Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in my story, etc., etc.
A/N: Yes, I'm starting yet another multi-chapter fic. Blame it on the ADD.
This is just a bit of Mary/Matthew fantasy. It was inspired by a line I wrote in The Love He Ought to Have, believe it or not. After Mary tells Matthew about Pamuk, Matthew responds, teasingly, "Seriously, Mary, if you were in need of excitement you could have come to me. I would have been vastly happy to oblige, I assure you." That line, and the song Kiwi by Maroon 5, gave birth to the following plot bunny. Fans of M/M smut rejoice!
The title comes from Mary's explanation for her indiscretion during her conversation with Matthew that takes place during the Christmas Special. He asks if she loved Pamuk. Mary says it wasn't love, but "lust, and a need for excitement." With Matthew, it's love, of course (eventually). Hence, the title.
Blurb: Season 1 AU. A sudden thunder storm makes it necessary for Matthew to stay overnight at Downton Abbey the night of Mary's tryst with Kamal Pamuk. A restless Matthew finds himself roped into the grisly task of carrying Mary's dead lover back to his bed. Over the next several months, Matthew finds himself offering Mary his services again and again, but in a much more enjoyable manner.
Mature language and explicit sexual content warning. Adult readers only, please.
Also, both characters are slightly OOC. Don't take it too seriously. This is just me flexing my smut muscles, mainly.
As for the Pamuk incident, the way it happens in canon I believe it was very arguably rape, and that should always be taken seriously. But this is an AU, so I've taken liberties with the situation. No insensitivity or disrespect is intended.
Most of this A/N, incidentally, was written months after the story ended. I'm actually not a very big fan of this story any more myself, but I'll leave it up for those who do like it.
Love and the Need For Excitement
Mary cried out in ecstasy, overtaken by feelings she had never even imagined. She looked down at the mop of unruly brown curls between her thighs, willing her hands to release their grip on the source of her pleasure. Dark eyes glanced up at her then, and Kamal crawled up her body, his hands pulling her nightgown upwards until he could remove it from her completely. He certainly knew what he was doing. Mary could no longer care about her modesty, not after the gift he had just given her. She felt alive, uninhibited, and incredibly randy.
She reached for him, running her hands down his smooth back and hips as he hovered over her.
"My turn," that maddening accent growled in her ear.
Mary could only moan in response, suddenly quite willing to do whatever this exotic love god asked of her. He lay down on his side, kissing and nibbling her erect nipples as his hand guided hers down to his straining member. Mary gasped at that first touch. From that moment on, she would look at the male form as the most beautiful, incredible wonder of God's creation. Never had she felt skin so soft, so fine. He felt like velvet stretched over steel. Warm, supple, incredible...
Kamal gently pushed on her shoulder, encouraging her to scoot down the bed to, Mary gathered, pleasure him in a similar manner to the way he had pleasured her. She didn't mind. She was fascinated by him. She kissed a path down his flat belly, inhaling deeply of his masculine aroma. Conscious thought intruded for only a moment, allowing her to wonder what enchantment had taken her. She was a lady. She shouldn't have her face in an unclothed man's private area, enjoying the way he felt, looked, even the way he smelled. Suddenly, she could no longer care. He tasted heavenly too.
Mary delighted in his helpless whimper, the convulsive shudder that rocked his lithe frame, as her lips closed around him. She felt so powerful, so in control. His hands found their way into her hair, his hips pushing towards her, showing her the rhythm that made him squirm. She obliged him, running her tongue up and down the soft, fragrant skin. Her hands found his hard thighs, rounded buttocks, the warm sack between his legs...anything she could grasp she did, enjoying her intimate acquaintance with his delectable form. His body was so very different than hers. Different, and perfect, and beautiful.
His body shuddered again. He was completely in her power. Mary delighted in the heady sensation of control. She could handle any man in this way, bend any one of them to her will. If all women knew how to do this, the female species could run the world.
"Oh, God, Mary...I'm going to...aaaaahhhhhh..."
