Disclaimer: Not mine.

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let love be the reason

between me and you


(-the bees)


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Who Cares What the Question Is - Part Two
a fanfic for The Office

by louisa lorin


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Pam pulls the door shut, listening for the metallic click. Jim stares at her, filling the small space between them with the electric look in his eyes.

"Pam?" he says, roughly.

Something has snapped inside her, and she’s not sure what, and she's not sure why. Maybe it was Katy, looking so pretty and laughing so much, tossing her hair all the damn time. Maybe it was Roy, his dirty boots and his stupid friends and his total blindness to everything inside her heart. Probably, at least partially, it was the alcohol.

Or maybe it was Jim. Just--Jim himself.

Whatever the cause, she's finally given in. Throwing herself against him, she kisses him the way she's always wanted to, right here in this stuffy little laundry closet. His back hits the washer with a dull thump; Pam's mind is so fuzzy that it takes her a second to realize it's because she pushed him up against it.

"Pam," he says again, sucking in a breath as her mouth goes to his neck, seeking out his pulse below the skin. She moans a little as his hands slide from the small of her back down lower, grabbing right where her hips meet her butt, pulling her tight against him.

He laughs a little, as if he can't believe this isn't a dream. Which makes Pam want to kiss him again all the more. She does, sliding a hand into his hair, tracing the back if his neck with her fingertips.

"God," she whispers, centimeters from his lips. She feels trapped in slow motion, or maybe underwater. His mouth is warm around her earlobe, his fingers light against her neck.

Pam can still hear the music from downstairs, but it's faint, barely audible through the floor. She feels giddy, hidden away from the world.

Now his fingers are sliding under the waistband of her skirt, just barely touching the skin beneath, but even so she can hardly draw breath. She arches her back, pressing their pelvises together and making him groan. There's an unmistakable hardness down there and God, it's the hottest thing she's ever felt, Jim's cock pressing against her through his jeans.

Jim's cock. Jim's cock.

His hands move up her torso, so slowly she can feel his incredulity through his fingertips. Finally they graze her breasts through the cool satin, and she sucks in a gasp, closing her eyes.

Her lips waver, undecided, then she blurts out: "We need to be fast."

For once, she can't read the look in his eyes. He doesn't respond with words, and she doesn't want him to - just kisses her again, brushing her hard nipple through her shirt more boldly. Pam angles her pelvis to feel more of him against her, whimpering a little.

He sort of growls against her mouth, then whirls her around, pressing her against the washer instead. Pam's jean skirt is hiking up of its own accord, ending up somewhere around her waist as her ankles lock around his back, elbows bracing themselves against the cool metallic surface of the washer. He grinds into her and now this is the hottest thing she's ever felt - she can barely stifle her answering moan.

Pam feels so slick and so swollen down there; she wants him to feel it too. "Jim," she mutters, grabbing one of his hands, guiding it between her legs.

Jim's other arm props her up as his fingers slide her panties aside, sucking in a breath like he's the one being touched, not her.

"Pam," he says, helpless with desire. "You're so--"

"Yeah," she agrees, nodding dazedly. "Please, Jim--"

Jim slides two fingers into her, crooking them together just so, and now she couldn't hold back the moan if she tried. It feels so good that she doesn't know where to look. His thumb starts to brush her clit along with the rhythm of his driving fingers and now her whole body is tingling with an intensity she can barely believe.

"Look at me," Jim murmurs, and she obeys. He's staring down at her with this expression on his face - half-hungry, half-worshipful - and now she's starting to tremble.

"Tell me, Jim," she whispers.

He bows his forehead to touch hers. His fingers go still inside her, pressed against her soft walls - the thumb on her clit speeds up. "Pam," he says, voice thick. "I can't."

Pam's about to come. She can feel it crashing over her, inexorable. "Jim," she gasps, "I--"

And then it's too late to say anything at all because she's pulsing around him, the warmth shooting through her limbs, her core twisting around itself, and her mouth has fallen open helplessly. Her hips are bucking against him and she can feel his eyes on her, burning, burning, burning.

"God," Pam shudders, her brain clouded with pleasure. Jim has stepped away from her, and she realizes with another hot flare through her gut that he is unbuttoning his jeans. Her toes touch the ground - her shaking hands go to the waistband of her skirt, then her panties, pulling both down.

Pam can't drag her eyes away from the obscene, disconcertingly large tent in his trousers. We're really going to do this.

Jim moves back over to her, pinning her against the washer again. He kisses her, long and slow, then holds up something in his left hand. A small square packet.

"I have a--"

"Good." Pam nods, trying to keep her voice steady. "Yeah."

His cock bumps against her still-sensitive sex, only the boxers between them now. She feels engulfed by him, hot to the core.

"Like this?" Jim asks, jerking his chin toward the washer and smiling a little impishly.

Pam breaks into a relieved grin. "My elbows are a little sore," she admits.

"The floor it is." Jim's voice is a little huskier now as he lowers himself to his knees in front of her.

Nudging her legs apart with his shoulder, he tastes her sex with one long stroke of his tongue. Pam looks down at the top of his head, then closes her eyes, feeling the post-orgasmic shocks shoot through her, slowly replaced by something warmer and deeper.

She should be afraid of what all this means. She should be terrified of getting caught; they've been gone for at least half an hour, after all.

