[Suits] serviced no kings
Title: serviced no kings
Fandom: Suits
Characters: Mike Ross, Harvey Specter (pre-slash UST)
Rating: hard R
Word Count: 2,391
Summary: Arriving at a client's ritzy party, after a few straight days of work, Mike is mostly presentable, except for the five o'clock shadow. It makes him look unprofessional, which makes Harvey look unprofessional, and so he takes Mike aside to give him a shave.
Notes: for suitsmeme, originally posted anon here. Title borrowed shamelessly from Sweeney Todd.
Mike was running late, but given the circumstances, he thought it was understandable. Harvey was working on closing a deal with a client that required Mike to check for discrepancies between two six-hundred page contracts, Louis had dumped another pro bono case on him, and after one of her associates came down with bronchitis, Jessica had asked him to help proof some top-priority bylaws.
He had not seen the inside of his apartment in three days, and the only reason he was feeling remotely human was because Donna had all but dragged him to a private partner's bathroom earlier that afternoon and told him to shower.
All things considered, he was only twenty minutes late, and five of those were spent convincing the security that no, he wasn't a party-crasher, yes, he was invited, and yes, he really was an associate at Pearson Hardman.
Mike's only experience with more high-end parties were the ones he accompanied Harvey to, but even with his limited experience he could tell this was even more high-end than most. He felt a bit of his league, doubly so when he saw Harvey making his way over, even more sharply dressed than normal.
"What took you so long?" Harvey asked.
Even though they were at the fringe of the room, there were quite a few people milling around, and Mike carefully judged that this was not the place to start venting about his unrelentingly heavy workload. Instead, as blandly as he could manage, he just said, "Work." When Harvey didn't reply, he added, "I haven't been to my apartment in three days."
Harvey didn't look impressed with Mike's hardship, and instead gave him a scrutinizing once-over. "When was the last time you showered?"
Mike checked his watch. "About five hours ago."
Harvey seemed pleased with that, but then he shifted closer and asked, "When was the last time you shaved?"
"Uh..." Mike coughed. "Last time I was at my apartment."
Harvey stared at him for a moment. "Thought so." He hooked a hand around Mike's elbow, and lead him out of the grand living room, down a hallway, up a short staircase, and into the first door on the left.
Inside was one of the largest bathrooms Mike had ever seen. It seemed bigger than his bedroom, though he hadn't been in his bedroom in so long that it was hard to remember. There was a mirror lining one of the walls, with a black marble countertop stretching below it, and from the rich reds to the hazy lighting, the whole room exuded luxury.
His thoughts were interrupted by a metallic click, and Mike turned to see Harvey locking the door.
"Uh," Mike said, eloquently.
"Mrs. Haynes is one of the firm's more high-end and better-paying clients," Harvey explained. "I am not going to introduce you to her as my associate if you have three days worth of stubble. Now take off your coat and tie, and wash your face."
Harvey started sifting through the cabinets, and it occurred to Mike that he was completely serious. So he shrugged off his coat and hung it up on a cabinet knob. He started to pull his tie through the knot, but a hand covered his.
"Don't," Harvey said.
"What? You told me to--"
"Take off your tie." Harvey waved Mike's hands away, and started untying the knot. "But when you pull the tie through the knot, it pulls at the silk." Harvey paused, checking the tab on the inside of the tie. Placated by the pure silk content of the tie, he slid it from under Mike's collar and hung it up with his coat. Then he went back to sifting through the cabinets.
Deciding it was better to just follow along, Mike shoved his sleeves up and thumbed open the top two buttons of his shirt. There were a few sinks in the countertop, and he went to one nearer to the door. Even the sink and faucet seemed classy.
When he was done washing his face, he looked up into the mirror, and saw that Harvey had removed his own jacket, and was deftly folding up his sleeves up. Harvey's eyes flicked up and met his through the reflection, and he said, "Get up on the counter."
It took a moment for the meaning to sink in. "You're joking," Mike said, turning around.
"I'm not. Get up on the counter."
