"I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps."

- Pablo Neruda

The question swirled around in Matthew's head as the game started.

"Truth of Dare?"

In his hands he held Lucy's weapon of choice, a cocktail called Old Fashioned. Mary's friend had mixed everyone a drink that she deemed appropriate. His fiancée was, therefore, sipping from a drink entitled, Screaming Orgasm.

"Drink up," Lucy had said to Mary, "It's about as close as you'll get."

Matthew could feel his temper rising as he looked about the party, but falling whenever he saw Mary. A few months ago this kind of shindig would have made him uncomfortable to the level of breaking out in hives. However, now it was seen as more of a necessary evil. Matthew was curious about Lucy, what would it take to convince Mary's friend? She was certainly an enigma because according to his fiancée, she was impressed by their exit from the black and white ball, and his playfully drunken demeanor at their engagement party. And yet she persisted with her rude behavior.

This posh crowd, unlike Lucy, was not hard to understand. Matthew did take a somewhat diluted and perhaps rather warped pleasure in figuring out the stories behind each fast track, trend setting trust fund adult here. They volunteered their time to worthy causes, served on boards and traveled to far away and exotic locations. Some of these people were interesting, and then there was Mary. She stood out, and not just because she was his fiancée and he was smitten. Matthew noticed Mary all the more in this environment because it made him feel empowered, for he knew her better than anyone else here. He was privy to intellectual as well as physical details about her, that she otherwise kept hidden. Perhaps that was the source of Lucy's hostility, as Mary's oldest friend she was supposed to have a monopoly on information. Matthew sipped his drink therefore and returned his attention to the party game of truth and dare. He would endure anything for Mary.

"A player cannot choose truth more than twice in a row, and dares cannot be repeated," Lucy said as she sipped her drink, a cosmopolitan. She was the only one whose drink did not have a rather vulgar connotation that was her privilege as the bartender it seemed.

"Matt," Lucy continued, "You go first."

"Matthew," Mary corrected her friend, a tight smile on her face. "My fiancé's name is Matthew."

To say that Matthew was uncomfortable would have been an understatement. However, he had a plan forming despite the social conundrum.

"Truth," he finally said with trepidation. And the crowd of people seated at the bar as the game's participants reacted with surprise. Matthew presumed that dares would be more common. At least it was a small mercy that only a handful of people were playing, as the balmy spring night had lulled guests outside onto the porch.

Matthew longed to reach for Mary and pull her close to him, but they were seated on opposite ends of the bar. As he was drinking on an empty stomach and feeling rather clumsy, he contented himself with making googly eyes at his bride to be. After all, it was Wednesday night and he had worked all day. His mind was still reviewing the recent investments for his clients; he was tired and had planned on going home to his flat. If it weren't for her text messages, he would never have joined her for this bacchanal. But, oh those text messages, Matthew licked his lips, tasting the vodka and schnapps of his drink. Soon, they would move into their condo, but not soon enough. Since they still lived apart, it was fair to say spending time together was often a challenge, and exceptions had to be made. Matthew stifled a yawn; sleep had been hard to come by in Mary's company last night.

"Tell us an embarrassing moment," Lucy said with amusement. "Something that not even Mary knows about."

Matthew motioned with his index finger for Mary and she obligated him walking to his side, without hesitation. He put his arm around her and she took the initiative to sit on his lap. Matthew was certainly not tired anymore.

"Well," he began searching his memory for something to share that would not induce ridicule and yet fit the request. The last thing he needed was to hand Mary's judgmental friend ammunition against him.

"Responding to Mary's text to come here, I accidentally chose a different contact in my phone named Maryam."

"Is that all?" Lucy scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"No," Matthew said with amusement. "That's just the beginning."

He looked and could see Mary blushing as her fingers idly played with the collar on his shirt. No doubt she had guessed where he was going with this story, as she knew part of it at least.

