Fic: Mistletoe
Title: Mistletoe
Pairing: Ben/Leslie
Word Count: 2100
Rating: PG-13
Setting: Season 3 missing Christmas. After "Fancy Party," I guess.
A/n: My first holiday fill! Hooray for belated merriment! This is for Courtney, who asked for Ben and Leslie kissing under mistletoe UST.
There have been a lot of things that Leslie blamed Ben for that she can now admit might not have been entirely his fault. The government shutdown. The lack of air conditioning in City Hall over the summer. Showing up and totally ruining Ann and Chris' first date. In retrospect, Leslie can see how it might have been presumptuous to place the responsibility for these problems squarely on his gazelle-like shoulders.
But this? Public ridicule because they're standing under the mistletoe and not kissing-This is entirely Ben's fault.
She thinks it's Tom who started the chanting, a slurred chorus of shouts for them to kiss accompanied by some halfhearted clapping and an undertone of insults, but it's only because Ben hesitated. He doesn't seem to be aware of the rules of the game or of the dozens of kisses that have already been exchanged tonight under the mistletoe that now dangles above her head. It was Tom who brought the stupid plant into the Snakehole tonight; he'd tied it to a pair of reindeer antlers that he'd been wearing proudly when she and Ann arrived, but they've been confiscated and passed from person to person so many times now that Leslie has lost track of who's kissed who. Ann had had it last, ducking out of Jean-Ralphio's reach and drunkenly pecking Leslie on the lips before slipping the antlers onto Leslie's head. The fact that Ben had chosen that moment to show up with his stupid face and ridiculous hair was apparently ill-timed. He'd practically drained of color when Ann pointed at the mistletoe and laughed. That was all it took; a half-beat of reluctance and suddenly a stupid game has become an excuse for their friends to tease them mercilessly.
It's kind of annoying, really, because there have been plenty of times when Ben looked like he definitely wanted to kiss her. So why wouldn’t he now? She's awesome and a great kisser and she's pretty sure whatever this specialty drink is that Tom concocted has made her breath smell like peppermint. Which is basically a win-win-win for Ben. And she kind of thinks that maybe she should mention those things, but it's loud and Jean-Ralphio is fist-pumping and the words aren't coming out in the order she wants them to.
Ben reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder, proving that he isn't inexplicably repulsed by human contact all of a sudden. She stares at his hand for a minute, focused on the way his thumb rests against her collarbone and the warmth of his hand, which is such a decidedly wonderful quality for him to have. She remembers how his hands felt when he hugged her at the Harvest Festival; she hadn't thought about it then, but his hands had been just as warm and large and steady, and those qualities kind of seem like the most important things in the world right now. If they kissed, she wonders if his hand would slide up to rest against her neck or along her cheek; if it would be just as perfect as the way his fingers curve into her shoulder now.
"Leslie," he says, and he's close enough that he doesn't even have to shout to be heard. She tears her eyes away from his hand, pausing on the garish pattern of his tie for a second before she meets his gaze.
"Benjamin." She pokes him in the chest. "There are laws about mistletoe."
Ben raises an eyebrow, like he's surprised. Like he's never heard of mistletoe or doesn’t understand why everyone is still egging them on or why Donna has joined Jean-Ralphio in some kind of elaborate chicken taunting. But they’re friends, and there's no rule that says friends can't kiss, and maybe sometimes they even kind of want to kiss just to see if it's good as they occasionally imagine it would be, but they know it might not be a great idea, and doesn't he get that mistletoe is the perfect way to get around that?
Maybe he does. Or maybe he realizes that the taunting isn't going to stop. Either way, Leslie sees the look in his eyes change and then he's leaning toward her. She turns her head just in time to catch his lips, and his hand tightens against her shoulder; belatedly, she realizes that he was probably aiming for her cheek.
But that was a dumb idea.
This is better.
A lot better.
