Chapter Fourteen: The Tension
Y/N was beginning to think Lucy had made it her personal mission to drive her completely insane.
It had been three weeks since the night at the club, three weeks since Y/N's embarrassing confession about being inexperienced, and three weeks of the most intense sexual tension she'd ever experienced in her life.
Because Lucy, bless her infuriating heart, had apparently decided that the solution to Y/N's inexperience was to slowly and methodically drive her out of her mind with want.
"You're staring again," Lucy said without looking up from her phone.
They were at Y/N's flat on a Tuesday evening, Y/N attempting to do paperwork while Lucy sprawled across her couch in grey joggers and a sports bra because apparently wearing a full shirt was too much effort.
"You've been looking at the same page for ten minutes."
"You're staring at my stomach."
"Your stomach happens to be in my line of sight."
"Uh-huh." Lucy finally looked up, smirking. "Should I put a shirt on? Would that help your concentration?"
"No, I shouldn't put a shirt on, or no, it wouldn't help?"
"It's the only answer you're getting."
Lucy's smirk widened. She stretched, arms above her head, and her sports bra rode up slightly, exposing more skin. Y/N's pen snapped in half.
"Oops," Y/N said, staring at the broken pen.
"Did you just break your pen?"
"It was fine thirty seconds ago."
Y/N threw the broken pen in the trash and tried to refocus on her paperwork. She was reviewing treatment plans for tomorrow's clients, which should have been straightforward, except Lucy was still lying there being distracting.
"Are you hungry?" Lucy asked suddenly.
"There's food in the kitchen."
"I don't want your food. I want real food."
"Your food is sad single-person portions that make me depressed just looking at them."
"Stop saying that." Lucy sat up. "Come on. Let's go get dinner."
"You've been staring at the same page for twenty minutes. You're not getting work done."
"I'm getting work done in my head."
"That's not how paperwork works."
Lucy stood and walked over to Y/N's desk, plucking the pen from her hand. "Come get dinner with me."
"Please? I'll let you pick the place."
"That's not the incentive you think it is."
"I'll pay without you arguing about it."
They ended up at a small Italian place near Y/N's flat, tucked into a corner booth while rain pattered against the windows. It was cozy, intimate, and Y/N was trying very hard not to think about how much this felt like a date.
Not that their other outings hadn't felt like dates. But those had been activities—bowling, mini-golf, baking disasters. This was just... dinner. Together. In a romantic setting.
"You're doing that thing again," Lucy said.
"That thing where you overthink everything."
"You have a crease between your eyebrows. You always get that when you're overthinking."
"Maybe I just have an expressive face."
"You have the least expressive face of anyone I know. Except when you're overthinking."
The server came to take their orders—Y/N getting pasta because it was safe, Lucy getting something with an unpronounceable name because she was adventurous like that.
"So," Lucy said once the server left. "Tell me about your day."
"You were there for half of it."
"Tell me about the half I wasn't there for."
"I treated a shoulder impingement, a knee that won't stop clicking, and Mr. Henderson's eternal knee problems."
"Does he ever not complain?"
"Not in the six months I've known him. I think complaining is his primary form of communication."
"Maybe he just likes you."
"He has a terrible way of showing it."
Their food arrived, and they fell into comfortable conversation about nothing and everything. Lucy told her about training, about the upcoming match against Arsenal, about how one of her teammates had accidentally locked herself in the equipment room for thirty minutes.
"How do you accidentally lock yourself in?" Y/N asked.
"That's what we all wanted to know. She claimed the lock was faulty."
"No. She's just not very bright sometimes."
They were halfway through dinner when Lucy's foot found Y/N's under the table. Just a light touch, almost accidental. Except Lucy's eyes had that mischievous glint that meant it definitely wasn't accidental.
"What are you doing?" Y/N asked.
"Is it? I hadn't noticed."
Lucy's foot traveled up Y/N's calf, slow and deliberate. Y/N's fork clattered against her plate.
"I'm sitting here eating pasta. Very innocently."
"You're doing this on purpose."
"This. The foot thing. The sports bra earlier. All of it."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes you do. You're trying to drive me insane."
