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Love is War	By : grimreaperchibi Category: +G through L > Jak & Daxter Views: 4214 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Jak & Daxter, nor the places, people, or objects within. I make no money writing this. Additional disclaimer within.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
A/N: Okay! I quit! I've been staring at this chapter for three days straight now and it's still not doing it for me, but I'm gonna screw it up if I fuss anymore. So if it's jumpy, ungangly, or spotty, I'm sorry. We fought, it won, though if it is something major, please tell me so I can fix it. On a happier note, however, we're now moving on to bigger, better things. The opening angst is almost done, I swear. Just hang on with me for a little while longer...
Robin: Plot and character building is what I'm good at, so get ready for a lot of it. And for the record, you're not allowed to quit. Ever. The world will cease to exist, or something, I'm sure of it.
Amaronith: Lets see if I can keep that level of excitement up, shall we?
Additional Disclaimer: The lyrics used within are part of the fair use clause of copyright law and remain the property of the individual artists and recording companies to which they belong. Any misconstruing/mistyping of the lyrics is strictly the fault of the author. All lyrics are used here only for setting ambience.
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Chapter 2 – Not Strong Enough (Apocalyptica featuring Brent Smith)
Daxter tapped his foot impatiently, eyes darting around in nervous trepidation. He didn’t like this whole set-up. There was something very wrong going on here. What exactly remained an unanswered question, though. Having spent most of two years learning first-hand the ins and outs of the concrete jungle he’d been locked into had given him that almost sixth sense that kept rat babies like him from being lunchmeat. It had saved him a time or two before, so he didn’t just ignore the feeling that this was…off somehow. Except there wasn’t really anything dangerous or threatening around; it just wasn’t as it should be. And for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why. He was surrounded by the same dirty, monochrome buildings and ashen scraps of sky he’d seen every day since crash landing in the hell known as Haven City. The Industrial Sector had always been particularly noted for its dreary, uniform aesthetic (though that may just be his personal bias speaking), but now it seemed even worse. He couldn’t seem to focus very well and none of the random thoughts that usually hung out in his head made that much sense. Maybe he was coming down with a fever…? That would go a long way to explaining why he felt so disconnected, why the buildings around him kept blurring together…
Some indistinct yelling drew his attention, such as it was, to the end of the alley he’d been forced to (volunteered to? He couldn’t remember…) wait in right before Jak flew around the corner. His friend wasn’t running per se, but definitely moving with enough purpose that all other thoughts were abandoned. If it was important enough to send Jak on his way, then Daxter needed to be on his toes. Something was probably about to get blown up and they needed to be somewhere else when that happened. He barely managed to open his mouth, intent on asking what had happened, when strong hands wrapped around his shoulders and shoved him back into a wall. The move took him by complete surprise and the world upended for a moment. He blinked to clear his head, trying to focus on Jak, who was suddenly close enough to take up his whole field of vision.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jak asked, voice and face almost painfully neutral.
There was no opportunity to even process the question, let alone answer because suddenly, Jak was kissing him…and kissing him none too gently, either. He struggled a bit a first, beyond confused with the what and why of this suddenly intimate situation, but whatever was wrong with his world right then made it a token effort at best. With fortified brick behind him and solid muscle in front, all Daxter could do was submit. He relaxed, and the kiss softened in turn, still edged with need, though no longer taking by force. Jak’s hands released their death grip on his shoulders to slide down and take a possessive hold on his hips, pulling them roughly together. He let out a surprised gasp as a rather demanding hard-on was ground into his immediately interested own. Then he moaned when Jak took the opportunity to press for a deeper kiss, tongue almost shyly sliding in to touch his own.
After that, the thought that something was faulty with this whole scenario was completely forgotten. There were more important things to think about. Like the breathy sounds Jak made when Daxter started kissing back, meeting each tentative touch with a sure, if not enthusiastic response. Or how safe it felt with those long arms wrapped around him, keeping them as close as physically possible. The texture of the hair his hands were tangled in, the warmth permeating his skin to reach places he’d never thought could be warm, the fingers flexing against his hips, and oh, yeah, that hot, hard length rubbing just right against his, slowly driving him into utter madness. That alone was much more important than questioning why this was happening in the first place.
