hella bar talk 1/1
hella bar talk
rating: nc17
word count: 3353
notes: for this prompt on suitsmeme. :)
There have, in fact, been stranger requests. There would always be that time with the fake Oscar, and the almost-Kanye. Just thinking about the memory was more than enough to make Harvey vomit a little in his mouth. Plus, sexual favors are nothing new. Law of evolution, works of Darwin, yadda yadda yadda.
Anyway.
Harvey considers of all this for the 0.4 seconds it takes for the words "My wife wants to have sex with you," to work its way through his auditory canal and up into his brain. He says yes, naturally, because he is the best closer the city has ever seen, and while he does have morals about married women, he has absolutely no qualms about swingers.
Until Parker adds, "I'd like to have sex with your assistant."
Harvey blinks. "I didn't know you'd met Donna," he says, because he's pretty sure Parker hasn't, but Parker just looks baffled.
"Donna?" he repeats. "No, I meant Mike--isn't that his name? Mike?"
"Uh," says Harvey. He takes a sip of his coffee to stall for time, and just as much, Mike re-emerges from the bathroom while a placid smile and a charming, "What did I miss?"
Stella smiles at him.
+
Stella is pretty. It’s nothing fascinating, and Harvey’s had better, but she is pretty, nonetheless, and her curves are soft and smooth as he runs a hand down her back. She’s quiet, a little shy, her moans bitten off and her skin flushed red. She’s wet, and Harvey pushes a finger into her cunt and her hips stutter, pushing back as she gasps quietly.
In front of him, Parker says, “Yeah, just like that,” and Harvey looks up and swallows. Parker has Mike spread on his back, fingering him open, and Mike is whimpering softly, trying to get Parker to push in deeper. His arm is thrown over his eyes, but Harvey can see the way his eyes are shut tight, the way his mouth is open and wet.
Harvey looks away, bends down and palms the curve of Stella’s ass, biting it gently, and she moans for him, spreading her legs wider, and he presses teasing kisses against the inside of her thigh, and she shudders, burying her face into the sheets, fists clenched tight. He slides in a second finger, then a third. He sucks a bruise just behind her knee and withdraws his hand as soon as he feels she’s close.
She’s louder then, whimpering and begging, “Please.” He smirks at her and says, “Yeah, alright,” and slides in in one smooth stroke. She gasps and rocks her hips, and he lets her adjust until she’s comfortable, until her breath hitches and her eyes flutter and she says, “Yes, oh God, right there.”
Harvey keeps one hand on her hip as the other reaches around, searching for her clit. She lets out a cry, and he almost grins in spite of himself, and just then, he hears Mike let out an especially loud groan. He watches as Parker fucks into him, long, steady strokes that leave Mike gasping, arching off the bed, his hands leaving half-moon bruises below Parker’s shoulders.
Harvey lets out a low groan and pushes into Stella roughly. She pushes back, rolling her hips as she goes, murmuring encouragements.
He can hear Parker groaning, “Fuck, yeah, that’s it,” can feel Stella shaking apart below him, Mike making the most strangled noise in the back of his throat. He gasps when Stella clenches tight around, moaning deliciously as she comes, shivering, rocking herself steadily against him. He pulls out, squeezing the head of his cock, and comes, just as Mike bites out an “Oh, fuck!”
+
They have a rule, or rather, they establish one.
Or rather, Mike shoes up late in the same suit he was in the night before, and Harvey is far from impressed.
“Cut some slack,” Mike complains. “I didn’t have time to bike all the way home.”
“Cry me a river,” Harvey says, straightening his cuff. “You are-”
“A reflection of you and the firm, yeah, I know,” says Mike, dragging a hand across his face. “I got it.”
Harvey pauses.
“What?” asks Mike, meeting his gaze. “Am I going to get another lecture for interrupting you?”
Harvey smirks and shakes his head. “Donna,” he calls. “Send Mike here the Abberton files.”
Mike looks at him, confused. “What are the Abberton files? Is that a code? Are you throwing my body into the Hudson?”
Harvey smiles at him, smug. “Get to work,” he says. “You’re not leaving until those are on my desk, completely proofread.”
Mike salutes him on the way out.
Which is pretty much all they say about that. (And if Harvey notices the way Mike keeps rubbing at a dark red spot just beneath the collar of his shirt, it’s only because Mike is an oblivious moron who has too many tells.)
