[Suits Fic]: The Haunting of Harvey Specter - N-17 - 2/2
A/N: Thank you to the awesome suits_exchange mods, 
silverfoxflower for the brilliant prompt and my friends for always picking me back up when I was tired and just wanted to quit. A special thanks to
cashay and
bballgirl3022, my lovely betas, for the last minute edits. I hope this is okay. Love you all. ♥
Title: The Haunting of Harvey Specter
Disclaimer: I,
ladyknightanka, do not own Suits. If I did, we would have more fangirl moments, less awkward romances. Please don't replicate my silly work without permission. Pop-culture references aren't mine.
Warnings: NC-17 for graphic sex that includes wet dreams, light bondage, rimming, blow-jobs, fingering and so on, coarse language, alcohol use, mentions of Harvey and Mike with others, mild angst, jealousy and meanness from relationship denial, romantic comedy type cliches, descriptions of delicious foods that will make you hungry, some spoilers, etc. So fluffy, you'll want to die.
Other Notes: ~12k of Harvey/Mike and our favorite matchmaking women. Originally posted here. Part one is here.
Summary: The awkward morning after a drunken one night stand, Harvey and Mike agree never to discuss their relationship again, but memories of that otherwise foggy affair begin to assail Harvey. How can he continue seeing his clumsy associate in a platonic light when he dreams of making him scream with pleasure every time he falls asleep? Matchmaking women and the green-eyed monster aren't making things any easier.
-
Part Two: Malleus Maleficarum
-
Hands pull Harvey down, fingers fastened firmly in his hair. “I've always wanted to run my hands through this,” a voice says, laughs, familiar and bubbly and a match to light the flame in Harvey's chest.
He extricates himself with a huff and cranes his neck. Crinkled blue eyes meet his. Their owner is flushed, but smiling. Harvey's own mouth swerves up at one corner. He crushes the smirk to his partner's.
The rest of their bodies follow. Soon, they're torso to torso, heart to heart, but Harvey's knees dig into the bedspread and his lover's hook over his shoulders. The head of Harvey's cock broaches in. It's tight, so tight, even though his fingers scissored and stretched and stimulated for as long as they could both bear. With a grunt, he pushes deep inside, stays a moment, pulls out, pushes in, rinse and repeat.
Outside, the moon hangs and smiles, a sickle in the sky, beneficent as ever. It halos over their tangled limbs, their contorted, pleasured faces, and seems to beam over Harvey, seems to ignore him entirely. He propels forward, a perpetual motion, but can't screw his eyes shut from the sight of his patrner's face, can't deny it anymore, even to himself.
He wakes up with a single name on his lips: “Mike.”
-
“You're not still PMSing, are you, princess?” Donna asks him first thing the next morning. “Because, if you are, I have a hot water bottle you can borrow?”
Harvey scowls at her, then expels the expression with a sigh. “I'm sorry for my foul mood earlier, Donna. I'm happy to report feeling better now.”
“Interesting weekend?” she inquires knowingly, her head in her hands like he's a show to watch - not that he wouldn't be a good one.
Harvey suppresses a cringe and says, “It was certainly that. Yours?”
“Oh, mine could definitely qualify as such,” Donna answers with a smirk, a gleam in her eyes that actually makes Harvey pull back a step. When she notices, Donna laughs off the tension and waves a file at him. “This is the case from last week. Shall I drop it off on the puppy's desk?”
“No, No,” Harvey replies quickly. “I'll manage.” He takes the file from her and pivots around.
“You behave, Harvey,” Donna calls after him.
Harvey dodges a bemused Rachel and says, “Me? I'm always on my best behavior, ma'am.” Mike, who has headphones plugged into his slowly bobbing head, jumps in his seat when Harvey flicks the folder onto his desk. Harvey clears his throat. “It...should be fine if you double-check this with the same level of critical reading you did last time,” he mutters, before turning back the way he came.
“Be still my heart,” Mike exclaims, his hands clutched just beneath the collar of his shirt. “Was that a compliment, Harvey?”
“It'll be your last if you don't shut up,” Harvey grumbles, yet a good-natured smile tugs at his lips. It slinks off once he notices that Mike has picked up his highlighter and already has the cap between his grinning teeth. Harvey doesn't run, but his retirement to his office is admittedly faster than it might have otherwise been.
-
Rachel pulls up a chair in front of Donna's desk the moment Harvey's gone. “So...have you thought about what we talked about?”
Donna huffs, the air dispelling the fringe on her forehead. “I can't believe Harvey's been in such a tizzy over deflowering Mike. I can't believe he didn't tell me. I'm supposed to know!”
“I can't believe what a dick Harvey is,” Rachel replies with a shrug. “Mike is a really sweet guy and my friend. I don't like anyone else screwing around with him.”
Donna shakes her head. “I get where you're coming from, but Harvey isn't a bad guy,” she argues. “He's just...well, he's an obtuse idiot, but one who could be really good for our little rookie.”
“I guess you'd know best,” Rachel says, but her arms and legs are crossed and the bow of her mouth is unconvinced.
“C'mon, Zane, you know it's true,” Donna rebuffs, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Mike needs a big, strong man to protect him from himself and who better to show Harvey where his heart is than the cutest man-puppy ever? Now, will you help me help them pull their heads out of their asses and put those otherwise appreciable muscles to better use?”
“Okay,” Rachel agrees. She sticks out an arm to Donna, who accepts her hand for a shake. “I guess we can discuss our battle plan for Operation Hike more. Same place as last time?” Harvey enters through the double doors before Donna can answer and the women part. “Goodbye,” Rachel says, then makes a hasty exit.
Harvey glances over his shoulder at the paralegal and tuts pityingly. “I hope you gave that girl something good for her soul, Donna.”
Donna grabs a handful of candy from the bowl on her desk and tosses it at him, harrumphing when he dodges, but doesn't quite succeed in hiding the smile she wears. “Did you have fun with Mike?” she asks. Harvey chokes on the truffle he's popped into his mouth and she covers up her grin on the excuse of a cough.
“I gave the kid a file, not a lap-dance,” Harvey finally deadpans. He heads into his office and shuts the door.
“You wish it was a lap-dance,” Donna shouts after him. Harold, whom she refers to as Bambi-associate in her mind, stops to stare at her with big, panicky eyes. She glares at him and he trips on his shoelaces. She laughs at his upraised rump fondly. If Operation Hike is a success, she'll launch a rescue mission for Harold, too. For now, her hands are full.
Donna spends the rest of the day observing Harvey, eyes hawk-like over the crown of a magazine. The mission isn't very advantageous from her desk, as Harvey keeps visiting Mike on the rationale of, “Keeping the little idiot from screwing up.” Donna thinks he simply doesn't want Mike around any of the paralegals or other associates. Harvey is predictable that way.
It's while he's on one of his mentoring adventures that Donna gets an idea. “The phone rang,” she informs her boss, once he's back. “It was Wyatt. He was panicking about some leak of his newest design and needs to see you for lunch.”
Harvey sighs and turns back toward the exit. “Of course he does,” he mutters.
“Why don't you take Mike?” Donna adds, before he can fully step out again. “I'm pretty sure he hasn't had lunch yet.”
Harvey hesitates, but eventually nods. “Kid shouldn't skip lunch as often as he does,” he says lightly. “He's already nothing but skin and bones as is.”
It's only after Harvey has shouted, “Mike, get your bony ass over here,” and his associate is standing at attention, that Donna whispers, “Didn't stop you from tapping that,” into the empty air around her.
-
They sit at Wyatt's favorite restaurant, which brags the best Chinese food in the city, for almost an hour.
