A/N: Inspired by the AOL Build interview that Brendan took part in to promote Spotless. He was a little bit snarky about Downton, but this piece of silliness was born from it. Not to be taken too seriously at all. I have used my imagination a little bit here, because damn, I was disappointed that everyone but a certain Mr. Clay got some action...

Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey.

Universal Appeal

For the last six weeks, they had had the same argument at five to nine on a dark Sunday evening.

"John, change the channel over."

John groaned. "Do I have to? Really?"

"Yes, really."

"But there's something I want to watch on TV tonight."

"Tough. We'll tape it."

"You've had your way for the last five weeks."

"All the more reason not to break tradition. Besides, we're invested in this now. We have to carry on watching. I can't go into the office tomorrow and have all the girls spoiling me on what happened if I don't watch it."

"Anna, we know what's going to happen. The footman is going to shag the duke's daughter, and those two servants are going to get married because the rest of the staff is against the idea of it. It's melodramatic rubbish."

"I would have thought that you would like the idea of a couple who defy the odds. You're usually a sentimental, old romantic."

"That's because usually it's about us. I like being romantic with you."

Anna slapped away the hand that drifted from its place on her shoulder to try to graze her breast. They were in their usual position on the sofa, John sprawled out with his legs propped on the pouffe to ease the ache in his right knee from the old war wound that had never fully healed, while Anna curled up against him, head tucked into the crook of his neck and legs tucked beneath her and up on the couch. She turned her head now, fixing him with those fluttering eyelashes.

"That won't work," he warned her.

"It's always been effective in the past."

"Not in this matter. I told you weeks ago that I was really interested in watching this. It sounds fascinating."

Anna read the description on the digital television guide, wrinkling her nose. "It sounds dull as dishwater. Who the hell cares about a bloke getting tangled up in a gangster ring? All that blood and shooting is boring. Give me an escape into the past any day. The clothes are gorgeous if nothing else."

"Nothing else is right. All they do is sit around drinking tea and complain that they're tired and need to lie down. Come on, I've already sat through your dancing programme. Please let me have this." He winced at the pleading tone of his voice, but it was a last resort; as he had learned early on in their relationship, Anna was very stubborn when she wanted to be.

"You like the dancing programme. Just give minutes ago you were commenting on that actress' perfect lines. Which I still think sounds like a cover up for her perfect arse, by the way."

John rolled his eyes. "Oh, really. Her arse is mediocre at best."

For some reason, this earned him a slap on the chest. He pouted.

"Now, hurry up and turn it over. It's starting in a minute and I can't miss the beginning."

"Anna, come on. Just this once, let me have this."

Anna looked very much like she wanted to argue further, until a smirk crept across her face. "What would you give for this?"

"Oh, come on, what are we, five? Are we really going to bargain like children?"

"You tell me, Mr. Bates."

Her eyes twinkled with mirth, and he bit back a growl of annoyance. "Fine. What do you want?"

Perhaps it hadn't been such a good idea to give her power over the terms. Anna's grin widened to a positively wicked degree, and she began a tick list on her fingers. "I want a massage every day this week. I want breakfast in bed next weekend. A nice tea cooked for when I get in from work one night. And there will be no sex tonight—if I've got to sit through this drivel then I'm making sure I catch up with my programme straight after."

John considered the terms. The massage wasn't a bad deal for himself. Anna liked to strip herself off for her massages, and he was treated to her in full naked glory as he pressed his hands onto her tense muscles. And the mood almost inevitably ended up in a romantic romp between the sheets. Breakfast in bed was only slightly trickier—he had never considered himself to be a person who could lounge in bed lazily in a morning, but meeting Anna had changed his perception entirely. Now he lived for the weekends when he could be curled around her knowing that there was nowhere special that he needed to be. Dragging himself from that would be a real pain, but he supposed he could always return to her as soon as breakfast was done. Anna was not inclined to leave her bed early when she didn't have to, and he was certain that he could persuade her to lounge for a little while longer if he used the right methods. Tea was trickier still—as a bachelor living alone, he had dedicated himself to uninspired microwaveable meals for one sitting in front of the television, lamenting just how terrible his life with Vera had turned out. He'd got better since meeting Anna, determined to make a good impression, but he was certainly no Gordon Ramsey, unless it came to swearing very colourfully when he splashed boiling water over his hand or forgot that the lasagne was in the oven. But he could just about manage it if he tried very hard. The going without sex tonight thing was going to be the most difficult—especially if it was to be sacrificed to watch the daughter of the bloody family breathe insipid words of love and passion to the footman as he took her in the library. He enjoyed a bit of romancing, now and then, but bloody hell, he'd seen better chemistry between limp lettuce leaves.

