Chapter Text
Lucy’s got a type. There’s something about seeing attractive people in their element: self-possessed, in control, totally assured, that reduces her to a feral cat in heat. Confidence is hot, arrogance, too, but combine that with actual prowess and she’s ready to peel off her knickers and spread herself open. And somehow she’s ended up surrounding herself with a lot of competent people. She’s still not sure that that alone is sufficient to explain why she keeps ending up in these situations, though.
Like this one. She'd merely been admiring George’s researching acumen. Okay sure, maybe she’d slipped off her tights, rubbing her legs together as she watched him muttering to himself in their basement office. It’s late, and Lucy’s long past the point of being able to focus. The lamplight takes George’s features from merely cute and sharpens them into pretty, especially when he discards his glasses on the table with a clatter.
He’s frustrated, obviously. They’ve been at this for too long, and anyway, Lockwood’s off somewhere with Kat and Kipps and - she doesn’t want to think about it too long, or jealousy will curdle this very nice arousal she’s had on simmer for a while, that she fully intends to bring to a boil with George.
She slowly slides her hand up her skirt, dips a finger under her knickers, rubs herself gently. Papers rustle. She hears George sigh. She pushes inside, just to the first knuckle of her forefinger. Her flesh is hot and silky against her finger, and her mind wanders a bit, remembering Kat’s fingers curled inside her, the stretch of Kipps’ cock as he took her against the wall of his flat.
George scrawls something out with his pen, frowns at it, then aggressively crosses out whatever he just wrote.
“Want to take the edge off?” she suggests coyly, starting her campaign, and he huffs, part annoyance, part laughter.
“I know what you’re doing,” he says, not even sparing her a glance, the prick. It shouldn’t be hot, but it is. “Daddy’s busy. Go find something else to fuck.”
“George,” she whines. That was a low blow, even for him. She can see him grin, flash of sharp teeth, and he tries not to laugh at her. She slips her finger further inside, brushes her thumb over the suddenly tender nub of her clit, lets out a plaintive little mewl.
“Christ, you’re so needy,” he teases, smirk softening his words. “Fine. Get yourself off for me, and then I’ll see if I’m ready for a distraction.”
She swallows heavily, more turned on than she’d like to admit, and draws her legs up onto her chair. Her skirt slides further up, and she tugs her knickers a little up her hips, stretched taut around her thighs. She presses the flat of two fingers against her clit, sliding them down to press against her lips, teasing, drawing up moisture, then starts flicking her wrist back and forth, rubbing herself.
George shifts, and she’s gratified to see the outline of his prick, starting to swell against the thin cotton joggers hanging off his hips. She teases her breasts with her other hand, rolling a nipple into a peak, then giving the same treatment to the other, her hips arching up with the sharp pleasure of it. She pulls her shirt up and her sports bra down, so George can get a look at her, if he wants to.
He’s still pretending to ignore her, though a liquid sense of triumph oozes slowly through her low belly, because he is pretending, now. George can take ages to seduce, he gets stubborn about his research, hates getting pulled away in the middle of it. It’s not Lucy’s fault he’s so fucking hot when he’s like that, is it? She can’t help herself.
She rubs harder, grinding against her fingers, small whines leaking out of her. She’s not putting on a show so much as letting George see what he does to her. How much she needs him. The scratching of his pen ratchets up her desire, and she watches his eyes light up and his teeth catch his bottom lip as his attention actually gets drawn back into what he was doing, for a moment. It sends another sharp flutter of arousal through her, and her fingers speed up.
He’s writing quickly now, excited about something, pen flying across the page, so she’s not expecting him to speak. “Better put a couple fingers inside, Luce. I’m going to want your cunt as soon as I’m done here.”
“Oh god,” Lucy mutters, squeezing her eyes closed. She abandons her brisk movements against her clit and does as she’s told, shoving a finger inside of herself, and then another when she finds herself slippery, ready . She clenches, hips bobbing up awkwardly, constrained by her knickers, and brings her other hand to circle her clit. The muscles of her hips and thighs are tense, and she’s straining, hovering a couple inches off the chair now, so close -
“Stop,” says George, setting down his pen. He finally looks up at her, and her hands still immediately, even if she arches her neck in frustration.
“I thought you wanted - “ she huffs, breathless, arousal cycling through her, all pent up with nowhere to go.
“I changed my mind,” he says, stacking his papers neatly to the side. “You’re going to come on my cock. Upstairs, let’s go.”
