i put some new shoes on... (suits, d/h)
Title: i put some new shoes... (and everybody's smiling)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: still don't own anything.
Summary: i put some new shoes on and suddenly everything is right
prompt: Harvey and Donna get their nails did by onlywordsnow at donna_harvey and the epic fic-a-thon
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“I have to admit I think the Dorothy’s shoes shade really made your eyes just, sparkle,” she grins at him over the top of her magazine. He glares.
“No talking. Quiet time. Now please.” A small yet firm voice tells them from somewhere at his ankle.
Their eyes lock and she gives him that look she generally reserves for Louis when he’s bothering her with no form of reward. He settles back down sheepishly and leans his head back on the soft leather cushion.
“Who do you think is prettiest, Ariel or Mulan?” the voice is a touch softer this time and he sees her mouth popping open with a response and tosses a Kleenex at her to keep her quiet. She gives him a disgruntled look and tilts her chin in the air before disappearing behind the glossy pages again.
“Excuse me, am I the only one participating here?” it’s the way she slows as she approaches the second to last word, sounding out the vowels but with a confidence that replaces her insecurity with emphasis. He grins and shakes his head.
“My apologies,” he gets a nod that tells him he’s on his last chance or else he’s going to be walking around with feet that resemble a funfetti cupcake, “I think they are both equally pretty, and brave.” He smirks when he adds in the second adjective for effect. Prince Charming ain’t got nothing on Mr. Specter when he’s under pressure.
“That’s bull-“
“But Mulan has a dragon?” she holds the tiny tiny bright red brush in one hand as the other hangs in the air in a gesture so very much from her mother’s side of the family it’s almost painfully funny.
Donna schools her features and clears her throat. Harvey and his friend are drawn away from their intense stand-off and both raise a brow at her in question.
“You hate fish. And you,” she points a freshly polished sparkling blue finger at the stupefying nail technician “are copying what the guy from the band said.”
They both pout.
“What band?” he asks her but looks the little sprite in the eyes, hand held out for a final buffing of his pinkie finger. She’ll wear sweat pants to the office before he lays eyes on the “Photos” folder of her iPhone (which he bought for her) after this.
“You don’t know them; they’re like super famous now. And cute. And funny. Everyone loves them, and knows who they are. Well, like, everyone young, I guess….”
“We’re the same age.” He points at himself and the red head grinning saucily into her magazine, now resting on her lap so she can better survey the damage.
“I guess I’m just more culturally aware than you are.” She sing-songs at him, flicking her page with a flourish and winking at the little one with the now tiny tiny nail file in her clutches.
“Don’t even try.”
“What?” she’s innocence and smugness all at once and he can’t stand it, wants badly to get that grin off her face. The one he knows she pulls behind his back whenever he admits he’s wrong.
“Excuse me!”
They both duck their heads like bold children and he pouts while she examines her new nails.
“Thank you. Anyway. They are so famous and everyone knows them and they’re really really good-“
“Don’t say it. Don’t even think it.”
“Too late.” her voice swings up and down melodically again. She is loving this.
“-musicians.” She finishes and looks between the two of them, puzzled. “What?”
“I’m pretty sure really really good musicians don’t need hairstylists to sell records.” He huffs and folds his arms across his chest, giving the young girl a dubious look as she packs away all of her many glittering and neon coloured items.
“I’m pretty sure the best closer in New York City doesn’t need “Pretty in Pink” toenail polish, but what would I know? Oh wait that’s right, I’m Donna, everything.” She deadpans as she rises from her position across from him against the coffee table to get the door.
Harvey can’t help but notice the eyes boring into his face and turns his attention away from the vision of the leggy red head stalking down the hallway of his condo to face the little brunette. She grins at him.
“What?” he asks, feeling oddly self-conscious under her gaze. She beckons him closer and they lean in. Foreheads almost touching as they whisper in hushed tones and conspire against the fairy godmother coming back into the room with pizza boxes (boxes, because they couldn’t all agree on a set of toppings, and he was the pickiest of the three).
Later, when the most intuitive god daughter he has yet to come across is fast asleep, head nestled between pillows and Donna’s side, legs stretched across both their laps as Sebastian warbles his way through his solo, he turns to her, studies her profile while the bright underwater colours dance in spiral around her face and grins.
“What?” she doesn’t let her eyes slip for a second to his.
He shifts closer and his words are a ghost against the corner of her lips, so close, but barely touching, refusing to on principle, “I lied, I was taking the easy way out because if both of you were angry at me my hair could possibly have been pink and that’s not an option.”
She “hmms” about a deposition on Monday and how it would clash with her in response, but she doesn’t move away.
“In my opinion-“
“Humble opinion.”
He rolls his eyes but doesn’t pull away when she turns to face him, lips millimetres apart, so close.
“In my humble opinion, even though I like the red head mermaid lady, it’s mostly because she resembles this incredibly awesome red head I work with, who is just as pretty and brave.”
