fic - parks & rec, "morning always looked like you"
title: Morning Always Looked Like You
author: shornt
pairing: Leslie/Ben
rating: PG
words: 506
summary: It's like waking up in the bright sunshine with hangover.
A/N: This is kind of just a mega-fluffy ficlet. The idea/title came from a lyric in "All of My Trains" by Robert Francis.
When Ben first meets Leslie, she reminds him of an unwelcome morning. When she starts yelling at him during that first meeting, it's like waking up in the bright sunshine with hangover. Everything's too impossibly bright and loud, and it's echoing in his head like a beating drum. Her eyes are too piercing, too blue. He just wants to pull the covers over his head and go back to sleep.
At the bar, she's the moment you pull back the drapes, looking for sunlight, but being surprised by a bolt of lightning. Or a full thunderstorm, even, as the night dissolves into yelling and he's definitely going back to the hotel to bed. There's nothing to do with a storm but pull up a hood and wait for it to pass.
He calls Freddy Spaghetti. As they listen to endless songs about pasta, the gleam of her blue eyes draws him in, like a clear summer sky. Just endlessly blue, not a cloud in sight. The kind of weather that makes you want to run around in the grass and kick as high as you can on a swingset.
The return to work sets Leslie into a frenzy, like a blustery spring afternoon where the weather can't decide where it wants to go. Sometimes it's overcast, and there's a light drizzle, and her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. But the wheels are turning, and Leslie seems to settle in the sun.
There isn't another rainy day for a while. Just sunny skies, an occasional cloud.
But at the Harvest Festival, Ben's got his sunglasses on. She's busy, and they don't see much of each other until the day's nearly done, when there isn't enough light to justify his Ray Bans. And she matches the sunset; her deep pink shirt bringing out a rosy blush in her cheeks, the sun making her hair glow orange. Ben thinks her eyes almost look lilac, as he tells her what a good job she's done. He wants more, he wants to say more, but the moment passes by him, and soon the sun's gone down.
It's ironic that the first time he kisses her, it's evening. There's a chill and they're in the parking lot, saying goodbye. The moonlight makes her hair gleam, silvery white, not at all like the sunny gold of the day. Her eyes are dark, darker than he ever thought they could be, and maybe a little wet. It's his last night in Pawnee, supposedly, but she's tugging on his hand and kissing him like she'll never get another chance, and he decides that he likes this side of Leslie.
But it'll never compare to waking up next to her, the light through the blinds leaving white lines against her skin. Everything seems white, which is silly considering what they'd been up to all night, but it suits her. It compliments her sea foam sheets in a way that's uniquely Leslie. It's soft. It's morning; she's morning. (But he doesn't have a hangover anymore.)
author: shornt
pairing: Leslie/Ben
rating: PG
words: 506
summary: It's like waking up in the bright sunshine with hangover.
A/N: This is kind of just a mega-fluffy ficlet. The idea/title came from a lyric in "All of My Trains" by Robert Francis.
When Ben first meets Leslie, she reminds him of an unwelcome morning. When she starts yelling at him during that first meeting, it's like waking up in the bright sunshine with hangover. Everything's too impossibly bright and loud, and it's echoing in his head like a beating drum. Her eyes are too piercing, too blue. He just wants to pull the covers over his head and go back to sleep.
At the bar, she's the moment you pull back the drapes, looking for sunlight, but being surprised by a bolt of lightning. Or a full thunderstorm, even, as the night dissolves into yelling and he's definitely going back to the hotel to bed. There's nothing to do with a storm but pull up a hood and wait for it to pass.
He calls Freddy Spaghetti. As they listen to endless songs about pasta, the gleam of her blue eyes draws him in, like a clear summer sky. Just endlessly blue, not a cloud in sight. The kind of weather that makes you want to run around in the grass and kick as high as you can on a swingset.
The return to work sets Leslie into a frenzy, like a blustery spring afternoon where the weather can't decide where it wants to go. Sometimes it's overcast, and there's a light drizzle, and her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. But the wheels are turning, and Leslie seems to settle in the sun.
There isn't another rainy day for a while. Just sunny skies, an occasional cloud.
But at the Harvest Festival, Ben's got his sunglasses on. She's busy, and they don't see much of each other until the day's nearly done, when there isn't enough light to justify his Ray Bans. And she matches the sunset; her deep pink shirt bringing out a rosy blush in her cheeks, the sun making her hair glow orange. Ben thinks her eyes almost look lilac, as he tells her what a good job she's done. He wants more, he wants to say more, but the moment passes by him, and soon the sun's gone down.
It's ironic that the first time he kisses her, it's evening. There's a chill and they're in the parking lot, saying goodbye. The moonlight makes her hair gleam, silvery white, not at all like the sunny gold of the day. Her eyes are dark, darker than he ever thought they could be, and maybe a little wet. It's his last night in Pawnee, supposedly, but she's tugging on his hand and kissing him like she'll never get another chance, and he decides that he likes this side of Leslie.
But it'll never compare to waking up next to her, the light through the blinds leaving white lines against her skin. Everything seems white, which is silly considering what they'd been up to all night, but it suits her. It compliments her sea foam sheets in a way that's uniquely Leslie. It's soft. It's morning; she's morning. (But he doesn't have a hangover anymore.)