He turned slightly, his stool swiveling with the quick motion of his hips. He rested his arm on the bar, his hand curled loosely around his drink. His eyes held hers, the neon lights reflected in their blue depths. "Every once in a while."

"Not surprising. A guy like you, on the make, right? Looking for the next pretty, young thing to sidle up to you in her silky shirt, buttons undone to here," she pointed somewhere in the vicinity of her navel. "Pants so tight she can barely breath, much less squeak out some pathetic excuse for a come on."

"Stop, you're turning me on." He lifted his drink and gestured toward her. She gave him a small nod and he signaled the bartender. "What'll you have?"

"Seven and seven."

He nodded at the bartender, watching him as he built the drink. When it was in front of her, he lifted his glass again, waiting until she clinked the clear crystal against his. "Not that it matters," he took a drink and let the cool heat slide down his throat, "but I'm not interested in bottled blonde bimbos with big breasts."

"But you do have a thing for alliteration?"

"I mean, those girls you described are a dime a dozen. I want something that's a little more of a challenge."

"Like a middle-aged woman out on the prowl, wearing her desperation like a shawl over her bent shoulders?"

He took another drink, watched her sip hers. Her eyes were flashing over the rim of her glass, teasing him. "What do you do?"

"I'm a teacher. Over at the community college."

"Yeah?" What do you teach?"

Her hand slid up his leg, her fingers grazing over the worn denim pulled taut over his thigh muscles. "English."

"I did well in English."

Tamara slid off her stool and slipped between Pacey's legs before easing away from him. "So I recall."

He slid into the passenger seat of her convertible, turning so he could look at her, the bright lights of the bar sign flashing over the silky spread of her hair. "You don't seem surprised to see me."

"I'm not." She rested her hands on the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. "I've been expecting it, ever since The Creek first hit the airwaves. After all, you and I had a lot of unfinished business, didn't we?"

He shook his head. "We finished it. Not the way I think either of us wanted, but probably the only way we could have."

"Do you really think we played out that way? The way your friend Dawson portrayed us on the screen?" She gave him a knowing glance. "Did he really tape our first time?"

"No. No. And yes." He shrugged. "I could never really figure out how to tell you that my best friend was most likely beating off to our romantic interlude."

"It's not something that comes up easily in conversation." She managed a laugh. "Where's the tape now?"

"Dawson's a lonely guy." He shrugged, leaving it at that. She laughed and he fought his smile. "He put a spin on us. His own spin, layering with his skewed morality. Had he asked me, which he didn't, by the way, I would have told him the truth."

"What was the truth?"

"I loved you." He refused to look at her, instead following her eyes to the dark parking lot that stretched before them. "And you loved me, I think."

"I did."

"And that…that has no place on Dawson's little epic retread of my high school years. In fact, I can safely say that there's very little of what goes on on the show that has anything to do with anything I thought or felt or believed between the ages of fifteen and twenty."

"But a teacher sleeping with a student…"

"He had to sell the pilot somehow. And we all know that his overblown claptrap about romance and his coming of age wasn't going to do it."

"So he borrowed yours?"

"Something like that." Pacey shifted slightly, uncomfortable for some reason. He chewed his lower lip thoughtfully for a moment. "Can we go somewhere?"

"Where?"

"Your place? My hotel?" He reached over and took her hand, threading his fingers through hers. "I feel like there's something more to say and I want to look at you when I say it."

"There's nothing left for us to say, Pacey."

"Another Pinter moment?"

"No. Just…nothing." She freed her hand and started the car. He nodded and wrapped his fingers around the door handle. She looked out the window then back to the windshield. "Bring your car. Follow me."

"I could just ride with you. Take a cab back." Tears lingered precariously on her lashes as she looked at him. He caught his breath and exhaled slowly. "I'll follow you."

He parked as she disappeared into the front office, his car idling as he watched her rent the room, pocket the key. He killed the engine as she walked back out, locking his car as he followed her into the room. She shut the door behind him, trapping them both in darkness. He started to speak, stopped as her mouth found his, her tongue snaking between his parted lips.

He moaned, the familiar taste of her bathing his tongue. His hands shook as he lifted them to her shoulders, feeling all of fifteen again as her hands moved over his body, feeling all the differences borne of their years apart.

