Fic: Shift, Part 7 (Jim/Pam) MA
Title: Shift (Part 7)
Author: 30percent
Disclaimer: Not my characters
Pairing: Jim/Pam, ensemble
Word Count: 3522
Rating: MA (note: rating increased)
Summary: What if Jim hadn't gone to Stamford?
Part Seven: A weekend in New York.
*****
He finally gives up on going back to sleep around 7 a.m. He rolls out of bed and makes some coffee, takes a shower, eats breakfast. It's still just past 8, so he goes for a jog, comes back, watches some TV, takes another shower, cleans his bathroom, and sorts the three piles of neglected mail on the kitchen counter. When it's almost 10, he finally decides it's late enough that Pam should be recovering from her Friday night binge.
He still can't decide. Was she serious? Would she even remember inviting him to come up today?
He spends twenty minutes composing a text message. His thumb is hovering over 'send' when the phone buzzes to life in his hand. It's a text from Pam.
To: Jim Halpert
----------------------
Hey! When are you coming up? If you leave soon, we can meet up for lunch. I know a place. (I've always wanted to say that). Emailed you hotel address.
Well. That answers that.
To: Pam Beesly
----------------------
I'm on my way in 5 minutes.
For once he can't think of something funny to add, something light to deflect the earnestness of his words, so he doesn't even try. He bounds up the stairs and throws a change of clothes and a few other necessities into a duffel bag in about two minutes.
He prints off directions to her hotel, and then... he's ready. He grabs his phone, his wallet, his keys, his bag, his coat. He stands at the door, surveying his living room one last time. He's not sure what he's looking for. Inspiration? Moral support? He shakes his head, but still, when he clicks the door shut everything feels... new.
His heart pounds as strides toward the car, and his feet don't seem to register the journey. His attention span is much too short to listen to his ipod or a CD. Instead he spends the miles flicking compulsively between radio stations. A line here, a chorus there. He chooses the loudest music he can find, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel and bouncing his left knee. He actually starts to sing along to White Snake until he's reminded abruptly of Dwight's pre-sales call heavy metal ritual. He limits himself to humming and discreet finger tapping for the rest of the drive.
About half an hour before he reaches the city, his phone announces the arrival of another text message. He scrambles to read it, eyes darting between the small screen and the road in front of him, telling himself this isn't that dangerous.
To: Jim Halpert
---------------
Hey, I'm in central park! You can take the 1 train to columbus circle from the hotel.
Even in his current state, he can't convince himself that composing text messages while driving is a good idea, so he waits until he's navigated the streets of New York City and paid an exorbitant fee to park his car at the hotel.
He's always liked to think he at least garners a few cool points for living in the vicinity of New York, so it's a little embarrassing just how unfamiliar he is with he city. He spends a few minutes consulting the subway route map, imagining a glowing neon sign over his head proclaiming him small town tourist. Still, he makes his way to Columbus Circle without much trouble. When he's once again standing in the light of day -- bitingly cold sunlight -- he wanders over to a big pedestal bordering Central Park.
His breath plumes out in front of him as he pulls out his phone and finds her number. He clicks 'send', and strains to hear the ring over the hubbub of traffic and pedestrians behind him.
"Hello?"
He just talked to her last night, but still, somehow, the sound of her voice takes him by surprise. Sends something unfamiliar trickling through his veins.
"Jim?"
He clears his throat. "Yeah, I'm here, I'm at Columbus Circle. Where are you?"
"I'm in the park. Where are you exactly?"
"I'm standing next to, uh... the USS Maine memorial."
"Oh, okay. Follow that path to the left."
"Okay." He shoves his free hand into his coat pocket and follows her directions. He passes trees denuded by winter, and as the bustle of traffic dies down, he becomes aware of the sound of her breath in his ear.
He glances through the trees as he walks, hoping to catch sight of her. "How far away are you?"
"Not far."
