The Further Adventures Of The CumberBooty Crew (fic) Chapter 2

It took four attempts to convince the girls that I had, in fact, just had a conversation with Benedict not James, and another two retellings of the whole conversation before it finally sank in that we were all off to London to walk up the red carpet as invited guests at a major film premiere! As we were talking about it, my phone beeped. I had a text…
Sorry Lesley, forgot to say Karon will text you from this number tonight. Bx
I grinned and then told the others I had just received a text from him, to which much squealing followed. I managed to calm them down enough to get their home addresses and contact details, since I assumed that was why Karon would be texting. The conversation then turned to what in god’s name we could wear for such an important occasion…none of us owned anything remotely fitting for a red carpet. Looked like a shopping expedition would have to be factored in to the trip. This led to long conversations about what would and would not be suitable, how would we all afford it (the general consensus was that we’d sell family members if necessary!) and how excited we all were at seeing the film and meeting Ben again. This kept us more than occupied for a few hours, and then the text tone on my phone alerted me again. I told the girls I was off for a while to answer it, then picked up my phone and read the text. As I thought, it was from Karon.
Hi Lesley, it’s Karon. This might be easier if I rang you. Would that be alright?
She was right, it would be easier, so I texted back Of course. Anytime then sat back to wait. I didn’t have to wait long.
“Hello Lesley, its Karon. How are you? Gotten over the shock yet?” she laughed.
“Hi Karon. I’m fine, still can’t believe it’s happening, to be honest. And that Benedict called me. Still grinning about that.”
“You know this is all his idea, don’t you? To invite you all to the premiere. He cooked the whole thing up with James to find you all after seeing the final edit of the film. He’s quite fond of you, you know. Calls you ‘The Crew’ … You all impressed him very much. You impressed me, too. You were respectful, enthusiastic, friendly and not at all pushy or rude. In short, fans to be proud of, as Benedict says.” Karon said.
I was completely thrown. HIS idea…yet he had said the producers had wanted us to be there. This made it even more special, and I said this to Karon.
“He told me that the producer had decided we should be there. I’m even more flattered now than I was before. The girls will be thrilled by the fact he calls us that. Tell him thanks from us all, will you please Karon?”
“ Of course. Now, we’d best start making the arrangements for travelling, and booking you all into an hotel for a couple of nights. I’ll be doing all of the planning and booking, so if I give you my email address, you can send me everyone’s home addresses, and I’ll have your travel documents sent to you, along with your itinerary. We’ve got some fun stuff and some surprises planned for you, and you’ll have a fantastic time.”
Karon gave me her email address and I gave her mine, then we said goodbye. I sat and thought how unreal this all felt, then I grinned.
We were going to London, to a film premiere. And that thought had me smiling for the rest of the evening as I told the Crew about what was to happen.

