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Harvey’s three cups deep into the best whiskey New York’s philanthropically minded can provide when he notices Mike’s in trouble. That might not be enough alcohol to get him drunk, but maybe it does impact his choices.
(That’s certainly going to be what he tells himself later.)
Honestly, saying Mike’s “in trouble” might be a bit of an exaggeration, if Harvey stopped to think about it. But he doesn’t stop to think, because he’s spotted David Nettle with a hand on Mike’s shoulder, squeezing tight as he edges in too close. The strain in Mike’s tacked-on smile is obvious even from across the expansive ballroom.
Goddamnit. Harvey didn’t know Nettle goes for guys or he would’ve warned Mike off. The man may be a top client, but he’s not the kind of person someone as young and gorgeous as Mike should talk to alone.
Harvey strides through the crowd, ignoring the startled looks from black-tie clad guests who grumble as they shuffle aside. Hopefully none of them are clients or he’ll be hearing about it from Jessica. Doesn’t matter; he’s not stopping to apologize when Mike’s still on the other side of the room, angling away from Nettle’s leer, eyes wide, like a puppy caught in a trap.
He doesn’t slow down until he’s at Mike’s side, close enough to grasp his shoulder.
“David, how’re you doing?” he says, lacing the words with charm even as he pulls Mike towards himself, away from the unwanted attention. “I see you’ve met my new associate.”
Nettle has the good sense to drop his own clasp on Mike’s arm, though his lecherous smile stays firmly in place. Harvey’s never wanted to rip an expression of someone’s face more.
“Why yes, he’s quite the charmer,” Nettle agrees, all smarm. “I was just telling him how utterly delighted I am that he’s joined your firm.”
“Is that right?” Harvey turns to Mike, sweeping his eyes up and down his body.
“Uh, yeah,” Mike stutters, obviously flustered. It’s borderline unprofessional, but Harvey won’t hold it against him. They haven’t discussed how to navigate Nettle’s particular brand of asshole without losing business. “Yeah, just getting to know each other.”
At least he knows enough not to say anything stupid out loud. Harvey files that away to give him credit for, later. Right now, it’s time to get him out of this situation.
(This is the part where the three whiskeys become relevant, because Harvey’s solution might, just might, be influenced by the pleasant buzz running under his skin. Maybe.)
Harvey slides his hand from Mike’s shoulder down to the small of his back, before slowly leaning in to tell him, “I hate to break up the party, but Joy MacAfee was looking for you. Wanted to ask after your grandmother. Better go find her before she has to hurry home to her dolls.”
Mike shoots him a grateful look and nods. “Yeah, wouldn’t want to miss that.” He turns back to Nettle long enough to flash a pained smile. “I look forward to working with you in the future,” he says, before dashing out of there almost as fast as Harvey came in.
Nettle watches him go with a none-too-subtle ogle. He might as well lick his lips for all he’s keeping his thoughts hidden.
Something behind Harvey’s eye throbs; he’s hit with a sudden vision of punching the smug dick in his stupid face. But that would be bad for business, so instead he stretches his mouth into his most shark-like grin and sizes his opponent up. He’s a few inches shorter than Harvey, but wears it like he’s towering, in the way only someone with a net worth in the half a billion can. Late fifties and a bit chubby, but square-jawed and handsome, if you can ignore the general vibe of smug debauchery.
Harvey’s never been able to ignore the vibe before. He’s not starting tonight.
“He’s quite something,” Nettle says once Mike disappears into the crowd.
“He is,” Harvey agrees, not bothering to keep the anger out of his voice. It’ll serve the narrative he’s about to cement in place. “He’s also off limits. I don’t share.”
Nettle lifts his eyebrows, clearly understanding the implication. “Is that so?”
“It is.”
“Hmm. Interesting.” Nettle’s unsettling gaze wanders over Harvey. “I figured you more for the one and done type.”
Harvey’s jaw tightens; he runs through the numbers to remind himself how fired he’d be if he gave into the impulse to deck the guy. “I’m flattered you’ve thought about my love life in such detail.”
Just as Harvey suspected, Nettle finds that amusing rather than offensive. He laughs, slapping Harvey on the back. “Oh, I think about a lot of things in detail, Harv.”
