Pam's eyes pop open just before 6:00 AM. Life with two kids has conditioned her to come out of a deep sleep around the same time every morning-right before Phillip starts making noises from his bedroom down the hall and about thirty minutes before Cece is out of bed and well on her way to making a mess in the kitchen in search of breakfast. So even on the days when there aren't any kids in the house (as rare as those days are), she finds herself awake at her usual time. And this particular morning happens to be one of those aforementioned rare occurrences with no kids, so there's no reason for her to do anything other than turn her head towards her husband and settle deeper into the mattress.

Jim is still asleep and Pam takes the opportunity to study his face. She's done this before, of course, but not since he'd decided to indefinitely suspend his time with Athlead. For the past six months, his eyebrows have been knit together with worry and the corners of his mouth tucked into a frown, even in sleep. Now he looks peaceful and contented. He looks like Jim, her Jim, and he's gorgeous.

As she studies him, his eyes slowly open. He blinks the sleep away as his brain wakes up and processes the scene in front of him: Pam still in bed, laying on her stomach with her arms tucked underneath her pillow, curly hair in its natural state brushing against the top of her bare shoulder, smile in her eyes and on her lips. She's breathtaking. He hopes to God or whoever is out there listening that he can keep doing whatever it is he does that gets her to look at him like that, forever and ever.

Underneath the sheets, he reaches for her. His hand brushes against her hip, against warm skin and the soft cotton of her underwear. Her eyes close as his hand travels across her lower back with a touch so light that she has to concentrate to feel it. The sensation of his fingertips caressing her skin is spine-tingling and delicious. She sighs as he strokes her back and she's so relaxed that she thinks she might go back to sleep when his hand meets the waistband of her underwear and slips beneath it.

Jim palms the fullness of Pam's ass and squeezes gently. His fingers are long enough that they graze her inner thigh and he feels a curl of pleasure in his chest when she gasps. He slips his hand a little lower and squeezes again. She reads his intent and moves her body towards him, turning so that her chest can press against his. He raises his head so she can slide her arms around him and he finds himself in the perfect position to put his mouth against her neck, so he does.

As Jim places soft, wet, open-mouthed kisses against Pam's neck and collarbone and shoulder, she raises one leg and hooks it over his hip. He takes advantage of the new angle and moves his hand until it's in between them and slides it even lower. The path he takes to where Pam is increasingly desperate to be touched is agonizingly slow, and he teases by cupping her and providing just the tiniest hint of pressure with the heel of his palm. She can't stop the whine that escapes from back of her throat or the way she grinds against his hand. He chuckles at her reaction—she knows he's proud of himself—and his fingers finally slip between her folds and find her warm and wet.

Pam wastes no time in trailing her fingers along the length of his erection, heavy and hot and hard underneath his boxer briefs. She mimics his earlier motion and cups him through the fabric. He bucks against her slightly and his fingers twitch against her opening and those things feel good, so she does it again. She's rewarded with a gentle bite on the top of shoulder. The scrape of his teeth against her skin makes a flame of pleasure ignite directly between her legs, so she does it a third time.

This time, her reward is better than a bite. Two of his long fingers slide inside of her and crook immediately. He's well practiced and he knows what she likes, so his thumb finds her clit and starts circling gently. Her back arches automatically and the hand not against his hard-on grasps the back of his head. The fingers inside of her pump in and out gently while his thumb presses against her most sensitive spot, and she can't stop from writhing against him.

She thinks that two can play that game. With a little help from him, she pushes his underwear down far enough for his erection to be freed from the constraints of cotton and elastic. It brushes against her stomach and his hips jerk towards her at the contact. When she wraps her hand around him and starts stroking, he makes a quiet little sound in the back of his throat.

For a few moments, she tries to keep the same rhythm that he's setting with his fingers. She succeeds at first, but soon he starts moving his fingers faster and rubbing his thumb in tight little circles. Her hand slows as she rolls her hips with his movements and stop all together when she feels his free hand at the nape of her neck, where it gets tangled in her hair and tugs her head black.

The column of her throat and neck is so lovely when she has her head back, he thinks. Like a Roman statue or something, smooth and pale and so perfect in its detail. He wants to taste her there—again—so he dips his head and trails his tongue along the valley made by taut muscle and skin. His hand works harder, faster; his thumb circles more insistently, and he knows her well enough to know that she's close. He pushes on the back of her head and his lips find hers just as he feels her tighten against his fingers and her leg start to shake.

