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Oh God, my head, why does my head hurt so much?! Is that needles being stabbed into my eyeballs?
Oh, wait, no, just sunlight, no worries. God do I feel wretched, last night must have been horrific, what time did I get in?
Wait. This isn’t my room.
Oh God, where am I? Big double bed, dove grey sheets and masses of fluffy pillows, (thankfully alone in it), high-ceilinged room, wooden floors and furniture, very neat (ha, clearly not my room) and doesn’t seem to have much in it apart from wallet and pocket-crap thrown on desk and blazer thrown haphazardly over armchair. After sitting up gingerly, yep, my clothes from last night strewn on the floor and.
Oh. Oh dear.
A condom wrapper. It was one of those nights, clearly. I haven’t had a one night stand since first-year, argh how embarrassing. Only way to salvage it now is get dressed, politely decline breakfast, and leave with my dignity semi-intact, preferably forgetting what-ever-their-name before I’ve got halfway down the street. Right, underwear, it’s just weird being naked the morning-after. Pull the blanket up under my armpits and have a search. Okay all my clothes are piled at the foot of the bed, clearly where I drunkenly stripped all in one go, except my knickers. Why are they by the side of the bed?
Oh, apparently I do remember some things. It’s very fuzzy but big strong hands running down my legs, firmly pulling underwear down and kissing his way up again.
Urgh head still spinning, should I risk reaching down, my handbag’s just...there, got it. Now for emergency chewing gum, feels like I liked a badger before I went to sleep. Attempt to brush hair, smudge off excess eyeliner, look less horrific.
More flashbacks, dim light, sheets, rangy muscled legs and endless freckled skin. One of my legs bent at the knee, and my fingers digging into the large muscles of his back.
Hmm maybe I won’t be too shamed by this random encounter, from what I can remember he seems pretty hot.
Could be drunk goggles though.
Wait, are those noises outside the bedroom? The door’s open, is he? Quick, out of bed, in bed, out of bed, in bed? Grab the phone? Panicpanic fluff out hair and lean back nonchalantly.
And then, carrying two cups of tea and not wearing anything but a wide grin, Benedict Cumberbatch walked into his bedroom.
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Wait, what? This can’t be possible, this must be some side-effect of the alcohol, giving me hallucinations. My one-night stand can’t have been BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH, for crumpet’s sake. That’s not him standing there, naked as the day he was born, ginger and smiley and wiry and...
“If you drank anywhere near as much as I did last night, you’ll be needing this.”
He smiled that rueful grin that I’ve seen so many times in Sherlock, and passed me a mug. It had “University of Manchester” written on it in blue, gold and purple, and a variety of chips around the edge.
I was honestly surprised that I managed to take the mug without dropping it and even murmured “Thank you”. That’s the British for you, we’d be polite even in the face of nuclear Armageddon.
I couldn’t think of anything moderately intelligible beyond “weeeble weeble Benedict Cumberbatch weeble handing me tea weeble weeble” so I just contented myself with taking a few fortifying gulps of tea. Benedict (can I say that? Are we on first-name basis? We are on fairly familiar terms, maybe Benedict is fine) elegantly settled himself on the bed facing me. How does he do that, fold those long limbs so gracefully?
“How’s the head?”
Damnit he’s even nice. Clearly unfair.
“Not so good, unfortunately. Tea’s helping though.”
I attempted a weak smile see look, I can converse with Benedict, in a semi-comprehensible way.
“Big night out then?”
“Those cocktails are delicious and deceptively strong. We just kept going back for more.”
He laughed, and we both winced a little at the loud noise.
“Yeah I’ve been there a fair bit, they’re almost pure alcohol, despite being fruitier than Stephen Fry.”
I giggled a little and covered it up with my mug. Oooh this is his personal mug, from uni! Do you think he’d notice if I stole it?
“I just want to say, apologies, but I have regrettably managed to forget your name.”
Damn Benedict, why are you always interrupting my reverie with your sensual jaguar-in-a-cello voice? I can’t keep my train of impure thought going when you speak to me.
“It’s Susie, and yours?” I asked very innocently, to which Benedict snorted.
“Oh ho you’re not playing that card. The minute you saw me in the bar you instantly went, very loudly declared to your friend “Look! It’s Benedict Cumberbatch!!! Look, there he is!!!”
I buried my head in the nearest fluffy pillow and moaned, “I cannot believe I did that. I’m such a muppet.”
He laughed that gorgeous chocolately rumble and gently stroked my hair.
“Yes you did. And they didn’t believe you and then you came over to me, dragging your even drunker friend, by the way, and I said I wasn’t Benedict Cumberbatch, you see I didn’t want the attention. And your friends didn’t believe you and you became quite upset.”
“You weren’t that drunk yet, were you?”
“A little bit, if I were sober I wouldn’t have been such a complete dick to you. As it was I felt bad you were so upset and invited you to have a drink with me, which turned into a few drinks, and then dancing.”
“Well of course I was upset, I can tell Benedict Cumberbatch if he’s right in front of me, even if everyone denies it.”
“Including Benedict Cumberbatch himself.” He agreed straight-facedly and I lifted my head to grin at him. He really is ridiculously good-looking, it’s just unreal. A horrible thought occurred to me.
“Wait, what about my friends? Oh sugar, I should really check my phone.”
I nearly fell off the bed scrambling for my handbag, blushing at my clumsiness and finally came up triumphant. As I righted myself I caught Benedict’s gaze, which was locked onto the majority of my body which had come uncovered in my scramble. It was predatorial and wanting, eyes darkened and focused on the curve of my hip. I blushed again.
“Uhm, I have a few text messages.”
He chuckled again, down an octave.
“I bet you do. Your friends?”
He hadn’t moved his gaze and although it was slightly unsettling it was making heat unspool down my insides. Somehow I’d managed to lock my gaze with his and was staring straight into those aquamarine eyes. He quirked an eyebrow. Oh, right, a question, yeah.
“Yes, my friends, they’ll most likely tease me mercilessly for this, and of course they won’t believe that you actually are the esteemed actor, Benedict Cumberbatch.”
“Of course,” he murmured. And licked his top lip.
Hnnggh.
I think I just said that aloud, judging by the shark-like grin on Benedict’s face. He shifted forwards slightly, bringing his face closer.
“I could really increase the teasing of course, say that I had an alcohol-fuelled shag with Benedict Cumberbatch.”
I let my mouth fall open, eyes still fixed on his amazing gorgeous wonderful face.
“Two, dear.”
“Two? I don’t remember two.”
“Oh? Let me remind you, and three’s the charm.”
“Oh, agreed.”
And his lips crashed onto mine as he pushed me hard against the pillows.