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This is new, confusing, strange. He doesn't quite know why he's showed up at her door, in the jeans he's worn all day and a hoodie he hasn't washed in weeks. He doesn't know why he's still aching, still wanting, after spending the last evening with her, for the first real time. The first time he'd held her hand across a table, the first time he'd pushed her up against the wall outside her apartment door and kissed her without holding back, the first time she'd whispered that she needed time before that could happen.
He already has the day off work, and hasn't known what to do with himself. He keeps thinking of her, the quiet tears in her eyes as they discussed the past, the present. Her unsteady, small hands gripping his shirt as he tasted her tongue for the first real time. How hard it had been to leave with a smile and a squeeze of her hand.
How easy it became to find himself, cheeks tinted with a light five o'clock shadow but eyes bright, back at her door.
Her eyebrows raise; she's wearing cut-off jean shorts smeared with pastels and a bright yellow shirt that's several sizes too big. He notices the cheery fabric hanging off her frame, flowing to nearly the bottom of her shorts. Her feet are bare and for some reason, that makes his heart rate rise.
"Hi," is all he can say.
"You should have called, I look ridiculous," she says with a smile, holding the door open to let him in. He catches her hand as he breezes past her, pulling her to him to plant a light kiss on her lips.
"I like that I can do that," he tells her, like a young boy. She smiles, blushing a little, and asks him if he wants anything to drink.
Two beers each later, they're sitting next to each other on her couch, just enough of a buzz to make everything seem warm and a little hazy. His hand is tracing circles on her bare knee, her head is resting on his shoulder, and he notices the time. It's a Friday, but he doesn't want to overstay his welcome.
"Um, maybe I should . . . go?"
He hears her breathe in, feels her shift against him. He places a tentative kiss at her hairline and makes a move like he's about to get up. She tugs at his sleeve.
"Stay."
He doesn't quite know the implications, but he smiles down at her, nodding. She reaches up, awkwardly hooking her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. The angle catches him in the wrong places and he winces as his back twists toward her.
"Sorry! It's, um, been a while . . ."
He laughs and adjusts himself accordingly, kissing her temple. She grins sheepishly, embarrassed, and excuses herself. His eyes follow her as she disappears down her small hallway, behind her bedroom door. He doesn't know what to expect but he mentally counts each second until it becomes unbearable.
It's been ten minutes.
He knocks gently on the door, calls out to her, wonders if everything's okay.
"Come in," he hears, and he palms the knob before pushing the door open.
She's on her bed, now in a pair of worn flannel pants and a white camisol. Her knees are drawn to her chest, her chin resting on top, her lip between her teeth like she's thinking something over. She looks small, curled into herself like that, her eyes wide and innocent as she stares at him over her knees.
He doesn't really say anything, just crosses the room to her. The mattress squeaks when he sits, his warm, clothed shoulder pressing against her bare one.
"Whatcha thinking about?" he asks lightly. She just shrugs, melts into his side, and he can't help but slide his arm around her. She toys with the tie from his hood, staring intensely as she rolls it between her fingertips like she has something to hide. He dips his head, lips grazing her hair as he asks what's wrong.
"I want to be ready," she says cryptically, but it only takes him a few seconds to know what she's referring to.
"I can wait," he assures her, hoping that she didn't think he expected anything by showing up tonight. Feeling guilty that maybe he did.
"I don't want to wait. Haven't we waited long enough?"
He nods, admits the truth in that, but insists that he isn't going to push her into anything. But before he can finish, she's whispering against his jaw for him to stop, and her mouth is suddenly on his, warm and soft. Hesitant but determined.
He doesn't want to push his luck, so he kisses her gently, gliding his tongue just barely over hers, palming her jaw while his other hand rubs her arm, warming her chilled skin. When they break, she rests her forehead against his, and it's only for a second before she's in his lap, knees on either side of him, fingers exploring his stubble, which is somehow soft and doesn't feel like sandpaper beneath her fingers.
"Pam," he says quietly, not wanting to interrupt this but not wanting to move too fast. But it somehow comes out like a question and she nods in response, shifting her weight so she's pressing there, but she doesn't mean it and jumps when she feels him against her thigh.
