Work Text:
He’s being annoying.
Lockwood is being annoying on purpose, and that simply cannot stand.
It always starts out so innocent at first. Standing just a smidge too close behind Lucy, so she can feel the heat of his body at her back, but just far enough so that it doesn’t arouse comment. Lightly touching the small of her back to guide her along a busy street, a gentle grab at her waist to pull her close when they’re in a crowded lift. Squeezing her hand under the breakfast table, nudging her shin with his foot when someone else is having a conversation with her. Playfully tugging at one of the pieces of hair framing her face, just between his two fingers. Smiling at her all the time he does it, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Alright, Luce? he has the unmitigated gall to say, when she shoots him a glare.
That’s his favorite little game to play, teasing and touching her innocently, flustering and exasperating her with his proximity. And it seems the more out of sorts she becomes, the more delighted he is. His eyes glow and his smile widens the fiercer her glare. This will usually go on until she breaks, pushes him down into the nearest chair, and kisses him like she’s trying to win a fight. Lockwood is only too happy to let her. Lucy is beginning to suspect that he’d rather tease and provoke and aggravate her to the point of madness rather than simply asking her for what he wants.
But not this time. No, this time she’s going to win.
They’re in the library, Lockwood finishing up the last of the paperwork for their most recent case. Or at least, he says he is. He keeps getting up to get a fresh cup of tea, another pencil, a new sheet of paper, even George’s casebook, just to “do some cross-referencing,” the feeblest excuse Lucy has ever heard him in use in his life. Every time he gets up, he finds some way to touch her. Her shoulder, her arm, the back of her head as he walks by her sitting on the sofa. The fifth time he does this, Lucy sets down her half-finished sketch and says in her most measured voice as he returns, “Lockwood. Did you need something?”
“Hmm?” he says absently, all innocence. “No, not at the moment, Lucy. Why do you ask?”
Oh, he’s such a sneaky chancer. “Are you sure? ” Lucy asks, just a little dangerously. “Because it seems like you want something.”
Lockwood gives her his most wide-eyed look of bemused innocence and Lucy slowly, deliberately, turn back to her sketch book. The scratching of hers and Lockwood’s pencils fill the air again. Enough time ticks by that Lucy slowly begins to let her guard down, becoming reabsorbed in her drawing, a fairly good (by her reckoning) rendition of Holly’s profile against the kitchen window. She’s been experimenting in portraiture lately. Just as she puts on the finishing touches, Lockwood tosses down his pen, sighs loudly, and says, “It’s a bit stuffy in here, isn’t it, Luce?” as if not half an hour ago he was saying he could feel a draft.
Lucy narrows her eyes at the paper as he gets up, crosses the room, and pushes the window open, just a hair. He recrosses the room, taking the most unnecessary route behind the sofa, and just as Lucy’s lowers her pencil, satisfied with her work, he gently tweaks the back of her hair as he passes by.
Lucy waits until he’s reseated back at his desk, and meticulously tucks her charcoal pencil in the spiral of her sketchbook, sets it down on the coffee table. She does not look at Lockwood while she does this, just stretches her arms above her head, arching her back, just a little. Lets out a satisfied sound at the pops of her spine and the flex of her arms. She knows he’s watching her, though she pretends not to. Then Lucy gets up, walks over to the library door, and closes it, having the foresight to flick the lock closed. She turns around and strides purposefully over to Lockwood, who only has the chance to look up before Lucy straddles his lap without preamble. Lockwood pushes away from his desk and at the same time, Lucy curls her fingers in his hair, tugging his head back. She brings her mouth down on his, swallowing his startled sound, then his pleased moan.
Lucy kisses him like she’s going to devour him. He tastes like tea and sugar, and his hands eagerly climb up her back. Lucy pulls her mouth away so she can duck her head and bite the bob his Adam’s apple, then returns to his lips to playfully bite the very top of his upper lip, where his little scar begins. Lockwood groans deep in his throat at the sensation of her teeth, and kisses her back ardently, as she tugs at his hair, sinks more firmly down on his lap.
Lucy pulls her head back, just out of Lockwood’s reach as he chases after her mouth. She presses her thumb against the corner of his lips, keeping him still.
God, he’s so fucking pretty. With his lips wet and swollen, blush-colored with her kisses, those high cheekbones flushed, even the elegant bridge of his nose suffused with color. He’s looking at her through those ridiculous lashes of his, his dark eyes hazy.
“You know,” Lucy says, pleased that she only sounds a little breathless, “if you wanted to kiss me, you could just ask me.”
