Pam's not really sure how they'd gotten here, and she wonders only briefly as she's straddling him where he leans back against her headboard, and his warm palm lightly presses into her lower back, supporting her. He's always supporting her.
------
Jim had shown up at her art show just as she was leaving. By some strange twist of fate, they'd come face to face in the huge expanse of dark parking lot. He'd shoved his hands in his pockets, ducked his head, asked to see the pieces she'd displayed. Apologized for letting his frustrations over the current state of their relationship keep him from supporting her, told her he was proud of her.
She'd crashed into him then, throwing her arms around his neck and crushing her paintings in between them, not even caring about what state they were in because they really were some of the most dishonest and emotionally closed-off paintings she'd ever rendered. His arms around her gave her strength, and she thought about her other paintings and drawings at home- the ones done in oils with bold colors and odd angles, the charcoal drawings of Jim's expressive eyes and hands.
"Hey, can I show you some of my other work at home? It's just-- it's better than this stuff," she motioned to the crumpled paintings between them, "and I really want you to see it."
------
The fingers of his other hand follow the paths of his eyes down her skin, skimming and tracing, floating over her neck, shoulder, collarbone, and chest, travelling down, down, down. She doesn't remember where her clothes had gone in their urgency to be as close to each other as possible, but she knows Jim's wearing entirely too much, so she looks him in the eye and smiles, bending forward to kiss his face, his mouth as she undoes the buttons of his shirt. What follows is a blur of skin, slow caresses, and quiet confessions of love as the mixture of moonlight and light from the street lamp outside renders them into orange and blue abstract art as their bodies meld together. A fleeting thought skips through Pam's mind that she wishes she could paint them in this moment, to make this exact slice of time eternal.
------
Hushed promises and apologies are exchanged in the time in between, and then they begin again with unending kisses. In contrast to the frantic flurry of their first time, it's languid and slow, and ends underneath the sheets with Pam comforted by Jim's weight over her, consumed by his scent, by the tingles and the slow ache he's spreading throughout her. And as she breaks like waves on a shore, he follows close behind, and they cling to each other and drift off.
------
As Pam slowly awakens, the fog and haze of pleasure fade quickly as she realizes her bed is empty. It was just a dream. It's always just a dream. For the past ten months, it's always the same- she and Jim finally make their way back to each other, and then she wakes up to find that it hadn't really happened. She focuses on the moonlight coming in through her window, curls up into a ball, and lets the tears fall; warm, heavy tears that slide onto her pillow.
Through her soft sobs, she suddenly feels a shift behind her in bed. She feels an arm curl around her waist, feels breath in her ear.
"Hey, hey, what's up?" The voice is real and unmistakably Jim's, and she closes her eyes tight and cries harder.
His fingers float up from their task of caressing her belly to pull at her hip, coaxing her to turn towards him.
"Pam," he implores with a voice raspy with sleep and full of concern. She turns toward Jim in a rustle of sheets and buries her face in his neck. The front of her body is flush against his, and with the whisper of skin on skin, her legs slide between his.
"Jim... I woke up, and you weren't here. I thought it had all been a dream." she says, nuzzling his neck, her voice catching a little.
His arms are around her, and his hands slide easily up and down the curve of her back. "I'm sorry... I had to get up to pee."
She gives him a tear-clogged laugh, and then pauses, sniffling. "Not your fault. I just-- Jim, I'm so happy things are finally happening for us." She nestles her face deeper into the crook of his neck, and feels his arms pull her closer.
He breathes a whisper into her hair, "Me too."
