Tumblr Roundup Four
Latest batch of fic I wrote on tumblr first.
Untitled - April returns the items in Leslie's pantsuit pockets.
Brainwashing - Ben and Leslie working a late night before the Harvest Festival
Even the Sky - Ben/Leslie engagement fic
Messages - Leslie tells her mom about her wedding
Better than a Dream - Ben/Leslie, post-wedding
Sunday - Leslie attempts to sleep in
Triathlon - Chris organizes a triathlon (season 3)
Interference - April tries to get Ben and Leslie together (during The Fight)
August - Ben/Leslie smut (rated R)
Untitled
”Don’t worry,” says April-and really, there’s nothing to worry about now that she’s spared both Leslie and the world from this horrific pantsuit, “I saved what was in the pockets.”
“The pockets?” Ben shoots a look at Leslie that Leslie pointedly ignores. “That wasn’t a new suit, was it?”
April assumes that’s a rhetorical question. No one is listening to Ben anyway. Leslie looks too hopeful, even for her, and April can’t help smirking as she hands over the ticket and condom wrapper. Provoking Leslie is fun for the same reason provoking Ben is-they’re both grossly expressive of their emotions-and she delights in the way Leslie’s face blanches the moment she notices the wrapper. Immediately, she tries to stuff both relics into the back pocket of her jeans, only for Ben to make an unexpected grab to stop her.
“Leslie-” Leslie twists out of his reach, cramming both items into her pocket. “You’re pocket hoarding again.”
“That’s not really a thing.”
Ben raises an eyebrow as he catches Leslie around the waist, reaching around and slipping his hand over her ass to get at her back pocket. Leslie’s rambling protests kind of get swept away in the process. (“It’s not like that time with my coat, I swear. Besides, it’s not really that unusual to keep stuff in your pocket, wouldn’t your wallet agree, Benjamin? And I promise I’m going to throw it out. It won’t be like last weekend when that packet of tissues went through the washing machine. And how do we know this is really my stuff anyway?”)
“What is it?” asks Andy as Ben finally extracts the ticket and the wrapper.
“It’s a candy condom wrapper,” April supplies, mostly because Ben’s eyes bug out of his head at the sight of it, and he immediately tries to pocket the evidence as well. Andy gasps, clearly both surprised and fascinated, and April disinterestedly studies her nails. “I didn’t think those were effective, Leslie.”
“They’re not-That is, we’re not-” stutters Ben.
“No,” says Leslie. “I mean, what Ben’s trying to say-uh-well, as birth control they’re not really-but for other things-I just mean that candy can be a delicious-That is, some people find the taste makes them less inhibited and more vigorous when doing…certain things.”
April suppresses a grin; Ben has gone red in a way that suggests what Leslie’s saying isn’t foreign to him, and it’s a hilarious new level of discomfort on him. It goes perfectly with Leslie’s own stuttered embarrassment, and really, this is the kind of thing people should cite when they talk about compatibility.
“I totally get it,” says Andy knowledgeably. “Candy is awesome. Blow jobs are awesome. Together, they’re even more awesome.”
“Yeah,” says Leslie, not quite able to make eye contact. “Uh-something like that.”
“Plus this totally explains that time I heard you talking about cotton candy during sex.”
Ben lets out a strangled sound, and Leslie gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before snatching the condom wrapper out of his hand and tossing it onto the burning pantsuit. “Right,” she says, not quite living up to her usual businesslike tone. “Well, uh, we have lunch to get back to, so-”
Ben grabs her hand and leads her back inside before Leslie can finish the thought.
“Bag of candy condoms as a wedding present,” says Andy. “I call it!”
*****
Brainwashing
Night used to be one of Leslie’s favorite times to be in City Hall. There was something comforting about being alone in the Parks Department, like she could feel the history of the building in the quiet. However unintended her declaration of the building’s feelings to Ben, she thought it might be accurate; a place that’s held this many people making so many important decisions was bound to absorb some humanity. During her many late-night work sessions over the years, it was easy to be aware of that.