“C’mon Luce,” he says, gently laddering his fingers up her ribs. “Where’s the fun in that?” He leans up, clearly intent on stealing another kiss, but Lucy gently holds him at bay, keeping her fingers curled around his jaw, her thumb now pressed just under his ear.
“I mean it,” she says. “Ask me.”
Lockwood licks his lips automatically, eyes darting to her mouth. “Luce…”
“Come on, Lockwood,” it’s her turn to say. “It’s easy. Look, I’ll even help you. ‘Lucy, I want…’” she trails off, giving him a significant eyebrow raise.
Lockwood sighs, eyes her. Rolls his lips together; as a distraction, it’s worked before, though Lucy valiantly ignores it now. “Lucy,” he echoes, “I want…” he swallows before finishing the sentence, “I want you…to kiss me.”
Lucy smiles, leans in to gently brush their lips together, an entirely different energy than their previous kisses. “There,” she whispers against his lips. “Was that so hard?”
“Yes,” he mutters. “It’s more fun to tease you.”
Lucy rolls her eyes, kisses the slight pout of his lips. “It’s fun to rile me up?”
“Yes,” he says, not a trace of repentance in his voice. “I like knowing I can.”
“You’re like a little boy, pulling at pigtails,” Lucy says. “Use your words, Lockwood. You have so many of them.” She leans in to kiss him again, pushing his back against the chair. Lockwood lets out a sigh against her mouth, pleased to have her mouth back on his, and Lucy allows it. They sink into a pleasant haze of kisses and sighs, gentle bites and sucking, until Lucy lifts her head, gasping for air. Lockwood looks far too pleased with himself, and Lucy decides to press her advantage.
She lightly kisses the top of one cheekbone, trailing her lips to his earlobe. “I like it when you ask me,” she says, her breath across his ear making him shiver. “I like…you telling me things. Like when you ask for kisses, or for me touch you. I like…knowing you want me.”
Perhaps that was a little more revealing than she intended, but Lockwood’s hands tighten on her hips. “Lucy—Luce, I always want you. So much sometimes I can’t think of anything else.” He looks up at her, so sincere and earnest, his lashes long enough to cast shadows on his cheeks. “I just—” he swallows hard, “Don’t know how to tell you.”
Oh, she understands that. Lucy presses her lips to the hinge of his jaw, gently parting her lips and letting the very edge of her teeth worry at the bone there. “It’s not easy for me either,” she confesses. “But…the look on your face? Like you can’t believe your luck? I—I love that, Lockwood,” she says in a rush. “It’s…it’s the best thing.”
The flush builds back in his cheeks. “Tell me,” he says, coaxing. “Tell me–tell me what you like. And I’ll tell you.”
Okay. Yes, she can be brave. Lucy buries her face in the crook of his neck, taking comfort from the familiar scent of his cologne, black tea and clean laundry. “I love it when you grab me,” she tells the strong column of his throat. “When you take my waist in your hands and just… move me. Like you can’t get enough.” She can hear his breath start to go faster, she can feel how this is affecting him. She lets it give her courage. “I like how strong you are,” she admits, and he actually gasps in her ear. “When you fence? God, Lockwood, it makes me hot all over to watch you. You’re so…” she shivers, “you’re so good. All that focus. And when you turn it on me… ” He’s squirming in his chair under her, panting. Fighting so hard to stay still, not buck his hips up into hers. Like she can’t feel how hard he is, just by her words alone. She licks her lips, takes a breath and continues, “I love it and hate it when you tease me, because I know you like to see me get all riled up, and I know you like it when I shove you down and kiss you. But you never just ask, and I hate that.”
“I do,” he gasps. “Oh Jesus, Luce, I love it. When you pin me down and I just have to…” he pants, squirming, “I just have to take it.”
Power rushes through Lucy like pouring kerosene on coals. “So when I pull your hair and bite your lip,” she says, breathing hard, “when I push you down on this chair—” she rolls her hips over his and he moans, utterly abandoned, “You’ll take it? Whatever I give you?”
“Yes, yes,” Lockwood says, the words tumbling over each other. “God, yes, Luce, I’m desperate for it.”
The sheer stark truth of his words rolls over her, thunder on the horizon. She could kiss him senseless, bite his neck and throat, scratch up his shoulders. Leave marks all over him. He’d want it. She could open the button of his his trousers, pull his zipper down, reach inside his boxers. Stroke him until he makes a mess all over both of them. He’d want it. He’d beg for it. He’d thank her.
