Chapter 3
Knock, knock, knock. "Amy."
Knock, knock, knock. "Amy."
Knock, knock, knock. "Amy."
She opened the door. "Sheldon? Did we have plans?"
"No," he answered. "May I come in?"
"Okay." She stepped aside and allowed him to pass.
He paced, one path toward her kitchen and then back again. Okay, I'm here, how should I do it? I should have thought this through.
"Sheldon, is something wrong?" He couldn't miss the quiver in her voice. Oh, right, the last time I showed up here unannounced . . .
He took a deep breath to calm himself. "Maybe we should sit down."
"Okay. Um, I should tell you I have plans this morning. I'm going out to brunch with the girls." But Amy came and sat next to him, in their usual spots. Oh, this is a bad idea, too, the last time we sat like this . . .
"It's about what happened in my office Thursday," he started. "I - I can't stop thinking about it."
Amy smiled. "Me neither." Then she took his hand. He pulled it away, and the look on her face stabbed him. Oh, that look, the last time she gave me that look . . .
"I'm sorry. I just can't touch you while I say this. What happened Thursday was a mistake. We shouldn't let it happen again."
"Kissing is a mistake? You weren't upset on Date Night that evening. We kissed again." Her voice sounded even more uneasy.
No, I wasn't upset. All I wanted was your mouth. I was . . . dear Lord, I was horny. "I was preoccupied on Date Night. And it's not that the kiss was a mistake, Amy. It was the location. When I returned to work yesterday, I was terrified of seeing Kripke. I'm just saying we can't let it happen at work again. My office, your lab, any where like that. It's unprofessional."
Amy nodded slowly. "Yes, you're right. It is unprofessional. We're professional adults, leaders in our fields. We ought to be able to control ourselves."
"Yes, exactly! You understand!" He reached for her hand in relief. Amy always understands me. Maybe I should tell her now.
"So, a reset: kissing only on Date Nights again?" Amy asked.
"Ye . . . How about only in our apartments, when we're alone? We'll be very strict."
"Agreed," Amy nodded. "You'll update The Relationship Agreement?"
"Of course." He looked at her. She looked at him. He found his thumb encircling the knuckle of her index finger. They both looked down at this movement. What is about this circular motion over this little raised bump that is so erotic?
"Sheldon," Amy whispered, already slightly breathless, "we're in my apartment . . ."
". . . Alone," he answered.
He wasn't surprised at how quickly she managed to shift closer to him on the sofa, turned around so she could kiss him, almost immediately lapping at his lips with her tongue even as she raised herself up on her knees. It was strange for Amy to be taller than him, bending down to kiss him, but I like it! Reaching for her waist, as he was used to doing, he misjudged the distance and found his hands firmly planted on her posterior.
"Hoot!" Amy said into his mouth.
Sheldon pushed her way. "Amy, I'm sorry. I -"
Amy reached down, grabbed one of his hands, and practically smacked it back onto her hind end. Once again, her mouth took his, sucking all of the air out of him. Well, I guess. He brought his other hand up, and allowed them to cup her buttocks. In for a penny . . . he gave an experimental squeeze, enjoying the mild bounce beneath her skirt.
"Hooooot!"
For the third time that week something ran through his body, starting in his pelvis and running to his busy lips. But this time it was racing. He allowed himself to caresses her bottom, enjoying its shape and size. Maybe this is too much, on the sofa like this, what if she straddles me, what if -
Knock, knock.
Amy jumped back. "Coming!" She yelled, smoothing her hair with her hand.
It flashed through Sheldon's mind that he should run to the bathroom or somewhere - anywhere else! - but Amy's hand was almost on the door knob. He grabbed a pillow instead.
"Hi, Amy!" Bernadette said cheerfully as the door opened. "Are you ready - Sheldon?"
Not trusting himself to speak, Sheldon just waved.
"Is he coming with us?"
"No," Amy giggled, but it sounded fake to Sheldon. "He just stopped by to, uh, talk."
"Are you okay?" Bernadette asked. "You seem out of breath. And your lips are red."
"It's my new lip gloss. And Sheldon said something funny about it, and I laughed. That's why he's here, to see my lip gloss."
