Benedict rolled over onto his back for what seemed like the millionth time that night, his hair flopping onto the pillow underneath his head. It was so annoyingly hot out that night and the tall actor was lying there in simple pants, the sheets and covers kicked off onto the floor. On top of that, images were flashing through his head of absolutely everything in the universe. Everything from the book he's most recently read to the newest Sherlock script to the last time he had sex. Which was another thing on his ever racing mind. It had seemed like forever since he had a woman share his bed, and he wanted children. How frustrating. The soft lips and hair and yielding body under his… His temperature was increasing just a little bit as he rolled over onto his side, wanting little Benedict to subside. But his body and mind were already too far ahead. He buried his face into his pillow, letting out an annoyed sigh before rolling onto his back once again. His hand drifted downwards lightly, running a finger underneath the elastic of his waistband. He pushed them down slowly, lifting it over his hardening shaft and allowing them to pool around his ankles, bending his legs slightly to get purchase on the mattress and sheet below him. His hand snaked around his erection, fingers dancing lightly up and down the shaft. His hips arched into his hand as he let out a short moan, cutting it off and pressing his head into the pillow. Oh, it felt so brilliant. He rarely allowed himself this pleasure, finding it easier to simply ignore it, like Sherlock. He liked sex, but preferred it with a woman instead of his own hand. This felt… childish, almost, and he felt so much better with a woman. His hand danced again, pushing up into his palm lightly as he began to move up and down at a quicker pace. It was hot and humid, not exactly the greatest weather to be aroused in. Sweat made a faint sheen on his chest, glinting in the moonlight streaming through the open window and creating a bar of light that fell across parts of his body. He arched up into his hand more, his hand moving fast up and down, twisting at the head each time. He bit his bottom lip lightly, panting as he felt the heat build in his stomach as his mind began racing again. To women he had seen before, to women he imagined. To his perfect wife, so beautiful and imperfect at the same time that she was perfect. With the image of what he wanted in his wife, he came over his stomach and his chest, coming to a slow halt, his chest rising and falling. His free hand untangled from the sheet, running through his hair to push it back. It didn't feel the same as slender fingers carding through the sensitive curls at all. Sighing, Benedict stood from his bed slowly, stepping out of his pants and heading to the bathroom to clean himself up before trying to get some sleep.