Author's note

I had to post a (slightly late) update to this collection for S/T Smut Weekend, didn't I! It's set in my Erin go Bragh! AU, in the early days of Tom and Sybil's marriage.

This fic is dedicated to a good friend and wonderfully talented writer, Yankee Countess, to thank her for everything she does for our fandom - especially for LSL week last week!

Let me know what you think! I always love to hear from you. ;)


Dawn goes down to day

"Where Lagan stream sings lullaby
There blows a lily fair
The twilight gleam is in her eye
The night is on her hair..."

Tom's baritone voice could be heard over the sizzle of bacon in the pan.

He couldn't stop himself from smiling that morning. Most mornings, actually. Being married to Sybil was more wonderful, more amazing that he'd ever dreamed it could be. Not just because he loved her more every day, and because sharing his life with her gave him such pure, unalloyed joy.

But also because of what it was like to be... intimate with her, as husband and wife.

He made himself blush sometimes, thinking about what it was like being with her in that way. She was so passionate, so adventurous... he'd never expected that the well brought up daughter of an Earl could be so... well, so damn sexy.

It was surprisingly warm for autumn, and the early morning sunshine streaming in the window of their little kitchen struck the bare skin of his back, sending a pleasurable shiver rippling down his spine. Then, he felt a stirring in his pyjama pants at the thought of what he and Sybil been doing an hour or so earlier, and grinned.

Can life get much better than this?

As he was about to learn – it could.

The bedroom door opened, and he heard his wife's bare feet padding across the kitchen floor towards him.

"Good morning, my darling... mmmm, that smells good!"

He turned off the stove and turned towards her. Then, his jaw dropped – he couldn't believe what he was seeing!

Normally, Sybil put her nightgown back on in these early mornings, ready to sit with him at the kitchen table and share breakfast before getting ready for work. But today – she had grabbed his undershirt off the floor and pulled that over her head instead.

She had a cheeky smile on her lips, and her newly bobbed hair was tousled around her face. His undershirt grazed the tops of her thighs, and the open buttons at the neck left him a tantalising glimpse of the shadow between her breasts.

And she was wearing nothing else.

It was almost more alluring than seeing her naked, and Tom couldn't take his eyes off her.

"I didn't think you'd mind me borrowing it, Branson..." She winked at him.

"I'm not sure about that, milady. I didn't hear you asking permission to wear it," he growled, taking a step towards her.

She responded in kind. "Well, if you don't want me wearing it, come and take it off me!"

Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she ran back across the room and to the other side of the kitchen table. "Go on – I dare you."

"You little minx – why, I ought to..."

He ran across the room towards her and chased her round the table. After a couple of circuits and coming close more than once, only to lose his grip on her, he managed to grab her from behind, kissing the back of her neck as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her towards him.

She struggled to escape again, but that only made him hold her more tightly, tickling her sides and making her squirm even more. The feel of her warm, yielding body under the thin, worn cotton of his undershirt was making his own body respond to her, in ways she couldn't help but notice.

Her arms came around his neck as she turned towards him, making the fabric of his undershirt ride even higher as they stumbled backwards towards the kitchen table.

She leaned against its edge, smiling at him under her eyelashes, and he could see the shadow between her thighs, now barely covered. His eyes travelled slowly upwards, to the smooth plane of her belly, and onto the round curves of her breasts, topped by hard nipples that showed beneath the thin cotton. Then the creamy line of her throat, her parted lips, her flushed cheeks...

"Oh please, Branson, have mercy!" Her voice was husky with longing and he didn't hesitate to show her he was feeling the same way, kissing her fiercely.

As their mouths moved against each other, his hands began to trace up the smooth skin of her back, beneath his undershirt. Then, they moved down to grasp her waist, and further down to cup her arse.

After a few minutes of these caresses, the undershirt had ridden up to her belly, leaving her bare below it. She was kicking her legs, struggling to wrap them around his hips and pull them into hers, but he resisted her.

