The One with the Quiet Place Knock-Off

It wasn't his first choice, or even his second or third or seventieth.

The first time they went away together, he wanted it to be special. A fancy, five star hotel in a city with twinkling lights. Expensive outfits and dinner bills that he didn't even let her see. A suite with a jacuzzi, if he played his cards right, but one with a king sized bed would do. One where a plate of chocolate covered strawberries and a fancy bottle of wine or champagne would be ready and chilling in a bucket of ice when they got back to the room.

Wine preferably not made out of beets.

But when her eyes had lit up, locking with his across the bullpen while she placed the reservation with-gulp, Dwight-sitting right next to him, how could he say no?

It was too last minute for him to make plans other than Throw pajamas and work clothes for tomorrow into a duffel bag and Don't forget your toothbrush and deodorant and a hot second to contemplate the half empty box of condoms in his bedside table drawer.

On the one hand: First night away with Pam.

On the other hand: In Dwight's bed and breakfast.

Well. Better safe than sorry.

He picked her up at 5:45, took her duffel bag from her hands and opened the door for her, tossing her bag in the trunk with his after he had tucker her safely inside.

There was nothing even remotely romantic about the trip. Dwight had them shoveling manure, for God's sake. But every time he glanced in her direction, shared a laugh or a wide-eyed expression at the sheer oddity of their situation, he was reminded that it wasn't the fancy bedding and the triple digits on receipts and the outrageous bottles of alcohol that defined a romantic night away.

It was the look on her face, the sparkle in her eye, the way her eyes bulged whenever she giggled, her tongue poking out from between her teeth, that made his belly warm and his heart swell.

It was so Dwight to have his own custom beds, and Jim's heart sank upon seeing the room with two instead of one. But when she situated herself between his legs and lay her head back against his chest while the seventh installment of Harry Potter painted the walls of the Irrigation Room, there was nowhere in the world he would have rather been.

He felt her shift against him, snuggle her back closer to his front, closed his eyes and swallowed a breath and willed his body not to continue reacting to her as Harry cast another spell. He kissed the back of her head, breathed in the scent of her shampoo, squeezed her a little more tightly.

When Dwight left them a little after ten, Mose marching awkwardly out the door behind him only to pause in the doorway, give them a creepy stare, and mutter The bed bugs only bite if you struggle, he gave her a playful shove off of his lap, sending her hurtling the short distance between the beds.

"Well. Goodnight, Beesly. It's been fun."

He bit the inside of his mouth, trying to stifle his laughter as he tucked his long legs under the itchy quilt. The look on her face screamed What the actual hell?, mimicked in the way that she poised her hands on her hips, her eyebrows knit together in the middle, one cocked high on her forehead while she steadied her body and stood upright.

"Excuse me?"

"What?" he played dumb well, shrugging his shoulders, shimmying further under his covers. "The owners here at Schrute Farms are clearly in opposition of cohabitation. It's only right and fair that we honor those policies, Pam. We want to be asked back, don't we?"

He felt panic creep up as his joke turned sour, her wide eyes turning to slits, her lips settling into a thin line, the word Fine thick in the air as she crossed the room and turned out the lights. He could make out the sounds of her feet on the hardwood floor, the mattress giving way to her body, the blanket lifting and falling around her.

The night was still, quiet. He could hear her breathing if he concentrated enough, pushed back the sounds of the creaking and swaying old house. He was hot all of a sudden, anxious and twitchy. It was only a joke. She was his joke-partner-in-crime, right? He hadn't gone too far this time, had he?

He was drumming his closed fist against his thigh, about ready to jump out of his bed and share a twin for the night like he was back in college, when he heard a light scraping sound. With the moonlight streaming in from the window, he could make out her outline, her biceps straining against the bed frame as she pushed it closer to his. She grunted, muttered a curse under her breath, and jumped back onto the mattress when it had reached his destination, fit snugly against his.

He remained immobile until he felt her body snuggle against him, felt her arm wind around his waist and her curls tickle his chest and his neck. He let out a sigh, reciprocating her touch immediately, winding his arms around her body and clasping his fingers at her waist.

"You didn't think I was going to let you get off that easily, did you?" she muttered against his chest, propping her chin up to look at him.

Laughter rumbled in his chest, vibrated against her chin, before she caught the meaning behind her words.

"Oh, shut it, you know what I meant."

"Yeah, I see how it is," he replied, continuing to laugh against her skin. "You clearly had a mission when you pushed these beds together."

She saw his eyebrows waggle as her own eyes adjusted to the darkness, and promptly smacked him on the chest, earning a Hey! Ow! Seriously, Beesly, this is abuse!

The wicked look in her eye twinkled as she sat above him, her fingers drumming softly against his stomach.

"So. You want to get off, huh?"

"Wow, o-kay there, porny. Could you be any less of a turn-on right now?"

