Benedict Cumberbatch Imagines

Staying in

You watch out the window as the rain pours down the glass and sigh.

It was supposed to be a rare night out with your husband. You had a dinner reservation and tickets to see a Broadway show. However, it looks like this storm is going to spoil your evening.

"Has the rain stopped yet love?"

Ben comes in the bedroom behind you, having obviously just been in the shower. His locks are long and curly, exaggerated by his damp state, and little droplets of water drip onto his shoulders. He's already wearing a fresh t-shirt and jogging bottoms so its clear he knows the answer to his question.

"Nope. Looks like we're staying in after all."

He hears the disappointment in your voice and comes to sit beside you in the window seat. It had been a busy month, with both of you working like crazy and this was going to be a fun, relaxing night to let off steam. You nestle into him, hoping for a cuddle but he quickly springs up to stand in front of you.

"Okay. You stay here and get dressed up. I've had an idea! Oh and don't come downstairs until I tell you to!"

His face is bright and animated and you cant help but smile at the sight. However, you are not going out in this storm. Its much too dangerous.

"Ben. Look. Lets just cancel. We can't drive in this weather and we'll be soaked to the skin if we even set foot outside the house."

"Just trust me. Now hurry up and get dressed. I'll call you downstairs in a minute"

"But you're not even dressed yourse...."

He's out the room before you can even question him on his plans. Well, whatever. If he thinks he's found a way to play God and avoid the storm, who are you to stop him? You pull on your dress, wriggle into your tights and slip on some heels before heading over to the mirror. You pause when you hear a muffled beeping from downstairs but decide to obey Ben's instructions and just focus on getting ready. After all, if you keep hesitating you'll never make it to dinner on time. It takes less than 15 minutes to pull your hair into a neat chignon and complete your make-up.

"I'm ready! Can I come downstairs now?"

"Almost. Just a sec... Yes! Come on!"

You make your way downstairs slowly and find Ben waiting at the bottom, a teatowel tucked over his arm like a waiter and your reading glasses on the edge of his nose.

"Mademoiselle. If you'd like to come this way."

He speaks in a French accent and you laugh at his childish eagerness. So this is what he was up to. He holds out his arm for you to take and leads you into the dining room. There is a candle gently flickering in the middle of the table and a piece of paper in front of your usual seat. Benedict pulls out your chair and you sit down, picking it up. In your husbands messy script, it reads:

Tonight's Menu

Spaghetti a la Benedict

Wine a la Benedict

Ice Cream a la Ben n Jerry's

You grin at him watching you smugly.

"Is this alright for you Madame?"

"Yes. Absolutely lovely. But I was on a date. Do you have any idea where he might be?"

"I'll bring you the main course and I'm sure he'll be here shortly"

He sashays out the room and you hear him chuckling to himself. A moment later he returns with two steaming plates of spaghetti, clearly he's microwaved them straight from the tin. Just the way you like it.

"I think your date has arrived," he says setting the plates down and whipping off your glasses.

"Sorry I'm late. Do you know there's a storm outside?" Ben's voice is now his own and he sits down opposite you.

"Well at least you're here now. I've had to put up with a terrible waiter, the service here is horrible! I think this has been in the microwave!"

You laugh as he pulls his best offended face and slips the glasses back on. He walks over to you and tilts your head, leans down and his lips meet yours.

Ben kisses you, long and slow, pulling you up from the chair and holding you close to him. You wrap your arms round his neck and his hands tighten on your waist. He breaks away and you look at him, confused.

"Is this service better for you Madame?"

"Definitely"