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Story Notes:
There is seriously no real reason for this, other than I wanted to write a one shot about Jim and Pam.  This is just a little idea about what might've happened right after Jim asks Pam out, and also a little speculation about why Jim's hair is back to its old self in the recent office promos.  Warning: This fic is dir-ty.  Disclaimer: Clearly not mine.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Ok, other than the fact that this is un-beta'd (I apologize for that) there's nothing to explain.  Sorry to get so nasty in this one.

He looked up because the door opened, but the rest of his body was still. He was leaning there with his hands in his pockets, his back against the wall, and his legs stretched out in front of him, one ankle crossed over the other… and he looked up when the door opened because he was expecting to have a good ten minutes of solitude. A good ten minutes of regrouping and getting it together and figuring out what they would do…where they would go…what she might order and how he might walk her to her door. It was a habit of his, this supposing, this writing the scenario in his head before it actually happened. It was a habit of his…

And he needed ten minutes.

But then the door opened, and he looked up, and she came through it…unsuspecting, freezing in surprise when she finally focused and realized he was standing there. She almost dropped the bag she was carrying.

“You take the stairs, now?” he asked, strangely calm at the sight of her. Strangely and palpably calm. She flushed with his presence and tucked her bangs behind her ear, shifting on her feet.

“Yeah, sometimes I…” She didn’t want to tell him that she‘d started taking the stairs when he was in Stamford because the elevator was full of what they used to be like, full of the way he used to hold an arm out against the doors and tell her to go ahead, full of the way that some days they used to get on the elevator together, laughing, and the ride down sometimes seemed much too brief…the ride down sometimes seemed painfully long, as if pointing out the unspoken thoughts dancing between them.

Once he was in Stamford, it was like the elevator was silently begging her…accusing her…stifling her with its silence. So she’d started taking the stairs…But she didn’t want to tell him that. Instead she shrugged.

“I was just bringing Phyllis her purse,” she offered, lifting the bag slightly toward him as evidence. “She called from Bob Vance’s office in a panic and I thought it would be easier if I just…” her voice drifted into silence at the smile on his face. The slow, tipped, delicious smile that spread itself out like honey. She cleared her throat and looked away because everything about him at the moment was a little too much for her.

He still didn’t move…motionless except for his gaze, which shifted to grin down at the floor.

“What about you? What are you doing?” she asked. He looked up.

“I am,” he began on a sigh, “trying to accept the dramatic shift of direction my life has taken today.” She nodded, feeling some of her self-consciousness drift away with his statement. He raised his eyebrows and glanced toward the door she’d come through. “And I thought this was the best place to get away from the cameras. And Dwight.” She chuckled.

“Yeah, you’re probably…I’m sure you need some time to yourself,” she assessed carefully, smiling at him as if to say that she didn’t mind. He thought of telling her he actually didn’t need time to himself…he’d had two hours to himself in the car…but the words didn’t fall from his lips because he was too busy squinting at her…sweeping his gaze across her because suddenly he realized he could. For maybe the first time since he’d met her…he could. She cleared her throat. “I’ll just go, um, bring this to Phyllis,” she muttered, lifting the bag again. He nodded.

“Ok,” he agreed. She nodded.

“Ok,” she parroted. And her eyes were wide, meeting his with a myriad of emotions spilling out silently. She voiced none of them…because she was Pam. And sometimes he thought that was just so good. She inhaled loudly and raised her eyebrows, looking away and moving to step past him, sort of pausing as she reached the first step, where he was leaning…waiting for him to move up a step and out of the way…waiting for him to at least push himself into a completely vertical position so that she could squeeze past.

But still, he was motionless. Heavily stationary, his head tipped down and his gaze on his shoes.

She debated for only a millisecond, desperately wanting to keep things from getting any more awkward than they already were, and decided she could just slide through…she could just sort of close her eyes and go without really registering his proximity. They’d pretty much been doing that for the past three years, anyway. And so she did… She just sort of held her breath and stepped past him, holding the bag out in front of her.

She made it to the second step before his hand shot out and grabbed her forearm. She froze.

His head tilted toward her and he inhaled a deep breath, liking the way that she smelled like Tide and some kind of tropical scented shampoo…liking the way that she drifted around him like steam…like smoke…like mist against the pavement…liking the feel of her skin beneath his palm. She stood there on the stair, her torso dangerously close to up against him, and he inhaled.

“What…” The word floated from her mouth like the consonants were vowels, and he teased her neck with the warmth of his breath until the rest of her question was hazy like blurry and she didn’t care enough to ask it. Her head lolled on her shoulders and she braced herself against the wall beside him. He finally pulled his hand from his pocket and lifted the other from her forearm so his fingers could trip along her shirt tails…drifting against them without really landing…without really catching. She moved so that her mouth was poised in front of him.

“Huh?” he asked roughly in a vague reference to her unasked question. She shook her head a little and ran her tongue against her bottom lip…slow and deliberate, and his eyes followed it like he was reading her…like he could feel the texture of her skin just by looking… but then the expression dripping from his features pulled a sigh from her mouth, and his eyes darkened…and suddenly looking was so much not enough that he pushed out a loud breath and gripped the corners of her shirt, tugging hard until she fell against him…tugging hard until her mouth landed open and hot against his.

