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Room and Board	By : sillyneko345 Category: +G through L > Jak & Daxter Views: 25355 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 7
Disclaimer: I do not own the game this story is based on (Jak & Daxter) nor do I make any money from writing it.

Chapter List
- 1-Ch. 1
- 2-Ch. 2
- 3-Ch. 3
- 4-Ch. 4
- 5-Ch. 5
- 6-Ch. 6
- 7-Ch. 7
- 8-Ch. 8
- 9-Ch. 9
- 10-Ch. 10
- 11-Ch. 11
- 12-Ch. 12
- 13-Ch. 13
- 14-Ch. 14
- 15-Ch. 15
- 16-Ch. 16
- 17-Ch. 17
- 18-Ch. 18
- 19-Ch. 19
- 20-Ch. 20
- 21-Ch. 21
- 22-Ch. 22
- 23-Ch. 23
- 24-Ch. 24
- 25-Ch. 25
- 26-Ch. 26
- 27-Ch. 27
- 28-Ch. 28
- 29-Ch. 29
- 30-Ch. 30
- 31-Ch. 31
- 32-Ch. 32
- 33-Ch. 33
- 34-Ch. 34
- 35-Ch. 35
- 36-ch. 36
- 37-ch. 37
- 15
- 16
- 17
Characters: Belong to Naughty Dog, Inc.
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“Sooo, Jak.”
“Hmm?”
“Word on the street is, there’s gonna be another party next week right before Thanksgiving break. Are we gonna go?”
Jak groaned. Flat on the floor with a ferret using his sore back as a runway and springboard, roughhousing on frat row was the last thing he wanted to think about. “Bluh, party.”
Daxter’s toes made contact with his leg and started to poke. “Oh, come on, fake jock! We had fun at the last one!”
With a sigh Jak rolled over, grimacing as he did. The worst part of getting hurt in a game wasn’t the initial injury; it was the residual pain and stiffness that lingered for most of the next week and made even the simplest movements an effort. While his brain was still bitter with how the season had ended too soon, his abused body was protesting that the season hadn’t ended soon enough. He made a grab for the offending foot, but sore muscles meant he was just a little too slow.
Daxter squealed as Jak’s hand closed around his toes rather than the whole foot he’d been aiming for. The redhead pulled back, curling his legs protectively underneath himself where he sat on Jak’s bunk. The quarterback was left with only a handful of sock for his efforts.
“Party, huh,” he mused, letting the sock drop to the rug beside him.
“Yes, party!” Daxter whined playfully, leaning forward again to look down at him. “Ya can’t tell me the Halloween bash wasn’t hella fun, cop-fleeing notwithstanding. Can we go ta this one? Pretty please?”
“Dax, no offense, but partying is the last thing I feel like doing right now.” Jak squirmed his strained shoulder against the rug in illustration. He had been lucky to keep his arm out of a sling on that one.
Daxter frowned. “Yeah, I guess not. You need any more meds? Hot pack? Cold pack? Cup’a coffee? Anything?”
Jak fought back a grin. Since he had been hurt on Saturday, Daxter had for all intents and purposes appointed himself Jak’s personal attendant. He had been handing the green-blonde painkillers at appropriate intervals without being asked for them, warming up hot packs whenever he deemed it necessary, and even doing meal runs to the downstairs cafeteria so Jak wouldn’t have to leave the room.
The redhead had gone so far as trying to talk Jak out of going to class that morning because “yer still recovering—all that hard thinkin’ can’t be good fer a concussion!” All in all it was kind of nice to be waited on hand and foot, even if it was unnecessary and unasked for. In a way Jak was enjoying being pampered and fussed over so much. Keira would have lovingly told him to suck it up and fetch his own grilled cheese after the first day.
Jak didn’t realize he was staring up at his roommate with a goofy grin on his face until Daxter cocked his head confusedly and quirked a brow. “Uh, I’m fine, Dax. Thanks.”
“Yeah, well, if ya need anything just tell me.”
You could kiss it better, Jak almost teased, but he managed to rein in the impulse. That also took some effort. He was having a harder and harder time keeping his subtle flirting subtle lately.
He had woken up the morning after what had already been christened the Game from Hell to Daxter using his chest as a pillow. Jak had let himself play with a wild mop of red hair for the few minutes until Dax had woken up—and did not run screaming from the bunk, but simply rolled over and grumbled about the lack of space. Best Sunday morning ever.
Jak was shaken from fond memories of warm bunks when Daxter lunged forward with a yelp.
“Jak, hey, he’s takin’ off with my sock!”
Sure enough, Killer had weaseled up to grab the sock Jak had thoughtlessly dropped. The green-blonde rolled over and grabbed without thinking. His shoulder screamed in protest; a sharp pain from his lower back screeched in counterpoint. “Oww, fuck!”
“Sorry, sorry!” Daxter squeaked from the bunk, looking down at him in alarm.
“It’s not your fault.” Jak shifted the tenuous hold he had managed to get on his squirming ferret and pulled the sock out of Killer’s mouth. “Stop stealing stuff, you little shit.” He swatted a furry hind end for good measure, making his pet hump away with a series of offended dooks.
Daxter reached down to reclaim his sock with ears low.
“Seriously, it’s not your fault,” Jak said. “I’ll feel better in a couple days.” He smiled reassuringly. “I know I’ll be fine by next week. And then we’ll go to that party. Okay?”
Long, freckled ears popped up again. “Really?”
“Yeah, it’s cool. Halloween really was a lot of fun. Just be prepared, though. This thing is the day before Thanksgiving break. Don’t be surprised if somebody lets a live turkey go in the frat house. And Jinx is already talking about mixing those weird turkey and stuffing flavored sodas into his drink specials.”
“Eww!” the redhead shrieked, obviously delighted. “I dunno if Jinx is a brilliant mixologist or a mad scientist with no taste buds.”
Jak rolled his eyes. “He’s what happens when a chemist starts mixing things that aren’t chemicals. Rarely turns out as good as they think it will.”
“Sounds like fun times ta me, pal! We just gotta get you feelin’ better by next week.”
