[ There are certain times that Benedict curses his keen senses. When he's standing next to someone who hasn't showered in a few days. When a garbage truck drives by. When a dog farts on the other side of the room.
And, apparently, when his very dear friend stands only a few feet away from him with water trickling down her neck to slide along the cut of her collar bones, lovingly tracing the curves and planes of her body.
He doesn't let himself stare, he's not rude, but even that brief glimpse feels seared into his brain. For gods' sake, he needs to pull himself together already. ]
You're fine. [ He may have to clear his throat a little, but once that's taken care of, he rallies. He can be normal about this. It's fine. He's just... picking out clothes for his fake girlfriend. ] That carpet's seen worse than a little water, don't worry.
[ Faced with the realization that he's going to have to pick out underwear for her, Benedict swallows and stares at the dresser their clothes had been unpacked into with trepidation. He knows he's being ridiculous. It's just clothing, everyone wears is, and it shouldn't feel like he's invading her privacy at all. She asked him to, for one thing, and for another, they're going to have to play act at being very close this entire weekend just to get his family off his back.
Steeling himself, telling himself to stop being such a little bitch about this, he walks over to the dresser and goes searching. Ignoring the fact that their clothes have been unpacked into the same drawers, he pulls out what he hopes are comfortable undergarments — don't think about how that plum-colored lace might look stretching across her hips, Benedict — and a nice dark-wash pair of jeans, as well as a pretty blouse with a neckline he knows will flatter her. Figuring she could pick out anything else she might want, he stacks those items on top of each other and goes over to the bathroom.
Knocking briefly on the door, he slowly opens it and sticks his hand through, holding out her clothes to her while remaining safely on the other side of the door. ] Here you go, Katie. Hope these are okay...
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And, apparently, when his very dear friend stands only a few feet away from him with water trickling down her neck to slide along the cut of her collar bones, lovingly tracing the curves and planes of her body.
He doesn't let himself stare, he's not rude, but even that brief glimpse feels seared into his brain. For gods' sake, he needs to pull himself together already. ]
You're fine. [ He may have to clear his throat a little, but once that's taken care of, he rallies. He can be normal about this. It's fine. He's just... picking out clothes for his fake girlfriend. ] That carpet's seen worse than a little water, don't worry.
[ Faced with the realization that he's going to have to pick out underwear for her, Benedict swallows and stares at the dresser their clothes had been unpacked into with trepidation. He knows he's being ridiculous. It's just clothing, everyone wears is, and it shouldn't feel like he's invading her privacy at all. She asked him to, for one thing, and for another, they're going to have to play act at being very close this entire weekend just to get his family off his back.
Steeling himself, telling himself to stop being such a little bitch about this, he walks over to the dresser and goes searching. Ignoring the fact that their clothes have been unpacked into the same drawers, he pulls out what he hopes are comfortable undergarments — don't think about how that plum-colored lace might look stretching across her hips, Benedict — and a nice dark-wash pair of jeans, as well as a pretty blouse with a neckline he knows will flatter her. Figuring she could pick out anything else she might want, he stacks those items on top of each other and goes over to the bathroom.
Knocking briefly on the door, he slowly opens it and sticks his hand through, holding out her clothes to her while remaining safely on the other side of the door. ] Here you go, Katie. Hope these are okay...