Possession
by Kaytee

Disclaimer:  Come on.  I own it all, didn’t you know?  Look out world.

Author’s Note:  This story is told in the first person from three different point of views:  Joey, Pacey, and Dawson’s.  Each of the eighteen parts will be headed by the speaking character’s name, just so you’re clear.  Lyrics included are from Sarah McLachlan’s “Possession.”

Another Author’s Note Because I Can:  This is dedicated to and for and because of Bijal.  She rocks in so many ways and I’m glad I know her.  Thanks for waiting oh so patiently for this, B, and dealing with my Oh My Gods.  :P

Rating:  P/J NC-17 (sex and violence)

Feedback:  Please!  kaytee@dstream.net

Part Four
Joey

would I spend forever here
and not be satisfied

I knew that our plans would bother him, but the look on his face before he had time to compose himself . . . he was utterly shocked.  Not to mention the disappointment that lingered in his eyes even though he tried to hide it.

But I can’t spend my life wondering how Dawson will accept the choices I make.  I can’t live that way, always feeling the need to defend myself against the overbearing weight of his disapproval. 

The more I think about it, the more it pisses me off.  Who is he to storm away, tossing me a feeble excuse about having to help his mother?  I’ve been with Pacey for a long while now, we’re obviously heavily committed to each other, why does it continually surprise him when Pacey is included in my future plans?

“I think that one’s pretty much clean, Jo,” he comments gently from where he’s sitting at the kitchen table, wrapping Christmas presents.  My Christmas presents, actually, because I hate wrapping.

Confused, I look at him and then the soapy dish in my hand, the same one I’ve stood here washing for at least five minutes now.  “Oh.  Yeah . . . “

He continues to wrap the present I bought for Bessie, a lamp she‘s had her eye on for awhile for the living room .   The tip of his tongue is visible as he concentrates on folding the ends of the paper into an even triangle, and he glances at me while he tapes it to the bottom of the box.  “Gonna tell me?”

“Nope,” I say, returning my attention to the dishes and rinsing the now thoroughly clean plate in my hands.  One of my sleeves is falling down, and it’s irritating me.

“Worried about Dawson?” he asks casually. 

Smarty pants.

“Nope,” I answer, shaking my head resolutely.

“Are you lying to me?”

Speaking of pants, mine are on fire.

“Maybe,” I admit, setting another dish onto the drying rack.

“Okay.”

I look at him and he shrugs, picking out a bow from the Christmas bomb of wrapping assortments that landed in the middle of the table.  I watch as he affixes it to the top of the package and then curls a long strip of ribbon, seemingly oblivious to me.

“Hey!”

“What?” he asks distractedly, arranging the curlicues of ribbon around the bow.

“So you’re just gonna let it go?  Just like that?” I ask in disbelief.

When he looks at me and smiles, I flick water in his general direction and let the obvious “reverse psychology” comment slide by.  Irritated, I shove the sleeve of my sweater back up my arm with a wet hand and attack the vegetable-encrusted plate I’m holding. 

I hear him get up from the table but I keep on washing as he comes up behind me, so close that I can smell the familiar scent of his aftershave.  His body heat envelops me, the warmth delicious.

“Jo,” he says as he lays his watch down beside mine on the counter.  “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay.  But at the rate you’re going, you’re never going to get these damn dishes done.”

“And my fingers are going to start getting pruny in a moment,” I say, and he steps closer, slipping his arms around my waist and plunging his hands into the hot, soapy water. 

The feel of his warm breath on my neck sends a tingle racing down my spine as he says, “I’ve always found that four hands are better than two.”

He leans against me slightly and I’m trapped between him and the sink, our bodies pressed together as his hands slide along my wrists in the water.   I have to admit that my voice is a little breathless as I say, “That goes for a lot of things in life, doesn’t it?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Josephine,” he says, his mouth so close to my ear now that I feel his lips move when he speaks.  The pitch of his voice isn’t correlating with his words, and my nipples tighten visibly beneath my sweater.

“It’s your fault,” I tell him truthfully, my hips instinctively beginning to grind back against his as together we work through the pile of dishes.  “My mind was quite happy where it was. In reality, where one of my best friends is shocked and appalled by my college plans because they include my boyfriend.  And I realize that that actually makes no sense because I wasn’t happy at all and oh, Pacey . . .”

