A/N: I had this idea swirling in my head for a while and decided to put it on paper. There's an abundance of stories (that I love most dearly) where our captain is a dreamboat in bed and teaches Maria all there is to know about love between men and women. I mean, who can blame us right? But I thought I'd explore what might've happened if the exact opposite held true… just to shake thing up! And don't worry.. there will be some delicious M if all goes to plan.

I've also just got back from a lovely trip to Salzburg so I just had to write again! I've started a new job though, so updates might be a little less frequent than usual.

"Do you like it?" Georg turned to her, beaming like a school boy and Maria's heart swelled at the sight.

"Oh Georg," she gushed, clapping her hands together in wonder, "it's just gorgeous!"

She twirled slowly in a circle, her palms pressed to her cheeks, drinking in the understated luxury of their honeymoon suite, marvelling at the sheer expanse of it. There were at least three more rooms off the main living space - a huge bathroom with a glorious tub, a vast bedroom with a grand four-poster bed, and a walk-in wardrobe that was larger than her governess' bedroom back in Aigen! Out on the expansive balcony, the city of Paris glittered in the moonlight like a sea of stars in a night sky and Maria span gently on the spot in awe, much like the time she'd first discovered her employer's ballroom, blown away by the beauty of the place she'd discovered.

And there was so much more to look forward to over the next six weeks! Her husband would show her the Paris he knew. Not just the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, the Champs Elysees, Notre Dame - but the hidden nooks and crannies, the jazz bars filled with cultured regulars, the street artists without a penny to their name, the cafes with the finest butter croissants she would ever taste.

"I thought you'd like it," he grinned, watching as she crossed the room in a flurry of skirts and disappeared into the bedroom to explore. He followed her eagerly and observed her from the doorway with a chuckle, loathe to disturb her child-like wonder as she gawped in amazement at the giant bed, "it's not too grand," he explained, "but certainly no postulant's cell either!"

Immediately her face fell at the mention of the abbey, and Georg felt his stomach suddenly bottom out.

"What?" He asked in a panic, his face marring in a concerned frown, "what is it darling?"

It had been such a glorious day - a grand wedding at Nonnberg, a blushing bride, endless celebrations with friends and family before they'd changed hurriedly into their travel attire and boarded their train to the most romantic city in the world. It had been a long journey and he'd suspected that she might be tired - but he'd hoped she'd be in good spirits. She'd spent the last week before their wedding living at Nonnberg - in a hugely unnecessary display of propriety, and he'd missed her terribly during those long seven days. He'd expected a gentle, loving reunion. What he had not expected, was for his bride to suddenly look so forlorn. They were finally on their honeymoon after all! She ought to be overjoyed, just as he was.

"Oh.." she sighed heavily, sinking onto the edge of the bed and resting her hands daintily in her lap, "it's just.."

"Just what?" He crossed the room and joined her in a heartbeat, crouching down onto his haunches in front of her and taking her hands in his, "tell me."

She paused momentarily before looking at him with weary eyes, "Today was more perfect than I could've ever imagined, Georg... " she looked to the floor, her gaze downcast, "It's just... now I'm a baroness. Me! A baroness! And yet I can't help but feel like.. well. Like a fraud..."

He sighed then in understanding, tracing his fingertips along the frame of her face and smoothing the hair from her forehead. She really was beautiful - a treasure, his treasure. Pure and clean and bright, just like the unblemished flower of the homeland he loved so much.

"Darling Maria.." he murmured, his touch dancing down the delicate satin of her cheek, tracing the shell of her ear and running along the contour of her jaw. Immediately it made her shiver with something she hadn't yet managed to identify.

"Within these four walls, I am not a baron or a captain," he whispered softly, his eyes filled with warm affection, "And you are not a baroness..."

The sudden promise behind his words sent confidence and excitement blooming through her veins, and when he rose slightly and his lips ghosted gently across her brow, she was helpless to stop the breathless sigh that escaped her. Almost instantly she melted against him, tilting her face into his loving ministrations.

