Talk Dirty to Me
Title: Talk Dirty to Me
Pairing: Leslie/Ben
Rating: NC-17
Timeline: Season 5 (Pawnee/DC)
Summary: Tumblr Prompt: Anonymous said - Ben encourages Leslie to say dirty words.
Notes: Um...it's dirty? Also written in the middle of a road trip. This was started in Montana and finished in North Dakota!
"What would you like me to call it?" Ben asks, giving her an amused look from across the rumpled bedding and board game set up between them.
Leslie considers his question briefly before answering. “Pussy makes me think of our cat when I was growing up-Captain Hairball,” she says and then feels herself start to tear up. “I really loved her. So that’s…weird. Because it makes me sad.”
And while Leslie had always longed for a dog as a child, they had the Captain instead.
Captain Hairball was originally her dad’s cat from college and had to be put to sleep at the very dignified old age of 18 when Leslie was 10. She still has a picture of the black and white furball in her office drawer somewhere. Leslie thinks that if Captain Hairball could meet Ben she would definitely approve of him. The Captain was a great judge of character.
"Sorry," Ben tells her, reaching over countries and nations to rub her thigh lightly.
It’s a lazy Saturday night and he’s been visiting for the long Labor Day weekend. After a perfect day spent mostly in bed making out, reading, watching history documentaries from Leslie’s DVD collection, and cuddling, they’re in their sleepwear again and starting to wind down. Tomorrow is the day they actually plan to leave her bedroom and house.
Probably.
But first, a game and a half of Risk and a couple of glasses of red wine after dinner has led to the topic of talking dirty in bed. Which they already do most of the time, it’s just not super explicit. And sometimes it has more to do with historical figures than specific sex acts, but she likes it. Ben seems to as well.
More importantly than the topic of conversation, she thinks, right now they’re just…together. After a pizza and an inappropriate amount of time spent in the shower, they’re back in her bed, snuggling and talking, masterminding foreign policy, but each going out of the way to touch skin for no particular reason, lean into the other, and just do all the small tactile things that are impossible over the phone, texts, or Skype.
"Oh, here’s one other thing I learned about senior citizens and sex last week-they like their vaginal euphemisms, almost as much as they like going at it hard, old people-style. Maybe one of those…?"
Ben nods his head, takes a sip of wine. “Lay them on me, babe.”
"Well, let’s see if I can remember any," she says, then starts listing them off quickly, because really, how could she forget? "Velvet glove. Gravy boat. Catcher’s mitt. Sinkhole. Penis penitentiary. Happy valley. Sausage wallet," Leslie pauses. "Pink taco?"
"No. No. Um, no. No. No. No. No. And good lord, no."
"Yeah, right. Agreed. They are pretty bad. And ridiculously silly." Sometimes she ends up laughing just during the current dirty talking that they do, these phrases certainly aren’t going to help anything, she thinks.
"Although, now, I really want Mexican food…Let’s go to Juan in a Million tomorrow for dinner.”
"They don’t have good Mexican food in DC?"
"No, they do, but I certainly can’t pepperoni nachos. That is definitely a Pawnee specialty," he says, setting his wine glass down and shifting positions so that he’s facing her. "Leslie, I honestly don’t care how we talk during sex. Or even if we do. I just love touching you. And making you come. And being with you."
"I know. Me too. But, I also think we could always add some extra stuff. I mean the handcuffs were a total success," the look on his face when she says that tells her that Ben agrees. "Do you have a preference for what I call your…" she moves her eyes down towards his lap. "Dick? Cock?" She pauses for effect before adding, "Johnson?"
Ben stares at her, slowly questions in Big Lebowski-style, “Johnson?”
She smiles. “How about penis? I like it, but I know you don’t think that it’s very sexy.” Leslie usually just cycles between dick and cock because those seem like the best words to use in the heat of the moment, but she might as well ask Ben which he likes best.
He shrugs. “Penis is pretty sexy when you say it.”
