After The Gazebo
It was a beautiful evening, peaceful and calm, the moon turning everything around the gazebo silver. Georg von Trapp was utterly content. Over the course of the summer, he had finally been able to lay aside the mantle of grief he'd worn for years. True, he had remained stubbornly persistent about his plan to marry Elsa Schrader, long after he should have seen the truth – but that was all behind him now. In the last few hours, he had realized, finally, that his hopes for his family's future, and an undreamed-of second chance for his own happiness, rested with the young woman he now held in a tender embrace.
It hadn't come as a complete surprise, to be sure: her physical charms and sparkling personality had been welcome distractions all summer. He owed her a debt he could never repay for the change she'd wrought in his family. And he'd lived long enough to be able to recognize the effect he was having on her, starting long before that memorable evening when they had danced together in the garden. He knew how close he'd come to kissing her that night, and that only the presence of his children had spared them. And then she had mysteriously run away. He could scarcely believe he'd been given this second chance to win her.
Still, he hadn't been sure, exactly, how to approach her. He knew almost nothing of her past, or her personal life before her short-lived career at Nonnberg Abbey. So, feeling uncharacteristically awkward, he had broached the subject of their mutual feelings indirectly, and had kissed and embraced her gently, giving her every opportunity to resist. He told her he loved her, and then, as new lovers do, they had traded the usual stories of, "when did you first know?" Only then, certain of her response, had he asked her to marry him.
He was not entirely prepared for her reaction; no sooner had she accepted his proposal than, wrapping her arms around her neck, her lips sought his as she kissed him enthusiastically, if a little clumsily. It was a surprising turn of events, and a delightful one that he quickly took advantage of, burrowing his hands into the golden silk of her hair, running his tongue gently along her lips and then happily settling in to learn her mouth. If the young woman who had haunted his dreams every night for weeks had ever been kissed before now, it was not by someone who knew what he was doing. But she was a fast learner, her mouth lush and responsive. She was completely irresistible.
Maria still couldn't quite believe what was happening. It was as though the world itself had shifted on its axis since her disastrous return from the Abbey only hours ago. Could this really be the man who had intimidated, charmed, infuriated and fascinated her all summer? She knew she wasn't dreaming, because she could never have been imaginative enough, or brave enough, to invent what she was experiencing: the scrape of his cheek against hers, the roughness of his jacket against her skin, the way he smelled and tasted, the astonishing intimacy of the way he explored her mouth, the feeling of his body pressed up against hers, the surprising discovery that someone so formidable could have such a gentle touch.
Having started to kiss her Captain, Maria wasn't sure what would ever make her want to stop. For a man who had seemed so physically imposing, it turned out that his body fit together with hers quite nicely. It was hardly the first time she'd been kissed, but up till now, she hadn't quite appreciated how kissing could be a whole-body experience. But in those few minutes, Maria learned quite a bit about kissing she hadn't known before. She was enjoying it so much that she felt a little stab of disappointment when his lips left hers, only to change her mind rather quickly when he trailed kisses along her neck to her ear, the wet heat of his mouth leaving trails of fire behind.
By now, his earlier feeling of contentment had ignited into desire. He dared himself to explore her curves, his hands moving restlessly from front to back, from shoulder to hip and then back to her shoulders again, sliding inside the wide sleeves of her dress. He couldn't resist the urge to fan his fingers out until they spanned the soft skin of her back, which felt like pressed velvet to his touch. He waited for her to recoil, an apology ready on his lips, but from the way she relaxed into his hands, and her satisfied little murmur, he gathered that his attentions were welcome.
The sensations were coming at Maria faster than she could absorb them, so fast she could hardly breathe. No sooner had his fingers skimmed, light as a feather, across her breasts and down the curve of her back to her hips, than they sought out her bare shoulder. The first touch of his hands on her back was like an electric shock, the skin burning wherever he touched her. She felt no instinct to pull away – she loved and admired this man, and trusted him completely, and anyway, her brain had apparently been taken over by some new part of her that could hardly wait for the next caress.
