By Tarowen ([email protected])
Summary: On a summer's day trip up the creek, Dawson gets a bit of a surprise...
Spoilers: Finale, season three.
It was a perfect summer day. Blue sky spanned clear, trees arched heavy with leaves, undergrowth tangled green and gold. Crickets skittered, chickadees trilled. Cicadas droned a drowsy backdrop. The glassy water mirrored the tranquility, broken only by a stray frond of grass brushing the surface.
Reclining on the bank, bare-chested and slightly damp, Dawson gazed around the wonders of nature. Then, with a prolonged sigh, he declared: "I'm going to die a virgin."
The cicadas continued to hum. Jack cocked an eyebrow at his companion, but didn't speak.
A minute later Dawson added, "I can see the headlines now. 'Oldest living male virgin dies at seventeen, of terminal patheticness.'" A second sigh joined the first.
"Is 'patheticness' a word?" Jack mused.
"They'll coin it for me," Dawson replied, staring despondently into the sun-dappled leaves.
Jack considered.
The summer had just started. Pacey and Joey were God knew where, and with Andie visiting friends and his father on yet another business trip, Jack was spending a week with Jen and Grams. At Jen's urging--part of her campaign to prevent both Jack and Dawson wallowing the summer away in a morass of self-pity and dejection--Jack had dragged Dawson on a day trip up the creek. Now they lay by one of Dawson and Joey's favorite swimming holes, no one around but frogs, mosquitoes, and sun-sifting trees.
"If patheticness is a word, I don't think you have a monopoly on it," Jack commented, brushing away a fly. The grass prickled beneath him, but it was too much effort to fetch his towel. Sunlight saturated the still and breathless air. "I mean," Jack continued, "how could you possibly be more pathetic than me? After that fiasco with Ethan--"
"Oh, stow it," Dawson grumped, tucking hands beneath his head. "I mean, for God's sakes, you're gay and you've had sex with a girl! How is that possible??"
"Well..."
Dawson rolled on his side, hand supporting his head. "You know, I used to think that sex--the first time--should be... special. You know. Like with someone you love. A big deal. But now..." He shook his head. "I think virginity is way overrated. It's like this...total roadblock. Now instead of wanting it to be special, I think I just want it over with, so I can get the hell on with my life!"
"Dawson, face it; you're a hopeless romantic," Jack asserted bluntly. "If you had really wanted to lose your virginity so badly, you'd have done it by now. You can't say you haven't had chances! I mean," he also rolled on his side, facing Dawson. His wet hair spiked under his fingers. "For some people, sex isn't a big deal. Love, lust, boredom...whatever. Any excuse, no worries about repercussions, usually no one gets hurt. But for other people it's just...a big deal. And it'll always be a big deal, because it means more to them than just...an encounter."
"And you're saying I'm one of those people?" Dawson challenged.
"Well...you seem pretty stuck on the idea of a soulmate," Jack pointed out. "And I don't say that's a bad thing, but... you're pretty easy to hurt."
Dawson fell on his back with a groan. "I could have mindless sex if I wanted to. Maybe that's what I need, to cure me of being a hopeless romantic. Since romance has gotten me utterly nowhere."
"You won't do it," Jack predicted, absently chewing a blade of grass. "Sorry, Dawson. You're just not that kind of person."
"Well, how do you know?" Demanded Dawson, glancing at his friend. "It's not as if you're exactly Don Juan yourself. How would you know what I might do?"
"Okay, tell me this." Jack turned on his stomach, laying his head on his hands. "If you could have sex with anyone in the world--anyone--who would it be?" Dawson cut him a narrow glance, then tightened his jaw.
"Right," Jack said. "Joey. You're a one-woman man, Dawson. No holds barred, forever and ever...or so you like to think."
"Excuse me?" Dawson glared. "You think I want to be stuck on Joey, especially now? You think I'm enjoying this?"
"Not exactly," Jack temporized. "But it is terribly romantic. You know; tragedy, thwarted love, eternal fidelity--"
Dawson groaned, shutting his eyes. Jack was unrelenting. "You know I'm right, Dawson. And until something happens--either you two finally get together or you finally decide to move on--you're stuck."
