fic: hunger hurts, ben/leslie, ~r
title: Hunger Hurts
author:
shornt
pairing: Ben/Leslie, a tiny bit of April/Andy
rating: At least an R, maybe edging over into NC17?
words: ~6300
notes: This is an AU of sorts set around the time of Jerry's Painting (only I rearranged the timeline of everything in that episode). Tropes is the name is the game. Also, eventual smut. Gracias as usual to fairytiger for the prompt and encouragement.
Leslie has to stay with Andy and April for a few days, but doesn't realize they have a new roommate.
Considering Leslie’s house, it was really only a matter of time.
“I can’t believe I have cockroaches,” she’s groaning, packing all of her work suits into one bursting suitcase. “And ants. Shouldn’t one species be overthrowing the other?”
“I keep telling you not to leave old food around, Leslie.” Ann carefully folds a Banana Republic blazer into a neat square, fitting it in beside a pair of grey Converse chucks. “Do you really need all of these outfits for just a few days?”
“The pest control guys said it’s possible to take a little longer. You can never be too careful.” She throws a green silk dress into the mix, but bashfully removes it when Ann raises an eyebrow.
“Are you sure you don’t just want to stay with me?” Ann asks for the millionth time, bouncing down on Leslie’s bed. “I told you, I really don’t mind.”
“Ann, you beautiful, well-groomed tabby cat. I know you have a date tonight because I looked at your phone while you were in the bathroom.”
“What--”
“And I don’t want to prevent you from getting some! Your dating life is blossoming and guys are super into you and you only have one bedroom with really thin doors.” She scrunches up her face. “I don’t know if you’re loud, but I don’t want to find out.”
“Leslie,” Ann scolds, her smile betraying her. “Really, just stay with me. I feel like living with April and Andy together is probably a health hazard. I’m still surprised April even said you could.”
“Well, what she said was more like--” Leslie clears her throat, throwing on a bad impression of April’s monotone, “--‘Whatever. We’re not responsible for what happens to you at night.’ And then Andy said all she meant was marshmallow shooting, so. I think it’ll be fine.”
“If you say so.”
---
While Leslie does honestly care about Ann’s sex life (Lord knows she hasn’t gotten any in almost a year, so she can respect Ann’s opportunities), it does bum her out. Just a little. Because she’s pretty sure she’d be jumping a certain assistant city manager’s bones right now if it weren’t for some stupid rules, and she’s even more sure that he’d be enthusiastic about that. And all she can imagine when Ann recounts her last date is Ben in that position, being taken out by Ben, being kissed in the car by Ben, doing it against the wall with Ben--
Okay, so that wasn’t a story from Ann, that was just Leslie’s own brain. But either way, it sucks, and Leslie isn’t sure she wants to be at Ann’s home every night to hear the epic date re-telling just before curling up for bed alone on her best friend’s couch.
Andy and April are probably night owls like her anyway, and they can carpool with her in the morning and be on time for once. She remembers a second bedroom, across the house from the master bedroom, and that’s good enough for her.
And Leslie never passes up a chance to help April grow into a beautiful adult lady, and this is just a really awesome chance.
Stupid-faced bosses be damned.
---
Once she finishes hauling her third suitcase into the trunk of her car, she stands back on the sidewalk to look at her house.
“I hope no one touches my stuff. I just finished putting all my back issues of Time in the linen closet.”
“They’re not supposed to do that,” Ann says gently, her arm resting around Leslie’s shoulders. “It’s just a few days, and then you can stop wearing your old, clunky Doc Martens while you’re in your kitchen.”
“Those really got the job done,” Leslie muses with admiration.
“Call me if Andy puts anything weird in your hair; I know how to get it out.”
“Sure thing.” Ann gives her a tight squeeze before holding her at Arm’s length.
“And if you don’t like it, you can come over at any time. Okay?”
“Ann, you’re the best. I hope you get lucky tonight!”
---
It’s a short drive across town to Andy and April’s house, but a long struggle from the car to the driveway with three heavy suitcases in tow.
“Leslie!” Andy greets with a warm smile and high-five. “Let me take those for you, they look super heavy.”
“Watch out,” Leslie warns, as he hoists her bags on his back and nearly unhinges the front door.
“I can do it!” he shouts with glee. “April, I think you’re wrong. If I can carry this, I can totally carry you.”
“Congrats, honey,” she deadpans, picking at her nails. Leslie thinks she sees a hint of a smile on the girl’s face before she remembers her gift.
“Oh yeah, I got you guys something!” She digs through her purse before pulling out two bags of marshmallows. “Wait, one of these is mine...” Once she determines which ones have vanilla flavoring, she hands the other bag over to Andy. “For your shooters!”
“All right!” Andy punches the air.
“So the couch is like, not the best,” April says, leading Leslie into their living room. “I spilled some iced tea on it last week, and I think there’s a spaghetti stain.”
Leslie’s brow furrows.
“Wait, what?”
“Or maybe Ben will give up his bed, he’s pretty lame like that. But I wouldn’t go in there. He gets really pissed when you use his blankets for things.”
Huh?
“Ben? What are you--”
Then the front door opens and Leslie yelps, because suddenly she has a third unexpected roommate.
“Hey guys. So, Wendy’s said they couldn’t put all the frosting toppings together into one, I just got you a chocolate.” Leslie freezes as Andy groans in disappointment.
Ben strides into the room, wearing his stupid tan jacket with two bags of Wendy’s in hand. When his eyes catch Leslie, he stops cold, a weird half-smile on his face.
“Uh, hey Leslie.”
“What the hell? You hang out with Andy and April?”
Everyone stops and looks around at each other, confused.
“He lives here,” April says with an eye roll. “You didn’t know that? You guys talk in the hallway like, all the time. It’s really annoying.”
“You live here?”
Ben’s a deer in headlights, not sure where his focus should be, and he keeps looking at Leslie’s luggage like it’s the most bewildering thing that’s ever happened to him.
“Yeah, I, uh. Moved into the spare room?”
“He bought a bed and everything!” Andy informs her, before grabbing the Wendy’s out of Ben’s hand and tearing off to the kitchen. April gives them one last disinterested look before she follows him.
“Oh. Okay.” Crap on a pancake. She had not accounted for this.
“Is this the communal home, or...” He looks at her suitcases again.
“My house is getting fumigated.” Her hands suddenly feel really warm and she wipes them on her slacks. “I mean, I told you that. The other day. Bugs and stuff, you know.”
“Right, right. So you’re... staying here?”
“Ann’s dating,” she blurts, and he cocks his eyebrow curiously. “I didn’t want to bother her.”
“I see.” He smiles a little and she returns it, but immediately looks away. Wait, what is that stain on the wall? Ugh. “It’s a little messy around here, so I apologize for that. But I’m trying.”
“It’s fine. I can do mess.”
It’s another awkward second before the sounds of Andy ravenously eating floats toward them. Leslie looks over just in time to see April throw a fry at him.
“I didn’t get you any food,” Ben says apologetically. “They didn’t tell me you were coming.” And then he sighs, irritated. “I don’t think they remembered I live here. Or care.”
“When did you move in? Why didn’t I know? I told you about my house having bugs, this is at least as important as that.” She’s not actually sure what the words are coming out of her mouth, because her mind keeps shouting crap on repeat.
He’s still a little flustered and it’s adorable and he’s taking his jacket off and the sleeves of his crimson plaid are rolled up and crap, crap, crap.
“Just yesterday afternoon. Uh, it’s new. Trying to teach them about the mail and the bank. And laundry. And cooking, and cleaning, and everything else.”
Leslie laughs. This doesn’t have to be super weird, right? It’s Ben. She can talk to Ben. She always talks to Ben. And maybe being in his house is more intimate, but she just has to never let her guard down and probably wear sweatpants all the time and hope she never has to see him in pajamas because the thought of that is really cute. Unbearably cute.
