The following is a birthday fic for one of my favorite Sybil/Tom authors (and a good friend) gothamgirl28! July 20 was GG's b-day, and she told me that she would love a story to go with a certain gif starring Allen Leech that more or less involved him removing his shirt. You can guess what that inspired ;o) Anyway, here's the result of that story! Sure it's a bit crackish, but hey! It's stripper!Tom and he gives Sybil a lapdance. Whoops! Did I just give away the plot? ;o) Anyway, hope you all enjoy, and HAPPY BIRTDAY GG!
Oh, and the song, "Drive My Car" is by the Beatles (in case you didn't know) :oP
Drive My Car
by The Yankee Countess
Baby you can drive my car
Yes I'm gonna be a star
Baby you can drive my car
And maybe I'll love you.
"Alright boys, listen up!" Thomas announced, clapping his hands to get everyone's attention. The joking voices quieted and all faces turned to their attention to club's owner and leader. "In just one hour, those doors are going to open," he pointed over his shoulder, beyond the dressing room curtains to the main club doors where the sounds of feminine laughter and eager cheers could be heard just outside. "And this place is going to become a hotbed of screaming, orgasmic energy, where beautiful women are going to be falling at your feet, waving money in their fists, and begging for you to make all their wildest fantasies come true, before they have to crawl back to whatever boring life they came from, because that's they're here, boys; to escape. To escape for just a few hours with YOU, the husband they never had, the dreamboat guy who never came along—"
"You're quoting 'Magic Mike' again, Thomas," Jimmy muttered, earning a frown from his boss and bursts of laughter from the others.
"I should have sued those producers for taking what is clearly my story and casting Matthew McConaughey in my role," he groaned, earning another laugh as he straightened his cowboy hat. "Alright, enough with the piss taking, this is serious!" he clapped his hands one more time to get everyone to listen. "Fine, maybe you don't need the pep talk, but you do need to know that we have some very important guests coming tonight; some posh bird is getting married this weekend and we have been charged to make this the mother of all hen nights."
Jimmy grinned and quickly leapt to his feet. "I've got it, boss; I'll give her such a performance that she'll have to really concentrate on her husband and be sure not to yell out my name when the wedding night rolls around."
This earned several laughs, as well as groans and various props tossed at Jimmy's head for his cheeky words and massive ego.
But Thomas folded his arms and shook his head. "No, no, I want Tommy to take this one," he announced, turning and looking at the rather stunned Irishman who was sitting in the back corner. Tom, who had been busy polishing the black leather boots he was going to be wearing in his act for the evening, nearly dropped the can of polish all over the floor at Thomas' announcement.
"Tom!?" Jimmy sputtered, turning and looking at the very man Thomas had just mentioned. "But he has no experience with a bachelorette party—"
Thomas waved his hand in dismissal to Jimmy's misgivings. "Every man needs to lose his virginity at some point," Thomas made his way through the room until he was standing right in front of Tom, folding his arms and looking down at the Irishman in expectation. "Well boyo? You up for it?"
Jimmy groaned and rolled his eyes. Several of the other men in the room looked just as doubtful, despite their boss' confidence. After all, Tom was still considered "new" amongst their group, having only been there for a month. However, he was becoming quite popular amongst some of the regulars, to the point where Thomas was considering making Tom the top act in the show.
Tom frowned at Jimmy, but chose to ignore the blonde diva; Jimmy had an ego the size of moon, and Tom knew he was getting on the guy's nerves because all the ladies who used to throw money (and various intimate articles of clothing at his golden head) were now turning their attentions elsewhere.
Mainly, him.
"How's a hen party any different from a usual night?"
"How's a hen party any different?!" Jimmy sputtered before Thomas could answer. "Did you seriously just ask that question?" Jimmy began to laugh at Tom's apparent ignorance.
Tom glared back at the blonde man and rose to his feet, his eyes boring into Jimmy, whose laughter quickly began to die in his throat at the intense stare the Irishman was giving him.
Thomas stepped in before anything could escalate. "Tom, sit back down; Jimmy, just…go someplace else."
Jimmy's eyes widened. "Thomas, you really cannot be serious about letting him—"
"Last time I checked, Jimmy, I still ran this club," Thomas growled. "Out!"
Jimmy tried his best to suppress an eye roll as he walked past, Thomas turning and watching him go, his eyes never leaving Jimmy's ass until it had disappeared beyond the curtains. "He's a diva, that's for sure, but I can't help myself; he gets so cute when he pouts and stomps off like that."
Now it was Tom's turn to suppress an eye roll. "To each their own," he muttered.
Thomas chuckled and turned back to Tom. "To answer your question, yes; there is a difference between dealing with the ladies we usually entertain here on a nightly basis, and a hen party. A hen party is a special group of women; this is the bride's final night of freedom. She's going to let her hair down, she's going to allow herself to get drunk, she's going to do things she may never think about doing—and she's going to be expecting that we give her and all of her friends, the times of their lives. The truth is, Tommy, dancers make more money on a single night when a hen party is in the club than an entire week when there isn't. And the one who makes the most money? Is the one who gets to have some 'one on one' time with the bride."
Thomas didn't have to explain what that meant. While Tom had not worked at Thomas' club long enough to have witnessed a hen party come through, he had seen plenty of groups there to celebrate various ladies birthdays, and those women were always brought up on stage and given special "performances".
