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i. the wedding
When Amanda had woken up that morning, she’d been planning to marry Steve. It seemed like a distant notion now. Like looking back down a path, only to find it enveloped in a dense fog and suddenly no longer able to see where she’d been.
Despite the astounded guests, Amanda had said her marriage vows in a loud, clear voice. And then Tony had kissed her so soundly that it was only after she’d caught her breath that she realised it was the first time she’d ever kissed him - this man that was now her husband.
She’d liked it very much, both the kiss and the husband part, which she supposed was a promising sign indeed.
ii. the reception
“Do you think we should stick around?” Tony whispers to her afterwards, their arms interlocked like the miniature figures atop the wedding cake. “After all, we’ve already hijacked the ceremony. It’s probably poor form to hijack the reception too.”
Amanda casts her eye over the crowded room. It is only Aunt Cora and Connors that seem unperturbed by the upending of the day. Everyone else is giving them a purposefully wide berth. And Steve, quite reasonably, is nowhere to be found.
She presses closer into Tony’s side. “You’re probably right,” she whispers back.
“And it looks like you might need some ice for your eye,” Tony adds, scrutinising the blooming purple bruise in his most doctorly manner.
“Oh, never mind about that,” she says. It barely hurts, but maybe that’s just because she’s so happy. “Let’s make a run for it. Although I’ll need to pick up my suitcase first. It’s back in the dressing room.”
Amanda feels her cheeks warm at the thought of her suitcase. After all, it contains only the barest of essentials for what was supposed to have been her wedding night with Steve at the bridal suite in town. Tomorrow, the rest of her belongings were to have joined them in their state room for a honeymoon cruise to the Bahamas.
Well, that definitely won’t be happening now.
Tony seems to have made no such associations. “I’ll go get it,” he offers, already releasing her arm before she tugs him back.
“No, I’ll go,” she says, and she’s not sure why they are both still whispering. “I need to change my clothes anyhow.”
Amanda thinks of the lovely cream suit that she’d bought specially for this occasion: the departure to her martial bed. Well, at least that part is still the same, even if the groom is different.
“Alright,” Tony concedes. “I’ll meet you outside with my car in ten minutes?”
He leans in to kiss her cheek. She supposes it’s so they don’t scandalise the crowd that’s pretending not to watch them. But Amanda’s not been pining after this man all this time for nothing, and so a quick turn of her head ensures his lips land squarely on hers.
That’s all it takes, really. Mostly because Amanda makes sure to part her lips just enough so that Tony notices. Something perfunctory turns into something far too lingering for this type of company.
“Well, Miss Cooper,” he says when they finally part. His cheeks are pink.
She tugs on the puffy sleeve of her big white dress in reminder. “Not anymore,” she chirps happily.
iii. the drive
Tony’s leaning against the passenger side door of his coupe when she leaves the country club. He looks so handsome in his tailcoat, so nonchalant; like he hasn’t just derailed an entire wedding and stolen the bride.
“Ready?” he says, straightening up at her approach. His admiring stare is hard to miss. Amanda nods, squirming in pleasure as he takes her suitcase, gallantly swings open the car door for her with a grin.
She slides in, situating herself within the tidy leather interior. Her husband’s car is sleek but understated, a perfect encapsulation of the man himself.
“I’ve realised,” Tony says after they’ve set on their way and he’s navigated them towards the main road, “that I’m a bit… well… I’m not exactly much of a groom.”
She twists to face him. “What do you mean?” He more than looks the part to her.
Tony keeps his eyes firmly on the road. “No bridal suite, no honeymoon. Not even some cold champagne and fresh roses.”
“Oh, that’s silly,” she says, because it’s true. “I don’t need any of that.”
Perhaps, once upon a time, when it was Steve she was planning to marry, Amanda did care about these things. She wanted the beautiful dress, and the right flowers, and the fanfare: all the elaborate bells and whistles to mask the feeling of unease. But with Tony, she requires nothing. She only cares that they are finally together.
