comment fic round up post - title prompts edition
The Telling (Parks and Rec, Ben/Leslie, 804 words)
They never say the words.
With Chris's rules about inter-office relationships in place, they are both very careful to not say too much of what they both know they feel. They show it, daily, in dozens of tiny ways, but they never go any further. When Leslie brings Ben a blueberry muffin in the morning even though she doesn't believe in breakfast food that contains fruit, she is saying I was thinking about you, and when Ben leaves Nutri-Yum bars on her desk when she has to stay late, she knows that he means Please take care of yourself since I can't. It's like as if by an unspoken agreement, that saying the words would make it real, and if they made it real, it would be impossible to stop.
They go on this way for months, held in place, neither of them daring more. Both of them wanting it more than they can say.
They go on this way, until finally, Leslie says it.
It's late, and they are still at the office. They're in the conference room, talking about budget projections for the new Observatory, and all Ben does is smile at her, but it's enough. It's too much. "This is silly," Leslie says, and she's never meant words more.
"The projected outlay?" he asks, confusion all over his face. "Because, I know you don't want to hear it but I'm right --"
"No," she says, holding up her hand to ward off whatever wrong numbers he's going to recite next. "This."
"I don't understand," he says, but she can see in his eyes that he does.
She reaches across the table, and covers his hand with hers. She looks at him and he looks back, and she thinks yes, this is it, but then he shakes his head and looks away. He doesn't move his hand.
"Leslie," he says with a sigh, looking more unhappy then she's ever seen him. "We can't. Don't do this."
"We have to do this," she says, tightening her grip on his fingers. "Don't you see? What we can't do is keep pretending that this isn't happening."
"But --" he says, but she shakes her head, cutting him off again.
"No," she says. "We haven't done anything wrong. This isn't wrong."
"It would be, though. I'm in charge of your budget." Ben looks at her, pleads with his eyes. "Leslie --"
She knows she shouldn't say it, that she shouldn't make it worse, but she just can't any longer. "I like you," she says. "I think you like me. I want to be with you. Don't you want that?"
Her question hangs there, sucking up all the air between them until Leslie feels like she can't breathe. Ben just looks at her, misery written all over his face, and she opens her mouth to try to call the words back to fix this, because she was wrong and this is worse, when he finally speaks.
"Yes," he says, so softly that she almost misses it. "Yes," he says again. "Of course I do."
Something twists in her stomach, and she hates herself more than she can say. "But we can't."
He shakes his head. "We can't." He slides his fingers out from under hers, and he stacks his papers together, carefully not looking at her. He stands, and she expects him to go. But he circles the conference table instead, and when he's standing in front of her, he takes her by her elbows and pulls her to her feet. He raises his hand to her face, and brushes her hair back from her cheek. "Don't think," he says, his voice low and rough and just the sound of it sends shocks across her skin, "that I don't spend the majority of my day wanting to do this."
The last word hasn't even sunk in when he kisses her, and it's the kiss that she's wanted for the last nine months, since before she even knew that she wanted it. His lips are soft against hers, and she wonders vaguely if he borrows some disgusting lip gunk from Tom, but he deepens the kiss and she stops thinking about anything but him and this moment. She can't let herself think about anything else, because she doesn't know if it will ever happen again.
It's over too soon and then Ben steps back. He still looks sad.
"Good night," he says.
"Good night," she answers.
He nods his head just once, and circles back around the table to collect his things. She watches him go.
***
In the morning, there is coffee waiting on her desk, and Leslie knows that it means I'm sorry, please don't hate me. She never could.
When she leaves for the day, there's a roast beef sandwich sitting on his desk. She hopes that he feels the same.
see the years that bring rock and tide together (Parks and Rec, April/Andy, 159 words)
Everyone gives them six months. When six months go by and they’re still together, people up their estimates to a year.
And so it goes, and so it goes, until they’re celebrating their fifth wedding anniversary at the Snake Hole Lounge, when someone finally has the audacity asks the question that has been on everyone’s minds for the last five years.
“Just how the fuck do the two of you make it work?”
April frowns and Andy laughs, and neither of them says a word. But Andy touches the inside of April’s wrist, his fingers tapping three times against her skin. It’s such a small thing that no one would notice but the people who know them, and the people who know them know what it means.
It’s an I love you without the words, a silent acknowledgment of the thing that they’re both so sure of that they don’t need to say it out loud.
They know. And that it is enough.
Don't forget me, I beg (Gossip Girl, Serena & Blair (Blair/Dan), 718 words)
When Dan kisses Blair in the middle of her engagement party to Prince Louis, the eyes of the entire Upper East Side (or at least the ones at the party) turn in his direction. All the eyes, that is, except for Serena's.
Serena stares at her best friend and the boy she wanted so badly to love the right way, too shocked to do anything but stare. She'd known, of course, Vanessa had seen to that. But she hadn't know that what it was between Dan and Blair was real.
Looking at them, Serena knows that it is. Looking at them, Serena feels like she's already lost them both.
She leaves the party then and no one notices or tries to stop her. She goes to Chuck because she doesn't know where else she can go where no one will think to loo for her. She doesn't want to be found.
Not now.
***
A week goes by, and then two. Serena has too many missed calls and texts from Blair to even count, but she doesn't answer a single one. She doesn't know what to say. She knows that she doesn't have the right to be mad; Dan wasn't hers anymore and even if he had been, she wouldn't have the right to be angry with Blair for something that Serena did to Blair first.
But not being mad doesn't mean that Serena's not hurt, and that's what she can't forgive. Blair should have told her. Dan should have told her. Serena would have found a way to be happy for them, once she got over how strange and wrong the whole thing seems.
Blair Waldorf and Dan Humphrey.
Serena doesn't know if that will ever seem normal to her.
When two weeks threaten to turn into three, Nate and Eric stage an intervention, teaming up to force her from her hiding place. They drag her to the Waldorf's and stand guard by the elevator, lest she try to bolt without actually talking to Blair. Serena can't really blame them for it, because she spent the entire cab ride there trying to come up with a way to do exactly that.
