You've been working in the National Theatre as a junior make-up artist for less than a month when they announce Frankenstein. Your favourite novel. With excitement jumping in your bones every day you watch every single auditionee that passes through the doors, watch Danny Boyle rubbing his eyes with his hand, sighing with soft frustration as yet another typical rendition of Frankenstein groans and moans their way through the script, watch his eyes twinkle as Johnny walks onto the stage the picture, perfect Victor Frankenstein, him practically running up to embrace the man as he walks off the stage.

You overhear Nick and Danny's conversations in between the auditions, about alternating the two main leads and Nicks gasp of excitement as he realizes what a brilliant exciting prospect this is. Then he walks in, and he shines- dare you say it, even more so than Johnny did. You mouth gapes open ever so slightly, as you would continue to do every single time he does this since winning the coveted roles.

You begin to notice the smallest things about him- the way his eyes seem to gleam the brightest blue when the light hits them in just the right way, that deep resounding chuckle as after one of many rehearsals he falls to the floor pulling Johnny down with him leaving them a tittering heap on the floor. The more serious moments, another fall when during one of the rehearsals when you're standing backstage watching the creature being born his leg twists beneath him. He falls painfully to the floor, a small yelp escaping his lips as his body crashes into the hard floor.

You're first to him kneeling beside him- you basic first age training coming into play, manipulating him into a sitting position, pressing his heel against the palm of your hand. His face is flushed and his eyes carefully watching you- as you keep your eyes on his bruised limb. Soon, more people arrive on the stage and you're swallowed by the crowd as they fuss over their leading man.

And then the play opens- the performances begin. You're allowed to sit in on some of them, and you're just as transfixed as the first time you watched him. Sometimes- particularly when Danny awards the crew with prized front row seats and he crawls over towards you, you see his eyes linger on you for a moment. You later pass it off as a trick of the lighting, but his eyes infiltrate your dreams watching you in the darkness so that you wake up flustered and sweating.

It's coming towards the end of the run when the unthinkable happens- during rehearsals mere hours before that night's show, the chief make-up artist goes into labour, a month early. At first you're extremely worried about your mentor and the health of her child but after a calming reassuring phone call, ensuring that both her and her baby was fine, realisation sets in. Even though she'd managed to get him made up before the performance- it would fall onto you to get it off him.

You spend the whole time jittering pacing in his dressing room- occasionally twiddling with the make-up removal solution, making double-y sure that you have enough cotton buds, spilling said make- up remover and having to run to the store room to grab one- or maybe three bottles and even more cotton buds just as applause thunders from the theatre.

"Shit- shit- SHIT!" you whisper pushing past the hundreds of people that are running flustered through the thin corridors backstage, no longer caring about airs and graces. You thank your lucky stars that this play is a standing ovation guarantee and the applause continues as you slam the door of the dressing room shut, leaning heavily against the wooden frame, you chest rising and falling and your face flushed. You catch sight of yourself in the mirror and ponder the irony that a make-up artist isn't wearing any make-up herself. You're still pondering this as you've settled on the couch and within 5 minutes he walks in.

"Oh" he breathes, his eyes meeting yours, his face still marred with the tacky prosthetics that you have the job of removing, flushed and sweating from the stage lighting and demanding performance. His face falls slightly in confusion.

"Where's Anne?" he asks. You realize that your staring up at him like some obsessed fan- which in a way you kind of are.

"At the hospital- she went into labour." you say softly, twiddling a stray cotton bud between your fingers. He lets out that breathe of an "oh" again.

"I'm sorry- but you are?" he says slowly, with an air of "and what are you doing in my dressing room?" to it. You say you name, this time looking up to meet his eyes. He tilts his head at you, eyeing you suspiciously.

"Her assistant??" you continue and his face softens.

"Right- so I suppose your here to- urrr" his voice trails off as he begins to stare at the floor.