“But you deserve it,” he says, reaching over to gently squeeze her hand. “Now, a proper honeymoon might require a little bit of time to organise. But, for tonight I can call around the hotels in town and try to find the best room I can? Or otherwise, and only if you don’t mind, we could just… go home?”
“Home? You mean, to where you live?” Her stomach lurches. But then again, there must have been plenty of newlyweds in the course of history who simply did just that, Amanda thinks. Just went… home.
Tony looks sheepish, as if the very idea is mortifyingly pedestrian. “Well, yes. I doubt you’re going to want us to go back to Aunt Cora’s?”
“No, definitely not,” Amanda agrees quickly, trying not to sound prudish. “I’d like to see where you live, if that’s alright.”
“Where we live,” he corrects, and then hesitates. “Although if you hate it, we can move. I can’t pretend you’re going to encounter anything beyond a bachelor pad, I’m afraid.”
Honestly, Tony could live on the moon for all she cared.
“I don’t mind,” Amanda says. She supposes it probably isn’t usual for a bride to have no idea where her husband lives. But, then again, she’s not really the usual kind of bride.
iv. the apartment
Tony’s apartment is nothing to be ashamed of, of course. It’s a little spartan, naturally, as befitting a man who is more interested in his work than in wallpaper and floor rugs. But it’s tasteful enough, homely. Tony’s main indulgence, it seems, is books; rows and rows of them lining the far wall. In front of them, situated in the distant corner of the room, is the biggest desk that Amanda has ever seen.
“I like to work there in the evenings,” Tony explains as he hurriedly shoves a golf caddy, previously propped up in the entranceway, into the coat closet.
He gives her a tour of the rooms, although if she’s honest, none of the details really sink in. Amanda is thinking about how this is her home now, her new life, and although she’s happy about it, it is more than a little overwhelming.
Amanda keeps wishing for Tony to reach out and take her hand, to ground her back to earth. Instead he does little more than press a gentle palm to the small of her back to guide her this way and that. With the crossing of the threshold from public to private, a strange new formality seems to have taken hold of him.
“It suits you,” Amanda says finally, once they return to the living room. But the truth is that, deep down, she doesn’t really know what suits Tony at all. After all, this is the man she’d fallen in love with as a result of a rather ardent dream. And while Amanda accepts that people have fallen in love for stupider reasons than that, it’s not exactly the most practical of foundations for matrimony.
It certainly isn’t comparable to getting to know someone over weeks, months, or even years.
And that’s the reality, isn’t it? She might love him to distraction, but when it comes down to it, she and Tony don’t really know that much about each other at all.
Yet, now they’re married. Now they belong to each other.
Her uneasy expression must give her away.
“Is everything alright?” Tony has that look that’s spent years expertly prying secrets out of people. A polite sort of professional neutrality.
“Perfectly.” Amanda tries not to let her voice shake, and by some miracle, it works.
He squints at her, jaw moving as if he’s about to say something, something important, but at the last moment, Tony merely smiles.
“Let me get you some ice,” he says instead, and before Amanda can even protest that she really doesn’t need it, he’s gone.
She hears him bustling around in the kitchen, and tries to remember to breathe. After all, perhaps she is expecting too much, too soon. She’s positive they’re not the first couple to stumble at this particular hurdle.
Tony reappears with an ice pack; the sound of the cubes rattling is the only thing that breaks the quiet. It’s now that he finally takes her hand, leads her over to his brown leather settee. They sink down in unison, a measured distance apart.
“Here,” he says, leaning forward just enough to raise the ice pack to her eye. The sudden cold is jarring, and causes her to flinch a little.
Tony winces. “I’m sorry,” he says, because he clearly thinks she’s in pain. But really, the bruise is the very last thing on Amanda’s mind.
“Oh Tony,” she says finally, with a sigh. She lifts her own hand to intervene, wrapping it around his. She loves his hands: large and safe. She guides the ice pack down onto the cushion between them. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Really.”