"Sheldon's giving make-up advice now?" Bernadette wrinkled her nose. "Well, okay. Are you ready?"
"Yep, let's go," Amy grabbed her purse off the bookshelf.
But Bernadette didn't move. "What about Sheldon?"
"Sheldon? What about him?"
"Isn't he leaving?"
Sheldon felt like he was watching a farce of his life, played out before him, and he was unable to participate. Mostly because he couldn't speak. And he certainly couldn't move the pillow off of his lap. Please, Amy, please, he silently begged.
"What? Leaving? No," Amy giggled again. "He, uh, has something he is going to take care of. I mean do, not take care of. For me, not for himself. Well, obviously for me. Not because of me, just, uh . . . Yes, something in my apartment. Which is where he is right now. He'll just lock the door the way out, right, Sheldon? Just like you have dozens of times before?"
They both turned to look at him. He smiled and raised his thumb in an "a-okay" motion.
"You guys are so weird," Bernadette mumbled on her way out the door.
Sheldon opened the door to her knock as quickly as she expected.
"Hello, Sheldon."
"Amy, right on time."
"Punctuality is one of my strengths." She sat her purse down in her usual location, next to the key bowl.
"Yes, it's one of the things I love about you."
Amy was absolutely certain her heart stopped beating, just before the butterfly invaded her stomach. She turned to look at Sheldon, but he had already moved to the center of the living room concentrating on the television screen. He seemed oblivious to what he had just said. Her heart resumed its beating, but it felt duller and located somewhere around her stomach. Oh, he didn't mean it. It was just a figure of speech.
No, no, I will not be a defeatist. He has been so . . . kind lately. Even though she was still wasn't convinced Sheldon realized what he had said, Amy straightened her shoulders, determined to take solace in the fact that he had invited her over tonight, because Date Night was cancelled tomorrow in observance of Thanksgiving.
"Thank you for the invitation, Sheldon. It's very kind of you considering it's Retro Video Game Night."
He looked over at her, dropping the hands he had just started to raise. Amy noticed he was holding what appeared to be a small, toy bow with an abnormally long string. "You know you're not staying for the games, right? You are still attending Girls Night across the hall once Howard and Bernadette arrive."
Another thump in her stomach. Why did Sheldon have to be so rude? "Yes, I know you didn't invite me for video games. Just to come over early for a bit."
He smiled. "Good."
Amy looked around, debating whether or not this was a battle. No, not with a smile like that. "Where's Leonard?"
"I hid his back-up inhaler, so he went the pharmacy to fill a replacement. We're alone." He reached behind him as though taking something off of his back and then stretched out his arms to hold the bow upright.
"Sheldon, that's cruel!"
Sheldon dropped his arms again, and looked at her for a moment. Then he sighed deeply. "You may be right. I just wanted to be alone before my friends got here."
More butterflies. Amy walked closer to him. "You wanted us to be alone?"
"Well, yes. I thought we could play a game."
"Play a game, huh?" she smirked.
"No, not that! Every time we do that someone walks in on us!"
The smirk plummeted into her stomach. "Oh."
"My friends will be here in an hour and Leonard will probably be back before that. I don't like being interrupted, it's embarrassing. Besides," he shrugged, "I like you for your mind more than your lips. Let's talk and play a game."
This time it was rabble of butterflies. It's a wonder I don't get motion sickness from the roller coaster ride that is dating Sheldon. She nodded and smiled. "I like you for your mind, too, Sheldon. You're right. Let's play a game." She looked over at the console. "Since when is the Wii retro?"
"Since 2011. Duh."
"Can I play?"
"I don't know if you have the skill set for Wii Archery."
"Please. Penny and I play the skiing game, and I always beat her. But I'm more than just a beckoning pair of hips with a low center of gravity, you know. I'm sure I have the hand-eye coordination for this silly little game."
"Amy! Retro it may be, but silly it is not! And you don't have the proper gear. You need a grip and a quiver and there's a safety course and I have to teach you -"
Amy grabbed the bow out of his hand. Honestly, no matter how much I love him he can be so annoying! Her sudden movement stopped him in the middle of his sentence. Positioning her self in front of the television, she pulled back on the string and fired.