“Yeah.” Jak thought about all the things that had helped in the past—regular painkillers, heat packs, moderate exercise in the weight room to help keep his muscles from staying locked up. So far he had been doing all of that. “I wonder if they offer massages or something at the Physical Wellbeing Center,” he mused.
“Wassat?” Daxter asked, popping into view again as he peeked down from the bunk.
“I used to be able to get Keira to walk on my back and rub my neck for me I when I was sore. That really helps.”
The redhead wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Walkin’ on yer back? Sounds painful.”
“It’s really not. It feels great. Especially when the person is small, like Keira. She’s even smaller than you—” Oh. Shit. Probably not something he should have said. Jak slowly closed his mouth.
Too late. Daxter was pouting down at him, blue eyes narrowed and ears flat. “What’d you just say, fake jock?”
Jak rolled over and buried his grin in his arms. “Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”
“No, no, I think ya did. I think ya just said that this chick is even smaller than me. Thereby implying that I am abnormally small. Is that what I heard?”
The quarterback bit his lip not to laugh. “Well, Dax, I’m not all that tall compared to Phoenix… or Razer… or Torn… or a lot of guys. But next to you, I’m not exactly vertically challenged…”
Daxter slid off the bunk and planted a socked foot in the small of Jak’s back. “You are treading some dangerous waters right now Blondie!”
“Look, all I’m saying is that you might be the right size for rich women to carry around in their expensive handbags—”
“You are such an ass!” Daxter yelled indignantly. “Forget walkin’ on yer back, I’m gonna do a damn riverdance on it!”
“That’s kind of fitting, actually. You’re a redhead, you’ve got freckles, you’re really short—”
The foot on his back pressed down, hard. Jak’s laugh cut off at once, replaced by a hiss as Daxter’s heel dug into the knot that had been bothering him all day. Then the beautiful pressure vanished.
“Sorry, sorry!” Daxter flailed, tripping over himself in his haste to get off. “I didn’t mean ta actually hurt ya!”
Jak groaned into his arms. “Daxter. That did not hurt. Not at all, not in any way. And, all joking aside, if you have a merciful bone in your body you will walk on my back.”
Though the redhead was still clearly unconvinced, he crept back up. The foot returned—much more gently. “Okay, big guy. Yer the boss, I guess. How hard?”
“Just stand on me. I’ll tell you where and how hard.”
Daxter did. The weight increased until, with a wobble, the smaller boy grabbed the edge of the top bunk frame to stay balanced as he stepped onto Jak’s back with both feet. “That good?”
“Very,” Jak breathed tightly. “Now move up just a little bit—”
What followed was a surprisingly coordinated and effective effort. Jak told Daxter where to step, how hard to press, how much weight to apply. Daxter followed his instructions perfectly, never going near the injured shoulder, lapsing into giggling fits at the relieved sounds Jak was unable to keep muffled in the rug. Sure it might have looked pretty silly, but it was getting a job done that nothing else had been able to accomplish.
Several minutes later Jak gasped as he felt the biggest knot finally release. “Okay. Okay, I think that’s good. Thanks.”
Daxter’s weight left his back. “Hey, no problem. It’s not everybody that gets ta walk all over the quarterback.”
Then, something Jak hadn’t been expecting. Instead of stepping away, Daxter stepped forward. And sat down on him. The green-blonde’s ears flipped up in surprise. “What’re you doing?”
“Well, I figured since we got the spa theme goin’ here I might as well see if I can do somethin’ about yer shoulders while I’m at it.” The redhead sounded completely unconcerned as his hands landed on the back of Jak’s shoulders and started to knead; obviously clueless about how a proper massage should be given but enthusiastically ready to adlib it.
“Oh.” Well, who was going to refuse an offer like that? Jak relaxed back into the rug, content to let Daxter do his thing.
The hands on his back wandered, getting acquainted with the territory. The technique used wasn’t so much technique as it was indiscriminate poking and kneading, but it felt good regardless. Almost as good as his friend’s warm weight straddling his lower back. If football players could purr, Jak was sure he would sound like a contented barn cat.
“Y’know, it almost makes me sick,” Daxter began conversationally.
“What does?”
“The fact that it’s practically winter an’ yer still tan. That is grossly unfair and I protest.”
Jak chuckled. “Sorry?”
“No yer not. Yer not sorry at all. Y’know why yer not sorry? It’s cause under all those levels of fakeness, the foundation—” his hands left Jak’s deltoids to land momentarily on his triceps “—is pure, muscled, unadulterated jock. I mean, look at this! Your freaking back is ripped!”
“Are you trying to insult me or compliment me?” Jak asked wryly. “Because most people would take that as a damn good compliment.”
There was sudden, shocked silence from behind him. Daxter snatched his hands off Jak’s arms and went back to his spine, but the damage had already been done. Jak’s curiosity and hope got the better of him. He peeked back over his shoulder, only to see the redhead staring intently down at his task. Daxter was blushing furiously.
Jak opened his mouth, on the verge of saying something, anything.
Daxter glanced back up and scowled, turning even redder as he caught Jak looking. “What?”
“Nothing.” Jak knew better than to push his luck. He dropped his head back to the rug, but his grin could not be contained.
Maybe without even realizing it, Daxter had been honestly complimenting him. Dax had so been complimenting him and Jak had called him on it. The quarterback wanted to do a victory dance, except that he was, you know, pinned under his roommate. His roommate, who now stood firmly with an eighty-three percent chance of returning the awkward guy crush feels. Fuck. Yes.
Now… what was he going to do about it?
Under normal circumstances—Keira circumstances—Jak knew exactly what he would do. He would enjoy the rubdown, return the favor, and then offer a happy ending. And he would probably be taken up on that offer. But in this case, he was stumped on how to proceed. Unless.
Maybe… maybe that could work this time, too? he thought, searching for possibilities. I mean, Dax isn’t Keira, but I could still offer to return the favor. If he says no, no big deal. If he says yes, at the very least he’ll get to relax a little, too. And if he really likes the massage…
Jak tried to cut those thoughts off at the pass, but by the time Daxter finished his impromptu back rub, warm palms skimming over smooth skin, the quarterback was half hard and trying not to squirm.
