a/n: I do not own the characters of Downton Abbey, this is purely for fun. Matthew and Thomas are my favourite paring that not many write about. Some events will be slightly altered, some timelines as well, but I try to keep most events there - even if they are cheekily redone. I am also not a WW1 expert (more of a WW2 studier) so I apologise if some things are a bit out of touch and not 100% historically correct, it's all in good fun. English is not my first language but I do try my hardest with grammar and words, I hope you will excuse any mistakes. Thanks for listening, now enjoy!

The Great War

June 1915

Matthew saw Thomas sitting in his own dugout, a strange sight since the Corporal would spend most of his free time in Matthew's dugout. Then again, he had been on leave and it would be rather strange if an army medic made himself comfortable in a Lieutenants dugout without him in it. Even so, just the sight of his unlikely friend brought a strange comfort not even his leave had granted him. Thomas was reading letters, no doubt they were from O'Brien since he had no one else writing him — outside or inside of Downton. A cigarette was carelessly hanging from his lips and his army jacket was unbuttoned in the summer heat that finally had grazed the trenches of France.

"Dignify yourself, Corporal!" Matthew said sternly and with a jolt Thomas stood up, buttoned his jacket and saluted before realising who it was. Thomas tried to hide a grin and ran his tongue along the inside of his lips.

"Yes, Lieutenant Crawley, Sorry sir!" He replied and saw the grin upon Matthew's face as he made his way past Thomas' and towards his own dugout. Thomas Barrow knew very well to follow him and so he did after tossing the letters aside and grabbing his box of cigarettes.

When Thomas closed the dugout door behind him Matthew embraced him with a heartwarming laughter "My dear friend, I missed you when I was on leave; it was too bad you could not join me."

Thomas hugged the future Lordship back and caught a whiff of his clean hair and skin that didn't smell like the trenches; it smelled like a different world. They pulled away and looked at each other with cherished eyes, letting them linger a moment too long.

"It would seem rather odd, would it not? A Corporal travelling with a Lieutenant, and what would his Lordship have said?" Thomas adjusted the lopsided knot on Matthew's tie, a habit of his former profession; but really it was nothing but an excuse to keep his hands on Matthew.

"You are not in service of Lord Grantham any more, if I wish to invite a friend from the front then I shall" Matthew said with a smile as his eyes threw a glance upon the hands adjusting his tie. Though he knew that, of course, Thomas would not let him be seen in a different way than he was perceived in Downton; mingling with upstairs people. Though not here, not on the front, for here it was fair — and so Matthew would continue telling himself. He wondered if Barrow would truly return to his former self once he stepped away from the trenches. Would the former vile tongue that now only gave Matthew cheek when well deserved or in a friendly banter, return? Would it be different on the other side and stiffness would return in the now loose Corporal compared to the footman he had been? Even if they did, Matthew now had a deeper understanding of why Thomas' spoke unkind words, to keep everyone at arm's length.

"I have a shift, and after yours in the evening, would you come join me here? I have a great surprise" Matthew Crawley said with a smile twitching in the corner of his mouth.

"Most certainly, sir" Thomas said and saluted his friend with a laugh before turning his heel and returning to the trench and the brightness of the war, Matthew Crawley and the hidden world they shared behind the dugout door.

Sickness was more common than battle wounds these days, for the no man's land had laid quiet for some time with neither side advancing. It was a cruel wait, but rather a cruel wait than bloodied bodies and lost limbs. Though the sickness claimed many lives as well and the stench had not eased. Thomas had a cloth wrapped around his face and mouth to try and block out the worst of it. Though that didn't help nearly as much as the thought of Lieutenant Crawley having a surprise for him in the night. Even if his mind laid confused and had been since April by the questions about if inverted thoughts were wrong, he would cherish a friendship and keep his longing at a distance. Regardless of what Thomas' heart felt he, for the first time, had a friend without malice intent.

What had started as a hope of elevating himself to a valet for a Lord turned into everything but opportunity, even if Thomas still hoped it would help — the relationship was not pretend. The war had humbled his heart enough to find it.

The shifts switched and Thomas was dismissed by the Medic Officer. He cleaned his hands and took a cigarette to his lips as he walked along the trench that was finally dry from June's summer days. His feet were fast, his longing was deadly, and eventually he reached those doors he had hidden behind many times before. Not that a friendship needed hiding, but behind them there was no need for formalities and looks from the other soldiers and perhaps, repremainding for Matthew for speaking so casually to a lower rank. Thomas knocked on the door and the calming voice of Lieutenant Crawley beckoned him inside.

