217. {c} [suits] (harvey/donna) to build a home (6/?)
to build a home ; pg-13 ; 4,280 words ;
chapter 5
if there's anything that makes sense, it's this right here, the way they're living, but it doesn't mean it won't fall apart
a/n: this is a follow up to silent night will shatter and the times they are a changin'
She can feel the heat rising around her, the burning against her skin, and it makes her want to scream. Something isn't right. There's a pounding in her head. Her ears are ringing and all she can see is black. She feels like her lungs are filling with something - it's heavy, it's not oxygen.
She's suffocating. Fast.
She doesn't even remember what it's like to breathe in and out, the way oxygen turns into carbon dioxide inside of her before she sends it out of her body. She doesn't remember anything, really. Her stomach begins to churn and she feels the bile creep up the back of her throat. She throws her body from side to side, colliding with walls she can't quite escape.
She's on fire. Just please, she begs, GOD, not her hair - anything but that. Not now when she's had the best relationship with her hair in her entire life. Not. Now.
She hears echoes, incoherent words being called out to her. She can't make out faces or sounds because she can't see, can't hear through the ringing. She wants to get the fuck out of this hell hole. She's never felt more claustrophobic in her life. She just can't take it anymore.
The bile creeps up her esophagus again, but this time she can't fight it; it rises and rises and...
She shoots upright with a scream, a dull ache in her chest and a turn in her stomach. Harvey's fingers flex against her thigh as he slowly joins her, his other hand immediately coming up and pushing across her shoulders. He tries to speak but no words come out; the panic, however, is evident on his face, in the way that his hands shake against her skin.
Just as he clears his throat to try and find his words an urgency rises from deep inside of her. She throws the bedding back and drops her feet to the floor, doesn't even bother to let herself adjust to the cool night air. She takes off in a dash towards the bathroom and barely has the toilet seat slamming against the tank before she's vomiting into the basin.
Harvey's tongue tied. No, not tongue tied.
He's speechless.
His fingers white knuckle around the comforter while his eyebrows furrow in concern, in desperation, in contemplation. She can't place what his facial expression means, she just knows that she's only ever seen him with that look on his face three times. All three times have led to a startling revelation on her part that certainly has never ended well.
Something inside of him seems to snap and he quickly moves into action. His feet slam onto the floor and he hurries into the bathroom behind her. For a moment, Donna considers that she doesn't even know how her own husband reacts in these situations - if he has a weak stomach, if the sight of blood or vomit or anything makes him become queasy. There's so much that she doesn't know about a man that she can't even remember what having a life without him is like.
She sees him make a face out of the corner of her eye. She calls it a squint, in her mind, and chalks it up to the sudden light change when he crosses the threshold into the bathroom. He manages to multitask better than she can even manage in her half awake state and places a hand against her spin as he flushes the toilet for her. She had never pictured Harvey to be the type to hold back someone's hair while they were throwing up.
She manages an apologetic twitch of the lips before the bile rises again. The contents of her stomach disperses into the water and Harvey leans over her shoulder like he's trying to take a peek. He learns that was a horrible idea and it shows on his face through a grimace.
He bends his knees and pulls her hair back out of her face, his other hand steady between her shoulder blades. There's a sense of his presence that makes her feel hollow, like the blood isn't pumping through her veins the way that they should be. He expertly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before flushing the toilet again; she shifts her tear glazed eyes to look at him.
"I didn't mean to wake you," she tells him hoarsely.
"It's okay," he replies gently. He looks at her with a soft gaze that makes the tears fall from her eyes and he tilts his head, fingers returning to her hair and stroking it. He offers her a sympathetic smile as he sits on the floor, back pressing against the bathtub. "What happened?"
"I don't know," she admits. There's an uneasiness in her voice that makes Harvey's face contort in concern. He studies her like he has many times before - studies her like he's trying to memorize all of the secrets written all over her face. "I can't remember."
"Donna," he starts; her name from his lips is simple, pointed and baring.
"I really can't, Harvey. I couldn't breathe and I felt like I needed to scream. Next thing I know, I wake up to my own screaming."
He smiles weakly, "is everything okay?"
A tear slips down her cheek, "nothing is okay. I lied to you, Harvey."
The muscles in his shoulders tense and she feels like her skin is on fire beneath his touch. He's trying so hard to be calm and supportive but there's nothing he hates more than loyalty and trust that is broken. She doesn't even know that she can survive telling him because she knows what it will do to them. She only hopes that he can forgive her as quickly for this as he has forgiven her in the past.
"Okay," he says slowly. The breathe he releases is shaky and she pretends not to notice his fingers flexing against her muscles. "What is it?"
"The doctor told me some bad news," she starts. He abandons the look of hurt and his face immediately resembles worry. She isn't ready for this to be over, but she supposes it's better now than before it's too late. "He told me that I probably wouldn't be able to have kids."
