Alright, I decided to write this anyway, for my guilty pleasure and yours. Enjoy :)

Marie fiddled with the ribbons on her bodice as the carriage was pulled through Paris. The horses' hooves clapped away on the cobblestones, but the beating of her heart punctuated the silence more than the noises from travel.

Jacques held her hand throughout. His palm was a bit sweaty, and she could feel how tense he was. She was no different; despite the immense happiness of the day, all of her worries wrapped around her at present and she couldn't even breathe correctly.

"Are you alright, darling?" her husband asked. "You are very quiet."

She looked over at him. He was sitting next to her in the carriage, and looked so handsome in his wedding suit. It was light gray, which looked beautiful on him, accenting his large blue eyes. She flushed.

"I am wonderful, my love," she said. It was half-true.

He nodded, and she knew he could still sense her nerves, but he did not comment. She felt his lips on her temple, and his arm around her shoulders, and she closed her eyes. With her head resting on her shoulder, she thought for the remainder of the ride of what would come that night.

When they arrived at their new home, Jacques went to pay the driver, but he refused.

"Monsieur Pontmercy has taken care of it, Monsieur," he said.

"Of course he has," Jacques muttered with a shake of his head. "Your papa always finds a way to take care of you, doesn't he, love?"

"And you now, too," she said with a smile.

"Best wishes, Monsieur, Madame," the driver said, tipping his hat.

Marie blushed scarlet, but beamed.

"Madame," she whispered.

"That you are," Jacques said. Right on the street in front of their flat, he lifted Marie off her feet and spun her around, before kissing her. He dipped her down, with their mouths pressed firmly together, and then swung her smartly back up. She gasped, and laughed out loud.

"Monsieur! You are in rare form tonight." Her sharp eyes twinkled at him.

"I just love the sound of you as my Madame. The Madame to my Monsieur. '—and Madame.' I like it. That's you. You're mine now."

She grinned, and felt a thrill of wickedness quicken in her stomach. She stood on her tiptoes and put her lips against his ear. His skin there was cold in the early spring night air, and she kissed it while she whispered. "If I'm yours now, then bring me inside."

His heart skipped a beat, and he felt his skin rush with heat. Marie. Beautiful, zealous Marie, with those fiery eyes… he would finally see what they were like, staring at him in the throes of passion. Jacques stared, probably a little open-mouthed, at her, and then smiled in enthusiasm.

He scooped her up, which was not altogether very simple because she was tall and had a very heavy, large dress on, but he succeeded enough to carry her to the door.

"Oh, no I have to unlock it," he said. "And then stairs…"

"For goodness' sake, Jacques, put me down," she said prissily.

"You don't want me to carry you? Isn't it bad luck?"

Marie made a face. "Pft! Don't be ridiculous. I am perfectly capable of walking."

He smirked and set her on her feet before he unlocked the door. Marie had taken little to no interest in the wedding planning, always citing how she was more concerned with the marriage than the wedding.

"That's all well and good," her mother would say, "but you won't have a wedding at all at the rate you're going!"

In the end, Sophie had taken an interest, and somehow the ordeal was planned. Tonight they had danced and ate in the Pontmercy household until midnight, when Jacques had whispered in Marie's ear asking when she wanted to leave. She responded by turning red, but whispering back, "Immediately. I've been dying for a moment with you all day."

Here they had all the moments in the world. Jacques succeeded in unlocking the door, and the newlywed couple made their way up the stairs to their second-floor flat. Jacques found the other set of keys after some fumbling (this was a new flat after all) and opened the door. It was pitch black.

"Wait, I have matches," he said, and produced them from his pocket. He lit one, and with the light located a lamp and lit that too. In the next few minutes, he and Marie finished lighting candles all about the apartment, until they could see.

"This is our place," she said, marveling. It was small, just one bedroom, a living room, and a kitchen, but spacious and clean. There was a view of the Seine out their bedroom window, and a balcony. "A place just for the two of us."

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

She knew he meant the concept more than the physical apartment.

"Yes," she agreed.

There were flowers all about, and the place smelled wonderful.

"Who brought those here?" she wondered. "They're beautiful."

"I did, this morning," he confessed.

"Jacques," she said, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I thought you might like it," he whispered.

"I do," she said. "But not as much as I like being here with you."

