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She had not intended to get drunk tonight.
Well, at least not consciously.
She had not started out the night by saying to herself, "I'm going to get plastered!" like some college freshman. Hell, she had driven her car here, so it was obvious that she had intended to drive herself home later. Sure, she had been mad when Roy had told her that he would rather go to Lonny's poker game instead of Jim's party. It was what made her tell him that she might not get home until late, implying that she intended to have a good time at the party even if he was not there. Maybe it was his indifference to her statement that planted the idea in her subconscious.
Or maybe her overindulgence in imported beer had been a result of the fact that she had been relieved to hear that Roy would not come with her. It was always so awkward when she was with Roy at work events without his warehouse buddies. She always felt as if she had to baby-sit him and she knew that they would inevitably leave before she wanted to because Roy was bored. It never mattered to him that she would stay until the wee hours of the morning whenever one of his friend's had a party. She would sit in the corner and watch as Roy and his friend's shot gunned beers and performed keg stands until she has to wrestle a nearly unconscious Roy to the car. And so she was glad that she could relax tonight and enjoy the company of her coworkers outside of work. And maybe that's what started all of it.
Then again, the most likely cause of her increased consumption had come in the form of Phyllis. Maybe it was some sort of karmic punishment for her morbid curiosity about Dwangela mystery or because she had not once missed or even thought about Roy since he left for Lonny's earlier that night. When Phyllis had looked at her with that secretive smile and quirk of her eyebrow, she had felt as if her stomach had jumped into her throat. She had felt her face begin to burn with embarrassment at what Phyllis was implying and had not known what to say. "The lady doth protest too much" ran through her mind and she could only stammer before Phyllis had apologised and disappeared outside in embarrassment. She had felt as if her throat was closing up and had downed the last of her beer, which was more than half the bottle and she was quite proud of herself for not choking on it yet it was not enough to wet her dry throat. And maybe that was where it all started.
She knew that it really did not matter how it had all begun because no matter the cause, she was still drunk. Luckily, she did not stand out like she had at the Dundie award ceremony. With the arrival of Michael, the consumption of alcohol in the house had rose quickly and steadily and, as with all parties, so did the fun. After Jim and Michael broke the ice with their unconventional rendition of "Islands in the Stream", more "alternative" groupings took the stage.
She abandoned her beer and started doing shots of tequila with everyone while Kevin and the IT guy took turns rapping "Ice, Ice Baby". She had quickly downed a mystery drink that Meredith had concocted before she joined Jim to perform back up while Kelly and Oscar sang "Summer Nights" for a dancing crowd. It was during the second chorus of "Ebony and Ivory" sung surprising well by a swaying Stanley and Ryan that she realised she had left tipsy and was now well into the territory of drunk. She could not control the volume of her voice and she was having trouble focusing her eyes. Not to mention the fact that she was relying heavily on Jim's tall frame for support as she leaned into him on the couch.
He had not seemed to mind, letting her collapse in fits of giggles against his shoulder or slap his chest in exuberance as they joked. She had always been comfortable with Jim, right from the moment they had met. It was why they were such great friends. No, it was why they were best friends, why they were always hanging out, why they were always talking. They were friends, not together, just best friends. Take that Phyllis.
Even though everyone was having a good time, they were still employees at a paper company and eventually things began to wind down. Calls were made for cabs since the designated drivers had disappeared but she did not dwell on it. It was very, very unfair of her to think anything about the fact that the designated drivers for the night had been Angela and Dwight. Pretty soon everyone had said their goodbyes, even Mark and his girlfriend as they went to her place for the night, promising to return in the morning to help Jim clean up.
"Yeah, you mean mid afternoon, just in time to see me taking out the last trash bag," Jim had chuckled as he shut the door behind them.
Pam sat on the couch, her feet tucked up underneath her, her head resting on the back cushion as she watched him through slightly blurry eyes. He swayed slightly as he walked to the kitchen to grab them each a beer, handing a bottle to her and collapsing with little grace onto the couch beside her. He leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossed his arms over his chest and she was struck by how long and lanky he was. She so rarely saw him outside of his suits with the old man ties that it was almost like he was a totally different person in his normal clothes. She now saw how lean his legs were, clad in blue jeans; his broad shoulder emphasised by his sweater instead of hidden beneath ill-fitted suit jackets. He was straight lines where Roy was made up of curves and she idly wondered what it would be like to sketch Jim's body.
