Greetings, readers! The Mary/Matthew category has been depressingly lacking in new stories recently, so I decided to take matters into my own hands and help remedy the situation. This piece isn't supposed to be taken too seriously; it's mainly so we (and our babies) can enjoy some good old M/M smut, season one style, back when their problems were ridiculously superfluous, instead of matters of life and death. Enjoy!
Although he did not detest the exercise, Matthew Crawley had never considered himself a particularly skilled dancer. Of course, he had learned, as all other boys had; his mother had insisted familiarity with the practice essential to any "young gentleman of the upper-middle class," and his time at Cambridge had impressed the idea further. Of course, practicing the two-step in a room of adolescent boys as equally uninvested in the venture as himself, or waltzing around the living room with his mother, were far less daunting than opening the Crawleys' first ball of the London season, in the face of all of society, with his cousin Mary.
His incredibly, devastatingly beautiful cousin Mary.
His incredibly, devastatingly beautiful cousin Mary who hated him.
It had been Robert's idea, and despite all protestations against the matchmaking from either side, Cora had jumped on it delightedly, and there hadn't been much of a chance to argue otherwise. Even his own mother had been no help.
"I think it's a wonderful idea, Matthew. It will show solidarity between all of the Crawleys, that there are no hard feelings after all of this tricky entail business. Besides, you're a perfectly fine dancer, and I don't see why Cousin Mary should feel any less than honored to share at least one dance with you."
Matthew could not imagine that his normally perceptive mother could be more off the mark. First of all, he was certain the hard feelings were far from dissolved, especially when it came to Mary. And second of all, Matthew noted, there were plenty of men Mary would considered better to open the ball with than him. He wasn't sure why that bothered him so much, but he brushed it off into the category of affronts against his pride. And finally, even one dance with Mary would be too long.
Especially tonight, when she was draped in a deep red gown clinging gloriously to her figure. It must be new, he thought. He never would have forgotten if she had worn something that hugged her body that sinfully before. Across the room, she turned slightly, and he swallowed even more thickly as he was confronted with a broad expanse of the exposed alabaster skin of her back and neck; her hair being artfully tucked up in a bun.
Skin that his very own hands would soon be centimeters from.
Suddenly Matthew found the room very hot; perhaps a quick breath of fresh air would help calm him… He took two steps to make his exit, when Lord Grantham called out, "Alright, ladies and gentlemen, I believe it's time we begin!"
He cursed, then slowly turned to look towards Mary. She was drifting languidly towards him, a bored expression upon her face. As he approached her, he tried to casually wipe his palms, aware that they must be frightfully sweaty.
"Cousin Mary," he addressed her cautiously, gingerly extending a hand.
"Well, Cousin Matthew, let's not waste time pretending this is pleasant for either of us," she responded, taking the hand he offered. Anxiously Matthew reached to put his other arm around her. "Your hand goes on my back, not my shoulder!" she hissed, and he cringed. He knew that, he knew that, he knew that! How had he ever messed that up?
"Yes, I know!" he responded quickly, shifting the offending appendage to her back, her torturously bare back. The new position drew them into a far closer proximity than they had ever shared before, and Matthew inhaled sharply.
Oh God, she was wearing perfume. Of course she was wearing perfume.
Yes, one dance with Mary Crawley was definitely far too long.
They began their way around the dance floor without anymore obstructions, neither saying a word, but neither refusing to break eye contact. Frankly, Matthew wasn't sure if he could look away if he tried, and so it was no surprise Mary was the one to finally divert her attention, although it was by no means a surrender.
"I don't suppose you've ever been to a ball as grand as this one before," she commented to the air somewhere over his shoulder.
Matthew replied stiffly, "No, I've never attended any of the events of the season before, but back at Cambridge we did have our fair share of dances." He glanced back at her face to catch any reaction, but there was no marked change.
