A/N: so, several pictures appeared last night of Dan Stevens looking absurdly attractive in a tuxedo, and I ended up writing this. Apologies for bombarding you with fanfic lately, but I'm making the most of this sudden writing spurt before work gets intense again...
Bear in mind that this is not much more than a piece of shameless smut... but I know how much you all love the smut :P xxx
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"Shouldn't you be getting ready soon?"
Mary lazily lifted her head to glance at the clock on the wall. "Hmm, I'll get ready soon." She said non-committally, turning back to analyse the sketches on her desk.
"You seem to be quite unenthused by this whole event." Her colleague, Meredith, chuckled. "I think it's quite exciting to have an excuse to dress up!"
"Yes, well, I suppose so." Mary shrugged. "But to be quite honest there are other things I'd rather do than spend the evening inflating the egos of people in the office."
Meredith laughed. "Honestly, Mary, you need to lighten up a bit. I'm sure you'll enjoy the party once the champagne gets flowing!" She winked at Mary before picking up her dress and large make-up kit and hurrying off to the ladies' room, where the rest of the office's female population were undoubtedly fighting over the limited mirror space.
Mary sighed as she looked at the clock again. The taxis to the venue were due to arrive in thirty minutes and she had absolutely no energy for it. It wasn't that she was bitter about not being nominated for an award - of course not - but it felt like a waste of time and resources to host a lavish ceremony when there was so much work to be done.
Her company, a trans-atlantic fashion magazine dating back to the 1920s, had developed a tradition of holding an annual awards ceremony to honour and reward its most promising and accomplished talent. All writers, designers, advertisers, PR staff - and even a few business strategists and accountants - from the American and British offices congregated in London for one night a year. It always started out as an evening of elegance, polite chatter and networking, but by the time dinner was over, the awards handed out and the bar opened, it quickly descended into a frenzy of drunken escapades and debauchery. The sordid tales that circulated each September about the Mode awards bash lent the magazine its aura of intrigue and glamour, so Mary could understand why the executive were so keen to make each year's party bigger and better than the last.
"Are you still sat here in your work clothes?" The shocked voice of her boss, Elena, jolted her out of her thoughts. "The New York office have already arrived at the venue!" She squeaked, holding curling tongs in one hand while trying to buckle high-heeled shoe with the other.
"Why are they there so early?" Mary asked. She'd been considering skiving the whole thing, let alone turning up earlier than necessary.
"God knows, but pictures of them arriving just got put up on our Twitter account." Elena replied. At this, several of their female colleagues tottered over in their stilettos and platforms to assemble around Mary's laptop, which was the only one still switched on.
"What are you doing?" Mary tutted, annoyed at being jostled by the heavily perfumed women trying to reach her laptop.
"We need to see what they're wearing!" One responded excitedly. "So that we know if we're over- or under-dressed."
Mary rolled her eyes. This was ridiculous. She tried to arrange some papers on her desk in an attempt to display her lack of interest.
"Oh. My. God." She heard Meredith gasp.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" Another exclaimed. Several gasps and sighs reverberated around her. Growing irritated, she looked over at the screen, ready to disparage whatever dress or shade of lipstick it was that had got these grown women so worked up.
Her mouth fell open.
Matthew Crawley had joined the company ten months earlier, as an in-house lawyer. At the time, Mary had been dealing with a copyright dispute in her team, so she'd had to work quite closely with him for a couple of months. He'd seemed clever and was good at what he did, in a technical sense, but he'd been so straight-laced and by-the-book that he had grated on Mary's nerves, and the two had clashed heads on several occasions. She'd felt that he had no place being in their office when so many others would have given their right arm for the job; he had openly sneered at the whole fashion industry as being vacuous and full of hot hair, while she had belittled his profession as the go-to field for people with no creativity, charisma or looks.
It had been a relief, then, when Matthew had announced two months ago that he was transferring to the New York office to take up a more senior position in their main legal team. The office had been quieter since then - in a pleasant way, of course. It had been much better without him there, purposely getting under her skin and appearing out of nowhere to cite random contractual clauses at her. It had been a full two months since she'd last seen or spoken to him, and it was a welcome change. Who needed an attractive man around who challenged you all the time and tried to open your mind to another way of thinking, while simultaneously managing to make you laugh when you least wanted to?
