#this was really fun to write i adore writing first kisses

“does anyone who writes smut want to write an AU where lucy is not engaged and she and gregory fool around in that hallway”

Themes:drunk Gregory inward monologuing, frantic kissing, Lucy thinking it’s her one chance to feel like this | Length:2.1k

Read on ao3 or under the cut | masterlist

Standing in the doorway of his brother’s office, Gregory realized something quite astounding. 

Whether it was thanks to the brandy, or just the general events of that evening, he knew that he wanted to see Lucy Abernathy. 

What about, he had no idea. She was sure to be just as miserable as he was in the current moment. (Or, no, strangely enough, he wasn’t very miserable in the current moment.) 

He just wanted to talk to her, he supposed. See how she was feeling. Hear what she might be thinking about all this. 

He hadn’t been planning on running right into her, of course, but it had been dark in the hallway. Or, perhaps, his eyes just weren’t quite open. Oh, well. If the world was going to keep springing surprises on him that night, they might as well be ones that suited him. 

And it was nice speaking to her. Watching the way her mouth moved as she talked, lips parting and closing as she stumbled into a bout of coughing. The light was dim, but he could still make out the angles on her face. The wave of her cheek. The soft curves of her nose and lips. 

Huh. The slight pout of the bottom one, the pleasant bow the top one made. He hadn’t really considered the curve of her lips before. 

Alright, he supposed he had thought about it. Once, maybe twice. But it hadn’t been  serious then. 

Now, however. 

Now, it was serious. He truly was considering it. 

Strangely, he hadn’t considered Hermione’s lips, just her neck. 

Why had he been so concerned with necks when lips were right there? 

She looked quite nice, he thought as they continued talking. Lucy. Lucinda. Lady Lucinda. Quite nice, indeed. 

Though he couldn’t see the color of her eyes in the moonlight peeking out through the open doorways, he could see their shape. Could see her lashes fluttering as she blinked. Could imagine those seven freckles on her face, including the one shaped like Ireland. It was a funny detail for a funny girl. A freckle shaped like Ireland. 

He really was in a good mood. Maybe even a great one. Who would have believed that to be possible? 

The woman he’d reckoned himself in love with was currently engaged to another man. A man who had punched Gregory just earlier that evening. A man who he’d sworn was his worst enemy not twenty-four hours ago. 

And now? 

Now, he simply did not care. He felt warmth in his belly. Comfort. Content. 

Perhaps even happy. 

Lucy had claimed she was leaving, multiple times, in fact, but still, there she stood, right in front of him. 

Meanwhile, Gregory was deliberating whether his good humor was brought on by the brandy or not. Simon- or maybe it was Colin- once told him that a good brandy was all that a man needed to rejuvenate himself. He hadn’t been convinced then, but now he was coming around to the idea. 

Hm. Lucy was sensible. Really sensible, actually. She might be a good person to ask about this sort of thing. 

He liked her. Lucy. She was a fine girl. Overly apologetic, that much was for certain. And a bit too honest, definitely. But still, nice. Good manners. Strong taste in sandwiches. A fortunate skill to have, indeed. 

His mood really was exceptional. He felt like smiling, laughing. Frankly, there was little else he’d enjoy more at the moment than standing in this well-furnished hallway with Lucy Abernathy.

Her mood wasn’t as nice, he noticed. Unlike him, she’d been surprised to see her brother on the verge of ruining her best friend. To find how the secret love he’d been housing from her. 

Huh. Gregory suddenly wondered how he would feel in her position. Maybe if he’d caught Hyacinth and Gareth like that, back before they were married. He really couldn’t picture it. 

Squinting, he inspected her. He watched her swallow, seeing the way her throat moved. His eyes moved upwards though, far more interested in the way her mouth tightened. 

She was telling him that she was unsettled by the entire situation. It was likely the way he should have felt. 

But he didn’t.

She was grabbing his arm, telling him that it wasn’t right. He agreed, whether in his head or aloud, he did not know. All he knew was that Lucy deserved better, deserved to  feel better. 

His arm tingled where she held it. Where her meticulous fingers met his exposed forearm. The pulse through her hand made its way to his own veins. 

It really, really wasn’t right for her to be unhappy. Pretty Lucy, nice Lucy, good Lucy. She deserved to feel as free and unconcerned as he did. 

She really was quite pretty, what with the round, moonlit eyes, and soft, curvy lips. 

Curvy lips- was that a thing? A curve of a lip surely was. 

He liked the way they moved when she talked. She was always talking. Talking, talking, talking. 

Until she wasn’t anymore. 

She wasn’t talking because his lips had gotten in the way. 

He was kissing her. 

Lucy. He was kissing Lucy. 

And he was enjoying it. Immensely. 

Suddenly, he didn’t feel drunk anymore. His mind felt clear and sharp, and he knew that he was doing the exact right thing. 

His hands found her waist, then the small of her back. The feeling of velvet on his fingertips. The feeling of her body moving into his, fitting like half of a broken vase. 

It was unexpected,  she was unexpected. 

Her hands ran up his arms, leaving a trail of fire singing the fabric separating them, until her delicate fingers met the skin above his collar. He shivered into the kiss. 

Her lips parted, a sigh passing from her mouth to his as he was let in. He groaned, his own hand making its way to her hair, caressing fingers edging a few locks out of their pins. 

He wanted more, far  more than he knew he should. Lucinda Abernathy was a lady, an innocent, someone untouchable; certainly not someone he was meant to be attempting to consume in his brother’s hallway. 

