fic: leslie's consolitation, leslie/ben, r/nc17
title: Leslie's Consolidation
author:
shornt
pairing: Leslie/Ben
rating: hard R/NC-17
words: ~2300
notes: I can't lie -- this was a struggle. A count of bad timing regarding personal anxiety, stress at work, and a vacation to Disney World. So I'm posting this from my hotel room with an apology; I'm really sorry this isn't better. But I managed to write a lot of this just now in the morning, so I at least have more than one scene for y'all. But I feel awful for likely letting everyone down a bit :( I planned on collaborating much more with jncar, who's half is amazing and I'm definitely not worthy of being paired alongside it, but I didn't have it in me. Apologies to her as well, and everyone better read and comment the hell out of her fic.
Leslie’s heard people say that familiarity makes a relationship boring; that knowing your partner completely in bed makes sex less exciting. Predictability, she’s been told, is the relationship killer.
She’s never disagreed more as Ben’s palms find her hips underneath her coat, his long fingers spanning wide as he pushes her blouse up just a little in search of skin beneath.
In fact, she wonders why no one ever told her what a relief familiarity would be.
It takes a burst of icy November air creeping up her sides to bring her out of the moment. Without even thinking, she curls up under Ben’s chin, tightening her arms around him and hiding her face.
It’s exactly where she’s wanted to be for months, now. And it’s becoming harder and harder to remember why she let it go.
“You okay?” he asks gently, his palms rubbing up and down her back. She can feel it through her wool coat as much as she can hear the smile in his voice. It makes her shiver more, in a different way.
“Cold,” she mumbles, pressing her chilled nose against his neck. He yelps.
“We should probably go. Isn’t this park supposed to close at sunset? Or will you still insist on the fireworks show?”
There’s a playful gleam in his eye, but it still hits her square in the chest and suddenly she feels heavy with guilt. And she feels the immediate need to backtrack, to apologize, because that is exactly what she knows she needs to stop, and oh god what if she never gets a hold on herself and she just acts on impulses and spite and emotion and steamrolls everyone in her path and . . .
“Ben, I’m--”
“Stop,” he interrupts gently, punctuating with a kiss at the corner of her lips. “It’s okay.”
“Maybe we should talk?” she offers, but her legs root her to the spot. She’s afraid to move. What if that breaks the spell?
But he just slips his hand into hers with a smile and nods his head toward his car.
Her knee doesn’t sit still as he drives them, silently, to her house. This is a lot at once, and she’s still reeling over the fact that she even spoke up, even gave him the option. She’s tried so hard not to miss him, so hard that she didn’t realize her effort to keep him in her life was hurting him. She’s never wanted to hurt him, and it kills her that she did. She hates everything she did, and by the time they pull into her driveway, she’s on a pretty deep shame spiral.
He switches off the engine of his car, and they sit. Neither moves or says anything. Leslie isn’t even sure what Ben’s doing, because all she can think is that she’s gonna hurt him again and why is he here and maybe this isn’t worth the chance and this is dumber than lobbying against her own tiny park to keep him around and why is he going along with this?
“Something’s wrong,” he states, and she jumps at the intrusion of his voice.
“No!” she answers quickly, fidgeting. “I’m just, I mean, this is a little crazy, and--”
“You don’t want to?” He reaches over to her hand, takes it gently in between his own. His brow is furrowed in that way, like he’s hiding what this means to him, and she’s so scared to make another move, to say anything else. Anything could make this one big mess again.
“I want to.” With the car off, her breath rises in an icy mist in front of her, keeping the words there before fading away. “But why do you? Ben, I’ve--”
“We have a lot to talk about,” he interrupts, squeezing her fingers. “But maybe we should do that tomorrow. I want to, Leslie, so badly. Right now, let’s just get out of the cold?”
He manages to tug her out the car and up to her door, where she fumbles with her keys because he won’t stop touching her. And somehow in the time it takes for her to close the door behind them, Ben’s undone her jacket and presses her against the door, hands spanning her ribcage while his mouth is relentless on hers.
