Ficcish: Cute, and Much Quieter (Harvey/Mike, FRAO, 1500 words)
Disclaimer: Not mine, not making any money.
Summary: Mike gets turned into a kitten. Since he has no responsible friends, Harvey gets stuck with him.
Notes: Obviously inspired by the story recced in the previous entry.
Mike gets turned into a kitten and Harvey is very perplexed: "You should be a puppy. Why aren't you a puppy?"
Then Harvey goes to Louis's office, walks right past Norma, and says, "Louis, why is my associate a kitten?"
Louis kind of shakes his head and says, "I don't know, Harvey. Maybe because no one's teaching him to be a shark."
Harvey gives Louis up as a lost cause and goes back to his office. Donna has already managed to purchase, have delivered, and set up everything one might need to have a kitten in one's office.
"I got a set for the apartment too," she says. "With more toys."
They take a moment to look through the glass walls at Harvey's associate prowling up and down some kind of carpet-covered structure.
"He's really cute this way," Donna says, "and much quieter."
Harvey doesn't dignify that kind of thinking with a response. "I don't need a kitten. I need an associate."
After some trial and error, they set up a system where Harvey spreads pages out on the floor and Mike notes things that need to be changed with very small Post-It notes. (He also occasionally gets the notes stuck to himself. He once comes over sheepishly with half a dozen of them - all in different colors - arrayed around his body and meows up at Harvey until Harvey deigns to notice him. Harvey bends down to take them off and resolutely does not notice how cute this is.) The system works well as long as they keep Rachel out, because Rachel brings with her the greatest affront to productivity known to kitten: a piece of string. Harvey kicks her out four times the first day alone.
And then there's that: the first day. The "first" implying there will be more. Harvey's machinations have not managed to get Mike back to normal by the end of it, and he has no choice but to take Mike home with him. Donna's idea of what he needs to take care of a kitten thankfully includes a carrier, because Mike is too small to make it to the car himself and there was no way Harvey was going to carry Mike and get cat hair all over his suit.
"You know," Harvey says once they're settled in and Ray is taking them home, "this would be a lot easier if you had any friends who weren't irresponsible wrecks."
Once in the apartment, Harvey tells Mike sternly that he is to find the litter box and use it because if he defiles anything in the apartment, "I'm turning you out onto the street to fend for yourself." He yells half of this at Mike from the bedroom while he changes into something that won't be a disaster if it gets cat hair on it.
Mike shows what he thinks about the whole thing by twining around Harvey's ankles when he goes to the kitchen to make dinner.
"Just for that," Harvey says, "I should make you eat this stuff." He looks at the cat food that is an affront to good taste - even if it is specially designed for the growing kitten - and shoves the cans to the back of the counter where they'll be out of his way while he makes them both fresh-caught tuna and rice. Mike's gets broken into smaller pieces and put on a plate on the floor, but they both eat essentially the same dinner.
Harvey leaves the plates in the sink - he pays for a cleaning service for a reason - and settles onto the couch to watch an inning or two of whatever game is on. Mike dives into the small box of cat toys Harvey shoved into a corner - Donna better not have gotten him anything with catnip; the last thing Harvey needs is for Mike to get high again - and drags half of them out onto the floor.
There's a feather thing that he gets Harvey to work for him during a commercial that winds him up even more than Rachel's string. At least it tires him out, but then he seems to think it's his right to flop into Harvey's lap and butt at his hand until Harvey - totally on autopilot! - starts petting him.
Harvey moves Mike to one of the throw pillows and goes to bed when the game is over.
*
Things go on like this for the rest of the week, and on Friday, Mike is still a kitten and Harvey is still stuck taking him home. Mike as a kitten is no less energetic than Mike as an associate, but somewhat less able to entertain himself. Harvey takes him into work for a couple of hours on Saturday just so he doesn't make himself tired watching Mike careen around the expanse of the apartment chasing a jingly ball. (It's very jingly. Mike can do this for what feels like hours. There are no jingly balls in Harvey's office.) By Saturday night, he's definitely had enough, so he feeds Mike, tires him out with the feather thing, and then changes into something that does not have cat hair all over it and goes out to get laid.
The boy he picks up is not a twink, exactly, although he has some of the same youthful innocence that he's probably faking so guys like Harvey will pick him up.
Harvey resolutely does not think of what Donna would most likely say about him. ("You can get the same thing from Ross without the effort" is probably the mildest.)
He swallows the boy's possibly true line about having roommates and takes him back to his place where he fucks him on 600-thread count Egyptian cotton. Harvey is a considerate kind of guy; he lets the boy spend the night, lets him suck his dick in the shower, and sends him off without breakfast.
