Rating: R for violence and brief sexual imagery

Author's Notes: As I'm sure you all know by now, although Sweeney says, "see how he smiles in the light," I'm a huge fan of making those razors women. And I've had Sweeney Todd anthropomorphizing them to his heart's content—so I figured why not do the same thing?

Inspired by and dedicated to Harey.

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I waited.

I waited for fifteen years. I would've waited eternity. But it was only fifteen years—and I knew you were back the moment I felt the baker woman's hands on me. She only touched me once a year, to polish me and sigh, and we would think of you together. The day she did this ritual was very precise—the eve of the morning you were taken from me. And today was not that day.

I knew it was you. I just knew.

Your hands are rougher than I remember, but does it matter? We are together again, and while your fingertips aren't as soft, your caress is, and your love of me hasn't softened over the years. You call me your friend—yes, I am your friend. I waited, remembered, thought of you—I hid in the dark for years, anticipating your return. I never lost hope that we'd be reunited.

I reflect your face—my way of seeing you. You have changed, and I do not hesitate to acclimate myself to your new features—I reflect Sweeney Todd now, a task I am not adverse to. You beg my permission so that you might hold me—it is granted, and gladly. You breathe words to me, you hold me with both hands, you go down on one knee before me, holding me reverently and staring at me with nothing short of worship. I know what you ask, and I know what you want.

Will I be your tool? Will I be the vessel of your vengeance? Will I cut down those who have wronged you so? You make me promises—you promise me we will do wonders. You promise me precious rubies. You promise me that soon, you will unfold me and splendors I've never dreamed of will be mine. You made many promises. But the most important one, while never spoken, is quite clear—you promise me you. You came to me on bended knee, and you had little to offer—save yourself. And you offered yourself, and I will take you and your promises. I ask for very little, Sweeney Todd, and I will give you so much in return. All I ask for is you—you, all of you. There can be no others—just you and me. That isn't so much, is it, Sweeney Todd?

I see Mrs. Lovett—she says you are hers. Jealousy flickers through me, but it quickly dies when you prove your loyalty to your true love, your true master, by telling her to get out. You hold me high, letting me reflect a beautiful light on your pale features, and you say I complete you—yes, Sweeney Todd, I will fill the hollow space in you left by your wife and daughter.

How good it feels to be with you now—I am never away from you, always beside you or in your hand. I see your face all the time, for you so adore holding me close. I hadn't been used in so long, and that next morning, your fingers coaxed me open and I found myself along your neck, and I knew I was the first shave you'd given in fifteen years. But I did not bite you—you used me with great care and tenderness, and I responded with the same. I remembered how you used to use me in the mornings before work started, before I set to the others. It was never like this—you let me linger now, let me lick up and down your flesh, kissing you in ways your wife never could. I enjoy it as much as you do, my pet.

I performed admirably for you in the Square, did I not? You did not allow me to linger on his throat, which was acceptable—I did not want to. I swiped him clean with your quick and nimble strokes, and how good it felt to be used again, to be paraded in front of eyes that wished to see something impressive. I shone brightly just for you, letting the light catch me in all the right ways, performing for you because I knew you were hesitant. And I felt your hand on me, that tense, tight grip you had when the Beadle was there—it excited me, just as the very thought excited you. You promised me precious rubies—rubies are enticing, and I want them as much as you do.

We share conspiratorial grins, whispered conversations—we have a relationship that Mrs. Lovett can never understand. I would normally grow jealous, for I see how she puts her hands on you, I see how she looks at you, pleads with you, considers herself the only one to put you on a leash and keep you contained—such a foolish thought, for you should not be contained. But I am not jealous, for though I see all of these things, you do not, for you have eyes only for me. You would rather caress my cold surface than put a hand upon her warm flesh—I shine brightly for you because of that, because that means you are mine, all mine, and you did not lie when you said you gave yourself to me. I do it all for you, Sweeney Todd.