He looks unconvinced. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Is there anything I can get for you? Anything you need?” He looks so lost, which should amuse her really. He’s an intelligent man, a doctor for goodness sake. This sort of thing really shouldn’t undo him.
“Tony,” she soothes, “stop fussing.”
He’s set to protest but stops himself. “It’s just… I…” His words get stuck.
“...it’s a little strange, isn’t it?”
He lets out a whoosh of air, grateful that she’s been brave enough to name it. “A little,” he concedes, shoulders finally releasing their tension. “It’s been… quite a day.”
Amanda lets herself sink further back into the settee. It gives perfectly under her weight, solid and yet soft.
She stares at him. “Well, we did do something rather crazy, didn’t we?”
Tony’s eyebrow quirks at the phrase, but otherwise his face remains impassive. Force of habit, she supposes. After all, he must be used to people telling him all sorts of strange things. This is hardly so outlandish.
“I’ll admit,” he says, finally leaning back to join her, “it’s not the usual way that couples go about things.”
His diplomacy garners a smile from her and a corresponding flicker of relief appears in Tony’s eyes. Not quite so calm then, Amanda notes. It’s reassuring.
“Amanda,” he begins again, after a short pause, “I know I went about things between us in entirely the wrong way. It’s just that I… I thought I was doing the right thing at the time.”
At this he grasps for her hand, tracing his thumb over the ring that now adorns her third finger. He’d pulled it off his pinky finger mid-ceremony, and offered it to her. Amanda finds herself extremely attached to it already.
“I’m sorry for how that affected you,” he continues, frowning. “And Steve, of course. But mostly you.”
“Oh Tony,” she sighs. “It all worked out in the end.”
“Even so,” he replies, his expression hopelessly tender, “I do want to make it very clear, if it wasn’t already, that I love you very, very much.”
Her heart trips inside her chest. It catches her off guard somewhat, his earnestness. Sure, they may have exchanged wedding vows earlier today, promising to love, honour and obey, but Amanda knows there are many steps that they’ve skipped past. Him saying this to her, properly, had been one of them.
She wriggles a little closer, puts a hand on his arm. “You do?”
He beams, like a weight has been lifted off of him. “An absurd amount. An impossible amount.”
She tilts her face up towards his. It’s not particularly subtle. “That’s a very sweet thing to say.”
“I thought so,” he replies, his gaze sliding to her lips momentarily.
Amanda’s no fool. She moves an inch closer. “Would it help if I told you that I love you an absurd, impossible amount too?”
Tony looks at her as if he can’t believe his luck, and Amanda thinks about how it feels to say these words and really mean them. It wasn’t that she hadn’t loved Steve at all; she would never have accepted his many proposals if she hadn’t cared for him. But now, with hindsight, it’s so easy to see why she kept breaking off all those engagements. How inadequate her feelings had been for Steve, now that she has something to compare them to.
“Darling,” Tony murmurs, his palm cupping her cheek. Amanda sinks into the sensation and hopes that he’ll continue to call her that until they’re both old and grey. “You have no idea.”
His kiss is deep, slow, languid. It’s just them, finally. No judgmental wedding guests. No slighted ex-fiancés. This isn’t a dream; a figment of her wandering subconscious.
What a difference a day makes.
v. the wedding night
Amanda doesn’t need to turn around to know Tony is there, hovering nervously in the bedroom doorway. She can see a glimpse of his dressing gown in the mirror; navy silk with the smallest of white squares embossed into the fabric. She continues to brush her hair as if she hasn’t noticed his presence.
Besides, she’s a little jittery herself. She can hardly blame him for his hesitation.
It’s not that the ways of the world are foreign to her, exactly. Her teenage upbringing at the hands of Aunt Cora had afforded her some knowledge about the facts of life. And Amanda’s girlfriends have never been exactly shy about sharing confidences. Even so, some girlish half-truths as well as Amanda occasionally accepting Steve’s clumsy pawing beneath her blouse, is a far cry from what she knows is about to happen next.
