DISCLAIMER: SG-1 is not the invention of my imagination, nor is any member of the U.S. Military.
NOTE: I've never written anything with an opening paragraph in third person followed by the story in a different person's pov. I've also never written a Sam/Janet ficlet, never wanted to, but this is a special circumstance.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Within A Dream
She was in love with a man who rarely acknowledged he was in love with her, but it didn't matter. Even if he said the words every day, they would still be separated by such trivial qualities as honor and duty and pride. Such respectable traits were her cornerstone, the purpose of her being, the reason she lived. But from time to time, she allowed herself to believe they would have a happily ever after, that they deserved something more than an ordinary thank you at the end of an extraordinary day. It was then, ironically, when she would let someone else's hands slip her military green shirt from her shoulders, when she would permit someone else's mouth to bring her pleasure twined with remorse. It was then she craved the truly aberrant.
Janet was tired; she had spent her day piecing SG-11 back together after they discovered a secret stash of landmines on an abandoned battle field off world. She'd had no time for anything else, including a visit from Sam earlier in the afternoon, which she regretted. She looked forward to the blonde's visits sometimes a little too much, sometimes as more than a friend.
Running a hand through her hair in frustration at her thoughts, she entered her quarters, immediately surprised by the dim light bouncing off the walls; but as her eyes adjusted, she noticed someone on her bed. Moving closer, Janet recognized the outline barely visible in the faint darkness. She sighed and made her way to the still figure hidden mostly in shadow. Sam was curled on her side, asleep in her clothes, the lines in her face not relaxed even in slumber.
Sitting on the edge of the mattress, Janet reached out to run her fingers through blonde locks, amazed at the softness of every strand. Even as Janet touched her flawless skin, she knew Sam was only a temptation, an unavailable desire. Yet, her guilt was continuously lost in her longing for what she could have surreptitiously. Sam would come to her, would be contrite and vulnerable or flirtatious and warm, and Janet would surrender. Just like she would that night.
Sam stirred, and then she jerked awake at the unexpected contact.
"It's alright," Janet soothed. "It's just me."
Sam slumped back onto the pillow and offered the slim brunette a timid smile.
"Hi," she said quietly, her voice rough from sleep, her eyes drifting closed as Janet's thumb idly began tracing circles on her hip. "It's okay I'm here?"
Janet wanted to walk away, to spat out angrily how unfair the situation was, but she couldn't. Not while Sam looked so forlorn, so sad and so soft. Instead, she sighed and moved to lie next to the beautiful blonde.
"What happened this time?" Janet asked, irritation blurred by comfort in her tone. Although Sam always seemed unaware of the distinction, Janet knew the younger woman suffered from her own form of anger.
"I just wanted to see you," Sam replied as she snuggled closer to the small doctor, a hint of desperation in her embrace. Janet just nodded as the silence settled over them, long moments of deep thoughts and gentle breathing. She believed the blonde had fallen asleep until she felt Sam's fingers twining with her own where they rested on Sam's stomach.
At the touch, Janet knew they would not be talking any more that night, that Sam was not there in need of a friend but of a diversion. Janet focused her resentment, turning it to a quiet strength as she rolled onto her back, taking Sam with her.
Surprised at Janet's unusual boldness, Sam hovered over her, their breaths mingling. The tension was building slow, warm, wet rising, swelling. Janet's eyes slid closed as Sam touched their lips together. She resisted the urge to draw the blonde closer, knew she had no power, knew she could not force the encounter.
As their kiss deepened, Janet melted into the flavor, tried to remember this was not their first experience, struggled to remind herself she was just a substitute for who Sam really wanted. Even though she could taste Sam's disappointment, she knew she would drink in the kiss like wine despite the bitterness. She had no choice. Sam was her Achilles' heel.
Janet accepted Sam's hands as they lifted her shirt, slipping the green material from her shoulders, her lips tracing now uncovered skin. They moved slowly, falling deeper and deeper into each other, shedding pieces of clothing as they shifted further away from their reality.
Soon, Sam was mapping the tea-colored legs with her tongue, and Janet knew she would close her eyes as she reached her destination, that she wanted to concentrate solely on her objective. When Sam tasted her goal, Janet heard a moan and was unsure whether it came from her or the woman above her. She knew Sam was smiling, that the blonde was pleased to have caused the reaction, and the petite doctor allowed the smile to wash over her, to burn into her skin, to mark her with its intensity. Very few would ever enjoy the sensation.
Later, when they see each other surrounded by regulations and reputations and him, Janet knows Sam will once again smile at her, this time shyly, pleading with fringed guilt and impossible friendship, asking for forgiveness for leaving the slim brunette's bed in the middle of the night. But for now, as Sam kisses her, Janet also knows she will grant Sam the amnesty she needs. It's the only way to ensure Sam will return to her. For her weakness, she will be strong.
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