He turned his head to look at her. "You've got your 'thinking' face on. What’s going on in that mind of yours?"
She giggled and was surprised that her cheeks did not warm at his question. Her alcohol soaked mind even toyed with the idea of broaching the subject of using him as a model. If there was ever a good time to do it, now would be it, she thought. If he freaked out she could always chalk it up to being drunk later. Why not?
"I was just thinking that you would make a good model."
He seemed surprised by her comment and chuckled.
"I don't think I'd be very good at ruling the runway," he joked and she smacked him on the chest as she giggled.
"Not a fashion model, dork, I mean an artist's model," she explained, "You know, like posing for sketches and stuff."
"Ohhhh, that kind of model," he smiled at her, "Does an artist's model need to develop an eating disorder and a drug habit?"
"No, I don't believe those are listed as requirements."
"Well then, I suppose I could submit my resume. Now, if my modelling career takes off, I'll owe you big time for getting me out of Dunder-Mifflin."
"It's good to know that with all your new found fame you won't forget the little people," she smiled at him as she took a sip of beer.
"Oh Pam, I fully intend on forgetting the little people," he said with mock seriousness, "Just not the one who helped launch my new career."
"Oh, I see," she chuckled. He smiled and stared at her as silence descended upon them. His sweet eyes were slightly glazed but still intense and despite the liquid courage in her, she dropped her eyes to the bottle in her hands. She picked at the damp label that clung to the neck, the edges giving way easily beneath her fingers.
"You know, they aren't all that bad," she broke the silence, waving towards the front door to indicate their departed coworkers.
"No," he shook his head a little too hard, "They really aren't. Tonight was, surprisingly, a good time, even with Michael here. I can't believe he just showed up here."
"I know!" she said excitedly, happy that they had a safe avenue of conversation. There was always so much unspoken in their silences and she was afraid that in their intoxicated states, those unspoken words might find a voice. "Who shows up to a party they know they aren't invited to?"
"Michael, apparently," he replied, "It was actually a good thing though, now Mark knows why I curl up into a ball and cry in my room when I come home from work."
"You mean 'cry like a little girl who lost her dolly', right?" she joked and he scrunched his face up in mock anger.
"I'll have you know, Beesly, that when I cry it is completely manly and macho," he stated, "In fact my tears are really just all the extra testosterone I have in my body escaping."
She doubled over in laughter and he reached out to remove the bottle from her hand before she spilled it. He set it on the end table and turned back to find her still shaking in mirth.
"I'm hurt that you find the idea of me crying so funny," he said and poked her in the ribs and she shrieked.
"Hey! I'm ticklish!" she squeaked out between gasping breaths as she tried to get her giddiness under control.
"I know," he smiled and reached for her sides, his fingers sliding over her hypersensitive skin, causing her to start shrieking uncontrollably. She tried to squirm away from him as his fingers found every place she was ticklish, pleading with him between laughs to stop but he would not relent.
"That's your punishment for laughing at my pain!" he cried as he towered over her prone frame, laughing along with her. She tried to get away from him, turning back and forth but her hazy mind and uncontrollable laughter made it impossible and to be honest, she really did not want to. She used to goof around like this with Roy when they had first started dating but not anymore and she missed it. She supposed that it was just something you did in the beginning of a relationship but then, once you were together for a while, you stopped doing. Like going out on dates, holding hands while you are walking down the street or spending hours making out on the couch.
She missed the beginning of a relationship. Sure, Roy was her first and only serious relationship but she could still remember how wonderful it had been at the start. She felt as if a bolt of lightening had hit her and all of her sensory preceptors shut off as she realised that she would never experience the beginning of a relationship again. She was going to marry Roy eventually and that would be it for her. She had been with him for ten years, there was nothing about him that she did not know. There would be no new discoveries, like when you find out you both love the same guilty pleasure movies or that you both had imaginary friends when you were five years old. There would not be conversations that last for hours where you tell each other about your childhood and your family. And she would never know that nervous sexual tension that existed before the relationship was consummated.
She knew that in this day and age it was very rare for a woman to have only have
been with the man that she was going to marry. She had always prided herself on the fact that she had only been with Roy, the man she was going to spend the rest of her life with but now, tonight, she was not proud of it. She was curious to find out what it would be like to be with another man. To learn what he liked and did not like, what he would do differently than Roy, if she would like it more than she did with Roy...
“Are you all right, Pam?”
