Heat, Harvey/Mike, 'Suits'
Title: Heat
Summary: It’s summer in New York and Mike can’t sleep.
Pairing: Mike/Harvey
Rating: G
Notes: Bored, and too warm.
Mike can’t sleep. It’s not unusual, but it is annoying. The heat in New York is cloying at this time of year, damp and humid and sticky and he hates it. The sheets are damp, a sweaty mess at the bottom of the bed and he kicks at them in frustration.
It’s three forty-four in the morning and he needs to be up for work in two and a half hours and he’s not had any sleep, he’s had so many showers that his skin is starting to look constantly like a prune but it’s the only source of coolness in his apartment and he’s just so tired. The windows are open, all of them, but the air is thick and still and there’s not even a hint of a breeze.
He feels like he’s suffocating in the heat. Or maybe he’s just drowning in his own sweat, he’s not sure.
What he wouldn’t give for a massive thunder storm to break the stale mate in the atmosphere above. A little rain, maybe. Just something to clear the air.
He slides out of bed, the tiny little wave of moving air brushing over him the best thing he’s felt in all his life, and he moves into the bathroom. The room is only marginally cooler, his feet leaving sweaty prints on the tiles if he stands still for too long. He runs the cold water for a few seconds, soaks a face cloth and drapes it over the back of neck, sighing at the relief. He knows it won’t do any good; that in a few minutes time he will be back to feeling sweaty and disgusting and miserable but for right now, for these blissful few moments he’s quite content to live with the ecstasy.
When the cloth matches his body heat, he considers cooling it again but his legs are numb from tiredness and he just wants to lie down so he drops the wet cloth into the sink and makes his way back to his bedroom-turned-sauna. The bed is a riot, the sheets a wasted tangle that he takes a few minutes to tug at and fold back neatly before falling, rather unceremoniously, on top of them.
“I was sleeping, you know.”
Mike turns to Harvey then, glares at him even though he knows the other man can’t see him in the dark.
“I don’t know how. I feel like I’m cooking in here.”
Harvey snorts gently, his arm unfolding from beneath his body to snake over Mike’s waist. Mike groans at the added layer of heat and pushes the arm away and Harvey chuckles, the sound sleep worn and soft. Usually, Mike loves that sound.
“We should have stayed at mine, like I said.”
Mike doesn’t rise to the bait, although it’s difficult. He shifts on the sheets, sliding as far to the opposite side of the bed as he can because the heat radiating off Harvey is just too much for him to handle right now.
“Maybe.”
“You’re going to be insufferable later.”
Mike growls lightly at that, shifting on the bed again.
“This heat is insufferable. I don’t know how you can sleep through this.”
Harvey moves, Mike guesses it’s a shrug and he tries to settle himself, tries to find a cooler spot on the bed. Futile.
“Maybe because I grew up in Kenya?” Harvey says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and Mike starts, turns towards him.
“Seriously?”
Harvey snorts again, flops onto his back and settles in again.
“No.” Mike huffs. “You get used to it.” Mike disagrees, silently. “Go to sleep, Mike.”
Harvey shifts again, turns into his side so he’s facing Mike and his hand settles against Mike’s arm. Mike fights the urge to brush it off, knows that Harvey likes the contact, even though he won’t admit it.
He watches Harvey for a while, still as the night around them, until dawn pinks the horizon outside the window.
His wake up call two hours later is a rumble of thunder and Harvey’s lips against the base of his throat.