October Sun
summary: you hadn't been sure what to feel after demanding Ajay bring the others. bring everyone. it'd been reckless, stupid. Wally you had figured had been fine, perhaps even Ajay too, but everyone? it had either been the dumbest thing you'd ever done or the smartest. thankfully, you'd learned enough about the others to know what topics to avoid and which to use to your advantage...
pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader
warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.
bon reading, frens
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OCTOBER SUN pt.22
You sat in the dining room, the French doors closed for privacy. Your family was in various positions around you as they helped you study the pile of file folders your mother had exhumed from the enormous wooden chest in the basement.
The dining room itself was large yet cozy, eclectic, lived in; it was where your mother brought her clients for readings and spiritual counsel. A round table took up the middle of the room; a tea tray and plates of finger foods were placed in the center where a hokey crystal ball normally sat. Shelves along the back wall were stuffed with books from the Barnes & Noble witchcraft section, boasting titles like, "A Witch's Guide to Garden Magick," and, "Spells & Incantations for a Better Life."
The plum-colored ceiling was decorated in constellations that Andrew had painted the week before your mother began marketing herself, and the wood floor was covered in a layer of Persian rugs thrown here and there that had absorbed the heavy musk of the incense your mother burned during sessions.
It was a beautiful room, to be sure, and you hated every inch of it. All the frivolous bits and bobs that encouraged people to believe a lie mocking you from their perches. Portraits of people who meant nothing to your family; taxidermized crows and owls and foxes. A mounted stag's head, because why not? It added to the rustic, sorcerous atmosphere.
"What about Rhonda Botezatu?" Ginny inquired around the stem of her cigarette holder. She was done up in a silk kimono, purple hair peeking out from beneath a bronze turban. An homage to Old Hollywood starlets who'd aged into roles they'd rather die than assume. Her thin fingers and wrists were bedazzled with chunky costume jewelry, but her neck remained bare. Apart, of course, from the delicate silver pendant she rarely removed.
You couldn't help smiling at her. She was absolutely marvelous.
"Rhonda..." You began, trying not to peer down at the notes. "Died April 1964. Murdered by Alfons Manfredo, the guidance counselor. She was really into Beatnik Culture and was going to study Engineering at UC Berkeley." You wilted, looking down at the yearbook photo paperclipped to Rhonda Botezatu's dossier. Rhonda stared up at you, the hint of a smile on her lips, clever eyes bright beneath layers of eyeliner and mascara. Your heart lurched.
"I used to watch her and her younger sister, Daria, when she was a child. Her parents were neighbors." Ginny divulged, using her cigarette holder to point out the window as if to indicate the exact house. "Her older sister, Yetta, was a pain. Refused to babysit; too busy husband-hunting, but Rhonda was a hoot. Questioned everything." Ginny chuckled, rolling her eyes, "Pecked at me all day, asking this and that. Couldn't shut her up unless I put on a record and let her dance out all that energy." Her eyes went distant, a fond expression settling into her features. "Precocious. Would've changed the world if she'd been given the chance."
Your mother huffed, hovering over you as she rifled through the mound of documentation. "You skipped Janet Hamilton."
"Ooh, that idiot," Ginny slumped forward dramatically, an impression of being utterly disgusted by something. Your mother cleared her throat with intention, eyes narrowed in distaste. Ginny sighed and rolled her hand regally in your direction, "Alright, chicken, tell us what you know about her."
You stifled a giggle into the back of your hand, sharing a fond look with Andrew at Ginny's antics. "Okay, Janet. She died in 1960, but...I didn't see how...did I miss that?" You asked, scanning the sheet of paper you'd pulled from the dossier.
"No, sweetheart," Nanna assured, "There's no record of it that I ever found. Of course, by the time I started gathering information, a lot of time had passed." You could tell she was trying very hard to search her memory. Unfortunately, however, it seemed she kept finding only blank spaces.
"It was an accident of some sort," Ginny piped up. "Broke her neck somehow. Falling down the stairs, I think."
Nanna frowned, shaking her head at herself, "I vaguely recall some mention of it...honestly, you'd think I'd remember." The laugh that bubbled out of her was strained, tinged with disbelief. "She was my math tutor." A glance at Ginny to confirm, "I could've sworn it happened right before I started middle school."
"Don't look at me," Ginny scoffed, "Maybe you should scribble it down before you forget to again." She looked at Andrew, roping him into the joke, "You need to get your mother checked out, Drew, before she starts forgetting your birthday."
Positioning her reading glasses just above the tip of her nose, Nanna plucked the paper from your hand, adding, in beautiful cursive, a note about Janet's death. "You did forget his birthday last year..."
Ginny took a quick sip of her sherry, rushing to defend, "Oh pish, I did not. I told you, the gift was delayed." And then, as a side note, "Poor Reggie really is losing his mind," though she didn't sound worried about her old friend cum antique dealer. Rather, it was a pitying statement of fact, said in the manner most elderly people use when discussing each other's senility. She put her sifter down and whipped a taunting stare at Nanna, "You know, Babbigail, had either of you listened when I suggested you try the Sudoku, you wouldn't be losing your marbles quite so early."
"Oh, baldercrap," Nanna retaliated, "I'm just as sharp as I've always been!" She narrowed her eyes, mock-accusing, and presented to the room, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were cheating."
"Cheating?"
"I wouldn't put it past you to use spells all willy-nilly for your benefit."
Nanna winked at you when Ginny scoffed, outraged, straightening her spine and puffing out her chest, "Oh, how very dare you! My own sister!? Implying I would ever turn my back on the Circle!" She lifted the back of her bejeweled wrist to her brow, "Judas!"
You and Andrew dissolved into fits of laughter at the theatrics. Ginny and Nanna bickered often, always making a show of it for everyone's entertainment. It was one of many reasons that you were glad you were all under the same roof, even when it got crowded sometimes.
Behind you, your mother wasn't as amused by the performance, scoffing as she patted your head, reminding you to, "Focus, sweetheart, you only have two days to memorize all of this." She flashed an annoyed look between Nanna and Ginny, "If you two are finished, maybe we could get back to it?"
Ginny sagged sideways against the back of the chaise longue, waving dismissively with her cigarette holder, "No need to get worked up, Alice. The girl has plenty of time to sort all this out." Still, she gestured for you to move on to the next student.
Bernadette King, died in 1969 after tragically falling from a height in the old gymnasium. Then Dawn Burton, died in 1972 by accidental electrocution. Next was Yuri Vyarheychyk, a transplanted Belarussian boy who'd somehow fallen head-first into a kiln during a pottery lesson in 1978, succumbing to severe burns before the ambulance had arrived.
"Are you guys sure I should go there?" You asked, face twisted in concern as you absorbed the seemingly endless pile of information on the table, evidence that too many awful things had transpired at Split River High before now. "It sounds kinda dangerous."
"You'll be just fine," Ginny said, "You're too important. The Awen won't let anything happen to you." It sounded like something a great-aunt was obligated to say, those reassurances that you were the 'most specialist of special children.' In a world where you'd witnessed something profoundly horrific take someone you'd considered more special than yourself, your great-aunt's statement was of little comfort.
Nanna reached across the table and petted your hand affectionately, tacking on, "You have nothing to worry about. We've all attended and we're just fine. Your sister actually really enjoyed herself."
You gave her a tight smile, "If you say so," then accepted the next dossier Andrew pulled out of the pile.
