[suitsbigbang fic]: Chicken Soup for the Cursed Soul - NC-17 - 3/3
BACK TO MASTERPOST!
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Chapter Three: All Lawyers Go to Hell
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They played Sherlock and Watson for the rest of the day, but even with his connections, Harvey couldn’t piece the mystery together.
“Sorry, Specter,” the police chief told him. “All I know is, this sorta shit happens all over the world, usually to vics that are renowned in some way or other. Actors, businessmen, authors, musicians. Their bodies’ll suddenly turn up, gnawed like a fuckin’ chew toy, and every single one is in cold cases. Not even sure if it’s a serial killer, since some of ‘em die at literally the same time. Might be a crime ring of some sort.”
That validated Mike’s mob hypothesis a bit, but Harvey’s gangster friend also swore they were uninvolved, though they were unmoved by his oath. It was more complicated than a Rubik's cube - which was actually pretty simple, for Mike - and they were no closer to solving the puzzle when the end of the workday neared.
“Ray and I can take you home. I’ll have him put your bike in the trunk,” Harvey said, during a tense dinner he’d seethed his way through. “You should call your grandmother. I’m sorry you missed a day with her for a dead end,” he added more gently.
Mike smiled. He could have mentioned something about the great Harvey Specter apologizing, but it always thawed him out when Harvey did something that displayed how much he cared, such as acknowledging that Mike had ditched his own plans to help him. “It’s okay, Harvey,” he said, earnest as ever. “I’m always around to help you. It’s my job.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Harvey chuckled, then took a final swig of his wine, enough to empty the glass.
Mike just grinned and stood up. “You bring 'round the car, I’ll check in with Grammy,” he said, ignoring Harvey’s inquiry of who the boss was to do exactly that. He dodged the snooty waiters in the restaurant - none of them even looked at him when they were serving - and ducked into the men’s room, his fingertip already pressed into his first speed dial button. He requested his grandmother to the receptionist that picked up.
After a few seconds, a soft voice murmured, “Mikey?”
“Yeah, it’s me, Grams. Sorry I couldn’t visit you today,” he replied, honestly sad that he hadn't been able to. He loved every minute he spent with her, even if they both agreed that allocating more time to his career was worth it. “It’s ‘cause-”
“Harvey needed you, I know,” she said, before she hesitated. He could hear her breathing into the mouthpiece, a lulling sound. “Dean and Samuel told me. You didn’t say they were in town.”
Her voice wavered slightly and he felt guilty for forgetting to warn her. If they’d shocked him with their abrupt reappearance, who knew how startled she must have been? “Sorry, Grammy. I got so caught up with work that I couldn’t call you.”
“It’s okay, Michael,” she replied, but her tremulous speech suggested otherwise. “Please...just visit me as soon as you can.”
“Is something wrong? They didn’t… Did they do something to you, Gram?” He didn’t want to believe that the Winchesters could be capable of hurting her, but if he had to choose between one half of his family or the other, Caroline Ross, who had brought him up selflessly, would always win.
She huffed a weak laugh. “No, no, nothing like that. Can’t I want to see my handsome grandson without something ominous going on? Shame on you, Michael Angelo Ross.”
He blushed at the use of his full name, but she did sound better now, genuinely amused by the effect her teasing had on her grandson, and he was glad. “I’ve gotta go now, Grammy. Harvey’s taking me home. I’ll come see you tomorrow, yeah?”
“Harvey is, eh? You tell him to take good care of you,” she said in a way that made him flush more vividly. She giggled again at his exasperated mutter, then added a whispered, “I love you, Mikey. See you tomorrow, eleven a.m. sharp. I’ll whip you at poker again.”
“Love you, too,” Mike replied. He hung up and was still smiling, even humming a bit, when he reached Ray’s waiting limo.
“Not upset, then?” Harvey asked. He shot his associate a sideways glance.
Mike faltered. She actually had been, but he thought it was okay now. “Nah, I’ll just visit her in the morning. No biggie, dude.”
He chuckled at Harvey’s scandalized scowl and Ray grinned at them both from the rear-view. “Not so different from driving my kindergartener’s school bus, I'd imagine,” the driver said.
Harvey crossed his arms and sulked. “You two are both fired.” His employees shared an amused look, but wisely decided against protesting. By the time Ray pulled to a stop in front of Mike’s dingy apartment, Harvey had already dismissed his supposed anger, anyway. “See you Monday, kid. Don’t be late.”
“Aye, aye, Captain Kirk!” Mike saluted cheerfully and slid out of the limo. He thanked Ray, who had wrestled his bike out of the trunk for him. The man waved him off and reentered his car. Mike watched him leave with Harvey.
With them gone, he was free to observe the street. The Winchesters were MIA again, but he was less worried about it, this time. Despite how fruitless the day’s endeavors had been, he’d cherished his time with Harvey, as usual. It almost made him wonder how something less formal, just them hanging out and not talking shop, would be. Those, however, were taboo notions.
Mike bounced his way up the steps, too euphoric to even curse at the out-of-order sign on the elevator, and entered his apartment. His note was still on the table between the two couches his cousins had occupied, the scrawl on it smaller now, so he picked it up and read it.
Went barhopping, it informed him. Won’t be far from your place, Dean.
It was obviously an invitation and Mike briefly deliberated over joining them. That drink with Harvey had been fun, in line with the thoughts he had earlier, but even then it had been for an ulterior motive, to right the accidental wrongs of Harvey’s ADA days and free Clifford Danner. Ever since he and Trevor grew apart, Mike hadn’t been able to simply hang out and have fun. He sorely missed doing so.
But that wasn’t really his life anymore. He had to be pragmatic and going out to get drunk after strenuous overtime at work, when he also had to see his grandmother the next morning, was anything but. Maybe tomorrow, after he spent ample time at the senior care facility and couldn't upset anyone by being hungover. He only hoped his cousins stuck around that long.
That resolved, Mike began to loosen his tie's knot and rubbed at his throat. His wisest course of action would probably be to get undressed and go to bed, since he'd already eaten with Harvey. A yawn cemented that decision. As soon as he tossed his jacket aside and zoned in on the first button of his shirt, however, a knock sounded on his door.
“Uh, guys, that you?” he called loudly. A glance at his clock confirmed that it wasn't even ten yet, way too early for Dean, at least, to return empty-handed. His cousin was a night owl and, to be honest, Mike thought it was more likely that Sam would come back alone, while Dean satisfied his baser needs. The knocking continued without answer or cessation and Mike stopped dead. What if one of them had gotten hurt again? “I'm coming!”
He tripped over the shoes and socks he'd previously kicked off, but righted himself enough on the doorknob to hurriedly open it, before he stopped to stare. There, with her palms shielding her face, stood Gale Tempest's secretary, Wendy, her curly puff of poodle hair almost black in the unlit hallway. Ragged sobs wracked her diminutive frame.
Mike opened his mouth and closed it again, dumbfounded by her presence, but finally stuttered, “U-um, Miss Godfry?” That had been the name on her desk tag and what the papers had called her, a sift through his memory confirmed. “What are you doing here?”
“I...” She pulled her hands off her face and revealed what a mess it was, with mascara tracking dark lines down her cheeks and bracketing her quivering lips. “I can't believe Mr. Tempest is gone! I loved him!”
She burst into a fresh round of tears and Mike wished he could call Harvey for advice, but didn't want to leave the poor girl alone. Seeing her so vulnerable, her sweater-less frame quavering in the cold, he almost felt bad for disliking her at Tempest's house.
“I'm so sorry for your loss,” he eventually said, with an indecisive step forward. He paused when he felt powder crust onto his bare foot, but didn't have a chance to discern what it was because she'd grabbed him to conceal her wet face in the crook of his shoulder. “Wendy,” he exclaimed, gesticulating wildly, but her arms were locked tight around his neck. Vaguely embarrassed, he maneuvered his own around her, neither too high nor too low to be in the danger zone. Harvey would kill him, after all, if their dead client's mourning mistress sued him for sexual harassment.
They stayed in that position for a few minutes. Mike awkwardly rubbed the girl's back as she cried herself dry. Finally, she pulled away, her chin tilted up at him, eyes bloodshot, and he attributed the cold that settled in his bones to his newly soaked clothes.
He molded his frozen face into a compassionate smile. “You'll be okay, Wendy. I bet he loved you, too,” he murmured.
“You're so nice,” she wiped at her eyes and replied. It only served to smudge the raccoon circles around them and, paired with her emerging grin, gave her a hungry, feral appearance.
Mike nodded uneasily. “It's no problem at all. Did you want to come in...or something?” He hoped she had somewhere else to go, someone else to comfort her, and also wished she would decline his offer.
She stared at him for another moment more, before giggling. It was high-pitched in the quiet hall, nails across a chalkboard. “Okay, this was fun, but I'm gonna gag if I hafta keep at this heartbroken damsel crap any longer.”
“W-wha-?” Mike tried to ask, but she lifted her hands to him again. This time, she aimed for his neck and pushed him into the wall beside his apartment's entrance with enough force to pummel the wind out of him. Her face drew close to his and he began to struggle against her, scratching at her tightened fingers, but she was too strong.