There's a stutter in the moment where she surprises him, a second where their lips are touching but they're not really kissing, and Leslie hears a whoop and some cat-calling. But then Ben shifts, that hand sliding up into her hair, his nose pressing against her cheek. His lips part, slowly capturing her bottom lip, and in that instant, Leslie can't remember her own name, let alone the other people in the bar. She reaches for him, hands finding his shoulders, and when she feels him step closer to her, she can't stop herself from smiling against his lips.
Ben pulls back slowly. Just far enough to see her at first. And he's smiling, too, and it's something that Leslie wants to remember forever.
Then the moment is gone.
Tom throws an arm around Ben's shoulder, dragging him backward and shouting some kind of congratulatory nonsense, and before Leslie can process that, someone has pulled the antlers off of her head and passed them on to Ben. He shakes his head, tugging them off and shrugging off Tom's arm, and he only glances back at her once as he weaves through the crowded club.
"What was that?" asks Ann. Her drink spills as she climbs onto the bar stool next to Leslie's, and Leslie glances down at the small, darkened spot on the floor. "Les?"
"Huh?"
"You just made out with Ben in front of the whole bar. What the hell was that about?"
Leslie blinks, trying to stop Ann's beautiful face from swaying in front of her. "Yeah," she agrees. Because what the hell was that about? Why did he just run away?
Ann frowns. "That wasn't a yes or no question."
"I don't know," Leslie amends, because she really doesn't. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Donna cornering two men with the mistletoe. Neither looks as skittish as Ben did at the idea of kissing her, which is weird, because Leslie's pretty sure Ben has wanted to kiss her for a while, and Donna just met those guys. "Maybe I need to talk to Ben," she says, more a half-formed thought than a statement, but Ann meets it with enthusiasm.
"Yeah! You should go talk to Ben. He can't just kiss you like that and then walk away."
"Yeah!"
"Hell yeah!" Ann raises her glass, and for a second, as Leslie downs what's left of her own drink, she almost forgets why they're toasting. Fortunately, her wise and focused best friend is there to shove her in the direction of the exit.
The cold air feels good on Leslie's skin when she steps out of the club. She takes a couple of deep breaths, trying to clear her head, but she only succeeds in burning her lungs. Annoyed, she starts to walk the perimeter of the building, scanning the parking lot for any sign of Ben as she goes.
She finds him on her third turn around the building, sitting on the hood of his car. It's odd. She's pretty sure he hasn’t been drinking, that he'd only just shown up when she caught him under the mistletoe, and she realizes that she expected he would already be gone when she got out here.
Well fine. This is fine. They'll talk and maybe he'll put his hand on her shoulder again and it'll all be fine.
Except, crap. The parking lot is a mess of slush and ice, and Leslie is in heels, and now that she thinks about it, this wall might be the only thing holding her upright. For a second, she considers simply shouting at him across the parking lot, but there's someone throwing up nearby, and the thought of talking to Ben while listening to that is pretty unappealing.
Also, he definitely won't be able to touch her again if they're this far apart.
She pushes herself away from the wall slowly, giving the parking lot a second to steady itself before she takes a couple of cautious steps forward. Almost immediately, her feet are soaked and frozen, and she thinks she might have cursed loudly at the sensation, because the next thing she knows, Ben has one arm firmly around her waist and her right hand clasped in his. "Come on," he urges. His voice is soft and low, unfamiliar in the best way, and Leslie swallows hard.
"You need to talk. I do. We do. We need to talk."
"I know."
But Ben doesn't seem to understand what that means. Instead, he helps her to his car and opens the door to the back seat. She climbs in, kicking off her shoes as she goes, and immediately pulls her feet up and tucks them under her legs. Ben slides in next to her and shuts the door.
It's dark in the car. She can just make out Ben's face, dimly lit by one of the flood lights in the parking lot. He stares at her, his gaze moving over all the different parts of her face, and Leslie really wants to lean in and kiss him again, but no. They're supposed to talk about it instead.