He sighed, but perched himself on the black marble counter. "I can shave myself, you know," he pointed out.
"Yes," Harvey said, with a slight smirk, "but this way I know it'll be done it right."
Mike rolled his eyes, and was just about to give a witty reply when Harvey stepped between his legs. Any words, wit, or ability to speak dried up in his mouth.
"Hold still," Harvey said, completely unnecessarily since Mike had frozen completely.
Harvey poured some orange-ish liquid into the palm of his hand. Then started rubbing it in, down one side of his face, around his mouth, up the other side, and down his neck.
They've shared the odd fist-bump, Mike has goaded a high-five out of him once, and they occasionally knocked shoulders when walking too close, but this was more contact they've had in all the time they've spent together. And Harvey was completely blase about it, while Mike was ramrod straight.
After a moment, Mike became aware he was clutching the edge of the counter, and he glanced down at his hand, willing it to loosen its grip. Then it tightened again, as Harvey's hand reached behind his to grab a white bowl and black-bristled brush.
The sight broke Mike out of his stupor, as a surprised laugh bubbled up his throat. "Is that actually..."
"Let me guess," Harvey said, slowly twirling the old-fashioned ivory-handled badger-bristled brush in the matching bowl, "you just use generic shaving gel." When Mike opened his mouth to reply, Harvey continued, "Don't answer that."
There was no chance for Mike to answer it anyway, as Harvey started brushing on a light layer of shaving cream. And unlike the cheap, generic shaving gel Mike did use, it was actually cream, and it felt like it. It went on smooth and cool, the bristles of the brush grazing his skin, and there was no slight chemical burn when Harvey let it sit for a moment.
As Harvey was watching the sink fill up, testing the temperature of the water every few seconds, it suddenly really occurred to him that Harvey was serious about giving him a shave. And Mike was suddenly reminded of that one time he had nearly broken his wrist and Trevor had volunteered to help him shave.
"You're not going to cut me, are you?" he asked, glancing down and warily eying the razor.
Harvey stared at him. After a long moment, he said, "No. If you have cuts from shaving, it makes you look unprofessional. If you look unprofessional, then--"
Mike rolled his eyes. "You look unprofessional. Of course."
"I'm not going to cut you," Harvey concluded, and unless Mike was imagining it, there was a softer edge to his voice.
"I'm sorry, was that... was that reassuring?" Mike asked, not sure if he was joking or not.
There was the slightest hint of a smile as Harvey said, "Look to the side."
Mike kept facing straight ahead, and looked to the side out of the corner of his eye. And fought not to smile when he heard Harvey sigh, half exasperated, half amused. And fought to keep the surprise off his face when, instead of instructing him to turn his head to the side, Harvey just touched two fingers to the bottom of his chin and did it himself.
Harvey raised the razor up, and Mike found himself tensing up, eyes screwing shut, unable to help it. The incident with Trevor didn't go well; and although the cut hadn't been that deep, and it hadn't hurt that much, but the entire thing left a bad taste in his mouth.
After a few moments of no contact, Mike opened his eyes, and saw the blade in midair, and Harvey looking at him patiently.
Harvey cared about his reputation, and would make sure not to nick him him because of that, but Mike had the suspicion that Harvey also cared about him as well. Either way, he trusted Harvey, more than he trusted Trevor now, and maybe even more than he trusted Trevor then.
Mike relaxed, eyes sliding close again, and tilted his head to give Harvey a better angle.
Harvey made a noise of satisfaction, and finally the blade touched down on his skin. The disaster Mike subconsciously anticipated didn't happen, just one, two, three slow strokes before Harvey swirled the razor in the sink, and started again.
He opened his eyes, after a few cycles, and at this proximity, there was nothing else to look at than Harvey. It was one of the few times Mike had seen him without a coat, his charcoal gray suit jacket hanging up, laid over Mike's, leaving him in just his shirt sleeves and a fitted black vest. His tie was the only article with any color, and that was just silvery-blue stripes amongst thicker deep grays and black. This close, Mike could make out the faintest gray stripes on the shirt.
