Chapter Text
The rowboat thudded against the bank and began drifting back out into the water before Joey even realized what was happening.
“Pacey!” she snapped, hugging her jacket tighter as the chilly October wind cut through her. He looked sheepish. “I thought I tied it. Guess not.”
So they waded, jeans heavy, shoes squelching, until they stumbled up the muddy embankment toward his truck. The air was colder out of the water, biting at their skin.
Joey rolled her eyes, forcing herself to look anywhere but at him. The water beaded on his arms, caught in the hollow of his collarbone. Don’t notice that, she scolded herself, biting the inside of her cheek. He’s an idiot.
“Perfect,” Joey muttered, shivering as she wrung out her shirt. “I’m going to catch pneumonia thanks to you.”
“Not if we warm up right.” Pacey rummaged in the back seat, pulling out two blankets. “We strip, wrap up. Body heat, no wet clothes. Basic survival.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, right. What a coincidence you happen to know the best way to get me naked.”
He held up his hands. “Hey, I’m not looking. I swear. This is science, Potter. You want to get sick?”
Joey’s jaw tightened as she tucked the blanket around herself. It wasn’t enough to stop the shivers, but it gave her something to hold on to besides the sudden heat building in her chest.
Not interested.
That’s what he’d said. As if she were invisible. As if she were still that gangly kid he used to sling mud at down by the creek.
Weren’t teenage boys supposed to want this? Any of it? Dawson sure didn’t. He looked at her like a sister, or worse, like she was some character in his head instead of a girl with skin and nerves and wants. And now Pacey, of all people, was telling her she wasn’t even worth looking at?
The anger surged so fast it made her dizzy. Better to do something than stand here trembling, than let him see how much that stung.
The blanket slipped from her hands, sliding off the side of the truck and into the mud. She didn’t stop it. She tugged at her wet shirt instead, peeling it up and over her head, tossing it onto the growing pile of damp clothes.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the moment Pacey realized what she was doing. His whole body went still.
“What are you doing, Potter?” His voice cracked halfway between outrage and awe.
She smirked, toeing off her shoes and socks, fingers already moving to the button of her jeans. “I thought you didn’t want to see this. You can turn around if you want.”
There was a beat of silence, long enough that she almost faltered. Then his voice came low, rougher than she’d ever heard it. “And if I don’t want to turn around?”
The spark in his voice was all she needed. Finally, a reaction. A real one, not the indifferent shrug she’d braced herself for.
“You can watch, if you want,” Joey said, chin tilting higher, daring him.
And he did. He went utterly still, his breath caught somewhere between them, while her fingers worked the denim down her hips. Cold air licked across her skin as she stepped free of the jeans, each movement deliberate, exaggerated. She should’ve felt ridiculous, but his eyes never wavered.
By the time she stripped the last layer away, goosebumps rose along her arms, from the chill, yes, but also from the weight of him looking. Looking at her, Joey Potter, like she wasn’t invisible, like she wasn’t some half-formed kid the way Dawson always seemed to think.
Now that the rush of action was over, though, nerves began to creep in. She crossed her arms loosely over her chest, not quite knowing where to put her hands. What if he laughs? What if he tells the whole school?
But Pacey just smiled. Not smirked, not sneered, smiled. Something warm and achingly gentle lit his face. “You’re beautiful,” he said softly, like it wasn’t even a choice to say it out loud.
Her brows shot up, trying to cover the flush spreading through her cheeks. Beautiful wasn’t what she’d expected. Hot, maybe. Sexy. Not that.
Before she could fire off a quip, Pacey’s hands went to his own shirt, fumbling almost too quickly. He tugged it over his head, then shoved at his jeans until they landed in a heap beside hers.
Joey’s heart gave a strange lurch when her eyes flicked lower. Heat surged into her face. He was already… She tore her gaze away, biting down on her lip to hide the startled smile curling there.
What the hell had he just done? One second he was telling her to strip so she wouldn’t freeze, the next he was standing here, bare, exposed, every nerve in his body lit up like a live wire.
He tried not to look, he really did. But then Joey, Joey Potter, who scowled at him in class, who threw his sarcasm back twice as sharp, was standing in front of him, flushed and shivering and… god. His throat went dry.
Her eyes dropped, flickering lower, and he felt it like a punch. She saw him. Noticed the part of him he couldn’t control, the proof of what she was doing to him. She blushed hard, turned her head away, but not before he caught it, the split-second of realization, of power.
And then she moved closer. Not much, but enough. Enough to make him forget the cold completely.