"Oh, honey," he replies gently, fingers sliding down her spine and sliding to her hip to pull her towards him, "I have you and that's all I need."
"I didn't know how to tell you," she says, "you were just so happy and I just want you to be happy."
"You've spent a long time taking care of me, Donna. Let me take care of you now," he replies.
"I'm a mess."
He lightly shakes his head, "you're absolutely perfect and I'd kiss you right now if you hadn't just thrown up."
She laughs a little as he wipes at the tears leaving streaks on her cheek with his thumb.
"Are you sure I look okay?" She asks him one more time before they enter the restaurant.
He smiles and tilts his head, "you look great. Why are you so worried?"
"I just haven't seen them in a really long time," she reasons. Once they are inside, she sheds her coat and hands it to hostess in the entryway. His eyes trace her form, takes in the way that blue material hugs her hips, and he'd like nothing more than to take her home. She furrows her eyebrows and becomes painfully aware of his gaze. "What?"
"Nothing," he replies a bit too quickly, "you're just really hot. You know, it isn't too late. We can still ditch dinner and go home."
She laughs gently and shakes her head, "don't push it, Mister. You have a group of women to impress."
He stands awkwardly for a few moments like he's trying to gauge the importance of impressing a group of women he's heard very little about. He doesn't even know any of her friends outside of Rachel; in fact, he briefly wonders if he were to ask her who she would say that her best friend is. Is it that big of a deal to impress these women? How much do their opinions matter to Donna? He thought he was her best friend?
"I thought my opinion was the only one that mattered," he says with furrowed eyebrows.
She smirks, "that doesn't mean you don't have to impress them. Does that sound like something you can handle?"
"I can be very impressive when I want to be," he reminds her.
"Then be impressive," she replies with a shrug. He smiles and lightly shakes his head, reaching out and pressing his fingertips against her back. His fingers press into her spine just above the line of her dress, the material soft and cold against his fingertips, before he slides them down to the small of her back. She shivers beneath his touch, "just be your normal charming self without the intent on taking one of them home and you'll do great."
"I already know who I plan on taking home," he retorts with a wink.
"Easy tiger."
"What?" Harvey feigns innocence, "you're hot. I have a hot wife."
"Stop," she warns as her lips tug upward in the corners.
He laughs gently but the material beneath his fingertips is thin in a manner which distracts him until she steps forward to meet her friends. He follows her lead towards the table, silently counting the number of blondes and brunettes and women with black hair sitting around a circular table as they approach. He counts 5 and in his opinion it's 5 too many.
"Sorry we're late," Donna announces to the table.
"It's okay," one of the women, Harvey can't tell which, practically shouts, "just don't make it a habit."
"It's becoming a bad habit," Donna admits.
Harvey's fingers reluctantly leave her frame to pull the chair out for her, and once she's seated he sits in the only empty seat beside her. He's decided to go the safer route of keeping his mouth shut because meeting the friends has never been his favorite step in a relationship. The problem for him is that he can't avoid that step - he's too in love with her to tell her no.
"You must be Harvey," a blonde haired woman says out of nowhere before his back can even touch the chair.
He looks up from the floor where he's being overly focused that he isn't stepping on anyone's toes to see that her chin is resting in her hand and her eyes are trained on him. He tilts his head slightly before shooting an uncertain gaze to Donna (who seems to have her face trained in a way that resembles absolutely no acknowledgment of what is unfolding). He figures out that he has to say something before he gets 4 additional pairs of eyes to scrutinize him also.
He nods, "Harvey Specter."
"Oh, we've heard so much about you," another woman sings under her breath.
He furrows his eyebrows in response and looks at Donna with a slight grin, "oh really? All good things, I'm sure."
"Like they're going to tell you," Donna finally says.
"So is this one of those third degree dinners?" He questions.
"Probably," Donna replies with a shrug.
His mouth settles into a thin line to make his lack of amusement quite clear but when she smiles cheekily he can't help the one that sneaks onto his face. He finds it to be a diservice that he's on display in front of all these women and he doesn't even know any of their names. His knee shakes, threatens to go into a bouncing frenzy until he feels Donna's palm slide over his thigh to settle there. He hadn't even realized that his body was angled towards hers so prominantly, but he's coming to the conclusion that they are rather close and his knee is lightly brushing against her thigh. He settles his arm on the back her chair, his fingers finding a place against her shoulder.
He swallows, "even your parents didn't do that."
"That's because they like to keep the peace," Donna concludes.
"We like chaos," another woman interjects.
Harvey really wishes they had introduced themselves because he's beginning to get them confused, who said what and which face belongs to which voice. He's usually really good with faces and names but his palms are sweating and his knee would be bouncing if it weren't for her hand keeping it steady. He leans a little more into her and listens carefully to the breath expelling from between her slightly parted lips.
