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--- A few woids from the Author...

Hey, kiddos. Dunno if any of you folks will like this, but then I didn't write it for you so much as I wanted to test my ability to focus and discipline myself to create something like this from beginning to end. But regardless, feel free to let me know what you think. Except for those of you out there who find it amusing to go around badmouthing those who only wish to express themselves. I can't tell you not to comment, but I can tell you that I'll ignore it perfectly, so don't bother wasting your carpal tunnel on me. >=)

I'm not going to give my normal handle or my real name here, for matters of privacy in regard to sexual nature. I prefer to keep my professional life detatched from my private life.

This is a fiction written based on Jak and Daxter, moreso on Daxter than Jak, even though it's in Jak's first-person. Granted, I haven't finished Jak 2 or even played Jak 3, so the concept might be out of place, but I like to assume that they would have had a bit of 'down time' after the action of the first game, the Precursor Legacy.

Anyway, I'm sure most of you won't really read this so much as skip past the second dashed line to get on with the smut, so I'll stop typing here. Feel free to offer me constructive criticism if you'd like.

---

The Off Days: Just Another Evening

It's about that time again. Just after the sun's gone down and the breeze from the ocean picks up, when it's dark enough out there for him to slink off like he does. I usually try to pretend that I'm up to something else. But the truth is that I've gotten to where I just wait for it for some odd reason. Almost as much as he does every night.

The sound of his movement makes my ear twitch and my heart jump, shoving a sudden but limited amount of adrenaline through my body. As if I'd been caught talking out loud or staring at him without realizing it. The turn of my head reveals what I expected, though. Daxter just out of his bed and crossing the floor to the small window that he always uses.

Pausing at the sil of the window, he turns his head to look right at me, like he's trying to excuse himself, "'M goin' fer a walk." That's the line he always gives me just before he goes. Why he bothers is beyond me. From the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice, I'm sure he knows that I'm aware of what he's doing every night. Especially after the first few times, when he'd refuse my coming along. Daxter doesn't go for a walk at all. He just goes out that window and climbs around and up onto the roof of the hut. I wouldn't know about it, really, but he doesn't try to hide it as well anymore. As often as he goes up there, it's almost as if the thrill of what he does got boring without the risk of getting caught, so he makes it more obvious to keep it exciting. But that's probably just me assuming things.

As small as Daxter is now, he can go practically anywhere in the village to do something secretly like that. Sometimes I've wondered if I should get mad at him for going up there where it's not impossible for him to get spotted.. But then I remember whose fault it was that he was made this way. Maybe he'd have a girlfriend if he were still normal. Either way, it's best that I give him his privacy, as the least I can do for him. As a friend.

Shortly after his exit, I can hear the customary steps he takes to get to the rooftop. There's a small rope he's put up there with knots on it so that he can climb the way up, and it causes the beam it's attached to to shift slightly. Enough to make a whispered sound over the silence of the hut. After getting up there, he always moves around to the side facing away from the rest of the village, toward the ocean. It's also in the shadow away from the lights at night, so it does well to hide him.

Once he's settled down the room goes extra-quiet, like the air is compounded by some unspoken shameless motive. After a moment of it, I get to a point where I'm practically straining my ear from my seat on the floor, trying to listen in. Even though just a moment ago I was telling myself I'd give him his privacy.

I'm not into guys or anything. I just have to want to catch him in the act. After all, it's a side of him I never see, and, well.. I feel sorry for him sometimes, because of how he's all fuzzy now and not like me anymore. I feel like I aught to make sure he's still happy. Truly happy and not just faking it. Like it's my responsibility.

Turning my head toward the door, I start thinking about ways to see him without letting him know. Maybe I could go across to the main building. I might not be able to see him from there, though.. He does a good job of hiding, after all. But I could try getting into the tree, next to the old Yak cow guy's place. I could probably see him from there. Though I might be in plain view of him at that point.. And that's when I start to consider the window that he uses all the time. I keep thinking it over for a long, quiet moment, until my body starts to move without me, and my mind finally catches up.

My sandals come off first. They'll be harder to sneak with, after all. And if he catches me, there's no telling what he might think, so I need to be cautious. After the sandals are on the floor away from me, I quietly get to my feet, my body cutting through the lewd-feeling air on my way toward the window. I can hear the subtle sounds my movement makes, absently wondering if he can hear them up there, but assuming he can't since I can't hear any of his noises. Applying that factor to the already tense concept of what I'm doing, my heart rate starts to pick up and more of that adrenaline goes romping through my blood stream.

