Wafflish

Beast of Bodmin 18 & 19

Happy New Week to you… Chapter 18 was a smidge short so I’ve reposted it alongside Ch. 19 to make it flow a mite better. The new partPhin’sis beneath Jake’s. 

 

 

 

The Beast of Bodmin Moor 18

 

 

 

 

Jake

 

 

 

Jake’s eyelids flicked open. From deep sleep to awake and alert in an instant, he hadn’t luxuriated in a lie in since…the morning after the night before he found himself shackled to a jackal. The fact he’d also woken to no trace of a hangover wasn’t quite the consolation it might have been…had Jake not spent them drowning himself in whisky, in hopes of dousing his less edifying…thirsts. 

This state of instant alertness was promptly proved a laggardly start to the day by his very own cock, which had clearly been up and bursting with impatience for some time. A boner so insistent it was impossible to ignore—even if he’d wanted to—Jake did not. He was bloody ravenous.

After slithering from under the arm curved over his waist, Jake stilled when Phin mumbled something incomprehensible and threw his now free arm behind him. This tilted his weight rather more onto his back, which was a shift too tantalizing to resist. Slithering down the bed to slip his fingers beneath Phin’s rather more sleepy cock elicited a soft sigh, but he didn’t stir to consciousness. Jake had no sooner angled it towards his hovering mouth than wrapped his lips around it to slide oh, so slowly down; savouring every second with a tongue on a mission to make them count. By the time he reached Phin’s hilt, he was fully erect…and wide awake.

“Hmm…Jack…” His name was succeeded by the most superlative sigh to ever rifle Jake’s eardrums. 

Jake couldn’t exactly respond, but the jackal sure as shit could; with a goofy ‘grin’ complete with lolling tongue. Smug bastard.

Their battle of wills had taken on a competitive edge, it seemed. Could you actually win a civil war over (sort of) yourself? Not least when to win was to lose? To lose, win?

Did it matter a toss when victory and loss amounted to much the same sublime outcome? Fruits of his labours that didn’t seem too far in the future when Phin flexed upwards, straining off the bed with white-knuckled fistfuls of sheet clutched tight. Rolling purrs and writhing hips accompanied the trawling of Jake’s flattened tongue as he dragged his head back. An abandonment to pleasure every inch as lavish as everlasting legs… 

Jake picked up the pace, craving the moment that would soon be his to savour. Very soon, but it had been an unprecedented start to Phin’s day. When lean hips spasmed, the shudders that rippled along Phin’s spine vibrated Jake’s very bones…the shriek of his name almost as sweet as the cinnamon salt that spilled into his mouth. Jake drank him down with a thirst he’d started to suspect was insatiable.

“Hmm…” A smudgy smile smeared itself across Phin’s face when questing fingers sought, found, Jake’s hair.

“Morning…” His voice sounded as if he’d gargled with gravel.

“G’morning…thank you…”

Phin patently thought it was po-lite to add the latter to his own greeting…but the jackal was far from finished with him. He wanted more

Be fucking reasonable.

When the jackal huffed with disgruntlement, Jake steeled himself against the scything agony of claws. It did not come, instead? Jack’s eyes just gleamed greed.

That’s a compromise!? On which planet…Phin’s? Okay... I’ll take your compromise and raise you an ultimatum: if you so much as sniff a sheep’s arse after this, we’re going skydiving. Off a cliff.

*

“Oh, I’m not done yet…” Apparently. 

Jake clasped Phin’s wrist and gave it a swift tug that flipped him onto his front. Jake had settled himself between excessive legs and whipped away Phin’s pillow before he so much as got his bearings, let alone wondered what the fuck? Aloud, at least. The pillow would raise him a little, but not enough to grant them an access he as sure as (wot no) fuck wasn’t about to let go horribly awry. And dry.

The promise of paradiselostwas too alluring to risk…when this would suffice—for now—it seemed. According to compromise and promise alike. With perhaps a threat…thrown in as caveat. 

Phin possibly wasn’t expecting the consequences of said accord. 

“Fuuuuuuuck!”

“Guess again…” 

Thus, it was that, under the terms of their settlement and nary a sniff of sheep’s arse; Jake’s tongue embarked on its maiden voyage into uncharted territory. Even on his extensive map of misadventures. But so was Phin. Jake had never felt this way before. Was that all down to Jack? Could this all-consuming craving be attributed solely to him? It was incomprehensible, incalculable. Jake knew, beyond all shadow of doubt, that he’d want Phin with, or without, the jackal’s influence…but it was impossible to fathom how deep that desire would’ve dredged. A subterranean, bone-deep hankering to make Phin his own…or a quick shag after a pint or three down the pub? 

The jackal whimpered. Want. Jake bent trickle his tongue along the tender seam of skin  behind Phin’s balls before sweeping a luxurious sluice to the centre of their darkest designs. The shriek that ensued damn near shattered their ear drums. How they yearned to earn themselves many, many more. Too much more.

Phin gasped, gulping at air as Jake continued his mesmerizing ministrations. Nothing he had ever experienced—even in the last two years—had prepared Jake for the profound intensity of his own emotions. Or the ineffable intimacy of the moment. 

On what plane of consciousness might Jake ever have pondered such a likelihood? He’d sure as hell never sat on his sofa musing the metaphysical consequences of shoving his tongue where the sun don’t shine. Not even while blind drunk; a claim established as fact after exhaustive research.

A diligence Jake now applied to the matter at…tongue. An organ he now found himself—inconceivably—wishing he could trade with the jackal. Jack was…to the astonishment of no one ever? In complete agreement on this. Again. 

No shit, Sherlock. You have an uncanny knack for stating the bloody obvious, y’know. An unassailable fact proved by the current location of your tongue.

With the most fuck awful of all puns…just sayin.

This newfound simpatico was well on the way to disturbing…

 

***

Chapter 19

 

 

Phin

 

Phin’s knees gave way, or maybe his arms. He wasn’t sure which went first, he’d only been able to do concentrating on one part of himself for a wee while…oddly enough. Was that even legal? Phin couldn’t care a toot either way…but surely something that sumptuous must’ve been outlawed? Or—at very least—coshed by a Tongue Tax.

“Y’okay?” Jack asked, sounding a smidge worried. He was most odd at times. What the bejeezus could be wrong with Phin? Unless he’d dropped dead of delight.

“I am…too bamboozled to do talking?”

Jack was still chuckling when he catapulted off the bed, landing with light-footed aplomb a world away from Phin’s galumping thud to the floor. After wrangling himself around to flop onto his back, Phin lay staring at the roof, blinking a bit. Stone the bloomin crows…and some ravens too. And jackdaws.

He was too dizzy ‘n’ dazed to see straight. Even the images scrolling through his mind’s eye looked like one of those old crickle-crackle cine-film reels. Starring an excessively foxy friend and his very own bum. Foxy might only be a turn of phrase, but it was still very fitting for a certain sultry scoundrel with a Canidae slink to his lithe grace.

Lines from one of Phin’s favourite poems— ‘Thought Fox’—kept wafting through his head, so well-suited did they seem. He must have a mooch for The Hawk in the Rain later, when Jake left. Phin preferred reading the words even though he knew them by heart; it felt more intimate, immersing himself in a book. He revelled in the rustle of pages, their satin smoothness, the very smell of much-loved hardbacks. In truth, many poems penned by Ted Hughes seemed to encapsulate Jake’s essence; both steeped in raw, brutal beauty. Perhaps the hypersenses had recognized this all along…even though Phin had only got around to thinking it now. He had never felt as comfy with someone as a beloved book before. Jake was the living embodiment of their inherent conflict; oozing tender violence.

Even the tale that gave life to ‘Thought Fox’ was fabulous: Ted had been trying to write for hours, staring at a blank page until two a.m. before giving up and going to bed. He’d dreamed of a fox—a big one, as large as a wolf—who walked into the room on its hind legs. Charred; as if he’d stepped straight from a fire, with agonized eyes. The fox approached Ted’s desk, placed his bleeding hand (not paw) on the empty page and said: ‘Stop this, you are destroying us…’

In the background of these musings came the clink of cups and merry bubble of the kettle. Hmm…tea for two. It was perhaps daft, but the thought of Jack pottering about in Phin’s ‘kitchen’ was luscious. The scoundrel was so sexy, he made tea bags seem erotic.

“Teas up…” Jake announced, lifting the tray aloft. Balanced on bridged fingers too, like a fancy waiter in a swanky restaurant. Perhaps a French or Italian one, he didn’t look English.

“Jack? What is your surname?”

“McCain…” He answered while hefting himself into the nook, much as a gymnast mounted a high horse. Phin would never have managed it, but Jack hoisted himself up without any huffing and puffing. Watching the taut ripple of sinewy muscle was worth tossing the tray overboard for, in hopes of a replay. Chances were, Phin would have to fetch it himself, though. His own cock-a-leg-up and grasp-the-mattress-scramble couldn’t be considered the least bit saucy.

“That’s a Gaelic name isn’t it—Irish—not Scottish?”

“You…are astounding. How on Earth did you know that?”

“Easy peasy. Celtic mythology is my favourite…I learned some Gaelic along the way. That’s one of the reasons I came to Cornwall, it being a Celtic land. I knew my mum would have a heart attack if I got on a boat, which ruled out Brittany, Ireland, and the Isle of Man. That left Cornwall, Scotland, and Wales…I liked Dorset and I love Arthurian legend, so…Kernow it was. I drove to Tintagel first, it was even more magical than I’d hoped.”

“It is fantastical…” Jake agreed. “Was it the distance…or the boat itself that worried her?” His smirk suggested that he might be in cahoots with certain mum’s who found the thought of Phin aboard a boat cause for coronary.

“She didn’t do choosing between them…and still had plenty of space left for bicycle clips, clean hankies and losing my phone. And my van.” 

“Have you…?” The scoundrel asked, with a glint that implied the answer was a bit of a no brainer. How rude…

“You are, I believe, sitting in my van…” Phin sniffed, “…and the phone is…” Bummer. He paused to ponder the whereabouts of the pesky article, having put it “…in a safe place.”

“Would I be correct in assuming you’ve since found the van and the phone is…as good as lost?”

“It’s safely lost? I just haven’t found it yet, that’s all. It’s a smidge smaller than the van.”

“So…a yes on both counts.” Jake nodded—to himself, it seemed—like a pup on a parcel shelf.

“That wasn’t a question, so I don’t have to answer.” Phin noted. “Mine is Finley, derived from the Old Irish Gaelic ‘Findláech’. So there you go…two Celts aboard a campervan in Kernow. Perfect,” Phin grinned.

Sláinte…” Jack inclined his teacup at Phin before having a slurp.

Sláinte agatsa,” he responded, a mite absentmindedly, afore adding…Jack?

“Oh gawd. Why do I have a bad feeling about this… Yeeees, Phin?

“You’re a Jedi?” seemed as good a guess as any. “It’s not bad, I promise…it’s just that, you…um, haven’t had your turn.”  This caused such a splutter, his foxy friend promptly sprayed tea like a sprinkler. “Jack, you mucky pup!” Sinewy shoulders started quaking as he clamped his lips shut, eyes bulging as if they were about to plop onto the tea tray. “What!?”

Fuck—and before you ask—No. Oh hell….” That did it, Jack threw his head back and started yukking it up with gusto. It seemed a very un-Jacklike laugh—sort of unshackled somehow—which was most oddsome.

“Spoilsport. Can I do some slurping then…or…p’raps what you just did? When you’ve finished spraying your tea?” 

“There’s really no need to reciprocate…” Jack sobered in an instant. “I don’t—”

“Okay, but I still want to. I’d do it every ten minutes, if you’d let me. Then you’d have time for a cuppa in between…” Phin assured him.

“Why do I believe you?” Jake groaned, but his honeyed skin had flushed a fetching rosy hue. He really did ask daft questions sometimes, only he knew the answer, surely?

“Because it’s true?” That was Phin’s best shot. 

“I asked for that…” Jake snorted.

“You did…were you doing hinting?”

“Hinting?”

“For confirmation that I wanted to? Cos I do. Whenever you wish, I’m easy…but then we’ve already covered that. I’m telling far too many truths, I seem to be on a roll. That never ends well…” Phin admitted.

“Which is exactly what worries me most.” 

“Pardon?” Phin had no idea what that meant, but he’d sounded sort of…sad.

“That this won’t end well,” Jake clarified.

“It won’t. It can’t end well. Not even if you wanted to stay with me forever, y’daftie. One of us would die first, I’d hope it was me. Unless you shot us both, now that would be a plan.”

“Phin. Please hush up.”

“Was that happy hinting?”

“Yes.” Jake’s grin was devilish when he pounced to snaffle Phin’s very breath with oh, so greedy lips…

 

***

Guest · Release Blitz

Release Blitz – Nell Iris

Hiya…❤️🎄❤️
I interrupt this story to bring you a far more festive read from the wonderful Nell Iris:

❤️🎄❤️🎄❤️🎄❤️

 

 

Red Popcorn Strings & Gumball Rings

 

 

 

❤️🎄❤️🎄❤️🎄❤️

 

❤️🎄❤️🎄❤️🎄❤️

 

 

INSTAPROMO-112

 

Publisher: JMS Books

 

 

 

Blurb

 

 

Young couple Ellis and Casey’s Christmas is set to be a lean one. Struggling financially, they’re only able to manage the most basic needs for their holiday celebration. They can’t afford luxuries like a turkey. Or decorations. Or presents. Between the recent death of Casey’s beloved momma, and Ellis’ estrangement from his family, all they have is each other.

When Ellis finds the saddest looking Christmas tree south of the Mason-Dixon line thrown outside his workplace and brings it home to Casey, things look up. Because what more do you need to have a Merry Christmas than enthusiasm, ingenuity, and someone to love?

❤️🎄❤️🎄❤️🎄❤️

 

 

Nell Iris is a romantic at heart who believes everyone deserves a happy ending. She’s a bona fide bookworm (learned to read long before she started school), wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without something to read (not even the ladies’ room), loves music (and singing along but, let’s face it, she’s no Celine Dion), and is a real Star Trek nerd (“Make it so”). She loves words, poetry, wine, and Sudoku, and absolutely adores elephants!

Nell believes passionately in equality for all regardless of race, gender, or sexuality, and wants to make the world a better, less hateful, place.


Nell is a forty-something bisexual Swedish woman, married to the love of her life, and a proud mama of a grown daughter. She left the Scandinavian cold and darkness for warmer and sunnier Malaysia a few years ago, and now spends her days writing, surfing the Internet, enjoying the heat, and eating good food. One day she decided to chase her lifelong dream of being a writer, sat down in front of her laptop, and wrote a story about two men falling in love.