So he didn’t. He gave in to the desperate need, moving against Jak the best he could. Their kiss broke down into a thousand little ones snatched in between frantic breaks for air. He tried to shift, tried to somehow increase the friction between them, but his feet refused to move. The problem was solved with a possessive growl that just about made his knees give out as Jak shifted his hold from Daxter’s hips to his ass, almost lifting him from the ground. It still almost wasn’t enough, there had to be more, but gods, he wanted it and Jak seemed to have absolutely no intention of slowing or stopping anytime soon. He arched and twisted in Jak’s hold, so close to the end they were both aching for…
…and landed flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling of an unfamiliar room.
No, scratch that. He knew where he was. Torn had begrudgingly given them another place to stay about a week ago. Not that Daxter had given him much of a choice; it was either move them to a new safe house, or find someone else crazy enough to perform his suicide missions. They had argued long and hard, but if it was one thing the redhead knew how to be, it was stubborn. In the end, Torn muttered something about still needing them on the Underground’s side and handed over a new key. Their new place was a vast improvement over the last. It was actually big enough to have a few pieces of real furniture. Sure, the table, chairs, lamp and bed were as worn as everything else in the slums, ready to collapse at the slightest hint of abuse, but for the time being, it was home enough.
Daxter took a deep breath and swore. A dream…the whole damn thing had been a dream! He didn’t know whether to be pissed off because he’d been so close, or grateful he’d awoken before making a mess of the bedding. He did manage a strangled scream of frustration as he stumbled into the bathroom. At least Jak wasn’t there (where the hell was he anyway?) to make this any more awkward than it already was; he was pretty sure he’d just curl up and die if he’d gotten caught in another wet dream. It had been mortifying the first time, even with the cover of complete darkness to act as a buffer. Even Jak wasn’t so naive he wouldn’t put two and two together after getting a repeat performance.
He barely made it to the bathroom before sheer desperation forced his hand down his pants. It was insane how hard he was, how badly he wanted. It hadn’t even been that erotic of a dream! Dry humping through clothing was nothing compared to the very first dream, where his best friend had gone down on him without hesitation or reservation. That had gotten him off twice, once during the dream itself and then again after he’d jerked awake, sticky, unsettled, yet still very hard. Or how about the daydream that started with them in the shower after that stupid sewer mission and ended with Jak getting ready to fuck him through a wall? Thinking about that one had almost gotten him busted two or three times now and not in a good way. At this point in the game, Daxter was pretty sure he’d imagined the two of them doing almost everything a person could do while having sex, several things that were blatantly impossible, and at least one that required him to have the flexibility of a rubber band, but would be fun to try anyway. There was a whole host of real visuals, lurid imaginings, and down-right kinky scenarios for his brain to flip through, trying to rouse that last little bit of lust that would send him flying over the edge, and what did he latch on to this time? The kiss. A hot, wet, throat swabbing, groan-inducing-just-thinking-about-it kiss that made him harder than he’d been in a while, granted, but comparatively nothing to really get worked up over.
Daxter groaned as his feet slid out from under him, legs trying to spread open further. Maybe it was because it was Jak who’d kissed him that made the whole thing unbearably sexy. Hell, he hadn’t even really thought about sex since the Misty Island fiasco. It had seemed like a moot point as an ottsel, and even though he was of the correct age (and now species) to fully appreciate a warm body entwined with his, simply staying alive had taken precedent over any sort of personal sexual expression. Then he’d seen Jak in that damn Guard transport, barely alive and unresponsive, but that was a hell of a lot better than the dead Daxter had thought he was at the time, and the floodgates had opened. His sex-drive had jumped out of neutral and straight into overdrive. Every night since then, no matter how tired or fried he was from whatever near miss they’d escaped from that day, he’d dream of the two of them together in ways that had never crossed his mind before. And every day, he worked harder at trying to keep them to himself.
Despite the need to get off and do so now before there were some very uncomfortable questions to answer, his hand refused to hurry along as well. The strong, sure strokes weren’t too fast or too slow, just aggravatingly not enough. Frustrated tears gathered in his eyes as he forced himself to stop and take off his gloves—he did not need chaffing there, and warm, slightly sweaty hands felt better than worn leather. Not that if it had been Jak’s hand he would have cared in the least… That was off topic; he needed to focus! Getting discouraged was only going delay the process. He closed his eyes and tried to relax back against the door, letting his mind do whatever it wanted.
