Parks Fic: Ransom (3/?)
Title: Ransom (3/?)
Pairing: Ben/Leslie
Rating: Dark PG-13 or Mild R (this part)/R (overall)
Timeline: Pre-Ms. Knope Goes to Washington (but assumes knowledge of the episode/season 5)
Author's Note: I am on a writing binge, it seems, which I guess is what happens after about eight months of writer's block. Thank you many times over to everyone who has given me feedback on this. It means a lot.
Ben would be lying if he said he never thinks of Leslie while he’s working.
Given how much their relationship has been tied to their professional lives, it’s impossible not to imagine her position on a certain issue or the advice she might give as he’s trying to solve the logistics of some problem. And too often, spurred by either memory or wishful thinking, those thoughts turn dirtier. (He can’t confess how many times he’s envisioned pressing her up against the glass in his office and kissing her breathless.)
It also hasn’t escaped his noticed that those more inappropriate thoughts are always a little worse if they’ve been doing things the night before.
This morning in particular, Ben finds himself stuttering in his work at various times, caught up in the memory of the previous night. Ben can’t say that he’s forgotten Leslie’s overt threats to hold his shirts hostage, but thinking back, his mind more often strays to the vision of her in his shirt, touching herself and moaning. The sight of her wearing his clothes overwhelmed him in the most unexpected way. The intimacy of it-despite the fact that he and Leslie have been intimate in a wide variety of ways over the past year or so-was powerful and intoxicating, and he’s already hoping that this will become a regular occurrence. Considering she’s absconded with his entire collection of shirts, it’s probable. Whatever else she’s planning remains only in the back of his mind, and it isn’t until later in the day that he realizes his scope should have included the bigger picture.
The email is in his inbox when he returns from lunch. Among the usual array of forum response notifications and the daily slew of emails from J.J.’s Diner (the kinks of J.J.’s slightly misguided attempt to join the 21st century-an email newsletter-haven’t been worked out yet), is a message that draws his eyes like a tractor beam. The use of all capital letters and excessive exclamation points in the subject line indicates Leslie’s voice without even a glimpse of the sender. Not to mention the content itself.
Subject: RANSOM NOTE!!!!!!!
That’s Leslie of course: efficiency and not an ounce of subtlety.
He clicks on the message, figuring he can spare a few more minutes before he gets back to work. He’s interested to see what Leslie has in mind.
Benjamin,
As you’re already aware, your plaid shirts are currently in my custody. Per the rules of “finder’s keepers” (and, frankly, the common decency of proper love and care for your belongings), these shirts belong to me. Until you meet the following demands, you’ll never again put one of these shirts on your taut, sexy frame (which would be a real shame, as you look like a terrible, handsome little seahorse in plaid). Please give these demands careful consideration, and remember, NO NEGOTIATING! ;-)
All my love,
Leslie
PS: I’ve included pictures as proof of what I’ve taken.
Ben shakes his head, unable to keep his smile off of his face. Tom would undoubtedly call him a nerd if he ever admitted this out loud, but Leslie’s attention to detail is one of the sexiest things about her.
He scrolls down and his eyes widen considerably. Despite just acknowledging Leslie’s eye for specificity, he’s still shocked to see that her “proof” is not a simple snapshot of her closet. The first picture he sees is of Leslie, in bed, wearing his shirt, and good lord, she can’t possibly have…
She has. He continues to scroll down, eyes darting over the pictures-Leslie, in various locations in her house, wearing a different shirt in each photo. Each is followed by a caption, her demands, undoubtedly, but he’s too scattered to read any of them. His mind is swept up in the thought of her taking these pictures; changing in and out of his shirts; knowing all the while how she’d be tantalizing him. He’s not naive; this idea was born after last night’s impromptu activities. That look on her face as she’d shown him the closet and explained her plan, the fire in her eyes and the flush of her cheeks, that wasn’t just from her orgasm; that was Leslie in the throes of brainstorming a great idea.
Clearly, it paid off.
