Beast of Bodmin 18 & 19

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




The Beast of Bodmin Moor 18









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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“G’morning…thank you…”

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

Be fucking reasonable.

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

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


“Oh, I’m not done yet…” Apparently. 

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

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

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


“Guess again…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This newfound simpatico was well on the way to disturbing…



Chapter 19





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

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

“I am…too bamboozled to do talking?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jack? What is your surname?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I asked for that…” Jake snorted.

“You did…were you doing hinting?”


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

“Which is exactly what worries me most.” 

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

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

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

“Phin. Please hush up.”

“Was that happy hinting?”

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




Beast of Bodmin Moor 17

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

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

Amazon UK

Amazon US

Um…moodboardery is a bit addictive… 😳

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Without further ado…




The Beast of Bodmin Moor 






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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I don’t trust you.

You never did.

That, makes less sense than sausages for supper.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

“If only. It’s not that easy…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘Kay,” he croaked.


I hope you’re bloody satisfied.

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

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

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

The jackal sat silent sentry.

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

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


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

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

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

“The real reason, please?”

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

“Instinct. What mischief are you up to?”

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

“Luscious. Oh gawd,” Jake groaned.

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

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

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

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

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







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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

Jack, had barely begun.

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

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


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

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





Beast of Bodmin Moor 15

The Beast of Bodmin Moor








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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ouch. Bitch.

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

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

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

Your guess is as good as mine?

No. It’s not.

You’re right. It is yours.

What’s mine?

Your guess. 

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

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

You. Are doing my head in.

Why change the habits of a lifetime? Just sayin…

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

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

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

Better a devil dog than a dogged dullard. 

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

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

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

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

Are you trying to drive me demented? 

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



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

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

You thought ‘loins’ first. ’Fess up. 


Odd that. 


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

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

“No!” Jake damn near barked.

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

“Yes! I mean, no…I just…can’t.”

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

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

“‘Too much, too soon’?”

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

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

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

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

Too much crap in the way, that’s why.

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

Ye of little faith…

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

Tell him the truth.

Fuck no.

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

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

“Some truths are…impossible to air.”

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

“Impossible, literally.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

Happy now? 

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

Y’such a gent. 

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

Good job we’ve sorted that, then.

What the fuck? Forget it. Not happening.

Is, too.

I’m not budging. No condoms. No lube.

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

Christ. Was that visual really necessary?

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


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

What theMating!?

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

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







Beast of Bodmin Moor 14

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



The Beast of Bodmin Moor








It scarce seemed possible that the magnificent man in Phin’s very own van was meant for him. The Beast of Bodmin popping by for a cuppa and snackeroo would be less bewildering than the impossibility that Jack might want Phin.

Yet somehow, he was not only standing there half-starkers, sculpted from gold, gleaming in the lamplight, he was hard. Shrinktastic jeans struggling to constrain a stonking erection hard. There was no one else present. Just Phin. A singular fact as deranging as watching Jack prowl his way, muscles gliding in a melody of movement. That was exactly how it appeared, Phin wasn’t gilding any lilies he didn’t have. They were too glary, he preferred lily-of-the-valley. Or jasmine, gypsophila, snowdrops…they were his favourites. A sprinkle of little flowers, always white, like titchy stars tumbled to Earth. 

The flora had filled the space separating Jake and Phin, who was forcing himself to wait while Jake whipped his kit off. That was never his best thing…but this was the first time that ‘worth the wait’ had ever seemed a dead cert. So, Phin was gritting his teeth against the scratchy insistence that now was the only surety and doing his damnedest to stay still. This, after enduring the loss of heavy heat and silken skin—bearable as a precursor to the unveiling of more—and thus a quid pro quo, par excellence.

He had never imagined that being squished beneath another body could make him feel so full—nourished—when being trapped should have screamed suffocating. Instead, Phin had felt somehow less…fragmentary, scrappy inside. Less like a piecemeal person, wired all wrong.

Phin lay, fingers laced behind his head to hold it up, mesmerized by the shucking of shoes and the peeling of spray-painted jeans. The latter snaffled his socks when Jake yanked his feet out, which was exceedingly fortunate on the fit of the fidgets front. Finally, there Jake stood…oh, so nearly naked. In Phin’s camper van. Two pairs o’pants away from paradise.

“Hmmm…” Oops…that had aired itself while Phin wasn’t watching. The least surprising snippet of news in the whole world ever. He was too riveted to do concentrating on aught but the lustre of honeyed skin over lean lines of muscletendons taut, standing proudshrieking tightly tethered strength. Caramel waves cascading to sinewy shoulders, streaked with umber, bronze…eyes of topaz blue flame, ablaze with desire. Desire. For Phin. Unless Jake was thinking very hard of someone not splayed across the table wearing just Phin’s pants. That was possible…despite the halleloo hypershriek louder than Jack’s twanging tendons. 

Phin propped himself up on his elbows, too twitchy to stay still, too flat for best seat aboard privileges. He’d no sooner done so, than Jake glanced down at himself with an expression Phin might’ve called ‘doubtful’—except that would be daft—Jake was, most definitely, there. Here. In Phin’s camper van. In naught but his pants, which ensured that there was lots of evidence on view. A fact he’d deduced with utmost diligence.