She started as she realised that Jim still loomed over her, his hands still on her rib cage, her sensitivity to his tickles having disappeared with her deep thoughts. She gazed up at him he stared down at her, his face etched with concern. She remembered her reaction to his play fighting at the dojo and how hurt he had been when she had snapped at him. She quickly tried to reassure him that she was not angry, plastering a smile on her face.
“I’m...ah...I’m fine,” she said, pulling herself up as he leaned back, giving her room to sit up. “The alcohol is making it hard for me to focus, you know.”
He nodded and resumed his previous position, arms over his chest, head back on the cushion. She snagged his bottle of beer off the coffee table and took a gulp, trying to soothe her throat that had gone dry. He took it from her hands with a grin and tipped it to his own lips. Her eyes focused on his lips, they were so full and they looked like they would be soft to the touch. Her fingers itched to touch the lush skin, to feel the warmth beneath her fingertips. He took in her intent gaze from the corner of his eyes and smiled when he pulled the bottle away.
“What?”
“What?”
“Not this again.”
She chuckled.
“I was just thinking,” she sighed, her eyes drifting towards the kitchen, to the mess that was left behind. Dirty paper plates, half-filled wine glasses and empty bottles littered the counters, discarded lemon wedges on the linoleum. More bottles stood on the flat surfaces of the living room, a lone wine bottle turned on its side in the middle of the hardwood floor, the remnants of Michael’s ill-fated attempt at starting a game of “Spin the Bottle.” Jim had joked that Michael had probably never been invited to a party when he was in junior high and was trying to capture that moment now. She had laughed loudly and Michael had taken her reaction to mean that she wanted to join in. Jim had been no help as Michael kept pushing her to take the first spin and she tried to politely disengage from the awkward situation with the man who signed her pay cheques. She liked that despite the fact that Jim had not helped her, she was not mad at him. Not like she was when Roy abandoned her, leaving her to face her problems and adversaries alone.
“Do you ever look at your life and say, ‘Is this where I really want to be?’” she asked.
“Never,” he replied, “In fact, in the fourth grade, when we had to write a paper entitled ‘What I Want To Be When I Grow Up’ and even at that tender age I knew I wanted to be a salesman at a mid-level paper company. I actually have the paper upstairs somewhere, if you want me to go get it?”
“I’m serious!” she giggled, punching half-heartedly when he smiled at her.
“Of course I do, Pam, everybody does. No one ever expects their life to turn out like it does but here we are.”
“Yeah, I guess,” she sighed, tilting her head back to stare at the ceiling, “But don’t you ever wonder if there is something you can still do to change it? I mean, not like moving across the country or something drastic like that, you know, just something small. Like if you took a different route to work, would you see something you might never see otherwise? Or if you bought your lottery ticket at a different store than you normally would, would you be more lucky? What if just changing your brand of shampoo had some life-altering effect?”
“Wow, you‘re getting pretty philosophical on me,” he teased.
“I’m in that drunk stage where I’m still coherent and even insightful. Just call me Professor Beesly,” she quipped with a grin.
“Well Professor, what you are thinking of is called the ‘butterfly effect’ but I’m sure that a scholar of your calibre already knew that.”
“Apparently I am losing my coherence,” she said and took another drink from the bottle of beer that they were sharing, “There that’s better. Yes, the ‘butterfly effect’ was exactly what I was talking about. That every act, no matter how small, effects the entire world around it.”
He rolled his eyes at her and she giggled in response. Jim had such an expressive face, it was always so easy to read him. She knew when he was happy or sad, when something struck him as incredibly funny or incredibly ludicrous. She even knew those moments when he wore his heart on his sleeve, even though she tried to ignore them because, inevitably, he was always staring at her when it happened. Even in the comforting numbness of the alcohol, she could sense the change in the air, as their light mood shifted into a more serious one as he put his arms behind his head and gazed up at the ceiling.
“Did I ever tell you that my parents were going to move out of Scranton when I was younger?” he asked quietly, his eyes never leaving the ceiling.
“No,” she said, curling her arm under her head to use as a pillow as she watched him. He had told her bits and pieces about his childhood and his family and funny stories about his friends growing up, but not this particular story.
“Yeah, it was during the summer between junior high and high school. My Dad got offered a better job and he and my Mom were really considering it, you know, more money, less hours. Since I was changing schools anyway and I was already a teenager, they figured I could handle a move. My grandmother ended up getting sick, so we stayed but I always wondered what my life would be like if she hadn’t gotten sick. If we still would have moved and if we did what it would have been like there, what would have happened to me.”