In total, there are eighteen pictures (and damn, does he really own that much plaid? It never seemed like that much just hanging in his closet). He scrolls back to the top of the page and lets his eyes linger over the first picture. In it, Leslie is wearing the same shirt she was last night, unbuttoned and revealing a strip of skin from her neck to her navel. It’s not really risque, but even the hint of skin usually hidden beneath a few layers of clothes is enough to make Ben squirm, and he lets his eyes drift to the caption in order to avoid an embarrassing situation.
1. This shirt if you can get me off using only your fingers.
Holy fuck.
Abruptly, he stands up, shaking his arms and pacing around the office. When Leslie said demands, he certainly didn’t think…That is to say, it’s Leslie-most of her demands involve waffles or whipped cream, not…this. Not that Leslie isn’t…It’s not that she’s not vocal in bed, just…Usually she takes what she wants without necessarily being so…And it’s in writing…
God, he can’t even articulate his own thoughts right now. He brushes his hand across his forehead, sure he’s sweating, and takes a couple of deep breaths to force himself to calm down. She says more than that on the phone all the time, he reminds himself, a thought that does more to hinder the situation than help. Harshly, he reminds himself that he’s at work, a place where he is required to be professional. At work, in an office with a lot of glass windows that anyone can look through. He glances out, hoping that seeing other people will deter his body from reacting to this, but the first sight he’s greeted by is April, smirking and blatantly recording his every action on her cell phone like she knows what’s going on. And wow, that is unnerving in a whole other way.
At least it’s enough to force him to sit down again, though.
He contemplates signing out of his email, setting aside the temptation until he’s able to enjoy it in the privacy of his own home, but can’t bring himself to do it. Leslie has always been a bit of a siren for him, at least in the sense that even a smile from her can make him steer his ship into dangerous waters. It’s inevitable, given that she’s in his head and his heart, always.
And maybe-just maybe-he’s a bit of a masochist.
He shoots another look at April, but she’s absorbed in texting now, probably sending the video to everyone they know. It’s mortifying, but at least she’s distracted. He goes to the next image. The shirt Leslie’s wearing in this one is buttoned, but she’s sitting at her kitchen table with one long, pale leg drawn up to her chest, head resting against her knee as she smiles at the camera. It’s domesticity rather than sex, comfort rather than seduction, but it hits Ben harder than the first one.
2. An unexpected kiss.
He thinks of their first kiss and that little look of shock in her eyes when he pulled her toward him, that little gasp she made before melting into him, and it takes everything in his power not to get in his car right now, drive to Pawnee, find her and kiss her without saying a word.
At that moment, it becomes addicting. The office fades into the background; his concerns fizzle and die; his world narrows down to his computer and Leslie’s brilliance. Her list of demands range from innocuous (6. Breakfast in bed) to funny (10. Dance with me-You can drink first) to downright terrifying (14. You choose what we do, but it has to be in Donna’s Benz). In the final picture she’s holding up a newspaper and pointing to the date; beneath the caption she’s written an aside: As you can see, your plaid is alive and well.
It actually makes his heart ache. Every time he thinks he can’t love Leslie any more…
His phone buzzes, and he smiles at the sight of her name. “Hey,” he says, but he barely gets the greeting out when Leslie interrupts, “I warned you not to look at work!”
“How did you-”
“April just sent me a video.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t…I mean, she didn’t know…”
“No,” says Leslie patiently, “but I know how flustered you get when I spring sexy stuff on you without warning. Which is why I tried to warn you.”
“Putting a winking face at the end of the sentence isn’t exactly a tip off that you’re going to be writing things like-” He glances at the door and lowers his voice. “-‘Make me see fireworks on the Fourth of July. PS: That’s a euphemism. I want you to go down on me.’”
“Well I don’t know what you were expecting.”
Neither does he, honestly.
“You’re serious about this?” he asks, his mind already turning over ways he might address this list. Even without the near impossible ones, the distance alone could spin this out for months.
“Of course I am.” Yes. Of course she is. She wouldn’t be Leslie, otherwise. “I just hope you’re up to the challenge.”
It’s deliberately waving a red flag in front of a bull, but Ben can’t help but grin. Sometimes Leslie doesn’t realize she’s playing with fire, and the results are always exquisite.
This is going to be fun.
Part Four