Nell Iris writes gay romance, prefers sweet over angst, and wants to write diverse and different characters.


Email contact@nelliris.com

Web www.nelliris.com
Twitter @nellirisauthor
Facebook page www.facebook.com/nellirisauthor
Facebook profile www.facebook.com/nell.iris.12
Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/nelliris
Instagram https://www.instagram.com/nell_iris/
QueeRomance Ink https://www.queeromanceink.com/mbm-book-author/nell-iris/

❤️🎄❤️🎄❤️🎄❤️

 

 

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Hosted By Signal Boost Promotions

 

❤️🎄❤️🎄❤️🎄❤️


Wafflish

Beast of Bodmin Moor 17

Hiya… I was asked to make a moodboard for  LGBTQIA+ Historical Romance’s 2019 Moodboard Project. I’d never made one before, but I had a bash:

Screenshot 2019-12-03 at 7.13.01 PM - Edited

A free-for-5-days copy of said trilogy seemed a splendid match for my fancy pants efforts:

Amazon UK

Amazon US

Um…moodboardery is a bit addictive… 😳

Screenshot 2019-12-03 at 10.34.38 PM - Edited.png

Without further ado…

 

 

 

The Beast of Bodmin Moor 

 

Jake

 

 

 

He would recognize those footsteps entering the Albion on a busy Friday night, Jake realised, listening to Phin make his way to the alcove. Nevertheless, it was not the tufty top of his head that appeared at the edge of the bed, it was a hand wafting a wet white cloth.

A flag of surrender; grimly ironic, when only one occupant of this van was succumbing to the wishes of the other two…and his own, of course. Jake still found himself chuckling as he plucked the cloth from Phin’s fingers to swipe across his chest. Deducing that one scent was distinguishable from the other elicited a ‘no shit, Sherlock’ from the subs bench

You’ll find yourself substituted as sharpish as your cutting ‘wit’, if you don’t watch it. You’re on borrowed time, as it is. Mine. 

You seriously expect me to believe you’d prefer to be out prowling the moors?

I’d need your head looking at, if I did. I’m not dogged in denial.

Why the hell were you so insistent on staying? It makes no bloody sense. None whatsoever. You’re prepared to risk his life? Really?

No…which should suffice as answer to the rest of your rantings.

I don’t trust you.

You never did.

That, makes less sense than sausages for supper.

*

Nothing wreaked upon Jake in the last two years suggested that Jack could, or would, put Phin’s safety before his instincts. A fact that left Jake tightrope walking between the jackal and his whisperer—with Phin’s life on the line—rather than his own. About all Jake could do, was hope. Vehemently. Hope for what though? Neither one would give in, Jack had made that quite clear…and Phin was as dogmatic as the jackal. Worse still, their unholy trio all wanted exactly the same thing. Jake was buggered if he did and buggered if he didn’t…despite neither miscreant being dead-set on that particular outcome.

Two tumblers of brandy were next to appear at the alcove opening.

“Thanks,” Jake retrieved them and retreated deeper into their nook so that Phin could climb in without upending the lot with an unwieldy limb.

“Hiya…” The top of Phin’s head and eyes peered over the edge of the mattress like an anime-style Chad, no doubt emblazoned with the legend: “Wot no Fuck?” 

Much to Jake’s amusement, Phin did succeed in wrangling his excessive self into the alcove without knocking their drinks flying. Fortuitous in itself, when it didn’t seem likely that Jake might lie back and allow them to wind up lying in a lake of brandy. Snatching two glasses out of mid air—before they spilled—might strike even Phin as somewhat extraordinary. Once settled safely on his side, Jake handed Phin his tumbler and mirrored his position, which left them facing one another, heads propped on bent elbows.

“Will you still be here when I wake up?” Phin asked, in a voice as soft as it was hesitant.

“I hadn’t intended to leave. Why d’you ask?”

“I wasn’t being greedy, I promise. I just…like to know stuff…so I don’t get scratchy.” Phin cast his eyes downwards, stealing his gaze away.

“Asking someone if they’re about to bugger off while you’re asleep doesn’t count as gluttony,” Jake assured him.

“I’m glad. I just didn’t want you to think I was doing hinting…” Phin was staring into his brandy as if all the secrets of the universe swirled in its depths. Was he avoiding Jake’s gaze, for fear of seeing censure there? Or safeguarding his own?

“Most people are greedy…they just don’t admit it aloud. Quite the contrary, they do their damnedest to conceal their avarice…” Jake murmured, “Self-restraint is the toughest subterfuge…more folk cheat than you’re crediting them with, Phin. Almost everyone lives a lie, in one form or another.”

“Why?” Phin’s nose wrinkle suggested an assault by a malodorous stench.

“Either to fit in…or play the role they aspire to, I guess.”

“That’s a bit daft…like borrowing uncomfy clothes, or swanning about in a swanky suit. I would feel scratchy enough to tear my skin off.”

“Or hack away at it…” Jake sighed, glancing at the gash that might never have been. All that lingered was a score line, now pillow-crease pink.

“That doesn’t work…only if I’m miffy with myself.” Phin corrected him, with an honesty few were prepared to turn upon themselves. 

I doubt he has a choice, dipshit. Do keep up.

“But you’re not greedy…except p’raps for bacon and brandy. So… you either fibbed when said you wanted me. You’re cheating…or you have superhuman self-restraint.” 

Superhuman. Strewth…excuse me while I fall off my legs laughing. 

Ha.Ha. I can’t even argue, you snarky git.

If it makes you feel better, we do ship super/human. I am super…and you’re sort of h—

YesThank you for the breakdown. Not. I am familiar with the lingo.

Colour me stunned…I never noticed the thirty-seven Johnlock fics you inhaled last month. By the way, if you ship our names…you get Ja/ke or Ja/ck. Odd that.

*

“Even if you fibbed, I still wish you were greedy enough to do forgetting hyper-restraint. That works out about as well as starving t’death…or sticking a cork up your bum.” Phin managed to opine this with an expression so sage, it made prequel Yoda appear foolish. The corker? Was added after a nanoseconds pause for reflection. “Not in a fun way.”

“Oh, I am, that’s what worries me…”  Jake muttered, half to himself.

“I don’t believe you…no, that’s not quite right. My guts seem to believe you…but my head doesn’t.”

“Wanting something and taking it aren’t mutually exclusive,” Jake sighed. “I want a lot of things I can’t have.”

“But you can have me, so I’m not one of them,” Phin shrugged.

“If only. It’s not that easy…” 

”Why? I clearly am. You said you’re not married…and you are not-a-jot impotent. I-I just…” Phin trailed off, rolling his eyes roofwards, as if an alternate reason might be spray-painted up there. “I’ve already done choosing, so it doesn’t matter what you say. I can’t do unchoosing afterwards. And that’s that. I’ve gone giddy now, shall we go to sleep?”

“Sure…beats slamming my head against a brick wall.”

“I think that’s supposed to sound like a metaphor…but…it isn’t. D’you do that very often?”

“Only when I’m pissed off with myself,” Jake admitted. He couldn’t bring himself to tell him any more lies tonight.

“I think you’re more dangerous to yourself than you are to me…” Twin pools of molten brown all-but bore holes in Jake’s soul. 

“I just…really don’t want to prove you wrong.” He dipped his head and his hair fell forwards obligingly. Concealing the treacherous sting of Jake’s eyes.

“I wasn’t wrong about Foxy. You were worried he would hurt me, too…but then, animals like me better than people, so…” An impish grin brought all such observations to an abrupt close. For which, Jake thanked his unlucky stars. Profusely.  “I’ll go and turn the lamp off, ‘kay?”

“‘Kay,” he croaked.

*

I hope you’re bloody satisfied.

Jack just regarded him with an unblinking stare…and the blatant belief that only one occupant of the bed was making a fuck awful mess of everything.

The light flicked off, then Jake watched Phin clamber up to join him; a lavish streak of ivory gleaming in darkness that wasn’t dark at all…unless Jake closed his eyes. Phin crawled beneath the duvet and lay on his side, facing inwards; arms bent, hands tucked beneath his chin. He didn’t reach out, nor brush Jake accidentally—or otherwise—which felt more bruising than being jabbed with a lethal joint. It was unbearable. Those lustrous eyes were scrunched so tight, it seemed that keeping them shut took more effort than holding them open at five a.m.

Jake found himself reaching out…to brush aside a few tufty strands of fringe. Apparently. Phin’s lids popped apart, revealing big brown orbs that defied their own darkness. As glossy as liquid glass. The apple-strudel scent of hope that flooded Jake’s senses was impossible to defy. He leaned in…until his nose nudged Phin’s, then paused, waiting. It had to be his choice after being rebuffed. A whisper of brandy-warm breath bathed Jake’s face as Phin lifted his chin, just a touch. Enough, to grant Jake access to cherry-ripe lips. Their mouths melted together and for an endless moment neither moved, nor spoke. Even the air seemed to still.

The jackal sat silent sentry.

Despite knowing damn well how ludicrous it was, Jake still felt as if his entire life had led to this… sultry shimmer of quietude as dawn hovered on the horizon. He could neither describe nor define it, just knew that it was. Nothing whatsoever happened. Yet everything did. Only the dual thud of their heartbeats bore witness to Jake’s epiphany.

The jackal just sniffed, a snort of sound which bore a startling resemblance to… do keep up, shit for brains.

*

“Jake..?” Phin whispered, their lips but a breath apart. “Can we do spooning? I think I’d like that. A lot.”

“Sure,” he chuckled. “Are you turning over, or me?”

“You, please. Um, that will fit better.”

“The real reason, please?”

“What makes you think I fibbed!?” Phin gasped. Innocence personified.

“Instinct. What mischief are you up to?”

“I’m not! Hmph. I just…if you were pressed back there my brain would explode. Oh…and your bum is luscious.”

“Luscious. Oh gawd,” Jake groaned.

“Yup…it’s a lush tush. I don’t have any more reasons, so stop fishing and turn over. I have no nefarious plans afoot…” The latter was intoned with lofty aplomb. Utterly incorrigible.

“That, I suspect, would be a first. Okaaay,” Jake huffed.  After dropping a kiss on the end of Phin’s nose, he turned to face the wall, grinning to himself when an arm was curved across his waist. After shuffling closer ’til their skin fused, Phin curled around Jake’s back, tucking bony knees into the crook of his own. The hip wriggle that followed almost finished him off. Jake froze—with an entirety that suggested lock down—as if the cock nestled in his butt crack had triggered a security system. A rumble Jake was not responsible for vibrated in his throat.

“Hmm…I love that noise,” Phin murmured into his hair. “G’night Jack, I’m glad you stayed. Too much methinks.”

“As am I…g’night.” Jake conked out almost the moment he closed his eyes.

For all the world as if someone, somewhere, finally thought he’d suffered enough.

 

***

 

 

Phin

 

Phin sighed, snuggling deeper into his pillow, listening to Jack’s snuffly breaths as he slept.  He had gone out like a light, so he must have been pooped.

While his own head was all whizzy, it wasn’t in a tired way, despite taking his tablets. There was just too much stuff stomping about in there. Not least the fact that snoozing through the spooning, rather than savouring it, was too sacrilegious to contemplate.

Jack seemed softened by sleep, stripped of his insistence on being mad, bad, ‘n’ dangerous to Phinkind. Yet sometimes—Phin had been doing concentrating—he saw glints of something sharp buried beneath his hypercontrol…biting into soft flesh with wince-worthy cruelty.  Perhaps that explained why he was so careful, controlled; guarding every movement, lest it gouged deeper and betrayed his pain. As silver-sharp as a blade, it felt a lot like loathing to Phin. A smidge akin to his own scratchy…but different. Harsher, meaner, spiteful…but not in the outward way Jake claimed. It was self-directed. He was as dangerous as he feared. To himself.

Of course, Jake could hurt him, Phin wasn’t that daft. If he lashed out in rage, then Jake could probably finish him off with naught but a blaze of blue, but Phin wasn’t scared of Jake, who could only kill him. Phin had to live with himself. 

It had forever felt as if he saw stuff he wasn’t supposed to…staring at it inside out. Or Phin was. One or the other, maybe both. Feelings sat on the surface, rather than hidden safely away. He didn’t mind, mostly, but it was tricky to focus on stuff people wanted him to. If he couldn’t, it made them miffy—they thought he wouldn’t—and got affronted.

Well…that was a lot of thoughts thunked…and Phin was still none the wiser. This is why he didn’t like going to bed. If his brain wasn’t busy it got bored and embarked on a bit of merry mayhem. Before Phin knew it, it had scarpered with the scraps of sensibility he could call his own; about the only thing he didn’t have too much of to start with. 

It was very hard keeping his mitts to himself too. He did have an arm wrapped around Jack, but its hand couldn’t go a-wandering as it wanted to. A temptation akin to chewing tin foil with fillings. It was getting lighter outside. Dawn was coming to steal away the darkness.

It was with a serendipitous sigh that Phin let his eyes flutter shut.

*

“Mmmm…” This, was The Best Dream Ever. Phin would go to bed more often if this lay in wait for him, rather than a snake-pit of too much stuff he’d rather not be ambushed by. Warm wet wondrous...a slip slide of lustrous…slurping.

Phin’s eyelids flared wide. Jack. Was here. There. He blinked. Twice.  Nope, Jack was still…down there.

“Jaack…” He didn’t answer, which wasn’t surprising, all things considered. Phin seemed to be half-lying on his back, with one arm stretched across the bed, the other resting on the sheet, beside his bum. His torso was twisted, with the top leg flung akimbo…like a dog having his tummy tickled. Most unseemly…and more than a mite flagrant. The whereabouts of Jack being every bit as blatant. Plush lips were sending shivery quivers of bliss here, there ‘n’ everywhere; a lush glide of hot, moist, heaven.

Phin was never going to manage making-it-last, after such a rude awakening. He’d barely got his breath back, then lost it again before the ball-bubbling bliss shot sparks up his spine and blitzed his brain with a dizzying rush of rhapsody (he’d always wanted to think that word, so he did, no one was listening). Bismillah! And Good Gawd, oh blimey… Jack swallowed him down with great greedy gulps, as if feasting on breakfast fit for a king.

“Hmmmm…”  A happy hum sounded in Phin’s throat as he patted about for a silky tumble of hair.

“Morning…” Gleaming lips twerked up in a rakish grin. The second sexiest view Phin had ever been treated to upon waking.

“G’morning. Thank you…” That p’raps drizzled from his lips like dribble.

