![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
diapheniaTitle: Fantasies, or Eight Times Ben Thought About Leslie While On or Near His Bed
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
saucydiva
Word count: 2K
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Clearly I don’t own it or I’d buy everyone a whiskey
Timeline: 2x23-3x14
Summary:ashisfriendly and I partnered up for the Behind Closed Doors Challenge. She took Leslie, and I took Ben, and we covered every other episode in our time span. She is flawless.
Author’s Note:lizinstereo puts up with a lot. Secretly, though, I adore her.
Ben Wyatt collapsed on his bed with a sigh. The first week in a new town was always stressful, and Pawnee was just another terrible town with an incompetent bookkeeper and a city hall full of angry, scared employees. Just another town, albeit one with an infuriating deputy director of Parks and Recreation. When he'd sat down across from her, he imagined he'd tell her the facts, and she would accept them and leave, but that hadn't happened. She—more than anyone else he’d ever dealt with—seemed to take the whole thing personally, as if he’d insulted her soul rather than rattled off the numbers.
And somehow, when he’d gone to that terrible bar this evening, against his better judgment, she’d made him feel guilty.
Ben didn’t do guilt, as a general rule. Between his Lutheran upbringing and his youthful indiscretions, he’d spent his college years trying to repent for things he couldn’t fix. When that solved nothing, he switched to aggression, taking it out on the towns he’d audit. He couldn’t fix Partridge, but he could damn well make sure no one else was going to screw up.
His dating life, he realized, had taken a similar path. He put up walls. His last girlfriend had pointed that out when she took back her key and handed him his box of stuff. He hadn’t protested. Last he’d heard, she was married. He hadn’t felt guilty in the slightest.
And now—Leslie Knope. She’d somehow brought that guilt back.
Ben laid back against his pillow and groaned.
***
Ben kicked his bedpost and realized almost immediately that beds in Pawnee were perhaps not as sturdy as one hoped. He vowed to call the front desk—a lot of good that would do, but first he had to find a shirt.
He knew that Leslie was up to something. She’d been quiet-- too quiet, lately, and now he knew why.
He started flipping though shirts, trying to decide what shirt said ‘not as dumb as you think’ with maybe a touch of ‘even though you tricked my partner, who is not nearly as good a judge of character as he thinks he is.’ Ben had a dozen years of performance reviews to prove that, while he might lack in people skills, he was unmatched in analyzing data and the data showed that Leslie and her generically pretty friend were playing Chris like a fiddle, like a fucking fiddle—
Ben put on and discarded immediately several shirts, all of which went on the bed, or even the floor. His thoughts were on Leslie rather than the high probability that his shirts would wrinkle.
In his head, she was there, still wearing that dark blazer from work, or maybe she’d dress up, wear something a little more befitting a madame. Yeah, he changed her outfit in his mind to something red and slinky, probably. She make a perfect little “O” of surprise when he’d stride into the restaurant—he hadn’t been there, but in his mind, she’d be sitting with Chris and what’s-her-name at a table in front of a roaring fireplace—the place was paneled with cherry wood, and maybe had a moose head over the fireplace.
He strode up, wearing—was it the blue plaid, or the white plaid?—and he said to her in a loud, clear voice, “I know what you’re doing!” He then explained it to the table—and Chris was upset, but then he sort of melted away, and went elsewhere, and Ben was alone at that table with Leslie, who threw her upper body on the table and begged his forgiveness.
It was the best fantasy Ben had had since he got to this ridiculous town.
And the best part was that, unlike that fantasy he’d had about Jennifer Garner wearing her red Alias wig, it was going to come true.
He could hardly even concentrate on his clothes. He strode out of there in the same thing he’d worn to work.
***
Ben sat straight up in bed and smacked his head on the headboard. He blinked three times, ran his hands through his hair, over the lump that he could feel already forming, and squinted at his dresser clock.
3:40am, his clock read.
He’s just woken up from what had to be one of the dirtier dreams he’d ever had. One that involved large quantities of whipped cream, used in a way that almost certainly violated the stated warnings on aerosol cans.