+
Mike may or may not have a heart attack when Donna shows him the files.
“That’s a lot of boxes,” he says.
“28,” she says. “14 folders each with an average of 20 pages per folder.”
“7,840 pages total,” they say in unison. Donna has the same smug smirk as Harvey, and Mike wonders, for a moment, if they’re related.
“Are you kidding me?” he asks.
“No,” Donna answers curtly.
“Yeah,” Mike says, looking from one side of the room to the other. “Didn’t think so.”
+
Rachel, bless her, offers to help.
“You look pathetic,” she tells him. “Also, I ordered sushi.”
“I love you,” Mike says, putting down his highlighter. “I’ll buy you caviar and squid and all those other disgusting, expensive foods you like so much.”
“Whatever,” Rachel replies, but she smiles anyway. “I got you Chinese.”
He blinks up at her. “Marry me,” he says. “Seriously.”
+
He sends Rachel home at 1 am. She doesn’t have to be here, and he feels bad, even though she (unconvincingly) insists that she could use the overtime. He stretches, groaning appreciatively when his bones crack. It’s nearly half past 3 am now, and he’s nearly done. He drains the last of his coffee, eyes the last stack of folders and gets to work.
+
It’s nearly 5 am when he finally finishes, and Mike could almost cry from relief. He puts the last of the folders away and locks the door behind him. He thinks about leaving the keys at Donna’s desk, and maybe camping out there for a few hours of sleep, but as he approaches, he realizes that the door to Harvey’s office is open, and as he gets closer, he realizes that Harvey’s still there.
Mike swallows. Suddenly, he feels tense, skittish, and he licks his lips unconsciously before he knocks quietly on the door.
Harvey looks up from the desk, and Mike swallows again. “I finished,” he says, but his voice comes out rough, and he has to clear his throat. “I finished,” he says again, dangling the keys in front of himself. “7,000 pages and change.”
Harvey watches him, and Mike stiffens reflexively, unsure. “Good,” Harvey says finally, looking away. “Go get some sleep.”
Mike leaves the keys on Harvey’s desk and walks out. Once he’s inside the elevator, he leans against the wall, the weight of exhaustion hitting him full force. He slumps to the floor, and by the time the elevator reaches the lobby, Mike is seriously considering tucking himself against the corner and sleeping here, but he represents Harvey, yadda yadda, and could he really get anymore pathetic (Answer: possibly).
In the end, he sneaks into the mail room, because he knows none of the employees will be in until 10 am, and he slips into the ladies room, where there’s a comfortable couch he can knock out on.
He sets the alarm on his phone for 8:00 am and passes out.
+
Louis is really, the last person Mike wants to deal, even on a good day.
“Don’t forget,” Louis tells him with just enough of lip to make it threatening. “You don’t work for Harvey, you work for the firm.”
It takes a tremendous amount of effort for Mike not to grab the stapler on his desk and staple his own mouth shut. “I know,” he says, as calmly as he can manage. “It’s just that Harvey really needs these done by tonight.”
“Pity,” says Louis. “I need these done by this afternoon. Harvey’s little extracurricular projects can wait.”
Mike bites down a groan and swears under his breath when he feels himself flush at the insinuation.
+
Harvey can’t concentrate-unsurprising for someone who has essentially just pulled a 30-hour work shift, but he considers a shameful admission, regardless. He’s not 25 anymore, something that Mike unwittingly reminds him of.
Donna shoots him a raised eyebrow when she clocks in at 7:59 am sharp, but he ignores her for the most part. She brings him his coffee at 8:03, and they do a quick run-through of the agenda for the day. No court dates, just a meeting with a client at noon. (“He just wants reassurance,” Donna says, eyes running quickly through a memo from Jessica.)
She doesn’t press for anything, but she does divert most of his calls.
+
Louis checks up on Mike a little after lunch.
“Almost done?” Louis asks silkily, and Mike manages to check himself from flinching on a reflex.
“Yeah,” he says, reading over the paperwork. Sure, he’d had to Google a how-to, but it looks good enough. He does not look up. He refuses to.
Louis makes a few more pointed comments, but Mike isn’t listening anymore. Just says, “Yes, sir,” in a few well-timed places, and eventually, Louis leaves him alone, undoubtedly off to terrorize some of the other associates into doing his bidding.