“Poor baby,” she said, her breath metallic in his face. “You don't even know what's going on, do you?” She laughed again, as Mike coughed weakly and became too tired to wriggle. “I can't say I blame you. Never thought that finishing one of my Daddy's deals for him, Devil curse his wretched soul, would end up with me and my boys reuniting. Never thought they'd been hiding a shiny trove of gold like you for all this time, either.”
The brown of her eyes furled black and Mike's jaw dropped in horror. Who was she? What did she want with him? What the fuck was going on? Rather than answer his mute questions, she grinned, surged forward and took the opportunity to latch hungrily onto his mouth, her teeth jagged against his tongue.
He couldn't even scream when fetid smoke choked down his esophagus and consumed his entire body.
When the Winchesters came home, they found their cousin's door open a crack, a girl's body haphazardly booted inside, and the pungent odor of sulfur, of death.
“Fuck!” Dean cursed, kicking at an already chipped wall. Sam was inclined to concur.
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Harvey dropped his associate off, told Ray to go home, and decided the best way to end his horrible day would be to pop open the thousand dollar Chteau Le Pin Pomerol 1999 he’d been saving.
He had hardly poured a fourth of a glass when he heard his front door’s lock chink and froze in place. From his position on his imported Japanese divan, he could see the knob turn slow as one in a horror flick, just before the killer entered and shattered the peace. The shock of blond hair that butted through the opening was almost a relief.
“Harvey,” Mike greeted him, his blue eyes brighter than the most expensive sapphires. Although there was no way for him to ride his bike and achieve it, his hair and clothes were as neat as Harvey had ever seen them, which suggested he’d probably sprung for a cab.
“What are you doing here, Mike?” Harvey gritted out. “You aren’t drunk again, are you, rookie?” He ignored the fact that his own drink was mere inches away from his longing fingers to frown at the unrepentant young man. Mike merely smiled, no more or less wider than his usual effervescent grins, but it twisted something in Harvey’s belly. Too much teeth. “What are you doing here?” he inquired more tersely.
Mike took a step forward, practically a skip, and said, “I needed to see you,” so plainly that you’d think he was discussing the weather, like he was stating a fact. Thirty degrees outside, slight chance of rain, and Mike Ross needed Harvey Specter.
Harvey cleared his throat and dispelled the ridiculous thought. “It could have waited till Monday,” he said. He wished he hadn’t taken Mike’s drunken request for a key seriously. Now that the kid had bonded with his doorman, Harvey would never get rid of him.
“No, Harvey,” Mike alleged, an edge to his tone that betrayed his evident cheer. “Don’t you think we’ve both waited long enough? Why should we, anymore, when it’s what we want? Why should I keep denying it to myself, like a moronic child who hasn’t yet gone through puberty? I'm done.”
The self-deprecation took Harvey by surprise. He already knew that his associate didn't have half his swagger, and the steady stream of hazing at Pearson Hardman probably didn't help, but Mike ordinarily preferred to berate himself in private, so reflective that it vicariously hurt Harvey to watch him ruminate sometimes. His candor was almost chilling, now.
Harvey scrutinized him, then sighed and stood up. “What do you want, Mike?”
The younger man smiled again, an uncharacteristically devious twist of his lips, then moved to meet Harvey halfway. His hand caught the turtleneck of Harvey's sweater and used it to reel him in. “You,” Mike announced, breath fanning sultry hot over Harvey's face just before their mouths made contact.
Harvey let him do as he pleased, but when Mike's tongue began to prod against his lips, seeking access, he pulled back and settled his hands on the narrow jut of the kid's hips. “You sure you wanna to do this?” he asked, completely somber. He couldn't stop wondering what had brought this on.
“Don't tell me the great Harvey Specter will turn down a lay over feelings?” Mike said with a scoff. “Unless...you're actually not interested.” His eyes rose to hold Harvey's and read him the way he did any of his assigned documents.
Harvey mentally snorted. Not interested in Mike? He'd been thinking about having Donna stand guard as he ripped every hideous article of clothing off the little troublemaker even during the interview, so he could concurrently teach Mike what happened to bad boys while he made use of the nice desk the hotel had loaned to him.
“I just don't want to deal with a nostalgic virgin in the morning, is all,” Harvey replied, assuming a hungry leer, not wholly unfeigned.
He half-expected Mike to shy away now, flustered by their flirting, but his associate merely smirked, the twist of his lips long and lazy. “Unless you've been holding out during our heart-to-hearts, that's not gonna happen, boss,” Mike replied. His palms rubbed Harvey's ribcage slowly through cashmere, before they rose to grasp his shoulders. His nails dug in deep there and incited a wince from the older man, who gasped when he was pushed back to reacquainted his ass with his couch. Harvey and Mike's limbs entangled, Mike straddling his lap.
“What now?” Harvey asked. He'd been trying for a blend of composed and sardonic, but the words that escaped were curious, even strained.
Mike grinned and arched to nip his jaw. He ran his hands over the sleeves of Harvey's sweater, then coerced the man's arms rearward into the small of his back. Harvey shivered at how cold Mike's skin was against his, but it was soon replaced with something long and silky, bound tight around his wrists, before he could ponder for too long.
“My tie,” Mike explained, which prompted Harvey to stare at his now bare neck, where the collar of his shirt was splayed wide, the first few buttons undone to bare pale skin. He hadn't even seen Mike take it off. “You're always saying that it's useless, aren't you?” his associate continued saucily. “Lemme prove you wrong, boss.”
It wasn't a request and Harvey's, “I'm never wrong,” deteriorated into another groan when Mike kissed his neck again. He abruptly stuck his hand into the older man's pants, where he palmed Harvey's growing erection through his briefs.
Mike grinned. Harvey felt the kid's mouth shift along the column of his throat, followed by a warning nip against the sensitive flesh, Mike's teeth jarringly sharp. “You like this,” he said, close enough that his chuckles reverberated from his chest to Harvey's.
“I do,” Harvey permitted slowly. He'd never seen Mike so bold, even when the kid was right about something, and he wanted to watch the situation play out, no matter how disorienting it proved itself. It was the same principle that applied to his love of spectator sports. He craned his neck back so their eyes could meet and felt gooseflesh rise at what he found within Mike's. The blue orbs had muted to a stormy gray, eyes reminiscent of the serial killers Harvey used to put away, predatory eyes.
Mike's mouth quirked. He pecked it against Harvey's, suddenly reminding the older man of when Donna had called Mike a baby bird that imprinted on him. It was sweet then, scorching hot now, as Mike rolled his palm over the base of Harvey's erection, plying it flat against his toned belly, before closing his fist around it to pump. Up and down the funnel of his hand went, cold even with the protection Harvey's rapidly staining underwear provided.
“Hn, I'm gonna...” Harvey said. His hands shimmied in their bonds. His nails dug into his own skin the longer he remained trapped.
“No, you're not,” Mike replied with a grin. His voice dropped down to a whisper. “Give it up to me, Harvey, just the once. Give me your famous control.” Before Harvey could answer, his associate pulled away into a standing position. “No,” Mike said, to halt his boss's attempt to follow him. Harvey sat back, frustrated, and watched as Mike slipped out of his cheap pants with methodical attention. Mike folded and set them on Harvey's table, his eyes on the man the entire time, while his naked hips sashayed like a ten grand hooker's.
Harvey barely refrained from ordering him to hurry, but the second his iron control was about to collapse, Mike returned and plopped down into his lap, bare skin to Egyptian cotton that Harvey used to be fond of, but now constituted the worst torture.
“I'll leave the shirt on. I can tell it gets you hard,” Mike said. He rubbed his crotch against Harvey's with an emphatic mewl and his hands gripped the man's shoulders roughly. Harvey despised his smug logic, more so hating the pleasure he derived himself.
“C-can't you move this along?” he asked, proud that only the first word hitched.
Mike grinned at him. For a terrible, terrible moment, Harvey feared he would request something outrageous, make Harvey beg for it, but he wriggled his ass atop Harvey's knees and tugged the elastic strap of his briefs down, till they were at least mid thigh, then clung to Harvey's shoulders again. Using them to lift himself, his knees holed into the sofa cushions on either side of Harvey, Mike aligned his hole with the engorged head of his boss's cock.
“Wait!” Harvey said. He chafed his wrists to try and slip out of Mike's tie again, so he could halt the younger man by his waist. The lust roiling through him, a heavy pit in his stomach, made it difficult to stay focused on his own motor functions, much less his morals, but as eager as both he and Mike evidently were for this, he didn't want the kid to ruin the night for himself with his own obliviousness. “Mike, have you ever done this before? Because-”
“Shh,” Mike bent his head to murmur into Harvey's lips, quelling his protests. “This ain't my first rodeo, cowboy.” Harvey's gut wrenched at the offhand comment, but Mike chose that moment to sink down. The crown of Harvey's cock squeezed past Mike's tight pucker of muscle, which extracted a synchronous cry from the pair.
