In JJ's Diner, and Jennifer has once again demonstrated her beautiful, amazing, gorgeous, incredible, amazing, very very evil political savvy. Leslie bangs her palm against the table in frustration.
"Damn it you're good!"
And Jennifer's leg moves against Leslie's ankle under the table, probably an accident, but electrifying all the same, the smooth fabric of her pantyhose against Leslie's bare skin.
On the campaign trail, running into Jennifer at a Chamber of Commerce meeting; Leslie doesn't see her at first, and Jennifer puts a warm hand on her shoulder, grips her lightly and applies pressure to encourage Leslie to turn, encourage Leslie to face her.
At the gas station at night, filling up the campaign bus before they can take it on tour the next day, and Jennifer is there too, Jennifer is everywhere it seems, and it's either a really small town or she's following Leslie around. And okay, it is a really small town but also Leslie suspects that she's following her around. The fact that she's calmly gassing up her fancy car and facing away from Leslie is just a ruse to make it look like she's not sneaking around spying on people.
"I'm gonna kick your butt tomorrow," Leslie calls out. We, she should've said, we're gonna kick your butt. She winces.
Jennifer turns smoothly and when she meets Leslie's eyes she's smiling, that bright genuine smile that always makes Leslie think that it might actually be genuine.
"That could be a lot of fun," Jennifer says, and there's a heat and an eagerness in her voice that Leslie doesn't think she could fake.
Leslie hates her, or she would if she weren't so accomplished and beautiful and professional and making her way in the world as a tough-as-nails top-tier lady political advisor. Leslie used to play tough-as-nails top-tier lady political advisors with her Barbies when she was little.
"Where do you get your suits," Leslie snaps eventually. "They're very nice."
Jennifer raises an eyebrow. "Want me to take you shopping, Leslie?"
"Maybe," Leslie spits, and gets back in the bus. She has to wrestle with the door to get it to close, but she manages it before Jennifer can say anything else to make her feel strange and off-balance.
During the election, during the recount, and when Leslie decides to escape to the convention center's lesser-known third-floor women's bathroom, she finds Jennifer already there, standing at the sink. Jennifer looks up and sees Leslie in the mirror, and for the first time it's just the two of them, the space weird and bright and quiet, removed from the tension outside.
"Ms. Barkley," Leslie offers coldly, stepping up next to her at the sink. She pretends that she needs to wash her hands, since it looks like her original plan of sitting down on a toilet seat and crying for ten minutes is out the window.
"Ms. Knope," Jennifer responds, and it's her way of teasing because she always calls Leslie Leslie, and Leslie frowns but isn't really sure how to call her out on this. Jennifer dries her hands and casually tosses the used paper towel over her shoulder without looking; it describes a perfect arc and lands squarely in the trash can. Leslie grimaces.
"So, how are you feeling? You're about to either win or lose this election, and aw, it's even your first election. Nervous? Excited? I love this part."
"I ran for student council," Leslie protests. "And dogcatcher, once, actually, but that was a bad idea in the end."
"You're lovely," Jennifer sighs, and looks at Leslie wistfully, like she's a Norman Rockwell painting, beautiful but ultimately unrealistic.
"I'm nervous," Leslie says, picking up on the earlier question. "I'm nervous, and if I'm excited it's buried so far down below the nerves that I can't find it, and you – you were the one who did this to me! Why am I telling you my feelings!"
Jennifer shrugs. "Because you're nervous. Because I'm not really your enemy." She eyes Leslie speculatively now, and steps forward into her space. Leslie holds her ground. "Whether you win or lose tonight, Leslie, you should come see me some day. When you're ready for the next step in your political career." Jennifer licks her lips, looks Leslie up and down. Leslie has never felt so much like a piece of meat in her whole life, and she's been to Thursday Night Bingo at the Seniors' Center. "You're a product I could sell."