***
He makes Lucy brush her teeth, and he joins her. “You’ll thank me when you can pass out after we’re done,” he reminds her, and she’d roll her eyes at him but she’s literally so wet that even his bossiness is turning her on right now.
George likes them in his bed. The others get a little more adventurous - walls, tables, the washing machine, one very memorable time against the lockers in the women’s bathroom room at Fittes after an early morning swim with Kat - but George is a bit of a romantic. She thinks he likes seeing her and Lockwood laid out like presents for him, in his own bed, even if that does mean he does an awful lot of laundry.
Finally, finally, she’s spread out on the bed, George stripping his shirt off over his head and stepping out of his pants. His prick bobs, stiff and purpling at the crown, and Lucy feels her mouth flood with saliva at the sight. He strokes himself, root to tip, and grins at her.
“You want it?”
She opens her legs, arches her back, spreads herself open with her fingers. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re awfully mouthy for a girl as wet as you,” George observes, and Lucy lets her limbs starfish out in exasperation. “Ask nicely.”
“Please,” she says, rolling onto her side and batting her eyelashes dramatically at him, then laughs. “Lockwood’s much better at begging prettily, you know.”
George climbs onto the bed with her, pushes her flat against the mattress with a broad hand on her chest. “Lockwood’s not here, so you’ll just have to fill in.” Lucy swallows back the little flutter of unease in her chest. It’s fine. Lockwood will be fine.
His fingers stroke over her breast, squeezing, and it sends another liquid burst of pleasure through her. This time, she sounds more sincere. “Please, Georgie,” she says breathlessly. “Need you.”
George rolls onto her, hips flexing against hers and presses her wrists into the mattress. He nudges slowly inside her, and she can’t get over that it’s like this every time. Filling her up til she can’t breathe, stuffed full of him, her mind turning to soft, staticky fuzz as he slides in and out. She strains against him, tendons in her wrists flexing, just to feel the bands of pressure from his fingers, the sharp erotic thrill she gets from knowing she can’t get away.
He mouths kisses against her throat, whispering things to her, and she hears them as if underwater, only catching about half of it. “My good girl, my Luce,” he’s murmuring, rocking into her steadily, bracing his knees more firmly into the mattress. “Waiting so patiently for me to finish, you don’t know what it does to me -”
“Yeah?” she whispers, turning her head and catching his mouth, scraping her tongue against his incisors.
He grunts, increasing his pace, pushing off her a bit and releasing her wrists. It leaves her just enough space to snake a hand between their bodies to where they’re joined. She taps on her clit, a hard, quick rhythm, her eyes squeezing shut automatically.
“No,” says George, low, and she remembers, opening her eyes, catching his gaze. He likes to watch her when she comes. She nods, bites her lip and shakes around him. Her nerves are on fire, forearm aching a little from how much she’s gotten herself off today, but it doesn’t matter, because she’s close and George’s eyes are liquid, all pupil, greedily drinking up the jut of her chin, her hitched gasps.
Kat doesn’t care about seeing her face. Kat will shove her face first into the mattress and tell her not to speak while she plunges yet another finger inside her, crooning all the while that Lucy’s her good girl, her princess, she can take another, can’t she? She can take Kat’s whole fist in her cunt, she wants it, doesn’t she? And Lucy can’t help herself, mouthing the cotton fibers of Kat’s sheets as she screams into them, coming hard.
But George and Kipps both seem to like it, so she’s gotten good at keeping her eyes open for them. She clenches hard, orgasm ripping through her, a swooping, falling sensation that starts in her belly, then crystallizes in her cunt, brought to a shining finish by the deep, disciplined rhythm George has settled into. She arches up, drawing her hand away and pulling his hips down against hers, the wet slap of his pelvis against hers dirty, delicious. Her eyes widen, mouth open in a wordless moan, and he drinks it in, his cock thick and inexorable inside her. Tears prick her eyes and she finally allows them to fall shut, head bobbing lax against the pillows as George drives into her, prickles of aftershock rushing through her limbs.
Lucy likes this part, too, likes being soft and pliant, for George to enjoy her, use her, without worrying about her pleasure. And he does it so well, snapping into her, rolling his hips, words still falling out of his mouth. How good she is, how sweet her cunt feels, how he’s going to flood her with his come -
“Yes, want it,” she says, clutching the back of his neck. “Fill me up, please, leave it for Lockwood to clean up - “
“God, Lucy,” George bites out, and then he fucks into her hard, and she can just feel the liquid heat of his release as he groans into her neck. She pets down his back gently as he huffs against her, recovering his breath, his weight an astonishing sweetness against her.
