It's well known that Sheldon is fixated on his favorite science fiction television shows, but what happens when he joins Amy in an infatuation with a popular British baking program? A story lighter than meringue, airier than a croissant, fluffier than a cream puff, and sweeter than pie for Valentine's Day.

Note: this story falls somewhere between T and M, but I decided to play it safe with the rating.

THE GREAT BRITISH BAKING OBSESSION

"Well, that was enjoyable."

"Was it?" Amy mumbled as she watched Sheldon turn the television off with the remote. Then she took a deep breath. "Actually, I wanted to propose that we downgrade this show from Tier Two to Tier Three."

Not long after they had started to live together, an argument about viewing habits had resulted in a tier system of their own devising. Tier One was reserved for shows they both thoroughly enjoyed and eagerly awaited new episodes of; these shows received priority although neither person was allowed to watch it without the other present. Tier Two shows were not anticipated so strongly, but both parties liked it and agreed that watching it together was a pleasant way to spend some time. Indeed, the watching of it together seemed to help mitigate any faults it may have. Tier Three shows were those that may be watched in the other's presence as there was nothing truly offensive or off-putting about it, but that the other person did not find interesting. Sometimes the uninterested party would watch, but it was more likely they would find an adjacent activity to do in the same room. Tier Four programs were despised by the other party, and that show could not be watched with the other person in the room. Tier Five programs were not allowed to be watched by any person on any device within the confines of the apartment at any time, regardless of who was present.

"But it's She-Ra," Sheldon protested. "I picked it for you, to remind you of your childhood. Look how strong she is; she has a sword and everything."

"Thank you, but it actually doesn't remind me of my childhood. I wasn't allowed to watch any of the Masters of the Universe. And, I have to say, based on this reboot, I'm not sure I missed much. It's aimed at younger audience."

"But I like watching it with you." This time the protest was softer and Amy couldn't help but smile.

"I'm glad, but that's not the same thing as liking it for its own sake. Is it the watching with me or the show itself you prefer?" Amy asked.

"Hmmmm." Sheldon pursed his lips. "How about I think about it?"

"Sure."

"Although, if we downgrade it, what else will we do with our Sunday evenings?"

"I can think of something else," she cooed in a flirtatious manner.

"Amy," Sheldon admonished softly, "scheduled coitus hardly seems impulsive if it happens the same time every week. And you're such a vixen, you'd figure it out soon enough. But, then, the regularity is appealing . . ." His voice trailed off.

She bit her lip before answering. Weekly coitus . . . nope, she didn't want it to become a regulated chore. "Actually, I wasn't thinking about coitus. I want to suggest that we start watching The Great British Baking Show."

"The what?"

"It's technically called The Great British Bake-Off in its native country, but it can't be shown here under that name because Pillsbury owns the phrase 'bake-off,' if you can imagine that."

"Wait just a minute." Sheldon turned on the love seat to face her. "'Bake-off?' It is some sort of competition? A -" his lip curled in distaste "- reality show?"

Amy silently cursed herself for bringing up the etymology of the title. Before she could answer, Sheldon spoke again, "We've been over this. They're not real. They're staged. And there's all that whining and back-stabbing -"

"I know, I know!" Amy touched his arm to stop him from listing his reasons for disliking reality television, a list with which she was quite familiar. "I've heard, though, that's not like that at all. It's just twelve British people, baking in a tent, and the best item wins. No drama except if the cake falls over or the bread doesn't rise. I've heard it's very calm . . . thoughtful . . . reasonable."

"You've just heard this? But you've never seen it? How can we trust the words of others in regards to our high standards of entertainment?"

Amy sighed. "I haven't seen it because all reality shows are Tier Five shows and you know I wouldn't break our agreement. So I had no choice but to read about it. But, yes, I'd like to try it. It's aired here on PBS, but now Netflix has most of the seasons. PBS, Sheldon. Surely we can agree they have high standards."

His lips pursed at her last point. "But we're not British."

"We're not Vulcans, either, and we watch Star Trek."

"But it's about baking. I have no interest in baking."

"Not true. You make wonderful bread. You love your MeeMaw's cookies and you like all sorts of baked goods."

"But we need the time for science."

"With all those chemical interactions, baking is the most scientific of cookery. You know how precise you have to be."

"Why are they in a tent? That sounds unhygienic."

"They're not camping. It's a big, fancy tent with floors and ovens and stoves and furniture. It's really just a kitchen with soft walls."

