Work Text:
I said, "no one has to know what we do"
his hands are in my hair
his clothes are in my room
and his voice is a familiar sound
nothing lasts forever
but this is getting good now—wildest dreams
The first few times Lucy kissed Lockwood were shy, tentative things. A bit fumbling and clumsy, if she was honest.
On their walk together the day he gave her his mother’s necklace, she gathered all of her courage and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. Her lips barely grazed the corner of his mouth before she hastily jerked away.
Lockwood’s eyes were wide, and he looked more shocked than she’d ever seen him. A smile slowly broke out over his face as he gazed down at her, her hands still clutching the lapels of his new coat.
“Was that okay?” Lucy blurted out, not sure if she meant the quality of the kiss or the fact that she’d initiated it at all. She wanted to cringe at how nervous she sounded. Instead of being cool, calm, and collected, she was so flustered, it was like a group of monkeys had taken up residence under her skin. However, Lockwood had taken a step forward by giving her the precious sapphire necklace now resting around her neck—the least she could do was meet him halfway.
Lockwood nodded. “Of course, Luce. In fact—”
He bent down, his cool hand coming to rest against her flushed cheek as he brought his lips to meet hers.
This second attempt at a kiss was more successful; Lockwood’s aim was better, and he at least managed to land squarely on her mouth. It was once again quick, just a short press of their lips together. Lucy blinked slowly at him as he pulled away, her capacity for coherent thought vanished.
“Oh,” she said dumbly.
“Still good, Luce?” he asked softly, their faces still so close that their noses were almost brushing.
“Definitely,” she choked out, barely resisting the urge to reach up and touch her lips. Lips that had touched Lockwood’s lips.
His grin widened as he stepped away slightly and slipped his hand in hers. An identical grin came over her face. They didn’t talk much after that as they strolled through the park together.
As imperfect as those first kisses were, Lucy practically floated back to Portland Row, high on the rush of it all.
The next day, he kissed her again in the kitchen when they were alone after breakfast. Lucy felt her cheeks turn pink, and even Lockwood, who was normally completely unflappable, looked a bit sheepish as he put his hand on her hip, tugging her closer to him.
While it was rare for them to get more than a moment alone together with so much going on, slowly they both grew more confident with this new aspect of their relationship. Lockwood looked so happy when she sat down on the arm of his chair in the library and pecked him on the lips a few nights later that Lucy found herself wondering once again why they hadn’t been doing this for months. He started kissing her on the cheek to say goodnight each evening, and there was a longer kiss on a second late afternoon walk the following week.
Before she fell asleep in her attic bedroom every night, Lucy couldn’t stop herself from reliving each memory as she hid her face in her pillow and resisted the urge to scream. For the first time in a long time, she felt like a normal teenager. While she knew that neither she nor Lockwood had much relationship experience, they were figuring it out slowly and on their own terms. That felt good. It felt right.
But today—today was different.
After they wrapped up reviewing the latest classified DEPRAC report about the Other Side (her) and phone calls (him) for the afternoon, the two of them had an hour to spare before they needed to leave for the evening’s case—the first one they’d done since the fall of Fittes.
Kipps was meeting them at the job, George was still at the Archives, and then Holly realized that they were getting low on salt bombs, so she left for a quick Satchell's run. After Holly exited the house, they both looked at each other, countless unsaid words passing between them in a single glance. For the first time in weeks, there wasn’t anything urgent to demand their attention.
“Tea?” Lucy asked, leaning on the ritual that had anchored them so many times in the past.
Lockwood nodded in agreement, and they settled into the familiar, comforting rhythm together in the kitchen.
As they sat together at the table, both nursing their respective mugs, she furtively admired Lockwood under her eyelashes. He was so tall and so handsome, his shirtsleeves rolled up and tie loosely knotted around his neck, looking relaxed as he leaned back in his chair.
When he ran a hand through his hair, she found herself distracted, idly wishing that it was her hands tangled in his hair. Suddenly Lucy felt flustered again. Her eyes cautiously sought out his, as Lockwood’s hand creeped over to rest on her elbow.