“Can I have more fortune cookies?” Mike asks a passing waiter. Harvey frowns at him and, though he doesn't annul the request all together, Mike tacks on a, “Please?”
“Really?” Harvey cocks an eyebrow.
Mike ducks his head and mumbles, “Sorry, Harvey. I'm just...” His stomach grumbles, “...hungry.”
“Wyatt is taking a while,” Harvey says. “I hope he's not too afraid to grab a cab again. I'm feeling famished myself.”
A waiter with a platter of what smells like chicken-fried rice walks by, a sharp stab of spice and vegetables to the nostrils. Mike lifts his head and whimpers. Harvey opens his mouth to comment on the pathetic expression his associate has, but his phone buzzes in his breast pocket.
His assistant's voice filters into his ear. “Wyatt's little geek squad fixed his issue. He's too busy bathing naked in microchips to eat right now. You're off the hook.”
“Then we may as well enjoy ourselves...on his dime,” Harvey replies, eyes on Mike, whose cheeks are puffed like a chipmunk's, stuffed with the fresh batch of cookies brought to him.
“You're so smart,” Donna simpers.
Harvey clicks his phone off and inquires, “Found any interesting fortunes, rookie?” He waves toward the impressive pile of paper strips in front of Mike.
“You are talented in many ways,” Mike reads off a random one. He looks up and waggles his eyebrows at Harvey.
“You wish, kid,” the older man scoffs. Mike sticks his tongue out and Harvey's belly does a flip. He can finally recall exactly where Mike's talents lie. Whether he wants to, nevertheless, is a different story. “Let's order,” he says, in order to change the subject.
Mike claps like an excited seal. “Yes, finally!” Harvey rolls his eyes and feels sorry for himself, but not too much because his chicken and broccoli is delicious and, once he's swallowed a few bites, Mike recovers his illustrious wit. “You know, 2009's Star Trek is getting a sequel,” he says.
“And that's what you want to talk about? Really?” Harvey smirks at him.
Mike smirks back. “Only because you've been dying to, but Donna and Jessica don't care, old man.”
Harvey flicks the crumb of a decimated fortune cookie and hits Mike in the forehead. “Specter one,” he taunts, “naughty puppy zero.”
“The fact that you only gave yourself one point means that we're making progress,” Mike replies, rubbing at the pink spot forming on his pale skin. The minor pain doesn't keep the grin off his face. Harvey chuckles, too, and the frisson of laughter that flowers in his chest doesn't languish even when they're back at the firm.
“What's with the creeper leer?” Donna asks him, without bothering to look away from her magazine.
Harvey has the urge to reply huangjiu, alcohol at the restaurant, and just leave it at that. Instead, he shrugs. “Lunch with Mike wasn't so bad,” he says casually. “I may even...ask the kid to dinner. Maybe someday soon.”
He's rewarded by Donna's full focus. “Oh really? Well, you'd better hurry, then, Harvey, or something else might optimize Mike's time.”
“Mike?” Harvey laughs, unaware of how Donna's eyes narrow. “Please, Donna, I could snap my fingers at sunrise or sunset and Mike would still hop for me. I think I can take this slow.”
He returns to his quarters and Donna glares a hole into his back, before pulling her cellphone out of her purse. Change of plans, she texts Rachel. You know that place we were supposed to discuss OH at? Ask Mike to go w/ you. Tell him it's a friend thing.
Once the message has been sent, Donna smiles and presses the intercom button between their offices. Harvey stares through the glass separating them curiously. “Oh, did I forget to tell you, Harvey? Rachel asked Mike out tonight.”
One of the prized baseballs on Harvey's desk tumbles to the floor and bounces sadly. For years afterward, Harvey will adamantly claim it was an accident, that he would never throw his rare Babe Ruth ball on purpose, but Donna was there. Donna knows. Donna also helps her boss get reservations to an otherwise booked establishment for the night.
Harvey shouldn't have been so annoyingly cocksure around her.
-
Mike is not sure what to think when Rachel corners him after work to say, to insist, “You're coming to dinner with me tonight. An ex-boyfriend of mine invited me to taste-test at his new sushi bar. I want to go, but it'll be really awkward if Touya and I are alone.”
“Um, Rachel,” Mike objects, “I really should get a head start on some of these documents. Louis dropped more off for me to proof.”
Rachel sighs and considers him coyly through her eyelashes, then says, “Mike, please? He'll think I'm not over him if I don't go or if I go alone. If I take you, even though it's only a friend thing, it'll be fine. Please?” Mike chews thoughtfully on his lip and she continues, “You have to eat, don't you? It's a free dinner, Mike, come on.”
“Okay,” he relents, “but there had better be at least noodles there. I don't like raw fish, Rach.” He makes a face, which becomes an outright grimace when Rachel grins and pinches his cheek. He swats at her hand. “Quit it.”
“You won't regret this, Ross,” Rachel says, before sashaying back to the paralegals' department. Mike watches her go, bewildered. He's no less confused upon seeing the white, form-fitting dress she dons later that night.
“U-uh, wow, Rachel, you look...” he stammers.
“Hot as a skillet on a fast-burning stove, I know.” Rachel beams at him. “Touya and I may have ended on mutual terms, but a girl always wants her ex to think twice. Thanks for agreeing to help.”
Mike gathers his bearings again and smiles, offering her his arm, which she hooks her elbow into. Together, they face the black marble structure of Jigou Jitoku and walk in. “No prob. What are friends for?”
A suited man says, “Oh, Rachel, you came!”
“Yup, Touya,” Rachel replies, her eyes catching Mike's briefly, but they're both distracted by the man addressing Mike.
“You must be Mr. Ross?” Touya inquires curiously. “I am Sakamoto Touya, the host.”
Mike blinks at Rachel, silently wondering if she told Touya about him, but nods. “Er, do I know you?”
Touya shakes his head. “No, sir, but your table is ready. Please come with me.”
Rachel and Mike exchange another glance, then follow Touya past several waiters to a long marble table that's half empty, a chef at the forefront chopping vegetables with knives. They hear claps and laughter as they get closer. Touya excuses himself back to the entrance of the restaurant.
“It's often custom to share your table with strangers,” Rachel whispers into Mike's ear. “It builds amicability.” However, even she can't suppress a gasp when the man sitting at their new table turns and smirks up at them.
“About time, rookie,” Harvey says, refined as ever. His hair is sleek and dark under the gilded glow of the light above, which seem to dance over him on purpose, displaying how perfectly his suit sits on his recumbent body. It sends a punch of self-consciousness through Mike's gut, but he dredges up a smile, anyway.
The red-headed woman beside Harvey, vaguely familiar, does as well. On her pretty, heart-shaped face, the expression is considerably less genial. “Oh, your associate is here,” she says, words dripping with disdain. “Nice to see you, Marvin.”
“It's Mike,” Mike mumbles.
Rachel pats him on the arm, then asks, “Not that it isn't nice to see you, but what are you doing here, Mr. Specter?” with a condescending lift of her eyebrow that Harvey would be proud of, were it not directed at him.
“Yeah, Harvey,” Mike punctuates, because dammit, he wants to know, too.
Harvey shrugs, suspiciously insouciant, sable eyes shiny with mirth. “Donna said you and the paralegal would be here. I've been meaning to visit myself, so I thought we'd double date,” he explains, before indicating his date. “This is Sera Saddle. You remember her, from the other night?”
Mike nods and says, “Of course. Who could forget that night?” through tight lips. He and Rachel take a seat across Harvey, who leans forward and ducks his head near Mike's, blind to how the chef has borne a blue bonfire at the head of the table, which licks heat toward them and causes the women to coo.
