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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
- 18
- 19
- 20
Characters: Belong to Naughty Dog, Inc.

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“You know, it’s a good thing I showered last night. And put on deodorant.”
Daxter muttered something unintelligible from his spot between Jak’s chest and arm. Every time the quarterback tried to shift so Dax wouldn’t be so squashed, he would squirm in even closer. Jak wasn’t sure if his bedmate was cold, massively hung over, mortally embarrassed, or a combination of all three.
“Hey.” Very gently Jak tugged on the tip of one long ear. “We have to get up eventually.”
Daxter whined and didn’t look up.
“On a scale of one to ten, how sick do you feel?” Jak asked.
Finally, a muffled reply. “If ya mean how much I feel like I’m gonna puke, three. If ya mean how much does my head feel like it’s gonna detonate like a Jinx experiment, three hundred.”
Jak sighed. He had been expecting as much. He reached up and began to softly smooth his friend’s rumpled hair. “Well, you did drink a hell of a lot last night.”
“Which was entirely yer fault.”
“My fault? You were drunk when I got there!”
“Which was one hundred percent directly related ta you bein’ a cock tease. We been over this, fake jock.” Bold words, but when the redhead finally lifted his face from where it had been buried it was the picture of uncertainty. “… yer not pissed at me, are ya? I mean, ya did say last night that you’ve been flirtin’ with me an’ I didn’t just hallucinate that after four too many of Jinx’s nasty turkey soda cocktails, right? ‘Cause if I did, then—”
“No, you weren’t hallucinating.” Jak cut off the increasingly panicked rambling. “I have been hitting on you. And now you can hit on me back, because we’re going to take full advantage of being newly inducted friends with benefits and experiment the hell out of fooling around with another guy, like college idiots do. Okay?”
Daxter blinked up at him. “…friends with benefits. Yeah, I think I can deal with that.”
“Good.” Jak smiled. “So, how about a deal. If you let me get up, I’ll personally go downstairs and get you whatever you want to drink with your aspirin. As long as it’s decaf. You need to rehydrate.”
It took Daxter a few seconds to think it over. Free drinks versus continued free body heat. At last he sighed deeply and slowly slid out of the bunk, allowing Jak to emerge into the chilly room. “Juice. Gimme juice.”
Jak shrugged into a sweatshirt as Daxter buried himself back in the blankets. “What kind?”
“I dunno. Surprise me. As long as it ain’t cranberry.”
“Got it. Hang tight and I’ll be right back.” Jak grabbed his keys and headed out, sparing a look back at the redhead curling up in the warm spot he had just left. A quick trip to the bathroom, and he would commence getting Daxter back on his feet. It was their first morning of break. The sooner Dax recovered, the sooner they could enjoy themselves.
In whatever way they decided to.
- // - // - // - // -
When Jak left, Daxter curled into a ball in the suddenly spacious bunk and tried to calm his nerves along with the pounding of his head.
It was an immeasurable relief that Jak was still cool with what had happened last night. He wasn’t sure what he would have done with the knowledge that he had thrown himself at the quarterback like the worst of the football team’s groupies if Jak hadn’t been there to reassure him.
I can’t believe I blew him. That was totally not part of the plan, Dax thought, unable to decide if he was proud of making the evening worth Jak’s while or if he was ashamed of himself for doing it so readily. Once not so very long ago in a dingy gym locker room he had fought tooth and nail, prepared to take a sound beating over a football player’s dick in his mouth. Last night he had practically jumped the alpha football player to do that very thing.
His face began to burn at the memory, but once again that shame was balanced by the certainty of how much Jak had enjoyed it. I guess crazy guy-crushes count fer a lot, he reasoned, lingering unease placated by the mental image of Jak’s strong features tensed in bliss.
… Jak had said that it would be his turn to get off today.
With a groan, Daxter buried his thoroughly red face in the pillow. The thought of Jak touching him as he lay unresisting instead of him touching Jak caused an immediate surge of horrible, wonderful, terrifying, deliciously arousing nervousness. Without his liquid crutch from the night before how stupid was he going to look, fumbling through the motions of sex with no experience whatsoever?
Oh god. What if he wants to fuck me? Full-throttle, real-deal, all-the-way fuck me?! The hitherto unconsidered thought that Jak might want more than a mere hand job or oral almost made him scream in blind panic. Holy shit, I can’t do that! Not yet! Maybe not ever! Would the quarterback be mad if Daxter told him that? Would he think Dax had led him on? Maybe he wouldn’t want to fool around together anymore. Maybe they wouldn’t even be friends anymore! Oh my god, why didn’t I think this through before I sucked his dick?!
The redhead could only panic for so long, however, before reason prevailed.
The simple fact was, Jak didn’t work that way. This was the guy who ran from cheerleaders when a wink and a smile could have gotten him laid every night for the whole semester. He wouldn’t be angry now just because Daxter didn’t want to go all the way.
