Work Text:
Lucy perched on the edge of the desk, smoothing down her royal blue dress. She crossed her ankles, posing herself before settling in to wait for her quarry.
The elevator doors slid open only moments later, revealing Anthony Lockwood. He looked worse than Lucy had seen him in a very long time—she could see the faraway look in his eyes, the way he didn’t seem to be fully present in his own body. A rush of confusion, concern, and longing flooded through her at the sight of him, but she tried to quash it as soon as it came.
“Hello, Anthony,” Marissa purred with Lucy’s voice. “I’ve been waiting for you.” She knew she hadn’t been successful. Marissa had felt her emotions.
“I see that,” Lockwood said flatly. He exited the elevator, but didn’t come further into the room, a well-deserved wariness plain on his face.
Lucy felt herself push off from the desk, the rough wood sliding beneath her fingers as she crossed the space between them. Lockwood didn’t quite flinch, but it was a close thing, and Lucy felt her heart ache. Lockwood was afraid of her. His posture remained relaxed, but she saw the hitch in his breathing, could sense the apprehension rolling off of him in waves.
“I thought that maybe today, we could have a little fun,” Marissa continued as Lucy imagined gnashing her teeth at the woman. “Break up the mundanity of our lives a little bit.”
The apprehension she could sense subtly shifted to dread, and Lucy didn’t know if that was from Lockwood or from herself. Before she had a chance to figure it out, she stepped into Lockwood’s space, driving him back against the elevator doors. She surged forward and her lips were forced upon his.
Internally, Lucy gasped. She wasn’t even sure what she was being punished for, what transgression she had committed for Marissa to respond like this. Her mind refused to consider the possibility that Marissa simply liked torturing her and was doing this for her own enjoyment. Lucy had to have done something.
Lockwood froze against her for a moment, and then he was moving, his lips pressed into hers, hand trailing down to her waist. Lucy hoped he was going to do what she couldn’t, that he was going to push her—Marissa—off of him, reclaim his personal space. Without either of their consent, Lucy’s body pressed closer into him, and she felt his erection against her thigh. Shame and embarrassment fought to be at the forefront of her mind. Lockwood couldn’t help the way his body reacted to her presence, he couldn’t overpower his hormones any more than she could overpower Marissa. He moaned against her and then froze again.
Abruptly, he pushed her back and Lucy’s consciousness sighed in relief, ignoring the way her body ached at the loss of contact. “What the fuck are you doing?” He hissed at her, eyes flashing.
Lucy’s mouth curled into a pout. “Oh, Anthony, come on. Look at you, you know you want it. You like this body.” Her hands gestured down at herself and she tried to project an image of herself shaking her head in warning.
Lockwood was breathing heavily in front of her, disgust written across his face, hatred gleaming in his eyes. Marissa was wrong, Lucy knew, but Lockwood was nearly as helpless to refuse her whims as Lucy was.
“No,” Lockwood said firmly.
“A shame,” Marissa said, before pressing Lucy’s body against Lockwood again. “You need it, she needs it; what’s the problem?” She felt the wicked smile playing on her lips, saw the way his face shuttered in fear. She leaned in close to his ear, her breath tickling his skin.
“If you won’t fuck me, I’ll have to kill her.”
Lucy would have sucked in a breath if she could. She wanted to scream at Lockwood to refuse Marissa. She would be better off dead, and then Lockwood wouldn’t have to go through with this twistedly gallant act to keep her alive.
“You wouldn’t,” he ground out. “You need her.” And of course he was still considering her in all of this, but she could feel Marissa; she knew that the woman was serious. Lucy was a convenient means to an end for her, but she’d come to realize that she was easily replaceable. Now that Marissa controlled the agents and agencies in London, she could burn through as many bodies as she wanted. Lucy didn’t doubt she already had a dozen lies prepared to brush off the death of Lucy Carlyle and usher in a new head of the Fittes Initiative.
Marissa laughed and it echoed around the room in Lucy’s voice. With the echoes still ringing off the walls, she reached down to palm at Lockwood’s cock through his trousers, the scratchy fabric under her fingers setting her teeth on edge, but of course her face remained unchanged, no longer responsive to her will.
“I’ll admit, it would be unfortunate to lose her,” Lucy’s voice said, throat burning at the words. “But don’t be mistaken, Anthony. She’s expendable. You know, before you invited Lucy to join your little band of misfits, I had my eyes on you to be my successor. Your parents were brilliant. Too smart for their own good,” she continued nonchalantly, “but I’d seen enough of you to know that you would do nicely. Your talents with Visitors—” she trailed a finger down his chest.
Lucy felt sick at the thought that Marissa had intended for Lockwood to be in this position instead of her, and although she couldn’t bring herself to be grateful, she knew she’d make every choice that led her here over again if it meant keeping Lockwood from this fate.
“Your charisma,” her voice had dropped to a raspy whisper as she pulled down the zipper to his trousers. Lucy’s mind caught up to Marissa’s actions then, and she tried with all her might to pull her hand back, to not violate Lockwood in this way, to not betray the trust that had begun to develop between them any further than she had when she agreed to join Marissa.
“Your skill with a rapier,” she smirked, and suddenly her hand had slipped beneath his waistband and Lucy’s calloused fingers were wrapped around his cock. Lockwood gasped and Lucy’s hand moved again down his shaft. He let out a keening noise and Lucy wanted nothing more than to squeeze her eyes closed, to look away, to give Lockwood some semblance of privacy in this moment. But Marissa was staring at him, so Lucy saw everything.
“That’s right,” Marissa used her voice to hum in appreciation. “I like when you’re loud for me.” Lucy’s scream rattled through her mind, but only she and Marissa could hear it.
