Rating: R

Class: D/Jo

Summary: Joey POV on her relationship with Dawson. (And other men) Like some of my others, this story has been updated to tie in with the finale.

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2009 and beyond

Pain? Sure, I’ve had that. And heartache and betrayal and all of that horrible emotional stuff which I just can’t handle that well. That’s why Christmas makes me uneasy. It’s supposed to be a wonderful holiday for family and friends and other loved ones, but a lot of the time it’s too open, and the pain is still fresh. They’re a lot more bearable now, though. One of my favorite was the one I spent in Capeside in my mid-twenties.

I had agreed to come ‘home’ after Mrs. Leery convinced me over the phone. ‘I know it’s hard. The death of your father was…confusing and untimely,” (Heart attack, I was twenty-five, he was fifty five) That wasn’t all. Pacey and I had broken up—mutually—less than three months before. We were friends, though. Trying, anyway.

“But you have so many people here who love you. Dawson, and Pacey will be down, all of the relatives…I’m making my specialty.” I had laughed then, and Gale had joined me. She knew I was a sucker for her Pumpkin Pie.

I was glad I went, though. Dawson, Pacey and I hung out non-stop since I arrived—a close-knit threesome, just like the summer before tenth, the summer before everything got too complicated. It was comfortable, except for the fact that I’d slept with both of them, (and Pacey and I were still dancing around the break-up issue) so we had that hanging over our heads. Luckily they were really just sweet, loyal guys with amazing integrity—the odd joke popped out (Pacey: Remember that beautiful night we spent together? Me: Umm…what? Dawson: He’s talking to me, Jo) but we just laughed it off.

We skated and walked and watched movies—just ‘hanging’ like fifteen year olds instead of twenty-five year olds who had lost the fourth in our group and had never really learnt to deal with it. I rarely spent time at my own home, and when I did I tried to play with Alex, but he was ten and precocious, and preferred playing ball with Dawson and Pacey. Hmph. Like, I can’t throw a ball better then they did! I can—I could kick their asses.

I mostly slept over Dawson’s—it’s not like it was planned, I just couldn’t be bothered rowing home. We usually crashed in the same bed, which wasn’t as awkward as it used to be, or like it was the night of Gale’s wedding of the last night before I left for Paris. We were past that crap now. And…because I wasn’t with Pacey, we were, dare I say it, moving off into a new direction…a direction we hadn’t gone into together for years.

I saw him in a towel about three times---our hands continually brushed passing plates or footballs. I don’t know what games we were playing, but we were playing them, we were testing the limits of our friendship, although we didn’t know it. Sometimes we played footsie. It got us teased, (Sleeping in the same bed) but neither of us really cared. There really was nothing going on—we weren’t sleeping together like Audrey accused (Accused is too strong a word—more like ‘asked.’) Who cares if whenever he looked at me, my heart started going a million miles per hour? He spent a lot of time flirting with Audrey (she and Dawson were close, would you believe) when she came down for a few days as well as just me, and Pacey had the nerve to tell me I looked jealous.

But how I could even start to think we would go down that path? We had changed so much, nothing that had happened was likely to again. Dawson was now a director (and still a writer), shooting in New York and L.A for the odd T.V show he co-wrote and a slow but steady string of successful films he co-directed with famous friends.

He had turned twenty-five in March, had been engaged (He had broken it off shortly afterwards) was much bigger than he was when he was nineteen. Almost fearless—he had been through a few near death experiences, as had Pacey and everyone else. (Except me. Unless you count graduating Worthington or moving to New York alone near death.) Skiing accidents, upturned boats, set accidents. And did I mention he’d been arrested twice? For stupid things, like public sex and public drunken brawls. But it kind of adds to his mysterious repertoire. And my uneasiness that Dawson was changing right in front of my very eyes.

He wasn’t afraid to voice his thoughts, and I think I found this very attractive. He could attract women very easily—they loved his tall, blonde good looks and his dazzling smile. (Totally fake, really) They came in droves—Melissa, Sophia, Nikki. Even Natasha again. I met most of them—it was fun, Audrey and I would make fun of them. Sounds mean, but whenever we introduced our current boyfriends to him or Pacey they’d do exactly the same thing. I had had only one boyfriend since Pacey, Sam the slut as Pacey and Dawson called him because he ended up being a total player.