He furrows his eyebrows and turns his head to the sound of the voice, "I didn't get your name."
His fingers slip beneath the strap of her blue dress and it makes him think that this group of women could possibly think he's just her boss. For a moment that saddens him - the idea that no one else in the world but them knows that whatever between them is so much more than meets the eye. Her fingers tighten as they get closer to his knee.
"Do you want us to go around the table?"
Harvey stares at Donna incredulously, silently asking her to tell him how to answer the question. Her fingers brush over his inner thigh and it nearly makes him jump in his seat. He furrows his eyebrows and lightly shakes his head before he glances around the table.
"It's my fault," Donna says, "I should have introduced you. I just assumed that they all know you so you should know them."
"Donna," he says, gently and carefully like he's pleading with her; he really hopes his voice didn't do that crack thing where her name sounds like a whine. His mouth slides into a grin. "Have you been talking about me?"
"Oh, she's told us great things. For a long time it used to be Harvey this and Harvey that," says the one woman that Harvey recognizes. She stands out from this group of women in a different way than Donna does. She has black hair and dresses slightly like a hipster. He slowly places her from the god awful dinner party as Donna's friend Lauren who is a well-known underground artist in town - at least, that's what he's heard. "But she never told us how handsome you are."
"I've met you before," he says with a brief point of the finger, "at Donna's a few years ago."
"It was a long time ago," she confirms, "and beforehand she kept saying my boss is going to be here and everything has to be perfect, Lauren, don't mess this up."
"I had a great time at that party."
"It was a disaster," Donna interjects.
"Wait," the blonde on the other side of Donna says suddenly, "this is the boss? The boss? You never told us how cute he is."
He's already pegged all of these women without knowing their names and he isn't even sure he wants to try anymore. Everything about this dinner makes him want to run and he would, too, if it weren't for the fact that he's doing this for Donna. This is going to be so fun that he'll be lucky if he doesn't bang his head against the wall.
She laughs against his throat and he comes to the conclusion that he'd almost forgotten what it sounds like. Her lips are warm in the cold December air and he pushes his fingers into her hips to pull her closer. There's a warm breeze when the door to the restaurant opens and another patron leaves, but other than that there is fresh traces of snow littering the ground at their feet. Her tall heels make her so much taller, make her chin at the same level as his, and he's baffled by the way she can balance on them even in the snow.
He likes the sound of her laughter, the way it vibrates on his skin, but he can't figure out if it comes easier because she's a little drunk or because she's happy. He knows she's had it rough lately, that she's gone stir crazy sitting alone in the apartment with her own head and dealing with a doubt that settles in his absence. He wishes that he could just tell her how he feels and that be it, that she wouldn't worry anymore.
His fingers slide to hers and he pulls her towards him, a sigh passing through his lips as her other hand finds the back of his neck. They've made it three blocks from the restaurant and her warmth against his skin creates a friction in his veins that makes his heart beat speed up a little. The slush of on the sidewalk gathers at his feet, the sound of cars rushing by tuning out the chatter of other passerby's in the distance.
He hadn't counted her alcohol intake but he's pretty sure she's had more than enough. She hasn't had any since her accident and he thought he'd let her have a pass, especially in front of her friends. The incessant female chatter only became louder and louder as time passed and empty glasses scattered the table, but Donna's hands had wandered a little bit closer to his crotch with every drink and he couldn't focus on anything other than trying to occupy them.
Her lips slide against his jaw, teeth nipping at his neck just below there, and he can't help the way his fingers slip beneath the opening in her coat. She laughs against the corner of his mouth but the laughter promptly stops when he presses his lips to hers. Her lips part beneath his and her tongue darts out to slide across his bottom lip. Everything happens at once, the way her tongue rolls against his and she tastes distinctly like scotch. He wonders when his drink of choice became her drink of choice.
Her lipstick clings to his mouth and he suddenly realizes that this is really the first time she's dressed up since they've been together. As much as he loves seeing her in jeans and a shirt, in his t-shirt, in a piece of his clothing, in a nothing, he loves seeing her in her fashionista attire - all dressed up and stealing the eyes of the room. In his opinion, she always demands the attention of everyone in the room but with her dresses or skirts that come just above the knee, her heels that echo on the floor, hair red hair teased into perfection and the light layer of make up on her face he thinks it's absolutely undeniable.
Her fingernails dig into the back of his neck as she pulls him closer, shifts all of her weight in his direction like she needs him to stand upright. He feels drunk even though he didn't drink as much as she did, but it could be a contact high - it could just be happiness. Her teeth tug on his bottom lip for a brief moment before they part and her warm breath slides up his jaw.
