the law of universal gravitation 3: reciprocal relations in irreversible processes
Title: The Law of Universal Gravitation 3: Reciprocal Relations in Irreversible Processes
Authors: allthingsholy & juniperlane, with dashakay and montycrowley
Summary: He spends the rest of the afternoon thinking about his experiment, the methods he will use, the behaviors he will modify. He does not think about Penny’s legs beneath his dress shirt as she sashayed across the kitchen, or the tangle of her hair first thing in the morning.
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Penny/Sheldon
Spoilers: Through 3.03, The Gothowitz Deviation
Word Count: 4,000
Disclaimer: The characters in this story do not belong to me and no copyright infringement is intended.
Warnings: Please make sure you've read the warnings here.
Authors' Notes: Apologies for the delay. The authors were off skiing (in totally different parts of the country) and got a little behind. To say that this group of ladies is a Mutual Adoration Society doesn't even begin to cover it, so we'll just say thanks to our co-writers and leave it at that. Also, thanks for the comments and support on the previous chapters. It means a lot to all of us.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
The Rule of Reciprocity: A body radiates strongly at those frequencies that it is able to absorb.
--
He buys the chocolate from a candy store next to the gyro place where he eats lunch on Mondays. He spends the entire morning thinking about Penny’s legs under that shirt, that dress shirt that was decidedly not Leonard’s, and accidentally miscalculates the area beneath a curve. He’s so distracted he accidentally switches from Kelvin to Celsius and doesn't realize for almost ten minutes.
This is unacceptable.
Based on her perkiness this morning, and the horrifying anecdote she shared about her bed-he is not so foolish as to think that the bed was broken by anything other than acrobatic and probably recklessly athletic sexual intercourse, no matter how much he pretends otherwise-Penny’s relationship with Leonard has taken a turn for the better. Shockingly.
This morning Penny was dancing in his kitchen. Penny was dancing in his kitchen while half-naked. On the list of things Penny’s not allowed to do in his kitchen, that ranks fairly near the top. If this relationship with Leonard is going to continue-which fills him with a hard, harsh feeling that is unfamiliar and entirely unwelcome, and at which he refuses to look too closely-changes are going to have to be made. The introduction of a new element into their lives is sure to cause turbulence in the function of their apartment, and he wants the damage done to his routine and weekly schedule to be minimized as much as possible.
Halfway through covering his gyro with exactly the right amount of tzatziki sauce, the idea of operant conditioning comes to him. Based on Penny’s behavior in the laundry room last weekend, she is in no mood to make his life any easier, and this seems like the next logical step to take. He will change her, mold her, find a way to remove her from the place in his life she’s so improbably taken up.
His life and career may be spinning wildly out of control (or at least, less melodramatically, be suffering from the aftershocks of a by no means inconsequential hiccup), but this he can control. This he can make right.
He spends the rest of the afternoon thinking about his experiment, the methods he will use, the behaviors he will modify. He does not think about Penny’s legs beneath his dress shirt as she sashayed across the kitchen, or the tangle of her hair first thing in the morning. He does not think about the feel of her pressed against him, or what it was like to press his hips to hers and finally feel something other than anger.
And if he keeps turning his head at the phantom smell of fabric softener and cinnamon (an odd combination, to be sure), well. He doesn’t think about that either.
--
Leonard and Penny don't end up spending the night in her apartment. Sheldon hears them sneaking back into Leonard’s room an hour after they leave, and if he had to venture a guess as to why, he’d say Leonard was unsuccessful at putting her bed back together. He’s seen Leonard around assembly instructions before, and he speaks them half as well as he speaks Elvish.
Sheldon should be sleeping. He should be halfway through a REM cycle by now, not lying here with the covers tight around his chest and a mind that will not quiet. Normally he can silence the impossible barrage of thoughts in his head, but tonight he can’t stop thinking about how far out of control his life has gotten.
His reputation is tarnished, his career in shambles. This is not how his life was supposed to turn out. Twenty-nine was not supposed to be when he had to start over. Texas had been his last, best chance for a clean slate; and much like everything else in his life as of late, it was a stunning failure. And to return to Pasadena with the very people who caused this entire mess, with his tail between his legs, and be forced to settle into his old routine, as if nothing had been upended, as if everything was normal. There are some days he cannot begin to comprehend the entirety of what is currently wrong in his life.
And then there is Penny. He can’t explain it and doesn’t dare rationalize it, but the sight of Penny with Leonard, of Penny with the man who dashed all his hopes and dreams, the sight of Leonard with the woman who’s somehow managed to break down his carefully cultivated lifestyle-it’s unnerving.
He hears their chatter through the thin apartment walls, and the squeak of springs as they settle down to sleep, He crosses his hands over his chest and counts quarks, calculates the square root of pi to the 200th digit. He solves three complex equations in his head, and still he cannot rid his mind of the images that flash unbidden behind his eyes.
