The Beast of Bodmin Moor
Phin gazed at the treasure trove he’d unveiled, utterly transfixed. Jack was…perfection. As if he’d stepped straight from Phin’s dreamscape and into his camper van as he’d slept.
It was still tricky to believe he was a real, breathing person, rather than a hallucination Phin had cooked up after a few too many tipples. He was partial to a spot of brandy at bedtime; it made him feel warmer inside when the world seemed cold ‘n’ cruel and his tablets couldn’t stave off the scratchy.
Phin watched Ja—ke’s chest rise and fall with a wonderment that intensified, rather than subsided, the longer his eyes lingered. The yearning to stroke sun-kissed skin, to trace taut muscle and the tempting trail of hair leading down…down…was overwhelming. Phin tried to swallow what felt like a sticklebrick lodged in his throat and sucked in a sharp breath. So hard. So…impossibly here.
It was most odd to feel as if fate had outdone him on the too much front. Phin must still be asleep, surely? Unless he’d woken in an alternate universe; a realm where you dreamed your heart’s darkest desires into being…and got to unwrap the riches that materialized on your camper van carpet.
Phin watched the slow trickle of his fingers across honey-glazed skin. It seemed to skitter in their wake, as if the ridges on his fingertips were playing it like a harp. It all got a bit blurry after that; one minute Phin was still stroking, the next he’d sort of swooped and stuck his tongue in Jake’s belly button. Not content with that, it started having a bit of a swirl around.
“Fuck!” Jack almost jakeknifed in shock. Oops, it might have been po-lite to warn him first. He didn’t seem to mind too much, nor did his groan, as he sank back against the floor. A respite too soon, perhaps. Phin was strung too tight to care for consequence, so he dove in headfirst. This tended to be his best bet when antsy, otherwise he just flapped around in a hyperfit of the fidgets for…ever.
Resisting temptation was risky; that never went well on less enticing occasions. So Phin pounced to swipe a lavish lick along Jake’s length; a taste sensation so potent his head went all swimmy. It would have felt quite fitting if he’d swooned like a Regency miss when coshed by the most sumptuous of all scents. It was the olfactory equivalent of having a grand piano land on his head after being lobbed from a window. Quite why someone might do this remained a mystery, but it was forever happening in movies, so it must be ‘a thing’. It was actually a hip-butt—rather than a Steinway—that accosted Phin, when up they snapped with the gusto of a Glasgow kiss.
Jake smelled as luscious as Phin’s second, more lingering sluice along feverish flesh. He’d never been hungry enough to make his mouth water this much. He’d need to be starving t’death. Or rabid. Phin still feared doing it too much, so he figured that he should start at the top and work his way down. That would work; Jake could shove him off if Phin got greedy.
He could go slow though. Slower than most folk thought reasonable when savouring things he enjoyed. As often as possible—which wasn’t excessive—when he wanted them all the time. See, he could be Mr. Moderate himself, if he must. Quite who he was, Phin knew not, so he might’ve made him up. He was supposed to be glad he could suffer such stingy rations, to avoid unseemly consequences. Such as…having to shuffle around on his knees attached to Jake like a limpet. That wouldn’t go down well (with folk who weren’t Phin). Particularly in public.
A rumbly purr of pleasure rifled Phin’s ears, which seemed to suggest he wasn’t doing anything amiss. Jack hadn’t shoved him off. Yet. He was still gripping the silver leg-posts of the table—white-knuckle-tight, too—as if he suspected Phin might suck him up like a hungry hoover unless he held on for dear life. He didn’t appear too appalled by the prospect, though…so, Phin hoped, almost as hard as Jake, that he wouldn’t put a stop to proceedings, anytime soon. Or at all, ever.
A flick of his tongue across the tip of Jake’s cock almost cost Phin an eye, such was the jolt of foxy hips. Ah well, he’d waited forever for this moment; swapping an eyeball seemed a fair ’nuff trade off. Okay, so…Phin had read (in his sister’s Cosmo comic) that he should go about this as if feasting on a luxury lolly. That part should be easy enough, he could savour one of those thoroughly enough to last half an hour.
Phin took a deep breath, inhaling husky musk, heaven in itself, before wrapping just his lips around the head of Jack’s cock. Ooh…thisss. The bliss was too loud to hear over, so Phin had no idea if he was making a racket. Nor Jake, for that matter. He seemed a smidge… squirmy, despite his efforts to stay still, which did bode well. It also suggested that Jake might need matters moving on a mite, before he went demented. Contrary to Cosmo’s opinion, who possibly didn’t have cocks to call their own. Nor knuckles that looked fit to burst through blanched to bone skin.