Her hand lifted, hesitant, before brushing across his chest. His breath stuttered. She was touching him, choosing to, and he thought if he moved too fast, if he so much as blinked wrong, she’d vanish.
He stayed absolutely still, heart hammering. He’d had experience, too much, in ways he didn’t even want to think about, but nothing like this. Nothing that made his whole body ache with the need to reach out and still be terrified to cross the line.
“Jo,” he rasped, barely trusting his own voice. “Can I… can I kiss you?”
Joey’s lips parted just enough for a breath, then she gave the smallest nod.
That was it. Pacey closed the distance, tilting his head to capture her mouth with his. The kiss was tentative at first, careful, but the second her lips moved against his, a jolt ripped through him. Every inch of her body seemed to come alive under his touch.
He kept his hands anchored to her face, thumbs brushing along her jaw, as if he could hold her there forever. He was terrified that if he let go, the spell would break.
But Joey had no such reservations. Her hands slid up over his damp shoulders, tracing the lines of muscle there, slipping down his arms and back again, bolder with each pass. He shivered at every graze of her fingertips, biting back the urge to groan.
It wasn’t enough. Not for her. She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, her breath ragged.
“You can touch me,” she whispered, pulse thrumming in her throat. “If you want.”
The words hit him low, a rush of heat flooding through him. He let out a sharp, helpless curse, the sound tumbling between them before he could stop it.
For a moment he just stared at her, like he was making sure he hadn’t imagined the words. Then, slowly, almost reverently, his hands left her face.
She felt the weight of them on her shoulders first, sliding down her arms, skimming over the curve of her waist until he finally cupped her breasts. His thumbs circled gently, uncertain but deliberate, and Joey gasped into his mouth.
She had touched herself before, in quick, curious moments under the covers, but never like this. Never with the heat of someone else’s palms, never with the slow, dizzying pressure that made every nerve stand on end.
Her body moved without her permission, hips shifting, arching into him, desperate for more of whatever this was. The blanket lay forgotten in the mud. The cold didn’t matter.
Her hand, emboldened by the fire sparking everywhere he touched, slipped lower. Across the planes of his stomach, down the trail of muscle, until her fingers hovered, she knew what would be there if she moved lower. She felt him tense under her touch, but he didn’t pull back.
If anything, he kissed her harder, as though her hand there undid whatever restraint he had left.
Her hand lingered, trembling. She could feel the heat pouring off him, the tension coiled tight in every muscle. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to push lower, not yet.
Pacey’s hands, though, grew bolder. The hesitation melted, replaced by a surer rhythm as he kneaded and circled, his thumbs grazing across her nipples until she gasped against his mouth. The sound made him groan softly, chest vibrating against hers.
“Jo…” His lips brushed hers, his breath uneven. “It’s OK. We don’t have to, if you don’t want…”
But she did. God, she did. “I want to,” she whispered, surprising herself with how raw it sounded.
Because she needed to know what it would feel like if his hands moved lower, between her thighs where she was already slick and aching. The idea of it sent another shiver rushing through her, sharper than the cold had ever been.
Her pulse hammered as she pressed closer, almost shaking with the need. Nothing she’d ever done alone compared to this, and he hadn’t even touched her there yet. The anticipation alone was unbearable.
A flicker of doubt wormed its way in, though. She tipped her head back, searching his face. What if this is all one-sided? What if he’s not…
But then her gaze slipped down, and the sight left no room for doubt. Every bit of him betraying just how much he wanted this too.
She was trembling against him, and for a second Pacey thought maybe he’d pushed too far. Maybe the gasps and the way she arched into his hands weren’t what he thought they were. His gut twisted with worry, that old voice whispering that he’d screwed it up again.
But then he saw the flicker of doubt in her eyes, the way she glanced down and bit her lip. Like she wasn’t sure she was enough.
The thought nearly floored him.
“Jo,” he breathed, forcing her to look at him. “I’ve never.” His voice broke, came out rough, desperate. He tried again. “I’ve never wanted to touch someone so bad in my life. You’re… you’re amazing. You’re beautiful. You’re perfect.”
The words tumbled out before he could stop them, but he meant every one.
Her breath hitched, and that was all the permission he needed. His hand slid down, skimming over the curve of her waist, the flat of her stomach, until his fingers brushed the soft heat between her thighs.
She parted for him instinctively, like her body already knew where he belonged. The wetness that greeted him made his head spin. He swallowed a curse, his chest heaving.
He was pretty sure he was seconds from bursting, undone just by the feel of her opening to him, by the fact that it was Joey Potter letting him touch her like this.
