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    Summary

    Valarr wanted more.
    Gods forgive him, he wanted everything.
    And then it was over. Aerion pulled away suddenly, breaking the kiss. The loss tore a cry from his throat before he could stop it.
    He turned his face aside and drew the sheets up over himself, as though he could hide what had passed between them.
    Valarr laughed softly. “No need to act shy now, Aerion,” he said. “You lived as a man for eighteen years, I'm sure you had your fair share of adventure.”
    Aerion bit his lower lip. Silence stretched between them.
    Then he looked at Valarr again. “It's my first time in a man's arms ...”
    The words struck him like wildfire.
    His belly burned. His length hardened further, thick and unyielding as marble. The air itself seemed to thicken, heavy with want. Something ancient and feral stirred within him, something older than crowns and laws and names. An animal instinct.
    To claim him.
    Body and soul.
    (Chapter 2, Valarr I)

    -- Or, in which Aerion messes with dark magic to restore dragons to the world in an attempt to outshine his eternal rival, Valarr—but it backfires, and Valarr becomes a jealous mess.

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