(no subject)
Title: many times surprised
Fandom: Suits
Pairings: Harvey/Mike, Harvey/Jessica, implied Mike/Rachel, Mike/Jenny and Harvey/Donna (once >.>).
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 1146
Summary: Sometimes, it feels like Harvey Spector is a man of two parts; somehow, miraculously, he's able to give both halves what they need.
AN: I have been dying to write fic for this show, so here it is! This based on a prompt from robanybody. I feel like there is more filling out of this verse to come. This is unashamedly porny. I regret nothing.
In the morning, when the light through the kitchen windows is still violet-blue and bruised, he stands barefoot on the tiles, naked as the day that he was born and fixes coffee. His apartment is undeniably fabulous, his life beyond belief but he still takes his coffee the same way as he did when he worked in the mail-room; strong and black one sugar. Perfect.
He stands and looks down at the city while he drinks. The lights. The ever present sound of traffic. He was born here. He knows here.
Which doe not mean that he's not prepared to be surprised.
Coffee finished and mug rinsed, he pads back into the bedroom. He pulls on sweats and a t-shirt. He is a creature of habit; he’s been hitting the gym between sleep and shower for as long as he can remember but he does pause for a beat and look down at the body still sleeping in the rumpled bed. Everything about Harvey's life is neat and controlled and expensive and Mike Ross...he's a kink. An unknown quanity. A ripple. Harvey combs his fingers back through his hair as he looks down at Mike who is amazingly smart and unexpectedly beautiful, besides. Almost everything about Mike came as a surprise but Harvey has never been adverse to being surprised.
Francis Bacon wrote about the effect of surprise on a man.
Mike Ross is both bold and unexpected and Harvey is willingly laid open.
He bends over the bed but, in the end, he doesn't kiss Mike. He looks at his mouth for a moment and then pulls away.
He'll run. He'll wake Mike. They'll take their separate routes to the firm.
*
His life has a peculiar dualistic quality. There are days at the firm, doing his job. There are nights at home, increasingly spent with Mike, cooking or watching movies or fucking for hours in a rumpled bed (or once, memorably, on the desk in his study). Things that he’s learned: that Mike talks in his sleep, that he’s allergic to peanuts and tea, that he starts to tremble finely about a minute before he comes in Harvey’s hand or Harvey’s mouth. Their lives together splits nicely into how they are when they’re at home and how they are when they’re not.
And then there are those times in between.
“You screwed up, Harvey,” she says, punctuating with her finger in his face. “Admit it.”
It’s been a long, long day.
He’s known Jessica Pearson for long enough that he knows that attack is not always the best means of defence. He’s not meek, never meek, but he knows when to nod, and when to smile and when to lean.
“I screwed up,” he admits. “I’ll fix it.”
“Damn right you will,” she says, and then she wraps his tie around her fingers and he draws him for a hard kiss.
His time with Mike has a pattern. His time with Jessica does too. He’s never been anything other than open and honest with Mike, in return for the same privilege. He knows about Rachel. He knows about Jenny. Mike knows about that one time with Donna that they never, ever speak of.
And Mike knows about Jessica too.
There’s balance here, somewhere. There’s possibility.
He opens his mouth without prompting.
“C’mon, Harvey,” says Jessica, tugging on the tie, taking a step back and drawing him with her. He goes, content to be led. He does lean in, stealing another kiss, which earns him a sharp slap across his ass, his hips jerking in response. Her hand stays against his ass, squeezing. He feels her nails through the fabric of his pants.
What he gets from Jessica is very different from what he gets from Mike.
And he needs them both equally.
“What did you have in mind, Jessica?”
She steps away from him, folding her arms and tilting her head.
“You know the position, Harvey. Pants around your ankles.”
“This is a very expensive suit, Jessica.”
One eyebrow twitches.
“Make do,” she says.
*
There is something to be said for vulnerability. For appearing to be vulnerable. He settled for taking off his jacket and his vest, but his pants are around his ankles and he’s bent from the waist across her desk. His legs are spread wide at her instruction. When she draws slick fingers out of him, his breath catches in a way that’s just undignified.
