This is my first story for this fandom; just a little idea I couldn't get out of my head... so here ya go :)
I really appreciate reviews, I always like to know what my readers think!
Disclaimer: I don't own Big Bang Theory
She's pretty sure hell is about to freeze over.
Or maybe the world is about to end.
Hell, maybe that's the same damn thing.
She's really not that smart.
Regardless something is not right with the universe, because crap on all the friggin' crackers she can't stop thinking about him.
It's infuriating; he crept up on her…the bastard.
It was his eyes.
Those big ole' baby blues.
It's okay though, because like all of her other schoolgirl crushes, she's pretty sure that this too will pass.
Or at least she hopes it will…
It's laundry night.
She's unsure why she's there, sitting on a washer in her tiniest pair of shorts and her flimsiest tank top, washing clothes that really, by her standards don't need to be washed at all.
Not even twenty minutes ago she was up in her apartment, rushing around, throwing any loose clothing she could find into her basket so she could make it down to the laundry room before him. So she could casually prop herself on top of a washer and lazily flip through a magazine while pretending as if she doesn't have a care in the world.
She feels pathetic.
When he enters the laundry room, his eyes widen fractionally at the sight of her, before he nods and greets her politely. Nodding back at him, she calls on every ounce of acting skills she possesses, trying to seem slightly bored by his appearance and much more intrigued by which celebrity People magazine had deemed worthy of gracing their front cover the week before.
After a slight internal battle in which she practically begs herself not to look over at him, she sighs and glances up, for only a second, but it's long enough to see a glittering of amusement cross his eyes before he goes about his routine task of Saturday night laundry.
Feeling stupid, she swears silently.
To make herself feel better, she decides to engage him in a conversation about his weekend plans, knowing most likely there isn't much written on his social calendar. He glances over at her curiously, seemingly considering her reasoning for inquiring about his social life. Quickly, she avoids his eyes and looks back down at her magazine, pretending to find the hottest nail trend so riveting that she barely has the time to spare him another glance. There's a slight pause but finally he goes back to paying close attention to how much detergent he's pouring into the machine he's standing over and as he completes his task, he answers her question carefully, droning on about his weekend plans...or lack thereof.
She becomes frustrated as he moves on to the next machine, rigidly pulling his clothes from his basket and carefully placing them into the washer. She's barely wearing a stitch of fabric, she's doing laundry on a damn Saturday, and the genius has barely batted an eye at her.
And while she knows she shouldn't be surprised because well…it's him, for some reason her feminine pride is wounded.
Annoyed, she hops off the machine, feeling the slightest bit of satisfaction when his eyes dart from his laundry to her barely dressed form. He leisurely brings his gaze up her body and she can feel an uncharacteristic blush heat her cheeks as he slowly takes in the sight of her.
Finally his eyes settle on hers.
She almost stumbles back in surprise when what she sees reflected so blatantly clear in them, registers in her baffled brain. She's seen that look before. And holy God in heaven, she has to be mistaken, because he doesn't feel things like desire and lust.
But it's there; it's clear as day in those pale blue eyes, and she feels her own widen as he stares at her unblinkingly.
Feeling light-headed she glances down at her painted toenails, breaking eye contact, and momentarily at a loss for words, she hesitates before mumbling something about needing to go get ready for a date.
Quickly she turns from him and exits the laundry room.
The feel of his eyes burning into the back of her head lingers on her body as she hurriedly walks away and dashes towards the stairs.
Later that night after canceling her date, she's curled up on her couch watching The Notebook, when she hears his signature knock. Swallowing over the sudden lump that has formed in her throat, she slumps down in her seat, willing him to go away. The knocks repeat and she sighs and rolls her eyes because the man is stubborn as hell and she knows that if he truly believes that she's in her apartment, he'll stand outside her door all night long calmly knocking and calling her name.
Muttering to herself about jackass geniuses she walks over to her door and throws it open, feeling slightly self-conscious as his eyes take in her pajama clad body and a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. She frowns, remembering that she had told him earlier that night that she had a date.
