The Wrong Witter, a
He couldn't believe it.
Gretchen had given this up for ...
Pacey looked across the steam rising from
the bubbling water between himself and Nick Taylor. Funny,
smart, attractive, adult Nick Taylor. What on earth could Gretchen get
from
Perhaps it was time little
brother steered big sister in the right direction. All it would take was a word
of encouragement in the right quarter from him, and a few stolen moments of
passion from Nick, to get her headed the right way again. Trying not to smirk
too widely, he leaned forward, leaning his elbows on his knees, watching Nick
watch Gretchen.
"What she really needs
is a guy like you. Back in her life." He looked
as sincere as possible. Under the circumstances, it wasn't a stretch. Given the
options, namely
Nick looked back at him,
bright blue eyes disconcertingly like
Get Gretchen and Nick back
together.
The party that night would
just be the beginning. He smiled at Nick. Nick grinned back.
Four hours, three beers,
two girls flirting with him and one hundred eighty degree attitude adjustment
later, Pacey was ready to dunk Nick in the nearest
keg and hold him there until his feeble struggles for life died away to
nothingness. He glared over his shoulder, pulling Gretchen behind him out of
the noise of the house into the relative quiet of the yard.
"Your ex-boyfriend
puts the A in hole!" he growled. He'd told Nick that there was someone
special waiting for him, and what had been Nick's reaction? Doesn't matter
since she'll never find out, here's the key, don't forget the condom. He was
ready to punch something. Preferably Nick.
Gretchen was actually
defending the jerk. "The things you liked about him are the things I still
do." Even after ...
Even after. Yeah.
She'd told
Nick didn't know.
Pacey was torn. He wanted to kill Nick. Wanted to hold Gretchen. Wanted to hurt anything and anyone
who'd ever hurt her, including himself, at that moment, for forcing it out of
her. Didn't have a single clue in the wide world what the heck he was supposed
to do next.
So he took the beer Nick
handed him and stared, silent, feeling stupid and useless, as Gretchen walked
away. Watched from a distance, struggling to understand, as
she took Nick's hand and led him upstairs. Where Pacey
knew the condoms were in the cigar box, because Nick had told him, a thousand
years and an hour ago when Nick had blithely assumed that Pacey
was just like Nick and wouldn't think twice about cheating on the woman whose
trust he held along with her heart.
He didn't know whether to
throw up, punch the wall, drink enough beer to drown
any self-respecting introspective thought, or run away. So he did none of the
above.
He sat on the stoop until
it was light enough to see what he was doing then he fixed Gretchen's car.
Banging on the carburetor wasn't quite as satisfactory as punching Nick's face
in, but it was less likely to get himself arrested, not to mention trying to
explain the unexplainable to a man who simply didn't have the moral character
to comprehend his objections.
Besides, if he went up to
the room with the key on the end of the green rabbit foot, he might see
Gretchen naked. With Nick.
Not a good thing.
She came out the door
looking well rested and younger than she had since she'd come home from
college. He didn't know what to say to her. How was your night? would lead either to unacceptable offense or equally
unacceptable details. He gestured to the truck and brought her up to speed on
his progress. Then she floored him.
"Nothing
happened."
Because
of Pacey. Because he respected her, as he should, and she finally got
it. Finally understood that she deserved that respect, and
that she deserved to be with someone who got it, too. Not necessarily
Heck, she had. He glared up
at the quiet house as she drove away. He'd meet her later at home. But first,
he had some clarification to make to one Nick Taylor.
Maybe all his aggression
hadn't been taken out on the carburetor, after all. Words tumbled around his
mind all the way through the first floor rooms, up the stairs, to Nick's door.
He raised his hand to pound on it but it swung open at the first touch of his
knuckles.
Nick was sprawled on the
bed. Clothes were lying in a heap at the foot of the bed and he was barely
covered in a pair of boxers that had twisted up around his waist. His hair was
falling in his face. He looked ridiculously innocent. Pacey
realized he was staring as if hypnotized at Nick's mouth and wrenched his gaze
away, glancing wildly around the room.
Burnt incense sticks. Muted
shades on the lamps. Guttered stubs of candles over every imaginable -- and a
few improbable -- surfaces. The epitome of the frat seduction
pit in all its morning-after glory. Innocent, in a
pig's eye.
Pacey was on his knees on the bed next to
Nick's hip with both hands on the bastard's shoulders before he was really
aware of moving. All the adrenaline, all the anger he hadn't been able to spend
during his marathon session of mechanical tinkering, all the frustration that
he could have misjudged Nick so badly and the deep-rooted fear that perhaps he
hadn't, that perhaps Nick saw him clearly and they really were very much alike,
combined in an explosive mixture. His face was an inch from Nick's and he was
snarling like an animal at him, too pissed off to form a single coherent word.
"Gretchen?" Nick
muttered incredulously, still more than half asleep. One hand came up from the
bedspread and landed, unerringly, directly between Pacey's
legs, tracing the length of his penis in one firm stroke.
Pacey froze. Well, most of him froze. The
part under expert if unexpected manual examination at the moment veered wildly
from previous experience and, contrary to expectation, perked up to take an
interest in the proceedings.
"Wrong Witter,"
Nick murmured, sounding relaxed and happy and horny. Pacey
tried to nod. Tried to say something. The only sound
he could force out was a weird gurgle about two octaves lower than his normal
speaking voice. "Hi, Dougie," Nick growled
from the general vicinity of Pacey's waistband. Both
the timbre and the location continued to lower. Pacey
shivered.