Boyfriends I had before Christopher were “Andy the Psycho,” were names Dawson and Pacey had ‘brainstormed’ together. Ugh and the worst—“Tom the Pinky.” Pinky meaning he was…not…very…big down there. This wasn’t a real problem for me, (Believe me, guys don’t just need a big- you –know- what to get the job done) but somehow, Audrey had leaked it to them after I told her in confidence. They never left me alone after that. Another ex-boyfriend they reminded me about included Eddie Doling. Or, “Eddie the Feddie,” which didn’t even mean anything. It was no secret Dawson hated him. That’s probably half of why I dated him for so long. And I always hated Natasha, which is probably why he slept with her when she was in town for a weekend. He claimed ‘old time’s sake.’

It opened up new material for flirting, though—Dawson knew it, I knew it, he had no problems in the arena of ‘down there’. Audrey was thrilled: “There’s no such thing as too big.” Actually, there is, sometimes. I hate to even talk about it, but we’d joke about it, (We were drunk. Excuse the crudeness) he’d ask if I was some sort of born again virgin--- I think because it happened so long ago it was like, ‘okay’ to talk about it.

Audrey and I had fun together; we’d pretend to talk about him in his view, which got him really freaked. It reminded me of when Jen and I would whisper secretly and send him conspicuous looks, causing Dawson to panic, because we have both slept with him it left the gossip open for boundless possibilities. Pacey thought it was hilarious. I’d never had a real ‘girlfriend’ although Jen and I eventually formed a bond that will always transpire even her death.

Audrey, of course is amazing—she actually became a PR executive with a firm in Boston, and was transferred to the Big Apple. I was working my way up as a copywriter in a publishing house in New York myself, so we planned that Christmas to apartment-share: Audrey had found a great place, which she was already sharing with another girl. Apartment sharing was all the rage—Pacey moved in with Jack and Amy not long after we broke up. But Pacey didn’t want to bring girls home in case they scared Amy, so he dropped over to our place a LOT asking favors and privacy. He would then bitch about Audrey’s boyfriend, Matthew, and she would kick him out. I think Audrey’s new boyfriend was a ploy to keep Pacey on his toes.

Don’t think I don’t know what they do when I’m not around…surprised? I’m not.

Audrey had once admitted to me (in college) the sex between them was phenomenal when he was jealous. Try sex when you’ve been waiting ten years…

Dawson was renting an up-market place in SoHo because he wasn’t even in the city for many months of the year. It had once been shared between himself and his fiancée, who was now in Florida, and Dawson didn’t like how his ex girlfriend’s friends would still sometimes just drop by, so he hung around, with the other strays, at our place. He and Pacey had the nerve to stash a pinball machine in the laundry, which over time was ‘moved magically’ into the living room where they played loud, rowdy games. It became a share house of sorts, with people from all walks of life dropping in, from Audrey’s bohemian friends to a party of gay (hot) men thanks to Jack, (Now an Advertising Executive Assistant) rowdy intelligent filmmakers and art students some of whom were really gorgeous some of whom were gorgeous females (Thanks, Dawson) and Pacey’s banker/bar/boat friends.

“Whose apartment is this anyway?” Audrey was known to ask now and then. It was Ground 2: the place after college, one of three hangouts. (The others were a popular cocktail bar downtown, sort of Ally McBeal meets Cheers; and a ‘trendy’ art house Pizza and coffee place which was cheap for us minions who had to pay expensive rent rates.)

So, that is how we all ended up being roommates. He got kicked out of his place by the ex-fiancée who argued she had paid more to sub-let it or something and then they had argued, and thus he was out on his ass, not being bothered to find another place, Audrey just suggested he move into the guest room—which was tiny and used as our closet, so we just moved things out and put a TV and dresser in there. He bought his own ‘bed’ a mattress. “Good for my back. Minimal is better, after all,’ he explained to me. “And uh, less squeaky springs.” Right. Way too much information. Well, we spent a lot of time there, anyway, especially on cold nights, watching TV, snuggled up together. Audrey would walk in and roll her eyes, or make some joke. “Okay Joey, time to go back to your bed.”