Blair is waiting at the foot of the stairs, looking perfect as usual, but with her hands knotted together in front of her. It's the only visible sign that she's at all nervous about this.
It makes Serena strangely happy. She thinks that probably means she's not a very good person after all.
"Serena," Blair says. She gestures towards the sofa in front of them. "Sit down. Please."
Serena stays standing, her arms crossed over her chest. "No, I'm fine, thanks. What do you want, Blair?"
Something in Blair's jaw tightens, and Serena can tell that she's gritting her teeth to keep her temper under control. "To apologize," Blair finally manages to say. "I should have told you."
"You should have," Serena says, nodding her head. "Why didn't you?"
"Because I didn't want to admit that anything was going on between us!"
Blair's voice gets higher with every word, and Serena blinks in surprise at what she says. It wasn't the answer she'd been expecting, but it makes a certain amount of Blair-sense. That doesn't mean she's willing to give up thinking that she's in the right.
"Don't you think that's something you could have talked about with your best friend?"
At that, Blair sighs, and Serena sees some of the fight go out of her eyes. "Yes," she says. "If if I wasn't constantly worried that Dan was still in love with you, I might have. But you can't blame me for worrying about that, Serena. It's not fair."
And that, Serena is forced to admit, is true. She sighs and steps further into the room, sitting down on the sofa Blair had pointed to before. She pats the cushion next to her, and Blair crosses the room in an instant. She takes the seat next to Serena and when Serena wraps her arm around Blair, she leans her head against Serena's shoulder.
"You should have told me, B," Serena says. "I wish you had."
"I know," Blair answers, and Serena can feel Blair's head nodding against her arm. "I'm sorry."
That's all Serena needed to hear.
"Okay then," she says, resting her head on top of Blair's. "Now tell me everything."
Only When I Hit The Ground (The Good Wife, Alicia/Will, 686 words)
Alicia ends up at Will's condo without knowing how she got there. She stands outside his door, hand raised, not sure if she can actually knock on his door, not sure if she has the right any longer. She thinks she probably doesn't.
She knocks on his door anyway.
Will answers, still dressed for work, and the surprise on his face is obvious. "Alicia," he says, and it's there in his voice too. "What's wrong? Shouldn't you be --"
"Is Tammy here?" she asks, cutting him off. She doesn't want to hear about where she's supposed to be, she doesn't want to talk at all.
He shakes his head. "No," he says, reaching out to touch her arm. "Alicia, you're scaring --"
She kisses him.
She kisses him, and for one never ending heartbeat, she thinks that he's not going to kiss her back. But then he does, his arms curling around her and drawing her inside his apartment. She presses herself against him, her hands pulling his shirt from his pants, sliding her hands against his skin. She needs this, to feel someone else. She needs to feel something else then the pain that pricks at her every time she closes her eyes.
Will breaks the kiss, his hands cupping her face so that she can't look anywhere but at him. "Hey," he says, breath ragged. She can see in his eyes that he wants this, wants her. She can see in his eyes that he wants to say no.
She shakes her head, bringing her hands up to cover his. She draws them down, puts them on her. Her eyes never leave his. "Please," she says, and she can't hide the desperation in her voice. Even if she could, she doesn't want to. Maybe it took this to drive her here, but she's wanted it for longer than she can remember and if it doesn't happen now she's scared that it never will. If it doesn't happen now, she's afraid that she's gong to break apart into a million pieces and that she'll never be able to put them back together.
Will looks at her for a moment longer, and his jaw tightens, and she thinks that he's going to say no, that he's going to stop this. But he kisses her instead, pushing her jacket off her shoulders to the floor. Her mouth falls open beneath his and he kisses her harder, his hands reaching for her zipper. He draws it down, inch by inch, and his fingers burn against her skin. She fumbles with buttons on his shirt, wanting her hands on him more than she wants to draw her next breath. Her dress falls to the floor and she hears his breath catch. When she looks at him, he's staring at her with an almost reverent look on her face. She loves it. She hates it. She doesn't deserve it.
She kisses him again so that she doesn't have to see it.
They stumble their way to the bedroom, shedding clothes with every step. His shirt falls to the floor, and then her bra. She moans as he kisses her breasts, her hands busy with the zipper on his pants. She pushes them down his hips, and she smiles when she hears him his as she takes him in her hand.
"God," he manages to say, his eyes falling closed. "Now, Alicia, now --"
"Yes," she answers, arching against him when his hand presses between her thighs. "Now."
He's gone for a second, and she hears the tear of a condom. Then he's pressing against her, into her, and it feels so damn good. He looks at her, says her name.
"Will," she answers, her nails raking over his back. "Please."
He moves faster, and she does too, and it's exactly what she wants, exactly what she needs. With every touch, with every kiss, she forgets. Forgetting is all that she wants, forgetting and this to not end.
It has to end. When it does, when all that's left is her and Will, and what they've done between them, that is when she falls apart.
left me in the dark (Bones, Cam/Sweets, 720 words)
It's late when Cam gets home from the Jeffersonian and the last thing she expects is to find Sweets sitting on her front steps. He stands when he sees her coming up the walk, and her feet feel like lead as she makes her way to him. She knows why he's here. She didn't mean for it to be like this.
"He asked you marry him?" Sweets asks, with no preamble whatsoever.
Cam nods, her head heavy. She doesn't look at him. "He did."
"And what did you tell him?" His voice is perfectly controlled, too perfectly controlled, and Cam knows that he is on the edge of unraveling.
She knows, because she's there too, and has been since the day that Paul asked the question that she still doesn't have an answer for. Her head tells her that she's never going to get a better offer and that she can learn to love him. Her heart tells her things she doesn't want to hear, and is too full of the man that she still hasn't' looked at for there to be room for anyone else. She looks now and wishes she hadn't. He wars the not knowing on his face, his still boyish features aged overnight. She doesn't like knowing that she can do this to him. She doesn't like knowing that she'd only have to look in the mirror to know that he's done the same to her.
"I told him I needed time," she says finally, looking away when it gets to be too much. She doesn't see him move towards her, but she feels him take her chin his hand and turn her head back to face him. She sees the wild look in his eyes, and realizes too late when it means.