…He was still in the bathroom, but now Jak was there too, watching him with those dark blue eyes that refused to give anything away. Daxter bit back another groan, embarrassed and turned on by the scrutiny. He probably liked it too much. Not so much the being watched while he was getting off part, but the fact that he had the whole of Jak’s attention. There was always too many other things going on, someone else to shoot, somewhere else to go, that sometimes he felt lost in the mix. Being the sole focus of thought, even for a moment, was as exhilarating as it was unnerving. His hand faltered slightly as a particularly sharp jolt of pleasure rushed down his spine. Another hand, this one much larger than his own, wrapped around his to help reestablish the rhythm, the grip just that much tighter, the pace just that much faster. In no time, he was panting again, little whines escaping from a jaw clenched tight. Jak leaned forward, hovering over him. His body tried to arch up, desperate for some other kind of contact, but the blond remained just that little bit out of reach, pushing their hands harder and faster all the while.
Finally, Jak seemed to take pity on the writhing body beneath his. “You should tell me,” he said quietly before drawing Daxter into the softest of kisses…
He bit down harshly on his hand to muffle his scream of completion only to have his throat constrict and cut off all noise for him. The world disappeared in a mad rush of heat that was almost too intense to handle, yet he never wanted to end. When it did come to an end, he curled reflexively into himself, trembling and twitching through the aftershocks, his other hand still idly stroking the last bits of pleasure out. Then his body relaxed completely with one final shudder, hot and cold and numb and over-sensitized all at once.
The lingering bliss ended all too quickly. His first rational thought was panic—how long had he been in there? Had Jak come back yet? Heard? He pushed himself off the floor and onto watery knees, leaning heavily against the sink as the feeling began to return to his limbs. Some water on his face and a few slow breaths brought his focus back. He started cleaning up, hands still shaking, while the accusations ran thick through his mind. This was wrong. Jak was his friend. Jak was already in a relationship with a gods-honest girl like it was supposed to be, even if she was MIA right that moment. He’d endured Precursors’ knew what at the hands of a messianic megalomaniac and his certifiable commander for two years, been free for just about a month and was currently the most wanted man in a city that was on the losing end of a war. Getting involved romantically with another guy, especially the one who was partly responsible for all that bad stuff to begin with was such a horrible, far-fetched, idiotic move that—
Daxter stilled in his clean up, rethinking that last line. That’s what was different. That was why a kiss was enough to send him into blind, mindless ecstasy. Because somehow it had gone from being just about sex to something deeper and infinitely more complicated. Now that he thought about it, in all of the other dreams and fantasies he’d harboured since learning Jak was still alive, they had never once kissed before today. No foreplay, no talking, no emotion. It was just getting off in the fastest way possible, supposedly with no strings attached. Even in the loneliest of moments, he had never called their weird symbiosis a relationship and thought of it in romantic terms. Stress relief, curiosity, the product of too much focused intent…whatever the fuck it was that was causing these dreams in the first place, there wasn’t anything more to it.
Was there?
The ghost of a once prominent smile flashed through his mind, accompanied by the low, rumbling chuckle that was still a touch too dark to be real humour echoing in his ears. The small flutter those things made in his chest turned to painful wrench as realization sunk in. He tried to laugh and almost cried. Oh Great Dead Precursor Gods, he was. He really was…
“I’m such an idiot.”
The rest of his cleaning was hurried. More cold water on his face got rid of any lingering blush his skin might have kept. He made sure to splash lots of water around to hide the fact that certain places had been actively washed. Then he took and held a deep breath, pushing all his errant worries and thoughts aside. Ifs had no place on the streets of Haven City. Only what was and what was not mattered. If he did nothing else with his day, Daxter was going to survive it and he was going to make Jak survive it, too.
