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Pam wakes up slowly. She opens her eyes briefly and closes them again after she sees Jim’s room. She thinks that it’s good to just lay in bed, warm from the sunshine streaming in through the window, and remember everything that’s happened in the last week. Things have been happening so fast, starting with Jim bursting into the conference room and ending with last night’s events, and so it’s nice to hold still and bask for a few minutes.
She extends her leg across the bed, feeling for him. He’s not there, but she doesn’t mind. She likes that he feels comfortable enough to leave her alone in his room. There’s something intimate about being in his private space without him supervising. Pam rolls onto her back and stretches. The soreness in her muscles is heavy and comforting.
She rises and moves to his dresser, guessing at the drawers until she finds a t-shirt to throw on. It’s so long that it dangles almost to her knees. She considers just wearing the shirt, but her bare legs are a little too intimidating in the daylight and so she rifles through his clothes until she finds a pair of soft, striped pajama pants. She cinches the drawstring and rolls them several times at the waist so that she can walk without tripping on the legs.
There’s a noise from the kitchen. Pam pads down the stairs in her bare feet, stopping at the bottom when she sees Jim’s back. He’s putting something back in the fridge. His clothes are almost identical to hers, which makes her smile a little bit and alleviates some of her nervousness.
Jim closes the fridge and turns. His whole face lights up when he sees her. They both look away, shy and smiling, and Pam wants to laugh out loud at how adorable and ridiculous they must look. They’re awkward, but there’s comfort in it because they’ve always been awkward with each other in moments like this. They’ve been especially strange with each other for the past six months, but this morning is nothing like that. It’s more like how they were back before he went to Stamford, in the little moments when their eyes would meet and before her brain would whisper another man’s name.
Pam crosses the room to lean against a counter. She plays idly with the hem of her shirt. “Hi.”
“Hey.” And Pam knows that he’s looking at her, and she really should look back, except that if she does she’ll probably burst out laughing. That’s hardly an appropriate response given the circumstances, so she keeps her eyes on the floor. He hovers nearby for a second, and when he speaks again she can hear in his voice that he’s amused. “I made tea.”
Pam reaches out to take the mug that he offers, and she can’t help it. Her eyes move up to his face. He looks bashful and content, and he’s smirking at her in a way that she knows means he’s thinking about each time he made her moan last night. He reaches up one arm to scratch absently at the neck of his plain white shirt, and it’s pretty much the greatest morning of Pam’s life.
It only gets better when he presses her against the countertop, his stubble rasping against her cheek and his mouth tasting like buttered toast. And it’s strange to see each other that way in the yellow light of day, but it’s kind of beautiful too.
Afterwards, they amuse themselves by making all the different kinds of toast they can think of (jelly, peanut butter, cinnamon sugar, toast with scrambled eggs and salsa piled high, and then others that are silly and gross that they dare each other to try). They reheat cold tea in the microwave and sit on the floor as they drink it. They try to do the crossword together, and Jim does his best Stanley impression as he berates Pam for filling in the boxes with made-up words. They curl together like cats on the floor of Jim’s living room, and as she dozes off into a nap Pam thinks about how soon this won’t be awkward at all, it will just be one day out of dozens spent sleeping in his arms.
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Story Notes:
Inspired by this icon by tunaeverynight over at LiveJournal, and based on a conversation with flonkerton about that icon. Thanks for being awesome, ladies.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not no way, not no how.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not no way, not no how.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Just a lazy morning.
Chapter End Notes:
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