She's thought long and hard about their romance; some things are vague, some are planned. She's thought about it because she's in love with him and she can't help having fantasies of kissing him. Touching him. Spending the rest of her life with him.

And the thing is... they're all different. Some things location or situation specific. Some things in their life can be anywhere. The only constant is Josh. It's always him she's kissing. Or he's kissing her. They're kissing each other. It's him and it's her.

The fantasies change over time. Her desire to satisfy each one rises and falls depending on their relationship. Sometimes she forgets she wants to kiss him, forgets she loves because she hates him. Sometimes the craving to touch him is so strong that she can't bear to look at him because she's afraid she'll pounce.

And it started small; random almost. Sharing lunch one day he leans over and with a thumb wipes a smear of ketchup from her lips. And such a fantasy it could be. How easy it is for her to turn her face into his palm, his hand slipping to cradle her chin, pulling her close, skimming the side of her mouth with his.

It doesn't last long; he pulls his hand away and licks his thumb removing all traces of the ketchup and she pushes the kiss back away into her mind and they resume their banter. But deep inside she remembers the feel of his warm lips cleaning her skin and the way his eyes twinkle.

That particular dream stays with her for only a few days. It's replaced by something better. She's balancing precariously on a chair, attempting rather vainly to stuff books back onto his bulging shelves and Josh is sitting at his desk making smirky remarks about a ladder in her stockings. She turns to fling an insult back but loses her balance and quick as a flash he's there to steady her. He holds her, his arms wrapped around her thighs, head leaning against her hip until she's finished stacking.

He helps her down and she smiles and thanks him and he leans forward and presses a tiny kiss to her forehead and tells her that he could never forgive himself if she got hurt because he was too lazy to file things. He presses another tiny kiss upon her left eyelid before moving to her right then continues down, brushing his lips across one cheek then the other.

He finishes by lightly resting his mouth on her chin and she giggles rather breathlessly, something so unlike her that he starts laughing as well and tells her to get started on the other pile of books. Those six tiny kisses, as delicate as the flutter of air on her skin, stay with her for a week and every time she replays them in her mind she grins so insanely that people ask her if she's quite all right.

The setting for the next kiss is created when Josh takes her to dinner. It's a proper dinner, not three cartons of Chinese at his desk, or a burger and fries hurriedly snatched between meetings. He picks her up from her apartment; she's dressed in silk and he's wearing a freshly dry cleaned suit. He escorts her to a restaurant that has linen napkins and crystal cut glasses and waiters speaking with French accents.

He makes her order the most expensive thing on the menu and they laugh and talk about everything except work and when he drops her off on the doorstep of her building he rather awkwardly asks her to go out with him again. To another restaurant. With linen. Maybe with Italian-accented waiters. She nods shyly and he looks into her eyes and she looks back and his hand flutters to her waist and he pulls her flush against his body and kisses her. Full on the mouth. It's their first real kiss and it's pure and chaste.

She lives with the kiss for two weeks without having it replaced. It's perfect as is.

The next fantasy that takes residence in her mind is during a picnic. They grab take out from a cafe and lie on the grass by the Potomac and feed each other potato salad. Walking back to the White House the sun vanishes behind dark angry rain clouds and with a crash of thunder they find themselves soaked to the skin.

They start running, Josh pulling her by the hand; both of them are laughing as they try to dodge fat raindrops but it's no use, they can't possibly get any wetter so they slow down to a gentle stroll. As they round a bend in the path he stops walking and pulls her against his body and with rain splashing over their heads, he kisses her long and hard. She wraps her arms around his neck and water dribbles down her face, mingling with the soft warmth of his lips and he dips his tongue inside her mouth. It's the first time he's done that and she feels a jolt of electricity down to her toes.

They kiss for what seems like hours and while she's quite content to simply drown in the feel of his mouth, she also needs to breathe so she pulls away to nuzzle against his throat; she can feel his heart beating through his wet shirt and she wants to tell him she loves him but she can't. She isn't ready so she takes his hand again and they continue walking.

That remains her favorite fantasy for only a few hours. A new one is born in his office later that day.

Her hair is still moist from the rainstorm and she's huddled in Josh's chair, pressed up against the radiator because she's cold. She's dressed in a pair of his jeans and an old shirt, spare clothes she keeps for him in the office because of his propensity to get messy. The shirt is flannel and smells of his aftershave and her nose is pressed against the cuff, breathing deeply when he wanders in.

He's still in his suit, damp as well but now somewhat steamy because he's been standing under the hand dryers in the men's bathroom. She starts laughing because he looks so disheveled and sexy and when he threatens to fire her for being insubordinate she reaches up and grabs his tie, pulling him down so she can kiss him.

It's the first kiss she's initiated, and it's in his office and all three doors are open and she can't quite believe she's being so brazen about it; the idea that anyone could walk by and see them excites her and she kisses him feverishly, thrusting her tongue into his mouth. Both her hands grip his tie, keeping him bent over as she breaks away and grins. She likes this fantasy.

The next kiss is created the following evening; Josh drives her home and, at her invitation, follows her inside. She offers him a beer but he declines, pushing her against the kitchen counter, pressing his lips to hers. They don't stop at the one kiss - another follows, and another and his fingers are sliding inside her shirt and her hands are tugging at his belt.

She spends the night kissing every inch of his body and he responds in kind and afterwards she falls asleep in his arms. For two weeks that stays her favorite fantasy. Sometimes it's at her apartment, sometimes at his. The kisses she shares with him are full of love and desire but most of all, peace. She feels safe with him. She likes thinking about it at work when he yells at her; to stop herself yelling back, she simply remembers how she feels lying in his arms.

