Chapter Text
Lucy Carlyle did not expect the college fencing club to have a single other member. She also never would have guessed who that member was.
Anthony Lockwood was the kind of guy everyone in her year knew. He was the guy that a friend of a friend had gone to a party with and seen some crazy stuff. He was the guy that someone’s mom’s cousin once dated. He was as popular as one can get without being on the college football team, and of course he wasn’t on that team, because he was also the stereotypical exchange student. Even if he wasn’t a Brit, he wouldn’t play football. The only exercise Lucy had ever heard of him partaking in was the crazy orgy on the McMann dorm’s second floor. The one everyone had heard of and no one could remember.
Oh, and fencing, apparently.
She didn’t think they’d ever actually properly talked- she’d seen him across the quad, talking to some bouncy bubbly big-boobed girl on their way to the campus cafe, but she’d never talked to them. Nonetheless, she recognized him immediately.
Last year, when she and her roommate Norrie first got to school, he was the one checking the freshman into the dorms. Norrie was gay, but Lucy still remembered her whispering “Now, that’s a guy I would fuck…”. Lucy remembered blushing as Anthony’s hand brushed across hers as he handed paperwork over. Lucy remembered his smirk at that blush, and his crisp accent as he wished her luck for the school year. She remembered the crush on him that she’d harbored for a full year, just to be completely ignored.
After thinking all of these many things over, eyes on his lithe body as he practiced the same jabs over and over, she finally walked in, helmet under her arm and bag of kit sat on her opposite shoulder.
“Hey.” Cool, cool… play it cool. You’re a grown woman, or goddamn close to one. “Is it just us for the fencing club?”
Lockwood jumped as she spoke, so focused on his drills that he hadn’t heard her come in. He whips around so fast that his rapier almost takes off Lucy's head, and it’s only due to much practice that Lucy jumps away from a trip to the ER.
“Christ… you scared me.”
Oh, wonderful. His accent was just as posh and pretty as Lucy remembered. Maybe she could give up the sport, and go back to avoiding him.
“Lucy, you fence?”
Anthony relaxed as he spoke, a lazy grin spreading across his face.
“Anthony, you know my name?”
With the banter, Lucy began to relax as well. “Is anyone else coming?”
“Lockwood.” Anthony… sorry, Lockwood, was quick to interrupt. “Call me Lockwood. And of course I know your name, Lucy Carlyle.”
“Do you know the answer to my question, too? Or should I repeat it for you?”
Lots of people Lucy had met had called her rude. She, personally, found herself funny, but even in the moment she knew her quips were leaning towards mean. That didn’t stop her, though. It’s funny how bitter she could be over unrequited love, even when it was her own fault she’d never done anything about it.
“Sorry, it must have slipped my mind.” Lockwood rocked back on his heels. “You’re lucky my rapier didn’t slip along with it.”
“I could have dodged.” That wasn’t mean, was it? Just blunt. Direct. You would almost think I was the English one with how dry I want this conversation to be. Maybe I should ask about the weather, while I’m at it. “Is it just us for fencing club?”
“Us… so you’re joining? You sure you have what it takes?”
“Again, that’s not an answer. But I’m pretty sure a piece of half-cooked spaghetti could win against you, so there must be at least one other person here.”
“Just us, darling.” Fuck, did he have to say darling like that? “I was practicing all on my own last year, but I promise I could beat some limp pasta if I really put my mind to it.”
“You sure?”
Lucy was deeply glad she’d never had a conversation with Lockwood last year. She was over him, absolutely over him, and she felt like her face was beet red from mild banter. She turned away to pull on her gear and warm up, and after she’d done some warning drills, Lockwood turned to her and smiled genuinely.
“I’m not sure. It really has been a long time since I’ve sparred. Would you be up for it?”
“Sure.” Oh wait, shit, what did I just agree to?
The words slipped out before Lucy could tear her eyes from the sweat that had built up on his forehead during his earlier practice. She wasn’t sure what deodorant he used, but it kept out the stench and let out all the porn potential. Old spice, axe body spray, and every boy in her dorm building could learn a lesson.
The spar began as normal. Lucy tried to concentrate, but it was like Lockwood was trying harder to show off then to play. She got him in the first round almost immediately, the point of her rapier hitting him squarely in his chest as he posed mid block like some fashionista.
“I really think that the spaghetti could win.”
“No…” Lockwood dramatically flopped backwards to lean on the wall. The practice was in a small mirrored room, probably meant for ballet, but had repurposed, with a water fountain and fencing mats across the floor. “I’m just a bit rusty, is all.”
“It’s not like I played last year, either…”
“I was going to ask, why didn’t you? The club existed last year, I put posters up and everything.”
I had too big of a schoolgirl obsession to do anything in my freetime but jack off to your latest instagram selfie… “Sorry, Mr. Legally Old Enough To Drink, but some of us had a difficult freshman adjustment to college. Maybe it was different back in your day?”
Lockwood laughed.
“No, not at all. I forget that you aren’t my age sometimes.”
“Really?”
Lucy had every little detail about his life memorized.
“Yeah. Funny, now that I think about it- I checked you into the freshman dorms last year, and I remember that just fine.”
“You remember that, too?”
“Yeah. It’s not everyday a girl announces to the entire line of new students that she’d shag me.”
“I remember it as a whisper, but whatever helps your ego works.”
“Your face definitely wasn’t whispering with how red it got the second I read your name off the list.”
“Is that meant to be a pickup line?”
Lockwood had the good humor to sigh and furrow his eyebrows.
“Yeah. That one was pretty shit.”
“Up for another round? You win, and I won’t make fun of you for all the embarrassing crap I’ve had to put up with.”
“Another round?” Lockwood smirked. It was clear that the dirty joke was playing out in his head, and for fuck’s sake, it wasn’t even intentional this time. “Anytime.”
They went through the paces again. En guarde, allez, FIGHT… same thing. Lockwood at least had a few good parrys, but not many. Not enough for Lucy to take a single step backwards as she forced him across the mat.
“Thought you said you were just a little rusty?”
Lockwood huffed, out of breath and out of practice. He was almost at the end of the mat, and his back was practically against the mirrored wall of the narrow room.
“It’s hard to focus when a pretty girl is focusing all her attention on me…”
Lockwood tripped as he reached the end of the mat, and Lucy rushed forward, dropping her rapier, trying to catch him before he hit the glass. She didn’t succeed- just pinned him to the wall, partially collapsed onto him. She blushed, deeply, at the situation she was in. It felt like the pose you only see in clickbait spicy advertisements. That’s when she felt it.
At about her lower hip, a pressure was pushing into her skin. At first she thought it was the hilt of Lockwood’s rapier, but then her mind flashed to how they had each dropped their weapons as they fell. That only left one real possibility for what that sensation could be.
“Seems like focusing isn’t the only thing I’m making hard right now…”