Mine
Summary: Todd doesn't like it when a customer flirts with Mrs. Lovett. Sweenett!!
A/N: Sorry, I should've mentioned this earlier: for the purposes of this story, Lucy died when she took the poison, and did NOT survive to be the crazy old beggar woman who ruined my wonderful Sweenett fantasies. 'Kay? Just go with it.
Chapter 2: Taking Over Me
This can't be possibly be happening.
That was what Nellie Lovett thought, as she felt his mouth on hers, his body pressed tight against her own, his hand in hers and then his arms around her as he literally swept her off her feet. A clap of thunder, a flash of lightning, the sudden pounding of rain – the dramatic sounds of the storm, come at last, only heightened her sense of unreality. This can't be happening.
Of course, that wasn't the only thing she was thinking. Other thoughts included yes, please, now, and finally! Another thought, further back in her mind, was bloody hell, if I'd known all it woulda taken was me showing some interest for another man, I would've thrown meself at every bloke that came through the bloody door! Of course, no man had ever affected her like Mr. Todd. Not the fop she'd been flirting with, not any of her friendlier male customers, not even her dear Albert. She had loved him, true enough – not in the beginning, when he had come courting – but she had grown to love him deeply. He never made her feel this way though.
Giddy, breathless, dizzy with anticipation. Her pulse never quickened at the sight of him, and dreams of him never burned her body and mind. Albert was like a good swig of gin, or a heavy, soft blanket wrapped around oneself on a night of bitter cold, or a hearty meal, or a good long nap – a solid, comforting, dependable pleasure, but bless him, nothing to set a woman's heart racing. He had been a tender, if not particularly adept lover. Not that Mrs. Lovett had had anyone to compare him to, of course.
Until now.
He tossed her unceremoniously on the bed, hastening to follow her, hovering over her, their lips meeting again eagerly. She fisted he hands in his hair before running them down his nicely muscled back, eliciting a growl of pleasure from him that set her heart racing even faster. Her hands shook as they moved to undo his shirt. She could feel his own try to undo all her bothersome laces and ties, and he grumbled something incoherent, seeming frustrated with the amount of clothing in his way.
He pulled away from her briefly, and her eyes opened wide when she saw the flicker of silver in the darkness of the bedroom. No. Not like this. Not after a start so promising. Was her dream come true about to be turned into a hellish nightmare? But her fear was unfounded, as he deftly used the blade to cut through the layers of clothing which had so irritated him, and soon, she was virtually naked beneath him.
"Here now – do you – do you – do you know how much I paid for that dress? That was brand new, that was!" She was completely unnerved, unprepared, and she wanted him so badly it was frightening. "Do you have any idea how that cost me –"
He stopped her mouth with is own. He kissed her hard, his bare chest pressed against her own (she'd somehow managed to get his shirt off), and she could feel him, his hardness against her thigh, the evidence of his own arousal as tangible as hers.
He broke the kiss and looked deeply into her eyes, those black depths boring into her brown ones. Absently, his hands toyed with her vivid curls. He took a breath, and spoke as if her were saying something deep and very profound, punctuating each word with a kiss:
"You. Talk. Too. Much."
"And you don't listen enough," she shot back, his touch maddening her, his almost-teasing tone as alluring as it was unsettling.
"Oh I'll listen, pet. I'll listen to you sigh, whimper, moan, scream …" She gasped as he left a trail of kisses down her neck, while his hands massaged her breasts, his nimble fingers tormenting her hard nipples, and when his lips trailed down to her left breast and his mouth closed around her nipple, she did indeed let out a whimper of pleasure. His smile was a smirk, not his usual expression of murderous glee, but still dangerous … which was of course, part of the appeal. He did the same thing to her other breast, much to her delight.
She didn't know exactly how his pants came off. She just knew that, after all their kisses and caresses, they had finally come to this, each naked before the other, him poised above her, ready to…
He entered her in one smooth, hard thrust, causing her to cry out in a pleasure so intense it was almost pain. His mind was emptied of coherent thought, and instinct took over. His rhythm was fast, hard, savage, and she matched it, arching her body to meet his, practically howling in delight when his fingers worked where there bodies were joined, as with every thrust he seemed to hit that spot inside her that made her nearly die with ecstasy. Their moans and sighs, their half-conscious words of endearment and encouraged mingled together as they coupled furiously, both having been denied this particular pleasure for far, far too long.
He felt he could drown in her, lose himself in her, in the warm wet perfection of her – god she felt so good – and yes, this was how he wanted her, helpless with pleasure, unable and unwilling to resist him. This infuriating, intoxicating, amazing woman was his. His and no one else's. And she was close. So close. He could tell.
"Come for me," he gasped, and he went still faster, spurred on by her encouragements. He felt her body spasm and shake around him, urging him on to his own powerful release as he came deep inside her.
Spent, he collapsed on top of her, both of them panting, exhausted, their minds blissfully empty of anything but satisfaction as they lay there in the dark. The storm has raged outside and continued to do so, quite loudly. It was a good thing too, or they might have awakened poor young Toby from his gin-soaked slumber. However, they had hardly noticed the rain, focused as they were on the intense pleasure they had to give each other.
After another moment he rolled off of her, still catching his breath, and onto his side. As his pulse slowed, coherent thought returned, and it was not pleasant. What have I done? His impulses had led him down a path on which he did not belong.
He was Sweeney Todd. His only purpose in life was revenge. Other pursuits, other pleasure were merely a distraction on his quest to avenge his dear Lucy.
Lucy …
It hurt to think of her. Always. Especially now. Even knowing she was dead, somehow, this still felt like betrayal.
He shook off her hand when Mrs. Lovett touched his shoulder. Inwardly, she sighed. That was it then? Was this just to be a momentary lapse, with no permanent change between them? Perhaps she'd wake up tomorrow to find this all a dream. A tear trailed down her cheek at the very thought.
He shifted in the bed, sat up, and started to reach for his discarded clothes.
"Please." Her voice was so soft he almost didn't hear it. Still, he stopped what he was doing, and listened. "Please, just … stay here with me. Just for tonight. It's cold, love." As if to prove her point, she shivered. You don't have to … we don't have to … we'll just lie here. That's all. Alright?"
A pause that seemed to last an eternity, as she waited for his response. "Alright," he said tonelessly. As he settled back into the bed, he could've sworn he felt her smiling in the dark. Smart enough to know she shouldn't try and touch him again, she nevertheless reveled in the fact that she remained by her side. Not wanting to miss a moment of his presence beside her, she still fell asleep more quickly than she wanted to.
He, however, lay awake, brooding, as he always did, his thoughts a tangle of anger, guilt, confusion, and still, despite himself, desire for Nellie Lovett.
His Lucy had been so very suited to him. Well, the old him. Benjamin Barker. But, as he had told this woman that now slept so contentedly beside him, that man was dead. And the simple truth, though he dared not to admit it even to himself, was that she was far better to suited to the man he was now than his poor lost Lucy could ever be.
And she was right. It was cold.