Okay, okay. Calm down. Freaking out hadn’t helped his headache any, and Dax tucked himself lower in the blankets with a sigh. It was nice of Jak to take care of him, anyway, despite what a dope he had been the night before. Maybe he would bring Jak a large specialty pizza after work to make up for it. Yeah, pizza’s definitely the way to his heart, Dax reflected. Everything’ll be fine. It’ll be a good vacation.
He was thinking such encouraging thoughts, almost able to slip back to sleep, when someone knocked on the door.
“Seriously?” he moaned, pulling himself out of the bunk for the second time that morning. “Dude, how long have we been livin’ here an’ you still can’t remember ta take your keys with ya when you leave?”
Daxter grumbled his way to the door, trying not to feel too put upon. If he hadn’t wanted juice Jak wouldn’t have left in the first place. He pulled open the door and stepped back automatically to give his roommate room to enter.
“Looks like it’s my lucky morning.”
Daxter’s head snapped up at the unexpected voice. Standing in the doorway, wearing a cordial smile that didn’t reach his eyes, was Erol. The smaller redhead stared up at the unexpected visitor dumbly. “Uh…”
“I hope you don’t mind if I come in.” Then there was a hand on the door, forcing it open wider.
Daxter threw his weight behind the wood a second too late. Smaller and much less muscled, he was hardly a challenge as Erol strode in, sweeping his inconsequential human road block against the wall behind the door as he did so. Dax drew his breath to yell—maybe Phoenix or Torn or somebody would be willing to come help—and then Erol had a hand over his mouth, effectively smothering any noise that might have had a prayer of being heard out in the hall.
“None of that, now. You don’t want to ruin the fun right off the bat. We’re not even set up properly yet.”
The instinct to struggle and make this as difficult for his aggressor as possible fought with the learned urge to go limp and pray that lack of resistance would make the beating up that was sure to follow a little less severe. The ragdoll tactic had worked many times to his quasi-advantage.
He settled for biting the hand over his mouth.
A moment later he hit the bottom bunk on his back, hard enough that the air in his lungs bailed out with a whoosh. As he tried to get upright, something cold and hard closed around his wrist. It pulled hard, forcing his arm over his head, and before he could retaliate the other wrist had suffered the same treatment. Fuckin’ handcuffs? he had time to think dazedly, and then the hand was back over his mouth once more.
“Quit squirming, you little weasel,” Erol growled almost boredly. As Daxter watched frantically over the hand slowly cutting off his air supply, the older redhead pulled a roll of duct tape from his jacket pocket. “Okay, here’s how this is going to work…”
- // - // - // - // -
Jak whistled softly to himself as he climbed the stairs, spinning a bottle of orange juice around his fingers. It was shaping up to be an excellent mini vacation. Not only had none of the juice options been out of stock, unheard of for a Wednesday morning, but the line for fresh bacon and waffles had been nonexistent. A take out bag full of hot breakfast goodies swung from his triumphant grasp. He could get used to eighty percent of the dorm being gone.
Reaching their room, the quarterback shifted his breakfast and pulled out his keys, letting himself in quickly and quietly. He didn’t want to wake Daxter up if his roommate had managed to fall back to sleep after all.
Sleep seemed to be the last thing that was going to happen in their room, however.
Killer was running laps around his condo, a steady stream of high-pitched ferret noise blending with the rattle of shaken plastic and wire, perfectly complimenting the muffled yelling from the bottom bunk. There, in Jak’s bed, the room’s human occupant was a bit tied up at the moment. Literally.
Daxter was on his back, bent almost double. His feet braced against the slats that lined the underside of the top bunk, giving him leverage to pull futilely against the handcuffs securing his wrists to the bunk bed post above his head.
Jak dropped his waffles.
At the sound of the plastic bag hitting the floor, Daxter’s head jerked up. When he saw Jak he began to yell even louder, whatever words he was trying to form effectively smothered by the length of shiny silver tape over his mouth. His thrashing redoubled.
“What the hell is going on?!” Jak was at the bunk in an instant, disregarding the syrup beginning to ooze across the floor behind him. He grabbed the corner of the tape and pulled it off Daxter’s mouth as gently as he could, but it still garnered a yelp.
“Jak, I do not like this, Jak, I’m freakin’ out here—!” The verbal deluge poured forth as soon as the tape was free and red lips could move again. “I need to not be tied up, Jak, get me loose!”
The quarterback grabbed his friend’s wrists and fumbled with the handcuffs that secured him to the bed. “Okay, I’m fixing it, but you have to stop pulling! Did you do this to yourself?”
“Hell no I didn’t do this ta myself, ya freakin’ nut job!” Daxter yelled. “I ain’t that kinky, I promise!” He did, however, stop flopping like an out of water goldfish long enough for Jak to determine that the little lever that should have tripped the latch mechanism on the handcuffs, like the pair he and Keira used to play cops and robbers with when they were kids, was missing.