“I haven't forgotten,” Harvey murmurs. Mike hurriedly unlocks their gazes and stares into the fire. The smell of food sizzling is more pungent now and, although Mike told Rachel he wouldn't like the menu, he admits to himself that it's a likeable aroma, especially when he immerses himself in it completely, when he uses it to avoid Harvey's flirting.
The chef places slabs of fish on four dishes, along with bowls of steaming noodles, chopsticks and rolls of sushi. He slides each dish over to his patrons. “Arigatō,” Rachel says, while everyone else thanks him in English or with a crisp gesture.
Mike sags into his seat with relief when a few minutes pass, filled with nothing but silence and the click of wood, as they all start to dine. He pops what looks most like the California rolls he's familiar with in his mouth, then readily moans. Everyone looks at him and he colors.
Rachel riffs her eyes to Harvey, then back to Mike. She emits an exasperated noise and raises her chopsticks, plucking a piece of seaweed off his cheek with them. “You are a messy eater, Mike Ross,” she complains, ignoring the cough Harvey releases. “This stuff is clinging to you.”
Before Mike knows what's happening, she's leaning into his space and kissing him. It's chaste. His jaw has dropped, but her mouth remains shut, her lips firm and warm. The faint, spicy taste of wasabi transfers between them and he feels her thumb rub the last bit of seaweed from his face.
Harvey clears his throat again. It sounds more like a growl. “Wouldn't you children prefer a private room?” he snaps. Mike pulls his head away from Rachel's so fast, he fears he has whiplash.
“It's okay,” Sera comments. She's been so quiet up until now that Mike had almost forgotten her presence. “They're young and in love, Harvey. Let Marvin have his fun.”
Harvey begins to respond and Rachel is straightening the piles of curls on her head in preparation to do the same, but Mike cuts both of them off by slamming his hands down on the table. Even the chef stares at him.
“It's Mike,” he grits out between his teeth, “and I hope you all had your fun fucking with me. See you at work.” Both of his coworkers shout after him, but he doesn't hesitate. Sera just seems confused.
It doesn't help when Harvey stands up, too, ready to abandon her, but Rachel grabs the man by the wrist when he's within reach of her and says, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt him.”
Although her brown eyes are huge and genuine, Harvey attempts to shake her off. “Let go,” he demands with a sneer.
“The only thing I wanted,” Rachel continues, the mask of regret on her face hardening to stone, “was for you to admit, even to yourself, that you wanted him, that he deserved better from you, the great Harvey Specter or not.”
That freezes Harvey mid-step. “W-what?” he breathes.
“Just...go get him. Right now.” Rachel releases him and makes a shooing motion. “Tell him I'm sorry. I was only trying to help.”
Harvey swallows and his throat burns from more than rice wine. He manages a nod and mutters a goodbye to his date, then waits no longer to follow after Mike. Rachel falls back into her seat and sighs. Sera frowns at her.
“What just happened?” the woman inquires.
“Men are even stupider when they're in love,” Rachel replies. “Sorry about that,” she appends, at the utterly lost blink Sera shoots her. Rachel feels bad that the woman wandered into the path of the train that is Harvey Specter without realizing it. “If you want, we can forget about those idiots, enjoy our dinner and hit a club with Touya, the host? He owns one of those, too.”
It takes a minute for Sera to absorb everything, but she nods and mutters, “I need a harder drink than anything they have here.” Rachel raises a glass of sake in assent.
-
Mike is standing at the curb, his arms around himself, once Harvey gets outside. He must have taken a cab and appears to be waiting for another. Harvey calling his name out doesn't halt the associate in the slightest.
“Mike, please,” Harvey says, upon stopping right behind the younger man, who still doesn't turn his way.
“What was this, Harvey?” Mike asks. His words mesh together, as if they're choking him. “Was it make a fool of Mike Ross night again?”
“No, Mike, of course not,” Harvey replies. He sets a hand on Mike's shoulder, but it gets shrugged off immediately.
“When you pull crap like this,” Mike seethes, “I almost can't like you, Harvey. I do, though, so freaking much, but I almost can't. I know I deserve better.”
“I know that, too,” Harvey persists. “I can be that.”
He stumbles back when Mike whips around and declares, “How? I don't want a sadistic master who spritzes me with water, Harvey; I want a boyfriend who won't be ashamed, who won't kick me to the curb in the morning, as if I'm garbage. I want someone who'll care when I tell him Grammy is doing better, who really wants me for me.”
“I do.” Harvey walks forward and touches him again, grip more gentle now, easier to shake off, but Mike doesn't move away. “I've never been a boyfriend before, but I really do want you, Mike, and I'm willing to try. I'm willing to be there when you need me.” He pauses, then adds with a wry smile, “Knowing me, I'll be amazing at it, like I am at everything.”
That shocks a puff of laughter out of Mike. “You're an ass,” he mumbles weakly.
“I'm amazing at that, too,” Harvey agrees, in a tone that's vastly different from the one he used whilst telling Mike to push till it hurt. It's less shark, more angelfish, a balm for the hurt Mike has harbored since that terrible morning after. “I am sorry, though, Mike, and so's your paralegal friend. Apparently, she was pushing for a revelation like this back there.”
Mike assesses Harvey's face for an excruciatingly long moment, but the man doesn't fidget, doesn't look away from him, doesn't take back his hand. Finally, Mike nods. “I guess I can be forgiving, at least this once.”
“To her or me?” Harvey urges. “Because, if you pick her on account of that admittedly formidable dress, I must confess to having a suit in the same color that brings out my eyes rather dashingly. I don't want to employ it, though; it simply wouldn't be fair.”
Mike forgoes answering to surge into Harvey's arms and kiss him. “You're still an ass,” he whispers against the older man's lips. “You're an ass who thinks he's funny when he's not, but...I guess I can forgive you, too.”
The strict disposition of Harvey's back relaxes. “Want to go back inside and get a private table?” he asks, thumbing toward Jigou Jitoku. He doesn't expect another kiss, nor the mischievous sparkle in Mike's blue eyes.
“Or,” the associate says with a Cheshire Cat grin, as a cab pulls up behind them, “we could go back to my place. It isn't far from here, you know?”
Harvey frowns from his armful of Mike to the waiting car. “You're being more forward than I thought,” he cautions.
Mike's grin widens till Harvey thinks his cheeks must hurt. “You already said you were my boyfriend-” Harvey doesn't mention that he only promised to try, because that would do nothing save ruin the moment, “-and you made out with me in a public street. So you can wine and dine me later, Harvey, but I'm a dude, not a chick, and I have a rigorous libido to satisfy.”
Harvey ponders over that, while the cabbie glowers impatiently. From what he remembers of their first night - first marathon, actually - that's true. “I do want to remember this time. Last time, I drank way too much,” he says.
“What we're doing tonight, old man, you won't need an eidetic memory to remember.” Mike leers and tugs him into the cab by his expensive silk tie. He avoids Harvey's scowl to tell the cabbie his address.
-
Neither of them are quite sure how they make it up Mike's stairs - curse his perpetually broken, crappy elevator - while still attached at the lips, but they do. Mike slams Harvey into his door and untangles his arms from around the man to scrounge for his keys, raising a fistful of jangling rings victoriously once he finds them.
He unlocks the door and they both hasten inside. Mike tosses his keys, wallet and jacket away, then hurdles back into Harvey's arms and starts on the buttons of the man's shirt. “Mike, Mike, Mike,” Harvey chastises, making a grab for his associate's flurrying hands. He keeps them cradled in his own. “Would you watch the tie, puppy? It's worth more than your entire wardrobe.”