Any further objection was lost as Mike rode him. Their moans, skin slapping together and the squeaks of Harvey's leather couch drowned everything else out, as well. Mike was dry and hot around Harvey's dick, lubed only by pre-come and something else Harvey didn't want to identify, that he knew might be staining his thighs red if he looked. He didn't, though. He didn't want to think about anything that would spoil this. He especially blocked out thoughts of how he'd imagined it would be, how he'd wanted it, with Mike pink, pliable and sincere beneath his talented hands. Maybe if he were the childlike associate, he'd dwell on what-ifs, but only reality mattered - could matter - to Harvey Specter.
The younger man's fingernails gouged through Harvey's sweater and found purchase in the skin beneath, as Mike relocated the other to clasp his own erection, his thumb swiping its dewy head the way Harvey wished he could. He'd do it gentler than Mike, who compressed his fist in a way that looked painful more than pleasurable, his blissful grin aside. He'd lightly roll Mike's balls in his palm, search past them to prod at his already full entrance, stimulate the kid's nipples and ass till he was sobbing with joy.
“F-fuck,” Mike said, tugging his cock in time with his impalement on Harvey's. The pretty flush on his cheeks told Harvey a moment before Mike's seed spurted onto his sweater that his associate had reached his orgasm. Then, Mike went rigid around him and milked his dick dry. Harvey came with his own grunt.
A panting Mike flopped forward on his chest, his fingers latched onto what fabric of Harvey's turtleneck hadn't yet been tarnished, and they remained like that for a few minutes, literally heart to heart, save for their clothes and bones. Harvey's heartbeat was embarrassingly fast. He wouldn't have minded, had Mike's been the same, but the steady thump-thump helped Harvey catch his own breath, at least, when he centered on it.
Mike angled away from Harvey too soon and deftly slithered out of his lap to stretch. “You were as good as I always figured, Mr. Specter,” he purred. The leer he wore made Harvey feel dirty. He was.
“Untie me,” he said, quieter than he usually was after a good time.
Mike smirked at him, bent low, and picked up both of their pants, tossing Harvey's at him. They hit the floor, the opening at the top barely engulfing Harvey's bare foot. “I'm gonna go wash up, if you don't mind,” Mike informed him. He sauntered away while naked, oblivious to the semen and other bodily fluids that trailed down his legs.
Harvey stared after him - just a stare, rather than the glower he might have been able to summon up, if Mike hadn't shocked the strut out of him - before he wiggled out of his underwear. When it reached his ankle, he kicked it off and slipped out of his sweater in tandem, suddenly finding them both stifling. His pants were still twined around one foot and, with some difficulty, he managed to lift them up his legs, not quite over his hips yet. That alone left him sweaty, even his undershirt too hot, as he delicately picked at Mike's tie, hoping to unwind its knot.
Thankfully, in his attempt at subterfuge, Mike hadn't put much effort into it. Harvey's nail dug under the flap of tacky silk and loosened it till one hand was free. Mike's skinny tie became an improvised bracelet around the other's wrist. With it gone, Harvey stood up and nearly stumbled into his table, but refrained at the last minute and instead stooped to pick up his discarded briefs. He used them to wipe away the excess mess on his flaccid dick, then threw them back into the pile of unwanted apparel to re-situate his pants.
He dusted them off discretely, eyes on the hallway that led to the bathroom, where Mike had sequestered himself. Harvey slowly trudged down the narrow path to stop at the door. If he listened carefully, he could hear the low tenor of his associate humming, an eerie sound unlike his everyday renditions of Indie bands Harvey would never subject his own ears to. This one was practically tuneless or too old to be identified. He also perceived a metallic tap-tap-tap against his porcelain sink bowl and wondered if Mike was shaving inside.
“Rookie?” Harvey inquired hesitantly. Fate must have sensed his intentions, because he heard a knock then - rather, an attack against his front door that impelled him to question his doorman's suitability for his task - and Mike went suspiciously silent. “I'll be back in a sec,” Harvey muttered to him.
“No!” Mike exclaimed. He threw the door open and nearly hit Harvey, who grimaced, but Mike's sheepish smile and the continued siege upon his door kept him from rebuking his associate.
Harvey whirled back the way he came and ambled off, Mike's footfalls soundless as a cat's behind him. They reached the door, through which angry cries accompanied knocks. The second Harvey unlocked it, an arm secured over his neck and tugged him into the middle of the room, its base putting uncomfortable pressure on his larynx.
“What are-?” Harvey coughed out, stunned by the razor pressed into the lateral of his neck, precariously close to a vein. Mike smiled into the curve between his neck and shoulder, his eyes on the entrance, which slowly admitted his cousins. Although they were dressed more sloppily than ever, their matching, dangerous green eyes gave them an intimidating air, a contrast to Mike's soft baby blue.
“Who are you?” the shorter one, Dean, barked. Harvey's eyes bulged when he saw that the man harbored a knife in one hand, while his brother, Sam, wielded a gun, though he could probably break Mike in half with his gargantuan appendages alone.
Mike chuckled. Out of his peripheral vision, Harvey swore even the whites of the kid’s eyes had blackened to ink, but that couldn't be right, could it? “Come now, boys, don't tell me you forgot?” Mike drawled, his frosty breath stirring the hairs at Harvey's nape. “And here I thought I was your favorite demon.”
“Meg,” the giant spat, which briefly attracted his brother's attention to his contorted expression. It was a name Harvey wasn't the least bit intimate with.
“Was it too much to hope that you'd finished with your fucking games, you black-eyed bitch?” Dean growled, the hand that gripped his knife shaking. “What do you even want with Mikey?”
“Oh, Mikey,” Mike - or Meg, whoever the fuck that was - mocked, an exaggerated simper attached to his lips. The razor bore down a little and a stinging cut welled beneath its blade. Harvey winced. “I didn't even know about him, scout's honor! Here I was, mindin' my own business, doing a favor for poor Daddy dearest, and you bozos show up, lead me right to him. And to think, a cousin of yours might've come in handy during the Apocalypse.”
The nonsense words bounced like a Ping-Pong ball in Harvey's mind. “Mike,” he tried desperately, as he brought his hand up to touch his associate's, but Mike shook him in warning and muttered a gruff, “Shut up,” into his ear.
Dean shot Harvey an admonitory glance, then said, “Oh yeah, I'm positive a kid named Michael would have been a stellar Plan B for old Lucy. That's not ironic at all.”
Mike sneered at him. “It woulda been worth a shot. Too bad you hid him from Lord Lucifer before we had our fun.” He lowered his head to kiss Harvey just above the summit of the razor, tongue lapping out to collect droplets of blood. “Then again, I might not have had the opportunity to do this, if you had. The fantasies little Wendy had about this man, you couldn't imagine.”
“And you're just too self-serving for that, aren't you?” Mike cocked his head at Sam's bitter statement. He bore his teeth upon observing how the man's gun arm rose.
“Come on,” Mike laughed, as an eyebrow rose. “You expect me to believe, Sammy boy, that you'd shoot your own flesh and blood, your kid cousin, to get rid of little ol' me? You, Mr. family-is-everything?”
“We'd do what's necessary,” Dean answered for his brother, but his eyes flashed warily to Sam's face. Even Harvey, who didn't know the man at all, could read the conviction there.
Sam's mouth pursed. His arm was ramrod straight, still aimed at Mike's forehead, his large finger curled on the trigger. “I know,” he began, with weary resignation, “that Mike would rather die than have one of you riding him, hurting people that he loves.” He met Harvey's eyes and the older man swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing against Mike's arm. “I know I felt the same way when your boss was still around.”
Harvey could feel Mike quiver behind him, whether from fear or rage he couldn’t quite determine - didn’t have the time to, because his associate shoved him forward. He lurched into Dean's arms and the man dropped his knife, but the distraction wasn't nearly substantial enough that any of them missed Mike's, “You can thank your Uncle Bobby for this spiffy little trick.” No one could do anything but watch, horrified, as he brought the razor up and slashed it across his own throat. Blood immediately gushed out of the lesion, bursting vessels inside, too, so that Mike’s sneering lips painted red. “Still gonna shoot me, Sammy? It'll be a sure thing for poor little Mikey if you do.”
Sam's arm didn't waver, but from the slack look on his face, Harvey thought it had more to do with shock than fervor, not that he could blame the behemoth. Finally, though, Sam murmured, “Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino...”
Mike's obsidian eyes rounded in horror and his mouth opened in a screech. Harvey watched, stricken himself, as smog of the same color evaporated out of the bloody orifice. Mike started to sway when the last of it was gone and Harvey sprung forward on instinct alone, catching him as he fell, his heart constricting at Mike's startled whimper.
“Harv...” the kid attempted to say, any further syllables drowned in the liquid that bubbled past his chin. Harvey could see the wide gash in his neck now, practically a second smile, and Mike felt cold in a different way against his body.