“These are real cuffs. Dax, who did this?”
“Well, gee, I dunno, fake jock! Who do we know who’s got access ta real police issue handcuffs and is also a psychopathic asshole out ta make my life a living hell fer reasons I can’t even begin to grasp?!”
“Since Razer isn’t in the criminal justice department, I guess that means I’m about to go scatter Erol’s teeth all over the hallway,” Jak said flatly, and stood abruptly. That snake had the nerve to come into his room and do this to his friend? The quarterback was going to—
“No, no, no, no, Jak, wait!” Daxter yelled, twisting around in a panic when it seemed like Jak might actually charge off right then and there in pursuit of justice. “He’s long gone, pal! Just get me loose, please!”
Jak turned a frustrated half circle, hands in his hair. As much as he wanted to drop everything and draw blood, Dax was right. First thing had to be first. “Okay, okay, right. Just—damn! I was only gone for fifteen minutes! How did he know when to—and why did you even let him in?”
“I dunno, maybe he was stakin’ us out! That’s creepy as hell, by the way. An’ I let him in because I thought he was you! I opened the door an’ bam.” The redhead huffed in what might have been embarrassment. “Anyway. I don’t think he was kind enough ta leave us a key ta these stupid things. What’re we gonna do, Jak?” He glanced beseechingly up at the green-blonde.
After a moment’s consideration, Jak grabbed the bed frame. “I’m going to pull the beds apart.” Though most roommates opted to keep the beds bunked simply to save meager room space, they could be un-bunked. A long metal rod went down the center of each bed post, keeping both frames securely fitted together. “I should be able to lift the top bunk enough. When I lift, pull the chain out.”
“Right, right.” Daxter sat up as straight as he was able and, crossing his wrists tightly, managed squirm around to face the bed post.
Jak gave a heave. The end of the top bunk rose easily off the bottom bunk, leaving a clear gap between wooden socket and metal rod that Daxter quickly pulled the chain through. The frame clunked back together as the redhead fell back on the mattress.
“Well, at least I’m not attached ta the bed anymore,” he said, tugging the chain to its meager limit as if hoping that it might decide to play nice and let him free. “Don’t suppose you know how ta pick locks?”
Jak stared hard at the problematic device. “The lock on an old barn door? Sure. The lock on a pair of new handcuffs? Probably not.”
“Great,” Daxter whined, ears drooping miserably. “It’s been one’a my life goals ta stay out’a juvie, an’ here I am stuck in cuffs. What am I gonna do, Jak?”
“Preferably I’d like to wipe the floor with Erol until he coughs up the key,” Jak growled, “but we have no idea where he is or how long it’ll take to find him, or even if he used a pair of cuffs that actually have a key. I wouldn’t put it past him.”
Daxter drooped even further at the thought.
Jak sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I hate to say it, but we might have to go to Torn on this one.”
“What?” Daxter balked. “No! No way I want Tattooed Wonder findin’ out about this!”
“It’s ask Torn for help or go ask the campus police if they have a spare key.”
“… so, where do you think our excellent RA might be on a Wednesday morning, Jak?”
As it turned out, the radio was playing in Torn’s room. Jak knocked firmly, hoping that the RA would make this quick. Daxter stood nervously behind him, ears low, glancing furtively up and down the hall to make sure no one was going to happen by and ask the obvious question about his new wrist accessories. Luckily the dorm remained mostly deserted.
Equally lucky, the door was opened surprisingly quickly.
“I’m assuming you two didn’t come here to visit, so what do you need?” Torn asked tiredly.
Jak cleared his throat. “Um. Help?”
“As beautifully vague as that is, I’m going to need you to elaborate,” Torn deadpanned. “Unless the answer is so horrible that I don’t want to know, in which case—”
Daxter stepped out from behind Jak and held up his hands. “Just can it an’ help us figure out how ta get these off me, wise ass.”
Torn stared at Daxter. Then at Jak. Jak and Daxter stared right back. Finally he stepped aside and opened his door wider with a deep sigh. “I’ve got a key to the maintenance closet. Wait here.”
“See, that wasn’t so bad,” Jak encouraged as Torn disappeared down the hall. He ushered Daxter into the RA’s room, out of sight of potential curious eyes until Torn returned. “Torn’s a good guy when you need him to be. Could have been a lot worse, right?”
“A lot worse like Jinx could’a slept over with Torn last night, an’ now he’s gonna know all about this too?” Daxter asked flatly.
A loud snore punctuated the redhead’s words.
Slowly, Jak looked back over his shoulder.
Jinx lay sprawled across the couch against the far wall, a tangle of blankets and dirty blonde hair. A jungle of textbooks, notebooks, highlighters, loose papers, empty cups, and crumpled taco wrappers littered the ground around the sofa, attesting to a successful academic sleepover.