That was all still true, of course, but something about being alone in the building now made her a little sad. Residual melancholia from the government shutdown, she thought, when isolation was not a symptom of her hard work but of failure. Sometimes it was hard to remember that it was over, that everyone was back to work, and that she was in the middle of a career-changing project. As she left the bathroom, she found herself hurrying toward the beacon of light coming from the Parks Department, eager to get back to her work and her and Ben’s seemingly endless debate over how many cotton candy machines they needed for the Harvest Festival, to forget the eeriness she felt alone in the darkened hallway.
That had taken some getting used to. Ben, that is. Ben insisting on staying late with her and helping her work and ordering take-out when she forgot to stop and eat dinner. Those first couple of nights she found herself pausing every so often to stare at him, caught in some ambivalent mix of wonder and gratitude and confusion. She wasn’t used to anyone matching her level of commitment-maybe even exceeding it, as this wasn’t part of Ben’s job description-and as natural as their work rhythms had become, it still caught her off guard at times.
Mostly, though, she was glad. Glad she had Ben to keep her company; glad they were working together; glad she didn’t have to wait to finagle compromises with him. That was a huge added bonus, really. It wasted a lot less time than planning herself and then having to haggle and re-plan the following day.
Also, she had discovered that Ben was much easier to wear down this late at night.
Another bonus.
She reentered the department with a list of reasons Ben was wrong about the cotton candy machines on the tip of her tongue, ready to fight him down until he conceded defeat, but she only got out, “So I was thinking-” when she stopped short.
He’d crapped out on her.
She was a little aghast by the sight: Ben, head down on the table, mouth opened as he breathed deeply (god, she hoped he wasn’t drooling on her binder), fast asleep. It was only ten thirty. They’d barely made a dent tonight, and he was already asleep? It was outrageous. And annoying. Really annoying, actually, seeing that she’d been about to win her argument, and what right did he have to pass out on the table looking all kinds of adorable as he slept?
She sighed, tiptoeing closer and sitting down next to him. She should probably wake him up, right? After all, his cheek was on her binder and she needed that to finish what she’d started and it was still early…Could he really be that tired?
What did Ann always say to her? Not everyone is up all night, Leslie. Some people need sleep, Leslie. Please don’t call me at 3am, Leslie.
Right. So maybe he was tired.
And he looked so sweet and innocent lying there sleeping.
And it was possible to get into people’s subconscious minds when they were sleeping, right?
She stood and leaned over him, bringing her lips close to ear. He smelled good. Really good. Much better than anyone had the right to smell after working all day. Damn it. Focus, Leslie. “The festival needs ten cotton candy machines,” she whispered, pulling back a bit as the tip of her nose brushed his hair. “Any less than ten would be a disaster on par with the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius. There must be at least ten cotton candy machines.”
Ben didn’t stir. She’d kind of expected him to mutter it under her breath, like someone in a trance. How was she supposed to know it was working? “Did you get that?” she asked a little louder. “Ten cotton candy machines.”
She sat down again, accidentally on purpose jostling Ben a bit as she did, and his eyes slowly blinked open. His gaze settled on her, a soft, tired smile spreading across his face, and something in her stomach did a flip-flop.
“Nice nap?” she asked as Ben sat up, rubbing his eyes and stretching his neck. His hands ran up through his hair, mussing it terribly, and she had the most ridiculous urge to fix it. God-maybe she was tired too. “Have any changes of heart about how many cotton candy machines we need?”
“What? I thought we settled on five.”
“You don’t think ten sounds more reasonable?”
“No.”
“Ugh,” she groaned. “You can’t even be properly brainwashed.”
Ben raised an eyebrow, still staring at her all sleepy and confused and stupidly cute, and said, “Were you trying to brainwash me?”
“No. No, that’s ridiculous. Let’s just get back to work.”
“Leslie-”
“Fine. Maybe I tried it a little.”
“Leslie.” He reached out and caught her hand as she gestured a bit too enthusiastically. Slowly, he lowered both their hands to the table, squeezing hers a bit. “Maybe it’s time to call it a night. Get a halfway decent night’s sleep for once.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to protest. To complain that there was too much to do-there was!-and they were nearing the finish line here and how could he lose steam now? But he was still holding her hand, looking at her all soft and pleading, and she had the vaguely pleasant notion that if she protested, he’d stay here with her no matter how tired he was.
His dedication to the festival was pretty astounding sometimes.
