Wafflish

Beast of Bodmin Moor 35

The Beast of Bodmin Moor

 

 

Jake

 

“S’okay…you can open them again now,” Jake assured Phin, who’d cringed from the glare of the overhead lights, his eyes screwed shut.

Fuck. How the hell was Phin supposed to handle all that was heading his way, full beam bright? His senses were too acute for his own comfort before being skyrocketed into supernatural territory. Having ever been plagued by too much input, how the bejeezus could he cope when too much exceeded human capacity? If only that was the worst of it. Phin had spent a lifetime trying to reign himself in to appease people and patently believed he’d failed. So how would he feel when faced with razor sharp instincts too intense to repress? Responses that would be less suppressible than those he’d already been saddled with. ‘Excessive’ had been Phin’s baseline. Before.

Those charged with whittling away his excesses were about to find themselves in for a bloody shock. Not least when their efforts sure as shit hadn’t derived a jot of job satisfaction to date. A task that would shortly seem on par with a stroll in the park, compared to the polar trek they would all-too soon encounter. 

Unless…Was it possible that supersenses could come as less of a shock to a system already under siege from too much? Was Phin better equipped than most to withstand an extreme upgrade? Or… would the addition of shape-shifter acuity make Phin’s jackal self more…feral than Jack? Less controllable. Would Phin be forced to endure being Too Much Jackal on top of everything else? Fuck.

Jack was no help whatsoever; he was flat out with a daft expression on his furry face, tongue lolling in a far too self-satisfied fashion. For all the world as if he’d spent the night sniffing nefarious substances.

A state Jake couldn’t, in all fairness, begrudge him. The kitchen was drenched in a deranging cocktail of scents so thick it made walking more akin to wading through a pea-souper. Of sex. So potent, it was impossible to breathe without inhaling a lungful of lust laden air. Phin had smelled too alluring to resist from halfway across the moors…he was an opium den on (ludicrous) legs now.

Standing this close, barely a breath apart, Jake could scarce refrain from…doing exactly what Phin then did; launched himself into the space separating them. His full body weight slammed against Jake like a wrecking ball and down he went; standing firm would have impacted on Phin as if he’d been catapulted into a brick wall. Until Jake knew for sure that Phin’s resilience had been enhanced alongside his (further) heightened senses Jake wasn’t about to risk impact fractures by staying on his feet for no reason other than he could.

Jake landed flat on his back on the tiled floor with a bone-jarring crash, crushed beneath a Phin who sure as hell felt less fragile. A Phin whose frantic efforts to disrobe Jake were hampered by being plastered across his body. After finally managing to wrench the fleecy fabric aside, Phin swooped with a low growl; a sound he’d never come close to making before. The mouth he smudged across Jake’s chest was as hot, hungry as his raw cinnamon scent, now suffused with cassia bark. Stronger, more potent, yet retaining the essence that was essentially Phin. 

Jake’s heartbeat skittered, sped beneath the lips Phin clamped to a nipple, dragging a groan from the pit of Jake’s guts with teeth perfectly poised at the point of pleasure-pain.

“Phin…fuck…” Jake gasped when his hips snapped upwards, too desperate for friction to remain static beneath the heavy press of feverish flesh pinning them to the floor. A surge that sent Phin slithering backwards until he was crouched between Jake’s thighs. When he began to trail tentative fingertips along Jake’s cock, there was no need to lift his head to read Phin’s reaction to his new improved view on the world. Now narrowed to, focused intently on, the iridescent sheen of Jake’s cock. The scent that assailed his nostrils was every bit as vivid as visuals.

Jake couldn’t help but hold his breath, despite being (almost) sure that Phin was not about to start on supper but… Jake was rather fond of it, and pups were partial to chewing on whatever took their fancy. The rifle-shot gasp that ripped free was twin toned relief when Jake found himself engulfed in one fell swoop. Phin froze, aside from the guttural groan that crawled up in his throat—and along Jake’s length—when his taste-buds erupted in a riot of sensation. Those doe-a-deer-in-the-headlight eyes sure as hell flared wide enough to swallow Jake whole without any assistance whatsoever.  When Phin began to drag his head back, it was with a flattened tongue and lust-glazed gaze that were truly too much to endure. Too much for Jack to tolerate with Jake flat on his back at the mercy of his…mate.

“Grrrrrh…” The growl that tore free was damn near feral when Jake threw his body weight to the side, rolling Phin onto his back and reclaiming his rightful spot, astride everlasting thighs.

“So beautiful…” Phin, quite unperturbed by their abrupt role reversal, simply lifted his arm to hover quivering fingertips a few inches from Jake’s face. The scent of his skin was so intoxicating Jake clamped a hand around his wrist to brush his nose across its tender inner skin. Jake’s lids slid shut upon inhaling a lungful of cassis infused Phin, confirming what they already knew. Jake could smell himself; stronger, richer now, with husky mace and nutmeg base notes. Their scent—not on Phin’s skin—beneath the surface, suffusing his own.

“Mine…” Jake affirmed, darting out his tongue to taste their twinned scents, staking his claim. But not emphatically enough. Jake sprang to his feet and scooped Phin into his arms before whisking him into the front room, which was closest. The rug was sheepskin, which would do, although they would rather be outside. Beneath a rustling canopy of leaves…the air redolent with the richness of earth… lavish limbs gleaming ivory against the lush green of the grass. Tomorrow. For now, the soft tufts of wool would suffice…Phin certainly seemed content to be lowered onto it like the sacred gift he was.

“Fuck, look at you…” Jake heard himself mutter while gazing down at the lustrous lines of his body, the fluid ripple of lean muscle as he nestled into soft fur, a beatific smile on his upturned face. Unearthly beautiful. Caressed by the shady softness of night-sight, the pearlescent gleam of porcelain was mesmerizing. Every inch as captivating as  Phin himself…and all theirs.

 

***

 

Phin

 

Finding himself sandwiched between fluffy fur and hard heat was a contrast more delectable than hot fudge sauce drizzled over ice-cream. A delicacy that left Phin cold, compared to his craving for Jake. He had no other appetite, for neither air nor nourishment; all he wanted was Jake, filling him up, making him whole, forever. Making him His. For Phin wasn’t convinced there was a ‘theirs’. Not in any way that counted; not to instincts that had long since proved uncannily accurate. Despite Phin’s lack of care for consequences and tendency to do forgetting stuff that ‘mattered’ most. They even smelled the same; Jack’s scent might be stronger, but it didn’t differ in essence. Fur or no.

Phin buried his hands in the lush tumble of Jake’s hair, relishing the slither of silken strands that slipped through his fingers. When that magical mouth did crushing to his own, Phin’s lips melted to the plush contours of Jake’s, his breath a life force in itself. It felt as if he intended to do devouring all Phin was, even as Jake did giving more than he took.  Phin was starting to suspect they could spend forever trying to do slaking an unquenchable thirst.

When Jake did pulling away, it was to ensnare Phin with a gaze that shimmered untold shades of azure. Eyes that did drinking him in, as thirsty as his kisses. It felt akin to being nailed to the rug by blue…what was Jake looking for? Phin just hoped he could see it, because he never wanted Jake to do searching somewhere else.

“Are you afraid?” Jake asked, all of a sudden, for no reason Phin could do discerning. 

“Nope, I’m starving…”

“Fuck, I never fed you…” Jake groaned, a husky purr of sound that did shivering across Phin’s skin.

“I want you to do filling me up, not feeding me,” Phin informed him. He p’raps did a spot of hinting too; tilting his hips Jake-wards to do spurring him on. A gravelly growl rumbled in his throat when the scoundrel shifted himself so sharpish, Phin found himself flipped onto his front in a flurry of movement too fast to track. He hadn’t even begun to get his bearings when he was hoisted up by the waist and his bum was hosting a very frisky visitor. 

“Jake!” Phin may have done shrieking—a smidge—it was all too quick to do keeping up. A hot, moist shock to his system so sublime it made his entire self fizzle as if Jake was waving a sparkler about up there. His tongue was doing a flicker-flutter with the fury of hummingbird wings. If it was possible to do combusting with bliss, then Phin would have been smithereens splattered across Jake’s furry rug. It might’ve been a tad daft to think so, but it still felt feasible, all the same. “PLEASE!!” He almost shattered his own eardrums t’boot, which was a wee bit unseemly, but it was all too much more than Phin could do bearing without blowing up.

Jack whipped his tongue free and did gripping Phin’s hips with a fingers so firmand a focus so intenthe didn’t think a tractor could have done dragging him away. A fortuitous thing indeed while hovering on the brink of a moment so sublime Phin would have longed to stay suspended there forever. If he hadn’t craved its fullfilment more than life itself. Or something such. A very excessive lot.  

Grappling hooks of anticipation did gripping his guts when the heavy press of Jake’s cock nudged the core of Phin’s very self. The racket that did ripping from his lips alongside the snap of Jake’s scintillating spine was so steeped in raw lust, it sounded fit for rutting in the forest rather than on a fluffy rug. Phin couldn’t have done stopping it if the rest of forever depended on doing so.

“Jaacckkhh!”  It was a tad startling, but blimey o’riley… the bliss that sandblasted his brain and blitzed his body was unbearable without giving voice to it. It demanded a presence, which was, quite possibly the most doolally thought that had ever done flitting through Phin’s head. Ah well…at least that hadn’t insisted on airing itself too.

It was rush of ecstasy so intense it did snatching his breath away….and quite clearly the last of his marbles. Phin wasn’t entirely sure he did surviving it. He certainly didn’t care. It was akin to hurtling into a hurricane of white heat. Or being engulfed in a fiery furnace; all consuming, inescapable, devouring…and yet, Phin never felt more…safe, sure, complete.

The need was a press too immense to do comprehending…and yet, his body understood. It was necessary.  Nothing had ever done mattering this much; the craving for Jake to do filling him up in every way.

“Fuuck…hang on.” Jake did dragging in a ragged breath and held it; every muscle taut, quivering with a desire so desperate Phin could do tasting it. Having never had a snack quite so luscious, he couldn’t do discerning its flavour…p’raps steak glazed in maple-syrup and flame-grilled in absinthe. Something as darkly rich as molten molasses and so delectable, decadent, he’d go stark raving bonkers if he so much as snuffled it.

“Sorry. Toomuch,” Jake gasped.

“S’okay…Jake?”

Jake…” There was still strain in the single syllable, but Jake’s husky voice did sound less trembly. The sunshine musk of his scent grew stronger, overriding the sudden sharp hot stink of fox-y that had overpowered it. Phin was now thinking in Hughes-isms; theirs was a realm where the prosaic had no place. 

“See, I did remembering. Jaake.” His elongated ‘a’ rifled the air as a sigh of satisfaction. “Now can you please do fucking me?”

Jake? Answered with his hips. Emphatically. Excessive belonged to a world far from this. After (almost) withdrawing with one smooth, swift ebb of motion, Jake surged forth and buried himself in Phin’s body as if to do imprinting on his very bones. His head rocked back and his spine did arching to drive Jake deeper still; he wanted more, needed more… His whole self was ablaze with it; it was like trying to see through a wall of flame. Phin couldn’t think or feel around it…he just wanted Jake to take him as hard and fast as he was holding back. Again.

All the incessant clamourings of Phin’s mind may as well have been whipped away on the wind; he’d never felt so free, so entirely flesh and bone and blood. It was akin to stumbling from a blizzard into a world as pure and untainted as sunlight dancing off fresh snow. A world where there was no too much. Phin could never have ’nuff Jake.

“Gnrr…Phin…” That velvety voice was syrup poured over his skin when Jake did rolling his hips with a foxy finesse no human spine could pull off.

“Hmmm…more…” Phin’s wanton hussy aspirations were p’raps progressing apace. His own spine sure seemed to be indulging itself in some antics Phin hadn’t known it was capable of. But then…his body had never met Jake before, so it probably hadn’t done bothering.

