Jen shut the door behind them with a flick of her wrist and sank down it onto the floor, back curled and knees to her chest. Pacey grinned, reaching down to take the coat from her outstretched hand and hanging it with his own at the hooks by the door.

Mike collapsed onto the couch and the Pacey a sideways grin.
“You have a beer, man?”

Pacey smiled, walking through into the adjoining kitchen.
“I have several. Sure you’re not on duty, Officer Mike?”

“Consider me fully and completely devoid of all law-abiding policies whatsoever.”

Pacey laughed softly, bending to pull three beers from the fridge. Walking back into the sitting room he collapsed onto a chair and leant back against its frame, closing his eyes.

“Ugh…I think I’m getting old,” he muttered, bringing a hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

“Why, because you’re exhausted after a night like that?” Jen made a face. “Even the most sprightly and able-bodied teen would be dripping about the same amount of sweat right now.”

Mike grinned, taking the beer Pacey offered and opening it with one hand against the coffee table. Rolling Jen’s across the floor she accepted it with a grateful smile, tapping its edge against the doorframe to ease off the bottle-top. She let her head fall back, pulling at it long and hard, eyes closed as she leaned her head against the wall.

Pacey watched her out of the corner of his eyes, how her form lengthened, curves evident against the soft line of her clothes as she raised an arm, holding the beer, the other outstretched and palm to the floor to hold her up.

Her breasts were raised, high, and tight against the material of the grey dress she wore, the material falling to mid-thigh before tapering out. Even with her legs bent to the side, Pacey caught a glimpse of her black panties from where the hem had ridden up.
God, how he wanted to touch her, To reach out, lay a hand across that gentle skin, pull at her hair, caress her face, her lips, her body…

Pacey closed his eyes in an attempt to get the image of her out of his mind. But even in the welcomed darkness, the picture played across his lids, imprinted to memory. Screw this…This must have been the third or forth time that day he had had complex issues involving her body. If this was how he dealt with it, body reacting involuntarily, heart aching, how was it going to be when she acted as normal, prancing around their apartment in a pair of his boxers and a button-down shirt?
The idea of anyone else wearing his clothing hadn’t even been quite this appealing.

He took a deep breath and focused his attentions on his own beer, downing it quickly with no breath in between, the thick, sweet liquid comforting as it slid down the back of his throat, filling his stomach, almost easing the perpetual ache in his body.

Putting her bottle down on the floor, Jen wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I think it’s safe to say I am well and truly shattered. And these…” Reaching down, she yanked at her shoes, hurling them halfway across the room. “Are a torture device invented, I wager, by a male designer with a height complex.” She frowned, rubbing at the souls of her feet.

Mike grinned, turning to face her as he took sips of his beer.
“Then why wear them?”

“Because I have a height complex, too.” She sighed. “Because, despite my feminist argument, I have a knack for self-torture. I do it well…”

Mike studied her in silence a moment, no contrition in his dark eyes as he examined her openly.
“Want a foot massage?” he asked finally.

Jen’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Well, that’s normally Pacey’s area of expertise but if you’re sure…”

He nodded firmly.
“I’m sure.”

Jen shrugged lightly, eyes curious as she pulled herself up from the floor. She cast a furtive, almost guilty glance in Pacey’s direction, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. She swallowed hard as she took a seat on the sofa, slowly lifting her feet up to waist level.

With relative ease, Mike pulled one leg onto his lap, trailing his finger over the arch of her foot, so slow the touch was more caress than foot-rub. But it felt good, despite the butterflies running through her stomach, Pacey’s unflinching gaze, fixed to her face. She didn’t look his way but could feel the heat of his eyes against her. She had always been able to tell when he was watching her.

Jen leaned back, tucking her other foot under the calf of her left, flexing it lightly before relaxing again. Mike appeared to study her in complete fascination, gaze fixed to the soft skin of her feet and lower legs, handling her gently as if she were something that might brake.
Clenching his fists to is side, Pacey pressed them against the carpeted floor, feeling the material burn into his hand as he watched her, sprawled out like a cat, limbs extended, chest softly rising and falling, head lolled back.

And he got to be the one holding her. Mike, the one who didn’t, really belong here. The man who had a home of his own, a wife of his own, a life of his own. The man who was, to all intents and purposes, his friend.

Pacey took a deep breath, wondering briefly why it was bothering him so much. It wasn’t like he was groping her. It was merely the casual act of a friend, a foot-rub and nothing more, nothing more significant, more scary, more important than that. Really…

Mike spread her toes gently, causing Jen to smile as he ran his little finger in the space between her little toe and the one next to it.

“That tickles,” she murmured, eyes still closed.

“It does?” Mike laughed gently, watching her face for more signs of amusement as he repeated the action. This time Jen twisted slightly, hips rising from the couch, waist twisting, head lolling further back.

“Tease,” she muttered, flexing her toes for a moment before going soft again.

“You’re just too easy,” he murmured, letting the double meaning roll over her, settling in the space between them. Jen froze only for a minute, eyes still closed, before she relaxed again. With a tight frown, Pacey watched, wondering if Mike had noticed too. If he knew her body movements yet, knew the way she talked, sat, lay, presented herself. Wondered if he had committed it all to memory as he had. But God, if he had…

“Too easy?” she asked, breaking the silence, though her voice was held back.