Tony clears his throat. She turns in her seat.
“Hello,” he says with a wobbly sort of smile, hands deep in his dressing gown pockets. Tony had left her to get ready for bed alone, a strange sort of accommodation given the circumstances, but Amanda had been grateful for this short solitude all the same.
“Hello,” she echoes, placing her hairbrush down on the dresser next to his. His and hers from now on.
“Did you find everything okay?” he asks, like she’s a house guest instead of his wife. She can feel the anxiety radiating off him from here and something about that swells her heart.
“Oh yes,” she replies, rising to stand and letting the sheer fabric of her negligee do very little to conceal her body beneath.
His eyes widen comically.
“You look…” he starts, before trailing off into nothingness. But by the way he takes a step closer, Amanda is satisfied that her nightwear has had the desired effect. She tries to ignore the fact that it was bought with another man in mind; that it had been purchased and wrapped in order to please Steve and not Tony.
Well, that hardly matters now.
“You like it?” she says, twisting to show him the back: the barely-there straps holding everything together. She feels beautiful in it. Desirable.
“Like it?” Tony chokes, advancing a little more. “I already knew I was the luckiest guy in the world, but I hadn’t realised it was by quite some margin.”
Satisfaction ripples through her. Amanda feels her cheeks grow hot. Even though she’s terribly nervous, she’s also very excited.
“It’s funny,” Tony says, crossing the remaining distance until he’s finally standing in front of her. “When I woke up this morning, my one goal was to stop you from marrying Steve. I didn’t think I’d end the day with a wife.” He grins at her, goofy and broad.
“Well, no one twisted your arm,” she huffs, entirely for show.
His amused smile doesn’t falter. “Now I realise I should have just asked you to marry me the first day you came into my office.”
“Well, that would have been quite some treatment plan, Dr Flagg,” she replies, snaking a hand over his shoulder and stepping in so that their torsos press together. “Especially seeing as I didn’t like you very much at all when we met.”
Tony’s breath stutters at the contact. “I recall,” he says, his hand taking a tentative place on her waist. “And how do you feel about me now?”
Amanda frowns prettily. “Let’s see how the rest of the evening goes, shall we?”
“It’s a deal,” he answers, before finally taking her in his arms.
–-
Amanda hadn’t totally known what to expect: of a wedding night, of men, of Tony specifically.
She needn’t have worried.
As she curls into him, skin against skin, her pulse rattles in the aftermath.
“Oh my,” she says, half laughter, half sigh. The moonlight is streaming in through the open curtains, and it feels like she’s crossed the threshold into a completely different world.
His large hand splays itself against her hipbone, the thumb tracing the ridge, and already Amanda feels the fever rise in the pit of her stomach once more.
“How do you feel?” Tony asks, voice a little hoarse. He’s all angles and shadows in the semi-darkness, but the tenderness in his tone is enough to supplement what she can’t see of his expression.
“Will it always be like that?” Amanda feels a bit naïve perhaps, for having to ask.
“I expect so,” he replies, with a measure of confidence. His hand slips lower still, and Amanda’s breath catches in her throat in anticipation. “With practice even better.”
“Better?” she squeaks as his fingers find their target. “I’m not sure how that could be improved on.”
He releases a low laugh, the mattress dipping as he negotiates himself further down the bed. She gasps when his lips tickle the plain of her stomach.
“Let me show you,” Tony mumbles into her skin, and there’s just enough light to see the way he stares up at her with those big eyes, those lovely long lashes.
His mouth inches lower, his tongue like liquid, joining his fingers. The sensation makes her back arch off the bed, her cry of surprise loud in the silence of their bedroom.
“Oh,” she says emphatically, enthusiastically. If this is mere practice, she’s not sure she’ll survive perfecting it.
vi. the morning after
Tony keeps glancing at her from behind his newspaper, his slippered foot bobbing up and down as he pretends to read.