"You can't marry him," Sweets says, and then is mouth is on hers and it is everything that she wants and knows that she shouldn't all at once. She tugs at his jacket to bring him closer and his hands thread through her hair. Together, they stumble up the steps, never stopping. She fumbles with the lock on the door, his mouth hot against her throat. Her hands shake.
"Just let me --" she says on a shaky breath, and his hands come up to cover hers. They turn the key together.
The door opens.
It closes when he presses her back into it, his hands streaking under her skirt, pushing it up over her hips. She reaches for his belt, her hands clumsy in her haste. She wants to do this now, before she can remember all the reasons why she can't. Then Sweets presses a finger deep inside, and she knows that there will be no more thinking at all.
"God," she says, arching against his hands. She bites at his throat and pulls at his shirt, wanting to feel his skin under her hands. "More, now, more."
He does what she demands and adds another finger, and it's exactly right, just what she wants, what she needs. She gives up on fighting with his buttons and takes him in her hand. Now it's his turn to jerk his hips against her, and she smiles when he groans her name.
"Cam," he says, all breathless and broken, the way he always sounds when she's touching him. She loves the way her name sounds on his lips. "I'm --"
"Now," she says again, stroking faster. There is no question about what she means.
His hands fall away from her as he fumbles for his wallet and then he presses a condom into her hand. "Please," he says, his hands streaking over her again, tugging down the neckline of her dress, his mouth following his hands. She rolls the condom on with shaky hands, the feeling of his mouth on her skin too good for them to be anything but. When she's finished, she wraps a leg around his hip, and he takes this as his sign.
It's fast and it's over too soon, both of them chasing things that they've denied themselves for too long. When she comes, it's with his name on her lips, and when he follows moments later, he says her name like it's a prayer. Maybe it is.
In the morning, Cam tells Paul that she can't be his wife.
wear out our souls in subtle schemes (The Good Wife, Cary & Peter, 359 words)
Cary meets the new State's Attorney the day after the election, when Peter comes in to shake hands and pretend like he's not about to fire half the staff. He knows that all the other A.S.A.'s are gathered in the hall, waiting for their chance to beg for their jobs.
He stays in his office. There is work to be done, and he knows there is value in setting yourself apart, in being different. It's a lesson that Cary learned from Peter's wife.
And sure enough, an hour later, there's a knock on his half-open door. Peter doesn't wait for an answer, just pushes the door open wider, thought he doesn't come in. "You must be Cary," Peter says easily, in a way that's both charming and coolly assessing at once, and Cary understands now how this man has managed to convince the citizens of Cook county to trust him once again. "I've heard a lot about you."
Cary allows himself half a smile at that and stands. He doesn't move from behind his desk. He knows better than to relinquish any power. "And you're our new State's Attorney," he says. "Congratulations."
Peter's head tips in silent acknowledgment. "Thank you," he says. "I understand you used to work with Alicia."
Cary nods. "I did."
Peter waits, like he expects Cary to say more, which is something that Cary has no intention of doing. He might have once, but now, looking at the man, he doesn't have the stomach for it.
Looking at Peter, Cary knows this: if he stays, Cary will be the best A.S.A. in the office. He will work harder and win more cases and he will prove himself worthy. He will never like Peter. One day, he will win Peter's job out from under him and he won't feel a single regret.
In an instant, he knows this like he knows how to take his next breath.
Peter breaks the silence. "I should go," he says, and starts to turn away. "It was nice to meet you, Cary. I'm sure I'll see you again."
"You will," Cary answers, and then Peter is gone.
Cary sits down at his desk and he begins.
this night is out to kill (Vampire Diaries, Jenna, 413 words)
They tell Jenna the truth over Alaric's body. She kneels on the floor next to him, Jeremy's hand on her shoulder. John and Elena stand over them, but Jenna can't see them because she is weeping and there is blood on her hands, and she doesn't understand the words that are coming out of Elena's mouth.
"No," Jenna says, again and again, shaking her head desperately. None of this can be true. Vampires can't be real and Ric couldn't have been possessed, and he can't be dead. She can't lose anyone else that she loves. She touches Ric's chest, hoping against hope that she's wrong and that she'll be able to feel his heart beating. She can't.
Where there should be life, there's only the stillness of death, and a wooden stake pushed through Ric's heart.
A stake that John put there. She's on her feet before she knows what she's done, hitting John's chest with her fists, tears still streaming down her cheeks. "I hate you," she says, choking on the words. "I hate all of you."
John's arms fold around her, not even trying to stop her from hitting him. "I know," he says, his hand smoothing down her hair. "I know." It only makes her cry harder.
He lets her cry herself out against his chest, waits until she's clutching at his shirt instead of pushing him away, and then he leads her out of the kitchen and away from the sight that she knows that she will never fully forget.
He sits with her on the couch, his arm still wrapped around her, and she lets him do this because she doesn't know how not to anymore, how to pretend to be strong and brave, and all the things that she's not and has never been. She lets herself lean on John even though she knows that she will hate herself for it later, because he is still here and right now, that is enough.
Someone takes her hand in theirs, and the hand is small and warm. She knows it's Elena before she speaks. "Jenna," Elena says, and Jenna can hear the tears in her voice. "I'm so sorry."
Jenna doesn't answer, and Elena doesn't push. Jenna knows that this isn't over, that there is still Ric's body on the kitchen floor and more to come that she doesn't understand and doesn't want to ever understand. But for now, there is only silence and Jenna lets herself mourn.
That is something she understands.
I look at you and you occur (Vampire Diaries, Bonnie/Jeremy, 422 words)
"Stop it," Bonnie says, not bothering to look up from the grimiore that she's studying. She turns the page, and the sensation of being watched doesn't go away. "I mean it, Jeremy. Stop."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Jeremy says, and she can hear the laughter in his voice. It makes her want to smile, but this isn't the time for smiling or laughing. "I'm just sitting here looking through a bunch of really old books, just like I was told to do."
