Blooming

Okay, this bit is from Mrs. Lovett's (Todd's) perspective and starts the second time he tucks the curl behind her ear.

She was holding her breath as his fingers caressed her cheek, tucking another curl behind her ear. Then, as suddenly, strangely, as he had given her that small piece of affection, he pulled away. She let her arm slip from his waist; she had waited for him before. She had been shouted at, threatened, abused, hurt, by the demon barber of Sweeney Todd, had been hurt by the silence of the post-London Sweeney Todd, and now, here on the beach, it seemed that the newly blooming Sweeney would hurt her too. She was so tired of being hurt, so tired of being unloved; unwanted, unseen and unheard…his hand was on her cheek. Startled and a little afraid of having her heart break once more, she looked at him. His face, generally a cool and emotionless mask, betrayed confusion and something like…affection. Love did not shine from those eyes, but something smaller, newer. She slipped her hands, slowly, cautiously, around his waist.

She met his eyes, but then, as though drawn there, her gaze trickled down to his lips. How long she had wanted to meet those lips; despite their occasional tumbles in London, he had never once kissed her. She had nearly forced herself on him, but his body had needs and she handled them, just as she handled his cooking, his laundry, and his general care—with a great deal of what she thought was love then, but now had come to realize was only a deep sense of infatuation. What was it that the good Father had said to them just the previous Sunday? It was all in Latin except for the homily anyhow, but then, he had explained it to them in words she understood.

Love is patient, love is kind. It is not jealous, is not pompous, it is not inflated,

it is not rude, it does not seek its own interests, it is not quick-tempered, it does not brood over injury,

it does not rejoice over wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth.

It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never fails.

Those words, they meant something to her. In London, all she had wanted was Benjamin Barker. She had craved him all her life, a thing to be desired. When he had returned as Sweeney Todd, wifeless and a new man, she had thought it was her chance to have him for her own. But here, after months of silence, after grieving for her son, for her life, for the man she loved who could never love her in return, she came to a realization. She did not love him. She wanted him. And it was not the same thing. But now…as the weeks passed, as she watched the demon barber grow into something new, something like a man, she found that she could love him. Not that she did, for how could she love a man who she did not know? He did not even know himself yet. But here, with the magic of the waves and the way he was looking at her right now, like he wanted to kiss her…she felt a surge of affection.

Biting her lower lip, thinking of all of this while staring at his mouth, wondering, she felt his gaze on her. Would he make his move? Would he walk away? He licked his lips; she had long since noticed that he did that when he was unsure of what to say. Now, she felt that it was for a much different reason.

He dipped his head closer to hers and his face was so close, only inches away. She could feel her heart racing. Her knees felt weak. She pressed herself against him, carefully, to gain balance and to inhale his smell, like shaving cream and the wood he had just been whittling. His heartbeat was pounding against her breasts, crushed against his chest. She met his gaze, looking at him, trying to read his thoughts. Did he want this because he wanted the affection or because he wanted her? She knew that months ago she would have melted into him, throwing herself towards this scrap of affection. And she also knew herself better now. She knew that she wanted more than just a kiss and she knew that it was worth waiting for. Of all the questions she had in her mind, the biggest question was if he was ready for this or not.

He licked his lips again and her eyes flew to them. She could feel the tension, like a caged bird desperately beating away at the bars. Was he ready? Was she? Her thoughts were overwhelming and he was overwhelming, the smell of him and the closeness and his heartbeat beating, beating, beating against her breast. She wanted this. She wanted it so bad that it hurt. But as much as she wanted him, as much as she wanted this, she wanted it to be his decision. She did not have to wait long.

As quickly as it had started, it ended. He traced the cheekbones or her face, the curve of her ear, and down to her chin. The contact ended there and he let go, stepped back. Bowing his head, he muttered something that sounded like,

"I'm sorry."

He walked back up the beach towards their house, leaving her there with the glittering blue waves. Somehow, they seemed less beautiful without him there.

About a week later, it happened again.

She was standing in the kitchen and had accidentally bumped a bottle of milk. It shattered, splashing milk everywhere. Dropping to her hands and knees with a sigh of exasperation, she snatched a rag from the counter and began mopping up the milk. He had just finished carving a little wooden goat; his carvings were getting better. This one actually looked like a goat. A little self-satisfied grin played over his features, and then he noticed her kneeling there. Perhaps it was the fact that he had just finished something he was working on, or maybe it was the fact that she smelled so good, or even that it reminded him of watching his mother wash the floors as a child. Whatever it as, he fetched another rag and began to help her clean up, mopping up the milk with his rag.

"Silly of me," Nellie muttered, and he smiled a bit, just a twitch at the corner of his mouth. She noticed, smiling back.

"Just milk." It was the most he had said to her in a week; communication was not their strong point. She smiled nonetheless and she was beautiful, her red curls shining in the sun that came in through the kitchen window. There was a drop of milk on her cheek and he pulled a handkerchief from his vest pocket. It looked like an offering, but he reached out and wiped the drop from her cheek. After it had been wiped away, his thumb lingered there for a moment on her skin. In a flash, it was pulled away.

This new behavior was a strange dance, like a bud on a plant, waiting to bloom. He had that strange spark of affection in his eye again and she turned, allowing the edge of her skirt to swish so the fabric brushed his ankle. If this was a dance, she would play at this game too. It took two to tango, after all.

At dinner that night, they ate in silence, as usual. It was delicious and he acknowledged this with a little noise between a grunt and a satisfied hum. He spoke rarely in words, but in movements, in sounds, in the little things he didn't say, it was then that he spoke volumes. They were in a strange new language, one that she was slowly learning to interpret, with many stumblings and failings.

After dinner she did the dishes, he wiped the table. They virtually ignored each other, as usual. But he came back to toss the dishrag into the sink, and she was blocking it. Without thinking or even hesitating, he reached around her and dropped the rag into the dishwater. His arms were on either side of her waist, and he leaned over her shoulder, his chin resting next to her collar.

"Dinner was good." His lips brushed her ear and she shivered. He was doing this on purpose; he had to be doing this on purpose. Was he tempting her? She didn't know, but she smiled and continued washing the dishes. Her mother had once told her that men loved a chase. She finished washing the pot and turned to face him; his arms trapped her against the sink. She did not feel like fighting it, she had wanted it for so long. Despite all this, she held herself back. She would not make the first move. She would not go back to being the woman that London had known, ready to throw herself forth for feeble imitations of love. His love. Or rather, his not-love.

She raised her eyebrows at him, expression mild. He blinked back at her, but he was sucking his lower lip, looking mildly thoughtful. Carefully, and with a great deal of gentleness, he leaned against her, and pressed his mouth against hers.

Well here we are! After this, let's see what happens, shall we? Will Mr. Todd enjoy his first kiss with his wife? Will Mrs. Todd be able to control herself? What do you think? Give me your opinions on the story, your theories on the future, and most of all, REVIEWS! Until next time!