Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are property of NBC. I do not own, nor am I affiliated with in any way, the Office or the characters therein. 

Ryan strides into the Scranton branch of Dunder Mifflin, texting rapidly, on a Thursday afternoon. He ignores everyone, as usual. He tells Michael to have some respect for his boss when the older man tells him he’s “breaking balls,” as usual. He looks at the receptionist for a little too long and not in the socially acceptable places, as usual. But then an unusual thing happens.

Ryan is finishing up a text message and standing, as he later reflects, in just the perfect place. He is standing just a hair behind the reception desk, over by the coat rack, where he can see all of Pam answering phones at her desk. He can see the curve of her perfect ass, and the way her hair falls against the thin button-up shirt she wears. It’s a nice view, but not what you might call strange.

At some point, Pam gets up to send a fax and shoots him a tense smile. She goes through the same motions that she usually does, but this time, the paper jams. With a worn sigh, she pops open the top of the machine and digs around. The paper evades her. She bends over to peer into the cavernous mouth of the beast, and Ryan's fingers slow, then stop on the keys.

She has one hand bracing herself on the table, the other buried past the wrist in the belly of the fax machine. Her ass strains against her prim office skirt, and, if he pushes himself just a little onto his tiptoes, he can see the lace trim of her bra and the curve of her cleavage.

Ryan has suddenly never been so aroused in his life.

It wasn’t just the unexpected boob sighting, because Ryan is old enough to have seen it all before, boob-wise.  Besides, Kelly always wore those low-cut shirts showing off more in plain view than he’d just spotted by accident. It was something about it being Pam, and the way he’d always fantasized about cornering her in a supply closet. About pressing against her and running his hand up her smooth thigh while she whimpered close to his ear. About slowly sliding a finger into her under her skirt and holding his hand over her mouth to stop her moan.

“Michael,” he snaps. “I need to use your office for a phone call.”

“Hey dude, my casay is your casay, mon. Go for it!” Michael replies, affecting a Jamaican accent for reasons Ryan does not pretend to understand.

He holds his briefcase on his right side, keeping his erection a secret between him and Michael’s office window. Inside, he draws the blinds and sits down, breathing hard.

“This is stupid. You are a grown man. It was just a breast.”

Pam’s breast. Attached to the rest of Pam’s body, which, judging from what he can see unhindered by her business casual attire, is just the kind he likes. He takes a moment to (not for the first time) picture her naked, picture the way her eyes widened when he asked her to dinner, picture those same eyes closed with her breath rasping as he….

His erection is not diminished.

He stares at the phone, wondering silently if he has the guts. He picks it up and puts it down no less than fifteen times, and finally he pages reception.

“Pam, could I see you in Michael’s office please?” He is almost proud of how his voice doesn’t waver.

When she comes into the office he asks her to shut the door behind her and he reaches past her to lock it. He leans into her to do it and feels her quick intake of breath. When he leans back she is flushed.

Now that he has her here, he doesn’t quite know what to do. She hasn’t noticed the bulge in his pants yet, but she will if he moves back. It’s not too late to dismiss her and let her walk out.

“What can I help you with?” she asks. It is her slightly unsure but professional tone that makes him move. He wants to hear that voice die on a moan.

After a couple false starts he pins her against the desk and muffles her startled noise with his mouth. His hands are everywhere at first.

***

Ryan is staring at her. Pam can tell he’s staring at her even though she isn’t looking at him, even though she’s currently practically halfway inside a fax machine.  She can just feel his eyes on her back (more specifically, on her butt.) But she refuses to back down now and let him know he’s rattled her, this new Corporate Ryan with the stupid beard.

Besides, she sort of likes that she can make him look. She remembers his warm blue eyes on hers as he motioned for the ball during Michael’s grief counseling session.

So she stays bent over, digging in the fax machine, even though she can see half of her A4 page sticking out of a secondary feed, and waits until she hears Michael’s door shut before she straightens.

It is approximately 35 seconds before Ryan calls her into the office, and she swallows down a smile. She thinks he might invent some task designed to put her ass on display. Pam surprises herself by feeling powerful, not appalled, as she walks into the office.

But a few seconds after posing a question to Ryan in the voice she usually reserves for Michael’s wild antics, Pam finds herself trapped between him and the desk.

She can feel him hard against her thigh, and his hands fly over her ass, her breasts, and her shoulders before he registers her rigid shock. Then his right hand snakes into her hair and holds her head still while the other encircles her, preventing a flight she not trying to make.

Jim has been sending her dirty emails all day, leaving her shifting uncomfortably in her chair, and when Ryan shoves his tongue in her mouth and grinds into her, it lights a fire. She has always liked being handled a bit roughly, and Jim is just so soft and gentle and accommodating and not like this.

Ryan pushes her up until she’s sitting on the desk, her skirt riding high around her legs as he settles between them.  He holds her firmly against him as his hand leaves her hair and travels down to her leg. He sucks on her neck, at her pulse point, wringing a little whimper from her. If he’s brave enough, he will find her hot and wet.

She surprises herself again when she realizes she really wants Ryan Howard to fuck her.

***

Ryan’s hand travels up her leg the way he has imagined a thousand times. He trails it softly up her inner thigh, staring at her face. Pam’s eyes are half-closed, and she juts her hips forward slightly the slower he moves.

Suddenly he lets go of her, pushing her back on the desk with an impatient shove. She feels pens under her back, but the sensation is drowned out by want. Ryan’s searching hands find her nipples through her cheap blouse and he rolls them between his fingers.

“Spread your legs,” he orders her. She obliges, but he pushes them apart anyway and jerks her underwear down over them, ripping them in his haste. He falls to his knees on the floor, and before she can fully process his intent, she feels his tongue stroke flat over her clit and moans. 

