fic: the daily grind (harvey/mike, nc-17, 2000 words)
for quodpersortem who left me for a week-long holiday at trois point. written in response to a prompt on suitsmeme: Mike sitting on the kitchen counter in Harvey's apartment with Harvey standing in between his legs as they kiss.
Sometimes, Mike thought, the best part about sleeping with Harvey and staying for the night was, not the sex, although that was always one of the good parts, but getting to raid his fridge the next morning.
You could learn a lot about a person by watching them eat, Mike’s grammy used to say to him. If the same were true about raiding their fridges then, well. Mike would have Harvey’s personality down pat.
Everything in his fridge, Harvey bought at Whole Foods. Nonfat yogurt, vitamin-enhanced eggs, fresh bottled fruit juice. It meant he was a health nut or at the very least body-conscious. Mike guessed the latter. The guy was a stallion in bed.
But then Harvey had the staple beer and week-old Chinese takeout that was just beginning to smell, which negated any prior purchases and meant he was a regular guy too, prone to lapses in judgment that accounted for the Risotto chips and Pickle-A-Pack Mike had found in his crisper drawer.
Mike got to observe Harvey’s breakfast habits firsthand the third time they slept together. He made the mistake of sleeping on Harvey’s sofa afterwards, too tired to haul himself out of Harvey’s condo and take a cab home, and still unsure whether exchanging bodily fluids with the guy granted him the rights to sleep in his bed. He didn’t want to overstep his boundaries.
Mike woke up the next morning to Harvey looking down at him sort of bemusedly, sipping coffee in his boxer shorts and a white Hanes t-shirt that was taut around his biceps. Harvey ended up making him breakfast (toast and eggs) which was a nice gesture, if a little awkward, after Mike had just pretty much let Harvey fuck him the night before six ways to Sunday, while Mike, in turn, ended up giving Harvey a blowjob before he left for work, also a nice and awkward gesture, if not more so.
Still, Mike looked forward to the morning after as much as he looked forward to the sex. (He was only invited over for two things, he had later discovered: 1) sex and 2.) work with a side of sex. Still, same end result.)
Harvey often slept like a log which gave Mike ample time to shove him off his shoulder, wash his face in the bathroom, piss, and walk around in Harvey’s living room, pretending like he owned the place.
It was great.
Mike wished he could do it naked but he didn’t want to risk Harvey catching him while he was at it.
Mike would never hear the end of it, he knew. Harvey was relentless. He’d teased Mike for a week when he’d overheard him calling his grandmother Babsie on the phone. “What are you, five years old?” Harvey had said, and Mike rolled his eyes, shook his head, and then turned on his heel. Babsie was a pet name for Barbara which was what Mike would call his grandmother he was feeling particularly affectionate.
Mike was flipping through Harvey’s record collection one morning when he heard some shuffling in the hall. Mike looked up just in time to see Harvey scratch his ass and then lumber into the kitchen. Mike followed him but not before putting on a Prince record. He didn’t listen to Prince, he was more of a Metallica guy, but whatever. Sometimes Prince was nice.
Harvey was making coffee.
Mike leaned against the kitchen counter on his elbows and watched him flip buttons on the espresso machine. Harvey was broad shouldered, defined by subtle muscles and long lean legs. Mike grinned when Harvey turned around and caught him ogling, one eyebrow raised as he lifted the mug of coffee to his lips.
Another thing about Harvey: he never seemed to have bedhead. Sure, his hair stuck up in tufts or sometimes, was flat on one side where he slept on it, but he seemed, strangely, still well put together despite the wrinkles on his cheek and the sparse curl of chest hair peeking out from the collar of his shirt.
“You’re still here,” Harvey said. He walked over to where Mike stood casually draped against the counter. Harvey stopped before he could crowd him, taking tiny sips of his coffee before putting it down and raising both eyebrows.
“What,” Mike said. Harvey shrugged. He had that gleam in his eyes that oftentimes made Mike feel simultaneously gleeful and silly. Like he could do anything and Harvey would let him get away with it.
Mike cupped Harvey’s waist tentatively. He pushed his foot forward on the floor so that it rested between Harvey’s feet, his knee brushing Harvey’s thigh, and was relieved when Harvey took it as permission to surge forward and kiss him. Harvey’s hand was on his face, the other curved around the small of his back. It traveled south pretty quickly and Mike laughed when Harvey rubbed up against him, slow circular cants of the hips that made Mike’s head feel cottony and his dick feel full.
Mike yelped when Harvey squeezed his ass.
Sometimes, Mike suspected Harvey did things just to get a rise out of him.
“Is that a roll of quarters in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” Mike asked, pulling away with a tremulous gasp. Harvey tasted like coffee. Mike touched the tip of his thumb to the corner of Harvey’s mouth and felt sheepish when Harvey caught his wrist, turned his hand over, and then kissed his palm.
Harvey was always doing stuff like that, teasing him, pulling away, yanking the rug from under Mike’s feet. He kept Mike on his toes constantly. On his knees too, Mike thought, and ignored the little leap in his stomach when Harvey slipped a hand inside his shirt and ran his fingers against Mike’s stomach.
“What do you think?” Harvey said.
