"Stop it. Stop trying to protect me," Pam insisted.

Jim buried his face in her neck, unable to look her in the eye. He would never… ever stop wanting to protect her.

"I have the internet at home," she continued fervently. "I don't need your permission." She could have looked it up at any time, but something had always stopped her. A couple things, actually. She wanted to hear the truth from him. And, more importantly, she needed him to be there in case anything went wrong. Nothing quite so bad had happened since the night of her first-ever panic attack, but she worried it might. Although the internet said panic attacks weren't life-threatening, she'd been terrified in the moment, not sure if she'd been having a heart attack or a lung attack or what. If Jim hadn't been there, recognized it, and helped her through it, she wasn't sure what might have happened.

"It's a purely hypothetical question," he argued weakly. He suspected that she wanted to know about police interrogation methods due to the circumstances surrounding her mother's death, and he simply couldn't see the value in that particular conversation. True, she'd come so far in the short time they'd known each other. She was far stronger now than the sheltered girl she'd been before. But she wasn't ready for this. Even if she were an ally, even if she could handle that knowledge, what practical use could it be? She would only torture herself over it. "I don't know for sure. Nobody really does." Even so, that was only half the problem. Maybe less than half, because he was just as much not ready to tell her this. If she ever had another panic attack, he didn't know what the fuck he'd do. The one he'd witnessed had wrecked him pretty goddamn hard, and--

"You know," she said dismissively, interrupting his reverie. "You just don't trust me."

"What?" he asked, incredulous. It wasn't a matter of trust. Not at all. "I trust you with my life. Don't be ridiculous." Oh shit. Oh fuck. The instant the words came out of his mouth, he knew it was exactly the wrongest thing he could possibly have said in that moment.

She stiffened against him, proving him right. "I'm glad this is ridiculous to you," she retorted angrily.

"I'm sorry, that's not what I meant," he tried to explain. Didn't she understand that he'd trusted her with his life since the day he'd defined freedom for her? "I just… come on. I don't understand how you could possibly think I don't trust you by now."

She squirmed out of his arms with a scoff, sat up on the bed, and crossed her arms. "I found a gun taped to the bottom of the couch."

Oh shitfuck. He blanched. 

"You never told me you owned a weapon."

Actually, he owned several. And he knew he should have told her days ago, weeks ago. He was going to tell her, really, he just hadn't gotten around to it yet. He hadn't known how to bring it up. That wasn't the sort of information that could be slipped into casual conversation. "That is not because I don't trust you," he protested truthfully. "I didn't want to scare you."

"It was a lie of omission," she accused him. "It makes me wonder what else you're hiding from me."

"There's a safe in my living room," he told her without hesitation. Sitting up, he whispered the combination into her ear. "I have thousands of dollars inside, a gun and a knife." She stared at him, eyes round, stunned into silence. He enfolded her warmly in his arms and kept going. "There's a secret compartment in the trunk of my car with guns, knives, an axe, and a machete. The gun you found, one under my mattress, in the bathroom closet, on the side of the refrigerator. I also have a wide variety of sharp knives in the kitchen that aren't concealed in any way. I trust you," he finished earnestly.

She gazed at him open-mouthed, needing a moment to collect her thoughts. Her eyes roamed his face as she tried to reconcile everything he'd just said with the man she thought she knew. If he was a killer, he'd hidden it incredibly well. "Ever… used any of them?" she asked uncertainly.  

He shook his head. He wouldn't hesitate, if the situation called for it. At least, he hoped he wouldn't hesitate. It had never been called for, so he supposed he couldn't really say for sure. Not that he wanted to hurt anybody, but if it were his life on the line--or hers, god forfuckingbid--he had no intention of going down without a fight. "I just like to be prepared." He looked down. "I'm sorry. I should have told you."

Relieved, she breathed out a confession of her own. "I carry pepper spray in my purse." Her father gave her a new can every year. She wasn't sure where he got it, and he told her not to ask.

He had to smile. "That's six months in a work camp." Not as bad as prison, but hardly a walk in the park. And it would be impossible to get a decent job assignment afterward. Any chance for a promotion, all hopes of upward mobility would be effectively over at that point.

She rolled her eyes, smiling in spite of herself. "You're one to talk." Even a single gun would be a death sentence.