Ben ends up offering to cook for her, which makes her feel a guilty so she turns him down, insisting she can find something to eat on her own. But there’s nothing in the cabinets but half eaten bags of Doritos, and nothing in the fridge but vegetables that Ben likes to cook with, and in the end she accepts Ben’s medium fry.
He keeps looking at her when he thinks she doesn’t notice, with his brow wrinkled and a weird little smile on his face. Thankfully, Andy’s oblivious enough to keep the conversation going, telling them all about Kyle tripping on a candy bar near the shoeshine stand that morning. But once the food is gone and Leslie’s abandoned her shoes and blazer, things get a little off again.
“So, this couch kind of sucks,” Ben admits, following her into the living room. “You can uh, have my bedroom.”
“Oh no, no, no.” Her heart rate is actually ridiculous at the thought. “I couldn’t put you out like that. You didn’t even know I’d be here, I can take the couch.”
“My bed’s new. Really comfortable.” He won’t look her in the eye.
“No, really. Out here’s fine.”
“If you insist.”
Leslie knows she insists a lot, but really, she thinks that in this situation, it’s warranted.
---
There’s that weird moment where she’s changing into her pajamas in the bathroom, just before she slides the faded plaid flannel up her legs, where she realizes she’s undressing in the same place Ben showers. Sure enough, she looks to the shelf hanging on the shower-head and sees aftershave, a razor, men’s shampoo.
Of course, right below that is some weird combination of female products and three different kinds of bubble bath, and a shelf that must be Andy’s because all that’s there is a bar of Irish Spring.
Doesn’t stop the bathroom from smelling a little like Ben, though.
She quickly resumes pulling her pajamas on, brushes her teeth quicker than she usually would like, and runs back to the couch. There’s now two blankets and a few pillows laying in a neat pile, with a nearby mug of hot chocolate, and it tugs at her heartstrings a little. Ben’s bedroom door is already shut; he must be in for the night. She’ll thank him in the morning.
She tries calling Ann, who doesn’t answer. The date. Right.
Grabbing the mug, she takes a sip (crap, that’s good) and opens up her laptop. Time to get to work.
---
In the end, Leslie manages about three hours on the couch, which really is as awful as everyone warned. It sags in the wrong places, pushes springs up elsewhere, and she somehow wakes up in a heap on the ground next to it.
No one else in the house is up yet even though the sun has risen outside. How can anyone sleep when it’s daytime? Having the bathroom to herself would normally be the upside, but instead she showers with lightening quick speed (Don’t think about Ben being naked in here, do not think about Ben being naked in here) and barely curls her hair, clearing out and settling back in the living room within an hour.
Still no one’s awake. Really? They have to be at work in two hours, and Leslie likes to go even earlier. If they mess up her morning--
But suddenly the door to Ben’s bedroom opens, the noise echoing in the quiet house. Leslie realizes she’s gotten to her feet, for some reason, and she kicks the ground awkwardly.
She was right. He’s really adorable in pajamas. The sweatpants pool at his feet and, oh wow, she’s never seen his biceps before but she’s not disappointed.
Goddammit.
“You uh, use the bathroom?” he asks, his voice deep and gravely with sleep. This is a bad situation. She squeaks out some sort of answer and he smiles, padding his way down the hall barefoot. When the door of the bathroom closes behind him, she lets out a breath.
Television! She should put the television on. Yes. She’s just going to watch The Today Show, and not think about Ben in the shower down the hall. Just like any other morning. There is no one naked in this house that she wants to make out with. Nope.
And then she takes out her laptop, typing away on a new plan for the upcoming art show that week, and doesn’t even hear Ben’s electric shaver turn on. Much. She turns up Matt Laurer just a little louder.
But then he’s back, freshly shaved, his hair spiking up as it air dries, smelling way too nice for his own good. He smiles at her brightly, proceeding to the kitchen.
“Breakfast?” he asks, opening up cabinets. “I don’t have a waffle iron, but I think we have some Bisquick around here. Andy’s big on pancakes.”
“Sure!” She closes her laptop, turning down the volume of the television a little. When she gets off the couch, the knot in her back strains and she winces.
“You alright?” He watches her knead the muscles in her side as she walks to him. “I told you, not a great couch.”
“It’s not too bad,” she says through a grimace. All she plans on doing is getting herself some orange juice from the fridge, but somehow she’s next to him at the stove.
“You sure?” His voice is quiet, ridiculously gentle. And a chill runs up her spine when his hand lightly touches her back, his eyes filled with concern. “You can still take my room tonight.”
She’s about to protest when a joint cracks loudly in her neck.
“We can trade off.”
He pats her back with a smile, and goes back to the pancakes. All of that and the smell of pancakes? It’s a little more than Leslie can handle. And it’s only been one night.
“I’m uh, just gonna check on April, we should leave in like an hour. Saving fuel and all that.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Ben warns, but she’s already halfway to their door. Her fist raises up to knock, but she hears a loud giggle and then a groan and immediately backs away.
Ben on one side, and that on the other. This house has her cornered.
---
Work is the same as usual. Andy keeps calling shouting “Roomie!” every time Leslie walks by, so it’s not like she can stop thinking about the fact that she’s essentially going home with Ben that night, but she’s got a full day of work and Ron refuses to touch the permits desk and Jerry spills a whole drawer worth of files all over the floor and she’s busy enough to not think too much about Ben’s adam’s apple or bare feet or really delicious pancakes.
At 4:30, April starts standing in the doorway of Leslie’s office and staring her down. After ten minutes she stirs.
“When are we leaving?”
“I’m almost done, April.”
“It’s late.”
“It’s not even five yet.”
“We’re taking separate cars tomorrow.”
And then she finally leaves and Leslie sighs.
---
Things aren’t weird when they get back, two pizzas joining everyone for the ride. The four of them spread out around a small card table Ben sets up in the living room, and it’s weird to see Ben interacting with other people. It’s not like she’s never seen him around City Hall, but she never realized he was on such good terms with anyone else, and she likes it. She likes seeing him at ease, laughing at something Andy said, flinging a little pizza sauce at April when she throws her crust at his head.
Pretty soon, Andy runs to get the marshmallow guns and Leslie has to duck under the table for cover, bits of dust and fluffy marshmallows being shot all over the room. April starts giving everyone weird nicknames, insisting she be referred to as Roxanne Neidermeyer, a wicked woman with a weakness for gin. Andy assumes his usual Burt Macklin personality, and Ben insists on just being called Ben even as April starts shouting “Charles Buckenhouser, you insistent chide!” at him. Leslie doesn’t think April knows what half the words coming out of her mouth mean, but she decides she’ll be Eleanor Clinton (best of both eras). Andy names her the president of the country, and tells Ben he has to protect her.
And that’s how she finds herself smushed behind the couch with Ben’s arm flung in front of her.
“Protection,” he says, a glint in his eye. She grins wildly.
“All we’ve got is a pillow.”
“Then we have to use it well.”
They sit, still and quiet, for as long as they can. Andy can’t stand that and eventually, April will groan about it getting boring. Ben’s breath echoes in her ear, and she moves her hand to get more comfortable but ends up touching his thigh. And she freezes.
Somewhere in the hallway, the sound of a shoe against the wall emits.
Suddenly Ben’s yelling, “Now!” and he grabs her hand and pulls her up, running across the living room and throwing the pillow into the hall with the precision of a former baseball player who played shortstop on his JV team in high school (which he doesn’t shut up about afterward).
“We get it Ben, you played baseball. Woo hoo.” April pulls Andy by his shirt back to their bedroom, him waving as they scoot off.
