(A/N and Disclaimer: I own nothing... well, nothing concerning Sweeney Todd, anyway. I do have a felt hat and a Romeo & Juliet bag, though...
Very big warning - This fic is a companion piece to 'Losing Lucy', and it's written about the part where Mrs. Lovett and Lucy - to put it bluntly, and for want of a more polite phrase - shag. So, it is exactly what it says on the box: GRAPHIC FEMMESLASH. It's rated M for a reason, people! If that offends you in any way, I advise you to leave. Right now. Oh, and if you happen to be - in no particular order - Ellie, Jenny, Rowan (especially you), Daina, Rosie, Loz, Kelsey or anyone else who happens to know me; do not read this fanfic. Seriously. Stop right here.
I think that's all I have to say, so I'm just going to post this and then hurriedly turn off my computer and try to forget about it. I guess I'm just anxious because it's the first explicit fic I've published - but feedback is, as always, much appreciated. Feel free to scream (well, type... expressively) 'less is more, you utter pervert!' if you so wish. Apologies in advance to anyone who's bothered to read all this...)
She pounces, so suddenly she even takes herself by surprise. Nellie has no idea what comes over her; but as she grabs hold of Lucy and kisses her, deeply and suddenly, she realises that it isn't important.
Lucy's lips aren't as soft as she remembers - they're a little chapped, now, but the baker is past caring as her tongue pushes past Lucy's lips. After a few moments, to Nellie's joy, Lucy responds; kissing her back with equal ferocity. Their tongues don't so much as dance as collide with one another, each battling for power over the other; and any onlookers (of which, mercifully, there are none) who happened to spy them would probably say that they looked more to be trying to squeeze the life out of each other than embracing. But it's what Nellie needs, this roughness which borders on violence as the other woman bites suddenly down on her lip, pleasure exploding outwards and mingling with the pain from where her teeth sink into the flesh - the untamed force of the contact seems right to her, and so satisfying that she has half a mind to pinch herself to see if she's slipped into some sort of waking dream. But she can feel Lucy's nails scraping at her neck as she tugs at Nellie's unruly auburn hair, pulling her closer to deepen their frenzied kiss ever further; and she knows this is real.
She keeps her eyes closed. The image of Lucy's sparkling eyes, a light that she hadn't seen in them for who knew how long finally returned to them, is fresh in her mind; and that's all she needs. For a split second, it was as if the poisoning never occurred; and her old Lucy was with her all over again. Nellie clings desperately to this split second. She wants to take this chance before she loses Lucy all over again. So her eyes remain closed, squeezed shut as images of the Lucy she once knew flood her mind; the love and yearning she had and still has, she can t deny it for her almost painful in their intensity. She s determined to spin every moment out for as long as she can.
Deciding they're both wearing far too many clothes for what Nellie has in mind, she removes her hands reluctantly from the back of Lucy's neck and begins to struggle free of her dress; her lips still on the other woman's. It takes a while, longer than usual given that her eyes are still closed, but at last she loosens the ties fastening her into the wretched garment and pushes it over her hips, letting it drop to the floor. She's just thankful to have forgone her crinoline this morning, or that would have made undressing more difficult and time-consuming. She clutches Lucy to her as they kiss again, another frantic clashing of lips. She hopes that her own lips don't bruise, or Albert will know for sure that something has been going on behind his back. As she tears blindly at Lucy's ragged dress, stripping the near-ruined garment off her slim body, she thinks, ridiculously, of her husband - recalling how, in the early days of their marriage, she'd feign sleep in an effort to prevent him having his way with her. Once this lost it's effectiveness, the physical side of their relationship became an exercise in enduring pain for Nellie as his bulk pinned her down, and he squeezed her too tightly in places that she thought should handled with utmost care. In the bath, she'd count the bruises and crescent-shaped cuts from where his nails had dug into her skin as he gripped her. And yet here she was, clutching Lucy just as tightly as Albert would her; with Lucy returning the favour until they both gasp for breath.
As she runs her hands along Lucy's back and waist, she can't help but feel the scars, scratches and lesions scattered there as her fingers brush the damaged skin - both marks of illness and the imprints left on her body by all the men who've touched her in this same way before Nellie - but she tries her best to ignore them, desperate to hold onto this moment. Briefly, she thinks that Lucy has it easy without the burden of a corset; and she works at the fastenings of her own, fumbling a little with her eyes still closed, unable to unfasten the thing quickly enough. Now with enough air in her lungs, she feels with one hand for the bed and suddenly pushes Lucy back onto it; straddling her and kissing her just as ferociously as before. Anybody would think the world were about to end, with the frantic passion Nellie pours into her every action. The feeling of Lucy kissing her back with equal fervour makes her shiver, although she's hot - burning, her skin prickling with the heat - rather than the slightest bit cold. She'd always expected an encounter with Lucy to be romantic and gentle; full of sweet caresses and kisses as soft and sensual as the lady herself. But not now. There isn't time.
