AN: And now, the cricket match! (Or more accurately, events surrounding it.) Obviously, this isn't the same one from canon, since it's a year later and Sybil is alive. But since in this fic Tom was in Dublin in September 1920, he wouldn't have played then.

I originally planned this chapter pretty much as PWP, but the brOTP crept in. So here's a little Tom/Matthew bonding as well (though not that kind of bonding)!

Other things to note: I've moved up Mary's pregnancy and the birth of her and Matthew's son a month or so (I believe in the CS he was born in September; here it's August), though he still came a month early. Also, my version of Matthew is able to keep his eyes on the road, so he's still here. :)

September 1921

Tom was surprised at how caught up he'd gotten in the match, when he'd never meant to play in the first place. While he worked at Downton he'd avoided the thing like the plague: cricket was one of those institutions that symbolized everything he detested about the English upper class. However, that argument had made about as much headway with his father-in-law as his protest against the morning coat had done with the Dowager Countess, two springs ago.

Sybil had refused to come down on one side or the other, saying that Tom was an adult and could decide for himself. He knew her well enough to know that this meant she thought he should play, but wasn't going to get into a row over it. "Fine, then, I won't do it," he'd decided.

"Only it might soften Papa up a bit," she'd replied. "He does set such great store by the match. But of course it's up to you, darling." And then she'd smiled that false drawing-room smile that still came to her face sometimes, which set his resolve even more firmly against doing what they all wanted. He was piqued that he had to take the decision at all, really. If Sybil hadn't been at Downton so much lately it wouldn't have been a question, but she'd been visiting at least once a week since George was born, and somehow this had given Lord Grantham the idea that Tom would find it just as easy to take three days to go to a bleeding cricket match.

They'd gotten him onto the pitch in the end, though. He hadn't donned whites to please Sybil and it certainly hadn't been for her father: It was Matthew whose appeal had swayed him.

He'd come to Liverpool on business the week before and invited Tom for a meal and to catch up. Once they'd established that Tom was getting along well enough, Emma and George were growing nicely and their respective wives were in perfect health, Matthew had just happened to bring up the match.

"I know exactly how you feel, old chap," he'd said. "Do you know, I wouldn't let Molesley dress me when I first arrived at Downton?"

"Really?" Matthew wasn't the old-money toff that the others were, but in Tom's eyes he fit right in.

"Really. I made the poor man stand in the corner of the room while I got ready. He'd practically jump to hand me things."

"I don't see what any of this has to do with cricket, though," Tom had said.

"The point is, I thought Molesley could find a better use for his time, but he didn't see any reason to change. He's part of a way of thinking in which traditions are of great value. And you are too, if you think about it. Take the mass, for instance. You don't strike me as someone who's particularly pious."

Tom had chuckled. "No."

"Yet I remember you insisted on going last Christmas, even with the snow."

"That was right after we'd arrived back in England and I was rattled. I suppose I needed a bit of home." Tom would have preferred not to think about that time.

"Exactly," Matthew had said. "The familiarity of the ritual was what gave you comfort."

Tom had rolled his eyes. "So cricket is a religion now?"

Matthew had shrugged. "It's important to them. It's one thing that stays the same, even if everything else is different. And in the scheme of things, which would you rather be rid of: exploitative working conditions, say, or the yearly cricket match?"

Tom couldn't help grinning. Matthew had him there.

"And besides," Matthew had said, "if you don't play, Cousin Robert is going to expect me to carry the house team. And I'm afraid I'm rubbish at cricket. I'll never hear the end of it if I let the side down."

"I've never played in my life," Tom had warned.

Matthew had smiled triumphantly and finished his pint. "Don't worry. I'll be happy to teach you the main points."

-ooo-

It hadn't been so bad after all, Tom thought. Certainly nowhere near as uncomfortable as wearing that monkey suit to Sybil's sisters' weddings. The catch he'd taken had been mostly beginner's luck, but afterwards Robert had actually shaken Tom's hand, which was quite remarkable given that the man had barely said two words to him since he and Sybil had announced they were moving to Liverpool. And it had been nice to take a couple of days away from the grind, to get a bit of sunshine and fresh air and exercise and wave at Sybil on the sidelines where she was holding Emma up to cheer for her da.

And now Tom was done in. He knew he'd be sore tomorrow: he'd used muscles this afternoon he didn't know he had. Hot running water might be a perk of the oppressor, but just now he was more than ready to immerse himself in a bathtubful of it.

He'd made his slightly creaky way up the stairs to Sybil's old room, and had just set her bathroom tub to fill while he undressed when he heard her door open and close. He went out into the bedroom to find his wife there with a strange look on her face. Disappointment? Nerves? He couldn't tell. As soon as she saw him, it changed to a relieved smile.