When Jake lifted his head, his gaze was blue zicron; starlite bright, ablaze with a world of dark wonder while slinking to stand before Phin, still perched atop the table. 

“I was so certain Foxy was real…but can’t seem to believe in you,” he heard himself sigh, from far, far, away. Too dazzled to blink, too dazed to break eye contact.

“You’re barmy…” Jake’s smile didn’t seem to mind overmuch.

As this had e’er been the common consensus, far from a novel notion, Phin told the truth, which was inviolate, being his own. “But not barmy enough to know what’s ‘good for me’,” he pointed out…p’raps with the tip of his tongue.

“I’ll bite that off in a minute,” Jake snorted. “Were you not taught that sticking it out at people is not ‘po-lite’?” That smirk was more dangerous than the rest of Jake, if only he could see it. It was devilish, divine.

“Yup…but you’re not people,” Phin noted instead, which was less unseemly.

“I’m not…people?” Jack sounded a smidge alarmed, as if he’d just been declared a Dark Lord of the Sith. Rather than not informed that his smirk was deadly. 

“Well, you’re Jack,” Phin shrugged. “That’s more than just ‘people’.”

The blue flared as if the gas had been turned up to full throttle. It was almost too luminous to stare into. It was…too close to care. Too…hmmm…a shimmer of pleasure thrilled down his spine when Jack leaned in to brush featherlight lips across Phin’s. Once, twice, while winding strong arms around his waist to tug him in tight. The scintillating press of chests, skin-to-skin sent his senses into a fizzy frenzy. It was the strangest double-whammy of wondrous; leaving him fit to swoon and sprint up the side of a skyscraper, all at the same time. 

The whizziness won out when Jake melded their mouths to lay waste to Phin’s lips in the kind of kiss that inspired madness or murder in Kings and coves alike. That was the last snippet of nonsense to flit through Phin’s head, which was startling in itself, but nowhere near as staggering as the reason why…

It was a surge of movement so swift he had to piece it together afterwards; Jack nudged Phin’s knees apart, cupped his butt cheeks and tugged him in tight, then hoisted him up off the table. He had to cling on quick like a koala when Jack swung them around and splayed a palm between Phin’s shoulder blades to lower him to the floor. All this happened a tad too fast to do concentrating, so he might have made a muddle—there was a lot of Phin and lots less of Jack—which made it seem a smidge unlikely. He didn’t even try to unravel it; all that mattered was, he was exactly where he wanted to be. Flat on his back beneath Jack, who hovered above him on all fours and kissed away all likelihood that Phin might do focussing on anything, anytime soon.

He was far too busy luxuriating in the slow, sensual drag of Jack’s lips, the tangle of tongues, their shared breath as Jack lowered himself to his elbows in a lush smudge of skin. This kiss was slower, gentler than before, more…tender. Sound only seemed to exist as a denseness in Phin’s ears…and yet, the space between them was as light, airy as a candyfloss cloud. There were fingers entwined in his hair, a tongue in his mouth, a palm clamped to his thigh. Jack was everywhere, all at once; the heady weight of his body, the trailing tendrils of hair caressing Phin’s face. Between his thighs, hard heat crushed close through filmy cotton, for the very first time. Oh, so close to his darkest dreams. Did Jack even want Phin...that way? It felt as if he did, and yet, he kept claiming it was too dangerous. How? Why? Or just a white lie, to let him down in a decorous way? How Phin wished he knew…there was no way of telling what he might ask for.

Jack hadn’t seemed to think that making a racket put Phin in jeopardy, so why did more?  He didn’t even know if Jack would permit a repeat of…yesterday? Earlier? It still seemed to be the same day, despite the dark; he hadn’t been to bed and had breakfast yet. Phin had to steel himself to stillness when Jake lifted his head. Every instinct was clamouring to cling on like a limpet, when a sliver of space was a mile of separation. Farther, while fearing that every kiss would be the last. Much to Phin’s relief, the heady press of Jake’s weight didn’t diminish, it shifted. He began to slide backwards, scattering a blazing trail of kisses down Phin’s front. He held his breath, watching with wide, wider, eyes as Jack wriggled lower, lower still; too scared to breathe, perchance he stopped. 

Phin’s lungs cared not and promptly staged a mutiny, sucking in a week’s worth of oxygen when Jake’s chest brushed Phin’s fit to bust pants. “Aaaahh!”  His brain was too busy melting to mush and blowing up to be bothered who won Air Wars. The friction alone was mind boggling, but Jake’s head was heading toward torrid territory. Wherin a third head resided. Matters were getting a mite Fluffy from Harry Potter. A thought eclipsed by the squeaky gate sound that escaped when Jake trickled his tongue down the trail of hair vanishing into Phin’s waistband. Next thing he knew, that had gone. Alongside his missing pants and a scorch of moist heat that clobbered Phin with a bolt of bliss. 

A fact that poured such a vat of oil on the squeaky racket it melted into maple syrup and drizzled from his lips as an “ooooooh….”  Last time, Phin had been too dazzled to relish the ricochet of sensations, too staggered by their all-consuming shriek to do concentrating on how it felt. A symphony of sound too overwhelming to hear the melody itself. Impossible to assimilate…like the taste of cymbals clashing.