Fast forward a month or so, and we were only a couple of days away from the premiere, excitedly packing for the trip. We had talked of almost nothing else for the last week, and couldn’t wait for tomorrow, to begin what was to be the trip of a lifetime. We were to be met individually by Karon, and escorted to our accommodation. In the evening we would be having dinner in an exclusive and very expensive restaurant before drinks at an exclusive club; the following morning was earmarked for shopping on Bond Street and Regent Street, before being pampered in a spa, having our hair and make-up done professionally, then back to dress and wait for our limousine to arrive for the big event.
The journey to London was uneventful, messages flying back and forth as we chatted excitedly, looking forward tom seeing each other again. It had been a while since we had all met up, and we had so much to catch up on. The sun was shining as I arrived at Kings Cross, and as I got off the train (First Class travel has much to commend it) I saw Karon behind the barrier and waved. She grinned and waved back. Within minutes, I was sitting in a sumptuous Jaguar car, being driven by a uniformed chauffeur. We headed across London, chatting all the while, until we pulled up outside a very smart house opposite Hampstead Heath. I looked quizzically at Karon, who smiled and said
“Benedict thought you’d be more comfortable here than in an hotel, so the house is yours for your time here. The same goes for Simon, your driver. If you want to go anywhere, just text him, his number is on this card, and he’ll take you wherever you want to go. Come on, I’ll show you around the house, then I’m off to meet the next one of your lot. You get to see it first, since you are the first to arrive.”
To say I was gobsmacked by the house would be an understatement. It had everything you could think of, and a few more things besides. Huge living room, perfectly and beautifully furnished, large bedrooms with en-suite bathrooms, a kitchen to die for and a luxury bathroom that was bigger than my whole flat. It actually had a whirlpool tub big enough for all of us at once! Once I had stopped gasping at every room, Karon handed me a set of keys, told me to go and explore once I had made myself a coffee (looked like my coffee addiction was common knowledge!) and to make myself at home. I did…I opened every cupboard, drawer and door, just to see what secrets the house held, so that by the time we were all together, lounging on the huge sofas, chairs and the deepest fluffiest rug I had ever seen, it had begun to feel like I belonged there.
Dinner was fabulous, we were treated like celebrities at the restaurant. We spent the evening giggling and celeb-spotting whilst having the most perfect meal, then we were off to the exclusive club Karon had mentioned earlier. She had neglected to mention, however, just who we were to be having drinks with! Upon arrival, a beautifully attired man showed us into a large room filled with comfortable chairs, arranged around large coffee tables. A couple of people were sat at one of these tables, and as we were ushered in, one of them turned, raised a hand in greeting, and grinned at us.
“Good evening ladies. Welcome to the Grosvenor Club. Come and join us.”
It was Benedict, looking hugely pleased with himself, and his companion turned to face us. James, his co-conspirator, who was laughing. They had planned this, too.
It was an incredible night; full of conversation, drinking, more conversation, laughing, more drinking, the occasional cigarette, and as the night wore on I kind of forgot who Benedict was. He was being completely relaxed in our company, as if we were friends who had known each other a long time, not a group of his fans. He was letting us see his true self, and I for one felt privileged and honoured by this complete trust he had in us. Now he wasn’t a huge star who graced television and cinema screens…he was just Ben. A very interesting bloke, who was good fun to be with, wasn’t afraid to take the piss out of himself, and delighted in embarrassing us with some rather risqué tales. I think I loved him more for that than anything else, and when he began to tell James about being a porn star in my story about him I almost choked on my drink, especially when he described, in extremely fine detail, one of the filthier scenes I had written.
“She writes porn, James. Porn. With me as the star! It’s very good porn, too” he laughed, winking at me. “ You should read it sometime.”
I couldn’t let him get away with that, could I? Porn, indeed!
“Excuse me! Erotic fiction, if you don’t mind!” I laughed, embarrassed but rather proud of the fact he seemed to have read it more than once, unless he had total recall of anything he read. Read it, and liked it. We all roared with laughter as he raised his middle finger at me, and in the distance Big Ben struck 3am. We all needed to get at least a few hours’ sleep as Ben regretfully said, so cars were called for, hugs were exchanged, and a still-laughing group left the club. On the steps outside, before clambering into the car with James, he said he had really enjoyed our evening, and would see us tomorrow, before blowing us all kisses and making his hands into a heart. We blew kisses back and repeated the gesture, which had him laughing as we waved goodbye. As his car pulled away, our limo pulled up and Simon opened the door for us all to climb in. The whole way back to the house we laughed about the evening we had just had, and were still laughing as we headed off to bed to grab a couple of hours much-needed sleep.

Tomorrow would be an incredible day…and none of us had any inkling just how incredible it would be!


The Further Adventures Of The CumberBooty Crew (chapter 1)

