Archive of Our Own ^beta

Lost in Translation

His lips collect your whispers like the heavens collect stardust, and the promises you kiss into the constellation of his skin fade into the cosmos that still lingers within his bones. He consumes all of you, like a slowly dying galaxy, and you let him.- lostcap

“I’m not a poet,” Amy told him. “I’m just a woman. And as a woman,” she went on, “there’s no way for me to make my own money. Not enough to earn a living or support my family.” She needed him to understand. She wasn’t sure he could. “And if I had my own money, which I don’t,” she continued anyway, “that money would belong to my husband the moment we got married. And if we had children, they would be his, not mine. They would be his property,” she stressed, “so don’t sit there and tell me marriage isn’t an economic proposition, because it is. It may not be for you, but it most certainly is for me.”

He looked at her then, really, truly looked at her, and she wondered if he was actually seeing her, if he’d ever actually seen her.

When he unlaced her apron, she found herself wishing he’d step closer to her, put his arms around her. She didn’t understand why, only knowing that she wanted to be close to him, as close as she could get.

Her heart stopped when he called her beautiful, she thought.

It didn’t matter.

He is not mine, she told herself. He is not mine to have.

“Are you going to marry him?” he asked her when she was drawing him one day.

He’d asked her that before. She didn’t know why he kept bringing it up.

“It’s what’s best for my family,” she said, not looking up from her piece of charcoal moving across the parchment.

She heard a rustling, and raised her gaze to see him sitting up and looking at her intently.

“Do you love him?”

She looked back at her drawing, reinforcing the lines she’d made. “Does it matter?”

“Yes.” His voice was soft, hesitant.

Amy sighed. “Why?”

“Because if you don’t,” he said, “wouldn’t it be better to marry someone who knows you better, that you’ve known longer?”

Amy shrugged but didn’t stop her drawing. “I need to marry rich. It’s necessary for my family. Out of all the rich men of marriageable age who are available, I’ve known him the longest.”

“I’m rich and you’ve known me longer,” Laurie pointed out. “And I’m only a couple years older than Fred.”

“I said ‘available’,” Amy reminded him without looking up.

“I’m available!”

She chuckled derisively. “Your heart isn’t. That belongs to Jo.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Suppose I imagined that confession, then,” she said sarcastically.

“I don’t love her anymore, Amy. I’m free to marry whomever I choose.” Amy stared at him in disbelief. He looked back at her and said, “Don’t marry him.”

She’d never dared to dream that he may feel anything for her but sisterly affection, but if he did…

No.

“Don’t marry him,” he told her again.

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if he foolishly thought he felt something for her. He didn’t. Not really.

“No,” she shook her head, standing up and backing away as fast as she could without tripping over her skirts. “No.”

Damn him, he followed her, all the while looking confused at her reaction. How could he— how—

“Yes,” he said hoarsely, and she’d almost believe he sounded desperate if she didn’t know better.

Which she did.

He reached over to cup her cheek, but she pushed his hand away, saying, “No, Laurie.” She couldn’t bear to have him touch her.

“What?” he asked in surprised confusion.

Foolish, foolish man.

“You’re being mean,” she told him, trying her very hardest to sound firm. “Stop it. Stop it.”

“What?” he asked again. “How am I being mean?”

She looked away from him for a moment.

“I have been second to Jo my whole life in everything,” she told him, refusing to allow her voice to break, “and I will not be the person you settle for just because you cannot have her. I won’t— I won’t do it. I won't.” She waved a hand in front of her to emphasize her point.

“No, no—“ Laurie interjected. “That’s not— look, I can… I can give you what Fred can,” he said. “I’ll be a good husband to you, and I’ll take care of your family, of—“ He blushed. It was adorable. Dammit. “Of our family, too, when we have one, and—“

She took another several steps away from him. He followed. “This is ridiculous,” she snapped, mostly to cover up how truly terrified she felt.

She’d been prepared to marry a man she didn’t love, and if he never loved her, that was fine. It wouldn’t hurt. She was not prepared to marry a man she did love if he didn’t love her back.

Which Laurie didn’t. She knew that.

“Amy,” he interrupted her thoughts. She didn’t look at him. Couldn’t look at him. “Marry me.”

She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t.

“Marry me,” he said again. “Fred doesn’t know you nearly as well as I do. I’ll take care of you,” he promised again. “You know I will.”

God, but he sounded so damn sincere. Was he being serious? Did he mean it?

He stepped closer to her.

A breeze blew through his hair, ruffling it. He tentatively reached out to grip the hand that had been hanging at her side. She almost jerked it away, almost pushed him away.

She was going to walk away from him. Truly, she was.

But then he cupped her cheek with his hand, and he was looking at her lips like he was studying them, and then…

Oh.

And then he kissed her.

She thought she’d die. God would strike her dead then and there. Lightning would streak across the clear blue sky, burning her to a crisp for wanting him to keep kissing her, because he kissed her gently, sweetly, and she wanted more.

Pulling back slightly, his lips brushing against hers still, he pulled something out of his pocket and slipped it into her hand before repeating himself. “Marry me, Amy.”

Amy said nothing, so he spoke again. “Say you will.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb.

Amy had never been kissed before. Not on the lips, anyway. She was so dazed she seemed to have lost speech capabilities, so she nodded hazily.

He smiled, kissing her again, more soundly this time.

It wasn’t until later that afternoon when she was studying the ring he’d slid onto her finger that she fully processed what had happened.

Aunt March was somewhat disappointed Laurie wasn’t as rich as Fred, but she was pleased nonetheless.

Amy, however, was not pleased. Aunt March would kill her if she broke off the engagement, but she was incredibly tempted to anyway.

She loved him. She was in love with him. Hopelessly. Desperately. Completely.

And he would never love her back. She knew that. She knew. But still, she yearned for it, despite knowing it would never happen.

She insisted they wait to get married until they could do so with her family present; partially because she truly wanted them there and partially because she wanted to postpone their marriage as long as possible.

His grandfather had passed away on the journey over, so his estate was waiting. Amy had always known she’d live in a fine house one day, but it was difficult to process nonetheless.

He spent a great deal of time on the journey to America attempting to touch her, kiss her as he had before. Amy spent a great deal of time avoiding him like he had a disease she was likely to die of if she caught it.

She was dreading marrying him more than she’d ever dreaded anything in her life.

“What do you know of the marital act?” Marmee asked her the night before her wedding.

“The what?”

“Well, that’s… for the best, I suppose,” her mother said awkwardly. “You shouldn’t know anything of it.” Amy looked at her in confusion, and she went on.

“Laurie will… he’ll know what to do. You need only allow him to,” she explained. Amy raised an eyebrow, and her mother continued. “Laurie is twenty-six now,” she said patiently. “Most men his age know how to... perform the act.”

“What act?” Amy pressed. “What will he do?”

Marmee sighed. “There is a part of the male body that’s something of… a rod.” This did not help Amy. It only confused her further. “He will put it in the place between your legs, where you bleed from.”

“…Why on earth would he do that?”

Marmee smiled gently. “Because he’s your husband, and that’s what husbands and wives do. It’s how you create a child, as well. A liquid emerges from him, and it will go inside you, and that may create a child. It also is… very special,” she said, still smiling. “It will always feel good for the man, but if he’s… experienced, if he cares for you as Laurie does, it will likely feel good for you, too. Being that close to him, being skin to skin with him— it’s the most natural, beautiful thing in the world.” 

Amy stopped breathing.

“Skin to skin?”

Marmee nodded. “He’s your husband. He will want you to be… bare for him. And he will be bare for you, as well.”

Amy found she was not looking forward to this so-called marital act. The more she heard about it, the more she was dreading it.

