Chapter Song - Stay With Me by You Me At Six
' How do I know, if I should stay or just go? The bottom line is this way that I'll never know... '
. . . . . . . . . .
Tom had never had much of a connection to fate. Had never considered his actions were a product of fate. Had never felt his mistakes were a lesson from fate. Had never thought fate would ever come to his aid. Until last week that was.
He had been stumbling around Amsterdam's smokey, busy streets, not knowing his destination, but looking for it all the same, when he had seen her. Dark hair, pale skin, blue eyes, stunning smile. And all at once, the sickening guilt in his gut had eased a little. He had followed her for a while, clinging desperately to the floating sensation her presence bought, but he had not gone to her. Not now- not now things were over.
Following her just long enough to realise she had taken him exactly where he needed to be, his poisonous guilt returned when she walked with purpose into a huge, dolls house looking brothel named Rosamund's. The moment her figure disappeared from view, the light feeling left him and he remembered with a jolt the five women he currently held under his watch. He had been stupidly naive when Carson had spoken of a delivery the previous fortnight, thinking of weapons or drugs, so he hadn't been expecting to find a bunch of young women bound for a life in Britain's undergroud sex trade. And in his guilt at continuing to fufil his job no matter what the hoard, Tom had subconsciously decided to seek out Amsterdam's red light district in the hopes he would see a genuine smile on one of the many prostitutes faces. He hadn't.
So he had gone about his job as best he could, even allowing each woman to give him a massage, and purposely stopping her half way through, in an attempt to keep them blissfully ignorant of what was going to happen at the sort of massage parlours they were being sent to. He had thought of Sybil at his low points, no matter how wrong it was, and he hadn't been surprised when he saw her again. Though this time it was night, and she was on a balcony, crying, shaking and mumbling. His heart ached so heavily at the sight it was all he could do to turn and walk away.
Two days on however, and Tom had decided enough was enough, he had, just had to see her again. There was only one place he knew to look, and the danger of his Satan's Servants self walking in was almost a death wish. Rosamund's was clearly a Lord and Ladies brothel, it was so grand and ornate compared to all the other whorehouses around that it practically reeked big business. Yet, sticking a large plaster over the stamp of his gang, he had walked straight into the den of lust and found himself suddenly surrounded by some of the most beautiful women he had ever seen in his life.
"Good evening Sir, how may we help you this evening?" Simpered one woman with stunning black hair and olive skin, wiggling her corset bound body and stroking down his arm.
A blonde woman with tanned skin, dressed in a skimpy, red, silk dressing gown stepped forward. Tom caught her eyes glint a little as she looked him up and down and he suddenly felt very, very hot. "Would you like a drink? Hold my hand, I'll take you through."
Reaching out too quickly than to be considered cool, Tom set his jaw a little when the prostitute wound her hand around his and pulled him down a long, plush, pink corridor and into a large hall. The ballroom was quite simply, stunning. Dimmed in a soft, golden glow, the hall glimmered beneath the largest stained glass lampshade he had ever seen. Huge, luxurious sofas were dotted about haphazardly, a small but well stocked bar graced one corner and a fully fledged band played beautiful music in the other, he recognized the tune but not well enough to know it was Glen Miller's In the Mood. Men lolled about the room in a trace like state, smoking cigars and cannabis roll ups, drinking amber liquid from ornate glass tumblers. In fact, the entire effect was very, and oddly, considering the circumstances, classy.
But, as well as admiring the room, Tom was a man and as such had found it impossible not to notice the most enrapturing beings within. Here and there, barely dressed women slid around poles, glided into the laps of seated gentleman and swept through a golden back door with a customer on their arm. Unlike the prostitutes he had seen today in shop windows, some dressed in maids outfits and others licking icing from cupcakes, these women were like goddesses. Sleek, shimmering hair, gleaming soft skin, swathes of silk and lace wrapped around their feminine figures, they floated about the room as though they were not of this world. Tom gave a gulp and a quick, subconcious brush of his crotch area before shaking his head; he wasn't here for that, he was here to see Sybil, even if just to glance at her for a stolen minute. And with this thought he wondered how he was going to manage sneaking out back to find the office or business room he assumed she had been visiting.
So lost in his planning, he hadn't realised he had stopped moving until the gorgeous blonde stepped so close to him he could see a fine layer of glitter dusting her cheeks. "Now Sir, is there any lady you would like to see in particular? Or would you like to just sit for a little while, I know all our girls would love to make your acquaintance."
