Suits fic
Title: Fall Into You
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I own no one mentioned or referenced in this fic. The title is taken from the song "Because I Want You" by Placebo.
Pairing: Harvey/Mike
Summary: In which Mike gets drunk and has a very interesting phone call with his boss.
This was written as a response to this prompt at the Suits kink meme.
The tequila is telling him it's an absolutely fantuckingfastic idea. Not just what's buzzing and burning in his veins, but also what's sloshing around in the bottle. Mike looks up from his phone - the screen of which has gone oddly fuzzy - to give the bottle an uncertain 'are you sure?' eyebrow raise. With both eyebrows, so as to convey maximum levels of uncertainty.
The bottle had been a gift, from himself to himself. Harvey is once again mad at him, for reasons he didn't fully comprehend, and he and Trevor aren't talking (still and forever). So, Mike had splurged and bought himself some love from Senorita Tequila. Well, judging from the mean ass snake on the bottle's label, it's probably Senor Tequila. At any rate, Mike is getting some sweet agave affection tonight, and that is all that matters.
He pours himself another shot and knocks it back. Why is he even pretending? Why not just drink straight from the bottle? Mike shakes his head, scrubbing one hand over his face, and picks up his phone. What the fuck ever, right? Blindly scrolling through his call log, he pushes on what he hopes is the right name and brings his phone to his ear.
“What do you want?” Harvey's voice is sharp, but he doesn't immediately hang up, so Mike counts it as a win.
“It was Tequila's idea.” Mike blurts out, automatically capitalizing the 't'. There's silence on the other end and he bites down hard on his lower lip.
“Is that a drag queen?” He sounds tired, but amused. Another win for Team Mike + Tequila.
“What? No! The alcohol.” Mike shoots a glare at the bottle sitting on his coffee table. 'See?' His glare is saying, 'I knew this was a bad idea!' “Fuck,” Mike sighs out loud. “Just. Fuck.”
“Mike. What do you want?” He enunciates each word clearly, as if he can bury the worry in his voice behind sharp-edged articulation.
“I don't know,” he moans, flopping back against the couch cushions. “You. Maybe. I don't know.” Harvey is silent, but he still hasn't hung up, and Tequila is silently encouraging, so he keeps going. “I'm really messed up.”
“I noticed,” Harvey says, not unkindly. “Look, kid, just sleep it off. I'll see you bright and early at the office tomorrow.” He's trying to give him a way out, Mike realizes. Well, fuck that.
“Not like that. Not drunk messed up,” Mike slurs through his sardonic laughter. “Well, I mean. I am. Drunk. But. I'm also just messed up.” He sighs loudly and runs a hand through his sweaty hair. Harvey waits patiently, quietly, on the other end. “I think about you.”
“I think about you too, Mike. We're coworkers.” Harvey laughs, but it's forced, and Mike realizes that Harvey's worried. About him. Harvey is worried about him and that alone gives him the confidence to keep talking.
“I think about you naked.” The silence that follows is of a decidedly stunned nature, and Mike slumps to one side, giggling into the phone. “Annnd,” he drags the word over his tongue with a very satisfied sense of accomplishment. “I think about touching you when you're naked. I think about you touching me when I'm naked.”
“Mike, that's...”
“Inappropriate?” He slurs, stretching out on his back on the couch. His feet hang over the armrest, but he doesn't care. “I don't care. Tequila said this was a good idea and I'm taking her advice.” He punches the air with his free hand and Harvey laughs, a short, sharp puff of air. “Besides. I don't think that's inappropriate. I think it's.” He pauses to find the right word and, after a few seconds, he settles for, “sexy. The two of us together. That would be sexy.”
“You think?” Harvey asks, and Mike can't help but notice his voice has changed. It's deeper, gravelly, and Mike thinks that he likes it very, very much.
“No, I don't think. I know. Cause I've seen it,” Mike admits proudly, smiling up at the ceiling. “In my dreams, I've seen us. And it's very sexy.” On the other end of the line, Harvey releases one, long shaky breath. “Do you want to know what else is sexy?”
“What?”
“Your mouth,” Mike whispers like it's secret. “God, it. It's so clever. And quick. It just.” He moans, arching his back against the couch. “I think about fucking your mouth is that bad?” Harvey chokes on a sound and Mike swallows, his free hand resting on his stomach. “I think about how your tongue would feel on my dick. But, don't be mad, okay? Cause I also think about...” He trails off, face flushed red with embarrassment and he turns his head to hide in the couch cushion.
