The Beast of Bodmin Moor
Jimjams padded across the scrubby grass of his happy place and raised his head to do gazing at the stars sprinkled across the sky. He might have done wagging his tail a tad too—with joy—not to waft any whiffs Jack’s way. That would have been most unseemly.
The saturation of husky musk infiltrating PJ’s nostrils did intensifying, alongside the wave of warmth emanating from Jack. Neither of which did doodly squat to prepare Jimjams for the lavish lick that sluiced his fluffy butt with a blast of hot breath. A tongue attack of too-much-moist-ness that made Jimjams damn near do jackalknifing in shock.
“Jack! I almost did biting my tongue off!” PJ yipped when the scoundrel did snickering in satisfaction.
Utterly unrepentant, the rogue just pointed out that it would have done growing back. How rude. Jimjams’ best attempt to muster up a mad-dog glower was met by the most impertinent snicker of: ‘Is that a promise or a threat?’
Phin would have to start making notes of all such new stuff: Jackal power progressions and slights to his person. For future reference.
Jackal Journal: work on mad-dog glower.
Current status: pants.
It was a good job Phin did learning fast. PJ had a helluva distance to do catching up with Jack…and forever in which to do it. Crikey, he was talking to himself in tandem now. That seemed a lot like sitting up front and behind at the same time. Dammit. How was his backseat self supposed to get away with forgetting to do pedalling?
A bit of bantering back ‘n’ forth left the air so soused in sex it made Jimjams feel a smidge squiffy. Can jackals get drunk? Jack had done choosing to lap some brandy in Phin’s campervan…a lifetime ago…so p’raps? So many questions…
Jackal Journal: Write thesis on said subjects. After starring in Cats 2.
Current status: Too busy. Jack must do making up for mating missed in last 2 years. Approx: >2(365 X 8)ish.
Behopes his dear sire couldn’t do ‘hearing’ all this inner wafflish. It seemed that PJ only had access to stuff Jack meant him to hear…so he’d just have to hope that eavesdropping wasn’t an acquired skill, or Jimjams was sausages. Strewth, he was starving. In every way…
“Is that nuff? I feel like a furry tripod.” PJ asked after widening his stance in an ‘assuming the position’ fashion when told to brace himself, lest he do falling off his legs.
“It’s perfect, as are you. I…we love you.” Hmmm. Jack’s words did wafting through Jimjams’ head as the most mellifluous melody he’d ever heard. We. He needed to do concentrating on that. Later.
Jackal Journal: Do pondering significance of Ja/ke’s pronoun shenanigans.
Current status: Batpoop.
“I love you two…” His Jimjam heart was jackalhammering as hectically as hummingbird wings. He felt light-headed enough to fall off the floor, let alone his legs. It had been quite a week of firsts, though. On the whole. He’d done waiting forever to lose his virginity, now he was about to lose it for the second time in a week. PJ felt sure this would be deemed excessive by less enlightened folks, just before they did dispatching Phin to the funny farm with a flea in his ear.
The waves of want and worry doing warring in Jack’s scent were making Jimjams dizzy. How he wished he could do reassuring Jack…but didn’t know diddly for sure. That didn’t do diminishing the fact that every fibre of his furry being believed Jack’s fears would prove foundless.
Jimjams wasn’t afraid, he was fit to bust with a fizzy anticipation so fierce his fur felt frizzled. When Jack did leaping up to hug PJ’s ribs with his front legs, his welcome weight seemed to be the only thing that could do tethering him to the earth. About a sharp intake of breath later, Jack’s cock did nestling where the need was so intense, Phin’s system might’ve done deeming it an overdose of too muchness. Lightweight.
“Okay…” There was a subtle shift in Jack’s husky scent, which seemed to smooth, in an adding Bailey’s to coffee sort of way. Lusciousness that was utterly eclipsed when Jack did thrusting inside PJ with one sublime snap of foxy hips.
