Title: In Between Dreams
Category: Daniel/Janet PWP.
Rating, etc: Adult but not explicit. ~600 words.
Summary: Janet dreams.
Disclaimer: Stargate is not mine, I'm just playing in the sandbox.
Author's Notes: unbetaed (do tell me if it's goose-flesh or -skin, or whether goose-pimples is ok).
Isa: this is not it. But I guess it'll do for now, since your birthday was long enough ago that the fic has accumulated interest. Even though you don't remember ;)
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She never saw the point of high school crushes; thought them silly, a waste of time. When it came to fellow students, she was far too practical: either you did something about it or you forgot it. As for celebrity crushes...well, how ridiculous was that?
Even as she got older, she never entertained the notion, never daydreamed about lecturers, co-workers, fellow officers, patients. That last was a definite no-no.
It all changes with Daniel. Not initially; initially she is too busy getting to grips with her new post as CMO of the SGC. But sometime late in her third year he starts featuring in her dreams. It is always the same one.
She's in the shower when he reaches round from behind her. It doesn't startle her, even though she didn't know he was there, but it does send a shock right through her body, like static. He takes the soap and the sponge and as she watches he runs it down her arms and belly. Neither of them speaks. She never turns around, never sees his face. But she knows it's him from his hands, from his scent, from his heartbeat, inexplicably thudding through her. He breathes against her neck as he bends to run open-mouthed kisses down her neck and around her jaw. She gasps and her mouth falls open so she can get more oxygen.
As she closes her eyes, his hand caresses her hip then trails up along her ribcage. Fingertips graze the curve of her breast as the other hand comes around her midriff to pull her back to him. She feels the slide of his skin against hers, shivers. He bends his fingers so that when he runs them up her stomach his nails apply a soft pressure. The sensation brings her out in goose-pimples, despite the heat of the water. Then he is cupping her breasts, catching her nipples gently with his thumbs. It flits through her mind that she has died and gone to heaven.
She can feel him hard against her lower back, hotter, smoother than the water. She wants to touch him but her limbs feel like syrup and the best she can do is grasp his arm, feeling the muscles move under her fingers. She whimpers as his hand drops, returning to her hip, circling and then moving further down, brushing her inner thigh and—
Then she wakes. As if her subconscious is denying her what she denies herself when she is awake. It is always the same.
Until now. This time is different. This time she can remember how she got here, remembers seeing his face, helping him remove his clothes, locking eyes with him as he removed hers. This time she gets to kiss him: his jaw, lips, collarbone (when she can't reach his lips), chest (when she can't reach his collarbone either), fingertips. This time there are words, breathless and full of desire.
This time he does things he never has before. He nips at her earlobe. He turns her to face him and buries his fingers in her hair as he kisses her hard then softer, his tongue tracing hers.
She gets to touch him too. Her arms obey her commands, for the most part, and though her hands aren't quite steady, she does get to hold him, passionately, fiercely, afraid she'll wake up if she lets him go. When she strokes him he groans and he is both harder and softer than she imagined.
This time, his hands continue along her inner thigh, making her moan his name. She guides him to begin with but he's a fast learner and soon her hands fall useless to her side as she becomes totally involved in the sensations he is creating.
He murmurs in her ear and she nods, twisting and locking her arms around his neck. Despite the height disparity, they fit together so well and she thinks she should marvel at it, though maybe when he's not grasping her ass and she's not hooking her leg over his hip. This position involves contact, a delicious mix of slide and friction, and she almost feels bereft when he moves her. But then her back is against the shower wall and he is pushing gently. There's resistance, a sweet moment, before she is settling against his hips. They stay there for long seconds, his gaze smouldering. She watches him watching her and can't fathom what her life was like before this.
Then he leans in to kiss her, worrying her lower lip, and adjusts his grip on her thighs. As he begins to move she smiles. She doesn't need to fantasise anymore. This is real.