fic: continental drift 1/2 (harvey/mike, pg-13, 12,464 words)
once upon a time you read fanfic that inspires you so much you want to write something just like it too. for me that fic was maja_li's sweet thang which you should go read right now if you haven't already. written in response to a prompt on suitsmeme: harvey and mike are dating. everyone realizes this except them. also this: harvey is really awkward at long-term relationships and mike is confused, but sort of in love with it. basically there is lots of confusion.
this fill spiralled out of control like all things in my life. the real summary is actually harvey and mike mismanage a relationship they didn't even know they were in. thank you to haydncal ♥ for looking this monster over (and for everything she's ever done for me sklfjkdj ilusm) and to furloughday for encouraging more ray (dude, i love ray). may contain spoilers for the last six episodes although a good chunk of this was written prior to the release of episode six. and um, lastly, lmao. i finally wrote suits!fic. booyeah.
Mike wanted to like Harvey, in part because he seemed like such a great guy. He was the kind of person Mike could see himself becoming in ten, maybe fifteen years' time, minus the ego and the personal limo and the elaborate pinstriped suits.
Harvey was successful, charming, undeniably stylish. The only flaw in his character was his overblown sense of self which wasn't so much annoying as it was distracting. It made it that much harder for people to notice his good qualities - and he had them, Mike knew, even though they were overshadowed by his arrogance and were kind of of the blink-and-you'll-miss-it sort - so people often looked at him and assumed, right off the bat, with the suit and the polished shoes and the neat slicked back hair, that he was an asshole through and through.
He wasn't.
The only thing Mike really disliked about Harvey, besides his taste in women, was his tendency to give him all the grunt work, which, okay, Mike could work around, but he needed at least four hours of sleep to reach a level of functionality.
The lack of sleep was probably one of the contributing factors to Mike's lapse of judgment, because eventually, about five months in, he went and had sex with Harvey, another one of those things he wanted to add to his growing list of “stuff never to do again at the workplace” next to hitting on Rachel on his first day and peeing in a cup for Louis.
It just sort of happened one day without preamble, Harvey looking at him a certain way with a curl in the corner of his lips and Mike giddy enough on Redbull to reciprocate the gesture. They were complete adults about it, of course - they used protection and shared a cold drink afterwards, watching the lights of cars blink up at them from fifty stories below while Harvey contemplated a cigarette and asked him about the foreclosure agreement he was supposed to be working on.
They made a tacit agreement not to kiss and tell, even under duress, and Mike, because he wanted to keep his job as associate, was sure as hell going to keep his mouth shut. Besides, it wasn’t something he could casually bring up during lunch with the guys. “Guess what, I just slept with Harvey Specter,” didn’t exactly make for a good conversation starter.
Sex didn't mean you had to get involved. It was just something you did to blow off steam, or to stave off boredom or, on occasion, assure yourself of your rapidly declining physical appeal. It didn't have to mean anything, which was why, a week later, when it happened again during one of those late nights at the firm, Mike sprawled underneath Harvey on the leather couch as Harvey bore down on him, Mike's hand curled around Harvey's bicep, Harvey’s mouth hot and wet on his neck, Mike decided to just go with the flow and fuck it.
Sex with Harvey Specter was, just like the constitution, unquestionable. Absolute. Requiring no explanation. You just rolled with it and were glad you had it at all.
=
Mike, on his days off, when he had any, liked to visit his grandmother in the morning to update her on his life. He spent the remaining afternoon sleeping in, or just vegging in front of the TV which he kept on while he went over paperwork, eating from tin cans or whatever flavor of soup he felt like microwaving.
He used to have pizza for dinner all the time, back when he’d lived with Trevor in this dingy little apartment in Brooklyn, before Trevor wound up with the wrong crowd and started dealing pot. Jenny used to come over and cook for both of them, saying they couldn’t eat pizza all the time or they’d die from heart problems or kidney stones, whichever won out first. And she wasn’t the best cook in the world, her beef casserole looking like an exotic Korean dish, but she tried, and that was the whole point of it, and Mike still had a bit of a crush on her that he didn’t mind when she periodically came over with a bowl of mushy brown rice.
