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After the First Kiss

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The momentum had been building within them both for the past year. For Ben, it started when she yelled at him for the first time. For Leslie, it was when he started to look loose and apologetic at the Snakehole and she yelled at him, again.

Small touches blossomed. Little smiles, twinkling eyes, impenetrable bubbles of closeness that nobody could interrupt. Leslie, a woman who dates openly and frequently, didn’t try anything out for a year. Ben, who was surrounded by potential one-night-stands and beautiful dates, never took on a date in an entire year.

They went out for beer the day after they met. Ben’s hair was much less combed down as the day before, and Leslie wondered vaguely if he’d had time to style it this morning after the Snakehole. He asked her about her headache. He told her why he worked in budgeting.

When the government shut down, Leslie booked 14 meetings with Ben and Chris. She persistently barged into their office, despite being non-essential, and met Ben’s eye first every time she walked in. He tapped his pen every day that week, waiting for the moment when the comfortable silence would be shattered by her.

And then, not even a week later, he found himself paying some kids entertainer $5,000 to perform at Leslie’s makeshift concert. Even if it was only to watch her face light up when she realised it was him. Even if it meant $5,000 to watch her look up at him with admiration.

That day, as Freddie Spaghetti pointed at Ben and she climbed off of the stage, Leslie felt a little flutter in her chest. Even if it was just from the exhilaration that her concert was saved, or the genuine smile on Ben’s lips, flashing his sharp teeth. She asked why he did it. She hoped, in some deep concave of her heart, that he would say that he did it for her. But Ben told her he wasn’t a monster. He wanted the concert.

Little events and moments where they melt for each other, or Leslie’s heart bursts into hot honey and Ben’s brain explodes with carmine joy. The harvest festival, where they sat across from each other, pouring over spreadsheets and cost analysis for hours. When the lighting seemed to shift on Ben’s face, and Leslie wanted to stare at him forever.

When she would nudge his foot under the table, and he would poke her back, and she would huff a little bit under her breath. Their hands would brush over the table as they scramble for the same papers, or pass a pen to each other. Leslie would watch his hands secretly, follow his fingers as they loosen his tie. Wondering herself if she could do it with her teeth.

When the day for the Chambers of Commerce came, and Leslie denied being sick for hours, and Ben came into her office and put his hand on her forehead and led her to the hospital with a concentrated look on his face. It all became a little bit fuzzy for hours afterwards, but when she woke up in the hospital, he was there with waffles and homemade chicken soup.

God, the way that he looked at her made her want to get it tattooed onto her. She couldn’t explain it, and she could clearly not ask him about it yet. Ben treated her like sugar glass, like one harsh action could break her into a million sparkling pieces. Leslie didn’t know why. She wanted to ask why he didn’t do it to Ann, or Donna, or anybody except for her.

They made a handshake on one of the long nights working over the harvest festival. Leslie made the first half. Ben made the second half. Each point of contact made every nerve in Ben’s body run with shivers. Little lightning bolts struck his mind when she smiled at him.

They did the handshake again the day before the harvest festival was set to open. Tom made some lame remark for them to get a room, and if Leslie focused hard enough, she swore Ben’s ears got red. But they walked around together for the entire harvest festival, and he bought her cotton candy, and maybe also imagined what her mouth would taste like after all the flavoured sugar.

Leslie did something risky after that. Ben didn’t come to the art gallery, but everybody else did, and they all saw Jerry’s painting of Leslie and her bare chest and her stern, commanding look. Leslie fell in love with it, but she almost didn’t want Ben to see it in public. She almost wished she could see his face when he saw, just Leslie and Ben. She wanted him to turn red and compliment it.

And so she took the chance after Marsha Langman fought to have it burned, and she found herself in Andy and April’s driveway with it. She couldn’t let it be destroyed yet, not when it took her face and her body and painted it in powerful strokes.

But it was Ben’s face that met her when she knocked on the door. And they both stood there, a little bit surprised, because neither of them had seen each other alone outside of the office and coffee lunches yet.

But she told him about the painting, and he let her come inside. It was odd watching her usual work-frenzied look applied on her face in this messy house. She leaned the frontside of the painting against the wall and took a call from Chris.

Ben didn’t plan on looking, but he figured just a little glance wouldn’t hurt. She couldn’t see him from around the corner, but it still felt insanely private and dirty. But he did see it, and the image of her was burned into his eyes for ages afterwards, even after she left and April and Andy got berated for not buying anything of importance.

It stayed burned into his mind as he shamefully bit his groans into his pillow and fucked into his own hand.