"We are simply a man and a woman very much in love..." Her lips parted involuntarily when his mouth began to graze along her jawline, light as a feather, gentle as a summer breeze, "Two kindred spirits. Just Georg and Maria."

He made it sound so easy, so inviting, so desirable - just being herself. After all, how hard could it be? While others had always encouraged her to alter her rebellious ways, Georg - at least once they'd fallen in love - seemed to revel in the joy and spirit she brought to his life, and she knew he would never ask her to change a thing about herself. The realisation gave her comfort, filling her with that same boldness that she so often felt in his company. She could hardly believe it! Here she was, a Baroness and wife - and yet she was still Maria, and always would be.

And that was her last coherent thought before she saw his eyes shift downwards, coming to rest on the top button of her blouse. He swallowed hard and instantly her breath hitched in her throat. She studied him with racing anticipation - only to feel a twinge of confusion when she noticed... was it guilt she saw in his eyes? Whatever it was, she didn't have time to contemplate it, for suddenly the look was gone and his tentative fingers were toying with the little button at the base of her throat.

Almost apologetically, he began to undress her, undoing each button without a word passing his lips - and instead of feeling like a virgin bride on the brink of new discovery, she rather felt like a child being prepared for bedtime. As much as her curiosity had gotten the best of her during their engagement, she'd never had the courage to initiate anything more than kissing - and Georg had seemed far too much of a gentleman, far too tender, to cross any boundaries either. She had found his lack of advances both an enormous relief and an immense frustration during the long weeks of their engagement. Now they were finally married though, she rather wanted him to mark her as his equal - but instead he was treating her like priceless porcelain, an innocent treasure, something to be protected and handled with great care.

When at last her blouse was removed, his eyes studied her with great affection and an embarrassed blush crept into her cheeks when he exposed her breasts for the first time. Still he said nothing, and her pulse was thundering against her skin by the time she was left bare and vulnerable before him - but his own body language remained passive, almost to the point of detached politeness. Just what was he thinking? Was he pleased by what he saw? She was dying to know, but he gave nothing away.

"Perhaps it would be best if you uh.. get up on the bed?" He gestured awkwardly, his voice gentle, as though he was trying to coax a startled lamb. And while the tender affection in his tone was evident, she found she rather resented it. She didn't want to be treated like an innocent, least of all by him - and she rather felt the desire to throw herself at him, to beg him to just let go for heaven's sake, to handle her with lustful abandon. But she was too shy to assign words to her frustrations, and so she remained silent while he remained as straight-laced as the reputation that had once preceded him.

Once she'd obeyed his request and splayed herself awkwardly atop the bed, he began unbuttoning his own clothes with methodical precision, folding his shirt and trousers neatly before leaving them on a nearby armchair. When he moved closer to the bed, she kept her eyes fixed on his face for fear of what she might see if she looked any lower. It was then that she noticed he couldn't quite look her in the eye.

"You're very beautiful, Maria," he murmured somewhat sheepishly, his eyes fixed somewhere below her face, and she could tell by his tone that he truly meant every word. Why then, did he seem so.. anxious? So uncomfortable?

Much to her bewilderment, he merely stood there in front of her for what felt like an age, shifting slightly from foot to foot as though he were trying to decide what to do next. His fingers twitched agitatedly by his side and he cleared his throat uncomfortably, a hand running through his hair. Maria was perplexed - this was not the self-assured, confident and sometimes mischievous man she had grown to love. But her tongue didn't seem to want to unstick itself from the roof of her mouth, and so she couldn't quite bring herself to ask what might be bothering him.

Just when she thought she might die from the embarrassment of it all, he finally joined her tentatively atop the bed and - as gently as though he were lying on precious glass - he lowered himself onto her. She had to admit that despite the painful awkwardness between them his body felt quite wonderful pressed against hers - the masculine coarseness of his chest hair against her breasts, the bands of muscle across his shoulders, the steel of his legs between her thighs - but nevertheless he mumbled some sort of gruff apology as though he were putting her through a terrible ordeal.