"We're getting into the 80s, now." He informed, eyes twinkling as he stared over your head at your mother. "Starting with the totally hunky football star—"
"Don't start," Your mother warned. You could feel the look on her face, something eye-twitchy and vexed.
Andrew snickered, rising to the challenge, and tapped his finger on the photo clipped to the front of the folder. It drew your attention down to a face that—your breath caught, an unusual warmth blossoming within you as you took in the young man grinning up at you from the photo. The print in the top right corner said his name was 'Walker Clark'. He was...hot. Like center-of-the-sun hot. Soulful, brown eyes, kissable lips, hair swept back in a perfect 80s poof.
Andrew whistled, long and punctuating, forcing a blush to rise on the arches of your cheeks. "I think girly's got a crush," He ruffled your hair obnoxiously, "Aurora had the same reaction when we put her through the paces. 'He's so hot, oh my god,'" He mimicked in a high falsetto, "'If I could see ghosts, I'd literally ask him out, I don't care.'"
"Rory had to do this too?" You wondered, eyes never wavering from Wally's handsome face.
"Of course she did, chicken. Everyone has to. Even your grandmother had to and she can't see ghosts." Ginny explained.
"But why? If Nanna and Rory can't see ghosts, what does it matter?"
Nanna smiled sweetly at you, "Understand, dear, abilities don't always manifest fully at an early age like yours did. Before Aurora entered high school, her empathy was very subtle. Then, in her junior year, out of the blue, she could identify each ghost without batting an eye. If the Ciorcal of the Craft allowed it, I bet she would've had whole conversations with them without needing to see or hear them."
You knew Aurora's empathy was acute, how she could wield it like a weapon or a gift depending on her mood. You'd never tell her, but you found it pretty remarkable. Almost envied her for it. Your life would be much easier if you couldn't see the dead.
"That's why we do this, chicken. It's a contingency, just in case our powers manifest late or they mature faster than we have time to do something about it." Ginny elaborated and it made sense. Similar to Aurora and Nana, Andrew hadn't had any indication that he would develop Connectedness until much later, but now he gleaned incredible things from objects on command.
You didn't realize you'd been staring at Wally's photo the whole time, not once looking up to acknowledge those around you, until Nanna leaned over and voiced, "He was very handsome, wasn't he," obviously having been observing your predicament, "And so respectful. His mother and I were in a book club together with some of the other moms from the school." Suddenly, her tone shifted, turning solemn, "Bea was hard on him, though. Drove him to be the best." She sighed, "I really felt for him."
You listened with half an ear, more interested in pondering what Wally had felt about the pressure his mother supposedly put on him. Had he been equally as motivated? Or had he buckled under the weight of expectation? A tiny sliver of your soul yearned to have the chance to ask him, ignoring for the moment the Rule that your whole family lived by.
"Come on, sweetheart," Your mother's voice interrupted your thoughts, "we have a lot to go through and 2004 is going to be tricky." She flipped open Wally's folder, thus forcefully removing his face from your line of sight, doing for you what you hadn't been able to do for yourself. You exhaled a shivery breath, swallowing thickly as you accepted the first of three typewriter-typed pages. Your mother pointed to the third line of the second paragraph, "Alright, let's start here..."
‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗
Ajay had smuggled you into the school and up to the roof, managing to keep you from being caught. There had been one close call when Barry had treaded around a corner, flashlight up, demanding to know if anyone was there when your sneaker had squeaked against the linoleum. You'd watched in fascination as Ajay had manipulated his ghostliness to his advantage. He'd marched right up to Barry who, as a living person, had been unconsciously driven to avoid the invisible obstacle, his brain having fed him some rationalization or excuse that had sent him on his way. Piece of cake.
Presently, you stood near the roof's edge, fidgeting nervously as Ajay helped two people over the raised side of the portal, one after the other. You gulped, your heart beating faster and your palms clammy as you took in who they were. Rhonda Botezatu and Charley Morino. Fuck...shit... Instantly, you regretted telling Ajay to bring everyone. God, could you get more stupid!? This was such a bad idea, your mother's voice reverberating inside your skull threats of squalls and storms and ill-fated summonings. Despite the desire to stand your ground and do this for Simon, your soul trembled in despair, unable to shake the feeling of failure after years and years of being told not to let them know you can see.
You squirmed under Rhonda and Charley's attention, your eyes flicking up to their faces and then back down to your shoes as your nerves began to fray. God, Simon, you fretted, I hope it's worth it. 'It' being all the possible repercussions you could face should anyone discover what you'd done. And the more who knew what you could do, the more it was likely that someone would find out.
As you contemplated your friend, a shadow flickered over Rhonda's shoulder. A there-and-gone impression of movement that had wobbled like hot air rising from a desert road. You squeezed your eyes shut and opened them again, seeing nothing to indicate what you'd witnessed had ever occurred.
"Isn't that the chick Wally was hung up on a couple of years ago?" You heard Rhonda ask Charley as they approached. Strangely, they moved as if they intended to make room for someone else between them, but, as you checked on Ajay's progress at the portal, you didn't see anyone else emerge.
"I'm not sure..." Charley answered her, openly studying you through slitted eyes; suspicious, cautious, clearly unsure what he thought about you. Still, he emanated a warmer, more welcoming aura than Rhonda who was all attitude and cool eyes. "If it is, we owe him a massive apology."
Rhonda didn't seem to agree, "She'd better make it up to him. Took him forever to stop sulking."
You were both pleased that Wally's friends had his back and cowed at the reminder that you'd basically gaslighted him in sophomore year, and Rhonda seemed keen to hold that against you. Surreptitiously, you kept peeking behind Rhonda and Charley, willing the universe to be kind and deliver Wally's fortifying presence to you. With him beside you, you felt you could handle Rhonda's cutting remarks and Charley's weighted stare.
As if on cue, the connection began to rumble and roll inside you, rising with more interest as you felt Wally get closer, and your heart started to pound for an entirely different reason.
"So," Rhonda started as she stopped two feet in front of you, arms crossed and expression tightly controlled, "You can see us."
You didn't know what else to say apart from, "Yep," wincing as it fell out of your mouth.
Rhonda's glare turned lethal, "And you didn't think that maybe you should try and help us?"
"I—"
"Oh, no, wait, that's right, you decided to help Ajay and leave the rest of us to rot, is that it?"
Charley reached out and touched her arm, sending her an expression of warning before returning his attention to you. "I am curious about why you decided now was a good time for a big reveal?" He asked in a roundabout way, tone sprinkled lightly with denigration.
That, at least, was a simple answer. "Simon's in trouble and I want to help get him out of it."
"Right," Charley looked at Rhonda, briefly seeming to cast behind her, then looked back at you, "The o t h e r living person who can see ghosts. Are you guys part of the same coven or...?"
As sarcastic as he sounded, you sensed his genuine interest and decided to expand on—wait, "Simon can what?"
Ajay's words from earlier flew out of the ether and into your head: "Everyone just got over Charley keeping Simon a secret." Well, fuck me sideways. At the time, you'd been too distracted by the fact that Ajay knew about you and Wally. Then that, of course, had been eclipsed by Ajay's purported friendship with Aurora that she'd never bothered to disclose. With all those thoughts vying for attention, your brain had swiftly filled in the blanks about Charley and Simon with something that made enough sense to keep you from poking at it. Charley, you'd guessed, had kept Simon a secret like most teenagers keep their crush a secret from their friend group. To avoid getting teased.
Thinking about it now, you realized that was the second-most idiotic thing you'd ever come up with after encouraging Ajay to give you an audience with a bunch of ghosts you were supposed to avoid like the plague.