The racket within was too loud to listen to that without, as Phin lay, plastered to floor like roadkill trammeled by a tractor. It was too much to feel all at once so he let his eyelids flutter shut and did some concentrating on savouring every second of slurpy serendipity. 

Jack’s tongue was indecent, Phin decided. His mouth, a den of iniquity. Oh…if only life membership was on the table…or the floor…or in the bed nook…on the moors, under a blanket of stars…bathed in moonlight.

Jake must have dipped lower, somehow, because Phin’s cock crashed against the back of his throat—which tightened—as if the scoundrel was hellbent on swallowing it down. Phin was done for…he couldn’t have held out if his membership card depended upon it… 

“Jaacckk!” The only word in the world. It clawed the walls when the need gnawing his nuts detonated in a dizzying rush and a strobe-lit blitz of bliss that blazed through Phin’s body in a white-hot torrent of too much and more.

When it was done with him, he was fit for nothing and everything; anything Jake wanted ever again, for the rest of forever. Aside from that, Phin felt very lovely. In a tongue lolling out sort o’way.

Somewhere, on a planet far, far away, Jake dragged his mouth back oh, so slow. The shock of cool air that accosted Phin’s cock was obliterated by slick warmth when Jake sluiced the sticky away…with a thoroughness that was the epitome of unseemly. Sublime.

Adj: extreme or unparalleled excellence. 

As inimitable as Phin’s foxy friend.



25395792_1312984798806791_7767767145407370890_n - Edited.jpg


Beast of Bodmin Moor 13

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





The Beast of Bodmin Moor







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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, both probably.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not yet married or not yet a murderer?” 

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

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

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

“Either, both.” Phin parried.

“I-I…can’t rule either out.”

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” he beamed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah…” he sighed. “I’m sorry.”

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

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

“I’m…terrified I might hurt you.”

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






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

Jake was wrong. Very. Deadly wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where, oh where, to start on that sentence…

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

“Jack, please…” 

“Tell me…what you want…” 

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

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

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

Oh hell…

You asked for it. Just sayin…



Beast of Bodmin Moor 12

The Beast of Bodmin Moor 









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

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

He’s not you?

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

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

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

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

Good point.

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

What happened to the compromise on malnourishment matters?

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

Oookay…you win. 

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


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

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

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

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

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


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

Was this wise? Of course not.

It was inevitable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Melodramatic? Shakespearean? Magnificent? Gothic? Glorious? 

F’fucksakes, must you be so bloody—

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, okay. I thought I’d…I” 

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

“Oh, sorry, I forgot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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











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

“Yeah…um… I’ve come visiting?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jake…you’re here…I thought…”

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

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

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

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




Beast of Bodmin Moor 10

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


Trigger warning: 

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





The Beast of Bodmin Moor





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

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

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

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

Fine (adj): Fuck awful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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




Jake & Jack



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

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

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

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

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

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

You and whose army this time?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

“Here, boy…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

A most undignified one. Indecent, in fact.

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

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

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

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

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

A whaaat-the-fuck? 

Oh, do pipe down at the back. 

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

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











Beast of Bodmin Moor 9



The Beast of Bodmin Moor





“That’s not a bad thing, by the way. I’d very much fancy being deflowered by a breeches-ripper. Oops…I shouldn’t have fessed up, should I? Was it unseemly?”




Jake was damned if he could fathom an answer to that. How the hell was Phin still alive? It was a bloody good job he’d remained a virgin if that was his fantasy night out. A dream date with a breeches-ripper. F’fucksakes.

Lightweight. I’m in. Jack the Ripper at your service, sir… 

If Phin belonged to him (Jake ignored the horrific warmth that thrilled through his body at this, most forbidden of thoughts), he’d never let him out alone. Ever. And possibly insist on cuffing Phin to his own wrist when they ventured out together. Oh, Christ.



“Are you okay? You just did a big groan. A ‘despairing’ one, rather than indigestion induced. Don’t fib, I would recognize that sound even if my ears fell off.”

“There’s no need to fib. I did—but it was self-directed—you didn’t cause it. So, next time you hear it, assume the same and you won’t be wrong. But yeah, I’m fine. Except I really should get my arse into gear and get out of your hair, before you’re sick to the back teeth of me.”

“I want to do a despairing groan now, directed your way. You made yourself sound like nits. I don’t want those, it would drive me demented. I’m too scratchy already. I don’t mind you ‘in my hair’…and you can assume the same in anywhere else. So you needn’t worry, or wonder.” Phin shrugged, as if he’d admitted something of no consequence whatsoever. Rather than offered himself up as a virgin sacrifice to slaughter.

You’re such a melodrama queen. You should watch more French porn and less schlock horror, it’ll do wonders for my constitution. Killjoy.

Jake did not deign to respond.

The only dignity you’ll glean from that, is in defeat, and y’know it. Whatever you’re about to spout now is deluded in the extreme...and thus, doomed to defeat. Amateur.

“Phin… ” Crap. No matter how he phrased this, it was going to reek of a rebuff—

Odd that.

