Fic: Out of Sight (2/2)
Title: Out of Sight (2/2)
Pairing: Ben/Leslie
Word Count: 3900
Rating: R
Setting: During Road Trip
Summary: AU version of Road Trip where Leslie and Ben decide to play Boggle with Chris.
A/n: How have I written this many fics where Leslie and Ben play games together? It's a mystery. I can promise that part two features no board games, though. Just lots of absurd, sexually tense situations. :) Thank you so much to everyone who left feedback on the last part. It really motivated me to get my butt in gear and write part two. I hope you guys enjoy it.
Part One
Kissing Leslie is like breathing fresh air for the first time. It clears his mind, anxieties and desperation and fantasy melting away, creating a focus so pinpoint, he lives in this moment. He catches her gasp of surprise as his lips meet hers, a soft but insistent kiss whose questions are answered the moment Leslie kisses him back. There’s a minute where they’re both lost in each other, her tongue brushing his lower lip, his hand sweeping along her cheek, but it is Leslie who comes to her senses first. Her hands find purchase on his hips, pushing him backward until his back hits the kitchen counter. He responds by opening his mouth beneath hers, heightening their kiss from exploratory to consuming, and she indulges him with a small moan before she pulls back.
It takes Ben a long moment to come back to earth. They’re both breathing heavily, his hand pressed to the small of her back, holding her close, and he finds himself smiling uncontrollably, eyes memorizing every nuance of her face. She’s a bit more frantic, her gaze darting around nervously, but it doesn’t stop him from giving her another quick kiss before moving his lips to her forehead.
“I couldn’t wait any longer,” he manages to explain, and Leslie nods, tipping her head back to look up at him. Her eyes continue to be inscrutable, however encouraging her responses to him have been. She starts to speak, but only gets as far as his name when Chris breaks the spell.
“Leslie?” he calls. Ben jolts, instinctively trying to back away from Leslie with nowhere to go. She’s less jumpy, taking a calm step out of his reach; it isn’t until she drops eye contact, though, that Ben feels stranded. “Leslie, is it safe?”
“Yeah.” Chris’ head pops around the corner at Leslie’s response, eyeing them both as if he knows something untoward occurred. Ben moves a hand to rub the back of his neck, belatedly recognizes it as a nervous tick, and drops it awkwardly. “It’s fine,” Leslie reiterates, more exasperated than usual. Her patience seems as broken as Ben’s was earlier. “He’s not sick.”
Ben raises an eyebrow as Chris moves into the kitchen, remaining at a healthy distance. In a moment of clarity, he realizes that he was one bout of paranoia away from being caught kissing his coworker; the thought weakens his knees, and he grips the counter behind him. Of the many idiotic things he’s done in his lifetime, this one ranks high on the list.
Perhaps even stupider, he doesn’t even regret it.
This whole night has been a game, a foray into openly defying Chris and getting away with it. But playing footsie under the table is one risk; kissing Leslie in his boss’ kitchen is another entirely. Despite all evidence to the contrary tonight, this one mistake doesn’t bode well for a relationship that will have to be built on sneaking around.
“You still look flushed,” Chris observes. “Are you running a temperature? Should I get a thermometer?”
“I’m fine.” He swallows the lie; the gamut of emotions he’s run in the last five minutes really has left him a bit woozy. “Just overheated. That’s all.”
Chris looks to Leslie as if she can confirm this, and she shrugs. “It is kind of warm in here.”
“I suppose I could turn up the air conditioner, if that’s really all you think it is.”
“That’s okay.” Ben releases his grip on the counter, regaining enough use of his legs to propel him forward; Chris can’t help but take a step back. “I think I’m just going to get a quick shower, if that’s okay? Cool down before I go to sleep.”
“Of course.” Chris fidgets, and Ben feels a stir of guilt. The poor bastard will probably spend hours disinfecting this place once they’re gone. “Really, Chris,” he adds. “I’m sure it was just the rousing game of Boggle. It got me riled up.”
Despite the inevitable touch of sarcasm in Ben’s words, Chris finally smiles. As an explanation, it’s pretty weak, but sometimes Chris hears what he wants. “Boggle can be titillating.”
“Right.”
“There are extra towels in the bathroom cupboard,” offers Chris. “And I could get you some fresh pajamas.”
“That’s okay.” Ben glances at Leslie, who only meets his eyes momentarily before looking away, and then manages a tight smile for Chris. “I’ll-uh-see you guys in the morning. Night.”
Chris’ response is subdued, for him, and Leslie’s is nonexistent, but Ben feels relieved despite the disheartening dose of reality. He needs a few minutes to himself, a chance to clear his mind and reconcile what he already knows in his gut: beyond all risks or logic or his sense of guilt, he wants to be with Leslie. As foolhardy as it may be, as shaky as he still feels about nearly getting caught in the middle of their first kiss, his desire for her still trumps everything else. But he needs to get a grip. He can’t indulge his feelings every time he has them like a child with poor impulse control, and he can’t become arrogant in his open dismissal of the rules.