"Harvey, hail a cab and take me home," she purrs into his ear.
"Okay," he nods.
He moves around her to hail a cab but her fingers only clasp to his tighter. He's momentarily distracted by the hold she has on him, her hand so tightly and perfectly placed within his that he thinks she needs him, and he glances at their hands in the space between them. He thinks it feels different when they're out in public where everyone can see, thinks that there's a certain satisfaction he feels like he can show that he belongs to someone - Donna, that he belongs to Donna. He supposes that the prospect of forever has always been different when it's in the terms where she's concerned.
She tugs on his hand as a cab pulls up and he's unprepared when her other hand slips beneath his jacket. His eyebrow shoots up. His gaze meets hers and he thinks about saying something; he can't decide what. In his head it sounds like a mix between something extremely corny and something sickeningly sweet. Instead, he manages to open the cab door and pull her in with him.
She closes the door behind her and the thud reverberates through her bones. He hums unintentionally once he's muttered the address of the condo. It must be the alcohol because she finds it cute and presses her fingers against his cheek to encourage him to look at her. He smiles adoringly at her. Her smile presses against his, lips curled upward and meeting at the corners.
She laughs against his lips and it makes his tingle from the vibrations. He doesn't even know what she's laughing at anymore. If she's said something then her words haven't yet registered for him. Her fingers curl into his ribs like she's desperate to be near him, like he isn't quite close enough.
He encourages her advancements by divulging his fingers into her hair, her mouth sweet from the chocolate cake she ate and bitter from the scotch she drank. He thinks the way she tastes is a reflection of her - sickeningly sweet, a kick that will leave him reeling. She sighs against the corner of his mouth, slides against him as she fits her hand against his thigh. The sounds echoing between them are all heavy breathing and sighs and moans. His hand slips between her thighs, fingers grasping for her flesh; she stutters against his mouth, her breath hitching in the depths of her throat.
Harvey Specter is not the kind of man who makes out with women in cabs. He doesn't like to make a show, doesn't like when someone can connect less than behavior with his face or his name, but there's something about this woman that just drives him crazy in a way that he can't help himself. His fingers slide against her thigh, her muscles flexing beneath his fingertips, her mouth fused to his, her nails digging into the space between his hip and his ribs. Donna is fearless and she navigates him with ease in a manner that makes him feel okay to let her.
The laughter completely evades her but, although he misses the sound, he likes what she's doing with her mouth much more. Her tongue slides over his bottom lip; just when he's about to deepen the kiss and push his hand further between her thighs, it occurs to him that he should probably be more aware of his surroundings. Her fingers maneuver to his stomach, press just above his waistline. His dick throbs in the constriction of his pants and he can't help the muffled groan that slips out between his lips.
"We're almost home," he manages.
Her legs shift and he can feel the heat between them. "Good."
"Head inside, I'll pay."
"Hurry," she moans gently into his ear. It sounds like a whisper but echoes like a scream and he doesn't know if he's going to make it all the way inside. Her fingers slip over his lap, unintentionally brushing over his erection, and he's forced to swallow a gulp. "I'm ready to go to bed."
He can barely get her thoughts straight as he reaches around her for the door handle. He pushes it open for her and watches her head inside, her coat swallowing her and making her look unbelievably small. He pays the cab driver with an apologetic smile.
"Girlfriend?" The driver asks.
He almost misses the question as he's counting his money. His thoughts are jumbled and his eyebrows furrow in confusion. He lifts his gaze to the driver. "Wife, actually," he corrects.
He gives up and throws the wad of cash at the driver with an empty apology. Harvey jumps out of the vehicle and slams the door behind him before taking off in a slight jog to catch up to her. He touches her gently, careful not to cause her to lose her balance. Donna's fingers blindly find his and it feels like a comfort, like he's coming home where he belongs, but the irony of it is that he's actually lived there for quite some time.
Her heels click against the tile of the lobby and echoes off of the walls, but it's the sound of her breathing that has his attention. He watches her fingers touch the elevator call button only to turn to face him. It baffles him how she looks so wistful, so natural with the cold December air nipping at her exposed flesh with the touch of color biting her cheeks.
"You look," he starts but he can't really find the words. Instead, he pushes his hand against her jaw, fingers sliding along the bone.
She leans her face into his hand and smiles gently, "drunk?"
"I was going to say stunning."
"But then again," she mutters, hips closing the space between them until hers touches his, "you're drunk too."
"I'm not that drunk," he corrects.