Leslie fought with Ann about him at the Snakehole Lounge. Maybe she was a little jealous that Ann could be happy with any number of guys, but Ben couldn’t be hers. Maybe she knew that Ann was right, and she could just confess her feelings or kiss him or even just make a move.

She knew she hurt Ben’s feelings when she yelled again, but she was too drunk and butthurt by Ann to even care anymore. If he really liked her like she liked him, he would get over it.

Ben went to see Ann the morning after. He was still unsure how close he was allowed to get by Leslie’s boundaries, and he didn’t want to test what he already had with her.

But Ann told him that Leslie likes him, and it made his spine shiver a little bit, and more imaginary scenarios flooded his head that day.

Leslie couldn’t keep her eyes off of him. It felt like too much build up now, like it was ridiculous to remain friends and not just jump at him and tear him apart. The way Ben wouldn’t break eye contact until she was too flushed and had to look away, or how he acted like she was the only woman to ever exist. She felt special, worshipped, caressed.

Even Ann pointed out to her how much sexual tension there was. And, to be fair, Leslie hadn’t had sex in months and Ben was looking really good lately. Even now, through the window in the courtyard, she could scan every part of his rolled up sleeves and lowly-buttoned shirt. It would take her about ten seconds to rip that thing off.

But she couldn’t. Even though the forbidden aspect made it a lot sexier in Leslie’s mind, she knew it was dangerous for both of them.

But the road trip came. And he touched her face, for the first time since her fever, and she loved it so much that she pushed him off. She could admire him from a distance. Ben’s eyes sparked with determination as he talked about Pawnee, and Leslie wondered how much of that influence was hers, if his extended stay was because of her.

Dinner came afterwards. Leslie wishes she could stop him from saying it, or stop herself from wanting him badly enough to agree with him. But they had to wait, and as much as Leslie enjoyed the little secret tones and glances that Ben sent her, she wishes Chris didn’t show up.

Ben knows now. He can feel her body language shift around him, especially in the ride back to Pawnee, where he can feel Leslie’s eyes trace every visible part of him. He would toss Chris to the side of the highway right now if it meant he could touch her, even once.

But he didn’t. And they got back, and didn’t talk again until she was in his office as Ben was packing up with receipts for Chris. And he couldn’t take it anymore, not when it was an empty office and she was in arm’s reach.

So he kissed her. He knew exactly where he wanted to put his hands, as he’d imagined it a thousand different times, with one hand on the small of her back to urge her against his chest, the other cupping her cheek that he’d seen flush red countless times.

And she kissed him back, breaking it for a second just to look at him. This time, she let his tongue slip into her mouth, quietly sighing in relief into his lips.

“Uh oh.” she whispered.

But the mistake was done, and Ben had gotten a taste of what had been boiling up for a year, and a stupid rule wouldn’t stop either of them now. So he didn’t fight his hands when they pulled her hips against his and slotted hot lips together again. He involuntarily groans into her mouth as Leslie’s hands slip into his hair and tug lightly.

She fit so perfectly underneath his palms, contoured to fit against his chest. Her hands knew just how to play with him, just how to tease him with a tug on his tie or light scratches on the back of his neck.

Ben mutters something about his desk chair, and Leslie breaks the kiss to pull out the chair and sit him down. For a brief moment, she’s gazing down on him with nothing but passion and want, and it’s all that Ben’s wanted for months, everything he imagined when he shamefully let himself stroke his dick at the thought of her.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.” Leslie says wistfully, eyes occupied scanning him over. Ben realises he’s sort of spread out for her, hair tousled and tie loosened and legs spread open.

Ben shudders as one of her hands trails lightly down his chest. “Me too, Leslie, holy fuck,” he whispers. “All the shit you tease me with, constantly, I can’t stand it anymore.”

She starts to unbutton her own blouse, slowly revealing more and more skin that Ben wants to immediately touch, but he restrains himself. He wants this to last as long as possible, and so does Leslie. “I know you looked at the painting, Ben. Did it turn you on? Did you get off on it?”

Fuck, she can practically read minds. She’s shirtless in front of him now, only a bra away from being completely bare, so he may as well be honest with her too. “I- uh, I jacked off to it that night, after you left, I couldn’t help it.”

She bites her lip and grins, still not touching him in the slightest. He itches to pull her on top of him, but knows that she probably has this all planned out. Fuck, does it turn him on more that she’s probably made a whole outline for her own sex fantasy with him?

“How many times have you been horny for me, Ben?” she asked quietly, leaning closer as she undoes her bra and lets it slip off of her shoulders. Her bare chest is in front of him, and it’s better than any oil painting or anything his imagination could come up with.