Now she does look up, ready to defend the importance of what they're doing, but then she catches the expression on his face. He's smiling, and there's just a trace of smugness behind it, and Bonnie knows that she just got played. "You did that on purpose," she accuses, but there's no heat behind her words. There can't be, not when he's smiling at her. If he ever figures out just what his smile does to her, she knows that she will be completely lost.
"Guilty as charged," he says, taking the heavy book from her hands and setting it to the side. He lifts his hand to her cheek, his fingers stroking her skin. "Even you have to take breaks, Bonnie."
"But --" she tries to protest, but it's no good. His hand covers her mouth, and he shakes his head at her, a mock frown on his face.
"Ten minutes," he says firmly. "You'll eat something, we'll kiss a little, and then you can go back to making yourself cross-eyed. Okay?"
She nods, and he removes his hand.
"You're not going to fight with me?" he asks, and he sounds almost disappointed.
Bonnie tries not to smile. "No," she says, shaking her head, "but if I could make one tiny change to the plan..."
"What's that?" he asks, half smiling already, like he knows what she's going to do next. It doesn't bother her as much as she thinks that it should.
She scoots closer to him, and slides her legs into his lap. She wraps a hand around the back of his neck and leans in, almost touching their lips together, but not quite. "I was thinking," she says, so close that she can feel every breath that he takes, "that we could skip the food. That okay with you?"
She doesn't wait for him to answer, just presses her lips against his. From the way that he kisses her back, she knows that he doesn't mind at all.
Their break lasts much longer than ten minutes.
I'll be alright, just not tonight (The Good Wife, Cary/Kalinda, 425 words)
The knock on his door comes in the middle of the night. Cary knows before he answers who will be on the other side. He knows what will have brought her here, to him. He knows nothing else could.
Knowing doesn't prepare him for the devastation on Kalinda's face, for the feelings of pity and jealousy that are at war within him. A small, ugly part of himself wishes that he could do this to her, be the reason for the pain that she wears like a second skin. But they both know that he doesn't mean that much, and so he opens to the door to let her in without a word.
Kalinda brushes past him, and he watches her walk straight to the windows in his living room. She stares out into the neon-lit night sky. He hates himself for thinking that she's beautiful.
He takes down a bottle of scotch from the shelf above his sink, and he pours them both a drink. He crosses to her side, and presses the glass into her hand. "Here," he says, and it is the first word either of them has spoken.
She looks up at him, and the light from his bedroom catches on the unshed tears in her eyes. He didn't now she could do that. "Cary," she says, but he shakes his head, cutting her off before she can say more. He doesn't want her to say something she'll regret later, and he knows that she would.
"Don't," he says instead, and he takes her by the hand to lead her to the couch. He sits, tugging on the hand he still holds until she's settled next to him. He wraps hi arm around her shoulders, and she turns her head into his chest. His hand strokes over her hair, and he pretends not to notice when she cries.
He falls asleep with his arm still around her, and when he wakes, she is gone. There are two washed glasses drying in his kitchen sink, and a piece of paper on the counter; the only signs that she was there at all. There are just two words written on the blank page, black ink slanting sharply over white paper.
Thank you, the words read. He knows that thank you is not all that they mean.
Maybe someday, he thinks as he crumples the paper in his fist, they'll be able to say the things that they mean. Until someday comes, he knows that he will always take what she can give.
It's all that he knows how to do.
once, we were young (Sports Night, Dan/Natalie, 641 words)
It could have happened like this:
They meet Natalie's first day of work. Dana introduces them. Natalie is a little in awe of everything, and Dan thinks that she's the most beautiful woman that he's ever seen.
He asks her if she wants to get a drink. She says yes.
They go to Anthony's, and by some miracle, no one else from the show is there. They talk and they laugh and they flirt, and after last call he takes her back to her crappy apartment. He kisses her goodnight at her door. She doesn't invite him inside.
The next night, it all happens again. This time, when he kisses her good night, she invites him inside. She never stops inviting him inside.
This is what actually happens:
They meet Natalie's first day of work. Dana introduces them. Natalie is a little in awe of everything, and Dan thinks that she's the most beautiful woman that he's ever seen.
He asks her if she wants to get a drink. She says yes.
They go to Anthony's, and it seems like the entire crew is there. Dan hardly gets a chance to say a word to Natalie, and when he looks for her at last call, she is already gone.
The window closes and they become friends. Dan never forgets how beautiful she is. It is years before he tells her so.
After Natalie breaks up with Jeremy for the fifth and final time, Dan finds himself alone with her at Anthony's. She's drinking more than she should, and he is not, nursing his beer and keeping a watchful eye over her.
Four coconut pina coladas later, and her head rests against his shoulder in the cab back to her apartment. "Do you know something?" she says, so quietly that he almost doesn't hear her.
"What?" he asks, brushing her hair back from her cheek.
"Do you remember when we met?"
He nods. He remembers far too well. "Of course I do."
She sighs, heavily. "I had such a crush on you. I thought you liked me back, but then you didn't do anything, and so I made myself move on because I didn't want to be pathetic, but then I ended up pathetic anyway." She leans back and looks up at him with dark, accusing eyes. "Why didn't you like me back?"
"Natalie," he says, because her name is the only thing he can think of to say. How could he not have known? How could he not have known for years? "But I did."
She shakes her head, and looks sad. "You didn't."
"I did," he says again, bringing his hand to her face and cupping her cheek. "Honest to god, Nat, I did." He hesitates before saying the rest, not sure if this is the time or the place to say it. He's going to say it whether or not it is. "I do."
Natalie doesn't say a word, just looks at him like she's trying to decide if he's telling the truth. He can't tell from her face if she thinks that he is. But then she's leaning up to kiss him, and the only thing that he can think is that this has been worth waiting for.
This is what will happen:
Dan will take her to her door and he will kiss her goodnight. She will ask him inside, and he will say no, that he wants for this to be right. He wants for this to be about more than drunken confessions and drunken kisses. He doesn't tell her that he wants this to last forever. She will look at him, and he will know that she knows.
He will ask her to dinner, and she will say yes. Again, he will bring her home, but this time, when she asks him inside, he will let himself say yes.
