A/N: Prompted by anon on Tumblr.

I had a very similar request for the other way around, so rather than posting it separately, I'll post it as a second chapter here. There's not really any M-rated content here; I just used that rating for safety.

Disclaimer: Downton Abbey is not mine.

In the Eye of the Beholder

1. In the Eye of the Beholder

If there was one thing that Anna prided herself for, it was that she was a sensible person. Sometimes she let her heart rule her head, but for the most part she was sensible. The decisions that she made recklessly were borne of logical reasons – most prominently, her declaration that she would become John's mistress, and her resolve to marry him, sprang to mind. Each time, she had known that while others would see her resolutions as stupid, she had made the right choices for her heart. If John had accepted her proposal, she would have been overjoyed to know that they were properly together in every way. In the end, her decision to marry John had proved to be prudent.

Yes, she had always been practical.

So that was why it was frustrating that she felt embarrassed undressing in front of her husband. It wasn't as if he had never seen her naked before. They had made love so many times over the course of their short time in the cottage, each time more exciting and blissful than the one before, and each time he had run his hands all over her, kissing every inch of skin that he could get his mouth on. In the heat of passion, nothing made her happier than knowing that she was pleasing him.

In the broad light of day, however, she felt a little differently. The light threw each inch of her skin into harsh reality, and she couldn't hide herself from his gaze.

He was doing it now, his eyes roving over her intensely, propped up on his elbow as she flitted about the room. She had already ordered him to get up, aware that they needed to be at Downton soon, but he seemed content to continue lying there, favouring watching her dress over getting himself ready.

"John, stop staring," she told him firmly. "It makes me uncomfortable."

"You, uncomfortable?" he chuckled teasingly. "I can't imagine Anna Bates ever being uncomfortable!"

She flushed, not joining in. When he stared at her, it made her think of all of her flaws. Of her too-small breasts. Of her bony hips. Of her short legs. If John stared at her for too long, he would notice them. And then they'd be the only things that he would ever notice again. She didn't want that.

She dropped her shawl to the floor and lifted the hem of her nightgown. If she did it quickly, he wouldn't have time to register those parts of her. She could do it quickly. She'd had enough practise dressing the girls over the years –

But before she could begin to draw the nightgown up and over her head, she felt a large, warm hand clasp gently around her wrist. John had moved, now leaning out of their bed, regarding her with dark, watchful eyes.

"You're not really uncomfortable, are you?" he asked her, his eyes searching hers.

She scuffed her feet uneasily. She couldn't lie. Not to him.

The silence stretched on, and he took it as an affirmative. Slowly, he let out a deep breath, pulling her gently back towards the edge of the bed. She complied willingly enough, and he shuffled so that he was sitting next to her. She tried not to stare at his own nakedness – that would be very hypocritical of her.

"Anna, I'm sorry," he told her softly. "I had no idea. I thought you didn't mind."

She hated hearing him apologising to her, when none of it was his fault. "Don't be sorry. I never want you to feel like that."

His arm came to rest around her waist. "All the same, I should have paid more attention to how it was making you feel. I was selfish and didn't stop to think beyond my own enjoyment."

"It's not you," she protested. "It's me. I'm just being silly. I shouldn't be embarrassed."

"So why are you?" he said tentatively. "You're a beautiful woman. You have nothing to be embarrassed about."

She twisted her hands together, self-conscious, saying nothing. She didn't need to. Even when she was silent, her husband understood her completely.

"You don't think that you are," he stated. "That's it, isn't it?"

She glanced up at him helplessly. "Well, there are aspects of me that I wouldn't mind changing."

He looked incredulous. "Like what?"

"Do I really need to answer that?" she muttered, feeling her cheeks flush. "There are just parts of me that I wish could please you more."

"Anna, believe me, I don't want you any different than you already are."

"But surely you must see what's wrong with me when you look at me?"

He shook his head firmly. "I see perfection."

"You mean that? You wouldn't change me at all? Not even to be a little bit taller, or a little bit…fuller?" She was ashamed to find her voice wavered dangerously when she spoke, and that her vision was a little glassy.

"I wouldn't change you for the world," he told her quietly, pressing his lips lingeringly against her temple. "Not one tiny inch of you. I don't know what you see when you look at yourself, Anna Bates, but I want you to start seeing what I see. An incredibly strong, beautiful woman, who is afraid of nothing. I love you so much."

"I love you too," she said, turning in to bury her face against his neck. He held her tight for a moment, before pushing her away just slightly.

"Get back into bed and take your nightgown off," he told her softly.

Anna's eyes widened at his order. "What? John, we don't have time for things like that! We have to get to work!"

He looked sick at the idea of being late for a moment, before his eyes focused back on her determinedly. "We'll only be five minutes late if we don't bother with breakfast. And reassuring you is more important right now."

She shuddered at the heated look in his eye, then did as she was told, clambering back beneath their still-warm sheets and sliding off her nightgown. John slid off the end of the bed and limped around to the window, throwing open the curtains. Sunlight streamed in, setting their bed on fire. Slowly, he turned back towards her. The look in his eyes was breath-taking.

"I'm going to tell you how much I love every single part of you," he told her lowly, advancing back towards the bed. "And, by the end of it, I want you to believe me completely."

She shivered when his hands pulled back the bed sheets, exposing her completely. She held her breath when he drew a finger over the arch of her foot and began to speak slowly, telling her how much he loved how small her feet were, how lovely her little toes were. She was breathing hard when he ran his fingers delicately down her neck, breathing huskily that he loved how long and elegant it was, that it made her look like a goddess. By the time he gently breached her folds with his fingers, she was whimpering eagerly, his words proving to be more arousing than she had ever believed was possible. He carried on breathing such words to her as she rocked against the rhythm of his fingers, never stopping even when she'd reached her peak, gently lulling her into the afterglow. Once she'd recovered her senses enough, it only made sense that she should pull him towards her so that he could demonstrate properly just how much he loved her.

In the end, they were half an hour late, and everyone knew why, but neither of them minded too much.