“Goodnight! Good war, you guys!”
Which leaves just the two of them.
“Uh, it’s kind of late,” Ben stammers, running a hand through his hair. “You going to bed?”
She’s way too high strung for bed now, still breathing hard from the exertion and her mind starts slipping off to bad places again when she notices his top button’s come undone, his skinny tie hanging off to the side.
“Yeah, probably should...”
“I’ll just grab some stuff.”
He disappears to his bedroom, coming out with some pajamas thrown over his shoulder. They go through the motions of getting ready for bed and Leslie’s heartbeat is hammering, because they’re trading off turns in the bathroom and he’s turning down his bed for her and she forgot to leave her bra on under her pajamas and this is just a lot more intimate than she was prepared for.
“This is it.” Ben holds his hands out, presenting his room. It’s... almost entirely bare.
“No interior decorating skills on your resume?”
“Well, it’s new,” he says with a quiet chuckle. “The bed’s comfortable enough, so...”
There is really nothing either one of them can do to not make this weird. She compliments the Batman comic sitting on his dresser, he bids her a goodnight and leaves with a lingering look, eyes warm and bashful.
And then she can’t get herself to sit on his bed.
It’s just weird, right? It’s weird. She texts Ann, who again, doesn’t answer. Another date. Leslie can’t remember if it’s a first or second date; she’s lost track. Or maybe she’s pulling a night shift at the hospital? Anyway. The bed.
Ben already pulled the comforter back. It’s simple and burgundy, but looks really comfortable. The sheets are just cream colored. Nothing fancy, not that she would have expected it. But it’s where Ben sleeps. It’s definitely weird.
But, she can’t shake the feeling that... it’s also kind of exciting.
She opens the door a crack and peeks, just out of curiosity. The television is on quietly, and she hears the sound of Ben shifting on a spring. She quietly closes the door again.
Just get in the damn bed already.
Once she sits on it, she lets out a long sigh. It really is comfortable. Then there’s the decision of which pillow to sleep on. What side does Ben favor? Which pillow does he use? Does he sleep on his side, or his stomach, or is he one of those weird people who can fall asleep on their back? Leslie’s never understood how anyone can do that.
His alarm clock is on the left side, so she guesses that’s where he sleeps. She settles onto the right pillow and pulls the comforter over her. It smells, overwhelmingly, like Ben. She shuts her eyes and knows she’s not really going to get any sleep tonight.
There’s a noise from across the house, just faintly. A giggle, maybe a little bit of a moan. The sound of something hitting the wall.
Really? They’re going at it again? Newlyweds...
But Leslie feels a little pang in her chest. God, really, it’s been so long. Months. And, truth be told, she’s pictured her first night in Ben’s bed plenty of times. And yeah, this isn’t exactly what she had in mind.
“You guys,” she hears Ben yell from the living room, and a sound that’s presumably a pillow being thrown at their door. She holds her breath, hearing every little creak in the floorboard and squeak of the springs as Ben goes back to the couch. He sighs and the sound shoots through her like a knife.
Shit. She turns her head into the pillow to groan, so ridiculously frustrated, but is just met with more of his smell. There are zero things fair about this situation.
The noises from the rest of the house die down, but they’re still fresh in her mind.
Mindlessly, her hand slides to her breast. She hardly even realizes what she’s doing until her fingers find her nipple and pinch and she lets out a yelp, clasping her other hand over her mouth. Terrified, she strains to hear any noises outside, any indication that people are still awake in the rest of the house. If she can hear them, they can probably hear her.
So she shouldn’t do this. Right?
But that’s Ben, just on the other side of the wall. Ben, who she can’t kiss and can’t touch and can’t do things with. Ben, who has really great forearms and dark eyes and stubble peppering his jawline by the end of every day. Ben... who’s bed she’s in right now.
She slowly lifts her shirt and lets it drop to the ground. Screw it.
Her hand resumes against her breast, kneading and stroking and her hips buck up. She slides her hands down to help kick off her pajama bottoms, and then she’s suddenly stark naked. In Ben’s bed. Between Ben’s sheets, laying on Ben’s pillow.
When her hand trails down between her legs, she’s already embarrassingly wet. She slides her shirt underneath her before circling her fingers around, thinking about Ben and what it would be like if he had gone to bed with her. Would he be gentle, caressing her, leaving kisses behind where his fingers trailed? Or would he be forceful, telling her where to go, nipping at her skin when she didn’t listen?
Right now, with the levels of frustration built up, she imagines them both going a little crazy. Her fingers against her clit are his, rubbing insistently. Her other hand against her breast is his mouth, sucking and biting down.
She forgets to stop the moan that tumbles out her mouth.
And still, it’s not enough, not nearly. She slips two fingers inside herself but the angle’s off, it’s not where she needs it, and she rolls over on her stomach, grinding desperately against her hand. And it’s like he’s surrounding her, in the blankets and the pillows, everywhere at once, and she imagines her fingers are him as her hips keep rolling down, her eyes tightly shut.
Usually when she tries doing this, it takes a lot of concentrated effort, and she ends up getting so frustrated with herself that she gives up. Not every time, but she’s spent plenty of angry nights huffing around her bedroom because she can’t relax enough.
But not this time.
It ripples through her like an electric shock and suddenly she’s clenching around her fingers, her voice muffled into pillow as her legs press together. Then it’s like she’s boneless, unable to lift any of her own limbs, molded against the mattress.
She drifts off to sleep before she can overthink it.
---
Waking up naked ends up being a bit of a shock. She scrambles out of bed, her mind racing a mile a minute. Should she wash the sheets? Would he know? Oh god, stupid, what a bad idea, crap crap...
But she has to admit; she feels much less taut. At ease, despite the warning lights flashing in her head. She just has to keep cool. Ben doesn’t know. Ben doesn’t have to know. That was just for her.
She tries to slow down her morning routine, as if one of them is suddenly going to wake up and think she’s acting weird. When she catches site of Ben on the couch, the blanket hanging half off him and his hair all mussed, she shoots off like a lightening bolt and locks herself in the bathroom.
How is she supposed to face Ben?
By the time she’s showered and groomed, he’s begun pawing around the kitchen in search of food. She can’t bring herself to look at him, so she starts fiddling with the dvds in the living room for no reason.
“We should have a movie night tonight,” he suggests. “People do that, right?” He’s trying to be good natured, and for a moment she looks up but finds she can’t meet his eye. She returns her focus back to the case of Men in Black.
“Sure.” There’s a moment of Ben fumbling around in the kitchen before he turns back to her.
“Are you okay?”
She forces herself to look at him, and it gives her a small thrill. Movie night with Ben? Yeah, she’s pretty sure she can do that, actually.
“Great,” she says with a smile, sidling past him to reach for the Bisquick. “I’ve got the pancakes this morning.”
---
When Ann asks if last night was weird over lunch, Leslie just shrugs.
“It wasn’t that bad.”
She declines Ann’s invitation to stay there the rest of the week.
---
Andy and Ben squabble over what movie to watch that night before April gets tired of them and puts on Romancing the Stone.
“What even is this?” Leslie asks, confused.
“Shut up and watch,” April groans, as she mouths along with the opening lines of dialogue.
“April loves this one,” she’s informed by Andy.
Leslie settles into the corner of the couch, curling her legs up under her. Ben’s messing around in the kitchen with microwave popcorn, but April and Andy sprawl out on their stomachs on the floor and he ends up on the other side of the couch.
She and Ben end up giggling a lot during the movie, and they keep leaning over to murmur comments to each other while the film plays. It’s apparently too loud for April, who starts flicking popcorn kernels at them, and somehow they just end up with their legs pressed against each other in the middle of the couch.