How pretty of a picture he is, that lovely, long throat exposed, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Looking up at her with those dark eyes, pleading and desperate.
Lucy swallows hard, sits up straight on his lap. She can feel his cock wedged up right between her legs, where her leggings have gone thin with numerous washings. She rocks over him and he moans, his head falling back. It’s fucking thrilling.
“Your turn,” she pants, putting her hands on his shoulders. Really bearing her weight down on him, letting the heat between her legs spread through them both. Maybe he can feel how wet she is, if she grinds down hard enough. “Tell me what you like.”
“This,” he gets out, “I like this.”
Lucy gives him her signature grin. “I know. I can tell. What else?”
Lockwood’s lips are bitten red, his flush now working it’s way down his neck. Lucy wants to taste it. “I–I like it when you push me down,” he says, reaffirming what she already knows. “When you—when you take my face in your hands and you kiss me hard, so hard I can feel it in my bones. When you—” he gasps as Lucy does exactly that, and then whines through his teeth as she pulls away again. “Oh god, Luce, I want—”
“Tell me,” she commands. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want—I need you to mark me up,” Lockwood moans. “I need you to bite my neck and throat and leave marks all over me, so people look at me and know I’m yours. I want—I need you to let me get on my knees and just fucking worship you. I’d be so good for you, Lucy. Do whatever you want, anything you say. I’d make you feel so good, I’d take such good care of you—”
“Would you? Would you—take care of me?” Lucy demands, all that power rushing through her. Like water bursting out from rock; miraculous.
“ Yes, ” Lockwood cries out. “Lucy, please! Anything you want, anything, I’ll do it, just please don’t stop—”
Lucy bears down on his lap, crying out at the friction and heat, that insane, electrifying rush. Lockwood clutches at her hips, thrusting up into her, mouth open and his fingertips surely leaving bruises.
It’s almost enough, almost, almost, almost…
Lucy brings her mouth down on his throat, just where his collar of his shirt opens, right over the elegant line of his collarbone, he tastes like clean sweat. She parts her lips again and sinks her teeth right there, exactly where if his shirt was buttoned all the way up, the mark of her teeth would be hidden. Where he’d feel it, under his fine white shirts and perfectly knotted ties. She keeps her teeth in his skin as Lockwood bucks up under her, letting out a shocked, strangled cry as he comes. There’s a damp patch on his trousers beneath her legs, and she can feel him softening under her as he catches his breath. Lucy carefully eases her teeth away, noting in satisfaction the bruise she left behind.
Lockwood’s entire face is flushed, even the tops of his ears are red. He looks somewhere between awestruck and embarassed, no doubt because of the mess in his pants. A wicked impulse stirs within Lucy; she could slide off his lap, kneel between his legs and open his trousers up, clean him with her tongue, watch him squirm and moan…
Before she can pursue this truly intriguing train of thought, Lockwood puts his hands under her thighs, lifts her off his lap. Lucy lets out a squeak of surprise before he sets her on top of his desk and nearly falls out of his chair, on his knees before her. Suddenly that rush of power is back, heady as wine.
Lockwood reaches under her skirt, yanks at the waistband of her leggings. “Let me?” he says, his voice thick with longing and desire. “Let me, Luce?”
“Yeah,” she breathes out. All higher thought has left the building; they are closed for business. “Yeah, yeah, please—” she lifts her hips for him, helping him shove the hem of her skirt up past her waist, pull her leggings and knickers down to her ankles, kicks them off completely. Lockwood shuffles forward on his knees, his face intent now, as Lucy helps him get her legs over his shoulders. She braces herself with one hand on the desk, the other back in Lockwood’s hair.
“Lucy,” he breathes, like she’s worship and sin. “I said I’d take care of you, didn’t I, darling?” he croons the endearment and the heat that follows is enough to make her squirm. “Make you feel good?” His hands curl under her thighs, spreading her legs wide. “Worship you,” he breathes, goosebumps breaking out over every inch of her skin. “Pretty girl…” he’s looking at her dripping cunt like it’s a meal and he’s starving.
“Show me,” Lucy says, curling her fingers in his hair. Dark as a thicket, and so soft. “Show me…” her head falls back as he drags her hips to the edge of the desk and buries his face between her legs.
This is not the first time they’ve done this. Not the first time he’s made her come with his oh-so clever tongue and his swordsman hands. But this is maybe the first time Lucy’s felt like the most powerful person in the world, with Lockwood on his knees before, looking up at her, his eyes huge and intent, watching for her every reaction, every movement.