+
Harvey watches Louis prowl the floor. It’s hard to miss, really, with that rat of a smile in an even rattier suit. He watches as Louis leans over Mike’s sectioned-off office. He narrows his eyes at the way Louis leers at the boy. It’s completely unsettling, but they are a successful firm and even he will grudgingly admit that Louis’ intimidation tactics do work very well when it comes to representing their clients.
Louis walks away after a few moments, and Harvey continues to watch as Mike puts down his papers and rubs his face in his hand. As he stretches, his neck twists and for a fraction of a second, Harvey sees it-not one, but two bright red marks, right at the base of Mike’s neck.
Unconsciously, Harvey brings his own hand up to his neck and rubs at a spot just under his jaw. After a moment, he blinks and with a quick shake of his head, brings himself back to Earth.
He has work to do.
+
The marks fade in time.
Every day Harvey watches as the hickeys become less and less visible, until he has to strain to see them over the collar of Mike’s shirts.
Not that he’s looking for them. Or anything.
+
Mike isn’t stupid, nor is he blind. Sexuality is a tricky thing to read, because everyone checks everyone out, regardless of orientation, context, or whatever, but Mike’s pretty confident Harvey’s ego enjoys being stroked by a guy just as much as it likes being stroked by a girl.
Also, Harvey was totally watching That Night.
It’s Mike’s job to pay attention to these sort of things.
+
Harvey will not say that he isn’t sexually attracted to Mike Ross, because let’s face it, he is. Harvey also will not say that he’s possibly jacked off to the image of Mike spread out on his back, hands gripping the headboard as Harvey fucks him open, demanding that he come without a hand on his cock. (And Mike would, too. Harvey just knows it.)
But Harvey won’t say any of this.
Because they don’t talk about That Night.
Ever.
+
Except when Mike decides to do something about it because this is ridiculous, and they could’ve started fucking weeks ago.
+
It’s late, and they’re sitting in Harvey’s office, going over financials, and Mike doesn’t know why anything feels different today, just that it does, and he thinks, maybe, he can’t-won’t-do this. Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe Harvey isn’t interested.
Only, when Mike looks up to point out a discrepancy in the statements, Harvey is staring at him, eyes blank. He starts when Mike clears his throat.
They talk about the case, about what their chances and what the evidence points to, and at some point, Mike finds himself leaning across the desk to show Harvey something. He rubs the back of his neck to work out a crick, and he catches Harvey staring.
And maybe that’s it, maybe that’s what gives him this one jolt of adrenaline because Mike finds himself stepping close, pressing himself flush against Harvey and murmuring, “Eyes up here.”
There is a moment-a tangible, palpable moment where Mike thinks shit, and he thinks about stepping away, about apologizing, about ending this right here. Then Harvey moves, almost imperceptibly, but Mike, pressed up against him, feels it more than anything. Harvey raises his chin, just a fraction, almost defiant, and very slowly, smirks.
Harvey runs a hand down the lapels of Mike’s suit and makes a dismissive noise in the back of his throat, but Mike doesn’t back off, doesn’t stand down, he can feel the slightest tremor in the touch, and it does nothing but make him bolder. He licks his lips and watches, fascinated at the way Harvey stills.
“So,” Mike breathes, impressed with himself for keeping his voice steady.
“Shut up,” Harvey says, and kisses him.
Mike gasps when Harvey bites at his lower lip. He winds an arm around Harvey’s neck, pulling him impossibly closer. They stumble a little, until Mike is backed into the desk, and he manages to maneuver himself onto it without breaking their kiss.
“Jesus,” says Mike dazedly when they finally pull apart. He’s panting, and Harvey is standing over him, caging him, and Mike is very much aware of how flushed he is, how his lips are wet and shiny, and how very badly he wants this.
“You’re just always looking for some new way to get yourself fired, aren’t you?” Harvey snorts as he pushes at Mike’s jacket. It gets tangled before he can get off completely, and Harvey, the bastard, just leaves it so Mike has to struggle free himself.
“I thought getting caught with your dick in my ass is the least of my worries here,” Mike manages to grit out before Harvey is shoving him back against his desk, ignoring the flutter of papers sliding off the surface.
“If you’re going to get caught doing anything around here, you’re not fit to stay,” Harvey retorts, stripping out of his own suit jacket with much more finesse. “Turn around.”