He has to be more careful.
Still, once he’s ensconced safely in the bathroom, Ben lets the last of his anxiety ebb. It’s easier than it should be, prone as he is to follow what-ifs to their ends, but tonight his worry is trumped by something more important.
He finally kissed Leslie Knope.
Never mind where or when or why or who happened to be in the next room, the most important thing is that he did it. He kissed her after months of waiting and didn’t even have more than a minute to enjoy it before they were interrupted. Damn it if indulging in that moment doesn’t dominate everything else he’s feeling right now.
He finds a towel easily, setting it on the edge of the sink near the shower and then stripping down and folding the clothes. The shower is small, more akin to the size of a dormitory stall than anything else, but as he shuts the door and turns on the water, it feels like heaven. At last, the rest of the world fades away, leaving him alone with his thoughts of Leslie.
His mind replays the evening, helpfully editing Chris from the periphery of his memories and letting him concentrate on Leslie. It’s an unsteady barrage, images slipping by like raindrops through his fingers, each one too fine to hold for long. Her sly smile as she teased him and the palest smattering of freckles on her nose; the look in her eyes right before he kissed her and the fluttering of her eyelashes when he first touched her foot: they coalesce, a perfect storm of his desire for her.
His hand moves down, seemingly of its own volition; he’s been on the precipice of arousal since their game earlier, and now, alone, he can finally ease coil of tension he’s felt all night. He strokes himself, his other hand braced against the wall, letting the few perfect snippets of this day blend into his most hopeful intentions. He imagines that moment in the kitchen playing out uninterrupted, the risk of being caught replaced with the tension that’s been simmering between them for weeks.
He can still feel the firm grasp of her hands against his hips, pressing him back into the counter, and now he thinks of them demanding more, untucking his shirt to touch his skin, her nails lightly scraping along his back. Groaning, he lets his lips discover her skin, traveling across her jaw and down her neck, teasing her with his tongue as he maps her most sensitive spots. Leslie is soft and smooth and sweet, but more importantly, so alive, so stunning in her ability to make him feel everything. She tugs at his hair until he obeys her command, lifting his lips back to hers and devouring her with his kiss.
“Ben?”
For the second time that night, he jumps out of his skin. His foot slips as he flails at the sound of her voice, and his back hits the wall, hard. “Leslie?” he wheezes, half-hoping he imagined her voice. He shudders to think what she might have heard.
“We need to talk.”
Good lord. “Now?”
“Yeah. It’s perfect.” He hears the toilet seat clank shut and imagines Leslie perched there, mere feet from where he stands naked and aroused. In different circumstances, this wouldn’t be close to being the problem it is right now. “Chris went to bed, and he thinks I did too.”
“I’m in the shower.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Ben presses his forearm against the opposite wall and leans his forehead against it, taking a few deep breaths. He manages to back away from the edge, but it’s impossible to imagine this ending well. Not with Leslie right there and thoughts of her kiss and soft skin are still flitting through his mind. “I know we need to talk,” he says, trying to focus on the water beating against his back, “but-“
“You kissed me.”
He straightens up, pushing his hair off of his forehead even though the water immediately beats it back down. As much as he’d prefer to have the conversation face-to-face and, ideally, not in the middle of jacking off, at least this current predicament will restrict them to just talking. He braces his hands against the wall, promising to keep them there the whole time, just as Leslie prompts him to speak. “Ben?”
“Yeah.” He clears his throat and stares at the wall. The tile is a numbingly dull blue. “It felt like the right thing to do.”
“Chris was right in the other room.”
“I wasn’t thinking about Chris, Leslie. I was thinking about you. I was thinking about how I was hoping this night would go.”
She’s quiet, mulling over his confession, and he tries to picture her, wondering if she’s chewing nervously on her lip or her hands are fidgeting or if somehow he’s managed to stun her. Surely, though, she knew what was going on in his head, what his intentions were when he confessed his feelings at dinner. He hasn’t been especially coy tonight.
“I’m sorry,” he says, refusing to question her pondering silence. “I know it was a stupid thing to do. I just-I don’t think things can keep going the way they have been. We were being reckless hours before I kissed you. This tension between us…It has a breaking point, Leslie.”
“I know. I-“ She sighs, and he can’t tell if she’s frustrated or regretful. “I almost kissed you, too,” she confesses in a rush. “When I tripped earlier. For a minute, it was like Chris wasn’t even there.” She pauses, then adds, “I’ve wanted to kiss you all night.”
God. If Chris had only stayed in Pawnee tonight like he was supposed to…
“Maybe if we both pretend to be sick, Chris will quarantine us together in the guest bedroom.”
He laughs, mostly to keep his mind from wandering down that path, but it comes out more bitterly than he’d like. Someday down the road, he hopes he actually finds all of this amusing. Tonight, it rides a fine line between bleak and frustrating. “What are we going to do about this, Leslie?”