"It’s just…here’s the other thing. When you say things like I want to lick you until you scream, I understand that you’re generally not talking about my elbow.”
He nods. “Generally I’m not. And when you say that you want me inside you, I should continue to assume that you’re not talking about my big toe, right?”
"Yes. Definitely," Leslie confirms.
There’s a few sends of silence, before he breaks it. “God, okay. Don’t think I’m super weird but I really kind of want to dip my big toe in your gravy boat now.”
She laughs. “You’re such a perv. And super weird. But sure, you could try that if you want,” Leslie says, then adds, “Actually, the word cunt is fine.”
"Really?" He asks, looking a little shocked. "I just assumed that was your first least favorite word for-"
"Oh, it is. But I’m assuming you’re not going to be calling me that. Or using it in public.”
"Um. No. Definitely not."
"Okay then, it would work during private sexy times."
"Let’s try this out then. All of the food-related euphemisms didn’t only make me want to go out for Mexican food tomorrow," he says suggestively, moving closer.
"Oh yeah?"
Ben nods and takes her wine glass from her hand and sets it on the bedside table beside his.
“Madame President, we can finish our foreign policy session later tonight,” he says, as he takes the Risk board with all of their game pieces spread out and moves it to the floor. “Because, right now I want to spread you open and bury my face in your…cunt and lick you until you scream.”
Leslie groans, lays back and pulls him down and against her side. “That is an excellent domestic strategy, Mr. Vice President.”
He fingers the black spaghetti strap of her short, black silky nightgown, giving her an appreciative look. “This is this new?”
"Yes. I thought it would be really sexy when I’m on my hands and knees and you flip it up in the back to fuck me later."
"Jesus," Ben says, looking a bit surprised and more than a little aroused.
Leslie smiles at him, pleased with herself. “I really like that. I also like it when I say stuff that you don’t expect and your face gets all cute and intense and turned-on.”
"You also really like it when I’m behind you, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Tell me why."
"I thought there was going to be some…cunnilingus action?" She teases.
'Oh, don't worry, there will be, but first I want hear about why you like it when I fuck you from behind.”
"Mmmm, well…" Leslie trails off, trying to find the right words. She’s not shy about talking to him about it, she’s just not sure how to explain it right. It makes her stomach drop and her insides clench-him seeing her like that. Ben making her want it so bad and her having to wait for him to do it, all exposed and practically trembling with anticipation.
"Tell me," he prods again. "Please?"
"You can see everything. How wet you make me. I’m just, all spread open for you."
"You are. I love that too," he starts working his way down her body, rubbing his face against the silky material as he goes. "You’re all pink and wet."
"It’s dirty and sexy. And sometimes you move all fast and pound into me and other times you’re so slow. So annoyingly slow, babe. And I have no control over it and I really love that sometimes. I can just…let go and not think about anything other than how you feel, just trust you to fuck me."
"Well, right now, I’m going to fuck you with my tongue," he tells her, looking up at her from down near her stomach. "Trust me."
Slowly, Ben inches the nightgown up Leslie’s thighs and hips, leaving it bunched up around her waist. She pulls her legs up, bending at the knees and spreads her thighs wide.
The first lick is a long, slow stroke, teasing while parting her, tasting her. Leslie moans and can’t help herself from grinding against his face. Then his hands are on her hips, almost roughly, holding her still, one hand moving in soon to pull her apart, spreading her folds wide open so he can zero his tongue right on her clit. She’s so wet and his fingers are sliding around, inside, moving in and out, rubbing and stretching her, all while his tongue licks and flicks against her in a fast, wet rhythm.
She comes quickly, gasping and moaning, legs shaking over his shoulders, while Ben moans and continues to work at her gently with his mouth as she comes down.
Her eyes are closed but she can feel him, moving up her body, pausing to nuzzle against her breasts, playfully take a nipple between his teeth, biting gently through the nightgown, then he places a wet, sloppy, Leslie-scented kiss along the side of her neck.
