All Things Considered, r, Ben/Leslie
All Things Considered, R (hard R)
Parks and Recreation, Ben/Leslie
2100 words
Notes: Because people responded to #4 of my Ten Things at leslie_ben. Thanks to Caitlin, blah, blah, ♥♥♥ Not my best, but it's something. AT LEAST I'M WRITING, RIGHT!?
"It’s actually... really, really good. All things considered."
It’s not bad, not even close to it.
It’s actually... really, really good. All things considered. But she can tell that it’s still weighing on him, heavily; he’s not speaking and it’s unnerving.
"This isn't a thing, Ben, really, let's not make it a... thing," she says, going for casual and sated, as she snuggles up to his side, laying his head on his shoulder. He looks tense, beyond tense, really, his hands at his side, jaw set hard.
Leslie wants to say something else but somehow manages to hold back; this is clearly upsetting to him and she can't overlook this, not if they're going to be something. Thus, Leslie waits and waits, and even after she begins stroking over his stomach with no reaction, she perches her chin up his left pectoral. "Listen, it's... me, this is... Ben..."
"I just want to make you..." He doesn't know what to say, eyes closing, passing a hand over his face. "Leslie you're... you're amazing."
She smiles, grins, really, and places her hand over his other pec.
Ben bites his lip and then turns to her; in the filtered light through the blind he looks almost haggard. Not in a bad way, in a 'I've-been-riding-through-the-desert-on-a-horse-with-no-name' sort of way and she really, really likes it. It's totally working for her. But he's troubled because he's tripping over his words, because he's skipping pillow talk and Ben loves pillow talk.
Well, she thinks he loves pillow talk; they've only had the chance for post-coital chat sessions four times (Though they've had sex six times). Ben's chatty afterward and wants to touch her everywhere, even around her hips where she's not totally cool with being touched (why won't those love handles just, just, go away?!). But he whispers to her until she goes to sleep and she loves it.
Except right now, he's holding all of this anxiety in his shoulders and it worries her. "Hey, hey, talk to me?" She asks, doesn't pry because she doesn't really know where they are in their relationship. Well, she has shown him her Nancy Pelosi, but that's not really that big of a deal (or it totally is).
Ben sighs and moves to turn onto his side, so she does the same; they're face to face on the same pillow. "I just want to make you feel..."
Leslie rolls her eyes, "Spit it out, Wyatt, the way you just sexed me up you can't be holding ba-"
"I want to feel you come, that's... I want to make you come." He says, slamming his eyes closed at his rushed admission before peeling his eyes slowly back open. "I want to... make you come."
Leslie frowns, but in an understanding way. "I know," comes her whisper. "I know you do Ben and I... you think I don't want you to... make me..."
"Come," he fills in for her, his eyes flashing in a way she hasn't ever seen. It shocks her.
She swallows and considers what she wants to say. She doesn't know if date three constitutes the proper time to tell him about her issues (and it dawns on her now that they've had sex six times over only three dates and wow, that's a really great sex-to-date ratio, actually) with intimacy. Or, you know, any of her issues in general. Leslie wishes that she could call Ann and ask her about dating etiquette.
"Yes, make me... come," she repeats, smiling shyly for some reason. "Ben, it's just that... I don't know when the right time to tell you, or even how because-"
"You can tell me anything," he cuts her off again, but with such a conviction that it makes her reconsider the way she's been thinking. Ben seems like he's on the verge of all in, and she, well, she is too. "Really," he adds, as though he needs to make it land.
Leslie considers him for a moment, glances over his face, his body from his head to where he disappears beneath her sheets. She likes him here, like this. And she likes seeing him wake up next to her. There's something about his french toast and the way he decides what documentary they're going to watch as well. Leslie more than likes him; it freaks her out because, yeah, third date.
And he can't make her come.
And it's not his fault. But it is a deep-seated, emotional issue that she has that she's not sure she can discuss with him, or should. Though, he did pretty much tell her that this was what he wanted, that she could tell him anything. This is a tricky subject, however. It's an embarrassing subject. It's... how do you even begin to tell someone something like this?
It's a make or break moment, right now, and she's going to air it all out, put it all out on the table, other metaphors for telling someone a heavy truth. And yet... how to tell him that this very real, very present issue wouldn't be happening if she were sleeping with really, anyone other than him. Anyone that didn't work at City Hall. Anyone whom with having a relationship of a sexual nature wouldn't endanger her job.
And how to tell him all of this while they're both still naked as the day they were born?
“Ben,” Leslie begins and tosses herself onto her back in a huff. “I love my job...”
“I, well, yeah, obviously,” he replies, a note of mirth in his voice. “Obviously, obviously.”
“Yeah, well... and I really like you. A lot, a lot. Except... Chris’s rule...”
“Ah, yeah, that’s a pretty big hurdle... but we’ve kind of already jumped it,” his voice still holds a note of humor but she wishes that it didn’t. This is a big deal, almost a huge deal and though his aloofness should bring a sort of levity, it just serves to agitate her further. “I mean, we really jumped the hurdle and kind of... kept on runnin’.”
