Work Text:
Benedict has been lurking on the staircase leading to the bedrooms in Aubrey Hall for far too long. Several lady’s maids had raised question eyebrows at him as they’d scurried by, but it still hadn’t deterred him. After what he and his soon-to-be wife had already gone through, the idea of impropriety was not enough to sway him.
The angry ladies of his families, however, indeed were. When he had grasped Sophie’s hand in his, eagerly pulling her towards the stairs so they could spend their last night together before they were husband and wife, Francesca and Hyacinth had arose in a chorus of shouts. They had insisted that it was bad luck to see the lady before the wedding and that if they continued as planned, their marriage would be cursed. Benedict failed to see how his and Sophie’s luck could have gotten any worse than it already had been, but Sophie had just smiled warmly at him and let Kate drag her away.
And now it had been twelve hours since he had seen her and Benedict thought he might actually lose his mind. He’d spent two years waiting for her, falling in and out of the beds of men and women across the Ton and feeling nothing but emptiness. It had been pleasurable, but miserable. There was only so much space in his heart a meaningless romp in the sheets could fill when he spent nearly every waking hour thinking about The Lady in Silver.
And then he met Sophie and for the first time, thoughts of the lady from the ball didn’t plague his every waking moment. Surely she didn’t have a heart as kind as Sophie, or a spirit as bright or a brain as clever. But his heart had still been torn between the two, the past and the future, until they had all clicked together into the most perfect person he could have ever hoped to dream of.
Sophie would soon be his, as he was hers, in the eyes of society and God himself. But his family had made quite sure it would be hours of torture before he could see her again. He’d already been bathed and dressed for the day, his cravat tied and his shoes polished. And now here he was: lurking. Benedict sighs heavily, his mind made up and his feet leading him up the stairs. He’ll be damned if he lets superstition and his sisters keep him from seeing Sophie for a minute longer.
When he gets to the landing, it’s easy to spot the door that leads to the rooms that Sophie is preparing in. Outside of the large door is Eloise, reading a book as she clearly stands guard.
“Benedict, you should know better,” she tuts, her eyes never once leaving the pages in front of her.
“Eloise, I know very well that you care even less about this whole ‘no-seeing-the-bride’ ordeal than I do. In fact,” he grins in satisfaction as he creeps closer. “You probably despise it, seeing how rooted in the belief of a lesser sex it is.”
She rolls her eyes at his attempt to placate her. “I’d much rather be standing anywhere else than here, but if you think you’re going to be able to sneak past Mama, Kate, Francesca, and Anthony, then you’re even more daft than I thought.”
“Anthony?” Benedict blanches at the mention of his older brother’s name. What on Earth is Anthony doing in Sophie’s room?
“Would you relax, Benedict?” his brother chastises as he emerges from the room, clearly having overhead the commotion outside. Eloise quickly flees as her spot is filled by the Viscount. “I wasn’t attempting to seduce her away from you, you dolt. I was giving Sophie a gift.”
“A gift?”
“A gift,” Anthony confirms. “You gave my bride her something blue. I thought it was only appropriate that I did the same for yours.”
Benedict’s heart softens and he allows his older brother to wrap an arm around his shoulder and lead him down the hall. They end up in Anthony’s study here at Aubrey Hall and he sinks into a leather chair. Anthony smiles at him, obviously amused at his brother’s predicament.
“Can you really not control yourself for three more hours?”
Benedict raises an eyebrow at that, memories of Anthony weaponizing his title as best man to convince his little brother to help him sneak into Kate’s chambers and, as he put it, “make himself scarce before he hears something he should not.” Anthony is clearly able to read his mind and flushes as he grabs a book from the nearest shelf.
“Point taken,” he mutters, tossing the novel to Benedict. The spine reads Pride and Prejudice and he lets out a groan as he sees what his brother has given to him.
“Oh, hush you,” Anthony scolds. “Kate says it’s quite romantic. I hear even Eloise enjoyed it. Perhaps busying yourself with the romantic lives of another couple will distract you from your own.”
The Viscount gives him a gentle pat on the head before heading out of the office once more. He turns on his heel in the threshold, turning to Benedict with a mischievous glint in his eye that his younger brother hasn’t seen since the last Bridgerton game of Pall Mall.
“Or if you simply cannot wait until propriety allows, Kate, Francesca, and Mother will be heading to the gardens in roughly thirty minutes to bother the florists about the flower placements. I believe Hyacinth has been instructed to guard the door,” Anthony grins. “And we all know that she’s the easiest sibling to crack.”
Benedict toils in the office, alternating between staring at his pocket watch and the words of Jane Austen. After what seems like hours, it was finally the time of the supposed switch-out. He watches from his spot in the doorway as his mother, Kate, and Francesca bustle down the stairs, Francesca and Violet murmuring about tulips while Kate waves goodbye to who he assumed was Hyacinth.