“Where were you going to move?” she asked.
“Uh, Abbotsford, actually.”
“Are you serious?” she squealed, sitting up. Abbottsford was the town she had lived in all her life until she and Roy had moved to Scranton after college, their parents were still there. “Jim, we might have gone to school together if you had!”
“I know,” he laughed but it was empty of mirth, “I think about that, actually, if you and I had met in high school. Would we have been friends?”
“Of course we would have,” she said simply. She knew that even her teenage self, so painfully shy and insecure, would have felt comfortable around a teenage Jim. They would have been friends, eating in the cafeteria and snickering at the “cool” kids, cramming for finals together, making fun of their teachers, Jim impersonating them and her laughing along with him. They would have been best friends even then.
“Come on Pam, you were hanging out with jocks like Roy, you wouldn’t have had any time for a dork like me, ‘cause I was really a dork back then.”
“I know, I saw the picture.” He turned his head to glare at her and she held her hands up in defence. “Kidding! Seriously, I was so not a ‘cool kid’ in high school. I was pretty much a dork too. I was into art and drawing instead of clothes and boys. I didn’t even start dating Roy until junior year. You would have met me when we were freshmen. Who knows, maybe if you had moved there, we would have ended up together.”
She froze as she heard the words leave her mouth, not believing that she had given voice to them. He did not seem to notice as his eyes remained on the ceiling and he smiled wistfully.
“Yeah, I wonder about that too.”
He tensed suddenly, the smile on his face disappearing and he mirrored her own look of shock at the words they had both let slip. He turned his head slowly to look at her and met her eyes with his own, staring at her intently for a moment before looking away.
“Uh...” he cleared his throat, shaking his head, “I’m drunk...uh, yeah, really drunk.”
“Me too,” she said softly and studied her hands that were clasped in her lap, “It’s nice. It’s makes wondering about what-ifs easier. You can push aside reality without any trouble.”
She reached out and placed her hand on top of his and squeezed his fingers. “You can forget about the real world and live in the here and now.”
His eyes studied their hands for a moment before he turned his hand palm up, interlacing his long fingers with her delicate ones. The pad of his thumb softly stroked the inside of her wrist and she felt herself shiver, gooseflesh covering her skin, her nipples tightening beneath her sweater. She studied his profile, his head bent as he stared at their hands, his jaw clenched tightly. She reached out with her other hand and cupped his chin, her fingers softly stroking his cheek, willing his muscles to relax beneath her touch.
He slowly lifted his head and looked at her with sad eyes, his pupils dilated, the glassy surface reflecting the soft light of the living room. He seemed adrift and confused and she knew that she was partly to blame for the pain that she saw in his eyes. It was like looking into the eyes of a lost child and she wanted to doing everything she could to help him, to heal him. Without even thinking about what she was doing, she leaned into him, his breath warm on her cheeks before her lips met his.
The kiss started off tentative, as if she was asking him a question, waiting for his response. His lips were still for a moment but before she could pull back, his lips pressed back against her own, the tip of his tongue sliding across her bottom lip. His hand came up to touch her neck and she could feel his fingers tremble on her pulse point. She tilted her head to the side and opened up herself to the kiss, gently stroking her tongue against his own. She felt the moan that echoed in his throat as his fingers tangled in her hair, unclipping the barrette that kept her locks tame. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered the sound of the barrette hitting the floor behind the couch but she was too consumed with the fire that had filled her when she had locked lips with Jim to really care.
It had been so long since she had felt this kind of passion for someone. She could feel it building up in her chest and it was what cause her to grip Jim’s hair tightly in her fingers as she leaned into their kiss, pushing him back into the cushions. It was not like her to be the aggressor; with Roy, she always let him initiate things, let him undress her, let him control the pace. Now all she wanted to do was rip Jim’s clothes off, to make him tremble even more than he was, to take control of him, to take control of her life. She was sick of doing what others wanted, letting others make her decisions for her. For once in her life she wanted to do what she wanted, not because it was the right thing to do or it was what people expected of her but because it was what she wanted.
She pulled away from Jim and he looked at her with dazed eyes, his mouth opened in stunned expression. She smiled and before he could say a word and she could think about the repercussions, she pulled her top over her head, revealing her simple white lace bra. His eyes were wide with surprise and though he appeared to fight it, he could not help it when his gaze drifted down to her breasts. She felt a small twinge of embarrassment and she could feel her skin warm another degree but before she could let it stop her, she straddled him, her legs on either side of his hips.
