Cannonball (for the Behind Closed Doors challenge, Relish section, Leslie's POV)
Title: Cannonball (for the Behind Closed Doors challenge, Relish section, Leslie's POV)
Pairing: Leslie/Ben
Rating: Hard R
Words: 3,600
A/N: Thanks to my partner in crime stillscape, whose companion piece can be found here, as well as saucydiva,
craponaspatula, and princess_george for their ideas and moral support
Leslie Knope knew she had a tendency to be a bit … not overbearing, exactly. Passionate. A steamroller, as Ann would say, although Leslie didn’t think that was the official medical term or anything. But even before Ann put the word to it-she knew there was occasionally maybe something just a bit too intense about the way she behaved at times. Just a smidge. She couldn’t help it! Sometimes something was important, things needed to happen a certain way, and she couldn’t compromise, and she got a sort of tunnel vision and just started barreling toward whatever objective she had set her eyes on, like some sort of extremely stubborn cannonball.
Sometimes, the cannonball thing was a bit more literal.
At this particular moment, Leslie very much physically resembled an actual cannonball in motion. She was blasting through the parking lot of the tv station, bursting through the doorway, launching through the air, and tackling her very well-dressed boyfriend to the station floor, and then wrestling him for the goods. She needed that tape! And if this was what she had to do to get it …
The next few moments were a blur of elbows and grunts and-god, his abs were tight. And he smelled good, and for a moment she was distracted by the grunts that sounded so much like sounds she was used to hearing from him in other settings. Focus, Leslie, focus! She threw an elbow, he yelped, and … score!
She got it! She won! She won … feelings of exalted satisfaction swept through her as she closed her fingers around the case and jerked it away from Ben, awkwardly disentangling her limbs from him and drawing herself up to her full five feet five inches (with heels).
And then she saw Ben’s face, and the station lobby came into focus … and the tunnel vision started to melt away.
--
The silence in the car was putting Leslie on edge. It was like so many silences she had heard in so many other fledgling relationships. It was like the awkward pause before We need to talk, or, It turns out my ex is back from joining Cirque de Soleil and needs a nude practice partner.
It wasn’t like that, though. Ben’s ex worked for the state personnel office, and he hadn’t spoken to her since 2009. And Ben was … Ben. They loved each other.
Yeah, this silence was different.
“I’m sorry I tackled you,” she said, for the third time that night.
“It’s okay.” Ben smiled at her through the darkness, and it looked more affectionate than annoyed, which was a little surprising considering she had given him rug burn on his cute little ass. “Maybe it’s a good thing. I don’t know … I’m not actually sure my version … maybe it wasn’t entirely … I'm not really sure, it’s just that …”
“You might have been wrong?” She felt the corners of her mouth turn up at the thought, and Ben laughed softly.
“Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know. I’m not sure either ad was right. Clearly, mine wasn’t you, and yours … I honestly don’t think yours was you either. You are tougher than that, I know you are. If we had more time, or maybe if we hadn't gone our separate ways …” He trailed off, focusing on the road.
Leslie’s smile melted away, and she swallowed. Was she tougher than that? They’d both been stubbornly digging in their heels all day, and she hated to admit it, but … she wasn’t ten any more. In some ways, she still was, or at least, she found herself clinging to the same ideals. Was that naïve? Or was she selling herself short?
She didn’t want to run a ruthless attack ad, she knew that. But she also didn’t want to make campaign promises she couldn’t keep. She wanted to be honest with her potential future constituents, about who she was, what she wanted to accomplish, what she could accomplish. And she knew she couldn’t accomplish everything on her pro list. Maybe … closer to 80 percent.
“Maybe they both sucked … a little bit,” she offered, trying to lighten the mood.
Ben shook his head, sighing. “Maybe. God. Honestly, it’s been a long time since I’ve done anything like this. I’m not sure I really even know what I’m doing.”
“I don’t think that’s true.” She reached for his hand in the darkness, clasping it on top of the console. “I had you very thoroughly vetted before making my hiring decision.”
He shot her a glance, his eyes narrowing into two bemused slits. “Oh yeah? What kind of vetting?”
“Former employers, childhood hangouts, tax records, favorite erogenous zones … the usual.”
“Uh-huh,” was all he said. But she could hear the smile in his voice again.
--
Back at Leslie’s house, as they were shrugging out of their coats and hanging them in the hall closet, something occurred to her.