Aware that he was staring, and Harvey was probably aware of it as well, Mike cleared his throat and asked, "Are you done yet?" Knowing it would make him sound childish, but not particularly caring, he added, "This is taking forever."
"How long does it usually take you to shave?" Harvey asked, still swirling the razor in the sink.
"Maybe... two minutes while I shower?"
The blade stilled in the water. Harvey looked at him with that slight frown he had used when he found out Mike bought five suits for five hundred dollars. He opened his mouth, decided to think the better of it, and closed his mouth.
Mike frowned.
"Stop frowning."
Harvey tapped the excess water off the razor, and resumed with the slow process of shaving. For all that it did seem like it was taking forever, Mike didn't really mind. After three days of nearly non-stop work, it was relaxing to just sit there and do nothing. If he were honest with himself, he was actually enjoying it.
By the time Harvey was finishing up, Mike realized he may be enjoying it a bit too much. When the final stroke was done, Mike started to slide off the counter, and immediately regretted it when Harvey didn't move.
"What?" Harvey asked. "I'm not done yet."
"You're not?" Mike asked, slightly horrified. Over the past few minutes, their close proximity had started to affect him in a way he'd rather not be affected.
"That's what I just said, isn't it?"
Mike didn't reply, just slid back further onto the counter, pushing himself a bit farther back than before. When Harvey just stared at him, Mike tentatively inched closer again.
Harvey nodded, then stepped back, procuring another towel and dampening it.
When he returned, stepping back between Mike's legs, he seemed closer than before -- if possible -- brushing just slightly against the inside of Mike's thighs.
Hoping this whole situation would be less awkward if there wasn't any bodily contact, Mike spread his legs the slightest bit wider; and instantly regret it when it caused the fabric of his pants to strain against him.
On the scale of inappropriateness, from 'meeting your to-be employer with a briefcase full of pot' to 'pretending to have a law degree from Harvard,' Mike wondered where 'getting turned on from your boss giving you a shave' would be placed. Because by now he was almost painfully hard, and there was no denying it. And it wasn't getting better by Harvey dabbing down his jawline with a warm towel.
"What more do you have to do?" Mike asked, casting his gaze upwards, trying to focus on anything and everything that wasn't the heat pooling in his groin.
"I have to make sure I didn't miss anything," Harvey said.
And then Harvey's fingers were lightly trailing down his face. Down the side of his face, his jawbone, his chin, his neck, and Mike tried -- desperately -- not to think about Harvey's hands and how they might feel trailing further and further down.
Mike stared steadfast up at the ceiling, his breath catching as Harvey's thumb brushed his Adam's apple. He tried desperately not to swallow as Harvey's fingers ran back up this throat. Harvey ran his knuckles up the other side of his face, then back down, knuckles running across his chin, with his thumb ghosting over Mike's lips.
He shuddered, unable to help it. He couldn't fool himself into thinking that Harvey didn't notice, only hoped that Harvey wouldn't glance down and notice anything more.
To the best of Mike's knowledge Harvey didn't, his attention going straight from Mike's face, to the bowl of shaving cream, and back to his face. He reapplied a film of shaving cream just to his jawline, not letting it sit before shaving it off in two deft strokes.
Harvey swirled the razor around in water once more, but afterwards he set it down, staring intently at Mike for another long moment. Then he stepped back.
Mike nearly fell back against the mirror, feeling almost dizzy in relief. And oddly bereft, but he wasn't going to think too deeply about that.
"I trust that you can take care of the rest yourself?" Harvey asked.
Not sure if Harvey was referring to what Mike was afraid he was referring to, and therefore not trusting himself to speak, Mike just nodded.
"Good. Mrs. Haynes always arrives fashionably late, so she should be here by now, and I need to get to her before all the brown-nosers do." Harvey pulled down his coat and slid into it easily, only taking the briefest of moments to straighten it. "Join us as soon as you're ready, and if she asks, you came straight from the office."
Again, he just nodded dumbly.
Without another word, Harvey head out of the bathroom.