”I-I…don’t think…” Jake tripped over his treasonous tongue, tried again. “I can’t, it’s not sa—” 

“S’okay! Sorry…I didn’t exp—” Phin broke off in a flurry of unruly limbs, scuffling backwards in an effort to clear the table top before nutting the damn thing when he staggered to his feet. “Agghfck!”

“Y’okay?” Jake winced, springing up to…stand there uselessly, unsure whether Phin would allow—let alone welcome—touch. The offer of comfort from the one who’d inflicted the hurt.

Phin was a ‘mishap’ waiting to happen left to his own devices. The last thing he deserved was added insult to injury. The thought of Phin driving was too dreadful to contemplate, so Jake didn’t. Mostly because he had far more immediate horrors to focus on, such as… the fact he’d fucked everything up. Had made Phin feel unwanted—maybe worse—unwantable, having blatantly sensed a brush off on the way. Mortifying in itself. Brutal; after offering far more than he could afford Jake to crave. Or covet with every fibre of their being, furry or otherwise.

Way to maim him for life, fuckwit. Fix it.

“Phin, I didn’t mean…please don’t think—” 

“S’okay. You don’t have to do white lies, or say ‘it’s not you, it’s me’. I’m not…slow.” Phin sighed, pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead and kneading, hard. Too hard, after all it had suffered of late. His words had been soft, lilting with acceptance. Aching with self-awareness. The shame that scythed through Jake’s system was scalding. 

“I know you’re not…far from it. I wasn’t trying to fob you off, it’s just, I never expec—I-I can’t risk… ” Jake’s pathetic attempt to form an entire sentence stuttered to a pitiful halt. He couldn’t make this right without telling truths so far-fetched it would make matters worse. Even more insulting. Quite a feat after being rejected in the immediate aftermath of blowing someone’s mind. For the first time. 

Jake stood, utterly inept, willing Phin to…even look at him. Those inimitable eyes were staring into the far-off distance, unreachable. Cherub lips upturned in a small smile that shrieked ‘quiet courage’. It was impossible to say how, but something had shifted; shuttered Phin off, as if an inner portcullis had come crashing down. His entire frame, every excessive inch, seemed to have shrunk inwards, warding Jake away. Worse—worst of all—was Phin’s cloaking of unnatural calm. Akin to that eerie stilling of air before a storm breaks.

“It’s okay…” he repeated, into the ether. “I’ll just… put some clothes on and drive you home.”  Phin hadn’t quite crammed his fingers in his ears and started humming, but it was a close run thing.

Phin wanted Jake gone. And who could blame him? Jake least of all. Home was the last place he wanted to go, but he sure as hell couldn’t stay. Inside, wherever the jackal resided, he could feel Jack’s fretful pacing. The frustration seething beneath the surface of Jake’s skin wasn’t his own. Sort of. It felt physical…a force in itself. A restless, clawing sensation that surged alongside his sudden spike in temperature. Boiling the blood in Jake’s veins as his pores wept sweat. He had to leave. Flee. Fast.

Phin bent to scoop up his scattered clothes, scrunching them into an absent-minded snarl of fabric that belied his unnerving equanimity. Then turned and wandered into the loo without a word, shutting himself inside.

Now. Thought and deed, done in the blink of an eye. Jake snatched the door open and shot outside, tugging it shut behind him. He stood, scanning the expanse of scrubby grass and granitic rubble, isolated in indifferent majesty. As barren as it was bleak to those oblivious to its beauty. Nowhere to hide. Everywhere to run. There was no trace of human scent as far as Jack could smell or see, aside from the most alluring of them all.The autumnal afternoon was overcast; the sky as grey as the ancient rock at his feet. Ominous clumps of cloud hovered in low clusters, hugging the horizon, heavy with the odour of oncoming rain. 

The camper van at his back concealed Jake from the road that edged the moor; all before him belonged to it. The borrowed robe was flapping in the wind, still hanging open, so he shrugged it off his shoulders and tossed it onto the bonnet where Phin should spot it before driving off. He daren’t risk the only other option. Threading a window wiper through a belt loop to stop it blowing away was about the best he could do. He might be an utter bastard, but Jake wasn’t about to bugger off with the bathrobe he’d borrowed, t’boot. 

He ran, ran like the wind whispering through his hair, grateful for its cool caress on overheated skin. Bare soles skimming scrubby grass and mossy tufts, feathery underfoot as Jake picked up speed. Fast…faster still, until he was but a blur in the distance. Then he let go.

The alien sense of rightness flooded every fibre of Jake’s being when the silent shimmer thrilled through his veins; aflame with a power as primal as the fire trembling down his spine. Unfurling from his very core, it rippled through his body in a fluent stretch that twanged every sinew to screaming point. Joints popping alongside the gut-wrenching grate of bone grinding bone as tendons tore and muscles strained at sheaths. Those final shudders; rolling down his back to spill through reformed flesh as fur flowed over his subterranean self. Excruciating pain, the euphoria of freedom. An agony and ecstasy that echoed the ache in their heart.





📷 Alan Hopkins

Beast of Bodmin Moor 8


The Beast of Bodmin Moor








Phin gazed at the treasure trove he’d unveiled, utterly transfixed. Jack was…perfection. As if he’d stepped straight from Phin’s dreamscape and into his camper van as he’d slept. 

