Hiya, Part 2 follows straight on…
The Beast of Bodmin Moor
“Christ, if they were any longer I’d be able to ride you…” That, was the inanity unleashed by Jake’s lips while gaping at the most ludicrous set of legs he’d ever seen. Oh hell. Ride him?
Inane it might have been, but its impact on Phin-Jackal battered Jake with a bolt of hot want as liquid pools of darklight all-but swallowed him whole. Phin-Jackal? Idiot, he couldn’t utter that aloud, it was ridiculous. How else was Jake supposed to differentiate between forms until Phin named his jackal self? In the meantime, Phin-Jackal was too long winded and didn’t suit him in the slightest. It wasn’t cute enough, for starters. Perhaps…PJ? That was better; affectionate without being too twee for words.
Cute? You’ve lost your marbles.
Well, he is…in a floppy-legged, stuffed toy sort of way.
I thought you’d blame the huge, imploring puppy dog eyes.
Not ‘cute’ at all, clearly.
Bambi on ice had nothing on PJ. He leapt off the bed in a skitter of said limbs to land in a clatter of claws, then skidded over to the window to leap up and plant his front paws on the ledge. When he pressed his nose to the glass, Jake could feel PJ’s shiver of anticipation as surely as his own. Or Jack’s? He wasn’t sure, which was strange in itself, when the distinction had always felt so marked. On that note…it was nothing short of astonishing that Jake was still standing on his own two feet. He’d more than half-expected Jack to take matters into his own paws to…do meeting his mate. Why hadn’t he forced the change? He sure as hell hadn’t changed his mind.
What’s exactly about it?
That much was a dead cert.
What was? That you’d still feel the same, but I might be fuck-witted enough to turn from him? Is that what you’re implying?
If you knew I wouldn’t, then what are you yapping on about?
Bonding. He was surrounded by lunatics, of that Jake was certain. He was far less sure how long Jack would—could—suffer his own heroics.
Now I know you’ve lost it. Compliments? Undeserved ones, at that…said ‘heroics’ are as selfish as fuck. For-ever-after goes up in flames if your crazy ass can’t abide PJ.
And you call me out for self-flagellating?
I am honest. You, are an ass-hat.
What happened to ‘we’?
Exactly. Think that through and you’ll win the blindingly obvious award for penny dropping.
Intolerable, as ever. Doing waiting was undoubtedly driving Jack demented.
Jake could shift here, in the cottage…but staring out into the night had made all their wishes as clear as a pane of glass. They wanted to go running with the wind…the moonlight seemed to beckon with the promise of a lover’s embrace. But…would PJ be safe out there?
What if he scarpered after catching sight, sound or scent, of something irresistible? He could stumble, fall, get lost, run over…or eaten by a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Oh why not? Jake might as well throw in the latter, if he was going to persist in being preposterous. It wasn’t as if they need worry about calling a vet if PJ had a…mishap. An oncoming truck could shatter his bones—briefly—and he wouldn’t wind up as roadkill. Jake just…couldn’t help it. The very thought of PJ, injured, made him feel violently sick.
PJ turned his fluffy head to regard Jake with the stargazy eyes he’d fallen in love with; their bottomless depths ablaze with amber flame. He could hear the hectic skitter of PJ’s heart, sense the wild joy thrilling through his veins, scent his excitement…and yet, it was laced with worry too. Worry? It was too specific to mistake, even amidst a riot of smells. PJ flicked his gaze from Jake’s shoulder to his face before hesitantly—as if he feared recoil—pressed his brow bone into the curve of Jake’s neck. His fur was a silken caress exuding cassia warmth…earthier now with nutmeg undertones.
The need to be near him, to hold him, was so intense Jake didn’t think once—let alone twice—about drawing PJ close, tucking his overgrown pup into an armpit. He wanted to wrap him in cotton wool and keep him safe forever. Phin had survived the shift…but could PJ survive himself? His own ‘excesses’…enhanced? A disconcerting thought, to say the least. F’chrissakes, Jake was clucking like a mother hen—rather than hungering to spit feathers after a satisfying snack—he really needed to get a grip.
