It’s not like them to be this quiet, but this is brand new territory for them, even though they are plenty used to jealousy. Watching the love of their life be with someone else is just a day in the life for them. A life they are more than thrilled to leave behind, but not a life they can forget about very easily. They’ve come to accept that part of their history. They don’t cherish it like they cherish other memories they have of each other, but they’ve seen just how strong it’s made their relationship today.

Jealousy at the hands of strangers, though, is something entirely different.

Pam doesn’t quite know how to feel about Jim’s arm wrapped snugly around her shoulders and the way he’s letting his fingertips graze the bare skin just under the hem of her short sleeve. Well, she likes it. She always does. And if it were an unprompted gesture, she would be happily filing it away to remember on a rare night they were apart or on a slow day at work.

But she knows what started this.

They’re silently making their way through a plate of jalapeno poppers when he brings it up, having moved to a table in the back after their coworkers left the bar for the evening. He’s a little bit drunk, and even though he doesn’t usually reveal a lot when he’s drunk (he’s very much unlike Pam in that way), sometimes things slip out. Things he would normally just think and then brush away because he’s being stupid.

But he’s spent too damn long being nothing more than Pam’s friend for him to be mistaken as nothing more now.

“You know, motorcycles are just for people who feel like they need to prove something.” He leans back against the wall and looks at her as though he’s said something profound, like he has a fancy cocktail in his hand instead of a beer and a paper napkin, and they’re having some philosophical dinner party conversation instead of eating fried food and kind of watching a hockey game from the back corner of a bar.

Well, at least he brought it up, Pam thinks. “Oh, really?”

Jim sits up straighter and starts talking in an intentionally deep voice. “I can drive a motorcycle. I can drive on a highway even during a traffic jam.” He brings his beer to his lips and mutters the rest into the bottle. “I can hit on girls even when their boyfriend is right there next to them.”

“Hey, come on,” she says softly, reaching over and squeezing his knee. “Don’t let that bother you, okay?”

It’s not like he’s surprised or mad that other guys are interested in her. She’s Princess Leia, Audrey Hepburn, and both versions of Sandy from Grease all wrapped up into one. It’s more that he’s mad at himself, for being so lame and unassertive that the bartender had just assumed that Jim was no one to worry about. Like Jim was some pathetic wingman.

He had proudly bragged about her. That’s something a boyfriend does. In Jim’s mind, it was obvious.

Motorcycle Waiter Dude didn’t even hesitate.

“It’s kind of hard for me to let it go.”

“That’s what she said,” Pam replies, delicately licking a drop of sauce off her thumb.

“That’s what she said,” Jim echoes, nudging her shoulder.

Pam giggles loudly at that before setting her beer down. “Okay, but seriously. Don’t let that guy bother you. He’s not interested in me.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I don’t know how you could have reached that conclusion.”

“No, listen.” She turns his face to hers and he hears the inflections in her voice. “He’s not interested in me. He doesn’t care about the animations. He doesn’t care that I stayed up until two in the morning working on them or what kind of software I used. But you do care about all that, and it’s not because you’re trying to make me a cute little motorcycle accessory.”

Jim smiles because he does like hearing that. A lot. She hasn’t been shy about telling him how much she loves him for supporting her the way he does. Usually when it’s late at night and they’re curled up in bed together with her leg draped across his waist and her hand on his chest. They often get really sappy and by the end they’re laughing at themselves for how cheesy they’re being. But he loves it. He loves it so much.

“Actually I’m just trying to get in your pants,” Jim says, moving his arm down to her waist and giving her a squeeze. Secretly, he thinks she would make a fantastic motorcycle accessory, but he’s not touching one of those anytime soon. She’ll have to settle for holding his hand on the center console of his three-year-old sedan as the breeze flows through the windows instead of wrapping her arms around him and letting her hair fly behind her as it’s illuminated by the streetlights.

Pam laughs and presses herself snugly against his side, knowing with her whole heart that she has everything she could ever want. She has no desire to get on a motorcycle tonight, no desire to be spontaneous outside of getting a little tipsy with Jim and making out in the cab on the way home. In her mind, Jim has the perfect amount of pride. He shows her off because of who she is, not what she looks like. And she loves that. She tells him that often, probably more than he really wants to hear, she thinks. But his attitude is always a breath of fresh air for her, and she’s going to make sure he knows how much she appreciates that part of him.

That being said, Jim is still kind of drunk, and he can tell from the way Pam is practically sitting in his lap while in public that she is too. And his least favorite part of him still really wants to make sure that one particular stocky bartender knows that Jim is the lucky guy who gets to have Pam Beesly.

So he places a quick kiss on her temple, just enough for him to whisper, “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

She smirks a little and slips her hand in his as they leave their table, and he pays the tab while she calls for a taxi. He joins her at the door and shoots a glance at the bar, making eye contact with Motorcycle Waiter Dude. Jim raises his eyebrows once as Pam tugs him out the door. He doesn’t see the bartender’s reaction, but it doesn’t matter.

They give the taxi driver Jim’s address so they can take his car to work the next day. The driver just smiles and rolls his eyes as the tipsy couple all but intertwine like ivy on a trellis, making the most of the ten-minute drive from the bar.