But he probably needed sleep. And he’d done so much for her, she could give him this tonight.
“Okay,” she agreed, running her thumb against his skin and then dropping his hand. “You’re right. Let’s go home.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah. Let’s get you to bed. Us to bed. You to your bed and me to mine.” God, what was wrong with her brain?
Ben nodded, standing and starting to clear the table. “This way we’ll be able to look at the whole thing with fresh eyes tomorrow.”
She smiled to herself, picking up her binder and holding it to her chest, feeling that totally awesome combination of being sneaky and doing something nice. After all, he didn’t know she’d probably work at home for a few more hours.
And what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
*****
Even the Sky
“What are you doing out here?”
Ben wraps his arms across his chest, running his hands over his arms in a lame attempt to keep from shivering. It’s been a rather mild autumn, but there’s no denying the coming of winter as he stands on the back porch in the middle of the night. Leslie is curled up on her glider, cheeks pink from the cold, and she tips her head to smile at him. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I was. I think the empty bed woke me up. Les, it’s freezing out here.”
She unfolds the blanket that is wrapped around her shoulders, gesturing for him to join her, and he somewhat reluctantly gives in. He’d much prefer to go back inside, climb into bed with her and hold her close. Immediately, she curls into his side, resting her head on his shoulder as he adjusts the blanket around them. His bare feet stick out and he’s sure they’ll be frozen in a matter of minutes, but when she sighs contentedly and finds his hand beneath the blanket, any complaint dies on his tongue. “I think you’d be used to sleeping alone after all this time,” she teases.
“You’ve spoiled me.”
“Hmm. I am overindulgent, aren’t I?”
He grins-hasn’t been able to stop all day and thinks maybe he never will-as he presses a kiss to the top of her head. “You couldn’t sleep?”
“Are you kidding? I’m too…”
“Excited?”
“Yeah. Excited, ecstatic, anxious, thrilled. I might not sleep for a month. We’re getting married!”
“Shh,” he hushes, though just hearing those words from her mouth makes him feel like he’s free-falling; they’ve already had one noise complaint tonight, though. He doesn’t need another confrontation with her next door neighbor.
She shrugs-he has a feeling she wouldn’t care if she woke up the world tonight-and lifts her head to look at him. “Isn’t it weird?”
“What?”
“This. This whole thing. This feeling. I just-I guess I didn’t realize that I would be this happy when you proposed.”
“Um-”
“Not that I thought I wouldn’t be happy,” she hurries to clarify. “It’s just that we’d already talked about moving in together, and I’ve known for a long time now that I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you…” She trails off, lifting her head to look at him, and he’s pretty certain he’s going to burst from just feeling too much of everything for her. “Getting engaged didn’t change any of those things I already knew, but somehow I’m even happier than I was before. I mean, did you think-”
He kisses her before she can finish the thought. It’s too much. Everything she’s saying; everything he feels; the way she looks with her curls mussed and her eyes so bright in the moonlight. Kissing her is the only way he can begin to release everything aching inside of him. She leans into him, their blanket falling away as she lifts one hand to his cheek, but he barely notices the cold. He brushes his nose against hers as he pulls back, holding her close as their breath meets and dissolves in the chilly night air.
“If I had known that asking you to marry me would make me the happiest I’ve ever been, I would have asked you the day we met.”
She laughs, a contagious sound that makes a chuckle bubble out of his own chest, and then gives him another quick kiss. “If I had known, I would have said yes.”
She pulls back to rest against him again, tugging the blanket back up around her shoulder as he begins to slowly rock the glider back and forth. It’s a brilliantly clear night, the stars and moon bright in the sky, and Ben suddenly understands why she had to come out here. That the endless night sky is the only canvas big enough to contain her right now.
“Just think what it’ll be like when we actually get married.”
He squeezes her hand, knowing that whatever he imagines won’t come close to the beautiful reality.
When that day finally comes, not even the sky will be enough to hold them.