"But surely you've told the gentleman the rules Cindy?" Out of nowhere a red head had descended upon them, an arm around Tom's waist, looking up at him through intricately made up eyes.
"I was just getting onto that Pix." There was catch to her voice, but Tom, gradually losing the battle to keep focused, remained simply mesmerised by the two of them.
"I don't mind." He turned to the red head when she flicked her hair, fiddled with her black, lacy slip and began playing with his shirt buttons. "Now Sir, we promise you a truly wonderful evening. But just to make things, ahh, a little easier for you, each of our girls wears one of these." She brushed his lips quickly with her knuckles causing him to take a sharp breath, before pulling away and flashing him the pale pink ribbon tied to her wrist. "A black ribbon means a show girl, from then you can have a lap dance, strip tease, pole dance, whatever you prefer Sir." Shit, was he dribbling? "A pink, like me, is a treat girl. If you want to uhh-" She tugged collar. "-play around, then come to one of us, sound nice?" Yes, he was dribbling. "But your red ribbons, your dream girls, well Sir, they can make all your wildest fantasy's a realit-"
"Pixie! Mr. Cichon has requested you." Tom was too transfixed with the redheads now spread palm on his chest to notice who had spoken, though when this Pixie moved away mumbling what he thought could be 'One more blowjob and that man will burst', his jaw fell to the floor and shattered at the sight infront of him.
Skin dazzling in the rainbow glow of the lit glass, the enchantress before him wore a strapless pale blue chemise, held only to her body by a loose corset between her partly exposed, smooth breasts. Her pale legs seemed to go on for days, endings in a pair of glittering heels that gave her a mystical glow, the real princess Cinderella. Long, waving strands of mahogany hair ran down her back, her eyes, blue pools like the shimmering ocean, looked into his as though he was someone she had been waiting on for a very long time. She wore a red ribbon.
"Sybil?" The room slunk around him. Oh God, what had Grantham done? No. The bastard, the fucking wanker, the bloo-
"No Sir, it's Felicity. Would you take my hand?" Blood pulsing through his veins, Tom disregarded her outstretched fingers entirely, and bore his eyes into the red, snaking, devils tongue silk around her wrist. Her next words came low and dangerous. "Tom, now."
Every step seemed a mile, every breath a hoarse gasp, and before long they were in a dark corner and Tom felt himself being forced onto a cushy, purple sofa. "What has he done to yo-?"
His heart reaching a thoroughbreds pace, Tom didn't know what to do with himself when Sybil lowered herself onto him, her bare legs straddling him as she wrapped her arms loosely around his neck. "Shh, it isn't what you think- it isn't what you think." She punctuated each sentence with a swift look over either shoulder.
"Have you been-?" His voice shook and failed him.
"No, no, no." Her hair swayed as she violently shook her head. Then, a surge of relief ran through his quaking body when she took his face in her palm, her eyes melting into his. "Trust me."
He did, and it was as easy as that. "Oh Sybil, but wh- I thought-" The background music of joy seemed to mock their intense reunion, yet the consuming darkness had all at once made Tom realise that for this moment, however brief, they were alone. Spreading his fingers and thumbs clumsily, sceptically, over her bare thighs, he caught her eye again. "I needed to see you."
"You did the other night." Her voice came like a whisper as she seemed to edge impossibly closer against his waist, her arms rubbing his neck, and for a sharp second Tom saw her for the prostitute she was acting, and imagined paying the fee and walking through the golden door to where his fantasy could become a reality. Urgh, bad man Tom, bad man. "I saw you, under the balcony."
He took in every word, and felt a sort of unease that she had watched him walk away that night, but he also took in every sensation now riddling his body. He understood she was only with him like this to keep him disguised, to hide their secret meeting, but the pressure of her thighs against his, the rise and fall of her barely covered chest, the smell of her rich perfume, her slow breathing, and the utter presence of her, of Sybil, around him led to something he was really hoping to avoid. "Shit, Sybil could you get up a sec-"
"No, wait. Tom, look around. That-" She flicked her eyes downward. "-is sort of expected."
"Sybil I can't talk to you seriously if I'm like th-" He found his mouth cupped by her hand, the red ribbon on her wrist tickling his chin.
"Then don't talk, not for the moment. I'll do that part, I want to ask you about something." He sensed hesitancy in her voice, and if he wasn't red in the face enough already, even more gushing blood flooded into his cheeks at the thought she may want to talk about his confession. It was a sore spot for him, after all, it had ended in rejection. He clenched his teeth, waiting for her to speak, and was shocked when she tugged at his shirt sleeve. "About this."