“Stop being careless?”
“What-“ He swallows the question, not sure he can voice it even though his mind screams for clarification. Careless is too vague a word given all of the nuances of their relationship right now, but he almost doesn’t want to know if she means they shouldn’t take this further. Not when he finally knows how her lips feel against his, how she feels about him, how perfect it is just to spend an evening with her without the pretense of work. He’d rather remain staid in this imperfect bubble of frustration than move forward without her.
The possibility that she’s not being so grave is too much to contemplate.
Suddenly, this conversation is unbearable to have without looking at her. He shuts off the water and opens the shower door a crack, reaching out a hand to grope blindly for his towel. It’s awkward, and he feels self-conscious when he asks Leslie to grab the towel for him, as if he’s just reminded her of the fact that he’s naked. The absurdity of the situation isn’t lost on him.
“Here,” she offers. He reaches out and grasps the towel, his gratitude barely out of his mouth when they’re interrupted by a loud knock on the door. As it’s been all night, Chris’ interruption is both unwelcome and ill-timed, but it’s Leslie who panics this time, wrenching the shower door open from his grasp and leaping inside.
For a second, he stares at her, flabbergasted, but it isn’t until her eyes flit quickly down his body before arching dramatically to the ceiling that he remembers his current state of undress. He unfurls the towel and wraps it around his waist, unable to look away from Leslie despite Chris’ persistent pounding.
“Ben? Do you mind if I come in for a minute? I desperately need to make use of the facilities.”
It is possible, Ben decides at that moment, that Chris is actually the most annoying human being on the planet.
“What were you saying about not being careless?”
Leslie groans, a sentiment he shares but can’t articulate, and gives him a small shove. “What the hell are we going to do?” she hisses, his own panic reflected tenfold in her eyes.
“I’ll just go out there. You can sneak out after he’s done.”
“He’ll see me.”
“What?”
“I could see your outline through the shower door.”
“You could-What? Leslie-“
She waves a frantic hand at him as Chris knocks again, but the concern over what she might have seen battling with their current position has basically rendered him useless. He’s not exactly known for his poise in high stress situations to begin with. She seems to realize his mind is paralyzed, though, and in her own moment of panic, reaches out and turns the water back on.
“Tell him to come in,” she whispers, gripping his arms and spinning him around so his back is to the shaded glass door.
“Leslie-“
“Just do it.”
He looks at her with disbelief, but there’s little choice but to listen to her. He calls to Chris, ignoring the fact that he can hear his heart beating, and before he can blink, Leslie tugs his now sopping towel away and tosses it in the corner of the shower. She steps toward him, pulling her arms between his chest and hers and tucking her head under his chin, and before he can question her, the bathroom door opens.
To say it’s the most awkward two minutes of his life would be an understatement. Chris is whistling-a habit or a bald attempt to cover up the sound of him peeing, Ben doesn’t know-and the whole time Leslie, still fully clothed, is pressed against his naked body in circumstances that can’t merit any recourse but feigned ignorance. In actuality, he’s too aware of her warm body pressed against his and her wet hair sticking to his skin and her shaky breath against his chest. And there’s no question they’re both well aware of his erection. In a night that couldn’t have gone less like he hoped, this is the cherry on top of the sundae.
Ben dips his head just a bit, his chin grazing the top of Leslie’s head. His hands itch to move, to wrap around her frame and hold her, but they’re both frozen, waiting for this latest torture to end. Finally, the toilet flushes, and Ben lets out the breath he’s been holding.
“Everything okay, Ben? You’ve been in there an awfully long time.”
Ben fights the urge to groan. He wishes the ground would open up and swallow him. Or Chris. Probably Chris. “Yeah,” he manages to choke out. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Okay. Goodnight, buddy.”
Ben doesn’t bother to return the sentiment. The door finally opens and shuts, and Leslie pulls back just enough to turn off the water, eyes averted in some lame attempt to provide him some privacy. Not that the past few minutes haven’t been entirely revealing. “Sorry,” she says shakily, bending down and groping for his now useless towel. She hands it to him and he halfheartedly wraps it around his waist. “I panicked.”
“Leslie…”
She looks up at him, finally, blue eyes large and dark, her hair plastered to her cheeks and neck, and Ben’s own apologies die on his lips. He steps closer to her, slowly lowering his forehead to hers, and she leans back against the wall. “We’re really bad at this, aren’t we?”
“Or really good,” she breathes. “Chris hasn’t caught on.”
Ben still isn’t so sure that Chris’ good faith in them isn’t blinding him to the obvious, but he doesn’t point this out. Leslie isn’t naïve. She’s as aware of the risks as he is. “We can’t do this here,” he says, bringing one hand to her cheek and brushing her hair away. Her own hands wander to his shoulders and then wend around his neck.