He reaches an intersection and pauses. He's about to ask her which path to take when the phone goes dead. He frowns down at the screen, and starts to dial her number again.
"Jim!"
He looks up just in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of movement before she's flinging herself into his arms.
He stumbles backwards, laughing into her hair, his arms moving around her so easily, like he does this every day. The puffy pink fabric of her jacket obscures the lines of her body, but slowly her body heat seeps into him. "Hi," he murmurs.
She only tightens her arms around his neck in response, making a soft humming sound into his scarf, and he thinks he can feel the vibrations on his skin.
He closes his eyes for a moment. He just wants to feel this, her in his arms. His eyes flicker open again when she leans back, but only for a moment, because now her lips are on his and her hands are in his hair. Her nose is cold on his cheek but her mouth is warm against his.
This should feel strange, he thinks, momentous, but it feels so... simple. After everything, everything, of course they'd be kissing in the middle of Central Park on a cold, sunny afternoon in December. It's easy, so easy, and he thinks maybe he wants to stay in New York forever.
When she finally draws back, her cheeks are pink and her eyes bright. Her hand slides down from his hair to his cheek. Her voice is fragile in the cold. "I missed you."
He swallows, and his fingers toy with the fabric of her jacket. "I missed you too."
She hugs him, again, pressing a kiss to his jaw. She's smiling when she meets his eyes again, and her fingers trail down his arm to link with his. He can't help but smile back, and she swings their clasped hands together as they just stand there grinning at each other for a long moment.
When he finally asks her what's for lunch, she gets that look in her eye, the one that he knows means she's up to something, the one he waits for every day, that Dwight never seems to recognize. She guides him through the park as she tries not to grin.
When they leave the park and reach a street corner and she gestures toward a hotdog cart with a flourish, he has to laugh. He loves it, but he has to tease her anyway, about mystery meat, and her twelve-year-old eating habits, and the way she's clearly out to impress him.
She insists he dress his hotdog a certain way, and looks so excited as she waits for his reaction that he can't even pretend not to like it, he can't do anything but nod and close his eyes with exaggerated pleasure, and the way she grins at him makes him think he may just want to eat hotdogs every day for the rest of his life.
After they toss their trash, on impulse he wraps an arm around her shoulders and presses his lips to her hair, just because he can, and when she looks at him, when her eyes meet his, he sees it. Change.
******************
When he asks her what she's been doing out here in the cold, she produces a camera from her pocket, and tells him she's been taking pictures to she can sketch later in Scranton. She surveys him with a glint in her eye, and tells him it's time for his photo shoot.
They wander back into the park, and she skips ahead, walking backwards along the path and snapping his picture. When she's distracted, pushing a strand of stray hair behind her ear and looking up at him, and he snags the camera from her hands and claims it's time for the tables to turn.
She blushes a little and makes faces at him, but he cracks a few jokes, and soon he has a few shots of her gazing at him with that amazing smile.
******************
When she guides him into the still offices of Dunder Mifflin Corporate, he tries not to think of the last time he was here. It's infinitely different though, now, her hand in his and the memory of her lips and her body pressed against him in the elevator on the ride up.
She checks in with the security guard, and they traipse into a dimly lit conference room. She flicks the switch, and lights blink to life.
Monitors line the walls, along with sample sheafs of Dunder Mifflin's finest stationery and cardstock. She tells him that they plan to bring clients in to show them the kind of graphics and logos they can make, and what they'd look like on letterhead or business cards.
She grows quiet as they cross the room to the third monitor. Her designs look great, they look professional, they look like she does this for a living. He tells her so, tells her she's earned those 'graphic designer' business cards and hey, maybe she should get her own corporate car and secretary.
She just stares at him for so long, he thinks he's done something wrong, until she's telling him I love you, I love you, and she's in his arms and planting kisses on his face and then her lips are on his, and he can't even say anything back, but it doesn't matter, because she already knows, she knows, she knows.