The quarterback covered his eyes with one hand. “Okay. Yeah. That’s a lot worse.”
- // - // - // - // -
If Daxter had been displeased at finding Jinx witness to the sideshow he had unwillingly created, he was positively irate when Torn returned with company.
“Oh, come on! What’s she doing here?!” he yelled as Ashelin followed the older RA into the increasingly crowded room. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Torn and Jinx would see this; now the hot babe down the hall would know his shame. Seriously, fuck life this morning.
“That’s a very good question,” Torn grumbled, shutting the door behind her.
Ashelin smirked. “I saw you lifting a pair of bolt cutters from the tool closet. You really think I wouldn’t want to know what’s going on in here?”
“She’s got a point,” Jinx agreed, though a grand total of no one had asked for his opinion. He had woken up quickly (possibly with the help of a swift kick from Jak) and was slightly more upright on the sofa, putting his hair up into its customary ponytail. “So what’s the story, Red? You hit up an even wilder party on yer way home last night?”
Daxter’s ears slanted back, slowly turning red at the remembrance of what he actually had been doing the night before. “No, I did not go to another party. Can we just get this over with, please?” He extended his hands and shook them pitifully.
Jak plucked the bolt cutters from Torn’s grasp and sat down on the RA’s bed, beckoning Daxter to join him. “Here, I got this. Hold still.”
The redhead scrambled to oblige. He held his breath as Jak placed the cutters and squeezed. There was a grunt of effort from the quarterback, a tug, a snap, and the short chain fell in two. Jak hummed in satisfaction and repositioned the blades around the first length of metal circling Daxter’s wrist.
“But really, what’s with the cuffs?” Ashelin asked. She had taken up a perch on the edge of Torn’s desk, shapely bottom disrupting the sea of post-it notes stuck there. “You’re not on the run from the law, are you?”
“Oh, good. If the police take him maybe I’ll actually enjoy this so-called break,” Torn muttered.
“Sit on it an’ spin,” Daxter hissed as Jak tried to find the angle that would grip the metal loop without nipping the skin underneath.
“Not so much the police as one seriously creepy asshole with a police fetish who likes to force his way into people’s dorm rooms,” Jak grumbled. The bolt cutters bit into metal, but didn’t quite make it through. “Torn, what do you know about filing police reports for forced entry and chaining someone to a bunk bed?”
“What?!” Torn and Jinx yelled in unison, the latter nearly falling off the sofa in surprise.
“Jak!” Daxter screeched in disbelief as, with a second hard squeeze of the cutters, the cuff loosened on his wrist. “We are not filin’ any freakin’ reports! Why’d you tell them?!”
The quarterback dropped the broken cuff off the edge of the bed. “Of course we’re filing a report!” he argued. “You don’t not report an assault!”
“Okay, whoa. Time out. I want this whole thing absolutely straight.” Ashelin glanced from the two on the bed to her fellow RA. “Is this person from your hall or mine?”
Torn was scowling. “If it’s who I’m sure it is, he doesn’t even live on this floor. Erol, right?”
“Yes, it was Erol, okay? Ha, ha, let’s all laugh at the stupid prank Daxter was dumb enough to let happen to him an’ drop it, huh?” Daxter said desperately as Jak set to work on the last cuff. This whole thing was rapidly spiraling outside his control, something he didn’t like in the least.
“He came into your room uninvited and tied you up against your will. I think I have to side with Jak on this one,” Ashelin said seriously. “Pretty sure that qualifies as assault, and that needs to be reported.”
“Damn right it does! No one comes into my hall and—”
“Hang on, Torn,” Jinx interrupted, cutting off his friend’s budding tirade. “Red’s got a point.”
Daxter perked up immediately. “I do?”
“Unfortunately, yeah. Is there really any way we can prove malicious intent, here? People do stupid shit ta each other all the time in the dorms. Are most’a those things really bad ideas? Sure. Are most’a those things criminal offenses? No. An’ don’t forget how many friends the guy’s already got on the force.”
“Bullshit! That doesn’t mean he can—”
“No, it don’t, but just think about it fer a second.” It was strange to see the usually laid back lab instructor so serious. Strange and somehow unsettling. “Erol’s got connections and he knows all the legal loopholes because of those connections. Let’s say we file a report. What happens? It goes straight ta the people who’re already on his side. He claims it was all a joke an’ gets a warning, at best. We don’t got a leg ta stand on. An’ then he might give Red even more trouble.”
“Yeah, yeah, that last thing!” Daxter pointed out frantically. “Trouble is bad! If we just let it go, everything’ll be fine!”
“That’s what you said after what happened in the showers, too,” Jak started angrily.
Daxter slapped a hand over the green-blonde’s mouth. “Ixnay on the owershay, fake jock. That happened so long ago it seriously wouldn’t even matter now.”
