He was too drunk still to care about what he slept in, so he took of his jeans and set his wallet on his dresser and climbed under the covers, wondering if she wanted him to get out an extra comforter or something.

He had scooted as close to the edge of his bed as he could get without falling off when she opened the door slowly, and peeked her head out.

“Jim? Do you have like, a t-shirt I could wear or something? This will get all crumpled if I sleep in it.”

He was up out of bed and digging through his dresser in about two seconds. He had no idea why he was so nervous.

“How about this one?” It was his senior class t-shirt; there was a large growling tiger on the front (in a graduation cap) and the names of all the seniors printed in the list on the back. It was the smallest thing that he owned that was still long enough for her to wear without... needing bottoms. Unless she was going to sleep in her jeans, or...

He handed it to her through the cracked door and caught sight of her in the mirror above the sink. It was obvious now why she hadn’t opened the door all the way.

She held her shirt clutched to her chest, having already taken off that (and her bra) and her jeans were folded on the edge of the sink.

“Thanks,” she took it from him and shut the door again.

He stood frozen in the spot, picturing the exposed side of her breast and the way the fabric of her panties stretched over her ass in a way that left little to the imagination.

Despite the alcohol, his dick was stirring again.

She opened the door sooner than he’d expected and he turned away quickly to hide himself, walking back his bed and climbing in. She stood in the doorway, outlined by the light behind her.

“Is...” she laughed nervously. “I don’t know, is it okay if I...” she paused for what felt like an eternity. “Can I sleep in your bed? I don’t want anything to happen, I just...,” she sighed.

He felt like an asshole being disappointed, but he certainly still wanted her there. “Yes! Of course you can, I promise I’ll behave.” He laughed hesitantly.

He couldn’t tell if she was smiling, but she turned and switched off the light to the bathroom and shut the door to his bedroom before padding over to the bed and climbing in beside him.

“I’m drunk,” she whispered into the dark. He didn’t know if she was talking to him, but he answered anyway.

“Yeah, me too.” He heard her rustling as she turned towards him.

“What happened?”

“Um... the Sexaholics?” He kind of felt like the biggest douche in the world. She was being serious.

“Jim--,”

“I know. I don’t know what happened.”

“I like you,” She mumbled. He rolled to face her, searching her expression as best he could in the dark.

“Yeah.” It was all he could think to say since he’d just about stopped breathing. What did she mean that she liked him?

She sighed softly. “Do you like me?” Her voice was almost pleading.

“Of course I do, Pam!” He reached his arm out from under the blanket and reached out to her. His open palm pressed warmly into her back.

“Okay. I just, I needed to know.” Her eyes were shining brightly and he watched as she drew her gaze over his face, glancing at his lips occasionally. He could hear their breathing again.

His hand pressed into her back and he decided to go for it.

She leaned in with him and their lips met, just barely. He pulled away slowly, looking at her.

“I thought you said that you didn’t want anything to happen,” his head was reeling.

“It’s too late for that anyway,” she sighed against his lips.

He kissed her again. This time he pressed into her mouth harder, his hand swept up to cradle her head and her hand found his waist, squeezing his hipbone and pulling him toward her.

Her thumb pressed into the sensitive skin just below the elastic of his boxers and a deep moan caught in his throat. This was Pam. In his bed. Kissing him.

The idea made him deepen the kiss, his tongue pressing against her lips, begging entrance into her mouth. She opened her lips to him and he sought out her own tongue.

She scooted closer to him, towards the center of the bed, their knees mingling and her hand sliding to the small of his back.

Every time his teeth nipped at her lip, she’d let out a small sexy mewl and pull him closer. Each one sent a tiny shock through his cock and he kissed her harder, desperate.

When she sucked his bottom lip into her mouth, running her tongue over it, he couldn’t hold back the rumbling in his chest.

She pulled back slowly, breathing hard. “We’re just drunk,” she sighed. This time he knew she was telling him.

“I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be...” He wanted to let go but his hand refused. She was still slipping her hand under the hem of his shirt and sliding it along his back.

“No, it’s... it’s an excuse. I want to... I want... I need an excuse. For Roy.”

