The Beast of Bodmin Moor
Before Phin had time to mourn the loss of the palm clamped to his back, it had slipped between their bodies and cupped his balls. The kiss had made him feel as if electrodes were taped to his temples as his heart was blitzed by resuscitating paddles. The cupping nearly finished him off—in one way or another—it was tricky to tell. Matters were either about to get excessively sticky, or he’d just drop dead from too muchness.
As it was, a sort of strangled shriek ripped from his lips as his legs turned to noodles and his heart went into hyperdrive. Strewth, ’twas on a mission to make the Kessel Run in ten parsecs. The effect of all this on Phin’s hips was more than a mite strumpety. He felt a tad too hyperkenetic to care, which was fortunate, or he would’ve forgotten to concentrate on calming down. As it was, Foxy didn’t appear to mind too much, and that was all that mattered…particularly when the only word in the world that did, was more.
Phin couldn’t help the whimper that slipped free when Foxy palmed his aching cock through his pants…about a galloping heartbeat before they were gone. Vamooshed. This, with a growl like gargled gravel, succeeded by a groan of relief (which should have been Phin’s) when his cock was enclosed in a sure fist. The gasp that ripped from his lips instead made his head crash against the cupboard door but he scarce felt it; every one of Phin’s excessive sensory receptors had hurtled south. To fling themselves into never held before festivities. Literally.
The head crash had done the unforgivable though; wrenched Phin from kisses he’d never wanted to end. But what if Foxy thought he did it on purpose? The brain-boggling grip on his cock hadn’t gone—yet. A thought obliterated by the fact that it had—in a flash—swiftly followed by the heavy heat of Foxy himself. Gone. Where? Phin’s eyes flared wide with panic-on-the-bullet-train to hypersomething or other (when he couldn’t breathe and everything went fizzy).
The ‘where’ was too impossible to be true. Those bewitching blues were no longer level with Phin’s lips, they were gazing up at him from formerly virgin (on the ridiculous at twenty-two) territory. This was too staggering to take in, too…inconceivable to compute. Phin had never even imagined being kissed anytime soon; that he was felt too bedazzling to believe. But this? Was a fancy too far… Why the bejeezus would Foxy even want to do it—to Phin?—not in general.
Phin had longed to do it for…ever. But only to someone special, which pretty much put the kibosh on that likelihood. Phineas Finley was not special, well, not in that way. His sort of special wasn’t the sort folk aspired to being. His brain was far too busy short-circuiting to let his ears listen to whatever Foxy all-but barked roundabout then.
“Jack…m’name.” It was a good job Phin was concentrating as hard as his cock, or the blast of hot breath that coshed it would have deafened him. Jack. It did seem a bit of a novel time to introduce himself, but what did Phin know? Perhaps it was considered po-lite when…eye to eye (as ‘twere) for the first time.
“Hmm…it suits you.” It did too; it was a strong name…as timeless as those eyes. “Phin,” he supplied.
“Phin…” had no sooner caressed his cock than it was engulfed in mind blowing heat. Well really, an alternative word wasn’t likely to suggest itself anytime soon. The wet-warm-wonderment of Foxy’s mouth thrilled through every fibre of his being as if he’d been set aflame. Phin possibly let rip a racket like a strangled cat with its collar caught on a fence post. Which might have been embarrassing if his brain wasn’t too busy exploding. Never…ever…ooohgawd… Can you drop dead of bliss?
Phin’s head lolled back—or sideways—it sure went somewhere, p’raps to another planet. Nothing on this one had ever prepared him for the excess of…everything that blitzed his body. If Phin’s system had ever fancied itself as a Titan of too muchness, it hadn’t known the half of it…strewth. It had clearly been quite content to coast along ’til called upon to unleash its Special Occasion Stash. On Phin’s unsuspecting person.