“No,” she agrees. It comes out soft and breathy, and Ben snakes one arm around her back and tugs her closer. “But you do…want to? Right?”
She sounds tentative, her lack of surety a reflection of his own, and he suddenly understands what she asked him earlier: that she was questioning his commitment more than her own.
He can’t understand how she could doubt for a second, though, that she’s all he wants.
The realization shakes off the last of his uncertainty, leaving only want and need and desire stretching endlessly before him. This is it. They’re going to try this, to take this risk together-no more questioning that they’re not both in this completely.
“Absolutely.”
Leslie smiles, a sunbeam breaking through the fogginess of this evening, and then shifts, pushing up on her tiptoes and kissing him. It’s dizzying, a kiss caught up in the joy of the moment as much as their desire, and Ben’s arm tightens around her, pulling her as close as he can.
“We can’t do this here,” she reminds him, contradicting the way she keeps pressing her lips to his, fingers wending through his hair. “I can’t take any more Chris interruptions. Especially not in the middle of sex.”
The inadvertent mental image this conjures is enough to take the edge off, though Leslie’s lips traveling across his jaw and then back to his mouth almost counterbalances it. He won’t even let himself think about her mention of them having sex; how casually it dropped from her lips; how inevitable she made it sound.
Fuck.
“Are you sure?” He leans down and kisses beneath her ear, and she whimpers, nails scratching at his neck. “I mean, how often can he really go to the bathroom?”
Leslie laughs, dipping her head and resting it against the space between his neck and shoulder. She lets out a shuddery breath, and Ben drops one hand to the small of her back, rubbing at the exposed skin where her sweatshirt has ridden up. Her flesh is covered in goose pimples, an unwelcome reminder that they’re both soaked and chilled.
“Come on,” he says, turning to kiss the side of her head and then stepping back. He opens the door and takes her hand, leading her out of the shower and then heading back to the closet to get some new towels. When he turns around, he finds Leslie stripped down to her underwear, clothes a sopping pile on the floor. Ben swallows, hard, and with effort, averts his eyes as he holds out the towel.
“Thanks.” She’s struggling not to laugh at him-he can hear it in her voice-and when he glances back at her, towel secure around her body, she’s grinning.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just…” She shrugs, still smiling at him, and stoops to gather her clothes. “I saw you naked earlier, and now you’re trying to be modest. It’s cute.”
Ben runs a hand through his hair and reaches for his clothes, not eager to get back into Chris’ literal sweat suit. “Leslie,” he groans, more than a little frustrated by how inadvertently she’s driving him crazy. “If I get any more turned on tonight, I’m going to explode.”
Her eyes widen, lips twitching mischievously, and she takes a step toward him. “I guess I shouldn’t kiss you goodnight then.”
“Probably not,” he agrees, a reasonable thought that doesn’t coincide with anything he’s feeling. She moves closer, eyes dancing over his chest to his lips and then finally meeting his eyes, and she shrugs.
“I’ll see you in the morning then.”
He nods. “Bright and early.”
“Right.”
They continue to stare at one another, Leslie’s eyes playfully daring him, but it isn’t until she reaches for the doorknob that he gives in, catching her by the wrist and tugging her closer. She stumbles, her chest bumping his, and despite her low, soft tone, she can’t stop teasing him. “I thought this was a bad idea.”
“Probably is,” he murmurs, and before she can respond, he leans in and kisses her, long and deep, absorbing her sigh as she sways into him.
They part slowly, his thumbs stroking her cheeks as she bites her lower lip, staring up at him almost shyly. Reluctantly, they step away from each other, and Ben opens the door and peers out at the dimly lit hallway. With Chris nowhere in sight, they step out of the bathroom and creep back to the living room. Chris has left a bottle of ginseng and a glass of water on the table, and Ben feels an ambivalent mixture of guilt and annoyance.
“I should go,” Leslie whispers. She pushes up on her tiptoes and quickly kisses his cheek. “Sweet dreams.”
“See you in the morning.”
Leslie smiles, squeezing his hand and softly padding toward Chris’ guest bedroom. When she reaches the doorway, she turns. “By the way,” she says, somehow sounding both amused and exasperated, “Chris mentioned earlier that he needs a ride home tomorrow.”
“What?”
She shrugs, and he sinks onto the couch, running his hands through his hair and then looking back at her. “I know. But we’ve made it this far, right? What’s a few more hours?”
Torture, he thinks as she blows him a kiss. He watches her until she’s out of sight, trying and failing not to think of the night stretching out in front of him, long and lonely, or the tedious car ride with Chris or how long it will be before he and Leslie can finally be alone.
Irritated, Ben reaches out and smacks the bottle of ginseng, listening to the satisfying sound of it rolling across the floor. Then, sighing, he lies back on the couch, pillowing one arm beneath his neck.
The most important thing, he reasons, reconciling his annoyance with a sprig of hope, is that there will be another moment.
