TWO
It was like the plague.
The second Sheldon allowed himself to believe initiating a kiss with his girlfriend was possible, it infected every aspect of his life. Suddenly, he couldn't ride the bus without seeing a couple canoodling in the back. The last time he'd gone to the Cheesecake Factory, Bernadette and Howard had tagged along and ended up trading enough kisses and puppy dog eyes that Sheldon was left too disgusted to adequately enjoy his burger. Even his last Skyping session with Leonard had gone sour for similar reasons. Before he could finish reciting his detailed report on how Leonard's leaving had irrevocably delayed his carefully-scheduled path to a Nobel Prize, Penny had showed up. Soon, his roommate and neighbor were trading strange looks and phrases Sheldon didn't fully understand—and didn't want to understand as he was able to at least pick up on their carnal intentions. When he dared chide them for their behavior, Penny had told Leonard to call her sometime, gave her boyfriend a big wink, and walked out. A few seconds later, Leonard had said something about paperwork he needed to catch up on and got off.
Sheldon was no fool. He knew what was really going on. Yep, it was the plague all right.
Even his dreams, which were usually filled with him frolicking with trains and koalas while Mr. Spock and Stephen Hawking debated which was the better choice to be Sheldon's best friend, suddenly morphed into nightmares where he chased a certain smiling neurobiologist down one long tunnel after another. The second he would catch her and lean in to claim a kiss, she would vanish, leaving behind nothing more than a taunting giggle and supreme frustration. Then, spotting her up ahead, he would have no choice but to begin the Sisyphean pursuit all over again.
He tried everything to block it out. Yet, the more he tried, the more it seemed to crop up everywhere. It was in his Alpha-Bits cereal, which mysteriously spelled "Kiss" in his spoon two Saturdays in a row. It was in his comic books. Who knew Batman was such a playboy? It was in his beloved original Star Trek because Kirk couldn't seem to keep his lips to himself long enough to finish an episode. It was even in physics. Yeah, physics!
Sheldon blamed himself. After all, physics was too perfect to ever be blamed for anything. If he'd had better control over himself, it never would have happened. One minute, he'd been furiously scribbling equations across his whiteboard with his favorite red dry erase marker. The next, the scarlet ribbon of characters had mutated into an outline of what was clearly Amy Farrah Fowler's mouth. He'd recognize those lips anywhere. They'd pursed at him, beckoning him like Homer's famed sirens of old.
That was Monday. Now, here it was Thursday, date night with the key to his torment and it was everything he could do to concentrate on the movie before him. He loved Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. It shouldn't have been a problem. There was some kissing in the storyline, of course, but as the leading woman turned out to be a conniving, greedy Nazi supporter who died in the end, Sheldon wasn't overly concerned. He and Amy had enjoyed dinner at an Italian restaurant before returning to his apartment to watch the film. She had agreed that he could choose the movie, and they were sitting at opposite ends of the couch. Not a word had been exchanged since the movie's start some 69 minutes ago. It should have been a perfect evening. But Sheldon couldn't stop himself from being hyper aware that she was there. They were magnetic poles. The space between them was such a strong magnetic field that it was all he could do to stay rooted to his spot. Kiss me, Sheldon. She hadn't actually said that out loud, but she may as well have. Yeah, that vixen was drawing him in whether he wanted it or not.
That's it. The second the movie is over, she's out of here. As much as he was ready to consider kissing her, completing the action itself was something else entirely. Sheldon had figured he had a few months before he'd actually have to do anything. Yet, here it was not two weeks after he'd overheard what he was calling The Conversation and his life was hell. He'd begun his research on the topic, of course, but was hardly ready to move from the theoretical stage to the experimental one. No, when he kissed Amy, it had to be perfect. He excelled at everything. She would expect him to excel at this as well. He had to excel at this.
"Sheldon, are you all right?" she asked.
He jolted in surprise. "I'm fine," he replied, not bothering to look over at her.
"You seem … jittery. Are you getting sick?"
He pondered this. Sickness would certainly explain his behavior. But he knew it wasn't true. His thrice-daily temperature readings were within normal range, his bowel movements were on schedule and of the right color and shape, his respiration was unblocked by mucus or swelling, his head did not ache, and the spaghetti consumed during dinner had settled nicely in his stomach.
"I'm not sick," he answered, regretfully.
"Look at me."
He kept his eyes safely on the television in front of him where Indiana Jones was badly impersonating a Scotsman. "Why? We are watching a movie, are we not?"
"Sheldon."
That voice. Why can I never refuse that voice? It was worse than the tone his mother sometimes got, the one that told him he was three seconds from getting his hide tanned with a belt. Is Amy like my mother? The second he thought that, his mind and body immediately repelled the idea. No, he didn't see Amy as a mother figure. Then, why am I so compelled to listen to her?
With his mother, it made sense. She had raised him. He loved her, of course. She was usually the disciplinarian in the household when he was growing up. No, Amy was not his mother, yet he was still unable to deny her anything.
