I’m excited to share that as a result of the ‘WIP Asks’ that I received in the past couple days, I started the next chapter of The One That Got Away, my AU angsty romance featuring Theatrebatch...
Given that the main characters are classically trained Actors (with minds that match their training and talent), I had adopted a rather dramatic, flourishing style of speech. How wonderful it feels to step back into their world, where a quill & inkpot fits their manner more than an ordinary fountain pen ever would!
Wee excerpt under the cut (because I can’t resist).
“Kettle’s on,” Phe told her brusquely. “And I’ve set a tin of biscuits on the kitchen table—not that he deserves them,” she grumbled.
Vicki quietly laid down the law. “Phe, you’re going to behave nicely--for my sake at the very least. And if you can’t do that, then we’ll be leaving. Understood?”
Ophelia rolled her eyes and let loose an exaggerated sigh, “Alright. Whatever.”
“Whatever indeed, little sister.” She took Phe’s hand and squeezed it gently, “And please do keep in mind that he’s the man I love. As I’ve never loved anyone before—nor ever shall love anyone again.”
“Always so dramatic, Virgilia,” Phe scoffed, in such a way that Vicki knew her sister would try her best. “I mean, honestly, do real people actually talk that way?”
Vicki huffed a little laugh, draping her arm around Ophelia’s shoulders to tug her close. “In my line of work, and having fallen head over heels? We most certainly do.”
When Benedict wrapped on the door, Phe insisted that she answer it herself. “My place, my rules, sis.” To which Vicki conceded, lingering at the doorjamb of the kitchen, watching as her sister opened the door. Ophelia was positively grim, despite Vicki’s request. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you, bucko,” she told him, without so much as a ‘hello’ or ‘please do come in’, “She’s had her heart broken more times than she cares to admit. Your intentions better be true, and you best not break her heart, or you’re gonna have me to answer to.”
A moment of shock shadowed his features, unprepared as he was for such a vehement reaction, but he recovered quickly and delivered a low-voiced assurance, “I swear to you, Ophelia—your sister’s happiness matters more to me than anything in the world. And in just a few weeks’ time, the whole world is going to know it.”
“If you say so,” she groused, already turning her back on him, “But the proof remains in the pudding.” Phe crossed to Vicki, adding meaningfully, “And I’ll believe it when I see it.” The whistle of the tea kettle silenced anything further she might’ve meant to say, so that she edged by her sister into the kitchen to move it off the heat.
“Oh, Ben,” Vicki exclaimed softly, launching herself his way and right into his open arms. Once enclosed in their loving warmth, she laid her cheek against his chest and felt the worst of her fears begin to subside, replaced with relief and a renewed bloom of love. “We’ve mucked things up terribly, and for the life of me I can’t think of a way to make things right.” Vicki had vowed to be strong in his presence, but now that he was holding her, all that she wanted was to melt into his arms, while letting go of the façade that all would be well.
Benedict was slowly rocking her, soothing her as only he ever could. “Hush now, my darling…my love…my dearest Virgilia,” he crooned for her ears alone, “Put that aside for now, and just let me hold you a bit…” He cupped the back of her head in one hand and brushed several kisses upon her forehead. “It’s been far too long since we’ve had even a moment to be just…” he gave a ragged, weary sigh, “… just…us…”
She tilted her head back enough to look up at his face, giving him a wee smile. “Far too long,” she agreed, biting her bottom lip in an invitation to a kiss, “But you remind me now that your embrace is the cure for whatever ails me…”
His eyes had dropped to her lips as he lowered his face to hers; his breath tickled her skin as he hesitated long enough to answer, “As your kiss always does the same for me.” And then Benedict was kissing her with all the pent-up longing that filled both their waking hours. A low hum of satisfaction rose from his chest while they dwelled in their connection; a sound so familiar and dear to her, that Vicki moaned softly in reply.
He tasted heavenly, as they delved ever deeper into their kiss; of the spearmint gum he habitually chewed, along with traces of tea with lemon. But best of all, of promises made and promises kept—the perfect reassurance despite the odds against them, that he would find a way…they’d find the way together…to the life they had been envisioning for themselves...
(If you’re curious, you can find chapters 1-18 on AO3.)
tagging: @writingliv (I’m sure you can guess why xx)
more first kisses--this time mixed with poetry - from my WIP Whiskey Kisses
...the honey of his baritone thrummed a pleasant thrill in her chest, “Well, I should have thanked them, love.” He lifted her nearest hand, to twine his fingers through hers, “You really are a rare treat…fair Rosalind.”
This time she felt no objection toward that sweet endearment, daring to meet his eyes again, silently reveling in the warmth of his touch. She had noted that he had the slightest but most adorable lisp now that the alcohol had loosened his tongue and she found her eyes blatantly lingering on his tempting mouth, admiring the enticing shape and the visible texture of his lips—and suddenly wishing he would just kiss her already. Wishing for the courage to shamelessly close the space between them and taste what was so tantalizingly close.
His eyes widened, as though again her thoughts were obvious to him; his pupils were large, rimmed with wondrous color, and Rosalind would later swear that she read his intentions in their compelling depths moments before he spoke. “The sunlight claps the earth, and the moonbeams kiss the seas,” he recited--literally for her hearing alone—while allowing his lips to ghost past her cheek, leaving them to hover a whisper from her ear. “What are all these kissings worth, if thou woulds’t not kiss me?”.
“That’s…that’s Shelley…isn’t it…” she asked quietly, barely finishing her thought, overwhelmed by how intimately close he had become.
“Yes, love,” he answered, sounding amused, whether by her unexpected question or by her growing vulnerability in response to each advance, “Exactly so.” The silken caress of his voice raised the fine hairs on Rosalind’s neck and sent a delightful shiver along her spine, the warmth of his breath upon her skin dissolving any shred of decorum she would normally muster. She closed her eyes, every sense attuned to the small space where they connected, waiting, wanting, needing whatever he intended for her. Knowing that in moments he would brush his lips on the cup of her ear—softly gasping when he did so. “Is this alright?” he rumbled, and the only answer Roz could manage was a quiet moan as she softly nodded her head.
That was consent enough, it seemed; he splayed one strong hand on her upper back while slowing trailing the fingertips of his other hand on the back of her hand, and then along her arm from her wrist to her elbow, and back again. The warmth the whiskey had spread through her veins paled compared to the heat kindled by his patient touch. And then—inevitably--he began to tease his tender, plump lips on the side of her neck, soon humming appreciatively, murmuring against her skin, “Christ…you smell…mmmmm…delicious…”
“Yes…I suppose I do…” she murmured back, pleased by his note of surprise, and well aware that her ‘perfume’ was only the scent imbued in her skin by her workday. “But am I savory…or am I sweet,” she asked, finally feeling some share of control over what was blooming between them.
He sighed hard, “Ahhhhh…sweet…so very, very sweet….” He nuzzled just below her ear, inhaling deeply, “Such sweet temptation, dear Rosalind—that how am I to resist wanting to sample all of your flavors?”
“Please…oh, please,” she barely whispered--though in her mind she was begging full-voiced for him to follow the natural course of things between them, “Won’t you please…just…kiss me…nowwwww…” Roz tilted her head back, panting, ready, praying that he would not disappoint her, offering her lips to him with fervent anticipation
His initial kiss was soft, warm, electric—a taste of more to come, a confirmation of desire. Rosalind fluttered open her eyes when he withdrew, breathless for him to continue, and dazzled to be fixed in his avid gaze. Though he paused only briefly, his smile in those few seconds was full of wicked promise, and she felt like it took forever until his lips met hers again—though it proved well worth the wait.