Dougie?
"Merry
Christmas," Nick whispered in the half-second before he unzipped Pacey's fly and proved that the slit in the front of a
young man's boxers was good for more than air-drying.
Pacey nearly swallowed his tongue. Dougie? Christmas? Then any attempt at thought, rational or
otherwise, fled his mind as Nick proved he was equally adept at driving female and
male Witters completely out of their wits. The world
tilted and Pacey was somehow flat on his back with
Nick crouched between thighs that had opened all on their own. Nick's hands
were doing incredible and incredibly bizarre things to his ass at the exact
same time that Nick's mouth was doing things nobody'd
ever even considered doing to his dick.
He really should punch him,
Pacey decided muzzily. That
was what he had come up there to do, and just because Nick was showing an
unreal ability to drain his brains from the end of his dick was no reason for Pacey to alter his plans.
Except for the fact that he
couldn't get his fingers untangled from their death grip on the sheets. There
was also the indisputable fact that if he punched Nick then Nick would stop
doing what he was doing with his tongue to the head of Pacey's
dick and if Nick stopped before Pacey came Pacey would die of a heart attack brought about by extreme
frustration. That was a good reason not to punch him.
That was an even better
reason to lie in the middle of Nick's bed and howl like a dog at the moon as he
had the single hardest orgasm of his young life while everything above his
navel went into shock.
Happy little slurping
sounds made the soundtrack to the most surreal experience of his life as Nick
reached up, past him, to the cigar box. Mind busily being reminded by his body
of everything he'd been missing since he started going out with a determinedly
virgin, well, virgin, Pacey was unprepared for the
strong hands lifting his knees up to his shoulders. His thighs spreading even further, and who'd've thought he
was that flexible? Or the fingers that left him just to be replaced by
something longer, thicker, heavier and hotter than any two fingers, no matter
how clever they'd been.
"Holy
shit!" The
juxtaposition of those two words in that phrase had never struck him as quite so appropriate as it did the very first time he got fucked.
It felt like Nick was cramming a two by four into a post hole dug for a one by
one.
Jack actually wanted to do
this? For real?
Stray thoughts were pinging
through his brain like sparks shooting off a campfire, and making about as much
sense. Nick's mouth was working at the base of his neck now, and those hands
had left his knees and were clamped onto his butt, holding him fast as Nick
bucked into him. Pacey couldn't seem to stop
wondering why on Earth Jack would actually want to do this when his legs
shifted down and locked around Nick's waist, easing the strain. Nick groaned
against him, and Pacey shivered.
The groan had felt pretty
good.
Not concentrating on the
fact that he was pinned under a determined frat boy who was fucking his brains
out actually helped him relax, and once he did, Pacey
came to a startling conclusion.
It didn't hurt as much. Burned a little bit. Actually felt kind of good. Then Nick
arched his back and thrust into him at a different angle. Nick's eyes were
closed and his face had an expression as if he was in pain.
Fireworks attached to something
inside him that Nick was banging up against went off, and Pacey
came very close to screaming. Holy shit, indeed.
If that happened every time
a guy got fucked, no damned wonder Jack was up for it.
Pacey looked down. He was pretty up for
it himself. Concentrating hard, which was difficult with his world rocking
every time Nick hit the fireworks switch, Pacey
managed to unwind a hand from the sheets and wrap it around his dick, awake and
humming along for the ride. He didn't even have to jack himself. All he did was
hold on and let Nick make the moves.
Just like riding a bike. While being ridden. Nothing like a bike.
Well aware that he was
making no sense, but still impressed that his mind could form words when his
tongue was barely up to streaming gibberish, Pacey
came the second time just as Nick reared back and tried to crawl all the way
inside him. Or at least that was what it felt like. His second climax wasn't
quite as long as the first one, but it was so intense it nearly turned him
inside out. He was still shaking when Nick pulled out.
Ouch. Not particularly
pleasant. But not unpleasant enough to negate the effects of
two spectacular orgasms or the unveiling of a whole new horizon to his
sexuality. Pacey lay against the sheets like a
very relaxed beached whale who'd just been thoroughly
harpooned, struggling to think over the ramifications of recent events with a
brain that felt like boiled bran.
Nick snuggled up beside him
and started to snore. Pacey drew back far enough to
look down into Nick's face.
Yup. He still looked about five years
old. An incredibly debauched five year old, which freaked Pacey
out almost as much as the fact that he'd just had sex with his sister's
ex-boyfriend. For a guy who was currently pledged body, soul and heart to his
best friend's ex-girlfriend, this was a hard pill to swallow. On so many levels.
Dragging himself as quietly
and carefully as possible, Pacey crept out of Nick's
bed, unwound his pants from his left shoe, stuffed his right leg back into
them, searched out and put back on his right shoe, and snuck down the stairs. Slowly. In a rather crab-like manner due
to unaccustomed burn from pulled muscles in unusual places.
Balancing carefully, he
climbed into the car, inserted a CD at random into the player, and began the
long drive home. Sitting lightly.
He had a lot to think
about. What he was going to say to Joey. What he wasn't going to say to
Gretchen. What he couldn't even think about around Doug. How he was going to
appease his conscience for cheating on Joey, even if it was more like an
accidental impalement by a runaway train. Trying, for some reason that was too
fuzzy to understand and too frightening to examine closely, not to think about
Of course, all he could
think about ... was
It was a very long ride
home.
end