“Hold on, puppy, hold on,” Harvey demanded, gently tucking a soaked strand of hair behind his associate’s ear. Mike didn’t smile comfortingly, didn’t tease him for obviously caring, did nothing but nuzzle into his touch, his eyes hooded. Even that seemed to leech his strength. “What did you do to him?” Harvey shouted, the query directed to Sam, who hadn’t moved an inch.
“I-I, we’ve gotta call an ambulance,” the man replied, his eyes fastened on his cousin’s deathly pale face. Jerkily, he extracted his phone and pressed a single number.
“No time for that,” his brother cut in, expression grim. They were by no means feeble men, but Harvey wanted nothing more than to put his boxing lessons to use on their stupid, hopeless, pretty faces. That would require setting Mike down, however, and the thought alone made him clutch the kid closer. Then, Dean’s eyes flicked up to the mural that overtook one of Harvey's walls, angels that Tempest had actually painted onto the surface for him, caught amidst their love and war. “Cas!” the eldest Winchester cried. Harvey had never heard so much anguish apportioned to one word. “Get your feathery ass down here, Castiel! W-we really need you! Please.”
Harvey forced himself to gaze away from the deranged man when Mike sighed. It was a soft, almost tranquil sound. His associate’s eyes had fluttered shut. They wouldn't open again, no matter how hard Harvey tried.
-
It wasn't pain that woke Mike, though certain synapses within his brain were aware of a dull ache in his lungs. No, it was a steady beep-beep-beep, occasionally interrupted by a sharper, more musical note, and someone's hushed, one-sided conversation.
“I told Jessica not to reassign my cases to Louis.” Harvey's voice seeped into his consciousness and overpowered the weight on his eyelids. Mike forced gummy lashes apart to blink at the man, who was immersed in the cellphone stuck to his ear.
Mike tried to speak, but a burn enveloped his throat. He belatedly realized that a tube ran through it, smaller components hooked to his nose. Though it was a minor inconvenience, he still felt tears brim cool along his cheeks and, rather than brave it again, he extended his hand. Harvey's fingers picked distractedly at his blankets, within reach of Mike's own.
The man jolted back in his plastic chair when their fingertips made chaste contact. He immediately snapped his phone shut and said, “You're awake!” A smile grew along his mouth that Mike had never seen before, but he wasn't sure whether to allot the palpitation of his heart to that or the fact that Harvey had closed the distance between their hands.
Mike swallowed around the tube and opened his mouth again. Before he could hurt himself, Harvey disentangled them from one another, but only to backpedal and flag down someone outside. “Doctor!” he called.
A woman immediately bustled through the door to fulfill his bidding. She was middle-aged, round, and wore thin gold spectacles. Her smile matched her motherly demeanor, tender to the point of being suffocating. “How are you feeling, dear? I'm your physician, Doctor Cameron Lopez.”
Mike nodded his head, unable to do much else. She took the hint and helped him remove the respirator, anyway, because Harvey waved an impatient hand toward the contraption. Mike sucked in hungry gulps of air when it was gone.
“W-what's...?” he stuttered, before grimacing at the metallic, tangy taste that tickled his throat.
Doctor Lopez tutted at him. “You...cut yourself, dear. Terrible accident, but you're lucky. It missed your carotid artery by this much.” She indicated with the tips of her thumb and index, barely holding them apart.
“Oh,” Mike said. He weakly raised a hand to touch his neck. Rough gauze met him there. At the center, just over his Adam's apple, it felt especially moist. He swallowed back bile.
“Will you give us a moment, Doctor?” Harvey asked, his eyes focused sternly on Mike. The woman frowned at him, affronted, but he paid her no mind. With a huff, she evacuated the room and Harvey returned to his chair, where he pried Mike's hand away from the bandages with his own. He kept it safe between both of his, thumb tracing the IV tape.
“What happened?” This time, Mike's question was cohesive. His gave the room another cursory glance, then settled his eyes on Harvey's face.
Harvey gave him a disbelieving look and sighed. “It's been almost three days and I still don't really know. Your cousins tried to explain it to me. Monsters exist, a demon possessed you, an angel saved your life.” Harvey made a face, though Mike didn't blame him for it. It would be weird to learn, after living your whole life shaping your own fate, that there was some higher being to judge you out there. “It healed you just enough that the authorities weren't suspicious.”
Mike believed. He was spiritual more than religious, perhaps, but he'd always thought some things were beyond human explanation. There was no way it was a lie. That thing - that demon - had blocked him off into some clustered corner of his mind, but images continued to breach that barrier: things it was doing to people while wearing his face, what it had done with Harvey, what it did before finding him. It had seen Hell and, through its eyes, so had Mike.
“Where are-?” Mike finally asked.
Harvey's hands compressed around his, the man's mouth set severely. “They had to go, Mike. Said they couldn't stick around because of the police.”
“Oh,” Mike said again, no less beaten than earlier. That made sense. If this was the kind of stuff they did on a daily basis - and the demon, Meg's, memories corroborated as much - then it made sense that they'd be wanted by well-meaning, but ignorant authorities. Who would believe them if they claimed they were hunting monsters? Mike struggled with the concept himself, despite seeing it firsthand.
“But it's okay!” Harvey exclaimed. It spurred Mike out of his melancholy. “I talked to Jessica and-”
“Jessica?” Mike repeated, too tired to hide how incredulous he was. Even at his most confused, that made no sense.
“Yes, Jessica,” Harvey went on, glowering at him for the disruption. “Evidently, she dated a man like your cousins, a hunter. Rufus or Rupert something or other. She learned from him how to protect herself. There are hidden symbols all over the firm, the glass is made of some special quartz. She gave me a source to get my apartment and car remodeled in the same way.”
Mike simply stared at him, unable to calm his manic thoughts enough to formulate a response. Although he'd apparently slept for the last three days, his bones had the telltale heaviness that he associated with imminent sleep.
Harvey noticed, as always, and his smirk softened into a smile. He squeezed Mike's hand again, fingers brushing over his knuckles. “Rest, Mike. Everything's okay.”
And Mike believed him.
-
Another three days later, Mike was released from the hospital.
“You don't have to do this, you know?” he told his boss, who was currently escorting him up to his apartment.
“I do,” Harvey countered. He hefted Mike's bag, which Donna had packed for his 'vacation', till it notched up on his shoulder. “If I didn't, Donna would've skinned me alive.”
Mike chuckled, but it was forced. “You didn't have to, uh, invite me to your place, either,” he said with a blush.
Harvey assessed him for a moment, as he started for the stairs, once again silently damning the broken elevator. Then, with uncharacteristic caution, he murmured, “What happened in my apartment that night, I am sorry, Mike. If I had known, I never would have let it. I didn't want whatever we have to start like that.”
“I know,” Mike said. Although it hurt to, he laughed with more conviction this time. He had no doubt that Harvey could make even a demon succumb to his whims. He wouldn't be Harvey, otherwise. “Thanks,” he mumbled to the man, heartfelt despite his abashment.
They reached his doorway and Mike hesitated. This was where the demon had possessed him, where it had ditched some other victim like an out of fashion outfit to violate him. He fumbled with his keys, then jumped when Harvey's hand fell on his shoulder.
“Hey, you're just here to grab some clothes, remember? It's okay, kid,” the older man said.
Mike swallowed, nodded, and unlocked his door. His eyes fell on the living room table, on which he and the Winchesters had exchanged notes. His whole notepad sat there now and he walked forward to pick it up warily.
Mikey,
Dear Mike,
Dean was gonna write this note at first, but you know how he is with apologies, right? But I thought someone owed you one. We're sorry.
We're sorry for abandoning you when you were kid. I've realized, of late, I'm not actually that great a big brother, though I've always wanted to be, and I think Dean might only be good for me, no matter how much I hate saying so.
It's not that we don't care about you. We came here because we did, 'cause we thought it would finally be safe to see you again. I'm so sorry for dragging our shit in behind us. You never deserved to be a part of this life.
Mostly, we're sorry for leaving. I'll admit, it was partly due to cowardice. I don't know what I would have done if you woke up and hated us. I know Dean couldn't stomach it, either.
But you're in good hands. Dean thinks Mr. Specter is an uppity douche. Maybe he's right. I can tell that he cares about you, though. You should have seen his face when you got hurt. I think that's the only reason Dean didn't stick around long enough to give him the shotgun talk, because he knows it's unnecessary, but you have to let him take care of you, Mikey. Let him make you happy.
If I were you, I'd probably never want to see us again. Luckily - for me and you - you aren't me. I'm gonna leave you both me and Dean's numbers and you can throw them out, maybe burn them or call us. If you do the first two, we'll never bother you again, but on the off chance you forgive us, we'll never forget to pick up again. We'll be there for you when you need us, whether because Harvey made you cry or, God forbid, another monster's on your tail. I promise.
Love,
Sam
Mike read the messy handwriting over and over. His thumb traced over every letter's curve and slope, while the other hand's fingers fiddled with the charm at his neck. When he reached the end of Sam's signature, he flipped the page over, then smiled.