"The exact nature of what I wrote to a woman my mother's age and from her church was not exactly wholesome; in fact it was downright indecent. I owe her a rather large apology."

The small group of people laughed and the man named Luke to his right even raised his glass at him. Mary offered her Screaming Orgasm for him, while she took his Old Fashioned.

"This is delicious," Mary hummed with dramatic effect as she sipped, a smile on her face directed at her old friend.

"I wouldn't be surprised if the police are currently tracking my location," Matthew continued. "I'm sorry if their interruption ruins your party Lucy," he said evasively. The text message content in all of its heated glory returned to him as he stared at this fiancée. Mary's tongue moistened her lips in a seductive manner, and it was the final straw. It had been a long day, but the night was still young. And Matthew was very, very hungry. The maths were quite simple and he whispered into Mary's ear, "You, plus me, equals we leave right now."

"And so I'm afraid we must be going," Mary said. She turned towards her friend proudly, "Thanks for the lovely party, and a drink that put me into a particular mood."

Lucy stood gawking, but the rest of the game participants seemed less surprised. Either that or they were simply more inebriated.

The impossible is possible, Mary thought to herself sometime later that evening. She was comfortable with the abstract beauty that had always been presented before her. As a child she had enjoyed walking beside her mother in The National Portrait Gallery because art is important. The intellectual value of paint strokes translated. She appreciated sitting next to her father listening to The London Symphony play as she grew up because music is important. The sound encapsulated by the musical notes told a story. When she strolled through the streets of Milan with her grandmother as a teenager during fashion week, it was transcendent, because fashion was the most important expression to her. She had, therefore, every year made the pilgrimage to Milan for the annual fashion show, her appreciation of what she saw as living breathing art took hold of her, body, mind and soul. Mary had the base, the education and the adaptability to see art everywhere. And was how she fell for Matthew Crawley for he was a work of art.

She had thought she knew the universe through art, and yet she was wrong. It was not easy to come to this conclusion. She struggled with it without understanding the confines of her self imposed cage. Art is not always painting, music, pattern or design. For Mary, this was a powerful realization. The night she awoke to Matthew's pillow talk, she felt this surge of knowledge cover her where the sheets had left her exposed. His words so earnest, so passionate and about something she had never given credit for having any transience or creativity was awe inspiring. There was the left brain and there was the right brain. People did not speak about mathematics using language that was artistic, it was simply unheard of. But she recognized the tone in his reverent voice, the sincerity of a subject having touched him so thoroughly and yet he still tread lightly. He shared it only because he thought she was asleep, and in a way she was. Until she loved him, she had been sleepwalking through life.

Mary had forced her opinions often enough on those who were deaf to her passion to know the sting of living in an environment that rejects it. Or worse yet is apathetic to it. She thought of the darling man in her bed, who was so romantic and yet had poured out his soul into what he thought, was empty air. Mary thought of everything it meant to him and it translated, her art become his numbers. In her imagination graphs and concepts well beyond her elementary interest or even understanding of mathematics, came alive. Matthew as her conduit, the building blocks of the known world collapsed and rebuilt again at that moment, by his words and his love.

She saw in her mind's eye a surreal memory from only hours ago.

"Show me this maths lingerie," Matthew said as they had lost all traces of their clothing in record timing. "The texts promised such an alluring aperitif. And I'm going to see if they fit you, measure by measure."

"How sterile," Mary said as she let down her hair from the clip. "I'm a research project."

Matthew had picked her up unexpectedly and she squealed with delight, he dropped her on the pristine bed with a wicked grin. The PI panties with the mathematical formula, and the caption, get it here; were quickly removed.

Being naked with Matthew was a quixotic sensation. It was clear between them that past assumptions and barriers must be broken down, and therefore sex was an excellent communication tool. He had always seemed to look right through her; he was the oracle of truth. Mary splayed out on her bed, clutching at her lover as his pacing was excruciating. Without the hindrance of clothing, each kiss was intimate and languid. He was patient as he paid fervent attention to her hips, kissing a trail softly along her bodice, rising towards her breasts. Mary gnashed her teeth between her lips, the man had certainly acquired skill of late, in how to illicit chain reactions of pleasing whimpers from her.

