Do You Ever Knock?! for Benedict

[L]

Because I'm evil:
9. Pleasuring themselves

tag Benedict Bridgerton

[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

It was late at night and everyone was asleep . . . so Benedict presumed. That, would be his first mistake. For had he the slightest belief that anyone was up, he may have locked his door. But, it was certainly unneeded tonight. He was home at his family's estate, deciding to spend the night here rather than at his own estate or residence in Bloomsbury. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ In fact, most of his time was spent in this particular home. And tonight, that was exactly where he was. No party, no social event. Just . . . home. And in being so, felt that he needed something. Something. With the absence of events and not having found anyone of interest . . . Benedict found himself needing to take matters into his own hands. Literally. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ He lay on his bed, clad in comfortable attire of a shirt and breeches, with the room still lit. His hand started to undo his pants and slipped under the fabric, onto his skin, sliding down to his length. He began to move his hand slowly, closing his eyes as he sunk his head into the comfortable pillow behind him, heavily exhaling as he began. His mind settling on those whom he knew would help the process along. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Swallowing, he worked to fight back any sound, his breathing growing a bit heavier as his hand started to pick up speed . . . stroking his length in what started off in long, drawn out motions but now . . . hastening. Building a steady rhythm and speed as his arousal grew and thickened in his hand. He had to stifle a moan of building need and pleasure, throbbing within the very palm of his hand and knowing that he was close . . . so close to that euphoric release-- that was when the door swung open and Benedict immediately reacted. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ He rolled over on the bed and in the hasty and abrupt movement, fell off of it taking a pillow with him -- fortunately landing on the opposite side that was unable to be viewed from the door. Hitting the ground with a thud, it gave Benedict just barley an extra second to quickly do up his pants as he staggered to his feet, breathless and disheveled and . . . aching. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ He held the pillow, pressing it over his lower region and tried to make the gesture appear as casual as possible. "Daphne!" He exclaimed as he had stumbled to his feet. "What are you doing in here?!" He demanded. He was unsure which was worse: the embarrassment over getting caught -- depending on how much she saw -- or the pain of his inability to finish what he had started. Tag L Note: Better layout coming soon!

                        the rules of society.

[L]

Damn Simon. Damn that man and everything he did to her. Over and over again he had told her he intended to live his life in perpetual bachelordom. And yet, once more he had led her to a fantasy-land, blooming into life like the white rose he had placed in her hand. Perhaps it was her fault. After all, she had asked him about the qualities that made a good pairing, had dared him to go beyond the proprieties of a true suitor and speak his mind.

His words. Oh how they had affected her. She had spent the day feeling them swirl in her mind, begging to be released into the light of day. Or the dark of night, as it were. Something had uncurled inside her as she listened, warming her until she felt aflame. It was any wonder he had not spotted the heat in her cheeks. Now, she felt restless, unable to distract herself with a book or the usually welcome blackness of sleep. So she wandered.

Her feet carried her through the silent halls of their own accord. If she had been asked the route she followed, no answer would have come, so wrapped up was she in the wondering and questions provoked by her handsome rake. No, not hers. But a handsome rake nonetheless. In the distance, she heard a muffled noise and looked around, seeing where she was for the first time. It had not been space that separated her from the cry, but a door. Benedict’s door. Somehow, he was in pain, and she would tend to him and his ailment. It was her way.

She turned the knob and pushed. Later, she would wonder why the thought of knocking had forsaken her. And then she would blame it on the muddle that had earlier overtaken her. Now, her mind was blank. For what she saw was a rather rumpled Benedict, looking very much the picture of health.

“Daphne! What are you doing in here?”

She stared at him for a moment, before her brain recognized the interrogative. Whyever was he grabbing a pillow? And where had that sound come from? Surely he could not have been asleep to be so quick in his response to her entrance.

“I heard a noise, brother, and sought to reassure myself that all was well with you.” She quirked an eyebrow at him, her own question hanging tucked within her words. He would need to explain himself.

tag Benedict Bridgerton

[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

Benedict was uncertain as to which he was more frustrated with, or with whom: himself for not locking the door, or his sister for entering without knocking. He knew that ordinarily such things should most probably be reserved for when he was in his own private home . . . yet it was not as if this had been his first time in his room here. It, merely had been the first time someone had walked in on him. Had he not been so frustrated -- or uncomfortably in pain -- then maybe he would have been touched at his sister's concern. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ But at the moment . . . all he could think of was his unfinished task, and the very strong need for a bath. A very cold bath. "I'm fine," he grumbled, trying to get control of himself. "And since when did you deem it acceptable to enter without knocking?" He further demanded, clear irritation in his voice though it was not raised. Irritation, because well . . . there was a need for him still having to hold a pillow close to his lower body. Oh how calmly she stood there; the perfect contrast of just intense of a state of discomfort he was truly in. Tag L

                        the rules of society.