“Oh, I’m not done yet…” The blue blazed topaz fire when Jake clasped Phin’s wrist and  gave it a sharp tug. His breath left the building—again—when he found himself flipped onto his front, face down in the pillows, before he could blink. When Phin craned his head around, it was just in time to see Jack snap his ankles apart…and crawl into the space he’d made in the middle.

“Wha—” That was as far as Phin got, cos the snaffler grasped the corner of his pillow and snatched it away. “Ooof.” That was a mite muffled on accounts of having a faceful of sheet.

An arm burrowed under his belly and up it went, before landing on the purloined pillow. All o’this took less time to gasp than what the bejeezus, so it was tricky to keep his bearings. Phin hadn’t recovered from his rackety start to the day yet. That had been too boggling to do concentrating on top of.  Phin may well have tried a tad harder if he’d realised that doing concentrating ever again might prove pointless.

So there Phin was, sunny-side up, with nary a breakfast in sight. Just sheet. A thought obliterated by the very next deed of Mr. mad bad ‘n’ dangerous to Phin’s last marble. Jack bent low…and swiped his tongue betwixt his butt cheeks.

“Fuuuuuck!”

“Guess again,” Jack chuckled, then swooped to swirl his tongue at the dip of Phin’s coccyx; the most ticklesome spine-tingling torture he’d ever endured.

“Jaackk!” Phin was left grappling at fistfuls of sheet, cheeks clenched tight, as Jack set siege to his senses with an excess of excruciating. Bliss. “Stooop! Pleeaaaaah!”

“Oh, okay then…” Jack raised his head, then clasped Phin’s hips and tugged them up. This, before butting the backs of his thighs to prop him onto his knees. Nothing in Phin’s whole life had ever prepared him for the next part. Not even slurpy rackets.

Jack trailed lazy fingertips along his thighs…curving around to clasp their tops, then swooped to sluice a long, luxurious lick…in the valley of Phin’s darkest dreams. His head nearly blew off. He perhaps shrieked so loud it was a wonder the windows didn’t shatter, which might have been unseemly. Had he not already been lying face down on the bed with his butt waving in the air. Being slurped from behind. Or possibly having his behind slurped.

Jack, had barely begun.

The next few minutes and forever felt as if he had a firework fizzing in his head…and bum.  A megalodon one—like the ones let off over the Thames—not a piddly one that fizzles a bit in your back garden. A huge fuck-off firework of brain blitzing hyper-too-muchness.

The way it felt physically, was a surface shriek of exquisite sensation…but the tsunami tongue swirling beneath? Was the darkness itself, secret, sacred, sublime.

*

Phin had known what an orgasm felt like before he met Jack, so he’d sort of been prepared…but only a bit. It had felt a helluva lot different with Jake doing the deedy. Phin had tried to imagine how it might feel to have sex and…sort of fiddled about a bit. But he’d never ever dreamed this might happen, let alone wondered what it felt like. Phin didn’t live in bum bliss paradiso. He lived in a camper van in Cornwall.

Thus, he had never envisioned waking up one morn to find himself served a tongue where the sun don’t shine. It sure left a morning cuppa in the shade. That noted… Phin had never met a robe snaffler on the moors, dead-set on stealing his sanity, either. He was starting to have a sneaky suspicion that Jake had looted a very lot more…

 

 

***

Wafflish

Beast of Bodmin Moor 16

The Beast of Bodmin Moor

 

Phin

 

“G’night.” Phin sighed, hoping it didn’t sound as…bereft as he felt.

He was a bit miffed with himself, because Jack was Here. In Phin’s bed, beside him. Almost naked. Wanting more was being greedy. Too Needy. Needy was not sexy at all, he knew this…which was very prob’ly why Jack didn’t want him. Despite his gallant attempts to be kind about it.

So kind, that he’d even claimed to want, no need, Phin Too Much…and not in the too-much-too-soon sort of way deemed so unseemly. That was too befuddling to fathom. If Phin wanted something too much, he couldn’t do concentrating on anything else. At all. That tended to make folk huffy so he did try to pretend otherwise. Peace o’mind was precious…and big fat fibs called white lies don’t count. Those are being considerate.

Jack had snaffled Phin’s robe when he’d needed something to wear, so why hadn’t he taken what was being offered so freely, if he wanted Phin? Too freely, was p’raps the problem. Phin was supposed to do ‘playing hard to get’ to tickle someone’s fancy, wasn’t he? It was a bit bloomin’ late to start now, even if he knew how the bejeezus to go about it. Lying-starkers-in-bed-with-a-stiffy didn’t seem the most subtle of starts, on the whole. Even with all the will in the world (and Phin possibly had a smidge too much, according to…most), he couldn’t sheer-force-of-will Jack to want him.

He was still pondering this when Jake surged forwards all-of-a-sudden. Snatching Phin’s breath away in a literal and metaphorical manner so excessive it would have been swoon-worthy, had Phin been standing up. Rather than flat on his back starkers beneath a nearly naked and surely needy Jack. Unless he was smuggling a substantial cosh about his person, perchance Phin got too frisky—despite having ensured that he could scarce move. This, on accounts of being squished by the wondrous weight of Jake’s body and boggled by the alacrity of his ambush. Blitzed by a sheet lightning bolt of bliss that obliterated all-but-him. This...was all Phin had ever craved; a passion so intense it could silence the white noise shriek of his senses…sweep aside the itchy insistence on more with a lust that scorned its very existence. 

Jake’s breath fluttered across Phin’s neck, followed by lips that locked there. Shivers sparked along his spine, scorching through his system, leaving him buttery boned and breathless and certain that there was no more than this. Than him. The heady suction tugged far lower down, even as it dragged the blood to the surface. Phin could feel the bruise blossoming and thrilled to it; a bit as a keepsake…but mostly because it seemed Jake was intent on marking him. This was somehow sexier than tasting himself in the kiss…that he wanted to. Had Jake told the truth, after all? If he had, then why was a lie lurking in its shadows? 

Did it matter, when he was here and hard and oh, so heavenly heavy? All Phin had ever wanted was splayed across his naked self, seeping sex from every pore. A man strong enough to sweep the scratchy aside….with an appetite to match its too muchness. Phin had waited a very long time for Jake. Sooo, it was a tad likely that he might crave sex stuff as excessively as his favourite food. In a too full for anything else sort of fashion. 

Phin’s spine was hell-bent on arching off the bed but that tilted his bum backaway—the wrong way. When he tried shoving his hips Jackwards, he made a sound so rumbly it vibrated against Phin’s chest. He couldn’t help but suspect that splaying his palm a smidge lower might help matters, so he slid it down to the small of Jake’s back, and pressed…yesss. But blimey. The base of Jake’s spine was so concave that the convex curve beneath was mind-boggling.

A swift flick through his freeze-frame stash coshed Phin with the fact he’d never actually seen Jack from behind. Or even in profile, sans snaffled bathrobe. He’d caught glimpses here ‘n’ there as Jack moved around, but you can’t ask someone to stand still so’s you can stare at their tush. That wasn’t po-lite at all.

Jack’s waistband was very in the way. Phin was starting to really hate Jake’s pants. That was a bit of a fib, in time-scale terms—and severity of dislike ones—but loathed them with every fibre of his being possibly counted as a smidge excessive.

P’raps…Phin edged his little finger under the elastic and stilled, breath abated, but Jake was intent on the tantalizing trickle of his tongue across Phin’s collarbone and didn’t seem to mind…so… Afore Phin knew it, his palm was splayed across the most magnificent mound of muscle imaginable. As taut ‘n’ tight as its skin was silken. Crikey...Phin’s throat may have made a racket that suggested it was smuggling a strangled cat. 

“Jake…please…”  The craving felt as if it was going to choke him; Phin could scarce catch his breath. The next bit was so brain blitzing it felt a helluva lot like Jake’s pants vamooshed. Or combusted. Phin was too bedazzled to tell the difference. One second there they were; the next, his cock was crushed to a scorch of rigid flesh as hot, heavy, as the breath at his ear. 

“Phinngh…sstop me…hurtchoo—”  Grit-strewn gibberish that cut off on a raspy gasp, but Phin had forgotten to do listening so he didn’t miss much. “Promise…” Jake groaned, dragging in a jagged breath while bracing his forearms on the bed. 

“’Kay…” That was a teeny fib. Jake let his head fall forwards in a tickle of hair and gave his hips a quick twitch.  “Ahh!” Phin bit down on his bottom lip, screwing his eyes tight shut, willing his cock not to have a hyperreaction that was farrrr too much, too soon. Another twitch that felt…a lot like a testing testing tap on a microphone. Phin held his breath, hoping Jake didn’t stop, never stopped. 

He did not. Phin’s lungs offloaded themselves in one helluva rush when Jake unleashed a snap of hips so sublime it cocked a snook to circumspection and all such stuff ‘n’ nonsense. Making a racket was marvellous but Phins entire self hadn’t been squished beneath Jake’s in a cock sandwich of brain-moggling too-much-never-enoughness. The rolling, winding, glide of Jake’s hips was the most mellifluous melody on Earth; a symphony of sensation that scoffed at the very existence of excess. Chewed it up and spat it out with nary a care for seemly, nor the scales themselves. 

Every note pitch-perfect—as if Jack had hot-wired himself to Phin’s system—hypertuned to the witterings of his lips, the tiniest twitch of hips. Making a mockery of the fears that held Jake so hostage. Fears proved foundless—unfathomable—by the intensity of his focus and sheer poetry of his spine. These airy-fairy-thoughts wafted along in the wake of those as visceral as the need gnawing Phin’s guts…as guttural as the groans clawing the walls and the blood boiling through his veins. The world behind his eyelids was a kaleidoscope of white hot sensation that scoffed at the spectrum itself. Awash with light-shot scarlet bright, blinding in its brilliance. 

“Y’okay?” Jake gasp sounded as if it was tugged too tight. Okay? If Phin had ever felt better, he sure hadn’t forgotten to remember it.  

“Yessss. Jake…I-I…”  The rest melted away when Jack let rip a fulsome snap that shredded the last sliver of restraint Phin was clutching tighter than the sheets snarled in his fists.  “Jaaakke!” scored the walls when a cascade of bliss shattered his brain while battering its way through his body .  Jake must’ve been holding on by the skin of his teeth, ‘cos Phin had scarce snatched a breath when he shuddered and stilled, trembling as a second hot rush of sticky spilled across Phin’s skin. This, as his name resounded around his head…the most exquisite echo he’d ever heard. A sumptuous sigh caressed his chest when Jake’s lush weight slumped onto it. His hair was stuck to his face, slick with sweat, so Phin lifted a tentative hand to smooth the tangled tendrils aside. 

“Phin, are y—” 

“No…” he interrupted, which was rude, but Phin done lots that was rude of late and Jake hadn’t seemed to mind. “I’m not hurt…” he murmured, still stroking. Ditto.

“Y’wouldn’t fess up if you were…” Jake chuntered.

“You’d know.” Phin shrugged. “I know you would. You just wanted to hear it out loud, as if that made it more true. It’s as true as the fact I would be just as glad it had happened if it cost me my last breath. So there.”

“Don’t say that…” Jack groaned. 

“So there, or popping my clogs? They were facts so I ‘fessed up…you have a bit of a bee in your bonnet about admitting stuff.”

“Don’t tempt…fate. ”

“Why? D’you think I’ll get smited?” Phin did his best not to grin. It was quite dark in the nook, though.

“I think you’d dare the devil himself.”

“Only if it was worth it,” Phin owned, while he was on a roll, an’ all. “…Or p’raps, if I was bored.”

“Phin…” Jake growled. A despairing one. Not at himself.

“It’s very sexy when your voice goes all growly.” Oops…the snowball situation was getting out of hand. Ah well, at least the question burning a hole in Phin’s head hadn’t made a bid for freedom.

“Oh fuck…” 

“Can we do that next?” Oh. Dear.

“Christ…” Jake let his forehead crash onto Phin’s chest. With a groan like the clang of a dungeon door. 

“Oops…should I not have said that?”

“I need a drink. And a gun.”

“My mum always said I’d get myself shot.” Phin sighed. It sounded regretful.

“I didn’t intend to shoot you.” Jake humphed. 

“Well, I’m glad I haven’t got a gun then. I don’t want to die a virgin.”

WHAT!?” A whiplash reaction as swift as it was fulsome. 

“I haven’t ever—”

“I know that...but why the hell would you die a virgin? You are the most ench—”

“I knew you’d know…” Phin butted in, too abashed to wait for the worst. “I’m sorry…was it very dread—”

“God No!” Jake snapped, the blue ablaze in the semi-darkness. “Don’t ever think that. Phin, you drive me demented.”

“I am very irritating.” Phin acknowledged, stifling a sigh that would sound ‘sad’, when he was simply telling the truth.

“No! I meant…oh, shit.” Jake’s fingers snagged in his hair when he tried to rake them through it. “I meant…demented in the desperate sense. I’ve never craved—”  Jake broke off a bit abruptly to prompt; “You didn’t answer my question. What did you mean about dying a virgin?”

“If you shot yourself.” Phin didn’t beat about the bush, in hopes of hearing what Jake had never craved, all the sooner.

“Y’what?!” he gaped, agog. Heavenknows why, that was a fact, pure and simple. Jack sure couldn’t wind his hips like that if he was dead.  “You’d meet someone else—someone far better than me—you can’t say that!” 

“I won’t—I don’t want them—I just did,” Phin rattled off, with a shrug. This was the most pointless chat on the planet. His mind was not a pair of pants or a jumper.

“Phin, listen to me. I don’t want you to feel—”

“And I don’t want to be a virgin, but you won’t listen…”

“Grrr…”

“Grr…y’self. I thought you wanted a drink?”

“I do,” Jake huffed.

“Then stop huffing ‘n’ puffing so I can go and fetch it.”

“You’re impossible.” Jack snuffed out a fringe fluttering sigh and hefted himself off Phin’s body. The cold cosh of loss was more than a mite abated by the liberal smears of sticky adorning Phin’s skin. Theirs. Not his. He was p’raps grinning like a loon when he lowered himself to the floor.

After grabbing a couple of cloths, Phin dipped them in the bowl and squeezed one out for Jack, then stood under the nook and held it aloft, waving it like a peace flag. Jake was  chuckling when he whipped it from Phin’s fingers, which stretched the grin to ear-licking levels. After pouring a two tumblers of brandy Phin raised them above his head and waited for Jake to retrieve them before clambering back up.

