The Beast of Bodmin Moor

by Zakarrie C

  “Hmm…it suits you.” It did too; it was a strong name…as timeless as those eyes. “Phin,” he supplied.

  “Phin…” had no sooner done caressing his cock than it was engulfed in mind blowing heat. Well really, an alternate word wasn’t likely to suggest itself anytime soon. The wet-warm-wonderment of Foxy’s mouth did thrilling through every fibre of Phin’s being as if he’d been set alight. He possibly let rip a racket like a strangled cat with its collar caught on a fence post, which might have been embarrassing if his brain wasn’t too busy detonating. Never…ever…oohgawd…can you drop dead of bliss?

  Phin’s head lolled back—or sideways—it sure went somewhere, p’raps to another planet. Nothing on this one had ever prepared him for the excess of…everything that blitzed his body. If Phin’s system had ever fancied itself as a Titan of Too Muchness, it hadn’t known half of it…strewth. It had clearly been content to coast along ’til called upon to unleash its Special Occasion Stash. On Phin’s unsuspecting person.

  Crikey…he’d been half-dead for the last twenty-two years. Whether Phin would survive a further twenty-two seconds seemed less certain. He sure wasn’t going to last that long. In ‘fortuitous order of events’ terms, Phin could live with that. Or not. Ah well, what a way to go…

  This was pleasure too excessive—even for Phin to have done dreaming up—he wasn’t that daft. Why doom himself to a forever of disappointment? That would have been a mite masochistic. While Phin sure wouldn’t say no to a spot of experimenting, he’d managed to dodge that particular label by virtue of…being in possession of his own. What a waste. Phin had a very lot of time to make up for; he could practise some concentrating on that. Sorted. Mr. Neil would be chuffed.

  If Phin had been mind-blind to Jack’s bedazzling gaze (ablaze with lusty intent) he would have been able to feel its intensity. It was vermillion. Vivid. Every bit as alive as Jack. Phin had never met anyone more alive. His foxy friend was a force of nature; a hurricane of heat and hunger, sweeping Phin to a place far from this.

  Meanwhile, those mesmerizing lips were trawling the length of Phin’s fit to bust self, sending sparks shooting up his spine and dizzying desire everywhere else. When Foxy did twirling his tongue around the head of Phin’s cock and flick it across its tip before laving a long stripe along his length, Phin’s bones went all buttery. His marbles would do melting in a minute. You could probably go to prison for this. Things this fun were never allowed.

  “Jaaack…” His name sounded like the noise Phin made when sinking neck deep into a bubble bath. When that mind-boggling mouth did engulfing him again, it didn’t seem likely that Phin could feel any more…anything without combusting. A belief promptly borne out when his cock crashed against the back of Foxy’s throat.

  “Ah-ah-ahhh…” Phin had to do scraping his head off the door to gaze down at Jack, too dazed to take it in without seeing it, with his very own eyes. As if that might make it seem real. It didn’t, even though foxy lips were wrapped around Phin’s hilt; nose buried in his down-there-hair…snuffling. This, as the most bewitching blues on Earth held him hostage. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen in his life. It was all much too much.

  The thud of Phin’s head against wood wasn’t a bit as loud as the bolt of bliss that did blistering through his body. Phin was done for. He couldn’t hold— “Jaack! St…oop! I-I…c-can’t—” The scoundrel didn’t listen, just flexed the fingers that must have been clutching Phin’s thigh. Does that mean…no, surely not? “Jack, I need—have toaahh!”

  Phin came as he’d never done coming in his life. Ever. It did bursting from his body in a blinding rush of white-light-heat, pulsing in wave after wave of ecstatic wonder. It felt too exhilarating to survive sane. Now ‘petite mort’ makes sense…Phin might well wind up a bit dead.

  Jack swallowed all of it. No…he drank it down as if it were ambrosia. Then did dragging his lips back sloowly, as if to catch every last drop.