It was still tricky to believe he was a real, breathing person, rather than a hallucination Phin had cooked up after a few too many tipples. He was partial to a spot of brandy at bedtime; it made him feel warmer inside when the world seemed cold ‘n’ cruel and his tablets couldn’t stave off the scratchy.

Phin watched Ja—ke’s chest rise and fall with a wonderment that intensified, rather than subsided, the longer his eyes lingered. The yearning to stroke sun-kissed skin, to trace taut muscle and the tempting trail of hair leading down…down…was overwhelming. Phin tried to swallow what felt like a sticklebrick lodged in his throat and sucked in a sharp breath.  So hard. So…impossibly here.

It was most odd to feel as if fate had outdone him on the too much front. Phin must still be asleep, surely? Unless he’d woken in an alternate universe; a realm where you dreamed your heart’s darkest desires into being…and got to unwrap the riches that materialized on your camper van carpet.

Phin watched the slow trickle of his fingers across honey-glazed skin. It seemed to skitter in their wake, as if the ridges on his fingertips were playing it like a harp. It all got a bit blurry after that; one minute Phin was still stroking, the next he’d sort of swooped and stuck his tongue in Jake’s belly button. Not content with that, it started having a bit of a swirl around.

“Fuck!” Jack almost jakeknifed in shock. Oops, it might have been po-lite to warn him first. He didn’t seem to mind too much, nor did his groan, as he sank back against the floor. A respite too soon, perhaps. Phin was strung too tight to care for consequence, so he dove in headfirst. This tended to be his best bet when antsy, otherwise he just flapped around in a hyperfit of the fidgets for…ever. 

Resisting temptation was risky; that never went well on less enticing occasions. So Phin pounced to swipe a lavish lick along Jake’s length; a taste sensation so potent his head went all swimmy. It would have felt quite fitting if he’d swooned like a Regency miss when coshed by the most sumptuous of all scents. It was the olfactory equivalent of having a grand piano land on his head after being lobbed from a window. Quite why someone might do this remained a mystery, but it was forever happening in movies, so it must be ‘a thing’.  It was actually a hip-butt—rather than a Steinway—that accosted Phin, when up they snapped with the gusto of a Glasgow kiss.

Jake smelled as luscious as Phin’s second, more lingering sluice along feverish flesh. He’d never been hungry enough to make his mouth water this much. He’d need to be starving t’death. Or rabid. Phin still feared doing it too much, so he figured that he should start at the top and work his way down. That would work; Jake could shove him off if Phin got greedy.

He could go slow though. Slower than most folk thought reasonable when savouring things he enjoyed. As often as possible—which wasn’t excessive—when he wanted them all the time. See, he could be Mr. Moderate himself, if he must. Quite who he was, Phin knew not, so he might’ve made him up. He was supposed to be glad he could suffer such stingy rations, to avoid unseemly consequences. Such as…having to shuffle around on his knees attached to Jake like a limpet. That wouldn’t go down well (with folk who weren’t Phin). Particularly in public.

A rumbly purr of pleasure rifled Phin’s ears, which seemed to suggest he wasn’t doing anything amiss. Jack hadn’t shoved him off. Yet. He was still gripping the silver leg-posts of the table—white-knuckle-tight, too—as if he suspected Phin might suck him up like a hungry hoover unless he held on for dear life. He didn’t appear too appalled by the prospect, though…so, Phin hoped, almost as hard as Jake, that he wouldn’t put a stop to proceedings, anytime soon. Or at all, ever.

A flick of his tongue across the tip of Jake’s cock almost cost Phin an eye, such was the jolt of foxy hips. Ah well, he’d waited forever for this moment; swapping an eyeball seemed a fair ’nuff trade off. Okay, so…Phin had read (in his sister’s Cosmo comic) that he should go about this as if feasting on a luxury lolly. That part should be easy enough, he could savour one of those thoroughly enough to last half an hour. 

Phin took a deep breath, inhaling husky musk, heaven in itself, before wrapping just his lips around the head of Jack’s cock. Ooh…thisss. The bliss was too loud to hear over, so Phin had no idea if he was making a racket. Nor Jake, for that matter. He seemed a smidge… squirmy, despite his efforts to stay still, which did bode well. It also suggested that Jake might need matters moving on a mite, before he went demented. Contrary to Cosmo’s opinion, who possibly didn’t have cocks to call their own. Nor knuckles that looked fit to burst through blanched to bone skin. 

Phin picked up the pace. A fact that reaped rich rewards; he would have been dead—not deaf—had he been oblivious to Jack’s reaction. Phin could feel it. Feel it in his very bones, like a vibration. Somewhat akin to standing next to huge amps and sensing the tremble of sound through his body. As if his very self resonated in response to Jake playing his tune. 

Okay…he must never mention that, Phin decided. It being a flight of fancy that seemed a smidge hyper-responsive, even to him, so it must be stratospheric. Jake would flee as if the hounds of hell were hot on his heels. Keeping schtum was a consequence Phin was more than happy to suck up (as ’twere) for this secret glimpse of untold pleasure.

