They’re in the parking lot.

“You’re in over your head.” She tells him, after he finally spits it out. “You don’t even know what you’d do with me if you caught me.”

“Yes, I do.” He sounds like an angry boy, steam curling from his mouth like a little dragon. Hands in his pockets, he kicks at an imaginary can.

“No you don’t. You don’t know yourself well enough.” She’s smiling now, and there’s something close to laughter in her voice, but it’s not mirthful. A cold breeze lifts her curls, and they float around her face for a moment. He shivers. “You have no idea why you even want me in the first place.”

She has a point. She’s a plain version of pretty, even a little frumpy, to be truthful. But, oh God, her laugh. And her mind. She’s quick, nimble, clever. And her eyes…when she looks at him, he feels pinned in place, unable to muster even the slightest struggle.

When she looks at him, he feels…transparent.

He tries bravado. He’s had just enough to drink that he can claim plausible deniability tomorrow, and skip the consequences. Or so he thinks. “You want me. You want me and you know it.” His chest puffs up when he says it.

She grins and hovers closer to him, so close now that he can feel her body heat on his skin.  The hairs on his neck reach toward her desperately.

“I want you? I want you for what?” she breathes. “To fuck? Sure. I want to fuck you so badly it makes my teeth hurt.” She murmers this directly into his ear and he almost stumbles. “But then what? Do I keep you as a pet? A secret pet?” She pulls back and looks into his eyes. “Will you come running when I call you?” He nods, swallowing. Christ, she’s right, he is in over his head. “Will you come when I tell you to?” She hasn’t touched him once, but he’s so hard now he could cut glass. “Do you think,” she purrs, smiling wolfishly, “that I could make you come right here, right now, just by—“ she’s so close he feels the moisture in her breath condense on his earlobe, “telling you to?”

He swallows. Oh, fuck, he’s in way beyond his head now. She’s got her tail wrapped around him and she’s pulling him to the bottom.

“So? Come for me then. Look at you. You’re so hard you want to explode...Come for me. Show me how much you want me..." He moves to take his hands out of his pockets. "Don't. Don’t even touch yourself. Just think about my mouth.” She’s circling him like prey and his eyes close, listening to the orbit she stalks around him. “Think about my mouth. What do you want to do to my mouth? What do you think my lips taste like? How do you think they feel? Do you think they’re hard…” the H hisses into his left ear, “…or ssssoft?” the S slides down his right.

He doesn’t know how he’s still standing. His lower lip is quivering and his knees are shaking and he’s shivering, straight through his down jacket, he’s fucking shivering, and his cock is pressing and straining against his jeans with every syllable she utters…”Come for me, Jim. Show me what you look like when you lose control…” he’s starting to pant now, because he can feel her, he can feel her wrapped around him, her hands pulling him, the very back of her throat caressing the tip of his cock as he pushes slowly into her face… “What do your eyes look like when you come, Jim?” He’s gasping, feeling her silky voice tighten around him, sucking at him, swallowing him, drawing him further and further in, farther and farther down, and his hips move involuntarily against his pockets and the friction of his cock against his pants is…oh, god, please. “Do you really want me to see you like thisss? Do you really want to show me how much…power I have over you?” He nods, spasming, and he can’t believe this is happening, he’s never felt this, never felt so…caught, so helpless. She swallows next to his ear and he hears the slick tick of her saliva. “I will drink you...I will empty you completely...” He feels the heat of her face directly in front of his…”Come for me, Jim…Let go…Shoot into me…Let's see what you look like when you...break…”

And he breaks.

His mouth goes slack, his eyes draw up behind his tightly shut lids, a flood of warmth spreads out from his belt buckle. He hunches in reaction as the tremors keep coming, and he kicks his legs, his lungs screaming, and he’s swimming up for his life now, about to black out, desperately drawing breath in a sharp hiss as he bursts through the surface…

The sheets are wet and sticky. He’s covered in a thin film of sweat. The blankets are all on the floor.

And he’s freezing.

They're in the conference room.

Michael's embarrassing himself yet again, with a cluelessness so profound that Jim almost chokes up in sympathy. How is it possible for someone to be this out of touch with normalcy?

