Daniel doesn't release Janet's hand until he finds the pins in her wild hair. It's shorter than it used to be, a reminder that while he may be returning to his memories, there will always be a year he won't get back. Not on Earth nor anywhere else. There is nothing in his mind from that time in between and no chance to return to the events he missed here.
She wraps her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. The earlier awkwardness is melting away. He removes the final pin, presses his lips to the top of her head. She pulls back and looks up, leaning in again. Her hands splay across his back, warm now, as slow kisses are traded like secrets.
The bedroom is more conducive to leisurely exploration than the entrance hall, equipped as it is with a soft horizontal surface. She hasn't even touched him lower than his waist yet and he's already painfully hard. Her hands are light, fleeting, never staying still for long and, finally, he can't take it anymore. He rolls them both, capturing her wrists above her head with one hand and removing her clothes ahead of his lips with the other.
So much for slow, he thinks, but she's not objecting - assisting him with her clothes and then taking his hand and guiding it. Slow is good, but this is better, this irregular tempo, lingering and fast and back to lingering again. He teases her and when she bites down on his shoulder a little too hard, he doesn't care.
He remembers a past conversation, an admission that she liked being naked against him while he was still clothed. He can sense her smiling now as he circles a nipple with his tongue and deliberately brushes her thigh with his jeans.
Her pulse flutters under his fingers as he follows the line of her hip down between her legs. Her pelvis bucks in anticipation and he takes a detour to tease her again. She clenches her fist in his hair on his second pass, groans something unintelligible, then brings her right leg up to rest on his shoulder, showing him exactly what she means.
The cuneiform symbol gír is much more complicated than ḫal. He traces them both with his tongue, alternating, spelling out ancient nonsense until she chants his name and clenches her thighs around him.
Her legs fall away and he slides up her body, soft against his hardness, the contact nearly making him gasp. She looks at him with lidded eyes, then smirks as her hand finds him, slender fingers stroking. His hips move in counterpoint, the rhythmic pleasure addictive. It falters when she shifts and then she's under him, guiding him, grounding him even as he willingly loses himself inside her. Dark eyes slide shut, the pressure building, and when the rhythm falters again he feels almost weightless. Then she cracks, breaking apart moments before he does, body contracting, over and over and over.
A boneless silence until they breathe again, heavy and light, sated. He smiles against her temple. Her arm is resting above her head, pulling the muscles long on her back and the skin tight to her ribs. As he drifts off, he runs his fingertips along her side, translating the lines and curves of a script even older than cuneiform.