Lucy's smile was pure innocence. "Would I do that?"
"Absolutely. You're doing it right now."
"I'm just eating dinner with you. If you're finding that distracting, that sounds like a you problem."
Y/N narrowed her eyes. "You're enjoying this."
"I don't know what you mean."
"You're enjoying watching me squirm."
"Am I watching you squirm? I haven't noticed."
Lucy laughed and mercifully moved her foot away. They finished dinner in relative peace, though Y/N could feel Lucy watching her with that knowing smile that suggested this was far from over.
When they got back to Y/N's flat, Lucy immediately sprawled back on the couch, and Y/N knew she was doomed. There was no way she was getting any work done tonight. Not with Lucy there being all... Lucy.
"Want to watch something?" Lucy asked.
"I should finish my paperwork."
"Or you could watch TV with me."
"Those aren't the same thing."
"I know. But one of them is more fun."
"One of them is also responsible adulting."
"Adulting is overrated. Come watch TV with me."
Y/N should say no. Should be responsible. Should finish her work.
She sat down next to Lucy.
"Good choice," Lucy said, immediately curling into Y/N's side.
They put on some documentary about ocean life—David Attenborough's soothing voice narrating the adventures of sea turtles—and Y/N tried to focus on the screen. But Lucy's hand was tracing patterns on her stomach, absent-minded and casual, and it was extremely distracting.
"Are you even watching this?" Y/N asked.
"Mmm. Sea turtles are very interesting."
"I'm watching with my mind."
Lucy's hand traveled lower, stopping just above the waistband of Y/N's jeans. Not doing anything inappropriate, just... resting there. A casual touch that shouldn't mean anything but absolutely did.
"Lucy," Y/N said, her voice slightly strained.
Lucy's thumb rubbed small circles against Y/N's hip, and Y/N felt her brain start to short-circuit. This was torture. Beautiful, wonderful torture.
"You know," Lucy said conversationally, "you're very tense."
"Maybe you should relax."
"Maybe you should stop touching me like that."
"Like what? I'm barely touching you."
"Exactly. It's the barely that's the problem."
Lucy shifted, propping herself up on one elbow to look at Y/N properly. "Are you saying you want me to touch you more?"
"I'm saying you're being deliberately provocative."
Y/N looked at Lucy—at her knowing smile, her bright eyes, the way she was looking at Y/N like she was something precious and wanted. "You know it is."
Lucy kissed her then, slow and deep, and Y/N forgot all about sea turtles and paperwork and everything that wasn't Lucy's mouth on hers. They'd kissed plenty of times over the past three weeks—quick kisses hello and goodbye, deeper kisses during their movie nights—but this felt different. More intentional. More heated.
Lucy's hand moved from Y/N's hip to cup her face, thumb stroking her cheekbone as they kissed. Y/Ns hands found Lucy's waist, pulling her closer, and Lucy made a soft sound that went straight through Y/N.
They broke apart eventually, both breathing hard.
They stared at each other for a moment, and then Lucy was kissing her again, harder this time. Y/N kissed back just as desperately, all the tension from the past few weeks pouring into it.
Lucy shifted so she was straddling Y/N's lap, and Y/N's hands automatically went to her hips, holding her steady. This position was significantly more dangerous than their previous ones, and Y/N's brain was having trouble processing anything beyond Lucy Lucy Lucy.
"Is this okay?" Lucy asked against her mouth.
They kept kissing, Lucy's hands in Y/N's hair, Y/N's hands tracing patterns on Lucy's back. It was intense and perfect and Y/N never wanted it to stop.
Then Lucy's hips shifted slightly, pressing down, and Y/N made a sound she'd never made before.
Lucy pulled back, eyes dark. "You okay?"
"I'm... yes. Very okay. Extremely okay."
"Want me to make you make it again?"
Y/N's brain had officially left the building. "I... what?"
Lucy smiled and kissed her again, slower this time but no less intense. Her hips moved again—deliberately now—and Y/N made that sound again, louder this time.
"There it is," Lucy murmured against her mouth.
"Because it keeps being true."
