Fanfiction: "The Power of the Cardigan" - Ben/Leslie, R
Author: feeeelings
Fandom: Parks and Recreation
Pairing: Ben/Leslie
Spoilers: Everything through "Bus Tour"
Rating: R for smut!
Genre: Fluffy smut
Word count: ~1500
Notes: I wrote this on a whim and in the time span of less than two hours. It's also unbeta'd because lol impatience. But here, have some Ben/Leslie cardigan porn.
“You should wear cardigans more often.”
She tells him this in the dark of his room when it’s way past their bedtime, their clothes strewn haphazardly across his various bits of furniture and personal belongings-and he shouldn’t be surprised, but somehow, he is.
“You really like them, don’t you?” He grins and bumps her shoulder gently.
She circles a finger over his collarbone. “I can just really appreciate a well dressed guy. Plus, they make you look like a sexy schoolteacher or a slim but sturdy First Man. It’s any nerdy girl’s dream. All you’d need to complete the look would be some super hot glasses and I’d be all over it. Not that I’m not already.” She pinches his side, not too gently.
“But not a librarian, right?”
“God, no. You’re too sweet and lovely and wonderful and cute and sexy to be the spawn of Satan.”
He feels a blush creeping over his skin and almost hates himself for it. They’re still so new and kind of awkward and he’s sure it’ll be like this for a while, but he still can’t get over how much she’s into him.
He absolutely loves it.
He kisses her temple, brings her close to him and they fall asleep together, limbs tangled awkwardly but he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He makes a mental note to buy more cardigans the next time he gets the chance. (And maybe he’ll look for some glasses, too.)
~
It’s late when they finally finish their work at the office, Chris having left hours ago to do his nightly 15 mile run and leaving Ben with a mountain of paperwork, no thanks to a particularly nasty raccoon attack near Ramsett Park.
“Thanks for staying behind with me,” he says, pulling her out of her chair and wrapping his arms around her waist. The familiar faint smell of coffee, syrup, and her perfume envelops his senses, and it makes it worth the extra hours of work he just put in.
“You know I can’t resist work, especially when an attractive and cardigan-clad man with a cute butt is involved.”
“I wore this one just for you.”
She trails a finger over the cloth, breathes, “I know.”
She’s unbuttoning him now, and her mouth is on his, and he’s thankful that it’s almost midnight and Chris and the cleaning crew are gone and-god, her lips are soft.
She gets him out of his cardigan with relative ease, tossing it on his desk and before he knows it his button down is gone, too. He should never underestimate the deftness of Leslie Knope after many hours of a workday full of sexual tension. She was probably planning this from the moment Chris left. It doesn’t help that all they can really do at work is pretend like they’re not dating and act like they definitely do not sleep together.
And he definitely doesn’t occasionally wear cardigans just to drive her crazy at work so they can have mind-blowing sex later. Definitely not. Nope.
He also definitely did not just grin at the way Leslie moans into his mouth when he skates a hand down her ribcage.
Later, they count themselves lucky that no one else was in the building at the time. Ben is pretty sure Leslie could’ve woken up a hibernating bear with the amount of noise she was making.
They manage to creep out of the building by half past midnight, and Ben has never been more excited to wear a cardigan in his life.
~
Somehow on this particular morning he’s awake before she is and he doesn’t even know how that could possibly happen. Normally, she’s up by 6 or earlier, making coffee and waffles and playing with Champion and brainstorming up another campaign strategy.
She has been lacking sleep lately, between him and the Parks department and this campaign. She’s probably just catching up from all of these sleepless nights.
He pulls on his boxers that somehow ended up on her bedpost and creeps to the kitchen, making sure to avoid slipping on her clothing over the wooden floor of her bedroom. He puts on a pot of coffee and stumbles sleepily around her kitchen, grabbing various ingredients before finally pulling out a heart-shaped waffle iron. For once in their relationship, he’s awake before she is, and he’s determined to mark it as a special occasion. Making waffles seemed like the most appropriate option.
He can hear her moving around in her bedroom, and he finally pours some batter in the heated iron and closes the lid. Just in time for her to pad into the kitchen in nothing but his cardigan from the night before. It fits a bit loosely around her chest and falls just above mid-thigh.
“Oh. Um,” he flounders before clearing his throat loudly, “’Morning, m’dear.”
“Good morning, sweetie,” she yawns, still a bit sleepy, and peeks around his shoulders to see what he’s up to. “I’m definitely keeping you around. You get up before me and make waffles? I should sleep in more often.”
“You probably should.” He kisses her softly on her forehead before tending to the iron.
Suddenly she’s wrapping her arms around his waist from behind him, and mumbling into his back. “I love you,” she says simply.
After picking the waffle out of the iron, he twists to face her again. “I love you too.”
She’s pressed against him, the fabric of his cardigan the barrier between their chests. She trails a finger over his shoulder and down his arm, before grasping his hand and planting it firmly over her hip. Her breasts brush against his chest, causing him to breathe in sharply.