Mike obeys, propping himself up on his elbows, and Harvey wastes no time in pulling the belt of the loop and tugging down his pants. Mike is barely paying attention, the drag of the fabric against his cock making him heady and pliant, and Harvey slaps him on the ass, not hard, but enough to startle Mike back into focus.
“Jesus Christ, what is wrong with you,” Mike tumbles out, choking off a moan as Harvey runs a finger against his hole.
“Are you really so far below the poverty line that you can’t even afford to buy some underwear?” says Harvey, and Mike doesn’t have to see him to know that Harvey has the biggest fucking smirk on his face right now.
“But that would be so inefficient,” Mike bites back, just as Harvey presses the tip of his finger instead, dry and insistent. Mike honest-to-God whines. He turns his head into the desk and bites down on the inside of his arm to muffle it. The fabric of his shirt is rough against his tongue, but he doesn’t care, can only focus on pushing back against Harvey’s hand, groaning at the stretch.
“Fuck,” Harvey whispers, pulling his finger out slowly. “Can you-”
“Yes,” Mike cuts him off, not even knowing what he’s saying as he rocks back on his heels, the head of his dick pressing against the edge of the table. “Yes, it’s fine. It’s fine. Fuck, you stopped, why the fuck are you stopping?”
Harvey snorts quietly, but he obliges Mike all the same, pushing back in forcefully. “Are you sure?” he says, leaning over to bite at Mike’s neck. “Do you think you can me just like this? One finger, no lube-I’d rip you apart, and you-”
Harvey’s finger brushes over just the right spot, and Mike practically keens from it, his entire body going taut and melting apart. “Yeah,” he babbles. “Yes, fuck, yes, I want it just like this.”
Harvey sucks a bruise on the nape of his neck and adds a second finger, scissoring him open, and Mike moans for it, spreading his legs further apart for better access, chasing that thrill of pleasure. It doesn’t take long-Harvey’s already found it once, and once he finds it again, he doesn’t stop, he keeps stroking his prostate until Mike is spread out over the desk, unable to keep himself upright, coaxing out moan after low moan.
Mike has always been sensitive, and it doesn’t stop when Harvey adds a third finger, and the burn of it, the gentle press of lips against his jaw send him over the edge and he comes all over his shirt, just from that.
He’s physically shaking as he comes down, and Harvey is running smooth strokes down his back, fingers still buried deep. He hisses as Harvey slides out, every sensation amplified and too much, sharp to the point of pain.
He feels exhausted, every bone in his body weighing him down, and he can’t decide if he wants to sink to the floor or just stay here, draped over the desk with Harvey pressed against him.
“I can,” he starts feebly, pushing himself up, and Harvey chuckles, low, but fond.
“Looks like I wore you out,” he says, not even bothering to hide the smugness in his voice.
“You didn’t,” Mike says, blinking sleepily, breath still coming in short puffs.
Harvey grins at him predatorily. “I’m sure we can work something out,” he says, and Mike rolls his eyes.
+
Here is what they don’t talk about. They don’t talk about their clients’ sexual activities. They don’t talk about the hickeys that are just below Mike’s collar. They don’t talk about the way Harvey sometimes flinches when he stretches his back.
They don’t talk about these things because no one needs to know, so here is what they do talk about.
They talk about court and new clients, about which restaurants are good and which clients they should take where. They talk about judges and the state attorney. They talk about Jessica and Louis and occasionally, Trevor. They talk about Harvard, about other firms.
They talk about things that are related to their cases, about the bar, about strategies. They talk about a lot of things, when they’re in the presence of other people, when it’s inappropriate to say things like, “So the vibrator came in the mail today,” or “We need to buy more lube.”
Sometimes, when they’re working late, and they aren’t speaking to each other because they’re too focused on the task at hand, one will look up and think, “Oh,” because there’s nothing new-just comforting and constant, and by then the other will have looked up as well, will raise an eyebrow and say, “What?” and they’ll both simply shrug and go back to their work because sometimes, nothing needs to be said.
(But when it is, it’s nice to hear.
"I won," Mike tells him, beaming.
"It was in the contract," says Harvey, bored. "You couldn't lose."
"Yes, but I won," Mike insists.