“Was this our first fight as a couple?”
Ben looked startled, which wasn’t an unusual look for him. “Was it?”
It did seem odd. They’d broken up, but amicably, and they’d fought, but while broken up. That would make this their first true couple fight. That was significant, wasn’t it? It seemed like it to her. She couldn’t remember the last time she had caused bodily harm to a guy and still had him come home with her.
This was nice, she decided. This was a good thing.
“I think it definitely was our first official fight as a couple,” she murmured, slowly backing him against the hallway wall and gently winding her fingers around his tie. Clearly, one of the best parts of hiring her boyfriend to be her campaign manager? The suits. Ben looked amazing in a suit. “You know what that means, right?”
He giggled, breathily, and shivered under her touch. “What does that mean?”
She leaned up on the tips of her toes and put her mouth next to his ear. “Make-up sex,” she whispered in what she thought was her absolute sexiest voice.
“I thought that’s what you were going to say.”
And then he was kissing her. Or she was kissing him. They were kissing each other, and pulling at clothing, and finding skin, and it was fantastic. She didn’t have much experience with makeup sex, but she’d always pictured the foreplay as being angstier than this--more fingernails, maybe, more doubt.
This was so much better-comfortable, reassuring, good.
She broke away long enough to grab his hand and pull him toward her bedroom, where she pushed him down on the bed and jumped on top of him, because that had been so much fun earlier. Then they wrestled, playfully, affectionately, the rest of the clothing disappearing, until Ben had her pinned under him and was kissing her so thoroughly that she might have forgotten what city she lived in, much less that they had a campaign to run so she could have a chance at governing that city.
"I love you," he said as she wrapped her legs around him.
Yes. This was good.
==
“I’m so glad you came around on Li’l Sebastian.”
Leslie snuggled up closer to Ben and absent-mindedly fingered the waffle necklace around her neck-the only thing either one of them was wearing at the moment-and basked in a contented afterglow.
Ben mumbled something noncommittal sounding, but she let it slide because she was so happy.
Every time she thought Ben couldn’t be more perfect for her, he surprised her all over again-with his thoughtfulness, with his braininess, with his willingness to blow off a lovely romantic dinner to stalk their friends. Her gaze drifted over to Yachter Otter, who was propped up on her nightstand so that she could see him first thing every day. She still couldn’t believe Ben remembered her early-morning mumblings, much less that he’d set out to get them stitched and stuffed into reality.
He made her dreams come true.
The thought kind of took her breath away.
“Is that thing staring at us?” Ben’s voice broke into her reverie.
“He’s not staring at us. He’s … watching over us. Not watching! I’m sure he closes his eyes during … stop it. Don’t make Yachter Otter into something dirty.”
Ben laughed sleepily.
“Fine. I’ll just point him a little bit this way.” Leslie shifted and propped herself up on an elbow and leaned over Ben to rotate Yachter Otter by 15 degrees. As she slid back into place, she noticed Ben’s attention firmly focused on her naked breasts. His brown eyes were dark.
“Really?” She grinned. “You haven’t seen those enough tonight already?”
“Never enough.”
She made a point of pushing them out and giving him the best view as she slid back into her spot by his side. One of his hands drifted over and started casually, gently playing with her nipple.
Shouldn’t some of this feeling have worn off by now? They’d been back together for almost three months, and still he looked at her sometimes like … like he couldn’t believe she existed, like he couldn’t believe he got to touch her or be in her bed. He made her feel adored and lusted after in a way she wouldn’t quite understand if not for the fact that she felt the same way about him.
“Speaking of …” he said suddenly. “What was the five-letter word for the cryptex?”
Speaking of what?
“What do you mean? I thought you figured that out.”
He looked at her sheepishly. “I tried everything I could think of. I tried everything Ron or Andy could think of, and finally Ron broke into it with a hammer. It’s been killing me all day.”
“You don’t remember our third date?”
“Of course I remember our third date, in vivid detail. It was here, in this bed, just like the first and second dates.”
Leslie’s jaw dropped, and then she burst out laughing.
“Those weren’t dates!”
“Sure, they were … what would you call them?”
“Those were …” Was there a more romantic term for hookup? “… really romantic sexytime sleepovers. What words were you trying?”
He looked sheepish, so she poked him, prodding him on.
“Knope, booty, boobs …” His voice dropped lower. “Fucks.”
