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All characters belong to NBC. This is purely for entertainment purposes. 

This will be a 4 part series, playing out to a "climactic" ending ;)

Enjoy :) 

“JAMES DUNCAN HALPERT!”


Hearing his girlfriend’s shrill scream from across the office, Jim Halpert gave a satisfied smirk. This little prank war that Pam had waged against him wasn’t going to last very long with the tricks he had up his sleeves.


He was prepared for the water buckets she had placed atop office doors, easily dodged the silly string cans, and laughed at her failed attempts to scare him with rubber spiders. She was messing with Dunder Mifflin’s number one prankster.


She wasn’t going to win this one.


Waltzing out from behind his desk, chest puffed boastfully, he sauntered down the hallway and made his way up the metal ladder. As he broached the top, he saw Pam’s petite figure awaiting him, hands on her hips, staring at the roof of the building.


The place to which he had promptly relocated all of her furniture and personal belongings.


He could already hear her familiar, “Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam,” from her new rooftop view.


“You think this is funny, Halpert?” she queried, not even bothering to shift her gaze as she felt him approach her left side.


“Oh, I think it’s incredibly funny,” he chuckled back, crossing his arms across his chest, admiring his handy work.


Balling her fists in frustration, Pam turned to face the man that she had only begun dating--albeit secretly--a mere 6 weeks prior. Although their relationship had been absolutely incredible after the initial, and necessary, working out of the junk they had both left behind, she was not about to let their first fight result from her habit of being a sore loser.


Instead, she opted for a vengeful threat.


Lowering her voice an octave, she stood on her toes. Even propped up, her nose barely touched his chin.


“You’ll pay for this one, Halpert.”


“Is that so?” he quipped back, closing the distance even more, trying his hardest not to chuckle at how cute she looked when she tried to be intimidating. “Is that a threat, Beesly?”


But she stood her ground.


“No, James, that’s a promise,” she whispered, staring him down for a few moments, the intensity with which she did piercing right through him. It took everything in his power not to gather her up in his arms right then and there. But he was curious to see what she had planned for him.


“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a reception area to redecorate.”


She backed down, firmly spun on her toes, and started down the ladder.


“Let me at least help you get it all back down,” he offered as they were back on solid ground and re-entering the office.


“No, no, I’ve got it. No help needed from the enemy.” She offered him a sarcastic smile and made off to the supply closet, in search of a dolly to begin carting her things back with.


He watched her saunter off around the corner, taking particular notice of the way she shook her hips at him, almost like she knew he was watching and trying to give him a show. It had only been six weeks since he could finally call her his, but it had felt like each day was still such a blessing. He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, taking one last peek at her before setting off to find the dolly that he had purposely stowed away in the alley behind their parking lot.


---------------


Pam Beesly was stumped.


She truthfully didn’t know how she was going to get Jim back. Her pranking up to this point had been mediocre at best, earning her failures--and relentless house of teasing--at every attempt. But this time, she knew that she had to bring her A-Game.


She could always enlist the help of the other guys in the office; surely after all these years they would have some ideas about how to out-prank the master prankster. Although, to be fair, Dwight was constantly nagging them about how pranks were, “unprofessional in the workplace,” and that if they, “didn’t stop their juvenile shenanigans” he was going to, “give corporate a very thorough phone call with records of all of their wasted time.”


Thinking that she’d try her luck with the warehouse guys, she descended the stairs and came across Darryl on his lunch break. A memory of conversations between Darryl and Jim last Friday night at Poor Richard’s suddenly popped into her consciousness, and that was all the inspiration she needed to formulate her plan.


“Hey Darryl,” she said with a warm smile.


“Hey Pam,” he replied. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”


“You guys wouldn’t happen to have a dolly down here, would you?” she asked, making sure to turn on the charm.


“What do you need it for?” Darryl asked, setting his sandwich down.