The elevator dings and she steps backward, leading him in her direction. He willingly follows, her fingers wrapping around the lapels of his jacket. He thinks that maybe she's had a rough week and she's just trying to work out the tension, but he's never been very good at letting her not talk to him. It makes him feel lost, broken, like something is missing and the puzzle needs to be completed. He had never really noticed how dependent he was on her.
chapter 5
if there's anything that makes sense, it's this right here, the way they're living, but it doesn't mean it won't fall apart
a/n: this is a follow up to silent night will shatter and the times they are a changin'
She can feel the heat rising around her, the burning against her skin, and it makes her want to scream. Something isn't right. There's a pounding in her head. Her ears are ringing and all she can see is black. She feels like her lungs are filling with something - it's heavy, it's not oxygen.
She's suffocating. Fast.
She doesn't even remember what it's like to breathe in and out, the way oxygen turns into carbon dioxide inside of her before she sends it out of her body. She doesn't remember anything, really. Her stomach begins to churn and she feels the bile creep up the back of her throat. She throws her body from side to side, colliding with walls she can't quite escape.
She's on fire. Just please, she begs, GOD, not her hair - anything but that. Not now when she's had the best relationship with her hair in her entire life. Not. Now.
She hears echoes, incoherent words being called out to her. She can't make out faces or sounds because she can't see, can't hear through the ringing. She wants to get the fuck out of this hell hole. She's never felt more claustrophobic in her life. She just can't take it anymore.
The bile creeps up her esophagus again, but this time she can't fight it; it rises and rises and...
She shoots upright with a scream, a dull ache in her chest and a turn in her stomach. Harvey's fingers flex against her thigh as he slowly joins her, his other hand immediately coming up and pushing across her shoulders. He tries to speak but no words come out; the panic, however, is evident on his face, in the way that his hands shake against her skin.
Just as he clears his throat to try and find his words an urgency rises from deep inside of her. She throws the bedding back and drops her feet to the floor, doesn't even bother to let herself adjust to the cool night air. She takes off in a dash towards the bathroom and barely has the toilet seat slamming against the tank before she's vomiting into the basin.
Harvey's tongue tied. No, not tongue tied.
He's speechless.
His fingers white knuckle around the comforter while his eyebrows furrow in concern, in desperation, in contemplation. She can't place what his facial expression means, she just knows that she's only ever seen him with that look on his face three times. All three times have led to a startling revelation on her part that certainly has never ended well.
Something inside of him seems to snap and he quickly moves into action. His feet slam onto the floor and he hurries into the bathroom behind her. For a moment, Donna considers that she doesn't even know how her own husband reacts in these situations - if he has a weak stomach, if the sight of blood or vomit or anything makes him become queasy. There's so much that she doesn't know about a man that she can't even remember what having a life without him is like.
She sees him make a face out of the corner of her eye. She calls it a squint, in her mind, and chalks it up to the sudden light change when he crosses the threshold into the bathroom. He manages to multitask better than she can even manage in her half awake state and places a hand against her spin as he flushes the toilet for her. She had never pictured Harvey to be the type to hold back someone's hair while they were throwing up.
She manages an apologetic twitch of the lips before the bile rises again. The contents of her stomach disperses into the water and Harvey leans over her shoulder like he's trying to take a peek. He learns that was a horrible idea and it shows on his face through a grimace.
He bends his knees and pulls her hair back out of her face, his other hand steady between her shoulder blades. There's a sense of his presence that makes her feel hollow, like the blood isn't pumping through her veins the way that they should be. He expertly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before flushing the toilet again; she shifts her tear glazed eyes to look at him.
"I didn't mean to wake you," she tells him hoarsely.
"It's okay," he replies gently. He looks at her with a soft gaze that makes the tears fall from her eyes and he tilts his head, fingers returning to her hair and stroking it. He offers her a sympathetic smile as he sits on the floor, back pressing against the bathtub. "What happened?"
"I don't know," she admits. There's an uneasiness in her voice that makes Harvey's face contort in concern. He studies her like he has many times before - studies her like he's trying to memorize all of the secrets written all over her face. "I can't remember."
"Donna," he starts; her name from his lips is simple, pointed and baring.
"I really can't, Harvey. I couldn't breathe and I felt like I needed to scream. Next thing I know, I wake up to my own screaming."
He smiles weakly, "is everything okay?"
A tear slips down her cheek, "nothing is okay. I lied to you, Harvey."
The muscles in his shoulders tense and she feels like her skin is on fire beneath his touch. He's trying so hard to be calm and supportive but there's nothing he hates more than loyalty and trust that is broken. She doesn't even know that she can survive telling him because she knows what it will do to them. She only hopes that he can forgive her as quickly for this as he has forgiven her in the past.
"Okay," he says slowly. The breathe he releases is shaky and she pretends not to notice his fingers flexing against her muscles. "What is it?"
"The doctor told me some bad news," she starts. He abandons the look of hurt and his face immediately resembles worry. She isn't ready for this to be over, but she supposes it's better now than before it's too late. "He told me that I probably wouldn't be able to have kids."