Leslie feels a surge of pride, of hatred, of pure glowing desire, and without even thinking, without making a pros/cons list or figuring out how they would hyphenate their last names or evaluating their relative heights or doing any of her other usual pre-makeout processes, Leslie moves in and kisses her on the mouth, tasting her lipstick and the soft easy slide of her tongue and wanting nothing but more of it.
Jennifer gives her more, opening her mouth and slotting in against Leslie like they rehearsed it, like they practiced it, like it was what they were meant to do together all along. Leslie even briefly thinks oh, as if she's figured out something that was bothering her for weeks. Scratched an itch that was itching her. Jennifer's kiss is hot and soft and sharp and giving. She laughs against Leslie's mouth and gets her hands on Leslie's waist.
"Really? Here?" she murmurs. "In the bathroom, Leslie?"
Leslie pulls back, realises for the first time what she's doing and where and when. And with whom. It's a lot to realise all at once.
"Oh, shit, I've ruined it, haven't I?" Jennifer asks, wincing good-naturedly and cocking her head. She's got that Disbelieving Norman Rockwell look again, and her lipstick is smeared at the corner of her mouth.
Leslie is maybe twenty minutes away from either succeeding at or failing miserably at the biggest thing she's ever done in her life, and she hates that You're-Too-Straight-Laced-For-Me look, and she's never had sex in a bathroom, and she's never had sex with Jennifer, and anyway it's either this or crying on a toilet, so she takes Jennifer by the shoulders, pushes her into a stall, and kicks the door closed behind her. It slams against the latch and springs open again, maybe a little further open than it was when Leslie kicked it.
"Smooth," Jennifer smiles, and then doesn't waste any time in getting her mouth on Leslie's again. Her quick clever fingers find Leslie's zipper and as her pants drop around her ankles Leslie feels the cool rush of the open air and the hot thrill of exposure, bound up in the same sensation that makes her skin prickle, that makes her wet between her legs.
Leslie wraps her arms around Jennifer's sides, rubs her hands over her back. She doesn't want to seem like she's too much of a hick to . . . to make love to another woman in a small-town Indiana bathroom stall, so she lets her hands trail down and grabs at Jennifer's butt, kneads it a little. It feels good, and Jennifer moans appreciatively into her mouth, so Leslie takes another risk, takes Jennifer's wrist in her hand and guides her hand to cup her through her panties.
"So wet," Jennifer murmurs between kisses, slipping her fingers inside and stroking lightly. "So ready. You want my fingers up your cunt?"
Leslie freezes, and her ladyparts throb hard, her nipples tightening inside her shirt. "My – my – "
Pulling back a little further, Jennifer laughs. "You don't like that word? I love it. Cunt." She pushes inside, then, rubbing against Leslie's clit and teasing at Leslie's entrance. It's nothing, it's the barest of touches, but it drives Leslie wild, makes her want to grind herself down shamelessly, fuck Jennifer senseless. She bites at Jennifer's neck, squeezes her ass a little more.
"Nice," Jennifer breathes, then, "ow. My arm is getting squished. Sit down already."
Leslie's a little confused, then figures out that Jennifer means for her to sit on the toilet seat behind them. She tries to stride purposefully toward it, but forgets that her pants are still around her ankles and almost trips over them, her heels, and Jennifer before she manages to get there, laughing, burying her face in her hand.
Jennifer's laughing too, a rich warm sound that somehow doesn't feel mocking or cruel. "God, you're gorgeous," she says, and now she's manhandling Leslie around, pulling her panties down, spreading her legs, wrapping her hands around Leslie's thighs. "You're just absolutely gorgeous. The things I could do with you, Leslie, you don't even know. The things I could show you."
The twinkle in Jennifer's eye is bright and dangerous; Leslie slides her hand into Jennifer's hair and closes her fist on it, tugging gently. "I want that," she whispers. She lets herself imagine it, what she could do if she loses tonight: running away to DC with Jennifer, doing politics together by day and making love by night.