God, Harvey hates him, so much. “But not Mike.”
Nettle lifts his hand in defeat. “Okay, message received.” His smile turns dirty and conspiratorial. “You’re a lucky man. I can see why you hired him.”
Harvey flexes his fingers, taking a deep breath against the surge of indignation. He’s not sure who he’s more offended for: himself, or Mike.
“No,” he grits out through a smile that’s getting more forced by the second, “I hired him because he’s brilliant, and he’s going to help every one of my clients get the best deals possible, starting with you.” And with that, it’s time to pivot to a less painful topic. “Speaking of which, I have a proposition…”
***
Twenty minutes later Harvey finds Mike slouched against a wall in an out of the way corner, wrinkling his tux with his terrible posture as he stares forlornly into a cup of something dark. His face transforms when he notices Harvey approaching, gloom wiped away into sheer sunlight.
“Hey! Joy asked for a picture of Grammy. Wants to make her a doll.”
Harvey lets himself smile a real smile. It’s good to see Mike isn’t completely shaken by his run-in with Nettle. “Wow. High compliment. You’ve really charmed her.”
“I am quite charming.” Mike’s expression darkens again, and he slumps in on himself. “Speaking of, thanks for dealing with Nettle. He’s…a lot.”
“I think you mean he’s a total dick. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you; I didn’t realize…Well, let’s just say I didn’t know you were his type.”
Mike absorbs that comment, blinking a few times as his amazing brain fills in the blanks. “So, what you’re saying is if I was a woman, you would’ve warned me, because he’s hit on enough of the female associates that it’s a thing.”
“Associates, paralegals, mailroom staff…” Harvey shrugs. “Yeah, it’s a thing.”
“And he’s still our client why?” Mike punctuates the question with the face he always makes when he’s gearing up to launch into an idealistic rant.
“You’ve seen the billing numbers.”
“Yeah, and how many sexual harassment suits have we had to shut down in the meantime?”
Harvey sighs. The last thing he wants to do right now is defend the asshole, but at some point Mike is going to have to learn to accept that this job comes with compromises. “None, actually. He’s pushy, but he’s not dumb. And he’s going to leave you alone from now on. You’re welcome.”
Mike narrows his eyes, rebellion still brewing below the surface, but after a few beats he nods, tension easing out of his body. “How’d you manage that?”
And, yeah, maybe the whiskey was getting to Harvey before, because when he made the impulse decision to go this route, he didn’t think far enough ahead to realize he’d have to tell Mike what he’s done. They’re about to spend a lot of time on a new deal for Nettle, and this isn’t the kind of lie that works with only one party buying in.
He clears his throat, suddenly feeling more awkward than he ever should. “He may be under the impression that you’re spoken for. By me.”
The awkwardness is almost worth watching the journey Mike’s face goes through as he processes, cycling rapidly between confusion, realization, shock, and a brief flash of panic before settling into incredulity.
“Really? You couldn’t just tell him to, I don’t know, respect my boundaries? I mean, I’m assuming asking him to do that because it’s what good people do is out of the question, but you couldn’t get him to lay off your associate?”
“It wouldn’t have worked,” Harvey says, with more confidence than he feels. In all honesty, if he’d put enough threat behind it, he probably could’ve convinced Nettle to back off without implying he and Mike are sleeping together. That his first instinct was to lay a deeper sort of claim says more than he wants it to. “Men like that don’t respect boundaries for the sake of it.”
“Again, I’m so glad we represent him.” Mike takes a deep gulp of his drink. “So, you, what, marked your territory? Wait, is that what the whole hand-on-my-back, whisper-in-my-ear thing was about?”
Huh. If Harvey’s not mistaken, there’s a slight hint of disappointment in the question. Not something to dwell on right now. Or ever. “Got it in one.”
Mike exhales loudly. “Okay. Well. Thanks, I guess? At least we don’t have any active matters with him.”
“Yeah, about that…”
Harvey doesn’t have to finish the sentence before Mike groans, banging his head against the wall behind him in exaggerated frustration. “That’s it, I’m quitting.”