"Do they suffer from the usual subpar English dentistry? And do we have to watch them eat with those teeth?"

Amy shook her head. "Be nice! Your teeth aren't perfectly straight."

Sheldon's hand went up to cover his mouth. "You love my crooked little smile! You told me so once."

"And yet I still watch you eat. And kiss you!"

His hand lowered slightly in time with a drawn-out sigh. Amy tried her best to keep a victorious smile from washing across her face. "Very well. Because I like it when you kiss me. We'll try a single episode. However, I reserve the right to hate it. In fact, I'm certain that you absolutely will not convince me to like it."

She didn't even try to hide her eagerness, though, as she snatched the remote out of Sheldon's hand and queued up the show in question. "It's a bit confusing and it all has to do with contract disputes in Britain, but we want to start with The Beginnings. Although it's actually season three; seasons one and two aren't available in the United States."

Sheldon's eyebrows dipped. "Two comments. One: you've prepared well, I see, and I have to grudgingly admit I do love that about you. Two: I already hate that something is labeled as the beginning when, based on what you say, it's clearly not."

"Shhhh, shhhhh," Amy silenced him as the first episode started. "That's Mel and Sue," she whispered, "the original hosts."

"Original? You know I hate it when shows change half-way through!" He crossed his arms and leaned back into the sofa, the posture of pouting. "Oh dear. Are they trying to manufacture humor? That never works."

"That's humour with a U, and be quiet!"

After the credits, the first signature challenge started. "Ppphhhfffftttt," Sheldon sputtered. "Something they'd made at home for their family? So something they make on a regular basis? How is that a challenge? I make your toast every morning and I'm not on television for it."

"Yet you still claim it's the best, especially when you make it using your homemade sourdough bread," Amy pointed out. "Wouldn't you welcome the opportunity to empirically prove that?"

"A subjective taste test is not empirical proof," Sheldon grumbled. "And why do we have to know about their home lives? The ability to pop out a couple of children or go to law school has no relationship to baking."

But Amy noticed his shoulders had relaxed as he continued to watch the contestants mix and fold their batters. "Well, at least they weigh their ingredients," Sheldon said. "I've always argued that the European method of baking is more precise. But MeeMaw wasn't having it."

"There is something soothing about watching all those parts come together to form a silky, smooth batter, isn't there? Something wholly different than their original forms," Amy signed softly. Sheldon didn't reply, which she took as agreement.

The challenge was to create an upside down cake, and Amy heard Sheldon softly suck in his breath every time the moment of truth came and a contestant had to flip their creation, the first time they would know if their cake had been a success, right before they had to serve the judges. Was the fruit whole but soft on top, without making the cake underneath mushy?

But when Paul Hollywood and Mary Berry started tasting the cakes, Sheldon was back to whining. "Who makes a tomato cake?" "Parsnips? Yuck!" "Scrummy? Did she say scrummy? That's not even a word!"

"It's an amalgamation of yummy and scrumptious. She's famous for it," Amy explained.

"I would have hoped that, being English, they'd have least mastered the language."

When the technical challenge came, Sheldon slapped his thigh. "Finally! A real test! Something they've never seen before. Minimal instructions. They have to use their baking intelligence, honed with years of practice and knowledge gathering." He tapped his temple. "Anyone could have made a pineapple upside cake in that last challenge."

"And yet you never have," Amy replied.

As the tension grew over the rum babas, Amy found herself leaning closer to her husband. And, then, as time was running out, Sheldon gently squeezed her fingers and left his hand around hers. He squeezed again when he yelled, "Not the salt! It should be sugar!" Which made Amy jump in surprise. Later he mumbled, "She's boiling them to death!" Another squeeze when one person couldn't get her cakes out of the mold and another when a different contestant covered his with a towel. "They're too hot!"

Only once all of the cakes were lined up on the table for the blind judging did he relax his grip. Sheldon took a deep inhale after the order of success was announced, and he declared, "I couldn't understand why they kept showing sheep in between scenes, but I have to say I needed a cute fuzzy face after that." He turned to smile at her. "And you just waxed your upper lip yesterday, so a sheep it is."

"Umm . . " Amy shook her head and let it go. At least he was smiling. At least he was engaged. At least he wasn't complaining anymore.