“That feel any better?” Daxter asked, dismounting Jak’s lower back to sit beside him on the rug, head cocked in innocent curiosity.
Jak took a few seconds to plan how he was going to get up without advertising his predicament to his blissfully unaware roommate. In the end he did a passably casual pushup and settled cross legged next to Daxter, who seemed none the wiser. Thank God for baggy sweatpants. “Yeah, that felt really great. Thanks.”
The redhead visibly puffed with thinly-concealed pride. “No sweat. Maybe I should start my own shiatsu massage an’ back-walkin’ parlor. Get some fancy bottles of oil, a few candles, start pipin’ soothing Tibetan meditation music in here.”
“I can’t imagine Razer would be alright with soothing Tibetan meditation music piping into his study time,” Jak chuckled.
“Meh, he’ll just crank up his German operas an’ drown it all out,” Dax grinned with a flip of his ears. “I think it’ll be cool. Get a new hobby an’ some extra cash flow comin’ in at the same time! Except fer you, Jak. Roommates don’t have to pay.”
Ah-ha. An opening. “That doesn’t seem very fair. How about I pay you back by equal exchange?”
“Whadda ya mean?”
“You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours,” Jak said lightly. “Or rub, as the case may be. How about it?” He flexed his hands demonstratively.
Daxter stared at him, wide eyes darting from Jak’s face down to his hands and back again. “Like, what, y’mean you wanna rub my back? Right now?”
“Sure. You’ve been breaking your neck to take care of me since Saturday night. My back feels better than it has in a week. The least I can do is return the favor.” Jak did his best to sound unconcerned as he made the offer. Nonchalance. Nonchalance was the key.
“Well, I… I guess… maybe that’d be alright—I mean, I never actually—” The redhead was saying a whole lot of nothing in his stammered rambling, but somehow Jak knew exactly what he meant. The restless fingers plucking at the neck of his tee-shirt spelled it out like a neon sign at dusk.
“You don’t have to take your shirt off to get a massage,” Jak said. “You don’t have to do it at all. Just thought I’d offer.”
“No, no!” Daxter yelped, half reaching out like Jak might jump up and walk away mortally offended. “I think I’d kind’a… like that? I mean, it looks like it feels pretty nice. Just, y’know. Be kind’a careful. Yer a lot stronger than I am.” The faint flush across freckled cheekbones was telling. “I’ve gotten pretty used ta not gettin’ pounded on these last few months an’ I’m out’a practice bein’ tenderized.”
Jak smiled reassuringly, but the reminder that Dax was used to physical contact not being a pleasant experience was sobering. “Hey, I swear. You tell me how hard to press just like I told you how hard. No tenderizing.” He grinned wider. “I’ll be as soft as I would pet those little baby otters from Youtube.” Among all the cute cat pictures and links to adorable animal videos Keira sent him, the river otters in particular had stood out (maybe for their vague resemblance to Killer, but the quarterback couldn’t be sure).
“First I’m a midget, now I’m an otter,” Daxter grumbled, but he was grinning too as he stretched out on the rug where Jak had been minutes before. “Alright, big guy, work yer magic. My muscles are ready.”
Well. That had been… significantly easier than Jak had imagined it would be. He got to his knees beside his friend, knowing better than to loom over him straight out. That could come naturally in due time, if Daxter remained chill with the process. Okay, Jak. Here goes nothing. Now, just don’t screw this up.
- // - // - // - // -
Daxter crossed his arms on the rug and laid his chin on them, nervousness and excitement vying for position in his chest.
When he had deiced to park himself on Jak and test out his nonexistent masseuse’s skills, it had been a spur of the moment decision—the perfect way to loosen Jak up, help the quarterback relax, and maybe have a bit of an excuse to get his hands on some of those muscles he had been maybe-kinda-sorta-totally admiring last week. All the birds with one stone. What he hadn’t counted on was Jak offering to reciprocate.
His breath hitched as Jak’s hands, so big that just one of them spanned a good part of his back, settled on his shoulders. Even through the fabric of his shirt Jak’s palms felt hot against his skin. Chill, Daxxie. Just be cool. Be cool, be cool, be cool. Only coolness happenin’ here. So chill we’re frosting over, snow is accumulating, ice ice baby!
Mental babble notwithstanding, agreeing to this had probably been one of those not so good ideas. But how could he refuse? There would be no better time to be this close to the object of his crushly affections, not even during tickle tackles, which Jak was still too banged up to be up for anyway. And he couldn’t count on another occasion arising that would let him make himself at home in Jak’s bunk, either. He had to grab the chance while it was offered.
Goosebumps cascaded down Daxter’s arms as Jak’s hands moved across his back. His hair stood on end at the foreign sensations those hands stirred up as they roamed from neck to shoulders to spine, obviously with a clear idea of which muscles were where. Damn athletic trainee knowledge. Oh, but it all felt good. The redhead mumbled nonsense into his crossed arms as Jak skimmed across his ribs on a path to his lower back, raising involuntary shivers as he went.
… this wasn’t weird, was it, to be swapping massages with your best friend? It seemed like an awful lot of touching to engage in so casually. But then again, Jak was a football player. An athlete. He probably got massages all the time, strictly for the wellbeing of a body that had to be kept in top condition. And Jak was polite and thoughtful, so offering a massage in return would just be second nature. So it probably wasn’t weird to him at all.
Dax could dream, though. He could most assuredly dream that Jak was doing this because he wanted to, caressing his smaller friend like he did with that silly weasel he loved so much. A gesture of affection rather than one of courtesy.
The thought brought a dumb smile to his face, one that he allowed to stay where it was on the grounds that Jak couldn’t see it. The warmth in his cheeks and ears probably meant accompanying redness, though, which he just hoped Jak couldn’t see. But hey, who can blame me? I’m gettin’ a free back rub from the freakin’ quarterback! Eat yer heart out, cheerleaders.