His hand came to rest on her inner thigh, silky soft and trembling at his touch. Slowly, very slowly, he traced up to where her thighs met. One finger ran along her slit, and he smiled at her again.

"Milady, you're so wet, and I've barely touched you! You're such a wanton young woman, aren't you..."

"Yes, oh yes, I am, Branson..." she panted, her eyes half closed as she savoured his touch. "Mmm... What were you saying before?"

"I beg your pardon, milady?"

"You ought to... what?"

Her eyes flashed cool sapphire, almost imperious, as he leaned towards her and whispered in her ear.

"I ought to put you over my knee and spank you."

Have I taken this too far?

The spark of excitement in her eyes surprised him – this wasn't the first time they'd played games with each other in the few months since their marriage, but still...

He followed her lead, sitting down in the kitchen chair and pulling her towards him. "Come here to me, milady."

She smiled at him, biting her lip as she bent herself over his knee.

"I know, I've been bad, Branson. I deserve to be punished... hard." She gasped out the last word when his hand struck her bare arse.

"Stay still, milady – the more you move, the more smacks you will get."

Another smack, and another. Her skin was beginning to glow red, but she was moaning in delight, begging him for more. He'd barely dared to imagine himself doing this with her. She never ceased to surprise him, this amazing wife of his!

A few more smacks, each one harder than the last, each one evoking gasps of pleasure from the woman over his knee.

"I think that's enough for now, milady. You seem to be enjoying your punishment too much..."

He lifted her from his lap and laid her down on the table, on her front this time, leaving her naked bottom visible and glowing red with his handprints. Unable to wait any longer, he moved between her thighs, thrusting his aching, erect cock into her as hard as he could.

Sybil began to orgasm almost instantly as he pumped in and out of her. She grabbed onto the edge of the table, pushing herself back towards him and screaming.

"Oh, God, BRANSON!"

But Tom wasn't done with her yet. Sliding one hand around the top of her thigh, he found her tingling clit and began to stroke it, slowly, firmly, as he thrust into her harder, deeper each time. She bucked and moaned beneath him, and it didn't take her long to come again. Once that happened, he finally allowed himself to do the same, letting out a roar that was barely human before collapsing on top of her.

Minutes passed by, neither of them capable of speech. He pulled the cotton fabric from her shoulder and pressed his mouth to the soft skin he revealed, biting her hard enough to leave a mark.

"Oh, Tom, oh God that was... I never knew..."

He let himself fall from her and rolled her onto her back. Her legs were spread wide, leaving her open to him, and he began touching her again, not yet ready to end this contact with her.

His thumb traced back and forth over her tender clit, knowing how sensitive she always was in these moments, but unable to stop himself. Her eyelids dropped again and she began to moan, showing him that she was ready for more.

He wasn't going to miss this chance.

His thumb gradually moved faster, harder on her swollen clit, while he slid two fingers into her tight, warm core, pumping in and out of her as his cock had been doing just a few minutes before.

"You just can't get enough, can you, milady?" he murmured, leaning over her to kiss the valley between her breasts, teasingly displayed in the open neck of his undershirt.

"No, oh God, no, I can't... "

He felt her begin to convulse again as his lips moved up towards her throat, but held her back, playing her body skilfully as he had learned to do, taking her to the brink over and over again until she was begging him for release.

Then, finally, he let her go. She exploded around him, her core gripping his fingers tightly, and she moaned and closed her eyes as the waves broke over her.

"You can borrow my clothes any time, Mrs Branson," he murmured to her, sliding his other hand up her belly to stroke her breasts under the thin cotton that still covered them, feeling them rise and fall with her ragged breath.

She considered that, then smiled at him. "Have you still got the chauffeur's jacket?"


A/N -

The title comes from the Robert Frost poem, "Nothing gold can stay". I like to think of the Bransons as the exception to that rule!

The song Tom sings is a traditional Irish air, "My Lagan Love", which I first heard of via the lovely Yankee Countess in one of her fics.