Leslie’s hyper aware of Ben’s movements, his attempt at casually laying his arm across the couch behind her. She feels sixteen again, waiting for the boy she likes to touch her at the movie theater.
By the time his fingers curl against her arm, she’s half asleep with her head on his shoulder.
---
She wakes with a start some time later. It’s still dark out and the television is still on, the blue glow of the screen the only light in the room. Andy and April must have gone to bed a long time ago and left them out here.
And that’s when she realizes that she’s essentially tangled up with Ben. One her her legs is twisted over his and he’s got an arm around her back and another in her hair, and one of her hands is under his shirt. What the hell...
She must have said that last part out loud because he starts stirring, hands instinctively pulling her back down to him. And then he stills.
“Leslie?”
How do you greet someone you accidentally fell asleep on top of?
“Yup.”
“Oh.”
Neither one of them is moving. Leslie’s kind of sick of denying this, really. Maybe Ben is, too. So she just lets her forehead drop to his shoulder with a sigh.
“This couch,” Ben groans, shifting around to get comfortable. She laughs quietly, until she suddenly finds herself nose-to-nose with him, his eyes glowing a bit in the blue light.
It’s going to happen now, right? There’s no way it can’t. She closes her eyes in anticipation.
The dvd player times out and the television starts blaring loudly, and the room fills with the enthusiastic shouting of a Tony Robbins exercise infomercial. They both sit up straight like caught teenagers, the bubble broken.
“I should, uh. Get to bed,” Ben stammers, looking around the room like he’s forgotten where he is. “Yes. Just gonna--”
He’s up before he can finish the sentence, briskly retreating to his bedroom. She thinks she hears him mumble an apology before he shuts the door behind him.
She sinks into the couch, ignoring the spring poking into her side. Crap. No really, the biggest crap of all. He’d been right there, right beneath her. She could still feel the warmth of his skin against her palm.
Your job is at stake, Leslie.
Maybe she’ll take up Ann’s offer tomorrow night.
---
She takes her car to work early in the morning, leaving a note on the kitchen table about some errands she had to run. In reality, she sits in her office chair, swiveling left to right, thinking.
But it’s the art show that night, which at least keeps Ben out of her hair. She told him about it earlier but can’t bring herself to go invite him. Not after last night. His mind is clearly on staying employed, and she needs to shift her focus back to that, too.
She certainly didn’t expect to go from not-kissing-Ben to being bare chested with horse legs in a painting for all of Pawnee to see, but sometimes things just happen that way.
Jerry’s stuttering some kind of explanation, something about powerful goddesses. And she gets it. Her spine straightens, and her face breaks out in a grin.
“I love it,” she breaths in a low voice, and catches Ann smiling proudly next to her.
She decides not to stay at Ann’s tonight.
---
Leslie drives home feeling like a million bucks, cranking up Beyonce as loudly as her ears can take.
April and Andy are pulling out of the driveway as she pulls in, yelling something about a gig in Granville at a cousin’s birthday party. Leslie shouts a quick “Good luck!” and waves them off.
Ben isn’t home when she gets in, but it’s still a little early. She’s feeling bold and ditches her blazer and gauzy white blouse for something a little more low-cut, with the dark jeans that Ann insists her butt looks good in. She’s rewarded by an eyebrow raise from Ben, when he finally shows up with takeout from JJ’s in hand.
He treats it like a peace offering. She lets her hand brush against his as she takes the container of whipped cream.
There’s a definite charge in the air as they eat, talking only a little but looking at each other far too often. Leslie doesn’t look away when she catches his eye. She’s pretty much done with being shy and awkward. If he wants to look, let him. She thinks about her night in his bed and thinks, if only you knew...
They clear away the table together, and she bumps into him a little, touches his arm as she apologizes. He looks bemused, smiling a little like he isn’t sure what’s going on.
“Do you have any wine?” she asks. He looks startled but manages to find a half-empty bottle of Merlot.
“I think it’s April’s,” he tells her, reading the label.
“She won’t mind.”
An hour later, the bottle’s empty and they’re laughing freely on the couch, shouting answers at a recorded episode of Jeopardy (apparently Andy hasn’t figured out how to correctly time the DVR yet). And it just feels nice, the most comfortable Leslie’s been in the past three days. She leans in to catch her breath after Ben flips off Trebeck when he answers a question wrong, and Ben’s hand moves to her shoulder.
“What?” she asks, sitting back up.
“Didn’t want you to fall over.”
Her inhibitions are pretty much entirely gone by now. They’ve been careful too much for the past few days, and the wine seems to have loosened her up. She thinks of Diaphenia and squares her shoulders.
“Didn’t want a repeat of last night?”
She doesn’t exactly see how he reacts because Ben lunges forward and his lips are on hers before she can even process what she just said. And it’s instantaneous, how they’re suddenly pressing against each other, his hands in her hair as his teeth tug on her bottom lip. And all she can think is yes and finally and holy crap he’s a good kisser. She starts pushing at his shoulders, clamouring over him as he lays back against the couch. And her hands are just about to untuck his shirt when--
“This fucking couch,” he growls against her mouth, and she can’t help but laugh. This stupid fucking couch, indeed.
“Bedroom,” she mumbles, yanking on his tie as they scramble to their feet. Once they’re in his bedroom, he presses her against the closed door, hands wandering up beneath her shirt, caressing her over her bra. Enough already. “Ohmygodjusttakeitoff.”
He obliges, pulling her blouse over her head as she finally makes do with his green plaid. Their pants follow super quickly and she pushes him back on the bed, intent on making some of those fantasies from before a reality.
Her hand trails down his chest and grasps him, and he lets out a hiss and bangs his head against the headboard.
“Shit.” She just kisses him, her hand sliding up and down as she gets bolder. Ben’s hands flail around, trying to get a good hold on her. By the time the pads of his fingers reach where she needs it, he needs to physically pull her hand off him, laying back with his eyes screwed shut as he strokes her.
“Beeeeeen,” she whines into his ear, bucking against his hand. And finally she just throws her leg over his waist, pushing herself up so she towers over him, straddling his waist. He lines himself up and pushes up at the same time Leslie pushes down, and they both gasp.
“One second,” he pleads, his hands holding her hips still. But she’s impatient and wiggles around, leaning down to press kisses against jaw, the stubble grazing her cheeks. “Oh alright then, fine.”
“Finally,” she laughs, and begins to move.
It’s like downing a big glass of lemonade after running around in the sun all day. He feels so, so good inside her, hitting the spot perfectly after the frustration of the last week. Or the last few months, if she’s being completely honest. She’s never felt this wanton, this needy, but her hips keep rising and falling, harder and harder, and he pulls her down to run his tongue against her breasts, just like she’d imagined, and she squeaks.
His fingers find the right spot between them, circling her. It doesn’t take a long time for either one of them to reach the peak. Ben tumbles first, his fingers tightening against her with a guttural yelp, but to his credit he keeps thrusting, keeps his fingers moving against her until she follows, and they end up in a messy heap, legs tangled in his crimson comforter.
---
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Is that alright?”
She laughs, tucking her face into his chest.
“Me too.”
---
“What about our jobs--”
“Shhh.” He kisses her.
---
She’s woken in the morning by her Blackberry buzzing. It takes her a moment to get her bearings, until she realizes the phone is in her jeans pocket under the bed. She reaches down and fumbles around to extract it.
It’s a voicemail from the pest contol company. She lays back in bed, Ben’s arm curling back around her middle in his sleep, and listens to the message.
“Yeah ah, Miss Knope? We checked the chemical levels in your house, and it should be safe for you to move back in tonight. Uh, call us back and we can give you further details. The number is--”
She presses the end button.
“Who was it?” Ben asks in that gravely morning voice, his arm tightening against her until her back’s to his chest.
“Nothing.”
