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Greased Lightning	By : sillyneko345 Category: +G through L > Jak & Daxter Views: 3495 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the game this story is based on (Jak & Daxter), nor do I make any profit from writing it.

Chapter List
- 1-Greased Lightning
- 1
AN: For Tamiko, for the lovely thumbnails she made me. Enjoy!

Characters: Jak and Dax and their “friends” belong to Naughty Dog, Inc.

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     “Please, Jak?”
   “I really don’t think so.”
     “Aw, come on! No one’s here.”
     Jak wiped his hands on an oil-spotted shop cloth, sending his best friend and lover a levelly amused look over the front end of the Havoc V12. The little guy just didn’t know when to quit. “Funny thing about that. Seems like that’s what you usually say, and then we wind up almost getting walked in on.”
     “But they’re really gone this time!” Daxter whined, putting on his best ‘trust me’ face. A face that happened to be splotched with grease from button nose to freckled cheek. “We saw ‘em leave. We heard ‘em say they’d be back in a few hours. That’s plenty of time ta get a little frisky in the garage!”
     Jak sighed and balled up his rag. Just because their friends now knew they were “together” did not mean that he was willing to allow whatever PDA the redhead could dream up. And unfortunately for him, Daxter had quite the vivid imagination. Jak had lost count of how many times he’d had to suddenly shove Dax to arm’s length mere moments before one or more members of their racing team walked into the public room Dax had decided to pounce him in. Today, it seemed, would be no different.
     “Just can’t keep it in the bedroom, can you?”
     “Well, sure I could, if we stayed in there all day and never came out and didn’t have a LIFE.” Daxter was pouting now, ears flat out to the side and lower lip defiantly out.
     Despite his best judgment, Jak began to think it over. It was true that everyone was gone. Torn and Sig had left not half an hour ago to pick up parts for a new motor, halfway across Kras. The parts depot in question was the best of the best, but the lines were notoriously long. It was doubtful they would be back any time soon. As for the women, they had gone to lunch together just a few minutes before the men headed out. They probably wouldn’t be seen or heard from until it was time for dinner.
     The redheaded mechanic was slowly sneaking around the front of the car, the fluorescent lights on the ceiling glinting in the lenses of his goggles. Jak knew he had to make his decision with reasonable speed. He sighed fondly. “You’re not gonna give up, are you?”
     “Does the Orange Lightning ever throw in the towel early, Jakkie-babe?”
     Well. That answered that. It seemed there was only one thing to be done.
     Jak crossed the large garage to the door that led to their “barracks,” as Torn liked to call the living quarters, and firmly locked it. Then he twisted the knob testily. He rattled the steadfast metal door for good measure. It held tight, indisputably locked. “Okay. I think we’re good. I’ve got the keys, and no one ever comes in the back door anyway.”
     “Ya really mean it?!” Daxter squealed in unmasked delight, bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet. He was never given outright permission to carry on with his Jak-pouncing missions when they weren’t safely in lockdown behind the bedroom walls. “It must be a holiday!”
     Jak almost told him to consider it a reward for not shaking his ottsel self dry all over the bathroom wallpaper after that morning’s shower, but stopped himself in time. Dax had a big enough sense of entitlement as it was. “Special treat. Plus, we’re gonna need to wash the car anyway.”
     It was plain, as a thin but pleasantly weighted frame landed enthusiastically in Jak’s arms, that Daxter needed no further bidding.

- // - // - // - // -

     “I’m glad we finally wised up and started calling ahead for the parts. We’d still be at the back of the line if we hadn’t.”
     “No kiddin’, chili pepper. And we’d have never run into our friend, here.”
     Razer smirked. “And then your day would have been entirely incomplete. You know this is true.”
     The biggest perk of having a team manager who was actively being courted by their top competitor, as far as Sig and Torn were concerned, was that said top competitor stopped being their mortal enemy as well. When they had encountered Razer outside a small café on the way back from picking up the components of the new engine, the three were on good enough terms to resume the walk in company.
     Razer took a long drag off his cigarette, looking up at the rather charmingly pretty spring sky. “So, how are the dear boys faring lately? It has been a while since I had the… pleasure of their company.”
     “Who, Jak and Dax?” Sig laughed, hoisting one parcel of the engine parts higher onto his broad shoulder. “They’re doing just fine. Workin’ in the garage at all hours, drivin’ the women up the walls, eating us out of house and home—not a care in the world, those boys.”
    “And thank the Precursors for that,” Torn grumbled. “For a couple months there I thought we were going to have to force them into relationship therapy. First they’re best friends, then they’re trying to be more than that and tripping all over the concept, then they’re together and think they’re doing a fantastic job of hiding it… I have grey hairs. Look, right here.” He pointed to the start of dark dreadlocks at his temple, then turned the gesture into the time honored mime of blowing his own brains out.
     Razer chuckled. “Well, I’m glad to hear they have managed to work things out. For a while I did not think Jak would be able to handle his little loudmouthed redhead.”
     “Oh, as if. Jak’s not the one doin’ the handling there, trust me.”
     The suave, ebony-haired racer turned to Sig in amusement. “Come now. You really don’t expect me to believe that Daxter is the one in charge.”
     “You’d believe it if you saw him struttin’ around Jak like a little banty rooster. Jak tries to ignore him, but—”
     “We all try to ignore it.” Torn picked up the pace down the narrow sidewalk, looking more than a little unnerved. Apparently he was regretting the decision to walk the errand rather than take one of their many zoomers or other means of motorized transportation. “I think that if we really tried we could find something better to talk about than the love lives of our teammates.”
     Razer ignored him completely. “Is that so? I still do not quite think I believe you, but, fine. Whatever you say, Sig.”
     “I’m tellin’ ya, cherry, if you could just see how they act around each other—”
     Race Team Mar’s garage finally came into view as the trio rounded the corner of a graffiti covered warehouse, Sig and Razer still chatting amiably.
     Torn huffed out a sigh of relief. The packages in his arms had been getting as cumbersome as the conversation his companions refused to drop. “Alright, you two, clam it. We don’t want the kids to know their private lives are the hot topic of the afternoon.”
     “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Sig had the decency to agree with a somewhat sheepish grin. “Hey, let’s take this stuff in the garage side door. Save us all parading through the halls with muddy shoes.”
     “Second that. Ashe would have our heads on a platter. Come on.”

