fic: In Uniform, leslie/ben, r/nc17
title: In Uniform
pairing: Leslie/Ben
rating: Hard R? Light NC17? That range
words: ~1300
notes: Some post-Women In Garbage smut. This was almost exclusively written at 4am, and I'm a bit rusty as it is, so... bear with me. Uhh it's really just smut. Hope that's cool. Thank you for early morning confirmation that this was not garbage and also for the prompt, americnxidiot.
Leslie gets home late at night, bright eyed and full of pride, throwing back her shoulders as she locks the door behind her, bright orange vest shining...
Bright orange vest?
“Did you keep the garbage uniform?” he mumbles from the couch, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. CNN plays quietly in the background, just as comforting and dry as when he fell asleep waiting for her.
“I did it!” she practically cackles, and he feels his mouth twist into a smile instinctually. “Showed those chauvinistic pigs who’s boss.” She tries rolling up the sleeves of the jumpsuit like a pro, only to have the large cuffs pool back over her wrists.
“Why are you wearing that, still?”
He can’t stop looking at the uniform, which is weird, because it features some questionable stains and is about three sizes too big on his petite fiance. But if anyone’s smile can outshine bright neon, it’s Leslie, with strands of her pinned-up hair starting to fall against her neck. She starts undoing the vest and heads toward the stairs, and suddenly he’s much more awake than he was two seconds ago.
“I’ll just get it off, give me a second--”
“Wait.”
She looks at him, a puzzled smile overtaking her face. The muted green of the jumpsuit strangely brings out the blue of her eyes, and wow, is he really attracted to Leslie as a sanitation worker?
“You look...” He trails off because he’s not sure how to end that sentence. But she squares her shoulders and suddenly her eyes are hooded and yep, he’s hard up for a garbage lady.
To be fair, Leslie would be perfect being this proud of anything.
“Really?” she teases, and starts pulling off the vest. “This is doing it for you?”
“I don’t get it either,” he admits. But as he approaches, he really can’t help but flinch on an inhale. “Though it certainly comes with an interesting smell.”
Leslie sniffs the air around her.
“I think I’m used to it now.”
“Hmm.” Ben keeps a respectable distance. He can admire from afar, even if his hands are itching to unpin her curls and run his fingers through them and tug a little.
“I’ll hop in the shower.”
She throws the vest at his face as she sprints up the stairs, and has the decency not to laugh when he yelps and flails until the vest hits the floor. He doesn’t love the suit that much.
“That could be toxic,” he whines. Leslie’s only answer is to grin seductively from the top of the staircase and start unbuttoning the jumpsuit as she disappears down the hall.
He gives her til the water’s turned on before he slips through the bathroom door. The air’s already slightly humid, but she left the uniform behind on the floor of the bedroom (he carefully sidesteps it) and it already smells sweet with the scent of her shampoo.
“Took you long enough,” she grouses as he sheds his boxers and carefully gets in the shower behind her. They’ve had some close calls in here, as neither of them are known for their grace, but in the end it’s always worked out. He pouts a little as he realizes she’s already lathering the shampoo into her hair.
“I wanted to unpin your hair.”
“Next time. Help me out, here.” She smiles as he reaches up to her face, cupping her cheeks and giving her a quick peck before sliding his fingers up to her scalp, through her hair, massaging. She closes her eyes with a tiny moan and he remembers earlier diatribes she’s given on his hands. Grinning, he works the shampoo down through the strands as her hands start wandering, sliding down his chest and up his back and over his shoulders. When his palms start pressing gently down her neck, her fingernails tease down to his hipbones, darting away as soon as he twitches.
“Not fair.”
She just winks and removes herself from his embrace, rinsing out the suds in the water. His eyes follow the trail of bubbles down her neck, between her breasts, over the curve of her hips. He grabs a bar of soap and lets his hands follow their example.
It’s not long before they’re both so worked up that he’s got her pressed against the cool tile, her conditioner somehow smeared over his chest rather than her hair, her calf gingerly lifting to wrap around his leg.
“Should I take out the trash more often?” she gasps against his skin when his hands venture south, slipping over wet skin and beginning to caress.
“Nah. You smell a lot nicer now,” he answers, pressing his nose against her neck and inhaling. She pinches his side but catches him before he almost slips. It presses him harder into her and her harder against the wall, which seems preferable right now, as she reaches between them and starts running her hand up and down his cock, squeezing just right.