She’s cleaning out her lunch containers at his kitchen sink when he comes up behind her and firmly wraps her arms around her waist, softly nuzzling her ear and effectively cutting her off mid-sentence.

“When do you want to get my car--oh, hey there.” She slides her arms over his and squeezes back, loving the warm little chill he’s sending down her spine.

He smiles against her skin. “On the way home?”

“Okay,” she murmurs distantly, craning her neck to give him better access to her face. He turns her around in his arms and brushes his lips against hers, being that perfect Jim combination of gentle and possessive. She doesn’t know how he does it, even after a few months of being together. It always gives her that little dancey feeling in her stomach, and she has a hunch that it always will.

They’re smiling like idiots in between kisses in his kitchen, but Jim is still a man on a mission here. “I know you told me not to let that guy bother me.” Returning his lips back to hers, he slides his hands down to her hips and back up to her waist. “But I just want to make sure you remember that I’m the one who gets to take you home.”

Pam shivers a little at the rich warmth of his breath against her ear. “I mean, we’re technically in your home.”

“Even better.” He slides a hand up into her hair and admires the way her curls nestle in between his fingers. He thinks about picking her up and carrying her but she’s wearing a pencil skirt, and he can’t really complain about that because she looks amazing in it. So he just wraps his arm around her waist and kisses her until she’s impatiently guiding them to his bedroom.

Jim switches on the lamp, and her back is already to him when he turns around, holding her hair up so he can undo the tiny zipper in the back of her top.

He turns her around and removes the blouse before fusing his lips to the spot where her jawline meets her neck. “I can’t believe how perfect you are.” He palms her ass, pressing her against him, as he slides her skirt off her hips. “I can’t believe I don’t have to fight off a pack of motorcycles every day.” His hands travel back up to her waist, where they land to stroke the soft skin of her back. “You are so gorgeous.” He moves one of his hands up to stroke her cheek with his thumb, pausing his mission for a moment to admire the purest form of beauty he has ever seen or heard or felt.

Pam melts at every word that brushes against her skin, at the reverent sincerity that pours from his lips and caresses her ear. She covers his hand with hers and turns her head to place a delicate kiss on his palm. He smiles at the gesture and she smiles back, and this exchange goes on the list of things she’ll never get from anyone who doesn’t drive a silver 2005 Saab. Anyone without goofy hair and shirts that are a size too big and arms so warm they could keep you going through two blizzards.

She reaches for his belt, his dress shirt and tie now accompanying her blouse and skirt on the floor. She wants to feel him against her, to feel that combination of comforting reassurance and hot intimacy that only he can provide.

“Not yet,” he whispers softly, steering her hands away and lowering her to the bed. “Let me do this for you first.”

She smiles knowingly and just lets him guide her onto her back. He settles on top of her and takes her hand in his, kissing her ear, her neck, her shoulder, like he has all the time in every world in every solar system. He explores her to his heart’s content, and soon she doesn’t know whether to arch against his hand or his mouth, she just wants to be up and as close to him as possible. It’s too much and it’s not enough and it’s sheer, sheer perfection, and there are warm waves encompassing her wholly, twirling her through a golden ocean of sunlight.

Captivated, breathless, amazed as always, Jim settles next to her. Pride and love swell in his chest with every repercussive thump of his heart. He’s more enamored, more in awe of her than ever in these moments, but they only serve to reassure him. No one will ever have her like this, and it doesn’t even matter if they think they could.

She opens her eyes and looks up at him amid the gentle rise and fall of her chest, and he knows.

His hand sweeps lazy circles on her stomach as his lips outline the curve of her neck. Her eyes fall closed again as she loses herself to the soft pattering of his kisses and his fingertips.

“You better be taking off your clothes while you’re waiting,” Pam mumbles between deep breaths.

Well he’s not going to argue with that. Soon he rolls her onto her side and pulls her against him, and he does nothing to hide how much he wants her. “Better?”

She slides her hand up his neck and into his hair. “So much,” she breathes, before slanting her mouth over his.

He’s strong and warm. He’s emblematic of everything she needs. He pushes her to her best, keeps her on her toes, and gives her a safe place to land if her toes get a little shaky. He gives her butterflies without nerves and makes her heart start again when it stops.

They’re so perfect together.

She tents her legs around him as he slides in. Pam sighs and Jim bites back a groan as he fills her completely.

“You’re mine, sweetheart,” he says, the husky tone of his voice melting into one of fierce adoration.

“Thank God.” She squeezes him with her legs once as the words leave her lips, trying to convey any remaining gratitude her voice didn’t express. She reaches for his face and captures his lips, sliding her tongue sweetly against his.

From here it’s a dance, except this time, swaying is dancing. It’s dancing without formalities or precision or anything other than maintaining tempo. They make up their own effortless steps and lyrics to the music until they find what they need, and they let that carry them up into the endless night sky.

He shifts onto his back and tugs her to rest on top of him, and there they can listen to the silent music of the afterglow. Her hand comes to rest on his shoulder as her head rests in the crook of his neck. They whisper variations of I love you until their heartbeats slow together against each other’s skin.

“Hey,” Pam mumbles against his chest. Jim hums in response and kisses the top of her head. She pauses, grinning, before looking him in the eye. “You ever been on a motorcycle?”