Opening his eyes, Dawson considered the trees gloomily. At length he sat up, brushing grass off his shoulders. "God, you're right," he admitted. "I'm totally hopeless, aren't I? Hopeless and pathetic." He grimaced, thinking, then a moment later shook his head. "Let's talk about something else. I'm tired of talking about me, and God knows I'm tired of thinking about me." He glanced at Jack. "So...what about you? What are you going to do about sex?"
Jack laid his head on his hands. "God. I have no idea. I don't think I can do the mindless sex either. Especially now I know..." His cheeks reddened.
"Well, what if you could sleep with anyone? Who would it be?" Jack uttered a brief laugh. "I guess it's kind of a toss up between Matt Damon and Jason Carter."
"I see you're going for the vicarious thrills," Dawson rolled his eyes. "What about realistically?"
"What do you mean? You said anyone," Jack reminded him, feeling his blush fade. He looked again at his companion, sunlight glinting gold on Dawson's hair.
"I mean, anyone around here. Around Capeside."
"Are you out of your mind?"
"No, really," Dawson insisted. "Forget your 'I'm the only gay person within a hundred miles' lament, and just pick someone. Anyone." His lips quirked. "Deputy Doug? He is kind of cute--"
"Oh, shut up." Jack closed his eyes. "Bad enough Pacey throwing me at his brother any time we get close. If the man insists he's not gay, he's hardly going to look at me. And I'm underage and he's a police officer."
"Sounds like you've thought about it, though," Dawson grinned. "Might be fun to get him to break the rules-- All right, all right," Dawson broke off at Jack's stony glare. "Not Deputy Doug. Though it would be so perfect..." Jack rose, a purposeful glint in his eye, and Dawson hastily held up his hands. "Okay, okay--I'll drop it," he laughed, and Jack settled back down, arms wrapped around his knees. He watched a waterbug skating on the pond. "Seriously, Jack." Dawson flipped hair out of his eyes. "Who would it be? There's got to be someone. I swear I wouldn't tell." Jack flashed him a quick look. Dawson's eyes widened. "I'm right, aren't I? There is someone! Who is it? Come on," he begged. "I promise not to tell. It's not... It's not Pacey, is it?"
Jack threw him an incredulous look. "It's not Pacey," he declared in utter disbelief. "God! Was there ever anyone straighter than Pacey?"
"But it is someone," Dawson smirked. "Come on. I'll just keep guessing until I get it. Is it Henry?"
"Oh, please."
"Well, is it..." Dawson began naming every boy at school (and a few teachers), laughing and dodging the twigs Jack threw. He wouldn't stop, and finally Jack rounded on him in a flash of irritation.
"All right. You really want to know?" He demanded. "It's you, Dawson! It's always been you. Happy now?"
Silence descended as the boys stared at each other. The trill of a bird passed unnoticed, and a fish snapped at a fly without breaking their attention. Then suddenly Jack flushed bright red and buried his face in his hands.
"Oh, Christ," he mumbled.
Dawson blinked, completely bemused. "God, Jack. I...I guess I'm flattered--"
"Oh, shut up. Just shut up," Jack muttered, not looking at him. "It's your own fault. You wouldn't leave well enough alone."
Slowly Dawson rose, feeling a trifle lightheaded. He didn't know what to think. He felt...unusual. Sort of hot and cold and... His thoughts raced. God. He glanced down at his friend, at the curve of his bare back above his shorts, at his damp, dark hair... God. He pressed his lips together, unable to take a step in any direction. On the one hand he felt a strong desire to row home immediately, but on the other... Biting his lip, he sat back down. For several minutes he just looked at the back of Jack's head.
At last he said, low, "Are you serious, Jack?"
Jack darted him a glance. "Would I be stupid enough to say it if I weren't?"
"To get me off your back, maybe."
"If I were joking, I'd be laughing." Jack watched Dawson without moving, wondering where in the hell this was going. His cheeks still felt hot. Of all the brainless, idiotic...