Ben had never particularly been drawn to food in bed—too messy to be practical, and there’d been that disaster with the peaches in ’05—but that wasn’t the surprising part.
Instead, he discovered to his shock that the sort of gray-colored, faceless woman who usually inhabited his unspecific sex dreams morphed into—Leslie Knope, of all people.
Not that he hadn’t found his eyes drifting over to her. And he found her professionally intriguing. He was impressed by her abilities, and the way she could handle the chaos that surrounded her.
The chaos she created, he realized
But just because his thoughts occasionally centered on her, and just because he’d more or less put himself in charge of her department, and just because he was working so much on the Harvest Festival which wasn’t really what he was supposed to be working on…
Just that morning, Chris had come across some of their early notes.
“Remember that we were going to pink slip Leslie Knope?” he’d said, casually looking up from his TI-14 report. “We got to cut everyone else on this list.”
Those had been some painful cuts to make, too. Several valued civil servants, who’d dedicated their lives to their departments. Ben had been the one to deliver the bad news, and each cut was followed by the usual dirty looks and casual threats—and an email detailing each employee’s professional and personal accomplishments, sent almost the moment the news got out.
Ben had spared a moment on those who’d gotten let go, and then he schooled his features into a neutral expression. “Oh, I’d forgotten. Good thing we changed our minds.” They were doing a rarely-done triple-check of the numbers, and, while they had no plans to keep going with those cuts, it was entirely within their right to do so.
“Absolutely,” Chris said, and Ben let out a breath he didn’t realize he was still holding. “You know, speaking of Ms. Knope, we have an appointment with the balloon vendor after lunch. This Harvest Festival is just invigorating, wouldn’t you agree?”
Ben was certain that if Indianapolis knew how they were spending their work days, they’d both be let go, so he vowed to stay late the rest of the week. He didn’t leave till eight, and when left he walked past the her department and saw she was still there.
That had to be the reason she was on his mind, right?
***
Ben buried his face in his pillow and groaned. Human Disaster. Never had the local news been more accurate. He just kept picturing-- it was horrifying.
After that, Ben couldn’t sustain an erection for days.
***
Ben threw his Lil’ Sebastian t-shirt on his bed. He stood in front of his mirror, and pursed his lips thoughtfully.
He felt pale. His wire-y chest hairs looked especially dark under the harsh lights of the Super Suites. He hadn’t gotten enough sun this summer, and any tan he’d gotten was already erased by Labor Day. He wished he had more definition in his chest.
He wished a lot of things.
Indianapolis couldn’t be put off forever, and all he had to keep him in Pawnee was a hug from Leslie a few days before.
But it was a hug. From Leslie. Her head had rested against his chest. And when he had hugged her, he could almost see that sunshine radiating through him, sweeping away the last of the cobwebs.
He touched his chest, again.
He could probably get another extension.
***
Ben leaned against his headboard, sucking on the end of his pen thoughtfully.
Pawnee, he wrote.
Then after a moment, he made a pro and a con column.
Leslie went in the pro column. So did working with Chris again, after a moment of deliberation. Benefits package went in the con column, as did Pawnee Super Suites. He’d miss Julia, his boss in Indianapolis, but she didn’t quite merit the list. Pawnee went in both columns.
He added more practical concerns. Staying in Pawnee would be a major shift in lifestyle after a dozen years on the road. It was an idea that was, at once, exciting and terrifying. He wasn’t getting any younger, despite those capsules Chris put in his drinks, and sometimes his knees creaked in the mornings. He was certain his hair was going to start turning gray soon, like his brother, and the prospect of traveling like this long into his forties didn’t please him the way it had just out of college.
The lists were even.
He wrote Leslie again. If she said she wanted him to stay, he couldn't picture anything in the con column outweighing that.
But then he sighed, and wrote uncertainty.
***
Ben pressed his face against his new bed and reminded himself to be quiet.
In his mind, Leslie was wearing that red dress she always wore—at least temporarily—in his fantasies. Only this time, she was in the woods, with that braid-thing in her hair, and as Ben slipped his hand into his boxers, she grinned a wicked grin and reached behind her, pulling down the zipper slowly—she always went slowly, sometimes while that Hey Big Spender song played, sometimes not—and this time she was silent as she let the top half of the dress fall from her body.
