A/N: Just naughty fluff. Don't forget to review ;) It's really very very stupid. To warn you.

The rating is more for safety than anything. There's nothing explicit.

Disclaimer: Not Mine.

Just A Bit Tense

Squirming slightly at the table Mr. Todd tried to concentrate on eating the revoltingly lumpy soup Mrs. Lovett had produced for lunch. He crossed his legs… and then uncrossed them… and then crossed them again, trying to maneuver his body into a comfortable position on the wooden bench. Mrs. Lovett was leaning against the baking table watching him, her eyebrows raised. She'd never seen him so jumpy and this was the man who slit people's throats and had them cooked into pies for a living.

"Are you alright, Mr. T?" She enquired as he fidgeted about on the bench.

"Yes," He snapped, forcing himself to sit still and take a sip of the brown-green mess that was his lunch.

Mrs. Lovett shrugged. "If the seams in the crotch of those trousers have come loose again I can sow them up you know-

"Shuduuurp," Mr. Todd said sulkily, peering around the empty shop as though expecting to see customers giggling behind their hands at him.

"I was only saying… because you're wigglin' around like you've got a seven foot pole jammed-

"I'M TRYING TO EAT MY SOUP!" He bellowed at her and she shrugged again, leaving him to his lunch and disappearing into her rooms.

Mr. Todd really was acting very strangely as of late...even stranger than usual. He seemed to be becoming oddly distracted from his task of finding and killing the judge. Which was an uncharacteristic change when just weeks before she couldn't make him shut up about bloody Judge bloody Turpin… bloody…

She paused vaguely in front of the mirror and patted her hair. God, the man was an enigma to her. She pouted her lips at herself and satisfied by what she saw moved away to her favourite fireside chair. Everyday she cooked his food, cleaned his rooms, darned his socks (which always had holes in them), washed his blood stained shirts (which he went through like they were going out of fashion) and, hell, she even ran his bath for him once in a while when she could prevail on him to actually wash. She was almost giddy with the motherly desire to wash out his ears for him and to give his matted mane a good brush but it was extremely unlikely that the demon barber of Fleet Street would allow anyone to clean his ears for him. And what she wouldn't give to cut his hair. Sweet little bowl cut or even just a little trim would do wonders for his image. It's so much more difficult to be intimidating when you had a bowl cut. She could even straighten it with her iron…

Blissfully ignorant of Mrs. Lovett's secret desire to style his hair into a bowl cut, Sweeney Todd was still in the next room, glad for Mrs. Lovett's absence but no less uncomfortable. He peered around, the shop was completely deserted and there weren't any people outside the shop who looked as if they may invade the peace any time soon. With a furtive glance at Mrs. Lovett's door, he glanced down to where said crotch seams were although it wasn't the seams that were giving him grief. Surely it wouldn't hurt if he… lessened… the… uh… said 'tension' a little for himself while Mrs. Lovett was absent…? He nonchalantly removed one of his hands from the tabletop…

Mrs. Lovett glanced at the clock. She supposed she should go and clean up Mr. Todd's lunch things. He should have been finished by now and besides if he didn't return to his shop soon she wouldn't have any meat for the next couple of days.

Throwing down her newspaper she got to her feet. She glanced again at herself in the mirror before she left her rooms. She couldn't help it, Mr. Todd made her nervous and no one liked a disheveled shopkeeper. With a last pat of her auburn hair she left her rooms.

"I'm thinking I might buy sommore' flour soon Mr.- Oh my God."

...

Mrs. Lovett thought she should best break the silence soon. She was seated opposite Mr. Todd in her living room. He was determinedly staring at his fingernails, his dark hair hanging over his face like a scolded teenager's when he was trying to avoid eye contact.

"Now, now, it's perfectly natural," She said soothingly and he sent her look so sinister that she bit her lip and tried another approach. "Well… it's understandable… you've been deported for fifteen years… I mean if I-

He made a strangled choking sound in his throat and Mrs. Lovett bit her lip again. She so wasn't helping.

"Well. Look at it this way…" She hesitated. What way could you look at it? She'd walked in on her accomplice… doing that under her kitchen table. "… It's natural…?" She offered weakly.

He cleared his throat, not seeming inclined to speak.

"Well… if you've finished lunch… you might as well… go upstairs," She said finally. She'd never seen him so flushed in her life. It was incredible that his deathly white skin could even glow that red.

She'd barely finished her sentence and he'd bolted, disappearing up the stairs like a startled cat. She sighed and shook her head; if it wasn't one thing it was another. What with trying to kill half of London and feed the other and now having a hormonal, overly stimulated murderer on her hands when was she supposed to have a moment to herself? Sigh… There really was no rest for the wicked…

...

How humiliating. No, no it was worse than that it was… it was… SO HUMILATING. With a frustrated growl Mr. Todd kicked his door as hard as he could and stormed over to his favourite starin' window.

