Disclaimer: I don't own the Sound of Music ... except on DVD.
Author's Notes: This is plotless and gratuitous, but I still tried to keep the characters true. I needed a Christmas treat and realized I would have to write it myself. Some people will like this, and some will leave ... well ... unsatisfied. For that I apologize, but the interesting aspect of the wedding night, for me, is the lead-up. I leave the nitty-gritty details to your own imagination.
This is a oneshot.
"Is everything to your satisfaction, sir?" the bellhop inquired, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, his face glowing with boyish enthusiasm.
The eager young man had let them into the room, depositing the luggage by the door, and had stepped aside as the newlyweds entered. Georg, his hand resting upon Maria's waist, had watched the play of contentment in her features as she inspected the elegant but pleasant room where they would be spending their wedding night. He had followed her to the window to take in the view over Salzburg, but his thoughts had been interrupted by the distinct sound of the young man clearing his throat. Reluctantly, he had left his wife's side to attend to the business at hand.
"Some wine glasses ... ?" Georg replied questioningly, looking around him as he spoke. Maria had turned away from the window, and he caught her eye and winked at her before acknowledging the young man's rapid return with two glasses in hand.
"Yes, leave them, there. That should be fine." Georg, standing with an air of casual elegance by the settee, uncorked the wine, and began filling the two glasses as the bellhop retrieved the luggage and carried it to the closet.
Maria smiled fondly at her husband's confident, relaxed movements. It wasn't that he tried to put on airs in such situations; they just seemed to flow unconsciously from him. She watched with amusement as he registered the cessation of bustle in the room and turned to see the bellhop standing expectantly before him.
"Oh, yes of course," Georg said, pulling his billfold from his pocket, and handing the young man two crisp notes.
"Thank you, sir. Thank you, madam," he replied, tipping his cap and blushing as Maria's warm gaze settled upon him. When he was gone from the room, Georg stepped to the door and turned the bolt.
"A bit energetic, that one," he remarked.
"He could probably do with some vigorous marching about the grounds, breathing deeply ..." she teased, her sentence cut short by a wide yawn that she couldn't quite stifle with her hand.
He chuckled, stepping toward her. "Tired, darling?" She had the mellow yet dazzled air of someone who has spent an afternoon in the sun. Her cheeks glowed pink and her golden hair gleamed copper in the light of the room.
"Well, if fatigue is not inconsistent with complete happiness, then, yes, I suppose I am."
He pulled her to him at the waist, placing a kiss on her forehead.
"Did you have trouble sleeping last night?" he asked, smiling down at her knowingly.
She did not need to reply. Her eloquent eyes, though shining, were a bit bloodshot.
"So did I," he laughed. "Perhaps that's why weddings are so exhausting."
"But glorious."
"Of course." He ran his free hand through her hair. "You were glorious—radiant."
"In that dress, in that setting, I actually felt glorious."
"What you don't realize, my love," he murmured as he guided her lips to his, "is that you always are."
It was the first moment they had spent together unencumbered by well-wishers, and a sense of freedom coursed through her. She was not used to being the object of high society's gaze, and its presence had imposed a certain restraint upon her: she had understood implicitly that her every action and word was being measured. Her husband had been at her side and had anchored her. To be alone now with him, who never looked at her except to see the good ...
She wrapped her arms tightly around his back and leaned into him, and as she deepened the embrace, he brought his hands up to frame her face, pouring himself slowly into the kiss as he too felt restraint falling away from him. A soft moan escaped his throat, and he tilted her head further, kissing her deeply, one hand trailing downward to play against her throat as the other drifted down her back.
After a long, slow, soft moment, he pulled his lips from hers, still holding her against the length of his body. She could feel the deep, rhythmic hammering of his heart against hers. When he spoke, she felt his quick breath on her ear before she heard his voice. "Now, Maria von Trapp, what part of you is most tired?"
"Hmm?" Her mind felt sluggish. She wanted nothing more than for the hand that had come to rest on her back to continue its movement, but she forced herself to open her eyes and focus on his words. "Mm," she groaned. "My feet ache."
"I know a remedy for that," he stated knowledgeably, wrapping his arm around her waist and leading her toward the settee. As she stepped forward, still dazed by the kiss, she stumbled, her ankle buckling, and he steadied her with a chuckle.
"Does your remedy involve taking off these shoes?" she asked in a wry but embarrassed tone.
"Ah. You guessed. That is the first step."