******************
For dinner, he convinces her to eat at a place with chairs and tables and waiters. They wander the streets until they find a small Italian restaurant with murals on the walls and candles on the tables and stereotypically checkered tablecloths. They have wine and laugh and share each other's food and it's just so easy.
When she suggests they take a taxi back to the hotel and links her fingers with his and their eyes meet, he feels warm, so warm, and his heart starts to pound.
When her lips move behind his ear in the elevator and his eyes close, he thinks yes, this was worth waiting for.
******************
They stumble into her hotel room, the keycard falling to the floor as her fingers tangle in his hair. Her mouth never leaves his as the door swings shut, the echoing clunk disappearing behind the sounds of her moan, her purse dropping to the floor at her feet. He wraps one arm around her waist, pulling her closer as his other hand slides from her jaw to her hair, cupping the back of her head. She stands on her toes to press her body to his, her arms twining around his neck.
God, oh god. She's warm and responsive against him, and she's making these sounds that he thought he'd never hear as his hand slides up over her ribcage, his palm grazing the side of her breast.
But he can't shake the feeling that he's waiting, though, waiting for her to pull away, go cold, tell him they shouldn't be doing this, push him away.
As if on cue, she tears her mouth from his and leans back to look at him. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair is coming loose from its barette. Her eyes are dilated, her mouth red from kissing him.
"Jim." Oh shit. She pauses, her breath coming in pants. He waits for it. "You don't... you don't need to be careful... anymore. She looks straight at him, no hint of uncertainty in her eyes.
He must be just staring, mouth hanging open, because she leans closer, her forehead almost touching his, her hand gliding over his jaw. Her voice drops to a whisper. "Jim... " She swalllows. "I've wanted you for so long." Her lips move over his cheek, and when she speaks again he feels her words against his skin more than he hears them. "Please touch me."
He's still for one stunned moment, and then he's backing her against the door, his mouth finding hers again, his hand sliding up her shirt to cup her breast and his thigh moving between hers before she can say another word.
She moans again, a low, throaty sound, and her nails bite into his shoulders through the fabric of his t-shirt.
Jesus, oh shit, oh fuck. Her hand slides down his chest and around his waist, fisting in the t-shirt at the small of his back, pulling his hips closer to hers. He's so hard it almost hurts.
His thumb grazes over her nipple, finding it hard and sensitive. She arches against him, and her hands slide under his shirt, her palms hot against the skin of his back. He does it again, and her hands scramble for the hem of his shirt, tugging at it insistently.
He wastes no time in taking the hint, leaning back just far enough to yank the shirt over his head, then reaching for hers. The collar tangles in her hair, and the tension breaks for a moment and she giggles as he fumbles with her barrette, finally freeing her hair and pulling off her shirt with unsteady fingers. He's grinning when he kisses her again, but soon they're both lost as his tongue slides into her mouth and her hands roam over his naked back and shoulders.
His hands move up and down the bare skin of of her ribcage a little desperately, then slide behind her back to unclasp her bra with shaky fingers. He leans back to push the straps off her shoulders and toss the fabric to the floor, then groans at the sight of her naked breasts in front of him, nipples pink and hard. His hands move to cup both, fingers moving over her nipples, mouth leaving hers to move over her collarbone.
She gasps, and bends her head to brush her lips over his hair before he moves downwards, mouth traveling over the tops of each breast. She whimpers his name, and it sounds like a plea, her hips moving towards him.
His hands leave her breasts to fumble at the button of her jeans. Her fingers move over his, hurrying him along, then scramble to work on his pants even as she wriggles out of hers. She manages to toe off her shoes and kick her jeans away without moving her hands from his body. He doesn't even bother getting rid of his jeans after they pool at his feet, instead crowding her back against the wall again and reaching between her thighs.