First kisses possess a magic all their own, testing if attraction holds true, plumbing the quality and truth of chemistry, be it between two strangers or those who’ve been acquainted for some time. After years of couplehood, Rosalind had forgotten how marvelous they could be, and her heart surged with wonder as this beautiful stranger overwhelmed her with tender insistence, patient for her to follow his lead. He laid one hand against her cheek, stroking along her cheekbone with his thumb and tracing small circles with his fingertips upon the side of her neck, and moved in for a second kiss. His perfect lips felt like some long-awaited benediction on her own kiss-starved lips; like a blessed recompense for all the lonely nights she’d spent cloistered in her flat grieving lost love. But most of all like they’d been waiting to discover hers and it was simply delicious fate now that she should surrender to them. To him. Roz heard herself moan, heard a deep sound of satisfaction rise from him, and then she was opening her mouth beneath his, tasting the whiskey they had shared, tinged with spearmint and cigarette smoke, so that she dared to finally touch him as he teased the tip of his tongue along the inside of her lips.
His skin was warm and firm as she smoothed her right hand against his face, a little rough where stubble shadowed along his jawline; Rosalind threaded the fingers of her left hand into his mess of thick, silky curls, and he rewarded her with a sensuous growl into her mouth. The thrust of his whiskey flavored tongue against hers was slow, inexorable, irresistible, while the spark of his touch made her ache for his hands to grow bolder, erasing any care for propriety she might have in so public a place, while awakening needs she had buried deep through months of miserable solitude.
He kissed her timelessly, holding her face in his hands as she melted for him, and when he finally paused and pulled away he left her panting for more. He stroked her chin while tracing her open lips with his thumb. “You have witchcraft in your lips,” he told her softly, borrowing from Shakespeare once again, “For there is more eloquence in them than in any words that I might muster.” Once more that devilish smile graced his lush lips, and he urged her on, “Sweet wench, and fair, come kiss me again.”
Thus flattered and emboldened, Rosalind eagerly gave back in divine measure her own whiskey fueled kisses, enticing from him a deep-throated groan as she sucked on his full bottom lip, and then drew his tongue back into her mouth. He wandered a hand down and cupped her breast, rubbing his thumb against her tightened nipple, making her whimper and further deepen their kisses until they had to finally break apart just to catch their breath. He leaned his forehead against hers, caught up in the heat building between them; having invaded her every sense, he told her inevitably, “We should take this someplace more private, don’t you think?”
Up close this way, the power of his voice was irresistible; the rich, dark chocolate of it become an invitation to bedroom fantasies of untold hedonistic pleasures, playing out on silken sheets; of being so caught up in a lover’s caresses that one would gladly forget all things except the taste and the touch of him, and every exquisite moment of exploration on the way to voluptuous consummation. Rosalind hadn’t the strength or the will to decline. She nodded, relieved that he had asked, astonished to think he wanted her—her promise to Moira to behave sensibly completely forgotten. “Yes,” she whispered as he dipped his face to paint her throat with hot, moist kisses, gasping hard when he brazenly flexed his palm and fingers upon her breast, “Whatever…whatever you say…whatever you…whatever you want…” Surrendering to his will this way seemed the easiest, least complicated choice she had made in her life...
an AU loosely based on Benedict Cumberbatch’s performance of Sonnet 155, in May of 2010, in which he is not only an up'n'coming Actor, but a talented Poet as well
[continued from] [contains NSFW material]
Sunday mornings were usually her own, as she always worked Saturdays, and ended up doing a double shift as often as not. Sunday mornings were for lazing in bed, and breakfasts close to noontime; staying in her jammies until she absolutely had to shower because she needed to leave the flat. Sunday mornings had usually been Rosalind’s favorite time for making love—being fully rested and having the rare luxury of time, not needing to hurry as one or the other of them had to be off to work. That was then, anyway.
This was now, and the man at her back—the man whose warm, steady breath was close to her ear and whose arm was draped across her abdomen—was someone altogether different, and so very, very wonderful that she actually breathed out an audible, happy sigh, even before she opened her eyes. Benedict. Doesn’t something about his name mean a blessing of sorts, she mused vaguely. He certainly felt as much to her.
The lone window in her bedroom faced east, so that the morning sunlight filtered through the pleated blind, brightening the room enough so that she could often guess about the time of day without even opening her eyes. Sometime around 9:30 am, she estimated, giving a wee stretch and a satisfied purr in the deep of her throat. Benedict pulled her closer against him in reply, answering with a deep, lush rumble that brought her fully awake. Roz just couldn’t help herself, wiggling her bum a bit before she flipped over to face him.
“Ooooo,”he whispered, his eyes still shut, “Naughty girl—be careful about that…”
“Sorry, not sorry,” she quipped before going breathless at the sight of him. She hadn’t been able to fully appreciate them last night, but the long, soft fringe of his lashes was ungodly beautiful. The sort of beauty most women she knew worked at their mirrors to achieve with far less effect. His mass of dark, thick curls was all a-tumble, while the gorgeous hollows of his cheeks, his chin, and all along his jawline were shaded with fresh stubble, and her fingers ached because she couldn’t decide which she wanted to touch first. Rosalind knew that if he should kiss her, if he should tuck his face into the crook of her neck, she’d enjoy the slight rough of his skin on hers. And want to feel it anywhere he’d care to trace his lips. Not that she expected that to happen. They had drawn the line last night, and as vivid as her imaginings were, they weren’t practical in any way.
And then his eyes fluttered open, stealing her breath from her lungs yet again. By sunlight they were a crystal clear, pale blue, with hints of pale green—even tinged as they were with sleep—stunning her in equal measure as had their vivid blue when she’d bumped into him at the bar. “Hullo, you,” he smiled softly, “Sleep well?”
“My best in months and months. Thank you.” His voice was a little rough too, with the vestiges of slumber, and Roz’s belly tightened as a wave of longing washed over her. As much as she already regretted it, she’d have to shoo him from her bed before she ended up begging him to make love to her. “Um…can I interest you in breakfast? It’s one of my specialties…”
Benedict’s eyes widened, holding her gaze a moment before dropping to her lips. “Hmmmm…I like the offer, darling…but not quite yet.” He laid his fingertips feather light upon her cheek, drawing her face close, and gave her the softest morning kiss she’d ever known. Sighing her name as he drew away.
“That’s…that’s not playing fair, Ben.” Already she was panting, her blood beginning to buzz with wanting more.
“Sorry, not sorry, love.” He tilted her chin up, laying several soft, fleeting kisses upon her mouth before moving onto her cheek and jaw. “Shall I stop?”
“No,” she gasped at once, and immediately added, “Yes…and…and no…” How could she possibly resist this beautiful torment? He drew his face back, but threaded his fingers in his hair. She finally dared running her fingertips along his jawline, loving the stubble as much as she’d known she would. Moved in to kiss him, softly to begin with, then grazed his full lower lip with her teeth as she retreated. “What…ahhh, what are we doing,” she groaned.
Benedict pressed his forehead to hers, his breath coming in little puffs, “Whatever you want, sweet Rosalind. But I can’t wake up holding a warm, beautiful woman without needing to kiss her…at the very least…” “
“You are a wicked, wicked man, Benedict…” she murmured while he kissed her eyelids and the tip of her nose.
“I can be…if you want me to be, darling,” he concluded for her. Leaving the choice to her, fuzzy-minded and all too aroused as she was.
