Dunder Mifflin disappears in the rearview as they pull out of the parking lot. Gabe stands impotently with his arms at both sides, defeated, the afternoon sun winking from behind him.
“Two paid days off,” Jim sighs triumphantly, squeezing Pam’s knee. “Well, two and a half. Sort of. How do you want to spend the rest of Secretary’s Day?”
Pam rolls her eyes. “I haven’t been a receptionist in a while, Jim.”
“I know. But if it's alright with you, I’ll always want to celebrate Receptionist Pam. I kinda liked her.”
She grins, reaching down to take his hand. “I guess I spend enough of my time showing Erin how to use the fax machine for it to count for something.”
“Exactly. You can take the girl out of reception…”
He turns to smile at her, and for just a moment she remembers what it felt like back then, sitting at that desk, loving him when she couldn’t for so many reasons. Sometimes the mere thought of what she might have missed leaves her short of breath.
“So what should we do with all this free time, Beesly?” he asks. “Fly fishing? Downhill skiing? Maybe become fluent in some dead language to annoy Dwight?”
“I just want to sleep,” she replies instantly. The interminable fog of the dreaded fourth trimester is finally starting to recede, but Cece still wakes up multiple times a night for a feeding. She can’t remember the last time she had a solid block of rest.
“Fantastic.” Jim puts on the turn signal and heads in the direction of home, glancing at the dashboard clock. “We don’t have to pick her up for another three hours.”
“Three hours,” Pam parrots happily.
When they enter the house, the wave of exhaustion she’d been keeping at bay all day hits her with a very real force. She drops her purse and her breast pump on the front table, removes her shoes and jacket, then makes a beeline for the bedroom to undress. Jim follows silently, leaving a trail of stripped off clothing in his wake; something that might typically annoy her but she’s too tired to care. The entire house is a disaster anyway. Maybe she’ll use that extra time off to clean it tomorrow.
She hears him fall onto their bed with a heavy sigh as she hangs her skirt and blouse over the side of Cece’s bassinet. She strips down to her underwear, and while Jim has never made her feel anything less than beautiful, she’s still slightly self-conscious about the extra baby weight, particularly in the middle of the afternoon in broad daylight. She grabs one of his discarded T-shirts: the Phillies one draped over the rocking chair in the corner. All she wants to do is pass out.
As she pulls the shirt over her head, however, something comes over her. The cotton is soft and the heady scent of maleness, of Jim, has an unexpected effect; something she hasn’t felt in weeks.
Six weeks, to be exact.
Six weeks. Exactly what her doctor had told her at her checkup a couple of days ago when she was cleared for sex. Damn, she thinks. Like clockwork.
She undoes her ponytail and looks down at her husband, sprawled out on his stomach on his side of the bed, wearing nothing but his boxers. She’s barely had a moment to think of anything but keeping their newborn alive, but the taut muscular lines along Jim’s back are suddenly the only thing she can think about.
The house is quiet in a way she hasn’t experienced in several weeks, and it’s an odd sensation to realize that it’s going to stay that way no matter what. That perpetual unease of not knowing when a piercing cry might punctuate the silence is completely absent.
Pam climbs into bed next to Jim, her eyes never leaving his face. His eyelids twitch a little; she knows he’s not quite asleep yet.
“Jim.”
He doesn’t move. “Mmm.”
She inches closer to him, reaching out to run her fingers across his shoulder blades. His skin is hot to the touch, and she feels a sharp pang deep in her gut now; cause and effect, like when Cece cries and her breasts ache. Her body is telling her what she needs, and what she needs right now is him.
“Jim,” she says again, a little louder. She lays down next to him until they are practically nose to nose.
Like a reflex, he puts his hand out to touch her, blindly groping for whatever he can reach and landing on her rib cage. He barely grazes the bottom part of her T-shirt (well, his T-shirt) which is riding high on her belly.
“C’mere,” he mumbles, his eyes still closed. He pulls her close to him and she spins to let him spoon her from behind, wrapping his arms around her middle, his face buried in her hair.
