The Usual (takes place after The Martian)

Thankfully, at that moment the music stopped. Only to be followed by the sound of his voice mail greeting on speaker phone coming from the kitchen.

"Sheldon, this is your wife. I just called to tell you that you are a sentimental old fool. And that I love you for it," Amy said.

That night, it was the usual.

As Amy lay in the bliss that was Sheldon's arms, listening to him drop off to sleep, her body both adored and satisfied, she allowed her mind to wander toward the various meanings of their usual.

Most often, he covered her in his love and need, giving to her from above, his face so close to hers. She wondered once, after a night of gentle love-making in this fashion, why the missionary position was mocked. Even though it was true she could only rarely reach a climax without assistance, she found it wasn't necessary. And not just because Sheldon had already brought her there. It was about being with him in the closest possible way, his chest sliding and teasing over hers, never feeling more secure in his embrace and his love. She felt like his secret, his treasure, something he was keeping hidden from everyone else.

There were a few variations. Sometimes she would lengthen her legs and wrap them around his, her heels resting in the crook of his knees. Often, like that, she enjoyed putting at least one hand on his fine buttocks, feeling it contract and dimple with each thrust that he made. At other times, she would lift her legs up, and, in one of her favorite sensations, Sheldon would help her, running his palm along the back of her thigh, burying himself deeper into her.

There was a rhythm they had perfected, too. Sheldon liked calm and slow. This had surprised her. She had assumed sex with Sheldon would be faster, with more force, the same ferocious energy he applied to almost everything. But, no, almost always when he set the pace, it was like he was taking his time, almost always bringing her pleasure first, and then prolonging her ecstasy as long as he could. Love from Sheldon was smooth as glass.

Especially in the mornings, when Sheldon was just as likely to wrap himself around her from behind, slipping one arm under her, holding on to her so tightly as he loved her. Then it was very slow.

Sometimes, inflamed in some fashion, by his voice, his body, she would take control of the situation and ride him out to sea, his hands pressed against her hips, cupping her bottom as she leaned down into him, her hair falling around them, enclosing them in a private tent of kisses. As good as this was, it was even better if she had the forethought to stack all the bed pillows up for him to lean back upon. Mmmmm, yes, that angle was the best. This way, with her on top, Sheldon told her the speed fluctuated wildly with no predictable pattern, and it was all he could do to keep up. She was fearful he disliked it, that he found it disorderly. No, he reassured her with a kiss. It was one of the few surprises he loved.

Things had changed with time, of course. He was more willing talk about it now. He had gotten more vocal after a few months as, she suspected, his worries subsided. And, of course, it could not forever be their honeymoon or the babymoon, or even, she smiled at the memory, the four times a week average she had once bragged about. Now, busy adjusting to the constantly changing role as parents, they managed once a week. Although last week, they had squeezed in a second time, so perhaps they were rebounding.

She had been worried, after Ada, about her body. Things were so different, less firm, her breasts had lost their perkiness, her stomach and hips were scarred by stretch marks, and she could not seem to loose all of the weight. During the day, Sheldon had never said anything about these changes, even when she complained that none of her old clothes fit, and she wasn't sure what that silence meant. But then, the second time they made love after Ada was born (the first time was awful and best forgot), he had slowly kissed each stretch mark before burying his face in her newly flabby stomach. He still didn't say anything, but, this time, she knew exactly what he meant.

Not that the mechanics mattered as much as the emotions to Amy. Well, of course they mattered, but she never had to worry that once Sheldon decided he was going to do this that he would apply himself to doing it to the very best of his ability. And, boy, did he!

What mattered was the way he made her feel in her soul. She could not ever imagine having some sort of casual sexual encounter. This meeting with Sheldon, those precious moments when they were the closest they could possibly be, made her heart ache with joy and contentment. She felt like the luckiest woman in the world. He repeatedly surprised her with his depth of feeling, the words he would occasionally whisper in her ear while he was loving her in every way it was possible to love someone. Even if he didn't speak, the look in his eyes was the most beautiful thing she had ever known, and it made the ardor in her chest almost burn through her skin.

That night, the pleasure of seeing a glimmer of his carefully hidden romantic side peeking through had touched her more than could say. She had taken her sentimental old fool to bed, and, after he had pleasured her, she had taken him in. She wanted him with a passion that had not lessened with time, and she coaxed him as deeply as she could, and he had brought her leg up with understanding.

Sheldon shifted slightly, and she met his next thrust with a throaty exhale. He smiled down at her before leaning his forehead against hers. Her body moved in time with his, and each time he reached for her, deep inside her, a tiny reflection of her earlier pleasure rippled through her.

"Ohh, Sheldon," she moaned, just before he kissed her.

His cheek brushed against hers, and he whispered, short of breath, raspy with his own approaching climax, "I love you so much, I want the whole world to hear it."

And then her name was on his lips.

AN: Thank you in advance for your reviews!