“Oh, you’re dirty! No, I like it. You’re like my dirty little secret. Not that you’re my secret any more, but it’s my secret how dirty you can be.”
She giggled, and he rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling in thought.
“Then what third date are you talking about? Was it the time I took you to that Indian restaurant, to celebrate our three-week anniversary? India has five letters …”
It was a fair guess. They didn’t risk going on actual dates much back then, so that was probably their third dinner out as a secret couple. But she hadn’t been thinking of it that way.
“No, silly. Third dates happen before you have sex. Everybody knows that.”
He just stared at her.
Okay, it wasn’t like she had always followed that rule, and she could understand his confusion in retrospect. But when they first hooked up, it didn’t feel like a hookup … it felt like there had been at least three dates leading up to that point. And maybe they hadn’t taken the most conventional route to getting together, but when she thought about significant days that led to them eventually having sex …
“Our first date was the double date with Chris and Ann.”
“Wait … that wasn’t a date. That was me trying to stop you from manipulating Chris into giving you money.”
“We had dessert! What did dessert have to do with stopping me from talking to Chris?”
“No, that was just … I wanted dessert.”
“And you had drinks with me at The Bulge, and we talked about penguins in love.” Honestly, it might not have been official, but it had gone better than 95 percent of the first dates Leslie had ever been on.
“Okay,” Ben finally admitted. “That was somewhat date-like, I’ll concede that for the sake of moving on. And our second date?”
“Sandwiches to celebrate getting Chief Trumple to supply security for the Harvest Festival.”
“That was a date? I mean, I wanted it to be …”
Yeah, he did, Leslie thought smugly. Not that she knew that at the time.
“There was food. And sparks.”
“There were sparks?”
“I remember sparks. Friendship sparks, with a sprinkling of possibly-something-more sparks. You didn’t feel sparks?”
“Oh, I felt sparks.” He was massaging her breast now as they talked. One of the best parts of sleeping with Ben was that he slept over. The sex was amazing, but the cuddling and talking afterward were singular. “So now that I have an idea of the weird criteria you were using … that would make our third date … hamburgers?”
“By the wallflower mural.”
“Mural …” Finally, he was getting it. Even the brainy ones could be slow sometimes. “But we didn’t even leave city hall.”
“It was a significant turning point in our relationship, and it happened at my favorite place in the entire world.”
“The mural, right. Silly me, I was thinking of our actual third date, after we started dating. Wait, what happened by the mural? I thought we were just hanging out, having lunch.”
“That’s the day that I knew, beyond a doubt, that I didn’t want anyone but you.”
"Wow. Really?" His hand stopped, and he looked deeply into her eyes. Leslie had a small moment of panic.
Was that saying too much? Was she coming on too strong? Experience had taught her that there was no quicker way to send a guy fleeing from bed than to talk about feelings.
But this was Ben. She was still getting used to that-letting it all out, not holding back, being able to come on as strong as she damn well pleased.
She steeled herself and said it. “Really. I don’t want anyone but you. And that’s when I knew.”
“I feel the same way.” The words were immediate, unhesitating, and then he kissed her.
She suspected he’d already known that, just as she’d pretty much already known that he felt that way about her. After all, they'd already taken so many risks just to give this a try. They both wanted this to be it. It sure felt like it.
The tender kisses soon turned into sexy kisses, and those soon turned into foreplay. Leslie rolled over on top of him, ready to show him exactly how much she was into him.
==
Leslie had never understood when people used the phrase “all work, no play,” as if that was a bad thing. She loved work. She loved completing a task, making a difference, checking things off, and feeling like she’d accomplished something or made a difference to someone. The fact that she got to work so closely with so many of her friends over the years-that was like the vivid full-color cover sheet on the front of a binder of good ideas.
Of course, none of her friends for life/coworkers had ever felt quite the same enthusiasm for work that she did-until Ben came along.
Everyone had worked their asses off to pull off the Harvest Festival, of course, but Ben was the one who was there for her, around the clock, working as hard as she was, making sure everything was covered, that every little task was completed and checked off and checked again. And when she thought about how this romance all started, that’s what she thought of: Ben with his rolled-up sleeves and his very neatly organized Padfolio, Ben with his anal attention to every minute detail and his enthusiasm for a job well done. There was nothing Leslie found sexier than a guy who could get things done.