After a minute or two Daxter relaxed. True to his word, Jak wasn’t rough in the least. He moved steadily, methodically, reducing Daxter bit by bit to a puddle of warm, redheaded goo. If he had thought the simple shoulder rub Jak had given him months ago had been nice, then this was Nirvana. He sighed and twitched happily. This could so go on for the rest of forever and he would have no objections.
Lucky for him, Jak didn’t seem like he was going to cease fire until he was told to. He had slowly moved from his starting position kneeling on the rug next to Daxter to straddling the smaller boy’s waist as he worked, a mirror of what Daxter had been doing for him. On his knees, the green-blonde was still more than tall enough to avoid putting any weight on Dax at all. The idle thought that he was pinned flitted through his brain—and couldn’t have been any less concerning.
Mmm, that’s sexy, Daxter thought blissfully. His back arched without conscious permission as Jak’s thumbs stroked into the muscles above his hips, just so. Nnnnh, God, that feels so good! Did it feel this good ta Jak when I did it for him? He wanted to think so, but realistically, probably not. He had no experience whatsoever with this massage thing, giving or getting, while the quarterback had obviously been through his share of both. Besides, if it had felt even half this good to Jak then Jak would’ve had a boner, too—
Daxter froze against the rug, eyes slowly widening in his terror. Apparently “too much of a good thing” could actually happen. He’d been so consumed with basking in the building sensations that he hadn’t thought to ask Jak to stop touching him before said sensations built into a major problem.
A problem Jak was definitely going to notice.
Oh, fuck. Oh FUCK. Mentally he began to flail, brain grasping desperately for a good reason—any reason—to stay face down on the rug for the rest of the night. Claiming sudden onset narcolepsy was beginning to seem like a viable option when Jak’s hands on his back slowed and then stilled.
“Doing okay, Dax?”
“Y-yeah, fine!” His voice was little more than a high pitched squeak that he immediately hated his vocal cords for producing. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You just got really tense again.”
Oh, well, he had no idea whatsoever why that had happened. Sorry, Jak, you were just touching me in a completely nonsexual way and I seem to have developed a not-so-slight case of hard-on. My bad. Yeah, like that was going to fly over well.
Daxter bit back a whimper and forced himself to take a deep breath. He couldn’t let this continue. It would only get worse if Jak kept touching him. There was no getting out of this one unscathed, so he might as well take it like a man. Take it like a man until the very second he could make it into his bunk to hide under his blanket in utter mortification for the rest of eternity. “Jak, I think… y’need ta let me up, pal.”
Jak moved back immediately, something Dax would be eternally grateful for. The green-blonde sat back on the rug just out of arms’ reach, obviously concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothin’ that’s yer fault,” Daxter gritted. “Sorry, Jak. Fuck, m’sorry.” He shoved his way up onto his hands and knees, and from there into an awkward hunched position with his hands between his knees, hopefully blocking the view. Of all the nights to be wearing the thinnest, rattiest pair of shorts! Maybe if he just sat there for a moment at the opposite end of the rug from his friend and concentrated on the burning of his face the problem would go away. Or at least become less of an eyesore.
“What are you sorry—?” Jak blinked. “…oh.”
The redhead had never before wished so earnestly to swiftly, mercifully, drop dead. The backs of his eyelids provided a welcome alternative view to the weirded out, grossed out, angry look that had to be on Jak’s face at that moment. Why do I hafta fuck everything up?
“Oh. Uh, that’s not your fault.”
That hadn’t been what he was expecting to hear. Not at all. One blue eye cracked slowly open. Daxter chanced a quick glance up. “Huh?”
Jak certainly didn’t look angry, even if he was a little red in the face himself. And he didn’t look grossed out, even if he might have been looking everywhere but at Daxter. “S’not your fault. That’s… pretty normal, actually. When you’re getting massages. All the touching, you know.”
Oh, ya think? It was on the tip of his tongue, but Daxter bit it back. Sure. Let Jak think he would have popped a boner if it had anybody else rubbing his back. Let Jak think he would have let anybody else touch him like that, period. The ‘involuntary response to physical stimulation’ boner was vastly preferable to the ‘hey, I’ve got a totally homo crush on you!’ boner.
“If it makes you feel any better, I’m kind of in the same boat.”
It took several seconds for Daxter to process what Jak had said. He blinked, uncurling slightly from his ball as he checked for confirmation. And there it was, the fake jock’s jockly sweatpants be damned. Holy shit. HOLY SHIT. He’s got a boner too.
The amazement must have shown on his face, because Jak snorted amusedly even as two sets of red faces got redder—Jak’s taking on a healthy, ruddy stain across his perfect cheekbones while Daxter’s just went red red red like a bushel of ripe cherries. “What? I just told you, it’s a normal reaction. And you can give a pretty good massage.”
“Y-yeah?” This time he didn’t even blame his voice for being so high only the dogs in the neighborhoods surrounding campus could probably hear it. Jak. Had a boner. Because of him. Natural reaction or not, the bulge in the quarterback’s emblazoned Haven U sweatpants was because of him. The thought decidedly did not make his own boner want to go away any sooner.
“Yeah.”
The redhead gulped, feeling almost lightheaded. “S-so, what do we do? This is gonna suck so bad, sittin’ here like this fer the rest’a the night—”
Jak stared at him like he was mental. “Uh, yeah, that would suck. So let’s not do that.”
“Well, there aren’t exactly a lot of options,” Daxter huffed, flicking his hot ears irritably. “Because there is nooo freakin’ way I’m walkin’ down the hall ta the showers lookin’ like this! Knowin’ my luck I’d run into everybody in the whole damn hall!”
The green-blonde had the nerve to laugh. Actually laugh. “Okay, so, here’s an idea: stay in here. It’s your room too, you know.”
This time it was Daxter’s turn to stare. Could Jak actually be suggesting…? “I’m not sure I follow, fake jock. Could ya be more specific on what yer implying?”
“Well, uh… I guess I’m implying what normally happens when two people have to share a room. I get in my bunk, you get in your bunk, nature takes its course, and everybody’s happy.”
