Better to ask forgiveness than permission, that's what his elder brother had always said. He'd apologise tomorrow and then get back to learning some magic. Easy. For now, though, he just wanted to get back to the inn and buy some soup (without flashing his breasts) and maybe something to dri- oh gods.<br/><br/>Halfway to across the square to the inn, Arran stumbled as a wave of heat washed through his body. This was different to the burning sensation that accompanied the change. No, this was a tingling, liquid heat that suffused his body. An involuntary feral moan escaped his mouth, a moment before he covered his mouth to stop any more sound. Oh, his lips felt soooo good.<br/><br/>He took a half staggering step forward, loving the feel of the fabric of his pants rubbing against his legs. The next step was quite different, with his thighs pressed together to amplify the sensation. It was ... he couldn't think of way to describe it. Liquid. No, there actually was something wet in the crook of his legs. He was wet. Like woman who wanted, needed something. This was bad.<br/><br/>Each slow step brought with it new sensations. His rock hard nipples rubbing up and down against the coarse material of his shirt was unbearable, so he reached under his shirt to cover them with with the palms of his hands - which lifted the front of his shirt up to reveal his navel to the world. Unconsciously, he started kneading his breasts, squeezing and rolling them with his fingers.<br/><br/>Then, with another step, he reached the inn and leaned on the door frame looking in; knees pressed together, hands on breasts and mouth hanging open. Need writ large.