Soup-making for Dummies (1/2)
Rating: hard R
Timeline: AU, but you could say it takes place somewhere around the Season 3 timeline.
Summary: Ben is teaching an Insuring Fiscal Responsibility in Local Units of Government class and Leslie thinks he is a jerk.
Word count: 14,184
Notes: So, this is a silly AU. I’ve gotten a couple of prompts for a college or HS AU, which I don’t think I’d be very good at (plus there are so many awesome ones already), so then I started thinking about loopholes. Like…what if they were in their mid-30s (the same age as when they meet on the show), but taking a community education class? But then I found I missed the Ben holding her fate in his hands like a small bird aspect of everything. So then it went here. And now I am just following it…
Originally, this was posted as eight parts (and a WIP) on Tumblr and also Ao3.
It’s not so much the idea of taking a night class, because it isn’t that, she truly loves learning.
Just last week Leslie registered for two rec center classes starting next month-Intro to Birdwatching and So You Think You Can’t Make a Good Soup. But, the new state-mandated Insuring Fiscal Responsibility in Local Units of Government course that Ron is making her attend as the Parks Department representative, even if it is only four weeks long, sounds simply awful.
Fiscal responsibility is all fine and good, but what’s really important is enriching the lives of the people of Pawnee. That’s priceless.
The first Thursday night starts off okay. The professor is even kind of cute, if not a little nervous and nerdy.
His name is Ben Wyatt and he spends most of the first session talking about the need for local governments to cut back on programs and services. When he turns to write something on the blackboard, Leslie finds herself admiring the view-it’s probably a little inappropriate, but she can’t help it, he has a really cute butt.
But, as the night’s class continues, she has a tough time not raising her hand to point out why he’s wrong on several occasions, and she still manages to get into a debate with him a couple of times, while the rest of the attendees check their cell phones or look bored.
It’s actually too bad Ron didn’t opt to attend this training himself, Leslie thinks, he’d probably be giddy over the nonsense being presented tonight.
“But don’t you think as members of local government, we have a responsibility to actually do something positive? To provide services for the community and the people of Pawnee?” She asks from her spot right in the first row, not even bothering to raise her hand this time.
“If you have a surplus of funds, sure,” he responds. “Public education is important. Fixing potholes are important, after school programs are important-apparently basketball is especially important in Indiana. But extravagant spending on services-” he holds his hand up to halt her objection, “even important services, leads to audits and bankruptcies, and maybe even to a government shut down. Just the other day, I was looking through the community rec center course catalog and did you know that the Pawnee Parks and Recreation Department offers a soup-making class?”
Ben makes a face before continuing. “Local government doesn’t have the money to facilitate teaching people how to make soup. I mean,” he holds his hands up in exasperation, “go buy a cookbook.”
The rest of the class laughs as Leslie looks around, an annoyed look on her face.
As soon as the first session is over, she rushes up to the desk as Ben is putting his things away.
“Professor Wyatt?”
He looks up from his papers and laptop, smiles as if he thinks their heated sparring is over.
“Oh, I’m not a real professor or anything. Well,” Ben pauses, “I’m employed to run this class through a joint partnership between Pawnee Community College and the state government. But I have a regular job during the day.”
“So you’re not in local government either?” Leslie asks incredulously.
“Um, I was a long time ago, but I’m an accountant now. You know,” he pauses to give her a goofy grin, “sometimes they call be Bond. Municipal Bond.”
When Leslie doesn’t even crack a smile, he moves on. “I, um, work at an accounting firm near town, Tilton and Radomski.”
“So you’re not even a real teacher?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say-”
“This situation is ridiculous,” she cuts him off, her voice getting louder. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“I’m sorry?” He’s definitely not smiling at her now.
“Local government isn’t just about saving money. It’s about the people. You can’t just be so blasé. How are you even in charge of this class?”
“Again, I’m an accountant and I’m fiscally responsible, I’ve been hired by…look, I have a Master’s Degree in Finance from…you know what? I don’t owe you a justification for my position. I’m running this class, Ms. Knope and you need to pass it as the representative from the,” Ben glances down and looks at his print-out of the class participants and then makes a face. “Of course, the Parks and Recreation Department. So that is the situation. Now, I’ll see you next Thursday.”
And with that, he shoves the rest of the papers into his briefcase and quickly walks past her.
“Soup-making is important!” Leslie yells out after him, unable to stop herself from checking out his ass again as he leaves. She rolls her eyes. Jerk.
* * * * *
“He’s terrible,” Leslie tells Ann, as they sit on Ann’s couch after work the following Tuesday, snuggled up under opposite ends of the colorful afghan and drinking their way through a bottle of wine.
Originally Ann had grabbed a white from her fridge, but knowing how white wine gives her best friend a headache, Leslie had suggested the bottle of red on Ann’s kitchen counter instead.
Then they had opened the white wine anyway, after finishing up the red.
“Well, it’s just three more classes, right?” Ann asks sympathetically, refilling Leslie’s glass again.
“But he just talks about spreadsheets and audits like that’s all there is to local government!” Leslie scoffs. “I’ve tried to schedule about twenty meetings with him since Friday, to get him to understand that he’s presenting this material wrong, but he keeps emailing me back and saying that he doesn’t have office hours because he’s not a real teacher. What kind of a teacher doesn’t have office hours?”
“Maybe he doesn’t have an office? But, also, twenty emails sounds a bit excessive?”
“If he didn’t want class members to email him, he shouldn’t have put that information in the syllabus. And then he just stands there and talks about audits and numbers and then turns around teasingly and writes on the board. Oh! And if it were up to him, people would have to buy cookbooks and bird identification guides,” she answers, rolling her eyes and making a face.
Ann smiles at her, fills her own wine glass up again as she shakes her head. “I don’t understand that last part.”
“It’s okay,” Leslie sloppily but lovingly pats her best friend’s head. “You’re a beautiful, silkily-furred marmot and everyday you massage people’s hearts back to life.”
Ann smiles at her, drunkenly shaking her head. “I don’t actually-”
“Ugh. You know what I should do right now? Call him and tell him what I think about him. Leave a voice message. That would probably convince him to meet with me.”
“Do you have his number?”
Leslie nods and grins slyly, before reaching down to the floor to pull her planner up out of her bag. She flips through the pages until she finds what she’s looking for. It only took her a couple of favors and a few minutes to get Ben Wyatt’s phone number.
He was lot easier than she’d thought he would be.
“Ohhhh! You should totally call him!” Ann leans forward and grabs Leslie’s hand. “But not twenty times. Five or six tops.”
“Oh, definitely. Five or six phone calls is completely professional.”
“Completely.”
Seconds later, Leslie is hitting the numbers into her phone carefully, trying not to giggle. She clears her throat, straightens the collar of her blouse, and tries to hold a serious, all-business expression on her face.
That accomplished, she hits the little call icon.
After only a couple of rings, there’s a no-nonsense “hello,” in her ear, making Leslie’s eyes widen in surprise. While this had seemed like a great idea a few minutes ago, now she’s not completely sure.
She honestly expected to just leave him a message. But, nope, it’s him-Ben Wyatt and his stupid jerk-voice right in her earhole.
“Um. Hello. Hi. Yes. Is…your refrigerator running?” Of course it’s silly and dumb but it’s the first thing she can think of and then Leslie can’t help but burst into laughter afterwards.
Beside her, Ann’s eyes grow all big and she covers her mouth with her hand and snorts.
“What? My-”
“Your refrigerator. Is it running? If so, you should go catch it. And then shut it down for spending too much money on food!”
“Um, what? Who is this?”
She finds her groove. “You sir, are very incorrect in your thoughts about government services and you should meet with Leslie Knope. She is a smart, sophisticated, and professional lady, unlike yourself. No one likes your class anyway. I talked to everyone there and they all said you were teaching it wrong. Good day.”