He hooks his fingers under her panties, and oh god, she's so wet, so wet, and hot and slick, and when he strokes her, she cries out and wraps one leg around the back of his, moving restlessly against him. He strokes her again, and this time her head thumps against the wall as she leans back and gasps his name, her eyes closing. His fingers move faster, and suddenly she's coming, taking them both by surprise, gripping his shoulders and pulling him closer. He shifts to slide two fingers inside her, and he just about loses it completely when he feels her tighten around him.
And then she's tugging frantically at his boxers, and trying to pull off her own underwear at the same time, and it might be comical if he weren't so hard, so close to coming right there when her fingers graze the head of his cock. She has his boxers down around his ankles and he's managed to get her underwear mostly off, only tangled around one foot, and then she's wrapping her hand around him, stroking him from base to tip.
Oh holy jesus fuck. His eyes close and he groans. Wait. Fuck, fuck. His eyes pop open. "Oh shit! Wait, shit, I don't have, shit." He looks around the room frantically.
"No no, pill, it's okay."
"Okay, okay." He thinks maybe he should come up with a smart response, but that's just not going to happen right now.
She pulls him closer, wrapping one leg around his waist as he slides his hands under her ass, lifting her against the wall. She wraps her other leg around his body and reaches down to guide him inside her. They fumble for a moment, and when the head of his cock catches slickly against her he has to clench his teeth to keep from coming, but then they find the right angle and he's sinking into her, and she's so tight around him, and fuck. When he's buried all the way inside her, he stops, doesn't move a muscle, tries to hold her completely still because he's so close, so close.
"Shit, okay, this isn't going to last long." He pants into her ear.
"God, Jim, I don't care, I just need... " she pauses to catch her breath, her nails biting into his shoulder, "Jim, please, just... fuck me."
He groans, a long, low sound he doesn't recognize, and pulls back to sink into her again, deeper this time, and then again, again.
Her hair, the smell of her hair's been driving him crazy for years, and now his nose is buried in it, and she's crying his name with each thrust, deeper, deeper, harder, more, her breath coming in a puff of warm air against his ear as he grips her tighter, he's so close, and he's fucking Pam, it's Pam who's panting his name, who's slick and tight around him as he sinks deep inside her again and again, and it's so good, so good, and just one more deep, hard thrust and then he's gone, he's coming so hard he can't see, saying words he doesn't even hear, his breath coming in a near sob, his lips against her ear.
He doesn't try to move for a long moment, body still shuddering, heart pounding in his chest. Her fingers tremble as they sift through his hair, and her lips brush against his ear.
Carefully he shifts, sliding out of her and easing her feet onto the floor. She wraps her arms around his waist and rests her head in his shoulder. She sighs and presses her nose to the crook of his neck.
He brushes his lips over her hair as he waits for his breath to steady. "So, um... I thought that first time we did this might be a little more, you know... romantic." His voice feels almost hoarse, like he hasn't used it in days.
He feels her smile against his skin. "I thought it was romantic."
He shifts to look down at his feet. "I'm still wearing my shoes."
She follows his gaze and giggles. "You're right. Your footwear totally killed the romance."
He sighs. "Too bad I wasn't wearing... tassled loafers."
"Yeah. Just try to do better next time, okay?"
He feels a dopey grin stretch across his face as he realizes, there will be a next time.
She presses her body closer to his and kisses his jaw. She murmurs his name on a sigh. "Jim."
"Hm?"
"Nothing. Just... reminding myself. That it's... you."
For a moment he feels like he can't breathe, but then he catches her mouth with his and kisses her, kisses her, as they move to the bed.
The second time is smoother, steadier. He can focus, now. He can watch her face flush and her lips part, hear that soft intake of breath and then a moan as he slides into her. He can feel her hands drifting restlessly over his back, then tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. Her legs, wrapped around him, urging him closer. He can hear her soft whispers in his ear as he sinks into her again and again, growing louder as she gets closer, closer. He feels her tighten, shudder around him, and moments later, hear words like love, Jim, yes when he pulses into her with one last cry.