Phin relished every second of it. All of it… every flicker of his own tongue, the husky musk filling his head, the silken slide of velvet heat. Honey-honed skin; all taut sinew and lean muscle, tensed as if to spring. The most magnificent sight that had e’er graced his eyeballs. 

“Phin…” The agonized rasp of his name summoned Phin from his reverent reveries. Had he hurt Jake, done something wrong? How he wished he knew how to get this right for Jake. Not knowing—the fear of failing him—far outweighed all reason.

“Did I do it wrong?”

“Fuck…no. Don’t…don’t stop…”

“I never want to,” Phin assured him, resuming his serendipitous ministrations.

“Ggnnrrr…” Jack threw his head back with a grapple-hook growl that snagged Phin’s guts. He was glorious; hair fanned in a lustrous halo, like a golden god. Mesmerizing. Phin did his utmost to do concentrating and respond to every twitch—counter-twitch to restrain it—every rumble of pleasure and sigh of sound that flitted free. Meanwhile, hypnotic hips were hell-bent on snapping up despite Jake’s efforts to keep them in check, so Phin had to do focusing and follow their lead, lest he have a mishap. It was a lot to take in. He would need plenty of practise. 

“Phhiin…fuck…stop!”  Jake howled when his whole self had a spasm at once. He’ll make his mind up in a minute. A thought so diverting, Phin quite forgot to do listening. Never, had he been more chuffed he’d carried on regardless. If there had ever been a more majestic sight than Jack mid-orgasm, Phin had never been gifted it.

It was a hyper-feast fit for a king. Bestowed on Phin. All for Phin. So he guzzled him down with nary a care for excessiveness. Jake didn’t seem to mind. Never had Phin seen someone come so…utterly undone.

Earlier, when he’d woken, Phin had determined that his new foxy friend was the most tightly wound man on the planet. Armour-clad in titanium and a snaffled robe, as his true self seethed beneath the surface. The blissful abandonment Phin now beheld couldn’t have contrasted more starkly with the stranger he’d met. It was tricky to align the two in his head, so heaven knows how Jack managed it.

Phin dragged his mouth back, relishing every second, lest this be the last time he’d ever find himself so fortunate. With utmost reluctance, Phin unfurled his fingers, unsure what to do now. What was he supposed to do? Phin flicked his gaze upwards and watched as Jake’s eyelids fluttered apart. He blinked, p’raps to refocus; the blue was as hazy as a sun-scorched sky.

“Phin…” His voice was as thick as clotted cream, but darker, as if laced with brandy.



When Jake extended his arm, Phin’s insides did a flip-flop—a bit like that lurch on a hump-backed bridge—except higher up. After rearranging his unwieldy legs, he shuffled up beside Jake and found himself tucked into an armpit before he’d quite got his bearings. He was a bit crumpled, but he’d rather have cramp than be anywhere else. Being crippled seemed a small price to pay for such privilege.

“Y’okay?” Ja—ke rumbled in gruffly tones.

“I’m very okay.” Phin’s voice sounded like a smile.

“Y’sure…? I didn’t mean—I warned you to stop.”

“I didn’t want to stop. Are you cross?”

Cross? Fuck no,” Jake chuckled. “As far from cross as I ever get, but I didn’t want you to…feel obliged.”

“I don’t oft do things I don’t want to. I might pretend I will, but then I…forget.” Phin admitted.

“I had noticed…” he muttered. He still didn’t sound miffed though.


Exactly. I guess I should be thankful you haven’t fixed on Foxy.”

“I did like Foxy, but Jack is more…dashing.”

“Dashing?” he spluttered.

“Yes! You are! In a scoundrelly way…like a pirate, or a devilish hero in a Gothic novel.”

“Oh gawd!” Jack’s chest juddered with his throaty chuckle. It was like lying against a happy tractor.

“That’s not a bad thing, by the way. I’d very much fancy being deflowered by a breeches-ripper. Oops…I shouldn’t have fessed up, should I? Was it unseemly?”

“Ah…I—” That’s as far as Jack got before yukking it up again. Slurpy shenanigans had a startling effect on Jake’s disposition, it must be said. 

Perhaps not out loud, though.




Beast of Bodmin Moor 7

Happy Monday. 🥰Here’s the next chapter, I’m sorry it took a wee while….




The Beast of Bodmin Moor







‘I like your laugh, it makes you smile inside…’


Jake couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d laughed out loud. He sure as hell couldn’t recall having smiled inside. He was quite certain of one thing though; never had someone expressed a wish to blow him with such incomparable charm before. Christ.

“Might you let me make some racket, maybe?” 

As if granting Phin ‘permission’ would bestow a bloody kindness on him…when in fact, there was nothing on Earth Jake wanted more. 


Not listening.

Liar. Pants on fire.

Bugger off.

Now that…was nearer the truth. Just sayin’.

To top it off, as if all Jake’s Christmases—and two years of orgasms—weren’t about to come at once? 