The Further Adventures Of The CumberBooty Crew

Hello again, dear reader. You may remember our last meeting, when I told you the story of how a certain Mr Cumberbatch met The CumberBooty Crew for the first time. You do? Oh good. Then perhaps you’d like to hear about the second meeting?
You’d love that?
You’d better pull up a comfy chair, then, and make yourself comfortable.
Well, it was almost a year from the infamous night at the strip bar, and life had carried on as normal with the girls; late-night Twitter conversations that almost always ended up with at least a few memories of that night, and the following day. And that was good, it had been an amazing night, with the next day being beyond anything they could have dreamed of. They would have spent the rest of their lives being happy and reliving it. Until one incredible day, something happened to change all that.
They each got a personal message on Twitter. A cryptic message, asking them if they were part of The CumberBooty Crew, and to text a telephone number if they were. This generated much suspicion among them…could it be the press, looking for a new Cumberbatch story? It wasn’t until it was pointed out that the message had come from a well-known personal friend of Benedict’s (James) that their curiosity was stirred.
It was decided that one of them would text the number and see what it was all about. That task fell to me, and I duly texted the given number (after mistyping said number a few times due to shaking) then sat back to await a reply.
It didn’t take long. A short text message said Your phone will ring. Answer it with your name. And don’t squeal like a banshee. I’d rather like to keep my hearing intact.
Staring incredulously at the screen of my phone, I wondered why James was going to call me. The sound of my favourite song, Happy, filled the room as my phone rang, and I jumped as I recognised the unfamiliar number I had just received a text from.
Answering it with a shaky voice and very shaky legs, I said
“ Hi, this is Lesley.”
I almost collapsed when I heard the deep smooth voice on the other end.
It wasn’t James.
“ Hello Lesley. It’s Benedict. It’s very nice to speak to you again.”
Him. It was HIM! The man we all dreamed about, drooled over…and had watched strip almost a year ago. I squeaked. Actually squeaked! Then, completely involuntarily, (my mouth having overtaken my brain at this point) said
“Oh holy FUCK!” followed by me slapping my hand over my mouth, to hopefully stop any more articulate gems escaping.
The sound of gentle laughing penetrated my fogged brain, and I realised he was laughing at me. I thought I had better apologise for my crudity and profanity.
“Oh Lord. Sorry. Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know why I did. Sorry.” Now I was babbling like a lunatic, sweating and shaking, panicking in case I had offended the one person in the whole world I would love to meet again. Loud laughter followed this. Seemed I had amused him quite a bit.
“ It sounds like you have a case of mouth operating without permission from your brain. It’s good to know I have a fellow sufferer, Lesley. Happens to me a lot too. And there is absolutely no need for you to be sorry, you know. It’s actually one of my favourite words. So descriptive, don’t you think?” He paused for breath, and I chuckled this time. “Now you’re laughing at me. It’s because I’m rambling, isn’t it…no, never mind. I know I am, and it’s my turn to apologise. Sorry. You’ll want to know why this is happening, I expect…” he said. I could imagine him grinning, because he sounded like he was. That mental image did nothing to alleviate my tension, I can tell you!
“Well…well yes. I do. Not that I don’t appreciate the conversation, Ben, but there has to be a reason for all of this. There is, isn’t there?” I clapped my hand across my mouth again. I had just called him Ben. I always did in my imaginary conversations with him…now it had leaked out. “I’ve done it again, haven’t I? Sorry…”
I was expecting him to castigate me for being over-familiar, so when he chuckled quietly and almost growled, “ Oh, it’s Ben now, is it? You must know me pretty well to call me that…although, judging by what I’ve read, I think you know me very well indeed.” At this point I was on the verge of a heart attack. Read? READ? The penny dropped. Oh shit shitShit! He’d been reading my writing. My smutty writing. About HIM! Now my brain and mouth connected and speech became possible again.
“Oh God. I’m so sorry. So so sorry. I won’t do it again. I promise I won’t. Ever. I’ll delete it all. I didn’t mean..”
He interrupted my grovelling apology.
“Didn’t I just say you had no need to apologise? Don’t apologise for this, either. It was quite an…interesting read, and frankly I’m rather flattered, if a little embarrassed by it. I have to say you do have a rather creative imagination, and a very descriptive way with words. So don’t go deleting it all. Anyway, you haven’t finished it yet and I’d like to find out just what happens to Kate and I.”
Again, I found myself at a loss for words. He must have realised this, because he continued speaking.
“As to why this is happening, you were present at the filming of a certain scene for this film I have coming out soon…in fact you ladies were an integral part of that scene. There is more footage of your appreciation of my stage act than there is of me actually on that stage, so the producers and I thought you deserved to be invited to the premiere since you feature prominently. The problem we then had was finding you, and it wasn’t until my good friend James realised he had conversed a few times with you on Twitter that we had our answer. I set him to work tracing you and we came up with our mysterious little messages. We knew you’d be curious…what we hadn’t counted on was you being wary, too. Why were you? He asked, curiosity filling his voice.
“ Isn’t it obvious?” I replied “We weren’t sure if it was the press, looking for any sensationalist stuff they could lay their hands on about you. It wasn’t until we realised the messages had actually come from James, that we knew they were genuine and not just some sleazy tabloid journalist looking for a quick fix. That’s why it took a while for us to reply. We were deciding whether or not it was him.”
I spoke earnestly here, wanting to convince him after my earlier faux pas that we would protect him at all costs because we loved him. It must have carried through to him, because he replied
“Really? So if it had been a tabloid hack, you would have turned him away? Told him nothing?”
“Of course we would!” I said, stressing the point. “Of course!”
He paused, and I heard him mutter to someone but couldn’t make out what was said. He then took a deep breath in and spoke to me again.
“ Well. You have no idea how that makes me feel. But I will tank you all individually when I see you at the premiere. You are going to come, aren’t you?” He was grinning again…I could hear it. Did he think we would miss this opportunity of a lifetime? Not. Bloody. Likely!
“Oh yes please, thank you very much!” I said, almost in one breath, which made him laugh loudly.
“Right, that’s settled then. Karon will call you to get addresses and such, and arrange for you all to get to London, accommodation, and so forth. And I, Miss Snowdon, will see you all on the red carpet. It’s been a pleasure to speak to you, it really has. Thank you for making me laugh!” he said.
“No, thank you for not making me delete my writing. It may be rude, but I am rather proud of it. And it has been an extraordinary conversation, thank you, sir. Bye. See you there.”
“Bye Lesley. Say Hi to the rest of the CumberBooty Crew for me.” And with that he hung up.
I sat for almost an hour just staring at my phone. I had just had a conversation with the most gorgeous and talented man on the planet. And he wanted us – US – to be at the premiere of his latest film! The sound I made would have made dogs run for cover!
Now I had to tell the rest of the Crew. The world had better prepare to be deafened!