“Uh-huh.” Harvey spots another client he needs to catch up with, which is a good excuse to get away from this conversation now that he’s dropped the bad news. “You do that. Meanwhile, I’ll get you the details on the Nettle deal on Monday.”
“I hate you,” Mike informs him, but there’s no bite to it, so Harvey just winks before launching himself back into the fray.
***
They don’t talk about it for two weeks, which is fine by Harvey. In the sober light of morning, he can see that his approach to the problem was not the most obvious one. It was, in fact, probably not what anyone would do unless they wanted, on some level, for the lie to be true.
He already knew that about himself. He noticed the spark of attraction the moment Mike walked into that hotel room, and he’s not oblivious to the way the flame is fanned each time the kid does something brilliant, or catches one of Harvey’s references, or manages to make looking like a complete goofball infuriatingly charming—which is to say, constantly.
But the last thing he needs is Mike realizing that one plus one equals his boss has a thing for him, even if maybe Mike did seem a bit disappointed when he realized Harvey’s unexpected intimacy was part of a ploy. And even if, for all his protests, he didn’t react to the news of Harvey’s lie with disgust. Even if he sometimes looks at Harvey with a captivation that isn’t strictly professional. Even if—even if. Doesn’t matter. Harvey hasn’t tried to nail down Mike’s feelings on the matter because it doesn’t make a difference; either way, Harvey can’t go there. Not with a direct report, and especially not with Mike. They’re too intertwined as it is.
Point being, sweeping the whole thing under the rug is best case scenario. But of course, it doesn’t last. On the Thursday of the second week, Nettle calls to inform Harvey he wants to hash the deal out over the weekend.
At his place in the Hamptons.
“And don’t worry, Harv,” he purrs through the phone, “I won’t tell anyone if you and that boy toy of yours share a room.”
***
Mike gapes when Harvey tells him. Full on, mouth hanging open, gapes, right there in the middle of Harvey’s office.
It’s completely ridiculous, and the fact that Harvey has a sudden urge to get up from his desk and wipe the expression away with a kiss is proof that he’s let himself get in too deep.
“Are you kidding me?” Mike manages, collapsing onto Harvey’s couch in a tangle of limbs. “Do I have to come?”
“Yes, you have to come,” Harvey snaps, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. No need to let Mike know that he already gamed out twelve different excuses to get him off the hook before dismissing them all in turn. “We’re doing the deal there; I need my details guy. Think of it as a learning experience. This won’t be the last time a client wants you to work where they are.”
“Yeah, but normally the client won’t be offering us a one-room, one-bed accommodation because he thinks we’re sleeping together.”
“What are you, five? We’re adults, we can share a bed without getting cooties.” Whether they can do it without a seriously unfortunate case of morning wood on Harvey’s part is another question, but he’ll cross that bridge if and when he comes to it. For now, the goal is to get Mike on board with the plan and back on track dealing with the actual job part of their job.
Mike points an accusatory finger in Harvey’s direction. “Okay, first of all, I would bet my entire bonus you haven’t shared a bed with someone you weren’t sleeping with since you graduated law school.”
That’s true, but Harvey isn’t going to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it, so he responds with an unamused stare.
Mike lowers the finger but keeps the defiant jut of his jaw. “And second, it’s not just that.”
Harvey leans back in his chair. “Well? I know it’s not that you have a moral objection to lying.”
Predictably, despite all his confidence, Mike starts to stammer and stumble over his words at this point, blush blooming on his cheeks. “I just—I mean—I just mean, we’re going to have to play the part, right?”
“Maybe a little.” Harvey taps the arm of his chair, contemplating his next question. He needs to distract Mike from how awkward this all is. “Does that make you uncomfortable because I’m a man?”
“I—what?” Mike sits straighter, affronted. “No, of course not. Jesus, Harvey, you really think that’s the problem?”
Nailed it; offended is more easily brought around to the point than freaking out. Plus, it’s good to get confirmation, even though Harvey was sure he knew the answer before he asked. “I don’t know, Mike. Why else would you be losing it?”
“Why am I losing it?” Mike jumps back to his feet and begins to pace. “Oh, I don’t know, Harvey. Maybe because we need to come up with a fake backstory, a relationship timeline, figure out how we’re going to handle different situations…”
Oh, so he’s doing his Mike thing where he panics for no reason. Got it. “Mike, calm down, this isn’t a romcom. We don’t have to do any of that.”