Balanced on the razor’s edge, she was, stuck between the knowing what was best and the wanting what promised to be the most incredible physical experience of her life, thus far. Would wanting win out over knowing? “Just to be clear, I am on the pill,” she finally told him, having fully weighed her options, “And it’s been more than…” Roz exhaled slowly, trying to maintain a modicum of reason before throwing all caution to the wind, “…more than two years since I was with anyone but my ex…”
Benedict was nodding, wearing a small, quiet smile. “I’ve not been so chaste, darling…but I’m very careful. Well, normally…until this morning, anyway.” He nipped at her mouth, drawing a whimper of longing from her lips. “I never go without a johnny. And I swear I’m clean…tested clean two months ago, in fact…”
She smoothed her fingers into his hair, breathing her next words against his mouth, “You’re killing me, you know—how can I possibly say ‘no’?”
“I’ll do it softly, love,” came his growled promise, “Kill you so very softly, darling…love you as you deserve. Should you decide to trust in me.” He drifted his hand to her shoulder, then onto the center of her back, pulling her to his bare chest. “Please, Rosalind. Trust me.” His voice was naked with the same need crying out within her, “Because…oh, Christ…” He closed his eyes a moment, as though to summon a calm amidst the tumult of forbidden desire that had caught them both by full force. Then met her gaze as the words poured from his precious lips, “Because this feels like…you’re the poem meant for me to read; the poetry that burns within me to write.”
Her mind flashed back to bits of conversation they’d had. How each had repeated ‘not regrets’ several times over. It dawned on Rosalind with sudden, startling clarity that she would regret, for all her days, turning him away now. “Oh, you beautiful man,” she sighed at last, finding immense relief in the freedom of her choice, “Read me, however you will. Write me now, and leave us both with no regrets.”
Benedict had kissed her so softly and so patiently to begin with, moving his hand from her back to cradle her face. His touch so tender that Rosalind could only melt, and give herself over to his lead. Under his guidance she had turned onto her back, watching as he propped himself above her. His beauty in that moment pierced her heart in the way that the purest poetry always did; the honest wonder in his captivating eyes as he studied her face, the soft parting of his fulsome lips, the steady whisper of his breath. His every detail like something from a dream, yet substantial and warm and filled with desire equal to her own.
She smiled up at him, reaching to trace his brow and then lay her palm along his jawline. He smiled at her touch, bit his lip as a thought appeared to cross his mind. “What,” she asked curious for whatever he cared to reveal.
“I’m wondering how any man would choose to leave you, Rosalind. What a fool he must’ve been…” He took her lips in a slow, deep kiss, his hand resting on her shoulder, his lightest touch an electric thrill, setting her nerves ablaze. “But then I have to feel grateful for his foolishness. Because it led us here…to this exact moment. And to the golden chance to make you mine.” He was teasing her lips with his as he asked, “Would you be mine now, Rosalind?”
Roz was memorizing the truth of his words, echoed in his soft expression. In the way his eyes had grown darker with his growing desire. “I think,” she breathed in deeply and smiled softly, “I think I was already yours from that first whiskey flavored kiss. Even if it was only going to be a single night…or a solitary morning…”
His eyes flared wide as he assured her, “Oh, I think I can do better than that, love…at least through to mid-afternoon…”
“Promises, promises,” she sighed, pulling his face kissably close. “It’s time for you to show me, you beautiful man. Do me like you said you would. Softly to start with…and then as hard as you please…” With that he was kissing her again, driving away any further need for words, proving by his deeds that he was a man of his word.
Benedict proceeded patiently, taking his time for both their sakes, blessing her skin wherever he roamed with the dearest kisses she had ever known. His strong hands gentle, persuasive, insistent, with caresses that weakened her in all the best ways. Further softening her heart for him.
And Rosalind returned his touch in kind, awash in wonder at the vital, enticing warmth of the flesh enclosing his firm, fit muscles. Astonished at the divine breadth of his shoulders and the temptation inherent along his clavicle, soon tracing the fine delineation of his biceps, forearms, and abs. Sinking her fingers into his messy crown of dark curls while he nuzzled his way from the hollow of her throat down the center of her chest. He raised his face and flashed her a surprisingly wicked look just as he cupped her breasts in his powerful hands, his eyes flaring again at the long moan she released when he flexed those hands around them. Then he was painting her skin with damp kisses, first on the swell of one breast, on the way to tease her areola with the tip of his tongue, and finally draw her nipple into his mouth. Thrumming his pleasure when he suckled her hard and deep. Rosalind whimpered when he pulled away, then nodded in relief when he moved to draw upon the other.
Oh, how he was spoiling her! She wanted to spoil him as well, to taste and to touch him in equal measure. To explore him and please him and show him the joy she felt to have him treasure her so.
With a final, lingering bit of suction---which so piqued her need for him, that Rosalind had to squeeze her thighs together, just striving to be patient---Benedict pulled off from her nipple and gave it a long lick with the flat of his tongue. “Oh...oh my stars...” she panted, and he replied with a delicious rumble against her skin as he delivered a flurry of moist kisses down to her navel, drawing a surprised gasp from her when he nuzzled along the waistband of her knickers.
He looked up at her with those glorious, lust tinted eyes, a small smile gracing his luscious mouth before he lowered his lids and inhaled deeply several times, clearly relishing the scent of her arousal, and pressed a slow kiss on the fabric concealing her mound. Rosalind drew a wavering breath, so that he peered back up at her, nodding silently. Knowingly. And then teased her with several decadent kisses more. “What shall it be, my Rosalind fair,” he asked, his hot breath tickling the bare skin of her thighs, “Tell me how you want it...this first time...”
Ohmygod...ohmygod, echoed through her mind, for she understood in that instant that the skill of his mouth and tongue was not confined to his brilliant recitations. But as amazing as she knew he’d do her that way, what she wanted even more---after all these hours of having to deny themselves that elementary pleasure---was to feel him buried to the hilt inside her.
“I think…” She reached for him, certain he would understand her need, “…I think the…old-fashioned way might be best to…start with. And then, maybe…maybe we can improvise from there.”
His sinful grin was the only answer she needed, and he followed that by skimming his body upwards, to prop himself above her again. “Your wish is my sole desire, love.” Benedict lowered his face and murmured against her ear, “So long as you cry out my name when you cum.”
“I’m sure I won’t be able to help myself, Ben,” she promised, threading her arms around his back, boldly pulling him down while arching up to meet him, eagerly tasting his skin just as he had tasted hers, nipping at and grazing the warm, firm flesh of his neck, shoulders, and chest. Intoxicated by the simple, clean, and manly scent of him, and by his irresistible strength as he rolled them onto their sides, and then onto his back.
Roz was poised above him, lost for a little while in the study of his face, still astonished they had arrived at this point at last. Benedict raised his head to take her mouth with a merciless, probing kiss, while sliding his hands to her waist before taking hold of her hips. Arching his pelvis against hers, making her moan through the depth of their kiss at the feel of his erection trapped between them. Grinding himself against her, so that she answered by straddling him while his resolute hands guided her to begin rubbing her core against him. Even through her knickers and his briefs, the sensation was pure heaven, and his mounting groans and grunted encouragements further enflamed her desire to have him fill her.
She lowered her head to brush the ends of her hair across his chest, before darting her tongue onto one of his nipples. “God, yes!” he exclaimed, and then growled, “That’s my girl…” When she grazed it hard with her teeth, he bucked his shaft even harder against her damp knickers and dug his fingers deeper into the flesh of her hips.