"Yes- I'm here to remove- well that." you vaguely gesture to him and the make-up and prosthetics. A stony, awkward silence fills the room and you both don't dare to meet the others eyes.

"Unless- you're planning on going home like that." you say- a thought that your mouth deemed appropriate to voice. You immediately kick yourself as his eyes shoot up from the floor and fix on you. And then- his face cracks into a smile and that same chuckle you heard all those months ago escapes his full- cupids bowed lips.

"Fair enough" he says- his deep, chocolaty voice juddering from his laughter. With that he closes the door, clicking the lock shut and walking to the chair. He sits lightly in it, noticing that you've frozen to your seat, staring intently at the now locked door.

"People tend to just- walk in if I don't. I've been caught in various stages of undress by many people, so I lock." He says, the smile on his lips widening as you flush again. Gingerly you get to your feet- eyeing the shower in the corner of the room. It appears that Benedict unlike Johnny actually listened to Anne's warnings about not showering with the prosthetics on.

Standing in front of him you frown looking for the joins in the make-up pieces. The problem with removing the work of someone as good as Anne is exactly this- the joins are practically bloody non-existent!

Eventually you notice one- a tiny imperfection that to normal eyes would not be obvious but shit- the placing is defiantly not ideal.

"If- um... If you could take your trousers off" you mutter, keeping your eyes on the join and away from his face.

"Suree..." he says slowly, twitching himself out of the article of clothing. You continue to stare at the join on his leg, and feel you cheeks flush brilliant red as his trousers fall past your eye line.

Reaching for the first of what is sure to be many cotton buds; you dip it into the remover and gently reach towards him. You begin with simply by sliding the bud under the edge of the prosthetic, feeling slightly guilty as he winces at the contact with the cold contact of the liquid on his skin.

Annoyingly the solution doesn't seem to want to do its job and it seems that you're going to have to use more of it. You relay this to Benedict and he sighs.

"Are you getting your own back for me making you cry the other night?" he says softly after a few moments silence. Your eyes shoot upwards and you thank god that he's found time somewhere in between the birth and first scene to put some underwear on.

He smiling down at you and your mind casts back to Benedict's last performance as the creature two nights ago. Anne had let you go early and you'd snuck to see the second half, standing backstage right near where the Creature and Victor have their moment where the Creature thinks he has died. It had been another one of those times where you could have sworn that Benedict had been looking at you for a moment, as he turned to look backstage. Tears had been streaming down your face for a moment, and you had been sobbing quietly into your hand. His eyes had met yours for a split second before he turned back to the audience to continue to the scene. Once again you put it down to a lighting trick but it appeared not.

"Ah" you chuckle, looking back at the prosthetic. "Now you weren't meant to see that" you say, a smile on your lips. A laugh that shakes his whole body is your response, causing you to lightly hold his leg still.

"And you weren't meant to be standing there watching" he chides back. You look up at him and tilt your head.

"Fine- I will let you go home like this." you say, miming getting to your feet. He laughs again and you sink back to the floor. You purse your lips, gently pulling at the first piece of latex- it finally begins to pull away. You punch the air in triumph.

"Right we're away" you say to him. He laughs again, eyes twinkling.

"I felt bad seeing you cry. Do you always cry at that scene?" he whispers, suddenly serious. You suddenly realize that he has defiantly been watching you, watching him. You nod in response, very aware of his eyes on you.

"Yes" you finally manage to say, gently removing the final edge of the first prosthetic. Pulling a seat towards him, you move to the one on his arm, holding the muscled limb tight in your hand as you gingerly test how strongly it was stuck on. "It's the desperation of the Creature, the idea that after all Victor has done to him, destroying the only chance of love that he may have and all that the Creature has done to Victor, no matter what atrocious things he may have done to him and his family- there is a still a part of the Creature that craves love from the man who created him, even if he knows he will never see him the same way again. It's heartbreaking. And- and, you play him so beautifully... I won't ever not, cry at you playing him" you finish, your voice soft. You look up, looking him dead in the eye. He's looking at you, eyes warm and tender.