The bag dropped to the ground.

His mouth pushed and pressed against her…gave air like a gift to her skin…whispered emotion against her ear and sentiment against her neck. His hands tripped and pulled across her…held his want out to her like an offering…clutched at her silent promises and gripped the iron rod of desire that pulsed hot and hard inside of her until his name fell out of her mouth and landed at his feet.

God she wanted this…and it was so much like some sort of ethereal dream that she was full of fear. As the idea that he might literally disappear from under her fingers floated through her mind she arched forward to press herself against him…she reached around him and gripped the fabric hanging against his lower back, pulling it taut and wanting the satisfaction of hearing it rip beneath her hands, but letting go just before it got to that. She moaned.

“Oh god…” he whispered against her skin. She agreed by reaching up and running her hands along his face, directing his mouth back to hers so that she could express to him how much she wanted him existing inside of her. His tongue slid slow and easy against hers as if in purposeful contrast to the desperation of the rest of their bodies. She pulled her mouth away because she’d learned sometime with someone else that it was sexy…she pulled her mouth away and he let her, his eyes dark and his hips tipping up and toward her as she loosened his tie.

He felt a tickle of panic settle into his stomach as the realization came to him that this was developing fast and neither of them seemed to want to slow down. But…Jesus, this was like every fantasy he’d ever had and he was not about to interfere. She gripped his belt and met his stare.

“Are you ok?” she asked, and it almost made him laugh.

“Am I…” he huffed a single chuckle, “Yeah, I’m…really…” he bent down and kissed her again…earnestly, fervently, pausing to breathe into her mouth. “Just…someone might, um…” he breathed against her. She nodded as best as she could and started to unfasten his belt.

“I don’t care,” she muttered, and that seemed like the perfect moment for him to lose control.

And so his fingers became hungry and his body moved against hers, hard and unrelenting, and every time she groaned heat shot through his veins. He repositioned them until she was sitting against the steps and he was draped above her, her chest heaving deliciously and her blouse unbuttoned just enough so that he could appreciate the sight for what it truly was. She ran her fingers down his back and slipped them beneath the waist of his pants, reaching to tangle her hands with the elastic of his boxers. He grinned against her mouth because he couldn’t believe any of this was even happening. His hand pushed its way up her thigh and he noticed that she wasn’t wearing her usual stockings, but that her legs were blessedly bare against his palm, making the trip beneath her skirt that much more exhilarating. She groaned and his blood boiled.

His fingers slid up carefully…slowly…until they were finally covered in her and two of them slipped inside. He watched the flush rise up her neck, fascinated, his tongue snaking out to taste if the skin there was warmer than it had been just a moment before. He moved…pulled his fingers out…pushed them back in, and she shifted her hips impatiently, her eyes closed and her lower lip caught between her teeth. But as he swiped his thumb against her they flew open and she met his gaze with surprising intent.

“Jim…” she muttered, reaching down to still him. His brow furrowed in concern. “Let’s just…” she cleared her throat, “I’m on the pill, so…”

And he understood. She wanted to cut to the chase, and he was more than willing.

With him poised above her and pulsing so dangerously close to where she wanted him to be she thought her life had finally fallen into place…she thought things would be fine like she had told the cameramen. She thought things would be so…fine… And as he pushed into her and breathed her name she thought things were…indescribable and no one would ever believe that this had happened. She reached around him and clutched at his hips…exhaled her control…pushed herself against him and rode the waves that he created inside of her with the thought that this was…god…so much more than fine.

“Harder,” fell from her lips and he almost lost it. His forehead dropped to rest against hers and he pushed into her harder…faster…more completely, until every push forced a sort of moan from her mouth. And then she started to shake beneath him and he just watched her, sweat starting to gather at his temples and tears starting to gather in his eyes because of a lot of things he didn’t want to think about…he really didn’t want to think…he just wanted to have this without too much thinking… He slammed his eyes closed and willed away the feelings swimming inside of him. Her walls gripped him hard and he kept moving, his eyes still closed and his hands braced against the stair beneath her head. Then as she slowed, so did he…pushing into her carefully, deliberately, feeling himself teeter against the edge of control.

He felt her hand against his cheek.

“Jim…” she whispered, and suddenly he was filling her…suddenly he was coming hard and spiraling down and only vaguely aware that this was so much better than it had ever been with anyone else… and then he was spent and draped across her, his breathing heavy and labored, his mind gloriously empty.

She ran her fingers through the hair at the base of his skull and sighed.

“I miss your old hair,” she murmured affectionately.

He chuckled and sighed, knowing he had to get off of her…pull out of her so that they could clean up and get out of the stairway, but wanting so badly to just stay where he was.

“Yeah,” he agreed, resting his head against her shoulder, “me too.”

 

Chapter End Notes:

 

Oooook.  I love feedback.



Stablergirl is the author of 30 other stories.
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