Bramblepoint The shape of brat pop to come

peregrine complied, and lasher shook his muzzle with a grin. "with age comes wisdom, dear one," he murmured, pressing his lips against the panther's throat, his shoulder, the plush rise of his chest, traveling ever downwards with slow and tender movements. little had changed since the last time they had known one another -- but much had changed also. it was as if he was exploring a lover's body for the first time, and yet he settled into familiarity quite soon.

placing his forelegs on either side of the dark hips, lasher fell to his pleasurable task, lapsing into silence that would, he hoped, be filled with the throated sounds of his lover's ecstasy, though he prolonged la petit mort as long as he was able, teasing peregine with motions that bordered on cruel with their witholding.