The Osculating Supposition

A/N: I own The Big Bang Theory. (Ha! Bazinga!) As always, I own nothing. I'm just playing in someone else's sandbox.

This will be a short Shamy story that covers a topic I've been thinking about for a while. As I don't believe the writers of Big Bang Theory will be tackling this for a little bit yet, I have decided to write how I think it could go. This story takes place at the end of Season Six and has absolutely nothing to do with anything else I have written thus far (or will write in the future). I dedicate this little tale to my friend, Becca, who dared me to write a story entirely from Sheldon's POV; and to my BBT buds Cait, Chloe, and Ar—'cause they are so cool (especially to Ar and the love of his life, "C". Your love story, Ar, TRULY inspires me :P).

ONE

Sheldon Cooper wasn't one to eavesdrop. There were three logical reasons why—in descending order of consequence. One, it was improper behavior for a Southern gentleman; two, he had more important things to do, and, three, conversations which one usually wanted to overhear tended to involve talk of feelings, gossip, and secrets.

All subjects better to be avoided as far as he was concerned.

When one heard one's name being bandied about, however, logic had no choice but to bow to the power of curiosity. It was for this reason that he was currently standing in the stairwell on the fifth step down from the fourth floor pressed against the wall listening to his girlfriend and her friends talk about him as he clutched the long-lost mate of his favorite pair of blue-and-red-striped socks in his hand.

"C'mon, Amy," Bernadette said, her voice slightly slurring from the after effects of a girls' night out with Penny, "you're really telling us—after all that time you spent alone in Sheldon's room the night of the Dungeons and Dragons game—you didn't even get a little lip-lock?"

"No," Amy affirmed.

His girlfriend, at least, appeared to be in full control of her faculties. For this, Sheldon was relieved. He didn't like it when Amy drank. He also didn't like the present topic of conversation. What business was it of theirs what happened in the privacy of his bedroom? And, for the record, he had kissed Amy—and much, much more. It just so happened that it had all occurred while in a role-playing scenario, which—to Sheldon's mind at least—was better than if he had actually touched her physically. Less germ transference that way. Amy understood and, in the subsequent weeks, had seemed more content in their relationship than ever. She doesn't need me to kiss her to know she's important to me. Sheldon nodded to himself, feeling secure in his logic.

There was a jangle of keys and a giggle that through a simple process of deduction he realized was coming from his blonde neighbor. "Of course he didn't kiss you. That would mean Moon Pie would actually have to touch you. He'd be too afraid of germs."

Sheldon reared away from the wall as if he'd been burned. Suddenly, his secure feeling wasn't so secure.

"I honestly don't know why you stay with him, Amy," Penny continued. "I know you find his quirks hot and all—and that's kind of sweet—but the lack of physicality has gotta be driving you nuts. Leonard's only been gone a week, and I'm already crawling the walls wanting him back. How have you survived dating Sheldon for this long and not having him? You want him. I can tell. Three years and not even a kiss? That's torture."

"I've kissed him," Amy argued. "Twice. You know this, Penny. You were there to see one of them. Unfortunately, I have no memory of the first kiss. However, Sheldon said it occurred; so that counts."

"Those weren't real kisses, Amy. They were pecks. Kisses are hot and moist with a little tongue action. Pecks are what you give your mother," Penny said.

A memory slammed into him without warning. That night. Her couch. Amy's mouth against his. So unexpected. The smell of cigarettes in the air, alcohol and cranberries on her breath. Her lips. So soft. The pressure. The heat. So hot. Skin against skin. All thoughts … gone. Sheldon had barely registered the fact that she was kissing him when she'd abruptly pulled away. He remembered wanting to pull her back to him, to try that again. Just as quickly, he'd been shocked to even consider this. Sheldon Cooper wanted to kiss someone without thought of bacteria, or physical contact? Yet, in that moment, he'd never wanted anything more. He'd thought he knew everything there was to know about kissing. Yet, in an instant, he'd come to realize just how wrong he was.

"Fascinating."