Mike locked the door behind him.
Fandom: Suits
Characters: Mike Ross, Harvey Specter (pre-slash UST)
Rating: hard R
Word Count: 2,391
Summary: Arriving at a client's ritzy party, after a few straight days of work, Mike is mostly presentable, except for the five o'clock shadow. It makes him look unprofessional, which makes Harvey look unprofessional, and so he takes Mike aside to give him a shave.
Notes: for suitsmeme, originally posted anon here. Title borrowed shamelessly from Sweeney Todd.
Mike was running late, but given the circumstances, he thought it was understandable. Harvey was working on closing a deal with a client that required Mike to check for discrepancies between two six-hundred page contracts, Louis had dumped another pro bono case on him, and after one of her associates came down with bronchitis, Jessica had asked him to help proof some top-priority bylaws.
He had not seen the inside of his apartment in three days, and the only reason he was feeling remotely human was because Donna had all but dragged him to a private partner's bathroom earlier that afternoon and told him to shower.
All things considered, he was only twenty minutes late, and five of those were spent convincing the security that no, he wasn't a party-crasher, yes, he was invited, and yes, he really was an associate at Pearson Hardman.
Mike's only experience with more high-end parties were the ones he accompanied Harvey to, but even with his limited experience he could tell this was even more high-end than most. He felt a bit of his league, doubly so when he saw Harvey making his way over, even more sharply dressed than normal.
"What took you so long?" Harvey asked.
Even though they were at the fringe of the room, there were quite a few people milling around, and Mike carefully judged that this was not the place to start venting about his unrelentingly heavy workload. Instead, as blandly as he could manage, he just said, "Work." When Harvey didn't reply, he added, "I haven't been to my apartment in three days."
Harvey didn't look impressed with Mike's hardship, and instead gave him a scrutinizing once-over. "When was the last time you showered?"
Mike checked his watch. "About five hours ago."
Harvey seemed pleased with that, but then he shifted closer and asked, "When was the last time you shaved?"
"Uh..." Mike coughed. "Last time I was at my apartment."
Harvey stared at him for a moment. "Thought so." He hooked a hand around Mike's elbow, and lead him out of the grand living room, down a hallway, up a short staircase, and into the first door on the left.
Inside was one of the largest bathrooms Mike had ever seen. It seemed bigger than his bedroom, though he hadn't been in his bedroom in so long that it was hard to remember. There was a mirror lining one of the walls, with a black marble countertop stretching below it, and from the rich reds to the hazy lighting, the whole room exuded luxury.
His thoughts were interrupted by a metallic click, and Mike turned to see Harvey locking the door.
"Uh," Mike said, eloquently.
"Mrs. Haynes is one of the firm's more high-end and better-paying clients," Harvey explained. "I am not going to introduce you to her as my associate if you have three days worth of stubble. Now take off your coat and tie, and wash your face."
Harvey started sifting through the cabinets, and it occurred to Mike that he was completely serious. So he shrugged off his coat and hung it up on a cabinet knob. He started to pull his tie through the knot, but a hand covered his.
"Don't," Harvey said.
"What? You told me to--"
"Take off your tie." Harvey waved Mike's hands away, and started untying the knot. "But when you pull the tie through the knot, it pulls at the silk." Harvey paused, checking the tab on the inside of the tie. Placated by the pure silk content of the tie, he slid it from under Mike's collar and hung it up with his coat. Then he went back to sifting through the cabinets.
Deciding it was better to just follow along, Mike shoved his sleeves up and thumbed open the top two buttons of his shirt. There were a few sinks in the countertop, and he went to one nearer to the door. Even the sink and faucet seemed classy.
When he was done washing his face, he looked up into the mirror, and saw that Harvey had removed his own jacket, and was deftly folding up his sleeves up. Harvey's eyes flicked up and met his through the reflection, and he said, "Get up on the counter."
It took a moment for the meaning to sink in. "You're joking," Mike said, turning around.
"I'm not. Get up on the counter."
He sighed, but perched himself on the black marble counter. "I can shave myself, you know," he pointed out.
