Fic: Not That Sneaky: The Sequel (3/7)
Title: Not That Sneaky: The Sequel
Pairing: Ben/Leslie
Rating: R
Word Count: 1400 (this part)
Setting: New Year's Eve season 5 (this part)
Summary: A sequel to this fic. In other words, five more times Ben and Leslie were caught/interrupted during sex.
A/n: Thank you so much to everyone who commented on this. I owe you guys more than I can possibly say.
Prologue || Part One
Part Two
"Wait! Would it make a difference if I told you your eyes sparkle like Beyonce's?"
The door slams, and Tom winces. "I'll take that as a no."
It's totally unfair. After all the work Tom had to do to convince Donna to throw this party, including his promises to supply the alcohol and not invite Jean-Ralphio, the universe basically owes him. It's in the laws of nature of something-You throw an awesome party, you get laid.
Or at least you get to make out with the hot girl in your friend's basement. Especially on New Year's Eve, the one holiday where someone is pretty much required to kiss you.
Tom leans back against the wall and downs the rest of the drink in his hand, but it doesn't feel like quite the shot of perseverance he needs. It's fifteen minutes until midnight, he just struck out for the sixth time tonight, and Ann already made it clear that kissing him for old time's sake is out of the question. At this point, his best bet is sneaking back upstairs and standing next to the prettiest girl he can find without a date when the clock strikes twelve. It's had about a 50-50 rate of success in the past.
He's just about talked himself into it, confidence boosted at least back to resigned optimism, when he hears it. It's quiet, a sound so nearly imperceptible that he could write it off without much thought, but then he hears it again. Long and low, almost like someone groaning in pain.
He frowns. Looks around the room. Nothing.
Great. Now in addition to a crappy New Year's, he's going crazy.
He definitely needs to find someone to kiss.
Instinctively, he glances around the room one last time as he heads toward the stairs. And it's at the last second, out of the corner of his eye, that he notices that the door leading to Donna's garage is ajar.
Weird.
The light is on, too.
Weirder.
He can't help it. His curiosity gets the better of him, and he crosses the room to the garage and pokes his head in.
The source of the sound is immediately apparent.
Someone is doing it in Donna's Benz.
What the hell? Someone is doing it in Donna's Benz and it's not him?
Wait.
Someone is doing it in Donna's Benz!
Holy fuck.
Tom's fingers itch to get out his phone and Instagram this moment, but he's not so certain he wouldn't be included in the bloodshed. He's the one who convinced Donna to have this party, after all. But he'll be damned if he's going to pass up this opportunity.
He inches closer to the car, not quite sure that he has an actual plan, but certain that he's not leaving until he knows who has the stones to have sex in Donna's Benz.
It's shockingly not much like a porno. The windows aren't as foggy as he expects, but the lighting is terrible, and when he first glances in, it's hard to make out what's going on. There's definitely two people having sex; even from out here, he can hear them, pants and groans muffled but unmistakable. As his eyes adjust to what he's seeing, he realizes that the dude is on top, nearly smothering the woman with his body. They're as intertwined as two people can be: her legs hitched around his back, his face buried her neck, her hands unable to stay still as they move from his neck down his back to his ass. There's nothing gentle about their fucking-it's rough and hard and clearly charged by desperation-but they're so wrapped up in one another, so completely oblivious to the fact that they've been caught, it's strangely intimate as well.
The woman scratches her nails up the man's back and he groans, the movement of his hips becoming hurried and erratic. His lips move from her neck, across her collar bone and down toward her breasts, and then he lifts his head and kisses her, hard. And when he pulls back from her, hitching her hips higher so he can fuck her deeper, Tom can finally see their faces.
What. The. Hell.
Tom's pretty sure his brain implodes as it realizes what it's seeing. It's the only explanation for how he doesn't immediately scream at the sight of Ben and Leslie fucking in the backseat of Donna's Mercedes. For a minute, he stands still, certain he's hallucinating or dreaming or something, because there is no way this is happening.
No way that Ben is fucking Leslie like there's no tomorrow.
No way that that's Leslie, back arched and breasts heaving, her hand slipping down between her legs to rub her clit.
No fucking way that these two are having incredibly hot sex in the back of a luxury car.
Except that they totally are.
And finally, his brain catches up to what he's seeing.
"Oh my god!" he shouts, jumping away from the car. It's too late, of course. The image of them fucking is probably burned into his brain forever. It will take a lobotomy to make him forget this. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!"