Except that seems kind of dumb now that she's in the back seat of Ben's car and he's looking at her like that and she already knows that he's a really excellent kisser.
"Do you not not want to kiss me?"
The corner of Ben's mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but at least he doesn't look like he wants to run away now. In fact, he definitely looks like he does want to kiss her. "What?"
"You didn't want to kiss me," she explains, because clearly he's slow on the uptake tonight. "But now I think you do. Because you're making that face."
"I'm not making a face."
"Yeah, you are. It's that I really want to kiss you right now but for some reason I'm not going to face. You make it a lot."
He ducks his head, and Leslie thinks he might be blushing, which would be cute if she didn't want him to reach out and pull her into his lap right now. "But we finally got to kiss and you didn't want to kiss me then. But you did. I don't get it, Ben."
"I did want to kiss you, Leslie," he says. "Just not like that. Not with Tom shouting in my ear and people clapping and a whole crowd, half of whom were complete strangers."
Well yeah. No one wants to make out in front of Tom. That much is obvious. And it's nice to hear, but seriously … "Then why don't you when we're alone?" she wonders, and it takes a minute to realize she's said that part out loud. "There were a few times I thought you might, but then you didn't."
"I didn't think I should, Leslie. That's the only reason why."
"That's dumb. You're a good kisser."
Ben smiles, a real smile this time, and he reaches out to take her hand, which seems like permission to scoot closer to him, so she does. "I shouldn't because it's unethical, Leslie. I was overseeing your budget, and now I'm your boss, technically, and Chris-"
"Ben." She reaches up and places her hands on his cheeks. He doesn't seem to get this. "You're a really good kisser. And I don't know if you noticed, but I'd really like to kiss you again."
"You're not listening to anything I'm saying now, are you?"
Leslie shakes her head.
"We should have this conversation when you're sober."
"Okay."
"Okay."
"And until then," she says slyly, hands moving to wrap around the back of his neck, "we'll make out some more. Because we want to. And that's a much better reason than mistletoe."
Pairing: Ben/Leslie
Word Count: 2100
Rating: PG-13
Setting: Season 3 missing Christmas. After "Fancy Party," I guess.
A/n: My first holiday fill! Hooray for belated merriment! This is for Courtney, who asked for Ben and Leslie kissing under mistletoe UST.
There have been a lot of things that Leslie blamed Ben for that she can now admit might not have been entirely his fault. The government shutdown. The lack of air conditioning in City Hall over the summer. Showing up and totally ruining Ann and Chris' first date. In retrospect, Leslie can see how it might have been presumptuous to place the responsibility for these problems squarely on his gazelle-like shoulders.
But this? Public ridicule because they're standing under the mistletoe and not kissing-This is entirely Ben's fault.
She thinks it's Tom who started the chanting, a slurred chorus of shouts for them to kiss accompanied by some halfhearted clapping and an undertone of insults, but it's only because Ben hesitated. He doesn't seem to be aware of the rules of the game or of the dozens of kisses that have already been exchanged tonight under the mistletoe that now dangles above her head. It was Tom who brought the stupid plant into the Snakehole tonight; he'd tied it to a pair of reindeer antlers that he'd been wearing proudly when she and Ann arrived, but they've been confiscated and passed from person to person so many times now that Leslie has lost track of who's kissed who. Ann had had it last, ducking out of Jean-Ralphio's reach and drunkenly pecking Leslie on the lips before slipping the antlers onto Leslie's head. The fact that Ben had chosen that moment to show up with his stupid face and ridiculous hair was apparently ill-timed. He'd practically drained of color when Ann pointed at the mistletoe and laughed. That was all it took; a half-beat of reluctance and suddenly a stupid game has become an excuse for their friends to tease them mercilessly.