"Yes," Harvey said, with a slight smirk, "but this way I know it'll be done it right."
Mike rolled his eyes, and was just about to give a witty reply when Harvey stepped between his legs. Any words, wit, or ability to speak dried up in his mouth.
"Hold still," Harvey said, completely unnecessarily since Mike had frozen completely.
Harvey poured some orange-ish liquid into the palm of his hand. Then started rubbing it in, down one side of his face, around his mouth, up the other side, and down his neck.
They've shared the odd fist-bump, Mike has goaded a high-five out of him once, and they occasionally knocked shoulders when walking too close, but this was more contact they've had in all the time they've spent together. And Harvey was completely blase about it, while Mike was ramrod straight.
After a moment, Mike became aware he was clutching the edge of the counter, and he glanced down at his hand, willing it to loosen its grip. Then it tightened again, as Harvey's hand reached behind his to grab a white bowl and black-bristled brush.
The sight broke Mike out of his stupor, as a surprised laugh bubbled up his throat. "Is that actually..."
"Let me guess," Harvey said, slowly twirling the old-fashioned ivory-handled badger-bristled brush in the matching bowl, "you just use generic shaving gel." When Mike opened his mouth to reply, Harvey continued, "Don't answer that."
There was no chance for Mike to answer it anyway, as Harvey started brushing on a light layer of shaving cream. And unlike the cheap, generic shaving gel Mike did use, it was actually cream, and it felt like it. It went on smooth and cool, the bristles of the brush grazing his skin, and there was no slight chemical burn when Harvey let it sit for a moment.
As Harvey was watching the sink fill up, testing the temperature of the water every few seconds, it suddenly really occurred to him that Harvey was serious about giving him a shave. And Mike was suddenly reminded of that one time he had nearly broken his wrist and Trevor had volunteered to help him shave.
"You're not going to cut me, are you?" he asked, glancing down and warily eying the razor.
Harvey stared at him. After a long moment, he said, "No. If you have cuts from shaving, it makes you look unprofessional. If you look unprofessional, then--"
Mike rolled his eyes. "You look unprofessional. Of course."
"I'm not going to cut you," Harvey concluded, and unless Mike was imagining it, there was a softer edge to his voice.
"I'm sorry, was that... was that reassuring?" Mike asked, not sure if he was joking or not.
There was the slightest hint of a smile as Harvey said, "Look to the side."
Mike kept facing straight ahead, and looked to the side out of the corner of his eye. And fought not to smile when he heard Harvey sigh, half exasperated, half amused. And fought to keep the surprise off his face when, instead of instructing him to turn his head to the side, Harvey just touched two fingers to the bottom of his chin and did it himself.
Harvey raised the razor up, and Mike found himself tensing up, eyes screwing shut, unable to help it. The incident with Trevor didn't go well; and although the cut hadn't been that deep, and it hadn't hurt that much, but the entire thing left a bad taste in his mouth.
After a few moments of no contact, Mike opened his eyes, and saw the blade in midair, and Harvey looking at him patiently.
Harvey cared about his reputation, and would make sure not to nick him him because of that, but Mike had the suspicion that Harvey also cared about him as well. Either way, he trusted Harvey, more than he trusted Trevor now, and maybe even more than he trusted Trevor then.
Mike relaxed, eyes sliding close again, and tilted his head to give Harvey a better angle.
Harvey made a noise of satisfaction, and finally the blade touched down on his skin. The disaster Mike subconsciously anticipated didn't happen, just one, two, three slow strokes before Harvey swirled the razor in the sink, and started again.
He opened his eyes, after a few cycles, and at this proximity, there was nothing else to look at than Harvey. It was one of the few times Mike had seen him without a coat, his charcoal gray suit jacket hanging up, laid over Mike's, leaving him in just his shirt sleeves and a fitted black vest. His tie was the only article with any color, and that was just silvery-blue stripes amongst thicker deep grays and black. This close, Mike could make out the faintest gray stripes on the shirt.
