Work Text:
All the adult magazines and smutty books he’s ever read tell Lockwood that between her thighs, Lucy should taste like fruit, or flowers, or something equally implausible.
But she doesn’t, of course she doesn’t. Lucy tastes like Lucy, salty and sweet and sharp and strong and something dark, lingering around the edges.
He wants to drown in it, bathe in it. He wants to rut his face against her until she’s screaming and mindless, her nails drawing blood from his shoulders and her heels leaving bruises on his spine. He wants to walk around with bite marks on his neck, just barely visible under the collar of his shirt and tie. He wants to do deranged, depraved things, like to eat her out as she sits on top of a desk in an abandoned DEPRAC office, make her come over and over again. Until someone–the darkest part of his mind supplies Kipps the most often–comes to investigate all the noise and they see Lockwood on his knees, worshiping Lucy on a desk, her head thrown back and she’s crying out his name, as her fingers twist in his hair to keep him in place.
Do you see her? he’ll say to their audience. See how beautiful she is? How fucking gorgeous? She tastes so good, as good as she looks and sounds.
Lockwood, the Lucy in his fantasy moans, writhing on the desk, half-shamed, half-aroused. Lockwood, please…
Yes, yes, his fantasy self responds, burying his face back between her legs. Whatever you want, my darling.
Make me come, fantasy Lucy begs, her nails raking across his scalp, hurting in the best possible way. Please, Lockwood, I need it.
Needs it. Needs him. It sets something feral and unhinged loose inside him, the part of his brain where rationality and logic disappears, and what’s left is pure lizard instinct. It makes him want to curl around her like a dragon in an old folktale does around its hoard. That he, and he alone, can make Lucy Carlyle beg and whine and gasp, that he alone can provide her pleasure.
Fantasies are all well and good, but even his most debauched can’t contend with the reality of Lucy in his bed.
She’s there now, her thighs draped over his shoulders, one hand twisting in the fabric of his quilt and the other knotted in the strands of his hair. Her thighs are locked around his ears; he couldn’t move his head an inch even if he wanted to. And he doesn’t. Lockwood knows that Lucy is strong; a near lifetime of rapier training and chasing ghosts have seen to that. The curve of her hips and waist have obsessed him for years. But now that she’s sharing his bed on a regular basis, he gets to fully appreciate the strength in the muscles of her thighs, how if Lucy decides she wants to pin him to the bed, then that’s just his life now and he’s more than happy to accept it.
He’s the one pressing her into the mattress now, hands curled around her hips (her hips, god damn ), lapping at the slick between her legs like she’s water in the desert. He drags his tongue in a broad stripe up to the hood of her clit and Lucy lets out a wordless wail . Writhes down on his face, fucking his mouth like it’s her mission in life. He opens his mouth even further, not even caring that the muscles in his jaw ache. He’d happily spend the rest of his life letting Lucy use his jaw as a throne.
“Lockwood, Lockwood, please, ” she says, using the hand in his hair to press his face even closer. He wraps his lips around her clit and hums around it in response, making Lucy arch up off the bed and keen. “Anthony!”
He could howl in triumph; he could snarl in satisfaction. He knows he’s done a good job when he gets his given name out of her. He pulls his mouth away enough to say, “Yes, darling?” in the most conversational tone he can muster. Like Lucy isn’t dripping down his chin, trailing down his throat. He feels messy and hungry and completely mad for her.
“Anthony,” she says again, trying to catch her breath. “Anthony, I need—”
“Tell me what you need,” he says, because he loves to hear her ask. Loves to hear the proof from her own lips that he can provide for her. Loves seeing her blush, even now. “Come on, sweetheart,” he coaxes, now trailing a finger down to her center, watching in fascination as the labia of her cunt seem to flutter and pulse in time with her breathing. He can’t resist curling a finger inside, just to watch her arch and moan as her body pulls him in eagerly. “Sweet girl,” he croons, gently rocking his finger in and out, “tell me what you need, darling. Anything you want, and I’ll give it to you.”
“No you won’t,” she moans, “you like watching me suffer.”
“I haven’t been good to you, pretty girl?” Lockwood mock pouts. “I must not be doing this correctly, if I haven’t been making you feel good.”
