fic: I Love College
Title: I Love College
Pairing: Harvey/Mike
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The following story is a work of fiction, all characters mentioned belong to USA Network.
Summary: He had control. He was the King of Control. Capital K. Capital C. And sleeping with his roommate/friend entitled him to tons of Control. College AU.
AN: This is really lazily edited, so I'm sorry for any mistakes. I'm also kind of sorry about my lame attempt at humor. Excuse me.
(Yes I did title this after the Asher Roth song of the same name.)
Harvey Specter wasn't prone to bouts of self-loathing. In fact, most of the time he couldn't even acknowledge that he had faults (or, in his own words, "What faults?") at all. But there were times, yes, when he definitely felt inadequate in the smarts department.
Especially since his roommate was Mike Ross, computer-brain extraordinaire, the man who studied for all of an hour and then remembered everything. The man who was so good at taking tests that he didn't even have to show up for the lectures in order to receive an A in the class.
So Harvey felt he was justified in staying in every once in a while to drown his sorrows in grade A (no pun intended) hops. And if Mike wanted to go out and party and possibly suck some drunk guy's dick, it wasn't his problem.
Definitely not his problem.
At all.
Except, of course, when his mind actually lingered on the image of Mike sucking some drunk guy's dick, in which case it was definitely his problem.
In more ways than one.
Mike was attractive, sure, Harvey wasn't blind. And even though Harvey had slept around plenty, thank you very much, something about the thought of sleeping with Mike had his head spinning.
And it wasn't necessarily all of the alcohol's fault, either.
Fucking Mike; that was definitely something that Harvey wanted. He could already feel the beer sneaking through his veins and pounding in his cock at the thought of it.
Could already feel himself sinking into the stark heat of Mike's ass as the other man moaned against the bedspread, back arched and legs trembling.
Could already whimper himself, but lowly, and only in his mind, because he was Harvey Specter, dammit, best fucker in all of Harvard, and he'd be damned if he'd ruin his sterling reputation of 'controller of all things' for one brilliant, arrogant man, no matter how much he wanted to run his tongue along--
"Harvey, man. That was the pinnacle of perfection!" The voice of the man who was causing all of his internal battles drawled-- slurred, really-- as he walked unsteadily towards his own bed. He flopped down onto it with all of the grace of a flailing ostrich and sighed contentedly. Drunkenly.
"That was a nice use of alliteration, Mike. I'm glad you're becoming so eloquent in your trashed state." Harvey pushed the textbook he was currently outlining aside and grabbed his beer. His lovely beer. The beer that was being a traitor at the moment. Because it was most certainly not his own brain flashing images of a panting Mike through his head. He wasn't that creative.
"Someone has an attitude tonight." Mike remarked, pushing himself up onto his elbows so that he could glare unseeingly at Harvey's shape. He wasn't that drunk, really. He had only had a couple of beers.
And maybe two or three...or five shots. And wow what was that feeling in his gut he got from watching Harvey's adam's apple bob up and down as he takes a long swig of beer? That was new. Probably the tequila.
"I am so drunk, Harvey." Mike said, laughing, although he wasn't exactly sure why. Oh yeah, because he was trashed. Okay.
"Really? I hadn't noticed." Harvey replied, but he had a smile playing at his lips and so Mike didn't feel the need to reply.
For a while they sat in silence, both used to the sound of the other's breathing enough to not concern themselves with thoughts of whatever.
But then--
"I think we should have sex!" Mike exclaimed suddenly, shooting up (and then wincing because oh man all of the blood that was in his head had suddenly disappeared to other extremities, and it made 'shooting up' pretty uncomfortable) into a sitting position.
Harvey gave himself a mental pat on the back for not completely choking on the liquid that had been sliding down his throat.
"You're drunk." He said calmly, slowly, because all of the blood that he had had in his head just two seconds ago suddenly fled and decided to take residence in a much lower area, and that was really distracting him from forming coherent thoughts.
Mike frowned a little and scrubbed his face with both of his hands, and then he said, "Yes, I thought we had already established that." Except it came out more like, "Yes, I thought we had already estabal- establesh- estabalabalis-" and Harvey had to say "Established." and Mike had to nod his head vigorously and reply, with a huge, off-kilter grin, "That! Yeah! I thought we had already done that."