Aware that he was staring, and Harvey was probably aware of it as well, Mike cleared his throat and asked, "Are you done yet?" Knowing it would make him sound childish, but not particularly caring, he added, "This is taking forever."
"How long does it usually take you to shave?" Harvey asked, still swirling the razor in the sink.
"Maybe... two minutes while I shower?"
The blade stilled in the water. Harvey looked at him with that slight frown he had used when he found out Mike bought five suits for five hundred dollars. He opened his mouth, decided to think the better of it, and closed his mouth.
Mike frowned.
"Stop frowning."
Harvey tapped the excess water off the razor, and resumed with the slow process of shaving. For all that it did seem like it was taking forever, Mike didn't really mind. After three days of nearly non-stop work, it was relaxing to just sit there and do nothing. If he were honest with himself, he was actually enjoying it.
By the time Harvey was finishing up, Mike realized he may be enjoying it a bit too much. When the final stroke was done, Mike started to slide off the counter, and immediately regretted it when Harvey didn't move.
"What?" Harvey asked. "I'm not done yet."
"You're not?" Mike asked, slightly horrified. Over the past few minutes, their close proximity had started to affect him in a way he'd rather not be affected.
"That's what I just said, isn't it?"
Mike didn't reply, just slid back further onto the counter, pushing himself a bit farther back than before. When Harvey just stared at him, Mike tentatively inched closer again.
Harvey nodded, then stepped back, procuring another towel and dampening it.
When he returned, stepping back between Mike's legs, he seemed closer than before -- if possible -- brushing just slightly against the inside of Mike's thighs.
Hoping this whole situation would be less awkward if there wasn't any bodily contact, Mike spread his legs the slightest bit wider; and instantly regret it when it caused the fabric of his pants to strain against him.
On the scale of inappropriateness, from 'meeting your to-be employer with a briefcase full of pot' to 'pretending to have a law degree from Harvard,' Mike wondered where 'getting turned on from your boss giving you a shave' would be placed. Because by now he was almost painfully hard, and there was no denying it. And it wasn't getting better by Harvey dabbing down his jawline with a warm towel.
"What more do you have to do?" Mike asked, casting his gaze upwards, trying to focus on anything and everything that wasn't the heat pooling in his groin.
"I have to make sure I didn't miss anything," Harvey said.
And then Harvey's fingers were lightly trailing down his face. Down the side of his face, his jawbone, his chin, his neck, and Mike tried -- desperately -- not to think about Harvey's hands and how they might feel trailing further and further down.
Mike stared steadfast up at the ceiling, his breath catching as Harvey's thumb brushed his Adam's apple. He tried desperately not to swallow as Harvey's fingers ran back up this throat. Harvey ran his knuckles up the other side of his face, then back down, knuckles running across his chin, with his thumb ghosting over Mike's lips.
He shuddered, unable to help it. He couldn't fool himself into thinking that Harvey didn't notice, only hoped that Harvey wouldn't glance down and notice anything more.
To the best of Mike's knowledge Harvey didn't, his attention going straight from Mike's face, to the bowl of shaving cream, and back to his face. He reapplied a film of shaving cream just to his jawline, not letting it sit before shaving it off in two deft strokes.
Harvey swirled the razor around in water once more, but afterwards he set it down, staring intently at Mike for another long moment. Then he stepped back.
Mike nearly fell back against the mirror, feeling almost dizzy in relief. And oddly bereft, but he wasn't going to think too deeply about that.
"I trust that you can take care of the rest yourself?" Harvey asked.
Not sure if Harvey was referring to what Mike was afraid he was referring to, and therefore not trusting himself to speak, Mike just nodded.
"Good. Mrs. Haynes always arrives fashionably late, so she should be here by now, and I need to get to her before all the brown-nosers do." Harvey pulled down his coat and slid into it easily, only taking the briefest of moments to straighten it. "Join us as soon as you're ready, and if she asks, you came straight from the office."
Again, he just nodded dumbly.
Without another word, Harvey head out of the bathroom.
Mike locked the door behind him.