It wasn’t like Leslie didn’t get piss-drunk every month. She wasn’t going to reason with herself as she steps out of the cab and into the fluorescent lighting of Snakehole’s sign reflecting off of the damp sidewalk. Leslie wasn’t going to pretend that burning margaritas temporarily and irresponsibly filled the hole in her stomach.
It’s full in the bar. Every curved booth is filled with hot-breathed boys leaning closer to red-lipped girls. Music pounds through Leslie’s head, cushioning thoughts of work and Ann and Ron. It’s too humid in here, too difficult for her to think and breathe, so she unbuttons the top button of her blouse and weaves through thick clusters of sweaty people to the bar counter.
She orders a lime margarita and half a lemon for her to suck on. The lemon tasted extra sour, the lime as vibrant as the bright dance floor tiles. If she was lucky, she thought, some handsome guy with the same smile as Joe Biden would listen to her all night.
Halfway through her next 80% lemonade margarita, a man slides onto the barstool next to her. He doesn’t look too bad, tall and broad-shouldered, with deep features painted blue under tinted lights. He smiles and taps his nail against the glass counter, which Leslie notes has chipped black polish on it.
“It’s loud in here, isn’t it? Wanna get out of here?” He lets the words slide off white teeth, off a chiseled chin and straight to Leslie’s brain. His eyes glisten with something hidden, something dark and raveled and something Leslie doesn’t want to see much longer.
She looks around for a second, pointing at herself in fake innocence. “Who, me?”
He grins, sharp teeth over stretched lips. Hot distrust runs down Leslie’s chest. “Yes, ma’am.”
She has to think. She’s not completely out of it yet, only a little bit of cloudiness muddling her thoughts, but it clears away with the adrenaline-inducing look he gives her. The man’s finger draws circles on the counter.
“I don’t think it’s that kind of night, sir.” she states, fingers tightening slightly around the stem of her glass.
His smile drops a little, but he forces it higher and leans forward. Lights fall on the curls of his hair, letting his face fall into shadows. Leslie can smell the whiskey on his breath.
“Come on now, sweetheart. Make it that kind of night.”
Her throat runs dry. She wishes only to bring her sour drink to her lips, drink it all in two gulps, and deny this man. But she can tell that he’s not the kind of guy to back off. The song bouncing from the speakers behind her switches.
“I’m, um, actually here- I’m here with my boyfriend.” Leslie stutters.
The man’s features draw her away more than they intrigued her before. It’s interesting to her how quickly a man can turn into a danger in front of her eyes.
“I don’t see a boyfriend.”
Her heart races just as fast as it sinks. Icy blue lights turn mahogany in her gaze. How could she save this? How could she make the least scene possible?
She gets to her feet, and when the man follows suit, Leslie gets a clear image of how easily he could swallow her and shut her mouth and take her away like a breath of wind. He follows her back closer than comfortable as she slips through groups and reaches the booths, searching with heavy prayer for a lone man.
Two men bathed in the twirling lights come into her view. She puts a new speed into her step and reaches the booth, sliding in beside the closest one and slotting into his hip. Their conversation goes silent, and Leslie glances up to the man beside her with a look of pure plead. Something flashes in his gaze, but she turns back too quickly to catch it.
The terrifying man towers over the table, practically blocking out most of the lights. His eyes search over Leslie and the random man she’s leaning into, tracing every point of contact. “You’re her boyfriend?”
Leslie reaches with her hand under the table and gives a light tap to the random man’s knee. She feels him take a shuddering breath into her side. “Yep. Can we help you?”
She’s a little too scared to focus on his voice, how it lands in breathy cascades down the side of her neck, how the defensive tone makes her melt a little bit. The random man’s arm shifts from awkwardly tucked beside them and he slips it around her shoulders.
The terrifying man grunts and waves a thick hand in dismissal. “Whatever.” And he’s gone again, slipping back through the crowds of people and disappearing.
Leslie sits up as soon as he’s gone. The strangely attractive random man’s arm falls to her shoulder blade, pads of pure heat against her thin blouse. She looks up at him, getting a good look at him this time, and sees something much safer.
His features are pointed and abstract, but definitely more uniquely handsome than the other man. His eyebrows are furrowed together in a cutely concerned manner, and his curved mouth awkward and soft. Leslie realizes she’s staring and shakes herself out of it.
“Thank you, for playing along. He was trying to get in my pants, but I didn’t like the look in his eye.” she mutters, fumbling with her thumbs on the tabletop. The man across from her is also extremely attractive, but not in the cute-mixed-with-sexy way that her fake boyfriend was.
