"M'lady, are you sure this is alright?"
Tom was usually the one egging on the relationship, and his sudden apprehensiveness made Sybil laugh aloud, twirling around to fall into his arms, her long braid whipping at his back.
"We've been planning for weeks, of course I'm sure."
"But, in here?"
The members of the household had gone hunting. It was less than a month until Lavinia and Matthew's marriage, and they were all going through the motions of various celebrations in preparation. The ladies, despite how much Lady Mary had desired to go hunting, had gone off to a picnic. Sybil had faked ill- she wanted alone time with Tom, but also could not stand the look Mary had had in her eyes since meeting Lavinia. It tore her apart. She couldn't bear to think of her sister having to be separated forever from the one she loved. Like she and Tom. But maybe not forever. Not right now.
The other servants had been decorating, starching and working in the stables. No one touched Lord Grantham's study. Ever. It was the perfect place to be alone. With Tom. Away from the suspicious eyes of Mary and Thomas and Carson and anyone else who would never approve.
Tom wrapped his arms around her, and inhaled the sweet scent of her hair.
"Tom." Sybil tightened her grip on his chest. "What I'm asking of you… You don't think ill of me?"
Tom couldn't hide his smirk. "Quite the contrary, m'lady, I think quite highly of you."
"M'lady" was used half-jokingly, as they had abandoned their formalities years ago- Tom could not remember the last time he was "Mr. Branson" to Sybil. He leveled his head to her ear. "In fact, I think of you in ways in which you may find improper."
Sybil pressed her hands against his chest, and leaned back a bit. Her head thumped on some heroic novel of yore. She hadn't realize how close they had moved to the walls of books that lined the room. All the stories about the handsome knights finding beautiful virgin queens, the two having lavish weddings and an even more lavish wedding night. She didn't want to be in the tower anymore, and the way Tom pressed against her assured her he was quite prepared to get her down from it. Tennyson had written on the Lady of Shallott, the angelic beauty who could not look at her lover directly, but from afar, indirectly, in a mirror, at a world she couldn't have. She was brave- she looked, she died, and floated along in a beautiful boat on a beautiful river. Sybil fancied herself be the Lady of Shallott. She had what she wanted right in front of her, and she was going to take it, come what may. She looked in her mirrors, her reflection of desire, the beautiful blue river that was her way to beautiful Camelot, and they looked back at her. Her voice shook. "Show me."
He didn't need more direction. His mouth caught hers, and she was in between her two loves, literature and Tom. He tightened his grip on her waist, stiff under her corset. "I hate these damn things," Tom mumbled on her lips. His hands abruptly slipped up under her dress, and began tugging at the chords. She gasped. He certainly moved fast. Taking advantage of her exposed mouth, he slipped his tongue between her teeth, making her widen more with a released moan. Sybil was still getting used to kissing and all, and was more than happy to let him lead. She had learned, in their years together, that he got far more pleasure from pleasing her than anything she could do for him. And her pleasure had never been anything but genuine. He scraped his tongue along her teeth and at the roof of her mouth. He tasted like whiskey and tea and cigars. Even now, this being far from their first kiss, she still felt shock at the roughness of his tongue- his taste buds brushing against hers, she couldn't help but enjoy the friction.
Her corset was loose, but still within the confines of her dress. His rough hands touched the bare skin at her back, running them along the small dip in her skin. "Tom." Her voice was soft but insistent, and he pulled back. Tom was still the gentleman. She didn't want him to be. He could tell she was pleading, and obliged.
"Ah!" She hadn't expected to be lifted, strong forearms holding her against him, fingers pressed firmly into her previously unexplored flesh. Nothing had been so electrifying on her skin as his touch- he was coarse and firm and strong, and his thumbs rubbed small circles into her skin. Tom pushed on to her, and she grasped at the thick coat at his back when she felt him just between their fabrics. He kissed her neck, starting sweetly, then sucking and biting, leaving pink marks. From behind his neck, her hands moved to take a fistful of his hair, tightening until she could feel her nails in her palm. They would leave marks. His hat fell to the ground, not given another thought.
He supported her with his waist as a hand slipped from her thigh under her wet undergarments, his fingers gracing her soft curls, and after a brief pause, he was inside her.