He mocked her, knowing that his twisted expression was less than visible in the dark blanket of night in the middle of a cornfield. But then he was forced to swallow it whole when there was no precursor to her fingers suddenly below his waistband, wrapped around his soft cock. There was nothing he could do, he realized, as he felt his flesh begin to stiffen and grow in her grasp, with Dwight undoubtedly right down the hall.

As his breath hitched and his eyes shut softly, the thought passed that, while Dwight was more than likely tucked in for the evening, there was a very real chance that Mose could be lurking outside their room.

It was this thought that had him moving her abruptly, a gentle shove, a hand around her wrist to still the torturous movement of her fingers against his flesh. Even with distance between them, she still found a way to tickle her toes against his calves, her breath still finding bare spots of skin, clearly a little heavier than it had been just moments ago.

He could make out her lips curling into a grin, one that was both sweet and sultry, as she peeled his hand from where it lay against her stomach, closed the distance that he had created, and hovered her face above his while keeping the rest of her body at his side.

"What's the matter?" Her tone wasn't quite a whisper, but her tone was low and thick, the vibrations meant for his ears only. "Afraid management will hear us and kick us out?"

Her curls, dangling above him, tickled his chin, his neck. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, peeled his lips apart to speak.

"Uh, kind of?" he claimed, his eyebrows peaking as the words stilled in his throat, his body tingling with anticipation as he felt her wrist moving against the restraint of his fingers, unable to do anything to stop her as she tickled the skin above his waistband.

"Then I guess we'll just have to be super quiet."

She was whispering now, her words and her lips brushing his skin, her tongue sneaking out just a bit to trace the shell of his ear. She was close enough to his body to hear a high pitched moan squeak in the base of his throat, his hips jerking into her touch.

Then, her index finger met his lips, her eyes wide above him.

"Do you think you can do that, Jim?"

When she quirked her eyebrow, scratched his upper lip slightly, his stare widened, too, took on the color of the night. Her lips came into that same sexy smile then, making his knees weak, as she picked up her pace.

He cupped her cheeks when their lips met, her wrist moving steadily under his pants. Her lips slid over his so fluidly, her tongue teasing his mouth only to pull back, but he held on, desperate to muffle the noises that were suddenly clouding his throat, begging to escape.

When she moved her lips to his cheek, his jaw, his throat right below his ear with a light suckling, she brought that finger back to his lips, her Shhhh's cool against the skin where her lips and her tongue had just been.

"We have to be quiet," she reminded him, her teeth pressing lightly into his ear lobe now, while her hand continued to work him.

He was going to die tonight.

In Dwight Schrute's bed and breakfast, of all places.

When her hand disappeared, he began to groan in protest, but soon, it was swallowed by her tongue pushing past his lips, her hips covering his, her fingers tangled in his hair as she moved above and against him.

The sensations were overwhelming, as she moved over him with an intensity that contradicted the quiet, the slow rate at which their hips were moving together. She tugged at his hair, but her hips were torturously slow; her tongue was making darting movements, there and gone, sucking his into her mouth before disappearing altogether, taking a moment to smirk down at him, to look at him like she wanted to eat him alive.

And he wasn't about to protest.

But he was quickly realizing that, while his hands were clinging to her hips for dear life, he had no control tonight. No. He was at her beck and call. Tonight was all for her.

When she sat up, he let her peel the tank top from her body, doing nothing but drinking in the milk of her skin in the pale moonlight as cotton floated to the floor. Her eyes were wide and dark as she gazed down at him, nothing but want in her stare.

He wanted to reach out and touch her, to run his fingers over her perfect skin and her peaked nipples, but he could do nothing but watch, as her own hands started to snake down her body, to cup her own breasts and tickle down her stomach, to find the juncture of their pelvises and feel where they met together.

If she wanted him silenced, she was certainly doing the trick.

He couldn't tear his eyes from her, from her hands as they pushed up the cotton of his t-shirt, helped him to pull it off when he sat up, from her large eyes when he was pulling him up to straddle his lap and her fingers were tapping on his cheeks, studying him like he was an open book that she wanted to absorb.

When her lips met his, soft and plump, he kept his eyes open, marveling in the way that her eyelashes fluttered against his skin, loving that he could see her body moving up and against his torso as she pushed their bodies closer. He clenched his hands around her bare back, pushed her chest to his, but let her continue to drive them, to take command with her lips and her small yet hot hands.

Her fingers dipped below the waistband of his blue plaid pajama pants, taking his boxers with them when he lifted his hips to help her slide them off. He was still visibly aroused, not even from the work of her hands earlier, but from the sight of her, the intensity in the room towering down and pushing against every nerve in his body. When her hands were against his chest again, pushing him backwards, he followed blindly, staring as she lifted her body to her knees, removed her plaid pants and cotton panties in one fell swoop, and sat above him.