Penny with her hand against his chin, her fingers threading through his beard, tilting his head and moving her mouth against his, her lips strong.
Penny with her warm hands flat against the small of his back, folded up against him and reaching, pulling, touching everywhere. The fact that he lost control so completely in that moment.
The numbers are replaced by deep, insistent kisses, and graphs and arcs become needing fingers tugging at willing hands. He feels himself growing hard, but he fists his hands into the covers, pulls the fabric tight against his palms. It would be a lie to say he’s never thought of Penny this way before, but it’s never been quite like this. It’s always been distant, and innocent enough: a quick flash of blonde hair as he takes himself in his hand, a narrow waist and green, green eyes. It’s never been the exact set of her jaw as she looks at him, or the swell of her breasts as she sighs. It’s never been the feel of her hair between his fingers, or the scrape of her nails along his back, or the wet of her tongue against his.
His hips push up and his nails dig into his comforter and Penny is just there, in the next room, soft and warm and-
No. This is over. This is done. He will not indulge this train of thought. It was an emotional reaction to the distress of his friends’ betrayal, and merely a standard physical response, nothing more. To push it further would be wrong. He couches it in clinical, scientific terms. He does what he can to control it.
His breathing settles and he feels himself calming down, but still his eyelids aren’t heavy. Warm milk releases oxytocin in the bloodstream, he knows, and even though it’s against his usual routine, he gets up and heads toward the kitchen, robe pulled tight around his waist.
He warms the milk precisely, and stands quietly in the kitchen while he drinks it. He reads over his whiteboard, full of new equations. He’s had to start over almost entirely since they returned from the Arctic and his theories were debunked. Despite the sweetness of the warm milk, the back of his throat has a bitter taste.
He is just rinsing out his mug when he hears Leonard’s bedroom door open and soft footsteps coming down the hallway. He freezes, draws himself up tall, and casts a cautious glance over his shoulder to see who’s interrupted him.
It’s Penny, eyes wide and awake, caught unaware and surprised with her foot still suspended against the step. She’s wearing an oversized t-shirt-thankfully, it actually is Leonard’s this time-and her hair hangs loose to her shoulders. Sheldon feels his heart pick up speed, and he sets the now clean mug onto the drying rack and steps away from the sink. Best to avoid the situation entirely, he thinks, but just as he’s about to go, Penny speaks.
“Fancy meeting you here,” she says, crossing the kitchen, her bare feet soft against the ceramic. Her voice has a note of confidence that sounds false even to his ears. Sheldon is caught between wanting to flee and not being able to move his feet from the floor. He settles for silence, hands dangling at his sides.
Penny wasn’t wrong when she accused him of using her to get back at Leonard; the idea of taking something back from his roommate, of tainting something Leonard had wanted for so long, had its own kind of appeal. But he knows vengeance isn’t his primary motivation anymore. When she reaches up to grab a glass from the cabinet, the hem of the t-shirt lifts along the backs of her legs, and his eyes are again drawn to the curve of her backside, the soft skin of her thigh. Leonard is not exactly at the forefront of his mind this time. His hands flinch at his sides, but he balls them into fists and looks away.
“Are you trying to force us back into normal behavior?” he asks. It’s the only explanation he can come up with for her suddenly over-friendly behavior. She leans over and fills her glass from the tap, and takes a long, deep drink before she says anything.
The glass hits the counter with a clink that sounds around the apartment, and she lowers her head and drums her fingers on the tile. “Sheldon, what happened was a mistake.” She still will not look at him. His hands curl into fists. “I’m not saying it was anyone’s fault, but. It can’t happen again.”
She’s turned away from him and he is suddenly glad that he cannot see her face. Her voice is small, timid, and full of something he realizes suddenly is pity.
He has no interest in her compassion, and he feels his blood start to hum. He has long thought there to be no ill that science could not cure, that his intellect and knowledge could not save him from, but he can think of no remedy for this deep, abiding anger. He can think of no fix for the swell of heat in his chest.
“So, the carnal aspect of your relationship with Leonard has improved, I take it?” She looks at him over her shoulder, her eyes dark. “You’re now sexually satisfied and therefore have no need of me?” The look she gives him is dangerous and it makes his breath come just a little bit faster.
Her voice is low when she speaks, a mean, warning hiss. “Don’t act like the victim here, Sheldon. You’re the one who kissed me.”
“I don’t believe any version of ‘you started it’ is an acceptable excuse for infidelity.”
She recoils as if struck, and turns away again. He knows that he's lashing out. He knows it's illogical. He doesn’t know what else to do.
It is a loss he could not previously fathom, so have his certainty shaken so surely. He has committed his entire life to a singular purpose-the pursuit of his scientific goals. It made the rest of it worthwhile: leaving his family when he was just a boy to study halfway across the world; forgoing many formative human experiences in lieu of his education; the long hours in his office at Caltech; all the nights he brings his work home with him. It has always been justification enough for his lifestyle, his behavior.