There's a shriek from inside the car, and definitely not the good, orgasmic kind. There's a long moment, punctuated by a string of curse words from the car, and Tom stares, wide-eyed, when the door finally opens. Leslie looks furious. Her pants are back on, but except for her bra, she's still topless; next to her, Ben is still struggling to get back into his pants.
"Oh my god!" he says again.
"What the hell are you doing?" Leslie shouts. "Tom!"
"You?" He blinks and shakes his head. "Seriously. You and Ben? What the hell!"
"I don't know what you thought you saw-"
"I saw you and your nerdy boyfriend fucking in the back of Donna's Benz!" Holy shit. This is really happening. "Damn! Do you two have a death wish?"
"Tom!"
"In a million years, I never would have guessed that you two would have the balls to do it in Donna's Mercedes! Seriously!"
A shoe flies at his head, and Tom ducks just in time to avoid having his skull penetrated by Leslie's heel. He's too delighted to care. This is beyond perfect. Never mind the lifetime of nightmares-He has enough dirt on these two to more than make up for it. "Let's be real,'" he says. "We've all thought about it. But I didn't think anyone, least of all you two, would be able to pull this off."
"Tom, if you don't leave right now-"
"What's it like? Did you use the heated seats? Was it plush? Did you get off on the danger?"
"That's it!"
Tom's eyes widen as Leslie dives out of the car, hitting him square in the chest and knocking them both to the ground. She pins his arms above his head before he can even register what happened, and it takes everything in his power not to stare at her bra.
"Listen to me," says Leslie, pressing her knees into his ribcage. He whines in pain, but she doesn't seem to care. "You're going to forget what you just saw. It never happened. You didn't see anything."
"Okay!"
"And you're not going to mention it to anyone. Ever."
"Okay! Okay, I promise! Let me up!"
Leslie looks at him hard for a moment before she relents, standing up and crossing her arms. He leaps to his feet, desperately trying to look at the back of his sweater to make sure it isn't ripped or stained.
"You owe me a new sweater," he demands. God, he needs a mirror. Like now.
"Tom!"
"Fine!" he relents, glaring at her. She only looks mildly furious. "You pay the dry cleaning bill and we'll call it even."
This time the shoe Ben throws hits him square in the chest.
Part Three!
Pairing: Ben/Leslie
Rating: R
Word Count: 1400 (this part)
Setting: New Year's Eve season 5 (this part)
Summary: A sequel to this fic. In other words, five more times Ben and Leslie were caught/interrupted during sex.
A/n: Thank you so much to everyone who commented on this. I owe you guys more than I can possibly say.
Prologue || Part One
Part Two
"Wait! Would it make a difference if I told you your eyes sparkle like Beyonce's?"
The door slams, and Tom winces. "I'll take that as a no."
It's totally unfair. After all the work Tom had to do to convince Donna to throw this party, including his promises to supply the alcohol and not invite Jean-Ralphio, the universe basically owes him. It's in the laws of nature of something-You throw an awesome party, you get laid.
Or at least you get to make out with the hot girl in your friend's basement. Especially on New Year's Eve, the one holiday where someone is pretty much required to kiss you.
Tom leans back against the wall and downs the rest of the drink in his hand, but it doesn't feel like quite the shot of perseverance he needs. It's fifteen minutes until midnight, he just struck out for the sixth time tonight, and Ann already made it clear that kissing him for old time's sake is out of the question. At this point, his best bet is sneaking back upstairs and standing next to the prettiest girl he can find without a date when the clock strikes twelve. It's had about a 50-50 rate of success in the past.
He's just about talked himself into it, confidence boosted at least back to resigned optimism, when he hears it. It's quiet, a sound so nearly imperceptible that he could write it off without much thought, but then he hears it again. Long and low, almost like someone groaning in pain.
He frowns. Looks around the room. Nothing.
Great. Now in addition to a crappy New Year's, he's going crazy.
He definitely needs to find someone to kiss.
Instinctively, he glances around the room one last time as he heads toward the stairs. And it's at the last second, out of the corner of his eye, that he notices that the door leading to Donna's garage is ajar.
Weird.
The light is on, too.
Weirder.
He can't help it. His curiosity gets the better of him, and he crosses the room to the garage and pokes his head in.
The source of the sound is immediately apparent.
Someone is doing it in Donna's Benz.
What the hell? Someone is doing it in Donna's Benz and it's not him?
Wait.