"You left these." His tone is neutral and as he holds out her laundry basket towards her, his face smooths back into a mask of indifference.
She grabs the basket, probably a little more harshly than she should and places it at her hip.
"Thanks." Her tone is clipped, and he raises a brow at the sound but doesn't say a word.
As they stand there silently, she staring at the floor and he most likely staring at her, she's unsure why she's so frustrated.
She's confused by her pounding heart. She's mystified about why she finds it impossible to meet his gaze. She's completely baffled by the sudden damp and clammy feel of her palms. She's completely and totally out of her element. But she knows one thing for certain…she's not about to stand in front of him, fidgeting under that inscrutable gaze of his while trying to figure herself out.
He on the other hand seems perfectly content standing outside of her apartment and making her feel uncomfortable.
So she does the first thing that comes to mind.
She shuts the door in his face, breaking the spell that those damn blue eyes so easily put her under.
It's another dateless weekend.
She wants to dance.
It takes a lot of convincing, maybe a little begging, perhaps some suggested promises, but it's not long after she waltzes across the hall to 4A in her favorite red dress that she's finally able to get the guys to agree to go with her to a club. And although some put up more of a fight than others, eventually she is able to happily walk into the club with all of her boys in tow. It's not too packed, she purposely chooses one of the less crowded establishments, knowing how awkward her guys are and figuring she shouldn't push her luck too much.
She loses the boys shortly after they enter the club. Three out of four of them need to pound back some liquid courage before they join her for a dance and the fourth...
She smirks; she's still surprised he even came out.
Quickly she heads for the dance floor; while the club isn't overly crowded, this particular area is crammed full of people, and she can feel a number of eyes on her as she begins to swing her hips to the rhythm of the music.
She's enjoying herself though.
It's been too long since she just let loose.
And she certainly doesn't mind being the center of attention. The hum of the music, the heat of the club, the buzzing of the shots she had sneaked before they left, all of it is leaving her a little dizzy and slightly breathless.
It's a bit thrilling.
As the music changes, she bites back a surprised squeal when a pair of rough hands grabs her hips, pulling her body up against a thrusting pelvis. Smirking, she turns around and faces a tall, well-muscled guy. His shirt is unbuttoned half way down his chest, revealing smooth and tanned skin, his hair is highlighted and perfectly groomed, and his eyes, a dark and dull brown, glare down at her in a hungry sort of way.
Not so very long ago she would have wrapped her arms around this delicious male specimen and engaged him in witty banter, lingering touches, and the promise of good and pleasurable things to come.
Now, she merely looks him up and down, and spinning away from him, shoots a teasing smile over her shoulder and continues to dance, feeling his dark eyes, now most likely laced with annoyance rather than hunger, watching her as she twirls away.
At a safe distance from unwanted groping hands, she continues to sway to the music, still aware of the eyes roaming over her figure as it fluidly moves to the fast-paced song.
It's not long before she feels a prickling of awareness creep its way across her skin and turning her head ever so slightly, she catches sight of him, standing in a corner just off to the side of the bar, nursing a soda and watching her with an intense blue gaze. His stare is unwavering and his hand is gripping his drink so tightly his knuckles have gone white. She's surprised to see him. She was sure that he was going to walk into the club, see the sweaty bodies, the grimy bar, and the sweltering atmosphere, and turn on his heel, running away from the germ infested place as fast as he could.
Instead he's still here.
And he's watching her, gripping his beverage as if it's his lifeline.
Interesting.
Drawing her attention to the firmly held glass, she finds herself wondering what it would feel like to have those hands on her waist gripping her just as tightly, digging long fingers into her sensitive flesh. Curiously she finds herself imagining those eyes, those damn pale blue eyes, staring down at her as they rock and sway, moving together and dancing in a completely different kind of way.
Feeling bold, she locks her gaze with his and swings her hips sinuously, continuing to hold his eyes as she does. And even though the song is fast, she slows down her movements and watches with slight surprise when instead of quickly looking away his mouth quirks up into a tiny smirk and he arches a brow in a silent challenge.
Her heart beats faster and the buzzing in her head has nothing to do with the shots she had thrown back before.