"Cambridge, hm? Our family's always been more of an Oxford type, not that it's essential since there's no need among our type of people for a profession. Education is simply an attractive quality…" Mary remarked, but Matthew only half heard her. When his gaze had left her face after his last comment, he suddenly became aware of yet another beautiful asset of hers he had yet to account for. Although he had never thought of himself as being that much taller than her, their new-found proximity afforded him a vantage point that, when coupled with the daringly lower necklines of the new fashions, afforded him quite the tantalizing view. Mesmerized for a moment, Matthew only forced himself to look away when considered the horrificness if anyone, especially Mary, realized the direction of his attentions. Anxiously his eyes returned to her face, but her interests were far from him, and so quickly he allowed himself a final glance at the delicate slope of her pale bosom, swelling before sculpting away into sensuous shadows. His perfectly tailored trousers suddenly seemed several sizes too small.
"Mr. Crawley, did you even hear what I said?"
Guiltily his eyes swiftly met her inquisitive gaze, and he felt heat rise up his neck. It took him a moment, but his mind caught up, and he replied smartly, "Yes, I heard that perhaps there's one quality to me at least that you might find bearable, appealing even."
Mary's eyebrows lifted famously, and she opened her mouth to say something, when suddenly the couple beside them spun into them, knocking her off step. "Oh," she started, falling towards him, and suddenly the lithe curves he had just been admiring were pressed warmly against his chest, with the firmness of her hip sliding enticingly against the growing hardness in his own pants. An uncontrollable groan slipped from Matthew's mouth at the brief pressure, and then the two righted themselves.
Suddenly, Mary was staring at him with the strangest look on her face, and Matthew felt his heart halt in mortification at the realization of what she might have felt. Nervously he tried to continue their dance and gloss over the whole affair, but as he witnessed a slight smirk play about her lips, he realized that he was far from free.
"Cousin Matthew," she started innocently, "I didn't realize how hard you found it to dance with me."
Matthew felt his blush rising all the way to his ears.
"Of course, you have seemed a bit stiff all evening."
"Cousin Mary-" his voice came out higher than he intended, even as he pleaded.
"And yet, perhaps you have been feinging your indifference to our way of life this entire time. In fact, I think this evening has quite aroused your appreciation." He spun her again, since the dance called for it, but unlike the previous times, she some how managed to draw herself closer, so her hips ground against his affliction for the entirety of the turn. Matthew cursed, even as he felt the bolt of excitement surge through him, even as his pants and Lady Mary's grip on him constricted simultaneously.
"In fact," she continued at the conclusion of the move, "perhaps it is just the opposite of what you first believed." She made eye contact with him for a moment, then quite pointedly allowed her gaze to drop down in between them. Matthew opposed her gaze, raising his eyes to the heavens, pleading for some deliverance from this exquisite torture, even as his embarrassment rose. He was certain the evidence of this desire was quite noticeable now; Mary merely confirmed this. "In fact, I think your middle class lifestyles has placed the most ungentlemanly strains upon, and it's only now that you're beginning to appreciate the charms of this new lifestyle that you once believed we once so unfairly erected around you."
Sweetly, thankfully, the music ended, and Matthew prepared to make his retreat to the other side of the ballroom, and hopefully hide from Mary and his humiliation for the remainder of the evening, if not the trip.
Unfortunately, as always, Mary was far from prepared to let him have the easy way out.
"Cousin Matthew, I must say I'm feeling a bit faint from our dance. Would you kindly escort me outside? I believe the cool, fresh air might do me some good."
While Matthew was all in favor of cool air, the last thing he wanted to do at that moment was spend anymore time with Mary, especially alone. Unfortunately, Mary had tactfully asked the question in front of his mother and the Dowager Countess, so he was far from a position where he could refuse.
"Of course, Lady Mary," he begrudgingly offered her his arm, refusing still to make eye contact with her, let alone acknowledge the self-satisfied smirk upon her face.
They crossed the room and exited onto the terrace, finding themselves very much alone in the dark. As soon as they were out of sight, Matthew immediately relinquished any contact with Mary, stepping away from her to tug at his collar and attempt to rid himself of the dizzying waves of desire coursing through his body.