They will never stop saying yes to each other.
They never say the words.
With Chris's rules about inter-office relationships in place, they are both very careful to not say too much of what they both know they feel. They show it, daily, in dozens of tiny ways, but they never go any further. When Leslie brings Ben a blueberry muffin in the morning even though she doesn't believe in breakfast food that contains fruit, she is saying I was thinking about you, and when Ben leaves Nutri-Yum bars on her desk when she has to stay late, she knows that he means Please take care of yourself since I can't. It's like as if by an unspoken agreement, that saying the words would make it real, and if they made it real, it would be impossible to stop.
They go on this way for months, held in place, neither of them daring more. Both of them wanting it more than they can say.
They go on this way, until finally, Leslie says it.
It's late, and they are still at the office. They're in the conference room, talking about budget projections for the new Observatory, and all Ben does is smile at her, but it's enough. It's too much. "This is silly," Leslie says, and she's never meant words more.
"The projected outlay?" he asks, confusion all over his face. "Because, I know you don't want to hear it but I'm right --"
"No," she says, holding up her hand to ward off whatever wrong numbers he's going to recite next. "This."
"I don't understand," he says, but she can see in his eyes that he does.
She reaches across the table, and covers his hand with hers. She looks at him and he looks back, and she thinks yes, this is it, but then he shakes his head and looks away. He doesn't move his hand.
"Leslie," he says with a sigh, looking more unhappy then she's ever seen him. "We can't. Don't do this."
"We have to do this," she says, tightening her grip on his fingers. "Don't you see? What we can't do is keep pretending that this isn't happening."
"But --" he says, but she shakes her head, cutting him off again.
"No," she says. "We haven't done anything wrong. This isn't wrong."
"It would be, though. I'm in charge of your budget." Ben looks at her, pleads with his eyes. "Leslie --"
She knows she shouldn't say it, that she shouldn't make it worse, but she just can't any longer. "I like you," she says. "I think you like me. I want to be with you. Don't you want that?"
Her question hangs there, sucking up all the air between them until Leslie feels like she can't breathe. Ben just looks at her, misery written all over his face, and she opens her mouth to try to call the words back to fix this, because she was wrong and this is worse, when he finally speaks.
"Yes," he says, so softly that she almost misses it. "Yes," he says again. "Of course I do."
Something twists in her stomach, and she hates herself more than she can say. "But we can't."
He shakes his head. "We can't." He slides his fingers out from under hers, and he stacks his papers together, carefully not looking at her. He stands, and she expects him to go. But he circles the conference table instead, and when he's standing in front of her, he takes her by her elbows and pulls her to her feet. He raises his hand to her face, and brushes her hair back from her cheek. "Don't think," he says, his voice low and rough and just the sound of it sends shocks across her skin, "that I don't spend the majority of my day wanting to do this."
The last word hasn't even sunk in when he kisses her, and it's the kiss that she's wanted for the last nine months, since before she even knew that she wanted it. His lips are soft against hers, and she wonders vaguely if he borrows some disgusting lip gunk from Tom, but he deepens the kiss and she stops thinking about anything but him and this moment. She can't let herself think about anything else, because she doesn't know if it will ever happen again.
It's over too soon and then Ben steps back. He still looks sad.
"Good night," he says.
"Good night," she answers.
He nods his head just once, and circles back around the table to collect his things. She watches him go.
***
In the morning, there is coffee waiting on her desk, and Leslie knows that it means I'm sorry, please don't hate me. She never could.
When she leaves for the day, there's a roast beef sandwich sitting on his desk. She hopes that he feels the same.
see the years that bring rock and tide together (Parks and Rec, April/Andy, 159 words)
Everyone gives them six months. When six months go by and they’re still together, people up their estimates to a year.
And so it goes, and so it goes, until they’re celebrating their fifth wedding anniversary at the Snake Hole Lounge, when someone finally has the audacity asks the question that has been on everyone’s minds for the last five years.
“Just how the fuck do the two of you make it work?”
April frowns and Andy laughs, and neither of them says a word. But Andy touches the inside of April’s wrist, his fingers tapping three times against her skin. It’s such a small thing that no one would notice but the people who know them, and the people who know them know what it means.
It’s an I love you without the words, a silent acknowledgment of the thing that they’re both so sure of that they don’t need to say it out loud.
They know. And that it is enough.
Don't forget me, I beg (Gossip Girl, Serena & Blair (Blair/Dan), 718 words)
When Dan kisses Blair in the middle of her engagement party to Prince Louis, the eyes of the entire Upper East Side (or at least the ones at the party) turn in his direction. All the eyes, that is, except for Serena's.
Serena stares at her best friend and the boy she wanted so badly to love the right way, too shocked to do anything but stare. She'd known, of course, Vanessa had seen to that. But she hadn't know that what it was between Dan and Blair was real.
Looking at them, Serena knows that it is. Looking at them, Serena feels like she's already lost them both.
She leaves the party then and no one notices or tries to stop her. She goes to Chuck because she doesn't know where else she can go where no one will think to loo for her. She doesn't want to be found.
Not now.
***
A week goes by, and then two. Serena has too many missed calls and texts from Blair to even count, but she doesn't answer a single one. She doesn't know what to say. She knows that she doesn't have the right to be mad; Dan wasn't hers anymore and even if he had been, she wouldn't have the right to be angry with Blair for something that Serena did to Blair first.
But not being mad doesn't mean that Serena's not hurt, and that's what she can't forgive. Blair should have told her. Dan should have told her. Serena would have found a way to be happy for them, once she got over how strange and wrong the whole thing seems.
Blair Waldorf and Dan Humphrey.
Serena doesn't know if that will ever seem normal to her.
When two weeks threaten to turn into three, Nate and Eric stage an intervention, teaming up to force her from her hiding place. They drag her to the Waldorf's and stand guard by the elevator, lest she try to bolt without actually talking to Blair. Serena can't really blame them for it, because she spent the entire cab ride there trying to come up with a way to do exactly that.
Blair is waiting at the foot of the stairs, looking perfect as usual, but with her hands knotted together in front of her. It's the only visible sign that she's at all nervous about this.
