fic: familiarity, leslie/ben, nc17
title: Familiarity
pairing: Leslie/Ben
rating: NC17
words: ~2000
notes: Spoilers for last night's ep. After months of insanely frustrating writers block, I stayed up til 2:30am on my Disney World vacation because I had to write this. I know a lot's going on right now, but if anyone needs a distraction or something a little happy and fluffly and smutty, I hope maybe this can be a tiny little nice thing. Stay safe, everyone. (And apologies for the font changing under the cut, I haven't figured out how to fix that yet)
Her legs straddling the sides of his was familiar, and familiarity is one of Leslie’s favorite things in the world. New experiences are great too, because nothing can replace the exciting possibilities involved in trailblazing, and taking risks is always a rewarding process in the end. But familiarity was like a big hug, and Leslie spends hours cataloguing her life for the memories later, tucking away details to recall when she’s up for some good old-fashioned nostalgia.
But whatever, making out with Ben is awesome because it’s familiar and new at the same time. Even now, even though it’s been two years since they first came together, even though they’re married and settled, they’re still oh-so-happy and she’s still urged to press her lips to his every moment she can. And he took the whole day off to be with her yet they’ve been fully dressed since she pulled him to the parks department in the morning, and she knows in her mind that she still can’t leave Jerry hanging yet, but dammit she wants to rip his hoodie off right here and now.
So she shifts into his lap like so many times before, smushing the tip of her nose into his cheek, feeling the amazingly great familiarity of making out with her husband. His fingertips sneak under her shirt and it’s perfect, they fit perfectly, and she’ll have this forever and she’s still trying to get used to that part. After waiting to get to forever with Ben for so long, it’s still weird to find herself at the cusp of it.
And she realizes his hand’s up her shirt and there’s windows in her office, and they have all night and all their lives to finish this.
He pouts when she pulls herself away, and he pouts for the rest of the entire day, and she pats him on the arm because she’s been having sex with her stupid husband for almost two years and he’s still upset when he has to wait, and that’s dumb and wonderful at the same time.
Husband. She can’t wait until that word rolls off her tongue and fits like a glove. But right now, it’s thrilling that it doesn’t yet.
---
Ben pulls her from Jerry’s party pretty quickly, and he doesn’t really say much as he drives them home, his eyes on the road and his foot on the pedal. God, he’s sexy when he’s intense. And when he’s anything else. Just like, all the time. And if she doesn’t get his shirt off soon she might scream -- if he doesn’t first.
It’s kind of a blur but the next thing she knows, they’re in the foyer and he’s got her pressed against the wall, the front door still hanging open as he pushes a knee between hers and buries his fingers in her hair. And this, this is familiar -- his tongue against her lower lip, her hands unable to sit still on his back. Then he abruptly drops his head and lightly sinks his teeth into her neck, and ohh, something different.
“If you,” he pants between little nips at her skin, punctuating his words, “make me wait--to celebrate Jerry--before having sex with you--again--I swear--to--god.”
She feels his lips curl into a smile, though.
“I think you’ll live,” she says smugly, pushing his hoodie off his shoulders as she finally shuts the front door. His shirt follows, then hers, but she stops his hands as he reaches for the button of her jeans. “Bedroom.”
He practically falls over himself getting to the stairs and she hugs him from behind, which makes it harder to walk, but god she just loves him, wants him, needs to feel him always. It’s ridiculous, how she’s never satisfied, how it’s never close enough. Her hands slide down his stomach, past his hip bones, and he’s already stepping out of his jeans as they stumble through their bedroom door.
She pushes him back on the bed and he’s perfectly happy to let her, as he leans back on his elbows and grins while she makes quick work of his boxers. The feel of the elastic in her hands as she maneuvers the band over his erection -- familiar. She’s in control and she loves it, loves what she does to him, loves that she knows exactly how his breath will hitch if she nuzzles his hip, how he’ll gasp as she settles on the ground between his legs, how his fingers grasp for leverage as she kisses the tip of his cock.
It’s second nature by now, the way her lips move and her tongue follows, the way his hands lightly sweep her hair off her neck as he keens. The feel of him swelling in her mouth is the same, but that’s her favorite, knowing she can expect something good. She’s got her lips and a fist wrapped firmly around him so she slides her other hand up his torso, palm right over his heart, and his fingers lock between hers and squeeze so tight.
His moans become disjointed words, silly little things about what he wants to do to her, interspersed with curses and nonsense -- “Fuck, Les, wanna touch you, god...” -- and she pulls off him with a last strike of her tongue, practically tackling him to the bed and smothering his face with kisses, feeling his hands shove her pants down as fast as they can. She dissolves into giggles because she can’t kick them off her feet, because usually she’s naked by now and she can just sink down on him and get to work, but breaks in routine are fun and she loves cataloguing every expression on Ben’s face as he adjusts.