She makes a mental note to call Ann later.
author:
shornt
pairing: Ben/Leslie, a tiny bit of April/Andy
rating: At least an R, maybe edging over into NC17?
words: ~6300
notes: This is an AU of sorts set around the time of Jerry's Painting (only I rearranged the timeline of everything in that episode). Tropes is the name is the game. Also, eventual smut. Gracias as usual to fairytiger for the prompt and encouragement.
Leslie has to stay with Andy and April for a few days, but doesn't realize they have a new roommate.
Considering Leslie’s house, it was really only a matter of time.
“I can’t believe I have cockroaches,” she’s groaning, packing all of her work suits into one bursting suitcase. “And ants. Shouldn’t one species be overthrowing the other?”
“I keep telling you not to leave old food around, Leslie.” Ann carefully folds a Banana Republic blazer into a neat square, fitting it in beside a pair of grey Converse chucks. “Do you really need all of these outfits for just a few days?”
“The pest control guys said it’s possible to take a little longer. You can never be too careful.” She throws a green silk dress into the mix, but bashfully removes it when Ann raises an eyebrow.
“Are you sure you don’t just want to stay with me?” Ann asks for the millionth time, bouncing down on Leslie’s bed. “I told you, I really don’t mind.”
“Ann, you beautiful, well-groomed tabby cat. I know you have a date tonight because I looked at your phone while you were in the bathroom.”
“What--”
“And I don’t want to prevent you from getting some! Your dating life is blossoming and guys are super into you and you only have one bedroom with really thin doors.” She scrunches up her face. “I don’t know if you’re loud, but I don’t want to find out.”
“Leslie,” Ann scolds, her smile betraying her. “Really, just stay with me. I feel like living with April and Andy together is probably a health hazard. I’m still surprised April even said you could.”
“Well, what she said was more like--” Leslie clears her throat, throwing on a bad impression of April’s monotone, “--‘Whatever. We’re not responsible for what happens to you at night.’ And then Andy said all she meant was marshmallow shooting, so. I think it’ll be fine.”
“If you say so.”
---
While Leslie does honestly care about Ann’s sex life (Lord knows she hasn’t gotten any in almost a year, so she can respect Ann’s opportunities), it does bum her out. Just a little. Because she’s pretty sure she’d be jumping a certain assistant city manager’s bones right now if it weren’t for some stupid rules, and she’s even more sure that he’d be enthusiastic about that. And all she can imagine when Ann recounts her last date is Ben in that position, being taken out by Ben, being kissed in the car by Ben, doing it against the wall with Ben--
Okay, so that wasn’t a story from Ann, that was just Leslie’s own brain. But either way, it sucks, and Leslie isn’t sure she wants to be at Ann’s home every night to hear the epic date re-telling just before curling up for bed alone on her best friend’s couch.
Andy and April are probably night owls like her anyway, and they can carpool with her in the morning and be on time for once. She remembers a second bedroom, across the house from the master bedroom, and that’s good enough for her.
And Leslie never passes up a chance to help April grow into a beautiful adult lady, and this is just a really awesome chance.
Stupid-faced bosses be damned.
---
Once she finishes hauling her third suitcase into the trunk of her car, she stands back on the sidewalk to look at her house.
“I hope no one touches my stuff. I just finished putting all my back issues of Time in the linen closet.”
“They’re not supposed to do that,” Ann says gently, her arm resting around Leslie’s shoulders. “It’s just a few days, and then you can stop wearing your old, clunky Doc Martens while you’re in your kitchen.”
“Those really got the job done,” Leslie muses with admiration.
“Call me if Andy puts anything weird in your hair; I know how to get it out.”
“Sure thing.” Ann gives her a tight squeeze before holding her at Arm’s length.
“And if you don’t like it, you can come over at any time. Okay?”
“Ann, you’re the best. I hope you get lucky tonight!”
---
It’s a short drive across town to Andy and April’s house, but a long struggle from the car to the driveway with three heavy suitcases in tow.
“Leslie!” Andy greets with a warm smile and high-five. “Let me take those for you, they look super heavy.”
“Watch out,” Leslie warns, as he hoists her bags on his back and nearly unhinges the front door.
“I can do it!” he shouts with glee. “April, I think you’re wrong. If I can carry this, I can totally carry you.”
“Congrats, honey,” she deadpans, picking at her nails. Leslie thinks she sees a hint of a smile on the girl’s face before she remembers her gift.
“Oh yeah, I got you guys something!” She digs through her purse before pulling out two bags of marshmallows. “Wait, one of these is mine...” Once she determines which ones have vanilla flavoring, she hands the other bag over to Andy. “For your shooters!”
“All right!” Andy punches the air.
“So the couch is like, not the best,” April says, leading Leslie into their living room. “I spilled some iced tea on it last week, and I think there’s a spaghetti stain.”
Leslie’s brow furrows.
“Wait, what?”
“Or maybe Ben will give up his bed, he’s pretty lame like that. But I wouldn’t go in there. He gets really pissed when you use his blankets for things.”
Huh?
“Ben? What are you--”
Then the front door opens and Leslie yelps, because suddenly she has a third unexpected roommate.
“Hey guys. So, Wendy’s said they couldn’t put all the frosting toppings together into one, I just got you a chocolate.” Leslie freezes as Andy groans in disappointment.
Ben strides into the room, wearing his stupid tan jacket with two bags of Wendy’s in hand. When his eyes catch Leslie, he stops cold, a weird half-smile on his face.
“Uh, hey Leslie.”
“What the hell? You hang out with Andy and April?”
Everyone stops and looks around at each other, confused.
“He lives here,” April says with an eye roll. “You didn’t know that? You guys talk in the hallway like, all the time. It’s really annoying.”
“You live here?”
Ben’s a deer in headlights, not sure where his focus should be, and he keeps looking at Leslie’s luggage like it’s the most bewildering thing that’s ever happened to him.
“Yeah, I, uh. Moved into the spare room?”
“He bought a bed and everything!” Andy informs her, before grabbing the Wendy’s out of Ben’s hand and tearing off to the kitchen. April gives them one last disinterested look before she follows him.
“Oh. Okay.” Crap on a pancake. She had not accounted for this.
“Is this the communal home, or...” He looks at her suitcases again.
“My house is getting fumigated.” Her hands suddenly feel really warm and she wipes them on her slacks. “I mean, I told you that. The other day. Bugs and stuff, you know.”
“Right, right. So you’re... staying here?”
“Ann’s dating,” she blurts, and he cocks his eyebrow curiously. “I didn’t want to bother her.”
“I see.” He smiles a little and she returns it, but immediately looks away. Wait, what is that stain on the wall? Ugh. “It’s a little messy around here, so I apologize for that. But I’m trying.”
“It’s fine. I can do mess.”
It’s another awkward second before the sounds of Andy ravenously eating floats toward them. Leslie looks over just in time to see April throw a fry at him.
“I didn’t get you any food,” Ben says apologetically. “They didn’t tell me you were coming.” And then he sighs, irritated. “I don’t think they remembered I live here. Or care.”
“When did you move in? Why didn’t I know? I told you about my house having bugs, this is at least as important as that.” She’s not actually sure what the words are coming out of her mouth, because her mind keeps shouting crap on repeat.
He’s still a little flustered and it’s adorable and he’s taking his jacket off and the sleeves of his crimson plaid are rolled up and crap, crap, crap.
“Just yesterday afternoon. Uh, it’s new. Trying to teach them about the mail and the bank. And laundry. And cooking, and cleaning, and everything else.”
Leslie laughs. This doesn’t have to be super weird, right? It’s Ben. She can talk to Ben. She always talks to Ben. And maybe being in his house is more intimate, but she just has to never let her guard down and probably wear sweatpants all the time and hope she never has to see him in pajamas because the thought of that is really cute. Unbearably cute.
