Welcome to my Nightmare...
A/N Because I like playing dress-up with Sheldon and Penny. Early Christmas, or belated Hallowe'en. Take it as you will...
She has managed to wash the last of the carmine liquid out of the sink, but she knows that she will never get the stains out of at least two of her towels, crimson splotches soaked deep. She'll have to ask Sheldon, he knows how to clean everything...
“Hold still, Penny, or this line of stitches will be crooked.” He bends his gaze back to her arm. “According to canon, you should be able to sew your own arm back on.”
Penny grins at him.
“Yeah, but I'm not as good with a needle as you.”
Sheldon's own smile back is creepily enhanced by the stark hollows under his cheekbones. That old 'Doppler effect' costume has been given a new lease of life, tailored into tight pants and a ragged tail-coat.
He delicately inks in the lines, his eyes intent in their dark pits, his long fingers very pale against the grey-green of her skin, featherlight against her collar-bone. The light reflects off the smooth, pale dome of his head. She can see the faint line of the skull cap, but only because he is close enough for her to feel his breath across her skin.
In the interests of authenticity, Sheldon had insisted that the stitches go all the way down. Though he finds himself a little distracted by the fact that Penny has found an underwear set with little pink bats on.
He doesn't care if she doesn't wear make-up, or wears baggy tee's. Which isn't to say that she can't short his brain out with pretty lingerie. He's a normal man, in some respects. But it's the fact that it is her in the little bits of silk that really matters.
Penny draws in a deep breath, which causes interesting things to happen to the pink bats. Sheldon pauses, then continues with a commendably steady hand. She smirks. He tilts a frown, but the edge of his mouth twitches.
She holds her hair up, bends her head forward as he draws the line around her neck.
“Traditional Japanese culture holds that the nape of the neck is one of the most erotic places on a woman's body...”
She believes him, her breath hitching as the low murmur brushes against her skin.
Lets her hair tumble down across her shoulders again, the colour of it strange to her own eyes. She doesn't like wigs, would rather wreck a towel with hair-dye than suffer a hot, itchy scalp all night.
Catches sight of herself in her mirror, black lines of ink and silk against her flesh, the mane of red-brown hair, and her eyes dazed and dark.
If anyone had ever told her that she would find herself turned on by a geek drawing on her with a marker pen, she'd have told them they were crazy. But she guesses crazy is catching.
Sheldon kneels down, traces a line up the side of her calf, and she grins, rests her other foot up on his shoulder. She sees him exerting iron control.
“Penny...” Low warning note, that pools somewhere deep inside her.
“Sheldon...” She teases back.
She's wearing the pair of striped socks that she stole out of the laundry. Sheldon frowns, but doesn't comment. He has become (almost) resigned to the pillaging of socks and t-shirts. Penny likes to wear his pyjama jackets, too - and getting them back is always fun. He steadies his hand with a real effort, and continues to mark sharp black lines against the soft curve of her thigh.
“That's the last one.” He sounds a little breathless, and she smirks at him.
The real fun will be washing all the make-up off later. Sheldon is always very thorough. He doesn't like baths, they are her solitary luxury - but he'll kneel by the side of the tub, and wash her back. And her front.
He'll insist on a shower afterwards, too. The first time she'd simply got into the shower with him, he'd tried to complain. The argument that it saves both time and water doesn't actually work, he's proved that with equations and graphs, but that never stops her, and he's given up protesting, because he likes his back washed, too...
...If she thinks about this too long, they'll never make it out to the party.
She slips into the patchwork dress, smoothing it over her hips. And the cutest little pair of pointy ankle boots to finish the outfit. Holds his shoulder for balance, and still fits neatly beneath his chin.
He is black and white, planes and angles, hard polarity. She is curves and colour, sinuous lines against soft skin.
He watches her do her make-up, mascara and eyeshadow, smoky blues and greys that make her eyes look enormous, the dark stain on her lips. She turns her face trustingly up, lets him mark a smile as wide as his own on her, and one last line across her brow.
She can't resist a kiss, though, because the darkness of his own lips hides a multitude of sins, and Sheldon can never, will never, resist being kissed.
He still lectures, and she still rolls her eyes, but he's grown accustomed to the feel of her fingers lacing with his, impatient tug on his hand to steer him around, or being swung to a stop. To small, sudden kisses up under his ear, regardless of location or audience.
She straightens the wired bat's-wings of his spreading collar, and he crooks one bony elbow for her. Then Jack Skellington and his Sally go forth, to amuse and bemuse the world.