Oh, but it was awful when Pirelli put his hands on me. His fingers were not nearly as skilled as yours, and he did not hold me with reverence—he flippantly twisted his wrist, harshly snapping me open and closing me again, as if he were putting on some kind of show, and I knew he wanted me, wanted to have me. I whispered to you—you said you would listen, so I spoke. There is only one way, Sweeney Todd. You know it—he means to take me, Sweeney Todd. He means to take me, and in so doing, he takes your revenge, takes what you spent fifteen years dreaming about. I will not tolerate being rejoined with you after fifteen years only to be taken from you shortly afterwards—but I can only do so much, Sweeney Todd. Save me—and save your vengeance!

You hear me. I watch as you savagely beat the interloper, and I fall from his hands and I am joyful. I watch you drag his body to the trunk, sigh as you gently pick me up from the floor and slip me back into your pocket, and I wait, for I know he is not dead yet, and you promised me…I do so much for you, Sweeney Todd, and all you have to do here is pull his head up…

You unfold me. You take it slow, you tease—and then you let me taste blood—you pull me hard across Pirelli's neck, letting me sink my fangs deep into his flesh, and gods, it is so intoxicating. I become dizzy with it, and I want more, just as you want more—just as you promised me more. The boy, I whisper, let me have the boy—make a clean job of it. He will only interfere if you let him live. But Mrs. Lovett stays your hand, and I comfort myself with the knowledge that the Judge and his Beadle have not yet arrived. I would have more, yes—I would have more. Your offer still stood, and my dedication to you has not wavered.

When the Judge arrived, I leapt into your hand eagerly. I felt the pulse of your blood, the way you welcomed the man into your shop, I love how you pull me carefully across the leather strop, and you beg me to be patient—no, no, my darling, I want him now, I want to give you what you so desire…but if it pleases you, I will wait.

How you drew it out—I foolishly savored it as well, my sweet, do not be furious with yourself. You scream, you roar, you let out your fury and you channel it into me, and I take it. I take it and pour fuel on your fire, fanning your bloodlust, because yes, yes, that is the only way. And we do have a bargain, do we not? I lost you the Judge, so I must assuage you in some other way—I will give you blood. Not his blood, but you will drench yourself in it—and I still promise. I do not know how long it will take, but I will give you the Judge. I will find a way to give you what you so desire, for you gave yourself to me willingly. I desire the carnage as well, my pet, and we shall have it—we shall become drunk on it, you and I, I and you.

I find myself sinking into the throats of many, plunging deep and slicing through all in my path. It becomes effortless after only a few innocent necks, and now I have found my purpose—surely nothing like me could have been created with merely shaving in mind. I am lethal, I am a force, and you wield me as such—oh, how I adore you, I bow to you, I do as you ask every time without question. You douse me in red, and then caress me clean, crooning to me as you do, and I like to imagine you hear me saying sweet words back, because I do speak to you—every time you flick me open, I sing for you, and every time you allow me to slice my way through those who deserve it, my song becomes ever so passionate. I have no heart, but you give me soul—I devour the hapless, worthless souls of those you let me kill, and claim them as my own. Sweeney Todd, you gave me life, just as I gave you life, and I gave myself to you as much as you gave yourself to me.

We kill together, you and I—I am the instrument, you the player. We compose and perform beautiful symphonies of slaughter, and you swing me wide and high, and we dance together in the light. You kiss me sometimes while I'm wearing red, and I kiss you back as best I can. I sleep beside you, and I whisper things to you. On some nights, I watch as you moan to yourself, and while you say your wife's name when it's over, I know better—it is not she that brings you to that devastating climax, not she that you think of, not she who fills you up with a deep, nearly forgotten heat that can only be resolved one way. It is me, and I know it, for you only do this after a busy day, and never without me beside you, wrapped tightly in your free hand. You may say Lucy's name—as much as I am loath to admit it, she did have you first. But say her name all you wish, for you are not hers anymore.

