fic: practice makes perfect, leslie/ben, nc17
title: Practice Makes Perfect
pairing: Leslie/Ben
rating: NC17
words: ~1800
notes: I'm not a fan of how this turned out, but I owed ashisfriendly. NOW FINISH YOUR NEXT CHAPTER, ASHLEY. Thank you for late night (possibly wine-addled) encouragement americnxidiot. This is just a thing that can fit into the finale.
“You’re absolutely positive you’re not pregnant?”
While she loves his concern and the way it makes him unable to stop touching her, an important staple of day-to-day local government just rallied together in hatred of her. And while it’s certainly not the first time a town forum has turned like that, it does seem to be the most personal. And, “No, Benjamin, as I’ve already said.”
He bristles a bit, but she sees his eyes soften and his mouth droops just a little, maybe, as he sighs, pacing back and forth in front of her podium.
“Okay.”
Everyone has cleared from the auditorium, Leslie left with little more than a text message apology from Ann and the memories of an entire citizen forum glowering at her. Not at a project she was proposing, but at her. And Ben’s worried that she’s pregnant? She bangs her forehead on the microphone a little more.
“You just, I mean, you didn’t want to drink yesterday--”
“I had to focus!”
“And, and, we haven’t used condoms in a long--”
“Ben. I’m still on birth control. We just started talking about this.”
“That was just a surprise, is all.”
She exhales and feels a smile begin to play on her face. Despite the fact that everything else is going awfully, this is sort of how she imagined Ben would be. Luckily enough, they never had a real pregnancy scare. Leslie was always more than efficient with birth control, and highly responsible. But she thought he’d be like this; not upset, not angry, not scared. Just alarmed, concerned . . . and maybe a little hopeful.
With force, she pushes away from the podium and leans against the folding table, nudging Ben with her leg.
“Would have been a nicer surprise than the meeting was,” she muses, frowning again. It’s soothing when his hand finds purchase on her knee, fidgeting with the edge of her skirt.
“Hey, don’t let this get you down, they’re just angry--”
She leans over and quiets him with a kiss, easing herself into his lap.
“I just . . . I didn’t think they hated me.”
“They don’t. It’s politics, Leslie, people get riled up.”
She shrugs. There are probably logical reasons, sure, and she can brainstorm and start on a binder of solutions later that night. But now it’s just her and Ben in an empty auditorium and she maybe wants to be a little upset and then cheered up by her husband.
“Yeah. But hey,” she starts, turning in his arms a bit and throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Now we know how you’ll react when that does happen.”
He smiles shyly. They’ve talked about it, though just a little here and there. Dreams of the future, ideas of a swingset in the backyard and a family dog and bookshelves full of photo albums and picture frames.
“You know . . .” he begins softly, almost whispering, a little embarrassed. One hand sits heavy on her thigh, the other running up and down her back, and even through the thick blazer, she feels warmth. “I almost got excited, a little. Is that bad?”
Her breath catches, and for the millionth time since she met him, she feels like her heart’s in her throat. And the only thing she can do is shake her head, pressing her lips back against his, pulling him as close as she can because she feels like her chest might burst.
She really, really can’t wait to start a family with Ben.
“Maybe, when all of this,” he nods at her ‘Are You Better Off?’ sign, “is sorted out . . .”
He lets the question hang in the air between them, his forehead pressed against hers, their noses grazing. She giggles a little, as his hand cups her cheek, his fingers sliding into her hair.
“Definitely.”
They both lean back in and he captures her bottom lip between his. She shifts around, adjusting herself, letting the skirt slide up her thighs as she straddles him. Her hands find their usual purchase on the chair behind him, trapping him between her elbows, pressing their chests together snugly. The chair squeaks as Ben leans back and they both abruptly pause.
“This maybe isn’t the safest activity for a folding chair,” he guesses, and they both clutch each other and laugh. “Home?”
Leslie looks around, thinking. They have the place rented out for the rest of the afternoon . . . and everyone is gone . . . Hmm.
“You know, if we’re going to really do this . . .”
He looks at her questioningly, eyebrow raised.
“We should probably practice.”
“Leslie.” He blushes a light shade of pink, and she loves that she can still catch him off guard.
“We’re alone, aren’t we?” She starts playing with his tie, loosening the knot.