It's kind of annoying, really, because there have been plenty of times when Ben looked like he definitely wanted to kiss her. So why wouldn’t he now? She's awesome and a great kisser and she's pretty sure whatever this specialty drink is that Tom concocted has made her breath smell like peppermint. Which is basically a win-win-win for Ben. And she kind of thinks that maybe she should mention those things, but it's loud and Jean-Ralphio is fist-pumping and the words aren't coming out in the order she wants them to.
Ben reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder, proving that he isn't inexplicably repulsed by human contact all of a sudden. She stares at his hand for a minute, focused on the way his thumb rests against her collarbone and the warmth of his hand, which is such a decidedly wonderful quality for him to have. She remembers how his hands felt when he hugged her at the Harvest Festival; she hadn't thought about it then, but his hands had been just as warm and large and steady, and those qualities kind of seem like the most important things in the world right now. If they kissed, she wonders if his hand would slide up to rest against her neck or along her cheek; if it would be just as perfect as the way his fingers curve into her shoulder now.
"Leslie," he says, and he's close enough that he doesn't even have to shout to be heard. She tears her eyes away from his hand, pausing on the garish pattern of his tie for a second before she meets his gaze.
"Benjamin." She pokes him in the chest. "There are laws about mistletoe."
Ben raises an eyebrow, like he's surprised. Like he's never heard of mistletoe or doesn’t understand why everyone is still egging them on or why Donna has joined Jean-Ralphio in some kind of elaborate chicken taunting. But they’re friends, and there's no rule that says friends can't kiss, and maybe sometimes they even kind of want to kiss just to see if it's good as they occasionally imagine it would be, but they know it might not be a great idea, and doesn't he get that mistletoe is the perfect way to get around that?
Maybe he does. Or maybe he realizes that the taunting isn't going to stop. Either way, Leslie sees the look in his eyes change and then he's leaning toward her. She turns her head just in time to catch his lips, and his hand tightens against her shoulder; belatedly, she realizes that he was probably aiming for her cheek.
But that was a dumb idea.
This is better.
A lot better.
There's a stutter in the moment where she surprises him, a second where their lips are touching but they're not really kissing, and Leslie hears a whoop and some cat-calling. But then Ben shifts, that hand sliding up into her hair, his nose pressing against her cheek. His lips part, slowly capturing her bottom lip, and in that instant, Leslie can't remember her own name, let alone the other people in the bar. She reaches for him, hands finding his shoulders, and when she feels him step closer to her, she can't stop herself from smiling against his lips.
Ben pulls back slowly. Just far enough to see her at first. And he's smiling, too, and it's something that Leslie wants to remember forever.
Then the moment is gone.
Tom throws an arm around Ben's shoulder, dragging him backward and shouting some kind of congratulatory nonsense, and before Leslie can process that, someone has pulled the antlers off of her head and passed them on to Ben. He shakes his head, tugging them off and shrugging off Tom's arm, and he only glances back at her once as he weaves through the crowded club.
"What was that?" asks Ann. Her drink spills as she climbs onto the bar stool next to Leslie's, and Leslie glances down at the small, darkened spot on the floor. "Les?"
"Huh?"
"You just made out with Ben in front of the whole bar. What the hell was that about?"
Leslie blinks, trying to stop Ann's beautiful face from swaying in front of her. "Yeah," she agrees. Because what the hell was that about? Why did he just run away?
Ann frowns. "That wasn't a yes or no question."
"I don't know," Leslie amends, because she really doesn't. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Donna cornering two men with the mistletoe. Neither looks as skittish as Ben did at the idea of kissing her, which is weird, because Leslie's pretty sure Ben has wanted to kiss her for a while, and Donna just met those guys. "Maybe I need to talk to Ben," she says, more a half-formed thought than a statement, but Ann meets it with enthusiasm.
"Yeah! You should go talk to Ben. He can't just kiss you like that and then walk away."
"Yeah!"
"Hell yeah!" Ann raises her glass, and for a second, as Leslie downs what's left of her own drink, she almost forgets why they're toasting. Fortunately, her wise and focused best friend is there to shove her in the direction of the exit.