She was eye level with him and it was so different from what she was used to with him. He had always towered over her, making her feel so small in comparison but now they were on equal ground. She brushed her lips over his again and caught his bottom lip between her teeth. He moaned lowly as her tongue darted out to sooth the wounded flesh and his hands rested on her hips, squeezing ever so slightly. Now was not the time for Jim to play the part of the gentleman, not when she wanted him to be anything but good and wholesome. She grabbed his wrists in her hands and brought them up to her breasts, placing them for him, telling him what she wanted without using any words.
He barely moved, his palms just holding the weight of her breasts, his fingers still on the lace. She groaned in frustration at his inability to do what she wanted him to do, what she needed him to do. She ground her hips against his own and his fingers flexed involuntarily and she gasped at the simple touch, her nipples poking into his palms, begging for attention. She felt as if she was on fire and Jim was the only one who could put her out but he did not understand.
“Jim, please,” she whispered, her lips travelling to his ear, nibbling on the lobe, her tongue tracing the outer shell of his ear. His breath rasped in her own ear, tickling her neck as he fought to remain in control.
“Pam, we can’t,” he said breathlessly. She slid her hands down his chest, the soft material of his sweater sliding beneath her fingers until she reached the hem. She slipped her hands beneath the material, her fingers coming into contact with the hard planes of his stomach. She felt his muscles twitch beneath her touch and he inhaled deeply as her fingers slid down his stomach to his belt buckle.
“Don’t you want to, Jim?” she whispered in his ear, “Don’t you want me?”
He groaned loudly as her fingers undid his belt, burying his head in the crook of her neck, his lips brushing against her pulse point causing her to shiver in his arms.
“Yes, God, yes,” he sighed, his fingers lightly tracing the lace cups of her bra and she longed for him to remove it from her, to feel his skin against her own. “But, Pam, it’s not right...Roy...”
“I don’t care about Roy,” she told him earnestly, pulling back so that she could look him in the eyes, “Not now, not while I’m here.”
It seemed that that was all he needed to hear, his eyes closing briefly for a moment before his fingers slipped inside her bra, drawing the lace cups down, exposing her naked breasts to him. She moaned loudly when his head bent and took one of her pink nipples between his lips, suckling her gently. She fisted her hands in his hair, throwing back her head as she lost herself in the feelings that his lips were eliciting inside of her. She had not felt passion like this in so long, she was not even sure if she had ever experienced it this intensely before.
His lips moved back and forth between her nipples and she pushed her hips against his, feeling his erection pressing against her intimately. She wanted no more barriers between the two of them and she reached down to the buttons of her jeans, flicking them open in quick succession. Jim was so consumed with his ministrations to her breasts that he did not notice what she had done until she grasped one of his hands and slid it down her belly to touch the elastic waistband of her panties.
His lips released her nipple as he pulled back to look down at her jeans riding low on her hips, the white lace of her panties peering out between the folds of denim. He looked up at her, asking her with his eyes if this was what she wanted. She did not have any more words for him, the need that was building inside of her had choked off any voice she had and she lifted her hips towards him to tell him it was okay.
His fingers slid underneath the waistband, sliding through the coarse hair between her legs, his long fingers slipping inside of her. She was hot and wet, she could feel that herself but she did not realise how ready she was and how much sexual electricity was between the two of them until his index finger touched her clitoris. Without warning, she was swamped with the most intense orgasm she had ever experienced and all from just the smallest of touches. She shook above him, gasping loudly, her hips bucking against the hand that was giving her so much pleasure.
She collapsed on top of him, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, her panting breath moistening the skin of his neck. She had never reached orgasm that fast in her life and never from such little stimulation. She had been right to think that with someone else, sex was quite different and most definitely better. She smiled against his neck, pressing a kiss there before forcing herself to lean back and look at him. His lips were parted as he breathed quickly, his eyes dark with arousal, his hair mussed from the death grip she had on it. He was handsome and sexy and adorable all rolled into one and she kissed him, her tongue thrusting into his mouth aggressively. He had given her so much tonight, she had to return the favour.