He’s thinking about the fact that she’s in his cardigan. His cardigan, and nothing else. He’s willing to bet she didn’t even bother to put on her underwear. The deep V of the neck left little cover for her breasts, and he was momentarily fixated on her skin beneath the fabric.
“I think I can see the appeal of the cardigan, now,” he mumbles, and she grins, tugs at his boxers. He happily slips out of them, and then she’s kissing him, pushing him up against the counter and almost burns him on the waffle iron.
“Yes, this seems completely safe,” he says as he unplugs the iron and she directs him towards the other edge of the counter, away from the heat.
She smiles sheepishly. She can barely get out her “Sorry, dear,” before he’s kissing her again, fingers slipping beneath the only fabric she’s wearing to thumb her nipple. She groans appreciatively, grinding her hips against his, and he almost can’t believe they’re doing this, in the kitchen, of all places. But he isn’t complaining.
He also definitely isn’t complaining about Leslie getting on her knees in front of him. Yes. This is good.
He loses track of his thoughts and instead opts to focus on the way she’s using her tongue on him, how she presses her hands against his hips to hold him firmly against the cabinets.
He gently fists a hand in her hair, mostly because he doesn’t know where else to put it, and not because she needs any encouragement, because she’s certainly doing fine all on her own.
He doesn’t want it to end like this, and somehow manages to get his brain functioning enough to groan her name. “Les.” She looks up at him with huge eyes and he almost crumbled just looking at her. “Come back up here.”
She grins (as much as she could, considering) and finally obliges, not before trailing kisses up his abdomen and neck.
He tries to grab at the buttons of his own sweater, but she swats his hand away gently. “This stays on,” she commands, and jesus he needs to have her now before he explodes.
She seems to share that sentiment and pulls him towards her again, but instead turns her body away from him and braces her arms on the counter’s edge.
He presses into her and groans at the sensation, gripping her hips tightly as they adjust to each other. He builds up a rhythm quickly, and before long one of her hands is in between her own thighs, and he almost can’t take it.
He braces one hand on the counter and cups her breast with the other, pushing aside the fabric of his own clothing. His teeth graze her neck and he sucks gently, tasting her skin. He can hear her ragged breathing, knows it won’t be long now and continues to give her all he’s got, and she’s clutching the counter until her knuckles turn white, and she moans and fuck it’s like she knows just what kind of sound to make to drive him crazy.
It’s not until after they get back to their senses and disentangle themselves that Leslie starts to giggle.
“Now you understand… the power of the cardigan.”
Fandom: Parks and Recreation
Pairing: Ben/Leslie
Spoilers: Everything through "Bus Tour"
Rating: R for smut!
Genre: Fluffy smut
Word count: ~1500
Notes: I wrote this on a whim and in the time span of less than two hours. It's also unbeta'd because lol impatience. But here, have some Ben/Leslie cardigan porn.
“You should wear cardigans more often.”
She tells him this in the dark of his room when it’s way past their bedtime, their clothes strewn haphazardly across his various bits of furniture and personal belongings-and he shouldn’t be surprised, but somehow, he is.
“You really like them, don’t you?” He grins and bumps her shoulder gently.
She circles a finger over his collarbone. “I can just really appreciate a well dressed guy. Plus, they make you look like a sexy schoolteacher or a slim but sturdy First Man. It’s any nerdy girl’s dream. All you’d need to complete the look would be some super hot glasses and I’d be all over it. Not that I’m not already.” She pinches his side, not too gently.
“But not a librarian, right?”
“God, no. You’re too sweet and lovely and wonderful and cute and sexy to be the spawn of Satan.”
He feels a blush creeping over his skin and almost hates himself for it. They’re still so new and kind of awkward and he’s sure it’ll be like this for a while, but he still can’t get over how much she’s into him.
He absolutely loves it.
He kisses her temple, brings her close to him and they fall asleep together, limbs tangled awkwardly but he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He makes a mental note to buy more cardigans the next time he gets the chance. (And maybe he’ll look for some glasses, too.)
~
It’s late when they finally finish their work at the office, Chris having left hours ago to do his nightly 15 mile run and leaving Ben with a mountain of paperwork, no thanks to a particularly nasty raccoon attack near Ramsett Park.
“Thanks for staying behind with me,” he says, pulling her out of her chair and wrapping his arms around her waist. The familiar faint smell of coffee, syrup, and her perfume envelops his senses, and it makes it worth the extra hours of work he just put in.
“You know I can’t resist work, especially when an attractive and cardigan-clad man with a cute butt is involved.”
“I wore this one just for you.”
She trails a finger over the cloth, breathes, “I know.”
She’s unbuttoning him now, and her mouth is on his, and he’s thankful that it’s almost midnight and Chris and the cleaning crew are gone and-god, her lips are soft.
