( o12 ) cuddle fuddle
pairing; harvey/mike
prompt; here at the kinkmeme; sunday snuggling.
rating; light r for vague descriptions of sexual acts.
author's note & disclaimer; that's right, suitsfic. this show is pretty much a visual of my life spiraling out of control, slowly. title from passion pit. playing with toys that aren't mine and hoping i won't get yelled at. 1052 words.
Harvey will never admit it (except maybe under oath, because, believe it or not, he does have a set of ethics and a moral code he lives by), but his favourite thing to wake up to in the mornings since he and Mike have started sleeping together is undoubtedly seeing Mike in his sleepy, adorable state, when he is warm and cuddly and still glowing from the night before, fucked out and loose against Harvey's overpriced silk sheets.
Harvey likes the mornings after he's fucked Mike thoroughly, when he's left him debauched and raw and sore and used, because Mike goes boneless and pliant and does what he's told. But he maybe likes the mornings after he's fucked him slowly, properly, like a lover, better, because Mike gets clingy like some puppy-kitten-teddy bear hybrid and Harvey, no matter how hard he tries to ignore it, is left with feelings all fuzzy and bubbly fluttering in his stomach.
The Saturday after a night of particularly emotional, celebratory sex - Mike had just brought in a new client with a rather impressively sized wallet and bank account, a man of class and taste, much like, dare he say, himself - Harvey gets to see Mike loose-limbed and soft-faced, calmer than ever, curled into himself against Harvey's side, head smashed into Harvey's armpit in a nest of tangled up blankets and sheets. His skin is smooth and pale and seemingly never-ending against the red silk of the bedding, but his cheeks are flushed from sleep, so pink they nearly complement them. His long, dark eyelashes flutter ever so lightly against his cheeks as he sleeps, the dark chocolate curls of them overwhelmingly out of place against all of his baby-soft, ghost-white flesh.
The sunlight streaming in through his floor-to-ceiling length windows creates a warm, orangey ambience in the room, falling in soft, hazy, red-gold waves across the bed and surrounding them both, sunlight splashing invitingly across the atlas of Mike's naked body, mostly uncovered due to a restless sleep. The rays of sun highlight the slight sheen of sweat sitting idle and stale on Mike's unconscious body, giving his skin a gorgeous, just-there dampness, a shine that is more like a matte than a gloss.
It's a great look for him, Harvey thinks. He looks delicate sleeping like this, less like the brilliant, clever young man he is and more the vulnerable child he probably was growing up, caught in a mass of unnecessary fabric. He makes a pleased, vibrating noise quite near a purr in his sleep when Harvey tries to move his half-asleep arm from where it's trapped under Mike's sticky skin, and the noise is enough to startle him back to himself and his attention is directed back to what woke him up in the first place - he has really got to piss.
He tries to remove his arm again, slower this time, more aware of the sleeping body next to him and trying not to wake him, but is met with surprisingy strong resistance in the form of Mike clinging to his arm and attempting to drag him nearer, whilst, Christ, there really is no other word to describe it - nuzzling into the crook of his neck. Harvey has to actively tamper out the beginnings of any emotion that might flicker across his face and bite down to stifle a fond sigh threatening to escape the confines of his throat and tumble over his lips, an unwelcome noise that would satisfactorily display feelings and ruin his flawless I could literally not give less of a fuck reputation.
Harvey takes a moment to gather his wits and wonder when he officially became Mike's sleeptoy, his teddy bear, and tightens his arm where it still lingers around Mike's shoulders. Mike, in turn, responds by shuffling closer still and then Harvey wonders when he started dating a twenty-something man-child with the mentality of a four-year-old, and, before he begins to feel like a creepy oldman perv, dismisses the thought in favour of wrapping his fingers around the nape of Mike's neck and rubbing at the fine hair there, scratching gently with short fingernails at the base of his skull every now and again, a simple, intimate gesture, just sure enough to be a constant reminder of his affections.
Harvey smiles, a small, secretive, lopsided grin to himself before Mike's breathing becomes less a half-snore and more a slowly increasing pattern, breaths coming slightly more rapidly upon recognizing his surroundings briefly before evening out again to adopt a more regular pattern. He stretches a little, legs unentwining themselves from where they're tangled with Harvey's and straightening out, arms loosening and body starfishing out to allow a moment to regain control over his temporarily sleep-paralyzed limbs before snapping to curl right back where they were, again, shivering slightly at the gusts of cold air that make their way through the openings in the mess of blanket he's buried under.
Harvey smiles a much more humiliatingly affectionate smile and forgets for a moment to wipe it off of his face, though he justifies the momentary slip in his control by reasoning that the only person there to see him is Mike, who is thoroughly asleep. In his arms. The grin widens further, threatening to split his face straight in half and reach his ears, until he is struck by the undeniable urge to lean in and kiss the adorable manbaby in his arms on the forehead; which he does, promptly, lingeringly, keeping his mouth in a soft press in the air just above Mike's head, his nose buried in his silly, sleep-fluffy hair. Mike unconsciously leans into the touch, and his heartstrings are possibly being tugged at, and his whole life is impossible, spinning out of control, right down the kitchen drain, following last night's latenight coffee-and-Mike's-cheap-whiskey endeavors.