"So…lap dancing, then," Tom clarified, trying to sound cool and confident, when in truth he was feeling a bit nervous. He hadn't done anything like that, yet.
Thomas laughed and nodded his head. "I think you'll do fine; just relax. Think of it as any other performance!"
Right, any other performance. Any other performance where he danced up on a stage and took his clothes off to a bunch of screaming women, gyrating his hips in such a way, allowing them to stuff five, ten, or if he was especially lucky, twenty pound notes down his underwear. The only difference was he would be bringing a woman up on stage with him, this time. A woman he would then lead to a chair, have her sit down, before stripping in front of her and practically mimicking the motions of hard core sex, while her friends would watch from below and cheer him on.
Right…just like any other performance.
If someone told him two months back that he would be stripping at Barrow's Burrow to help pay the bills on his new London flat, along with his other various odd jobs until a publisher finally picked up his book (which had been floating from one publishing house to another for almost a year now), he would have thought them absolutely mad and have laughed in their face.
…Guess the joke was on him.
"I can't believe you allowed Rose to plan this!"
Sybil groaned, knowing she would never hear the end of this. Years from now, on Matthew and Mary's silver anniversary, she knew her sister would still be bringing up the hen night and how their cousin Rose had "tricked" them to taking them to a strip club; or rather, how Rose had tricked her.
"All she told me was that she knew of a fabulous club in Camden, that they made the best cocktails, and it was a great place for dancing! I swear! I thought it was perfectly safe!"
Mary lifted one of her delicate dark eyebrows while Edith laughed. "Well, she was right about the cocktails," the middle Crawley sister giggled, before raising her glass to clink with Mary's.
Mary rolled her eyes and fixed Sybil with a look that was just short of exasperation. "And it never occurred to you to look up anything about Barrow's Burrow? Have you met our cousin?"
Now it was Sybil's turn to roll her eyes. "I'm sorry, she just…she wanted to help, and she kept pestering me about the hen night, and—"
"Oh Sybil, don't worry about it," Edith reassured, looping her arm through her sister's. "At least Rose is having a good time."
Both Mary and Sybil followed Edith's gaze to where Rose was standing and cheering, waving various pound notes at the dancers on stage, cheering and whooping with all the other women of the club as a parade of men in a wide variety of costumes (meant, Sybil assumed, to cater to a majority of women's fantasies) strutted out, shaking their asses and gyrating their hips, before stripping down to…well…underwear didn't quite seem be the proper term.
"Oh my God," Sybil gasped, blushing and turning her head out of embarrassment when one such dancer tugged his trousers off, revealing a golden thong with sequins, which naturally caused the rest of the club to erupt in screams.
"I can't believe this," Mary groaned. "And after I gave Matthew the lecture about no strippers."
"I don't think you have to worry about that," Edith reassured. "After all, Anthony was planning the stag night, and got the entire groom's party a box at Wembly for the exhibition game between Manchester and…oh I can't remember who the other team is," she shrugged her shoulders before turning and smiling at the bartender and asking for another cosmopolitan. "The point being, they'll be drunk on good liquor and football. Besides, I gave Anthony fair warning that I wouldn't sleep with him for at least a year if I found out he arranged for there to be strippers, and oh, I'll know…I have my spies," she winked at Sybil. "Aren't I the lovely sister?" she grinned at Mary, before thanking the bartender for the fresh drink.
"Yes, yes, thank you Edith," Mary groaned. "That still doesn't help me right now with this dilemma!" she hissed, pointing towards the stage where the man in the golden thong smiled and gave a bow, purposefully with his back to the audience, and all three Crawley sisters gasped, before groaning as Rose leapt up and smacked the man's bum with her bare hand. "How much has she had to drink tonight?" Mary murmured to her sisters.
However, before anything more could be said, Rose was turning and bounding over towards the bar where they stood, a huge grin on her face. "Isn't this great!?" she shouted over the music. "Aren't you loving this!?"
Sybil turned to see if her sister would tell Rose the truth, before laying into their cousin about her suspicions that even though it was Mary's hen night, it was really an excuse for Rose to get drunk and watch nearly-naked men dance (if you called that dancing). However, she was surprised to see Mary force a smile and reply, "Yes, yes, just lovely!"
Rose beamed, clearly looking pleased with herself, before pushing her way through to the bar, flirting with the tall ginger lad, who blushed and smiled, before giving her her "usual". Good Lord, how often did Rose come here?
"My best friend Kristen brought me here several months ago, for her hen night," Rose answered the unspoken question, blowing a kiss at the bartender when he handed her her drink. "They have the most GORGEOUS men here!" she continued, tossing out the little lime twist that garnished her glass. "That was Jimmy that you just saw," she went on. Oh gracious, she knew them BY THEIR NAMES? If Sybil hadn't been certain before, she certainly was now; Mary would never ever let her hear the end of this. "Doesn't he have the sexiest bum?" she giggled. "I swear, I could lick ice cream off—"
"I think we should propose a toast!" Sybil interrupted, smiling at Mary and purposefully pushing her glass forward. "To the beautiful bride and her adoring groom!"
"Here, here!" Edith added.