This is really, really reckless. His car’s in her driveway for the world to see and she’s pulling his shirt up in her foyer. But he seems just as desperate as she is, and she realizes that they both need a little extra right now, because this thing... she’s still not sure what it is. But it’s fragile and they’ve both suffered and now that they’re here, she just wants to make him feel better, and she doesn’t want to feel anything but him, so she pushes as hard as he does, and they end up in a weird state of half-undressed within minutes.
“Ow!” she shrieks when he accidentally backs her into the door knob after her coat hits the ground and her blouse lays unbuttoned against her chest. And then Ben’s kneeling down, kissing the red mark on her skin, slowly drawing down the zipper of her slacks, and okay she doesn’t want to steamroll so she’s just gonna let him do his thing and ignore the fact that she feels like her knees might buckle when he slides his fingers under the waistband of her underwear.
“Your legs are shaking,” he notes, standing back up and taking her face in his hands, kissing her and pressing, pressing pressing her back into the door. “Bedroom?”
They’re both completely naked by the time her back hits the sheets and she lets him tower over her, lets him settle between her thighs and kiss down her neck as she fists the sheets. She’s used to taking charge, to pushing him where he needs to be, to covering his body with hers. But now’s the time to swallow that down. This is Ben’s time to assert himself, and her turn to be vulnerable, and it’s overwhelming and terrifying and she doesn’t know what to do.
Ben’s arms wrap around her thighs, and crap, she didn’t even notice he was down there now. His nose brushes just under her belly button and she squeezes her eyes shut.
“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly, following it with a gentle kiss on her stomach. And really, it feels like the millionth time he’s asked tonight, and even though a lot’s happened in the last hour, really, what’s wrong with her?
“I want to let you-- just, I can’t steamroll, and-- I don’t know how?”
He gets a funny look on his face: part concerned, part amused. He kisses her skin again, where her hip meets her thigh, and she gasps, fists the sheets tighter.
“Still touch me,” he urges, and she lets a fist clench in his hair instead. “That’s better.”
And it’s amazing when his tongue finally drifts low enough, as it always was. He holds her hips down against the mattress and she tries her hardest to let go, to relax and enjoy him enjoying her. He’s sighing and and insistent, sucking and lapping and fucking her with his tongue, like he can’t get enough, even after her fingers pull at his hair hard as she finishes, and holy crap she just needs him on her, inside her, around her, but he keeps devouring like he’s lost in her, and now both her hands are in his hair and crap--
“Ben,” she gasps, tugging up even as her hips continue to rock against his mouth. But he takes the hint and stretches out over her, and she can feel him rub against her and she wraps legs around him.
When he finally pulls himself from her breasts long enough to push inside her, it’s insane how perfect it feels. It’s sloppy and not coordinated at first, like they have to get used to each others’ bodies again. But his hands are familiar and she nearly forgot the face he makes when he’s so, so lost in the thrusting. She’s usually so impatient that she flips him over after just a few minutes of this, but he nudges her legs a bit farther up and hits her in this place, and she can’t actually remember that happening before, and maybe she should have let him have his way before because holy shit.
“Ben,” she gasps, fingers pulling at his hair, his neck, his back, anywhere she can reach.
And somehow that’s enough for him to get confident enough to sit up on his knees, holding the backs of her thighs with a wild glint in his eye and everything starts getting a little blurry, a little uneven, and before she even knows it he’s there, pumping erratically and coming hard inside her, and it’s enough to bring her over with him, and she has to squeeze her eyes shut as he collapses next to her, a sweaty arm strewn across her stomach.
“Well,” he mumbles into her shoulder, still gasping for air. “I guess there’s no turning back now.”
“Not that you wanted to?” she asks more than states, her voice small. He fits his forehead into the curve of her neck.
“Nope.”
After a few minutes of sleepy silence, they move to clean up and get ready to sleep. And Leslie actually can feel the sleep creeping up behind her eyes, is so physically and mentally exhausted. It’s been a roller coaster day, and she barely has the energy to pull an old, faded t-shirt on before collapsing next to Ben in bed.
“Oh,” he says, his face screwing up in confusion. His fingers reach out and tug along the neckline of the shirt. “I was wondering what happened to this”
She holds out the shirt to read it upside-down. I met Li’l Sebastian at the Pawnee Harvest Festival.