Leslie hits the end call button triumphantly and sets her phone down on the couch.
“Oh my god,” Ann says, laughing. “You did that.”
“I did do that!” She agrees, nodding.
Leslie is still giggling when her phone starts ringing. She makes a face before snatching it from the cushion next to her and then gasps when she recognizes the phone number-it’s the same exact one she just crank called.
“Ann! Ann! He sixty-nined me!” She yells, holding her phone out to Ann. “Ann! What do I do?”
“He…what? Oh my god, when? Oh, wait, you mean…” Ann starts giggling. “Star sixty-nined. And I’m pretty sure he didn’t need to do that, he just hit the return call button and-” Ann trails off when Leslie throws the still ringing cell phone at her. It lands right in Ann’s lap and both women just stare at it.
“What do I do?” Leslie repeats.
“Answer it,” Ann says decisively, with a nod of her head. “It’s your phone. And now he’s calling you. That’s exactly how you want it. Plus, now you have a home advantage field.”
Leslie smiles and repeats, “a home advantage field. I like it.” Leslie gives Ann a much-deserved high-five and grabs the phone.
“Hello?” She says, answering in a British accent, hoping to throw him off and confuse him.
“Hi.” The tone seems slightly annoyed but also a bit amused. “Is this Leslie Knope? From my Fiscal Responsibility class?”
“What? No. But even if it was, you’re the one calling me,” she declares before giving Ann another high-five.
“Are you drunk?”
“No. Are you drunk?”
“No. I was just sitting here at home, trying to watch Blade Runner and this drunk woman called me.”
“Well, that’s weird. Why are you calling me to tell me this? How did you even get my number?”
“Okay. Stop. I know that drunk woman was you. Is you.”
“Me? No. Because I was here with my niece, Torp…ness the whole time. And we’re playing Jenga and making owl scrapbooks, plus this isn’t even my phone. And I’m not dr-” she has to hold the phone away from her face when she burps softly, before she can add the unk onto the end of her sentence.
When Leslie brings the phone back to her ear, he’s talking again.
“Look. Ms. Knope. I’m sorry you don’t like the class, but you can’t crank call me and then lie about it. I know it was you and honestly, you’re not that good at lying or being sneaky.”
“Yes, I am.” How dare he? She’s an excellent sneaker!
“No, you’re not,” Ben says, making her feel all indignant and warm--flushed. No, wait. That must be the wine.
“I’m great at being sneaky.” Leslie notices Ann make a face at her words and kind of shake her head in disagreement.
What? she mouths to her friend.
“Clearly you’re not,” his voice continues in her ear, and Leslie turns her attention back to her phone conversation. “Regardless, let’s just agree to get through the next three weeks, okay? Just pass the class even though you think you know better, ignore my hand-outs, refuse to listen to the ideas that I’m presenting, and then continue to do what you want until your government is shut down.”
“You’re a fascist,” she tells him hotly.
“Fine. I’m going to hang up now.”
“It’s not just numbers and spreadsheets! These are real people with real jobs in a real town that provides real services to its citizens. And these people are working in a real building with real feelings.”
“The building has feelings?”
“Maybe.”
“Goodnight Ms. Knope.”
* * * * *
The whole next day Leslie’s head feels like wet concrete-it probably doesn’t help much that she managed to sleep even less than her usual four hours. And god, last night she crank called Ben Wyatt, her teacher from the Fiscal Responsibility class.
The next class tomorrow is going to be unbearable.
She has to stop herself from groaning at the thought right in the middle of the cereal aisle of the grocery store. Leslie looks down along the colorful boxes, searching for something new and sugary to try for dinner, when she sees him.
He’s just a few feet away in his stupid plaid shirt, grey pants, and tan jacket.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she mutters softly as Ben Wyatt looks over the boxes of oatmeal in front of him on the shelves.
Figures.
He turns his head and…she grabs a box of something called Sugar Rice Pops and holds the box up right in front of her face.
She’s whispering, “please don’t see me, please don’t see me, please don’t-” when he puts his hand lightly on top of the box and pushes it down.
“Hi.”
“Oh, uh, hi. Mr. Wyatt.”
“Ms. Knope,” he returns her greeting. He looks at the bright blue box in her hands. “These any good?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I was using them to hide behind. So, no. Not really good for that.”
“Yeah. You are not sneaky,” he says, smiling at her. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. You know, last night on the phone. Well, and last week in class too.”
Leslie returns the box to the shelf and sighs. “Call me Leslie.”
“Ben,” he answers back. “Look. Do you want to go get a beer? You look like you could use a beer.”
“I’m still hungover from last night,” she says, then reconsiders briefly before nodding. "Yeah. Okay.“
They end up at The Bulge, which is conveniently only a couple of blocks from the market. After some onion rings and a beer each sitting at the bar, they move the next round of drinks to a small, quiet table in the corner and end up side-by-side in the cozy booth.
"Okay, here’s one-You can’t wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club,” Leslie tells him, sharing another one of her favorite quotes.
“Jack London?” Ben guesses and then takes a sip of his drink.
“Yeah!” she smiles in surprise. “Yeah. You like Jack London?”
Ben scrunches up his face like she just asked him a really stupid question but then relaxes and grins at her. “I only read White Fang like twenty times when I was a kid.”
“How about the biography about him? An Am-”
“American Life? Yeah,” Ben tells her. “I have that at home somewhere too.”
“I love biographies,” Leslie shares excitedly. “Have you read Wilderness Warrior, Theodore Roosevelt and the Crusade for America?”
Ben shakes his head.
“I think you would like it. It’s about merging preservation and patriotism into the quintessential American ideal. Hey, that’s just like how providing services and-”
“Ah, here we go. I thought we were just having a beer?”
“That was before. Now we’re drinking Knopetails,” she says holding her glass up and clinking it with his.
Ben relents, laughing. “Fair enough. But hey, what is the deal with you and this bar? You have a drink named after you and, well, honestly this doesn’t seem like a place you would normally-”
“I’m sort of a gay hero,” she tells him. “Last year, I married two penguins at the zoo, and it turned out they were both gay.”
“A penguin wedding?”
“Mm-hmm,” Leslie confirms, draining the last of her second Knopetail. She reaches down for the cherry at the bottom of the martini glass and pops it in her mouth, as she holds onto the stem.
“That’s cute,” he comments, still grinning at her. It’s sort of an adorable, dopey grin and suddenly Leslie find herself really wanting kiss him.
Wait. What?
Instead, she says quickly, “It was so cute. But enough about how cute the gay penguin wedding was. Why are you such a hard ass about fiscal responsibility?”
“Good lord, really?” Ben sighs, but not angrily. “Okay, look. When I was eighteen, I became mayor of my hometown in Minnesota, and I used every last dollar we had to open a giant winter sports complex. I called it Icetown.”
“Ah, so that’s when you were in local government. And your sports complex turned out great, and everyone loved it, right?”
“Uh, yeah, kinda. Oh wait, no. It was never completed and then I got impeached. The newspaper headline was Icetown costs ice clown his town crown.”
“Oh,” Leslie makes a sympathetic face. “Well, the headline was kind of catchy.”
“Yeah. Catchy,” he trails off before muttering, “they were big into rhymes in Partridge.”
“Ben,” she says his name while moving closer to him in the booth, so close that the sides of their thighs are touching. It makes her feel nervous for some reason, but she ignores it and tells him truthfully, “Ben. I think Icetown sounds fun and amazing. And the point is, even if it didn’t work out, at least you tried something.”
“Well, that’s nice of you to say, but…” He trails off and looks down at the table, starts fiddling with the edge of his napkin.
“I’m not just being nice,” she assures him, covering his hand with hers. “You tried to create something but it didn’t work. So, try something else.”