"Maybe we should try it." What? Where in hell had that come from? Abruptly Dawson felt his own cheeks flame. Christ! Had he really said-- Jack was gaping at him.
"What did you say?"
Licking dry lips, Dawson ripped at the grass. "Nothing! God, I...nothing! Let's go home." As he moved to rise, though, he found Jack's hand on his arm. He glanced down at the strong fingers, and his heart felt irregular.
"That wasn't funny, Dawson."
Heartbeats passed. "It wasn't meant to be."
More heartbeats. "Then what was it meant to be?"
Jack let Dawson go. Absently Dawson rubbed his arm, thoughts tumbling. "I just...I don't know. It just..." His eyes cut to Jack's, then fell away. "God."
"Oh, forget it." Jack suddenly pushed himself to his feet. "I can't deal with this. I'm sorry if I rocked your boat, Dawson. Just forget I ever said anything, and let's go home."
Dawson rose, too, and they found themselves face to face. Eyes stared, trying to read the other's thoughts. A breeze ruffled the leaves overhead. Somehow, he could never afterwards say how, Dawson found his hands creeping up to cup Jack's face. Found his fingers toying with the drying ends of Jack's hair. Jack didn't seem to be breathing. Still unaware of what was controlling his motions (because it sure as hell couldn't be him), Dawson bent forward and brushed his lips across Jack's.
"Christ," Jack murmured, lifting his own hands to bury them in the silk of Dawson's hair. Their lips met again, firmer, more insistent.
Electricity sparked through Dawson's body. He absolutely couldn't believe...he'd never thought another boy's lips could be so soft...God! He felt the brush of Jack's tongue and uttered a low groan, stepping forward until their bare chests pressed together. His hands moved lower, sliding down around Jack's waist and gripping him tight as his own tongue sought Jack's mouth. Jack's fingers in his hair were driving him wild and his tongue inflamed Dawson's senses until he abandoned all pretense of thought or control. Nothing mattered but now, here, the warm body in his arms and the insistent tongue in his mouth. God Almighty!
Later, Dawson couldn't say how long they'd kissed. The afternoon was deepening, light turning sideways as he lay on his back with Jack sprawled on his chest. Both were breathing heavily and covered in a sheen of sweat that had little to do with the heat. Dawson's lips felt sore. One hand lingered in Jack's hair, while Jack's hand idly stroked his side.
Only once had Jack let that hand stray across Dawson's stomach and towards his waistband; Dawson had instantly tensed and broken off, and Jack had not pushed his luck. He still couldn't believe... He didn't even dare look at Dawson, though he could feel the other boy's fingers, and the heat of his breath on his cheek. To say nothing of the living warmth beneath him, chest rising and falling, skin smooth and so incredibly real. Jack's mind was still spinning. This absolutely couldn't be happening.
Stirring, Jack lifted his head and gazed at his friend. Dawson's eyes were closed. Jack traced a finger down Dawson's cheek. "We should go," he said. "You're supposed to come to dinner with me and Jen and Grams--"
"Oh God, Jack, I can't." Dawson shut blue eyes. "I can't do it. Tell them I'm sick...make my apologies..." He licked his lips. "Thank God my parents are working at the restaurant tonight. I don't think I could carry on a normal conversation with anyone..."
"Dawson Leery, unable to talk? That's a first," Jack laughed softly. He ran his tongue over Dawson's jawline, feeling the faint prick of stubble. Dawson closed his eyes again, letting out a long breath. The tongue trailed down over his neck, into the hollow of his throat, warm, melting... At length, though, Jack forced himself up. "Come on."
He extended a hand to Dawson, snatching another kiss when they were both upright. "I'll get the picnic stuff. You get the boat."
"Right..." Dawson gazed at him intently, then broke away to head downstream.
They didn't touch after they'd moored at Dawson's pier, fearing observers. They didn't seem to know what to say to each other, either. "I... Tell Jen and Grams I'm sorry," Dawson said lamely, gathering his towel and cooler.
"I'll tell them," Jack promised, eyes uncertain. "I...had a good time, Dawson."