But he really wanted to watch this 'gangster' show, as Anna seemed determined to call it. The press hype around it had been so spectacular that even he had taken notice, and Robert had sworn that he would sacrifice his right arm to watch it, in the same position with Cora as he was with Anna, and that was quite a testimonial.

"Deal," he said.

Smirking, Anna pressed the remote into his hand. He flicked over the channel just as the opening credits began to roll. He settled back in his seat, relaxing at last, and prepared to enjoy the gritty drama unfold.

Or at least he tried to.

Five minutes in, Anna wriggled from under his arm and went off to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. He could hear her clattering about, banging cupboard doors to and scraping containers across the counters. The kettle began to whistle when it reached boiling point. Rolling his eyes, he turned up the volume.

She returned during the first ad break balancing a cup of tea and a packet of chocolate digestives.

"To fortify me for the coming ordeal," she informed him.

"Where's mine?"

"I didn't think you wanted one. You looked very engrossed."

"Oh, charming. Is this what married life has become?"

"Oh, hush." She shoved half a biscuit into his mouth as she sat back down, and he smiled as he chewed, loving the way her lips pursed in her exasperation at him. She took a biscuit for herself as the show re-started, alternating between munching away and sipping on her drink as the action progressed.

"This is silly, you know," she told him. "I mean, look at this. What crazy person takes a dead body to a condemned house to cut drugs from her stomach?"

"It's only fiction," he pointed out.

"I'll remind you of that next time you're complaining about the unrealistic nature of my lovely period drama."

"That's completely different."

"How so?"

"Because men and women in those days didn't go around doing the dirty up against the bookcases in the library."

"Whereas people go around erasing crime scenes all the time now?"

"There are enough nutters in the world. And all murderers try to cover their footsteps."

"He's not a murderer, though. And you weren't there in the past, so you don't have a firm statistic for library shenanigans."

John rolled his eyes. If there was one thing he had learned in his relationship with Anna, it was that she always had to have the last word. He had been well and truly beaten from the very beginning, unable to resist those determined blue eyes right from the night that he had met her. Focusing back on the television, he immersed himself back into the rich, geniusly crafted storytelling, choosing to ignore the way that Anna fidgeted and sighed throughout.

Until she sat up straight in her seat, pushing away from him entirely.

"Oh, hello," she said enthusiastically.

Confused, John followed the path of her eyes, now resolutely glued to the screen.

The main—well, antagonist, he supposed—had just swaggered into the scene, sharply dressed in a crisp suit, hands in his pockets, dark eyes calculating as he took in the chaos in front of him. Namely a grotesque murder carried out in his name.

John furrowed his brow. "What are you 'hello'ing at?"

Anna gestured to the TV. "Are you blind?"

"I need readers, thank you."

"Well, you might need to get stronger glasses if you can't see what I see. Who is that? He's utterly gorgeous!"

Frowning, John turned back to the telly. There was nothing spectacular about the man in question. In fact, he would go so far as to say that he was made of the same mould that he himself was. A little bit soft around the middle, had probably seen better days as a younger man.

"Anna—" he began, but she shushed him frantically, eyes riveted to the screen. If John didn't know her better, he would say that she was almost watering at the mouth, but that wasn't her style. She didn't ogle men shamelessly.

Unless it was him, and that was another story entirely, one that he was happy to indulge.

But this…this was new behaviour entirely. Behaviour that was rather disconcerting, as if his wife had been switched and replaced by a replica that looked like her but hadn't mastered her personality. He shifted uncomfortably.

As if reading his thoughts, Anna sighed, "God, his voice is so sexy."

"Sounds as if he's got a frog caught in it to me."

"No, that husky edge is a real turn on. No wonder he's a happily married psycho gangster."

"How is that any substitute for a wonky moral compass?"

"You'd be surprised at the power of sex appeal."

"You get antsy if I don't put the right material in the recycling bin. I very much doubt you could be with someone with a hit list."

"For a face like that, I would overlook anything. Now hush. I want to hear what he's saying."

John spent the next half an hour pouting. Every time the character appeared on the screen, Anna's eyes lit up like a child's at Christmas. It was somewhat unsettling. He wasn't even allowed to steal a biscuit—she smacked his hand when he crinkled the packet. He went back to sulking slightly as the hour progressed, not quite sure how their roles had flipped so dramatically. Now there was nothing more that he wanted to do than flip the channel and get stuck watching that bloody stupid period drama. At least he wouldn't have to put up with Anna being dewy-eyed over the baby-faced actors in that, no matter how dire the storyline was.