He cannot always say that he’s been happy, but he has always had his science.
Until now. Now there is just doubt, and an unfocused, uncertain haze over his mind. There is no clarity, just the building rush of blood in his veins and the sudden, startling buzz in his hands. It is said that human connection is a comfort, and he never put much stock in it until now, but it’s the only cure that he can think of for the warm, wanting feeling spreading itself through his stomach.
Penny pulls him from this thoughts, weariness creeping into the edges of her words. “Sheldon, I’m not doing this again. I’m not letting you use me to get back at Leonard.”
Sheldon takes a small step forward, reaching out uncertainly. “This isn’t about Leonard.” The lie is shockingly easy to tell.
“It’s still wrong,” Penny says. “Leonard’s a good guy.” Her voice for some reason is sharp here, and unforgiving. He sees her knuckles whiten as she digs her fingers harder against the counter. He hears the heavy rush of breath as she exhales.
Three months in the Arctic, and a homecoming that was disastrous at best. Texas had been no better. He has lost every refuge he has known. “I know,” he answers. The words falter on his lips. The lie is harder this time.
He slides a clumsy hand against Penny’s hip, and even as she tenses for just a moment, she is leaning into his touch. He wants to hold her, wants to have her hands on him again, making him forget. He steps toward her and slides his palms along the flat of her stomach because he wants to feel that heady, blinding rush again. It’s not because he wants Penny. It couldn’t possibly be.
He wonders if her mouth still tastes like the chocolate he’d been feeding her all night. He wonders if Leonard tasted it when they kissed earlier, if he tasted it and thought of Sheldon. The perverse pleasure of taking something from Leonard isn’t gone. The average temperature in the Arctic this time of year is still in the single digits, and it’s a chill he’s carried back with him to California. When his mind produces images of himself with his hands on Penny’s hips, his lips against her neck, there is another part of him that acknowledges that it is wrong, taking something from Leonard. There is another part of him that likes it.
He leans down and slides his hands along her thighs, up under the hem of Leonard’s t-shirt. She breathes in sharply and he feels her back move against his chest. Her legs open just barely, just enough to make him run his palms slowly higher, his movements far more confident than he really feels. His fingers keep going, up along the outside of her hips, where he should find the fabric of her underwear.
He finds none, and it sends a shock through him. His hands still, just for a moment, just enough time for Penny to reach up and wrap her fingers around the back of his neck, and cover his right hand with her own.
He waits. He can feel the faintest hint of Penny's heartbeat under her skin, and he counts the beats. Her pulse is racing, and his is beating a traitorous riot in his chest. He wants to press himself against her, or spin her around and fit his mouth to hers. He wants to keep touching her. He wants to run away. He doesn’t know what to do so he doesn’t do anything, and it's far too long before he feels Penny's weight give way as she presses herself back against him. Her hand pulls gently at his own, and together they cross the skin that stretches across her femur to her pelvis, then beyond.
They have to be quiet. Everything sounds deafening-the hum of the refrigerator, their breathing, even the minimal noise of his pajamas sliding against Penny and her t-shirt. It has been years since he has touched a woman in this way, and that was a quick, fumbling affair that was over before even knew it had started. He remembers it all, of course he does, but he finds it provides no accurate map to his current location. The angle is awkward, and he's bending uncomfortably to try and wrap his arm around her, but he barely notices it-all he can feel is warm, wet flesh underneath the tips of his fingers, the steady presence of Penny's hand on his.
He notes every reaction. At this point, it's getting harder to deny he won't need this information for future reference. The chance seems greater and greater. If he were not otherwise occupied, he might parse his existing data of the changes in his and Penny's relationship, but he doubts he would even need Grubb's or Dixon's outlier tests at this point to prove that a trend is forming.
She guides every movement of his hand-the speed, the position, and Sheldon starts to realize this probably isn't about what he wants. There's an economical purpose in each adjustment that she makes. Penny is deliberate, determined, and at this point, he's merely along for the ride.
Penny's hand slows, then stills. "Stop," she says, and Sheldon immediately halts and starts to step back. "No, no, it's not-hold on."
Penny turns, plants her palms on the counter and hoists herself up. He ignores the clear danger that she will knock his toaster onto the floor, despite the fact that the racket would easily rouse Leonard. Her legs arrange themselves tidily over his hip bones, and he feels her ankles lock against his back. His hands automatically go to her waist, but this time, she does not hesitate before she moves his hand.
Penny is obviously aroused, and his fingers slide in smoothly. For the first time, she allows him to move his hand independently. She fists her hands in his collar and buries her head in the crook of his neck. He tries to keep his movements smooth, experimenting slightly by twisting his fingers or spreading them a small amount. On one stroke forward he crooks his fingers back toward himself, and Penny shudders against him immediately.
