It’s a morning like a lot of other mornings.
He’s on his stomach, head falling off his pillow, the sunlight streaming through the slats of the window shades to create geometric patterns on his back. His skin is bathed in pale ocher light and I hover my hand over the trapezoids and parallelograms, watching as harsh lines fade to soft shadows. I ghost my palm over his spine, resting between his shoulder blades as he sighs contentedly.
There’s a trio of freckles on the back of his left shoulder, and I nuzzle them with my nose as I think about another cluster of the little brown dots on our baby girl’s thigh. I know somewhere hidden under his forearm his buried face is crookedly smiling, knowing I’m awake when I should be still in the midst of a deep, dreamless sleep.
“Baby…” I croon, sliding my hand from his shoulders to the small of his back. I tap the tips of my fingers against his vertebrae, Chopsticks from piano lessons when I was small.
He chuckles, the sound resonating deep in his chest.
“Yes, sweetheart?” The muffled murmur sounds.
I nuzzle those freckles again, running my lips over them tenderly as I maneuver my hand to his ribs, tickling gently. He flinches in response, and I can tell his eyebrow is quirked even if I can’t see it. He stretches his arms out over his head and turns on his side to face me, his hair artfully arranged into the most spectacular bird’s nest.
“Can I help you with something, Bees?” He asks with a smirk.
I run my hand over the sparse tufts of hair on his chest, down through the downy softness of hair on his abdomen, and sliding one finger under the waistband of his boxers. He moans softly as he watches where my hand is headed. I giggle as his eyes cloud over and he bites his lip in anticipation. I stroke my fingers against his skin as I suck gently on his collarbone, inching close and closer until our bodies are pressed against each other, only separated by my hand between us, still moving in slow, concentric circles.
“Pam…” He begs, his hips rolling towards mine eagerly, his eyes trained on my body with an intensity not often seen so early in the morning. His hands slide over my shoulders, pulling spaghetti straps down and running his thumbs over peaks and curves.
I move my hand up, still buried under the soft cotton on his boxers, around to his ass. I grip the fabric and pull down as he arches his body and enthusiastically pulls at the material to help slide it down his thighs. He groans as my hand finds him hard and ready, fluid leaking from his tip. When I lick my palm and stroke upwards he gasps, I stroke downwards and he exhales a shaky breath beneath my ear.
I close my eyes as I work him, enjoying the feel of him in my fingers, growing impossibly harder as the seconds tick past us, and he’s grasping at my breasts and tangling his hands in my hair and pressing kisses over my face. And then I hear a stifled cry and realize that the sounds being made aren’t coming from my husband, but are coming from the baby monitor behind me on my nightstand. I feel Jim’s head roll back as he recognizes the sounds, too.
“Sonofa…” He mutters as he maneuvers onto his back, my hands releasing his still rock hard erection regretfully.
I bite my lip and look at him longingly.
“Sorry, baby,” I sigh as I begin to stand to tend to Cecilia. His hand stops me from getting up as he looks at me pointedly.
“There’s not one thing you need to be sorry about, sweetheart,” He whispers, his eyes burning with the passion he is still feeling, now hidden under the sheets. He moves to his side of the bed, retrieving his boxers and slipping them back up and over his hips. “I’ll get Cece and come right back”.
I relax back into my pillows, my body still worked up with the craze of almost but not quite morning sex. I think back to when Jim and I first started dating, when we were still playing house and sleeping at each other’s apartments, waking up early to touch each other gently – almost reverently - before hectic days of wrangling Michael in and testing Dwight’s patience.
I watch as the door to our bedroom swings open quietly and my bare-chested, boxer clad husband walks in with our baby girl cuddled to his chest, swaddled expertly in a pale lavender blanket. I slide up my pillows further, opening my arms for him to hand off our daughter to me. I cradle her against me as Jim grabs her pillow to rest her closer to me. Cece’s chubby baby hands pull at my shirt, anxious. Jim grins.
“I know the feeling, Peanut.” He whispers to her, eyeing my chest.
I roll my eyes and pull down my camisole, freeing a breast. My baby girl, still half asleep, paws at me with her eyes closed. I rub my nipple against her lips and she opens her mouth to suckle, exhaling in almost a relieved sigh.
