Chai Tea Latte (takes place after Irene Iddesleigh)

"By off schedule, I presume you mean by a margin of four minutes?" The line deepened on Amy's face.

"Four minutes off schedule is still off schedule."

"If you are referencing the wait time in the drive-though line at Starbucks this morning, you could have gotten out of the car and walked the rest of the way to work. Or drove separately."

Damn chai tea latte!

It was the strangest thing Amy had ever thought immediately post-coital. Sheldon had no sooner collapsed against her back, his chest damp and heaving, his hands relaxing their grip on her shoulders, his breath still panting in her ear, then she thought it.

Well, it was the truth. Without that spat about the latte this morning, none of this would have happened. It should have been inconsequential, a tiny thing soon forgiven and forgotten. But somehow it was like a paper cut, it smarted and festered all day, the pain out of proportion with the size of the injury. And then, this evening, she couldn't help but pick at it, poking and prodding when she knew she should be leaving it alone. How was it that every single thing he did this evening had grated against her? Every single thing that she could barely stand about him rose to the surface, a thousand tiny things that weren't important and that she had long since found the peace to ignore for the sake of the greater good and because she loved him so much. By now, she knew well that marrying someone was not just choosing the person to love for the rest of your life; it was also choosing the person that was going to drive you crazy for the rest of your life. But, hell!, he was so frustrating at times!

She didn't know which was worse: that she had picked, or that Sheldon had picked right back, or that they ended up here, like this. Doing the thing she swore they would never do. Or maybe the worst was there was a moment there, when he had almost-apologized for his Book Club selection. Because it wasn't really about the chai tea latte, was it? It was about his experiment on one of her favorite things. She could have accepted his timid regret, explained why she was upset and procured a promise that it wouldn't be repeated, and let the little wound heal. But she had not. That was the worst.

Sheldon rolled off of her onto his back and stared up the ceiling, never meeting her eyes. She could already see the welt raising on his shoulder. Amy relaxed and stretched her legs out behind her and reached up to rub her eyes, remembering exactly how they had ended up here.

They had changed for bed in stormy silence, and each had kept to their own side. Finally, Amy felt herself getting sleepy, and her feet, guided by instinct and custom, had sought the warmth of Sheldon's legs.

"Must you always put your frigid feet on me? It's like you have no circulation to your extremities."

The tension immediately returned. She rolled over quickly. "I wouldn't get cold if you didn't steal all the blankets."

Sheldon rolled over to face her with equal bitterness. "We just got into bed. The stripes on the comforter are still obviously vertical. No one has stole anything."

"Well, maybe you should go sleep on the couch so my feet won't touch you."

He sat up and looked down at her. "Maybe I will. And leave you and your precious blankets alone."

"Fine. Go." She propped herself up on her elbows so she could watch him leave.

"Woman!" And then his mouth was on hers, hard, pushing her back down. She didn't even remember being surprised. She remembered meeting it with equal force, one passion rapidly traded for another. Things happened quickly after that; the only pause came when she bit his shoulder.

"Amy!" he yelped. "That was not a love bite!"

"It wasn't meant to be," she replied, defiantly meeting his gaze.

And when he slapped her bottom it wasn't the playful smacks she loved; it was so painful it made her hiss. Somehow it only made her want it more. They hadn't even discussed it, it evolved naturally, this rarely used position. Sheldon had first introduced it when he was impatient and annoyed after a long flight. Thus it was always used to squeeze the frustration out, but never like this. The few times it had happened this way previously it was still a gift, one of them giving it to the other to help soothe the tension. But tonight had been different. They were both frustrated, maybe even angry, and all the "harders" and the "fasters" and even the hot burst of pleasure flowing from her core could not make it right.

Amy lay there for a long time, on her stomach, watching Sheldon watch the ceiling, listening to their breath slow and quiet, trying to ignore the sting from her rear. She was ashamed and disturbed that they found themselves here. They had just used this thing, this thing that was a always a beautiful celebration of their love, as a punishment. She waited to see what would happen next, until she knew nothing would happen unless one of them made a move.

She rolled on her side and was relieved that Sheldon immediately did the same. They looked at each other for a moment.

"Sheldon -" "Amy -"

She couldn't help but smile slightly and was even more relieved that Sheldon simultaneously did the same. She spoke again. "I'm sorry. That was . . ." She didn't even know how to verbalize it.

"I know. I'm sorry, too." He reached up to brush his fingers through her hair but caught a snag. "It's tangled. I must have . . . Do you want me to brush it?"

"No." Amy shook her head. "It's always tangled in the morning, anyway. I'll brush it then." There was another pause in which they just looked at each other. "How's your shoulder?"

"It will be fine. And your . . . bottom?"

"It's fine, too."

Sheldon nodded and silence fell again.

"We shouldn't do that," he finally said.

"Never. Not because we're angry or even frustrated with each other. I think . . . it's fine when one of us is frustrated with the world, with something outside this room."

"If you think it's just fine, we shouldn't do it for that, either."

Amy whispered, "Do you think it's just fine?"

"Do you?" he whispered back.

"Um," she felt her cheeks flush, "I think, in that situation, it's more than fine. Much more. It can be very . . . cathartic."

"Yes, I agree." He leaned in closer and kissed her forehead very gently.

"I'm sorry, Sheldon. I behaved appallingly all day. I don't know what got into me."

He shrugged. "You had a bad day. I'm sorry, I wasn't on my best behavior, either. And I experimented on Book Club without your knowledge. I should have never done that."

She nodded her acceptance of his apology.

"Amy?" Sheldon whispered again.

"Yes?"

"Would you mind rolling over on your stomach?"

Amy furrowed her brow. "Why?"

Sheldon licked his lips. "Well, one of the best parts about that particular . . . catharsis . . . is kissing between your shoulder blades. Which, since we went about this all wrong, I neglected to do."

Intrigued and baffled by this particular need for completion, Amy complied. Sheldon leaned over her, and, true to his word, tenderly laid a dry kiss between her shoulder blades. And then another one right next to it, a slow trail leading out, then following the ridge of her scapula. It was tactical, but it wasn't erotic. It was compassionate and chaste, nothing like the animalistic roughness in which they had just partaken. It was an unspoken expression of regret, and Amy felt herself relaxing beneath it, all her frustrations melting away.

Then Sheldon rested his forehead between her shoulder blades and murmured, "Oh, Amy. I love your feet. I can't fall sleep without them touching me."

With that, all was forgiven, all was forgotten.

AN: Thank you in advance for your reviews!