But he wanted this. Desperately, God help him, he wanted this. 

Her back arched under his grip, and his lips pried themselves from hers to meet her jaw, taking in all that he could. 

It was inconceivable to think he hadn’t noticed her immediately. Not when he now saw her as the siren that she was. 

The siren that had noticed the sailor upon their very first moment.

Whether she’d have been willing to admit it or not, Lucy had liked Gregory from the start. The very second he had come up and kissed her hand first. 

But he’d chosen Hermione, of course, and Lucy herself was practically engaged. Of course.

Practically.  

But he was so handsome. And endearing. And when they spoke, it really felt like he was listening to  her. To her, Lucy. Not Hermione’s friend, not Richard’s sister. Just Lucy. 

And now, he was here, with her. Nipping at the corners of her mouth, running his teeth over her lower lip, placing frantic kisses down her neck. Her stomach jolted as his lips met a sensitive spot right where her neck met her collarbone. She didn’t even realize that she’d let out a moan until he lingered there, sucking in the bit of skin. 

“Lucy… My God, Lucy,” he whispered against her, the words sliding down her spine like ice. 

She’d never heard her name said like that, with reverence, desire. Worship. Like a vow

She wanted to say his name. Claim it the same way he had hers. The word would not come out. 

Hands were everywhere- tugging, cupping, caressing. 

Hers made their way into his hair, his lower down her back, pulling her even closer. Closer until their bodies were pressed together, every inch melting into the other. It was the closest she’d ever been with anyone, and she could feel him-  all of him. 

Still, it wasn’t close enough. Still, she wanted more. 

Her back met the wall, Gregory’s weight pressing her against it. Her fingers clawed him, pulling him closer, closer. Hearts pounding against each other. Desperation swelled between them, hands clambering to take more and more. Sighs were exchanged through kisses, mystifying sounds that somehow resembled music in their minds. 

That sliver of exposed skin in his open shirt collar, the one Lucy had not allowed herself to admire mere minutes ago, met her fingertips as they ran up his chest. He groaned, his hand crawling back up to her hip, then her ribs, to meet her own chest. 

Lucy gasped, feeling as though her knees might give out at any moment. She wanted to fall to the floor with him, to feel the entire weight of his body on hers. 

And then they were sliding and shifting. And it was Gregory’s back to the wall and Lucy on his lap, knees around his hips. His hands moved, finding her ankles, then her calves, hiking up her skirts until his fingers rested on her thighs, pressing into her skin. 

Her hands moved inside his vest, grasping for whatever she could. No matter what, it wasn’t enough-  none of it was ever enough. 

Gregory wanted it just as much, his entire body screaming at him to keep going, to take it further. He couldn’t control himself, couldn’t get himself to think about it rationally. This was Lucy, and she was magnificent. He groaned as he pulled her closer onto his lap. 

She would never be close enough. 

Closer, closer, closer- 

They broke apart, a loud slam of a door echoing around them. 

Neither of them spoke, neither of them  breathed. The dismay, the fear of someone coming down toward them froze them in place. Lucy glanced at Gregory, his chest dramatically rising and falling as he looked down the hall, hand gripping hers. 

She was petrified of what she might hear next. 

But, appallingly, it wasn’t the thought of someone catching them that scared her. It was simply the thought of someone coming and forcing them to hide, to halt this one divine moment in her life. 

This one moment where she finally understood what life was about. 

They waited in silence for eighteen seconds- anticipating, listening. Neither of them moved, not from the hallway and not from each other. Frightened out of their minds that someone from Gregory’s family, or worse, a rogue guest as she had been, would be making their way towards them. 

Yet still, they did not move. They did not separate themselves. They were still entangled in each other, everything scandalizingly close. Still blissfully close. 

No one came. The hallway stayed empty apart from them. The only sounds that could be heard were from the faint melody coming from the ballroom (or, perhaps, it was just the symphony playing in Lucy’s mind). 

Finally, Gregory turned back, meeting her eyes. Like a bolt of lightning. 

They were pressed together again. “Lucy,” he breathed, eyes clearing. 

Her name on his lips. The heat that came from it. Her own words slipped out. 

“Can we go somewhere more private?” 

His body froze against hers, breaths mixing together in the small space between them. The space that felt like nothing at all and yet still too much. 

He looked at her with all the care in the world. A concerned crinkle of his brow. “Lucy…” 

“Gregory.” A secret oath, meant just for him. She leaned in to kiss him again, wanting the rapture again. Wanting the elation. “Gregory.”  

An oath that felt so right, but so wrong at the same time. 

She could taste the faint remnants of brandy, or she could imagine it. Her head jerked to the bottle just a few feet away. 

A reminder. A blow. A shove back to reality. 

He was drunk.

Not totally, of course, but enough. 

He had been in love with her best friend not two hours before. 

He was heartbroken, and she was the nearest diversion. 

She could have ignored it all, she had ignored it. But she couldn’t do it again. Not when his name felt so much like hers even when he wasn’t. 

Not when her name sounded like it belonged to him, yet neither it nor she did. 

Slowly, Lucy stood up, straightening her skirts on wobbly legs. Gregory reached out to assist her, and she stepped away, unable to look at him. 

“No. I can’t do this.” 

And she couldn’t. 

Gregory was in love with someone else, and she was meant to be engaged by the end of the season. 

He had given her the best moment of her life, and she was thankful for it. But she couldn’t. They couldn’t. 

And he knew it just as well as she did.