Wicked Jim
It was dead of the Pennsylvania winter, and while that didn't mean quite as much now that global warming made their weather toipsy-turvy, they still got their fair share of snow. It seemed like more than their fair share that week, starting Sunday and dumping inches each day. By Wednesday, over half of the office staff called in.
"Jim, this is silly. Look at it out here. We're going to get stuck."
"European engineering, Pam. Stop doubting it, or they'll never let us on the Autobahn." Jim was slowly clearing the walkway for Pam. "Besides," he said, breathing heavily with the effort, "they've plowed the roads." He gestured to the road that had been plowed, but was in no way clear.
"Jim."
"Pam. It's fine. I know you've driven through worse weather than this."
"And the office will be empty, which tells me I don't have to be there. Do you see what I'm saying? This is pointless." Though her arms were crossed in protest, she was still following Jim as he cleared snow for them.
"You must have been praying for a snow day every time you saw a flake in the sky."
"I did, and there's nothing wrong with that. A free day is a free day, and I really want this free day. Really, Jim, I want it. A lot."
"Save it for Friday, or tomorrow, and we'll get a long weekend, and look like the good guys. Oh, how valiant they were, coming in when no one else did!"
"Harumph."
But naturally, they were not the only ones at the office. A few others had braved the drive, and beat them in.
"You're late."
"Good morning, Dwight." Pam said it like it was a death sentence, but one she was obligated to pronounce.
"You're right, we are late, but we're also here," Jim said with a strange perkiness in counterpoint to the gray skies outside.
The look on Dwight's face spoke volumes (of which Jim had stored mentally in alphabetical order). With a small, disgusted curl of the lip, he turned his attention back to his own work.
Sitting down in his chair, Jim gave Pam a hearty thumbs up, and started looking through his own work. It would be a slow day, for sure, but there were things he needed to get caught up on. It seemed like it had been week after week of chaos since the fall, and he was perpetually behind.
It's a career.
There were worse careers. He glanced around the office, the empty desks. There were worse co-workers.
For the most part, the morning passed quietly. Calls were few, Michael was out, Andy was also out, and Dwight was uncharacteristically not nosy. Angela spoke to Pam twice about making copies. The sound of the machine was the loudest thing, alongside Creed's snoring.
It was something like lunchtime, but since there were so few people, even Dwight was slack on their scheduled break.
"Eating at your desk, Dwight? What would Michael say?" Jim said, then tsked with disapproval.
In an odd show of defiance and un-Dwight-like behavior, he looked at Jim and took a large bite of his sandwich, then proceeded to chew it as noisily as he could. "Did you say something?"
Bits of chewed food landed on the corner of Jim's desk. "That is disgusting." With a frown, Jim stood and went to the break room. He rooted through the cabinets without luck. Back to reception, where he leaned in closely to Pam. "Do you know where the disinfectant wipes are?"
"Did you check to storage closet?" Her eyes were glued to her monitor.
"How many games is that today?"
"Too many; my win percentage is terrible. Check the storage closet."
"Come with me and help me think of a prank to play on Dwight. It'll be super secret stealth prank. He'll think a ninja did it, then spend the rest of the day hunting for them. Bladed weapons may or may not be involved."
"Fine. You are a terrible influence on me. I have so much work to get done." The serious tone of her voice did not match the smile she was beaming at him. Pam stood and followed him, and as they passed Dwight's desk, she said loudly, "I can't believe you didn't find them, Jim. They are right there on the shelf."
"You know me, Pam. I can't find my shoes even when they're on my feet."
Dwight snorted, and Jim grinned at Pam.
The storage closet was a tiny, cramped space, used mostly for various office supplies. Pens, paperclips, staples, and the like. It smelled like the interior of the copier, which Pam was already fairly intimate with.
"It smells like toner in here," she whispered as Jim silently shut the door behind them. "And they both know we came in here. I don't think we're fooling anyone."
"Pam," Jim replied evenly, smiling at her, "it's Dwight and Angela. Who cares?"
Her moment of hesitation was al the opportunity he needed, and there Jim was, kissing her neck and running his hands up and down her sides, straying as low as her thighs.
"Jim, no!" Pam whispered as she pushed his hands away. "There are people out there!"
"Creed's asleep. It can be a quickie" His hands started to lift her skirt.
"I mean it, Jim! What if someone needs something? What do we say? 'Occupied, be out in a few minutes,'?" Again she pushed his hands away, but it was difficult because he had her pinned against the shelves of supplies and was kissing her neck.
"Pam," he whispered in her ear, his breath tickling her lobe, "you need to relax. You've been horribly stressed all day." A gentle kiss beneath the ear, then his lips captured her earlobe and sucked gently.