This had happened so many times in his mind, only now—he didn’t have to wonder. He knew, he fucking knew. His thumb slipped over his head again and again, and he hissed from the sensation.
Leslie smiled at him again, then bit her lip. She pulled the dress up to just under her breasts, and then turned around—
And she was part horse.
Ben paused.
What the hell?, he thought. This was not ok—but he shrugged, and kept going.
He was almost there. He could feel his balls getting tight, and his neck muscles too. He was almost—almost—
“Hey Ben, were you saving those—what the fuck are you— gross.” April slammed his door.
“I thought you were too old to do that!” she shouted from the other side.
Centaur Leslie’s dress went back up, and she turned and galloped away.
And Ben vowed to buy a lock for his bedroom.
***
Ben propped up his pillow on the headboard like it was a person, a blonde person, maybe sitting up at their bench underneath a mural, cleared his throat, and began.
“Leslie, I just want you to know I respect you as a person and—no, no. Leslie, you’ve really made me realize— I wasn’t quite—.” He chewed his lip. In his mind, she was going to say yes, if only he could say this right. “Leslie, Ann told me--”
Andy barged in without warning. “Who you talking to, Ben?”
Damnit, Ben thought. I need to actually use that lock. “Just trying to figure out how to—you know how I’m… invested in Leslie, and—“
“Here’s what you do, dude. Leslie, as Ben I want you to know that hithertofore our relationship—” Andy said, shooting Ben a proud look. “I want to take off your—”
“Andy!”
“Burdens from your shoulders and also your bra, and I want to date you. Then you grab her and—“
Andy grabbed Ben’s pillow by the ‘shoulders’ and—good lord. That was the second pillow Ben would have to throw away since he moved in.
It might be time to start stocking up on extra pillows.
Ben imagined he was going to be in Pawnee for the long-haul.
Author:
saucydivaWord count: 2K
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Clearly I don’t own it or I’d buy everyone a whiskey
Timeline: 2x23-3x14
Summary:
ashisfriendly and I partnered up for the Behind Closed Doors Challenge. She took Leslie, and I took Ben, and we covered every other episode in our time span. She is flawless.Author’s Note:
lizinstereo puts up with a lot. Secretly, though, I adore her.Ben Wyatt collapsed on his bed with a sigh. The first week in a new town was always stressful, and Pawnee was just another terrible town with an incompetent bookkeeper and a city hall full of angry, scared employees. Just another town, albeit one with an infuriating deputy director of Parks and Recreation. When he'd sat down across from her, he imagined he'd tell her the facts, and she would accept them and leave, but that hadn't happened. She—more than anyone else he’d ever dealt with—seemed to take the whole thing personally, as if he’d insulted her soul rather than rattled off the numbers.
And somehow, when he’d gone to that terrible bar this evening, against his better judgment, she’d made him feel guilty.
Ben didn’t do guilt, as a general rule. Between his Lutheran upbringing and his youthful indiscretions, he’d spent his college years trying to repent for things he couldn’t fix. When that solved nothing, he switched to aggression, taking it out on the towns he’d audit. He couldn’t fix Partridge, but he could damn well make sure no one else was going to screw up.
His dating life, he realized, had taken a similar path. He put up walls. His last girlfriend had pointed that out when she took back her key and handed him his box of stuff. He hadn’t protested. Last he’d heard, she was married. He hadn’t felt guilty in the slightest.
And now—Leslie Knope. She’d somehow brought that guilt back.
Ben laid back against his pillow and groaned.
***
Ben kicked his bedpost and realized almost immediately that beds in Pawnee were perhaps not as sturdy as one hoped. He vowed to call the front desk—a lot of good that would do, but first he had to find a shirt.
He knew that Leslie was up to something. She’d been quiet-- too quiet, lately, and now he knew why.