"Oh, honey," he replies gently, fingers sliding down her spine and sliding to her hip to pull her towards him, "I have you and that's all I need."
"I didn't know how to tell you," she says, "you were just so happy and I just want you to be happy."
"You've spent a long time taking care of me, Donna. Let me take care of you now," he replies.
"I'm a mess."
He lightly shakes his head, "you're absolutely perfect and I'd kiss you right now if you hadn't just thrown up."
She laughs a little as he wipes at the tears leaving streaks on her cheek with his thumb.
"Are you sure I look okay?" She asks him one more time before they enter the restaurant.
He smiles and tilts his head, "you look great. Why are you so worried?"
"I just haven't seen them in a really long time," she reasons. Once they are inside, she sheds her coat and hands it to hostess in the entryway. His eyes trace her form, takes in the way that blue material hugs her hips, and he'd like nothing more than to take her home. She furrows her eyebrows and becomes painfully aware of his gaze. "What?"
"Nothing," he replies a bit too quickly, "you're just really hot. You know, it isn't too late. We can still ditch dinner and go home."
She laughs gently and shakes her head, "don't push it, Mister. You have a group of women to impress."
He stands awkwardly for a few moments like he's trying to gauge the importance of impressing a group of women he's heard very little about. He doesn't even know any of her friends outside of Rachel; in fact, he briefly wonders if he were to ask her who she would say that her best friend is. Is it that big of a deal to impress these women? How much do their opinions matter to Donna? He thought he was her best friend?
"I thought my opinion was the only one that mattered," he says with furrowed eyebrows.
She smirks, "that doesn't mean you don't have to impress them. Does that sound like something you can handle?"
"I can be very impressive when I want to be," he reminds her.
"Then be impressive," she replies with a shrug. He smiles and lightly shakes his head, reaching out and pressing his fingertips against her back. His fingers press into her spine just above the line of her dress, the material soft and cold against his fingertips, before he slides them down to the small of her back. She shivers beneath his touch, "just be your normal charming self without the intent on taking one of them home and you'll do great."
"I already know who I plan on taking home," he retorts with a wink.
"Easy tiger."
"What?" Harvey feigns innocence, "you're hot. I have a hot wife."
"Stop," she warns as her lips tug upward in the corners.
He laughs gently but the material beneath his fingertips is thin in a manner which distracts him until she steps forward to meet her friends. He follows her lead towards the table, silently counting the number of blondes and brunettes and women with black hair sitting around a circular table as they approach. He counts 5 and in his opinion it's 5 too many.
"Sorry we're late," Donna announces to the table.
"It's okay," one of the women, Harvey can't tell which, practically shouts, "just don't make it a habit."
"It's becoming a bad habit," Donna admits.
Harvey's fingers reluctantly leave her frame to pull the chair out for her, and once she's seated he sits in the only empty seat beside her. He's decided to go the safer route of keeping his mouth shut because meeting the friends has never been his favorite step in a relationship. The problem for him is that he can't avoid that step - he's too in love with her to tell her no.
"You must be Harvey," a blonde haired woman says out of nowhere before his back can even touch the chair.
He looks up from the floor where he's being overly focused that he isn't stepping on anyone's toes to see that her chin is resting in her hand and her eyes are trained on him. He tilts his head slightly before shooting an uncertain gaze to Donna (who seems to have her face trained in a way that resembles absolutely no acknowledgment of what is unfolding). He figures out that he has to say something before he gets 4 additional pairs of eyes to scrutinize him also.
He nods, "Harvey Specter."
"Oh, we've heard so much about you," another woman sings under her breath.
He furrows his eyebrows in response and looks at Donna with a slight grin, "oh really? All good things, I'm sure."
"Like they're going to tell you," Donna finally says.
"So is this one of those third degree dinners?" He questions.
"Probably," Donna replies with a shrug.
His mouth settles into a thin line to make his lack of amusement quite clear but when she smiles cheekily he can't help the one that sneaks onto his face. He finds it to be a diservice that he's on display in front of all these women and he doesn't even know any of their names. His knee shakes, threatens to go into a bouncing frenzy until he feels Donna's palm slide over his thigh to settle there. He hadn't even realized that his body was angled towards hers so prominantly, but he's coming to the conclusion that they are rather close and his knee is lightly brushing against her thigh. He settles his arm on the back her chair, his fingers finding a place against her shoulder.
He swallows, "even your parents didn't do that."
"That's because they like to keep the peace," Donna concludes.
"We like chaos," another woman interjects.
Harvey really wishes they had introduced themselves because he's beginning to get them confused, who said what and which face belongs to which voice. He's usually really good with faces and names but his palms are sweating and his knee would be bouncing if it weren't for her hand keeping it steady. He leans a little more into her and listens carefully to the breath expelling from between her slightly parted lips.