"Ever used it?" he asked with an affectionate squeeze, looking at her lips with interest.

Shaking her head, she wound her arms around his neck. "Thank you," she whispered just before he brushed his mouth over hers.

"For?" he murmured in the tiniest gap between one feathered kiss and another.

"Trusting me." She pressed herself against him. He let her momentum carry them down and relaxed into the mattress. She settled on top of him, moaning quietly into his mouth, rotating her hips smoothly over his. He tented his legs, gripped her between his thighs, and clasped her tightly to him, a formless groan escaping his throat.

She lifted her head the slightest bit. "You--we should… talk about this," she whispered against his mouth, her voice breathy and distant, continuing to circle slowly against him. It wasn't the first time they'd kissed like this, but they had yet to discuss it. 

He wasn't opposed to that, at some point. But complex speech was beyond his grasp at the moment. "Soon," he promised, his voice gravelly with desire. Clearly he wasn't doing something right, because she was still capable of using sentences. Gently, unhurried, he kissed his way over from her mouth to her ear. When he ran the tip of his tongue over the delicate shell, she melted into him with a gasp, all softness and quivers. Much better. He nuzzled her cozily with his smile, dragging his stubble across her skin. His gentle nibble on her earlobe elicited a shocked squeak. Warmly, he hummed in response, pride surging through his chest as she arched against him, wordless, gorgeous. Even fully-clothed, as always, he couldn't fucking get enough of her, of this.

She felt his hardness beginning to press against her softest parts, almost but not quite exactly where she craved it. Suddenly far too warm, she sat up and shrugged off her sweater, leaving her tank top in place. He tilted his head, cocked an eyebrow at her, seeking permission to do the same. With an intent look, she impatiently tugged at the hem of his shirt. He half-sat up with a gleam in his eye and pulled it overhead, leaving his undershirt in place. She smoothed her hands over his bare shoulders, the first time she'd seen them, squeezing his biceps. Leaning back down, she reclaimed his mouth, feeling like her skin was on fire.

With a groan, he molded their bodies together and rolled sideways, bracing himself on his forearms above her. She opened wide, welcoming the hot thrust of his tongue against hers, the soft tickle of his chest hair against her collarbone. She wrapped her legs around his waist and snaked her arms around him, sliding her fingertips into his hair as their tongues danced hotly together. He moved his hips sinuously against her, losing himself in the warmth of her, the way she clung to him, the way her nipples poked his chest through the thin layers that separated them. Fuck, I want you.

"God… me too," she murmured breathlessly.

He hadn't meant to say that out loud, but her response inflamed him. Groaning her name, he slid his hand along the exposed strip of skin where her tank top had ridden up, nudged the fabric further upward, marveled at the softness of her stomach beneath his fingertips.

Chest heaving, she unclasped her arms and legs.  "Wait… gotta... talk," she panted, pressing her hands to her cheeks.

He stilled and looked down, taking in her half-lidded eyes and swollen lips, looking for all the world like she wanted to keep going as much as he did. Unable to stifle his groan, he rolled and lay beside her, staring at the ceiling. He did his best to ignore the visions flashing vividly through his mind, tried to stop fantasizing about removing her clothing one layer at a time, about burying himself deep inside her. "Sorry," he managed, scrubbing a hand over his face.

She shook her head, as though she could negate his words with the motion. Reaching down, she took his hand in hers. "I'm not," she assured him.

He turned his head to face her, assessed her expression. Relieved by what he saw, he squeezed her fingers gently and replied, "Just—I don't wanna push you."

Tenderness shone in her eyes. "You're not." Not that anyone was keeping score, but if they were, she figured they'd be dead even. "That's not it, at all." He waited, watchful, for her to continue... not sure what she was thinking, not sure what to say. "I just don't... I don't wanna... get..." She blushed madly, averting her eyes. She felt ready to take things to the next level. But she wasn't on birth control and she did not want to get pregnant. She couldn't get a prescription for it, legally, until after they were married. "You know?" she pleaded, hoping he'd read her mind.  

He knew immediately what she was getting at. "Me neither," he agreed, nodding. He could probably get his hands on some black-market condoms, but their marriage assignment was only a couple weeks away. Close enough that it didn't make sense to take the risk. "What about stuff that... doesn't, uh..." He cleared his throat awkwardly and looked back at the ceiling, as red-faced as she was. "Wouldn't get you...?" he trailed off, the word sticking in his throat.

