Work Text:
The sunlight peeking through your blinds gently awakens you from a lovely dream. You check your phone, not quite fully awake, and rubbing the sleep from your eyes. It's dawn on Saturday morning, and you have nothing important planned today. You sigh contentedly and smile to yourself, completely at peace with the world, and wrapped in the perfect temperature and comfort of your bed.
As you snuggle back down under your comforter and start to shut your eyes again, you hear a soft snore behind you. You come to a sudden realization; someone is in your bed with you.
You hadn’t noticed before, in your state of having just woken up, but a set of long limbs are wrapped around you. A pair of legs, lean and distinctively male, are entwined with yours, arms half-hazardly thrown over your shoulder, and a warm chest is pressed against your back. You freeze, as the man behind you (SPOONING you, for god’s sake) makes a sleepy noise that sounds suspiciously like a whimper and tries to hold you tighter, his nose burying into your hair. You carefully turn yourself over in his arms to your other side to get a good look at who it is, and stifle a gasp. Benedict Cumberbatch is in your bed, obviously asleep, trying to cuddle with you.
His curls, strawberry blonde and practically glowing in the sunlight that is now streaming through your window, are tangled and disheveled from sleep, and a look of tranquility is on his magnificent visage. At your movement, however, his eyes slowly open, revealing those heart-stopping, multi-colored irises. A warm smile crosses his face, and you find those perfectly sculpted lips planting a sweet, chaste kiss to the tip of your nose.
“Morning, love,” he says in his rumbling baritone, made even deeper by sleepiness. “Shall I make you breakfast in bed?”