Also on MTT: Shift
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6
Author: 30percent
Disclaimer: Not my characters
Pairing: Jim/Pam, ensemble
Word Count: 3522
Rating: MA (note: rating increased)
Summary: What if Jim hadn't gone to Stamford?
Part Seven: A weekend in New York.
*****
He finally gives up on going back to sleep around 7 a.m. He rolls out of bed and makes some coffee, takes a shower, eats breakfast. It's still just past 8, so he goes for a jog, comes back, watches some TV, takes another shower, cleans his bathroom, and sorts the three piles of neglected mail on the kitchen counter. When it's almost 10, he finally decides it's late enough that Pam should be recovering from her Friday night binge.
He still can't decide. Was she serious? Would she even remember inviting him to come up today?
He spends twenty minutes composing a text message. His thumb is hovering over 'send' when the phone buzzes to life in his hand. It's a text from Pam.
To: Jim Halpert
----------------------
Hey! When are you coming up? If you leave soon, we can meet up for lunch. I know a place. (I've always wanted to say that). Emailed you hotel address.
Well. That answers that.
To: Pam Beesly
----------------------
I'm on my way in 5 minutes.
For once he can't think of something funny to add, something light to deflect the earnestness of his words, so he doesn't even try. He bounds up the stairs and throws a change of clothes and a few other necessities into a duffel bag in about two minutes.
He prints off directions to her hotel, and then... he's ready. He grabs his phone, his wallet, his keys, his bag, his coat. He stands at the door, surveying his living room one last time. He's not sure what he's looking for. Inspiration? Moral support? He shakes his head, but still, when he clicks the door shut everything feels... new.
His heart pounds as strides toward the car, and his feet don't seem to register the journey. His attention span is much too short to listen to his ipod or a CD. Instead he spends the miles flicking compulsively between radio stations. A line here, a chorus there. He chooses the loudest music he can find, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel and bouncing his left knee. He actually starts to sing along to White Snake until he's reminded abruptly of Dwight's pre-sales call heavy metal ritual. He limits himself to humming and discreet finger tapping for the rest of the drive.
About half an hour before he reaches the city, his phone announces the arrival of another text message. He scrambles to read it, eyes darting between the small screen and the road in front of him, telling himself this isn't that dangerous.
To: Jim Halpert
---------------
Hey, I'm in central park! You can take the 1 train to columbus circle from the hotel.
Even in his current state, he can't convince himself that composing text messages while driving is a good idea, so he waits until he's navigated the streets of New York City and paid an exorbitant fee to park his car at the hotel.
He's always liked to think he at least garners a few cool points for living in the vicinity of New York, so it's a little embarrassing just how unfamiliar he is with he city. He spends a few minutes consulting the subway route map, imagining a glowing neon sign over his head proclaiming him small town tourist. Still, he makes his way to Columbus Circle without much trouble. When he's once again standing in the light of day -- bitingly cold sunlight -- he wanders over to a big pedestal bordering Central Park.
His breath plumes out in front of him as he pulls out his phone and finds her number. He clicks 'send', and strains to hear the ring over the hubbub of traffic and pedestrians behind him.
"Hello?"
He just talked to her last night, but still, somehow, the sound of her voice takes him by surprise. Sends something unfamiliar trickling through his veins.
"Jim?"
He clears his throat. "Yeah, I'm here, I'm at Columbus Circle. Where are you?"
"I'm in the park. Where are you exactly?"
"I'm standing next to, uh... the USS Maine memorial."
"Oh, okay. Follow that path to the left."
"Okay." He shoves his free hand into his coat pocket and follows her directions. He passes trees denuded by winter, and as the bustle of traffic dies down, he becomes aware of the sound of her breath in his ear.
He glances through the trees as he walks, hoping to catch sight of her. "How far away are you?"
"Not far."
He reaches an intersection and pauses. He's about to ask her which path to take when the phone goes dead. He frowns down at the screen, and starts to dial her number again.