Time passes and she's content with the fantasy of kissing him while making love. She doesn't want more; she's happy thinking about the simple sweetness of getting to know his body; discovering what he does and doesn't like. She already knows he's not a morning person but she quickly realizes that if she slides into the shower with him he's immediately... up.

And thus her newest fantasy arises. They move on from the sweet, romantic, tender sex and into the hard and fast. She thinks up multitudes of places they can be together. In the shower, her leg hooks around his waist as steamy water beats down. He grabs her in the bullpen, asks to see her in his office because he has something very important for her to scribe and when all three doors are shut he pushes her onto his desk, his fingers scrabbling at her skirt and his mouth hot against hers. In his car as he drives her home, she bends down and pleasures him while he tries very hard not to run up onto the pavement.

The exhilaration of being seen leads her to craft several different scenarios. An abandoned store cupboard, the alcove halfway down the corridor to the Situation Room; she even grabs him outside the Oval Office, pushing him against the wall, biting his neck as he tries half heartedly to fend her off.

They cheat death as it were, because if anyone were to see them making out in the halls of the West Wing they'd both be teased mercilessly or yelled at incessantly. The thrill of danger excites her and for days she thinks up new ways they can almost get caught.

Again, time passes and it's a month later that she's sitting at her desk daydreaming instead of working. Josh creeps up behind and whispers in her ear that he wants her to move in with him and of course she doesn't have to think about it. She nods silently, ecstatically and he gathers her in his arms and kisses her to the cheers of the bullpen staff because their relationship has since become public and they don't care who sees them act all lovey-dovey.

She replays it in her mind and she can't describe the joy she feels. She belongs to Josh and Josh belongs to her. And once more, time passes and she revels in all her previous fantasies; repeats them, relives them when work is tiresome, when Josh is irritating, when life gets a little too frustrating. She just closes her eyes and remembers. And life is pleasant again.

She moves in with him and he allows her buy a bigger bed and never complains - at least not much - about her underwear drying in the bathroom. He watches sappy movies with her and rubs her feet when she's tired and their life is good because that's the way she imagines it.

Six weeks later her favorite fantasy is one involving pizza. It's not hot, not fast and furious, not desperate, not achingly romantic, she doesn't see stars and fireworks don't explode over her head.

It's simple. They're at home - their home - and the TV is on and she's got the remote control. Josh is on the couch and she's sitting on the floor leaning against his legs. His hands are playing with her hair, stroking the back of her neck, idly tickling the skin behind her ears.

She's channel surfing, trying to find something that isn't sport because they've just finished watching the Mets and she's sick of the flying testosterone. Pizza lies in an open box on the coffee table, half eaten. She's sipping a soda; the condensation on the bottle drips down her wrist and she wipes it on the leg of her jeans before reaching for another slice of pizza.

He scratches gently at the nape of her neck and tells her to hurry up and pick a damn channel and she drops her head back and looks up at him to stick out her tongue in response. He grins at her and says she's got pizza sauce on her face and he uses a thumb to wipe it off before licking his skin clean.

She says she loves him, because she does, and he says he loves her more because, of course, he does and he leans over to kiss her upside down lips. He tastes like pizza and beer and Josh and it's her favorite combination and she sighs into his mouth as his tongue slowly traces her lips, briefly dipping inside.

His chin rubs against her nose and she feels the roughness of his late evening stubble scrape her skin before he breaks away and lifts his head up. She lifts hers as well and resumes channel surfing while he goes back to playing with her hair.

That's her favorite fantasy now because it's just become reality and like all her other fantasies, the minute they become reality they also immediately become her favorite.

As she sits flicking through the channels with Josh's fingers sending tingles down her spine, she absently strokes her belly, images dancing through her mind as she snuggles back against his legs. This is where she wants to be right now but she knows that tomorrow morning when the shower fantasy becomes reality - and it becomes reality almost every day because neither can resist the appeal of hot water and a sponge - that's where she'll want to stay forever.

The memory of his fingers between her legs will roam through her mind as they make breakfast together; she'll butter the toast and he'll pour coffee for himself and juice for her and they'll squabble over who gets to read which section of the paper first. Their feet will play under the table and the only noise will be the turning of the pages until he says he has to go and she'll reluctantly walk him to the door where saying goodbye on the doorstep will quickly become her favorite image.

She knows Josh will kiss her long and hard and rub his nose against hers and tell her he loves her and he'll see her in a few hours. Tomorrow she'll go into work late because she has a doctor's appointment and she knows that she'll spend all morning fantasizing about grabbing him in the hallway until she finally does it and then she'll start imagining how she'll feel when he pushes her against his desk and nibbles on her neck again.

As she continues to flick through the channels she thinks it's a little silly to call each and every kiss she shares with Josh a fantasy. To label their relationship - their courtship - a fantasy. To describe their life, their home, their soon to be family as a fantasy. A fantasy is something pretend, something imagined, something invented.

She hasn't imagined all these kisses; she hasn't daydreamed about what it would be like to have his hands roam her body, to hear him say he loves her. Her life now isn't random pictures she's created in her mind, hoping against hope they'll one day come true. She doesn't need to do that.

They're all true. From the first brush of his lips against the side of her mouth, cleaning the ketchup off her skin to the kiss they just shared on the couch, to the kisses they'll share tomorrow and the day after, and their life in years to come - everything is real. Josh fulfils her fantasies by making them realities and really... that's all she ever wishes for.

And she only calls them fantasies because they're all so magical.