Disclaimer: I cannot take credit for the inception of these characters. This plot and this version of them, however, is mine.
A/N: This is a birthday gift to the forever lovely PiperHolmes! She is quite literally one of the sweetest, most genuine and supportive people I know, and she deserves all the happiness in the world - today and everyday.
I hope you enjoy this, Piper! I honestly don't even know what it is really, but it does somehow involve both prompts you gave me. And as promised, that other prompt will be delivered in due time! I will say: this most certainly will not be the best fic you receive today, that I am sure of but I hope it somehow suffices!
Also, note and enjoy the bit of Sybil/Robert BC-esque sass in the end.
Unbeta'd...sorry.
"I know you haven't made your mind up yet,
But I would never do you wrong.
I've known it from the moment that we met,
No doubt in my mind where you belong."
Make You Feel My Love - Adele
She felt like a child, really. From the simple white nightgown she wore, to the way her hair was beginning to curl around her face, she was reminded very much of the little girl she used to be walking around these same halls.
Things were different now though. No longer a girl and every bit the woman she had always dreamed; a wife and soon-to-be mother. With this thought, Sybil reached down and pressed her hands to her tummy, pretending, and secretly wishing, she could feel the life inside her womb. Her stomach had barely begun to swell, and although Tom paid it enough attention for the both of them, she found she enjoyed the stolen moments as well, when her hands rested there naturally, her elbows bent just as they would be when she someday held the bairn, her mouth pulled into a bright smile as her eyes blinked, doing their best to comprehend it all.
Sybil always knew it would be beautiful when her and Tom finally came together, and it was. It was beautiful every night since the first time, sometimes over and over again, with him chanting her name, causing her own breath to become ragged. And it was still beautiful now, even when part of the desired outcome was achieved. It seemed that before marriage, Sybil knew nothing, and now, just two months after the vows were read, she was still learning, but in doing so, discovering things she was sure most girls her age would never acknowledge. Beautifully rare and raw moments, ones she had caught a glimpse of when Tom first kissed her, were now images she allowed her mind to paint on their own. She certainly hadn't seen it all, but she had seen enough to know that she never wanted to go back. To love and be loved in return, deeply and fully, was a feeling she wished to share with the world, but kept to herself, because she enjoyed the way it sounded being whispered back and forth beneath bedsheets at night.
"Sybil?"
At the sound of Robert's voice, Sybil picked her head up, allowing her eyes to dart around, no longer trained on the way her feet moved across the carpet. Where she had just held her nightgown up to keep it from brushing the floor, she let the fabric fall, caressing her ankles, but still exposing much of her feet. Too much, her father would say.
Her neck turned, allowing Sybil to finally face him. Behind Robert, Matthew stood, both of them ascending the stairs after a what Sybil could only imagine was a long night of bourbon shared down by the fireplace in the library. Matthew took one look at Sybil and politely looked away, turning his body toward the other end of the hall as if to indicate the direction in which he'd like to move. He was thinking not only of Mary, but of Tom as well. It was not appropriate to see a girl like this, certainly not a girl who was young enough to be a sister, and still, married and out on her own. In fact, Matthew had never seen a girl in her nightdress before, and a bit of him was angry, hoping that the shock of such a normal sight would only vanish from within him when experienced with Mary. Sybil, though just as fair and raven-haired, looked like the young girl she was when he met her, nearly seven years ago. Even he acknowledged that things were different, and those things, things this house preferred to keep hidden behind large oak bedroom doors, were things he'd respect despite the insistence of people like Robert or Carson.
"Sybil!" Robert barked now. "Why are you out of bed?"
"I'm grabbing an extra sheet from the linen closet."
Robert's eyes practically bulged out of his head. "Stay in your room and ring the bell. One of the girls will bring one to you."
"Oh, I couldn't do that Papa, Tom and I have already begun to get ready for bed."
Again, Robert found himself choking on air. His fists balled and his neck tightened beneath the confines of his already tight collar. "Where is your robe? And your slippers?"
"I don't know. In my closet?"
"Could you have not grabbed those before coming out here? Really, I'd prefer the maids see you in your bedroom, as opposed to you exposing yourself to the entire house."
Sybil dropped her head back to laugh. A light "ha!" escaped her lips. "Oh, Papa!" Sybil waved off. "It's not me I was worried about the maids seeing."
"Sybil Crawley that is quite enough!"
This had Sybil stiffening up a bit. Her previous rapport had died off, and now she just waited, her mind reeling as she calculated where to go next.
"Robert, I'm heading to bed. Thank you for the drink. And I will have to check out that book you mentioned…"
Robert looked over his shoulder to his son-in-law. He nodded, suddenly embarrassed that he had seen any of this. How silly it must seem to love a child so blindly. "Yes," he began. "Goodnight, Matthew."
Matthew nodded at Sybil, and she curtsied back, clearly not too far removed from her usual teasing. Then, she turned on her heel and headed back down the hall, not bothering this time to tip-toe in the way she was before.
"Sybil, please! Go to bed! I will call one of the girls for you or I will get it myself..."
"It's Branson now," Sybil said, the correction leaving her tongue with umpteenth satisfaction. "And do you even know where the linen closet is?"
"Yes," Robert lied. "I'll bring one to you."
Sybil turned away from her father and began walking back toward her and Tom's bedroom. "Papa, you can't actually be serious. You can't bring me things to my room now. I'm hardly a child."
"What do you mean?" Robert insisted.
"Just because you didn't see it, doesn't mean it didn't happen." Robert blinked, giving time for Sybil to explain. "I'm a married woman now."
He said nothing. What could a father say when dealt such cold honesty from a daughter that once knew nothing but warmth? This is why you don't educate daughters, Robert would say. They may learn so much that they find the world you've so graciously given them is not the extent of the world they wish to live in.
Behind her now, Sybil closed the door to her bedroom door, turning the porcelain knob so the wood laid gently in its jamb, essentially locking her father and all the rest of the house out.
"What's wrong?" Tom asked. His wife, usually so bright-faced, seemed disconnected, and the way she moved told stories he wasn't sure he wanted to hear tonight.