She gets him out of his cardigan with relative ease, tossing it on his desk and before he knows it his button down is gone, too. He should never underestimate the deftness of Leslie Knope after many hours of a workday full of sexual tension. She was probably planning this from the moment Chris left. It doesn’t help that all they can really do at work is pretend like they’re not dating and act like they definitely do not sleep together.
And he definitely doesn’t occasionally wear cardigans just to drive her crazy at work so they can have mind-blowing sex later. Definitely not. Nope.
He also definitely did not just grin at the way Leslie moans into his mouth when he skates a hand down her ribcage.
Later, they count themselves lucky that no one else was in the building at the time. Ben is pretty sure Leslie could’ve woken up a hibernating bear with the amount of noise she was making.
They manage to creep out of the building by half past midnight, and Ben has never been more excited to wear a cardigan in his life.
~
Somehow on this particular morning he’s awake before she is and he doesn’t even know how that could possibly happen. Normally, she’s up by 6 or earlier, making coffee and waffles and playing with Champion and brainstorming up another campaign strategy.
She has been lacking sleep lately, between him and the Parks department and this campaign. She’s probably just catching up from all of these sleepless nights.
He pulls on his boxers that somehow ended up on her bedpost and creeps to the kitchen, making sure to avoid slipping on her clothing over the wooden floor of her bedroom. He puts on a pot of coffee and stumbles sleepily around her kitchen, grabbing various ingredients before finally pulling out a heart-shaped waffle iron. For once in their relationship, he’s awake before she is, and he’s determined to mark it as a special occasion. Making waffles seemed like the most appropriate option.
He can hear her moving around in her bedroom, and he finally pours some batter in the heated iron and closes the lid. Just in time for her to pad into the kitchen in nothing but his cardigan from the night before. It fits a bit loosely around her chest and falls just above mid-thigh.
“Oh. Um,” he flounders before clearing his throat loudly, “’Morning, m’dear.”
“Good morning, sweetie,” she yawns, still a bit sleepy, and peeks around his shoulders to see what he’s up to. “I’m definitely keeping you around. You get up before me and make waffles? I should sleep in more often.”
“You probably should.” He kisses her softly on her forehead before tending to the iron.
Suddenly she’s wrapping her arms around his waist from behind him, and mumbling into his back. “I love you,” she says simply.
After picking the waffle out of the iron, he twists to face her again. “I love you too.”
She’s pressed against him, the fabric of his cardigan the barrier between their chests. She trails a finger over his shoulder and down his arm, before grasping his hand and planting it firmly over her hip. Her breasts brush against his chest, causing him to breathe in sharply.
He’s thinking about the fact that she’s in his cardigan. His cardigan, and nothing else. He’s willing to bet she didn’t even bother to put on her underwear. The deep V of the neck left little cover for her breasts, and he was momentarily fixated on her skin beneath the fabric.
“I think I can see the appeal of the cardigan, now,” he mumbles, and she grins, tugs at his boxers. He happily slips out of them, and then she’s kissing him, pushing him up against the counter and almost burns him on the waffle iron.
“Yes, this seems completely safe,” he says as he unplugs the iron and she directs him towards the other edge of the counter, away from the heat.
She smiles sheepishly. She can barely get out her “Sorry, dear,” before he’s kissing her again, fingers slipping beneath the only fabric she’s wearing to thumb her nipple. She groans appreciatively, grinding her hips against his, and he almost can’t believe they’re doing this, in the kitchen, of all places. But he isn’t complaining.
He also definitely isn’t complaining about Leslie getting on her knees in front of him. Yes. This is good.
He loses track of his thoughts and instead opts to focus on the way she’s using her tongue on him, how she presses her hands against his hips to hold him firmly against the cabinets.
He gently fists a hand in her hair, mostly because he doesn’t know where else to put it, and not because she needs any encouragement, because she’s certainly doing fine all on her own.
He doesn’t want it to end like this, and somehow manages to get his brain functioning enough to groan her name. “Les.” She looks up at him with huge eyes and he almost crumbled just looking at her. “Come back up here.”
She grins (as much as she could, considering) and finally obliges, not before trailing kisses up his abdomen and neck.
He tries to grab at the buttons of his own sweater, but she swats his hand away gently. “This stays on,” she commands, and jesus he needs to have her now before he explodes.
She seems to share that sentiment and pulls him towards her again, but instead turns her body away from him and braces her arms on the counter’s edge.
He presses into her and groans at the sensation, gripping her hips tightly as they adjust to each other. He builds up a rhythm quickly, and before long one of her hands is in between her own thighs, and he almost can’t take it.
He braces one hand on the counter and cups her breast with the other, pushing aside the fabric of his own clothing. His teeth graze her neck and he sucks gently, tasting her skin. He can hear her ragged breathing, knows it won’t be long now and continues to give her all he’s got, and she’s clutching the counter until her knuckles turn white, and she moans and fuck it’s like she knows just what kind of sound to make to drive him crazy.
It’s not until after they get back to their senses and disentangle themselves that Leslie starts to giggle.
“Now you understand… the power of the cardigan.”