It was as if, deep down, his most secret self had done waiting, muddling along as best it could. Knowing that only one soul could ever do soothing the scratchy. Or fill the hollow ache that was his heart. Knowing…that it would do waiting for Him. Forever. 

 

***

Wafflish

Beast of Bodmin Moor 31

The Beast of Bodmin Moor

 

 

Jake

 

Phin was a revelation. Within seconds, Jake realised that he’d expected his ethereal sprite to be all molten limbs and soft sighs. Phin, as ever, belied belief. He was a force of nature, ferocious with need. Every bit as insatiable as he was incorrigible.

“Stop doing fretting, Foxy won’t hurt me…Mmore…”

Listen to him, f’chrissakes. Even if you’re too bloody-minded to admit I’d rather drop dead than hurt a hair on his head.

How he’d ached to heed Phin’s pleas, but Jake hadn’t trusted himself any more than Jack’s word. The mutt was too wily to ‘do believing’, too instinctive to vow bugger-all. His ‘word’ meant nothing, the pub car park had proved that. In full, inglorious technicolour with surround sound. At least there he’d had space to ensure Phin’s safety. As opposed to buried balls deep in his body, without so much as a hairsbreadth of room in which to err. This, alongside irises that gleamed with inhuman luminosity—azure rather than amber—in readiness. Casting an ominous glow over Phin’s angel face, bleaching it of life; except for those eyes—ablaze with dark fire. Devouring all else.

Refusing to cede to their dual demands had felt a helluva lot like trying to read The Guardian while sitting on a deck chair in a hurricane. Jake had been afraid of failing Phin on two legs, from the very start..but the true terror? Finishing on four. 

“Stop doing fretting. Foxy won’t hurt me.”

How had Phin been so sure? Jake sure as shit hadn’t been. But it was Phin whose instincts proved finer-tuned than Jake’s, supposedly supernatural, faculties. When his subterranean self had shimmered to the forefront, as he’d known damn well it would, the outcome that so terrorised Jake hadn’t torn Phin apart. The very same shiver of heat that charged the air seemed…somehow changed. Rather than ride roughshod over Jake and imperil Phin; the raw, primal power had enveloped them, untouched at the eye of the storm.

The only ‘shift’ Jake’s deranged senses had been able to detect was subtle, in the base notes of his own scent…and a distinct difference in Phin’s. Impending orgasm? Impossible to tell with liquid flame coursing through his veins and a torrent of far too much infusing his every breath. Inevitable, when Phin was too much personified and Jake was buried in his body. A Phin whose extensive vocabulary had been tossed overboard in favour of one word—morrrre—wielded far too frequently with nary a care for consequence whatsoever. Of course.

They would have ripped him in half if they’d done as Phin demanded. Even Jake’s furry foe, who’d been dead set on doing Phin’s bidding from the moment they met—

Your civil war is too tedious for words. You’d already be bloody ‘furry’, you blithering idiot, if that’s what we wanted.

There is no We.

Keep telling yourself that and fuck this up too, then. Why change the habits of a lifetime for something as horrifying as happiness? To be honest, I’d be inclined to agree if his didn’t matter more than yours. Selfish tosspot.

Jack had never felt closer to the surface of Jake’s conscious self, which was terrifying. A thought so sinister it made a mockery of the fact Jack seemed…strangely calm. Not least when Jake had been terrified the jackal would seize the chance to snatch back the reins. Instead? Jake found himself no longer sure where he ended and Jack began. Or where they ended and Phin began.

How the hell Jack—hot-wired into doing Phin’s bidding—had managed to deny them both, Jake couldn’t fathom. Despite every indication to the contrary (and excruciating lesson learned), the realisation that he couldn’t hold out a second longer didn’t prove the horror show Jake had dreaded. Save for the destination of an orgasm so befittingly excessive it felt intent on turning him inside out…and quite capable of killing one of them. At least. 

Jake had determined on pulling out. Denying himself that much had been his last hope, when it became clear that was the only option he had left. His solitary means of safeguarding Phin, for every reason that suggested itself. Two in particular. First and foremost, Jake hadn’t been convinced that Jack could—or worse, would—contain himself in its throes, when it mattered most and Jake was least able to keep a grip on himself. Secondly—if only in survival terms—was averting what seemed the most surefire way of ensuring that Phin’s life, as he knew it, was over. 

Jake had done his damnedest. That he could vow, on pain of death.

Ever the hero… 

Why Jack? WHY?

Why not, when it was too late? 

Too late?

From the first. Before the first. Don’t plead innocence, it doesn’t become you. You knew. Except for being so bloody stubborn—to punish yourself, I might add—you’ve done bugger all to bypass your ‘worst fear’. Slobber in an open wound? Allowing Phin to swallow your load? You’ve done little else but fill him with body fluids since the moment we met. Intravenous infusion? Check. Ingestion? Check. How the bejeezus did you fool your batshit brain into believing that coming over all Catholic would ‘safeguard’ Phin from the ‘fate’ you claim to abhor? 

Claim?  I loathe you with every fibre of my fucking being. Was it imperative to all-but shatter his bones, t’boot? 

There is not a bruise on Phin’s body, and you know it. Nor have his bones ever been less likely to ‘shatter’. Let’s humour you for a mo, though—in which case—Phin would still bound out of bed, as right as rain in the morning. Now, if you’ve quite finished being tedious for five minutes? I have some wallowing in afterglow to attend to…

Quite aside from ‘wallowing in afterglow’, which inhabits a realm beyond ridicule: Tedious? You’ve been watching way too much Sherlock.

Well, that’s one thing less for you to fret about. We have our very own luscious legs to salivate over now. Just sayin.

Couldn’t you at least use ‘lust’, you slathering mutt?

Nope. Gild your own lilies all you like, lightweight.

*

This torrent of inanity rioted around Jake’s head at warp speed in the few seconds Jake spent with his forehead pressed to a silken expanse of sweat-slick chest. Breathing Phin in, listening the hectic beat of his heart slow, steady to a sure, strong rhythm. 

Residual fear plagued Jake’s conscience, despite every sense insisting that Phin was as healthy as a—assuredly not a horse. More to the point, Jake could smell that he was as fit as a fiddle (a far less foreboding simile). It wasn’t so much the absence of blood—nor the scent spattered in silvery trails across porcelain skin—but the cinnamon-infused husky musk of…satisfaction. Sweeter than Jake’s own: Irish Cream to their Whiskey. 

Phin…are you okay?”

“Hmmm…very okay. I won’t say told ya so though, cos that would be unseemly.”

“You are incorrigible…and quite shameless,” Jake groaned, before abruptly lifting his head to glower at Phin with naked fear ablaze in his eyes. “You should have let me pull out. I could’ve killed you.”

“Oh parp. I didn’t want you to do pulling out. I wanted to feel you filling me up.”

If there was an answer to that, it sure as hell wasn’t about to suggest itself any time soon. Jack was no help. It clearly took dedication to maintain that much smug. 

With your record of being right, you probably shouldn’t bet on it. 

Left without a leg to stand on (cue snickers from the rear end), Jake figured it would be wise to utilize his tongue in a far more useful fashion. That was his excuse and he was sticking to it...before their skin suffered a similar fate. Not an altogether unfortunate prospect, it must be admitted, but somewhat…limiting. 

“Where are you gohmmm…” Phin’s query dissolved in a happy hum of sound when Jake’s shuffle backwards reaped its rewards. After lapping up every last drop he slid along spit-slick skin to tug a taut nipple with teasing teeth and torture its twin in turn. The first sent sharp hips snapping off the bed and the second clamped Phin’s palm to his nape.

“Jaake…” Tugged harder, eliciting a purr of pleasure so potent it made the mutt’s ears prick up and the rest of that sentence…a superfluous rearrangement of words. Already?

No way. Have you lost the plot? He won’t be able to sit down for a week, as it is. 

Obviously. That being about how long it took a grisly head wound to heal… 

Was the eye-roll necessary?

Some things are too satisfying to resist. Particularly when there’s no reason to…

“Jake…?”

“Yes, Phin?” Only a coma could have blinded Jake’s senses to the obvious…and even that didn’t seem a sure thing. 

“Does this….” Phin slid his free hand between their bodies and clamped it around Jake’s clearly up for seconds cock. “…mean we can do it again?”

“I’m beginning to fear you’ll be fighting me off with a broom before I’m done…” Jake owned, apparently done with all sense of decency. Human or otherwise.  “…which will be never.”

“I don’t do brooming.” Phin noted, after pondering that for a nanosecond. “I shake the rug outside to freshen it up a bit. Jake, I couldn’t be too much glad about that. I never ever, want you to do stopping…”

 

***

Wafflish

Beast of Bodmin Moor 30

The Beast of Bodmin Moor

 

ice-2575407_640📷 StockSnapPixabay

 

Phin

 

Oh, so slowly Jake slid his finger inside, sending white-hot shivers skittering here, there  ’n’ everywhere. Phin’s eyes did rolling back in his head, too dazed, dazzled and far too beset by hypermuch to do facing forwardslet alone their focussing thingany time soon. “Hhmorrre…” It felt sooo much better than Phin’s experimentings…but then, Jake made everything more magical, just by being Jake. Even the world seemed warmer, while bathing in blue.

“Y’okay?” Jake murmured, releasing Phin’s other hip to slip the hand beneath him and enclose his cock in a sure fist.

Jake!” 

“Too much?”

“Jus…don’t move it.” Phin gasped. A dark chuckle tickled his back as Jake began to swivel the finger before starting a smooth sweep of back and forth, far too slow to endure for long. “Morrre…” The finger retreated and Phin held his breath, hoping harder than his cock; a feat in itself. One that reaped fruits aplenty when Jake inserted a second alongside the first. They did burning a bit, but it wasn’t a bad burn, more of a searing stretch. Their slowness was excruciating.

How the bejeezus Jake was supposed to do fitting, Phin had no idea. He was just getting used to wiggling digits doing a scissoring swirl when Jake did brushing a spot that made a bomb go off in Phin’s brain. It sure felt as if it had exploded when sparks sizzled up his spine and set off a fit of the fizzy fidgets and a swift visit to heaven, or thereabouts. “Jaaaake!” Phin screeched so loud he might have done blushing a bit if he wasn’t too busy doing visiting. “Please…” he panted, “Now…need, ah!

“You sure?”

“I was sure two days ago!” Phin squawked. Jake’s devilish chuckle accompanied an abrupt ache so hollow it was a shock to his system. He felt…bereft. “Jake?” His name sliced through the darkness with a razor sharp rush of something Phin couldn’t name.

“I’m here…” He bent low, hot breath breezing along Phin’s back before pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades. 

“’Kay. Sorry, I-I felt sort of…lost.”

“S’okay…I’ve got you.” His voice was a velvet caress. “Turn over…lie on your back.”

“But, I want—”

“I know. Trust me.” Words that oozed reassurance, ringing with surety.

“I do. I always did.”

“I seem to have a lot to live up to, tonight,” Jake sighed, as if he’d been called upon to pull off the impossible feat that was say…buttering a slice of toast. When Phin had shuffled around to flop onto his back, Jake crawled between his thighs and leaned over to grab a couple of pillows. He’d no sooner slipped a palm beneath Phin’s bum to lift it off the bed than done stuffing the pillows beneath it and lowering him onto them. “Is this better…?” Jake asked planting his hands beside Phin’s shoulders to dip his head and meld their mouths in a kiss as breath snatching as his finger shenanigans. 

“Hmm…I can see you…” Those eyes glowed like crystal ice caves in the darkness, illuminating Jake’s face.

“‘If we hook your legs over my shoulders you’ll feel more…secure. Bend your knees up a bit…” Jake clasped the backs of his thighs and hoisted them into place.