"Do that again," she says, "just like that." He does, again, and again. He drops his head against hers, his cheek warm against her temple, and thinks about nothing but the steady slide of his fingers against her, the gentle press of her lips along his jaw. She moves her hand between their bodies, tugs at his wrist and whispers, "Faster," but he pulls her hand away with his free one, flattens it on the countertop and covers it with his own. She hisses and moans against his neck, and his hips jerk roughly against the counter, the wood unforgiving and solid. He speeds up each push, each stroke, his nose buried in Penny's hair. She smells like fruit, and Leonard's cologne, and sex.
"God, Sheldon," she says, directly below his ear, and she sounds like she can't quite catch her breath. "I'm going to-"
She reaches between them again, and this time Sheldon lets her. He can't help but pull back enough to look down as she touches herself. Penny's head tilts back, and her fingers press against his palm, quick and deft. He watches as she orgasms, the way her hips try to arch off the counter, the line of her neck as she hitches in mouthfuls of air. He is fascinated by how much she relies on her extensor carpi ulnaris to create the necessary friction against her clitoris, and he resists a passing urge to press his lips against her forearm. She stays remarkably quiet, and keeps her eyes closed as her muscles clench and release around his fingers.
Again, he waits. When Penny's hand closes around his wrist, he slowly removes his fingers. He stretches them out, rubs them against each other. They're still wet, and he tries to keep them from coming into contact with the counter, or Penny's t-shirt or his own pajamas.
Penny slides off the counter, and Sheldon observes that her legs seem to wobble a bit underneath her. He rests a steadying hand on her waist.
"Fuck you, Sheldon," she says, not unkindly. She hesitates enough to look up at him, then down at his erection. It's not something that he could hide, even if he wanted to. She grabs him by the hem of his pajama top and drags him over the couch, where she deposits him in his spot. Her hands are on his knees, spreading them apart so she can-oh. She's looking up at him from her spot on the floor, fingers spread across his thighs.
"Have you ever?" Penny asks, and tilts her head in the general direction of his genitalia. Sheldon wonders if either of them will ever be able to use complete sentences again. He shakes his head, afraid to open his mouth lest he say the wrong thing. Whatever he does, he does not want this to stop. Penny's hands are working at the buttons of his pajama pants, and he can feel every brush of her fingertips against his penis.
He's determined to make this last longer. The laundry room was perhaps one of the most embarrassing situations he has found himself in, including the numerous occasions his clothing was stolen from his locker during gym period throughout his brief, abortive attempt at attending elementary school. He's determined to make this last longer until Penny's hand closes around him, and then all attempts at maintaining both conscious thought and any semblance of control over his own physical reaction immediately hurtle out of reach.
He can feel himself twitch against her palm, and his hips strain up into her touch, into the firm pressure of her fist.
Then, Penny lowers her head and slides her lips around him. He leans his head back against the couch, closes his eyes, and gives into the almost overwhelming sensation, the warm heat of Penny's mouth. She moves in long, slick strokes that have him clenching his jaw and struggling to stay still. When she moves her tongue over the head, he jerks, pulls back, and reaches out to settle a hand against her head. Her hair is soft against his fingers. He finally opens his eyes, and manages to heave his head off the back of the couch. When he looks down, Penny meets his eyes and licks a long line up the underside of his shaft, then circles his glans with her tongue. He is done for, absolutely doomed. He would do almost anything to replicate these feelings, this level of pleasure again.
He knows all the science behind an orgasm; it's simple biology. The function of the limbic system, the decreased activity in the cerebral cortex, the influx of neurohormones. It's all physiologic: action and reaction. It's all the furthest thing from his mind. He does take a small measure of pride that he easily lasts longer than the laundry room incident this time.
This orgasm is far more intense than the last, and easily superior to any he has achieved via his own manual stimulation. He thinks too late of the fact that he is ejaculating while Penny's lips are still wrapped around him, the flat of her tongue pressed directly against him, but she seems undisturbed. When she pulls back, she drags her thumb across her bottom lip before she tucks him back into his pajamas.
"It's not the first time I've swallowed, Sheldon. Stop freaking out."
There is absolutely no response that he can even begin to think of for those two sentences. They are so far outside his realm of expertise. It seems she is expecting something though, because she sighs and looks away as she gets to her feet.
"Good night, Sheldon." He can do little else but stare at her. The refractory period is not something he is comprehensively familiar with, but he feels as if he is floating, weightless-yet every part of him is sinking steadily into the sofa. Penny turns, tugs at her t-shirt a bit, and walks down the hallway to Leonard's bedroom. She doesn't look back.
Sheldon closes his eyes, just for a moment. He needs to return to his bedroom before he falls asleep out here in the living room. Leonard would ask questions about that, most certainly. Leonard. Penny might be able to pretend that nothing happened, but he is growing increasingly worried that he'll say something he shouldn't, especially in front of Leonard. He may not be especially adept at interpersonal relationships, but he doesn't have to be a sociologist to know that whatever this liaison between himself and Penny is becoming, there's very little chance that it will end well in its current form. In fact, he is almost positive that there's no universe that exists in which this actually does end well.