"Thank you- that, that means a lot" he says quietly. You smile, nodding your head and turning back to your work. There is silence for a moment.

"You were wasted back-stage you know..." he says, breaking the silence. You frown up at him, your fingers working without you looking.

"What do you mean?" you ask.

"Well, they say that the most passionate people make the best actors and actresses, you're certainly passionate and I suppose- ummm- rather- attractive?" he stammers, clearing his throat. You laugh allowing you body to shake.

"No- I don't think so. Some people are made for the stage- yourself for example, me?? Not so much." you whisper gently, choosing to ignore his slightly awkward secondary comment, although your heart is now racing, thundering in your ears.

You reach for the third and biggest piece of latex, your fingers twitching as you move against his pulse point. He gulps under your touch, your finger cold from the liquid. You look up at him apologetically.

"You're going to have to remove your shirt" you whisper. He nods, pulling the costume piece carefully over his head, to ensure he doesn't tear the latex beneath. Your mind gasps when your mouth can't, and you gently run your fingers along the makeup line on his stomach and chest- feeling his sharp breath in as you fingers touch his skin.

"It's nearly off anyway. "You mutter, feeling the barely tacky glue beneath your fingertips. Gently you begin to pull the material, running your hand against his skin to prise any remaining glue away from his chest. He quivers against your touch and watches you as you do this up to his neck.

He audibly gasps as your fingers touch his neck again as you pull the final piece off. Your about to apologize for cold hands again when you realize they look he is giving you. His eyes are dark; the blue in them almost disappearing into complete blackness- it's the look of desire and lust. You sneak a look downwards feigning a cough- yep, defiantly turned on. You get flustered nearly ripping the piece as you pull it from his neck. You turn placing it in the pile that Anne always leaves on Benedict's dressing table, and hear him shuffle in his seat.

"I am- so- sorry" his voice comes, strained. You turn and meet his eyes.

"It's fine- it happens all the time." You say kindly. It doesn't and he knows it as well as you. You notice a piece of glue still attached to his foot. Kneeling slightly down and grabbing the spirit gum remover you smooth a thin layer onto the blob of glue. Something makes you ask this.

"How's the ankle?" He frowns for a moment before realization crosses his features.

"That's how I..." he trails off, shaking his head.

"You were that girl after the fall in rehearsals." He nods. "I knew I recognized you from somewhere, its fine thank you"

"Well- I'm sure Danny appreciated it, couldn't have had one of his main actors crippled days before the show opened." You say gently. The glue comes up and you get to your feet, finally focusing on the bald cap that covered his ginger curls. It comes away quickly, the prosthetic coming away with it. You now want to get away from the man's probing eyes and beautifully confused and guilty expression.

He catches your hand as you go to start packing up. You look up at his tall looming form- naked bar his trousers which he'd replaced in the last 5 minutes, biting your lip as he stares down at you.

"I- I meant to thank you afterwards, but I couldn't find you." He whispers gently. I was chastised for interrupting the "performance" by Anne and had been sent home for the rest of the week as a punishment, I had nearly cried, Anne a kind and just mentor had been utterly furious with me that first time. I stay silent but simply nod.

"Thank you" he says. That same desired expression had appeared in his eyes once more. With no more than a smile as a warning, his mouth slams to yours.

You whimper clutching his face in your hands, as his tongue moves into your mouth. All your breath is released in one whoosh and you're not quite sure if you're dizzy from the lack of air or the kiss. As abruptly as he kissed you he pulls away, a look of shock in his face.

"I- I- am so sorry" he stammers, holding a hand over his lips. You stand still for a moment, watching him begin to panic.