The fact it was tricky to recall the last time he’d crawled into bed not wearing half his nightcap was a cherry on top, it must be admitted. On that particular topic…it might be best not to confess the scoundrelly shimmer of hope in his heart… 

 

 

***

 

Wafflish

Beast of Bodmin Moor 15

The Beast of Bodmin Moor

 

 

 

Jake

 

 

 

Jake crawled the length of Phin’s body and hovered above him on all fours, gazing down into pools of liquid midnight. When berry lips smudged in a smile, Jake dipped his head to trickle his tongue across the lower one, then tugged on it with tender teeth. A miracle as ineffable as Phin himself. 

Everlasting arms wound around Jake’s neck and tightened, so he steeled himself and unlocked his elbows, allowing his weight to be…welded to acres of naked flesh. A soldering of feverish skin to silken ivory that crushed the crippled contents of his pants to Phin’s far more satisfied cock. Jake was clinging to his undercrackers like the last sliver of sanity they were. 

“It’s odd to taste myself on your mouth,” Phin told him, when Jake risked cranking his eyelids open. They had slammed shut on impact, alongside a rifle-shot gasp.

“Odd in a good way or bad?” he rasped, in a voice like ground glass.

“Oh, goood. It’s sort of…sexy, on your lips.” Phin decided, after pausing to ponder the most erotic taste on the planet. Jake was still grinning when he rested his head on Phin’s chest, and lay, listening to the steady thrum of his heart.

Their favourite sound in the world—by far—apparently. A thought that should have been enough to wipe the smirk off Jake’s face. It failed. Dismally. 

“‘Sexy…’” Jake repeated, too charmed to resist…chasing the stick. Clearly. “So…what else feels sexy?” 

 “Your skin squished to mine…making a racket…when your lips do the twerky thing despite yourself…watching you walk…”

‘When your lips do the twerky thing despite’…who you’re fooling no one except. 

“Watching me walk…?” Jake asked, ignoring snarky asides from the backseat.

Ouch. Bitch.

“Hmm…walking’s not really the right word. You prowl…like a panther.”

“I…” Jake didn’t have the foggiest idea what to say to that gem. It was an irony too …beastly for banter. Is Jack evident in my body language now? He had no idea, having assumed that he’d skulked around scowling for the last two years. That seemed far more feasible than the notion that Phin observed the same things as the rest of the word. Even if he did, that bewitching brain saw whatever the hell it wished. How Jake wished he could see himself through those enchanting eyes. 

Remaining still was no longer an option. If he didn’t shift himself, then he might shift full stop. The worst of this was a feat too astounding to fathom; Jack was uncannily calm. So why the fuck do I feel fit to bust?

Your guess is as good as mine?

No. It’s not.

You’re right. It is yours.

What’s mine?

Your guess. 

What are you on about? My guess is as good as mine?

Not quite. Not ‘as good as yours’… IS. Yours.

You. Are doing my head in.

Why change the habits of a lifetime? Just sayin…

Goddamn dog. Too smug to make sense…there’d be no living with him after this. It was with a sigh of resignation that Jake slid a knee between Phin’s thighs in order to lever himself up.

“Hmm, will you do that again…the fidgety thing?” His smile was pornoseraphic. If that wasn’t a word, a lexicographer had never met Phin. Jake’s hips twitched, entirely of their own volition. “Mmmore…” 

Oh god…they’d drill him through the bottom of the campervan. It was all wrong…he couldn’t just…rut against him on the bloody floor, like the mangy mutt he was. Jake could not. Could he not might be the more pertinent question. His hips were in league with the devil dog.

Better a devil dog than a dogged dullard. 

Jake had a horrible feeling that Phin might agree. Jack was far more…congenial company. Far better for Phin than Jake could ever be. 

I think my brain just burped, y’might want to get it looked at.

I might be a bastard, but I’m not deluded. Worse than that; I believe it. Phin would choose you, and I know it.

Aside from the part where I can’t recall ‘choice’ being an option? Phin doesn’t do choosing. He said so. He wants, or he doesn’t. He wants you…and me. Simple.

Are you trying to drive me demented? 

You’re managing that all on your own. Moove, you tetchy tosspot.

“Phin…”

Please…?

God, those eyes. They were more deadly than Jack. Jake screwed his own tight shut, dipped his head and took a deep, calming breath..which promptly proved the most Baldrick worthy of all cunning plans. Inhaling poppers would have been wiser than the concentrated hit of skin/sex/sweat that assaulted their senses. 

Jake’s hips juddered, nudging his cock against the rapidly stiffening one beside it; a friction too far for temptation. He swallowed, a thick, meaty squelch of sound, as lurid as the lust lashing his system.

You thought ‘loins’ first. ’Fess up. 

Bastard.

Odd that. 

*

Jake…girded his loins and gave his hips an experimental twitch. Pure, primal need shimmered down his spine, boiling through his blood, seeping from his pores, as necessary as their next breath.  “Fuck…”  

Really?” How the hell had Phin crammed so much hope into two syllables?

“No!” Jake damn near barked.

“Oh. You don’t want me…that way?” Words as steeped in sorrow as the scent that stabbed Jake in the guts. Higher. 

“Yes! I mean, no…I just…can’t.”

“I-I don’t understand…I’m too muddled.” The dark wings of Phin’s brows crumpled, those eyes huge, imploring. 

“Phin…I don’t just…want. I need you. Too Much,” he groaned through gritted teeth, seizing on the one phrase Phin would recognize as…significant. A Trojan horse secreting so much more. Definitive. 

“‘Too much, too soon’?”

Damn. He’d trotted out a phrase he must’ve had drilled into his head too often to ‘forget’. He’d filtered ‘too much’ to mean far less than it did in Phin-speak, because Jake had been referring to himself. 

“No…in your terms. Too much. To be safe.”

“Oh. Well, I’ve survived m’self. See, I’m not made of china.” Oh, but he’d break just as easily. Phin pinned on an expression best described as ta-dah, sorted. It didn’t quite reach those eyes. 

Slow? He saw more than most. Perhaps in a less…pedestrian way, he was pure instinct. Stripped of artifice. Emotion flayed back to bone. Jack had recognized as much long before Jake caught up. 

Too much crap in the way, that’s why.

So what if I trip then, smart arse? Shatter his hips, crush his ribs, puncture a lung, snap his neck…

Ye of little faith…

In myself? Merited. How the hell do I explain the inexplicable? 

Tell him the truth.

Fuck no.

“I know you’re not made of china…but I-I can’t—whatever I say will sound—”

“If you tell me the truth, that’s how it will sound. Fibs tie knots. That’s why peeps make my head hurt…I have to stare too hard. Picking at knots.”

“Some truths are…impossible to air.”

“Air…or share? With me?” Phin sighed. For the wrong reasons. Crap.

“Impossible, literally.”

“You should forget to do listening to ‘impossible’. How can it be, if it’s your truth?” Phin frowned, lifting a forefinger to brush the space between Jake’s brows. “Jack…why are you so sad?” Words as silken as the stroke. 

“Sad? Because I’m fucked up…and I’ve fucked this up too.” 

“You haven’t fucked anything. I’d better not say ‘Sadly’, it wouldn’t be seemly. You’re a bit befuddling…but it’s very hard to do concentrating.” An illustrative twitch of hips was followed by a question from so far left-field, Jake wouldn’t have seen it coming with a wide-angle lens. Rather than blinded by extreme close up.  “Are you going home now?” 

“D’you want me to?” Jake wondered. That mattered more than ‘why’.

“Not a jot…unless I’m making you sad.”

“No…you’re not. That’s all on me…” Jake sighed, bowing to the inevitable. “I don’t want to leave. But I’m not taking your bed.”

“Will you take half of it?” Phin’s beam was the burst of winter sunlight breaking through clouds. Jake had no choice. Other than four legs or two.

“Yeah…”

“I’m very glad…Jack? Um…” Another twitch. “That can’t be comfy…” 

Jack? Seemed prepared to be patient, for the moment. As long as they were staying put. 

Happy now? 

I’d be a helluva lot happier if you were ‘comfy’. 

Y’such a gent. 

“…And my bum has gone numb,” Phin added, with a wriggle. “It is very late…I should take my tablets. Can we go to bed now?” Big brown orbs blinked up at Jake, innocence personified. Lethal.

“Sure…” Jake planted his palms on the floor to push himself up. Froze. Roll off, or spring up?

Horizontal to vertical in the blink of an eye? You might as well just shift and be done with it, numb nuts.

I hate it when you start making sense. Roll, it is…

*

The moment Phin had clambered up and pottered off to the loo, Jake bounded to his feet and stood for a moment, staring up at the alcove.

You’d rather be dead than deny yourself this, admit it.

If only that was the deal on the table, I’d take it. Rather than risk the exact opposite. 

Jake bent his knees a little, then sprang lightly onto the bed to land in a crouch. There wasn’t much head room, to say the least.

Good job we’ve sorted that, then.

What the fuck? Forget it. Not happening.

Is, too.

I’m not budging. No condoms. No lube.

Aside from the fact you haven’t had sex in forever…use your pea-brain. It might not be as flexible as my spine, but still… 

Christ. Was that visual really necessary?

Some of us don’t have hands, just sayin. But I’m feeling benevolent…I’ll spare you a truth you cannot deny. For fear of being smited, if nowt else.

Thanks.

Did I detect a smidge of sarcasm? Stop overthinking everything, you tedious tosspot…you’re driving me demented. I never once mentioned mating. You’ll find yourself rutting rocks on the way home if you keep this up. Literally. 

What theMating!?

A snigger from the backseat was his only response. From whence I’m supposed to accept counsel? It was all going to hell in a hurricane jet. Next stop, a therapy session with Dr. Lecter.

Still, it was with an inner and outer huff of contentment that Jake crawled beneath the covers. Strewth. Cocooned in purgatory. The scent wafting from the duvet had all-but clobbered him with a breeze block on landing. Now he was swaddled in it. And a sheen of sweat. Jake lay, flat on his back, staring sightlessly at the roof. Every sense aflame with awareness, anticipation coiled hot, heavy in his gut. Ravenous.

“Hiya.” A tufty head poked into the alcove, followed by far too much of the rest of Phin. Still starkers.

“Hiya y’self,” Jake grinned, turning onto his side and backing up a bit while Phin manoeuvred his extravagant self into bed. A feat accomplished with sharp elbows and (too) much wriggling. 

“Oops, sorry…” Phin whispered, once settled to his satisfaction. There was barely a breath of air between their bodies. Heat shimmered in the sliver of space like a force-field. It was akin to being microwaved with a banquet-batch of cinnamon cookies. Drizzled with sex, marinated in naked need. Laden with longing. Longing? That was the least of it. Jake’s veins were ablaze with liquid lust.

He was afraid to speak, for fear of shattering the silence. As if that would be an act of violence…like plunging his fist through a stained-glass window. Instead, he lay, listening to Phin’s heartbeat tattoo his own.

“Jack..?” 

“Hmm?”

“G’night.”

The hollow loss of hope assaulted Jake’s senses. He could taste it. His entire involuntary nervous system spasmed in response, thrusting him forwards in a breath-snatching slam of skin that rolled Phin onto his back. A whimper of want caressed the curve of the neck Jake buried his nose into and inhaled; long, slow, deep, drinking him in. Heavenscent. 

The rush of relief was the spark that scarfed the trail of dynamite.

 

***

 

 

***

Wafflish

Beast of Bodmin Moor 14

❤️Wishing you a wonderful thanksgiving…I hopes you have lots to feel thankful for❤️

 

 

The Beast of Bodmin Moor

 

 

Phin

 

 

 

 

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 muscletendons taut, standing proudshrieking 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.

 

***

25395792_1312984798806791_7767767145407370890_n - Edited.jpg

Wafflish

Beast of Bodmin Moor 13

Hiya, we’re at 33,000 words or thereabouts now, so I’ve added a #beast tag to each post, perchance that’s helpful along the way. Thank you, as always, for reading🥰

 

 

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

 

The Beast of Bodmin Moor

 

 

 

Phin

 

 

“Jake…”  flitted free, filling the chasm when their mouths smushed apart.

Jake hmm’ed a rumble of acknowledgment that shimmered down Phin’s spine in a shiver of heat. Chased by a scatter of kisses, smudged across his jaw, towards his ear…neck…where Jake fastened to drag the blood to the surface and Phin’s knees floorwards. They could scarce hold him up. The only part left utterly unbuttery with bliss was twitching fit to bust in his pants, aching for the fiery friction of Jake’s touch.

“Phin, I shouldn’t be here…” Jake’s groan ghosted across Phin’s skin, but he didn’t move a muscle, even to raise his head.

Why shouldn’t he be here? Is he married? Is that why he’d left in such a hurry? Had he remembered his wife would be cross if he stayed out too late? He doesn’t wear a ring, though…but then, lots of men don’t…

“I’m glad you are.” Phin told him, rather than clobber Jake with questions. Somehow sure he wouldn’t want to hear them and, even if he did, it seemed a lot likely that Phin would hate the answers. He didn’t want to spoil it. Even if this was all he could have, all he could ever hope for, he wanted it. A bit of Jack was better than lots of someone else.

Phin didn’t want anyone else. It was too late.

He was already besieged by the skittery thrill that blinkered him when spellbound by a new passion. He’d be minding his own business, absorbed in his trove of treasures, content as can be. Then slam, Phin found himself coshed by an all consuming kaleidoscope of colour that carried him off on a rainbow ride of discovery.  A hypermission to secure all he could find to nourish his need to know more. To drench every sense with its essence and fill his happy place with more of its magic. It had happened forever, Phin recognised it as readily as his own reflection.

This, was more than that. Much more…p’raps too much more, having met Jack just yesterday. Quite how that could be made to matter a jot, Phin knew not. He loved things or hated them, instantly. If he didn’t care a toot about something, then he never would. He couldn’t make himself be interested, nor could he force himself enjoy a boring book or love a sour-as-a-sucked-lemon relative. That was just daft. Like asking Phin to try and wear orange. 

It would be best not to tell Mr. Neil about this new and (too) much improved fixation, or Phin would find himself forgetting a refresher course of Cognitive Behavioral fix-its pronto. It was supposed to teach him how to Not Do Stuff Too Much. Phin was living proof of its towering powers of persuasion.

He was pondering all this while watching Jack have a fight with his leather jacket. It seemed to want to remain shrink-wrapped to his body despite his best efforts to yank it off. Phin had never expected to find himself sympathizing with the wishes of a coat, but couldn’t help hoping it didn’t win its battle. The scuffle had started about a snatched off breath after Jake wrenched himself free with a grit-strewn groan.

“Sorry…” his heroic victor muttered (eventually), tossing it aside. 

“Are you sorry about the kissing, or sorry the kissing stopped?” Phin wondered. Out loud.

“Um, both probably.”

