Adagio Sostenuto: quasi una fantasia

Moonlight poured through the blinds of the room, dancing upon the wall, like a sonata rife with beauty and meaning. Yet, the room was silent, but for the easy sound of her breath, which was hot between his shoulder blades. His eyes opened slowly, and he took a moment to orient his thoughts. She lay naked beside him, her body spooning his. Her breasts pressed against his back, and the heat emanating from her burned through the fabric of his shirt. A slow smile spread across his face and he took comfort in the not-quite-familiar feel of her against him. There was something so intriguing and enlightening about these sparse moments in the dark of the night when she was unaware of her effect on him. She could rouse him from a deep sleep with nary a whisper; just a slight movement of her hand upon his side as she cuddled even closer to him. He took her hand from its casual place on his stomach and pulled it to his chest. He felt the gold of her ring, likewise warmed by her body, as he laced his fingers through hers.

My wife, my Amy. He was still getting used to the knowledge that she was his, truly his, by law now, not only in heart.

Watching the glow of the moonlight softly illuminate the room, he remembered Raj mentioning the super-moon that had been expected. Surely tonight must be her arrival, and for reasons unknown to him, he felt the light of that moon filling time and space. Was it … dare he say?… romantic? What a hippy I've become! He settled himself more securely against his wife and grinned. She felt so good against him that he once again considered -and rejected- her suggestion to sleep naked, as she did. It had quickly become her habit, after their lovemaking, to fall into sleep, quickly, easily, and with little care for her state of undress. In fact, he couldn't help but think that it was more than simple habit, but likely preference.

He had often heard her wistful sigh when he would leave their bed to wash and dress for sleep. He used to invite her to shower with him, and at first, she had, but that had been counter-productive and had only led to a second round of intercourse under the hot spray of water. Lately, he only invited her if he felt the need to over-indulge in the lushness of her curves. Mostly, however, he was a rational man, with rational needs, and once expelled, he was ready to rest. So alone to the shower he would go. Almost always, he would return to their bed, and find her fast asleep. Tonight had been no different. So he lay, quite comfortable, in a t-shirt and pajama pants, under the mound of covers she preferred, his nude wife beside him.

I am happy. Happier than he ever remembered, and that was saying something significant, as his eidetic memory was long- reaching indeed!

They had settled into routine quite easily once they married. Who could have known that the freedom of a legally binding marriage (and a commitment that went beyond the contract of his own making) would liberate his inhibitions? Somehow the idea of socially sanctioned lovemaking- more even, perceived, expected lovemaking (as they were by every definition "newlyweds") - would give him the impetus to act upon the desires that he had squelched over the last many years of their courtship. This was his husbandly duty, and Universe help him, he loved it. Now? There was joy in the anticipation of their near-daily lovemaking, and yet, nothing mundane in those sessions. He was thoroughly satisfied, and upon close examination, he determined she was pleased as well.

Certainly, their domesticity went beyond the bedroom. In fact, he rejoiced in the simple routine they had established. He rose each morning before her- his lady was not a morning person!- and completed his morning rituals. He had, since their marriage, added an additional chore to his morning routine: Each day he indulged her with a longer lie-in and prepared her tea. He would wake her with a kiss coupled with a steaming- and strongly steeped- mug of Irish Breakfast, with just a tinge of honey. Greeting his sleeping princess in this manner almost always brought that happy light to her eyes that made him feel he was doing his job as Husband. While she prepared for the day, he would make the scheduled breakfast meal. Then, they would eat together, an almost whispered conversation of pleasantries regarding their individual work projects or their agenda for the day. Ultimately, there was the last-minute hustle to the car and the quick jaunt through the morning traffic before they arrived at the university. Without fail, she would stop him at his car door, stand up on her tip-toes, and place a chaste kiss upon his cheek to wish him a pleasant day. And without fail, he would feel the heat spread across his cheeks as he flushed. She had no idea that this simple kiss stirred his senses each day. Always the gentleman, he would escort her into the building, hold the door for her and bid her adieu before making his way to the adjacent building, where he conducted his research.

Once there his full attention would be caught by his numbers and his theories, his alternate universes. In the "B.A.(Before Amy) Times" his work would occasionally suffer for his tedium. Now though? Now, his mind, like his libido, had been set free. He was more productive than he had ever been. And yet, he thought of her throughout the day, little images of her eyes clouding with pleasure, or her lips, reddened and swollen from their kisses. Sometimes he could nearly taste the subtle flavor of her breast upon his tongue as he brought her nipple to height in a mid-day remembrance of their mutual pleasure. These moments would steal into his mind, and always, after allowing himself a moment of retreat, his brain would click into place, rushed with new possibilities. He could only assume this was what it meant to be a newlywed. Sometimes it felt as if he were a horny teenager; but mostly, he delighted in the knowledge that it wouldn't be long until he could once more watch, aroused, as she lost herself in an ecstasy of his own making. Yes, he had learned something new since his marriage: He could yearn for something besides an elegantly balanced equation.

Allegro assai.

Watching the light shift in the room, his eyes now attuned to the darkness, he lifted his head from the pillow for just a moment as he felt Amy move behind him. The very ramblings of his thought patterns brought to mind their most recent bout of love-making, just a few hours ago. Amy had seemed tired, more tired than usual- and somehow defeated- on their drive home. She had been unusually quiet as well when he had tried to engage her in conversation. She had outrightly refused to partake in the car game he suggested. When they made their way into the building, and then into their apartment, he could take her silence no longer and demanded to know what was wrong. As it turned out, some pion at the university had made her feel small and ugly. He had been furious, of course, but Amy had pushed it aside and made him dinner, as it was her turn.