Sure enough, as he turns into the hallway, he’s greeted with the sight of his youngest sibling sitting on a lounge in front of Sophie’s door, flipping through a book in a beautiful pink dress.
“Well, hello dear sister of mine!”
Hyacinth groans, snapping her book shut with a thump. “They warned me about you.” Her eyes narrow as Benedict takes a spot next to her. “I’m not supposed to let you in under any circumstances, Benedict!”
“Hyacinth, I thought you believed in love! It’s just like Romeo and Juliet!”
Hyacinth blinks. “Benedict,” she says slowly, as if she’s talking to a child. “Romeo and Juliet both die in the end.”
“Yes, I know that,” Benedict states simply.
“Benedict.” Another slow drawl. “Are you implying that you’re going to go drink poison if I don’t let you go see Sophie?”
He grins. “If I say yes, will you let me in?”
Hyacinth shakes her head, rising to her feet and gesturing for him to do the same. “If I agree to let you enter, you better promise not to tell Mama!”
Benedict nods solemnly, starting to nudge the lounge with his leg when his little sister bursts out with a loud “And!”
“And?”
“You let me win the next game of Pall Mall,” Hyacinth says, a glint in her eyes. For the first time, Benedict realizes how much his little sister is growing up to be like Anthony. How terrifying.
“Yes, fine! Now scatter!” he exclaims, placing a kiss on her head and opening the bedroom door.
And there Sophie was.
She turns quickly as the door shuts, her eyes lighting up as she sees Benedict enter. His breath disappears as he looks at her. Her black hair has been piled into an elegant updo of jewels and blue flowers, which he lovingly recognizes as Anthony’s gift. Her wedding dress is an A-line and the cream fabric covers Sophie’s curves perfectly. It pleats at the top before it cinches in below her bust and flows out into a train, a pattern of flowers and butterflies embroidered in a line down the front. Matching gloves reach up to her elbows and it reminds him so much of the ones he pulled off of her fingers the first time he met her at that ball that he thinks he might simply lose consciousness.
Sophie runs the short distance into his arms and lets him wrap himself around her. His large frame towers over her, but it makes her feel nothing but safe and loved. His hands start to wander from her upper back down to the base of her spine before wrapping around her hips, pulling her tighter to him. Soft lips start to press against her cheeks, her nose, down her neck.
“Benedict!” she laughs. “Someone will hear!”
A crooked grin spreads across his face as he looks at her through his lashes and it sends butterflies flying in Sophie’s belly. Benedict’s just so beautiful, it makes her dizzy sometimes.
“You’re impossible, you know that?”
“Impossibly in love with you,” Benedict retorts with a wiggle of his eyebrows.
He’s being ridiculous, but it’s sexy how easy and light it is and before she can think through what she's doing, Sophie’s kissing him square on the month. A soft groan escapes Benedict from the force of their connection and then it’s her turn to gasp when he walks her backwards until her back collides with her dresser.
“Benedict,” she murmurs into his mouth.
He pulls away from her reluctantly, staring down at her blown-open pupils and kiss-swollen mouth. “Tell me what you need, love,” Benedict murmurs, desperate to hear her say it.
“You. All I need is you.”
He’s on his knees before her in an instant, sliding the skirts of her wedding dress up until Sophie is clutching them against her chest and her legs are finally exposed to him. Benedict spreads them open, a low moan escaping him as she’s finally bared to him.
He’s desperate to get his mouth on her, but he wants to stretch the moment for as long as he can. He settles for sucking at her inner thigh with his teeth, pulling at the soft flesh until Sophie squeaks and it reddens, before soothing it with the flat of his tongue. Benedict follows a path up each thigh, pleasure shooting down his spine as he admires the colors of his marks against his intended’s fair skin.
“Ben, please,” Sophie murmurs, her fingers tangling in his hair as she tugs him closer to her center. Her hips are rocking in a slow back and forth that matches the heavy rise and fall of her chest. Benedict watches in adoration as her pleasure takes over. It isn’t until Sophie gives a sharp tug to the strands of hair in her grasp that he bends down closer to her core, spreading her thighs further apart so he can fit himself between them.
“Oh, Sophie,” Benedict whispers as he drags his thumb from her entrance to her clit, pressing against it in firm circles. He’s practiced with her pleasure now, knows exactly what it takes to build her up and break her down, and that’s how she knows that he’s planning on riding this out for as long as he can get it.
He waits until she’s adjusted to the bare minimum he’s giving her, rocking her hips into his thumb to get the most amount of pressure out of it that she possibly can, before he sinks a finger down to the last knuckle in her. Benedict grinds wickedly as Sophie shrieks, her mouth dropping open in shock as he starts to work her open.
Benedict slides another finger in, his breath coming out in hot pants against her center. It quickly starts to overwhelm him - the heady smell of her arousal, the soft moans escaping her throat, the way she pulls at him whenever he hits the perfect spot inside of her - and before he can think, he’s wrapping his lips around her clit and sucking hard.