My train of thought completely jumps the track as he presses against me in response.  I’m pinned between the proverbial rock and a very, very hard place and I set the dish down before my shot coordination causes me to drop it. 

“My fault, huh?” he asks, licking the outer edge of my ear with the tip of his tongue. 

“Absolutely.  That feels so good . .  . “ I say, quickly losing the ability to form coherent speech as he begins to trail open-mouthed kisses along the line of my throat.  My head tilts to the side to grant him better access and without thinking, I lift a soapy hand to touch his cheek as he nibbles and sucks my skin. 

“Oh no, I got you wet,” I say when I realize through my fog that the hand on his face is dripping.

I hear the water sloshing as if from a distance because he’s sucking the nape of my neck.  When his wet hands cup my breasts, I can’t think to protest because his teeth are sinking into my flesh as his thumbs brush the damp material covering my nipples.

Every nerve ending in my body seems to flare into tingling awareness as he grinds his erection against my ass.  I barely manage to whimper out his name, forgetting my own as his grip tightens on my breasts. 

He releases his mouthful of flesh, licking the marks undoubtedly left by his teeth.  In my ear he whispers, “That’s okay.  I think I got you wet, too.”

“You have no idea,” I manage to get out, and it’s a wonder I can speak at all while he pinches my hardened nipples.  I shiver at the combination of sensations assaulting my body and he pulls away from me.

“I‘m about to find out,” he says, and when I turn to him he takes my hand.  I follow him to my bedroom on legs that shake with the force of my desire.

When we get there, he turns to me before the door shuts completely shuts and grabs the hem of my shirt with urgent hands.

“Tell me what was bugging you,” he says, pulling the shirt over my head and tossing it across the room.

“After,” I pant as he fumbles to get my jeans undone.  Impatiently he tugs my pants down over my hips and I kick them the rest of the way off.  The red thong I’m wearing gets a quick, appreciative whistle before he rips it from my body.

“That was Victoria’s Secret, Pacey.  It cost me ten dollars,” I protest as he tosses the scrap of lace to the floor. 

“I’ll buy you more,” he promises as I scramble to work the buttons on his shirt through their corresponding holes.  I’m dying to touch him, to feel the ripple of muscle beneath his warm bare skin. 

His shirt adds to the growing pile of discarded clothing littering my floor and I run my hands over his smooth chest.  A grunt of desire escapes him as I scrape my nails over his beaded nipples on my way to the front of his pants. 

His belt buckle is all of a sudden too complicated for me to undo, and in his impatience to be free he brushes my hands away to do it himself.  His pants fall to the floor and he kicks free of them, his boxers soon following.

Standing here nude in the middle of winter, I feel warmer than I did fully clothed.  My body’s on fire and from the heat in his gaze as his eyes sweep over me, I can tell that he’s likewise fevered.  He reaches for me and I’m in his arms, opening my mouth further under his to deepen the kiss as we stumble backwards toward the bed.

Lost in the kiss, we fall to the mattress together, my body sprawled on top of his.  His hands slide up and down the length of my spine as I run my fingers through his short hair, stroking his tongue with my own.  I can feel him hard against my belly, and my inner muscles contract in anticipation.

He rolls us and my legs instinctively part for his slender hips to rest between, his weight pressing me into the mattress.  We break the kiss, panting for air, and his mouth immediately seeks out the nape of my neck.

Raising a leg for leverage, I push against his shoulder and we roll again.  He lies on his back and splays his hands over my hips, grinning at me as I raise up, straddling him.

“You wanna be on top, I take it?”

“You’re always on top,” I point out, blushing.  “It’s my turn.”

I’m rarely sexually aggressive and it delights him when I am, although knowing I couldn’t have rolled us without his cooperation prevents me from having a girl-power moment.

“I wholeheartedly agree.  It’s high time you did the fucking here, Potter.”

“Pacey!”

“If you don’t get a move on, it’s going to be a moot point we’re discussing here,” he says, the amusement in his eyes tempered with lust.

I need no further encouragement.

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