"So, you have to answer this with complete and total honesty."
She scoots toward him on the couch, legs tucked underneath her, eyes shining excitedly, and Jim can't help but smile before feigning a serious expression. The end credits roll on the screen in front of them, but neither pair of eyes are paying the slightest bit of attention.
"Now that you've seen both," he continues, "which would you consider including in the repeat viewing category? 28 Days... or 28 Days Later?"
Pam grins, tapping her chin thoughtfully before reaching for her soda can to take a sip, and Jim lifts his eyebrow.
"Come on, Beesly. You can't leave me hanging like this. It's the kind of decision that says a lot about you as a person. Are you the kind of person who prefers the emotional rollercoaster of a story about a rehab patient, played by the incomparable Sandra Bullock, or would you rather watch a freed virus unleashed on hundreds of people who plague the uninfected?"
She bites her lower lip to hide a grin, and Jim thinks to himself that she's never done anything sexier.
"Well, I didn't really enjoy the fact that Cillian Murphy was playing a guy named Jim. I kept getting confused when I watched it that one night, and then later I had nightmares about you being chased by zombies and shot in the stomach. Not pleasant memories I'd like to relive, thank you very much." She punctuates the sentence by grabbing another handful of popcorn from the bowl between them.
None of them make it into her mouth, however, as both bowl and popcorn ende up on the floor and he inches over to her end of the couch to kiss her mouth, the salt still lingering on her lips from the kernels she's eaten before. The taste is an incentive for him to do more, swiping his tongue over her lips to coax them into parting. Moments later, he looks down at her, breath catching in his throat.
He's known he loved her since the first time he heard her answer the phone at work in her near-whisper. Shared glances from her desk to his had turned into grilled cheese dinners and sharing the headphones of his iPod and pranks on Dwight that would ultimately go down in Dunder-Mifflin Scranton's history.
And here, looking down at Pam in the dimmed lighting of his apartment, her brown curls fanning out around her head and her cheeks flushed with the heat that their kiss had generated, he tries to find the words to tell her how her presence in the last few years had made his life all the better.
She just smiles her knowing smile and runs her fingers through his hair. He's started growing it out again after an off-hand comment she'd made in the break room. Now it was just long enough for her to twirl the wisps that went every which way around her index finger. He descends upon her again, his mouth hovering over her neck and chest, and she welcomes his touch eagerly as he struggles with the buttons on her cardigan.
"Let me worry about that," she murmurs, and Jim continues to make his way down her body, his hands beginning the process of bringing her skirt up over her thighs. She squirms and wriggles in anticipation until he presses his palm against the flat of her stomach to settle her. It'd been a warm day at work, so she'd chosen not to wear any pantyhose, and he only has to pull the remaining inhibitor down her legs, letting the small piece of fabric flutter to the floor before pressing his mouth to the rising mound of heat.
She always leaves a sweet taste in his mouth, and this time is no exception. She sighs and gasps and writhes underneath his tongue, and he glances up at the right moment to watch her free her breasts from her bra. His hand rises to cup one, rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger, and she sucks in a breath through her teeth.
He slows when she starts to get close, close enough for her to protest with a moan of frustration, but he's already working on getting his clothing off, and when he pushes into her, she makes a noise that even he can't describe. He's never felt as whole as when he does when he's inside of Pam, and when she starts to grind up against him, he gives in to her completely. They roll off the couch into the bowl of popcorn, kernels digging into sweaty-sticky skin. He notices that she tries to keep her eyes open, looking at him, and he knows she's getting close when her body starts to tremble. Her swollen lips part and she says his name in an entirely different whisper -- Jim. And then he's gone, too, clutching her against him because he feels like he's drowning and she's the only thing keeping him afloat.
As they both come down, he looks down at her, grinning crookedly, and she looks over to where a popcorn kernel sticks to his bicep, leaning up to suck it into her mouth.
"You still didn't answer my question," he says somewhat breathlessly.
"Oh. Neither," she finally replies. "But you know what I am thinking? Little Children and Children of Men, my place, next week."
dundies is the author of 2 other stories.
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