Someone is doing it in Donna's Benz!
Holy fuck.
Tom's fingers itch to get out his phone and Instagram this moment, but he's not so certain he wouldn't be included in the bloodshed. He's the one who convinced Donna to have this party, after all. But he'll be damned if he's going to pass up this opportunity.
He inches closer to the car, not quite sure that he has an actual plan, but certain that he's not leaving until he knows who has the stones to have sex in Donna's Benz.
It's shockingly not much like a porno. The windows aren't as foggy as he expects, but the lighting is terrible, and when he first glances in, it's hard to make out what's going on. There's definitely two people having sex; even from out here, he can hear them, pants and groans muffled but unmistakable. As his eyes adjust to what he's seeing, he realizes that the dude is on top, nearly smothering the woman with his body. They're as intertwined as two people can be: her legs hitched around his back, his face buried her neck, her hands unable to stay still as they move from his neck down his back to his ass. There's nothing gentle about their fucking-it's rough and hard and clearly charged by desperation-but they're so wrapped up in one another, so completely oblivious to the fact that they've been caught, it's strangely intimate as well.
The woman scratches her nails up the man's back and he groans, the movement of his hips becoming hurried and erratic. His lips move from her neck, across her collar bone and down toward her breasts, and then he lifts his head and kisses her, hard. And when he pulls back from her, hitching her hips higher so he can fuck her deeper, Tom can finally see their faces.
What. The. Hell.
Tom's pretty sure his brain implodes as it realizes what it's seeing. It's the only explanation for how he doesn't immediately scream at the sight of Ben and Leslie fucking in the backseat of Donna's Mercedes. For a minute, he stands still, certain he's hallucinating or dreaming or something, because there is no way this is happening.
No way that Ben is fucking Leslie like there's no tomorrow.
No way that that's Leslie, back arched and breasts heaving, her hand slipping down between her legs to rub her clit.
No fucking way that these two are having incredibly hot sex in the back of a luxury car.
Except that they totally are.
And finally, his brain catches up to what he's seeing.
"Oh my god!" he shouts, jumping away from the car. It's too late, of course. The image of them fucking is probably burned into his brain forever. It will take a lobotomy to make him forget this. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!"
There's a shriek from inside the car, and definitely not the good, orgasmic kind. There's a long moment, punctuated by a string of curse words from the car, and Tom stares, wide-eyed, when the door finally opens. Leslie looks furious. Her pants are back on, but except for her bra, she's still topless; next to her, Ben is still struggling to get back into his pants.
"Oh my god!" he says again.
"What the hell are you doing?" Leslie shouts. "Tom!"
"You?" He blinks and shakes his head. "Seriously. You and Ben? What the hell!"
"I don't know what you thought you saw-"
"I saw you and your nerdy boyfriend fucking in the back of Donna's Benz!" Holy shit. This is really happening. "Damn! Do you two have a death wish?"
"Tom!"
"In a million years, I never would have guessed that you two would have the balls to do it in Donna's Mercedes! Seriously!"
A shoe flies at his head, and Tom ducks just in time to avoid having his skull penetrated by Leslie's heel. He's too delighted to care. This is beyond perfect. Never mind the lifetime of nightmares-He has enough dirt on these two to more than make up for it. "Let's be real,'" he says. "We've all thought about it. But I didn't think anyone, least of all you two, would be able to pull this off."
"Tom, if you don't leave right now-"
"What's it like? Did you use the heated seats? Was it plush? Did you get off on the danger?"
"That's it!"
Tom's eyes widen as Leslie dives out of the car, hitting him square in the chest and knocking them both to the ground. She pins his arms above his head before he can even register what happened, and it takes everything in his power not to stare at her bra.
"Listen to me," says Leslie, pressing her knees into his ribcage. He whines in pain, but she doesn't seem to care. "You're going to forget what you just saw. It never happened. You didn't see anything."
"Okay!"
"And you're not going to mention it to anyone. Ever."
"Okay! Okay, I promise! Let me up!"
Leslie looks at him hard for a moment before she relents, standing up and crossing her arms. He leaps to his feet, desperately trying to look at the back of his sweater to make sure it isn't ripped or stained.
"You owe me a new sweater," he demands. God, he needs a mirror. Like now.
"Tom!"
"Fine!" he relents, glaring at her. She only looks mildly furious. "You pay the dry cleaning bill and we'll call it even."
This time the shoe Ben throws hits him square in the chest.
Part Three!