"What on earth is that?" Thomas asked as he closed the door behind him and saw a small bottle stand upon the wobbly table "Your surprise is cheap whiskey?"

"Don't be so entitled Thomas, what if it was?" Matthew said with a grin.

"A former footman, entitled? Why do you think I had a need to steal before the war that set me on this course of a field medic?" He sat down in the chair that awaited him and he saw that it was not a bottle of cheap whiskey, but rather one of quite expensive tastes — one that he had seen Lord Grantham raise to his glass many times in various rooms of Downton. "How did you get a hold of that?" Thomas asked, as if he had almost forgotten that outside of the war Matthew belonged to a higher class than him, and had money.

"I was on leave so I decided to buy two of it, one to share with the men and one to share with one man" He uncorked it and the whiff of it filled their noses; both almost let out a sensual moan at the smell and they both looked at each other with a smile.

"It's almost a sin to drink such a fine spirit from mugs of metal, but there is no choice" Matthew said and pulled out the mugs they had shared tea in many-a-times.

"If you wish to be free from sin we can drink straight from the bottle" Thomas suggested and by Matthew's smile he gathered that it was a good one.

Half a bottle later and they both were bursting with laughter. Thomas sat leaning on his elbows against his knees and taking small puffs of his cigarette that caused him to choke on the smoke each time Matthew told a story of his leave. Their uniform jackets hung carelessly on their chairs, their braces were off their shoulders, and Matthew's tie was gone.

"...and in the middle of the dance, I slipped on my own two feet and split my trousers as I tried to brace myself!" Matthew bellowed with laughter and Thomas did as well, enjoying hearing stories of the world past the trenches, but not as much as he enjoyed watching Matthew smile — and he was unaware that Matthew felt the same about Thomas' laugh.

"I can't believe dances and parties are still happening, it seems all so far away" Thomas leaned back on his chair and put out his cigarette on the ground with his feet.

"Merriment is needed in times like these" Matthew said and took another swing from the bottle.

"Where is the merriment for us?" Thomas suddenly said with sadness but felt instantly guilty by the look upon Matthew's face "Nevermind me, I am glad you got to enjoy yourself in London and dance the night away."

There was a moment of silence before Matthew asked "When was the last time you danced?"

Thomas raised one of his eyebrows and then wiped sweat from his bow-shaped upper lip. "I'suppose it was a few years ago, when I showed Daisy the grizzlt bear, all servants clapped with the music and we were laughing, I almost felt accepted for a moment — all because I danced with a woman."

Matthew ran a hand over his face and watched Thomas' and how it saddened him to know that this man could never openly dance with whomever he prefered, it knotted his stomach to think about being cast out in such a way, if a secret of unlawfulness and sin would be exposed.

"Come on then" Matthew said and stood up with a slap to his knees.

"Come on what?" Thomas looked up at Matthew and then at the hand stretched out before him.

"If that was the last time you danced you are in need for another round" Matthew beckoned Thomas with his fingertips.

"I fear you have lost it, Matthew, there is no music" Thomas tried to laugh it off while his hand twitched to take Matthew's.

"Then I shall hum it if you so need it, come on my friend, let's find some merriment in the trenches." Matthew's words seemed to have done the trick and Thomas' stumbled to his feet; taking Matthew's hand in his own. The Lieutenant wrapped his arm around the Corporal's waist and held their hands up high. He began singing quietly "If you were the only girl in the world and I were the only boy….."

Their dance had turned rougher, they knocked the tables and chairs over as they danced with each other and the bottle between them. They were laughing, sweating, and in pure merriment. Matthew wrapped both his arms around Thomas' and spun them both around, patting Thomas' back in the embrace before pulling away. Their eyes met, they lingered, they were hazed from dance and drink but Thomas could not think more clearly and as much as Matthew tried to deny it, he could as well — because there came that chill down his spine again.

"All is fair in love, Lieutenant Crawley." Thomas said and brushed a lock of hair away from Matthew's sweaty forehead.

"...and war" Matthew finished the quote and he couldn't help the noise that escaped his lips when Thomas touched his forehead. It was sudden, and out of nowhere, he blurted out his secret he had planned on taking to the grave "I kissed a boy once, when I was sixteen under a cork tree in my boarding school, '' Matthew hazily admitted and Thomas' fingers ran down Matthew's flustered cheeks. A thumb grazed over his lips before it took a hold of his chin.

