A/N: Hello! Quick dash posting from me... unedited or betaed, so forgive any mistakes. Last week was my dear friend Haslemere's birthday, so as is my custom, I asked if she had any ficlet requests. This got carried away from me rather, so I decided to share it here as well.

Set within 3x03, after Matthew and Mary's argument at the picnic over Swire's letter... maybe consider it 'alongside' canon, rather than strictly within. It's very, very smutty.

Enjoy...!

Peace In the Storm

As Matthew stalked away from her, proclaiming bitterly his own worthlessness, Mary stared after him in shock. She'd done her best to understand and ease his guilt, really she had, but... somehow, perhaps, she had underestimated how deeply it ran within him.

She left him alone for a time, knowing that with both their temperaments any further discussion of the matter would likely lead to an argument, too fierce to bear in public. How she wished she could understand him! Yes, his actions had hurt Lavinia, but he hadn't meant to injure her, and such guilt over the past couldn't be so strong as to make them all suffer for it now...

Well, apparently, it could.

She sighed, and watched him from a distance, really watched him. Instead of allowing her own anger to reign she watched him, and saw the deep lines of anguish creasing his handsome face, the wretched regret and sorrow in his blue eyes as he glanced around at the family enjoying their picnic. She saw him try to smile as her father asked his opinion on something, and her aching heart softened a little, helplessly.

He didn't mean to make them suffer. He didn't want to, and it must hurt him terribly to think that they were because of him... That, at least, Mary knew and could understand. And no matter how much she hated the whole thing, she still adored him for his goodness and decency, however misguided he sometimes was. Yes, she would always adore him - she could hardly help it.

With fresh determination, she made her way between the tables to him and tapped his arm. He turned to her, his expression contrite and desolate.

She smiled. "I thought, that if we are to live here, we might as well know the place a little better. It's been shut up for a month or two now - do you want to peep inside?"

But his face fell, too used by now to her resistance and conviction.

"Mary, please, I-"

"No," she laid a hand on his arm, letting her voice calm him, "I mean it. I still don't understand, and I won't stop trying to convince you otherwise - but darling, don't let's fight about it now. Like I said, if we are to live here - why not see what it's like and try and make the best of it!"

It was a peace offering, Matthew knew, and he loved her impossibly for it. He leaned forward to kiss her cheek with a weak smile.

"Thank you, my darling... but you know, we might not live here at all. If you're really worried it is too small, we could always still find a place of our own."

Mary cocked an eyebrow, linking her arm through his.

"One thing at a time..." she sighed, as they set off together to find a way in.

In accordance with their odd little truce, Matthew said nothing more in defence or argument, but let her lead him around the house. It was enough for now that they were together and not snapping at each other, however much effort it took to maintain - things had become more and more strained between them in the last week or two, and they'd both become miserable and irritable. This tentative peace, such as it was, was a soothing balm, and at last he smiled.

The front of the house was naturally closed, but around the side was a small service door that had been left open so the few staff with them that day could keep the drinks and food in the cooler kitchen.

"Here we are," Mary smiled, and nodded at Alfred as they went past him inside. The footman looked confused, but Matthew quickly assured him that nothing was amiss.

"Have you been here before?" he whispered, keeping his hand on the small of her back as they ascended the narrow flight of stairs that presumably led up to the hall, beginning to enjoy the sense of excitement and discovery.

"Probably, when I was small I expect," Mary shrugged. "If I have, then I don't remember much of it!" She grinned over her shoulder at him, letting him reach past her to push open the wooden door.

As they stepped into the hall, the dustsheets that covered all the furniture muffled the echo of their footsteps. They stood in its centre, looking around, appraising. Though it was difficult to tell with most things covered, the room was pleasant and airy, brightened by light streaming through the large windows that covered the walls. Dust motes swirled lazily in the beams.

Glancing across at Mary's brave smile, Matthew shook his head, crestfallen. Of course it could never match up, it was a disappointment...

"My darling, I'm sorry..." He took her hand, stroking his thumb gently over her knuckles. "I know it isn't-"

"No, it isn't Downton, but if this what things must come to then we'll just have to accept it, won't we." She stared at him firmly, still squeezing his hand, reminding them both without doubt that things would only have to come to this if... She inhaled sharply, shaking her head and smiling more brightly. They weren't going to argue about it now, she could see he felt bad enough. "I'm sure there are lovely aspects to it - we just need to find them!"