“Yeah.” Rubbing his thumb in circles around her ankles he began to need the flesh of the underside of her foot. “Too easy to make giggle.” His face broke out into a smile. “You have ticklish feet, don’t you?”

“I do,” she admitted with a tiny smile as he drummed his fingers lightly against the side of her right foot.

“So…feeling better yet?”

“Already. Much.” She wiggled her toes at him. “You can stay.”

Mike laughed loudly.
“I don’t think Pacey would like that very much.” He raised his head slowly, casting his friend a casual smile. “Or we’d both have to vie for the attention of our one female roommate.”

“Yeah,” Jen smirked with a smile, missing Pacey’s uncomfortable glance in her direction. “Like he’d be willing to fight for me. If it were up to him you could have me for free.”

“Is that so?” he asked, eyes meeting Pacey’s again, surprised by the depth there. His friend didn’t appear to move, gaze fixed solely on his face, neither friendly nor confrontational. More like the man forced to accept his fate, watching it unfold with blind contempt and disappointment.

“Well…” Pacey said the word slowly, not allowing himself the pleasure and pain of watching her again. If he saw her face, relaxed and easy, her body sprawled out, so inviting, he was likely to pull Mike off the couch and have it out with him right there. Taking a deep breath, he kept his eyes firmly on the older man instead. “I might be persuaded to object just a little For good time’s sake.”

“Really?” He watched from the corner of his eyes as Jen turned her head to the side, a soft smile playing on her lips as she studied him. It took all his strength not to return the look.

“Really,” he answered her softly, almost an admittance of defeat.

Jen brought an arm up, curling it behind her head, a movement which only drew more attention to her figure. Both Mike and Pacey fidgeted, trying to hide their arousal at the sight of her lying there. Grateful for the arm of the chair, Pacey turned his groin towards it, cursing himself profusely inside for letting it get this far. Letting himself want her this much.

“Hmmmm,” she murmured softly, eyes dropping slowly closed once more. They sat in complete silence for the next few minutes, both men listening to the sound of her breathing which gradually slowed its pace, grew louder with each breath out, a little sigh emerging.

Pacey smiled at the familiar sound. Sometimes, even when she was lying alone in her room next to his own, he could hear her. The gentle, rhythmic sound of her breathing, had become a comfort to him.

Finally, after a few more minutes, her lifted himself to his feet and walked towards his friend. Mike turned his head upward with a questioning look and Pacey shrugged.
“I’d better get her into bed.”

“You want some help?”

Pacey smiled, hoping it didn’t wear too thin.
“I’ve got it, man, thanks,” he murmured, kneeling down by Jen’s side. “Hey, sweetheart…” With a smile, he touched a finger to her nose, watching her mouth for the familiar sign of its crinkling in the edges, a half-smile at his touch, even in her unconscious state.

Jen sighed contentedly, snuggling up to the arm of the couch.

“Jen…” He lay a hand against her cheek, stroking it for a moment before pulling back again. With a sigh, he reached a hand underneath her body, and one over the top, pulling her into an upright, sitting position.

Still wobbly, and woozy from near-sleep, Jen leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his neck, floppy like a rag-doll. Wincing with the effort to be careful, Pacey slowly inched his hand underneath her ass, using it as leverage to push himself up to standing and pull her up with him.

Unconsciously, Jen wrapped both legs around his waist, head forward against his shoulder and Pacey took a deep breath, almost shutting her eyes as he moved towards her bedroom. Turning to kick open the door, he met Mike’s glance, his face studying him in silence, an indecipherable look on his face. With an awkward smile, Pacey pushed the door open, slipping behind it.

Moving to her bed, Pacey bent gently at the waist, easing her down onto the sheets. Reaching behind him, he unhooked her legs and let them fall back to her side, doing the same with her arms. He took a deep breath, hand against his heart in an effort to slow his breathing.

Jesus, he hoped she wasn’t a light sleeper. Each step he had taken, each move he had made, he had been acutely aware of her pressed against him, the softness of her female body; breasts, belly, against his own, harder torso. He had been even more aware of his cock, hard against the inside of her thigh, praying as he moved she wouldn’t awake and freeze, knowing the feeling of him.

Not because it was him, but because she had been there before. Been held, wanted, admired, made love to, before. And yet…never by him.

For a brief moment Pacey questioned why.

He closed his eyes, hands shaking as he stood by her bed, not quite ready to look at her again. After a moment of composure Pacey opened them again, staring down at her. This time the confusion, the worry, was replaced by familiar affection. This emotion, this he remembered, and cherished. With a tiny smile, he reached down, pulling the sheets half over her body, arranging them over her chest before stepping back.

He stood there for what seemed like hours, learning every part of her in her sleep when she couldn’t argue back. Eyes scanning the length, shape of her body, almost as if they were touching.

With a sigh, turning, Pacey headed back towards the door, reluctant to leave the room but knowing he had to. There was silence on the other side of the door, and Pacey wondered briefly what his friend was thinking.

What he was imagining.

Pacey gripped hold of the door-handle and held it sharp for a few seconds before opening it, stepping through again into the light.

Something told him he and Mike had a lot to talk about.