Sheldon tries not to fret over the fact that he can't bring himself to care.
Authors: allthingsholy & juniperlane, with dashakay and montycrowley
Summary: He spends the rest of the afternoon thinking about his experiment, the methods he will use, the behaviors he will modify. He does not think about Penny’s legs beneath his dress shirt as she sashayed across the kitchen, or the tangle of her hair first thing in the morning.
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Penny/Sheldon
Spoilers: Through 3.03, The Gothowitz Deviation
Word Count: 4,000
Disclaimer: The characters in this story do not belong to me and no copyright infringement is intended.
Warnings: Please make sure you've read the warnings here.
Authors' Notes: Apologies for the delay. The authors were off skiing (in totally different parts of the country) and got a little behind. To say that this group of ladies is a Mutual Adoration Society doesn't even begin to cover it, so we'll just say thanks to our co-writers and leave it at that. Also, thanks for the comments and support on the previous chapters. It means a lot to all of us.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
The Rule of Reciprocity: A body radiates strongly at those frequencies that it is able to absorb.
--
He buys the chocolate from a candy store next to the gyro place where he eats lunch on Mondays. He spends the entire morning thinking about Penny’s legs under that shirt, that dress shirt that was decidedly not Leonard’s, and accidentally miscalculates the area beneath a curve. He’s so distracted he accidentally switches from Kelvin to Celsius and doesn't realize for almost ten minutes.
This is unacceptable.
Based on her perkiness this morning, and the horrifying anecdote she shared about her bed-he is not so foolish as to think that the bed was broken by anything other than acrobatic and probably recklessly athletic sexual intercourse, no matter how much he pretends otherwise-Penny’s relationship with Leonard has taken a turn for the better. Shockingly.
This morning Penny was dancing in his kitchen. Penny was dancing in his kitchen while half-naked. On the list of things Penny’s not allowed to do in his kitchen, that ranks fairly near the top. If this relationship with Leonard is going to continue-which fills him with a hard, harsh feeling that is unfamiliar and entirely unwelcome, and at which he refuses to look too closely-changes are going to have to be made. The introduction of a new element into their lives is sure to cause turbulence in the function of their apartment, and he wants the damage done to his routine and weekly schedule to be minimized as much as possible.
Halfway through covering his gyro with exactly the right amount of tzatziki sauce, the idea of operant conditioning comes to him. Based on Penny’s behavior in the laundry room last weekend, she is in no mood to make his life any easier, and this seems like the next logical step to take. He will change her, mold her, find a way to remove her from the place in his life she’s so improbably taken up.
His life and career may be spinning wildly out of control (or at least, less melodramatically, be suffering from the aftershocks of a by no means inconsequential hiccup), but this he can control. This he can make right.
He spends the rest of the afternoon thinking about his experiment, the methods he will use, the behaviors he will modify. He does not think about Penny’s legs beneath his dress shirt as she sashayed across the kitchen, or the tangle of her hair first thing in the morning. He does not think about the feel of her pressed against him, or what it was like to press his hips to hers and finally feel something other than anger.
And if he keeps turning his head at the phantom smell of fabric softener and cinnamon (an odd combination, to be sure), well. He doesn’t think about that either.
--
Leonard and Penny don't end up spending the night in her apartment. Sheldon hears them sneaking back into Leonard’s room an hour after they leave, and if he had to venture a guess as to why, he’d say Leonard was unsuccessful at putting her bed back together. He’s seen Leonard around assembly instructions before, and he speaks them half as well as he speaks Elvish.
Sheldon should be sleeping. He should be halfway through a REM cycle by now, not lying here with the covers tight around his chest and a mind that will not quiet. Normally he can silence the impossible barrage of thoughts in his head, but tonight he can’t stop thinking about how far out of control his life has gotten.
His reputation is tarnished, his career in shambles. This is not how his life was supposed to turn out. Twenty-nine was not supposed to be when he had to start over. Texas had been his last, best chance for a clean slate; and much like everything else in his life as of late, it was a stunning failure. And to return to Pasadena with the very people who caused this entire mess, with his tail between his legs, and be forced to settle into his old routine, as if nothing had been upended, as if everything was normal. There are some days he cannot begin to comprehend the entirety of what is currently wrong in his life.
And then there is Penny. He can’t explain it and doesn’t dare rationalize it, but the sight of Penny with Leonard, of Penny with the man who dashed all his hopes and dreams, the sight of Leonard with the woman who’s somehow managed to break down his carefully cultivated lifestyle-it’s unnerving.
He hears their chatter through the thin apartment walls, and the squeak of springs as they settle down to sleep, He crosses his hands over his chest and counts quarks, calculates the square root of pi to the 200th digit. He solves three complex equations in his head, and still he cannot rid his mind of the images that flash unbidden behind his eyes.
Penny with her hand against his chin, her fingers threading through his beard, tilting his head and moving her mouth against his, her lips strong.