Lately, Pam hasn’t really let anyone touch her but Cece. Sometimes it feels like her own body doesn’t even belong to her anymore. But the feel of Jim’s arms holding her again is overwhelming. And sleep is now the furthest thing from her mind.
She covers his hands with her own, lifting her foot and hooking it over his ankle, pulling her knees up slightly to sort of lock the two of them together like human puzzle pieces. He sighs into her neck but doesn't take the hint. He really does seem tired. Maybe this isn’t going to happen right now after all. But just as she resigns herself to this probability, she hears his voice in her ear.
“Love you,” he murmurs sleepily.
It’s been such a relatively short time since they became parents, but his words evoke images in her mind that feel timeless: Jim squeezing Cece into a tiny onesie, making silly faces trying to get her to laugh, falling asleep on the couch with her tucked into his bare chest. And through all of that – the exhausting, the exhilarating, the glorious and the mundane that is new parenthood – he hasn’t failed to show Pam how much he loves her every single day. Not once.
Emotion stirs deep inside her, a desire to return that love in a way she hasn’t been able to quite yet. He’s been so patient – they both have – waiting for the right time to reconnect, but she knows the thing they’ve been waiting for is her green light.
She takes his hand in her own and guides it to her breast, expecting some discomfort but feeling none. Instinctively, he squeezes it softly, but he’s practically half asleep, not really comprehending her intentions. She wriggles against him, slowly sliding her backside up and down, but he still doesn’t seem to be getting it.
Finally, she can’t take it anymore. Even though he’s barely doing anything, his touch is already driving her crazy. She reaches behind her, between them, and grabs him through his shorts, stroking him with an assertiveness that even a semi-conscious man wouldn’t ignore. He springs to attention in her hand almost instantly, and if she could hear the sound of his eyes flying open wide like window shades, she would.
He’s definitely awake now.
“Um. Pam?”
In answer, she strokes him more firmly through the fabric, feeling him harden. She turns over to face him, his expression etched with concern.
“Let’s do it,” she says.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” she says. “I want to.”
He smiles with relief she hadn’t expected and leans in to kiss her. His mouth opens and they kiss in that greedy, sloppy way she remembers from when they first started dating; wanting to take things slow but with so little control over their inhibitions. His hand rests on the hourglass curve of her waist, then drifts around to her back, his fingers kneading her shoulder blades. Pam drapes a leg over his hip, pressing her body as close to him as possible, feeling him hard against her soft abdomen.
His hand carefully cups the swell of a full breast a bit harder this time, his thumb finding her nipple and circling it. She gasps in brief discomfort but only for a moment.
“Does… it hurt?” he asks.
She shakes her head. “It’s good, it’s good,” she whispers. It does hurt, just a little, but she ignores the pain. It’s so nice to grant him access again after weeks of her body being completely off limits.
He moves his hand underneath her shirt, pawing at her nursing bra. While admittedly this is not its intended purpose, the outcome is the same: easy access. His warm hand is now directly against her skin, and she never wants him to put it anywhere else again.
“Is this okay?” he asks. This is new for both of them, of course, but one thing about Jim she can depend on is his tendency to put her comfort ahead of his. He’s always been good that way.
She nods, kissing him again and again, sighs of relief escaping her lips. Jim makes a trail of kisses that lead down her neck to her collarbone and she moans, loving this: the feel of his lips on her again, his hands on her again. She’s been so busy with the baby she’s barely had time to miss this, to miss sex.
But she has. God, she’s missed sex.
He moves his hand down her body very slowly, then dips a finger beneath the front edge of her underwear. His eyes meet hers with an intense gaze, and she nods, giving him her silent approval as he carefully re-enters the world he hasn’t in several weeks.
At first, she wonders if anything will feel different. If maybe something is new down there, something he might notice. But she quickly stops worrying when she feels her eyelids droop, as he expertly explores her the same way he always has, his fingers gentle but confident against her wet center.
And yes, she’s wet. She doesn’t think she’s ever been so wet.
