Strip
By: piperholmes
A/N: Sorry for the slow update, and the slow response to reviews. I jammed my finger up pretty good on Monday playing volleyball, and it is a much slower process typing while ones fingers is in a splint! But I will respond because I am very appreciative of the support for this story. Thank you!
Part 2: not only how much you were loved
Sybil's eyes were drooping.
She's known exhaustion. She was nurse, a nurse who had served during the Great War. She knew hard work and long hours. But this wasn't exhaustion; it was the realization of how much, or rather how little sleep her body could get and still function enough to survive. It was every cry that prompted her heart to beat a little faster, every sniffle that sent her running, every time she had to rest her hand against the tiny belly to feel it rise and fall, it was the fear that she was giving enough milk, the stress of the unknown—was the baby warm enough, too hot, tired, scared, sick, in pain, breathing, hungry, wet, unhappy. It was the moments when her tears mixed with her daughters; both lost in this new world, this new life.
Being at Downton had done very little to alleviate the stresses of motherhood. Being nearly nine months pregnant and terrified for her husband's life, panicked, and unsure made her childhood home seem safer, welcoming, perhaps even the answer. Sybil had accepted her decision, desperation a powerful motivator, and together she and Tom had focused on bringing their child safely into the world.
But Sybil knew the dangers of relying too long on a temporary fix. She knew too well how easy it was to be fooled by the healing wounds, to want to believe so completely that everything is well that it becomes easy to ignore the festering just beneath the scab.
All the old heartaches were beginning to peak through the post-baby euphoria—the glares, the rolled eyes, the drowning, the snide comments that are meant to hurt yet said with such beauty, the unchanging and damning.
This wasn't what she had planned.
She longed for her pillow, her head to his chest, her eyes finally closing in a moment of relief.
She wanted to sleep again.
She had felt his eyes on her, but in this new version of herself she had become distracted, always meaning to speak with him, meaning to touch him, but somehow it was always pushed aside, forgotten.
"I miss you," he had confessed, and her body had reacted. Her need to feel whole again, to feel in control, to smooth the sadness in his voice, taking over and propelling her forward.
His lips.
How she loved his lips.
She hadn't lied. She did miss him, she missed being with him, she just hadn't realized it until this moment.
Their kiss deepened, their hands wandering. She felt him maneuvering them and reveled in the warmth of his body so tightly pressed to hers, his weight becoming her weight as she slid beneath him.
"Sybil," he whispered, and she felt loved, worshipped.
His fingers danced over the fabric of her nightdress, teasing the tie that allowed her child to easily eat at night, and she giggled, as if this were a new experience.
But she supposed it was.
Her fingers pushed through his hair as his teeth tugged at the loops at her throat until the fabric fell open and his lips were leaving small wet kisses upon each stretch of newly revealed skin across her chest.
There was some uncertainty. She could tell. It was in the way he kept a bit away from her, the way he hesitated just before each touch, the way his eyes continued to dart to her face.
His hand moved to cup her exposed breast, hovering slightly before his rough skin met her soft pink flesh.
She winced and his hand shot back quickly.
"Sorry—"
"It's alright—"
They spoke over each other, both eager to assure and be assured.
They shared a small smile.
"Should I not?" he asked, trailing off, unsure of how to specifically ask if he should or should not touch her breasts.
Sybil frowned, trying to decide if the sensation had in fact been painful or just a bit intense.
"Be gentle," she prompted finally.
Again she could see him pause; hesitate, before tentatively reaching for her now curvier breast, his thumb glancing across her nipple, gently, delicately.
She moaned softly at the contact, mindful of the sleeping infant across the room. She arched as his mouth followed the path of his thumb, just as tenderly.
"Tom," she breathed, her own fingers growing bold, gripping and grabbing at him.
She suddenly froze. She felt it, felt the tingling, the warmth, the swelling.
"What? What's wrong?" Tom pleaded, before jerking back. He too felt it.
"Oh," he said stupidly, pulling his now damp hand back. "I didn't…I didn't realize that could happen."
Sybil shuffled away from him, cheeks burning, using her nightdress to try and catch some of the leaking milk. "I didn't either," she answered. "I mean, I didn't expect you touching them to cause my milk to…to come."
Tom helped her sit up and they watched each other awkwardly as she quickly retied her dress, ignoring the darkening spots growing on the front.
"Sorry," she mumbled, feeling unsure what to do now that her breasts were growing hard with milk.
He shifted to sit up next to her. "Don't apologize," he insisted. "It isn't something to be sorry for."
His voice was strong, but she heard uncertainty from him as well.
"Still, it's not every day that I…" she stumbled, searching for the most appropriate word, "leak on my husband.
They stared at each other, wide eyed, before they both broke; a snort of laughter, a giggle, tension breaking in the ridiculousness of it, putting them both at ease.
"I don't suppose…" he began, a smile still wide on his face, as she used the corner of a cloth kept on the night table to wipe his hand clean of milk. "I don't suppose you'd want to continue?"
Sybil's eyes widened slightly. "You're not put off by this?"
Tom raised an eyebrow in that impish way she loved. "My love, you seriously underestimate how badly I want you. And feeding our daughter is a part of you. I just have to accept that these," he motioned vaguely towards her breasts, "belong to her right now."
Sybil again had to laugh at that. And Tom answered with his own scoff. Two pairs of blue eyes studied each other, sharing secrets. She was feeling far from appealing, but if the hungry look he pinned her with was any indication to his feelings she had to assume he didn't share her beliefs.
"Probably best to stay clear of them for the time being," she agreed, drawing closer to him, linking her fingers with his, tugging him towards her.
"Yes milady," he answered, placing a sweet, smiling kiss against her lips.
She smirked. "Now, where were we?"
To be continued…
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