Khan Do It All Night (fic) (adult)

Khan do it all night
“I am better.”
“At what?”
Khan now had to prove the truth of his words.
And he had. Quite satisfactorily, thought Carol, as she stumbled from the room, completely exhausted, thoroughly rumpled and more than a bit uncomfortable in certain places. She was also spattered in bite marks – he was definitely a savage in bed…and she knew she’d be back for more.
She had only intended to talk to him, to find out more about this genetically-manipulated being who was vastly superior in both strength and intellect, but the moment she entered the room he had skewered her with those blade-sharp eyes and she knew she was about to find out just how much better he was. It was not something she had planned on, but looking at him, it was not something she was going to refuse, either. He was beautiful, this man; tall and muscular with an air of barely-held control that she found dangerous and exciting.
In short, she wanted him. Desperately. She couldn’t explain this sudden urgent feeling that was surging through her veins…she only knew she was compelled to act upon it. She raised her hand to touch his face; gasping when he grabbed it tightly and dragged her to the corner where they could not be easily seen. He grabbed her other wrist and roughly pulled it above her head to join its twin, the look in his eyes and on his face reducing her to breathing heavily in the silence, as his strength held her in place. Lowering his head, he ravages her mouth, leaving her lips bruised and bleeding by the ferocity and savagery of it, and her mind is blown by the need she sees in his eyes.
He pushes her hard against the wall, growling his need for her low in his chest, the rumble vibrating through her, making her gasp as the wall digs into her back. He is so close to her now that she can see every pore of his skin…she shivers unconsciously as her body reacts to him in a way as old as Time itself, his stronger than normal pheromones caressing her already befuddled brain. His nostrils flare as he picks up the scent of her arousal, and his cool fingers trace up her thighs; almost, but not quite, dragging his nails over her soft flesh until he meets the cotton barrier that keeps him from his prize. He finally traces the thin cotton covering her heat with a long finger…and grins. It is a dark, feral grin. The grin of a being so sure of himself that he cannot help it. A primal, animalistic grin. She is so wet for him the thin cotton is soaked with her juices, and he raises the digit, sucks it into his mouth, laving it with his tongue, suffusing his senses with her taste, his eyes now completely dilated with arousal so that all that is visible is a turquoise ring around pupils that are as black as night.
In the blink of an eye, he reaches under the short skirt, grasps the thin cotton barrier and rips it from her body, before freeing himself; the coldness of his zipper contrasting sharply with the heat emanating from her flushed skin. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, before taking himself in hand, positioning himself at her now dripping core. With a grunt, he sheathes himself fully inside her before pounding in and out, pushing her up the wall and off her feet. His teeth find the soft skin at the junction of her neck and shoulder, and he bites. Hard. The breathy screams she makes only serve to fuel his lust, break his tight control and spur him on to completion. His teeth are used again and again, marking her as he takes possession of her body, marking her as his. He snarls as he feels his balls tighten painfully…then he’s yelling as he comes, as his orgasm races through his body.
He does not know, or care, if she has followed him. It does not matter. This time. Or the next. Or the one after that. By then, she is almost limp with exertion, and he briefly wonders if he should take pity on her…but he is not that kind of man, and he dismissed the thought. He has 300 years of cold dark sleep to make up for, and she is a willing participant, it seems.
Hours later, he is still aroused, but this human woman can take no more, so he quickly brings her to orgasm with his mouth, and allows her to leave. He is smiling as she leaves, but it is not a nice smile, a tender smile. Not the tender smile of a lover.
It is the smile of a crocodile that has sight of its prey.
She will be back.
He smiles all the following day, terrifying all those who see him.

