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    Summary

    "Surely the gods made you differently, cousin." Aerion murmurs, lips trailing flushed skin and teeth scraping in a gentle tease. "Just for me."

    Valarr makes a noise, small and overwhelmed, and it alights the meaner parts of him straining for release.

    He's a vision beneath him, sweat slicking his skin and lips parted with pleasure, but it's his eyes that make heat stir in Aerion's groin. They're glazed and dark, pupils nearly swallowing his pretty irises, and he has the sudden, insane urge to keep him and have him always, to touch and kiss and fuck whenever he wishes, and the possessiveness of it is bright and all consuming.

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