They were so wrapped up in each other that they barely noticed the way the weather had changed. Clouds covered the moon until the gazebo was lost in shadow, a cool breeze found its way through the doorway, and a few sharp drops of rain pinged against the gazebo's glass walls. A loud clap of thunder sounded, but Georg was oblivious. He could hear nothing but the blood pounding in his ears, could see nothing but her tempting mouth and those fiery blue eyes. A new rush of longing overtook him, and he pulled her against him so hard he lifted her off her feet. But she didn't protest, offering only a gentle whimper before she melted into him. His mouth trailed along her neck again and she shuddered. He held her closely, pulled his face away from hers and for the first time in minutes, he managed to speak.
"You're cold..."
Dazed, she managed a half-smile. "I'm not cold. I'm…" She couldn't find the word she wanted, but she could tell from his smile that he understood her. Reaching for him again, she twined her fingers in his hair, and pulled his face back toward hers. She felt wild, and free, hungry for more of his touches. Her conscience tugged at her briefly: surely this behavior, these feelings, were sinful, were the exact things she'd been warned against ever since she was a little girl. But this was her Captain: honorable, brave, a man of principle. He would never harm her! She reveled in the way his breath came in ragged gasps against her cheek as he spoke.
"Maria. Let me take you inside. It's cold and damp out here, and I-" He broke off in midsentence, his thoughts and feelings hopelessly tangled. He couldn't possibly tell her what he really wanted, that he could not get enough of her while standing upright in the middle of a glass-walled building.
A moment later, in wordless agreement, they were walking quickly back to the house, side-by-side, but without any contact. Maria understood that they had to avoid the risk of being seen touching, but still, she mourned the reassurance of physical contact with him. She stole a sideways look at him, the way his face had assumed its formal, aristocratic mask again, and her heart dropped just a little bit. Whatever magic had happened in the gazebo, clearly, that moment was behind them. Well, of course, the important thing was that he loved her, the way she loved him. She supposed there were practical things people had to discuss when they decided to get married. Perhaps he might even want to keep things a secret, just between the two of them, for a while.
But in fact, while he looked composed, Georg's thoughts were racing wildly out of control. He didn't know what shocked him more: the ardent response of his young, convent-sprung bride, or his own rapidly diminishing loss of self-control. Georg was a planner, a strategist who never lost control, but from the moment she'd returned everything happened so fast and he was operating purely on instinct, instincts that were clearly dangerous. It was relief, in part, at finally being able to act on the feelings that had been tugging at him all summer, and there was something about her mix of innocence and passion that might almost drive him mad.
And that was the problem. From the moment he'd stood on the balcony and watched her wander along the lakeside, he had vowed to protect her from any future harm, to take care of her for the rest of his life. But how could he be her protector when he was clearly on the verge of doing her very great damage? He'd thought that they'd both be protected by her innocence, that things would move slowly between them because she wouldn't know any other way. Would the very fact of his love be enough to protect her from harm?
The truth was, he had few instincts when it came to young women like Maria. He'd spent a rakish youth pursuing the kind of women who needed no protection; he'd never cared much for innocent, virginal girls until he met the one who stole his heart and satisfied his every desire until she left him with seven children and an empty life. Since then, there had been a hollow encounter or two that only left him feeling more alone and in deep despair, and his relationship with Elsa, more a friendship than anything else. He had never expected another chance to feel the kind of passion that had seized him in the gazebo.
A few stray raindrops cooled his skin, and with it, came a new resolve: he would have to be strong for the both of them. It would be up to him to slow things down, and if he'd never found himself in this situation before, surely his love for her would keep both of them strong. He would do anything to avoid hurting her. He felt confident enough in his newly-found resolve that he steered her toward his study, where they could talk for a while longer. He still didn't know why she'd run away that night. In fact, there was a great deal he didn't know about her, and he wanted to know everything. He stepped aside to let her enter the room, turned to close the door behind him and then, thinking of Franz, and out of an excess of caution, he locked it behind him.
