Eat The Rich; Part 2
Title: Eat The Rich Part 2
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 2,348
Summary: Carries on from Eat The Rich Part 1 (duh!) Less of the people eating this time. Lovett gets Todd in the bath.
Lovett:
She woke up wondering when she had fallen asleep, or rather passed out from an orgy of sex and blood, the taste of raw lawyer still on her lips. Tasty, she decided, something she would have to try again, though not quite as good as one of her own pies.
She stretched and yawned contentedly against his still sleeping form. She wondered how he could look so sweet, covered in blood and curled up against the remains of the kill. But he did, worn out and well fed, even snoring ever so slightly. She smiled; it was so warm and comfortable down here she could have stayed indefinitely had there not been another world waiting somewhere over their heads; a disgustingly civilized world to return to and pretend to. She sighed; warm and sore and dozy as a contented cat. She felt happy; almost as though he had accepted her, in his way, as his mate and allowed her to move into his den, sharing the kill and marking her repeatedly as his with his lust. How many times had they-? She chuckled to think that, once again, she had lost count.
Reluctantly she got up, finding the tattered remnants of her dress and holding them around her as best she could. She looked down at him fondly, hardly wanting to disturb him, so peaceful he seemed. But even as she looked he blinked blearily into wakefulness and peered up at her as though confused. She held out a hand and helped him to his feet;
"C'mon love" she said - "Upstairs". He looked at her a moment as though about to say something, then seemed to think better of it and followed her dociley upstairs and into the back room.
He looked at her suspiciously as she put the kettle on to boil and started to fill the bath tub.
"Lovett -" he grunted eventually, and she realised, fleetingly, that it was the first word he had spoken all afternoon - "What are you doing?"
"Running you a bath pet"
"You're bloody not"
"I bloody am. Look at yourself you're all - bloody."
"You're not getting me into any damned bath, woman" he growled.
"Oh for heavens' sake -" she sighed. He had gone from rabid beast to spoilt child in the blink of an eye, bless him - "Don't be such a baby, it won't bite you know." He folded his arms and tried to stare her down. She stared right back, neither of them budging an inch until -
"Fine" he pouted, with a slight grunt - "I will if you will."
Sweeney:
He was only just slowly blinking back into anything like a state of human consciousness - and the first thing he was aware of was her. Damn her, why always her and why was he so comfortable with this even when she was threatening him with a bath, the harridan? Still, he could not help but admire her as she let her ruined dress fall from her to the floor. She shook her head at him in despair as she stepped into the bath. Somehow he could not stop staring at her, her pale perfect body shining, all but coated in blood. Fifteen years of thinking he was alone in what the whole world seemed to consider a depravity, fifteen years of knowing - not thinking - that he would never find another like him, knowing it so strongly that he had never even considered what he would do if he did find such a creature. And it had to be her really didn't it? Somehow that made it easier - he had always known what he was going to do with her, indeed he had spent years in planning it. But he had never imagined he would feel like this; so right, so complete, so content. Almost as though she was right and they could have a life together and were meant in fact to do so. Indeed that they were meant for nothing else but each other. It was a horrible, disconcerting thought when he still had a dead wife and a dead self to revenge.
Still, she was so beautiful, sinking into the bath, steaming slightly, the blood on her skin staining the water pink, the water lapping lovingly around the curves of her body, little droplets beading on her skin. He stared at her stupidly, entranced.
"Come on then love!" she said, arching her neck to look at him upside down, hurting him with her sweetness.
"There's hardly room -" he protested weakly, but she smiled at him and fluttered her eyelashes and that was really all it took. He shed his trousers and joined her carefully in the bath, sinking down and pulling her round on top of him, holding her about the waist and shoulders. She giggled adorably, irritatingly, as water sloshed over the sides of the bath. he picked something out of her hair and regarded it amusedly -
"Curious hair ribbon you have there my dear."
"What's that?" she said, twisting round to look -
"A small intestine" he smiled grimly and flicked it away.
"Eww!" she wrinkled her little nose in disgust;
"That's not what you said earlier!"
"Well no - I was too....fascinated to see you eat - well - something!"
"Trouble you did it?"
