A/N: sorry it's taken me six days to update! I promise I won't leave it as long again. Enjoy!
Maria was startled awake amongst the hay by the sudden grip of a firm hand on her leg. In her disorientated state she was only vaguely aware of impatient fingers skating a rough path up her thigh and hurriedly bunching the material of her skirts around her waist. Her weary eyes fluttered open and attempted to adjust to the dimness of the barn, her cloudy mind registering that it must be just after dusk. At the same time, she felt the swift fingers continue their affectionate assault, nudging her knees apart and tugging her underwear aside with effortless ease. The sudden, ragged breath in her ear from behind was the only telltale sign that her husband was not only very much awake, but had been roused from sleep with a newfound energy that apparently called for immediate relief. Her breath caught abruptly in her throat and her mind suddenly snapped into overdrive when his strong fingers made contact with the exposed skin between her thighs. Urgent flames erupted in her stomach and her grogginess was replaced by a sudden surge of hot desire, mingled with a slight sense of panic.
"Georg.." She rasped into the night air, suddenly unsure of his mounting recklessness. Was he out of his mind? In the rafters of a barn, with the family sleeping below, for goodness sake? They were so far away from the oblivious sleepers there was no real possibility that they would be seen or heard, but the very thought still seemed ridiculously impulsive, even for Georg. Though it suddenly occurred to her, as his hot breath ghosted up the back of her neck where he bit at her skin possessively, that he most likely was out of his mind. Out of his mind with worry, guilt, sadness, grief, anger. He'd been through hell and back, he'd exhausted himself in his efforts to protect his family, he'd taken a nasty beating from a violent piece of debris - and he had woken, most likely from terribly disturbing nightmares, to find his wife beside him, his escape, his anchor, his lifeline. It was suddenly quite clear to Maria that he wasn't thinking straight in the slightest, he was only feeling. Acting on a primitive need and a deep anguish that he didn't have the strength to fight.
Could she give him what he so desperately needed? In such a reckless, almost indecent way? She'd seen the all-consuming, burning want in his eyes when she'd bathed him mere hours ago, and though she couldn't see him in the dusky twilight surrounding them now, she could feel his desperation emanating from every inch of his solid frame. She could feel it where his muscular chest pressed against her back, where his lips skimmed against her sensitive skin, where his heavily aroused body strained against his trousers and pressed insistently into her hip, where his fingers flicked relentlessly at her centre.
"Darling.." She tried again, in a voice that was meant to sooth him, but instead the endearment came out like a whispered plea, and she realised all too late that the word had had the opposite effect, succeeding only in spurring him on. She tried to form a coherent sentence, but was immediately rendered mute when her stammers were met only with a low grunt of need, a plea for permission, and the faint sound of his zipper being eased slowly downwards. Her senses were heightened amidst the darkness and the implications of the suggestive sound ringing in her ears, the sensation of his gasps against her skin, the fumbling movement of his hand at the base of her spine - it knocked her breathless as she realised what he was doing to himself. And that was her last coherent thought before she felt her body succumbing to his ministrations as he pulled her even more tightly against him.
Within seconds, before she could determine up from down, he was easing inside her excruciatingly slowly, inch by frustrating inch, in an attempt to minimise noise. His entire body was rigid as he gripped at her hips, spooning against her, holding his breath and trembling uncontrollably as he choked back the throaty moan that would normally accompany such exquisite sensations. Instead, when she finally sheathed him entirely, he held her there, completely still, and let the air escape his lungs in a low exhale of relief, panting against the strain of having to control himself. His desperate urgency left her similarly robbed of oxygen as the blood began to burn through her veins.
He gave a quiet whimper of frustration as he began to move ever so slightly inside her, his body screaming for him to drive his hips relentlessly forward at full speed, but knowing he couldn't. She gripped his hand in hers reassuringly, entwining their fingers and bringing them to her chest, letting him know through the thundering of her heartbeat that she was right there with him.