[L]

Daphne had never considered herself to be a particularly nosy individual; she left those particular inclinations to Eloise and Hyacinth. But her curiosity was truly piqued at the dissonance she found in the scene before her. There stood Benedict, claiming the quality of fine (the generality of the term could be one for a discussion at a more opportune moment) with a tone that bordered on angry and a face resemblant of a thundercloud. Clearly he was lying.

She was not stupid. She knew that her three elder brothers were men grown, entitled to lives with discretion and a certain amount of separation from her own. She knew there were things they chose to keep from her, and she from them. After all, she did not inform them of all words that passed between her and Simon. Still, there was no cause for rudeness in the face of polite and concerned inquiry.

“Pardon me for worrying about your health! Far be it from me to think that you might be anything other than… fine.”

Perhaps if he lowered that dratted pillow and stood straight to face her, his words would have less effect. But his language, both bodily and verbal, evoked such a response that she could barely believe her own rudeness. After all, he had been right in one thing: she was an intruder into his sanctum, and proper decorum warranted a warning knock. She opened her mouth to apologize, then stopped. If he was going to put on an air of frustration, she would match him tit for tat.

tag Benedict Bridgerton

[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

One's sister was enough to lower any man's arousal, but an angry sister allowed his mind to get even more distracted as she stood there telling him off. Yes! Most excellent. Her presence and voice was certainly helping clear him of this . . . situation. Hopefully soon enough so that he may lower his pillow at some point in the near future. "My health is perfectly fine," he managed to get out, slightly clenching his jaw at his still dissatisfied state . . . no matter how much it was waning. It was still bloody uncomfortable. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ He knew that Daphne was far too innocent to understand these things, and a part of him hoped that she never did. Or at least not think back on this conversation and finally understand why he was acting this way. Why he felt the need to hold a pillow at his lower region. "What did you even hear that you claim came from my room?" He asked, wondering if that was even a relevant question. Or rather, whether he truly wanted to know the answer. Surely he'd been quiet. Had he knocked over something? Was she certain it was coming from his room? Perhaps if he just kept her talking -- and annoyed -- it would help his situation considerably. Tag L

                        the rules of society.

[L]

Daphne would never have been able to describe the noise that she had heard, even if she wished to. And she did not. Benedict was being far too frustrating, far too… exasperating for her. If he wanted to keep his secrets, that was his prerogative. She had had it with men and their inability to give a straight answer. First Simon, and now her brother. It was enough to put one off of talking to men altogether.

She took a step towards him, then another, affixing her face with the widest smile she could muster. Three more steps and she had arrived at the edge of the bed. She reached out and grasped the corner of a pillow, never taking her eyes off of her brother. If he wanted to be obstinate and rude and continue to stand there with that damned pillow then she, as his eldest sister, was required to teach him a lesson. And so she, Daphne Bridgerton, threw the cushion at Benedict's head for all the feathers it was worth. It felt so very satisfying to watch it sail through the air towards its target.

tag Benedict Bridgerton

[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

The change in her expression was nothing good. That smile . . . was hardly reassuring. Benedict knew something was coming, but what that something was, he had no idea. When she stepped forward, he took a small step back, needing to maintain the distance between them for good reason. And then, as quick as anything, she grabbed a pillow and hurled it at him. Reflex kicked in and Benedict caught the pillow as it went against his face. This action, causing him to drop the one that he had protectively been holding over himself. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "Damn it, Daphne!" He cursed with annoyance, his voice not raised but clearly agitated. "Have you lost sense." And suddenly, he felt more exposed than ever, distracted by the attacking pillow and realizing, that he had nothing on his lower body, to which he quickly lowered the pillow she had throw at him. It was far less of a . . . casual action. Before, he could nonchalanty hold it but now, it made it as if he was hiding something. With any luck, his body was . . . settling. Still. The embarrassment of being potentially exposed was enough for him to clench his jaw and slightly twist his features in a cringe. Tag L

                        the rules of society.