They both smile.
“I’m glad you kept it.”
She curls up against him, drifts off to the feeling of his hand under her shirt, rubbing circles on her back.
---
After the words are out in the open, repeated in their own voices instead of Ethel’s, it slows them down, no less clingy but way more careful. She cradles him between her thighs until he insists on rolling over, his hands never leaving her hips, his mouth never ceasing against hers. It’s hazy and unrushed and she can’t stop whispering the words more and more, and every time he smiles like it’s the first time and she hopes that’ll never go away.
Everything else in her life is now up in the air, but Ben’s helping tether some part of herself to the ground, and she’s not letting that go again. Not when he’s had to give up so much for them. If he can leave his job, then she can take more chances from now on.
They wrap themselves around each other in the aftermath, sighing lazily about getting up to shower or finishing up some work. But Ben drifts to sleep and Leslie lets her head rest in the crook of his shoulder, listens to him breathing, and feels like her heart might burst. She just loves him, and so much, and how did she ever convince herself that he wasn’t worth the risk?
She settles a leg between his and decides to let him sleep for a little while longer. She has two whole weeks of suspension to remind him she loves him.
---
Leslie’s not sure which is worse; being convinced your political career is over before it really gets to begin, or starting it back up only to have the most important person in your life take himself out of it. Losing a dream made her feel terrible, but Ben won’t let himself stand by her side as she fights to get it back, and it’s killing her.
Her friends are wonderful. Her favorite people in the world, really. And she loves working with them, watching them come together, sharing another part of her life. She’s learning that a simple grassroots campaign with the people she loves is the better choice by far, and nothing can compare to the energy she gets when Ann makes a political move, or April does something helpful, or Andy does something right.
But Ben’s convinced her that he’s poison, and while she understands... god, she still wants him in this with her. She’s so proud to see him exploring his options, learning more about what he wants his future to be and trying out things he’s always wanted to do. But there’s an empty seat for him that he’d fit into perfectly, but he keeps punishing himself.
And it’s not like Leslie hates being paid attention to in bed, because, god, that part’s been awesome. But she wants him to feel awesome too, and she can tell he’s overcompensating, like every flick of his wrist or brush of his tongue is an apology, a sorry I ruined your campaign.
But he didn’t. She chose this. She decided on him. And she’d do it again.
Still, every time she bats his hand away, every time she moves to take control, she insists she doesn’t need more -- he refuses. He presses her back against the pillows and gives her more, gives her everything. So maybe he needs this. Maybe it’s something to grab on to.
Maybe he just needs time.
---
She’s daydreamed her whole life about running for office, maybe having a steamy affair with her campaign manager whom she secretly has fallen in love with, adding an edge of scandal to an otherwise prestigious campaign, where she of course wins and gets to have victory sex with her manager (and maybe they get walked in on and discovered, but maybe not, she can’t yet decide if that’s sexy or creepy).
But now, laying back in bed with Ben, telling him tales of slipping on ice and watching a town legend crash and burn, she decides the details could be easily refined. The affair doesn’t have to be that at all, and she can already love her campaign manager. And they can work together and hopefully, down the line, still have awesome victory sex, after cleaning up the already present scandal and winning this thing together.
Maybe he’ll still harbour some weird obsession with clay men and Italian food, but she likes seeing him with a clipboard much more. He’s already brimming with ideas and ways to spin the scandal and it’s only been a few hours since he even agreed. His eyes are lighting up again, and not just at her, but at doing something, at the idea of making a difference. She didn’t realize how much she missed that.
Andy and April loudly crash something, off in some other corner of the house, but she just wraps herself tighter around Ben, so excited to jump into the deep end with him, to kick this campaign into high gear and get to hold his hand every step of the way.
And there’s something undeniably awesome and sexy and perfect about feeling him shiver against her as she whispers campaign manager into his ear.
“We shouldn’t be doing this while you run for office, Miss Knope,” he grins cheekily as she moves over him, his hands gripping her tightly as ever. “It could cause a scandal.”