"To having sex with only one man ever again, after this Saturday!" Rose laughed, clinking her glass with the others.
Mary frowned and fixed Sybil with a cold look. Somehow the eldest Crawley sister held the youngest responsible for everything that Rose was saying and doing tonight.
Their cousin was completely oblivious, and she wasted no time in finishing her drink in one gulp. "Oh Mary!" she grinned, reaching out and gripping her cousin's hand. "Mary, Mary, Mary, I have the most wonderful surprise for you!"
Immediately the faces of all three Crawley sisters began to pale. "Do you?" Mary asked, trying not to sound as if she were dreading whatever it was Rose was going to say or suggest.
Rose giggled and nodded her head. "Yes, yes I do, but you must come with me to receive it."
Mary didn't budge. "Why don't you just tell me?" she suggested, planting her feet firmly on the ground. "I'm rather comfortable here."
But Rose was shaking her head. "No, no, no, you…you can't…" she was starting to hiccup. "You can't…enjoy what I have planned…here, silly!" She began to tug on Mary's hand again. "You have to come to the stage, come on!"
Mary turned to Edith and Sybil, hoping they would save her from this embarrassing situation, when thankfully, a tall, dark-haired shirtless man in tight leather pants and wearing a black cowboy hat, emerged onto the stage amongst loud applause, the lights around the club suddenly dimming while the spotlights focused completely on him.
"Thank you, thank you ladies!" Thomas grinned, waving his hands overhead and smiling at the loud, cheering audience. "As I always say, it's good to be on the stage, looking out at this sea of lovely faces…"
Rose sighed dreamily, clearly admiring the man. "Shame he's gay," she sighed. "I'd tap that; I still would if he'd let me!" she giggled, elbowing Sybil who stood on her other side.
Sybil blushed and shook her head. She knew Rose could be wild, but this was a whole different side to her cousin.
"Are you enjoying the show tonight?" Thomas asked, which of course was met with loud applause. "Have you seen anything you liked?" he asked, and the applause only grew louder. "Are you ready to see some more?" The applause was deafening. "Well good!" Thomas continued. "Because there's more to come, including a very special someone I know that several of you are…shall we say…rather fond of…?"
Sybil jumped at the sudden cries of several women, who rushed towards the stage, practically salivating at whomever the next promised dancer was. Good gracious, whoever the man was, he clearly had quite the following!
Groupies, Sybil; they're called groupies. And judging from the way Rose's cheeks enflamed and her eyes sparkled, it was clear that her cousin was one of them.
"But first…" Thomas murmured, grinning out at the sea of faces looking up at him. "I understand that we have a special guest visiting us this evening…?"
"Oh no…" Mary whispered.
"Oh no!" Sybil and Edith said simultaneously.
"Oh yes!" Rose grinned.
"I understand…" Thomas continued. "That there's a lovely bachelorette here, celebrating her hen night?"
Several gasps went up from the rest of Mary's hen party, who were sitting closer to the stage where Rose had been. Now they all turned towards the bar, cheering and chanting Mary's name, while the spotlight suddenly began to move across the club to where their little group was standing.
"Rose!" Mary hissed, looking at her cousin with horrified eyes. "What have you done!?"
Rose looked confused. "Oh Mary, don't worry! It's just a harmless lap dance!"
"LAP DANCE!?"
"Don't be shy, love!" Thomas called out, peering towards the bar. He couldn't see far into the crowd due to the spotlights. All he knew about the lovely lady in question was that she was a brunette, very striking to behold, from what he understood, and most importantly (from a financial perspective) the posh daughter of an earl! "Come on, I promise you, they don't bite…hard," he chuckled, which earned some girlish squeals from the audience.
"Rose, I am NOT going up on that stage!"
Rose's confused expression now changed to one of hurt. "But…but Mary…" she looked at Sybil and Edith, as if expecting them to back her up. "It's your hen night! You're supposed to let your hair down and…you know, get a little wild," she giggled, doing a little shimmy to emphasize her point. However, Mary did not look amused.
"I am not going to sit on some chair while some oiled-up stranger dances and strips over my lap, in front of all these people! Especially when I know that most of them—yourself included," she pointed an accusing finger in Rose's face. "Will film it on your phone and post it all over the internet!"
Rose's cheeks burned brightly. "Oh…oh Mary I…I would never—"
"I'm not doing it, and that is final!" Mary stomped her foot.
Now Rose was starting to get annoyed. "Oh Mary, you're no fun!"
Mary was not bothered by this accusation. "If wishing to hold onto my dignity means I'm dull as powder, then so be it," she spat. "And despite what you may think, I quite frankly DO NOT MIND IN THE SLIGHTEST that Matthew will be the only man I ever have sex with again! He's been the only man I've been having sex with for the past two years!"
Rose made a face at this revelation, before quickly putting on a pout. The crowd behind them was beginning to get restless, and people were starting to clap and chant Mary's name over and over.
"Well someone needs to go up there," Rose pouted. "I didn't pay good money to see it wasted by NO ONE!"
Sybil bit her lip, wanting to keep peace if it were possible. "Why don't you go up there, Rose? I mean, you seem to like—"
"Why don't I go up there?" Rose asked, as if it were the most ridiculous question in the world. "Why don't YOU go up there?"
And it was as if a light bulb had suddenly appeared.