As his eyes continue to bore into her, she bites her bottom lip and although people surround them, she can't help but feel as if the moment she's having with him is completely intimate, private, sensual...hell it's downright erotic. She knows she should question her intentions, she knows that things could very quickly get awkward, and she knows glancing away from him, while admitting defeat to his silent challenge, is perhaps the safer route to take.
Yes, she's definitely aware of all this.
But she finds herself unable break eye contact.
Continuing to dance for him, letting the world around her slip away, she tunes out her protesting thoughts, and moves for him, slipping away from anyone who tries to get too close, and always, always, keeping her eyes on his.
And he doesn't move.
His eyes drink in the sight of her and she can't remember the last time she felt so stripped, so exposed.
Her body is hot; she's not sure if she can stand the heat of his stare much longer, the more she dances the closer she feels to spontaneously combusting, and a small smile tugs at her lips as she thinks this, because surely he would have a word or two to say about spontaneous combustion.
As she continues to smile at her inner thoughts, he tilts his head to the side, and good God Almighty what she wouldn't give to know what's going on behind that penetrating stare.
As the song changes again a couple stumbles into her, pushing her forward into a group of dancing women. She mutters her apologies and stepping back from the group, she allows a few people to brush past her, waiting impatiently for the path to him to clear.
When finally it does, he's no longer in her line of vision and she lets out a frustrated little sigh.
Briefly she wonders if she had imagined the whole thing.
Walking off the dance floor she shakes her head, missing the feel of his eyes on her.
She comes that night, her fingers work her body frantically and she pictures blue eyes hovering over her.
As her touch dances across her most sensitive spot, her imagination changes those pale blue orbs from challenging, to warm, to slightly mocking, to humor-filled, to desperate.
Closing her eyes, she tries to focus, tries to picture his gaze filled with intensity, with want and desire and need...for her.
As pleasure wracks her body she struggles not to sob out his name.
She fails.
She smells pizza.
Looking down at her bowl of soggy ramen noodles, she grimaces. She's not sure she can stomach another night of the cheap, overly seasoned food. Thinking about the steaming hot pizza, the gooey cheese and zesty marinara sauce, she sighs and places a hand to her grumbling stomach. Debating for a moment longer, she finally shrugs and figures that if they ordered pizza across the hall they most likely are expecting her to follow the scent to their apartment.
Tossing out the noodles she quickly heads to 4A, not even bothering with a knock, figuring that is also something they are expecting.
"Hello neighbor. Glad to see you could join us. I took the liberty of retrieving an extra plate for you."
She glances over at him and raises a brow at his slightly smug and condescending tone, but seeing that he's holding out a plate with a rather large slice of pizza on it, she bites her tongue and accepts it without question. His eyes hold hers for a moment and she sees a slightly triumphant look flash in their blue depths; briefly she wonders what small victory he's celebrating in that big ole' brain of his.
Giving the rest of the boys a tight smile she walks over to the couch and sits down next to his spot, settling in comfortably. When her evening plans are questioned she takes a moment to look down at her clothes; she's in baggy sweatpants and a small tank top, her hair is thrown up on top of her head and she's barely wearing a stitch of make-up.
Earlier in the week she had turned down a date from a completely charming and attractive guy she had met at the coffee shop around the corner.
She frowns, contemplating the thought for a moment, before turning her attention back to the boys who are waiting patiently for her to answer their inquiry about her plans for the night. Raising her slice of pizza, she gestures to the movie currently playing on the TV.
"Hanging out here with you guys."
Flickers of surprise, curiosity, pleasure, and smugness, flash across each of their faces, and she wrinkles her nose a bit, wondering if perhaps she needs to get a life outside of these four boys. But as he approaches the couch his plate of pizza in one hand and two water bottles in the other, all thoughts about spending less time with them flee her head.