“So good for me,” Lucy breathes, meeting his gaze. “You’re so good for me, Anthony, giving me exactly what I want.” His answering moan at her core makes her head fall back, as he drags up his tongue a wide, wet stripe. He does like when she uses his given name, when they’re like this. “Such a good boy,” she moans. “Oh, you’re so good, Anthony. Taking such good care of me, you’re going to make me come so hard. God, god, fuck, your mouth, Anthony!”
Lockwood’s moaning in earnest now, eating her out like it’s his job. He wraps his lips around her clit and just…suckles on it, as Lucy mangles his name over his head. “Handsome boy,” she whimpers, grinding her hips down onto his face. He makes a frantic sound against her at the endearment, pressing even closer. “My sweet, handsome boy, oh god, fuck, Anthony, make me come, now. Anthony!”
Lockwood’s tongue is so far up her cunt she thinks she’s going to die. His nose is pressed up against her pubic bone, his frantic breaths in and out washing over her, his hands pinning her hips down. She can feel him drop his jaw down wider, practically eating her whole—
Lucy screams when she comes, falling back on the desk. Lockwood laps up every drop of her release, humming against her skin as the aftershocks roll through her. She’s as limp as a ragdoll, barely managing to reach down and tug at his hair again. “Anthony,” she gets out, her voice completely wrecked, “Anthony—”
Lockwood grabs the edge of the desk to haul himself upright, and manages to regain enough coordination to sprawl across her inelegantly. It’s hardly the most comfortable position, but she can’t bring herself to care, and she doesn’t think Lockwood does either. Lockwood raises his head to press clumsy, affectionate kisses to her cheek, her jawline and the curve of her lips. He’s a complete mess, his lips and chin and even his throat gleaming with her slick, so obscene it makes her blush, and the damp patch on his trousers.
She pets his hair, his cheek, his back. Drops little kisses all over his cheekbones and his temple, the bridge of his nose, all faintly dewed with sweat. She murmurs senseless little words of affection, of praise. “Sweet boy,” she whispers and he shudders against her. “My Anthony.”
“Sweet girl,” he echoes, the rasp of his voice practically a caress in and of itself. “My Lucy.”
She sighs, utterly contented underneath him, the unforgiving wood of the desk under her back notwithstanding. Lockwood buries his face in the curve of her throat, she can feel his lips moving against her pulse. Eventually, he groans, pushing himself up on his hands, so he’s hovering her. “ Fuck, ” he says with feeling. “Jesus fucking Christ, Luce.”
“Yeah,” she says, more than a little smug. “I agree.”
Lockwood grunts as he pushes himself upright, falls back into his chair bonelessly. He reaches out and grabs clumsily at Lucy’s leg, like a cat demanding pets, saying, “Come here.”
Lucy takes her turn to urge her uncooperative muscles to sit upright, and fall back into Lockwood’s lap, this time her legs thrown over the arm of the chair. They sit like that for awhile, curled around each other, letting their bodies cool and their breathing slow.
Lockwood finally shifts under her, and grunts at the back of his throat. “Shit.”
“You want me to get up?” Lucy asks and his arms band around her waist.
“Don’t you dare,” he says and groans as she shifts her weight on top of him. “But…maybe in a few minutes.”
Lucy laughs and nuzzles his cheek, presses more kisses to his jaw and then his lips. “Come on, Lockwood. Let’s get you cleaned up.” She carefully lifts herself off his lap and he hisses through his test. “Oh. Did you…?”
“Yeah,” he mutters, flushing again. “I did.”
“ Again?” Lucy says, slightly awed, and he sneaks a slight scowl at her up through her lashes.
“You needn’t sound quite so surprised.” He drags her closer to him across his lap. “Jesus, Luce, making you come like that? I’d have to be dead not to get hard again.”
“Definitely don’t want that,” Lucy murmurs. She plays with the soft hair at the nape of his neck. “That is….quite flattering, Lockwood. You’re giving me quite the ego boost.”
“Well,” says Lockwood, another look at her through his lashes, “you know I’d give you anything you want.”
He would, is the thing. She knows he would. Even if he has to constantly try at it, he’d give her anything she wants. There’s power in that, but such trust as well, and it humbles her. Lucy gently tilts his head back to kiss him again, soft and sweet, sinking into the warmth of his lips.
“Come on,” she says again, easing herself out of his lap, carefully pulling upright to standing. He moves a little stiffly, wincing no doubt at the mess in his pants, but he follows her. Like he always does, and maybe, Lucy suspects, he always will.