*****
Messages
Message received at 9:29pm
Hey, Mom. It’s Leslie. Your daughter. Damn, I was really hoping you’d answer your phone. But you’re probably off enjoying the many amenities of the cruise ship and not thinking about cell phones or people making huge life decisions. Right? I mean, it’s not like all the power went off on the ship and you’re at a standstill in the middle of the ocean, or pirates attacked, or you hit some kind of freak Caribbean iceberg and sunk-I know that’s not possible, Ann, but everyone said the Titanic was unsinkable too-
Message received at 9:33pm
Hey, Mom. It’s me, Leslie, again. Sorry. Lots of heightened emotions here tonight. Also, I forgot that you told me calls are expensive on a cruise ship, so you’re probably not answering your phone. But big things are happening. Colossally big. A spontaneous but thoroughly sound decision has been made, and I know you’re not here, but I wanted you to hear about it from me. You know we had that gala tonight, and it went off without a hitch even though everything leading up to it was an absolute disaster and I had to destroy the town just to be there. But the point is that we raised enough money for the park, and that alone makes this the greatest night of all time-
Message received at 9:36pm
Hi. It’s me again. Ann has just reminded me that we have a lot to do, and that I can tell you the whole story when you get back. Also, your voicemail doesn’t allow sufficient time, Mom. I mean two min-Ow! Okay, Ann, I’m getting to the point. Alright, so the big news is Ben and I decided to get married. Tonight. Right after the gala ends. And we’re running around trying to get everything together and things are a little big crazy right now, but I just can’t wait anymore. I know it’s going to be perfect because it’s Ben and he’s…
Sorry, I’m just really, really happy…
Hi, Mrs. Griggs-Knope, this is Leslie’s friend, Ann. Uh-Leslie is a little emotional right now. But she wants you to know that she wishes you were here, and she can’t wait to tell you all about it. In full detail. Hope you’re having a great time.
Message received at 11:49pm
Mom, it’s Leslie. So it looks like the wedding is off. Ron punched Councilman Jamm and now he’s in jail, and I don’t know… I guess it just wasn’t meant to be tonight, even if the signs… Never mind. Okay. Well. Call me when you get this. Or when you get home, I guess, since the calls are expensive and nothing is happening now. Love you. Bye.
Message received at 4:06am
Mom, I’m married! Ben and I did it! We’re married! And it was the best wedding in the history of the universe! I couldn’t have planned a better one if we had waited ten years. Not that I could wait ten years. I couldn’t even wait three more months. God, I’m so glad we didn’t wait three more months because this was perfect and being married is…
Ben!
Yeah, I know it’s our wedding night, but it’s just a quick call…
What are you-No, it’s just a voicemail, but-
Marlene, it’s Ben. Leslie can’t talk right now. Sorry. I’m sure you understand.
*****
Better than a Dream
Time seems to slow down as Ben steps outside of City Hall. It’s that dark hour before dawn where the whole world is still asleep. The clouds have swallowed the stars and the moon, the artificial light in the parking lot barely illuminating the dusting of snow, and everything familiar has the softly blurred edges of a dream. For a moment, standing there, Ben expects the world to shift in front of his eyes; for the winter night to transform into the harsh glare of a summer day, leaving him back in a reality where he’s walking into this building for the first time, unaware of how his life is about to change forever.
He’s woken up from dreams only a fraction as perfect as this one too many times to trust that reality is this beautiful.
Leslie is still. All of her frenetic energy, her excitement, her determination, every emotion that built throughout the day plateaus into something blissfully calm. Standing there, she slips her arms into his jacket, shielding herself against the cold, and stares out at this world where nothing and everything has changed. Her happiness still radiates, a warm flame that he wants to keep close to his heart, but it’s steadier now.
She turns, just slightly, her smile greeting his, and for a second, he thinks he’d trade the rest of his life to live in this moment forever.
Only for a second, though.
Because Leslie is the rest of his life now, and he wouldn’t give that up for anything.
“Thank you.”
In this ephemeral ether, the only place where it’s possible to be this happy, the words do little to break the spell cast over them. She steps toward him and wraps her arms around his frame, and it’s only then that he realizes he’s still holding the door open. Gently, he releases it and it swings shut.
“Thank you,” she repeats, leaning in and brushing her nose against his neck. He stutters, suddenly aware that they’re really alone for the first time as husband and wife, and even though they’ve been up for nearly twenty-four hours, he wants nothing more than to make love to her right now. His hands find her waist, slipping underneath his jacket and fingering the newspaper on her skirt, and he wonders if she can sense he’s lost his comprehension of words.