Tom silenced her cry of ecstasy with his lips. They had taken precautions, but they couldn't risk being discovered, especially in such a compromising situation.
He had underestimated her ferocity- she gave a low purr as he curled and stretched inside her, and she tugged at his lips, yanked at his hair, and left red scratches on his neck. He liked it.
Sybil writhed under him when he stretched his fingers apart as far as they could go, her moans sending vibrations in his throat to match his own. He crammed another finger into her tight space and she was wild; he thought his ear would be ripped off. His upper lip was momentarily captured by her teeth, only to be released to her tongue could explore his mouth. He did love her for being bold, despite it being terribly obvious she had no idea what she was doing. Sybil was just frenzied, mad, trying to kiss him and pull him in and taste and touch him- she wanted him. Tom swelled with pride and other things as he twisted his fingers upwards, making her squeal louder than his mouth could muffle. He pulled out his fingers and braced her against the wall, thumb running along the lining of her undergarments, foreheads pressed together. "Do you really want this?"
Sybil was undoing the buttons on his jacket. Save for Tom's hat, nothing had really been taken off, and she was growing uncomfortably hot between the slick silk of her corset and the thick cotton of her dress. The most she had seen of him was his forearms in the garage- if he was going to take her, the least she was going to see was his chest. She fumbled at his tie, at his buttons and layers and suspenders and felt like she was going insane. "For the love of god Tom, I want you, now take off your clothes."
Sybil was never one to mix words.
He shed his collars and tie and shirt and jacket and waistcoat until all that was left was a thin undershirt, which was promptly pulled over his head.
She was gawking, she knew. But she hadn't been this close to a man's body before, not like this, and wanted to inspect every bit of it. She traced the defined lines of his muscles, fingers combing through his mat of hair. Unbelievably, despite all their touching, she hadn't become shy until now, staring at her lover's half naked body, coated in a thin layer of sweat, nipples erect. She tugged at one, between her thumb and forefinger, and he emitted a low growl, deepening his grip on her fulsome behind. Sybil had seen works of art on a trip to Italy, a beautiful statue of a beautiful god holding a woman, fingers entwined with the white marble of her skin. Tom, the lowly chauffer, was godly. His taut muscle, his strong shoulders, and hot breath assured her he was no weaker than the most powerful being that could exist. She was so mesmerized; she hadn't noticed her upper half had been stripped until he was sucking at her, tracing her pink nipple with his tongue. Her head hit the books behind her with force enough to have warranted complaint had she been elsewhere. Instead, she dug her nails into his back as he bit down gently, giving her hips a mind of their own as they moved against his body. She felt a throbbing pulse on her, and tugged on his hair, calling him up from her breast "T-Tom? Is that-…"
He kissed her jaw sweetly. "We don't have to do this, you know," he whispered. "We can stop."
She shook her head. "I just wasn't expecting it, was all," she croaked, her usually gravelly voice nearly hoarse. "The… size."
"I won't hurt you."
"I know you won't."
Tom tugged at her garments and unfettered his own. She tried to breathe. He pushed in her. She gasped. He grunted. He reached her barrier. He looked at her. Her Camelot, her knight, her god.
And he was hers.
Sybil had always felt that it was wrong for a woman to have to wait until marriage, but a man not to have to. A woman had to be pure. She was spiteful, indeed, at the discrepancy. But she did not know the deprivation women were subjected to by abstinence. Now that she knew, she hated them so, so very much.
He pushed farther into her, and she pushed onto him, trying to accommodate their bodies. They stayed connected together, content, loving, for a moment. She smiled at him, and he at her. Whatever future objections made to their union, Tom will have been the man to have deflowered their darling baby Sybil, their little girl, in her father's study, against copies of The Scarlet Letter, and there was not a damn thing they could do about it. He planted a chaste kiss on her lips. "I love you, Sybil, so much."
"And I, too."