They pause for a moment; two married women - one mad with lust, and one just mad - sprawled on a bed in nary but their undergarments, at midday on a Sunday. A holy day and all, Nellie thinks. She feels Lucy open her mouth as if to speak, and silences her prematurely with another kiss; the force of the action pressing the other woman's head back against the pillow. She can't let her speak. She needs to keep pretending, and any words from the other woman would destroy the fantasy. After giving so much of herself to Lucy this last year as she cared for her, with never so much as a 'thank you'; she feels she deserves this - to have one wish realised, and have Lucy for herself for the first and last time. Doesn't everything she's done merit this one reckless moment of madness, her harmless make-believe? Fair exchange is no robbery... or however the bloody phrase goes.
They both fight for dominance - Nellie because she's feisty by nature, and Lucy probably just for the sake of fighting - pinning each other down and eliciting a kiss of subjugation from the woman pressed to the bed beneath them, before being rolled over, forced into submission while their guard is down. As this routine repeats itself, Nellie removes the last few items of her clothing - chemise and under-corset tossed aside over the edge of the bed, and her drawers stubbornly refusing to come off once they get stuck somewhere around her ankles. Impatiently, she yanks at them, throwing them the same way as the vest and ignoring the sound of ripping seams. Lucy shows no inclination of removing her own clothes, still clinging to Nellie as if she was the only bit of driftwood in a storm-tossed ocean, so the baker takes matters into her own hands, stripping off Lucy's thin vest and shapeless, worn drawers. She remembers that both of them are still wearing their stockings as her hands graze against Lucy's legs, but decides that they can stay where they are. To hell with the stockings.
Naked now - well, almost; and the stockings are hardly going to get in the way - she tangles her hand in Lucy's thin, dirty blonde hair. Doing her best to ignore the fact that a good deal of it comes away from the woman's scalp in her hand, she kisses Lucy fiercely as she contemplates what to do next. It's not as if Nellie's had the opportunity to lie with a woman before - there's only one woman she's ever wanted anyway - so how can she be expected to know what she's meant to be doing? Experimentally, she runs the flat of her hand along Lucy's body (her wits may be wandering, but although the other woman s lost weight her figure is still fairly well-endowed, with everything in it's rightful place) testing for any reaction in the places her fingers touch, as she thinks too of the places she'd want Lucy's hands on her. With this in mind, she brings her hands to the other woman's chest as she deepens their fierce kiss, breaking the contact to place equally rough kisses along her jaw and neck. She knows she should probably be gentler, but she doesn't care. Desire clouds her mind, and she projects the intensity of this lust into every kiss, every squeeze, and every sudden nip at Lucy's pale skin.
As her hands wander lower, her actions become a little tentative as she feels the other female's hips jutting out, skin stretched taut over the bones; but she shrugs off her hesitation as she drags her fingernails down Lucy's thighs - lightly, but enough to make the woman shudder and arch her back slightly. Nellie feels the reaction, and takes it as an encouraging sign as she runs her hand back up the top of Lucy's leg; until she feels soft hair against her fingertips. Although a certain kind of woman might blush and feel scandalised, perhaps regret their previous impulsiveness; Nellie Lovett is not one of these women, nor is she a prude. And even if she wasn't trembling with lust and acting entirely on impulse - determined to make this brief, tenuous grasp on whatever's left of the real Lucy count for something - she wouldn't be the slightest bit embarrassed. She moves her hand lower still as Lucy obligingly parts her legs, until she feels a slick wetness against it. She isn't sure if Lucy's quickening breaths mean she's enjoying this - by God, she hopes she is, if the woman's capable of enjoying anything anymore - but she compares it to Albert's quick gasping breaths during their coupling, and takes it as a positive thing. A spilt second's uncertainty, a moment of not knowing what to do next, before she slides one slim finger up through Lucy's hot, moist centre as she familiarises herself with the area (being a woman herself, of course she knows about the... well, arrangement of this particular area, but she still likes to know what she's dealing with). As her fingertip grazes one particular bundle of nerves - she can practically feel it throbbing at her touch - Lucy gasps, and murmurs something unintelligible. Shuffling down the bed slightly, eyes still closed, Nellie presses her free hand hard against the other woman's back as she teases this spot with her fingers, circling it, and once daring to pinch it lightly (oh, so lightly - this is a place that should be treated kindly, after all) between her finger and thumb. Lucy's moan encourages her, and she continues to probe this most intimate area with her fingers; her unoccupied hand digging into Lucy's back once again.