Penny with her warm hands flat against the small of his back, folded up against him and reaching, pulling, touching everywhere. The fact that he lost control so completely in that moment.
The numbers are replaced by deep, insistent kisses, and graphs and arcs become needing fingers tugging at willing hands. He feels himself growing hard, but he fists his hands into the covers, pulls the fabric tight against his palms. It would be a lie to say he’s never thought of Penny this way before, but it’s never been quite like this. It’s always been distant, and innocent enough: a quick flash of blonde hair as he takes himself in his hand, a narrow waist and green, green eyes. It’s never been the exact set of her jaw as she looks at him, or the swell of her breasts as she sighs. It’s never been the feel of her hair between his fingers, or the scrape of her nails along his back, or the wet of her tongue against his.
His hips push up and his nails dig into his comforter and Penny is just there, in the next room, soft and warm and-
No. This is over. This is done. He will not indulge this train of thought. It was an emotional reaction to the distress of his friends’ betrayal, and merely a standard physical response, nothing more. To push it further would be wrong. He couches it in clinical, scientific terms. He does what he can to control it.
His breathing settles and he feels himself calming down, but still his eyelids aren’t heavy. Warm milk releases oxytocin in the bloodstream, he knows, and even though it’s against his usual routine, he gets up and heads toward the kitchen, robe pulled tight around his waist.
He warms the milk precisely, and stands quietly in the kitchen while he drinks it. He reads over his whiteboard, full of new equations. He’s had to start over almost entirely since they returned from the Arctic and his theories were debunked. Despite the sweetness of the warm milk, the back of his throat has a bitter taste.
He is just rinsing out his mug when he hears Leonard’s bedroom door open and soft footsteps coming down the hallway. He freezes, draws himself up tall, and casts a cautious glance over his shoulder to see who’s interrupted him.
It’s Penny, eyes wide and awake, caught unaware and surprised with her foot still suspended against the step. She’s wearing an oversized t-shirt-thankfully, it actually is Leonard’s this time-and her hair hangs loose to her shoulders. Sheldon feels his heart pick up speed, and he sets the now clean mug onto the drying rack and steps away from the sink. Best to avoid the situation entirely, he thinks, but just as he’s about to go, Penny speaks.
“Fancy meeting you here,” she says, crossing the kitchen, her bare feet soft against the ceramic. Her voice has a note of confidence that sounds false even to his ears. Sheldon is caught between wanting to flee and not being able to move his feet from the floor. He settles for silence, hands dangling at his sides.
Penny wasn’t wrong when she accused him of using her to get back at Leonard; the idea of taking something back from his roommate, of tainting something Leonard had wanted for so long, had its own kind of appeal. But he knows vengeance isn’t his primary motivation anymore. When she reaches up to grab a glass from the cabinet, the hem of the t-shirt lifts along the backs of her legs, and his eyes are again drawn to the curve of her backside, the soft skin of her thigh. Leonard is not exactly at the forefront of his mind this time. His hands flinch at his sides, but he balls them into fists and looks away.
“Are you trying to force us back into normal behavior?” he asks. It’s the only explanation he can come up with for her suddenly over-friendly behavior. She leans over and fills her glass from the tap, and takes a long, deep drink before she says anything.
The glass hits the counter with a clink that sounds around the apartment, and she lowers her head and drums her fingers on the tile. “Sheldon, what happened was a mistake.” She still will not look at him. His hands curl into fists. “I’m not saying it was anyone’s fault, but. It can’t happen again.”
She’s turned away from him and he is suddenly glad that he cannot see her face. Her voice is small, timid, and full of something he realizes suddenly is pity.
He has no interest in her compassion, and he feels his blood start to hum. He has long thought there to be no ill that science could not cure, that his intellect and knowledge could not save him from, but he can think of no remedy for this deep, abiding anger. He can think of no fix for the swell of heat in his chest.
“So, the carnal aspect of your relationship with Leonard has improved, I take it?” She looks at him over her shoulder, her eyes dark. “You’re now sexually satisfied and therefore have no need of me?” The look she gives him is dangerous and it makes his breath come just a little bit faster.
Her voice is low when she speaks, a mean, warning hiss. “Don’t act like the victim here, Sheldon. You’re the one who kissed me.”
“I don’t believe any version of ‘you started it’ is an acceptable excuse for infidelity.”
She recoils as if struck, and turns away again. He knows that he's lashing out. He knows it's illogical. He doesn’t know what else to do.
It is a loss he could not previously fathom, so have his certainty shaken so surely. He has committed his entire life to a singular purpose-the pursuit of his scientific goals. It made the rest of it worthwhile: leaving his family when he was just a boy to study halfway across the world; forgoing many formative human experiences in lieu of his education; the long hours in his office at Caltech; all the nights he brings his work home with him. It has always been justification enough for his lifestyle, his behavior.
He cannot always say that he’s been happy, but he has always had his science.
