AN: This story takes place between the season finale of season 3 and prior to the upcoming season 4.
Troy spent more and more time in his bedroom (often with Britta) that summer, and she had so much studying to do for her summer classes. At the times he wasn't making his way through the entire Whedon catalogue, you could find Abed in the new Dreamatorium. Unlike the old days, when she could hear Troy and Abed acting out scenes from Inspector Spacetime, Abed was completely silent, save moments he would sigh suddenly and breathe sharply.
She asked him what he did in there those long hours, and he simply replied, "Imagine things." He had even moved a chair into the small box, and she pretended he sat in there, a small smile on his face imagining…
There was no way he imagined the things she did. Her grade point average slipped to an embarrassing 3.95 that summer, its path trailing downward in an inverse relationship to the amount of time she spent rendering imaginary dreamscapes of her and Abed while laying on her bed.
She wasn't sure when it began. Sometime after Christmas, no doubt. Sure, there had been that kiss during paintball, and the Don Draper incident, but that was just in the moment, right? It had to have been Christmas. She had seen Abed in those silly green pajamas dozens of times, but that night, he'd looked so ruffled and vulnerable and… cute. Realizing that she even noticed had felt strange.
Waking up that night covered in a sheen of sweat with the memory of a rather lucid dream starring Abed's hands touching her in rather intimate places had felt even stranger.
Since then, she had spent many evenings curled up on the futon next to him, eating buttered noodles and sipping special drink, working up the nerve to tell him her feelings had changed. Invariably, just as she finally got up her courage, Troy and Britta would emerge from Troy's room, and Troy would do something silly that would distract Abed. So she took to her room – studying, supposedly – and let her imagination run wild.
On the day their spring final exam had been postponed, Abed had finally allowed her into the Dreamatorium—the old one—and had kissed her, albeit as Jeff. That kiss had acted like a catalyst for all of her pent up feelings, and her daydreams had gone into hyperdrive. As she repeatedly told Abed that she no longer wanted Jeff, she came so close to adding, "Because I want you!" but couldn't conjure up the nerve.
She spent her summer wondering what was it that Abed dreamed about, all alone in his glorified refrigerator box. As she lay in her bed, her hands moving of their own accord to her most intimate spots, she imagined he daydreamed of her, guessing what his dreams of her might be. Even Abed would be proud of how "meta" she was getting.
Though daydream-Abed was becoming ever more forward, actual-Abed's behavior toward her did not change at all. The whole summer they sat, each at their own respective end of the couch, catching up on seasons of Buffy and Angel and fighting about whether or not what happened to Wash in Serenity was fair or just an unfortunate case of Whedoning. He would wish her goodnight and sweet dreams each night, and she went to bed, her frustration carving a path through the massive package of batteries she had gotten at Sam's.
Weeks and weeks went by, and her fantasies took a surprisingly lascivious turn. She imagined what it would be like to take him, in the Dreamatorium, as he sat there imagining. The fantasy would lot leave her, and a plan was set into motion. After all, Annie Edison was nothing if not a planner. Determining he would not accept her advances in reality, she decided to render them for him. Dressed in a simple skirt and blouse, and forgoing panties for the first time in her life, she slipped on the heels that would give her that slight extra height she might need for leverage. She tiptoed through the living room, hoping to catch him unawares in the Dreamatorium.
Her fear threatened to overtake her, but she was determined. The worst that could happen was that he would reject her outright, and she supposed she could always find a room in some abandoned wing of Pierce's mansion. She was Pierce's favorite, after all. Squaring her shoulders, she slipped her hand through the crack in the cardboard and slowly opened the door.
He sat there in those ridiculous pajamas, regardless that the apartment was hot this last week of summer break, eyes closed, hands flat on his thighs. He breathed slowly, almost meditatively, and his lips twitched every now and again. He was deep in thought, and Annie almost worried that she might frighten him with contact, ruining everything before it began. Swallowing down her fear, she reached out to caress his cheek.
He leaned into her touch immediately, his eyes still closed, before turning his head and placing a kiss on her palm. Emboldened, she stepped into the box, one foot on either side of his. Abruptly, his hands came up to her waist, and he pulled her down into his lap, her legs straddling him just as she had imagined so often. Her other hand found his face, and she leaned down to kiss him, grinding into him as she did.
The kiss stopped before it started when she realized he was already hard.
Her eyes flew open (when had she closed them?) but his were still shut. She breathed in sharply, worried that she was making a mistake, and the parting of her lips gave him everything he needed to close the gap and kiss her, hard. All the months of want and need poured out of her, and she attacked his mouth, sucking his bottom lip between her own and biting down softly. He groaned and she shifted, covering his mouth with hers and plunging her tongue into its warmth.
