After the semi-emotional roller coaster of the last one, I think it's time for a wee bit of fluff with a dollop of sexual tension ;o)

"The Kissing Disease"

Prompt by repmet

Prompt: Tom falls ill at Downton while Sybil's in London. Your choice of time/relationship status.

Rating: T

Late July 1914

He isn't there to greet them when the train returns to Downton. There are so many things she wants to say, so many stories she is longing to tell about her season in London, and his face has been the one she is most eager to see. But instead they find Sir Anthony Strallan, smiling and greeting all of them, much to Edith's blushing surprise.

"Carson telephoned this morning, asking if he could trouble my chauffeur since yours has fallen ill," he explains to her father. "But I said I would be more than happy to greet you at the station and drive you back to Downton."

Her mother is beaming and squeezing Edith's hand. Her sister can't stop grinning. But Sybil froze as soon as she heard Sir Anthony mention that Branson has fallen ill.

"Is it serious?" she asks, reaching forward and gripping Sir Anthony's arm.

He's a little surprised by this reaction and the worry on her face and in her voice, but he smiles politely and shakes his head. "I don't believe so," he reassures. "Just a head cold to be sure."

She's not satisfied with his answer, but she doubts she'll be satisfied with any answer until she sees Branson with her own eyes.

They travel back to Downton, telling Sir Anthony all about the thrills of the season; it's obvious that both he and Edith are eager for some time alone, something which her mother quickly picks up on, which is why she encourages them both to take a stroll through the gardens, rather than come inside for refreshment right away. Sybil removes her coat and hat and doesn't even bother going to her room to change from their journey; she mutters a lie about wanting to go and lie down before tea, and then slips outside when her parents have gone their own way, and moves as quickly and carefully as possible until she reaches the chauffeur's cottage.

She holds her breath, realizing this is the first time she's ever been to his cottage—that's she's ever stepped foot inside it! It's something that earl's daughters just shouldn't do! But then again, earl's daughters shouldn't be friends with chauffeurs and housemaids, and that's exactly what she is. She knocks on his door, her ear pressed against its surface, listening for any sound of him.

Nothing.

She frowns and knocks a little harder. Still nothing. With deep breath, she pushes against his door, glad to see that it isn't locked, and pokes her head inside.

"Branson?" she calls out. The place is horribly stuffy and dark; the curtains have all been drawn. "Branson?"

"W-w-w-whaaaa?"

His voice is coming from a door just beyond the room she's entered. She moves quickly towards it and slowly opens it, listening to it creak, before poking her head into an even darker and stuffier room than the last. "Branson?"

She sees a figure on something thin and rectangular; she realizes that it must be his bed, and her cheeks immediately darken.

He's trying to sit up, his eyes peering at her through the darkness, and she hears him cough and sniffle and her heart goes out to him as his fingers fumble with a lamp just next to his bed.

"Oh here, let me," she tells him, moving to the table, turning on the lamp, at gasping at sight of him.

It's not that he looks awful. By no means. Although it is clear that he is ill, like Sir Anthony had said. But…she's never seen him so…so…

Underdressed.

He's wearing a thin undershirt, one that leaves little to the imagination to how…broad and muscular he is. Not only does the shirt mold perfectly to his chest, but the few buttons at the collar are undone, and she can see wisps of blonde chest hair poking out. He's also drenched; his brow and throat are covered in perspiration, and his face is flushed and his eyes are bleary. His hair, which is normally slicked back, is disheveled, and some of it hangs around his eyes, making him look younger. Her fingers are itching to touch it, to brush it away from his brow.

"Ssssybil?" he moans, looking up at her through half-lidded eyes.

"Yes, yes, I'm here," she soothes, forgetting propriety and kneeling beside him. His hand seems to be reaching out towards her, and she doesn't hesitate, she takes it and gives it a squeeze.

"You're…you're back…"

She smiles and nods her head. "Yes, we just got back," she informs him. "And they said you were ill."

"It's…it's nothing…" he moans, swallowing and leaning his head back against his sweat-soaked pillow.

She frowns. "It doesn't look like 'nothing'; has Dr. Clarkson come to see you?"

He doesn't answer, simply swallows again and she thinks he must be parched. So she rises from the bed and goes back into the room she originally came from, seeing that the kitchen is connected. She searches through his cupboards and eventually finds some cups. She wastes no time in getting him some water, as well as taking a clean-looking cloth, and dampening it as well. She returns and encourages him to sit up to have some water.

Of course…to do this means she has to help him, which means she has to sit on the edge of his bed and put her arm around his back and cradle him just so…which means they are awfully, awfully close.

He drinks the water greedily, and Sybil finds herself wondering if anyone has been out here to see to him? She touches his brow then and gasps at how hot it feels. "Branson, you're burning up!"

He doesn't say anything, he just moans and falls back against his sweat-soaked pillow. She bites her lip, feeling worried for her friend, and thinks that the least she can do is open some windows and let some air in. Surely that will improve things a little? She starts to rise to her feet to do just that, but gasps as she feels his hand, large and calloused, grab hers. It's not painful, but it is strong, and with a small tug, she finds herself tumbling back towards him, back to the bed, back ON the bed, practically ON TOP of him!

