by Zakarrie C
Anticipation skittered through Phin’s veins a shivery rush when Jake settled the crooks of his knees more comfily on sinewy shoulders. When slick heat did ghosting along happy valley, a white-hot bolt of want shot up Phin’s spine, obliterating all else—even the scratchy—when he felt a nudge of blunt pressure at the heart of dreams he’d feared might turn to dust.
“Jake!” He pleaded, about a scorch of pleasure pain before the tip of Jake’s cock breached his body. “Ahhh!” If that gush of breath hadn’t blasted out, Phin’s brain might’ve done combusting.
“Y’okay?” Jake’s voice sounded as if it was trapped in a vice.
“Yes. More.” Phin wanted him to do ripping the plaster off, it was too much suspense to do enduring a second longer. Jake was hell-bent on pushing oh, so slowly forwards, which was p’raps fortuitous but— A thought that did do biting the dust when the head of Jake’s cock did barnstorming the too tight ring of muscle barring his way. “Jaaake!” Phin possibly did making a most unseemly racket, but blimey, he felt huge. Akin trying to do shoving a sausage through the eye of a needle. Phin’s bum was bearing up admirably though, despite being a bit befuddled about the abrupt rerouting of traffic, but it was doing its best to be accommodating.
“Phooofff!” Phin puffed a whoosh of air; a very handy happenstance that made matters do relaxing a bit.
Jake? Did pressing on manfully (despite the caterwauling) besieging Phin with the most excruciating bliss that had ever vested itself upon his person. It was pain so exquisite, so all-consuming, it was a wonder they’d ever done letting it be legal. Or, at the very least, hadn’t rustled up a Bottom Breaching Tax to accompany the Tongue Tax.
Nothing Phin’s head had ever done dreaming up had felt this…decadent, despite his hyper-efforts to excel himself. Nor so…overwhelming; forbidden in the way only the most delectable of desires ever were. Could ever be. Compelling. The complete and utter annihilation of scratchy was an exhilaration too far. So much so, someone should have come bursting into the room to declare such antics too excessively excessive to tolerate. It was a torrent of too muchness encapsulated in one sublime thrust.
Eclipsed, by the only man capable of conquering it with one blaze of bewitching blue.
“Phin…y’okay?” Jake’s voice sounded as if he’d been gargling with gravel.
“Hmmm…very okay.” Phin scarce did recognising his own; apparently snaffled from Serge Gainsbourg for the occasion. Except twice as strumpety and a smidge less French.
“Strewth s’tight. I should…apologise…in advance. It’s been a long…time… Not since—”
Apologise for the fact it had been a long time? It would have been a big fat fib for Phin to claim he wasn’t chuffed it had, but ‘sorry’ made even less sense from Jake’s perspective. Those bedazzling blues were too iridescent to stare into—let alone do reading—so Phin flicked his gaze to Jake’s lips. Clamped shut, his jaw clenched far too tight for comfort. Oh. He was worried about that? It would be a bloomin’ miracle if Phin lasted for more than a minute.
“Jake, it doesn’t matter. I just…want you. This.” Anything above and beyond the fact that Jake was inside him would be a bonus with a cherry on…bottom.
“Y’have…shocking low expectations. Y’should…do working on that,” he groaned.
“I’ll tell Mr. Neil. Jake, pleease do more moving before my head explodes.”
“It’s not the only…thing that might. Hence. The pause. In proceedings,” Jake managed to do grinding out. Eventually.
“Y’should have done pretending that you’re just ‘being a Gent’.” Phin’s chuckle set off a chain reaction of ripples elsewhere; consequences so shiversome he couldn’t resist a spot of experimental clenching. “Hmmm…”
“Fuck! Phin!”
“Sorry! Was that wrong?”
“Strewth. Nooooo…” Jack hissed, p’raps on accounts of his lockjaw. Oops. “Nngh! Sstop!”
“Okaay. I’m not sure I’ll be able to do concentrating very well though,” Phin noted.
“Don’t you dare do forgetting.” Jake all-but barked—in warning—which meant he still feared far less fun consequences.