“Are you nuts?!” Daxter almost yelled before forcing his voice down to a more tolerable level. It was late; he certainly didn’t want anyone else privy to this astronomically awkward situation. “You can’t do that with somebody else right there!”
Jak’s head cocked curiously. “Why not? We’re best friends. It’s not that big a deal. We both know what’s going on.”
“Yeah, that’s the problem!” Boy, there was just no way to accurately communicate exactly how freaked out this concept was trying to make him feel. He raked shaking hands through his hair. “Jak, look, ya don’t get it. Where I come from ya can’t let anybody know when yer jerkin’ it, not ever! When yer in the foster system, if ya get caught masturbating they label ya ‘sexually aggressive’—” he hated how desperate he sounded even as he did his most sarcastic air quotation marks, “—an’ do you have any idea what that looks like on somebody’s record, Jak?! It doesn’t look good, I promise!”
All traces of teasing and amusement drained off the quarterback’s face in record time. “…Dax. You’re not in the system anymore.”
The redhead rubbed absently at his upper arm. It sounded so easy in practice, telling himself that those days were behind him, but most of a lifetime didn’t just fall away overnight. Or even over a few months. “Yeah, I know, but self-preservation instincts die hard, know what I’m sayin’?”
“I don’t believe this.” Jak looked like he had just been told that the sport of football had been outlawed. “Has this been bothering you the whole time? Since we moved in here?”
Dax gave a self-conscious half shrug. “Well, not really. I mean, since we’re stuck on this topic like used gum on the bottom of yer shoe—it’s actually been really great movin’ on campus. There’s locks on the door an’ everything! An’ it’s not like…” Dear God, they were really having this discussion, weren’t they? “It’s not like I never do it. It’s just… I make not gettin’ busted a priority when I do.”
“No one’s going to ‘bust you!’ This is our room.” Jak drug a hand over his face. “Okay, look. Pay attention. I am going to show you the proper response when someone walks in on you like that. First, you flip them off.” He promptly demonstrated. “Second, if they don’t slam the door and run right off the bat, you tell them to take a picture, it’ll last longer. Third, you tell them to get the hell out, because walking in without knocking and getting permission is damned rude. Got it?”
Now why did it sound like Jak had all kinds of experience exercising this proper response. Daxter bit his lip against a laugh, some of the tension seeping away. “Yeah, I just have a question; is there gonna be a quiz over this later, teacher?”
“Dax, I’m serious! You should not have to be afraid to jerk off in your own damn room! You’re eighteen, you’re in college, you’re out on your own living your life. You do whatever the hell you want. You’re not going to get in trouble for anything like that around here.”
Once again, the redhead was abruptly reminded of just how appealing Jak was when he got riled up over something. That the something he was riled up over happened to be Daxter’s welfare made his stomach twist warmly. “I… I guess not.”
“I know not,” Jak said firmly.
Dax took a deep breath and swallowed. “S-so. Now that we got all that established. What are we gonna do?”
Jak seemed to cool down immediately. His posture relaxed a bit as he uncrossed his arms and let the angry look melt off his face. “It’s your call. Really, it’s no big deal. We can do whatever you want. We can both get in our bunks and pretend this conversation never happened, you can go to the showers if you want, I can go to the showers if you want and you can stay here—”
“Forget that, I’m not kickin’ you out. Like you said, it’s our room.” Daxter swallowed hard. Mortifying as the last five minutes had been, discussing masturbation of all things with Jak had done very little to convince his dick to lose the idea. Something had to be done, that much was clear, be it a cold shower or some other option. And that other option that his brain kept suggesting was as terrifying as it was arousing. “Um. I, I don’t guess, uh…” Okay, mouth. Okay, brain. Collaborate for two seconds before forming these words.
“What’s that?” Jak asked, leaning forward slightly to hear better.
“I said, I don’t guess…” Dax couldn’t force his voice above a whisper. “It wouldn’t be that big a deal if we both… y’know. Right? I mean, it’s not that weird, is it? Fer guys ta… around each other?”
Jak sat back and blinked.
Oh God, now he had weirded the other guy out. Backpedal, backpedal! “Sorry, sorry, it was a stupid question, forget I said anything!”
“No, hey, wait a second. I don’t think it’s weird at all.” The green-blonde looked contemplative. “I’ve never done it myself, but I’ve heard about it more than once. I think it’s more common than anybody realizes. Phoenix and his friends even had a code name for it back in high school. They called it ‘getting off at Randy’s.’ He told me about it. Actually he was half lit when he told me,” Jak amended, “but I think he was telling the truth.”
“R-really?” Daxter was nothing short of awed. If jocks did it so casually, then… But he couldn’t bring himself to say what he wanted to say. What if Jak still said no?
“Wanna try it?”
Damn it all, how did the quarterback manage to read his mind so often?! It would have been creepy if it hadn’t been so convenient in situations like this. The redhead summoned his courage, consciously forced himself to stop gnawing on his lower lip, and nodded. “…if, an’ only if it’s cool with you... then yeah.”
“Sure. Why not? Everybody says college is when you should try new things.” Jak’s grin would have been enough to make him weak in the knees if he hadn’t already been sitting. “Even Torn said so. And if Torn says something it must be true, right?”
Dax chuckled weakly. “Apparently somebody thinks he knows what he’s talkin’ about, or he wouldn’t be in charge.” Slowly, unsteadily, he got to his feet. He didn’t have the guts to look Jak in the face while he did. Instinct propelled him to the door, where he checked the lock.
“What are you doing?” Jak asked, likewise finding his feet to tuck Killer back into his ferret condo for the night. “The door locks automatically.”
“Better safe than sorry.”
“Want me to shove the desk in front of it?” Jak teased, but there was undertone of seriousness to the question.
Daxter swallowed hard. Oh God. The door was locked. Jak was in on it. They were seriously going to do this. “N-nah. Nah, it’s all good.” He glanced around the room. Just one more thing before he could even begin to imagine getting started. “Can we, maybe, turn the lights off, though?”