He lightly tips her off him, onto her back. He rises on his knees and her eyes follow his erection as it bounces slightly, and she contemplates sitting back up for more. But he leans over and works her jeans off her legs slowly, too slowly, like wow, it’s rude how slow he’s going.
“You made me wait all day. For Jerry,” he reminds her, yet again. And dammit, patience is her weakness, and he knows this, and it’s both a blessing and a curse. And he’s gonna make her wait, which always has good end results, but the end is later and not now and she needs it now.
“Ben,” she whines, drawing out the vowels til her voice turns childish. This is usually the part where he pushes her legs open, kisses there until she shakes, but suddenly he’s pinned her arms above her head, his hips slotted snugly between her thighs with a smug grin.
To her surprise -- and Leslie loves surprises -- he’s inside her in no time, and she raises her legs against his ribcage to feel him deep inside, as he works up a lazy thrusting rhythm and tightens his hold on her wrists, keeping his mouth just out of reach.
But it’s not like either of them are suave and she’s totally fine with that, because even with her arms secured by his large hands, they just end up grinning stupidly at each other, and man she’s got that overwhelming feeling in her chest like she loves him the most out of everyone in the world. And before long he slows to a halt, abandons her arms in favor of taking her face in his hands, kissing her and kissing her until her lips hurt. She wraps her arms so tightly around his shoulders and never wants to move, ever.
Until she feels him twitch inside, and yeah, he should probably start moving.
When she slides her hands down to his butt, her absolute favorite part of anyone (and the feeling of it in her palm, god, the best familiar feeling), he moves to grip her waist and rotate, landing on his back with her on top of him.
“I know we do this a lot,” he says quietly into her neck, where his lips and tongue are lavishing her skin, “But I still really like it.” She briefly cuddles into his chest and nods, her body shaking with happy laughter.
And she can do something different if she wants, like surprise him by straddling him backwards or going down on him again, but sometimes things are the usual for a reason, and as she wiggles over him and reaches down to help him inside, she’s more than okay with that.
They kiss a lot and move a lot, and sometimes he lays back and lets her sit straight up, bouncing and moving for his eyes. But tonight his hands are everywhere and he pushes himself up, keeps their chests pressed together, makes sure his lips never leave her body.
Ben has the patience to make things last, but Leslie wants it all right now. She moves fast and strong and he meets her, and she races him to the finish but he wins, and she feels it inside as his fingers flex against her and he grunts her name.
They slow down despite her being so, so close, kissing and teasing tongues and Ben can’t stop touching her hair.
“You beat me,” she teases, resting her forehead on his.
“Oh, fine.”
In a flash she’s on her back again, and before she even knows what’s happening she feels his tongue sweep up her clit and she yelps loudly, clutching at his hair like her life depends on it.
“Oh my god, Ben, what--”
And she doesn’t know what to expect, keeps expecting him to tire but his tongue is everywhere, over her and inside her and feasting on her, his long nose adding to the pressure, a finger -- no fingers, but it’s not like she can count or even think right now -- curling inside her roughly.
Her eyes are squeezed shut so his other hand surprises her when it lands on her breast, caressing and squeezing and playing at her nipple, and she covers it with her own as she whimpers.
Next thing she shows, he’s sucking on her and she’s done, that’s it, her thighs clench of their own accord and her entire body goes taught before extreme relaxation, like every part of her is jelly.
They’re still at first, him breathing heavily against her thigh as she hides her face in the nearest pillow, not so eager to catch up with the rest of the world just yet. Eventually he kisses just under her belly button before excusing himself to the bathroom. She’s somehow warm but shivering all over, and the lack of immediate cuddling is maybe the rudest part about tonight -- because that’s normal and this is a new thing she’s not a fan of -- and she reaches down next to the bed and grabs the first thing she feels.
It’s not his black hoodie, which she left abandoned by the front door, but his blue one, the one she usually claims for herself now. She pulls it on and pulls the sheets over her, leaving the zipper open because she craves the feeling of his chest against hers.
When he finally reappears, she doesn’t even speak, just raises her arms in invitation. He’s pulled his boxers back on at some point but joins her in bed, lets her leg snake around his as she rests against him, warm skin to warm skin.
“Love you,” she mumbles, feeling sleepier than usual. “And like you.”
“Love you, but don’t like you when you make me wait.”
She elbows him.
“Get over it.”
He teasingly pulls the hood over her head and kisses her nose before settling against the pillows.
And this, this has been roughly the same since that very first night. Her ear against his heartbeat, his nose pressed against her hair. Everytime, without fail, this is where they end up.
And this is one thing she’ll never, ever tire of.