Ben ends up offering to cook for her, which makes her feel a guilty so she turns him down, insisting she can find something to eat on her own. But there’s nothing in the cabinets but half eaten bags of Doritos, and nothing in the fridge but vegetables that Ben likes to cook with, and in the end she accepts Ben’s medium fry.
He keeps looking at her when he thinks she doesn’t notice, with his brow wrinkled and a weird little smile on his face. Thankfully, Andy’s oblivious enough to keep the conversation going, telling them all about Kyle tripping on a candy bar near the shoeshine stand that morning. But once the food is gone and Leslie’s abandoned her shoes and blazer, things get a little off again.
“So, this couch kind of sucks,” Ben admits, following her into the living room. “You can uh, have my bedroom.”
“Oh no, no, no.” Her heart rate is actually ridiculous at the thought. “I couldn’t put you out like that. You didn’t even know I’d be here, I can take the couch.”
“My bed’s new. Really comfortable.” He won’t look her in the eye.
“No, really. Out here’s fine.”
“If you insist.”
Leslie knows she insists a lot, but really, she thinks that in this situation, it’s warranted.
---
There’s that weird moment where she’s changing into her pajamas in the bathroom, just before she slides the faded plaid flannel up her legs, where she realizes she’s undressing in the same place Ben showers. Sure enough, she looks to the shelf hanging on the shower-head and sees aftershave, a razor, men’s shampoo.
Of course, right below that is some weird combination of female products and three different kinds of bubble bath, and a shelf that must be Andy’s because all that’s there is a bar of Irish Spring.
Doesn’t stop the bathroom from smelling a little like Ben, though.
She quickly resumes pulling her pajamas on, brushes her teeth quicker than she usually would like, and runs back to the couch. There’s now two blankets and a few pillows laying in a neat pile, with a nearby mug of hot chocolate, and it tugs at her heartstrings a little. Ben’s bedroom door is already shut; he must be in for the night. She’ll thank him in the morning.
She tries calling Ann, who doesn’t answer. The date. Right.
Grabbing the mug, she takes a sip (crap, that’s good) and opens up her laptop. Time to get to work.
---
In the end, Leslie manages about three hours on the couch, which really is as awful as everyone warned. It sags in the wrong places, pushes springs up elsewhere, and she somehow wakes up in a heap on the ground next to it.
No one else in the house is up yet even though the sun has risen outside. How can anyone sleep when it’s daytime? Having the bathroom to herself would normally be the upside, but instead she showers with lightening quick speed (Don’t think about Ben being naked in here, do not think about Ben being naked in here) and barely curls her hair, clearing out and settling back in the living room within an hour.
Still no one’s awake. Really? They have to be at work in two hours, and Leslie likes to go even earlier. If they mess up her morning--
But suddenly the door to Ben’s bedroom opens, the noise echoing in the quiet house. Leslie realizes she’s gotten to her feet, for some reason, and she kicks the ground awkwardly.
She was right. He’s really adorable in pajamas. The sweatpants pool at his feet and, oh wow, she’s never seen his biceps before but she’s not disappointed.
Goddammit.
“You uh, use the bathroom?” he asks, his voice deep and gravely with sleep. This is a bad situation. She squeaks out some sort of answer and he smiles, padding his way down the hall barefoot. When the door of the bathroom closes behind him, she lets out a breath.
Television! She should put the television on. Yes. She’s just going to watch The Today Show, and not think about Ben in the shower down the hall. Just like any other morning. There is no one naked in this house that she wants to make out with. Nope.
And then she takes out her laptop, typing away on a new plan for the upcoming art show that week, and doesn’t even hear Ben’s electric shaver turn on. Much. She turns up Matt Laurer just a little louder.
But then he’s back, freshly shaved, his hair spiking up as it air dries, smelling way too nice for his own good. He smiles at her brightly, proceeding to the kitchen.
“Breakfast?” he asks, opening up cabinets. “I don’t have a waffle iron, but I think we have some Bisquick around here. Andy’s big on pancakes.”
“Sure!” She closes her laptop, turning down the volume of the television a little. When she gets off the couch, the knot in her back strains and she winces.
“You alright?” He watches her knead the muscles in her side as she walks to him. “I told you, not a great couch.”
“It’s not too bad,” she says through a grimace. All she plans on doing is getting herself some orange juice from the fridge, but somehow she’s next to him at the stove.
“You sure?” His voice is quiet, ridiculously gentle. And a chill runs up her spine when his hand lightly touches her back, his eyes filled with concern. “You can still take my room tonight.”
She’s about to protest when a joint cracks loudly in her neck.
“We can trade off.”
He pats her back with a smile, and goes back to the pancakes. All of that and the smell of pancakes? It’s a little more than Leslie can handle. And it’s only been one night.
“I’m uh, just gonna check on April, we should leave in like an hour. Saving fuel and all that.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Ben warns, but she’s already halfway to their door. Her fist raises up to knock, but she hears a loud giggle and then a groan and immediately backs away.
Ben on one side, and that on the other. This house has her cornered.
---
Work is the same as usual. Andy keeps calling shouting “Roomie!” every time Leslie walks by, so it’s not like she can stop thinking about the fact that she’s essentially going home with Ben that night, but she’s got a full day of work and Ron refuses to touch the permits desk and Jerry spills a whole drawer worth of files all over the floor and she’s busy enough to not think too much about Ben’s adam’s apple or bare feet or really delicious pancakes.
At 4:30, April starts standing in the doorway of Leslie’s office and staring her down. After ten minutes she stirs.
“When are we leaving?”
“I’m almost done, April.”
“It’s late.”
“It’s not even five yet.”
“We’re taking separate cars tomorrow.”
And then she finally leaves and Leslie sighs.
---
Things aren’t weird when they get back, two pizzas joining everyone for the ride. The four of them spread out around a small card table Ben sets up in the living room, and it’s weird to see Ben interacting with other people. It’s not like she’s never seen him around City Hall, but she never realized he was on such good terms with anyone else, and she likes it. She likes seeing him at ease, laughing at something Andy said, flinging a little pizza sauce at April when she throws her crust at his head.
Pretty soon, Andy runs to get the marshmallow guns and Leslie has to duck under the table for cover, bits of dust and fluffy marshmallows being shot all over the room. April starts giving everyone weird nicknames, insisting she be referred to as Roxanne Neidermeyer, a wicked woman with a weakness for gin. Andy assumes his usual Burt Macklin personality, and Ben insists on just being called Ben even as April starts shouting “Charles Buckenhouser, you insistent chide!” at him. Leslie doesn’t think April knows what half the words coming out of her mouth mean, but she decides she’ll be Eleanor Clinton (best of both eras). Andy names her the president of the country, and tells Ben he has to protect her.
And that’s how she finds herself smushed behind the couch with Ben’s arm flung in front of her.
“Protection,” he says, a glint in his eye. She grins wildly.
“All we’ve got is a pillow.”
“Then we have to use it well.”
They sit, still and quiet, for as long as they can. Andy can’t stand that and eventually, April will groan about it getting boring. Ben’s breath echoes in her ear, and she moves her hand to get more comfortable but ends up touching his thigh. And she freezes.
Somewhere in the hallway, the sound of a shoe against the wall emits.
Suddenly Ben’s yelling, “Now!” and he grabs her hand and pulls her up, running across the living room and throwing the pillow into the hall with the precision of a former baseball player who played shortstop on his JV team in high school (which he doesn’t shut up about afterward).
“We get it Ben, you played baseball. Woo hoo.” April pulls Andy by his shirt back to their bedroom, him waving as they scoot off.
“Goodnight! Good war, you guys!”