As he on concentrated the aggressive ministrations of her mouth, her hands returned to his belt, undoing the button on his jeans and lowering his zipper slowly. Her fingertips brushed against the soft hair on his stomach, tracing it to the waistband of his boxers and slipping beneath the flannel. He was long and hard and she took him in her hand, stroking down and back up.
He broke their kiss, leaning his head back onto the cushion and groaning. She used the fluids that had seeped out as lubrication, her hand sliding up and down, squeezing softly. His hips rose of their own accord, thrusting him into her hand again and again, his eyes closed tightly in pleasure.
“Pam, yes, just like that...”
He was panting, his fists clenching the edge of the couch in a death grip and she knew that he was not going to last much longer but she was not ready for that just yet. She released him, withdrawing her hand from his jeans and his eyes flew open to regard her with worry, fear and frustration. She smiled at him in reassurance and lifted herself from the couch, standing on her shaky legs. She tugged at his jeans and he realised what she wanted and he lifted his hips so that she could pull his jeans and boxers down to his knees, allowing his erection freedom. Without hesitation, she removed her own jeans and panties, getting them tangled in her feet but she merely kicked them out of her way. Before Jim could do more than look at her with his puppy dog eyes, she was straddling him again, poised over him. She could feel him pressed up against her in the most intimate of ways, his hardness caressing her warm wetness, the head just touching her entrance.
She could not help shifting her hips, causing him to slide against her and he groaned loudly, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips. She smiled devilishly at his reaction, filled with smug satisfaction that she could cause him to react this way. She reached a hand between them, taking hold of him, guiding him inside of her as they locked lips again. They moaned into each other’s mouths as he slid home, stretching her in ways that she had never expected and her nails dug into his shoulders.
They stayed that way for what seemed like forever to Pam and she moaned in frustration and started to rock her hips against him, hoping to alleviate the tension that was coiled deep inside her. His fingers tightened on her hips, stopping her from moving and she pulled back to look at him strangely.
“Pam,” he panted, his face twisted in frustration, “We-I...need a...condom...”
“I’m on the Pill,” she whispered into his ear, pressing her full breasts against his chest as she kissed his neck.
“But what about...” he attempted but she kissed him into silence.
“I trust you,” she said simply and she saw tears form in his eyes as he looked at her. She kissed his eyelids softly, surprised by the intensity of such a simple gesture, her throat choking up as she felt his eyelashes whisper across her lips. Before she could let her emotions get the better of her, she began to rock against him, moving her hips over him, reminding him what they were doing.
He seemed to not need much of a reminder as he gripped her hips once again and began to thrust up, sliding himself deep inside of her. The pleasure that coursed through her was intense, the alcohol that had guided her to this moment fading away so that she could experience every tingle and tremor clearly. The sounds of the laboured breath and skin meeting skin were the only noises in the room and she could believe that at this moment, they were the only two people who existed in the world.
She knew that this was something more than a physical connection between them as she kept her eyes steady on his, watching the raging emotions in them that she knew were reflected in her own eyes. His lips whispered words of love and for the first time, she felt like she really was the woman that Jim saw every time he looked at her. A woman who was worth something, a woman who deserved to be happy and loved, a woman who was too scared to look into her own heart for what she truly wanted. She could not look in his eyes anymore, not without being trampled under the pain that she saw there.
She leaned her head into his neck, lips tasting the salty sweat that had gathered there. She knew that he was doing everything in his power to hold off, pushing himself to the limits of his endurance as his fingers explored her, coaxing her swollen clitoris with his thumb. He wanted her to join him, to enjoy this as much as he was and she knew that there he did not have much self-control left. His thrusting was erratic, his breathing shallow, his heart racing beneath her fingers.
“I’m so close,” she told him and his hips sped up, pushing up to her, deeper and harder than before, his fingers slick with her wetness. She could feel herself teetering on the edge, waiting for the last push that would send her tumbling over into oblivion.
“Pam, I want you to cum for me.”
It was whispered with such sincerity and feeling, she was taken aback with the intensity of his words, she felt herself fall, shuddering in his arms as he made his final thrusts in her. Their cries of pleasure were deafening and she felt as if her bones had turned to water and she was nothing more than a puddle on the floor. She collapsed against his chest, his thudding heart in her ear as they tried to get their breathing under control. She could feel the sweat on their skin drying in the air, their hot bodies slowly cooling as they rested on top of one another.