Dawson felt heat in his cheeks, forcing himself to return the look. "So did I."
They stood awkwardly another moment, until Jack finally said, "Well, bye. I'll...see you later."
"Yeah...later..." With one last look, they parted.
Dawson didn't recall how he spent the evening. He supposed he must have eaten something, maybe watched a movie, but his head lingered in a haze of memory and sensation. Pleasant, but...it felt like a fragile bubble, and any sudden movement--any serious thought--would send him crashing to the ground. Eventually he took himself to bed, still disconnected, and drifted into dreams of sunlight.
At about two in the morning Dawson jerked himself upright, wide awake, drenched in sweat. "Jesus Christ!" He swore. What in hell had he done? Oh, God... His thoughts conjured Jack's tongue caressing his and he shuddered, throwing aside the sheet and pacing. His heart pounded in his bare chest. God Almighty! He switched on a lamp, wincing, hoping the glow would drive away the images and sensations.
What had he done? Why had he done it? Was he gay? Christ! No...he couldn't be gay. Not after Jen and Joey... Bisexual? Oh, God! Dawson jammed fingers in his hair, trying to think. He liked girls. Loved girls! All his fantasies up to now had been about girls... So why...? He felt hot and cold again. Felt as though he'd committed some horrible crime and couldn't take it back and it was all such a dreadful mistake but it was done, and he was no longer the person he'd thought he was.
'Okay. Okay. Calm down,' Dawson ordered himself. He found himself staring at his one poster--the Imagine one Joey had brought him. 'She probably didn't imagine this,' he thought wryly, dropping to the bed and sinking his head in his hands.
'Now, think, idiot!' He commanded. 'Look at this logically. Why in the hell did you do it?' Grimly he tried to focus. 'Okay. Possibility one: you're bisexual.' He blinked, biting his lip. 'I don't think so. And if so, I don't want to think about it. Possibility two?' He pondered some more. The beckoning summer darkness hummed with night insects, insistent as Jack's-- 'Possibility two,' Dawson forced his mind forward. 'Maybe I just had a major hormonal meltdown and Jack was the closest thing available. Or three, I was feeling reckless because nothing much matters anymore. Or four, I was trying to get back at Joey somehow.' He didn't like the thought of that, but there was no point in denying the possibility. That thought led to a fifth. Maybe he was just so pathetically starved for affection that he fell all over the first person who showed an interest. And then there was always possibility six: all of the above.
Dawson groaned. They all sounded an awful lot too reasonable for comfort. Jack had been there, Jack had been interested, Joey had rejected him in no uncertain terms...
But it was still Joey he wanted. Even with the memory of Jack's fingers in his hair... Shoving himself upright, Dawson started pacing again. His feelings roiled. Shame, horror, disbelief, shock, a treacherous current of arousal--but mostly guilt. Oh, God! What had he done? Jack... How could he have done that to Jack? Used him like that? Christ... Jack couldn't help it. He'd admitted he was gay; Dawson knew that as well as everyone else in Capeside. But Dawson... He'd had a choice. Compressing his lips, Dawson stared out into the darkness.
Why in hell had he made that choice?
"Oh, shit." Head reeling, Dawson threw himself on the bed. The springs creaked. Unseeing, he stared at the ceiling. 'Okay. Stop trying to figure it out, Dawson,' he adjured himself. 'Start trying to figure out what the hell to do now.'
But before he could address the question, he heard the unmistakable rattle of the ladder. He glanced towards the window, expecting Jen and wondering how he could get rid of her. When he saw Jack's dark head and questioning eyes, he felt punched in the stomach. He shut his eyes and swore.
Jack swung over the windowsill. He wore a t-shirt and shorts. "I...saw the light," he explained, standing uncertainly.
"Your parents ?"
"Asleep. Their room's pretty far away--they don't usually wake up" Dawson trailed off.
After a pause, Jack asked quietly, "Freaking out?"
Dawson groaned.
"I figured." Jack studied his feet, then perched on the sill. "Want to...talk about it?"
