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It’s not exactly a surprise when all of Manny’s labors prove futile and the cock in his mouth is still flaccid after nearly ten minutes of constant coaxing. He pulls away, wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, and glances up at Bernard’s face, and the Irishman frowns at him.

“Go on. Why'd you stop?”

“It’s not working.”

Bernard rolls his eyes.

“If you’re expecting me to get hard for you I’m not going to, you know.”

“The booze.”

“The booze. The cigarettes. Or it could be your beard.”

There’s a barb in the words, and Manny can see the uncertainty in Bernard’s eyes. He sighs and stares at the trail leading down his lover's stomach. Bernard tangles his fingers in Manny's rapturous mane of golden hair, tugging gently.

“Come up here for a kiss.”

The ‘if you still want me’ is implied, but definitely there.

(As if refusal is even a possibility after everything they’ve been through.)

Manny obeys and Bernard rolls on top of him, slowly grinding his soft prick against the line of Manny’s hard one. It’s over much too quickly, because Manny’s wanted this for ages, even if it’s not quite how he’d planned, and afterwards, he strokes his fingertips over Bernard’s neck and shoulders. The shopkeeper hums contentedly, leaning into the touch. He’s uncommonly tactile and it’s charming.

“Just because I can’t get it up doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy the attention,” Bernard admits. “It feels nice, just like this.”

Manny doesn’t fully understand how it could but when Bernard humps against him, he reaches down and gently fondles the limp cock until the drunk falls asleep in his arms, snoring a little, drooling and snuffling and shivering. Manny shakes his head, smiling in spite of it all, cleans himself off, and covers them both up with a blanket. They are entangled, they are satisfied, and they are happy.