“Sure, no problem.” Jak nodded understandingly, then paused, ears flicking up. “Just let me grab something first.”
“What is it?” Daxter asked, trying to peek around the quarterback as he dug into one of the drawers of his desk. What could he possibly need? They were going to jerk off, not build a poster board together.
The green-blonde pulled something from the drawer that he quickly hid behind his back with a grin. “It’s a surprise. You’ll see.”
That grin was the same rotten look Jak wore when they were about to do something to make Torn’s miserable life of suffering a little more miserable, and all of a sudden Daxter felt a lot more at ease. This wasn’t a big deal. This was a bratty, willful breaking of a stupid rule, and what they were about to do suddenly seemed a lot less like a capital offense and a lot more like two best friends giggling over a pilfered junk food stash in a blanket fort in the middle of the night. Exactly the kind of thing Dax had yearned for so badly when he was a kid.
The redhead was still flushed hot, but this time the grin Jak received in return was genuine. “Alrighty, then. Let’s do this thing!” And he flipped off the light.
- // - // - // - // -
Jak’s heart was thudding double time as his eyes slowly adjusted to the wan light shining in through the blinds from the lamps on the sidewalk outside the window.
Daxter had agreed to this. Had been the one to suggest it, even. Jak was thrilled, nervous, slightly petrified in a way he hadn’t been since Keira had climbed the tree outside his bedroom window unannounced in the middle of one fateful night years ago, caught him with his hand down his shorts, and crept in through that window instead of back out. This was going to be epic.
“S-so, how does this kinda thing usually start?” The shadow that was Daxter moved tentatively closer, red-orange hair and an equally red, freckled cheek springing up from the darkness as he passed through the beams of lamplight.
Okay. Dax obviously wanted him to take the lead. That was fine. He had been expecting as much. “Usually, I’m pretty sure the first step is to get comfortable.” Somehow he highly doubted that the redhead was ever comfortable to any degree, pulling off self pleasure sessions like he was starring in a ninja movie, so that seemed like an excellent place to start. “Here. Try this.” Jak grabbed Daxter’s pillow from the top bunk and tossed it onto his own, up against the wall. His own pillow followed shortly, landing against the wall at the other end of the bottom bunk; the perfect cushion for reclining on. There. That looked like a cozy enough nest for a circle jerk with his adorable roommate.
Said roommate let out an incoherent squeak.
Jak shot him a questioning glance. “What?”
“We’re both gonna be on yer bed?!”
“Well… yeah. Easier than climbing that ladder with a hard-on. Unless you don’t want to—”
“No, no, it’s cool!” Daxter assured in a rush. “I just—I thought—yeah, sure, whatever you say, Jakkie-boy, you know how this stuff works.”
The quarterback resolutely did not let himself show amusement. Even if Dax no longer sounded like he was afraid of someone breaking down their door the moment he laid a finger on himself, he was still obviously nervous. Laughing, even with the purest of intentions, wouldn’t help that nervousness any. “Hey, I’m just going on hearsay. There aren’t any rules. We just do whatever we feel like doing.”
“Yeah, yeah I guess yer right.” Daxter glanced into the dark cave that was the bottom bunk. “So, uh. You first. It’s yer bed an’ all.”
Jak couldn’t argue that, so he crawled in without hesitation. “My bed is your bed. Make yourself comfortable.” When his back hit his pillow, propped comfortably against the wall, he looked up.
Daxter was staring, eyes wide and ears perked.
With a smirk, Jak let his legs fall open just a little wider. It was impossible to miss the immediate redirection of the redhead’s gaze. “Well? Come on in.”
Slowly, slowly, Daxter did. Then they were sitting side by side, knees almost close enough to touch, the silent seconds stretching. Out of the corner of his eye Jak saw Daxter’s fingers flex and dig into the thin fabric that covered his thighs. Oh, did the quarterback know the feeling. He wanted to palm himself through his sweatpants so bad it almost hurt. Just when he was gathering the courage to initiate the next step—the main event—the entire point of this ordeal—there was a startling bang as Killer’s water bottle was shaken against the cage bars.
Daxter jumped like a frightened cat, the jolt so hard that the mattress bounced and the frame of the beds shook.
Jak clapped a hand on his roommate’s shoulder reflexively. “Whoa, Dax, it’s okay!”
Dax flopped back against his pillow, gasping for breath. “Goddamn it, Jak, do you have any idea how many times that friggin’ weasel’s just about given me heart failure when I’m tryin’a pull my dick out?! It’s like he waits until my guard’s down!” Frustrated hands buried themselves in mussed red hair. “… Jak, I dunno if I can do this.”
Something in the green-blonde’s chest tightened at the whimper behind the words. “Hey. No pressure. You don’t have to.”
“But I want to! I fuckin’ want to! I just—I don’t even know.” Daxter slumped miserably, hands falling to wrap around his upper arms.
Jak moved without thinking. In one smooth motion he draped an arm around Daxter’s shoulders. His hand hung down, resting gently against the redhead’s chest. “Don’t worry. I’m right here. Everything’s cool.”
For a long moment, Daxter sat frozen, rigid under the warm weight of Jak’s arm. Then, in what seemed like one breath, he relaxed backward into the protective hold, leaning against the quarterback’s side. “…’kay.”
“Okay,” Jak repeated faintly. Okay. He glanced up at the slats on the dark underside of the top bunk for inspiration. So this was happening. Touching Daxter during this thing had not been part of the original plan, but apparently they were going with it. He could work with this. The smaller body tucked against his side was warm in the chilly room. He could feel Daxter’s heartbeat through both sets of ribs. It was decidedly pleasant. “Okay. I’m… going to start now.” Sudden inspiration struck. “Copy me, if you want.”
Daxter nodded jerkily. “Right. Right. I can do that. S’that how guys usually do this?”
Jak swallowed hard as he slid his free hand under the waistband of his sweats and pushed them down. “Uh… maybe?” Hell if he knew. Probably a total lie, though. “No, I don’t really think so. I think they usually have porn to watch, or something?”
“Oh.” Daxter’s voice was reedy as his hand likewise crept beneath his boxers. “I ain’t got any porn, Jak.”
