Toby was completely unable to meet Mrs. Lovett's eyes for several days following Sweeney's "little show." In fact, as they entered the fifth day after the "event," he began a phase in which he refused to even be in the same room as him mum for longer than a few moments.
Long ago were the days in which he allowed Mrs. Lovett to hug him close or even ruffle his hair.
Noticing Toby's escalating strange behavior, Mrs. Lovett couldn't help but confront her adopted son. She cornered the boy as he gathered the dishes after the lunch rush, sneaking up behind him.
"Wot's wrong wit' chu, dear?"
Toby stiffened, hearing her behind him. He stared at the piecrust on the plate in his hands, answering too quickly, "Nothing.'"
Mrs. Lovett continued to look at the boy, disbelief plastered on her features. He could feel her eyes bearing into him, could feel her breath on his neck.
Mrs. Lovett shook her head, forcing Toby into the booth before sliding in beside him. "'Onestly, love! Yeh 'ave been actin' a bit off fer nearly a week, love. Did ya 'ave an unsettin' dream? Wot is it that's got ya in this state?"
"Nothing," Toby repeated, trying to squirm away as Mrs. Lovett pulled him into a hug.
"Ya used ter love when we'd sit together. Now ya won't even look at me! Tell yer mum why yer all upset. Toby, please?"
Toby shook his head, unable to stop the assault of the memory from so few nights before. Those exact words moaned though the paper-thin walls. His name slipping from her full lips, "Toby, please?"
"No! Nothin'!" he all but yelled. He took advantage of her shock and pulled out of her grasp, escaping over the back of the booth and into his own room.
"Toby?!" Mrs. Lovett called after the boy. "Oh, bugger."
Sweeney smirked from the doorway, "I told you."
"Wot the bloody 'ell are ya on about?" she napped, irritated.
"How long has 'your boy' been upset, pet?" Sweeney asked calmly, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"A few days," Mrs. Lovett shrugged, her irritability growing as she watched the thoroughly-enjoyed Sweeney.
"How many?" he repeated, already knowing.
"Four. Maybe five?" she answered, still not understanding.
"Five days? You remember what happened five night ago?" Sweeney asked pointedly.
Mrs. Lovett started to shake her head, assuming he was referring to an even that expressly included Toby. "I miss 'is birthday?"
"No, you daft woman. Think!"
She stared back, my mind sifting through memories of the boy for a clue.
"Let me give you a hint," Sweeney offered, crossing to her. He bent slightly to whisper mockingly in her ear, "'You have a bad dream again, Toby, love?' 'Toby, please?' 'Oh, Mr. Todd!'"
Mrs. Lovett's eyes widened, the realization slapping her in the face. "Ya think 'e 'eard?"
"Well, you do tend to be quite loud," he smiled into her dark tresses.
"It's not funny!" she scolded, hearing the smile in his voice. "We may've scarred 'im fer life! Can ya imagine… 'Earin' 'is mum 'avin sex…"
"The boy's not acting this way cause he's 'scarred.' He's jealous, pet."
"Not this again," Mrs. Lovett sighed. "Fer the last time, me Toby don't look at me like that!"
"Really? Then why is he avoiding you?"
"As ya just pointed out, 'I'm loud.' 'E 'eard us! Poor thing's embarrassed!" she hissed.
"He's not embarrassed, pet," Sweeney responded, pulling her from the booth and leading her in a waltz.
"Then wot?" Mrs. Lovett asked, her mind shutting down the instant Sweeney wrapped her in his arms.
"He's pissed."
"Why?" she asked, fighting not to melt entirely. She hated to even think it, but the whole Toby situation wasn't important when Sweeney was leading her around the room with a hand on her waist.
Sweeney pushed her suddenly against the brick, a razor's cold blade against her flushed neck. Mrs. Lovett gasped and whimpered, fear flooding her.
"Mr. T?" she choked out, her erratic shallow breathing causing the razor to bite at her throat. Her hands were on the arm holding her in place.
Just as suddenly, Sweeney's mouth crashed against hers. The razor was still at her neck making small cuts where traces of blood could be seen.
Despite the razor at her neck, Mrs. Lovett kissed him back hungrily, her fingers entwining in his wild hair, pulling him close. She ignored the hot stinging in her neck as she parted her lips and deepened the kiss.
Sweeney's free hand moved downward from his landlady's shoulder to trace her full curves, resting on her hips.
Finally, Sweeney pulled away, taking a single step backward and lowering the razor. "Because I can do that."
"Wot?" Mrs. Lovett breathed, one hand drawn to her neck subconsciously to inspect the damage as the other reached out for Sweeney.
"That's thy the lad's so upset. It's cause I can do that and he can't. Cause I beat him to it."
"Wot? Yer back on that again?" she demanded, her senses of logic slowly returning now that Sweeney wasn't pressing her against him. "I told ya, 'e don't want me like that! 'E just wants me as a mum."
"Prove it," Sweeney said simply.
"Wot? Ya mean ask 'im, right out?"
"Course not. Flirt with him. Make it sound like you're willing and available. See if he takes you up on that offer," Sweeney answered calmly.
"Ya outta wot's left o' yer mind?" Mrs. Lovett hissed. "Ya make me sound like a common streetwalker!"
Sweeney's eyes flashed dangerously at her first statement and Mrs. Lovett feared the razor would be at her neck again, cutting deeper this time, but he tucked his precious razor back into his belt.
"Well, you're not gonna like the other way of finding out," he responded, that dangerous glint still in his eyes.
"Wot? Wot is it?" she asked, curiosity peaked. "Tell me."
"I'd have to show you," he breathed into her ear, taking her back into his arms.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Mrs. Lovett knew she should be very wary. Dancing with this man always landed her in various stages of trouble. That gleam in his eyes… She knew it so well by now. It often preceded her being pressed to the nearest wall with his razor against her throat. But when Sweeney had her in his arms, holding her to him, she always forgot to be careful.
He was leading her in a waltz again, out of the main shop, through the parlor.
To the bedroom? Mrs. Lovett hoped thoughtfully, the subject of Toby's supposed jealousy and Sweeney's plan to expose it fleeing her mind.
Sweeney pressed her to the wall between her and Toby's door. Mrs. Lovett's breath catching as she feared the razor's bite again.
Instead, she felt feather light kisses landing on her neck. Her eyes fluttered close as Sweeney sucked gently on her collarbone, his fingers caressing her curves. A soft moan escaped her parting lips.
Sweeney reached beside Mrs. Lovett swiftly to open the boy's door.
Toby was desperately clutching his ears, shaking his head.
"Mister Todd," Mrs. Lovett breathed, her head tilting backwards.
The boy shook his head again, violently. "No. No!" He kicked desperately at the wall, hoping to drown out the noise.
Sweeney pulled away suddenly, spinning a flushed Mrs. Lovett to face her adopted son. "Do you see?"