The Gingerbread Series - Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

#26 "Not a custard cream kinda gal?"

I'm just gonna leave this here... thank you to everyone who has read this and left comments, messages and votes. I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to pick it up from here.

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It's warm and soft and you hazily snuggle into the body next to you. It's a lovely dream, a dream where you wake up next to Benedict like the first time you found yourself in his bed.

A wave of nausea rushes over you and you go from half asleep to fully awake in a couple of seconds. You barely have time to register Benedict's actual presence before dashing for the en-suite toilet. You lay your head against the cool porcelain and retch ineffectually.

You're in Benedict's hotel room. Of course. The details of your reconciliation start to flood back.

Ben had been appalled at your plan to sleep on the sofa, insisting on taking you back to the hotel and in his usual sweet manner offering to get you a room of your own if you weren't ready to share his again. Somehow, though, you just couldn't bring yourself to say no to him. A peaceful night's sleep ensued, one free of nightmares and free of worry.

However, now morning had come again and unfortunately a lot of your problems were still waiting for you.

"Morning," Ben peers round the edge of the bathroom door. "Are you OK? Can I get you anything?"

He's bleary eyed but his gaze is tender. "You look awfully... awful."

You manage to crack a small smile before another wave of nausea hits. "I don't suppose they have any ginger biscuits on that little coffee tray?"

You hear him rummaging. "Digestives or custard creams, I'm afraid. Either of those any good?"

You shake your head; you'd been hoping for something gingery that might settle your stomach. 

Ben wanders in with a packet of biscuits in each hand. "Not a custard cream kinda gal?" he jokes.

Shaking your head again, you explain. "Ginger is supposed to be good for nausea and vomiting. I used to get motion sickness as a kid, it would always help..."

"Right! Right. Ermm, OK. Wait right there!"

There's more rummaging and then Benedict streaks past the open bathroom door and disappears. You hear the lock on the room door click shut.

And then all you know is the taste of bile as you vomit in earnest.

- - -

A couple of hours later and you're tentatively eating a slice of hot buttered toast. Benedict had magicked up some crystallised ginger - he refuses to tell you how - and for today at least, your morning sickness had decided to confine itself to the morning. 

You're both freshly showered, hair still damp, wrapped in fluffy bathrobes and sitting on the squishy hotel bed. Ben's stubble has a couple of toast crumbs in it, you notice as you nibble your slice. You reach to brush them away and he looks straight at you, his eyes sparkling.

"I can't believe we're doing this," he beams. "We're having a baby. I just want to climb up onto the roof of this hotel and shout about it to the world."

Benedict leans forward and places a gentle kiss on your mouth. He slides the edge of the bathrobe down to expose your shoulder, and kisses the soft skin of your neck. Deftly, he unties your robe and carries on kissing each bit of exposed flesh. 

"Hey you," he whispers to your belly, despite there being no outward evidence of pregnancy yet. His caress is feather-light. 

You slide your hand under his robe and across his pecs, feeling the wiry hairs that smatter his chest. He leans heavily on you then shifts his position to hover above you on the bed.