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crack_van2013-06-24 10:52 am
stars-inthe-sky.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2013-06-24 10:52 am
Entry tags:
"Snapshots Left on the Negative" by cypanache
Fandom: Parks and Recreation
Pairing: Leslie Knope/Ben Wyatt
Length: 13,101 words
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cypanache
Author Website: Tumblr
Why this must be read: What starts as your typical "five times" AU fic spins quickly into something entirely atypical and entirely gorgeous, lyrical, and memorable. For those who thought the slow burn of Leslie and Ben's relationship in Season 3 was delicious, keep reading.
April and Andy insist everyone come to their party in evening wear because they want it to be “classy and awesome.” They serve pizza and Buffalo wings on paper plates, and champagne in crystal flutes April steals from her parents china cabinet when they realize it’s either that or straight from the bottle because Andy forgot to get paper cups.
This should pretty much tell you everything you need to know about the evening.
Oh, one more thing.
Ben kisses her in the upstairs bathroom.
She’s not entirely sure how that happens.
Really, she’s not. She remembers the champagne. Remembers the fairly epic game of charades. Remembers the buffalo wings . . .
Oh wait, no, that’s how.
For the record, her and buffalo wings and five glasses of champagne and charades . . . maybe not the best combination.
She finds him in the upstairs bathroom after almost walking in on Jerry in the downstairs one (don’t ask, she doesn’t want to relive it). Ben’s already shed his suit jacket and tie and even in the candlelight April’s using to hide the fact she didn’t really do pre-party cleaning, Leslie can still see the bright red smears where she flipped the entire plate of wings onto him.
“Hey, I found seltzer.” She offers feebly, because honestly it feels pretty paltry in the face of such absolute destruction.
“Thanks.”
If you asked her later she wouldn’t be able to tell you why she doesn’t just leave it with him. Why she proceeds to flick on the bathroom lights, grab a clean towel from the rack, and start carefully blotting the front of his shirt with the seltzer water. Maybe it’s the champagne or maybe it’s him or maybe it’s just that Leslie’s never been one to leave other people to clean up her messes.
Ben doesn’t seem to mind. Relinquishes control without protest and just stands there watching her with that funny smile he gets sometimes, like he’s not quite sure what to think of her, like he’s half-convinced she might just be crazy and he can’t decide if that’s a bad thing.
“I am so sorry.”
“Hey, no I get it. Yellowstone National Park. Old Faithful was really your only charade option.”
“It was.” She nods emphatically, and then because that makes the room spin just a little bit, drops her forehead to his shoulder to steady herself. “It is also possible I am too drunk to be safely playing national landmark charades.”
“Oh, so you’re blaming the champagne now?”
She lulls her head to the side, slanting her gaze up to him to ask with all seriousness, “Think I could get away with it?”
“I don’t know. I really liked this shirt.”
Absently she curls her fingers against the fabric, and nods in agreement. “Me too.” And she’s not lying even a little bit. There’s something about it, about the off-white on white check, that feels like him—seemingly buttoned up and boring, but look a little closer and there’s that little piece irrepressible spirit peaking through. “I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”
For a moment Ben just looks down at her, strangely intent and wow maybe this was his favorite shirt too. Maybe it’s custom or a gift from some long lost love. Maybe he’s been spending too much time with Tom and it’s designer and super-expensive. Maybe . . .
Without looking away, Ben reaches out and flicks the bathroom light back off, leaving them standing there in candlelight.
“What are you doing?”
“Blaming the champagne.”
And then he tilts her chin and dips his head and even though it kind of feels inevitable, like a script that was written months ago, it’s still a surprise, still somehow entirely unexpected.
His mouth butterflies against hers like a question, like an experiment, and Leslie sighs in a way that might be a ‘yes.’
The thing is she’s not one-hundred percent sure exactly what’s happening right now. Oh she’s got the mechanics down, understands the grand outline of being kissed at a party with too much alcohol and too little food, in a house that’s not yours, in clothes that make you feel like someone else. It’s one of those moments where it’s half about setting and half about timing and only a little bit about what’s real.
Still there’s something about the gentleness of his fingers on her neck, about the way they fit, that makes her think she’s a little fuzzy on some of the more important details, feels like she missed a memo or a meeting.
Before she has the chance to ask for a more complete briefing, there’s the sound of foot-steps in the hall and they’re both pulling away like they’ve been burned.