"Are. you. fucking. k i d d i n g. me!?" You dropped into a crouch, top half folded over your knees as you dug your fingers into the back of your head, wholly and utterly defeated by the endless siege of fuckery that had been unleashed since last Friday.
"We'll take that as a 'no'," Rhonda remarked, sounding as though she was checking her cuticles. "So, what are you? A necromancer or something?"
"No," You said miserably into your knees. You rose, rubbing your temples as you tried to process everything while simultaneously explaining, "And I'm not a witch, either, so you can forget about that coven bullshit."
You were getting riled up, angry, confused; Simon could see ghosts, too? Seriously? That could have made the conversation you and he had had on the swings a helluva lot easier, dammit. But, nooo, he'd kept that to himself. And, honestly, fuck Aurora, too, because you'd spent the last three years of your life on edge and constantly alert when you could've, maybe, given fewer shits?!
Another odd, shadowy flicker distorted the air almost directly in front of you but you ignored it, your frustration gaining momentum because, fine, yeah, you hadn't said anything to Simon either, but what the fuck anyway—!
Just as you were about to scream into the void, a warm, calming sensation swept over you, the familiar scent of Wally's cologne and the pomade he used in his hair curling under your nose like a cartoon wafteron. You tilted your head up, eyes immediately locking on his, and the tension seeped out of your muscles. Wally's steps were measured, his jaw tight, shoulders squared as if he was fighting to control himself from jumping on you.
Right. Ajay had insisted that you and Wally act as if you'd never interacted. Earlier, it'd been easy to agree, the connection subtle and at ease; now, you weren't so sure. The syrupy-slick sensation lulled you into a dreamlike fog, transfixed by Wally's closeness. You watched Wally's throat bob when he swallowed, eyes drifting to his lips before slowly tracking back up to meet his heavy-lidded gaze.
"Hi..." You said, voice catching as Wally neared.
The others observed with assorted expressions of confusion and intrigue, Rhonda asking, "Whaaat the hell is happening?" to which Charley replied, "I have no idea..."
Ajay explained on your behalf, tone entirely put-upon, "It's the cRaZiEsT tHiNg. I noticed it before. Like they have some kind of mYsTeRiOuS cOnNeCtiOn drawing them together..." Glimpsing at him, you saw Ajay's features had flattened, his demeanor projecting exactly how done with everything he was, yet you couldn't find it within yourself to care. Wally was right there, gazing at you with soft eyes and a lopsided smile.
The flicker appeared again, though, unlike before, an almost physical energy came with it, arcing outward from its source into your front, forcing you back a step. A look of alarm spooked Wally's face. He lurched forward a step, simultaneously bringing his hand up as if to place it on something.
What happened next happened so quickly that you almost didn't catch it. As soon as Wally's hand made contact, a featureless silhouette popped into existence. You couldn't make out who they were, could hardly register anything as you stumbled backward another step in surprise, the back of your leg hitting the low ledge that lined the roof. From there, gravity took over, pulling you down as you teetered precariously over the wrong side of the ledge. Everyone reacted at once, Rhonda and Charley reaching out, Ajay yelling and grabbing the silhouette, and Wally—
"No!" Wally shouted as he leapt forward, grabbed you by the front of your sweater, and hauled you tightly against him before you plummeted several meters down onto the concrete below. He whirled around, planting himself between you and the ledge, his nose in your hair, heart hammering under your palm, panting from the adrenaline rush. His embrace was viselike, keeping you together as a jolt of fear shot through you.
"Are you okay?" He asked, eyes the size of saucers as he cradled your face in his big hands.
You peeked helplessly up at him, a lump in your throat and pressure behind your eyes, Jesus Christ, you'd almost joined them in the afterlife...but that wasn't the thought that blared in your head like an air raid siren.
"Do it again." You commanded, breathless, gripping Wally's arms and encouraging him to turn around. "Touch whatever you just touched again."
He blinked at you, dumbfounded, obviously not understanding what the hell you were on about.
"Whatever you just did," You instructed, "do it again," placing your hand on his shoulder to show him what you meant. Although he continued to stare at you like you'd grown a second head, he released you and moved back. You marveled as he stepped forward a few feet, picked his hand up, and then placed it down seemingly in midair. Except it wasn't midair. It was a shoulder that became visible under the weight of Wally's hand.
He shot you a peculiar expression, eyebrows drawn in doubt, "Uh...like this?" And then he stepped aside.
You gasped, going very, very still as your mouth fell open and your eyes bulged, a single, quivering utterance tumbling out of you. "Holy shit."
Everyone, including Wally, watched you in wonder, completely oblivious to the miracle that had just occurred. Everyone including—
"Maddie!?"
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PART TWENTY-ONE - PART TWENTY-THREE
also available on AO3!
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Lucky Shirt - Prof!Benedict Cumberbatch (smut)
I got the chance to work with @writingliv once again – yes, I am very much fangirling, y'all know how much I adore Liv – and boy, I am so proud of us and of this beautiful fic we've written together. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this! Enjoy my loves. xxx
Summary: Professor Cumberbatch was perfect. He was sweet, supportive, ever-willing to help. He was attentive and loved to praise your achievements. It came to no surprise that you had ended up trying and succeeding at becoming his favourite student. The two of you had become an unstoppable duo, however, could there be more than mere passion for academia behind it?
Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, lots and lots of tension, small sprinkles of angst, age gap, professorxstudent relationship
Pairing: Prof!Benedict Cumberbatch x fem!reader (about 9k words, she's a long one)
Professor Cumberbatch led a life full of rules, keeping clear schedules, boundaries, and conversations. Honest, passionate, and helpful would probably be the three words most people would use to define him. A life dedicated to teaching, to helping, to learning. He never swayed away from his clear-cut schemes unless it was for somebody else’s benefit. Selfless… Professor Cumberbatch was also incredibly selfless.
You, however, would think this set of facts did not do justice to his character. Professor Cumberbatch was not just selfless. He was an absolute saint. He had been your point of guidance since you first joined his class in your last year of undergrad and had offered you a place as a research assistant as a Master’s student. He had happily stayed until late hours helping you with your first dissertation and had never failed to answer any question related-or-not to his topic. Benedict Cumberbatch was your hero, which made your crush on him so much more inappropriate.
You had tried to stop thinking about him that way, feeling guilty at the idea that this saint of man was so willing to help you and take you under his wing, and all you did was fantasise about him breaking all the university rules and fucking you. It was an awful feeling, especially when you were sure he didn’t feel the same way, but it was something you couldn’t yet find a way to get rid of.
So here you were, sitting in his office, wearing that baby blue shirt he had once complimented a year ago or so, waiting for him to come back with news on whether you had been accepted to attend the most important conference in your field. You had excused your continuous wear of the shirt by referring to it as your lucky colour, making it the perfect attire for any important moment you had shared with the professor.
Your black heels had been incessantly tapping his beautiful Persian rug as you tried your best not to bite your nails when the door of the office finally opened incredibly slowly, and a gloomy Cumberbatch appeared on the opposite side wearing a shirt of a starkly similar colour as yours. “I am sorry…” he started to speak, and you felt your heart drop immediately, your hands moving to your face, covering it. “That you will have to cancel all your plans for the week April 19th because we are going to the conference!” He shouted your way, a gigantic crooked smile filling his mischievous face. You couldn’t believe it, instantly uncovering your face and checking his expression for a bluff.