“Stop doing fretting. Foxy won’t hurt me.” Believing this was p’raps a bit barmy but that had never stopped Phin before…so he went with it. Jake just huffed in disbelief and dipped his head to do trailing his nose down the length of Phin’s neck in a ticklish trickle of silky hair. This, while rolling his hips with a sinuous swish of spine that made Phin gasp and his back do bowing in a bid to force Jake deeper still. He was fast turning into a wanton hussy. A fact Phin liked far too much for seemliness sake. “Mmmore…”
A plea Jake met with a snicker that sent a shiver of quivers straight to his cock. Crikey… sex was chock full of unforeseen consequences Phin had never done factoring in. He’d no sooner thought this, than Jake began to do moving. Moving? Phin had never unleashed such an excessive understatement. ‘Moving’ was white light before passing through a prism. Jake was a rainbow melody of motion. Hell-bent on proving that Phin had scarce got started on the understatement front.
After clasping Phin’s hips, Jake did dragging his own back almost all the way. Phin had to quell the urge to clench, as if to trap the scoundrel if he’d decided it was too dangerous, after all. A small mewl of sound like a kitten shut out in the cold flitted from Phin’s lips, swiftly succeeded by a sharp gasp when Jake did burying himself balls deep with one sure surge. Shockwaves of heat sizzled through Phin’s body, boiling his brain, which was too boggled to do sorting the surfeit of sensations. So, it didn’t bother, and just did melting instead.
This was the feeling Phin had forever craved…without even knowing what it might be. Or even if he would do recognising it at all, should he be fortunate ’nuff to find it. Its promise had hovered like a horizon in his head; a shimmering illusion he might never do reaching, no matter how far or wide he searched. Aspiration wise? Phin had known it was akin to a fixation on finding faeries at the bottom of the garden…but he’d never been able to abandon it. Impossible to do when it was irreplaceable. The void would have driven him demented—the one risk Phin refused to take, again—he valued his freedom too much.
He’d been quite content to do whiling away his time amongst the trove of treasures stashed in his head. Contentment and Comfiness had become Phin’s Plan B. States of mind for which he’d fought hard, made all the more precious for that. Arriving in Cornwall had put the tin (miner’s) hat on it, finding his own happy place had far surpassed settling for second best. Not least when he’d always known there was no second best: There was Him, whoever he was…and everyone else.
Nothing had ever felt this…necessary. Nothing would ever, could ever, be the same after this. How was Phin supposed to get dressed and do pottering around and ordinary stuff tomorrow? Why would anyone do going to buy a pot-plant, when they could be in bed doing this, instead? Nutters. Phin wanted Jack to stay inside him forever—or, at the very least—every day and night for the rest of forever. See? He could do compromising.
“Jack! Harder, pleease.”
“I’ll hurt you…” The low groan that rolled in Jake’s throat was the most delicious rumble of noise Phin had ever heard. As delectable as every swish of his super-foxy spine.
“You won’t. I-I need you to.” Phin’s inner muscles did tightening, all on their own—as if to emphasize his point—which p’raps worked a tad too well. It sure made Jake let rip a roaring racket that did rattling the bedposts. Oops.
Phin felt it then; the shimmer he’d seen at the car park. It did rippling through Jake—and Phin o’course—which was a consequence worth dying for, if he must. Ah well, what a way to go…
The low beam of Jake’s eyes abruptly flared to blue flame, incandescent in the darkness. Swiftly followed by a spasm of muscle that sent Jake’s hips snapping forwards with the alacrity Phin had demanded. Not too much. Never too much. Foxy wouldn’t permit it, let alone inflict it. Phin knew this with a certainty as deep
as Jake was embedded in his body. The hyper-thrust had made all Phin’s breath do gushing out, so he gasped great lungfuls of shimmery air, as if he’d done bursting through the sea surface after a surfing mishap.
Phin’s heart was hammering louder than the unearthly noises scrabbling in his throat. His veins felt like rivers of boiling bliss and his balls were busy cooking up a brew they were all-too eager to do sharing. The deluge of too muchness had distracted him for longer than seemed feasible, not least when Phin had felt fit to burst before Jake buried himself home. Home? Phin sure hadn’t rustled that up.