"I-I-I don't know what came over me. I just had to-"he's cut of as you walk slowly towards him, place a finger on his lips and go up on your tiptoes to reach his mouth. Your lips meet, and he groans into your mouth, his arms snaking round your back, pulling you close against his naked chest. Your hands move to his hair and you thread your fingers through them, gasping when he decides to let you take a breath. His mouth begins to move down, brushing my hair away from my shoulder with his fingers before replacing them with his mouth, kissing the skin there softly, varying the pressure to deadly effect. Soon you're gasping, you pulse jumping and going wild, and his hands travel to your shirt. It's up and over your head in a heartbeat, your bra swiftly follows.

His mouth continues its journey nuzzling against your chest- against the hollow of your collar bone, blowing hot air into it. You whine, wanting more, your fingers now fumbling at the cords of his trousers. He sharply moves up, a devilish glint in his eyes. Picking you up as though you weigh nothing he kisses you gently as your legs wrap themselves around his stomach, pushing your skirt up to your thighs and pressing his skin against your core. You groan at the contact, your head falling backwards, you mouth opening to a gasp.

He looks at you as if you're the most beautiful thing ever created and carries you towards the shower. It starts automatically, sending a waterfall of hot water into your faces, causing you both to titter dirtily. He sets you down on the tiled floor, falling to his knees in front of you, before pulling your skirt and panties away.

He slid a hand up your leg, spreading your thighs, his fingers just touching you. You gasp, your knees buckling, the only thing stopping you thundering to the floor his other hand and arm around your waist. You sink to the tiled floor slowly, coming into his eye-line.

Softly his fingers take grasp of your leg, draping one of them over his shoulder. A hot, wet , shower enhanced kiss is placed on your inner thigh causing you to shudder with pleasure.

"Oh god" you whine as he moves away. He chuckles again, breathing his breath into your core- it takes all of your control not too well... lose control then and there. Slowly he places, long hot kisses up your leg, going from ankle to inner thigh. He pauses for a moment and finally takes you into his mouth.

You hand slaps against the wet white tiles behind you as you cry out, his name is somewhere in the incoherent mess of words and curses escaping your lips. Your hands thread into his wet hair once more, gripping tightly, indicating the moments where he hits just the right spot, to which he will immediately return and pay attention to.

Just as you are on the verge, those fingers that have transfixed you throughout the plays run, move into play, moving them into your hot core as he mouth moves to the spot above your centre. You arch into him, pulling his fingers deeper into you, he complies, thrusting deeper. Your breath becomes ragged, your eyelids flutter and suddenly you're coming around him.

You scream his name, you head throwing it backwards, your eyes flying shut. After what seems like an age, it subsides and your left breathless, lying naked against the tiles. His head begins to move up your stomach, moving up to your breasts, suckling on your nipples for a short amount of time and back to your flushed face.

His lips meets yours in a bruising kiss, making your heart speed up in anticipation once more. He positions his body over yours, pressing you into the flat tiles, so that your body is spread directly on the floor. Your body arches up to his and your hips unexpectedly brush against his. A groan escapes his parted lips, brushing into your mouth through your locked position, echoing your own sigh that passes into his.

"God- just- please" you stammer against his mouth. He needed no more coercion and pushed into your warm folds, filling you up. You gasp and moan as he pumps into you- his eyes screwed shut in passion. You hips move with his and eventually you feel your core stirring once more. Another groan turns into a gasp and then a moan as you feel your muscles clench around him, you head falls back and you cry out into the night. Benedict follows you over the edge, calling your name softly and burrowing his face into your neck and squeezing his eyes shut as he comes into you.

You stay locked together for a moment, both breathily heavily, both flushed and red. Your eyes meet and he smiles at you.

"You try telling me you're not beautiful now" he whispered, placing a gentle kiss on you lips. You move upwards, moving him deeper into you. He smirks against your lips and you feel him stir inside you. He drags you to your feet and wraps your legs around your waist once more. His lips move to your cheek.

"Round Two" he growls in your ear. You're in no fit state to argue.