Kooky, huh? The thing was, it was never boring—not when three old friends are living together. We had Pizza nights and pillow fights, all of that ‘roommate’ stuff. Audrey was brazen about it all, much more than me, though. She’d walk around in just a towel and joke around with Dawson about his sex life and especially hers. She’d ask him for advice…”Do guys like it when you compliment their penis or is it just awkward?” and stuff like that.

Some things were awkward. The dating things. There were three rooms in the apartment, and the walls weren’t particularly thin, but they weren’t soundproof either. Audrey would bring her boyfriends home often, which I didn’t mind because I bought the odd guy home as well…it was just one of those things.

But it’s different when your best guy friend brings home women. He wasn’t promiscuous by any means, but he was an attractive man who was quite popular with ‘the ladies’ as Pacey dubbed them which meant...women. Moderate amounts of them. He was very good about it. “Are you…okay…with…me bringing home women…?” he didn’t need to finish, I knew what he meant. “Yes, it’s fine, don’t worry,” but I was blushing all the same. I was still shy about talking about sex so upfront with him, although I could trash-talk with the best of them with Audrey or Jack. I don’t know why I was so shy—wasn’t it only like, eight years ago I asked Dawson when he jerked off? Well, okay, so I was shy talking about him and sex with other people. Actually, so I lie. I was shy sometimes, when I was normal. But then I got PMS or was yelled at by my boss.

The thing was…I could hear him and ‘her’ going at it sometimes. “Her” was Melissa, Sophie or Nikki. Nice, good teeth, long hair, usually brunette’s, art majors at NYU, graduate students, or actresses from L.A for goodness sake! Very mature girls, but honestly. Usually he kept them quiet but occasionally I could just hear that little something---that moan, or laughter. That irritating, “I’m in college and I’m having sex with an older man moan.’ It’s intriguing hearing someone having sex but not so ‘intriguing’ when it’s with your best friend. My cheeks flame and I have to get air every time. It’s just so…weird.

I wondered if that was that how I sounded during sex? Anyway, it was quite strange. Usually I’d take myself for a walk or ground my ears into my pillow.

I let him have it the morning after—courageous Joey, pissed and tired. This was when things started to get heated up. We’d have huge arguments. The image cracks me up now: me in my old pink dressing gown, my hair all over the place, watching Dawson with speared eyes as he whistled and made breakfast in a tight shirt and jeans or boxers, flipping the pancakes or something he’d make for (usually his girlfriends left in the early hours of the morning to which I was thankful) for Audrey and I—an apology? Whatever. He’d turn and look pretty startled as I glared at him, huge textbooks in front of me at the bar stool table.

“Woah. Hey Jo. Sleep well?”

“No.”

“Oh…” by now he’d avoid my gaze.

“You know, Dawson,” I’d quip, standing next to him at the stove. “You should go back to the dorms. I heard it gets those Wellesley girls brownie points if they manage to sleep with a *guy*.”

Catty, catty, catty. “Joey Potter, I swear I can hear jealousy in your voice,’ he’d retort. Or he’d tell me I had PMS, or worse. “Joey, are you Sexually frustrated?”

“You know, I should have ripped your balls off when I had the chance, so I could have gotten a good night’s sleep.” I would bang something and Audrey would giggle in the next room, overhearing everything.

“Please. You were begging for them,” or some other out-of-character line. But living together had meant we crossed the ‘we’re polite’ line. We were onto personal insults territory.

Before I threw a pancake at him I’d reply with something like, “I was begging you to put it away.”

Arguments like these were scarce, but when they occurred, they really occurred, and like fire. I’d steam at the office all day, and that night if I saw him I’d manage to spill chips or something in his lap. But by late night we’d have made up—he’d buy me flowers (or both Audrey and I) and bring home Pizza and beer and we’d kiss and cuddle in front of ER.

