A/N: This snippet is was created for my challenge on sadechallenge on livejournal. It was not what I expected to write and it is longer than I originally planned...but I feel it worked out in the end. Enjoy!

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She had not expected him to be awake. No; that was not right. Dr. Jekyll was always awake it seemed, working with such dedication in the laboratory, walking the floor of his study raw night after night as the pressure of his worries kept him from his bed. And there were worries—though no one but she was privy—but they often kept her awake as well, wondering if the next time she looked upon his tired countenance would be the last. What Mary had not expected was for her employer…her Master…her obsession…to enter the dark, midnight kitchen while her dress was hanging halfway to the floor.

Mrs. Kent had left quite a while ago, left while Mary was still cleaning the grate, replacing the coals and washing the soot from the marble. But the dear old woman had left the pot boiling for her, knowing that the maid would be tired, weakened, and dirty after her strenuous day serving everyone in the household including herself. With the belief that the house had bedded down for the night, that Poole was entombed in his perpetually cold bedchamber and that Bradshaw was enjoying his night off with the knife boy's sister Grace, Mary folded her filthy apron and unbuttoned the bodice of her linen servants dress; letting the soiled fabric fall over her slight hips, Mary stood before the still steaming cast iron pot in her sweat-soaked cotton chemise and simple corset. The little starched cap that lived on top of her head met the same fate as her apron but her ash and smut covered hands could not bear to release her multitude of fiery locks, not when such dirt could be transferred to her only redeemable feminine feature.

She dipped a drying towel into the water, sighing deeply as the heat encased her slim hands and sore fingers, washing off the accumulated dust and wear of the day. Raising the cloth, Mary dabbed it against her damp cheeks, nose, scrubbing rigorously as she reached her shoulders and down her arms. The act of touching, of feeling the friction along her skin, was decadent for such an untried woman—until the breathing coming from behind broke through her overwhelmed senses.

Mary stiffened, the cloth clenching in her fist. Should she finish her bath or turn around and take responsibility for her humiliation? No. Depending on who was standing so silently behind her perhaps Mary should run for the stairs like her very life depended on it.

"Continue."

The water dribbling between her elbows may as well have been January icicles, her sudden fear drawing away the comforting warmth and raising bumps upon her pale flesh. The voice was strained, harsh, and, most disturbing of all, completely recognizable. How could Mary fail to recognize the voice of one who had filled her closest held dreams and fantasies? Had she not stood in front of the mirror and wondered if Dr. Jekyll would like anything she saw?

Swallowing, Mary resumed her washing, dragging the cloth across and around her joints and stark bones, bringing out the red in her newly flushed skin. She had never disobeyed an order issued by the Doctor, had done everything he asked even to the extent of travelling to that-that place, reporting to that woman for the Master's peace of mind. At that time there had been some private questions, private worry at the sight of all those women—of young girl's living to sell themselves and please strangers in the night. But Mary had done as she was asked, and she did so now, knowing that she would do anything for the man whom she called Master.

Her soft brown eyes were wide, trying to focus on the slick copper range before her and not the sensations crawling up her clothed thighs. She loved him as she should yes? She worked, slept, lived within his home. Without the Doctor Mary would have nothing, but…But was it to much to wish that he was currently watching her every movement with as much feeling as she usually watched all of his?

The warm water slipped beneath her chemise, mixing with the sweat now frozen against her stomach, and Mary moved her attention to the back of her neck. Her mouth fell open then, holding back a strangled cry as a large hand encircled her scarred wrist. Panting breath in her ear and an unbuttoned shirt at her back.

"I—Your hair. Take it—Let me take it—."

Her shoulders automatically hunched, eyes fluttering as the hand—such gentleness—wound it's way over her nape and into the bound waves of her hair. The handful of pins came out easy enough, clinking onto the range, but it only unharnessed her thick braid and Mary found herself dropping the wash cloth as a desperate sound echoed from the Doctor's throat.