“Oh, I don’t wanna trouble you,” she said, waving her arms in protest. “Jim and I are kind of in the middle of this prank war and he kind of, um, moved all my stuff onto the roof,” she admitted, a bit embarrassed by their antics.


Darryl cackled, throwing his head back in amusement, as he stood up.


“Don’t worry about it girl; I’ll have my guys get your stuff inside when they get back from lunch.”


She smiled in thanks as Darryl cantered off to round up a few warehouse guys. As soon as she saw the group exit the building, she took her chance.


Rummaging through Darryl’s bag, she found exactly what she was looking for: his pill box.


Over beers and nachos last Friday night, he had mentioned in passing that he, “hadn’t taken a good shit” in a week, and that his doctor had prescribed something for him that he absolutely refused to take unless he was, “in the comfort of my own damn toilet.” He probably wouldn’t notice if one was missing, right?


She pocketed her weapon, patted her skirt to make sure it was safe, and climbed the staircase back to the office, feeling incredibly proud of herself.


Jim had a lunch meeting with Michael, and a sales call at 3. Just enough in-between time for her to execute her plan. He was pitching to a smaller company, so the loss of the sale wouldn’t be too detrimental to his ego.


She sauntered into the kitchen, grabbed a carton of ice cream from the freezer, and removed the pill from her pocket. It struck her as odd that a laxative would have a blue tint, but she paid no mind to it, embedding it into the bowl of ice cream before loading it with a large helping of whipped cream.


Laxatives.


This time, she had him.


-----------


At 1:30, as Jim exited the conference room, a wide grin took over Pam’s face. She couldn’t wait to get him back for the Post-It covered desks, the car full of balloons, and the countless number of office supplies baked in Jell-O.


This ended today.


Clutching two bowls of ice cream, she met him as he approached his desk, her smile not faltering.


He was dressed a little bit neater today, having made sure that he actually ironed his dress shirt and slacks. He even had product in his hair. For as much as Jim liked to goof off in the office, he was good at his job, and he took pride in valuing his customers.


Which is why this revenge was going to be that much sweeter.


He smiled cautiously at her.


“Well hello, Miss Beesly. What brings you here on this fine afternoon?”


“You have a busy day, so I thought I’d surprise you with a treat before you have to go on your sales call. Consider it a good luck charm” she offered sweetly, licking the melting liquid from the side of her bowl while simultaneously thrusting the other in his direction.


Completely misjudging her motives, he took the offer. As she had anticipated--because it was the way that he always ate his ice cream, which she found incredibly adorable--he smashed the whipped cream into the ice cream, effectively creating a chocolate soup.


Perfect, she thought, holding his gaze as he took a hearty spoonful to his lips. Mix it up more. The less evidence, the better.


She giggled, the gluttonous bite giving him a chocolate mustache. He licked all around his mouth, reminding her of a toddler.


“Here, let me help you with that,” she giggled, using her thumb to get the ice cream remnants off of his cheek.


“You wanna finish this with me in the break room? I’ll probably end up going straight home from this meeting, so I don’t know if I’ll see you before the end of the day. ” His proposal was genuine, but she had ulterior motives here. Love could wait a few more hours.


“I’ve actually got a ton of notes to type up from all of Michael’s meetings this week. What if you come over for dinner later? I could cook you that chicken parm you’ve been asking me for. Deal?”


“Deal” he replied, shooting her that famous Halpert side-grin.


It still amazed her that the adorable, gangly goof standing in front of her was now hers. It had been a long and difficult journey to get them to this place, but she wouldn’t have traded it for the world. As she watched him button his jacket and direct a wink in her direction as he backed out the door, the butterflies that had taken up permanent residence in her stomach fluttered.


But there would be time for butterflies and romance later on.


She returned to her desk, trying to concentrate on catching up on odds and ends as she awaited the phone call (if he was even able to make one) that was sure to come within the hour.