He turns to wake her as the rest of the bedraggled office files out.

Does she have a fever? Her head is so hot on his shoulder. He gazes at her sleeping face, sweeping the contours of her cheekbone with his eyes, the curve of her lips, the hint of sweat at her hairline, counting the hairs in her left eyebrow (287) and the lashes (156 on her top lid) of her left eye.

It's dark. Everyone is gone. He turns his neck as far toward her as it will go, and ever so lightly kisses her forehead, letting his lips linger on her skin.

The sound she makes travels through his bones straight down to his crotch, briefly stopping his heart. His eyes fall shut trying to stem the flow of blood coursing into his cock, but there are no fail-safes down there. No valves to lessen the pressure, and there he is, stuck in a dark conference room in a dark office with the one woman in the entire world he desperately wants to touch but can't, and a hard-on.

He debates waking her at all, then decides to do it, but needs to wait until his erection subsides. So he spends the next eleven minutes praying that she doesn't wake up and see it. He's got absolutely nothing to cover it with and doesn't even want to think about the implications should she catch—

"Ung." Oh Jesus. He freezes. It's a moan, or a whimper. He doesn't know. It's indescribable and it nails him right between the legs. She shifts then, rubbing her head into his shoulder, nuzzling it and he has to temper his breath, stop it from hissing as he sucks at the air like a fish out of water. Then he feels a twinge of pain shoot through his cock as it catches its sudden resurgence on a seam in his boxers and he has no choice but to reach down and adjust himself. The contact makes him shudder, and he looks over at her in alarm as she makes that sound, Christ that fucking sound, again and nestles even further into him.

He wants to be impervious, he does. Really. But he's just...not. He wants to touch her so, so much. His head turns by itself and his lips make a soft landing on her forehead once again, but this time she presses into him, exhaling loudly in a sigh, and tilts her head, eyes still closed, offering up her parted lips.

Oh, sweet Jesus.

He tries not to kiss her. He really, really tries...

When their lips touch, he does, in fact, see stars. He sees a whole thick cluster of stars, like he's staring into the very cradle of the universe...his skin vibrates and the spot right between his eyes flares into fever. He wants this feeling to last forever and as he feels her ever so slightly draw him in, he almost passes out.

Almost. She's kissing him back, now. Her eyes are still closed and she's kissing him back, sucking so lightly on his bottom lip that he gets the sensation she could sip his very soul through that spot. His eyelids are so heavy they want to shut by themselves, but he can't not look. He has to see her face. She moans against him as her lips part and her tongue darts out to taste his mouth.

Oh, oh, oh, God, oh, please make her stop, please never make her stop, oh, God...

His hand is still on his cock and he slides it over the taught fabric now, groaning, his mouth opening, his tongue shyly venturing out to meet hers.

They move as slow as snails, nerves on fire and skin so sensitive he feels like a giant antennae. Suddenly he can hear the hum of the sleeping computers in the next room and the rustle of her hair and the pounding of his own noisy heart. He can feel the seams of his pant legs, the striations in his socks, the microscopic hairs on her cheeks.

When she brings a small hand to his face, he freezes, and when she pushes her fingers into his scalp, and wraps them in the curls at the base of his neck, he jumps straight out into the abyss.

His hands reach up to her throat, her ears, her hair. Their kisses are still soft, but deeper now, tongues sliding around each other like amorous eels.

His right leg is falling asleep from the awkward position and he has a single lucid moment trying to figure out how to keep this going without interrupting their flow. He's not sure if she's asleep, but he still doesn't want to do anything abrupt to break the spell.

He's about to try a shift in position when her hand slides down from his hair, down his chest, and comes to rest on his upper thigh, inches from his screaming cock. He shivers just then, a tremor so deep that it would register on a richter scale. He suspends breathing for long enough to make sure she's still with him, and she answers his slight withdrawal by lightly skimming his cock with her fingers.

His held breath exits with a wavering cry, like a lamb bleating, and her whole body moves to quench his distress. She's on him now, eyes still closed, straddling him, her skirt slid all the way up to her waist by the angle of her openness.