Ben smiles and looks up at her. Just then a Bulge server stops by their table, his sudden appearance startling Ben.
“Anything else tonight? Maybe a blow job on the house?”
“Oh, um, no that’s not necessary,” Ben replies, getting all confused-looking before Leslie can even respond. And then unfortunately, he just continues to talk. “I mean, who hasn’t had gay thoughts, but um…but I’m not actually-”
“You’re cute and all honey, but I meant the drink,” the server interrupts, his tone all sassy and amused, while Leslie dissolves into giggles beside her companion.
“We’ll take two blow jobs. Thanks, Mike,” she jumps in to say, as Ben sinks further down into the booth.
“Oh god. That was embarrassing. I’m drunk. You got me drunk and flustered and unable to distinguish drinks from come-ons.”
“Well, that one is a little confusing,” she says sympathetically and then continues to giggle next to a still-blushing Ben. “Do you not get offered blow jobs by strangers often, then?”
It starts with a snort and then he’s laughing too. “I really don’t. That was a first. Or well, it would have been.”
“Better luck next time?”
He’s still smiling at her as Mike sets the whipped cream-topped shots down at their table a couple of minutes later.
“Now, to do it right, you’re not supposed to use your hands,” she tells him seriously.
“Oh. Well, I don’t know about that…wait. Are we talking about the drinks or…?” He jokes back, right before he starts laughing again.
And for how infuriating Ben Wyatt was that first night in class, Leslie can’t believe how giggly and fun (and honestly, pretty sexy) he is while drinky. Drunky. Drunk.
“The drinks, Ben.” Then she winks at him, before she prepares to completely blow his mind.
She hopes she still remembers how to do this-college was quite a number of years ago, she thinks, and she really only watched her roommate do it a couple of times at the bar near their dorm.
Leslie leans over and at first accidentally bumps her nose against the top of her drink. Crap on a crouton.
But then, it all comes back to her as she licks the mountain of whipped cream off (mmmmmmm), before sliding her mouth around the rim of the glass, and lifting it up easily.
Then she moves her head back and swallows the drink whole. When she finally uses her right hand to pull the empty glass away, Leslie gives him what she hopes is a huge, sexy grin.
Ben is staring at her like he can’t believe what he just saw.
Yep.
Blew. His. Mind.
“You’ve got…um,” Ben finally says, motioning towards her face. “Some whipped cream on your nose. I can…hey, come here.”
She moves closer, thinking he’s going to brush it off with his finger or maybe a cocktail napkin, but he doesn’t do either of those two things. Ben moves in close and softly brushes the tip of his tongue against her sticky skin, before licking the whipped cream off her nose in earnest.
Ben’s tongue is wet and soft and he’s kind of got a light grip on her arm when he does the licking and the sucking and Leslie kind of stops breathing.
She didn’t even realize that she had shut her eyes, but she must have, because when she opens them, Ben is staring right at her. He looks as surprised as she feels.
“Okay. I just licked whipped cream off one of my students. I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to do that. Also, um, there’s no way I can drive home.”
Leslie just smiles and takes his hand, tugging him towards the end of the booth. “Come on. I wanted to show you that Roosevelt book anyway.”
Ben looks at her and then down at his still-full drink. He hands her the glass. “Want my whipped cream? You certainly seemed to have enjoyed yours.”
Leslie breaks the no hands rule and takes it from him and licks the whipped cream off the top. She hands it back.
“I’m going to use my hands because I’m pretty sure if I tried to do what you did earlier, I would end up with blow job all over my shirt.”
Ben downs the rest in one swallow, before he slides out of the booth right behind her.
When he stands up, she can’t help but notice that the front of his pants look a little tight and she feels the warmth from all the alcohol and the recent turn of events rush to her cheeks.
Holy crap-she’s about to take her teacher home and show him her Teddy Roosevelt biography. Maybe more? Yep. She’s definitely going to share all of her biographies with him.
The walk to her house from The Bulge is only about fifteen minutes as they drunkenly giggle and hold hands the entire way.
* * * * *
“Oh my god.”
Leslie turns around and looks back at Ben as he stands frozen in her open doorway.
It’s not that bad.
But…she supposes that her organization system is a bit of a surprise at first. Ann doesn’t get it either.
“I probably need to straighten up a little,” she tells him apologetically, picking up a stray birdhouse and putting it on a stack of cardboard boxes that are hiding most of her couch from view. “It looked great last year when I had a dinner party, but then I kind of let it slip back into-”
“No,” Ben tells her. “No. It’s okay. I, um, it's…unique? You, um…”
She watches as he trails off and looks around, before he picks up one of her old Newsweek magazines, (July 20, 1992, she can tell from the cover design), from a pile of puzzle boxes, stacked on top of some old phone books. He finishes his original sentence with, “have a lot of interests?”
“I do,” Leslie agrees, smiling. “But I’m still working on a way to keep everything in its place, I guess.”
Ben frowns, putting the magazine back down. “Have you tried a bulldozer?”
She looks at him and he meets her eyes, before his face softens considerably.
“I’m sorry. Sorry. That was a stupid joke, I shouldn’t have said that…but, uh…” he shakes his head. “I mean I was just a little surprised at first but it's…” Ben looks around her living room, clearly grasping for the right word. “Cozy?”
“It is,” she agrees. “And it would really just take an hour or two to organize,” she tells him.
When she turns around Ben is staring at her, but then starts nodding quickly. “Um, sure. Yeah. Definitely. An hour. Or two. Yep.”
Leslie takes his hand. “Come on. Most of my books are upstairs anyway. Just stick to the path and you’ll be fine.”
Her stairs are fairly cleared off and they make it easily, she only stops once to step around a box of winter boots, causing Ben to bump into her back. He just laughs and pushes her hair out of the way and kisses her neck. It’s the first time he’s kissed her and it’s just so easy and relaxed-like it’s completely second nature for Ben to nuzzle into her and do that.
When she hands him the Teddy Roosevelt book from her overflowing bookshelf he smiles at her. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
And then they kind of grin at one another for a few seconds.
“Look, Leslie. I’m not expecting anything. We’re a little drunk and I can just call a cab and-”
She cuts him off by moving forward and kissing him.
Leslie just kind of grabs his face and pulls him to her and Ben seems happy enough to go where she puts him--right against her mouth. Ben’s lips are warm and he enthusiastically returns her kiss, wrapping his arms around her and she can feel the the book still clutched in his hand, as he rests it against her back.
“I don’t want you to call a cab. I want you to stay here,” she confirms, her hands gripping his still-on tan jacket. She pushes it down as Ben sets the biography on her bed.
And then she squeezes and pats his ass, because really she’s wanted to do that since last Thursday.
“Oh thank god,” he returns, pulling her in for another kiss.
She’s still smiling and their teeth almost hit at first, but that just makes her start to giggle.
The next few moments are a flurry of activity-kissing, laughing some more, trying to drunkenly get clothing off and newly exposed skin explored. They end up on her bed, Leslie just in her underwear-luckily, it’s the sexy black pair, she thinks, after Ben gets her blouse unbuttoned and her pants pulled off, while Ben is stripped down to a pair of dark blue boxer briefs.
When he turns his head to the side, she takes advantage of his new position to lean over and kiss his neck, and starts sucking on the skin gently.
“You really do have a lot of political biographies,” he says, looking at the stack of books on her bedside table.
And it seems a little strange to stop making out for a break to talk about books, but it’s also kind of working for her.
Really, it’s kind of crazy, but this whole night is definitely working for her. Onion rings. Sugary, boozy drinks. Making out on her bed with her cute and sexy teacher.
Leslie usually likes to rush and get to the good part but tonight, it all seems like the good part.