“What else do you think about, Mike?” Harvey sounds dangerous, like he's holding back from yelling at him. “Come on,” he coaxes in that same, deadly voice. “What do you think about?”
“I think about,” Mike takes a deep breath to steady himself. “I think about you fucking my mouth. I think about swallowing your dick. I think about your fingers in my hair holding me still. I think about how your dick would feel on my tongue. What it would taste like. Harvey,” Mike whines, plaintive and desperate, “I want to taste you. Please?”
“Oh Jesus fuck,” Harvey groans around clenched teeth. “Mike, you can't just say shit like that. Not when you don't mean it.”
“But I do!” He insists, flexing his hand against the tight skin of his stomach. “I mean it. I think about it all the time. Not just your mouth, either. I think about your ties. Like the one you wore today. The really expensive one.”
“All of my ties are expensive,” Harvey reminds him hoarsely. “You may need to be a little more specific.”
“It was green. Dark, forest green. It's a really beautiful tie, Harvey.” Mike closes his eyes, trying to envision the exact color of the necktie. It isn't hard. “I think about you tying me up with them.”
“With my ties?”
“Uh huh,” Mike admits shyly. “Sometimes you just tie my hands together. Sometimes you tie my hands to your bed. You always leave bruises, but that's okay, cause you always kiss them better.” He slides his hand down from his stomach to the front of his slacks. “Harvey?”
“Yeah, Mike?”
“I'm hard,” he whispers, already unfastening and opening his pants. “I'm so fucking hard.” He wraps his hand solidly around his cock. “Are you?” Harvey sobs a harsh affirmative and it's all the permission Mike needs to start pumping his hand. “I just want you, okay?” He bends his knees so his feet slip and he digs his heels into the couch for leverage. “I just. I really fucking want you. I want to fuck you. I want you to fuck me.” He's babbling, tossing his head back with his eyes clamped shut. “Is that okay?”
“It's okay,” Harvey whispers over and over, working his own hand around his own cock. “It's okay, Mike. It's okay.” He keeps mumbling it, a desperate mantra, even after Mike has long fallen quiet. Finally, it's just him staring at the phone in his hand. Mike's probably passed out by now. “It's okay,” Harvey says to himself before disconnecting the call.
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I own no one mentioned or referenced in this fic. The title is taken from the song "Because I Want You" by Placebo.
Pairing: Harvey/Mike
Summary: In which Mike gets drunk and has a very interesting phone call with his boss.
This was written as a response to this prompt at the Suits kink meme.
The tequila is telling him it's an absolutely fantuckingfastic idea. Not just what's buzzing and burning in his veins, but also what's sloshing around in the bottle. Mike looks up from his phone - the screen of which has gone oddly fuzzy - to give the bottle an uncertain 'are you sure?' eyebrow raise. With both eyebrows, so as to convey maximum levels of uncertainty.
The bottle had been a gift, from himself to himself. Harvey is once again mad at him, for reasons he didn't fully comprehend, and he and Trevor aren't talking (still and forever). So, Mike had splurged and bought himself some love from Senorita Tequila. Well, judging from the mean ass snake on the bottle's label, it's probably Senor Tequila. At any rate, Mike is getting some sweet agave affection tonight, and that is all that matters.
He pours himself another shot and knocks it back. Why is he even pretending? Why not just drink straight from the bottle? Mike shakes his head, scrubbing one hand over his face, and picks up his phone. What the fuck ever, right? Blindly scrolling through his call log, he pushes on what he hopes is the right name and brings his phone to his ear.
“What do you want?” Harvey's voice is sharp, but he doesn't immediately hang up, so Mike counts it as a win.
“It was Tequila's idea.” Mike blurts out, automatically capitalizing the 't'. There's silence on the other end and he bites down hard on his lower lip.
“Is that a drag queen?” He sounds tired, but amused. Another win for Team Mike + Tequila.
“What? No! The alcohol.” Mike shoots a glare at the bottle sitting on his coffee table. 'See?' His glare is saying, 'I knew this was a bad idea!' “Fuck,” Mike sighs out loud. “Just. Fuck.”
“Mike. What do you want?” He enunciates each word clearly, as if he can bury the worry in his voice behind sharp-edged articulation.
“I don't know,” he moans, flopping back against the couch cushions. “You. Maybe. I don't know.” Harvey is silent, but he still hasn't hung up, and Tequila is silently encouraging, so he keeps going. “I'm really messed up.”