Sybil looked to her husband. "What?"
"C'mere."
The newspaper in his lap was quickly folded, and placed with his glasses on the nightstand. He went to raise the comforter, to invite Sybil in, but already she was at his side, her face pressed into his chest while the rest of her body nuzzled into him.
"You okay?" Tom asked and Sybil nodded. "What happened?"
"You be nice to our daughters, okay?"
Tom raised an eyebrow. "More than one?"
Sybil smirked. "I don't think that's in the cards for us this time. But maybe someday...if you wanted."
"Yes," Tom said quickly, his voice already beginning to take on a lighter air. "A few daughters and a few sons will fit us nicely."
Sybil dropped her head back down again, no longer needing to see him to know exactly what he was thinking. "I'd give you the world if I could," she whispered.
Tom sighed; his attempts seemed to be useless tonight. At the end of the day, there would always be things he could not fix, or control. "What did he say?"
"Does it matter?"
"I mean, kind of," Tom shrugged. "But if you don't want to talk about it, we don't have to."
Sybil's ears perked at his sly suggestion. She sat up and straddled him, a leg bent at the knee on either side of him. She went to kiss him, to place her lips upon his earlobe, but was stopped by his hands, so warm and yet so calloused, moving to her stomach. Even through the starched fabric of her nightgown, she felt her skin respond against his, and it was this that had her reaching down for the hem to pull it the dress up over her head.
Quickly, all of her was exposed to him, causing her bare chest to become pert as his eyes and the warm breeze coming in through the window, cast a glow all around her.
"Sybil, we don't have to—"
She narrowed her eyes, searching his face for the words he didn't dare speak. "What? Don't you want to?"
"Here?" Tom asked, referencing her childhood bed.
"You promised," she reminded.
Tom leaned in to Sybil. His eyes fluttered at the thought, one he held with strong regard, and often flashed back to when she and him were making love back in Dublin. "That was a long time ago," he said, finally opening his eyes. Though he spoke of resistance, his gaze was heavy-lidded, and Sybil found excitement in the way he drank her in.
"Yes, Tom. My bed. You do remember it, don't you?"
"Sybil, that was a mistake. I should have never allowed it to happen."
Sybil slumped. "A mistake?" Disgust saturated her words. And then: "Forget it."
"No, Syb, wait—"
"What do you want from me? I thought we...we said—"
Tom's eyes squinted, and he leaned back, as if needing to get a better look at her, still naked from the waist up, and now, very, very hurt. "Syb, love, please talk to me." He lifter her chin with his thumb and forefinger. "Don't shut me out, darling."
"Turn out the light, will you?"
"Is that what you want?"
"No!" Sybil tried. "But you don't want what I want right now so—"
"I always want what you want," Tom corrected, his voice sounding harsh and demanding, each word begging that she understand where he was coming from. "This is hard for me too. Your father hates me. And what's more, he's beginning to take it out on you—"
Sybil dropped her forehead down to Tom's. Her lips did what her fingers usually would, pressing into his pout to stop him from talking. By now, and with her in this current state, he'd usually give in. Here, it seemed he didn't have to. He lost himself the minute they arrived in Liverpool, and he doubt he'd find himself, even in slivers or fragments, before they returned to Dublin. It was even possible that there were pieces of him he's never recover, but that was what falling in love was and he'd surrender all of himself if it meant keeping Sybil happy.
"I'm sorry."
Tom blinked, fighting back a tear. "I don't want you to want me because your father hates it. I feel—"
"What?" she choked out.
"I feel as if you're using me right now. I feel—"
Sybil reached up and pressed her palm to her lips. "Oh, Tom…"
"Please don't love me to spite him."
"Tom Branson, you cannot believe that."
"This place makes me believe all sorts of things. Once upon a time it made me think you were crazy enough to run away with me."
"I did that, remember?"
Tom smirked. "Sometimes it still feels like it's a dream. I did used to be the boy who thought about you in this bed. And we have grown and learned and loved so much since then, but when I come back here, I find I may still be him, and to be honest Syb, it's embarrassing."
"You don't get it," she settled, her words giving up. "Hand me my nightgown, will you?"
Tom leaned over and grabbed it, careful not to let his own disappointment at seeing his wife covered up, show. Of course he didn't need her in this state; he'd be just as fine going to bed with her pulled into him, but seeing her like this, so naked and beautiful, reminded him of home.
Sybil delicately laced her arms through the sleeve caps of her nightgown, before pulling the light cotton over her head. She crawled off of Tom and settled in next to him, her back pressed into his side.
"Hit the light will you?"
He sighed. "Can I get you anything?"
"Tickets back to Dublin," Sybil murmured.
Tom leaned down to kiss her cheek. A steady hand was placed to her shoulder, giving both him and her support. "Booked and waiting," he whispered. And then, in an attempt to change the mood into a better one: "How are you feeling?"
It was this that had Sybil turning over, the corner of her lips moving upward into a faint smile. "Fine." She knew what he was doing, and while it sometimes irritated her that he could be this kind, she adored him for always keeping his promises, this one in particular being that they'd never go to bed mad at one another.
"Did you get sick this morning?"
"No. It's been better lately."
"Maybe we could order you a smaller meal up here before the match tomorrow. There's no sense in you rushing about to get ready to eat downstairs with everyone else. Might as well take advantage of it."
"I couldn't leave you alone," she countered. "They'd eat you alive."
"Nah," Tom said. "They haven't yet," he reminded.
"Are you done with your paper?" Sybil asked.
Tom looked to the gazette, wrinkled and bent at the folds from a voyage across the sea. "I think so. Do you want me to save it for you?"
Sybil thought for a moment before answering. "Yes, but right now, no." Tom quirked an eyebrow and she moved into him to explain. "Come sleep with me, will you?"