He started flipping though shirts, trying to decide what shirt said ‘not as dumb as you think’ with maybe a touch of ‘even though you tricked my partner, who is not nearly as good a judge of character as he thinks he is.’ Ben had a dozen years of performance reviews to prove that, while he might lack in people skills, he was unmatched in analyzing data and the data showed that Leslie and her generically pretty friend were playing Chris like a fiddle, like a fucking fiddle—
Ben put on and discarded immediately several shirts, all of which went on the bed, or even the floor. His thoughts were on Leslie rather than the high probability that his shirts would wrinkle.
In his head, she was there, still wearing that dark blazer from work, or maybe she’d dress up, wear something a little more befitting a madame. Yeah, he changed her outfit in his mind to something red and slinky, probably. She make a perfect little “O” of surprise when he’d stride into the restaurant—he hadn’t been there, but in his mind, she’d be sitting with Chris and what’s-her-name at a table in front of a roaring fireplace—the place was paneled with cherry wood, and maybe had a moose head over the fireplace.
He strode up, wearing—was it the blue plaid, or the white plaid?—and he said to her in a loud, clear voice, “I know what you’re doing!” He then explained it to the table—and Chris was upset, but then he sort of melted away, and went elsewhere, and Ben was alone at that table with Leslie, who threw her upper body on the table and begged his forgiveness.
It was the best fantasy Ben had had since he got to this ridiculous town.
And the best part was that, unlike that fantasy he’d had about Jennifer Garner wearing her red Alias wig, it was going to come true.
He could hardly even concentrate on his clothes. He strode out of there in the same thing he’d worn to work.
***
Ben sat straight up in bed and smacked his head on the headboard. He blinked three times, ran his hands through his hair, over the lump that he could feel already forming, and squinted at his dresser clock.
3:40am, his clock read.
He’s just woken up from what had to be one of the dirtier dreams he’d ever had. One that involved large quantities of whipped cream, used in a way that almost certainly violated the stated warnings on aerosol cans.
Ben had never particularly been drawn to food in bed—too messy to be practical, and there’d been that disaster with the peaches in ’05—but that wasn’t the surprising part.
Instead, he discovered to his shock that the sort of gray-colored, faceless woman who usually inhabited his unspecific sex dreams morphed into—Leslie Knope, of all people.
Not that he hadn’t found his eyes drifting over to her. And he found her professionally intriguing. He was impressed by her abilities, and the way she could handle the chaos that surrounded her.
The chaos she created, he realized
But just because his thoughts occasionally centered on her, and just because he’d more or less put himself in charge of her department, and just because he was working so much on the Harvest Festival which wasn’t really what he was supposed to be working on…
Just that morning, Chris had come across some of their early notes.
“Remember that we were going to pink slip Leslie Knope?” he’d said, casually looking up from his TI-14 report. “We got to cut everyone else on this list.”
Those had been some painful cuts to make, too. Several valued civil servants, who’d dedicated their lives to their departments. Ben had been the one to deliver the bad news, and each cut was followed by the usual dirty looks and casual threats—and an email detailing each employee’s professional and personal accomplishments, sent almost the moment the news got out.
Ben had spared a moment on those who’d gotten let go, and then he schooled his features into a neutral expression. “Oh, I’d forgotten. Good thing we changed our minds.” They were doing a rarely-done triple-check of the numbers, and, while they had no plans to keep going with those cuts, it was entirely within their right to do so.
“Absolutely,” Chris said, and Ben let out a breath he didn’t realize he was still holding. “You know, speaking of Ms. Knope, we have an appointment with the balloon vendor after lunch. This Harvest Festival is just invigorating, wouldn’t you agree?”
Ben was certain that if Indianapolis knew how they were spending their work days, they’d both be let go, so he vowed to stay late the rest of the week. He didn’t leave till eight, and when left he walked past the her department and saw she was still there.
That had to be the reason she was on his mind, right?
***
Ben buried his face in his pillow and groaned. Human Disaster. Never had the local news been more accurate. He just kept picturing-- it was horrifying.
After that, Ben couldn’t sustain an erection for days.
***
Ben threw his Lil’ Sebastian t-shirt on his bed. He stood in front of his mirror, and pursed his lips thoughtfully.