“I’m sorry you’re sorry about the kissing,” Phin stifled a sad sigh while cramming his host hat on (inside) his head. “Would you like a drink, instead?”

“Please…” Jake nodded, shoving his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans. If only they came off next…or his t-shirt. Preferably both. Phin poured another tumbler of brandy and handed it to him. “Thank you,” Jake remembered to say after draining the glass with one Adam’s apple-bobbing glug.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” Phin admitted. “Was I wrong, or did you change your mind?”

“No, you were right. I-I’m no good…for you,” Jake insisted.

“Pfft…I’m very fed up of the fact that not-good-for-me things are always the fun stuffs. The ones I want most,” Phin grumbled.

“You’re a liability waiting to happen to yourself, you know that, right?” Jack sighed a chuckle about a sharp-shooting eyebrow before ambushing Phin with a query he sure hadn’t seen coming. “Speaking of…what did you do to your arm?” 

Phin glanced at his wound, then blinked. Twice. The crusty gash was…well, it wasn’t a crusty gash. It was…a ragged purple slash across his forearm.

“Oh. I…um, did an accident. S’okay though…it looks lots better already.”

“Hmm…” Jake sniffed, regarding him with squinty eyes.

“Oh, Jake!” Phin piped up, hoping to distract him. “I saw Foxy on the moors tonight, so I didn’t dream him up. I don’t think he is a fox, I didn’t last time really, but he’s not a wolf either…maybe a coyote, or a jackal?”

“In Cornwall?” Jake’s left eyebrow shot skywards again.

“We already have a black panther, so why not?”

“Why not indeed,” Jake grinned, shaking his head a smidge. “Weren’t you afraid he might hurt you?”

“Pah…no. Not at all, I told you, he’s friendly,” Phin shrugged, with a smile. “He sat down beside me and let me stroke him. It was cosy.”

“See? You’re a walking liability. D’you plan on swimming with sharks next?”

“That’s dolphins, you daftie. I’d love to do that. Jack…? Why are you no good?” Phin paused, then added, “For me? That’s how it sounded, as if you meant I’m no good full stop. Are you married, or a murderer?”

“If I’d got married, I would probably have both covered by now,” Jack snorted. “But no, not yet.”

“Not yet married or not yet a murderer?” 

“Either. Both.” Jake’s shrug suggested that Phin had asked if he wanted chunky monkey or chocolate ice cream. 

“D’you plan to?” he couldn’t resist asking.

“Which one?” Jake’s lips twitched with a smirk.

“Either, both.” Phin parried.

“I-I…can’t rule either out.”

“I know…” Phin sighed, barely above a breath. And promptly found himself bludgeoned by a blaze of blue. Blimey. 

“D’you have a death wish?” Jake’s voice was a low, lethal lash of sound. A ‘fearsome’ one.  It sure made Phin’s toes curl, but they weren’t scared.

“Nope, not really…although I think I could have an accident,” he had to admit.

“Phin. Your dissembling is an art form.” Jake informed him with another squinty stare.

“Thank you,” he beamed.

Jake just did the head shaking thing again. People often did that, funnily ’nuff, just before sighing, ‘Oh, Phin…’  Never with such a finger-tingling tumble of hair, though. “I should probably go…let you get to bed.” 

“Oh.” Phin couldn’t keep the disappointment from his voice. It landed with a dull thud on the rug.

“I just thought… well, it’s late and I turned up unannounced. Again.” 

“I don’t mind. I won’t go to sleep unless I take my tablets, and I haven’t had them yet.” Then, quicksmart, before Phin could think worse of it, he added; “You can stay here, if you like, I’ll kip on the sofa seat.” 

“I…Phin, I really should g—” Jack broke off with a sharp breath that made his eyes scrunch up as he doubled over, clutching his stomach. “FUCK!”

“What is it…? Jack!?” Phin was afraid now. Afraid and fretting, scratchy and scared. “What’s wrong?” 

His golden skin had gone ashen grey, agony etched upon his face. “S…sss’kay,” Jake ground out through gritted teeth. An outright lie. “I’m ok—shiiit, okay…okay! F’fucksakes!” he snarled. It didn’t seem to be at Phin, but there was no one else to snarl at.

“What can I do? D’you want…water, brandy, a lie down?”

“I-it’s just cramp. I’ll be fine in a minute. No doubt,” he growled. Then: “Phin, is the offer still open…?”

“To stay here?” he asked, unable to think of another offer he might have made. He tried not to sound too hopeful, eager, despite the happy dance antics of his heart. Jake was suffering. Despite his insistence on being ‘fine’ in a mo.

“Yeah. I’m not going to throw you out of your bed though.” Jack declared, making a manful attempt to straighten up. There were beads of sweat glistening on his brow. Phin longed to lick them off.

“I’m not listening. You do look a little better, is it easing off now?”

“Yeah…” he sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry, you haven’t done anything. Sadly. Bummer…sorry, I meant to say the last part inside my head, but it…escaped.”

“Phin, please don’t think, it’s not that I don’t…want. I do. Too much.” Jake did his most heartfelt groan yet as he raked a hand through his hair. Phin’s fingers started itching. Not with scratchiness. In the sort of way that had ‘who scoffed all the cookies’ consequences.

“I’m…terrified I might hurt you.”

“Knowing you don’t want me hurts more, methinks,” Phin asserted, despite the dearth of comparative data. Barely a blink later, his back crashed against the door, a wall of hard heat pinning him to it in a body slam of bliss. As far from pain as it was possible to imagine when his lips were assaulted with kisses too lethal to survive unscathed.

 

***

 

Jake

 

When he arrived, Jake had felt somewhat sure of one thing: it would be, if not easier— then less impossible—to hold it together. Having already proved that he could while holding Phin hostage in his arms. Hell, he’d even survived a blowjob without exploding in a frenzy of fur. A miracle that made it seem safe to assume he could handle the merest brush of lips without combusting.

Jake was wrong. Very. Deadly wrong.

The devastating need was worse now. Worse still? Jack was doing a damn fine impression of a domestic cat curled on a hearth rug, as calm as can be. Content (for now) that he’d got his own way and was still here, within hearing distance of his jackal whisperer’s dulcet tones.

How was Jake supposed to suppress his own excesses in the presence of Phin? It was a challenge on a par with staying sober in a Speakeasy. In nineteen-twenties New York.

He’d launched himself through Phin’s doorway like a man possessed; unprepared for the extravagance of ivory that greeted him. A sight so incendiary that Jake neglected to steel himself against the impact of the most immoderate of all gazes, wide(r) with surprise. He had a better chance of surviving the stare of a double-barrelled shotgun with his faculties intact.

Jake had barely begun when he was forced to stop. Before he could not. He had but buried his nose in the curve of Phin’s neck to breathe him in. The resulting surge of bloodlust suggested Jake might find himself feasting on it before recalling exactly whose quivering pulse his teeth had sunk into. The heat boiling his blood was so intense, he felt about an inhalation away from bursting into flames. So, he dragged himself free and attempted to disentangle himself from a jacket dead-set on being welded to his body. He couldn’t even get the bloody zip down, beset as he was with about fifty fingers and fumbling thumbs.

Jake had never had a hope in hell. He was outnumbered. Everything he said to try and warn Phin off, or at least make him wary, was brushed aside by the most disarming airiness on Earth. A disregard for danger so intrinsic, Jake feared that shifting on the spot might leave his inimitable Phin unruffled. In much the way he’d mused the fact he might be hosting a homicidal maniac. 

If Jake didn’t shift himself sharpish, Phin damn well would be. No one else present (in person or proxy) would do bugger all to ensure he stayed safe. 

Jake had scarce stammered so much as “I…Phin, I really should—” before his guts spasmed so violently he had no idea how he remained on his feet, albeit doubled-over in pain. Far more severe than having Jack burst from his body (strangely akin to the agony and ecstasy of being topped for the first time, many moons ago). Only an extreme masochist—one capable of considering limb amputation a form of foreplay—could have gleaned a glimmer of pleasure from the torture enacted on Jake’s entrails. Being gutted with a medieval flail may have felt similar. Or gored by a wild boar. Jack was not budging. Apparently. Furthermore, he didn’t give a flying fuck in which form he curled up with Phin tonight. They were staying, whether they moulted on the bed or not.

Thus it was, that Phin procured an overwrought overnight guest.

“I’m…terrified I might hurt you,” Jake owned. A last ditch attempt to reiterate the truth without telling it.

“Knowing you don’t want me hurts more, methinks.”

If there was a response that could have defused the dropping of that bomb, Jake sure as semtex had no recourse to it. Phin’s words were the verbal equivalent of a detonation device.

*

He found himself plastered to Phin before he could blink. Long arms trapped him tighter as lips stole the breath from his body. That was how it felt, despite all facts to the contrary. Plump lips parted on a cinnamon sugar sigh that went straight to Jake’s head. Opium kisses…headier than heroin. A tangle of tongues that fed, fuelled, an addiction Jack could neither control nor conquer. 

When Phin slid his hands up the back of Jake’s t-shirt and starfished them across his skin, it was all he could do to drag his lips away for long enough to yank it over his head. The clash of chests was incendiary, too intoxicating to care that he was a layer of cloth closer to losing his mind. The groan that grated in Jake’s throat scarce qualified as human when Phin’s mouth crashed down on his own. 

Need so pure, potent, it was a speedball of scent, taste, touch. Seeping from Phin’s pores; stronger, richer than the brandy on his breath. Infinite in the drowning depths of those eyes, black with desire, lids lust heavy. The scorch of skin on skin all-but obliterated the tension tethering Phin’s…customary instincts. Jake’s incorrigible innocent, so tentative at first, flared to full steam ahead with rocket-fuel finesse more flammable than kerosene. Thus emboldened, Phin clamped one hand to the curve of Jake’s arse and unleashed the fingertips of the other as if he were speed reading braille. 

“Phin…” Jake groaned, allowing his head to fall back, baring his throat in a way that made Jack tenser than his hackles could take lying down.

Jake’s lids flared wide with shock. It was the first time his own desire had over-ridden Jack’s since they’d scented Phin on the wind. To the jackal, it signified submission. A low growl crawled the arc of Jake’s throat about a snatched-off breath before he found himself straddling a saucer-eyed Phin, now splayed upon the tabletop.

Midnight eyes sought, conquered his own, as a slow, secret smile spread across Phin’s angel face. The satisfied twitch of those lips was hot-wired to Jake’s crippled cock—a lure too tempting to withstand—even if he’d wanted to, and of course, he did not. Damn good job too; Jake would’ve been done for when wiry arms ensnared his neck. Tugging him into a kiss that was darker, deeper now, loaded with deny us if you dare.  

Jack. F’fucksakes. I need your insertions like a hole in my bloody head.

Where, oh where, to start on that sentence…

When Jake mustered the will to tear free, it was to trail his tongue down the ivory column of Phin’s neck. Aching to taste, touch, every excessive inch of skin, share every beat of his heart, keep it safe always. It was an agony too cruel, the guilt of endangering it most.

“Jack, please…” 

“Tell me…what you want…” 

“More…” Phin pleaded, eyes huge, imploring. Impossible to resist.

“More…?” Jake couldn’t help himself, he had to hear the pearl of perfect nonsense it prompted. 

“I…everything, I want you. All of you.”

Oh hell…

You asked for it. Just sayin…

***

Wafflish

Beast of Bodmin Moor 12

The Beast of Bodmin Moor 

 

 

 

 

 

Jake

 

 

Now shurrup, and let me luxuriate in peace. Then I’ll sit through season two of Sherlock, later, if you like. Unless…there’s something else you’d rather do, o’course. Like say…apologise most profusely for being such an utter—

Okay! Christ…you’re relentless. What makes you think Phin will even open the door? Let alone allow me to apologise?

He’s not you?

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Aside from the fact Phin is not a fuck-wit? If he wants to see you he’ll open the door, if he does not, he will not. Simple. No point scoring…playing it cool…making you suffer because you deserve to. He’ll just follow his instincts, so y’won’t be judged and found wantingwhich is fortunateseeing as you’re a tosspot an’ all…

Let’s suppose you’re right for a mo. On which planet is apologising a perfectly good reason for popping ’round someone’s campervan at two a.m.?

I dunno, perhaps, say…a planet where the fact someone’s borrowed your bathrobe is a matter of more immediate import than the fact you’ve never clapped eyes on them in your life? The very same stranger you’ve woken to find squatting in your van, watching you sleep like a stalker perv?

Good point.

I thought so. You’ll owe me for this, just so y’know… I’m really quite comfy and Phin doesn’t seem in any rush to leave. So. Sausages. For breakfast. 

What happened to the compromise on malnourishment matters?

I’m prepared to renegotiate later. But, the minute I leave this moor, the sausages are on the table. It’s not my fault if you mess it up, so I’m not starving and suffering your consequences. Fair’s fair.

Oookay…you win. 

I haven’t won anything worth anything yet…so. In the words of the divine Dame Ru: Don’t. Fuck. It. Up…  

Thanks.

Thank me later if we get our don’t-deserves. Right…time we were off, I reckon.

The jackal lifted his head, cocking it slightly, as if listening to whispers on the wind.

“What is it, Foxy?”  Phin asked, instantly alert, hyper-present, despite all appearances to the contrary seconds before. Jack huffed a heartfelt sigh in response, then clambered to his feet and swiped a lick along a moon pale cheek. 

“You’re off, now? Oh, okay then,” With a brave attempt at a ‘considerate’ smile, Phin lifted a hand to scratch at Jack’s ear. His scent was tinged with sadness, but those starry eyes were serene with understanding. “See ya, Foxy…”

With a second slurp goodbye, Jack turned tail and shot off into the night.

*

Less than five minutes later, Jake leapt over the garden fence, grabbed a pair of pants from the shed and pulled them on before letting himself into his cottage. He could get dressed, have a swift drink and arrive at the campervan in fifteen minutes flat, which should be about perfect. Time enough for Phin to get back and make a cuppa before so much as thinking about bed. 

Was this wise? Of course not.

It was inevitable.

Jake dragged on a pair of black jeans and a white t-shirt, then fiddled with his hair, which looked not-at-all-artfully windswept. It would look a helluva lot more so on arrival, so quite why he bothered, he knew not.

The whisky was a necessity; Jake’s nerve-endings were all but shot-to-shit. Thus, in a much better state than the rest of him. His lust levels were radioactive. The scotch took the edge off the tension fizzing through his veins, but didn’t do a damn thing to crank Jake’s brain into gear. What the hell should he say? If Phin deigned to open the door, of course. It was pointless to ponder what might happen, when that was dependent on Phin. 

