Aloha au ia ‘oe, Mea 'ai, 'ai, Ben/Leslie, PG-13
Aloha au ia ‘oe, Mea 'ai, 'ai, pg-13
Parks and Recreation, Leslie/Ben
1500 words, pure fluff (I hate myself)
Post "Leslie and Ben"
Just a little honeymoon silliness.
Thanks to fairytiger/ annhansen/my spirit animal
Leslie likes waffles.
No, strike that.
Leslie loves waffles.
That fact is not disputed.
This however does not mean that Leslie doesn’t also love filet mignon. And lobster. And macaroni and cheese with lobster in it. She loves portabello mushroom risotto, grilled asparagus, empanadas, shrimp lo mein, and chocolate shakes.
So she orders them all.
Correction.
They order them all.
Three carts arrive at 6:20 in the evening and the porters are received by two rosy, robe-clad newlyweds who shove a wad of cash into the leader’s hand just as the last dish is unloaded onto the top of Leslie’s rolling suitcase (of all things.) Spinach crepes teeter precariously against the slightly-raised handle and Ben dips just in time to slip a hand under the warm plate as it falls.
Holding it out in front of her, they both lean in and sniff at the fragrant dish. “How are we going to eat all of this food?” His voice is teasing, monumentally so. They don’t have to eat all the food, they don’t even have to try but they haven’t had a bite since they awoke this morning, having been engaged in much more important activities.
Like watching the latest installment of Ken Burns’s Dust Bowl.
And having sex while watching Ken Burn’s Dust Bowl.
Leslie blushes, tilts her head and giggles, gathering up as much food as she can manage and placing it on the bed. When they both clamber above the ridiculously luxurious sheets they angle to sit cross-legged and hold out their cutlery before them as though about to do battle.
Perhaps they are.
“Where do we start?” Ben surveys the bounty -- and a bounty it is -- and sticks his fork into a plump looking fingerling potato. For a moment he chews thoughtfully and then decides yes, “We start here!” With the prongs he points at the cheddar and caramelized onion omelette and that’s all Leslie needs to hear before leaning forward and cutting herself off a respectably-sized piece.
That is to say, a piece roughly the size of Delaware that will not fit properly into her mouth. She stares back at Ben’s shocked visage as though to say, “Hey, this is what you married.” Never one to be upstaged, he snatches a black bean empanada and stuffs it unceremoniously into his mouth. The result is Ben looking like a chipmunk and Leslie laughing so hard that she kicks a bucket of fried pickles onto the floor.
(They adhere to the ten minute rule with that one; Leslie plucks them all back up off of the floor and puts them in the tin carrier.)
The sun begins to set along the horizon and Ben leaps up to toss their curtains fully open, allowing the vibrant tones of the dying afternoon to cast them in it’s glow. The two are perfectly content to sit and eat, getting crumbs everywhere while they watch a marathon of Harry Potter on ABC Family. Ben fastidiously avoids the fried foods to eat the butter sauteed items and Leslie hits the seafood hard, figuring that since they’re finally near an ocean, well, go big or go home.
There is surely to be gastric distress sometime later in the evening and thus they both swallow some Pepcid and continue with their gluttony. Ben feeds Leslie slices of duck l’orange which she finds she actually quite likes but Leslie bogarts the risotto.
“But no really, I’m having an affair with this,” she says around a cheesy mouthful, eyes rolling back in her head. “I know we just got married but... sorry?”
He manages to steal a forkful even as she shimmies away from him.
When they’ve eaten their fill -- and Leslie clearly outpaces him there with what she can put away -- she makes Ben clear their dishes to the refrigerator and their cleared plates outside of the door. When he stumbles back to the bed he falls down upon it on his back and his wife smothers him immediately, pressing her lips to his neck, just below the lobe of his ear.
“You smell like lobster.”
Leslie nuzzles her nose over the kiss, “Is that a bad thing?”