You couldn’t help yourself jumping up from the excitement and reaching for him, giving him a hug. Your professor seemed to equally disregard all decorum, wrapping his hands around your waist before whispering to your ear, “it seems like your lucky colour works.” You tried your best to hide the growing warmth on your cheeks as he let go of you.
“Thank you so much for this! I am so excited! I cannot believe it!” You replied once the two of you were at an appropriate distance again, still looking at each other with the utmost admiration and excitement.
“Do not thank me. You did this all yourself. I just had to answer a reference request, and you may be surprised about this, but I find it incredibly easy to tell people how incredible you are.”
…
“Can anybody tell me when Operation Overlord was fought?” Professor Cumberbatch’s voice echoed through the classroom, eyes flickering to meet yours at any given chance. It felt like you two were playing a game, a game whose rules you have long forgotten, unable to focus on anything but him.
Him, the one you dream of when the nights grow warmer, when the heat fills your bedroom like the heat filling your veins whenever he speaks to you.
Him, the one that makes you tremble whenever his skin meets yours, never in an inappropriate way, though forced closer like magnets unable to part.
Him, the man that popped up in your thoughts when you wake and when you are about to fall asleep. An ever present sensation you slowly but surely adapted to.
You didn’t pay attention to the answer of the student that tried to catch the professor’s attention for the past minutes. Your thoughts weren’t able to grow quiet, a loud sound that rang through your mind like a song you couldn’t stop singing. It was wrong, so awfully wrong, and yet you couldn’t stop yourself from craving his touch, wanting to feel his body pressed against yours without any clothing caught in between.
Professor Cumberbatch needed a few moments to rip his eyes from your features, breaking eye contact with a slight scowl tugging on his face. The nagging voice inside your head made you wonder if he was annoyed with the other student for cutting your shared moment short. There was always something so intense about the way he looked at you, forcing you to sit straighter, eyes unable to move away.
“Anything else you want to add to today’s lesson? If not, you are good to go.” Your heart picked up its beat as his eyes found yours once again, a silent way of communicating, asking you to stay behind for a few more moments. The other students pushed past you all too impatiently, wanting to flee from the classroom, but you didn’t move, not able to even try to imagine another place where you’d rather be.
“I won’t hold you back for long, I just wanted to give you these folders. It’s everything they gave me for the conference.” Your fingers brushed his as you took the folder, breath hitched in your chest. His eyes followed your every move, watching you thumb through the papers, unable to bite down your smile.
“I am so excited, I can’t wait for us to go there!” Your voice left him smiling, unable to bite down his excited grin. Your nerves were running wild, wondering how being at the conference with him will play out, praying to whoever was listening that you’d be able to also focus on something else besides the gorgeous professor you wanted to call yours.
…
Soft music filled Professor Cumberbatch’s office, ringing in your ears without distracting you from the essays you were grading with the professor. It wasn’t unusual for you to join in on his later sessions, finding comfort in his closeness, even though you wouldn’t share many words, just a few glances here and there.
“What is it? You are biting your lip again.” Professor Cumberbatch’s voice ripped you out of your trance, eyes snapping up from the paper. Heat flushed through you as you let go of your lip, teeth no longer buried in the warm flesh.
“Sorry, I struggle to follow their argumentation, it simply makes no sense, and you know how much I hate saying this.” Your voice was soft, not wanting to interrupt the calm atmosphere you two were trapped in. You watched him move closer, admiring the way he carried himself, the way his beige trousers hugged his legs, and how the rolled up sleeves of his black dress shirt exposed just enough of his muscular forearms and the watch clinging to his left wrist. Fuck, you’d dream of this tonight, you were sure of it.
“Let me have a look.” The professor sat down next to you on the comfortable sofa placed in the far back of his office. The scent of his cologne crawled up your nostrils, making you shudder as his leg was pressed against yours. His eyes carefully followed the sentence you had highlighted, concentrating on the arguments the student seemed to have struggled with. “Yes, I see what you mean. Leave it on my desk later, I’ll add some comments myself.”
He pushed the essay back into your hands, eyes meeting yours. Neither one of you dared to move, eyes not wanting to break contact, hearts calling out to one another without finding the right words to express what was burning on the tip of your tongues. He broke the intense moment first, clearing his throat before he rose back to his feet.
“I think I’ve kept you here long enough, you should get some rest and start packing your bags.” Disappointment filled your system, slowly nodding your head as a quiet “Of course” left your lips. And with one last glance shared, you left his office with a racing heart and sweaty palms.
…
You arrived at your apartment and dropped on your bed, sighing loudly. It was getting too difficult to deal with, to keep your gazes in check, to keep him from knowing how you felt. It was overwhelming. It was driving you crazy. You were growing so desperate for any hint of reciprocation that you had started to imagine things, seeing lust in his gaze when it couldn't be there, when it shouldn’t be there.
You decided to check your already packed bag one more time, giving into the parting words of your professor. All the outfits for the conferences lay perfectly organised in your bag, each accompanied by a pair of matching lingerie. No. you were not planning on sleeping with anyone at this event. It was just an old trick that you had once read; wearing matching lingerie makes you feel confident even outside of the bedroom.
You were about to close the bag when your phone rang on your nightstand. You picked it up, surprised to see Professor Cumberbatch calling you at almost 1 am.
“Hello?” you picked up, your fingers playing with the silky material of the matching nightgown to your lingerie.
“Hey there, apologies for the late phone call,” his voice sounded tired and stressed. You knew exactly how badly he wanted all his students to do well, and grading always put him in a bit of a bad mood.
“No problem, Professor. Is everything okay?” your question was filled with worry as you sat down on your bed and wondered if he was still in his office.
“I was just thinking about our conversation from earlier, and I was worried you would think I dismissed you because you couldn’t finish correcting that paper. You know how much I appreciate you helping me with corrections, and I wouldn’t want you to think anything bad of my dismissal. It was just so late and… I sometimes worry that I am stealing all your time. I am sure you have better things to do on a Saturday night than spend it with me, correcting papers with me.” He ranted away nervously. You could hear the sound of his dress shoes in the background as he paced through the room.
“There is no other place I’d rather be,” you blurted out right away, immediately realising the finality of that statement.
“Really?” he chuckled bitterly, “I am sure any other woman your age would disagree. Your twenties are important for your career but also to go out, have fun, make friends, and make mistakes. Please don’t let me keep you away from doing all of those things.”
“I am having fun, and I have friends,” you laughed, slightly hurt that he thought you were a complete loser.
“You know what I mean,” he chuckled, embarrassed.
“No, professor, I am not quite sure. From what I understand, you think I am a loser with no friends or fun,” you laughed, teasing him further.
“What I was trying to say is that there are significantly funner things to be doing on a Saturday than correcting papers with me. At your age, I was doing much more interesting things, at least.”
“What were you doing, Professor?” It was an inappropriate question, especially in the tone you had spoken it. You were not sure where it had come out from, but the exhaustion and comfort of your bed had pulled it out of you.
“I don’t know…” he seemed to be thinking, trying to understand himself where he wanted to draw a line before this conversation broke his rules, “I was partying, drinking, getting into trouble, trying to get girls.”
“I do all of those things,” you replied confidently, a foxy smile on your lips and a particularly strong inflexion in the all.
“Girls?” he asked, cursing himself right away for falling into your obvious trap.
“Girls… boys…” you laughed, “I am usually not the one trying, though. Especially recently, nobody has really caught my interest that way.”