Spending his day off at Harvey’s condo, though, was nothing short of awkward and embarrassing. He’d fallen asleep right after they’d done the dirty deed, flat on his stomach, his skin sticky with quickly drying sweat. Harvey was, predictably, nowhere to be seen when Mike went to check up on him in the kitchen, then the living room, which were both, unsurprisingly, bigger than his entire apartment and outfitted in gleaming formica and tasteful minimalist furniture.
Mike had a leisurely shower, sampling Harvey’s collection of men’s body wash before settling for the one that had the viscosity of shower gel. He rooted around Harvey’s fridge for something to eat, afterwards, rubbing his hair dry with a bath towel until it stood out in tufts, frizzy with static. Harvey’s fridge was stocked with bare essentials, eggs and cream cheese, some sort of healthy power shake that looked like humus, plus a few cans of beer.
Mike drank coffee in his underwear, scooping scrambled eggs into his mouth with a wad of toast. A backdated copy of the morning paper sat on Harvey’s breakfast table and Mike read it to pass the time, seating himself at the balcony where he had a good view of Central Park.
Mike tried picturing Harvey making breakfast in the morning, his hair not completely ensconced in hair gel, wearing the dark blue robe he’d seen hanging in the bathroom with the gold stitching on the sleeves. Last night, when Harvey had pushed him down on the bed, his hair fell forward into his face like an avalanche. And it was different, kind of strange, for Mike to see him like that, with his hair down, his lips parted, and his naked thigh pressed alongside Mike’s own naked thigh.
Mike liked the suit and tie well enough, the idea that Harvey was infallible, that he was New York’s best and finest closer, but he wasn’t sure he liked knowing Harvey had a life separate from the firm, from work, that he had a battery operated toothbrush and owned several pairs of black jockey shorts which he kept in the upper right drawer of his dressing mirror. It didn’t make any sense.
Mike finished his coffee and, with these thoughts in mind, went to look for his shoes.
=
“You’re here,” Mike said that afternoon when he opened the door. Harvey. Harvey in a vest and tie. He looked tired but otherwise he looked good, Mike thought. His hair gel was holding up. Mike wondered if he reapplied the stuff from time to time, in the bathroom or whenever no one was looking. Maybe he brought a tube of hair gel with him wherever he went.
“To what do I owe this honor?” Mike asked.
“Dinner,” Harvey said simply, pocketing his phone. “It’s Saturday.”
“Yes,” Mike said slowly, narrowing his eyes. “I’m aware of that. And it’s my day off, so, what are you doing here? At 7PM. When you should be…doing whatever it is you’re supposed to be doing at 7PM. Soliciting prostitutes, bullying cab drivers. You know, the usual.”
“Ha, ha, ha.” Harvey gave him a brief once over. “I don't know how you got so funny, so soon. Get dressed. We’re going out.”
“I am dressed.”
“Your shirt,” Harvey said. “It offends me on a personal level. Where we’re going you’re going to get some looks and I’d rather not have you hanging off my arm looking like that.”
“I’d rather not hang off your arm,” Mike told him pointedly. “And looking like what? A complete stunner? FYI, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but these jeans flaunt my natural curves.”
“The only curves you have right now are the ones in your brain,” Harvey said.
“Okay, I’m not sure if that was a slight jab at my intelligence but that didn’t even make any sense,” Mike pointed out but Harvey was already barreling into the room, carefully sidestepping the coffee table and eyeing the curtains in distaste, which, in Mike’s defense, were a gift from his grammy. She’d bought them from a flea market in Jersey, one of those huge annual events that she would frequent whenever she had the time.
“Well,” Harvey said, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, nothing,” Mike said and went to change his shirt.
“Do you have a sweater?” Harvey called out from the living room. “Because I’d rather you don’t wear one when I’m trying to advance you socially. No sweaters.”
“No sweaters,” Mike repeated. “Right.” He put on a blue button up shirt which looked indifferent enough to make it seem like he didn’t try at all.