"Yes…" Rose murmured, looking at Sybil with a growing smile. "Yes, why don't YOU go up there, Sybil?"
"ME!?" Sybil gasped, looking at Rose and then at her sisters. "Why me!?"
"Because when they asked for a description of the bride, I told them she was a striking brunette, and Edith, while pretty—"
Edith smiled at this.
"—is by no means a striking brunette."
Edith frowned at this.
Sybil couldn't believe what she was hearing. Was her cousin seriously suggesting that SHE go up there, onto that stage, and sit in that chair, while some…some…well, as Mary put it, some "oiled-up stranger in a thong", gyrate and thrust his pelvis all over her? Simply because she had the same hair color as her sister!?
Sybil looked to her sisters, hoping they would say something and tell Rose that it was a stupid idea, that they should just leave and go to a club where men didn't remove their clothes…at least not up on a stage…and continue the evening from there. And if their cousin didn't like it and pouted the entire time about all the money she had wasted, well, that was Rose's fault; she shouldn't have made such plans without checking to make sure they were ok with the bride in question.
At the very least, Sybil hoped that Mary and Edith would say something along the lines of, "You can't possibly go up there!"
…But they didn't. In fact, they seemed to be nodding their heads as if…as if they AGREED with Rose!
"Oh…" Sybil looked back and forth between her sisters. "Oh no…no, no, no, you CANNOT be serious!?"
"…Alright milady," Thomas called out, clearly annoyed about the delay, but trying his hardest not to show it. "I'm going to count to five, and if you're not down here by the stage when I'm finished, then I'll just have to send someone to fetch you…"
Several cheers were heard and the chanting only began to grow louder as Thomas began his counting.
"1…"
"Come on, Sybil!" Rose grinned. "It will be fun!"
"But…but…"
"2…"
"Think of it as 'women's liberation'!" Rose declared.
Sybil stared back at her cousin in confused amazement. "Women's liberation?"
"Sexual liberation," Rose explained.
"3…"
"You're a single woman, Sybil! You haven't had a boyfriend since uni, so there's nothing to feel 'guilty' about! Live a little!"
"But—"
"4…"
"Oh for heaven's sake," Mary groaned, and without another word, threw off the bright pink "bride-to- be" sash Sybil had given to her at the beginning of the evening, and tossed it over her sister. And before Sybil could say another word, Rose was grabbing her by the wrist and dragging her towards the stage.
"HERE SHE IS!" Rose shouted, just before Thomas said the last number.
"Ah, our lovely bachelorette!" Thomas greeted, holding his hand out to Sybil. The club erupted into applause, although the rest of Mary's hen party looked confused at seeing the bride's baby sister standing before Thomas, rather than the bride, herself.
"Go!" Rose hissed, all but pushing Sybil towards Thomas, and suddenly Sybil felt herself being pulled up onto the very stage where the shirtless cowboy stood, smiling down at her, before turning towards the audience and encouraging everyone to clap for her.
Despite the confused expressions on the hen party faces, the rest of Mary's friends soon joined in the cheering, and Sybil felt her face grow hotter and hotter. She doubted it was because of the hot lights shining down on her.
"Come and sit right over here, love," Thomas led Sybil over to a large, pink plush chair that seemed to sparkle under the spotlight. "Don't be nervous," he whispered in her ear, no doubt noticing how she was shaking. "I promise," he continued, just for her to hear alone. "He'll be gentle." She stared at him and saw the man wink. Sybil gulped.
"Now…" Thomas asked, as Sybil sank down onto the chair, turning so the rest of the audience could hear him. "Tell me…do you have a limo for the wedding?"
Sybil looked confused. "A limo?" She knew that Mary wanted to be taken to the church in the old Downton carriage; however a limo would be driving the bridal party back and forth. "Um…yes?"
"Good!" Thomas grinned. "Because it just so happens…we have your chauffeur here this evening," his hand moved towards the curtains just behind Sybil. "And he's prepared to drive you to your wildest fantasies!"
The audience erupted into shrieks and squeals, at levels Sybil was convinced only dogs would hear. Rose was one of them, and she turned and grinned eagerly at Mary and Edith. "You're going to regret this, Mary!" she laughed with a poke of her tongue. "Sybil's about to be driven alright…driven mad with lust!"
Tom tried to avoid watching the crowds before his act. Conquering his stage fright was something he had to do right away when he began performing at Thomas' club, and thankfully had been successful. Still, that didn't mean he liked being reminded that hundreds of eyes were watching his every move, even if all of the voices that went with those eyes were cheering. Yet for some reason tonight, Tom wanted to sneak a peek, try and gather how big the crowd was, or to be more specifically, how big this hen party was.
Throughout his life, he had seen hen parties at various clubs and pubs. Usually the bride-to-be wore some sort of ridiculous headdress or costume that he supposed was meant to get her free drinks, so he scanned the crowd, trying to see if he could spot the bachelorette that he would be performing for.
"A striking brunette", Thomas had told him. Tom couldn't help but smile at that; there was a term one didn't hear too often anymore: striking. Was that true? Was the woman in question indeed, "striking"? While there were a great many brunettes in the room, and many of them were very lovely, he didn't see anyone to whom he would label "striking". But then what did he know? How long had he been single? He sighed and shook his head. His brother Kieran was the only other person that knew about this "secret night job" he was doing. After finally getting his brother to swear to secrecy, (and after Kieran had a good hearty laugh at the thought of his brother wearing a thong), Kieran clapped Tom on the back and said, "Well, I didn't realize you were that desperate to pick up women, but good for you for being creative!"