“But, Harvey,” Mike whines, a pout on his lips.
Harvey lowers his head and whispers, “Shh,” against the brooding protrusion of Mike's mouth. “Let me handle this. Where's your room?”
Mike shudders involuntarily at the gruff tone, but nods his head toward a small hallway path. “T-through there.”
“Good,” Harvey murmurs, “because, now that I'm - now that we're together-” This earns him a smile, despite the fumble, “-you have to let me take care of you. The dirty couch sex can come later, but on mine, because it's more sturdy. For now...”
“For now?” Mike breathes. Harvey merely smirks and allows their joined hands to dangle, a bridge between their bodies. He uses his hold to lead Mike, backwards, into his bedroom. Mike is inwardly jealous of how Harvey bumps into nothing along the way, poised as ever, but the flutter in his heart is stronger than the green-eyed monster's maw. Harvey directs him to his tiny bed and he plops onto it, unexpectedly boneless, eyes tracking his boss to a chair by the exit.
There, Harvey undoes his his cufflinks, jacket, shirt, vest and pants, each of which he folds meticulously; his tie remains. “Why don't you undress?” he inquires. The smug suggestion forces Mike to stop drinking up every inch of exposed skin and he consents to his new task with a nod, fingers at the knot of his own tie. When both of their clothes are gone, Harvey stoops in front of him. He brushes his palms against Mike's ticklish inner thighs, but clasps his wrists again, stroking Mike's veins with his thumbs.
“Harvey,” the younger man sighs, eyelids shut. Harvey's touch is tender enough to make his most tense muscles unwind. Mike returns to awareness and gasps, however, once he feels silk replace skin. Harvey's tie is looped around his wrists, while its owner grins. “W-what are you...?”
“Just showing you what a real tie should feel like,” Harvey says. “It doesn't hurt, does it?” he continues, the furrow of his forehead more sober, despite his fixed smirk. Mike shakes his head and Harvey smiles wider. He kisses the expression onto Mike's knee, then unfurls his body to an upright position. “I assume you keep what you need in one of those bedside drawers?”
“You'd assume right,” Mike answers cheekily, having regained his composure a bit. He's mostly curious now, blue eyes riveted to his boss' every move. Harvey is self-aware and realizes that, so he kneels, braced like a ballerina on stage, in front of the drawer Mike specified. From it, Harvey extracts a half-filled bottle of baby-oil that, his initial scorn aside, slicks his fingers up, goes from cool to warm straightaway. He returns to his place between Mike's legs.
“Let me take care of you,” he says again, tapping a wet fingertip to Mike's knee. “Trust me, I'll make it good.”
“I do trust you,” Mike whispers. The words wedge in his throat - whether because of the delicate fan of Harvey's chuckling breath against his skin, or the way Harvey starts to roll his balls in one hand, he's not quit sure. Harvey kneads and Mike throws his head back. Soon, his cock is covered from root to crown, the tip of one manicured nail scratching lightly at his slit. Pre-come mixes with oil and Mike's fingers jerk, desperate for something to grip.
His silent wish is granted when Harvey lowers his head to swallow Mike's cock whole. The older lawyer burrows his nose in Mike's abdomen, in an airy trail of fair hair, and Mike lets his hands drop onto coiffed brown locks in return, marveling yet again at how soft they are. Harvey interchangeably sucks in his cheeks, greedily catches what fluid escapes with his tongue, and fondles Mike's sensitized scrotum. Mike's gulps in a sharp breath. His fingers clinch harder in Harvey's hair and his cock swells within the man's full lips. With a last grunt, he orgasms.
Harvey pulls back, mouth shiny, and says, “Turn around.” Mike scrabbles to do so, then pants in relief when Harvey climbs after him and undoes his binds carefully. “Not done yet,” he promises into Mike's shoulder.
Upon running his hands down each ridge of Mike's spine, Harvey relocates his yet oiled hands to his associate's ass, where he traces a fingertip around Mike's puckered hole. The first two fingers enter together and Mike contracts around them, then spasms open again, mimicking the motion of Harvey scissoring. A third soon follows. They push in and out. Mike grinds back against them and Harvey groans.
He draws out the appendages, drapes himself over Mike's body, and levels the head of his own engorged cock into the younger man's entrance. A hand reaches around Mike's hip to hold him, to palm him from the base of his balls to the head of his cock. Harvey thrusts in. Mike is all satin heat, even after the foreplay, and Harvey is still for a moment, mere seconds, but can't help pounding in. The bed-springs creak. Harvey pulls halfway out and angles another stab in. He hits a particular bundle of nerves, Mike's prostate, and they both keen at the sensation. Mike's clenched ass milks Harvey continuously.
All too soon, Harvey spurts inside Mike. He squeezes his associate's cock in tandem with each pulsation of his own. Mike whimpers and makes a mess of the sheets. They fall into a sticky pile of limbs together. Harvey rearranges them so he's curled around Mike, flips a blanket over them both, and gets a sleepy smile in return. It's a good enough reward that he doesn't even care about staying in a dump for the night.
This doesn't, of course, mean that he won't seduce Mike into moving in with him someday. Just not right now.
-
Rachel sidles to Donna's desk the next morning, once again dressed primly in her white blouse and black skirt. Donna smiles up at her, away from the small book she's flipping through, once the younger woman is near. “How'd it go last night?” she inquires.
“Mikey-boy texted me at four a.m. Thanks, it said, so I'd say pretty good.” Rachel and Donna high-five. “By the way,” Rachel adds, “your boss owes me big time. I was babysitting his date till the wee hours.”
Donna laughs and shakes her head. “When that man has something in his sights, everything else takes second point,” she says affectionately.
“Like I said, a total dick,” Rachel deadpans. “He'd better watch it around Mike, though. I took self-defense for years and will hand his smug ass to him if he screws with that boy one more time.”
Although Donna gives the paralegal one of her infamous looks, the groove of her lips is still triumphant. “Take a seat, Cynthia Rockworth,” she replies, while foraging through a drawer. Out of it, she extracts one of Harvey's most treasured bottles of wine and two glasses, soon filled to the brim with crimson liquid. “To celebrate.”
Rachel crows in delight and they clink their glasses together. That's the moment Jessica chooses to walk in. She looks between them, the alcohol and the book Donna continues to scrawl inside, then asks, “Where's Harvey?”
“He and Mike are taking a late day,” Donna informs her, the crane of one eyebrow challenging.
Jessica stares at her for a second. Rachel fidgets in her seat. Donna writes. Eventually, however, the senior partner says, “About time. Good work, Donna, Rachel.” With that, she exits.
“Harvey is so giving me a raise,” Donna says, because Rachel hasn't stopped gaping. “I'm sure Jessica won't be averse to giving you one, as well.”
Rachel regains her aplomb and asks, “What are you doing, huh?”
“Playing with Harvey's planner. He will propose to Mike in a year and a half,” Donna answers, smirking. “That sounds feasible, doesn't it? They need to make good use of New York's new gay marriage laws. He'll be meeting Mike's grandmother immediately, though, to get her blessing. Lovely woman.”
Rachel ruminates on this new information over a long sip of wine, but nods. “Sounds good to me. I'll need about as long to plan the menu for Mike's bachelorette's party, anyway. He's the pickiest boy I've ever met.”
“Amen, sister,” Donna says. They tap their glasses together again and decline into a fit of giggles. Operation Hike is a resounding success.
-
The End!