"Oh my god, get your cock in me right now, Ben," she manages to pant out.
"You mean my penis?" He smiles briefly before his eyes get all dark and he whispers, "turn over and get up on your knees, babe. I’m going to flip that cute little nightgown up."
She can’t help moaning at his words, then gets up on her knees, careful to smooth down the slinky material, but before she follows through with his request, Leslie turns into him and kisses him hard. While she does, she grasps him in her hand, touching him through the material of his dark blue boxer briefs, before working her hand beneath the fabric, stroking the silky skin of his cock. He’s so hard but the skin along his shaft is so soft.
Leslie pulls back to look at him-hair all tousled and sticking up in all directions, dark brown eyes staring at her, wearing a worn REM t-shirt-the one he keeps at her house. Sometimes, she can’t believe how much she loves him. Dorky, polling data-nerd, fun, sexy Ben with the perfect butt and warm, intense eyes.
With one more kiss she turns around, gets down on all fours. And waits.
He’s slow. He is probably the sweetest and most considerate man she’s ever known, but he can be a super big jerk sometimes. Because while his hands are warm and settled up high on the backs of her thighs, just below where the nightgown’s edge hits her skin, they’re not moving up.
She can feel herself getting wetter the more he teasingly palms her skin. But then, finally, he does it. He moves and pulls the hem of the nightgown up and over, so that the material is bunched up on her back.
"God you’re so beautiful."
She feels his palm first, rubbing against her ass and newly-exposed skin, before he starts fingering her slowly, in and out, one finger, then two, making her arch her back, then lean down and groan into a pillow. When he pulls away, she doesn’t have to wait long. It’s so, so sexy-like fingerless gloves, like the Phantom of the Opera, like Joe Biden riding a motorcycle, the wind blowing through his hair. Like her amazing boyfriend Ben Wyatt pushing slow and deep into her cunt from behind while she moves back and squirms against him impatiently.
It’s fast and hard, then it’s slow like honey and luscious, his hands travel between her hips and back, and even wrap around to cup her breasts, while Ben leans in close and kisses her neck. When he reaches down around the curve of her hip to find her clit, she gasps. Minutes later she comes again and her whole body shakes and hums, his erratic and hard thrusts behind her speeding up before he releases everything into her, a deep moan accompanying Ben’s movements.
It’s quiet afterwards as they lay snuggled up together. Ben is lightly stroking her bare hip and it feels so good, so right, she doesn’t want to remember that the day after tomorrow he’ll be going back to DC for nine more long weeks.
"I might still laugh sometimes…when we’re talking about stuff in bed, you know."
"God, I hope so. You’re so cute when you laugh," he shrugs. "Sometimes I’m going to laugh too. Especially if you ever use the term sausage wallet.”
They both giggle (well, it’s mostly her) and then Leslie cuddles closer against him. Her voice is low and soft when she tells him, “Part of me really doesn’t want you to leave Monday morning. And I know we try not to say stuff like that while we’re visiting, but I’m sorry…it’s true.”
"Did I ever tell you about my drive out there in May?"
"Not really," she answers. He didn’t. He called when he got there and they talked for just a few brief minutes-about everything but the fact that she was in Pawnee and he was in DC.
"Right. That’s because I almost turned around, oh, probably three times. Once I even pulled off the highway, was going to start heading back west. I think it was somewhere near…I don’t know, Columbus? That Jolie Holland song came on the mix you made me and I just wanted to hug you right then. Kiss you. More than I’ve ever wanted anything," he stops. Sighs lightly before continuing, "The thing is, I love this job, this whole experience. It’s thrilling and it’s easy to get excited about it. It is, I’m not going to lie. And under different circumstances, I could see…" he trails off. "But I love you so much more. Living in DC is a temporary thing, because you and Pawnee are my home Leslie, no matter where I am. And I would always rather be home with you."
"We should move in together when you get back in November," Leslie tells him matter-of-factly.