You said it.
I think I preferred you in denial.
Why change the habits of a lifetime…just sayin’.
Jake burrowed his fingers into the downy fur of PJ’s belly, eliciting a soft huff of sound, steeped in bone-deep pleasure. Even the air seemed to still, cocooning them in a silence as potent as the promise beckoning them into the night.
PJ stirred first, lifting his head to spear Jake with such liquid longing it was impossible to demur. “’Kay. Stay close though. Promise?”
That molten gaze stilled to solemnity, alongside a nod. About a surge of adrenaline before blazing with a joy so incandescent it snatched Jake’s breath away. Hot on the heels of an elation too intense for his human self to contain for much longer.
PJ pushed his paws off the window sill and sort of…skittered around to lollop over to the door. Quite why he appeared to have about eight legs, Jake knew not, but the cottage was likely to collapse around their ears if PJ didn’t get the hang of them sharpish. A thought that made a (frankly batshit) grin flash across Jake’s face as he tugged the bedroom door open.
“Oh gawd…” he groaned. Behold, the staircase. “I’m going to stab myself if I don’t get a grip…I want to pick you up, so you don’t fall down the stairs.”
PJ all-but snickered, about a split second before shooting past Jake to launch himself at said deathtrap. His gangly form stretched in a gracious arc as he took a flying leap through the air. Jake flinched with pain when PJ crashed into the wall at the bottom with a yelp and crumpled to the floor in a pile of legs. Akin to the collapse of a furskin teepee.
“Fuck!” Jake cleared the staircase in a single bound to crouch beside him, heart hammering in horror. It damn near stopped dead when PJ remained utterly still. Jake broke out in a sheen of sweat, which possibly evaporated as steam when PJ’s head lolled back, tongue hanging out, legs akimbo, playing possum. “You…” he managed to splutter before PJ…sprang to life to slather Jake’s cheek with an excessive slurp of slobber.
“Eurgh!” he protested, raising his arm to swipe it off…and realised, rather belatedly, that he was still starkers. “Crap, I’d intended to head out human for ‘man walking dog’ purposes, but it’s pointless getting dressed.”
Dropping to his haunches, Jake cupped PJ’s face. “Don’t ‘do forgetting’. Okay…? You promised.” His voice rang with a resonance Jake hadn’t intended, but instantly recognised. Midnight eyes warmed, gleaming amber flame, then PJ nudged Jake’s cheek with his muzzle before glancing down the hallway. “C’mon…let’s go,” Jake agreed, rising to his feet. After following him to the back door, PJ raised his glittering gaze to ensnare Jake’s. Then winked and very deliberately, lifted a paw to scratch at it. Like a dog bursting for a pee. Or walkies.
“Y’pillock…” Jake grinned, reaching out to ruffle his ears; chuckling to himself when eternal eyes started rolling back in his head. Thus, negating the need to dodge another lavish lick while letting them out.
The night air hit Jake with the all impact of a triple tequila slammer. Exhilaration flooded his veins as he watched PJ lift his face to snuffle at it, sooty lashes gliding shut to savour its scents for the first time. An expression so sublime, it was far too much for Jack to take without finally claiming his mate.
The night air did hitting Phin like a hurricane of smells; too tempting to resist, too delectable to deny. Far too much to do absorbing all at once, let alone identify. A multitude of scent signatures, each hosting layer upon layer of notes within it, making even the most mundane seem exotic. As complex as fragrances created by a Master Perfumer, twenty times as intoxicating. An overwhelming onslaught of whiffs that made Phin feel too tipsy to do focusing on any one thing, when the world was awash with too much enticing.
The balmy breeze was a silken caress, rifling his fur like feathery fingertips. He could do staring at the sky—twinking with a trillion stars—forever without getting fed up but then, he’d always felt that way when he found stuff fascinating. Too much had never seemed enough to Phin. All of which made wearing his jackal self seem too similar to be strange, too comfy to set off a fit of the scratchies. His brain could scarce do telling the bloomin’ difference in its locale; he’d always had a head like an overstuffed sausage.
