Disclaimer: I own nothing. Rated for sexual content. Please read responsibly.
The moment Eleanor's fist hit the side of Georg's head, the headache that had been forming all day grew to an overwhelming proportion. "Papa, look at me!" the six-year-old exclaimed, jerking around in his lap again before jumping down and twirling with a doll in the crook of one arm.
"That's lovely, darling," Georg winced, trying to smile brightly at his daughter.
She faltered when she paused and saw his face; her lip began to tremble as she whimpered, "You don't like it?"
Georg was saved from one of the child's horrific crying fits by Maria, who walked in at that moment with Christian on her hip and a pencil sticking out of the side of her mouth. Removing it, she said to her daughter, "Eleanor, I need to take your measurements now for your new dresses. Marta and Gretl are in my room, and they'll help you undress."
The girl's countenance changed as the Austrian skies could change in an onset of rain; she was darting out of the sitting room and up the stairs before her father could entirely process what had been said. He shook his head, grinning at the patter of her shoes on the marble floor in the main hall. "Sometimes I think that must be what you were like, Maria," he commented, taking his young son from her.
"She's a tomboy alright, but she reminds me very much of Gretl at that age; I think she has far more of you in her." Maria swept her bangs back from her forehead and scrutinized her husband. "Another headache?"
"Quite the affirmative," Georg nodded.
"You're next after Eleanor, unless you would prefer I take care of your measurements tonight," Maria said. "After I finish up, I'm sending the children all out to play. Kurt wants to take them up to the Untersberg to camp out. I'll make some tea and put Christian down for a nap. He's getting as fussy as Eleanor is loud."
Georg only nodded as his wife dictated what the rest of the day would look like, then watched her silently as she left, retracing her footsteps into their bedroom on the second floor. He could hear Eleanor jumping up and down, singing a yodeling song at the top of her lungs.
The day itself was sunny and warm; Maria and Frau Schmidt had opened all the windows and most of the doors throughout the house were ajar, and had been since early that morning. However, it allowed a rather heavy circulation of pollen throughout the house, and it was contributing mightily to the pounding ache in his temple. Eleanor had been making noise like a banshee all day, excited to be measured for new dresses.
Four-year-old Christian was a quiet boy who knew his alphabet already and enjoyed challenging his older sister to count to one hundred, but without his naps, he grew increasingly irritable throughout the day. In Georg's opinion, he was a spitting image of his wife, down to the intense blue eyes and slope of his nose. He ruffled his son's blond locks lovingly, teasing the curls that Maria could never bear to cut off every time his hair needed trimmed, fearful that they wouldn't grow back.
The boy was happily playing with a little picture book Maria had given him for appeasement. Georg found it interesting, really. After Gretl had outgrown such little pleasures, they had no sooner been packed up and put in the attic than Maria had told him she was expecting Annaliese. It was a phase of his life he'd considered over upon Agathe's death, but by no means objected to with Maria. He supposed he'd always assumed that whatever happened would happen, and he'd just take it in stride. It had been quite a serious topic of conversation between the two of them some fifteen years prior. He remembered it vividly:
Maria was fidgeting nervously, twisting the ring on her finger around and around. He'd been enjoying a glass of white wine, watching her silently and contemplating the busyness of the Parisian streets below them. "Is anything wrong, love?" he'd asked.
She'd blushed rather profusely, muttering, "It's just… I'm uncomfortable."
Georg nodded without response, recalling her refusal to make love that morning for the arrival of her menstrual period. Placing the glass on the table between them, he took her hands in his and held them firmly. It had been easy to forget in the first few weeks of their honeymoon that their frequent bouts of lovemaking would sooner or later be interrupted. Furthermore, it had struck him as paramount that they hadn't even discussed the possibility of adding more children to the family. Georg wasn't even sure if Maria wanted such a thing, and he'd spent the day being moody as she was nervous, reprimanding himself for not thinking of the issue sooner.
He sighed, knowing it was best to approach the subject now than to delay it until Maria actually was pregnant; to do that would be plain ignorant.
"Maria," he began, "I apologize for not asking before, but I need to know: would you raise any objections to eventually expanding our family?"