He hungrily pulls her further onto him, enveloping her small frame with his arms and hands, caressing her entire body, tongue sliding around her lips and teeth. He spreads his hands over the swells of her ass and pulls it apart just enough to let her surround his trapped cock with heat.

She rubs herself against him then, slowly at first, and he's blinded, betrayed by own eyes, as they simply become too heavy to keep open.

All of his energy, all of his blood, concentrates in two places: his mouth and his cock. He can't even feel his hands anymore. He is a simple being consisting of a single wet opening and a monolithic protrusion.

Moisture penetrates through his pants as he feels her slickness seep through. She is panting into his mouth now, moaning, sighing, whining, as his sheathed cock manages to force its way partly into her, through the layers of cotton, silk and polyester that separate them.

His hips withdraw and charge in a quickening rhythm, his hands lifting her entire weight against him, pulling her onto him, frantic with need. His lips suck on her tongue, wringing it of moisture, drinking her in.

He wants her inside him. He wants to climb inside her. As she nears the edge of the cliff, her breath starts to hitch and give in small cries and he lets himself venture closer and hears his own rousing voice heralding the drop.

She goes first, her face pulling away from his just enough to give him the glorious view of her rapid descent. He can see her eyes rolled upwards inside her closed lids, her mouth open and slack, her lips shining with his saliva. He dives in after her, quieter in the plunge than he thought he would be, moist heat surging through his boxers, spreading out and down over his balls.

He holds her limp form by her ribs as he quivers, hypnotized by the languid expression on her face, and is pinioned by her eyes as she opens them slowly, smiling.

Her eyes. My God. Her eyes.

He can see...everything...

It's dark. There's no moon. He hears a car drive by, tires spitting rain. Her glowing face still hangs over him, her eyes painted with light on the ceiling of his bedroom.

She doesn't blink.

He reluctantly turns onto his side and tries to go back to sleep.

He fails.

They're in the office.

She decides to pretend. Pretend he's not there. Or, pretend he's there, but that he's nothing, that he doesn't matter to her. And it works, for a little while.

But the effort wears her down. She finds herself exhausted by lunchtime, and wanting to avoid him and pretty much everyone else in the place, she goes into the bathroom and sits on the toilet in a stall, praying that all the other women have no interest in a mirror check or a pee.

No such luck. She knows it's Kelly, even before she sees her through the crack in the door. She's gotten a new perfume that makes her nauseous as hell and it wafts through the room like poisonous gas. Pam tries to breathe through her mouth only, but, Oh, God....

It feels like hours before Kelly is satisfied with her makeup and leaves.

Pam leans against the wall, tension radiating through her body. The two glances she had cast in his direction confirmed that he did indeed look pretty amazing today. She closes her eyes and conjures his face with an ease she's grown accustomed to. God, she's just so fucking angry at him, but all she sees now is his mouth, those full lips pulled back in a lopsided grin, and that's all it takes. She feels a pinch right behind her bladder and a flush and just like that, she's aroused. Sighing in resignation, she spreads her legs and reaches between them to pluck the piano wire that's been wrapped around her her body since yesterday. The crying hadn't been nearly enough. She's still got a pain between her eyes that's been there since she stupidly told Jim to let Karen have the apartment.

But...Her hand is nimble and her nails are cut short. She can almost pretend that her middle two fingers are his tongue as she slides them under her panties into the slick need that greets them. She starts to move them a little faster but the door to the ladies' room swings open. She freezes, stops breathing, even.

"Pam?" His voice rips through her. She keep silent. "Beesly? I know you're in here."

Her hand starts to move again by itself. His voice is lush, low, rich and she can't help what it does to her.

"Beesly, where are you?" His voice is playful, sexy. She shakes her head, amazed and groggy with desire. "I was waiting for you but you didn't leave and everyone else is gone, so I figured you had to be in here." Her fingers start to slip through wetness that's unusual for her. The slickness betrays itself with a sound. She freezes again.

"Pam. What are you doing?" The voice is throatier now. Its timber sends a fresh thrill through her.

"You're not supposed to be in here." She whispers.

"There you are..." He approaches the stall she's in and leans his back against it. "Beesly, what are you hiding from?"