His mind must have moved in the same direction. “Let’s get out of here for a bit if you’re amenable, Lucy?” he asked softly, nodding towards the stairs.
She intertwined their fingers as they walked up the steps, and when they reached her room, Lucy tugged him over to her bed in a fit of bravery. They sat there together, Lockwood’s arms slowly wrapping around her waist, exchanging a bashful glance before they both looked away.
It was the first time they’d truly been alone together since they’d started, well, whatever this was, and Lucy’s heart was pounding. All at once, she was overwhelmed by having Lockwood so close to her.
It wasn’t usually difficult for Lucy to be brave. As an agent, taking risks was part of the job description. You let fear get the best of you at your own peril; otherwise, you ended up injured or worse. And for God's sake, she was Lucy Carlyle; she talked to Type Three ghosts, she fought dangerous Visitors without flinching, she’d been to the Other Side twice, and she’d faced down Marissa Fittes. However, right now, there was no way to deny the truth.
She was nervous.
She was nervous because there was a boy in her room. A boy she liked very much. A boy she had invited there. But she still couldn’t seem to shake the feeling like she had no idea what she was doing. There wasn’t a manual for this situation, and her previous experience (or lack thereof) wasn’t going to get her very far. It was, frankly, terrifying.
Because this time, she wasn’t facing a ghost. This boy was breathtakingly alive, made up of flesh and blood, bright grins and strong arms, finally close enough for her to touch.
And she wanted him to touch her. That was maybe the worst part of it all.
Her stomach clenched with anxiety, and she took a deep breath. Even though it was early October, the air felt thick and heavy. Why the hell was it so bloody hot in her room?
Lockwood must have noticed her nervousness. “Luce? Are you okay?” he inquired, gently moving his hand to brush her hair out of her eyes.
“I’m fine,” she replied quickly.
“Come here?” he said, angling her face up to his so he could kiss her softly.
Lucy tried to relax into the growing familiarity of the feeling of Lockwood’s lips against hers, but he drew back entirely too quickly. His eyes were dark and full of intention as he looked at her, and Lucy felt a wave of panic wash over her.
Was there something on her face? What was she supposed to do with her hands? Was Lockwood having second thoughts? What if she was bad at kissing and he was just too polite to tell her? Why hadn’t she ever paid attention to those stupid magazines with articles about this sort of thing?
“Are you okay?” Lucy asked, parroting his own question back to him, trying to stop the frantic spiral in her mind. Now her voice sounded weird too, oddly high pitched. “We can go back downstairs if you want to…”
Lockwood looked puzzled, and he shifted uncomfortably. “Do you want to go back downstairs?”
“No,” she said, biting her lip, frustrated at her inability to play it cool once again. All her worries were bubbling up inside her, and suddenly the words started spilling out like a pot that was boiling over. “It’s just, well, you keep looking at me like that, and I don’t know what it means or what to do…”
“Lucy…” Lockwood’s eyes flew to hers, his hair swooping messily across his brow in the way that she loved so much. Now he seemed almost shy, as he seemingly forced himself to keep talking. “I’m looking at you because… because, well, I can hardly believe this is happening, and I want to remember it. Is that a strange thing to say?”
“Oh,” she said, dumbfounded and relieved at his honesty. “No, it’s not. It’s quite sweet actually. It’s just sometimes… God, you make me nervous, Lockwood,” she burst out, leaning forward so her face was hidden in his chest.
There was a pause as Lockwood blew out a slow breath. “I’m nervous too,” he admitted finally, his fingers running gently through the ends of her hair.
She pulled back to stare at him. “I know why I’m nervous. But what are you talking about?”
“Oh, come on,” he huffed, flopping back on her bed and slinging an arm across his face. “You have to know that I don’t exactly know what I’m doing here.”
“But you always seem so confident, especially around me.”
“Well, maybe you don’t notice because you make me nervous all the time. This” —he gestured between the two of them— “makes me nervous. I don’t want to screw it up.”
She thought for a long moment. “Well, it sounds like we’re both being quite stupid then,” she said bluntly. Lockwood raised an eyebrow at her, as she reclined next to him and propped her head up on her hand.
“How so?”