By the time she gets home that night Leslie’s half-convinced herself she made it up
And even if she didn’t. There was an awful lot of champagne.
Snapshots Left on the Negative
Pairing: Leslie Knope/Ben Wyatt
Length: 13,101 words
Author on LJ:
cypanacheAuthor Website: Tumblr
Why this must be read: What starts as your typical "five times" AU fic spins quickly into something entirely atypical and entirely gorgeous, lyrical, and memorable. For those who thought the slow burn of Leslie and Ben's relationship in Season 3 was delicious, keep reading.
April and Andy insist everyone come to their party in evening wear because they want it to be “classy and awesome.” They serve pizza and Buffalo wings on paper plates, and champagne in crystal flutes April steals from her parents china cabinet when they realize it’s either that or straight from the bottle because Andy forgot to get paper cups.
This should pretty much tell you everything you need to know about the evening.
Oh, one more thing.
Ben kisses her in the upstairs bathroom.
She’s not entirely sure how that happens.
Really, she’s not. She remembers the champagne. Remembers the fairly epic game of charades. Remembers the buffalo wings . . .
Oh wait, no, that’s how.
For the record, her and buffalo wings and five glasses of champagne and charades . . . maybe not the best combination.
She finds him in the upstairs bathroom after almost walking in on Jerry in the downstairs one (don’t ask, she doesn’t want to relive it). Ben’s already shed his suit jacket and tie and even in the candlelight April’s using to hide the fact she didn’t really do pre-party cleaning, Leslie can still see the bright red smears where she flipped the entire plate of wings onto him.
“Hey, I found seltzer.” She offers feebly, because honestly it feels pretty paltry in the face of such absolute destruction.
“Thanks.”
If you asked her later she wouldn’t be able to tell you why she doesn’t just leave it with him. Why she proceeds to flick on the bathroom lights, grab a clean towel from the rack, and start carefully blotting the front of his shirt with the seltzer water. Maybe it’s the champagne or maybe it’s him or maybe it’s just that Leslie’s never been one to leave other people to clean up her messes.
Ben doesn’t seem to mind. Relinquishes control without protest and just stands there watching her with that funny smile he gets sometimes, like he’s not quite sure what to think of her, like he’s half-convinced she might just be crazy and he can’t decide if that’s a bad thing.
“I am so sorry.”
“Hey, no I get it. Yellowstone National Park. Old Faithful was really your only charade option.”
“It was.” She nods emphatically, and then because that makes the room spin just a little bit, drops her forehead to his shoulder to steady herself. “It is also possible I am too drunk to be safely playing national landmark charades.”
“Oh, so you’re blaming the champagne now?”
She lulls her head to the side, slanting her gaze up to him to ask with all seriousness, “Think I could get away with it?”
“I don’t know. I really liked this shirt.”
Absently she curls her fingers against the fabric, and nods in agreement. “Me too.” And she’s not lying even a little bit. There’s something about it, about the off-white on white check, that feels like him—seemingly buttoned up and boring, but look a little closer and there’s that little piece irrepressible spirit peaking through. “I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”
For a moment Ben just looks down at her, strangely intent and wow maybe this was his favorite shirt too. Maybe it’s custom or a gift from some long lost love. Maybe he’s been spending too much time with Tom and it’s designer and super-expensive. Maybe . . .
Without looking away, Ben reaches out and flicks the bathroom light back off, leaving them standing there in candlelight.
“What are you doing?”
“Blaming the champagne.”
And then he tilts her chin and dips his head and even though it kind of feels inevitable, like a script that was written months ago, it’s still a surprise, still somehow entirely unexpected.
His mouth butterflies against hers like a question, like an experiment, and Leslie sighs in a way that might be a ‘yes.’
The thing is she’s not one-hundred percent sure exactly what’s happening right now. Oh she’s got the mechanics down, understands the grand outline of being kissed at a party with too much alcohol and too little food, in a house that’s not yours, in clothes that make you feel like someone else. It’s one of those moments where it’s half about setting and half about timing and only a little bit about what’s real.
Still there’s something about the gentleness of his fingers on her neck, about the way they fit, that makes her think she’s a little fuzzy on some of the more important details, feels like she missed a memo or a meeting.
Before she has the chance to ask for a more complete briefing, there’s the sound of foot-steps in the hall and they’re both pulling away like they’ve been burned.
By the time she gets home that night Leslie’s half-convinced herself she made it up
And even if she didn’t. There was an awful lot of champagne.
Snapshots Left on the Negative