"No" she said and he could hear that she meant it - "Although -" she said, uncertainly, "I was wondering if you made a habit of it."
"It's been a while -" he nodded - "But I used to. Used to just about live off it - for fifteen years."
"Oh I'm sorry -" she murmured -
"Don't be" he said, "I rather liked it. Though it didn't make me very popular."
"I am sorry -" she murmured and shifted, discomfited by her pity - "I didn't mean to - that is - it must have been terrible-"
"Not that part" he said shortly, not really wanting to dwell upon the parts that had been and she, for once, wisely realising that he didn't want to and actually shutting up. They lay in silence for a little while, simply enjoying the warm of the water and the beating of each others hearts, until -
"Mr T?"
"Yes?"
"Did you ever - think of me at all?"
he wondered if she could hear his heart stop beating at her innocent, almost frightened question. How could she even ask such a thing? He looked at her sharply, her wide eyes filled with hope that was almost desperation. Think of her? How could he tell her the truth it would so please her to hear? How he had thought of her constantly, wanted her unbearably, until the pain of it had become almost too much to bear, fucked her again and again in his mind until he had gone through madness and beyond with it? Think of her? How could he lie to those eyes? But how could he tell her the truth?
"Eleanor - I -" he began, unable to tell her what he wanted to tell her, pained by the flood of remembered longing that welled up inside him, taking over him anew.
Relieved that his lust for her gave him an excuse not to answer her question he took her head hard in his hands, almost crushing it between them as he twisted her onto her back, pushing her underwater as he thrust roughly into her, hurting her he knew but far from caring , she was so slippery and warm and in such divine discomfort. She fought beneath him, battling to re- surface, which she did, gasping in all the greater delight for her breathlessness. She was so strong, so difficult to subdue for long, but god the fun he had trying; he wouldn't love her any other way. She held herself tight against him, screaming, into his shoulder as they drowned together.
It was just a figure of speech of course, he told himself, as they dried off and headed towards the bedroom - he didn't really love her.
*
Whenever he closed his eyes she was there, banging her little fists against the inside of his skull for holding her so tightly in his head. Her face, her damnable, beautiful face, her eyes like molten chocolate just begging him to drink them in, so warm and so delicious, the taste of her always on his lips that no one else's blood would ever wash out. The feel of her skin brushing against his, like a ghost, keeping him buzzing and aroused every second, even when she was not there. The shape of her lips jigsawed into his, hardly leaving him room to breathe, until he was drowning with it.
He had been drowning for so long now he wondered that he was still alive. It seemed she had always been here, just inside him, scratching electrically at his skin. Poor Barker, he mused sourly, how had he coped - unable to give vent to such feelings even if it was just in fucking her - oh that was right, he hadn't. So here he was, Sweeney Todd, ha ha, hello and did you miss me my love?
Did you ever think of me? She had said, did you miss me? Would she have asked if she had known? The number of ways in which he had killed her, hurt her, used her; how those thoughts had driven him to the edge so many times even as they had kept him alive. How she had come to him again and again in his dreams offering him terrible, merciless comfort that made him wake up shaking. How he had denied, first as Barker, then as Todd and as some fractured thing in between that he felt anything more for her than lust for her flesh ad her blood.
But it had to be didn't it? he thought, battered down to despair with it. How could one woman's body be enough to torment a man unrelentingly for so long - however beautiful, there had to be something more.
Did you miss me? She had said - how like a child she was, a stupid thoughtless child oblivious to the hurt it caused. Did you think of me? So, she had thought of him then. He hoped the thoughts had cut her.
Cut her. Such a simple answer to anything. Cut her open and see if she was as beautiful inside as out. See if she was still so lovely when her blood sprayed in his face and in his eyes, painting her beauty red.
"Yes" he said, suddenly, standing in the doorway, only looking at her out of the corner of his eye. He did not know how strange his stillness looked, how menacing he seemed to her, bringing this tension and expectation into the room.
"What's that love?" she looked up from her work with that ever - startled look in her eyes.
"Yes" he repeated, his voice hard - "I thought of you." When she still looked blank he went on, resenting her slowness - "You asked if I ever thought of you. I did. All the time." he could have said more. How it had nearly killed him, driven him crazy, taking him out of that hell hole and into the warm safety of her arms. But he didn't. Not yet.