Thomas was now on stage, preparing the audience for Tom's performance. Tom looked down at himself, his gloved hands smoothing down any wrinkles on his costume. It was a strange choice in costume for a male stripper, but every woman has her fantasy, and the ladies that frequented Barrow's Burrow certainly seemed to like his "Edwardian Chauffeur" routine.
He checked his boots, his gloves, made sure his hat was secure, while Thomas called forth the guest of honor to the stage. Tom peeked once more behind the curtains, frowning as he realized that whoever she was, she wasn't coming forward. He squinted, trying to see where the spotlight had landed (it was somewhere near the bar) but the stage lights were too bright, and there were too many people blocking his view.
"…Alright, milady; I'm going to count to five, and if you're not down here by the stage when I'm finished, then I'll just have to send someone to fetch you…"
Tom swallowed. Was she even there? What if she had left? There had been some occasions in the past where a woman celebrating a birthday was invited to come up on stage, but feeling far too embarrassed or self-conscious, had more or less run out of the club before anyone could "escort" her. Perhaps that had happened here as well?
"HERE SHE IS!" shouted a woman's voice from the bar.
Tom lifted his eyes and peered out into club, watching as the crowd parted and clapped and cheered as the bachelorette in question was brought forth, the spotlight finding her and illuminating her path…
So that was what Thomas meant by striking…
Indeed…the word fitted her perfectly.
No…no, stunning is more appropriate. She was stunning.
Long, dark brown hair that tumbled down her back like waves of dark chocolate. Her creamy skin positively glowed under the spotlight, and her cheeks had a deep, beautiful rosy blush. She had a beautiful hour-glass figure, and he didn't realize he was holding his breath until he heard her finally speak. Her voice was low and husky, and God help him, extremely sexy.
…And in just a few short minutes, he was going to be on that stage, dancing—no, not dancing, stripping in front of her.
The thought caused him to gulp.
But he didn't have time to think about the matter further, because the stage lights suddenly dimmed and the music began to play, and the curtains began to open.
Taking a deep breath, he put on the face that Thomas called "stern, smoldering, and sexy", and took that stage while the women below began to scream, strutting right up to the plush chair where she was sitting, turning to face her and give her an obedient bow.
She was even more gorgeous up close.
Her eyes were deep, blue, and dark. Her full lips were moist and pink and they parted in such a way with a gasp when he appeared, that he had to work hard to suppress himself from groaning.
He had danced before many beautiful women since being hired by Thomas, but none of them seemed to have this sort of impact on him. It's probably nothing, he told himself. You're just feeling this way because it's your first one-on-one. That had to be it…right?
Still, as his eyes fell upon the pink sash across her chest, he couldn't help feeling a pang of jealousy for the lucky groom.
Sybil didn't know what to expect. As soon as she was led to the chair by the shirtless cowboy, her eyes were searching the audience, trying to peer across the bright stage lights to where her sisters and cousin were. She couldn't believe she had allowed them to do this to her! She couldn't believe Mary had encouraged Rose! And now here she was, pretending to be her sister, up on stage, and about to receive…
Oh God; she was going to be receiving a lap dance. Some thong-wearing stud was going to be stripping right in front of her face! The thought itself made her cheeks burn red. She wasn't drunk enough for something like this.
But there was no time to think, to even leap up and scream, "This is all some sort of mistake!" when suddenly the lights dimmed and music began to blast from the overhead speakers.
"Baby you can drive my car!"
The screams of the ladies in the audience went to an even higher level when the curtains just behind Sybil's shoulder pulled back. Oh God…he was just behind her, wasn't he? What did he look like? What was he wearing? The women around her seemed to…approve, judging by the way they were cheering. Was he anything like the blonde guy who had been on the stage earlier?
However she didn't have to ask any further, because suddenly…he was there! And Sybil gaped at the broad shouldered man who stood before her in…gracious, was that meant to be…chauffeur's livery? Compared to the other men she had seen on that stage in various scantily clad costumes, he was certainly the best dressed…and good heavens, he did fill that jacket very nicely.
"Milady," he murmured to her, giving her a bow. Sybil gasped, and if it were possible, her blush only deepened further.
The man was…well, for lack of a better word, gorgeous. Everything about him, his body, his arms, his chest and shoulders, his face—her eyes met his and she gasped at deep blue of his eyes. His lips curled slightly into the sexiest smile Sybil had never seen, and she swallowed deeply, especially as she watched his long fingers, encased in black leather, reach out for her hand…and without pausing to think, she took it.
"Oh!" she gasped, practically panting as the man lifted her hand to his lips.
"Ready for your ride, milady?"
Oh God, his voice, his accent! He had a sexy Irish brogue and Sybil was thankful she was already seated, because she felt her knees go weak at the sound.
Wait—did he just ask her if she was ready for her…ride?
Without warning, he swept in then, and Sybil let out a little squeal of surprise as his arms suddenly encased her body, and she found herself being lifted out of the chair, cradled against his broad chest, and momentarily twirled around on stage, while the women below her groaned in envy.