Harvey presses another swift kiss in Mike's hair, scratches behind his ear, - like he is indeed the kitten he sometimes behaves as - slips his hand into Mike's hair and strokes at the soft, soft blond strands and decides the entire world, including his traitor bladder, can wait ten or twenty or possibly a thousand more minutes, until he can vacate the warm sheets next to Mike's even warmer skin without being drawn immediately back in.
prompt; here at the kinkmeme; sunday snuggling.
rating; light r for vague descriptions of sexual acts.
author's note & disclaimer; that's right, suitsfic. this show is pretty much a visual of my life spiraling out of control, slowly. title from passion pit. playing with toys that aren't mine and hoping i won't get yelled at. 1052 words.
Harvey will never admit it (except maybe under oath, because, believe it or not, he does have a set of ethics and a moral code he lives by), but his favourite thing to wake up to in the mornings since he and Mike have started sleeping together is undoubtedly seeing Mike in his sleepy, adorable state, when he is warm and cuddly and still glowing from the night before, fucked out and loose against Harvey's overpriced silk sheets.
Harvey likes the mornings after he's fucked Mike thoroughly, when he's left him debauched and raw and sore and used, because Mike goes boneless and pliant and does what he's told. But he maybe likes the mornings after he's fucked him slowly, properly, like a lover, better, because Mike gets clingy like some puppy-kitten-teddy bear hybrid and Harvey, no matter how hard he tries to ignore it, is left with feelings all fuzzy and bubbly fluttering in his stomach.
The Saturday after a night of particularly emotional, celebratory sex - Mike had just brought in a new client with a rather impressively sized wallet and bank account, a man of class and taste, much like, dare he say, himself - Harvey gets to see Mike loose-limbed and soft-faced, calmer than ever, curled into himself against Harvey's side, head smashed into Harvey's armpit in a nest of tangled up blankets and sheets. His skin is smooth and pale and seemingly never-ending against the red silk of the bedding, but his cheeks are flushed from sleep, so pink they nearly complement them. His long, dark eyelashes flutter ever so lightly against his cheeks as he sleeps, the dark chocolate curls of them overwhelmingly out of place against all of his baby-soft, ghost-white flesh.
The sunlight streaming in through his floor-to-ceiling length windows creates a warm, orangey ambience in the room, falling in soft, hazy, red-gold waves across the bed and surrounding them both, sunlight splashing invitingly across the atlas of Mike's naked body, mostly uncovered due to a restless sleep. The rays of sun highlight the slight sheen of sweat sitting idle and stale on Mike's unconscious body, giving his skin a gorgeous, just-there dampness, a shine that is more like a matte than a gloss.
It's a great look for him, Harvey thinks. He looks delicate sleeping like this, less like the brilliant, clever young man he is and more the vulnerable child he probably was growing up, caught in a mass of unnecessary fabric. He makes a pleased, vibrating noise quite near a purr in his sleep when Harvey tries to move his half-asleep arm from where it's trapped under Mike's sticky skin, and the noise is enough to startle him back to himself and his attention is directed back to what woke him up in the first place - he has really got to piss.
He tries to remove his arm again, slower this time, more aware of the sleeping body next to him and trying not to wake him, but is met with surprisingy strong resistance in the form of Mike clinging to his arm and attempting to drag him nearer, whilst, Christ, there really is no other word to describe it - nuzzling into the crook of his neck. Harvey has to actively tamper out the beginnings of any emotion that might flicker across his face and bite down to stifle a fond sigh threatening to escape the confines of his throat and tumble over his lips, an unwelcome noise that would satisfactorily display feelings and ruin his flawless I could literally not give less of a fuck reputation.
Harvey takes a moment to gather his wits and wonder when he officially became Mike's sleeptoy, his teddy bear, and tightens his arm where it still lingers around Mike's shoulders. Mike, in turn, responds by shuffling closer still and then Harvey wonders when he started dating a twenty-something man-child with the mentality of a four-year-old, and, before he begins to feel like a creepy oldman perv, dismisses the thought in favour of wrapping his fingers around the nape of Mike's neck and rubbing at the fine hair there, scratching gently with short fingernails at the base of his skull every now and again, a simple, intimate gesture, just sure enough to be a constant reminder of his affections.
Harvey smiles, a small, secretive, lopsided grin to himself before Mike's breathing becomes less a half-snore and more a slowly increasing pattern, breaths coming slightly more rapidly upon recognizing his surroundings briefly before evening out again to adopt a more regular pattern. He stretches a little, legs unentwining themselves from where they're tangled with Harvey's and straightening out, arms loosening and body starfishing out to allow a moment to regain control over his temporarily sleep-paralyzed limbs before snapping to curl right back where they were, again, shivering slightly at the gusts of cold air that make their way through the openings in the mess of blanket he's buried under.
Harvey smiles a much more humiliatingly affectionate smile and forgets for a moment to wipe it off of his face, though he justifies the momentary slip in his control by reasoning that the only person there to see him is Mike, who is thoroughly asleep. In his arms. The grin widens further, threatening to split his face straight in half and reach his ears, until he is struck by the undeniable urge to lean in and kiss the adorable manbaby in his arms on the forehead; which he does, promptly, lingeringly, keeping his mouth in a soft press in the air just above Mike's head, his nose buried in his silly, sleep-fluffy hair. Mike unconsciously leans into the touch, and his heartstrings are possibly being tugged at, and his whole life is impossible, spinning out of control, right down the kitchen drain, following last night's latenight coffee-and-Mike's-cheap-whiskey endeavors.
Harvey presses another swift kiss in Mike's hair, scratches behind his ear, - like he is indeed the kitten he sometimes behaves as - slips his hand into Mike's hair and strokes at the soft, soft blond strands and decides the entire world, including his traitor bladder, can wait ten or twenty or possibly a thousand more minutes, until he can vacate the warm sheets next to Mike's even warmer skin without being drawn immediately back in.