"Oh-" she stammered, blushing - "What - what did you think?"
Did she have to always press it? Angry and uncomfortable he pushed her into the wall, razor out, reassured -
"This -" he hissed, wrenching down her corset with the familiar, welcome sound of tearing fabric, ripping the razor into her skin, opening old scars and deepening the cuts until the dark blood ran down her breasts in rivers. He rubbed at the cuts until the blood ran faster, bathing in it and smearing it over her skin, down her arms which he held pinchingly tight against the was as he shoved his rock hard prick into her, fucking her quickly and roughly while she whimpered in discomfort.
It was a good start but it wasn't enough. Half sated he drew her to the floor, one hand curled around her neck. he marvelled, not for the first time at the softness of her skin and hair, like a child's. Child - like too those wide eyes brimming with tears of pain, enjoy it though she did. He cut away her clothes and pressed the razor back to her throat.
"Why don't I kill you?" his voice sounded almost soft in his ears, almost musing though he really did wonder. She shook her head helplessly as though unsure herself.
"Bitch -" he spat - "Teach you a fucking lesson - you'll not test me again." He thrust into her slowly this time, but relentlessly, filling her up and smirking with satisfaction at her flattering whimper of pain at the size of him and his merciless penetration. He ran the razor over her body, opening up every cut he had made there throughout weeks of work, delighting in her cries as he stretched her cunt to breaking and ripped her body all but apart, basking in the liquid heat of her blood and juices, spilling cathartically onto his skin. All the while she screamed, ruby screams of pleasure and pain, her eyes closed in agony.
"Look at me" he barked, wanting to see her pain, and she obeyed. Ah, it was almost obscene, the essential innocence in her eyes, pervading every fibre of her being, almost a travesty to defile something so pure. Almost but not quite - just close enough for him to fuck her so hard she looked as though she would faint, ramming her into the floor, holding her down by the shoulders as he spilled inside her with a guttural cry as she tensed and shuddered around him.
He left her, thinking himself satisfied enough to keep away - until tomorrow at lest. he knew it would not last.
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 2,348
Summary: Carries on from Eat The Rich Part 1 (duh!) Less of the people eating this time. Lovett gets Todd in the bath.
Lovett:
She woke up wondering when she had fallen asleep, or rather passed out from an orgy of sex and blood, the taste of raw lawyer still on her lips. Tasty, she decided, something she would have to try again, though not quite as good as one of her own pies.
She stretched and yawned contentedly against his still sleeping form. She wondered how he could look so sweet, covered in blood and curled up against the remains of the kill. But he did, worn out and well fed, even snoring ever so slightly. She smiled; it was so warm and comfortable down here she could have stayed indefinitely had there not been another world waiting somewhere over their heads; a disgustingly civilized world to return to and pretend to. She sighed; warm and sore and dozy as a contented cat. She felt happy; almost as though he had accepted her, in his way, as his mate and allowed her to move into his den, sharing the kill and marking her repeatedly as his with his lust. How many times had they-? She chuckled to think that, once again, she had lost count.
Reluctantly she got up, finding the tattered remnants of her dress and holding them around her as best she could. She looked down at him fondly, hardly wanting to disturb him, so peaceful he seemed. But even as she looked he blinked blearily into wakefulness and peered up at her as though confused. She held out a hand and helped him to his feet;
"C'mon love" she said - "Upstairs". He looked at her a moment as though about to say something, then seemed to think better of it and followed her dociley upstairs and into the back room.
He looked at her suspiciously as she put the kettle on to boil and started to fill the bath tub.
"Lovett -" he grunted eventually, and she realised, fleetingly, that it was the first word he had spoken all afternoon - "What are you doing?"
"Running you a bath pet"
"You're bloody not"
"I bloody am. Look at yourself you're all - bloody."
"You're not getting me into any damned bath, woman" he growled.
"Oh for heavens' sake -" she sighed. He had gone from rabid beast to spoilt child in the blink of an eye, bless him - "Don't be such a baby, it won't bite you know." He folded his arms and tried to stare her down. She stared right back, neither of them budging an inch until -
"Fine" he pouted, with a slight grunt - "I will if you will."