“Mm…I like the thought of having my legs wrapped around your neck.” Phin’s smile may have been his ‘cat’s-got-the-cream’ one.

“I very much like the thought of having your legs wrapped around my neck,” he chuckled. “D’you feel better now?” Jake leaned in low, pushing Phin’s thighs onto his chest when he bent to capture his lips.

“Much…” Phin answered, eventually. “Jake? Are you okay? Is Foxy?”

“Yeah. He thinks it’s about time I ‘quit arsing about and got on with it’. Apparently.”

“It’s p’raps a good plan to do listening then.” Phin did a sage nod, Yoda stylee.

“I do believe you’re right…” Jake’s voice dropped to deepest blue quartz.”If…if I hurt you, promise me— Just promise.” His eyes blazed topaz bright, blinding. Beyond beautiful. 

“I promise.” Phin rustled up a serene smile, and did crossing his fingers tight.

 

* * *

 

Jake

 

 

If…if I hurt you, promise me Just promise,” Jake glared, desperate to drill his words into that brilliant, baffling brain; now hell bent on surrendering Phin to the safekeeping of a predator. Said mutt was in complete accord with his wishes, of course, which assuredly proved Jake’s point.

“I promise.” Phin’s fallen angel face shone with sincerity. Radiant with wrecker’s lantern allure. Impossibly innocent. Irrational instincts (theirs) overruled rational reasons (Jake’s) why this was the worst idea in the world. Ever. Even as he acknowledged this, Jake knew damn well whose dark need had delivered the final verdict. He could tell himself till the end of forever that it had been decreed by a double-barrelled assault of eternal eyes and dogged determination, but it was all-too clear who’d put his foot in the snare…and left it there until it snapped shut.

Jack…please, keep him safe. I’d trade you the rest of the world for him.

Just. Trust.

Just trust? What sort of an answer is that? 

Did I do forgetting to say ‘yourself’? How remiss of me. 

Myself? It’s you who’s never once kept his shit together when it suited you otherwise.

Which proves my point.

Spouted by the font of wisdom forever intent on channelling Mutley or playing Riddle of the Sphinx.

*

Now that Jake had made the fateful decision (he hoped didn’t prove far too literal), it seemed he was hell-bent on flinging himself into it with gay abandon. The brutal truth being, of course, that Jake was guiltier than Double and Trouble put together. When he bent to press a kiss to lips that parted on a sigh, the scent of Phin’s breath snatched his own away. It was opium to their senses. As divine as it was deadly. There was only him.

There’ll only ever be him.

Is that some sort of soulmate shapeshifter crap?

Give me strength. As if.  

Jackals WHAT…?

You heard me.

Fuck.

*

Jackals ‘Mate For Life’. Apparently. That sure as hell formed an unholy trinity of truths:

  1. Unless Jack planned on a very brief happy ever after and life as a very lone jackal, then might Jake trust that Phin would live to regret it?
  2. Waking up with a sore arse would soon seem a rather transitory inconvenience. Upon finding himself mated for life with a mangy mutt.
  3. Or, at least until Phin ‘did sitting down’.

 

A low rolling growl (rudely) interrupted Jake’s inner—

Claptrap. 

Okay! F’fucksakes.

Exactly.

Just for the record? I am really weary of that word.

 

***

 

Phin

 

Jake p’raps intended his kiss to be some sort of promise. Or reassurance. A prelude to paradise. But when Phin parted his lips, the groan that vibrated against his mouth felt somehow…significant. It sounded like surrender, reverberating ’round the deepest of caves, too subterranean to deny. It tasted of lust. It felt as if something had shifted on its axis. It was a soul-scouring kiss that did clawing Phin’s guts. He’d never wanted anything this Too Much. If Jake dared do stopping now, then Phin would detonate from excessive too muchness. He was sure of it…which suggested that he’d possibly gone an itty bit bonkers. Even before factoring in the very doolally words doing a waft around his head.

“Make me yours, Jack…” That particular corker did airing itself before Phin could zip his lips.

The answering blaze of azure was a bolt of sheet lightning that lit Jack’s face in sharp relief, highlighting the proud planes of his cheekbones and noble nose. He’d never looked more otherworldly…majestic. It was impossible to do believing that Jack could want Phin as much as those eyes promised. Harder still, to credit meriting a need so intense it was crimson fire underscored with violet, as vivid as it was violent. But only in the very best of ways. A distinction Jake hadn’t been able to do recognising. Unless he finally had, on accounts that Phin’s legs were wrapped around his neck.

“Oh, I intend to..” His words were vermillion velvet, his breath as rich as port wine, which always made Phin’s mind misty.

The room was as dark as moonless midnight and Phin’s senses had switched to hyperswirl. Drenched in the amber musk of Jake’s scent, he may well have been lying in a woodland glade on a cushion of soft moss and rich earth, rather than a bed. 

Anticipation skittered through Phin’s veins a shivery rush when Jake settled the crooks of his knees more comfily on sinewy shoulders. When slick heat did ghosting along happy valley, a white hot bolt of want shot up Phin’s spine, obliterating all else—even the scratchy—when he felt a nudge of blunt pressure at the heart of dreams he’d feared might turn to dust.

“Jake!” He pleaded, about a scorch of pleasure pain before the tip of Jake’s cock breached his body. “Ahhh!” If that gush of breath hadn’t blasted out, Phin’s brain might’ve done combusting.

“Y’okay?” Jake’s voice sounded as if it was trapped in a vice.

“Yes. More.” Phin wanted him to do ripping the plaster off, it was too much suspense to do enduring a second longer. Jake was hell-bent on pushing oh, so slowly forwards, which was p’raps fortuitous but— A thought that did do biting the dust when the head of Jake’s cock did barnstorming the too tight ring of muscle barring his way. “Jaaake!” Phin possibly did making a most unseemly racket, but blimey, he felt huge. Akin trying to do shoving a sausage through the eye of a needle. Phin’s bum was bearing up admirably though, despite being a bit befuddled about the abrupt rerouting of traffic, but it was doing its best to be accommodating.

“Phooofff!” Phin puffed a whoosh of air; a very handy happenstance that made matters do relaxing a bit.

Jake? Did pressing on manfully (despite the caterwauling) besieging Phin with the most excruciating bliss that had ever vested itself upon his person. It was pain so exquisite, so all-consuming, it was a wonder they’d ever done letting it be legal. Or, at the very least, hadn’t rustled up a Bottom Breaching Tax to accompany the Tongue Tax.

Nothing Phin’s head had ever done dreaming up had felt this…decadent, despite his hyper-efforts to excel himself. Nor so…overwhelming; forbidden in the way only the most delectable of desires ever were. Could ever be. Compelling. The complete and utter annihilation of scratchy was an exhilaration too far. So much so, someone should have come bursting into the room to declare such antics too excessively excessive to tolerate. It was a torrent of too muchness encapsulated in one sublime thrust. 

Eclipsed, by the only man capable of conquering it with one blaze of bewitching blue.

 

***

 

Phin Pt 2

 

“Phin…y’okay?” Jake’s voice sounded as if he’d been gargling with gravel. 

“Hmmm…very okay. ” Phin scarce recognised his own, which he’d apparently snaffled from Serge Gainsbourg for the occasion. Except twice as strumpety and a smidge less French.  

Strewth s’tight. I should…apologise…in advance. It’s been a long…time… Not since—”

Apologise for the fact it had been a long time? It would have been a big fat fib for Phin to claim he wasn’t chuffed it had, but ‘sorry’ made even less sense from Jake’s perspective. Those bedazzling blues were too iridescent to stare into—let alone do reading—so Phin flicked his gaze to Jake’s lips. Clamped shut, his jaw clenched far too tight for comfort. Oh. He was worried about that? It would be a bloomin’ miracle if Phin lasted for more than a minute.

“Jake, it doesn’t matter. I just…want you. This.” Anything above and beyond the fact that Jake was inside him would be a bonus with a cherry on…bottom. 

“Y’have…shocking low expectations. Y’should…do working on that,” he groaned.

“I’ll tell Mr. Neil. Jake, pleease do more moving  before my head explodes.”

“It’s not the only…thing that might. Hence. The pause. In proceedings,” Jake managed to do grinding out. Eventually.

“Y’should have done pretending that you’re just ‘being a gent’.” Phin’s chuckle set off a chain reaction of ripples elsewhere; consequences so shiversome he couldn’t resist a spot of experimental clenching. “Hmmm…”

“Fuck! Phin!”

“Sorry! Was that wrong?”

Strewth. Nooooo…” Jack hissed, p’raps on accounts of his lockjaw. Oops. “Nngh! Sstop!” 

Okaay. I’m not sure I’ll be able to do concentrating very well though,” Phin noted.

“Don’t you dare do forgetting.” Jake all-but barked—in warning—which meant he still feared far less fun consequences. 

“Stop doing fretting. Foxy won’t hurt me.” Believing this was p’raps a bit barmy but that had never stopped Phin before…so he went with it. Jake just huffed in disbelief and dipped his head to do trailing his nose down the length of Phin’s neck in a ticklish trickle of silky hair. This, while rolling his hips with a sinuous swish of spine that made Phin gasp and his back do bowing in a bid to force Jake deeper still. He was fast turning into a wanton hussy. A fact Phin liked far too much for seemliness sake. Mmmore…

A plea Jake met with a snicker that sent a shiver of quivers straight to his cock. Crikey… sex was chock full of unforeseen consequences Phin had never done factoring in. He’d no sooner thought this, than Jake began to do moving. Moving? Phin had never unleashed such an excessive understatement. ‘Moving’ was white light before passing through a prism. Jake was a rainbow melody of motion. Hell-bent on proving that Phin had scarce got started on the understatement front. 

After clasping Phin’s hips, Jake did dragging his own back almost all the way. Phin had to quell the urge to clench, as if to trap the scoundrel if he’d decided it was too dangerous, after all. A small mewl of sound like a kitten shut out in the cold flitted from Phin’s lips, swiftly succeeded by a sharp gasp when Jake did burying himself balls deep with one sure surge. Shockwaves of heat sizzled through Phin’s body, boiling his brain, which was too boggled to do sorting the surfeit of sensations. So it didn’t bother, and just did melting instead.

This was the feeling Phin had forever craved…without even knowing what it might be. Or even if he would do recognising it at all, should he be fortunate ’nuff to find it. Its promise had hovered like a horizon in his head; a shimmering illusion he might never do reaching, no matter how far or wide he searched. Aspiration wise? Phin had known it was akin to a fixation on finding faeries at the bottom of the garden…but he’d never been able to abandon it. Impossible to do when it was irreplaceable. The void would have driven him demented—the one risk Phin refused to take, again—he valued his freedom too much.

He’d been quite content to do whiling away his time amongst the trove of treasures stashed in his head. Contentment and Comfiness had become Phin’s Plan B. States of mind for which he’d fought hard, made all the more precious for that. Arriving in Cornwall had put the tin (miner’s) hat on it; finding his own happy place had far surpassed settling for second best. Not least when he’d always known there was no second best: There was Him, whoever he was…and everyone else. 

Nothing had ever felt this…necessary. Nothing would ever, could ever, be the same after this. How was Phin supposed to get dressed and do pottering around and ordinary stuff tomorrow? Why would anyone do going to buy a pot-plant, when they could be in bed doing this, instead? Nutters. Phin wanted Jack to stay inside him forever—or, at the very least—every day and night for the rest of forever. See? He could do compromising.

“Jack! Harder, pleease.”

“I’ll hurt you…” The low groan that rolled in Jake’s throat was the most delicious rumble of noise Phin had ever heard. As delectable as every swish of his super-foxy spine.

“You won’t. I-I need you to.” Phin’s inner muscles did tightening, all on their own—as if to emphasize his point—which p’raps worked a tad too well. It sure made Jake let rip a roaring racket that did rattling the bedposts. Oops. 