She’s been having this effect on him since he was a kid.
Originally, he’d thought he was past it. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant to realise that he wasn’t quite done.
The head of the toy feels blunt and thick when it presses against him. Mike hasn’t even asked if he can fuck him yet. Harvey’s actually looking forward to it, and, as Jessica presses deep into him, as she starts to fuck him with slow, methodical strokes hard enough to rock his hips forward against the desk, he’s half thinking about how much he’s always loved her and he’s half thinking about Mike.
Afterwards, she has him get down on his knees. She spreads her legs for him, her skirt rucked up around her long, brown thighs and he leans in, spreads her cunt with his fingers and kisses and licks and sucks until she comes on his tongue with his hands on her thighs to hold her back in her desk chair. She combs her fingers through his hair and ruffles it forward across his forehead.
“I always preferred you rumpled,” she murmurs, fondly, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw as he starts to straighten. “You look younger.”
“Neither of us are as young as we used to be, Jessica,” he says, and he bends and presses a kiss against her bare thigh.
*
“You’re late.” Mike’s installed on the couch, already in pyjamas, watching some movie filled with aliens and eating popcorn from a salad bowl. “You know how I know that? Because you’re later than me, and I was really, really late.”
Harvey huffs a laugh as he heads straight for the bedroom. He strips out of his suit carefully, hangs it. Soiled shirt and underwear go straight into the laundry hamper.
He’s only in the shower a minute or two before the door opens and Mike’s slipping in behind him, wrapping his arms around him from behind. Harvey closes his eyes for a moment, weight leaning against hands braced on the tiles, Mike’s body pressed against his and he can feel the lazy heat of Mike’s hard-on, the strength in his skinny arms.
Some days, it’s like there are two halves to him, he thinks, as he turns in Mike’s arms and finds his mouth with a warm, wet kiss.
And, somehow, miraculously, he’s allowed to give them both what they need.
Which should be surprising, somehow. And isn’t.
Fandom: Suits
Pairings: Harvey/Mike, Harvey/Jessica, implied Mike/Rachel, Mike/Jenny and Harvey/Donna (once >.>).
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 1146
Summary: Sometimes, it feels like Harvey Spector is a man of two parts; somehow, miraculously, he's able to give both halves what they need.
AN: I have been dying to write fic for this show, so here it is! This based on a prompt from robanybody. I feel like there is more filling out of this verse to come. This is unashamedly porny. I regret nothing.
In the morning, when the light through the kitchen windows is still violet-blue and bruised, he stands barefoot on the tiles, naked as the day that he was born and fixes coffee. His apartment is undeniably fabulous, his life beyond belief but he still takes his coffee the same way as he did when he worked in the mail-room; strong and black one sugar. Perfect.
He stands and looks down at the city while he drinks. The lights. The ever present sound of traffic. He was born here. He knows here.
Which doe not mean that he's not prepared to be surprised.
Coffee finished and mug rinsed, he pads back into the bedroom. He pulls on sweats and a t-shirt. He is a creature of habit; he’s been hitting the gym between sleep and shower for as long as he can remember but he does pause for a beat and look down at the body still sleeping in the rumpled bed. Everything about Harvey's life is neat and controlled and expensive and Mike Ross...he's a kink. An unknown quanity. A ripple. Harvey combs his fingers back through his hair as he looks down at Mike who is amazingly smart and unexpectedly beautiful, besides. Almost everything about Mike came as a surprise but Harvey has never been adverse to being surprised.
Francis Bacon wrote about the effect of surprise on a man.
Mike Ross is both bold and unexpected and Harvey is willingly laid open.
He bends over the bed but, in the end, he doesn't kiss Mike. He looks at his mouth for a moment and then pulls away.
He'll run. He'll wake Mike. They'll take their separate routes to the firm.