Tom reached across himself and used his dominant hand to pull the switch to the lamp on his bedside table. When Sybil's hair was longer, it was where she would keep all of her hairpins, ones she insisted Anna let her take out long after the maid would leave the room. He'd watched her do it several times since then, and now, with her hair bobbed, he found he missed the complexity of it all, and yet he was mesmerized by how such a defining characteristic of long brown hair could be taken away, leaving Sybil to be just as stunning as she had ever been.
He took off his nightshirt and threw it down to the ground. He didn't care if their room was already a mess of things, as earlier they had forfeited unpacking to instead share in a nap together. The maids, most of them new, would say what they wanted regardless of the state of their room, and he was sure that somewhere downstairs, Mrs. Hughes would give them disapproving looks, proud of the standard at which she held them to, even if it was a higher one than either of them felt they deserved. They were married now, and while she was once the lady of this house, driven around by him, the war had changed this world, and the people in it, all without anyone's direct permission.
"Tom?"
"Yes, darling?"
"I want to take you somewhere tomorrow. Will you let me do that?"
"I don't know - should I be worried?"
"Certainly not any more worried than I once was."
~!~
When Tom awoke the next morning, his face was buried into the soft feather pillow beneath his head. He turned over, risking an early morning greeting with the sun in hopes of seeing Sybil laying beside him. She was absent though, and the blinds were still drawn, telling Tom that not only had she gotten up early but that it had been so early that she had time to alert the maids that she didn't wish for them to open up the curtains as they normally would. This was then confirmed as Tom stepped out of bed, his feet hitting his nightshirt which he had discarded the night before.
He walked to the bathroom to bathe, but found himself stopped at the threshold where he saw a piece of parchment on the vanity. Upon it, was a note from Sybil. "Come to the garage," it read, and after it, a flowery "S" marked by two exaggerated loops. He smiled, and instead of crumpling it up, he folded the note and brought it out to the bedside table.
Where he had previously left both his reading glasses and his daily paper, only his glasses remained and Tom imagined Sybil downstairs, teasing her father with the bold headlines of an Ireland twirling toward Independence. He had always known her to have a bit of a rebellious streak, and usually, he loved her for it. However it seemed that now that they were back at Downton, he despised it. If she could pretend to play by Robert's rules until they departed for Liverpool on Tuesday, all would be fine. Then, back in Dublin they could be themselves. They had once worked so hard to get away from this place, and now that they were back, Tom was learning that parts of her childhood home, just like his, would never truly leave her.
After his wash-up, Tom made quick work of getting ready, but upon his descent of the stairs, he found it odd to not be greeted by noise coming out from the dining room.
"Oh, Mr. Branson," Anna called, passing him by carrying a pile of freshly washed towels she must have just taken off the line. "Lady Sybil wished for me to tell you that the rest of the family is having breakfast out on the lawn. She didn't want to wake you, so she arranged for you to order breakfast for yourself in the dining room."
"And she is?"
"I saw her heading out toward the garage," Anna said simply. "Perhaps she's ordered the car around, but I'm really not sure."
Tom pressed his arms to Anna's shoulder as if to excuse himself for walking away. He called a quick "thank you!" back toward her, which she brushed off with a smile, one she tried to shake off as she watched the man, someone she once knew as a coworker, hurry out of the foyer toward the front door.
His feet brought him quickly around the front of the house to the back, where the garage stood. The place that was once his home seemed so unfamiliar now, and aside from the same Renault sitting in park, it all seemed unrecognizable. A new coat of paint had been applied to the outside, and the usually dark interior was now lit with two separate hanging lamp units. It wasn't his place anymore, and for this reason, and many others, he was hesitant to go inside and if it weren't for the girl on the workbench, her feet dangling down toward the ground, he wouldn't have.
"Syb?"
"Hi," she said, her voice coming out with the same softness as a whisper. Sometimes Sybil was a girl who played the game of hide and seek so well, that even she couldn't find herself.
"Do you want to tell me what's going on?"
Sybil leaned forward on the bench, exposing more of herself to the light. The dress she wore, and its accompanying sweater was familiar, but he couldn't place it, and he watched her eyes scan him as he did his best to figure all of this out.
"Do you need a ride?" he managed, but only when his mind found no other possible solution.
This had Sybil laughing, and she dropped her head down to laugh, her feet following a similar pattern as she used her hands to push off of the workbench, sending her body toward the floor. In true fashion, she wiped her hands on her dress and stepped into him. This time it was her eyes that did the feasting, raking up and down his body and the way the vest he wore only barely touched the belt at the top of his trousers. In all honesty, Sybil was excited to see him in his Cricket Whites, and at the same time, she was glad he was not changed into them yet. He Tom Branson, her Tom Branson, in these clothes, and she was sure that the minute he put on his white pants and shirt, with that god-awful knitted vest, he'd be washed out, nothing more than a pawn in her father's attempts to beat the village.
"I was reading the paper," Sybil began. She stepped into him, her hands immediately finding his sides, running up and down the length of his abdomen before resting in a latched position behind his back. She looked up to him now. "Do you remember the last time I read your paper in here?"
"Syb…" Tom tried.
In that moment it was very clear to the both of them that they both remembered that day well.
The drive from Gretna Green was a long one, and found Tom Branson exercising the utmost caution with the Renault. He passed only one other vehicle on the road, but he suddenly felt crowded by the country air, and in a way he couldn't explain, he wanted and needed to be back in Dublin.
As he approached Downton he thought of nothing but his plan: pack up his things, hand in his notice, and then walk to town to rent a room at the Grantham Arms. It was this list that he kept repeating over and over again to himself, willing the more passionate parts of his brain to stop picturing Sybil and the way she kissed him, her hair mussed and her lips pouted. Her chaste kisses had littered his skin, but he felt them deep down within himself, and though he'd never admit this to her, it took great strength to keep from begging for more. Then, he reminded himself, the same strength was required to wait for her to even say "yes" for all those years. Certainly he had it in him - they both did.
Pulling into the garage, he idled the machine before cutting it completely. With the hand brake secure, he hopped out, hoping that nobody had called for the motor in his short absence.
"Tom..."
Her voice had him quite literally spinning around, his eyes searching through the darkness to find her.