"Free fall Mary," Matthew humored as he continued his maddening ministrations. She was not good at receiving such attention without being able to reciprocate.

"In Newtonian physics, free fall is any motion of a body where its weight is the only force acting upon it," Matthew continued.

"Which are body are you speaking of," Mary gasped.

"Well, my own naturally," he answered playfully as he ceased his teasing kisses. "Because I'm seducing my fiancée and about to make love to her… again… again."

Mary spread her legs open wide with relief and by invitation for him to precede without any further delays. And without any hint of the shyness he had once possessed, Matthew entered her body. She scratched her nails across his back as they found their own rhythm. When his breath would hitch, his speech rushed through ratios and numbers, her heart beat faster too. It was a transcendent release as she looked into his equally ecstatic expression as they climaxed together.

"Free fall," Matthew repeated as he collapsed next to her, "Where gravity is the only rule."

Eventually their frantic breathing slowed as the aftershocks permeated. She was content as she moved to nestle in beside him, her head on his chest, and his fingers in her long hair.

"Did you know that due to the physics of our universe the moon is considered to be in free fall?" Matthew asked.

"Did you know that Pablo Neruda wrote a poem with the line, the moon lives in the lining of your skin?" Mary countered.

It had been three months and fourteen days, since their rendezvous in New York, 3.14, the equivalent of PI. Mary had no choice but to force her opinion on Matthew, and let it be known they would spend the rest of their long life together telling each other "I love you" in non-conventional ways.

And now lying in Matthew's arms, she twirled the hair on chest playfully.

"What are you thinking about?" the languid voice beside her asked.

Matthew reached to trace his hand across the outline of her shoulder tenderly.

"Nerve endings," Mary said coyly for she had as of late been feeling different, and she had a new theory. The blissful feelings were allowing clarity that she would have other wise ignored. It was time to make a confession.

"Oh?" Matthew asked with curiosity.

"It's hard to explain, but I know you will understand," Mary said quietly. She felt his embrace tightened around her.

"At university, I learned about a medical condition where it's possible to have an inability to perceive pain by nerve endings which fail to deliver this message. I thought it surmised me, I'm built that way since I'm rarely hampered by my feelings or emotions," Mary sighed as she remembered this stilted period of her life. The one bright spot had been the consistent friendship that Lucy had always offered, her determination that it was right to not settle just for any relationship.

"I felt numb at university, but I wouldn't admit it, not even to myself, and it stemmed from the men I dated. It was a toxic relationship, as I always picked the wrong ones. I enjoyed the process of dating, the old fashioned courtship, so I went out with a lot of different guys," Mary closed her eyes at the memories. This was the moment when she was standing on the diving board, plunging into her past. But she knew Matthew was in the deep end of the pool with her now, she wasn't drowning anymore.

"However," Mary continued. "More often than not I refused to sleep with them; so I quickly developed a reputation that followed me with whispers. I was a flirt who wanted to date, but not a mate," Mary sighed at the old taunt. "And so it was better to tell myself I didn't feel anything."

"Oh Mary," Matthew said with haunting clarity and sympathy. He kissed into her fragrant hair with fervent reassurance.

"Well, the most marvelous thing happened when my father first started pushing you at me," Mary continued. She flexed her feet intertwined with his, the feeling of skin on skin, so simple and comforting.

"Let me guess a tingling sensation spread with each annoying encounter," Matthew teased lightly and they both laughed breaking through the heavy moment.

"Seriously darling," Mary said leaving the sanctuary of his arms so that she could lean on her elbow and look him in he eyes.

"We must never take us for granted, for who knows what's coming. What I do know is that you are like acupuncture for my senses, and I need you as much as I want you."