“Just…thank you for today. For taking over the gala when I couldn’t, and for not giving up on our wedding. It was-This is perfect.”
One of his hands finds her cheek, still warm despite the fact that they’ve been outside at least fifteen minutes now, and he leans his forehead against hers. “I feel like I’m dreaming,” he confesses, and the fact that she laughs, this merry burst of sound against the silence surrounding them, only heightens how immeasurably lovely this is. “I’ve wanted you for so long…I’ve wanted this for so long…”
“I know,” she says, all quiet assuredness and unshaken faith, and god, he loves her so much. “Me too. But this was better than anything I could have ever hoped. Way better than a dream.”
It is, he thinks. As unreal as this night still seems, he knows his imagination pales in comparison. After all, he never could have dreamed up Leslie Knope in a thousand years, and she’s standing here, holding him now, surpassing anything he could have ever wanted.
And he never has to wake up.
*****
Sunday
Ben insists that Sundays are meant for sleeping in, a compromise that was easier to make in the winter when the clouds were out and wrapping herself around Ben in their warm bed felt a lot better than braving the chill outside. Now they’re well into March, the birds are back to their early morning songs and the sun spills across their bedspread in the morning, and Leslie finds it a little harder to ignore that. Especially since Ben is usually the only one actually sleeping
Really, considering how much time they spent in bed on their honeymoon, Ben can’t fault her now for wanting to catch up with the rest of the world this Sunday.
“New compromise,” she murmurs, moving the dead weight of his arm from where it wends around her and placing it on his chest. “I’ll work in bed while you sleep.”
Ben just continues sleeping, mouth slightly parted, chest rising and falling with each breath, and maybe she can’t help but kiss the tip of his nose before she gets out of bed. The wedding scrapbook she’s making for her mom is right down the hall, supplies stored in an obsessively organized box, and it isn’t hard to sneak back to bed with them.
It’s more difficult not to take over the whole bed as she spreads out pages and pictures and card stock. But Ben’s a pretty still sleeper, and he doesn’t seem to mind when she invades his side of the bed a little.
Or a lot.
She kind of doesn’t realize until he starts to wake up and the arm he moves above his head sends a box of ribbons tumbling to the floor. Leslie turns toward him, surprised, as his eyes slowly blink open, and together they take in the sight of him covered chest-to-ankle in various scrapbook pages.
“Les?” His voice is rough with sleep, full of the inquisitive uncertainty that usually accompanies his disbelief. “What are you doing?”
“Sleeping in,” she offers, passing over the mess she’s made of their bed and the fact that his body has turned into a table of sorts and the stray photo tab she now sees clinging to his cheek. She reaches over and gently peels it off. “It’s Sunday, after all.”
*****
Triathlon
If Ben could name his ideal way to spend a Saturday, this would be nowhere on the list. He’d grumbled that exact thought to Leslie as she’d kissed him awake this morning, wrapping his arms around her and trying to pull her back into bed. “But we promised,” she’d giggled against his lips, indulging him just long enough to guarantee he wouldn’t fall back to sleep. By the time he was showered and dressed and ready to head back to his house to change and make sure Andy and April were up, Leslie was already gone, still-warm toast and a note marking her absence. He’d eaten the toast on his way home, but it really hadn’t been sufficient breakfast to prepare him for the sight of Andy opening his bedroom door naked after ten minutes of consistent pounding.
He should have just let them sleep through it.
By the time he gets to Ramsett Park, the sun already blazes down from a cloudless sky, and even though it’s early, Ben already feels himself beginning to sweat from the humidity. He treks down to the lake where Ann is already coordinating the other volunteers, glad that his sunglasses hide the petulant look in his eyes. At least, he consoles himself, he’s only a volunteer for this madness.
“Oh good, you’re here,” Ann greets him. Her shirt is emblazoned with a terrifyingly cheerful headshot of Chris, the words “First Annual Pawnee Health and Fitness Awareness Triathlon” written across her chest. She hands him a matching t-shirt, politely ignoring his grimace, and gestures to folding table lying nearby. “Can you set up the water station? I have to go check in with the lifeguards.”