Lucy moans, as he ducks his head and lazily adds a flick of teeth. “You–you make me–feel– too good.”
He grins against her. Only Lucy. “Shall I stop?” Lockwood murmurs, knowing full well he’s goading her. “Should I kiss you goodnight and let you go to sleep? You’d wake in the middle of the night and lie there next to me, squirming and unfulfilled, your knickers still damp, until you reached down to take care of yourself. It’d wake me up, so I’d help you—”
She yanks his face back to where it was, pressed up against her cunt, muffling his laughter. He shoves one shoulder further under her leg, opening her up even wider. It makes Lucy cry out, but she doesn’t let go of his head or tap his shoulder in discomfort. He nearly pushes Lucy up the bed with the force of his kisses, causing her to reach back and press a hand against the headboard, to maintain her position.
He does love teasing Lucy, he has to admit. But Lucy can get oversensitive, and he doesn’t want to push her into territory where it starts to hurt instead of feeling good. So he adds another finger, then another, and then, because she’s so slick around him, eases in a third finger, with the silver band of his ring pressing her open a little further just right…
Lucy grinds down on his fingers, managing to wheeze out, airless, “So…full…just need a little more…”
He wraps his lips around her clit once more and taps the tip of his tongue against it, traces the letters of his name. Hums deep and low in his throat, nearly a growl. Mine.
Lucy sobs as she comes, completely abandoned in her body. Because of him. He could preen with the knowledge of it. He laps up every drop, greedy boy that he is. He rests his head along the length of her thigh as she comes down, running his tongue over his lips, rolling them together. Savoring the taste of her.
He turns his head, mouthing kisses along her inner thighs. Rubbing his cheek against the sleek, strong muscles. “Mmm…”
“Come here,” Lucy slurs out, reaching down to grab clumsily at whatever part of him she can reach, hands landing on his shoulder, the back of his neck, even his chin, pulling him upwards. “Come here, come here–”
He goes willingly, though it doesn’t stop him from dropping kisses wherever he can reach as he crawls up her body. Her belly, her ribs, the underside of her breasts. Until Lucy fists a hand in his hair and yanks him the rest of the way up. A shiver races down his spine at the sting.
Lucy drags him down on top of her, wrapping her arms and legs around him like a net he has no desire to free himself from. They kiss open-mouthed and messy, nothing resembling finesse or technique. He loves it; Lucy drinking down every one of his noises. “Anthony,” she sighs into his parted lips, “Anthony…” her nails scrape down the back of his neck, and he shudders.
Lucy pulls back just a little, pressing one hand against his jaw, her thumb pressing against his upper lip, where his scar cuts across. She strokes it tenderly, studying his face like she’s about to commit it to a fresh page in her sketch book. He lets her take in her fill, as he tries to guess which way her thoughts are turning.
Lucy smiles, so loving and tender it steals his breath. She traces the shape of his mouth with a finger calloused from swordplay just like his. “So pretty,” she whispers and he parts his lips to wrap them around the tip of her thumb, sucking gently. Her eyelids flutter as he teasingly scrapes his teeth across the pad. “ Such a pretty boy,” she says again, and he sucks harder in response. “You make me feel so good, Anthony. It’s so much at times, but–” she blushes like a rose, his pretty Lucy. “But I like it,” she whispers, like she’s telling him a secret. “I like it when you make me feel so good I can’t stand it. When I think I might die with how good it feels.”
He moans around her finger and Lucy grins. “You take such good care of me, Anthony. Even when you’re being,” her free hand winds in his hair, another tug, “a massive smug prick.”
Lockwood lets her pull her thumb out of his mouth to give his own cheeky smile. “But I’m your smug prick.”
“Yes,” she says, and it’s almost a growl. “ My Anthony.”
One of her legs hooks over his hip, Lockwood gasps as Lucy slots herself against him, rolling her hips under him. His now fully hard cocks rolls against the folds of her cunt, slicking him up and down.
Lockwood buries his face in the curve of her neck, whining. For all his air of confidence and outward maturity, the steely, unflappable persona he puts on with the rest of the world, when he and Lucy are like this, he feels suddenly revealed for what he truly is: a young man stupidly, madly in love, kneeling at his beloved’s feet.
