A/N: Part of the Triangle series. DxS.

Warning: Highly artistic/possibly overwritten. Not much plot.

Disclaimer: Standard.

If I Were To

There may have been a storm; there may not have been one. It might have been a cloudy night - it might not have been one.

All Danny knew at that point was it was dark, it was slightly cold, the biting chill refreshing but not significant. No ghosts were out.

And... he was in her bedroom. Granted, Sam was asleep. But... he was still there, hovering over the satin pooled around her lithe, fair body - and yes, he shouldn't have been thinking about it, he was normally too busy to have the time to dream over her - but this time, he could indulge.

He settled down against the lone chair in the room, intangible, invisible. With any luck, Sam would conclude that the weather was why the room was so cold.

With luck.

The bedsheets rustled, and Sam turned in her sleep, the edge of her blankets sliding down and revealing one smooth, bare shoulder. Danny's breath hitched, and he would have blushed if he'd been able to.

There had been a massive rush of ghosts lately, and all he wanted to do was catch his breath and spend some time with his friends - or rather, spend some time with Sam. He was up in the air, away from school, so often that times like this were rare. Nasty Burger times, gone. Park times, gone. Even fighting ghosts alongside her and Tucker, gone. They were dangerous, these new ghosts, dangerous and mindless, attacking in swarms. The Thermos -

He forced his mind away. Now was the time to relax, after all, not think of the struggles that may lie ahead.

Sam breathed in her sleep, deep and silent. The blankets that defined her shape rose and fell, steadily, steadily, and Danny grew comforted, almost sleepy. He would have closed his eyes and fallen into oblivion, but he was ghost at the time, so.

She was whispering in her sleep, husky and low, rich and repetitive. His name, hissing from his best friend's lips, again and again in consideration and over and over in growing frustration and need, and his hormones reacted.

If he were to -

And then he went tangible and floated above the ground to prevent anyone from hearing him. Hanging upside down over her sleeping form, he reached a hand down to stroke her hair, once, twice.

She sighed, from the back of her throat, and he, bolder, ran his fingers down her face. In sleep, she wore no makeup, and to his eyes she was just as beautiful (forfend that he criticise her gothic look, on pain of...er, true death?) with or without the black eyeliner.

Trailed his touch down the line of her neck, over a black-threaded medallion, and her throat worked in a needy noise halfway between a choke and a moan; and he, hanging upside down, shivered.

Tangible; invisible.

She awoke in darkness. Outside, there may have been the sound of thunder. There may not. There may have been a moon. There may not.

There was a tingle in the air, hanging storm-heavy, not ghost-ozone-frozen. Wondering what had woken her, she began to drift away again, before a slender, cool tendril stroked its way down her throat, down into the fairy-bone crevices of her chest, under her black cross, and she shuddered. Struggled not to make a noise, but it was so difficult not to scream for Danny. Scream for him, and somehow he would hear her and rid her of this invader.

There was more than one tendril, and they snaked across her left shoulder, leaving a sort of static behind. She shivered. It was cold...but somehow, exciting.

Taking great care to remain silent, Danny tried to control his breathing. Her breaths were coming more and more quickly, whether from fright or something else, he did not know.

If he were to -

Tangible, human; invisible.

Sam stifled a gasp as the tendrils turned warm, and a few toughened areas scraped against her skin, but not in a bad way. She stiffened as the fingers - for they were no tendrils, no more - traced familiar patterns across her skin, across the sensitive skin of her stomach, going no higher nor lower, for Danny would not be brave enough to do such.

And she knew it was Danny. Who else would be warm, human, but wholly invisible? Terror, begone.

Now that she was aware of it - of him - she could hear his uneven breathing. Perhaps then, it would be - fun - to pretend, and make him think of something... else. Yes, if she were to -

She was moving under his fingers, pressing her body into his hands. He was writhing too - she would not remember this, except as a particularly vivid dream, when she woke up maybe, and if she woke up with his hands on her... places he would get the beating of his unlife, ghost powers or no. Yet, his body was reacting to her, all angles and smooth curves, and he could not - quite - control himself. He settled himself into a horizontal position, just parallel to hers, and removed his hands from her person.

Her lips parted, and his breath hitched again. She was arching under him, mostly covered by those sheets, but always on the verge of exposing another inch of skin. Arching her back and breathing his name like a mantra, and he was breathing faster and faster, hands twitching to clench onto her.

She could almost hear his heartbeat in that silent room, thumping away, louder and louder. She could feel his body warmth just above her head, feel the few stray hairs; knowing that she could sit up and kiss him, right then and there, was exhilarating. Just as teasing him was.

She fell back to the bed and began breathing again, deep and silent. As his body warmth began to fade, she pulled her knees back so that they gathered the blankets up around them like a circus tent pole and slipped one hand into the almost humid warmth within her covers.

His breath hitched again, and his body warmth grew closer, closer; warmer, warmer. His heartbeat, erratic.