-
A/N: Thanks to everyone who stuck with me on this, here or on the original suits_exchange post. It means so much to me that it was enjoyed, particularly because arineat wrote me a beautiful masterpiece, We Go Together Like Silk and Polyester, and how much would I suck if I didn't bring someone else half as much joy? Go back to part one here.
silverfoxflower for the brilliant prompt and my friends for always picking me back up when I was tired and just wanted to quit. A special thanks to
cashay and
bballgirl3022, my lovely betas, for the last minute edits. I hope this is okay. Love you all. ♥
Title: The Haunting of Harvey Specter
Disclaimer: I,
ladyknightanka, do not own Suits. If I did, we would have more fangirl moments, less awkward romances. Please don't replicate my silly work without permission. Pop-culture references aren't mine.
Warnings: NC-17 for graphic sex that includes wet dreams, light bondage, rimming, blow-jobs, fingering and so on, coarse language, alcohol use, mentions of Harvey and Mike with others, mild angst, jealousy and meanness from relationship denial, romantic comedy type cliches, descriptions of delicious foods that will make you hungry, some spoilers, etc. So fluffy, you'll want to die.
Other Notes: ~12k of Harvey/Mike and our favorite matchmaking women. Originally posted here. Part one is here.
Summary: The awkward morning after a drunken one night stand, Harvey and Mike agree never to discuss their relationship again, but memories of that otherwise foggy affair begin to assail Harvey. How can he continue seeing his clumsy associate in a platonic light when he dreams of making him scream with pleasure every time he falls asleep? Matchmaking women and the green-eyed monster aren't making things any easier.
-
Part Two: Malleus Maleficarum
-
Hands pull Harvey down, fingers fastened firmly in his hair. “I've always wanted to run my hands through this,” a voice says, laughs, familiar and bubbly and a match to light the flame in Harvey's chest.
He extricates himself with a huff and cranes his neck. Crinkled blue eyes meet his. Their owner is flushed, but smiling. Harvey's own mouth swerves up at one corner. He crushes the smirk to his partner's.
The rest of their bodies follow. Soon, they're torso to torso, heart to heart, but Harvey's knees dig into the bedspread and his lover's hook over his shoulders. The head of Harvey's cock broaches in. It's tight, so tight, even though his fingers scissored and stretched and stimulated for as long as they could both bear. With a grunt, he pushes deep inside, stays a moment, pulls out, pushes in, rinse and repeat.
Outside, the moon hangs and smiles, a sickle in the sky, beneficent as ever. It halos over their tangled limbs, their contorted, pleasured faces, and seems to beam over Harvey, seems to ignore him entirely. He propels forward, a perpetual motion, but can't screw his eyes shut from the sight of his patrner's face, can't deny it anymore, even to himself.
He wakes up with a single name on his lips: “Mike.”
-
“You're not still PMSing, are you, princess?” Donna asks him first thing the next morning. “Because, if you are, I have a hot water bottle you can borrow?”
Harvey scowls at her, then expels the expression with a sigh. “I'm sorry for my foul mood earlier, Donna. I'm happy to report feeling better now.”
“Interesting weekend?” she inquires knowingly, her head in her hands like he's a show to watch - not that he wouldn't be a good one.
Harvey suppresses a cringe and says, “It was certainly that. Yours?”
“Oh, mine could definitely qualify as such,” Donna answers with a smirk, a gleam in her eyes that actually makes Harvey pull back a step. When she notices, Donna laughs off the tension and waves a file at him. “This is the case from last week. Shall I drop it off on the puppy's desk?”
“No, No,” Harvey replies quickly. “I'll manage.” He takes the file from her and pivots around.
“You behave, Harvey,” Donna calls after him.
Harvey dodges a bemused Rachel and says, “Me? I'm always on my best behavior, ma'am.” Mike, who has headphones plugged into his slowly bobbing head, jumps in his seat when Harvey flicks the folder onto his desk. Harvey clears his throat. “It...should be fine if you double-check this with the same level of critical reading you did last time,” he mutters, before turning back the way he came.
“Be still my heart,” Mike exclaims, his hands clutched just beneath the collar of his shirt. “Was that a compliment, Harvey?”
“It'll be your last if you don't shut up,” Harvey grumbles, yet a good-natured smile tugs at his lips. It slinks off once he notices that Mike has picked up his highlighter and already has the cap between his grinning teeth. Harvey doesn't run, but his retirement to his office is admittedly faster than it might have otherwise been.
-
Rachel pulls up a chair in front of Donna's desk the moment Harvey's gone. “So...have you thought about what we talked about?”
Donna huffs, the air dispelling the fringe on her forehead. “I can't believe Harvey's been in such a tizzy over deflowering Mike. I can't believe he didn't tell me. I'm supposed to know!”
“I can't believe what a dick Harvey is,” Rachel replies with a shrug. “Mike is a really sweet guy and my friend. I don't like anyone else screwing around with him.”
Donna shakes her head. “I get where you're coming from, but Harvey isn't a bad guy,” she argues. “He's just...well, he's an obtuse idiot, but one who could be really good for our little rookie.”
“I guess you'd know best,” Rachel says, but her arms and legs are crossed and the bow of her mouth is unconvinced.
“C'mon, Zane, you know it's true,” Donna rebuffs, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Mike needs a big, strong man to protect him from himself and who better to show Harvey where his heart is than the cutest man-puppy ever? Now, will you help me help them pull their heads out of their asses and put those otherwise appreciable muscles to better use?”
“Okay,” Rachel agrees. She sticks out an arm to Donna, who accepts her hand for a shake. “I guess we can discuss our battle plan for Operation Hike more. Same place as last time?” Harvey enters through the double doors before Donna can answer and the women part. “Goodbye,” Rachel says, then makes a hasty exit.
Harvey glances over his shoulder at the paralegal and tuts pityingly. “I hope you gave that girl something good for her soul, Donna.”
Donna grabs a handful of candy from the bowl on her desk and tosses it at him, harrumphing when he dodges, but doesn't quite succeed in hiding the smile she wears. “Did you have fun with Mike?” she asks. Harvey chokes on the truffle he's popped into his mouth and she covers up her grin on the excuse of a cough.
“I gave the kid a file, not a lap-dance,” Harvey finally deadpans. He heads into his office and shuts the door.
“You wish it was a lap-dance,” Donna shouts after him. Harold, whom she refers to as Bambi-associate in her mind, stops to stare at her with big, panicky eyes. She glares at him and he trips on his shoelaces. She laughs at his upraised rump fondly. If Operation Hike is a success, she'll launch a rescue mission for Harold, too. For now, her hands are full.
Donna spends the rest of the day observing Harvey, eyes hawk-like over the crown of a magazine. The mission isn't very advantageous from her desk, as Harvey keeps visiting Mike on the rationale of, “Keeping the little idiot from screwing up.” Donna thinks he simply doesn't want Mike around any of the paralegals or other associates. Harvey is predictable that way.
It's while he's on one of his mentoring adventures that Donna gets an idea. “The phone rang,” she informs her boss, once he's back. “It was Wyatt. He was panicking about some leak of his newest design and needs to see you for lunch.”
Harvey sighs and turns back toward the exit. “Of course he does,” he mutters.
“Why don't you take Mike?” Donna adds, before he can fully step out again. “I'm pretty sure he hasn't had lunch yet.”
Harvey hesitates, but eventually nods. “Kid shouldn't skip lunch as often as he does,” he says lightly. “He's already nothing but skin and bones as is.”
It's only after Harvey has shouted, “Mike, get your bony ass over here,” and his associate is standing at attention, that Donna whispers, “Didn't stop you from tapping that,” into the empty air around her.
-
They sit at Wyatt's favorite restaurant, which brags the best Chinese food in the city, for almost an hour.