She soon realised, much to her own frustration, that she had to remain perfectly still in order for him to love her this way. Any movement on her part interrupted the painstakingly languid rhythm or created too much rustling against the cocoon of hay they found themselves in, and so she was rendered helpless, her body tightening with the need for greater friction, greater intimacy, only to be left almost entirely bereft. He was buried deep within her, they were fused where his hips met her body, and his slow nudges were leaving them both burning for more, fighting desperately for release. Every so often the crawling pace would become too much for him to bare and he would lose control for mere seconds, frantically quickening the speed with a few desperately rapid thrusts before the resulting noise became too risky and he was brought back to his senses, resuming the excruciatingly slow pace once more with an almost inaudible groan of disappointment.
It felt like hours they were locked there together, conjoined in pleasure and frustration, in love and in lust, in elation and in heartache. And Maria found herself choking back her own sobs of desperation as she felt as though the ecstasy would never come, as though they would be suspended in this frustrating limbo of unfulfilled pleasure forever, the bliss building higher and higher with no sign of exquisite relief.
His tongue lapped hungrily at the pulse thundering in the crook of her neck, the languid pace causing his breath to come in short gasps that he tried desperately to conceal as his body fought hard for the pleasure where they were joined. Maria felt suspended as her own body trembled in its urgency - every muscle strained for release, every synapse fired with desperation, her lungs were bursting from the strain of holding in her cries, his insistent but excruciatingly slow thrusts caressing the burning flames inside her.
And then - thank God in heaven - it was finally happening. And she found herself grappling to bring his long fingers up over her mouth in a desperate attempt to stifle her cries. Painfully slowly, she felt the pleasure building and climbing from within, the burning fire spreading low and deep before simmering throughout her entire body. Every inch of her screamed for climax but much to her dismay he still wouldn't alter the pace, pushing her inch by inch until she was teetering on the brink of sanity. It seemed to last an eternity before, with a last insistent thrust, he finally sent her spiralling into the raptures of exquisite, all-consuming relief. She knew nothing of the world and she'd barely caught her breath before she felt his entire body tighten as he pulled her possessively closer, shuddering and jerking against her as he buried his face in her hair to mask the strangled sound tearing from his throat.
Entirely exhausted, she felt his body go limp against the hay as he gently nuzzled into her neck, his breathing erratic as it began to slow.
"Please don't ever leave me," he breathed sleepily, the vulnerability in his voice tugging on her heartstrings and leaving her wondering for a second time whether he'd woken from a fearful dream before their heated encounter.
Wordlessly she turned her body to face his and curled up into his arms, kissing him assuredly.
"Never," she whispered against his lips, feeling him sigh contentedly before exhaustion claimed them both once more.
When Georg awoke again it was to the sun gently rising in the sky, and he realised they must've slept through the night as well as the previous day. He heard the hopeful sound of birds chirping, the rustling breeze of the trees outside, and a deep sense of calm settled over him... Until he opened his eyes to find the barrel of a shotgun pointed directly at his face.
His eyes blew wide and he bolted into an upright position, cursing loudly as hay flew in every direction. The newly discovered intruder started yelling uncontrollably in rapid French, pointing the gun with greater conviction and causing Georg's head to spin.
"Wait!" He cried, silencing the man's ramblings abruptly and bringing his hands up in surrender. He caught a glimpse of the man's profile behind the gun, and noted he was slightly elderly, with greying hair and a thick beard, dressed modestly and looking rather nervous. He didn't seem the type to be pointing guns in people's faces.
But before Georg could make sense of his racing thoughts, the man was off again, yelling in French at such lightning speed that he was finding it hard to keep up.
"Detendez-vous!" He cried, attempting to calm the man down and take back control of the situation, "Ralentis s'il te plait.."
Much to his dismay, Maria's body began to stir beside his, the commotion rousing her from sleep, and on instinct, the gunman shifted his weapon to her moving form. A cry of protest tore from Georg's lips and mild panic flitted across the gunman's face when Maria stirred again.
Instantly both men froze, watching, holding their breath helplessly as Maria opened her eyes in confusion and then gave a strangled cry of indignation as the scene in front of her came into focus.
"Now Maria darling..." Georg soothed, as though they'd awoken a wild sleeping lion, "the important thing is not to panic..," his eyes never left the gunman's aged face, "just let me handle this."
"Who are you!" Maria yelled in German, entirely ignoring her husband's advice, much to his chagrin. Did she want to get them both killed?!
