Happy Monday. 🥰Here’s the next chapter, I’m sorry it took a wee while….
The Beast of Bodmin Moor
‘I like your laugh, it makes you smile inside…’
Jake couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d laughed out loud. He sure as hell couldn’t recall having smiled inside. He was quite certain of one thing though; never had someone expressed a wish to blow him with such incomparable charm before. Christ.
“Might you let me make some racket, maybe?”
As if granting Phin ‘permission’ would bestow a bloody kindness on him…when in fact, there was nothing on Earth Jake wanted more.
Liar. Pants on fire.
Now that…was nearer the truth. Just sayin’.
To top it off, as if all Jake’s Christmases—and two years of orgasms—weren’t about to come at once?
The bad puns are coming thick ‘n’ fast now…
Pot. Kettle. ‘Just sayin’…
Phin’s very next words after being given the go ahead:
‘Now!?’ Gaped as one might when handed the keys to a Ferrari and permission to take it out for a spin. ’Or is that too soon? Waiting isn’t my best thing…’
It wasn’t Jake’s either… and it sure as shit (after sausages) wasn’t Jack’s.
You’re like a dog with a bloody bone, y’know that, right? Or a nagging old woman. A stingy-with-the-tasty-tidbits one.
Phin remembered his brief glimpse of Jack before slipping back into unconsciousness. Fuck. Jake was taking way too many risks. He was being stupid. Cretinous. He’d spent the last two years skulking in the shadows and being so bloody careful to safeguard his secrets. Watching his every step lest he respond too swiftly, move too fast, react in any way whatsoever to intimacies he should never have heard above the hubbub of chat at the bar. All while being an unwilling eavesdropper on the low buzz of conversation, as clear as crystal, from the far side of the pub… even on his busiest shifts.
Mentally weighing what he should be able to lift, without arousing suspicion; of steroid abuse, at the very least. Jake was hardly The goddamn Rock. Or indeed, that Momoa bloke punters kept likening him to. Until they were tanked up…when he morphed into ‘Momoa’s Mini-Me’. Strangely easy to shrug aside with a smirk. While feeding their nuts to the mutt after one twist of Jake’s fist. In his mind’s eye. Of course.
This frustrating as fuck list of limitations was akin to being blinkered, cuffed, manacled and muzzled every minute of the day. Alongside a shot of cement in each ear. ‘Muting his senses’ was but somewhere to start: Speed, stamina, strength, agility, acuity of thought. Healing. A hunger as relentless as the limits placed upon it. As insatiable as the thrill of the hunt.
Two years spent shackled by self-restraint so ruthless it had driven Jake damn near demented. Hard-won steel-trap tenacity brought to its knees—literally—by one whiff of Phin on the wind. He’d as good as collared Jack at first scent.
Jake hadn’t been far behind…having had no choice in the matter. Every single night since he’d ridden shotgun to a stalker with Pepé Le Pew eyes and Deadpool’s disposition. Wylie Coyote couldn’t hold an Acme candle to Jack.
One whimper later, Jack had almost finished Phin off, licked him back to the land of the living, and been seen. A baton Jake had taken it unto himself pick up before embarking on a starkers stroll across a moonlit moor. Cradling an unconscious creature of unknown origin with legs far more excessive than his inimitable self.
Oh Christ…at least that was preferable to Foxy. Foxy. For fucksake’s.
I might be insulted if the bushy-arsed bastards didn’t have such good rep for silky seduction skills.
Yup…moi. Jaques Chacal at his service. Paramour par excellence…and I don’t stink of skunk.
Yup…quite the catch. Aside from being a sausage junkie with severe digestive issues. Oh, and the drooling…dogbreath…fur…four legs…
I give bloody good tongue.
‘Just sayin’ I suppose?
Why bother stating the bloody blah-de-blah? Sorted with one slurp. So suck that up, smug-mush.
Jake suspected that he might just remain Jack for the foreseeable: as long it suited Phin to ‘forget to remember’. The scamp could probably reel off every item ever entered on his list of things to remember to take no notice of whatsoever. The one he’d begun when bored of staring at the mobile above his crib after a splendid day drawing on the walls and smearing mashed banana on the dog.
“Um…where should I…?” Phin puttered to a halt, head cocked to one side. Like a pup in a pet shop window, hypnotising you with hope.
Oh hell...Jake should at least make some attempt to backtrack. Give Phin time to…what? Remain resolute? Was it even possible to persuade Phin to change his mind when dead set on something? It seemed one helluva surefire way to watch puppy dog eyes turn pitt-bull.
The whiff of stubborn as scorched jam wasn’t a dead giveaway, then? I sure-as-sausage wouldn’t bet one on the poor sod who started that blanket wrestling match.
“Where would you want to…er, do it, if given the choice?” Jake was, apparently, fool enough to wonder.
“Oh…um, that would be tricky. I only have one ‘where’ to choose from—so I don’t suppose it counts as choice—I would like you to lie down.”
Oh fuck. Jake sucked in a sharp breath, clamping his eyes closed, which made matters worse; the mental image transposed itself on the back of his lids. Would that be a…safer set up? Who was Jake trying to…fox? He could spring to his feet from flat on the floor as fast as he could from a crouch. Perhaps if Jake lay with his head and shoulders tucked under the table, then gripped the two metal poles supporting the end not fixed to the wall? Maybe wrap his arms around them to nestle one in the crook of each elbow? Something to hold onto…rather than inadvertently scalp Phin, or worse, break his bloody neck. This was a very bad idea. Jake very much feared he was about to do it, regardless.
