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The Off Days: Such A Great Pal

I was just as surprised that nothing seemed different the next day, really. I got over what had happened the night before while he was sleeping, and decided not to let it bother me any more than feeling sort of dirty for having watched him. But I've watched a girl or two the same way. So it's not that big of a deal. Going to bed rather late, Daxter was the one to wake me up this morning, like he usually does when he's up first, hopping up and down on me and calling me lazy. It always works, too. The little bastard knows all of my buttons.

Dressing around him felt only a little odd, and I ignored it. We then stepped out, and went on our way to help give the Yak cows some exercise. That old man wasn't in any shape to take them the route he used to walk them on, so every few days we'll do it for him. Enough time to have a small meal for Lunch and then bring them back home. By the time it's all said and done, the night is coming near again, and the sun is casting that familiar orange glow across the skyline. On our way out the door the old man gave us a tip-off of sorts. He's rather loony in his own way, really. I think he missed out on his youth and being a nuissance, so now he lives through the kids of the village by trying to coax us into prankish deeds. Of course, I would normally not do any such thing after what happened to Daxter, but he's become like that little devil sometimes, always on my left shoulder, always preaching about how I'm too soft anymore.

So we left after he badgered me with prodding and nagging, and of course, calling me useless and skiddish. That always does it. Before long, we're on our way to this tip-off. Apparently, the fisherman is also hording a fresh supply of alcohol of some sort. And if we give him some form of payment or assistance, he'll share with us. I didn't think he'd give it to just anyone, even after the favor, but Daxter and his persistent egging taunted me into giving it a shot.

As usual, it isn't long before we arrive at the Fisherman's place, his equipment outside and unused right now. But there was a dim light inside. Right after I give a knock to his door, the Fisherman bellows gruffly, "Who is it?! You have any idea what time it is?!"

Without missing a beat, Daxter hollers right back, "Quit yer yappin' and open the door! We've got business!" At that point, it's like a whole new world of situation had opened up for us right along with that door, and the large fellow greets us with a silent grin. Since it's Daxter's wish to have this alcohol, it's his matter to argue with the old guy. I don't care either way. And he certainly does, nagging the guy with just as much vigor as he does me.

"Want some of the Ale, eh? Alright. It's too dark to be doin' anything out there, so I'll just put you on a tab. And I intend to collect, so don't think you can be avoiding it. I'll expect to see you in two days. Tomorrow you'll likely be too hung over to bother coming back." Stepping back inside, the old man offers us entry, and I step in to shut the door behind me. The interior of the man's house was much of what I was expecting. Cluttered with hand-made dishware, a makeshift wooden table, and chairs from small barrels. There's even clothes bundled under what looks like a cot, more fishing equipment in here, and a few larger barrels and chests. With all of the clutter, the room seems somewhat small for such a large fellow, but he seems to be comfortable in it. He could certainly build himself more room if he needed to.

Without much talking, I'm surprised to find a large mug sitting in front of me, looking as though it's been poorly washed, and smelling of something strong. A much smaller one made up for Daxter, apparently, and a third, for the old guy. Sitting down with the drinks, both of the chairs we sit on creak, though his much more than mine, but it still causes me to scoot back carefully, to even out my weight so that it doesn't break. At this point, smalltalk clutters the little cabin, mostly between Daxter and the old fellow, with a few comments from myself. The old guy seems interesting, but mostly interested in us and our motives for the future. The whole time, I've been taking my alcohol slowly, watching as Daxter guzzles his down right along with the guy. And it isn't long before Daxter's rather wasted on the effects. The fisherman is apparently much better at holding his drinks, as he's gone through several with seemingly little change, though he has managed to drive the conversation into a rather lewd topic of what local girls are attractive and what he's seen of them. It makes me blanch a little while he talks about it. Something I really don't care to picture. By now I've started faking drinking at all, and the guy is getting further and further like Daxter.

The little rat of a friend is barely able to stay on the table, much less my shoulder, though he can apparently still hold onto the conversation to some extent, sharing in the old guy's fantasy chatter. With only another hour of talk, the old guy finally decides that happy hour is over, and doesn't even usher us out the door before he takes himself to bed. Buzzing but not wasted, I decide to turn out his light and close his place up for him before heading homeward with Daxter in tow. I like this feeling. The buzz, I mean. It's more satisfying than being sick or stupid with drunkenness. I've been drunk before, but I can easily go without it. It's the buzz I find most enjoyable.

"L's stoppere." Daxter's talking again. Or trying, as the case may be. I keep going for a moment, "Stop, I sed!" The little Ottsel prods a finger into my ear--That bugs the shit out of me.