"We should," Ben agrees, reaching out and taking her hand in his.
Pairing: Leslie/Ben
Rating: NC-17
Timeline: Season 5 (Pawnee/DC)
Summary: Tumblr Prompt: Anonymous said - Ben encourages Leslie to say dirty words.
Notes: Um...it's dirty? Also written in the middle of a road trip. This was started in Montana and finished in North Dakota!
"What would you like me to call it?" Ben asks, giving her an amused look from across the rumpled bedding and board game set up between them.
Leslie considers his question briefly before answering. “Pussy makes me think of our cat when I was growing up-Captain Hairball,” she says and then feels herself start to tear up. “I really loved her. So that’s…weird. Because it makes me sad.”
And while Leslie had always longed for a dog as a child, they had the Captain instead.
Captain Hairball was originally her dad’s cat from college and had to be put to sleep at the very dignified old age of 18 when Leslie was 10. She still has a picture of the black and white furball in her office drawer somewhere. Leslie thinks that if Captain Hairball could meet Ben she would definitely approve of him. The Captain was a great judge of character.
"Sorry," Ben tells her, reaching over countries and nations to rub her thigh lightly.
It’s a lazy Saturday night and he’s been visiting for the long Labor Day weekend. After a perfect day spent mostly in bed making out, reading, watching history documentaries from Leslie’s DVD collection, and cuddling, they’re in their sleepwear again and starting to wind down. Tomorrow is the day they actually plan to leave her bedroom and house.
Probably.
But first, a game and a half of Risk and a couple of glasses of red wine after dinner has led to the topic of talking dirty in bed. Which they already do most of the time, it’s just not super explicit. And sometimes it has more to do with historical figures than specific sex acts, but she likes it. Ben seems to as well.
More importantly than the topic of conversation, she thinks, right now they’re just…together. After a pizza and an inappropriate amount of time spent in the shower, they’re back in her bed, snuggling and talking, masterminding foreign policy, but each going out of the way to touch skin for no particular reason, lean into the other, and just do all the small tactile things that are impossible over the phone, texts, or Skype.
"Oh, here’s one other thing I learned about senior citizens and sex last week-they like their vaginal euphemisms, almost as much as they like going at it hard, old people-style. Maybe one of those…?"
Ben nods his head, takes a sip of wine. “Lay them on me, babe.”
"Well, let’s see if I can remember any," she says, then starts listing them off quickly, because really, how could she forget? "Velvet glove. Gravy boat. Catcher’s mitt. Sinkhole. Penis penitentiary. Happy valley. Sausage wallet," Leslie pauses. "Pink taco?"
"No. No. Um, no. No. No. No. No. And good lord, no."
"Yeah, right. Agreed. They are pretty bad. And ridiculously silly." Sometimes she ends up laughing just during the current dirty talking that they do, these phrases certainly aren’t going to help anything, she thinks.
"Although, now, I really want Mexican food…Let’s go to Juan in a Million tomorrow for dinner.”
"They don’t have good Mexican food in DC?"
"No, they do, but I certainly can’t pepperoni nachos. That is definitely a Pawnee specialty," he says, setting his wine glass down and shifting positions so that he’s facing her. "Leslie, I honestly don’t care how we talk during sex. Or even if we do. I just love touching you. And making you come. And being with you."
"I know. Me too. But, I also think we could always add some extra stuff. I mean the handcuffs were a total success," the look on his face when she says that tells her that Ben agrees. "Do you have a preference for what I call your…" she moves her eyes down towards his lap. "Dick? Cock?" She pauses for effect before adding, "Johnson?"
Ben stares at her, slowly questions in Big Lebowski-style, “Johnson?”
She smiles. “How about penis? I like it, but I know you don’t think that it’s very sexy.” Leslie usually just cycles between dick and cock because those seem like the best words to use in the heat of the moment, but she might as well ask Ben which he likes best.
He shrugs. “Penis is pretty sexy when you say it.”