Maria was silent for a good five minutes, so silent that Georg wondered whether she'd actually heard him. Just as he was opening his mouth to get her attention, she ventured her answer: "I don't know, Georg. I never really have known. Here we have seven children between us that range from almost-grown to just entering school. It almost seems… selfish to want another."
Georg understood her entirely from that vantage, but she wasn't finished.
"I suppose," she mused, "that my answer would be largely based on yours. It takes two to create a child, after all." She smiled softly, murmuring, "I want what you want."
"Then are we agreed to let whatever happens happen?"
Maria had nodded. "Let's not go out of our way to encourage or prevent anything. It seems fair enough to me."
Yes, life certainly had a funny way of being interesting. Seven of their children were grown, and in the time that he and Maria had been married, four more had been added to the family. And still their agreement remained: let nature run its course and focus on their children, each other, and their lives most acutely. He thought it was a very satisfactory arrangement. They had a fight about something ridiculous on a weekly basis; Liesl, Friedrich, Louisa, Brigitta, and Kurt were all married with children; Marta was wrapping up her studies at a university, Gretl was home for the summer after a year of study in Italy, and the rest of his children were well on their way to becoming fine, young adults.
Georg was shaken from his thoughts when he heard a sharp noise: Maria had clapped her hands loudly to get his attention.
"What in the world were you thinking about?" she laughed, taking Christian from him, who was fast asleep.
"You with no clothes on," Georg teased.
Maria hushed him, covering her son's ears as she carried him off to the nursery.
Georg followed her, taking a detour into the old nursery. Of all the bedrooms, this one had been changed and debated over the most in terms of decorating and paint. Maria, on one of her temperamental days, had decided that she found the pastel yellow on the walls to be boring and very generic. Georg had been inclined to just agree with her on that particular day of her pregnancy, but it became clear quite quickly that she was looking to pick a fight with him. She didn't want white, blue, pink, or yellow. She wanted green, and she didn't want someone being hired out to do the job. She wanted to do it with the children and make it a group project. She also knew that Georg would object to the idea immediately. The walls were a light, gentle green, and she had pointedly excluded him from the activity.
In the end, Georg had to admit the change was nice, and it suited their little man most perfectly. He wandered over to the bassinet—with no more of their own babies to put to sleep in it, the grandchildren often slept here on long visits. He was glad that it wasn't yet time to put it away, even though he was fairly certain Maria considered her time bearing children to be over. So many memories had been forged in this room.
Georg felt Maria come up behind him and place her arm around his waist, and as she did so, she whispered, "Annaliese, Lukas, and Eleanor were blessings enough to me. To have this one last miracle… I do believe I've done something good." She kissed Georg gently. "Our tea is waiting."
In the kitchen, Georg commented, "If I'm not mistaken, you were telling me you're through with childbearing." There was a twinkle in his eye.
Maria played along good-naturedly, but with a certain glint in her own eye. "I might have been. A breach, long overdue birth is beyond exhausting. I don't think I could handle that again—" Here, she bit her lip—"breach delivery is twice as frightening as a normal one." Taking a sip of tea, she continued, "Then again, I could have been inviting the opportunity."
"I can help with that," Georg said with a completely straight face.
"I don't doubt for a moment that you can," Maria responded likewise. "How many children have we now?"
"I think it's somewhere around eleven, if I'm not mistaken. Shall we take a head count?"
Grin spreading across her face, Maria nodded. "Frau Schmidt is minding three of them." Finishing her tea, she pushed herself away from the big wooden table and all but skipped out the back door.
"Liesl, Friedrich, Louisa, Kurt, Brigitta, Marta, Gretl, Annaliese, Lukas, Eleanor, and Christian."
Georg turned his head to look at Maria, intertwining his fingers with hers. "I thought we were going to actually go and count them all."
Sitting up, Maria brushed grass from the back of her head and stared out toward the horizon. "There will be plenty of other opportunities," she reasoned. "Look at the lovely afternoon we've just had together—and to think I had every intention of starching the curtains."
Georg chuckled. "How about a boat ride?"
"I can't think of any reason to object," Maria smiled, leaning down to kiss her husband. "No one's expecting us for dinner, and Max is safely stowed away in Vienna."