“I want be your girl,” Rosalind panted, “Make me your girl, Ben. All yours. Do me…do me please…” She dragged her tongue to the base of his throat, lingering with hot kisses, unashamed to beg. “Fuck me now…I…I can’t wait any more…”
As swift and as smooth as a panther on the hunt for some defenseless prey, he reversed their positions again, then rose above her, blinking slowly as his gaze raked down from her head to her thighs. Looking wildly magnificent with what felt to her like his victory. And greedy for her complete submission. He licked his lips and took a slow breath, “Christ, Rosalind…I wanna feast on you in every possible way.” Manifesting his intent by tugging her knickers off and tossing them away. Smoothing his cool hands along her inner thighs, then bending to lay a wealth of wet kisses on her tender skin there, his heated breath close enough to tease her secret flesh. And then sending a thrill of lust coursing through her when he fully bared her swollen clitoris so he could sweep his marvelous tongue upon it repeatedly.
Drenched in pleasure, Roz couldn’t tear her eyes from the glorious sight of his head bobbing slightly between her legs—yet she desperately wanted to touch him in some way. Whimpering softly as she reached for him, which drew him to look up at her. “Almost there, love,” he purred with a devilish little smile, “I just couldn’t resist a taste…”
She nodded, only able to pant ‘yes,’ while still holding out her hands to him—so that he relented and knelt upright in order to peel away his briefs. Revealing his thick, throbbing cock, its head glistening with pre-cum. Roz had only a moment to note that his hair was the auburn as the light spray on his chest and the shadow of whiskers on his face, before he slid his body back over hers to lay atop it.
Rosalind gasped as Benedict suddenly laid his mouth on hers with a piercing kiss, shocked at the beautiful brazenness of him sharing her flavor that way. Yet she lustily suckled his tongue, thriving on the moans vibrating through his chest and against her sternum. Nestled along her slit, his shaft felt hot and heavy, and her ache to have it inside her had become almost unendurable. Roz tucked her legs around his thighs, ready to beg if he should wait even a moment more. “Yes, darling…I know,” he breathed against her mouth, once their kiss had dissolved, “I’m as ready for you, as you are for me.” Keeping a tight purchase on her hip with one hand, he moved the other and traced his leaking tip down from her clit to her opening, holding back in a final tease that made her squirm hungrily beneath him—to finally plunge his full length inside her. Rosalind keened out her delight as her muscles stretched to accommodate his length and girth, the slight burn as she adjusted to him delicious to her after so long a celibacy. Roz slid her hands down to hold on tight to his arse as Benedict began to pump, setting a slow, deep rhythm to begin with.
He eased his face into the crook of her neck, tender in revisiting the love bites he’d left along her shoulder the night before, while she met with equal undulations, the gradually growing speed and intensity of his thrusts. Cupping his bottom greedily, needing to pull him in a deeply as she could. Whispering against his ear how amazing it felt, how amazing he was, telling him he could do her even harder if he wanted to. Clenching around him again and again, thus eliciting great groans of pleasure, causing him to moan her name amidst both sweet endearments and salty exclamations.
Rosalind’s moans grew louder by the minute, and a small part of her brain warned her that surely the neighbors in the flats all around hers would know that she was getting some. Getting deeply, powerfully, and unrepentantly shagged. Especially as her ex had never driven her to be so incredibly loud. But she couldn’t help herself, nor did she want to try; Benedict was far and away the best she’d ever had.
As his pace intensified, Rosalind felt her climax fast approaching—but she wanted to hold off longer, to draw out this divine penetration. For both their sakes. “I’m so bloody close, darling…” she gasped, “…it feels soooooooo good…but I wanna make it last…”
He answered with a hearty growl, and moved his head across her neck to her other shoulder. “Trust me, baby,” he wooed softly against her ear, despite the raw and lustful edge to his voice, “I’ve got you, I swear.” Benedict drove one hand between them, fingering her clit roughly, driving her even closer to her peak, “I’ve got you, Rosalind...” She shivered at the way his tongue caressed her name, so like he’d done with it against her clitoris. “...and I’m gonna make you cream now, darling.” He was panting with effort to hold his own orgasm at bay, “Don’t fight it now, love...just...just let it happen...”
How could she deny his velvet command? Though a stranger to her in so many ways, Roz already knew all that she needed to trust him in this. Somehow, he had given her a freedom unlike any lover in her past had inspired, silencing the doubt that ever nagged at her that she was never quite enough to please. So that now, she gave in with abandon to what her body cried out for, blissfully crying out his name while she blossomed, fully submerged in the rapture that was his gift to her.
“Yes...oh, yes...uh-huh...” he’d been grunting as she writhed beneath him, “...my beauuuuuuutiful Rosalind...” His voice grown gruff with need, even as he stilled himself, satisfied for this brief span to experience the apotheosis of her pleasure before further pursuing his own. “You’re so delicious, darling,” he rumbled, nipping at her earlobe, drawing out another surprised gasp, “The sweetest poem I’ve written in ages...”
As the waves of her orgasm slowly subsided, Rosalind felt him prop himself up on his hands and leave his face just hovering over her own. Her eyes fluttered open to find him wearing a look of true wonder and a trace of a smile. He was still buried deep within her, grinding slowly, biting his lip with effort restrained, so that she suddenly realized he hadn’t finished yet. “Wait...” she breathed, wondering if she’d done something to fail him, “...didn’t you...”
“Mmmmmm,” he grunted, huffing hard as he held himself in check, “Not...quite...darling...” Benedict winked and then reminded her, “As I told you, I usually have better control...”
Roz might have giggled at that, but that her fervent wish was to fully satisfy this spectacular man. This unselfish lover. “I think you’ve already ruined me for any other man, darling. Lover…” she sighed, meeting the resumption of his deep, lingering thrusts with strong, slow pumps of her own. “Tell me what you need...”
Benedict nodded vigorously, his eyes closed tightly, and panted back, “Just...just...don’t...stop...oh, baby, please...whatever you do, don’t stop...”
Rosalind couldn’t imagine even wanting to. Now he was the one lost in the act they were sharing, his broad shoulders and muscular biceps fully bearing his weight as he chased his climax in earnest. She managed to slide her bum a little closer to the footboard, which allowed her to wrap her legs around his waist. “Oh fuck, that’s good,” he exclaimed.
That change in angle had him driving into her even deeper, the head of his long, thick shaft hitting---what she would only come to realize later---her G-spot. Rosalind cried out at this new, astonishing sensation, realizing it wouldn’t take much more for her to bloom around him yet again. Bloom so powerfully that she knew her reason would become insubstantial, and that she herself would become pure emotion and bliss, only tethered to the physical world by their extraordinary connection.
Benedict’s eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw hard clenched in those final moments. Rosalind marveled at the strength evident in his shoulders and arms, his hands curled into fists on either side of the mattress, supporting himself above her. Surely his time was near as well, for a gorgeous flush had risen from the base of his throat, up his neck and into his cheeks. Even his ears had gone a pale, rosy red, as he ground himself into her without a moment’s pause. His tempting, talented mouth had fallen open, giving over hard, huffing groans at the peak of each deep thrust. She could only bridge the gap between their torsos by stretching her arms to lay her hands on his shoulders, then slid them down to hold onto his biceps. As if for dear life.
He let his head hang down, all his focus turned towards their intimate entanglement, his grunts sounding of his body’s desperation for release, stirring Roz to nest the fingers of one hand in his thick, dampened hair and grind her hardest against him. “Fuck, yeah…that’s good, baby…” he panted, “…it’s perfect…you’re perfect…”
You’re perfect, Ben, she was thinking as she tightened her fingers in the silk of his mussed curls, while her own desperation to feel his full resolution filled her mind. She moaned his name, drawing it out like some heartfelt prayer, then begged him for the undeniable thing they both wanted, “Cum in me, darling…I need to feel you cum…fill me…fill me to the brim…” Rosalind watched him nod slightly and then felt him reach the point of no return---the very thought of him finally spilling himself inside her sending her over the edge herself.