"Oh, good," she said, "you haven't changed yet."

"Why, is something wrong?" His heart was much quicker to leap up into his throat since Drumgoole. "Where's Emma?"

"No, nothing's wrong. Emma's napping in the nursery. The poor thing was worn out with all the excitement."

"She's not the only one," Tom said, collapsing into an armchair.

Sybil chuckled. "Well done today, by the way. Papa hasn't stopped talking about that out you caught."

"So I'm back in his good graces, then?" Tom lifted his head slightly, then dropped it back. "If I ever was."

"Well, you're definitely in mine." She approached to stand over him, and now Tom recognized the expression she'd had on. It was lust. "I like these clothes on you," she murmured. She leaned over to adjust his collar, her fingertips brushing against the side of his neck. Her hand drifted to his forearm below his rolled-up shirtsleeve. "You got a bit of color today."

"Aye." She had as well, despite the hat she'd worn. Just a few freckles on her nose. He liked them. She sat in his lap and his arms moved to surround her as her lips landed on his; for a few moments he forgot his aching muscles, until the sound of splashing water registered on him. "I'd best turn off the faucet," he muttered.

She jumped up. "Let me. You're exhausted." The smile she gave him then made Tom doubt that a bath and a nap would be happening for him anytime soon, if Sybil had anything to say about it. He heard the water being turned off and a second later she was back, still wearing that smile. She did not resume her place in his lap, but pushed in between his knees. "Are you awfully tired?" She asked, stroking the hair off his forehead, her voice husky.

"Completely knackered," he answered with a smirk.

Sybil smirked back. "Then you must let me take care of you." She moved her hand to the back of his head and he felt her nails teasing his scalp, her fingers massaging his neck muscles.

"Mm." He sighed. "That's... that's wonderful, love." She'd moved closer and was rubbing against him through his trousers as if by accident, though he knew very well it wasn't. She leaned over to kiss him, and with the gentle pressure of her mouth on his and her hands on his shoulders, pushed him against the back of the chair. "Sit back," she whispered. "Close your eyes." He did.

She dropped small fluttery kisses on his forehead and cheekbones, moving down toward his chin, her lips alighting on the corner of his mouth. Then she perched on his thigh again and kissed him deeply, their mouths opening. He got lost in the softness of her lips for a while, his sensations heightened by the combination of fatigue and relaxation and his eyes being closed.

She buried her face in his neck. "You smell good," she said. "Like sunshine."

And sweat, probably. "I need a bath." His speech dragged a little, languid.

"Later," Sybil said, and undid his top shirt button. She kissed the newly uncovered skin, darting her tongue into the space between his collarbones and reaching to untuck the shirt at his waist. Tom was suddenly intensely grateful for his marriage, for his wife, who was never shy about their love life. Another woman would have let him put her off: not Sybil. He stroked her hair while her hands slid up his chest under the shirt and jumper. She circled a nipple with her fingertips, tweaked it gently, and he shivered.

Then she was unbuttoning his trousers. His eyes flew open to catch her looking at him mischievously. "No peeking," she admonished.

"My, Mrs. Branson, you're forward today."

"I am enjoying my husband in his cricket whites," she said a trifle defensively. She brushed her fingers down over his eyelids. "Now close your eyes and let me have my way with you." Her hand left his face and then, a moment later, slipped into his trousers, moving expertly. "Mm, he seems lively enough."

Tom could only groan in response, and then in disappointment when her hand moved away. Need was coiling in him, overruling his fatigue, but he made himself follow Sybil's directive to sit back and keep his eyes closed. His patience was soon rewarded: he felt her settle in front of him, tug and push aside his clothing, and a second later her mouth enveloped him. Even though he'd known what she was about to do the sensation still shocked him, the reality better than the anticipation could ever be. He gripped the arms of the chair, his nails digging into the upholstery. He couldn't have opened his eyes if he'd wanted to.

Sybil knew how to stretch things out when she wanted - Tom kept several such occasions on file in his brain, for the times she was away - but now she made short work of him. After a brief interval, Tom's head pressed back against the chair and he made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan. She separated from him with a last delicious swirl of her tongue, then tucked him back into his trousers and came up to nestle on his lap again, winding one arm around his neck and resting her head on his shoulder. "Thank you," he mumbled. "I love you." She gave him a small, soft kiss on the lips in reply.

He drowsed for a little; he wasn't sure how long. No more than a few minutes. Then he opened his eyes and glanced down at Sybil. She was still lying on his shoulder, staring into space. All at once he felt full of energy, and tightened his grip on her to scoop her up and stand with her in his arms. She let out a surprised whoop. "Tom!"