Lucy curls her fingers in his hair, saying, “You’re so good to me, Anthony. So good. All the time, you take such good care of me.” He can feel himself go completely hard as she rolls her cunt up and down his cock; he is dripping with her. “You made me come so hard,” she breathes and he bites down into the pillow. She jerks his head back to expose his throat so she can bite and suck at the tendons and he moans so loudly he can’t feel any room for shame. “I should keep you like this,” she continues, her eyes shining in the dark. “We’ll just stay in bed, all the time, you hard and leaking and panting for me.”
It’s his turn to writhe against her, turned on beyond reason at the thought. “Please,” he begs, “please, Luce.”
She slides her hands down the length of his back, down to his arse, squeezing it so hard he gasps. He ruts against her mindlessly. “You’re so hard ,” she croons. “Is that all for me?”
He wonders that all of London doesn’t know he’s hers, the truth of him written down on his bones for everyone to see. “Yes, yes, yes,” he babbles. “All for you, Lucy. Yours.”
Lucy bites at his jaw, his chin, the place where his pulse thunders. “Can you do something for me?” she asks, all sweetness.
“Name it,” he says, just reckless enough.
Her pleased sigh turns into a moan, deliciously wanton. “Fill me up, Anthony. I want to be so full of you I feel it in my throat. Please, Anthony,” her voice curls around his name, ensorcellment, “I need it. I’m so empty, my love.” Lucy almost never uses endearments for him, other than his own name, mostly because they have side effect of making him lose his fucking mind.
He doesn’t make her wait for it, gets her other leg over his hip, the two of them moaning as he fits inside himself inside her, the drag so slick and hot he thinks he might go insane. He bottoms out inside her and they both still for a moment, Lucy panting against his mouth, as he tries not to come immediately, like a thirteen year old virgin having his first wet dream.
Soon enough, Lucy squirms under him, he can feel her nails pressing down against his skin. “Anthony…” the growl is back in her voice, the warning timbre of it. He closes his eyes at the sudden image in his mind’s eye of Lucy, riding him, pinning him down. Fucking the absolute shit out of him.
They need to do that. Soon. But she made a very specific request of him, and thus far in his career, he’s never been able to refuse Lucy anything.
“You need it, pretty girl?” he hisses against her mouth, now beginning to slowly rock his hips into hers. “Need my cock, need me to fuck you?”
Lucy nods, pressing her heels into the mattress to regain her leverage. “Yes, Anthony, I need you—”
“Need me to fill you up,” he says, now beginning to snap his hips, just enough of a sting the way that Lucy likes. “Your pretty little cunt needs to be stuffed full of me.”
She lets out a wordless, high-pitched whine, nearly keening. “Just so greedy,” he croons. “You’re so empty and you need me to fill you up. You need to be fucked so hard you beg for it—”
“Yes, Anthony, oh–oh shit, I need it,” she gasps. Her eyes open, just enough to look into his, the pupils huge and blown out, the blue-green nearly swallowed up by the black, a forest in dusk. “You’re so hard,” she says and he drives his hands into the mattress on either side of her, fingers clenching down in the bedding. “You’re so hard and thick inside me, I can feel it even after you’re done fucking me,” she spills out breathlessly, two bright spots of crimson in each cheek. She looks faintly incredulous, like she can’t quite believe she’s saying this at all, but when Lucy commits, she commits, a hundred and ten percent. “I want to feel it,” she says, “feel it until tomorrow, until we do this again.”
Again. The thought of more, again, later, push him past the limits of his control. “Want you to come,” he snarls, putting his entire body into each thrust, pounding into her, hard enough to make their skin slap together, “Want you to come on my cock and let me watch you , pretty girl. Fill you up with my come until it’s leaking down your thighs.”
A part of him is both impressed and mildly horrified at the absolute filth he’s coming up with, but Lucy seems to like it, if the way she starts clawing at his shoulders is any indication.
The sound of their bodies coming together is wet and gross and obscene, and so hot he can’t stand it. He can feel Lucy tightening around him, feeling his own body tense in preparation. He works a hand between them, presses the heel of his hand down on top of her cleft and works his finger around her clit. Lucy keens as her heels dig into the base of his spine for leverage. “Please! Anthony!”