Before sitting down next to her, he holds out the hand carrying the two water bottles gesturing for her to take one. She looks up at him, feeling a small smile tug at her lips as she reaches for the bottle. His face remains impassive as her mouth turns up into a grin but his blue eyes are soft and somewhat kind, a rare occurrence for the cool and calculating man that's standing in front of her. When she grabs the bottle from him, their fingers graze ever so slightly and she waits for him to recoil at the slight touch. Instead his eyes hold hers for a moment longer, causing her heart to thud almost painfully against her chest, and then in the blink of an eye, he's turning around and sitting down next to her. Their arms brush against each other as he settles into his spot and once again instead of backing away from the contact he doesn't react at all. In fact, as she tries to focus her attention on the movie in front of them, she swears that he leans in towards her for just a moment before bringing his focus back to his plate of pizza.
Her stomach is in knots.
Suddenly she's hungry for something else...something that is definitely not pizza.
She finds herself forcing the slice down her throat anyway, knowing that if she doesn't eat now she'll be kicking herself later when she's laying in bed starving.
It's hard to concentrate on food though.
Every so often, she can feel his eyes on her, burning into her, imploring her to look at him.
She considers it a small victory when she only looks once.
It's awards night.
She remembers a time when she had high hopes that she would one day dress up in a glamorous evening gown, while practicing her acceptance speech in the mirror as a drove of people frantically worked around her making sure every hair was in place and her lipstick was just the right color.
She smirks, thinking back on those dreams as she painstakingly arranges her soft blonde curls so that they fall just right. She's not ready to give up on her dreams just yet, she thinks she still has some fight left in her, but she can't deny that her goal seems to be drifting further and further away.
Sighing she shrugs at her reflection, not too long ago she never would have guessed she'd be getting ready to attend yet another awards ceremony that has nothing to do with the entertainment industry and everything to do with an industry that only a few years prior she never would have given a second (or first) thought to.
It's a big event though.
It's not a simply named ceremony like the Oscars or Emmy's but rather, a very prominent gala named after a scientist whose last name she can't pronounce (correctly).
With all of her friends slowly moving on with their lives, growing up and bettering themselves, she had felt slightly silly when they had asked her to go; for the first time in years she had felt as if maybe she didn't belong. She didn't want to impose on their big night, she didn't want to feel out of place.
Of course they had acted completely bewildered by her thoughts and had waved away her concerns, insisting that she attend the event.
She still thinks she's going to feel completely out of place, but her friends had used a number of tactics to get her to reconsider her initial response to the invitation, from begging to bargaining to making her feel flat out guilty for even playing with the possibility of not showing up in support of them. Eventually they had been able to shoot down her worries enough for her to agree to go. They weren't all taking dates, they had assured her there was plenty of room at the table, and finally she had figured, what the hell, and had gone out and bought her dress the next day.
And deep down she's glad that they hadn't listened to her and had pushed her to accept their invitation.
And while the elegant black dress she's wearing, as well as the shoes and jewelry, may have cost her a small fortune and two weeks (maybe three) worth of groceries, when she walks across the hall and opens the door to reveal three (five if you count Amy and Bernadette) extremely impressed, possibly aroused (Howard), faces she figures it was definitely worth every damn penny.
As they shower her with their compliments each of them individually commenting on how gorgeous she looks, she smiles and soaks it up.
He however, barely says a word.
He takes the time to look her up and down and by the time his eyes meet hers, they show nothing; they are only the blanks slates of impassiveness that she's grown used to and has very possibly come to hate.
Feeling slightly deflated she glances down at her hands and realizing she left her clutch in her apartment, she excuses herself quickly and dashes across the hall to find her purse.
As she's searching her apartment for it, she hears his stupid little knock followed by her name. She waits for him to complete the knocking ritual and rolls her eyes as he softly says her name one last time. Throwing the door open, she properly takes in the sight of him, and curses him for looking so damn dashing in his formal attire.
"Gimme a minute, I think I left it in my room." She says, figuring he was chosen by the group to come over and collect her.
He nods and she turns from him, stalking to her room, annoyed with him for reasons that she's sure are entirely unfair.
Looking around her cluttered room for her stupid black clutch, she spots it on the floor at the foot of the bed, and as she bends over to retrieve it, she senses his presence as she straightens up.