His night only got worse when the final ten minutes began. Oozing power and raw masculinity, the villain took his wife to bed.

Sex was part and parcel of the viewers' TV experience in today's world; it seemed to infiltrate everything even when it had no place. In some ways John had become desensitised to it; most days, unless it was completely out of place, like in that sodding period drama, he simply did not think about it. But this…this was different. Uncomfortable.

Because Anna had leaned forward in her seat, her eyes gleaming in a way that he was unaccustomed to seeing directed at anyone else but himself.

He almost didn't dare look at the screen, but it was like the horrific site of an accident that he simply couldn't tear his gaze from. On the screen, the antagonist slipped off his shirt and began to tackle the woman's dress while her hands went to his trousers. They were kissing with growing ardour. The creative side within him could have appreciated the artful shooting of the scene, not voyeuristic in the sense that all of her most private parts were not on show to titillate the males watching, but all he could really focus on was the way that Anna sighed, a sound filled with lust.

"A body to die for," she said. "I'm so glad you convinced me to watch this."

John was decidedly less glad about it, scowling fiercely as the woman ran her hands down the man's hairy chest and hooked her legs around his waist.

"I don't see what's so great about it," he groused. "He's a bit soft in the middle. He's definitely going grey at the edges."

Anna shot him a pointed look. "Since when has that been a turn off?"

Truly beaten, John lapsed back into wounded silence. It was true. Anna had met him when he was far beyond the prime of his life, and she had embraced each and every one of his flaws with an enthusiasm that had been beyond his comprehension. It was disconcerting to see it aimed at someone else, though.

He could try and get his own back by focusing on the wife, he thought rather uncharitably as Anna gave a low moan of appreciation when the camera zoomed in on the man's broad back dappled in sensual moonlight as he lowered his wife to the bed. The only problem was the fact that it would be insincere, and Anna would spot that a mile off. Perhaps it was rather sad, but the truth of the matter was that he hadn't really noticed another woman since meeting Anna. Oh, he could appreciate a woman's beauty in the way that a photographer might admire the perfect sunrise, but the truth was that Anna May Bates had ruined all women for him. Inevitably, a simple admiration would turn into a comparison, and that was simply something that no one could compete with, because no one on earth was more beautiful than she was.

It certainly didn't help that, in a bid to throw off the objectification of women, the camera was instead now focusing on the antagonist's regrettably very pert backside, something that Anna clearly liked, given her shaky sigh. John's own passion had soured completely.

When the Next Time clip had rolled and the end credits began to appear, he reached listlessly for the remote. Another hour of wishy-washy drama was the last thing he needed, but he hoped Anna's favourite programme would drive out all thoughts of drug lords.

Before he could set the recording going, however, Anna's hand shot out to stop him.

"We can catch up tomorrow night," she said somewhat breathlessly. "I'm tired. Let's go to bed."

He had no real objection to that, so, shrugging, he switched off the TV.

"I'll take these pots through," she said. "You head upstairs. I'll meet you there."

Dragging himself upstairs, John went about his usual nightly routines and crawled into bed. He settled down on his left side and listened to the sounds of his wife moving around. Fifteen minutes later she slipped into bed beside him, sighing as she snuggled up against him. John opened his arms automatically for her to duck underneath, and she pressed her palm flat to his chest as she bent in low to kiss him. He let her, loosening slightly when she sighed into his mouth. The sound usually never failed to make his hairs stand on end.

Things started to move quickly after that, Anna never stopping kissing him as she struggled out of her pyjama top until she was bare-breasted against him. Her tongue was still in his mouth as she lowered herself to him, her hand snaking lower.

They both paused. Slowly, Anna pulled away.

"Oh," she said.

John lowered his eyes to the bed spread, unable to look at her when she was half-naked and surprised.

"I'm not really in the mood," he muttered, ashamed.

"These things happen," she said kindly. It was almost more than he could bear.

Because these things didn't just happen. He didn't know what it was about her, but despite his growing number of years she made him as randy as a teenager who had just discovered the joys of sex. Even now, so many years into their relationship, he was still as mad for has he had been the first time.

It appeared that her ogling of another man was bruising more than just his ego. He sighed harshly, scrubbing his hand across his face.