In her pale green dress and bright red sweater, all of her best accents were featured, from her long hair tied at the nape of her neck, to the freckles that spread arbitrarily across the bridge of her nose. Her eyes, ever so grey, were piercing into him now, asking for forgiveness, or at least a similar sign, one that would ensure her that everything, if it wasn't now, would someday all be okay.
"Syb…" he began, his voice trailing off when he found no proper words to accompany his thoughts.
She dropped the paper he was reading and his eyes darted away from her face and to the workbench where she placed it. "I was reading," she stated simply. "I hope you don't mind."
Tom shrugged. "Anything good?"
Sybil shook her head. "Not really. The usual. You know, the state of the economy and projections for independence." Tom looked down. He didn't want a fight; he didn't know what he wanted.
"It will happen," she insisted. "We'll be in Ireland when it happens."
"Sybil, please don't."
Sybil jumped down off the workbench and stepped immediately into Tom. Naturally he had a fair amount of height on her, but even more so in the flat shoes she wore. All of this was emphasized the closer she got, her eyes needing to glance up to rest comfortably on his own.
"I'm sorry," she tried, her voice nearly breaking. "I didn't know they'd come and I just thought that—" She reached up and cupped her mouth with her hand keeping every bit of anger and sadness behind her cupped palm. When she exhaled, she removed her hand and sniffled, wishing that these tears would disappear just as quickly as they'd come. "I thought that if I didn't go with them I'd just make things worse. But I meant what I said, Tom. All of it. You're my world now and I love you," he blinked deeply as if to capture what she was saying. He then swallowed, forcing himself to remember that this was only one of the first times he had heard her say this, and somehow, that thought brought little comfort the more it settled in. "I'm going to stay true to you. I still wish to tell my parents, we just need to think of a time."
"And until then?" he asked with vacant eyes.
Sybil shrugged. "I'll come see you at the Grantham Arms."
"Jesus Christ, Syb. Like hell you will!"
"Why not?"
"I won't have you going in there! You're a Lady, Sybil! What if someone sees you?"
Sybil's nose furrowed in confusion. "Please stop yelling at me," she requested simply, hoping (and knowing) that he'd need no grand gesture to comply.
Tom stepped back. "I'm not angry, love. I'm just...frustrated." And then: "Aren't you warm in that?"
"No," Sybil said, her lips pulling into a small smile, one she suddenly wished to keep from him. "Please stop changing the subject, Tom. Why won't you believe me?"
He sighed and looked to the side. "I don't know what to believe anymore."
"Do you really think me that unwilled? I love you, Tom! I want to be with you! Marry you! Move to Ireland with you and have your children! What can I do to prove that to you? Do you want me to march through town? I'll do it. I will cause a scene in the village. I'll jump in the fountain and dance about. I don't care what they say! I know what I want and I've known how I felt about you for a very long time. I'm sorry it took me so long to come around, I am. And now I'm sorry that we were found out. But I promise you, love, this is what was best."
Calmly, her palm, the same one that once stifled tears, reached up to caress Tom's cheek. He blinked and she joined him, the two keeping their eyes closed for many moments to enjoy the warmth being passed from skin to skin. It was in this moment that Tom wished to lean down to kiss her, and when he did, Sybil accepted his lips against her own. Then, they both sighed, feeling her hand leave his chin. The smooth expanse of his neck where her hands now rested was an all too present reminder that she was not given her chance to watch him shave in the morning in the way she had teased about the night before.
"Come with me?" she asked, an idea filling her foggy mind.
"Where?" he asked, but already his hand was upon hers, their fingers lacing as she began to pull him out of the garage and back toward the house. "We'll be seen," he reminded, his eyes now looking up, half-expecting to catch someone's face in one of the windows. Somehow, despite their hurried actions, the rest of the property seemed to be still - asleep, almost, and Tom feared its reaction upon awakening.
Sybil turned to Tom, her lips pursed in a strong smirk. "Do you trust me?"
He leaned down to kiss her, and she responded in fervor, wrapping her arms around his waist so as to pull him closer to her. When he pulled away, she shook her head, and with a laugh, Tom leaned down again to taste her, the both of them smiling through the kiss.
"C'mon!" she shouted, now dragging him across the lawn toward one of the side entrances. Tom felt as if he was watching all of this and not a participant in the way he was. It was only when his feet began to consciously move, running through the crisp grass, they he realized it was his hand she was holding, and that the laughter bubbling off her lips, also belonged to him.
At the side entrance to the home, Sybil popped inside, peeking around before she swung the door open, inviting Tom inside. "Where are you taking me?"
"I thought you said you trusted me," Sybil teased.
"Actually," Tom said, stepping into her with a strong grip on her hip, "I never said that, I just—" But she was already kissing him again, never quite content with the feeling of him being this close and not pressed against her in one way or another.
Somehow they had made it to the top of the stairs without being seen, and though they were both a bit winded from the journey, they didn't stop. To stop would be to admit defeat, and already today they had come too far.
"Where are we going?"
"My bedroom," Sybil giggled.
"Syb, no, we can't—"
Sybil turned back to him. Her room was only two doors down from where they were standing, but as they stood staring at one another, their chests heaving, it felt much, much further. "What? Yes we can. Nobody saw us!" she reasoned.
"Sybil, we're not married, we can't—"
A blush painted Sybil's cheeks but she did not falter. "If that's what you think I've brought you up here for then you can go right downstairs, Tom Branson!"
He went to respond but both of them stopped all action at the sound of a door being shut down the hall. Quickly, Sybil pulled Tom's wrist, bringing him to her bedroom. Behind them, the door was quickly shut and latched, keeping all peering eyes from seeing the way Sybil placed her hands on Tom's shoulders for support as she stood on her toes to kiss him.
It was slow at first, but all too quickly it became more heated, with Sybil eventually being the first to part her lips and invite his tongue inside. The sensation, one of warm wetness, was something that excited her. Already she was thrilled at having the man she loved up in her room, but to be alone with him like this, to make up for the way she had walked out on him last night, she only hoped it was enough.