Sheldon remembered uttering that. What else was there to say? He hadn't been this surprised in a long time. Then, before he could say anything else, she'd run from him and spent the next forty minutes vomiting. He'd considered this turn of events a blessing later. It had saved him from acting on an insane impulse. Because surely that was what the instinct of wanting to kiss her again had to have been.

She'd kissed him the night he'd given her the tiara, of course. Yet, again, the contact was so sudden and so brief and there had been so much more going on he hadn't recorded little more than the tingle left behind from her mouth brushing against his and the feel of her body smashing his in a hug. He'd been so relieved she'd forgiven him—that their confusing argument was over so things between them could go back to the way they were—he'd pushed all the rest of it out of his mind.

No, Penny was wrong. The kisses he and Amy had shared were real all right, more real than he'd ever wanted to admit to anyone.

He waited for his girlfriend to defend him, to defend their relationship, those kisses, but she didn't. Moving up, he peeked around the wall in time to see Amy take the keys from Penny's clumsy hands and insert one into the door. It swung open, and she and Bernadette helped their overly-inebriated friend inside. The door closed behind them with a sense of foreboding finality.

Like an alarm clock going off inside his body, a compulsion rose within him to continue on to his apartment. Go. They were gone. Go. It was late. Go. If he hadn't managed to misplace a sock in the dryer downstairs, he would never have been here. Go. He'd be asleep right now—blissfully unaware of all of this.

For once, logic didn't make him feel better.

You're late. Schedule. Bedtime. Go. Go. Go. Your brain functions at optimum conditions only if you receive the required minimum eight hours of rest. He glanced at his watch. 11:36 pm. Already late. If he went to sleep right now, he would have exactly seven hours and twenty-four minutes of sleep—twenty-two minutes once one counted the time needed to get inside his apartment, get to his bedroom, and settle into bed—before he had to get up for paintball. The need to adhere to his ingrained schedule was becoming harder to ignore. Thus, he reached the landing of the fourth floor and headed straight for his own abode.

Penny doesn't think my kisses with Amy are real. Does Amy agree? His mind shot back to the night of Dungeons and Dragons. Sheldon was still surprised he'd been able to accomplish all that he had. As far as experiments went, it was a smashing success. Perhaps if I can complete coitus in that manner, he told himself, one day I can accomplish it in reality. A delicious zing of anticipation mixed with fear ran through him like a shiver.

What if Amy didn't see it that way? What if she'd been disappointed? She'd said she wanted more. He'd thought he was giving it to her. His eidetic memory showed him with perfect clarity that night. He was by no means an expert at reading facial expressions, but he knew Amy. She had seemed happy with the progression of the evening. She'd appeared nervous—like him—but still happy.

What if I'm wrong?

It wasn't a question he often asked himself. Most people would assume this stemmed from an arrogance in a belief that he was always right. It wasn't. Sheldon was a careful person by nature. He thought everything out meticulously and then rethought it several times, considering every possible ramification to his actions before he completed anything. He was a master at using his imagination to completely visualize every facet and scenario before anything was considered possible to him.

Tonight, his imagination told him his being wrong in this instance was not only possible, it was probable.

He stopped with his hand on the knob. I could listen at the door. She'll defend me, and I'll feel better. With that, he forced away the need to go to bed and raced across the hallway. After a moment of indecision about the cleanliness of front doors, Sheldon pushed his cheek against the wood and used his superior hearing to try to catch what was being said inside.

"C'mon, Amy! There's no one here but us. Tell us the truth. Haven't you ever thought about being with someone else?" Penny asked.

Surging closer, Sheldon fought to hear her reply over the slamming of his heart in his chest.

Amy said, "Sheldon and I have a relationship of the mind first and foremost. He fascinates me like no other. He's brilliant and one-of-a-kind. I understand him better than I understand anyone and, moreover, he understands me."

"We understand you. It took a little while, but we do. You could find someone else. You wouldn't lose us as friends if that is what you're afraid of," Penny replied.

"You don't understand me like he does. It's refreshing to have someone I can converse with that I don't have to explain my thinking or reasoning to. Even when I was a child, no one completely understood me—not like Sheldon does."