They continued like that for ages—kissing, touching, Lucy occasionally moving her hips in ways that made Y/N forget her own name. Eventually, they had to break apart because breathing was apparently necessary for survival.
"That was..." Y/N couldn't finish the sentence.
Lucy looked very pleased with herself. "We should probably stop before I get too carried away."
"A very pleasant dilemma."
Lucy climbed off Y/N's lap with visible reluctance and settled back into her previous position—head on Y/N's shoulder, arm around her waist. The documentary was still playing, now showing fish doing something impressive.
"We missed most of this," Lucy observed.
They watched in comfortable silence for a while, both of them still breathing harder than normal. Y/N could feel her heart pounding, could feel the lingering sensation of Lucy in her lap.
"Lucy?" Y/N said after a while.
"That thing you said earlier. About making it your mission to drive me insane."
Lucy was quiet for a moment. "Because I like seeing you flustered. Because watching you try to concentrate when I'm distracting you is adorable. Because I want you to be so comfortable with me that when you're ready to go further, it's not scary."
"The driving me insane part? Absolutely."
Y/N thought about it. Three weeks ago, she'd panicked at the idea of taking her shirt off. Now, she'd just spent twenty minutes making out with Lucy while Lucy was in her lap, and she hadn't panicked once.
"Yeah," Y/N said quietly. "It's working."
"Good." Lucy pressed a kiss to Y/N's jaw. "No rush though. We can keep doing exactly this for as long as you need."
"Even though I'm probably frustrating you?"
"You're not frustrating me."
"I'm definitely frustrating you."
"Okay, maybe a little. But in a good way. In a 'I really like you and want to do this right' way."
"Obviously. Why else would I spend all my free time trying to distract you?"
They fell back into silence, the documentary continuing its journey through the ocean. Y/N felt herself relaxing, the earlier tension transforming into something more comfortable.
"Stay tonight?" Y/N asked.
"Yeah. Unless you need to get back to Narla."
"My brother has her tonight. I'm all yours."
"I like the sound of that."
The next afternoon, Lucy showed up at the practice right as Y/N was finishing with her last client.
"What are you doing here?" Y/N asked.
"Picking you up. We're going somewhere."
"I don't like surprises."
"Just get in the car, Y/N."
Twenty minutes later, they pulled up to a pottery studio.
"Because it's fun and we've never done it."
"We've never done a lot of things."
"And now we're doing this one. Come on."
The studio was small and cozy, with wheels set up at various stations and shelves full of half-finished projects. An instructor greeted them enthusiastically and got them set up at neighboring wheels.
"Have either of you done this before?" the instructor asked.
"Nope," Lucy said cheerfully.
"First time for everything," Y/N added.
The instructor gave them a basic rundown of how to center the clay, how to use their hands to shape it, how to keep it from collapsing. It all sounded straightforward until Y/N actually tried to do it.
Her clay immediately went lopsided.
"This is harder than it looks," Y/N said.
"It's not so bad," Lucy said. Her clay was somehow already forming into something bowl-like.
"How are you good at this?"
"I'm good at everything."
"Except baking," Lucy agreed.
Y/N tried again, managing to get the clay centered before it promptly collapsed into a sad puddle.
"This clay is defective," Y/N announced.
"It's not the clay's fault."
"It's absolutely the clay's fault."
"Maybe you're not centered enough."
"The clay isn't centered enough."
Y/N glared at her wheel. This was supposed to be fun and relaxing. Instead, it was frustrating and messy.
"Need help?" the instructor asked, coming over.
"Yes," Y/N said immediately.
The instructor helped her get the clay centered again and showed her how to use her thumbs to create the opening. With guidance, Y/N managed to form something that could generously be described as bowl-adjacent.
"There you go!" the instructor said. "You're getting it."
"That's just a nice word for bad."
Lucy was trying very hard not to laugh.
"Don't laugh at my lumpy bowl."
"You're absolutely laughing."
"I'm smiling supportively."
"That's not what your face is doing."
Lucy's bowl, meanwhile, was taking shape beautifully. It was even, smooth, and actually looked like something functional.
"Show me yours," Lucy said, leaning over to look. "Oh. That's... it's..."