"Steady there," he laughs, his voice gravely and thick with the moment, gripping her hips with his long fingers. "It's okay."
She slowly eases herself back down, settling instead against his thighs, avoiding that spot. His thumbs run over her skin, peeping beneath the hem of her tanktop, which has slid up past her belly button, hoping she doesn't notice that he's shaking too. He feels her hands on his shoulders when he leans in to kiss her, feels her relax and become fluid beneath his hands. All he's aware of is her tongue and the small noises coming from the back of her throat when she shifts forward, moving slightly against him. He groans into her mouth.
She's fingering his hoodie again, playing with an errant string hanging off the end. He sits up straighter and she helps him take it off, giggling when it tousles his hair. She runs her fingers through it and he shivers, now running his hands up her back, underneath the cami. Her skin is smooth, like he imagined it would be, running soft and cool against his palms.
He fingers the waistband of her pajamas as she pulls his tshirt off, sliding her hands up his chest, into the light brown curls there, kissing his throat. He moves from beneath her, tugging her pants down and easing her cami off before rolling on top. It's skin on skin and she's so warm because of him and he wants to touch everywhere, learn everything.
He's gently lapping at her breast, his fingers exploring lower, tracing paths on her flesh until he feels dampness. She's whimpering, her hands gripping at his hair as she arches into him. He only strokes a few times before she's pulling at his arms, trying to maneuver him back up, wanting to feel him.
When he settles fully between her thighs, he can feel her hands trembling as they grip his sides, and he dips his head down and nuzzles his nose under her ear.
"I love you," she whispers, so faint that he isn't sure he heard it until she follows it with a light kiss, her eyes searching his face for a reaction. He smiles against her skin, laughs a little, but is startled when he feels her hand around him, eager.
"Take it easy," he chides her, relieved to see her break a smile. He lets her guide him in, and he has to close his eyes as she envelopes him, letting him bury himself completely in her warmth. They lay still a moment, the only sound coming from their rapid breathing, before she squirms beneath him and raises her hips.
And then he's thrusting into her, sliding out only for the shortest amount of time before his hips sink back down between her knees. He lets his lips trail down her neck, feeling her hands trying to grip his back as they move together, and it feels so crazy that this is Pam and they're here and then her legs are wrapped around his thighs, her hands are everywhere, she's pulling him deeper and he can't think anymore.
When he raises his head to look at her, her eyes are tightly shut, her mouth open as she mewls with each thrust. It's like she can feel his eyes on her as she breathes in and stutters, "Almost."
Without warning, he rolls onto his back, bringing her on top of him, still connected. She opens her eyes, green and unsure and nervous, but he guides her hips up and back down with his hands and she begins to catch the rhythm. He can't help but lean up to kiss between her breasts as he hears her moan, fully and openly for the first time since this began. He snakes a hand between them and she lets out another cry, his fingers circling, helping her.
He feels her legs become wobbly and all of a sudden she's there, clenching around him so tightly that his eyes clamp shut and he's pulling her down on him hard and he's not sure who's making what noises anymore but he decides he doesn't care. The last thing he hears is his name, breathless and strained, and then she's limp against his chest, her hair tickling his chin.
"Shit," he mumbles, and he can feel is as she giggles against him. "Just . . . wow. You okay?"
She nods, sliding off to his side and letting a leg fall between his. He pulls her closer, settling against her cotton pillows and pulling the sheet around them. His eyelids are heavy and he knows he won't last, as much as he wants to watch her, to see her as she dreams.
"I love you, too," he murmurs, and she kisses him square in the middle of his chest.
He's drifting to sleep, thinking about maybe waking up in a few hours and doing this again in that strange hour between night and day, when the first dregs of light filter into the sky. He wonders what her skin looks like then, and how it will look in the morning when the sun is bright, when they're awake on a Saturday morning with nothing to do.
It's pale, luminous. And then it's a warm shade of peach, sprawled and spent against the pale green sheets, curled beneath his arm.
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Story Notes:
Diclaimer: I don't own them, sadly.
Title from "Recycled Air" by The Postal Service.
Title from "Recycled Air" by The Postal Service.
Author's Chapter Notes:
With the arrival of season 5 came my muse, I suppose.
flonkerton is the author of 8 other stories.
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