“Ah, not the average garbage woman, I see.” It’s barely roleplay, though he’s not sure he really wants to commit to a garbage fantasy.
“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve,” she plays along, craning her neck up to kiss his earlobe. “Besides proving men wrong and generally saving the day.” And of all things, it’s this that makes his cock surge in her hand, that makes his fingers slip deep inside her.
He just loves this brilliant, crazed, passionate woman, whether she’s wearing a sanitation suit or a blazer or nothing. And he just wants to keep making sure she knows that, wants her to know that he loves her even when she’s pulling off far fetched schemes to prove her (usually correct) points.
Pretty soon she’s panting and groping with more urgency, a hand now in her favorite position on his ass, and he hoists her more securely against the wall and tries to shake the oncoming water from his eyes as he lines things up. That first press into her is, as always, enough to take his breath away, so he squeezes her thigh against his hip and sighs.
“Love you,” she whispers, kissing the corner of his mouth as her arms wrap around his shoulders.
It’s always sloppier in here, hands desperately seeking purchase on slick skin, rhythms being affected by how secure their feet feel against the floor of the tub. When she starts sliding down the wall he moves away, despite her protest, and shuts the shower off. Water always seems like a good idea, but things tend to end better elsewhere.
They finish on a towel next to the bathtub, Leslie moving above him as he’s hypnotized by the circle of her hips, the tickle of her fingers on his chest, the drops of water that fall from the tips of her hair. He slides a hand between their bodies; it’s all he can do to keep up with her, as usual, as he hopes it always will be.
She frantically reaches for his hand, entwining their fingers and squeezes with a loud cry, and he’d be a damn fool not to follow suit.
They lay in a damp heap on the floor of the bathroom, which is probably a little gross but definitely not as gross as that jumpsuit.
“We should probably burn that,” he notes when she brings it up, wondering what to do with it now.
“It belongs to the sanitation department,” she chides, but follows it with a lazy kiss to his jaw. “But yeah, it’s going to the cleaners.”
And it’s even later now, well past midnight, and he knows he should be trying to coax her to bed. But he just tangles his legs with hers and smiles, running his fingers through her drying hair.
pairing: Leslie/Ben
rating: Hard R? Light NC17? That range
words: ~1300
notes: Some post-Women In Garbage smut. This was almost exclusively written at 4am, and I'm a bit rusty as it is, so... bear with me. Uhh it's really just smut. Hope that's cool. Thank you for early morning confirmation that this was not garbage and also for the prompt, americnxidiot.
Leslie gets home late at night, bright eyed and full of pride, throwing back her shoulders as she locks the door behind her, bright orange vest shining...
Bright orange vest?
“Did you keep the garbage uniform?” he mumbles from the couch, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. CNN plays quietly in the background, just as comforting and dry as when he fell asleep waiting for her.
“I did it!” she practically cackles, and he feels his mouth twist into a smile instinctually. “Showed those chauvinistic pigs who’s boss.” She tries rolling up the sleeves of the jumpsuit like a pro, only to have the large cuffs pool back over her wrists.
“Why are you wearing that, still?”
He can’t stop looking at the uniform, which is weird, because it features some questionable stains and is about three sizes too big on his petite fiance. But if anyone’s smile can outshine bright neon, it’s Leslie, with strands of her pinned-up hair starting to fall against her neck. She starts undoing the vest and heads toward the stairs, and suddenly he’s much more awake than he was two seconds ago.
“I’ll just get it off, give me a second--”
“Wait.”
She looks at him, a puzzled smile overtaking her face. The muted green of the jumpsuit strangely brings out the blue of her eyes, and wow, is he really attracted to Leslie as a sanitation worker?
“You look...” He trails off because he’s not sure how to end that sentence. But she squares her shoulders and suddenly her eyes are hooded and yep, he’s hard up for a garbage lady.
To be fair, Leslie would be perfect being this proud of anything.
“Really?” she teases, and starts pulling off the vest. “This is doing it for you?”
“I don’t get it either,” he admits. But as he approaches, he really can’t help but flinch on an inhale. “Though it certainly comes with an interesting smell.”
Leslie sniffs the air around her.
“I think I’m used to it now.”
“Hmm.” Ben keeps a respectable distance. He can admire from afar, even if his hands are itching to unpin her curls and run his fingers through them and tug a little.