Phin felt it then; the shimmer he’d seen at the car park. It did rippling through Jake—and Phin o’course—which was a consequence worth dying for, if he must. Ah well, what a way to go… 

The low beam of Jake’s eyes abruptly flared to blue flame, incandescent in the darkness. Swiftly followed by a spasm of muscle that sent Jake’s hips snapping forwards with the alacrity Phin had demanded. Not too much. Never too much. Foxy wouldn’t permit it, let alone inflict it. Phin knew this with a certainty as deep as Jake was embedded in his body. The hyper-thrust had made all Phin’s breath do gushing out, so he gasped great lungfuls of shimmery air, as if he’d done bursting through the sea surface after a surfing mishap.

Phin’s heart was hammering louder than the unearthly noises scrabbling in his throat. His veins felt like rivers of boiling bliss and his balls were busy cooking up a brew they were all-too eager to do sharing. The deluge of too muchness had distracted him for longer than seemed feasible, not least when Phin had felt fit to burst before Jake buried himself home. Home? Phin sure hadn’t rustled that up. 

The very air shivered with their sighs, Phin could feel it as a physical force. Pressing down, dulling the slick sound of skin on skin and the guttural groans Phin gobbled up with customary greed, even as he hungered for more. That was the last nugget of nonsense Phin could recall. After that, there was only the sublime sweep of Jake’s spine, the suppressed power that filled Phin with a thirst every bit as craven as his greedy guts. He wanted it. All of it. All of him…when Jake was already so much more than Phin deserved. He was magnificent; as enigmatic as midnight, as luminous as the blue ablaze in those eyes. Phin lost all sense of himself…of where he ended and Jack began. This was it; the world the poets had promised him. Nothing and no-one could convince Phin otherwise. Not even Jake. 

He was Too Much made man. Grinding against Phin with an intensity he’d feared he could never inspire. Pounding into his body as if hell-bent on proving something Phin had known from the very first; only Jake could ever be enough. Even Phin’s nerve endings had recognised that. They’d done tingling with Peter Parker pizzazz the moment Phin opened his eyes. On the moor.

Here, now, Phin couldn’t do keeping still. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be doing—but he seemed to be doing it—so his body must’ve got the gist of it and hadn’t done sharing with the class. No matter, that just meant he could do flying by the seat of his pants, which was always Phin’s favourite way to travel. 

“Phiiiin!” The raw rasp of his name was the most erotic sound that had ever rifled his ear-drums, swiftly followed by a white-hot shaft of indescribable bliss when Jake’s cock brushed that bedazzling spot. Much to his misfortune, Phin could describe the strangled cat sound that accompanied it, so he just hoped Jake didn’t do noticing. He didn’t seem the least bit bothered, but then, Jake could surely hear a dog whistle and that was a racket Phin was glad he’d been spared. He couldn’t even tolerate the hoover.

He felt as if he’d been whizzed back to an era of raw, primal need. A time stripped of petty complexities; no doing dreary concentrating and worrying about Too Much. Phin Just Was…and he just wanted Jake. His foxy friend, carved from honeyed gold, filling him up. Feeding-fuelling a need so gnawing it could never be sated…claiming Phin as his very own. Always and evermore. 

“I can’t…hold on. Got…t’pull out. Just incase I-he…” Words Jake forced through gritted teeth, then gasped and did gulping at air. “Ah…aah…NOOO! Jack!” Jake snarled. “No. Don’t…NO! Fuuck..!” He furled his hand around Phin’s cock about a bitten-off curse before Jake shuddered and a strangled howl tore from his throat.

For an eternal moment Phin did hovering on the brink of maddening bliss as a flood of warmth filled his insides and his own name clawed the walls. A fact that finished Phin off, snatching his breath away when the ever-building pressure exploded in an ecstatic rush.

“Jaake!” shattered the darkness when Phin relinquished all he was…and fell into forever.

 

***

 

Wafflish

Beast of Bodmin Moor 29

 

happy-new-year-rainbow-animation

Happy New Year to you all! I hope that 2020 is kind to you. Thank you so much for being here and for making this story such a pleasure to rewrite.

 

 

The Beast of Bodmin Moor

 

 

 

Jake

 

 

“I-I’m terrified…I’ll hurt you…but I—fuck. Please, Phin. Run. Go—”  Jake knew, even as he choked them out, that his pleas were the death rattle of a dying conscience. Knew too, that they would fall upon deaf ears. But he had to try. 

They sure as hell couldn’t stop now, which left only Phin to slam the brakes on. Jake had to be able to vow he’d done his damnedest to hand that power over—had tried to save Phin—even though he suspected it was far too late. As it had been from the first. This was inevitable…but he’d continued to torture them both; clinging to the belief that he could be better than he knew himself to be. For Phin’s sake. 

What a hero. Well, you’ve got the fireman’s lift covered…although, I suspect you were supposed to carry him out of the burning building rather than tucking him up in bed. Ah well, seeing as you have, can we get on with the sanity saving part now…while we’re here, an’ all? 

I wasn’t trying to be a bloody hero, smart arse. Honourable, at best. 

A better man than he was. A delusion that planted his palms on the duvet; he had to get the hell away from the body he must claim as his own. What the—?

Do keep up. Which part of ‘inevitable’ didn’t you quite catch?

“Jack!” Phin’s velvet voice rasped from his throat like the scrape of sandpaper. “I’m going to wish I was dead if you dare stop now. Take. Me.” Words that scythed through Jake’s threadbare resolve. His softly pleading, pliant Phin gone; midnight eyes ablaze with dark fire as he demanded far less than he deserved. 

Far less than he has every right to expect.

Jake could deny him no longer. 

Jack would not. 

Just following orders. Addressed to me. So, keep your snout out.

The jackal, much to Jake’s astonishment, had allowed thatpitiful attempt to steal Phin’s fate. Sat silent, serene; smug with triumph as the tattered shreds of Jake’s best intentions bit the dust.

“Fuck me, Jack…please” Phin’s voice may have gentled, but it remained as strong, sure, steady as his gaze; burning black holes of need that brooked no rebuff. Jake was done for. Outnumbered, outmanoeuvred, ousted from his own bloody bed. Jack, f’fucksakes.

On the bright side? Y’still have your body, numbnuts.

So he did, but for how long? Which was, of course, the issue that had been at stake from the start. The single sodding reason why Jake hadn’t claimed what he craved more than life itself. His own. Never Phin’s, which mattered far more. Jake surrendered. Bowed to the inevitable. Bent to capture Phin’s softly parted pout in a kiss as fathomless as an ocean, as timeless as the eyes that had ensnared his soul. Drowning deep; a tangle of entwined tongues and shared breath. 

“Phin…” Jake brushed his name across his lips as he pulled free, but only to smudge his mouth across Phin’s jaw…down his neck to fasten at the pulse pounding there. A god-awful groan crawled up his throat as Jake started to slither backwards, an incendiary smear of skin on skin that set his own aflame. He’d never felt more desperate to touch, taste, take.

His capitulation had but fuelled the need: it was an alcoholic let loose on a free bar. A raging thirst that could never be sated. Greedier, now that oblivion was oh, so near…for they had no intention of stopping. Ever. Phin arched off the bed with a sharp gasp when the tongue Jake had been trailing down his chest alighted on satin-suede flesh that puckered in an instant, allowing him to trap it with teeth that tugged a torrent of pleas from Phin’s lips.

“Jack…” he gasped. “Please, don’t stop, I needaah!

“I couldn’t if I wanted to…” Jake groaned, his senses so engorged on the scent filling—fulfilling—every fibre of their being that insanity beckoned if he tried to defy the need. As binding as an enchantment. Sentiments he would have considered hyperboletoo far-fetched to be feasiblebefore...Jack? Phin? Either, both, but that didn’t make them any less true. Or real.

“Hmm…I’m glad…” Phin’s whispersoft sigh was a symphony of sound. His skin, a silken snare. Jake shuffled back, tracing the rails of his ribs with tip of his tongue, cinnamon sugar growing more salty by the second; their sweat slick, the feverish flesh his chest ghosted across as he dipped his head to dapple in Phin’s belly button. He was trembling, strung so tight he barely seemed able to breathe. All Jake could hear were scrappy wisps of air escaping suspended inhalations shot-through with sharp gasps. His heart was hammering so hard, Jake might have feared for Phin’s welfare, had he never exuded more life. A vitality Jake could scent, taste, as he trailed his tongue down the tantalizing trickle of hair that made Phin’s hips spasm and his breath cut off completely. Jack clamped his palms to the top of lean thighs and buried his nose in scratchy-soft curls steeped in one hundred percent proof Phin.

“Jack!” 

“Hmmm?” he hummed, swiping a luxurious sluice along Phin’s twitching cock.

“No more. Just, please…now…”

“I’ve wanted nothing more…from the very first.” Jake admitted, in a rasp far too close to a canid snarl for comfort.

“Then why…?”

“Because I wanted you Too Much. Much too much to believe it could possibly be right.” Jake lifted his head, too deranged to care that his eyes looked inhuman. A fact too luminous to allow himself to hope otherwise, with the rest of the room cloaked in velvet darkness.  “Surely you know how that feels…?”

“Yes…” Phin’s smile was a brief flicker of sadness, before those inimitable eyes twinkled with mischief in mind. “Is Foxy okay?” 

“Yes…” Jake sounded as surprised as he felt; that it was true…but also because Phin had not only done wondering, he’d done so aloud.

Jack huffed a happy sigh, a small whine of want following in its slipstream.

“Good. I’m glad… Jack, I don’t want to do waiting anymore…please?” 

Jack huffed in agreement, lifting his muzzle off his paws to regard Jake with his get on with it, shit for brains face.

“No, nor do we…”  Their chuckle sounded like a trickle of treacle.

 

 

***

 

 

Phin

 

Phin was wound so twang-tight that something would snap if Jack stopped now; there would be nowhere for all the too muchness to go. The knot in the pit of his guts ratcheted up another notch, shooting sparks along his spine and tingles through his body.

Not even making their customary racket could be enough now…not with the promise of what could be fizzing through his veins, shimmering in the sliver of air separating them still

“Where are you going?” Phin humphed when Jack scrambled up and slid off the bed. The cosh of cold air felt akin to being clobbered.

“Nowhere…”

He could hear foraging, but it was too dim to see what Jake was doing, now he’d snaffled his eyes away, plunging Phin into darkness. “…that you wouldn’t be grateful for.” The grin in Jake’s voice was as audible as whatever  thudded onto the duvet beside Phin’s thigh. His own smile? Was unseemly with triumph when Phin curled his fingers around cool plastic. “Now that is a cat with the cream face, if I ever saw one,” Jake’s chuckle was Death By Chocolate Cake. Glistening with hot-fudge sauce. 

“You can see my face? Duh, I’m a daftie, of course you can. I keep doing forgetting.”

“I’m glad that you can—do forgetting—I mean.” Jake sighed, sobering in an instant. “I don’t…want you to think of me as a…freak.”

A freak? That’s barmy-bonkers. You’re still you—knowing doesn’t make you different from before. Not to me. Food doesn’t do tasting different if you know the recipe, does it? Anyhoo…’nuff nattering, I’m starving. I want my sandwich.”

“Your what?” Jake gaped. 

“When you kept doing worrying, it was like having a wasp buzzing round my head stopping me from scoffing my sandwich.”

“Is there a particular sandwich filling that tickles your fancy, Sir?” Jake smirked.

“Jack, I’m so starved, I can’t do caring. I’ll have the Chef’s Special.”

“Strewth, no pressure there then…” Those burning blues flared as if someone had turned their gas up. 