Another breath and he stepped out to see Jak just coming in, the bag in his hand smelling distinctly like hot bread. Ah, that’s where he’d gone—breakfast. Torn had finally decided he was done being pissy with them and had called for a mission briefing at the ass-crack of dawn. Personally, Daxter was more than content to stay were he was. The consistency of shelter, protection, and warmth had already done serious damage to his routine and the thought of sleeping on the street or in a busted up zoomer was almost torture after sleeping in a real bed. Jak was chomping at the bit, however, more than ready to leave it all behind for another wave of frenzied violence against the Baron. Despite having to work harder keeping certain parts to himself, the reprieve had given them the chance to be something other than circumstantial accomplices in a drawn out game of revenge. They had become real friends again, something that had almost less meaning out there than being a lover. It hurt being force to give up that much, his recently recognized emotional attachment notwithstanding.
Daxter smiled away the concerned look he received, doing what he did best by saying everything and absolutely nothing at the same time. They shared the fresh buns while going through their last equipment check. He complained about being left behind until Jak pointed out they wouldn’t have breakfast otherwise and that if it was that big of a deal, he could stop eating at anytime. An immature finger flip and a bun stuffed almost whole into his mouth probably saved him from doing or saying something stupid. Then they were out the door, feeling ready for whatever Torn threw their way.

***

“Are you two going to be okay?” Tess asked quietly.
Her voice was directed to Jak, but her eyes were locked on the unmoving form of Daxter. The same Daxter, who had upon entering the Hip Hog simply walked behind the bar, picked up an armload of various bottles, curled into the darkest corner he could find and started drinking. Jak had to blink a few times to refocus his eyes on his friend. He still couldn’t tell if the redhead was asleep, or if he had just run out of things to drink away. In either case, there was a wall of empty bottles between him and the rest of the world.
“We’ll survive,” he finally said, looking back to his own glass. It was empty again and he didn’t remember drinking most of it. In fact, he didn’t remember how many glasses of beer he’d gone through since settling in himself. Ultimately, he decided he didn’t care, but that he’d probably had more than enough for the night. Morning. Whatever time it was.
“Would it help to talk about it?”
He knew the pretty barmaid was just trying to be nice. She didn’t deserve to be snarled at or told off just because she was a convenient target. Didn’t lessen the urge any, though. How would it help to talk about something she couldn’t possibly begin to understand? Haven was everything she knew. She’d been born and raised with brackish water, dirty streets, too many people crammed into a space too small and buildings so tall they blotted out the sky. She wouldn’t know what the sea smelled like or how the waves sounded as they brushed warm sand, what it was like to see the sky light up with countless stars or the freedom that existed because there was barely a break between nature and civilization. And because Tess didn’t know any of those things, she couldn’t understand their loss.
A part of Jak hated her for that.
His lack of response was apparently answer enough. Tess picked up his glass and set another in front of him. “I need you to drink this before I’ll let you go,” she said, pushing what now registered as a glass of water closer. “Make sure he drinks some, too, or you’ll both be sick when you wake up. And Jak?” He looked up. “I know I might not understand what may be going on, but I’m a damn good listener. Sometimes, that’s all you need.”
He managed a half-coherent nod before she walked away. Another nice gesture he felt like growling about. If he had something that needed to be said, he would say it himself. And if he needed someone to listen to him, Daxter would listen to him. Right now, though, he needed neither of those things. He didn’t want to think, or feel, or do anything. Wasn’t that the point of drinking in the first place? He shook his head again and promptly turned his thoughts elsewhere. Unlike all the alcohol that had appeared, then disappeared from in front of him, Jak drank the water slowly as he tried to consider their options for the night. The safe house they were supposed to be using was literally on the other side of the city. Then again, any place he felt comfortable crashing for a few hours was a long way from where they were. Which meant the real question was did he feel steady enough to try driving there, or were they walking. Considering he couldn’t remember how much alcohol had passed in front of him, it wasn’t really a question.
Tess gave them a sympathetic smile when they finally left. It was still dark and miserably cold, but at least it had stopped raining. That had to have been the worst part of trying to clear out the Metalheads from Dead Town, the constant drizzle that had left them soaked and chilled within minutes of starting. It was unpleasant enough to go sloshing through the acidic muck and crumbling structure. The rain had only made it that much more difficult to find stable footing and fight enemies who obviously relished such conditions. And they’d just kept coming, too, wiggling out of shadows he’d sworn he’d cleared, always ten more just around the next corner, their high pitched screams made sharper by the white noise of the rain. Well, it was the worst part beyond having that little unvoiced hope that someday, somehow, they’d find a way home die miserably with a tiny, almost unheard gasp. Then the rain had just been insult on top of injury. Gods, today had sucked.