No, she hadn't missed him at all.
But now she could hardly tear her eyes away from the image before her. When he'd departed the London office, Matthew had left as a cherub-faced, slightly chubby (albeit handsome, Mary reluctantly conceded) man, stuck somewhere in between boyhood and manhood.
"New York has certainly treated him well." Elena murmured over Mary's shoulder.
Mary couldn't help but agree, as she surveyed the slimmed-down, lean frame of Matthew Crawley 2.0. Gone was his clean-shaven face, replaced with a thin, neatly trimmed beard. Mary always despised facial hair, and would never have thought that Matthew, of all people, would be able to pull it off. But it made him look more masculine, more debonair, resting on his chiselled jaw. He'd never been much of a dresser considering that he worked for one of the world's leading fashion magazines, opting for the same few ill-fitting suits and badly-knotted ties. It was startling, therefore, to see him sport a slick tuxedo that hugged him in all the right places, showing off his newly sculpted body. His usually unkempt, unruly hair had been cropped and gelled back neatly, with hints of gold still showing through.
Mary swallowed hard. Her body warmed up. She was going to be in the same room as this specimen in about an hour and this was the reaction that his mere photograph was inducing?
"I need to get ready." Mary announced abruptly, standing up and pushing past her colleagues, who barely noticed her leave, their eyes still glued to the screen as they gaped at 'that guy who used to work in legal'.
Rushing into the now empty ladies' room, Mary frantically tried to make herself up. Her prior nonchalance over the evening's festivities meant that she'd not even bothered to bring her nicest dress or much make-up with her. It had been a busy time at work for her so her hair was not as freshly washed, nor her skin as thoroughly exfoliated, as she'd have liked. Sighing deeply, she set about beautifying herself, scavenging through the remainders of hair products and the like that lay scattered around the room like debris after an explosion in Superdrug. She'd be damned if she was going to meet Matthew Crawley tonight looking anything less than sensational.
...
Mary sipped her champagne as she watched him from the other side of the room. The party had been in full swing by the time she and her London colleagues had arrived; she may have held up the taxis for ten minutes to re-do her mascara, but it was worth it.
She watched as he chatted to various people, everyone suddenly taking an interest in him now that he looked like a male model rather than an intellectual property lawyer. He had no right looking that good. He probably got lucky that the New York office had some leftover Prada hanging around that just happened to fit him. And how dare he waltz back over here, win the award for 'Most Promising Young Talent' despite not even being in a fashion-related department, and act like the guest of honour? The whole thing reeked of injustice, which was ironic given that he was in the legal team.
"Mary?" She spun round, finding a fellow writer, Philip, grinning at her. "What are you staring at so intently?" He asked amusedly. She suspected he already knew the answer.
"I'm not staring at anything." Mary said defensively.
"Well I called your name three times before you heard me, so your attention must have been captured by something. Or should I say, someone?" He grinned again, and Mary narrowed her eyes at him. "It's alright, Mary. I daresay you're not the only woman in the room to be distracted tonight. None of us other men stand a chance." He muttered with faux-bitterness.
"You're married." Mary reminded him. Philip just shrugged and wandered off, leaving her alone.
She found her eyes automatically moving back to Matthew, who was talking animatedly to a group of (mainly female) designers. The old Matthew never would have placed himself at the centre of attention. Indeed, he was now carrying himself much more confidently than she'd ever known him to. It was as if he knew how suave and sexy he looked. He fell just short of being too cocky, though - his boyish smirk and the slightly dorky hand gestures that he used as he spoke made sure of that. Frustratingly, those remnants of his former self only made him more attractive.
A few moments later, she forced herself to join a conversation with some of the team from Los Angeles. After all, she was used to being the life of the party, and she wasn't going to let a formerly frumpy lawyer ruin her evening and prevent her from forging new contacts.
"You're lucky you have so many young guys working with you." One Californian girl sighed to her, mid-conversation. "I'd give anything to have some hot meat sit by me all day. It'd make work so much more bearable, you know?"
Mary nodded slowly, not entirely sure what 'hot meat' referred to but she caught the gist.
"Oh, God, yeah," another young blonde said, "like that lawyer guy with the amazing blue eyes and gorgeous voice?" She groaned and shuddered dramatically to indicate her attraction to him. Mary took an instant dislike to her.