The very air shivered with their sighs; Phin could feel it as a physical force. Pressing down, dulling the slick sound of skin on skin and the guttural groans Phin gobbled up with customary greed, even as he hungered for more. That was the last nugget of nonsense Phin could recall. After that, there was only the sublime sweep of Jake’s spine, the suppressed power that filled Phin with a thirst every bit as craven as his greedy guts. He wanted it. All of it. All of him…when Jake was already so much more than Phin deserved. He was magnificent, as enigmatic as midnight, as luminous as the blue ablaze in those eyes. Phin lost all sense of himself…of where he ended, and Jack began. This was it; the world the poets had promised him. Nothing and no one could convince Phin otherwise. Not even Jake.
He was Too Much made man. Grinding against Phin with an intensity he’d feared he could never inspire. Pounding into his body as if hell-bent on proving something Phin had known from the very first; only Jake could ever be enough. Even Phin’s nerve endings had recognised that. They’d done tingling with Peter Parker pizzazz the moment Phin opened his eyes. On the moor.
Here, now, Phin couldn’t do keeping still. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be doing—but he seemed to be doing it—so his body must’ve got the gist of it and hadn’t done sharing with the class. No matter, that just meant he could do flying by the seat of his pants, which was always Phin’s favourite way to travel.
“Phiiiin!” The raw rasp of his name was the most erotic sound that had ever rifled his eardrums, swiftly followed by a white-hot shaft of indescribable bliss when Jake’s cock brushed that bedazzling spot. Much to his misfortune, Phin could describe the strangled cat sound that accompanied it, so he just hoped Jake didn’t do noticing. He didn’t seem the least bit bothered, but then, Jake could surely hear a dog whistle and that was a racket Phin was glad he’d been spared. He couldn’t even do tolerating the hoover.
He felt as if he’d been whizzed back to an era of raw, primal need. A time stripped of petty complexities; no doing dreary concentrating and worrying about Too Much. Phin Just Was…and he just wanted Jake. His foxy friend, carved from honeyed gold, filling him up. Feeding-fuelling a need so gnawing it could never be sated…claiming Phin as his very own. Always and evermore.
“I can’t…hold on. Got…t’pull out. Just in case I-he…” Words Jake forced through gritted teeth, then gasped and did gulping at air. “Ah…aah…NOOO! Jack!” Jake snarled. “No. Don’t…NO! Fuuck…!” He furled his hand around Phin’s cock about a bitten-off curse before Jake shuddered and a strangled howl tore from his throat.
For an eternal moment Phin did hovering on the brink of maddening bliss as a flood of warmth filled his insides and his own name clawed the walls. A fact that finished Phin off, snatching his breath away when the ever-building pressure exploded in an ecstatic rush.
“Jaake!” shattered the darkness when Phin relinquished all he was…and fell into forever.
44.Jake
Phin was a revelation. Within seconds, Jake realised that he’d expected his ethereal sprite to be all molten limbs and soft sighs. Phin, as ever, belied belief. He was a force of nature, ferocious with need. Every bit as insatiable as he was incorrigible.
“Stop doing fretting, Foxy won’t hurt me…Mmore…”
Listen to him, f’chrissakes. Even if you’re too bloody-minded to admit I’d rather drop dead than hurt a hair on his head.
How he’d ached to heed Phin’s pleas, but Jake hadn’t trusted himself any more than Jack’s word. The mutt was too wily to ‘do believing’, too instinctive to vow bugger-all. His ‘word’ meant nothing; the pub car park had proved that. In full, inglorious technicolour with surround sound. At least there he’d had space to ensure Phin’s safety. As opposed to buried balls deep in his body, without so much as a hairsbreadth of room in which to err. This, alongside irises that gleamed with inhuman luminosity—azure rather than amber—in readiness. Casting an ominous glow over Phin’s angel face, bleaching it of life; except for those eyes—ablaze with dark fire. Devouring all else.