Mike tries to hop up onto the counter but can't quite manage it, so he ends up sitting on the kitchen floor staring up at Harvey while he makes eggs and bacon.
Harvey tips some of the milk into a small bowl for Mike and feeds him some of the cat food because right now he can't think of what else to make an associate turned kitten for breakfast.
Mike eats some of it and then clambers up onto the couch next to Harvey to stare longingly at his food anyway.
"Oh, no," Harvey says. "You're not getting any of this."
Mike looks, if anything, even more pathetic, and Harvey relents - "You could give Donna acting lessons. Do not tell her I said that." - and breaks off kitten-sized pieces of bacon for him.
Mike licks at the bacon grease on his fingers with his tiny, raspy tongue.
Harvey shakes his head, mutters, "Turn you out onto the street," and holds out another piece of bacon.
*
By Monday, he has it mostly figured out, and on Tuesday Harvey Specter, the best closer in the city, does his thing and once again has an associate instead of a kitten.
"No catnip," Mike says to Donna. "Really?"
"You know how Harvey feels about you and controlled substances." The moment Mike turns around, Donna mouths, "So much quieter," at Harvey. She's not wrong.
Mike being human instead of a cat does nothing to curb his belief that he has the right to be wherever Harvey is, and he shows up on Harvey's doorstep at eight-thirty on Saturday night waving a file at him.
Of course he actually has something there, and Harvey spends twenty minutes trying to blow a hole in his argument before he gives it up. He's considering throwing Mike out when the real reason Mike came over comes up.
"You didn't let him top," Mike says. "The guy, last weekend," he clarifies. (Unnecessarily; Harvey does know what he's talking about.) "I was listening. You didn't let him top." Mike looks at him with what should be a puppy-dog expression but looks more like the kitten begging for bacon. "You should let me top."
Harvey laughs. "You think you've got what it takes?"
"I know I have what it takes." Mike manages to say it with a confidence Harvey's pretty sure is just Mike imitating him.
He gives Mike a shot, though, and finds out that Mike does have what it takes and there is something to be said for getting fucked on 600-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets on a Saturday night.
Mike's still there in the morning, and this Sunday Harvey both gives and gets a blowjob in the shower before making eggs and bacon. He divvies it out evenly, and somehow he still ends up hand feeding Mike bacon and getting his fingers licked for his trouble.
Summary: Mike gets turned into a kitten. Since he has no responsible friends, Harvey gets stuck with him.
Notes: Obviously inspired by the story recced in the previous entry.
Mike gets turned into a kitten and Harvey is very perplexed: "You should be a puppy. Why aren't you a puppy?"
Then Harvey goes to Louis's office, walks right past Norma, and says, "Louis, why is my associate a kitten?"
Louis kind of shakes his head and says, "I don't know, Harvey. Maybe because no one's teaching him to be a shark."
Harvey gives Louis up as a lost cause and goes back to his office. Donna has already managed to purchase, have delivered, and set up everything one might need to have a kitten in one's office.
"I got a set for the apartment too," she says. "With more toys."
They take a moment to look through the glass walls at Harvey's associate prowling up and down some kind of carpet-covered structure.
"He's really cute this way," Donna says, "and much quieter."
Harvey doesn't dignify that kind of thinking with a response. "I don't need a kitten. I need an associate."
After some trial and error, they set up a system where Harvey spreads pages out on the floor and Mike notes things that need to be changed with very small Post-It notes. (He also occasionally gets the notes stuck to himself. He once comes over sheepishly with half a dozen of them - all in different colors - arrayed around his body and meows up at Harvey until Harvey deigns to notice him. Harvey bends down to take them off and resolutely does not notice how cute this is.) The system works well as long as they keep Rachel out, because Rachel brings with her the greatest affront to productivity known to kitten: a piece of string. Harvey kicks her out four times the first day alone.
And then there's that: the first day. The "first" implying there will be more. Harvey's machinations have not managed to get Mike back to normal by the end of it, and he has no choice but to take Mike home with him. Donna's idea of what he needs to take care of a kitten thankfully includes a carrier, because Mike is too small to make it to the car himself and there was no way Harvey was going to carry Mike and get cat hair all over his suit.
"You know," Harvey says once they're settled in and Ray is taking them home, "this would be a lot easier if you had any friends who weren't irresponsible wrecks."
Once in the apartment, Harvey tells Mike sternly that he is to find the litter box and use it because if he defiles anything in the apartment, "I'm turning you out onto the street to fend for yourself." He yells half of this at Mike from the bedroom while he changes into something that won't be a disaster if it gets cat hair on it.