[L]

She giggled as Benedict scrambled to grab her projectile. His face. It was too precious, she could not help herself. If only he could see himself. He had been so frustrating, and she had only been too willing to return the favor. The laugh traveled up her body, until she found herself bent nearly in two. Each time she looked up, a new fit overtook her. Long moments passed until she found herself able to stand and speak again.

“No, of course not, brother. Of the two of us, I have always been the one with more sense. And that remains true.” He was still there, clutching the pillow that she had lobbed. But he had dropped the one which had first been in his possession, finally allowing her to look at him properly. She cocked her head. His trousers were not merely rumpled, they were… well, the only word she could use to describe the disarray was twisted. But how did articles of clothing manage to contort themselves so?

“What was it that you were doing, brother, to be arranged in such a state? My pillow notwithstanding, obviously.” Really, he had managed to work the fabric so oddly. She did not think she had every seen someone — man or woman — quite so rumpled. Even hanging on the wall in some portrait or other. Simon. Simon had perhaps looked in a somewhat similar form the night of the Vauxhall encounter as she preferred to think of it. Odd.

tag Benedict Bridgerton

[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

Oh her laughter was maddening. It only further agitated the second son, seeing her there so amusement as she burst into laughter, while he remained, attacked and . . . unsatisfied. One day -- he hadn't the slightest idea how -- but one day, he would get back at her for this. Somehow. In some way. Clearly unamused, his eyes narrowed on her as she continued to laugh and laugh and part of him just wanted to grab her arm and push her out of his room. The other part of him -- the more dominating one -- knew that he could not. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "Are you quite finished?" He asked sarcastically, knowing that his . . . state was starting to calm. At least physical indication of it. Emotionally, she had him riled up in an entirely different way. Irritated and lacking any sort of amusement . . . unlike her. Clearly. "If it is sense to barge into one's room without legitimate cause--" For his did not constitute a mysterious sound to count as such. "--Then I question your definition of sense." As if it could not get any worse . . . she had taken notice of his trousers, now directly asking him what he was doing. This, was not so easily answered. He knew he was not the best liar and his behaviour upon her entry prevented him from being able to offer a rather simplistic response. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ On the other hand . . . there was no way in hell he was about to corrupt his sister by explaining the desires of men. That, was never topic he would ever wish to broach with any of his sisters. Eloise asking about the creation of babies was bad enough. Realizing he had just fallen silent for a few moments, his mind tried to come up with a suitable explanation . . . or attempt to divert the subject completely. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "Nothing that you need know about." Perhaps, the most juvenile and ambiguous statement he could have come up with . . . but alas, it was what came out. "Even in all your sense." The last word dripping with sarcasm as he launched the pillow he'd been holding straight at Daphne, his arousal having seemed to subsided. "Why are you even up this late?" Surely, he could change the subject around, though he did not even attempt concern. "Is something troubling you? Other than your apparent concern for my well being," he said, a bit of taunting in his voice and . . . perhaps more sarcasm. Tag L

                        the rules of society.

[L]

Daphne scowled slightly. Well, turnabout was fair play, and if she could tease her brother about his rumpled state, it left her open for a salvo about her wanderings. But how to explain her presence? There were several painful forms of torture (and she knew of them extensively due to her love of English history and the former rulers' love of punishment) that she would have undergone before admitting even a fraction of what was on her mind. She had not intended to be anywhere near another living soul for this very reason.

"I could not sleep, and I thought a midnight stroll might help to clear my mind." It was truth enough, though it barely scratched the surface. "You have been home for such a long while that I merely assumed you to be asleep."

It would likely suit her better to take her musings elsewhere. He was clearly occupied, and even more clearly did not want to speak on that which occupied him. She understood that, even if she did not enjoy that he kept secrets from her. When had everyone in her family become so involved in hiding things? Were they not the most well-knit family in the ton? Or was it simply that she had been too naive to notice before? It was disturbing to think that she had potentially been so unknowing of so many things earlier. Like the topic that still occupied her mind.

