Characters: Sheldon/Amy and very put upon Leonard
Word Count: 1236
Author's Note: Blame the sex maniacs on tumblr for this one. I'm definitely not one of them. Definitely not. At all.
Disclaimer: The Big Bang Theory is an American sitcom created by Chuck Lorre and Bill Prady, and is produced by them along with Lee Aronsohn. It is a Warner Brothers production and airs on CBS. All characters, plots and creative elements derived from the source material belong exclusively to their respective owners. I, the author of the fan fiction, do not, in any way, profit monetarily from the story.
Rating: M (for language, dialog, suggestive content)

Ever since Amy and Sheldon had first had sex, a switch got turned on in Amy and she was having trouble turning it off. Not that she was particularly trying to. Despite his misgivings, however, Sheldon found resistance, well, difficult.

He was in the kitchen making himself a sandwich when he remembered something.

"My apologies, Amy," he said. "Would you like a sandwich as well? If you require an additional selling point, I bought an exotic mustard that I think you will find rather pleasing to the palate."

Amy stood from where she was sitting on the couch and walked to the kitchen. "I'll decline on the mustard, though I would like a sandwich. If you wouldn't mind, I would like to preside over your preparation of it."

Sheldon looked up surprised. "I can't imagine why. With my eidetic memory, I can easily recall exactly how you like your sandwich to be assembled."

"Well, you may be surprised to find that I would like to vary from 'the usual.' You forget, Sheldon, that, unlike you, I like to entertain a passing whimsy on occasion."

"Very well then," Sheldon said, ceding the point. "Feel free to preside over the proceedings." He cleared his throat. "Am I wrong to assume you would like bread?" he asked, rather facetiously.

"I would indeed," she said, and he pulled two pieces of rye from a bag on the counter. "However, I would like that kind." She pointed to a loaf of Wonder Bread on top of the refrigerator.

"Come now, Amy," he said incredulously. "Just last week you said that white bread was the appendix of the bread world—ubiquitous and familiar but devoid of any discernible value."

"Well, I've changed my mind," she said unapologetically.

"Then you should also know that that loaf belongs to Leonard."

"Surely he won't begrudge me a slice or two."

"He will if he counts the slices."

"I believe that is your practice, not his."

"Fair enough," Sheldon said, and he pulled two slices of white bread from the bag. "Now, on to cheese?"

"No. No cheese. But I would like tomato."

"Wise choice," he said, cutting a slice from one he already had on the cutting board.

"I would prefer,"—dramatic pause—"two cherry tomatoes," she said.

"Now Amy," Sheldon protested, "cherry tomatoes are more suited to salads, not sandwiches. Besides, garden tomatoes provide more bread coverage."

"As true as that may be, I would prefer two, juicy, round, spheres of luscious tomatoes, please." She licked her lips as she said it.

"As you wish," he said, and fought to balance two cherry tomatoes on the slice of bread. "And ham?"

"Yes," Amy said, her voice lowering to a low purr. "Please cut a nice, thick, cut of meat to put between those two slices of white bread."

Sheldon did as he was told, though not without some puzzlement. "I've never seen you have such enthusiasm for a sandwich," he said.

"Oh, yes," Amy said. "Now finish off that union of tender orbs and thick meat between slices of bread with a wide slather of smooth, moist, white, succulent…"

Sometime during her description of the mayo, Sheldon had an epiphany. With wide eyes, and his breath catching, his eyes snapped to his girlfriend.

"Oh Amy," he whispered.

Leonard decided to go home for lunch. With Howard in space, Raj on vacation in India, and Amy and Sheldon at their "bimonthly midday meeting," he really didn't want to eat in the cafeteria alone. Whenever he did, it amounted to an open invitation for weird characters, like Kripke, to join him at the table. Besides, based on the tracking number he found online, Leonard was anticipating the UPS delivery of a "Powered by Linux" hoodie that day, and if somebody was going to sign for it, it might as well be him, right? So, there was that.

When he got back to the apartment, he was surprised to discover the door was open. He was fairly confident that Sheldon had been the last one to leave in the morning, but considering that Sheldon's habits (good and bad) bordered on—hell, definitely were fanatical, Leonard figured that he himself must have been the one who had forgotten to lock up. He walked inside, briefly considering what to have for lunch, before remembering that a nap would be even better. He just collapsed to the couch. The fact that his feet were in Sheldon's spot would only make his sleep that much sweeter.

Then he heard a noise in the kitchen. It was a scuffling sound.

"Awww, man. Don't tell me we have a mouse," he said out loud. Then there was another shuffling sound, but louder this time and it sounded… That is definitely too loud for a mouse, Leonard thought to himself. Suddenly, he was taken with an overwhelming feeling of dread. Leonard and Sheldon had been victims of theft before; it could happen again. He crept over to the sword that was set above his bookshelf, and pulled it from the hooks on which it rested. He brandished the weapon high above his shoulder.

"In my hands," he called out, his voice defiant and brave, "I hold an exact replica of 'Ice,' a mystical, spell-forged sword made of famed Valyrian steel, and I am not afraid to use it for what it was made for."

"To hang on the wall and brag to your friends?"

Leonard looked stunned. "Sheldon?"

"Yes?" he replied.

"Are you on the kitchen floor?"

"Of course I am, Leonard," he said, disturbingly breathless. "Honestly, some questions needn't be asked."

"Well, hypothetically," Amy panted, "you could have been crouching in one of the floor cabinets."

"Amy is with you?" Leonard asked, even more shocked.

"Indeed I am," she answered.

He thought a moment. "Are you all doing what I think you are doing?"

"Well, I have no idea what you think we are doing," Sheldon answered. "But I can only imagine three plausible activities that we could be engaging in, and we are neither scrubbing the floor nor searching for a backing to Amy's earring, so that leaves—"

"OH, COME ON, GUYS," Leonard said, annoyed. He walked back to the wall, returning the sword to its hooks. "I'm getting out of here."

"An advisable course of action," Amy said.

"You know, the courteous thing would have been to hang a tie on the door."

"Is that what that means?" Sheldon asked, amazed. "Well that explains why at MIT, a student population that was otherwise completely uninterested in dorm decoration would dress their doorknobs so formally in the evenings."

"Bye," Leonard said. Sheldon and Amy heard the front door open, and then the front door shut.

"So," Amy said, her voice sultry, "where were we?"

"Your metaphor seems to be faulty, Amy," Sheldon replied. "I'm afraid what we were doing does not correspond to any element of your sandwich."

"Well then, next time," she said, "we'll have to make a salad."

Next time. The words nearly pulled him from the moment. She said it so casually and so confidently, as if a "next time" were guaranteed, as if this was something they just did now. Sheldon wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that.

Until she kissed him on the lips with what felt like all the power she had; it was then he remembered why this made sense.

"Next time," he whispered. "Next time." He kissed her back.