Stupid woman. Always turning up at exactly the wrong time. To be caught… by his accomplice… doing that under the table. Oh it was too shameful… He should have waited or at least retreated to his rooms. He could have even put up with a customer walking in but her… she already thought he was a nutter (what with the razor fetish and mass killings and all…) but now… now she would think he was an oversexed weirdo… That sounded stupid even in his head… he was an oversexed weirdo… but he didn't want everyone knowing… Well, strictly speaking he was an 'undersexed' weirdo.

Staring darkly out of his window he wondered if he could ever face her again.

...

Mrs. Lovett fell into bed at 10:00 feeling like she'd just ran ten miles. Having Mr. Todd living above her was like having a teenage boy in the house, skulking about and glowering out his window all day long. A teenage boy who occasionally sent the mauled bodies of half shaven gentlemen down to her bake house for her pies.

With an exhausted sigh she lent over to her bedside table and blew out the candle, throwing herself into blissful darkness. She lay back in bed, pulling the covers high and letting her eyes flicker closed. She was so tired she barely remembered falling asleep.

Meanwhile, one floor above a certain homicidal barber couldn't sleep. His ache had returned and lying in bed staring at the ceiling was not helping. He hadn't slept properly in years but what little chance that remained of his falling asleep was diminished by his intense discomfort. Squirming below his blankets he considered doing what he hadn't gotten away with in Mrs. Lovett's kitchen. He cringed in the darkness. Is this what Sweeney Todd was reduced to? Relieving his own tensions at night like some over-stimulated adolescent? This was not what a mass murderer should have to put up with!

With a final, last ditch decision he decided to leave his bed and venture downstairs. He couldn't sleep, he couldn't relax. He was too full of unyielding tension that needed to be resolved if he ever wanted to sleep again.

...

Mrs. Lovett had been sleeping peacefully for almost an hour when she heard a floorboard creak outside her room. Her eyes flew open and she froze where she lay. When you had lived for as long as she had alone in a city like London you learnt to sleep lightly and keep a pistol close to the bed. She lay still, barely daring to move. She knew it was unlikely that a thief had managed to find their way into the shop and Lord, if it was a thief they certainly had chosen the wrong house to rob but her heart sped up all the same. Perhaps it was only Toby coming to steal into her bed like he often did when he had a nightmare about the workhouse. But usually he was quite vocal when he had a workhouse nightmare and his shrill cries were enough warning that he would soon be creeping into her room.

She could hear the soft padding of feet just outside her door and then a hand on the doorknob. She thought desperately of the pistol in the bottom drawer of her bedside table. Could she reach it in time? The door fell open-

"Oh! Sweet merciful- Mr. Todd?" She had bolted upright at the sight of a hulking, dark figure at her door and it had taken her a few moments to realize who it was.

"Shhh! Why all the shouting?" He grumbled at her.

"No offence, Mr. T but wakin' up to find you skulking in the doorway is enough to make the dead come back to life again," She said, shaking her head.

"None taken." He replied flatly. He edged into the room and Mrs. Lovett lit the candle on her bedside table to give them some light.

Mr. Todd was fully dressed and looked uncharacteristically sheepish as he sidled into Mrs. Lovett's room. Mrs. Lovett suddenly realised she was only dressed in her nightdress. She might have been prepared to live with an unmarried man but she was no slapper. Slinking out of bed she grabbed her robe off her wardrobe and pulled it on. Mr. Todd had bashfully averted his eyes or rather he was staring sullenly at his belt buckle.

"So what do you want?" Mrs. Lovett asked primly. "If it's about you-know-what mind you shut the door because Toby's just down the hall,"

Mr. Todd gave a jolt and went hurriedly to close the door. Mrs. Lovett watched him go, he seemed flustered. Perhaps it had something to do with his little…'episode' in her shop.

"I was…" He broke off, patting his hair nervously. "I was…"

He fidgeted uncomfortably where he stood, fiddling offhandedly with his shirt cuff. He barely knew why he'd come. Why had he come? This was madness. This was ridiculous! He should just slink back to his room and sort out his own inability to keep it in his pants-

"Mr. T…" Mrs. Lovett remarked suddenly, staring at Mr. Todd's front. "Is there something in the water around here or what?"

Mr. Todd looked down. Oh fop…

...

Mrs. Lovett wasn't one to judge. After all the poor man had been in prison for fifteen years and he was a man after all. But these days he seemed to be all strung out, more so than usual. Dear lord, she didn't want a sexually strung out Sweeney Todd on her hands… But she didn't know if she was willing to act as a sort of…'puff pastry' for him to use whenever he bloody well wanted to… Well… well… Alright. So she wouldn't mind it at all but she had too much pride to admit that to him sober…

Mr. Todd was now seated at her table looking thoroughly abashed. Mrs. Lovett had dressed herself quickly and come out to find Mr. Todd sulking at her table. Now she was bustling about fetching him a tumbler and a bottle of gin. Poor thing… First his wife, then his daughter and now this…

"Here you are, love," She said cheerfully, clunking a tumbler of gin in front of him.