"Well, good for you," Harvey says. "Now where are you on the witness list?")
rating: nc17
word count: 3353
notes: for this prompt on suitsmeme. :)
There have, in fact, been stranger requests. There would always be that time with the fake Oscar, and the almost-Kanye. Just thinking about the memory was more than enough to make Harvey vomit a little in his mouth. Plus, sexual favors are nothing new. Law of evolution, works of Darwin, yadda yadda yadda.
Anyway.
Harvey considers of all this for the 0.4 seconds it takes for the words "My wife wants to have sex with you," to work its way through his auditory canal and up into his brain. He says yes, naturally, because he is the best closer the city has ever seen, and while he does have morals about married women, he has absolutely no qualms about swingers.
Until Parker adds, "I'd like to have sex with your assistant."
Harvey blinks. "I didn't know you'd met Donna," he says, because he's pretty sure Parker hasn't, but Parker just looks baffled.
"Donna?" he repeats. "No, I meant Mike--isn't that his name? Mike?"
"Uh," says Harvey. He takes a sip of his coffee to stall for time, and just as much, Mike re-emerges from the bathroom while a placid smile and a charming, "What did I miss?"
Stella smiles at him.
+
Stella is pretty. It’s nothing fascinating, and Harvey’s had better, but she is pretty, nonetheless, and her curves are soft and smooth as he runs a hand down her back. She’s quiet, a little shy, her moans bitten off and her skin flushed red. She’s wet, and Harvey pushes a finger into her cunt and her hips stutter, pushing back as she gasps quietly.
In front of him, Parker says, “Yeah, just like that,” and Harvey looks up and swallows. Parker has Mike spread on his back, fingering him open, and Mike is whimpering softly, trying to get Parker to push in deeper. His arm is thrown over his eyes, but Harvey can see the way his eyes are shut tight, the way his mouth is open and wet.
Harvey looks away, bends down and palms the curve of Stella’s ass, biting it gently, and she moans for him, spreading her legs wider, and he presses teasing kisses against the inside of her thigh, and she shudders, burying her face into the sheets, fists clenched tight. He slides in a second finger, then a third. He sucks a bruise just behind her knee and withdraws his hand as soon as he feels she’s close.
She’s louder then, whimpering and begging, “Please.” He smirks at her and says, “Yeah, alright,” and slides in in one smooth stroke. She gasps and rocks her hips, and he lets her adjust until she’s comfortable, until her breath hitches and her eyes flutter and she says, “Yes, oh God, right there.”
Harvey keeps one hand on her hip as the other reaches around, searching for her clit. She lets out a cry, and he almost grins in spite of himself, and just then, he hears Mike let out an especially loud groan. He watches as Parker fucks into him, long, steady strokes that leave Mike gasping, arching off the bed, his hands leaving half-moon bruises below Parker’s shoulders.
Harvey lets out a low groan and pushes into Stella roughly. She pushes back, rolling her hips as she goes, murmuring encouragements.
He can hear Parker groaning, “Fuck, yeah, that’s it,” can feel Stella shaking apart below him, Mike making the most strangled noise in the back of his throat. He gasps when Stella clenches tight around, moaning deliciously as she comes, shivering, rocking herself steadily against him. He pulls out, squeezing the head of his cock, and comes, just as Mike bites out an “Oh, fuck!”
+
They have a rule, or rather, they establish one.
Or rather, Mike shoes up late in the same suit he was in the night before, and Harvey is far from impressed.
“Cut some slack,” Mike complains. “I didn’t have time to bike all the way home.”
“Cry me a river,” Harvey says, straightening his cuff. “You are-”
“A reflection of you and the firm, yeah, I know,” says Mike, dragging a hand across his face. “I got it.”
Harvey pauses.
“What?” asks Mike, meeting his gaze. “Am I going to get another lecture for interrupting you?”
Harvey smirks and shakes his head. “Donna,” he calls. “Send Mike here the Abberton files.”
Mike looks at him, confused. “What are the Abberton files? Is that a code? Are you throwing my body into the Hudson?”
Harvey smiles at him, smug. “Get to work,” he says. “You’re not leaving until those are on my desk, completely proofread.”
Mike salutes him on the way out.
Which is pretty much all they say about that. (And if Harvey notices the way Mike keeps rubbing at a dark red spot just beneath the collar of his shirt, it’s only because Mike is an oblivious moron who has too many tells.)