"My, my, it seems Mr. Big, Important Solicitor is all out of words for once. Then again, the Sea Monster did seem positively ravenous tonight."
Matthew flinched at her words, before turning to face her.
"Really, Mary, why must you torture me so? Certainly taunting me can't be half as much fun as dancing with all the barons and dukes and other chaps in there that you love boasting about."
Some of the smugness seemed to disappear from Mary's face, and she blanched for a moment, before retorting, "Perhaps, but I believe we have some unfinished business."
"Oh?" replied Matthew.
"Yes, but it's quick, and simple, really. We can both be on our way in a minute. Just tell me one thing."
"What?" Matthew inquired cautiously.
"Admit that you find me desirable."
"What?" Matthew repeated, the color flooding his face again.
"Really, Matthew, there's no need to make a production out of it. Just admit that you do, in fact, find me desirable." She took a step closer to him, and they were once again in dancing proximity, then breathlessly closer. "After all," she continued in a whisper, "we can both feel that it's true." Matthew let out a strangled sob as her fingers suddenly closer around his member and traced the length of it through his pants. Her hand slid torturously up and down through fabric until his hips erratically jerked forward, pressing the entirety of his bulge into her hot palm. "Mmmm," Mary hummed appreciatively, and Matthew groaned in agreement even as he screwed his eyes shut tighter. She continued to massage his crotch for a moment before suddenly pressing against his chest. Matthew's legs had already weakened from the blissful torture, and at some point in its duration she had loosened his belt, so between the shove, his weak knees, and the pants sliding down his legs, he lost his balance and fell stumbled back onto the bench behind him.
Mary sat down beside him, and Matthew moaned as her hands found his length again, and began to pump it more aggressively. As the friction increased, Matthew felt his hips raise, attempting to drive his hardness even more desperately into her grasp. "It's funny, really, Cousin Matthew. When we first met, you accused of us as being overly forward, when really, now it seems you're the one trying to push in."
Matthew could only groan in response, his body convulsing entirely in rhythm to her treatment.
"You seemed entirely against the idea of me then, but now, I believe it's safe to say your opinions have shifted entirely. Now you find me quite desirable, don't you, Matthew?"
"Yes!" Matthew panted powerlessly.
"Now I daresay you even need me, don't you Matthew?"
Matthew thrust up again, but Mary had snatched her hands away, and he met cruel, weightless air. "Yes!" he sobbed. "I need you Mary, oh fuck, I need you and I want you, and please Mary." At another time he would have been ashamed to so brazenly voice his closely-guarded affections, especially with such vulgarity, but at the moment he could care less. All there was now was Mary, and he moaned in unabashed contentment as her warm, now gloveless, hands gripped his shaft once more, sliding against him with renewed vigor that was sending him towards his peak at a dizzying rate.
"Mary, oh God, Mary," her name continued to spill forth from his lips like a prayer, and as her ministrations increased still in intensity, he squeezed his eyes shut tighter in an effort to restrain the most vocal of his cries. He was nearly there, he felt his whole body quaking… and then suddenly something warm and moist and tight closed around the sensitive tip of his aching cock and he bit his lip forcefully enough to draw blood even as his head slammed back and his hips jerked in one final movement. The moment seemed to last forever, as he expired into blissful nirvana. When he finally finished, sweating, shaking, and panting, he looked down to see Mary raising her head from his member and wiping her lips impishly.
"Thank you, Mr. Crawley. Despite how hard we both may have found that to start with, I think in the end you'll have to agree that joining our sort of people has its benefits, and that perhaps you should consider yourself lucky in more ways than one. After all, how many grander circumstances have you ever been thrust into?"
With that she rose and began to retreat, but she paused after a few steps.
"And you were right, you know. There may be one or two qualities I find quite appealing about you."
With that, she departed, leaving an exhausted and bedraggled Matthew on the bench to fix his pants and attempt to pull himself and his thoughts together.