His body was tense, she could feel it in the muscles of his back, in the way he held himself against her - as though he was afraid of causing her pain. And she wondered fleetingly whether this was just what love between men and women was like - silent, tense, a little awkward. Was there something she was supposed to do or say? Something that would signal the start of everything? She had absolutely no idea - and she felt nothing but relief when finally he made the first move, kissing her forehead gently and running his hand through her hair, down the length of her cheek, murmuring words of adoration that left no doubt in her mind that he treasured her wholeheartedly. His fingertips skimmed her throat, his palm skating across her breasts and stomach, cherishing her. She felt her cheeks burn and her breathing quicken at his touch, surprised to find that the sensations were rather exquisite, leaving her skin prickling with the stirrings of something she didn't yet recognise.

She felt herself begin to relax against him, felt the need, the pull for something more, something that only his body could provide, and her blood surged hotly in her veins when he pushed her knees apart with his own, sidling between her legs frustratingly carefully, as though she might shatter into a thousand pieces around him.

She waited then, for the inevitable discomfort that she'd been warned about, the unknown sensation of his intrusion - but none came. Was it supposed to be this way, she wondered in confusion. Wasn't something significant supposed to happen now? Perhaps he was taking his time so as not to frighten her? It was difficult to tell how he was feeling though, because his face was buried in her neck - so she could do little else then be patient and fix her eyes to the patterns on the ceiling, while his hand fumbled awkwardly at the place where they were to be joined. She waited for what seemed like eternity, feeling the heavy seed of self-doubt begin to take growth in her stomach, hoping against hope that it was unfounded - but still nothing happened.

"Georg..?"

"Just - give me a minute," he gritted defensively against her ear, and she felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment at the chastisement in his tone. Hardly daring to open her mouth again for fear of further awkwardness, she lay there obediently for long minutes while he continued to move methodically against her, kissing her neck, her breasts, fumbling and gyrating his hips against hers - but to no avail.

She felt rather like a useless puppet laid out awkward and still, his movements more a means to an end than anything else - until finally she could take the mortification no longer, "Georg, what-"

With an aggressive curse and a black scowl, Georg suddenly hauled himself off and away from her, his face a deep red and his eyes laced with livid frustration. Before she'd had a chance to even register his bizarre behaviour, he'd snatched up his underwear from the floor and pulled them on, but not before she caught a glimpse of his midsection. Almost instantly, her heart sank. While she might've been an innocent, she'd read enough medical textbooks in the lead up to the wedding to notice that he was in nowhere near the kind of state that the diagrams of the aroused male form had illustrated. And while she didn't fully understand the implications, she knew that something wasn't quite right.

She had no idea what to do to make it better though, and so she could only watch wordlessly, as he plonked himself down on the end of the bed, his hand running frustratedly through his hair and his bare shoulders hunching with undeniable tension.

And then there was nothing, not a sound, save for the blood pounding in her ears and the harsh scrape of his ragged breathing. The silence was so unbearable, so thick with the deep chasm torn between them, that eventually she just had to say something.

"Georg, is everything alri-?"

"Splendid, thank you," he clipped bitterly, unable to turn and look at her.

Despite his dismissive tone, she swallowed past the lump in her throat and forged bravely on.

"It's just.. you seem a little-"

"I said I'm fine!"

A final breath for courage, as tears of disappointment threatened to sting behind her eyes.

"Perhaps if we-"

He whirled around to face her then, his expression set in the cold stone mask that he'd worn on the very first day she'd met him.

"For heaven's sake Maria, that'll do!"

"But-"

"I said that will do!"

And with that he launched from the bed, snatching up the remainder of his clothing from the armchair before storming out of the room, leaving a bewildered and devastated wife behind.

A/N: I quickly discovered just how difficult it is to write an awkward Georg when all I want to describe is a passionate Georg! I hope you're all intrigued anyway and that it's still believable. After all, awkward first encounters like these can happen for all sorts of reasons. Reasons that I'll explore in the next chapters. Let me know your thoughts!