His whole body had gone rigid and still, except for his hips pumping furiously against hers while he let out a long moan of relief. Engulfed by their shared waves of pleasure, a cry rose from her soul. “Gawwwwwwwd, yes!” Roz wished she could hold onto the feeling forever, “…fill me to the brim, Ben…until I overflow…”
Then there was only the sound of their heavy breathing in the aftermath, while sweet euphoria flowed through their veins and a well-earned relaxation spread through their limbs, until a drowsy satisfaction overtook them. Rosalind let her hand fall from his hair as she opened her eyes. And what a wonder it was to feel him quake now that he was spent, as though much of his strength had flowed into her with that act. His arms trembling as he continued to brace himself above her, until he simply couldn’t any more. Benedict moved as though to withdraw from her, but Rosalind stayed him a few moments more. “Please,” she pled tenderly, laying her hand on the center of his chest, “Just let me feel you a little while longer.”
The softness in his eyes—bright with warmth, now that his lust was sated—and the tilt of his head as he acquiesced, struck her heart like Cupid’s arrow might, and gave her mind a singular clarity. Why, I could love this man, if given the chance. She found herself trembling despite the heat that flushed her skin and still coursed through her blood. I could trust him with my whole heart if he asked me to.
That adorable scrunch appeared atop his nose as he tried to read her expression. “What is it, love?”
Rosalind blinked her eyes several times, searching for a better answer than a truth too honest to be uttered aloud. “I’m thinking ‘no regrets’. Just as we said it would be.”
“Not a single one, baby,” he affirmed, and then kissed her his softest, finally pulling away to lay besides her, never fully breaking from some contact of his skin on hers. Benedict twined the fingers of one hand through hers, resting their hands on her belly. Waiting, perhaps, to see what might come next, and finally asking, “Are you alright, Rosalind?”
“Yes. Yes, of course,” she nodded, warmed by his presence, yet dreading that he was bound to leave soon. “It’s just that…well,” she sighed, deciding to be frank, “I’m wondering what comes next. Because…I’ve…I’ve never done this before…”
“Really?” he teased, “Darling, you could have fooled me…”
“I don’t mean…oh, Ben, you know I don’t mean that…” She had to smile, despite the serious turn her thoughts had taken.
“Of course, love.” He slipped his hand from hers so he could urge her onto her side to face him. “I know. I know you mean to say that you’ve never had a one-off before…”
“Uh-huh.” That he was being so kind and understanding made her wish all the more it didn’t have to be just once. That she might have the chance to actually know him better.
Benedict kissed her forehead, his voice soft and patient, silken and smooth, and sweeter to her than any candy she had craved. “There’s no rules to this, love. We decide what comes next.” He brushed his lips on her eyelids, then asked, “Does that work for you?”
Rosalind could only nod, for she feared her voice might betray the immensity of the relief that had flooded her chest, just from his simple ‘we’. “Good…” he chuckled, “…because if you’re thinking of kicking me to the curb shortly, you should know that I’d prefer to stay a while and hold you…”
“Oh?” she smiled, her confidence restored.
“Absolutely,” he grinned, “You’re too soft and lovely for me to deny that urge”. Gently, he cupped her cheek as he moved to husk against her ear, “And looking so deliciously sex-tousled that I’m thinking we should have another go. At the very least.”
Rosalind’s breath caught a moment, before she whispered back, “At the very least.” Shivering at his warm breath on her skin, as he fanned his fingers along the side of her neck and then traced lazy circles upon her shoulder. “But…mmmm…wouldn’t you care for…” Already he was robbing her again of the capacity for rational thought, with his lips blazing a soft path across her cheek to her mouth. “I thought I’d make us breakfast…”
She felt Benedict’s small, amused smile tease her lips, “How about brunch later, love? My treat. Because there’s still so much of you that I want to savor first.”
So truly, how could she not surrender once again? “In for a penny, in for a pound…I suppose…” she managed to murmur, and then she was practically swooning at the glorious insistence of his kiss. Vaguely thinking that before last night, she’d only experienced this kind of passion in dreams and fantasies. Deciding that if this all turned out to be the dream of a lonely-hearted singleton, it was the best dream she’d ever had. And one she would gladly choose never to awaken from.
(to be continued)
Chapters 1-6 on AO3
tagging: @splunge4me2art @letterstosherlock @ben-locked @ben-c-group-therapy @battledress @tsukuyomi011 @strangesunicornsparkle @brokenlibrarygirl @elizaaugust @humanbornarchangel @daltongraham @robertdowneyhiddlesbatch @ravencatart @gingerbread-rus @aeterna-auroral-avenger @starkiller-queen (if anyone prefers not to be tagged in future updates, please let me know)
a brief taste of Whiskey Kisses chapter six, because I’m so close to being done, yet the end of the chapter is challenging me right now (contains NSFW material)
for @ben-locked @letterstosherlock @battledress @emilyinnj4real
“I wanna be your girl,” Rosalind panted, “Make me your girl, Ben. All yours. Do me…do me please…” She dragged her tongue to the base of his throat, lingering with hot kisses, unashamed to beg. “Fuck me now…I…I can’t wait any more…”
As swift and as smooth as a panther on the hunt for some defenseless prey, he reversed their positions again, then rose above her, blinking slowly as his gaze raked down from her head to her thighs. Looking wildly magnificent with what felt to her like his victory. And greedy for her complete submission. He licked his lips and took a slow breath, “Christ, Rosalind…I wanna feast on you in every possible way.” Manifesting his intent by tugging her knickers off and tossing them away. Smoothing his cool hands along her inner thighs, then bending to lay a wealth of wet kisses on her tender skin there, his heated breath close enough to tease her secret flesh. And then sending a thrill of lust coursing through her when he fully bared her swollen clitoris so he could sweep his marvelous tongue upon it repeatedly...
an AU loosely based on Benedict Cumberbatch's performance of Sonnet 155, in May of 2010, in which he is not only an up'n'coming Actor, but a talented Poet as well
Rosalind couldn’t quite believe what she was doing, nor the uncharacteristic choices she’d been making since the Poet’s eyes had captured hers from his place upon the stage. Dizzied not only by how quickly she had found herself on the sidewalk outside The Gilded Cage once she had agreed to leave the pub with him, but also by the ease with which she had allowed him to charm away her usual decorum---realizing that her atypical recklessness was brought on more by her electric attraction to him than by the effect of the whiskey he had enticed her to drink. Yes, both had conspired against her long held standards of behavior and good, common sense, but even knowing that, she could not deny the soul deep need that he had reawakened in her for some taste of intimate connection. Her nights had been so sad and lonely for far too long.
Once she had agreed to his suggestion, Benedict had raised his eyes to hers, looking to confirm that her consent to leave the bar in his company was fully, freely given, and not merely some product of the drink lowering her inhibitions. Roz recognized the heat in his appraising gaze, heard it in his softly murmured yes, felt it when he traced the flat of his thumb along her slightly parted lips. What must follow seemed to her a beautiful inevitability.
After that, he swiftly laid his down enough money to settle their tab and leave a generous tip, and shouldered his rucksack as he rose from his seat. Roz took his offered hand without hesitation, allowing him to pull her along, and not letting go for even a moment as they’d made their way outside.