And then Harvey had said fuck everything (internally) and walked over to where Mike was and smashed their lips together. He had control. He was the King of Control. Capital K. Capital C. And sleeping with his roommate/friend entitled him to tons of Control. Tons of it. So much of it that he said fuck Control (out loud) and pushed Mike's chest until they were thigh to thigh and chest to chest on the bed, and he could feel the hammering of Mike's heart through his shirt.
Mike moaned into Harvey's mouth and canted his hips, and somehow, in a show of time that only drunkenness could provide, suddenly their clothes were off and they were pressing into each other, skin against skin, and the sounds that filled the air (mewling kinds of sounds, like a little kitten, but more manly) were absolutely not coming out of Harvey's mouth.
But then Mike had his hands wrapped around both of their cocks, and he was pumping them, and that was pre-cum, wasn't it, and yeah, the sounds were absolutely coming from Harvey's mouth.
And then Mike was coming, and his mouth was opened against the skin of Harvey's neck, and Harvey could feel him pulsing and hot and writhing underneath him, and he could last a lot longer, alright, he had done so many times before, but something about the fact that his body was pressed tight against Mike's own had him coming hard too. And there was no shame in that.
The only sound that filled the air after that was the harsh gasping of breath (mostly from Mike; gasping wasn't exactly Harvey's style). And then Harvey rolled off of the other man and onto his back, and the sheets stuck to his body with sweat, but it was mostly pleasant. Especially when Mike turned on his side and basically flung all of his limbs into every crevice he could find on Harvey's body.
"I am so drunk, Harvey." Mike mumbled, drifting into sleep, and Harvey rolled his eyes and sighed deeply.
Yup. He was the King of Control.
Which is why in the morning, when they woke up pressed together, and Mike had gotten that look on his face, Harvey took Control by it's smug little horns and reined it in enough for them to have a delayed round numero dos.
"Not drunk now, are you?" Harvey asked afterwards, panting (panting was okay; panting could become his style).
"God, no," Mike answered, wiping at the cum splattered along Harvey's torso, "But I am hungover as fuck." And then he rolled over and proceeded to fall asleep again.
And Harvey, remembering that he had to go to class in an hour, positioned himself so that he could feel every breath filling Mike's lungs against his chest and proceeded to fall asleep again too.
He could get Mike to take the test for him, he mused, now that there was an established reward set.
Pairing: Harvey/Mike
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The following story is a work of fiction, all characters mentioned belong to USA Network.
Summary: He had control. He was the King of Control. Capital K. Capital C. And sleeping with his roommate/friend entitled him to tons of Control. College AU.
AN: This is really lazily edited, so I'm sorry for any mistakes. I'm also kind of sorry about my lame attempt at humor. Excuse me.
(Yes I did title this after the Asher Roth song of the same name.)
Harvey Specter wasn't prone to bouts of self-loathing. In fact, most of the time he couldn't even acknowledge that he had faults (or, in his own words, "What faults?") at all. But there were times, yes, when he definitely felt inadequate in the smarts department.
Especially since his roommate was Mike Ross, computer-brain extraordinaire, the man who studied for all of an hour and then remembered everything. The man who was so good at taking tests that he didn't even have to show up for the lectures in order to receive an A in the class.
So Harvey felt he was justified in staying in every once in a while to drown his sorrows in grade A (no pun intended) hops. And if Mike wanted to go out and party and possibly suck some drunk guy's dick, it wasn't his problem.
Definitely not his problem.
At all.
Except, of course, when his mind actually lingered on the image of Mike sucking some drunk guy's dick, in which case it was definitely his problem.
In more ways than one.
Mike was attractive, sure, Harvey wasn't blind. And even though Harvey had slept around plenty, thank you very much, something about the thought of sleeping with Mike had his head spinning.
And it wasn't necessarily all of the alcohol's fault, either.
Fucking Mike; that was definitely something that Harvey wanted. He could already feel the beer sneaking through his veins and pounding in his cock at the thought of it.
Could already feel himself sinking into the stark heat of Mike's ass as the other man moaned against the bedspread, back arched and legs trembling.
Could already whimper himself, but lowly, and only in his mind, because he was Harvey Specter, dammit, best fucker in all of Harvard, and he'd be damned if he'd ruin his sterling reputation of 'controller of all things' for one brilliant, arrogant man, no matter how much he wanted to run his tongue along--
"Harvey, man. That was the pinnacle of perfection!" The voice of the man who was causing all of his internal battles drawled-- slurred, really-- as he walked unsteadily towards his own bed. He flopped down onto it with all of the grace of a flailing ostrich and sighed contentedly. Drunkenly.
