar to tuck him into the bed. Khadgar was insisting on sleeping in his ridiculous Winter Veil hat; the long, red point draped over his shoulder like a deranged nightcap but gave him a festive air.
Realizing that there was only one bed in the room, Lothar wondered what it was like for the apprentice to room with his master. Not a lot of privacy, that’s for sure. “You share a bed with Medivh, huh? What’s that like?” Lothar asked curiously.
Sleepiness made the ever-honest Khadgar even more apt to share. “Prickly. He’s all elbows and doesn’t tie back his hair. It’s long and gets in my face. He doesn’t let me cuddle him.”
Lothar barked in laughter. “Does that surprise you?”
“I’m very cuddly,” Khadgar objected. “He ought to give me a try.”
“It wouldn’t be proper,” Lothar said firmly, pulling the blankets up around Khadgar’s shoulders and preparing to leave. “And you know it.”
“I know,” said Khadgar, with another sleepy grin. Not ready for Lothar to leave quite yet, Khadgar clasped his wrist and pulled him down for another lingering kiss, one of those sloppy, eager ones that made Lothar’s heart pound rapidly. “I hope we get to meet again, Lothar. Properly, next time.”
“We will,” Lothar reassured him, smoothing back the dark hair that poked out from under the hat before moving for the doorway. “Provided Medivh doesn’t ground you for the next three weeks for breaking out of here.”
Impulsively, he stopped in the doorway called back to the bed, “And anytime you need a ride, just let me know.”
“Okay,” said Khadgar, adding with feigned seriousness, “I’ll take you up on that. I have lots of places I need to visit. But…um…you know.” He waved one hand expressively. “Needless to say, I won’t have any money.”
The offer was plain, and the thrill of another rendezvous teased at Lothar deliciously. "I'll be counting on it," he said with equal mock seriousness. And then he was gone.
As Lothar strode down the hall toward his own quarters, the guilt of what he had just done began to catch up with him. No - not guilt, exactly, but a sense of foreboding. What was Medivh going to say? Khadgar was certainly an adult who could form his own decisions, but nevertheless…this was going to be an interesting conversation. He rather expected the crusty old mage to go right through the roof (perhaps literally, knowing the extent of his arcane abilities) at the thought of someone corrupting his precious little apprentice. Lothar grinned, despite his worry. Somehow, he decided, Khadgar was going to be worth the trouble.