Anna had replaced her shirt by now, and settled down on her side of the mattress. She leaned across to kiss him sweetly.

"I'm tired anyway," she told him. "I could do with a good night's rest to replenish myself. And I did say there would be no sex tonight."

He despised that she was making excuses for him, but he nodded dutifully anyway.

"I'm sorry," he offered.

"Sorry is never helpful in these kinds of situations. It's okay, John. I still get to hold you."

She sidled closer, wrapping her arms around his middle to emphasise her point. She tucked her head into the crook of his neck, breathing in deeply.

Not being able to see her face made him brave, and he turned slightly so that he could bury his nose against her hair, breathing in the fruity, clean scent. She always smelled amazing.

"I bet Mr. Mob Man wouldn't have let you down like this," he tried to joke weakly, though he couldn't quite mask the bitter undercurrent that snapped at the end of his sentence.

Anna pulled away from him at once, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

"Well, he was certainly assured of himself, wasn't he?" he replied, trying to keep his tone casual.

"You're not serious, are you?"

"Just trying to lighten the moment."

"I know you, John Bates. Whenever you try to lighten the moment, it means you're brooding deeply about it."

"You make me sound terribly grouchy."

"You are. But you're my grouch. If something's bothering you, I'd rather know."

He sighed, staring up at the ceiling, glad it was dark. "I'm just being incredibly stupid and insecure. I thought I was past this, but apparently not."

"Oh, John. Tell me. Please."

This was torture. He hated having to confess his feelings to her, to make her feel like she was in the wrong when it was all him. The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel guilty. Vera had done a number on him in the long years that they had been together, but it wasn't fair that Anna constantly had to deal with his troubles. She had staunchly told him that she would do anything for him, but that didn't make it easier.

"I suppose I was feeling a little jealous. I've never seen you looking like that at anyone else before. It was rather unexpected."

"And you should know that it means nothing. For one thing, he's a famous actor and I'm an anonymous woman, probably one in a very long line who fancies him. Everyone has celebrity crushes. They mean nothing. Just because I thought he was a bit of all right doesn't mean that I don't love you."

"I know," he sighed, scrubbing his hand over his face. "I told you, it's stupid and irrational. And I honestly thought I was over it. But you know…you know Vera cheated on me and used to say all manner of things. I wasn't a perfect husband and I didn't think I cared that much at the time, but it was uncomfortable to see you lusting after another man."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't have to be. This is my problem, not yours."

Anna shifted, draping herself across his chest. Her fingers caressed his jaw and tilted his head so that he had no choice but to look at her. "It's something we tackle together, darling. Besides, there may be one thing that you've overlooked."

John raised an eyebrow, curious. "Oh? What's that, then?"

"Well, couldn't you see it when you watched it?"

"See what?"

She giggled affectionately, kissing him briefly as she hitched closer. "His resemblance to you."

"What?"

"It's true. It's all there."

"What, you mean the middle aged flab and the greying hair?"

She rolled her eyes. "I was thinking more along the lines of the eyes. Though the height and the broadness was a bonus too. And I like a bit of middle-aged flab. Keeps me warm in the winter. And most of the heartthrobs in today's society are distinguished older men. You could be in worse company."

"I'm still not sure whether I should take this as an insult or not."

"Oh, it's definitely a compliment," she reassured him, hitching herself up over his body. He sucked in a breath as she brushed her fingers over his jaw. "Because the entire way through I was fantasising about me and you. I was imagining what it would be like to be in that moment, to be dominated by you when you were in such a masculine, virile mood."

"Are you saying I'm not manly enough?" said John, but this time he really was teasing; their sex life was far from dull, and Anna enjoyed a wide range of experiments that he was more than eager to participate in.

"I do like it when you take charge sometimes," she confessed coyly. "It's very hot. I like my independence, but damn, there's a part of me that likes nothing more than to be hitched up into strong arms and carted up the stairs…"

"I'm not sure I can manage the carting up the stairs part," he confessed. "Especially with my leg. But I'd give it a go for you."

"I can meet you halfway. You have lovely strong arms."

She squeezed his bicep to serve a point, and he felt it low. Clearing his throat, he tried to keep his tone casual as he prompted, "Go on, what else?"

"I know what you're doing, Mr. Bates. You're looking for your ego to be stroked."

"It's feeling very bruised at the moment."

She shifted against him, a Cheshire cat grin unfurling across her features. "It feels like there's more than your ego that wants to be stroked, too."

"Unexpected, I know."

"A nice surprise."

