Thank you to Geeky Blue Strawberry for this topic suggestion.

Gratification (takes place after Two Across)

A satisfied smile on his face at his partner in crime, he kissed the top of her head again.

This is what Sheldon knew:

That before he and Amy went on their first "date" (with Penny in tow - how odd in retrospect), Amy had already experienced 128 orgasms. That at least some of these orgasms were at the hands of some sort of electrical device stimulating the pleasure centers of her brain, not at the hands of, well, her own hands. He thought that two thirds was a reasonable estimate. That, based on the number of times Amy brought up some form of physical intimacy during their courtship, she had an active libido. That based on her helpful guidance once they were intimate, she was obviously a woman who knew her own body well. So maybe his previous estimate was incorrect. It could not be denied this knowledge was a good thing; her mastery and lack of prudery served them well, saving time and frustration. He shuddered to think that he could have been considered a fumbler. That, also since their marriage, he and Amy enjoyed what he considered a healthy sex life. At times, based on the comments from his friends, extremely healthy. Thus, in spite of her obvious prior practice of self-gratification, she had him now and surely that was gratifying enough.

This is what Sheldon did not know:

Amy's first lover was named Gerard. He was also slim and pale, but so pale he was a true white. And bright - dare she say, electric? - blue. He was a speedy and repetitive lover, even if he did have an annoying monotonous drone while he was pleasuring her. Before she met Sheldon, she only had eyes for Gerard. After a while, though, she wondered what it would be like if Sheldon were to touch her. She left Gerard in the drawer one night and imagined Sheldon's long fingers upon her, touching her swollen, slick secret. This Imaginary-Sheldon-Lover was slower but calmer and quieter. His eyes were a more beautiful shade of blue. When she climaxed, she imagined those eyes above her. Number 152 was the best yet. Imaginary-Sheldon-Lover started to visit more frequently, and he discovered subtleties and nuances to touch she did not previously know she enjoyed.

Then Imaginary-Sheldon-Lover gave way, miraculously, to Sheldon-Almost-Lover. She had never before been so slick, so swollen with desire. Always after an only-above-the-waist tumble on a Sleepover Night, he would leave her to take a shower. It didn't take long, lying in his rumbled bed, imagining him naked with water coursing down his lean body, and she bite into the pillow to keep from crying out. She wondered if he could smell it - in the air, on her fingers, in between the sheets - when he returned, usually freezing cold but sometimes his skin flushed and hot, but he never said anything. He gathered her up close, squeezing her tight, and they fell asleep. When she moved in, she threw Gerard away. Not only to avoid explaining his presence, but because she'd broken up with him a long time ago.

Real-Oh-My-God-He's-My-Husband-Sheldon-Lover was a quick learner. She passed on all the lessons Imaginary-Sheldon-Lover had taught her and he perfected them. Husband-Sheldon-Lover had all the devotion and eagerness of a convert to any new way of doing things, and if she was filled with desire, she could be almost certain he would be, too. Her hand was only ever used between them, to help him relax and enjoy. To find gratification together.

One night, finally rested, nervous but keen, she asked Father-Sheldon to return to his former title of Husband-Sheldon-Lover. She managed not to cry, probably only because she saw how small he made himself as he hugged his side of the bed afterward, and she knew his pride always took the greatest falls. The next morning, though, he left her for work, shy and distant, and she cried, rivets of silent tears through the mid-morning feeding. Something was broken, and she feared it was her.

Later that afternoon, Ada down for her nap, Amy took a deep breath and dug around in the bathroom cabinet for a hand mirror. This was not something she was going to let remain broken. She sat on her martial bed, and took her time, analyzing each sensation, determining what was different and what was the same. It was easier to imagine Lover-Sheldon now than it had been three years ago. And so, when she saw he wanted to try again, she shifted for him so his fingers would move and gently touched his hand when needed, and led him to the promised land once more.

Now, she had Sheldon, and he gave her all the gratification she needed. Unless he was out of town. Then she would close her eyes and smile softly and imagine him above her and reach down . . .

This is what Amy knew:

Nothing. She wondered, of course, all through their courtship and into their marriage, but the topic was clearly in that file in Sheldon's mind labeled Top Secret. She let him have it, so she wouldn't have to talk about Gerard.

This is what Amy did not know:

He had been a teenager once. Deanna Troi wore spandex the night she passed her bridge officer's exam. He tried to take a shower, to wash IT away, but IT wasn't going anywhere. It washed away in the morning, why wouldn't IT wash away now? His fingernails grabbed the avocado green titles in the shower, and when he climaxed it sounded more like a whimper of shame than anything else. He worked at this as hard as he worked at everything, and each set-back was a rush of pleasure coupled by the shame of defeat. He would be master of his domain. And, at last, somewhere along the way, he succeeded. There was set-back the night of their Dungeons and Dragons game, but that was the only single occurrence in a decade. Running the calculations in his head, he determined he had still succeeded: the whimper of defeat and the shame were still present.