As she finally got into a groove with her paperwork, her pocket began buzzing. Seeing his name light up the dial screen had her grinning like a cheshire cat.


“Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam.” She answered as seriously as she could, knowing the kind of anguish that awaited her on the other end of the phone call.


“You need to come over here. Right. Now.”


“I’m sorry, sir. What kind of paper needs can I assist you with today?” she replied, noting the immense frustration in his voice while she tried to suppress her giggles.


“I need your help with a… a situation,” he began. “I stopped to talk to Darryl before I left, and thank god I didn’t leave the damn building, because I’m pretty sure I’d have been arrested for indecent exposure. I’m in the warehouse bathroom. And considering I’m pretty sure it was your special ice cream treat that caused this problem, you get to fix it.”


“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” she giggled, the tension in his voice mounting with each lapsed breath.


“Pamela Morgan Beesly,” he breathed huskily into the phone. “Get. Your tiny. Little. Ass. Over here. Now.”


The tone in his voice was one she had never heard before. If she hadn’t known he was currently trying to bust out of his pants due to intestinal crampage, it might have turned her on.


“Be there in a second,” she replied, equally as sultrily as his voice had just come across to her.


She tried to prepare herself mentally for the mess she was about to witness, but as he yanked her inside the bathroom, there was absolutely no way she would have ever been able to mentally prepare herself.


Oh, she had created a situation in his pants alright.


But the little blue pill hadn’t done what she had expected it to do.


Seeing the compromised waistband of his tight slacks, she immediately realized she had taken the wrong pill.


And Jim had the growing erection to prove it.


A combination of laughter, embarrassment, guilt amalgamated across her face as she crumbled against the wall in an outburst of laughter.


“You think this is funny?!” he echoed her from the events that had transpired earlier in the day.


“Oh, Jim. This is better than funny,” she said between laughs, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I thought it was a laxative, but this. This is a thousand times better than that.”


She continued laughing while Jim paced the less than spacious bathroom, not even bothering to cover his ever growing problem.


“Pam, I have to go to meet with a client in like, forty five minutes. What the hell do you expect me to do about this?!”


“You could always call up Jill,” she suggested, her words still chopped up by her unending laughter.


“Who...who the hell is Jill?”


At this, he stopped pacing to cock his eyebrow, not sure if he was more angry or intrigued by what her response was going to be.


She put her left hand in the air, showing him how the five fingers formed the letters J-I-L-L, and then motioned for him to relieve himself, giggling like a teenager as she did so.


As he continued to curse the level that she had gone to in their childish prank war, the wheels in her head began turning.


She could completely up her game here.


Composing herself, she stood up straight, wiped the tears from her eyes, and took a step towards him. Placing one hand softly on his cheek, she boldly drug the other slowly down his chest, stopping on the waistband of his pants.


“Or,” she whispered. “I could help you out.”


While they had done their fair share of making out and dry humping on one another’s couches, Pam had insisted that she had wanted to wait to be more intimate with Jim. He had immediately obliged. He was content to hold her in his arms each night, her head resting on his chest. He could wait for her forever.


But suddenly, she was ready to move forward with their physical relationship?


Here?


In the...


...warehouse bathroom….?


Staring intently into his eyes, she swelled with pride, seeing his expression turn from anger to lustful in only a matter of seconds.


He gulped, inadvertently bucking at her touch, closing his eyes as her tiny hand slid forward to cup the hardening bulge that strained against his pants. His fingers enclosed on her wrist, but he didn’t try to move her.


“Y-you don’t have, you don’t have to do that,” he stammered, trying his hardest to detract from her gaze, but failing as the hand on his cheek pulled his gaze back down to hers. He found himself entrapped, both by her clutches and by her intense stare.


“Of course I do. How could I leave you here with such a big mess on your hands?” she asked, the husk in her voice almost able to solve said “problem” all by itself.