Her hands clung to the dark green wool of his uniform, and she looked into his eyes and felt her heart stop, realizing just how close their faces were to one another.
Stop it, Sybil! He's a stripper, this is a performance! It's all an act, that's all it is!
If only she could convince her racing heart. Indeed, she actually felt disappointment when he lowered her once more to the chair. The music continued playing, and the chauffeur grinned down at her, his teeth gripping the finger of one of his gloves…before peeling it off.
"ME! ME!" screamed a woman from the audience. Sybil turned her head, recognizing her cousin's voice, and blushed as she watched the chauffeur toss the glove in Rose's direction. He smiled then at the ladies who were cheering and throwing money onto the stage, even though this was a "personal" performance, threw the other glove towards them. He then turned his attentions back to Sybil, who watched with wide eyes and burning cheeks as he moved closer, and began to move his body in a way that suggested only one thing, while his long tapered fingers reached for her hands…and Sybil gasped as she felt him press her hands to the buttons on his jacket.
"STRIP HIM!" Rose screamed from the audience. "Oh God, SYBIL, TAKE IT OFF!"
"Sybil?"
She gasped and looked at the man who was grinning down at her. He had heard Rose scream her name, which meant he had also heard her cousin scream at her to remove him of his clothes.
"Go on, Lady Sybil," he seductively growled, pressing her hands against the buttons of his jacket.
Was he serious? He wanted her to strip him?
She swallowed and blushed and her fingers gripped the fabric, but indeed, they seemed to have a mind of their own, because before she realized it, they were indeed busy undoing his buttons and peeling the jacket off him, while his hands gripped her hips, and began to bend her body to mold against his.
"Holy fuck," Sybil gasped, her eyes going wide as she felt an obvious bulge press against her pelvis. Was that meant to be part of the act? And yet she couldn't help herself, she felt her body respond and move back to the thrusting vibrations of his movements, smiling to herself as she heard him groan when her hips responded and met his thrusts.
He suddenly moved away, in a rather fluid choreographed motion, her hands still gripping his livery jacket, but his body now free of the fabric. Beneath he wore a simple t-shirt, like the kind you would see on any man. But just like the rest of his uniform, sweet Lord, did he fill that simple piece of fabric nicely.
He removed his chauffeur's cap, grinning and tossing it to a woman in the audience who was screaming and waving her arms. He did the same with his tie, belt, and yes, even his boots. She was still holding the jacket and standing somewhat awkwardly, but he moved back to her, taking the coat from her hands and moving around her in such a way that before Sybil realized what was happening, he had the fabric draped across her shoulders.
She couldn't help but smile at the little maneuver, and found herself hugging the jacket closer to her body. She could feel his body's warmth radiating off the fabric, and she bit her lip as she watched him coax her back onto the chair, before giving her a wink, and then turning and facing all the women as his fingers ghosted across the hem of his shirt.
"YES! YES! YES!" they screamed. "STRIP! STRIP! STRIP!"
He was clearly one who did not disappoint.
Sybil stared and felt her jaw drop open as the room erupted into thunderous applause as the chauffeur aggressively pulled his shirt over his head in one fast, fluid motion, before throwing it as he had done with everything else, to the waiting audience.
The man was gorgeous in his uniform. And his body did not disappoint beneath it. Sybil stared at the taut muscles that rippled along his back. He then turned to face her and she swallowed as she stared at his flat stomach, chiseled pecs, and the naked, muscular shoulders, biceps, and forearms that seemed to glisten beneath the hot stage lights.
The man was a god. Irish sex on legs.
Legs. Oh God, his legs! His hands were gripping fabric of his trousers, and she felt her face burn as she suddenly realized what he was going to do.
He grinned down at her and began lower himself, as if he were going to straddle her body right there on that chair, and there was no doubt to the suggestion of his hips, based on the thrusting motions he was making.
God she wanted to touch him. To run her hands across his muscles, to feel his skin, to tangle her fingers in that sexy line of chest hair on his body. But with the exception of when he had placed her hands on his jacket to encourage her to unbutton it for him, she doubted she was supposed to lay a finger on him, so despite her instincts and what every fiber of her being was screaming, she gripped the arms of the chair until her knuckles turned white…and watched as he straightened himself…and tugged at the trousers on his legs.
Despite the deafening screams that filled the club, the rip of Velcro echoed off the walls as the chauffeur's trousers fell into a puddle on the stage floor, and he was left standing in a bright green thong (of course it was green), with a shamrock right on the codpiece that said in big, bold letters, "Kiss Me, I'm Irish".
She shouldn't ogle, she shouldn't ogle!
But she couldn't look away.
How was it possible for her to blush any deeper than she already was? HOW? And yet she did, especially as she recalled how her body had responded to his thrusts and what she had felt, hard and throbbing, against her pelvis.
The man did not have to worry about compensation. He was clearly, clearly, well-endowed.
He was suddenly upon her once again, and Sybil gasped as he picked her up, only this time his hands gripped her waist, and Sybil had no choice but to wrap her legs around the man's hot body, her fingers gripping his shoulders and moaning as she felt the hard, taut muscle beneath. Oh God, yes, yes, she didn't care anymore; let the man have his way with her!
