Benedict Cumberbatch Imagine- The Girl in the Window

Love, Smaug and Sleep

·         Since I have been my usual terrible self and have not been posting, I will ease you back into it all (Before bombarding you with Benedict Cumberbatch ranging from perfect ease to um, let’s say, fun) I will give you a simple and cute fluff piece that does not require any thought except for what his arms around you would feel like.  And please, please, please I beg of you, give me ideas.  The life span of this fic depends on you guys!!  So give me your little ficlet ideas and snippets of what you dream of your relationship being like with Ben.

*This takes place briefly before the first Desolation of Smaug trailer came out*

You fall back into the soft plush couch and are cradled by the crook of Ben’s side, his arm coming around to wrap around you and hold you close, his hand coming up and fingers playing with your hair gently.  His touch tingles your senses, making you lazily hyper aware of his every movement.  Finger tips grazing your ear, gently moving and twirling your smooth lily scented hair.  His warmth pressed up against you, happy even breaths moving his chest handsomely…

 Your favourite show was playing across the TV screen while the sun settled outside, letting the inky night take over.  The lamp on the side table lights the room warmly and you sigh contently, closing your eyes and taking in the tender love that your life has become, an ecstatic (happy) calm buzzing in your chest.  Quietly Ben bows his head and presses his lips to your crown, staying there and breathing you in before kissing you once more and brining his attention back to the screen.  Your hand trails up until it finds his, where you grab his big hand softly, fingers interlocking.

You’re back in your familiar beautiful apartment with Benedict after your dream like trip to the Seychelles.   You found yourself stopping throughout the day after you landed from the plane, simply smiling giddily when the thought of the vacation breezed through your mind.  It had been perfection.  Sometimes you would close your eyes and feel the heat of the sun on your skin, water embracing you coolly, the smell of coconut lotion in the air, feel the touch of his passionate lips…

Every now and again you had to theoretically shake yourself and remember who this was that you are with: the famous, incredible and unrealistically talented, well-loved Benedict Cumberbatch, adored by millions and sought after by many; instead of the simple and compassionate man you fall asleep with, his arms tucked around you, whispering sweet nothings onto your neck.  You had to make yourself realize that you were the paramour of an international star, and that he is the happy- if not mildly troubled- man who listens to your days woes while fixing you tea, the smell of peppermint wafting through the air as he tells you not to worry, and that he loves you while he hands you the steaming mug, leaning in to kiss you softly.  That he is the one that millions of girls and women scream about and at as he poses strikingly on the red carpet at the premiere of his blockbuster movie. And yet when the rain falls gloomy on a particularly grey morning, he scrunches up his face, groans and rolls over, curling up against you and ducking his head against your shoulder or chest, moaning pathetically for you to ‘make it stop’, or that he wants to stay in bed with you all day.

It’s late when the mini marathon of your show finishes.  You manage to roll off of the couch and walk to the kitchen in the sleepy, dimly lit apartment, its sleek features glinting at you.  When you make it to the sink, where you need to put the nights dishes away, he slips his arms around your waist and pulls you to him, chin resting on your head.  You sigh into his touch and you raise your hand, caressing his face affectionately.

“I need to clean up.  I’ll be up soon.” You tell him quietly. You can feel him nod slightly before he kisses the palm of your hand.

“Don’t be long, love.” He says, hugging your waist again before letting go and heading for the bathroom to clean up.  You’re closing the dish washer and tidying the place up when he pads out of the bathroom and heads to your guys’ bedroom; the only part of the place that isn’t on one floor.  It goes up a few steps before opening up to a loft style room, large windows open to the end of the day and rooftops of the city, a luxurious bed in the middle of the room, bookcases laden with Bens and yours favourites and classics leaning against the slanted roof, and a beautiful arm chair sitting there simply that you or Ben often found yourselves in, while the other sat leaning against it, head in lap, or sprawled out on the bed, reading in a comfortable silence.

You sigh as you close your eyes and press a hand to your forehead, leaning against the counter and facing the open window.  You let a giddy smile jump to your lips after it galloped through your body, the electricity that runs through you letting you see the city in a new brilliance when you opened your eyes and stared out at the live twinkling night.  Oh, you don’t think you will ever truly be able to grasp the enormity and beauty of your situation.

You collect yourself before dropping your hand to your side and making your way to the bathroom, where you go through your routine for the night, washing your face, brushing your hair and teeth and whatever it is that makes you, you.

Stepping out of the room, you shut off the light and make sure the rest of the apartment is sleeping before shutting off the rest of the lights, sending you into a pitch black.  Of course your heart jumps in your throat, but a soft light is coming down the stairs from your room, and you force yourself to use the light to relax.  Drawing in a deep breath you turn slowly, taking in the blackness, trying to convince yourself not to be terrified, because seriously, you’re too old to be scared of the dark.  Or at least that is what you tell yourself.  But then all of a sudden a deep baritone voice cuts the silence, tumbling down the stairs and running into the darkness around you, poking at your nerves and making your breath stop.

“Come now, don’t be shy.  Step into the light.” 

A burst of laughter flits through your lips as you turn away from the black of the apartment and do as you told.  At the top you step through the doorway and close the door behind you before bounding over to the bed, jumping and falling down beside Benedict, the bed shaking under you.  You grab him close and plunk you chin down on his chest, looking up at him, smiling at his goofy grin.

“How long have you waited to do that for?”

He chuckles and the movements shakes you.

“Since I got the Hobbit script.” He admits.  You roll your eyes at him and his grin widens, his nose scrunching up adorably.  “Oh c’mon!” he says in his classic squeaky Benedict voice when he pretends to be aghast.  “You loved it!  Admit it.” he jokes, his fingers tracing your back.

“Oh, yes.” You start, voice sleek and tempting.  “Quite the turn on, actually.”  You make your way up his chest slowly before bringing your lips to his and embracing in a deep kiss.  His hands find their way onto you lower back and one tangles in your hair, while yours rest on his chest, fingers clutching loosely at the stretched fabric across his chest.  His lips open passionately against yours, savouring each small movement.  And as much as you want this to go places, you force yourself away, pulling away from his lips and sitting up, teasingly leaning away from him.  He groans and opens his eyes to look up at you in mock irritation.  “But unfortunately you have that big interview tomorrow and you need to be rested up.  Good night.” You say far too cheerily, doing a terrible job at hiding your mischievousness as you fall back into the bed.

“You tease.” He complains, trying and failing to be mad.  He props himself up on an elbow to look at you before leaning in, stealing another kiss.  Your hand snakes its way up to his chest again, pushing him away pathetically.

“Ah, Ah, Ah!” you scold playfully.   “You heard me.”   He growls against your mouth and bites your lower lip.

“Well then, you should have to turn off the light.” He counters.

“What?” you squeak, faking outrage.  “How could you?!”

“Well, you’re taking away what would be a great night at my use of a beautifully executed line, so I think it’s only fair.”

Your roll your head in the pillow and look at him in fake anger.

“Fiiine.” You concede, rolling over and plopping out of bed, walking over to the switch.  The moment you flip it though, you are bounding back into bed as the dark claims the room, burying yourself under the covers and gluing yourself to Ben’s side.

“See, was that so atrocious?” he teases.

“I am forever scarred.” You say, resting your head in the crook of his neck, feeling sleep wanting to claim you.

“Good night, love.” He murmurs peacefully.

“I love you.” You reply sleepily.

“I love you too.” He says, his deep smooth voice pushing you gently into sleep, his arm, loving arms wrapped around you, the warm covers enveloping the two of you.  Perfection.