Dawson gritted his teeth, then forced himself to look at his friend. In the uneven lamplight Jack's face was oddly shadowed, the angled brows giving him a saturnine, enigmatic look. A look Dawson had never really seen before. His eyes lingered on Jack's lips, and he felt his cheeks flame. "...God, I'm sorry, Jack."
Jack swallowed. "What for?"
Not knowing quite what to do, Dawson rolled off the bed and stood. "Sorry for...using you like that."
Jack's eyes fell. He breathed deep. "Was...that what it was? Why you did it?" "God, Jack..." Dawson tousled his already wild hair. Jack tried not to remember the gold silk of that hair beneath his fingers. Tried not to remember the resilience of Dawson's bare chest, so broad and well-defined, the skin warm and vital-- His jaw tensed. "Were you trying to prove you could have mindless sex?"
"What?! No-- I never meant--" Blowing out a frustrated breath, Dawson circled the room. It provided no assistance. He looked back to Jack. "I think I was just... I think you caught me at a bad time," he tried to explain. "God, I'm so screwed up right now, with Joey and Pacey...I think what happened was just a reaction." His blue eyes caught Jack's, and at the other boy's expression felt a chill twist his stomach. He took a half step forward, hand raised, then nervously rubbed it on his boxers. "I said I was sorry, Jack. Christ, I feel so guilty--"
"Everything is so cataclysmic with you, Dawson," Jack murmured, clutching the windowsill. "Everything is world-changing. Don't you get exhausted, just being yourself?"
"Yes," Dawson sighed, feeling suddenly drained. He collapsed onto the bed, which creaked in protest. His eyes sought Jack. "But this is a big thing, Jack! I mean...it's a really big thing."
"It doesn't have to be," the other boy said, not moving. He tried to keep his eyes off Dawson's bare chest. God, he was breathtaking. The clean-edged symmetry of feature and musculature, the dark sweep of brows, the seductive curve of a lip, the suggestive tousle of hair. All coiled energy and tension. All gold and sunlight. Jack tried to collect his scattered thoughts. "Dawson, I know I said you'd never have mindless sex, but...what happened wasn't sex. It was just..."
"Are you saying it didn't mean that much to you? I'm not saying it should have, I'm just asking," Dawson said slowly, confused. "You're my friend, Jack. I would never want to...take advantage of... Well, I just thought it wasn't nice of me to... God, I don't know how to say it." He focused on the ceiling.
Pushing away from the windowsill, Jack wandered around the room. He tried to think. He knew what Dawson meant. Once he'd admitted his attraction to Dawson, knowing Dawson wasn't similarly attracted (or so he'd thought), he'd given Dawson a certain amount of power over him. Why had he done it? Because Dawson had bugged him? Because he'd wanted to shock Dawson? Because he'd grown tired of hiding it? Or because he'd hoped Dawson would react...the way he had? Knowing how unsettled Dawson was, had Jack, in some subconscious way, hoped to take advantage of him? God. He was getting as bad as Dawson, Jack reflected wryly.
"Dawson," he said firmly, "I know you're not in love with me. I know you never will be; Joey is your soulmate. So you're not taking advantage of me. As far as I can see, the only problem here is if you think you're doing something wrong--if you think we did something wrong. Not because anyone was taking advantage or using anyone else, but just... If this really is a big thing for you, then I'm sorry it happened, and it won't happen again. But..." He offered a tentative smile. "We're both looking for...comfort. For someone to..." Wrapping arms around himself, he shifted his weight. "It doesn't have to be a big thing, Dawson," he repeated. "It can be a small thing. A nice thing. Something to do while we wait for big things. Waiting is a lot easier with company."
Dawson swallowed, blue eyes on Jack. How had he never before noticed how compelling that dark intensity was? "If I...if we...I don't know what that means about me, Jack. I mean, you're sure, but I never thought..."