When he heard that lock click closed, he had to fight against the desire to take her in his arms again, as though he'd been deprived of her for weeks, not minutes. And one look at Maria confirmed that she'd need very little encouragement. She was standing in the middle of the room, mesmerized, her lips parted, her face a rosy glow, those blue eyes flickering with something he'd never seen there before. He looked away before those eyes could steal his willpower entirely.
Maria looked up to catch sight of herself in a mirror hanging over the leather couch, and she barely recognized the woman who looked back at her: lips red and swollen, hair in disarray, eyes dark with something unrecognizable. She had barely caught her breath, and so when she spoke, her own voice sounded unfamiliar, deep and ragged.
"Is it – is it always like this?" She turned away from the mirror and studied him; although his hair was damp and disheveled, and his eyes were a stormy, dangerous blue, still, he looked so proper, suit jacket buttoned and tie still neatly in place. She wondered how could someone so correct could make her feel like doing such wicked things.
"No." He shook his head, looking bewildered, and ran his hands through hair. "I think it's – like at sea, when the wind changes after a storm. You've fought against something so powerful for so long, you've pushed back against it with everything you've got, and finally, when it turns and heads the right way, you can relax and let it take hold of you, and the speed, the power, the rush, it's intoxicating. This has been building up for so long. Being able to hold you, to touch you like that-"
She felt herself blush everywhere at those words, and her breath quickened.
He went on. "It's as though I've awakened – all summer, I was suspended, somehow. Ready to let go of everything I'd lost. But afraid of the future. I'm still afraid for the future. But if you'll marry me, I think..."
"If?" she asked. "I already said yes! You can't take it back."
"I have no intention of taking it back. But are you sure you know what you're doing, Maria? Tell me the truth. Before tonight, did you think about getting married? Even once?'
She laughed. "Of course I did. Just not for the last year or two." She watched him walk across the room and open a drawer in his desk. "What are you doing?'
"Having a drink. To calm myself down," he laughed, producing a bottle and a glass.
"Then I need one too."
He raised an eyebrow, but then nodded and handed her another glass with a splash of whiskey in it. She tossed it back, the way she'd seen him do it, only to erupt into fits of coughing and choking as the whiskey burned its way down her throat. He rubbed her back, soothingly, and that was a mistake, because she gave a little gasp, arching her back at the memory of way his hand had felt against her bare skin.
And that was all it took to start them up again. Kissing her hungrily, he pushed against her forcefully until she was backed up against the desk, papers and books scattering around them. His hands and mouth returned to exploring any bare skin he could reach.
Maria wanted to reciprocate, to act on the urges pulsing out from her brain, but her hands were behind her on the desk, bracing herself against the welcome onslaught. With a determined little grunt, she lifted her hands to his chest and pushed him just far enough away to let her tunnel her arms under his jacket and along his shoulders. She only had to push at his jacket for a moment before he got the idea. Smiling against her lips, he removed his hands from her body long enough to allow his jacket to slide to the floor.
She'd surprised herself by being so daring, but her boldness was rewarded: now she was able to embrace him, to feel the heat of his body through his shirt, to trace the muscles paving either side of his spine. Once again, she marveled at the contrast between the formal, restrained aristocrat she'd known until tonight – she wasn't sure she'd even ever seen him without a jacket – and the powerful man who bent over her, devouring her mouth, his hands somehow touching her everywhere at once. His mouth moved on to a spot on her neck that had apparently been waiting her whole life for him to discover, that threatened to melt her entirely.
"How long?" she gasped.
"Until?"
"Until we can - be together."
"About five minutes," he would have said, except that her forthright question left him speechless, his breath caught in his chest until he thought he might pass out. Choking for air, he broke away from her, loosening his tie as he paced the room, struggling to regain his composure after that last fierce embrace. "You mean until the wedding? A month or two, I'd imagine, the banns, the planning-" He watched her face fall and his mind raced, looking for a way to fix things "Unless…"
"Unless what?" she asked.
"No, no, it wouldn't be…"
"Tell me," she demanded.