What Jake should allow himself to do (or not) after darkening Phin’s doorway was more to the point…but having less than a one-third stake in subsequent matters meant it was a moot one at best.

He just wanted to be near Phin. An ache so visceral it felt as if it was devouring Jake from the inside out. Hold him close…luxuriate in the extravagant expanse of his skin. Feel Phin’s fingertips skimming flesh, not fur. Touch him in return.

They had not hurt Phin earlier, which was a miracle too terrifying to contemplate. Miracles being extraordinary, inexplicable, beyond the bounds of expectation. By definition. A lightning doesn’t strike in the same place twice probability of recurrence. 

It was doomed to disaster. Destined. To it? Or destined, full stop?  The word had inserted itself into Jake’s consciousness with the same involuntary clarity as Jack’s ‘voice’. The jackal hadn’t put it there; Jake hadn’t thought it into fruition. It had just…presented itself. Right…well, that sounded rational. Not. Jake had, quite possibly, gone quietly insane. He had hoped that might feel a bit more…

Melodramatic? Shakespearean? Magnificent? Gothic? Glorious? 

F’fucksakes, must you be so bloody—

Right? Honest? Stop moaning and save your vainglorious aspirations for Phin. Do something dashing; arrive with a rose clenched between your butt cheeks, sweep him off his feet, prostate yourself at them…do something, anything. Just quit cussing and fix it, fuckwit.   

*

Ten minutes later, Jake was pacing on the verge, listening to Phin’s movements within the van, trying to gauge whether he was about to turn in, make a meal, maybe watch something…read…  He’d just poured a most pungent glass of brandy and was now rustling around in the mini fridge.

What am I waiting for? Jake was never going to be ready. He could pace about until next Christmas and it wouldn’t make the slightest difference to his state of readiness. Jake might combust but he sure as hell wouldn’t feel less uncertainnor any more sureof having any right to be here.

A two a.m. visitor was worrying in itself, even if you knew who the fuck had deemed it a cunning plan in the first place. He couldn’t rely on the element of surprise, nor hope that simple curiosity might persuade Phin to respond. It wouldn’t be fair.

Jake tapped, twice. Rat-tat. “Phin?”  There…at least he knew who’d knocked. Whether that would make Phin more, or less, likely to answer was impossible to predict. 

Phin’s “Jack?” sounded as if he believed he’d heard a non-existent noise in the night.

“Yeah…um… I’ve come visiting?” Jake quite possibly unleashed a rising inflection.

“Oh, okay. I thought I’d…I” 

“It’s customary to open the door ’round about now, if you’re going to…” Jake noted, unable to stand still for a second longer without seeing Phin’s face. Breathing him in.

“Oh, sorry, I forgot.”

“Did you…‘forget to remember’ or really forget?” 

“Ja…ke, don’t be daft.” Phin chuckled, as if Jake had mooted the most demented notion that had ever rifled his eardrums.

The door swung open. Fuck. Jake sucked in a sharp breath. He had not prepared for the possibility that Phin might be clad in naught but tight, black pants. If  Jake had stood there for a whole heartbeat, he may have noticed their red waistband. He did not. He’d sprung forwards before registering that he intended to, let alone pondered the wisdom of it. Jake was pure instinct; just a blur of leather and legs that launched himself at Phin. The heady scent of cinnamon spice was a sledgehammer of heaven when he buried his nose in the curve of Phin’s neck after clasping his nape. Jake inhaled; long, slow, deep, as if suffocation had been but one breath without him away. 

“Phin…I…” His arms were wrapped around Phin’s waist, lips fastened at this throat and Jake hadn’t decided to do either.

If the cinnamon had soured, or Phin frozen, en route? Jake would have stopped dead, that much he knew.  Neither had happened…Phin’s willowy frame all-but sighed against him, engulfing Jake in the warmth of apple strudel and brandy butter; the scent of all his Christmasses come at once.

“Jack…you’re here. I thought…” Halting words, breathless with wonder.So much more than Jake deserved. As was Phin. Who, for some inconceivable reason, seemed to want Jake. Here, now, at least. ‘Now’ was all that could be allowed to matter in the world.

“I’m sorry, so sorry” Jake’s apology was garroted by a groan when the tip of Phin’s tongue slipped out to moisten lips too incendiary to resist. Too irresistible to renounce. Ever. Their mouths melded in a cherry brandy kiss as potent as absinthe. Infinitely more lethal. 

 

***

 

 

Phin

 

 

 

“Phin?”

“Jack?”

Jack was here? Really here…? Had he forgotten something yesterday? Surely not—he hadn’t brought anything with him to forget—having not had so much as a pocket about his person. He hadn’t even snaffled the robe to return, Jake had abandoned that as summarily as Phin. It had been left on the bonnet for him to find. Rain had rendered it as soggy as the dishrag Phin felt far too much like, when he woke up and saw it there.

“Yeah…um… I’ve come visiting?”

Phin had been so certain he would never see Jack again. He’d been so eager to go, he hadn’t even said goodbye, which was the po-lite thing to do when taking your leave at the end of a visit.

“It’s customary to open the door ’round about now.” Oops.

Phin had zoned out, again. Jack, the cheeky devil, had the brass neck to ask if he’d done forgetting on purpose. How rude. He would never do such a thing, that would be inconsiderate. There may have been a teeny white lie in there, somewhere.

When Phin did tug the door open, he sure as strewth hadn’t been prepared for the sight that greeted him. Jake had already been in the van when he’d woken that morn, so Phin had nary a wild ‘n’ windswept, lust ‘n’ leather clad Jake in his mental stash of images. Would that have made a jot of difference? It didn’t seem possible that a sight so breath- snatching could be diminished by familiarity. Phin had been eating the same food every day for a decade and his taste buds still tingled as if they’d been treated to a rare delicacy for the very first time. 

Most folk thought that was weird. He was supposed to get ‘sick’ of his favourite foodstuffs along the way. Most of them had children. And pets. Nope. Phin had not. He was too po-lite. Unlike certain variety is the spice of life types and their promiscuous proclivities. 

 Phin had been a bit befuddled and bleary-eyed when he woke to discover himself being visited. Jack may have been the most beautiful man Phin had ever seen butby the time he could see straight enough to absorb that factJake had been sitting there for a wee while, sporting Phin’s snaffled robe.

That was a helluva lot different to finding Jack standing in his doorway wearing jeans so tight it looked as if he’d painted his legs black. Glinting in the light that glanced off the silversharp zips ‘n’ studs of his gleaming leather jacket. Phin may have stood there for quite some time, too bedazzled to blink. Much to his relief, he promptly found himself encompassed by arms so strong, tight, they snatched away the air he’d sucked in. Phin  felt about fit to swoon, but couldn’t tell if that was down to the squishing itself, or the fact he was being squished by the most luscious man alive. 

Tendrils of toffee ‘n’ honey hair were tickling Phin’s skin, plush lips scorching his neck; Jack was a hurricane of heady heat and smelled like fresh air and danger. His breath tasted of whisky and want. 

The strangest thing of all was that he made Phin feel…safe, and yet, he oozed raw power and scarcely constrained strength. Jake oozed a lot of things. They all banjaxed Phin’s brain and boiled the blood in his veins.

“Jake…you’re here…I thought…”

“I’m sorry, so sorry—” Jake forgot finish his sentence. Then Phin’s brain turned to mush and his bones to butter. It was some time after being kissed senseless that Phin remembered he should have worried about doing it wrong or too much. Or doing anything at all, ever again, except kissing Jake.

All he could think was Mmmore. A word that summed matters up with a literal and onomatopoeic economy that left the rest of Phin’s faculties free to feel. A fact they celebrated more excessively than ever before. It seemed hyperpossible that Phin was about to be sexed to death. He couldn’t have felt more chuffed about that if he’d tried. Mmmore...much more. Phin wasn’t sure what he wanted, he just knew he wanted it. Very much. Too much. Jack didn’t seem to mind, so Phin forgot to fret about that too.

Jake only had two hands when he’d arrived, but he seemed to have far more than that now. It felt as if they were everywhere, all at once. Inside and out. Jake was all heavy heat, but not heavy enough…Phin needed more. Need not want. A need as necessary as his next breath. There was a knot in the pit of Phin’s belly that needed tugging tighter. None of that made any sense whatsoever, but that’s how it felt.

The cool contrast of leather and feverish flesh was as lush as ice cream served with hot fudge sauce. The deranging drizzle of Jake’s fingers sizzled across his skin, setting Phin’s senses aflame…a too-much intensity of touch that was nowhere near enough. Never, ever enough…

 

***

Wafflish

Beast of Bodmin Moor 11

 

Hiya 🥰 Here’s Phin’s part with a bit of Jack ‘n’ Jake beneath it…

 

The Beast of Bodmin Moor 11

 

 

 

 

Phin

 

 

Phin nibbled on the end of his pen, staring at the spidery scrawl strewn across the page. Fractured phrases scattered without forethought and far less sense… Plush-lipped, lush-hipped grace…his incomparable face, a toffee tumble of hair, lusty-lidded stare… Paraiba tourmaline…aquamarine dream…topaz azure…nonpareil allure…Too Much at stake… JackJa/keJake.

Wasted wafflings of what might-have-been, had Phin not wanted too much. Or—at leastest of all leasts—not admitted it aloud. Lips like a leaky portaloo. It had felt as if the scratchy might flay the flesh off his bones when Jack fled. How Phin wished it would finally be done with him…but knew he was more likely to be suffocated by the solitude that kept him safe. If only there was a way to syphon off some too muchness, without turning him into the walking dead. Before Phin wound up too dead to be classified a corpse: Immodice mortem. 

When he’d woken, bleary and beleaguered after his fitful nap, Phin felt as if Jake’s touch was imprinted on his flesh and he was an over-tuned string instrument. Strung too tight, sticky with sweat. Smeared in dried blood, his shrink-wrapped skin feverish with sense memory. Phin had even pressed wondering fingertips to his lips, where the imprint of Jake’s mouth still lingered. A sensation that whisked away the floodgates and unleashed a torrent of stuff Phin had nowhere safe to stash; no tried and tested ‘coping strategies’ in place. And even if he had any, there was just too much to sort and Phin felt too messy to make sense of himself. Let alone the tangle of tongues, trickling across skin…the moist heat of Jake’s magical mouth, engulfed in unimaginable bliss…and oh, the taste of him. The husky musk of Jake’s scent, his lush tumble of hair when he’d thrown his head back. The gravel-strewn growl of Phin’s very own name, thrilling through his veins. 

Jake had gone. For good. It felt as far from good as Phin could imagine. 

Left…without a word. Left Phin with? The echo of his own worth ringing in his ears. So whywhywhy come here? 

Here, where it began? It was all a tad twisted, like staring into a murky puddle that mirrored his shame back at him. That was one way of looking at it, Phin supposed, but he hadn’t come to stare at himself. He just…couldn’t help but hope to see his foxy friend. Even if he had hallucinated those eyes of jet blue flame; a flicker of light in the darkness Phin loved. Warming him through as he sat there, shivering his nuts off. 

The memory of Foxy’s face emerging from the shadows was so vivid, Phin actually heard the same soft whimper from the night before. A sound so true it had triggered the fall he hadn’t forgotten to remember, Phin just couldn’t. At all. The only recallable moment was the briefest blaze of blue. None of that mattered when he could recollect every scintillating second of the consequences that ensued, after waking in his van. 

His only remembrance of the fall itself was hearing a whine so unexpected, it had distracted him too much to do concentrating. As clumsy as ever, he’d lost his footing on the tumble of rocks and smacked his head on a stone. He must have conked out for a bit—that much Phin knew—because he’d briefly come around and seen his foxy friend. But then, nothing, until he’d woken in his van. He must have scraped himself up, at some point, then staggered about ’til Jack found him and brought him back. That was the only chain of events made any sense; Jake’s only option other than leaving Phin where he found him. Phin hadn’t got his phone and Jake hadn’t even got pockets; neither of them could’ve called a cab that couldn’t collect them from the middle of the moors. 

“Foxy…?” It was a bit daft calling him that, Phin had to confess. ‘Fox’ meant nothing to him—even if he was one—which he wasn’t. The image of Foxy in his mind’s eye was not a jot orange enough. Phin sure as carrot sick colours hadn’t misremembered that. He’d been shades of creamy caramel and grey, with black flecky bits. P’raps Phin should whistle and say something warm and welcoming instead, that might work.

“Here, boy…” He kept his voice as low, soft, unthreatening as he could, but heard nary a whimper—nor even a low growl of warning—in response. Typical…he’d now segued from rustling up hallucinations to imagining noises to torment himself with, too. Phin huffed a sigh so heartfelt it ruffled the pages of his journal. Abruptly done with suffering the consequences of his hapless hopes for the second time in swift succession, Phin— snapped his head up when a scrabbly scuffle shattered the silence. Foxy?

A furry flurry came hurtling from the shadows and took a flying leap over the rocky rubble. A sight too spectacular to wonder if he was about to find himself with a faceful of teeth and claws. As it turned out, that would have been a waste of wondering, so Phin was glad he hadn’t bothered when Foxy skittered to a stone ‘n’ spittle spraying halt, a few feet away. Phin almost split his kiss-chapped lips, so wide was his grin—but it wasn’t a patch on Foxy’s—which came complete with a dangling tongue so long, he won, paws down. He stood, panting puffy clouds of breath, his eyes so blue and glinty-bright they seemed spotlit from within. 

Phin should consider telling Mr. Neil that he might need his meds upping. Unless he forgot. The urge to stroke Foxy was so strong, it would have been wise to sit on his hands, which was perhaps why Phin didn’t bother. 

Maybe if he just held out his hand, then Foxy could choose? He might not want a stinky human to touch him and Phin could scarce blame him for that. Fearful of frightening him away, Phin raised his arm until his fingers hovered a few inches beneath the tip of Foxy’s tongue. Much to his inner happy dance of delight, Foxy started snuffing them, making small huffy noises when his cool, wet nose smudged Phin’s skin.

“Good boy…hello…” he crooned, hoping it sounded friendly to Foxy, who snuffled a smidge more, then flicked Phin a little lick that skimmed his fingertips.