"How terribly convenient," Georg murmured, pulling her flush against his body.
"Yes, it rather is, isn't it?" Maria kissed him again, sucking gently on his lips. "Oh, how I love you, Georg," she whispered, allowing him the freedom to roll over and kneel over her. She reached up and ran her fingers through his thick, dark hair, further tousling it, and let him unbutton her blouse.
Georg buried his head in his wife's bosom, brushing his lips over her soft skin, causing her to shudder in reaction to his breath trailing over her skin. He contemplated removing her brassiere, but Maria sat up and did it quickly for him, placing his hands on her breasts, her gaze holding his with a burning intensity. They wouldn't make love here, he knew, but oh, they would most certainly play.
As her husband pushed her back down to the soft grass beneath her, Maria gasped as his hands began to fondle her breasts. Her arms circled around his neck, pulling him closer, her tongue entering his mouth. She loved this game of touch and tease; she was quite certain that Georg would not make love to her right here, and would prefer to return to their room to take up that endeavour, but this was fine, indeed. She liked to be playful with him, and so, suddenly as she had offered herself, she pushed him away.
He was panting now, and when Maria looked between his legs, she smirked and was pleased to find he had become rather aroused. But she ignored his hopeful face and instead put her clothing back on properly, stood, and said, "Wait five minutes, and then come find me."
Swallowing, Georg nodded, sure those minutes would be the longest of his life. He watched her as she walked in the direction of the villa, her hips swaying purposefully. He was almost sure he knew what she was up to, now. Well, it wasn't as if he didn't have a few tricks of his own, and would not be outsmarted by this vixen he called his wife.
When the time had elapsed accordingly, Georg set off for the house, but instead of going up the stairs to where he was sure to find Maria, he went first to the wine cellar and chose a bottle of champagne for them to share, and fetched wine glasses from the kitchen as well. He nodded to Frau Schmidt, who was there with the little ones, saying, "Just leave cold cuts out and Maria and I will eat later."
"Of course, sir," the old woman said, smiling to herself. It seemed to her that he had a spring in his step and something of a mischievous glint in his eye, and she would not be the one to interrupt it.
When Georg came to the master bedroom, he found himself quite alone, but instead of searching for his wife, he poured himself a glass of champagne, and one for Maria also. Looking out the window next to their bed, he called out, "Darling, I'm waiting."
"Oh, good," came a voice behind him, and when Georg turned, he saw Maria exiting their bathroom, dressed in her long, silk robe, ruffling her hair with her fingers. She smiled and kissed him ardently, taking the glass of champagne with a throaty, "Thank you, my love. How thoughtful."
Eyebrows knitting together, Georg turned to pour the second glass for himself, trying to work out this interesting turn of events. Perhaps to have expected her to be sprawled naked on their bed and waiting for him was a bit much, but—
Having turned back to speak to Maria, his jaw all but dropped when he found her doing just that, with a wicked sparkle in her eyes and a grin on her face that said she was extremely pleased with herself. His voice almost a growl, Georg asked, "What exactly is your objective, Baroness?"
"Ah, excellent question, love," she purred. "It's quite simple, really. You see, two can play this game, a game," she trailed, voice growing quieter, "where two inevitably become one."
"And how, precisely, does one play this game?" Georg asked, aware that the longer he stared at his wife's body and listened to her speak, the more the blood rushed through his body, particularly to his nether regions.
"Well, it's a bit like the idea of 'see, but don't touch,'" Maria said, "And I like talk. We've talked a lot, today, just us two."
"I don't follow," Georg admitted, setting his glass down. "And wouldn't you like to undress me?"
"Mmm," she nodded, "but I like to watch you, sometimes. So, you can do it."
Positively aching for her touch, for her to do this for him and to be close again, he asked, "What do I have to do to convince you?"
She shook her head. "Not do, Georg."
"Ah, I see," he murmured, understanding her purpose. "I love you?"
Maria rolled her eyes. "You are much more romantic than that, and I know it, Captain von Trapp."
Sighing, Georg began to unbutton his shirt.
"Why?"
He looked up. "What?"
"Why do you want me to undress you?"
