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Milo claimed his mouth like he’d claimed everything else in Rowan’s life—with a reckless abandon that forced Rowan to follow.

Rowan hadn’t known when Milo had sunk his teeth into his arm that he’d soon be sinking those teeth into his lips too. Tugging, demanding, taking with a swipe of his tongue that coaxed Rowan to do the same.

Rowan chased Milo’s tongue into his mouth, licking behind his teeth as Milo darted away, the frustration of trying to pin him down taking on a whole new dimension.

He grasped Milo’s hips like that would help to keep him still, claws pressing in where his shirt was riding up. His skin was warm and smooth, like honey dripping over Rowan’s fingers, melting further the higher Rowan’s own temperature rose.

He was a fire dragon, so everything he did came with a spark of heat, but no one had ever made him feel quite as hot as Milo did. Whether it was from frustration or kissing him, he was ready to explode every time they crossed paths. Milo was the ignition to whatever spark existed between them, Rowan the accelerant.

They had finally caught fire.

He ran his hands up Milo’s sides, curling them around his sharp shoulder blades. Milo shivered at the drag of his claws.

“You’d make an excellent backscratcher,” he mumbled absently against Rowan’s mouth.

It was nonsensical and completely Milo. It shouldn’t have turned him on more, but did. He bucked up into Milo’s ass, the swell of his erection aching for relief. “Not the job I was aspiring to.”

Milo pulled back slightly to look down, the sight of his mouth now swollen and pink not helping with the tightness in Rowan’s groin whatsoever.

“Well, let’s see how you shape up on that front,” Milo murmured.

It took a second to register, and by then Milo was already reaching between them to feel along the outline of Rowan’s cock through his thin pajama pants. He started at the head, cupping the leaking tip against Rowan’s thigh before shimmying down the shaft to make sure he got exact measurements. He ended at the base, not missing a detail as he slipped his fingers underneath to weigh Rowan, balls included.

Rowan hissed and bucked into the ministrations, his head falling back into the armchair and claws digging deeper into Milo’s back. He was sweating buckets already, droplets clinging to the hair at his temples and soaking his shirt in patches.

Milo observed it all before quicksilver eyes met his, his pupils now slits as his dragon peeked out from under the surface, as if called by Rowan.

It stole Rowan’s breath.

“Beautiful,” he murmured out loud, glancing between the crystalline orbs. He reached up to frame Milo’s face, the claw of one thumb settling at the corner of his eye.

Nothing had seemed to faze Milo so far, but hearing that word appeared to shock him.

Rowan felt the need to fix that immediately, dragging him back down to his mouth.

Milo moaned around his tongue, letting go of his dick and tangling his hands in Rowan’s hair until it was knotted as they continued to kiss messily.

Milo’s hips began to rock, grinding against him as they kissed, and Rowan growled in satisfaction feeling Milo’s answering erection push into his stomach.

Rowan wanted so much all at once that all he could do was rock up into him, urgency wiping any plan or control from his mind as he gave in to the immediate feeling of having this infuriatingly beautiful person in his arms, and the pleasure of finally releasing the tension that had built up.

There was no way Rowan was going to last doing anything fancy. He felt like a teenager about to explode at the simplest touch.

Milo abandoned his hold on Rowan’s hair and slid his hands down to cup Rowan’s chest. Specifically over his nipples. There was some definite squeezing going on that both embarrassed and excited Rowan.

He couldn’t help the buck of his hips or the throb of his dick in response, and Milo made a happy murmur like he’d noticed. He pulled back, an unholy light in his eyes as he demanded, “Off.”

Rowan had never whipped a garment off faster in his life, throwing the shirt god knows where.

His chest was a mix of muscle and bulk, scales and skin, with a smattering of hair. The main patch of scales curled over his ribs toward his groin, another curling toward his left nipple under his collarbone.

The way Milo devoured the sight made Rowan want to cross his arms across like a shy maiden.

Milo was having none of that though, greedy hands going back to him without the barrier of cloth, sifting through Rowan’s red chest hair and then cupping the holy grail in each hand, if his expression was anything to go by.

Rowan was biting his lip trying not to moan out loud.

Was his chest always this sensitive? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember a single other person who had devoted so much time to it, either.