It’s sunrise, but neither of them have slept.
Their eyes meet as she opens the same cupboard for the third time when trying to locate the coffee cups.
“Are you sure I can’t help?” Tony asks, teeth sinking into his bottom lip in an amused smile.
Amanda’s cheeks blush under his study, and she wonders whether her heart will always feel this ready to burst out of her chest whenever he looks at her. This new sort of intimacy has her completely flustered.
“No, I want to figure it out myself,” she answers stubbornly, continuing with her search.
When she finally does locate the cups, Amanda begins the process of brewing the coffee. And then has to pause.
“Tony?”
The newspaper lands instantly on the tabletop. Almost like he’d not been reading it at all.
“Yes, darling?” Oh, how she does love the sound of that. Nearly as much as Tony seems to enjoy saying it.
“I don’t… “ she starts, feeling silly. “How do you take your coffee? I just… I don’t actually know.”
For heaven’s sake, this man has done things to her that Amanda can’t even speak out loud, and yet she doesn’t even know the most basic of things about him.
Tony clocks the embarrassed look on her face, and quickly rises to his feet.
“Amanda,” he says in that sweetly insistent way of his, “I wouldn’t expect you to.” Her hands get enveloped in his own and oh, how her stomach swoops now that she has first hand knowledge of what they can do.
She tries not to let the thought show on her face. “I have a lot to learn, don’t I?”
He shrugs. “No more than I do. I haven’t a clue how to be a husband.”
Amanda smirks at that. “I’d say you’re doing a pretty swell job so far.”
Tony’s cheeks turn a rather fetching shade of pink, and it’s rather gratifying to see him a little unbalanced for a change.
“I’ve no complaints either,” he replies, leaning in to kiss her. Amanda surrenders easily to it; the way his fingers sweep through the tendrils of her hair, the way he smells like the musky activities of the hours before. They have nowhere to be today, and that’s perfectly fine with her.
Eventually they break apart before breakfast is forgotten altogether.
“So your coffee…” she says, turning back to the task at hand, “how do you like your coffee?”
He leans against the kitchen counter, watching her. “Black, no sugar. You?”
“Just a dash of cream. And your eggs, how do you prefer those?” she continues, fumbling for a couple of teaspoons in the top drawer in an attempt to remain focused.
“Poached.”
“I like scrambled.”
“We’ll alternate,” he replies resolutely. “Amanda, we have years to figure these things out, you know.”
“Years?” Her eyes flick to the calendar on the wall, just over his left shoulder. “Goodness, I don’t even know when your birthday is!”
Tony fails to smother his grin this time. “June 1st. And yours is November 26th.”
Amanda pauses, frowns. “How did you know that?”
“It was on your patient form when you came to see me, remember?”
“Yes, of course.” The answer seems obvious now, although she supposes it counts for something that he’d made the effort to remember. “Do you memorise the birth dates of all of your patients?”
“Just the ones who turn into wolves in their dreams.” Tony bares his teeth at her in a rather uncanny imitation.
“Oh, very funny,” she retorts, turning her attention back to the coffee. The aroma is thick in the air as she pours. Amanda is exhausted, but just the smell of it does wonders.
“Any other pressing questions?” Tony asks, eyes following her progress. “My height? Favourite colour? First pet?”
She places the coffee pot down, and slides his cup along the counter towards him. “I’ve just one more for now.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Just one?”
She refrains from poking out her tongue at him, given her next request. “Yes, just one.”
“Go on then.” He takes a sip of coffee, watches her over the brim.
Amanda suspects she might shock him. But after everything that’s happened, she’s feeling more than a little bold.
“That thing that you did, last night… with your… mouth. Can you… show me again, please?”
If Tony is surprised at such a daring request, he does an impressive job of hiding it. But there’s no hesitation in his reply. “With pleasure, my darling wife.”
