This is my answer to the "Anywhere but the Bed" Challenge. It is complete and utter smut. If I get any responses I will make this a longer story. Please, do enjoy!

"Tom, just drive."

"Syb- I-"

"Darling, trust me." Sybil smiled at him, kissing him lightly on the cheek. She moved her lips slowly down his face, a continuous kiss that went to his ear, his jawbone, the space on his neck that was visible above his collar. And suddenly, she was repositioning herself on the seat. "And darling, papa is trusting you with the car. Don't wreck it."

"Really, I don't know why Pratt or Hendricks can't drive you two about!" Lord Grantham shouted, more than a bit annoyed.

"Papa, they were promised half days and I won't have that interrupted. It isn't like you aren't assured that Tom is a perfect driver!"

"You've spent so much time reminding me that he is no longer the chauffer that I cannot imagine why you need him to drive you into Ripon now. Sybil, sometimes I think that you have gone mad."

"But papa, please. Mary and Matthew have the baby for the day and we could use the afternoon out."

Lord Grantham sighed, his eyes rolling just slightly. Carson stood in the corner, his own eyes revealing his clear annoyance. Sybil stood her ground, her arms crossed over her chest.

"If you are so insistent I suppose I have no other choice but than to submit. But really, Sybil, people are already talking enough as it is."

She was now the one rolling her eyes.

"What on earth do you need from Ripon?" Tom asked her as they walked into the garage. Sybil took his hand into her own, intertwining their fingers. All of the memories of falling in love with him were rushing back to her; waves of that strange, dizzy feeling that she lived with now. It was enough to make her want to swoon.

"Oh, this and that, I suppose. I mostly just want wanted to get out of the house." She replied, a nervous smile resting on her lips.

"I can't argue with that."

Tom held onto his old riding goggles; the Renault's open windshield made them more than necessary. The thought of wearing them without his old livery seemed strange; it made him feel that he was in a state of supreme undress. He opened the back door for Sybil, as he had hundreds of times before.

"Milady." He said with a smirk, offering his hand to help her step up into the car.

"Tom!" She exclaimed. "I'm not sitting in the backseat!"

"But you'll get your hair mussed and it really isn't comfortable…"

"Really, Tom, I thought I was the one that gave the orders around here."

Tom glanced at her sideways, the strong air sweeping her hair along with it. It made her seem oddly glamorous, utterly free. Sybil had insisted on taking all of the long, country roads that circumnavigated Ripon instead of the quick, direct route. The odd familiarity of the road, this car, her—it was too much. To think that his persistence had paid off, that he wasn't just driving Lady Sybil about, but taking his wife for an afternoon out—that was beyond words.

He could see her shifting in her seat, undoing the top buttons of her coat, revealing a new dress that cut extremely low. It was enough to torture him. He could see the curves of her breasts, full after childbirth—and was all too aware of the way that they moved with every nuance of the road. His pants felt damnably uncomfortable. He tried to readjust himself as he sat, to no avail.

Sybil's full, pink lips turned into a perfect half moon smile. She held her breath and decided to make her move.

The first thing that he felt was Sybil's hand moving over his pants, working deftly to feel and evaluate the bulge that was growing harder by the second. Her delicate, his skillful touch was enough to send an icy shiver up his back.

"Shall I pull over?" He asked her, his own grin widening.

"Absolutely not!" She said, casting off the silly notion without stopping what she was doing. She worked to undue the buttons on his trousers, taking time with each button. Tom's cock began aching—he could feel it throbbing. He'd made love to his wife a thousand times, and yet now he felt like a nervous teenager being touched for the first time. Perhaps it was the driving—his attention had to stay on the road, focusing on every bump and turn. It split his mind in half.

"I really think we should pull over…"

"Tom, just drive."

"Syb-I-"

"Darling, trust me."

Sybil had got the notion months ago, when they were still living in Dublin. She'd made friends with a rather feisty nurse named Rita who took joy in sharing all of the tales of her illicit conquests. She'd apparently done this once with a man driving a taxicab downtown. Sybil wondered what it would have been like, if she would have been so brazen when Tom was chasing her. It became a constant thought for her. She knew she'd find some way to live out this new, exciting fantasy.

Sybil moved her body so that she couldn't be seen from the road; it was so strangely exciting to hide from everyone, to crouch beside her husband. She supposed that most wives would never dare do what she was about to do; they would think it dirty. She couldn't feel sympathetic with these notions—nothing that between a husband and wife could ever seem dirty, unclean. Love, and the expression of it, is always pure.

"Fuck…" Tom sighed, the only thing that seemed sensible. She'd pulled his cock out of his trousers and was lightly kissing the tip of it, her lips gently brushing the head. Slowly, damnably slowly, she kissed down the shaft to the base, the tip of her tongue just slightly making contact. He glued his eyes to the road, trying desperately to keep them from rolling back into his head—both hands gripping the wheel so hard he imagined there would be news grooves in the leather. His heart was racing.

"Syb, love, fuck, Syb, I love you, I-"

He could feel, without seeing, her lips open around the head of his cock—he could feel her soft, wet tongue tracing circles around it. Her lips engulfed the head while her hand slowly and deftly worked his shaft in small, concentric waves. He now feared that he would black out from pleasure. He'd gone down on her before and always found it to be delightful, but she'd never reciprocated and he'd never been brave enough to suggest it. Now her tongue was stroking his cock and lips were moving against it. It was truly far too much to bear.

The trees flew by outside of the window at a frightening speed; the world seemed to be a picture reel spinning out of control. He moaned loudly, praying to God that he wouldn't wrap the Renault around a tree.

"Love, please, I'm going to cum." He announced to her, not knowing what on Earth she was going to do. He knew that she heard him—because she began to work him frantically—and it occurred to him that she wanted him to do it, and that she had no intention of letting him spill his seed.

Tom pulled the car over, and slumped against the seat—his eyes wide, his hands resting above his heart. His breath was choppy and shallow. Sybil wiped the corner of her mouth and placed a gentle, serene kiss on his cheek.

"Wasn't this drive pleasant?" She murmured, giggling.

"It—love—it—Jesus Christ…" He swore. His eyes were hazed over, his heart was still beating a thousand times faster than its usual pace. "Were you trying to kill us?"

"No darling." She said, plainly. "I just wanted to do something that I wish I would have done on one of those other trips to Ripon."

Tom raised his eyebrow, sighing loudly.

"Are we making up for time, now?" He asked, challenging her. She smiled her reply, nodding her head. "Well, in that case…"