“I guess I should take advantage of it and continue to monopolise your time until you do,” his answer sent a shiver down your spine. It was late, and neither of you was thinking perfectly straight.
“I think you should,” you replied before a yawn took over your voice.
“I should let you get some sleep. We have a long week ahead of us. See you at the station tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Professor.”
…
You watched the scenery pass by, the lush green countryside, the houses that seemed empty and once left behind in a hurry to disappear from rural places like these. Your heart ached at the thought, finding sadness in the empty places, wondering who had once lived inside these buildings.
It had been a good two hours since you had met the professor at the railway station, boarding the train to the conference. And while he was sitting next to you, elbows and thighs close to touching, eyes focused on a book he was reading, you didn’t find the needed comfortableness to focus on your book nor on your notes.
Your mind painted a colourful picture, wondering how the upcoming day with him so close would play out. Even though you were used to seeing him every single week, this was something new, something exciting, something that left you gasping for air.
“Are you cold?” His voice stroked your limbs like the soft April breeze, hands instinctively finding your arms.
“No, I’m alright, thank you.” You shot him a tired smile, cursing yourself for going to bed that late. A yawn clawed through you, eyes momentarily fluttering close. Perhaps you’d be able to find a few moments of rest, nothing long, though just enough to settle your mind and heart.
It felt like a trick of your brain, focusing on the elbow that was slowly pressing against yours, the forearm that met yours on the armrest separating your seats. Your heart was back to jumping in your chest, pounding louder than the rattling noises of the train.
While your mind started overthinking his move, trying to read between the lines, your body seemed to understand what it was supposed to do. All too slow, you placed your head on his shoulder, eyes not daring to flutter open in case you read the signs wrong. A soft exhale of air left the man, hand finding your knee to squeeze your soft skin.
“Get a bit of rest.” His voice successfully managed to lull you to sleep, heart slowly but surely finding a pace that would allow you to rest.
…
“We are here,” a voice shook you softly awake as you realised you had fallen asleep on the man’s arm. You instantly retracted back to your seat, putting as much distance as the train allowed. He looked at you entertained as he stood up, offering you his hand so you could do the same.
You grabbed it slowly, savouring the way his slender long fingers held yours so confidently and got up.
“The hotel is just a 10-minute walk from the station,” Cumberbatch added as he brought down both of your bags from the shelf at the top and then handed you yours.
…
You made sure to fill up the walk with every possible fun fact you had on the city, describing the few monuments you passed by and making sure you to search for your professor’s eyes, incredibly afraid that you had crossed a line by falling asleep on him. He listened to every single one of your words attentively, nodding and smiling as you made the third energy joke in a row.
“We are here,” Cumberbatch finally interrupted you, pointing at a beautiful historic hotel. You exhaled, thankful that soon you would be able to be in your room, away from him, and finally able to think straight.
The two of you entered the hotel and approached the reception, where a pretty, tall girl offered you a smile. “Hi, how are you? We have a four-night reservation under the name Cumberbatch. Two rooms.”
“Mmh… Cumberbatch?” the woman spoke back as she typed the name. A worried expression crossed her face before she looked up, meeting your eyes first and then the professor’s. “I only have one room for two reserved. Not two rooms.”
“That cannot be.” Benedict’s voice was firm and serious as he calmly placed his arms on the front desk.
“I am very sorry. People sometimes get confused when booking from more than one person and assume there are separate rooms.” She spoke politely, showing her best apologetic look.
“I will then pay for an extra room,” Benedict replied, not once turning to look at you.
“We are fully booked,” the woman replied, pressing her lips together, “I am very sorry.”
“There must be SOME available room,” he doubled down before you interrupted him.
“It is fine. We can make it work. The room has a couch, right?” You tried to ease off the tension, smiling at both your professor and the receptionist.
…
“I am so sorry. I have no idea how this mistake could have happened,” Benedict apologised for the tenth time as you reached the elevator, his eyes as soft and heavy as he tried to find a solution to this situation.
“Professor, it is completely fine.” You finally stopped him as the two of you entered the elevator, “there is a couch in the room. I am happy to sleep there.”
“I won’t let you sleep on the couch,” he replied, shocked that you would even think that was an option.
You sighed, closing your eyes, trying to decipher whether this was a dream or your worst nightmare. All you wanted right now was to be alone, to be by yourself, away from the overwhelming need this man filled you with. You had no idea how you would survive sleeping in the same room, regardless of whether it was on a couch, on a bed or on the ground.
The two of you walked towards the room’s door as Benedict bit the inside of his lip to stop himself from apologising again. He opened the door and was met with a queen-sized bed and a tiny minuscule couch. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, turning back around to you to apologise once again, but you stopped him.
“Let’s grab dinner! I heard some people from the conference are also staying at the hotel and grabbing dinner close by! Let’s go!” You patted him on the back and dropped your bag, ready to leave the room and what it would bring in the following days.
His heavy steps pounded against the ground, following you back towards the elevator. An almost uncomfortable silence was now following you two around, urged on by the inappropriate thoughts you both couldn’t shake off. Perhaps dinner would manage to distract the two of you for a moment, letting go of the tension and relaxing in comfortable chairs with other academics close by.
…
“Some more wine?” Benedict’s breath tickled your neck, forcing you to swallow loudly as you wordlessly reached your glass out for him to refill. His gaze was stuck on your features, on the smile you couldn’t stop from widening whenever he spoke up, murmuring facts about the academics you were now surrounded by.
“You have to tell us, (y/n), how does working with a stubborn man like Benedict Cumberbatch work out?” Your chuckles rumbled through you, eyes finding the piercing ones of the man sitting next to you. By now, you have forgotten most facts Benedict had shared with you, could barely remember their names, and yet you tried to play along, elbows placed on the table with your face placed in your hands.
“Let me tell you, it’s an utter nightmare.” Laughter boomed through the evening, through the garden that surrounded a few tables and chairs. The cosy atmosphere that lingered in the restaurant eased some of your tension from earlier, allowing the two of you to breathe calmly. “I am very lucky to have him by my side. No other professor has ever taught me this much.”
The hand of his that was resting on the back of your chair found your shoulder, fingers stroking your skin softly to communicate the gratitude he was feeling. Benedict was all too used to praises, and yet your words had a new meaning to them, making him sit a bit straighter as he began to pay attention to how some of his colleagues looked at you, unable to bite down their curiosity.
“I am the lucky one, I’ve rarely met students as bright as (y/n).” Heat flushed through you, forcing you to take another sip of your wine. You weren’t nearly as tipsy as you wanted to be, unable to accept his praises, the words he spoke that left your insides churning in excitement.
“Be careful, Benedict, otherwise, we may steal her from you.” One of the men sitting close to Benedict spoke the words without much thought, or so it seemed, not expecting the hard expression to widen on Benedict’s features. The professor didn’t reply, eyes searching yours as you shot him a small smile, hand finding his knee before you could give the gesture much thought. His muscles tensed underneath your hand, but before you could even try to move your hand away, he placed his hand on top of yours, squeezing yours.
“We had a long day, we should catch up on some sleep. Have a good evening.” Benedict’s words forced you to your feet, murmuring a soft “Goodbye” to the others. Your breath got stuck in your lungs as Benedict’s hand found your waist, pulling you closer to him as he guided you out of the restaurant. Once again, you felt your thoughts race, focusing on the way his fingers stroked your clothed waist, guiding you through the warm evening towards the hotel.