And Chris will be nowhere in sight.
Pairing: Ben/Leslie
Word Count: 3900
Rating: R
Setting: During Road Trip
Summary: AU version of Road Trip where Leslie and Ben decide to play Boggle with Chris.
A/n: How have I written this many fics where Leslie and Ben play games together? It's a mystery. I can promise that part two features no board games, though. Just lots of absurd, sexually tense situations. :) Thank you so much to everyone who left feedback on the last part. It really motivated me to get my butt in gear and write part two. I hope you guys enjoy it.
Part One
Kissing Leslie is like breathing fresh air for the first time. It clears his mind, anxieties and desperation and fantasy melting away, creating a focus so pinpoint, he lives in this moment. He catches her gasp of surprise as his lips meet hers, a soft but insistent kiss whose questions are answered the moment Leslie kisses him back. There’s a minute where they’re both lost in each other, her tongue brushing his lower lip, his hand sweeping along her cheek, but it is Leslie who comes to her senses first. Her hands find purchase on his hips, pushing him backward until his back hits the kitchen counter. He responds by opening his mouth beneath hers, heightening their kiss from exploratory to consuming, and she indulges him with a small moan before she pulls back.
It takes Ben a long moment to come back to earth. They’re both breathing heavily, his hand pressed to the small of her back, holding her close, and he finds himself smiling uncontrollably, eyes memorizing every nuance of her face. She’s a bit more frantic, her gaze darting around nervously, but it doesn’t stop him from giving her another quick kiss before moving his lips to her forehead.
“I couldn’t wait any longer,” he manages to explain, and Leslie nods, tipping her head back to look up at him. Her eyes continue to be inscrutable, however encouraging her responses to him have been. She starts to speak, but only gets as far as his name when Chris breaks the spell.
“Leslie?” he calls. Ben jolts, instinctively trying to back away from Leslie with nowhere to go. She’s less jumpy, taking a calm step out of his reach; it isn’t until she drops eye contact, though, that Ben feels stranded. “Leslie, is it safe?”
“Yeah.” Chris’ head pops around the corner at Leslie’s response, eyeing them both as if he knows something untoward occurred. Ben moves a hand to rub the back of his neck, belatedly recognizes it as a nervous tick, and drops it awkwardly. “It’s fine,” Leslie reiterates, more exasperated than usual. Her patience seems as broken as Ben’s was earlier. “He’s not sick.”
Ben raises an eyebrow as Chris moves into the kitchen, remaining at a healthy distance. In a moment of clarity, he realizes that he was one bout of paranoia away from being caught kissing his coworker; the thought weakens his knees, and he grips the counter behind him. Of the many idiotic things he’s done in his lifetime, this one ranks high on the list.
Perhaps even stupider, he doesn’t even regret it.
This whole night has been a game, a foray into openly defying Chris and getting away with it. But playing footsie under the table is one risk; kissing Leslie in his boss’ kitchen is another entirely. Despite all evidence to the contrary tonight, this one mistake doesn’t bode well for a relationship that will have to be built on sneaking around.
“You still look flushed,” Chris observes. “Are you running a temperature? Should I get a thermometer?”
“I’m fine.” He swallows the lie; the gamut of emotions he’s run in the last five minutes really has left him a bit woozy. “Just overheated. That’s all.”
Chris looks to Leslie as if she can confirm this, and she shrugs. “It is kind of warm in here.”
“I suppose I could turn up the air conditioner, if that’s really all you think it is.”
“That’s okay.” Ben releases his grip on the counter, regaining enough use of his legs to propel him forward; Chris can’t help but take a step back. “I think I’m just going to get a quick shower, if that’s okay? Cool down before I go to sleep.”
“Of course.” Chris fidgets, and Ben feels a stir of guilt. The poor bastard will probably spend hours disinfecting this place once they’re gone. “Really, Chris,” he adds. “I’m sure it was just the rousing game of Boggle. It got me riled up.”
Despite the inevitable touch of sarcasm in Ben’s words, Chris finally smiles. As an explanation, it’s pretty weak, but sometimes Chris hears what he wants. “Boggle can be titillating.”
“Right.”
“There are extra towels in the bathroom cupboard,” offers Chris. “And I could get you some fresh pajamas.”
“That’s okay.” Ben glances at Leslie, who only meets his eyes momentarily before looking away, and then manages a tight smile for Chris. “I’ll-uh-see you guys in the morning. Night.”
Chris’ response is subdued, for him, and Leslie’s is nonexistent, but Ben feels relieved despite the disheartening dose of reality. He needs a few minutes to himself, a chance to clear his mind and reconcile what he already knows in his gut: beyond all risks or logic or his sense of guilt, he wants to be with Leslie. As foolhardy as it may be, as shaky as he still feels about nearly getting caught in the middle of their first kiss, his desire for her still trumps everything else. But he needs to get a grip. He can’t indulge his feelings every time he has them like a child with poor impulse control, and he can’t become arrogant in his open dismissal of the rules.
