Only Says Ficus
Title: Purely Speculative
Characters: Mike, Trevor's Girlfriend
Warnings: Mildy dirty allusion, spoilers for the pilot
Genre: Slight Het, Ficlet
Words: 414
A/N: I’m desperate for this fandom to have really good fic. I know it’s too early, but damn do I want some character study. So instead, I’m indulging in something far less esoteric. And I’m sure this will be jossed to hell in less than a month.
Summary: It’s just that he’s so good at everything else.
Purely Speculative
She met Trevor first. Not that it should matter. Not that it does matter. She loves Trevor, always has, always will, he’s exactly what she wanted. He’s smart (not as smart but still). He’s got a great job (and it’s not illegal). He’s reliable (mostly). He’s exactly what she wants (wanted). It's just...
She wonders (sometimes, rarely, never, always) what might have happened had it been the other way around. If Mike had been the one that lent her change for the meter, instead of the one inside the deli trying to keep owner from pressing charges. (He did and she met Trevor.) But it all worked out (except).
She doesn’t want to think that way (but it’s impossible), she know that’s it’s wrong (it should feel wrong). She knows she shouldn’t look at her boyfriend’s best friend and wonder (fantasize, speculate, daydream, research). It’s really just a thing, a small little thing that occupies her thoughts (sometimes, rarely, never, always).
It’s mostly when Trevor is being Trevor (selfish, stubborn, obstinate, secretive or generally an ass). And Mike is being so…Mike (sweet, thoughtful, generous, caring, or generally a solver of problems).
Trevor would cancel at the last minute (he sent flowers instead), and Mike would be there to sit up until three a.m. waiting for news on her sister from the hospital swearing up and down that Trevor had sent him (she knows better).
Sometimes it was just a matter of proximity (sometimes it wasn’t). Trevor always had his arm around her shoulders (which sat heavily and uncomfortably). Mike always wrapped it around her waist (where it fit, didn’t fit, shouldn’t fit). Trevor smelled like starch and his hair gel (and pot). Mike smelled like soap, fabric softener and warmth (and pot).
If she were truly honest (sure), it really came down to one thing (everything). She was just curious. She wanted (needed) to know…He was so good at everything else (too good). He remembered everything he read (equal parts hot and unnerving) and he read about everything that interested him (and it had to interest him). So just how good was he?
Trevor wasn’t her worst (wasn’t her best), they had fun and it worked (mostly). But in moments like this (moments when he’s there, when he’s there and in a suit), and he leans in and kisses her forehead (cheek, temple) she thinks (knows) Mike Ross would be her best.
But it doesn’t matter. Shouldn’t matter. Can’t matter.
Because she met Trevor first.
Characters: Mike, Trevor's Girlfriend
Warnings: Mildy dirty allusion, spoilers for the pilot
Genre: Slight Het, Ficlet
Words: 414
A/N: I’m desperate for this fandom to have really good fic. I know it’s too early, but damn do I want some character study. So instead, I’m indulging in something far less esoteric. And I’m sure this will be jossed to hell in less than a month.
Summary: It’s just that he’s so good at everything else.
Purely Speculative
She met Trevor first. Not that it should matter. Not that it does matter. She loves Trevor, always has, always will, he’s exactly what she wanted. He’s smart (not as smart but still). He’s got a great job (and it’s not illegal). He’s reliable (mostly). He’s exactly what she wants (wanted). It's just...
She wonders (sometimes, rarely, never, always) what might have happened had it been the other way around. If Mike had been the one that lent her change for the meter, instead of the one inside the deli trying to keep owner from pressing charges. (He did and she met Trevor.) But it all worked out (except).
She doesn’t want to think that way (but it’s impossible), she know that’s it’s wrong (it should feel wrong). She knows she shouldn’t look at her boyfriend’s best friend and wonder (fantasize, speculate, daydream, research). It’s really just a thing, a small little thing that occupies her thoughts (sometimes, rarely, never, always).
It’s mostly when Trevor is being Trevor (selfish, stubborn, obstinate, secretive or generally an ass). And Mike is being so…Mike (sweet, thoughtful, generous, caring, or generally a solver of problems).
Trevor would cancel at the last minute (he sent flowers instead), and Mike would be there to sit up until three a.m. waiting for news on her sister from the hospital swearing up and down that Trevor had sent him (she knows better).
Sometimes it was just a matter of proximity (sometimes it wasn’t). Trevor always had his arm around her shoulders (which sat heavily and uncomfortably). Mike always wrapped it around her waist (where it fit, didn’t fit, shouldn’t fit). Trevor smelled like starch and his hair gel (and pot). Mike smelled like soap, fabric softener and warmth (and pot).
If she were truly honest (sure), it really came down to one thing (everything). She was just curious. She wanted (needed) to know…He was so good at everything else (too good). He remembered everything he read (equal parts hot and unnerving) and he read about everything that interested him (and it had to interest him). So just how good was he?
Trevor wasn’t her worst (wasn’t her best), they had fun and it worked (mostly). But in moments like this (moments when he’s there, when he’s there and in a suit), and he leans in and kisses her forehead (cheek, temple) she thinks (knows) Mike Ross would be her best.
But it doesn’t matter. Shouldn’t matter. Can’t matter.
Because she met Trevor first.