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Mike likes to play with toes.
Harvey only learns this after steak, two bottle of Rioja and half a viewing of Clear and Present Danger. Mike was talking smack about Harrison and Harvey wanted to tell him to shut up with one of the causative remarks that were bubbling up under his skin. He’d been building to it. He’s learning to cope with the addition of Mike to his routines of relaxation.
The sex helps.
Mike had drawn Harvey’s feet into his lap and started to work his fingers in between Harvey’s toes. It wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. Harvey already knew that he liked the feel of Mike’s hands, calloused from riding his bike outdoors in all kinds of weather. He was used to the feel of Mike’s hands on his face, on his belly, clutching his back, grasping the globes of his ass. He was used to the feel of that smooth palm curved around his cock and the taste of those fingers. He was not familiar with Mike’s hand drawing along the arch of his feet nor the way his fingers twined around his toes.
It should have been tickling or annoying. Instead the warmth seeped from his hands into Harvey’s feet and he started to feel the draw of sleep. The tension in his body seemed to be pulled out of him Mike’s gentle, warm hands. Who knew?
It’s only a few days later when it stops being weird and starts to become something natural. Harvey woke up with his head at the foot of the bed and his feet at the top. Mike was sitting up reading through a case file. And he was playing with Harvey’s toes again. Harvey felt like calling Mike on it, but decided it was just one of those things that people start to do when they feel comfortable in a relationship.
“You talk in your sleep.” Mike was peering over the top of his file. Harvey lifted his head and looked up the length of Mike’s body to meet his overly amused eyes.
“No, I don’t.” Harvey could feel the benefits of sleep starting fade away. “I would know.”
“It’s not so much talk as muttering,” Mike continued, ignoring the denial. “You can’t really make out words.”
Harvey let his head fall back onto the mattress. He watched the play of light on the ceiling and contemplated the idea of coffee. The bed shifted under him as Mike clambered out of the sheets and came to straddle his hips. He was faced with the bright blue eyes he’d come to be rather fond of.
“Of course, it’s cute.” Mike grinned. “Adorable.”
Harvey let out a mock growl but he didn’t protest when Mike ground down against his morning erection. “That isn’t cute.”
“No…” The word seemed pulled out of Mike’s throat, low and smoky and full of promise. “It’s more like-“ He bit at Harvey’s neck, then his chest muscle, swirling his tongue around a nipple before kneeling up to steer Harvey’s cock towards his mouth. “It’s gorgeous.” The urge to call Mike on his porn dialogue was redirected as Mike went to town.
The bizarre divorce case that landed in his lap was something Harvey felt would be more suited to Louis. It had an edge of his nastiness imbedded in it. Instead he smiled and listened to the husband go on and on about his evil cheating wife. The man didn’t seem to comprehend that it didn’t matter who was at fault. What mattered was the information Harvey was sure Mike was digging up about the inner dealings of the wife’s baking company. Harvey tapped at the desk and Donna rushed in to interrupt.
Harvey watched out his window as the man left. He mulled over a half formed strategy. The whole case would depend on who his opponent was. In fact, his heart was already racing at the thought of a drag out fight. It didn’t matter what they were fighting over, at the end of the day. All that mattered was that he won.
Mike tripped over his own feet, focusing on the documents in his hands. Harvey raised his hands as Mike spilled into his lap, legs going to either side. Mike’s eyes were wide and startled as his groin slid forward until his ass was perched on Harvey’s lap, arms around his neck.
There was the rule. It wasn’t a spoken rule. It hadn’t even been particularly well alluded to. It was more that they had never really gone beyond the bounds of acceptable reactions to each other. Sure they stood closer and watched each other more closely, but it was not like that couldn’t be easily explained away. Sitting in a lap seemed to be breaking the rule. Completely.
Mike tensed. Harvey could feel it in every place their bodies touched. It was late; no one was likely to wander past. The ramifications of being caught raced through Harvey’s mind. In the end, however, all that really mattered was his trial record, his reputation and Jessica’s backing. He placed his hands on Mike’s hips and leaned back, looking up and down the length of Mike’s body. A few minute adjustments and he had Mike comfortable and supported and ready to just lean in to take a kiss.
Next time they were in Harvey’s loft, Harrison awkwardly seducing on the screen, Mike shifted from his sprawl at the opposite end of Harvey’s sofa. He hovered for a moment, beer loosely gripped before tucking himself across Harvey’s lap, back against the arm of the sofa and legs stretched out loosely in front of him. Harvey liked the way it felt, the way the warmth seeped through their layers of clothing, the way Mike was just there to stroke a hand along his thigh, to mouth against his cheek. To feel the soft rise and fall of his breathing before he muttered insults, pointing out plot holes and continuity errors.