"Ten!," the game announced when she hit a bullseye.
Then, quickly, she did it again. "Ten!" Once more. "Ten!"
She put the bow down then and looked at Sheldon's priceless face. "You were saying?"
Finally, he closed his drooping mouth and spoke. "Beginner's luck. And your form is terrible."
"Oh, is it? Because I believe I just got three bulls eyes in a row." Amy knew her temper was rising, and, even though she realized it was silly to get worked up about a video game, Sheldon was just so infuriating!
"For starters, you're at the wrong angle. You need to be," he moved quickly behind her and grabbed her hips, swiveling them slightly, "like this."
No sooner had the words come out of his mouth than Amy heard him take a deep breath. He stood frozen, kneeling down to her, not moving his hands, and she felt his eyes boring into her skull as she turned her head to look at him on the edge of her visual field.
"Um, yes, perhaps you're right," Amy whispered back. "What else?"
She heard Sheldon gulp before he released her hips. "Well, if you had a grip, you'd be wearing it here."
He reached around her to run his fingers along her arm to her hand.
"And you need a quiver. Here." He ran his hand down her back, at an angle, and then ran his entire palm back up the trajectory. Amy's body trembled slightly at the new type of contact.
"And your arm needs to extend straighter." He pressed himself close to her back, and gently pulled her arm, and thus the bow, out straight in front of her. He kept his hand there, over hers.
"And your hair seems to be in the way." He was whispering now, too, as he took his other hand and pulled her hair away from her ear and her neck. Now that her ear was fully exposed, the feeling of his hot breath skimming it made her weak in the knees.
"And you need to pull your other hand all the way back, as far as you can." Reaching around her, engulfing her in his long frame, he took her right hand and pulled it back, the string stretching almost as taut as Amy felt. She could smell him, the clean scent of a waterfall.
"And then you need to adjust your head so your eye is in the perfect line of sight." Although Amy didn't think it was possible, he moved in even closer until his check was flush with hers. "Like this."
"Yes, like this," Amy whispered.
"Do you feel it?" he asked.
Amy had no idea to which it he was referring. She felt them all: her heart thundering, her knees shaking, her hands trembling, her body pulsing with arousal, the softness of Sheldon's skin, the hardness of Sheldon's . . . "Yes, I feel it." She took a deep breath. "Sheldon, there's something I've been trying to say-"
He only had to turn his head a fraction of an inch and his lips were almost brushing her cheek, making her mind hazy. "Um . . ."
"Hey, guys, guess what I brought!" The sound of the door opening and Raj's voice interjected into their moment, and Sheldon jumped away from her, leaving her cold. "It's a fondue pot!"
Amy quickly released the string on the bow controller before stretching it out again.
"Do you ever knock?" Sheldon said brusquely.
"Dude, we never knock, none of us. Especially when we're expected," Raj answered. "I came early to make the fondue."
Not paying attention, Amy rapidly shot the bow two more times. We're just playing a game, that's all.
"Uh, Amy, don't you know it doesn't keep score if you've got it paused?" Raj asked.
"Okay, Sheldon, I'm leaving," Leonard said.
"I can tell when you're leaving. You don't have to announce it every time," Sheldon replied adjusting the video camera on the tripod.
"I know. It's just that I'm so happy to be leaving you, I can't stop talking about it," Leonard smiled and opened the door to find Amy standing there. "Oh, hi, Amy. I think he's all ready for you."
"Wouldn't you be?" Amy asked.
Leonard shook his head and walked out the door. "Uh, sure. You two kids have fun."
Sheldon looked up at Amy, standing just inside the door, wearing a long rain coat. "I think the better question is are you ready for me. This may be strenuous and require several attempts."
"Oh, you have no idea how long I've been ready for you."
"I would estimate forty-five minutes maximum and that's with heavy traffic on your drive over. Let's see what you came up with." Amy rolled her eyes (why?) and removed her raincoat, exposing the black and white French maid's outfit, like the one he wore a few years ago. Sheldon suddenly felt very, very warm. "Don't you think that's a stereotype? I said authentic. Millions of people in France will probably watch this episode."
