Unexpected Intimacies
Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey.
Warning: This is slash!
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Both of them were overlooked, so it seemed somewhat inevitable they would be drawn together.
The first time Lavinia Swire had kissed Edith, they had been alone in the gardens. It was, in fact, the first time Edith had ever been alone with Lavinia at all. But it had been a sweet kiss, chaste and altogether what a first kiss should be.
Lavinia had been crying – she was always crying these days, so it seemed, and Edith, coming upon her quite alone, felt she could not slip away, as she might have done before the war.
Lavinia had apologised, and dabbed her eyes, and been the pinnacle of how a lady should react when happened upon sobbing, except her tongue had been loosened and she had chokingly told Edith all the things Edith already knew. Matthew was in love with Mary, and it was painfully obvious to all, and Lavinia was second best, why had she come back only to be in the way, etc, etc.
Edith had not felt it was the right moment to say that she should try being Mary's sister, now that was suffering. She had merely rubbed Lavinia's arm sympathetically, pretending not to be surprised when Lavinia had embraced her fully. The poor girl, Edith found herself thinking, it must be difficult for her, being surrounded by people that didn't particularly want her there. Edith would know, after all.
Lavinia, the taller of the two of them, had pulled away a moment, and gazed down at Edith. Her face was wet, and there was one rather large tear threatening to fall from her nose. If she hadn't have looked so miserable, Edith would have been quite tempted to laugh.
"You are very good," Lavinia murmured suddenly. "The General thinks very highly of you…but…I know you're overlooked by them too, it's terribly obvious to outsiders, you know? You and I, we're not so very much different, really…" And then she had pressed her lips against Edith's.
Edith momentarily thought she really should be resisting. She really should. But with Lavinia's soft lips against her own, she found she really could not.
They didn't speak about the kiss again, though Edith often thought about it, looking at Lavinia under hooded eyes at dinner. Lavinia clearly hadn't thought very much of it. Lavinia had been a boarding school girl, and, God knows, perhaps her sensibilities had been confused somehow by that experience.
Edith was being silly, dwelling upon it as she was. She felt she would feel better if she had someone to talk to about it, but living in the viper's nest as she did, it was impossible.
Lavinia happened upon her alone in the library one clear Monday afternoon. She was buried deep in Wuthering Heights yet again – God, she needed to stop being such a bloody fool and read something less romantic and less tragic – when Lavinia had cleared her throat.
"Oh! Lavinia," Edith had started, closing the book cover with a smart snap.
"I'm sorry, Edith…am I interrupting you?"
"Oh, no, I'm just re-reading an old favourite," Edith gestured for her to sit, but Lavinia had moved rather listlessly to the window and peered out. Edith paused, fingers curling around the book anxiously. "Is there anything wrong?"
"Look," Lavinia pointed. Edith got up and moved to her side, peering out.
"Oh," Edith felt herself flushing through passive embarrassment.
"Shouldn't I be the one pushing his wheel chair?" Lavinia asked morosely. "Why does you sister cut in at every opportunity?"
Edith didn't know what to say. She just tightened her grip on the book.
"I'm sorry," Lavinia said, with a sigh. "I know she's your sister,"
"Oh, don't worry," Edith heard herself say. "We all live in Mary's shadow in this house,"
Lavinia had looked at her sharply then, measuring her with her eyes. Edith swallowed hard. "Yes, I believe we do,"
They looked at each other, and a heavy silence fell.
Lavinia wet her lips, reached out her hand and cupped Edith's cheek. This time their kiss wasn't as chaste, and when Lavinia had left, suddenly and hurriedly, Edith had been left gasping and her lips were swollen.
Edith had thought about telling Sybil, but what would she say? Lavinia Swire has kissed me twice, and I don't know what to do or to think.
When Lavinia had sought her out after the house had retired, Edith knew she should have put a stop to this long ago.
Lavinia had stood at the door, and Edith, who had been reading in bed, just looked at her. She wished, during moments like these, that she was half as articulate as her sisters.
However, when Lavinia had sat at the side of her bed, and taken Edith's hand in her own, the arousal that came with being needed and wanted, took hold. This time it was Edith that clasped Lavinia's head and pulled her close, pressing their lips together, thrilled when Lavinia's mouth opened.
Neither of them really knew what they were doing. Edith had giggled over passages in books when she was younger (when Mary hadn't been such a harridan, but facilitated reckless adventures for her and her younger sisters), but when it actually came to doing the thing they were both inexperienced and terribly naïve. At least with a man, you were aware that they were supposed to stick their thing…well, somewhere.
They figured it out, however. Lavinia had rather ruefully admitted that she sometimes liked to touch herself there when she'd had a bad day, or when she was feeling lonely, and now if only she could find the same spot in Edith…
She had, after trying hard, and Edith had shuddered into pleasure. Their legs were entangled under the covers and Edith's hair was curling due to the perspiration gently gathering on her brow.
Edith wondered if this was the only time she was ever to…do this. Now that she'd actually done it, actually had Lavinia work frantically between her legs, she found she couldn't call it 'love-making'. It certainly wasn't love between her and Lavinia. She was fond of the girl, of course, but it was a certain camaraderie, a certain knowledge that their fates were not too different, that they were cursed together; it was those thoughts that had drawn them together, that had made them both seek out such comfort.
Edith believed less and less in the love she had been promised as a child with every passing day. She wondered if, in the future, when she was the tolerated maiden aunt to Mary or Sybil's children, would she look back on this – she hesitated to call it a 'love affair', but really what else was it? – this thing as her only real experience of intimacy.
That was depressing. She pressed her face into Lavinia's hair and listened to the thrum of her heartbeat.
End