By the Numbers (takes place sometime shortly after The Guest Cat)

Sheldon's hand stopped in surprise. "Few million dollars?" Then he resumed his ministrations, rubbing her calves now.

"Yes, several million dollars. I told you I need either donations or a new grant for the next level of my study. To prove my initial findings."

It took him far longer than it should have taken a man of his intelligence to figure it out. But then, he reasoned to reassure himself, there was less than the usual blood flow to his brain at the time.

Sheldon was not surprised by the position. This was, even if unsaid, Amy's night of celebratory sex as the funding for the second stage of her study had come through. Flushed with pride and accomplishment and determination and desire, it seemed only fitting she would want to direct the evening's activities. Not that he wouldn't have gladly pleasured her first, with relish; indeed, the sight of her helpless with physical joy brought about by his mere fingers was one his greatest sources of satisfaction. But he knew her well enough to know when she wanted to feel her own empowerment. So, when she settled over him, as he leaned back into the mountain of pillows she'd arranged, he assumed she was just settling, adjusting, finding her angle. The fits and starts didn't concern him in the least.

Perhaps, early on, it occurred to him that it was more erratic than normal, first clockwise and then switching to counterclockwise and then rapidly back again. But he was enjoying her slow groove, the feel of the soft undulation of her waist between his hands, the pressure of her palms on his chest, and, most of all, the way she closed her eyes and opened her pink lips as her own pleasure built.

But somewhere around the number nine, something tickled the edge his brain. He tried to ignore it - oh, God, this feels so good! - but it tickled nonetheless. There it was: nine again. Then nine the other direction. And - Lordy! this is amazing! - then ten. Clockwise. Ten. Counterclockwise. Ten. Clockwise. Ten. Counterclockwise. Ten. Clockwise.

Eleven! Even in the midst of own building pressure, his eyebrows went up.

"Amy?" he managed.

Her eyebrows twitched and the line between her brows deepened before her eyes opened. "Yes?"

"I couldn't help but notice the sequence -"

"Shhhh." Her eyes shut again. "I'm concentrating," she whispered.

That sealed it. There was nothing desultory about this at all. There hadn't been from the start. He wouldn't thought it was possible, given how his right hand had traveled down her thigh and the slow grab had started there, but somehow the knowledge of what she was doing only heightened the sensations radiating from his core.

She was half-way through the thirteens now, and he desperately tried to hold out to complete the grouping. More importantly, he was trying to hold out for her. Surely she must be close, her breathing was so loud now, and her little peeps and squeaks of pleasure had started. Grinding his back teeth, his fingernails dug into the soft flesh of her leg. "Amy, Amy, Amy . . ." he whined through his clenched teeth. Just one more, maybe if I count with her, oh, Amy, this is amazing! no, counting! do the math yourself! math during sex! oh, Amy! you brilliant, sexy woman, you! -

"Noooooooo!" After only eight rotations, he brain shut off and his senses were only filled with her, the warmth of her body around him, the waves she sent up and out and from his center to fill him and surround him.

He came back, panting, to Amy's forehead resting against his. "I usually yell yes, but whatever works for you," she said softly.

"Amy, I -" he reached up for the sides of her face and backed it away so that he could see it better. She was smirking. "Oh, you're not upset."

"Not at all." She shook her head. "Did you like it?"

"Like it? I loved it!" He pulled her back for a kiss. "The Golomb sequence writ large by our genitals? You're brilliant!"

She threw her head back and laughed. "Well, that description certainly made it worth while!" She looked down at him. "I was hoping you'd recognize it."

"Please. I'm a champion at both Cheskers and polyominos! Solomon Golomb is one of my heros!" Amy chuckled again and shifted above him, sending a tiny zing through his body. What she starting again? He wasn't thirty-five anymore, but, maybe . . . "Oh, Amy," he said softly.

"What?" she asked, her hips stilled again.

"You didn't . . ." He swallowed.

She shrugged. "It's okay. I think I was concentrating on counting too much."

"No, it's not okay." He pulled himself all the way upright, wrapping his arms around her. "And this wasn't even regular sex, this was supposed to be your event sex."

"Event sex?" Amy raised her eyebrows.

"Yes. Celebratory sex. Because you received all the funding you need for your study." He brushed those bangs he hated out of her face. "I'm sorry, I should have insisted -"

"Sheldon." She put a hand on his chest. "I have no idea what this so-called event sex is. I was just trying to spice things up, that's all."

"Mission accomplished, little lady. But event sex is when something out of the ordinary happens and -"

"Shhhh." She leaned forward and kissed him softly. "There's nothing ordinary to me about making love to you."

"Well, when you put it that way . . . I agree whole heartedly," Sheldon whispered.

"You know what event I like to celebrate?" Amy whispered back.

"What?"

She leaned close to his ear so that he could feel the words, not just hear them. "You naked in my bed."

"Likewise," he hushed, lowering his face into her neck, kissing her there. "Hang on." Before she could reply, her gripped her firmly and rolled over with her, and her back landed on the mattress with an "Uuummmpph."

He easily slipped out of her and replaced his hips with his hand upon her inner thigh. "Now, Dr. Fowler, you know that we don't leave any events unfinished in this bed." She giggled and then moaned when he made contact. "I was thinking maybe the Juggler sequence. You know, because I'm so dexterous." She giggled again. "Shall I count?"

"Oh, Sheldon . . ." she moaned as his finger started to swirl.

"One." Clockwise. "One." Counterclockwise. "Five." Clockwise. "Two." Counterclockwise. "Eleven." Clockwise. "Two." Counterclockwise. "Eighteen." Clockwise. "Two -"

"Oh, leave the integer out," she demanded.

He tilted his head. For her? Yes. "Very well. Twenty-seven." Counterclockwise. "Thirty-six." Clockwise. "Forty-six." Counterclockwise. "Fifty-eight." Clockwise.

Except he only made it to forty-two.

"Sheldon!" There it was, what he'd been longing to see: the flushed skin, the arch of her neck, the way her thighs squeezed him. He paused, just a beat, to let her catch her breath, before he resumed.

"Again?" Amy gasped out.

"I can't leave it unfinished!" Completion of fifty-eight. Clockwise. "Seventy." Counterclockwise. But he studied Amy, biting her lip, her back arching off the bed, her hands knotted around the sheet beneath her. "How about I just start at fifty-nine?"

Amy exhaled and relaxed slightly, but not all the way. Although even he knew the visible tension was of a different sort. And, because, they excelled here as they did with all things, their timing was impeccable.

"Seventy," he whispered, but no one heard it over Amy's beautiful cry of joy. He leaned down to kiss her forehead, to brush his lips along the planes of her face.

"Better?" he whispered.

"Oh, yeah."

Sheldon smiled and reached above her to rearrange the pillows, before he pulled the covers up and Amy snuggled up next to him, her head on his chest. He kissed the top of her hair. "I love you so much."

Amy smiled into his chest. "We should do math in bed more often."

"Agreed."

She chuckled again and shifted closer to him, and he involuntary twitched when her feet touched him. "How is it possible to engage in so much physical activity and yet your feet remain frigid!"

But he rubbed his own feet against hers, anyway, to warm them. Just another ordinary event.

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