He moved across the stage, one arm wrapped around her waist while the other hand splayed wide against her back. He spun them like before, and the women were throwing more and more money onto the stage, begging that he would "take them for a spin", too. The music reached its crescendo, and before it stopped, the chauffeur had her back safely onto the chair where she had begun.
Applause erupted all around them; everyone was on their feet cheering. But Sybil didn't notice any of them. Her eyes were locked with the Irishman, whose face was only a few inches away from hers.
They were both panting and breathing heavily, as if…as if they had just finished a hot marathon of love making.
His eyes kept floating back and forth from her eyes, to her lips. Yes…yes, you can kiss me, she wanted to scream.
"Alright, alright, alright!" came the voice of the shirtless cowboy who had called her up on stage. "Let's hear it for our lovely bride-to-be and her chauffeur!"
Sybil blushed as the crowd cheered, and then reluctantly turned her head towards Thomas, who was clapping and smiling, but also making a motion with his chin oh so subtly for her to get up and leave the stage. The act was over.
The chauffeur swallowed and Sybil swore she heard what sounded like a reluctant sigh as he straightened himself up, once again standing to his full height. She blushed deeply as she realized her face was at the same level as his…shamrock.
"Milady?" he murmured, holding his hand out to her. She bit her lip, not wanting to leave, or rather, not wanting to leave him, but knew that if she didn't, someone would quickly escort her off, and the last thing she wanted was to cause a scene and embarrass her sister (or end up in jail and have to explain to her parents the reason for why). So with a sigh, she nodded and took his offered hand, her body tingling at the electric shocks that were coursing through as their fingers touched.
"It was a pleasure," he whispered, and Sybil gazed up into his eyes, watching as he lifted her hand once more to his lips. Was it her imagination? Or…did he mean it? Because it sounded like he did.
Then he smiled at her. And no matter how hard the cynical side of her tried to say that it was all an "act", she knew, deep in her heart, that he had enjoyed that just as much as she had. And it was that little piece of knowledge that caused Sybil to do something extremely shocking, but no doubt had been on the mind of every woman who was there. She wrapped her arms around the Irishman's neck, and pulled his face down to hers for a hot, eager kiss.
"Oi!" Thomas thundered, dropping his microphone. He would have pulled her away and sent her packing…had the Irishman not responded by suddenly grabbing her up around the waist and pulling her tightly to him, returning her kiss with just as much vigor and passion as she.
They both moaned as their tongues sought entrance within each other's mouths, and Sybil felt her body melt against his…and his body harden once again against hers.
"Oi! STOP THAT!" Thomas hissed, tugging on the Irishman's shoulder, pulling him away and hissing some sort of warning into the man's ear. The man looked embarrassed and Sybil suddenly felt guilty; not because of the kiss (no, she would never feel guilty because of that kiss) but because she may have gotten the man in trouble. She tried to mouth the words "sorry" to him, but Thomas was already stepping in front of her, purposefully putting himself between her and the Irishman, before "thanking her" in a cool, clipped tone, for coming to Barrow's Burrow…and then asking that she kindly leave the stage.
She did as she was told, her sisters suddenly appearing at the foot of the stage to help her down, both Mary and Edith looking shocked and perhaps a little horrified with what had just happened, while Rose was grinning from ear to ear. "Way to go, Syb!" she grinned. "Glad to see you still have that rebellious side in you."
"I think after that," Mary muttered, ignoring Rose and waving a hand to the rest of her hen party. "It's time to leave."
"Oh, must we?" Rose pouted, but she didn't argue the case further. Instead, she stepped forward, wrapping her arm around Sybil's waist and giggling as she whispered in her cousin's ear, "Was it as good as it looked?"
Sybil blushed, knowing exactly what Rose was talking about. She looked over her shoulder then, hoping to see if her Irishman was still on the stage, but sadly, he had already disappeared. She sighed and turned her attentions back to Rose, before blushing and feeling a smile spread across her face. "Better."
She didn't even realize it until she had gotten home, that she was still wearing his livery jacket.
"You KISSED her?" Kieran gasped, staring at Tom in utter astonishment.
Tom groaned and nodded his head, running a hand across his face, still feeling like a utter arse, even though it had been two whole nights ago.
"Isn't that…against 'the rules' or something?"
Tom gave his brother a look which spoke volumes, however it only made Kieran chuckle, the bastard. After his performance the other night, Thomas pulled him back to the dressing room and told everyone else to get out, before he began to shout and reprimand Tom for his "unprofessionalism", screaming about how the last thing he needed was for some earl's posh daughter to go running to daddy, or worse, her new husband, about being "sexually harassed" on stage by one of his dancers, thus shutting down his business for good, before suing him for every last pound he had in the bank. It didn't matter if she initiated the kiss, he knew better than to kiss her back; she was some man's fiancée for fuck's sake! Lucky bastard. Tom didn't even know the man, and for his sake he prayed he never met him, because he hated the git who would get to kiss "Lady Sybil" for the rest of his days.
"Let it go, little brother," Kieran sighed, patting Tom on the shoulder. "Look, Thomas could have fired you, but he didn't. Decided to give you a second chance, right? It's fine! Nothing to worry about!"