Their sweat cools, and George shifts out of her, slides onto the bed next to her and gathers her in his arms. She kisses his palm, places it over her heart.
“Are you thinking about Lockwood?” she asks.
“I’m trying not to,” he grunts, his eyes closed, but then adds, “They’re going to destroy him.”
“And he’ll love every minute of it,” she agrees, heat and a little bit of fear curling in her gut.
“Bit easier for me, I think,” George says. “After all, I’ve been sending you over to them for a while, and you’ve always come back.”
“I didn’t know it would feel like this,” Lucy admits.
“Hmmm,” says George, fingers sliding down her torso to her center, gliding gently through the mess he’s made of her. “It’s Bobby I’m worried about. Hard to be alone when your partners are both… indisposed.”
“Maybe he can come over here, next time,” Lucy teases, just to get a rise out of him.
It works. “Please. What would we possibly do with Bobby Vernon?” She can practically hear him rolling his eyes.
***
It’s several hours later, when Lucy wakes to the sound of the shower running across the hall. Time skips, she must have fallen asleep again, because then Lockwood is sliding under the covers next to her, skin warm and clean.
She rolls over to make room for him, and he settles next to her with a sigh, presses a kiss to the top of her head. George stirs on her other side, and he raises up halfway.
“Lockwood?” he asks, as if it could be anyone else.
“Georgie.” Lucy hears them kissing over her, and that’s not a chaste good night kiss at all. It sounds wet, and messy, and Lockwood’s making those filthy little groans. Her heart’s going fast in her chest, and not just because things are getting interesting. More awake now, she strokes her hands along Lockwood’s chest and back, probing, searching…
Lockwood hisses. Aha, she thought so. “Turn on the light,” she demands. “Want to see.”
George obliges, flipping on the lamp next to the bed, and for a moment they’re all squinting at each other. Lockwood’s smiling at them helplessly, his eyes bright and limbs loose. She knows that look, seen it in the mirror often enough. Then she sees the bruises.
“Oh fuck,” she breathes, finger skating along his marks. “They ruined you, didn’t they?”
Lockwood nods almost shyly, preening as George and Lucy run their hands over him. His arse and thighs are red, from Kipps’ hands, Lucy bets, and he’s covered with deep bites from Kat’s teeth.
Lockwood lets out a little moan when George runs a possessive hand over his arse, and his eyebrows twitch up. “I’m supposed to tell you you’re welcome,” Lockwood says to George, hot blush spread over his cheeks and down his neck.
“Oh?” Lucy says, knowing this is going to be good.
Lockwood nods. “Kipps opened me up for you. He says you have your hands full with both of us, and you’re welcome.”
“Arrogant arse,” George mutters, but his fingers circle Lockwood’s hole, dipping in to find him open and wet. Ready. Lockwood bites his lips and flutters his lashes, and Lucy giggles, because he really is so good at it. “How many times did you come?”
It takes a moment for Lockwood to respond, because George now has two fingers inside him, searching for that spot, and Lockwood’s first attempts at speech are garbled moans. “Twice.”
“Mmm,” George mutters, and then he’s pushing Lockwood down with a heavy palm against his chest, settling between his legs, throwing one over his shoulder to get the angle right. “Room for one more.”
Lockwood doesn’t break the pattern, but she does want him differently, she thinks dazedly. She pushes the flesh of his lip against his teeth with her tongue, then sucks on his bottom lip, drawing a thin whimper from his throat. But he loves that, anyway, loves being a little bit different and special. Is it her fault he looks so very good on his knees? Or like this, taking George’s thick cock. She hitches herself up, swings a leg over his head, and he moans raggedly.
“Yes, Luce,” he cries, and then she lowers herself, hovering over his face and sighs as he tongue strokes into her folds, his hands steady on her already trembling hips.
She feels George’s spend slide out of her, dripping onto his forehead and cheek. George ruts into him, his hands wrapped around Lockwood’s pale thighs, his head thrown back. He looks like a dark-haired god like that, with their beautiful boy spread open so prettily on his cock. Lucy leans forward, catches his mouth in a kiss, as Lockwood moans beneath them.
No, she thinks hazily, having a type doesn’t properly explain how she keeps ending up in these situations. She’s just lucky, and greedy, and she’s going to hold on to as much of this, of them, for as long as she can.