A/N: The idea for this originates from a tumblr post by susangatelys about baxley standing too close together at a Christmas celebration and "his hand being on her bottom", and now it has become my headcanon that it was indeed resting there and has since become their little 'secret tradition' in the years to follow.

I could not have written this without the lovely shadesofraquel (of tumblr and IG) and her neverending support of my crazy ideas.

It was a crisp, frosty Christmas Eve yet the atmosphere could not have been more comforting. The air inside was filled with a warm, earthy scent of pine cones and cinnamon, mixed with the sweet smell of freshly baked cookies. Glowing candles on the tree enfolding the room in a soft light, reflecting icy patterns of snowflakes and flowers from the large window.

A woman is standing in front of the tree, admiring the delicate decorations and humming softly to the faint tune of Christmas carols that are stuck in her head from earlier celebrations. Her thoughts are miles away, if judged by the dreamy look on her face but her happy smile betraying her. It was one of the best Christmases she had in … a very long time. Absent-mindedly, she sighs and brushes a strand of hair back behind her ear that must have come lose from her hair clip when she had removed her hat earlier.

He watches her from the doorway, two cups of steaming coffee in his hands, a smile that reflects hers finding its way on his face. He adores her, he realizes once more when his gaze falls upon her slender frame, then follows her hand up to her head. Some wayward snowflakes must have found their way under her hat and are now, in the dim light of the room, like glittery dust competing with the sparkling clip that holds back her short hair. He has not yet gotten quite used to the newly aquired style and neither has she, he realises over the way she plays with a lose streak.

Slowly, he walks up behind her and in a careful motion places the cups on the side table on his way. His wife must be in another world, he muses, when she shows no reaction to the low clattering of porcelain on wood.

Only when he comes to a halt right behind her, lowers his head slightly to place a kiss on her exposed neck and softly puts one hand on her lower back does she snap out of her daydream.

"Mister Molesley! What do you think you're doing?" He is faced with her questioning, yet teasing glare when she abruptly turns around to face the culprit. Those words must still ring vividly in his head, she chuckles inwardly upon the almost fearful look in his eyes.

"N-nothing, just what I wanted to do earlier. Our little … tradition, you know?!" He tries to explain himself. Although he knows she does not mean the sternness in her eyes and her voice, he feels urged to give some sort of clarification. Especially after what happened that afternoon.

He shakes his head in an attempt to forget that evening's earlier incident, a futile effort he notices when his wife decides to remind him of exactly what happened.

"You mean, what you DID do earlier! Just not to me. Trying to find the light switch, really? What a creative excuse for your … explorations", she exclaims, in a playfully accusing tone, tilting her head sidewards as if to measure him up before she opens her mouth again. "Who would have known you of all people have that much in common with Thomas in this regard?!"

For a moment, he is almost frightened by her intense stare and the index finger poking in his chest at every other word, until her serious demeanour crumbles completely to make room for a mischievous chuckle. He chimes in. His wife's joyful laughter is contagious and through all his embarrassment he has to admit, it was funny.

FLASHBACK

The annual Downton Abbey Christmas festivities were as stunning as could be. Once again, the servants, helpers and not least the Crawley family had outdone themselves with the decorations of the hall. The centrepiece – a tall Christmas tree – stood majestically in the middle of the room, elegant silver ornaments and small bunches of mistletoe hanging from its boughs. Adding to the special atmosphere were the sounds of happy voices joining Mary Talbot's interpretation of Silent Night. Following the sisters tradition of the past years, it was Lady Edith who accompanied her on the piano. Unlike the years before though, it was Miss Marigold who had sat down next to her to admire the musical play despite any efforts from the woman's husband to keep the girl at his own side. She was lucky indeed for having two such kind-hearted people as the Marquis and Marchioness of Hexam care for her and take her in as their own, the girl who had grown so much since he had last seen her exactly a year ago and yet still looked like a little angel with auburn locks framing her face and a white dress that would rival any garment of the heavenly creatures.

His eyes fell on the woman in front of him, when she turned halfway around and sent him a soft smile. He was lucky, too, for he had not someone at his side who looked like an angel, but someone with the true personality of one. She would contradict him if he voiced his thoughts – like she had done many times before – but she was the best person he had ever met in so many ways. And even after years of knowing her he would not cease to rejoice in her having chosen him to be with.

He smiled back and silently mouthed his thanks when she turned around further to hand him a glass of wine. Of course, she would have thought of saving him a glass earlier when he had still been downstairs and in deep discussion with Daisy about the latest book they both had only just finished. She was phenomenal, and she was his wife. His smile brightened at the sentiment. With a faint blush appearing on her cheeks she meekly turned around again. They might have been married for a while now but public displays of affection, in front of their co-workers no less, was not something she was very fond of. In fact, she rather revelled in the knowledge that she was so different in private than she let on around others. And he agreed, the prospect of a less shy, more initiative version of the woman before him was certainly something that excited him, too. Wondering if he could dare to go against her aversion and revive their little tradition, he quickly looked around him. No one was paying any attention to him, and why would they focus on him of all people with the centre of attention still in front of them, he thought with an inward chuckle.