She sighs and swallows, figures she should just say it and be done with it. “BenI’mreallyworriedaboutlosingmyjob... andyoutoo.” Leslie blinks and glances over at him. “Jobandyou.” It’s a jumble of words and she hopes he understands what she’s said because she’s really not certain she can work up the nerve to say it again.
His hand on his stubble, rubbing in thought, Ben stares at the ceiling. “Ah.”
Leslie whispers, “Yeah.”
“Hm.”
She lies still, stock still and waits for him to say something. Normally, if this were any other occasion, she would scramble to break the silence, hurry to find a way to figure out a solution to this problem.
“You know, Les,” he begins, curls up a little on his side. “I love my job too, I feel like Pawnee is... I’ve finally found a place that I... don’t want to... leave,” he manages before closing his eyes once more. “And so this is a big deal for me, too.”
Leslie considers that for a moment. As a state budget auditor, he’s been all over Indiana; large cities, small towns, hamlets, he’s seen it all. (A wave of jealousy overtakes her; she wants to see that much of Indiana, but manages to forge on with her thoughts.) Ben has had to pick up and leave every single place he’s arrived in and thus, she’s sure that he’s never attempted to settle down, make any meaningful ties.
Except now, it’s not just the city, it’s her. And they’re pretty much a package deal. That must be terrifying and huge to him and yet he’s the one comforting her. Ben has all but said that he’s found someplace to stop and breathe and be and he’s willing to risk a sense of home to be with her.
Yeah, that’s huge.
“Ben... I just... I don’t know,” she finishes lamely.
He gives her a half-smile in response. “Maybe we should just relax. You know, play it by ear. Neither one of us are willing to give up our positions and, I mean, I think... neither one of us wants to stop,” he waves a hand back and forth between their bodies, “This.”
“Definitely don’t want to stop this,” she says with a sugary smirk. Leslie leans over and nips at his shoulder, perhaps a little harder than she means.
He laughs and slings an arm over her hip, drawing her closer. “Right, so, let’s just... take this easy, not overthink it and I’ll... we’ll work on your issue.”
“That’s what we’re calling it? My issue?” Leslie shifts even closer to him, their noses nearly touching. Her hand trails from his neck to his chest and she sighs. This is so nice.
Ben smiles sweetly as his hand sweeps across her hip and lower.
“Ben, I... ohhhhkay, that’s... that’s nice,” she whispers, body slackening into him. “S’nice.” His hand slips over her clip, just a ghost of a touch at first before he circles back and presses harder.
“Just relax, Leslie,” Ben urges, whispering into her ear, his tongue slipping over the lobe. “Just... relax.”
Leslie doesn’t know if it’s at his urging or because his fingers are moving in a really delightful way, but her body goes completely slack. “Ben,” she pleads and shifts so that she’s on top of him. “It’s not going to happen tonight,” she promises, dipping to nip at his chest. “It doesn’t have to happen tonight.”
“I know,” he mumbles, taking the upper hand and rolling Leslie onto her back, “No harm in trying though.” Ben cups a breast and slides a knee between her thighs; she shifts down, grinding against him slowly.
“No harm, trying... other words,” she sighs and arches up to kiss him; he returns the gesture, heartily, capturing her bottom lip between his teeth and tugging gently. It’s too much, she likes this experience too much, and perhaps that’s part of it as well.
That this is too good, that it’s-oh.
Ben slips two fingers inside of her, his thumb finding her clit again. “Mmmm, and that, yes,” she sighs and rakes her teeth over his neck. There’s a moment of fumbling, a muttered curse and then he’s back on top of her, staring down at her.
“What?” she asks, probably too breathlessly but smiles at him because she can’t help it.
Ben’s smile is slow to bloom on his face, but when it does she’s taken aback; between his smile and the look in his eyes, she thinks this might be-
“Nothing,” he says and slips inside of her. For a moment they still and she feels once more as though this is the first time. There’s something about him, now, how he gets. Ben becomes focused, attends to her, surprisingly doesn’t make any of the weird faces that men typically make during sex.
(Leslie can’t really stand the weird faces, so this is a huge added bonus.)
“Move,” she surprises herself by saying, and wriggles her hips, grabs his shoulders and shoves him a little. It takes a moment, but he’s on his back and she’s over him, hands on his chest, nails creating little crescent moon impressions on his skin.
“Jesus, Les, I... jesus,” he groans and her laugh at his response turns to a moan.
Ben’s hands on her hips, she swivels clockwise, counterclockwise and is rewarded with another groan. When he comes, he grits her name and sinks her fingers into her hips hard, squeezing.
“Leslie-” his voice is sandpapery, parched.
She cuts him off, “Shut your face, everything is good.” Leslie flops down on the bed beside him, twinging her legs with his; it takes a moment, but eventually, he slides his arm beneath her neck and pulls her close.
She doesn’t come.
He promises that they’ll continue to work at it.
Every night.
(And every other morning, time permitting.)