Disclaimer: I cannot take credit for the inception of these characters. This plot and this version of them, however, is mine.

A/N: This began as a bit of a joke. I was very ahead on writing chapters of my story Beautiful Collisions and I asked angiemagz for a prompt. Really, I was bored. What I didn't expect was that I was going to actually really like what I wrote, and not only share it with Angie, but on tumblr. The reaction was a bit intense, but I'm certainly not complaining. This was really fun to write and it was nice not to take myself so seriously for once. All I can say is that currently, this stands as a one-shot, but there is definitely a possibility of that changing in the near future.

Enjoy! And do review if you feel so compelled! xx

"Touch your lips just so I know
In your eyes, love, it glows so
I'm bare boned and crazy for you
When you come
Crash
Into me..."
Crash Into Me - Dave Matthews Band

It wasn't the first college party she had been to, and when Mary suggested she go, Sybil was forced to laugh into the fold of the magazine she was reading to conceal this fact. Her first was actually last year, and while she admitted afterwards that it was a mistake, she remembered feeling just as she did now: flattered for the invitation but altogether over the actual atmosphere of the gathering.

It was worth noting that despite Mary's outward confidence, on the inside she was not much for socializing. Mary was thinner than Sybil, with skin like porcelain and eyes as sharp as her jawline and corresponding smile. Sybil was softer, definitely, but already growing into her own, and unlike Mary she could (and often insisted on) carrying a conversation, knowing it would get her much farther than her beauty ever would — but because her mind was so quick, and certainly not because her looks were lacking.

Even so, nothing could mollify how awkward she felt when Mary, as predicted, left her alone while she said hello to her close friend Matthew, a boy she'd been hopelessly in love with since freshmen year who constantly seemed oblivious to her romantic advances. Sybil allowed her sister to go, doing so with an eye roll, while inwardly smiling as she hoped this would finally be the night to push them together. In her sister's absence, she brushed past a few groups of people, all of whom gawked at her, not recognizing her as Mary Crawley's youngest sister in platform heels and bright red lipstick.

Despite the smells in existence, things like marijuana, grape incense, and cheap beer, Sybil was always so amused by how organized everything was at these parties. A full keg stood beside several coolers of beer in the kitchen and nearby, bags of chips littered the countertops with half-empty liquor bottles. It was as if these Cambridge-educated kids were paying homage to the same parents that paid their tuition and financed their habits by insisting that food and drink be kept to the kitchen while lines of coke, fellatio, and sickness were reserved for the more private areas like the bedrooms and back hallways. She was sure, or at least she hoped, that Mary and Matthew were off enjoying one of those bedrooms, even if it meant leaving her on her own.

"At least one of us is having fun," she said, rolling her eyes heavenward as she grabbed for a bottle of stout from the fridge.

"Hey!" she heard directly behind her, causing her head to spin quickly, her eyes set upon the owned of the voice: a tall and broad boy with chestnut colored hair. He smiled. "You live here?"

"No," she mumbled.

Another smile, and this time, he raised a hand to her arm, steadying Sybil who began to teeter as a couple quickly brushed by them. In response, she smiled too. "I know you don't," he said slyly. "Because I do. And that's my beer," he pointed.

Sybil looked down to her hand where her fingers clutched the neck of a cold bottle of Blackheart Stout. "Sorry," she apologized as she went to hand it back to him.

"There's light beer in the coolers," he stated casually, reaching forward to grab the drink with the intention of putting it back in the fridge.

"Excuse me?" Sybil shouted.

"There's light beer in the coolers," he repeated, this time slowly and with more volume.

Sybil smirked. "No, I heard what you said." A pause, and her smirk grew. "Who said I liked light beer?"

"Well don't you all?"

"All?" Sybil asked before dropping her head back to laugh. "As in all of what? Us girls?" she clarified. He nodded. "That's a pretty sexist remark, don't you think? I mean, I don't assume you drink Stout because you're a guy. I actually assume you drink stout because you think it makes you look cool. I don't know," Sybil said casually, "Maybe you have a small dick and by drinking Stout you can convince every girl here you're tough and strong."

He wiped at his lip and looked at her to laugh. "Are you always this lovely to be around?"

Sybil didn't falter. "Yes. Always."

"Well can I have your name then?"

It was Sybil's turn to laugh. "Why do you want my name?"

"So I can tell my friends who stole my beer."

"Sybil," she said flatly, now extending her hand toward him.

"Tom," he gave back, another one of those smiles he always seemed to be wearing creeping across his face as he did so. "Do you go here, Sybil? I've never seen you around."

"Oh, no, I'm...I'm visiting a friend," she said quickly.