He has to be more careful.
Still, once he’s ensconced safely in the bathroom, Ben lets the last of his anxiety ebb. It’s easier than it should be, prone as he is to follow what-ifs to their ends, but tonight his worry is trumped by something more important.
He finally kissed Leslie Knope.
Never mind where or when or why or who happened to be in the next room, the most important thing is that he did it. He kissed her after months of waiting and didn’t even have more than a minute to enjoy it before they were interrupted. Damn it if indulging in that moment doesn’t dominate everything else he’s feeling right now.
He finds a towel easily, setting it on the edge of the sink near the shower and then stripping down and folding the clothes. The shower is small, more akin to the size of a dormitory stall than anything else, but as he shuts the door and turns on the water, it feels like heaven. At last, the rest of the world fades away, leaving him alone with his thoughts of Leslie.
His mind replays the evening, helpfully editing Chris from the periphery of his memories and letting him concentrate on Leslie. It’s an unsteady barrage, images slipping by like raindrops through his fingers, each one too fine to hold for long. Her sly smile as she teased him and the palest smattering of freckles on her nose; the look in her eyes right before he kissed her and the fluttering of her eyelashes when he first touched her foot: they coalesce, a perfect storm of his desire for her.
His hand moves down, seemingly of its own volition; he’s been on the precipice of arousal since their game earlier, and now, alone, he can finally ease coil of tension he’s felt all night. He strokes himself, his other hand braced against the wall, letting the few perfect snippets of this day blend into his most hopeful intentions. He imagines that moment in the kitchen playing out uninterrupted, the risk of being caught replaced with the tension that’s been simmering between them for weeks.
He can still feel the firm grasp of her hands against his hips, pressing him back into the counter, and now he thinks of them demanding more, untucking his shirt to touch his skin, her nails lightly scraping along his back. Groaning, he lets his lips discover her skin, traveling across her jaw and down her neck, teasing her with his tongue as he maps her most sensitive spots. Leslie is soft and smooth and sweet, but more importantly, so alive, so stunning in her ability to make him feel everything. She tugs at his hair until he obeys her command, lifting his lips back to hers and devouring her with his kiss.
“Ben?”
For the second time that night, he jumps out of his skin. His foot slips as he flails at the sound of her voice, and his back hits the wall, hard. “Leslie?” he wheezes, half-hoping he imagined her voice. He shudders to think what she might have heard.
“We need to talk.”
Good lord. “Now?”
“Yeah. It’s perfect.” He hears the toilet seat clank shut and imagines Leslie perched there, mere feet from where he stands naked and aroused. In different circumstances, this wouldn’t be close to being the problem it is right now. “Chris went to bed, and he thinks I did too.”
“I’m in the shower.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Ben presses his forearm against the opposite wall and leans his forehead against it, taking a few deep breaths. He manages to back away from the edge, but it’s impossible to imagine this ending well. Not with Leslie right there and thoughts of her kiss and soft skin are still flitting through his mind. “I know we need to talk,” he says, trying to focus on the water beating against his back, “but-“
“You kissed me.”
He straightens up, pushing his hair off of his forehead even though the water immediately beats it back down. As much as he’d prefer to have the conversation face-to-face and, ideally, not in the middle of jacking off, at least this current predicament will restrict them to just talking. He braces his hands against the wall, promising to keep them there the whole time, just as Leslie prompts him to speak. “Ben?”
“Yeah.” He clears his throat and stares at the wall. The tile is a numbingly dull blue. “It felt like the right thing to do.”
“Chris was right in the other room.”
“I wasn’t thinking about Chris, Leslie. I was thinking about you. I was thinking about how I was hoping this night would go.”
She’s quiet, mulling over his confession, and he tries to picture her, wondering if she’s chewing nervously on her lip or her hands are fidgeting or if somehow he’s managed to stun her. Surely, though, she knew what was going on in his head, what his intentions were when he confessed his feelings at dinner. He hasn’t been especially coy tonight.
“I’m sorry,” he says, refusing to question her pondering silence. “I know it was a stupid thing to do. I just-I don’t think things can keep going the way they have been. We were being reckless hours before I kissed you. This tension between us…It has a breaking point, Leslie.”
“I know. I-“ She sighs, and he can’t tell if she’s frustrated or regretful. “I almost kissed you, too,” she confesses in a rush. “When I tripped earlier. For a minute, it was like Chris wasn’t even there.” She pauses, then adds, “I’ve wanted to kiss you all night.”
God. If Chris had only stayed in Pawnee tonight like he was supposed to…
“Maybe if we both pretend to be sick, Chris will quarantine us together in the guest bedroom.”
He laughs, mostly to keep his mind from wandering down that path, but it comes out more bitterly than he’d like. Someday down the road, he hopes he actually finds all of this amusing. Tonight, it rides a fine line between bleak and frustrating. “What are we going to do about this, Leslie?”