He furrows his eyebrows and turns his head to the sound of the voice, "I didn't get your name."
His fingers slip beneath the strap of her blue dress and it makes him think that this group of women could possibly think he's just her boss. For a moment that saddens him - the idea that no one else in the world but them knows that whatever between them is so much more than meets the eye. Her fingers tighten as they get closer to his knee.
"Do you want us to go around the table?"
Harvey stares at Donna incredulously, silently asking her to tell him how to answer the question. Her fingers brush over his inner thigh and it nearly makes him jump in his seat. He furrows his eyebrows and lightly shakes his head before he glances around the table.
"It's my fault," Donna says, "I should have introduced you. I just assumed that they all know you so you should know them."
"Donna," he says, gently and carefully like he's pleading with her; he really hopes his voice didn't do that crack thing where her name sounds like a whine. His mouth slides into a grin. "Have you been talking about me?"
"Oh, she's told us great things. For a long time it used to be Harvey this and Harvey that," says the one woman that Harvey recognizes. She stands out from this group of women in a different way than Donna does. She has black hair and dresses slightly like a hipster. He slowly places her from the god awful dinner party as Donna's friend Lauren who is a well-known underground artist in town - at least, that's what he's heard. "But she never told us how handsome you are."
"I've met you before," he says with a brief point of the finger, "at Donna's a few years ago."
"It was a long time ago," she confirms, "and beforehand she kept saying my boss is going to be here and everything has to be perfect, Lauren, don't mess this up."
"I had a great time at that party."
"It was a disaster," Donna interjects.
"Wait," the blonde on the other side of Donna says suddenly, "this is the boss? The boss? You never told us how cute he is."
He's already pegged all of these women without knowing their names and he isn't even sure he wants to try anymore. Everything about this dinner makes him want to run and he would, too, if it weren't for the fact that he's doing this for Donna. This is going to be so fun that he'll be lucky if he doesn't bang his head against the wall.
She laughs against his throat and he comes to the conclusion that he'd almost forgotten what it sounds like. Her lips are warm in the cold December air and he pushes his fingers into her hips to pull her closer. There's a warm breeze when the door to the restaurant opens and another patron leaves, but other than that there is fresh traces of snow littering the ground at their feet. Her tall heels make her so much taller, make her chin at the same level as his, and he's baffled by the way she can balance on them even in the snow.
He likes the sound of her laughter, the way it vibrates on his skin, but he can't figure out if it comes easier because she's a little drunk or because she's happy. He knows she's had it rough lately, that she's gone stir crazy sitting alone in the apartment with her own head and dealing with a doubt that settles in his absence. He wishes that he could just tell her how he feels and that be it, that she wouldn't worry anymore.
His fingers slide to hers and he pulls her towards him, a sigh passing through his lips as her other hand finds the back of his neck. They've made it three blocks from the restaurant and her warmth against his skin creates a friction in his veins that makes his heart beat speed up a little. The slush of on the sidewalk gathers at his feet, the sound of cars rushing by tuning out the chatter of other passerby's in the distance.
He hadn't counted her alcohol intake but he's pretty sure she's had more than enough. She hasn't had any since her accident and he thought he'd let her have a pass, especially in front of her friends. The incessant female chatter only became louder and louder as time passed and empty glasses scattered the table, but Donna's hands had wandered a little bit closer to his crotch with every drink and he couldn't focus on anything other than trying to occupy them.
Her lips slide against his jaw, teeth nipping at his neck just below there, and he can't help the way his fingers slip beneath the opening in her coat. She laughs against the corner of his mouth but the laughter promptly stops when he presses his lips to hers. Her lips part beneath his and her tongue darts out to slide across his bottom lip. Everything happens at once, the way her tongue rolls against his and she tastes distinctly like scotch. He wonders when his drink of choice became her drink of choice.
Her lipstick clings to his mouth and he suddenly realizes that this is really the first time she's dressed up since they've been together. As much as he loves seeing her in jeans and a shirt, in his t-shirt, in a piece of his clothing, in a nothing, he loves seeing her in her fashionista attire - all dressed up and stealing the eyes of the room. In his opinion, she always demands the attention of everyone in the room but with her dresses or skirts that come just above the knee, her heels that echo on the floor, hair red hair teased into perfection and the light layer of make up on her face he thinks it's absolutely undeniable.
Her fingernails dig into the back of his neck as she pulls him closer, shifts all of her weight in his direction like she needs him to stand upright. He feels drunk even though he didn't drink as much as she did, but it could be a contact high - it could just be happiness. Her teeth tug on his bottom lip for a brief moment before they part and her warm breath slides up his jaw.
"Harvey, hail a cab and take me home," she purrs into his ear.
