Lockwood pulled me into the safety of the niche, shielding me with his body as the blinding flash of light from the magnesium flare sent heat waves roiling down the stairwell. As the flare died so too did the other-light, until there was nothing but blackness. Lockwood’s hand fell to my waist and my breath caught in my throat.
“Lockwood…” my throat was tight; I couldn’t speak.
“Anthony,” he whispered, stroking my cheek. “Call me Anthony.”
And then his lips were against mine, pressing feverishly as his fingers worked gentle circles beneath my shirt and up my back, leaving tendrils of lingering heat in their wake. My knees felt weak and I forgot we were in a haunted house with an angry ghost girl most likely manifesting above us. His hair was soft against my face, his muscles taught as I ran my hands up his spine and over his shoulders to his chest-
“Lockwood? Lucy?” George’s shrill hiss was like a bucket of cold water and I felt myself stiffen as Lockwood pulled away. I gazed at him in shock, noticing as I did so that his coat was half off and his shirt had come untucked at the back, smoky black handprints creeping down his chest. He wasn’t looking at me; his eyes were off down the bottom of the stairs where I could just make out a vague shape creeping below. My first thought was a Visitor and my fingers fluttered towards my rapier, but then Lockwood’s hand was in mine and he was tugging me down towards the figure, which I now realised was George.
“Lockwo- Anthony,” I corrected, trying to ignore how warm and comforting the touch of his hand was. Really, it was most distract- “Anthony. What just happened?”
“We just narrowly escaped a Type Two, thanks to your brilliant ingenuity and strength.”
“No, not that- the other thing.”
“Oh, the kiss? I believe that’s how people express their feelings for one another. There’s no time to discuss that now though, not unless you want George to say something inappropriate.”
“What?” George, his mouth full of a food-stuff of indeterminable origin, stared at our entwined hands and then at my stupefied expression. “Is Lucy alright? I heard the explosion and she looks like she’s been-”
“Lucy’s fine,” Lockwood said, though he didn’t let go of me despite George’s penetrating glare. He really did have beady eyes. “Where are the iron chains? We need them upstairs. Can you go get them? Good. Meet us back here in two minutes; we’re going to go investigate a different way up.”
“Lockwood, why are there handprints all over your shirt?” George asked suddenly.
“Two minutes George; we’ve got no time to waste. Come along Lucy.”
I let myself be lead away from the stairs, though Lockwood didn’t take me any further than round the corner before pressing me up against the wall. I didn’t say anything as I watched him, his head cocked as he listened for signs of George’s retreat.
“Now, where were we?” he asked, flashing me an iridescent smile, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight from further down the empty hall. “I do believe George interrupted something, and we can’t have that, can we?”
“No,” I said, a quiver in my voice I couldn’t quite account for. Now, where had knee caps gotten to? Oh yes, there they were. I attempted to stand on my own but I only just avoided collapsing against Lockwood’s chest. He caught me easily, his fingers warm against my lower back.
“Steady there,” he said, before he was kissing me again, his lips soft and pliable as they melded with my own.
“Anthony,” I began hesitantly as I paused for breath. “Why now?”
“I’ve only just worked up the courage,” Lockwood admitted. He touched the lightest of kisses to my mouth. “And I was trying to find somewhere appropriate to tell you how I felt. Not that this is appropriate, but-”
“Anthony? You let her call you Anthony?” George had his arms full of iron, chains clanking as they wrestled for position. I wondered how we hadn’t heard his approach, and then I remembered the feeling of Lockwood’s lips against mine- yes, there was no way you could think of George when filled with such bliss.
“Yes George, I let Lucy call me Anthony. Does it bother you?”
“Do you know how long I’ve been working with you, and you never once let me call you Anthony. Never.”
“George, you’ve only been with me six months longer,” Lockwood took a firm stride away from me, almost as though it pained him to do so, and then he let out a long sigh, his eyes smouldering as he looked at me, running a hand through his hair. “Now, we’ve got to get this job finished. There’s a dangerous ghost at the top of the stairs and who knows how many others in the house. Have you got some flares on you George? Lucy and I have used up most of ours.”
“I can’t believe you let her call you Anthony,” George muttered as he searched his belt, the chains tipping precariously in his hold. “And you kissed her! Eugh!” he passed us both a magnesium flare. “Here you go Anthony. And I think we should make it a rule now that there can’t be any kissing on the job or in the house; understood? I am not going to put up with you two making puppy-dog faces at each other day and night.”
I nodded; Lockwood merely shrugged.
“If that’s the way you want it George. Let’s see about this other way up; surely there’s another staircase, a servants entrance maybe?”
We searched in vain for the next few minutes, and during that time I spent most of it watching Lockwood’s elegant physique as he knocked on wooden panelling and felt along the edge of the floor, searching for streams of air or hollow recesses hidden in the walls.
“You and Lockwood? Who would have guessed?”
I jumped at the sound of George’s voice to find him watching me from but two feet away, scrutinizing me. I felt a blush rise to my cheeks and hid it with a cough before turning back to the wall I was supposed to be investigating.
“I didn’t think you were the day-dreaming type, but it seems I was wrong.”
“It’s night George,” I pointed out. “Most people dream at night.”
“Not about Lockwood they don’t.”
“How do you know? I bet you have dreams about him all the time; probably one’s where he’s kicking your over-sized backside in fencing practice.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my backside, thankyou very much. I’ll have you know that Mary Cubbins though-”
“Who’s Mary Cubbins?” I exclaimed, gazing at him anew. “Don’t tell me you had a girlfriend?”
“No, stupid, she was my mother,” George grumbled. “Now stop mooning over Anthony and get some work done. I don’t want to be here all night.”
This is my first attempt at fanfiction, so would be please for some feedback! Obviously the characters and the world it's set is not my own but the story line is entirely mine. Hope you enjoy! Anyone got a good name for Anthony-Lucy ship?