As their tongues battled, his hands finally moved from her waist, one sliding up under the back of her shirt moving toward the clasp of her bra, the other down to her thigh and up under her skirt. As his hand moved ever closer to its prize, she tangled her hands deeper into his hair, anchoring herself for what was to come.
She felt his hands ghost across her naked hip, and he pulled away and smiled. Her bra unclasped, his other hand found her waist, and he ground her into him, a low growl in his throat. She took the opportunity to shift, nibbling his ear before sucking the sensitive spot just behind it. His grasp tightened, and she was sure she would find bruises in the morning.
Pulling back, she grasped the edges of her shirt and quickly divested herself of the blouse, followed by her bra. As his hands came up to touch her, she batted them away, attacking the buttons on his top. Skin quickly met skin, and the few, sparse hairs on his chest tickled her breasts as she pressed against him, her hands roaming his back as his mouth again found hers. One of his hands came up to the back of her neck while the other snaked between their bodies to cup a breast.
Without warning, his fingers grasped at her hair and bent her neck back sharply, his mouth moving to her collarbone, the fingers on her breast kneading and pinching. She arched her back and his mouth moved to her other breast, his teeth encircling a nipple, his tongue flicking over the sensitive tip.
After months of imagining, she never had thought this would be so intense. The more she moved, the wetter she became, and she was sure the front of his pajamas would show for it. She could feel the hard, hot length of him through the fabric of his pants, and she longed to rip them away from him and plunge his shaft into her warm, wet heat.
He must have read her mind, as at the instant, his hand moved between them and shoved at the elastic waist of his pants. His cock was freed, and she looked down between them, marveling at the effect she had had on him. She only hoped it really was her that he was imagining, as his eyes had not yet opened.
His hand moved to her center and ghosted over her nub before two fingers quickly plunged into her depths, coaxing her wet heat from within her, preparing her for what came next. So relieved she had had the foresight to wear heels, she raised herself enough allow him to align himself at her center, and slowly, she sank down.
She watched a series of emotions pass over his face, and tentatively, she squeezed him with her inner walls. He smiled slightly before quickly grasping her hips, bringing her back up, and slamming herself down on him again. She held back a gasp, knowing any sound on her part might break the Dreamatorium's spell. Instead, she cradled her face between her palms and kissed him again, letting him move her hips over him. She had never had sex from this angle, and the feeling was exquisite, the tip of him slamming into that perfect spot again and again.
The sensation was so intense, she could only hold on for dear life, her arms encircling his shoulders, her face buried in his neck. One hand left her waist and moved to her clitoris, the pressure he placed there sending shockwaves through her body. She climaxed, hard, a wave of warmth moving through her. His hips, which had been keeping a steady, mounting rhythm, jerked erratically, and his hands gripped her waist painfully. His head tipping back, he sighed loudly. She heard him lick his lips before a word passed from between them.
She pulled back suddenly and looked him in the face, his eyes still closed. How had he known? She hadn't used her full name in years, not since every single WASP of an elementary teacher had failed to pronounce it right. Chana, not Hannah. It rhymes with Donna, thank you very much. And yes, you do have to "hhhh" when you say it. Her beautiful, Yiddish name, given to her by her parents in memory of her great-grandmother, G-d rest her. Chana-cum-Hannah had turned into Anna, which had been diminutized to Annie. Only her parents called her Chana now.
And yet somehow, ever observant Abed had gleaned her true name, had whispered it at his moment of climax. Could it be…?
"Abed," she whispered, her eyes glued to his face hoping he would open them and see what he had imagined. She could feel her face turning into her Disney face and hoped he wouldn't mock her.
He smiled, his eyes finally opening. "Maybe the old Dreamatorium was strong enough to make this feel so real, but I didn't think the new would could augment my imagination this well."
"So you knew? The whole time?"
"No. I think I realized it the moment I realized my hand wasn't doing all the work this time."
He looked down, embarrassed at his own crude joke, and she giggled.
"How did you know it was me?"
"I'd know the feel of your kiss anywhere, Chana. It wasn't our first, you know."
She smiled. "And my name?"
"Your school ID card. And your credit card bills. Troy's an idiot if he hasn't noticed by now."
"So this whole summer? You've been in here imagining this?"
"Well, not the whole summer," he grinned. "Sometimes you were Geneva."
She smacked his arm playfully. "Well if that's the case, follow me into my room. I'll show you what that quantum spanner's really for."
"You really don't know what a spanner is, do you…"
"Quiet, Abed. You'll ruin the moment."
The idea that Annie's real name was something Hebrew/Yiddish came to me in the wee hours of the morning. I'm honestly not sure why, but I had to figure out some way to weave that into a story. Hope you enjoyed it!