It's insane. I can beat metalheads, clobber evil minions and masters without hesitation. Yet here I am, about to fail at walking a straight line over something so silly. That's when I realize I'm at the window. It wasn't as far away as I thought. Only a couple of steps. Wonder why I was thinking it was further away?

My head sticks out first, to look at everything right outside. A small, tan moth catches my eye, passing by my ear just before setting itself along the outer wall of the hut. It creeps a few inches before halting. That's when I look up, twisting my body around to sit on the window sil. A pause to listen and I manage to catch some sound that I can't be certain of. The breaking waves on the shoreline not too far away make it hard to hear up there. Daxter's choice location isn't as revealing as I thought it would be. My hands curl around the top part of the window sil, holding steady while I position my foot under myself and push up with it, now crouched at the window comfortably. This isn't as difficult as I expected at first. But now the tricky part.

If I look up there and he's looking in my direction, I'll be so very busted. And that fact seems to weigh heavily on my heart rate right now, increasing it considerably, as well as that flow of adrenaline, making it difficult for me to keep my breaths silent. At this rate I'm going to start shivering with anticipation and I'm going to give myself away. In a strong need to calm myself, I start looking off at other things. This is frustrating. All of the tension and then anxiousness over it all. I wonder if I'd still feel this way, if he were still normal. The moon is rather bright tonight. Large, too. Powerfully lighting the evening sky. At least for eavesdropping, I couldn't ask for a better lightsource. None of it helps, though. The moment I consider looking again, the anxiousness just starts back up.

A quiet sigh and a firm grip on the window sil, I slowly start to push myself up to a stand, craning my neck up to keep my ears from view while I glance just over the edge of the roof. The first thing for my attention to grab is Daxter's elbow. He's lying just as I had suspected, facing away from the village, mostly concealed by the shadow cast by the cone-shaped roof. His fuzzy orange arm is tucked up under his head while he's reclined into it like a makeshift pillow, his elbow sticking off to the side into the light from in front of the main hall, while the rest of him lies in the shadow and under the moonlight's gaze. It takes me a moment to shift my eye's reception from strictly reading only the village light sources to reading the moonlit figures, but when I do it all becomes even more clear. Daxter's other arm--his left arm--is extended down his body, his gloves off and to the side, giving his fingers free-range to be coiled around a part of him I'd never seen before. His dick. Knowing only one Ottsel, I can't say if he'd be the 'largest' of the males, but I can say that its size is partly what surprised me the most. It looks rather large to me, in comparison to his body size. By now my anxiousness is at an all-time high, watching my small friend as he feels over his own erection like that, and the expression on his face is so intense. So determined, as if he's concentrated on some not-so-distant goal. I then notice that his eyes are shut, his brow knit with concentration. So serious. So unlike him. I know I'm witnessing something I really shouldn't.

I can hear and see his tail slide from his left side to his right, in a wide arc past his feet, which currently lay on their sides, the soles flattened against the base of his tail, with his knees bent and out to either side while he strokes his shaft slowly. And then he lets out a rather lustful sigh. It causes me to physically shudder. I never would've thought I'd ever see something like this from him. And even though I'm not turned on by it, the sheer seriousness of his expression makes him seem so attractive. It's the kind of look /I/ have. When I'm determined to beat an enemy. Not him. Not for this.

I'm sure I've seen enough. I'm positive I've had my fill, but something prevents me from leaving now. To just stay here and continue watching him like this. A light breeze leaps over the rooftop, shifting Daxter's ears over to the left side while he ignores it entirely. He takes a slow, deep breath, pushing his chest up with his mouth barely open, the fur along the crest of his chest standing up. He then lets the air out in another long sigh. The rhythmic stroking of his shaft increases quickly. Apparently his 'walk' is almost over. His feet start to rub along the sides of his thick, muscular tail as he continues, the limberness of his body causing a slight undulating motion as he begins to churn his hips against his paw. His paw. It's all glossy-looking. Probably covered in that presemen stuff. Something about it bothers me when I can relate to or understand what's going on, because it really does seem like I shouldn't know what's happening over there. My concern disappears as he starts to breathe again, eyes still shut tight, but now he's mouthing out words to himself. Words I can't hear. And I catch a very soft grunt, and then a sigh.

As un-turned on as I am right now, this is rather hot. Seeing him in what I'd call a vulnerable state, not even aware that I'm watching him in his most private moment.. He starts to pant more heavily as his stroking increases again, his hand starting to make sounds of both wet slippery nature with the up-stroke, and fleshy thumping nature with the down-stroke against his groin. I can see his fuzzy balls jostling with each of his upward thrusts, his feet massaging down the sides of his tail distractedly, as if it gives him as much pleasure as touching his own cock does.