It makes Serena strangely happy. She thinks that probably means she's not a very good person after all.
"Serena," Blair says. She gestures towards the sofa in front of them. "Sit down. Please."
Serena stays standing, her arms crossed over her chest. "No, I'm fine, thanks. What do you want, Blair?"
Something in Blair's jaw tightens, and Serena can tell that she's gritting her teeth to keep her temper under control. "To apologize," Blair finally manages to say. "I should have told you."
"You should have," Serena says, nodding her head. "Why didn't you?"
"Because I didn't want to admit that anything was going on between us!"
Blair's voice gets higher with every word, and Serena blinks in surprise at what she says. It wasn't the answer she'd been expecting, but it makes a certain amount of Blair-sense. That doesn't mean she's willing to give up thinking that she's in the right.
"Don't you think that's something you could have talked about with your best friend?"
At that, Blair sighs, and Serena sees some of the fight go out of her eyes. "Yes," she says. "If if I wasn't constantly worried that Dan was still in love with you, I might have. But you can't blame me for worrying about that, Serena. It's not fair."
And that, Serena is forced to admit, is true. She sighs and steps further into the room, sitting down on the sofa Blair had pointed to before. She pats the cushion next to her, and Blair crosses the room in an instant. She takes the seat next to Serena and when Serena wraps her arm around Blair, she leans her head against Serena's shoulder.
"You should have told me, B," Serena says. "I wish you had."
"I know," Blair answers, and Serena can feel Blair's head nodding against her arm. "I'm sorry."
That's all Serena needed to hear.
"Okay then," she says, resting her head on top of Blair's. "Now tell me everything."
Only When I Hit The Ground (The Good Wife, Alicia/Will, 686 words)
Alicia ends up at Will's condo without knowing how she got there. She stands outside his door, hand raised, not sure if she can actually knock on his door, not sure if she has the right any longer. She thinks she probably doesn't.
She knocks on his door anyway.
Will answers, still dressed for work, and the surprise on his face is obvious. "Alicia," he says, and it's there in his voice too. "What's wrong? Shouldn't you be --"
"Is Tammy here?" she asks, cutting him off. She doesn't want to hear about where she's supposed to be, she doesn't want to talk at all.
He shakes his head. "No," he says, reaching out to touch her arm. "Alicia, you're scaring --"
She kisses him.
She kisses him, and for one never ending heartbeat, she thinks that he's not going to kiss her back. But then he does, his arms curling around her and drawing her inside his apartment. She presses herself against him, her hands pulling his shirt from his pants, sliding her hands against his skin. She needs this, to feel someone else. She needs to feel something else then the pain that pricks at her every time she closes her eyes.
Will breaks the kiss, his hands cupping her face so that she can't look anywhere but at him. "Hey," he says, breath ragged. She can see in his eyes that he wants this, wants her. She can see in his eyes that he wants to say no.
She shakes her head, bringing her hands up to cover his. She draws them down, puts them on her. Her eyes never leave his. "Please," she says, and she can't hide the desperation in her voice. Even if she could, she doesn't want to. Maybe it took this to drive her here, but she's wanted it for longer than she can remember and if it doesn't happen now she's scared that it never will. If it doesn't happen now, she's afraid that she's gong to break apart into a million pieces and that she'll never be able to put them back together.
Will looks at her for a moment longer, and his jaw tightens, and she thinks that he's going to say no, that he's going to stop this. But he kisses her instead, pushing her jacket off her shoulders to the floor. Her mouth falls open beneath his and he kisses her harder, his hands reaching for her zipper. He draws it down, inch by inch, and his fingers burn against her skin. She fumbles with buttons on his shirt, wanting her hands on him more than she wants to draw her next breath. Her dress falls to the floor and she hears his breath catch. When she looks at him, he's staring at her with an almost reverent look on her face. She loves it. She hates it. She doesn't deserve it.
She kisses him again so that she doesn't have to see it.
They stumble their way to the bedroom, shedding clothes with every step. His shirt falls to the floor, and then her bra. She moans as he kisses her breasts, her hands busy with the zipper on his pants. She pushes them down his hips, and she smiles when she hears him his as she takes him in her hand.
"God," he manages to say, his eyes falling closed. "Now, Alicia, now --"
"Yes," she answers, arching against him when his hand presses between her thighs. "Now."
He's gone for a second, and she hears the tear of a condom. Then he's pressing against her, into her, and it feels so damn good. He looks at her, says her name.
"Will," she answers, her nails raking over his back. "Please."
He moves faster, and she does too, and it's exactly what she wants, exactly what she needs. With every touch, with every kiss, she forgets. Forgetting is all that she wants, forgetting and this to not end.
It has to end. When it does, when all that's left is her and Will, and what they've done between them, that is when she falls apart.
left me in the dark (Bones, Cam/Sweets, 720 words)
It's late when Cam gets home from the Jeffersonian and the last thing she expects is to find Sweets sitting on her front steps. He stands when he sees her coming up the walk, and her feet feel like lead as she makes her way to him. She knows why he's here. She didn't mean for it to be like this.
"He asked you marry him?" Sweets asks, with no preamble whatsoever.
Cam nods, her head heavy. She doesn't look at him. "He did."
"And what did you tell him?" His voice is perfectly controlled, too perfectly controlled, and Cam knows that he is on the edge of unraveling.
She knows, because she's there too, and has been since the day that Paul asked the question that she still doesn't have an answer for. Her head tells her that she's never going to get a better offer and that she can learn to love him. Her heart tells her things she doesn't want to hear, and is too full of the man that she still hasn't' looked at for there to be room for anyone else. She looks now and wishes she hadn't. He wars the not knowing on his face, his still boyish features aged overnight. She doesn't like knowing that she can do this to him. She doesn't like knowing that she'd only have to look in the mirror to know that he's done the same to her.
"I told him I needed time," she says finally, looking away when it gets to be too much. She doesn't see him move towards her, but she feels him take her chin his hand and turn her head back to face him. She sees the wild look in his eyes, and realizes too late when it means.