*
His life has a peculiar dualistic quality. There are days at the firm, doing his job. There are nights at home, increasingly spent with Mike, cooking or watching movies or fucking for hours in a rumpled bed (or once, memorably, on the desk in his study). Things that he’s learned: that Mike talks in his sleep, that he’s allergic to peanuts and tea, that he starts to tremble finely about a minute before he comes in Harvey’s hand or Harvey’s mouth. Their lives together splits nicely into how they are when they’re at home and how they are when they’re not.
And then there are those times in between.
“You screwed up, Harvey,” she says, punctuating with her finger in his face. “Admit it.”
It’s been a long, long day.
He’s known Jessica Pearson for long enough that he knows that attack is not always the best means of defence. He’s not meek, never meek, but he knows when to nod, and when to smile and when to lean.
“I screwed up,” he admits. “I’ll fix it.”
“Damn right you will,” she says, and then she wraps his tie around her fingers and he draws him for a hard kiss.
His time with Mike has a pattern. His time with Jessica does too. He’s never been anything other than open and honest with Mike, in return for the same privilege. He knows about Rachel. He knows about Jenny. Mike knows about that one time with Donna that they never, ever speak of.
And Mike knows about Jessica too.
There’s balance here, somewhere. There’s possibility.
He opens his mouth without prompting.
“C’mon, Harvey,” says Jessica, tugging on the tie, taking a step back and drawing him with her. He goes, content to be led. He does lean in, stealing another kiss, which earns him a sharp slap across his ass, his hips jerking in response. Her hand stays against his ass, squeezing. He feels her nails through the fabric of his pants.
What he gets from Jessica is very different from what he gets from Mike.
And he needs them both equally.
“What did you have in mind, Jessica?”
She steps away from him, folding her arms and tilting her head.
“You know the position, Harvey. Pants around your ankles.”
“This is a very expensive suit, Jessica.”
One eyebrow twitches.
“Make do,” she says.
*
There is something to be said for vulnerability. For appearing to be vulnerable. He settled for taking off his jacket and his vest, but his pants are around his ankles and he’s bent from the waist across her desk. His legs are spread wide at her instruction. When she draws slick fingers out of him, his breath catches in a way that’s just undignified.
She’s been having this effect on him since he was a kid.
Originally, he’d thought he was past it. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant to realise that he wasn’t quite done.
The head of the toy feels blunt and thick when it presses against him. Mike hasn’t even asked if he can fuck him yet. Harvey’s actually looking forward to it, and, as Jessica presses deep into him, as she starts to fuck him with slow, methodical strokes hard enough to rock his hips forward against the desk, he’s half thinking about how much he’s always loved her and he’s half thinking about Mike.
Afterwards, she has him get down on his knees. She spreads her legs for him, her skirt rucked up around her long, brown thighs and he leans in, spreads her cunt with his fingers and kisses and licks and sucks until she comes on his tongue with his hands on her thighs to hold her back in her desk chair. She combs her fingers through his hair and ruffles it forward across his forehead.
“I always preferred you rumpled,” she murmurs, fondly, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw as he starts to straighten. “You look younger.”
“Neither of us are as young as we used to be, Jessica,” he says, and he bends and presses a kiss against her bare thigh.
*
“You’re late.” Mike’s installed on the couch, already in pyjamas, watching some movie filled with aliens and eating popcorn from a salad bowl. “You know how I know that? Because you’re later than me, and I was really, really late.”
Harvey huffs a laugh as he heads straight for the bedroom. He strips out of his suit carefully, hangs it. Soiled shirt and underwear go straight into the laundry hamper.
He’s only in the shower a minute or two before the door opens and Mike’s slipping in behind him, wrapping his arms around him from behind. Harvey closes his eyes for a moment, weight leaning against hands braced on the tiles, Mike’s body pressed against his and he can feel the lazy heat of Mike’s hard-on, the strength in his skinny arms.
Some days, it’s like there are two halves to him, he thinks, as he turns in Mike’s arms and finds his mouth with a warm, wet kiss.
And, somehow, miraculously, he’s allowed to give them both what they need.
Which should be surprising, somehow. And isn’t.