We spent a lot of time dishing out advice—we were good at it. Except for one arena. “Look, Joey, I know I’ve said this before, but…I’m here if you need me. To give you Dr. Phil advice, or a massage or to bitch about that editor who keeps grabbing your ass. But just don’t tell me about boyfriends, I’m fiercely possessive,” he joked.

Since Dawson had moved in I’d been reluctant to bring men home. Because I made such a fuss with his girlfriends, I’d feel like a hypocrite. I didn’t have too many boyfriends during this time, though, not that I didn’t want to—I was too busy. I’d had a lot of boyfriends in my life, anyway. Last count I was up to eleven! During this time I re-dated Eddie for a short period, but although the sex had been good in college, I wasn’t as attracted to him anymore and after a few weeks I broke it off. And

Dawson would just…glare. It got kind of uncomfortable.

No more professors or cute heartbreaker singers, but there was a friend of Pacey’s—a very, very cute bartender who was like Pacey but without all that history, and we usually went back to his place. I don’t want to even think of his name. I think I didn’t want him to come back to my place because…I don’t know exactly. I was the breaker again, breaking it off when he said he wanted to marry me. Pacey was relieved. So was Dawson.

I was upset, though, and Dawson let me climb into his bed that night and comforted me. “You’re young. Way too young and you made the right decision.” I know I had.

I remembered hearing about him and that other woman, last year and living in L.A. Pacey had told me—“Um, Dawson’s…engaged.” For some crazy reason I’d felt…upset. It was childish, just like Dawson had accused of me. But I wasn’t going to say sorry, I was truly upset. I didn’t want any of my friends getting married just yet, being taken away from me. I’d met this girl only a few times. Didn’t think much of her.

The year was drawing to a close, as was my last year as copy editor. I had been promised a promotion, but I was looking around at other publishing houses. I was offered a job at Doubleday and I took it.

I think it was at that period of my life something lifted off my shoulders, and I walked down the street with a confident stride. Everyone was in their prime—Pacey was doing quite well as co-owner of a bar in Boston and manager of a trendier bar downtown NY; Audrey got a promotion organizing hip New York parties and charities; Jack was working for Adidas Advertising, and Dawson got a fantastic job opportunity. London: three years.

He told Audrey and I over salads at a café. I think I truly believed he wouldn’t take it, that he’d stay, like he had long ago. I was caught unawares when I saw his duffel bag, his passport.

I took him to the airport after he’d said goodbye to everyone, and had even bought him a bag of mints. “Thanks,” he’d hugged me and kissed me on the cheek.

“I’ll call you every chance I get, and rack up appalling international phone bills.”

“You better.” I was on the brink of tearing up when he kissed me on the mouth. “I’ll miss you,” he whispered into my hair. And I think I said it back…I’m not sure, things were hazy. We kissed some more, long, lingering, passionate kisses, open-mouthed and slow, like we were crazy in love. Some people smiled at us as they walked past.

I now hate airports.

I waved him off and drove back to work. It was not until that night, as Audrey and I watched some Meg Ryan movie on our brand new couch that I realized he was not there anymore, and I cried in Audrey’s lap like I had when Mitch’s death had finally sunken in on a similar evening, many moons ago.

Christmas 2010

I’ve had plenty of experience living without Dawson. The time he went to Philadelphia and I sat at home feeling like a bitch. The time I uh…sort of broke his heart and spent the whole summer kissing Pacey. The time we just went our separate ways after graduation. The time I…uh…kind of chose Pacey again after Jen’s funeral.

The thing is, for these times, it all changed as soon as I saw him. No matter how much I convinced myself I was better off without him, or how much in love I was with Pacey, whenever I saw him or had to breathe the same air, my heart turned and I turned into a blubbering mess. It was a curse, I tell you. And it only made it worse the older he grew. Because not only did he become, well, a mature, determined idealist guy who I loved, he just got…hotter. Sweeter. More of a guy I could see myself…being with. And worse yet? He didn’t know it.

I didn’t see him again until Christmas Eve the following year. I was helping Gail and Audrey make the salad and stuff the turkey. I had flour on my cheek and was mixing baste when Lily ran out of the kitchen with a shriek. Gail laughed, “Guess whose home.”