“Baby,” Jim husks in her ear, clearly noticing too. She absolutely loves it when he calls her that and the sound of his voice makes her want him even more. She moves her hips, sort of humping his fingers, her breathing coming out in ragged, shaky breaths. Her previous shyness is gone, and all that remains is the blissful contentment of this moment: her world being quite literally at his fingertips.
“Oh, my god,” she moans. She’s quiet at first, conditioned to make as little noise as possible, but then realizes they’re all alone. There’s no baby to wake.
He responds by finding her clit instantly, so instantly that she’s certain she’ll topple over the edge sooner than either of them necessarily want.
But it actually seems like that’s exactly what he wants.
“Yeah,” he’s growling, encouraging her. “Yeah, yeah.” The more he talks the more aroused she gets, and that very arousal is what seems to be making him talk more. Funny how that works.
She’s coming before she even realizes it’s happening, and it’s over before she has a chance to truly enjoy it. Almost immediately her body wants to shut down, preparing itself for sleep. But she doesn’t want to sleep, not yet. Her knee brushes against Jim’s boxers and she doesn’t have to look down to know how ready he is. He’s reaching for her whether he means to or not. He needs this just as much as she does, and more than that, she wants him to have it.
“Did you… already?” he asks in a cute, hopeful way. He always knows, but she finds it incredibly considerate of him to check in just in case.
“Yeah,” she sighs happily. “But Jim…” she says, trying to refocus. She pushes down his boxers and takes him into her hand. He’s honestly never felt so big before and she wonders if it’s just been so long she can’t remember or if he’s just really, really turned on.
“Please,” is all she says.
His eyes are fiery with want, but he hesitates. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
She slides her other hand around to his backside, beneath his waistband, her fingers digging into his flesh, pulling him against her.
“You won’t. Just go slow.”
He nods, leaning in to kiss her. She slips her underwear down her legs and kicks them away, then rolls over again, scooting towards him so her back is against his chest.
“Like this,” she says. He obliges, coming up right behind her, and his hand wraps around the front of her thigh as he lifts it. She can feel him prodding her, his tip moving along her slit as if he’s testing the waters. She knows he’s probably just being careful but it feels like he’s teasing her, which luckily arouses her all over again.
“It’s okay,” she says, bracing for pain. “I’m okay, just do it.”
He obeys, pushing into her slowly, but to her surprise, there is no pain. There is only him; the heat and fullness and completeness that is simply him.
“Pam…” he whispers when he’s fully sheathed inside her. “You feel so good. God, I’ve missed this so much.”
“Me too.” And she really has missed this, specifically: this ability to be as close to the man she loves as humanly possible.
He doesn’t move right away, perhaps as caught up in the moment as much as she is, but then he does, very slowly. He groans behind her in recognizable pleasure; although she’s certain he’s going slow for her benefit, it definitely seems to be working for his. And after only about a half dozen slick, languid pumps, he’s spent, withdrawing as she rolls onto her back with his limbs draped over her supine frame, whispering words of love into her neck.
They lay together for a minute, steadying their breathing. Jim’s eyes are closed again, his hand still gripping her breast possessively, as if subconsciously knowing it’s only on loan for the time being. It suddenly occurs to her that in their unprepared and sleepy state, they’d taken no precautionary measures, so she sends up a silent prayer that all that talk of breastfeeding being excellent birth control is actually true. But these worries leave her mind quickly as she basks in the satisfaction of their reconnection.
“So about the next two days…” she says softly towards the ceiling. “You still want to spend them sleeping?”
She waits for his witty retort, some perfectly timed joke accompanied by that familiar lopsided grin. But when she twists her neck to look over at him he’s already snoring softly, the corner of his mouth curled into that cute little half-smile, half-snarl he’d bequeathed to their daughter.
Two more days of this, she thinks, silently thankful for Gabe and his huge fuckup. Paid suspension doesn’t sound bad at all.
She snuggles in close to Jim, resting a hand on his cheek, and she’s fast asleep in seconds.