The last challenge was the showstopper, in which the contestants had to create a bake of professional quality and striking appearance. Sheldon dropped her hand and bounced slightly in his spot as the various designs were being explained. "He's making flags! It's going to be a flag!" Then, "Oh my goodness! Two Union Jacks! And the flag of Ireland!" Amy smiled over at his joy and he grinned back. "We should have a cake themed episode of Fun with Flags."

"Absolutely," Amy agreed without thought. This was going better than she hoped.

As the baking progressed, Sheldon alternated between comments on why or why not a certain design would work and leaning progressively forward on the sofa, so that by the time the hidden interiors of the cakes were revealed to the judges at the end, his face was resting in the palms of his hand, his elbows on his knees, his eyes wide.

"Well, Amy," he said as the star baker gave her closing interview, "here I was thinking you were trying to get me into bed and all you wanted was to get me inside a big white tent on the lawn of some English manor house."

"Apparently all I need to do to get you into bed is dress like a superhero with sword."

"Hey, you pretty gal, you," Sheldon drawled in that Texas accent he hated as he sat down on the love seat next to Amy. "What are you doin'?"

His wife's green eyes flicked to him over the top of her book. "Reeeadddddiiinnngg."

The way she dragged the word out made him regret his obvious question. "Yeah, but what words are filling that pretty little head of yours?"

Amy frowned, which is not the response he expected from his beckoning Southern drawl. "Ralph Waldo Emerson. Poetry."

"Poetry?" he spat out before he could catch himself. He needed to get back on track. "You should relax."

Another flick of her eyes. "I find poetry relaxing."

"But you've been working so hard and that book is probably heavy. You should kick back, put your feet up."

The corner of her eyes crinkled in suspicion but she still didn't lower her anthology. "Put my feet up? On the coffee table? Would you prefer that with my shoes, which I have worn all day including on sidewalks and parking lots, or just my stocking feet, which as you know, can produce up to two cups of sweat a day?"

"Um . . . well . . ." Now Sheldon was the one sweating. Drat!

But finally Amy lowered her book, sliding in a bookmark. "Why don't you just tell me what all this subterfuge is about?"

Sheldon looked away and mumbled, "I want to watch the baking show."

"What was that?" Amy leaned forward. "A little louder, please."

"You heard me." At least he hoped she had because he did not want to have to repeat himself.

"Sheldon Cooper," Amy sat her book on the thankfully foot-free coffee table, "are you proposing that we start watching The Great British Baking Show together? As a Tier Two show? Or, dare I say it, is your Texas accent a sign that you are eager enough that you want to categorize it as a Tier One show?"

He reached for the remote. "Don't make me say it."

"Aww, but you're so cute when you do."

"Fine. You were right."

Amy smiled with satisfaction and snuggled up close for bread week.

"Where's Sheldon?" Howard asked as he sat down.

"He took his tray back to complain about the bread on his sandwich," Raj explained. "He said it's underbaked."

"Huh." Howard took a bite of his lunch. "It seems fine to me."

Leonard nodded. "Yeah, we know. It is fine."

"At least it's a quiet lunch," Raj said.

Howard looked over at the empty chair next to him and did a double take. "Hey, look at this." He picked up a small spiral bound notebook that was resting there. "Is this Sheldon's?"

"Yes," Leonard answered, "sometimes he has one for lists."

"I thought he had a photographic memory," Howard said.

"Oh, he does," Raj said. "He went on and on once to me, though, about the value of writing things down. It's why he uses a whiteboard for his equations and doesn't just sit around cross-legged like Dr. Strange, even though he could do that better even without a purple cape."

"His words, I take it." Howard flipped open the first page.

"What are you doing?" Leonard asked.

"What does it look like I'm doing? Reading Sheldon's secret notebook. He'll never know."

"Yes, he will," Leonard and Raj said in unison.

"Oh my God!" Howard could hardly contain himself. "Listen to this! At the top it says 'For Amy' with a colon after it. And then the very next thing is 'good forking'!"

"No," Leonard and Raj said in unison. "Wait, he actually wrote that?"

Raj asked.

"Yep, look for yourselves," Howard said, angling the notebook toward them.

Leonard dropped his fork onto his tray as though he didn't want to touch it at the moment. "No, this makes sense. Amy told Penny something about a coitus schedule. Sheldon knows it but she doesn't."

"It keeps going," Howard said, practically lifting himself out of his chair in excitement. "The next thing is 'hot baps.' You know, boobs in British-talk."

"British-talk is English," Raj pointed out. "In fact, it's the original English. It's your country that bastardized it."