Harvey looked up from his phone, his eyebrows raised in interest when Mike walked back into the room, stowing his wallet inside his back pocket.
“You look like a ten dollar gigolo. That’s the best you can do? Seriously? Are you not getting paid enough?”
“Hey, this shirt cost me fifty dollars,” Mike told him indignantly. “Which probably makes me, at the very least, a reasonably priced male escort.”
“Yeah, well. You might want to button up the collar or wear a blazer with that shirt.”
“All this just for one lousy dinner?” Mike asked, making a face. He smoothed out the wrinkles from his shirt.
“I booked us a table at Jean Gorge’s so this isn’t just one lousy dinner. Smart clothes make for easier digestion. And mostly, I just want you to look good. Because if you look good then I look good.”
“I always look good,” Mike reminded him.
“Not in that shirt. Go change. We still have time.”
“The things I do for free meals,” Mike said, sighing dramatically.
“I’m sure you’ve done worse before for a lot less,” Harvey said. “So it shouldn’t be a problem.”
=
“Wow,” Mike said after the five course dinner. He felt full like a stuffed turkey, his pants an inch too tight, his stomach bloated. “That was something. That was… it was interesting. My tastebuds are still whooping with joy. I like the kobe beef. I didn’t think beef could sing but that’s what it did. In my mouth. It was heavenly. Heavenly beef.”
Harvey, who looked amused, smiled surreptitiously and finished signing the check. He tipped the waiter discreetly, nodding his head at the maître d'. Mike lumbered after him inelegantly, mentally gauging his inebriation. They had red wine to go with the food and he wasn’t sure how much he had of it, but it was enough to get him walking with a definite wobble in his step and feeling a profound sense of exhaustion overcome him. The drive back was quiet, except for the low jazzy music Ray decided to put on for the ride. Louis Armstrong or something.
Harvey walked Mike back to his front door even though he didn’t have to, scooping up the keys from the floor when Mike dropped them in a fumble.
“Your face is red,” Harvey pointed out.
“Nah, I’m great, man,” Mike told him. “You’re great.” He jammed the key into the lock in the door. “We’re both great. Now what?”
“Now I leave,” Harvey said, checking his watch. “It’s late. I’ll see you tomorrow. Try not to drown in your own pool of vomit, okay? You still have that Spellman contract to go over.”
“What? No kiss tonight?” Mike called after him.
“No,” Harvey said. “I don’t want to give you the satisfaction.”
“Pfft,” Mike said eloquently. “Would have been nice to cap off the night. It’s common date etiquette. You take a guy out to dinner, you walk him back to his apartment, you give him some sort of reciprocal contact.”
“Reciprocal contact?” Harvey repeated. “What do you mean? Like a handjob? This is not a date.”
“Yeah, well,” Mike said, sniffing. He felt suddenly embarrassed. “Reciprocal contact includes but is not entirely limited to a handjob. You have to make certain allowances should the need arise.”
Harvey breathed out a laugh.
“You have a nice laugh,” Mike blurted, and this seemed like the right thing to say, despite the circumstances, because Harvey seemed to perk up, which was to say, he smiled, all teeth, and walked forward until he stood toe to toe with Mike.
“I don’t get that often,” Harvey told him, curling a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “But if comes up again, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks,” Mike said, not sure where the conversation was going. He heard something thump behind him and realized belatedly that it was the back of his head knocking gently against the wall. Harvey had surged forward without warning, and now he was breathing down the side of Mike’s neck, his thumb circling Mike’s cheek, his knee dangerously close to Mike’s thigh, his smell ashy and musty like expensive cologne.
“Huh,” Mike said, right before Harvey kissed him. Here we go again, he thought, with wry amusement. He wrapped his hand around Harvey’s tie to yank him forward, lifting himself on his feet even though Harvey was just a couple of inches taller. Mike raised his chin a little, tipping his head back. Harvey braced himself against the wall, his arms right above Mike’s ears, his nose squashing the side of Mike’s cheek. Mike felt the rasp of his stubble and laughed softly.