“Stop being careless?”
“What-“ He swallows the question, not sure he can voice it even though his mind screams for clarification. Careless is too vague a word given all of the nuances of their relationship right now, but he almost doesn’t want to know if she means they shouldn’t take this further. Not when he finally knows how her lips feel against his, how she feels about him, how perfect it is just to spend an evening with her without the pretense of work. He’d rather remain staid in this imperfect bubble of frustration than move forward without her.
The possibility that she’s not being so grave is too much to contemplate.
Suddenly, this conversation is unbearable to have without looking at her. He shuts off the water and opens the shower door a crack, reaching out a hand to grope blindly for his towel. It’s awkward, and he feels self-conscious when he asks Leslie to grab the towel for him, as if he’s just reminded her of the fact that he’s naked. The absurdity of the situation isn’t lost on him.
“Here,” she offers. He reaches out and grasps the towel, his gratitude barely out of his mouth when they’re interrupted by a loud knock on the door. As it’s been all night, Chris’ interruption is both unwelcome and ill-timed, but it’s Leslie who panics this time, wrenching the shower door open from his grasp and leaping inside.
For a second, he stares at her, flabbergasted, but it isn’t until her eyes flit quickly down his body before arching dramatically to the ceiling that he remembers his current state of undress. He unfurls the towel and wraps it around his waist, unable to look away from Leslie despite Chris’ persistent pounding.
“Ben? Do you mind if I come in for a minute? I desperately need to make use of the facilities.”
It is possible, Ben decides at that moment, that Chris is actually the most annoying human being on the planet.
“What were you saying about not being careless?”
Leslie groans, a sentiment he shares but can’t articulate, and gives him a small shove. “What the hell are we going to do?” she hisses, his own panic reflected tenfold in her eyes.
“I’ll just go out there. You can sneak out after he’s done.”
“He’ll see me.”
“What?”
“I could see your outline through the shower door.”
“You could-What? Leslie-“
She waves a frantic hand at him as Chris knocks again, but the concern over what she might have seen battling with their current position has basically rendered him useless. He’s not exactly known for his poise in high stress situations to begin with. She seems to realize his mind is paralyzed, though, and in her own moment of panic, reaches out and turns the water back on.
“Tell him to come in,” she whispers, gripping his arms and spinning him around so his back is to the shaded glass door.
“Leslie-“
“Just do it.”
He looks at her with disbelief, but there’s little choice but to listen to her. He calls to Chris, ignoring the fact that he can hear his heart beating, and before he can blink, Leslie tugs his now sopping towel away and tosses it in the corner of the shower. She steps toward him, pulling her arms between his chest and hers and tucking her head under his chin, and before he can question her, the bathroom door opens.
To say it’s the most awkward two minutes of his life would be an understatement. Chris is whistling-a habit or a bald attempt to cover up the sound of him peeing, Ben doesn’t know-and the whole time Leslie, still fully clothed, is pressed against his naked body in circumstances that can’t merit any recourse but feigned ignorance. In actuality, he’s too aware of her warm body pressed against his and her wet hair sticking to his skin and her shaky breath against his chest. And there’s no question they’re both well aware of his erection. In a night that couldn’t have gone less like he hoped, this is the cherry on top of the sundae.
Ben dips his head just a bit, his chin grazing the top of Leslie’s head. His hands itch to move, to wrap around her frame and hold her, but they’re both frozen, waiting for this latest torture to end. Finally, the toilet flushes, and Ben lets out the breath he’s been holding.
“Everything okay, Ben? You’ve been in there an awfully long time.”
Ben fights the urge to groan. He wishes the ground would open up and swallow him. Or Chris. Probably Chris. “Yeah,” he manages to choke out. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Okay. Goodnight, buddy.”
Ben doesn’t bother to return the sentiment. The door finally opens and shuts, and Leslie pulls back just enough to turn off the water, eyes averted in some lame attempt to provide him some privacy. Not that the past few minutes haven’t been entirely revealing. “Sorry,” she says shakily, bending down and groping for his now useless towel. She hands it to him and he halfheartedly wraps it around his waist. “I panicked.”
“Leslie…”
She looks up at him, finally, blue eyes large and dark, her hair plastered to her cheeks and neck, and Ben’s own apologies die on his lips. He steps closer to her, slowly lowering his forehead to hers, and she leans back against the wall. “We’re really bad at this, aren’t we?”
“Or really good,” she breathes. “Chris hasn’t caught on.”
Ben still isn’t so sure that Chris’ good faith in them isn’t blinding him to the obvious, but he doesn’t point this out. Leslie isn’t naïve. She’s as aware of the risks as he is. “We can’t do this here,” he says, bringing one hand to her cheek and brushing her hair away. Her own hands wander to his shoulders and then wend around his neck.