+
Mike may or may not have a heart attack when Donna shows him the files.
“That’s a lot of boxes,” he says.
“28,” she says. “14 folders each with an average of 20 pages per folder.”
“7,840 pages total,” they say in unison. Donna has the same smug smirk as Harvey, and Mike wonders, for a moment, if they’re related.
“Are you kidding me?” he asks.
“No,” Donna answers curtly.
“Yeah,” Mike says, looking from one side of the room to the other. “Didn’t think so.”
+
Rachel, bless her, offers to help.
“You look pathetic,” she tells him. “Also, I ordered sushi.”
“I love you,” Mike says, putting down his highlighter. “I’ll buy you caviar and squid and all those other disgusting, expensive foods you like so much.”
“Whatever,” Rachel replies, but she smiles anyway. “I got you Chinese.”
He blinks up at her. “Marry me,” he says. “Seriously.”
+
He sends Rachel home at 1 am. She doesn’t have to be here, and he feels bad, even though she (unconvincingly) insists that she could use the overtime. He stretches, groaning appreciatively when his bones crack. It’s nearly half past 3 am now, and he’s nearly done. He drains the last of his coffee, eyes the last stack of folders and gets to work.
+
It’s nearly 5 am when he finally finishes, and Mike could almost cry from relief. He puts the last of the folders away and locks the door behind him. He thinks about leaving the keys at Donna’s desk, and maybe camping out there for a few hours of sleep, but as he approaches, he realizes that the door to Harvey’s office is open, and as he gets closer, he realizes that Harvey’s still there.
Mike swallows. Suddenly, he feels tense, skittish, and he licks his lips unconsciously before he knocks quietly on the door.
Harvey looks up from the desk, and Mike swallows again. “I finished,” he says, but his voice comes out rough, and he has to clear his throat. “I finished,” he says again, dangling the keys in front of himself. “7,000 pages and change.”
Harvey watches him, and Mike stiffens reflexively, unsure. “Good,” Harvey says finally, looking away. “Go get some sleep.”
Mike leaves the keys on Harvey’s desk and walks out. Once he’s inside the elevator, he leans against the wall, the weight of exhaustion hitting him full force. He slumps to the floor, and by the time the elevator reaches the lobby, Mike is seriously considering tucking himself against the corner and sleeping here, but he represents Harvey, yadda yadda, and could he really get anymore pathetic (Answer: possibly).
In the end, he sneaks into the mail room, because he knows none of the employees will be in until 10 am, and he slips into the ladies room, where there’s a comfortable couch he can knock out on.
He sets the alarm on his phone for 8:00 am and passes out.
+
Louis is really, the last person Mike wants to deal, even on a good day.
“Don’t forget,” Louis tells him with just enough of lip to make it threatening. “You don’t work for Harvey, you work for the firm.”
It takes a tremendous amount of effort for Mike not to grab the stapler on his desk and staple his own mouth shut. “I know,” he says, as calmly as he can manage. “It’s just that Harvey really needs these done by tonight.”
“Pity,” says Louis. “I need these done by this afternoon. Harvey’s little extracurricular projects can wait.”
Mike bites down a groan and swears under his breath when he feels himself flush at the insinuation.
+
Harvey can’t concentrate-unsurprising for someone who has essentially just pulled a 30-hour work shift, but he considers a shameful admission, regardless. He’s not 25 anymore, something that Mike unwittingly reminds him of.
Donna shoots him a raised eyebrow when she clocks in at 7:59 am sharp, but he ignores her for the most part. She brings him his coffee at 8:03, and they do a quick run-through of the agenda for the day. No court dates, just a meeting with a client at noon. (“He just wants reassurance,” Donna says, eyes running quickly through a memo from Jessica.)
She doesn’t press for anything, but she does divert most of his calls.
+
Louis checks up on Mike a little after lunch.
“Almost done?” Louis asks silkily, and Mike manages to check himself from flinching on a reflex.
“Yeah,” he says, reading over the paperwork. Sure, he’d had to Google a how-to, but it looks good enough. He does not look up. He refuses to.
Louis makes a few more pointed comments, but Mike isn’t listening anymore. Just says, “Yes, sir,” in a few well-timed places, and eventually, Louis leaves him alone, undoubtedly off to terrorize some of the other associates into doing his bidding.