Her smile is positively radiant, he knew it would be. She bites her lip and tries desperately not to choke on her laughter while they are so close to one another. “I’m going to start taking you to get your nails did more often, you’re hilarious company.”
She’s still smiling at him, even though he feels his chest tighten and deflate with every passing second as he moves to sink back into the couch.
“Harvey?” he turns to look at her then, and this time he doesn’t give her a chance to cut him off again, just kisses her.
It’s too short, not nearly long enough but it has the desired effect. She moans ever so softly against his mouth and it’s blissfully perfect and warm. He hasn’t felt such warmth in longer than he can remember. She tastes like mint chocolate chip ice-cream and sprinkles but with this quirk of something citrusy that is all Donna and all he can think about tasting every morning when he wakes up and every night before he falls asleep from now until he simply ceases existing due to a lack of her existing (they’re tangled up that way, it’s just fact now, they are a precedent).
“Thank you.” She whispers against his chin and they both smile, tips of their noses touching. She shifts slightly so she’s tucked against his side, head resting against his shoulder and arm draped over his middle as if they curl around one another like this every Saturday afternoon. It’s exactly how he thought it would feel, but his mind would never allow him to imagine the intense rush of lightness he feels. He doesn’t care. He cannot. He is just not capable of caring. ‘For anyone except for you,’ he sighs to himself and can’t help the smile from breaking out across his face. He will have the world walk all over his face until it is black and blue if he knows she will be willing to wait for him with the ice-pack and the sarcastic “poor baby” comment because she’s Donna on the other side.
He runs the fingers of his free hand achingly softly down her side, making her shiver and then sigh in what he believes to be a feeling of content, and through the little girls messy waves, she also gives a whisper of a sigh, which quickly morphs into a snore that he can’t describe in any other way than ‘cute’.
“Did you just get closed by Harvey Specter?” he can’t help himself. He can feel her eye roll and exasperated expression against his side.
“I didn’t want you to feel completely emasculated by this whole weekend experience.” She gestures to his shock of pink nails and to his feet propped up on his coffee table, impressionist daisies dancing in the breeze when he wiggles his toes.
“Harvey and Donna got their nails did,” the god daughter mumbles in her sleep before turning to curl closer into their shared warmth.
Donna reaches for the remote and presses mute as her eyes slip closed and she buries herself in closer to him, inhales that scent that makes her toes (puppy dog faces for her, that’ll be a riot to remove later) curl because it’s Harvey and they are finally here, and lets herself slip off into a well deserved nap.
“They sure did kid.” He cannot stop smiling.
=
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: still don't own anything.
Summary: i put some new shoes on and suddenly everything is right
prompt: Harvey and Donna get their nails did by onlywordsnow at donna_harvey and the epic fic-a-thon
=
“I have to admit I think the Dorothy’s shoes shade really made your eyes just, sparkle,” she grins at him over the top of her magazine. He glares.
“No talking. Quiet time. Now please.” A small yet firm voice tells them from somewhere at his ankle.
Their eyes lock and she gives him that look she generally reserves for Louis when he’s bothering her with no form of reward. He settles back down sheepishly and leans his head back on the soft leather cushion.
“Who do you think is prettiest, Ariel or Mulan?” the voice is a touch softer this time and he sees her mouth popping open with a response and tosses a Kleenex at her to keep her quiet. She gives him a disgruntled look and tilts her chin in the air before disappearing behind the glossy pages again.
“Excuse me, am I the only one participating here?” it’s the way she slows as she approaches the second to last word, sounding out the vowels but with a confidence that replaces her insecurity with emphasis. He grins and shakes his head.
“My apologies,” he gets a nod that tells him he’s on his last chance or else he’s going to be walking around with feet that resemble a funfetti cupcake, “I think they are both equally pretty, and brave.” He smirks when he adds in the second adjective for effect. Prince Charming ain’t got nothing on Mr. Specter when he’s under pressure.
“That’s bull-“
“But Mulan has a dragon?” she holds the tiny tiny bright red brush in one hand as the other hangs in the air in a gesture so very much from her mother’s side of the family it’s almost painfully funny.
Donna schools her features and clears her throat. Harvey and his friend are drawn away from their intense stand-off and both raise a brow at her in question.
“You hate fish. And you,” she points a freshly polished sparkling blue finger at the stupefying nail technician “are copying what the guy from the band said.”
They both pout.
“What band?” he asks her but looks the little sprite in the eyes, hand held out for a final buffing of his pinkie finger. She’ll wear sweat pants to the office before he lays eyes on the “Photos” folder of her iPhone (which he bought for her) after this.
“You don’t know them; they’re like super famous now. And cute. And funny. Everyone loves them, and knows who they are. Well, like, everyone young, I guess….”
“We’re the same age.” He points at himself and the red head grinning saucily into her magazine, now resting on her lap so she can better survey the damage.
“I guess I’m just more culturally aware than you are.” She sing-songs at him, flicking her page with a flourish and winking at the little one with the now tiny tiny nail file in her clutches.