She hoped his so-called rod would fit inside of her. It had to be small, right? Yes, of course it would be small enough to fit inside her, but what about the closeness her mother had described?

Oh, no. That just wouldn’t do.

Laurie had been looking at her in a way she didn’t understand at all. In fact, in retrospect, he’d been looking at her that way since before they were married.

At their wedding, he’d wrapped an arm around her waist and yanked her against him and held her there as he kissed her. He didn’t stop kissing her until the priest cleared his throat, actually.

A maid showed her to her chambers. She assumed they’d be separate from his.

Not so.

Because she was in her nightgown (which was the furthest thing in the world from modest; her sisters had conspired to stuff her sleep trunks with nothing but negligees that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. They were all made of either lace or fabric so thin they were completely transparent) with a dressing gown tied loosely over it, thankfully hiding her body from sight, for the most part, although you could still see her silhouette. She was sitting at the vanity table and brushing her hair out. She never took it down in public, only wearing it loose to sleep or to bathe, or, on occasion, when she was at home.

That would have to stop, though. She couldn’t have Laurie seeing her hair down. It was too… too intimate.

The door opened, thus ruining her plans. She hadn’t thought to lock it. She’d been pretending, or rather desperately hoping and praying her new husband (Laurie, her husband! Husband!) wouldn’t expect any… martial activities.

Ever. At all. Not tonight, not ever. Definitely not ever.

She wasn’t sure she could handle being as close as possible to the man she was in unrequited love with.

She might explode. Or just die. Or die because she exploded.

“I’ve never seen you with your hair down before,” he said quietly, his footsteps nearing her until she saw his reflection in the mirror.

Yes, she thought sourly. That was quite intentional.

She examined a jeweled perfume bottle, not wanting to look at him.

“You’re beautiful,” he told her, his voice still soft. “You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was soft, too, but it was also nervous, almost fearful.

He knelt down. “Amy, look at me.”

She bit her lip. She didn’t want to look at him. In fact, she was quite sure everyone would be infinitely better off if she never laid eyes on him again, husband or no.

She did, though, turning around on the vanity stool hesitantly. He took her hands in his, smiling sweetly at her in such a way that her heart fluttered.

“Do you know…” He was blushing. “Do you know how this works?” he asked gently. Sweet, sweet Laurie; always so considerate, so caring. It made her heart clench in her chest, how kind he was. He didn’t love her, that was true, but he certainly cared for her a great deal.

Amy nodded, looking at her hands in his. His long, slender fingers clutched gently at her own. “My mother told me,” she said in a near-whisper.

“Is that why you’re afraid?” he asked gently. “Are you afraid I’ll hurt you?”

She bit her lip again, and his gaze zeroed in on it.

“I know you won’t hurt me,” she told him softly with a slight shake of her head, “but I can’t do this.”

He tensed, his hands tightening around hers. “Why not?”

She shook her head again.

She couldn’t tell him she refused to allow him to take her when she was in love with him and he wasn’t with her. She couldn’t.

“I can’t wait, Amy,” he whispered fiercely. “You’ve been torturing me for months . I need you. I need you.”

“You don’t,” she insisted, yanking her hands away and standing up, backing away from him.

He stepped forward. She turned around, adjusting a table decoration to distract herself from him.

Then, footsteps.

Hands on her hips.

Being pulled gently backwards.

The firm lines of a male body pressed against her.

The heat emanating from him, seeping through her clothes and into her skin.

“I do,” he said quietly, pulling her hair to one side and leaning down to press kisses into the skin of her neck.

She tried desperately not to whimper.

Logical or not, she wanted him to touch her, and had for a long time.

Laurie’s grip on her hips tightened. “I need you,” he said again. “I need to be inside you.” Another kiss to her neck. “Please, Amy. Please don’t make me wait. I’ll make you feel good, I promise,” he swore. “The best you’ve ever felt.” Another kiss, this one open-mouthed. “I want to fill you,” he murmured. “With me at first, again and again until you’re screaming for it, screaming for me .” He slid his hands up and down her sides, lingering on her hips. “Then I want to fill you with my children.” Another kiss. “And then me again. I’ve been with a lot of women, and I know… I know I’ll never tire of you, never get enough of you.”

She knew he’d been with a great many women, but hearing him say it was like an ice shard in her chest anyway.

“How many?” she demanded, her voice a little sharp.

“You mean, uh…” he trailed off, embarrassed.

“How many women?”

He didn’t speak for several seconds.

“About two dozen.”

Another ice shard.

“I see.”

“Does it bother you?” he questioned.

Amy didn’t say anything at first, but then, “It doesn’t matter.”

“You’re my wife,” Laurie pointed out, winding his arms around her waist and resting his head on her shoulder. “How you feel and what you think matters.”  Amy almost scoffed. She was in love with him, and that certainly didn’t matter. Then, after a moment, he murmured, “Are you jealous?” 

“Of course not,” she said primly.

His hands tightened on her hips, his fingers digging into the lace of her dressing gown.

“I like that you’re jealous,” he told her, nuzzling her neck.

“I’m not,” she snapped.

Laurie chuckled softly, then sighed and said, “I won’t force you.” He stepped away from her. “But I… I need you to know,” he went on, “that I care for you a great deal. I’ll make it special for you. I’ll make it good for you,” he promised. “I can make you beg for me. I can make you burn for me as I burn for you.”

She turned towards him, bracing her hands against the table behind her for fear she’d fall over, shock evident on her face.

“You…” she paused, “you burn for me?”

He stepped towards her again until he was right in front of her, then cupped her cheeks in his hands. “Haven’t you seen the way I look at you?”

She shook her head, her eyes wide.

“Let me make love to you, Amy,” he murmured, gazing longingly at her lips. “Let me make you feel good.” He was leaning towards her slowly, gauging her reaction. “Please. I need you,” he said again, desperate for her. “Say you’ll have me,” he pleaded. “Say you'll let me take you, make you mine.”

“Aren’t I already yours?” she wondered aloud. “Being your wife, I’m your property now.”

“I belong to you just as much as you belong to me,” he told her quietly. “Say you’ll let me take you,” he pleaded once more, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

Oh, but she wanted to. She didn’t know what it would be like, but she yearned for him. For his kiss, his touch. For his skin against hers. She wanted to be his. She never thought she’d want to belong to someone, but she wanted to belong to him. Even if he’d never belong to her. Not in body, soul, or heart, he’d never belong to her. Not really. Her heart and soul belonged to him already, though she’d never tell him that. What difference did it make if her body belonged to him, too?

She shouldn’t. She should refuse him. He would break her heart, and there’d be nothing she could do to escape him. She couldn’t very well divorce him, now could she?

She shouldn’t let him touch her, but with him looking at her that way, she wasn’t sure she could refuse. Her resolve was crumbling.

He’s already going to break my heart, she realized. Unintentional it may be, but he will destroy me nonetheless, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. If I let him do as he wishes, at least I’ll have him in this small way. At least I’ll be able to pretend, for a moment, that he’s in love with me, too.

She couldn’t refuse him. She wanted this with him too much.

Amy clenched her eyes shut and nodded slightly. 

Within seconds, Laurie’s hand was in her hair and his lips were moving against hers with barely restrained passion. He wound his free arm around her waist, tilting his head slightly. 

“Kiss me back,” he practically begged against her lips.

“I— I don’t know how,” she said apologetically.

He pulled back slightly. “Was I your first kiss?” She nodded hesitantly in response, embarrassed. “Then you truly are all mine,” he told her with a smirk. “No one else will ever have you the way I will. No one else will ever touch you this way.”

She was going to comment, but he kissed her again. She wasn’t sure why, but it reminded her of the feeling of hunger; that throbbing ache in your gut. The need to have the emptiness inside of you filled.

