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“Do you think George will be alright by himself? His fever was pretty high,” Lucy questioned as she and Lockwood made their way to the archives without their primary researcher.
“He’ll be perfectly fine. George needs space when he’s sick and we left him tea and biscuits on his bedside table for when he wakes up. Besides, we still have a job to do,” Lockwood explained, opening the door to the archives. He motioned for Lucy to go through first; she ignored the heat that filled her cheeks as he did so.
Lately, her cheeks have been feeling like that a lot around Lockwood. It was there before the events of the Bone Glass, don’t get Lucy wrong, but now that Lockwood was visibly working on himself, it was even more prominent. Old Lockwood would never willingly go to the archives, even if George was sick. But, this new and ever-changing Lockwood? He goes to archives when he can and when he can’t, he gives George the admirable amount of time needed before a job.
And Lucy liked that….a lot. It was almost starting to get distracting. Even now, all he was doing was walking next to her, shoulders brushing against each other every now and then as they moved, and it was enough for Lucy’s thoughts to be preoccupied with nothing, but him. She needed to get a grip. They had a job to do. George was sick at home. This wasn’t the time to be thinking about what it would be like if Lockwood’s hands were–
“Alright, this is where George said to start looking. I guess we’ll just do what George does? Grab anything off the shelves with the name James McKinnon and the year 1971 and that should get us somewhere,” Lockwood announced, placing his hands on his hips as he stood in front of a book shelf. Lucy forced herself to tear her gaze from Lockwood’s hands and gave him a nod in response before they parted ways to do what they came here to do.
Lucy tried not to let her lips form into a frown as she noticed the warmth from next to her dissolve. Instead, she grazed along a set of different shelves with her own fingertips as she searched for the name George had given them. Mildred no, Milkman no, Milfax, no…Lucy continued down the line of books when suddenly, she noticed a familiar set of cocoa colored eyes scanning the books on the other side. She never caught the fact that there were hints of honey in them before. Cocoa and honey–was there a better combination that existed? Lucy surely didn’t think so.
Lucy’s fingertips continued to graze the books along the shelf, however, her brain did not process any of the names. It was like she was in some kind of trance, a ghost-lock even, except this soul was deliciously alive.
Stuck in her own mind, Lucy barely noticed that the pair of brown eyes were looking right back at her own. Her breath hitched at the notion as her stomach did backflips against her consent. They moved closer and closer to the end of the shelving, her heartbeat rising to her throat. She counted her final steps in her head. 1, 2 . Her fingertips touched the last of the wooden structure and suddenly, she was met face to face with the owner of the honey and cocoa eyes.
“Hi,” he said, rocking on the balls of his feet.
“Hi,” Lucy replied.
“Find anything?” Lockwood questioned. Yeah, your bloody eyes.
“Not yet. You?” Lucy inquired, forcing herself to look away from the hypnotic orbs. Ok, his hands aren’t that much of a better option, Lucy for christ’s sake. Lockwood smirked and suddenly Lucy was mortified at the idea of him reading all of her thoughts.
“Oh did I? Here, take a look,” Lockwood answered with a raise of an eyebrow as he handed over a photocopy of a newspaper article. Lucy grabbed it from his calloused hands and turned her back against the rack of books behind her as she read.
“McKinnon found dead at early age of 35. Police detect foul play, but no suspects have been arrested,” She read aloud.
“A murder? So this isn’t-” All the words of the English language were suddenly erased from her memory as she brought the newspaper away from her face. While she was reading, Lockwood had, unbeknownst to Lucy, placed his right hand on a shelf slightly above her head. The movement had seemed to angle his head so that he could read the article with her, but that also meant that they were incredibly close. Really close. So close that Lucy could feel Lockwood’s warm breath fanning over her.
Lucy’s lips parted without her consent and Lockwood pursed his own; his eyes pulling her in that same trance as before only this time, they darted to her mouth. Lucy barely had any time to register what was happening before Lockwood’s head was dipping down fast and his lips crashed onto hers.
Lucy hummed in astonishment as her back hit the cold wooden shelving behind her; Lockwood’s rough hand snaking its way around her hip, the other continuing to cling onto the surface above her head. The newspaper article was forgotten on the floor as Lucy brought her own hand to the back of Lockwood’s neck, fingers tracing his jagged jawline.
Their heads moved in sync the way their mouths did. Noses brushed past each other, teeth clashed, but Lucy didn’t care. She could drown right then and there in the scent of him and she’d be ok with it. Their breaths turned ragged and Lucy forced herself to tear away from him, foreheads leaning against one another. Lockwood’s eyes were wide and dangerous, Lucy had a feeling she’d be sketching them like that for weeks.
“Lockwood–” Lucy whispered. Where was this going to take them? What were they now? Lucy and Lockwood or Lucy and Lockwood. She needed to know.
“Shh,” Lockwood breathed, voice raspy as if he had just woken up, before placing his hands on the back of her neck and kissing her nose gently. He shook his head.
“Not now, later. Let’s just be here,” He replied. Lucy nodded and they were kissing again because logic be damned. She just wanted to feel his tongue on hers over and over again. And she did. Over and over again.
She learned a lot about Lockwood in those hours spent hidden between the archive stacks. She learned that Lockwood liked when her fingertips played with his hair. And that he shuddered when she called him “Anthony” in between feverish kisses. And that Lockwood seemed to be born with the knowledge of where Lucy liked his lips on her neck.
Eventually, they had broken apart, deciding that though neither of them wanted to, they needed to get on with the job they were hired to do. As they stepped foot into 35 Portland Row, however, they regretted it immediately.
“Care to explain why the hell I got an email explaining that my reading card has been issued a fee for “improper care of the archives”?” George pressed. Lucy shared a look with Lockwood before he stepped up to the challenge of explaining what had happened.
“Look, just think of it this way, George! You won’t have to deal with my pining for Lucy anymore!” He protested. George threw his hands up in the air and walked towards the kitchen, most likely in search of much needed biscuits.
“Unbelievable. You’re philistines. Absolute philistines I can’t take you two anywhere! You’re banned from my reader’s card privileges for a week…no no… a month ! I cannot believe–”
“Well,” Lockwood started before turning to Lucy.
“He’s certainly feeling better.”