“Both of us feeling all out of sorts about this.” She gave him a weak smile, and his eyes softened. She picked at the hem of her heavy jumper. “Maybe we should just try relaxing a bit?”
Lockwood nodded in agreement, reaching a hand out to touch her face, more confidently this time. “I’m not going anywhere, Luce,” he said, gently sliding his fingers down to touch her necklace, a reminder of the promise it represented. “And I do have to say that our current arrangement has certain advantages.” He looked over at her, the sweep of his dark eyelashes momentarily distracting her again.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He laughed softly before pressing his lips to her forehead. “It means it’s easier for me to reach your face when we aren’t standing up, Lucy.”
“Well, if you weren’t so bloody tall—” she began before Lockwood cut her off with a kiss, slow and unhurried, his fingers weaving into her hair as hers clutched tightly at the front of his shirt.
Her eyes slowly fluttered open a long moment later. “You know you can’t just kiss me every time I start to argue with you.”
“I can try.” His eyes shone in the late afternoon sunlight.
“You’re horrible, abusing your power like that.”
“Lucy, I’m a delight, and” —he moved to whisper in her ear— “I think you like it.”
She rolled her eyes as Lockwood leaned back in and left lingering kisses on her right cheekbone, her left cheekbone, and then the tip of her nose.
“There,” he said quietly.
“Hmm?”
“In the summer, sometimes you get freckles on the tops of your cheeks,” he admitted. “I’ve wanted to kiss you there for a very long time.”
“You have?”
He nodded, making a warm feeling ignite in her chest.
“Well, two can play that game,” she said bravely, shifting so she was hovering over him.
Lockwood closed his eyes, as she first brushed her fingertips and then her lips over the faint scar just below his hairline from the Wintergarden case, her heart twisting slightly as she remembered what had caused it. Emboldened slightly, she continued down his face to kiss the scar above his lip and then to the mole on the side of his throat that she’d always noticed. He let out a sigh as her lips touched the soft skin of his neck.
“There,” she finished. “That’s what I’ve always wanted to do.”
Lockwood’s hand curled around her waist. “Keep going, Luce,” he murmured, as she continued to move her mouth down his neck to kiss the silvery scar there and then back up along his sharp jawline until she found his lips again.
When she drew back, Lockwood grinned at her before pulling her into his side so they were tangled together.
“Lockwood,” she said apprehensively. “Have you said anything to George or any of the others about—this?” She couldn’t bring herself to say us; the word felt too heavy with implications and expectations.
Lockwood ran his fingertips idly up and down her arm while he spoke. “No, I haven’t. Wouldn’t be surprised if George has guessed something though. He gave me one of those strange looks of his earlier, like he had some new discovery he couldn’t wait to talk about. Do you want to say something?”
She hesitated, and Lockwood looked at her, concern etched over his handsome features. “No one has to know yet, Lucy. Not if you don’t feel ready or don’t want them to. It’s no one’s business but ours.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
Lucy let out a low breath. Even though it was going to be painful to get these words out, she needed to say them; she couldn’t risk him misunderstanding when they were finally getting somewhere together.
“It’s not that I’m not happy about this. I’m so happy,” she blurted out finally. Lockwood gave her a pleased smile, giving her the courage to continue.
“I care about you so much. I just feel… unsteady. Like I said earlier, I’m nervous, and a lot of it isn’t even about you, Lockwood. You haven’t done anything wrong. And I meant what I said—that we should work on being less nervous together. But if we start telling other people, then there will be expectations and pressure and attention, and I don’t know how to behave or how to deal with that on top of figuring out this—”
“Lucy,” Lockwood said firmly, cutting off her ramblings. “I get it. We can take our time. I’m more than fine with that.”
“It doesn’t feel silly to you?” she asked self-consciously. “To want to go slowly? Even after everything and how long we’ve—”
“Been avoiding how we feel about each other like a pair of helpless idiots, as George once told me?” he said wryly.
“Yeah. That. Exactly.”
He furrowed his brow. “Of course it’s not silly.”
“I guess it feels silly to me. Like I should be ready.” She shrugged.
“There’s absolutely no obligation for you to feel any kind of way, Lucy. This is new for me, too.”
