This oneshot was originally written as tags for a photo, but the tags were to long so I tidied things a very slight bit and posted it here. I am horribly nervous, because I never post fanfiction, but I hope you enjoy. The link to the photo can be found on my author page.
Matthew sat, waiting for his wife to finish dressing so they could attend a regimental dinner being hosted by Matthew's old general. He was both looking forward to and dreading the entire ordeal, reuniting with what was left of his unit. Slowly, he slipped into a memory of the front lines and all the good men whose absence would haunt that night's dinner.
Lady Mary glides into the room, expecting to stun her husband with her presence (she does so love that adorable gaping look of his when it is directed at her and finds she will often go out of her way to earn it), only to find him so lost to a memory—of the war, no doubt—that he has completely forgotten his surroundings. She has caught him like this a few times but has never quite known what to do besides simply being a loving and reassuring presence. This time, however, she found herself stuck by an idea.
She checked to make sure they were indeed alone, before moving to stand in front of Matthew. Bending forward, she touched his shoulder and whispered his name into his ear. Though the sound was little more than a sigh, her husband started slightly and turned to gaze at her with still-glazed eyes.
"Not quite back to me, then, hmm?" She mumbled to herself, "Then how about…" she trailed of as she pressed her lips gently against his while settling herself in his lap. Her hands tangled up in his hair as he slowly moved one had to her waste and the other to the back of her neck (but not into her hair, even half-aware he knew better than that) and the kiss became more passionate.
When she his hands press her more firmly into him she knew her Matthew had returned to her (though, he had always been hers, really, even when he wasn't). Regretfully, she pulled away, her breath echoing in the silence of the cavernous room, before resting her forehead against his.
"Ready, my Lord Captain" was the teasing query on her now smiling lips. She allowed herself to kiss him one last—a peck, really, for they were already running late—and gracefully rose to her feet.
He just looked at her, dazed in an altogether different (and far more pleasant) way. The sun setting over the grounds silhouetted her figure, her lips and eyebrows quirked upward, and her eyes glittered in a way he knew was for him alone. Suddenly he snorted, albeit very softly, because how was he supposed to make polite conversation for hours with such tempting thoughts of her and them planted quite firmly in his mind. Already images from the night before, when they had christened their new bed, were playing on repeat before his eyes.
"Just waiting for you my lovely lady," he finally replied.
I was Mary's turn to let out a disdainful snort. "Your 'lovely lady', really Matthew? You have grown quite saccharine of late. Whatever happened to a good argument?"
"Never you fear," Matthew rallied, "I'm still a middle class lawyer who doesn't hunt, at least not well, no matter the title now placed firmly in front of my name. I, my Lady-of-Wit, can be both a sea monster and a Perseus. Though I rather think you have wished I was neither on many an occasion."
The Lady sniffed, "I have no idea what you could possibly mean, Matthew. I am not so complex as you seem to be implying."
With that she took his arm to silence any retort and together the new Earl and Countess of Grantham headed out for a dinner party that did not seem nearly so terrible as it had just ten minutes previously.