“Watching you manage my campaign is too much to handle,” she says in a breathy voice, and they both giggle.
author:
shornt
pairing: Leslie/Ben
rating: hard R/NC-17
words: ~2300
notes: I can't lie -- this was a struggle. A count of bad timing regarding personal anxiety, stress at work, and a vacation to Disney World. So I'm posting this from my hotel room with an apology; I'm really sorry this isn't better. But I managed to write a lot of this just now in the morning, so I at least have more than one scene for y'all. But I feel awful for likely letting everyone down a bit :( I planned on collaborating much more with jncar, who's half is amazing and I'm definitely not worthy of being paired alongside it, but I didn't have it in me. Apologies to her as well, and everyone better read and comment the hell out of her fic.
Leslie’s heard people say that familiarity makes a relationship boring; that knowing your partner completely in bed makes sex less exciting. Predictability, she’s been told, is the relationship killer.
She’s never disagreed more as Ben’s palms find her hips underneath her coat, his long fingers spanning wide as he pushes her blouse up just a little in search of skin beneath.
In fact, she wonders why no one ever told her what a relief familiarity would be.
It takes a burst of icy November air creeping up her sides to bring her out of the moment. Without even thinking, she curls up under Ben’s chin, tightening her arms around him and hiding her face.
It’s exactly where she’s wanted to be for months, now. And it’s becoming harder and harder to remember why she let it go.
“You okay?” he asks gently, his palms rubbing up and down her back. She can feel it through her wool coat as much as she can hear the smile in his voice. It makes her shiver more, in a different way.
“Cold,” she mumbles, pressing her chilled nose against his neck. He yelps.
“We should probably go. Isn’t this park supposed to close at sunset? Or will you still insist on the fireworks show?”
There’s a playful gleam in his eye, but it still hits her square in the chest and suddenly she feels heavy with guilt. And she feels the immediate need to backtrack, to apologize, because that is exactly what she knows she needs to stop, and oh god what if she never gets a hold on herself and she just acts on impulses and spite and emotion and steamrolls everyone in her path and . . .
“Ben, I’m--”
“Stop,” he interrupts gently, punctuating with a kiss at the corner of her lips. “It’s okay.”
“Maybe we should talk?” she offers, but her legs root her to the spot. She’s afraid to move. What if that breaks the spell?
But he just slips his hand into hers with a smile and nods his head toward his car.
Her knee doesn’t sit still as he drives them, silently, to her house. This is a lot at once, and she’s still reeling over the fact that she even spoke up, even gave him the option. She’s tried so hard not to miss him, so hard that she didn’t realize her effort to keep him in her life was hurting him. She’s never wanted to hurt him, and it kills her that she did. She hates everything she did, and by the time they pull into her driveway, she’s on a pretty deep shame spiral.
He switches off the engine of his car, and they sit. Neither moves or says anything. Leslie isn’t even sure what Ben’s doing, because all she can think is that she’s gonna hurt him again and why is he here and maybe this isn’t worth the chance and this is dumber than lobbying against her own tiny park to keep him around and why is he going along with this?
“Something’s wrong,” he states, and she jumps at the intrusion of his voice.
“No!” she answers quickly, fidgeting. “I’m just, I mean, this is a little crazy, and--”
“You don’t want to?” He reaches over to her hand, takes it gently in between his own. His brow is furrowed in that way, like he’s hiding what this means to him, and she’s so scared to make another move, to say anything else. Anything could make this one big mess again.
“I want to.” With the car off, her breath rises in an icy mist in front of her, keeping the words there before fading away. “But why do you? Ben, I’ve--”
“We have a lot to talk about,” he interrupts, squeezing her fingers. “But maybe we should do that tomorrow. I want to, Leslie, so badly. Right now, let’s just get out of the cold?”
He manages to tug her out the car and up to her door, where she fumbles with her keys because he won’t stop touching her. And somehow in the time it takes for her to close the door behind them, Ben’s undone her jacket and presses her against the door, hands spanning her ribcage while his mouth is relentless on hers.