“I’ll hop in the shower.”
She throws the vest at his face as she sprints up the stairs, and has the decency not to laugh when he yelps and flails until the vest hits the floor. He doesn’t love the suit that much.
“That could be toxic,” he whines. Leslie’s only answer is to grin seductively from the top of the staircase and start unbuttoning the jumpsuit as she disappears down the hall.
He gives her til the water’s turned on before he slips through the bathroom door. The air’s already slightly humid, but she left the uniform behind on the floor of the bedroom (he carefully sidesteps it) and it already smells sweet with the scent of her shampoo.
“Took you long enough,” she grouses as he sheds his boxers and carefully gets in the shower behind her. They’ve had some close calls in here, as neither of them are known for their grace, but in the end it’s always worked out. He pouts a little as he realizes she’s already lathering the shampoo into her hair.
“I wanted to unpin your hair.”
“Next time. Help me out, here.” She smiles as he reaches up to her face, cupping her cheeks and giving her a quick peck before sliding his fingers up to her scalp, through her hair, massaging. She closes her eyes with a tiny moan and he remembers earlier diatribes she’s given on his hands. Grinning, he works the shampoo down through the strands as her hands start wandering, sliding down his chest and up his back and over his shoulders. When his palms start pressing gently down her neck, her fingernails tease down to his hipbones, darting away as soon as he twitches.
“Not fair.”
She just winks and removes herself from his embrace, rinsing out the suds in the water. His eyes follow the trail of bubbles down her neck, between her breasts, over the curve of her hips. He grabs a bar of soap and lets his hands follow their example.
It’s not long before they’re both so worked up that he’s got her pressed against the cool tile, her conditioner somehow smeared over his chest rather than her hair, her calf gingerly lifting to wrap around his leg.
“Should I take out the trash more often?” she gasps against his skin when his hands venture south, slipping over wet skin and beginning to caress.
“Nah. You smell a lot nicer now,” he answers, pressing his nose against her neck and inhaling. She pinches his side but catches him before he almost slips. It presses him harder into her and her harder against the wall, which seems preferable right now, as she reaches between them and starts running her hand up and down his cock, squeezing just right.
“Ah, not the average garbage woman, I see.” It’s barely roleplay, though he’s not sure he really wants to commit to a garbage fantasy.
“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve,” she plays along, craning her neck up to kiss his earlobe. “Besides proving men wrong and generally saving the day.” And of all things, it’s this that makes his cock surge in her hand, that makes his fingers slip deep inside her.
He just loves this brilliant, crazed, passionate woman, whether she’s wearing a sanitation suit or a blazer or nothing. And he just wants to keep making sure she knows that, wants her to know that he loves her even when she’s pulling off far fetched schemes to prove her (usually correct) points.
Pretty soon she’s panting and groping with more urgency, a hand now in her favorite position on his ass, and he hoists her more securely against the wall and tries to shake the oncoming water from his eyes as he lines things up. That first press into her is, as always, enough to take his breath away, so he squeezes her thigh against his hip and sighs.
“Love you,” she whispers, kissing the corner of his mouth as her arms wrap around his shoulders.
It’s always sloppier in here, hands desperately seeking purchase on slick skin, rhythms being affected by how secure their feet feel against the floor of the tub. When she starts sliding down the wall he moves away, despite her protest, and shuts the shower off. Water always seems like a good idea, but things tend to end better elsewhere.
They finish on a towel next to the bathtub, Leslie moving above him as he’s hypnotized by the circle of her hips, the tickle of her fingers on his chest, the drops of water that fall from the tips of her hair. He slides a hand between their bodies; it’s all he can do to keep up with her, as usual, as he hopes it always will be.
She frantically reaches for his hand, entwining their fingers and squeezes with a loud cry, and he’d be a damn fool not to follow suit.
They lay in a damp heap on the floor of the bathroom, which is probably a little gross but definitely not as gross as that jumpsuit.
“We should probably burn that,” he notes when she brings it up, wondering what to do with it now.
“It belongs to the sanitation department,” she chides, but follows it with a lazy kiss to his jaw. “But yeah, it’s going to the cleaners.”
And it’s even later now, well past midnight, and he knows he should be trying to coax her to bed. But he just tangles his legs with hers and smiles, running his fingers through her drying hair.