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kinkfest2008-03-02 09:24 pm
melodywilde.livejournal.com) wrote in kinkfest2008-03-02 09:24 pm
Entry tags:
Dance [Sweeney Todd, Mrs. Lovett/Todd, PG13]
Title: Dance
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
melodywilde
Rating: PG
Warnings: Do I need to warn for het sex?
Word count: 1,231
Summary: There was more to their dance than we saw.
A/N: Apologies for the lateness of this. I have excuses, but they’re boring. Thanks toevilmissbecky for the quick beta, and for being a better spellchecker than Word.
Prompt: Sweeney Todd, Mrs. Lovett/Sweeney: food fetish - "the worst pies in London"
Dance
by Melody Wilde
She prob’ly should’ve had some sort of alarm bell goin’ off in her head when he reached for her, smilin’ that smile what was so unlike his usual ones. Not that she had a lot of “usual ones” to compare it to, of course, him only smilin’ at the razors or when he thought about doin’ the Judge.
And she prob’ly should’ve stopped to wonder when he pulled her up against him and she could feel how hard he was, even through her skirt and petticoat. After all, it was not more than half an hour ago that he’d gone…well...truth be told, he seemed like a bit of a ravin’ lunatic, holdin’ a razor to her throat and threatenin’ her. It had been a little scary, even knowing he wouldn’t really kill her. Then he’d gone to screamin’ and pacin’ and wound up on his knees and not quite there. And then, quick as a wink, he’d been all happy, smilin’ and dancin’ her around the shop, and then grabbin’ her and backin’ her up against the wall behind the counter, right next to her dear Albert’s picture.
The way he’d gone from one to the other so fast maybe ought to have worried her, but she couldn’t be bothered to think about that right now, because finally—finally—he was showin’ some interest in her. More than “some”, if that thing pressin’ into her thigh was to be believed.
“Mrs. Lovett, you are a wonder,” he breathed into her ear. She shivered against him.
“Call me Nellie, love.” She wanted to get her arms around him, but it weren’t easy, the way he kept moving, this way and that, then leanin’ back to...
“What you doin’, Mr. T?”
He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to, did he? Anybody could see what he was doin’. He was grabbin’ one of her pies, the one what had started drippin’ all over the counter when they’d been talkin’ about politicians.
“This ain’t no time to be wantin’ a pie, dearie.”
“But I do,” he murmured. “A pie with the Judge inside.”
He was lookin’ that strange again, but then he started squeezin’ the pie and lettin’ the insides drip all on her shoulders and down across her chest. And then he dropped the empty husk and put his fingers on the tops of her breasts and started to smear the filling around. It was nasty and slimy stuff, but it was all right because he was finally lookin’ at her breasts, touchin’ her breasts, even...oh God...bendin’ his head to lick them. She moaned and tried to push them up into his mouth. She was already wet and ready for him, had been from the first second he’d caught her into his dance, and he was ready too and...
“Someday...” He was bendin’ his knees, so as to get at the bits spillin’ down her cleavage after Pirelli’s little purse. “Someday this will be him.”
And didn’t that almost—almost—put her off the whole thing, hearin’ him thinkin’ about that bloody Judge even now, but he dipped lower and his fingers twisted in the hem of her skirt and he was pullin’ it up and she didn’t care what he was thinkin’ about, as long as it made him this hard.
She came to her senses when he turned her and lifted her onto the counter and she realized he meant to do her right there, right in the middle of the shop, in broad daylight, with all them windows what didn’t even have the curtains closed ’cause they’d been lookin’ out them.
“Mr. T.” Her skirt was up to her waist now and his hand was busy with her knickers and she couldn’t breathe right. “Don’t you think we should go someplace else for this?”
“Nobody ever comes in.” His voice was so soft she almost couldn’t hear him. “You make the worst pies in London. But soon...soon they’ll be the best.”
She gasped when she saw his hand go for one of the razors and heard the snick of him opening it. But before she had time to curse herself for puttin’ them back in the holster instead of leavin’ them on the floor upstairs, she saw what he meant to do with it. Lord, the skill the man had, three quick strokes of the blade and her knickers was all cut away and she didn’t even have a scratch. Not that she’d have minded bein’ cut a bit if it meant he was touchin’ her like that. She didn’t care about nothin’, not the blade still pressed against her inner thigh or the bits of pie still on her chest or even the windows all bare so anybody could look in and see what he was doin’. She didn’t care about nothin’ but gettin’ him inside her.