Lucy hesitated and then decided to go for it since she’d already said so much. “And then I get confused because, well… sometimes, when it’s just us, like this, I don’t want to go slowly at all.” She couldn’t stand to meet his eyes during her final confession, feeling like she might sink through the floor from mortification.
“Luce,” Lockwood said softly, nudging her to look at him. “I feel the same way.”
He sat up, pulling her with him, guiding her so she was almost in his lap, her thighs coming to bracket his hips. He brushed her hair out of her face, so he could look in her eyes. “We can figure out the other parts of this later, but right now, let’s just be here. Together. Okay?”
She nodded in agreement. Lockwood kissed her again, more intensely than earlier, before moving his mouth to her neck, his hands sliding just under the hem of her jumper to pull her closer.
“Is this too much?” Lockwood murmured, the sound of his rough voice and feeling of his lips grazing her throat making her melt against him.
She shivered a little; his voice was so familiar, but she wasn’t used to hearing him talk to her like this. “No. You can keep going, if you want to.”
He pulled back to look at her, his eyes dark pools she wanted to get lost in. “If it wasn’t already abundantly clear, Lucy, there’s nothing I’d rather be doing than this.”
“Okay.” She swallowed and gave him a wobbly smile.
“But you’re quite warm, Luce,” he continued. “Sure you’re okay?”
Warm? She felt like she was going to burst into flames, and oh God, Lockwood had probably noticed how sweaty she was. She was so hot in fact that she impulsively considered taking off her jumper, before quickly deciding that would be a bit much.
But was it really a bad idea? a little voice in her head said. Maybe it was exactly the right idea. Just reckless enough, as she’d once said to Lockwood so long ago.
Oh, to hell with it. She was going to die of heatstroke if she didn’t do something—and she certainly wasn’t going to suggest stopping.
“Uh, yes, I am warm. Do you mind if I—well, if I…?” Lucy tugged on the hem of the heavy jumper. She’d dressed in thick layers earlier in the day in preparation for the evening’s case, but she hadn’t planned appropriately for this kind of activity.
“No.” Lockwood swallowed, his throat bobbing as he shook his head.
Lucy quickly yanked the jumper over her head and set it aside. She still had a vest on underneath, but she immediately felt cooler. However, she was starting to have second thoughts about her impulsive behavior, when Lockwood cleared his throat.
“Lucy, you’re wrinkling my shirt.” He gestured to her fingers which were now wound in a death grip in the starched white fabric, causing it to pucker underneath her sweaty hands.
“Well, take it off then,” she snapped, still feeling off kilter. She immediately regretted the words. “Oh, fucking hell—I didn’t mean—”
There was no way around it. She was going to die, either from how good it felt to kiss Lockwood or from the embarrassment resulting from the stupid things she couldn’t stop saying and doing. Currently, her wager was on embarrassment.
Lockwood wasn’t even trying to hide his obvious amusement at her expense, as he gave her the classic Anthony Lockwood shit eating grin she had learned to love and loath in equal measure. If it hadn’t been so attractive, she would have shoved him.
“No, no, you might have the right idea, Luce. Would it be alright if I…?” he said, hesitantly starting to loosen his tie.
Lucy found herself nodding eagerly. There went another failed attempt at playing it cool, although at this point, she supposed there was no reason to even try. She had almost no dignity left, all of it already burned to ashes in the fire that was enveloping her in this room.
Lockwood’s fingers made quick work of his tie and the buttons on his shirt before he tossed them both aside. Lucy tried not to gawk; really, she did, but while she’d seen Lockwood without a shirt on a number of times before, she’d never had this view. She tentatively let her fingertips trace patterns across his chest, admiring the lean muscles of his torso.
“Do you like looking at me, Lucy?” Lockwood asked mischievously, nudging his nose against hers.
“No,” she said defensively. “Why would you say that?”
“You’re staring,” he whispered, burying his face in her neck and then pressing his mouth against her bare shoulder and then her collarbone. “It’s quite flattering. I’m certainly not complaining—”
Lucy’s cheeks were blazing again. She had to be the color of a tomato. Maybe taking off her jumper wasn’t going to save her from heat stroke after all. If they were going to keep doing this—and dear God, she hoped that they were—she really needed to learn some subtlety.