"Right," Matthew chuckled, his eyes shining with love for her.

They went together through the closed-up rooms, a dining room, a smaller room with dark leather sofas, a sitting room which bore a little piano in the corner... But most of it all was covered, hidden, protected from sight by sheets and screens. Standing in the library at last, Mary stood beside the window, looking out over the rolling lawns that stretched into the distance behind the house.

"It's hard to tell what it's like at all, with everything covered up like this," she sighed, folding her arms.

"Well, the furniture doesn't matter so much," Matthew murmured, looking up at the dusty bookshelves that lined the walls. "It'll all be taken out anyway, won't it, and your own things brought in - so it's only the rooms that matter."

"Yes, I suppose so."

Matthew watched her, and swallowed, his heart aching with affection. She was trying to accept it for him, though it went against everything she wanted, everything she believed was fair and right. He drew a trembling sigh, pushing his own guilt down for the moment - he loved her, perhaps there was a way, perhaps he could make her see - but no, they weren't going to argue about it now. This was about them putting their misunderstanding aside, about remembering their love and what really mattered between them. Nothing else.

"Mary, I've just... seen something terribly lovely," he said softly, and when she turned she saw his expression lit with a shy, gentle smile.

"Oh...?" She raised an eyebrow, turning to him and taking a step to mirror his own little sway. He was playing, she could tell, teasing her...

"Mmm," he said, taking both her hands in his and caressing them, lifting one to his lips as he leaned forward. "Something very beautiful, that I think... would make any home the loveliest place to live. Would you like to know what it is?"

"Alright," she whispered as he drew closer, feeling her heartbeat flutter fast with excitement as she saw his eyes darken and she allowed desire to overwhelm the painful disappointment and hurt she'd felt, whenever she'd looked at him for the last week or more. For now, they seemed to understand each other, as much as they were able... and that delight, that affection, that love and charm and pleasure, suddenly seemed more important than all the cyclical, bitter arguments they'd been battling. Houses, money, expectations, traditions, titles... All of that could change in an instant, it was all fragile and fleeting and could not be counted upon, whatever one might think. But Matthew... There was only Matthew, only her husband, who would be by her side and would love her, make her whole, whatever else they faced.

He smiled at her, and she felt her knees weaken as his lips came to hover by her ear.

"You... my darling."

His warm lips closed on the soft skin of her neck and she sighed, clutching his shoulders, shivering at the gentle stroke of his tongue. Heat stirred low in her belly, her mind clouding as his kisses travelled along her jaw, to her mouth, and her lips parted to welcome him. They kissed deeply, standing together in filtered sunlight surrounded by dust and sheets and books as they pressed closer, and closer, each little sound and murmur of their embrace muffled by mouths and thick air.

The cotton of her dress slid beneath his palms as they came around her waist, a delicious friction against her skin, and she whimpered as he eased back in her arms.

"Darling... how long are your family intending to stay at this picnic, do you think?" He was already breathless, eyes bright and lips glistening from their kisses... She looked at him anew with wide eyes, remembering her passion for him that seemed to have been forgotten or buried beneath their conflict. How silly of them, was all she could think, now.

"I don't know," she shook her head, almost gasping for breath. "Why?"

"Because," he murmured, his thumb stroking over her swollen lower lip that made her shudder, "I don't think I can wait to take you home..."

He looked so desperately sincere in his predicament that Mary would've laughed, if she wasn't nearly out of her mind with wanting him herself. She tried to count in her head, quickly, how long it had been... Six days, no, a week at least, perhaps ten then, or... Too long, anyway, the longest since they had become husband and wife only two months before. Too long, that was all, and all she could think now was that she wanted him, that they might lose themselves and find utter completeness in each other, and she couldn't wait another moment.

She looked up into his eyes, trembling with desire in his arms, and reached up to push that little flop of hair out of his eyes, running her fingers through the thick softness of it.

"Then don't," she whispered, and barely had time to register his low groan of 'Oh, God...' before he was kissing her again, swept up in delight.

In some part of their minds, they knew it was mad, daring, indecent, really... but the thought was driven out when Mary's back thudded into the bookcase, her fingers tangled in his hair and holding him there in that blistering kiss as his tongue slid together with hers. She writhed between his firm body and the books pressing into her back, gasping her assent when his hands raked low over her hips.