He felt pale. His wire-y chest hairs looked especially dark under the harsh lights of the Super Suites. He hadn’t gotten enough sun this summer, and any tan he’d gotten was already erased by Labor Day. He wished he had more definition in his chest.
He wished a lot of things.
Indianapolis couldn’t be put off forever, and all he had to keep him in Pawnee was a hug from Leslie a few days before.
But it was a hug. From Leslie. Her head had rested against his chest. And when he had hugged her, he could almost see that sunshine radiating through him, sweeping away the last of the cobwebs.
He touched his chest, again.
He could probably get another extension.
***
Ben leaned against his headboard, sucking on the end of his pen thoughtfully.
Pawnee, he wrote.
Then after a moment, he made a pro and a con column.
Leslie went in the pro column. So did working with Chris again, after a moment of deliberation. Benefits package went in the con column, as did Pawnee Super Suites. He’d miss Julia, his boss in Indianapolis, but she didn’t quite merit the list. Pawnee went in both columns.
He added more practical concerns. Staying in Pawnee would be a major shift in lifestyle after a dozen years on the road. It was an idea that was, at once, exciting and terrifying. He wasn’t getting any younger, despite those capsules Chris put in his drinks, and sometimes his knees creaked in the mornings. He was certain his hair was going to start turning gray soon, like his brother, and the prospect of traveling like this long into his forties didn’t please him the way it had just out of college.
The lists were even.
He wrote Leslie again. If she said she wanted him to stay, he couldn't picture anything in the con column outweighing that.
But then he sighed, and wrote uncertainty.
***
Ben pressed his face against his new bed and reminded himself to be quiet.
In his mind, Leslie was wearing that red dress she always wore—at least temporarily—in his fantasies. Only this time, she was in the woods, with that braid-thing in her hair, and as Ben slipped his hand into his boxers, she grinned a wicked grin and reached behind her, pulling down the zipper slowly—she always went slowly, sometimes while that Hey Big Spender song played, sometimes not—and this time she was silent as she let the top half of the dress fall from her body.
This had happened so many times in his mind, only now—he didn’t have to wonder. He knew, he fucking knew. His thumb slipped over his head again and again, and he hissed from the sensation.
Leslie smiled at him again, then bit her lip. She pulled the dress up to just under her breasts, and then turned around—
And she was part horse.
Ben paused.
What the hell?, he thought. This was not ok—but he shrugged, and kept going.
He was almost there. He could feel his balls getting tight, and his neck muscles too. He was almost—almost—
“Hey Ben, were you saving those—what the fuck are you— gross.” April slammed his door.
“I thought you were too old to do that!” she shouted from the other side.
Centaur Leslie’s dress went back up, and she turned and galloped away.
And Ben vowed to buy a lock for his bedroom.
***
Ben propped up his pillow on the headboard like it was a person, a blonde person, maybe sitting up at their bench underneath a mural, cleared his throat, and began.
“Leslie, I just want you to know I respect you as a person and—no, no. Leslie, you’ve really made me realize— I wasn’t quite—.” He chewed his lip. In his mind, she was going to say yes, if only he could say this right. “Leslie, Ann told me--”
Andy barged in without warning. “Who you talking to, Ben?”
Damnit, Ben thought. I need to actually use that lock. “Just trying to figure out how to—you know how I’m… invested in Leslie, and—“
“Here’s what you do, dude. Leslie, as Ben I want you to know that hithertofore our relationship—” Andy said, shooting Ben a proud look. “I want to take off your—”
“Andy!”
“Burdens from your shoulders and also your bra, and I want to date you. Then you grab her and—“
Andy grabbed Ben’s pillow by the ‘shoulders’ and—good lord. That was the second pillow Ben would have to throw away since he moved in.
It might be time to start stocking up on extra pillows.
Ben imagined he was going to be in Pawnee for the long-haul.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-08-31 06:50 pm (UTC)Loved this line.
This was such a great start! The saga of Ben's thrashed headboard, pillows and psyche was hilarious and engaging.
no subject
Date: 2012-08-31 06:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-31 07:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-31 08:25 pm (UTC)Also, I have peaches.
no subject
Date: 2012-08-31 08:58 pm (UTC)The lists were even.
