Originally written and posted to my LiveJournal on March 15, 2007. Pacey/Joey post-series.

Pacey was brushing his teeth when a sharp knock came at the bathroom door.

"Come in," he called out around a mouthful of toothpaste.

The door creaked open and Joey came through, all tousled hair and sleepy eyes.

He rinsed his mouth and flashed her a smile. "Why, good morning, Miss Potter."

"Morning," Joey mumbled, hopping up on the bathroom counter in front of him. Pacey took a second to appreciate her long, slim legs in his boxers, the pair she'd appropriated the first weekend she stayed at his house. She'd paired it with an oversized Red Sox shirt - also his, he noted with a smirk. They looked better on her than they ever had on him.

Pacey splashed water on his face and reached for the can of shaving cream, only to have Joey snatch it out of his hand. "Let me?" she said hopefully, and he nodded, stepping between her legs.

"You're up early," she said, carefully spreading shaving cream over his chin and upper lip.

"Dan called in sick. I have to run over and open the restaurant."

Joey hmmed in response, wiping her hands on a towel.

"Y'know, Jo, I've got an apron with your name on it if you ever feel like coming back to the Icehouse," he teased.

She tossed him one of her patented Potter death glares, but after a few seconds her face cracked and she grinned. "I'll have you know I've worked very long and hard with the express goal of never waiting tables again." Hooking her feet around the backs of his thighs, she pulled him in closer and kissed the tip of his nose. "Now hold still. Lady with a sharp object here."

Joey leaned forward with one hand on his bare chest for balance as she began to pass over his face with the razor. Pacey rested his hands on her legs, his thumbs brushing the soft skin on the inside of her thighs. Her fingers clenched on his chest in response, her nails digging lightly into his skin. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep. There were worse ways to spend a morning.

It had taken a while for her to get the hang of it, but the first few weeks of showing up to work with bits of tissue paper on his face had been worth it. This was part of the rhythm they'd developed - mornings in the bathroom and evenings on the front porch swing, weekends out on the bay or in her apartment in New York. He'd always known he didn't want to live without her, but he'd never suspected living with her could work so well.

"Here," she said after a few minutes, passing the razor over to him. She knew he preferred to handle the neck area, even though he had total confidence that she wouldn't slice open his carotid artery. Really.

Pacey finished up and toweled off his face. He leaned in to rub his cheek against hers, loving the laugh that illicited from her. "Nice work, Potter."

Joey slid off the counter, her body pressed flush against his. "You probably should get to work, Pace," she said in the low, husky tone of voice she had that just spelled trouble. If he'd been half-asleep before, he certainly wasn't now.

Pacey shrugged, his hands gripping her hips. "I've got a few minutes." Just when he dipped his head down, she smoothly sidestepped out of his grasp. Slowly, she pulled her - his - shirt up over the flat expanse of her stomach.

"I'm gonna take a shower," Joey said, looking back over her bare shoulder as she tossed the shirt on the counter. The dark fall of her hair contrasted with the pale gold of her skin. She raised her eyebrows at him, as if to say "well?" before leaning over and turning on the faucet.

"Fuck it," Pacey growled, grabbing her at the waist and lifting her up and into the tub.

He ended up being twenty minutes late for work, which he thought was pretty good, all things considered.

end