❤️Wishing you a wonderful thanksgiving…I hopes you have lots to feel thankful for❤️
The Beast of Bodmin Moor
It scarce seemed possible that the magnificent man in Phin’s very own van was meant for him. The Beast of Bodmin popping by for a cuppa and snackeroo would be less bewildering than the impossibility that Jack might want Phin.
Yet somehow, he was not only standing there half-starkers, sculpted from gold, gleaming in the lamplight, he was hard. Shrinktastic jeans struggling to constrain a stonking erection hard. There was no one else present. Just Phin. A singular fact as deranging as watching Jack prowl his way, muscles gliding in a melody of movement. That was exactly how it appeared, Phin wasn’t gilding any lilies he didn’t have. They were too glary, he preferred lily-of-the-valley. Or jasmine, gypsophila, snowdrops…they were his favourites. A sprinkle of little flowers, always white, like titchy stars tumbled to Earth.
The flora had filled the space separating Jake and Phin, who was forcing himself to wait while Jake whipped his kit off. That was never his best thing…but this was the first time that ‘worth the wait’ had ever seemed a dead cert. So, Phin was gritting his teeth against the scratchy insistence that now was the only surety and doing his damnedest to stay still. This, after enduring the loss of heavy heat and silken skin—bearable as a precursor to the unveiling of more—and thus a quid pro quo, par excellence.
He had never imagined that being squished beneath another body could make him feel so full—nourished—when being trapped should have screamed suffocating. Instead, Phin had felt somehow less…fragmentary, scrappy inside. Less like a piecemeal person, wired all wrong.
Phin lay, fingers laced behind his head to hold it up, mesmerized by the shucking of shoes and the peeling of spray-painted jeans. The latter snaffled his socks when Jake yanked his feet out, which was exceedingly fortunate on the fit of the fidgets front. Finally, there Jake stood…oh, so nearly naked. In Phin’s camper van. Two pairs o’pants away from paradise.
“Hmmm…” Oops…that had aired itself while Phin wasn’t watching. The least surprising snippet of news in the whole world ever. He was too riveted to do concentrating on aught but the lustre of honeyed skin over lean lines of muscle—tendons taut, standing proud—shrieking tightly tethered strength. Caramel waves cascading to sinewy shoulders, streaked with umber, bronze…eyes of topaz blue flame, ablaze with desire. Desire. For Phin. Unless Jake was thinking very hard of someone not splayed across the table wearing just Phin’s pants. That was possible…despite the halleloo hypershriek louder than Jack’s twanging tendons.
Phin propped himself up on his elbows, too twitchy to stay still, too flat for best seat aboard privileges. He’d no sooner done so, than Jake glanced down at himself with an expression Phin might’ve called ‘doubtful’—except that would be daft—Jake was, most definitely, there. Here. In Phin’s camper van. In naught but his pants, which ensured that there was lots of evidence on view. A fact he’d deduced with utmost diligence.
When Jake lifted his head, his gaze was blue zicron; starlite bright, ablaze with a world of dark wonder while slinking to stand before Phin, still perched atop the table.
“I was so certain Foxy was real…but can’t seem to believe in you,” he heard himself sigh, from far, far, away. Too dazzled to blink, too dazed to break eye contact.
“You’re barmy…” Jake’s smile didn’t seem to mind overmuch.
As this had e’er been the common consensus, far from a novel notion, Phin told the truth, which was inviolate, being his own. “But not barmy enough to know what’s ‘good for me’,” he pointed out…p’raps with the tip of his tongue.
“I’ll bite that off in a minute,” Jake snorted. “Were you not taught that sticking it out at people is not ‘po-lite’?” That smirk was more dangerous than the rest of Jake, if only he could see it. It was devilish, divine.
“Yup…but you’re not people,” Phin noted instead, which was less unseemly.
“I’m not…people?” Jack sounded a smidge alarmed, as if he’d just been declared a Dark Lord of the Sith. Rather than not informed that his smirk was deadly.
“Well, you’re Jack,” Phin shrugged. “That’s more than just ‘people’.”
The blue flared as if the gas had been turned up to full throttle. It was almost too luminous to stare into. It was…too close to care. Too…hmmm…a shimmer of pleasure thrilled down his spine when Jack leaned in to brush featherlight lips across Phin’s. Once, twice, while winding strong arms around his waist to tug him in tight. The scintillating press of chests, skin-to-skin sent his senses into a fizzy frenzy. It was the strangest double-whammy of wondrous; leaving him fit to swoon and sprint up the side of a skyscraper, all at the same time.
