*SPOILERS FOR S3E01*
Disclaimer: Unfortunately I own nothing to do with Downton Abbey except the DVDs, but that's what fanfiction is for, right?
Characters: Mary Crawley, Matthew Crawley; Mary/Matthew (THE NEWLYWEDS!)
Summary: This was written in response to several Tumblr posts about how great Matthew and Mary's sex life is going to be (see my fanfiction username . tumblr post/ 31723416345/fic-impropriety), because I couldn't resist the temptation. Probably slightly anachronistic in terms of certain phrases, but who's counting? Also, slightly suggestive. *GRINS*
...
Impropriety
Mary: I'm so relieved we're getting married, I wouldn't mind if you carried me up naked.
Matthew: Careful, I might try it
and
Matthew: I'm looking forward to all sorts of things.
Mary: Please don't make me blush.
He closes the door behind them firmly and turns to her with a relieved smile.
"Finally a moment to ourselves," he says.
"Only because you've stolen me away and shut us in here apart from everyone else. We'll have to go in to dinner soon," Mary reminds him.
Matthew sighs and flops into an armchair. "I'm grateful to your Aunt Rosamund for having us here, but her house is rather busy, isn't it? We're supposed to be on our honeymoon for heaven's sake-"
"Supposed to?" Mary raises an eyebrow indignantly, then breaks into a beam as Matthew stumbled over his words to correct himself.
"Th-that is to say-it was just a figure of speech-that is-" He realises she is laughing at him and stops short. "You're teasing me, aren't you," he said, his voice lowering mischievously.
Mary's face is a picture of innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about, Matthew."
"Like hell you don't. Come here."
He's lounging in a chair again, one leg thrown haphazardly over the side, his arm held out invitingly. She pretends to consider the offer for a moment, revelling in the pleading desperation in his eyes, and then gives in, strolling up to him and kissing him squarely and firmly and most determinedly.
And then she's squealing rather loudly as he pulls her into lap for a more proper – or far less proper, depending on how you look at it – kiss, wrapping his arms around her and tangling his fingers in her hair. She sinks against him and kisses him back, again and again and again, and when they pull apart they're breathless and beaming and giggling like the newlyweds they most definitely are.
"I suppose it would be rather ungrateful of us to disregard dinner altogether...?" Mary begins. "Not to mention improper."
Matthew scoffs. "Sod propriety," he replies. "Where's the servants' staircase?"
"The servants'-?" Mary frowns at him, lost.
"Well I can hardly carry you upstairs in front of everyone in this state." He indicates where her hair has come loose from its elaborate coiffure, and where her deft hands have made short work of his buttons, discarded his bow-tie and found their way to dance over his bare chest.
Mary shrugs. "Since when have you cared what other people think about us?"
Matthew pauses for the briefest of moments. "You're right, of course. Lead the way, my darling, and let's see how many stuffy old bores we can scandalise on the way..."