The moment his fingers slipped lower, Joey melted. Her knees nearly buckled, and she clutched at his shoulders to keep herself upright.
It was overwhelming. More than she’d ever imagined. The heat of his hand, the sure rhythm of his strokes, the way he seemed to know just where to press and circle. Her hips found the motion on their own, rising to meet him, rocking against his touch with growing urgency.
She should have been embarrassed by the sounds spilling out of her, the breathless gasps, the choked whimpers, the raw little moans that broke between kisses. But she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when it felt this good. Not when it was him.
Every nerve in her body was pulled taut, her heartbeat drumming so loud she could barely hear anything else. The pressure built higher and higher, unbearable and exquisite all at once.
And then it crashed through her. White-hot, blinding, stealing the breath from her lungs. Her head fell back, and she screamed his name into the night.
Pacey thought he’d known what it was to want, to ache. But nothing in his life had prepared him for this, for Joey coming apart in his arms, gasping his name like it was the only word she knew.
He could barely breathe, just watching her fall over the edge. Her body clenched around his fingers, her cries tearing through him until he was sure he’d never forget the sound for as long as he lived.
And then she was slumping against him, trembling, still catching her breath. Her lips brushed his throat as she whispered something he couldn’t even hear over the blood rushing in his ears.
Before he could think, her hand slid down. Lower, surer. Wrapping around him.
His whole body jolted, a guttural sound escaping his chest. He’d been so close already, strung tight just from touching her, from seeing her. Now, with her hand stroking him, there was no holding back.
“Jo.” His voice cracked, and he buried his face against her hair. “God, I’m not, I can’t…”
It hit him fast, harder than anything ever had. His hips bucked helplessly into her grip, his breath shattering as he spilled over, clinging to her like he might drown if he let go.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing, the cool night air prickling against overheated skin. Joey’s head rested against his chest, his arms still clamped tight around her like he wasn’t ready to let go.
Then the silence shifted, awkwardness creeping in at the edges. Joey pulled back just far enough to meet his eyes, her cheeks flushed, her hair damp and tangled.
“Did that just…?” she started, then trailed off.
“Yeah,” Pacey said, still a little dazed. “That… happened.”
They stared at each other, and then, without warning, both burst into shaky laughter. It wasn’t funny, not really, but it was either laugh or be swallowed whole by the enormity of what they’d just done.
Joey hugged her arms around herself, suddenly hyper-aware of the night air again, of the mud squelching under her bare feet. “We should… probably get home. Before we freeze to death.”
“Right.” Pacey raked a hand through his hair, eyes darting anywhere but her bare skin. “Dry clothes. Actual heaters. That sort of thing.”
She bent to scoop up the blanket, avoiding his gaze now too, but their hands brushed when they both reached for the pile of damp clothes. The contact sent a fresh jolt through her, and she pulled back quickly, muttering, “We should just, yeah.”
He nodded. Neither of them spoke again until the truck’s engine rumbled to life, the cab filling with the smell of wet denim and wool.
Both stared out their windows, still catching themselves grinning like idiots, still wondering what the hell this meant.
The heater in Pacey’s truck worked overtime, filling the cab with a damp warmth. Joey sat curled in her blanket, staring straight ahead. He kept sneaking glances, but she didn’t turn.
Finally, she spoke. “So… that was… something.”
“Yeah.” His grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Definitely… something.”
She cleared her throat, shifting like the blanket had suddenly grown itchy. “We don’t… have to make it a big deal.”
He glanced over. “We don’t?”
Her jaw set, like she was trying to convince herself as much as him. “It was… an experiment. You know. Two people… curious. Testing things out. Like extra credit.”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “Extra credit in snail studies?”
“Don’t be an ass,” she shot back, though there wasn’t much heat behind it.
He let the smile fade, nodding slowly. “Right. An experiment.” He said it evenly, but inside his chest, something pinched. Experiment. That’s all it is to her.
But when she leaned back against the window, closing her eyes, Pacey risked another glance. He wasn’t fool enough to believe it was just an experiment. Not for him. Not with Joey.
Once back at Joey’s, she darted straight to the laundry basket in the corner, pulling out a folded stack of Bodie’s old clothes. She tossed a pair of sweatpants and a faded T-shirt at Pacey without looking directly at him.
“Here. These should… fit well enough.”
He caught them against his chest, raising an eyebrow. “Not really my color, Potter, but I’ll manage.”
“Just change,” she muttered, rolling her eyes as she headed for her room to grab her own pajamas.