"Just keep telling yourself that." Howard looked down again. "Then it says 'lady fingers'! And 'dirty chouxs.'" His face wrinkled in confusion. "'Pasty' -"

"Those things strippers wear on their nipples with tassels?" Leonard asked. "I wouldn't have thought Sheldon knew about those."

"- 'Saucy pud.' 'Moist pud' - that one sounds a little gross. 'Fairy cake.'" He looked up. "Do you think these are weird sex terms?"

"I thought you know all those," Raj said.

"I do. But not Sheldon. Maybe he made up his own names for them?"

Leonard replied, "It's possible. Sometimes his precision battles with his guilt about being raised a Christian and things in his head go a little haywire."

Howard looked back at the list. "Well, that's got to be it, because these last two sound more like venereal diseases than sex positions: 'soggy bottom' and 'spotted dick.' I know he's weird, but I don't see Sheldon wanting to share those with Amy. There's only one way to find out -"

"Don't," Leonard admonished.

"Here he comes!" Raj whispered yelled, and Howard dropped the notebook back into the empty chair.

"Hi, Sheldon," they all said in unison.

"Well, that was a wasted effort," he said, sitting his tray down. "I tried to explain the complex molecular changes that occur during all the steps of bread creation, and how just one small misstep can create an inferior product, but it fell on deaf ears." Then he noticed the notebook and he snatched it from the chair, trying to stuff it into his back pocket.

"Watcha got there?" Leonard asked.

"Nothing anyone here would understand." If possible, his next sigh seemed louder than his usual sighs.

Rubbing his hands together, ignoring the dirty look he was receiving from Leonard across the table, Howard said, "Hey, Sheldon, I heard that Kripke has a spotted dick. What do you know about it?"

Leonard groaned and Raj snickered.

"What?" Sheldon's head popped up. "He does? Today?"

"Uh, yeah. That's what I heard. Of course, it could just be a rumor."

But Sheldon was already standing and jogging away from them, yelling behind him, "Thanks! I've never seen one in person. I hope I'm not too late!"

Despite all his schedules and borderline obsessive compulsive disorder, one word Amy would use to describe her marriage to Sheldon was unpredictable. Particularly when it involved arriving home after he'd been home alone for several hours. She honestly never knew what to expect. Sometimes he was absent, across the hallway with Leonard, or sometimes he was doing something perfectly mundane like reading a comic book or cleaning. But sometimes he was engaged in less than calm activities, like standing on a dining chair, refusing to come down, because he thought he'd seen a mouse. And, yes, while there had been wonderful welcome-home surprises for her, like that frontier birthday dinner, there had been several unwelcome discoveries, too. Like that frontier birthday dinner.

More commonly, though, was that he'd assembled all the white-boards in the living room on which to write his equations and such. Today, back from running errands, was just such a day. No rodents of unusual size or salmonella in the offing, Sheldon turned and smiled at her as she entered. "How was the book store? You were gone longer than I thought you would be."

"You know how it is. The smells, the sounds, all those titles . . ." She smiled back as she heaved the overloaded bag onto the sofa, spilling its contents. "I probably bought too much."

"But did you get mine?" Sheldon asked, coming around and picking up the first book.

"I'm not sure. There's dozens, Sheldon. Official tie-in cookbooks, cookbooks inspired by the show, Paul Hollywood and Mary Berry's cookbooks written before and after the show. There's even a nonfiction book about the making of the show."

"Hmmmm," Sheldon sat down and started flipping through the first book he picked up. "No, I don't like this one."

"Do you really think you're going to start baking all these things, anyway? You had Raj teach you how to make croissants and you haven't made them since. You say they take too much time."

"Ah! That's where you're wrong!" Sheldon snapped his fingers. "I performed an experiment while you were out. Actually, it's still ongoing. I adapted Raj's recipe using the rough puff method we've seen on the show. I figure if they can make puff pastry in just a few hours, surely croissants could be done that way, too. Actually, they need to go in now."

Amy watched Sheldon get up and lift the plastic off a tray on the island she hadn't noticed before. "Good, good, well done," he murmured to himself before sliding the baking sheet into the oven.

"There's nothing better than coming home to find you baking. Except maybe naked and baking."

"Please," Sheldon shook his head as he folded up the plastic, "that's highly unsanitary. And dangerous. What if I burn my naughty bits?"

Chuckling, Amy walked over to inspect his white boards. "What's this?"