The gunman's eyes darted back to Georg uncertainly, clearly unsure of who out of the two of them was the biggest threat. Sighing in frustration, Georg cleared his throat and attempted to remedy the situation his outspoken wife had already managed to fuel.
"She said 'who are you?'" He repeated in French apologetically, entirely less than impressed at the fact that he'd somehow become nothing more than his wife's translator in this bizarre state of affairs.
"I'm well aware of what she said, I can understand basic German!" the gunman spat in his native tongue, his worn dungarees shaking slightly against his lithe frame as he gripped the shotgun tighter, "I'm merely wondering what the hell you think you're doing in my barn?"
"What's he saying?!" Maria demanded, as Georg attempted to smile remorsefully at the farmer whose property they'd unceremoniously squatted in.
"I'm so sorry, Monsieur," Georg addressed the disgruntled Frenchman, attempting to ignore his wife's impatient tugging on his shirt sleeve before she interrupted them again.
"What are you telling him?!"
"Would you just let me handle this darling!" Georg cried in exasperation, attempting to appease both parties at once as the farmer grew increasingly more agitated.
"Tell him to put the gun down for goodness sake!"
"I will do, if you give me a chance to speak for just one minute!" Georg hissed.
"Well it doesn't much sound like you have the situation under control!"
"Of course it's under control!" He gritted, forcing another stupidly strained smile at the farmer to convey the illusion that everything was absolutely fine.
"Well I can't say I'm convinced, Georg!"
"Does she ever stop talking?" The farmer suddenly addressed Georg in French, inclining his head towards Maria with a look of utter incredulity crossing his features. Georg had to bite back a laugh then - he couldn't be certain who would kill him first if he showed any sign of amusement - this new acquaintance, or his wife - but he could've sworn he saw a smirk tug at the elderly man's lips as Maria yet again enquired impatiently about what they were discussing.
"I fear not.." Georg responded with mirth, relaxing a little and lowering his arms, "though believe it or not, it does become rather endearing after a time.. "
He shook himself out of his reverie forcefully. What on earth was he doing making small talk with a stranger who was holding them at gunpoint? He cleared his throat again and willed himself to focus on the challenge at hand, "Listen, Monsieur..?"
The farmer stiffened again, unsure of how to proceed.
"LeGrand," he eventually stated, gripping his gun a little tighter.
"Ecoutez, Monsieur LeGrand," Georg began, "we cannot apologise enough for having intruded on your property. We were fleeing the atrocities in Paris and became desperate for shelter after ten hours on foot," he explained, as the Frenchman lowered his gun slightly, "we'll be on our way immediately."
He cautiously got to his feet, his eyes never leaving LeGrand's face until he was sure the man had no real intention of harming them. Wordlessly, he pulled a baffled Maria to her feet and they made their way down from the rafters, the shotgun never too far from their sight as the farmer followed them, pointing his weapon by means of self defence.
"Father?" A bleary eyed Marta sat upright in the hay amongst her sleeping brothers and sisters in the corner of the barn, rubbing her face before her eyes suddenly locked with the stranger in immediate fear.
"It's alright Marta darling," Georg cooed, reaching for the girl and scooping her into his arms as Maria gently roused the other six children, resorting to kicking a snoring Max gently in the ribs when he wouldn't stir.
"Jesus," the Frenchman muttered in disbelief, "these are all yours?" He gestured to the sleepy children and Georg nodded.
"They've had a bit of a rough journey.."
"I'm hungry.." Kurt grumbled, his eyes still half closed as he sat up, "I wonder what hay tastes like.."
The farmer looked heavenward, exasperated, as though facing a sudden quandary, "ah.. I thought it was just the two of you, I had no idea you had an entire troop of children with you."
Georg shrugged as a half-asleep Max managed to stumble to his feet, his eyes eventually falling on the gunman in surprise, "who's your friend?" He asked Georg bluntly, pointing at the farmer as if he were some kind of stray dog.
"Who's that?" The Frenchman addressed Georg at the same time in his native tongue, eyeing Max suspiciously.
"Leur oncle," Georg replied, rolling his eyes and attempting to restore order to the chaos that was rapidly ensuing around him.
