A/N: Direct reference to the latest episode. You didn't think Amy could measure Sheldon's mole without me writing about it, did you?
There had been a time when Sheldon would only have asked for Leonard's help but as he never failed to notice, a lot of things had changed since then. And as he stood there before Amy, Sheldon couldn't help but think it was much nicer to ask her rather than Leonard.
Her answer wasn't coming, though, and Sheldon grew worried.
"What?" he said. "Has it grown so much that it's now eating my neck?"
And just as he was about to bolt out of Amy's living room and into her bathroom to check the damages caused by that evil mole, Amy finally spoke up, her voice hoarsier than usual.
"No, it's not eating your neck, and yes, I will measure it for you."
"Great," Sheldon smiled, and he sat down by her side, on that couch of hers that had seen far too many things happen between the two of them. (Their first kiss had been playing over and over in his head all summer long and sitting in the very spot where it had taken place wouldn't help.)
Amy stood up and got out of the living room to walk into her bedroom. She was back a few seconds later, a ruler in her hands. When she sat back by his side, she was much closer than she'd been before, and Sheldon's lips tingled at the memory of the first time she'd scooted closer to him on her couch.
It was odd – they'd spent the summer having Dungeons & Dragons coitus and his Elven Magic User had done unspeakable things to her Orc Warrior without much shame, but the simple idea of kissing Amy made him as frightened as the little boy he'd once been.
But Sheldon didn't have time to dwell on it, as Amy was tugging at his collar to measure his mole and his breath caught in his throat. Her fingertips grazed the tender skin of his neck, and he suddenly felt boiling hot, his whole body turning red. That was a sensation he'd felt before and that he had come to associate with Amy only. Leonard had touched him plenty of times – Sheldon still remembered that time he had inspected him for chair lice – but with him, Sheldon had never felt like a fire was spreading inside of him, pumping through his veins to make his heart combust in his chest. Amy. It was only Amy.
A few months ago, Sheldon wouldn't have known how to explain the phenomenon, but he'd since learnt what it all meant (he'd been playing Dungeons & Dragons all summer long, after all; he knew everything about desire, now) and it never failed to both amaze and scare him.
"Sheldon," she said, her voice even huskier than before, her eyes avoiding his. "Sheldon, I won't be able to measure the mole if... if you keep your shirt on."
Sheldon's mind went blank. It was one thing to acknowledge feelings and emotions (even if not out loud, and only to himself), but it was another to take his clothes off in front of his girlfriend, in the very spot their relationship had shifted, two years and a half before. Sheldon knew what always comes after stripping, and he wasn't ready for it.
"If you'd rather go home and have Leonard do it," Amy started, but Sheldon surprised both of them when he got up and quickly took both his tee-shirts off.
And there he stood, barechested in front of the very woman whose pale shoulders, cherry lips and beckoning pelvis he couldn't take off his mind, his heart pounding in his chest. They'd grown closer than ever over the summer, and she knew that she was the first person he had ever had any interest in being intimate with; they talked and even joked about intercourse, had never touched as much as they now did and had even fell asleep on his bed in more than one occasion after playing D&D, and it made being half naked before her all the more terrifying, for Sheldon had never been that close to throw his caution to the wind and just kiss her.
And as he sat back down on the couch, his eyes caught Amy's, and he knew that she wanted to kiss him and that she wanted him to kiss her even more. And as much as it tempted him, too, he just couldn't do it. Not there, not now. He would, one day. He would cup her face in his hands, caress her cheekbones, look at her deep in the eyes and kiss her. He would kiss her long and strong and proper, his mouth touching hers and pouring every single feeling she'd ever ignited deep inside him into her veins. He would watch her blush, become flustered, he would feel her breath quicken on his lips and feel her moan reverberate into every atom of his body, her frantic beating heart echoing his. He would kiss her, and he would do it so perfectly she would never want to kiss anyone else, because Sheldon Cooper always did things perfectly.
But that wasn't the night, and besides, he was really scared this mole might be a problem. He'd never kiss Amy Farrah Fowler if he were to die from a skin cancer, after all. So he just sat straight, pretending that he wasn't sitting in the spot where they'd first kiss, pretending that Amy's fingertips on his collarbone wasn't devouring his reason, pretending that he didn't know what it meant, to be barechested in one's girlfriend's appartment after dark. And when, a few minutes later, after she'd measure his mole and just before he had the time to get up and put his tee-shirts back on, she quickly kissed his shoulder, smiling that mischieving smile of hers as she looked away, Sheldon pretended that it didn't make his blood turn into lava.
"Good one," he croaked. "Mom always used to kiss my ouchies away."
Clueless, childish Sheldon. He'd had years to practice this act, even though he was now anything but.