"I have no strength around you Mary." She inhaled a shaky breath as his hand left her hair to trail the ties at the small of her back; the other hand moved around her waist, dancing awkwardly across her corset until she was trapped in his embrace, his palm pressing flat. "And you have such power. You shouldn't be here," her body jerked as the Doctor pulled at the stays, her dress slipping around her knees. "You should be in your bower, safe, protected. In the light of day I would have been surrounded. I would have argued with—." But how could she leave now? How could she run with the layers of cotton around her ankles and under things slipping lower and lower with each tug of his hand? How could she leave with the scruff of his mouth fighting to simply clamp down upon the bare skin of her neck?

He did not stop her as she turned around—he would not, Mary was sure. His haunted eyes confirmed it though his calloused fingers held on to the fabric still covering her small body. She could leave now, run back to her shared bed with Annie in the attic. It would be possible to push these feelings aside and the memory of the Doctor's hands would fade into dreams over time…

Mary lifted her chin, bringing her lips within a hairsbreadth of the Doctor's as she lifted her damp hands to rest upon his bared chest. The muscles beneath her fingers trembled, the lines of his jaw stretched and tightened like a lion in wait. But Mary was no lamb.

She had not imagined this far. She had no expectations when their mouths finally met, had nothing to compare it to or contrast it with. What Mary had not expected was a damn of sorts to break the Doctor's resolve as he held her tightly with a heated desperation, lifting her away from the range and her clothes in a heap around her shoes, pressing her against the kitchen table as her own hands fought to hold on. He had been in the laboratory. The scent of chemicals and cold metal were written upon his open shirt and—Was that his evening coat draped over Mrs. Kent's char? Dear Lord! Where was his assistant? She opened her mouth to question, the hands clinging to his shoulders pushing back to ask, but the Doctor was beyond stopping now that Mary had so blatantly acquiesced to his desires. They were her desires as well.

His tongue sought entrance as she tried to speak, turning her unspoken words into gasps, massaging, searching her mouth with more skill than even he felt capable of and which Mary would never have believed possible. Her head fell back as the hands on her hips became more insistent, pushing her further back onto the table while equally trying to push her light bloomers down over her thin legs. Mary smoothed her hands over the Doctor's dark brown hair, nails skimming the scalp as his lips cascaded over her arched throat. A sudden rip of material sounded the separation of her corset strings and Mary found her soft, unbound breasts pressed breathlessly against the Doctor's lean chest. She was being laid back upon the table now, her thighs being pressured wide as his expensive linen pants stepped between them; the realization hit her with just enough time to put a hand out on the worn wood to steady herself, but she still felt the loss of her hands on his face.

"Oh how you affect me Mary." Wet, open kisses dotted her pulse. Mary blinked rapidly, not knowing what to say nor trusting herself to say it correctly. This would change—"You will stay with me always Mary?" One hand left her waist to travel lower, merely brushing against her solid ache as a means of reaching the buttons of his trousers. "We could leave this place, simply the two of us on the continent…" But his head had fallen forward again, cradled in the crook of her neck as her hips bucked. The Doctor's hand had returned, fingers caressing, probing, while an unknown weight pressed against the soft flesh of her inner thigh. Slipping along her slickness, Mary released a soft cry as one of his talented fingers sheathed itself inside her tight passage, touching a place that Mary herself had never been bold enough to touch before.

"—Henry!" Panting, rapid thumping of heartbeats, whimpers and stilled breaths: who the owner was Mary could not tell, only that the Doctor's touch was gone too quickly, replaced with another burning pressure that had Mary's jaw clenching, eyes wide, staring up into the ceiling behind the Doctor's head. A litany of phrases were being whispered into the skin below her ear but Mary could not discern the meaning; the pressure was so great but so was the pain, caught between the splitting sensations in the apex of her thighs, the bite of wood against her back, and the weight of the Doctor's body upon her own.

A change was occurring. The Doctor was emitting a low gasping noise as his movements became more erratic, hips pulsating, losing what rhythm they had as he tried to raise himself up to look down on her flushed face and wet eyes. Their gazes met: Mary's asking without a sound, the Doctor's trying to answer with moving lips that shuddered and gasped and—Oh no. No, she had to be mistaken Just a flick of the candlelight, a shadow. Dr. Jekyll would never look at her like that, not at a time like this. But…but she had seen something within his muted grey eyes, something turn and gleam…and leer?