"I was working on the chemical changes that varies types of heat bring to varying mixtures of dough. For example, why is choux pastry cooked on the stove first? I'm not convinced it's the moisture content alone that leads to its famous rise. Oh! I hope there's a recipe for profiteroles in one of these books!

"I didn't really notice the exact recipes." Amy frowned.

"Come on, let's look together."

No, the best type of home-coming was to spend the rest of the afternoon with her husband, huddled together on the sofa, discussing various books and planning their future bakes, only stopping to eat hot buttered croissants. There were moments it made Amy wonder if she could ever convince Sheldon to start a book club with her. A book club for just the two of them, to lead them through all the days and nights of their lives. But, instead of asking, she ate more croissants as they settled in to watch a couple of episodes of their new favorite show. Then, as darkness fell, they mixed and folded themselves together, rising and steaming in the heat from their bodies.

"This is completely unacceptable!"

Sheldon's anger was so loud it almost knocked Penny and Leonard down as they climbed the stairs. But the landing was empty and the door to apartment 4B was firmly shut.

"Yikes!" Penny said, her eyes wide. "Poor Amy. What's that about?"

"How do you know it's not Amy's fault? Maybe she put the toilet paper roll on the wrong way," Leonard replied, as he reached in his pocket for the keys.

"I know they're not married, but it's the principle! It's philosophically the same thing as adultery!" Came another scream, so loud they could easily hear Sheldon even behind the closed door.

Leonard's hand paused on the lock. "That sounds really serious."

"I know. I've never heard them fight like this, even when they first moved in," Penny whispered, hoping to catch Amy's reply. Leonard must have felt the same, because he stood still and silent also.

Amy was yelling too, but not as loudly. "Mary has had a wonderful life prior to and in addition to this and she will continue to do so. She doesn't need any man to give her value!"

"At least it doesn't seem to be about them," Leonard whispered.

Not that they needed to whisper in order to hear Sheldon. "But Paul is cheating on her! With Prue! And what kind of name is Prue anyway? She just sounds likes like shrew. It even rhymes!"

"You don't even know her!" Amy countered.

"Paul? Prue?" Penny mouthed. Leonard shrugged as he opened the door.

"And what about Mel and Sue? They've just been left behind, forgotten, for Noel and Sandi!"

"Come on, let's go inside," Leonard tugged her arm, pulling Penny inside.

She threw her purse on the end of the sofa. "What was that all about?"

"Who knows with those two."

Suddenly Penny sucked in her breath and she made a giant circle with her lips. "Wait a minute! Mary! Were they talking about Sheldon's mom?"

"I don't know," Leonard eyebrows bushed. "Who were all those other people then?"

"So they said the Paul guy was cheating on Mary with that other lady - Rue? Prue?"

Leonard crossed to the kitchen. "I don't think Sheldon's mom is dating anyone."

"She could be. Remember that one time Sheldon went to Texas and found her doing the nasty? Or what about your dad at our wedding?"

"They did not do the nasty. They said so," Leonard said, popping the tab on a soda can to punctuate his point.

"Maybe they lied."

Shaking his head, Leonard took a drink. "They were talking about kids or something being left behind." He reached over and tugged on Penny's arm. "Come on, let's forget about it. Sheldon exaggerates all the time. Remember when Sheldon thought a group of ants in his farm were attacking the rest and we all thought he'd actually witnessed an act of terrorism for like five minutes?"

"Yeah, you're right. If it was real, one of them would have come storming over here by now, demanding we get on their side."

They both turned and looked toward the door. When it didn't open, they shrugged.

"I have an idea for Valentine's Day," Sheldon announced as he lowered the quilt.

"You do?" Amy stopped in the middle of removing her robe, one side dangling down behind her. "You hate Valentine's Day."

"Yes, but I love you even at your silliest and surely your appreciation for Valentine's Day is a classic example of that." He got into bed and patted the empty space next to him.

"Okay, I'm listening," Amy said as she finished with her robe and crawled in next to him.

Sheldon rolled on his side. "I think we should throw each other a technical-inspired baking challenge."

"What do you mean?"

"I create a test for you in the style of The Great British Baking Show technical challenge and you create one for me. Something the other person has probably never seen and certainly never made or eaten. We'll give each other limited instructions, just like on the show. Now, before you ask, I've thought of everything. We'll use Leonard and Penny's oven for baking, too."

Amy's eyebrows dipped a bit as she thought. "So I'd cook here and you'd cook there? Or vice versa?" Sheldon nodded. "But the whole point of Valentine's Day is to be together."