"Would you kiss one in the trenches of war?" Thomas asked but his reply didn't come so much in words as it did in Matthew leaning his face closer to Thomas', acting on that urge that had been building up for months, and if what Thomas had said was true, it was fair to do so because this was a war. The Corporal took this chance, a chance he did not know would emerge again. He leaned in with Matthew and their lips only brushed together briefly. "Turn away now, if this is not what you wish" Thomas whispered.

Matthew didn't turn away, he leaned just a little bit closer to add the sligheset of pressure to their lips before Thomas' hand cupped his cheek and then held the back of his neck to seal the deal. Their lips met in such a sweet kiss that Matthew almost found unbelievable, or at least it would have been before the war when he did not know the true Thomas Barrow — not that he would have kissed him before the war. That was all this was; fair in war he kept repeating to himself as he kissed the Corporal.

Thomas' hand was so gentle upon Matthew's head with light strokes through the hair. Though he urged to deepen it he could not, he would not, for the fear of Matthew retaliating and realising the wrong in their doing. He was satisfied enough, oh so satisfied, to just taste the whiskey upon Matthew's lips and the droplets of sweat that had rolled down to their lips during their wild dancing. So it was to Thomas' great surprise when it was Matthew who added more pressure to their lips, who fisted Thomas' shirt and before the Corporal knew it the kiss had turned fierce and animalistic. Before Thomas knew it Matthew had him pinned against the wooden boards that held the dirt-wall in the dugout in place.

Their tongues tasted each other with a draught-like desperation in the desert of faraway places neither had been — but they were there with this kiss. The heat their bodies felt was like the sun above the sands they had never walked on, but with their lips moving together walked upon it now. Thomas flipped them around, now Matthew was pinned across the wall and Thomas' hands, that had always been rough and swift with others he had kissed, were now so gentle as they took a hold underneath Matthew's thigh to lift him up, to wrap Matthew's legs around his waist. But then he broke the kiss and with their foreheads pressed together he searched for a sign of doubt or fear upon Matthew's face. When he was met with nothing but a breathless smile he took the sign and their lips crashed together once more. Thomas' hips rose in a thrust and through their army trousers he created a friction, a friction he doubted Matthew had ever felt before and it seemed he enjoyed it for a moan fell from his lips and into the deep kiss. Thomas swallowed it down his throat, he swallowed every little muffled groan he was causing Matthew to spill.

In war there was no God, Matthew thought to himself as he felt Thomas' erection rub against his own. There were no sins, for then the enemy lives they took would be a thousand sins over — not that he had thought much about God before this but this was no sin, not now, not in the trenches of war. There was no law that could take them in the war. That's what he would keep telling himself each time he would kiss Thomas, each time their hips jolted together. With each thrust of Thomas Barrow he gripped the sweaty shirt further until his head was tossed backwards and his moans intensified. His mouth was covered by Thomas' hand to drown the moan, for the dugout in itself would not silence him enough. There were lips to his sweaty neck and he could not bear it anymore. Matthew's moans were almost sobs as his hips came to twitch and his body felt weightless. A bliss, merriment, something otherworldly took over him as Thomas' name quietly fell from his lips as the Corporal thrusted Matthew to his first orgasm, at least orgasm given to him by another.

It was the spilling of his name that did it for Thomas, it was how Matthew's body collapsed against his own as he was pinned to the wall, it was the feeling of knowing he brought Matthew Crawley to completion that brought the same out to Thomas. His face fell onto Matthew's shoulder and his teeth bit into it to muffle his own pleasurable noises as his own orgasm was felt as strongly as Matthew's.

There the two army men stood for a moment and Matthew was glad they were not moving yet as his legs would not be able to support him. He clung to Thomas', holding onto the man with his fists buried in the raven hair. Eventually he felt the loss of weight against his chest and his feet touching ground but they were wobbly. He almost fell to the ground instantly but Thomas came to his rescue and held Matthew steady. They both gazed at each other but said no words as they walked towards the tiny cot and the shorter of the two laid on top of the other. What words were there to speak? What could possibly be said? There was nothing, except one last sweet kiss and then a frightfully peaceful sleep overtook them both. There was no God in war, Matthew thought to himself once more, and all was fair.