“Sometimes I think about how different historical people would kiss,” she tells him, her eyes trailing over the different titles by her bed--An Unfinished Life, Promises to Keep, A Personal and Public Life, and A Perfect Union, a few of her favorites.
She leans over him, her breasts pushing against Ben’s bare chest and even with her bra still on she has to hold in a shudder.
“Like who?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she points to the stack. “Dolly Madison. JFK. Eleanor Roosevelt. Joe Biden.”
“Each other?” Ben asks, looking confused.
“No. Well…” Leslie makes a face like she’s considering it. “Now I am. But no. In general. Like, this,” she moves in even closer and brushes her lips to his, then nibbles briefly on his lower lip, before rubbing her nose against his, making Ben laugh.
Leslie pulls back and smiles. “See? That was how Abigail Adams would kiss.”
“Hmmmm, I like it. Okay. My turn…” Ben trails off and his eyes narrow, like he’s trying to come up with a plan.
While he thinks, she takes in his appearance--Ben's hair is all messy and he’s in her bed, mostly undressed and she can’t help but compare this to the last time she had a man in her bedroom. Justin. He would probably just be name dropping people he’d met and how they had kissed at this point, or suggesting they try something complicated and uncomfortably pretzel-like from the Kama Sutra, (it took days for her hip to feel normal again after that one time).
But Ben just looks right at her and tugs her down next to him, while he sits up and leans over.
“Alright. Got one. And this…” he pauses dramatically, “this is how Han Solo would kiss.”
Ben lowers his mouth to hers assertively, his lips pressing against hers briefly, before he’s touching his tongue to hers in a way that makes the pit of her stomach drop. When his hand starts caressing her hip she moans. Loudly.
“Whoa, Han likes the tongue,” she tells him afterwards, unable to start giggling.
Ben just smiles at her as he starts working his way down her body, kissing and licking a path to her breasts while she moves her hands back and unhooks her bra. He groans at the sight of her bare breasts and then resumes his path, licking at one nipple, tugging it gently with his teeth, while his fingers lightly tease the other one.
“Han does like the tongue. But the real question is, does Abigail like the tongue?” As he says it, he looks at her and starts tugging her underwear down her hips and thighs.
Oh.
Soon, the black panties are down and off, somewhere on the floor by her bra, and Ben’s hands are on the inside of her thighs as he spreads her legs apart. He kisses one hip and then the next.
Then each knee.
She impatiently wiggles her hips and he looks up at her, smirks and kisses just beneath her belly button.
“Oh my god, you are a jerk!” She complains, making him laugh.
“And you’re too impatient,” he tells, her, still not touching her where she really wants him to.
“No,” Leslie shakes her head. “No. I’m being really good tonight.”
He doesn’t respond, just snorts in laughter and finally lowers his head.
If Justin was technically adept at this, then Ben is a fucking artist once he really gets going.
Between his fingers and his tongue, the way his hands slide along the inside of her thighs as he holds her open, Leslie is gasping and moaning quickly. His tongue sweeps through her folds, then he scatters little kisses between her legs.
Tentatively he pushes his tongue inside, then licks at her like a lollipop. And when he starts curling his finger inside, the tip of his tongue flicking eagerly at her clit again, she’s gripping his hair in her hands and coming hard-the kind of orgasm that peaks and then stays there, right at that spot for longer than expected, and then finally starts rippling out and shattering.
When Ben looks up at her, he seems really proud of himself. And also, his boxer briefs are decidedly tenting in front.
Wait? Why the hell is he still wearing those?
Leslie sits up quickly and rushes towards him, it almost looks like she startles Ben, but when her hand brushes against him, he moans approvingly. And when she eases his underwear down past his knees, freeing him fully, Ben definitely seems all good with the recent turn of events.
He may be all annoyingly hard-assed about budgets, but he’s got a great-looking penis.
She kisses him while she strokes him, swallowing all the sexy noises he’s making. When her thumb brushes across the tip where there’s already moisture, he shudders into her. And maybe it’s because she’s already partaken in one blow job this evening (and had the whipped cream from a second), she quickly decides she wants nothing more than to feel him in her mouth too.
Ben seems to agree because he makes a completely brand new noise when she brushes her tongue around him and takes him inside.
“Oh god, that feels amazing, but, you should stop if you want to do anything else,” he tells her after only a minute or so.
Reluctantly, Leslie replaces her mouth with her hand, keeping a hold on him while she starts rummaging around in her drawer. She tosses something small on the bed and turns back around, a triumphant look on her face.
"Sweetums?” Ben asks, holding the wrapped condom up.
“If you can’t beat ‘em, Sweetums,” she tells him.
“Right. No. I get it, but it’s real, right? I mean, it’s not made out of candy or something?” But even as he’s asking, he’s eagerly ripping the packaging open.
“No, Ben.”
Leslie rolls the condom quickly but carefully down, while he still looks slightly skeptical, but mostly on-board with the current condom situation.
“It’s a real…” she looks at the discarded wrapper. “Watermelon-flavored condom. And, yay! Unexpired. But if they were made out of actual candy that would be so awesome.”
“Yeah. That would be kind of cool,” he agrees, almost as a reminder that they both are still a bit drunk.
After some initial navigating, Leslie ends up on her back and Ben’s thrusts, once he finally presses inside, are slow and sexy, giving her time to adjust.
His hips push into hers and she can’t help but think that this still doesn’t really feel like a first time. Sure, it’s a little clumsy at first, while she wiggles underneath and slides her calves up near his waist, but she’s not nervous like she usually is when she sleeps with someone new.
Of course she’s a little tipsy, but Ben is making her feel good. Really, really good. Like she doesn’t have to rush through it all to get to the finish line or plan everything out.
It’s just happening and she’s in the moment and it’s…fun.
“You know, I like you a lot when you’re not calling me a jerk,” he tells her, thrusting in deep and then kind of rocking his hips again.
Leslie moans at the sensation, and reaches down to cup his ass, feel him working into her. “Well, you’re not acting like a jerk right now. Oh, god. That feels so good.”
He laughs. “Oh, okay. And good.”
“But now it’s my turn to be on top.”
She lowers her legs from around his hips and they sloppily roll over, giggling and he even slips out momentarily, but then she’s right there straddling him and sinking down.
It doesn’t take long before she’s coming again and then Ben is right behind her, gripping her hips and thrusting up, shaking and shuddering beneath her.
After cleaning up briefly and settling back in her bed, Leslie cuddles against him, while Ben’s hand lightly circles over the skin of her hip.
“You know, the rec center classes are important. There’s a class on dealing with illness, one on birdwatching, using Quick Books,” she gives him a look that says, that should be right up your alley, nerd-boy. “And yes, even soup-making. It’s not--”
“Good lord, can we not debate this now? I mean, we just had-”
“A really, very nice time?” Leslie finishes his sentence.
Ben smiles sleepily. “A really, very nice time. How about I promise not to lecture you on fiscal responsibility when we’re not wearing pants, if you promise to cool it with the rec center classes just a little bit.”
“Okay,” Leslie agrees. “But, you should appreciate the classes more, Ben, because that’s where I learned to French kiss. And make biscuits. And--”
“There’s a class on French kissing?” Ben asks, his brow furrowed.
“No. When I was in high school, there was a boy in my biscuit-making class and he--”
He silences her with a kiss, decidedly French in style.
Then they talk a little bit more about history and even how Han Solo’s kisses would be different than kisses from Indiana Jones.
She doesn’t remember falling asleep but vaguely remembers dozing off while Ben was going off on some tangent about the Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull and refrigerators and…wolverine claws?
The next morning when she wakes up, Leslie is surprised when she looks at her clock-it’s seven-thirty. She completely overslept her usual five-thirty internal alarm.
Leslie’s even more surprised to discover that Ben is gone.