Refusing to turn around she takes a moment to calm her breathing. And damnit all to hell and back why in God's name is he in her room?
Pondering this, she taps her purse against the palm of her hand and before she has the chance to stop herself, she blurts out the most embarrassing words she's probably ever said to him before.
"Why didn't you say anything back in your apartment? Do—don't…Sheldon, do you think I look beautiful…tonight?"
She closes her eyes, mortified. She can't believe she actually said that...asked him that. Who is she anyway? What the hell happened to her overly confident former self? She waits for him to ridicule her for asking such a question, she waits for him to mock her vanity, while calmly informing her while she may be aesthetically pleasing to the eye, it shouldn't matter what he thinks, as he is generally unaffected by those kinds of things.
Most of the time.
She's about to quickly take it back, make a joke of it, when suddenly she feels him step up behind her, the front of his body just barely brushing up against the back of hers.
"Penny, Penny, Penny," He says quietly, his voice sounds low in her ears. "I have eyes don't I?"
He comes that night, thrusting into her body, his movements are harsh and somewhat sloppy and she stares up into his eyes as he hovers over her, as his hands grip her hips so tightly that she winces.
She's sure she'll have bruises the next morning.
As his thrusts continue, she tries not to close her eyes, she doesn't want to tear herself from his gaze, she doesn't want to close out the desire, the want, the need, she sees swimming there.
He lets out a low groan and his body begins to tremble; she can tell he's trying his hardest to hang on to some semblance of control, but as the impending orgasm teases him and he stares at her, burning her with his gaze and branding her as his, she knows he won't last much longer.
Regardless she can see the internal battle continue behind that blue stare, and she admires his last attempt to gain the upper hand, to stay in control.
Despite his efforts, it's not long before he's shuddering, whispering her name and collapsing on top of her.
He fails.
But not really.
She's going to be sick.
There's a million little butterflies dancing around in her stomach and she's afraid that they might bust through at any moment. Briefly she thinks about how he would roll his eyes at such a thought and gently shake his head at her, before explaining to her in layman's terms about what exactly is going on in her body and why she's feeling so nervous on such a big day.
Taking in a deep breath she watches as the double doors open and for a moment she's blinded by the bright lights and colors that lurk on the other side. Glancing around at the faces in front of her, she falters as she takes in the sight of them. Some of the people are familiar, some of them are not, but all of them are smiling at her encouragingly, watching her expectantly.
She still feels like she's going to be sick.
Panicked her eyes desperately search for him. She can feel her pulse racing and her heart drumming; dimly she's aware of the presence at her side, vaguely she registers that she's walking slowly, taking tiny steps towards her supposed goal.
Her goal.
She stumbles slightly, feeling the heat of a full body blush sweep over her.
She's not sure if she can continue.
Swallowing thickly, she stops walking and her eyes flit up, past the numerous faces, now showing mixtures of surprise, sympathy, concern and infuriatingly enough…amusement. She seeks him out frantically, desperate to find him.
Finally she sees him, and immediately a soothing calmness takes over her body.
Breathing deeply, she watches as he arches a brow at her; his way of silently challenging her. And his mouth quirks up into that exasperating half smirk, it's an expression that never fails in making her want to smack him.
Or kiss him.
As if reading her mind, he full out smirks at her, his eyebrows, if possible, raise even higher and his eyes never waver from her face. Immediately her spine straightens; she can't believe he actually has the audacity to be amused at a time like this. Feeling stronger her eyes clash with his, and just like that she firmly pushes her resolve back into place.
They hold each others stares, both refusing to look away, both refusing to back down.
They've got rows and rows of people between them, but as she keeps her gaze locked with his, she watches as the humor slowly fades from his expression and is replaced by something much softer, much warmer.
And feeling the warmth of that blue gaze on her, she forgets that his eyes had been laughing at her only moments ago.
She gives him a brilliant smile.
It doesn't surprise her anymore how genuine, how heartfelt his returning smile is.
It's with new-found vigor that she begins walking up the aisle once again.
I'd love to know what you thought.
Please review! Thanks! :)