Jim slides into bed beside us, resting against his pillows. He pulls us under his shoulder, pressing a kiss to my temple and running his index finger over our daughter’s nose. He laughs.
“Ya know, Bees… She’s got your comedic timing.”
I turn my head to stare at him, my mouth agape.
“Excuse me, Mr. Halpert. I thought you’d forgiven me for the key incident,” I chide him, reminding him of the apology dinner… and the apology foot massage… and the apology sex… from my accidental ruining of his prank on Dwight.
He laughs, pecking my nose with his lips and running his thumb along my shoulder blade.
I relax further into him, stroking Cece’s cheek to keep her from falling asleep while eating, running my fingers over her brow and through the downy curls she unfortunately got from me. I stare at her features, perfection on her beautiful face. Her big green eyes and her big grin from her daddy. Her hair and her nose from me. Grandma Beesly swears her chin came from my great great great grandfather. Nana and Papa are still convinced her ears and her height will be all Halpert. I grin as her eyes open and meet mine, recognizing me immediately, milk bubbles spilling from the sides of her mouth. I wipe the spills with the corner of her purple blanket, cooing at her in my now expertly convincing “mommy voice”.
“How’s my baby this morning? Is your tummy full?” I ask her, her eyelashes fluttering at the sound of my voice.
“I’m so full, Mommy, maybe you should put me down so Daddy can have a turn...” Jim parrots in a high, squeaky tone, his “Cece” voice.
I arch an eyebrow at him.
“You need to be breastfed, Jim?” I ask dubiously, a wink in my voice knowing he is still semi-hard under the covers.
His eyes meet mine.
“Not, ya know, specifically breastfed per se, but Daddy would like some personal time with Mommy’s body…”
I groan.
“Jim. Please do not refer to us as Mommy and Daddy in any type of sexy talk. It’s a 100% mood killer.”
He chuckles, and I turn my face to kiss the inside of his arm before grabbing a burping cloth from my nightstand and handing Cece to Jim’s shoulder to burp her gently. I watch as he rubs her back and pats soothingly, every effort instinctual and fatherly and perfect. His wedding ring glints in the still early sunlight, the same geometric shapes still passing over his body. But now the shapes are covering our baby girl.
Now Cece’s burping a delicate, lady-like little burp and Jim is laughing gently, his hand running through the curls at the back of her head, one big palm protecting her skull, the other resting tenderly on her seafoam green onesied back. I watch as he peppers her face with sweet kisses and pats her diapered covered bottom. Our baby girl – who already has her Daddy wrapped so far around her finger there’s no end of his worship of her in sight – rests her little chin on his shoulder and yawns a big yawn, closing her eyes as Jim’s chest rising and falling in easy breaths puts her fast asleep.
I watch as he fingers her tiny white sock covered foot, the ones with the giraffes on the bottom, and know that he still can’t believe that not only are we together, but we’re married. That we’re married, and we live in the house that he grew up in (albeit now renovated), and we have a precious little girl who is 50% him and 50% me.
I know he still sometimes can’t believe that we get to go to work together, and come home together, and make love to one another. I know that even though we’ve come so far, we’re still in a time where we have more memories of years of having been apart than we have being together. Sometimes I worry that when we’ve eclipsed the time together over what we spent without each other, it won’t still be so amazing to him. But then I think of how sometimes I turn around after placing Cece in her crib, and I find Jim staring at me in a way that I think he’s never looked at me before. Maybe we’ll get interrupted sometimes, by babies crying or by work or by any number of interruptions, but I know that this is 100% the man I am supposed to be with and this is where we’re supposed to be.
Right here, in our bed, snuggling in the morning light with our baby sleeping on his shoulder and me tucked in under his arm.
Story Notes:
Just a little fanfic on a Thursday morning, y'all ;) I know I have't been around in *cough* a long time, but I hope you all enjoy this little ficlet of mine!
Author's Chapter Notes:
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
ie, Jim and Pam aren't mine. I keep asking for them, but for some reason, no one wants to give them up. *grumbles* People can be so selfish.
Chapter End Notes:
I know, I know, I'm a wicked tease. But this is also the first time I've really gotten into anything super smutty, so... be gentle with the reviews my friends :)
stjoespirit04 is the author of 25 other stories.
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