Crikey…he had been half-dead for the last twenty-two years. Whether he would survive a further twenty-two seconds seemed less certain. He sure wasn’t going to last that long. In ‘fortuitous order of events’ terms, Phin could live with that. Or not. Ah well, what a way to go…
This, was pleasure too excessive—even for Phin to have dreamed up—he wasn’t that daft. Why doom himself to a forever of disappointment? That would have been a mite masochistic. While Phin sure wouldn’t say no to a spot of experimenting, he’d managed to dodge that label by virtue of…being in possession of his own. What a waste. Phin had a lot of time to make up for; he could do some concentrating on that. Sorted. Mr. Neil would be chuffed.
If Phin had been mind blind to that bedazzling gaze (ablaze with a lust too luscious to dream up) he would have been able to feel Foxy’s hunger. It was tangible. Vivid. Every bit as alive as Jack. Phin had never met anyone more alive. His foxy friend was a force of nature; a hurricane of heat and hunger, sweeping Phin to a place far from this.
Meanwhile, those mesmerizing lips were trawling the length of Phin’s fit to bust self, sending sparks shooting up his spine and dizzying desire everywhere else. When Foxy paused to twirl his tongue around the head of his cock and flick it across its tip, Phin damn near detonated. You could probably go to prison for this. Things that were this fun were never allowed.
“Jaaack…” His name sounded like the noise Phin made when sinking neck deep into a bubble bath. When that mind boggling mouth engulfed him once more, it didn’t seem likely that Phin could feel any more…anything without combusting. A belief promptly borne out when his cock crashed against the back of Foxy’s throat.
Phin peeled his head off the door and gazed down at Jack, too dazed to take it in without seeing it, with his very own eyes. That might make it seem real. Sure enough, Foxy’s lips were wrapped around Phin’s hilt; nose buried in his down-there-hair… Snuffling. This, as the most bewitching blues on Earth held him hostage. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen in his life. It was all too too much.
The thud of his head against the door wasn’t a bit as loud as the bolt of bliss that blistered through his body. Phin was done for. He couldn’t hold— “Jaack! St…oooop! I-I…c-can’t—”
The scoundrel didn’t listen, merely flexed the fingers that must’ve been clutching Phin’s thigh. Did that mean…no, surely not? “Jack, I need—have toaaahhh!”
Phin came as he’d never come in his life. Ever. It burst from him in a blinding rush of white-light-heat, pulsing in wave after wave of ecstasy that snatched away his breath. It felt too exhilarating to survive sane. Now petite-mort made sense…Phin might well wind up a bit dead.
Jack swallowed all of it. No…he drank it down as if it were ambrosia. Then dragged his lips back sloowly, as if to catch every last drop.
“Phin…” It slipped from his lips as a sigh as lustrous as those eyes. Burning blue flame, eternal.
“Jack… I—” Phin broke off. There were no words in the world. What should he say now? Thank you?
Did Foxy know? Had he been able to tell…because surely—? Phin felt his face flush scarlet as stupid, stupid tears started prickling at his eyes. He slammed them shut, screwing his lids tight.
“Phin…look at me.”
How could he deny that velvet voice? It would also be rude, but oh, Phin desperately didn’t want Jack to see, so he dipped his head, tucking his chin into his chest. You can’t cry when someone has done that…and made you feel too much happy. Phin thought his heart might just burst with it. Jack would think he was a loon. Or as idiotic as the tear trickling from the far corner of Phin’s eye, trailing down his cheek.
Jack surged to his feet and cupped Phin’s face in his hands, tilting it up so tenderly? That’s how it felt. It also matched a gaze as deep as an ocean but as clear, unclouded, as midsummer day when Phin prised his lids apart.
Jack’s mouth was hovering but a hairsbreadth from his own when Phin wondered if he’d heard the sigh of a single word, “Mine…” alongside a candyfloss kiss as soft as a cloud.
“Jack… I—” Phin’s cheeks bloomed crimson when he broke off to scrunch his eyes tight shut. To Jake’s utter mortification, a tear started to trickle down his moon pale face. Horror scythed through Jake’s body with grappling hook claws. He’d caused this despite being so, so, sure, never so certain, that he’d got this. Had a handle on it. Now he’d done the unspeakable…hurt Phin. Injured him, which was unforgivable.
