Disclaimer: LHFF1996 does not own The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, or its characters.

Thoughts Run Wild: Part 1

The first time Lizzie finds herself sexually attracted to Darcy is during her time shadowing Pemberley Digital. She's not entirely sure how it happens, but somehow she ends up cooped up in the dingy second floor file room with Darcy and a man who's introduced himself as Mr. Jones, the head of Accounting. Mr. Jones' computer seems to have blown a fuse and the only other way for him to access the tax reports from the year Pemberley Digital was founded (why he needs them, Lizzie isn't sure) is to seek them out in Pemberley Digital's oldest file cabinet. The files in this room are so old some of them haven't even been recorded into the electronic files yet. Darcy tells her that they're in the process of doing it, but there's just so many, nobody's had the chance to complete the process. The file Mr. Jones is looking for has been misplaced and now the three of them are on a hunt through the dusty cabinets to track down the old file.

He's in his element, she's learned during her time here. Here, at Pemberley Digital, William Darcy understands the etiquette of social interaction in professional situations, and understands how to command a conference room with people twice his age while still managing to relate to the younger, newer employees. He understands their needs and works hard to provide them with every comfort and amenity he feels they deserve. He isn't the condescending socially awkward agoraphobic lobster she lived with at Netherfield last summer, and there's something strangely attractive about it.

She thinks it's strange that this is the time and place where she feels these emotions bubbling up inside her. But there's something about the way he's rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white dress shirt so that she can see the muscles in his forearm ripple as he lifts the heavy boxes, and the slightly wild wave in his thick black hair, as though he's been running his fingers through it. Truth be told, she wants to do just that. A lack of proper lighting in the room has forced him into his glasses—he claims his contacts are giving him trouble and she's both strangely relieved and a little disappointed to find out his glasses really are prescription lenses and not some strange hipster fad. And it may just be the strange lighting in the room but she swears she can see a five o'clock shadow covering his jawline. Seeing him this way, unkempt and disheveled, humanizes him in ways Lizzie wishes she understood, because damn if it isn't the sexiest thing she's ever seen.

Well-groomed and proper William Darcy is attractive in and of itself—but this. Lizzie is silently thankful for the atrocious lighting because he isn't able to see the deep blush she's sure has made its way to her cheeks. Now that she's started looking at his…assets…she can't help but notice them all. His strong shoulders, his glistening bottom lip that she just wants to bite (he runs his tongue over it sometimes when deep in thought, and she isn't quite sure when she's started picking up on quirks like that), and that's not to mention, she notes with all the embarrassment she's ever been able to muster, that he has a fantastic butt. Like seriously great. She notices when he leans down to pick up some files he's dropped.

Lizzie sucks in a sharp breath and turns away in an attempt to spare the last shred of her dignity. How can she just stand there gawking at him like some hormonal teenager? Truthfully, she's never felt so much like one in her entire life and it's worrying. She's not supposed to find him so goddamn appealing. She's most definitely not supposed to want him to press her up against one of the cool metal cabinets and ravish her until she writhing against him and biting his shoulder to keep from moaning out his name.

"Lizzie, would you mind checking that box over there?" The sound of his voice calling her name nearly gives her a heart attack and she's grateful she's got her back turned to him because she's definitely flushed now.

She clears her throat. "Sure," Thanking the heavens that her voice didn't crack, she crouches down beside the box labeled '1983' and rummages through it. Handwritten notes and charts litter the dusty box, but nothing to do with the 1946 tax reports they're searching for. With every passing hour Mr. Jones grows more and more frantic—they've been at this for a solid three hours now to no avail and Lizzie starts to think that the documents just aren't in the room. She doesn't dare say anything for fear of poor Mr. Jones bursting a blood vessel. Darcy appears to be thinking the same thing, though he seems considerably less stressed about it.

"Any luck?" His warm breath on her neck makes her grip the paper she's holding hard enough to crumple. He's kneeled down beside her and is shifting through the same box. His hand brushes against hers and suddenly she's sure she's about to jump him because the sexual tension in the air is crackling and she can barely breathe anymore because holy fucking shit who gave him the right to be so damn good-looking and why did he have to make it worse by being so close to her that she can feel his soft breaths.

"Uh…no." She leans in a tad closer and whispers. "I don't think it's in here." She risks a glance up at Mr. Jones, hoping he's too preoccupied to have heard her. Luckily, he is, but when she turns back to Darcy, he's leaned in even closer and she's overwhelmed by scent of his aftershave. She hates this whole situation so much she just wants to physically pull her mind out of the gutter, and punch him in his (stupidly attractive) face.

"I'm inclined to agree with you, but I'm a little concerned for Mr. Jones' health if we're correct in our assumption." Talking isn't helping a damn thing because Lizzie thinks even his voice—the raspy, low whisper—is a turn-on for her.

Everything he's doing is driving her absolutely mad and she's driving herself insane, half-wanting to beat the shit out of him for making her feel this way, and half-wanting to rip off his pants and ride him until they're gasping for air in each others arms.

All this is embarrassing enough and she's not sure she'll ever be able to look him in the eyes ever again, but when he reaches forward and brushes away a strand of her hair (there's a piece of fluff caught) she's sure she's stopped breathing completely and is about to drop dead from lack of oxygen. He looks thoroughly embarrassed himself, if only he knew what she was thinking of him—what she had been thinking of him all afternoon. They move away from each other quickly and Lizzie shuffles over to a different cabinet and rifles through a new batch of documents.

She's not sure what this whole extremely inappropriate train of thought is supposed to signify, and she's far to scared to fathom it could have something to do with her feelings for William Darcy. No…it's far too complicated and far too terrifying to fathom the mere idea and she simply isn't going to think about it. Not now, not ever.

A/N: I feel like the first time Lizzie's really attracted to Darcy (sexually or otherwise) is at Pemberley Digital during a really inconsequential and downright un-sexy moment. And it probably happens just as her feelings start to grow, but before they're really anything tangible. I might write another part or two to this, depends on how much time I have. Not much at the moment because of school, but spring break is coming up soon so maybe. Let me know if that would be something you'd even be interested in.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed! And please review! I'd appreciate it more than you know.

-LHFF1996