Mike leaned in. “I don’t know,” he said, trying on his best sexy voice. “I, for some reason, was convinced that it was an aardvark.”
“An aardvark,” Harvey repeated, dropping his hand abruptly. He leveled Mike with a look. “Really.” Then he sniffed out a laugh, not the reaction Mike was vying for, but he liked it when he made Harvey laugh as it didn’t happen all that often at work, so he considered it a good sign.
The kissing devolved into heavy petting and Harvey had one hand shoved inside Mike’s underwear and circled around Mike’s cock before Mike grabbed him by the side of the neck and gasped, “C’mon, just fuck me already.”
The next thing Mike knew he was bracing himself against the counter, curling his toes on the floor as Harvey prepped him up with lube. He was real deliberate about it too, stretching Mike with his fingers until his knees quivered underneath him and he had to anchor himself on the counter with his elbows.
“Jesus,” Mike hissed, hating how he’d already sunk to whining. “Hurry it up.”
Harvey slid the condom on. The first push was always slow and perfunctory. Mike liked how Harvey, despite appearances but sometimes depending on his mood, often took his time when it came to sex. He was one of those people who liked to savor pleasure, a trait they both had in common because Mike’s favourite part about fucking was not the head rush of orgasm, but the steady, sweet burn of a cock up his ass, bullying its way through the tight ring of muscle.
Harvey grunted in his ear, his mouth wet and hot against Mike’s spine.
He pulled out after a few thrusts and then said, “Turn around, I want to see this,” and Mike obeyed unthinkingly, hooking his leg around Harvey’s hip when Harvey patted him on the thigh.
The angle was a little uncomfortable, but it wasn’t too bad and Mike thought he could maybe come from it. Harvey slipped a hand under Mike’s knee and pressed the head of his cock against Mike’s entrance, sighing between his teeth when Mike pushed back against his hips.
Harvey fucked him like that, Mike leaning back on his elbows and grinding down Harvey’s cock, moaning his approval as he watched tides of Harvey’s sweat roll down his chest.
Afterwards, Mike collapsed on the floor, wiping come off his stomach and vowing never to do that again. His legs felt funny. He began putting his underwear back on, still on the floor. Harvey was doing the same when Mike glanced up at him.
It was funny how they could just fuck and pretend nothing extraordinary happened, Mike thought. And okay, fine, maybe nothing extraordinary happened on Harvey’s end, but the sex was pretty mind blowing at least for Mike.
Mike held out his hands at Harvey. “Pick me up,” he said, pouting his lips a little to appeal to Harvey’s sympathy. “I can’t stand.”
“Naturally,” Harvey responded, but he pulled Mike to his feet and crowded him against the counter once more to keep him standing upright, his fingers rubbing Mike’s side.
Mike hoisted himself up on the counter, swinging his knees back and forth as Harvey leaned against him, between his legs, his fingertips light against Mike’s back. Mike felt incredibly fucked out and sexy, just sitting there and basking in the afterglow, kissing Harvey and pulling back, and then kissing him again until his face started to sweat, his legs folded across Harvey’s back.
He wondered what was for breakfast. “Hey,” Mike said suddenly, arms loose around Harvey’s shoulders. “Are you making breakfast? Because I really liked those eggs you made for me a couple weeks ago. The ones you put lemon juice in? Remember that?”
“You mean Eggs Benedict,” Harvey said, amused.
“Yeah, that. With the English muffins and the melted butter, and the-” He grinned when Harvey raised an eyebrow, daring him to continue.
Mike kissed him again, humming low in his throat. He made sure to run his thumb up the side of Harvey’s neck, because that was his weak spot and touching it often made him more likely to do Mike’s bidding.
Harvey sighed, true to form, and rolled his eyes when the kissing stopped. He didn’t look too happy, but when was he ever?
“Well?” Mike asked, a hopeful lilt in his voice that was meant to convey how awesome he thought Harvey was and perfect and could he please just do this one thing for him? Mike would really like some eggs right now. He was lacking some vitamin A.
Harvey let Mike go, grumping, as was the case when Mike was within his periphery. It was like Mike was the source of all his misery. His good mood switched off the moment Mike opened his mouth.
“You want me to make you breakfast?” Harvey said. “Make your own goddamned breakfast. You’re perfectly capable of making it yourself.” But he went anyway and rooted inside the fridge for some eggs and reached out for a mixing bowl from the topmost shelf.
Mike allowed himself a triumphant smile.
Totally my bitch, he thought with a little laugh, and lifted his arms like he was shooting an invisible basketball. Harvey turned around just in time to see this, Mike’s hands still in the air, and gave him a funny look, both eyebrows raised.
Mike felt all the blood congeal in his face. “I was just-” he began
“Not another word.”
“But I was-”
Harvey lifted a finger. He went back to washing his hands and Mike pressed his lips together, hanging his head in embarrassment. But he wasn’t too embarrassed not to ogle when Harvey crouched in front of the crisper drawer for some parsley, his boxers riding low, his shirt rucking up his back.
He had a nice back, Harvey, and an even nicer ass, Mike thought.
Mike stared openly, kicking his legs back and forth on the kitchen counter, grinning as Harvey bent even lower.
Sometimes, Mike thought, life was unbelievably good.