Now though, walking through the damp streets almost devoid of all other pedestrians, it seemed as if the city had been trying to wash itself up a bit. The prevailing smell of rot had mellowed out under the clean scent of ozone. Lights reflected off the thin layer of moisture still clinging to the ground, brightening the otherwise drab, utilitarian landscape. Even the overbearing, omnipresent shadow the Palace made seemed less threatening, all shiny and lit up against the black night sky. Maybe it was just the booze talking, but it did look kinda pretty in its own, unique, alien sort of way. Too bad he already knew how ugly it really was under the gloss and colour, or he might have been tempted to think maybe this could become home.
Whatever Daxter thought, the redhead was keeping to himself. With the exception of his “I need to get drunk” right after exiting the old city airlocks, he hadn’t said anything. Looking at him now, it was almost impossible to tell he’d been drinking at all. Unlike the time he’d been “helping” Tess with her undercover work and drunkenly told Krew off (which, now that he thought about it, was the only time he’d ever seen his friend hammered), he looked and acted stone-cold sober. There was no weaving to his steps, loud singing, noxious hiccups or belches, or any other obvious signs as Jak had come to know them that signaled inebriation. If he hadn’t been able to smell the saloon on Daxter’s clothes, known him well enough to realize the pink tinge his ears had taken wasn’t normal, or been there watching the whole time, then no one would have been the wiser.
The silence made for a very long walk, but in a way, Jak was glad for that. The cold and forced movement seemed to have helped burn off any lingering fumes in his head, leaving him comfortably numb inside and out, yet still in some semblance of control. That merely meant that he didn’t look like an idiot when he reached for the safe house key because almost nothing would have saved him from the awkward tackle that sent both him and Daxter to the floor as soon as the door closed. He went down with an undignified yelp and a grunt as he was landed upon. He rolled to see if his friend was okay, only to be confronted by a very intent, glassy-eyed look. Wait. He knew that look.
“Dax, whatever it is, don’t. You’re drunk.”
“Then it’s the prefect time to do somethin’ stupid.” And then Jak felt the electrical shock of warm lips pressing against his own.
The reaction was instinctual; his arms wrapped around the form on top of him while the rest of him relaxed back against the floor, eyes drifting shut. He tilted his head a little more to the side, sealing their mouths together in a more comfortable manner. His hands splayed out over a thin back and slowly, unconsciously, began stroking. Daxter made a small noise, something between surprise and pleasure, and arched into the contact. A hand curled into Jak’s hair, touching and petting in return. Then one of them shifted slightly, making them both moan softly. At that point, it seemed only right to try and make the noise again.
He didn’t get the opportunity. The warm, wet mouth that had been attached to his pulled away. Soft kisses were spread across his jaw. A hot cheek pressed against his as warm breath rolled over his ear right before teeth latched on, giving it a gentle tug that was soothed by a quick flick of a tongue. Another small moan worked free from Jak as a tingle slipped down his spine, making him arch. Daxter stole the opportunity to kiss down his throat, alternating between firm licks and the gentlest scraping of teeth over sensitive skin. His hands moved lower and felt his friend shudder in response. Just when he thought those lips were going to descend on his again, everything stopped. He slowly opened his eyes to see Daxter still poised over him, looking flushed, hurt and so very lost.
“You…” His voice was raw, breathless. “You’d totally let me do whatever I wanted to ya right now…wouldn’t you?” The question went unanswered as Jak watched something else inside him break down. “Fuck,” he mumbled, crumpling, burying his face into Jak’s shoulder. “Fuck! You weren’t supposed to respond, weren’t supposed to like it! Yer supposed ta throw me off an’ be disgusted an’ tell me off fer bein’ drunk! An’ ya fuckin’ just let me…” The rest was incoherent.
