This is a oneshot I wrote after watching the movie last night for the millionth time. I didn't want to get graphic (not my thing), hope I captured the tenderness—that was my goal. Happy Valentine's Day to all the other hopeless romantics like me!!
It was their time. Finally alone, the man from whom many words were rarely spoken, was so taken with the sight of his beloved that he might've spouted every romantic poem ever written; the lady, who had no trouble whatsoever speaking her mind, was rendered speechless by his presence. Seeing each other as if for the first time, they each drank in what was before them. He, with his rumpled hair, looking almost boyish (a characteristic she was sure not many others were privileged to witness), a slight smile playing on his lips, and a look of intense longing that she now recognized as the same one he'd graced her with at Hunsford, so long ago.
And what he saw in her only fueled his passion, on her face she wore a mixture of love and shyness. His Elizabeth, shy!! He had seen it once at Pemberley, hardly believing it then; seeing it now made him love her all the more, if this were possible.
Prior to this night, his business matters and her wedding plans kept them apart; or at the very least in the constant company of others so that they were never left alone. Now, being free of this, they could not keep their eyes off the other. He walked towards her, willing himself not to show any nervous behaviors that would belie his state of mind. She stood there, waiting, feeling as awkward as he, but wanting what he offered more than dreading it.
"Elizabeth." he whispered, before leaning down and laying the softest of kisses on her lips.
She met his kiss with her own, feeling the shyness fall away and give way to another emotion altogether. When they came apart, she opened her eyes to find him staring at her, with an intensity that matched her own. No more words were needed, no more words were spoken. This night, actions would speak volumes, whole books of poetry would be written with not a single pen put to paper.
Later on, when he should have been exhausted but found himself unable to sleep, he could only marvel to himself at this wonderful gift he had been given. He was sure no one had ever loved another as he loved her. As she reveled in his strong arms holding her against him, almost as if to rock her to sleep, she was sure no woman had ever felt the things she had experienced, no man had ever been more gentle than he. The morning light might bring with it new adjustments and more verbal communication, but for now, contentment was a blanket both let engulf them, as they lay in the afterglow of their love.