“I think that was extremely brave, and it was literally the most intense thing to ever happen to me.” the man across from her says. Leslie notes how his intense eyes match his strong tone. Like he’s pushing her to believe him.
“You can, uh, you can stay for a drink if you want. Just to keep him off your ass.” Once again, his voice is right beside her ear, sending light shivers down her ribs to her hips.
She smiles and scoots away from the man, letting his arm fall from her back to his side again. If she looks in the right sway of lights, Leslie can almost catch a hint of disappointment. His want would be something different to her, though. Reserved, respectful, just barely reaching the surface.
“I think I will.”
The intense man reaches across the table and shakes her hand. He’s weirdly not sweaty in the slightest. “I’m Chris Traeger, and this is my coworker and best friend in the entire world, Ben Wyatt.”
“Well, I’m Leslie Knope. What brings you two fine gentlemen to Pawnee?” she asks.
Ben sets down his beer and wipes the condensation in a smooth circle off of the table. In the same motion as the man who hit on Leslie, but his finger is smooth and his veins pop out handsomely. “Just government business. We’re here for a few weeks, then we’re off again.”
“Interesting. I work in Parks and Rec.” Leslie chimes. She can feel the minimal side effects of her unfinished drinks wearing off as she watches Ben’s lips move. Or maybe he’s making her slightly more woozy.
“Then I suppose we might run into you sometime.” A smile plays at the corners of his flushed lips, sending a flurry of butterflies to Leslie’s stomach. Her eyes drift experimentally down to his loose tie, his slightly wrinkled dress pants and his rolled sleeves. She could just pull that dumb tie towards her and bite his stupidly soft-looking mouth. It’s a bit far-fetched to imagine this about a complete stranger, but she’s feeling risky.
“That’s a fair assumption.” She mutters. Ben’s tongue discreetly runs over the edges of his sharp teeth, watching her eyelids flit.
Leslie imagines how he would taste. Maybe the margaritas made her horny, or months of being single have, but she pictures a sweet beer taste. She wants him to smell like her favorite men’s cologne, the one that has the sunset on the label. She wants his hands to work her like clay underneath him.
Chris clears his throat, and Leslie snaps back to the present, flushed red from embarrassment. But now she can’t stop picturing the strand of hair that fell out of place and onto Ben’s forehead, how she would run her hands through it and tug it slightly. The sounds he would make.
“I’m going to use the washroom. I will be back shortly.” Chris clips shortly, standing swiftly.
Leslie looks back at Ben, a new flush of heat rising to the backs of her ears when he’s already watching her. It feels like forever in waves of blue lights, the heat from his body practically overheating her. His gaze is less of the secluded brown she saw before, more of a glint now, more pull beneath his pupils.
He leans forward, mouth brushing against her ear. His breath is colder than she imagined, but it’s better. “Do you wanna make out while he’s gone?” he whispers.
Heated tingles run straight to Leslie’s pelvis, wrapping like snakes around her hips and waist. She flexes forward, feeling his breath shudder against her neck in a flash of weakness.
“Please.” Leslie replies. It comes out more strangled than she had hoped, but it doesn’t matter in a few seconds when Ben slots his lips onto hers, one hand slipping to the small of her back as the other drifts to her cheek.
His breath fans out over her face, and she loves everything about this, how fast he is to work his tongue into her mouth, how he lightly bites her lip a minute later to pull a reaction out of her. His hand urges her closer, rubbing circles into her back as she curves into him, hands running through his hair just like she imagined. Ben’s soft, his hair and his hands and the way he holds her. The kiss isn’t sloppy, it’s perfect and gentle and rough all at once, enough to leave her panting when he pulls away.
“He’ll be back in a minute.” Ben mutters, smoothing the pad of his thumb over her reddened lips. Leslie smooths down his hair, and as Chris reaches the booth, Ben takes his hand from the small of her back and lets it fall onto her thigh.
Chris smiles in pure ignorance, not bothering to comment on how close the two were now. “Does anyone want another drink? I don’t think I’ll have another beer, if I want to drive us back to the hotel. Right, Ben?”
Leslie watches Ben’s jaw clench and immediately wants to suck a mark into it. God, she’s really horny. “Good call, Chris. That’s great.” his hand rubs a slow circle into Leslie’s thigh and she squeezes her legs together, urging him on.
“I think I want a lemonade. I wanna be sober tonight, too.” Leslie says, letting a dangerous hand guide Ben’s hand higher up her thigh. He swallows heavily in her peripherals, and her blood runs hot with golden thoughts.
“Great! I will grab us a jug of lemonade and some new glasses.” Chris exclaims, standing again.