“I noticed,” Harvey says, not unkindly. “Look, kid, just sleep it off. I'll see you bright and early at the office tomorrow.” He's trying to give him a way out, Mike realizes. Well, fuck that.
“Not like that. Not drunk messed up,” Mike slurs through his sardonic laughter. “Well, I mean. I am. Drunk. But. I'm also just messed up.” He sighs loudly and runs a hand through his sweaty hair. Harvey waits patiently, quietly, on the other end. “I think about you.”
“I think about you too, Mike. We're coworkers.” Harvey laughs, but it's forced, and Mike realizes that Harvey's worried. About him. Harvey is worried about him and that alone gives him the confidence to keep talking.
“I think about you naked.” The silence that follows is of a decidedly stunned nature, and Mike slumps to one side, giggling into the phone. “Annnd,” he drags the word over his tongue with a very satisfied sense of accomplishment. “I think about touching you when you're naked. I think about you touching me when I'm naked.”
“Mike, that's...”
“Inappropriate?” He slurs, stretching out on his back on the couch. His feet hang over the armrest, but he doesn't care. “I don't care. Tequila said this was a good idea and I'm taking her advice.” He punches the air with his free hand and Harvey laughs, a short, sharp puff of air. “Besides. I don't think that's inappropriate. I think it's.” He pauses to find the right word and, after a few seconds, he settles for, “sexy. The two of us together. That would be sexy.”
“You think?” Harvey asks, and Mike can't help but notice his voice has changed. It's deeper, gravelly, and Mike thinks that he likes it very, very much.
“No, I don't think. I know. Cause I've seen it,” Mike admits proudly, smiling up at the ceiling. “In my dreams, I've seen us. And it's very sexy.” On the other end of the line, Harvey releases one, long shaky breath. “Do you want to know what else is sexy?”
“What?”
“Your mouth,” Mike whispers like it's secret. “God, it. It's so clever. And quick. It just.” He moans, arching his back against the couch. “I think about fucking your mouth is that bad?” Harvey chokes on a sound and Mike swallows, his free hand resting on his stomach. “I think about how your tongue would feel on my dick. But, don't be mad, okay? Cause I also think about...” He trails off, face flushed red with embarrassment and he turns his head to hide in the couch cushion.
“What else do you think about, Mike?” Harvey sounds dangerous, like he's holding back from yelling at him. “Come on,” he coaxes in that same, deadly voice. “What do you think about?”
“I think about,” Mike takes a deep breath to steady himself. “I think about you fucking my mouth. I think about swallowing your dick. I think about your fingers in my hair holding me still. I think about how your dick would feel on my tongue. What it would taste like. Harvey,” Mike whines, plaintive and desperate, “I want to taste you. Please?”
“Oh Jesus fuck,” Harvey groans around clenched teeth. “Mike, you can't just say shit like that. Not when you don't mean it.”
“But I do!” He insists, flexing his hand against the tight skin of his stomach. “I mean it. I think about it all the time. Not just your mouth, either. I think about your ties. Like the one you wore today. The really expensive one.”
“All of my ties are expensive,” Harvey reminds him hoarsely. “You may need to be a little more specific.”
“It was green. Dark, forest green. It's a really beautiful tie, Harvey.” Mike closes his eyes, trying to envision the exact color of the necktie. It isn't hard. “I think about you tying me up with them.”
“With my ties?”
“Uh huh,” Mike admits shyly. “Sometimes you just tie my hands together. Sometimes you tie my hands to your bed. You always leave bruises, but that's okay, cause you always kiss them better.” He slides his hand down from his stomach to the front of his slacks. “Harvey?”
“Yeah, Mike?”
“I'm hard,” he whispers, already unfastening and opening his pants. “I'm so fucking hard.” He wraps his hand solidly around his cock. “Are you?” Harvey sobs a harsh affirmative and it's all the permission Mike needs to start pumping his hand. “I just want you, okay?” He bends his knees so his feet slip and he digs his heels into the couch for leverage. “I just. I really fucking want you. I want to fuck you. I want you to fuck me.” He's babbling, tossing his head back with his eyes clamped shut. “Is that okay?”
“It's okay,” Harvey whispers over and over, working his own hand around his own cock. “It's okay, Mike. It's okay.” He keeps mumbling it, a desperate mantra, even after Mike has long fallen quiet. Finally, it's just him staring at the phone in his hand. Mike's probably passed out by now. “It's okay,” Harvey says to himself before disconnecting the call.