He kissed her deeply right there in the kitchen, and slid her wrap from her shoulders and set it down on the well-made wooden table that his grandfather had given them as a wedding present. Marie's mouth was hot against his, and she pressed her lips to him without shame. His fingers were holding her tightly around her waist, though he could scarcely feel the true shape of her due to the thick boning of her corset and bodice. He imagined what it would be like when she was naked, and he could trace his lips across her skin. Perhaps she would shiver, or whisper his name…

Don't get ahead of yourself, Jacques, he chided himself. He needed to stay in the moment; this was really happening, now, for the first time. He could not miss it by fantasizing about it.

"Marie," he whispered against her lips.

They stopped their kisses and she looked up at him. Her eyes were wide, and for the first time Jacques saw how frightened she was. He could have kicked himself for overlooking that fact for the past three months. Marie was so fearless that he hadn't worried about her. She'd made comments before about wanting to be with him, but he knew now it was all bravado, and she was as terrified as any sheltered, virgin Catholic girl.

"Cherie." He stroked her white cheek with his fingers, and watched as blood rose to the surface.

"My husband," she said, and smiled. It was a smile to cover her nerves, doubtless, but there was genuine happiness there too. "Would you like a drink? Shall I fix you something…?"

"I left some champagne in an ice bucket on the balcony to keep it cold," he told her.

She grinned. "So you did." Marie turned and, with his hand grasped in her own, led him towards their bedroom. He noticed how she hesitated ever so slightly before crossing the threshold, and made a beeline for the windows. She did not even glance at the large bed in the center of the room, with brand new sheets and a comforter her mother had sewn for them. Jacques stayed behind and lit the candles on the mantle and the tables beside their bed, until Marie returned with the champagne. He produced the two glasses and opener that he'd left next to the bed, and opened the bottle. He poured both of them half a glass.

"To us," he said, finding the cliché encompassed all he wanted to say.

She smiled and raised her glass and took a drink. He sat down on the edge of the bed while she sat on the chair opposite the vanity, facing him. He had to admire his bride; in the candlelight, her dark hair gleamed seemed to soak in the shadows of the room. Her eyes reacted similarly; they reflected the candlelight when they looked at him, yet the dim nature of the room rendered her beautiful eyes even darker and deeper than usual, like pools of black coffee. Her skin looked soft and smooth and unmarred, and he marveled at how the softness of the light cold serve to make even Marie, who he thought was haltingly beautiful to begin with, more stunning. Her white lace dress pooled at her feet, the delicate neckline and long sleeves covered her slender build modestly and rendered her graceful and delicate. He wanted to protect her, to hold her, to kiss every inch of her skin…

"You're staring," she whispered, giggling.

"I'm sorry," he said, and shook his head. "You're just so beautiful, my love. I can't believe we're finally married, and all of the hullaballoo is behind us."

"I know," she agreed. He knew how she detested the loudness of the wedding, and how she thought the large party made a mockery of their intimacy. "I have you all to myself now. I was so tired of all that dancing, and how I had to pass you around so often. I did not want to share you today."

Jacques felt pride prickle on the back of his neck; Marie was jealous. "Marie, if you never want to go to a party again, and would instead rather not share me here in the privacy of this apartment, I would be a very happy man."

She turned scarlet and coughed, apparently having swallowed her champagne badly.

"I'm sorry to embarrass you," he confessed. He felt he was doing something wrong, and knew his mind was dwelling far too obsessively on one thing alone. Chiding himself, Jacques moved to his knees in front of his wife. He removed the champagne flute from her grasp and set it down, and took her slender hands in his own. He kissed her fingers, and then brought them up to his cheeks.

"I have dreamed of this day since I met you in the library, Marie. Especially since our time in your garden, those precious nights belonging to the two of us, I have longed for the day when no man could separate us here on earth. When I could henceforth make every action and decision in confidence that you would be beside me. Forgive me for staring, but I am drinking in the euphoria of knowing that it is you, Marie, who sits before me in her wedding dress."

"Jacques," she whispered, and set one of her hands on his hair. She raked her fingers through his soft curls and had to steady her breathing. The sheer nature of their aloneness had her pulse racing. "We are going to live a life like no one before us."

"That we shall. We are unstoppable together."

"I never want to be without you," she said. Marie ran her hands across his face and down to his shoulders, and then gently pulled at him until he rose up onto his knees and kissed her. She kept her hands gently on his lapels as their lips moved together. Tentatively, Jacques touched the back of her neck and pulled her closer, so he could kiss her more deeply.

She sighed, and moved her hands up to his shoulders.

"You are trembling," he whispered. "Love?"