He looked her up and down. "Thought so. Just making sure I don't have to worry about this becoming a regular thing." Casually, with the thought expelled and his own mind already a bit foggy from the shots he'd done earlier, he began to walk away.

"Hey!" Sybil called out after him. Tom turned around and she continued. "That's it?"

"What?" Tom smirked. "You stole my beer. You made jokes. I made jokes. Did you need something else?"

"Wow," Sybil said, rolling her eyes and taking a swig of her beer. "Now who's being lovely?"

He smirked. It seemed he couldn't control the reaction, and Sybil found she couldn't help the way she pursed her lips and began intently studying the way his fringe pieced and fell over his forehead. "I'm actually taking a women's history class this semester."

"Women's history?" Sybil mused. "Is that where they taught you we all drink light beer?"

"And wear red lipstick," he said with a knowing smile, the neck of his bottle of beer pointed at Sybil's lips.

She took another sip of her beer and then looked straight ahead. "We breathe fire too."

"We cover that next week, actually," Tom said, playing along.

"Ahh," Sybil nodded, a small laugh escaping her lips. "Spoiler alert, then. Sorry about that."

Tom laughed. "It's okay." He drank his beer then turned to look at her. "So where do you go? Oxford?" he said quickly. "I bet you're an Oxford girl, aren't you?"

Sybil narrowed her eyes. "What makes you say that?"

"The heels. And you drink Stout," he commented. "I dated an Oxford girl once—"

"Yeah?" Sybil played along. "Did she wear heels and drink stout?"

"No, she was a crazy bitch with no taste. But she brought me to a party there once and some of the girls looked like you."

"Well, that's flattering," Sybil deadpanned before taking another swig of her beer.

"Me and my small dick get around."

Sybil laughed into the top of her beer. "Well, of course."

He looked at her, his eyes narrowing as he smiled again, genuinely and without pretense as the thoughts he was having spilled off his lips. "I made you laugh," Tom said simply.

Sybil nodded. "Is that a new one for you?"

"Making pretty girls laugh? Yeah, it is," Tom said casually, earning wide eyes and raised eyebrows from Sybil. "I told you, my last girlfriend was a crazy bitch."

In an attempt to cover up how flattered she actually was, Sybil looked away. "I'm out," she said quickly, holding her empty bottle in front of Tom, shaking the liquid in the bottom to foam in aid of her point. "I'll see you around…"

Tom grabbed her wrist, his body pressed into hers now as he moved to stop her from going. She looked down and inhaled sharply, the sight of his large hand resting perfectly on her hip was something he also noticed and together they looked up, finally breathing in. "Do you want to get out of here?"

Sybil shook her head but her eyes did not leave his. "I'm not going to your room…"

"Do you have a boyfriend?" he muttered quickly. At the sound of his own question, his eyes bulged, realizing his mistake. "Not that you should want to sleep with me if you didn't have a boyfriend. I don't want to sleep with you," he quickly said in remedy, only realizing how poor his word choice was when Sybil took a step back, forcing them to disconnect as a wave of cool air blew in between them.

"That's refreshing," she said sarcastically before once again moving to walk away.

"Sybil, wait!"

Quickly, Sybil turned back to him. "Listen! I'm just trying to pass the time while my...friend gets her kicks, alright? Thank you for the beer and thank you for the conversation, but you don't have to worry about offending me. I will probably never see you again and you probably won't even remember this in the morning, so…"

"I'm not that drunk," he offered simply. "Actually," Tom corrected, "I'm not drunk at all. I've barely got a buzz going."

"So you're just this insulting sober?"

"Yeah," Tom smiled. "To be honest, I am."

"Promising."

"I really just have a lot going for me."

Sybil smirked. "Maybe I should be asking you if you go here…"

"I do, actually," Tom confirmed as he now moved to stand beside her once again. "If everything goes according to plan I'll have my PhD in Political Thought and Intellectual History in June."

Genuinely, Sybil dropped her head back and let out a rather loud and hearty laugh. Coming down off her amusement, she looked to Tom who, for once, was not smiling. "Oh," Sybil said. "You're serious."

"I am."

"I'm sorry. I mean, of course you are. God doesn't give with both hands, right? I mean, small dick...you must be smart."

"Pretty girl," he played along. "Airhead then? Not an Oxford girl?"

"Yeah," Sybil accepted. "I'm a total airhead." But the way in which she looked to Tom now was different. She wasn't stupid, and her mind was moving quickly, calculating him and his wit and all of the things he had revealed to her in such a short period of time.

In lieu of them, she nodded. "I'll go up to your room."

Tom smiled. "I never said I was taking you to my room, Sybil. You made that assumption. I just asked if you wanted to get out of here."