"Speaking of," the first girl said excitedly, "he's looking over here."
Unable to help herself, Mary's head darted round. Sure enough, those 'amazing blue eyes' were focussed directly on her. She gulped again, having forgotten how powerful his gaze could be. Philip was next to him, telling him something that made Matthew smirk and blush, his eyes never leaving Mary.
Feeling rather uncomfortable at so obviously being spoken about, Mary tried to avert her gaze, but she couldn't shake the sensation of being stared at. Eventually, she downed her glass of champagne, excused herself and left for the ladies' room, with the distinct feeling that a pair of eyes was following her movements.
Checking her appearance in the mirror and re-applying her lip gloss, she ventured back into the party. Everyone had grown steadily more drunk over the last thirty minutes or so, and the champagne that she'd gulped down was starting to go to her head. Squinting, she stood at the edge of the hall and tried to find those girls that she'd been talking to.
"Hello." A familiar voice sounded from somewhere to her left. "Looking for someone?"
She glared at him, ignoring the fact that he looked even more scrumptious up-close than from a distance. "No." She said firmly, wanting to dispel any notion that he may have that she was searching for him.
"Alright." Matthew replied easily. "You look nice tonight." His eyes travelled over her dress. She swallowed hard again, cursing him for making her feel so flustered.
"Thanks." She was about to return the compliment but decided not to - the risk of verbal diarrhoea was too great. She might accidentally let slip how he looked good enough to throw down on the floor and ravage right then and there, in the middle of the party.
"Are you having a nice evening?" He politely enquired.
"What was Philip saying to you about me?" She asked suddenly, her tipsiness eradicating her abilities to be tactful. It didn't matter, though - this was Matthew, she didn't need to play games around him.
"Hmm?" Matthew hummed, clearly feigning ignorance.
Mary rolled her eyes. "I know he was telling you something about me - you were looking at me." She'd usually conceal her interest in something like this, but her paranoia was too great.
"It was nothing," Matthew said softly.
"For God's sake, just tell me-"
"Wa-heeyyyyy!" Philip came bounding over, comically inebriated. He flung one arm around each of Matthew and Mary, spilling some vodka out of his glass and onto the floor in the process. "Good to see you two are finally getting together!" He turned to Mary. "I let Matthew know that your knickers are wet for him!" He guffawed at his crude joke.
Mary felt paralysed with embarrassment. Her entire face and neck flushed. Matthew chuckled to diffuse the awkwardness and made a comment about how Philip had had too much to drink and was spending the night trying to incite a scandal. With a laugh, Philip left them, presumably in search of another target to humiliate.
Determinedly, Mary looked Matthew in the eye. If she let her demeanour change then Matthew might think that there was some truth in Philip's statement - there was, in fact, but she didn't want him to know that. "So how long are you here for?" She asked.
"My flight leaves tomorrow morning, at 8am." Matthew replied.
"Are you planning on sleeping before you return?" Mary raised an eyebrow. The party was unlikely to finish before 4am.
"No, not really." Matthew's voice dropped. He took a confident swig from his glass as he looked at her, and Mary felt herself flush again. Everything he did seemed to ooze magnetism.
"What are you drinking?" She asked.
"Lemonade."
She burst out laughing, incredulous that she had been turned on by Matthew Crawley drinking Sprite. For all his appearance of sophistication, he remained a bit of a loser.
"What?" He asked, somewhat hurt by her reaction.
"Who attends a party like this and drinks lemonade?" She scoffed.
"I had alcohol earlier - I'm just taking a break." He replied defensively. "I was doing shots with the designers earlier. They're a pretty hardcore bunch."
"Obviously they think you're hardcore enough to join them." Mary teased.
"Perhaps," Matthew quirked an eyebrow with a smile, "this party seems pretty tame so far, though. I'm disappointed - I'd heard such scandalous things." There was a lilt of suggestion in Matthew's tone that Mary picked up on.
"Maybe you should do something wild to lead the way." She said carefully, not certain enough of his meaning to say anything bolder.
"Maybe you could help me." He said lowly, and there was an unmistakeable glint in his eye.
Breathing became more difficult for Mary; her chest rose and fell more heavily and her mouth was dry. Was he really suggesting what she thought he was suggesting? "Do you want do dance?" She asked, nodding towards the dancefloor across the room.