The Painted Lady (Sherlock fic Adult) Chapter 2

Chapter 2
Mycroft Holmes sat completely still behind his desk, hands steepled in front of him, waiting for the mobile phone sitting on his leather blotter to ring. He had been waiting patiently for almost half an hour, but now his patience was wearing thin. If things had gone to plan, (and they usually did; Mycroft would not tolerate failure in any way) then Sherlock would be ringing him any second. If not, then he could probably expect a visit from his little brother at some point during the next half hour. The muted ringing and buzzing of his phone interrupted his musings. It seemed his little idea had worked. He let it ring a few times, then answered cooly’
“What can I do for you, brother dear?”
“Who was she, Mycroft? And why must I ask you what this is all about? She said very little…but then she didn’t have to. I know she works for you…”
Mycroft sighed. Sometimes Sherlock really was stupid. He couldn’t see that he was being lured into something…only that Mycroft was behind it.
“Oh Sherlock! I know as little about her as you do. And before you ask, yes, I do know her name; no, I can’t tell you why she came to you for help. You must find out for yourself who she is and what she wants you to do for her. I am bound by the Official Secrets Act in respect of certain persons and events, you now that. She come under that jurisdiction therefore I am unable to give out any information regarding her or her circumstances. Go and do what you usually do, dear brother.” Mycroft was just about to hang up on Sherlock when he had a sudden thought.
“Sherlock. Just don’t cause any trouble, or involve me in any way. I know nothing of your endeavours in this matter.” With that parting shot, he ended the call and put his phone back on his desk in front him. He smirked.
John and Mary would be pleased with how mysterious he was being.

Sherlock sighed impatiently. Mycroft had been his usual forthcoming and charming self, and given him absolutely nothing he could work on. Resorting to brotherly loathing and sarcasm now…you really are bored. He sat in his armchair, staring at the wall, not noticing Mrs Hudson bringing him a cup of tea and chattering about her conversation with a lovely young lady she had met earlier in the café downstairs when she popped in to borrow some milk to save her going to the corner shop, since she and the Indian man who owned it had fallen out with each other two days ago and she didn’t want to see him just yet. It was just as she was leaving, after noticing that Sherlock was completely ignoring her, that he did, in fact, notice her: more accurately, what she had said penetrated his brain and set alarm bells ringing.
“The woman. What did she look like? What did you talk about? Come on Mrs Hudson, its important!” Throwing himself out of his chair, he bounded over to Mrs Hudson, grabbed her by the elbow and steered her to sit on the sofa, before standing in front of her impatiently. He stalked about the room as she wittered on, filtering out the useful titbits he needed and discarding most of her chatter. Before she had finished telling him all the conversational details, he again grabbed her elbow, almost pulled her off the sofa and ushered her none-too-gently out of the door.
Now he had something to work on.
He sat at the table, laptop open, typing furiously. She had unwittingly given Mrs Hudson one piece of information she probably shouldn’t. And he would now be able to capitalise on that. He hoped. After a few minutes of discarding pages of internet scandal, he found what he was looking for. A picture of a prominent member of a titled family at a recent opening night in London’s West End. With a female companion who looked very familiar.
Very familiar indeed. Sherlock grinned. Now he knew who he was looking for. Lady Isabella Houghton-Wills. Daughter of a peer of the realm, socialite, and artist of some repute. She was also part of Mycroft’s inner circle of trusted acquaintances, along with her father Lord Richard Houghton-Wills, heir to a brewery fortune and 45th in line to the throne of England.
And he knew exactly where she would be right now.
Picking up his coat, he slipped his arms into the sleeves, put on his blue scarf, and hurried down the stairs, Mrs Hudson’s shout of “Off out dear? Will you be back to eat at all?” only addressing the closing door as he swept through it.
Hailing a taxi and giving his destination as Brown’s Hotel, Albermarle Street, he sat back and quietly watched the skyline change as he headed into Mayfair. He now knew who she was, but still had absolutely no idea what she wanted, or why she had gone to Mycroft in the first place. And that really irritated him, the not knowing. Thankfully she was a creature of habit, and he knew she spent every Friday afternoon at the spa in Brown’s Hotel. Which is why he was heading there; he would confront her and use his deducting talents to see if he could get any further answers. He had his suspicions, of course, but that was all they were. Suspicions. He needed facts.
He was about to get them.
By the bucketful.
And he wouldn’t like what he found out. Not at all.

The Painted Lady (Sherlock fic. Adult)


Sherlock was bored. Excruciatingly bored.

John and Mary weren’t due back from their honeymoon for another two days (and eight hours, since their return flight would, in fact, be delayed by that amount of time because of the imminent uprising that would occur tomorrow in their honeymoon destination; a deduction made easy by the scarcity of news from that part of the world.) He needed to do something; what, he didn’t know.