Salty moisture flooded her mouth as her lover jerked convulsively towards her, helpless cries leaving his lips. There wasn't much Mary could do but allow the creamy fluid to trickle out of her mouth, soiling the bed sheets below her.
Kamal's cries ceased and he became perfectly still. Mary wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, pausing to catch her breath and compose her thoughts after such an enlightening experience. Kamal's hand rested heavily upon her head, fingers still firmly tangled in her hair. After several minutes of stillness and silence, Mary wondered if her lover had fallen asleep. That would never do. He certainly couldn't stay there with her. She would need to rouse him and insist he return to his own room before they were found together.
"Mr. Pamuk," she whispered, reaching up to pat the hand that rested on her head. "Mr. Pamuk, wake up."
There was no response. He must be a heavy sleeper.
"Mr. Pamuk," she spoke a bit louder, moving to sit up on the bed. His fingers became hopelessly tangled in her hair, and she reached up to try to dislodge them.
The movement of Mary's body caused Kamal's to slump forward so that he was lying awkwardly on his belly. Mary's eyes sought his face, expecting to find him in peaceful repose, but the sight that greeted her made her blood run cold. For several moments she could only sit frozen, staring at the vacant brown eyes that remained open though her lover was clearly unconscious. He could be... Surely he couldn't be...dead?
Mary gasped. She carefully touched her fingers to the hand that was still tangled in her hair. Finding it quite unnaturally cold to the touch, she jerked her hand back, frantically pulling away no matter how her hair got pulled in the process.
She stared at his prone form for several moments. He was dead. She was sure of it. But how? Why? And, most importantly, how was she to remove him from her bed?
Anna. She could trust Anna with her embarrassing secret. Mary found her nightgown on the floor, and pulled it on quickly. She smoothed her hair down as best she could, then slipped her feet into her slippers and padded to the door.
Matthew was finding it impossible to sleep. The rain pounded loudly against his window. The panes rattled alarmingly with each rumble of thunder. He had never been able to rest easily during thunder storms, and it didn't help that he was under the same roof as his incredibly alluring distant cousin, Mary. His desire for her was eating at him day and night. She was, by far, the most desirable woman he had ever seen. More than her lovely face and flawless form, he loved her indomitable spirit, her wit, her vivacity. Mary was a woman in a million. He often wondered how she would behave in bed. There was an impulsiveness about her, an undercurrent of rebellious, restless energy that made him think she would be a tigress in the bedroom. He desperately wanted to find out if his suspicions were true. Any man lucky enough to unlock her secrets could meet his end immediately afterwards having lived a full and complete life.
Deciding a short walk might aid his attempts at slumber, Matthew rose and donned his dressing gown and slippers. The corridors were silent and still. He lit a candle from the fireplace and slipped through the door and into the cool, still air of the hallways. He wasn't sure exactly where he was going. He simply wandered where his feet would go.
Matthew stopped short when an angelic figure appeared before him, dressed in night attire of flowing, diaphanous white silk and lace. Mary.
His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. She was so infinitely lovely - a vision. Her long, dark hair flowed unbound over her shoulders, covering the small mounds of her breasts that would otherwise be clearly discernible under her flimsy clothing. His gaze moved downward over her. Her graceful, slender legs were silhouetted under the material. Matthew knew his dressing gown must be tenting alarmingly by now, but he couldn't care. He was transfixed.
Mary was shocked and alarmed to have run into Matthew stalking the corridors as she made her way towards the servant's quarters to rouse Anna. Damn the thunderstorm that had made it necessary for him to stay! What on earth was he doing out of his room at this time of night? Up to no good, no doubt. Mary scoffed internally at the ironic turn of her thoughts. He couldn't possibly be up to anything worse than she was.
"Cousin Mary," Matthew greeted her, finding his tongue after several moments of mute gawking. "What are you doing out of bed at this hour? Can I be of any assistance?"
"Cousin Matthew," Mary responded, her tone barely civil, and dripping with impatience. "I could ask you the same thing. I was just..."