"If you're thinking you're gay--" "I'm not," Dawson broke in. "I don't even think I'm bisexual. Which is why--"
"Dawson," Jack cut him off. "Look...it's not so black and white. No one knows that better than me, and I've thought about it. A lot. I mean," he explained, "I say I'm gay because I'm more attracted to men than women, but I've been attracted to girls. As you well know," he reminded his friend. "I think most people aren't wholly one thing or the other--they're somewhere on a scale. And it is a scale, not a step--straight, bisexual, homosexual..." He waved a hand. "Don't classify. Just be." His blue eyes shone intent.
"Jack, I..." Dawson swallowed. "I just don't know if I can..." The other boy bowed his dark head, letting his arms drop. "So it is a big thing," he said quietly. He crossed to the window. "I'm sorry, Dawson. Really."
"Shit. Jack--" Rising, Dawson laid a hand on Jack's sleeve. They stood gazing at each other, breathing fast. "I don't know what to do."
"Do you want me to leave?" Jack was very conscious of the weight of Dawson's hand, the proximity of his body, the lift of his chest. The warm dark air stole around them, humming, smelling of summer.
"I don't know what the hell I want," Dawson admitted, not dropping his hand. "I'm all...tangled up, Jack. I don't understand." His blue eyes pleaded. "Help me."
"Dawson, this isn't a decision I can make for you," Jack whispered. "But if every time something happens you start beating yourself up, that's not fun. For either of us. I don't want to be the cause of that." He gazed at his friend for several more long moments. Then he gently removed Dawson's hand. "Why don't you sleep on it? Think some more, and figure out what you can live with. When you've made up your mind, you know where to find me."
"I don't want to leave it like this," Dawson protested.
"Dawson, not everything has to have a neat and tidy ending," Jack sighed. "Most things don't. In fact, most things never really end; they just change. That's life. Deal with it."
"I don't like it."
Jack gave a tired laugh. "Ever heard the phrase, 'tough patooties?'" He bent to depart.
Dawson pulled him back, pulled him close, so their breath mingled and their eyes were inches apart. Jack held very still. "God," Dawson murmured. "There is something here, isn't there? Beyond me being mad at Joey, or needing...someone. This wouldn't have happened with just anybody, Jack. Only you."
"Don't say something like that if you don't mean it," Jack breathed, still not moving. "Or this will become more than a small thing. At least for me." Dawson paused a long minute. "I... I think if I let you go out that window I'll always wonder..."
"Probably," Jack agreed tightly. "But that doesn't mean you have to act on what you feel. It's not always the smartest thing to do..." His heart thudded and he tried to draw back.
"I spend too much time inside my own head, trying to figure things logically," Dawson continued, holding on. "I get so knotted up I can't act. Too afraid to screw up. But if I do act," he added grimly, thinking of the regatta, "I'm usually so wound up I overact. Everything in extremes, as you pointed out."
"It's just who you are." Jack gave a half-smile. "It's what makes you Dawson Leery."
"Sometimes I wish I didn't care so much," Dawson admitted, breaking their gaze, but not their contact. "It makes things so difficult..."
"Dawson, I don't think caring too much is a bad thing. You don't want to go through life...not feeling. Believe me, I've tried it."
"But--"
Abruptly Jack raised a hand and laid it over Dawson's lips. "Stop talking. Stop thinking. You're the one who pushed this--I gave you the chance to let me leave. Since you want your 'ending' now, it's time to decide. What do you want to do?" Jack also knew that he could have chosen to leave, himself, any time. But he knew what he wanted. Whatever the cost.
Several long seconds passed. Jack tried to read the flickering expressions in Dawson's eyes, not daring to pray...
Then Dawson pressed his lips to Jack's fingers. Opening his mouth, he ran his tongue over them, slowly, delicately. Jack shivered, and slid his hand around into Dawson's hair. As he bent forward, their lips met, and a long sigh escaped Dawson. As he sank into the kiss, Dawson banished thought. This felt right. He couldn't predict what might happen tomorrow--he couldn't change the fact that he was Dawson Leery and nothing was ever simple--but tonight he was with Jack, and it felt right. Jack knew what he was getting into. This wasn't taking advantage of anything more than an opportunity he might never have again.
Life was meant to be lived, after all.
And choices were meant to be made.
The End