His lips never leaving hers, moving against hers with a gentle pressure, he began to untie each of the small bows down the front of her dressing gown that held it closed.

Having been the only person to ever see her body since she’d reached maturity, Amy nearly pushed him away from her, nearly swatted his hands away.

He’s your husband, Amy reminded herself firmly. He’s supposed to see your body.

He was still kissing her when he slid her dressing gown down her arms. “Tilt your head,” he said quietly, looking into her eyes. She did so. “Move your lips like I do, okay?” She nodded her understanding, and he smiled. “Good. When my tongue touches yours, just do what I do, bellissima.”

Tongue?!

“What does that mean?” she asked, her voice quiet and rushed as he moved in to kiss her again. “What you… what you said.”

“Bellissima?” he questioned. She nodded, and he smiled again. “It means ‘beautiful’.”

She blushed. “Oh.”

And then he kissed her again. Hard. She wanted more, wanted his lips to keep moving against hers, and when she tentatively mirrored his actions, he moaned against her, gripping her hip with one hand and placing the other at the small of her back. When he felt the fabric of her nightgown, however, he froze.

And she remembered that he hadn’t actually taken the time to look at her in the nightgown alone. He pulled back slowly, his eyes sliding down her body.

It was a fairly typical empire-style gown in cut, with a round neckline that plunged low, revealing a generous amount of her breasts (although they hung lower then than they did when she wore a corset, and they weren’t pressed together, either). Below the silk ribbon tied around her waist, the white lace fabric became marginally looser, but still tight enough to hug her hips. From there, however, it flowed loosely to the floor.

It left nothing to the imagination, as previously stated. The shapes and lines of her body were visible. The color of her nipples, the slightly curved expanse of her stomach, the slender dip of her waist and the swell of her hips.

Laurie could see every part of her, and he stared at her for nearly a minute, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open just a fraction, before the two of them appeared to snap out of the trance they’d been in; him after seeing her body, and her at the horror of him seeing her body.

Amy crossed one leg in front of the other and covered her breasts with her arms.

Laurie, on the other hand, was in the process of pulling his shirt off as quickly as physically possible.

“No,” he practically growled as he yanked his shirt over his head and promptly began to unlace the ties of his pants, shucking off his shoes and socks at the same time. “Don’t hide yourself from me.”

Amy stared at him, wide-eyed, as he stripped down to his undergarments (a cotton pair of short pants with a drawstring, which he quickly undid) before sliding those over his hipbones, too, with absolutely zero hesitation.

She didn’t even get a look at the part of his body Marmee had said he’d put inside of her, he was on her so fast.

He kissed her roughly, with a groan of, “Amy,” against her lips as he slid the sleeves of her nightgown down her shoulders. It caught on the tops of her breasts, and Amy kissed him back hesitantly. “Take this off, cara.”

He kissed her neck wetly and began to suck on the skin there, and she was lost. Slipping her arms out of the sleeves of her nightgown, it fell to her hips, and she allowed him to slide it down them, too, so that it pooled at her feet.

And then she was naked before him. Well and truly naked. He stopped kissing her, pulling away from her, panting. “Let me look at you.” When she lifted her arms up to block her breasts from view again, he grabbed her wrists. “No,” he said softly. “No. Tu mi appartieni adesso.”

She found she quite liked the way Italian rolled off his tongue. Particularly the way he said R’s.

“What does that mean?” she asked, forcing her embarrassment at being so exposed from her mind.

He grinned. “It means you belong to me now.”

Yes , something deep inside of her whispered. I am yours.

And then she glanced down at his body for the first time, and…

No. No, this wasn’t going to work. It was not what she’d been expecting from what Marmee had told her.

That wasn’t a ‘rod’. Oh no. It was a goddamn battering ram, and it most certainly was not going inside of her.

After her mother had left her bedroom the night before, Amy had attempted to insert a couple of fingers into herself. It hadn’t worked. She’d managed a single finger, and it had been terribly unpleasant. Naturally, she’d assumed that a man would be smaller (and therefore more endurable) than her finger.

Laurie was… Well. He most certainly wasn’t smaller than her finger. In fact, he was about as thick as her wrist, or very nearly so, and perhaps the length of one of her paintbrushes. And not one of her shorter ones, either.

Oh, dear.

This wouldn’t do. No, it certainly would not.

Amy looked back up at him. He was taking a step towards her. She took one back. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she shook her head in response, earning a frown from her husband.

“No,” she squeaked, taking another step back.

“No? Why no?”

“If… if that,” she stuttered out, “if that is what you plan on putting inside me, then I’m sorry to tell you, Laurie, but it’s quite impossible.”

He blinked at her in confusion. “Amy.” He said her name slowly, drawing out the syllables. “I promise you, it’s not impossible.”

“So that is what you think you’ll be putting inside me?” she said. It was less a question and more of a statement with a hint of an ‘aha!’ in her tone.

He nodded, saying, “It’ll feel good. I promise I’ll make it feel good.”

She shook her head again.

He had her backed against her (no, their ) bedroom wall, and when he pressed his body to hers, she felt it against her stomach.

Good Lord, but it felt even larger than it looked!

“I’ll prepare you,” Laurie promised, one of his hands resting on her hip. “You were made to take me.” He pressed a kiss just below her ear. “I know you were.” And then, he was murmuring Italian again. “Ti farò implorare per il mio cazzo.”

“What does that mean?” she gasped out as he trailed kisses up he’d neck and peppered her jaw with them.

He smirked against her skin. 

“It means I’ll make you beg for my cock.”

Amy blinked. “Like… your rooster?” she asked slowly, confusion evident in her voice.

He chuckled and shook his head. “This,” he corrected, pressing his hips against her. She whimpered. “Let me make you scream for me,” he said huskily before kissing her again, even more fiercely than he had before.

“Laurie,” she gasped out as he laved at her neck. “Laurie, it won’t— it won’t work—“

“It will,” he promised, cupping her cheek and kissing her hungrily. “Spread your legs for me, mia amata.”

Amy pushed down her nervousness by force and did so, too absorbed in him to ask the meaning of what he’d said. Once her legs were spread, he slipped his hand between them and began to stroke her.

He groaned when his fingertips first brushed against her. “You’re so wet,” he said hoarsely. “God, you must want me as much as I want you.” She didn’t speak, because he was kissing her again. And then he brushed his fingers against something they made her jolt. He rubbed her with one hand and grasped her breast with the other, stroking her nipple.

A whimper forced its way out of her throat, and he chuckled against her lips. “Does it feel good?” He was still stroking her between her legs, sending sparks of something shooting through her veins, and the fingers caressing her breast had started to pinch her nipple lightly. “Tell me if it feels good,” he encouraged.

“It— it does,” Amy gasped out as he trailed kisses along her jaw.

“Ti scoperò finché non potrai più muoverti, finché non potrai respirare, finché non potrai pensare a nient'altro che a me,” he murmured in her ear.

“Laurie,” she whimpered, “if you— if you’re going to speak Italian, you have to translate it.”

“I’ll try to remember that.” He rubbed her a little bit faster, pinched her nipple a little bit harder. “I said I’m going to fuck you until you can’t move,” he told her lowly, “until you can’t breathe, until you can’t think of anything but me.”

“What does— ah—“ He twisted her nipple lightly. “What does fuck mean?”

“It means,” he said with an intense look in his eyes, “that I’m going to put myself inside you.”

“Oh.”

“Mmmm,” he agreed. “Right… here,” he slid a finger inside of her, and it was strangely better than when she’d tried it on herself. It was… it was divine. He pulled the finger out again, pumping it a few times and rubbing that spot with his thumb all the while.

