Downton Abbey Bound to You

A/N: _So a long while ago I had a tumblr prompt, asking for the age old "What if Lavinia never interrupted them" in 2x08 smut. I have always shied away from the theme because there's just so much going on, that I never felt I'd be able to do it justice as a 'one off smut ficlet'. Other writers have tackled various continuations from the 2x08 dance really well._

_Anyway, today I just felt like writing some smut (you know, as you do) and remembered that prompt sitting in my inbox and though... oh, let's give it a go. Because well-developed continuations have already been done, this is just a little oneshot solely for the purpose of some mindless smut. I have tried to touch upon the important and deeper themes between them, because this couldn't be attempted without them but honestly, it's mainly smut. A lot of smut. _

_I hope you won't mind! :)_

_Many thanks to Pemonynen for the polish, and Patsan for the title suggestion._

_Enjoy!_

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**Bound to You**

"Absolutely not..."

But her admonition was too late, her eyes wide as she saw his darken and close, and she was powerless... Drawn inexorably to him as his hands urged her gently closer, the gentle music faded from her consciousness as everything became his breath, his mouth, his kiss.

It was gentle, sweet, and devastating. Five years of buried desire burst forth as their lips met and slipped together, the pressure of his thumb stroking against her palm to pull her to a closer embrace almost making her heart stop. He tasted just as sweet as she remembered, his scent just as intoxicating, his body just as warm... and it was impossible to resist. His hand lowered to her waist, smooth over the dark satin of her dress, and the feeling of being in his arms again, like this, with so much changed between them since that heady summer's ball drove any remnant of sense from her mind. It was madness, pure madness, and there was no longer room for sense or propriety in the rush of desire and love that stormed over them.

He remembered, she knew, as his lips parted against hers and they clung together, lost to all else. He remembered how he had loved her, he saw at last perhaps that she had loved him, always loved him, never stopped... or why would this be happening now? He was due to marry in three days... not her... and she was trapped by another. This was their goodbye, the seal of their love, the promise that whatever they must do though it broke their hearts, they would always remember... their love, and _this._

The light of the hall seemed far away as they stumbled into the shadows at its edge, their kiss becoming deeper, needful, almost feverish as her fingers sank into his hair and his tongue teased maddeningly against hers, never enough, their mingling breaths heavy and quick. Matthew couldn't think... For days, weeks, months even, his mind had churned and agonised endlessly, torn between the ties that bound them apart, the dread he felt, the longing that became stronger and stronger with every day since Violet's revelation. He'd been terrified as his wedding approached, scared out of his mind, and he'd suddenly known that he couldn't face it without knowing... Without letting Mary know, the dark secret he kept. That he was in love with her, madly in love with her, perhaps he'd never stopped... and now she was in his arms, warm and exquisite and driving him mad with need, but her kiss wrought a calmness within him. His mind flitted only for a moment to Lavinia then batted the thought away, the same to Carlisle, because Mary was kissing him back and suddenly this was the most important thing in the world, for this moment, to let her know how he loved her before he stood by his duty to Lavinia. For the first time in months, he felt peace, even as unfettered passion raged through his veins in search of being sated.

But he barely knew how, he couldn't comprehend. A sound broke into his thoughts, the rattle of a door in its frame as Mary's back thudded against it. She gasped, arching against him and his soft groan was lost in her mouth.

"Mary..." he breathed, in that moment's shock and stillness. His eyes flew open and connected with hers, recognising the ache that shone in her eyes, pleading as much as his own, feeling her chest rise and fall with quick breaths against his.

Her lips were parted, reddened and glistening in the shadowed light, but she only shook her head.

"Don't," she whispered, her gloved fingers stroking his flushed cheeks. "Don't say anything, Matthew, please."

He stared at her, licked his lips and nodded, swallowed, glittering blue eyes meeting dark. Words had never been their forte, they knew, often causing more damage between them than good. They didn't need that now, no justification or excuse, only each other... There was an acceptance wavering in the breathless space between them, unspoken, simply waiting to be taken.

Mary's fingers traced from his cheek to his lower lip, ghosting along it slowly, softly. He trembled, eyes fluttering closed then open, as he pressed a kiss to her fingertip. Every morsel of hesitation and doubt dissipated into assurance as his hand lifted to take hers away, reaching down to the doorknob together, opening it behind her to slip into the darkness of the room beyond as his lips reclaimed hers in a tender, almost tentative kiss that built quickly in the fierceness of their longing.

The door slammed shut behind them and they were shrouded in darkness, but they needed no light, only this, the warmth and touch of the other. Mary dimly noticed that it was her father's little-used smoking room, in the corner of the house behind the stairs. A thick, quiet stillness hung over the room, broken now by sighs, the whisper of fabric beneath searching palms, the low murmur in the back of Matthew's throat and the soft sounds of their lips tasting a kiss that went on, and on, and on.

