Fluff

1.

 “Quit it. C’mon, Kel, quit. Quit!” Ryan squirmed and his voice was nearly a squeak. He could easily have gotten away; Kelly was sitting on his lap, but it wouldn’t have taken much to push her off if he’d wanted to. He didn’t particularly want to.

It was his own fault. He’d come up behind her while she was putting on her make-up, startling her a bit as she tapped her skin with the powder puff. In retaliation, she’d laughingly swiped at him with the puff.  He’d protested that he didn’t want that “girly smelling junk” on him, but she’d known the truth instantly. The soft, fluffy applicator tickled.

Giggling in triumph, she’d backed him against the edge of her soaking tub. He sat down on the edge and she climbed into his lap. “Ry-an is tick-lish, Ry-an is tick-lish!” she declared in a sing-song, while trailing powder along his forearms.

“Would you…quit it!” With a laugh, he grabbed her wrist and held it away from him. He bent in to kiss her unpowdered nose and let his lips stray down to her mouth.

With a sigh, Kelly wrapped her arms around him. Brushing the makeup applicator slowly along the back of his neck, she whispered in his ear, “Where else are you ticklish?”

He let her find out.

2.

Jan stood in front of the open closet door and just looked at Michael. She had a way of just looking at him that always made him feel exposed…like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar naked.

“What is this?” she said. She pulled a long-handled feather duster from the closet and held it up.

“That’s a feather duster, Jan.” He was vaguely surprised that she didn’t know that. She wasn’t really a great housekeeper, but surely she knew that.

Jan sighed. She did that a lot when they were together. The sighs in the bedroom sounded different from the ones when they were talking. “Yes, Michael, I know. I just…why do you have a feather duster? Doesn’t everyone use…I don’t know, dust cloths or Swiffers or something now?”

Michael shrugged. “I like it better. It’s a little old-fashioned, I guess, but sometimes you want something a little softer and fluffier.”

She just looked at him for another second, and then crossed the room and kissed him softly. Pulling back, she broke into one of her rare but glorious smiles that always made Michael think of dawn. “You’re absolutely right, Michael. Sometimes something gentle is exactly what you need.”

3.

They rarely disagreed about anything except religion and Michael Scott. That’s why Angela was dumbfounded when she found out that Dwight disapproved of cats as house pets.

“I have no objection to your particular cats, Angela. I just think the domestication of felines is a perversion. They are meant to be fierce predators.” He was kneeling on the floor of her kitchen, crouched down so he could peer directly into the face of her cat Ash. “By giving them food and shelter, we’ve made them soft. Can you imagine a panther or a liger playing with a piece of string? No. They play with antelopes before they kill them. This creature couldn’t kill an antelope if he tried. He is tiny and weak and fat.”

Angela looked down at him in dismay. “He’s not fat, he’s…he’s fluffy!”

Dwight looked up at her, cocking an eyebrow thoughtfully. Looking again into the cat’s eyes, he reached out a tentative hand and touched the little animal’s back softly. “Hmmm. Perhaps you’re right. He is soft to touch.”

“That’s right. And just because he’s small doesn’t mean he’s weak, either.” Dwight conceded the point and, with a half smile, Angela let the conversation drop. She had no idea that when he held her in his arms later that night, Dwight decided privately that Ash wasn’t the only one in this apartment who was small yet strong, and soft to the touch.

4.

Gil turned the TV off with the remote control and looked pointedly up at Oscar. “Seriously. You have to stop taking movie recommendations from Kelly.”

“What? It was cute.”

“Sure, it was fine for what it was. But there was no substance. Pure fluff.”

Oscar rolled his eyes good naturedly. This subject was a core part of their relationship repertoire. “Not every movie has to be The Deer Hunter. Besides,” he started to grin, “I think your premise is faulty.”

Gil eyed him warily. “How so?”

“Just because something is fluffy doesn’t mean it’s without substance,” Oscar said. He was smiling broadly now, amused at the cheerful suspicion in Gil’s eyes.

“For example?”

“For example…goose down pillows!” Oscar grabbed the pillow from behind his head and swung it around. It landed with a dull thud against Gil’s chest.