It was as if the night, the moon, the quiet, were all playing tricks on him; her body appeared so tall and commanding above him. With his lips parted, his large hands continuing their soft back and forth on her now bare hips, he was in genuine awe. She was glistening, slick against him, and despite her own cautions, she was closing her eyes and mewling and licking her lips as she rubbed against him.

In all of their, albeit short, time together, he had never thought to just watch. He wanted to touch and kiss and hear her make those noises that he knew he was creating. But now, seeing the way that her head was lolling and her fingers were curling against his chest while she moved, he wondered what else he had been missing.

The fingers of one hand tickled up her stomach, and he could see the lines on her body that they made as she pinched her nipple between her fingers, let out a soft sound as she curled her lips inside. He loved the way that she was sighing so silently, something he would have missed if he hadn't been so trained on the heave in her chest and the way her lips were parting just enough to let air sneak out.

He was throbbing beneath her, a sharp intake of breath making his chest hollow when she sat up just enough to palm him and rub herself back and forth over his tip. When she began to swallow him, inch by inch, it was a fight for his eyes between her face and the place where their bodies met. It was so intimate, watching her head fall back in ecstasy as she eased herself onto him, the fingers of one hand clutching at his chest with the other grasping her breast fully, tight. He could see where her nails dug into her own flesh, where the skin raised and reddened for a fleeting moment. He wanted to kiss each line, soothe her skin, but he refrained, letting his eyes be his only windows tonight.

Her lips parted, a puff of air replacing what he was so used to being a long and low moan. But this was so much sweeter, as his ears picked up the sounds of her moving back and forth against him, their bodies slick between them.

As she moved back and forth, he shifted his hips, pumping slow and steady underneath her, but still ensuring that she held the reigns. He held her hips, his fingers grasping against her skin steadily, her skin hot to the touch as she continued to move.

She was a goddess, the gold of her curls bright in the moonlight, her tongue quick as she licked her lips, closed her eyes, enjoyed these moments of being joined together with him. These small sounds, her lips on skin, her nails raking her chest, the mattress shifting beneath them, echoed loudly in his ears in a way that her moans and sighs and dirty talk never had. It wasn't necessarily better, but the differences turned him on to a whole new side of making love to Pam that he hadn't experienced yet.

It wasn't until he felt her begin to clench around him, his own tightness impending too, that those small noises began to grow. She was moving more quickly, her breath heavier and coming in pants. This was the part in the game where his hands would take over, helping him drive into her on one hand but meeting at her center to drive her home all the same. But still, she continued to surprise him.

Her eyes remained closed as she took her hand from his chest, but he didn't mind the chill left behind as her fingers met between them. She was using her first three fingers, sneaking between them slightly to wet herself first, which made his breath hitch.

Watching her bring her own body to the brink was an out of body experience. Her hands seemed to mimic one another; the quicker her fingers moved against her clit, the harder she pinched at her breast, the more her upper body jerked. It was so poetic, the way her body was coming to its peak, the way it was coming at her own hands.

He wondered briefly if she had ever done this with Roy, if this was something that would hurt Roy's pride. But here, as she breathed in spurts and pinched her eyes shut and her lips snapped between parting and curling inside and humming together, he wanted her to be this free, to take charge of what she wanted to have it all at her tips of her fingers. In his own awe, he did his best to hold her to him, to make sure she didn't go hurtling into space.

When her pulsations around him finally exploded, he watched the noises in her throat as they shot up her body, and as her back arched, throwing her hair back and her breasts out, he knew she was going to wake up the neighborhood. In an instant, keeping his eyes opened, he sat up and captured her lips just in time to swallow every noise she had been holding in since she had joined their beds together.

He tasted each one; some were high pitched and whiny, while others were low as they vibrated against his lips. His tongue sneaked past her lips, lapping up each sigh as he pumped furiously, still focused on the way that her eyes pinched closed tighter still, the way her body was still pulsing around him. When he came, he tasted satisfaction on her tongue, watched the smile as it creeped up her cheeks, and the softness in her eyes as her body relaxed and melted against him.

It was then that his body shattered, collapsed underneath her.

His eyes closed finally, succumbing to his remaining senses as he felt her hair smother his chest and his neck, the cold space between them where wetness was now met with cool air. He heard hear breath as it whined from her nose, not quite slowing just yet, tasted salt on his tongue. Her scent, not just shampoo and body lotion, but something so inherently feminine, gave him a moment of pause where he was craving more.

They lay there in the stilled silence, unmoving save for the way their bodies parted with each expansion of a chest. When she finally moved, her nose brushing against his chest, tracing up the column of his neck, it was only to readjust herself, to move her body against him more closely, as he felt her breath slow and her body grow heavy.

She slept on top of him, her body clutched around him, her legs wrapped across his waist and between his body, her arms slung across his chest and his waist, her face tucked into the curve of his neck where he could feel each and every puff of life leaving and coming.

As he closed his eyes for the first time that night, he pulled her even more closely into him, nuzzled his body against her, and listened in the still silence for everything he had missed before.