Pam closes her eyes. This is something she enjoys. His lips on the skin of her neck, kissing, tasting. Yeah, this is something she really enj-

“Hey,” she whispers, a soft protest. This one hurt.

There is something funny about the idea of hickeys, but he takes it to a level that doesn’t really feel good. Not now, and definitely not afterwards, when she has to cover them with makeup or, lately, that the weather is colder, use turtlenecks.

His lips travel south and she sighs in resignation. That was it, then. As he takes a nipple into his lips and pulls, she feels she should be enjoying this, and she actually tries to will her skin to do it, but his fingers are rough, and he is searching for the heat inside her pants, taking off clothes with a bit of desperation she never really understands.

A sudden thought takes her by surprise. He did wash his hands, didn’t he? He took a shower after the game, so he must have… but that was hours ago. The image of his thick fingers holding the ball makes her cringe, and if that’s not a mood killer, she doesn’t know what could be.

Roy continues, though, oblivious to her thoughts and to the fact that now she is less than enthusiastic.

One finger, another one, a growl, and now he’s reaching for one of the golden wrappers inside the nightstand drawer.

She should be enjoying this. She has to enjoy this. Everybody does.

Then… what is wrong with her, Pam thinks, as Roy enters her and she thinks it’s tough, and raw, and really, what is the point. But he is clearly enjoying it. Eyes closed, his expression is almost comical. A grimace of sorts, as he moves on top of her and mumbles things like “babe, yeah, fuck babe”, and maybe that’s what talking dirty means, but she can’t see the appeal of that either.

In all honesty, she just wants it to end.

But that’s wrong. So terribly wrong. In order to distract these thoughts, Pam things about the last paintings their art teacher showed them. About the impressionist and about Manet. And suddenly the image of the woman from Folies Bergère makes sense. She can relate. Roy gasps, maybe it’s over, but no, he continues, and Pam’s mind go back to the eyes of that woman. If Roy’s eyes were to open, would he see her with that same expression? She closes her own eyes, just in case, and discovers it’s better if she doesn’t look at him and has to fight a laughter forming in the back of her throat.

And it’s so very, very wrong. She forces herself to concentrate. To feel what she is supposed to feel. Yeah, maybe that spot right next to where Roy is actually moving. Maybe if she moved a little she would-

This time he groans for real, and collapses over her, feeling heavy and sweaty. Pam sighs again. “Yeah,” Roy mutters, misreading her completely.

But he’s rolling to the side, and hugging her naked body against his, and now she can finally enjoy the intimacy, and how he is a little possessive, with a large hand clutching her tight.

Maybe they should talk about this. Maybe she should tell him… what? To go slower? To touch her more gently? To give her time to find out… what? Yeah, she should tell him. That’s what couples talk about sometimes, right?

She opens her mouth, hesitates, and then he snores.

Maybe another time.