What, another one? Just what are you thinking about, missy?
Well, here's the thing - I actually started Monkeys and Typewriters with some vague idea that I've forgotten and now have no clue what I'm doing with that story. Cute, right? But while I'm buying time trying to figure it out, I made another one with a simple flow. I know exactly where this one is going, so, yay!
Derpderp here you go, kids. (but don't actually be a kid, I'm planning to write smut here)
"As per the relationship agreement, we are to finally engage in physical contact beyond the bounds we've previously treaded in our friendship paradigm." Penny started and glanced over from her magazine to Sheldon, who was sitting on his side of her teal couch similar to herself, legs crossed and a comic book in his hands. He was looking at her intensely, however, and she pursed her lips as she turned more fully to face him and attempted to dissect his words.
She, for the most part, understood what he meant, but needed to reassure herself she'd heard correctly. "Sorry, in English?" she asked.
"It has been three weeks of our new relationship," he began slowly, and she nodded along with him, smile growing as her stomach grew warm. She remembered vividly when he'd awkwardly asked her, for the second time in the years she'd known him, on a date. However, there was no Amy and Stuart fiasco, nor was there a puppy-dog Leonard nipping at her heels—no one to be angry, no one to be jealous. He had been asking her simply for the purpose of asking her. He wanted to go on a date; no ulterior motives.
She'd agreed without a second thought, something that she'd shut her door (after his crisp nod and his instructions to be ready the next day by six in the afternoon) and slid to the floor in bewildered thought over. When he'd asked, she'd gotten butterflies and her mind had gone hazy—a reaction that was both exciting and terrifying. She hadn't felt like that…well, not since her first prom-invite in high school. Which wasn't terribly long ago, but long enough for her to assume that she wouldn't experience that fuzzy feeling again.
At the time, she'd chalked it up to Sheldon Cooper asked me out—the Dr. Whack-a-doodle honestly wants to go on a date with little college-dropout Penny!
But the date had gone so well that a) she was amazed at how much she enjoyed it and how she wanted to it again and b) Sheldon had, with her help (over the phone even though they were in apartments just across the hall, something she also found oddly endearing) created a relationship agreement. It included simple things that, for the most part, they'd already obeyed in their friendship—she would wait out his three knocks, he would (in the event of uneven ordering) allow her to have the last dumpling. His spot would remain his spot, but she had gained permanent dibs over the spot next to it. Simple things.
However, at the very end, he'd paused for such a long time over the phone that she had worried he'd hung up on her (and for a first-day boyfriend, that was definitely not good for brownie points). Finally, after repeating his name several times, his voice had been just above a whisper as he'd said, "And now the physical agreements."
That had been something Penny hadn't thought about. She was big ol' five—a healthy woman with a healthy, if not statistically overactive, libido. In short, she liked sex and wanted it often. But this was Sheldon. Easily the exact opposite of that; she wanted so badly, after such a good date, to give this whole "relationship paradigm shift" a genuine try, but she hadn't thought of the implications of physicality between them. However, at the sound of his voice, small and almost scared, she'd felt the need to quickly assuage his fears, "Sweetie, we can deal with that at a pace comfortable to you. I can wait a while."
Normally, she wasn't one to wait exceptionally long. However, for Sheldon, she realized in that moment that she would. He'd sighed loudly in relief on the other end, and she prayed that they weren't talking in terms of years. "Ah, well—Penny, it seems of everyone I know, I would be most willing to…" he'd paused, cleared his throat, and skipped whatever he'd been planning to say, "well, with you the most. But not for a while…and slowly."
She'd nodded before realizing he couldn't see it and very nearly smacked herself in the forehead. "I understand."
"In three weeks' time, we can commence a physical relationship. From there, we will…'play by ear.' What do you say?"
Without hesitating (three lousy weeks? Hell yeah!) she'd said yes.
However, as they settled into a new routine, she'd hardly noticed the passage of time. Not that it had been slow, but it hadn't been an issue—she'd liked being with Sheldon in this way. They touched occasionally, no more than usual, but he would now give her certain looks and small smiles that made her heart race just enough. And, when she thought about it, knowing this was Sheldon, those looks and smiles were very intimate in his own way. All in all, she was happy with how the relationship had been going, and she found that knowing she was with Sheldon and was waiting for him to grow comfortable made it much easier for her to go without.
Now, however, as he stared at her from across the not-so-broad expanse of her teal couch, she realized that the time had come for them to move on physically. Slowly, of course, as he'd specified, but something was supposed to change. She thought for a few moments, trying to figure out what exactly to do—she knew Sheldon wouldn't take the initiative, and she also knew the first step was crucial to setting the pace of the next.
She grinned at him wryly and winked, stretching out her hand. Between them laid a yellow throw-pillow, and she set her hand atop it, palm up. Scrunching her fingers expectantly, she waited.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
She shrugged and kept her hand where it was. "Playing by ear."
Sheldon set his hand in hers after a small hesitation, looking down at the twined limbs. He squeezed her fingers experimentally, and she squeezed back. Deeming it suitable, he made a small noise of appreciation, flipped their hands so his was on bottom, and went back to his comic book. She did the same—she hadn't known Ellen was married; when in the ripe hell did that happen?