  “Phin…” His name was a sigh as lustrous as those eyes. Burning blue flame, eternal.

  “Jack… I—” Phin broke off. There were no words in the world. What should he say now? Thank you?

  Does Foxy know? Had he been able to tell…because surely—? Phin felt his face flush scarlet as stupid, stupid tears started prickling at his eyes. He slammed them shut, scrunching his lids tight.

  “Phin…look at me.”

  How could he deny that velvet voice? It would also be rude, but oh, Phin desperately didn’t want Jack to see, so he did dipping his head to tuck his chin into his chest. You cannot cry when someone has done that…and made you feel too much happy. Phin thought his heart might burst with it. Jack would think he was a loon. Or as idiotic as the tear trickling from the outer corner of Phin’s eye, trailing down his cheek.

  Jack surged to his feet and cupped Phin’s face in his hands, tilting it up…tenderly? That’s how it felt. It also did matching a gaze as deep as an ocean but as clear, unclouded, as midsummer day when Phin prised his lids apart.

  Jack’s mouth was hovering but a hairsbreadth from Phin’s when he almost heard the sigh of a single word, “Mine…” alongside a candy floss kiss as soft as a cloud.

  10. Jake

  “Jack… I—” Phin’s cheeks bloomed crimson when he broke off to scrunch his eyes tight shut. To Jake’s utter mortification, a tear started trickling down his moon pale face. Horror scythed through Jake with steel claws. This was his fault, despite being so, so, sure—never so certain—that he’d got this. Could control it, rein it in. Jack had allowed him to believe it was true, just this once, when he never had before. Why the fuck had Jake listened? Now he’d done the unspeakable…hurt Phin. Injured him, which was unforgivable.

  Despite the guilt slashing his guts, threatening to throttle him, Jake couldn’t detect so much as a trace of fresh blood…and Jack? Was serenity itself.

  What the fuck?

  Nose, numbnuts.

  Nose. F’chrissakes. Jake inhaled…the bittersweet smell of embarrassment. Oh.

  “Phin…look at me.” He fought to keep his voice soft, but Phin dipped his head still further, rather than raise it to meet his gaze. Jake sprang to his feet far too fast, then forced himself to stillness before tilting Phin’s face towards his own. Feathery lashes fluttered, lifted with reluctance, to reveal a brown bleak with…self-recrimination. An expression Jake recognised all too well…it stared at him from the mirror most days.

  But why? Was it because Phin had allowed a man to blow him? Or, did he hate that it had been a stranger? The sort of creep who sat and watched you sleep, at that.

  Or. Was Phin’s discomfort—reflected inwards not out, tainting his scent—so acute because he was…afraid he’d done something amiss? Has no frame of reference to fall back on? No idea what supreme satisfaction looks like on the face of a man who’s been gifted an irreplaceable prize?

  Jack must have known from the first. Jake had not…processed some innate understanding—Pure, unsullied sex, too potent to resist, the most intoxicating elixir on Earth—had shredded his resistance when Phin’s arousal drenched the air. A purity Jake had ascribed to the intensity of need he’d radiated, untouched by doubt. Rather than utterly untouched full-stop.

  In retrospect, had Jake suspected the truth from their first kiss? Phin’s response had been tinged with…wonderment.

  How old is he, d’you think?

  Old enough. Not that it matters.

  What the fuck? Of course, it does.

  Time won’t touch him. No, shit for brains, he’s not immortal. He will age. Yet…remain the same.

  Don’t we all?

  No. Do you ever quit ripping yourself a new one for long enough to pay attention out there? Say…to the taint of bitterness, rancid with resentment? Or, the stench of discontent, sour with envy?

  Okay! I get it. Typical. Saddled with a snarky dogmatist.

  Odd that.

  What’s that supposed to—oh. Piss off.