“Fuuuuck!” Jimjams may have unleashed some howling at the moon racket, but he was too busy being blitzed by a sizzling sensory overload to be sure. It felt a helluva lot as if the sky had done exploding in a cascade of fireworks. Up his bum. But more—even more bedazzling—was the fact that Jack had, finally done claiming Jimjams as his mate. Mine. As ‘PJ’ was his. Just as Phin had been from the first…but this? This was binding. Jackals mate for life. Blinding. White heat; like a scorch of sunlit sparks off snow. As intense as magnesium flame. That superlative spine, staggering in any form, sweeping with such sinuous intent, it could only belong to Jake.
Watching Jake walk had always been more mesmerising than watching anyone else do anything else…but this…? Phin knew that Jake had done holding back, but knowing was a world away from feeling the full force of his thrusts and the scintillating speed with which he did pounding into PJ’s body. All this was but half of it. Jimjams could feel its echo do thrumming through, from, Jack. A fury of ferocious bliss mirrored back. Twice. There was only Jack—no past, present or future—just here, now, them; the pounding of twin hearts and foxy hips. As if forever had done leading to this moment. Irrevocably bound; mind, body, soul. Mate.
That was PJ’s last coherent thought…after that he was lost, lost to the kaleidoscope of colour unleashed on his senses by the antics of that stupendous spine. Jackal-hammering with fearsome finesse. Too much exquisite ecstasy to do holding out against. Too excessive even for Jimjams.
“Jack…I need..to do coming…”
Really? Was that why he’d been so worried? It must have been one of the reasons, if the candyfloss scent of relief spoke true. Daftie. Phin had done going off like a rocket beforeh—paws without being touched. So why the bejeezus Jack would fret about that, Jimjams knew not. The quicksilver cascade of sensations made it tricky to do concentrating. The rainbow riot of shattered white light made it impossible when the world did exploding and pulsing waves of sublime warmth did filling Jimjams up.
Jack huffed out a breath, blinking in an effort to refocus through shards of iridescent white, splintered into a spectrum of colour…and scent. It felt a helluva lot as if his senses had embarked on a free-for-all game of spin the bottle to select a specialist subject.
Jake? Made no attempt to contradict him, or even offer up a snort of affront…it might even be mooted that he stayed uncharacteristically quiet on the subject.
Okay…I’ll bite. But how the hell would you feel if you found yourself human with no warning whatsoever, after believing they were…mythical beings, about as real as Batman?
Much as you do, I expect. Odd that.
“Y’okay..?” Another superfluous query. The scent seeping from PJ’s pores was honey drizzling from a dipper. Lush with satisfaction.
“Hmm…very. Jack…?” When PJ craned his head around the amber had dimmed to tranquil brown, shimmering in the darklight.
“It was worth waiting forever for. I’ve never been less disappointed…” Jack assured him, answering the unspoken question. “Neither of me,” he added, realising that he was unsure which self PJ was wondering…worrying about.
“You’re a daftie…” His tongue lolled out in a big grin. “How could you be disappointed and not a jot disappointed at the same time?”
“I’m pretty sure one of us could persuade himself it was possible.” Jack couldn’t help snorting.
When you’ve quite finished maligning me…
I seriously doubt you’ll ever be done.
Jack didn’t deign to respond, just planted his paws on PJ’s rump and backed up a bit until he slipped free. PJ whipped around to face him and flicked his tongue across Jack’s nose before nuzzling his muzzle with a sigh as sublime as a silken caress.
“What would you like to do now…?” Jack wuffed.
“Show me the moors, Jack…Will you do sharing your favourite places with me?”
“O’course…always,” Jack promised. “PJ…please tell me the truth…I won’t be offended, how could I be? I’ve spent two years wishing I’d never gone to Glastonbury that weekend. So…if you could turn back time, would you bypass Bodmin moor, drive elsewhere…?”