It seemed perfectly natural, instinctive and somehow right when their hands together pushed his jacket from his shoulders, and it fell to the floor. It made a soft sound as it fell, and they stared at it, as if realising that this was the point where they could stop, and go back to how they had always been, dancing on the edge of it, pretending not to feel, back to their fiancées and plans with everything the same as before.

But of course, nothing could be the same as before, not now. And in any case, they didn't want it to be... not for this evening. Afterwards, then yes, they each had their duty to stand by. But not now... Not now.

They looked from the jacket crumpled on the floor, to each other, and the last threads of restraint snapped within them. Their hands were quick, tugging at ties and clasps as hungering lips searched pale skin as it bared to the coolness of the air. When her dress pooled on the floor around her feet, Matthew groaned aloud at the sight of her, the thin silk camisole outlining her breasts in the shadows of the dim light. She smiled shyly, held her hand out to him, and he came to her, running his fingers around the hem at her waist before lifting, slowly, revealing her porcelain skin inch by inch. She raised her arms to help him, smiling as she felt no shame but only a decadent sense of delight as he pulled her flush against him, his mouth feverish against her throat where her pulse fluttered erratically. Her hands smoothed across his bared chest, his shoulders, feeling the normally hidden strength of his muscles tensed in pleasure.

They sank to the deep red leather of the settee in the centre of the room, Mary's arms tight around his neck as he leaned awkwardly over her, shifting to one knee on the floor by her side.

"Your back-" she whispered faintly, his daily struggles still springing to mind at his awkward position, but he dismissed it without thought.

"It's fine," he muttered, and resumed his eager exploration of her skin, her warmth and paleness a heady contrast to the cool, dark leather. His teeth grazed her collarbone and she gasped, her fingers tightening in his hair as his hand travelled up her abdomen, reaching her breast at last where his thumb brushed so softly that she ached with need. It was heavenly, and then his mouth shifted to taste the beauty he had just discovered... Her back arched wildly, biting her lip to hold back a moan so fiercely that she almost drew blood. Matthew's eyes closed in delight, honing each sense of touch and scent and taste on the glorious feel of the gently puckered skin of her breast, where his lips closed and sucked. He moaned against her, heard her cry out as his tongue flicked across, feeling fire in his veins that gave strength to his aching muscles. He'd never imagined such pleasure, never imagined that she could be so perfect, in all his dreams. His fingers teased at her other breast, content there for a moment before his crushing need drew him to seek more. His hand smoothed down while his tongue still lavished her, intoxicated, till his fingers reached lace and pushed beneath it.

They both stiffened in pleasure as he touched her, his fingertips wondrously rough against her soft, slick heat. "Oh God," Matthew groaned, "my darling..."

She had asked him not to speak, but his words set her spirit alight. She almost sobbed with the strength of her arousal, drawing him up to kiss her as he stripped away the last of her garments, his fingers soon finding that spot again. She kissed him, teeth tugging at his lower lip as her low moan warmed his breath. The pressure of his fingertips was maddening as they explored her so tentatively, so tenderly, as she'd never known before. And then they slipped back, within her, and her nails dug into his shoulders. His whole body shuddered with the intimacy of it, as two of his fingers sank deeply into her tightness, his hand moving slowly back and forth as her hips bucked up in time. His mind was fogged with pleasure and he couldn't think, could only act on instinct as his mouth lowered again to her breast, teasing her to a heady peak of arousal as his hand moved quicker and quicker between her thighs.

Ragged breaths tore from her lips as she clung to him, devastatingly aware of each point where he touched her, waves of pleasure fighting for dominance as she writhed beneath his hands. Just when his touch became so intense that she thought she could bear it no longer, her mind transcended it all and went blank and she was shaking, every muscle tightening, her body convulsing as her own cry rang in her ears. Matthew stilled, and stared at her, enraptured by the sight of her ecstasy. She was beautiful, her skin infused with a glow of heat and glimmering with beading sweat, and when his fingers slowly withdrew, stroking gently, her whole body shuddered again. He stared at his glistening, coated fingers and thought of where they had been, and he felt almost faint with desire. Before he could lose his nerve and think to do otherwise, he shifted closer to her and lowered his head to taste that most intimate place. His tongue stroked where his fingers had only moments before as he licked at the evidence of her pleasure, out of his mind with delight. Never had he felt more alive, more powerful, more complete than in this moment as she trembled at his touch, weak and sated and completely, completely his own. He was so enraptured by her taste and the feel of her beneath his mouth that he couldn't stop, urged on by her breathless pleas for him not to, and when she climaxed again her grip in his hair was painful to the point of pleasure.

