A/N: Happy Monday!

Originally posted to tumblr but it turned out rather longer than anticipated so I'm sharing it here, too. :) I was asked to write gratuitous smut, and... well. Here you have gratuitous smut.

The prompt, I must say, was for modern M/M. But I really don't write modern M/M, so - I'm going to say that I wrote this with period in mind, rather than modern, but it might just about work either way if you want to read it that way. But the context of the prompt is unchanged. Sorry if I just confused things!

With that... enjoy!


A Quite Brilliant Idea

Mary glanced around her with a faint smile. One could almost call it happy. The very room glittered with happiness, in fact, and the champagne seemed to glitter in her glass as she took another sip. The elegant old public rooms of the abbey were bedecked with flowers and streamers, and the wedding presents displayed proudly (she chuckled to herself remembering Matthew's disparagement of what he considered such a vulgar tradition) in the drawing room.

She was happy for Edith; she really, really was. They hadn't bickered so for years, now, and less still since Mary had fled the nest to become Matthew's wife at last. She took another long sip of her champagne. The sparkling liquid swirled into her mouth, the glass drained, and she quickly replaced it from a passing silver tray. And then she took another sip.

She was beginning to feel a little giddy. Mary rarely drank, at all, rather leaving that to Matthew though he only tended to take a glass after dinner and that was all. The feeling warming through her wasn't at all unpleasant. Was she sad? She couldn't quite tell, but she was wanting to quash some feeling with the drink and – what was that phrase? – people did use it to 'drown their sorrows'. But she was happy for Edith, she really was! But there just seemed something so… final, she supposed, about the last of the three of them getting married. Leaving Downton. Settling down. While Edith remained unmarried she'd been able to cling to some faint, quaint illusion of her childhood in this old house, still, and… now that was gone.

Another sip, and Mary raised her fingertips delicately to her lips. Perhaps she and Matthew should concoct more special occasions to celebrate with the finest champagne they could afford. It seemed a terribly good idea. She decided she must suggest it to Matthew before she forgot it, but – where was he? Her gaze scanned the room, until she saw him and… forgot entirely what she'd needed so urgently to tell him. Good heavens, but he was handsome.

A delighted, heady rush bubbled in her chest at the thought that he was her husband. She sipped her drink more slowly, leisurely, as she tipped her head to the side and watched him for a moment, talking to her father. The way his lips moved as he spoke… The light in his eyes. The way the lamplight caught the gold in his swept-back hair, making it shine. She ached to run her fingers through it. The way… his hands gestured enthusiastically, his long fingers, the flattering cut of his new suit that showed off his lean, trim body and long legs to perfection. Fond memories of their own wedding, not so very long ago, and… everything since, flooded her mind.

Her cheeks flushed with heat. Somehow her glass was empty again, and her gloved fingers set it down before she smoothed down her sleek, elegant dress and made her way (mostly steadily) to her husband.

Matthew was nodding agreeably along to Robert's discursion on how useful Strallan's understanding of the latest farm technologies would be to the estate when he sensed Mary glide up beside him.

"Hello!" she breezed, slipping her arm around Matthew's waist and leaning imperceptibly against him. "I hope I'm not disturbing you much…"

"Not at all, dear," Matthew smiled and kissed her cheek in greeting.

"You're not interrupting, Mary my dear, but I'm afraid Sir Anthony's machinery won't be of the highest interest to you!" Robert chuckled fondly.

"Oh. Perhaps not, but carry on anyway, I'm quite happy!" She smiled encouragingly, and so Robert started again, and Mary's hand started to wander.

Matthew felt her fingertips on his back, stroking up and down, and he shivered pleasantly as he continued to listen to Robert. He was sure it was all probably useful stuff for him to know, somehow, in some realm of possibility. But as much as he smiled politely, the feel of his wife's soft and sure hand was… definitely distracting. And as her fingers stroked ever lower, and lower, and then… pinched firmly, he drew a sharp, gasping breath that he tried desperately to cover with a cough.