"That was a nice use of alliteration, Mike. I'm glad you're becoming so eloquent in your trashed state." Harvey pushed the textbook he was currently outlining aside and grabbed his beer. His lovely beer. The beer that was being a traitor at the moment. Because it was most certainly not his own brain flashing images of a panting Mike through his head. He wasn't that creative.
"Someone has an attitude tonight." Mike remarked, pushing himself up onto his elbows so that he could glare unseeingly at Harvey's shape. He wasn't that drunk, really. He had only had a couple of beers.
And maybe two or three...or five shots. And wow what was that feeling in his gut he got from watching Harvey's adam's apple bob up and down as he takes a long swig of beer? That was new. Probably the tequila.
"I am so drunk, Harvey." Mike said, laughing, although he wasn't exactly sure why. Oh yeah, because he was trashed. Okay.
"Really? I hadn't noticed." Harvey replied, but he had a smile playing at his lips and so Mike didn't feel the need to reply.
For a while they sat in silence, both used to the sound of the other's breathing enough to not concern themselves with thoughts of whatever.
But then--
"I think we should have sex!" Mike exclaimed suddenly, shooting up (and then wincing because oh man all of the blood that was in his head had suddenly disappeared to other extremities, and it made 'shooting up' pretty uncomfortable) into a sitting position.
Harvey gave himself a mental pat on the back for not completely choking on the liquid that had been sliding down his throat.
"You're drunk." He said calmly, slowly, because all of the blood that he had had in his head just two seconds ago suddenly fled and decided to take residence in a much lower area, and that was really distracting him from forming coherent thoughts.
Mike frowned a little and scrubbed his face with both of his hands, and then he said, "Yes, I thought we had already established that." Except it came out more like, "Yes, I thought we had already estabal- establesh- estabalabalis-" and Harvey had to say "Established." and Mike had to nod his head vigorously and reply, with a huge, off-kilter grin, "That! Yeah! I thought we had already done that."
And then Harvey had said fuck everything (internally) and walked over to where Mike was and smashed their lips together. He had control. He was the King of Control. Capital K. Capital C. And sleeping with his roommate/friend entitled him to tons of Control. Tons of it. So much of it that he said fuck Control (out loud) and pushed Mike's chest until they were thigh to thigh and chest to chest on the bed, and he could feel the hammering of Mike's heart through his shirt.
Mike moaned into Harvey's mouth and canted his hips, and somehow, in a show of time that only drunkenness could provide, suddenly their clothes were off and they were pressing into each other, skin against skin, and the sounds that filled the air (mewling kinds of sounds, like a little kitten, but more manly) were absolutely not coming out of Harvey's mouth.
But then Mike had his hands wrapped around both of their cocks, and he was pumping them, and that was pre-cum, wasn't it, and yeah, the sounds were absolutely coming from Harvey's mouth.
And then Mike was coming, and his mouth was opened against the skin of Harvey's neck, and Harvey could feel him pulsing and hot and writhing underneath him, and he could last a lot longer, alright, he had done so many times before, but something about the fact that his body was pressed tight against Mike's own had him coming hard too. And there was no shame in that.
The only sound that filled the air after that was the harsh gasping of breath (mostly from Mike; gasping wasn't exactly Harvey's style). And then Harvey rolled off of the other man and onto his back, and the sheets stuck to his body with sweat, but it was mostly pleasant. Especially when Mike turned on his side and basically flung all of his limbs into every crevice he could find on Harvey's body.
"I am so drunk, Harvey." Mike mumbled, drifting into sleep, and Harvey rolled his eyes and sighed deeply.
Yup. He was the King of Control.
Which is why in the morning, when they woke up pressed together, and Mike had gotten that look on his face, Harvey took Control by it's smug little horns and reined it in enough for them to have a delayed round numero dos.
"Not drunk now, are you?" Harvey asked afterwards, panting (panting was okay; panting could become his style).
"God, no," Mike answered, wiping at the cum splattered along Harvey's torso, "But I am hungover as fuck." And then he rolled over and proceeded to fall asleep again.
And Harvey, remembering that he had to go to class in an hour, positioned himself so that he could feel every breath filling Mike's lungs against his chest and proceeded to fall asleep again too.
He could get Mike to take the test for him, he mused, now that there was an established reward set.