by tonightyourghost
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
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She follows him to the roof. He’s leaning forward, elbows on the edge. It’s his reception desk stance. He looks down at the parking lot and she feels a pang at seeing Jim look as blank as he does. She walks up to lean companionably beside him, noticing with surprise that he’s smoking. Not a cigarette, but a long, dark cigarillo. It’s spreading a sweet-sharp, rasping smell in the air. He offers it to her with a wry expression and upraised, enquiring brows. Pam takes a drag, even though the only smoking she’s ever done was take a hit from Roy’s brother’s joint at a party in twelfth grade.
It tastes – not like, but similar to how tequila or espresso taste, to her - all rich and burning. While she is coughing, Jim turns to face her and says, with a look that combines amusement, mock concern, and affection, “Wow, yeah. Um. The trick is to not actually pull it into your lungs, at first. You just hold it, and let it go.”
Hold it, and let it go. She gives him a sassy stare through her lashes and their fingers brush electrically as she passes the cigar back, the tip aflame. “I got into the habit in college,” he says, ducking his head and looking toward the skyline. “You know, every once in a while. I guess everyone needs a vice.”
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Roy had always wanted her to be on top, his big fingers gripping her small, round hips. He’d flash a sweaty grin up at her and she’d shut her eyes and keep moving.
There’s one crazy thought that seems to stretch forever, as she glances at the floor. She loves how his blue shirt is lying crumpled on top of her striped blouse. She wants to take them and shred them and then knot all the pieces up together into one tangled mass of Jim-and-Pam-cloth that no one will ever be able to pick apart.
Jim’s on top, and he holds himself above her oh-so-delicately. She likes the lack of control on her part, likes watching his torso move, and likes how he takes care of her despite his own trembling and the expression on his face. Something about this appeals to her, its simplicity. He watches her while she comes, his lush mouth ever-so-slightly slack and his frank gaze holding hers. She thinks to herself as the shudders subside that it’s the most erotic thing she’s ever experienced. He watches her while he’s coming, as well, until he can’t. It triggers something, and she’s not used to getting a regular orgasm, let alone more than one, so she’s still flushed with surprise and satisfaction at least an hour later, her hair snaking out wildly over his frat-boy sheets.
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“Hey.” She looks up from her papers. Jim’s there, elbows propped against Reception, putting his lazy, long form square into her workplace. His green eyes stay on her with a mischievous intensity as he pops a jellybean into his mouth. “So…” he flicks out a box of wooden matches, and they rattle around. She likes that he smokes cigars lit with wooden matches. “Join me?”
She doesn’t know if she can ever watch Jim dangle a cigar between his slender fingers again without becoming slightly fixated. Something must show in her face, because he glints down at her and she glitters up at him and for a long, enclosed moment they just glow pinkly at each other. “I’ll put the phone on voicemail. Roof in five minutes?”
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“My weekend?” Jim pauses, looks toward the ceiling, and his smile softens for a moment before he remembers the cameras and focuses again. “Yeah, it was great. I hung out, had pizza, you know… lazy Sunday.” He ruffles his hair self-consciously. “It was a good time.”
“Ummm… in general, I don’t like smoking.” Pam nods decisively. Her blouse is a candy-coral colour and her hair is loose, un-gelled. It’s flattering. “But I did talk to Jim about it and he only does it for special occasions. And his cigars taste really, really good once you get used to them. And if you’re outside, it shouldn’t bother anyone.” She toys with a curl, eyebrows furrowed, eyes flicking down and then back again. “And really, whatever doesn’t bother anyone shouldn’t be any of their business. Um. Even if they really want to know. Or think they should. Because they’re your boss.”
“No, I don’t know when Jim and Pam started smoking.” Dwight declares, portraying his disapproval as seriously as possible. He pushes his glasses up his nose with one finger. “I think it’s disgusting. Fact: tobacco kills. It’s just not cool,” he says, emphatically making quotation marks with his fingers, “to smoke. And I, for one, intend to file a complaint if I catch the slightest whiff of that ghastly scent in this office.”
“Smoking is totally their code for,” a slow smile creeps across Kevin’s face, “doing it.”