There was a clink of glass. Then, Bernadette spoke. "I feel the same way about Howie. It's like we're the same soul trapped in different bodies. But, when we were first going out and he wouldn't make a move on me, that notion didn't stop me from breaking up with him. A woman's got needs, after all."

"Exactly!" Penny exclaimed.

"My only need is for Sheldon."

"That's what I'm saying, Ames," Penny said. "Look, I know he's trying with you. He's trying harder with you than he's ever tried in the years I've known him. But, let's face facts here. He may be thinking about it, but thinking isn't doing, sweetie. What happens if he's never ready to take your relationship to the next level?"

There was a long pause. For a moment, Sheldon thought he'd lost his ability to hear. Surely that was the only reason he hadn't been able to decipher an answer from his girlfriend. Adrenaline ran rampantly through his veins, sweat dotted his upper lip until he had to brush it away with his hand, and he was pretty sure he was having some kind of cardiac arrhythmia. He made a mental note to schedule an appointment with his cardiologist tomorrow. No doubt, it was time for his bi-annual EKG.

Finally, Amy spoke. Unfortunately, he was only able to discern a little of what she said because her voice was so low, almost to a whisper level.

"… feel about him … my passions are great … Sheldon can't …"

Sheldon was as close as he could physically be without actually being the in Penny's living room. What is Amy saying? Is she going to break up with me? Raw fear coursed through him. He'd been so content with the success of their night together and so busy dealing with how the loss of Leonard was taking its toll on his schedule and his life, that he'd never considered this.

Oh, God. I'm wrong. She's going to break up with me. What I did … it's not enough. He briefly considered breaking into the apartment—Penny never locked it anyway when she was home so it was simply a case of turning the knob—walking up to Amy and laying one on her. But he couldn't. Something kept him cemented to his present location, listening to his world end in the hallway of his apartment building.

"So does that mean you're going to break up with him?"

Then, there was her voice—as sweet as an angel's. "No. I belong with Sheldon. I know it—just like I know I belong in neurobiology. If we're physical, it would be wonderful. However, if he can't ever be intimate with me, I will accept what affection he can give."

He was relieved, bewildered, happy, and so much more. His shoulders sagged as he all but fell away from the door to stumble closer to his apartment. He couldn't stand to listen anymore. Amy isn't leaving me. Amy isn't leaving me. Amy isn't leaving me. Sheldon chanted that to himself like he was a witch trying to ward off evil.

He slipped inside his living room, tossing the keys in the bowl as he made his way to the kitchen. He went through the motions of making tea, his brain abuzz with all that he'd heard.

Sheldon replayed it all in his mind, each word, each syllable uttered, the inflections in their tones, their pitches, the way they enunciated the consonants and rolled their vowels—trying to deduce any hidden meanings he might have missed. As he was not one for picking up double entendres, this was an exercise in futility. The only meaning he could deduce was that Penny and Bernadette had encouraged Amy to break up with him and she'd refused.

Strikes. Penny and Bernadette. Two each. Penny would have to take the class again, but he didn't care. They were lucky he didn't give them each three. Bernadette had never before received a strike. He would have to explain what it meant to her. At the trial. Yes, this is definitely going to trial. They need to explain themselves.

As quickly as he decided this, he considered something else. By doing this, he would have to disclose his own infractions. Eavesdropping. Sheldon pondered this further. No, there was no way around it. Plus, there was the added humiliation of Amy knowing that he knew what she'd said about him. It could make things between them more emotional than his comfort level would allow.

"Drat. No trial. No strikes," he said as he gulped down his chamomile tea. He hissed as the hot beverage burned his tongue.

Taking his cup with him, he walked over to the couch and sat in his spot. Sheldon hated the feeling of burned taste buds, but his mind was too full of all he'd learned for him to take notice of them. His emotions were in a riot—something he hated more than anything. People thought he couldn't handle emotions, which was the furthest from the truth. He could handle them—just not so many at once. They inundated him, blocking his ability to stay logical and calm.