Tom swallowed and forced a smile, although he wasn't so sure about that. Maybe this had been a wake-up call? Despite what Thomas said about him being "really good" and a "natural", Tom was nothing like Jimmy, who clearly would be quite happy stripping for the rest of his life. No, this was always a side job, and the sooner he could get his book sold to a publisher, the sooner he could quit. Besides, if anything, his "one-on-one" dance with "Lady Sybil" proved how lonely he was and how he wouldn't mind "getting back into the dating saddle" again. Although it was impossible to imagine another woman comparing to her.
God, would you listen to yourself? You don't even know her! So what if she's beautiful…and gave you the best kiss you've ever experienced…there's more to a woman and to a relationship than that.
…And how he wished he could get to know her more. He couldn't shake this odd feeling that…well, that everything just felt so…right.
But he didn't say any of this to his brother. What was the point, really? She was getting married to someone else, and he would never see again.
"Tom? I really need you to focus—" Kieran began, but Tom waved a hand, putting on a smile and nodding his head, giving his brother his full attention.
"I'm focused, Kieran, I promise; I won't let you down."
Kieran eyed him for a moment, and then nodded his head. "Alright, the bride is arriving to the church in a horse-drawn carriage—"
Tom couldn't help but snort at this. Of course she was.
"—But you will need to drive the rest of the bridal party to the church, as well as bring them back to the house for the reception."
"Downton Abbey," Tom repeated. Kieran had sent him a picture of the house where this grand wedding reception was to be held, and he remembered gaping at the image, wondering what kind of money these people had to be able to afford such a lavish place for a wedding reception?
"Think you can handle it?"
Tom gave his brother a look. "This isn't the first time I've driven people around, you know."
"Hey, after the little stunt you pulled at your other job, I didn't want you getting any ideas about screwing one of the bridesmaids—"
"Feck off!" Tom shoved his brother's shoulder, who only laughed, before handing him the limo's keys.
Within a few hours, he was parked outside the massive house, reading a newspaper and trying to focus on the story at his fingertips, rather than letting his brain wander back to that incredible kiss, and how good his "Lady Sybil" had felt in his arms. Oh for fuck's sake, she's not your Lady Sybil, why can't you get that through your thick skull? Why can't—
The doors to the house opened, and Tom welcomed the distraction as he quickly got out of the car and moved around to the other side to open the door for the exiting bridal party, all of whom were dressed in varying shades of burgundy.
The women were completely oblivious to him, not that he was surprised. After all, who paid attention to the driver? The bridesmaids climbed in, each chatting and going on about how gorgeous Mary looked, and how Matthew wouldn't know what hit him when she walked down the aisle. Following the giggling bridesmaids was a woman he could only assume was the mother of the bride, who kept glancing at her watch, groaning and rolling her eyes, before turning and looking over her shoulder. "Girls! HURRY UP! We're going to be late, and we CAN NOT get there after the bride!"
The lady climbed into the car and joined the others, and Tom remained stoically staring forward, his expression without emotion as he heard the rush of footsteps.
"Sorry, Mama, Rose lost her bouquet, so Edith and I were just—OH!"
Tom's eyes widened at the sound of her voice and he turned his head and stared in astonishment at the gorgeous woman who stood but a few feet away, looking even more beautiful than when he had last saw her, if that was possible.
"W-w-what are…what are you doing here!?" he stammered, staring back at her in a mixture of confusion, panic, joy, and…relief. Relief, because she clearly wasn't dressed as the bride.
"Me?" she gasped, blushing furiously. "W-w-what are YOU doing here?"
"I'm your driver."
"WHAT!?" she gasped.
Oh the irony. "I um…" he ran a bashful hand across the back of his neck, feeling embarrassed, but at the same time, he couldn't stop smiling. "…I really am a chauffeur, actually; it's one of several jobs I have at the moment."
Sybil stared…and then much to Tom's surprise and happiness, she burst out laughing, her hand flying to cover her mouth as that beautiful blush he remembered quickly flooded her cheeks.
"And…you're not the bride?" he murmured, looking at her attire, but trying his hardest not to get his hopes up.
Sybil continued blushing but nodded her head, suddenly looking very guilty. "No, I um…my cousin, you see, arranged for my sister to um…well…my sister, she um…she didn't want to…not that there is anything wrong with you, of course, I mean you look very handsome—OH GOD!" she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, blushing furiously at the words that were coming out.
Tom couldn't help but chuckle, folding his arms across his chest. "So…you 'sacrificed' yourself to take her place on stage?"
"Um…" Sybil bit her lip and Tom groaned, his eyes immediately drawn to it and those memories of her delicious kiss flooding his memory again.
However, before more could be said, Sybil's sister and cousin finally emerged from the house, Rose proudly waving her "missing" bouquet, while an exasperated Edith followed close behind.
"I FOUND IT!" Rose announced happily. "Isis got a hold of it, I think—OH!"
Rose froze in place, causing Edith to run into her. But before she could mutter anything, she too stared at Tom in disbelief, and Tom quickly realized that Sybil wasn't the only person at this wedding who had seen his…face.
"Well, well, well…" Rose giggled, turning and winking at Sybil. "Looks like your chauffeur has come to collect his livery."
I told that girl that my prospects were good
she said baby, it's understood
Working for peanuts is all very fine
But I can show you a better time.
...to be continued? ;o)