Okay, Jak was officially confused. What the hell just happened? He took a deep breath against the sudden rush of light headedness as the situation slowly caught up with him. “Dax? Daxter, come on.” He rolled his shoulder and pushed at his friend, half holding him up to see his face. “Talk to me. What are you going on about?”
“Yer supposed to—”
“I got that part,” he interrupted. “Tell me why.”
“’Cuz yer not supposed to like kissin’ me. If ya don’t like kissin’ me, the dreams’ll go back to bein’ just ‘bout sex. An’ if it’s just sex, then I don’t feel like an idiot fer wantin’ somethin’ I can’t have. I won’t fuck up what we are now an’ you won’t hate me…”
“I told you, I don’t hate you.”
“Even knowin’ I’ve been usin’ you as jerk-off material for the last couple months?” A sardonic smile greeted Jak’s widening eyes. “Yeah. Months. Ever since I figured out you were still alive, I’ve imagined us doin’ all sorts of kinky stuff. You’ve gotten me off more in the last month alone than I ever managed back home.” He flinched a little at the last word, but recovered quickly. “Figured it was just hormones puttin’ on a face ‘cuz I don’t trust anyone else an’ it’s borin’ if yer by yerself. Embarassin’, but meanin’less.” The expression faded into wistful sadness. “An’ then ya went an’ kissed me. Ya kissed me an’ it felt so good I didn’t want ya to stop… But people just havin’ sex don’t kiss. People in relationships kiss.” He started sinking down again, like he was trying to hide from something. “People who’re in love with each other kiss… Not fuck-buddies, an’ especially not pretend ones…”
Daxter’s head nuzzled into his shoulder again, leaving Jak to stare at the ceiling and collect his thoughts. …He didn’t even know where to begin. Wasn’t this supposed to be weird? He had just been kissed by his best friend…the guy that flirted with anything with a generous bust line and a nice ass. Forget the fact that they were two guys, because after two years in prison he’d learned that affection was affection regardless of who was giving it, not that he’d cared that much to start with. No, it was weird because they were friends. The best of friends. Practically brothers for all intents and purposes. Especially now, when there was no one else to turn to. You didn’t want to make-out with your brother, hear him moan, feel him pressed against you.
But…who else was a better candidate? Who knew him better? Who cared the most about him, cared for him as a person and saw past the parts that were dark and scary? Who else would laugh and tease him in a good way about his inexperience with such things? While it was certainly possible this wasn’t Daxter’s first kiss, it was Jak’s. The happy, fluttery feeling in his stomach, the warmth in his chest, the tingle in his lips…it was everything kissing was supposed to be in his mind, given to him by the one person he truly trusted. So maybe it wasn’t as weird of a situation as he thought…?
Perhaps the more important question was if he hadn’t been plastered and feeling like the world had already ended, would Daxter have ever said anything? If it hadn’t been literally thrown in his face as a possibility, would Jak himself have ever contemplated the merits of moving beyond their current friendship? He didn’t know…
He said as such and received a snore in response. Jak rolled his eyes. At least that much hadn’t changed. True to brattish form, you argued with Daxter on Daxter’s time schedule and this round’s time had evidently run out. Someday, he was going to get the last word in, even if it killed him.
Jak rolled his friend off as nicely as he could, taking a moment to let the room settle before getting back to his feet. There was serious consideration given to just sleeping on the floor. He ultimately rejected the idea; however bad they were going to feel in the morning would only be amplified and compounded if they spent the rest of the night there. Somehow, he got them both sprawled out on the bed in a semi-comfortable fashion. Daxter was just going to have to deal with sleeping amid all his squirreled away possession because Jak had no interest in trying to find them all. He gave the room a half-hearted sweep out of habit before settling down himself, haphazardly pulling a blanket over them to keep out the chill. When he fell asleep, it was while watching Daxter’s face, wondering if all that much would really change between them if they decided to be more than friends.
***
And it's killin’ me when you're gone away,

I wanna leave and I wanna stay,

I’m so confused, so hard to choose

Between the pleasure and the pain.

And I know it's wrong, and I know it's right.

Even if I try to win the fight,

My heart would overrule my mind,

And I’m not strong enough to stay away.
~Not Strong Enough – Apocalyptica feat. Brent Smith~
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To be continued.
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Love is War