"I thought we were friends." She took care not to whine, "Since when do we keep such obvious secrets from each other?" She would never share hers, but maybe she could push him to reveal his.

tag Benedict Bridgerton

[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

Benedict knew this was mostly his fault for not locking the door, and as his body painfully came to terms with the fact that he would find no release . . . the height of annoyance was starting to wane. While still somewhat present, it was not so much on the surface. Especially when she spoke of them being friends. Well, damn. It would always seem that his sisters knew how to tug at his heart, appealing to what would result in the guilt of an older brother. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ But . . . alas, it did seem as if they were all growing up. For Benedict knew that he had more secrets than he cared to admit. His status as second son affording him more . . . liberties and freedoms to go about his business. But in moments such as this when so clearly caught, it was difficult to deny. His body was starting to relax a little as he watched her, while knowing she was trying to get him to divulge his own secrets . . . did not fail to recognize that surely, it goes both ways. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "Even friends have secrets from one another, do they not?" He asked her teasingly, his expression softening a little, a bit of a smile upon his face. "But very well, Daff," he continued. "I may be keeping a secret--" -- Or two, or three -- "But surely, so are you," he playfully accused. "A deal then. Secret for a secret." That was after all, only fair. For he was quite curious about what kept his sister up at his late hour and . . . surely, she had secrets of her own. Tag L

                        the rules of society.

[L]

"Even friends have secrets from one another, do they not?"

Daphne stiffened slightly. She had heard nearly the same words earlier. She, of course, had fought back against the sentiment stridently and prevailed. Only to be left with the answers to her questions circling around her head, consuming her until she could think of little else. Benedict had no way to know her internal turmoil, or did he? Was her struggle not as concealed as she had thought? For here her brother was, implying that she had her very own secret to keep. No, not implying. Stating. She wanted to no part in revealing anything to him. It was embarrassment enough that she could not restrain herself from the thoughts; telling them to another, even her brother, would be almost scandalous.

"I do not know what you mean, brother. I have no secrets to trade. Only restless feet and an inability to achieve a peaceful night's sleep."

She kept her face as innocent as she could. It was not a lie. Truly. It was simply not the full truth. All women kept secrets. Men had no need to know of all the inner workings of a woman's mind, let alone the secrets of her body. But she was nearly certain that Benedict was not referring to those things. How many times must she state that she was simply restless and strolling to work out some excess energy before she attempted to reunite herself with her bed? Would he never believe her?

"By all means, Benedict, if you feel as though you wish to elucidate me into one or another of your secrets, I believe I could find some means of repayment. Even if it is only warm milk to help you sleep." It was a peace offering, an olive branch. She only hoped that he took it as such. She was in no mood to try and dance her way through any more conversation. At the very least, this game of wits that they had been playing had begun to wear her down. Perhaps she would be able to get sleep after all.

tag Benedict Bridgerton

[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

Benedict smiled with amusement and disbelief when she claimed that she had no secrets. Even in a household of 8 brothers and sisters -- some far nosier than others -- Benedict had no doubts that they all had their fair share of secrets. Except perhaps the youngest 2 though their time would surely come. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "I truly doubt that," he told her with a continued smile. "The secrets part that is. I do not doubt your inability to find sleep." Otherwise she would not have come into his room to begin with. Though her next words prevented him from further teasing her about the entire thing as she offered a glass of milk in exchange. "As you are the one sleep eludes, I feel you are perhaps in need of warm milk more than I. If you would like some company while drinking it, I can certainly offer that." He paused for a moment with a bit of a smirk. "Absent any more teasing or mockery from my end," he promised. Tag L

                        the rules of society.

[L]

"Absent any more teasing or mockery from my end." 

"And yet, somehow, I do not believe you." That smirk. None of her brothers could smirk like that while keeping true to a word of no mockery. In truth, she did not mind the ribbing. It came from an easy rapport she had with Benedict though, of course, it was not nearly as good a relationship as she had with Colin. But that could not be helped. He was Benedict and she was Daphne, and between the two of them, there would always exist a gap created by a difference in age. And experience. Yet she loved him all the same. Perhaps it was time to remove all pretense of annoyance and anger from the conversation. After all, she could not stay angry at any member of her family for long, and this whole evening had been a dreadful series of miscommunications. If only she had not been so distracted by a certain pairing of smile and quirked eyebrow.

"Secrets or no, a warm glass of milk does a body and a mind good. And if you divulge even a little of your secrets to your dearest sister, then so much the better." Or mayhap just a tad more teasing would be in order. After all, she had never been one to back down from a verbal sparring with a sibling, highbrow or low. She turned and strode confidently out of the room, leaving him with little choice but to follow her. As she walked through the door, without even turning to face him, she called back, "Coming, brother?"

tag Benedict Bridgerton