“Already?” Audrey sent me a look, which I ignored, but I followed her out into the hallway.

He came into the house covered in snow; Lily wrapped around one leg, Audrey wrapped around his arm, planting a kiss on his cheek. I self-consciously brushed the flour off my cheek and waved at him, holding onto the doorframe. He picked up Lily and looked at me, and it was just one look, but I was gone. “Hi Jo.”

Who was I kidding? I let go of the doorframe and flung my arms around him.

Pacey came out of the TV room, munching popcorn loudly, “What’s this? Dawson I know you’re content on having two of my women, but three?” Lily giggled and ran over to hug Pacey’s leg, and Dawson rolled his eyes. “Hi Pacey.”

****

What was wrong with me? I have great self-control. I’m twenty-six! Why am I even letting him squeeze my leg under the table? Is it warm and friendly or…no, it’s definitely more than warm and friendly. Maybe. Maybe he just missed me, maybe that’s why our hands are entangled on my knee and maybe that’s why I’m going to faint in a moment.

“It rained a lot, and I met Guy Ritchie…” “Are you going back there?” Audrey asked curiously. “No…” Dawson smiled at his mother, who laughed with relief. “I got offered more jobs in L.A. I’m done with England.”

“Man, you can’t stay in the East for long, can you?” Pacey broke up his bread roll and shook his head.

Dawson had the nerve to squeeze my thigh as he answered, “I still come back whenever I can.”

“Joey honey, are you okay?” Gail’s noticed the stricken expression on my face. “Headache,” I say lamely, and Dawson snorted his sympathetic bemusement.

****

“I’m expecting you to come up and tell me more about Guy Ritchie,” Audrey teased Dawson before she went up the stairs, where she was staying in the spare room. “No problemo.” He winked at her and Pacey clapped Dawson’s back. “I’m outta here. Tell your mom her food continues to be the best this side of Massachusetts.” “That’s for sure. See you tomorrow.” “Night...have a very merry Christmas, Jo.” Pacey had the nerve to wink at me before he left. What was his deal?

Dawson was looking at me…expectantly. I opened my mouth to say something but he beat me to it.

“Walk you back?”

He turned off the lights and I picked up a bauble on the Christmas tree, lingering behind subtly as Dawson went around securing the place.

I studied his body in the moonlight, my body reacting, my senses already tuned in to what I wanted tonight.

****

“Do you want to come in?” we both knew I didn’t mean ‘come in for milk and cookies.’ He made that soft growling, half chuckle he makes when he’s ‘torn.’ I smiled, reaching for his hand. “It’s okay…we can go to one of the B & B rooms. No one will…I mean, it’s private.”

“Are you sure?” he cupped my face as I nodded, and raising an eyebrow he maneuvered us over to where the red sprigs and mistletoe hung, just under the porch roof. He kissed me quickly but tenderly, and I giggled. Cute. I led him into the nicest room of the lot; it was one of two vacant. I locked the door from the inside and watched as Dawson looked around. It was a nice room, blue and white French style wallpaper, dark wood double bed and a fireplace, which had been lit earlier on by me in case I felt like sleeping in there...it was my favorite room, very comfy and country-style.

“This is nice, I like it. You’ve done a lot with this place,” Dawson complimented warmly, rubbing his hands together in front of the fire.

“Come on, you,” I shrugged his coat off and dragged him over to the bed and lay him down. I just wanted to hold him for now, like we used to. He got the message and hugged me tightly, kissing my temple as I buried my head into his chest and breathed in his spicy man scent.

His strong arms rubbed my back and he murmured, “I missed you.”

He sounded so ragged, so honest for such a phrase which we both already knew. I looked up at him, and saw him looking at me with those soulful blue eyes and I said it back. I then softly kissed him, just softly, testing our lips. He chuckled a little, his hand stroking up and down my back in a sensual tingling dance. I kissed him again, this time letting my tongue rub against his. This was all it took…Dawson sighed heavily and tried to move but I made him stay in that spot, laughing and kissing his neck, grounding my hips into his erection which had developed from just two kisses. I loved his responsiveness. “Only do this if you’re sure,” he said softly, looking into my eyes with his own, bright with fire. “Of course I’m sure.” I hardly recognized my own voice.