"What's he saying, Georg?" Both Max and Maria enquired simultaneously, only to be silenced abruptly by the burning death stare that he suddenly shot both of them.
"We're leaving," he announced to the whole barn, putting a reluctant Marta down and wincing slightly as the pain in his shoulder started up again. A long, stifling silence hung between the entire group then as everyone eyed each other tentatively - the sudden eeriness juxtaposed bizarrely against the sheer mayhem that had been unfurling only moments before. The family seemed depressed by the news, the thought of more travelling almost too much to bare, while the farmer looked almost guilty, battling inwardly with himself as his eyes fell to the weary children again.
"Where are we going to go father?" It was Friedrich who eventually broke the deafening silence, straightening and puffing his chest out bravely as he stepped in front of his siblings as if to shield them from the stranger.
"I'm not sure, Friedrich," Georg replied, "but we've taken advantage of this gentleman's property without permission and it's time we made a hasty exit."
Just as they began to gather themselves together and dust off their rumpled clothes, a plump middle-aged woman donning an apron, with thick greying plaits piled high on her head, came thundering into the barn at full speed, prattling away in French and waving her arms around in a fury - much to the evident dismay of LeGrand.
Suddenly the woman froze in her tracks amidst the hay, her words dying on her lips as her eyes fell on the gun and the group of children it happened to be pointing at.
"Oh mon Dieu!" She cried, her hands flying to her cheeks in alarm, "Olivier! What on earth are you doing!" She hissed in disbelief at the Frenchman, and Georg found himself smirking gleefully. It was quite clear from the woman's scolding tone and LeGrand's sheepish expression that this could only be his wife. It seemed, Georg realised with delight, that he wasn't the only one with a headstrong spouse.
"What in God's name is going on!" The buxom woman demanded in her mother tongue as Olivier sighed in exasperation, "I asked you over half an hour ago to come and retrieve the eggs and I find you in the barn holding a group of children at gunpoint!"
"They were trespassing.." Olivier mumbled.
"Sacre bleu!" His wife cried, throwing her hands up in the air and hoisting her skirts up, stepping over a giant puddle to come closer before smacking the barrel of the gun with an impatient tut so that Olivier had no choice but to lower the weapon, "the poor little dears!"
"We're terribly sorry," Georg addressed the woman, helping a stunned Brigitta to her feet, "Monsieur LeGrand is quite right.. my wife and I.. Our children.. We were trespassing. We came from Paris you see.. We had nowhere to sleep. We were just leaving."
"You'll do no such thing!" The woman declared over her shoulder as she approached a bewildered Kurt and grabbed his chubby cheeks in her hands, "I've heard about what's been happening in Paris. Your poor brood must be absolutely exhausted. They're practically withering away!"
"Food?" She asked the young boy, his confused face still clamped between her wrinkled hands, "lebensmittel?"
Kurt's eyes lit up when he heard his favourite word in the German language and he nodded enthusiastically, his little cheeks squashed against her affectionate grasp.
"Come!" The woman declared, releasing the boy and gathering a giggling Gretl to her skirts before pulling a baffled Leisl towards her forcefully by the hand, "come, you must all eat!"
"But darling..." The farmer piped in wearily, "there's ten of them! And... they're German.." He hissed.
"Hush!" The woman retorted, waving him off with an impatient hand.
"Austrian actually.." Georg corrected.
"Not much better..." was the grumbled response.
"Oh do stop your whinging Olivier, I couldn't care less whether they were from Mars!" Madam LeGrand scolded, "they're in need of our help."
"What are they saying, Georg?!" Maria whined again, causing the Austrian aristocrat and the French farmer to roll their eyes and share an amused look of indignation - despite their differences, they both knew all too well the difficulties of having a overly forthright wife.
The farmer sighed in defeat, "come," he beckoned in German, gesturing for them to follow him out of the barn.
"Join us for breakfast. Je m'appelle Olivier.. This is my wife, Madeleine."
I hope you enjoyed the update - no huge developments but I thought it was time the von Trapps saw a friendly face or two!
Again, not sure if this should be an M but there you go!
Apologies if my French or German is off, I don't speak either very well!