Flattery Works Wonders
"You know, I love that you get long holidays," Sybil said as she slipped her gloved hand out of Tom's to search for her house keys, the frozen air stinging the exposed skin of her face. The shorter the time she had to spend standing still outside her front door, the better.
"The perks of working in a school," he said with a smile as he slotted his own key into the lock and turned it before pushing the door open and allowing Sybil to step into the warmth before him. "I get long holidays, but I have marking and lesson planning to do at home. Pros and cons." He stepped in after Sybil and closed the door behind him, blocking out as much cold air as possible. The warmer he could get now, the better. Going for a walk through the woods that surrounded their small house was all very well, but not when the wind had picked up just before they had left the house. It felt to Tom almost as if it were snowing without the snow.
"Can you get the fire going? I'm freezing," Sybil said as she pulled at the fingers of her gloves. "Why did we think it was a good idea to go for a walk?" She pulled her scarf over her head and hung it up on the hooks behind the door. The purple knitted elongated rectangle had more sentimental meaning to Sybil than a scarf should. Tom had given it to her for their first Christmas as a couple – almost four years ago. It was tatty and straggly; it barely even worked as a scarf anymore, but it was the only one Sybil was willing to wear.
"Only if you put the kettle on," Tom said, agreeing to Sybil's request and ignoring her question. He followed her actions and removed his scarf, hanging it next to hers.
"Coffee or tea?" she asked, looking down as she unbuttoned her coat.
"Is hot chocolate an option?" Tom asked with a smirk – the same smirk that had got Sybil to catch sight of him the day they met down at the local pub. Sybil laughed shallowly at his request, allowing her coat to fall down her arms. He walked past her, taking up the space between her and the wall, stopping to give her a kiss on the way.
Sybil watched him disappear through the door and proceeded to unlace her shoes before making her way into the kitchen. She filled the kettle and flicked the switch, grabbed two mugs from the shelf above and added hot chocolate powder and milk to one and a cranberry-flavoured tea bag to the other. As she waited for the kettle to boil, she rubbed her hands together and wrapped her jumper more tightly around herself, blocking out the cold air surrounding her body. She stared blankly out of the window into the back garden as she waited for the kettle to boil. Through the bare branches of the trees, she could see the clouds darkening. It looked as though it was about to rain; they'd managed to make it home just in time by the looks of it. Well, at least, it was just in time if rain is so much worse than frozen harsh winds. Once the drinks had been made, Sybil carried them into the sitting room where Tom was crouching in front of the fire, prodding logs with a stick in an attempt to get them to light faster. He blew gently into the fire and leant back when the fire began to spread across the wood. He stayed on the floor for a few moments, observing the fire to make sure it was going steady before he moved back to the sofa. Sybil had placed Tom's hot chocolate on the side and had sat down with her own drink in her hands, her fingers wrapped tightly around the mug. Tom pulled Sybil into a hug and she sunk into his arms as she brought the mug to her lips. Tom reached to the side to grab his own drink and rested it on his knee carefully. "When are you next working, love?" he asked.
"On Friday night I'm starting my run of night shifts," Sybil answered softly.
"I'm so glad I've never had to work nights. Lack of sleep does me no good."
"Lack of sleep doesn't do me much good either, but I manage."
"God knows how. You're a saint, you know."
"I think saint is pushing it a bit far," Sybil said with a laugh. "But I'm flattered all the same."
"I'm not saying it to flatter you. I'm saying it because it's true."
"Nevertheless," Sybil chimed, "flattery works wonders when used on the right person at the right time." She took one hand away from her mug and ran it along Tom's leg, squeezing ever so slightly when she reached his knee.
"Is that a promise?" he asked mischievously in the Irish accent that Sybil had always had a tough time resisting.
"That is a promise," Sybil stated calmly, pausing after she said it to bite her full lower lip. "I love you."
"I love you, too, Syb," Tom replied.
"Have you got any marking to do before you go back next term?" Sybil enquired.
"Year eight, year nine, year ten and year twelve work."
"How long will that take you?" Sybil asked, surprised that he had so much to do over the Christmas holidays.
"Ages. Year eight should be relatively quick – I just gave them some questions to answer about grammar and persuasive techniques in arguments. I had year nine finish their creative writing stories, and they're a huge class, so that will take me forever, but you'd be surprised how imaginative that group is; I'll let you read some of the better ones when I've marked them. One or two of those children are absolutely incredible when given a pen and a piece of paper."
"I was never good at story writing at school. If I ever even had an idea for a story, which was rare in itself, I could never start it, and when I did finally start it I could never find a way to end the sodding thing," Sybil remarked, remembering the days when she had English exams to endure. "What have you got to mark for your year tens and twelves?"
"Essays. Year ten had a couple of exam questions on 'Animal Farm' and my year twelves chose two poems each to compare," Tom said.
"I never got the hang of writing essays in English. Why can't I just read a book and leave it at that? I don't need to analyse every sentence to get something out of it."
"It's rather a good thing that you're not an English teacher then, isn't it?" Tom asked with a small laugh.
"Yes, it is rather," Sybil said with a small frown. "You know if you don't set so much work, then you won't have anywhere near as much work to do at home in the holidays. A holiday is supposed to be a holiday." Tom kissed the top of her head tenderly.
"Try teaching for a few years and that notion will go out of your head in a flash," he joked, but she knew he was actually being serious. She shuffled on the sofa next to Tom and leaned across him to place her mug on the table sitting up next to him to look him in the eye. "I don't know how you do it."
"Do what?"
"Teach. I love that I can come home from work and forget about it. When I'm at home, work isn't a factor; work is work and home is home – they're completely disconnected… kind of like I have two separate lives; two separate versions of myself. But you have to work from home to mark and plan lessons and I just don't know how you do it. You're amazing."
"But I get super long holidays that I get to spend with you," he said, leaning in for a kiss. Sybil welcomed the kiss happily and lifted her hand to cradle the back of his head, deepening the kiss. When he reluctantly pulled away he said gently, "You taste of cranberries."
"That would be the tea," Sybil said with a laugh. "You taste of chocolate."
"Oh, I wonder why," Tom said with a laugh.
"You're sweet enough as it is, though. You don't need to chocolate for me to love you more than you know," she whispered to him. Tom moved his mug to place it next to Sybil's on the side table before taking her hands in him.
"You're fantastic, Syb," he said, with all the sincerity in the world – all the sincerity that Sybil had heard come past his lips over and over again, but would never get tired of.
"I'm glad you think so," she said in reply before pulling him in for another kiss. Ah, yes, those long holidays and not needing to get up early in the morning would come in handy right about now.
My final Rock the AU of the year! Wow, okay. Anyway, I hope you like this and that it's appropriately fluffy. Let me know in the reviews.