He breathed in deeply, forcing himself to not watch how the blankets eddied and swirled around her (undoubtedly smooth) knees, how that vanished hand was silhouetted, moving back and forth, up and down, inside and out? until she was bucking hard, teeth gritted, and he was swallowing back groans. His hormones, they were pulsing strongly.

She jerked suddenly, the sounds she made almost harsh; definitely surprised. Two syllables, guttural.

Sam could feel it when he got it. When he really got it, because he lost control and a small chunk of ice plopped out of midair and trailed down her chest; nestled in the valley between her breasts and made her jerk in real surprise. Her fingers, already close to her delta to truly simulate what she was pretending (in case he drew back her blankets, she told herself) slipped in for truth, and she groaned his name.

Another chunk of ice plopped out of midair.

When the blankets puddled again, flat on the soft mattress, Danny took a deep breath and tried to control himself. He was going to give himself away, he knew, if he kept going with this. That said, if this were to be only a particularly vivid dream for Sam, he might as well make it a memorable one.

If he were to -

She stiffened as a rounded tip circled its way around her nipples; pulled up her blankets, clenched white-knuckledly tightly around her as tension stretched her legs and spread her thighs involuntarily. The tip was cold, icicle-cold, and her nipples hardened, dark even in the occasional moonbeam. The icicle made its momentary rounds and slid into the valley between her breasts where the other chunks had slid off already, slid in horizontally, almost, and began to move, slickly. She was breathing harder, her eyes straining to remain shut, her hand automatically slipping to find nether warmth.

Then she felt his finger, his warm finger, trace the path of icy water, and she pushed up against his hand, losing the battle and opening her eyes.

She gritted her teeth and pursed her lips and the moan came out as a hum, through her nose. A needy hum, a frustrated hum.

He couldn't resist her, not any longer. He landed on the foot of her large bed, becoming visible in his usual shirt and jeans. His ruffled hair, blue eyes in the moonbeams; steady hands.

She shifted, jerked upwards in surprise, her hands rising to gather the blankets around her.

"Danny? What are you doing here?" Her voice was higher than normal, almost squeaky; she was shivering, shuddering.

The icicle he had quickly reabsorbed slid out again, and he placed it at the foot of her bed. He noted almost dispassionately how her eyes focused on it before sliding back to meet his.

If she were to - well, if she were to play along, play the innocent, how would he react? Quickly, quickly, Samantha, think of something -

"Is this a dream?"

If he were to - well, if he were to lie to her, how would she feel when she really, truly, woke up, in the end? Would she feel wrong, violated that he would do something like this to her?

But she deserved an answer. And...tonight was a quiet night. Who knew when next...?

The word tumbled out of his mouth before he could think it.

"Yes."

She made her eyes wide and her cheeks flush red, a little. Shaped her lips and blew out of them gently.

"Oh."

When he kept looking at her, she smiled and let the blankets drop from around her. She was still pleased to hear his breathing go erratic, panting, rushing, but seeing him jolt and his hands suddenly go limp was just as exciting.

"Well?"

She was still sarcastic, even in her sleep and lucid dreaming, Danny thought.

"Well?"

Even when the topic was so...controversial.

"When are you going to ravish me? In your dead hot halfa way, Danny?"

He choked a little.

She slid down her blankets a little more, exposing a little bit of smooth hips.

He bit his lip.

"Uh...I...well..."

He put out a hand, stroked her side. She giggled, batted his hand away. Smiled at him.

"You really don't know what to do, do you?"

"N-n-no..."

That smile was truly evil. Truly, truly evil.

"How about I teach you?"

It may have been daytime. It may not have been. Those might have been birds twittering on the branches.

Or maybe not. The subsequent snowstorm silenced them for sure.

The people of Amity bundled up and battened their hatches for the freak snowstorm, and Sam's parents were caught in a function in another city, out of town.

Inside her bedroom, they were warm, huddled up under the sheets, Danny's hand still moving slightly restlessly over the spots she was most ticklish in; the ones that drew the most tingle, the most coil for the heat inside her core. Some she had known, from before, others took a little exploration.

Close together, nude, eye at the level, Danny slid another icicle up into her core and watched her clench her muscles around it involuntarily, watched the heat melt the edge of his icicle, watched her contract in sequence until she came again. He left it in there and reached upwards for a kiss.

If he were to leave now, how would she react?

He sank back into bed as she closed her eyes, her muscles still holding on tightly to the icicle.

Her breathing was deep and silent, and he watched her sleep, pulling her covers over her. The light outside was brighter now, and he went ghost.

He flew out of her bedroom, trying to forget. Thinking it was just a dream for her.

If she were to confess that she had been awake the whole time, how would he react?

She stared up at the ceiling as he left, her muscles still holding on tightly to the icicle.

For him, it would just be a dream, perhaps coming true.

Just a dream.

If they were to...

But then if -

The snowstorm did not stop. Not for several weeks.