---
She gets him to put the mac and cheese on top of her breakfast waffle. He thinks its gross but she thinks it’s wonderful, but when she pushes him on his back again in gratitude, they come to an agreement.
pairing: Leslie/Ben
rating: NC17
words: ~2000
notes: Spoilers for last night's ep. After months of insanely frustrating writers block, I stayed up til 2:30am on my Disney World vacation because I had to write this. I know a lot's going on right now, but if anyone needs a distraction or something a little happy and fluffly and smutty, I hope maybe this can be a tiny little nice thing. Stay safe, everyone. (And apologies for the font changing under the cut, I haven't figured out how to fix that yet)
Her legs straddling the sides of his was familiar, and familiarity is one of Leslie’s favorite things in the world. New experiences are great too, because nothing can replace the exciting possibilities involved in trailblazing, and taking risks is always a rewarding process in the end. But familiarity was like a big hug, and Leslie spends hours cataloguing her life for the memories later, tucking away details to recall when she’s up for some good old-fashioned nostalgia.
But whatever, making out with Ben is awesome because it’s familiar and new at the same time. Even now, even though it’s been two years since they first came together, even though they’re married and settled, they’re still oh-so-happy and she’s still urged to press her lips to his every moment she can. And he took the whole day off to be with her yet they’ve been fully dressed since she pulled him to the parks department in the morning, and she knows in her mind that she still can’t leave Jerry hanging yet, but dammit she wants to rip his hoodie off right here and now.
So she shifts into his lap like so many times before, smushing the tip of her nose into his cheek, feeling the amazingly great familiarity of making out with her husband. His fingertips sneak under her shirt and it’s perfect, they fit perfectly, and she’ll have this forever and she’s still trying to get used to that part. After waiting to get to forever with Ben for so long, it’s still weird to find herself at the cusp of it.
And she realizes his hand’s up her shirt and there’s windows in her office, and they have all night and all their lives to finish this.
He pouts when she pulls herself away, and he pouts for the rest of the entire day, and she pats him on the arm because she’s been having sex with her stupid husband for almost two years and he’s still upset when he has to wait, and that’s dumb and wonderful at the same time.
Husband. She can’t wait until that word rolls off her tongue and fits like a glove. But right now, it’s thrilling that it doesn’t yet.
---
Ben pulls her from Jerry’s party pretty quickly, and he doesn’t really say much as he drives them home, his eyes on the road and his foot on the pedal. God, he’s sexy when he’s intense. And when he’s anything else. Just like, all the time. And if she doesn’t get his shirt off soon she might scream -- if he doesn’t first.
It’s kind of a blur but the next thing she knows, they’re in the foyer and he’s got her pressed against the wall, the front door still hanging open as he pushes a knee between hers and buries his fingers in her hair. And this, this is familiar -- his tongue against her lower lip, her hands unable to sit still on his back. Then he abruptly drops his head and lightly sinks his teeth into her neck, and ohh, something different.
“If you,” he pants between little nips at her skin, punctuating his words, “make me wait--to celebrate Jerry--before having sex with you--again--I swear--to--god.”
She feels his lips curl into a smile, though.
“I think you’ll live,” she says smugly, pushing his hoodie off his shoulders as she finally shuts the front door. His shirt follows, then hers, but she stops his hands as he reaches for the button of her jeans. “Bedroom.”
He practically falls over himself getting to the stairs and she hugs him from behind, which makes it harder to walk, but god she just loves him, wants him, needs to feel him always. It’s ridiculous, how she’s never satisfied, how it’s never close enough. Her hands slide down his stomach, past his hip bones, and he’s already stepping out of his jeans as they stumble through their bedroom door.
She pushes him back on the bed and he’s perfectly happy to let her, as he leans back on his elbows and grins while she makes quick work of his boxers. The feel of the elastic in her hands as she maneuvers the band over his erection -- familiar. She’s in control and she loves it, loves what she does to him, loves that she knows exactly how his breath will hitch if she nuzzles his hip, how he’ll gasp as she settles on the ground between his legs, how his fingers grasp for leverage as she kisses the tip of his cock.
It’s second nature by now, the way her lips move and her tongue follows, the way his hands lightly sweep her hair off her neck as he keens. The feel of him swelling in her mouth is the same, but that’s her favorite, knowing she can expect something good. She’s got her lips and a fist wrapped firmly around him so she slides her other hand up his torso, palm right over his heart, and his fingers lock between hers and squeeze so tight.
His moans become disjointed words, silly little things about what he wants to do to her, interspersed with curses and nonsense -- “Fuck, Les, wanna touch you, god...” -- and she pulls off him with a last strike of her tongue, practically tackling him to the bed and smothering his face with kisses, feeling his hands shove her pants down as fast as they can. She dissolves into giggles because she can’t kick them off her feet, because usually she’s naked by now and she can just sink down on him and get to work, but breaks in routine are fun and she loves cataloguing every expression on Ben’s face as he adjusts.