He fumbled at his trousers. She would’ve reached to help him, but when she saw the look on his face her heart just about stopped because just for a second there he looked every bit as mad as his poor Lucy.
“Mr. T...”
Her bunched up skirts was in the way, but she knew he was free, cause she felt him poke against her belly. And then he did cut her, just a bit, when he reached to guide himself in, but it didn’t matter because he was...oh God...oh sweet Jesus…there. It had been so damn long that it hurt a little bit, when he shoved into her, but it was a good hurt, because it meant he was wantin’ her as much as she’d wanted him. He was leanin’ forward and pushin’ in deeper and deeper, slow and easy, his wild eyes closed now, and then he was all the way in and his body was tight against her and she came before he could do more than slam his hands down on the counter next to her head. Good thing too, cause he didn’t last no longer than she had, just out and in and out and in and then he was jerkin’ against her and done, just like that.
He was breathin’ so hard she was afraid he’d pass out or somethin’, but then so was she. She reached up for him, wantin’ to hold him, give him a kiss, tell him she loved him, but she could see that things were changin’ again. He weren’t happy no more. That little line was back between his eyebrows and his mouth was all tight, and he pulled out of her and turned away to do up his trousers without lookin’ at her or sayin’ a word.
“Mr. T?”
“There’s work to be done.” His voice was all dark and miserable. “We need to dispose of Pirelli. I have to finish cleaning the room. I…”
She had one of those flashes where she knew what she needed to say to him just then, so she pushed her skirt down and slid off the counter—and weren’t her legs that wobbly—and made her voice all cheery. “I’ll go down to the bakehouse and get everything ready for that Eye-talian. And it won’t be long…” She dared to lean against him for a second. “’Til we’re gettin’ them ready for the Judge.”
And that made him smile again and pat her on the shoulder. “That we will, Mrs. Lovett. That we will.”
Author/Artist:
melodywildeRating: PG
Warnings: Do I need to warn for het sex?
Word count: 1,231
Summary: There was more to their dance than we saw.
A/N: Apologies for the lateness of this. I have excuses, but they’re boring. Thanks to
evilmissbecky for the quick beta, and for being a better spellchecker than Word.Prompt: Sweeney Todd, Mrs. Lovett/Sweeney: food fetish - "the worst pies in London"
Dance
by Melody Wilde
She prob’ly should’ve had some sort of alarm bell goin’ off in her head when he reached for her, smilin’ that smile what was so unlike his usual ones. Not that she had a lot of “usual ones” to compare it to, of course, him only smilin’ at the razors or when he thought about doin’ the Judge.
And she prob’ly should’ve stopped to wonder when he pulled her up against him and she could feel how hard he was, even through her skirt and petticoat. After all, it was not more than half an hour ago that he’d gone…well...truth be told, he seemed like a bit of a ravin’ lunatic, holdin’ a razor to her throat and threatenin’ her. It had been a little scary, even knowing he wouldn’t really kill her. Then he’d gone to screamin’ and pacin’ and wound up on his knees and not quite there. And then, quick as a wink, he’d been all happy, smilin’ and dancin’ her around the shop, and then grabbin’ her and backin’ her up against the wall behind the counter, right next to her dear Albert’s picture.
The way he’d gone from one to the other so fast maybe ought to have worried her, but she couldn’t be bothered to think about that right now, because finally—finally—he was showin’ some interest in her. More than “some”, if that thing pressin’ into her thigh was to be believed.
“Mrs. Lovett, you are a wonder,” he breathed into her ear. She shivered against him.
“Call me Nellie, love.” She wanted to get her arms around him, but it weren’t easy, the way he kept moving, this way and that, then leanin’ back to...
“What you doin’, Mr. T?”
He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to, did he? Anybody could see what he was doin’. He was grabbin’ one of her pies, the one what had started drippin’ all over the counter when they’d been talkin’ about politicians.