Sweeney:
He was only just slowly blinking back into anything like a state of human consciousness - and the first thing he was aware of was her. Damn her, why always her and why was he so comfortable with this even when she was threatening him with a bath, the harridan? Still, he could not help but admire her as she let her ruined dress fall from her to the floor. She shook her head at him in despair as she stepped into the bath. Somehow he could not stop staring at her, her pale perfect body shining, all but coated in blood. Fifteen years of thinking he was alone in what the whole world seemed to consider a depravity, fifteen years of knowing - not thinking - that he would never find another like him, knowing it so strongly that he had never even considered what he would do if he did find such a creature. And it had to be her really didn't it? Somehow that made it easier - he had always known what he was going to do with her, indeed he had spent years in planning it. But he had never imagined he would feel like this; so right, so complete, so content. Almost as though she was right and they could have a life together and were meant in fact to do so. Indeed that they were meant for nothing else but each other. It was a horrible, disconcerting thought when he still had a dead wife and a dead self to revenge.
Still, she was so beautiful, sinking into the bath, steaming slightly, the blood on her skin staining the water pink, the water lapping lovingly around the curves of her body, little droplets beading on her skin. He stared at her stupidly, entranced.
"Come on then love!" she said, arching her neck to look at him upside down, hurting him with her sweetness.
"There's hardly room -" he protested weakly, but she smiled at him and fluttered her eyelashes and that was really all it took. He shed his trousers and joined her carefully in the bath, sinking down and pulling her round on top of him, holding her about the waist and shoulders. She giggled adorably, irritatingly, as water sloshed over the sides of the bath. he picked something out of her hair and regarded it amusedly -
"Curious hair ribbon you have there my dear."
"What's that?" she said, twisting round to look -
"A small intestine" he smiled grimly and flicked it away.
"Eww!" she wrinkled her little nose in disgust;
"That's not what you said earlier!"
"Well no - I was too....fascinated to see you eat - well - something!"
"Trouble you did it?"
"No" she said and he could hear that she meant it - "Although -" she said, uncertainly, "I was wondering if you made a habit of it."
"It's been a while -" he nodded - "But I used to. Used to just about live off it - for fifteen years."
"Oh I'm sorry -" she murmured -
"Don't be" he said, "I rather liked it. Though it didn't make me very popular."
"I am sorry -" she murmured and shifted, discomfited by her pity - "I didn't mean to - that is - it must have been terrible-"
"Not that part" he said shortly, not really wanting to dwell upon the parts that had been and she, for once, wisely realising that he didn't want to and actually shutting up. They lay in silence for a little while, simply enjoying the warm of the water and the beating of each others hearts, until -
"Mr T?"
"Yes?"
"Did you ever - think of me at all?"
he wondered if she could hear his heart stop beating at her innocent, almost frightened question. How could she even ask such a thing? He looked at her sharply, her wide eyes filled with hope that was almost desperation. Think of her? How could he tell her the truth it would so please her to hear? How he had thought of her constantly, wanted her unbearably, until the pain of it had become almost too much to bear, fucked her again and again in his mind until he had gone through madness and beyond with it? Think of her? How could he lie to those eyes? But how could he tell her the truth?
"Eleanor - I -" he began, unable to tell her what he wanted to tell her, pained by the flood of remembered longing that welled up inside him, taking over him anew.
Relieved that his lust for her gave him an excuse not to answer her question he took her head hard in his hands, almost crushing it between them as he twisted her onto her back, pushing her underwater as he thrust roughly into her, hurting her he knew but far from caring , she was so slippery and warm and in such divine discomfort. She fought beneath him, battling to re- surface, which she did, gasping in all the greater delight for her breathlessness. She was so strong, so difficult to subdue for long, but god the fun he had trying; he wouldn't love her any other way. She held herself tight against him, screaming, into his shoulder as they drowned together.
It was just a figure of speech of course, he told himself, as they dried off and headed towards the bedroom - he didn't really love her.