He closed his eyes and sighed . "You can get a special license. I mean, if you have certain kinds of influence. It allows you to marry with only a day's wait. The Church goes along with it, they just bless the marriage later. But it's usually used if you're caught in legal difficulties, or a scandal, or…"
"What would you call this?" she asked, with an uncharacteristically witless giggle, and he laughed despite himself.
"Don't tempt me, Maria."
"It makes a certain amount of sense, you know," she argued. "You've already had a great big wedding, and I don't want one. A second marriage. Seven children. Our country in the middle of a crisis and all."
"People will talk," he warned her. "Has it occurred to you that if we have a child right away, they will say-"
"People are going to talk anyway."
"I couldn't do that to you." He shook his head. "You'd regret it someday."
"Like I told you," she said dryly. "Whatever girlish fantasies I might have had these last years, a wedding was not among them."
The idea was intriguing. There would be a certain amount of talk about their marriage in any event. Perhaps a rapid wedding would get them past the gossip more quickly. But – if he were perfectly honest with himself - that wasn't the major reason he was considering it. The major reason was standing only a few feet away from him, breathing heavily, looking as luscious and ripe as a summer peach.
There was no avoiding it. He wanted her, and he could no more resist her than he could will his heart to stop beating, his lungs to stop breathing. He wanted her under him, skin against skin, as close as two people could be, and if the touch of his hands on her back had made her sigh, he could only imagine the sounds that angelic voice would make when…
She moved quickly across the room to his side. "Please. Please do it. For me. I need you to," she said urgently, and while he knew she was referring to the special license, still, the sound of her voice begging him tipped him over the edge.
"For you? Anything. Maria. You can have anything you want from me. Always," he whispered hoarsely, and he meant it, he would do anything for her. The rough passion in his voice made her knees buckle, and then it was his turn to tip her, physically, to follow her down as she slowly crumpled beneath him onto the big leather couch. He fit his body to hers carefully, and then his mind went blank, barely registering the gradual way her purrs of contentment turned to broken sighs.
Maria was not a complete innocent. She'd grown up like any other girl, curious about boys and kissing games, hungrily reading anything romantic she could get her hands on. She'd spent four years at a progressive college, and while her lot seemed to be bashful boys who held her hand at concerts and apologized for the occasional timid kiss, she had befriended plenty of girls who were living far more adventurous lives. And so she had heard all about things between men and women: what went where, who did what, the seemingly endless drama of what liberties to allow, and so on.
But she hadn't really understood it, not at all. Just as easily as one moment turned into the next, it was so instinctive, so effortless: the way his gentle kisses had turned demanding, the way his light touches had become caresses that spread fire wherever he touched her. Her heart was kicking at her ribs, her blood was singing, and her body was telling her what to do next as though she'd done this a million times before; it seemed as though the most natural thing in the world would be for them to lie skin to skin, for him to touch her everywhere, for her to do the same to him.
With her body underneath him, kissing her was no longer enough. He was like an aroused schoolboy, incapable of restraint. Gone were the principled reminders that she was not like the other women he'd been with. Her dress would not give him the access he craved, and he let his hand drift down her side, along her waist and beyond. His fingers teased a sensitive space behind her knee and then, slowly, he eased her skirt upward until he could explore new territory: soft skin, the occasional ridge of a garter, lace and satin.
The gentle graze and occasional soft flick of those fingers made her toes curl and a thousand butterflies take flight low in her belly; she found herself pushing up against the solid weight of his body and smiled to herself at what she discovered. Now it was clearer than ever what went where. Delighted and emboldened by the effect she was having on him, she relished his low growl and the way he moved against her.
The die was cast, he realized. She wasn't going to stop him, and, half-mad with desire, it seemed he was incapable of stopping himself. But it wasn't the way he wanted her, or what she deserved, not the first time, half-clothed on a couch. His mind racing ahead, he looked up, his eyes straying across the room as he gasped, "Maria. Wait. Just let me think…"
Her eyes were lazy with pleasure. "I don't want you to think. I don't want you to stop. I want you to kiss me like this, all night. I'll die if you stop." She pulled him toward her again and set her mouth to where he had loosened his tie, learning his collarbone and the warm skin below.