"Your outfit isn't stereotypical? And it was either this or a can-can dancer." She put her hands on her hips, which somehow increased the temperature in the room even more.
Sheldon swallowed. "For your information, both pieces of my attire are authentic. The sailor shirt is called the marinère, and it was first worn by French seaman in Brittany in the 1820s. In 1858, it was made part of the official French naval uniform and is still worn by those men today. And the beret originates with Navarrian shepherds who lived in Pyrenees, and the first commercial production of berets was in Oloran-Sainte-Marie in the 17th century."
"I looked it up. My costume is based on housemaid's black and white afternoon uniform in 19th century France."
I highly doubt they were that short. Or that . . . But, not wanting to give up several uninterrupted hours in which to film, Sheldon gave in. "Very well. But if we get any hate comments about it, I reserve the right to say I told you so."
"Agreed." The look she gave him was full of defiance and strength, he realized. He liked it; Amy lately was reminding him of the Amy he first met, so strong and blunt. What had changed? And why was it now changing back again? But not exactly the same. Old hard Amy, newer soft but not weak Amy, so . . . so confusing . . . and captivating.
"Sheldon?"
Oh, yes, the present. "I was just remembering I need your help with my mustache."
Amy laughed. "A mustache?"
"Well, if you're going to be stereotypical, I will be, too," Sheldon said, moving to stand in front of the sofa and picking the make-up crayon off the end table. "Will you draw it, please?"
Another laugh, and she came to him, taking the offering pencil. "You'll have to lean down for me to do this properly."
Sheldon nodded and leaned down. Amy leaned in some, too, and he felt the crayon touch his lip. He watched her carefully, as she concentrated on her task, not looking at his eyes. Fascinating. I've never been this close to Amy without . . . He mentally shook the thought away. No, we've given into hormones and our hind brains too much lately. Today is about our video.
Then Amy gave a satisfied smile at her handiwork, before moving her emerald eyes up to meet his. "There."
"You've memorized your lines?" Sheldon asked, standing up swiftly. This is impossible.
"Of course. If you'd like, we can rehearse once, before we start taping."
Even though Sheldon asked her every time, he always knew she had memorized her lines. It was just one of those things that he knew he could count on when it came to Amy. So, normally, he refused her offer to rehearse. He viewed this little conversation as their standard warm-up. But, feeling slightly light-headed and still so very warm, he changed his mind. "Yes, let's rehearse."
She smiled at him again, making it feel even worse. Or is it better? He swallowed again, and turned toward the camera, even though it wasn't taping yet. "Bonjour, je suis Docteur Sheldon Cooper. Bienvenue à Sheldon Cooper Presents Fun with Flags."
"Et je suis Docteur Amy Farrah Fowler. Aujourd'hui, nous sommes en train d'apprendre au sujet du drapeau français."
"Amy, j'ai besoin de . . . " He had turned back toward her, speaking without thinking.
"Oui?" The single word snapped through him. Why am I still speaking French? Why did I break form? And why is her mouth so alluring, the way her lips form such a simple yet foreign sound?
Her lips, her lips, her lips. His lips took control of the rest of his body, his lips only wanting to touch hers. His hands were apparently in league with his lips, and they did not stay on her waist. Once he realized they were on the small of her back, pulling her closer, he froze for just a second. Until she murmured something into his mouth that sounded vaguely like "ouiiii," and this caused hands slipped down more, betraying him further, and he realized the black fabric of this little - so very little - costume was much thinner than the fabric of her skirt from several weeks ago. And much shorter as a fingertip brushed the hem. Oh, oui, indeed -
"Sorry! Forgot my inhaler!" Sheldon recoiled from Amy as Leonard skirted the end of the room at a swift pace.
"Leonard, you should knock!"
"I live here!" Leonard's voice rang from his bedroom before he came jogging back into the living room holding his inhaler.
"But we're filming! You've ruined this take!"
"Um. . . you'd have to retake it, anyway," Leonard grinned, moving toward the door.
"Why?" Sheldon's heart was thumping, wondering exactly how much Leonard had seen.
"Because the red light isn't on. And you've both got something smeared on your faces. Have fun!"
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