The night had cooled considerably, and she had only a light cardigan to wear against it, not having imagined she would be out so late. Roz began to shiver as they waited for a taxi. “Well, we can’t have that now, can we,” he said indulgently, slipping off his leather jacket and draping it around her shoulders, “C’mere, love.” Though its warmth immediately made a difference, Benedict pulled her to him, rubbing from her shoulders to her elbows and back to try and make her more comfortable.
“Thank you,” she murmured, lowering her lashes as she laid her head in the crook of his neck. Good god, he smelled divine! His cologne held traces of vanilla and lime and leather, and she could almost taste the lingering scent of the whiskey they had shared. It was all so warm and so very masculine. She had forgotten how good it felt to just relax into a good man’s arms, to trust he would see to her needs---though how she could feel such trust after just two hours acquaintance, was a puzzle should refused to even consider right now. Just go with it, she reminded herself, with a certainty that that very phrase would become her mantra this night.
“My pleasure,” he assured her, moving one arm around her back, to hold her close, while he flagged down an oncoming cab. As he guided her to the curb, Rosalind found herself loathe to separate from him even just the little space needed to climb into the cab.
“Where to,” the cabbie asked, watching them in the rearview mirror.
Benedict looked to Roz and she decided at once, figuring that her place would allow her to feel she still had agency about how the night would unfold. She murmured the address, and Benedict leaned forward to repeat it for the cabbie. He sat back, and without a further word, nested her in the circle of his arms.
Despite the incongruity of the situation, Rosalind felt completely safe, as though some intuition had already confirmed that she had found herself entangled with an extraordinarily good man. The type that seemed too few and far between these days. The heat between them had banked itself somewhat--not entirely, for just the thought of his slow deep kisses and of the tender confidence of his touch, fanned the embers of her desire--but enough so that the random, chaste kissed he pressed to her hair seemed perfect for how she was feeling about him.
Fifteen minutes later, they pulled up in front of the pre-World War II, Tottenham row house that held her flat. Since David had moved out, Roz had been having a tough row to hoe making her rent, so she’d had to tighten her belt quite a bit; but she was looking at a promotion coming soon, and that would ease the burden a good deal, if she spent her money wisely. She was determined to keep the place, even if it meant picking up some part time hours at a local bakery.
The cabbie gave a nod of thanks when Benedict paid their fare and told him to keep the change. Exiting the taxi first, he offered Roz his hand again, helping her to alight upon the curb. Now that they were here, she felt a breathless moment, considering the massive step forward this was in her life. But she couldn’t imagine turning back, not when she looked at that gorgeous profile and how the light from the street lamp outlined it in a soft, halo-like glow. This night didn’t feel at all like her life, but with any luck, perhaps it was the turning point towards better things.
Benedict took her hand as they climbed the stairs to the second floor, and held it fast down the hallway to her door--but before she had a chance to dig into her bag for her keys, he had hauled her against him again, cupped her face in one hand and kissed the breath from her lungs. Dazing her, so that she could only stare up into his remarkable eyes, trying to calm her racing heart. He wore a quiet smile as he traced her lips with his thumb. “In case you’re having second thoughts...” he husked, so that she had to answer with a passionate kiss of her own.
“I...I haven’t been this sure about anything in my life for a very, very long time,” she managed when their lips parted, placing her key in his hand. “Please--make sure I don’t regret it.”
He nodded, took her offering, threw open the door, and then pulled her over the threshold.
_______________________________________________
Roz only had a moment to hit the light switch while he closed the door behind them and tossed her keys on the little table where she’d set he handbag down. They stood in stasis for several heartbeats, eyes locked on one another, their banked heat stirring back into life, so that they finally moved as one to come together. Benedict cradled her face in both hands, bestowing the most urgent, probing kisses she had ever experienced. Dancing his whiskey flavored tongue against her own, as she made little noises of acquiescence at his every delicious advance. God, if his tongue feels this good in my mouth, imagine how it’ll feel when he... Roz cut that thought off, not wanting to get too far ahead of their trajectory.
Oh, but the sounds he was making! Inhaling deeply through his nose, not breaking their sealed lips for even a second to draw breath. A kind of low growl in the deep of his throat that somehow reverberated in the center of her chest, and which emboldened her to suckle upon his lush, talented tongue. A sustained moan in reply to that, which she felt not only in her mouth, but thrumming deep in her core. He could ask for anything right now...anything...and Roz doubted she’d have the power to say no.
At some point, he had moved both hands to her shoulders and was pushing his leather jacket off, letting it land on the floor while backing her into the small living room, only stopping when they came up against her sofa. Roz had both palms pressed to the muscular wall of his chest, loving how firm his pecs were, imaging that all of him was exactly that fit, becoming desirous of discovering it for herself by kissing every inch of his long, lean torso. And limbs. And neck. Suddenly, to kiss his neck became vitally important, so that she began to pluck at his scarf.
“Whoa,” he pulled out of their kiss, chuckling softly, “Patience, love...I promise we’ll get there soon enough.” Those amazing, almond shaped eyes were mirthful, and yet she could still see the lust that had landed them here.
“Sorry,” she stammered, her cheeks aflame with want and need, “It’s just that...that it’s been forever since...anything, or...anyone...made me feel this good.” He pursed his beautiful, plump lips in what appeared to be true understanding. “You’ve already made me break so many of the rules I set for myself.”
Benedict blinked slowly and exhaled a long breath, while tugging his scarf away. “We don’t have to rush, fair Rosalind--I’m not going anywhere. I’m yours for however long you’ll have me.” He settled his hands on her shoulders, looking deeply into her eyes, “And just so you know--this isn’t a common occurrence for me, either. You are sweeping me off my feet.” He leaned in to kiss her cheek, “With your softness...” Then kissed the other, “With your warmth, and how you understand my language...” He trailed his lips along her jawline, making her whimper softly, “With how deliciously you give way beneath my mouth and at my touch. Makes me greedy for every part of you. To break all your rules, with no regrets...”
“No regrets,” she repeated, twining the fingers of one hand into his curls, gobsmacked at his admissions. His words held the most unexpected and sweet poetry, making her feel beautiful. Beautiful and desirable, after months of feeling invisible. Unwanted. And perpetually unworthy of love. Roz hummed softly, awash in the warmth of his words and the warmth of his lips adorning her skin, moved to temper her desire with the patience he had advised. “Ohhh...sooo...goood,” she breathed out on a sigh. “Please...whatever you do...don’t...don’t stop...”
She felt him smile against her neck while he splayed one hand on the center of her back and slipped the other beneath her cardigan to cup her breast atop her blouse. Such big hands. Perfect. Beautiful. Roz gasped quietly at the strength of that hand, and at the stroke of his long thumb drawing her nipple to a peak, imaging that soon she’d feel those exquisite sensations skin on skin.
Stretching her neck just a bit was enough to beckon his lips onto her throat. He was careful on that tender expanse, his mouth gone soft but just as insistent, eventually making his way down to its hollow. She flexed her fingers in his curls, and was rewarded with his throaty moan; slipped the fingers of her other hand onto the nape of his neck and then under his collar, and he sighed ‘sweet Rosalind’ against her collarbone. Moments later, he reared back, his eyes hazy with lust, his lips looking so tender and tempting that she had to moan as well. “Take these off,” he panted, licking those perfect, plump lips, “Please. I need to see you, love...need to taste...taste every inch of you...”