Ice water swam through his veins as he tried to tear his arm away. "Syb- no- I don't-"
She kissed the small scars once, the press of her lips drew the pain he had tried to bury in the past back to the surface, and he had to look away. "Please, tell me." His resolve cracked a little as she pulled his face to hers. "I know you almost told me the other week, what difference does it make to tell me now?" He realised then, the reason she had not turned him away this evening.
God, she was too smart for her own good. "No wonder you trained to be a nurse Sybil." Questioning eyes stared back at him, and suddenly he was in that mansion again, looking down at Sybil for the first time and feeling his name fall from his lips without a seconds thought. He huffed a little air through his nose and shuffled into the sofa, sweeping his hands up to Sybil's ribs as she placed her hands firmly on his shoulders, edging closer over his lap. "Right, I'll say this quickly, cos you're right, I did have this prepared before. But-"
He felt her small fingers squeeze his shoulders. "Tell."
"Fine. I- I was a heroin addict. I dabbled in drugs as a teenager, and by the age of twenty one, when I finished Uni, I started doing heroin. I started injecting not long after. And I wish I could say I had a reason, like a family tragedy driving me to darkness, but no, I was just an idiot. The next two years were the worst in my life, Sybil, you don't- you don't have a clue, no idea." He bit his lip so hard it hurt. "Anyway, I tried so many times to get off, so many times. Then- Jesus- then one night, my cousin, he'd started taking about the same time I had, well he overdosed."
"You never said-" Sybil's voice came as a gasp.
"Yeah, well, I'm saying it now. Anyway, I made the 999 call, but I was so off my face they were lucky to get one clear word out of me." The words came out so bitter he was surprised he didn't choke on their acidity. "He was dead by the time they arrived. That did it, like, I knew I had to quit, if not for me, for Sean. But I couldn't wait to- to try medicine, or therapy, I wanted rid, like quick. So I got a few friends to lock me up, don't look so horrified, it happens. I got them to lock me up for a week-" He thought of the vomit, the shakes, the hightening of his screams as he cried out for a fix, and decided not to elaborate to Sybil. "-and when I came out, I was still a wreck, but I wasn't a hardcore addict." He whistled in one long blow. "Anyway, I left Ireland not long after, I needed to escape. I trained as a taxi driver in London, started counselling then and got my life on track, but I still had moments of almost relapsing. So when I met Carson, I realised it could be what I needed to finally get the drugs off my mind. Cos if your gangs opinion is the same as mine, drugs are a weakness, something we deal and sell, but not something we do. And I haven't taken a hit since."
o o o
The end of Tom's tale came all too quickly, and Sybil needed a moment to compose herself, for his story, his pained honesty, had left her a little shaken. But, realising he would require some sort of reaction, against all her reasons not to, she leant downward slightly and touched his nose with her own, sighing when he closed his eyes and ran his hands along her thighs.
They remained like that for a long moment, and though Sybil knew she was putting herself in jeopardy, she just couldn't move away, not yet. So she remained holding him close, the sounds of a trumpet solo, girls giggling, men jeering and drinks clinking the only reminder of where they really were. Though, very soon, these sounds seemed to dissolve into air as Tom slowly opened his eyes, and knowing what was coming before it did, Sybil tried to lean back.
But a forceful hand had slipped beneath her silk chemise, warm fingers splayed over her spine, and she felt the slightest, firmest nudge forward. Determind however, not to kiss him, not to go there again, she twined her own fingers into his short dark hair and angled his head against her neck. "Sorry Tom, I don't work for free."
The gruff laugh against her throat rose goosebumps all over her skin, and she felt a little ashamed of herself for pulling him closer. It was just- well- she knew the effect she had over him like this, wrapped around him in so little clothing, and compared to the groping and pawing she had experienced this past fornight, having Tom with her felt so, so safe, so right. "Well, if I slip you a fifty can I keep you like this for a little while longer?"
"I'm only worth a fifty?" Her voice came a little breathlessly, but not in the intentional way she had so recently mastered.
Shivering slighty as one of Tom's fingers wound around a tendril of her hair, Sybil made the mistake of looking into his eyes. "I don't know what you're worth Sybil, but I do know all the money in the world wouldn't be enough to pay it."
