The Gingerbread Series - Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

#3 "So we were both being slightly creepy."

A/N: Thank you guys for the lovely comments and the prompts! I started working on this next section before I saw the comments so I've decided to post it, but the next few will be based on your brilliant suggestions, starting with those from TheGhostOfYou first.

This bit sort of just happened without any prompts; random plot bunnies seem to be emerging of their own accord! And please excuse the minor smut - I intentionally didn't write a whole sex scene because after reading 50 Shades I just cringe at any kind of erotica now, don't know why, it's just ruined it slightly for me :P
Edit: HAHA Wattpad knows. I tried to save the chapter and it pointed out I have to R rate it for mature content.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Everything is dark. Dark, soft, and delightfully warm. In your half-asleep state, that's all you can discern about your surroundings. You're so comfortable. Your head is cradled on something fluffy, and there's an arm wrapped reassuringly around your waist. The rhythmic sigh of deep sleepy breathing lulls you back to into unconsciousness... almost.

There is an arm wrapped around you.

You crack open a bleary eye. It really is very dark. Faint outlines are illuminated by the green glow of numbers on an alarm clock. 10.16 AM. There's a disconcerting lack of natural light for ten in the morning, your brain reasons, before a degree of panic sets in. The green glow of the clock puts the owner of the arm into relief, and it all comes flooding back.

Benedict is sleeping soundly beside you, sprawled on his belly, his left arm curled just above your hip bone. Now you're properly awake, you can feel all the contact points of his warm skin against yours; two pairs of legs tangled together at the bottom of the bed.

Oh yes, of course. The pair of you spent a considerable portion of the night before having hot sex. You wriggle experimentally, to see if you can get up without disturbing him.

"Eah?" Ben grumbles in his sleep. Wriggling away unnoticed is clearly not going to happen.

"Ben?" you whisper. Your mouth is dry and your voice hoarse with dehydration; you recall that the pair of you also spent a considerable portion of the night drinking...

- - -

Once you're inside Ben's flat, he cracks open another bottle of red wine, hands you a glass, mysteriously orders you to stay put and then wobbles his way up the stairs. His disappearance lasts about ten minutes before he returns, triumphantly declaring that he's made up the guest room.

Before you have a chance to reply, he's started to laugh and scrambles his way over the coffee table to get to you. "I've never seen someone so look so disappointed at the prospect of a freshly made bed!"

You blush furiously, and stare down at your hands as he hovers in front of you.

"Hey, don't look like that. It's a fucking turn on, love. But that's ten minutes wasted we'd better start making up for..."

His hand cups your chin and brings your face up to look him and then his lips are on yours again, fierce and commanding. It's all you can do to kiss him back and keep a moan of pleasure from giving you away.

- - -

Your lips curl into a smile at the memory. You had indeed made up for lost time, shedding clothes and inhibitions alike. The sex had been incredible; as passionate as a first encounter ought to be, but without being so frenzied that you couldn't take some time to learn and experiment with each other. Benedict was, predictably, a fast and willing learner. His enthusiasm for you had been very complimentary and any resistance was always going to be futile - your mind flicks back to that first encounter in the coffee shop and you grudgingly admit that you were probably smitten by the time he'd handed you a napkin.

Still, that uncomfortable feeling gnaws at your stomach as you lie there listening to his gentle breathing. What happens now? The eerie light of the alarm clock shows that it's nearly 10:30am. Benedict sleeps solidly next to you. You lie there, frozen with indecision.

Suddenly, there's a buzzing noise in the darkness in front of you. You recognise it as your mobile phone, and reach out blindly, groping by the bedside for your bag, managing to retrieve the phone without disturbing Ben. It's a text from Isobel. Isobel, whilst technically your publisher, she is also your best friend here in London.

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!!! YOU AND BENEDICT FUCKING CUMBERBATCH!! Why didn't you tell me? Beyond jealous! Tell me EVERYTHING x

Her predilection for swearing aside, how on earth does she know?! You've kept it quiet from everyone but your family and even then you didn't elaborate on who he was.

You manoeuvre the phone so that you can type without changing position.