Refusing to cede to their dual demands had felt a helluva lot like trying to read The Guardian while sitting on a deck chair in a hurricane. Jake had been afraid of failing Phin on two legs, from the very start…but the true terror? Finishing on four.
“Stop doing fretting. Foxy won’t hurt me.”
How had Phin been so sure? Jake sure as shit hadn’t been. But it was Phin whose instincts proved finer tuned than Jake’s, supposedly supernatural, faculties. When his subterranean self had shimmered to the forefront, as he’d known damn well it would, the outcome that so terrorised Jake hadn’t torn Phin apart. The very same shiver of heat that charged the air seemed…somehow changed. Rather than ride roughshod over Jake and imperil Phin; the raw, primal power had enveloped them, untouched at the eye of the storm.
The only ‘shift’ Jake’s deranged senses had been able to detect was subtle, in the base notes of his own scent…and a distinct difference in Phin’s. Impending orgasm? Impossible to tell with liquid flame coursing through his veins and a torrent of far too much infusing his every breath. Inevitable, when Phin was too much personified and Jake was buried in his body. A Phin whose extensive vocabulary had been tossed overboard in favour of one word—morrrre—wielded far too frequently with nary a care for consequence whatsoever. Of course.
They would have ripped him in half if they’d done as Phin demanded. Even Jake’s furry foe, who’d been dead set on doing Phin’s bidding from the moment they met—
Your civil war is too tedious for words. You’d already be bloody ‘furry’, you blithering idiot, if that’s what we wanted.
There is no We.
Keep telling yourself that and fuck this up too, then. Why change the habits of a lifetime for something as horrifying as happiness? To be honest, I’d be inclined to agree if his didn’t matter more than yours. Selfish tosspot.
Jack had never felt closer to the surface of Jake’s conscious self, which was terrifying. A thought so sinister it made a mockery of the fact Jack seemed…strangely calm. Not least when Jake had been terrified the jackal would seize the chance to snatch back the reins. Instead? Jake found himself no longer sure where he ended, and Jack began. Or where they ended, and Phin began.
How the hell Jack—hot-wired into doing Phin’s bidding—had managed to deny them both, Jake couldn’t fathom. Despite every indication to the contrary (and excruciating lesson learned), the realisation that he couldn’t hold out a second longer didn’t prove the horror show Jake had dreaded. Save for the destination of an orgasm so befittingly excessive it felt intent on turning him inside out…and quite capable of killing one of them. At least.
Jake had determined on pulling out. Denying himself that much had been his last hope, when it became clear that was the only option he had left. His solitary means of safeguarding Phin, for every reason that suggested itself. Two in particular. First and foremost, Jake hadn’t been convinced that Jack could—or worse, would—contain himself in its throes, when it mattered most, and Jake was least able to keep a grip on himself. Secondly—if only in survival terms—was averting what seemed the most sure-fire way of ensuring that Phin’s life, as he knew it, was over.
Jake had done his damnedest. That he could vow, on pain of death.
Ever the hero…
Why Jack? WHY?
Why not, when it was too late?
Too late?
/> From the first. Before the first. Don’t plead innocence, it doesn’t become you. You knew. Except for being so bloody stubborn—to punish yourself, I might add—you’ve done bugger all to bypass your ‘worst fear’. Slobber in an open wound? Allowing Phin to swallow your load? You’ve done little else but fill him with body fluids since the moment we met. Intravenous infusion? Check. Ingestion? Check. How the bejeezus did you fool your batshit brain into believing that coming over all Catholic would ‘safeguard’ Phin from the ‘fate’ you claim to abhor?
Claim? I loathe you with every fibre of my fucking being. Was it imperative to all-but shatter his bones, t’boot?
There is not a bruise on Phin’s body, and you know it. Nor have his bones ever been less likely to ‘shatter’. Let’s humour you for a mo, though—in which case—Phin would still bound out of bed, as right as rain in the morning. Now, if you’ve quite finished being tedious for five minutes? I have some wallowing in afterglow to attend to…