“Can I have more fortune cookies?” Mike asks a passing waiter. Harvey frowns at him and, though he doesn't annul the request all together, Mike tacks on a, “Please?”
“Really?” Harvey cocks an eyebrow.
Mike ducks his head and mumbles, “Sorry, Harvey. I'm just...” His stomach grumbles, “...hungry.”
“Wyatt is taking a while,” Harvey says. “I hope he's not too afraid to grab a cab again. I'm feeling famished myself.”
A waiter with a platter of what smells like chicken-fried rice walks by, a sharp stab of spice and vegetables to the nostrils. Mike lifts his head and whimpers. Harvey opens his mouth to comment on the pathetic expression his associate has, but his phone buzzes in his breast pocket.
His assistant's voice filters into his ear. “Wyatt's little geek squad fixed his issue. He's too busy bathing naked in microchips to eat right now. You're off the hook.”
“Then we may as well enjoy ourselves...on his dime,” Harvey replies, eyes on Mike, whose cheeks are puffed like a chipmunk's, stuffed with the fresh batch of cookies brought to him.
“You're so smart,” Donna simpers.
Harvey clicks his phone off and inquires, “Found any interesting fortunes, rookie?” He waves toward the impressive pile of paper strips in front of Mike.
“You are talented in many ways,” Mike reads off a random one. He looks up and waggles his eyebrows at Harvey.
“You wish, kid,” the older man scoffs. Mike sticks his tongue out and Harvey's belly does a flip. He can finally recall exactly where Mike's talents lie. Whether he wants to, nevertheless, is a different story. “Let's order,” he says, in order to change the subject.
Mike claps like an excited seal. “Yes, finally!” Harvey rolls his eyes and feels sorry for himself, but not too much because his chicken and broccoli is delicious and, once he's swallowed a few bites, Mike recovers his illustrious wit. “You know, 2009's Star Trek is getting a sequel,” he says.
“And that's what you want to talk about? Really?” Harvey smirks at him.
Mike smirks back. “Only because you've been dying to, but Donna and Jessica don't care, old man.”
Harvey flicks the crumb of a decimated fortune cookie and hits Mike in the forehead. “Specter one,” he taunts, “naughty puppy zero.”
“The fact that you only gave yourself one point means that we're making progress,” Mike replies, rubbing at the pink spot forming on his pale skin. The minor pain doesn't keep the grin off his face. Harvey chuckles, too, and the frisson of laughter that flowers in his chest doesn't languish even when they're back at the firm.
“What's with the creeper leer?” Donna asks him, without bothering to look away from her magazine.
Harvey has the urge to reply huangjiu, alcohol at the restaurant, and just leave it at that. Instead, he shrugs. “Lunch with Mike wasn't so bad,” he says casually. “I may even...ask the kid to dinner. Maybe someday soon.”
He's rewarded by Donna's full focus. “Oh really? Well, you'd better hurry, then, Harvey, or something else might optimize Mike's time.”
“Mike?” Harvey laughs, unaware of how Donna's eyes narrow. “Please, Donna, I could snap my fingers at sunrise or sunset and Mike would still hop for me. I think I can take this slow.”
He returns to his quarters and Donna glares a hole into his back, before pulling her cellphone out of her purse. Change of plans, she texts Rachel. You know that place we were supposed to discuss OH at? Ask Mike to go w/ you. Tell him it's a friend thing.
Once the message has been sent, Donna smiles and presses the intercom button between their offices. Harvey stares through the glass separating them curiously. “Oh, did I forget to tell you, Harvey? Rachel asked Mike out tonight.”
One of the prized baseballs on Harvey's desk tumbles to the floor and bounces sadly. For years afterward, Harvey will adamantly claim it was an accident, that he would never throw his rare Babe Ruth ball on purpose, but Donna was there. Donna knows. Donna also helps her boss get reservations to an otherwise booked establishment for the night.
Harvey shouldn't have been so annoyingly cocksure around her.
-
Mike is not sure what to think when Rachel corners him after work to say, to insist, “You're coming to dinner with me tonight. An ex-boyfriend of mine invited me to taste-test at his new sushi bar. I want to go, but it'll be really awkward if Touya and I are alone.”
“Um, Rachel,” Mike objects, “I really should get a head start on some of these documents. Louis dropped more off for me to proof.”
Rachel sighs and considers him coyly through her eyelashes, then says, “Mike, please? He'll think I'm not over him if I don't go or if I go alone. If I take you, even though it's only a friend thing, it'll be fine. Please?” Mike chews thoughtfully on his lip and she continues, “You have to eat, don't you? It's a free dinner, Mike, come on.”
“Okay,” he relents, “but there had better be at least noodles there. I don't like raw fish, Rach.” He makes a face, which becomes an outright grimace when Rachel grins and pinches his cheek. He swats at her hand. “Quit it.”
“You won't regret this, Ross,” Rachel says, before sashaying back to the paralegals' department. Mike watches her go, bewildered. He's no less confused upon seeing the white, form-fitting dress she dons later that night.
“U-uh, wow, Rachel, you look...” he stammers.
“Hot as a skillet on a fast-burning stove, I know.” Rachel beams at him. “Touya and I may have ended on mutual terms, but a girl always wants her ex to think twice. Thanks for agreeing to help.”
Mike gathers his bearings again and smiles, offering her his arm, which she hooks her elbow into. Together, they face the black marble structure of Jigou Jitoku and walk in. “No prob. What are friends for?”
A suited man says, “Oh, Rachel, you came!”
“Yup, Touya,” Rachel replies, her eyes catching Mike's briefly, but they're both distracted by the man addressing Mike.
“You must be Mr. Ross?” Touya inquires curiously. “I am Sakamoto Touya, the host.”
Mike blinks at Rachel, silently wondering if she told Touya about him, but nods. “Er, do I know you?”
Touya shakes his head. “No, sir, but your table is ready. Please come with me.”
Rachel and Mike exchange another glance, then follow Touya past several waiters to a long marble table that's half empty, a chef at the forefront chopping vegetables with knives. They hear claps and laughter as they get closer. Touya excuses himself back to the entrance of the restaurant.
“It's often custom to share your table with strangers,” Rachel whispers into Mike's ear. “It builds amicability.” However, even she can't suppress a gasp when the man sitting at their new table turns and smirks up at them.
“About time, rookie,” Harvey says, refined as ever. His hair is sleek and dark under the gilded glow of the light above, which seem to dance over him on purpose, displaying how perfectly his suit sits on his recumbent body. It sends a punch of self-consciousness through Mike's gut, but he dredges up a smile, anyway.
The red-headed woman beside Harvey, vaguely familiar, does as well. On her pretty, heart-shaped face, the expression is considerably less genial. “Oh, your associate is here,” she says, words dripping with disdain. “Nice to see you, Marvin.”
“It's Mike,” Mike mumbles.
Rachel pats him on the arm, then asks, “Not that it isn't nice to see you, but what are you doing here, Mr. Specter?” with a condescending lift of her eyebrow that Harvey would be proud of, were it not directed at him.
“Yeah, Harvey,” Mike punctuates, because dammit, he wants to know, too.
Harvey shrugs, suspiciously insouciant, sable eyes shiny with mirth. “Donna said you and the paralegal would be here. I've been meaning to visit myself, so I thought we'd double date,” he explains, before indicating his date. “This is Sera Saddle. You remember her, from the other night?”
Mike nods and says, “Of course. Who could forget that night?” through tight lips. He and Rachel take a seat across Harvey, who leans forward and ducks his head near Mike's, blind to how the chef has borne a blue bonfire at the head of the table, which licks heat toward them and causes the women to coo.