“Nah, I think it’s sexy,” he sighs contentedly, his eyes slipping closed. “But lobsters belong in the water.”
“Too full to go down to the beach,” she moans and flops down next to him on her back, already thinking about the leftovers in the refrigerator and how good they’ll taste at one o’clock in the morning.
He does his best to shift onto his side but he only makes it half-way before he flops back. “Was thinking more... the hot tub.”
“Do I have to put on my suit?”
Ben laughs,”I’d prefer it if you didn’t, thanks.”
When Leslie sits up, she works Ben slowly out of his robe, kiss around his belly, pausing to nip at his slight biceps, laving her tongue quickly, teasingly over a nipple. “Well, let’s go.” She bounces up and takes a giant step towards the bathroom before turning her back and dropping her robe.
Ben only gropes her twice before they sink down into the probably-hotter-than-necessary water. Her head floats just above the water, her chin skimming the surface which wouldn’t really be happening if she wasn’t grinning like an idiot. “This... this feels much, I don’t know, indulgent, rich... crazy.”
Ben nods, his lips breaking the surface of the water as he sinks down to sit like she is; they look utterly ridiculous. It doesn’t matter. Leslie knows there’s a lot to be concerned about, she knows there’s a ton of work to be done, that something somewhere is in need of her assistance but for once she just...
Let’s it all go.
It feels weird, but nice. She can’t even imagine how ridiculously high strung she might have been had they gone about all of this as originally planned. But she tries very, very hard not to think of that and submerges further, until the tip of her nose hits the water.
The fond smile that tilts Ben’s lips makes her laugh and a burst of bubbles tickle along the surface of the tub, no match for the steadily pumping jets, but amusing nonetheless. Their legs vie for space in the tub and she manages to lock her calves behind his bottom and pull him beneath for a moment.
When he emerges the fight that ensues manages to send sheets of water over the edge to slosh over the floor, pooling around the bottom of the sink before slicing into the corners; neither of them care much.
When Ben pulls her into his lap and hold her close with just a shade of desperation everything goes quiet; the last vestiges of the sun slip beneath the horizon and the room is cast in a dusty indigo. Ben tucks her head under his chin and they breathe together, so quiet, so still.
“I’m about to get sentimental,” he murmurs.
“Oh no.”
“Fine,” he lies, “I won’t.”
“No, no, no, come on,” and she elbows him in the ribs a little.
He sighs and is silent for another beat before he murmurs into her ear, “Never in my life did I think I would be a deserving enough person to end up with someone as completely and utter good to the core as you are.”
Leslie swallows, looks out the open bathroom window, across the large expanse of balcony to the beach and beyond. She could say the same of him, she really could, but she doesn’t. “You nerd.”
“Yeah,” he agrees.
They remain there with the jets bubbling for some time, until they’re pruny and then they clamber back into the bedroom. Leslie pulls out some of the containers and they pick from them naked, with the doors to the balcony wide open, warm breeze fluttering in to tickle against their cooling skin.
“This is so cliche,” Leslie sighs happily as she swallows another mouthful of now-chilled chocolate mousse cake. “Hawaii, sex all day in the hotel, though I think the Ken Burns things throw the curve a little but...”
“Hey, we didn’t have sex in the hot tub,” he points out, doing his best to get some of the hardened frosting off of the side of the slice.
Leslie nods, adding, “But we will.”
“Right,” he grins.
Leslie puts down the fork and transfers the plate to the bedside table before gently straddling Ben where he’s reclined on the edge of the bed. “Ben Wyatt-Knope.”
“Leslie Knope-Wyatt,” his hand cradle her hips gently.
“I like this.”
“I like you,” he returns.
She dips her head, her lips just ghosting against his. “I love you.”
He waits a beat before taking her bottom lip between his teeth for a quick nip. “Me too.”