Jake couldn’t smell so much as a trace of fresh blood, despite the guilt tearing at his guts, threatening to throttle him. Jack…was serenity itself. What the fuck?
Nose. F’chrissakes. Jake inhaled…the bittersweet scent of embarrassment. Oh.
“Phin…look at me.” He fought to keep his voice soft, but Phin dipped his head still further, rather than raise it to meet his gaze.
Jake sprang to his feet far too fast, then forced himself to stillness before tilting Phin’s face towards his own. Feathery lashes fluttered, lifted with reluctance, to reveal a brown bleak with…self-recrimination. An expression Jake recognised all too well…it stared back at him from the mirror most days.
But why? Was it because Phin had allowed a man to that to him? Or, did he hate that it had been a stranger? The sort of creep that sat and watched you sleep, at that.
Or. Was Phin’s discomfort—reflected inwards not out—so acute because he was… convinced he’d done something amiss? Had no frame of reference to fall back on? No idea what supreme satisfaction looked like on the face of a man who’d been gifted an irreplaceable prize?
Jack had known from the first. Jake had not…processed an innate understanding: Pure, unsullied sex, too potent to resist, the most intoxicating elixir on Earth….had shredded his resistance when Phin’s arousal drenched the air. A purity he’d ascribed to the irrevocable need seeping from Phin’s pores; untouched by doubt, rather than utterly untouched full-stop.
In retrospect…had Jake known the truth from their very first kiss? Phin’s response had been tinged with…wonderment. How old is he?
Old enough. Not that it matters.
What the fuck? Of course it does.
Time won’t touch him. No, shit for brains, he’s not immortal. He will age. Yet… remain the same.
Don’t we all?
No. Do you ever pay attention? Say…to the taint of bitterness, rancid with resentment? Or, the stench of discontent, sour with envy…?
Okay! I get it. Typical; saddled with a snarky dogmatist.
What’s that supposed to—oh. Fuck off.
Like I said…
As much as he hated to admit it, Jack wasn’t wrong. That newborn fawn gaze made Phin seem impossibly younger than his years…and yet, he exuded an innocence as eternal as time. A spirit too pure for this world. Phin was enchanting. Every flicker of thought that flitted across his face was fascinating. Jake had no idea what the hell he might say, or do, next. Except that it would be…beyond compare.
Had Phin simply neglected to read the Human Handbook? Or…was he obliv—No, he was not. Nor was he insensible to suggestion. His tears told otherwise; it was impossible to fear falling short of expectation from a state of blissful oblivion. Phin knew. All too well. Far too well for his own… welfare.
“Mine…” Jake found himself murmuring at Phin’s lips before surrendering to their pull. Oh, well done. Way to freak him out, dogbreath.
Crap. ‘Jack’. How the hell to explain away that slip-up? Slip-up!? It was a balls-up of epic proportions. He would have to…twist the truth. Tell Phin he preferred ‘Jake’ to his ‘given name’. Another lie to add to the legion Jake would have to tell if he hoped—intended—to see Phin again. Why the hell was he even considering it?
It was a disaster waiting to happen. At the very best. Signing Phin’s death warrant at worst. That wasn’t hyperbole, nor even his own glass-half-empty mentality. Jake knew damn well that he was lethal. A bloody plague on Phin’s person.
Speak for yourself.
You. Are infinitely worse.
We. Are not.
Since when do you give a toss about slaughter? D’you even care what flavour your supper is?
Get me a bloody sausage and I might answer.
If only you knew…
F’fucksakes. Now he had a dark passenger that made dick jokes. Dexter never had to put up with this shit.
On that note, Jake had a sneaking suspicion that if someone really pissed him off, he could rip them apart with his bare hands. He might not be able to live with himself afterwards, but knew full well what he was capable of.
Yup. Just as you know full well that you’d slit your own throat before taking a chunk out of his. Just sayin…