Even when Tom's hand reached down to caress her backside, Sybil did not flinch. In fact, it had them both stumbling back until Sybil's knees hit the mattress, sending her body leaning back, taking him with her. He was doing his best to stand in the space between her legs, but her skirt made it difficult. When he went to reposition himself, she stopped him, and found that her next move seemed daring, even to her.
"Syb, we shouldn't—"
He stopped speaking, his mind instead trained on the way she untied her sweater and let it fall off her shoulders, revealing a cream camisole. "Now you," she said, nodding toward Tom's shirt. He complied, and soon his upper half matched hers, covered only in a thin undershirt, tucked into his pants. "Your trousers too," she added, her voice practically begging he go along with all of this so she at least didn't need to repeat herself. He obliged, and as he did so, his eyes refused to leave hers. Even when he was standing before her in just his underwear, their gaze never left the other. It even intensified when Sybil reached down to pull her camisole out of her dress and Tom stopped her.
"Let me," he offered.
She nodded, and they both looked down, slowly watching as more of the lace material revealed itself. Though still hidden by her thicker sea foam colored skirt, Tom's rough hands touched the soft expanse of Sybil's tummy, and she practically cooed at the sensation of his fingers being upon her like this. "The zipper's on the side."
Tom exhaled, doing his best to remain calm. Though he was sure she thought differently, he had never been this far with any girl before, and part of him wished he wasn't so nervous, as if to play along with the scenario in her head. The confidence he normally had when flashing her a smile or asking her about a book was gone now, left uncovered by the clothing they had just stripped themselves of, and the door they remained hidden behind.
Sybil leaned forward and discarded her stockings, throwing them like trash to the floor. Then, she leaned back, and with heavy-lidded eyes, asked that he please undress her.
He gulped. His hands, clearly out of his own control, moved to her tummy, one sliding down to pull at the button enclosures of her frock. One by one, they popped open, and as Tom began to slide the material down and off her hips, he saw skin, then some more, revealed to him in the most beautiful shade of cream.
Instantly, he wished to go to her, to kiss up and down her thighs, while his hands made work of her back and arms. It wasn't lust but a wanting that controlled them both so deeply now. And still, they were both hesitant.
In just a lace slip, Sybil leaned back. Her shoulders leaned into the pillows at the head of the bed, and she curled a finger at Tom, one that had them both laughing against the others' lips as soon as they attached.
Breathless, and in an altered state completely, Tom dropped her forehead down to Sybil's and for the first time, realized just how bold they were truly being.
"I believe you now," he muttered.
"Oh good," Sybil quipped. "I was afraid I'd have to take off more clothing before that happened."
"Is there that much left to take off?" At the sound of his own question, Tom's mouth went dry.
Slowly, Sybil shook her head. "No," she choked out. Again, her eyes failed to leave him.
"Can I say something? I don't want to scare you."
"Tom," Sybil pleaded. Her hand was pressed to his cheek now, and he moved his face to kiss it, loving it for all the other things it would someday do: pray, vote, coddle. "What is it? I'm much stronger than you think."
Tom blinked hard, suddenly regretting his words. "I know, love, but you're so young and I just—"
"Say it." And then it was Sybil who was begging. "Please?"
Tom dropped his head down. When he picked it back up she was still just as he had left her, patiently waiting for the things his mouth would reveal. "Someday, after we're married, I'm going to make love to you in this bed, Sybil Crawley."
"Is that a promise?"
Tom nodded, loving how effortless it was for him to smile at the things she said. "Yes, love, that's a promise."
"Us Crawley girls don't take lightly to broken promises."
"Trust me, darling, this is one I plan on keeping."
Sybil reached up for him, needing his lips as reassurance against her skin. It was like that for several more minutes until a knock sounded at the door, alerting Sybil that it was time for tea. The two of them glanced to the window, and surely enough, the sun was beginning to set, signaling that yet another day had come and gone where the two of them existed as separates in this world.
"I'm sick!" she yelled out to Anna. "I'll be skipping dinner as well."
"Sybil?" Mary called in upon hearing this. "Are you alright, darling? Do you need a doctor?"
Sybil shook her head and then laughed when she remembered that neither her sister or the housemaid that accompanied her could see her. "No, I have a headache."
"Sybil, if this is about—" Mary stopped herself, thinking better of her chosen words. "Fine, darling. I'll tell Mama and Papa," the eldest Crawley sister conceded.
As the sound of footsteps diminished, Sybil sighed, and in doing so, realized the proximity of Tom, all of him, pressed into her entire front. "I do love you so," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.
She responded in the only way she knew how, or rather, in the way he had taught her since entering her life; Sybil smiled and kissed Tom back. Her hands, now infatuated with the short hairs at the nape of his neck, kept him close, and even when he rolled off of her so that he was on his side, she couldn't help but to smirk, especially each time his red lips got close to hers, ready to give her anything she wished for, if only time would allow for it all.
"How am I to get downstairs?"
"Leaving so quickly, are we?" Sybil raised an eyebrow as if to challenge her fiance.
"What if they call for the motor?"
"Are we to be going to Ireland soon, or not?" It was clear by the speed of her lips and the tone of her voice that Sybil was saving this answer for special use.
"Not soon enough," Tom mumbled into her shoulder.
Sybil could only look over her shoulder and smile at him, loving the way he was here and always, even as she turned her back on him, needing for that part of her body to be pressed into him now. "But soon," she assured.
With a chaste kiss to the lips, Sybil rolled over and Tom wasted no time wrapping his arm around her midsection to pull her in again. "I love you, Tom Branson." The words were for him but she said them to the moon, wishing her secret would be shared amongst the stars.
"You're too good for me, Sybil Crawley." She looked to him now, a concerned expression written across her features. "But I love you all the same. More and more, everyday," he added. "And I'd give you the world if I could."
"I don't want the world, Tom. I just want you."
"But it matters that you know I'd try to give it to you, if that's what you wanted."
Her eyelashes fluttered. "Okay." And then: "Tom?"