"Terrible. You can say it."
"We can paint it later and it'll look better."
"Paint won't fix structural issues."
"Not with that attitude."
They spent the next hour working on their pottery, Y/N's bowl remaining stubbornly lumpy while Lucy's transformed into something Pinterest-worthy. By the time they were done,Y/N's hands were covered in clay and her bowl looked like it had been made by someone's artistic but confused toddler.
"I think it's perfect," Lucy said, examining Y/N's creation.
"You're sincerely a liar."
They moved to the painting station, where Y/N decided that if her bowl was going to be lumpy, it might as well be colorfully lumpy. She painted it in chaotic stripes of blue and green while Lucy created something elegant and minimalist.
"Yours looks nice," Y/N admitted grudgingly.
"Thanks. Yours looks... fun."
"That's not a compliment."
"Fun means bad but you're too polite to say it."
When they were done, the instructor explained that the bowls needed to be fired and they could pick them up next week. They washed the clay off their hands and headed back to the car.
"That was actually fun," Y/N said.
"Even though your bowl is terrible?"
"Even though. Thanks for bringing me."
"You're welcome. Though I have to say, watching you fight with that clay was the highlight of my week."
"I wasn't fighting with it."
"You threatened it. Multiple times."
"It was being uncooperative."
"It's clay, Y/N. It doesn't have agency."
They drove back to Lucy's house, where Narla greeted them with her usual enthusiasm. Lucy ordered takeaway while Y/N settled on the couch, and they spent the evening watching TV and arguing about whether Y/N's bowl counted as art.
"It's abstract," Y/N insisted.
"Abstract and lumpy aren't mutually exclusive."
"You're very critical for someone who claims to like me."
"I can like you and also acknowledge that your pottery skills need work."
"What if pottery is my passion? What if you just crushed my dreams?"
"Is pottery your passion?"
"Then I didn't crush your dreams."
"You could have though. That's the important part."
Lucy laughed and pulled Y/N closer. "Your terrible pottery is very endearing."
"I'm not lying. It's endearing that you tried so hard and failed so spectacularly."
"That's the meanest compliment I've ever received."
They settled in to watch a movie—some action thing with explosions that neither of them really cared about. Lucy was curled into Y/N's side, warm and comfortable, and Y/N felt herself relaxing into it.
Then Lucy's hand started wandering again.
"Are we doing this again?" Y/N asked.
"The thing where you pretend to be innocent while deliberately distracting me."
"I'm not pretending anything. I'm just sitting here."
"Your hand is on my thigh."
"Is it? I hadn't noticed."
Lucy's hand moved higher, still over Y/N's jeans but significantly more present than before. Y/N felt her breath catch.
"You're terrible at watching movies," Y/N said.
"I'm excellent at watching movies."
"You haven't looked at the screen in five minutes."
"I'm watching it in my mind."
"That's still not a thing."
Lucy shifted so she was half on top of Y/N, her face close enough to kiss. "Hi."
"Want to keep watching the movie?"
Lucy kissed her, and Y/N forgot all about explosions and terrible pottery and everything that wasn't this. They kissed slowly, thoroughly, like they had all the time in the world.
Lucy's hand moved to cup Y/N's face, thumb stroking her cheekbone, and Y/N's hands found Lucy's waist, pulling her closer. This was becoming familiar now—the way Lucy tasted, the soft sounds she made, the way she fit perfectly against Y/N.
"Can I—" Lucy's hand moved to the hem of Y/N's shirt. "Is this okay?"
Y/N hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Okay."
Lucy pushed Y/N's shirt up slowly, giving her plenty of time to stop her. When Y/N didn't, Lucy pulled it off completely, leaving Y/N in her sports bra.
"Still okay?" Lucy asked.
"Yeah. Nervous, but okay."
Lucy kissed her again, slower this time, her hands exploring carefully. She traced the definition of Y/N's abs, the curve of her ribs, the band of her sports bra.
"You're so beautiful," Lucy murmured.
"Because it keeps being true."