He could count all the times in his head, how he’d shamefully hid a semi in his waistband before, how even just looking at her handwriting scrawled over notes for him with little drawings could get a bit of blood rushing down there. “Twenty… twenty times.”

Leslie took a shuddering breath in front of him, chest rising impossibly closer to him. He wanted nothing more to grab her, pull her down on him, bite beautiful noises from her.

“Any… at work?” she says slowly, eyes blinking down at him. Her graceful hands slowly trace herself, up her sides and circling her breasts.

Ben shivers and leans his head back, swallowing hard. His hands grip the sides of the chair, hard. “Twice.”

It’s like she’s melting him under her stare. God, he loves it, loves how quickly he can basically submit to her power. How he can’t even meet her intense look because of how hard it gets him.

And then he feels her climb onto his lap, and looks down to find a topless Leslie straddling his hips. His hands automatically reach out and run down her bare torso, caressing her waist, eventually reaching up to her boobs and lightly brushing his thumb over her nipple. She moans out, eyes brushing shut for a few seconds before she focuses again.

“Tell me about the two times, Wyatt.” she forces out between gritted teeth.

He lets himself touch her again, kneading her breasts in his hands, savouring the way they fit perfectly in his fingers. “Once when we stayed late for the festival planning,” he says through heaving breaths, “and when everybody in the entire office was talking about your breasts.”

She leans forward, curving into his chest and pressing hot kisses against his neck. “Were you jealous, Ben? Everybody staring, when that part of me is all for you?”

Ben curses under his breath when she bites lightly at his collarbone, digging his fingers into her hips. “Shit- say it again, Leslie, say what’s mine.”

Her hips slowly roll under his hands, sending shoots of heat up Ben’s pelvis. “I’m yours, Ben. Every time I fuck myself, I think of your hands, Ben.”

The image of Leslie moaning his name as she fingers herself floods his mind, and he grinds up into her, making her gasp out. “Christ, Leslie, undress.” he groans out.

Leslie gets to work immediately, getting Ben to help her as she strips down to nothing, pulling down his pants and boxers to his ankles after hers. She mounts him again, sitting a little bit behind his erection to let it rest against her stomach in the sexiest motion that Ben’s ever witnessed.

She eyes the door, gripping Ben’s shoulders hard. “Is the door locked?”

“I locked it the second you kissed me back.”

She grins and kisses him again, soft and slow and sweet, and she tastes not like cotton candy or waffles or whipped cream, but like Leslie. He wants nothing more than to freeze this moment, to paint it in his mind, to make it into a song or have it scarred into his eyes.

Her hand reaches between them and strokes him gently, sending hot sparks straight to his head. He twitches in her small hand, and she smiles against his lips. She knows how to make him unwind now, how to make him moan out wildly as she spreads his precum down his underside.

“You’re so handsome when you’re loud, Ben,” Leslie whispers into his ear. He whines out again at this, embarrassed for himself, but Leslie finds it nothing but hot.

When she slowly raises her hips, with Ben’s assistance, and drops down on him, they both moan out, long and slow. She’s warm and suffocating and completely surrounding his sensitive erection, and he fills her up to points she’s never been before. It feels so completing, like they could stay here forever, the gentle sighs from each other being the only sound in the room.

But they know each other too well, and they’re both impatient, so Leslie plants her nails in Ben’s chest and lifts herself slightly, sinking down again, and Ben is embarrassingly loud from the sensations. Leslie doesn’t lift herself again, but uses Ben to anchor herself as she rocks in slow, grinding circles, letting Ben hold her hips and buck up into her when he’s too frustrated.

“Control me, Leslie,” Ben grunts, head lolling to one side. “Tell me what you want from me.”

Leslie’s tongue runs across her swollen lips, fingernails carving crescents into the fabric of Ben’s shirt as she slows her motions. “I want you to touch me as I spell your name.”

He obeys, his hands running rough lines over every part he can reach, from her ass to her breasts to her thighs, and finally letting one thumb brush teasingly against her clit. Leslie moans out, head thrown back as she grinds harder on his dick. Ben does it again and again, rougher each time, circling her clit when she cries out for more.

She cums around his dick, walls tightening around him as she grips his chest tighter. With two more lazy thrusts, Ben’s pushed over the edge too, sighing out when she slumps forward to rest her forehead on his shoulder.

And they sit there, sweating and cum-covered in Ben’s office chair, hopefully not staining anything. Ben couldn’t care less as he strokes Leslie’s hair, whispering to her words of praise, telling her everything he kept bottled up for a year.