Mike shows what he thinks about the whole thing by twining around Harvey's ankles when he goes to the kitchen to make dinner.
"Just for that," Harvey says, "I should make you eat this stuff." He looks at the cat food that is an affront to good taste - even if it is specially designed for the growing kitten - and shoves the cans to the back of the counter where they'll be out of his way while he makes them both fresh-caught tuna and rice. Mike's gets broken into smaller pieces and put on a plate on the floor, but they both eat essentially the same dinner.
Harvey leaves the plates in the sink - he pays for a cleaning service for a reason - and settles onto the couch to watch an inning or two of whatever game is on. Mike dives into the small box of cat toys Harvey shoved into a corner - Donna better not have gotten him anything with catnip; the last thing Harvey needs is for Mike to get high again - and drags half of them out onto the floor.
There's a feather thing that he gets Harvey to work for him during a commercial that winds him up even more than Rachel's string. At least it tires him out, but then he seems to think it's his right to flop into Harvey's lap and butt at his hand until Harvey - totally on autopilot! - starts petting him.
Harvey moves Mike to one of the throw pillows and goes to bed when the game is over.
*
Things go on like this for the rest of the week, and on Friday, Mike is still a kitten and Harvey is still stuck taking him home. Mike as a kitten is no less energetic than Mike as an associate, but somewhat less able to entertain himself. Harvey takes him into work for a couple of hours on Saturday just so he doesn't make himself tired watching Mike careen around the expanse of the apartment chasing a jingly ball. (It's very jingly. Mike can do this for what feels like hours. There are no jingly balls in Harvey's office.) By Saturday night, he's definitely had enough, so he feeds Mike, tires him out with the feather thing, and then changes into something that does not have cat hair all over it and goes out to get laid.
The boy he picks up is not a twink, exactly, although he has some of the same youthful innocence that he's probably faking so guys like Harvey will pick him up.
Harvey resolutely does not think of what Donna would most likely say about him. ("You can get the same thing from Ross without the effort" is probably the mildest.)
He swallows the boy's possibly true line about having roommates and takes him back to his place where he fucks him on 600-thread count Egyptian cotton. Harvey is a considerate kind of guy; he lets the boy spend the night, lets him suck his dick in the shower, and sends him off without breakfast.
Mike tries to hop up onto the counter but can't quite manage it, so he ends up sitting on the kitchen floor staring up at Harvey while he makes eggs and bacon.
Harvey tips some of the milk into a small bowl for Mike and feeds him some of the cat food because right now he can't think of what else to make an associate turned kitten for breakfast.
Mike eats some of it and then clambers up onto the couch next to Harvey to stare longingly at his food anyway.
"Oh, no," Harvey says. "You're not getting any of this."
Mike looks, if anything, even more pathetic, and Harvey relents - "You could give Donna acting lessons. Do not tell her I said that." - and breaks off kitten-sized pieces of bacon for him.
Mike licks at the bacon grease on his fingers with his tiny, raspy tongue.
Harvey shakes his head, mutters, "Turn you out onto the street," and holds out another piece of bacon.
*
By Monday, he has it mostly figured out, and on Tuesday Harvey Specter, the best closer in the city, does his thing and once again has an associate instead of a kitten.
"No catnip," Mike says to Donna. "Really?"
"You know how Harvey feels about you and controlled substances." The moment Mike turns around, Donna mouths, "So much quieter," at Harvey. She's not wrong.
Mike being human instead of a cat does nothing to curb his belief that he has the right to be wherever Harvey is, and he shows up on Harvey's doorstep at eight-thirty on Saturday night waving a file at him.
Of course he actually has something there, and Harvey spends twenty minutes trying to blow a hole in his argument before he gives it up. He's considering throwing Mike out when the real reason Mike came over comes up.
"You didn't let him top," Mike says. "The guy, last weekend," he clarifies. (Unnecessarily; Harvey does know what he's talking about.) "I was listening. You didn't let him top." Mike looks at him with what should be a puppy-dog expression but looks more like the kitten begging for bacon. "You should let me top."
Harvey laughs. "You think you've got what it takes?"
"I know I have what it takes." Mike manages to say it with a confidence Harvey's pretty sure is just Mike imitating him.
He gives Mike a shot, though, and finds out that Mike does have what it takes and there is something to be said for getting fucked on 600-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets on a Saturday night.
Mike's still there in the morning, and this Sunday Harvey both gives and gets a blowjob in the shower before making eggs and bacon. He divvies it out evenly, and somehow he still ends up hand feeding Mike bacon and getting his fingers licked for his trouble.