Bramblepoint The shape of brat pop to come

The touch of Lasher's tongue on various points of his body felt good, though when they got down to business, some part of Peregrine detached inexplicably. It was pleasurable in a distant sort of way and his body cooperated, at least at first. But as the minutes passed, his former flame teasing him with lips, teeth and tongue, the black wolf lost his arousal.

Grimacing apologetically, he shifted away from Lasher and settled with his thighs collapsed on top of one another. "I'm an old man," he repeated sort of feebly, as if trying to pass his age off as an excuse for his dysfunction. It didn't feel wrong, per se, but it didn't feel right either.

"I think..." Peregrine spoke after a long beat of silence, "we'd probably work best as friends." He paused, licking his lips, which twitched faintly. "Sans benefits," he quipped, hoping to make light of this suddenly awkward situation.