They don't bother with being chaste as they kiss. His tongue slides directly into her mouth and starts exploring immediately, impatient and wanting. She is a little lazier (who can blame her?) but it's hot, the way she's slow and languid and sensual. It makes him slow down, just a bit, and he can feel her smile against his mouth, just before she sucks his lower lip between hers and teases it with her teeth. That drives him crazy and she knows it. Her hand around his cock is still and relaxed and he can't help but thrust into it, just a little, and then a little more when he feels her grip tighten.

Before too long he's got the heel of his palm pressed against her clit and is almost using it for purchase as he drives into her hand. She rotates her hips in a figure eight motion, finding the speed and the pressure that she likes while simultaneously stroking him. He almost feels like he's in his senior year of high school again, getting a frenzied hand job while underneath a blanket in his old girlfriends basement while he awkwardly paws at her. Except high school can't compare to this, to the woman of his dream all but undulating against the palm of his hand while her own hands are busy clutching at his shoulder and pumping around his cock. But the kind-of-but-not-really-nervous fluttery feeling in his chest is reminiscent of his younger days, as is the thought that this is the hottest thing that's ever happened to him. And if he's not careful, he's going to have the stamina he had in high school, too. He's getting dangerously close; the heady feeling of Pam's skin against his, the way she's moving her body and pleasuring herself on with the heel of his hand, the sensation of her tongue sliding against his, the skilled way she moves her hand along his length—the cumulative effect of all those things is bringing him right up to the brink.

He moves his hand from between her legs and pushes on her hip, rolling her to her back. She keeps stroking him, adding her newly freed hand, and it feels so good he almost gives in. And he has to admit, the self satisfied look she gets after she makes him come with her hands—even the mess it means he makes on her stomach, which he knows she thinks is hot—is one of the sexiest things he's ever seen. But as much as he enjoys that particular activity, he knows he'd rather be buried inside of her when he comes, not hovering over her. With that in mind, he slowly moves himself out of her reach. She sticks her lower lip out at him and he bends down to copy her from before, sucks it into his mouth and drags his across his teeth. It drives her crazy, too.

Her hands are insistent at the waistband of his boxer briefs and she's able to get them down around his upper thighs before he helps her with the rest. She tugs at his hips, her intention obvious, but he smiles innocently at her and ducks his head to the skin below her collarbone. He kisses in the valley of her breasts, then cups one in his hand and swipes his thumb across her nipple before replacing it with his tongue. Her back arches into his mouth and she presses her hands against his head, keeping him there. He's glad to oblige, licking and sucking and swirling his tongue in the way she likes, only moving his mouth when it's time to lave attention on her other nipple. He can't play favorites, after all.

That's not true, because he definitely has a favorite place to use his mouth on her body. She has a favorite too—they happen to be the same—and he grins knowingly when he feels her hands push against his head, urging him lower. He settles himself between her legs and hooks his fingers into the waistband of her underwear: simple cotton bikinis in a pretty lavender color, a wet spot directly in the center. She lifts her hips so he can pull them down and toss them aside. As soon as they're gone, he leans down and covers her with a kiss.

It isn't long before she has her head pressed into the pillow behind her and her thighs clenched against his face. It'd be embarrassing if it didn't feel so good. When they first got together, she'd wanted to ask him where (or on who) he learned how to do that so well, so she could find them and give them a heartfelt thank you. Mostly it's that he responds to what she responds to and stays consistent in his ministrations, so that when she's teetering over the edge she never has to worry about him switching it up and doing something she didn't like. Granted, she'd be hard pressed to name something he did that she doesn't like, but still. He knows what to do to make her come quickly, and he does it: long lapping strokes strokes against her clit punctuated every now and then by capturing it between his lips and sucking gently, all the while steadily working those same two fingers in and out, in and out.

One of her hands clench in his hair, probably pulling too hard to feel good, but he doesn't seem to mind. The other hand is busy at one of her breasts, rolling and tugging at her nipple. He recognizes her actions for what they are—she's close—so he lays an arm across her hips to keep them still and keeping doing what he knows she likes. She jerks underneath his arm, her body aching to get closer to the source of all her pleasure. When she comes, the muscles in her stomach contract and pull her off the bed and the hand in his hair holds his head against her body while she quivers. His nose is pressed against her skin and he's too busy licking to worry about taking a breath and he briefly thinks that if he suffocates, well, what a way to go.