“So do you want to come in or…?” Mike trailed off when Harvey had the good grace to pull away.
“Didn’t think you’d be so easy,” Harvey told him. “Are you always this classy or do you always put out on the first date?”
Something in Mike’s stomach lurched and he knew it wasn’t the wine. Or the beef. Or even a combination of both.
“That depends on a number of factors,” Mike answered smoothly. “I had a good time so I figured I’d invite you in. For more good times.”
=
Mike wasn’t sure how some people could go around sleeping with their bosses. Obviously, he went around sleeping with his boss, but he saw it as a kind of extracurricular learn-by-doing thing, unpaid overtime he could profit from, in a way. Harvey was always telling him to sit back and watch, pay attention to what the pros were doing so that he might one day be able to at least mimic them. That was what Mike was doing, essentially, sitting back and watching events unfold. He was curious to see where this would take him.
The sex didn’t seem detrimental to their work relationship because they both had the right attitude about it, so it was fine. Or at least it should be fine, Mike thought. Neither of them had the tendency to get attached.
“You bit me in the ear,” Harvey complained the next morning, buttoning up his shirt which was miserably wrinkled. “Do I need to get myself checked for rabies?”
Mike, who lay on his stomach, chucked a pillow at him, missing Harvey’s head by a wild margin. “You’re leaving?” He checked the time. “It’s five in the morning. You actually have somewhere else to be at this hour?”
“I need to shower and get ready for work and feed my cat before it starts eating the carpet. I’m a busy man,” Harvey said.
“You don’t have a cat,” Mike told him.
“That was sarcasm,” Harvey explained. “In case you missed it.”
“I missed it,” Mike said.
Harvey stood and folded his jacket over his arm. His hair was limp, falling around his temples when he ran a hand to push it back up. Mike wondered how many people got to see him like this, ruffled, without an actual tie on. Jessica, probably. Donna.
“Wait,” Mike said before Harvey got to the door.
“What?” Harvey raised his eyes. He’d missed the topmost button at his throat. It was kind of a sight to see.
“Nothing,” Mike said after a beat, shaking his head and huffing out a laugh. He felt stupid, like a little kid, like when his grammy used to leave him half-asleep on the couch on the nights she had to go to work and Mike didn’t want to be left alone with the babysitter, the next door neighbor Tammy who used to have these huge braces and wore sweaters that made Mike itch all over.
Mike lifted his hand in a halfhearted wave. “See you later,” he said.
Harvey gave him a funny look but nodded anyway. “See you.”
When the door closed, Mike slumped against the headboard. He set his alarm for 6:45, then went back to sleep, willing his headache to go away.
=
It would pass, Mike knew, because all phases passed and even sleeping with Harvey, which counted as a phase, had an expiration date.
They didn’t talk about it in the morning, or even during the brief window of time they had in between meetings or scheduled court dates.
It never came up. The sex just happened, like a hurricane. Unpredictable and swift. All you could do was sit back and watch, wonder when it was going to strike next. You braced yourself for the next blow, made reparations and plans to build stronger fortifications, ones that could withstand a mighty impact but it came again and demolished everything like nothing you could have ever prepared for. Yeah, sex with Harvey was mind-blowing but it also kept Mike on his toes.
Jesus, Mike thought. As if keeping up the charade wasn’t hard enough, he had to worry about keeping appearances too.
=
Ray came to pick him up from his apartment a few days later.
It should've been Mike's first clue, his tip off that his entire day would not go as planned. Mike lived in Brooklyn, in a part of town where there were more liberal ideas than coffee shops and bookstores. A limo parked across the street stood out like a tomato in a cabbage patch
“Hey,” Mike said, confused, when Ray greeted him at the door. He rang from the vestibule and Mike let him in just when he was about to dress for work, the TV turned on to early morning news. Ray went up a few minutes later, waiting patiently by the door until Mike had finished putting his pants on.
“Am I late?” Mike asked. “It's only 6:50.” He checked his watch just to be sure.
