Title: Getting Head

Author: Geonn

Email: neil_j_miser@yahoo.com

Rating: PG13

Category: Pre-relationship

Pairing: Sam/Janet

Season: Set towards the beginning of Season 4, when Sam had very long hair.

Notes: The title is probably the most graphic thing about the story ;-D

Summary: A secret fetish...

This position is unnatural...

I'm sitting in a chair from her dining room, my legs partially spread and my butt slid so far down in the seat that I'm afraid I'll slip off. My hands are folded patiently in my lap. My head is balanced over the edge of the sink, the back of the chair and the edge of the sink both combining to create a dull, insistent, constant throb where my skull meets my spine. One towel is wrapped around my neck, while the other - tucked into the first - drapes the front of my body like a cloak.

Janet reappears over me, smiling down and waving her prize: a bottle of shampoo. "Found it," she smiles.

"Look, Janet," I say, wanting to protest this one more time, just to have it firmly on the record. "I really appreciate this... I do. But you don't have to do this."

"Don't be silly!" she smiles. She turns on the faucet and puts one slender hand under my neck to prop it up. She pulls the spray nozzle from it's position and aims it at my head. "Eyes," she warns, and I close my eyes just before a spray of extremely cold water pelts the top of my head. As she wets down my hair, I can feel the fingers of her free hand moving slowly through my far-too-long locks. No one had officially said anything about the length, but I knew General Hammond was annoyed at the way it caught in my eyelashes during briefings. Military equals short hair. I got that, really. Didn't mind it at all.

Except when I wanted to be feminine. Except when I wanted a certain someone to see me as a woman. A certain someone who was at this very moment... stop it.

Janet's fingers continue to rake gently through my hair, straightening any kinks the day had given it. Finally, the sprayer shuts off, but I know it's only a brief reprieve. I hear the cap of the shampoo click open and Janet squirts a small pea into her palm. I open my eyes and inhale deeply. Apple. Janet leans forward to apply the shampoo and her shirt is now right in front of my face. Surrounded by her, I can't help but smell her, too. I have to close my eyes again.

Eight of her talented fingers squirm into my hair, carrying the apple-scented shampoo with them. Her thumbs follow soon after. She massages my scalp and I bite my tongue to keep from moaning out loud. This was why I preferred a stylist. Why I preferred the rough and tumble, in-and-out procedures at the salon near my house. There was no time for the scalp massage. In fact, when I could, I shampooed my hair in my own bathroom before my appointment. Save the embarrassment.

No stopping it now, though. Janet's hands continued to work the shampoo into my hair, oblivious to how much it turns me on.

The head as an erogenous zone... I never would have guessed. For my twentieth birthday, a friend had gotten me a day pass to a local spa. I'd gone, gotten the whole pampering thing done, and they offered to shampoo and cut my hair for me. It had been a while since I got a haircut, so I agreed. The moment that woman put a finger on my head, I was lost. The entire session couldn't have lasted more than half an hour, but when I finally stood I felt that days had gone by. I shakily thanked the girl and hurried back home to wonder about my new fetish.

Since then, I'd been very particular about who I let touch my hair. So why had I agreed when Janet offered? Why had I looked into her eyes and said, "Sure, sounds like fun" when she'd offered to trim my hair? I could barely think straight when she wasn't touching me. But now, here I was... sprawled on a chair in her kitchen, dripping wet in more ways than one, with her fingers saying strange and wonderful things to the lower half of my body.

The sink sprays again and I realize Janet's fingers are gone. She sprays the excess shampoo from my hair, smoothing the strands down again by stroking my head like I'm a pet. Janet's petting me. Calm down, Carter...

"Okay, you can sit up," she says and I comply. I couldn't deny her anything right now if I wanted to. She wipes her hands on a dish towel and instructs me to scoot the chair up. I do as told. She slips between the chair and the sink and picks up a pair of scissors. Two fingers on the back of my skull push my head forward and my chin is touching the towel over my chest.

Someone is now standing behind me with a pair of extremely sharp scissors. I'm at her mercy. I never before realized what kind of trust that took...

Her fingers are in my hair again. I feel a tug as she gets a length between two fingers and, a moment later, snickt, and she brushes off my shoulder.

She continues, I'm in a daze. Snickt, snickt, brush, brush, brush, "Turn your head a little this way," snickt, snickt. She holds up a mirror about ten minutes later. I blink and look at my reflection, turning my head a little each way. It was shorter, to be certain. Short enough for Hammond to breathe a little easier. But... if I said it was okay, that would mean the haircut was over. "Could it be a little shorter?" I ask.

"Sure," Janet says cheerfully, putting the mirror down. "Just don't ask for it too short. I left the razor in the upstairs bathroom."

What could she have been shaving in the bathr-- Oh. My. GOD, don't go there, Samantha Carter.

"O-okay," I manage. God, my mouth is dry. Her fingers are in my hair again. Heaven.

Snickt, brush, "Turn."

The mirror makes a return appearance and I look at myself. It's definitely short enough. Any shorter and Janet would have to run upstairs and get that razor... Stop It Now. I smile. "Yeah, that looks great."

She puts down the mirror and kneels in front of me. I blink at her as she stretches her arms out and softly lays her hands over my ears. I brilliantly say, "Uh."

She smiles. "Just checking to make sure you're even." One hand returns to hold my chin. "Hold still."

Stop looking into her eyes. Stop looking into her eyes. Okay, I stopped. Her tongue is poking out of her mouth. Stop looking at her tongue. Stop looking at her tongue. Oh, the top button of her blouse is undone. Kill me now.

"Looks good to me," she says eight years later. She brushes my shoulders, blows an errant strand off my ear (God in Heaven, You DESPISE me, don't You?) and removes the towels from my collar. "You were an excellent patient," she says brightly. I look down at her, not ready to end this night. She has to know it wasn't just a haircut, right? I mean... she simply has to have felt at least half of what I felt. Right?

"Janet," I say. I put my hand on her shoulder. "I--"

I hesitate too long and she fills the silence with her own fears. Her smile falls. "I cut it too short, didn't I?"

"No, not at all!" I assure her. "No, I love it! It's just that... I..."

'SAY IT!' I scream at myself. 'I love you. I want you. You make me have so many strange feelings that I'm scared by how much I want to feel them for the rest of my life.'

"I..."

'I am in love with you. I want to make love to you. I want to be yours and have you for myself.'

"I'd really like to return the favor."

Stupid tongue.

Janet's smile returned, a little confused this time. "Do I need a haircut?"

I reach up and touch her soft hair. Do I even know how to cut hair? I'd probably make her look like Teal'c. Or Dad. "Not really," I admit. "But... I don't... I..." I look down. "I don't know. I'm stupid."

"Sam," Janet chides with a smile. "You're not stupid. Far from it."

"I'm stupid at this," I correct. I'm near tears. Goddamnit, why did I come here tonight.

"Sam, are you crying?"

"No," I turn to flee. The door, salvation, is mere feet away. Janet is faster than I am and steps in front of me. Right in front of me. Her hands are on my shoulders, her face is right in front of mine. I blink at her through the tears I denied. She looks heartbroken. Like she did something wrong. Like it's her fault that I'm gay. I close my eyes and I feel her envelope me completely. This couldn't just be a hug. I've had hugs. This is... more. She's all around me.

"I love you," I finally blurt out.

"Ah, Sam," she breathes. "Ah, Sam," she repeats, brushing my extremely short hair. "I love you, too."

She doesn't get it. "No, Janet, not..."

"Sam, I understand."

And then I get it.

It was more than a haircut for her, too.