“Oh, shurruhmmm…” Phin made a most unseemly noise when Jake grasped a bicep and flipped him onto his front before he could do so much as blink. “Jake…? Just how fast can you move…?”

“Very…very fast…” Was a whisper of blowtorch breath at Phin’s ear. Then it was gone and Jack was tugging his hips up to prop Phin onto his knees. He’d scarce got his balance afore he almost fell flat on his face when Jack swept a searing sluice along the hypersensitive skin behind his balls… Up, up, up, to flicker at what felt as if ’twas pulsing with impatience. Doing waiting was never Phin’s best thing, but blimey, he’d waited a lifetime (in the last three days) for this. For him. 

“Ooh…” Hands, hot, clasped cool cheeks and tugged them apart a tad, then oh, help… “Aah!” He was never ever going to do getting accustomed to that. Even if he was fortunate ’nuff to do finding out… Was that even possible?

The whole world had done narrowing to his own butt again. The hyperfocus; fixed on the tongue flickering at his very core, doing prodding, before plunging inside with a scorch of breath-snatching bliss that sent shock-shivers here, there ‘n’ everywhere. From the roots of Phin’s hair to the tips of his toes; he felt as if he’d been plugged in and the power cranked to max hypercharge. His head might do blowing up before the best bit. Well…Phin bloomin’ hoped it was about to be served up…having bided way too much time on the bench of sexing shenanigans already. The swirling was driving him demented—or delirious—it was tricky to tell. If matters didn’t do progressing in a sharpish sort of fashion, he would be fit for nothing but a fancy buckled coat (far better that, than orange overalls; an evil sure to do finishing Phin off. Not in a fun way). 

Much to the relief of his last marble, his right hip was released and the mind-mangling tongue left a hollow ache in its wake; about the only thing on Earth Phin would have done noticing roundabout then. On accounts of the fiery fingertip Jack did trailing down the valley of Phin’s darkest, most delectable, dreams. 

“Okay?” Jack rumbled when he heard Phin’s choked-off squelch; aspiring to be a swallow. His throat—tighter than his hyperstrung everything else—seemed dead set on doing strangling him. A fate that would be an itty bit typical, it must be admitted. 

He’d been so, so scared Jake would stop…so afraid he would find himself abandoned to the darkness with naught but wasps for company as somewhere downstairs, a door did slamming on his dreams.

“Yessss…” Phin managed to croak. A word he would have communicated if he’d had to carve it on his butt with a switchblade. It was then that the press of a slick fingertip—at long last made its presence felt—where he craved it more than air in his lungs. Fact.

Sooo, it was p’raps for the best that there was no need to do choosing…

 

***

Wafflish

Beast of Bodmin Moor 28

 

The Beast of Bodmin Moor

 

 

 

Jake

 

 

 

Jake felt as helluva lot as if he were hurtling along in a runaway minecart. This may have been true since first scenting Phin on the wind, but they’d hit hyperspeed the second Jack hitched their wagon to Phin’s.

In which alternate universe might Jake be found gamboling around Phin’s ankles, going for a sausage (if he was a good boy) in an Aladdin’s cave campervan? Fuck knows. You couldn’t make it up. Nor would you want to, unless you were batshit bonkers.

But here they were, capering across the moors at the heels of the most incredible, incorrigible, man he’d ever met. In either form. Was Phin entirely human? He’d always seemed so…other. Not in the negative sense; he was as entrancing as he was ethereal. The likelihood that Jack and his…

Dam.

Dam? Why do I suspect that’s not short for ‘Damn woman’?

You’re not quite the cretin you’re at pains to portray?

Thanks. Are you feeling quite well?

Never better. Until I rectify that, o’course.

Jack…

Not listening…falalala.

Liar. What the fuck is a Dam? 

A Dam or Sire…unleashes your potential.

Christ. So, I shagged my jackal mum? Marvellous. And you didn’t think to mention this because…?

You never asked.

Oh.

Technically, you did not. Except in retrospect, Mr. Squicky Knickers.

You’re starting to sound like Phin.

You might want to ease off on the compliments, before I start thinking you find me tolerable. Just sayin’.

Jake had lost his plot again…where was I?

The likelihood that Jack and his…

Dam—f’chrissakes—belonged to the only supernatural species on the planet seemed negligible.  If shapeshifters could lead inconspicuous lives, it was hardly a leap to credit the existence of creatures he’d thought confined to the pages of fantasy fiction.

It was irrelevant if Phin was fae, or…a fallen angel; these being Jake’s most likely suspects. Even if he was just plain old McCain from Cornwall, he would still consider Phin extraordinary. While his ‘otherness’ might be attributable to the label he’d been landed with, his very Phin-ness defied definition, so Christ knows which drawer they’d filed him in. He was enchanting. Whether or not he also enchanted was incidental.

‘You are beautiful… Either way.’  Strewth. While the truth had been impossible to miss, it was hard to believe that Phin had needed it illustrating quite so graphically.

‘Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth’.

No mind that magical would dismiss the improbable, no matter how unfeasibleor downright ridiculousit seemed. But beautiful? Either way? That was less credible than Phin’s unruffled reaction to Jack…but it soon became clear that he was far from done.

‘You’re a daftie. I loved Foxy first, why would that change because he’s more than I thought?’

‘I loved Foxy first…

Fuck.

*

“Here you go… I would have done tidying if I’d known you were visiting, so I’m sorry about the messy. It sort of happened while I was doing waiting,” Phin warned, opening the door and waving his hand in an ‘after you’ gesture. Jack jumped aboard and stood in the midst of the mayhem. In truth, it looked a helluva lot similar to last time he saw it, so gawd knows what now made it ‘messy’.

Aside from their own home, venturing indoors felt forbidden; as if it would be wise to scout out potential hiding places. That was as ludicrous as the suggestion that someone might drop by hoping to borrow a cup of bloody sugar. It still felt akin to being abruptly naked in the high street. Jake’s fear of exposure and the jackal’s survival instincts were an unholy cocktail. Tough to override in either form.

“Food first, I reckon,” Phin announced, shrugging off his trenchcoat. “I thought you were just starving that day you declared you’d eat your bacon raw…but I now suspect you prefer it that way.” Phin was chuckling when he bent to extract the bacon—and sausages—from the mini fridge.

“D’you want me to do cooking it?” he asked, dangling a pungent strip of smoked paradise above Jack’s head. A split-second later it was somewhat too late for such niceties. 

“Scoffed in a flash…you must be starving. I’ll stick the rest on a plate and place it on the table, then you can sit on the bench and help yourself.” Phin emptied the packet of bacon onto what seemed to be part of the dinner service that matched his cups and saucers, then framed it with four fat sausages. Ye Olde Curiosity Shoppes would salivate if they had any senseshould an angel-masquerading-as-man with excessive legs and magpie tendencies to matchever potter into their emporium.

“There you go, let me know if you’re still hungry…” Phin told him, placing the plate on the table. “I fancy a sandwich—oddly nuff—so I’ll be with you in a mo…” Jack leapt onto the seat and started tucking into the finest supper he’d ever been presented. “I’m having a nightcap with mine, so I’ll pour some brandy in a dish and fill a bowl with water, then you can just do choosing…” The scent of raw honey and bread so yeasty-fresh Jake could identify its baker if he shopped locallyrather than onlinesaturated the air. In his own defence; venturing into a supermarket had become a minefield of temptation too crippling to contemplate. Stepping foot in the butchers had all-but eviscerated him before Jake could say ‘steak’. Phin whisked their empty plate away and replaced it with two bowls, as promised. Eeny meeny…as if. They were furry not dead.

Speaking of which, Phin savoured the honey sandwich as if it was his last supper on death row. “To foxy friends…” he beamed, raising his glass in a toast. Jack settled on winking back before nudging the dish of water aside with his nose. 

“You just did winking!” Phin’s gape was swiftly replaced by an ear-licking grin. “Ha, I knew it. I wondered if p’raps I was a loon for thinking you’re both you. That didn’t do making sense, did it?” His brow furrowed briefly. A consequence of doing concentrating, no doubt. “My instincts told me that you’re not Jake and Foxy. Just…Jaxy. Whatever you’re wearing at the time. Oh dear, the nonsense sounded less loonish. Ah well, no matter, I’m real glad you’re both here at the same time, rather than doing a time-share. I must have already known that cos it didn’t even do crossing my mind to put your food on the floor. Even if it had, I couldn’t have done it…that would’ve felt all wrong.

Blimey, what a lot of yappering. I should shush up before you bugger off for a bit of peace and quiet.” Phin rolled his eyes at himself while edging off the bench to stand up. “I need to get changed. I’m uncomfy, and most unseemly t’boot…my zip is a bit broke. Odd that,” Phin snickered, unbuttoning his waistband before shoving his jeans down.  Jack sat, gazing at the lavish length of ivory unveiled by that slithering sigh of denim.

You, are actually panting.

At least I’m honest about it.

A thesaurus search would suggest: Blatant. As subtle as a brick. 

“Are you too warm…or just thirsty?” Voilà.  A query hot on the heels of Phin’s frown after glancing Jack’s way when he’d done stamping his jeans off. “I’ll get us another drink in a minute…” he added from the depths of a t-shirt while tugging it over his head. 

Jack whimpered with want. Jake considered harikari.

“Are you okay?” Phin worried, dropping to his haunches again. Oh no…not the ear thing. Ooooh… They closed their eyes. It did not help. At all. There was an acre of cinnamon scented skin inches from Jack’s face. Nose. Fuck. They needed fresh air. Fast.

 

***

 

Phin

 

Phin was fondling silken fur when he found himself clutching empty air a split-second later.  Foxy had shot to the door…to start a frantic scratching he paused only to spear Phin with a pleading gaze before redoubling his efforts. The moment Phin flicked the catch, Foxy barrelled past as if the hounds of hell were in hot pursuit and bolted into the devouring darkness. Phin stood, blinking into the night, uncertain what to do. Had the brandy been a bad idea in the bladder department…or, had Foxy fled, full-stop?  

What should Phin do? Wait at the door, perchance he’d gone for a pee? Do hoping, hard? Go and do looking for him? The latter was a big bit stalkerish, if Foxy had scarpered to escape from Phin. But why? He’d seemed content at the table…what had happened to do changing that? Phin hadn’t done anything dreadful…had he said something amiss?

Foxy had whimpered, so Phin sank to his haunches and fluffled his ears, hoping it felt soothing, as he’d seemed to like ita lotbut he’d snatched his head away, swiftly followed by the rest of his furry self to do scrabbling at the door. Oh. 

Phin hadn’t done considering the consequences again, had he? Just followed his instincts and attempted something that was supposed to be ‘comforting’. For people. He must do remembering that daft human reasons ‘n’ rules might seem not-a-jot considerate to Foxy.

Was he miffed? Upset? Angry? What could Phin do? He would never find Foxy on foot, Jake was way too fast on two legs. He didn’t have a hope in hell of finding Foxy with four. Where might he go? Phin only knew two of places aside from The Albion; Jake had fled from there before he did changing, which ruled that out. This left the moors and Jake’s cottage.

If he’d done scarpering to outrun his wasps, then he’d head home eventually, wouldn’t he? The campervan couldn’t cope with rutted moorland, littered with rocks and random humps of hard-packed earth, even if Foxy couldn’t do leaving it for dust. All of which made it a good plan to do waiting at the cottage. What if Jake didn’t want to see Phin? Ever again? Well, he’d just have to do camping on the driveway till Jake changed his mind. Or took out a restraining order. That should take a wee while to come into effect. Okay. Now Phin just had to do hoping that the fox was in his den. Feeling peckish.

*

The cottage was veiled in darkness when Phin arrived, so he parked up and fetched a glass of brandy to drink in the driver’s seat while doing waiting. He was supping his second when a light flicked on in the large downstairs window. Jack had not sped past on any number of legs, so he must have come home a different way. 