As soon as he’s gone, Ben’s pressed against her again, but it’s light kisses now, down her cheek and to her jaw, a bit rougher when he gets to her neck. Leslie combs a hand through his dark hair, gripping it tighter as he grazes his teeth over a sensitive spot.
“Christ, Ben, I need you,” Leslie breathes, craning her neck back as Ben’s wet lips slide back up her neck, kissing along her jaw and pressing a soft kiss on her lips.
“I know, we can get out of here soon.” he mutters against her lips. One of his fingers plays with a strand of her hair, twisting it around his finger and untwisting it again.
Leslie shivers at the touch. “You’re really hot.”
Ben smiles against her mouth, pinching the skin at her waist with his other hand. It burns beautifully, and she wants it tattooed on her. “Same to you.”
The next time Chris comes back, Ben’s hand moves along Leslie’s thigh in circles, reaching higher and pressing into the inside of her leg. They sip lemonade, erasing the taste of each other on their tongues, and Leslie wants it back again as soon as it washes down. She wants his hands everywhere, she wants to feel his eyes trace every bare part of her body, she needs his lips on her skin.
Leslie doesn’t know how it happens, but Chris looks a little humiliated as Ben ushers her out of the booth. His hands anchor her hips as she leads them out of Snakehole, where it’s nice and brisk outside. Leslie’s surge of adrenaline is pressing him against the brick wall, pulling on his tie as her lips devour his in painful need.
Her hungry mouth moves down his jawline, sucking at the crook of his neck as she moves down and nips at the stretch of skin on his collarbone.
“My hotel is- fuck, Leslie- 3 blocks away,” Ben sighs, squirming against her in impatience.
“We can call a cab,” Leslie says lazily, pressing another kiss into him as his teeth pull on her lip for permission again. Her hands feed around his neck and her entire body presses against his lean frame. His long hands hold her hips, squeezing her tight, like she’ll fly away if he lets go, and she might if she’s honest.
She finally takes his hand and drags him to the sidewalk, hailing a cab and leading him in. Ben says the address and then his lips are diving for her neck again, sucking harsh hickeys into the expanse of hot skin. Leslie knows she has work on Monday, that these will be stark on her skin and everyone will see, but maybe that’s what she wants. Maybe she wants proof of Ben, how many tangles of feelings he is wrapped in one.
Time passes fast, too fast for Leslie and Ben, and everything except for each other is a blur as they stumble into the elevator. She’s impatient, but she wants it drawn out all the same. His heat is like its own alcohol every time his hands wrap around her. Ben’s careful with her, almost too careful for Leslie’s taste, but it makes her head tingle when his fingers barely touch her.
The door shuts behind them and Ben locks it, almost slipping off of it as Leslie tugs him towards the neatly made bed in the centre of the room. He kisses her this time, his sloppily contained lust making the kiss rough with force. Leslie’s whining into his mouth, pulling on his shirt, and it makes him fall apart.
And then his hands are doing what his racing thoughts won’t, and Ben’s lowering her onto the bed, watching her gorgeous blond hair spill out across the pillows, feeling her thighs squeeze his hips as she straddles him. Her brilliant blue eyes flutter up at him, faux innocent in her expression. He wants that pale column of her neck, the one that she flexes so well, to be painted mulberry by his lips. And God, she’s gorgeous, and it’s all Ben can see. He would stare at her all night if he wasn’t so hard.
“Take my shirt off, Ben. You can’t stare all night.” Leslie whispers, practically reading his thoughts.
Ben’s fingers move automatically, shaking as they unbutton Leslie’s blouse until she’s able to slip it off. Her stomach sucks in a little bit as her chest raises, taking a shaky breath. Ben watches, nothing but mesmerised at her body, her skin, everything about her.
“You’re beautiful, Leslie. Holy shit.” he breathes aloud. He watches her throat flex as she swallows and is tempted to lean down and press hot marks into that exact spot.
Leslie smiles and worries the fabric of his tie between her fingers. “Thank you, sweetheart. My bra, too.”
Ben nods and briskly slips the arms of her bra off of her shoulders, unclasping the back and throwing it to the hotel room floor carelessly. Leslie is a glowing bodice of skin, plain and unashamed and moving. He leans down and kisses lightly at the spot above her breast, looking up as if for permission, and with Leslie’s eyelids fluttering shut he takes it as a sign to keep going. His mouth presses slow, tantalising kisses around the expanse of her breasts, and he kisses down her stomach and bites lightly at her hips. He’s satisfied when she gasps and jumps slightly.