-
PREVIOUS (CHAP 2) ♥♥♥ MASTERPOST
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A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who stuck this out. I had such a blast writing it that I hope your reading was even half the experience. This is only my second time doing a big bang, so go easy, but feel free to share all critique. I'd definitely love to do it again with your advice in mind. :D
-
Chapter Three: All Lawyers Go to Hell
-
They played Sherlock and Watson for the rest of the day, but even with his connections, Harvey couldn’t piece the mystery together.
“Sorry, Specter,” the police chief told him. “All I know is, this sorta shit happens all over the world, usually to vics that are renowned in some way or other. Actors, businessmen, authors, musicians. Their bodies’ll suddenly turn up, gnawed like a fuckin’ chew toy, and every single one is in cold cases. Not even sure if it’s a serial killer, since some of ‘em die at literally the same time. Might be a crime ring of some sort.”
That validated Mike’s mob hypothesis a bit, but Harvey’s gangster friend also swore they were uninvolved, though they were unmoved by his oath. It was more complicated than a Rubik's cube - which was actually pretty simple, for Mike - and they were no closer to solving the puzzle when the end of the workday neared.
“Ray and I can take you home. I’ll have him put your bike in the trunk,” Harvey said, during a tense dinner he’d seethed his way through. “You should call your grandmother. I’m sorry you missed a day with her for a dead end,” he added more gently.
Mike smiled. He could have mentioned something about the great Harvey Specter apologizing, but it always thawed him out when Harvey did something that displayed how much he cared, such as acknowledging that Mike had ditched his own plans to help him. “It’s okay, Harvey,” he said, earnest as ever. “I’m always around to help you. It’s my job.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Harvey chuckled, then took a final swig of his wine, enough to empty the glass.
Mike just grinned and stood up. “You bring 'round the car, I’ll check in with Grammy,” he said, ignoring Harvey’s inquiry of who the boss was to do exactly that. He dodged the snooty waiters in the restaurant - none of them even looked at him when they were serving - and ducked into the men’s room, his fingertip already pressed into his first speed dial button. He requested his grandmother to the receptionist that picked up.
After a few seconds, a soft voice murmured, “Mikey?”
“Yeah, it’s me, Grams. Sorry I couldn’t visit you today,” he replied, honestly sad that he hadn't been able to. He loved every minute he spent with her, even if they both agreed that allocating more time to his career was worth it. “It’s ‘cause-”
“Harvey needed you, I know,” she said, before she hesitated. He could hear her breathing into the mouthpiece, a lulling sound. “Dean and Samuel told me. You didn’t say they were in town.”
Her voice wavered slightly and he felt guilty for forgetting to warn her. If they’d shocked him with their abrupt reappearance, who knew how startled she must have been? “Sorry, Grammy. I got so caught up with work that I couldn’t call you.”
“It’s okay, Michael,” she replied, but her tremulous speech suggested otherwise. “Please...just visit me as soon as you can.”
“Is something wrong? They didn’t… Did they do something to you, Gram?” He didn’t want to believe that the Winchesters could be capable of hurting her, but if he had to choose between one half of his family or the other, Caroline Ross, who had brought him up selflessly, would always win.
She huffed a weak laugh. “No, no, nothing like that. Can’t I want to see my handsome grandson without something ominous going on? Shame on you, Michael Angelo Ross.”
He blushed at the use of his full name, but she did sound better now, genuinely amused by the effect her teasing had on her grandson, and he was glad. “I’ve gotta go now, Grammy. Harvey’s taking me home. I’ll come see you tomorrow, yeah?”
“Harvey is, eh? You tell him to take good care of you,” she said in a way that made him flush more vividly. She giggled again at his exasperated mutter, then added a whispered, “I love you, Mikey. See you tomorrow, eleven a.m. sharp. I’ll whip you at poker again.”
“Love you, too,” Mike replied. He hung up and was still smiling, even humming a bit, when he reached Ray’s waiting limo.
“Not upset, then?” Harvey asked. He shot his associate a sideways glance.
Mike faltered. She actually had been, but he thought it was okay now. “Nah, I’ll just visit her in the morning. No biggie, dude.”
He chuckled at Harvey’s scandalized scowl and Ray grinned at them both from the rear-view. “Not so different from driving my kindergartener’s school bus, I'd imagine,” the driver said.
Harvey crossed his arms and sulked. “You two are both fired.” His employees shared an amused look, but wisely decided against protesting. By the time Ray pulled to a stop in front of Mike’s dingy apartment, Harvey had already dismissed his supposed anger, anyway. “See you Monday, kid. Don’t be late.”
“Aye, aye, Captain Kirk!” Mike saluted cheerfully and slid out of the limo. He thanked Ray, who had wrestled his bike out of the trunk for him. The man waved him off and reentered his car. Mike watched him leave with Harvey.
With them gone, he was free to observe the street. The Winchesters were MIA again, but he was less worried about it, this time. Despite how fruitless the day’s endeavors had been, he’d cherished his time with Harvey, as usual. It almost made him wonder how something less formal, just them hanging out and not talking shop, would be. Those, however, were taboo notions.
Mike bounced his way up the steps, too euphoric to even curse at the out-of-order sign on the elevator, and entered his apartment. His note was still on the table between the two couches his cousins had occupied, the scrawl on it smaller now, so he picked it up and read it.
Went barhopping, it informed him. Won’t be far from your place, Dean.
It was obviously an invitation and Mike briefly deliberated over joining them. That drink with Harvey had been fun, in line with the thoughts he had earlier, but even then it had been for an ulterior motive, to right the accidental wrongs of Harvey’s ADA days and free Clifford Danner. Ever since he and Trevor grew apart, Mike hadn’t been able to simply hang out and have fun. He sorely missed doing so.
But that wasn’t really his life anymore. He had to be pragmatic and going out to get drunk after strenuous overtime at work, when he also had to see his grandmother the next morning, was anything but. Maybe tomorrow, after he spent ample time at the senior care facility and couldn't upset anyone by being hungover. He only hoped his cousins stuck around that long.
That resolved, Mike began to loosen his tie's knot and rubbed at his throat. His wisest course of action would probably be to get undressed and go to bed, since he'd already eaten with Harvey. A yawn cemented that decision. As soon as he tossed his jacket aside and zoned in on the first button of his shirt, however, a knock sounded on his door.
“Uh, guys, that you?” he called loudly. A glance at his clock confirmed that it wasn't even ten yet, way too early for Dean, at least, to return empty-handed. His cousin was a night owl and, to be honest, Mike thought it was more likely that Sam would come back alone, while Dean satisfied his baser needs. The knocking continued without answer or cessation and Mike stopped dead. What if one of them had gotten hurt again? “I'm coming!”
He tripped over the shoes and socks he'd previously kicked off, but righted himself enough on the doorknob to hurriedly open it, before he stopped to stare. There, with her palms shielding her face, stood Gale Tempest's secretary, Wendy, her curly puff of poodle hair almost black in the unlit hallway. Ragged sobs wracked her diminutive frame.
Mike opened his mouth and closed it again, dumbfounded by her presence, but finally stuttered, “U-um, Miss Godfry?” That had been the name on her desk tag and what the papers had called her, a sift through his memory confirmed. “What are you doing here?”
“I...” She pulled her hands off her face and revealed what a mess it was, with mascara tracking dark lines down her cheeks and bracketing her quivering lips. “I can't believe Mr. Tempest is gone! I loved him!”
She burst into a fresh round of tears and Mike wished he could call Harvey for advice, but didn't want to leave the poor girl alone. Seeing her so vulnerable, her sweater-less frame quavering in the cold, he almost felt bad for disliking her at Tempest's house.
“I'm so sorry for your loss,” he eventually said, with an indecisive step forward. He paused when he felt powder crust onto his bare foot, but didn't have a chance to discern what it was because she'd grabbed him to conceal her wet face in the crook of his shoulder. “Wendy,” he exclaimed, gesticulating wildly, but her arms were locked tight around his neck. Vaguely embarrassed, he maneuvered his own around her, neither too high nor too low to be in the danger zone. Harvey would kill him, after all, if their dead client's mourning mistress sued him for sexual harassment.
They stayed in that position for a few minutes. Mike awkwardly rubbed the girl's back as she cried herself dry. Finally, she pulled away, her chin tilted up at him, eyes bloodshot, and he attributed the cold that settled in his bones to his newly soaked clothes.
He molded his frozen face into a compassionate smile. “You'll be okay, Wendy. I bet he loved you, too,” he murmured.
“You're so nice,” she wiped at her eyes and replied. It only served to smudge the raccoon circles around them and, paired with her emerging grin, gave her a hungry, feral appearance.
Mike nodded uneasily. “It's no problem at all. Did you want to come in...or something?” He hoped she had somewhere else to go, someone else to comfort her, and also wished she would decline his offer.
She stared at him for another moment more, before giggling. It was high-pitched in the quiet hall, nails across a chalkboard. “Okay, this was fun, but I'm gonna gag if I hafta keep at this heartbroken damsel crap any longer.”
“W-wha-?” Mike tried to ask, but she lifted her hands to him again. This time, she aimed for his neck and pushed him into the wall beside his apartment's entrance with enough force to pummel the wind out of him. Her face drew close to his and he began to struggle against her, scratching at her tightened fingers, but she was too strong.