Of course, they weren’t having sex back then. And they also weren’t having sex half a year later when they were working on their next big project, the smallest park. That was unfortunate.
But that had all changed now. Ben was working as hard as ever, and he was doing it all for her, and he was doing a completely awesome job.
And, she got to have sex with him, whenever she wanted.
Well, almost whenever she wanted. She wanted to a lot-every time he started confidently spouting elegant strategies full of just the right amount of political jargon. Every time he stayed up late, bent over news reports and spreadsheets and old political science textbooks, his brow furrowed in concentration. Every time he led a campaign meeting or conducted a press interview or interacted with voters-and she had the overwhelming urge to jump in to let everyone know, yep, he’s mine. My brilliant campaign manager and attentive lover to boot. Jealous much?
She never said that out loud. Not often, at least.
But Ben was probably right-there were appropriate times and places and physical limits to how often he could perform (which still was still quite often, and quite well, so she wasn’t complaining). She tried to control herself, but he wasn’t exactly making it easy.
The night that Perd announced she’d risen to within 15 percentage points of Bobby Newport, Leslie couldn’t wait for her team to go home so that she could properly congratulate him. When everyone but April and Andy had finally filed out, Leslie followed Ben into his bedroom and shut the door.
“Hey, did I hear you say something about me and hummingbirds earlier? What was that about?”
“Oh, you heard that? You sexy little hummingbird you, must have good hearing.” Did hummingbirds even have ears?
“I’m … what does that mean?” She moved in closer, into his personal space, and he took a step back, sitting down on the bed. That was fine. It was like he had told her-sometimes he needed a minute or two to shift gears from business Ben to sexy-business Ben.
“It’s a compliment, Ben! I called you sexy. Because you are. Get used to it.”
She sat down next to him and put her hand on his thigh. Not too aggressive, see?
“Hummingbirds are really small. And fast. They move their wings really, really fast, like weirdly fast. Small, and fast and … I’m not sure those are things a guy wants to hear about his sexual abilities. Especially when I’m overhearing you telling things like that to other people.”
“Well, you’re obviously not a woman. Hummingbirds are focused, and efficient. And those are extremely sexy qualities. Now, don’t you want to … peck at my … nectar, honey?”
Okay, maybe that sounded weird.
“Don’t say things like that. I mean, yes. Whatever that means, probably yes. You … want me to go down on you tonight?”
“Mmmm ….” Leslie had no idea if that was what she’d been suggesting. She’d just been throwing out some vaguely sexy bird-type words. But … yes? Now that he suggested it … she was already feeling wet between her legs over that news report, and this was not helping. Except … “Maybe later. You first.”
“Me first?”
Ben was usually reluctant to let sex be all about him-he said he enjoyed making her feel good-but he was going to have to give in a little tonight. Leslie had plans.
When she climbed into his lap and started nuzzling and kissing his neck and undoing his belt, he certainly didn’t seem to mind.
“You’re the woman of the hour, candidate Knope,” he insisted, in between kisses. "Second place."
“Only because of you, my agile antelope of a campaign manager.” She shifted her hips against him, and he cupped her ass in his hands, holding her there. He narrowed his eyes at her skeptically, which was somehow really attractive.
“I’m an antelope, now?”
“According to the evening news. If it bothers you, you’re just going to have to stop being so good at your job.”
“You make it pretty easy. People want to support you because you’re the best candidate for the job. That’s not my doing.”
She shifted forward, feeling the hardness growing in his jeans.
“Yes, it is. We’re doing this together. And right now, I’m going to do you.” She slid down his body onto the floor, taking his jeans with her. “You’re doing so much for me. Let me do something for you, okay?”
He hesitated for a moment, but she did some very persuasive things with her fingers, and he closed his eyes and leaned back slightly, supported by his hands on the bed.
She loved going down on him. It made her feel powerful, being able to have this effect on someone, to have him just lay back and trust her to take care of him like this. When he said that he liked making her feel good, she believed him, because she knew what he meant.
After she was done, she stood up and waited for him to open his eyes. When she had his attention again-his dark eyes fixing on her in the dim room-she slowly stripped off all her clothes, letting him sit back and watch.
This was its own kind of thrilling, making her feel both sexy and in control, but also naked and vulnerable, all her imperfections on display. It was the kind of thing that would have made her nervous with any other sexual partner, but with Ben … it just felt right.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, “sometimes I can’t believe you’re mine.”