I feel you becoming more and more mine, keeping our agreement—your devotion for my obedience. I never hesitate, never question your judgment. I kill indiscriminately, young and old, cutting deep so they cannot scream for help. I do all you ask, I listen to you, and I understand you. Mrs. Lovett sometimes flits in and out of the red haze you and I drift through, but it never lasts long, for all I do is call you gently back to me, because she could never truly know you, never satisfy you as much as I. There is no one like me, Sweeney Todd, no one who knows as many of your secrets as I. I know you, Sweeney Todd.

There is a moment where you falter—Mrs. Lovett tries to tempt you. She makes false promises of the life you could have with her, and I despise her for it. She is offering you honeyed words out of her own selfishness, her lecherous desire towards you oozing off of her in waves. I long for her throat, even more so when I sense you have that fleeting desire for perhaps even the smallest memory of the way it was before…

I forgive you. You do not waver long. Your hand is on me once more and I know—the Judge. You, my clever darling, have found a way to deliver the Judge my silver fangs. I may finally give you what you truly desire, for you have been so good to me, so devoted, so true—it is only fair that I give you what it was you asked me for on the morning you came back to me. We pace together, back and forth, the light growing dark, my silver glint becoming tinged with gold as the lamps are lit. Your fingers caress me, and I feel you shaking as night arrives. He is coming—yes, surely he is coming. And then that Mrs. Lovett intrudes upon us yet again, interrupts our private conversation—the boy. We both knew he'd be trouble—we knew, but Mrs. Lovett just had to cling to the brat. Now is simply not the time…but do what must be done.

Oh, what have we here? Before the week is out, he said—no surprise he lied. But does it matter? He is here now—that boy can wait. I hear you charm him upstairs, and I stalk him just as you do. You offer him a seat—he sits. I see you smile charmingly at him, feel your fingers gently caress me as I lay tense by your side. We cannot savor it as much as we would like, what with that wretched boy downstairs ready to ruin the entire plan, but we will take what we can get. Do you remember a woman named Lucy, you ask. Your hand is around me now…you're facing him…do it…do it now!

In one swift motion, I gladly devour the Beadle's life, splitting his neck in two. Oh, my dear, we are one step closer to Judge Turpin, and I am one more life closer to finally and completely fulfilling my end of the bargain. As much we would love to talk, I am sure, we must go. Toby is still about. Do not search long, I whisper, for it is nightfall, and we mustn't miss the Judge. As much as I hunger for the bothersome child's blood, I desire Turpin's more, and so do you. We must go…yes.

There is a woman in the shop when we return—I recognize her. You do not. Throw her out, I whisper, the Judge, he's coming! Too late, my dear—he is here. She will ruin everything! Do not see her, for you will become weak and let her interfere with the plan. She is nothing to us, for Sweeney Todd was never married to Lucy, he gave himself up in a marriage of man and metal. Get rid of her!

You listen—you slice me through the air, through her throat, and she dies without a sound. She falls down to the hellish bakehouse to join the Beadle—oh, and how we both become taut like bowstrings the instant Judge Turpin bursts through the doorway. The moment is upon us…and we shall not make the same mistake twice, will we?

You lure him in—I watch your nimble fingers expose Turpin's throat to me, and I can feel you quivering with anticipation. You raise me high…oh, Turpin's last, dawning realization is something we have dreamed of for so long! Now, my pet, now!

I do not make it quick. Over and over again, you use me in a way I have never been used before, stabbing me over and over again into the Judge's throat, and it is as I promised—I drench you in his blood, the hot crimson splattering you, and his blood tastes sweet, does it not, my dearest Sweeney Todd? I twist, I tear, I rip, I mutilate him beyond any saving. We grow drunk and dizzy on his blood, and your twisted euphoria seeps into me and I never want to stop tearing at his throat. You swing me wide once more, one last gout of his blood bursting forth in a great arterial spray…

I have finally done all I promised. I great and satisfied contentment steals over me, and I gratefully accept your words. You kneel again, this time before the bloody alter of the monstrous beast of your barber's chair, and you gently put me upon it, still stained and spattered with the blood of Judge Turpin.