“Poor baby,” she said, her breath metallic in his face. “You don't even know what's going on, do you?” She laughed again, as Mike coughed weakly and became too tired to wriggle. “I can't say I blame you. Never thought that finishing one of my Daddy's deals for him, Devil curse his wretched soul, would end up with me and my boys reuniting. Never thought they'd been hiding a shiny trove of gold like you for all this time, either.”
The brown of her eyes furled black and Mike's jaw dropped in horror. Who was she? What did she want with him? What the fuck was going on? Rather than answer his mute questions, she grinned, surged forward and took the opportunity to latch hungrily onto his mouth, her teeth jagged against his tongue.
He couldn't even scream when fetid smoke choked down his esophagus and consumed his entire body.
When the Winchesters came home, they found their cousin's door open a crack, a girl's body haphazardly booted inside, and the pungent odor of sulfur, of death.
“Fuck!” Dean cursed, kicking at an already chipped wall. Sam was inclined to concur.
-
Harvey dropped his associate off, told Ray to go home, and decided the best way to end his horrible day would be to pop open the thousand dollar Chteau Le Pin Pomerol 1999 he’d been saving.
He had hardly poured a fourth of a glass when he heard his front door’s lock chink and froze in place. From his position on his imported Japanese divan, he could see the knob turn slow as one in a horror flick, just before the killer entered and shattered the peace. The shock of blond hair that butted through the opening was almost a relief.
“Harvey,” Mike greeted him, his blue eyes brighter than the most expensive sapphires. Although there was no way for him to ride his bike and achieve it, his hair and clothes were as neat as Harvey had ever seen them, which suggested he’d probably sprung for a cab.
“What are you doing here, Mike?” Harvey gritted out. “You aren’t drunk again, are you, rookie?” He ignored the fact that his own drink was mere inches away from his longing fingers to frown at the unrepentant young man. Mike merely smiled, no more or less wider than his usual effervescent grins, but it twisted something in Harvey’s belly. Too much teeth. “What are you doing here?” he inquired more tersely.
Mike took a step forward, practically a skip, and said, “I needed to see you,” so plainly that you’d think he was discussing the weather, like he was stating a fact. Thirty degrees outside, slight chance of rain, and Mike Ross needed Harvey Specter.
Harvey cleared his throat and dispelled the ridiculous thought. “It could have waited till Monday,” he said. He wished he hadn’t taken Mike’s drunken request for a key seriously. Now that the kid had bonded with his doorman, Harvey would never get rid of him.
“No, Harvey,” Mike alleged, an edge to his tone that betrayed his evident cheer. “Don’t you think we’ve both waited long enough? Why should we, anymore, when it’s what we want? Why should I keep denying it to myself, like a moronic child who hasn’t yet gone through puberty? I'm done.”
The self-deprecation took Harvey by surprise. He already knew that his associate didn't have half his swagger, and the steady stream of hazing at Pearson Hardman probably didn't help, but Mike ordinarily preferred to berate himself in private, so reflective that it vicariously hurt Harvey to watch him ruminate sometimes. His candor was almost chilling, now.
Harvey scrutinized him, then sighed and stood up. “What do you want, Mike?”
The younger man smiled again, an uncharacteristically devious twist of his lips, then moved to meet Harvey halfway. His hand caught the turtleneck of Harvey's sweater and used it to reel him in. “You,” Mike announced, breath fanning sultry hot over Harvey's face just before their mouths made contact.
Harvey let him do as he pleased, but when Mike's tongue began to prod against his lips, seeking access, he pulled back and settled his hands on the narrow jut of the kid's hips. “You sure you wanna to do this?” he asked, completely somber. He couldn't stop wondering what had brought this on.
“Don't tell me the great Harvey Specter will turn down a lay over feelings?” Mike said with a scoff. “Unless...you're actually not interested.” His eyes rose to hold Harvey's and read him the way he did any of his assigned documents.
Harvey mentally snorted. Not interested in Mike? He'd been thinking about having Donna stand guard as he ripped every hideous article of clothing off the little troublemaker even during the interview, so he could concurrently teach Mike what happened to bad boys while he made use of the nice desk the hotel had loaned to him.
“I just don't want to deal with a nostalgic virgin in the morning, is all,” Harvey replied, assuming a hungry leer, not wholly unfeigned.
He half-expected Mike to shy away now, flustered by their flirting, but his associate merely smirked, the twist of his lips long and lazy. “Unless you've been holding out during our heart-to-hearts, that's not gonna happen, boss,” Mike replied. His palms rubbed Harvey's ribcage slowly through cashmere, before they rose to grasp his shoulders. His nails dug in deep there and incited a wince from the older man, who gasped when he was pushed back to reacquainted his ass with his couch. Harvey and Mike's limbs entangled, Mike straddling his lap.
“What now?” Harvey asked. He'd been trying for a blend of composed and sardonic, but the words that escaped were curious, even strained.
Mike grinned and arched to nip his jaw. He ran his hands over the sleeves of Harvey's sweater, then coerced the man's arms rearward into the small of his back. Harvey shivered at how cold Mike's skin was against his, but it was soon replaced with something long and silky, bound tight around his wrists, before he could ponder for too long.
“My tie,” Mike explained, which prompted Harvey to stare at his now bare neck, where the collar of his shirt was splayed wide, the first few buttons undone to bare pale skin. He hadn't even seen Mike take it off. “You're always saying that it's useless, aren't you?” his associate continued saucily. “Lemme prove you wrong, boss.”
It wasn't a request and Harvey's, “I'm never wrong,” deteriorated into another groan when Mike kissed his neck again. He abruptly stuck his hand into the older man's pants, where he palmed Harvey's growing erection through his briefs.
Mike grinned. Harvey felt the kid's mouth shift along the column of his throat, followed by a warning nip against the sensitive flesh, Mike's teeth jarringly sharp. “You like this,” he said, close enough that his chuckles reverberated from his chest to Harvey's.
“I do,” Harvey permitted slowly. He'd never seen Mike so bold, even when the kid was right about something, and he wanted to watch the situation play out, no matter how disorienting it proved itself. It was the same principle that applied to his love of spectator sports. He craned his neck back so their eyes could meet and felt gooseflesh rise at what he found within Mike's. The blue orbs had muted to a stormy gray, eyes reminiscent of the serial killers Harvey used to put away, predatory eyes.
Mike's mouth quirked. He pecked it against Harvey's, suddenly reminding the older man of when Donna had called Mike a baby bird that imprinted on him. It was sweet then, scorching hot now, as Mike rolled his palm over the base of Harvey's erection, plying it flat against his toned belly, before closing his fist around it to pump. Up and down the funnel of his hand went, cold even with the protection Harvey's rapidly staining underwear provided.
“Hn, I'm gonna...” Harvey said. His hands shimmied in their bonds. His nails dug into his own skin the longer he remained trapped.
“No, you're not,” Mike replied with a grin. His voice dropped down to a whisper. “Give it up to me, Harvey, just the once. Give me your famous control.” Before Harvey could answer, his associate pulled away into a standing position. “No,” Mike said, to halt his boss's attempt to follow him. Harvey sat back, frustrated, and watched as Mike slipped out of his cheap pants with methodical attention. Mike folded and set them on Harvey's table, his eyes on the man the entire time, while his naked hips sashayed like a ten grand hooker's.
Harvey barely refrained from ordering him to hurry, but the second his iron control was about to collapse, Mike returned and plopped down into his lap, bare skin to Egyptian cotton that Harvey used to be fond of, but now constituted the worst torture.
“I'll leave the shirt on. I can tell it gets you hard,” Mike said. He rubbed his crotch against Harvey's with an emphatic mewl and his hands gripped the man's shoulders roughly. Harvey despised his smug logic, more so hating the pleasure he derived himself.
“C-can't you move this along?” he asked, proud that only the first word hitched.
Mike grinned at him. For a terrible, terrible moment, Harvey feared he would request something outrageous, make Harvey beg for it, but he wriggled his ass atop Harvey's knees and tugged the elastic strap of his briefs down, till they were at least mid thigh, then clung to Harvey's shoulders again. Using them to lift himself, his knees holed into the sofa cushions on either side of Harvey, Mike aligned his hole with the engorged head of his boss's cock.
“Wait!” Harvey said. He chafed his wrists to try and slip out of Mike's tie again, so he could halt the younger man by his waist. The lust roiling through him, a heavy pit in his stomach, made it difficult to stay focused on his own motor functions, much less his morals, but as eager as both he and Mike evidently were for this, he didn't want the kid to ruin the night for himself with his own obliviousness. “Mike, have you ever done this before? Because-”
“Shh,” Mike bent his head to murmur into Harvey's lips, quelling his protests. “This ain't my first rodeo, cowboy.” Harvey's gut wrenched at the offhand comment, but Mike chose that moment to sink down. The crown of Harvey's cock squeezed past Mike's tight pucker of muscle, which extracted a synchronous cry from the pair.