"You can't marry him," Sweets says, and then is mouth is on hers and it is everything that she wants and knows that she shouldn't all at once. She tugs at his jacket to bring him closer and his hands thread through her hair. Together, they stumble up the steps, never stopping. She fumbles with the lock on the door, his mouth hot against her throat. Her hands shake.
"Just let me --" she says on a shaky breath, and his hands come up to cover hers. They turn the key together.
The door opens.
It closes when he presses her back into it, his hands streaking under her skirt, pushing it up over her hips. She reaches for his belt, her hands clumsy in her haste. She wants to do this now, before she can remember all the reasons why she can't. Then Sweets presses a finger deep inside, and she knows that there will be no more thinking at all.
"God," she says, arching against his hands. She bites at his throat and pulls at his shirt, wanting to feel his skin under her hands. "More, now, more."
He does what she demands and adds another finger, and it's exactly right, just what she wants, what she needs. She gives up on fighting with his buttons and takes him in her hand. Now it's his turn to jerk his hips against her, and she smiles when he groans her name.
"Cam," he says, all breathless and broken, the way he always sounds when she's touching him. She loves the way her name sounds on his lips. "I'm --"
"Now," she says again, stroking faster. There is no question about what she means.
His hands fall away from her as he fumbles for his wallet and then he presses a condom into her hand. "Please," he says, his hands streaking over her again, tugging down the neckline of her dress, his mouth following his hands. She rolls the condom on with shaky hands, the feeling of his mouth on her skin too good for them to be anything but. When she's finished, she wraps a leg around his hip, and he takes this as his sign.
It's fast and it's over too soon, both of them chasing things that they've denied themselves for too long. When she comes, it's with his name on her lips, and when he follows moments later, he says her name like it's a prayer. Maybe it is.
In the morning, Cam tells Paul that she can't be his wife.
wear out our souls in subtle schemes (The Good Wife, Cary & Peter, 359 words)
Cary meets the new State's Attorney the day after the election, when Peter comes in to shake hands and pretend like he's not about to fire half the staff. He knows that all the other A.S.A.'s are gathered in the hall, waiting for their chance to beg for their jobs.
He stays in his office. There is work to be done, and he knows there is value in setting yourself apart, in being different. It's a lesson that Cary learned from Peter's wife.
And sure enough, an hour later, there's a knock on his half-open door. Peter doesn't wait for an answer, just pushes the door open wider, thought he doesn't come in. "You must be Cary," Peter says easily, in a way that's both charming and coolly assessing at once, and Cary understands now how this man has managed to convince the citizens of Cook county to trust him once again. "I've heard a lot about you."
Cary allows himself half a smile at that and stands. He doesn't move from behind his desk. He knows better than to relinquish any power. "And you're our new State's Attorney," he says. "Congratulations."
Peter's head tips in silent acknowledgment. "Thank you," he says. "I understand you used to work with Alicia."
Cary nods. "I did."
Peter waits, like he expects Cary to say more, which is something that Cary has no intention of doing. He might have once, but now, looking at the man, he doesn't have the stomach for it.
Looking at Peter, Cary knows this: if he stays, Cary will be the best A.S.A. in the office. He will work harder and win more cases and he will prove himself worthy. He will never like Peter. One day, he will win Peter's job out from under him and he won't feel a single regret.
In an instant, he knows this like he knows how to take his next breath.
Peter breaks the silence. "I should go," he says, and starts to turn away. "It was nice to meet you, Cary. I'm sure I'll see you again."
"You will," Cary answers, and then Peter is gone.
Cary sits down at his desk and he begins.
this night is out to kill (Vampire Diaries, Jenna, 413 words)
They tell Jenna the truth over Alaric's body. She kneels on the floor next to him, Jeremy's hand on her shoulder. John and Elena stand over them, but Jenna can't see them because she is weeping and there is blood on her hands, and she doesn't understand the words that are coming out of Elena's mouth.
"No," Jenna says, again and again, shaking her head desperately. None of this can be true. Vampires can't be real and Ric couldn't have been possessed, and he can't be dead. She can't lose anyone else that she loves. She touches Ric's chest, hoping against hope that she's wrong and that she'll be able to feel his heart beating. She can't.
Where there should be life, there's only the stillness of death, and a wooden stake pushed through Ric's heart.
A stake that John put there. She's on her feet before she knows what she's done, hitting John's chest with her fists, tears still streaming down her cheeks. "I hate you," she says, choking on the words. "I hate all of you."
John's arms fold around her, not even trying to stop her from hitting him. "I know," he says, his hand smoothing down her hair. "I know." It only makes her cry harder.
He lets her cry herself out against his chest, waits until she's clutching at his shirt instead of pushing him away, and then he leads her out of the kitchen and away from the sight that she knows that she will never fully forget.
He sits with her on the couch, his arm still wrapped around her, and she lets him do this because she doesn't know how not to anymore, how to pretend to be strong and brave, and all the things that she's not and has never been. She lets herself lean on John even though she knows that she will hate herself for it later, because he is still here and right now, that is enough.
Someone takes her hand in theirs, and the hand is small and warm. She knows it's Elena before she speaks. "Jenna," Elena says, and Jenna can hear the tears in her voice. "I'm so sorry."
Jenna doesn't answer, and Elena doesn't push. Jenna knows that this isn't over, that there is still Ric's body on the kitchen floor and more to come that she doesn't understand and doesn't want to ever understand. But for now, there is only silence and Jenna lets herself mourn.
That is something she understands.
I look at you and you occur (Vampire Diaries, Bonnie/Jeremy, 422 words)
"Stop it," Bonnie says, not bothering to look up from the grimiore that she's studying. She turns the page, and the sensation of being watched doesn't go away. "I mean it, Jeremy. Stop."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Jeremy says, and she can hear the laughter in his voice. It makes her want to smile, but this isn't the time for smiling or laughing. "I'm just sitting here looking through a bunch of really old books, just like I was told to do."