Torn raised a brow, but ultimately let the exchange go uncommented on. “I still don’t like it. He can’t be allowed to think he can do whatever the hell he pleases around here with impunity.”
“I know what yer sayin’, pal,” Jinx sympathized. “Nobody wants that scumbag ta get what’s coming to him more than me. But I’ve dealt with the guy around campus before an’ talked to other people who have. I know how he operates. He’s got a whole network. We got nothin’ on him.”
“Actually… maybe we do.”
Everyone looked to Ashelin in surprise.
“Is this Erol a tall redhead? Does he have ink like yours, Torn?” she asked.
“Unfortunately, yes.” Torn looked like he might have been regretting his tattoos the slightest bit. “We were… loosely affiliated after high school. Same gang. Worst mistake I ever made.”
“Well, your life choices aside, I saw your creep in our stairwell about half an hour ago, leaving our floor. I was coming back up from breakfast. I almost gave him a verbal warning about being on the floor unaccompanied, but I couldn’t remember whether or not he was one of your residents.” Ashelin frowned. “I should have written him up.”
“If I’m not forgetting page eleven of the RA handbook, you still can.” Torn thought it over, ears back in concentration. “Okay. So at the very least, we have visual confirmation from an authority figure that he was somewhere he shouldn’t have been. That’s something. Ashelin, I want you to—”
“I’ll find out what floor he lives on and what room he’s in and slap him with a write up. If we ever catch him down here again, he’ll get another one and it will go in front of the dorm managers. Another offense after that and he’ll be kicked out of the building permanently.”
“Right.” The older RA nodded in grudging approval. “And in the meantime, I’ll write up a report of my own—names excluded,” he assured, giving Daxter a sidelong glare when it seemed the redhead might take issue with his plan. “I’ve been saying for two years now that we need cameras in the hallways. There was last spring break’s glitter bomb, the slip-n-slide incident right at the end of last semester, and now this. We need to be able to monitor who’s coming and going on every floor and what they’re doing.”
“Wait a minute, there was a slip-n-slide party in yer hallway? An’ you didn’t call me? What kind’a friend are you?” Jinx whined.
“The kind who let you get crumbs and drool all over my couch last night, you ingrate.”
“Oh, please. Ain’t the worst thing that’s been on yer couch—oww, hey, no hitting!”
At that, the impromptu summit seemed to take the cue to adjourn.
Ashelin hopped off the desk, straightened her pajama bottoms, and gave Torn a mock salute. “I’ll let you know when I’ve served the written warning. Keep me posted on what the managers say about the cameras. If worse comes to worse, I can always ask my father to donate the funds for some. He’s always up for some good publicity.”
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary, but… thank you,” Torn allowed, though he looked like the words caused him physical pain as he opened the door to see her on her way.
As soon as she was gone, Jinx aimed a smarmy smirk at his friend. “Admit it, yer sweet on her. Beauty, brains, and a knack fer authority—” He hit the couch face first a moment later, elegantly KO’d by a high velocity beanbag chair.
Daxter took the opportunity to slink out unnoticed, Jak hot on his heels.
“There is something seriously wrong with those guys,” Jak said as they made their way back to their own room.
Daxter rubbed absently at his sore wrists. They were already beginning to bruise. “I dunno. At least we know that Tattooed Wonder won’t die of malnutrition in there an’ nobody find his body fer weeks. Jinx’ll make sure he’s got some semblance of a social life.”
“I’m more worried about him killing Jinx and hiding the body in his wardrobe.”
“Aww, you do care about Jinx. How sweet.”
“How about not.”
When they reached their room, the smell of maple syrup was overpowering. Killer was staring attentively up from his cage, licking his lips in expectation. Jak sighed as he surveyed what was left of his breakfast. “Well, I guess I know what I’m doing today. The floor needed mopped anyway.” He picked up the syrup-soaked bag and fished out a waffle that had managed to stay inside the take out box. “We need to do the laundry, too.”
“We? What’s this I’m hearin’ about ‘we?’ No way, pal.” Daxter dug around inside their all-purpose drawer for the half full bottle of painkillers left over from Jak’s high impact encounter on the gridiron. “The only thing my ass is doin’ today is takin’ a nap. And maybe a shower. And maybe finding food that isn’t pizza. Later.” He twisted the cap off the orange juice Jak had brought in and chased the pills with a long drink that immediately did wonders for soothing his case of dry mouth.
Jak stopped sucking syrup off his fingertips long enough to ask, “Does your head still hurt?”
“Like the marching band’s holdin’ practice between my ears.” The redhead dropped heavily into his desk chair and rubbed his face with both hands. “Last night was just stupid. How many of those nasty things did I even drink?”
“I don’t know,” Jak chuckled. “You sucked most of them down before I got there, remember?” His fond smile never wavered, but his eyes slowly grew more intense. “Not everything about last night was completely stupid, you know.”