He could feel Mary's smirk.

"Are you alright, Matthew?" Robert frowned.

"Perfectly –" Matthew choked, thankful that his cheeks would redden anyway from coughing as Mary's deft fingers continued their knowing exploration of his backside, her hand slipping just under the hem of his jacket.

He squirmed, and made a show of drawing out his handkerchief to distract attention, coughing into it again.

"Are you quite sure?" his father-in-law asked again.

"Yes, I – perhaps I'd better get a drink. Please, excuse me…"

Robert nodded, and as the bride was passing anyway he turned to his daughter with a broad smile, not noticing Mary slip away after her husband.

Though Matthew had only needed some distance, Mary grabbed his hand and pulled him under the height of the old oaken staircase, the pillars shielding them from view.

"Mary, what –"

"Shhh!" she hissed, silencing him thoroughly with a kiss, her hands slipping immediately again beneath his jacket. Matthew grunted softly in protest, his fingers curling round her wrists, but… as his lips parted helplessly and Mary's tongue slipped past them to meet his own, he found any thought of protest disappearing in a fog of desire.

"Darling!" he eventually pulled away, his hands tenderly cupping her cheeks as he peered into her slightly widened eyes. His gaze faltered as she relentlessly tugged out his shirt, slipping her fingers beneath the waistband of his trousers, before he swallowed and remembered his senses. "What on earth are you doing!" And yet he did not (quite) stop her.

Mary swayed forwards and kissed the side of his mouth. "I was… remembering our wedding, dear. How happy we were. Wasn't it happy? This is all so… brilliantly happy, and… I couldn't help thinking of it."

He smiled breathlessly, both in memory of that day and at the feel of Mary's palm stroking where… it definitely should not be, not here, not now. His breath caught in his throat and he gripped her straying hand, twining his fingers securely with hers.

"It was perfect, my darling. Of course I remember." He lowered his head to kiss her again, tasting her, savouring her… and leaned back. "Mary, how much champagne have you had?"

She shook her head too vigorously and swayed, leaning her free palm against his broad chest.

"Hardly any. Really."

"Mary…" But his own pulse was racing, and heat was pricking beneath his collar. They had to move, right now, or…

"What? I'm happy. I'm remembering our wedding, and I'm so – so glad to be your wife, and – darling, you must see this tailor again because this suit sits… very, very well on you. Was it the same you used for our wedding? That was… very fine, too…"

Her hands had resumed their wondering roaming, and Matthew's head thudded back against the oaken panel behind him. He drew several deep breaths, his eyes closing as Mary's every word and touch assaulted his memory with images of their wedding and their marriage…

"Darling, you have to stop," he finally choked out, straightening and gripping her hands between his own. "Please. We can't leave for hours, yet…"

Mary stared into his pleading eyes, feeling adrenaline and desire course through her veins. The effect she clearly had on him (that she could see, and… feel) made her giddy with a delicious power, and she only wanted him more.

"Then we won't leave," she whispered, and took advantage of the tight grip of his hands to tug him away from the wall and up the staircase before he could muster any argument.

"Good God, Mary!" he gasped behind her, pulling sharply as they reached the top of the landing to stop her.

She stared determinedly back at him. "If you will stop us here then everyone downstairs will see us. My old room is just on that corner. And everyone is quite rightly fussing so much over Edith that they won't notice us missing for…"

"…half an hour?"

Mary raised an eyebrow. "If you like. Perhaps not even that."

Matthew followed her willingly, then – even eagerly – to the bedroom of Lady Mary Crawley that he'd only had the privilege to see on a very few (though each very treasured) occasions before now. And the moment they slipped into the richly red and gold decorated room and the door closed behind them, all those memories and even those from their bed that very morning forged to the surface of his mind at the feel of her urgent hands scrabbling at his clothes.