“That’s what our bed is for,” he argues gently. “Our nice, soft bed, back at home, in privacy, where--”
“Shhh.” She lays a finger against his lips to make him stop, because she’s feeling a lot of feelings and one of them is the need to make out with his face right now. And maybe do more things. She carefully detangles from him and steps back, waiting for the table to hit her thighs. Once she’s there, she hoists herself up and waits.
Ben’s staring with wide, startled eyes. It’s not like they’ve never made out in a weird place before; she can remember back seats, locker rooms, plenty of other podiums and chairs. And yet he’s still so nervous, every time. Good thing she knows how to relax him. She extends her leg and taps him with her foot.
“C’mon, honey.”
It doesn’t take him long to stand, shuffling forward to stand between her legs, palms resting against her hips. Before he can think about it even more, she reaches behind his neck and pulls him back down, tongue tracing his lips until he gives in, which never takes long. And just like always, he doesn’t wait to let his hands roam, up and down her thighs, teasing just under her skirt, smiling against her mouth.
But Leslie’s adrenaline is up now, because even though they’ve messed around in some weird places, this feels so exposed -- the room is large and every sound echoes, and the fluorescent lights are bright and unforgiving. But it’s kind of thrilling, being intimate in so impersonal a space.
She just wants to lose herself in him.
Her impatience kicks in while Ben kisses down her neck and she tosses her blazer to the side, unable to decide between his shirt buttons or hers. She settles on half undone for both of them before attacking his belt, but he surprises her when he eases her onto her back, following kisses down her sternum as he takes over with her buttons.
It takes him a minute to get her shirt undone and untucked, finally nosing aside a bra cup to trail his lips over her breast. She’s so distracted that his fingers between her thighs make her jump. Between his tongue swirling against her skin and his fingers caressing over the damp cotton.
Suddenly he detaches from her chest and before she can blink he’s lowered to his knees in front of her, taking off his suit jacket, and then he’s holding her panties to the side as he starts kissing her thighs. She props herself up on her elbows, smiling at the sight of his mussed hair between her knees.
“I’m pretty sure this won’t conceive anything,” she teases, scratching her nails against his scalp.
“Doesn’t mean it’s not worth practicing.”
Well she can’t argue with that work ethic.
She collapses back against the table as his tongue begins a slow path around her, his hands smoothing up and down her calves. She can feel a shoe slip off her foot and then accidentally kicks it into the empty chairs when his lips close around her.
“Crap,” she groans, hips bucking. As if Ben’s ever needed practice at this.
He continues to lap at her until she can’t take it anymore, until she’s just at the cusp, and he has the nerve to smirk about it as he stands back up. She grabs him by the belt and practically tears it off, shoving down both his pants and boxers at the same time and taking him tightly in her palm. He hisses and loses his balance, leaning into her for support.
“Jesus, babe.”
The pet name’s enough to make her wrap her legs around his waist, lining him up against her center. He does the rest, his hold tightening on her as he pushes into her. He stills and she looks up and they’re both grinning stupidly, and goddamn she loves her husband so much it hurts.
So she tells him as he starts thrusting, she whispers it into his neck and against his mouth. It’s not until now that she finally pushes his unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders, yanks his undershirt over his head. He reaches behind her to unclasp her bra and they’re finally skin-to-skin, just the fabric of her skirt around her waist sitting between them. That’s okay, there’s no way in hell she’s letting go to take it off now, and she only tightens her hold on him.
“Ohmygod, Les, I love you--”
“Faster, Ben, god--”
It’s a flurry of clipped words and kisses pressed against whatever skin they can reach as his hips begin to piston into hers, and she feels the burn begin to swell and his fingers tighten against her and they just clutch each other and kiss and she can feel everything and then--
“Well, that was a productive practice.”
She’s ended up on her back, knees dangling off the edge of the table with him collapsed into her chest. Her fingers play with the tips of his hair and she can feel his laugh reverberate against her heart.
“Yeah, I think we got some things done.”
But the position’s awkward and she can feel her back getting sore, so as soon as they catch their breath, they peel apart and slowly start redressing.
“You know, I kind of can’t wait to do this for real.”
She looks up at him curiously as she slides her blazer back on, adjusting her hair over her shoulders.
“Like, making a baby.”
It’s the plainest term either of them have used so far. It’s a little startling.
It feels right, though.
“Me either.”