Daxter immediately found somewhere else to look as heat rushed to his face and ears. “Y-yeah, I guess not.”
“Why don’t you let me try to make your headache better?” Jak asked, sitting down on the edge of his bunk with an inviting half smile that promised a lot more than just a shoulder rub.
The redhead’s beats per minute abruptly accelerated like an Indy car. This was it! This was totally going to happen and he wasn’t drunk this time! “Uh, w-well, I—okay,” he stammered smoothly. He was actually rising from his chair when reason and pride prevailed. “Wait a second! I mean, no way! I’m mad at you.” He dropped back into the chair, turned away, and crossed his arms with a huff.
Jak blinked. “Mad at me? Why?”
“Because I went along with yer brilliant plan of askin’ Torn fer help so I could get the stupid cuffs off, not so everybody’d find out what happened an’ go on a an anti-Erol crusade! That guy’s gonna pulverize me! That’s what happens when ya fight back, fake jock—it gets worse!”
The quarterback drug a hand over his face. He looked like he was trying hard not to lose his temper. “Dax… Okay, look. I get it. I get why you think that. You think that because you’ve spent your whole life with no help and no other options, and you’ve been conditioned to believe that if you retaliate you’ll just get hurt worse. It pisses me off like you can’t even comprehend, but I understand.”
Daxter made the distinct effort to close his mouth. Occasionally he still managed to forget that his roommate spent more time watching and thinking than talking, and Jak was observant.
“But there’s something I don’t think you understand yet, Dax.”
He swallowed tightly. “Yeah? What’s that?”
“That you’ve got me now. You’ve got me, and Torn, and Jinx and Phoenix and Taryn and Ximon and you’ve got friends, Dax, who have your back, and you don’t need to be afraid anymore.” Jak’s blue eyes narrowed in obvious anger. “Oh, and also, Erol is not some almighty demigod that gets to be shitty to people because he just feels like it. If he treats you like this, he’s treating other people like this. Maybe he got away with that in high school, but in the real world, no. Screw that. We’re going to shut this down one way or another.”
Daxter quailed back in his chair, ears low. That might very well have been the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d made Jak mad. Again.
And Jak, true to form, seemed to know instantly what was wrong. “Hey, no, Dax—I’m not mad at you. I’m mad for you. And I don’t want you to be mad at me, but I guess you probably will be, because…” The green-blonde shrugged almost helplessly. “I can’t let Erol get away with this. I just can’t. Guys like him hurt people who can’t stand up for themselves. I can stand up.”
… oh God. Daxter’s eyes were stinging. Why did he feel like crying?! “Heh. I know ya can, fake jock.” He looked away quickly to hide the tell-tale watering. “An’ I’m not mad at ya. Not really. I’m just… I wish this whole morning never happened.”
“Well, that makes two of us,” Jak sighed ruefully. “Not the best way to start a break, is it.”
“I think a root canal might be more fun. Also dry shavin’ a rabid badger. An’ maybe also cleanin’ the dumpster at work. With a toothbrush.” Daxter took a deep, steadying breath and stood up from his chair. “Anyway, I think I heard somebody say they could get rid’a my headache. Wanna put yer money where yer mouth is, big shot?”
The seriousness that left Jak’s face was slowly replaced by a mischievous smirk. “Alright. Come on over and prepare to unwind.”
“Unwind, huh?” Though privately Daxter was getting more wound up by the moment, he took a tentative seat next to Jak on the rumbled bed.
“Believe it or not, I’m good for more than football and feeding the ferret.” Jak’s hands landed on the redhead’s shoulders and urged him to face the other way.
“Yeah, I bet yer mechanic girl had ya well trained.” Daxter relaxed marginally as those strong hands began to knead his shoulders. “… but seriously, if this is gonna be anything like that massage from the other night, consider me so unwound I’m comatose. You should minor in shoulder rubs.”
Jak chuckled. “Well, physical therapy and sports education can dovetail sometimes.”
Like shoulder rubs and boners? he almost asked, but bit his lip at the last second and sighed contentedly instead as the rhythmic kneading began to do its job. He closed his eyes and let his ears go lax as knots he hadn’t even known were there began to loosen. Mmm. Jakkie-boy should get a double minor—shoulder rubs and seduction.
Speaking of which…
Daxter cleared his throat, kept his eyes closed against whatever backlash might be forthcoming, and broached a topic that should probably be discussed sooner rather than later. “Hey, Jak?”
“Yeah?”
“Y’know the, uh… friendly benefits thing we talked about this mornin’?”
“Uh-huh.” The quarterback’s thumbs ran up and down the back of Daxter’s neck, teasing out sensations that bloomed into a case of full-body shivers. “You’re not changing your mind already, are you?” he teased.