"I—I would never let him…hurt you…Mary!" The Doctor's hands curled almost painfully into her upper arms, holding Mary down, keeping her close and her torso still as his organ spilled his seed into her belly. Mary felt a surging wetness, her breath escaping in one torrid heave as the Doctor collapsed on top of her, silver lights dancing in front of her eyes as she vainly fought to remain conscious.

There is a moment when she imagines she is floating. A creak of wood and rail as she turns her head against solid flesh and bone, the pain between her legs still new, the scent of blood and whiskey nearby: Mary cannot fathom how she came to be reclining upon the Doctor's chaise in the gaslight of his private study. Her thighs are sticky and she's sore but it does not stop her from trying to sit up, from trying to see the man seated so smugly in the Master's chair—a sweet-scented ring of cigar smoke trailed around his head while eyes seemingly made of the flame they reflected regarded her with more than amusement.

"…Doctor?"

"Ah Mary. He took everything, didn't he? You ended up with the short stick yet again."

Mary's jaw clenched imperceptivity, her hands moving up suddenly to cover her lower nakedness, a wash of shame covering her pale features. A low rumble of laughter followed. What had happened to the Doctor?

"Do you even know why he came to you tonight Mary?" She watched, silent, as he brought a bottle of local spirits to his young mouth. "After all these months of watching you wash his floor and collect his laundry and fulfill every other need under the bloody sun, do you have the slightest idea why he came to you tonight?" He had left the chair with a grunt, moving in his quick shuffling way towards the lamps, and a lump of fear caught in Mary's throat as the thought that he very well may burn the house down around everyone's ears flashed inside her head. But that was before she noticed the make up of his clothes. The white shirt had been ripped open, thread dangling where buttons once resided as well as finely sewed hemlines. His stout legs were pushing at the seams of the far too long dark trousers though the front patch was opened, only his small clothes distorting the view of his manhood. Mary turned her gaze away as Edward's once again found hers. She did not want to hear his vicious answers. Was she to die in this room tonight? Far better a fate than waking Poole and having said butler find her dishabille with the Doctor's assistant. But then Edward's fingers were crushing against her chin, forcing her head back to look up at him. He was quick. Mary had not heard him move away from the mantle, and now his thumb was pressing on her lips, pushing them back against the sharpness of her teeth.

His eyes were wild, not dulled by the whiskey at all, and Mary had no choice now but to return his gaze, to look into those murky pools.

"He came because I wanted ye Mary." He was purposely enhancing his brogue now and she felt mocked. "All his high an' mighty talk an' he was a slave to his lusts just like any other man! Dinnae want you hurt he said. Bah!" he hissed, pushing her away with one harsh movement, discarding his shirt with another while she watched wide-eyed from the lounge. "Didn't want you sullied is more like it! The proper doctor couldn't bear the thought of another man's leavings on his oh so precious chambermaid!" A light trail of black hair followed the muscles of his chest and down his stomach, further than her eyes could see. He was stocky, broader than the Doctor, and Mary suddenly knew for sure that he could strangle her with just one of those sinewy arms of his. Strangle? Flatten. But violence of that sort was clearly not what the man had on his mind as he approached her for a second time.

"I never thought you were as new as he did Mary." One of his rough hands had begun to infiltrate itself between her closed knees and before she could open her mouth to yell Edward was kneeling beside her, his free hand locked over her thin lips. He was stronger than she and they both knew it. "But from the smell of this mess he made I suppose Henry was right for once. And I can't remember a time when I was more pleased to be wrong." Edward's brutish fingers were scraping her lower thigh, rubbing against the stains of her maidenhead and the Doctor's release that had leaked out and down.