He closed his eyes, trying to remember the trick Meemaw had taught him as a child to handle this kind of situation. As if she were standing right next to him, he could hear his grandmother's soothing voice play in his head. Take them one by one, Moon Pie. Name them along with why you feel that way and then put them away. He nodded to himself.

Anger. That was the first one. He was angry at Bernadette and Penny. Why would they try to talk Amy into breaking up with him? Surely they realized how essential she was for his continued well-being? Didn't they care at all?

Relief. He was relieved Amy had said what she said. The knowledge that she was willing to accept whatever physical affection he could give her was comforting and took a lot of pressure off. He'd been pushing himself more and more, but it was still so difficult. It wasn't so much that he minded touching Amy. Touching her wasn't like touching anyone else. Her hygiene standards were clearly at the same level as his own. Yet, his skin sweeping against hers was still so difficult and exhausting. The explosion of emotions in his brain when they touched was overwhelming, too many emotions and sensations for him to ever be able to adequately sort and classify. He wondered if she knew that. Maybe I should explain, tell her how I feel.

What? Like a hippie? Sheldon scoffed and looked away.

Happiness. Amy wasn't breaking up with him. Life would continue on as before. It was an invigorating feeling, especially considering Leonard's recent defection. Sheldon knew his schedule couldn't handle another major shift at this time. Furthermore, he had a sneaking suspicion that losing Amy would do more than merely wreck his schedule, it might also—No. This isn't an episode of Dr. Phil. I don't need to explore that.

Bewildered. Amy was all right with him taking things at his own pace. However, at the same time, she clearly wanted more. What if he wasn't able to give it to her? She'd said she would be content with whatever he was able to offer. What if she changed her mind? Women often did this. The earlier relief vanished.

It had taken all he had to complete the Dungeons and Dragons role-playing sex. Surely she knew this? He'd never been more uncomfortable, afraid, intimate, and—he gulped—aroused in his life. Arousal was a heady feeling. It had taken him a moment or two to catalogue that particular emotion. That was what it was, though. He remembered at the point when their characters had been in the throes of chasing their coital passions to their natural conclusions. He and Amy had shared a look. His eyes had inadvertently drifted to her lips and he'd been overcome by the insane urge to kiss her, to mark her as his in much the same way his Elvin magic user was marking her half-Orc warrior.

Then, Amy had looked away from him, staring down at clenched fists in her lap. Her cheeks were tinged with a pink that he found utterly delightful. He clasped his own hands as they ached to reach out and touch her. He didn't only want to touch her. He wanted to lay her back on his bed, push the book between them to the floor and—Simultaneously, he'd been struck with an unyielding, paralyzing fear that kept him rooted to his spot.

If it hadn't been for that, who knew what he would have done? No. Not thinking about it. He'd survived the night, feeling confident that he had managed to deliver an acceptable level of intimacy and physical affection to his girlfriend to not only help her understand how vital she was to him, but also to demonstrate how much he was trying to be what she needed.

Are you trying?

This flagrant question came from nowhere.

"Yes, but I'm not ready for coitus," he said, knowing it was ridiculous to be sitting here in an empty apartment talking to himself.

You don't need to have coitus. There are other ways to show her you're trying, that you recognize the importance of her needs as well as your own.

"I have already demonstrated this. Amy knows. She just said so."

You could kiss her.

"I can't," he immediately said. "The germs, the saliva …" He shuddered.

You don't mind with her, remember? You could kiss her.

The thought wasn't as wholly unwelcome as was before. If anything, his body fairly jumped in anticipation as if he'd just been offered the chance to drive a train. Sheldon took another sip of his tea, settling back into his spot as the concept flooded his brain. All thoughts of schedules, bedtime, and paintball were gone. There was only him, a mug of tea, an empty apartment, and this supposition.

"I could kiss her."

He pondered the idea, considering it from every facet. His imagination bloomed. Sheldon could see it all before him until everything around him was gone except for him and Amy. He was leaning over, pressing his mouth against hers. Somehow, saying it aloud and seeing it in his mind made the concept all the more real. And, the more real it got, the less frightened he was.

"Fascinating."