She leaned down to kiss him again, and this time he surrendered himself fully to the sensations she elicited within him. Her words were a cure, and when they broke apart John knew that they were on the same page once more. Flipping them over, he sat up to discard his shirt, growling when Anna ran her hands down his chest. Her gaze was feverish, and she pulled him down to meet her mouth once more. Her desire was exciting. When they parted again he helped to vestige her of her own clothing, before trapping her beneath his body. Her eyes shone as she peered up at him, and she bit her lip in a play of innocence. Little minx.

John tried to run through the scene that they had just watched in his head. How had it gone again?

"You belong to me," he told her tentatively.

"Yours," Anna hummed, her hand slipping to his sensitive inner thigh; this seemed like he was off to a good start. Growing in confidence, his hands found her own thighs, pulling them wide apart so that he could sink between them.

"I hope you're ready," he growled. "Because I'm going to remind you of what I can do. I'm going to fu—"

He never finished his sentence. Anna lurched up to kiss him, and he was lost.

He rolled off her a few moments after he'd found his pleasure, sinking heavily into the mattress. Their panting breaths continued as Anna rolled over to snuggle up against his side, sweaty palm sliding over his sticky back. She was flushed pink from head to toe, one of the most gorgeous sights he had ever seen. He didn't even have the energy to lift his head, but Anna completed his wish for him, moving in close to kiss him.

"That was good," she told him when they parted.

"I thought so too," he told her with a cheeky grin, bringing an arm up with the greatest of efforts to run his fingers lethargically through her tangled hair. She rolled her eyes but ran the tip of her nose down the length of his. He caught her around the waist and pulled her snug to him, uncaring that the heat and sweat between them made it rather uncomfortable. She giggled a little, his favourite sound in the whole world, and kissed him deeply again. He sighed into her mouth. This was what he loved even more than their lovemaking. That intimacy brought him more physical pleasure than he could possibly articulate, but this intimacy was on another level. In these moments in the aftermath, he felt on top of the world. Happy on a level he didn't think possible. Loved and cherished. Vulnerable but invincible. The affection continued long after the physical release. Kisses and caresses and tangled limbs and whispered words. True heaven on earth.

But he could tell Anna was exhausted. Her kisses had slowed to sleepy little pecks. Her caresses were indolent and full of effort. Her weight on him was heavy with exhaustion. Her words were short and sleep-drunk.

"Sleep, darling," he whispered into her ear, nuzzling against her. "I love you."

She shifted against him to get more comfortable, murmuring some semblance of the words in reply. John kissed her forehead one more time before closing his eyes to relish the pure, holy beauty of holding his wife in his arms.

It didn't take long for him to follow her down.

"We're watching this. No excuses."

This was certainly a turnaround from the previous Sunday, John thought with a touch of irony. Anna's mouth was set in that determined line that always meant business.

"I don't know," he said anyway. "I'm not really sure that I want to. I didn't enjoy the story as much as I'd thought I would. I think that period drivel is better than this."

"We're taping that again. We can catch up tomorrow."

"Oh, joy," he muttered. As if it wasn't bad enough sitting through one of them.

"How about we make a deal?"

"What sort of deal?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

She shrugged. "If you're really so set against it, what would it take for you to agree to it?"

John paused. Was she really giving him the power? It seemed too good to be true. He nearly always ended up agreeing with whatever she wanted, simply because she was so charming and he was a weak, weak man. It might be a trap.

Still, what else could he say? "I want breakfast in bed for a week," he said, remembering her earlier negotiations.

"I can stretch to that."

"Making love by candlelight every night."

"All right," she agreed, but not without rolling her eyes. Perhaps candlelight every night was a bit elitist.

"I want the TV Saturday afternoon so I can watch the football."

"Done."

He couldn't really think of anything else—well, he'd quite like an Audi, but he supposed that was a bit beyond their means—so he finished lamely, "So we have a deal?"

"We have a deal, Mr. Bates."

She offered him her hand with all the solemnity of a lawyer, and the deal was sealed. Triumphantly, Anna reached for the remote and flicked the channel over. Leaning back, she settled under his arm and became engrossed in the show—or one character in particular. John sighed in resignation, doing his best to remember that Anna found the guy attractive because he reminded her of himself. And, when everything was said and done, John was the one who gave her the world by day and made her see stars at night.

Unable to hide his pleased smirk at his own corny reassurances, he settled himself into the plot.

And, by the end of the night when they were lying tangled together in a mass of sweaty limbs and pounding hearts, John could acknowledge that in this particular deal, they were both winners.