Which leaves just the two of them.
“Uh, it’s kind of late,” Ben stammers, running a hand through his hair. “You going to bed?”
She’s way too high strung for bed now, still breathing hard from the exertion and her mind starts slipping off to bad places again when she notices his top button’s come undone, his skinny tie hanging off to the side.
“Yeah, probably should...”
“I’ll just grab some stuff.”
He disappears to his bedroom, coming out with some pajamas thrown over his shoulder. They go through the motions of getting ready for bed and Leslie’s heartbeat is hammering, because they’re trading off turns in the bathroom and he’s turning down his bed for her and she forgot to leave her bra on under her pajamas and this is just a lot more intimate than she was prepared for.
“This is it.” Ben holds his hands out, presenting his room. It’s... almost entirely bare.
“No interior decorating skills on your resume?”
“Well, it’s new,” he says with a quiet chuckle. “The bed’s comfortable enough, so...”
There is really nothing either one of them can do to not make this weird. She compliments the Batman comic sitting on his dresser, he bids her a goodnight and leaves with a lingering look, eyes warm and bashful.
And then she can’t get herself to sit on his bed.
It’s just weird, right? It’s weird. She texts Ann, who again, doesn’t answer. Another date. Leslie can’t remember if it’s a first or second date; she’s lost track. Or maybe she’s pulling a night shift at the hospital? Anyway. The bed.
Ben already pulled the comforter back. It’s simple and burgundy, but looks really comfortable. The sheets are just cream colored. Nothing fancy, not that she would have expected it. But it’s where Ben sleeps. It’s definitely weird.
But, she can’t shake the feeling that... it’s also kind of exciting.
She opens the door a crack and peeks, just out of curiosity. The television is on quietly, and she hears the sound of Ben shifting on a spring. She quietly closes the door again.
Just get in the damn bed already.
Once she sits on it, she lets out a long sigh. It really is comfortable. Then there’s the decision of which pillow to sleep on. What side does Ben favor? Which pillow does he use? Does he sleep on his side, or his stomach, or is he one of those weird people who can fall asleep on their back? Leslie’s never understood how anyone can do that.
His alarm clock is on the left side, so she guesses that’s where he sleeps. She settles onto the right pillow and pulls the comforter over her. It smells, overwhelmingly, like Ben. She shuts her eyes and knows she’s not really going to get any sleep tonight.
There’s a noise from across the house, just faintly. A giggle, maybe a little bit of a moan. The sound of something hitting the wall.
Really? They’re going at it again? Newlyweds...
But Leslie feels a little pang in her chest. God, really, it’s been so long. Months. And, truth be told, she’s pictured her first night in Ben’s bed plenty of times. And yeah, this isn’t exactly what she had in mind.
“You guys,” she hears Ben yell from the living room, and a sound that’s presumably a pillow being thrown at their door. She holds her breath, hearing every little creak in the floorboard and squeak of the springs as Ben goes back to the couch. He sighs and the sound shoots through her like a knife.
Shit. She turns her head into the pillow to groan, so ridiculously frustrated, but is just met with more of his smell. There are zero things fair about this situation.
The noises from the rest of the house die down, but they’re still fresh in her mind.
Mindlessly, her hand slides to her breast. She hardly even realizes what she’s doing until her fingers find her nipple and pinch and she lets out a yelp, clasping her other hand over her mouth. Terrified, she strains to hear any noises outside, any indication that people are still awake in the rest of the house. If she can hear them, they can probably hear her.
So she shouldn’t do this. Right?
But that’s Ben, just on the other side of the wall. Ben, who she can’t kiss and can’t touch and can’t do things with. Ben, who has really great forearms and dark eyes and stubble peppering his jawline by the end of every day. Ben... who’s bed she’s in right now.
She slowly lifts her shirt and lets it drop to the ground. Screw it.
Her hand resumes against her breast, kneading and stroking and her hips buck up. She slides her hands down to help kick off her pajama bottoms, and then she’s suddenly stark naked. In Ben’s bed. Between Ben’s sheets, laying on Ben’s pillow.
When her hand trails down between her legs, she’s already embarrassingly wet. She slides her shirt underneath her before circling her fingers around, thinking about Ben and what it would be like if he had gone to bed with her. Would he be gentle, caressing her, leaving kisses behind where his fingers trailed? Or would he be forceful, telling her where to go, nipping at her skin when she didn’t listen?
Right now, with the levels of frustration built up, she imagines them both going a little crazy. Her fingers against her clit are his, rubbing insistently. Her other hand against her breast is his mouth, sucking and biting down.
She forgets to stop the moan that tumbles out her mouth.
And still, it’s not enough, not nearly. She slips two fingers inside herself but the angle’s off, it’s not where she needs it, and she rolls over on her stomach, grinding desperately against her hand. And it’s like he’s surrounding her, in the blankets and the pillows, everywhere at once, and she imagines her fingers are him as her hips keep rolling down, her eyes tightly shut.
Usually when she tries doing this, it takes a lot of concentrated effort, and she ends up getting so frustrated with herself that she gives up. Not every time, but she’s spent plenty of angry nights huffing around her bedroom because she can’t relax enough.
But not this time.
It ripples through her like an electric shock and suddenly she’s clenching around her fingers, her voice muffled into pillow as her legs press together. Then it’s like she’s boneless, unable to lift any of her own limbs, molded against the mattress.
She drifts off to sleep before she can overthink it.
---
Waking up naked ends up being a bit of a shock. She scrambles out of bed, her mind racing a mile a minute. Should she wash the sheets? Would he know? Oh god, stupid, what a bad idea, crap crap...
But she has to admit; she feels much less taut. At ease, despite the warning lights flashing in her head. She just has to keep cool. Ben doesn’t know. Ben doesn’t have to know. That was just for her.
She tries to slow down her morning routine, as if one of them is suddenly going to wake up and think she’s acting weird. When she catches site of Ben on the couch, the blanket hanging half off him and his hair all mussed, she shoots off like a lightening bolt and locks herself in the bathroom.
How is she supposed to face Ben?
By the time she’s showered and groomed, he’s begun pawing around the kitchen in search of food. She can’t bring herself to look at him, so she starts fiddling with the dvds in the living room for no reason.
“We should have a movie night tonight,” he suggests. “People do that, right?” He’s trying to be good natured, and for a moment she looks up but finds she can’t meet his eye. She returns her focus back to the case of Men in Black.
“Sure.” There’s a moment of Ben fumbling around in the kitchen before he turns back to her.
“Are you okay?”
She forces herself to look at him, and it gives her a small thrill. Movie night with Ben? Yeah, she’s pretty sure she can do that, actually.
“Great,” she says with a smile, sidling past him to reach for the Bisquick. “I’ve got the pancakes this morning.”
---
When Ann asks if last night was weird over lunch, Leslie just shrugs.
“It wasn’t that bad.”
She declines Ann’s invitation to stay there the rest of the week.
---
Andy and Ben squabble over what movie to watch that night before April gets tired of them and puts on Romancing the Stone.
“What even is this?” Leslie asks, confused.
“Shut up and watch,” April groans, as she mouths along with the opening lines of dialogue.
“April loves this one,” she’s informed by Andy.
Leslie settles into the corner of the couch, curling her legs up under her. Ben’s messing around in the kitchen with microwave popcorn, but April and Andy sprawl out on their stomachs on the floor and he ends up on the other side of the couch.
She and Ben end up giggling a lot during the movie, and they keep leaning over to murmur comments to each other while the film plays. It’s apparently too loud for April, who starts flicking popcorn kernels at them, and somehow they just end up with their legs pressed against each other in the middle of the couch.
Leslie’s hyper aware of Ben’s movements, his attempt at casually laying his arm across the couch behind her. She feels sixteen again, waiting for the boy she likes to touch her at the movie theater.