She has managed to wash the last of the carmine liquid out of the sink, but she knows that she will never get the stains out of at least two of her towels, crimson splotches soaked deep. She'll have to ask Sheldon, he knows how to clean everything...
“Hold still, Penny, or this line of stitches will be crooked.” He bends his gaze back to her arm. “According to canon, you should be able to sew your own arm back on.”
Penny grins at him.
“Yeah, but I'm not as good with a needle as you.”
Sheldon's own smile back is creepily enhanced by the stark hollows under his cheekbones. That old 'Doppler effect' costume has been given a new lease of life, tailored into tight pants and a ragged tail-coat.
He delicately inks in the lines, his eyes intent in their dark pits, his long fingers very pale against the grey-green of her skin, featherlight against her collar-bone. The light reflects off the smooth, pale dome of his head. She can see the faint line of the skull cap, but only because he is close enough for her to feel his breath across her skin.
In the interests of authenticity, Sheldon had insisted that the stitches go all the way down. Though he finds himself a little distracted by the fact that Penny has found an underwear set with little pink bats on.
He doesn't care if she doesn't wear make-up, or wears baggy tee's. Which isn't to say that she can't short his brain out with pretty lingerie. He's a normal man, in some respects. But it's the fact that it is her in the little bits of silk that really matters.
Penny draws in a deep breath, which causes interesting things to happen to the pink bats. Sheldon pauses, then continues with a commendably steady hand. She smirks. He tilts a frown, but the edge of his mouth twitches.
She holds her hair up, bends her head forward as he draws the line around her neck.
“Traditional Japanese culture holds that the nape of the neck is one of the most erotic places on a woman's body...”
She believes him, her breath hitching as the low murmur brushes against her skin.
Lets her hair tumble down across her shoulders again, the colour of it strange to her own eyes. She doesn't like wigs, would rather wreck a towel with hair-dye than suffer a hot, itchy scalp all night.
Catches sight of herself in her mirror, black lines of ink and silk against her flesh, the mane of red-brown hair, and her eyes dazed and dark.
If anyone had ever told her that she would find herself turned on by a geek drawing on her with a marker pen, she'd have told them they were crazy. But she guesses crazy is catching.
Sheldon kneels down, traces a line up the side of her calf, and she grins, rests her other foot up on his shoulder. She sees him exerting iron control.
“Penny...” Low warning note, that pools somewhere deep inside her.
“Sheldon...” She teases back.
She's wearing the pair of striped socks that she stole out of the laundry. Sheldon frowns, but doesn't comment. He has become (almost) resigned to the pillaging of socks and t-shirts. Penny likes to wear his pyjama jackets, too - and getting them back is always fun. He steadies his hand with a real effort, and continues to mark sharp black lines against the soft curve of her thigh.
“That's the last one.” He sounds a little breathless, and she smirks at him.
The real fun will be washing all the make-up off later. Sheldon is always very thorough. He doesn't like baths, they are her solitary luxury - but he'll kneel by the side of the tub, and wash her back. And her front.
He'll insist on a shower afterwards, too. The first time she'd simply got into the shower with him, he'd tried to complain. The argument that it saves both time and water doesn't actually work, he's proved that with equations and graphs, but that never stops her, and he's given up protesting, because he likes his back washed, too...
...If she thinks about this too long, they'll never make it out to the party.
She slips into the patchwork dress, smoothing it over her hips. And the cutest little pair of pointy ankle boots to finish the outfit. Holds his shoulder for balance, and still fits neatly beneath his chin.
He is black and white, planes and angles, hard polarity. She is curves and colour, sinuous lines against soft skin.
He watches her do her make-up, mascara and eyeshadow, smoky blues and greys that make her eyes look enormous, the dark stain on her lips. She turns her face trustingly up, lets him mark a smile as wide as his own on her, and one last line across her brow.
She can't resist a kiss, though, because the darkness of his own lips hides a multitude of sins, and Sheldon can never, will never, resist being kissed.
He still lectures, and she still rolls her eyes, but he's grown accustomed to the feel of her fingers lacing with his, impatient tug on his hand to steer him around, or being swung to a stop. To small, sudden kisses up under his ear, regardless of location or audience.
She straightens the wired bat's-wings of his spreading collar, and he crooks one bony elbow for her. Then Jack Skellington and his Sally go forth, to amuse and bemuse the world.