A Miraculous Recovery
"Mary!" Sybil called down the hall after her sister, who was currently occupied pushing Matthew's wheelchair through the Jacobethan halls of their home, Downton Abbey. Though these days, Downton had become less a home and more a place of work due to the conversion of the manor into a convalescent home to accommodate recovering soldiers who had not been lucky enough to escape unscathed from the war that was still raging in continental Europe.
"Yes? What is it?" Mary asked turning towards her sister.
"Could you give me a hand unloading these supplies? They've just come in on the train, and Sarah's out sick so I really must look after the patients."
"Oh, but Matthew and I were just going for a walk." Mary cast a look that said too much in Matthew's direction, blushed and looked away, hoping he didn't notice.
"Mary, just this once, I really need help today."
"But, we are all ready to go now. Couldn't -"
"Someone else can take him. Branson will, won't you, Branson?" Sybil queried the passing chauffer.
"You needn't make any trouble on my account, I'm perfectly –" Matthew began.
Sybil interrupted curtly, addressing Branson, "Could you please take Matthew for his walk, if you're not busy, just for today?" Sybil asked, casting a meaningful glance at Mary.
"Of course, m'lady," Branson affirmed, something in his eyes betraying the fact that Sybil didn't even have to ask and the answer was already yes.
"Alright then, it's all settled. Come with me, Mary, and I'll show you what to do," Sybil ordered, grabbing Mary by the arm.
"Well, don't you two have too much fun without me," Mary urged as she was whisked away by Sybil.
"I can't guarantee anything m'lady." Branson grinned as he grabbed hold of Matthew's wheelchair and pushed him out into the garden.
It was a beautiful day, a rare occurrence in Northern England where clouds were more common than the warm sunny day the two men were treated to now. Branson, more impatient and stronger than Mary, was pushing Matthew about at quite a clip.
"You know, we could take a rest here for a while." Matthew suggested kindly as they came upon a bench sequestered in a shock of trees that kept the heat of the warm sun off them.
"Of course, sir, I'm sorry," Branson apologized, a sly grin coming across his face. "I tend to like a bit of speed."
"It's not the speed I have a problem with; I just thought you might be getting hot with your jacket on." Matthew offered awkwardly, "Besides I do enjoy a little masculine conversation once in a while. I'm surrounded by women all day, who are very pleasant, but occasionally –"
"I know what you mean. Polite nothings can only fill so many hours of the day" Branson said in his lilting Irish accent. "D'ya mind?" He queried, gesturing towards his jacket.
"Please," Matthew said motioning with his hand, and accidentally grazing Branson's hot hand in the process.
"Thanks," Branson mumbled as he shrugged out of his jacket, straining his muscular torso underneath the shirt and vest of his uniform, the thin fabric of his shirtsleeves revealing the contours of his biceps formed from hard work in the garage.
"I'm sorry about, you know," Branson said glancing down at Matthew's motionless legs. "It must be awful . . . though I don't know what's worse, not being able to love women or not being able to love the one woman you want." The words had tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, encouraged my Matthew's honest face and casual demeanor. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."
"No, it's all right." Matthew sighed, "Though I can't say I like to dwell on the things that I can't do." He admitted, feeling unusually honest. He had finally grown accustomed to his condition, or at least as accustomed as one could hope to be.
"Well there are a few things you can still do, have you . . . tried?"
Matthew looked confused, "No."
Before either of them could think or say another word Branson had pushed himself forward, grasping Matthew's face firmly with one of his rough hands, and pressing his lips against Matthew's own. Matthew jumped initially, but then relaxed into Branson's warm lips. Both men, starved of the love that they desired for so long, let the kiss deepen. Branson's tongue gently plied at Matthew's lips, asking entrance. As their tongues met Matthew gasped and jumped back.
"What, what is it? Did I –" Branson gasped, breathless.
"No, I just, I, felt . . . something." Matthew looked incredulously down at his lap and sure enough the faint outline of an erection rose through his pants. "But, I thought, I thought."
"Apparently you thought wrong," Branson smirked.
Now excited by the sexual possibilities in front of him, Matthew grabbed Branson's arm and dragged him back towards him, embracing him, and kissing him fiercely. This time it was Branson's turn to recoil slightly in shock, but he was soon repositioning himself on the bench, adjusting his position so that his legs were spread, with Matthew's motionless legs between them. Now their kissing became even more feverish, their lips working more and more quickly, their hands and arms straining to pull themselves even closer.
Surfacing for a moment, Branson looked down at Matthew's lap, grinning he murmured, "I'd say you're recovered Mr. Crawley." Removing his hand from Matthew's hair he moved it down and began undoing the buttons on Matthew's trousers, revealing his now throbbing erection. "D'ya mind?"
"God, no," Matthew exhaled as Branson wrapped his calloused hand around Matthew's sizable member, and slowly began to pump his fist up and down.
"I know this motion too well as of late," Branson growled in husky tones. Matthew sat with his eyes closed, mouth slightly agape clearly in another place, enjoying the shivers coursing through his body as Branson's firm grip moved up and down along his shaft. As Branson began to cover Matthew's neck with kisses and licks, Matthew's own hands began to move toward Branson's trousers and pants undoing the buttons with very little grace, as the muscles in his body clenched and relaxed in a manner that he hadn't known since his injury.
Branson let out a sigh as his own impressive manhood was released from his trousers, his eyes rolled back into his head as Matthew began to slowly tease him. Soon both men were rocking back and forth, their strokes quickening as they panted hotly onto each other's necks.
"Wait –" Branson gasped, pulling back from Matthew who emitted a frustrated groan, "Here."
Branson stood, placing his strong, and now slightly sweaty arms underneath Matthew. Lifting him, and kicking the wheelchair back in one move, he set Matthew on the ground. Bent over Matthew's body in order to lay him down gently, Branson slid his mouth down over Matthew's conveniently placed erection. Pulling his head slowly up over the hot shaft, Branson teased with his tongue, eliciting sharp gasps from Matthew.
Branson, laying himself down on his side next to Matthew, again grasped his member. Matthew knowing that he wouldn't last much longer, grabbed for Branson's erection and began to pump furiously. They settled into a rhythm both panting hard, and swiftly moving their fists in unison. Both felt their muscles tensing, until they felt ready to explode. As they both came to a shuddering climax, the sweet cascade flowed through their abdomens; their hands squeezing out every last bit of pleasure.
Branson fell backwards on to the grass and they both laid there for a bit, staring at the trees above them which sifted the bright sunshine into a lovely dappled pattern, playing like butterflies over their bodies as the breeze gently moved the tree above.
Branson was the first to speak, "Well, I dunno about you, but I think Dr. Clarkson might have got something wrong."
"I can't believe it," Matthew whispered, then, sitting bolt upright, said breathlessly, "You don't suppose I can . . ."
"What?"
"Walk?"
Placing his hands behind his head, Branson's characteristic smirk snuck across his face, "Well, you'll never know until you try."