Hmm…now there was a thought, Phin was starving hungry. For everything. ‘Eyes bigger than his belly’, as ever. Yet another turn of phrase, since no one had seen his stomach to do comparing, but that hadn’t stopped them from opining thus. Adding ‘button’ would have made sense, but turns of phrase did not. Fact.
Another fact; Phin’s foibles had done surviving his dad. Then foxed all attempts to fix his wiring, so it wasn’t surprising that turning foxy hadn’t effected such a feat either. His synapses (or something such) were firing stuff off in a scattergun fashion, even more so than usual, so it might prove a tad tricky to do remembering about consequences. Phin couldn’t do mentioning this to Jake o’course, which was p’raps for the best. All things considered. At once. This was the biggest difference, his instincts had always fixated on one thing to the exclusion of all else, but now they seemed to be able to do zoning individually on all that was interesting, all at the same time.
“I’m too naked to hang about and Jack can scarce wait another second, so…” Jake told him, after dropping to his haunches beside Phin. “I’d better change while I still have a choice, but…PJ?”
PJ? Phin did lolling his tongue out. Was that the foxy name Jake had bestowed on him? Blimey…it was possibly safe to say that Phin was the only jackal in the whole-wide-world ever to be named after a pair of jim-jams. Jim-jam Jackal. P’raps he could write a sequel to Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats; all about a dastardly cove come to catnap Rum-Tum Tugger. That would be splendid…as long as they didn’t make it into a movie.
Oops...his head had done wafting off again; while pondering his starring role on the West End stage in Cats 2, it was also relishing the sensation of the fur-fluffling breeze and admiring the silvery kiss of moonlight shimmering off honeyed skin. He was also thinking very frisky thoughts about Jake’s distinct lack of jim-jams and doing lots of longing for Jack to come out and play. He’d also done keeping half an ear on the scurry of night creatures, in case he caught a whiff of something irresistible.
The latter must be an instinctive thing, as it wasn’t very likely that any niff on Earth could do competing with—or distracting him from—Jake…Jack, whose scent was growing stronger by the second. Suffusing Jake’s with a rich musk so luscious it made Phin Jimjams feel more than a mite squiffy.
Anyhoo…Jake had been about to say something—about half an hour ago—so Jimjams did focusing and cocked his head in an enquiring sort o’way.
“Don’t. Do. Forgetting…okay?”
Phin—dang, he couldn’t even do remembering his right name now—Jimjams did rolling his eyes and rustled up a top-notch nodding dog impression, even if he said so himself. Then swiped Jake a slurpy lick (his last chance to do so for a bit) as a see-you-later kiss. If p’raps an excessively sloppy one. Jake chuckled and reached out to do ruffling Jimjams’ ears…oooh…then unfolded himself to do rising to his feet. There he stood; burnished bronze and delectable in the dusky light of dark. Magnificent.
“Fuck. I…there really aren’t words…” Jake did raking a distracted hand through his hair, before bending to cup Jimjams’ face and do pressing a kiss to the top of his head: “I love you…both of you.”
Phin’s heart almost did bursting from his chest. He felt his eyes flare amber flame as a wave of warmth rippled through his body. Words too wonderful to have done imagining, because Phin wasn’t that daft. Oh, and Jimjams could smell…nary a trace of the wrong sort of spice Jake had labelled a fib. No…taint to do detecting. Just true blues ablaze with topaz intensity. Iridescence itself.
How Jimjams wished he could do saying it back, but he couldn’t, so he did a little whine, instead. Perhaps his eyes were luminous enough for Jake to do hearing, because his lips curved in a smile so sweet Phin longed to do lapping it. Not a good plan; Jack’s scent was driving him too doolally to risk leaping up. Toomuch potential for mishaps.
When the air started to do shivering around Jake in silvery waves, Jimjams stared, transfixed. He could do feeling it… The magic, radiating from Jake’s body in a pulse of power so primal it did tugging deep, deep at the core of all Phin was. The heady thrum thrilling through his veins felt as if he’d done grasping a live wire. He couldn’t smell singeing, but it sure made his fur feel fizzly.