“No, stop,” Lockwood choked out, and he looked horrified by what was happening. This had to be so far beyond what he could have dreamed he would be forced to do to keep Lucy safe, when he’d made the choice to stay with her and Marissa all those years ago.
She felt her lips curl into a smile and then they were crashing against Lockwood’s, hard, relentless. She’d dreamed of kissing Lockwood before, but it was never like this. She knew he’d never be this rough with her, and her consciousness trembled at her helplessness to give him the kiss he deserved, the one he would deserve if he’d ever shown an interest in kissing Lucy before now.
Her hand started moving of its own accord, unbuttoning his trousers, further yanking down the zipper, her nimble fingers again closing around his cock, already hard under her touch. Her mind stuttered at the contact, the feel of him against her skin. She’d never thought she would actually know what he felt like, and her mind froze as it tried to process the moment.
Then her fist clenched, tight, and she knew it was wrong even before she heard Lockwood’s pained intake of breath. She was hurting him but she was powerless to make it stop, her hand moving roughly up and down as he made noises she’d never heard before, noises she couldn’t readily identify as pain or pleasure.
His legs gave out from underneath him and he pressed further against Lucy as she leaned forward, pinning him solidly to the cool metal door. She could feel her own need pooling in her stomach, burning heat through her body, but she was unable to offer herself any relief, unable to stop what was happening to either of them.
With a blinding cry, Lockwood came, leaving sticky streaks all over the front of Lucy’s dress. Marissa smiled; therefore, Lucy smiled. In reality, she wanted to scream. She wanted to sob, to apologize, to throw herself off the roof and into the Thames for what she’d just witnessed, what she’d just been made to do.
Instead, against her will, her mouth opened. “Go get some rest, Anthony,” she cooed. “You look like shit.”
And although Lucy would have never said it, that at least was the truth. Lockwood looked like he was going to vomit. His chest was heaving, his face screwed up in revulsion, his eyes glazed and unfocused. Lucy tried yet again to look away, tried not to stare at him after Marissa had just used her to humiliate him, but she had no control. Her gaze drifted to his cock, then back to his face.
Her hand reached out, betraying her, defying her, to push the elevator button. The doors slid open soundlessly, and she roughly shoved Lockwood inside.
Lucy knew the memory of the haunted, vacant look on his face as the doors closed between them would be with her until her dying breath.
“Well, wasn’t that exciting?” She felt her mouth move to form the words, felt her vocal cords vibrating in time with the sentiments she did not share.
Marissa extended one of Lucy’s fingers, and Lucy realized what she was going to do a split second before it happened. The piece of her mind still present raged, flailed, fought—to no avail.
Her finger trailed through the sticky stain at the front of her dress, slowly moving upwards to her mouth. She was powerless to stop the finger from pressing between her lips. She tasted Lockwood on her tongue, still warm. Lucy felt the last frayed edges of her sanity begin to snap.
She’d be lying if she said she’d never thought about what it would be like to have Lockwood in this way, to feel him under her. Now she knew, and she hated herself for it. Marissa had taken her fantasy, her remaining dream of a different life, and twisted it into something dark and depraved.
Never again would Lucy be able to use this as her avenue for escape, to allow her mind a moment to flee from Marissa’s puppeteering. Perhaps they had been childish, dreams of a life that had never been and now would never be hers, but her fantasies of Lockwood—gentle kisses, lazy mornings, growing old together and yes, having sex—had sustained her, allowed her to survive Marissa’s hostile takeover of her body and will.
And Marissa had purposefully desecrated the only thing Lucy truly had left in the hell that had become her life.
Her consciousness curled in on itself as Marissa laughed. “Oh, darling. Don’t be so dramatic now. If you liked that, we can always do it again.”
A pulse of terror shot across their shared consciousness, and Marissa twisted Lucy’s lips into a cruel smirk she would have never found the muscles to create on her own.
“Lockwood got to have his fun, so now it’s your turn.”
Lucy felt herself lowering onto one of the couches in the large office space, felt her hand slip between her legs, her short dress giving her fingers easy access. She heard herself moan as she found her clit and began massaging. Her body was already sensitive and she felt her back arching at the sudden contact. Her other hand slipped down further and her mouth opened in a sharp gasp as two of her fingers slid inside herself, startled by how soaking wet she was.
Lucy writhed on the couch as Marissa set a furious pace, moaning and gasping in ways that weren’t her, were slightly out of sync with the way she naturally wanted to respond. Her brain was short-circuiting, her body rolling under her without her permission, her fingers moving inside of her. She could feel her orgasm building, a tsunami approaching quickly, waiting to ravage her and leave nothing but destruction in its wake.
Her mind drifted towards thoughts of Lockwood, remembering the sounds he made, traitorously imagining what it would be like if it was truly her making him sound like that instead of Marissa, what it would be like if he was truly a willing participant, if she was herself. What it would feel like to have him inside of her, instead of her own fingers powered by the sadistic presence that now dictated her every move.
Another moment later with that thought at the forefront of her mind, and she felt herself thrown over the edge. “Anthony!” She screamed, the name being ripped from her unwilling lips.
As soon as the static in her mind receded, it was immediately replaced with an overwhelming revulsion. If she had control of any aspect of her body, she would be sobbing, shaking with guilt and grief and disgust. But she had no authority over her body.
Instead, Lucy lay on the couch and lazily stretched her arms above her head indulgently, reminiscent of a cat waking from a nap, the hem of her dress up over her hips.
“We will definitely be doing that again,” Marissa said, and Lucy felt the world spin dizzyingly around her, an acrid combination of hatred for the spirit of the woman who had seized control of her body and hated for herself for allowing this absolute loss of control swirling through her.