aka abusing italics: the fanfic
i need to pick a fandom and stick with it but i just like so many things sorry here's some jak/torn to make up for it
Narrowly swerving below another spray of bullets, Jak figured that if he somehow didn't get killed by Krimson Guards, it'd be by Torn.
Daxter was yelling in his ear, simultaneously insulting both their pursuers and Jak's knowledge of driving.
His zoomer gave a shuddering lurch as it took a few stray shots and Jak was immensely glad that he had thought to 'borrow' a Krimson Guard vehicle - the single-seater he had thought about jumping would've been trashed ten times over by now.
Still, he dove down into the throngs of pedestrians as his vehicle started smoking, relying on them to get out of the way before he hit them. The people who didn't would be fine, probably.
And it's not like the guards he ran into would be missed anyway. Bastards shouldn't have been shooting.
Finally, he made it to the square with the alley housing the Underground's headquarters. Breaking away from the civilians crowding the streets, Jak sped towards the last turn.
His heart stalled when he realized he had misjudged the distance.
"Hold on, Dax," he shouted above the guns still firing behind them and the rattling of his zoomer. Veering sharply, the tail of the vehicle crashed against the corner building and sent them spinning into the opposite wall.
Grabbing Daxter, he leapt from the zoomer seconds before it collided with the building. The engine blew as it did, the resulting blast just barely scathing the blonde.
He'd suffered worse crashes than that, and now the only thing he had to complain about was that he tore up his arm and the palms of his hands from how he landed.
Daxter had rolled a little ways away, standing up and brushing himself off and glaring at Jak. "Remind me again why I let you drive."
Jak smirked and pulled himself to his feet.
The door to the headquarters slid open just as he straightened himself, bringing him quite literally face to face with a very wide eyed, very pissed off Torn.
They stood like that, tensed and nose-to-nose (or almost; Torn still had a bit of height on him, as much as he hated it) for all of a second before the older man was yanking him through the entrance by his wrist, stealing a glance out the door before it shut - by the way his eyes flashed, Jak didn't doubt he saw the burning, totaled vehicle he came in on.
A hand clamped roughly near the back of his neck led Jak stiffly down the stairs and away from the bunking area; and the second the walls opened up to the circular alcove housing the desk Torn was typically occupying, the man rounded on him. Angry cerulean eyes flashed dangerously again, except this time the look was directed at Jak and not just the mess that Jak created.
Jak noticed (he always noticed).
The blonde youth drank in the expression with earnest.
There were reasons that he deliberately pissed Torn off of course; there was something about being able to get under the man's skin like no other, something about the way his eyes glowed, intense and alight with a passionate, furious flame (and a fire that Jak wanted, needed, craved to see).
Then there was the fact that it was actually just kind of funny to see the stoic man so angry.
Torn opened his mouth (and Jak noticed that, too; noticed how his lips curled into a snarl and how his tongue flicked across his teeth) and the younger man braced himself for the imminent explosion with a barely concealed smirk.
Arguing with Torn was another of his favorite reasons for pissing him off. The man's sharp tongue and cleverness provided a nice change from crashing stolen vehicles and dodging bullets from dimwitted guards.
Yeah, so maybe Jak didn't have the best - or safest - interests when it came to Torn.
"What the hell did you do?"
He took delight in how focused Torn was on him when he was angry.
"I got the job done," was his easy answer.
Torn snorted, entirely unamused. "Yeah, you did, and you did a fine job of attracting the Baron's attention while you were at it."
Jak looked nonchalantly over Torn's zoomer, hung from the pipes in the ceiling, and replied flippantly. "You never said anything about stealth."
"It's common sense you idiot." The older man's voice lowered to a growl. "Half the damn city is on red alert looking to kill you right now!"
Jak shrugged. "Sounds about normal."
"Remind me why the hell I'm still keeping you around."
A familiar dark anger roiled in his stomach, trying to claw its way out of his throat. Jak knew it wasn't his own anger, it was the dark eco. Still, it was all too hard to tell the difference sometimes.
"I'm one of the Underground's most valuable assets and you know it."
"You're a double edged sword is what you are." Torn sneered. "You're just as dangerous to us as you are for us."
Okay, so maybe (maybe) it hurt Jak just a little when Torn was so brutally honest, and maybe it hurt just a little that Torn actually was mad at him, that Torn actually meant every harsh thing he said (whereas Jak would get pissed and say things he didn't mean, just because he was pissed).
"You need me, Torn."
The tattooed man barked a harsh laugh and crossed his arms, turning his head to stare at one of the posters hanging from the walls. "Yeah, I guess maybe I do."
"You-" Jak paused, taken aback. "You-what?"
Torn turned his glare back on the blonde, one eyebrow ticking in ever-present irritation. "You got mud between your ears? I said yeah, I do. And I'm not saying it again." Tugging a hand through his hair, he turned his back to Jak again and shook his head. "You're a brat, you've nearly blown our entire organization's cover - and you've nearly blown it UP - on multiple occasions," the brunette had spun and narrowed clear blue eyes on him, stalking closer with each word. "You're friends with a talking rat," the indignant 'hey!' from Daxter went ignored as he continued, voice rough and low, "and you're the best damn chance the Underground's got. I'd be a damn idiot if I didn't see that."
Jak blinked, unable to break his eyes away from Torn's piercing gaze. Finally though, he managed to look away for a moment; down to where Torn's finger was jabbed in his chest.
He opened his mouth but stayed quiet, mind working overtime to come up with something - anything - to say.
"Funny," he glanced back up to Torn's face. "I've figured you must have been an idiot this entire time."
Torn's mouth twitched into this weird half-snarl half-smirk that made Jak's stomach flutter (in the manliest way one's stomach can flutter, of course).
The finger that had been poking at his chest curled into a fist, clenching the front of Jak's tunic and for a minute, the younger man thought Torn was actually going to hit him.
Torn didn't hit him. What he did do, much to Jak's concern, was laugh. The blonde stared, afraid Torn had finally had enough of his shit and snapped.
The laughter was cold and hard and questioning all at once (almost like Torn had to remember what laughing even was) before it softened, quiet and gentle and lovely.
And then Torn tugged him forward with the grip he had on his shirt and before Jak had to time to even take a breath, Torn's lips were on his and Torn's hand was on his neck, holding him in place, and Torn's fingers were tangled in his hair, and Torn was kissing him and Mar help him, Jak was kissing back.
Of all the things he had been expecting when he came to the headquarters, this was not it. This was not even close to anything he had been expecting. But one thing Jak was good at (one of the many things) was rolling with the things that made no sense, and he was rolling with this.
The older man grunted and let his mouth fall open when Jak bit at his lower lip, nearly hard enough to break skin - which was totally fine since Torn tugged at his hair and forced his tongue into Jak's mouth to make them even.
A very loud, very deliberate cough came from somewhere behind them.
Torn exhaled heavily through his nose (a sign of annoyance), his hands on either side of Jak's face, pulling back just enough for them to breathe. His eyes darted over Jak's shoulder to find (and end) whatever had caused the interruption.
Daxter, previously ignored in all senses of the word, gaped from his perch on Torn's desk. He shook his head furiously, reaching up to rub at his eyes in disbelief.
"Hello, didn't see that coming. No, that's okay, it's not like I mind seeing you two mack it up, just keep on pretending I'm not here, you lovebirds. Sheesh!"
A tattooed hand smacked the ottsel off the desk.
Jak grinned against Torn's lips and said nothing.