---
---
The title translates super roughly from Hawaiian as "I love you, food" (or so the interwebs tells me.) Working title was "Schmoopdeedoop"; not sure which is better...
Parks and Recreation, Leslie/Ben
1500 words, pure fluff (I hate myself)
Post "Leslie and Ben"
Just a little honeymoon silliness.
Thanks to fairytiger/ annhansen/my spirit animal
Leslie likes waffles.
No, strike that.
Leslie loves waffles.
That fact is not disputed.
This however does not mean that Leslie doesn’t also love filet mignon. And lobster. And macaroni and cheese with lobster in it. She loves portabello mushroom risotto, grilled asparagus, empanadas, shrimp lo mein, and chocolate shakes.
So she orders them all.
Correction.
They order them all.
Three carts arrive at 6:20 in the evening and the porters are received by two rosy, robe-clad newlyweds who shove a wad of cash into the leader’s hand just as the last dish is unloaded onto the top of Leslie’s rolling suitcase (of all things.) Spinach crepes teeter precariously against the slightly-raised handle and Ben dips just in time to slip a hand under the warm plate as it falls.
Holding it out in front of her, they both lean in and sniff at the fragrant dish. “How are we going to eat all of this food?” His voice is teasing, monumentally so. They don’t have to eat all the food, they don’t even have to try but they haven’t had a bite since they awoke this morning, having been engaged in much more important activities.
Like watching the latest installment of Ken Burns’s Dust Bowl.
And having sex while watching Ken Burn’s Dust Bowl.
Leslie blushes, tilts her head and giggles, gathering up as much food as she can manage and placing it on the bed. When they both clamber above the ridiculously luxurious sheets they angle to sit cross-legged and hold out their cutlery before them as though about to do battle.
Perhaps they are.
“Where do we start?” Ben surveys the bounty -- and a bounty it is -- and sticks his fork into a plump looking fingerling potato. For a moment he chews thoughtfully and then decides yes, “We start here!” With the prongs he points at the cheddar and caramelized onion omelette and that’s all Leslie needs to hear before leaning forward and cutting herself off a respectably-sized piece.
That is to say, a piece roughly the size of Delaware that will not fit properly into her mouth. She stares back at Ben’s shocked visage as though to say, “Hey, this is what you married.” Never one to be upstaged, he snatches a black bean empanada and stuffs it unceremoniously into his mouth. The result is Ben looking like a chipmunk and Leslie laughing so hard that she kicks a bucket of fried pickles onto the floor.
(They adhere to the ten minute rule with that one; Leslie plucks them all back up off of the floor and puts them in the tin carrier.)
The sun begins to set along the horizon and Ben leaps up to toss their curtains fully open, allowing the vibrant tones of the dying afternoon to cast them in it’s glow. The two are perfectly content to sit and eat, getting crumbs everywhere while they watch a marathon of Harry Potter on ABC Family. Ben fastidiously avoids the fried foods to eat the butter sauteed items and Leslie hits the seafood hard, figuring that since they’re finally near an ocean, well, go big or go home.
There is surely to be gastric distress sometime later in the evening and thus they both swallow some Pepcid and continue with their gluttony. Ben feeds Leslie slices of duck l’orange which she finds she actually quite likes but Leslie bogarts the risotto.
“But no really, I’m having an affair with this,” she says around a cheesy mouthful, eyes rolling back in her head. “I know we just got married but... sorry?”
He manages to steal a forkful even as she shimmies away from him.
When they’ve eaten their fill -- and Leslie clearly outpaces him there with what she can put away -- she makes Ben clear their dishes to the refrigerator and their cleared plates outside of the door. When he stumbles back to the bed he falls down upon it on his back and his wife smothers him immediately, pressing her lips to his neck, just below the lobe of his ear.
“You smell like lobster.”
Leslie nuzzles her nose over the kiss, “Is that a bad thing?”
“Nah, I think it’s sexy,” he sighs contentedly, his eyes slipping closed. “But lobsters belong in the water.”