Her fingertip slips inside Lucy accidentally, to begin with; but this gives Nellie other ideas, and she pushes her finger fully inside Lucy; relishing the feeling of it being enveloped by her. As she withdraws this finger, she quickly adds another - another groan meets her ears, which she hopes is indicative of pleasure - growing bolder in her ministrations. Her breathing is as ragged as the other woman's, the thrill of actually doing this to Lucy is overwhelming. Trying to apply what she already knows about intercourse - if, she thinks, that's what you call this - substituting woman for man; she pushes these two fingers into Lucy - hard. Feeling the other woman's hips buck against her, she can't suppress a grin. She loves having control over another person's pleasure; able to give as much as she sees fit, but take it all away just as easily. However, nothing in the world (well, expect for perhaps a knock at the door or Albert's voice echoing up from the shop downstairs) could make her stop. Another thrust of her hand, and she feels Lucy's nails dig into her back - not that she cares; in fact, she savours the sharp pain. This is most definitely nothing like lying with Albert.
Nellie continues pushing her fingers into Lucy, as deeply as they can reach; even going so far as to add another finger (the tiny scream Lucy lets out at this worries Nellie for a second, the thought that she might be being too rough crossing her mind for the first time since they tumbled into bed; but then the hands on her back clutch her even more insistently, so she carries right on). She can feel her fingers, slippery with the other woman's wetness, and she finds she enjoys it - it's so much more interesting and more enjoyable than lying on her back counting the water stains on the ceiling, with Albert hammering away at her. As she twists her hand, her wrist beginning to ache a little from the awkward angle at which it's being held, her thumb brushes that sensitive central point again, and Lucy shudders, an odd keening noise issuing from her mouth. Her other arm wrapped around Lucy's waist, she presses her thumb to this spot as she continues to push her fingers into Lucy again and again; rubbing it, then flicking it, listening for the other woman's reactions.
She can feel Lucy's feet trembling by now (what have her feet got to do with anything? Surely it's not important to have the stockings off, after all..?), then the shaking spreads through her body (she'd better not be having some sort of fit, not now of all the bloody moments), her skin hot and flushed as her hips buck against Nellie's hand, her breath catching in her throat. Nellie feels Lucy tightening around her hand, and curls her fingers slightly inside her; this impulsive action rewarded with the other woman's shaking body stiffening as Lucy cries out - not a name, certainly not Nellie's - but an animal cry of release that told Nellie she'd done something right. As she felt the heaving of Lucy's chest lessen, she slips her fingers out of the other woman - and all of a sudden, Lucy grips her by the shoulders and turns her until, once again, she's slammed onto her back; facing the ceiling with her bare skin against the coarse bedcovers. Nellie keeps her eyes squeezed shut as she feels the other woman's still-shallow breath hot against her skin. Lucy's lips collide with her own once more, a clash of lips and tongue and teeth that is anything but romantic, but somehow leaves Nellie craving the contact afterwards more than the most tender embrace she could ever image. Then, with a cry of shock, Nellie feels Lucy's fingers - two, perhaps three? She has no idea, and she doesn't give a damn - pushed into her without warning.
The sudden entry takes her by surprise, and she can't deny it hurts a little, but the pain is quickly forgotten - if anything, it heightens the sensation for her - as she feels the fingers moving inside her, Lucy not bothering to work her way up from a gentler pace as her fingers push into her, quickly and insistently. Nellie's never felt anything like this in her life - the feeling of Albert forcing himself on her and into her never brought her sufficient pleasure to counter the pain; so very unlike this ecstasy - and she grips the bedclothes, balling the material in her fists as her body tingles, every sense heightened, arousal building within her like a spring tightening in her belly. She wishes Lucy would pay attention to the swollen, sensitive spot that she could so easily touch if she wanted, and her nails are a little too long (they dig into her every so often, and she can't help but wince; and she doesn't even want to think about where these hands might have been before) but even though it isn't perfect, she doesn't want to do anything to stop Lucy doing exactly what she's doing. As her hips grind against Lucy's hand, she feels the other woman scissor her fingers very slightly within her, before pulling her fingers so far out of Nellie that she thinks she's about to bring it all to an end, and can't help but whimper at the loss. But then those fingers push into her once again, harder and deeper than before, and that's all she needs - as she gasps for breath, sweat prickling on her bare skin, a wave of pleasure rips through her shuddering body, as intense and acute as pain but much more exquisite. Lucy's name tumbles from her lips over and over as her thumping heart slows, so lost in the afterglow of that incredible storm of sensation that she barely registers the loss of the other woman's fingers as she withdraws her hand.
"Oh, God, Lucy... I bloody love you" she murmurs.
Then, without meaning to, she opens her eyes and looks at the wild, slightly unfocused eyes of the woman on top of her - takes note of her thin, tangled hair and wide, lopsided grin.
"L-Lucy... you're not... you're not Lucy..."
And Nellie's pretending is brought to an abrupt, unwelcome halt.
(*head-keyboard* There. I wrote it. And you read it. Any opinions, positive or negative - any criticism that helps me develop as a writer is welcome - feel free to let me know in a review. Oh, and to my friends: if you've read this, I may have to kill you. Well, poke you... with a small plastic spork... and feel no remorse for my actions.)