"Fine, we'll stop for a minute." After putting him down on the ground, I find a nearby large rock, climbing up to sprawl across it. It's still warm from the sunlight baring down on it earlier today.

Daxter manages to get up onto the rock right next to my leg, "Y'know..." Oh boy, he's not done talking yet, "'M always ridin' around on ya'n stuff, an' you nev'r complain or n'thin'.." His words are a mess. It's a wonder he can stand up, "Y'r a real good pal fer that, Jak." Out of the edge of my eye, I can see Daxter's short furry head weaving randomly as he ventures closer to my head, looking down at me with almost glazed eyes, mouth barely open...He looks like he's just staring through me and the rock, lost in his imagination.. It looks just like he did the night before, right after he'd 'finished'.. When he was on the roof.

Now almost right by my face, Daxter crouches down to give me a stern looking, his tail not helping much as he starts to lean, catching himself from toppling completely with his hand. He balances himself again in that crouch, "S'ch a great pal. I aughta do somethin' nice fer ya sometime t'show ya how much I'm appreciatin' it." This really isn't sounding anything like Daxter. He never gets this grateful in his right mind. And he's acting all serious, too. In a stupid way. Another reason why I don't like getting wasted. God I hope he doesn't start crying...or throwing up. But without another word, he just turns and wobbles away from my face, like he'd just come off a fast-spinning merri-go-round. I didn't think to lift my head up to watch to make sure he'd not fall down, but then it didn't matter, because I felt him step over my shin, his tail very lazy and tired right now, as I could feel the whole length of it just drag across my leg while he stepped over it like a log.

The sky is just as beautiful tonight as it was the night before. A few scattered traces of clouds, but nothing massive enough to blot out the moon as it shone down upon myself and my best friend. Almost strong enough to feel warm in the cool night air, "Jak?"

I lifted my head to look down, Daxter sitting at the edge of the rock, resting on his elbows with his head is bobbing randomly from side to side, "Yea?" I answered. Didn't want him thinking I'd fallen asleep.

The Ottsel comments again in a whimsical manner, "'M gonna do s'm'thin' real nice fer you, Pal." That comment had me wondering. Knowing Daxter, 'something nice' meant he was going to try to talk a girl into dating me, or try to get something for me that usually ends up with me moving in to save his ass. But right now he's drunken himself stupid, so it's likely not as much to be concerned about.

Lying here on the rock, there aren't any breezes tonight. The air is calm, and the warm rock is very soothing. And it's not long before I start to drift off. I'm sure I didn't even get to sleep before something got my attention. A sensation somewhere. By the time my mind is aware, my head lifts up to try to see rather than feel. What's in my sight surprises me. My fly is open, and my half-aroused cock is exposed to the cool air. And wrapping his fuzzy little hands around it, Daxter is still awake, rubbing over my shaft. He's not even looking at me, but at what he's doing, like he has to concentrate all of his attention on it. I was stunned. This was wrong and surprising. But I knew he was drunk, "Daxter, don't.." The Ottsel didn't seem to hear me, squeezing my shaft in a sensitive spot. It makes my leg jerk just a little, but I should stop this. It's not right. If he were in his right mind, he'd never have done this, either. But it's not something a guy can just tell his friend not to do. Saying not to do it out loud seems so awkward, as if it'd be worse than the act itself. But what if Daxter realizes the next day? Our friendship could be in jeopardy.

Another twinge of pleasure from Daxter's lucky grip and my cock grows to full strength, now throbbing in his paws. This is something I never would have suspected in any event. Just as I reach down to grab him, he does the unthinkable. My eyes widen as I watch in near horror as the Ottsel sloppily tucks the end of my dick into his mouth. The resulting tingle of pleasure makes the muscles in my butt and thighs tense up, and I give off an involuntary grunt. He must've hit a very sensitive set of nerves right then, because I couldn't even move. But then he took his mouth away, "D'it hurt?"

Considering it as my only chance, I grab at him again, scooping the little orange Ottsel up into my hand and setting him away from myself, only shaking my head as I quickly tuck my cock back into my shorts and sit up altogether, "No. I'm too tired. We can do this later." ...I should have said that we shouldn't have done it at all. That would've been the right thing to say. But I couldn't tell.. Either I wanted to deal with him in a way so as to get the least objection. ..Or maybe I felt there actually could be a 'later'.

Luckily, the only comment drawn from the Ottsel after that is a single 'Okay'. And he easily falls asleep in my arms on the rest of the way to the village. In our hut, I quietly carry him to his hammock and set him in it, before getting over to my own bed. The last few days have just been too strange to account for. But hopefully the next day will be more normal. Hopefully...he won't remember any of it.