Matthew shook his head, his eyes at their most penetrating. "No. I don't think I could wait that long." His tongue darted out to lick his lips and he gazed down to hers.
Mary felt like she was about to melt. "Follow me." She said, turning and rushing out of the room with a sense of urgency akin to evacuating a burning building.
Sensing his footsteps behind her, she stumbled through a door that led out into a courtyard. There were a couple of stragglers near the entrance to the hall but for the most part it was deserted. Not even stopping to think about what she was doing, she marched towards the far corner, which was not very well lit.
She stopped and turned - he was already mere inches away and he immediately dipped his head to kiss her. Placing a hand on his firm shoulder, she halted him. "Are you sure you want to do this?" Her body was aching with anticipation so badly that she was surprised that she'd managed to form a coherent sentence.
"God, Mary, I've wanted you since I first laid eyes on you." Matthew rasped, his last word mumbled as he consumed her lips with his.
It wasn't long before their tongues were duelling, sliding against each other and causing them both to moan and sigh. Matthew slid his hands to her derriere and fondled her, raising the hem of her short dress up in the process. She groaned and continued to fist his hair into one hand, the fingers of the other hand digging into his shoulder. Her body arched into his as she felt his hands slide underneath her dress, over her underwear and up to her back, where his fingers deftly unhooked her bra and his palms stroked over her bare skin.
She felt his hands edge towards the front of her body, to her bust - she was close to screaming from the tension that was building inside her. "Do something." Mary breathed, breaking away from his hungry mouth. She was panting as if she'd just sprinted a mile.
They turned their attentions to each others' necks and throats as Matthew hoisted Mary up, staggering a few steps until he backed her up against a stone wall. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his hips, but his body was pressed against hers so fully that she was in no danger of slipping. They resumed their lustful kisses, their chests heaving against each other.
Roughly, Matthew pushed her dress up and she threw it over her head and off to the side, leaving her half-naked. It was stupid and reckless to be so exposed, but it didn't seem to matter. Her breasts were immediately lavished with nibbles, licks and kisses, his fingers caressing whatever he couldn't reach with his mouth. Her head flew backwards and collided with the hard wall, but her pain was numbed by the glorious sensations travelling over the front of her body. She was caught by surprise when she suddenly felt a sneaky finger invade her underneath her underwear, and she gasped sharply as Matthew loudly groaned.
"Philip wasn't lying, was he?" Matthew grunted.
Mary didn't respond; her hands slid down his torso - still fully-clothed - to his trousers. She rubbed him for a few seconds, eliciting his loudest groan yet, before unfastening his trousers.
Within seconds, she could feel him deliciously deep inside of her. They were rocking together, the sounds escaping their mouths growing in volume and intensity. Mary's back was sliding up and down the rough wall with each thrust, its harshness a wonderful contrast to the overwhelming pleasure that she was feeling. It was almost unbearable, and she clung onto Matthew's shoulders as if for dear life. His hips were powerful against hers, his movements somehow increasingly energetic despite his laboured breathing.
Mary was swearing and cursing and giving Matthew all kinds of explicit orders that she'd be rather embarrassed about later, but it all served to encourage Matthew to keep going. As the tension inside her had just reached its absolute peak, it all came crashing down. Mary was sure she would be left with several bruises on her thighs and hips where Matthew's fingers were embedded into her soft flesh, and she was subconciously worried that she might tear a hole into his blazer.
With two final clashes of their hips, they were done. Matthew impressively managed to remain standing; Mary no longer had the strength to lock her legs around him and she buckled slightly. They took a few moments to regain their breath and calm their heart-rates. Matthew, who had a sheen of sweat over his forehead, bent down to retrieve her dress. She took it from his hand with a small smile before slipping it on.
"Well..." He said, for want of something to say. It appeared that was all he could think of.
"Well," Mary echoed. "We still have four hours before you need to be at the airport, am I right?" She laced her words with suggestion.
Matthew raised an eyebrow at her, catching her meaning. "You are right." He said, his voice deep. He wasted no time in following her out of the party.
...
A/N: *fans self* sorry this was a bit pointless and intense, but it's all meant in good fun. Thanks for reading! xxx