"Maybe we could agree that our technical challenges bake at the same temperature and we both cook here? If you don't think it will be too crowded."

She smiled. "Not at all. Again, the whole point is to be together and close." Then the smile fell. "Wait, how would the judging work?"

"Valentine's Day is on a Thursday. We could save our bakes, and then take them across the hall the next day for our friends to do a blind taste test. They each vote on their favorite and that person wins. I know it's not exactly like a technical since we'll be making different things and not comparing them to a perfect standard, but that's why I called it technical-inspired."

"Playing fast and loose with rules in the name of love, are you?" Amy asked, snuggling closer to him. "Now who's the silly one?"

"Hey!" Bernadette said, tossing her purse into the booth before she slid in next to it. "Amy couldn't make it?"

"No, she said she had plans with Sheldon," Penny explained, taking another drink of her cocktail.

"Well, it was short notice." The waitress came then and Bernadette gave her order. "What were they doing? Amy and Sheldon?"

Penny shrugged. "Who knows. Honestly, they've been holed up a lot lately. They don't come over nearly as much as they used to."

"Really? What do you think they're doing? I thought their Asymmetry thing was all done." Bernadette leaned in closer. "Do you think it's sex? Howie found a notebook of Sheldon's and it had a list of sex positions."

Penny made a face of disgust. "I know they have sex more now, but that much? No way. I mean they literally get home from work, shut the door, and don't come out until the next morning. Well, except for the grocery store; it seems like one of them is going there every other day now."

"Oh, that explains it."

"Explains what?"

"Haven't you noticed?" Bernadette asked. "Don't you think Amy's gained a little bit of weight?"

"Bernadette!" Penny put her hand on her chest but then lowered. "Okay, maybe. I thought it was just those ugly vests she wears now. What happened to all her cardigans?"

"Okay, who goes first?" Amy asked, standing next to Sheldon at the island.

In front of them sat two trays of ingredients, both covered with a large blue gingham napkin, just like on The Great British Baking Show. They had also already covered the dining table in matching gingham. No, there wouldn't be a blind taste test later, but they had agreed to arrange their bakes there upon completion and photograph the moment for posterity. The gingham alter, as it was called, was so integral to the experience that they both felt it was necessary to replicate it.

"We reveal at the same time. That way no one gets a few extra seconds," he explained. "A few extra seconds may be all that stands between my victory and your defeat."

"We'll see about that," Amy said. "Timer?"

Sheldon raised his voice and Siri set a timer for three hours. Then, together, Amy and Sheldon whipped the gingham napkins off their respective trays, quickly taking stock of the decanted ingredients there. They both snatched up the page of typed instructions, scant as they were, at the same time.

"Tiramisu?" Sheldon said. "That's pretty common, don't you think?"

"Just read it," Amy said as her brow wrinkled. "Texas Moon Pie?" She lowered the paper. "Did you make this up?"

"I would never cheat, Amy! It's real. MeeMaw used to make it all the time for me when I was little. It was my favorite. We'd eat it with RC Cola and not tell mom." He smiled a little at the memory. Then he looked back down at the minimal recipe in his hands. "Ughh! Espresso! Rum?! How am I supposed to do taste tests along the way to make sure it tastes right?"

Amy smiled. Those two ingredients were exactly why she'd chosen the recipe, certain that coffee and alcohol had kept him from it in the past. Although, reading Sheldon's instructions to her, she felt a little guilty that the moon pie seemed to have far fewer steps. Even the homemade marshmallow cream only had a few ingredients. This was going to be a piece of cake. Literally.

As time was ticking away, they both set to work on their bakes. They measured and weighed and mixed and muttered and, in Sheldon's case, exclaimed at the difficultly and lack of instructions. At first, Amy was surprised that Sheldon would give her a recipe that involved raw egg whites, but then she supposed the hot sugar mixture might be enough to cook them. But the hot sugar mixture proved to be the most difficult part as Amy had never used a candy thermometer before.

"Grrrrrrr," she suddenly growled, throwing away her second mixture as the sugar suddenly got too hot and become too firm. The first batch had been ruined because the sugar reached the correct temperature before the eggs were whipped but then cooled before the soft peaks were formed. Now she was doubting Sheldon's instructions; he said he'd never cheat, and it did seem out of character for him, but why not make the cakes first instead of losing all this time? Why did the marshmallow fluff have to cool for so long before using it to seal the cakes together?