No further word was spoken as you stepped into the elevator, standing in front of Benedict with your eyes searching his. You couldn’t ignore the way his eyes flickered between your lips and eyes, praying deep inside that he’d finally close the gap. The two of you stood closer than needed, with his hand still placed on your waist and your hand finding his other one. Perhaps this was the moment you had been desperate for years, hoping that he’d finally cross the invisible line between you.
The mere thought of finally feeling his body pressed against yours left heat to fill your veins, heart pounding in your chest. But before either one of you could move again, the elevator came to a halt, forcing the two of you to step out. Only as the darkness of your shared hotel room lured you closer did you begin to realise that the night wouldn’t end like you had hoped it would.
He turned on the light and spoke, “I will take a shower before going to sleep, but don’t wait up for me, sleep well, (y/n). Please take the bed.”
…
Benedict entered the bathroom and left you alone in the bedroom, leaving you to wonder what you had possibly done wrong to ruin such a perfect moment, to stop him from kissing you. You sat on the bed, defeated, as you heard the sound of the shower turning on. Fuck. Maybe it was the alcohol or the burning feeling on your skin, but this felt like too much, too close, too little. It was ridiculous, nothing that deserved you crying over it, yet you could feel your eyes tearing up. The need was too much. He was too much. It almost felt unfair for him to leave you wanting the way he did.
As the sound of the shower stopped just for a second, you snapped out of your pity party, cleaning the tears from your face and getting changed before your professor could exit the room. You opened your bag and searched for your pyjama, only then realising you had brought your nightgown as your only sleeping option. You sighed loudly, covering your face and then dropping your arms to decide.
“Fuck it,” you spoke to yourself as you took off your clothes, putting on the nightgown that barely covered your ass and left little to the imagination for much else. If he could tease you all night, touching your waist, looking at you the way he did, you could do the same and even if he was not interested at all. Even if you had made every sign up in your mind, no man would not at least be tempted by such an outfit.
The bathroom door opened a few seconds later as you were busy folding your clothes back into your bag. You didn’t even dare to turn around to meet his gaze, suddenly feeling a wave of embarrassment overcome the boldness of the alcohol.
Your professor cleared his throat, and you finally met his gaze, feigning being completely and totally oblivious to what you were wearing. His blue eyes looked almost black by how dilated his pupils were, and you couldn’t help but offer him an innocent smile. He was wearing a loose black T-shirt and some grey pyjama pants.
“I am sorry. I didn’t think I would be sharing my room tonight,” you acknowledged the outfit, walking by his side, brushing his arm just so slightly before entering the bathroom with your toothbrush at hand.
Benedict had to command every single one of his muscles not to turn around, not to look at you walk into the bathroom, not to follow you, to pin you against the sink and fuck you right there.
You left the door of the bathroom open as you brushed your teeth, giving him the possibility to look into to watch as the hem of your nightgown rose high enough to show the curve of your ass. He, however, didn’t. Going straight to his couch and grabbing a pillow and duvet from the cupboard, and laying down.
You exited the bathroom excitedly, hoping to have one more chance to tease him before heading to bed but found him already deep asleep. Facing the back of the couch as he uncomfortably tried to fit within it.
…
POV Benedict
He didn’t dare move, eyes squeezed shut, arms wrapped around his too tall frame for a couch this small. Benedict tried to listen to your breaths, counting them to try and figure out if you were already asleep. His cock was aching, twitching in his boxers in a desperate need to be touched by you.
Fuck, he felt like a young boy, unable to guide his body, to pick up on his needs and urges, and to stop himself from giving in before it got too much. He hadn’t expected you to wear something like this, something that left his heart racing, pumping blood straight to his cock. It was torture, the worst situation he had been forced to live through so far, Benedict was convinced of it.
The second his mind painted a picture of your body pressed against his, he shot up from the couch, searching the false comfort the bathroom offered him, door falling shut with a thud. He could only hope that you were truly asleep by now, not picking up on his movements, the heavy breaths leaving him.
His hand pushed his boxers down his legs, just enough to free his hard cock. Precum was bearding his tip, veins shining through the thin skin, fuck, how much he wanted to feel and see your hands wrapped around him. Would you use your mouth on him? Would you stroke your tongue along the underside of his cock before sucking on his tip?
A heavy moan threatened to leave him, caught seconds before it could echo through the bathroom. His teeth left marks on his lower lip as his hand picked up its pace, fucking himself without any mercy, working on the fleeting time night offered him. Deep down, he hated himself for pushing you away this very night, wondering why he hadn’t given in, why he hadn’t chased the closeness you had been willing to offer. But something had held him back, something he was now regretting.
He couldn’t stop another moan from not leaving him, eyes squeezed shut, head rolled back. His orgasm was close, a desperate need to finally get over the sensations the mere sight of you had pushed through him. Benedict had to stop himself from choking on your name, from talking to the (y/n) he imagined kneeling in front of him.
With one last heavy breath leaving him, white cum began to cover his hand, sticking to his skin. Benedict pumped his cock a few more times before he let go of his cock, settling down on the toilet seat.
…
POV Reader
This night probably counted as the top three worst nights of sleep in your life. You had spent it between nightmares and sweats, waking up every couple of hours, feeling incredibly restless. You were thankful to see that it was already 7 am the next time you were shaken awake by another terrible dream. It took you a second to ground yourself; remember where you were. You instantly turned to the couch and found it empty, the bedsheets of your professor perfectly folded on top of it.
You scanned the rest of the room, sitting up, finding it equally as empty. A mix of disappointment and relief filled your chest as you were equal parts thankful he wouldn’t have to see you with this exhausted face and sad you didn’t even get a glance at how he looked right after he woke up in the morning.
You checked your phone and found a message from him, “Good morning! I wanted to give you some privacy before the big day. I will be waiting for you at the lounge if you want to grab breakfast together.”
You smiled at the message, forgetting all about last night. Everything was okay. The two of you were okay. He was your professor, after all, your rock. He had every right to reject you. Everything was okay.
…
You took your time getting ready, trying the different outfits you had brought as options and opting for the simplest one. Your ‘lucky’ shirt, some black suit trousers, and black stilettos. You exited the room confidently, your bag with your presentation at hand and your earphones in your ears. Your “gameday” playlist playing at full volume.
You entered the hotel lounge, finding your professor sitting on a beautiful leather couch, a newspaper on his lap. He was wearing a white button-up and some navy trousers. You approached him eagerly, removing your earphones and greeting him with a smile, “good morning, professor.”
“Good morning,” Benedict spoke, not meeting your gaze once. Eyes stuck on the newspaper.
“Should we get breakfast?” You kept on the smile, sure, he was just very enthralled by whatever he was reading.
“I have actually already eaten,” he replied with a sigh, intensifying his gaze on the paper. You pouted, disappointed, confused by his sudden coldness. “I have some meetings to attend before your presentation. Do you mind if we meet there already?”
You hesitated in answering, trying to keep the disappointment on your face from turning into clear sadness. He finally looked up, noticing your silence. His eyes were empty, cold like they had never been before.
“Of course,” you finally replied after he raised an eyebrow, “I…I will just go over the presentation by myself.” You had to look away before your eyes started to water, which seemed to pull a reaction right out of you.
Benedict stood up and placed a hand on your shoulder, “you will do amazingly. You are smart and incredible. You don’t need me for this. I will be in the crowd cheering.”
You tried to look at him, thankful that it had just been a small weird moment of coldness, but he had already started to walk away towards the exit of the hotel, leaving you standing there.