She temporarily forgets about the angry citizens and spends the ride home thinking of Ben with an infant in his arms, rocking it to sleep. Her hand grasps for his and holds on tight.
pairing: Leslie/Ben
rating: NC17
words: ~1800
notes: I'm not a fan of how this turned out, but I owed ashisfriendly. NOW FINISH YOUR NEXT CHAPTER, ASHLEY. Thank you for late night (possibly wine-addled) encouragement americnxidiot. This is just a thing that can fit into the finale.
“You’re absolutely positive you’re not pregnant?”
While she loves his concern and the way it makes him unable to stop touching her, an important staple of day-to-day local government just rallied together in hatred of her. And while it’s certainly not the first time a town forum has turned like that, it does seem to be the most personal. And, “No, Benjamin, as I’ve already said.”
He bristles a bit, but she sees his eyes soften and his mouth droops just a little, maybe, as he sighs, pacing back and forth in front of her podium.
“Okay.”
Everyone has cleared from the auditorium, Leslie left with little more than a text message apology from Ann and the memories of an entire citizen forum glowering at her. Not at a project she was proposing, but at her. And Ben’s worried that she’s pregnant? She bangs her forehead on the microphone a little more.
“You just, I mean, you didn’t want to drink yesterday--”
“I had to focus!”
“And, and, we haven’t used condoms in a long--”
“Ben. I’m still on birth control. We just started talking about this.”
“That was just a surprise, is all.”
She exhales and feels a smile begin to play on her face. Despite the fact that everything else is going awfully, this is sort of how she imagined Ben would be. Luckily enough, they never had a real pregnancy scare. Leslie was always more than efficient with birth control, and highly responsible. But she thought he’d be like this; not upset, not angry, not scared. Just alarmed, concerned . . . and maybe a little hopeful.
With force, she pushes away from the podium and leans against the folding table, nudging Ben with her leg.
“Would have been a nicer surprise than the meeting was,” she muses, frowning again. It’s soothing when his hand finds purchase on her knee, fidgeting with the edge of her skirt.
“Hey, don’t let this get you down, they’re just angry--”
She leans over and quiets him with a kiss, easing herself into his lap.
“I just . . . I didn’t think they hated me.”
“They don’t. It’s politics, Leslie, people get riled up.”
She shrugs. There are probably logical reasons, sure, and she can brainstorm and start on a binder of solutions later that night. But now it’s just her and Ben in an empty auditorium and she maybe wants to be a little upset and then cheered up by her husband.
“Yeah. But hey,” she starts, turning in his arms a bit and throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Now we know how you’ll react when that does happen.”
He smiles shyly. They’ve talked about it, though just a little here and there. Dreams of the future, ideas of a swingset in the backyard and a family dog and bookshelves full of photo albums and picture frames.
“You know . . .” he begins softly, almost whispering, a little embarrassed. One hand sits heavy on her thigh, the other running up and down her back, and even through the thick blazer, she feels warmth. “I almost got excited, a little. Is that bad?”
Her breath catches, and for the millionth time since she met him, she feels like her heart’s in her throat. And the only thing she can do is shake her head, pressing her lips back against his, pulling him as close as she can because she feels like her chest might burst.
She really, really can’t wait to start a family with Ben.
“Maybe, when all of this,” he nods at her ‘Are You Better Off?’ sign, “is sorted out . . .”
He lets the question hang in the air between them, his forehead pressed against hers, their noses grazing. She giggles a little, as his hand cups her cheek, his fingers sliding into her hair.
“Definitely.”
They both lean back in and he captures her bottom lip between his. She shifts around, adjusting herself, letting the skirt slide up her thighs as she straddles him. Her hands find their usual purchase on the chair behind him, trapping him between her elbows, pressing their chests together snugly. The chair squeaks as Ben leans back and they both abruptly pause.
“This maybe isn’t the safest activity for a folding chair,” he guesses, and they both clutch each other and laugh. “Home?”
Leslie looks around, thinking. They have the place rented out for the rest of the afternoon . . . and everyone is gone . . . Hmm.
“You know, if we’re going to really do this . . .”
He looks at her questioningly, eyebrow raised.
“We should probably practice.”
“Leslie.” He blushes a light shade of pink, and she loves that she can still catch him off guard.
“We’re alone, aren’t we?” She starts playing with his tie, loosening the knot.