“Lockwood? I suggest you shut up, unless you want me to kick you out of my room.”
He threw back his head in a laugh, pretending to pout. “You’d really do that to me?”
“Don’t push your luck,” she said, attempting to muster her most dignified expression before giving in and smiling. “Anyway, do you want to find out if I’ll follow through on my threat?”
“Not today at least.”
Her sense of composure vanished again as Lockwood’s hands drifted from the curve of her waist to the sliver of bare skin where her vest had ridden up above the top of her skirt.
He quirked an eyebrow at her, checking in again, and Lucy nodded before he slid a hand under her vest to caress her back. He trailed his fingers up and down her spine like she was precious and breakable, like if he breathed wrong, he might mess this up.
“Luce,” he whispered. “Is this still okay? We can slow down or stop if you aren’t comfortable.”
Instead of responding, Lucy crushed her mouth to his, kissing him furiously. Her hands clutched at his bare shoulders, while Lockwood’s other hand came up to tangle in her hair as a soft noise escaped from his mouth.
Time grew hazy, blurring at the edges, as they sank even closer together. Lucy had no idea how long they stayed like that. She only knew that nothing had ever felt as good as Lockwood’s hands on her skin and his mouth against hers.
At some point, the anxiety slipped away completely, and she stopped worrying about doing the right thing, finally letting herself act on the instincts that were beginning to feel natural. Oh, this is getting good now, she thought.
When they finally separated an unknown amount of time later, desperate for air, Lucy’s heart was hammering and her chest heaving.
Lockwood looked a bit dazed as well, and her breath caught in her throat as she looked at him. His lips were swollen from kissing, his cheeks flushed and rosy. She could feel his heartbeat under her palm, thundering in his chest.
“Are you okay?” she asked softly, cupping his face in her hands.
“Am I okay?” Lockwood repeated, a strained laugh escaping him. He leaned his forehead against hers. “Lucy, being with you like this is basically my wildest dream come true.”
“That’s quite cheesy, Lockwood.”
“Well, I’ve wanted this—all of this—with you for so long.” Now his ears were turning red, and after the embarrassment and anxiety that she’d experienced, the sight was so adorable it made Lucy want to scream again.
She didn’t even attempt to hide her stupid grin as she looked around, evaluating the messy attic. “Your childhood bedroom really does it for you, huh?”
“It’s less about the surroundings than the company.”
Lockwood pressed forward to meet her again, his mouth slanted against hers, their movements becoming languid and fluid. As he laid back on her bed, dragging her down against his chest, Lucy dimly heard the sound of a door closing in the distance.
“Lockwood,” she mumbled against his mouth.
“Hmm?” Lockwood moved to press his lips to the sensitive skin below her ear, making her gasp, and becoming very distracting in the process. She had to summon all her willpower to stay focused.
“I think that was George. Or Holly,” she ground out, glancing at the clock next to her bed. “Somehow, it’s almost time to go.”
“Oh,” he said, sounding disappointed, even as his hands tightened on her hips. “Guess we should head downstairs then.”
Lucy made a small noise of acknowledgement, as she tucked her face into his neck, rubbing her nose against the crease where his throat met his shoulder. Despite the continued ticking of the clock, neither of them made any move to separate. She idly found herself wishing they could just stay here forever.
Finally, Lockwood shifted, and she rested her chin on his chest, meeting his eyes.
“We should go before someone comes looking for us. But perhaps… if you want to… we could do this again sometime soon? Same time, same place tomorrow, Luce?” He flashed her a smile, his usual bravado present, but this time, she was able to detect a lingering hint of nervousness underneath it.
She shook her head as she begrudgingly peeled herself off of him, reaching for her jumper and then his shirt and tie.
Lockwood’s brow furrowed in concern. “Is that too much…? There’s no expectation, Lucy, and—”
“New place,” she interrupted. “Your room instead?”
Lockwood’s face lit up with a grin—a truly genuine one this time, she noted with pleasure.
“It’s a date.”