…
Were this many people always supposed to be at the event? Had everyone just suddenly realised your topic was cool and decided to listen to you talk? Where was he? You were starting in mere minutes, and there were barely any seats left. Where was he?
You squeezed the flashcards in your hands, trying to stop the trembling in your hands. You peeked once again from the stage, searching for him between the rows of mostly middle-aged men.
“You are going up in three,” some random guy with an earpiece said as you nodded emphatically, shutting your eyes and trying to control your breathing.
You stayed there for a couple of seconds, controlling your breathing, reminding yourself that this was your research. That you could do this alone. That you didn’t need anybody else. You were about to open your eyes when a hand on your shoulder startled you. Blue. All you saw was blue for a second until you could focus on the rest of his face. He had changed. He was wearing your lucky colour.
“Everything will be fine,” Benedict nodded softly, a thin layer of sweat covering his forehead as he seemed slightly out of breath.
“You are here,” you exhaled the words out.
“I am sorry, I-” he lowered his gaze in shame, but he was stopped by the earpiece guy announcing you were up. “You can do this. You are smart. Your research is incredible, and you are so incredibly charismatic that I wouldn’t be surprised if every professor in the room would try to steal you after this. Go show them how amazing you are. I am here.”
You nodded emphatically, instinctively pulling him into a hug and burying your face in his chest just for a second, feeling as he stiffened under your touch. You let go of him and nodded a little more, breathing in and out and walking onto the stage.
…
“Thank you, everyone, for listening,” you closed your presentation as the room broke into a myriad of applauses, a feeling of euphoria filling your chest as you turned to look to your professor, that stood still behind the curtain, giving you the most idolising smile you had ever seen.
You walked out of the stage with a gigantic smile straight towards your professor, whose hands immediately cupped your face, “that was incredible.”
“Thank you,” you looked up at him, immediately filled with all that tension that had been there the night before.
You were interrupted by a group of listeners approaching, and Benedict immediately moved away from you, looking down, realising the inappropriateness of his proximity. It felt as if this moment managed to rip you out of your trance, the bubble of excitement and happiness had popped, and once again doubts began to fill your mind. You were hurt, sad, and angry that Benedict hadn’t been there to support you through the hours leading up to your talk, hiding away from you rather than murmuring comforting words.
Whatever game he was playing, it was a game you found no pleasure in, growing antsy as you began to overthink what had happened in the past hours. From the second he had told you about the conference, Benedict had promised that he’d be with you on that very special day. He’d guide you like a mentor, like a friend, empty promises you were now clinging to. The ship had left the harbour, but the waves of anger had ripped it to the cold ground before the crew could swim to safety. Swimming had always been easy with Benedict near, but drowning had felt so much easier today.
…
The glass of champagne felt cold against your palm as you let your eyes wander. You were able to spot a few familiar faces in the crowd of scientists you were trapped in, celebrating your and their success. Benedict stood close to you, focused on the conversation he had been pulled into, unable to escape before the others had noticed him.
“An impressive talk, (y/n), I hope you’re proud of yourself.” One of the men you and Benedict had dined with yesterday evening was now standing in front of you. He was handsome, almost as tall as Benedict, but his eyes didn’t have that mesmerising blue colour you’d always recognise, his hair wasn’t brown like the coffee Benedict would bring you whenever you helped him grade essays, and his hands weren’t as big as the ones you wanted to feel on your body.
“Thank you! I am very happy about the crowd’s reaction to it.” A smile tugged on your lips as you took a sip, buying yourself some time. Fading seconds Benedict used to study you, the fake smile he instantly saw through, the slightly uncomfortable shifting of your weight from one leg to the other. He stepped closer, hand trying to come to rest on your waist, but you pulled away before he could touch you. “Excuse me, gentlemen, I’ll get myself another drink.”
You felt his eyes burning through your back, standing on the spot you had been standing on seconds ago, jaw muscles clenched. With every step you took away from him, your heart picked up its pace, pounding in your ribcage, fuelled by your anxiety and anger. Why did he have to be so cold towards you this morning? Why did he have to chase the distance rather than finally closing the small gaps between you?
Slowly you made your way through the crowd, holding onto your refilled glass with an iron grip. You weren’t nearly as tipsy enough as you wanted to be, pouring down big gulps to try and get rid of the tension that held your system hostage. Piercing blue eyes found yours from afar, wordlessly guiding you closer, surrounded by men and women you haven’t met before.
“May I introduce you to my wonderful (y/n)?” Benedict’s voice had a strange undertone to it, pronouncing your name with a newfound possessiveness dripping from it. This time you didn’t get to pull away as his hand gripped your waist, pulling you into his side. Your thoughts were racing as fast as your heart, but you tried to smile at the people that now shook your free hand, eyes not wandering from your features. Benedict’s fingers kept boring into your skin, not giving you the slightest chance to even try and escape him.
Only as the people moved on, finding new conversations to get lost in, did you manage to free yourself. With your gaze set on your glass, you took a step away from him and another before his patience seemed to snap. His big hand came down on your wrist, the other took your glass from you to place it down on the nearest table before he started pulling you through the room.
“Where are we going?” He ignored your question, pulling you outside into the hallway.
“What is going on with you? You’re behaving like a child.” Benedict’s words cut right through you, forcing a scoff from you. For a second, you allowed yourself to study him. His eyes no longer reminded you of a cloudless blue sky, but rather an angry storm threatening to unleash its power, fuck, why was he still so very handsome.
“I’m the one behaving like a child? You left me hanging this morning, even though you promised not to leave me alone before the talk!” He clenched his jaw, eyes growing even darker as he took a step closer, towering over you.
“Is that how you speak to your supervisor? I’d be careful of my tone if I were you.” You barely recognised his voice, dark and husky, leaving your thighs clenching and your hands shaking. Even though you were angry at him, so fucking angry, you couldn’t help but let your gaze flicker to his lips, wanting to feel them pressed against yours.
“Are you threatening me? You know what, fuck you, Benedict!” The words left you before you could stop them from rolling off your tongue, trying to turn away from him with hurried steps. But you didn’t get far, pulled against his hard chest with one of his hands cupping your warm cheek and the other resting on your waist. For a few seconds, Benedict studied you with dilated pupils and heavy breaths spluttering from his thin lips. Seconds that passed by all too slowly, torturing you and your racing heart. Something seemed to give him the final push, lips meeting yours before you could speak another word.
Your mind didn’t get any time to focus on the situation, guided by your body, by the way your lips moved in sync with his. For years you had tried to imagine what kissing Benedict may feel like, but this was a new sensation, something raw, something full of emotion, something you were addicted to from the first second on. Your hands found his suit jacket, clinging to him for dear life as if you were scared he’d part from you way too soon.
His tongue moved along your lower lip, coaxing a moan from you. The kiss grew more heated with every passing second, relishing in one another’s touch, the beats of your racing hearts, the blood rushing through your veins, a beautiful mixture. Benedict slowly parted from you to catch his breath, staring down at you with a smirk, an expression that left your insides churning in anticipation. With his hand finding yours, he wordlessly pulled you down the hallway towards the elevator that would take you up to the floor of your room.
Was this it? Was this the moment you had thought of too many times to count? Was this the moment you had thought of as your wandering hands took care of the ache between your legs?
The second the doors of the elevator started to close, you were pulled in for another kiss, pressed against the mirror you didn’t dare look at. You could only guess that you looked like a mess, hair tousled, lips swollen, eyes wide – all because of the man that couldn’t stop touching you.