She studied the skin beneath her hands, the smooth curve of his pectoral muscle, rising and falling steadily as they basked in the afterglow. She closed her eyes and sighed with content, settling herself deeper into his embraced. This was her favourite moment after sex, cuddling up against his calming form, running her fingers over the hair that liberally covered his chest. As she reached out to touch it, she realised that the chest she was pressed against had only the smallest sprinkling of hair. It was at that same moment she remembered that it was Roy who had a hairy chest. Roy, who was probably sleeping soundly in the bed they shared and she was here, laying naked a top Jim.
What had she done? How could she have done this to Roy? She had been drunk, they both had and they were sad and lonely and the moment just got away from them and-She knew she had no excuse. She had just cheated on her fiance, the man she had been with for ten years, she had cheated on him with her best friend. Her best friend who was gently nuzzling her neck, his hands lovingly stroking her back, whispering sweet words into her ear.
“I love you, Pam, I’ve always loved you. I would do anything you wanted me to, anything at all, you only have to ask. I promise you, I’ll be everything that he isn’t. You’ll never regret this, I love you so much.”
She could feel her heart twisting inside of her, tears filling her eyes and slipping out to land on his chest. She knew the moment he sensed the difference in her, his body stiffened, his hands stilling, his voice dying in his throat. He looked at her when she rose from him but she could not meet his eyes. He did not try to say anything, as if he knew there was no point to it. He merely handed her her clothes wordlessly and then fastened his jeans and sullenly walked to the kitchen to call a cab for her while she dressed.
He stood in the kitchen, his back to her, his palms on the counter, looking out into the backyard. His back was straight, his head held high, but he refused to look at her or to say anything, even after a horn sounded from the driveway, signalling the cab’s arrival. She grabbed her coat from one of the chairs and found her purse, shooting him looks, willing him with the power of her thoughts to turn towards her. She did not want to leave, not without him saying something.
“Jim, are you going to be--”
“Don’t you dare ask me if I’m going to be okay, Pam,” he whispered with such anger it sounded like a hiss, “You don’t want to hear the answer.”
“Jim...” she pleaded, her hands clasping her purse and coat tightly in front of her. She jumped when he rounded on her, nailing her with the blaze of fury that was in his eyes.
“No, Pam, I’m not fucking okay! I’m never going to be okay!” he cried, his hands clenched in fists, his voice trembling with fury and tears, “Now just get the hell out.”
The bitterness and anger in his voice chilled her heart and she did the only thing she could for him, she listened to him. She closed the door softly, her breath making white clouds in the cold air and made her way to the cab, giving him her address quietly and lapsing into silence for the rest of the ride.
When she climbed the stairs to the bedroom she shared with Roy, her mind and body screamed out for rest, the emotional stress of the last few hours taking the toll on her but she remembered what had happened and steered herself to the bathroom. As she let the steamy warmth of the shower wash away the evidence of what she had done that night, she could not help the sobs that wracked her body as the water did nothing to rid her of the guilt that consumed her.
On Monday morning, as she walked to her desk, she noticed that Jim was in the break room talking to Toby and she quickly tucked herself behind the protection that the large desk offered. It was her first line of defence and she would need it to face Jim and the guilt that ate her. As she put her purse in a file drawer, she noticed the tiny box that had been placed on her ink blotter. She looked around suspiciously for a moment and nearly laughed at herself as she realised she was acting like Dwight.
She opened the box to find a barrette inside. Not just any barrette, but the one she had worn to Jim’s party, the one that had slipped behind his couch when they had first kissed. Beneath it was a piece of white paper and she removed it and instantly recognised the familiar rough cursive.
Pam,
I found this after I cleaned up on Saturday. It must have fallen off when you singing karaoke. I hope you had a good time. I’m sorry. Forgive and forget?
Jim
She smiled when she caught him watching her from the break room and waved at him, letting him know that she understood and she was willing to pretend, if that was what he wanted. What she would never tell him, what she could never tell him was that she was not okay. That she would never be okay.
Author's Chapter Notes:
This is just a story I came up with after watching the deleted scenes from Email Survellience, specifically Roy asking to not have to come to the party. I’ve made a few assumptions about Jim and Pam’s past, namely that Jim grew up in Scranton and Pam didn’t, which I based on the fact that Jim’s mother is still in Scranton and Pam’s isn’t. Pam isn’t the reserved receptionist we all know and love in this one but I chalk it up to the booze. If you don’t like angsty sex, I suggest you avoid everything I write altogether.
im_a_guestage is the author of 2 other stories.
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