Author: Gilly.Flowers PM
She whispered in his ear; her bare chest pressed against his back; running her hands down his spine as he re-buckled his trousers.- He wouldn't want her getting ideas (though he was sure she already had ideas.)- And he liked to hurt her.- a tad bit warmer.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance - Eleanor L. & Sweeney T. - Chapters: 3 - Words: 4,032 - Reviews: 6 - Favs: 3 - Follows: 3 - Updated: 05-16-13 - Published: 01-26-13 - Status: Complete - id: 8946401
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A.N. So I was thinking I might start a series of one-shots, and I imagine they wouldn't go up higher than a T rating. I feel like i'm just been hurtling into this, and it's everyday now that i've posted something, but hopefully after i'm more used to posting bastardy crap on Fanfiction, i'll slow down and take longer-than-a-couple-of-hours breathers. I'd like to do a little thingy of one-shots, of course of ST, so everyone whose been so nice to me, and anyone else whose taken the time to read what i write, tell me if i should...Is this cliche? Well I need this decision made for me, so please, by all means grab the reigns on my dog-and-pony show! Enjoy my randomness.- Love always, Gillies.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd, :3 movie nor musical. All rights go to Tim BUrton and Stephen Sondheim.
(P.S. Did anyone notice I forgot the disclaimer on my last story? *grimaces* Ooops.)
Sweeney blinked. How had he come about to be sitting in Lovett's filthy pie shop? How long had he been sitting there?
The evening outside seemed more chaotic and alive than it felt in the dingy shop. Snow was pourong down from the skys like it had never fallen before; thick, heavy and dense. The gold that sparkled the ice crystals from the motivated lamp posts gave enchantment to the dance of the winter's feircest bite. Why was he down here again? Oh yes-
''S'awful cold up 'ere, love,'' She whispered in his ear; her bare chest pressed against his back; running her hands down his spine as he re-buckled his trousers. He grunted, ignoring the roads and avenues she craved into his wrinkled shirt. ''Why don't you come down stairs for a spell, hmm? I'm sure it's much warmer down there.''-
...All in all, she ended up being right.
He knew he should have stopped her before she became too confident. He knew he shouldn't have let her have her way as easily as he did. He wouldn't want her getting ideas (though he was sure she already had ideas.) Well, sure, he supposed it was his fault, but that didn't mean that he should be obliged to sit by and watch her grow far too attached- watch her slip even further into her abysmal dillusions of love.
But then again...Would it hurt to let her fall deeper into what she called love? Just to get what he needed, he could let her believe in her foolish ideas, couldn't he? It wouldn't be half as bad as the many other sins he has commited (debauchery- murder), could it?
Maybe he would, but he imagine's it'd take more work than he's willing to do- and for what? So the whore would wash his shirts faster? Dispose of his bodies faster? Satisfy him faster?Well maybe...No, the work wasn't worth it.
Looking over at her now, with her foolish smile plastered on her face as she pounded dough in between her knuckles, Sweeney wondered if she was already as deep as one could get- her love was sickening. It churned his stomach and made him frown in incredulous wonder.
'How could she love so effortlessly? Why did she love so wholly? How could her love be so unconditional?'Not that he cared that much about what goes on inside the venal woman's head, - it just didn't make any logical sense- it was just a wonder.
One that made him hesitate when he wanted to hurt her. And he liked to hurt her. Alot.
As much as he hated it- the one and last will of Benjamin Barker that only sparked when Lovett was so entirely under his control- he had come to accept it. Well, maybe not accept, but to live with it by ignoring the fact, and everything it could or couldn't mean. He shouldn't really over think such psychological notions- the conclusions he gets are never the ones he wants. But their more than likely the ones he expects.
Anyways, he knew that what he and Mrs. Lovett had was purely business- a tad bit more sensual and personal than most 'businesses', but it was business none-the-less. And if Lovett decided that she wanted to stock up more on gin, or allow him so much more power over her (if that were even possible, really,)then so be it. Who was he to deny her?
She sighed contentedly, glancing up at him from behind a frizzy veil of rust that had fallen out of her poor bun since their- previous interactions. She snatched the rolling pin up- and thwacked the lump of dough- humming- in time- to her- admissioned- hits.
Sweeney didn't like to think that he was lonely. But mind and body were usually two desperate workers. And his body had considered himself sbout roughly 15 years lonely.
And they were both adults- he knew what he was getting into- who he was getting into- and neither couldn't deny that they didn't enjoy their off-and-on, usually spontantous couplings.
He enjoyed it; she enjoyed him. He needed it; he took it; she needed him; she gaveit. Share and share alike. A lucky balance amongst see-saws. -
''Are you seriously tryn'na tell me that you're still perfectly sexually satisfied even after 15 years? An' by what- the mere thought of Lucy?!" -
He couldn't say he regretted anything. He was certain he didn't. He just hoped that was postively sure that he knew what he was getting himself into- who he was getting into.
She brushed the flour off her bodice and corset stomach, giving the dough one more- thwack- before setting her rolling pin down and kneadling it into the shape of a pie crust. She shot him a wink when she caught him looking.
"Pie to be,'' she clasped her hands together in front of her chest, as if she were holding flowers, her eyes fluttering in mock before she was taken into a spiralling dance-
was set aside for a moment. Glances were exchanged; slow, taunting steps were taken; finally hands ripped at clothing and bodies pressed together. To say the least, the counterspace was used for something a tad bit more exciting- a tad bit warmer.