Disclaimer: This author is in no way affiiliated with The Office, NBC, or any subsequent associates of said organisations. This is a story designed for pure entertainment, and the author receives no profit as a result of publication. Don't sue :)
FOUR TIMES JIM PUT HIS HANDS IN HIS POCKETS (AND ONE TIME HE DIDN'T)
He keeps his hands in his pockets for many reasons.
1.
The day was one of his best days at work...almost. Michael and Dwight's ongoing argument about who was the better fighter amused him no end, and the smile on Pam's face as he promised her chips for her complicancy in his ruse delighted him.
The day had been filled with giggles and palm reading. He was proud of his control of his facial expressions while she lightly brushed her fingers over his palm, holding his large hand in her small, pale one. But he allows himself a moment of delight when she compliments his teeth, relishing that she's noticed something like that about him, thought about him.
And then he remembers why there is so little touching in their friendship. Those boundaries are there protecting both of them. Because if he lets himself touch her it's not just laughing with a friend. And she knows it too.
Laughing and giggling as he picked her up, her attitude changed immediately when Meredith had turned around, becoming stern and accusatory, telling him to put her down and walking away angry. Still buzzing from his contact with her, and frustrated beyond belief, he quickly shoves his hands in his pockets and walks, head down, to the bathroom.
He stays there for five minutes, only taking his hands out when he's alone, to splash water on his face.
He puts them back in as he leaves...one brief touch of her taut stomach, even when followed by her ire, had done more to him that Katy's willing mouth and hands ever had.
2.
She's never looked more beautiful than she does right now, iridescent blue dress and a smile on her face that he can't help but return. The parking lot is dim, abandoned now as her fiance drives away into the darkness, his own promise of protection dry and grating to his tongue.
He puts his hands in his pockets, terrified of what they'll do if he gives them the chance, dying to hold her, make her forget the lug who doesn't deserve her. She's smiling now as she taunts him about their card game. He pauses, collecting himself, grateful beyond belief that his hands are in his pockets, not reaching for her immediately.
“I'm in love with you.” She freezes as he continues, her face becoming ashen, her beautiful eyes wide. His hands itch to hold her, make her forget his words, but he steeles himself and presses on. As her eyes continue to take up her entire face, her voice unsteady as she rejects everything he's offering, he allows his hand a second of respite, not to touch her but to wipe away the single tear that's feeling like fire across his face.
Later, as he walks slowly in his hands are back there, firmly wedged as they have been for years now. But this is his last shot, so he figures he doesn't care.
“Listen, Jim...' He cuts her off, pulling her into a kiss he knows for sure he'll remember when he's old and grey. Holding her so closely, feeling the material of her dress, clutching her gently, he knows he's found peace. Her rejection stings more after feeling her return their kiss.
As he walks away that night he puts his hands back in his pockets...because if he doesn't he'll still feel them tingling with the feel of her.
3.
The day has been hard. The last couple of months had been hard. But today was harder. He saw her, beautiful as ever, hair doing that smooth but curly thing she had done the last night he'd seen her. Like she'd done it deliberately. As he walks in the door of his own personal hell he briefly wonders if she's done it like that because she knew he was coming back today. He shakes his head quickly, willing the thought to leave. No point in going down that road again.
He keeps his hands in his pockets as he greets her, joking about being new, but is shocked into movement as she throws her arms around him, his hands moving as if by their own volition to embrace her also. Suddenly it's all there again, the feel of her soft hair brushing his fingers, her scent filling his nose, the warmth of her feeling like home.
He curses himself, hates himself, and quickly ends the hug, shoving his hands back into his pockets quickly. There is no touching, there can't be.
He keeps them there throughout the day, carefully brushing off her offer of coffee, even when Karen reaches up to affectionately touch him on the back. He doesn't know why, he just needs the familiar restraint.
Later, in the parking lot, he keeps them there as he tells her he's seeing someone. He watches closely for any reaction, any hint of what she's thinking, but she quickly excuses things, maintaining the mantra of “we'll always be friends”. It's breaking his heart not to touch her again, and he hates her a little bit for hugging him earlier, for making him remember that.