She knew exactly how he felt.
Pairing: Leslie/Ben
Rating: Hard R
Words: 3,600
A/N: Thanks to my partner in crime stillscape, whose companion piece can be found here, as well as saucydiva,
craponaspatula, and princess_george for their ideas and moral support
Leslie Knope knew she had a tendency to be a bit … not overbearing, exactly. Passionate. A steamroller, as Ann would say, although Leslie didn’t think that was the official medical term or anything. But even before Ann put the word to it-she knew there was occasionally maybe something just a bit too intense about the way she behaved at times. Just a smidge. She couldn’t help it! Sometimes something was important, things needed to happen a certain way, and she couldn’t compromise, and she got a sort of tunnel vision and just started barreling toward whatever objective she had set her eyes on, like some sort of extremely stubborn cannonball.
Sometimes, the cannonball thing was a bit more literal.
At this particular moment, Leslie very much physically resembled an actual cannonball in motion. She was blasting through the parking lot of the tv station, bursting through the doorway, launching through the air, and tackling her very well-dressed boyfriend to the station floor, and then wrestling him for the goods. She needed that tape! And if this was what she had to do to get it …
The next few moments were a blur of elbows and grunts and-god, his abs were tight. And he smelled good, and for a moment she was distracted by the grunts that sounded so much like sounds she was used to hearing from him in other settings. Focus, Leslie, focus! She threw an elbow, he yelped, and … score!
She got it! She won! She won … feelings of exalted satisfaction swept through her as she closed her fingers around the case and jerked it away from Ben, awkwardly disentangling her limbs from him and drawing herself up to her full five feet five inches (with heels).
And then she saw Ben’s face, and the station lobby came into focus … and the tunnel vision started to melt away.
--
The silence in the car was putting Leslie on edge. It was like so many silences she had heard in so many other fledgling relationships. It was like the awkward pause before We need to talk, or, It turns out my ex is back from joining Cirque de Soleil and needs a nude practice partner.
It wasn’t like that, though. Ben’s ex worked for the state personnel office, and he hadn’t spoken to her since 2009. And Ben was … Ben. They loved each other.
Yeah, this silence was different.
“I’m sorry I tackled you,” she said, for the third time that night.
“It’s okay.” Ben smiled at her through the darkness, and it looked more affectionate than annoyed, which was a little surprising considering she had given him rug burn on his cute little ass. “Maybe it’s a good thing. I don’t know … I’m not actually sure my version … maybe it wasn’t entirely … I'm not really sure, it’s just that …”
“You might have been wrong?” She felt the corners of her mouth turn up at the thought, and Ben laughed softly.
“Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know. I’m not sure either ad was right. Clearly, mine wasn’t you, and yours … I honestly don’t think yours was you either. You are tougher than that, I know you are. If we had more time, or maybe if we hadn't gone our separate ways …” He trailed off, focusing on the road.
Leslie’s smile melted away, and she swallowed. Was she tougher than that? They’d both been stubbornly digging in their heels all day, and she hated to admit it, but … she wasn’t ten any more. In some ways, she still was, or at least, she found herself clinging to the same ideals. Was that naïve? Or was she selling herself short?
She didn’t want to run a ruthless attack ad, she knew that. But she also didn’t want to make campaign promises she couldn’t keep. She wanted to be honest with her potential future constituents, about who she was, what she wanted to accomplish, what she could accomplish. And she knew she couldn’t accomplish everything on her pro list. Maybe … closer to 80 percent.
“Maybe they both sucked … a little bit,” she offered, trying to lighten the mood.
Ben shook his head, sighing. “Maybe. God. Honestly, it’s been a long time since I’ve done anything like this. I’m not sure I really even know what I’m doing.”
“I don’t think that’s true.” She reached for his hand in the darkness, clasping it on top of the console. “I had you very thoroughly vetted before making my hiring decision.”
He shot her a glance, his eyes narrowing into two bemused slits. “Oh yeah? What kind of vetting?”
“Former employers, childhood hangouts, tax records, favorite erogenous zones … the usual.”
“Uh-huh,” was all he said. But she could hear the smile in his voice again.
--
Back at Leslie’s house, as they were shrugging out of their coats and hanging them in the hall closet, something occurred to her.
“Was this our first fight as a couple?”