Hypnotized by the hunger in his gaze and still astounded that such a beautiful creature desired anything of her, Rosalind nodded quickly before shrugging out of her cardigan and pulling her blouse off over her head. Benedict tracked her every move, the corners of his mouth lifting into a small, pleased smile. The air on her bare skin was cool, and she knew the only cure for that was his heat. She tried not to sound like she was begging, even though it felt as though every cell in her body cried out her plea. “You...you too...”
His smile grew to fill his face. “As you wish, darling,” he told her, giving a rather cocky lift of one brow, “But only if you help.”
Her hands were in motion before she completed a thought, grasping the bottom of his shirt and sliding it up and over his head while he loosed a low rumble of laughter. Christ, he is as fit as I was thinking! Had she thought of Bernini when she first beheld his face from the vantage of her stage-side seat? Now he seemed much more like a creation of Michelangelo or DaVinci. The Vitruvian Man, ideally proportioned as sketched by that long ago Master. Or David, sculpted in all his divine and timeless glory. But where those works of art were static and stationary, caught forever in their chosen medium, this Man...this Poet...this Benedict...was a living, breathing work of art. Like none she had experienced in her life.
Rosalind launched herself into his waiting arms, greedy to feel his skin on hers, greedy for his mouth and to suck his tongue again. On fire to grant him the most passionate kisses of her life, running her hungry hands across his surprisingly broad shoulders and then down his lean, muscular back. His flesh was hot, warming her through and through. Exactly as she needed.
Then she was kissing his neck, his throat, his shoulders while he slowly ran his hands onto her shoulder blades, tracing their contours as if discovering such a landmark for the first time--and then finally reaching one strong hand to cup her bottom. Pulling her so tightly to him that Rosalind could feel how iron hard he had become for her. Benedict was pressing his hips to hers, slowly grinding himself against her, and though her belly was already heavy with longing for him to take her, penetrate her, fill her to the hilt, the realization of his true length and girth send hot anticipation to flood though her pelvis and pussy.
Rosalind’s whole body was shivering with desire, and she found herself clinging to him, convinced he was the only thing keeping her on her feet. Benedict was lightly massaging her bum, but had moved a hand to play with her breast, laying a trail of wet kisses across her collarbone and then onto the swell of her breasts spilling out atop her bra. When he centered his mouth over the lacey fabric covering her other breast and began to suck hard, Roz’s head dropped back as she surrendered herself. He flicked at her raised nub with his tongue, making her whimper; grazed her with his teeth, drawing from her a delighted hiss of surprise. It was almost too much to bear.
Yet he continued to spoil her, taking his time as though her every response was key to his own satisfaction, eventually leaning her against the top of the sofa, cradling her just above the waist in those huge, wonderful hands of his, while dropping to one knee before her. Looking up at her as though he was a penitent asking her to grant him favor, while she was the one trembling for his every kiss and every touch. When he began to weave a path of hot-breathed kisses down her chest and then along her ribs on either side, Rosalind nested both hands in his hair. Not to guide him in any way--he damn well knew what he was doing--but just holding on. He hummed hard against the tender skin of her abdomen, nuzzling and kissing his way from hip to hip, drawing deep even breaths in an exacting display of patience. He finally lingered at her navel, then raised his face to hers. “Time to lay you down, darling.”
Ah. the sweet inescapability of it--for she now recognized that their coupling had been a foregone conclusion from that very first whiskey fueled kiss. “My bedroom,” she panted, “I’ll lay down for you there, Benedict.” She never took her eyes off of his as he rose to his feet. “Ben,” she smiled, and he nodded that she might use his name so familiarly, then kissed along her knuckles and the back of her hand before he pulled her towards her room--and ever deeper into the heavenly promise of what lay in store for them.
(to be continued!)
Chapters 1-4 on AO3
tagging just a few: @splunge4me2art @tsukuyomi011 @letterstosherlock @ben-locked @gingerbread-rus @emilyinnj4real @ben-c-group-therapy @ravencatart
Speechless he remained a little more, and Rosalind felt quite pleased; but when he spoke at last, she melted like the dew beneath a summer sunrise. ‘Oh, Rosalind fair…sweet rose of the night,’ he breathed, eyes still closed as he spun his enchantment upon her, 'With your ambrosia lips, making every kiss a heart-quake*…’
from the next chapter of Whiskey Kisses...with a little help from Lord Byron (’every kiss a heart-quake’)
Fuller, in-context snippet below the cut
She closed her eyes as he reached for her face, then held her steady as he brushed light kisses to her forehead, eyes, and cheeks. Lingering between each long enough to make her think the next kiss would surely land on her mouth. A gentle tease, but tease enough to make her pursue his lips, until she captured them with her own, tasting his wee smile before deepening the kiss. Rosalind was suddenly remembering there was a time when boys had craved her kisses; carefree days when she was just learning the way, and such kisses could go on and on with no other motive but to be in the moment. She hummed at the fond recollection, but even more for the rediscovery of that simple pleasure. And with wanting to move this beautiful man with the same sort of sweet and hungry kisses alone.
When she finally relented from her gentle onslaught, tugging his plump lower lip between hers before letting go, she opened her eyes to measure her effect upon him. His mouth hung open as he exhaled, and then transformed into a slight, lopsided smile. Speechless he remained a little more, and Rosalind felt quite pleased; but when he spoke at last, she melted like the dew beneath a summer sunrise. “Oh, Rosalind fair…sweet rose of the night,” he breathed, eyes still closed as he spun his enchantment upon her, “With your ambrosia lips, making every kiss a heart-quake*…” Though his voice was smooth, she heard a breathlessness that equaled how she’d been feeling since this adventure began. He slowly blinked his eyes open and studied her face with a look of true wonder, softly asking, “Where were we headed to, love?”
She bit her bottom lip in a coy smile, “You know full well, Ben.” Roz inclined her head towards the bed, “That same place we’ve been heading since we met.” This time she took his hand, prepared to lead the way.
A timely taste of Whiskey Kisses (because it’s taking ever so long to finish the damn chapter!).
(an AU where BC is a poet and up’n’coming actor, circa 2010; gif by @wurwurz and used by permission))
The silken caress of his voice barely a hairsbreadth from her ear raised the fine hairs on Rosalind’s neck and sent a delightful shiver along her spine, the warmth of his breath upon her skin melting any shred of decorum she would normally muster. She closed her eyes, every sense attuned to the small space where they connected, waiting, wanting, needing whatever he intended for her. Knowing that in moments he would brush his lips on the cup of her ear—softly gasping when he did so. “Is this alright?” he rumbled, and the only answer Roz could manage was a quiet moan as she softly nodded her head.
That was consent enough, it seemed; he splayed one strong hand on her upper back while slowing trailing the fingertips of his other hand on the back of her hand, and then along her arm from her wrist to her elbow, and back again. The warmth the whiskey had spread through her veins paled compared to the heat kindled by his patient touch. And then--inevitably--he began to tease his tender, plump lips on the side of her neck, soon humming appreciatively, murmuring against her skin, “Christ…you smell…mmmmm…delicious…”
“Yes…I suppose I do…” she murmured back, pleased by his note of surprise, and well aware that her ‘perfume’ was only the scent imbued in her skin by her workday. “But am I savory…or am I sweet,” she asked, finally feeling some share of control over what was blooming between them.