Jimjams’ eyes could do tracking the change better than Phin’s had been able to. He now seemed to be watching in HD slow-motion. With excessively-enhanced smellovision, complete with digitally remastered surround-sound. A spine-tingling, breath-snatching torrent of sensory titillation. Jack…My Jack…coming to claim him. If Jimjams didn’t do going off like a firecracker first.
Jake did. Phin’s eyes widened with wonder, entranced, when Jake did exploding in a starburst cascade of white-heat. It was p’raps akin to watching the workings of an orgasm, if such a thing were possible. It might well be…as Phin seemed to be doing just that. A very squelchy one too, in a gristly, bone-grinding, tendon-twanging sort o’way. When Jack’s fur did flowing in a glorious swathe of stone-amber-grey, flecked with white, Phin could see the quiver of every tiny hair. Some toppermost tips were kissed black, to match the splendid sweep of ebony running along Jack’s back and superb tail.
Jack. He stood, majestic in the moonlight, muzzle raised skywards to do drinking the night into his lungs. A whimper of want did sounding in Jimjams’ throat as he watched, mesmerised. Mine.
“Mine…” The word did whispering through Jimjams’ head when Jack slowly—for all the world as if he were savouring the moment—turned to face Phin’s foxy self. Jack’s gaze was so potent, it did bathing Jim-jams’ body in bliss. Standing as naked as the day he was born before a pinewood fire—ablaze with blue flame on a frosty night—couldn’t begin to compare, but it came closest.
Jack’s walk was a symphony of movement; a glide of muscle over bone so potent it did thrumming through every fibre of Jimjams’ being. The heat humming through his body was a force in itself; fuelling the need, honing its appetite. A hunger as heady as Jack’s scent, as necessary as his next breath.
When Jack stilled before Jimjams, his lashes did fluttering shut when he inhaled, breathing in his…mate. After sniffing his fill, he did flicking his eyelids open and leaned close to do nudging their noses together. It’s moist warmth felt like a kiss and made Jimjams’ heart do pounding so hard it seemed intent on punching its way out to get at Jack. That furry flirt, hell-bent on driving him demented, was now sliding his muzzle along the length of Jimjams’, nuzzling him with a snuffly sigh. A too much engulfment as fathomless as if was flammable. There was only Jack. Sire. Soul. Mate. Mine. And Jimjams was his.
After a last little butt, Jack pulled back and did a wink before swiping a big slurpy lick across Jimjams’ nose. Then the scoundrel turned tail and did scarpering with a wuff. “C’mon!” in any language.
Jimjams’ tongue did lolling in a laugh as he set off after Jack. Scampering with four legs was such a head rush that his foxy self forgot to do concentrating…and may not have noticed that Jack had done stopping. At the garden gate, which caused a sort of crashing into it. A tad.
“Oh fuck…” Jack gruffed. It was most oddsome; Jimjams could not only understand Jack’s sounds, he could…do hearing feelings too. At the same time. It wasn’t like talking human, it was…a language of emotion. Far more fascinating than word-wafflish. Infinitely more intimate.
Jack whimpered when he did snuffling the top of Jimjams’ head. Once he seemed satisfied that nothing was amiss, Jack nudged him again with a huff that declared; “You daft pillock”.
Phin very deliberately glanced down at his own legs, then did regarding Jack’s shorter ones before lifting his tufty brows with a wuffle. “You want to try fandangling these, there’s toomuch of them”.
Jack snorted a chuckle as he did butting Jimjams again, before springing away sharpish. Oooh... Jimjams threw his weight forwards, a wee bit wibbly, but Jack dodged and did whipping around to come at Jimjams from the side, knocking him off his feet. Down he went; legs akimbo, taking Jack with him in a tangle of limbs. Jack had no sooner shot straight back up than done pouncing atop Jimjams for a scramble about in the grass. An exhilarating rough ‘n’ tumble scuffle of snuffs ‘n’ huffs, nipping teeth and flying fur. Intoxicating.
But best…most magical of all? It felt a very lot like four-play to Phin.