“You're not late,” Ray said, laughing. He had such an honest, open laugh, the kind that clued you in on the kind of person he was, the kind that made you think, man, I want to have a couple of beers with his guy. “Harvey sent me.”
“Yeah, I figured,” Mike said. “Do you want to come in for like, coffee or something?” He stepped out of the way and gestured to the tiny kitchen behind him.
The apartment needed cleaning, Mike realized, what with all the stuff heaped to one side on the coffee table and the dishes left piling in the sink, but with the crazy work hours, Mike just couldn’t find the time.
Ray smiled, leaning forward with his hands clasped behind his back. He was such a classy guy, Mike thought, but in a way different from Harvey who was all about the status quo. Ray's classiness was more accessible, friendly.
“You know what Mike,” Ray said, doing that subtle lean-in thing he always did when he was imparting something clever, “I would love to have coffee with you, but I was under strict orders to pick you up for breakfast. Think you'll be ready in ten minutes?”
Mike shrugged and picked up his stuff from the couch. “I’m ready now,” he said, shrugging. “I can just dress on the way, right? The limo has this little window thing that you can just close?”
Ray smiled again and shook his head like he thought Mike was crazy, which, Mike thought, he probably was considering he’d slept with Harvey a grand total of five times in the last month alone.
“Yes, sure,” Ray said. “You can dress on the way and I’ll keep the little window closed for your privacy.”
=
Harvey was waiting for him at this French place on Chelsea, empty except for the next table over where an old couple sat arguing about the lemon tart. The restaurant had ambient lighting.
Everything was made of smooth blonde wood and draped in red velvet.
“Hey,” Mike said, seating himself. He unshouldered his bag as a waiter bent down to pour him coffee and mumbled his thanks.
Harvey threw him a cursory look over his copy of The New York Times. “Where's your tie?”
Mike’s hands flew to his throat. “Huh.” Empty. No wonder he felt like something was missing.
“I might have left it at the apartment,” he said, feeling sheepish for a second. He made a face and unfurled a napkin in his lap. Sniffed. “The food looks good. Why did you have Ray pick me up?”
“Why do you think? We have business to discuss,” Harvey said. He didn’t put down the paper but he did spare Mike a minute of scrutiny. Mike remembered the same gaze, hooded with something dark and appreciative, two nights ago, Harvey’s eyes lowered to slits, his hand flat against Mike’s thigh, and felt a familiar shiver shoot up his spine.
Mike had a bite of the eggs. “I thought for a minute you just wanted to see me for breakfast,” he said around a mouthful of food. “I knew it was too good to be true.”
Harvey hummed, ignoring him as he moved on to the business section of the paper. “You have a bit of egg white on your cheek,” he said even without looking up. “And don't think you can just waltz into the office without a tie on. It’ll reflect badly on me. Sloppiness, like cancer, is a condition for which we don't have a cure.”
“That would make a great ad,” Mike said. “Y’know, for vodka or MRI machines.”
Harvey looked up from his reading and sipped his coffee. “You need a tie,” he said, gesturing with his hand to indicate Mike’s person.
“I can take a cab back to the apartment and just grab one if it bothers you so much. Or I can just use my belt as a substitute if we’re really pressed for time. Tighten it like a noose, you know? End my suffering.”
“Ideal,” Harvey said. “But no. I have a couple of ties in the office that I don’t use anymore. I can lend you one.”
“Thanks,” Mike said. He’d always wondered, in some vague part of his mind, where in his office Harvey kept a change of clothes. Did he have a walk in closet behind his record shelf that opened up when you flipped the right album? Harvey, Pearson Hardman’s Man of Mystery, Mike thought. He hadn’t been aware of his mumbling until Harvey leaned forward across the table, his face scrunched.
“I’m sorry, did you say something?”
Mike blinked at him and opened his mouth, shut it, blushed. “Nah, I was just. I. Nothing,” he said, polishing off the rest of his coffee, wincing as it seared his throat. “I said, thanks for the breakfast. It was nice.” It really was. There were scones and all kinds of jam, baked vanilla toast and this other dish which had been a weird combination of yogurt, pancake and orange rinds.
