Oh, oh, oh, I’m your Secret Santa! I’m posting it now because I’m going away for a few days and my internet is unsure. I hope you’ll like what I did with your prompt. It was quite challenging and to be honest, I didn’t know what to do first. But a BIG thank you because writing this gave me the desire to write again so it’s a win/win. NB: I used a little bit of one of my old fic Forgiven because it was fitting well. Don’t suit me…
A huge thank you to @skinnycat77 who beta this for me very quickly and to @yankeecountess who gave me the green light after reading the beginning.
And a Merry Christmas to the whole DA fandom and particularly to the Sybil/Tom’s one. Tomorrow will mark the end of an era…
Cassie’s prompt was : I
want a fic where Sybil x Tom are already together, secretly, and it’s
forbidden for one reason or another. They can’t stop themselves from
being together, but if they are caught the consequences for them both
would be terrible.
Any era is fine: show era, modern era, historical era, whatever the author chooses. Just so long as it’s Lady Sybil Lives! Specifics I want: Secret, desperate kisses,
longing looks, hidden touches, and of course the odd sex scene or two. I
want to feel the angst and the love between them, and their
understanding of how disastrous it would be if they were caught, and for
them still not to be
able to stop themselves.Please NO:
it should be an original story, so no crossovers with other stories like “no ‘Hunger Games’ AU” or anything like thatPreferred Genre(s): romance, drama, angstRating: M please!
I hope I fullfilled all your whishes.
And now…
THE SECRET
Sybil was pacing nervously in front of York’s hospital, her suitcases waiting and ready to take the journey back home on the pavement. Today marked the end of her training as a nurse and the beginning of a new life. So many things had changed since she first left Downton two months ago. Now, not only did she have a job (or sort of) but also a man in her life. Yes, because Lady Sybil Crawley was madly and desperately in love and secretly engaged. That was maybe the most unexpected thing but she felt confident in her decision and choices. And now that she had had a taste (or should she say now that she had bit the apple) of what love could be, there was no way for her to turn back to where she was when she left. She wasn’t a girl anymore, she was a woman.
Sybil was towelling her hair dry as she walked into the living room after her bath. The fire was crackling in the grate, and the couch was calling her like a long lost friend.
The silk nightgown and robe she was wearing slipped over her skin like water as she crossed the room to answer that call. Since Tom was meant to be working late that Christmas Eve, she was taking the chance for a little solo indulgence, bringing her sisters’ wedding present out from the drawer where it had lain since their marriage.
Somehow I never seem to wear it when he’s around…
She lay down on the couch and picked up her book. For a while, she became engrossed in the tragic world of Ethan Frome, while (as often happened these days) the hand not holding the book rested on her stomach, unconsciously running back and forth across the small, round bump there.
That night, the feel of the silk under her hand eventually made her stop reading and put down the book. Her hand trailed up her body to her breasts, already fuller and heavier, and she felt her nipples rise up hard and tight against the delicate fabric. As she kept stroking herself, a memory flashed into her mind from earlier that day…
Tom grabbed his coat from the hanger behind his desk – the evenings were always cold in the run up to Christmas in London, and tonight was no exception. He was heading out for some festive drinks, and after the hectic week he had just been through, he was really ready for a few pints and a few laughs.
“Where are we going?”
Jimmy was fixing his hair, making sure he looked his best for the evening ahead.
“Back up City Road to Shoreditch. Alfred’s going to Ivy’s party in Hoxton later, he thinks he has a chance with that American flatmate of hers, so we’re meeting for a few drinks first before we kick on with him.”
“Yeah, Ivy mentioned it to me on Tuesday – she told me we’d all be in big trouble if we didn’t turn up!”
The 43 bus from outside their office in the City of London took them towards Old Street. From there, they headed east to a lively pub on Columbia Road.
Pushing through the door, Tom could see the crowd was already in holiday mood. Luckily, Alfred’s tall frame and red hair were easy to spot, and he and Jimmy shoved their way to the bar, where their friend was just ordering a drink.
“Perfect timing, Nugent! Couple of pints for me and Mr Kent, if you’d be so kind.”
The first beer was halfway down Tom’s throat before he started to look around. There was more to this place than the usual Friday night boozer, and he wasn’t sure what it was – until he heard a slightly out of tune voice singing the chorus of “Born to Run” to a rowdy accompaniment from the crowd, and realised they had wandered in on karaoke night.
He grimaced – he really wasn’t a fan of the “empty orchestra,” preferring to spend his time at the pub drinking, talking crap with his friends and occasionally shooting some pool. Of course, there was something else he enjoyed doing at the pub, too, if the moment was right…
The wannabe Bruce Springsteen finished his song, and the host was calling out a name he couldn’t hear as the next victim. He heard the name again, and then he saw a girl off to the side of the stage, being pulled forward by one of her friends.
The small, blonde girl doing the pulling was clearly the keener of the two, while the taller brunette whose hand she was holding was reluctant to get on stage. Tom could hear several voices start to chant what sounded like “Sybil, Sybil, Sybil…”
The strains of an ABBA song he couldn’t quite remember began to play through the slightly tinny speakers, and the two girls stood side by side, waiting for the singing to start…
“My my! At Waterloo Napoleon did surrender, Oh yeah! And I have met my destiny in quite a similar way…”
The blonde girl started to dance along, and the brunette gave a resigned grin as she copied her friend’s moves.
Their two voices rang through the pub strongly enough to attract most people’s attention – of course, the fact that the girls were both beautiful drew many eyes to the stage as well. He found himself mesmerised by the brunette. She kept flicking her long wavy hair out of her eyes as she sang, and as she shook her arms and hips to the music he couldn’t help noticing her beautiful figure.
“Waterloo, knowing my fate is to be with you, woah, woah, woah, woah, Waterloo, finally facing my Waterloo…”
The song came to an end, to a lively round of applause from the crowd. The two girls grabbed hands and took a bow before walking off stage. Tom could see the brunette had a smile on her face, as if she’d enjoyed herself more than she thought she would. He was dismayed to notice a handsome blond man lean in to kiss her on the cheek when she got back to her table, as if to congratulate her. Of course, she has a boyfriend – no way a gorgeous girl like that would be here alone.
He felt a keen sense of disappointment as he turned back to his friends, who were talking about the upcoming Premier League round and assessing the likely outcome of the Arsenal-Chelsea game that was being played on Christmas Eve. A little while later, he saw the beautiful brunette come to the bar alone.
What the hell, I can talk to her, can’t I! Tom moved along the bar to stand next to her, and saw his opening when he realised she was buying far more drinks that she could carry herself.
“Need a hand with those?”
She turned to him and he saw that she was even lovelier up close than she had been on stage. Her eyes, a deep grey-blue, smiled into his, and he found himself staring at her face, in particular her full, pink lips…
“Thanks, that would be good. I can do the tray thing, but I’m such a klutz I’d be bound to spill something.”
“I’m T-Tom, by the way,” he stammered, feeling more awkward than he usually did when talking to a girl, his Irish gift of the gab that saw him through most situations deserting him in the face of her beauty.
Musings of a Yankee Countess 