He pulls his hands out to open the car door, answering Karen's call, pleased as ever for the distraction.
That night, as she pants and moans beneath him, he runs his hands over every inch of her. To erase the tingling feeling of her hair brushing his fingertips, to create a new memory with this amazing woman who does want him.
He tries to get rid of her imprints on his hands...it doesn't work.
4.
She's driving him insane. Subtle changes, tiny alterations that he knows only someone with years of practice studying her (someone like him maybe) would recognise. Her shirts are slightly brighter, heels a little higher. Her hair now falls around her face, curling around her shoulders softly. Her skirts seem a tiny bit tighter, her smile freer.
And it's killing him. Because every movement, every soft laugh of toss of her hair, every single microscopic action, is making him hard as a rock. Her soft laugh reminds him of her breathy, low pants, her gentle moans, or her louder, more intense grunts of pleasure.
As her hair trickles around her shoulders he thinks of it splayed out across his pillow, her head tossing as he kisses down the length of her torso, her fingers curling into the bedsheets as he licks her centre.
The heels are just cruel, reminding him of the time he took her from behind over the kitchen counter. She'd walked out of the bedroom in only those heels, her smile a mix of shy and sensuous, her eyes never leaving his. Even as he took her roughly over the countertop, one hand twisted firmly in her hair, the other digging into her hip, she had moaned and smiled, saying his name like a chant before screaming her release.
It's meant to have gotten easier, now that they were a couple. The lust was meant to have died down a little. All it's done is drive him insane, the urge to be inside her overpowering everything else.
At this last thought he jams his hands firmly in his pockets, cursing as Michael announces a meeting, shuffling awkwardly into the conference room. She moves past him to sit across from him. Initially surprised that she isn't sitting next to him he almost moans aloud when she slowly slips into the chair, one leg dangling over the over, her tall heel bobbing as she gentle bounces her foot. She looks him directly in the eyes, and licks her lips.
His mouth goes dry. Images of throwing her over the conference table and fucking her senseless, images of her sweet pink mouth moving up and down his length, pictures of gripping her hips as she moans his name into his desk top. His hands twitch as he thinks of the full weight of her breasts in his hands, her soft gasps as he runs fingertips over her nipples. They all travel through his mind so quickly he can't seem to control it, digging his hands deeper into his pockets and hunching over. If she notices she gives no indication.
He keeps his hands in his pockets for the rest of the day, barely getting any work done as his mind continues to provide images, sounds, tastes and smells that drive him insance. He watches the clock tick by slowly, avoids Pam's eyes as they reveal all the anticipation he's currently feeling, dying for it to be five, dying to pull her into his arms after everyone has left.
He stays at his desk all day, keeping his hands in his pockets. He figures corporate probably wouldn't appreciate him grabbing the receptionist and fucking her over his desk during work hours...after hours however were fair game.
5.
The mist had been amazing, first lightly spraying and then becoming heavier. The captain moves away as they embrace, now husband and wife. He feels the thin band of gold on the fourth finger of his left hand, knows there's an identical one on hers.
They're at the stern of the boat, watching as they slowly move away from the falls. His arms are around her waist, one hand gripping hers. Her head lies on his shoulder, and his other hand is placed over her stomach. He thought he'd known peace before. He had no idea.
He knows the cameras are watching them, and for once he doesn't care that such an intimate, private moment is being recorded. Because she's his wife.
Because in her stomach is their child, their tiny baby, the one that they made. Together.
Because their fingers have matching gold bands.
Because after watching,
After waiting,
After confessions and tears,
After reuniting and reconnecting,
He finally has his hands out of his pocket...and he's holding the world in them.
Story Notes:
Covers episodes from Season 2 - Season 5 (Niagara).
Chapter End Notes:
Feedback would be so appreciated as this is my first Office fic :)
vicodinfm is the author of 7 other stories.
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