“I know.” Jak didn’t have any porn, either. He had a redhead, warm and shivery under his arm. And that was a thousand times better.
With that somehow satisfied thought, he gripped himself and set to work at a leisurely, almost teasing pace. His dick may have been harder than the frozen ground outside, but part of this exercise was to help Daxter learn to relax and enjoy himself. The experience needed to last longer than three minutes. He glanced surreptitiously down to see if his lead was being followed. It was not.
Daxter was stock still. Jak couldn’t see his friend’s face, only a mop of red hair taking up part of his vision. But he could deduce from the angle of Dax’s head which way he was looking. Surely it wasn’t right to feel so victorious at the thought that his best friend was probably staring at his junk.
“Do you need me to do it for you?” Jak joked when Daxter showed no sign of getting with the program. He was mostly joking. Kind of joking. Well, it sounded like he was joking, anyway.
There was a small jump, as of someone caught doing something they weren’t supposed to. Daxter snorted a little on his nervous laughter. “What, do ya really think I’m that inept? I got this, fake jock. Thanks fer havin’ my back, though.”
Oh, well. It was worth a shot. There was always next time. And until that next time, what a fantasy—holding the redhead in his lap, a freckled back tight against his chest, pumping a hand between pale thighs as Daxter arched up to meet it. The thought had Jak’s hand moving faster on himself, and he was abruptly reminded of something.
“Hey, Dax,” he said softly, trying not to startle his friend again. “Here’s that surprise I mentioned.” He fumbled among the blankets for a moment, still taking care to keep his other arm around his bedmate, before coming up with the bottle of lube.
Daxter squinted in the dark, leaning closer to see more clearly. “What is it?”
“It’s lube. The good kind.”
“Where’d you get that?!”
“Uh… the store?” Jak smothered a laugh as he was elbowed sharply in the ribs. “Oww! Seriously, I brought it from home. Keira threw it in the cart when we were shopping for dorm supplies because, and I quote, ‘you and your right hand will be spending a lot of time together.’” And then he had turned around and very helpfully bought the biggest pack of AA batteries he could find for her vibrator. In this case, a high school honors diploma hadn’t boosted anyone’s maturity any. “Here, hold out your hand.”
The redhead did, ears perking in curiosity. “What’s really the point’a lube if yer not stickin’ anything anyplace?” he asked, even as he stuck out a hand to accept a squeeze from the bottle. He squished the slippery substance between his fingers experimentally. “I never missed it.”
It seemed Jak was right on target when he figured that Dax had never experienced the wonder that was proper lube. Probably never had the chance to get a hold of any, much less use it. “Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it. You might miss it after this.” He clicked the cap shut and set the bottle to the side. “Let it warm up for a second, then enjoy. I’ll accept ‘thank you’ cards tomorrow. Bonus points if they’re hand written and you color inside the lines.”
“I’m gonna wipe this goop on you, wise-ass,” Daxter whined, ears angling down. He did, however, at long last, slowly ease his boxers further south with the non-goopy hand.
Staring was rude. Jak forced his eyes to settle straight ahead, out into the shadowy room. He wouldn’t look. Being looked at instead of being the one doing the looking would probably make Dax uncomfortable. Even if there was no real way Dax could tell where he was looking, was there, unless the redhead twisted around and purposefully looked up into Jak’s face.
There was a quiet, barely there gasp, followed by the equally quiet, barely there sound of slippery skin on skin. Apparently the lube was well received. Daxter slouched the smallest bit under Jak’s arm, breathing coming faster.
…so maybe just a very quick look. Just to make it fair and even. Jak glanced down.
A pale, long-fingered hand glided up and down a similarly pale, long shaft, fluttered nervously around a darker tip, slightly shiny with the lube that coated it, and went back to pumping. Dax looked as hard as Jak felt. Inevitably, blue eyes lingered far beyond the quick look he had promised himself. Wow…
In a dim corner of his mind, the quarterback registered the curious fact that he had never seen that part of his friend before. In a world where locker rooms and showers had been the norm for years, seeing penises was just something that happened. None of the players gave it a second thought anymore. But Daxter. Daxter was different. For all he could run like he’d been born for track and field, Daxter wasn’t an athlete, wasn’t acclimatized to the casual openness of the locker rooms. He hid everything away, every little bit of pale, freckled skin carefully concealed each time he had to undress. Four months into the semester and he still took off his robe inside the shower stall and reached out to hang it up on the peg.
Jak realized again what a monumental leap Daxter had taken to be exposed like this in front of him, if only partially. Sure, Dax could finally change shirts in front of him now when he came home from work covered in pizza sauce and crumbs, but dropping your pants was a lot different than being shirtless for ten seconds. The intimacy was kind of staggering, if he thought about it. He tightened the arm still draped over thin shoulders in an imperceptible hug.
Daxter’s breathing hitched, though he made no real sound. His hand sped up.
“Slow down,” Jak murmured quietly. “It’s not a race.” He tried to lead by way of example, but the redhead was having none of it.
“Yeah, s’not how that works, fake jock,” Dax whispered harshly, breath catching as he squirmed. The fingers of his free hand fisted in the blanket; Jak could see his toes curl.
“It can be.” Poor guy. It made sense, though. You couldn’t take your time if you were constantly worried about being caught. “Here, like this. Seriously. Just for a second. Just breathe…”
With a quickly stifled whine of frustration, Daxter slowed his pace to match Jak’s.
Endless seconds ticked by. Killer crunched a ferret kibble in the darkness. A car drove past on the road outside. Jak became hyperaware of Daxter’s breathing. Of his own breathing. Of the sound of slick hands on hot, slick skin. Of how Daxter’s shivers were becoming more pronounced and how his own hips were trying to rise up in time with those shivering fits.
Finally, something gave.
“J-jak, I can’t…” Daxter tossed his head back onto Jak’s shoulder with a quiet whine. His arm was losing carefully established rhythm.