He pulled back an inch, and thrust into her, and again, and again, establishing a slow, rhythmic pattern. Her head lolled back, her toes curled, enjoying the feeling of him. "Oh, Tom, oh, god, Tom…"
His thumb brushed her clitoris and her toes separated again. Despite the… feelings Tom gave her, she had never really investigated her body, apart from what she had learned in her anatomy classes. She had a hard enough time breathing under his pressure as it was, and his exploitation of her weak spots was not helping. He was worse than a kid in a candy store, shamelessly rubbing and thrusting and grinding against her. She had never experienced an orgasm before, but based on her elevated pulse, her fluttering eyelids and her thoughts becoming increasingly lucid, she guessed she was close. Tom seemed to have taken the cue, pushing in harder and faster, thumb pressing small circles on her clit. He grated his teeth softly along her collar, marks traced by his tongue. Her throat tightened, her breathing shallow. Just one more—-
Tom silenced her with his lips, but was only so successful. The deluge of pleasure washed over her, and she lost every care of where she was, who she was, who she was with, their social roles. Sybil moaned loud enough to be positive that her hoarse voice would be treated with tea and honey for days to come. It wasn't a scream- he had been far more gentle than that- but god, it was probably close.
After a minute, she had calmed down a bit, and he pulled out of her, panting, groaning, while still trying to keep their mouths pressed together to quiet them down at least a little. Hardly a second passed before she felt his hot skin on her stomach, and his cum smeared under the fabric of her dress. His apology was half hearted. He needn't have apologized at all.
She smirked up at him, and nestled in his chest. She felt weightless, held up by him like this. It was nice, just to be in his arms. Well, maybe not as nice as their union, but far above anything any other man could give her.
Tom kissed her hair.
That was, until the sounds of horses were heard.
Tom lowered Sybil down and the two began to get dressed again, frantically. He was mostly complete when she discovered that tightening her own corset was quite difficult. "Quick, can you get my back?"
He could take one off, but Tom was not versed in how to put on a corset. He tugged at the laces, but she hissed. "No, no- too tight. Loosen a bit- Jesus, do you want me drowning in it?" Tom blubbered, fumbling with laces and hooks and tried to get the ratio of lace-to-loose correct. "Forget it! Just leave it as it is!" He started buttoning up her back, blushing, and still sweating from their encounter. Her formerly neat braid was eschew, her face flushed, her dress wrinkled. He didn't look much better, but at least he could hide under a hat and layers of clothes.
Her breasts were nearly falling out of the top of her corset, set too tight at her chest and too loose at her neck. She couldn't help but laugh when she tried to fix his tie, which he had done a poor job of redoing.
"Jesus, it will be a miracle if no one notices anything."
Their heads snapped up, and met the gaze of Mr. Carson. He stood at the open doors to the study, holding tea, undoubtedly for Lord Grantham, who would be following suit in a moment. If the two could have shrunk inside their own skin, they would have.
"About my mother's flowers, of course."
Sybil batted her eyes sweetly. "While everyone was out, I needed a meeting with Mr. Branson. I'm going into town, later this week, I hope, to visit some horticulturalists to see if we can find Mama some roses to cultivate, in hopes she could have something for the flower show next year. Her birthday is coming up fast, you know, and I figure two months in advance is early enough to start a proper garden, right?"
His gaze shifted from her eyes to Tom's. Tom was not as versed as Sybil was in lying. He just gave a terse nod, to acknowledge the story.
"Why, on earth, in your father's study?"
"We can't run the risk of the surprise being ruined. Mary always plans these big gifts, and Edith and I are always shown up. I thought I could be the one to do it this year." She giggled. "Don't give me away."
Carson kept his stare at Tom's eyes.
"Yes, well. I'm certain if your going to a horticulturalist, you will be going to London. And taking the train." His knuckles whitened on the tea tray.
"I'll need to get to the train station, though, won't I?"
"I suppose so, m'lady." Was his reply.
Sybil sauntered out past him, her skirt whipping at her ankles. Tom was incredibly thankful for the thickness and length of his jacket.
Carson continued to stare him down.
"I know of your political leanings, but I certainly hope you can at least keep some proper decency in this household. You already nearly brought shame here once."
Tom gave another nod. "Of course."
"If I hear a word about you and Lady Sybil in any place but your birthright, you will never see the light of day again. Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal, sir." And with that, Tom snuck around Carson, back out to his cottage, glancing back at the received hunting party, red coats covered with dirt, faces spattered with laughter. Sybil was amongst them, greeting her father and Matthew. He caught her eye. She smiled. He waved. Then they turned back to their rightful places, anticipating the next time they would overcome their ranks again.
This was written without much plot on the prompt of wall sex so please ignore the complete lack of character development.
Gonna go die in a pit now