Her fingers slid down his body to the fastening of his trousers, a hurried fumble to undo them. She whimpered in protest when he moved, lowering to his knees before her as he lifted her skirts then searched beneath, damp lace shed and replaced in moments by his tongue that licked softly, with a tenderness that belied the wanton impropriety of their situation. Her body shook, hands grasping for purchase as she bit back a breathless cry, and her husband lifted her foot to his shoulder. Her splayed fingers sent a book toppling to the floor as Matthew's eager mouth sparked fire between her thighs, and his finger eased into her heat, stroking within her gently in time with his tongue, a maddening pressure that held her at the brink.

"Matthew," she gasped, barely capable of speech.

"Hmm?"

The hum of his lips against her body made her tremble, and she could no longer support herself.

"Oh God - please-"

He couldn't think straight, and nodded, only able to comply because he felt he'd burn up and lose his mind completely if he didn't take her now. His finger slowly withdrew and he stroked her, then with his tongue, taking one last deep taste of her before he stood on trembling legs. His hands grasped her hips as he lifted her, groaning as her legs wrapped tightly round his waist and his body connected with hers.

Their cries mingled in the heavy air and he slammed into her, and again, sending more books falling with a crash as the bookcase shook with their force. Matthew pulled away from it with a groan, holding her tightly as he carried her, and kissed her, staggering to the nearest support he could find. When his legs collided with something he turned, seeing an old white sheet that covered a table or desk - whatever, it would do. He set her down to perch at its edge, and her fingers tugged the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer, and he kissed her until he found the strength once more to drive his hips against her.

Mary groaned in pleasure and lay back, tugging him down over her, feeling objects beneath the sheet dig into her spine but she couldn't care as her body wracked with his thrusts. He clung to her shoulders and she clung to whatever she could reach, but the sheet was loose and shifted, slid, with each shunt of Matthew's hips. The whole table shook dangerously, and he panted by her ear.

"Mary..."

"I don't know," she gasped, "I just - Matthew-"

He straightened, pulling out of her with a frustrated shout, but his knees were weak with desire and he sank to the dust-covered floor. His hand reached out, stroking up her ankle with a wordless plea as she sat up, and slid to the floor to join him in a move of desperation that pulled down the sheet that had been trapped beneath her body. Everything on the desk, paper, ink, ornaments, shattered onto the carpet as she crawled over her husband. Propriety mattered for nothing, only the immediate demand of their need for each other.

She palmed his arousal with slender hands, grinning as he shuddered and cried out. God, she had missed him! Leaning down to press her lips to his tip, she tasted him, tasted herself on him, and groaned. She could happily have stayed there but his hands were tugging her, tugging her, and she shifted up, taking his lips in a warm, possessive kiss as her knees straddled his hips and she sank down. His cry was lost in her mouth, and he pumped up against her, as her hands stroked back the sweat-slicked hair from his forehead. She was wild above him, a goddess, and he held her as their hips slammed together faster and faster, until he felt her shaking and screaming out her release against his neck.

Without waiting for her to calm, he rolled, bringing her slender, willing body beneath him. She glanced up into his eyes, her face glowing with satisfaction and love, and he was almost lost. Pausing only to hook his hand beneath her knee, raising her leg and grazing his hand along the bare, damp skin of her thigh, he took her, never letting his eyes leave her gaze as he pounded within her. Supported on his elbow, she took his free hand, kissing each of his fingers as her body trembled beneath him, and she watched his blue eyes brighten and darken until they closed when he jerked, panted, roared as his face contorted in bliss.

They lay together spent, hot and sticky beneath their sweat-dampened clothes, but it didn't matter. It was a long time before they could speak, and when Matthew tried, his wife put a finger to his lips and shook her head. She wanted no justification or apology, no excuse, nothing but this perfect contentment. He nodded, and kissed her fingertip, and settled his head against her shoulder again for a moment more.

Their family outside could wait, and so could tidying up the wreckage they'd left around them in their passion... For now, they were at peace.

Fin

A/N: There we are! Thank you so much for reading, I'd love to know what you thought - as I said, maybe don't take it too seriously as part of canon, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway! :D