Until now. Now there is just doubt, and an unfocused, uncertain haze over his mind. There is no clarity, just the building rush of blood in his veins and the sudden, startling buzz in his hands. It is said that human connection is a comfort, and he never put much stock in it until now, but it’s the only cure that he can think of for the warm, wanting feeling spreading itself through his stomach.
Penny pulls him from this thoughts, weariness creeping into the edges of her words. “Sheldon, I’m not doing this again. I’m not letting you use me to get back at Leonard.”
Sheldon takes a small step forward, reaching out uncertainly. “This isn’t about Leonard.” The lie is shockingly easy to tell.
“It’s still wrong,” Penny says. “Leonard’s a good guy.” Her voice for some reason is sharp here, and unforgiving. He sees her knuckles whiten as she digs her fingers harder against the counter. He hears the heavy rush of breath as she exhales.
Three months in the Arctic, and a homecoming that was disastrous at best. Texas had been no better. He has lost every refuge he has known. “I know,” he answers. The words falter on his lips. The lie is harder this time.
He slides a clumsy hand against Penny’s hip, and even as she tenses for just a moment, she is leaning into his touch. He wants to hold her, wants to have her hands on him again, making him forget. He steps toward her and slides his palms along the flat of her stomach because he wants to feel that heady, blinding rush again. It’s not because he wants Penny. It couldn’t possibly be.
He wonders if her mouth still tastes like the chocolate he’d been feeding her all night. He wonders if Leonard tasted it when they kissed earlier, if he tasted it and thought of Sheldon. The perverse pleasure of taking something from Leonard isn’t gone. The average temperature in the Arctic this time of year is still in the single digits, and it’s a chill he’s carried back with him to California. When his mind produces images of himself with his hands on Penny’s hips, his lips against her neck, there is another part of him that acknowledges that it is wrong, taking something from Leonard. There is another part of him that likes it.
He leans down and slides his hands along her thighs, up under the hem of Leonard’s t-shirt. She breathes in sharply and he feels her back move against his chest. Her legs open just barely, just enough to make him run his palms slowly higher, his movements far more confident than he really feels. His fingers keep going, up along the outside of her hips, where he should find the fabric of her underwear.
He finds none, and it sends a shock through him. His hands still, just for a moment, just enough time for Penny to reach up and wrap her fingers around the back of his neck, and cover his right hand with her own.
He waits. He can feel the faintest hint of Penny's heartbeat under her skin, and he counts the beats. Her pulse is racing, and his is beating a traitorous riot in his chest. He wants to press himself against her, or spin her around and fit his mouth to hers. He wants to keep touching her. He wants to run away. He doesn’t know what to do so he doesn’t do anything, and it's far too long before he feels Penny's weight give way as she presses herself back against him. Her hand pulls gently at his own, and together they cross the skin that stretches across her femur to her pelvis, then beyond.
They have to be quiet. Everything sounds deafening-the hum of the refrigerator, their breathing, even the minimal noise of his pajamas sliding against Penny and her t-shirt. It has been years since he has touched a woman in this way, and that was a quick, fumbling affair that was over before even knew it had started. He remembers it all, of course he does, but he finds it provides no accurate map to his current location. The angle is awkward, and he's bending uncomfortably to try and wrap his arm around her, but he barely notices it-all he can feel is warm, wet flesh underneath the tips of his fingers, the steady presence of Penny's hand on his.
He notes every reaction. At this point, it's getting harder to deny he won't need this information for future reference. The chance seems greater and greater. If he were not otherwise occupied, he might parse his existing data of the changes in his and Penny's relationship, but he doubts he would even need Grubb's or Dixon's outlier tests at this point to prove that a trend is forming.
She guides every movement of his hand-the speed, the position, and Sheldon starts to realize this probably isn't about what he wants. There's an economical purpose in each adjustment that she makes. Penny is deliberate, determined, and at this point, he's merely along for the ride.
Penny's hand slows, then stills. "Stop," she says, and Sheldon immediately halts and starts to step back. "No, no, it's not-hold on."
Penny turns, plants her palms on the counter and hoists herself up. He ignores the clear danger that she will knock his toaster onto the floor, despite the fact that the racket would easily rouse Leonard. Her legs arrange themselves tidily over his hip bones, and he feels her ankles lock against his back. His hands automatically go to her waist, but this time, she does not hesitate before she moves his hand.
Penny is obviously aroused, and his fingers slide in smoothly. For the first time, she allows him to move his hand independently. She fists her hands in his collar and buries her head in the crook of his neck. He tries to keep his movements smooth, experimenting slightly by twisting his fingers or spreading them a small amount. On one stroke forward he crooks his fingers back toward himself, and Penny shudders against him immediately.