God, it’s hot. He pushes his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose and nods. “Sure.”
“Great.” Ann nods, and without another word, starts to make her way over to the lifeguards. Ben is left alone to set up the water station, which comes complete with a banner that matches the t-shirts. Reluctantly, he sheds his own shirt and pulls the one Ann gave him over his head just as Leslie’s car pulls up behind his.
“Is this necessary?” he calls to her as she makes her way down to him; he does his best to ignore Chris’ face smiling up from her chest. She’s wearing an absurdly large sun hat, a smear of sunscreen still visible on her cheek.
Excepting the t-shirt, it’s pretty adorable.
“Ask Chris,” she replies. She glances around-Ann’s still busy with the lifeguards and the other volunteers have made their way to the other side of the lake-and then leans up to kiss him. The brim of her hat hits his forehead, and he has to duck beneath it to reach her lips. It’s impossibly hard not to wrap his arms around her and prolong the moment.
“Are we all set up here?” she asks. Even once she’s stepped back from him, they’re really still too close, but no one is paying attention and the only sign of Chris is his smiling image. In that context, it’s almost like he approves.
“Yeah.” He reaches out and brushes his thumb against her cheek, rubbing in the sunscreen. Leslie smiles. “Do we really need all of this? I mean, Chris only managed to find-” He glances down at the clipboard and shakes his head. “-eleven participants.”
“Dehydration is no joke.”
“No, this triathlon is a joke.”
Leslie grins. “You’re cute when you’re grumpy.”
“I’m not grumpy.” He reaches for the hem of her shirt, trying to tug her closer for another kiss, but they’re interrupted by Ann loudly clearing her throat.
“Right,” says Leslie. She steps away from him for real this time, engaging Ann in a discussion about volunteers and racers that he doesn’t particularly care about. He’d much rather be somewhere else. Anywhere else, really, that doesn’t involve the eventual sight of Chris in a wetsuit.
His imagination has just begun to paint a rather vivid picture of Leslie in a bathing suit on some private beach when she interrupts him. “I’m supposed to be at the finish line,” she says. She reaches out and gives his hand a quick squeeze. “Cheer up. With eleven racers, this can’t last that long. And then we can do something fun.”
“Yeah?” He wonders if there’s another lake around here. One far away from prying eyes and people who care whether or not he kisses Leslie Knope.
“Definitely.” She glances around again and then quickly pinches his butt, grinning as she backs away from him. “Try to have some fun.”
If nothing else, he reasons, settling himself in for a long stretch manning the water table, he has a decent imagination to get him through.
At least until Chris runs up and strips down to his wetsuit.
*****
Interference
“Andy, get up.” April pokes him in the ass a couple of times with her foot.
“Leave ‘m,” Ben slurs, stumbling past Andy and into the living room. He collapses onto the couch, head tipped back so he’s staring at the ceiling, and April only hesitates long enough to give Andy another ineffectual poke before she joins Ben. She sits on the floor, legs pulled to her chest, and watches the room spin around her for a couple of minutes before it’s too much and she has to close her eyes.
“This isn’t my bedroom. The sky is different in there. The roof.”
“The ceiling.”
“That’s the one.” There’s a long pause where she can hear Ben making some weird sound with his tongue, like he’s smacking the roof of his mouth or something, and then he says, “Mine has stars.”
Those are Andy’s. It was his room before Burly moved out and April made them move into the bigger bedroom where there aren’t creepy glowing stars all day and night. She hates them so much. But she might kill Ben if he takes them down.
“Leslie’ll like them.”
“Huh?”
“The stars.” She opens her eyes, glad to find that the room is back to being still. “I bet Leslie likes them.”
“You think she has some too?” Ben’s head tips to the side so he’s kind of looking in her direction, and she wishes he wouldn’t because he’s smiling all stupid and it’s making her dizzy again.
“No, idiot. I mean she’ll like Andy’s. Yours. Whatever.”
Ben blinks, slow and unintelligibly, and April makes the mistake of rolling her eyes. The room rolls too. “When you have sex.”
“We’re not having sex.”
“I know. But you want to.”