And then his lips are moving back up her torso, dragging hot spit in a trail over her curves, and Ben’s impatient and painfully hard, and he takes one of her nipples against his tongue and works the other nipple with his thumb, grazing against it as Leslie moans and writhes against him. He grins, terribly close to just cumming in his pants, but he pushes on, biting lightly at the side of her boob and rolling it in his hand. Leslie falls apart beneath him, even bucking up into him when he sucks a hickey onto the sharp point of her ribcage right below her breast.
Ben leans forward until his mouth is right beside Leslie’s ear, her hand in his hair. “You’re very noisy.”
“Shut up,” Leslie mumbles, still pressing her heels into the small of his back. Her breath tickles Ben’s ear and it makes him melt. “You’d be worse if I was in charge.”
He grins at the retort, nipping lightly at her earlobe. “Is that a challenge?”
Leslie pushes on his chest, making him sit up as her hot hands loosen his tie and pull it over his head. Ben’s hands take over to unbutton his shirt, and Leslie can feel his intense eyes watching her as his fingers flex and work over the buttons. Finally, he slips it off and tosses it to the carpet, and Leslie can’t help but stare at him. He’s not terribly chiselled, but he definitely works out. He’s perfect.
He mutters something that sounds clouded in her head, but not from any alcohol or drowsiness, only from his hands, the spots of heat dotted along her chest and neck, the way his eyes fall on her like she’s the only thing to exist. And then he’s flipping their entanglement gently, laying underneath her as she straddles his waist.
Ben’s hands rub her hipbone gently. “Was that okay? We can do the other way, if- if you’re more comfortable.”
Leslie’s hands graze over his bare chest, stopping just before his pants. She feels him tense beneath her. “This is perfect.”
Her body slips from his for a moment as they strip down to nothing now, but Leslie stops Ben from taking off his boxers. She climbs back on him again, this time with her bare thighs rubbing on soft cotton, and she almost moans at the feeling of his erection just one piece of fabric away.
Leslie arches her back as she leans forward, kissing wet, careless hickeys down the column of Ben’s neck. One hand combs through his hair while the other reaches between their bodies for his boxers. Her fingers press into his erection, and Ben lets a low groan escape from his lips. His jaw tips back as Leslie rubs her palm against him through his boxers, not letting herself slip underneath the fabric. She yearns to feel how hot he is, to feel the pride in having his dick twitch in her palm.
“Fuck, Leslie, slow down,” Ben breathes out, throat vibrating against Leslie’s lips.
Leslie eases off the tiniest bit, instead pressing rougher hickeys into Ben’s neck. “Don’t cum, Ben, not yet.”
He lets out a strangled moan and bucks into her hand, jostling her hips forward. It sends red-hot drips of lust down the concaves of her back. Leslie detaches herself from his throat and instructs him to lift his hips so that she can slip his boxers off. As soon as the elastic waistband is down far enough, Ben’s embarrassingly hard dick springs free. Leslie watches Ben cover his eyes with his forearm, red-hot blush crawling down his cheeks.
Her fingers, shaking worse now that Ben’s fully undressed, slowly wrap around his length and slide up. Ben inhales sharply, the hand on Leslie’s hip digging into her skin. She smoothes her thumb over his tip, spreading the building precum down the side of his erection. Ben moans out in a way that makes Leslie want to fuck him stupid.
“Do you wanna use protection?” Ben asks out, still leaning back with his eyes squeezed shut in concentration. His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, barely containing himself.
Leslie slowly slides her fingers down his dick, squeezing a bit tighter at his base. “Do you have condoms?”
Ben nods and lets his eyes open. He tries not to let his dick twitch at the sight of Leslie arched over it, graceful hand wrapped around him and her blue eyes following his breath. It’s like a renaissance painting to him. He points towards his suitcase. “Top pocket.”
Her weight is lost from his hips, a sudden chill washing over him, and Ben feels a little self-conscious just laying fully naked on the bed. He watches as Leslie bends over the suitcase, unzipping the pocket and pulling out his only emergency box of condoms. She takes one out and straightens again, somehow fluent and beautiful and sexy with her movements.
Her thighs are pressed against him again, his dick painfully close to her abdomen, but he keeps his hands off of her and only watches. Leslie takes the wrapper and throws it to the ground, and Ben notes how much of a mess there’ll be to clean up. But all thoughts are swept immediately back to Leslie when her hands roll the condom down his length. He groans through his teeth at the brief touch, but doesn’t complain when Leslie shuffles closer.
“Ready, Ben?” Leslie asks, voice low with sweet lust. A smile curls at the ends of her lips, and Ben wants it to stay there while she takes him. Ben nods and lets his hands take hold of her hips, lifting her up as she lines herself with his tip.