"Jim!"
He looks up just in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of movement before she's flinging herself into his arms.
He stumbles backwards, laughing into her hair, his arms moving around her so easily, like he does this every day. The puffy pink fabric of her jacket obscures the lines of her body, but slowly her body heat seeps into him. "Hi," he murmurs.
She only tightens her arms around his neck in response, making a soft humming sound into his scarf, and he thinks he can feel the vibrations on his skin.
He closes his eyes for a moment. He just wants to feel this, her in his arms. His eyes flicker open again when she leans back, but only for a moment, because now her lips are on his and her hands are in his hair. Her nose is cold on his cheek but her mouth is warm against his.
This should feel strange, he thinks, momentous, but it feels so... simple. After everything, everything, of course they'd be kissing in the middle of Central Park on a cold, sunny afternoon in December. It's easy, so easy, and he thinks maybe he wants to stay in New York forever.
When she finally draws back, her cheeks are pink and her eyes bright. Her hand slides down from his hair to his cheek. Her voice is fragile in the cold. "I missed you."
He swallows, and his fingers toy with the fabric of her jacket. "I missed you too."
She hugs him, again, pressing a kiss to his jaw. She's smiling when she meets his eyes again, and her fingers trail down his arm to link with his. He can't help but smile back, and she swings their clasped hands together as they just stand there grinning at each other for a long moment.
When he finally asks her what's for lunch, she gets that look in her eye, the one that he knows means she's up to something, the one he waits for every day, that Dwight never seems to recognize. She guides him through the park as she tries not to grin.
When they leave the park and reach a street corner and she gestures toward a hotdog cart with a flourish, he has to laugh. He loves it, but he has to tease her anyway, about mystery meat, and her twelve-year-old eating habits, and the way she's clearly out to impress him.
She insists he dress his hotdog a certain way, and looks so excited as she waits for his reaction that he can't even pretend not to like it, he can't do anything but nod and close his eyes with exaggerated pleasure, and the way she grins at him makes him think he may just want to eat hotdogs every day for the rest of his life.
After they toss their trash, on impulse he wraps an arm around her shoulders and presses his lips to her hair, just because he can, and when she looks at him, when her eyes meet his, he sees it. Change.
******************
When he asks her what she's been doing out here in the cold, she produces a camera from her pocket, and tells him she's been taking pictures to she can sketch later in Scranton. She surveys him with a glint in her eye, and tells him it's time for his photo shoot.
They wander back into the park, and she skips ahead, walking backwards along the path and snapping his picture. When she's distracted, pushing a strand of stray hair behind her ear and looking up at him, and he snags the camera from her hands and claims it's time for the tables to turn.
She blushes a little and makes faces at him, but he cracks a few jokes, and soon he has a few shots of her gazing at him with that amazing smile.
******************
When she guides him into the still offices of Dunder Mifflin Corporate, he tries not to think of the last time he was here. It's infinitely different though, now, her hand in his and the memory of her lips and her body pressed against him in the elevator on the ride up.
She checks in with the security guard, and they traipse into a dimly lit conference room. She flicks the switch, and lights blink to life.
Monitors line the walls, along with sample sheafs of Dunder Mifflin's finest stationery and cardstock. She tells him that they plan to bring clients in to show them the kind of graphics and logos they can make, and what they'd look like on letterhead or business cards.
She grows quiet as they cross the room to the third monitor. Her designs look great, they look professional, they look like she does this for a living. He tells her so, tells her she's earned those 'graphic designer' business cards and hey, maybe she should get her own corporate car and secretary.
She just stares at him for so long, he thinks he's done something wrong, until she's telling him I love you, I love you, and she's in his arms and planting kisses on his face and then her lips are on his, and he can't even say anything back, but it doesn't matter, because she already knows, she knows, she knows.