This is really, really reckless. His car’s in her driveway for the world to see and she’s pulling his shirt up in her foyer. But he seems just as desperate as she is, and she realizes that they both need a little extra right now, because this thing... she’s still not sure what it is. But it’s fragile and they’ve both suffered and now that they’re here, she just wants to make him feel better, and she doesn’t want to feel anything but him, so she pushes as hard as he does, and they end up in a weird state of half-undressed within minutes.
“Ow!” she shrieks when he accidentally backs her into the door knob after her coat hits the ground and her blouse lays unbuttoned against her chest. And then Ben’s kneeling down, kissing the red mark on her skin, slowly drawing down the zipper of her slacks, and okay she doesn’t want to steamroll so she’s just gonna let him do his thing and ignore the fact that she feels like her knees might buckle when he slides his fingers under the waistband of her underwear.
“Your legs are shaking,” he notes, standing back up and taking her face in his hands, kissing her and pressing, pressing pressing her back into the door. “Bedroom?”
They’re both completely naked by the time her back hits the sheets and she lets him tower over her, lets him settle between her thighs and kiss down her neck as she fists the sheets. She’s used to taking charge, to pushing him where he needs to be, to covering his body with hers. But now’s the time to swallow that down. This is Ben’s time to assert himself, and her turn to be vulnerable, and it’s overwhelming and terrifying and she doesn’t know what to do.
Ben’s arms wrap around her thighs, and crap, she didn’t even notice he was down there now. His nose brushes just under her belly button and she squeezes her eyes shut.
“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly, following it with a gentle kiss on her stomach. And really, it feels like the millionth time he’s asked tonight, and even though a lot’s happened in the last hour, really, what’s wrong with her?
“I want to let you-- just, I can’t steamroll, and-- I don’t know how?”
He gets a funny look on his face: part concerned, part amused. He kisses her skin again, where her hip meets her thigh, and she gasps, fists the sheets tighter.
“Still touch me,” he urges, and she lets a fist clench in his hair instead. “That’s better.”
And it’s amazing when his tongue finally drifts low enough, as it always was. He holds her hips down against the mattress and she tries her hardest to let go, to relax and enjoy him enjoying her. He’s sighing and and insistent, sucking and lapping and fucking her with his tongue, like he can’t get enough, even after her fingers pull at his hair hard as she finishes, and holy crap she just needs him on her, inside her, around her, but he keeps devouring like he’s lost in her, and now both her hands are in his hair and crap--
“Ben,” she gasps, tugging up even as her hips continue to rock against his mouth. But he takes the hint and stretches out over her, and she can feel him rub against her and she wraps legs around him.
When he finally pulls himself from her breasts long enough to push inside her, it’s insane how perfect it feels. It’s sloppy and not coordinated at first, like they have to get used to each others’ bodies again. But his hands are familiar and she nearly forgot the face he makes when he’s so, so lost in the thrusting. She’s usually so impatient that she flips him over after just a few minutes of this, but he nudges her legs a bit farther up and hits her in this place, and she can’t actually remember that happening before, and maybe she should have let him have his way before because holy shit.
“Ben,” she gasps, fingers pulling at his hair, his neck, his back, anywhere she can reach.
And somehow that’s enough for him to get confident enough to sit up on his knees, holding the backs of her thighs with a wild glint in his eye and everything starts getting a little blurry, a little uneven, and before she even knows it he’s there, pumping erratically and coming hard inside her, and it’s enough to bring her over with him, and she has to squeeze her eyes shut as he collapses next to her, a sweaty arm strewn across her stomach.
“Well,” he mumbles into her shoulder, still gasping for air. “I guess there’s no turning back now.”
“Not that you wanted to?” she asks more than states, her voice small. He fits his forehead into the curve of her neck.
“Nope.”
After a few minutes of sleepy silence, they move to clean up and get ready to sleep. And Leslie actually can feel the sleep creeping up behind her eyes, is so physically and mentally exhausted. It’s been a roller coaster day, and she barely has the energy to pull an old, faded t-shirt on before collapsing next to Ben in bed.
“Oh,” he says, his face screwing up in confusion. His fingers reach out and tug along the neckline of the shirt. “I was wondering what happened to this”
She holds out the shirt to read it upside-down. I met Li’l Sebastian at the Pawnee Harvest Festival.
