An Affair of the Mind (takes place after The Remains of the Day)
Amy chuckled. "But, as for the book, you're correct. There were no outward signs of romantic or sexual attraction. I think their love grew from an affair of the mind. They were friends first, in very similar professions so they could discuss that common ground , they enjoyed each other's company at the end of the day, over a hot beverage . . ." Amy lifted her mug of tea up in a mini-salute and then took a drink.
His hair. It was slightly darker than hers. Thicker. Coarser, also, but not coarse. It was best, she thought, in the few days prior to his hair cut, when there was more of it. The dark color contrasted with his blue eyes beautifully. If the position was such that she could, Amy often liked to run her fingers through Sheldon's hair when they made love. She liked to feel it, smooth it over his head, his brain. Something so delicate covering something so important.
Because of where her hands were, he knew what would happen. When she took her fast, sharp breaths, just before releasing her first cry, Sheldon knew she would squeeze his head as her body was squeezed by pleasure. He could not help but smile. It would be firm, determined, almost too tight. He will be caught in her vise grip of joy.
It was almost unbearable, the tightness, the aching clenching of her thighs and buttocks. Even as she twisted ever more, her body ached for the sudden valve of surrender. She knew it was close, it had to be or she would die before she got there. She ran her fingers through his hair, this one sure thing outside of herself, the only thing other than her body she could feel in that moment. There was a split second pause in the universe before it burst upon her. Release. She could not help it, she pressed, her fingertips finding the nodules and bumps and divots she knew well. In the whirlwind of pleasure, that essential part of him was there, too. His brain, his big, beautiful, bulbous brain. The first thing she ever loved about him.
He moved his hand away and leaned his face even closer to hers, to kiss her softly along her zygomatic arch. The edges of her lips were curled up slightly into a smile, but the type of smile that one gives when one has a secret. Too soon, she stopped pressing on his head and opened her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Sheldon," she whispered, out of breath.
"For what?" he whispered back, shifting above her, aligning himself.
"I shouldn't do that. Squeeze your head so hard."
"Shhhh," he soothed into a soft kiss. "I like it. It's like you're making love to my mind." Tomorrow, it will occur to him that was a hippy-dippy thing to say. But at that moment, all he wanted was to lower himself into her, and he lowered his face, also, close to her hair.
Her hair. Lighter, thinner than his. It was best, he thought, early in the morning, when it fell full around her face. But in the evenings, too, it was wonderful, when it fanned out behind her head, so glossy and polished, like a halo. If the position was such that he could, Sheldon almost always liked to rest his face somewhere close to Amy's hair when they made love. He loved to catch the last whispers of the scent of her shampoo, the way it encircled her head, her brain. Something so diaphanous covering something so important.
Because of where his face is, she knew what would happen. There would a moment, so brief it could be missed, just before releasing his groan; Amy knew he would take a deep breath close to her ear, close to her hair. She could not help but smile. It would be greedy, determined, almost too strange a sound. She will hear him taking a memory of her.
It was almost unbearable, the tightness, the feeling of being caught, surrounded by something so wonderful. Even as he drove ever further toward her, his body ached to find the end. He knew it was close, it had to be or he would perish, right there inside of her. He managed to gently touch her hair with his lips, this one sure thing outside of themselves, one more wonderful part of her body he wanted to feel in that moment. There was a split second pause in the universe before he poured into her. A surge. He could not help it, he took her scent just as his cheek crashed into her temple, finding the aroma and sensations he knew well. In the vortex of satisfaction, that essential part of her was there, too. Her brain, her memories, her monumental, magnificent brain. The first thing he ever loved about her.
She ran her fingertips down along his spine and held him closer as he relaxed against her. She could not see him, but she could feel his breath, still hot and panting in her ear. His fingertips were still wrapped in her hair, just as his body was still wrapped by hers. Too soon, he lifted his head and looked at her.
"I think it's my turn to apologize," he whispered.
"For what?" she replied, carefully stretching her legs out so as not to lose him.
"I shouldn't pull your hair there and put so much pressure on your scar. It might be painful."
"It's not," she hushed into a gentle kiss. "I like it. It's like you're making love to my mind." She managed not to giggle, knowing how embarrassed he will be by that naked, sentimental comment tomorrow.
AN: This is a not-apology for the length of the last two After Dark chapters. I let After Dark take me where it will, of its of volition, and sometimes it gives me an essay and sometimes it gives me un amuse-bouche.
As always, thank you for your reviews!