How do you know? And what do you know?! It's not a big deal. Not really. Are you free for lunch? I'll tell you then xxx

You're in the Daily Mail ice-skating arm in arm with Cumbers! Papped and branded the 'unknown companion' :P Yes, lunch at 1.30? Can't leave office though x

p.s. All over Twitter too, photos from some girl called @sammymoriarty x

Oh, and AS IF YOU DIDN'T TELL ME. We are having words, miss.

Fuck... that was only last night. I'll come to the office, see you later. Not a word to anyone! Thank God I'm only unknown... xxx

Holy crap. You exhale, closing your eyes again, letting the phone slip to the floor. You've attended the odd interview and press conference in connection with your writing, but intrusion by the paparazzi is a whole new ball game. The idea of being stalked by people looking for information makes you very very uncomfortable. Ben has already expressed his distain for public obsession with celebrity; you can't imagine he'll be too thrilled with the photos.

Lunch with Isobel doesn't give you long to get home across London to change before you're due to be back in Central to meet her.

You open your eyes to steal a glance at Benedict's sleeping face but startle dramatically - his eyes are unexpectedly open, watching you in the darkness.

He laughs a quiet chuckle. "Sorry. I thought you were asleep, little penguin."

"I thought you were asleep!"

"So we were both being slightly creepy, watching the other sleep?"

You bite your lip, unsure whether to tell him of the morning's revelations, but decide against it.

"It's very dark in here. And I can't believe you're still calling me penguin."

You feel him lean over and drop a soft kiss onto your shoulder.

"My curtains have blackout lining. It helps if I'm jetlagged or have to sleep in the daytime to be awake for a night shoot." Ben explains, voice still thick with sleep. He reaches out and flicks a bedside lamp on. "Better?"

His naked torso is a pale contrast against the dark blue duvet cover as he sits up against the headboard and looks at you. He looks younger and softer like this; his boyish charm accentuated by the unruly mess of his auburn hair...

- - -

His eyes gleam as he looks up at you from between your legs. "How about this?"

He changes the movements of his tongue, adding more flicking motions directed toward your clit. Your hips arch in response. He's teasing you, deliberately taking his time building up to a pace that will get you off.

"Nice," you breathe, aching for him to get on with it, but at the same time enjoying the way the frustration is building tension. His tongue flicks with a firmer pressure and you instinctively bury your hands in his hair, your nails running along his scalp.

He shivers visibly but doesn't interrupt the task at hand. "Do that again," he groans, his breath hot against you. You rake your hands and fingernails through his curls, bunching hair between your fingers and applying gentle traction in response to the movements of his mouth on you.

He gasps loudly. "Shit... you'll have to stop."

Ben backs off and looks down at you. "It feels amazing.. but, I mean, my head is... very sensitive," he explains, as he takes your hands in his and guides them to grasp the bedsheet beneath you instead. He returns to his position between your thighs, his eyes dark with desire. "It makes it hard to concentrate you know."

- - -

"I'm dying for a smoke," he declares, swinging his legs to the floor and standing up. "You don't mind do you, darling?"

His bum is at eye level as he rifles through the drawer of his bedside cabinet in search of a lighter. An angry purple bruise has formed over the muscle and hip where he fell on the ice, so whilst you know for a fact that squeezing it is as satisfying as it looks, you manage to control the urge to reach out.

"Oh, don't you worry, I'll be back in a minute," he catches your eye and winks. You blush again, suddenly aware of how naked you are too.

"Actually, I have to go... I'm meeting someone in a little while and I have to get back home first."

"Right now?" he looks perturbed.

"Well... soon, anyway."

"Oh, OK. Well, wait there," he commands, padding out of the bedroom. A moment later he returns, a towel around his waist and a large glass of orange juice in his hand, which he gives to you before disappearing with his cigarettes.

You take a refreshing gulp of juice, realising how parched you are. Next you pull on your discarded pants from last night, and spend a couple of minutes hunting around for your bra before recalling that it was last seen in the lounge. You sit on the edge of the bed feeling awkward as you wait for Ben to come back. You've just finished the glass of juice when Benedict returns, smelling faintly of a combination of tobacco and mint.