A surge of anger shoots through her and restarts her hand. "None of your business, Halpert." She grunts.

"Beesly, it really sounds like you're doing something you shouldn't be" His voice is low, purring, hits her in the groin like a tuning fork. Her entire body vibrates with him this close. "As a matter of fact, I'm almost positive..." she sees his feet move, hears him turn, "...that you're doing something...that I want to watch..."

Her fingers are plunging inside of her now, frantically rubbing her swollen nub and her back's arching as his eyes peer over the divider, lids heavy. "Beesly...tsk, tsk, tsk, you surprise me..."

She stares into his eyes as she continues, pushing herself toward the edge of the cliff. "Go fuck yourself, Hapert."

"Help me, Beesly."

She glares at him for a moment before she leans over and flips the lock on the stall. He opens the door and just stands there, watching her, as she gets closer and closer to release. "You are the most delicious thing I have ever seen..." he growls, and sinks to his knees in front of her.

His hands burn her thighs as he pulls her hips towards him, edging her off the toilet, spreading her legs wide. She grips the steel assist railings and lets him pull her to his mouth. She watches as he spreads her gently with his fingers and licks a long swathe through her folds, and then proceeds to feast on her like a starved wolf.

She's just about to come when he pushes her to a standing position and moves to switch places with her as she protests. He unzips himself and releases his erection and swiftly impales her on it. Oh, sweet Jesus, he's enormous. The pain is perfect and all-encompassing. She feels positively stuffed with him and lets herself go as limp as rag doll as he slows himself and slides easily in and out of her. The forfeit of control is magnificent. His strength is surprising and impressive and she just lets herself be fucked, fully, completely, helplessly. When she comes, it's with a loud howl of anger and frustration.

And then she's alone again. She wipes herself, ditches the evidence, flushes the toilet, unocks the stall, goes to wash her hands, transfixed by the pink tinge to her cheeks, the lust in her eyes. She rakes her fingernails over her scalp, fluffing her hair, almost coming again at the sensation. Satisfied, she turns away and opens the door to the ladies room, to reveal Jim just standing right in front of it, a drowsy, disoriented look on his face.

"Are you okay? I thought I heard...a...scream..."

She raises a single eyebrow at him and waits.

His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, but he says nothing, just stares openly at her flushed face.

"Do you need something?" She inquires, innocently. He shakes his head in a wide, dumb arc. "Okay then, excuse me. I have to get something to eat."

Gently, she pushes him aside and heads for the breakroom. It's empty. She drops a few quarters into the candy machine, punches a couple of buttons and wishes the dropping package contained cigarettes.

She feels his quizzical eyes boring into her back. Yeah, keep staring Halpert, let's just see how long you can ignore me.

Hm. Maybe daily trips to the bathroom could be good for her in more ways than one.

They're at Phyllis' wedding.

This time, she doesn’t look away. She just stares. And he makes it a point to stare back, past the point where it becomes uncomfortable. Way past that point. He just continues to look into her eyes, which have become strangely wide, like a small animal caught in the beam of a flashlight, too scared to run away, too terrified to do anything but freeze. But it’s not fear he sees in there. It’s something else. It looks like…the dawning of a realization.
Scrantonicity’s painful attempt at a slow song melts Karen into his body as he continues to hold Pam’s gaze and he realizes with horror that he’s getting aroused. Karen notices and grips him just a little tighter, enjoying what she thinks is his reaction to her nearness. Her movements become a little more pronounced, slinkier, and he feels himself slipping into an almost dissociative state, his eyes glued to one reality, his body mired in the mud of another.

Until she licks her lips.

It’s like claxon bells. She has never looked at him like she’s looking at him now. Her face is plastered with raw hunger and need. Her lips are slightly parted, her eyelids look almost drowsy except for the two burning coals of her eyes. Jesus, her eyes. It’s like she’s speaking to him, telling him every single thing he’s ever wanted to hear, words spilling like a waterfall from her stare. His arousal doubles and he wants nothing more than to be inside her as she looks at him like that. Karen moans a little into his chest and heedless, unconsciously, he reaches down and grabs her ass with both hands, pulling her into him further. In response, she pushes him away just enough to show him her own desire and she motions toward the french doors to the terrace with her chin.