He sighed hard, “Ahhhhh…sweet…so very, very sweet….” He nuzzled just below her ear, inhaling deeply, “Such sweet temptation, dear Rosalind—that how am I to resist wanting to sample all of your flavors?”...
an AU where BC is a poet and up’n’coming actor, circa 2010; by sobeautifullyobsessed
(gif by darling @wurwurz and used with permission)
excerpt from Chapter Three on AO3
...Relaxed and nicely warmed by the whiskey, Rosalind allowed Benedict to refill her glass, as he prompted her to tell him about herself; his attention to her ordinary details was…well…extraordinary and sincere. Before too long she had divulged her occupation as a pastry chef at a restaurant in the West End, the school where she had studied the culinary arts, and her dream of opening her own gourmet bakery someday—though she did not share her failed aspirations as a poet with him, too daunted by his skill with words to even mention it in passing.
He was easy in sharing his details as well, so that Rosalind soon surmised he had the gift of the gab—though in his defense, he really didn’t seem to have uttered an unnecessary word. It wasn’t a case of him loving the sound of his own voice or simply being bombastic, for he really had quite interesting things to say, and even his tangential comments were filled with purpose. Sharp wit and self-deprecating humor were his native key, and a salty tongue was soon revealed under Johnnie Walker’s influence, as he peppered their conversation with the occasional curse or two. Nearly forty-five minutes had passed, as they chatted and worked towards polishing off the bottle, but to Roz it had seemed like only half that, at least.
Having first beheld him from her stageside seat, Benedict’s masculine beauty had put Rosalind in mind of a Bernini sculpture, faultless and perfectly sculpted, too dauntingly ideal for an ordinary woman such as herself, to aspire to catch his attention. Up close he was no less beautiful, though he was not flawless—but each wee imperfection made him even warmer and more appealing to her, and were somehow in keeping with the vital warmth of his personality. Roz found herself fascinated by the little scar beneath the corner of his mouth, denying both the urges to gently trace it with her fingertip and to ask him how he’d gotten it. She marked well the sinful fullness of his bottom lip, unable to keep herself from wondering what it would feel like against her own, and imagining—as a brief flush of heat threatened to rise in her cheeks—how it might taste were she to tease it’s plumpness between her lips, and run the tip of her tongue along its length. Speculating what sort of sounds would rise from him then. And fancying that he would be moved enough to answer her boldness with deep, deep kisses, sealing her lips with his, stealing her breath away, while he filled her mouth with the insistent whiskey flavor on his tongue.
And her eyes were drawn back again and again to his own, their light crystal clarity and striking shape unlike any she had seen in a man before. Extraordinarily expressive, they reflected his easy humor, honesty, and intelligence, and were surprisingly mercurial in hue, ranging from the palest blue of an early spring sky to a deeper, more intense blue with the play of light, with tinges of green and flecks of gold coloring his irises—all as though Nature had chosen to mimic the colors of some glorious nebulae in his eyes. Rosalind felt they could aptly pull her into an unintentional orbit, from which she’d have no desire to escape.
The pub had quieted as their discussion continued, the crowd thinning out as the hour neared 1:00am, but still the Poet held her rapt. They’d finished the bottle—with Benedict signaling for a fresh round without even a break in their conversation--and Rosalind felt the pleasantest, most relaxed buzz she had felt in ages, so that she had to try her best to keep from slurring her words and looking foolish. He obviously had a higher tolerance for the stuff, though he became quite indulgent, giving her his warmest smiles while daring to stroke his fingertips on the bare skin of her arm. Quite naturally the gap between them had lessoned, and somehow his face was mere inches from hers, while his voice had slipped intimately low and persuasive. Fuzzy-minded she may have been, but Roz was well aware that his focus repeatedly returned to her lips—especially when he whet his own and smiled at her beguilingly.
“I’ve always been fascinated by the power of words…,” he’d been telling her, when she asked what had drawn him to becoming a poet, “…the written word…and the spoken word…”
“I know. Me too…I’ve…I’ve felt that too,” she interjected, eagerly taking up his thoughts, uncannily similar to her own on the topic, “Fascinated…and enamored…by the potency of the images such words can create…”
“Yes,” he whispered at first, his voice rising huskily as he continued, “You do get it…I thought you might understand. From the way you listened. And the way you looked as…as I recited. Not just The Invitation, but all of it." He seemed to hold his breath a moment, then added--almost shyly, "My own poetry included.”
Tongue-tied and made self-conscious by his acute perception, Rosalind gave a little shrug, and bowed her head, finally murmuring, “That’s why my friends brought me here tonight. They know my weak spot.”
“How very fortunate for me,” he mused sincerely, the honey of his baritone thrumming a pleasant thrill in her chest, “Well, I should have thanked them, love.” Benedict lifted her nearest hand, to twine his fingers through hers, “You really are a rare treat…fair Rosalind.”
This time she felt no objection toward that sweet endearment, daring to meet his eyes again, silently reveling in the warmth of his touch. She had noted that he had the slightest but most adorable lisp now that the alcohol had loosened his tongue and she found her eyes blatantly lingering on his tempting mouth, admiring the enticing shape and the visible texture of his lips—and suddenly wishing he would just kiss her already. Wishing for the courage to shamelessly close the space between them and taste what was so tantalizingly close.
His eyes widened, as though again her thoughts were obvious to him; his pupils were large, rimmed with wondrous color, and Rosalind would later swear that she read his intentions in their compelling depths moments before he spoke. “The sunlight claps the earth, and the moonbeams kiss the seas,” he recited--literally for her hearing alone—while allowing his lips to ghost past her cheek, leaving them to hover a whisper from her ear. “What are all these kissings worth, if thou woulds’t not kiss me?”.
“That’s…that’s Shelley…isn’t it…” she asked quietly, barely finishing her thought, overwhelmed by how intimately close he had become.
“Yes, love,” he answered, sounding amused, whether by her unexpected question or by her growing vulnerability in response to each advance, “Exactly so.” The silken caress of his voice raised the fine hairs on Rosalind’s neck and sent a delightful shiver along her spine, the warmth of his breath upon her skin dissolving any shred of decorum she would normally muster. She closed her eyes, every sense attuned to the small space where they connected, waiting, wanting, needing whatever he intended for her. Knowing that in moments he would brush his lips on the cup of her ear—softly gasping when he did so. “Is this alright?” Benedict rumbled, and the only answer Roz could manage was a quiet moan as she softly nodded her head.
That was consent enough, it seemed; he splayed one strong hand on her upper back while slowing trailing the fingertips of his other hand on the back of her hand, and then along her arm from her wrist to her elbow, and back again. The warmth the whiskey had spread through her veins paled compared to the heat kindled by his patient touch. And then—inevitably--he began to tease his tender, plump lips on the side of her neck, soon humming appreciatively, murmuring against her skin, “Christ…you smell…mmmmm…delicious…”
“Yes…I suppose I do…” she murmured back, pleased by his note of surprise, and well aware that her ‘perfume’ was only the scent imbued in her skin by her workday. “But am I savory…or am I sweet,” she asked, finally feeling some share of control over what was blooming between them.
Benedict sighed hard, “Ahhhhh…sweet…so very, very sweet….” He nuzzled just below her ear, inhaling deeply, “Such sweet temptation, dear Rosalind—that how am I to resist wanting to sample all of your flavors?”
“Please…oh, please,” she barely whispered--though in her mind she was begging full-voiced for him to follow the natural course of things between them, “Won’t you please…just…kiss me…nowwwww…” Roz tilted her head back, panting, ready, praying that he would not disappoint her, offering her lips to him with fervent anticipation
His initial kiss was soft, warm, electric—a taste of more to come, a confirmation of desire. Rosalind fluttered open her eyes when he withdrew, breathless for him to continue, and dazzled to be fixed in his avid gaze. Though he paused only briefly, his smile in those few seconds was full of wicked promise, and she felt like it took forever until his lips met hers again—though it proved well worth the wait...