Instead of concentrating on his work, as he always did when it wasn't his turn to make their nightly meal, he concocted a plan to help Amy see her worth. While her pasta dish was baking in the oven, he had drawn her into the bathroom, where he had set a steamy bath. Completely against his nature, he joined her, encircling her with his arms, as she leaned against his back. There was barely enough room in this tub for two, but for Amy? He would make due. He let his hands communicate for him, using bath oil over her skin; the journey bringing goosebumps to her arms, his lips tasting the curve of her neck. When he slipped his fingers inside of her, she gasped his name, and in less time than he had expected, she had orgasmed in a wave of spasms. He groaned, hard as iron, but denied his own need. He pulled her to her feet and used the showerhead to bring her to another orgasm before washing her hair, drying her, and putting her in her most comfortable nightgown. She had offered to take "care" of him, but he had put her off, saying he only wanted to relax her before dinner.

Dinner had been delicious, but he barely tasted it, as his desire was for something else entirely. Before long, they sat, snuggling on the couch, both reading. He could smell the oils emanating from her soft and newly cleaned skin, and he was driven to distraction. He kissed her head, with no intention of taking advantage of her vulnerability. But she had surprised him, by slipping her hand into his pants. She grasped him and he groaned.

"I want you, Sheldon, now," she had stately, so simply and firmly that he had nearly come then and there. Gritting his teeth, he answered her demanding hand by yanking her upon his lap and kissing her fiercely. He wasn't entirely sure how it had happened, but in a rush of movement, they were both naked and she was straddling him. His mouth rushed over any part of her he could reach and his hands filled themselves with her bottom. Lifting said bottom just enough, he had plunged into her, so hard and fast they had both gasped at their joining. Her hips had barely waited a nanosecond before they had pounded against his, as she rode him to a fast and hard completion.

That should have been enough, but mere moments later, he had lifted her from him, pulled her to her feet, and basically dragged her to their bed. Pushing her onto her back, he plunged his tongue into her and used his hands, his teeth, and his tongue to bring her to a rather intense orgasm, where she had called out so loudly he knew Penny and Leonard would hear them. As she was still shaking he nearly doubled her in half, her legs over his shoulders, and plowed into her over and over, mindlessly, far rougher than he usually was with her, until he emptied himself into her, his lungs burning with exertion from the rather quick pace of their need.

He had no idea if she had come again, only that his own orgasm had been so strong that he had shaken for minutes afterward. He remembered gaining just enough strength to move toward the shower. He had glanced idly over his shoulder and watched her sigh and tuck herself into the covers with a smile upon her face. Ruminating at his own reflection after their sexual exploits always left him feeling completely foreign. He barely looked like the Sheldon Cooper he had always known. Instead, there was a well-pleased grin upon his face, bright eyes- heightened, no doubt, by the exercise- as Amy's beloved Jane Austen would say; and his hair stuck up every-which-way, where Amy's hands had tugged and grasped as she reached her peak. Such a sight shouldn't have evoked pride, but it often did. Of all the things he was glad he excelled at, this had rocketed- pun intended- toward the top of the list.

Grave.

Caught in his reverie, he felt his heart rate accelerate, Picturing Amy's face at the moment of her orgasm, he felt himself stirring as the moon illuminated the frames that hung upon the wall near the window. She was perfect in every way, and he was more than grateful for their life together. Had he shown her love tonight? He wasn't sure. What they had shared had been so rushed, heavy, and desperate that he worried his lip thinking that he had not taken the care with her that he usually did. He had vowed, after all, to show her how much she meant to him every day. Determined to amend that behavior immediately, he turned, disrupting their snuggled position. She groaned some and began to re-adjust, but she was to be awakened by his exploration of her body. He kissed her deeply as the soft hue of the moonlight began its crawl through the room. She responded in kind, as she always did; deep kisses, sleepy kisses, kisses that seemed to ignite a fire in his soul, as well as his body.

Parting for breath, her eyes met his: wanting; accepting. His meaning was clear. This would be a silent celebration of their mutual joy. She let her eyes drift closed again as his hands moved over her breasts. His lips found hers again, gently, yet demanding an equal response. The taste of her was hot and sweet. Abandoning reason, he let his body leave a trail of wet kisses to her neck, where he suckled until she hummed with anticipation. Her hands had not been idle. No, already, his shaft in her hand, she moved in quick succession around him, back and forth- back and forth- until he groaned aloud. Pulling himself from her grasp, he removed the rest of his clothing, hastily throwing it to the floor as the moonlight seemed to beat in time with his heart.

Taking her into his arms again, his fingers slipped into her, striking a fever within her. Sensing her release, he moved swiftly, rolling her, slipping seamlessly inside her quivering frame. Taking her mouth again, catching her cry, he began to move within her, carefully, purposefully filling her with each heated thrust. Her body arched like a bow. The pulse of the moonlight rose like a song all around them as she shook, on the brink of release. Making use of his fingers yet again, he plunged her over that edge. The intensity of her orgasm gripped him: His pace quickened in rhythm as the rushing melody of the moonlight pounded throughout his body, driving him to a sustained crescendo. He came undone within her as a single, poignant lyric whispered into the darkness: "Amy."

Fine