By the time she came back, barefoot and in flannel, he was sprawled on the couch in Bodie’s clothes, damp hair sticking up in every direction. He looked so normal, so Pacey, that for a second she almost convinced herself the thing by the creek hadn’t happened.
She sat in the armchair, tucking her legs under her, and the silence stretched again until Pacey broke it.
“You ever think about getting out of this place?” he asked, staring at the ceiling.
“All the time,” Joey said instantly. Then softer: “Paris. New York. Anywhere but Capeside.”
He smiled faintly, turning his head to glance at her. “Figures. You’re too smart to rot here. Me, I’ll probably end up fixing boats or flipping burgers until I’m fifty.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” she said, surprising herself with the gentleness in her voice.
He shrugged like it didn’t matter, though his eyes lingered on her a beat too long.
Neither of them mentioned the blankets in the truck. Neither of them mentioned the way their bodies had fit together, or the sound of his name ripped from her throat. Instead, Joey stretched, feigning nonchalance.
The house was quiet, Bessie and Bodie long asleep, Pacey left for home, and the creek still clung to Joey’s skin. She lay on her back in the dark, staring at the ceiling, her hair fanned damp against the pillow.
It had been… weird. That was the first word that came to mind. Unexpected, too. She and Pacey Witter had been partners in mischief, in irritation, in school projects doomed to failure. Never in her wildest imaginings had she thought she’d strip in front of him, let him touch her like that.
And yet… her body hummed with the memory. The heat of his hands, the way he shuddered when her fingers grazed his chest, how easily laughter had melted into breathless sighs.
She pressed her thighs together, restless. If it had been so strange, so random, why did she want to feel it again?
Curiosity tugged at her. Tentatively, she let her own hand drift down her stomach. She tried to retrace the path of his touch, the rhythm he seemed to find without effort. Her breath hitched, but it wasn’t the same. Her fingers didn’t spark against her skin the way his had. She rolled onto her side, frustrated, cheeks hot even in the dark.
It wasn’t just the act. It was him.
Joey groaned into her pillow, half in embarrassment, half in longing. She shouldn’t want this. It didn’t mean anything. They’d laughed about it, agreed it was just fun, just exploring. Still, the thought of seeing him again, of his hands, his mouth, his crooked grin whispering gorgeous, sent a thrill racing down her spine.
Practicality kicked in, as it always did with Joey Potter. If this was going to happen again, it needed… structure. A plan. She sat up, switched on her lamp, and grabbed a notebook from the floor.
Hypothesis: Being with Pacey is strange but strangely satisfying.
Variables: Time, place, frequency.
Goal: Explore new sensations without letting it mean anything.
Her pencil tapped against the page as she wrote out a schedule, possible windows when Bessie would be working, when Dawson wouldn’t be around, when she could meet Pacey without drawing suspicion. A list of “experiment opportunities,” she labeled it, biting back a nervous laugh.
She snapped the notebook shut and fell back against her pillows. Her heart still raced. Her body still remembered. And for the first time, she admitted it wasn’t enough to remember. She wanted more.
Pacey lay sprawled across his bed, one arm flung behind his head, the other resting idly on his chest. The house was quiet in that way it only ever was when his dad was out late, and Doug was asleep behind a closed door. For once, the silence felt almost comfortable.
But sleep wouldn’t come. Not with the memory of Joey Potter burned into his brain.
He’d been with girls before. But it had never felt like that. It had never felt like laughter breaking into gasps, or nerves melting into something so hot his whole body still trembled from it.
Maybe it was because it was Joey. Someone he’d known forever, someone who wasn’t supposed to be the one tangled up with him under a blanket. The familiarity made the intimacy sharper somehow, like he already knew the shape of her sighs even if he’d never heard them before.
He shut his eyes and let himself sink into the memory, the way her fingers had traced over his chest, tentative but bold, how her skin had been warm against his palms. The sound she made when he touched her just right, it echoed, and his body answered.
His breath grew heavier as he gave in, hand slipping lower, chasing the ghost of her against his skin. He let the memory guide him: Joey’s wide eyes, the quiver of her laugh turning into something else entirely. It didn’t take long before he was gasping into the pillow, spent, shivering in the dark.
For a moment, he just lay there, grinning stupidly up at the ceiling.
“Hell of a science experiment,” he muttered under his breath.
But as the high faded, so did the certainty. He told himself he could be fine if that was it. A one-time thing. A crazy, unexpected moment that didn’t need to happen again.
He told himself that. Over and over.
And still, he knew he’d take her hand again in a heartbeat if she offered.