"Okay," he nods.
He moves around her to hail a cab but her fingers only clasp to his tighter. He's momentarily distracted by the hold she has on him, her hand so tightly and perfectly placed within his that he thinks she needs him, and he glances at their hands in the space between them. He thinks it feels different when they're out in public where everyone can see, thinks that there's a certain satisfaction he feels like he can show that he belongs to someone - Donna, that he belongs to Donna. He supposes that the prospect of forever has always been different when it's in the terms where she's concerned.
She tugs on his hand as a cab pulls up and he's unprepared when her other hand slips beneath his jacket. His eyebrow shoots up. His gaze meets hers and he thinks about saying something; he can't decide what. In his head it sounds like a mix between something extremely corny and something sickeningly sweet. Instead, he manages to open the cab door and pull her in with him.
She closes the door behind her and the thud reverberates through her bones. He hums unintentionally once he's muttered the address of the condo. It must be the alcohol because she finds it cute and presses her fingers against his cheek to encourage him to look at her. He smiles adoringly at her. Her smile presses against his, lips curled upward and meeting at the corners.
She laughs against his lips and it makes his tingle from the vibrations. He doesn't even know what she's laughing at anymore. If she's said something then her words haven't yet registered for him. Her fingers curl into his ribs like she's desperate to be near him, like he isn't quite close enough.
He encourages her advancements by divulging his fingers into her hair, her mouth sweet from the chocolate cake she ate and bitter from the scotch she drank. He thinks the way she tastes is a reflection of her - sickeningly sweet, a kick that will leave him reeling. She sighs against the corner of his mouth, slides against him as she fits her hand against his thigh. The sounds echoing between them are all heavy breathing and sighs and moans. His hand slips between her thighs, fingers grasping for her flesh; she stutters against his mouth, her breath hitching in the depths of her throat.
Harvey Specter is not the kind of man who makes out with women in cabs. He doesn't like to make a show, doesn't like when someone can connect less than behavior with his face or his name, but there's something about this woman that just drives him crazy in a way that he can't help himself. His fingers slide against her thigh, her muscles flexing beneath his fingertips, her mouth fused to his, her nails digging into the space between his hip and his ribs. Donna is fearless and she navigates him with ease in a manner that makes him feel okay to let her.
The laughter completely evades her but, although he misses the sound, he likes what she's doing with her mouth much more. Her tongue slides over his bottom lip; just when he's about to deepen the kiss and push his hand further between her thighs, it occurs to him that he should probably be more aware of his surroundings. Her fingers maneuver to his stomach, press just above his waistline. His dick throbs in the constriction of his pants and he can't help the muffled groan that slips out between his lips.
"We're almost home," he manages.
Her legs shift and he can feel the heat between them. "Good."
"Head inside, I'll pay."
"Hurry," she moans gently into his ear. It sounds like a whisper but echoes like a scream and he doesn't know if he's going to make it all the way inside. Her fingers slip over his lap, unintentionally brushing over his erection, and he's forced to swallow a gulp. "I'm ready to go to bed."
He can barely get her thoughts straight as he reaches around her for the door handle. He pushes it open for her and watches her head inside, her coat swallowing her and making her look unbelievably small. He pays the cab driver with an apologetic smile.
"Girlfriend?" The driver asks.
He almost misses the question as he's counting his money. His thoughts are jumbled and his eyebrows furrow in confusion. He lifts his gaze to the driver. "Wife, actually," he corrects.
He gives up and throws the wad of cash at the driver with an empty apology. Harvey jumps out of the vehicle and slams the door behind him before taking off in a slight jog to catch up to her. He touches her gently, careful not to cause her to lose her balance. Donna's fingers blindly find his and it feels like a comfort, like he's coming home where he belongs, but the irony of it is that he's actually lived there for quite some time.
Her heels click against the tile of the lobby and echoes off of the walls, but it's the sound of her breathing that has his attention. He watches her fingers touch the elevator call button only to turn to face him. It baffles him how she looks so wistful, so natural with the cold December air nipping at her exposed flesh with the touch of color biting her cheeks.
"You look," he starts but he can't really find the words. Instead, he pushes his hand against her jaw, fingers sliding along the bone.
She leans her face into his hand and smiles gently, "drunk?"
"I was going to say stunning."
"But then again," she mutters, hips closing the space between them until hers touches his, "you're drunk too."
"I'm not that drunk," he corrects.
The elevator dings and she steps backward, leading him in her direction. He willingly follows, her fingers wrapping around the lapels of his jacket. He thinks that maybe she's had a rough week and she's just trying to work out the tension, but he's never been very good at letting her not talk to him. It makes him feel lost, broken, like something is missing and the puzzle needs to be completed. He had never really noticed how dependent he was on her.