"I'm sorry." She broke away and covered her eyes with her hand. "I don't mean to be so nervous, Jacques, I don't—"

"Hush, Marie." He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her to him so she could hide her face against his chest. "You don't need to apologize. I know you are completely innocent, love. I know you don't know anything about this."

"You do?" She looked up at him, and there again was the terror in her eyes.

"Yes," he said.

"But there's not knowing, and then there's not knowing," she said, in that peculiar way she had that let him know she was already thinking five steps down the line. "I was never… I did not want to marry, I never asked questions. My sister Victoire is so young and she already questions Mama about kissing; I never did that. I was so embarrassed about it all. I just ignored it… and then you happened, and I… I didn't know what I was feeling, Jacques. It was so frightening, you must understand."

He stroked her hair, which was twisted into an elaborate style on top of her head.

"I can only imagine. Marie, everything I felt for you was terrifying enough and I knew what it all meant."

"Why were you scared if you knew what it meant?"

"I had never felt that much of anything before. Any emotion at all—and then I fell in love with you, and I felt as though ever cell of my body was feeling more than the whole of me had felt up until that point. I loved you, I… wanted you, and it frightened me how much. You were—are—so important, I couldn't make a mistake and risk ruining everything. Of course, you know how many mistakes I made…"

She giggled, and some of her tension melted away. "That's true. I love you anyway."

"I didn't know you would be forgiving," he explained. "You see, Marie, I am frightened like you. First, it may help if we undo your hair? And your dress? You can't be comfortable like this."

"I'm not," she confessed, and turned to face the mirror. "I have about fifty pins in my hair."

"Where shall I begin?" he asked, his hands nervously floating about her head. "I don't want to pull…"

"Let me," she said. Her fingers moved with ease and expertise, and pulled pin after pin from her head. Soon Jacques had watched enough to get the hang of it, and gently began pulling as well, working at about half the pace of Marie. Eventually, her long dark hair was released. It was curled and crimped from her style, and she shook it out in relief. Jacques watched in awe, trying not to let his imagine wander further, while he watched his wife comb her fingers through her hair and massage her scalp, tilting her head back and closing her eyes in ecstasy.

"That feels so much better," she said finally. She stood up, and was already less nervous. He could tell when she turned around and presented her buttons to him. "Would you please…?"

Take off your dress?! "Certainly."

It was his turn to have shaking fingers as he moved down the seemingly endless column of pearly buttons. As he reached the last one, Marie rolled her shoulders and the bodice opened, revealing (to his disappointment) the back of her chemise and her corset, laced tight.

"The laces…?"

"Yes," he said, and untied the bow at the top. Slowly, he pulled the ribbons through, undoing each "x" until her corset, too, was unfastened.

Marie turned and, to his astonishment, shed her bodice. She laid it on the back of the chair, and then shed her corset as well. Jacques' breath caught in his throat. Marie stood before him, clad only in her chemise to the waist. The cotton was thin, and he could make out every shape of her beneath the fabric. Though he could see that she was still trembling, she looked at him with a blazing, brave look. Before his eyes, she moved her hands to her waist and unfastened her skirt, and stepped out of it. Next came her petticoats and crinoline, and then she stepped out of her white slippers.

His wife stood before him in nothing but her stockings and a thin white slip. She took a step forward and laid a trembling hand on his chest next to the flowers fastened on his breast. Slowly, she unbuttoned his jacket and pulled it off of his shoulders, so he stood before her in shirtsleeves. Jacques watched in awe as Marie undid each of the buttons of his shirt; she had a concentrated, serious look in her eyes as she revealed him inch-by-inch. Soon she shed his shirt and collar, and then he pulled her to him once more.

Naked to the waist, he enveloped Marie in his arms and felt the shape of her for the first time against him, covered only by the thin cotton. She was softer than he'd imagined, despite her slender form, and he felt himself moan in the back of his throat as his hands pressed with flat palms all around her waist and back.

"You've…" she whispered, breaking away from his lips. Jacques moved across her white neck, and kissed her collarbones. The delicate shape of the bone beneath her skin made his heart ache like he wanted to envelope her in an impossible way. Marie fought against his kisses and continued to speak. "You've… done this before… I don't know what I'm supposed to do… You need to help me."

"Marie," he said, and rose up to face her once more. "Believe me, nothing I have ever done before could have prepared me for you. Look."

He held out his hand so she could see that his fingers were trembling, too. She grinned at him, and then threw her arms around him with more abandon than before.

"Wait, wait," he pleaded, and when she moved away again, he stooped down. "I need to take off my shoes."