Go to Part II
Timeline: AU, but you could say it takes place somewhere around the Season 3 timeline.
Summary: Ben is teaching an Insuring Fiscal Responsibility in Local Units of Government class and Leslie thinks he is a jerk.
Word count: 14,184
Notes: So, this is a silly AU. I’ve gotten a couple of prompts for a college or HS AU, which I don’t think I’d be very good at (plus there are so many awesome ones already), so then I started thinking about loopholes. Like…what if they were in their mid-30s (the same age as when they meet on the show), but taking a community education class? But then I found I missed the Ben holding her fate in his hands like a small bird aspect of everything. So then it went here. And now I am just following it…
Originally, this was posted as eight parts (and a WIP) on Tumblr and also Ao3.
It’s not so much the idea of taking a night class, because it isn’t that, she truly loves learning.
Just last week Leslie registered for two rec center classes starting next month-Intro to Birdwatching and So You Think You Can’t Make a Good Soup. But, the new state-mandated Insuring Fiscal Responsibility in Local Units of Government course that Ron is making her attend as the Parks Department representative, even if it is only four weeks long, sounds simply awful.
Fiscal responsibility is all fine and good, but what’s really important is enriching the lives of the people of Pawnee. That’s priceless.
The first Thursday night starts off okay. The professor is even kind of cute, if not a little nervous and nerdy.
His name is Ben Wyatt and he spends most of the first session talking about the need for local governments to cut back on programs and services. When he turns to write something on the blackboard, Leslie finds herself admiring the view-it’s probably a little inappropriate, but she can’t help it, he has a really cute butt.
But, as the night’s class continues, she has a tough time not raising her hand to point out why he’s wrong on several occasions, and she still manages to get into a debate with him a couple of times, while the rest of the attendees check their cell phones or look bored.
It’s actually too bad Ron didn’t opt to attend this training himself, Leslie thinks, he’d probably be giddy over the nonsense being presented tonight.
“But don’t you think as members of local government, we have a responsibility to actually do something positive? To provide services for the community and the people of Pawnee?” She asks from her spot right in the first row, not even bothering to raise her hand this time.
“If you have a surplus of funds, sure,” he responds. “Public education is important. Fixing potholes are important, after school programs are important-apparently basketball is especially important in Indiana. But extravagant spending on services-” he holds his hand up to halt her objection, “even important services, leads to audits and bankruptcies, and maybe even to a government shut down. Just the other day, I was looking through the community rec center course catalog and did you know that the Pawnee Parks and Recreation Department offers a soup-making class?”
Ben makes a face before continuing. “Local government doesn’t have the money to facilitate teaching people how to make soup. I mean,” he holds his hands up in exasperation, “go buy a cookbook.”
The rest of the class laughs as Leslie looks around, an annoyed look on her face.
As soon as the first session is over, she rushes up to the desk as Ben is putting his things away.
“Professor Wyatt?”
He looks up from his papers and laptop, smiles as if he thinks their heated sparring is over.
“Oh, I’m not a real professor or anything. Well,” Ben pauses, “I’m employed to run this class through a joint partnership between Pawnee Community College and the state government. But I have a regular job during the day.”
“So you’re not in local government either?” Leslie asks incredulously.
“Um, I was a long time ago, but I’m an accountant now. You know,” he pauses to give her a goofy grin, “sometimes they call be Bond. Municipal Bond.”
When Leslie doesn’t even crack a smile, he moves on. “I, um, work at an accounting firm near town, Tilton and Radomski.”
“So you’re not even a real teacher?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say-”
“This situation is ridiculous,” she cuts him off, her voice getting louder. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“I’m sorry?” He’s definitely not smiling at her now.
“Local government isn’t just about saving money. It’s about the people. You can’t just be so blasé. How are you even in charge of this class?”
“Again, I’m an accountant and I’m fiscally responsible, I’ve been hired by…look, I have a Master’s Degree in Finance from…you know what? I don’t owe you a justification for my position. I’m running this class, Ms. Knope and you need to pass it as the representative from the,” Ben glances down and looks at his print-out of the class participants and then makes a face. “Of course, the Parks and Recreation Department. So that is the situation. Now, I’ll see you next Thursday.”
And with that, he shoves the rest of the papers into his briefcase and quickly walks past her.
“Soup-making is important!” Leslie yells out after him, unable to stop herself from checking out his ass again as he leaves. She rolls her eyes. Jerk.
* * * * *
“He’s terrible,” Leslie tells Ann, as they sit on Ann’s couch after work the following Tuesday, snuggled up under opposite ends of the colorful afghan and drinking their way through a bottle of wine.
Originally Ann had grabbed a white from her fridge, but knowing how white wine gives her best friend a headache, Leslie had suggested the bottle of red on Ann’s kitchen counter instead.
Then they had opened the white wine anyway, after finishing up the red.
“Well, it’s just three more classes, right?” Ann asks sympathetically, refilling Leslie’s glass again.
“But he just talks about spreadsheets and audits like that’s all there is to local government!” Leslie scoffs. “I’ve tried to schedule about twenty meetings with him since Friday, to get him to understand that he’s presenting this material wrong, but he keeps emailing me back and saying that he doesn’t have office hours because he’s not a real teacher. What kind of a teacher doesn’t have office hours?”
“Maybe he doesn’t have an office? But, also, twenty emails sounds a bit excessive?”
“If he didn’t want class members to email him, he shouldn’t have put that information in the syllabus. And then he just stands there and talks about audits and numbers and then turns around teasingly and writes on the board. Oh! And if it were up to him, people would have to buy cookbooks and bird identification guides,” she answers, rolling her eyes and making a face.
Ann smiles at her, fills her own wine glass up again as she shakes her head. “I don’t understand that last part.”
“It’s okay,” Leslie sloppily but lovingly pats her best friend’s head. “You’re a beautiful, silkily-furred marmot and everyday you massage people’s hearts back to life.”
Ann smiles at her, drunkenly shaking her head. “I don’t actually-”
“Ugh. You know what I should do right now? Call him and tell him what I think about him. Leave a voice message. That would probably convince him to meet with me.”
“Do you have his number?”
Leslie nods and grins slyly, before reaching down to the floor to pull her planner up out of her bag. She flips through the pages until she finds what she’s looking for. It only took her a couple of favors and a few minutes to get Ben Wyatt’s phone number.
He was lot easier than she’d thought he would be.
“Ohhhh! You should totally call him!” Ann leans forward and grabs Leslie’s hand. “But not twenty times. Five or six tops.”
“Oh, definitely. Five or six phone calls is completely professional.”
“Completely.”
Seconds later, Leslie is hitting the numbers into her phone carefully, trying not to giggle. She clears her throat, straightens the collar of her blouse, and tries to hold a serious, all-business expression on her face.
That accomplished, she hits the little call icon.
After only a couple of rings, there’s a no-nonsense “hello,” in her ear, making Leslie’s eyes widen in surprise. While this had seemed like a great idea a few minutes ago, now she’s not completely sure.
She honestly expected to just leave him a message. But, nope, it’s him-Ben Wyatt and his stupid jerk-voice right in her earhole.
“Um. Hello. Hi. Yes. Is…your refrigerator running?” Of course it’s silly and dumb but it’s the first thing she can think of and then Leslie can’t help but burst into laughter afterwards.
Beside her, Ann’s eyes grow all big and she covers her mouth with her hand and snorts.
“What? My-”
“Your refrigerator. Is it running? If so, you should go catch it. And then shut it down for spending too much money on food!”
“Um, what? Who is this?”
She finds her groove. “You sir, are very incorrect in your thoughts about government services and you should meet with Leslie Knope. She is a smart, sophisticated, and professional lady, unlike yourself. No one likes your class anyway. I talked to everyone there and they all said you were teaching it wrong. Good day.”