"It’s just…here’s the other thing. When you say things like I want to lick you until you scream, I understand that you’re generally not talking about my elbow.”
He nods. “Generally I’m not. And when you say that you want me inside you, I should continue to assume that you’re not talking about my big toe, right?”
"Yes. Definitely," Leslie confirms.
There’s a few sends of silence, before he breaks it. “God, okay. Don’t think I’m super weird but I really kind of want to dip my big toe in your gravy boat now.”
She laughs. “You’re such a perv. And super weird. But sure, you could try that if you want,” Leslie says, then adds, “Actually, the word cunt is fine.”
"Really?" He asks, looking a little shocked. "I just assumed that was your first least favorite word for-"
"Oh, it is. But I’m assuming you’re not going to be calling me that. Or using it in public.”
"Um. No. Definitely not."
"Okay then, it would work during private sexy times."
"Let’s try this out then. All of the food-related euphemisms didn’t only make me want to go out for Mexican food tomorrow," he says suggestively, moving closer.
"Oh yeah?"
Ben nods and takes her wine glass from her hand and sets it on the bedside table beside his.
“Madame President, we can finish our foreign policy session later tonight,” he says, as he takes the Risk board with all of their game pieces spread out and moves it to the floor. “Because, right now I want to spread you open and bury my face in your…cunt and lick you until you scream.”
Leslie groans, lays back and pulls him down and against her side. “That is an excellent domestic strategy, Mr. Vice President.”
He fingers the black spaghetti strap of her short, black silky nightgown, giving her an appreciative look. “This is this new?”
"Yes. I thought it would be really sexy when I’m on my hands and knees and you flip it up in the back to fuck me later."
"Jesus," Ben says, looking a bit surprised and more than a little aroused.
Leslie smiles at him, pleased with herself. “I really like that. I also like it when I say stuff that you don’t expect and your face gets all cute and intense and turned-on.”
"You also really like it when I’m behind you, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Tell me why."
"I thought there was going to be some…cunnilingus action?" She teases.
'Oh, don't worry, there will be, but first I want hear about why you like it when I fuck you from behind.”
"Mmmm, well…" Leslie trails off, trying to find the right words. She’s not shy about talking to him about it, she’s just not sure how to explain it right. It makes her stomach drop and her insides clench-him seeing her like that. Ben making her want it so bad and her having to wait for him to do it, all exposed and practically trembling with anticipation.
"Tell me," he prods again. "Please?"
"You can see everything. How wet you make me. I’m just, all spread open for you."
"You are. I love that too," he starts working his way down her body, rubbing his face against the silky material as he goes. "You’re all pink and wet."
"It’s dirty and sexy. And sometimes you move all fast and pound into me and other times you’re so slow. So annoyingly slow, babe. And I have no control over it and I really love that sometimes. I can just…let go and not think about anything other than how you feel, just trust you to fuck me."
"Well, right now, I’m going to fuck you with my tongue," he tells her, looking up at her from down near her stomach. "Trust me."
Slowly, Ben inches the nightgown up Leslie’s thighs and hips, leaving it bunched up around her waist. She pulls her legs up, bending at the knees and spreads her thighs wide.
The first lick is a long, slow stroke, teasing while parting her, tasting her. Leslie moans and can’t help herself from grinding against his face. Then his hands are on her hips, almost roughly, holding her still, one hand moving in soon to pull her apart, spreading her folds wide open so he can zero his tongue right on her clit. She’s so wet and his fingers are sliding around, inside, moving in and out, rubbing and stretching her, all while his tongue licks and flicks against her in a fast, wet rhythm.
She comes quickly, gasping and moaning, legs shaking over his shoulders, while Ben moans and continues to work at her gently with his mouth as she comes down.
Her eyes are closed but she can feel him, moving up her body, pausing to nuzzle against her breasts, playfully take a nipple between his teeth, biting gently through the nightgown, then he places a wet, sloppy, Leslie-scented kiss along the side of her neck.