“No,” she agrees. It comes out soft and breathy, and Ben snakes one arm around her back and tugs her closer. “But you do…want to? Right?”
She sounds tentative, her lack of surety a reflection of his own, and he suddenly understands what she asked him earlier: that she was questioning his commitment more than her own.
He can’t understand how she could doubt for a second, though, that she’s all he wants.
The realization shakes off the last of his uncertainty, leaving only want and need and desire stretching endlessly before him. This is it. They’re going to try this, to take this risk together-no more questioning that they’re not both in this completely.
“Absolutely.”
Leslie smiles, a sunbeam breaking through the fogginess of this evening, and then shifts, pushing up on her tiptoes and kissing him. It’s dizzying, a kiss caught up in the joy of the moment as much as their desire, and Ben’s arm tightens around her, pulling her as close as he can.
“We can’t do this here,” she reminds him, contradicting the way she keeps pressing her lips to his, fingers wending through his hair. “I can’t take any more Chris interruptions. Especially not in the middle of sex.”
The inadvertent mental image this conjures is enough to take the edge off, though Leslie’s lips traveling across his jaw and then back to his mouth almost counterbalances it. He won’t even let himself think about her mention of them having sex; how casually it dropped from her lips; how inevitable she made it sound.
Fuck.
“Are you sure?” He leans down and kisses beneath her ear, and she whimpers, nails scratching at his neck. “I mean, how often can he really go to the bathroom?”
Leslie laughs, dipping her head and resting it against the space between his neck and shoulder. She lets out a shuddery breath, and Ben drops one hand to the small of her back, rubbing at the exposed skin where her sweatshirt has ridden up. Her flesh is covered in goose pimples, an unwelcome reminder that they’re both soaked and chilled.
“Come on,” he says, turning to kiss the side of her head and then stepping back. He opens the door and takes her hand, leading her out of the shower and then heading back to the closet to get some new towels. When he turns around, he finds Leslie stripped down to her underwear, clothes a sopping pile on the floor. Ben swallows, hard, and with effort, averts his eyes as he holds out the towel.
“Thanks.” She’s struggling not to laugh at him-he can hear it in her voice-and when he glances back at her, towel secure around her body, she’s grinning.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just…” She shrugs, still smiling at him, and stoops to gather her clothes. “I saw you naked earlier, and now you’re trying to be modest. It’s cute.”
Ben runs a hand through his hair and reaches for his clothes, not eager to get back into Chris’ literal sweat suit. “Leslie,” he groans, more than a little frustrated by how inadvertently she’s driving him crazy. “If I get any more turned on tonight, I’m going to explode.”
Her eyes widen, lips twitching mischievously, and she takes a step toward him. “I guess I shouldn’t kiss you goodnight then.”
“Probably not,” he agrees, a reasonable thought that doesn’t coincide with anything he’s feeling. She moves closer, eyes dancing over his chest to his lips and then finally meeting his eyes, and she shrugs.
“I’ll see you in the morning then.”
He nods. “Bright and early.”
“Right.”
They continue to stare at one another, Leslie’s eyes playfully daring him, but it isn’t until she reaches for the doorknob that he gives in, catching her by the wrist and tugging her closer. She stumbles, her chest bumping his, and despite her low, soft tone, she can’t stop teasing him. “I thought this was a bad idea.”
“Probably is,” he murmurs, and before she can respond, he leans in and kisses her, long and deep, absorbing her sigh as she sways into him.
They part slowly, his thumbs stroking her cheeks as she bites her lower lip, staring up at him almost shyly. Reluctantly, they step away from each other, and Ben opens the door and peers out at the dimly lit hallway. With Chris nowhere in sight, they step out of the bathroom and creep back to the living room. Chris has left a bottle of ginseng and a glass of water on the table, and Ben feels an ambivalent mixture of guilt and annoyance.
“I should go,” Leslie whispers. She pushes up on her tiptoes and quickly kisses his cheek. “Sweet dreams.”
“See you in the morning.”
Leslie smiles, squeezing his hand and softly padding toward Chris’ guest bedroom. When she reaches the doorway, she turns. “By the way,” she says, somehow sounding both amused and exasperated, “Chris mentioned earlier that he needs a ride home tomorrow.”
“What?”
She shrugs, and he sinks onto the couch, running his hands through his hair and then looking back at her. “I know. But we’ve made it this far, right? What’s a few more hours?”
Torture, he thinks as she blows him a kiss. He watches her until she’s out of sight, trying and failing not to think of the night stretching out in front of him, long and lonely, or the tedious car ride with Chris or how long it will be before he and Leslie can finally be alone.
Irritated, Ben reaches out and smacks the bottle of ginseng, listening to the satisfying sound of it rolling across the floor. Then, sighing, he lies back on the couch, pillowing one arm beneath his neck.
The most important thing, he reasons, reconciling his annoyance with a sprig of hope, is that there will be another moment.
And Chris will be nowhere in sight.