He grunted, not meeting her eye. He didn't touch the tumbler.

"Drink up, dear," She urged him.

He shrugged, lazily taking the tumbler and touching it to his lips. Mrs. Lovett watched him beadily.

"Go on…" She said softly as he hesitated, the tumbler still poised at his lips. He peered at her warily but finally, gingerly took a sip.

Mrs. Lovett smirked slightly and poured herself some gin.

Soon After…

Mr. Todd giggled hysterically as he tried to balance on an imaginary tightrope he had convinced himself was drawn down Mrs. Lovett's shop floor. Mrs. Lovett was too drunk to stop him from doing so. She watched from her kitchen table as the drunken barber tottered on the 'tight rope', his boots slipping dangerously in all directions.

"Loo'…a'… me," He slurred, trying to keep his balance and staggering clumsily over the stones. "I'm… balancin'… look!"

"No… youssnot…" Mrs. Lovett drawled, leaning heavily on the table, her dress was becoming lower and lower.

Mr. Todd gave a yelp as he tumbled off his 'tightrope' onto the floor. He writhed around on the floor, his look of euphoria replaced with one of startled alarm.

"I'm… fallin'," He yelped at her. "Helme… I'm fallin'!"

Mrs. Lovett staggered to her feet and threw her arms around his shoulders, dragging him up to his feet and pushing him into the table. She was laughing so hard she could barely keep herself upright. She fell against Mr. Todd and he gave a full-bodied shudder.

"God Mr.… Bee… yur… hard… asarock," She slurred not moving away and not being pushed away by Mr. Todd who was slumped against the table, his hands around her waist.

"Snot," He grumbled.

"You are…" She insisted to him.

"I'ma… jus... bit… tense…" He garbled, his eyes flickering slightly, he was obviously aroused beyond belief. Fifteen years of sexual tension was bubbling just below the surface and Mrs. Lovett was the only outlet he had. It seemed unlikely to Mrs. Lovett that she'd ever have a better opportunity and in her gin infused state kissing Mr. Todd seemed unavoidable. So she did.

And he kissed her back. So roughly and hungrily that he drew blood from her bottom lip but she didn't care, she had always dreamed of kissing Mr. Todd and she was finally doing it… He pushed her against the table, imprisoning her with his muscular arms and still attacking her mouth with drunken, fierce fervour. She was in pain, his teeth were ravaging her lips and the table was cutting into her flesh but she couldn't stop. And even if she attempted to she thought that he would overpower her, he was beyond his own control now. His sexual tension was pouring out now; every desire that he'd been keeping locked away for all these years was being released in furious vehemence. He pushed Mrs. Lovett harder against the table, leaning so heavily against her that he was almost collapsed on top of her.

Mr. Todd felt like someone had just pushed him off a cliff. Like he was falling fast and uncontrolled. He couldn't stop and he couldn't keep himself from ravishing Mrs. Lovett. His brain was so fuzzy… so vague and drunken that he was barely aware of what he was doing.

"Missus…Lovett," He drawled against her neck. She shivered.

"You're…. drunk," She hissed into his forehead.

"Snot," He mumbled, beginning to tug at her corset strings.

...

Mr. Todd woke up early the next morning and had to dive from bed and dash to the kitchen to throw up into a tub usually reserved for potato skins. It took a while of wondering what the horrified passersby were staring at to realize he wasn't wearing a thread of clothing. With a yelp, he stumbled from the room, trying to cover himself as best he could. He hurried back to Mrs. Lovett's room and slammed the door, leaning against it and heaving with rough breaths. He slid down to the floor, pulling his knees up to his chin. This was too odd… Then, with a shock, he realized where he was. Mrs. Lovett's bedroom! Oh God. What was happening to him?!

He bolted upright and stared at the dark figure now awake in her bed and staring back at him looking amused, if disheveled.

"Mornin', Mr. T," She said sweetly not disguising her obvious pleasure at finding him before her, naked and blushing like a schoolboy.

"What happened?" He demanded of her, covering himself clumsily with his hands.

"Oh… I can't remember," Mrs. Lovett said regretfully, inwardly cackling with glee.

"Well… well… It's obvious what's happened!" He spluttered rushing to cover himself with his discarded shirt. "We've… we've…" He couldn't even bring himself to say the words.

"Well. Why did you ask then?" She asked him brightly, getting out of bed and going for her bed robe.

"How… how… why…" He broke off looking scandalized.

"Breakfast?" Mrs. Lovett said cheerfully. "Or do you want something stronger?"

"God, no! I'm off that stuff for good!" He snapped.

"Yeah right…" She muttered as she tied her robe. "Now. Are you coming to breakfast or what?"

He didn't reply. He was struggling to get into his shirt.

"Well. I'll leave you to it then, love," She said at last, going for the doorknob. "You look much better today by the way. Not so… tense," She winked at the flushed barber and exited.

Mr. Todd watched her go with the look of someone who had just been hit over the head with a rotten fish. She really was a wily, old wench sometimes…

The End