"Oh my god, get your cock in me right now, Ben," she manages to pant out.
"You mean my penis?" He smiles briefly before his eyes get all dark and he whispers, "turn over and get up on your knees, babe. I’m going to flip that cute little nightgown up."
She can’t help moaning at his words, then gets up on her knees, careful to smooth down the slinky material, but before she follows through with his request, Leslie turns into him and kisses him hard. While she does, she grasps him in her hand, touching him through the material of his dark blue boxer briefs, before working her hand beneath the fabric, stroking the silky skin of his cock. He’s so hard but the skin along his shaft is so soft.
Leslie pulls back to look at him-hair all tousled and sticking up in all directions, dark brown eyes staring at her, wearing a worn REM t-shirt-the one he keeps at her house. Sometimes, she can’t believe how much she loves him. Dorky, polling data-nerd, fun, sexy Ben with the perfect butt and warm, intense eyes.
With one more kiss she turns around, gets down on all fours. And waits.
He’s slow. He is probably the sweetest and most considerate man she’s ever known, but he can be a super big jerk sometimes. Because while his hands are warm and settled up high on the backs of her thighs, just below where the nightgown’s edge hits her skin, they’re not moving up.
She can feel herself getting wetter the more he teasingly palms her skin. But then, finally, he does it. He moves and pulls the hem of the nightgown up and over, so that the material is bunched up on her back.
"God you’re so beautiful."
She feels his palm first, rubbing against her ass and newly-exposed skin, before he starts fingering her slowly, in and out, one finger, then two, making her arch her back, then lean down and groan into a pillow. When he pulls away, she doesn’t have to wait long. It’s so, so sexy-like fingerless gloves, like the Phantom of the Opera, like Joe Biden riding a motorcycle, the wind blowing through his hair. Like her amazing boyfriend Ben Wyatt pushing slow and deep into her cunt from behind while she moves back and squirms against him impatiently.
It’s fast and hard, then it’s slow like honey and luscious, his hands travel between her hips and back, and even wrap around to cup her breasts, while Ben leans in close and kisses her neck. When he reaches down around the curve of her hip to find her clit, she gasps. Minutes later she comes again and her whole body shakes and hums, his erratic and hard thrusts behind her speeding up before he releases everything into her, a deep moan accompanying Ben’s movements.
It’s quiet afterwards as they lay snuggled up together. Ben is lightly stroking her bare hip and it feels so good, so right, she doesn’t want to remember that the day after tomorrow he’ll be going back to DC for nine more long weeks.
"I might still laugh sometimes…when we’re talking about stuff in bed, you know."
"God, I hope so. You’re so cute when you laugh," he shrugs. "Sometimes I’m going to laugh too. Especially if you ever use the term sausage wallet.”
They both giggle (well, it’s mostly her) and then Leslie cuddles closer against him. Her voice is low and soft when she tells him, “Part of me really doesn’t want you to leave Monday morning. And I know we try not to say stuff like that while we’re visiting, but I’m sorry…it’s true.”
"Did I ever tell you about my drive out there in May?"
"Not really," she answers. He didn’t. He called when he got there and they talked for just a few brief minutes-about everything but the fact that she was in Pawnee and he was in DC.
"Right. That’s because I almost turned around, oh, probably three times. Once I even pulled off the highway, was going to start heading back west. I think it was somewhere near…I don’t know, Columbus? That Jolie Holland song came on the mix you made me and I just wanted to hug you right then. Kiss you. More than I’ve ever wanted anything," he stops. Sighs lightly before continuing, "The thing is, I love this job, this whole experience. It’s thrilling and it’s easy to get excited about it. It is, I’m not going to lie. And under different circumstances, I could see…" he trails off. "But I love you so much more. Living in DC is a temporary thing, because you and Pawnee are my home Leslie, no matter where I am. And I would always rather be home with you."
"We should move in together when you get back in November," Leslie tells him matter-of-factly.
"We should," Ben agrees, reaching out and taking her hand in his.