Mike had a few bites of each. The combination of flavors gave him a good headache.
Harvey, when Mike glanced up from his plate, looked evidently pleased with himself. “Well,” he said, crumpling his napkin on the table top and leaning back in his seat. He steepled his fingers in front of his face.
“Now that breakfast is finished, how about we talk business?”
=
“Thanks for the tie,” Mike said later, rolling his shoulders, loosening the knot. Harvey batted Mike’s hand away from his collar, adjusting the tie a few more times until Mike felt like he could actually move his head around without experiencing any discomfort.
“A well-tied tie is the first serious step in life,” Harvey said, smoothing down the silk with his fingers.
“What’s the second step in life?”
Harvey shot him a look.
“I was kidding. I read Wilde back in high school,” Mike laughed but Harvey didn’t laugh back and just sent him on his way.
Donna, behind her desk, took one good look at Mike and blinked, raising a perfectly curved eyebrow.
=
“You look happy,” Greg observed that afternoon, leaning over Mike’s cubicle, a folder of briefs in his right hand. He looked suspicious.
Mike bit his tongue. “I’m surprised you even noticed Greg, seeing as we hardly even speak to each other anymore.” He hit save on his word document and glanced up at Greg.
“Yeah, it’s this certain aura you emit.” Greg told him, frowning.
“Okay,” Mike said slowly. “I’m not sure where this leaves us but. Okay. An aura. Maybe I am happy. What then?”
“I’m not sure I like it,” Greg said then left promptly, leaving Mike to stare at his retreating back. Mike asked Rachel about it later on in the lounge, stirring his lukewarm coffee with a bread stick as he highlighted sections of the Heindenrech-Cole contract on one of the stuffed armchairs.
“Rachel, do I have an aura?”
Rachel did a double take. “Is this in any way work related?” she asked, squinting at him. “Or is this coming from a genuine place?” She crunched into a sugar cookie and smiled. “If you really want to know, Mike, it’s one of pain and suffering. Very dark and wraith-like. Why do you ask?”
“Greg says I emit an aura.”
“Well, doesn’t everybody?”
Mike shrugged. “I never really noticed before.” He made a face and put down his coffee. “Do I seem happy to you?”
Rachel just laughed which wasn’t very helpful at all. “Go back to work, Mike,” she said, patting him on the head on her way out.
Mike craned his neck at her, lolling his head against the back of his seat. “Hey, you’re not my boss. You have no right to order me around like that.”
“Yeah, but I have my own office and you don’t,” she sang sweetly.
“Touché,” Mike said.
“Oh and by the way,” Rachel said, peering back into the room. “I like the tie. Very snazzy. ” She gave him a thumbs up.
He should have slept with her, Mike thought. He had to complicate things by picking Harvey of all people.
=
Mike went to visit his grandmother. She always had sound advice to give him and even when Mike didn’t have anything on his plate and just felt like popping in for a visit, it was kind of nice to see her from time to time, her familiar comforting face smiling down at him, making him feel like a little kid again.
“So, Michael,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. “So nice of you to drop by. I haven’t seen you in two weeks. I take it you’ve been busy with the new job?”
Mike felt himself blush. “Sorry grammy. Yeah, I don’t know. Stuff happened.”
“Stuff? Is this about your boss again? Because if you’re not here about Trevor, you’re here about what’s-his-name, that Harold Lipschitz fellow.”
“His name’s Harvey Specter, grammy,” Mike said, embarrassed. He slouched low in his seat and sighed, scrubbing a hand through his face. “Hey, I don’t only come to you when I’ve got problems, you know. Sometimes I just stop by to see how you’re doing too.”
She gave him an appraising look. “Let’s not kid ourselves, Michael. It’s okay to have a life, you know. Your world doesn’t always revolve around me.”
Mike frowned and thought hard about how to word himself. “I’ve done something very bad, grams.”
“Well, I can’t say I didn’t see this coming. Did you sleep with him, your boss?”