“You’re going to tell Roy?” His blood went cold for a moment.

“No! I wouldn’t, it’s,” her words seemed to catch in her throat and he was afraid she would start crying. “I don’t want it to be something that happened just because. That would make me feel guilty. I want it to be for a reason. Even a stupid reason.” He wasn’t sure that he followed what she was saying.

“You feel guilty?”

“Is it wrong that I don’t?” Her hand stroked his back steadily.

“Maybe a little.” Her laughter was uncomfortable. “Do you not want this?” He was hesitant to ask.

“No.” He started to roll away from her but she stopped him, “I really, really want this.”

Her lips were on his again, this time it was her tongue pressing into his mouth. Her leg slipped between his and she pressed her thigh into his erection. She moaned into his mouth and he returned it readily.

His hand slid from her hair, over her shoulder and he cupped her breast through the thin fabric of his old shirt. She arched her back into his hand and grazed her nails over the muscles in his back.

Her nipple hardened into his palm and he was so hard that it almost hurt. She moved her hand from his back and rested it over his. He thought she was going to move it but she only pressed it harder against her chest.

His fingers curled around the soft mound and she let out a gasp, breaking the kiss abruptly. Her panting was turning him on as much as touching her was.

She let go of his hand and clutched his side to steady herself.

He relaxed his grip and spread his fingers wider, capturing in the hardened bud between his middle and index finger and stroking with the lengths of his fingers. Her hips pushed hard into his.

When he rolled his thumb over it, her knee pressed harder into his crotch.

“Ow,” he let go of her to move her knee away, switching their positions to that his thigh was between her legs this time.

“Sorry,” she smiled sheepishly, though he could tell she was embarrassed.

“It’s okay,” and he leaned in to kiss her again, his hand returning to her breast. And this time, when she bucked into him, he could feel her heat on his leg and they both moaned. “Better,” he shuddered against her lips. She shut him up with another kiss.

He was hesitant to take the lead, not sure of what she wanted or what she was expecting. It was a big commitment for him to keep from just flipping them over and taking her right then; his head was fuzzy with alcohol and arousal, and their foreplay had been going on for a few hours if you counted what happened in the living room (and he certainly did).

He decided to test the limits some; he’d determined that that at least would be worth it.

His hand left her breast and trailed softly over the curves of her side, over her hips, where he rested for a moment.

She whimpered and bit his lip harder. He grunted, her forcefulness doing nothing less than making him even harder. His boxers had ridden up his thigh and her leg would occasionally brush against the exposed head of his penis. He pulled his leg up harder against her, letting her set her own rhythm as she rocked against him.

His hand continued its path downward over her hip, along her leg, feeling the tiny hairs under his fingertips, to her knee. He pulled on her knee until her leg bent and fell across his hips.

She leaned into the kiss further, her hand running up his stomach, over his chest and tangling in his hair.

When she felt his hand on her exposed outer thigh, she moaned softly, her hips coming down hard on his leg. She pulled back from his kiss and opened her eyes.

She wasn’t speaking so he moved his hand again, sweeping around the back of her leg and up to her bottom.

“Jim,” she was breathless, her lips red and swollen and her eyes were still glazed from the alcohol.

“What?”

“We can’t do this. I can’t do this.” He stared at her for a long time, trying to read her expression.

When he was positive she wasn’t joking, he let out a frustrated laugh that sounded more like a sigh and rolled onto his back away from her.

He tried to tell himself that she was right, that this wasn’t a good idea, that it would change everything. But it stung too much to admit that she wasn’t his. Never had been. Probably never would be.

He wondered if it would be too crass of him to ask her if she wouldn’t mind him taking things into his own hands, because, if he was being honest, it wasn’t just going to go down on its own.

“Jim, I’m sorry,” She reached out to put her hand on his back but he rolled to face her at the same time and suddenly her hand was on him and he was grunting and pushing into her palm.

He waited for the recoil, but she didn’t pull away. His hips were acting on their own, pushing up against her gently and then falling back. She held her hand steady and he could feel her watching him.

When he looked over at her, she bit her lip.