******************
For dinner, he convinces her to eat at a place with chairs and tables and waiters. They wander the streets until they find a small Italian restaurant with murals on the walls and candles on the tables and stereotypically checkered tablecloths. They have wine and laugh and share each other's food and it's just so easy.
When she suggests they take a taxi back to the hotel and links her fingers with his and their eyes meet, he feels warm, so warm, and his heart starts to pound.
When her lips move behind his ear in the elevator and his eyes close, he thinks yes, this was worth waiting for.
******************
They stumble into her hotel room, the keycard falling to the floor as her fingers tangle in his hair. Her mouth never leaves his as the door swings shut, the echoing clunk disappearing behind the sounds of her moan, her purse dropping to the floor at her feet. He wraps one arm around her waist, pulling her closer as his other hand slides from her jaw to her hair, cupping the back of her head. She stands on her toes to press her body to his, her arms twining around his neck.
God, oh god. She's warm and responsive against him, and she's making these sounds that he thought he'd never hear as his hand slides up over her ribcage, his palm grazing the side of her breast.
But he can't shake the feeling that he's waiting, though, waiting for her to pull away, go cold, tell him they shouldn't be doing this, push him away.
As if on cue, she tears her mouth from his and leans back to look at him. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair is coming loose from its barette. Her eyes are dilated, her mouth red from kissing him.
"Jim." Oh shit. She pauses, her breath coming in pants. He waits for it. "You don't... you don't need to be careful... anymore. She looks straight at him, no hint of uncertainty in her eyes.
He must be just staring, mouth hanging open, because she leans closer, her forehead almost touching his, her hand gliding over his jaw. Her voice drops to a whisper. "Jim... " She swalllows. "I've wanted you for so long." Her lips move over his cheek, and when she speaks again he feels her words against his skin more than he hears them. "Please touch me."
He's still for one stunned moment, and then he's backing her against the door, his mouth finding hers again, his hand sliding up her shirt to cup her breast and his thigh moving between hers before she can say another word.
She moans again, a low, throaty sound, and her nails bite into his shoulders through the fabric of his t-shirt.
Jesus, oh shit, oh fuck. Her hand slides down his chest and around his waist, fisting in the t-shirt at the small of his back, pulling his hips closer to hers. He's so hard it almost hurts.
His thumb grazes over her nipple, finding it hard and sensitive. She arches against him, and her hands slide under his shirt, her palms hot against the skin of his back. He does it again, and her hands scramble for the hem of his shirt, tugging at it insistently.
He wastes no time in taking the hint, leaning back just far enough to yank the shirt over his head, then reaching for hers. The collar tangles in her hair, and the tension breaks for a moment and she giggles as he fumbles with her barrette, finally freeing her hair and pulling off her shirt with unsteady fingers. He's grinning when he kisses her again, but soon they're both lost as his tongue slides into her mouth and her hands roam over his naked back and shoulders.
His hands move up and down the bare skin of of her ribcage a little desperately, then slide behind her back to unclasp her bra with shaky fingers. He leans back to push the straps off her shoulders and toss the fabric to the floor, then groans at the sight of her naked breasts in front of him, nipples pink and hard. His hands move to cup both, fingers moving over her nipples, mouth leaving hers to move over her collarbone.
She gasps, and bends her head to brush her lips over his hair before he moves downwards, mouth traveling over the tops of each breast. She whimpers his name, and it sounds like a plea, her hips moving towards him.
His hands leave her breasts to fumble at the button of her jeans. Her fingers move over his, hurrying him along, then scramble to work on his pants even as she wriggles out of hers. She manages to toe off her shoes and kick her jeans away without moving her hands from his body. He doesn't even bother getting rid of his jeans after they pool at his feet, instead crowding her back against the wall again and reaching between her thighs.