"Oh," she blushed. Looking down, she kicked at the hardwood below, scuffing the floor with her heel as she pushed a stray curl behind her ear. "Right."

"But if you insist…"

Just like when she entered, Sybil's walk to Tom's room went altogether unnoticed and she found herself briefly wondering if he really did live here of if this would be something else she'd have to shamefully explain to Mary the morning after. Upon entry though, and with the rest of the party shut out, Sybil found silence graced a relatively clean room, and pictures hung in a collage on the wall, almost all of them containing Tom at a younger stage in life.

She laughed as she pointed to one. "Who's that?"

"My cousin Kieran."

"Where was it taken?"

"Back home," he stated casually as he walked to his mini-fridge for a bottle of water. "Want one?" he asked.

Sybil turned around, her mind still preoccupied by the photos. "No, but thank you." Then: "Where's home?"

"Dublin."

"Really?"

"No, actually," Tom said with a laugh. "I just say Dublin because it's easier than explaining where Kinsale is."

"Where is Kinsale then?" Sybil teased.

"Nowhere near Dublin, actually. It's a small town on the southwest coast of Ireland."

"I've never been."

"To Kinsale?" Tom laughed. "Nobody has, really."

"No," Sybil smiled as she clarified. "To Ireland."

"Nobody has, really," he repeated, causing Sybil to smirk before turning back to the photographs.

"Who's this?"

Tom came up behind her to get a better look at the photograph. "My mam," he said before taking a sip of his water.

"She's really quite stunning."

"Thanks."

Sybil looked to him, her face just mere inches away from his. "No joke to accompany that?"

"That's my mam," he offered. "I do have boundaries."

"Alright," Sybil nodded, accepting this as both fact while also giving it her own silent approval. "And your dad?"

"Around, just not in that photo," Tom said simply as he moved to sit on his bed with his back flush against his headboard.

Sybil turned to him. "Around, as in in your life?"

"Oh, yeah, he lives with us. I love him the way a son should love his father." He gave her a cheeky grin. "Did I not make that obvious enough?" She rolled her eyes and turned away. "Obviously not…" he whispered before drinking his beer again.

"What about you?" Tom tried again, all of it an effort for him to continuously hear her voice, something he found himself craving almost as much as the plump red lips that pushed each word and accompanying sound out. "Your parents?"

"Also alive. And yes, I love them both."

"Thanks for clearing that up," Tom sassed.

"Siblings?" Sybil shot back.

"An older sister, yeah."

Sybil nodded as she moved toward Tom, her lanky legs practically crashing down onto the mattress as they bent at the knee and allowed her to sit so casually. "An older sister…" Her voice trailed off as she looked to her feet and the way they awkwardly pushed her knees back into her chest. "This is awfully low to the ground," she observed.

Tom smirked. "I made this."

"You made this?" Sybil asked honestly. "I mean, that's amazing, I just…"

"I may have a small dick but I'm very good with my hands, Sybil…" His voice trailed off as if he wanted to ask her last name. He had other questions, one in particular he wished to revisit. "Boyfriend?"

"No," Sybil managed quickly. "No boyfriend," she swallowed. Then, she sat up straight and launched herself back up onto her feet as she once again began to walk around. "I'd ask you if you had a girlfriend but I know the answer is no."

"Oh really?" Tom chuckled. "And why is that?"

"I don't think you're stupid enough to bring a girl up here if you had a girlfriend."

"I think that was a compliment?" Tom found himself standing too, his body drawn to her, needing her close again.

Sybil laughed into the back of her hand, all of her, especially her eyes, unaware just how close he had become in such a short period of time. She turned around, but instead of being shocked by his presence, she merely smiled. "Yes, I think that was a compliment…" she agreed.

"You have beautiful eyes, Sybil."

She laughed and looked away. "Thank you?" she tried.

"You paid me a compliment. It's only right I return the favor."

"Okay," Sybil said, nodding as she pressed the tips of her fingers to her mouth. "You're right. That was very sweet, Tom."

"Nobody's ever told you that before?"

"No," she almost whispered. "No, they haven't."

"Alright, well, can I give you another?"

Sybil's eyes fluttered shut as her mind began to calculate what it was he'd choose to point out. Her legs, perhaps, as she had received compliments on those before. Or her lips, or the dark nature of her hair and the way it fell in waves down her back. Maybe he'd mention the perfume she was wearing or the way the hand she held on her hip had her slouching.

Tom leaned in, his body flush against hers, causing that same hand to fall to her side as he moved his head closer to Sybil's, their lips almost meeting. "I have to be honest with you, Sybil."

"You're very good at that," she admitted, both of them smiling, an action that had their lips nearly pressing into one another as they moved.