A wet squelching sound filled the room that she was most embarrassed by, but her husband seemed to revel in it. “So wet for me,” he groaned, leaning his forehead against her shoulder and sliding another finger inside her.

Amy clutched at his shoulders, and her hips started to move against his hand. As soon as she became physically responsive, he lifted his head and kissed her desperately, his hand leaving her breast to cup her cheek as she rode his fingers.

She panted and whimpered, and when he saw her biting her lip in effort to keep quiet, he pulled her lip out from between her teeth with his thumb, stroking it.

“I want every part of you,” he whispered on an exhale. “I want to hear every sound you make. Don’t you dare hide them.”

Shutting her eyes tightly and letting her head fall back against the wall with a soft thunk, she stopped trying to suppress her whimpers and cries of his name.

“Laurie, Laurie, ah, ah, Laurie—“

“I know, dolce moglie,” he said quietly. “I know.”

“What’re you—“ Her fingers dug into the pale skin of his shoulders, her hips moving faster as his hand did. “What’re you doing to me?” she gasped. “What’s happening?”

“I’m going to give you an orgasm,” he told her.

“Oh, God, Laurie—“ she cried out. “What’s— ah!— what’s an orgasm?”

“Something wonderful,” he promised, kissing her soundly and continuing to pump his fingers in and out of her. “Trust me, beautiful. Let go.”

Amy was certain she was going to die. It felt as if he continued, she would die. It felt good, it felt incredible. She didn’t know how he’d managed to make it so fingers inside her felt pleasant, but it was positively delicious.

“Let go,” he said again, and Amy fisted a hand in his hair, kissing him with a desperation she hadn’t known she’d had in her. His tongue brushed against hers, and she moaned into his mouth, yearning for him.

She was going to explode after all. Whatever it was, this orgasm, it was building inside of her, and with it, her love for him was, too, and he kept thrusting his fingers into her, kept stroking her with his thumb, and she kissed him again, for fear she couldn’t contain the words within her, but then her head leaned back of its own accord.

“Laurie Laurie Laurie please, please don’t stop—“ she moaned loudly, chanting his name like a prayer.

“I won’t,” he promised darkly. “Cum for me, Amy.” She cried out again, and he leaned down and bit her neck. “That’s it,” he encouraged. “Cum for me.”

“Ah ah ah oh God, Laurie—“ She was sobbing now, and Laurie leaned down to suckle at her nipples, biting them gently. Amy screamed, and then she burst into starlight, and as she did, something emerged from her that she couldn’t have contained no matter how hard she tried.

“Laurie,” she was sobbing.

“I know,” he murmured against her breast.

“Laurie, I love you, please, I— I love you, I love you I love you I love you, God, Laurie, ah!” He froze when he heard her say it, but she was already clenching around his fingers, her body convulsing.

He pulled back from her and removed his fingers from within her, still in shock.

Amy had yet to process her own words. She was panting, out of breath, her eyes unseeing.

And then she remembered.

Oh, God.

What had she done?

What had she done?

Every one of her nerves was still tingling and pulsating, but she still bent down and snatched up her nightgown and dressing gown, sliding each one on with quick, aborted movements.

Laurie snapped out of his own shock at her motions. “Amy?” he asked hesitantly.

She didn’t say anything. She had begun hurrying towards the door, snatching up a pair of slippers and tying her dressing gown as tightly as she was able.

He blinked at her in confusion. “Where are you—“ His words were cut off by the soft shut of their bedroom door and the sound of bare feet running on floors.

It was late and Amy wasn’t sure where she should go, but she knew she couldn’t stay at the house.

He’d find her at the house, and she needed some time to process what she’d confessed to him, and to prepare herself for his rejection.

And prepare herself for her rejection of all… future advances.

Eventually, she decided on Jo’s new house. It was slightly farther away than her mother’s and therefore, she was very much hoping Laurie wouldn’t think to look for her there.

And, if she were truthful, she just wasn’t up to interacting with children, even Meg’s, although her house was closer, too. She’d be alright with it one day, but, well. Not yet. She wasn’t sure when she’d be able to see a child and not think of Laurie.

Jo answered the door. Still up writing, Amy assumed.

“Amy?” her sister asked, clearly shocked at Amy’s presence. And also possibly the fact that her face was streaked with tears. “What are you doing here? What’s wrong?”

Jo ushered her sister inside. She’d be marrying the professor soon, and as such, he’d yet to move in.

As soon as Jo got Amy into the light of the fireplace and saw the true extent of her state of dress, her eyes widened. “You must be freezing!” she exclaimed. “Come sit by the fire and warm yourself.”

Amy nodded, obeying her sister’s command and wiping away a few tears.

She was soon wrapped in a warm blanket with a hot cup of tea in her hand, and Jo was demanding answers.

“Did Laurie do something? By God, I will slaughter that boy—“

Amy laughed through her tears. “He’s three years older than you!”

Jo waved a dismissive hand. “Once a boy, always a boy.”

Amy laughed again.

“Now then,” Jo continued, ready for an assault, “what did he do? I could get away with his murder, you know.”

Amy sighed and shook her head, taking a sip of her tea and setting it aside. “He didn’t do anything. It was me who made a mistake.”

“Alright,” the elder of the two said slowly, “then what did you do?”

Fresh tears began to fall, and Amy watched them plop down onto her shaking hands. “I told him I love him.”

Jo raised her eyebrows. “And that’s… bad?”

“Yes it’s bad!” Amy exclaimed. “Of course it’s bad! It’s disastrous!”

“Why? I mean… you’re married. Isn’t it a good thing to be in love with your husband?” After a brief pause, Jo added, “You do mean you’re in love with him, I assume, and that you made that quite clear?”

Amy nodded tearfully. “It was incredibly obvious how it was meant.”

“So, again,” Jo said, “how exactly is you confessing being in love with your husband a bad thing?”

“Because he doesn’t love me back,” Amy whispered miserably. “Or if he does, he’s not in love with me, at least.”

“Whyever would you think that?” Jo asked, surprised.

Amy watched the flames in the fireplace, listened to the crackle of the logs burning.

“I’m just a replacement for you,” she said softly.

Jo blinked at her. “Amy,” she said patiently, “please know that this is meant in the most loving way possible, but you would be a terrible replacement for me.”

Amy looked at her in mild surprise. Partially at her words, and partially that they clearly weren’t meant to be offensive.

“We’re very different people,” her sister went on, “and I’m quite sure it’s impossible for anyone to be with you if it’s me they’re yearning for, or vice versa.”

The younger of the two sighed. “He doesn’t want me. He just wants a wife he thinks is pretty.”

Jo let out an incredibly unladylike snort that almost certainly made Aunt March roll over in her grave.

“No,” she said. “Clearly you weren’t paying attention to how he looked at you during your wedding. Through the entire thing, I might add.”

Amy leaned back against the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around her. “Again, he just thinks I’m pretty. That’s all.”

“No,” Jo said again, shaking her head this time. “Men don’t look at a woman like that just because they think she’s pretty. You really ought to pay attention to how he looks at you.”

Amy didn’t quite believe her. She must’ve been misremembering. Still, she asked, “How does he look at me?”

“He looks at you like…” Jo thought for a moment, sipping her tea as she did so. “Like you’re the moon as well as every star in the sky.”

Amy opened her mouth to rebuke this, but a sudden banging on the front door interrupted her before she could speak.

She looked at the door, and then at Jo, her eyes wide and terrified.

There was a slight neigh of a horse outside. How had she not noticed it before?

“Josephine March!” came Laurie’s voice through the door. “I’m fairly certain my wife is in there, and I swear to God, if you don’t bring her out right this minute—“

“Oh, dear,” Jo whispered conspiratorially, taking another sip of her tea. “He’s using my full name. Whatever shall I do?”