Except a kiss.
He shuddered and looked down, ashamed at himself. What kind of boyfriend am I that I can't just kiss her? What would it hurt if it wasn't perfect? Amy had never judged him before. She wouldn't judge him now. He could just do it. Better, she would be on hand to help him figure out how to improve the technique. They could make an experiment out of it. It might even be fun.
"Sheldon?"
The couch moved beneath him as she covered the distance between them faster than he could have imagined possible. She reached out to touch him, but seemed to think better of it. "Look at me, Sheldon. Please," she murmured.
He couldn't deny her. He could never deny her. Sheldon paused the television and turned to stare down at her. "Yes?"
If she was a magnetic pole, her green eyes were the very center of it. They were like the Lego Store, a source of comfort for him, a place he could happily get lost in. The little flecks of gold he'd noticed so long ago in her jade pools seemed bigger tonight in the brightness of the overhead light.
"Tell me what's bothering you. Is it something with Kripke?"
He immediately frowned. "No."
"Then what is it?"
Sheldon wanted to tell her. Every instinct he had was bursting to tell her. But he couldn't. He was a man. He had some pride, after all. Besides, if he told her, he would have to tell her about his eavesdropping and that was out of the question.
He turned back towards the television so he didn't have to look at her. "I miss Leonard."
It wasn't a lie. He did miss his roommate. If Leonard was here, I could talk to him about this. He could tell me what to do. As it was, he was left with talking to Wolowitz or Koothrappali—both of whom would no doubt mock him and then tell Bernadette, who would in turn tell Penny and Amy. Likewise, he couldn't talk to Penny about this because she would blab to Amy and also because she would merely tell him to stop thinking about kissing his girlfriend and just kiss her already.
Nobody understands me. He sighed and looked back over at Amy. Except you. This was one of those times when he wished he could clone Amy. It would be so nice to have a friend-only version of her in addition to a girlfriend version. He could ask Friend-Amy for advice, and she would be able to tell him exactly what to do while not judging him or mocking him.
Amy held herself perfectly still next to him as if she was trying to make a decision. He found this odd for a moment before she finally huddled her body firmly next to his, leaning her head on the outside of his shoulder.
He went rigid in surprise. "What are you doing?"
"You miss your friend. At times like these, the best source of comfort is physical touching. I thought you might object to me putting my arms around you and I know you are not a fan of cuddling. So, I decided leaning against you would give you the comfort you desire while being the least constricting."
She was right. He did feel better. It was odd. There was something about her head resting warmly against him that was comforting. He took in a breath and let it out slowly as to not jostle her. It was strange. This shouldn't feel good. If they were both magnetic poles, being this close should have made the attraction to her stronger. It wasn't. It was as strong as it always was, of course, but, somehow, allowing her to touch him had eased the force of that attraction somewhat. It was now more palatable. Intriguing.
"Do you want to start the movie again?" she asked.
"Yes," he said, using the remote to do just that.
The rest of the movie played while his mind reveled in this new concept. If allowing her to touch me made me feel better—not only about missing Leonard, but also about this strange pull I feel to her—would kissing her make it feel even better? This hypothesis certainly had merit. I need to do more research. Surely, someone else has thought of this already. There have to be papers on this kind of thing that I could read to get a better understanding.
About ten minutes later, he felt Amy completely relax against him. He decided to follow suit, taking his body parts one by one and coaxing them to unwind. First his toes, then his feet, then his ankles and so on until he was completely settled into the brown couch.
Put an arm around her.
He tensed up again. Where had that idea come from? Sheldon chided himself for the direction of his thoughts. All this pondering of kissing was leading him down paths he had no wish to tread. At this rate, he'd be having coitus with Amy by week's end. He gulped at the mere thought. I'm not ready for that. The exchange of bodily fluids, the germs, the sweat, I don't know what to do. What if she isn't pleased? What if I hurt her? What if she doesn't like it so much she leaves me?
He closed his eyes, using kohlinar to calm down. Within another ten minutes, he had better control over himself. This was getting out of hand. Why can't we just stay like we are? Why does this have to be so hard? He took deep, even breaths. Amy said she is all right if we stay as we are. We could just do that.
Yet, even as he considered this, he knew they couldn't. Change was the human condition. Species either changed, evolved or they died out and were left behind. He didn't want that. But, at the same time, thinking over all the steps he had to take in order to achieve a fully physical relationship with Amy left him dizzy and frightened.
He was brought out of his reverie by a low grunt from Amy as she adjusted her body. Her head fell back against the sofa, and he noticed that she was asleep. As Indiana Jones was now riding off into the sunset with his father, Sheldon switched off the television and focused on his sleeping girlfriend. He'd never seen her this unguarded before. Her alabaster skin; her nose rounded oddly at the end; the blunt cut of her chin; the long, dark lashes resting against her cheeks; and that mouth, the source of his torment, pinkened, curved, and beckoning him even now.