"You're the only person I've met and talked to this semester that hasn't bored me to death. And you have beautiful lips. And they say very cute, funny, wonderful things. And I'd very much like to kiss them…"

"Alright."

"Alright, yes, or—"

It wasn't his choice to make, or rather, his compliment only reinforced what Sybil was already feeling. She too wanted to kiss Tom, but as he'd said, and Mary and her family had commented on many times before, she excelled in conversation. Now though, as her hands leaned up to caress his neck and he kept a steady hand of his own pressed to her back, the silence was invigorating. It woke her up and made her not want to forget, especially now as Tom angled his head and she nodded in acceptance, taking his tongue inside her mouth. It was slow and it was hungry and it reminded her just how lovely it was to be wanted. He was so gentle, but she found herself wanting more, following through with a hand that went up to rake at his scalp as the two began to stumble back toward his bed.

When the door opened, it made sense for Mary to think that Sybil was in danger. Right before, Tom had fallen back against the mattress, and Sybil was ready to straddle him, had her sister and Matthew not interrupted.

"Sybil?" Mary let out. "Oh my god! What are you doing?"

"I…"

Tom smirked as he leaned back on his haunches. "You know Mary?"

"She's my sister!" Mary let out, speaking for Sybil.

"Oh, good God," Tom let out, dropping his head into his palm, using his fingers now to rub the tension from his eyes.

"I was coming up here to—"

"Fuck Matthew?" Tom said bluntly, causing Mary's eyes to bulge out of her head.

"No!" she practically screamed. "To see if you had my paper ready…"

Already, Tom had stood up and was walking toward his desk. Sybil had no option but to watch all of this unfold, and she did so feeling very small, her ankles crossed over one another as her hand covered her mouth, playing with her bottom lip while her eyes darted back and forth between this new boy and her sister.

"Here," Tom said, returning and carrying with him what looked to be a stapled packet. "I'd say it's a solid B paper."

"Thank you," Mary snapped as she began flipping through the pages.

"Why do you have Mary's paper?" Sybil finally asked.

"It's not Mary's paper," Tom corrected as he sat back down. "It's a paper I wrote that Mary's going to turn in."

"What? Why?"

"Because I paid him. Now, Sybil," Mary tried. "My turn to ask questions. First off, are you alright?"

Sybil chuckled and threw her hands down to her sides. "Yeah," she said, attempting to appear confident. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Mary disregarded her question and instead just grabbed for Sybil's wrist before beginning to pull her out the door. "C'mon! We're leaving…"

"Mary! Mary…" Sybil stammered. Finally, she tossed her sister's arm away and looked down to the distance in existence between them.

Tom stood, wanting to intervene but knowing that if Sybil was anything like he imagined, she'd prefer he not. "Well I guess I don't need to ask for your last name but how...how old are you?" he asked instead, hoping to at least be able to make sense of this.

She went to speak, and the words she was about to give him were just as honest as she had been the entire night. Instead, Matthew appeared behind them and as he assessed the situation, let out a simple "Oh shit…"

"Yes, Matthew, 'oh, shit!' is correct. Now can you please drive us home?"

His face turned sad as he looked to the eldest Crawley sister. "You're going home?"

"Well now I am!" she gave. "I can't leave her here."

"Yeah, uh, sure," Matthew agreed. "Let's go."

Hand in hand, Mary and Sybil walked out of Tom's room, with Matthew then ushering them downstairs and out to his car.

"Are you okay to drive?" Sybil asked, her voice more curious than accusatory. As she waited for an answer, she hadn't even noticed that Mary was forgoing the passenger seat to instead sit beside her in the back, all the while still holding her hand, gently keeping it in her lap with her scarf and small leather clutch.

"We weren't even drinking. He's fine!" Mary yelled. "Sybil, I told you to be careful! Boys like Branson—"

"His name is Tom."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Darling, I know what his real name is but hardly anyone calls him that. Now, listen to me. I'm sorry I left you alone. That was unfair and it won't happen again. But I know how you are and I thought you'd make some friends—"

"I did make a friend…" Sybil muttered.

"Branson isn't a friend. You don't know him, alright?"

But she did know them, at least far better than Mary or even Matthew did. His name was Tom. He drank stout and wore glasses. He came from a good family and they lived in Kinsale, Ireland. He constantly managed to somehow be both cocky and insecure at the same time. He was working towards his PhD and he had a flat, a nice flat with his own room and a gorgeous view of the cityline. He had gorgeous eyes and broad shoulders and he made her laugh. He smelled good and dear god, he had the most beautiful set of lips.

"You're sixteen!" Mary's voice roared.

And she was sixteen.

Thanks for reading!

x. Elle