Keeping one hand on his waistband and the other flattened against his chest, she gently backed him against the wall. She reached up to thread her fingers through his hair, tugging simultaneously at both his locks and the erection that strained against his pants.


Instinctively, he moaned, eyes rolling back in his head. He ran his hands down her arms, trailing her torso until he was cupping her ass, pulling her closer to his tense body.


“Now, Jim,” she began, as she watched his eyes close, his tonguing outlining his lips, frustration mounting as he longed to be doing the same thing to hers. “How exactly do you suggest we fix this little…problem…that you’ve gotten yourself into?”


As she said the word “problem” his hips bucked up against her. It took all her strength not to give in to him, to melt into his touch. But if she was going to win this war, she had to keep her focus.


“We should probably start with getting you out of these pants, right?” she whispered.


All he could do in response was nod, his body becoming noticeably colder without as her fingers left his skin. She worked slowly, torturously, as she unhooked his belt, slid it off, and locked eyes with him before she continued her work. She ran her fingers underneath the soft cotton of his dress shirt, untucking it before skimming her fingers across his soft skin and the patch of hair that lined his waist. As she tugged on the zipper of his pants, she grazed her fingers across the length that was straining to be released. He moaned her name, barely audible, but still able to send a warmth down her spine. Not able to wait any longer, she tugged his pants down to his ankles, leaving him standing there in a pair of tented boxer briefs.


Her only thought, aside from the deep seeded desire to say to hell with their “prank war” and have her way with him for the first time in the Dunder Mifflin warehouse bathroom, was, “Impressive.”


“Thanks,” he giggled.


Oops.


She had thought out loud again, hadn’t she?


Don’t lose it now; you’re in charge here! she scolded herself.


“Of course,” she replied, dropping her voice down an octave, “you have me to thank for that.”


Finding a new boldness deep inside herself, she stood up onto her tiptoes, bringing their centers together, and grinded her body against his while trailing her lips to his neck, lingering the hotness of her breath near the base of his earlobe.


As if flipped by a switch, his eyes were glassed over immediately. He was not going to be able to handle much more of this.


She grinded herself into him a few more times, and he was wholly lost to every other sense in the world except for her body on his. It was her voice that finally brought him back down to earth.


“Jim,” she whispered, the sound barely audible even to him. As he moaned in response, bringing his hands to rest on the small of her back so he could pull her in closer, she breathed her next question: “What do you want?”


“You,” he breathed in response.


That had not been what she had expected.


Of two things she was certain:

  1. That she was wholly, undeniably, in love with the man whose body was pressed against hers,

and 2) That she was not going to have sex with him for the first time in a dingy warehouse bathroom.


She cupped his cheeks in her hands, pulling his lips to hers in a passionate kiss, letting him slip his tongue over hers, giving herself a small moment to wade in their shared desire before pulling away.


“Jim,” she whispered against his mouth, feeling his breath still intermingling with her own.


“I win this round.”


Standing up, she forced her expression to stay stoic, despite the change in his own that went from desire to confusion in a matter of seconds.


Before he was able to mutter a, “Huh?” she saw herself out the door, knowing there was no way in hell he would be able to follow her in his current situation.


She made a beeline back to the office, stopping in the bathroom to splash cold water on her face and straighten up. While her triumph was overwhelming, she couldn’t dismiss the pang of regret that she had for leaving Jim in such a state of despair. He was probably confused, angry even. She rushed to her desk to find her cell phone, to apologize, to stop him before he left for his sales call so that she could clear the air. Their war shouldn’t have gone this far. She was pushing it.


But when she flipped her phone open, a text message was already awaiting her. Cautiously, she read over it, her heart beat racing faster as her eyes scanned his intriguing words.


Well Beesly, I guess you’d rather I dated “Jill” then, huh? Change of plans for tonight: Meet at my place @ 7. I’m making you dinner instead. PS: This isn’t over… ;)

 

 

 



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