She inhales, looks up at him, and he slowly drops her down, feeling her soaked walls completely wrap around him. Ben feels suffocated, in the sweet breathless way where all he can breathe in is Leslie, all he can do is dig his nails into her hips tighter and moan out. Her eye contact squeezes his lungs, his only breaths full of her name in desperation. Suffocated in a way where air is much less important than the woman in front of him.
They exhale together, Leslie’s hands anchoring on Ben’s shoulders, most definitely leaving marks but he could care less. She’s insanely tight, and when Ben comments on it, she giggles lightly and tells him that he’s big. She rocks her hips a little bit, sending shooting waves of pleasure up Ben’s abdomen as he chokes out her name. He rolls his hips into her as she rolls hers down, and they moan as one.
Leslie moves in precise ways, pressing her hips down enough to force Ben to pull her back up. She is focused heat, wrapping around his erection in ways his own hand can’t, pulling him closer to climax and then forcing him back again in waves. She does it for herself, too, letting Ben’s dick abuse the sensitive spot inside of her painfully, not caring if her thighs shake.
They gain a pattern. Leslie rides him teasingly, occasionally lifting herself up enough to reward a slap of skin on skin when she collides back down. Ben guides her, pulling her hips up and grunting out words of praise when she hits a good spot. She moans back her response, digging her nails into his shoulders. His hands fall everywhere. They graze her chest again, flicking her hard nipples to make her whine out, they find her spine and let a nail run up her back. Finally, his hand falls between them as his thumb presses flat against her clit. He rubs slow circles into her spot, feeling her clench around him.
“Oh, holy fuck,” Leslie whines loudly. Ben shifts his hand to her rhythm, pushing his index finger’s knuckle against her. Leslie makes wildly loud noises, deepening her thrusts, her head falling back.
“You like that, babe?” he pants out, almost close enough himself from the stimulation. Hell, he could cum just from touching Leslie.
“I’m close, Ben, faster, please!” she yells out. Ben easily obliges, abusing her clit at a faster pace than she rides him, pushing his hips up in an attempt to get any new angle he can reach. He soaks in the fallen-apart look on Leslie’s face, the way her eyelashes flutter as her mouth gapes open. She’s perfect, in every way, and he wants to paint this very moment across the sky. He wants to stay here forever, in perfect bliss, in the best sex he’s ever had.
They cum together. Leslie’s walls tighten around him, wetness surrounding his dick, and it drives him straight to climax. She slumps forward, bare chest against bare chest as they breath in sync. Ben can feel her heart racing underneath his fingertips as he brushes her hair away from her neck. Her hot breath fans across his neck, and Ben doesn’t complain at the contact.
Ben kisses her again, short and sweet, as he slips out of her and throws the used condom in the trash. When he turns back, Leslie is already asleep, so he just pulls the covers over them both and kisses her forehead once more.
Leslie mumbles something in her sleep and shifts around, flipping around so that her face is to the open bathroom door. Golden-yellow light falls against the features of her gentle face, rounding out her cheeks. Ben can’t help but stare at her while she sleeps; uninterrupted, peaceful, slow.
He dries himself off with the hotel towel. He wishes he had the strength to wake her up, get her in the shower. But she just looks so cute when she’s relaxed. The only way he’s seen her before was either tense, focused, or, well, cumming. But she has to be sweaty, or at least had a bit of a leak when she came, so he compromises and gently scrubs her with a hot hand towel.
She’s half-awake for most of it, muttering things about Ben and herself and their sex. He throws the towel in the hamper under the bathroom sink and puts on some sweats, slipping one of his Star Wars graphic tees over Leslie, and awkwardly getting her to back into her panties. She snuggles back into him when he gets back into the covers, nose buried in his bruised neck, arm slung over his bare chest.
Ben falls asleep easily. It’s the most restful sleep he’s had in a while, and he wishes he could blame it on the hotel bed, but that doesn’t seem likely.
When he wakes up, Leslie’s sitting cross-legged on the opposite end of the bed with a take-out box of waffles smothered in whipped cream. He sits up, a bit disoriented from the light streaming through the window, but happily takes a bite of waffle from the fork of his pantsless hookup. They sit together, talking for what seems like too little time, before Leslie’s saying she has to get ready for work tomorrow and kissing Ben gently.
He takes the back of her head in his large hand, holding her there, pressing this kiss into her forever. He wishes she wouldn’t go, wishes he could look at those eyes and smile and that voice for the rest of his life. But she leaves her number, keeps his shirt hung around her frame and slips out the door.