“Dude, I did things last night I never thought I’d do in a million years,” the redhead said wryly. “And I’m kinda strangely mostly cool with that. So no, I’m not backin’ out.” He shuddered as Jak’s hands left his shoulders and wandered down his upper arms, tracing the subtle muscles of his biceps. “I just… how many benefits are we talkin’ about, here?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, how far are we gonna take all this?” Dax mumbled. He could feel his cheeks and ear tips reddening. “Are we just gonna do hand jobs an’ stuff—” oh shit this was so awkward “—or is it gonna be, like, everything? Like whipped cream an’ bondage an’ junk? ‘Cause I gotta tell ya, oh god, please don’t be pissed when I tell ya, I really don’t want the D in my A, if ya know what I’m sayin’.” He gulped a deep breath, then shot a suspicious glare over his shoulder. “What the hell’s so funny?”
Jak’s laughter wasn’t entirely muffled in the back of Daxter’s shoulder. “One: If I wanted bondage and whipped cream, I would have brought it up this morning when you were cuffed to my bed. Two: I know what you’re saying. I really don’t want that either. I think that’s still a little bit too experimental for me.”
Daxter was relieved enough to snicker. “What, you mean there’s still sex the almighty quarterback hasn’t experienced? Mechanic girl didn’t have the correct hardware ta get too freaky with ya?”
An almost disturbed look drifted across Jak’s face. “When Keira doesn’t have the hardware she needs, she makes the hardware. And if you had seen the size of some of the stuff she’s got stashed in her ‘special tool box,’ you would understand even more why I shut that down before it began.” He huffed. “Actually I had to do her homework for a week over chickening out of that challenge.”
“Pffff! That’s amazing!” Daxter cackled. “Did she make ya do it in a French maid outfit?”
“You are seriously warped,” Jak growled playfully. “I think I better give you something to laugh about!” His hands jumped from Daxter’s arms to his stomach, tickling mercilessly through his thin tee-shirt.
“Ack, no fair!” Dax shrieked and tried to bolt, but Jak was too close. The quarterback’s arms tightened, pulling the writhing redhead back onto the bed—and onto Jak’s lap. “Oh my god, you are awful!” Dax sobbed through his hysterical laughter. His stomach was Tickle Zone Numero Uno and Jak knew it. “Uncle, damn it! Uncle!”
“Nope, sorry. If Uncle was here he wouldn’t help you either.”
“Mercyyyy!” Daxter wailed, convulsing in Jak’s arms.
The tickling stopped instantly. “Now, was that so hard?”
Daxter went limp, back propped against Jak’s solid chest as he heaved and panted for air. “You really suck at this relaxing thing today, y’know that?” he huffed breathlessly.
“I’m sorry,” Jak murmured. His mouth was suddenly much closer to the redhead’s ear than Daxter remembered. “Let me try again.” Then the hand still on Daxter’s belly slipped underneath his shirt.
Daxter’s breath caught. He froze. The foreign hand was warm against the soft skin it rested on. Very slowly, he relaxed. “Okay, I’m payin’ attention.”
“Is this okay?” Jak asked, lips almost touching the edge of a red ear.
Dax shot one wary look at the door he already knew was locked, then reprimanded himself.
Okay? Was this okay? This was more than okay! This was what he had been wanting for weeks! Now that he and Jak were on the same page about dicks in southern orifices this was the most okay thing on the planet! …only, now that the moment of truth had arrived, his tongue had tied itself into a convenient pretzel knot. He tried to find his voice, opening and closing his mouth silently, before abandoning the effort. Instead he dropped a shaking hand to rest on top of Jak’s and pressed it downward.
The green-blonde allowed his hand to be directed—for a moment. As soon as it reached the waist of Daxter’s pants, though, he pulled away, stroking back up the redhead’s stomach. Then back down. Then back up. Then back down. Until he was almost petting his smaller friend.
Just when the twitching muscles under that teasing touch were about to rebel, Jak moved his hand higher, dragging Daxter’s shirt with it. Dax sucked a strangled breath when the hand moved across his chest, peaking his nipples almost instantly. He gave a stilted whine of mingled embarrassment and enjoyment.
So Jak did it again.
Daxter bit his lip viciously and fisted his hands in the blankets on either side of them as callused fingers rolled one hard pebble. His toes curled inside his socks. Okay, so the sensitivity to that accidental brush last week hadn’t been a fluke. Hoooooly shit.
“Still okay?” Jak asked.
Daxter nodded furiously, squirming on the quarterback’s lap. Jak’s thighs shifted under him.
“Want me to go lower?”
If he nodded any harder he was going to get whiplash. “Yes. Yes please. Now please,” he breathed. And then Jak’s hand was finally where it needed to be, cupping his straining erection through his pants and squeezing gently. Daxter arched into the touch and whined as quietly as he was able.
Jak hummed almost contemplatively as he traced the outline of what he was working with through the encumbering fabric.