Perhaps it had been to test Phin’s reaction, because that first, tentative touch of tongue was succeeded by a full-on slosh of Foxy slobber across the back of his hand. It was warm and wet and meant the world to Phin, who was honoured that Foxy even trusted him enough to come close, let alone gift him with a lick. A nudge of nose seemed to suggest that his newfound friend wanted access to Phin’s palm, so he turned the hand over. It was the left one, not his mangled right, so Foxy wouldn’t have to suffer the scabs, which would feel disgusting. After slurping a swipe across his upturned palm, Foxy abruptly lost interest in it and shoved his nose into the cuff of Phin’s trench coat instead. It was barely a huff of hot breath later that Foxy yanked his head back to (this bit may have been a hallucination) narrow his eyes at Phin. It sure looked that way when the space between his tufty eyebrows scrunched up while peering down his snoot. After a staring Phin out ’til he seemed satisfied, Foxy shoved his nose back into the cuff and…pushed, as if he wanted to bare the wrist. There didn’t seem any reason to disoblige him, so Phin hitched the sleeve up a tad. One sniff later, he found himself levelled with an expression so considering it was akin to his mum’s when weighing up whether he’d had a proper mishap or been up to mischief. 

The sleeve was a direct tunnel to Phin’s armpit, which possibly didn’t smell very fresh in a week-old sweaty sock sort of way, so he didn’t blame Foxy one bit. His sense of smell possibly thought it had been clobbered by a niff more noxious than the carcasses he might just litter the moors with. Someone sure did, Phin had seen one for himself.  The stinky pits theory stopped making sense when Foxy stalked behind Phin and snagged the elbow of his coat with sharp teeth and started tugging on the sleeve. 

“What is it, Foxy?” he wondered, a bit bemused. In response, Foxy shot him a knowing look, then returned to Phin’s cuff and crammed his nose into it again. One snuff later, off he went, to repeat his tug-o-war with the elbow of the trench.

Phin had no idea why he had such a bee in his bonnet—that was an idiom, Foxy was not wearing one of those—which did suggest that Phin’s sanity was still salvageable. An excellent thing indeed when the very existence of the bonnet might be deemed a tad too much…even before Phin started wondering whether Foxy had come as Granny from Little Red Riding Hood. 

The upshot of all this was that Foxy seemed to want access to Phin’s arm, which was the part that mattered, his reasons were his own business. Oouch…Phin had forgotten about the gash his jumper promptly grazed with wire wool aplomb when he shoved the sleeve to the crook of his elbow. 

Uh oh. Foxy snorted a sound uncannily akin to a horse’s harrumph. Had this not been accompanied by an imperious squint, Phin might have suspected the wound was a stench too far after suffering the stinky armpit. Said squint ‘n’ stare made Foxy’s next move all the more oddsome. Rather than back off in disgust, he swiped a stinging sluice across the ugly slash. Moonlight was not its best look, it must be admitted; blood blackened and scabby on blanched to bone skin.

The sting was fleeting, it had no sooner sparked to life than faded to a silken warmth when Foxy swept it another lingering lick. It was the strangest sensation; as soothing as the stroke of velvet, as comforting as fleece  (the only two fabrics Phin could wear without being besieged by scratchy). He watched, fascinated, as Foxy kept lapping, as if convinced it could be erased…or washed away with saliva. 

When he seemed satisfied with a job well done, Foxy snuffed a huff, then switched his focus to Phin’s face. A gaze every bit as amazing as it was beautiful; Phin had remembered right. It was a bright, blazing blue—deeper, darker than they’d seemed yesterday—pupils blown so huge they engulfed most of his iris. Phin scrunched his eyes tight shut in a bid to blot out another blue; every bit as crystal clear as Foxy’s, dark with a desire it was hard to believe he’d inspired, even for a second in a man so…unsurpassable.

Foxy—quite why Phin was still calling him this when he was clearly not a fox—was a mystery. It seemed that everyone he met required at least two names, which was playing havoc with his head. He’d lost his thread of thought again now…it was all going to hell in a hurricane jet. Ah, Foxy…that was it. He was too wolfish to be a fox. Too lean, slinky-looking for a wolf. He was honey-hued, dappled with grey that darkened to black along his back. His face was not rusty-coloured at all, it was creamy gold, white and speckled silver. Some sort of wild dog? Coyote? Jackal? No matter which of those his foxy friend might be, he now seemed…sad. Staring up at Phin with sorrow laden pools of baleful blue. 

“Don’t be upset…” Phin told him, pulling his sleeve back down over the wound, which had started to tingle strangely in the wind. “I’m okay…”

With a snuff that would have sounded like a snort of disbelief, had Foxy been human, he rested the underside of his jaw on Phin’s bent knee. The warm weight was comforting in itself, even more so if it meant Foxy was not…miffed. Okay…that did sound nuts, bolts and barking bonkers. It still felt that way though.

“May I stroke you?” Phin dared to ask.

His foxy friend’s lids drifted down, shrouding the blue…in a sinking into a bubble bath sort of way. Or… The flash of memory was brilliance itself—blinding—of Jack’s eyelids; gliding shut when Phin first trailed tentative fingertips down his chest. It hadn’t meant nothen. 

Phin raised his right hand to Foxy’s head and started a smooth stroke. He didn’t seem to mind and it was impossible to resist, so Phin started to fondle his tufty ears. A deep rumble sounded in Foxy’s throat; like a cat’s purr but much, much darker.

One moment he seemed serenity itself, the next, in a too-swift-to-stop-him dart forwards, Foxy shoved his nose into Phin’s crotch. Then snuffed out a scalding breath that scorched straight through his pants. Strewth. 

“Foxy!” he gasped. Crikey, um…that was a bit embarrassing. And most unseemly in the extreme. Phin’s cock had been coshed by way too many surprises of late. He should p’raps ask Mr. Neil for some bromide before matters got out of hand.

For twenty-two years, not a soul had shown the slightest interest in the contents of Phin’s undercrackers, and now, all of a sudden, everyman-and-his-dog were shoving their snoots down there. Foxy just lolled-a-laugh—at Phin—he was sure of it. Utterly unrepentant, as the unseemly scoundrel returned his chin to Phin’s knee.

“Bad boy. No snuffing, it’s rude, you have to mind your manners in company,” Phin told him. A maxim he’d been told he mustn’t forget too many times to remember.

“D’you have a lady friend, Foxy?” he wondered aloud, running his palm down the silky fur of his neck. “To cuddle up with, and keep you warm at night? That was a daft question, wasn’t it…you probably wouldn’t be here, if you did. I’m not very good at minding my manners either, so don’t worry, that makes two of us.”

Foxy huffed, hunkering down to lie beside him. Then fidgeted a bit closer when Phin straightened his legs to continue stroking. He’d scarce started when Foxy raised his head to rest it across Phin’s lap. It felt comforting, cosy. Perhaps he should get a dog. He would far rather have Foxy, but he was wild and free and living his own life. Putting a collar on him would be unconscionable, even if he’d permit such a travesty. 

Phin would never dream of trying to steal his freedom away. It would be cruel, selfish, even if—when—Foxy felt far too much like the best friend he’d never had.

 

***

 

 

Jack & Jake

 

 

 

Jake was dumbfounded. What the fuck?

The last two years had been spent locked in brutal, bloody battle with Jack. In the most futile effort to keep some sort of grip on the jackal, and his own sanity. This had felt much like a dog owner’s attempts to cling to the collar of a runaway rottweiler as it took off after a cat.

Now here was the mangy miscreant: lying serenely beside the jackal whisperer, sighing happy huffs of contentment. This, while being petted by Phin and having his ears…fondled, for chrissakes.

Jake now found himself in the discomfiting position of pacing like a caged animal as Jack (quite literally) pleased himself. How the hell can I be jealous of him, when he is me? 

Finally caught up, have you? Or just admitted what was as obvious as the nose on my face?

Speaking of which…What. The. Effing. Fuck?

Oh, c’mon…you’re not fooling yourself for a minute. Y’know you wanted to… 

I...am a Gent. Not a crotch-pouncing pervert.

That first bit sounds familiar, oddly enough. You’re right, though, you should stick to being a sleep-stalking perv…it’s much more your three cups of tea. Stop nagging. You’re just jealous, you admitted as much yourself. Besides which, I don’t recall cutting your nose off to spite your face. Just sayin’. Now shurrup, I’m busy. Luxuriating.

So…? What if he had scaled new levels of ludicrous? He couldn’t help it—Jake just was—jealous. A bit. Being forced to sit back as Jack basked in Phin’s attention was infuriating. Yes, Jake was here too. Yes, he could see, taste, hear, see…and bloody smell. Feel Phin’s fingers in his fur. But. It was still driving Jake demented. It was also adding a whole new set of worries to his far-too lengthy list of Phin fears:

  1. He was still freaking out about the fact Jack might have infected Phin yesterday.
  2. Jack had just topped up his saliva donation. This might tip the balance if Phin hadn’t received a sufficient dose of jackal-juice last night.
  3. Jake had committed the unforgivable sin of giving Phin the brush off, immediately in the aftermath of his first sexual encounter. Despite the fact he’d never wanted someone so much in his goddamn life. Ever.
  4. He’d done this because he was terrified he might maim Phin in a very real sense.
  5. Jack had just shoved his nose precisely where Jake had vowed it could never venture again.
  6. Jake gone without for two years because Jack had made it quite clear that blood lust took priority over minor matters such as murder.
  7. The very same Jack that had now lapped lavishly at the most delectable blood on earth. Twice. Without so much as a nip. Bastard.

This, was the seven circles of shapeshifter hell. Dante had no fucking idea. Worst of all, Jake was suffering all this because he had tried to Do The Honorable Thing. And achieved bugger all. Unassailable truth that never a good deed goes unpunished.

Phin was a liability more lethal than the jackal. What the hell had he done to himself? He could have hit a sodding artery with whatever he’d used to butcher that arm. It sure as shit hadn’t been inflicted by a blade. It wasn’t a clean enough cut; too ragged, too wide, too naive

Jake could distinctly recall thinking that he couldn’t let Phin out on his own, then chided himself for over-reacting. Pfft. He’d clearly underestimated Phin, who couldn’t be left alone full stop without endangering himself. He was patently every bit as efficient at ‘accidents’ as ‘forgetting’.

Back to tonight…how the hell was Jake supposed to handle this? There wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it; the consequences of trying to prise Jack from Phin were too horrifying to contemplate. Do I truly want to?

He was undeniably jealous, but Jake was still here with Phin, by proxy. Jack might claim that he’d brought them back together, but that wasn’t much consolation when Jake had abandoned Phin because of said mangy mutt.

Some might be inclined to argue that Jake would never have met Phin in the first place, had they not fancied a run on the moors. Jake was steadfastly ignoring said smart-arse opinion.

The next hour was the most exquisite torture Jake had ever endured. Lying beside Phin, aching for all he could never have, yearning for that tender touch on skin, not fur. This, while knowing damn well that safe sex and the jackal couldn’t coexist on the same planet, let alone in the same bed.

Have you considered for one moment that Phin is not a rabbit? Nor some random woman or bloke you picked up in the pub?

You say that now…but how the hell can I trust you? One whiff of rabbit and there’s sod all I can do to stop you feasting your fill. I cannot risk him. I will not.

Was your mouth too full to claim that earlier? Just asking for a friend…

Fuck off.

That ball’s in your court, and well you know it. Or would, if you weren’t dead set on being a self-loathing wanker, o’course…

No. Hell no. Jake should never have allowed earlier to happen. And yet…he hadn’t felt as if he might lose it for even one moment. But what about the bloody table legs? What if they’d been Phin’s? Or his arms…neck? Jake hadn’t been able to control his grip mid-blow job, how the hell was he supposed to trust himself while buried in Phin’s body? Oh gawd.

You could at least try trusting yourself. Coward. Is that what this is really about? You’re terrified, admit it. Scaredy cat. You’re just worried he’ll work out what a tosspot you are and dump your ass. 

It’s you I don’t trust, dogbreath. What if I started fearing for Phin’s safety? Felt I was losing it—couldn’t rein it in—and needed to slam the brakes on? For his sake. Would that even be possible? Or would you snatch the decision out of my hands? Erupt in a fury of fur; as you have a hundred times beforewhen I wouldn’t fall in with your latest whim? 

Whims? Those were missions of vital import, I’ll have you know. Jackal business. I can’t sit and watch you fingering your strings, and Sherlock-on-a-loop, forever. He makes my mouth water, for starters. And main course, please. Phin is not a whim, you pillock. He is…everything. So, suck that up. You may as well, we haven’t got any choice in the matter. One whiff and it was all over. He owns your ass. 

Oh, so, it’s mine now? Make up your mind.

Mine-yours-ours-whatever. ‘Yours’ had a certain…ring to it. Too sassy to resist.

You are ev-il. Monstrous, you know that, right?

I’m sex starved and sausage deprived. That’s not good for my constitution.

Neither are sausages.

If you cannot deduce the compromise in said state of malnourishmentparticularly after all that staring at the Cumberbuttthen I give up on you, quite frankly…  

Now shurrup, and let me luxuriate in peace. Then I’ll sit through season two of Sherlock, later, if you like. Unless…there’s something else you’d rather do, o’course…

***

Wafflish

Beast of Bodmin Moor 10

Happy Weekend 🥰 Thank you so much for your support for their story ❤️ Phin’s chapter is a mite maudlin so I’ve included Jake’s chapter too.

 

Trigger warning: 

Phin’s part contains self-harm which doesn’t endanger him, but I should hate it to trouble you. It can be ignored entirely (or read down to the stars *** and skip to Jake’s) without losing the plot. Suffice to say, Phin returns to the moors that evening. 

 

 

 

 

The Beast of Bodmin Moor

 

Phin

 

 

Phin tugged his jeans on and ruffled his flattened hair, then stooped to peer at his face in the cloudy mirror. Not that it mattered…Jack had seen more than enough of it already. How he must wish he hadn’t lost his clothes, then he p’raps wouldn’t have happened upon Phin in the first place. Let alone stuck around ’til he woke up and it was too light for a starkers strollabout. It still wasn’t dark enough, so Jack was stuck with him until Phin drove him home. If only, he hadn’t admitted that he wouldn’t mind Jake ‘in anywhere’. That had been unseemly, extremely. And presumptive.

I-I…don’t think…I can’t, it’s not sa—”  

Phin wasn’t sure what any of that meant…but knew it meant nothing he wanted to hear. It was just a clatter of words that screamed; ‘back off, it was just a bloody blow job.’ Phin had a sneaky suspicion that Jake’s word salad sentence boiled down to: ‘I’m just not that into you‘. That’s what people really meant when they used a lot of words to dump your ass without suffering uncomfy consequences, wasn’t it?

Phin had attempted the pretend-it-doesn’t-matter-a-bit thing. That’s how you acted considerate about being dumped: No probs. I’m fine, it’s all fine. Fine, fine fine. 

Fine (adj): Fuck awful.