“I didn’t do choosing to drive to Bodmin.” PJ’s answer was instant, without forethought. “I just did driving…and here I am. I couldn’t do changing a decision I didn’t make, could I? You’re not fussed about routes though, I don’t think…” he added, then cocked his head, midnight eyes twinkling with mischief. Twinned with truth. “I would’ve done driving to the end of the earth if I’d known you would be there to meet me. So…if I could do turning back time? I would have turned up two years ago.” His gaze was tranquil, unclouded by lies, his scent unsullied, but human habits die hard and thus, Jack found himself asking:
“You would? Even knowing…?”
“Especially knowing…” PJ dangled his tongue in a big daft grin as he rolled those star-strewn eyes. “Jake…?”
I heard him the first time…and the distinction, thank you very much.
Answer him then…
You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?
“If given a guarantee that I’d meet you, one day…then I would have gone to Glastonbury…” Jake acknowledged.
Stop being so smug…the qualification was quite clear, was it not?
Finding him was a done deal though, so the fact remains. Unless I’ve quite forgotten the burning desire you’d always nurtured to dwell in Cornwall?
“I think you did telling the truth. No matter, Jack will tell me.” PJ ensnared him with glossy obsidian too imploring to resist.
“True, much as he’s loathe to admit it…to me, rather than you.” Jack replied.
“I couldn’t do wishing for more in all the world then…well, not for me.” PJ’s last words were weighted with sorrow, his gaze glittering far too brightly.
“He...We have everything we want…need.” Jack assured him, swiping a lick across PJ’s nose. “I promise.”
Talk about me as if I’m not here, why don’t you, don’t mind me.
We ‘mind you’ very much—which is the entire point you seem to have missed—so stop cussing.
“Hmmm…” The spike of lust that speared Jack snatched his breath away. Rather than buckling beneath him, as seemed probable, his legs promptly launched him PJ’s way. Down they went, tumbling into the grass in a tangle of limbs and flurry of fur…and tongues that lavished everywhere they could reach. “So do I…” PJ promised, nipping playfully at Jack’s ear before springing up to nudge at his hind leg with his nose. Jack could no sooner have stopped it swinging wide, than donned a pair of Jake’s skinny jeans. His whimper of want was almost as wanton.
Wanton? You watch way too many period dramas.
You’ve always wanted to wield that word, so ’fess up. You are weirdly prudish for someone who spends half his life with his cock swinging in the wind. Just sayin’.
Jake? Quite forgot to rustle up a snarky quip…oddly enough.
Ooh that tongue…Aside from feeling almost as long as The Legs, it flickered like a firefly over the head of Jack’s cock, rendering him so insensible he wasn’t sure Jake would ever recover his powers of speech. It was about all Jack could do to clench his jaw and cling on tight, in a fast fraying effort to rein himself in.
DIY couldn’t begin to compare to the sheer lavishing PJ subjected Jack to. It was as obscene as the slurps of sound wafting his way…and those crawling up his own throat. Jack had just about got a grip when PJ set about his balls with a flattened tongue so fervent, they rebounded after each swipe, ratcheting up the need another notch or ninety with every lurid schlllurrp. Oh help.
“Phiiiin!” Jack howled, throwing his head back when the ever building pressure burst its dam and erupted in a blizzard of bliss that thrilled through every fibre of their being. Furry or otherwise.
“Hmmm….you taste even more luscious…with this tongue…” PJ purred while carrying out a far too thorough fur-coats-cleaned-while-you-wait valet service. Jack would soon require a reservicing if matters progressed apace.
It was with a sublime sigh that Jack rested his cheek on a springy tuft of cool moss and surrendered to the waves of warm pleasure lapping at his shores. Paradise…the moist, sultry smell of earth and the verdant tang of grass beneath him, the inky blanket of sky above. He lay, gazing up at stars that shone with the fierce brilliance of a stellar performance—in every sense—a first night show worthy of their special guest. For whom too much could never be enough.