Dimly, the thought that this was also a first for Jak penetrated the redhead’s fogged brain. He had never been touched before, but Jak had never touched another guy before. The first guy Jak had ever wanted to touch this way, was him. The thought hit home just as the exploring hand dipped inside his pants.
You will NOT come, Daxter ordered himself firmly even as his hips rose to press into the gloriousness that was Jak’s football-roughened hand. Ah, fuck these stupid pants! Why am I wearing pants?! I hate pants!
Jak seemed to be of the same opinion regarding Daxter’s state of dress. The hand still roaming under Daxter’s shirt finally abandoned its playground and joined its counterpart in the task of working his pants down. Dax squirmed helpfully. Jak made a low noise and rocked up into the movement on his lap.
“Sorry,” Daxter whispered.
“Don’t be. Seriously.”
Then Daxter’s evil pants were down—not all the way off, but enough that Jak had full access. The quarterback’s hand wrapped around him completely for the first time and the redhead melted.
“Want me to get the lube?” Jak asked. His voice was low and rough; his breath had begun to come unevenly.
“Let go’a my dick an’ I’ll never speak ta you again,” Dax whined desperately. The feel of Jak’s hand on him was nothing like his own ever was. It was bigger. And warmer. And rougher. And so, so much better.
Jak answered with a wordless hum and began to pump his hand. A rhythm began almost without Daxter’s notice. He thrust into the tunnel of Jak’s fingers, then back against the hardness he could clearly feel pressed against him. Jak’s mouth pressed to his shoulder, murmuring what sounded like encouragement.
Dax whimpered questioningly.
“Good,” Jak breathed, planting a kiss on the back of his neck, just below his ear. “Good, Dax. Just like that.”
The unexpected praise proved to be his undoing. The redhead jerked violently at the double handfuls of blanket in his grip and came, biting back what would surely have been a screech heard by their neighbors, their RA, and everyone else left in the hall. Jak held him tightly, grounding him against that rock hard chest as he thrashed and shook.
Remembering to breathe was the first and hardest part about coming down off the best orgasmic high he’d ever had. Daxter rag-dolled in Jak’s lap, letting the quarterback’s arms keep him from slipping off onto the floor. Jak was strong. He could handle it.
Jak chuckled, wrapping both arms around Daxter. “I’m guessing that means you liked it.”
“Mmmm,” Daxter answered intelligently with a deep, lazy, perfectly contented sigh. He felt completely boneless, like he could lay there in Jak’s lap like a spoiled ferret for the rest of the day. No no, for the rest of the break. Screw eating turkey tomorrow, he would just stay right there with Jak and—
A thought suddenly struck him and he sat bolt upright. “Shit, Jak, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean ta not wait on ya!”
“No, no, it’s okay,” Jak assured.
“No it ain’t, it’s pathetic,” Dax grumbled, face red. He hadn’t exactly been expecting his stamina to be perfect the first time around, but he had at least been counting on making Jak come, too. “Here, lemme return the favor.”
“You already did.”
Daxter blinked in confusion, craning his neck to look up at Jak. “Wah?”
Now the quarterback’s own cheeks looked a little pink. “You realize you were practically giving me a lap dance, right? I wasn’t not going to get off on that.”
Okay. Now it was official. He had died and gone to heaven. He had successfully navigated his first sober foray into sex and a cool, awesome, experienced guy like Jak had been able to get off just by grinding on him. Daxter didn’t know what he’d done to deserve such an outcome, but he would certainly take it! He couldn’t wipe the embarrassed, euphoric grin off his face. “Right. Well, uh, sorry ‘bout yer pants. I guess next time we both ought’a get ‘em off, huh?”
Jak laughed. “Like I said, we need to do laundry anyway.”
“Way ta ruin a moment, fake jock.” Then another thought occurred. “Hey, Jak? Does this mean I’m, like… not a virgin anymore?”
“Maybe. Why?”
“’Cause bein’ de-virginized would be awesome, duh.”
Jak thought about it. “We definitely just had some kind of sex. And then there was last night, so. Yeah, I’d say you’ve had sex.”
“Woo-hoo!” Daxter pumped a fist in victory. “Number one goal in life: achieved!”
“Oh, no, now what will you do? You’ll have to find a much less significant goal like graduating from college,” Jak deadpanned. “Alright, time to move. My pants officially feel gross.” He hoisted the redhead out of his lap with little effort, setting him on his feet. “Shower, then laundry?”
Daxter cheerfully pulled his pants back up where they should be. Yeah, those wet spots needed to be laundered. “Alriiiiight, laundry. I think I got some quarters around here somewhere.” The proposition of a day full of chores suddenly didn’t sound quite so bad. He had a feeling this was going to be the start of the best vacation ever.
Jak stood and casually began to strip.
Oh yeah, Dax thought, staring avidly and biting his lip. Definitely the best vacation ever.
- // - // - // - // -
To be continued.
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- 18
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