Without any preamble Jennifer bends her head and licks at Leslie's labia, nosing inside just a little.
"Maybe one day," she says, before burrowing a little deeper. Leslie groans and tilts her head back as Jennifer starts sucking her, as Jennifer's lips pull at her clit and Jennifer's fingers come up to rub at Leslie's lips, pushing deeper and deeper inside.
After another minute or two, just as Leslie is hoping and hoping that Jennifer will put her fingers inside, Jennifer looks up and asks, "You like being penetrated?"
Just the idea of it makes Leslie clench inside; she bites her lip and meets Jennifer's eyes and nods. "Yes," she says, and feels herself flushing, for some reason, even though it's the most normal thing in the world to like. No one's ever asked her that, before. It feels strange to admit to it. "I really, really like it," she adds, all in a rush, and Jennifer chuckles before lowering her mouth back to Leslie's privates, before sticking her fingers inside and curling them, hard and slow.
Jennifer makes a low sound, not quite a groan and not quite an interrogative, and Leslie almost unconsciously tightens her hand in Jennifer's hair for a second before letting go entirely, moving her hand down to Jennifer's shoulder instead and squeezing there.
"That's perfect, that's perfect, yes," Leslie pants, as the sensation mounts: the firm rhythmic pressure inside, the soft sucking on her clit, the feel of it, the sight of it, Jennifer Barkley kneeling on the floor of a bathroom stall, applying herself to Leslie's body the way she would apply herself to a political fight, cool and eager and efficient. She feels so good, she's making Leslie feel so good, and it's all Leslie can do to just hang on, to brace herself against Jennifer's strong shoulders and let herself let go.
As Jennifer licks and sucks and fucks up into her Leslie forgets who she is, forgets who Jennifer is, forgets about the election even: as she comes it's like she falls deeper and deeper into her body until there's no more thought required, only action, only the aborted thrusting of her hips and the noises that emerge from her mouth.
"Oh, oh, oh," she's saying, as she comes back to herself, "oh, Jennifer, oh, wow."
Jennifer pulls back. "All done?" Her lipstick is completely ruined now. Leslie blushes at the idea that it's probably all over her thighs and vulva, red smears across her body to remind her, later, of what she did. What they did.
"Yeah," Leslie says slowly. "Do you want – I can – "
"Nah," Jennifer says, standing up and backing away. "I got myself off like twice there. I come absurdly easily. And you're quite a pretty picture when you're debauched." She winks, and Leslie laughs.
"Um, thanks." Suddenly a little self-conscious, she stands and starts pulling her clothes back on; she just hopes she won't look like a complete mess when she goes out to give her concession speech.
Now Jennifer is standing, straightening her clothes and fixing her shoe where it had slipped off her heel. She backs out of the stall, and Leslie can hear her washing her hands.
"Well, that was lovely," Jennifer calls back over her shoulder. "I figure we've got another hour before the recount's done, so I'm going to go get a buzz on."
Leslie finally gets her clothes together and follows her out of the stall. Jennifer is just finishing reapplying her lipstick, and she blows a kiss in Leslie's direction.
"Did you mean what you said," Leslie begins, then has to cough around a frog in her throat. "Did you mean what you said about me coming to work for you?"
"Sure," Jennifer says, that bright genuine smile breaking across her face again, and this time Leslie knows it's genuine. "Someday."
Leslie frowns. "But not tomorrow."
Tossing her lipstick back into her purse, Jennifer closes it with a firm snap. "Nope," she says, and heads for the door. Leslie stands motionless, caught between demanding a reason why and begging her to reconsider. Before she can do more than open her mouth, though, Jennifer winks again.
"Tomorrow, you're going to be City Councillor for Pawnee, Indiana," she says, and slips silently out the door.
Leslie leans heavily against the sink, takes a breath, and looks herself in the mirror. Not too bad after all; a little smeared, a little fuzzy in the hair area, but she can fix herself up.
She's got time before her victory speech, after all.