Sophie shrieks, throwing a hand behind her back to steady herself as he begins to devour her. The combination of his fingers hitting the spot inside of her that makes her see stars and the suction of Benedict’s teeth pulling at her clit is making her legs frantically shake. It’s too much and yet she needs more, needs everything he can possibly give her.
As if he can hear her spiraling thoughts, Benedict uses his free hand to yank her closer to him, his fingers sinking in another inch as he attempts to hold her waist still against the dresser. He’s staring up at her, watching as a flush creeps up her chest, her neck, her cheeks. Sophie’s once-perfect updo is starting to come undone and curls of perfect black hair are sticking to her forehead as her head moves from side to side.
He wants her to look at him, needs her to meet his gaze and take it in that he’s the one doing this to her, her soon-to-be husband pulling her right to the edge. Benedict taps at her upper thigh and Sophie lets out another thick moan before she wrenches her eyes open and brings them down to his.
“Ben, please…” she trails off, the hungry look in his eyes sending sparks up her spine just as much as the drag of her center across his face is. He knows what she needs, what she’s begging him for, and carefully works another finger into her, pumping them in and out of her at a quickened pace.
It’s like a light switch flips in her body and Sophie screams, the room around her falling away as pleasure spreads throughout her body, consuming her wholly. Benedict works her through it, his mouth easing pressure and his fingers slowing, easing her down bit by bit until he leans back on his legs and rubs his palms gently back and forth across Sophie’s legs.
When she settles back into her body, she’s quick to react, tugging him back to his feet as she pulls his lips down to meet hers. Sophie’s still gripping onto his head and she uses it to direct him where she wants him, holding him steady as she devours his mouth until she’s had her full.
Sophie pushes him back a step and Benedict’s head spins as she leads him. He loves when she gets like this, when her one-track mind has stuck to her own pleasure and what she needs from him to get it. Her small hands slide down his chest, skipping the buttons keeping his dress shirt together and instead going straight for his pants.
He’s straining against them, hard as he’s ever been from spending time on his knees before her. Sophie starts palming him through the fabric and his vision starts to grow blurry as arousal builds at his spine.
So blurry he hears Kate before he sees her, her angry shriek of “Benedict Bridgerton!” making the blood completely drain from his body. Sophie giggles at the quick reaction to the intrusion, the evidence of his arousal dying just as quickly as it had come. Benedict fumbles quickly with her skirts, trying to yank them back down before Kate sees anything she shouldn’t.
He’s aware that he looks positively wrecked when he turns to face his sister, but it makes him feel better knowing that Sophie’s most definitely worse off. Kate’s eyebrows are raised dramatically, her hands crossed over her chest as she glares at Benedict as if she had just caught him streaking across the front lawn.
“Benedict, I believe I specifically told you several times that you had no business entering this room.”
Benedict pouts in fake hurt, rocking back on his heels. “But Sophie wanted me to come in! And wouldn’t I be a positively horrid husband if I denied my wife her wishes?”
Sophie laughs brightly, her face peeking out from behind Benedict’s shoulder. Her lips are twisted into a smile and her cheeks are rosy, joy radiating from every pore. Kate’s expression softens at the sight, the way Benedict stands protectively in front of her and Sophie preens from behind. It reminds her of the love she shares with Anthony. She remembers what it was like during the two years Benedict spent without Sophie: the vacant look on his face, the way he would show up drunk at their door in the midst of the mornings, the whispers in Whistledown about the numerous men and women he had been spending his nights with. He had been chasing the feelings of utter devotion he had had with Sophie that night at the ball and now that he had her again, it was clear he was trying to make up for lost time.
Kate truly couldn’t care one way or the other if Benedict and Sophie spent the hours before their wedding tumbling around in bed together (heaven knows her and Anthony had had their own tryst), but as the lady of the house, she felt the responsibility to uphold the wishes of the other ladies who ran around the halls… or perhaps she simply refused to admit defeat to her brother, of all people.
“Well, she’s not your wife yet, so you best run along before someone less lenient than I catches wind of your indiscretions.” Kate’s face is stern, but the corners of her lips are tilted up in a smile.
Benedict flashes her a crooked grin, turning to place a chaste kiss on Sophie’s cheek before moving to give one to Kate. He pauses before he can make contact, the distinct gasp from his intended making him freeze with the reminder of where his lips have just been. He expects Kate to look scandalized, but instead she just shakes her head in fond irritation.
“Thank you, Lady Bridgerton,” Benedict murmurs as he practically floats out of the room.
“I’ll see you at the altar!” Sophie calls out behind him.
He turns to face her one last time, smiling as he takes in her flushed skin adorned in her wedding dress. In two hours, she will be his wife. And he supposes if he must, he can wait. Because for Sophie, Benedict knows he would wait forever.