The Shimmering Wraith (Lockwood and Co. Fanfic)

The Ghost - 1.

                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.