Adding a c’est la vie shrug ‘n’ smile so people didn’t feel bad for making you feel bad was the icing on the considerate cake. Phin had tried. It was tricky to say how it had turned out when he hadn’t been able to focus past the fact he’d needed Jake to go. Leave Phin alone so he could do concentrating on clawing back a bit of comfiness.

His whole self had felt like a silent shriek. So Phin had shut down, to hold it inside. He hadn’t wanted Jake to see. He’d seen far too much already. Much too much too-muchness. But Phin had somehow forgot himself in the face of Jake. All the things that made it extremely important to ward the world away and its dagger-shooting-glare-of-shame with it.

Jake didn’t respond to the offer of a lift home, which made Phin even more scratchy. He just sort of wavered about instead, as if wondering whether to pat Phin’s head or flee before the fallout. The latter would have been Jake’s best bet. Phin had to hold it all in, until he’d gone. It was doable, Phin had done it a trillion times before. It was p’raps akin to being eaten alive by maggots… far preferable to the Glare. 

The bathroom mirror wasn’t about to offer up any words of wisdom any time soon, so Phin checked that it was sporting the correct-expression-for-the-occasion: his feeling fine face.  A last glance at his cuffs assured him that his jumper seams were not on the outside, safely away from Phin’s skin (screaming loon-on-the-loose). That was a daft thing to do, it must be admitted, but he was too scratchy to tell without looking.

After doing a deep breath, which was supposed to help somehow—it did not—Phin pushed the loo door open. The utter silence that greeted him should have been blissful. It was not. The empty van was a void into which Phin’s stupid, hopeful heart plummeted. Jake had gone. Phin had never felt so alone, which was weird, when that should have been a wonderful thing. ‘Alone’ wasn’t like this, though. Alone was pottering about, as cosy as can be, but thiscoshed him with an emotion so strange, he wasn’t sure what it was. Only ‘loss’ seemed similar, but that was a different sort of sadness. This sort was sucking the air out of his lungs. Suffocating him.

Phin shoved the loo door shut with his back and slumped against it, scrunching his eyes tight shut. Then slid downwards, until he was curled as small as he could make himself and pressed his forehead to his bent knees. He never knew how long he stayed put, listening to what loneliness felt like. Long enough that his bum went numb.

How Phin wished his mind would follow suit, but not even his bedtime tablets could perform that miracle. Maybe take those and try to go to sleep? He’d forgotten about them last night, so it wouldn’t count as snaffling an extra dose. Phin wasn’t tired, but he rarely was. Hence the need for the knockout drops, because staying awake for a week was ‘bad for him’.  Going to bed was the bane of his life. Boring beyond belief (that might be a catchy turn of phrase but Phin sure as strewth-I’m-bloody-bored, believed it). He hated being still and doing nothing to dispel the scratchy. But this nothingness was much worse; he’d rather claw his own skin off than feel it.

Phin knew he was being daft. He hadn’t lost Jack, who hadn’t been his to lose. Not even a friend, let alone a…lover? Boyfriend? Jake couldn’t even be classed as a one night stand; that would be an upgrade in the ranks of brief encounters. Theirs had been thong-sized. Aptly enough, when it was as vividly scored into Phin’s memory as cheese-wire through Cheddar. 

It had been too good to be true. Full stop. Dreams never had a real life Phin to sabotage them. The sudden slash of self-loathing that scythed through his system blitzed Phin’s brain with scarlet bile. Sosooostupid. Their tea cups sat, as serene as can be, on the counter top, mocking him. A surge to his feet and swift sweep of an arm sent them crashing to the floor in a spatter of tea spray like dirty rain. Every bit as grubbynot good enoughas he’d always known himself to be. Wired all wrong, for all to see, as if Not Like You was tattooed on Phin’s forehead in fancy font. The gnawing need to smash everything in sight was scalding; a scorch so intense that a bit of spontaneous combustion should have saved Phin the satisfaction. 

* * *

All the hopes Phin should never have permitted shelf space, shattered. For the briefest, brightest of moments, there they’d glistened, unfathomably within reach. Destroyed in one hapless instant, as surely as the porcelain shards scattered underfoot. A glint of light glanced off a fragment shaped like a shark’s tooth, ensnaring Phin’s gaze. He bent to pluck it off the floor, a jagged remnant of its former self. He would keep it, he knew; a single treasure salvaged from the day his foxy friend came to stay, for a while, at least. ‘A while’ worth all the teacups in China. 

Phin closed his hand around it and held tight, lest he lose it, then slid back down the door. Until he unfurled his fingers to examine his prize, he hadn’t felt the icy burn that promptly blazed a trail up his arm. His fingers were too numb to take any notice. He couldn’t feel them, just the searing sting scored across all four, where their ‘bend here’ line used to be.

Bummer, the ivory shark’s tooth was now smeared scarlet, t’boot. Phin’s palm felt squelchy with stickiness.  Nowhere else hurt, though. He didn’t even feel scratchy. His head was a bit whizzy, which felt preferable to having a hatchet buried in it.  The burn itself felt…cleansing, which made sense in the funeral pyre scheme of things. The blood was dripping down Phin’s forearm now, decorating it like ruby trickles of melted candle wax down a wine bottle. The screeching soreness was wearing off, which was a bit rubbish; it had helped to have that single pulse of pain to focus on.

The scratchy was coming back too, clawing at Phin’s arms and legs. A fire-ants-scurrying- under-his-skin sensation so intense he should be able to see them. It was driving him demented. One swift slash across his inner forearm, where the creepy-crawling was worst, might expunge a few. Thousand. Oops, that turned out a tad wider than expected. The shark’s tooth was p’raps thicker than a blade. Ah well. Its scorch seemed to warm him through as it radiated from the gash, gathering force, rather than subsiding. His brain felt as numb as his bum and fingers now, which was a plus, but he felt a bit squiffy, which was not. Phin hadn’t had a jot to drink. He definitely didn’t want to wake up two days running with a hangover after nary a hot toddy to make it seem worthwhile. P’raps he should take his tablets, then go and have a lie down. He was a bit dizzy, as if he’d been spinning on the spot to make the world go whizzy.

Phin swallowed his pills with a slurp of water from the tap, then held his upturned arm under the flow. Drying blood felt as if your skin was shrinking, which was never a fun thought to trigger. Particularly before bed…which was where Phin should comport himself, before his nook took on the look of a…rook’s nest. Or was it a crow’s?  The lookout bucket at the top of a ship’s mast to scan the horizon for scurvy dogs. That would do—it didn’t rhyme though—so the rook would just have to snaffle it. Like a cuckoo. Oops…he had an aviary already.  

His head was getting a bit out of hand. Flopping down before he fell over would be a cunning plan indeed, Phin decided. He felt almost euphoric with relief  when he snuggled under the duvet and dragged it over his head. Phin loved the dark—far more than any particular season—night was his favourite time of day. It made him feel safe. Even the bittersweet tang of tears felt comforting in his cosy cave under the covers…

*

Urgh… When Phin peered above the duvet he really wished he hadn’t. Ouch. His head hurt…and his eyes were sore. And his arm. Fingers. His toes seemed okay, which was not to be sniffed at when they tended to bear the brunt of mishaps. Phin needed a pee something chronic, so he’d have to drag his arse out of bed. Dammit. He also needed to buy loo roll, he remembered—which he had not—yesterday. That meant people. Double dammit. He didn’t want to see anyone at all, beset as he was by a stroppy ‘if I can’t see Jack, I don’t want to see anyone ever again, so there’, sort of mood.

Phin squinted down at the angry slash on his arm, which was a bit puffy ‘n’ purple. It wasn’t bleeding any more, but the duvet looked as if it had been tie-dyed in rusty water. After blowing out a huge huff, Phin threw back the covers and scrambled around to lower himself to the floor. Pee ‘n’ tea. Then what? Quite why he asked himself this, when he knew damn well that he’d be off to the moors later, Phin knew not. It wasn’t as if he had the luxury of choice. That was fruitloop delusion more excessive than conjuring up furry friends with eyes that gleamed aquamarine.

 

 

***

Jake & Jack

 

 

It was with utmost gratitude that Jake grabbed his jacket off it’s hook. His shift had seemed endless. He’d twitched his way through it, antsy and distracted by an internal pacing too relentless to ignore. The slivers of patience Jake could lay claim to had been whittled away to naught and his now nerves were frazzled to fuck.

After fleeing from the camper van Jake had let Jack have his head—literally—it had been a relief to hand the reins over. Take a back seat, become a mere passenger to his instincts; let Jack indulge in pure and simple pleasures, guilt-free and glad to be alive. Gone was the gut-wrenching grief of what-might-have-been, the gnawing knowledge that Jake had hurt the least-deserving lover he never had. 

Flinging himself into the wind, Jack flew with the fur ruffling breeze, without a care in the world. Except for catching a whiff of rabbit before the heavens opened. Nevertheless, Jake was glad when it started hammering down a few hours later, which lessened their chances of being spotted on the way home. The winding lanes were either flanked by trees or bordered by high hedgerows, safe from streetlights and random passers by. His cottage backed onto woods, which made the risk of being observed minimal. There was a spare door key secreted in the rockery and Jake kept an emergency stash of clothes in the shed, for such unforeseen incidents. One naked stroll was quite enough for the foreseeable.

Jake had not spent the time before his shift sulking. No, not at all. He’d been practicing his guitar, having a shower and tidying up. Useful things. Keeping himself busy until he went to work.

He had managed four hours without biting anyone’s head off, just about, and now… freedom beckoned. It was nearing half-eleven and the moon was high in the sky, casting it’s ghostly glow over their labyrinth lanes home. The night was young and the jackal was eager to be unleashed upon it. Much to the mutts chagrin, Jake had laid down the law. No midnight excursions, we can’t risk heading to the moors. Not tonight.

Jake found himself flat out a few seconds later, clutching his guts, wracked with pain. Clawed by phantom paws with a glee so rabid he should be quarantined.

You and whose army this time?

They appeared to be moorward bound whether Jake liked it or not…and unless he fancied spending the rest of his life four-footed and furry, he had no choice whatsoever. Thus, Jake headed home and had a quick cuppa before stripping down to his boxers and heading to the shed. After stashing some clean sweatpants and t-shirts in there, he leaped barefoot over the garden fence and sprinted off into the night. Once safely in the woods, Jake let go, indulging the jackal in some pant-shredding humanity-shedding en route. The night air was calm; clear after the early evening downpour. It was a bit chilly, but not too cold to while away an hour or so amidst the ruins of a tumbledown engine house…

Would Phin even be there, or was the camper van long gone? He may have packed up his shattered pride and fled the memory of the bastard who’d stolen his innocence. Jack was convinced this was cobblers. Jake just knew that’s exactly what he would have done, had their roles been reversed.

Jack’s instincts were, as ever, faultless. The camper van sat serenely on the verge, the soft glow of a nightlight seeping through its drawn curtains. Not a sound came from within, so Jake allowed himself to hope that Phin had, indeed, headed off to his favoured spot.

If Jack could grin with glee? There was no doubt he’d be doing just that. His tongue was lolling from his open mouth, looking dafter than seemed feasible, as he stood scenting the air with eager anticipation. Off he set at a sudden run, skimming sure-footed over stone, rock and clumps of scrubby grass. Phin’s scent, a sparkling thread of promise, luring them with magnetic force. Stronger, richer, now; more mulled wine than cinnamon sugar. More…insistent.

When Jack reached his spying spot behind a crumble-down wall, he hunkered down on the moss with a happy huff of contentment. Phin was sitting exactly where he belonged, facing the engine house ruins with a notebook on his lap. They watched as he scribbled a few words, sometimes a few lines, between bouts of chewing the end of his pen and gazing around as if he were waiting for a tardy friend.

This made them both a bit fretful; no-one had joined Phin before, nor had it seemed they might. Jack craned his head around, scanning the horizon in every direction, but there wasn’t a soul to be seen or scented. The skittish twitches of his skin and ears refused to relent; there was too much at stake. Jack would not, could not, share Phin. He was theirs.

With an unhappy huff of unease, he let his head flop onto his front paws. The small whine that sounded in his throat was involuntary; impossible to quash even if he’d known it was was about to exhibit itself. Phin snapped his head up with an alertness that suggested he’d heard a rifle crack. The pen fell unheeded from his fingers.

“Foxy…?” was a soft expulsion of breath.

Foxy?

Did Phin mean Jake, or the friendly ‘fox’ he’d ‘dreamed’ last night? Rosebud lips pursed around a low whistle and then—in warm, coaxing tones—called out:

“Here, boy…”

‘Here, boy?’ Well fuck. Now there was an invitation Jake had never thought to hear this lifetime.  Jack’s butt was twitching, his fur quivering in anticipation. Nooooo!

How the jackal managed to suppress a spring so imminent, Jake knew not, but sure as hell knew they were fucked, seconds later. This, when Phin’s shoulders drooped with a disappointment almost as dreadful as the wilted scent of sorrow that spoiled his own.

Jack was off like a shot, bounding over the rubble.

As bidden… he pointed out before Jake could muster a limp protest. He summoned us; he wants us, we want him, simple. 

Summoned?  F’fucksakes. Does he have a death wish, or is Phin so certain you mean him no harm?

There was no trace of uncertainty on Phin’s face, nor fearful souring of his scent. He didn’t even flinch when a furry missile came flying through the air, aimed his way. Instead? A huge beam of joy put the starlight to shame when Jack skittered to a stop a few feet from Phin’s right thigh. Tongue lolling out in a goofy grin. 

A most undignified one. Indecent, in fact.

Jack didn’t give a stuff. Particularly when Phin extend his fingers towards him, stilling them several inches from his nose. When Jack stretched forwards to snuffle them, Phin’s chuckle was so charming, he could scarce restrain from swiping the hand a lick. 

“Good boy…hello…” His endearment was a melted chocolate murmur…Jack wanted to lick that too.

Good boy!? For chrissakes. He’ll be off to buy you a collar and lead tomorrow.

Soft limit, or hard? Suit yourself, I’m in.

Jack couldn’t resist tasting those fingertips for a second longer. They were being wafted under his nose like the tastiest of treats. It would be rude to rebuff them. Very rude. And Jack was a gent. 

A whaaat-the-fuck? 

Oh, do pipe down at the back. 

Which is exactly how it feels, dogbreath. Stuck in the backseat of a car, watching a mate cop off with your not-so secret crush.

Mate, huh? I’m touched. Well, buckle up and sit tight, buddy, it’s my turn. You had yours. Then—if I recall rightly—gave him the brush off and buggered off without so much as a word of farewell. Thus, it seems a leetle bit likely that you’re in the dog house, remember? You’ll find it located at one of the Poles, or thereabouts, I reckon. Laters… 

 

 

 

***