Foxy wouldn’t have turned the lights on, even if it was reachable, unless p’raps he wanted to do reading. Not very probable; turning pages would be a tad tricky with paws.  It made a splendiferous image in his head, though. Especially if he’d donned a smoking jacket and monogrammed slippers to do puffing on a pipe. Posh apparel that reminded Phin he was wearing naught but his pants. It was a bit late to do bothering about that now. 

There must be a back door because Jack was now inside and he sure as stingy lack of dogflaps hadn’t used the front one. He must have super-sensed the campervan, so it seemed a tad pointless to try a spot of catburglaring. 

Nope…he’d just have to do hoping that Jake would rather not have a man standing shivering on his doorstep in his pants. What will the neighbours think!? Phin’s dad had liked that expression. A very lot. Ow…shoes might have been a splendid plan. Phin pressed the bell. He didn’t have to do waiting. At all.

The door burst open in a blaze of lightsaber blue about a snatched-off breath before Phin was indoors. Upside down. Staring at Jake’s delectable bum (sadly sporting sweatpants). There must have been some stuff in between, but the flipside came far too fast to do fathoming. Even if Phin had cared a fig. He did not.

“Jake, are you miffy?” he gasped.

“Not unless that was rhyming slang,”  Jake snorted. Phin did shifting his leg a smidge to the centre. Hmm…so it seemed. He’d didn’t have time to do any more thinking after that, because they shot up the staircase as if they’d been fired from a cannon and Phin found himself tossed onto a bed. Jake’s bed. He’d scarce started marvelling at this miracle when it was eclipsed with sublime excess and an onslaught of never, ever, too much. 

One moment he was flat on his back in his pants, the next he found himself engulfed in a brain-boggling blitz of hard heat and silky skin, with nary a stitch to his name. Naked. Both of them. Jake buried face in the curve of Phin’s neck and inhaled long and deep, with a groan to match.

“Phin…” Jake sighed, lifting his head to ensnare Phin with a blue that burned bunsen bright, ablaze with azure fire. Bewitching. The room was otherwise pitch black. There was only Jake, only those eyes; the heady scent of the hair tickling Phin’s face and the heavy heat crushed to his cock.

“I-I’m terrified…I’ll hurt you…but Ifuck. Please, Phin. Run. Go” Jake’s voice cracked,  his body wracking as he gasped great gulps of air.

“No. Never…you won’t, please…” Phin may as well have pleaded with a lamp post. The scoundrel just did planting his palms on the bed to push himself up. Off. “Jack! I’m going to wish I was dead if you dare stop now.” That came out as a snarl of sound; so thick it was scarce recognizable. “Take. Me.”

 

 

***

 

Wafflish

Beast of Bodmin Moor 27

Happy Boxing Day 🥰 I hope you had a wonderful Christmas ❤️

 

 

The Beast of Bodmin Moor

 

 

Phin

 

 

Phin was grinning to himself as he ran back to the campervan. He was beset by such an excess of elation he felt as if his heels might sprout wings and whoosh him up the moors on the wind. That sounded daft, but why not, if he now inhabited a world where very foxy friends morphed into Foxy’s afore his very eyes? 

The self-same Foxy he’d befriended on the moor, which was p’raps why they were heading there now. Back to where it all began, before…oh. A bitalot belatedly, the Kypton Factor pieces fell into place. Jack must have ‘found’ Phin at his happy place, the night of the snaffled robe. Not after he’d fallen: Foxy had been there when Phin slipped on the rocks. That had been his own fault, he’d been too distracted by the whimper to do remembering to concentrate, then lost his footing as a consequence. Typical.

Had Jack fibbed about the bet to explain how he ‘lost’ his clothes? If he’d been Foxy when he happened across Phin, then he wouldn’t have had a stitch to wear when he…changed back into his human self. That sounded dafter still, even though Phin had seen the evidence for himself, except in reverse, o’course. Jack’s t-shirt and jeans had exploded into fluttery scraps, sooo...he must have wound up naked after turning back into his two-legged self. Dang…how Phin wished he could do remembering their stroll back to the van. He couldn’t even recall walking at all, let alone with Jake. Naked. Mmm…swishing and swinging in the wind. Bummer.

Phin couldn’t do thinking of a single reason why he shouldn’t meet Foxy at his happy place. He’d felt safe even before he knew Jake existed, let alone where. He must still be present, surely? Just wearing his furry outfit? Unless…Foxy was a sort of visitor who ousted Jake from his own home, as ’twere?

No, that didn’t feel right. He couldn’t explain why he believed they shared the same…spirit? Soul? Albeit ‘dressed’ differently, but he was still certain of it. Phin never knew why he thought stuff. His instincts told him, and that was that. If forced to rustle up a reason, he would plump for those bewitching blues. The eyes are the windows to the soul…after all. The view Phin saw through those windows was identical. This was just as true from Jake’s side; the gaze of both foxy friends felt the same. It was steeped in a similar…warmth. Acceptance; exactly as Phin was. Unconditional. Aside from his mum and sister, no one had ever made him feel that way.

It was as exceptional as say…a pink elephant. Instantly recognisable in a sea of grey faces. Not least when Phin could pick out the precise shade of things he hadn’t seen for decades. Match it, with one glance. He didn’t need to dither about doing ‘deciding’. It wasn’t a skill; he just could. Despite the fact he couldn’t do lots more stuff that was supposed to be bog-standard. Phin was buttermilk Andrex, with no loo.

Colour played the pivotal role in his perception; with all five senses. It did determining his reactions. Five hues that had to harmonize before things felt right. The essence shining from both sets of blues was singular. A metaphorical DNA match. So, why the bejeezus had Jake deemed himself ‘dangerous’ to Phin? Who was not as doolally as he looked; he knew damn well that he would be dead already, if he’d been a rabbit. In snackeroo terms? Phin felt about as imperilled as a teapot.

He wasn’t scared for the simple reason he knew that Foxy meant him no harm. Phin might get hurt as a consequence, but that was true when he crossed the road. He would rather get run over than potter around in a crash helmet and bicycle clips to be ‘on the safe side’. He didn’t want to live his life in a suit of armour. For a start, he was much more comfy naked than suffering stuff that made him scratchy. 

Feelings were lethal, full stop. They made you vulnerable. Phin suspected that falling in love meant you’d never feel safe again. None o’this would have ever crossed his mind if Jack hadn’t kept coshing him with constant frets for his welfare. It was a lot like having a wasp buzzing about his head, stopping him from eating his sandwich in peace. Phin spent the rest of the drive rustling up the perfect sarnie to describe Jack. Something spicy with a bit of bite…oozing relish.

Anticipation was fizzing through his veins when he parked the van, his heart aflutter like hummingbird wings. That was daft. He was meeting Foxy, and yet he felt just as he had when he’d walked into The Albion, which was more than a mite unseemly. Phin would do trying almost anything once and admit to many a kinky quirk, but his fondness for animals was the ‘exception that proved the rule’…and thus, not a jot excessive.

Foxy’s tail was swishing with much the aplomb of Jake’s bum when he bounded over to greet Phin, even his brief wuff of welcome sounded pleased to see him. A snuffabout seemed to satisfy Foxy that all was well, then he shot off across the stubbly grass, leaving Phin to follow in his wake. To the place he’d believed too perfect to improve in any way, whatsoever. In a lifetime littered with wrongness? Phin really had excessed himself.

Foxy was waiting atop their grassy mound when Phin arrived, his face raised skywards as if he were moonbathing. He looked serene. Proud. Cloaked in ancient majesty as he sat amidst the ruins. Phin paused beside a tumbledown wall and gazed up at him,  mesmerized. Too enchanted to shatter the silence, for fear he might spoil something too magical to exist beyond it. Too flawless to belong in Phin’s future. 

He was struck by the strangest realization as he crossed those last few feet to Foxy’s side; Phin could scarce wait to reach him and yet, he wasn’t beset by the fretful hyperneed to rushrushrush and stifle some fear he’d never been able to name. 

He just felt…right. Phin never felt right. The closest he’d ever known was not feeling wrong. That only happened when he was alone. But here, now, walking towards the two-for-one friend he’d never had, all was right in Phin’s world. Something had slotted into place. The piece he hadn’t known was missing. As if his whole life had led to this moment. A thought as demented as everything else he’d rustled up since Jake’s clothes exploded. Ooh, if only that came fully loaded with the symbolism it promised…

Foxy? Somehow looked content to sit and wait until dawn stole the dark away. He was serenity itself. As regal as a statue of Anubis (the Sphinx had a human head—Foxy thankfully, did not—that might have been a bit freaky).

“Hello Foxy…” Phin’s kept his voice soft, unwilling to shatter the spell hovering over them as surely as the blanket of stars. After sitting down beside his foxy friend, legs stretched before him, Phin was content to do waiting for Foxy to take the lead. As ‘twere. For a timeless moment they simply sat, facing forwards. If Foxy wanted to do so for the rest of the night, it was fine by Phin. He wanted Phin here, full stop; that was more than enough. 

Foxy turned his head towards Phin, who echoed the movement and found himself staring into eyes that no longer glowed the way they had back at the Albion. While they still glistened Starlite bright, they weren’t luminous; agleam from within. They didn’t look supernatural. Despite being far from ordinary. They could never be that. Simply because they were Jack’s eyes. Not a jot of doubt remained in Phin’s mind.

“You’re beautiful…” Words barely above a whisper, made all the more reverent for that.  Foxy did dipping his head…in negation of Phin’s words? Or, had they made him go all bashful? “You are. Either way.”

His head shot straight back up to spear Phin with cerulean; Jake’s eyes, wide with shock.

“You can’t be surprised I did working it out, so you must be shocked to be thought beautiful either way. You’re a daftie. I loved Foxy first, why would that change because he’s more than I thought? That doesn’t do making sense. It’s like ice-cream.” Foxy tilted his head, eyes aboggle. “It is! With a flake. Ice-cream is scrumptious, as are flakes. I sure wouldn’t be miffed if I was served a 99, after assuming I would get a cone. That’d be bonkers. They both taste better if you scoff them together.”

Foxy’s tongue did lolling, his breath huffing out in cloudy snuffs. “You’re doing laughing at me, y’scoundrel. Humph. I would rather have a 99 than a sandwich with a wasp, that’s for sure. So there.” Foxy rolled both eyeballs inwards, going cross-eyed at Phin. How rude. “I suppose you think it’s more akin to ice-cream with ketchup. Y’might like them well and good separately, but not together. Pfft to that. I’d be prepared to give it a bash before I did grumbling about it. Are you hungry? I am, it’s all this food chattering. Tell you what, let’s go back to the van and you can scoff the bacon. I might even throw in a sausage, if you’re a good boy.” Phin told him, reaching out to ruffle Foxy’s ears. It was irresistible; it made him go all daft.

“Jack, I’m not sure if you can do choosing to change, or if you can’t…control that. If you can, then I hope you’ll stay Foxy for a while. You’re welcome either way, but I’d hate you to think that’s not true. P’raps that’s why you brought me here, rather than my van, perhaps not…but it’s easy ’nuff to prove. You might not want to come with me whatever you’re wearing o’course…and that’s okay too. I could always scoff some ketchup ‘n’ ice-cream if you prefer…” Phin shrugged, casual as y’please, as if his heart wasn’t hyperfluttering with hope as he clambered to his feet. Foxy thumped his tail a few times, but its rhythm was a smidge stuttery. Hesitant.

“I don’t want you to feel obliged, but I’d love you to come visiting…” Phin added an ear ruffle, because he was monstrous and had no shame whatsoever. He didn’t mention that bit. It might be his joker card and Phin was not as loopy as he looked.

He couldn’t have been more chuffed when Foxy stood up and did swiping Phin’s hand a lick. “Feel free to have a runabout, if you wish, I know I’d want to…” Phin admitted when Foxy fell into step beside him to pick their way through the rocky rubble.