A brief snort of laughter. "You're not going to die, darling, I promise you. Whatever else happens." She looked up to follow his eyes across the room. He seemed to be looking at … a closet?
"Why are you looking at the closet door?" she asked, her voice amused and impatient.
"It's not a closet, he said with difficulty. "It's a back stairway. It goes…upstairs."
"Upstairs?"
He swallowed. "To the master suite."
"And?" she said, so softly he could barely hear her. Those eyes would be his undoing, the way they shimmered with desire and innocence all at once, so that he couldn't even tell whether he was making the decision or she'd already made it for them. He paused again, straining to hear his conscience over the pounding of his blood in his ears.
She didn't say a word; she was leaving it to him, but the way her body moved against his, the way she'd already learned the rhythm, there was really no choice at all.
"If I asked, you would let me take you up there right now, wouldn't you?" And then, wanting to be sure there was no mistake, he added, "Into my bed."
She nodded, not taking her eyes from his.
His voice was rougher than he intended. "Say it. Say it, Maria. Tell me. Because once I…"
She cut him off. "I know you. I trust you. I need you. We've promised to marry each other. There is nowhere you would take me that I wouldn't follow. "
He was shaken to his core, torn between all the different ways he wanted to love her. Well, none of them were going to happen lying entangled on the couch, so reluctantly, he sat up, pulling her into his lap, hushing her little moan of protest with a quick kiss. Holding her hands tightly to his chest, he paused before beginning to speak.
"You need me? I know exactly what you need, and I'm going to make sure you get it. I'm going to take you upstairs, but slowly, stopping to kiss you on every step until you beg me to hurry, and then I will ravish you, properly, the way you deserve," he wanted to say,
…but he heard himself saying, "We need to take it slowly, darling, you deserve a proper engagement and wedding night, even if they're only a day or two apart."
"But-" she tried to interrupt, but he gently traced her mouth with his fingers, as though asking her to let him say his piece. He knew that he'd be lost if she begged him again.
"I will love you until I draw my last breath. But I'll admit that I didn't expect things to – heat up quite the way they did." He gave her a little half-smile. "It's not that I don't want you, God, I can hardly bear it, I want you so much. I thought this part of me had died along with … after we're married, you will find out that I…" He broke off, as though afraid to say too much, and then he started again. "My motives right now are purely selfish. You deserve better, and I know that you think this is what you want, but you're wrong."
She opened her mouth against his fingers, intent on objecting, and he quieted her with a brief kiss.
"Let me finish. From the very start, you haven't been afraid to tell me the truth, even when no one else had the courage for it. And now, much as I don't want to do it, I am telling you what I know to be true: this is not the way it's supposed to be. I don't even know where you've been for the last few weeks, why you left me, or why you came back, but I know what it must have been like for you today out there on those steps, I-". He couldn't finish the thought, overwhelmed with guilt.
"I have already hurt you once, although I don't quite understand all of it yet. I'll be damned if I'm going to do it again intentionally. You say that you trust me? Then trust me, Maria. Wait. It's only a day or two and I promise you, it will be… better than you can even imagine."
And then the most amazing thing happened. His bride didn't protest, she didn't argue. She … yawned, a tiny, dainty little yawn, but it broke the tension between them and they laughed together, giddy, exhausted, delighted with each other.
"I don't think I've ever had a woman yawn in my arms before," he reflected.
She gave an comically exaggerated sigh. "At least I'll be your first for something."
They sat quietly for a moment, letting the fires die down, both of them a little wistful.
"Maria. Tonight. I hope I didn't – I probably scared you half to death."
"No," she smiled weakly, "the only thing frightening me is that I'm going to wake up in the morning and find out this was all a dream."
"You have dreams like this? About me?" he teased.
She hesitated, and then nodded, slowly, biting back a guilty smile, watching for his reaction. "Did you?"
He nodded, closing his eyes at the memory of how hard he'd struggled for weeks to avoid his growing attraction to her.