"It's not even a proper supply closet," she said weakly, her left hand grabbing on to the shelf to hold herself up. "The walls are modular." Each passing second, her legs grew weaker. "And the door is-is hollow. Ohh."
Now Jim's right hand was up under her skirt, while his left hand was inside her cardigan, squeezing her breast through her bra. "Then you have to be quiet." His voice was barely more than breath in her ear, before he was taking her breath away with the touch of his hands on her body and his lips on her own.
The left hand was locked like a vice on the shelf still while her right was threaded in his hair as she slowly gave in to him. Just like she always did; he was a master manipulator, and Pam wouldn't have him any other way.
One long finger hooked into the elastic of her pantie leg, and started to tug downward. With expert ease, his other hand started to unbutton her blouse. When more of her breastbone had been exposed, he moved his attention to the soft, smooth skin there.
With a soft resigned and anticipatory sigh, Pam let her eyes close to ride the sensations. It was like a pebble fighting the ocean tide when Jim had his mind set.
"Step out," he said quietly, his head at her waist.
Her panties were at her ankles.
Just a single, small step...
* * *
Creed stood up, eyes still mostly closed, and walked to the break room. He got Jim's bagged lunch from the refrigerator and headed back to his desk.
"Yes!"
Creed paused in mid-stride, and looked at the supply room door. Slowly his eyes slid to the other people at their desks. The blond chick was frowning, and the farmer was shaking his head.
OK, it wasn't a hallucination. Good enough. Back at his desk, a quick snack, and then resume his nap.
* * *
Pam's arms were locked around Jim's neck, and even though the shelf of pens and pencils his digging into her spine, the wicked joy coursing through her dulled the pain.
Wicked Jim.
Releasing a shuddering gasp in his ear, her legs around his waist tightened. Hanging on with all her strength was the only way to control the happily spasming muscles and stop herself from flopping to the floor.
Wicked, wicked Jim, still working her over, until it felt like every bone and muscle in her was wet concrete, and it was time to take a nap cuddled next to him.
"You are beautiful when you're satisfied," he said quietly, before two final thrusts and a long, low guttural groan in her ear.
Pam was still in a physical and emotional haze as Jim put her back together, ending with a kiss to the tip of her nose.
"Told you it'd be quick."
It might have been quick, it might not. Pam had no idea really, but she could not go out just yet, not looking like she just woke up from a nap. A very satisfying nap. "Wait, not yet. GIve me a minute." Her hand clutched his shirt as she gathered herself, legs regaining strength, the fog lifting from her mind. "Jim-"
"I know." Another kiss on the nose, then a lingering one on the lips. "Let's go." His hand was on the knob, but she pulled at his shirt again.
"Do you hear anything?"
"It's quiet."
"Is it safe to go out?"
"You are such a worry wart."
"Then why are you whispering too?"
"Your peace of mind."
"You're such a liar, Jim."
"OK, going now."
Pam held her breath as Jim opened the door and confidently strode out. It was silent. She patted her hair, hoping it wasn't too disheveled, then after taking two deep breaths, she followed.
And yes, it was silent, but Pam immediately felt eyes on her. They were silent, but apparently she and Jim had not been. Glancing, just with her eyes and keeping her head straight ahead, she saw the shocked look on Angela's face.
Well whatever, little Miss Judgmental had a skeleton or two in the closet. Or more likely a bone or two on somebody's desk.
Back at the safety of the reception desk, Pam kept her eyes on her monitor and hands on the keyboard, concentrating very completely on work, though she wanted to smooth her skirt down constantly. She felt utterly exposed, and oddly humiliated, though she knew she had no reason to be. Angela already thought the worst of her when it suited; Creed was still asleep; and Dwight...
Pam looked up at Jim, and was stunned with disbelief slowly bleeding into horrified to see Dwight giving Jim a nod and approving smile.
And while Dwight's voice was low, it was perfectly audible in the near-silent office. "I knew she wasn't a virgin."
"JIM!" Without waiting for a response, Pam stood and marched out of the office.
An undeclared demand for a talk that Jim was perfectly familiar with. He stood slowly, with a not unusual smug half-grin on his face, and straightened his tie. "Guess I should see what she wants. Maybe an elevator ride."
Dwight's hand went up.
Jim completed the high-five, then strolled after Pam.
END
Story Notes:
I just really wanted to work in that 'You know she's not a virgin' line into something somehow. Set after Pam returns from New York, but before MSPC shenanigans.
Auto-Generated Disclaimer: Characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers, including NBC and Greg Daniels, and Blizzard Entertainment. No copyright infringement is intended.
Auto-Generated Disclaimer: Characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers, including NBC and Greg Daniels, and Blizzard Entertainment. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter End Notes:
Comments and criticism welcome and appreciated!
sachiel is the author of 6 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 3 members. Members who liked Wicked Jim also liked 2418 other stories.