"To me, in our initial encounters," Matthew said starting what sounded like a contribution of his own in the confessional.

"Besides your laugh or your perfume, not to mention your wardrobe; I was awestruck by your honesty. Does that surprise you?"

"A little," Mary said. "It seems we were both hungry for the same thing."

From her perch leaning on her elbow, she brushed her lips across his in a seductive tease. "Of course my father seemed to consider you one of the acquisitions and mergers he was working on at the time."

"He can be very direct," Matthew chuckled. "It reminded me of my father in a way. Except my father and Lavinia hid things from me. So, despite how much I loved them, once they were gone I felt bitter," Matthew paused clearing his throat before he spoke again. "I chalked it up to my failure to communicate, and it then made me wonder, do I fail at perceiving too? How did I not see what was happening right in front of me?"

Mary brushed her fingers across his cheek gently, the caress taking the place of words she did not have.

"Even when we were strangers though, you gave me the truth. Sometimes it was astringent, but it became an aphoristic. You didn't hide that you disliked me any more than you could hide when you did like me…very much."

"You say the most peculiar things that make the absolute truth," Mary said as she shook her head fondly, trying to grasp everything they were sharing. It was liberating.

"I say the strangest things?" Matthew teased. "Shall I quote from your text messages?"

"I want to eat your skin like a whole almond?"

"Only you and I, Only you and I, my love, listen to it."

"There is nothing strange about poetry, Pablo Neruda yes, but never his poetry."

Mary stroked her hand over his brow.

"But, it's the truth that I had no idea what I was starting this morning," Mary said bemused. "I was utterly incensed that you left me again so early to go to work."

"I left you to go rowing and then I went to work," Matthew corrected. "It happens every weekday and yet you still seem surprised each day,"

"Not surprised," Mary corrected. "Outraged. Surely I'm more attractive to you than anything else."

"Competitive minx," Matthew said as he moved to kiss her neck, moving her long hair out of his way.

"Undressed you are wide and amber, like summer in its chapel of gold."

Mary sighed at the pleasurable sensation, as she quoted the poetry, her fingers reaching in turn to his flesh, her fingernails scratching with arousal. The feelings of frenzy were returning, the unhampered desire that she must poses his every attention.

"Did I mention I was in a rather important meeting when my phone kept buzzing? My client Herbert Hathaway was introducing me to a friend of his and the potential benefit towards these new investment opportunities…"

"Boring," Mary interrupted.

Matthew laughed. "Well, did I mention I asked William to take care of it? My phone was practically short circuiting it was buzzing so much, so I joked he could throw it in a bucket of cold water. This was without my having seen what was being written of course, I had no idea what I was about to expose him too."

Mary released dual groans, one of pleasure as his kisses aroused her and the other of a more problematic nature.

"You're poor friend. What he must think of me, naked surprises, racy text messages…"

Matthew ceased his nibbling kisses long enough to speak again.

"You do write such provocative sentiments," Matthew praised. "William was rather stoic about it, but he also has a great sense of humor. He just told me, he recognized the name the poetry and that you rather than the phone needed a bucket of cold water."

"My messages were simply poetry filled with loving taunts and questions," Mary returned.

Matthew rolled his eyes at her defensive retort. "Yes, they certainly told a story. And for the record, I've never loved anyone as much as I love you."

"Truth," Mary said playfully.

He moved to straddle over his bride-to-be, his body moving instinctively and naturally, as though it was following a formula from the golden mean. Matthew was as keen as he was confident.

"But," Matthew said about to continue, when Mary's hands shifted to this part of his bare anatomy distracted him.

"Yes," she said spanking Mr. Craw-lee's derrière.

"Are you ready for the dare?" Matthew challenged.

I sincerely hope this was as much fun to read as it was to write!

Questions? Comments? I welcome all discussion.

Next on TML: Tai Chi

The Ying and Yang that are Matthew and Mary.