By the time his fingers curl against her arm, she’s half asleep with her head on his shoulder.
---
She wakes with a start some time later. It’s still dark out and the television is still on, the blue glow of the screen the only light in the room. Andy and April must have gone to bed a long time ago and left them out here.
And that’s when she realizes that she’s essentially tangled up with Ben. One her her legs is twisted over his and he’s got an arm around her back and another in her hair, and one of her hands is under his shirt. What the hell...
She must have said that last part out loud because he starts stirring, hands instinctively pulling her back down to him. And then he stills.
“Leslie?”
How do you greet someone you accidentally fell asleep on top of?
“Yup.”
“Oh.”
Neither one of them is moving. Leslie’s kind of sick of denying this, really. Maybe Ben is, too. So she just lets her forehead drop to his shoulder with a sigh.
“This couch,” Ben groans, shifting around to get comfortable. She laughs quietly, until she suddenly finds herself nose-to-nose with him, his eyes glowing a bit in the blue light.
It’s going to happen now, right? There’s no way it can’t. She closes her eyes in anticipation.
The dvd player times out and the television starts blaring loudly, and the room fills with the enthusiastic shouting of a Tony Robbins exercise infomercial. They both sit up straight like caught teenagers, the bubble broken.
“I should, uh. Get to bed,” Ben stammers, looking around the room like he’s forgotten where he is. “Yes. Just gonna--”
He’s up before he can finish the sentence, briskly retreating to his bedroom. She thinks she hears him mumble an apology before he shuts the door behind him.
She sinks into the couch, ignoring the spring poking into her side. Crap. No really, the biggest crap of all. He’d been right there, right beneath her. She could still feel the warmth of his skin against her palm.
Your job is at stake, Leslie.
Maybe she’ll take up Ann’s offer tomorrow night.
---
She takes her car to work early in the morning, leaving a note on the kitchen table about some errands she had to run. In reality, she sits in her office chair, swiveling left to right, thinking.
But it’s the art show that night, which at least keeps Ben out of her hair. She told him about it earlier but can’t bring herself to go invite him. Not after last night. His mind is clearly on staying employed, and she needs to shift her focus back to that, too.
She certainly didn’t expect to go from not-kissing-Ben to being bare chested with horse legs in a painting for all of Pawnee to see, but sometimes things just happen that way.
Jerry’s stuttering some kind of explanation, something about powerful goddesses. And she gets it. Her spine straightens, and her face breaks out in a grin.
“I love it,” she breaths in a low voice, and catches Ann smiling proudly next to her.
She decides not to stay at Ann’s tonight.
---
Leslie drives home feeling like a million bucks, cranking up Beyonce as loudly as her ears can take.
April and Andy are pulling out of the driveway as she pulls in, yelling something about a gig in Granville at a cousin’s birthday party. Leslie shouts a quick “Good luck!” and waves them off.
Ben isn’t home when she gets in, but it’s still a little early. She’s feeling bold and ditches her blazer and gauzy white blouse for something a little more low-cut, with the dark jeans that Ann insists her butt looks good in. She’s rewarded by an eyebrow raise from Ben, when he finally shows up with takeout from JJ’s in hand.
He treats it like a peace offering. She lets her hand brush against his as she takes the container of whipped cream.
There’s a definite charge in the air as they eat, talking only a little but looking at each other far too often. Leslie doesn’t look away when she catches his eye. She’s pretty much done with being shy and awkward. If he wants to look, let him. She thinks about her night in his bed and thinks, if only you knew...
They clear away the table together, and she bumps into him a little, touches his arm as she apologizes. He looks bemused, smiling a little like he isn’t sure what’s going on.
“Do you have any wine?” she asks. He looks startled but manages to find a half-empty bottle of Merlot.
“I think it’s April’s,” he tells her, reading the label.
“She won’t mind.”
An hour later, the bottle’s empty and they’re laughing freely on the couch, shouting answers at a recorded episode of Jeopardy (apparently Andy hasn’t figured out how to correctly time the DVR yet). And it just feels nice, the most comfortable Leslie’s been in the past three days. She leans in to catch her breath after Ben flips off Trebeck when he answers a question wrong, and Ben’s hand moves to her shoulder.
“What?” she asks, sitting back up.
“Didn’t want you to fall over.”
Her inhibitions are pretty much entirely gone by now. They’ve been careful too much for the past few days, and the wine seems to have loosened her up. She thinks of Diaphenia and squares her shoulders.
“Didn’t want a repeat of last night?”
She doesn’t exactly see how he reacts because Ben lunges forward and his lips are on hers before she can even process what she just said. And it’s instantaneous, how they’re suddenly pressing against each other, his hands in her hair as his teeth tug on her bottom lip. And all she can think is yes and finally and holy crap he’s a good kisser. She starts pushing at his shoulders, clamouring over him as he lays back against the couch. And her hands are just about to untuck his shirt when--
“This fucking couch,” he growls against her mouth, and she can’t help but laugh. This stupid fucking couch, indeed.
“Bedroom,” she mumbles, yanking on his tie as they scramble to their feet. Once they’re in his bedroom, he presses her against the closed door, hands wandering up beneath her shirt, caressing her over her bra. Enough already. “Ohmygodjusttakeitoff.”
He obliges, pulling her blouse over her head as she finally makes do with his green plaid. Their pants follow super quickly and she pushes him back on the bed, intent on making some of those fantasies from before a reality.
Her hand trails down his chest and grasps him, and he lets out a hiss and bangs his head against the headboard.
“Shit.” She just kisses him, her hand sliding up and down as she gets bolder. Ben’s hands flail around, trying to get a good hold on her. By the time the pads of his fingers reach where she needs it, he needs to physically pull her hand off him, laying back with his eyes screwed shut as he strokes her.
“Beeeeeen,” she whines into his ear, bucking against his hand. And finally she just throws her leg over his waist, pushing herself up so she towers over him, straddling his waist. He lines himself up and pushes up at the same time Leslie pushes down, and they both gasp.
“One second,” he pleads, his hands holding her hips still. But she’s impatient and wiggles around, leaning down to press kisses against jaw, the stubble grazing her cheeks. “Oh alright then, fine.”
“Finally,” she laughs, and begins to move.
It’s like downing a big glass of lemonade after running around in the sun all day. He feels so, so good inside her, hitting the spot perfectly after the frustration of the last week. Or the last few months, if she’s being completely honest. She’s never felt this wanton, this needy, but her hips keep rising and falling, harder and harder, and he pulls her down to run his tongue against her breasts, just like she’d imagined, and she squeaks.
His fingers find the right spot between them, circling her. It doesn’t take a long time for either one of them to reach the peak. Ben tumbles first, his fingers tightening against her with a guttural yelp, but to his credit he keeps thrusting, keeps his fingers moving against her until she follows, and they end up in a messy heap, legs tangled in his crimson comforter.
---
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Is that alright?”
She laughs, tucking her face into his chest.
“Me too.”
---
“What about our jobs--”
“Shhh.” He kisses her.
---
She’s woken in the morning by her Blackberry buzzing. It takes her a moment to get her bearings, until she realizes the phone is in her jeans pocket under the bed. She reaches down and fumbles around to extract it.
It’s a voicemail from the pest contol company. She lays back in bed, Ben’s arm curling back around her middle in his sleep, and listens to the message.
“Yeah ah, Miss Knope? We checked the chemical levels in your house, and it should be safe for you to move back in tonight. Uh, call us back and we can give you further details. The number is--”
She presses the end button.
“Who was it?” Ben asks in that gravely morning voice, his arm tightening against her until her back’s to his chest.
“Nothing.”
She makes a mental note to call Ann later.