Amy would’ve laughed if she hadn’t been so scared.

“Jo,” she hissed desperately. “I know— I know what he’s going to say to me, and I need a day, or a week, or preferably a year, to prepare myself for it. I can’t see him now!” Amy pleaded.

“You don’t know what he’s going to say,” her sister pointed out.

He was still banging on the door.

“And you know he won’t leave until somebody answers,” she went on. “He knows very well that I'm home.”

Amy thought for a moment, trying her damnedest to ignore her husband at the door.

“You’re right,” she said with a nod, standing. “Give me a minute or so. I’m going to go hide. You tell him I came by, but I left, and I don’t want to see him anyway.”

Jo gave her that look older siblings often do that says, “This is a terrible idea, but I’m not going to fight you on it.”

And so Amy rushed off to the smallest guest bedroom. Laurie would expect her to hide in Jo’s room, not a tiny guest room.

The bed was high up off the ground but had a bed skirt, so Amy wedged herself beneath the bed, being sure to keep the blanket around her. It was cold without the fireplace lit, after all, and the slippers she wore weren’t exactly insulating.

The sound of a door opening reached her ears.

“What do you want, Teddy?” she heard Jo snap.

She had to strain her ears to hear his reply.

“Is Amy here?” he demanded.

“She was, but she left,” Jo lied expertly, having been covering her sisters’ tracks since childhood. “She doesn’t want to see you, anyway, though, so really, you should just— hey!”

There was a scuffling, and then the sound of shoes on hardwood floors.

“Oh, sure,” her sister snarked sarcastically. “Come right in and make yourself at home!”

“Did she tell you?”

Jo sighed in annoyance. “Tell me what?”

“That she told me she loved me, and then she just— just left!” he nearly spat the words.

Oh dear. Oh no. He wasn’t just mad. He was furious. She’d only seen him this way a handful of times in all the years she’d known him, and she really, really hoped he didn’t find her.

She could practically hear Jo cross her arms. “That,” she said firmly, “is between my sister and I.”

“She’s my wife now, Jo!” Laurie insisted, sounding tremendously frustrated. “You were just at the wedding!”

“Hm,” Jo hummed. “I do seem to recall something like that, now that you mention it, but even so, she doesn’t want to see you, and would very much like for you to leave her alone.”

She heard her husband snort. “Yeah, well, tough.” There was silence, and then more shuffling. Amy heard her sister sigh again, and then Laurie raised his voice. “Amy!” he called out.

She tried to ignore it, ignore the way he said her name, the way it echoed around the house.

“Amy,” he called again, “if you don’t come out and I find you, I’m going to be very upset indeed,” he warned.

Jo groaned, and Amy could picture her tilting her head back in frustration. “Honestly, Teddy, just go home—“

“Not without my wife,” he insisted firmly.

She heard him step into the room to the left of her; Jo’s room. There was another bedroom to her right, as well. He was rifling around, she could tell. Jo was objecting quite vocally, but he was clearly ignoring her.

He left the room and she heard him shut the door behind him.

Footsteps.

Closer.

And then—

The door opened.

Amy stopped breathing. Her heart stopped. She ceased all movement. She didn’t even blink.

Don’t look under the bed, don't look under the bed, don't look under the bed, she chanted over and over again in her mind, and then she resorted to prayer. Dear Lord, please don’t allow my husband to look under the bed and see me. Don’t allow him to find me. Just give me some more time.

For a few heartbeats, Amy couldn’t hear a thing. She didn’t even hear Jo’s groan of, “Fine, have it out, but do not spend your wedding night here!” over the roaring in her ears. Then the padding of bare feet across hardwood floors.

She kept praying he wouldn’t look, wouldn’t find her.

No such luck.

Because Laurie’s stupid, attractive, beautiful, stupid face appeared in her line of vision.

“Amy,” he breathed in relief.

The woman in question squirmed, trying to scoot herself away from him, further underneath the bed.

“Nuh uh,” he said firmly. Oof. There was his angry face. “Either you come out or I’m getting under there with you.”

She blanched at that. She did not want to be in such close proximity to him, so she extradited herself from beneath the bed and promptly squeezed herself in the space between the wardrobe and the wall before he could process what she was doing.

He could neither reach her nor join her, and he hadn’t even said she couldn’t hide there, only that she couldn’t hide underneath the bed, so she’d found a loophole.

Problem solved.

Except, no, not so much, because he was in front of the crevice in just a few seconds, looking very cross indeed.

Even more so, if that were possible, than he had been before.

“Amy,” he said, sounding more dangerous than she could ever recall hearing him, “come out of there.”

There wasn’t enough space for her to shake her head, so she said, “No, I… I don’t think I will. I’m perfectly fine right here, if you don’t mind.”

His eyes blazed.

“If I don’t mind?” He sounded disbelieving. “Of course I mind that my wife ran from me, is hiding from me!”

She flinched when he called her his wife.

He noticed, letting out an agonized groan and raking a hand through his hair.

“Amy, come out,” he begged. “Please. Let me…” he trailed off, looking at her terrified expression, the way she squeezed herself further against the wall behind her. “Let me take you home.”

“No thank you,” she squeaked. “I’m quite well right here, but I appreciate the offer.”

He sighed and looked at the beams in the ceiling.

“I’d really, really prefer not to do this.”

And then he was gone from her sight, and there was a groaning sound from the other end of the wardrobe, and then, to her horror, the crevice began to widen.

She couldn’t run out the door without going past him. Maybe underneath the wardrobe would work?

Before she was able to contemplate any further plans, however, he was in front of her again, reaching into the crevice and yanking her into his arms.

“Now then,” he said, marginally out of breath, “you may either walk to the carriage with me or I will carry you to it. Which would you prefer?”

“Neither,” Amy squeaked out, very unsettled by the situation itself, but most especially his closeness.

Laurie glared at her. “Not an option,” he told her firmly. “We’re going home, so you’re getting in the carriage. Now, moving wardrobes and carrying squirming women was not the sort of strenuous activity I was hoping for on my wedding night, so I would very much appreciate it if you walked.”

Would it be worth it to try and fight him? Or perhaps she could return with him and simply find a different room to hide in? Lock the door, take her meals inside when he was home, only venturing out when he was not? She considered this, gnawing on her lower lip.

“Don’t do that unless you want me to kiss you,” he warned sharply.

Amy froze for several seconds before releasing her lip. Why would he say that? She’d never thought of Laurie as cruel, but apparently he could be.

He slipped off his overcoat and settled it on her shoulders. “Here,” he told her, his voice taking on a gentle tone she was more familiar with.

The blanket had fallen on the floor when she’d rushed to stand, so a coat would be… beneficial. She’d been quite cold without one on the walk over.

She slid her arms through the sleeves, but they were too long for her; her fingertips were barely visible, and only if she stretched.

She glanced up at her husband briefly, only to find him smiling softly at her in a way she found most unsettling. She looked away from his gaze, doing her very best to ignore it, and allowed him to wrap an arm around her waist.

“We’re going to talk about this as soon as we’re home, you realize,” he told her as they walked through the quiet house.

Jo must’ve gone to sleep.

Upon being told this, Amy immediately decided that that wouldn’t do. She knew Laurie cared for her, of course he did. She didn’t doubt that. Perhaps he even loved her. But was he in love with her? No, of course not. She was fully cognizant of that fact, and would vastly prefer not to hear it, as it would simultaneously be both incredibly painful and tremendously unnecessary.

The ride back was silent, Amy refusing to let him anywhere near her, scooting away whenever he tried to touch her.

Upon their arrival, she attempted to head in a different direction as soon as they stepped through the elaborate doorway.