"Troubles?" Sheldon looked over at her, one eyebrow raised as he scooped his ladyfinger batter into the piping bag.

Amy almost hated him in that moment. Everything had been going smoothly for him, it seemed. Although he had yet to reach the rum and espresso stages of his bake. "Mind your own business," she grumbled as she turned to wash out the saucepan before she started over.

This time, the eggs whipped up into the most beautiful foamy peaks and Amy snatched the saucepan from heat just in time. She slowly poured the sauce into the eggs in a small stream, letting it run down the sides of the bowl instead of crushing her peaks in the center.

"Be careful you don't burn yourself," Sheldon said.

Pleased with her apparent success, Amy said, taunting, "I wouldn't worry about me. You're the one putting too much batter in that bag."

"It's a time-saving strategy. The bag can clearly hold more and then I can make the ladyfingers more quickly," Sheldon said as he seemed to scoop up a particularly large amount of batter.

"Bigger isn't always better," Amy warned as she watched the marshmallow fluff form before her eyes. She had considered adding "work in small batches" to her instructions, but then decided that was more instructions than required for a technical challenge. What was it Sheldon had said? They should be using their baking intelligence, honed with years of practice and knowledge gathering. She would have thought Sheldon's physics experience would come into play, as well, but now the bag was so stuffed he could barely gather the end together.

"That's not what you say when we're in the bedroom," he shot back as he bent over the parchment-covered baking tray to pipe out his little sponge biscuits.

Amy's head snapped toward him just as she shut off the mixer, surprised by his innuendo. But then she smiled. Sexual innuendo was actually a part of The Great British Baking Show. In fact, she had read there was a Twitter feed from England based entirely on reporting all the innuendos. She opened her mouth to reply with something equally saucy, but instead she heard a popping sound and a giant glob of ladyfinger batter struck her on the cheek.

"Ugh! Sheldon!" she cried, reaching up before she thought about it, getting the batter all over her hand. "I told you the bag was too full!"

But he was scrambling to contain the explosion, although from the looks of batter on the counter it was too late. It was even all over the front of his tee shirt. Amy looked down. "You even got some in my marshmallow! This batch was finally perfect!"

"It's your fault! You should have told me not to fill it up so much!"

"I did! And you're the physicist! You should have known that much pressure and force would cause an explosion!"

He peered down into her bowl. "There's hardly any. You can just dig it out. I have to remake the batter!"

"Can't you just scrape it off the counter?" Amy asked.

"Amy! We've been cooking here! It's not clean!"

She stepped even closer to him, putting her hand on her hips. "But you'll be baking it; surely that will kill any germs. And you can't tell me you didn't scrub the counter before we even started!"

"But look how much is on your face!" Indeed, Amy could feel the glob migrating down her jaw. "It's not fair if I don't have enough batter. Without the solid ladyfinger base, I'll have a soggy bottom!"

"Well, you should have thought of that before you caused an explosion!"

"Oh, no! The piping bag is ripped and that's all your fault. You bought it! I can't even pipe anymore!"

"Ha! So I win by default if you can't finish!"

"Oh, so this was your plan all along?" Sheldon loomed over her now, crossing his arms over his chest, even though that spread the batter there. "Provide me with suboptimal equipment to purposely foil my bake?"

"'Foil your bake'? What are you, a British baking arch-villain?" Amy shot back, even as she angrily reached over to grab the mixing whisk before her fluff deflated further. Sheldon's stray batter was starting to weigh it down, just as she feared. "Well, your instructions are to make the fluff first, and I'm certain that's a waste of time. How do I know you didn't switch the order, just to guarantee your own win?" Apparently she'd gone from a non-believer to a conspiracy spouter.

Sheldon sucked in his breath. "Amy! How dare you? You know I'd never cheat! I thought I was almost letting you win with that recipe. Even my sister can perfectly execute MeeMaw's marshmallow fluff in a single try."

"Maybe you should go back to Texas and have her make it for you!" She flipped the large bulbous whisk in her hand and all marshmallow fluff trapped inside flew off and landed right in the middle of Sheldon's face.

Sheldon stared at her, open-mouthed, his face nearly covered with white substance. It even seemed trapped in his eyelashes and, when he closed his eyes to rub them, he only succeeded in smearing it further. Amy hadn't meant to do it, at least not to that extent, but in her heightened, angered state she had to admit it was a very satisfactory sight, even through her now-dirty glasses.