“That’s what our bed is for,” he argues gently. “Our nice, soft bed, back at home, in privacy, where--”
“Shhh.” She lays a finger against his lips to make him stop, because she’s feeling a lot of feelings and one of them is the need to make out with his face right now. And maybe do more things. She carefully detangles from him and steps back, waiting for the table to hit her thighs. Once she’s there, she hoists herself up and waits.
Ben’s staring with wide, startled eyes. It’s not like they’ve never made out in a weird place before; she can remember back seats, locker rooms, plenty of other podiums and chairs. And yet he’s still so nervous, every time. Good thing she knows how to relax him. She extends her leg and taps him with her foot.
“C’mon, honey.”
It doesn’t take him long to stand, shuffling forward to stand between her legs, palms resting against her hips. Before he can think about it even more, she reaches behind his neck and pulls him back down, tongue tracing his lips until he gives in, which never takes long. And just like always, he doesn’t wait to let his hands roam, up and down her thighs, teasing just under her skirt, smiling against her mouth.
But Leslie’s adrenaline is up now, because even though they’ve messed around in some weird places, this feels so exposed -- the room is large and every sound echoes, and the fluorescent lights are bright and unforgiving. But it’s kind of thrilling, being intimate in so impersonal a space.
She just wants to lose herself in him.
Her impatience kicks in while Ben kisses down her neck and she tosses her blazer to the side, unable to decide between his shirt buttons or hers. She settles on half undone for both of them before attacking his belt, but he surprises her when he eases her onto her back, following kisses down her sternum as he takes over with her buttons.
It takes him a minute to get her shirt undone and untucked, finally nosing aside a bra cup to trail his lips over her breast. She’s so distracted that his fingers between her thighs make her jump. Between his tongue swirling against her skin and his fingers caressing over the damp cotton.
Suddenly he detaches from her chest and before she can blink he’s lowered to his knees in front of her, taking off his suit jacket, and then he’s holding her panties to the side as he starts kissing her thighs. She props herself up on her elbows, smiling at the sight of his mussed hair between her knees.
“I’m pretty sure this won’t conceive anything,” she teases, scratching her nails against his scalp.
“Doesn’t mean it’s not worth practicing.”
Well she can’t argue with that work ethic.
She collapses back against the table as his tongue begins a slow path around her, his hands smoothing up and down her calves. She can feel a shoe slip off her foot and then accidentally kicks it into the empty chairs when his lips close around her.
“Crap,” she groans, hips bucking. As if Ben’s ever needed practice at this.
He continues to lap at her until she can’t take it anymore, until she’s just at the cusp, and he has the nerve to smirk about it as he stands back up. She grabs him by the belt and practically tears it off, shoving down both his pants and boxers at the same time and taking him tightly in her palm. He hisses and loses his balance, leaning into her for support.
“Jesus, babe.”
The pet name’s enough to make her wrap her legs around his waist, lining him up against her center. He does the rest, his hold tightening on her as he pushes into her. He stills and she looks up and they’re both grinning stupidly, and goddamn she loves her husband so much it hurts.
So she tells him as he starts thrusting, she whispers it into his neck and against his mouth. It’s not until now that she finally pushes his unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders, yanks his undershirt over his head. He reaches behind her to unclasp her bra and they’re finally skin-to-skin, just the fabric of her skirt around her waist sitting between them. That’s okay, there’s no way in hell she’s letting go to take it off now, and she only tightens her hold on him.
“Ohmygod, Les, I love you--”
“Faster, Ben, god--”
It’s a flurry of clipped words and kisses pressed against whatever skin they can reach as his hips begin to piston into hers, and she feels the burn begin to swell and his fingers tighten against her and they just clutch each other and kiss and she can feel everything and then--
“Well, that was a productive practice.”
She’s ended up on her back, knees dangling off the edge of the table with him collapsed into her chest. Her fingers play with the tips of his hair and she can feel his laugh reverberate against her heart.
“Yeah, I think we got some things done.”
But the position’s awkward and she can feel her back getting sore, so as soon as they catch their breath, they peel apart and slowly start redressing.
“You know, I kind of can’t wait to do this for real.”
She looks up at him curiously as she slides her blazer back on, adjusting her hair over her shoulders.
“Like, making a baby.”
It’s the plainest term either of them have used so far. It’s a little startling.
It feels right, though.
“Me either.”
She temporarily forgets about the angry citizens and spends the ride home thinking of Ben with an infant in his arms, rocking it to sleep. Her hand grasps for his and holds on tight.