Tamara broke the kiss and pulled back, looking at him with tortured eyes. Longing painted them black as she reached for him. "You shook the first time too." She captured his hands and brought them up to her shoulders, her own hands moving to his waist. "Your entire body trembled."

Her nails scraped his stomach as she gathered his shirt in her hands and lifted it up over his head. She let the fabric fall to the floor, her hands back on his body, running her palms over the flat slope of his chest. His nipples were tight and hard against her hands, the rough nubs surrounded by a dark spattering of hair.

He unbuttoned her shirt and guided it over her shoulders, stepping away from her intoxicating touch long enough to strip the silky fabric off of her. She watched him with narrowed eyes as he easily unhooked her bra, his gaze on the swell of her breasts as he freed them from the lingerie. He lifted one large hand to cup the mounds of creamy flesh, his thumb rubbing gently over one distended nipple. "Fifteen was a long time ago."

She caught his hand and held it against her breast for a moment before moving away from him. She unzipped her skirt and let it slither to the floor, stepping out of it and kicking it away from her. Reaching down, her eyes on his, she unhooked the garter from her thigh high stocking, releasing the one in the back as well then sliding the silk mesh down her leg. Her high heel fell to the floor with a soft thump, the flesh colored lingerie tangled with it.

He moved toward her, easing behind her and unhooking the second garter, freeing the clasp of the belt as well. His hands smoothed over the curve of her ass as she bent to rid herself of the last of her clothing, her velvety skin pressed against his jeans.

She turned slowly, her breasts swaying with the movement, her hips rolling seductively as she took a step back. His eyes moved over her milky flesh, his hands fumbling with his belt. The leather whispered against the denim as he pushed it aside, unfastening the button and sliding down the zipper as he kicked his shoes free. She took another step back, observing him with knowing eyes, her gaze straying down to the prominent bulge beneath the silk of his boxers, his rampant erection straining at the fabric.

He swallowed hard, taking a deep breath in the suddenly thin air of the room. Tamara stepped forward and hooked her long fingernails under the waistband, guiding the dark blue fabric over his cock and down to the floor, letting it fall as it passed over his hips. "Definitely not fifteen anymore."

"No," he shook his head and advanced on her, his slow steps matching her backwards stride, halting inches away from her as she collided with the hotel room wall. He reached out and threaded his fingers through her hair, holding her still as he closed the distance between them, his naked body pressed insistently to hers. "I haven't been fifteen for a long time."

Her voice was a rough whisper. "You were never fifteen, Pacey."

He stole her breath from her, his lips finding hers. His hands moved over her hips to the small of her back, gliding over the curve of her ass, sliding between her warm flesh and the cool wall. His tongue moved over hers, tasting the lushness of her mouth, delving into warm caverns of heat.

Tamara groaned, her hips arcing toward his. She curled one leg around the back of his, trapping his cock against her skin as her hands moved over his arms, tracing the firm muscle of his bicep. He slid his hands up, moving them beneath her arms and lifting her as if she were weightless, settling her on his bent knee, the hot wetness of her arousal bathing his skin. A soft murmur of pleasure slipped into his mouth with her tongue as she wriggled against him, the rough hairs on his thigh teasing the sensitive flesh between her legs.

He shivered hungrily, capturing her mouth again and again, his teeth nibbling at the full flesh of her lower lip, his tongue plunging inside her as his hips rolled toward hers, their bodies moving in tandem, the hard flesh of his cock trapped between them.

Tamara placed her hands on either side of his neck, pulling him away from her. He stared at her, his chest brushing hers with every breath, the heavy air of the room hurting as he sucked it into his lungs. She stared at him, her hands caressing his neck, moving around to the short hairs at the nape, her nails raking quietly through them, sending sensations through him, each tremor echoed by the slow reaction of his hips.

She leaned in and kissed him, sucking his lower lip into her mouth and letting it go reluctantly, her teeth tenaciously clinging to the swollen flesh. "I want you inside me," she whispered between kisses, her tongue moving over his lip, tracing the marks her teeth had left. "Now."