Her head was angled queerly on the couch. She's going to have a crick in her neck when she wakes up, he thought. I need to do something. He wondered if he should wake her up, but decided against it as this was a perfect time for him to study her. Would he ever get another chance like this? It would be ridiculous to waste it.
He reached over, cupping the back of her head in his hand. Then, with a swift maneuver, he rolled her sleeping form into reclining fully on the sofa, her head pillowed on the opposite end from his spot. She sighed and settled more comfortably into position. After a moment of indecision, Sheldon reached over and plucked the glasses from her face so they wouldn't be broken while she slept. Folding them carefully, he placed them on the side table.
Standing over her, it occurred to him that she might be cold. A quick trip to the closet had him covering her with a throw his meemaw had made for him the year he'd gone off to college. He also brought a pillow from his bed so Amy wouldn't have to rest against the hard arm of the sofa.
Now, he stood over her, taking it all in. He remembered the night of their first kiss. She'd passed out on the bathroom floor after her vomiting. She certainly looked more peaceful now. He'd wanted to pick her up that night and place her in her own bed, but lacked the kind of upper body strength that would allow for that. No doubt, he would only have dropped her and injured the vertebrae in his back irrevocably.
She made a low moan in her sleep and shifted, throwing one arm above her head as she settled more firmly on her back. Her lips pursed lightly—as though she were frustrated—before spreading into a soft smile. Sheldon was enchanted. What must she be dreaming about? Shopping with Penny? Monkeys? Me? That last one had him smiling in return. It shouldn't have made him happy to know she might be dreaming about him, but it did.
She shifted again, this time the hand came down until it was laying on top of the other over the cover. She looked so innocent, so … beautiful. His heart slammed in his chest. It was true. She was beautiful. The memory of another evening with her hit him. The night after she'd gone to Disneyland with the girls and they'd had those ridiculous princess makeovers. He hadn't liked how that had made Amy act when she'd returned to him. Not only was she wearing more makeup than any woman ever needed to wear, but she'd looked so different. It left him feeling disconcerted and unsure. He liked Amy as she was. Why couldn't she stay like she was? He'd spent the evening burying himself in work while she not-so-subtly tried to get him to kiss her. As if he could ever kiss a stranger. Dressed the way she was, it has seemed like she was a stranger to him. Sheldon had been so relieved to see her as her normal self the next time they'd been together.
Yet, tonight, he was wondering what would have happened if he had kissed her.
Here she was, a beautiful princess asleep and in need of kiss from a handsome prince. And, while he'd never considered himself handsome, he knew women had often told him his looks were aesthetically pleasing. He was certainly no prince, but he could be a hero if the situation called for it.
You could kiss her. She would never have to know. It would be an experiment.
He thought about this, considering all the ramifications. She might wake up. She might be offended. Sheldon didn't know many things about women or relationships, but he was well aware of what could and could not be done without a woman's permission. He certainly would not have wanted her to kiss him if he was unwilling.
But who says she would be unwilling? She wants you to kiss her. She has said so. Besides, she won't wake up. She'll sleep right through it, and this will give you the perfect opportunity to decide how to place your lips and what amount of pressure is needed. Then, when you kiss her for real, it will be perfect.
As his logic was sound—and who could argue with sound logic?—Sheldon took a deep breath and leaned down, placing his mouth timidly on top of hers.
He was struck at once by the softness of her lips against his. The warmth came next. He pressed deeper, feeling strangely frustrated. He pulled back and reached up to touch his lips with his hand. No tingle. Odd. It had been there before. Even the night of the battle of the sexes when Penny had held him down while she and Amy had peppered him with kisses, his forehead had been covered with tingles.
Try again.
He nodded. Maybe he was doing something wrong. He got down on his knees and, resting his weight on his arms, he hovered over her until their faces were perfectly aligned. Then, he settled his mouth over hers once more.
Softness. Heat. She moaned, moving her lips slightly under his. He wanted to pull back, but the tingles were here now. He surged against her, mimicking the way her lips had stirred under his. Fascinating. Kissing wasn't one long pressed movement like he'd always supposed. It was more a series of smaller kisses, lips coming together, rubbing and then pulling apart before starting over again. His free hand came up on its own, caressing her jaw as he continued to kiss her.
His ministrations seemed to generate a better reaction from her. Her mouth opened just slightly and she pulled his bottom lip between her own for a moment before releasing it. He shuddered, liking this a lot. The tingles. They morphed into something more, something hotter until he was overwhelmed with heady sensations and had to pull back.
His butt slammed into the wooden floor as his lungs lurched to pull in enough air. Sheldon leaned against the bottom of the couch, unable to keep his thoughts from drowning him. That was … That was … His hand ran up to touch his mouth. He could still feel her lips there, like they were tattooed into his skin. She moaned, and he shot a glance up at her, fearful the princess had woken up at last. No, she can't wake up now. I can't explain. How can I when I'm not even sure what happened myself?
"Sheldon."
He squeezed his eyes shut, shame heating his cheeks. No. Dear Lord, not now.