She didn't know why those words had done it, but suddenly everything was coming back to her, Lords and Ladies, Satan's Servants, enemies, hotel rooms, confessions, kisses, blue eyes, memories... Easing her arms from around Tom's neck slowly in order not to provoke him to hold tighter, Sybil looked over her shoulder as she spoke. "You better go now, you've been lucky so far, but you'll- well we'll be killed if Rosamund realises that you're one of Sata-"
"Felicity! Laurent has requested you." Squeezing her eyes tight shut for the briefest second, Sybil slid from Tom's lap. Oh God, this wasn't going to go down well, and her heart began to race at the thought. "And don't worry about this gentleman, I'll take care of him. Would that be alright Si-?
"No!" Shying her eyes a little at how loud she had spoken, Sybil turned to Tom who had gradually risen from the sofa. "Mr. Branson was just leaving."
Tripping away from Tom and from their corner as quickly as she could, her heels digging a little, Sybil literally ran into Laurent's arms, just as she had intended.
"Ahh, Fliss, my Felicity, ma chere." As the dark haired, sharp suited Frenchman ran his fingers over her cheek, Sybil twisted her tounge against her teeth to resist the urge to whip her head and bite them, hard.
"Monsieur Laurent, I didn't think you were coming to see me." It took all she had within her, as she curved her arms delicately around the French bastards neck, not to check that Tom had left. But a shadow on the very edge of her peripheral vision told her he hadn't quite reached the exit yet.
She kept her eyes purposely wide and innocent as the white shirted Laurent edged closer, licking his lips as he stared down her cleavage. Urgh, she hated him. "Why ever not fleur? In fact, I think I might want to see a lot of you tonight. How does that sound belle? Haven't you wanted to take me to your room for so long?"
The bile she had to swallow stung her throat. "Oh Monsieur Laurent do you mean it? Will you come with me?"
"I will, because you want me to, yes I will. But first, let's enjoy the evening..."
The reaction Sybil had been expecting, and dreading with every fibre of her being, did not occur until much later than she suspected. She had first assumed it would happen when Laurent had begun playing with her small, ribbon corset, edging his fingers against the prominent, roundness of her breasts. But, nothing. So she then endured a period of stomach knotting nervousness when her dear Frenchman asked her to play with his hair. Yet, still nothing. Though, she expected it most later, when Laurent pulled her into his lap, murmuring truly sickening things against her throat. But, once again, there came no reaction, though this time she was certain she heard a glass shatter across the room. No, nothing happened until the swooping moment when Laurent took her ribboned wrist and asked for her lead. She was only half way to the golden door when the Frenchman's hand was torn from her own.
For the fraction of a heart beat, Sybil felt a rush of relish as Tom's fist connected with Laurent's vile, carved face, but almost as quickly she felt a surge anger in her veins; Grantham was going to kill her. Not being able to dwell on this thought for too long however, as Tom now had Laurent pinned to the floor and blood had began dotting the floor from some body part, his nose maybe, Sybil along with a few of the other girls in the hall, started to scream. But as word spread through the hall that a fight needed breaking up, a regular occurrence among so few beautiful women and so many desperate men, Sybil realised she had an ultimatum on her hands. In the few seconds before the men were pulled apart and taken down a few pegs, she could either beg Laurent to take her supposedly fragile, shaken state to bed, or she could drag Tom to safety, away from the Lords and Ladies den.
Tearing off her shoes, being no stranger to a fight, Sybil descended upon the writhing pair, feeling a little foolish as her thin clothing revealed her scant thong. Avoiding Tom's elbow as he drew back for another fierce blow, Sybil gripped Laurents shirt,"Au revoir!" Then turned to Tom. "For fucks sake you idiot, get through that door, before I change my mind!" Grateful that Tom was so quick off the mark and had legged it through the golden door as quick as light, Sybil turned to the screaming girls and a pummelled Laurent as security erupted around them. "He's gone, the other one's gone, legged it."
She knew she should wait around to explain to Rosamund what had gone on and to keep up her cover, but then, almost laughing with the thought, she realised the reason for her disguise was now being dragged out the brothel, so she turned and fled through the gold door. The dim light became even darker down this corrider, but running her hands along the velvet, puce walls, Sybil stumbled blindly into the room titled 'Felicity' and was not surprised to discover a panting, ruffled Irishman pacing about the small boudoir.
"Sybil, I co-"
Her fury came, in floods. "Tom you idiot! You idiot! I have been undercover for two weeks trying to get that prick into bed, and you show up and beat him senseless-"
And so did his. "I wasn't about to let you-! To get let you- sleep with him. I couldn't-!"