He nodded, easing her to the floor, his body still pressed close to hers. She smiled, the knowing that he'd always attributed to her being older sliding across her lips, through her eyes. It wasn't older, it was just knowing. Knowing him. Knowing what she wanted. Knowing he would give it to her.

"Whatever you want, Miss Jacobs."

She laughed, the sound husky as she rested her hand in the center of his chest, pushing him onto the bed. He fell back, watching her body move sinuously as she followed him down, her skin flushed with arousal as she crawled up his body, flesh dragging against flesh as she centered herself above his hips, her hand curling around his cock, stroking it slowly.

Pacey closed his eyes for a moment, reveling in the feel of her hand on him, the slight pressure of her fingers, the warmth of her palm as it slid over his hard, velvet flesh. She met his eyes as they opened, her own dark with need as she moved over him, inching forward, her hand guiding his cock until the tip brushed over her swollen flesh.

He reached for her hips, holding her steady as she stared at him, smiling hungrily as she slowly sank down the length of him. As she settled around him, her body sheathing him in searing heat, he let his hands drift lazily up her sides, swirling patterns on her damp skin as he worked his way to her breasts, curving his hands around the creamy mounds, cupping their weight in his palms.

She rocked her hips slightly, shifting the feel of him inside her. Pacey's eyes fluttered toward closed as her muscles clenched and relaxed around him. He moved his hands up, letting her tight nipples play across his palms. She mewled, the sound melting into a pleased moan as her hands grasped his sides, palms resting on his abdomen as she lifted herself up, letting his cock slide from between her legs before thrusting back down, closing her eyes as he filled her again.

Pacey rubbed her nipples before snaring them between thumb and forefinger. He rolled the tight flesh gently, watching her eyelids fall, her lashes fluttering as her breath stuttered between her lips.

Her head fell back, her hair cascading down her back, the long blonde strands loose until they caught the sweat slowly building a light sheen on her body as she continued moving above him, every thrust growing in momentum and rhythm, her muscles tightening faster and faster as she rode his body, her knees tight against his hips, her ass clenching with every thrust, every stroke.

Pacey's back arched off the bed, a low groan rolling off his lips as she let her hands slide up his chest then move back down his stomach, her nails catching the dark hairs that decorated his tanned flesh. She echoed the sound, her movements slowing, every stroke caressing the entire length of his cock, milking the hard flesh with constricting muscles.

He slid his hand up around her neck and pulled her to him, sitting up at the same time, his lips molding to hers, his tongue imitating the smooth action of his cock, sliding into her deep and hard and demanding, hungry, wanting. Tamara moaned around him, her body tightening, her back arching and breaking the kiss, her breasts firm against him as she quivered with the onslaught of her orgasm.

Electric heat washed over him and he breathed a rough expletive, her body drawing his own climax out of him. He lay beneath her, unable to control the rapid thrust of his hips, the determinedness of his cock to be buried inside her, diving into the liquid rush, feeling the tangible heat of her pooling at the base of his shaft, driving him on, driving him deeper.

Tamara gasped for air, her mouth open and hungry, her hands still moving over his body, memorizing the feel of it. He shuddered uncontrollably, her body's sudden, frantic, impatient thrusts ripping a second orgasm from his cock, fueling her rushed hunger, pushing her until she stilled, freezing above him, the silent pause broken by her hushed cry as she came around him once more.

Pacey stroked Tamara's face, his fingertips brushing over her cheeks. Her skin was flushed red with exertion and exhaustion, her body tremoring occasionally with the aftershocks of their orgasms. Her lashes were dark and sooty as they fluttered against her high cheekbones, his thumb disturbing them as he traced their curve.

"Pacey…"

He shook his head, not caring that she wasn't watching him. His hands changed, no longer gentle as they moved to her shoulders, holding her and easing her back onto the queen sized bed. She moaned, half in protest, as he settled over her, her eyes finally meeting his.

"Pacey…"

His cock slid out of her, the feeling of emptiness coinciding with the cool rush of air that replaced his natural heat. She shivered, unable to help herself, his name on her lips swallowed as he moved back to her, his arms sliding under her legs, angling her hips up off of the bed.

"Pacey, no."