"Branson!"

"So beautiful…"

She freezes, staring wide-eyed at him as he speaks to her, his free hand moving up and touching her cheek. Oh Lord, they've never touched like this! They've never been this close before—and his state of dress, and…and on a bed! She's terrified, while at the same time…curious. Very, very curious…

"Sybil…" he moans again. "Been waiting for you…"

She should push against him, shove at him, perhaps even slap him to wake up from this stupor. He's delirious, that's the only explanation; the fever has addled his brain and he thinks he's in some sort of dream! That must be it—which makes her wonder, what does Tom Branson dream about?

"Please…please don't leave me," he all but begs. Her heart does a strange little flip-flop at his plea. "Don't leave me again…"

"Branson," she tries, although she doesn't really put up a fight. "I'm just going to open some windows…let some air in," she tries to explain.

Still, his hold on her doesn't lessen. "I was so worried…" he groans.

Worried? Whatever for?

"You're…you're not engaged, are you?"

Engaged!? Good heavens, this was her FIRST season! The thought marriage is the last thing on her mind…isn't it? Well of course it is! Because…because there's no one she truly fancies…

…is there?

"No," she reassures him. Her cheeks are burning, and she can only imagine what her face must look like. Is the heat caused by the stuffiness of the room? Or the close proximity to where she is near his fevered face. Yes…she's very, very close, far too close than she should be, and yet…she's not fighting it.

"Good," he answers, a strange smile spreading across his lips. "Wish…wish I could have been there…" he moans in his delirium. "So beautiful, I know…"

He needs a doctor. Perhaps Carson or Mrs. Hughes are unaware of the severity of his fever?

"Branson, I'm going to fetch Mrs. Hughes," she tells him. "Make sure Dr. Clarkson comes out to see you—"

"Wait!"

She's about to rise, but before she manages to disentangle herself from his hold, he's pulled her back once again, but nothing—NOTHING could have prepared her for what happened next.

Hot fevered lips against her own.

TOM BRANSON'S HOT FEVERED LIPS AGAINST HER OWN!

He's kissing her! Oh Lord, Tom Branson, the Downton chauffeur, and her dearest friend…is KISSING HER!

She should fight him off! She should put a stop to it! He doesn't know what he's doing, he's lost in some sort of fevered dream, that's the only explanation! WHY ISN'T SHE FIGHTING HIM OFF?

Because you don't want to, a voice tells her.

No…no she really, really doesn't. In fact, she's responding to his kiss, pressing her lips back against his, moaning and sighing and gasping as she feels his tongue—HIS TONGUE—tickle the corner of her mouth, before finding it's way inside and encouraging hers to do the same.

How is it that for a man who is lost in such fevered delirium, he's able to kiss her so passionately? Oh God in heaven, is THIS what kissing feels like? She's never been kissed before, not on the lips, and certainly not like this with…with tongues touching and tasting!

His hand has moved up to her hair, his fingers are threading through it, causing the pins to fall out and for her brunette curls to tumble down her shoulders. He moans against her mouth, moans as his fingers tenderly move through her hair, murmuring again the word "beautiful"…

And then he collapses back against his pillow, his eyes closed, but a dreamy looking smile on his face.

She remains hovering over him, staring down at him and realizes after a few seconds…he's fallen asleep! As if the kiss has worn him out! Perhaps that is possible? After all, she's panting a great deal!

She swallows and manages to lean away, her lips trembling, her body trembling, her breathing shaky! Did…did that just happen?

She rises quickly, and tries to smooth her hands down her blouse, her skirt, blushing deeply, feeling incredibly hot, and makes quick work at opening his windows, drawing the curtains back, before quickly leaving the cottage.

Yet no matter how much distance she puts between herself and it, she can still feel the intense heat of their encounter all over her face.

Dr. Clarkson does come by later to see to the Irishman; apparently he's visited before, and Sybil learns from overhearing him talk to her father that Branson suffers from sort of viral infection that leaves a person terribly tired and fatigued, with a sore throat and high fever. It's not too serious, it will go away on its own, but it takes time, and he will need plenty of bed rest. However, Dr. Clarkson also explains that the disease can be quite contagious, that anything that comes into contact with Branson's mouth needs to be scrubbed and washed thoroughly, as it is through the mouth that the virus spreads fastest.

Sybil's hand flies to her own mouth at this revelation. And within a few days, she soon finds herself suffering similar symptoms as the Downton chauffuer.

Many years later, after the War, after she's become an established nurse, after she and Tom have married and have a healthy daughter and another child on the way, her cousin Isobel asks her if there was any relationship between Tom's bout with mononucleosis, and her own. Sybil blushes deeply and looks down into her tea cup, wondering why on her cousin would wonder about that?

Isobel cocks an eyebrow at her young, pretty cousin. "Well, it isn't called the 'kissing disease' for nothing."

Ok, I have no idea when mononucleosis (aka mono) was first named/diagnosed, but for the sake of this story, just suspend your historical disbelief and go with it ;o)