Until, one night, Amy kissed him and touched his face, and asked him if he liked it. This time, though, his hands gripping the periodic table shower curtain, he cried out so strong and loud he feared Leonard and Penny could hear him across the hall. That feeling, that memory of her green eyes and shy smile, that appreciation that she'd left without acknowledging IT, even though he was certain IT could be seen from space, felt like . . . solving an equation.

However, it wasn't good to give into these impulses. He knew he wouldn't go blind, as his mother had forever warned George, but . . . Nope, even after he enjoyed an only-above-the-waist tumble with Amy, IT never being so large, he usually took an ice cold shower, as he had learned the exact level of pain that would make IT go away. Then he would run back to the bedroom, and pull her warm body closer as his teeth chattered, shocked to discover how strong the smell of sex was in his bed. How had he somehow missed that in the heat of the moment?

Sometimes, though, especially inflamed, he found himself standing in warm water, thinking of Amy's moans and her body bucking toward him and he imagined the smell when he returned to bed. He hid his face in the corner of the shower and gritted his teeth so she wouldn't hear him. Still he ran back to the bedroom, still he gathered her in close, to not give himself away.

Then IT had a purpose, the one IT was designed for, and cold showers where a thing of the past. Almost always, if he wanted Amy, she wanted him, too. Once or twice, when his face was buried between her thighs, when the taste and the sounds and the smell was almost unbearable, his hand had wandered down and brushed himself and he considered . . . no, he would save IT for Amy. To find gratification together.

After Ada was born, he struggled mightily, and not with IT. How could the greatest high in his life (holding his beautiful newborn daughter in the hospital) be followed so closely by the greatest low (actually considering walking out the door and leaving them)? Gradually, though, he found something approaching equilibrium, and he waited, patiently, for Amy to join him there. This equilibrium brought IT back. He waited not so patiently in the shower, biting her name off of his lips at the last second.

Then it was awful. It was followed by the whimper of shame. Something was broken, and he feared it was him, that all those weeks of waiting, of only having self-gratification had made him callous or selfish. As hard as he had once worked to keep IT at bay, he would now work to fix this. But Amy, wonderful, noble Amy, helped guide his hand once more, and it was not work after all.

Now, he had Amy, and she gave him all the gratification he needed. Unless one of them was out of town. He would try to wait for her return, and sometimes he would succeed, only to ravish her like the untrained virgin he had once been. But, sometimes, he would close his eyes and smile softly and imagine her above him and reach down . . .

The darkness, the breathing coming faster and closer to the surface, the sounds of their kissing, the tingle that spread through her body when Sheldon caressed her nipple with his thumb and then started to drift lower . . . A moan escaped Amy's lips when he made contact.

She rolled on her side and flung her leg over his hip, wanting his body to be tightly pressed to hers. She felt him pause as her own fingertips threaded their way down the trail of hair from his belly button.

"Amy?" he whispered, his palm stilled but remaining caught between her thighs.

"Let's do this tonight," she whispered back, wrapping her hand around him. "At the same time."

"Why? Is there something wrong?" he pulled his hand away.

"No -" she stroked him up, just once, and smiled as his little gasp "- it's just that we never have, really. We sort of skipped this."

"Because we were never overly hormonal teenagers who had not taken the proper contraceptive precautions. Or people that believe an imagery deity would think that ringing the doorbell was completely acceptable as long as you didn't open the door."

Stopping, Amy bent her head back to look him straight in the eye. "Do you not want to? It might be fun."

Sheldon studied her for a moment and she saw the slightest tilt of his head. "You know we'll have to shower afterwards, it will be everywhere."

"We'll take one together," Amy purred.

"Very well," Sheldon whispered, leaning down to kiss her. "Now, where were we?"

"Like this," Amy stroked him again as Sheldon found her once more, and they quickly settled into a rhythm, their bodies flexing towards the other's hand, like dancing, like breathing, like loving, finding gratification together.

When Geeky first suggested this topic to me, my initial reaction was a resounding no. I didn't think it fit my style, I thought it would be too explicit, and my stories are about Sheldon and Amy loving each other. But the more I thought about it, I decided it was a challenge, a chance to try something new, an opportunity to mold it to my style, not the other way around. Not to mention the more philosophical conversation about whether knowing oneself well is essential to loving another well. Was I successful? That's for you to judge. Thank you, as always, for your reviews!