Gasping for breath, he eased back on his knees, his lips parted and shining as he stared at her in fascinated adoration. She stared back at him from where she lay, her legs splayed on the dark leather and her limbs still trembling. They smiled, unable to voice the myriad feelings raging through them that could not be formed into coherent thought. In any case, what they felt seemed too dangerous to fully realise and address, and so for now, they simply allowed themselves to feel.

Moments passed, and then Mary shifted, slipping from the settee to her knees and pushing Matthew gently down. The carpet was thick and soft beneath his back and he pulled her down to him in turn with a slow, languid kiss as her hand began to learn him. She traced each puckered scar on his chest, across his tummy, thinking of the larger scar on his back and wondering if it looked any better now than she'd last seen. Her fingers lingered in the hair that trailed beneath his trousers, and she smiled against his lips. Her hand shifted down, and she stroked him through his trousers, relishing his soft groan of pleasure. But their play lasted only a moment, before need took hold again and they worked together to shunt his trousers down and off.

She swallowed hard at the sight of him, exposed and incredibly handsome, though his blush made her smile. How could he blush, now! She leant down again and kissed him, her hand stroking, stroking, feeling him writhe as her hand tightened around him. He seemed to tremble briefly, and then his loud groan pierced the air, and suddenly he shifted to roll them both over. She gasped, and stared up him from where she lay on her back in shock.

A frown creased his brow, where his golden hair lay flopped over it, and she held him as he lowered himself gingerly. She could feel the strain in his limbs, and stroked his hair back, biting her lip as she felt the tip of him brush against her entrance.

"Matthew... I want you but - please, don't hurt yourself-" she tried, but he shook his head.

"No, I need to - I... Ah, _God_!" he cried out as he pushed into her, sinking luxuriantly against her. She stiffened, her legs clasping instinctively around his hips as he kissed her fiercely, and drew back. He thrust again, and her body shook beneath him, and again, and again. With each swift thrust he filled her, completed her, made her feel whole and cleansed and... _loved._

It was too much to think of, too much to bear, and so she stopped, focussing instead on the exquisite feel of his body that soon drove out all else from her mind.

Matthew's limbs were on fire, his back aching fiercely, but his need for her gave him strength as his hips slammed into hers. Each breath shuddered from his chest in a groan, and he clung to her, driven on and on by the feel of her nails digging into his shoulders. Her breathless cries spurred him, as desire raged hot through his every nerve. Everything was hot, their breath and her skin and the very air around them, until it surged and shattered and he jerked within her, falling against her shoulder as the remnants of pleasure pulsed between them.

They lay, his arm draped over her waist, her hand smoothing his sweat-dampened hair back from his forehead, entwined together and spent.

Minutes passed, but they did not stir, until dimly they remembered that Matthew had been waiting for Isobel to go home.

"We should move before they send out a search party," Mary whispered.

"I know."

He didn't to move, and neither did she. He wanted to say sorry, he wanted to say that he loved her, he wanted to say that he would give it all up... but they were things that could not, and should not, be said. One look between them was enough to confirm that. He licked his lips, and eased up to kiss her, instead.

She let him linger there, kissing him softly, then sat up. Slowly, she pulled her clothes towards her, and watched him as she began to dress. It took him longer to sit up, and then to stand, and she hurried to pick his clothes up for him before he tried to bend down to reach them.

Grateful for her thoughtfulness (she had always cared for him so well, and had he ever thanked her, truly?), he took his clothes and gave her a rueful smile.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"It's quite alright."

They dressed together, and kissed once more, and spoke of nothing that mattered. They couldn't. But Matthew's pain was evident in his slow, and stiffened movements. Mary frowned, as she remembered. "Your stick... It's in the hall, by the gramophone. I'll go and fetch it," she said. "Wait here, I'll just be a moment."

His pride wanted to argue but the fierce ache in his spine reasoned against it, and he simply nodded, and lowered himself carefully to sit on the settee. He smiled his thanks as Mary switched on the light and slipped out to fetch the blasted thing.

He didn't mind the pain, he realised as he waited. As long as he recalled it, he could remember with equal strength the pleasure he'd felt in Mary's arms, the satisfaction of being with her, of knowing her.

The pain would linger for days, he suspected, remembering the effects of exertion from earlier in his recovery, though not quite so... pleasant, as this one.

Days... Three days... and then he remembered his wedding.

He sighed, his eyes falling closed. Perhaps it was best that he remembered his wedding, his fiancée upstairs.

But he knew, without a doubt, that he would always, always remember his Mary... this evening... his love.

**Fin**

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A/N: _There we are :) Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it - as always, it'd mean a lot to me to know what you thought!_


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