“This ain’t no time to be wantin’ a pie, dearie.”
“But I do,” he murmured. “A pie with the Judge inside.”
He was lookin’ that strange again, but then he started squeezin’ the pie and lettin’ the insides drip all on her shoulders and down across her chest. And then he dropped the empty husk and put his fingers on the tops of her breasts and started to smear the filling around. It was nasty and slimy stuff, but it was all right because he was finally lookin’ at her breasts, touchin’ her breasts, even...oh God...bendin’ his head to lick them. She moaned and tried to push them up into his mouth. She was already wet and ready for him, had been from the first second he’d caught her into his dance, and he was ready too and...
“Someday...” He was bendin’ his knees, so as to get at the bits spillin’ down her cleavage after Pirelli’s little purse. “Someday this will be him.”
And didn’t that almost—almost—put her off the whole thing, hearin’ him thinkin’ about that bloody Judge even now, but he dipped lower and his fingers twisted in the hem of her skirt and he was pullin’ it up and she didn’t care what he was thinkin’ about, as long as it made him this hard.
She came to her senses when he turned her and lifted her onto the counter and she realized he meant to do her right there, right in the middle of the shop, in broad daylight, with all them windows what didn’t even have the curtains closed ’cause they’d been lookin’ out them.
“Mr. T.” Her skirt was up to her waist now and his hand was busy with her knickers and she couldn’t breathe right. “Don’t you think we should go someplace else for this?”
“Nobody ever comes in.” His voice was so soft she almost couldn’t hear him. “You make the worst pies in London. But soon...soon they’ll be the best.”
She gasped when she saw his hand go for one of the razors and heard the snick of him opening it. But before she had time to curse herself for puttin’ them back in the holster instead of leavin’ them on the floor upstairs, she saw what he meant to do with it. Lord, the skill the man had, three quick strokes of the blade and her knickers was all cut away and she didn’t even have a scratch. Not that she’d have minded bein’ cut a bit if it meant he was touchin’ her like that. She didn’t care about nothin’, not the blade still pressed against her inner thigh or the bits of pie still on her chest or even the windows all bare so anybody could look in and see what he was doin’. She didn’t care about nothin’ but gettin’ him inside her.
He fumbled at his trousers. She would’ve reached to help him, but when she saw the look on his face her heart just about stopped because just for a second there he looked every bit as mad as his poor Lucy.
“Mr. T...”
Her bunched up skirts was in the way, but she knew he was free, cause she felt him poke against her belly. And then he did cut her, just a bit, when he reached to guide himself in, but it didn’t matter because he was...oh God...oh sweet Jesus…there. It had been so damn long that it hurt a little bit, when he shoved into her, but it was a good hurt, because it meant he was wantin’ her as much as she’d wanted him. He was leanin’ forward and pushin’ in deeper and deeper, slow and easy, his wild eyes closed now, and then he was all the way in and his body was tight against her and she came before he could do more than slam his hands down on the counter next to her head. Good thing too, cause he didn’t last no longer than she had, just out and in and out and in and then he was jerkin’ against her and done, just like that.
He was breathin’ so hard she was afraid he’d pass out or somethin’, but then so was she. She reached up for him, wantin’ to hold him, give him a kiss, tell him she loved him, but she could see that things were changin’ again. He weren’t happy no more. That little line was back between his eyebrows and his mouth was all tight, and he pulled out of her and turned away to do up his trousers without lookin’ at her or sayin’ a word.
“Mr. T?”
“There’s work to be done.” His voice was all dark and miserable. “We need to dispose of Pirelli. I have to finish cleaning the room. I…”
She had one of those flashes where she knew what she needed to say to him just then, so she pushed her skirt down and slid off the counter—and weren’t her legs that wobbly—and made her voice all cheery. “I’ll go down to the bakehouse and get everything ready for that Eye-talian. And it won’t be long…” She dared to lean against him for a second. “’Til we’re gettin’ them ready for the Judge.”
And that made him smile again and pat her on the shoulder. “That we will, Mrs. Lovett. That we will.”
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no subject
That's all right, dearie. I've seen it enough for both of us, plus a few of our friends. *g*
Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it.
no subject