Ben looked startled, which wasn’t an unusual look for him. “Was it?”
It did seem odd. They’d broken up, but amicably, and they’d fought, but while broken up. That would make this their first true couple fight. That was significant, wasn’t it? It seemed like it to her. She couldn’t remember the last time she had caused bodily harm to a guy and still had him come home with her.
This was nice, she decided. This was a good thing.
“I think it definitely was our first official fight as a couple,” she murmured, slowly backing him against the hallway wall and gently winding her fingers around his tie. Clearly, one of the best parts of hiring her boyfriend to be her campaign manager? The suits. Ben looked amazing in a suit. “You know what that means, right?”
He giggled, breathily, and shivered under her touch. “What does that mean?”
She leaned up on the tips of her toes and put her mouth next to his ear. “Make-up sex,” she whispered in what she thought was her absolute sexiest voice.
“I thought that’s what you were going to say.”
And then he was kissing her. Or she was kissing him. They were kissing each other, and pulling at clothing, and finding skin, and it was fantastic. She didn’t have much experience with makeup sex, but she’d always pictured the foreplay as being angstier than this--more fingernails, maybe, more doubt.
This was so much better-comfortable, reassuring, good.
She broke away long enough to grab his hand and pull him toward her bedroom, where she pushed him down on the bed and jumped on top of him, because that had been so much fun earlier. Then they wrestled, playfully, affectionately, the rest of the clothing disappearing, until Ben had her pinned under him and was kissing her so thoroughly that she might have forgotten what city she lived in, much less that they had a campaign to run so she could have a chance at governing that city.
"I love you," he said as she wrapped her legs around him.
Yes. This was good.
==
“I’m so glad you came around on Li’l Sebastian.”
Leslie snuggled up closer to Ben and absent-mindedly fingered the waffle necklace around her neck-the only thing either one of them was wearing at the moment-and basked in a contented afterglow.
Ben mumbled something noncommittal sounding, but she let it slide because she was so happy.
Every time she thought Ben couldn’t be more perfect for her, he surprised her all over again-with his thoughtfulness, with his braininess, with his willingness to blow off a lovely romantic dinner to stalk their friends. Her gaze drifted over to Yachter Otter, who was propped up on her nightstand so that she could see him first thing every day. She still couldn’t believe Ben remembered her early-morning mumblings, much less that he’d set out to get them stitched and stuffed into reality.
He made her dreams come true.
The thought kind of took her breath away.
“Is that thing staring at us?” Ben’s voice broke into her reverie.
“He’s not staring at us. He’s … watching over us. Not watching! I’m sure he closes his eyes during … stop it. Don’t make Yachter Otter into something dirty.”
Ben laughed sleepily.
“Fine. I’ll just point him a little bit this way.” Leslie shifted and propped herself up on an elbow and leaned over Ben to rotate Yachter Otter by 15 degrees. As she slid back into place, she noticed Ben’s attention firmly focused on her naked breasts. His brown eyes were dark.
“Really?” She grinned. “You haven’t seen those enough tonight already?”
“Never enough.”
She made a point of pushing them out and giving him the best view as she slid back into her spot by his side. One of his hands drifted over and started casually, gently playing with her nipple.
Shouldn’t some of this feeling have worn off by now? They’d been back together for almost three months, and still he looked at her sometimes like … like he couldn’t believe she existed, like he couldn’t believe he got to touch her or be in her bed. He made her feel adored and lusted after in a way she wouldn’t quite understand if not for the fact that she felt the same way about him.
“Speaking of …” he said suddenly. “What was the five-letter word for the cryptex?”
Speaking of what?
“What do you mean? I thought you figured that out.”
He looked at her sheepishly. “I tried everything I could think of. I tried everything Ron or Andy could think of, and finally Ron broke into it with a hammer. It’s been killing me all day.”
“You don’t remember our third date?”
“Of course I remember our third date, in vivid detail. It was here, in this bed, just like the first and second dates.”
Leslie’s jaw dropped, and then she burst out laughing.
“Those weren’t dates!”
“Sure, they were … what would you call them?”
“Those were …” Was there a more romantic term for hookup? “… really romantic sexytime sleepovers. What words were you trying?”
He looked sheepish, so she poked him, prodding him on.
“Knope, booty, boobs …” His voice dropped lower. “Fucks.”