Lucy kissed down Y/N's neck, and Y/N's head fell back against the couch. This was different from before—more vulnerable, more exposed—but it felt safe. Lucy was being careful, attentive, making sure Y/N was okay every step of the way.
"Still good?" Lucy asked against her collarbone.
"Can I take mine off too? Would that help you feel less exposed?"
"Yeah. Yes. That would help."
Lucy pulled back and pulled off her own shirt in one smooth motion. She was wearing a black sports bra that did absolutely nothing to help Y/N's thought processes.
"Worse. Definitely worse. You're very distracting."
"Good distracting or bad distracting?"
Lucy laughed and kissed her again, and Y/N let herself sink into it. The skin-on-skin contact was new, intense, and Y/N felt herself hyperaware of every point where they touched.
Lucy's hands traced patterns on Y/N's sides, her back, her stomach. Not pushing, not trying to go further, just... exploring. Getting Y/N used to being touched.
"Bit nervous, but not freaking out."
They continued like that for a while—kissing, touching, gradually getting more comfortable. Lucy never pushed for more, never suggested going further, just let Y/N get used to this new level of intimacy.
Eventually, Y/N's nerves caught up with her arousal.
"Can we stop for a bit?" Y/N asked.
"Of course." Lucy immediately pulled back. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Just a lot. In a good way, but a lot."
Lucy grabbed both their shirts and handed Y/N hers. They both dressed quickly, and Lucy settled back into her previous position—head on Y/N's shoulder, arm around her waist.
"Thanks for telling me," Lucy said.
"Thanks for not making it weird."
"I would never make it weird."
"You make everything weird."
"Okay, I would never make this specific thing weird."
They watched the rest of the movie in comfortable silence, and Y/N felt proud of herself. She'd done it—let Lucy touch her, take her shirt off, explore without panicking. It was progress. Slow progress, but progress nonetheless.
"Lucy?" Y/N said as the credits rolled.
"Thanks. For being patient with me."
"You don't have to thank me. I want you to be comfortable."
"I know. But still. Thank you."
"You're welcome." Lucy pressed a kiss to Y/N's shoulder. "For what it's worth, I think you're doing great."
"Yeah. And whenever you're ready to go further, I'll be here. No pressure, no expectations. Just... here."
They stayed like that for a while longer, and Y/N thought about how lucky she was. To have found someone who was patient, understanding, willing to move at her pace without making her feel broken or wrong.
It was good. Really good.
And maybe, someday soon, she'd be ready for more.
But for now, this was enough.
The following weekend, Lucy convinced Y/N to go to an arcade.
"An arcade?" Y/N said. "What are we, twelve?"
"Arcades are fun at any age."
"Yes. Now stop complaining and come play skee-ball with me."
The arcade was exactly what Y/N expected—loud, bright, full of children and teenagers. They got a card loaded with credits and made their way through the various games.
"Skee-ball first," Lucy announced.
"Because I'm good at it and I want to show off."
"At least you're honest."
Lucy was, annoyingly, very good at skee-ball. She consistently hit the highest-scoring rings, racking up tickets with each throw.
"How are you good at everything?" Y/N asked, watching Lucy's technique.
"Practice and natural talent."
Y/N's skee-ball skills were significantly less impressive. Most of her balls bounced off the rings and landed in the lowest-scoring slots.
"You're terrible at this," Lucy observed.
"Thank you for that astute observation."
"There's technique for skee-ball?"
"There's technique for everything."
Lucy moved behind Y/N, her arms coming around to guide Y/N's throw. It was extremely distracting having Lucy pressed against her back, and Y/N's ball went wide, missing the board entirely.
"That's not my fault," Y/N said.
"How is that not your fault?"
"Those aren't the same thing."
"Try again. And this time actually focus on the rings instead of on me."
"That's easier said than done."
They went through several more rounds, Lucy's ticket count climbing while Y/N's remained embarrassingly low. Eventually, they moved on to other games—racing games where Lucy predictably won, shooting games where Y/N held her own, and a basketball game where they were evenly matched.
"Finally," Y/N said after making three shots in a row. "Something I'm not terrible at."
"Too late. I'm very cocky."