She shifted onto her side. Smiling sweetly, she pillowed her head on his shoulder and draped her arm over his chest. She nodded against him and began drawing circles above the collar of his undershirt. He hissed as she dragged a fingernail lightly across his chest. Before she left him wordless again, he covered her hand with his own and said, "If I do push you, tell me. We can stop anytime, okay?"

She put her lips to his ear. "I trust you," she breathed, then sucked the lobe between her lips.

He moaned quietly, turning to face her. He brushed her hair back, tucking it behind her ear. Her eyes drifted closed as he slowly trailed his fingertips down her arm, coming to rest at her hip. When he flirted with the hem of her tank top, her eyes popped open. She bit her lip with a shy smile. Tentatively, watching for any sign of hesitation, finding none, he slipped his fingers beneath the fabric and rested them against her. Shaking his head in disbelief, he slid his hand around and gathered her close. "You're so beautiful," he breathed against her lips, then captured them as he stroked the bare skin of her back. She combed her fingers through his chest hair with a happy sound.

Gradually, by degrees, they undressed each other reverently. Every pale, curving inch he uncovered was another revelation. Her palms tingled with the desire to draw his long limbs and muscles, but she settled for committing them to memory. When they were both clad in underwear, he tugged her gently on top of him, feeling every smooth inch of her against every inch of him. He was happy to go wherever she wanted from here, but he needed her to make the next move.

Sensing his hesitation, still wanting more, Pam sat up and straddled his hips. She reached behind her, pausing for a moment with the clasp of her bra in her fingers, watching him intently. His breathing quickened as his gaze fell, utterly captivated, openly admiring the sight. His fingers tightened on her hips. His hardness flexed beneath her. She expected to feel vulnerable, naked in an emotional sense. But the sense of power she had over him was undeniable. She loved it. Loved him. Not that she'd said so, not yet. Because… well, what if he didn't love her back? She thought he might, but she wasn't sure enough yet. Soon, though. She hoped. Firmly telling herself to think less and enjoy this more, she unhooked the clasp and slid the straps off her shoulders.

Jim exhaled with a gust as he took in the sight of her bare breasts for the first time. He looked up with a question in his eyes, his fingers sliding up her sides in anticipation. She nodded with the barest hint of a smile. Sitting up, he cupped them, so gently, fingers trembling with awe as he felt their weight in his hands. She opened her mouth over his, sliding her fingertips into his hair, circling her hips suggestively over him. He stroked her with both hands, her nipples hard against his palms, her tongue sliding hotly against his, her nails lightly scraping his scalp, her moist center moving damply against his hardness. He was having trouble focusing on any one thing with the sheer number of amazing things happening simultaneously. When she lifted her head and brought her nipple to his mouth, it was a wonder he didn't explode on the spot. Breathing her name reverently, he turned her sideways and settled her gently against the mattress, wanting to lavish her breasts with the attention they deserved, hardly believing that she was letting him do this. See her… touch her… and now, holy shit, taste her.

She murmured his name in return, stroking his hair while he kissed, licked, and sucked devotedly. Ever more moisture rushed between her legs with every movement of his lips, every stroke of his tongue. He really was the most amazing kisser--no matter what he was kissing, apparently. Her hips began moving of their own volition, soft sounds tumbling unbidden from her mouth. He grinned against her, loving this, loving her so much. He should really tell her that. He would, he promised himself. Soon. He released her nipple with one last, soft kiss and looked up, eager to see her reaction.

Her eyelids fluttered open, cheeks pink with pleasure. Seeing the look on his face, she smiled and brushed his lips with trembling fingers, conveying her appreciation without words. He smiled sweetly and kissed her hand before stretching up to lie beside her. He lowered his mouth over hers and kissed her deeply, thoroughly, overflowing with gratitude.

She thrilled yet again under his skillful lips. Curious to finally see the one part of him that was still hidden, wanting to give him something in return, she slid her hand down his spine and flirted with his waistband. He broke off the kiss and gazed down at her, eyes wide. "Are you sure?" She nodded, eyes sparkling. Encouraged, he reached down and slowly removed them.