Clawing her hair over her head, Sybil tried to keep her voice from a bats screech. "Sleep with him? I told you Tom, I told you, I'm not a prostitute! My God! I'm on- a- job, was on a job, to knock that bastard out and cut his fucking fingers off for doing Grantham a dodgy deal! I wasn't about to screw him! Oh God, Grantham will kill me, kill me!"
A perfume bottle rollled to the floor as Tom thumped the small fireplace mantle piece with a metal fist. "How was I supposed to know that? Oh right, I couldn't have done! I had every right to beat that smarmy shit for all he's worth!"
The sweat that had gradually gathered on Sybil's forehead was swept away with a rough brush of her hand. "Every right? Every right? Tom you have no right to tell me what to do! No right to protect me! No right to be jealous! You- are- nothing- to me!"
A lengthy silence followed in which her and Tom's heavy breathing almost smothered the sound of next doors seemingly satisfied customer. Her head was spinning, barely able to keep up with all that had happened in such a short amount of time, and she fell awkwardly onto the plush, luxurious king size bed. For the first time, she realised she was shaking, and twined her fingers tightly together to control the jutting motion.
Eventually, Tom, stroking a palm down his face, cut the quiet. "Right, I'll go, I'll try to leave unnoticed-"
"No, don't do that." Her head pounded.
"I've got to. I can't stay, if they find out who I am-"
"They won't hear, not from me." She blinked in the dim glow, unwrapping her now tamed fingers. "And don't worry, fights happen in here all the time. I've seen about nine in two weeks. And you have your tat covered anyway."
"I know, but I'm going to go, there's no point in me staying." Her head now focused on the soft, red carpet, she saw his shoes edge toward the door. "Sorry- for tonight- I just- I had to see you."
The creaking of the door knob stirred her and her body felt heavy as she got to her feet, "I didn't mean that you know."
His turning form shadowed her. "What?"
Glad that she was in temporary darkness, Sybil edged a little closer to Tom, who she hadn't realised till now had torn the plaster from his neck. "I didn't mean it when I said you're nothing to me. I- I don't know what you are, but I know it isn't nothing."
The room changed then. Her admission paired with Tom's previous confession seemed to settle upon them, gradually, like the softest sequins of winter snow, and the once seedy, racy boudoir became a safe haven, guarding their secret attachment to one another from the intrusion of the world. Sybil caught an odd look in Tom's eye, a sort of intensity marred by resistance, she wondered if her own revealed the same, and the thought made her feel oddly vulnerable.
"Come here." His accent seemed thicker than usual as she allowed herself to be pulled, rather roughly, against him. Her eyes closed of their own accord at the contact, and her arms wound around Tom's warm body as his own found her hair and back. The embrace was so intense, so tension fuelled that Sybil was surprised not to see small rainbow sparks spitting from their skin. He smelt wonderful, so familiar, his touch was familiar too, hot and determined, and she was sure the taste of his kiss would come as blissful familiarity too. And as Tom was never one to hold back, she was surprised when he did not try to push his lips to her own when he leant back to look at her, speaking instead. "Two weeks? It's taken you two weeks to get that man into bed? Is- he- blind?"
A smile that brought an ache to her usually serious features spread across her face as she buried her head into his chest, her reply coming slightly muffled as a result. "He likes to think the prostitute has fallen in love with him, that way she will be one to want to go to bed rather than the other way round. Made it easy to be undercover really, a perfect excuse to turn the rest of the perverts down; I just had to tell them I'd met my prince, that I didn't want a whores life anymore and Laurent believed I meant it!"
Her body loosened a little when he buried his face in her hair, murmuring against her brown locks. "Ah right, cos I was gonna say, I'd have dragged you back here in two seconds." He laughed into her hair, but his words made her blush, and she snuggled a little closer. She gathered he felt this, as his hold, too, became a little stronger and she felt his fingers making small circles on her back. "I didn't like seeing him touch you."
Her heart beating a little faster than normal, her skin prickling at the feel of Tom's warm breath on her forehead, Sybil sighed. "You didn't? I would never have guessed..."
Please Review ^^
I hope this made up for Sybil and Tom's separate lives last week?
Also, if you re-read this chapter, I really suggest playing Glen Miller's In The Mood in the background!
I won't type too much or I'll run late putting this chapter up. Let me know what you thought.
Personally, I felt like this week lasted looongg, so hopefully next Monday comes quicker...
(And yes, I did guest appear as a prostitute...I just wanted to touch him!)
www. youtube. com/watch?v=K4QOp0wBktE An amazing video by Fanfic authour (btvs) based on this chapter!