Ben doesn’t deny it. Just lies there staring at her, eyes unfocused, head lolling a bit. April can’t tell what he’s thinking, if he’s considering her or lost in thoughts of Leslie, but he’s drunk and so is she, and none of it really matters.
“You should, you know,” she says. It’s hard to focus on what she’s saying with Ben looking so pathetic and sad, and god, why do people make sex so complicated? “You should have sex with Leslie.”
“Yeah,” Ben agrees. “But-”
“Ugh. You’re so boring. Call her.”
“What? No. I’m dunk. Drunk. I’m drunk.”
“So?” April gets unsteadily to her feet, crossing the room to the couch and half-crawling over Ben as she sits down next to him. She reaches into his pocket for his phone before he can stop her. “Call her.”
“April-”
April groans, finding Leslie’s number and dialing. Ben attempts to swipe the phone back from her, but he’s too old and slow and drunk to do anything about it. She smacks his hand away as it rings, more than a little annoyed when it goes to voicemail. “Talk,” she hisses, shoving the phone at Ben’s ear. “Tell her you want to have sex.”
“I don’t-I can’t-” April can hear the beep signaling Ben to speak over his protests and jerks her head viciously toward the phone. At this rate, he and Leslie are never getting laid, and god, Leslie’s probably better off except that she so obviously wants Ben, and it’s not as fun as it should be to see Leslie denied what she wants.
“He-ey, Leslie,” Ben says loudly. “It’s me. It’s Ben. From work. And, uh, I just wanted to say hi.”
This is pathetic.
“Ben likes you,” April shouts, forgetting that she’s still holding the phone and could say whatever she wants. “And you should have sex with him because he really wants to-.” Ben makes another sudden grab for the phone, tackling her in the process, and April kicks at him erratically until he climbs off of her, phone in his hand.
“Why’d you do that?” he demands. Standing over her as she lies on the couch, he looks like a giant. “Dammit, April.”
He stalks off, and a minute later, she hears his bedroom door slam, the sound echoing through her head like a gunshot. “I was just trying to help!” she shouts.
Ben doesn’t answer.
*****
August
“You know we’ve never had sex in August?”
“What? That’s not possible.”
Leslie shifts in Ben’s lap, gasping as his thigh grinds the inseam of her denim shorts against her center with just the right pressure. His hands, wandering just a moment ago, still against her hips, and his brow furrows. As sexy as he is when he’s thinking, Leslie doesn’t appreciate the distraction; she scrapes her fingernail over his nipple and his eyes immediately refocus on her.
“It’s true,” she insists, leaning forward and trailing her lips along his jawline. “You came home at the end of last July, and I didn’t get back to D.C. until Labor Day. The summer before that we were broken up-”
Ben cuts her off almost ferociously, hand threading through her hair and tugging her lips back to his just a bit too hard. She nips at his lip, chastising and forgiving at once; that’s not exactly a time she remembers fondly either.
“That’s crazy,” Ben murmurs. His hand slips beneath the waistband of her shorts and underwear, smoothing over her ass, and she grinds her center against him again. She can feel him, straining against his shorts, and it takes all her willpower not to undo his fly and pull him out. Their back yard is pretty enclosed between the trees and the fence, but they can’t have sex out here.
His fingers inch forward, slipping against her wet folds and stroking her insistently, and Leslie groans.
They can’t do this. Can’t, can’t, can’t.
“I know,” she agrees. She presses a sloppy kiss to the corner of his mouth, another under his chin and all down his neck. “It’s ridiculous.” She bites down against his skin and then soothes the area with her tongue. “We’ve been together for this long and there’s still a whole month where we’ve never even kissed.” She pulls back, scratching her nails against the back of his neck. “Although I guess we’ve taken care of the kissing part now.”
“Yeah.” Ben smiles, leaning forward to kiss her again until Leslie gently pushes him back. “But we should really rectify the sex part, too.”
“You think? It’s only thirty-one more days until September.”
“Leslie.” The way he exhales her name, the want and strain, sends a thrill down her spine. This-driving him so crazy he can’t stand her teasing-is still too much fun. “We’re never spending an entire month apart again.”
“No.” She grins, moving her hands to undo his fly as Ben groans; the sun is almost set and the cicadas are out-the neighbors will never know. She captures his lips again, breathing her agreement into him. “Never again.”