He nodded. "Yeah, Syb?"
"I've thought about it too. You know...you in bed with me. Just like this."
Tom sighed. "I hope your father can learn to understand. I don't wish to take them away from you."
"I don't care if my father understands," Sybil said indignantly. "What's important to me is that you understand there opinion doesn't matter to me anymore. Here, there, anywhere. I want to go to Ireland and I want to start our life together."
"And if they invite us back?"
"I will come on my own conditions. But after tonight, this is no longer my home."
A shock to the both of them, and yet here they were. Not only invited back, but separated again, lines drawn so clearly as Sybil still stood in the shadows of the garage, while Tom peered in from outside.
"I just need to say this, alright? I don't know what it is about being back here...I don't know why it's suddenly so easy for us to slip into our old ways. You promised me that day that you would give me the world and I told you I would never ask you for those things, and I haven't. But what I am asking for is for the same boy who believed in me that night, to do it again. This isn't just hard for you, it's hard for me too. And we will face this together, just like we did then, but we cannot let them dictate how we run our lives anymore. Jesus Tom, we waited how many years to be together? We are married and I am with child and somehow we have let ourselves forget what is important. And these things that I need and want from you are the things I have always needed and wanted from you. I want love. I need love. I need you to show me that you believe in this just as much as I do. We owe it to ourselves to do this right this time. And this time it will be about us, just as it was that first night, okay? We are none of their business anymore. I don't need to run through the streets or wake up the village and tell them of our love. It's not important to me that everyone knows how much I love you, it's just important that my husband does. Don't you get that?"
Tom sighed, taking his bottom lip into his mouth. In releasing it, he stepped forward, and she joined him, the two meeting somewhere in the middle on a sunny patch of grass.
Her arms wrapped around him, and with everything she had, she hugged him tight. It was nice to have him close again, and the longer they breathed into one another, the easier it all became.
"I didn't know," he murmured into her hair, smoothing it back the more he caressed the top of her head. "I'm sorry."
"Please stop apologizing, okay? I don't care. I just need us on the same page again."
Tom cupped his wife's cheeks and angled her face up to him. "I love you," he offered, knowing that in this moment he could give her little of much else.
Just as it was then, it was enough now. It would always be enough, Sybil thought. In saying those three words he did what he never imagined he could: he gave her the world.
"What if we just didn't go to the match?"
"What?"
"I do believe I have a promise I need to make good on."
Sybil's eyes brightened and her face stretched into a large, sly smile. "I'll race you up there?"
"You'll win," Tom deadpanned, teasing all the same.
They passed by two new housemaids, and Tom took the opportunity to push Sybil into an alcove. While hidden, he cupped her cheeks and the two breathed in, seemingly needing the air just as much as they needed one another. When they broke away and went to step back into the hall, they saw Mrs. Hughes pass by, and could only chuckle, allowing their laughter to propel them as they began to run for the main staircase.
With fingers laced, Sybil let Tom lead her this time, and was elated when he showed no hesitation approaching her bedroom door. Yes, this was his first time staying at Downton as a guest, but as she had mused last night, he had been up here before. Now, only a year later, and with both of them feeling completely detached from the people they once where, they were in a good place. Home it most certainly was not, but they could still be themselves here if only they remembered why it was so important to do so.
At her bedroom, Sybil pushed inside, and it was she who pushed Tom up against the back of the door, closing it tight in its lock. Her hands were cupping his neck while his own rested tightly around her waist, holding her as close as she could be, emphasizing the way she involuntarily rocked her hips into his, teasing him with what was to come.
Sybil removed her hands from around Tom's neck and worked to shake off her sweater. He helped her, using his hands flat against her skin to rub the material down off her arms. It fell to the floor and she laughed as goosebumps covered her now exposed skin.
"Stop rushing, the door is locked," Tom reminded. "Besides," he said, his mouth practically kissing her ear, "If you scream the way you normally do, they'll know what we're doing anyway. And besides, I don't just plan on this being a one time thing."
Sybil's mouth dropped open, and Tom took it as an invitation to cover it with his own. Much like he once had, and had done many times since then, his hand reached down to cup her bottom, and Sybil nodded, knowing what it was that he wanted. Still though, her eyes remained closed, the two of them so clearly lost in a kiss that was long overdue. Growing impatient, Tom bypassed the buttons on the side of the skirt and began to bunch the fabric upward, collecting as much of the thick material in his hands as we could. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough to bring it to her hips, so he dropped the fabric, and took another route. "I hate this skirt."
Sybil opened her eyes at the sound of her husband, clearly agitated by such a simple piece of clothing. She smirked. "I've only worn it one other time, and you didn't complain then."
"Yeah," Tom agreed. "That's because you let me take it off of you."
"Go on then," Sybil teased. Tom cut her off with another kiss, his hands back to her hip to begin idly popping each button out of its string loop. Slowly, more of her camisole was revealed. This time, it was a pure white and Tom swallowed, taking her cleavage in and how her skin looked almost as if the sun-kissed emphasizing the freckles on her arms and neck.
Tom once spent many hours of a Saturday afternoon kissing each imperfection on her skin, telling her how beautiful she was every time his lips pulled up from her skin. He would have done the same thing here if he didn't feel himself needing her this badly. and if she hadn't stepped into him and began to toy with his vest and then the shirt underneath it, her wrist purposely bumping his erect cock, causing his hips to jolt.
"Christ, Syb."
"Sorry," she lied. "Now who's in a hurry?"
"I can't help it love," he offered. "You'll never know what you do to me."
"I think I do," she teased. There was a glimmer in her eye, one that she wore only for him to see. Watching her for many years he was certain of this, and though Sybil was always open and forgiving with the world, he was glad that she reserved these parts of herself for him and him only. Now that he was familiar, he ached to think of a day very far in the future when it all would fade.