“Oh, you’re dirty! No, I like it. You’re like my dirty little secret. Not that you’re my secret any more, but it’s my secret how dirty you can be.”
She giggled, and he rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling in thought.
“Then what third date are you talking about? Was it the time I took you to that Indian restaurant, to celebrate our three-week anniversary? India has five letters …”
It was a fair guess. They didn’t risk going on actual dates much back then, so that was probably their third dinner out as a secret couple. But she hadn’t been thinking of it that way.
“No, silly. Third dates happen before you have sex. Everybody knows that.”
He just stared at her.
Okay, it wasn’t like she had always followed that rule, and she could understand his confusion in retrospect. But when they first hooked up, it didn’t feel like a hookup … it felt like there had been at least three dates leading up to that point. And maybe they hadn’t taken the most conventional route to getting together, but when she thought about significant days that led to them eventually having sex …
“Our first date was the double date with Chris and Ann.”
“Wait … that wasn’t a date. That was me trying to stop you from manipulating Chris into giving you money.”
“We had dessert! What did dessert have to do with stopping me from talking to Chris?”
“No, that was just … I wanted dessert.”
“And you had drinks with me at The Bulge, and we talked about penguins in love.” Honestly, it might not have been official, but it had gone better than 95 percent of the first dates Leslie had ever been on.
“Okay,” Ben finally admitted. “That was somewhat date-like, I’ll concede that for the sake of moving on. And our second date?”
“Sandwiches to celebrate getting Chief Trumple to supply security for the Harvest Festival.”
“That was a date? I mean, I wanted it to be …”
Yeah, he did, Leslie thought smugly. Not that she knew that at the time.
“There was food. And sparks.”
“There were sparks?”
“I remember sparks. Friendship sparks, with a sprinkling of possibly-something-more sparks. You didn’t feel sparks?”
“Oh, I felt sparks.” He was massaging her breast now as they talked. One of the best parts of sleeping with Ben was that he slept over. The sex was amazing, but the cuddling and talking afterward were singular. “So now that I have an idea of the weird criteria you were using … that would make our third date … hamburgers?”
“By the wallflower mural.”
“Mural …” Finally, he was getting it. Even the brainy ones could be slow sometimes. “But we didn’t even leave city hall.”
“It was a significant turning point in our relationship, and it happened at my favorite place in the entire world.”
“The mural, right. Silly me, I was thinking of our actual third date, after we started dating. Wait, what happened by the mural? I thought we were just hanging out, having lunch.”
“That’s the day that I knew, beyond a doubt, that I didn’t want anyone but you.”
"Wow. Really?" His hand stopped, and he looked deeply into her eyes. Leslie had a small moment of panic.
Was that saying too much? Was she coming on too strong? Experience had taught her that there was no quicker way to send a guy fleeing from bed than to talk about feelings.
But this was Ben. She was still getting used to that-letting it all out, not holding back, being able to come on as strong as she damn well pleased.
She steeled herself and said it. “Really. I don’t want anyone but you. And that’s when I knew.”
“I feel the same way.” The words were immediate, unhesitating, and then he kissed her.
She suspected he’d already known that, just as she’d pretty much already known that he felt that way about her. After all, they'd already taken so many risks just to give this a try. They both wanted this to be it. It sure felt like it.
The tender kisses soon turned into sexy kisses, and those soon turned into foreplay. Leslie rolled over on top of him, ready to show him exactly how much she was into him.
==
Leslie had never understood when people used the phrase “all work, no play,” as if that was a bad thing. She loved work. She loved completing a task, making a difference, checking things off, and feeling like she’d accomplished something or made a difference to someone. The fact that she got to work so closely with so many of her friends over the years-that was like the vivid full-color cover sheet on the front of a binder of good ideas.
Of course, none of her friends for life/coworkers had ever felt quite the same enthusiasm for work that she did-until Ben came along.
Everyone had worked their asses off to pull off the Harvest Festival, of course, but Ben was the one who was there for her, around the clock, working as hard as she was, making sure everything was covered, that every little task was completed and checked off and checked again. And when she thought about how this romance all started, that’s what she thought of: Ben with his rolled-up sleeves and his very neatly organized Padfolio, Ben with his anal attention to every minute detail and his enthusiasm for a job well done. There was nothing Leslie found sexier than a guy who could get things done.
Of course, they weren’t having sex back then. And they also weren’t having sex half a year later when they were working on their next big project, the smallest park. That was unfortunate.