Eyes closed, lips crushing together in an exhilarating, intensely arousing kiss, they stumbled back until their knees bumped the bed and they sank down onto it. Mary finally wrenched her husband's jacket off and flung it carelessly to the floor along with her own gloves, his shirt already ragged and un-tucked, but he slapped her hands away before she could remove any more. Instead he leaned over her, feeling the delicate but strong slenderness of her body pressing down into the sprung mattress even as her back arched up to him while her hands sought desperate purchase in his hair. He couldn't care how he was going to neaten it up again, after, not when… her hips were arching insistently against his thigh that rested between her legs, and he could feel the perfect softness of her silk stockings and then her silken skin under his palm as it slipped beneath her dress and up, up… There was more he wanted of her body, so much more, he wanted her naked in his arms and the hot skin of her breasts under his relentless tongue but… they would have time enough for all that later, then to fall asleep tangled together in bliss.

For now, this was enough. The room alone lent a certain kind of sentiment to their passion; a standard for her innocence and the maiden she had been, in glorious contrast now to the woman who writhed desperately beneath her husband's hands and lips. She squirmed and cried out, too loudly, as his long fingers found their home beneath the silk that covered her; first one, then a second, easing into her tightness and warmth. Then out, then… in, and again, the most exquisite torture as his mouth covered her gasping cries and his thumb stroked over and over that spot that sent shockwaves shuddering through her body. She clutched at his hair, holding him there in a devastating kiss as the quick, practised movements of his hand and fingers made her dizzy with arousal, made her lose all her senses, made her buck against him and whimper and finally scream into his mouth as her body stiffened and wilted in helpless pleasure.

And before she could even recover or muster any strength to her sated limbs he was pushing her dress up to her waist and slipping off that silk, curling his back and lowering his head out of sight to take one leisurely, indulgent taste of her that made her shudder again with desire… And then he was back, kneeling, above her, lowering his trousers and underwear as much as he needed… his strong hands easing her ankles up to hook over his shoulders as he eased himself into her, then gripping her hips tightly with shaking fingers as he drove powerfully into her again and again. Mary's hand clamped over her mouth to stifle the cry she could not restrain, her other clutching his knee as her body shook with each slam of his hips into hers. Oh, those first days and weeks of marriage they'd been slow, tentative, almost afraid to hurt each other… But that concern had long been put to bed, as they'd discovered their passion and the sharp thrill of desire, together, meeting each other measure for measure as they found new heights of ecstasy. And now as she saw Matthew's teeth clenched in effort and restraint and felt the quick, hard thrusts of his hips meeting hers, she squeezed his knee and arched her back, her head pressing back into the pillows in wordless encouragement to let go.

And he did, and his hands slipped from her hips to her waist as he leaned over her, hips pounding in a relentless and timeless rhythm that beat faster and faster, their loud, gasping cries meeting in the air between them until the tight pulse of her body searing into delight sent Matthew falling headlong into his own release as his body trembled above her with one last, helpless shout of pleasure escaping his lips.

Her legs fell to his hips and he fell into her arms, their sweat-dampened clothes clinging to their cooling skin. They kissed, languidly, shaking with little tremors of latent bliss… and they could still taste the tangy fizz of champagne bubbles on the other's lips and tongue.

"I remember what I'd been going to tell you," Mary murmured lazily against Matthew's neck.

He raised an eyebrow, though it seemed to take a great deal of effort.

"You were going to… tell me something?"

"Mmm." She smiled at the sensation of his fingers stroking back her hair, and pressed a kiss to his warm skin that tasted of sweat and aftershave. "I think… we should find more excuses to celebrate."

"Oh?"

"With… champagne."

"Oh." Matthew stroked a lazy circle over the bare skin at the top of his wife's shoulder, kissing her hair and reasoning that they had another fifteen minutes at least before they really needed to reappear. "I think… my darling," he said, slowly, "that… that's a quite… brilliant idea."

Fin


A/N: Thanks so much for reading! I'd love to know what you thought, even if only a few words, I appreciate your comments so much! Thank you :)