Lust
A modest dress, not expensive but sentimental, barely a wrinkle in sight. At least, there hadn't been when on the body of a certain Mary Poppins.
Now, it was discarded on the floor. A little lovingly. Each button had taken an age, fingers brushing against the skin that was left exposed. Mary Poppins would not have been pleased to see such a mess. What little regard there was for cleanliness.
But Mary Alfred, on the other hand, had different priorities.
She saw Bert like she'd never seen him before. Knew him like she never had. The scar on his side from an accident chimney-sweeping, the hair across his chest and down his abdomen. Even the way he said her name; it was different.
Each touch so loving, she could hardly care what happened to her dress. Or his suit that he had painstakingly saved for.
He had apologised for the setting. The dingy little flat that he owned being their place of choice for the wedding night. She wasn't sure what he needed to apologise for; it was perfect.
She had never felt more at home.
Exchanging kisses that made her blush, sounding noises that she thought she was incapable of making. Uncouth. Yet, she found she rather liked it. There could be no impropriety with your husband. Lucky, she supposed, because this was very improper.
Hair splayed across his chest, fingers entwined with his, she was distracted by the way his thumb lightly traced her skin. Hand on waist, he pulled her a little closer. Potentially in the hope they would merge into one.
They were both thinking about how their bare skin felt against the other. Thrilling and comforting, all in one.
"I couldn't have asked for a better day, Mary…" He trailed off as she looked up at him, her cheek pressed against his shoulder. He felt his heart flutter. "Mrs Alfred. It was perfect."
He raised his hand from her waist to brush the raven hair splayed across his chest and the pillow beside them. Dark as the night, but her eyes were as clear as day. A vulnerability there that only he could see.
"You are perfect."
The rosy blush across her cheeks went a little pinker.
"If anyone is perfect here, Mr Alfred," she chastised, "it is you."
He chuckled. A smile tugged at her lips as she felt her head move in rhythm with the laughter that shook across his chest.
"If you say so."
A seriousness dawned on her face, her fingers tugging on his in earnest. "I love you, Bert."
A similar shade of pink began to spread along his cheeks and across his nose.
"And I love you, Mary."
She questioned if it were natural to initiate love-making after they had only just finished. To hell with propriety, she decided. She was a married woman now. Mary Alfred will do as she pleases.