We both laughed then, and he started to pull up my sweater, adjusting it over my head and throwing it to the floor. I removed his, moving back to take a better look at his hard muscles, teasing him breathlessly, “You’ve been working out…”

“Hey…” he grabbed me and pulled me down to kiss me. We ended up in front of the fire on the floor, naked, kissing, caressing and murmuring.

It’ll be the only time we’ve made love since the time in college, and my heart started to pound through my breast.

I don’t know why we waited so long—but it only took us a few moments before he was showing me how to make love European style, right there on the floor, the flames flickering off our skin and in our eyes.

We then moved to the swing on the heated porch area just outside the room, and the swing moves with our slow, and then frantic rhythm, and I’m completely lost in his aura, his thickness, his warm kisses. He makes love to me like he can’t get enough of me, until I screamed into his shoulder, my toes tingled and I saw stars. We make love like erotic movie stars, uninhibited, loudly, in every position we can think of. I say things I have never said during sex and he told me to say them again and again until I get what I ‘m asking him to do...(ahem) It’s wild sex and I love it.

I came like I did last time with him…like a hot, ongoing rush of cursing and tensing and then a relaxing which shoots through my body, which is harder to keep away then to just let go.

“Wow, wow, wow,’ Dawson panted afterwards, wiping my hair off my forehead and breathlessly kissing my forehead. “I think we just woke up the whole of Capeside.”

“Are you kidding? Boston and New York are gonna call soon and complain,” I joked, stroking his smooth, warm face and stubbly chin.

We both panted for a while, trying to get our breath and lay there, caressing each other. After a while I spoke again.

“Do you think sex is better when you’re in love?” Fireworks were still going off in my eyes, and he chuckled throatily, amused like he always was when I asked him questions like that. We were covered in a woollen blanket, perfectly warm despite the snow falling just outside.

“Indefinitely,’ he replied, biting my shoulder, his hand splayed out over my stomach. “Jo, I think I’m more in love with you than ever. That was incredible.”

“Of course it was,” I think I said, and then I just remember cuddling him and being warm and floating away.

Okay, let me talk about Dawson and sex… he discovered it when we were eleven and were curious enough to watch a late night version of “Basic Instinct” suffice to say it’s been on his mind ever since. (The sex part. The ice pick part is not really in his league)

We both thought we’d do it together first, but life isn’t always as you think it should be, and we went in completely different directions. I don’t regret sleeping with Pacey. For a while it was nice. Sometimes I look at him and wonder what would have happened if we’d stayed together. The chemistry was there, but not enough trust, not enough staying power. One day we looked at each other and decided we weren’t with…’the one’. I look at him fondly, like…an old friend, a ‘brother friend’ a guy who won’t complicate things. And then I look at Dawson and my heart starts beating extra fast. It’s all in the reactions.

I was hurt and upset when I found out about Dawson sleeping with Jen not only because I thought we might be on the road to romance, but because…he was no longer a virgin…and I guess I thought I’d be his first. And it shook me up, because here was another wedge in our relationship. But now I’m thinking that actually, (and this is completely superficial I know) when we finally made love it was wonderful not just because we’d been waiting for so long but because we both had (a little, a lot, whatever…) experience. I would never tell him this, but he had more than me by then, and it startled me slightly, in a good way of course. I actually…had an orgasm, something I was had difficulty to have with Pacey and Charlie…more my shyness than their expertise.

Dawson was completely into it—sex, that is. For so long I thought of him as different to the average guy, different to say—Pacey, and in reality, he’s only a little different.

“This,” Dawson told me once, pointing to his crotch, “Makes men act like complete idiots.”

Ha. No surprise there. The fact he actually went out with that little witch Natasha in college…ugh! And over me? Okay, so I was too proud to take him back, but still…he admitted it was because they had great sex. And this from the guy who always said sex had to be special… and with the right person.

When we made love I was losing myself, I was Joey but I was in a different world, just reaching and kissing and desiring. I had no coherent thoughts or inhibitions. He does that to me sometimes.

****

THE END