Laurie grabbed the sleeve of the coat he’d given her. “Where are you going?”

She looked at the floor silently with a shrug of her shoulders.

“Amy,” he said slowly, “were you going to run and hide from me again?”

“…No?” was her hesitant squeak.

“Good God, woman,” he groaned in frustration. “Just— just come back to our room with me, alright? I’m not going to hurt you, you know.”

Well, no, she thought bitterly. Not physically, at least.

She said nothing, so he stepped around her to face her, cupping her cheeks and looking into her eyes.

“Amy,” he said softly, his gaze flicking briefly down to her lips, “come upstairs with me,” he begged. “Don’t run from me. Don’t hide from me.”

God, but when he looked at her like that, spoke to her like that…

Amy nodded, earning a sweet, gentle smile.

Leading her back to their bedroom, he shut the door quietly behind them and lifted the coat from her shoulders.

Shucking off his shoes and socks once more, he sat on the edge of the bed, patting the spot next to him with a small smile.

Not wanting to argue, she sat as far from him on the bed as she was able. He rolled his eyes slightly but seemed to accept it regardless.

“Amy, why would you run from me?” he asked her gently. “Why would you hide from me?” When she said nothing, he spoke again. “Did you not mean what you said?”

Well. Not much point in lying to him about it, was there?

“I meant it,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Then why?” He scooted closer to her, and she looked away from him until he cupped her cheek, turning her face towards his. He was far too close for comfort. When had he moved towards her? “Did you think I’d be upset?”

“No,” she said hoarsely, shaking her head. “That’s not it, I…” She couldn’t tell him. She didn’t want to be rejected. Why bother if she already knew the answer?

“Tell me,” he murmured, stroking her cheek with a calloused thumb. “Tell me, mia amata.”

Tears filled her eyes again, and she looked away from him again. “…I don’t want to hear your response,” she told him miserably.

He blinked in confusion. “Why not?”

“I already know what you’ll say,” she explained, “and I don’t want to hear it out loud.”

He was silent for several seconds, looking at her with wide eyes. “Amy,” he said slowly, “do you think I’ll… reject you? Me, your husband?” He sounded almost like he couldn’t believe his own words.

“Of course you will!” she snapped through her tears. “I know you don’t love me— at least, not like that— but I— I don’t want to hear it!”

Then both of his hands cupped her cheeks, and he was leaning forward. “I love you,” he whispered. “I’m very, very much in love with you.”

Amy squinted at him, finding herself very skeptical indeed.

He chuckled at her expression. “I love you, Amy,” he told her again, his voice still soft. “I’ve never wanted to be with anyone the way I want to be with you.”

She examined his face, the lines of his features, the look in his eyes.

“I don’t believe you.”

“No?” he laughed softly. “Well…” he trailed off, sliding a hand down her neck and into the neckline of her dressing gown. “I suppose I’ll just have to spend the rest of my life convincing you, won’t I?”

And then he kissed her, and fireworks exploded in her veins. Too overcome to stop herself, she kissed him back, pouring all the love she felt for him into it.

He pulled her against him, and she whimpered when his tongue brushed against hers. Sliding her fingers into his hair, Amy allowed herself to have this, to have him.

“Laurie,” she moaned when he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to her neck.

“Esatto,” he murmured against the skin of her neck, kissing her there again. “Gemi per me, amore mio.” He began to suck her neck then, and she wrapped her arms around him.

“What— what does that mean?” she panted. “Translate, remember?”

He hummed against her, untying the ribbons that held her dressing gown closed. “It means, ‘that’s right, moan for me, my love’.”

“M— my love?” she squeaked. She had not been expecting that.

Sliding her dressing gown off of her, he kissed her shoulder. “Mhm,” he agreed. “Amore mio.” He slid the sleeve of her nightgown down her shoulder and kissed it again. “Mia amata.” Another kiss. “Il mio tutto.”

“What about— ah!” her words were momentarily cut off when he closed his teeth around a tendon in her neck. “What about those?”

“Mia amata means ‘my beloved’,” he breathed against the newly tender skin of her neck. “Il mio tutto means ‘my everything’.”

Amy pulled back from him. “Do you mean it?” she asked sharply. “Are you certain you’re not mistaking what you’re feeling for something other than being in love?”

He grinned. “I’m certain,” he assured her. “Let me show you how much I love you.” With that, Laurie was pulling off her nightgown and guiding her to lay down on their bed, kissing her collarbones and cupping her breasts. “God, Amy,” he groaned. “You’re so beautiful.”

Then he was trailing kisses down the length of her torso until he reached her hipbones. “Do you remember how I touched you here?” he asked with a gentle kiss against her flushed skin. Amy nodded, biting her lip nervously. “I’d like to kiss you there, as well.”

“Why?” she asked breathily, feeling terribly nervous.

“Well,” he began with a grin, “a multitude of reasons, really. First, I love you and I want you to feel good. Second, I want to be the one making you feel good. Third, watching you fall apart was the most incredible thing I’ve ever witnessed, and I’m quite eager to see it again.”

Amy gulped.

She was starting to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he truly did love her.

“So,” he went on, “may I?”

She nodded, still hesitant but choosing to trust him (he loved her, he loved her, he loved her, God but she hoped he loved her) and he slipped between her thighs, spreading her open for him. She could’ve sworn she heard him growl, but her observation was lost when he flicked his tongue over that same part of her he’d focused on before, sliding his fingers in a teasing circle around her entrance.

Recalling how divine it had felt when he’d put them inside of her, she canted her pelvis towards him with a whimper. He hummed against her, licking at her again, slowly with barely-there touches, and oh, but she wanted.

Fearing she’d sound lewd, sound vulgar, she clamped her mouth shut against her moans as he laved at her.

“Let me hear you, amata.” Yes, that was most definitely a growl, no mistaking it. “Hold in your cries, quiet them at all, and I’ll stop,” he warned, his breath fanning over her sensitive skin.

No, no, not that! Amy thought desperately. Anything but that, don’t stop—

Clenching her eyes shut nervously, she nodded her understanding.

“Look at me,” he murmured, his lips brushing against where she needed him. “I want you to see who’s pleasuring you.”

She obeyed, and he smirked in satisfaction, resuming his delicious ministrations.

The pressure of his tongue was firmer now, and when he thrust his fingers inside her, she couldn’t have stopped herself if she’d tried.

She screamed.

It felt incredible. Laurie didn’t so much as flinch; in fact, he seemed encouraged by her reaction, reaching up to grip her breast and lifting his eyes to meet hers as he lapped at her.

Amy didn’t know whether to be ashamed or delighted by the way he was looking at her. He looked like he wanted to consume her.

“Laurie please Laurie Lauriepleasepleaseplease—“ she moaned loudly, lifting her hips towards him.

Trailing his hand down from where he’d been squeezing her breast, he pressed down on her hipbone, holding her in place. His other hand continued to pleasure her, his fingers thrusting in and out repeatedly as he licked her until she thought she might explode.

Her moans were essentially nonstop by that point. “Laurie, God, please— I need you, please, I need— don’t stop, don’t stop, Laurie—“ 

She was barely enunciating, her words blending together like watercolors on a wet canvas, and he still wasn’t stopping. He didn’t even slow down; just kept going, and she knew it was nearing, what he’d given her before. Her fingers fisted in the blankets of their bed, her toes curling, her hips trying to lift up of their own accord only to be stopped by the hand that held her down.

She closed her eyes. She couldn’t help it. And then he closed his lips around that part of her and sucked, and she burst.

Amy let out a long, high-pitched scream that more than one of the household staff heard. Her body convulsed. Her legs shook.

When it was over, her entire body continued to tingle, as if there were bubbles in every nerve, every vein.