He ignored her soft protest, a warm kiss pressed to the inside of her thigh. She caught her breath, the sudden sound loud in the room as he kissed her again, his tongue tasting sweat and sex as it snaked upward. He slid his hands under her ass, lifting her higher, his nose and mouth nuzzling the rosy flesh as he crept higher.

"No," she murmured, not even strong enough to convince herself. His hands kneaded her flesh, opening her to his seeking tongue. It slid between the parted lips of her sex, flickering over them before delving into the crevasse that shielded her clit. "Oh…fuck, no."

"Yes," he assured her, taking her clit into his mouth and sucking on the hard nub. Her hands fisted in his dark hair, the slight pressure not enough to force him to give up his pursuit of her pleasure, not keeping him from bathing her with his tongue, lapping eagerly at the flat bundle of nerves.

She whispered his name over and over as he tasted her, the words becoming less distinct, breathier as he let his tongue drift down, playing over the flat expanse of skin before diving inside her. He groaned as she flooded him, the taste of her undiluted as it coated his tongue, the familiarity of his own come a salty counterpoint to the heady flavor of hers.

She tugged at his hair, the sensation bordering on painful as he added to the pressure inside her slick passageway, two fingers following the eager thrusts of his tongue. Her hips rocked up off the bed, her own wild rhythm setting his. He slid another finger inside, letting his tongue drift back up to her clit, his teeth grazing over it.

She released his hair, reaching over her head for a pillow, pulling it down over her face, sweat soaking through the white case as she opened her mouth and moaned, her body still moving, her hoarse gasps buried in the pillow as she strained toward another orgasm, the plateau eluding her. Lifting his head, Pacey licked her stomach, warm, salty sweat of their lovemaking on his tongue as he pressed his thumb to her clit, pushing her to the edge, the hard, steady pressure breaking her, her throaty cry caught between the four walls, captured in the pillow she pressed to her mouth.

Pacey knelt between her legs and watched her as she let the pillow fall, her face pale despite the heated blush that suffused her entire body. His damp fingers trailed over her stomach, drifting up toward her breasts. "You okay?"

"What do you think your friend Dawson would do with this?"

He laughed softly and moved over her, his erection pressed to her flesh, between her legs, insistent but not inside her. "He's network, not HBO."

"So we wouldn't play well in Peoria?"

"What now?"

She shook her head and lifted her hand to her face, tracing his lower lip, her nails scratching the rough rasp of his stubble. "Commercial's over, Pacey. We're back to our regularly scheduled program." She leaned into him, kissing him softly before guiding him onto the bed, away from her. "I'm sure you have a life somewhere?" She shrugged and moved over to the pile of her clothes. "I have a husband, Pacey. A daughter. I moved on."

"So did I."

"I imagine you did. In grand style." She hooked her bra and pulled on her blouse, leaving it unbuttoned as she slid her skirt on, leaving the garter belt and stockings in a pile. "Reruns can be comforting, don't you think? Go back and see how it all began to figure out how in the hell you got where you are?"

"Can we stop with the fucking TV metaphors? Trust me, it's bad enough to see some bastardization of my life played out on the screen. I don't need it here and now."

She laughed softly, moving back to the bed and sitting beside him. She reached over and grabbed his hand, holding it lightly in hers. "We're about as real as that TV show, Pacey."

"I loved you like no one else."

"The feeling was…is mutual. You weren't my first, Pacey, not by a long shot. But you were memorable." She smiled and turned her head toward him, capturing his chin in her hand. "But tonight's not anything more than an illusion. Maybe you need to figure something out. Maybe you have a decision to make and you don't want to make it. Maybe you're feeling like you need someone to make the aging process a little less painful." She chuckled at his smirk. "Maybe you just needed to feel like a fifteen year old again."

He shrugged and freed his chin, looking away. "And what did you need?"

"You came looking for me, Pacey."

"You didn't walk away."

"No. I didn't."

He smiled and shrugged, standing up and heading for his clothes. She watched him dress in silence, appreciation shining in her eyes. "Did I?"

"Did you what, Mr. Witter?"

"Feel like a fifteen year old?"

"I wouldn't know, Pacey." She shook her head and stood up, kissing him softly, longingly. "You were never fifteen."

05/21/03