Leslie hits the end call button triumphantly and sets her phone down on the couch.
“Oh my god,” Ann says, laughing. “You did that.”
“I did do that!” She agrees, nodding.
Leslie is still giggling when her phone starts ringing. She makes a face before snatching it from the cushion next to her and then gasps when she recognizes the phone number-it’s the same exact one she just crank called.
“Ann! Ann! He sixty-nined me!” She yells, holding her phone out to Ann. “Ann! What do I do?”
“He…what? Oh my god, when? Oh, wait, you mean…” Ann starts giggling. “Star sixty-nined. And I’m pretty sure he didn’t need to do that, he just hit the return call button and-” Ann trails off when Leslie throws the still ringing cell phone at her. It lands right in Ann’s lap and both women just stare at it.
“What do I do?” Leslie repeats.
“Answer it,” Ann says decisively, with a nod of her head. “It’s your phone. And now he’s calling you. That’s exactly how you want it. Plus, now you have a home advantage field.”
Leslie smiles and repeats, “a home advantage field. I like it.” Leslie gives Ann a much-deserved high-five and grabs the phone.
“Hello?” She says, answering in a British accent, hoping to throw him off and confuse him.
“Hi.” The tone seems slightly annoyed but also a bit amused. “Is this Leslie Knope? From my Fiscal Responsibility class?”
“What? No. But even if it was, you’re the one calling me,” she declares before giving Ann another high-five.
“Are you drunk?”
“No. Are you drunk?”
“No. I was just sitting here at home, trying to watch Blade Runner and this drunk woman called me.”
“Well, that’s weird. Why are you calling me to tell me this? How did you even get my number?”
“Okay. Stop. I know that drunk woman was you. Is you.”
“Me? No. Because I was here with my niece, Torp…ness the whole time. And we’re playing Jenga and making owl scrapbooks, plus this isn’t even my phone. And I’m not dr-” she has to hold the phone away from her face when she burps softly, before she can add the unk onto the end of her sentence.
When Leslie brings the phone back to her ear, he’s talking again.
“Look. Ms. Knope. I’m sorry you don’t like the class, but you can’t crank call me and then lie about it. I know it was you and honestly, you’re not that good at lying or being sneaky.”
“Yes, I am.” How dare he? She’s an excellent sneaker!
“No, you’re not,” Ben says, making her feel all indignant and warm--flushed. No, wait. That must be the wine.
“I’m great at being sneaky.” Leslie notices Ann make a face at her words and kind of shake her head in disagreement.
What? she mouths to her friend.
“Clearly you’re not,” his voice continues in her ear, and Leslie turns her attention back to her phone conversation. “Regardless, let’s just agree to get through the next three weeks, okay? Just pass the class even though you think you know better, ignore my hand-outs, refuse to listen to the ideas that I’m presenting, and then continue to do what you want until your government is shut down.”
“You’re a fascist,” she tells him hotly.
“Fine. I’m going to hang up now.”
“It’s not just numbers and spreadsheets! These are real people with real jobs in a real town that provides real services to its citizens. And these people are working in a real building with real feelings.”
“The building has feelings?”
“Maybe.”
“Goodnight Ms. Knope.”
* * * * *
The whole next day Leslie’s head feels like wet concrete-it probably doesn’t help much that she managed to sleep even less than her usual four hours. And god, last night she crank called Ben Wyatt, her teacher from the Fiscal Responsibility class.
The next class tomorrow is going to be unbearable.
She has to stop herself from groaning at the thought right in the middle of the cereal aisle of the grocery store. Leslie looks down along the colorful boxes, searching for something new and sugary to try for dinner, when she sees him.
He’s just a few feet away in his stupid plaid shirt, grey pants, and tan jacket.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she mutters softly as Ben Wyatt looks over the boxes of oatmeal in front of him on the shelves.
Figures.
He turns his head and…she grabs a box of something called Sugar Rice Pops and holds the box up right in front of her face.
She’s whispering, “please don’t see me, please don’t see me, please don’t-” when he puts his hand lightly on top of the box and pushes it down.
“Hi.”
“Oh, uh, hi. Mr. Wyatt.”
“Ms. Knope,” he returns her greeting. He looks at the bright blue box in her hands. “These any good?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I was using them to hide behind. So, no. Not really good for that.”
“Yeah. You are not sneaky,” he says, smiling at her. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. You know, last night on the phone. Well, and last week in class too.”
Leslie returns the box to the shelf and sighs. “Call me Leslie.”
“Ben,” he answers back. “Look. Do you want to go get a beer? You look like you could use a beer.”
“I’m still hungover from last night,” she says, then reconsiders briefly before nodding. "Yeah. Okay.“
They end up at The Bulge, which is conveniently only a couple of blocks from the market. After some onion rings and a beer each sitting at the bar, they move the next round of drinks to a small, quiet table in the corner and end up side-by-side in the cozy booth.
"Okay, here’s one-You can’t wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club,” Leslie tells him, sharing another one of her favorite quotes.
“Jack London?” Ben guesses and then takes a sip of his drink.
“Yeah!” she smiles in surprise. “Yeah. You like Jack London?”
Ben scrunches up his face like she just asked him a really stupid question but then relaxes and grins at her. “I only read White Fang like twenty times when I was a kid.”
“How about the biography about him? An Am-”
“American Life? Yeah,” Ben tells her. “I have that at home somewhere too.”
“I love biographies,” Leslie shares excitedly. “Have you read Wilderness Warrior, Theodore Roosevelt and the Crusade for America?”
Ben shakes his head.
“I think you would like it. It’s about merging preservation and patriotism into the quintessential American ideal. Hey, that’s just like how providing services and-”
“Ah, here we go. I thought we were just having a beer?”
“That was before. Now we’re drinking Knopetails,” she says holding her glass up and clinking it with his.
Ben relents, laughing. “Fair enough. But hey, what is the deal with you and this bar? You have a drink named after you and, well, honestly this doesn’t seem like a place you would normally-”
“I’m sort of a gay hero,” she tells him. “Last year, I married two penguins at the zoo, and it turned out they were both gay.”
“A penguin wedding?”
“Mm-hmm,” Leslie confirms, draining the last of her second Knopetail. She reaches down for the cherry at the bottom of the martini glass and pops it in her mouth, as she holds onto the stem.
“That’s cute,” he comments, still grinning at her. It’s sort of an adorable, dopey grin and suddenly Leslie find herself really wanting kiss him.
Wait. What?
Instead, she says quickly, “It was so cute. But enough about how cute the gay penguin wedding was. Why are you such a hard ass about fiscal responsibility?”
“Good lord, really?” Ben sighs, but not angrily. “Okay, look. When I was eighteen, I became mayor of my hometown in Minnesota, and I used every last dollar we had to open a giant winter sports complex. I called it Icetown.”
“Ah, so that’s when you were in local government. And your sports complex turned out great, and everyone loved it, right?”
“Uh, yeah, kinda. Oh wait, no. It was never completed and then I got impeached. The newspaper headline was Icetown costs ice clown his town crown.”
“Oh,” Leslie makes a sympathetic face. “Well, the headline was kind of catchy.”
“Yeah. Catchy,” he trails off before muttering, “they were big into rhymes in Partridge.”
“Ben,” she says his name while moving closer to him in the booth, so close that the sides of their thighs are touching. It makes her feel nervous for some reason, but she ignores it and tells him truthfully, “Ben. I think Icetown sounds fun and amazing. And the point is, even if it didn’t work out, at least you tried something.”
“Well, that’s nice of you to say, but…” He trails off and looks down at the table, starts fiddling with the edge of his napkin.
“I’m not just being nice,” she assures him, covering his hand with hers. “You tried to create something but it didn’t work. So, try something else.”