She quickly finds out that Ryan is very good at this, and also that he is careful not to scratch with his beard. He circles her clit with his tongue, tracing her opening gently with one finger as she bucks her hips against his face.

He only draws it out another moment before he gives her what she wants, timing the entry of two of his fingers with a switch from his tongue to his thumb. It’s a slow, grinding motion, almost rasping, and Pam is slowly losing her mind. She wants to scream but instead she makes desperate humming noises, sounds that are pleading without words.

Ryan raises himself up to his feet, still finger fucking her, bending those fingers in a come-hither way inside her over and over. His other hand undoes the buttons on her blouse about halfway and slides inside her bra, twisting first one nipple and then the other between his fingers.

Pam is about twelve seconds from coming, her fists crumpling several of Michael’s papers in each hand where she’s been trying to find purchase on the desk, when suddenly Ryan stops.

She looks up, bewildered, to find him stepping out of his pants, cock straining forward. He already has a condom out, making her wonder if he keeps them in the breast pocket of his suit or what. He rolls it over his erection efficiently, staring at her flushed face.

He steps over to her, looking as casual as though this were just any business transaction, and pulls her into a sitting position. The same, calm face prevails as he quickly unbuttons the rest of her shirt and pushes it down her arms, then divests her of her bra. Only his quick intake of breath betrays him as interested in the sight of her naked breasts.

The whole time he’s undressing her Pam just sits there like a dummy, her mind trying to catch up to her body. By the time she’s half naked, she’s fully conscious of the fact that the supposed love of her life is right outside, and what kind of shameless hussy is she?

“We really shouldn’t,” she starts in a wobbly voice, and then Ryan’s tongue is sweeping her mouth, Ryan’s hand is palming her breast and rolling her taut nipple. Her words turn into a moan because his fingers are inside her again, and he’s just barely touching her clit and she needs more.

“Don’t you want to come, Pam?” his low voice asks her. He has withdrawn his fingers now and lightly strokes her, spreading her wetness everywhere. She can barely breathe. “Don’t you want me to make you come?”

“Yesohgodplease,” she slurs. He moves so that his cock is poised to enter her.

“Please what, what do you want, Pam?” He won’t touch her enough, dammit, just those feather light strokes, and she can just barely feel the head of his cock against her. Her hips and thighs are moving, grinding against him of their own accord. “Tell me.”

Their eyes lock, his warm and blue and intense.

“I want you to fuck me,” she says, and almost before the words are out of her mouth he is inside her, one smooth hard stroke and his cock is stroking her everywhere.

At first he tries to go slow, because he’s really enjoying making the prim receptionist use dirty words. He almost asks her to beg him when he sees the expression of desperate need on her face. But by that time he’s so worked up that he just picks her up and presses her hard against the dull green wall, and he fucks her rhythmically, enjoying the little mewls she makes. Especially when he reaches between them and rubs her clit. That’s when she finally comes, squeezing around his cock, and he demands to hear his name.

“Ryan,” she moans over and over. “Ryan Ryan Ryan oh god oh Ryan fuck me please.” The words fall out of her mouth without his urging, fuelling his own desire.

This is Pam, he thinks to himself. Pretty, proper Pam, flushed and incoherent from an orgasm he gave her. He has her pressed against a wall, driving his cock into her over and over, wringing her pleasure from her while she cries his name between a litany of soft moaning.

This train of thought almost prompts his own orgasm, but he reigns himself in, determined to see that little display again. He thrusts up inside her hard, biting her neck in that same good place she liked earlier. His thumb on her clit is more insistent than before.

“I can’t,” she says breathlessly. “Oh god I can’t, I can’t.”

It isn’t very long before she’s just chanting those words like a mantra, without sense or meaning, while he whispers in her ear just how good she feels around him, how tight and wet. He tells her she can come again, and she will. Come for me, Pam, he says, show me what a good little fuck you are.

Even in his fantasy of the supply closet, that line would have gotten him a shocked look, but in real life Pam just sighs deeply and then she is moaning hard and loud as her latest orgasm sweeps through her. The pleasure reverberates through her body and he is pleased that she’s begging him, please please please, even though she already has what she wanted.

This time, her muscles tightening around him causes him to come too. He presses against her hard until she can barely breathe, his entire body tensing as he pounds into her a few final times. His breath lets out in a rush and he slumps against her.

It’s a little awkward when they disentangle. Both of them dress hurriedly without eye contact. Pam smoothes her hair down and spends a few moments just breathing deeply to (hopefully) erase the flush from her face.

She’s about to leave the office trying to look perfectly composed when Ryan grabs her arm and kisses her one last time, one hand firm on her ass.

“Next time, the supply closet after hours,” he says. She thinks she can see the same look in his eye as when he told Michael about his cousin Mufasa. Maybe that’s why she nods.

Back at her desk, Jim is stealing suggestive looks at her (and another dirty email in her inbox – oh god, that’s what she said), but she stares fixedly at her Solitaire screen until she smells Ryan’s cologne drift past.

Jim asks him something in a low voice and she hears his reply. “I needed tips on dealing with Michael from the master. I’ve never seen her lose her temper with him. How can that be possible?” Ryan shoots a quick look to Accounting, where Michael is hazing Angela for the second time this month, and shakes his head.

She’s still staring at her screen when she hears Jim’s soft laugh and the small click of the door shutting, and lets out her breath.

She wonders how long he will leave her here, day after day, thinking about the supply closet after hours. Thinking about excuses to give Jim. Thinking about those interesting fingers.

Maybe Angela was right about her after all.