He hooks his fingers under her panties, and oh god, she's so wet, so wet, and hot and slick, and when he strokes her, she cries out and wraps one leg around the back of his, moving restlessly against him. He strokes her again, and this time her head thumps against the wall as she leans back and gasps his name, her eyes closing. His fingers move faster, and suddenly she's coming, taking them both by surprise, gripping his shoulders and pulling him closer. He shifts to slide two fingers inside her, and he just about loses it completely when he feels her tighten around him.
And then she's tugging frantically at his boxers, and trying to pull off her own underwear at the same time, and it might be comical if he weren't so hard, so close to coming right there when her fingers graze the head of his cock. She has his boxers down around his ankles and he's managed to get her underwear mostly off, only tangled around one foot, and then she's wrapping her hand around him, stroking him from base to tip.
Oh holy jesus fuck. His eyes close and he groans. Wait. Fuck, fuck. His eyes pop open. "Oh shit! Wait, shit, I don't have, shit." He looks around the room frantically.
"No no, pill, it's okay."
"Okay, okay." He thinks maybe he should come up with a smart response, but that's just not going to happen right now.
She pulls him closer, wrapping one leg around his waist as he slides his hands under her ass, lifting her against the wall. She wraps her other leg around his body and reaches down to guide him inside her. They fumble for a moment, and when the head of his cock catches slickly against her he has to clench his teeth to keep from coming, but then they find the right angle and he's sinking into her, and she's so tight around him, and fuck. When he's buried all the way inside her, he stops, doesn't move a muscle, tries to hold her completely still because he's so close, so close.
"Shit, okay, this isn't going to last long." He pants into her ear.
"God, Jim, I don't care, I just need... " she pauses to catch her breath, her nails biting into his shoulder, "Jim, please, just... fuck me."
He groans, a long, low sound he doesn't recognize, and pulls back to sink into her again, deeper this time, and then again, again.
Her hair, the smell of her hair's been driving him crazy for years, and now his nose is buried in it, and she's crying his name with each thrust, deeper, deeper, harder, more, her breath coming in a puff of warm air against his ear as he grips her tighter, he's so close, and he's fucking Pam, it's Pam who's panting his name, who's slick and tight around him as he sinks deep inside her again and again, and it's so good, so good, and just one more deep, hard thrust and then he's gone, he's coming so hard he can't see, saying words he doesn't even hear, his breath coming in a near sob, his lips against her ear.
He doesn't try to move for a long moment, body still shuddering, heart pounding in his chest. Her fingers tremble as they sift through his hair, and her lips brush against his ear.
Carefully he shifts, sliding out of her and easing her feet onto the floor. She wraps her arms around his waist and rests her head in his shoulder. She sighs and presses her nose to the crook of his neck.
He brushes his lips over her hair as he waits for his breath to steady. "So, um... I thought that first time we did this might be a little more, you know... romantic." His voice feels almost hoarse, like he hasn't used it in days.
He feels her smile against his skin. "I thought it was romantic."
He shifts to look down at his feet. "I'm still wearing my shoes."
She follows his gaze and giggles. "You're right. Your footwear totally killed the romance."
He sighs. "Too bad I wasn't wearing... tassled loafers."
"Yeah. Just try to do better next time, okay?"
He feels a dopey grin stretch across his face as he realizes, there will be a next time.
She presses her body closer to his and kisses his jaw. She murmurs his name on a sigh. "Jim."
"Hm?"
"Nothing. Just... reminding myself. That it's... you."
For a moment he feels like he can't breathe, but then he catches her mouth with his and kisses her, kisses her, as they move to the bed.
The second time is smoother, steadier. He can focus, now. He can watch her face flush and her lips part, hear that soft intake of breath and then a moan as he slides into her. He can feel her hands drifting restlessly over his back, then tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. Her legs, wrapped around him, urging him closer. He can hear her soft whispers in his ear as he sinks into her again and again, growing louder as she gets closer, closer. He feels her tighten, shudder around him, and moments later, hear words like love, Jim, yes when he pulses into her with one last cry.
Also on MTT: Shift
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6