  Like I said…

&nb
sp; As much as Jake hated to admit it, Jack wasn’t wrong. That new-born fawn gaze made Phin seem younger than his years…and yet, he exuded an innocence as eternal as time. A spirit too pure for this world. Phin was enchanting. Every flicker of thought that flitted across his face was fascinating. Jake had no idea what the hell he might say, or do, next. Except that it would be…beyond compare.

  Had Phin simply neglected to read the Human Handbook? Or…was he obliv—No, he was not. Nor was he insensible to suggestion. His tears told otherwise; it was impossible to fear falling short of expectation from a state of blissful oblivion. Phin knew. All too well. Far too well for his own…welfare.

  “Mine…” Jake heard himself murmur at Phin’s lips before surrendering to their pull. Oh, well done. Way to freak him out, dogbreath.

  Crap. ‘Jack’. How could he explain away that slip-up? Slip-up!? It was a balls-up of epic proportions. Jake would have to…twist the truth. Tell Phin he preferred ‘Jake’ to his ‘given name’. Another lie to add to the legion he’d have to tell if he hoped—intended—to see Phin again. Why the hell was he even considering it?

  It was a disaster waiting to happen. At the very best. Signing Phin’s death warrant, at worst. That was no hyperbole, nor a result of his own toxic mentality. Jake knew damn well that he was lethal.

  Speak for yourself.

  You. Are infinitely worse.

  We. Are not.

  Since when do you give a toss about slaughter? D’you even care what flavour your supper is?

  Get me a bloody sausage and I might answer.

  Clever dick.

  If only you knew…

  F’fucksakes. His dark passenger was now making dick jokes. Dexter never had to put up with this shit.

  On that note, Jake had a sneaking suspicion that if someone really pissed him off, he would have to quell an inclination to tear them apart with his bare hands. He might not be able to live with himself afterwards, but Jake knew full well what he was capable of.

  Yup. Just as you know full well that you’d slit your own throat before taking a chunk out of his. Just sayin’…

  ∞∞∞

  When Phin sighed into the arms Jake wrapped around him, he felt fragile, breakable, despite being about half a foot taller. The ability to crush every bone in his body made that a no brainer, but his very Phinness counted more than logic suggested it should.

  “Are you alright?” Jake asked.

  “Yeah, I-I’m not sure if I’m supposed to say thank you.” Phin’s dark brows crumpled in the centre; confusion writ large upon his face…which was adorable.

  “Thank you? There’s nothing to thank me for. Quite the contrary…I should apologise.”

  “Apologise?” Amended to bold print bewilderment.

  “For…well, I didn’t even ask if it was okay—I er, just jumped you,” Jake cringed.

  “I would be very okay with being jumped a lot, you needn’t say sorry,” Phin declared. A statement of fact, rather than reassurance. Would he recognize a platitude if it paraded around naked with a name badge?

  “You sure?” Jake couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “O’course I am. I said it.” The twinkle in those midnight eyes implied that asking if Phin ‘was sure’—ever again—was a sure-fire symptom of lunacy. Said>inscribed in stone>sorted. Much to his chagrin, Jake couldn’t help fishing for more…he was human. Sometimes.

  “You might want to be more specific in future…” he advised, suppressing a grin. “Your ‘lot’ could differ a helluva lot from his.”

  “‘I wouldn’t be okay with his lots at all, whatever it was,” Phin’s eyebrows vanished into his tufty fringe.

  Jake’s would have followed suit, had Phin’s inflection not made it clear that ‘his’ very existence was the irrelevance, rather than his wishes. “Will you tell me your lots, so I can do concentrating on not being excessive?”

  As fishing expeditions went, Jake had landed a whopper. Phin’s dismissal of ‘his’ clearly had bugger all to do with the bloke’s gender. He hadn’t even registered the assumption Jake had made, let alone called it into question. It was a neither ‘her’ nor ‘their’ non-issue.

  A whopper? He’d just blown a blue whale. With an excessive appetite.