It was desperately cheesy. Harvey relaxed back against the sofa and took Mike with him. He’d never sat with anyone in his lap before.
Harvey should have suspected that Mike would have freckles. He should have known. On the other hand, he could put it down to being focused on other things about Mike. Like the way his mouth looked wrapped around Harvey's cock or the way his mind retained all that information.
Harvey liked Mike's style.
Another Sunday morning. They had plans - vague, unformed plans - to head into the office later on to watertight their case. Donna had made noises about death and pain if they headed in too early. But Harvey woke at the usual time. Normally he'd go work out or listen to some music. But he was in bed, entranced by the freckles on Mike's back and shoulders. He traced a path between them with his eyes, noticing them for the first time in the bright sunlight streaming through the wall of windows. He must have forgotten to close the drapes, although that was more of a comfort and warmth thing rather than a privacy thing. He had been distracted, after all. And the light made every small imperfection seem like a temptation instead, a place to lick.
Harvey didn't see the point in not giving in to temptation when there was nothing really stopping him. Mike turned sleepily, a moue of soft protest escaping his lips before his breathing quickened and he spread his legs to accommodate Harvey more comfortably. Harvey took his time, gentle kisses, licks, the scrape of teeth. He kept his hands planted on the bed, ignoring - nearly - the way Mike's hips were shifting against his high thread count sheets, the way his breaths were rougher and contained the edges of moans.
It was only when Mike was wholeheartedly rutting against the bed that Harvey pressed himself against Mike's body, nestling his own cock in the crease of Mike's ass. A moment's fumbling grabbed the lube from the night stand and, with the minimum of necessary prep, Harvey was sliding into the tight heat of Mike's body, his own shoulders warmed by the morning sun.
They lay panting side by side after, Mike sprawled on his back, Harvey lying on his side, eyes flicking up and down Mike's body. He took a moment to realise he was searching for freckles.
"Not that I object, Harvey." Mike drawled the words, satiated and happy. "But fair's fair."
Harvey let his finger tips trace the cut of Mike's hips, trail over the firm stomach muscles. "When am I ever 'fair'?" Harvey said the word with the proper amount of disdain.
"You lick my freckles." Mike shrugged. "And I get to play join the dots with your moles."
Harvey looked down along the naked length of his body. He shouldn't dismiss Mike's ideas out of hand, after all. Mike was a bright boy who had flashes of brilliance. Harvey looked at the clock beside the bed. Donna would even thank him for this. He stretched out, hands folded behind his head.
"Have at it." Harvey knew he was wearing a smirk as Mike eagerly bounced off the bed. "Don't miss any, of course. Or you won't get the full picture."
Mike bent to kiss Harvey's mouth before moving to lick at the mole above his eyebrow, working his mouth across the tiny gap to the mole on his temple. Harvey kept his face still, with effort, as Mike worked his way from there across his whole body, not missing an inch. It didn't take long for Harvey's cock to fill, perk, show interest again. Mike was equally eager, reaching for the lube himself and lowering down onto Harvey's cock, riding up and down with exquisite slow care.
"I think you missed a few," Harvey said, as Mike corkscrewed his hips.
"I'll just have to try harder next time." Mike's mouth dropped open on a gasp as Harvey thrust his hips up. "Practise makes for perfection. Which you'd know all about."
Harvey sped up the snap of his hips and pulled Mike down to lie on his chest and swallowing the rest of his words with a hard kiss.
It didn't stop him from making Mike wander around shirtless when they finally made it out of the bedroom.
Harvey knew that there was a very long list of items on the “Why Jessica Pierson matters to me” list. He was having difficulty remembering them as he looked at the next pallet of files cluttering up his office. Even with Donna and Mike, this one was going to require reading. Luckily they were in his office rather than one of the multitude of conference rooms or back offices because of the rather sensitive nature of the case.
There wasn’t much grumbling, not really. Just a few sighs and a look from Donna that would have killed a lesser being. After seven hours with only bathroom breaks, however, even Harvey could feel some of his usual shine wearing off. Donna snapped first.
“I’m going out and I will be back with some form of take out that you are paying for.” She gathered her coat and bag and held out her hand imperiously. Harvey laid the credit card in her palm without complaint. Behind her, Mike looked up from the papers in front of him and met Harvey’s eyes. There was a possibility of sneaking off while Donna was having a break. There was a storage closet down the hallway that they’d made use of before. Harvey shook his head although he still let himself drift for a moment into a very healthy daydream.