“Come,” he growls, rolling her clit with his finger, finding exactly the right pressure that she needs. “Come on, Luce, give it to me, let me see–”
Lucy’s orgasm drags her under like a riptide, she’s arching up against him, crying out senselessly, something that could be his name. He fucks her through it, merciless. “Gonna come,” he says, barely able to string words together. “Please, Luce, I need to come, let me come, Lucy, tell me I can–”
She’s still coming around him, he can feel her clenching down. “Yes, yes, come. Want to be full of you,” she says, head thrashing on the pillows. “Anthony, please—”
He snarls into the sweat-damp curve of her throat, her pulse thundering under his lips. There is nothing left but Lucy, he might as well be blind to the rest of the world, both the living and the dead.
Lockwood collapses on top of her, Lucy letting out an airless gasp as his full weight bears her down into the mattress. He manages to turn his head enough to press his mouth against the side of her throat, mouthing sloppy kisses there. He knows vaguely he should get up, roll off of her, he must be crushing her, but Lucy’s legs are still locked around his hips. One of her hands rests on his hair, he wonders if she’s even conscious of petting him.
He’s not entirely sure how much time goes by, eventually Lucy squirms under him and huffs out a breath. “Sorry, sorry,” he says and eases himself out of her, Lucy whimpering a little at the sudden loss. “I know, I know,” he says, dropping a kiss on her shoulder. He leans over her, fumbling with the nightstand drawer, manages to yank it open and pull out the wipes he keeps in there. He sets himself to cleaning her, murmuring soothingly as she makes a noise of discomfort. After he tosses the used wipes in the wastebasket, he tucks himself against her side, Lucy’s chest heaving as she takes a full breath, stretching and squirming against the pillows. “How is it,” she says, “that for such a skinny bloke, you weigh about as much as a ton of bricks?”
“I think the word you’re looking for is lanky, ” Lockwood corrects. “It’s all lean muscle.”
She turns over, reaching for him, as if they weren’t just pressed as close together as two people could be. “Lanky,” she mutters, her mouth quirking into one of her tiny smiles, amusement and eye-rolling fondness all in one. She sighs, rubs her cheek against his chest like an affectionate cat. “Well, I’m quite fond of all your lean muscle, so I guess I shouldn’t complain.” He can’t resist the childish urge to preen at that; Lucy likes his muscles.
One of her hands sneaks up to rest on his belly, tracing idle patterns. He isn’t ticklish, but he knows she is, and she’s always trying to see if he really isn’t ticklish or if he’s just putting her on. He will never try to convince her otherwise; it would mean losing one of the ways she likes to touch him.
He’d like to stay here for the rest of his natural life, but past experience has taught him that they both need to clean up, or be uncomfortably sticky or tacky in the morning. He kisses the top of her head and murmurs, “We need to get cleaned up, love.” Lucy groans, buries her face in his throat for a moment before reluctantly letting go of him.
They disentangle themselves slowly for each other. “Bathroom?” he says and she nods. They take turns, Lockwood coming back to find Lucy shamelessly digging through his drawers for one of his spare shirts. It sets off sparks in his blood, as she finds one of his gray t-shirts and pulls over her head. She’s practically swimming in it, the hem goes down past her thighs.
Lucy catches his eye and smiles slyly. “Yes?” She knows very well what it does to him, seeing her in his clothing.
“Very nice,” he finds the wherewithal to say, as he puts his own pair of fresh pyajama pants, and doesn’t bother with a shirt. He is promptly gratified to see Lucy’s eyes go glassy and a little dazed.
They get back into bed, Lucy curling around him, him sighing with relief as the now smooth covers settle over them, the press of her skin on his own. Their legs tangling together.
Lucy tucks her face into the hollow of his chest, a spot that seemed to be made with her in mind. “My Anthony,” she says, her voice thick with sleep.
“My Lucy,” he says back, absently tracing the movements of a ward knot on the knobs of her spine. Protection and comfort and shielding, all at once.
His Lucy, his love, his girl.