The cold air feels good on Leslie's skin when she steps out of the club. She takes a couple of deep breaths, trying to clear her head, but she only succeeds in burning her lungs. Annoyed, she starts to walk the perimeter of the building, scanning the parking lot for any sign of Ben as she goes.
She finds him on her third turn around the building, sitting on the hood of his car. It's odd. She's pretty sure he hasn’t been drinking, that he'd only just shown up when she caught him under the mistletoe, and she realizes that she expected he would already be gone when she got out here.
Well fine. This is fine. They'll talk and maybe he'll put his hand on her shoulder again and it'll all be fine.
Except, crap. The parking lot is a mess of slush and ice, and Leslie is in heels, and now that she thinks about it, this wall might be the only thing holding her upright. For a second, she considers simply shouting at him across the parking lot, but there's someone throwing up nearby, and the thought of talking to Ben while listening to that is pretty unappealing.
Also, he definitely won't be able to touch her again if they're this far apart.
She pushes herself away from the wall slowly, giving the parking lot a second to steady itself before she takes a couple of cautious steps forward. Almost immediately, her feet are soaked and frozen, and she thinks she might have cursed loudly at the sensation, because the next thing she knows, Ben has one arm firmly around her waist and her right hand clasped in his. "Come on," he urges. His voice is soft and low, unfamiliar in the best way, and Leslie swallows hard.
"You need to talk. I do. We do. We need to talk."
"I know."
But Ben doesn't seem to understand what that means. Instead, he helps her to his car and opens the door to the back seat. She climbs in, kicking off her shoes as she goes, and immediately pulls her feet up and tucks them under her legs. Ben slides in next to her and shuts the door.
It's dark in the car. She can just make out Ben's face, dimly lit by one of the flood lights in the parking lot. He stares at her, his gaze moving over all the different parts of her face, and Leslie really wants to lean in and kiss him again, but no. They're supposed to talk about it instead.
Except that seems kind of dumb now that she's in the back seat of Ben's car and he's looking at her like that and she already knows that he's a really excellent kisser.
"Do you not not want to kiss me?"
The corner of Ben's mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but at least he doesn't look like he wants to run away now. In fact, he definitely looks like he does want to kiss her. "What?"
"You didn't want to kiss me," she explains, because clearly he's slow on the uptake tonight. "But now I think you do. Because you're making that face."
"I'm not making a face."
"Yeah, you are. It's that I really want to kiss you right now but for some reason I'm not going to face. You make it a lot."
He ducks his head, and Leslie thinks he might be blushing, which would be cute if she didn't want him to reach out and pull her into his lap right now. "But we finally got to kiss and you didn't want to kiss me then. But you did. I don't get it, Ben."
"I did want to kiss you, Leslie," he says. "Just not like that. Not with Tom shouting in my ear and people clapping and a whole crowd, half of whom were complete strangers."
Well yeah. No one wants to make out in front of Tom. That much is obvious. And it's nice to hear, but seriously … "Then why don't you when we're alone?" she wonders, and it takes a minute to realize she's said that part out loud. "There were a few times I thought you might, but then you didn't."
"I didn't think I should, Leslie. That's the only reason why."
"That's dumb. You're a good kisser."
Ben smiles, a real smile this time, and he reaches out to take her hand, which seems like permission to scoot closer to him, so she does. "I shouldn't because it's unethical, Leslie. I was overseeing your budget, and now I'm your boss, technically, and Chris-"
"Ben." She reaches up and places her hands on his cheeks. He doesn't seem to get this. "You're a really good kisser. And I don't know if you noticed, but I'd really like to kiss you again."
"You're not listening to anything I'm saying now, are you?"
Leslie shakes her head.
"We should have this conversation when you're sober."
"Okay."
"Okay."
"And until then," she says slyly, hands moving to wrap around the back of his neck, "we'll make out some more. Because we want to. And that's a much better reason than mistletoe."