Ben smiles and looks up at her. Just then a Bulge server stops by their table, his sudden appearance startling Ben.
“Anything else tonight? Maybe a blow job on the house?”
“Oh, um, no that’s not necessary,” Ben replies, getting all confused-looking before Leslie can even respond. And then unfortunately, he just continues to talk. “I mean, who hasn’t had gay thoughts, but um…but I’m not actually-”
“You’re cute and all honey, but I meant the drink,” the server interrupts, his tone all sassy and amused, while Leslie dissolves into giggles beside her companion.
“We’ll take two blow jobs. Thanks, Mike,” she jumps in to say, as Ben sinks further down into the booth.
“Oh god. That was embarrassing. I’m drunk. You got me drunk and flustered and unable to distinguish drinks from come-ons.”
“Well, that one is a little confusing,” she says sympathetically and then continues to giggle next to a still-blushing Ben. “Do you not get offered blow jobs by strangers often, then?”
It starts with a snort and then he’s laughing too. “I really don’t. That was a first. Or well, it would have been.”
“Better luck next time?”
He’s still smiling at her as Mike sets the whipped cream-topped shots down at their table a couple of minutes later.
“Now, to do it right, you’re not supposed to use your hands,” she tells him seriously.
“Oh. Well, I don’t know about that…wait. Are we talking about the drinks or…?” He jokes back, right before he starts laughing again.
And for how infuriating Ben Wyatt was that first night in class, Leslie can’t believe how giggly and fun (and honestly, pretty sexy) he is while drinky. Drunky. Drunk.
“The drinks, Ben.” Then she winks at him, before she prepares to completely blow his mind.
She hopes she still remembers how to do this-college was quite a number of years ago, she thinks, and she really only watched her roommate do it a couple of times at the bar near their dorm.
Leslie leans over and at first accidentally bumps her nose against the top of her drink. Crap on a crouton.
But then, it all comes back to her as she licks the mountain of whipped cream off (mmmmmmm), before sliding her mouth around the rim of the glass, and lifting it up easily.
Then she moves her head back and swallows the drink whole. When she finally uses her right hand to pull the empty glass away, Leslie gives him what she hopes is a huge, sexy grin.
Ben is staring at her like he can’t believe what he just saw.
Yep.
Blew. His. Mind.
“You’ve got…um,” Ben finally says, motioning towards her face. “Some whipped cream on your nose. I can…hey, come here.”
She moves closer, thinking he’s going to brush it off with his finger or maybe a cocktail napkin, but he doesn’t do either of those two things. Ben moves in close and softly brushes the tip of his tongue against her sticky skin, before licking the whipped cream off her nose in earnest.
Ben’s tongue is wet and soft and he’s kind of got a light grip on her arm when he does the licking and the sucking and Leslie kind of stops breathing.
She didn’t even realize that she had shut her eyes, but she must have, because when she opens them, Ben is staring right at her. He looks as surprised as she feels.
“Okay. I just licked whipped cream off one of my students. I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to do that. Also, um, there’s no way I can drive home.”
Leslie just smiles and takes his hand, tugging him towards the end of the booth. “Come on. I wanted to show you that Roosevelt book anyway.”
Ben looks at her and then down at his still-full drink. He hands her the glass. “Want my whipped cream? You certainly seemed to have enjoyed yours.”
Leslie breaks the no hands rule and takes it from him and licks the whipped cream off the top. She hands it back.
“I’m going to use my hands because I’m pretty sure if I tried to do what you did earlier, I would end up with blow job all over my shirt.”
Ben downs the rest in one swallow, before he slides out of the booth right behind her.
When he stands up, she can’t help but notice that the front of his pants look a little tight and she feels the warmth from all the alcohol and the recent turn of events rush to her cheeks.
Holy crap-she’s about to take her teacher home and show him her Teddy Roosevelt biography. Maybe more? Yep. She’s definitely going to share all of her biographies with him.
The walk to her house from The Bulge is only about fifteen minutes as they drunkenly giggle and hold hands the entire way.
* * * * *
“Oh my god.”
Leslie turns around and looks back at Ben as he stands frozen in her open doorway.
It’s not that bad.
But…she supposes that her organization system is a bit of a surprise at first. Ann doesn’t get it either.
“I probably need to straighten up a little,” she tells him apologetically, picking up a stray birdhouse and putting it on a stack of cardboard boxes that are hiding most of her couch from view. “It looked great last year when I had a dinner party, but then I kind of let it slip back into-”
“No,” Ben tells her. “No. It’s okay. I, um, it's…unique? You, um…”
She watches as he trails off and looks around, before he picks up one of her old Newsweek magazines, (July 20, 1992, she can tell from the cover design), from a pile of puzzle boxes, stacked on top of some old phone books. He finishes his original sentence with, “have a lot of interests?”
“I do,” Leslie agrees, smiling. “But I’m still working on a way to keep everything in its place, I guess.”
Ben frowns, putting the magazine back down. “Have you tried a bulldozer?”
She looks at him and he meets her eyes, before his face softens considerably.
“I’m sorry. Sorry. That was a stupid joke, I shouldn’t have said that…but, uh…” he shakes his head. “I mean I was just a little surprised at first but it's…” Ben looks around her living room, clearly grasping for the right word. “Cozy?”
“It is,” she agrees. “And it would really just take an hour or two to organize,” she tells him.
When she turns around Ben is staring at her, but then starts nodding quickly. “Um, sure. Yeah. Definitely. An hour. Or two. Yep.”
Leslie takes his hand. “Come on. Most of my books are upstairs anyway. Just stick to the path and you’ll be fine.”
Her stairs are fairly cleared off and they make it easily, she only stops once to step around a box of winter boots, causing Ben to bump into her back. He just laughs and pushes her hair out of the way and kisses her neck. It’s the first time he’s kissed her and it’s just so easy and relaxed-like it’s completely second nature for Ben to nuzzle into her and do that.
When she hands him the Teddy Roosevelt book from her overflowing bookshelf he smiles at her. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
And then they kind of grin at one another for a few seconds.
“Look, Leslie. I’m not expecting anything. We’re a little drunk and I can just call a cab and-”
She cuts him off by moving forward and kissing him.
Leslie just kind of grabs his face and pulls him to her and Ben seems happy enough to go where she puts him--right against her mouth. Ben’s lips are warm and he enthusiastically returns her kiss, wrapping his arms around her and she can feel the the book still clutched in his hand, as he rests it against her back.
“I don’t want you to call a cab. I want you to stay here,” she confirms, her hands gripping his still-on tan jacket. She pushes it down as Ben sets the biography on her bed.
And then she squeezes and pats his ass, because really she’s wanted to do that since last Thursday.
“Oh thank god,” he returns, pulling her in for another kiss.
She’s still smiling and their teeth almost hit at first, but that just makes her start to giggle.
The next few moments are a flurry of activity-kissing, laughing some more, trying to drunkenly get clothing off and newly exposed skin explored. They end up on her bed, Leslie just in her underwear-luckily, it’s the sexy black pair, she thinks, after Ben gets her blouse unbuttoned and her pants pulled off, while Ben is stripped down to a pair of dark blue boxer briefs.
When he turns his head to the side, she takes advantage of his new position to lean over and kiss his neck, and starts sucking on the skin gently.
“You really do have a lot of political biographies,” he says, looking at the stack of books on her bedside table.
And it seems a little strange to stop making out for a break to talk about books, but it’s also kind of working for her.
Really, it’s kind of crazy, but this whole night is definitely working for her. Onion rings. Sugary, boozy drinks. Making out on her bed with her cute and sexy teacher.
Leslie usually likes to rush and get to the good part but tonight, it all seems like the good part.