I never would have guessed that Daxter, in his narrow, small body, his simple mind, and his rude nature, would ever impact me so much. But it's like watching someone do something so passionately that it almost makes you want to get involved. That's when Daxter's mouth starts to make sounds. I can hear him whispering huskily. Things like 'So sexy', and 'Wanna fuck ya so hard'. It's a wonder I never hear this much down inside. I Guess the roof is much thicker than I thought. But hearing him say that just proves it all the more. This is intense. His feet continue to slide along his tail, his knees lifting upward just a little as his anxiousness increases, the stroking of his cock starting to get intense and blurred, and awesome. It isn't long before his entire body gets involved, his right arm coming down from behind his head to rub over his chest and down to fondle his own balls at the same time as he continues to stroke himself so quickly. His head planting against the roof's surface to bare his chest more to the air as he becomes lost in his excitement.

For some reason, at this point it's like seeing something I've been wanting to see. The treasure at the end of a long and hard journey. Even in as short of a time as I may be able to witness it, this is truly amazing. And as much as I don't want to admit it, it's attractive, too. Pushing and pulling against seemingly nothing, grinding his lusty body into nothing but air and still supplying himself with enough perfect pleasure to reach the high of sexual satisfaction, the Ottsel rolls the entirety of his awkward body into his hand, his toes curling and squeezing his tail at the same time that he seems to meet his climax. His face suddenly takes on the expected, his mouth agape, face still tight with force while the muscles all through his body, even his tail, tense up like solid rocks, his stroking arm now rigid as he continues to fuck his fist with an almost mechanical thrusting grind. The first shot of his semen comes as a surprise, shimmering in the silver moonlight just before crashing across his furry little chest and weighing the fur down, and the second follows, but not near as forcefully, only spattering over his stomache before the rest of his orgasm comes to a lazy oozing of semen out into his paw, which he smears all over his cock due to a lack of motivation to stop. Or maybe he actually likes to smear it on his own dick. Some guys do.

At this point, his eyes open ever so slightly, and I pause still, wondering if he can see me at all, even with my concealed way of observing. Apparently, my question becomes answered by him as he lifts his paw, dripping with ropes of white jizz, and tucks one of his fingers into his mouth in the midst of his heavy panting. It causes me to swallow hard, and I watch as he starts what is probably a nightly ritual of cleaning up after his self-enjoyment. Even so much as to rub the semen through his fur while it's still wet, and then lick it from his hand.

Daxter continues this cleaning process for several minutes, basking in the afterglow while he makes himself presentable to his roommate who is supposed to be inside doing something entirely different. And at this point, all I can do is sit here and stare. I never would have guessed that he would do things like that. It was so surprising and..rather unexpected. That's when I realized my own erection. I recognize it, too. It's one of those painful ones. The ones that don't go away for a good while. How the hell would I explain that if he came back into the hut? Though that is the least of my worries, as I notice him start to get to his feet..slowly. That's also unlike him. He usually energetic as everything.

I let my legs go slack and suddenly drop down, tucking myself back inside in one quick swoop, and step right over to start putting my sandals on again. A long silence begins to build, with the exception of my own heartbeat throbbing in my ears, the intensity of wondering if I've been found out causing a dry sensation as if I had a hole in my chest. Sandals back on my feet, I sit crosslegged, covertly nudging my bulging erection with a couple of fingers to push it down the leg of my shorts to make it less obvious. Satisfied with my concealment, I now sit in waiting. It's a good minute before Daxter finally makes his descent, making me wonder again if he knew I was there and had to stop to think of what to say. And the moment he comes back to the window sil, I can hear it, but I don't turn to look.

"Ahh..Nothin' like a walk after sunset to make me feel refreshed!" That's just like him. Every word and tone, "Watcha doin' there, Jak?" I hear his fuzzy feet hit the floor. And the question causes me to lift my head slightly, and turn it to look at him with the best bored face that I can, before shaking it. If only he knew what I know now.

My eyes follow him. Giving an orange-shouldered shrug, Daxter walks right over to his hammock and hops up into it with a small grunt, "I'm gonna take a nap. If ya think of anything fun to do, wake me up, eh?"

Right arm up behind his head, left across his stomache, the Ottsel closes his eyes and lets out a more familiar sigh compared to those from before. And he twists over onto his side, facing away from me. At that point, I notice the subtle motion of his left foot, gently rubbing up and down along the side of his tail. That motion, once thought of as a nervous habit, has so much new meaning to me now.