+
Harvey watches Louis prowl the floor. It’s hard to miss, really, with that rat of a smile in an even rattier suit. He watches as Louis leans over Mike’s sectioned-off office. He narrows his eyes at the way Louis leers at the boy. It’s completely unsettling, but they are a successful firm and even he will grudgingly admit that Louis’ intimidation tactics do work very well when it comes to representing their clients.
Louis walks away after a few moments, and Harvey continues to watch as Mike puts down his papers and rubs his face in his hand. As he stretches, his neck twists and for a fraction of a second, Harvey sees it-not one, but two bright red marks, right at the base of Mike’s neck.
Unconsciously, Harvey brings his own hand up to his neck and rubs at a spot just under his jaw. After a moment, he blinks and with a quick shake of his head, brings himself back to Earth.
He has work to do.
+
The marks fade in time.
Every day Harvey watches as the hickeys become less and less visible, until he has to strain to see them over the collar of Mike’s shirts.
Not that he’s looking for them. Or anything.
+
Mike isn’t stupid, nor is he blind. Sexuality is a tricky thing to read, because everyone checks everyone out, regardless of orientation, context, or whatever, but Mike’s pretty confident Harvey’s ego enjoys being stroked by a guy just as much as it likes being stroked by a girl.
Also, Harvey was totally watching That Night.
It’s Mike’s job to pay attention to these sort of things.
+
Harvey will not say that he isn’t sexually attracted to Mike Ross, because let’s face it, he is. Harvey also will not say that he’s possibly jacked off to the image of Mike spread out on his back, hands gripping the headboard as Harvey fucks him open, demanding that he come without a hand on his cock. (And Mike would, too. Harvey just knows it.)
But Harvey won’t say any of this.
Because they don’t talk about That Night.
Ever.
+
Except when Mike decides to do something about it because this is ridiculous, and they could’ve started fucking weeks ago.
+
It’s late, and they’re sitting in Harvey’s office, going over financials, and Mike doesn’t know why anything feels different today, just that it does, and he thinks, maybe, he can’t-won’t-do this. Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe Harvey isn’t interested.
Only, when Mike looks up to point out a discrepancy in the statements, Harvey is staring at him, eyes blank. He starts when Mike clears his throat.
They talk about the case, about what their chances and what the evidence points to, and at some point, Mike finds himself leaning across the desk to show Harvey something. He rubs the back of his neck to work out a crick, and he catches Harvey staring.
And maybe that’s it, maybe that’s what gives him this one jolt of adrenaline because Mike finds himself stepping close, pressing himself flush against Harvey and murmuring, “Eyes up here.”
There is a moment-a tangible, palpable moment where Mike thinks shit, and he thinks about stepping away, about apologizing, about ending this right here. Then Harvey moves, almost imperceptibly, but Mike, pressed up against him, feels it more than anything. Harvey raises his chin, just a fraction, almost defiant, and very slowly, smirks.
Harvey runs a hand down the lapels of Mike’s suit and makes a dismissive noise in the back of his throat, but Mike doesn’t back off, doesn’t stand down, he can feel the slightest tremor in the touch, and it does nothing but make him bolder. He licks his lips and watches, fascinated at the way Harvey stills.
“So,” Mike breathes, impressed with himself for keeping his voice steady.
“Shut up,” Harvey says, and kisses him.
Mike gasps when Harvey bites at his lower lip. He winds an arm around Harvey’s neck, pulling him impossibly closer. They stumble a little, until Mike is backed into the desk, and he manages to maneuver himself onto it without breaking their kiss.
“Jesus,” says Mike dazedly when they finally pull apart. He’s panting, and Harvey is standing over him, caging him, and Mike is very much aware of how flushed he is, how his lips are wet and shiny, and how very badly he wants this.
“You’re just always looking for some new way to get yourself fired, aren’t you?” Harvey snorts as he pushes at Mike’s jacket. It gets tangled before he can get off completely, and Harvey, the bastard, just leaves it so Mike has to struggle free himself.
“I thought getting caught with your dick in my ass is the least of my worries here,” Mike manages to grit out before Harvey is shoving him back against his desk, ignoring the flutter of papers sliding off the surface.
“If you’re going to get caught doing anything around here, you’re not fit to stay,” Harvey retorts, stripping out of his own suit jacket with much more finesse. “Turn around.”