"The only thing is," she said, "I always woke up in the middle, I could never ... how do they end?"
He laughed. "If I tell you, you will be frightened. And anyhow, I'd rather show you than tell you. It's only a day or two more."
"I've already got a much better idea, after tonight," she twinkled, and then she let herself yawn widely. "I am exhausted, I'll admit it. I woke up this morning behind the iron gates of a cloister with a wimple on my head, had my heart broken" – her voice wavered for a moment - "and ended up the day with seven children, a fiancé and half my garters unhooked."
He grinned and, in one fluid movement, eased her off his lap and stood, pulling her to her feet. "Let's go upstairs. Uh, using the regular stairway. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow and we both could use some rest."
But something held her back as he tried to lead her out of the room. "I don't want to go to up there. To my room." He wouldn't understand, of course, her lingering memories of the humiliating conversation with Baroness Schrader, or the long hour she'd spent weeping earlier today after her return. Instead she repeated, "I really am afraid I'll wake up and it all will have been a dream."
"Look," he said, "how about this? Tomorrow I'll buy you a proper ring…"
"I don't want a big ring, what am I going to do with that?"
"We can argue about that tomorrow. It's good to know we'll still have things to argue about. For now, though," he stopped and tugged the signet ring from his finger. "Take this. If you wake up in the middle of the night, you'll remember. We're just down the hall from each other and we'll be apart only a few nights more at that."
She felt her cheeks turn red at the reference to the change in bedrooms – another mystery, she thought, how she could behave so wantonly, so shamelessly and not even feel guilty about it, but be completely mortified at the thought that anyone else might figure out what a properly married couple was doing behind closed doors. She tucked that riddle away in her mind, next to captains who were starchily correct in public and hotly passionate in private. She slipped the ring on her finger and together, they left the study and climbed the stairs to the second floor.
"How long have you had this ring?" she asked, and blanched at the answer – "it's about three centuries old, I think, but don't worry, Maria, you can't lose a ring between now and breakfast, and I'd rather have you than the ring anyway." On the landing – Franz or no Franz – he couldn't resist taking her in her arms one more time, relishing the way she clung to him.
She really did not want to go back to her room, until, suddenly, a memory bubbled up from somewhere inside her exhausted brain. "Come with me," she whispered, and taking his hand again, led him to her room and drew him inside, closing the door behind them. He inhaled sharply – they didn't stand a chance if things started up again, with her virginal bed was only a few feet away. But then she took both his hands in hers, as though she was going to dance with him.
"Remember? My first night here?" That was the way she ought to remember this room – how furious she'd been at him that first night, and how funny it was the way things were turning out. "I am their father," he had reminded her, and now she would be their mother. She closed her eyes, remembering the way the children – she'd barely had their names straight that night – frolicked around the room.
He smiled, despite the miserable memory of the way he'd behaved when he interrupted her singing and dancing madly with his children – their children, now. What a fool he'd been! He pulled her toward him but she stumbled over her own feet in fatigue. He was exhausted himself, how must she feel?
He led her to the bed. Her eyes were half-closed; docile as a child, she let him remove her shoes and raised her arms over her head, waiting patiently until he understood her signal and pulled her dress over her head. That small gesture overwhelmed him with tenderness: they had shared an experience so intimate that, without needing to ask, she trusted him to take care of her. Bearing almost all of her exhausted weight against one arm, he pulled back the quilt, deposited her on the bed, and covered her gently.
"Get some sleep," he whispered , and crept toward the door, only to stop suddenly.
"Maria."
"Mmmm."
"My name. You're going to have to call me by my name, you know."
"Tomorrow," she muttered sleepily.
He shrugged, opening the door. He almost didn't hear what came next.
"All right. Georg. But I forgot something else."
"What's that, Fraulein Maria?"
"I love you too."
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A/N: We are a team of TSOM fanfic authors whose PMs last year have turned into this story. Read our profile to learn more! There are lots more chapters ahead, so please follow us and stay tuned. Don't own the movie, the characters, and so on, we just love writing about them.