Mary fell suddenly silent as an idea struck her, and she began to silently debate the possible usefulness of her unlooked-for companion. Having been very recently enlightened as to the intricacies of the male form, Mary could easily see the effect she was having on her cousin. It would certainly be useful to have a man's strength in such a case. She could have Matthew carry Kamal back to his room for her. It would save her the trouble of bringing a servant into her confidence, and, realistically, it was unlikely she and Anna could have managed his removal alone anyway. It could work. Matthew was a man after all. He could probably be convinced to keep her confidence if he thought there might be certain benefits involved for him. Of her entire acquaintance, Cousin Matthew was the person whose opinion of her she cared about the least, so it didn't matter if he thought badly of her for what she had done. Yes, it could work.
"Actually, Cousin Matthew, there is something you can assist me with."
"Oh." Matthew's curiosity was peaked by her request. He was intrigued by her silent study of him, hopeful that she had been please by what she saw. She had certainly seemed to reach some resolve by the end of her contemplation. He couldn't imagine what it was, but he was eager to find out.
"This way," she whispered, motioning for him to follow her in the direction from which she came.
When he realized that their destination was Mary's bedroom, Matthew's heart began to quicken with anticipation. What could she possibly need him for that she wouldn't simply ring for a servant's assistance with? Whatever it was, he was only to happy to be of service. Mary didn't seem to like him too well, and he was keen to change her opinion of him in whatever way she would allow him to try to do so. He was beginning to think he would have to marry her, if only to be able to sleep nights.
Mary paused when she reached the doorway, turning towards Matthew with a suddenly sullen expression.
"Cousin Matthew, I must warn you that what you are about to see is...rather shocking. First, I require your faithful vow that this will remain strictly between the two of us. You must promise never to speak of this to anyone. And, if you break that promise, you...well, you will wish you'd never been born. I will personally see to it. Do I have your word?"
Matthew nodded automatically, confused by Mary's cryptic words, and battling a nagging uncertainty regarding the wisdom of making such a promise. One look down at Mary's delicate form and soulful eyes so very, very close to him, and he decided that he would do whatever it was she asked. How could he possibly say no to such an angel?
Matthew agreed to the promise Mary had asked him to make, and was profuse in his assurances that, whatever secret the two of them were about to share, would remain between them. Mary pushed open the door and led him into the room.
"He's dead," Mary said, her voice suddenly tremulous.
"W-what? Whom?" Matthew stuttered gracelessly, his eyes still following Mary's tempting form.
Mary, exasperated by Matthew's obliviousness, jerked her head impatiently in the direction of the bed.
"Good God!" Matthew exclaimed, a bit too loudly.
Mary was quick to shush him, flying to his side to clap her hand over his mouth.
"Quiet! Do you wish to alert the entire house?" she chastened. "Now, I need you to help me carry him back to his room. He must be found there in the morning. Obviously no one, except you and I, can know he was here."
"But...b-but..." Matthew stuttered again, quite unsure what to think of the situation. Mr. Pamuk was lying face down in Mary's bed, quite naked from the looks of it. "What was he doing here in the first place? What happened to him?"
By that time, Matthew was in enough command of his faculties to walk over to the deceased gentleman's side and feel for his pulse. The coldness of his skin would have told Matthew all he needed to know without waiting for any further indication, but he tried all the same. Sure enough, the poor chap was stone cold dead.
"Come now, Cousin Matthew," Mary answered him in a harsh, clipped tone, "we're both adults here. What do you suppose he was doing in my bed?"
Matthew lifted the sheet, then quickly replaced it.
"Good God!" he exclaimed again, at a more moderate volume this time. "He's naked! Why is he naked?"
Mary rolled her eyes again, and began to question the wisdom of bringing such a loggerhead into such a private matter. Surely Anna wouldn't have had to ask so many questions.
"Think, Cousin Matthew. He's in my room, in my bed, naked. It isn't a very difficult mystery to solve."
"I...hate to cast aspersions on your character, Cousin Mary, but was this man, perhaps...your lover?"
"Finally," she huffed impatiently.
Matthew's eyes went wide. Intense jealousy coursed through him, making him see red. If the Turkish rat weren't already dead, he would have killed him with his bare hands.