"Do that again," she says, "just like that." He does, again, and again. He drops his head against hers, his cheek warm against her temple, and thinks about nothing but the steady slide of his fingers against her, the gentle press of her lips along his jaw. She moves her hand between their bodies, tugs at his wrist and whispers, "Faster," but he pulls her hand away with his free one, flattens it on the countertop and covers it with his own. She hisses and moans against his neck, and his hips jerk roughly against the counter, the wood unforgiving and solid. He speeds up each push, each stroke, his nose buried in Penny's hair. She smells like fruit, and Leonard's cologne, and sex.
"God, Sheldon," she says, directly below his ear, and she sounds like she can't quite catch her breath. "I'm going to-"
She reaches between them again, and this time Sheldon lets her. He can't help but pull back enough to look down as she touches herself. Penny's head tilts back, and her fingers press against his palm, quick and deft. He watches as she orgasms, the way her hips try to arch off the counter, the line of her neck as she hitches in mouthfuls of air. He is fascinated by how much she relies on her extensor carpi ulnaris to create the necessary friction against her clitoris, and he resists a passing urge to press his lips against her forearm. She stays remarkably quiet, and keeps her eyes closed as her muscles clench and release around his fingers.
Again, he waits. When Penny's hand closes around his wrist, he slowly removes his fingers. He stretches them out, rubs them against each other. They're still wet, and he tries to keep them from coming into contact with the counter, or Penny's t-shirt or his own pajamas.
Penny slides off the counter, and Sheldon observes that her legs seem to wobble a bit underneath her. He rests a steadying hand on her waist.
"Fuck you, Sheldon," she says, not unkindly. She hesitates enough to look up at him, then down at his erection. It's not something that he could hide, even if he wanted to. She grabs him by the hem of his pajama top and drags him over the couch, where she deposits him in his spot. Her hands are on his knees, spreading them apart so she can-oh. She's looking up at him from her spot on the floor, fingers spread across his thighs.
"Have you ever?" Penny asks, and tilts her head in the general direction of his genitalia. Sheldon wonders if either of them will ever be able to use complete sentences again. He shakes his head, afraid to open his mouth lest he say the wrong thing. Whatever he does, he does not want this to stop. Penny's hands are working at the buttons of his pajama pants, and he can feel every brush of her fingertips against his penis.
He's determined to make this last longer. The laundry room was perhaps one of the most embarrassing situations he has found himself in, including the numerous occasions his clothing was stolen from his locker during gym period throughout his brief, abortive attempt at attending elementary school. He's determined to make this last longer until Penny's hand closes around him, and then all attempts at maintaining both conscious thought and any semblance of control over his own physical reaction immediately hurtle out of reach.
He can feel himself twitch against her palm, and his hips strain up into her touch, into the firm pressure of her fist.
Then, Penny lowers her head and slides her lips around him. He leans his head back against the couch, closes his eyes, and gives into the almost overwhelming sensation, the warm heat of Penny's mouth. She moves in long, slick strokes that have him clenching his jaw and struggling to stay still. When she moves her tongue over the head, he jerks, pulls back, and reaches out to settle a hand against her head. Her hair is soft against his fingers. He finally opens his eyes, and manages to heave his head off the back of the couch. When he looks down, Penny meets his eyes and licks a long line up the underside of his shaft, then circles his glans with her tongue. He is done for, absolutely doomed. He would do almost anything to replicate these feelings, this level of pleasure again.
He knows all the science behind an orgasm; it's simple biology. The function of the limbic system, the decreased activity in the cerebral cortex, the influx of neurohormones. It's all physiologic: action and reaction. It's all the furthest thing from his mind. He does take a small measure of pride that he easily lasts longer than the laundry room incident this time.
This orgasm is far more intense than the last, and easily superior to any he has achieved via his own manual stimulation. He thinks too late of the fact that he is ejaculating while Penny's lips are still wrapped around him, the flat of her tongue pressed directly against him, but she seems undisturbed. When she pulls back, she drags her thumb across her bottom lip before she tucks him back into his pajamas.
"It's not the first time I've swallowed, Sheldon. Stop freaking out."
There is absolutely no response that he can even begin to think of for those two sentences. They are so far outside his realm of expertise. It seems she is expecting something though, because she sighs and looks away as she gets to her feet.
"Good night, Sheldon." He can do little else but stare at her. The refractory period is not something he is comprehensively familiar with, but he feels as if he is floating, weightless-yet every part of him is sinking steadily into the sofa. Penny turns, tugs at her t-shirt a bit, and walks down the hallway to Leonard's bedroom. She doesn't look back.
Sheldon closes his eyes, just for a moment. He needs to return to his bedroom before he falls asleep out here in the living room. Leonard would ask questions about that, most certainly. Leonard. Penny might be able to pretend that nothing happened, but he is growing increasingly worried that he'll say something he shouldn't, especially in front of Leonard. He may not be especially adept at interpersonal relationships, but he doesn't have to be a sociologist to know that whatever this liaison between himself and Penny is becoming, there's very little chance that it will end well in its current form. In fact, he is almost positive that there's no universe that exists in which this actually does end well.
Sheldon tries not to fret over the fact that he can't bring himself to care.