Mike obeys, propping himself up on his elbows, and Harvey wastes no time in pulling the belt of the loop and tugging down his pants. Mike is barely paying attention, the drag of the fabric against his cock making him heady and pliant, and Harvey slaps him on the ass, not hard, but enough to startle Mike back into focus.
“Jesus Christ, what is wrong with you,” Mike tumbles out, choking off a moan as Harvey runs a finger against his hole.
“Are you really so far below the poverty line that you can’t even afford to buy some underwear?” says Harvey, and Mike doesn’t have to see him to know that Harvey has the biggest fucking smirk on his face right now.
“But that would be so inefficient,” Mike bites back, just as Harvey presses the tip of his finger instead, dry and insistent. Mike honest-to-God whines. He turns his head into the desk and bites down on the inside of his arm to muffle it. The fabric of his shirt is rough against his tongue, but he doesn’t care, can only focus on pushing back against Harvey’s hand, groaning at the stretch.
“Fuck,” Harvey whispers, pulling his finger out slowly. “Can you-”
“Yes,” Mike cuts him off, not even knowing what he’s saying as he rocks back on his heels, the head of his dick pressing against the edge of the table. “Yes, it’s fine. It’s fine. Fuck, you stopped, why the fuck are you stopping?”
Harvey snorts quietly, but he obliges Mike all the same, pushing back in forcefully. “Are you sure?” he says, leaning over to bite at Mike’s neck. “Do you think you can me just like this? One finger, no lube-I’d rip you apart, and you-”
Harvey’s finger brushes over just the right spot, and Mike practically keens from it, his entire body going taut and melting apart. “Yeah,” he babbles. “Yes, fuck, yes, I want it just like this.”
Harvey sucks a bruise on the nape of his neck and adds a second finger, scissoring him open, and Mike moans for it, spreading his legs further apart for better access, chasing that thrill of pleasure. It doesn’t take long-Harvey’s already found it once, and once he finds it again, he doesn’t stop, he keeps stroking his prostate until Mike is spread out over the desk, unable to keep himself upright, coaxing out moan after low moan.
Mike has always been sensitive, and it doesn’t stop when Harvey adds a third finger, and the burn of it, the gentle press of lips against his jaw send him over the edge and he comes all over his shirt, just from that.
He’s physically shaking as he comes down, and Harvey is running smooth strokes down his back, fingers still buried deep. He hisses as Harvey slides out, every sensation amplified and too much, sharp to the point of pain.
He feels exhausted, every bone in his body weighing him down, and he can’t decide if he wants to sink to the floor or just stay here, draped over the desk with Harvey pressed against him.
“I can,” he starts feebly, pushing himself up, and Harvey chuckles, low, but fond.
“Looks like I wore you out,” he says, not even bothering to hide the smugness in his voice.
“You didn’t,” Mike says, blinking sleepily, breath still coming in short puffs.
Harvey grins at him predatorily. “I’m sure we can work something out,” he says, and Mike rolls his eyes.
+
Here is what they don’t talk about. They don’t talk about their clients’ sexual activities. They don’t talk about the hickeys that are just below Mike’s collar. They don’t talk about the way Harvey sometimes flinches when he stretches his back.
They don’t talk about these things because no one needs to know, so here is what they do talk about.
They talk about court and new clients, about which restaurants are good and which clients they should take where. They talk about judges and the state attorney. They talk about Jessica and Louis and occasionally, Trevor. They talk about Harvard, about other firms.
They talk about things that are related to their cases, about the bar, about strategies. They talk about a lot of things, when they’re in the presence of other people, when it’s inappropriate to say things like, “So the vibrator came in the mail today,” or “We need to buy more lube.”
Sometimes, when they’re working late, and they aren’t speaking to each other because they’re too focused on the task at hand, one will look up and think, “Oh,” because there’s nothing new-just comforting and constant, and by then the other will have looked up as well, will raise an eyebrow and say, “What?” and they’ll both simply shrug and go back to their work because sometimes, nothing needs to be said.
(But when it is, it’s nice to hear.
"I won," Mike tells him, beaming.
"It was in the contract," says Harvey, bored. "You couldn't lose."
"Yes, but I won," Mike insists.
"Well, good for you," Harvey says. "Now where are you on the witness list?")