The bad puns are coming thick ‘n’ fast now…

Pot. Kettle. ‘Just sayin’…

Phin’s very next words after being given the go ahead: 

‘Now!?’ Gaped as one might when handed the keys to a Ferrari and permission to take it out for a spin. ’Or is that too soon? Waiting isn’t my best thing…’ 

It wasn’t Jake’s either… and it sure as shit (after sausages) wasn’t Jack’s.

You’re like a dog with a bloody bone, y’know that, right? Or a nagging old woman. A stingy-with-the-tasty-tidbits one. 



Phin remembered his brief glimpse of Jack before slipping back into unconsciousness. Fuck. Jake was taking way too many risks. He was being stupid. Cretinous. He’d spent the last two years skulking in the shadows and being so bloody careful to safeguard his secrets.  Watching his every step lest he respond too swiftly, move too fast, react in any way whatsoever to intimacies he should never have heard above the hubbub of chat at the bar. All while being an unwilling eavesdropper on the low buzz of conversation, as clear as crystal, from the far side of the pub… even on his busiest shifts. 

Mentally weighing what he should be able to lift, without arousing suspicion; of steroid abuse, at the very least. Jake was hardly The goddamn Rock. Or indeed, that Momoa bloke punters kept likening him to. Until they were tanked up…when he morphed into ‘Momoa’s Mini-Me’. Strangely easy to shrug aside with a smirk. While feeding their nuts to the mutt after one twist of Jake’s fist. In his mind’s eye. Of course.

This frustrating as fuck list of limitations was akin to being blinkered, cuffed, manacled and muzzled every minute of the day. Alongside a shot of cement in each ear. ‘Muting his senses’ was but somewhere to start: Speed, stamina, strength, agility, acuity of thought. Healing. A hunger as relentless as the limits placed upon it. As insatiable as the thrill of the hunt. 

Two years spent shackled by self-restraint so ruthless it had driven Jake damn near demented. Hard-won steel-trap tenacity brought to its knees—literally—by one whiff of Phin on the wind. He’d as good as collared Jack at first scent. 

Jake hadn’t been far behind…having had no choice in the matter. Every single night since he’d ridden shotgun to a stalker with Pe Le Pew eyes and Deadpool’s disposition. Wylie Coyote couldn’t hold an Acme candle to Jack.

One whimper later, Jack had almost finished Phin off, licked him back to the land of the living, and been seen. A baton Jake had taken it unto himself pick up before embarking on a starkers stroll across a moonlit moor. Cradling an unconscious creature of unknown origin with legs far more excessive than his inimitable self. 


Oh Christ…at least that was preferable to Foxy. Foxy. For fucksake’s.

I might be insulted if the bushy-arsed bastards didn’t have such good rep for silky seduction skills. 

Silky? You? 

Yup…moi. Jaques Chacal at his service. Paramour par excellence…and I don’t stink of skunk. 

Yup…quite the catch. Aside from being a sausage junkie with severe digestive issues. Oh, and the drooling…dogbreath…fur…four legs… 

I give bloody good tongue.

‘Just sayin’ I suppose?

Why bother stating the bloody blah-de-blah? Sorted with one slurp. So suck that up, smug-mush. 




Jake suspected that he might just remain Jack for the foreseeable: as long it suited Phin to ‘forget to remember’. The scamp could probably reel off every item ever entered on his list of things to remember to take no notice of whatsoever. The one he’d begun when bored of staring at the mobile above his crib after a splendid day drawing on the walls and smearing mashed banana on the dog. 

“Um…where should I…?” Phin puttered to a halt, head cocked to one side. Like a pup in a pet shop window, hypnotising you with hope.

Oh hell...Jake should at least make some attempt to backtrack. Give Phin time to…what? Remain resolute? Was it even possible to persuade Phin to change his mind when dead set on something? It seemed one helluva surefire way to watch puppy dog eyes turn pitt-bull. 

The whiff of stubborn as scorched jam wasn’t a dead giveaway, then? I sure-as-sausage wouldn’t bet one on the poor sod who started that blanket wrestling match. 


“Where would you want to…er, do it, if given the choice?” Jake was, apparently, fool enough to wonder.

“Oh…um, that would be tricky. I only have one ‘where’ to choose from—so I don’t suppose it counts as choice—I would like you to lie down.”

Oh fuck. Jake sucked in a sharp breath, clamping his eyes closed, which made matters worse; the mental image transposed itself on the back of his lids. Would that be a…safer set up?  Who was Jake trying to…fox? He could spring to his feet from flat on the floor as fast as he could from a crouch. Perhaps if Jake lay with his head and shoulders tucked under the table, then gripped the two metal poles supporting the end not fixed to the wall? Maybe wrap his arms around them to nestle one in the crook of each elbow? Something to hold onto…rather than inadvertently scalp Phin, or worse, break his bloody neck. This was a very bad idea. Jake very much feared he was about to do it, regardless.

“No problem, but first…” The alarm that flared in Phin’s eyes was a flicker of candle compared to the spike of panic that shot his heart rate through the roof. Jake bent his head to press his lips to its pounding pulse; imbibing the scent of cinnamon spice. The vibrations trembling on the tip of his tongue didn’t slow, but did become less skittery as Jake smudged his mouth toward the gentle curve of Phin’s jaw. What had he feared having to suffer first? A lecture? A cautionary tale as tedious as it was pointless?  Phin turned his face, smearing Jake’s lips closer to his own, which parted in anticipation. Of a kiss that tasted of…everything Jack wanted from this world. A thought that would have been dizzying, had the melding of their mouths not beat it to the punch.