Meeting Maria's gaze, Georg said truthfully, "Because I love the things that your touch can do to me. I love what your touch says to me. Just when you grasp my hand and squeeze it is enough to remind me of how much I love you. It reminds me of why I love you—you're so warm and caring, Maria—never mind what you do to me when we make love."
She nodded, a smile on her lips. "Much better. Sappy, yet satisfactory." She got to her feet and came to him, pushing his unbuttoned shirt from his shoulders and unbuckling his belt. But when she moved to unzip his pants, he stopped her. She looked up at him, question in her eyes.
Grinning, Georg explained, "It's your turn. You said two play this game."
"Indeed," Maria breathed. "What would you like to know?"
"Last night," Georg said quickly. "What on earth was that all about?"
Maria blushed slightly, asking, "The dream?" When he nodded, she complied, "I was dreaming about Paris, our honeymoon. Even after all these years… one of the most evocative things you have ever done to me was to tease me like you did that night—also the most frustrating," she added when she saw his rather pleased grin.
"It sounds to me… like you wouldn't mind a repeat," Georg said, voice low, as he allowed Maria to remove his remaining clothing.
"Only with a few changes, Georg," Maria said, glint in her eyes. "This time, I will finish with you inside me. None of your cruel nonsense about taking things slow—not when I've already got a clear, clear picture of marital pleasures—"
"And how much you love them," he smirked.
"Yes," she nodded. "Precisely. Which is why… I start the fun today," she said, her hands reaching between her husband's legs to touch his member. "It's only fair," she stated.
"Only fair," Georg groaned, letting himself enjoy the sensation of his wife's deft hands touching him so intimately, so cleverly. She stopped her task only when it was clear he was close to orgasm, and pulled him to their bed, collapsing among the mess of sheets and occupied with kissing every inch of his face that her mouth could find.
She pushed him over so that he was on his back, and she straddling him, her mouth working over his neck, chest, torso, teasing his member with the warm wetness of her own sex as she shifted her body continually. But for all her talk about resenting his typical insistence to pace things properly, she certainly wasn't obliging to a quick round, and he probably should have known better than to think she would change up too much.
"I want you to touch me," she finally said, voice slightly hoarse and heavy with desire as she pressed her body against his once more, allowing him to wrap his arms around her, kissing her passionately as he rolled them both over, pleased to find Maria was arching into him, one of her legs wrapped around his torso. He sought the hollow of her neck, her collarbone, and her breasts. He fondled them, massaged them, and let his fingers dance across her midsection, which bore marks of having carried their children, yet was astonishingly flat. He supposed her insistence over never being idle for too long had a lot to do with it, and the horseback riding, and running around with children all day, and their lovemaking.
He moved further down her body, placing kisses on the insides of her thighs, prompting her to splay them ever more and give him access just where she was asking him to play; she was already writhing in complete pleasure as it was—what he was about to do would magnify it to a proportion that could very well reduce her to complete incoherence. Ah, but that was the very thing she'd been dreaming of, how he'd put her so close to that point again and again, but would never allow it until she practically begged it of him; that thing she had asked him not to do again without the certain fulfillment of his body joined with hers. He could concede to her wishes now… or play for a while. He grinned.
Maria moaned loudly when his mouth descended on her sex, and the longer he went on, the more she realized he had no intention of doing as she had asked, and the longer he went on, the more she didn't care for being so caught up in what they were doing together, and how they could make each other feel… all this, whenever they wanted, really. She was practically climaxing for what felt like the thousandth time when he let up his torment again, only to finally, blissfully, come up to meet her and kiss her senseless before joining his body with hers. It made her recall with intense clarity so much of their lives together, every tender moment, every fight, every passionate resolution. She was so glad to be his, so glad he was hers, and so grateful that the love they had never faltered. It had been the best, most challenging fifteen years of her life, and she wouldn't have had it any other way.
They lay together later, fingers intertwined between them, and Georg asked, "Would you want to play your game again, Maria?"
"With you, my love, always," she whispered. Smiling, she added, "Even when you don't do a very good job of listening to me."
"You can't deny that you loved every moment."
"No… how could I? I'm with you, Georg. Only ever you."