Surprise update! A few months ago, Yankee Countess sent me a prompt about a pregnant and feeling down Sybil being comforted by Tom. With "Smut Weekend" happening on tumblr this weekend, I thought it would be fun to add this short little drabble to this universe. Fair warning, this dips a toe into M-ish territory (though there's nothing particularly explicit). A reminder, Lily is one of Tom's older sisters, who was divorced with two daughters when we meet her in chapter 12 of this story.

Enjoy!

"All right, he's asleep," Tom said walking into the bedroom, where his wife was sitting slump-shouldered on the bed. "We have two hours."

"If we're lucky," she said skeptically, holding the sides of her 8-months pregnant belly with both hands.

Tom smiled. This was familiar territory. When she'd been pregnant with Eamon, their rambunctious 2-year-old, Sybil had been happy and excited until about the 30-week mark, at which point her size and the discomfort caused by the baby growing inside her turned her disposition from Mary Poppins to Katie Nanna. With baby number two due in less than a month, her moods had taken a similar turn.

Tom climbed onto the bed and seated himself behind Sybil, with one leg on either side of her, and pulled her into him so he could massage her back.

"Why is Lily getting married when I'm as big as bloody Blarney Castle?" Sybil said with a sigh, closing her eyes at his ministrations.

Tom laughed. "You're not."

"I feel like it."

"I thought we were going to use nap time on this lovely Saturday to choose what you'd wear to the wedding."

"I hate everything I own."

"Well, then go buy something new. It's not for another week."

"I don't want to but another maternity dress that I'm never going to wear again."

Tom's hands stilled, which Sybil noticed and she shifted in front of him so that she could look in his eye.

"Never?" he asked quietly.

She shrugged lightly. "It's my current mood."

Tom smiled softly. "Why don't we see how this one turns out before we make any binding decisions."

Sybil shifted and sank into him again. "I suppose that would be the sensible thing to do."

Tom grabbed Sybil's shoulders again and pushed her forward lightly. "OK, we're going to choose something right now."

"We don't need to make this decision now," Sybil said, standing. "As you said I have a week."

Tom stood up and walked over to Sybil's wardrobe and opened it. "If we don't make it now, I'll have to hear you whine about it for the rest of the week."

"Want to sleep on the sofa tonight, do you?" Sybil said crossing her arms.

Tom looked over at his wife with a smirk, then focused again on the clothes hanging in front of him. He moved around the hangers for a few minutes while Sybil watched with amusement, finally settling on a blue sundress with small white, yellow and green flowers.

"Here," he said, handing it to Sybil.

She grabbed it with an eye-roll and held it out in front of her. "It's practically a tent. I look like a beached whale in it."

"Sybil—"

"Tom, you don't understand. I'm fat and I look horrible!"

"No, you bloody don't!"

"Oh, what do you know—you're as handsome as ever. That blonde girl at the shop was flirting with you yesterday."

"Who?"

"The cashier! She was being so obvious, too. Don't tell me you don't remember!"

"I remember that we went to the shops yesterday, and I assume there was a cashier, but I can't ever remember what she looks like." Tom stepped forward to pull Sybil into him. "How could I when I'm married to the most beautiful girl in the world?"

Sybil rolled her eyes.

"Put it on," Tom said, gesturing to the dress with a smile.

"Now?"

"Yes, now!"

Sybil sighed. "Fine."

Without pretense or shame, Sybil pulled off her T-shirt (which revealed she was braless) and pushed down her shorts, which took her underwear with them. Tom snickered at the sight of his naked pregnant wife, but did not take his eyes off what he considered the loveliest being all of existence.

Once the dress was on, Sybil held out her arms and twirled around with a humorless expression on her face. The soft material swirled gently around her knees.

Still smiling, Tom pulled Sybil over to the armchair in the corner of their bedroom and sat her down in it before kneeling on the floor in front of her.

Sybil narrowed her eyes at him. "What?"

"Well," Tom said, sitting back on his heels, "you need something to wear next week, but you say that you hate everything you own. I'm going to make you not hate this dress."

"And how do you plan on doing that?"

"By creating a positive association," Tom said, pushing his hand beneath the hem of the dress and up Sybil's thigh as he did so.

"Oh!" Sybil said, biting her lip to contain her smile. "Well, then."

Tom leaned forward and pulled her into a kiss. "You just sit back and relax," he whispered as his hand met its prize in between her legs.

Sybil pulled him back for another kiss. "You are a good husband."

"No, I'm a very good husband."

He grinned at her, then bent down, pulling the dress over his head.

Sybil sank into the chair and pulled her left leg over the side of it. After a long moan, she said, "Very good, indeed."