"Now, are you going to help me get him out of her, or aren't you? We haven't much time."
Mary's voice jolted Matthew out of his grim reverie. She was right. He had promised to help her, and help her he would, no matter how much he wished he'd remained in his room.
Matthew's eyes darted around the room until they fell on the discarded dressing gown lying on the floor at the foot of the bed.
"Here," he extended a hand in Mary's direction, "come help me put it on him."
Mary nodded and moved to help with the grisly task. Matthew held Kamal's stiff arms, one at a time, while Mary slipped them into their respective sleeves. Matthew then turned the corpse face up so that he could tie the garment closed. An involuntary shudder escaped him.
"You owe me big time for this, Mary," he sighed petulantly. He probably wouldn't be able to sleep for a month after this experience, and it wasn't even over yet.
"Not if you don't keep my secret," she shot back.
"Oh, I'll keep your filthy secret, all right. Not that anybody would believe me if I told them. What happened to him, anyway?"
"I'm not sure," Mary replied, traces of uncertainty beginning to show through her facade. "One minute he was...crying out in ecstasy, and the next he was...as you see."
Matthew closed his eyes and shook his head several times to clear it of unwanted images and maddening jealousy.
"Sounds like you were too much for this poor fellow's heart to handle," Matthew surmised. "You must be good."
Mary blushed, truly embarrassed, by his last statement.
"To die for, apparently," Matthew quipped.
"Oh, would you please just shut up?" Mary snapped. "I called you in here to help me, not see how many one-liners you can come up with. Now, pick him up, and let's go."
Matthew sighed irritably, but positioned the Turk's arm over his shoulder, lifting the dead weight easily onto his back. Mary couldn't help but be impressed by the ease with which Matthew lifted the fully grown man's body onto his broad shoulders. He was good for something, at least.
Glancing over the rumpled sheets, Matthew was relieved to see no trace of blood on them. Either Mary hadn't lost her maidenhead during this encounter or she had already lost it . The latter option being the most unlikely, Matthew was hopeful that nothing irreparable had taken place. He planned on questioning Mary further about just what had transpired before the gentleman kicked it, but it would wait until morning.
"Lead the way, milady," Matthew sighed from under his burden.
Mary made her way to the door, making sure the way was clear before motioning for Matthew to follow her. The pair, and their unresponsive companion in tow, made their way as quickly as possible through the deserted hallways, Matthew pausing before each corner to allow Mary to ensure that the way was clear before proceeding. When, at last, they reached the room in which Mr. Pamuk had been situated, Mary pushed open the door, thankful that they had made it unseen. She moved to the bed and drew back the covers. Matthew dropped his burden heavily onto the bed, causing the body to bounce several times. Together, they drew the covers up over Kamal's body.
Matthew turned to go, but soon realized Mary wasn't behind him. He turned to see her standing over the dead Turk, trying, in vain, to close the poor soul's eyes.
"Mary, it's useless. Come, we must get you back to bed. Apparently, it's been a big night."
Mary made a face at him, but allowed herself to be led from the room.
"My room's just a few doors down," Matthew informed her after the door clicked closed behind them. "Go back to your room now, Mary. Try to get some sleep, if you can. We'll discuss this further in the morning."
"I beg to differ," Mary retorted. "There is nothing that we need to discuss. It's done, and there's an end to it."
"No, I beg to differ, my dear cousin," Matthew shot back. "If you think you can put me through...what you put me through tonight and get off scott free, you are sadly mistaken. I think you do own me an explanation, and I shall have it. Sweet dreams, Cousin Mary."
With that, Matthew turned and disappeared into his assigned room, desperately wishing that it had not stormed that night and that he was back in his bed at Crawley House, basking in blissful ignorance.
Mary also returned to her room, irritable, sad, and exhausted. She was tired, but there was no way she was getting back into that bed. Curling up on the settee in the corner, she drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Well, whatcha think? Anybody interested in seeing how Matthew responds to Mary's explanation of the situation? Give it a couple chapters to get going, and the M/M steam engine will start rolling. (Ok, that was really corny. It's past my bed time.:)) Thanks for reading!