Okay, this is my first and, depending on where, when, and how hard my inspiration next strikes me, possibly my last fanfic, so please be gentle with me. I do not, unfortunately, own Sweeney Todd.
Rain hammers the glass windows of Mrs Lovett's pie shop, and wind slams the door shut behind her as the woman herself steps inside, carrying a sack of flour close to her chest in an attempt to protect it from the weather. She sets it on the dirty counter and turns, collapsing into an armchair, too cold and tired to notice that the water from her wet dress is soaking into the chair's cushion, and accumulating into a small puddle at her feet.
It's late and Mrs Lovett is glad to be out of the storm, although the soaking fabric of her dress still clings to her, and her usually bone-white skin looks especially ghostly in the half-light. She knows she should probably wait to dry off before going to bed, so the baker stands again and proceeds to pace slowly in front of the dying fire in her dark living room. She hugs herself, but still feels as if her blood is freezing in her veins. Upstairs, the creaking of old floorboards tell her that her tenant is still awake and pacing, as she is, around his room.
A sudden shiver wracks Mrs Lovett's body and almost unconsciously, perhaps because she was thinking of the brooding man upstairs, she mutters, "Oh, I'm so cold, Mr Todd… so cold…" A clock ticks. The fire crackles feebly. The creaking upstairs has stopped, but Mrs Lovett continues to pace to the end of the room, where she turns, and suddenly stops too.
"Mr T, I didn't hear you come down here."
Even at such a moment as this, she cannot help but notice the way the light of the dying embers catches in his glittering dark eyes and throws haunting shadows across his lovely brow. Her heart beats a little faster.
Mr Todd takes a hesitant step forward, but his voice, when he speaks, is strong. "You're cold, you say?"
A rivulet of rainwater from her hair runs down Mrs Lovett's face and into her eyes. She blinks it away. Mr Todd is still moving forward, and she realizes she hasn't answered his question. Still a bit shaken by his sudden appearance in the living room, and by the way his attention is now fixed so undividedly upon her, Mrs Lovett opens her mouth, unsure of what to tell him. Perhaps the truth. "Yes, I am."
She waits for a response, but there is none. Instead, she feels his lips graze her own, briefly, before tracing along her jaw line, down her neck, to pause at her collarbone. They are as warm as she'd imagined them, and though her skin is still wet, she can feel the chill in her beginning to ebb. His mouth moves against her neck. "Better?"
Mrs Lovett places her hands on his shoulders, pulling the barber close to her. "Yes," she whispers.
His lips move back up her neck, and his hands are in her wet hair. "Good." She kisses him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and his arms are about her waist and-
Mrs Lovett's eyes flew open, and she gave a small gasp of surprise. It took her a moment to realize that she wasn't, in fact, standing in front of the fire, but curled like a cat in her armchair, head pillowed awkwardly on the armrest. Her hair was wet and clinging to her neck, and her dress dripped with rainwater. She turned and saw the sack of flour sitting damply on the counter. It was not difficult for Mrs Lovett to figure out what had happened, but the realization made her heart swell with disappointment. A dream. It had all been a dream.
Pushing herself out of her armchair and rubbing her stiff neck, Mrs Lovett closed her eyes and let memory wash over her. It had all seemed so real- his lips on her skin, the warmth of the fire, but the dark room around her was empty, and the silence upstairs told her that Mr Todd was asleep, probably dozing in his armchair as she had been. The thought of him, head tilted back, breath lightly stirring his lips as he slept sent a shiver of longing up Mrs Lovett's spine, but she pushed the feeling away and went swiftly to her room. Not bothering to remove her boots or wet dress, she threw herself onto the bed, and outside rainwater ran down the windowpanes like tears.