In a sudden panic, he realizes that Karen is expecting him to take her somewhere and ravish her. He looks back up at Pam, worried that the momentary break in eye contact has interrupted them, but no, her eyes are still glued to his as Karen takes his hand and leads him off the dance floor. He’s grateful for the length of his jacket and the cover it affords the raging hard-on that’s threatening to rip right through his dress slacks.

With his eyes, he implores Pam to follow them and when she rises, his breath hitches, unsure of where she’s headed.

The air is a little chilly as Karen closes the door behind them, and it almost takes the edge off his desire but Karen backs him up against the balcony and starts to stroke him through his pants, bringing him fully back. Looking over her shoulder he squints to make out Pam’s form through a crack in the curtains, threading her way through the room towards them. When she slips behind the curtains, but stops short of opening the door, letting her forehead come to rest on the glass pane, watching them, his eyes go wide. With her back to Pam’s intense stare, Karen sinks to a crouch, and frees him from what is fast becoming an intolerable prison.

Part of him is glad. Part of him wants to hurt her. Part of him wants her to see this. To see them. Part of him wants her to watch and punish her with the sight of Karen engulfing him in her mouth, and all of him can’t look away as Pam slowly brings her hand up to the glass, laying her palm flat against it, fingers splayed, fingernails clutching against the smooth surface in time to Karen’s rhythm.

He feels dizzy when he realizes that she’s going to watch them the whole time, and even dizzier when he sees her other hand snake down in between her legs and lift the hem of her dress. As her lips part and her breath fogs the glass, the only part of her face that doesn’t disappear is her eyes, steady and wanting, unblinking and intent. Her hand ducks down into her panties as she begins to match Karen’s pumping, stroke for stroke and Karen quickens her pace in response to how much harder he becomes. He reaches down and grasps the sides of Karen’s head gently, pumping into her mouth now, his eyes never leaving Pam’s.

Karen’s hand grips him more firmly as she senses him nearing the edge, and then squeezes just enough to push him over. He watches in rapt fascination as Pam’s body echoes his every shudder, as her lips make contact with the cold glass, her eyes never leaving his as they come together, apart.

Karen hangs on too long and his pleasure veers sharply into painful territory for a moment and he has to pull away from her, doubling over at the overload of sensation. He feels a tearing sensation as his eyes rip away from Pam’s for just long enough to ward Karen off, and when he looks back, she’s gone.

Karen rises, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, intentions to collect some reciprocity plain on her face. Her feline smile fades quickly at his expression, which hovers somewhere between abject horror and confused ambivalence. His eyes are still on the door behind her. She checks quickly to make sure they haven’t been awkwardly discovered and then looks back at his rubbery face.

“Are you okay?” She tries for playful. “I didn’t just blow a fuse in there, did I?”

He looks at her for the first time in what feels like hours. Everything about her is…uninteresting. He’s stunned by how completely repulsed he is by her suddenly. His brows furrow, looking at her, watching her expression change from naughty and playful to apprehensive and suspicious.

“What’s going on in there?” She narrows her eyes at him.

“I can’t do this.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore.”

“What are you doing?”

He shakes his head, trying to clear the fog. “I—I have to go.” He zips himself and disengages from her, stepping around her as if she’s a statue, deaf to her increasing volume as she demands he come back.

“Jim…Come back here! Jim…Jim! JIM!”

“Huh? What?” He’s bolt upright, covered in sweat, covered in…Oh, Christ…

“What the FUCK?!” Karen’s voice is strident, furious. She’s holding up a hand. On her palm, in the dark, he can see the slight glisten of the reflected streetlamp outside his bedroom window. “Dude, you just CAME all over me!” She’s furious and he’s totally lost. “In your SLEEP! Of all the disgusting fucking things—what are you, thirteen?” She’s out of bed and in the bathroom. The sound of the shower drowns out her complaining.

He’s still half asleep, his body still in that stupid banquet hall, his eyes still drowning in Pam’s eyes. He can’t even remember the last time he woke up sticky and ashamed.

But this time, he’s not ashamed because he’s sticky.

He’s ashamed for something else entirely.