Barely processing that he’d pulled his fingers out of her and was crawling up her body, she kept her eyes closed until she felt a hand on her cheek.

“Amy?” came her husband’s soft, gentle voice.

Blinking her eyes open blearily, she found him gazing at her with obvious adoration.

“Are you alright?” he asked as he stroked her cheek. When she nodded, he smiled. “Did you like it?” Unable to speak, she nodded again. “Good,” he said with a grin and a kiss on the tip of her nose, “because I would very much like to lick you as frequently as you’ll allow.”

After several seconds, she was granted the ability to speak again. “Can I… can I do that for you?” He froze, his eyes widening. She quickly rushed to explain. “I’m… I’m fairly certain we won’t be able to…” Amy gulped, finding herself unable to finish her statement. “So if possible, I would like to give you what you gave me.”

Laurie smiled at her then, as sweetly as ever. “It’s possible,” he assured her, “but making love is most certainly possible, as well.”

“Is, um.” She gulped. Again. “Is that what it’s called?”

“It’s called a number of different things,” he told her with a tilt of his head. “Making love is one, yes. Sex is another. Copulation or intercourse are also used.” He thought for a moment. “Shakespeare called it the beast with two backs.”

Amy stared at him. There were so many different terms for this thing she’d never heard of a mere twenty-four hours ago. “And what do you call it?”

“Making love, as I said,” he told her with another smile, “but that’s primarily with you,” he murmured that part, brushing the backs of his fingers over her cheek.

Her lips parted.

He stared at them and continued, “I’ve been known to refer to it as sex. Or even fucking, on occasion.”

She blinked. He’d mentioned that one before. “Fucking?”

He groaned and leaned his forehead against her shoulder, as if he hadn’t expected her to repeat it.

“It’s, well. It’s the same as the others, essentially,” he explained patiently, his voice muffled by her shoulder. “Although, if it’s called that specifically, it’s usually a bit more… animalistic.”

She squeaked, not knowing what to say to that. Animalistic sounded painful.

“That isn’t to say it hurts,” he rushed on, raising his face to hers again when he heard the sound she’d made. “It’s not something I’d…” He coughed. “Do with you, not right off, and only if you wanted me to.”

Amy could barely breathe. “Why would I want you to?”

He was blushing rather terribly. “I’d make it feel very, very good,” he assured her.

Finding herself very skeptical indeed, she raised an eyebrow at him. “And you… want it that way?”

“I want you any way you’ll have me,” he responded softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Plus,” he said, “I’d like to… claim you, I think.” His hand slid from her cheek down to her waist, brushing the side of her breast as he went.

She thought for several moments. “What makes you so sure it would work?”

“Well,” he began with another grin, trailing his hand from her waist to between her legs again, where she was still wet and quivering. “I’ve prepared you for me already,” he explained. “And I think I’d like to prepare you further.”

He then proceeded to do just that. Twice. She’d screamed so much her throat was raw with it.

She was positively drenched. She could feel it.

He kissed her neck, then sat up on his haunches and gazed at her in such a way she briefly thought of a blazing fire. “Touch yourself,” he rasped as he yanked his shirt over his head. “Put your fingers between your legs and touch yourself as I touched you.”

She shook her head emphatically. “I can’t do that!” she insisted, scandalized.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he assured her with a sweet smile. “It’s just me.”

“You say that like I haven’t…” loved you since I was a child, she finished mentally.

Leaning over to shower her face with kisses, he spoke softly. “There is nothing you could do that I wouldn’t cherish,” he assured her. “Please touch yourself for me, bellissima.”

“W— why?” she managed to force out.

“Because I want to watch you.” He was unlacing his pants one moment and kicking them off the next, and he nodded encouragingly at her.

Feeling horrifically embarrassed, Amy obeyed, pressing her fingers in the same place he had.

Untying the cord that held his undergarments up, he yanked those over his hipbones, too, and she noticed that they protruded from his body, and then…

Dear Lord, Amy thought. It had only been a few hours prior, but she’d forgotten, somehow, how very terrifying that part of him was.

And then he did the strangest thing: he wrapped his hand around it and began to stroke himself, watching her all the while.

“Cup your breast and pinch your nipple,” he commanded softly. She did so, continuing to rub between her legs.

This only lasted for a couple of minutes before he launched himself at her, attacking her with kisses and grasping hands.

“Amy,” he groaned into her mouth. “I need you.”

She felt empty. Terribly, terribly empty. Thinking of his… what had he called it? His cock? Yes, his cock. Thinking of his cock, she found herself rather liking the idea of him putting it inside of her.

“I love you, Laurie,” she told him quietly. “I’m yours to do with as you will.”

He slipped a hand into her hair, kissing her like a man starving, then trailed more kisses down to her jaw and along the length of her neck.

“And I’m yours,” he swore against her skin. “Always, dolce moglie.” She gave him a look and he chuckled before adding, “Sweet wife.” Pressing a kiss between her breasts, he went on, “Never feel as if you have to say yes to me, Amy.”

She blinked in confusion. She’d sworn to obey him, after all.

“I want you to enjoy this as much as I do,” Laurie explained. “I want to make you happy, make you feel loved, because you are.” He trailed more kisses up her neck and continued. “I want to make you scream again,” he murmured. “I want to make you just as desperate for me as I am for you. I want you to be begging for me, to be shaking from needing me so badly.”

Amy gnawed on her lower lip pensively. “If… if you’re sure it’ll work…” She was being uncharacteristically timid, she knew.

“It will,” he promised, kissing her deeply. “Let me show you how I can make you feel, amata.”

“Okay,” she whispered, and he kissed her again, his tongue brushing against hers. He cupped both of her breasts, pinching her nipples lightly, and she whimpered into his mouth, feeling a muscle deep within her clench when his cock brushed against her skin.

Then he pulled up from her, spreading her legs so he could kneel between them. Fighting down her embarrassment at the exposure yet again, she watched as he took his cock in hand and pressed it against her center, his eyes never leaving hers.

Then he rubbed the tip against that spot, and she jolted with a gasp that ended in a whimper.

“So wet for me, aren’t you, darling?” Laurie groaned, rubbing himself against her entrance now without actually going inside. “So ready for me.”

That muscle clenched again.

Empty.

“Laurie,” she pleaded. “I— I need—“

“I know, love,” her husband assured her. “I know.”

Then, slowly, very slowly, he began to push himself inside of her. Barely anything at first, and then—

Ouch.

That hurt.

It was a strange sort of pain; reminiscent of if she’d held her arm up whilst painting for too long.

He’d stopped, however.

“I was afraid of this happening,” she grit out.

He shook his head. “No, it’s temporary, I promise. It’ll go away.”

Amy looked at him skeptically.

He was right, though; it took a couple of minutes, but her body learned to accommodate him enough for him to go further before he had to stop. It took several more minutes of this process before he was fully seated within her.

Laurie collapsed atop her, kissing her neck. “God, Amy,” he moaned into her skin. “Let me know when I can move, alright?”

She nodded, and he kissed her passionately, sucking her tongue into his mouth as his hands roamed her body. They continued kissing in this way until she realized she was no longer in pain.

Pulling back from his lips slightly, she said, “Alright.” 

Propping himself up on straining forearms, he pulled out of her slowly before entering again just as slowly.

It wasn’t painful, but it took a few thrusts for her to begin to enjoy it.

When pleasure began to flow through her, her body clenched around his, drawing a “Fuck,” from his lips and making him instinctively thrust into her a little harder, a little faster.

Finding she liked that, Amy pulled him down for a kiss, winding her fingers into his hair. “More,” she begged. “Please, more.”

“Anything,” he gasped into her mouth as he continued the movement of hips against hers. “I’ll give you anything.”