But all she can think is how badly she wants Jim inside her.


*


Jim waits until her legs are shaking a little, then takes her hands and helps her down to the floor beside him, happy to see her smile. He suffers a moment of indecision, before Pam settles the matter by laying back on the carpet, beckoning him on top.

He kneels in front of her and eases his boxers down, watching her eyes go wide.

"What?" he asks.

She laughs a little. "Just--go slow."

It's ridiculous to feel proud, but Jim can't help himself. Her feet brush against his legs as he unwraps the condom - he looks up and smiles at her.

Holding the base of the condom with one hand, Jim eases himself over her. He stares down at the part of her he's about to enter - flushed pink, shining with moisture in the dim light. Beautiful, just like her.

"Jim," she sighs, bucking her pelvis up toward his with some urgency. He doesn't know if it's because she's as eager as he is or because she's worried that someone's going to come looking for them at any minute, but either way Jim is happy to oblige. He positions itself, supporting his weight above her with one hand.

The head of his cock brushes against her heat; she tips her head back, gasping a little. Jim knows this is the very definition of a quickie - they're still wearing their shirts, for God's sake, about to make love on the floor of her laundry room - but part of him still wants to slow down, memorize every detail.

He wonders if she is thinking it too: What if this is all we get?

Eyes locked on hers, he sinks part of the way into her. She bites her bottom lip harder, her hands balling into fists, grasping at the fibers of the carpet. By the time he's in to the hilt he's breathing hard, their thighs warm against each other. He pulls back, then thrusts again.

"My God," she groans, thrusting back. "Yes."

His hair's falling into his eyes - he swings it aside as he picks up the pace. This is real, he reminds himself. This is happening.

"Harder," she whispers.

He's embarrassingly close to the edge already, but he complies - how can he not? - and watches Pam throw her head back, rhythmic moans escaping her throat.

"Jim--" She breaks off with a whimper, bringing the back of her hand to her mouth, biting a knuckle. "I'm close."

"Good," he mutters, voice strained from the effort of holding back his release. Pam laughs softly, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes. He shortens his strokes so they are fast and shallow and the laugh dies on her lips - she slams her eyes shut, writhing under him, desperate for her peak.

"Jim," she moans again, but this time it's just his name, and he doubts he'll ever forget the way she said it - low and breathy, right on the cusp of her orgasm.

One of her hands finds his; she squeezes his fingers tightly. Then she is shuddering under him, insensible with pleasure, and he is thrusting into her as deep as he can go, doing his best not to shout as he falls over the edge too.

"Jesus," he gasps, moments later, leaning his weight onto her slowly. His damp forehead meets her shoulder. The rise-and-fall of her breath is still rapid; she slides a hand into his hair.

Briefly, he kisses her neck. "We should..."

"Yeah." Together, they sit up; he reaches for his boxers, she for her underwear and skirt.

"I guess we need a plan," he ventures.

Pam nods, looking down at her bare feet, her smile a little sad. "Yeah. I'll--I'll just go get in the shower, and you can go downstairs. Pretend like you were just, you know. Hanging out inside."

A thousand thoughts are swirling in Jim's head as he pulls his jeans on again, buttoning the fly. Meeting eyes with Pam, he knows the same is true for her.

"We should talk about this," she acknowledges. "Soon."

He laughs a little. His hands find his pockets. "Yep."

Pam steps forward, threading her arms around his torso. He hugs her back tightly, breathing her in.

They let go. Pam smooths her skirt, just like she always does when the cameras are on them.

Jim watches her leave. He waits to a count of twenty, then heads downstairs.


*


It's a lot of work, unwinding a ten year relationship. Doing it in front of a camera crew doesn't make it any more fun.

It helps somewhat when Pam finds out that Roy and Katy snuck off somewhere while she and Jim were upstairs and made out. Kind of funny, in an abstract sense of the word.

Regardless of his share of the guilt, Roy kicks up a huge fuss when Pam tells him what happened one week later, standing outside in the gazebo. Predictably, he makes a lot of noise about kicking Halpert's ass - and almost does the next Monday at work, prevented only by a blast of Dwight's pepper spray straight to the eyes.

Pam never thought she'd end up a cheater, and she agonized over it for a while. But by the time she and Jim have been dating for six months she's able to philosophize about it over coffee, saying simply: "It had to end somehow. And there was a big silver lining, so...."

"Damn right," he agrees, grinning. "Best sex of my life. Up till then, at least."

She whacks his arm. "That's not what I meant!"

Jim tilts his head innocently. "You didn't mean the sex?"

"I meant you," she snaps. "You're the silver lining."

"Well, that's okay too."

Smiling, he reaches across the table and takes her hand, and Pam thinks to herself that for all the stress of the cameras, there is a silver lining to that, too: when someone's scrutinizing you so closely, it's hard not to take a good look inside yourself. To try to see what they see.

It took a year and a half with the cameras, she thinks, and one night without them.

She smiles back at Jim, brushing her thumb over his knuckles.


*


"Do I think I'll be invited to the wedding?"

Roy pauses, sizing the producer guy up. He's getting really freaking sick of all this documentary bullshit.

Finally, he shakes his head. "Not really, no."


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End.

Sorry, I know the ending is pretty silly, but I couldn't help myself.

Reviews are wonderful.