“No problem, but first…” The alarm that flared in Phin’s eyes was a flicker of candle compared to the spike of panic that shot his heart rate through the roof. Jake bent his head to press his lips to its pounding pulse; imbibing the scent of cinnamon spice. The vibrations trembling on the tip of his tongue didn’t slow, but did become less skittery as Jake smudged his mouth toward the gentle curve of Phin’s jaw. What had he feared having to suffer first? A lecture? A cautionary tale as tedious as it was pointless? Phin turned his face, smearing Jake’s lips closer to his own, which parted in anticipation. Of a kiss that tasted of…everything Jack wanted from this world. A thought that would have been dizzying, had the melding of their mouths not beat it to the punch.
“Jack…” Phin soon gasped, snatching at a breath. “Please…”
It was all Jake could do to comport himself at a plausible speed to the table. All but dragged there, by the scruff of his neck like a recalcitrant pup.
Think yourself lucky you didn’t find yourself furry. Interloper.
Clever dick you might be, but c’mon…you’ve got to admit that I’m the man for this job. Loser of the ‘my canines are bigger than yours’ competition, that’s me.
Get on with it then, teenie weenie teeth.
Not biting. So shove your size-queen slurs up your furry foreskin.
This bout of bickering had filled the time it took Jake to lie flat on his back on the floor; head and shoulders inserted between the chrome bars that served as table legs.
“May I…undo the belt of the robe?”
Christ. Spread like a picnic on a fleece blanket. A thought Jake kept to themselves, nodding instead as he blew out a loong breath.
Phin had no sooner dropped to his haunches than clasped Jake’s ankles with hands that felt blissfully cool to feverish flesh. A shiver shot up his legs when they were tugged apart, scorching along his spine when Phin sank to his knees in the gap he’d made between his own. Oh gawd. Jake gripped the bars and held on. For humankind, or something such. Phin slid his fingers behind the robe belt and began to pull, letting it slip loose, as if he were savouring the unwrapping of a gift. The very air in the van seemed to still. Jake could scarce breathe. He point-blank refused to blink.
When the belt finally slithered free, Phin hooked a thumb beneath each edge of the fleece and parted them like a pair of bloody curtains. This, while devouring Jake with huge pools of starlit darkness that scalded his skin as cupid lips curved in a secret smile.
And you’ve deemed us dangerous? He’s lethal.
His lashes pull that off on their bloody own. Jake groaned and gripped the bars.
“Hmmm…” A soft sigh fluttered across exposed flesh. Strewth. Jake gritted his teeth so hard it might once have shattered them. Oh help…staying supine was going to kill him. Which might be for the best, all things considered.
Phin began to trail tentative fingertips from the base of Jake’s throat…down the centre of chest, skimming along skin that tremoured as if it had been tasered. Jake tightened his fists. His fingers promptly imprinted themselves in the chrome. Crap…the bars are buckling. Jake tried to focus on relaxing his grip; how the hell am I supposed to explain that? Phin swooped, and plunged the tip of his tongue into Jake’s belly button.
“Fuck!” The sudden shock of wet warmth, swirling in its indent, made Jake’s hips spasm as his neck snapped back. The metal poles winced.
“A..there’s no…need-” Jake groaned, forcing his tendons to relent. An increment.
Phin began to trickle his tongue down the trail of dynamite leading south. Jake damn near combusted. He had no idea how he remained in his own skin, having lost it under far less incendiary circumstances. The torturous tickle stopped dead. His shuddering exhalation was abrupted by a sudden sluice of scalding heat along his cock from hilt to tip. Jake’s spine jolted about three feet off the floor, as a thousand volts surged through his system.
“Did that feel okay?” His voice was soft, uncertain.
“Gnh-I…ah…yess… ” Jake managed, from Mars or thereabouts. A reply that promptly inspired a second—far more lingering—sweep of flattened tongue along his length. Quite possibly akin to dropping a hairdryer in the bath.
“Hmm… ” This, as Phin curled his fingers beneath Jake’s cock to lift it clear of his body. Before wrapping his lips around its head as if it was a bloody Magnum. The suckling that ensued was the most excruciatingly erotic experience of Jake’s life. His head was going to explode. The only question was, which one first…
Two years without so much as a helping hand, let alone mouth. Two hours of enduring the Mount Etna of all erections. Topped off by a dual desire so excessive Phin was better equipped to survive it sane than Jake. Whose nemesis was apparently on a mission to explore every millimetre he encountered. With the Captain Cook of all tongues. This as those anime eyes damn near devoured Jake as Phin’s mouth did. Oh…good grief…
‘I’m worried that I’ll do it too much.’
‘I don’t think that’s possible, unless…you bit down’
Jake’s powers of perception had, of course, never encountered Phin. Too much? It was much too much. A feat indisputably down to Phin himself. Who was too much. Too much of everything Jake had ever wanted from this world.
His boneless body felt strangely weightless and yet, very, very heavy; a molten mass of muscle, sinew and flesh. A sensation that did, at least, loosen Jake’s death grip on the chrome bars before they resembled a modern art exhibit.
As if Jake wasn’t deranged enough, least mind-boggling of all? Phin’s very scent had become the most vital component of the air. Jake’s entire self was alive with it, resonating in response. He felt like a sodding snare drum, tuned to its essence.
That nugget of nonsense was Jake’s last gasp from the land of lunacy before a blitzkrieg of bliss reduced his brain to rubble and razed all reason to dust. They were done for. Ruined.
Oh, do keep up. We were done ‘n’ dusted from that first whiff on the wind…