Flinging himself restlessly out of his chair, he began pacing around the room, one hand impatiently trying to restrain his over-long curls (Time to visit Mycroft’s barber again, he thought absently) and striding over to the window, picked up his violin and bow, glancing out of the window as he did so.
He noticed the small slender figure looking at the front door of 221B, and dismissed her as just another woman looking to confirm a cheating partner. (Not a husband, no wedding ring)

Totally absorbed in the creation of his composition, he didn’t hear the doorbell, or Mrs Hudson announce his visitor.

“Mr Holmes?”
The sound of her voice stopped Sherlock. He had never heard such a smooth musical lilt in a female voice before. Turning quickly, his gaze raked her from hair to shoes before he blinked, and spoke in a voice that didn’t quite sound like his; forced through a throat suddenly dry. “Yes. I will take your case.” He stopped abruptly, having taken himself completely by surprise by accepting her as a client. All he had deduced from his rapid scrutiny of her was that she was around 30, she was a natural brunette, she exercised regularly at a small gym, she was not extravagant in her spending habits since the clothes she was wearing were good pieces but not current trends, and that she had the most piercing blue eyes he had ever seen. And that was not a deduction he expecting. Blinking rapidly, he shook his head slightly to clear it, curls flying waywardly across his forehead, causing the woman now standing only a few feet away from him to make an inexplicable sound. He had the strangest feeling of his life as this sound hit his brain (Butterflies. It’s called butterflies but that’s ridiculous. If your stomach had butterflies in it, they’d be dead because of the hydrochloric acid in there so no movement would be possible) and he absent-mindedly gestured for her to sit as he tried to analyze just why he was reacting this way to her. Unfortunately, due to her proximity, the gesture caused his right hand to brush against her chest, and he felt three things happening simultaneously. His heart rate accelerated rapidly, his face flushed, and most disconcertingly of all, he felt a certain part of his anatomy react quite strongly to all this blood rushing rapidly around his system. Stuttering an apology and quickly sitting down, his brain processed what was happening to him. (Lust. The human body’s chemical reaction to pheromones emitted by the female of the species as a precursor to foreplay and sexual intercourse) He thought he’d better try speech, just to see if it made any sense, and find out why she had come to him.
“Asdkkmbc” he began, before realising he had spoken nonsense, cleared his throat, and tried again. “What do you want from me?”
The young woman had noticed his reaction to her, and grinned inwardly. Mycroft had been right. She was exactly what he needed.
Smiling slightly, she licked her bottom lip, stood, and removed her raincoat. There was nothing underneath it except lightly tanned skin.
Sherlock’s mind was racing, trying to keep up with his body’s reactions to the naked female now approaching his chair. He noticed that according to current fashion, she was perfectly proportioned, that she had previously had her appendix removed, that she had a small mole on the left crest of her hip,and that she was most definitely a natural brunette. By the time this had all filtered through, she had reached him, knelt in front of him, taken his hand and placed it on her left breast, holding it in place with her own.
As the warmth of her breast filled his hand, Sherlock realised what was happening, but knew he was powerless to stop it. He also realised that he really didn’t want to, closed his eyes, giving in to the wonderful sensations she was creating in him. He sighed and began to move his hand, gently squeezing the flesh that fitted perfectly between his palm and his long fingers. Removing her hand from on top of his, she brushed her fingers across his jaw before pushing them into his hair and across his scalp. His reaction to this was gratifying to say the least, his moan of intense pleasure and the lifting of his hips happening almost instantaneously. She capitalized on this distraction and ran her hand down his chest to the waistband of his trousers, grinning as she saw the visible evidence of his arousal. She really was going to enjoy this.
All Sherlock could do now was feel.
Feel her hand push against his arousal, feel her undo the clasp of his trousers, feel her slide his zip slowly down and then her hand slip inside. He jumped as she touched him, then withdrew her hand, and he opened his eyes to find her staring intently at him. He reached out with his free hand and traced her face with his fingertips before curling his hand behind her head and bringing her face close to his; so close that all he could see were her blue eyes, now almost black as the pupils subsumed them.
It was this that broke the dam he had held inside himself for so long; he fastened his mouth to hers, pushing his tongue into her mouth and tasting her, his mind wanting to analyze the taste of smoke and mint and coffee, his body refusing to let him, and he groaned as she reciprocated, flicking her tongue over his teeth and across the roof of his mouth. He pulled her closer, and she over-balanced, breaking the kiss that had gone from exploration to explosion in a heartbeat. Breathing heavily, she pushed upright, grabbed his now-gaping trousers, urging him to lift his hips and he complied rapidly, his relief at being freed from his discomfort turning to anticipation as she lowered her head and took him into her mouth.
Nothing he had ever experienced had prepared him for the intense rush the heat of her mouth gave him, and as she began to move her head, he thought he might actually pass out as all his blood seemed to be headed for his groin. As her tongue swirled around him, he could feel his stomach muscles tighten and he felt an urge to thrust himself into her hot, wet mouth, trying and failing to stop doing just that. Instinct took over; the primeval urge to take her and fuck her until she screamed became his only goal. He wanted her not to stop, but he also wanted to be inside her. The choice was not his to make: she was controlling this, she was doing exactly what she wanted with him, and he decided that was going to stop. It was his turn now. And although new to it, he knew what to do.
Grasping her arms, he pulled her up so that he slipped from her mouth, (not before she had flicked his tip with the tip of her tongue, causing what felt like an electric shock to flash down his spine,) pulling so that she had no choice but to kneel over him. He was so hard he was aching, grasping her hips and urging her down until he felt himself touching her. Moving one hand, he could not resist the need to touch, to discover her. She was burning hot, and slippery there; his fingers pushing through her curls in an unconcious copy of her earlier actions. His questing fingers found what he was searching for, and he began to rub the nub, feeling it expand and grow, her moans almost background noise to him now as he pushed slowly into her as far as he could, savouring the sensation as she tightened involuntarily around him. He set up a rhythm which rapidly inreased in pace; thrusting into her as he pulled her down on to him, then lifting her until he was almost out of her before pulling her roughly back down. He was pounding in and out of her, the room echoing with groans from both of them, then she stiffened and cried out as she came, the clenching of her walls around him forcing him headlong into his own orgasm, crying out as he felt himself spurt inside her. Trying to catch his breath, he opened his eyes and grinned at her. She grinned back at him, pushed both hands into his hair before pulling him into a searing kiss, then stood gloriously naked before him.
“Bathroom?” she asked, still just a little unsteady on her feet.
“On the left…” Sherlock said breathlessly, still grinning.
As she left the room, Sherlock’s senses were beginning to return to what passed as normal for him. Who was she? What did she want? Who had sent her? He was about to ask these questions as she returned and crossed to pick up her raincoat, but she pre-empted him.
“My name is of no consequence, it isn’t me who is in need of your services…although judging by what just happened I might need to review that statement. I suggest you ask a certain member of the British Government we both know intimately, since he has all the answers”
As she spoke she had pulled on and fastened her coat and headed for the door, only pausing to appreciate the glorious picture he made sitting there, so flushed, bruised-lipped and completely undone. She blew him a kiss, winked at him and left, her heels clicking down the stairs and across the hall, the opening and closing of the door echoing in the sudden silence.
As he heard Mrs Hudson downstairs, he hurriedly tidied himself away, (he knew if she even had a hint of what had just happened, she’d have ammunition against him enough for years). He wasn’t entirely sure what had just transpired, nor why it had, but he was as sure as hell going to find out.
He reached for his phone, and dialled Mycroft’s number.