“I haven't forgotten,” Harvey murmurs. Mike hurriedly unlocks their gazes and stares into the fire. The smell of food sizzling is more pungent now and, although Mike told Rachel he wouldn't like the menu, he admits to himself that it's a likeable aroma, especially when he immerses himself in it completely, when he uses it to avoid Harvey's flirting.
The chef places slabs of fish on four dishes, along with bowls of steaming noodles, chopsticks and rolls of sushi. He slides each dish over to his patrons. “Arigatō,” Rachel says, while everyone else thanks him in English or with a crisp gesture.
Mike sags into his seat with relief when a few minutes pass, filled with nothing but silence and the click of wood, as they all start to dine. He pops what looks most like the California rolls he's familiar with in his mouth, then readily moans. Everyone looks at him and he colors.
Rachel riffs her eyes to Harvey, then back to Mike. She emits an exasperated noise and raises her chopsticks, plucking a piece of seaweed off his cheek with them. “You are a messy eater, Mike Ross,” she complains, ignoring the cough Harvey releases. “This stuff is clinging to you.”
Before Mike knows what's happening, she's leaning into his space and kissing him. It's chaste. His jaw has dropped, but her mouth remains shut, her lips firm and warm. The faint, spicy taste of wasabi transfers between them and he feels her thumb rub the last bit of seaweed from his face.
Harvey clears his throat again. It sounds more like a growl. “Wouldn't you children prefer a private room?” he snaps. Mike pulls his head away from Rachel's so fast, he fears he has whiplash.
“It's okay,” Sera comments. She's been so quiet up until now that Mike had almost forgotten her presence. “They're young and in love, Harvey. Let Marvin have his fun.”
Harvey begins to respond and Rachel is straightening the piles of curls on her head in preparation to do the same, but Mike cuts both of them off by slamming his hands down on the table. Even the chef stares at him.
“It's Mike,” he grits out between his teeth, “and I hope you all had your fun fucking with me. See you at work.” Both of his coworkers shout after him, but he doesn't hesitate. Sera just seems confused.
It doesn't help when Harvey stands up, too, ready to abandon her, but Rachel grabs the man by the wrist when he's within reach of her and says, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt him.”
Although her brown eyes are huge and genuine, Harvey attempts to shake her off. “Let go,” he demands with a sneer.
“The only thing I wanted,” Rachel continues, the mask of regret on her face hardening to stone, “was for you to admit, even to yourself, that you wanted him, that he deserved better from you, the great Harvey Specter or not.”
That freezes Harvey mid-step. “W-what?” he breathes.
“Just...go get him. Right now.” Rachel releases him and makes a shooing motion. “Tell him I'm sorry. I was only trying to help.”
Harvey swallows and his throat burns from more than rice wine. He manages a nod and mutters a goodbye to his date, then waits no longer to follow after Mike. Rachel falls back into her seat and sighs. Sera frowns at her.
“What just happened?” the woman inquires.
“Men are even stupider when they're in love,” Rachel replies. “Sorry about that,” she appends, at the utterly lost blink Sera shoots her. Rachel feels bad that the woman wandered into the path of the train that is Harvey Specter without realizing it. “If you want, we can forget about those idiots, enjoy our dinner and hit a club with Touya, the host? He owns one of those, too.”
It takes a minute for Sera to absorb everything, but she nods and mutters, “I need a harder drink than anything they have here.” Rachel raises a glass of sake in assent.
-
Mike is standing at the curb, his arms around himself, once Harvey gets outside. He must have taken a cab and appears to be waiting for another. Harvey calling his name out doesn't halt the associate in the slightest.
“Mike, please,” Harvey says, upon stopping right behind the younger man, who still doesn't turn his way.
“What was this, Harvey?” Mike asks. His words mesh together, as if they're choking him. “Was it make a fool of Mike Ross night again?”
“No, Mike, of course not,” Harvey replies. He sets a hand on Mike's shoulder, but it gets shrugged off immediately.
“When you pull crap like this,” Mike seethes, “I almost can't like you, Harvey. I do, though, so freaking much, but I almost can't. I know I deserve better.”
“I know that, too,” Harvey persists. “I can be that.”
He stumbles back when Mike whips around and declares, “How? I don't want a sadistic master who spritzes me with water, Harvey; I want a boyfriend who won't be ashamed, who won't kick me to the curb in the morning, as if I'm garbage. I want someone who'll care when I tell him Grammy is doing better, who really wants me for me.”
“I do.” Harvey walks forward and touches him again, grip more gentle now, easier to shake off, but Mike doesn't move away. “I've never been a boyfriend before, but I really do want you, Mike, and I'm willing to try. I'm willing to be there when you need me.” He pauses, then adds with a wry smile, “Knowing me, I'll be amazing at it, like I am at everything.”
That shocks a puff of laughter out of Mike. “You're an ass,” he mumbles weakly.
“I'm amazing at that, too,” Harvey agrees, in a tone that's vastly different from the one he used whilst telling Mike to push till it hurt. It's less shark, more angelfish, a balm for the hurt Mike has harbored since that terrible morning after. “I am sorry, though, Mike, and so's your paralegal friend. Apparently, she was pushing for a revelation like this back there.”
Mike assesses Harvey's face for an excruciatingly long moment, but the man doesn't fidget, doesn't look away from him, doesn't take back his hand. Finally, Mike nods. “I guess I can be forgiving, at least this once.”
“To her or me?” Harvey urges. “Because, if you pick her on account of that admittedly formidable dress, I must confess to having a suit in the same color that brings out my eyes rather dashingly. I don't want to employ it, though; it simply wouldn't be fair.”
Mike forgoes answering to surge into Harvey's arms and kiss him. “You're still an ass,” he whispers against the older man's lips. “You're an ass who thinks he's funny when he's not, but...I guess I can forgive you, too.”
The strict disposition of Harvey's back relaxes. “Want to go back inside and get a private table?” he asks, thumbing toward Jigou Jitoku. He doesn't expect another kiss, nor the mischievous sparkle in Mike's blue eyes.
“Or,” the associate says with a Cheshire Cat grin, as a cab pulls up behind them, “we could go back to my place. It isn't far from here, you know?”
Harvey frowns from his armful of Mike to the waiting car. “You're being more forward than I thought,” he cautions.
Mike's grin widens till Harvey thinks his cheeks must hurt. “You already said you were my boyfriend-” Harvey doesn't mention that he only promised to try, because that would do nothing save ruin the moment, “-and you made out with me in a public street. So you can wine and dine me later, Harvey, but I'm a dude, not a chick, and I have a rigorous libido to satisfy.”
Harvey ponders over that, while the cabbie glowers impatiently. From what he remembers of their first night - first marathon, actually - that's true. “I do want to remember this time. Last time, I drank way too much,” he says.
“What we're doing tonight, old man, you won't need an eidetic memory to remember.” Mike leers and tugs him into the cab by his expensive silk tie. He avoids Harvey's scowl to tell the cabbie his address.
-
Neither of them are quite sure how they make it up Mike's stairs - curse his perpetually broken, crappy elevator - while still attached at the lips, but they do. Mike slams Harvey into his door and untangles his arms from around the man to scrounge for his keys, raising a fistful of jangling rings victoriously once he finds them.
He unlocks the door and they both hasten inside. Mike tosses his keys, wallet and jacket away, then hurdles back into Harvey's arms and starts on the buttons of the man's shirt. “Mike, Mike, Mike,” Harvey chastises, making a grab for his associate's flurrying hands. He keeps them cradled in his own. “Would you watch the tie, puppy? It's worth more than your entire wardrobe.”
“But, Harvey,” Mike whines, a pout on his lips.