She grinned and blushed, but waited patiently until he untied the laces and kicked off his uncomfortable dress shoes. In one movement he stood and pulled her back to him, and pressed his lips to hers.

Without breaking their kiss, Jacques led her to the bed. He held her tightly to him as they lay down, and felt how Marie gradually left her inhibitions behind and became the woman he knew from her garden. Her hands moved across his chest, and her nails dug into his back when he pressed her closer.

Marie could hardly believe she was lying on a bed in next to nothing and was not embarrassed. Her legs were nearly entirely exposed, but rather than try to cover them, she hooked one around Jacques' to pull him closer to her, and trembled when his hand traced up her naked thigh. His shoulders were hot under her hands, and the soft hairs on his chest tickled her arms and shoulders. His tongue was hot and strong in her mouth, and she only wanted to taste more of him. Her breasts ached, but it was nothing to the burn between her legs. She pressed herself against him and felt him press back.

She moaned, and so did he. She knew Jacques loved her, and knew he wanted her, but she was not prepared for the strength of his desire. Not that she minded. She gasped when his hand left her hair and settled over her breast, but only felt a rush of arousal when he groaned with longing. His finger brushed over her nipple, which was hard under the cotton, and then to her astonishment he leaned down and kissed her through the fabric, until she could feel his damp, hot breath through her chemise.

"Jacques," she gasped. "Oh my…"

He groaned again, and she felt the same rush of desire inside of her at the sound. She was beyond herself, certainly beyond shame, but beyond her usual shyness as well. Her fingers laced themselves through his hair, and she kissed his neck and sucked on the soft skin behind his ear, hoping to elicit one of those noises from him again. She succeeded, and raised her hips to press herself against him again.

"God, Marie," he whispered breathlessly.

She rolled her head to break away from him, and then looked down. She saw him through his trousers, but this time felt curiosity instead of embarrassment. She hadn't seen a man before, once he was mature. Only her little brothers.

Marie raised her eyes and met his, and was suddenly struck by the sheer need that met her gaze. She was still trembling, but for a different reason.

Her hand traced down from his shoulder to his waist, and then gently touched his belt.

"I… I didn't know it… changed," she said, trying to form the words.

Jacques gave her a confused look. She looked down at the lump in his trousers again.

"You don't usually look like that."

Understanding dawned in his eyes. "Oh. Yes, Marie, love. When we're excited, it gets… bigger. And sort of stands up."

She was still looking down. He nearly laughed; she was so concentrated, and he wondered if it was sexual at all for her in that moment, or if she was merely learning something new.

"So when you want me, it looks like that?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Why didn't it always?"

He let himself laugh this time. "Well, Marie, it did many times in the garden, but it was dark… I usually tried to make sure you wouldn't see. Or I'd try to think about something else and not let myself get… carried away."

She grinned. "Oh. So you're very carried away now, aren't you?"

He looked at her seriously, and then nodded. She giggled.

"So… I understand something," she said. He was still balanced above her, their bodies pressed together, but waiting patiently. Marie was the type who needed to think, and sometimes talk, her way through new things, and he knew this. "When you are… excited, you get… bigger. Or… what do you call it?"

"Hard?" he offered.

"Hard," she accepted, her eyes still clearly showing how thoughtful she was. "So it's just like how, when I think about… things like this... and get… excited, I'll get…" she racked her brain for a word, and Jacques stared at her in extreme anticipation. "All hot feeling, and sometimes… wet."

He could hardly breathe. Jacques looked down at his wife, and instantly damned every sexual experience he or his friends at ever had. God damn it all if this was not the most erotic experience of his or anyone else's life.

"Yes," he said finally. "Marie… do you feel that way now? Wet?"

She blushed, but it was hard to tell because her cheeks were flushed anyway.

"Yes," she whispered.

Jacques moaned, and pressed his mouth to hers, hard, and felt her tongue in his mouth. He felt like his heart was beating outside of his body, for his skin was so alive. Marie surprised him once more by breaking their kiss to pull her chemise over her head.

"I wanted to feel your skin on mine," she said, by way of explanation.

Fine by me, he thought, but took a moment to look at her beautiful body. Her breasts were small and fit with the rest of her slender frame, but she had a birthmark on her left breast just under her nipple. He kissed it, and then moved up to take her nipple in his mouth. He felt her bow up, moving into the sensation of him, and he stroked her other breast with his hand, before moving down across her belly and touching the patch of hair between her legs.

Dazed, he moved away from her breasts and looked down at her, perfect and pink and desiring him, and opened her soft thighs. Her kissed her skin on either side, conscious of her breath breaking, loud and even.