“Don’t even try.”
“What?” she’s innocence and smugness all at once and he can’t stand it, wants badly to get that grin off her face. The one he knows she pulls behind his back whenever he admits he’s wrong.
“Excuse me!”
They both duck their heads like bold children and he pouts while she examines her new nails.
“Thank you. Anyway. They are so famous and everyone knows them and they’re really really good-“
“Don’t say it. Don’t even think it.”
“Too late.” her voice swings up and down melodically again. She is loving this.
“-musicians.” She finishes and looks between the two of them, puzzled. “What?”
“I’m pretty sure really really good musicians don’t need hairstylists to sell records.” He huffs and folds his arms across his chest, giving the young girl a dubious look as she packs away all of her many glittering and neon coloured items.
“I’m pretty sure the best closer in New York City doesn’t need “Pretty in Pink” toenail polish, but what would I know? Oh wait that’s right, I’m Donna, everything.” She deadpans as she rises from her position across from him against the coffee table to get the door.
Harvey can’t help but notice the eyes boring into his face and turns his attention away from the vision of the leggy red head stalking down the hallway of his condo to face the little brunette. She grins at him.
“What?” he asks, feeling oddly self-conscious under her gaze. She beckons him closer and they lean in. Foreheads almost touching as they whisper in hushed tones and conspire against the fairy godmother coming back into the room with pizza boxes (boxes, because they couldn’t all agree on a set of toppings, and he was the pickiest of the three).
Later, when the most intuitive god daughter he has yet to come across is fast asleep, head nestled between pillows and Donna’s side, legs stretched across both their laps as Sebastian warbles his way through his solo, he turns to her, studies her profile while the bright underwater colours dance in spiral around her face and grins.
“What?” she doesn’t let her eyes slip for a second to his.
He shifts closer and his words are a ghost against the corner of her lips, so close, but barely touching, refusing to on principle, “I lied, I was taking the easy way out because if both of you were angry at me my hair could possibly have been pink and that’s not an option.”
She “hmms” about a deposition on Monday and how it would clash with her in response, but she doesn’t move away.
“In my opinion-“
“Humble opinion.”
He rolls his eyes but doesn’t pull away when she turns to face him, lips millimetres apart, so close.
“In my humble opinion, even though I like the red head mermaid lady, it’s mostly because she resembles this incredibly awesome red head I work with, who is just as pretty and brave.”
Her smile is positively radiant, he knew it would be. She bites her lip and tries desperately not to choke on her laughter while they are so close to one another. “I’m going to start taking you to get your nails did more often, you’re hilarious company.”
She’s still smiling at him, even though he feels his chest tighten and deflate with every passing second as he moves to sink back into the couch.
“Harvey?” he turns to look at her then, and this time he doesn’t give her a chance to cut him off again, just kisses her.
It’s too short, not nearly long enough but it has the desired effect. She moans ever so softly against his mouth and it’s blissfully perfect and warm. He hasn’t felt such warmth in longer than he can remember. She tastes like mint chocolate chip ice-cream and sprinkles but with this quirk of something citrusy that is all Donna and all he can think about tasting every morning when he wakes up and every night before he falls asleep from now until he simply ceases existing due to a lack of her existing (they’re tangled up that way, it’s just fact now, they are a precedent).
“Thank you.” She whispers against his chin and they both smile, tips of their noses touching. She shifts slightly so she’s tucked against his side, head resting against his shoulder and arm draped over his middle as if they curl around one another like this every Saturday afternoon. It’s exactly how he thought it would feel, but his mind would never allow him to imagine the intense rush of lightness he feels. He doesn’t care. He cannot. He is just not capable of caring. ‘For anyone except for you,’ he sighs to himself and can’t help the smile from breaking out across his face. He will have the world walk all over his face until it is black and blue if he knows she will be willing to wait for him with the ice-pack and the sarcastic “poor baby” comment because she’s Donna on the other side.
He runs the fingers of his free hand achingly softly down her side, making her shiver and then sigh in what he believes to be a feeling of content, and through the little girls messy waves, she also gives a whisper of a sigh, which quickly morphs into a snore that he can’t describe in any other way than ‘cute’.
“Did you just get closed by Harvey Specter?” he can’t help himself. He can feel her eye roll and exasperated expression against his side.
“I didn’t want you to feel completely emasculated by this whole weekend experience.” She gestures to his shock of pink nails and to his feet propped up on his coffee table, impressionist daisies dancing in the breeze when he wiggles his toes.
“Harvey and Donna got their nails did,” the god daughter mumbles in her sleep before turning to curl closer into their shared warmth.
Donna reaches for the remote and presses mute as her eyes slip closed and she buries herself in closer to him, inhales that scent that makes her toes (puppy dog faces for her, that’ll be a riot to remove later) curl because it’s Harvey and they are finally here, and lets herself slip off into a well deserved nap.
“They sure did kid.” He cannot stop smiling.
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