But that had all changed now. Ben was working as hard as ever, and he was doing it all for her, and he was doing a completely awesome job.
And, she got to have sex with him, whenever she wanted.
Well, almost whenever she wanted. She wanted to a lot-every time he started confidently spouting elegant strategies full of just the right amount of political jargon. Every time he stayed up late, bent over news reports and spreadsheets and old political science textbooks, his brow furrowed in concentration. Every time he led a campaign meeting or conducted a press interview or interacted with voters-and she had the overwhelming urge to jump in to let everyone know, yep, he’s mine. My brilliant campaign manager and attentive lover to boot. Jealous much?
She never said that out loud. Not often, at least.
But Ben was probably right-there were appropriate times and places and physical limits to how often he could perform (which still was still quite often, and quite well, so she wasn’t complaining). She tried to control herself, but he wasn’t exactly making it easy.
The night that Perd announced she’d risen to within 15 percentage points of Bobby Newport, Leslie couldn’t wait for her team to go home so that she could properly congratulate him. When everyone but April and Andy had finally filed out, Leslie followed Ben into his bedroom and shut the door.
“Hey, did I hear you say something about me and hummingbirds earlier? What was that about?”
“Oh, you heard that? You sexy little hummingbird you, must have good hearing.” Did hummingbirds even have ears?
“I’m … what does that mean?” She moved in closer, into his personal space, and he took a step back, sitting down on the bed. That was fine. It was like he had told her-sometimes he needed a minute or two to shift gears from business Ben to sexy-business Ben.
“It’s a compliment, Ben! I called you sexy. Because you are. Get used to it.”
She sat down next to him and put her hand on his thigh. Not too aggressive, see?
“Hummingbirds are really small. And fast. They move their wings really, really fast, like weirdly fast. Small, and fast and … I’m not sure those are things a guy wants to hear about his sexual abilities. Especially when I’m overhearing you telling things like that to other people.”
“Well, you’re obviously not a woman. Hummingbirds are focused, and efficient. And those are extremely sexy qualities. Now, don’t you want to … peck at my … nectar, honey?”
Okay, maybe that sounded weird.
“Don’t say things like that. I mean, yes. Whatever that means, probably yes. You … want me to go down on you tonight?”
“Mmmm ….” Leslie had no idea if that was what she’d been suggesting. She’d just been throwing out some vaguely sexy bird-type words. But … yes? Now that he suggested it … she was already feeling wet between her legs over that news report, and this was not helping. Except … “Maybe later. You first.”
“Me first?”
Ben was usually reluctant to let sex be all about him-he said he enjoyed making her feel good-but he was going to have to give in a little tonight. Leslie had plans.
When she climbed into his lap and started nuzzling and kissing his neck and undoing his belt, he certainly didn’t seem to mind.
“You’re the woman of the hour, candidate Knope,” he insisted, in between kisses. "Second place."
“Only because of you, my agile antelope of a campaign manager.” She shifted her hips against him, and he cupped her ass in his hands, holding her there. He narrowed his eyes at her skeptically, which was somehow really attractive.
“I’m an antelope, now?”
“According to the evening news. If it bothers you, you’re just going to have to stop being so good at your job.”
“You make it pretty easy. People want to support you because you’re the best candidate for the job. That’s not my doing.”
She shifted forward, feeling the hardness growing in his jeans.
“Yes, it is. We’re doing this together. And right now, I’m going to do you.” She slid down his body onto the floor, taking his jeans with her. “You’re doing so much for me. Let me do something for you, okay?”
He hesitated for a moment, but she did some very persuasive things with her fingers, and he closed his eyes and leaned back slightly, supported by his hands on the bed.
She loved going down on him. It made her feel powerful, being able to have this effect on someone, to have him just lay back and trust her to take care of him like this. When he said that he liked making her feel good, she believed him, because she knew what he meant.
After she was done, she stood up and waited for him to open his eyes. When she had his attention again-his dark eyes fixing on her in the dim room-she slowly stripped off all her clothes, letting him sit back and watch.
This was its own kind of thrilling, making her feel both sexy and in control, but also naked and vulnerable, all her imperfections on display. It was the kind of thing that would have made her nervous with any other sexual partner, but with Ben … it just felt right.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, “sometimes I can’t believe you’re mine.”
She knew exactly how he felt.