Any further objection was lost as Mike rode him. Their moans, skin slapping together and the squeaks of Harvey's leather couch drowned everything else out, as well. Mike was dry and hot around Harvey's dick, lubed only by pre-come and something else Harvey didn't want to identify, that he knew might be staining his thighs red if he looked. He didn't, though. He didn't want to think about anything that would spoil this. He especially blocked out thoughts of how he'd imagined it would be, how he'd wanted it, with Mike pink, pliable and sincere beneath his talented hands. Maybe if he were the childlike associate, he'd dwell on what-ifs, but only reality mattered - could matter - to Harvey Specter.
The younger man's fingernails gouged through Harvey's sweater and found purchase in the skin beneath, as Mike relocated the other to clasp his own erection, his thumb swiping its dewy head the way Harvey wished he could. He'd do it gentler than Mike, who compressed his fist in a way that looked painful more than pleasurable, his blissful grin aside. He'd lightly roll Mike's balls in his palm, search past them to prod at his already full entrance, stimulate the kid's nipples and ass till he was sobbing with joy.
“F-fuck,” Mike said, tugging his cock in time with his impalement on Harvey's. The pretty flush on his cheeks told Harvey a moment before Mike's seed spurted onto his sweater that his associate had reached his orgasm. Then, Mike went rigid around him and milked his dick dry. Harvey came with his own grunt.
A panting Mike flopped forward on his chest, his fingers latched onto what fabric of Harvey's turtleneck hadn't yet been tarnished, and they remained like that for a few minutes, literally heart to heart, save for their clothes and bones. Harvey's heartbeat was embarrassingly fast. He wouldn't have minded, had Mike's been the same, but the steady thump-thump helped Harvey catch his own breath, at least, when he centered on it.
Mike angled away from Harvey too soon and deftly slithered out of his lap to stretch. “You were as good as I always figured, Mr. Specter,” he purred. The leer he wore made Harvey feel dirty. He was.
“Untie me,” he said, quieter than he usually was after a good time.
Mike smirked at him, bent low, and picked up both of their pants, tossing Harvey's at him. They hit the floor, the opening at the top barely engulfing Harvey's bare foot. “I'm gonna go wash up, if you don't mind,” Mike informed him. He sauntered away while naked, oblivious to the semen and other bodily fluids that trailed down his legs.
Harvey stared after him - just a stare, rather than the glower he might have been able to summon up, if Mike hadn't shocked the strut out of him - before he wiggled out of his underwear. When it reached his ankle, he kicked it off and slipped out of his sweater in tandem, suddenly finding them both stifling. His pants were still twined around one foot and, with some difficulty, he managed to lift them up his legs, not quite over his hips yet. That alone left him sweaty, even his undershirt too hot, as he delicately picked at Mike's tie, hoping to unwind its knot.
Thankfully, in his attempt at subterfuge, Mike hadn't put much effort into it. Harvey's nail dug under the flap of tacky silk and loosened it till one hand was free. Mike's skinny tie became an improvised bracelet around the other's wrist. With it gone, Harvey stood up and nearly stumbled into his table, but refrained at the last minute and instead stooped to pick up his discarded briefs. He used them to wipe away the excess mess on his flaccid dick, then threw them back into the pile of unwanted apparel to re-situate his pants.
He dusted them off discretely, eyes on the hallway that led to the bathroom, where Mike had sequestered himself. Harvey slowly trudged down the narrow path to stop at the door. If he listened carefully, he could hear the low tenor of his associate humming, an eerie sound unlike his everyday renditions of Indie bands Harvey would never subject his own ears to. This one was practically tuneless or too old to be identified. He also perceived a metallic tap-tap-tap against his porcelain sink bowl and wondered if Mike was shaving inside.
“Rookie?” Harvey inquired hesitantly. Fate must have sensed his intentions, because he heard a knock then - rather, an attack against his front door that impelled him to question his doorman's suitability for his task - and Mike went suspiciously silent. “I'll be back in a sec,” Harvey muttered to him.
“No!” Mike exclaimed. He threw the door open and nearly hit Harvey, who grimaced, but Mike's sheepish smile and the continued siege upon his door kept him from rebuking his associate.
Harvey whirled back the way he came and ambled off, Mike's footfalls soundless as a cat's behind him. They reached the door, through which angry cries accompanied knocks. The second Harvey unlocked it, an arm secured over his neck and tugged him into the middle of the room, its base putting uncomfortable pressure on his larynx.
“What are-?” Harvey coughed out, stunned by the razor pressed into the lateral of his neck, precariously close to a vein. Mike smiled into the curve between his neck and shoulder, his eyes on the entrance, which slowly admitted his cousins. Although they were dressed more sloppily than ever, their matching, dangerous green eyes gave them an intimidating air, a contrast to Mike's soft baby blue.
“Who are you?” the shorter one, Dean, barked. Harvey's eyes bulged when he saw that the man harbored a knife in one hand, while his brother, Sam, wielded a gun, though he could probably break Mike in half with his gargantuan appendages alone.
Mike chuckled. Out of his peripheral vision, Harvey swore even the whites of the kid’s eyes had blackened to ink, but that couldn't be right, could it? “Come now, boys, don't tell me you forgot?” Mike drawled, his frosty breath stirring the hairs at Harvey's nape. “And here I thought I was your favorite demon.”
“Meg,” the giant spat, which briefly attracted his brother's attention to his contorted expression. It was a name Harvey wasn't the least bit intimate with.
“Was it too much to hope that you'd finished with your fucking games, you black-eyed bitch?” Dean growled, the hand that gripped his knife shaking. “What do you even want with Mikey?”
“Oh, Mikey,” Mike - or Meg, whoever the fuck that was - mocked, an exaggerated simper attached to his lips. The razor bore down a little and a stinging cut welled beneath its blade. Harvey winced. “I didn't even know about him, scout's honor! Here I was, mindin' my own business, doing a favor for poor Daddy dearest, and you bozos show up, lead me right to him. And to think, a cousin of yours might've come in handy during the Apocalypse.”
The nonsense words bounced like a Ping-Pong ball in Harvey's mind. “Mike,” he tried desperately, as he brought his hand up to touch his associate's, but Mike shook him in warning and muttered a gruff, “Shut up,” into his ear.
Dean shot Harvey an admonitory glance, then said, “Oh yeah, I'm positive a kid named Michael would have been a stellar Plan B for old Lucy. That's not ironic at all.”
Mike sneered at him. “It woulda been worth a shot. Too bad you hid him from Lord Lucifer before we had our fun.” He lowered his head to kiss Harvey just above the summit of the razor, tongue lapping out to collect droplets of blood. “Then again, I might not have had the opportunity to do this, if you had. The fantasies little Wendy had about this man, you couldn't imagine.”
“And you're just too self-serving for that, aren't you?” Mike cocked his head at Sam's bitter statement. He bore his teeth upon observing how the man's gun arm rose.
“Come on,” Mike laughed, as an eyebrow rose. “You expect me to believe, Sammy boy, that you'd shoot your own flesh and blood, your kid cousin, to get rid of little ol' me? You, Mr. family-is-everything?”
“We'd do what's necessary,” Dean answered for his brother, but his eyes flashed warily to Sam's face. Even Harvey, who didn't know the man at all, could read the conviction there.
Sam's mouth pursed. His arm was ramrod straight, still aimed at Mike's forehead, his large finger curled on the trigger. “I know,” he began, with weary resignation, “that Mike would rather die than have one of you riding him, hurting people that he loves.” He met Harvey's eyes and the older man swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing against Mike's arm. “I know I felt the same way when your boss was still around.”
Harvey could feel Mike quiver behind him, whether from fear or rage he couldn’t quite determine - didn’t have the time to, because his associate shoved him forward. He lurched into Dean's arms and the man dropped his knife, but the distraction wasn't nearly substantial enough that any of them missed Mike's, “You can thank your Uncle Bobby for this spiffy little trick.” No one could do anything but watch, horrified, as he brought the razor up and slashed it across his own throat. Blood immediately gushed out of the lesion, bursting vessels inside, too, so that Mike’s sneering lips painted red. “Still gonna shoot me, Sammy? It'll be a sure thing for poor little Mikey if you do.”
Sam's arm didn't waver, but from the slack look on his face, Harvey thought it had more to do with shock than fervor, not that he could blame the behemoth. Finally, though, Sam murmured, “Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino...”
Mike's obsidian eyes rounded in horror and his mouth opened in a screech. Harvey watched, stricken himself, as smog of the same color evaporated out of the bloody orifice. Mike started to sway when the last of it was gone and Harvey sprung forward on instinct alone, catching him as he fell, his heart constricting at Mike's startled whimper.
“Harv...” the kid attempted to say, any further syllables drowned in the liquid that bubbled past his chin. Harvey could see the wide gash in his neck now, practically a second smile, and Mike felt cold in a different way against his body.
“Hold on, puppy, hold on,” Harvey demanded, gently tucking a soaked strand of hair behind his associate’s ear. Mike didn’t smile comfortingly, didn’t tease him for obviously caring, did nothing but nuzzle into his touch, his eyes hooded. Even that seemed to leech his strength. “What did you do to him?” Harvey shouted, the query directed to Sam, who hadn’t moved an inch.