“I just want you,” she moaned, clutching at his shoulders. “Please, I— I love you so much, this feels— God, Laurie—“ His thrusts were gradually increasing in pace, and Amy wondered if it were possible to die from pleasure.

“I love you, too,” he groaned, kissing her again. “Amy, Amy, Amy—“ He was chanting her name as he plunged in and out of her, as if he’d lost control of his vocal chords. “You’re so tight, fuck—“

“Don’t stop,” she begged, clenching around him again. “Please don’t stop, feels so good—“

Laurie growled at that. “Voglio scoparti senza senso,” he told her, eyes intent on hers. “Voglio martellarti dentro fino a quando non riesci a camminare dritto.”

The sound of him speaking Italian made her muscles spasm again, but she said, “What—“

“It means,” he cut in with another thrust, “I want to fuck you senseless,” he told her, gripping her breast almost roughly. “I want to pound into you until you can’t walk straight.”

Any nodded, desperate for him, for anything he would give her.

“Only if you want me to,” he said against her neck, nipping the skin there. “Only if you’re sure.”

“Yes, Laurie, yes, I want it, I want everything with you, please— ah!” Her words were cut off by a scream when he slammed into her hard enough the bed shook. Bracing her feet on the mattress, she slid her hips over the mattress to meet his, needing more of him, more of everything he was giving her.

Wrapping his arms around her back to hold her close to him, as close as they could possibly be, he pounded into her again and again, so hard she wondered if she’d break, but it felt so incredible she found she didn’t care. Armageddon could have come and gone and she wouldn’t have noticed or minded. Not as long as he didn’t stop.

“I love you,” he moaned against the skin of her throat. “I love you, Amy.”

“I— I love yo—“ she cut herself off on another moan. “Yes, God, yes, so good, please—“

He kissed her throat over and over, as if he could imprint himself into her skin, slamming into her repeatedly.

“Laurie,” she sobbed, her muscles clenching and unclenching.

“You’re incredible, il mio tutto,” he murmured, pressing his lips to hers hungrily. She returned his kiss fervently, rubbing her tongue against his with a moan. “So perfect for me. You were made to take me, love,” he told her, nibbling on her lower lip and slamming into her again and again. “We were made for this.”

She hadn’t been so sure of that beforehand, but now, with him inside her, giving her everything she hadn’t known she needed, she agreed with him wholeheartedly, so she nodded, whimpering.

“Tell me you’re mine, dolce moglie,” he demanded, thrusting harshly. “Say you belong to me and me alone.”

“Yes,” she gasped out. “I— I’m yours, I’m yours, only yours, only you, I’m yours—“ She spoke in more of a jumbled litany than a coherent statement, but Laurie didn’t mind. He quite liked that he’d taken coherency from her.

He kissed her in reward, thrusting into her again and reaching between them to rub her as he fucked into her.

Amy screamed. She was so sensitive already that it only took a few swipes of his fingers before she clenched his cock like a vise, her legs instinctively wrapping around him to keep him inside her.

Still, though, he didn’t relent. He was groaning, needing her, needing to find the completion that he’d given her, and yet, he wanted more. More of this, more of her body, more kissing and touching. 

It took her a couple of minutes to recover, but she soon resumed meeting his hips with hers, much to his delight. Cupping her cheek, he gazed into her eyes.

“I love you,” he told her, thrusting inside her again. “I love you.”

Finally certain he truly was in love with her, she smiled and kissed him. “Then show me,” she said against his lips. “Give me a baby.”

“A— a what?” he gasped, shocked.

“A baby,” she said again. “I want your baby. I want you to put a baby inside of me.”

“Amy, God, I—“

“Please?” she begged softly, lifting her hips to meet his thrusts. “Please get me pregnant, Laurie.”

He looked at her for a moment; her sparkling blue eyes, gazing up at him with pure, unadulterated adoration; her shining blonde hair in a halo on the pillow underneath her, and then he nodded jerkily, kissing her again.

“Anything you want, my love,” he promised her again. “Anything.”

Smiling giddily, she kissed him. He pulled out of her and slammed back in with such force that her body jerked backwards on the bed.

He was murmuring into the crook of her neck as he fucked her; some of what he said made sense, some didn’t. “Fucking amazing, so perfect, so tight, my love, mia amata, love you so much, Amy, my Amy, gonna fill you, gonna fuck a baby into you, wanna see you swell up with my child, show everyone that you’re mine, all mine, all mine, God, Amy—“

He was putting pictures in her mind; beautiful shining ones, and she’d ponder them later, when her husband wasn’t as close to her as it was possible to be.

He groped her breasts roughly, his thrusts becoming shorter and harder. “Gonna cum, gonna cum, fuck, gonna— fuck, Amy—“

She wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but she very much wanted him to show her.

Then Laurie groaned into the crook of her neck, and she was briefly concerned because it sounded almost like he was in pain, but he was still clutching at her tightly, as if he were afraid to let go of her, and she felt a warmth fill her. His thrusts slowed and stopped, and he breathed heavily against her skin.

They stayed like that for several minutes until he pulled out of her with a wince on both their parts, kissing her softly as he did so.

He cleaned her with a damp cloth and more gentle kisses; to her lips, cheeks, shoulders, breasts. stomach, legs, hips— anywhere he could reach. Then he climbed back into bed with her, and they exchanged more kisses for awhile, some more heated than others.

When they were relaxing, her head on his chest (neither of them had any desire for clothes), he broke the silence with, “Amy?”

“Mm?” she hummed in response, nearing sleep.

“How much of that was… you know, real?”

Lifting her head up to examine his face, she blinked at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Do you actually want a baby?” he asked. “Now, or… at all?”

Amy kissed him with a sleepy smile. “Of course I do, Mr. Laurence. Can’t be leaving my beloved husband without an heir, now can I?”

Grinning, he said, “You know that doesn’t matter to your husband, Mrs. Laurence.”

“I know,“ she told him with a laugh, placing her hand on his chest palm-down and resting her chin on it as she gazed at him lovingly, “but I do truly want a child with you.”

“Several, preferably,” he told her quite seriously.

Amy laughed again and kissed him. “If the Queen can have a whole brood, I don’t see why we can’t do the same,” she agreed. “But for now, I think just one is probably best.”

He let out a long-suffering sigh. “Very well,” he agreed, sounding very reluctant indeed.

They never bothered to sleep with clothes on. It would’ve been most impractical, actually; it was far easier to only strip out of one’s clothes once rather than multiple times.

Although they did develop a keen interest in undressing each other. Amy was quite convinced she could watch her husband undress all day and not get bored of it. In fact, there were numerous occasions when one would remove their clothing and the other would watch.

They didn't have quite as many children as the Queen, although they did manage to have six, after which they’d decided to stop. Or rather, Amy decided to stop. Laurie would’ve preferred to keep going, wanting to best the Queen, but Amy had insisted that three boys and three girls was the perfect number, and that she’d run out of names anyway.

To be fair to Laurie, however, he really enjoyed seeing Amy pregnant. Which was lucky for him, because she spent four and a half years of their sixty-three year marriage pregnant. He also was rather fond of the process of getting her pregnant, so there was that, too.

Of course, if one believes in such things, perhaps their marriage didn’t end with death at all. Perhaps it was only postponed for a few months before Amy decided she’d spent seventy-one years of her life loving Laurie, had absolutely no desire to continue on without him, and had simply said goodnight to her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, gone upstairs to bed, and not come back down the following morning.

Perhaps when she saw him again, exactly as he’d looked the day she’d married him, she’d yelled at him for dying first, kissed him, and then continued yelling at him. Perhaps then they went on their way, to do whatever it is people in love do when their time on earth is done.