“I,” Benedict murmured against your lips, hands toying with the fabric of your lucky shirt, struggling to find the right words. “I’m sorry for being this cold towards you, I still struggle with what you make me feel, and with the power my position holds over you, I don’t ever want you to think that I’m using you. You need to know, if you want me to stop, you can always say so.”
His thumb ran along your swollen lips, unable to bite down his smile as you pressed a kiss to his digit. The elevator came to a halt, allowing the two of you to find your way to your hotel room, pushed inside by his big hand finding your lower back. Benedict didn’t let you get far, hands pulling you against his chest, eyes getting lost in yours.
“I need your spoken consent before I touch you.” His lips ghosted over yours, patiently waiting for you to speak up. It took you a few seconds to speak up, unable to concentrate on anything but his touch, the fire he had unleashed inside of you, a fire so daunting he wouldn’t ever be able to tame it.
“Touch me, please, professor.” The use of his title seemed to push Benedict over the edge, growling against your lips as you were guided towards the big bed. His lips found your throat, sucking on the spots that left your toes curling and your heart skipping needed beats. Skilled hands undid the buttons of your shirt, pushing the fabric off your shoulders to expose the lacy lingerie you were wearing. Benedict marveled at you, freezing the moment for seconds as his eyes took in the sight in front of him, wondering how and why he got so lucky.
You murmured his name, snapping him out of his trance, hands working on his shirt. The moment pushed your nerves over the edge, hands struggling to undo the small buttons, signing in relief as he pushed you away, tugging the shirt over his head. Benedict didn’t give you any time to take in his upper body, the muscles you wanted to run your hands across, the freckles and small spots you wanted to kiss, forced down onto the bed. Your professor towered over you, lower lip caught between his teeth as he watched you undo your bra, exposing your breasts to his wandering eyes.
“I’ve been waiting a long time to see you like this, at my mercy, ready to give me whatever I’m asking of you.” His raspy voice left you gasping, eyes rolling back as his hands undid your trousers, helping you out of them. By now, you were only wearing your soaked-through, lacy panties, a sight that could make the blind see again, Benedict was sure of it. A work of art, the finest creation his eyes would ever get to take in. He wanted to take his time with you, wanted to love on every inch of your skin, but his own desperation drove him closer to you, shuffling out of his trousers with hurried movements.
He crawled up your body, flipping the two of you around for you to settle in his lap, feeling his hard cock pressing against your core. Fuck, you were already done for, balancing along the line of your state of pleasure only he’d push you into. His hand found the back of your neck to pull you in for another kiss, eyes fluttering close as his free hand found your chest, cupping your breast, tugging on your hard nipple. Moans clawed through you, all too shamelessly, all too freely, unable to hold back the sounds he elicited.
“I knew I'd never be able to hold back once I touched you, and I was scared of losing my control around you.” You knew he was talking about yesterday evening. You knew he was trying to smooth out the wrinkles on your heart he had crumpled like a piece of paper, and yet you couldn’t focus on them. You kissed him again, murmuring a soft “I need you, professor” against his lips.
His strong hands found your hips, grinding your core against his clothed cock, making your breaths get stuck in your lungs. The both of you were close to snapping, skipping the foreplay just to feel one another, and yet Benedict tried to hold back, not wanting to end your moment together this fast. Your legs quivered, the feeling he pushed through you with the grinding movements left your walls clenching around nothing, forcing a “More, please” out of you.
“Ask for it properly, you know how to be a good girl for me.” Benedict’s teasing words left you whining, eyes fluttering close as he stopped your movements, holding still to patiently wait for you to express your every need.
“Want your cock, fuck, need you inside of me.” A growl was forced out of Benedict, flipping you around once again, panties forced down your legs before your mind could even begin to catch up with his movements. With your body fully exposed to him, you were lying beneath him, staring up at him with lust-blown pupils and your teeth buried in your lower lip. His big hand found your core, brushing his fingers through your folds, moaning as he felt your wetness. You were dripping for him, body showing him how much you needed his touch, how desperate you were for him, for his fingers, for his cock.
His soft fingers circled your pulsing bundle of nerves, forcing your back to arch and your hands to fist the fabric of the blanket you were laying on. Benedict found himself obsessing over your sounds, hoping that he’d get to coax them out of you for endless nights to come, very well aware that he’d never be able to part from you and your bond again.
“Oh fuck, don’t stop.” He had pushed two fingers into your tightness, curling them against your swollen spot. Both of you knew that he was teasing you, fucking you all too slow, wanting to prolong the moment for as long as possible. Curses rolled off your tongue, forcing one of your hands to find his forearm, nails clawed into his skin, set on leaving marks he’d have to hide for the next few days.
“So desperate for me, so pretty, I knew you’d be perfect for me.” His praises left your skin growing warmer, eyes unable to meet his intense gaze. You felt your orgasm growing closer, wanting to let go, giving room to the intense sensation you were aching for. But just a second before you could give in with his name rolling off your tongue, Benedict let go of you.
Your eyes snapped open, staring at him with parted lips and furrowed eyebrows, a moment of confusion passed as you watched him reach for his wallet, pulling out a silvery foil packet. His eyes searched yours as he pulled his cock free, boxers left on the ground next to your panties; you couldn’t pay any attention to the fabric, eyes wandering down his naked frame, taking in the sight of his hard cock. His tip was flushed red, length twitching in his grasp, close to combusting.
“Are you sure about this? We can always stop.” Benedict was once again towering over you, not daring to move as he stared down at you. With one hand, you pulled him down to you, lips finding his as you murmured a soft “Fuck me”. Skilled fingers rolled the condom down his cock, aligning himself with your entrance before he slowly pushed into you. The both of you had to halt for a moment, eyes squeezed shut to take in the new feeling, adjusting to the tightness of your walls to the size of his cock.
“Move, please.” Your command was met with a groan, building a slow rhythm that took a few thrusts for you to get used to. The moans that tried to claw through you were held back by your pressed-together lips, not wanting to give your loud sounds enough room to reverberate through the thin four walls you were surrounded by, something Benedict easily picked up on.
“Don’t hold back, let me hear you, love.” The use of the nickname broke the dam, allowing your sounds to rumble through you. Your nails left marks down his back, scratching at his skin in a desperate try to hold onto him. His hips met yours with every thrust, forcing himself deeper into you, needing to etch this every moment into your mind. “You’re doing so well, my pretty girl.”
The second his tip met your swollen spot, you choked on your gasps, letting go of a high-pitched “Oh god”, very well knowing that you’d cum all too soon. Benedict’s smile began to widen as he picked up on your desperation, fingers finding their way back to your clit. You gripped his shoulders as your orgasm began to rock through you, filling your every pore, overtaking your whole body.
Benedict fucked you through your high, getting lost in your pleasure and drunken features, feeling his own high filling his body. He gave it a few more thrusts before he came, holding still as his cum filled the condom.
…
The rest of the week was spent between conferences, lingering touches, and long nights of fucking. Benedict could barely keep his hands away from you when you were in public. His eyes were always searching for you when you weren’t by his side. His hands perpetually on your waist as the two of you made small talk with other academics. Sometimes you couldn't make it until the night, sneaking into an empty hallway, a bathroom, back to your room. He was addicted to you, and you could barely believe all your dreams had finally come true.
It was safe to say your grading sessions were never the same again. They mostly occurred in his house now, and they included dinner and a couple of fucking-breaks. They weren’t as efficient but significantly more fun.
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