The Adventures of The Cumberbooty Crew (fic)

We were a little drunk when we decided we’d visit a local bar that occasionally had male strippers performing. None of us had been there before, and all of us being strangers to the area, ( we were attending a convention for fans of a well-known TV series) we’d found the advert for it in the hotel bar and thought we’d get a laugh out of it. As we’d discussed it, the couple sitting at the next table had chuckled, and leaning over, the woman laughed and said “Go there, and you just might get more than you bargained for” before turning back to her companion, muttering something before getting up and leaving rather rapidly.

It’s safe to say we were a little puzzled by her, but as the conversation turned to the logistics of getting there and back, it was quickly forgotten.

If we had been less alcohol befuddled, we might have recognised her…and have been a lot less surprised later on. Easy to say in hindsight, I suppose…anyway, we debated changing out of our convention tshirts before deciding against it as it would waste time. A taxi was ordered, and off we went in search of the evening’s entertainment. The conversation turned increasingly smutty during the course of the journey, which was nothing unusual for us, it almost always developed into a gutter-worthy discourse, and a lot of laughter filled the car on the way. The taxi driver cursed as he was unable to get us close to the club; there was an awful lot of vans around and he couldn’t park, so he dropped us off nearby and we walked the rest of the way, still laughing and talking as we entered the club. None of us noticed the woman from earlier smiling and nodding to the doorman as we entered, and we were ushered through and seated at a front table by a very attractive young man with a clipboard. None of us questioned why he had a clipboard, nor why he brought us drinks without us having ordered any…we were all giggling in expectation at this point, and as the lights dimmed, the murmur in the room quietened down.