“What?”
She shrugged. “Every time you come in here, you’re always talking about how he’s giving you a hard time.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean anything, grammy. It’s normal to complain about your boss. A lot of people do it.”
“You complain about him all the time. And when I call you on your cell phone, you’re always with him. All I’m saying is, it’s a little suspect.” She raised her hands in defense.
“I work for him,” Mike explained. “It’s part of my job to spend time with him. And besides, I’m still not clear on whether I like him as a person outside work.” This was true. Harvey had principles. Mike was sure he had them but Harvey had yet to articulate what they were.
Mike’s grandmother shrugged again, sniffing, clearly not accepting this as a legitimate answer. “If it’s any comfort, you seem happy at least.” She reached across the table and patted him on the hand. “You have this bright glow surrounding you. This aura.”
“Those auras again,” Mike said and shook his head. “Really.”
=
Mike caught Harvey late one night when he was on his way home.
“I thought you’d already left,” Mike told him, surprised to see him on the fifth floor in front of the elevator. “Barry the security guard said you’d already left.”
Barry was this beefy guy on the ground floor who knew everybody including the janitorial staff. Sometimes, he let Mike in on some of the seedy stuff he knew about Mike’s fellow associates, who slept with whom, and who took the company stapler home and never returned it.
“Look, I don’t even know who that is,” Harvey said honestly, raising a hand. “I remembered I had to make an important phone call and realized I’d left my phone back in my office.”
Mike nodded. “Right,” he said, smiling. “Sure.”
They waited in front of the elevator, shoulder to shoulder. Mike adjusted the strap of his bag, tapped his foot, and wondered if Harvey had somewhere else to be. They hadn’t slept together in a week. And it wasn’t like Mike was waiting for another opportunity to have sex with him or anything, but if it happened, it happened. He wasn’t going to push it.
“You’re not going to believe this, but I think my grandmother thinks we’re going out,” Mike said before he could even stop himself. He figured, why not throw it out there, see how Harvey was going to react to that.
“You need to speak with her doctor,” Harvey said after a couple of seconds. “Something in her new meds is probably making her delusional.”
“I know right,” Mike said. “It’s just weird. She said I complained about you a lot, that’s how she knew.”
“You complain about me?”
“Every time,” Mike said. “Enough to drive her crazy.”
Harvey actually looked pleased. “I’m going to the Lincoln Center tonight. Tosca is playing.”
“Didn’t peg you as a fan of the opera,” Mike said.
“Actually, I’m not. Jessica is sending me to woo a client.”
Mike nodded. “Well,” he said, jerking upright when the chrome doors swished open with a ding. “Good luck with that.”
“Luck,” Harvey repeated as they climbed inside. He shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Like I would ever need luck. You insult me.”
=
“So how did it go?” Mike asked when Harvey swung by his apartment later that evening.
When Harvey said he was a couple of blocks away from Mike’s place, Mike didn’t think he meant around the corner, calling from Ray’s cellphone because his had died.
“How do you think? She was wooed,” Harvey said. He looked affronted Mike even had the nerve to ask. “So are you just going to stand there all night or are you going to invite me in?”
Mike weighed his options. The apartment was a complete dump, clothes in mountains on the floor and boxes of take out on the coffee table. Inviting Harvey inside meant one thing and Mike was too tired to do anything but fall asleep in front of the TV. He didn’t even feel like reviewing the briefs he took home with him, much less taking off Harvey’s.
“I require a password,” he said, finally, putting on a robotic voice. “Please.”
Harvey stared at him, conveying with one eyebrow raise the incredulity he felt. But he didn’t say anything, just leaned forward, shoving Mike gently on the shoulder so that he stumbled back a little before regaining his balance. Then Harvey slid his fingers up Mike’s chest in one smooth, slow movement, framing the side of his face before kissing his mouth quickly.
“Okay,” Mike decided, shivering as Harvey slipped a hand up his shirt. “Good enough.”
Harvey shut the door behind him and on the way to the bedroom, shucked off his shoes.
PART 2