Sybil made quick work of Tom's vest and shirt, pushing, just as he had done with her, the material off his shoulders. It landed with her skirt, which Sybil had stepped out of and kicked toward the bed. As soon as Tom's chest was exposed to her, she leaned in, pressing both palms flat to his shoulders as she peppered his skin with kisses. She began at his jawline, her mouth, hot and ready, traveling all the way down to his navel. She went to stand up if only to tease, but Tom gave her a look of warning, and she smirked before undoing his belt and the zipper on his trousers, exposing his already hard member, pressed into the confines of his underwear. She sighed, always loving the sight of him, but she needed more, and for that reason, she pushed everything at his hips down a bit, allowing his cock to spring free. Instantly, he was in her hands, and she licked him from base to tip, adding to the slick lubrication created by the beads of pre-cum sliding down his shaft. A few times she pumped him, refusing to ever tire of the feeling of this part of her body being this way for her and her alone.
"C'mon," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I need you," she growled, whispering into his ear before biting at his lobe and neck.
"Like this?"
"We can go to the bed after. You did say this wasn't a one time thing."
The same glimmer Sybil wore earlier was now passing to Tom as she jumped up into his arms, latching her legs around his waist. It was then that he noticed she wasn't wearing any underwear, and that her entire lower half was now exposed to him fully. "Sybil Crawley, where are your knickers?"
"I may have forgotten them this morning."
"May have or did?"
"Are you complaining?"
Carefully, he leaned her back, and she reached down, spreading her lower folds for his entry. When it finally happened, she cried out as gravity did most of the work, allowing him to fill her completely. If this were earlier on in their relationship, Tom would have asked if she were alright, but now, after only a couple months of marriage, he knew which of her noises meant pleasure or pain, and was proud of himself that he rarely heard the latter.
"Hold on to me," he instructed, remembering the last time they did this. Then, it was after Tuesday dinner at his sister Katherine's house, when the two of them could barely make it up the stairs to their flat without fondling the other. They settled instead on the wall immediately beyond the threshold. It wasn't until after Tom had come inside of Sybil, and Sybil had reached her own similar orgasm, that they realized they had left the front door open.
Sybil obliged, knowing that for this to work best, her and Tom would not be skin to skin in the way that they usually were. Still, it worked, and as he slid out and then back in for the first time, she cried out again, this time dropping her head down to his shoulder to bite at the skin. He would have yelped in pain if he weren't so lost in the sensation, the same one he witnessed, watching as his cock, now slick from their ministrations, slowly moved in and out of her. Sybil watched too, but when she looked away, Tom brought her face back to his, kissing her lips and murmuring a small "I love you," onto them. This was taken as permission to move with more quickly, until finally Tom was pounding into Sybil, keeping his eyes trained on her as they breathed the same air, Sybil's mouth dropped open needing more, which she then chanted into his ear, igniting another fire deep within him.
She could tell he was close because his actions were less consistent. The speed at which he thrust up into her was either deliciously fast or terribly slow, and as Sybil came close to her own peak, she found herself becoming frustrated, thought not enough to keep her from screaming out when it finally hit.
"God, Tom..." Sybil tried. Still though, Tom was moving inside of her, and Sybil watched him calculate his next move, one that would undoubtedly send him over the edge.
She reached down. "Do you want me to..."
He shook his head. "Kiss me, love."
She leaned in to taste him, and as she did, she felt him tense up, before releasing deep within her. He sighed, dropping his head down to her shoulder to catch his breath. Sybil merely held onto him, kissing her husband's shoulders in appreciation, as the aftershock of their shared orgasms had them both feeling satiated.
In all honesty, it hadn't been like that in quite some time. Sure, it had always been good, and Tom never let Sybil get out of bed until she was also satisfied, but lately it all seemed so rush. Perhaps Downton was also to blame for this, taking away from them one of the only things they had learned to perfect without its help.
Finally: "The bed," Sybil requested.
With himself still inside of her, he brought her there, and as she went to move off of him, he felt himself growing hard again. Detached from Tom now, Sybil tossed off her camisole and the bra that was beneath it. All of her, even a particularly pronounced beauty mark below her left breast, was exposed to him.
"Fuck, you're beautiful," Tom muttered, kicking off his trousers. They fell into the heap with the rest of their things, and like the bed they had left unmade, they had no plans of collecting them from the floor until it was time to depart for home.
"Language," Sybil requested, but did not complain any further when he leaned down to kiss her. Immediately, her arms were around the back of his neck, her hands latched up in the air as they smiled through another set of kisses, all of them growing more and more heated.
Without warning, Sybil reached down to find Tom, and hold him in her hand. Again, she pumped at his length, marveling at how warm and soft he was. Soon though, the latter characteristic dropped out, as his body responded to her movements and sent more blood to this sensitive part of him. "Shit, Syb," he moaned, dropping his head back.
"Can I?"
Tom shook his head. "I'm ready for round two already. How's my girl?"
Sybil giggled and nodded, letting him know she was more than fine. "Whatever you want, but tonight..."
"Whatever you want," he repeated before seizing her lips in another fiery kiss.
With him now hard in her hand, Sybil guided Tom's cock toward her center. wiggling at her entrance to find the exact angle at which she wanted him to move. When she found it, she sighed, and Tom's eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sight of his naked wife so lost in the moment because of him.
"Go," Sybil instructed, her voice laced with just an ounce of impatience.
Tom slid into her and felt her folds encase him, already hot and slick from their previous round of lovemaking. "Jesus, you're tight, Syb."
She giggled and dropped her lips down onto the freckles on his shoulder. An imprint of her teeth was etched ever so lightly into his skin and she licked at the surface area before peppering small kisses to the bone. "Does it hurt?"
Tom picked his head up from the crook of Sybil's neck to look at her. "What?"
"I bit you," she explained.
Tom let out a light laugh. "I'll be fine."
"Don't let the maids see...oh my god," Sybil let out. And then there it was again: "Oh god, Tom!"
Tom slowed down, but Sybil reached up, grabbing him by the shoulder as if to urge him to continue.
"Are you okay?"
She nodded. "Right there. CHRIST!"