"Why you - you - cunning little - I'm all sticky now!"

"Sticky is right, because you sure aren't very sweet!" she retorted as she put the whisk down beside her bowl.

It was the marshmallow she tasted first, yes, sweet and sticky on her lips, and then it was hot, melting from the heat of Sheldon's tongue. It covered her glasses, and she closed her eyes, wrapping hers arms tighter around him as he pressed her against the counter. Somehow, his tee shirts had raised and her batter-cover palm landed on the bare skin of his back.

"There's batter on my sweater now," she objected, breathless, pushing him away.

"At least you don't have it on your back." In one swift move, Sheldon pulled his tee shirts off over his chest, somehow managing to transfer that batter from his shirt onto his chest.

"And now it's on your chest."

"It's already on your shirt." He pushed her collar away and ran his tongue down her throat, and Amy growled deeply in response. She put her hands on the side of his head, but when he looked up at her, she noticed she had left fluff behind on his ear.

"Sticky," she exhaled as she captured his earlobe between her teeth. "So sticky . . ." She breathed over his little moans and twitchings in her arms.

"Tell me," he breathed heavy into her neck, "is this peak finally stiff enough for you?" Only a squeak escaped her mouth when Sheldon pressed his pelvis against hers, proving how very stiff the situation had suddenly become.

The next kiss was seared with ladyfinger batter, and Amy swore she could taste the remnants of marshmallow, too. "Oh, God, this is so good!" she moaned as she nippled along Sheldon's lower lip.

"I want that to be about me, but I'm concerned you're talking about the unusual but surprisingly delightful mixture of our two different recipes combining with the heat and salt from our skin," Sheldon replied, his hand working on her buttons.

"Does it matter?" Amy asked, licking the delightful mixture along his jaw as she worked to unzip his pants, pausing only to smear more batter from his chest onto her hand before she reached inside.

Sheldon let out a gasp and threw his head back in pleasure. "It seems you only need five lady fingers after all."

Regaining control, Sheldon leaned forward to kiss her even as his fingers trembled over the top buttons of her blouse. He reached down to still her hand just as he slide his own inside her bra. "Mmm, too dry."

Amy watched, in some glorious triangulation of shock and curiosity and desire, as Sheldon smeared some of the batter from the countertop onto his hand and put it back down to work it around her nipple.

"Oh, Sheldon," she moaned, toying her fingers through the trail of hair running down from his navel, causing it to stand up from the various mixtures, letting her hand graze against his very firm peak occasionally. She wasn't quite sure where marshmallow fluff ended and ladyfinger batter began anymore. Their skin slid easily against each other, and, in her mind, she imagined being poured out of a mixing bowl, her entire body narrowing to a stream of the desire pooling in her nether regions.

"Delicious." Sheldon almost growled against her flesh as he bent down to capture her nipple with his lips. "Decedent," he murmured with a flick if his tongue.

A sound rolled out of her throat as she held his head. "'Thou art to me a delicious torment,'" she exhaled, aching with hunger.

"'A torment I'd rather savor,'" he finished for her.

Amy's head snapped up. Ralph Waldo Emerson? Sheldon was quoting Emerson now? There was baking and there was poetry and there was sex, but the combination was almost too rich to consume. But not quite.

"Touch me," she suddenly whispered fiercely. "Taste me."

Sheldon raised his head to look at her with wide eyes, accentuated by the mixtures of white batter still coating his face in places. Amy sucked in her breath. Never once had she asked for such a thing so blatantly, and she feared the reality of what she was asking, and what a mess they'd made of themselves and their plans, would deflate the moment like an improperly baked soufflé.

His voice was husky in reply, "Come. Bring it."

She didn't even have to ask. She turned and scooped up some of the fallen ladyfinger batter off the counter and dumped it into the bowl with the fluff. Cradling it in the crook of one arm, she took Sheldon's pro-offered hand with the other and giggled as she followed him into the bedroom.

"Wait!" she exclaimed. They suddenly stopped, almost to the bedroom. "This is a sticky mess. The quilt . . . the sheets . . ."

A pause and then Sheldon snapped the blue tablecloth off the table in a single move, before he tugged at her hand again. "Come on. They don't call it the gingham alter for nothing."

THE END

Well, you were promised overly sweet fluff . . . Despite the silliness of this tale, thank you in advance for your reviews!

If you enjoy Shamy, geekiness, and bookishness, follow me on Instagram as aprilinparisfanfic.