"But he was clumsy Mary Reilly, your Master." He lowered his head to hers, their foreheads meeting and spicy breath crawling over her throat. "He simply thought of the end. His end." It was incredibly hard to clench her thighs as his hand progressed up, and behind his palm Mary let out a short gasp of pain as the strain became too much, her legs loosening of their own accord. He was quickly cupping her mound, his fingers caressing along her very tender, soaked intimate folds. "Go ahead and blame him for your pain," Edward turned her head, his tongue licking a solid line down to the coarse material of her chemise, the tip idling over the raised lines of her white scars. "The Doctor has kept himself locked away for so long; his practical experience is sorely lacking." A flick of his thumb had Mary's hips bucking, her eyes flashing hurt confusion as an unfamiliar sensation moved through her limbs. A guttural chuckle followed, his mouth moving once again upon her collarbone.

"Fortunately for you Mary, mine is not."

The pad of his thumb began to move, to rub, and while she did not know what the conclusion would be Mary's stomach and spine screamed for him to continue. Exploring with confidence, Edward's fingers kept up a rhythm through her slickness as she fought for breath, the wet sounds of her body growing louder in the quiet study. "Are you scared Mary? You haven't said no." The maid stiffened, aware of Edward's face above hers again. Slowly, her worried brown eyes travelled down to the hand still bandaged across her mouth, and, just as slowly, the assistant released her completely, stepping away from the chaise and her ache, bringing a bloodied finger up to his mouth. "Well?"

Mary swallowed, wanting but unable to avert her gaze as he sucked the liquid and juices from his fingers. She could not put a dam on the feelings rushing through her body, on the fresh knowledge of carnality that the Doctor had begun but Edward had awakened even though such ignorance had done her well these last few months of servitude.

"I—I don't want--." Her voice was breathy, fractured. "I'm not afraid."

She watched his lips curl back, his tongue flashing out between two gleaming rows of teeth, and his large hands slipping over his torso to sit on the waist of his trousers.

"Sit up Mary and take down your hair." It was not a request.

It took a moment but Mary placed her hands under her back, pushing herself upright then raising shaking hands to the strap of her braid. The strands separated swiftly, her fingers moving as quickly as she could manage under the heated glare of Edward's gaze. The thick mass fell silently around her shoulders, down her back, and before another breath could be drawn Edward was disposing of his last barriers. Her face flushed, the embarrassed red sheen reflecting her innocent nature as the assistant strode back to the chaise, his shaft protruding hard and erect from a nest of wiry black hairs. Mary did not know what to expect when one meaty hand wound into her red tresses, her head pulled back.

"He barely touched you Mary." Edward's voice was gruff, demanding, as he looked down on her, tightening his hold on her scalp. "You didn't touch him at all. You'll touch me. Now." Another pause and another moment passed but he would not ease her hand not allow Mary to break his gaze, forcing her to reach for his body blindly. She inhaled sharply as her fingertips grazed his legs, running along his hair and obvious musculature, slowly moving up and in to his desired destination. This time there was something to compare: the eel Mrs. Kent had ordered brought to the table, the eel that held life throughout it's slick body, squirming within Mary's grasp, jumping at the contact of skin on skin. She thought Edward's jaw flexed. She thought she saw those fiery eyes become half-mast as her hands skimmed over the wider head, the slit dribbling fluid onto her now stilled digits. How was something so large to fit inside her small body? Surely—

"Is it my turn now Mary?" On her back, his solid heaviness covering and her chemise being ripped in two: Mary could only shudder as Edward's mouth fell across her near-transparent, puckered nipples. There were teeth but then his hand was pushing down again, flicking again, and the teeth did not matter. When he began to push, bringing her leg up to hook over his hip, Mary's gasp did not deter or slow his actions. Neither did her nails as they raked across his shoulders. He reared back from her chest, burrowing his chin into her neck, growling. "Yes Mary! Hurt me! Tear me! Bite me Mary, bite me!"

There would have been time to argue, to think, but Edward surged forward, grinding, and Mary's teeth sank into the flesh connecting throat to shoulder. He laughed, loudly, as his release filled her womb, mixing with the Doctor's, mixing with her blood.

"You will stay with me always Mary? We could leave this place, simply the two of us on the continent, away from the cold and the dirt?"

She watched his visage, a dawning horror descending on her own as the heavy footfalls of Poole echoed down the hallway. And as her large eyes watched Edward laughed and laughed and laughed.