  Well, there’s always steroids? Spinach? I’m game if you are… Mr Smugmutt snickered.Jake couldn’t help himself, a splutter made a bid for freedom before he could stop it.

  “I like your laugh, it makes you smile inside. I’m glad I got to see it, before it’s gone.” Sorrow clouded his starry gaze, deadening it to darkness. “You haven’t defined your ‘lot’ yet…” Phin reminded him.

  “It’s not going anywhere, anytime soon,” Jake owned. Prompted by an impatient prodding. Ow. “As to my lot? I very much doubt I’d mind if you ‘forget to do concentrating’ on less.”

  “Less, what?”

  “Less anything. Less excessive, less exactly as you are. Less you, full stop.” Less like a ride on a runaway magic carpet… Jake never wanted to get off.

  I reckon he would’ve liked the last bit best. I did.

  The ‘ride’ part sounded suspect.

  It didn’t ‘sound’ anything. Sadly.

  Sordid, in particular. I was being a Gent.

  I’ve heard it all now. Who are you and what have you done with Jake the rake?

  Ha. Ha.

  Haha, my arse. You’d whipped his kecks off before I saw so much as a sniff of sausage.

  “I suspect you’ll regret saying that soon.” Phin wrinkled his nose. As if it had come under assault of sausage consequences.

  Ooh, that was a low blow. Bitch.

  Dogbreath.

  “I somehow suspect I won’t.” Jake admitted.

  “I think you’re a bit bonkers,” Phin noted, with a small nod. Serenity itself. “A big bit,” he amended.

  “I think you’re the sanest person I’ve met for many a moon,” Jake winked.

  “You must hang out with very peculiar peeps.” Phin’s expression was priceless.

  “Mostly myself, when I’m not at work, so…”

  When Jake tailed off on a wry grin, Phin asked “Do you like your job?” Rather than the ubiquitous ‘what do you do?’

  “Yeah…it’s alright. I just do a few shifts in the Albion pub. It keeps me out of trouble…” until it’s dark enough.

  “The one with the splendid paint job?” Phin grinned. It was pink. Pink panther pink. As lurid as a lycra leotard. The grin was less lurid but far brighter.

  “That’s certainly one word for it…” Jake deadpanned.

  “Pink. That would be another,” Phin beamed. A very dull, dreary pink, in retrospect. He was radiance personified.

  “Cruel.” Jake offered. “When you’ve got a hangover.”

  “Ouch. Is it safe once you’re inside? I didn’t go in, I just drove past in my van.”

  “Yeah…I love walking in before opening time on an early shift. There’s a special stillness…a quality of light. What little there is glances off the glass and mirrors, sharper off stainless steel…burnished off brass, but doesn’t really disturb the dimness. Low ceilings, I guess. Anyhow…” Jake shrugged, a bit abashed by his own rambling. “The hours suit me, and we have live music, so I’m able to play pretty regularly. Purely for pleasure, I’m not chasing any dreams. It…suits me here.”

  Phin’s dark, watchful gaze seemed to absorb—rather than ‘look’—so intent was his focus. What does he see? Not so much in less-or-more terms than…other people. More in the way…different woods resonate in response. Those eyes sure as hell couldn’t see a twenty-five-year-old-rock-star-that-never-was, tending bar at a (pink) pub in the back of beyond.

  “You play there, really?” As if on cue, they switched to high beam bright. Spot lit from within. “Can I come and watch?”

  How am I supposed to say no to that face? Even to protect him?

  I hope that was a rhetorical question. If not, fuck knows. If all else fails…keep my fluids up?

  A
n emergency stash of saliva, that’s your solution? You could at least try to sound less…satisfied. If only for decency’s sake.

  Why bother…it’s not as if you’re buying that bridge you’re hell-bent on selling you.

  Selling ME?

  Yes…You. Me. Us. Whatever…

  …Was the silent ‘tralala’ necessary?

  If it was silent, how did you hear it?

  In my head.

  Not out loud, then. Like say…now?