He was thankful for the candlelight, not only so he could see her (and she was beautiful) but also because it gave him a clue as to where to touch her, since he was aware she probably wouldn't even know.

She had been watching him this whole time, and was transported by his gaze. It was so intoxicating to see someone so entranced by her body, by the mere existence of her, and by things that she had seen every day of life and barely given a thought to. Yet the look in his eyes when she removed her chemise…!

When he parted her thighs, she felt altogether extremely exposed and very safe. She'd never been so vulnerable, yet never felt more cared for.

"What are you doing?" she asked softly.

"Do you trust me?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.

"If you ever don't like something we're doing, just tell me and we'll stop," he said. "Do you promise you will?"

"Yes," she promised. "But I don't want to stop now."

He grinned, and then moved down to kiss her there. He felt her knees buckle, and her hips shifted against his mouth.

For her part, she had never felt anything close to that before, and was lost herself more and more against the heat of his tongue, and the soft touch of his hands. His fingers were inside of her, but moved so slow and delicately that it didn't hurt a bit. For a long time she did not even notice that she was not touching him at all, she was so caught up in the pleasure of his attentions on her. But then she did notice, and felt that she should be doing something—all of this attention on her wasn't fair.

"Jacques," she whispered as she felt herself rise higher and higher. "Let me—"

She moved her hands to pull him up, but he clasped them with his own, and she felt her own moisture on his fingers. He reached up and stroked her belly and one of her breasts, calming her, silently telling her to lay back. He groaned against her, moved by the noises of pleasure she was making and her trembling body, and at last she reached her peak. She cried out, and pulled at his hair, and Jacques could hardly breathe. His heart was beating so fast and he had never been more aroused in his life.

When he finally rose up, they were both trembling, and without a word Marie unfastened his trousers. He watched her face, serious with concentration, and thought about what it would be like if she were to take him in her mouth, within her pink lips, but decided against it. Not tonight, not her first time, they had many nights to explore that. Besides, there was no chance he would last twenty seconds if she did that; it was too much to even think about.

At last they were both naked, and Marie looked at him without fear. She smiled and was surprised to find him beautiful. She touched him, and felt how hot he was under her palm. It was such a foreign feeling, holding him, and she wondered what it would be like to go through life with something like that between her legs. Her touch became too much for him, and he gently pulled her hand away and she wrapped her arms around him. She looked at him questioningly, expecting him to tell her what was coming next.

"This may hurt," he warned her softly, brushing her dark hair with his fingers. "I'm going to be as gentle as I can, love."

"I trust you."

"I'll go slowly. Please tell me if it hurts."

She remembered how her mama had told her that it got better after the first time, and she needn't worry. She'd been mortified to discuss this with her mother, but she had been clear and helpful: "Your husband loves you, and so he won't want you to be unhappy. Talk to him about those private matters and don't be too shy. He's your partner, Marie." She knew she'd be able to do that with Jacques.

"I'll tell you, I promise," she said, and kissed him again. He entered her very slowly, and she felt him tremble. "I love you."

His voice was hoarse. "I love you."

It didn't last very long, and yes it hurt. She opened her legs wider to allow him more space, but there was only so much she could do. He pushed past parts of her that tried to block him out, and she felt a pinch and a pull. She whimpered a bit, and heard him whisper apologetic words, but knew she would just have to suffer it. A few moments in, and the pain began to subside. He moved with her, and she felt how their breathing synced together, and her entire heart was beating in awareness and desire for him. She'd never experienced the presence of another human being so acutely, and finally understood what people meant when they said a woman "gave herself" to a man. But she also felt that she'd received something from him, especially when he would look down at her with such unmasked love and pleasure, and she felt she was seeing into the most unguarded piece of him. The Jacques only she knew, distilled into a gaze. He was hers.

Afterwards, their limbs were entwined under the sheets and she lay in contentment. His lips moved across her hair, and her forehead and neck, until he fell asleep with his arm laying heavy on her waist. For a few minutes she watched him sleep. His long lashes lay on his skin, and she thought of how strange it was to see him so still and quiet. Her husband was so active and alive and vital, and here he was, vulnerable and latent. She smiled, and touched his cheek as lightly as she could with her fingertips. Her mind traced over everything they had been through. She even touched on the idea that she could have easily married someone else, and knew that she would not be lying naked and unashamed with way if she had. Before long, though, she gave in to the demands of her body and fell asleep.

Reviews please!