There it was again, that glimmer Phin was trying not to do wondering about, but it kept flitting through his head when he wasn’t doing concentrating. That, would be a very Bad thing to ask…Phin had a sneaky suspicion Jake might do demanding the gun again. There were a trillion other questions less likely to make him miffy though; all the hows ‘n’ whys ‘n’ wherefores. Mere…curiosities, compared the part that mattered too much more: what all this meant for...them. 

First and foremostest; Phin must prove that Foxy could do trusting him. Then, maybe-one-day-over-the-rainbow, Jake would allow himself to trust…his selves.

Phin was famished. He couldn’t help but do hoping he might get to scoff that sandwich, before he starved t’death.

 

***

Wafflish

Beast of Bodmin Moor 26

 

Happy Christmas Eve! Wishing you a very Merry Christmas.❤️🎄❤️

 

 

 

The Beast of Bodmin Moor

 

 

Jack 

 

 

 

Jack stretched, relishing the ripple that trembled through his body as it settled into its reclaimed self, then shook out his fur, much as he might after a swim. After inhaling a long, deep lungful of crisp night air, he turned to face Phin. Eternal eyes stared back, wide with wonder. Where Jake had expected to see fear, there was fascination. Puzzlement in the place of panic.

“Foxy?”

Phin recognized him. Quite why they’d feared he wouldn’t, Jack knew not. Phin possibly didn’t happen upon many jackals hereabouts. This was Cornwall, not Kenya. He was itching to leap up and lavish him with licks, but hesitated, unsure of his reception. 

Shy? Really? Jake stifled a most unseemly snigger. The relentless stressing had patently driven him demented.

“How did you…? Where…?” It sounded as if Phin’s thoughts had simply leaked through his lips without purpose. Or…he’d realised that Jack wasn’t likely to prove a fountain of facts.

How did you…get here? Where…did you come from? 

Perhaps…where is…Ja/ke? Sulking in the back seat, that’s where. Hell-bent on proving, beyond all shadow of doubt, that he’d gone batshit bonkers; a fact as blatant as his astonishment when Phin dropped to his haunches.

The hand he extended their way was hesitant, but Jack could scent no trace of fear. Only wariness. He was worried about startling them off. A caution Jack returned in kind by stretching towards Phin’s hand, rather than stepping closer to snuff at the scent wafting from his skin. He smelled like the promise of Christmas. Mulled wine and nectarines speared with cinnamon sticks. Candy canes and pine cones. Gin fizz.

You forgot the dates. 

Correction: I did forgetting. Those things are ev-il.

This is like watching a Merchant Ivory movie. I’m waiting for you to bow before begging his hand for the next dance. 

A flight of fancy that proves you’ve utterly lost the plot, so I wouldn’t fret about ours.

…if I were you?

The loon sniggered. Okay, you’re just being weird now. Ironic quips and snickering!? You should have y’self a lie down, take a nap…I’ve got this.

Ha. H—fuck.

Someone, it seemed, forgot to finish that slice of snark when their nose brushed skin. The head rush of scent was as luscious as the lick Jack flicked across Phin’s fingers. Mmmm. There were no words to describe the rush of rightness that washed over him like a wave. As ineffable as it was irrevocable. Necessary.

‘Yessss…’ works for me.

That’ll do.

If you’ve quite finished flirting, don’t you think you should shift your furry ass before you’re spotted? 

Jealous. 

Of what? 

If Jake had access to his own body…he might have indulged in a folded arms humph. But it was finally, after a forever of waiting, Jack’s turn. Ha. So Jake had to content himself with a disgruntled huff. As he watched…and wondered.

At Phin. Us. P’raps. A bit. 

Phin, who seemed reassured that neither bolting or biting were on the menu, started stroking the top of Jack’s head. Oh, the feel of those fingers in his fur…his eyes drifted shut in sheer bliss. Or so he thought, until Phin went straight in for the killer caress. The ear fondling thing.

Thissss…was bliss. Hyper bliss. Hmmmore… The shivery rush of pleasure thrilling through his body was breath-snatching. As was the warm maple syrup scent seeping from Phin’s pores. How Jack longed to lick it off.

It’s all going to hell in a handcart. Ears flapping wildly in the wind.

You’ve lost your marbles.

Whose fault is that, you mangy mutt? No, I have not got the hump.

Keep telling y’self that, and while you’re at it, stop cussing, you’ll get your turn soon enough. But first… 

Pft, that won’t work, you pillock. D’you think he’s a mind reader…?  Snorted he after Jack visualized the plan. 

Ye of little faith… 

Jack sat down. Then very deliberately looked towards The Albion before returning his gaze to Phin, who glanced pubwards before frowning in puzzlement. 

“What are you trying to tell me…” he wondered, mostly to himself.

Jack turned his head to stare over his shoulder into the darkness, then focused on Phin…pub…shoulder…Phin... After dipping his head to give the cuff of the trench coat a tug, he released it to shoot another glance behind himself. Finally, Jack stood and turned to take a couple of steps into the night before returning to tug on the cuff. 

“You want me to follow you? D’you mean on foot?”

Jack sighed, dropping his head. Then gazed up at Phin and cocked his head, waiting for Phin to voice the other option.

“Um…in the van?” Jack lolled his tongue in a grin alongside a tail wag of glee. “Where? We’ve only met here and…oh. Up the moors?” Jack let out a yip of yes and capered about a bit before swiping Phin a lavish lick. “C’mon you slurpy scoundrel…” he chuckled, unfolding himself to his full, glorious height.

With a whuff of agreement, Jack turned tail and took off. He paused at the edge of the parking bay to watch Phin jog off towards the punter’s carpark with a huff of satisfaction. 

Smart arse… 

Opined Sir Snarkalot, from the back end. 

Touché. 

Cheer up, I win, you win…we’re going visiting. I’m parched. Our new diet might be protein rich, but it sure is salty. C’mon…I’ll let you share my bowl of brandy.

Thanks. Ever the gent.

Courtesy of the company I keep, clearly.

They kept to the shadows while slinking through the outskirts of the town, heading north. Moorwards.

Okay, I was wrong, he is a mind reader. Or you’re after Queen Una’s charades crown. 

That was a quick promotion, you only made her Dame Hudders last week. 

I was in a mean mood. 

Quelle surprise. That’s not all you were wrong about, by the way…

I am not wrong about ‘mating’ with him. You lost it after one whiff of that woman, so how can I trust you with Phin? I know you were angry, but that’s my point. Lust is as furious as rage. I can’t risk him, Jack. I won’t. Why the hell else would I inflict this on us? I haven’t sex for two years, purely so I didn’t slaughter some random shag. How can you expect me to endanger him?

That’s crap. You know damn well he’ll be safe. Coward.

I am not scared. Of what, exactly? 

You know exactly what.

That’s bullshit. I am not scared of my own feelings. Shut up. I’m ignoring you.

They reached the moor before Phin, so Jack indulged in a scamper about, soaking up the simple pleasure of running with the wind while they waited. He heard the van trundle up the hill long before it came into view. They stood, fur twitching with anticipation as Phin parked up and clambered out. After bounding over to greet him with a joyful wuff, Jack gave the Phin-infused air a last sniff, then turned tail and set off for the ruins of the old engine house. 

The most precious spot on the planet, for it had gifted them Phin.

 

***

Wafflish

Beast of Bodmin Moor 25

The Beast of Bodmin Moor

 

Phin

 

 

Jack’s very stance was that of a panther poised to pounce; dark, sleek, deadly… He was magnificent; somehow more than he’d ever seemed before. Majestic. 

*

Jack did not pounce. He stood, splendid, quivering, as if he were being tugged by a non-existent wind.

All Phin could do was stare, awestruck, at luminous whirlpools of blue. Eyes that seemed somehow lit from within…by the waves of energy rolling off Jack? That didn’t make sense, but other people never did. Phin had given up trying to fathom their whys and wherefores…until he met Jack. Who proved unfathomable, no matter how hard Phin did concentrating on his very own mission impossible. It didn’t help that those inimitable blues were too befuddling to focus beyond; even when they weren’t ablaze with topaz fire. A fact too doolally to be true. Phin had to be doing hallucinating, surely?

Perhaps he was, but he’d never conjured anything quite so magical, which made it a tad tricky to care. Being hypnotized by Starlite hues was far preferable to the scratchy crawl of insects up wobble-board walls. He watched, transfixed as they flickered, then flared to full beam intensity about a snatched-off breath before Jack turned on his heel and took off.

“Jaaack!” Phin bolted after him in a scramble of limbs as ungainly as it was useless…but blimey, Jack was fast. He didn’t so much as glance over his shoulder, merely carried on running hell for leather—which he wasn’t wearing—only a white t-shirt and skinny jeans. His legs were just a different shade of darkness, but his top half gleamed like moonlight in the glow of the lamps fixed to the pub walls. The pale beam they cast across the parking bay hadn’t reached Jack’s gloomy hideout behind the bins, where he’d seemed waxen white, rather than pearly gold. 

He was never going to catch up—Jack was whippet-quick—Phin felt like a dopey Irish Setter gamboling along in his wake. He wasn’t about to give up and go home though, even if he was doomed to being left for dust. A resolution that promptly paid dividends when Jack stumbled and fell, crashing to his hands and knees with an unearthly shriek. The instantaneous surge of guilt was scything. Had Jack hurt himself? If he’d broken his bloomin’ leg, it would feel as if Phin had wished it on him, to put a stop to his gallop. He’d better start praying for a twisted ankle, or better yet, a bit of cramp. 

When Phin was about ten yards from Jack a hideous crack of sound pulled him up short. No, a succession of snaps, like the peppering of rifle shots. These made Phin flinch, as did Jack’s howl of pain, but the sight unfolding before his very eyes was…too fast to do working out. Far too befuddling for a brain wired all wrong. It seemed as if Jack’s entire self was wracked by a series of shuddering spasms; jerky snatches of movement that looked agonizing. Phin was about to spring forwards to try and do helping when his sight was shattered by a sudden explosion of fragments; scraps of…fabric? They shot skywards, fluttering in the air that shivered above Jake’s huddled form. 

The noises that accompanied all this were more worrying, because Phin could make sense of them. They rang with utter clarity in the confounding clash of stuff assaulting his senses. A cacophony of snap, crackle, popping was followed by a strange grinding grate and deep raspy groans…and a weird squidgy-squelch like welly boots stuck in mud.

Most doolally of all, were the images being beamed to Phin’s boggled brain. The very darkness seemed to shimmer; as if Phin were seeing sound waves, which wasn’t all that odd when he’d always felt colour. He could taste and hear it too, which p’raps explained why he found new situations so scratchy—it was tricky to tell which was being weird—Phin, or the world itself. Familiar things and people were far more comfy, he didn’t have to fear appearing freaky, nor fret about being deemed so. 

The spookiest part happened when the shivery air settled; stilled to reveal a strange shadowy shape that was not a jot Jakeish. Figuring that the shimmer must have boggled his eyeballs, Phin scrunched his lids tight…then prised them apart. Nope. Exactly the same. Except, the shadowy form was starting to unfurl.

He watched riveted, with eyes wide—wider—breath abated…then blinked. Twice. Neither made a fig of difference, Phin still found himself staring into twin pools of luminous…blue.

“Foxy?” Phin wondered, barely above a breath, but he heard. He cocked his head to one side and twitched his tail a tad; as if it wanted to do wagging but wasn’t sure if that was the right reaction. Why was he uncertain if Phin was friend or foe, all of a sudden? Perhaps finding him here, when Foxy had only ever seen Phin on the moor? 