The whizziness won out when Jake melded their mouths to lay waste to Phin’s lips in the kind of kiss that inspired madness or murder in Kings and coves alike. That was the last snippet of nonsense to flit through Phin’s head, which was startling in itself, but nowhere near as staggering as the reason why…
It was a surge of movement so swift he had to piece it together afterwards; Jack nudged Phin’s knees apart, cupped his butt cheeks and tugged him in tight, then hoisted him up off the table. He had to cling on quick like a koala when Jack swung them around and splayed a palm between Phin’s shoulder blades to lower him to the floor. All this happened a tad too fast to do concentrating, so he might have made a muddle—there was a lot of Phin and lots less of Jack—which made it seem a smidge unlikely. He didn’t even try to unravel it; all that mattered was, he was exactly where he wanted to be. Flat on his back beneath Jack, who hovered above him on all fours and kissed away all likelihood that Phin might do focussing on anything, anytime soon.
He was far too busy luxuriating in the slow, sensual drag of Jack’s lips, the tangle of tongues, their shared breath as Jack lowered himself to his elbows in a lush smudge of skin. This kiss was slower, gentler than before, more…tender. Sound only seemed to exist as a denseness in Phin’s ears…and yet, the space between them was as light, airy as a candyfloss cloud. There were fingers entwined in his hair, a tongue in his mouth, a palm clamped to his thigh. Jack was everywhere, all at once; the heady weight of his body, the trailing tendrils of hair caressing Phin’s face. Between his thighs, hard heat crushed close through filmy cotton, for the very first time. Oh, so close to his darkest dreams. Did Jack even want Phin...that way? It felt as if he did, and yet, he kept claiming it was too dangerous. How? Why? Or just a white lie, to let him down in a decorous way? How Phin wished he knew…there was no way of telling what he might ask for.
Jack hadn’t seemed to think that making a racket put Phin in jeopardy, so why did more? He didn’t even know if Jack would permit a repeat of…yesterday? Earlier? It still seemed to be the same day, despite the dark; he hadn’t been to bed and had breakfast yet. Phin had to steel himself to stillness when Jake lifted his head. Every instinct was clamouring to cling on like a limpet, when a sliver of space was a mile of separation. Farther, while fearing that every kiss would be the last. Much to Phin’s relief, the heady press of Jake’s weight didn’t diminish, it shifted. He began to slide backwards, scattering a blazing trail of kisses down Phin’s front. He held his breath, watching with wide, wider, eyes as Jack wriggled lower, lower still; too scared to breathe, perchance he stopped.
Phin’s lungs cared not and promptly staged a mutiny, sucking in a week’s worth of oxygen when Jake’s chest brushed Phin’s fit to bust pants. “Aaaahh!” His brain was too busy melting to mush and blowing up to be bothered who won Air Wars. The friction alone was mind boggling, but Jake’s head was heading toward torrid territory. Wherin a third head resided. Matters were getting a mite Fluffy from Harry Potter. A thought eclipsed by the squeaky gate sound that escaped when Jake trickled his tongue down the trail of hair vanishing into Phin’s waistband. Next thing he knew, that had gone. Alongside his missing pants and a scorch of moist heat that clobbered Phin with a bolt of bliss.
A fact that poured such a vat of oil on the squeaky racket it melted into maple syrup and drizzled from his lips as an “ooooooh….” Last time, Phin had been too dazzled to relish the ricochet of sensations, too staggered by their all-consuming shriek to do concentrating on how it felt. A symphony of sound too overwhelming to hear the melody itself. Impossible to assimilate…like the taste of cymbals clashing.
The racket within was too loud to listen to that without, as Phin lay, plastered to floor like roadkill trammeled by a tractor. It was too much to feel all at once so he let his eyelids flutter shut and did some concentrating on savouring every second of slurpy serendipity.
Jack’s tongue was indecent, Phin decided. His mouth, a den of iniquity. Oh…if only life membership was on the table…or the floor…or in the bed nook…on the moors, under a blanket of stars…bathed in moonlight.
Jake must have dipped lower, somehow, because Phin’s cock crashed against the back of his throat—which tightened—as if the scoundrel was hellbent on swallowing it down. Phin was done for…he couldn’t have held out if his membership card depended upon it…
“Jaacckk!” The only word in the world. It clawed the walls when the need gnawing his nuts detonated in a dizzying rush and a strobe-lit blitz of bliss that blazed through Phin’s body in a white-hot torrent of too much and more.
When it was done with him, he was fit for nothing and everything; anything Jake wanted ever again, for the rest of forever. Aside from that, Phin felt very lovely. In a tongue lolling out sort o’way.
Somewhere, on a planet far, far away, Jake dragged his mouth back oh, so slow. The shock of cool air that accosted Phin’s cock was obliterated by slick warmth when Jake sluiced the sticky away…with a thoroughness that was the epitome of unseemly. Sublime.
Adj: extreme or unparalleled excellence.
As inimitable as Phin’s foxy friend.