Mike stretched his arms above his head and made a noise that startled out of his happy imaginings. “What was that?”
“What was what?” Mike looked over. “My back hurts.” With that, he lay flat out on the floor and raised his hands above his head. He let out the same, soft, purring noises as he arched his back. Harvey dropped his file to the desk and turned to watch Mike more closely as he rolled around on the floor.
Mike finally rolled onto his stomach, looking up at Harvey, eyes sparkling with mischief. He rose to his hands and knees and began stalking across the floor.
Harvey cut off a bark of laughter. “What’s with the cat moves?”
“Kitten,” Mike replied. “And I’m needing my belly stroked.”
“That’s not what you’re looking to get stroked.” Harvey let himself sit back in the chair, deliberately not giving in to temptation. Mike upped the ante by resting his head on Harvey’s thigh, pillowing his cheek, and pouting. Harvey had to let his finger draw along the startling pinkness. But before they could go any further, the door swung open again and Donna stalked in, white bags clutched in one hand. She only needed to raise her eyebrow for Mike to roll away and pick up his files again.
Harvey watched her lay out the cartons and accepted the Kung Pao chicken she thrust at him with a significant glare. Harvey let one shoulder lift and drop in a half-hearted shrug. He set to work again with new enthusiasm. It wasn’t the foot that had reinvigorated him. Not in the slightest. It was the urge to get home to his own bedroom and find out exactly how obedient a kitten Mike could be.
Mike liked the chocolates with nuts. He was allergic to certain types of cheese. Mike was prone to dance around in his underwear to songs on the radio that were more noise and bass than anything else.
Mike liked to kiss in the shower. His bike was more than just a convenient method of getting around town. It was a sign of his independence. Mike looked more than good in a tuxedo, and had a real handy way of bending over to show how neatly the dress pants clung to his ass.
Mike still got too involved with cases, caring about clients. And Harvey had to work harder to hide his own involvement. The more he learned about Mike, the more he was giving away about himself.
Thanksgiving wasn’t a huge deal to Harvey. Normally he just let it come and go. One year he’d been at Jessica’s before her divorce. His sister called, as she normally did, and invited him over but he declined, as he normally did. It wasn’t like he needed to hit the stores on Black Friday either. He liked to spend Thanksgiving in the peace of his own company.
He’d taken a run around the Park, enjoying the crispness, determined to get home before the crowds started gathering for the parade. There were more dog walkers than usual, but he weaved in and out, letting the music from his iPod set his regular pace.
While he was fumbling his keys out, he heard a clatter from inside his apartment. It couldn’t be Donna. She had her own plans. That left Mike, pretty much. Or at least Harvey hoped it was Mike. He opened the door stealthily. Mike was indeed there. In fact, Harvey let the door swing shut quietly as he watched Mike run between peeling potatoes and a bubbling pot of something virulently scarlet on the hob. The oven was steamed up but Harvey could only suppose there was a turkey in there too.
“Mr Ross,” Harvey drawled, making Mike drop his spoon, curse and spin around.
Mike shrugged. “I thought you’d be longer.”
Harvey peeled off his gloves and hat. Then he pulled off his sweat chilled shirt and dropped it in the pile. A feeling of satisfaction tinged with a certain anticipation spread out from his suddenly warm belly. “I’m going to shower.”
Mike glanced between the chaos of the kitchen and Harvey’s naked chest. He raised his eyes to meet Harvey’s finally, clearly torn.
Harvey laughed. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
“Gran always did. But not this year. So I thought I’d give it a go.” The red goo bubbled up, threatening to spill onto the stovetop. Mike lunged for it. Harvey let his hand scratch lazily at his belly, enjoying the way Mike’s eyes widened.
“Keep going,” Harvey told him. “Then I’m going to come help.”
“You cook?” Mike blurted out the words, not bothering to hide his incredulity.
Harvey smiled. He knew he was letting Mike in too far perhaps, revealing the truth that he’d always hidden behind his suits and smirk. “I can.”
“Don’t suppose you know what the hell ricing is?” Mike asked, squinting at the pile of potatoes in front of him. Harvey couldn’t resist any more. He strode across the apartment, ignored Mike’s protests and grabbed him. The kiss was almost anti-climactic after that.
“You cooked for me,” Harvey couldn’t resist teasing.
“I’m gonna make a great wife for some man someday,” Mike retorted, before softening the rebuke with a kiss. “Yeah, I cooked.”
“Shower. Then I’ll help.” Harvey couldn’t resist stealing another kiss, taking advantage of the way Mike seemed to follow his lips, seeking more. There would be time, later, for more. And for finding out more about each other.