They both smile.
“I’m glad you kept it.”
She curls up against him, drifts off to the feeling of his hand under her shirt, rubbing circles on her back.
---
After the words are out in the open, repeated in their own voices instead of Ethel’s, it slows them down, no less clingy but way more careful. She cradles him between her thighs until he insists on rolling over, his hands never leaving her hips, his mouth never ceasing against hers. It’s hazy and unrushed and she can’t stop whispering the words more and more, and every time he smiles like it’s the first time and she hopes that’ll never go away.
Everything else in her life is now up in the air, but Ben’s helping tether some part of herself to the ground, and she’s not letting that go again. Not when he’s had to give up so much for them. If he can leave his job, then she can take more chances from now on.
They wrap themselves around each other in the aftermath, sighing lazily about getting up to shower or finishing up some work. But Ben drifts to sleep and Leslie lets her head rest in the crook of his shoulder, listens to him breathing, and feels like her heart might burst. She just loves him, and so much, and how did she ever convince herself that he wasn’t worth the risk?
She settles a leg between his and decides to let him sleep for a little while longer. She has two whole weeks of suspension to remind him she loves him.
---
Leslie’s not sure which is worse; being convinced your political career is over before it really gets to begin, or starting it back up only to have the most important person in your life take himself out of it. Losing a dream made her feel terrible, but Ben won’t let himself stand by her side as she fights to get it back, and it’s killing her.
Her friends are wonderful. Her favorite people in the world, really. And she loves working with them, watching them come together, sharing another part of her life. She’s learning that a simple grassroots campaign with the people she loves is the better choice by far, and nothing can compare to the energy she gets when Ann makes a political move, or April does something helpful, or Andy does something right.
But Ben’s convinced her that he’s poison, and while she understands... god, she still wants him in this with her. She’s so proud to see him exploring his options, learning more about what he wants his future to be and trying out things he’s always wanted to do. But there’s an empty seat for him that he’d fit into perfectly, but he keeps punishing himself.
And it’s not like Leslie hates being paid attention to in bed, because, god, that part’s been awesome. But she wants him to feel awesome too, and she can tell he’s overcompensating, like every flick of his wrist or brush of his tongue is an apology, a sorry I ruined your campaign.
But he didn’t. She chose this. She decided on him. And she’d do it again.
Still, every time she bats his hand away, every time she moves to take control, she insists she doesn’t need more -- he refuses. He presses her back against the pillows and gives her more, gives her everything. So maybe he needs this. Maybe it’s something to grab on to.
Maybe he just needs time.
---
She’s daydreamed her whole life about running for office, maybe having a steamy affair with her campaign manager whom she secretly has fallen in love with, adding an edge of scandal to an otherwise prestigious campaign, where she of course wins and gets to have victory sex with her manager (and maybe they get walked in on and discovered, but maybe not, she can’t yet decide if that’s sexy or creepy).
But now, laying back in bed with Ben, telling him tales of slipping on ice and watching a town legend crash and burn, she decides the details could be easily refined. The affair doesn’t have to be that at all, and she can already love her campaign manager. And they can work together and hopefully, down the line, still have awesome victory sex, after cleaning up the already present scandal and winning this thing together.
Maybe he’ll still harbour some weird obsession with clay men and Italian food, but she likes seeing him with a clipboard much more. He’s already brimming with ideas and ways to spin the scandal and it’s only been a few hours since he even agreed. His eyes are lighting up again, and not just at her, but at doing something, at the idea of making a difference. She didn’t realize how much she missed that.
Andy and April loudly crash something, off in some other corner of the house, but she just wraps herself tighter around Ben, so excited to jump into the deep end with him, to kick this campaign into high gear and get to hold his hand every step of the way.
And there’s something undeniably awesome and sexy and perfect about feeling him shiver against her as she whispers campaign manager into his ear.
“We shouldn’t be doing this while you run for office, Miss Knope,” he grins cheekily as she moves over him, his hands gripping her tightly as ever. “It could cause a scandal.”
“Watching you manage my campaign is too much to handle,” she says in a breathy voice, and they both giggle.