“Jack…” Phin soon gasped, snatching at a breath. “Please…”

It was all Jake could do to comport himself at a plausible speed to the table. All but dragged there, by the scruff of his neck like a recalcitrant pup. 

Think yourself lucky you didn’t find yourself furry. Interloper. 

Clever dick you might be, but c’mon…you’ve got to admit that I’m the man for this job. Loser of the ‘my canines are bigger than yours’ competition, that’s me.

Get on with it then, teenie weenie teeth.

Not biting. So shove your size-queen slurs up your furry foreskin.

This bout of bickering had filled the time it took Jake to lie flat on his back on the floor; head and shoulders inserted between the chrome bars that served as table legs.

“That’s perfect…Jack?”


“May I…undo the belt of the robe?”

Christ. Spread like a picnic on a fleece blanket. A thought Jake kept to themselves, nodding instead as he blew out a loong breath. 

Phin had no sooner dropped to his haunches than clasped Jake’s ankles with hands that felt blissfully cool to feverish flesh. A shiver shot up his legs when they were tugged apart, scorching along his spine when Phin sank to his knees in the gap he’d made between his own. Oh gawd. Jake gripped the bars and held on. For humankind, or something such. Phin slid his fingers behind the robe belt and began to pull, letting it slip loose, as if he were savouring the unwrapping of a gift. The very air in the van seemed to still. Jake could scarce breathe. He point-blank refused to blink.

When the belt finally slithered free, Phin hooked a thumb beneath each edge of the fleece and parted them like a pair of bloody curtains. This, while devouring Jake with huge pools of starlit darkness that scalded his skin as cupid lips curved in a secret smile. 

And you’ve deemed us dangerous? He’s lethal. 

His lashes pull that off on their bloody own. Jake groaned and gripped the bars. 

“Hmmm…” A soft sigh fluttered across exposed flesh. Strewth. Jake gritted his teeth so hard it might once have shattered them. Oh help…staying supine was going to kill him. Which might be for the best, all things considered.

Phin began to trail tentative fingertips from the base of Jake’s throat…down the centre of chest, skimming along skin that tremoured as if it had been tasered. Jake tightened his fists. His fingers promptly imprinted themselves in the chrome. Crap…the bars are buckling. Jake tried to focus on relaxing his grip; how the hell am I supposed to explain that? Phin swooped, and plunged the tip of his tongue into Jake’s belly button. 

“Fuck!” The sudden shock of wet warmth, swirling in its indent, made Jake’s hips spasm as his neck snapped back. The metal poles winced.


“A..there’s no…need-” Jake groaned, forcing his tendons to relent. An increment.

Phin began to trickle his tongue down the trail of dynamite leading south. Jake damn near combusted. He had no idea how he remained in his own skin, having lost it under far less incendiary circumstances. The torturous tickle stopped dead. His shuddering exhalation was abrupted by a sudden sluice of scalding heat along his cock from hilt to tip. Jake’s spine jolted about three feet off the floor, as a thousand volts surged through his system.

“Did that feel okay?” His voice was soft, uncertain.

“Gnh-I…ah…yess… ” Jake managed, from Mars or thereabouts. A reply that promptly inspired a second—far more lingering—sweep of flattened tongue along his length. Quite possibly akin to dropping a hairdryer in the bath. 

“Hmm… ” This, as Phin curled his fingers beneath Jake’s cock to lift it clear of his body. Before wrapping his lips around its head as if it was a bloody Magnum. The suckling that ensued was the most excruciatingly erotic experience of Jake’s life. His head was going to explode. The only question was, which one first… 

Two years without so much as a helping hand, let alone mouth. Two hours of enduring the Mount Etna of all erections. Topped off by a dual desire so excessive Phin was better equipped to survive it sane than Jake. Whose nemesis was apparently on a mission to explore every millimetre he encountered. With the Captain Cook of all tongues. This as those anime eyes damn near devoured Jake as Phin’s mouth did. Oh…good grief…

‘I’m worried that I’ll do it too much.’

‘I don’t think that’s possible, unless…you bit down’

Jake’s powers of perception had, of course, never encountered Phin. Too much? It was much too much. A feat indisputably down to Phin himself. Who was too much. Too much of everything Jake had ever wanted from this world. 

Odd that… 

His boneless body felt strangely weightless and yet, very, very heavy; a molten mass of muscle, sinew and flesh. A sensation that did, at least, loosen Jake’s death grip on the chrome bars before they resembled a modern art exhibit.

As if Jake wasn’t deranged enough, least mind-boggling of all? Phin’s very scent had become the most vital component of the air.  Jake’s entire self was alive with it, resonating in response. He felt like a sodding snare drum, tuned to its essence.  

That nugget of nonsense was Jake’s last gasp from the land of lunacy before a blitzkrieg of bliss reduced his brain to rubble and razed all reason to dust. They were done for. Ruined.

Oh, do keep up. We were done ‘n’ dusted from that first whiff on the wind…