“Oh, it’s on, now,” Gil laughed and grabbed his own pillow. The pillow fight didn’t last long, but their laughter echoed through the room late into the night.

5.  

“…it’s upsetting, that’s all. I don’t want her to get hurt, but it’s clearly not going to work out. She’s a nice person, but she’s just not the right person for him.”

Bob Vance smiled tenderly at his wife. “You know who I think is a nice person? You.” He said it because it was true. He thought it was really nice the way Phyllis cared about all the people in her office, even if most of them didn’t deserve it.

She was telling him all about her day at work while they finished unpacking the last of her things. They’d left about half a dozen cardboard boxes in the garage while they went on their honeymoon, but now that they were back he wanted to have that space for his truck and his lawnmower again.

He had just opened the last box a crack when he started to laugh. “Sweetheart, I think there’s something furry in here,” he said.

“Furry?” Phyllis looked confused. She leaned over from where she was sorting old books. Her expression changed to embarrassment and she reached out to push the box shut. “You don’t need to sort the rest of this. I can do it, Bobby.”

 “You think you’re getting rid of me now? Let me see!” He moved her hand gently and opened the box all the way. He started laughing harder. What he’d mistaken for fur was actually feathers- the fluffy, soft feathers of a black boa. He pulled the flimsy accessory out of the box in a long strip.

“Well, well, Mrs. Vance. It seems your past has come back to haunt you.” He was joking. He of course knew all about his wife’s time as a burlesque dancer- they had no secrets between them. Still, Phyllis was blushing and not meeting his eyes.

Scooting toward her, he draped the boa around her neck and pushed the hair back from her face. “Perfect,” he said, smiling. “Now, why don’t you show me some of the moves that go along with those feathers? I think these boxes can wait.”

6.

 “Are you OK? Jeez, Pam, I’m sorry.” Jim extended a hand to help Pam up off the kitchenette floor. She’d been nearly flattened by Dwight, who had knocked her down while running out of the room. Dwight had been covered in pure white flour as a result of Jim’s latest prank, and Jim noticed that it was now all over Pam’s clothes as well.

“I’m OK, I think.” Pam looked a little stunned, but she smiled slightly as she grasped his hand to stand up.  “You must have gotten him good.”

“Yeah…” Normally, Jim would have given her a play-by-play account. No, normally, she’d have been in on it from the beginning. But things weren’t normal. Jim had a new focus, a new relationship, a new partner in crime. He was also still holding Pam’s hand, which he “normally” wouldn’t have done. He let go.

She was looking up at him silently. She reached up and touched the side of his face gently. “You have flour on you,” she said quietly. Her fingertips were warm as they brushed the side of his face, but they caused a little chill across his entire body. He wondered if she could feel him shiver.

“You do, too,” he said, and he reached out to brush off her sleeve. She smiled. A little rumpled from her fall, flour all over her, in the garish light of the Dunder Mifflin kitchen, Jim thought she’d never looked more beautiful. Just touching her hand, her arm, feeling her fingers against his face…he suddenly realized he was as much in love with her as he’d ever been. “Wow,” he breathed.

“’Wow’, what?” She said softly, still smiling. He hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud.

“Uh, um. Nothing. I mean, your sweater is so fluffy.”

“What?” She was laughing at him and he thought he could float in the sound of it.

“Soft. I mean, your sweater is soft.”

“Oh. Right.” She nodded, with a fake serious expression. She held his gaze as she slowly brushed off her skirt, running her hands along her hips and shapely bottom to remove the flour. She wiped her hands together, and then stepped forward toward him even closer.

She bit her lower lip slightly as she raised her hand again. Instead of his cheek, this time, she touched his hair, pushing it lightly away from his face and over his ear. And then she broke into a laugh again.

“What?”

Giggling, Pam turned and left the kitchenette. Jim took a long moment to stand there staring after her, and then took another few minutes cleaning up the residue of flour and destruction from his Dwight encounter. When he went back to his desk, he had an e-mail from Pam:

Your hair is fluffy. Call me tonight for more information.  

He knew that he would. He decided he needed to talk to Karen first.