Phin picked up the pace. A fact that reaped rich rewards; he would have been dead—not deaf—had he been oblivious to Jack’s reaction. Phin could feel it. Feel it in his very bones, like a vibration. Somewhat akin to standing next to huge amps and sensing the tremble of sound through his body. As if his very self resonated in response to Jake playing his tune.
Okay…he must never mention that, Phin decided. It being a flight of fancy that seemed a smidge hyper-responsive, even to him, so it must be stratospheric. Jake would flee as if the hounds of hell were hot on his heels. Keeping schtum was a consequence Phin was more than happy to suck up (as ’twere) for this secret glimpse of untold pleasure.
Phin relished every second of it. All of it… every flicker of his own tongue, the husky musk filling his head, the silken slide of velvet heat. Honey-honed skin; all taut sinew and lean muscle, tensed as if to spring. The most magnificent sight that had e’er graced his eyeballs.
“Phin…” The agonized rasp of his name summoned Phin from his reverent reveries. Had he hurt Jake, done something wrong? How he wished he knew how to get this right for Jake. Not knowing—the fear of failing him—far outweighed all reason.
“Did I do it wrong?”
“Fuck…no. Don’t…don’t stop…”
“I never want to,” Phin assured him, resuming his serendipitous ministrations.
“Ggnnrrr…” Jack threw his head back with a grapple-hook growl that snagged Phin’s guts. He was glorious; hair fanned in a lustrous halo, like a golden god. Mesmerizing. Phin did his utmost to do concentrating and respond to every twitch—counter-twitch to restrain it—every rumble of pleasure and sigh of sound that flitted free. Meanwhile, hypnotic hips were hell-bent on snapping up despite Jake’s efforts to keep them in check, so Phin had to do focusing and follow their lead, lest he have a mishap. It was a lot to take in. He would need plenty of practise.
“Phhiin…fuck…stop!” Jake howled when his whole self had a spasm at once. He’ll make his mind up in a minute. A thought so diverting, Phin quite forgot to do listening. Never, had he been more chuffed he’d carried on regardless. If there had ever been a more majestic sight than Jack mid-orgasm, Phin had never been gifted it.
It was a hyper-feast fit for a king. Bestowed on Phin. All for Phin. So he guzzled him down with nary a care for excessiveness. Jake didn’t seem to mind. Never had Phin seen someone come so…utterly undone.
Earlier, when he’d woken, Phin had determined that his new foxy friend was the most tightly wound man on the planet. Armour-clad in titanium and a snaffled robe, as his true self seethed beneath the surface. The blissful abandonment Phin now beheld couldn’t have contrasted more starkly with the stranger he’d met. It was tricky to align the two in his head, so heaven knows how Jack managed it.
Phin dragged his mouth back, relishing every second, lest this be the last time he’d ever find himself so fortunate. With utmost reluctance, Phin unfurled his fingers, unsure what to do now. What was he supposed to do? Phin flicked his gaze upwards and watched as Jake’s eyelids fluttered apart. He blinked, p’raps to refocus; the blue was as hazy as a sun-scorched sky.
“Phin…” His voice was as thick as clotted cream, but darker, as if laced with brandy.
When Jake extended his arm, Phin’s insides did a flip-flop—a bit like that lurch on a hump-backed bridge—except higher up. After rearranging his unwieldy legs, he shuffled up beside Jake and found himself tucked into an armpit before he’d quite got his bearings. He was a bit crumpled, but he’d rather have cramp than be anywhere else. Being crippled seemed a small price to pay for such privilege.
“Y’okay?” Ja—ke rumbled in gruffly tones.
“I’m very okay.” Phin’s voice sounded like a smile.
“Y’sure…? I didn’t mean—I warned you to stop.”
“I didn’t want to stop. Are you cross?”
“Cross? Fuck no,” Jake chuckled. “As far from cross as I ever get, but I didn’t want you to…feel obliged.”
“I don’t oft do things I don’t want to. I might pretend I will, but then I…forget.” Phin admitted.
“I had noticed…” he muttered. He still didn’t sound miffed though.
“Exactly. I guess I should be thankful you haven’t fixed on Foxy.”
“I did like Foxy, but Jack is more…dashing.”
“Dashing?” he spluttered.
“Yes! You are! In a scoundrelly way…like a pirate, or a devilish hero in a Gothic novel.”
“Oh gawd!” Jack’s chest juddered with his throaty chuckle. It was like lying against a happy tractor.
“That’s not a bad thing, by the way. I’d very much fancy being deflowered by a breeches-ripper. Oops…I shouldn’t have fessed up, should I? Was it unseemly?”
“Ah…I—” That’s as far as Jack got before yukking it up again. Slurpy shenanigans had a startling effect on Jake’s disposition, it must be said.
Perhaps not out loud, though.