She relaxes her grip, though, and falls back onto the bed. Her body is boneless, heavy with satisfaction, and she barely registers that he's no longer between her legs but now settled atop her. One of his hands holds his cock against her, sliding it up and down to capture some of her wetness for lubrication, and she thrills at the way it throbs against her. When he pushes himself inside of her, she's still so sensitive that it makes her breath hitch. He buries himself to the hilt and she manages to grab his hip before he starts moving, indicating that she needs a minute. Otherwise she might vibrate out of her skin with the intensity of how he feels inside her.

He needs a distraction, then, because he desperately wants to start thrusting, so he kisses her again. She kisses him back, greedy and lazy and insistent and slow all at once. The taste of him mixed with the taste of her is intoxicating, it makes her head feel light and his hips start circling against hers. The motion makes the base of his shaft brush against her clit, just barely, but enough to make little moans comes stuttering out from between her lips. After a few of those and one softly exhaled and catchy oh, Jim, he can't stop himself from starting to move.

At first he's slow, pulling out almost all the way before sliding back in and solidly settling inside of her. It's tantalizing and torturous and Pam hooks her ankles behind his back and tries to push him into her harder, faster. He resists for a bit, keeps up that slow pace, but soon he needs more.

He sits back on his haunches and grabs her hips so he can angle her more towards him. Her legs are still wrapped around his waist and it takes a few seconds of him tugging behind her knee before she realizes he wants her to move them. When she does, he practically folds her in half, his hands gripping the backs of her thighs hard and pushing her legs towards her chest. In this new position and with the new angle, his thrusts go so deep that she completely ceases to think except for yes yes yes. It's just too good.

His fingers on her legs are pressing hard enough to leave bruises, he's sure, but judging by the flush on her cheeks and the whimpering sound she's making, she doesn't mind. Any semblance of tempo or rhythm is thrown out the window, because she's tight and wet and warm around him and he's edging closer and closer to coming. He attempts to slow down so he can better pay attention to her—he's nothing if not attentive when it comes to sex—but she takes matters into her own hands. Rather, hand, as one of them snakes down between her legs and starts rubbing. Her fingertips brush against him as he thrusts and he just knows it's going to be his undoing.

And sure enough, it's not too much longer before he's as deep within her as possible and coming hard. Her fingers stay busy on her clit as she rushes to catch up and he encourages her by leaning down and taking one of her nipples between his teeth. Maybe it's that, or maybe it's the change in angle, or maybe it's the way he's still pulsing and throbbing inside of her, he doesn't know, but she explodes almost immediately. Her body clenches and releases around him and he can feel her hips arch off the bed towards his, like she's yearning to be a close to him as possible as her organs rockets through her. As she comes down, he soothes the tender skin of her nipple with his tongue and rests his head on her chest, where he can hear her heartbeat.

Eventually it slows and her breathing returns to normal (his, too). When it does, he rolls off of her and to one side. Her cheeks are pink and there are a few wispy curls stuck to her sweaty forehead. She looks happy and satisfied and radiant and he can't believe he came so close to losing her. He will happily spend the rest of his life making it up to her in every way that he knows how.

He doesn't know it, but she's thinking much the same thing. They were so close to being broken for so long, and she will never stop fighting to keep it from happening again.

Next to her, Jim stretches. His body is long and lean and sexy as hell, so she watches without attempting to hide it. He notices, of course, and laughs warmly before speaking the first words either of them have said since waking. "We can do this every morning if it means you look at me like that afterwards."

She scoffs. "Yeah, right. You couldn't handle it, Halpert."

He winks at her and she feels a shock of electricity right between her legs—she's got a pretty short refractory period. "I'd be happy to try, Beesly." She laughs but doesn't respond, just slides gracefully off the bed and sashays to the shower.

They get distracted in the shower and again after they get out and start getting dressed. They don't end up back in bed, but they caress and kiss and enjoy the knowledge that they're alive and with one another and happy. When they show up to work just under half an hour late, Dwight raises his eyebrows and wags his finger at them, but they don't care.

It's been a nice morning.