Now she does look up, ready to defend the importance of what they're doing, but then she catches the expression on his face. He's smiling, and there's just a trace of smugness behind it, and Bonnie knows that she just got played. "You did that on purpose," she accuses, but there's no heat behind her words. There can't be, not when he's smiling at her. If he ever figures out just what his smile does to her, she knows that she will be completely lost.
"Guilty as charged," he says, taking the heavy book from her hands and setting it to the side. He lifts his hand to her cheek, his fingers stroking her skin. "Even you have to take breaks, Bonnie."
"But --" she tries to protest, but it's no good. His hand covers her mouth, and he shakes his head at her, a mock frown on his face.
"Ten minutes," he says firmly. "You'll eat something, we'll kiss a little, and then you can go back to making yourself cross-eyed. Okay?"
She nods, and he removes his hand.
"You're not going to fight with me?" he asks, and he sounds almost disappointed.
Bonnie tries not to smile. "No," she says, shaking her head, "but if I could make one tiny change to the plan..."
"What's that?" he asks, half smiling already, like he knows what she's going to do next. It doesn't bother her as much as she thinks that it should.
She scoots closer to him, and slides her legs into his lap. She wraps a hand around the back of his neck and leans in, almost touching their lips together, but not quite. "I was thinking," she says, so close that she can feel every breath that he takes, "that we could skip the food. That okay with you?"
She doesn't wait for him to answer, just presses her lips against his. From the way that he kisses her back, she knows that he doesn't mind at all.
Their break lasts much longer than ten minutes.
I'll be alright, just not tonight (The Good Wife, Cary/Kalinda, 425 words)
The knock on his door comes in the middle of the night. Cary knows before he answers who will be on the other side. He knows what will have brought her here, to him. He knows nothing else could.
Knowing doesn't prepare him for the devastation on Kalinda's face, for the feelings of pity and jealousy that are at war within him. A small, ugly part of himself wishes that he could do this to her, be the reason for the pain that she wears like a second skin. But they both know that he doesn't mean that much, and so he opens to the door to let her in without a word.
Kalinda brushes past him, and he watches her walk straight to the windows in his living room. She stares out into the neon-lit night sky. He hates himself for thinking that she's beautiful.
He takes down a bottle of scotch from the shelf above his sink, and he pours them both a drink. He crosses to her side, and presses the glass into her hand. "Here," he says, and it is the first word either of them has spoken.
She looks up at him, and the light from his bedroom catches on the unshed tears in her eyes. He didn't now she could do that. "Cary," she says, but he shakes his head, cutting her off before she can say more. He doesn't want her to say something she'll regret later, and he knows that she would.
"Don't," he says instead, and he takes her by the hand to lead her to the couch. He sits, tugging on the hand he still holds until she's settled next to him. He wraps hi arm around her shoulders, and she turns her head into his chest. His hand strokes over her hair, and he pretends not to notice when she cries.
He falls asleep with his arm still around her, and when he wakes, she is gone. There are two washed glasses drying in his kitchen sink, and a piece of paper on the counter; the only signs that she was there at all. There are just two words written on the blank page, black ink slanting sharply over white paper.
Thank you, the words read. He knows that thank you is not all that they mean.
Maybe someday, he thinks as he crumples the paper in his fist, they'll be able to say the things that they mean. Until someday comes, he knows that he will always take what she can give.
It's all that he knows how to do.
once, we were young (Sports Night, Dan/Natalie, 641 words)
It could have happened like this:
They meet Natalie's first day of work. Dana introduces them. Natalie is a little in awe of everything, and Dan thinks that she's the most beautiful woman that he's ever seen.
He asks her if she wants to get a drink. She says yes.
They go to Anthony's, and by some miracle, no one else from the show is there. They talk and they laugh and they flirt, and after last call he takes her back to her crappy apartment. He kisses her goodnight at her door. She doesn't invite him inside.
The next night, it all happens again. This time, when he kisses her good night, she invites him inside. She never stops inviting him inside.
This is what actually happens:
They meet Natalie's first day of work. Dana introduces them. Natalie is a little in awe of everything, and Dan thinks that she's the most beautiful woman that he's ever seen.
He asks her if she wants to get a drink. She says yes.
They go to Anthony's, and it seems like the entire crew is there. Dan hardly gets a chance to say a word to Natalie, and when he looks for her at last call, she is already gone.
The window closes and they become friends. Dan never forgets how beautiful she is. It is years before he tells her so.
After Natalie breaks up with Jeremy for the fifth and final time, Dan finds himself alone with her at Anthony's. She's drinking more than she should, and he is not, nursing his beer and keeping a watchful eye over her.
Four coconut pina coladas later, and her head rests against his shoulder in the cab back to her apartment. "Do you know something?" she says, so quietly that he almost doesn't hear her.
"What?" he asks, brushing her hair back from her cheek.
"Do you remember when we met?"
He nods. He remembers far too well. "Of course I do."
She sighs, heavily. "I had such a crush on you. I thought you liked me back, but then you didn't do anything, and so I made myself move on because I didn't want to be pathetic, but then I ended up pathetic anyway." She leans back and looks up at him with dark, accusing eyes. "Why didn't you like me back?"
"Natalie," he says, because her name is the only thing he can think of to say. How could he not have known? How could he not have known for years? "But I did."
She shakes her head, and looks sad. "You didn't."
"I did," he says again, bringing his hand to her face and cupping her cheek. "Honest to god, Nat, I did." He hesitates before saying the rest, not sure if this is the time or the place to say it. He's going to say it whether or not it is. "I do."
Natalie doesn't say a word, just looks at him like she's trying to decide if he's telling the truth. He can't tell from her face if she thinks that he is. But then she's leaning up to kiss him, and the only thing that he can think is that this has been worth waiting for.
This is what will happen:
Dan will take her to her door and he will kiss her goodnight. She will ask him inside, and he will say no, that he wants for this to be right. He wants for this to be about more than drunken confessions and drunken kisses. He doesn't tell her that he wants this to last forever. She will look at him, and he will know that she knows.
He will ask her to dinner, and she will say yes. Again, he will bring her home, but this time, when she asks him inside, he will let himself say yes.
They will never stop saying yes to each other.