*
Whenever he closed his eyes she was there, banging her little fists against the inside of his skull for holding her so tightly in his head. Her face, her damnable, beautiful face, her eyes like molten chocolate just begging him to drink them in, so warm and so delicious, the taste of her always on his lips that no one else's blood would ever wash out. The feel of her skin brushing against his, like a ghost, keeping him buzzing and aroused every second, even when she was not there. The shape of her lips jigsawed into his, hardly leaving him room to breathe, until he was drowning with it.
He had been drowning for so long now he wondered that he was still alive. It seemed she had always been here, just inside him, scratching electrically at his skin. Poor Barker, he mused sourly, how had he coped - unable to give vent to such feelings even if it was just in fucking her - oh that was right, he hadn't. So here he was, Sweeney Todd, ha ha, hello and did you miss me my love?
Did you ever think of me? She had said, did you miss me? Would she have asked if she had known? The number of ways in which he had killed her, hurt her, used her; how those thoughts had driven him to the edge so many times even as they had kept him alive. How she had come to him again and again in his dreams offering him terrible, merciless comfort that made him wake up shaking. How he had denied, first as Barker, then as Todd and as some fractured thing in between that he felt anything more for her than lust for her flesh ad her blood.
But it had to be didn't it? he thought, battered down to despair with it. How could one woman's body be enough to torment a man unrelentingly for so long - however beautiful, there had to be something more.
Did you miss me? She had said - how like a child she was, a stupid thoughtless child oblivious to the hurt it caused. Did you think of me? So, she had thought of him then. He hoped the thoughts had cut her.
Cut her. Such a simple answer to anything. Cut her open and see if she was as beautiful inside as out. See if she was still so lovely when her blood sprayed in his face and in his eyes, painting her beauty red.
"Yes" he said, suddenly, standing in the doorway, only looking at her out of the corner of his eye. He did not know how strange his stillness looked, how menacing he seemed to her, bringing this tension and expectation into the room.
"What's that love?" she looked up from her work with that ever - startled look in her eyes.
"Yes" he repeated, his voice hard - "I thought of you." When she still looked blank he went on, resenting her slowness - "You asked if I ever thought of you. I did. All the time." he could have said more. How it had nearly killed him, driven him crazy, taking him out of that hell hole and into the warm safety of her arms. But he didn't. Not yet.
"Oh-" she stammered, blushing - "What - what did you think?"
Did she have to always press it? Angry and uncomfortable he pushed her into the wall, razor out, reassured -
"This -" he hissed, wrenching down her corset with the familiar, welcome sound of tearing fabric, ripping the razor into her skin, opening old scars and deepening the cuts until the dark blood ran down her breasts in rivers. He rubbed at the cuts until the blood ran faster, bathing in it and smearing it over her skin, down her arms which he held pinchingly tight against the was as he shoved his rock hard prick into her, fucking her quickly and roughly while she whimpered in discomfort.
It was a good start but it wasn't enough. Half sated he drew her to the floor, one hand curled around her neck. he marvelled, not for the first time at the softness of her skin and hair, like a child's. Child - like too those wide eyes brimming with tears of pain, enjoy it though she did. He cut away her clothes and pressed the razor back to her throat.
"Why don't I kill you?" his voice sounded almost soft in his ears, almost musing though he really did wonder. She shook her head helplessly as though unsure herself.
"Bitch -" he spat - "Teach you a fucking lesson - you'll not test me again." He thrust into her slowly this time, but relentlessly, filling her up and smirking with satisfaction at her flattering whimper of pain at the size of him and his merciless penetration. He ran the razor over her body, opening up every cut he had made there throughout weeks of work, delighting in her cries as he stretched her cunt to breaking and ripped her body all but apart, basking in the liquid heat of her blood and juices, spilling cathartically onto his skin. All the while she screamed, ruby screams of pleasure and pain, her eyes closed in agony.
"Look at me" he barked, wanting to see her pain, and she obeyed. Ah, it was almost obscene, the essential innocence in her eyes, pervading every fibre of her being, almost a travesty to defile something so pure. Almost but not quite - just close enough for him to fuck her so hard she looked as though she would faint, ramming her into the floor, holding her down by the shoulders as he spilled inside her with a guttural cry as she tensed and shuddered around him.
He left her, thinking himself satisfied enough to keep away - until tomorrow at lest. he knew it would not last.