Harvey lowers his head and whispers, “Shh,” against the brooding protrusion of Mike's mouth. “Let me handle this. Where's your room?”
Mike shudders involuntarily at the gruff tone, but nods his head toward a small hallway path. “T-through there.”
“Good,” Harvey murmurs, “because, now that I'm - now that we're together-” This earns him a smile, despite the fumble, “-you have to let me take care of you. The dirty couch sex can come later, but on mine, because it's more sturdy. For now...”
“For now?” Mike breathes. Harvey merely smirks and allows their joined hands to dangle, a bridge between their bodies. He uses his hold to lead Mike, backwards, into his bedroom. Mike is inwardly jealous of how Harvey bumps into nothing along the way, poised as ever, but the flutter in his heart is stronger than the green-eyed monster's maw. Harvey directs him to his tiny bed and he plops onto it, unexpectedly boneless, eyes tracking his boss to a chair by the exit.
There, Harvey undoes his his cufflinks, jacket, shirt, vest and pants, each of which he folds meticulously; his tie remains. “Why don't you undress?” he inquires. The smug suggestion forces Mike to stop drinking up every inch of exposed skin and he consents to his new task with a nod, fingers at the knot of his own tie. When both of their clothes are gone, Harvey stoops in front of him. He brushes his palms against Mike's ticklish inner thighs, but clasps his wrists again, stroking Mike's veins with his thumbs.
“Harvey,” the younger man sighs, eyelids shut. Harvey's touch is tender enough to make his most tense muscles unwind. Mike returns to awareness and gasps, however, once he feels silk replace skin. Harvey's tie is looped around his wrists, while its owner grins. “W-what are you...?”
“Just showing you what a real tie should feel like,” Harvey says. “It doesn't hurt, does it?” he continues, the furrow of his forehead more sober, despite his fixed smirk. Mike shakes his head and Harvey smiles wider. He kisses the expression onto Mike's knee, then unfurls his body to an upright position. “I assume you keep what you need in one of those bedside drawers?”
“You'd assume right,” Mike answers cheekily, having regained his composure a bit. He's mostly curious now, blue eyes riveted to his boss' every move. Harvey is self-aware and realizes that, so he kneels, braced like a ballerina on stage, in front of the drawer Mike specified. From it, Harvey extracts a half-filled bottle of baby-oil that, his initial scorn aside, slicks his fingers up, goes from cool to warm straightaway. He returns to his place between Mike's legs.
“Let me take care of you,” he says again, tapping a wet fingertip to Mike's knee. “Trust me, I'll make it good.”
“I do trust you,” Mike whispers. The words wedge in his throat - whether because of the delicate fan of Harvey's chuckling breath against his skin, or the way Harvey starts to roll his balls in one hand, he's not quit sure. Harvey kneads and Mike throws his head back. Soon, his cock is covered from root to crown, the tip of one manicured nail scratching lightly at his slit. Pre-come mixes with oil and Mike's fingers jerk, desperate for something to grip.
His silent wish is granted when Harvey lowers his head to swallow Mike's cock whole. The older lawyer burrows his nose in Mike's abdomen, in an airy trail of fair hair, and Mike lets his hands drop onto coiffed brown locks in return, marveling yet again at how soft they are. Harvey interchangeably sucks in his cheeks, greedily catches what fluid escapes with his tongue, and fondles Mike's sensitized scrotum. Mike's gulps in a sharp breath. His fingers clinch harder in Harvey's hair and his cock swells within the man's full lips. With a last grunt, he orgasms.
Harvey pulls back, mouth shiny, and says, “Turn around.” Mike scrabbles to do so, then pants in relief when Harvey climbs after him and undoes his binds carefully. “Not done yet,” he promises into Mike's shoulder.
Upon running his hands down each ridge of Mike's spine, Harvey relocates his yet oiled hands to his associate's ass, where he traces a fingertip around Mike's puckered hole. The first two fingers enter together and Mike contracts around them, then spasms open again, mimicking the motion of Harvey scissoring. A third soon follows. They push in and out. Mike grinds back against them and Harvey groans.
He draws out the appendages, drapes himself over Mike's body, and levels the head of his own engorged cock into the younger man's entrance. A hand reaches around Mike's hip to hold him, to palm him from the base of his balls to the head of his cock. Harvey thrusts in. Mike is all satin heat, even after the foreplay, and Harvey is still for a moment, mere seconds, but can't help pounding in. The bed-springs creak. Harvey pulls halfway out and angles another stab in. He hits a particular bundle of nerves, Mike's prostate, and they both keen at the sensation. Mike's clenched ass milks Harvey continuously.
All too soon, Harvey spurts inside Mike. He squeezes his associate's cock in tandem with each pulsation of his own. Mike whimpers and makes a mess of the sheets. They fall into a sticky pile of limbs together. Harvey rearranges them so he's curled around Mike, flips a blanket over them both, and gets a sleepy smile in return. It's a good enough reward that he doesn't even care about staying in a dump for the night.
This doesn't, of course, mean that he won't seduce Mike into moving in with him someday. Just not right now.
-
Rachel sidles to Donna's desk the next morning, once again dressed primly in her white blouse and black skirt. Donna smiles up at her, away from the small book she's flipping through, once the younger woman is near. “How'd it go last night?” she inquires.
“Mikey-boy texted me at four a.m. Thanks, it said, so I'd say pretty good.” Rachel and Donna high-five. “By the way,” Rachel adds, “your boss owes me big time. I was babysitting his date till the wee hours.”
Donna laughs and shakes her head. “When that man has something in his sights, everything else takes second point,” she says affectionately.
“Like I said, a total dick,” Rachel deadpans. “He'd better watch it around Mike, though. I took self-defense for years and will hand his smug ass to him if he screws with that boy one more time.”
Although Donna gives the paralegal one of her infamous looks, the groove of her lips is still triumphant. “Take a seat, Cynthia Rockworth,” she replies, while foraging through a drawer. Out of it, she extracts one of Harvey's most treasured bottles of wine and two glasses, soon filled to the brim with crimson liquid. “To celebrate.”
Rachel crows in delight and they clink their glasses together. That's the moment Jessica chooses to walk in. She looks between them, the alcohol and the book Donna continues to scrawl inside, then asks, “Where's Harvey?”
“He and Mike are taking a late day,” Donna informs her, the crane of one eyebrow challenging.
Jessica stares at her for a second. Rachel fidgets in her seat. Donna writes. Eventually, however, the senior partner says, “About time. Good work, Donna, Rachel.” With that, she exits.
“Harvey is so giving me a raise,” Donna says, because Rachel hasn't stopped gaping. “I'm sure Jessica won't be averse to giving you one, as well.”
Rachel regains her aplomb and asks, “What are you doing, huh?”
“Playing with Harvey's planner. He will propose to Mike in a year and a half,” Donna answers, smirking. “That sounds feasible, doesn't it? They need to make good use of New York's new gay marriage laws. He'll be meeting Mike's grandmother immediately, though, to get her blessing. Lovely woman.”
Rachel ruminates on this new information over a long sip of wine, but nods. “Sounds good to me. I'll need about as long to plan the menu for Mike's bachelorette's party, anyway. He's the pickiest boy I've ever met.”
“Amen, sister,” Donna says. They tap their glasses together again and decline into a fit of giggles. Operation Hike is a resounding success.
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The End!
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A/N: Thanks to everyone who stuck with me on this, here or on the original suits_exchange post. It means so much to me that it was enjoyed, particularly because arineat wrote me a beautiful masterpiece, We Go Together Like Silk and Polyester, and how much would I suck if I didn't bring someone else half as much joy? Go back to part one here.