Author's Note: Of course inspiration would strike right before Valentine's Day is over and at the most inconvenient time. OH WELL. It had to be written. Here it is, a little Shamy Valentine's Day fluff!

Sheldon sat unusually straight in his spot, eyes fixed on the television. His arm lay draped across Amy's shoulders. She was more relaxed, legs up and tucked close as she nestled into his side. An untouched glass of deep red wine rested on the coffee table alongside a glass of strawberry quik.

He knew what it was he wanted. What he wanted to do. He just wasn't quite sure how to proceed.

The documentary chronicling the history of Saint Valentine and the resultant modern holiday droned on. Sheldon already knew most of the information, but Amy had claimed that watching it would be a good compromise to celebrating the day - something relevant and educational, without having to dress up and leave the house to partake in the overdone and indulgent corporate holiday. They opted for a home-cooked meal before the program and had a new set of (also relevant) vocabulary cards for Amy's made-up language to run through afterward.

All of that was lost on him though as he stared at the top of Amy's head. The shine of her hair caught the various colors that the television projected and he found himself entranced. It seemed that with each new color, he smelled another piece of her - her shampoo, the after dinner mint she'd eaten, the unique scent of her clothing.

Sheldon gulped imperceptibly. Amy shifted a little, removing her hand from across his stomach to scratch at her nose before resuming her hold. He was nervous, and simultaneously irritated at himself for being so ridiculous. It was no secret that they shared small amounts of physical affection quite regularly, but those displays typically adhered to a schedule. Deviation from said schedule was rare and usually involved high-strung emotions.

But there were no extraneous hormonal surges present here. Just a simple evening at home, cuddling on the couch, watching a program... on Valentine's Day.

Sheldon closed his eyes and counted to ten. When he opened them again, his gaze landed on the glass of wine from which Amy had yet to drink. Should he? Could he?

Of course he could - it wouldn't be the first time.

Steeling his resolve, Sheldon reached forward.

"Sheldon, what are you..."

Amy immediately grew silent. And Sheldon knew exactly the reason why. As his hand grasped the stemmed glass, he was suddenly and acutely aware that the motion had pushed Amy's hand directly into his lap. Bright eyes the size of saucers, Sheldon lurched to the edge of his seat, Amy's hand slipping off and onto the couch. She managed to balance herself upright before she fell sideways and they stared at each other, Sheldon flushing, Amy allowing an embarrassed grin to spread across her face.

Pretending that hadn't just happened, intent on sparing Sheldon further mortification, Amy coughed and asked, "Did you want some wine, Sheldon?" She kept her outward surprise to a minimum as her curiosity for whatever it was Sheldon was attempting grew.

"Just one sip," Sheldon said quietly, cheeks burning. As if to emphasize his point, he drew the glass to his lips and swallowed more of a mouthful than a sip, unable to suppress the grimace that followed. Yucky.

Amy didn't mind that he hadn't asked. He had allowed her to steal a blueberry from their earlier dessert, so it only seemed fair. However, noting Sheldon's look of displeasure at something he had decided to do himself, she felt compelled to figure out the reason for this peculiarity, asking, "Why did you want some if you knew you wouldn't enjoy it? Were you hoping your opinion had changed?"

Sheldon set the glass down and gripped his knees. "Not particularly," he replied slowly. He could feel the gentle burn winding down his esophagus, warming his extremities.

Amy paused the documentary and perched on the edge of her seat. Facing her fidgety boyfriend, she sent him a puzzled expression. "Is something wrong, Sheldon?"

Oh lord. Oh dear. Her posture was so lovely, the resonance of her sweet voice caressing his auditory canals, her gaze so curious and brilliant and genuinely concerned for his well-being all the time that he didn't give it another thought, murmuring, "Not at all..." before pressing his lips to hers.

Oh, yes. She tasted like blueberries. Sheldon resolved to perfect a recipe for blueberry-laden brownies in the future. Everything felt warm and comfortable as their lips moved together, then warred for each other. It was the most dizzying embrace either of them had yet experienced, alone in Sheldon's apartment, the lingering aromas from their dinner fueling their hunger for one another.

When they broke apart, Amy realized that they had shifted back on the couch, one of her legs draped over Sheldon's lap while his arms clung to her waist and neck, both of them breathing heavily. Amy rested her forehead against Sheldon's, grateful when he didn't pull away. "What was that all about?" she whispered.

Sheldon gulped again, licking his lips and allowing himself to find comfort this close to another human. "I just really wanted to do that. The wine was meant to be liquid courage, as the colloquialism goes."

Amy smiled softly, losing herself in the deep blue pools nestled in the face of her sweet babboo. "You know you can trust me, right?"

Sheldon nodded, brushing his nose against hers.

"Good." Amy planted a gentle kiss on the corner of Sheldon's mouth before pulling away, picking up the remote to resume their program. "Maybe next time you won't even need the wine."

Sheldon pulled Amy back into their former cuddling position, nodding again and smiling in return. "I don't imagine I will. And Amy?"

Amy peered up at him, practically glowing with happiness. "Yes, Sheldon?"

"Happy Valentine's Day."