Happy Man
Georg von Trapp was a happy man.
An observer might have thought otherwise - not that anyone could observe, or probably even imagine, what was happening behind the doors of the honeymoon suite.
Sweat poured off his body. The morning sun slanted through the blinds, the hot stripes of light against his bare skin making him feel even more exposed as he lay on his back, his hands twisted in the tangled bedding. His teeth were clenched; his lungs ached for air, but he was unable to draw a single deep breath. Every muscle strained and every nerve trembled, his whole body screaming for release.
He realized that, though he was certainly unable to speak, the occasional groan echoing around the room must have come from him, since it couldn't possibly have come from the room's other inhabitant.
Georg was a man who wanted - needed - to be in control, and he was not afraid to use his imposing presence, his keen mind and his sharp wit to overpower people. But with the possible exception of their first encounter in the ballroom months ago, he hadn't been able to defend himself against the young woman with the sparkling blue eyes and impish smile.
That same young woman, now his wife, had been torturing him for at least the last hour - it felt like an eternity - with her clever fingers, her lush mouth, and the occasional soft brush of her golden mop of hair against his skin. It was some strange game of her own invention, that he'd agreed to in a haze of lust. The last thing he remembered clearly was her hissing, "if you move a muscle, I win."
Everything she did made him wild with desire for her. He was certain she was quite deliberately ignoring certain areas that cried out for attention, as though she wanted to prolong his agony, only to discover that the torture was even sweeter when she attended to them at last.
His mind raced in a million directions at once, although he was unable to hold a coherent thought for more than a moment.
How he'd misjudged the situation! He'd planned to go slowly with her, gently coaxing her into intimacy, patiently explaining and teaching, scarcely imagining a time when she would initiate things. But his bride had turned out to be not only a fast learner, but an ardent, creative – no, inspired, lover. He considered himself a worldly man, the veteran of a fulfilling marriage and an extremely rakish youth before that - yet she had apparently discovered sensitive spots he hadn't known he had.
That was the most amazing thing of all: that she had come to understand him so thoroughly, his mind and his body, that she was fulfilling desires he hadn't even known he possessed.
One hope sustained him: that it was only a matter of time, that his chance would come. It wouldn't be this game, of course; that would hardly be a fair fight, since she couldn't keep still for a moment and what fun would that be? But – in some distant corner of his mind that was still functioning - he had a variation to suggest to her, one involving more novel ways to keep her still. Revenge would be sweet.
Georg von Trapp was a happy man.
A/N: I don't own the Sound of Music or anything about it. Thanks, lemacd, for suggesting improvements.