She rolled her foot out of the remaining shoe and curled her toes in the plush carpet.
"Better?" he asked, hearing her sigh of contentment.
"Oh yes. I had a long walk in these today, you know."
"I wish I could have joined you. But I enjoyed watching." He tapped her nose gently, then let go of her waist and began undoing the buttons of his jacket.
"Step two," he said, motioning that she should do the same. Her heartbeat quickened as she removed her fitted blazer and handed it to him to drape with his across the back of a chair. She was cold in her blouse without her jacket or his touch. These seconds without contact left her feeling bereft, and she reached up and touched his wrist lightly as he loosened his necktie. He turned his hand to bring his palm flush against hers. His long fingers extended an inch past her fingertips. Lowering their hands between them, he pulled her gently toward him and guided her to a seat on the settee. He placed a light, lingering kiss on her lips before stepping to retrieve the two glasses of wine that rested on the side table.
He handed her a glass and sat beside her, raising his own to clink against hers. There was too much space between them for her liking, but the contentment she saw shining in his eyes made her feel patient and generous. He rested his free arm across the back of the settee and caressed her ear slowly as he drank his wine, content to drink in her presence with every sip.
"I'll never understand how you can drink so much more of this than I can," she said, eying his already half-empty glass.
"Well, darling, that's what happens when you grow up in a family of oenophiles," he pronounced in his best imitation of snobbery.
Maria snorted, then coughed, choking a bit on her wine. "Goodness! Eenophiles?"
"Wine lovers." He raised an eyebrow playfully. "Forgive me—a pretentious word for a pretentious pastime."
"Did you grow up drinking wine? I suppose it was like mother's milk to you," she teased.
He rotated the stem of his glass lightly between his fingers, watching the remaining liquid swirl around the bowl. "I was allowed just a bit on special occasions when I was a boy. Then, when I turned sixteen, I was allowed to drink it with my parents at mealtime." He chuckled, adding, "It felt almost like becoming a man."
"Aha. No wonder Liesl is sulky on that point."
"It is terribly unfair," he quipped. "But I am, as you know, a bit of a tyrant." He raised his glass to her as if in toast, a sly smile stretching across his face. Then, he threw his head back and slugged down the remaining liquid in a quick, unsophisticated gesture he must have perfected when a sailor. He set his glass down on the table beside him, and, meeting her amused gaze, he commanded with his best military inflection: "Feet up."
She raised her feet obediently, understanding now the reason for the distance between them. He reached down, cupped her ankles, and rotated her so that her feet rested on his lap.
"Comfortable?" he asked as she shifted to settle her weight in the corner of the sofa. She nodded., and a flush crept into her cheeks.
He took one foot in both his hands, and it twitched instinctively, pulling away from his touch. He smiled at her, gripping her foot more firmly as he began to rub the arch with long strokes of his thumbs. She breathed deeply, took another sip of wine, and relaxed. His hands moved expertly over her silk stockings, thumb and forefinger squeezing both sides of her heel and moving upward along her Achilles tendon.
"I was so nervous," she said after a moment.
"Hmm?"
"Walking down the aisle."
"Not frightened of me, I hope." He glanced up from his work with a tender look and half a smile.
"Goodness, no. I wished the distance between us could have been closed faster."
"Of what, then?"
"Well ..." she paused ... "I kept imagining myself tripping. Natural grace is not something that I've been blessed with. And with all those people watching ..."
A rumble of laughter rolled from his chest. "Is that what you were thinking of?" He laughed again and shook his head. To her curious look, he replied, "I overheard Baroness von Stauffenberg talking about you. She said you looked ... I believe the word was 'beatific.' If she only knew the whole time you were worried about falling on your face."
His laughter was infectious, and she joined him. "I wouldn't say there were no thoughts of weight or import running through my mind. I did pray. I wanted to express my gratitude to the Lord." A sheepish smile stole across her face. "But I would be lying if I said that a significant part of that prayer, especially in my heart, didn't include a request that I make it to where you stood without incident."
He met her gaze, grinning, then shook his head again as he moved on to massage her other leg.
"At any rate, I don't believe this talk about not being graceful," he said. "I have firsthand knowledge of this issue. I have danced with you, you know."
"Oh, dancing isn't really a problem. It's walking that gives me trouble."
"That seems a bit of a paradox."
"With dancing, I lose myself in the music and everything else falls away." Her brow furrowed as she considered for a moment. "But in other situations, if I'm excited or nervous about something, I tend to run toward it at full speed, either to get to it or to get it over with. I move quickly, and sometimes I stumble."