To his left was Thomas, or Mr. Barrow as he should be calling the butler now, even if only in his head. Rather unlike the man's nature, his face had taken on an expression that could almost be described as happy. It was now the butler who held the sole attention of the woman who stood more or less between the two men. When she pecked his cheek a moment later, his lips even turned slightly upwards in an unsure yet genuine smile as they always did upon the familiar gesture. Molesley had no hard feelings against the man. Since his unexpected promotion to butler he had become more tolerable in general and more accepting towards his best friend's affections. He was glad about that development as it – more to his own surprise than of the two people involved – brought out the best in both of them. Barrow was no danger, he concluded. Even if the man did notice any illicit business going on he would not comment on it – today.

Molesley's gaze fell on Downton's former butler next when he turned around to his other side. How he had managed to place himself exactly between the two downstairs leaders was beyond him. It was just his luck. But Carson possibly stood near enough in front of him not to notice his own wandering hand even if he chose to let his gaze move about the room. And with no one behind them Molesley's mission was a relatively safe one – and one that was certainly worth the remaining minimal risk.

Despite his wife's dislike for open demonstrations of physical contact, he knew from past experience she would secretly enjoy his venture. Last year's reward was still very vividly in the front of his mind, the hope for a similar outcome made him feel bolder, almost adventurous.

His hand hovered in mid-air, his natural caution momentarily preventing him from grabbing his opportunity, quite literally, when suddenly all lights went out. Murmurs from around him were growing louder with the second, chaotic cluttering and rustling of feet prominent in his ears. Quickly, he turned around to check if a glimpse of light was coming from under the door that led to the servants stairwell but everything around him remained dark. He did not know it it was minutes or mere seconds before he snapped out of his confusion and a thought crossed his mind. This was the perfect moment, he would not let another one pass.

In a fast motion he moved his arm forward, his hand colliding with something soft. Something … big.

This. Was. Not. Right.

Hastily, he drew back but it was too late. The person who's backside he had touched had already noticed the contact and from the sound of it was turning around to face him. And to make it all worse, some eager hall boys chose that exact moment to enter through the back door with burning candles to light up the hall.

Molesley could not remember a more awkward point in his life. He felt the warmth of embarrassment creep up his cheeks in record time, never before had the idea of disappearing into thin air been more appealing than in that moment.

He cringed visibly as an altogether too familiar deep, male voice boomed, "Mister Molesley! What do you think you're doing?"

END FLASHBACK

"How can I ever look him in the eyes, again?" After their fit of giggles subsides the feeling of discomfort takes over once more. He grimaces, slouching down on the sofa.

"How can you ever look HIM in the eyes again? How can you ever look ME in the eyes again? Confounding me with Carson of all people! And I thought you would recognize my backside blind, after all the times you couldn't keep your hands to yourself." She was starting to really enjoy this. Here, in the confines of her own home she does not have to pretend embarrassment like she had done earlier. They both know she is only teasing and the whole matter is too good of an opportunity for a joke to be wasted.

"Are you still mad at me?"

That sobers her up. She looks at her husband and cannot resist a sigh. Slowly, she takes up her teacup, walks over to the sofa and sits down next to him. She sighs again, softer this time and lets her head rest against his shoulder. "Mad? Because you grabbed Carson's … behind?" She paused, just long enough to hear her husband take in a sharp breath at the memory of the encounter. "No, I don't think I'm mad at you. You'll find a way to make it up to me." And as if on cue, she sets her untouched cup of tea back on the table only to lean back against him and start pressing small kisses down his jawline.

He leans into the touch enjoying his wife's caresses, after a bit he turns his head around slightly, just enough to capture her lips with his own. Softly at first, then more fierce when her eyelids flutter close. He holds her in his arms as he slowly lays her down on the sofa, only breaking the contact to watch her face as his arms travel further down her back. A small gasp escapes her lips as his hands reach the place where she had craved them all evening. She lets her own hands wander from around the back of his neck to the front where she eagerly begins to unbutton his shirt. When she is halfway down his chest, her hands drawing ever so slight circles on his bared skin, she wraps one leg around him. She can feel his growing excitement between them and very slowly starts rolling her hips against his body to intensify the feeling. Before she lifts her head slightly to plant another, more passionate kiss on his lips, she smiles as she thinks about the fact that he knows exactly what he is doing to her with that little touch. It is their tradition, after all.