“I-I, we’ve gotta call an ambulance,” the man replied, his eyes fastened on his cousin’s deathly pale face. Jerkily, he extracted his phone and pressed a single number.
“No time for that,” his brother cut in, expression grim. They were by no means feeble men, but Harvey wanted nothing more than to put his boxing lessons to use on their stupid, hopeless, pretty faces. That would require setting Mike down, however, and the thought alone made him clutch the kid closer. Then, Dean’s eyes flicked up to the mural that overtook one of Harvey's walls, angels that Tempest had actually painted onto the surface for him, caught amidst their love and war. “Cas!” the eldest Winchester cried. Harvey had never heard so much anguish apportioned to one word. “Get your feathery ass down here, Castiel! W-we really need you! Please.”
Harvey forced himself to gaze away from the deranged man when Mike sighed. It was a soft, almost tranquil sound. His associate’s eyes had fluttered shut. They wouldn't open again, no matter how hard Harvey tried.
-
It wasn't pain that woke Mike, though certain synapses within his brain were aware of a dull ache in his lungs. No, it was a steady beep-beep-beep, occasionally interrupted by a sharper, more musical note, and someone's hushed, one-sided conversation.
“I told Jessica not to reassign my cases to Louis.” Harvey's voice seeped into his consciousness and overpowered the weight on his eyelids. Mike forced gummy lashes apart to blink at the man, who was immersed in the cellphone stuck to his ear.
Mike tried to speak, but a burn enveloped his throat. He belatedly realized that a tube ran through it, smaller components hooked to his nose. Though it was a minor inconvenience, he still felt tears brim cool along his cheeks and, rather than brave it again, he extended his hand. Harvey's fingers picked distractedly at his blankets, within reach of Mike's own.
The man jolted back in his plastic chair when their fingertips made chaste contact. He immediately snapped his phone shut and said, “You're awake!” A smile grew along his mouth that Mike had never seen before, but he wasn't sure whether to allot the palpitation of his heart to that or the fact that Harvey had closed the distance between their hands.
Mike swallowed around the tube and opened his mouth again. Before he could hurt himself, Harvey disentangled them from one another, but only to backpedal and flag down someone outside. “Doctor!” he called.
A woman immediately bustled through the door to fulfill his bidding. She was middle-aged, round, and wore thin gold spectacles. Her smile matched her motherly demeanor, tender to the point of being suffocating. “How are you feeling, dear? I'm your physician, Doctor Cameron Lopez.”
Mike nodded his head, unable to do much else. She took the hint and helped him remove the respirator, anyway, because Harvey waved an impatient hand toward the contraption. Mike sucked in hungry gulps of air when it was gone.
“W-what's...?” he stuttered, before grimacing at the metallic, tangy taste that tickled his throat.
Doctor Lopez tutted at him. “You...cut yourself, dear. Terrible accident, but you're lucky. It missed your carotid artery by this much.” She indicated with the tips of her thumb and index, barely holding them apart.
“Oh,” Mike said. He weakly raised a hand to touch his neck. Rough gauze met him there. At the center, just over his Adam's apple, it felt especially moist. He swallowed back bile.
“Will you give us a moment, Doctor?” Harvey asked, his eyes focused sternly on Mike. The woman frowned at him, affronted, but he paid her no mind. With a huff, she evacuated the room and Harvey returned to his chair, where he pried Mike's hand away from the bandages with his own. He kept it safe between both of his, thumb tracing the IV tape.
“What happened?” This time, Mike's question was cohesive. His gave the room another cursory glance, then settled his eyes on Harvey's face.
Harvey gave him a disbelieving look and sighed. “It's been almost three days and I still don't really know. Your cousins tried to explain it to me. Monsters exist, a demon possessed you, an angel saved your life.” Harvey made a face, though Mike didn't blame him for it. It would be weird to learn, after living your whole life shaping your own fate, that there was some higher being to judge you out there. “It healed you just enough that the authorities weren't suspicious.”
Mike believed. He was spiritual more than religious, perhaps, but he'd always thought some things were beyond human explanation. There was no way it was a lie. That thing - that demon - had blocked him off into some clustered corner of his mind, but images continued to breach that barrier: things it was doing to people while wearing his face, what it had done with Harvey, what it did before finding him. It had seen Hell and, through its eyes, so had Mike.
“Where are-?” Mike finally asked.
Harvey's hands compressed around his, the man's mouth set severely. “They had to go, Mike. Said they couldn't stick around because of the police.”
“Oh,” Mike said again, no less beaten than earlier. That made sense. If this was the kind of stuff they did on a daily basis - and the demon, Meg's, memories corroborated as much - then it made sense that they'd be wanted by well-meaning, but ignorant authorities. Who would believe them if they claimed they were hunting monsters? Mike struggled with the concept himself, despite seeing it firsthand.
“But it's okay!” Harvey exclaimed. It spurred Mike out of his melancholy. “I talked to Jessica and-”
“Jessica?” Mike repeated, too tired to hide how incredulous he was. Even at his most confused, that made no sense.
“Yes, Jessica,” Harvey went on, glowering at him for the disruption. “Evidently, she dated a man like your cousins, a hunter. Rufus or Rupert something or other. She learned from him how to protect herself. There are hidden symbols all over the firm, the glass is made of some special quartz. She gave me a source to get my apartment and car remodeled in the same way.”
Mike simply stared at him, unable to calm his manic thoughts enough to formulate a response. Although he'd apparently slept for the last three days, his bones had the telltale heaviness that he associated with imminent sleep.
Harvey noticed, as always, and his smirk softened into a smile. He squeezed Mike's hand again, fingers brushing over his knuckles. “Rest, Mike. Everything's okay.”
And Mike believed him.
-
Another three days later, Mike was released from the hospital.
“You don't have to do this, you know?” he told his boss, who was currently escorting him up to his apartment.
“I do,” Harvey countered. He hefted Mike's bag, which Donna had packed for his 'vacation', till it notched up on his shoulder. “If I didn't, Donna would've skinned me alive.”
Mike chuckled, but it was forced. “You didn't have to, uh, invite me to your place, either,” he said with a blush.
Harvey assessed him for a moment, as he started for the stairs, once again silently damning the broken elevator. Then, with uncharacteristic caution, he murmured, “What happened in my apartment that night, I am sorry, Mike. If I had known, I never would have let it. I didn't want whatever we have to start like that.”
“I know,” Mike said. Although it hurt to, he laughed with more conviction this time. He had no doubt that Harvey could make even a demon succumb to his whims. He wouldn't be Harvey, otherwise. “Thanks,” he mumbled to the man, heartfelt despite his abashment.
They reached his doorway and Mike hesitated. This was where the demon had possessed him, where it had ditched some other victim like an out of fashion outfit to violate him. He fumbled with his keys, then jumped when Harvey's hand fell on his shoulder.
“Hey, you're just here to grab some clothes, remember? It's okay, kid,” the older man said.
Mike swallowed, nodded, and unlocked his door. His eyes fell on the living room table, on which he and the Winchesters had exchanged notes. His whole notepad sat there now and he walked forward to pick it up warily.
Mikey,
Dear Mike,
Dean was gonna write this note at first, but you know how he is with apologies, right? But I thought someone owed you one. We're sorry.
We're sorry for abandoning you when you were kid. I've realized, of late, I'm not actually that great a big brother, though I've always wanted to be, and I think Dean might only be good for me, no matter how much I hate saying so.
It's not that we don't care about you. We came here because we did, 'cause we thought it would finally be safe to see you again. I'm so sorry for dragging our shit in behind us. You never deserved to be a part of this life.
Mostly, we're sorry for leaving. I'll admit, it was partly due to cowardice. I don't know what I would have done if you woke up and hated us. I know Dean couldn't stomach it, either.
But you're in good hands. Dean thinks Mr. Specter is an uppity douche. Maybe he's right. I can tell that he cares about you, though. You should have seen his face when you got hurt. I think that's the only reason Dean didn't stick around long enough to give him the shotgun talk, because he knows it's unnecessary, but you have to let him take care of you, Mikey. Let him make you happy.
If I were you, I'd probably never want to see us again. Luckily - for me and you - you aren't me. I'm gonna leave you both me and Dean's numbers and you can throw them out, maybe burn them or call us. If you do the first two, we'll never bother you again, but on the off chance you forgive us, we'll never forget to pick up again. We'll be there for you when you need us, whether because Harvey made you cry or, God forbid, another monster's on your tail. I promise.
Love,
Sam
Mike read the messy handwriting over and over. His thumb traced over every letter's curve and slope, while the other hand's fingers fiddled with the charm at his neck. When he reached the end of Sam's signature, he flipped the page over, then smiled.
-
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A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who stuck this out. I had such a blast writing it that I hope your reading was even half the experience. This is only my second time doing a big bang, so go easy, but feel free to share all critique. I'd definitely love to do it again with your advice in mind. :D