"Now it's your turn," he said, giving her a look that he hoped would remind her why she hadn't let him get into the bath.

"It's all right. We have had a long day, after all," she said, but her cheeks were already pink and she couldn't keep her lips from curving.

"You're not very convincing, love."

"But I thought I was taking care of you."

"Ah, but this is a marriage of equals." He nuzzled her ear.

She giggled as he set her at the edge of the bed and put his arms around her. "I don't know what's gotten into me," she said. "But you've really no idea how handsome you look in those clothes." She moved her hands up and slid them over his forearms.

"We can leave them on a while if you like." He grinned. "I shouldn't think you'll need yours any longer, though." He grasped at her skirt, pulling the hem up her legs.

"Down, boy," she laughed, and slapped his hands away playfully. "We don't need you tearing another set of my drawers." She spun away from him, but captured one of his hands and brought it to her lips. He thought she would just kiss it; he gasped when she took two of his fingers into her mouth, sucking on them like she'd done with another part of him earlier. Her eyes never left his, and he lost any doubt he'd had that he would be ready again when the time came.

She slid his fingers out of her mouth and kissed the tips. "I'll be right back." She went into the top drawer of the bureau and took out a small drawstring bag. "Don't move. And don't you dare take anything off." She walked backwards into the bathroom, her eyes smoldering at him until the door closed on her. Tom crossed his arms and leaned on the bed to wait.

It opened a few minutes later and there she stood framed in it, a sly smile on her lips, naked as the day she was born. She's a bloody goddess, Tom thought. They were not newlyweds anymore, but the day he wasn't stirred at the sight of his wife's naked body was the day they'd be putting him in the ground. And God, all he wanted right now was her underneath him, moaning as he moved inside her. With Sybil gone so much lately, there hadn't been nearly enough time for that.

She walked up to him and their arms went around each other and they kissed unhurriedly, but there was passion in it. Straight away her hands went up under his shirt again, and he let his wander down to her perfect arse and give it a squeeze. She yelped, and then gasped as he pulled her flush with him, grinding against her.

"Oh... my," she murmured. Her eyes were liquid and blue-black, her lips parted. They looked swollen, so lush that Tom had to kiss them again and again, to suck on them like sweet fruit. They maneuvered onto the bed and she pulled off his jumper, clumsy in her eagerness, so it got hung up and tousled his hair even more than it already was. Sybil was hovering over him, working on his shirt buttons, but he couldn't resist her breasts in his face and pulled her down so he could take one into his mouth. He wanted to drown himself in her smooth white skin, smelling nothing but her, tasting nothing but her. She moaned at the lashing of his tongue on her nipple, but he wanted more. He needed to bring her to her peak, almost as acutely as he'd needed to reach his own before.

When he touched her she whimpered and thrust herself toward his hand. "Oh, Sybil," he breathed. His slippery fingers found her clitoris and began to tease it. She pressed her mouth against the side of his neck to muffle her cries.

"Tom," she said in a strangled voice as he caressed a spot inside her that made her breath come in ragged panting gasps. "Yes, oh God - " she fumbled desperately at his trousers, still undone - "Tom, I want - "

He wanted the same thing, so much. Together they managed to get his remaining clothes off and she sank down on him, watching his face from under her eyelashes. She sat upright, her breasts bouncing with each thrust, and Tom moved his hand back between her legs and it didn't take long before she was bucking on top of him, head thrown back and eyes shut, groans escaping her mashed-together lips. He loved the way she looked when she came: she gave herself over to it so completely, his beautiful Sybil.

Once her main crisis was past Sybil crumpled down onto him and her movements became languid. "I do love you so much," she whispered into his ear. Every part of her body rubbed against his, but slowly, and when his second orgasm crept up it seemed to come not just from his cock but from all the places she touched, radiating from her through him. When it was over they lay depleted, still tangled together, him sliding lazy fingertips up and down her back. Finally, with a sigh, Sybil pushed herself up and padded into the bathroom. Water swished in the tub.

"Your bath's gone cold," she called. He heard the gurgle of the drain: she'd pulled the plug.

He smiled but didn't open his eyes. "Could you draw me another one, love?"

"What am I, your maid?"

"Oh, come now. I took care of you, didn't I?"

"That you did." Her voice was husky again. "You usually do, darling."

"I try to do."

The tub had finished draining and now Sybil turned the taps on again. She came out, still naked, to take his hands and pull him up to standing. "I'm afraid you're going to have to share, though," she said. "I'm feeling like I need a bath as well."

His smile widened. "My love, I'm always happy to share with you."