He lightly tips her off him, onto her back. He rises on his knees and her eyes follow his erection as it bounces slightly, and she contemplates sitting back up for more. But he leans over and works her jeans off her legs slowly, too slowly, like wow, it’s rude how slow he’s going.
“You made me wait all day. For Jerry,” he reminds her, yet again. And dammit, patience is her weakness, and he knows this, and it’s both a blessing and a curse. And he’s gonna make her wait, which always has good end results, but the end is later and not now and she needs it now.
“Ben,” she whines, drawing out the vowels til her voice turns childish. This is usually the part where he pushes her legs open, kisses there until she shakes, but suddenly he’s pinned her arms above her head, his hips slotted snugly between her thighs with a smug grin.
To her surprise -- and Leslie loves surprises -- he’s inside her in no time, and she raises her legs against his ribcage to feel him deep inside, as he works up a lazy thrusting rhythm and tightens his hold on her wrists, keeping his mouth just out of reach.
But it’s not like either of them are suave and she’s totally fine with that, because even with her arms secured by his large hands, they just end up grinning stupidly at each other, and man she’s got that overwhelming feeling in her chest like she loves him the most out of everyone in the world. And before long he slows to a halt, abandons her arms in favor of taking her face in his hands, kissing her and kissing her until her lips hurt. She wraps her arms so tightly around his shoulders and never wants to move, ever.
Until she feels him twitch inside, and yeah, he should probably start moving.
When she slides her hands down to his butt, her absolute favorite part of anyone (and the feeling of it in her palm, god, the best familiar feeling), he moves to grip her waist and rotate, landing on his back with her on top of him.
“I know we do this a lot,” he says quietly into her neck, where his lips and tongue are lavishing her skin, “But I still really like it.” She briefly cuddles into his chest and nods, her body shaking with happy laughter.
And she can do something different if she wants, like surprise him by straddling him backwards or going down on him again, but sometimes things are the usual for a reason, and as she wiggles over him and reaches down to help him inside, she’s more than okay with that.
They kiss a lot and move a lot, and sometimes he lays back and lets her sit straight up, bouncing and moving for his eyes. But tonight his hands are everywhere and he pushes himself up, keeps their chests pressed together, makes sure his lips never leave her body.
Ben has the patience to make things last, but Leslie wants it all right now. She moves fast and strong and he meets her, and she races him to the finish but he wins, and she feels it inside as his fingers flex against her and he grunts her name.
They slow down despite her being so, so close, kissing and teasing tongues and Ben can’t stop touching her hair.
“You beat me,” she teases, resting her forehead on his.
“Oh, fine.”
In a flash she’s on her back again, and before she even knows what’s happening she feels his tongue sweep up her clit and she yelps loudly, clutching at his hair like her life depends on it.
“Oh my god, Ben, what--”
And she doesn’t know what to expect, keeps expecting him to tire but his tongue is everywhere, over her and inside her and feasting on her, his long nose adding to the pressure, a finger -- no fingers, but it’s not like she can count or even think right now -- curling inside her roughly.
Her eyes are squeezed shut so his other hand surprises her when it lands on her breast, caressing and squeezing and playing at her nipple, and she covers it with her own as she whimpers.
Next thing she shows, he’s sucking on her and she’s done, that’s it, her thighs clench of their own accord and her entire body goes taught before extreme relaxation, like every part of her is jelly.
They’re still at first, him breathing heavily against her thigh as she hides her face in the nearest pillow, not so eager to catch up with the rest of the world just yet. Eventually he kisses just under her belly button before excusing himself to the bathroom. She’s somehow warm but shivering all over, and the lack of immediate cuddling is maybe the rudest part about tonight -- because that’s normal and this is a new thing she’s not a fan of -- and she reaches down next to the bed and grabs the first thing she feels.
It’s not his black hoodie, which she left abandoned by the front door, but his blue one, the one she usually claims for herself now. She pulls it on and pulls the sheets over her, leaving the zipper open because she craves the feeling of his chest against hers.
When he finally reappears, she doesn’t even speak, just raises her arms in invitation. He’s pulled his boxers back on at some point but joins her in bed, lets her leg snake around his as she rests against him, warm skin to warm skin.
“Love you,” she mumbles, feeling sleepier than usual. “And like you.”
“Love you, but don’t like you when you make me wait.”
She elbows him.
“Get over it.”
He teasingly pulls the hood over her head and kisses her nose before settling against the pillows.
And this, this has been roughly the same since that very first night. Her ear against his heartbeat, his nose pressed against her hair. Everytime, without fail, this is where they end up.
And this is one thing she’ll never, ever tire of.
---
She gets him to put the mac and cheese on top of her breakfast waffle. He thinks its gross but she thinks it’s wonderful, but when she pushes him on his back again in gratitude, they come to an agreement.