“Sometimes I think about how different historical people would kiss,” she tells him, her eyes trailing over the different titles by her bed--An Unfinished Life, Promises to Keep, A Personal and Public Life, and A Perfect Union, a few of her favorites.
She leans over him, her breasts pushing against Ben’s bare chest and even with her bra still on she has to hold in a shudder.
“Like who?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she points to the stack. “Dolly Madison. JFK. Eleanor Roosevelt. Joe Biden.”
“Each other?” Ben asks, looking confused.
“No. Well…” Leslie makes a face like she’s considering it. “Now I am. But no. In general. Like, this,” she moves in even closer and brushes her lips to his, then nibbles briefly on his lower lip, before rubbing her nose against his, making Ben laugh.
Leslie pulls back and smiles. “See? That was how Abigail Adams would kiss.”
“Hmmmm, I like it. Okay. My turn…” Ben trails off and his eyes narrow, like he’s trying to come up with a plan.
While he thinks, she takes in his appearance--Ben's hair is all messy and he’s in her bed, mostly undressed and she can’t help but compare this to the last time she had a man in her bedroom. Justin. He would probably just be name dropping people he’d met and how they had kissed at this point, or suggesting they try something complicated and uncomfortably pretzel-like from the Kama Sutra, (it took days for her hip to feel normal again after that one time).
But Ben just looks right at her and tugs her down next to him, while he sits up and leans over.
“Alright. Got one. And this…” he pauses dramatically, “this is how Han Solo would kiss.”
Ben lowers his mouth to hers assertively, his lips pressing against hers briefly, before he’s touching his tongue to hers in a way that makes the pit of her stomach drop. When his hand starts caressing her hip she moans. Loudly.
“Whoa, Han likes the tongue,” she tells him afterwards, unable to start giggling.
Ben just smiles at her as he starts working his way down her body, kissing and licking a path to her breasts while she moves her hands back and unhooks her bra. He groans at the sight of her bare breasts and then resumes his path, licking at one nipple, tugging it gently with his teeth, while his fingers lightly tease the other one.
“Han does like the tongue. But the real question is, does Abigail like the tongue?” As he says it, he looks at her and starts tugging her underwear down her hips and thighs.
Oh.
Soon, the black panties are down and off, somewhere on the floor by her bra, and Ben’s hands are on the inside of her thighs as he spreads her legs apart. He kisses one hip and then the next.
Then each knee.
She impatiently wiggles her hips and he looks up at her, smirks and kisses just beneath her belly button.
“Oh my god, you are a jerk!” She complains, making him laugh.
“And you’re too impatient,” he tells, her, still not touching her where she really wants him to.
“No,” Leslie shakes her head. “No. I’m being really good tonight.”
He doesn’t respond, just snorts in laughter and finally lowers his head.
If Justin was technically adept at this, then Ben is a fucking artist once he really gets going.
Between his fingers and his tongue, the way his hands slide along the inside of her thighs as he holds her open, Leslie is gasping and moaning quickly. His tongue sweeps through her folds, then he scatters little kisses between her legs.
Tentatively he pushes his tongue inside, then licks at her like a lollipop. And when he starts curling his finger inside, the tip of his tongue flicking eagerly at her clit again, she’s gripping his hair in her hands and coming hard-the kind of orgasm that peaks and then stays there, right at that spot for longer than expected, and then finally starts rippling out and shattering.
When Ben looks up at her, he seems really proud of himself. And also, his boxer briefs are decidedly tenting in front.
Wait? Why the hell is he still wearing those?
Leslie sits up quickly and rushes towards him, it almost looks like she startles Ben, but when her hand brushes against him, he moans approvingly. And when she eases his underwear down past his knees, freeing him fully, Ben definitely seems all good with the recent turn of events.
He may be all annoyingly hard-assed about budgets, but he’s got a great-looking penis.
She kisses him while she strokes him, swallowing all the sexy noises he’s making. When her thumb brushes across the tip where there’s already moisture, he shudders into her. And maybe it’s because she’s already partaken in one blow job this evening (and had the whipped cream from a second), she quickly decides she wants nothing more than to feel him in her mouth too.
Ben seems to agree because he makes a completely brand new noise when she brushes her tongue around him and takes him inside.
“Oh god, that feels amazing, but, you should stop if you want to do anything else,” he tells her after only a minute or so.
Reluctantly, Leslie replaces her mouth with her hand, keeping a hold on him while she starts rummaging around in her drawer. She tosses something small on the bed and turns back around, a triumphant look on her face.
"Sweetums?” Ben asks, holding the wrapped condom up.
“If you can’t beat ‘em, Sweetums,” she tells him.
“Right. No. I get it, but it’s real, right? I mean, it’s not made out of candy or something?” But even as he’s asking, he’s eagerly ripping the packaging open.
“No, Ben.”
Leslie rolls the condom quickly but carefully down, while he still looks slightly skeptical, but mostly on-board with the current condom situation.
“It’s a real…” she looks at the discarded wrapper. “Watermelon-flavored condom. And, yay! Unexpired. But if they were made out of actual candy that would be so awesome.”
“Yeah. That would be kind of cool,” he agrees, almost as a reminder that they both are still a bit drunk.
After some initial navigating, Leslie ends up on her back and Ben’s thrusts, once he finally presses inside, are slow and sexy, giving her time to adjust.
His hips push into hers and she can’t help but think that this still doesn’t really feel like a first time. Sure, it’s a little clumsy at first, while she wiggles underneath and slides her calves up near his waist, but she’s not nervous like she usually is when she sleeps with someone new.
Of course she’s a little tipsy, but Ben is making her feel good. Really, really good. Like she doesn’t have to rush through it all to get to the finish line or plan everything out.
It’s just happening and she’s in the moment and it’s…fun.
“You know, I like you a lot when you’re not calling me a jerk,” he tells her, thrusting in deep and then kind of rocking his hips again.
Leslie moans at the sensation, and reaches down to cup his ass, feel him working into her. “Well, you’re not acting like a jerk right now. Oh, god. That feels so good.”
He laughs. “Oh, okay. And good.”
“But now it’s my turn to be on top.”
She lowers her legs from around his hips and they sloppily roll over, giggling and he even slips out momentarily, but then she’s right there straddling him and sinking down.
It doesn’t take long before she’s coming again and then Ben is right behind her, gripping her hips and thrusting up, shaking and shuddering beneath her.
After cleaning up briefly and settling back in her bed, Leslie cuddles against him, while Ben’s hand lightly circles over the skin of her hip.
“You know, the rec center classes are important. There’s a class on dealing with illness, one on birdwatching, using Quick Books,” she gives him a look that says, that should be right up your alley, nerd-boy. “And yes, even soup-making. It’s not--”
“Good lord, can we not debate this now? I mean, we just had-”
“A really, very nice time?” Leslie finishes his sentence.
Ben smiles sleepily. “A really, very nice time. How about I promise not to lecture you on fiscal responsibility when we’re not wearing pants, if you promise to cool it with the rec center classes just a little bit.”
“Okay,” Leslie agrees. “But, you should appreciate the classes more, Ben, because that’s where I learned to French kiss. And make biscuits. And--”
“There’s a class on French kissing?” Ben asks, his brow furrowed.
“No. When I was in high school, there was a boy in my biscuit-making class and he--”
He silences her with a kiss, decidedly French in style.
Then they talk a little bit more about history and even how Han Solo’s kisses would be different than kisses from Indiana Jones.
She doesn’t remember falling asleep but vaguely remembers dozing off while Ben was going off on some tangent about the Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull and refrigerators and…wolverine claws?
The next morning when she wakes up, Leslie is surprised when she looks at her clock-it’s seven-thirty. She completely overslept her usual five-thirty internal alarm.
Leslie’s even more surprised to discover that Ben is gone.
Go to Part II