Amanda hadn’t expected him to act on it immediately. Perhaps, after breakfast, she thought he might lead her back to the bedroom and slowly unwrap her robe like a gift. But instead, all thoughts of coffee are abandoned as she’s towed into the living room, and then to her further astonishment, over to his desk.
He bites his lip in concentration as he perches her on the very edge of it. She watches as he takes up position in the chair in front of her, her bare legs dangling between them. Amanda senses perhaps that she’s bitten off a little more than she can chew.
“Is this okay?” Tony asks, looking up at her for permission.
She nods mutely, not trusting her powers of speech.
“Very well then, Miss Cooper,” he says, as his hands come to rest on her knees and gently easing them apart. “Shall we proceed?”
He’s teasing her, of course. But two can play at that game.
“Yes, Doctor,” she replies with her own smirk, and she likes how her reply makes his chest heave, his breath turn shallow.
It’s like watching from outside her own body as his hands slide up her thighs. The touch is confident yet adoring, palms gathering up the hem of her dressing gown until it is ruched around her hips.
It’s one thing for this to happen in a dark room, in the dark hours. Quite another when the morning sun is tipping its way through the window, dappling the whole room with a yellow glaze. Perhaps she should feel vulnerable and exposed, sitting there with her knees bracketing his shoulders, and yet Amanda doesn’t. Instead, everything about how Tony treats her makes her feel powerful and strong.
He stares up at her for a long moment before he proceeds; that reverent gaze that makes her heart ricochet within her chest in anticipation.
And then he moves. No preamble, no teasing, just him dipping his head to seek out the very heat of her. At initial contact, Amanda’s hips jolt off the desk, that deliciously smooth sensation of his tongue finding exactly the right spot first time.
One of the benefits of being married to a doctor, she supposes, is his familiarity with the human body. And although Tony’s specialty may be the mind, it’s become quite clear that he’d been diligent in all areas of his medical training.
“Oh my god, Tony,” she utters, curling a hand around his shoulder to steady herself. Her other palm splays across the smooth cool surface of the desk, conscious not to crumple his papers, knock over the rather quaint looking lamp.
He hums in acknowledgement against her, although remains absolutely focused on his task. It’s like Tony knows exactly where every single thread of pleasure is located in her body, and has already mastered how to pull them just taut enough to leave her gasping.
It doesn’t take long for his industriousness to bear fruit. By the time Amanda’s cries reach a higher and higher register, her muscles ache from the tension. And yet he holds her in graceful suspense: closer, closer and yet never quite over the edge. Tony prolongs this towering sensation until it is almost unbearable, until Amanda thinks she might die from it, until she finally has to beg him.
And then, of course, he does exactly as she asks. There’s something exquisite about it: the discipline and dedication that her new husband shows in this specific work. Amanda has never known anything could feel this good. A whole world has opened up to her: a secret world that wives have kept quiet, even though she suspects, even now, that very few women could be so fortunate as to possess a husband with skills like Tony.
Slowly, as she settles, he eases back from her, eyes hooded and heavy. It’s a miracle, she thinks, to have found him.
“That’s quite some prescription, Doctor,” she quips breathlessly, as he carefully smooths the fabric of her dressing gown back down her legs, restoring her to her former self.
Tony grins with what can only be described as self-satisfaction, and Amanda accepts that he’s more than earned it. “It’s known to be quite effective, so I hear.”
She grips the lapels of his dressing gown, drawing him up and out of his chair. It rolls uselessly away behind him as he stands. “And how often should it be administered?” she asks.
“Oh,” he replies, biting his lip rather slyly at the prospect, “as frequently as the patient may need.”
Her hand reaches down and grazes against him then, locates what she suspected has been stirring for quite some time.
“Well, Doctor Flagg,” she purrs, as Tony’s jaw becomes slack at her touch, “I think I might need a standing appointment with you, in that case.”
“Standing, sitting, lying down, I don’t care,” he exhales breathlessly, as her grip gets firmer. “Miss Cooper, I… I s-sincerely hope you’re never cured.”