"Can I get you some breakfast? Or would you like a shower?" Ben asks politely, hovering stiffly by the door. Things feel a bit weird, and the window for a repeat performance of last night's antics has definitely passed.

"Err, that's nice of you but I think I'll just get dressed and get sorted at home. But some of my clothes are in the lounge..."

"Right! I'll grab them for you," he offers, looking slightly relieved.

Ten minutes later, your clothes have been relocated and you're dressed. Ben is one of the few men you've come across to own a proper hairbrush, so between that and a quick face wash you're not looking too obviously 'morning after the night before'.

A taxi sounds its horn outside just as you emerge from the bathroom. Benedict, perched on the arm of the sofa and still wearing only a towel, is staring with consternation at something on his phone. He looks up distractedly, and then snaps on the charm.

"It's a shame you have to go so soon. But thank you... I had a great time last night. I hope you did too?"

"Yes, brilliant, thanks Ben. Sorry to dash, but-"

"It's OK, I know how it is. Safe journey back. I'll call you," he promises, as you walk down to the front door. He kisses you chastely on the cheek before opening the door to show you out to your waiting taxi.

No penguin, no darling, no nothing...

- - - - - - - - - -

As the doors of the lift slide open to the 6th floor, Isobel is waiting for you.

"Jesus Fucking Christ woman!" she hisses at you, immediately snatching your hand and leading you down a corridor, past a collection of desks and into a deserted office. She deftly kicks the door shut behind you with one of her hot pink heels.

She turns on you, arms folded in mock outrage. "I demand a bloody explanation!"

"Hello to you too, Izzie, darling." you grin at her dramatic nature, thinking that this is exactly why you didn't tell her in the first place.

"We went on a date. OK, three dates. And then we had sex, and then it was awkward, and then he said he'd call and I know he won't. That's about it."

"You had sex with Benedict Cumberbatch." Izzie deadpans, leaning against the empty desk.

"Yes."

"You had sex with Benedict Cumberbatch."

"YES."

"How did YOU have SEX with BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH?!"

"The same way people usually have sex," you quip, knowing it will wind Izzie up.

"Don't get smart with me, young lady, or I'll axe your book faster than you can say Blubberbutt Chowderpants!" Isobel warns. She can be quite fearsome when angry, so you relent and recount the story of your fateful accident in the coffee shop. You can't help but feel a bit smug as you add, "Oh, and there's nothing blubbery about his butt."

"Dear God woman, I think I hate you. This shit doesn't happen to real people. It happens in books. It's like you wrote yourself a fucking fairytale and now you're getting to live it. It's not fair!"

"Izzie," you remind her gently, "You're married for goodness sake!"

"I can still hate you," she pouts, softening.

"If it's any consolation, I don't think he's interested in it going any further," you can't hide the disappointment from your voice as you shuffle to sit on the desk beside her. "It was weird this morning. And you're right, this stuff happens in fairytales. I had no idea he was quite as famous as he is."

"Honestly, I think you live on another planet sometimes." Izzie rolls her eyes and reaches for a newspaper you'd not noticed folded on the chair beside you. She hands it to you. "Page 5."

You scan the article. It's short, but features three paparazzi photos of you and Ben, including the pair of you lying on the ground after your spectacular fall.

Benedict Cumberbatch was spotted enjoying a romantic evening with an unknown companion at The Natural History Museum in Kensington. The casually dressed pair had only eyes for each other as they skated arm-in-arm. The smitten Sherlock star's love life has been the subject of intense speculation since his split with fashion designer Anna Jones, whom he dated after his 10 year relationship with actress Olivia Poulet went south. Over the past few months he's been romantically linked to Russian model Katia Elizarova and fellow LAMDA graduate Charlotte Asprey.

Earlier this year we saw the actor take on a more physical role in Star Trek Into Darkness, but it seems his athletic talents don't appear to extend to ice-skating. Benedict and his new beau took a tumble on the ice but this didn't seem to faze the mystery woman, and they were seen locking lips soon after.