“Too full to go down to the beach,” she moans and flops down next to him on her back, already thinking about the leftovers in the refrigerator and how good they’ll taste at one o’clock in the morning.
He does his best to shift onto his side but he only makes it half-way before he flops back. “Was thinking more... the hot tub.”
“Do I have to put on my suit?”
Ben laughs,”I’d prefer it if you didn’t, thanks.”
When Leslie sits up, she works Ben slowly out of his robe, kiss around his belly, pausing to nip at his slight biceps, laving her tongue quickly, teasingly over a nipple. “Well, let’s go.” She bounces up and takes a giant step towards the bathroom before turning her back and dropping her robe.
Ben only gropes her twice before they sink down into the probably-hotter-than-necessary water. Her head floats just above the water, her chin skimming the surface which wouldn’t really be happening if she wasn’t grinning like an idiot. “This... this feels much, I don’t know, indulgent, rich... crazy.”
Ben nods, his lips breaking the surface of the water as he sinks down to sit like she is; they look utterly ridiculous. It doesn’t matter. Leslie knows there’s a lot to be concerned about, she knows there’s a ton of work to be done, that something somewhere is in need of her assistance but for once she just...
Let’s it all go.
It feels weird, but nice. She can’t even imagine how ridiculously high strung she might have been had they gone about all of this as originally planned. But she tries very, very hard not to think of that and submerges further, until the tip of her nose hits the water.
The fond smile that tilts Ben’s lips makes her laugh and a burst of bubbles tickle along the surface of the tub, no match for the steadily pumping jets, but amusing nonetheless. Their legs vie for space in the tub and she manages to lock her calves behind his bottom and pull him beneath for a moment.
When he emerges the fight that ensues manages to send sheets of water over the edge to slosh over the floor, pooling around the bottom of the sink before slicing into the corners; neither of them care much.
When Ben pulls her into his lap and hold her close with just a shade of desperation everything goes quiet; the last vestiges of the sun slip beneath the horizon and the room is cast in a dusty indigo. Ben tucks her head under his chin and they breathe together, so quiet, so still.
“I’m about to get sentimental,” he murmurs.
“Oh no.”
“Fine,” he lies, “I won’t.”
“No, no, no, come on,” and she elbows him in the ribs a little.
He sighs and is silent for another beat before he murmurs into her ear, “Never in my life did I think I would be a deserving enough person to end up with someone as completely and utter good to the core as you are.”
Leslie swallows, looks out the open bathroom window, across the large expanse of balcony to the beach and beyond. She could say the same of him, she really could, but she doesn’t. “You nerd.”
“Yeah,” he agrees.
They remain there with the jets bubbling for some time, until they’re pruny and then they clamber back into the bedroom. Leslie pulls out some of the containers and they pick from them naked, with the doors to the balcony wide open, warm breeze fluttering in to tickle against their cooling skin.
“This is so cliche,” Leslie sighs happily as she swallows another mouthful of now-chilled chocolate mousse cake. “Hawaii, sex all day in the hotel, though I think the Ken Burns things throw the curve a little but...”
“Hey, we didn’t have sex in the hot tub,” he points out, doing his best to get some of the hardened frosting off of the side of the slice.
Leslie nods, adding, “But we will.”
“Right,” he grins.
Leslie puts down the fork and transfers the plate to the bedside table before gently straddling Ben where he’s reclined on the edge of the bed. “Ben Wyatt-Knope.”
“Leslie Knope-Wyatt,” his hand cradle her hips gently.
“I like this.”
“I like you,” he returns.
She dips her head, her lips just ghosting against his. “I love you.”
He waits a beat before taking her bottom lip between his teeth for a quick nip. “Me too.”
---
---
The title translates super roughly from Hawaiian as "I love you, food" (or so the interwebs tells me.) Working title was "Schmoopdeedoop"; not sure which is better...