We have done wonders, you and I. None will soon forget the bloodstained swath we cut across this foul city. I have served you well, Sweeney Todd, just as you have served me, just as you still serve me, kneeling before me in reverence. Rest now, you tell me. Rest…

No rest for the wicked, Sweeney Todd. We both know something is amiss—the trunk.

As satisfied as I am, do not deny me the throat of one who might reveal us—all those who interfere with our plans and destiny must die, Sweeney Todd. I feel your hand tighten around me again as you throw the hapless boy into the chair, and I anticipate the moment when you will whip me through the air—

The scream—Mrs. Lovett in the bakehouse. What if—Judge Turpin! Does he live? We must know. You let me breathe the smell of Turpin's blood and my own deadly, metallic scent against the troublesome boy's face, and you hiss out a lethal warning. Quickly now, Sweeney Todd—downstairs, hurry.

I know why Mrs. Lovett hesitates—and I know what is coming. It is inevitable that you see her, the woman that had been nothing more than a beggar woman not a few moments ago, a mere potential obstacle in our ultimate pursuit of the Judge. I feel your grief, your remorse, your sorrow. I feel your fingers going slack, I hear your lamentations. What have you done, Sweeney Todd, is that what you ask? Do not dwell on your own actions. You did not see—do not loosen your grip on me, Sweeney Todd. You know who is to blame for this treachery. Let me have her—let me rip her to pieces for all of what she did. She is the one who never told you about your wife, she is the one who told you to wait, she is the one who insisted we keep that pathetic boy who was the cause of all these problems tonight. She who always sought you, tried to seduce you into her bed, told you she understood you more than I. Let me have her, Sweeney Todd!

But you deny me—you hold me tight in your hand the entire time, but you do not allow me to drink of her blood, to tear out her heart, to stain the floor of her bakehouse red. You hurl her into the oven and let the fire consume her.

I do not want to believe it. I do not want to believe the sudden, inescapable reality that has dropped over us like a shroud—the notion that you did not use me because you now find me detestable, because you no longer wish to belong to me. But I know it is true, for your next action speaks volumes to me.

I slip from your fingers and clatter against the stone floor of the bakehouse.

Cold fury fills me. You are with her, holding her, and not holding me. You swore yourself to me, Sweeney Todd! There were no others to be a part of you, and yet you cast me aside, blame me for merely channeling my wrath where you directed it. She would have interfered, would have ruined the whole plan, and yet you grieve over her—I gave you vengeance, I gave you salvation, I gave you happiness. I kindled feelings in you long forgotten, I shone brightly every single morning, no matter what—I killed for you, sliced through flesh and sinew because you asked me to, and this is how you repay me? By first denying me the woman's life that was rightfully mine, and then letting me fall unattended to the floor while you weep pathetically over the broken body of your long-forgotten wife?

Incensed, I feel new fingers wrap around me—inexperienced, rough, and tight. Their texture does not matter—the desire they have flows into me just as it did so often when you would hold me. I will make use of it.

You belong to me, Sweeney Todd. You accepted me as your master when you returned. You called me your friend, told me to whisper because you said you would listen. I waited for you. I was faithful for all those years, never wavering an inch. I tore out the throats of those you hated, I ultimately gave you the revenge you so desperately sought, and you betray me by casting me aside. I asked for so little, Sweeney Todd. All I wanted was you, and you gave yourself to me, freely and willingly—dropping me to the floor and letting me be taken up by the hand of another does not reverse our agreement. You're mine. You are still mine, and the boy holding me knows that as well.

Did you think you were an exception, Sweeney Todd? Did you perhaps think you were somehow immune to my kiss of death, could avoid it no matter what? Or perhaps you just imagined I would take pity on you and show you mercy after you discovered upon whom you'd unleashed me—pity is for a fool, mercy for a creature of flesh. I am neither.

You are on your knees before me, Sweeney Todd. Offer yourself to me! There is only one way I will be satisfied now—if you will not wield me and give me the blood of the innocent, I will make do with the blood of the guilty. Lay bare your throat—offer yourself to me willingly, and I shall make it quick.

You are mine, Sweeney Todd. Mine and mine alone.

Forever.