You sigh. It could be worse, but the list of people to whom Ben has been romantically linked does nothing to reassure you. At least now Isobel knows you have someone to confide in. She quickly picks up on your mood.

"I can't believe you're not ridiculously chuffed about this, you know. What makes you think he doesn't want it to go anywhere? Those photos seem to suggest otherwise..."

"That was before we slept together. Things were going pretty slow, but good. And then we got drunk and jumped into bed."

"Was it shit or something?" Izzie asks bluntly.

Your mouth twitches happily despite yourself. "No, it was great. Well, I certainly think it was great. I don't know..."

Benedict's reaction once he'd returned from his cigarette had been odd. Distant. Short. Although your reservations about his fame may have skewed your perception, you're certain it wasn't all in your imagination. He may seem genuine, but past experience reminds you that not everyone is as they seem. The skeptical voice in your head laughs bitterly. And of all the men you could fall for, he's an ACTOR! A good one at that - he could make you believe anything he wanted.

You try to articulate it to Izzie. "He just seemed different. Less... himself. And less into me, if I'm honest. He's always been quick to suggest seeing each other again, but this time it was just 'I'll call you'. And we know what that means. What if he was just after something casual? I mean, he could have anyone he wants, and he picked me. Why? And he is an actor after all. Any of it, all of it... could just be a show."

Isobel rounds on you, suddenly looking fierce again. "Why not you? Come the fuck on. You're talented, fun, interesting, and far prettier than you EVER give yourself credit for. I'm sorry if what I said earlier came off like I was surprised that you were seeing him. I was surprised that your paths crossed, not that he liked you. You need to have a bit more confidence in yourself, girl."

Izzie's confidence bolstering talk falls on deaf ears as a chilling thought enters your head. "What if he knows, Iz?"

She looks at you square in the eye. "He doesn't. There's no way he can know."

"You can't be sure..." your voice quivers with fear. There are skeletons in your closet that you are not prepared to deal with just yet.

"He DOESN'T. Now stop thinking about that," she orders, briskly. "And in future I don't want to hear from the Daily fucking Mail, you hear me? All updates direct from source, preferably in real-time. But I'll forgive you if you're having sex."

"Gee, thanks. Is that the only exception?" you roll your eyes playfully and try to ignore the nagging feeling in your gut. What if he knows....

"The ONLY exception!" she nods firmly.

Your heart skips a beat. The reality of Ben's fame is still sinking in, but you're beginning to realise that this may have further reaching implications. Paparazzi, angry fans, people being asked to comment for the press... The last thing you need are journalists poking around in your past. 

"I don't want the press involved in any of this." you cringe, trying to keep a rising sense of panic at bay. 

"I know, I know. It's OK. Well, it's not OK. It's just a bit too late. I'll speak to our publicity people, and they of course know all the other publicity people. You'll be fine. I'll get in touch with Benedict's PR after we've eaten. Now, where is my bloody lunch? I've only got ten minutes before I'm due back at my desk."

You gesture to the Marks & Spencer carrier bag that you set down by the door. Isobel leaps at it like a starved animal. "Excellent choice! If I have to eat another fucking pathetic excuse for a sandwich from Tesco, I swear to God..."

Izzie tosses you a sandwich from the bag, still muttering under her breath about prawn to bread ratios. You take moment to check your phone, hoping to see Benedict's now familar name pop up with a text message. The screen is depressingly blank and your heart sinks a little. You try to put it from your mind and enjoy the rest of your time with Izzie.

Mercifully she's changed tack and is nattering on about how one of the more well-known authors represented by the publishing house recently destroyed the entire manuscript for her forthcoming novel in a hissy fit about royalties.

"Right, I've got to get back, but you are to keep me updated on how things go. I'll get back to you about PR stuff." Izzie envelopes you in a bear hug. "It's going to be fine."

She says it with such conviction that you find yourself repeating it as the pair of you leave the office. "It's going to be fine. Yes. Whatever happens. And I promise to let you know."

As you head back toward the lift lobby, you hear Izzie calling after you: "Go work on your fucking book! I hope you haven't forgotten that you owe me a draft by the end of the month!"