"Is that figurative or literal?"
"Both, I think," she replied, nodding appreciatively. "A measured pace doesn't come naturally to me."
"Then we complement each other in that sense."
"Yes."
She finished the last sip of her wine, and, missing only the slightest beat in his task, he removed the glass from her grip and placed it on the carpet. Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes and let her head loll back against the sofa. A comfortable silence stretched between them.
"Will we go dancing in Paris, Georg?"
"Would you like to, darling?"
"Very much."
"Then we shall make a point of it."
She sighed contentedly and relaxed further into the sofa. His expression was concentrated, absorbed as he bent his head over his task. His hands moved in deep strokes up and down her calf, relaxing the muscle but causing her entire body to tingle. The only sound in the room was their breathing. He inhaled with each stroke of the thumb up her calf then exhaled as his fingers traveled lightly back down to her ankle. Her heart began to beat more quickly. She opened her eyes and watched his expression as he worked: how his brow furrowed, how his eyes flitted up and down her calf.
"Georg," she breathed at last. Tightening the muscles in her stomach, she straightened with difficulty, lifting her legs from his lap and placing her feet on the floor so that her body leaned forward and narrowed the gap between them.
She gazed at a point just above his brow and reached up slowly to finger the front of his hair. Pulling a lock of it downwards, she curled it once around her forefinger, then let it go and swept her thumb across his brow and down his cheek. He closed the small distance between them with surprising rapidity. His kiss was not searching; it was deep and full, as though the kiss had begun moments before. His mouth moved rhythmically over hers, both insistent and gentle. Its passionate languor made her heart hammer even as she relaxed into his embrace.
With one hand supporting her back, he eased her gently backwards so that she rested in the corner of the settee. His other hand traced a warm path down her side. When it reached her waist, she felt him tug her blouse upward, freeing a corner of it. His hand danced around her waistband, then the fingers slipped in beneath her shirt, and his thumb caressed the soft skin of her belly, sending a jolt of pleasure through her body.
She had never felt such an ache for him before, and she felt a twinge of frustration as his hand slipped away from her bare skin and moved behind her to help support her back. With a surge of assertiveness, she sat up, pushing him up with her, her lips negotiating a new angle with his. She fumbled ineffectually with the loose knot of his tie before giving up with a self-deprecating huff that was lost in his mouth and plunging her fingers into his hair. She was kneeling on the sofa now as he sat, and she tilted his head back as her fingers raked across his scalp.
He slowed the kiss then, running both hands up and down her sides to her hips and over the swell of her buttocks, his thumbs straying freely across her blouse where it clung to her breasts. When she took his lower lip between hers and sucked it softly, his hands slackened in surprise. His entire body was still for that moment, and she sensed him centering all sensation on this small caress. Suddenly he pulled away and their lips parted with a soft popping sound. She opened her eyes, bewildered at the loss of contact as he stood and moved away from her. He heard her noise of protest and held up a placating hand as he moved toward the bed and pulled down the covers in one vigorous motion.
She stood, trembling, and walked to meet him at the side of the bed. His mouth twitched slightly when she touched him—a half smile—and his eyes burned into hers. His air was distinctly rakish after what she had done to his hair. With surprisingly steady fingers, he unknotted his tie and dropped it at their feet. She brought her hands up from his waist to help him unbutton his shirt, but her trembling fingers were too unwieldy. Instead, she watched, entranced, as the shirt began to part. His chest was broad and covered with a thatch of hair. The movement of the muscles fascinated her as he shrugged off the shirt one shoulder at a time. She leaned forward, her nose and then her cheek making contact with his skin. She kissed him where her mouth rested, then ran her hands down his sides, around the curve of his back, and up toward his shoulders, pulling him against her. His skin was warm and smooth.
He placed a finger gently under her chin and pushed her away just enough to allow him to tilt her head upward and look into her eyes. She hadn't known that he could look this way: completely vulnerable and not afraid to be so. She felt confidence bubble up inside her.
"I love you," she murmured. Her eyes swept down his chest, traced the narrow trail of hair that led down to his waistband, then traveled back up to meet his gaze.
"Everything to your satisfaction, my love?" He smiled wryly down at her, but a rough edge to his voice belied his desire.
"Almost." She rose up on her toes and captured his lips with hers as his hands moved down her front to begin ably navigating the buttons of her blouse.