They played until their credits ran out, then cashed in their tickets for prizes. Lucy had enough for something decent. Y/N had enough for a piece of candy.
"This is humiliating," Y/N said, holding her single piece of candy.
"Want me to get you something with my tickets?"
"It's not charity. It's sharing."
"That's just charity with better marketing."
Lucy ended up getting a small stuffed dog that looked vaguely like Bueno.
"For you," Lucy said, handing it to Y/N.
"You won this with your superior skee-ball skills."
"And now I'm giving it to you with my superior generosity."
Y/N took the stuffed dog, trying not to look too pleased. "Thanks."
"You're welcome. Name him."
"The dog. He needs a name."
"Why does a stuffed dog need a name?"
"All stuffed animals need names. It's the law."
"That's definitely not the law."
They grabbed food at the arcade's restaurant—mediocre burgers and fries that were exactly what you'd expect from an arcade—and Y/N found herself actually having fun. This was ridiculous, childish, completely unnecessary. And she loved it.
"Thanks for this," Y/N said.
"For dragging me to an arcade. I needed this."
"You need more fun in your life."
"Working until midnight isn't fun."
They finished eating and headed back to Y/N's flat. Y/N placed the stuffed dog on her bedside table, and Lucy looked very pleased with herself.
"He looks good there," Lucy said.
"He's watching me sleep. It's creepy."
"He's providing emotional support."
"He's judging my life choices."
"Those aren't mutually exclusive."
They settled on the couch, the now-familiar routine of finding a movie neither of them would actually watch. About twenty minutes in, Lucy's hand started its usual wandering, and Y/N smiled.
"You're very predictable," Y/N said.
"You do this every time. Wait about twenty minutes into whatever we're watching, then start the touching thing."
"I don't have a pattern."
"You absolutely have a pattern."
"We've been here twenty-three minutes and your hand is currently on my thigh. Next, it'll move to my stomach. Then you'll start kissing my neck. Then—"
"Maybe I'm predictable because you like it."
"Maybe I like it because you're good at it."
Lucy pulled Y/N into a proper kiss, and Y/N went willingly. They'd gotten good at this over the past few weeks—knew what the other liked, how to read each other's signals, when to push and when to pull back.
"Couch or bed?" Lucy asked against her mouth.
"Bed's more comfortable."
"Your bed is literally twenty feet away."
"That's twenty feet of walking."
They ended up in bed anyway, Lucy sprawled half on top of Y/N while they kissed. This was becoming Y/N's favorite part of the day—these moments where it was just them, no pressure, no expectations, just existing together.
Lucy's hand moved to the hem of Y/N's shirt. "Can I?"
Lucy pulled Y/N's shirt off, then her own, and they settled back into kissing. Y/N was getting more comfortable with this—the skin-on-skin contact, the vulnerability of being partially undressed. Lucy's hands traced familiar patterns on her stomach, her sides, her back.
"You're beautiful," Lucy murmured.
"Because it's always true."
Lucy kissed down Y/N's neck, across her collarbone, along the edge of her sports bra. It felt good—better than good—and Y/N felt herself relaxing into it.
Then Lucy's hand moved lower, stopping just above the button of Y/N's jeans.
"Is this okay?" Lucy asked.
Y/N's brain stuttered. "I... uh..."
"I don't know that either."
Lucy moved her hand back to safer territory—Y/N's hip, her waist. "No pressure. We can stay exactly here."
"I want to want more," Y/N said quietly. "Does that make sense?"
"I just keep getting in my own head about it."
"That's okay. There's no timeline for this."
"Most people at 23 have done a lot more than making out."
"Most people aren't you. And you're exactly where you're supposed to be."
Y/N pulled Lucy into another kiss, grateful and overwhelmed and so stupidly happy it almost hurt.
They stayed like that for a while longer, kissing and touching but not pushing for more. Eventually, they got too tired to continue and just lay there, partially dressed and completely comfortable.
"Lucy?" Y/N said into the darkness.
"I'm glad you're patient with me."
"I'm glad you trust me enough to be vulnerable."
Lucy laughed and pulled Y/N closer. "Go to sleep, Y/N."
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