- // - // - // - // -

     “See? This was a good idea, wasn’t it?”
     Jak just hummed quietly in response, the cool metal of the Havoc’s high hood a relief under his flushed cheek. Daxter’s soft voice in his ear was smug enough—he wouldn’t give the brat the satisfaction of agreeing aloud. But Dax had been right, in a sense. It was good to just go with the flow from time to time, shut his brain off and simply listen as Daxter made all the calls for him.
     And this was what he got as a reward for his cooperation. An afternoon alone with his redhead, their oil-splattered pants around their knees, an unhurried tune up pressed against the side of one of his favorite vehicles. It didn’t get much better. Jak’s ear twitched as Dax blew playfully at it, brushed clinging blonde strands off the damp skin at the back of his neck, then planted a kiss there. Daxter’s quick mechanic’s hands skated up and down his sides, then back down to grip his hips once more.
     “Lil’ faster, now?”
     “Yeah.” Jak nodded readily. His breath became a hiss as the redhead pushed back into him with more speed, quickening the rhythm they had established. Enameled paint squeaked under Jak’s fingernails as his hand closed reflexively. Their hips went forward as his legs spread wider. His hot erection trailed along the cold metal side panels of the car.
     This was a nice, nice position, with Daxter’s lighter weight and warmth at his back. Probably his favorite. He wondered why he didn’t let Dax talk him into little adventures like this more often. Lost in vague thoughts, awash in sensation, he didn’t hear the outer door swing open. Neither, apparently, did Daxter.
     “Oh, goodness.”
     Jak’s head jerked up at the sound of Razer’s voice. Horrified, he leveled his gaze across the garage at the wide open door and the three men standing in it. “Oh, shit.”
     “What the hell!” Torn bellowed, one hand flying up to cover his eyes. The bag he had been holding hit the dura-crete floor with a clang of metal. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe not everyone wants to see that? You’re just damn lucky that’s not my vehicle!”
     “Eh, put a lid on it!” Daxter was obviously less than pleased. As Jak reflexively tried to scramble for cover a bony elbow landed on his lower back, directly over his spine. “Hey, who said we were movin’, Jakkie-boy?”
     Jak would like to die now. Please and thank you.
     “I told ya so!” Sig laughed delightedly, all propriety forgotten as he grabbed Razer by the shoulder and gave him a shake. “Didn’t I tell you so? If that’s not proof of who’s in charge here, I don’t know what is!”
     “I must admit I had my doubts, but this does seem to settle the matter nicely. I concede to your opinion, my friend.” Even from their position half a garage away, Jak could see an elegant eyebrow quirk. “Tell me the two of you aren’t using the same lube that is kept for fitting rods into the engine…?”
     “Hey, we’ve got a proud tradition of finding creative stuff ta use in a pinch!” Despite his mussed hair, crooked goggles, and the absence of a shirt, Daxter looked less embarrassed than annoyed. He waved the intruders off as if swatting a troublesome fly. “Now would you goons mind takin’ a hike for another… I dunno, ten minutes?”
     Jak slowly began to sink back and down, behind the hood of the Havoc. His ears and face burned. The wheels of the car were pretty sizable. He may not be small enough to hide behind them entirely, like, say, an ottsel could, but at least he would be out of their line of sight until they were gone.
     “Jak? Hey, Jak? What’s wrong, pal?”
     Daxter’s concerned tone couldn’t quite cover the laughter and muffled cursing from the door as Jak sank fully out of sight, bare knees meeting the smooth, oil-slick floor. No way would he ever be able to live this down. He would probably have to pay someone off to avoid the girls getting wind of it, too.
     A thin, long-fingered hand landed in his hair, indulgently petting. “If it makes ya feel better, big guy, you can tell ‘em we take turns.”
     Just before another howling burst of laughter rang out from beyond, Jak found a second use for another tool of the trade. With a ratchet forgotten under the car, he whacked Daxter firmly, lovingly, in the shin.

- // - // - // - // -

The end.
- 1
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Greased Lightning