Jak’s arm tightened in response. Unintentionally, his fingers traced a pebbled nipple. Daxter squeaked alarmingly. Jak huffed out an amused breath that washed over the tip of a freckled ear. The ear twitched reflexively, swatting the quarterback across the mouth. Without thinking, Jak caught the edge of it gently between his lips and teeth with a playful growl. The skin was hot and velvety smooth.
“Nnh—!” The sound was bitten off as soon as it was made. Daxter went rigid under his arm, threw his head back, and came almost silently, teeth dug into his bottom lip so hard it had to hurt.
Almost before his brain could catch up enough to force his mouth to spit out that tantalizing ear, Jak was following suit. The rush was strong, with Daxter still twitching and breathing hard under his arm, and the green-blonde groaned softly as he pumped his way through it. Wow. That was… wow. So much stronger even than the last time he had come, thinking about Dax.
Silence stretched as a pair of breaths and heartbeats slowed to something resembling normal. Surprisingly or not, Daxter was the one to break it.
“You… bit my ear.”
Suddenly that was the funniest thing Jak had heard in days, and he fought down the bubbling laughter only with extreme difficulty. “You hit my mouth with your ear!” Snorting and chuckling under his breath, Jak slumped back against the wall, content to keep the arm around his friend until Daxter shrugged it off.
If he had still had any doubts about how good it would be to go friends-with-experimenting-benefits with the redhead, they were now firmly laid to rest. Best Tuesday night ever.
- // - // - // - // -
… I feel like I just had sex. Daxter’s brain was still orbiting leisurely several miles above the earth. Reality, as could be expected, was rather slow to sink in. That wasn’t sex, though. He barely even touched me. He didn’t mean it sexy-like. He didn’t touch my dick. We didn’t kiss. That wasn’t sex. His body was still buzzing. He could feel the aftershocks down in his toes and in his ear-tips. One of which was still a little damp from an unexpected ambush. Jak’s arm was warm and heavy behind his neck, over his shoulder, and down his chest. … I feel like I just had sex.
One thing sure felt the same as it always did, though. He looked down bemusedly at his sticky hand. At least he had managed to contain most of the mess. Getting it all over Jak’s bed would have been a hoot.
Fortunately Jak noticed his dilemma and was dealing with the same. “Oh, here. Got you covered.” The quarterback took his arm from around Daxter’s shoulders to lean over and snag a box of tissues from the edge of his desk.
While part of the redhead wanted to whine for that warm, grounding weight to come back—he realized with some alarm that he could comfortably have fallen asleep curled against Jak with that football hurling arm of death draped over him—he knew better than to make a sound. Bro-cuddles were okay. Jerking off together was apparently okay. But even he knew that combining the two was definitely not okay. That was not something normal best friends did. So he accepted the tissues Jak offered with quiet grace.
“So, what’d you think?” Jak asked casually, thankfully keeping his eyes to himself as they tidied. “Pretty nice, huh?”
… Jak thought that was nice? Jak had liked stumbling through that awkward as all fuck male bonding moment? With him?
“We should do that again!” Daxter blurted in the least quiet and graceful way possible.
“We totally should,” Jak agreed with a lazy grin. His balled up tissue hit the trashcan in a clean shot.
Daxter’s chest fluttered and constricted at the same time.
At some unspoken signal, they both vacated the bed. Dax clicked the light back on. Pillows were thrown back into there proper places. Jak tugged his comforter back in line. They both dug out bed clothes that lacked obvious wet spots, and though it seemed absolutely ludicrous after what had just happened, Daxter flushed hotly and turned away as they changed. Embarrassment and elation were strange emotions to have cohabiting your brain at the same time, he concluded.
Still. He felt good. Better than good. He felt warm, bright and sparky, body loose and limber in a way he wasn’t familiar with, but liked anyway.
“I think I’m going to hit it,” Jak said, dropping his dirty clothes unconcernedly into his mesh laundry hamper. “Got class in the morning.”
Dax nodded, still somehow unable to look his friend in the face. “Uh, I guess I should too. We’re supposed ta have a quiz tomorrow. I should probably roll out’a bed at a decent time an’ review a little. Or somethin’.”
“Good plan,” Jak chuckled.
Climbing the bunk ladder seemed a daunting task with his knees one step from rebellion, but Daxter decided to take his chances. He was lifting the first foot, eyes on his goal at the top of the ladder, when something that wasn’t a wooden ladder peg connect with his sole. It was Jak’s clasped hands.
“Alley-oop!”
Then Daxter was squawking in surprise as he was launched up and into his bunk like he weighed nothing at all, landing on his stomach on his own mattress with a groan of complaint from the bed frame. Down below, Jak laughed.
“You jerk! Ya can’t just go tossin’ people around like a giant gorilla, yer gonna hurt yer shoulder even worse! An’ who even says ‘alley-oop’ nowadays anyway, honestly?!” But he had to hide a huge, red-faced grin in his pillow as he said it.
“Goodnight, Daxter,” Jak said sweetly. With a click, the desk lamp went off once more. “Don’t forget to ask Taryn for next Wednesday off. You don’t want to miss that party.”
“Chill, fake jock, I won’t forget.” He doubted he’d forget a single detail from the night. Not how good that massage had felt; not how cool Jak looked when he was telling the system to go fuck itself; not how good it had felt to be tucked up beside him. And definitely not how electrifying a hot mouth had been on his ear tip, however accidental, shoving him over the edge into sudden bliss. He sighed happily and closed his eyes, hips nudging into the mattress.
… fuuuuck.
“Um. Hey, Jak?”
“Yeah?”
Daxter covered his face with his hands and bit the bullet. “Would you be mad if I jerked off again?”
There was silence from down below. Then the box of tissues landed next to his head. “I guess great minds really do think alike. Knock yourself out.”
“…yer the best, Jak.” And with that final act of coolness, it became official. Daxter could deny it no longer. He had it bad for the quarterback. His roommate. His best friend. The Dude with Whom He Shared His Life and Personal Space.
But, at the very least, he also had tissues. So things couldn’t be all bad.
- // - // - // - // - // -
To be continued.
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- 15
- 16
- 17
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