Someone called something from the side of the room, we couldn’t quite hear what was said, then a single spotlight was trained on the curtained stage and music started playing as the curtains parted to reveal a tall, dark-haired male figure in a very well-fitting black suit with his back to us. we, of course, cheered and whistled…the back view was very nice indeed, and the suit trousers defined his musculature perfectly. Still with his back to us, he removed the jacket and slung it over one shoulder, revealing a crisp white shirt that also was clinging in all the right places to a beautifully shaped torso. By now, we were itching to see what the front view looked like, and someone behind us called out for him to turn around. He turned his head and looked over his shoulder, to a collective gasp from us.

It couldn’t be???!!!

Couldn’t possibly be!!

And yet, our eyes told us differently. It could…and it was.

Benedict Cumberbatch. The star of the convention we had come to attend.

And he was stripping off right in front of us!

To say we sobered up quickly would be an understatement. We were all doing perfect imitations of a goldfish when a vaguely familiar voice behind us spoke quietly, grinning as she said

“Thought the Cumberbooty Crew would enjoy this…Ben is filming this for another show, and we needed to have proper fans at the front table. You lot fitted the bill perfectly, so enjoy. You’ll be in a show with Benedict. If, of course, you don’t want to be shown, just let me know and I’ll have any footage of you removed. If not…then sit back and enjoy, ladies. By the way, I’m Karon, Benedict’s PR. Nice to meet you all.”

Of course, none of us objected…we’d have been mad to, let’s face it. Him…doing a striptease…right in front of us! if we could have gotten closer to the stage, we would have! He had turned fully by now, and the spotlight made his white shirt almost blinding as we watched him undo his ties, and slowly pull it from under his shirt collar, before grinning and flinging it out into the audience. Since we were at the front, it fell onto our table and we all squealed in delight as he looked straight at us and grinned widely, then winked. I think we all forgot to breathe at that point, and were just recovering from that when he undid his shirt and pulled it out of the waistband of his trousers, revealing his toned and muscular chest and abs. I think we were now hyperventilating, and as the shirt came soaring towards us, it seemed we were to be the recipients of all of his items of clothing. For which we thanked all the gods, the devil, and anyone else we could think of.

His body gleamed in the light, and he flung another grin our way, this one a little more wicked than the last, before undoing the clasp of his trousers and far-too-slowly pulling down the zip. The white band of the top of his underwear was just visible, as was the smattering of hair trailing down into them. None of us were remotely coherent now; we were capable of applause and a few garbled words, but not much else…then that too disappeared as he pulled of the trousers and again flung them to us before moving across to the edge of the stage, and standing right in front of us, bent forward, winked, blew us all a kiss, grinned, and bounded off stage. None of us could speak. Not six feet away from us had been the Cumberbulge, and we were too much in awe to even formulate thought.

We were again approached by the young man with the clipboard and ushered out into a waiting taxi, getting back to the hotel driveway before one of us spoke.

“We did just see that. Didn’t we? I’m not dreaming this, am I?”

In reply, I pulled out a black tie from my handbag.

“We did, and you aren’t dreaming. I have proof.”

We might have woken the whole hotel with our squealing…but we didn’t care!

We dispersed to our rooms, but conversation carried on well into the night, discusiing the merits of certain bits of a certain actor’s body, and continuing over the breakfast table next morning. None of us could quite believe it had happened.

We were still quietly discussing it as we queued for the photo session…and then Karon came over to speak to us.

Apparently, someone has taken his tie the previous evening, and did we know who it could be? How I managed not to blush and look guilty, I have no idea…but it must have worked because she just shrugged, grinned, and left us. By this time we were almost at the front of the queue, and the man himself looked over towards us, grinning hugely and winking before beckoning us all over to him. He hugged each of us in turn, causing gasps from the queue behind us, before saying laughingly,

“Ah. My Cumberbooty Crew. Did you enjoy last night? And which one of you stole my tie?”

I sheepishly gave him his tie, stuttering an apology, blushing fiercely as he hugged me again, kissed my cheek and thanked me with another wink, before quietly promising to embarrass us all at every opportunity that came his way.

Which he did, later, at the meet and greet. We loved every second of it.

And that, dear reader, is the story of how Benedict Cumberbatch met the Cumberbooty Crew.


My musings, fanfic and music appreciation.