Satisfied now at his ability to find all of Sybil's most sensitive spots, Tom began to thrust into his wife at a more rapid pace. She was mewing now, still unable to grasp the way another person's body could fit so perfectly with her own. Her moans came out ragged and slow, and she whispered into his skin all her praises as he continued to rock her toward an orgasm.
The world got silent for a moment and everything slowed down. Just as Tom hit his climax, Sybil also released. He collapsed on top of her, and she accepted his weight, loving how close they currently were with nothing to separate them. Mary had once joked that it was as close as you could get to another person, but Sybil, thinking of all of the long discussions her and Tom have over books and politics and family and religion, thought that somehow, they had managed to get closer.
"Don't go yet," Sybil asked, and Tom, feeling sleepy after their shared encounter, just nodded, before pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered, causing her husband to force a lazy smile. "I mean it," she continued. "For everything you have ever done and currently do and ever will do for me. I owe you my world, Tom."
"I don't want your world. I just want you."
"Such a charmer, Tom Branson."
Another lazy smile, one that had him finally opening his eyes. "Do you think we've missed it?"
"What?" Sybil asked, completely oblivious to what he could be talking about.
"Your father's stupid game."
"I hope we miss all of my father's stupid games," Sybil deadpanned causing him to laugh.
"I meant the village cricket match."
"I don't know, go see...no wait!" she corrected, remembering that he was still inside of her. "One more minute."
Tom lifted his head and Sybil couldn't help but laugh at the smile he was wearing. "What?"
"Do you think they heard us?"
She swatted his shoulder. "Was that your intention?"
"I don't know, but you were pretty loud..."
"And whose fault was that?"
"Certainly not mine," Tom teased. "Though, if you wanted to prove me wrong, we could go again..."
Sybil scrunched her nose and pushed Tom off of her. When he rolled over onto his back, he sighed. "I'm exhausted."
Sybil rolled into him, her chest cover beneath her, but her backside fully exposed to him. Though it was something he had seen a million times before he still found himself staring, loving the soft, supple lines of her curves, and all she always had to offer him. Sybil didn't mind either. She loved that she was so adored by him, and in a way she didn't have to question. Even if she had given herself to him that night only a few months ago, she still wouldn't have questioned the validity of his feelings. This was real, and she knew it from the moment she took her first ride alone with him, and she still knew it now, their naked frames pressed into one another as she leaned up to cup the back of his head and taste his lips.
"Are you going to check?"
"No, I should just get ready."
"You're going?"
"Your father will have my head if I don't."
"Which one?" Sybil teasing, feigning innocence.
Tom leaned over and pressed a kiss to Sybil's forehead. "The upper one, if you have any say in it."
Naked, Tom walked out of bed and to the armoire. Inside, his white slacks and white button-up hung just as Anna told them they would. On a hanger beside them, a white sweater vest with gold, blue, and green trim. Tom slipped into a pair of underwear, and quickly pulled an undershirt over his head. Then, picking up the sweater, he showed it to Sybil who was still in bed, the sheets now pulled up to her cover her chest, leaving her bare arms to keep them close to her body.
"This is feckin' ridiculous..." Tom stated.
She cackled and dropped her head back before covering her mouth with her hand. "Just tell him it's too small."
"It looks too small," Tom reasoned. "How do you play a sport in all of this?"
"It's a bit different than your usual sport, huh?"
"My usual sport?" Tom asked, clearly confused.
"This," Sybil nodded toward the bed before wiggling her eyebrows. Tom could only shake his head, knowing that if he went to her and kissed her in the way he wanted to, he'd be pulled back into bed for round three. That sounded like the most lovely thing in the world, and it probably was, but they'd certainly be found out, and he couldn't risk for their tryst to be cut short, especially after what they had just shared.
Tom was in his pants now, and Sybil had to admit, she rather enjoyed him in cricket whites. "Grab me my dress, will you?"
Tom reached into the armoire for the only other white item of clothing. "You wore this to the garden party..."
Sybil smiled. "I did."
Tom bent over to pick up her bra and camisole. "Here," he said, throwing her them. Then, another garment also flew over, and Sybil inspected the lilac lace and found it to be a pair of knickers she had purchased for herself with some of her money after the war.
"Is this a request or..."
"Well were you honestly going to watch cricket with your family without underpants on?"
Sybil thought for a minute. Then, as if the very thought motivated her, she walked to Tom, still completely naked. "I thought we weren't going, remember?"
Tom kissed her forehead but pushed her away, willing the both of them to get ready independent of one another. At the loss of one another, things moved much more quickly. Soon enough, they were both dressed, with each tiny hair put exactly as it had been before their lovemaking.
Walking out into the hall, Sybil closed to the door behind her, using the key Mrs. Hughes had loaned her that morning to lock it up tight. Every memory, every piece of herself that she only showed to Tom and he to her, was safely protected behind the door, and she wished for it to be kept that way until like their discarded clothing, it could all be picked up and packed in their luggage to be sent back to Dublin.
"Oh, Sybil! We were looking for you."
The smiles the two had given one another faded, becoming more and more serious as Robert approached them. Were there other reasons to smile this wide? They didn't know any.
"Hello, Papa."
"And Tom," Robert tried. "How are you enjoying your stay up here?"
"Papa!" Sybil screeched. "How—"
"Syb, it's fine."
"What?" Robert shrugged. "I'm only asking..."
"You're being rude!"
"Sybil, please don't speak to me in that tone!"
"Fine," Sybil said politely before turning back to Tom. "Let's go. We don't want to miss the big game." Tom followed but stopped when the two reached the top of the stairs. All the while, Robert had watched them go, his eyes trained on the way Tom laid a careful hand to the small of Sybil's back. "By the way Papa, this wasn't Tom's first stay up here. He's been up here with me before..."
Robert began walking to them but only made it to the bannister, where their laughter could be heard as they scurried down the steps. "Sybil!"
"Just because you didn't see it, doesn't mean it didn't happen," she reminded.
I've never written a one-shot this long, so I hope you enjoyed it! Please feel free to leave me a review - they're greatly appreciated! :]
New chapter of Beautiful Collisions goes up tomorrow!
x. Elle