He wrote Leslie again. If she said she wanted him to stay, he couldn't picture anything in the con column outweighing that.
But then he sighed, and wrote uncertainty.
*Sigh. Don't worry Ben. Take a chance, she's your lobster.
no subject
Date: 2012-08-31 11:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-01 03:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-01 05:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-01 06:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-01 12:25 am (UTC)Just so sweet and sexy and delightful.
no subject
Date: 2012-09-01 01:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-01 06:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-01 01:56 am (UTC)>sometimes while that Hey Big Spender song played, sometimes not
I really liked seeing Ben's ideas about just what the hell he was going to do at the restaurant confronting Leslie with her pimping plan. And how Pawnee was both a pro and a con. And poor Ben, with centaur Leslie galloping away. That's gotta be the most bummer alternative/extension ending for Jerry's Painting, like, ever. Screw you, April! And awww, Andy.
We're off to a great start here!
no subject
Date: 2012-09-01 03:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-01 06:06 am (UTC)Oh, Andy would definitely say this.
no subject
Date: 2012-09-01 06:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-01 07:00 am (UTC)The parts with Andy and April were my favourites, you captured their relationship with Ben really well.
no subject
Date: 2012-09-01 01:13 pm (UTC)This was awesome, as usual! I loved everything - but particularly enjoyed the pros and cons list, the internal debate over his variety of plaid shirts, and April totally ruining his Jerry's Painting fantasy.
no subject
Date: 2012-09-01 01:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-01 03:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-01 09:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-01 11:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-02 12:31 am (UTC)But also, as you will no doubt have guessed, I love this sentence and felt more emotional about it than I care to admit:
So did working with Chris again, after a moment of deliberation.
YES. I want this to be real soooo bad, that working with Chris does go into Ben's pro column!
And overall--hilarious! I love it. My favourite scene has to be the Media Blitz one. Just 5 sentences, but perfect. Oh-so-perfect.
And I love that some of Ben's fantasies are so cheap and cheesy. Red dress and Big Spender. LOL.
no subject
Date: 2012-09-02 02:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-02 10:00 pm (UTC)Other favorite stuff:
" trying to decide what shirt said ‘not as dumb as you think’ with maybe a touch of ‘even though you tricked my partner, who is not nearly as good a judge of character as he thinks he is.’"
"used in a way that almost certainly violated the stated warnings on aerosol cans."
The pros/cons list!
Andy helping with the speech!
And of course I demand details about the Peach Disaster of '05.
no subject
Date: 2012-09-03 02:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-03 04:16 am (UTC)Also, Poor Benji and his penis shenanigans! He could not catch a break.
no subject
Date: 2012-09-03 12:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-03 12:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-03 01:59 pm (UTC)Also, I
definitelymay have had to pull over when I got to the centaur part...because I definitely wasn't reading this fic as I was driving down the road.April's "I thought you were too old" CRACKED MY SHIT UP.
You made my heart smile and I am the worst at reviewing so okay bye.
no subject
Date: 2012-09-03 06:00 pm (UTC)Obviously this was amazing, I love the concept of thinking about Leslie near his bed, I love Andy, I love April walking in on him that is just amazing and I hope has happened because come on -- it'd be amazing. I really, really enjoyed the pros and cons list. I do imagine he wrote one out after Leslie advised him to do so, and I love the soft spot for Chris.... Ben really does love him.
THIS WAS GREAT I LOVE YOU FOREVER, I am so glad our endings were so similar in thought, did ya notice that?
no subject
Date: 2012-09-03 07:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-06 07:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-07 07:38 am (UTC)Was "what's-her-name" an Arrested Development reference? Even if it isn't, I'm taking it as such.
Speaking of references, bonus points for the Alias shout out. Of course he's an Alias fan. Because Ben Wyatt needed more proof that he's awesome.
Now I know what you meant in the discussion thread when you said you used Ben not locking his door as headcanon for stories! Also, I'm sorry, but Ben is just asking to be walked in on if he's not going to have a damn lock for, um, personal moments like that.
This whole fic was fantastic. Great job!
no subject
Date: 2012-09-11 04:27 pm (UTC)