Phin often couldn’t place peeps if he encountered them out of place. Not just folk he’d only met a few times. He had walked straight past Mr. Neil in Waitrose with nary a glimmer of recognition. Even after he’d tapped Phin on the shoulder, which proved a smidge sticky. He’d asked if Phin had done forgetting him. On purpose. Oops.

Phin was so surprised to see Foxy here that he quite forget to do counting. Not a jot of ‘one and one makes’…well, anything crossed his mind. Nope, Phin was too busy rustling up daft questions. Scraps of which he actually wondered. Aloud. In English, not being fluent in Fox. Nor Coyote, or Jackal, for that matter.

“How did you…? Where…?” In his own defence? There was no one else to ask; Foxy was here and Jake was…not. Oh. 

That, was when the penny farthing droppedon Phin’s head—which was very much how the clatter-crash of realization felt. Phin had gone loopy. He’d either not cottoned onto the fact staring him full in the face. Or he’d hallucinated said fact into fruition. Two facts that added up to an impossible sum. One and one did not make one. Not even all-for-one-and-one-for-all pulled that off, and Jake was not a Musketeer moonlighting as a foxy friend. Did it matter what he was?

It sure as shapeshifters did, if Phin’s shrieking instincts were wrong. In which case, Jake had fled and left him, or fallen off the face of the planet. Both of those were bad things. Jake morphing into Foxy before Phin’s very eyes? Was not. It was a world away from bad—albeit a skewed sort of too perfect to be true one—but that had never stopped Phin before, so why start now? He liked this one way Too Much. 

Dropping to his haunches seemed the po-lite thing to do, being a tad taller than Foxy. He did howling, so he was unlikely to get a crick neck, but towering over him wasn’t considerate when Phin could half his own height in an instant. After resting his forearms on his knees, he held out a tentative hand, so Foxy could snuffle it if he wished. 

He should surely recognize Phin’s scent? It was arrogant to assume Foxy might think ‘oh I know him…he’s that tall bloke from up the moors‘ when most humans probably looked much of a muchness.

Phin was aware that suspecting his Foxy friend from the moor was also his very foxy friend going by the name of Jake, was barmy bonkery.

Something that would—at the very least—be considered the stuff of doing hallucinations. On the whole, Phin couldn’t care less. He was too busy doing hoping that he was right. If he was, then Jake had not vanished in a puff of shimmery air, pass the sick-bucket cracks, and welly boot-squelches.

If he was wrong, then Jake had Gone. P’raps forever. He’d told Phin to Go—who didn’t do listening—so Jake had scarpered instead. I don’t want you’ had been a definitive statement. Rather than an attempt to drive Phin away, to stop him seeing..this.

While he never wanted Jake to do hurting (it had sounded lots more painful than that), Phin couldn’t think of another reason why said sight should perturb him. Nor its consequences.

Foxy was his friend. It wouldn’t have been fun if he’d wanted to eat Phin…but Foxy had never seemed inclined to do him harm. On the contrary, he’d been a cosy companion in Phin’s happy place.

It was, he must admit, far comfier to think of Jake being partial to scampering about on the moors after work, rather than frequenting strip clubs with his mates. There were no doubt many reasons why Phin should be bothered. But he wasn’t. So, that was that. A plenitude of what-why-when-where ‘n’ how’s were hovering on his horizon, but for now? Phin just wanted to drop anchor for a while and do drinking things in.  

Foxy was snuffling Phin’s fingers. He had not bitten them off. Sometimes, things were that simple. If you let them be.

 

***

 

Wafflish

Beast of Bodmin Moor 24

Hi, I’ve finally finished gadding about for Christmas, so I’ll post the next chapter tomorrow, all being well. I hope that all your preparations are falling into place and that you have a wonderful Christmas and/or very Happy Holidays.❤️🎄❤️

 

 

The Beast of Bodmin Moor

 

 

 

Jake

 

 

 

“…Jack?”

Fuck, no. Jake hadn’t even expected Phin to follow, let alone find him out here. He’d been too crippled to run, too deranged to change and flee on four legs, so he’d staggered as far as he could before collapsing behind the bins. Thinking himself as ‘safe’ from discovery as possible. Jack—incomprehensibly—had not seen fit to snatch that ‘choice’ away; the very thing he’d been hell bent on in the bar. 

Out here, when that would have been, for once, bloody helpful, he’d point blank refused to co-operate. What the fuck is with the Hulk no-show…had been Jake’s last (ludicrous) thought before Phin’s presence saturated their senses. 

It would have taken Phin much longer to weave through the punters and leave the pub in the customary manner before dashing around to the rear, so he’d clearly come via the bar. The only surprising part of that had, of course, been expecting Phin to use the same exit as everyone else. Rather than disregarding all barriersboth literal and societalbetween himself and the dipshit notion he was dead set on at the time. Just as he’d barged through every boundary Jake had done his damnedest to enforce in a futile bid to protect him.

Having managed to stumble over to the bins, there had been bugger all else he could do. Other than pray Jack might let the fuck up with his grappling hook tantrum. Preferably while the explanation of having had a bit too much to drink would still suffice. The truth (partly), and Phin had already surmised as much. Disaster averted.

A hope that had been doomed from the off. The blame for that being every bit as blatant as Jake’s absence of fur. The Hulk-hound from hell had refused to play ball, let alone justify himself, leaving Jake to cower behind the bloody bins like the mangy dog he was.

“Gnnhh…g’way…” He groaned, a plea as pointless as arguing the toss with a post box.

A post box? That was random.

Opined the tosspot piping up now with barbs from fuck knows where. In the wake of being, for once in his bloody…existence, wanted.

“I’m not leaving you on your own in the dustbins, you daftie.”

“Fck. Off.” Cruel words that corroded Jake’s tongue even as it formed them. He was all out of options. “Go!”

Not cruel enough. Clearly. As far from paying any heed as possible? Phin dropped to his haunches and reached out with fingertips of flame to pour petrol on Jake’s shame. 

Jack had lost the plot the second he’d scented the girl’s desire; flagrant in the face of all he’d been denied. If Jake hadn’t got the hell out of the pub there would have been a damn sight more excitement than its regulars had bargained for after popping down the Albion for a swift pint.

Bursting from his own body in a fury of fur and frustration would have been fuck awful enough. Ripping her head off with his teeth? Might have proved a bit too much entertainment for one night. Lifetime.

But oh, so satisfying…you must admit.

Never.

Suit yourself. Like that makes it any less true…just sayin.

Leave me.” Jake groaned.

Me or Phin? Not that it matters…you’re barking up the wrong tree either way.

“I…I can’t…leave you. On your own.” The pain in Phin’s voice was more excruciating than the clawing in Jake’s guts.

Why wouldn’t Phin save himself? It couldn’t be more obvious that he was dead set on not ‘doing listening’. Dead set? Salt in the wound of an irony too brutal for words.

“Can. Just. Go. I don’t want yonnagggh!” The latter almost choked Jake on its way out. No doubt would have done, had that not been too dipshit, even for Dogbreath. 

Talking about yourself in third person is not the most illustrious illustration of your sterling faculties, it must be said. Quite aside from being a lie so blasphemous your cock should have shrivelled up and died of shame. In penance.

Shut the fuck up. Someone has to save him. From all three of us.

A profanity that proved as pointless as it was painful. A last ditch hope that Phin might flinch and flounce off in a huff? Every bit as futile as those it succeeded. 

Instead? With infinite tenderness, Phin started stroking Jake’s bloody back. He had to get away from that hand and all it promised. Flee the torment of silken caresses and sorrow steeped words, before he could not. Before Phin was killed by his own kindness. Most of all, Jake had to get the hell away from a compassion he did not deserve.

If he could just struggle to his feet...Jake could…what? Skip off into the night? He could barely stagger to his hands and knees; his elbows gave out the second he planted his palms on the floor. He could do this. Get up. He had to…For Phin. Get away. From him. For him.

“Has it happened before? Should I phone for an ambulance?”

Hell yes. Fuck NO. Pleeease, just GO. “Y’have to go. I can’t…hold…” Jake told the truthpart of itbefore adding (further) injury to insult with a glare Phin would be insane to ignore. Jake knew damn well what his eyes looked like, he could see them reflected in drowning brown; which just widened with wonder when Jake levelled him with the death ray lasers. 

Oh if only. I could have sizzled her slutty ass before she’d sullied his skin. 

You’re as impossible as he is.

Yup. Two for a pair…Perfect for one another…We’d spoil another couple…triple. Tralala… Take your pick. I have. 

‘My fated mate’!?  F’fucksakes.

Exactly.

No way. Over my dead body. I want him too, you cretinous mutt. It’s your fault we can’t have him. What!? Now? Here? Yes, I know we’ve done it before. But not in a bloody carpark, we haven’t. At my workplace. Quite aside from the fact you’ve got your furry arse in a flap. How the hell will you hold it together? 

Duh. 

What’s that supposed to mean? It will ‘work some steam off’? Oh strewth. Fine. Just for the record? That’s a crock of shite and y’know it, you conniving bastard.

Lunatics, both of them. With Jake cast as the asylum. He might have fully expected to find himself incarcerated in one, but really…this was ridiculous. An opinion that possibly snapped the last slivers of Jack’s patience. A split second later Jake found himself hovering over a supine Phin, swallowing his surprised yelp alongside kisses he plundered as if to stave off perishing itself. Then proceeded to swallow a whole lot more than that. As agreed. A win-win deal t’die for.

The rumble of contentment that rolled in Jake’s throat when he’d done savouring his fill might have been mortifying…had Jake not promptly been bludgeoned by a betrayal that swept aside all paltry human frailties.

“Nooooo!”  I will or you will? “No. Had..a..deal. No. NO!”

Jake had no idea how much of that he snarled aloud. None whatsoever. All of it? None of it? He could scarce breathe, think, move…feel anything beyond the agony wracking his body. Aside from fear. Fury. The jackal’s frustration.

“Jack!”

No. He doesn’t want you, he means me, you pillock.

“No! Phin. Run!”

“I-No…I..won’t!” Phin insisted, as stubborn as fuck, while clambering to his feet.

If the laser glare had been invested with the powers it appeared to promise, Phin would have burst into flames where he stood. Calmly tucking himself away. When he was done, he lifted his head. What he saw, made those eyes widen (which really didn’t help matters) while gazing unflinchingly into lightsaber blue. Twin beams mirrored back by midnight pools of darklight. 

I will or you will.

Christ. YouwillorIwill…Iwilloryouwill…over and over, resounding round Jake’s bell jar brain.

Tick tock… Jack sat, head tilted inquiringly as he waited, spearing Jack with his own bloody eyes.  Phin stood, mute determination emblazoned in unblinking brown.

Jake had but one option left. Act before Jack snatched that away too. Jake ran. He got about twenty yards before the fur hit the fan.

A distance he was permitted to cover purely so they didn’t scar Phin for life with a flailing claw. Apparently. The mangy mongrel patently didn’t give a flying toss about damage wreaked deeper than flesh. 

Fuck it hurt. The pain was far worse when Jake didn’t ‘do choosing’. As often proved true in everyday life. Perhaps pain was simply more bearable if walked into willingly. The ‘price we pay’.

Changing was just a matter of letting go if Jake elected to do it. A passing of the baton, rather than having it wrenched from his grip. Allowing the flame to flare to life until it radiated through his skin, rather than razing him to dust as he stood, steadfast.

If Jack forced it on him, it felt as if he were being flayed from the inside out.

Instead of fur flowing like water to ripple over bones that almost seemed to bend to Jake’s will? The jackal exploded from his human self in a frenzy of fury. An agonizing snap of bone and crunching joints. A searing scorch of muscles and straining tendons; stretched teeth shattering tight as the blood boiled in his veins. Jake could only compare it to being set on fire and thrown off a cliff.

This. Is what Phin saw. Heard. Endured. Fuck only knows how he felt.

 

***