Mike freezes in place, rant cut off at the knees. “What do you mean?”
“What I mean is, do you trust me?”
Mike looks as offended at this question as he did at the one implying he’s homophobic. “Of course I trust you, Harvey. But I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m the one in charge.” Harvey musters all the confidence he can, which is a lot, even if a good fifty percent of it is fake in this particular situation. “This is what we’re going to do. We’re going to go, you’re going to follow my lead, and if anyone tries to ask you for any details when I’m not around, you’re going to play coy.”
“Play coy,” Mike repeats, stopping in place to stare at Harvey like he’s grown an extra head. “That’s the best you’ve got?”
“Yes, Mike, that’s the best I’ve got. We leave on Saturday. In case that math’s too hard for you, that means we have about seventy-two hours of prep to do in under thirty-six; we don’t have time to play twenty questions about a fake relationship. So, are we good?”
“Yeah,” Mike agrees after a few worrying seconds. He doesn’t sound like he means it. “We’re good.”
“Great.” Harvey jerks his thumb at his door. “Then get out of here, you have work to do.”
As soon as Mike’s out of the office, Donna is in, marching up to Harvey’s desk to glare down at him. Surprise, surprise.
“Can I help you?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know exactly what this is about.
“David Nettle thinks you’re sleeping with Mike?” she asks. Well, he says asks. More like demands.
“He may be under that impression, yes.”
“And you’re going to his Hamptons house. Where instead of dissuading him of that notion, the two of you are going to share a bed and act all lovey-dovey?”
“I’m unclear why you’re repeating the conversation I just had back to me. And I never said anything about lovey-dovey.”
She raises one eyebrow. That’s all it takes to convey her deep skepticism. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
Harvey hold back a groan. They haven’t talked about it, but of course she’s figured out enough to know this situation is complicated. It’s why he pays her so well. “I know what I’m doing. So if that’s all…” He waves at her desk.
“Fine,” she agrees, turning to walk out. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She stops at the door, whipping around to fix him with her patented piercing glare. “And Harvey? In case you haven’t noticed, you’re not the only one this is a bad idea for. Don’t break the puppy.”
Harvey tightens his jaw but nods, short and sharp. Message received.
***
“Whoa. We’re riding in that thing?”
Mike is staring at Nettle’s helicopter with unabashed enthusiasm, which is an improvement from the sullen mulishness he’s been exuding ever since Harvey told him about this trip.
“Please don’t tell me you have a fear of flying.”
Mike shakes his head so hard it looks like it’s going to fall off. “Definitely not. Do you get to fly in helicopters a lot?”
Harvey shrugs, as if it’s no big deal. “It comes up.”
In all honesty, it’s rare, but it’s worth the white lie to get Mike to look at him with complete awe, like he’s James Bond and Superman and maybe Santa Claus rolled into one.
***
Mike spends the ride over with his face planted against the window, making random exclamations of delight into the private channel on their headsets. Harvey envies their pilot’s ability to shut him off.
No. That’s a lie. He wants to envy the pilot’s ability to shut him off, but actually, he finds Mike’s childlike joy endearing and a little gratifying, especially when he turns to Harvey with a wide smile, blue eyes dancing, any hesitation about the prospect of spending a weekend pretending to be together pushed to the side.
“This is awesome,” he enthuses.
Harvey twitches one lip up into half a self-satisfied smirk. “Now aren’t you glad I didn’t let you stay home?”
Somehow, Mike’s grin gets even wider. “If I’d known you’d take me on a helicopter ride on our first fake-date, I’d have fake-dated you sooner.”
Harvey covers the smile threatening to break out on his own face with a finger over his lips, cutting his eyes towards the pilot. The man probably can’t hear them over the beat of the propellers, but there’s such a thing as at least pretending at discretion.
“That’s not following my lead,” he chastises.
“Sorry,” Mike says, but he doesn’t look sorry at all as he turns back to the window, grin still plastered to his face.
***
Mike is almost as dazzled by Nettle’s mansion as he was by the helicopter, though he has the good sense to dial his enthusiasm down to a professional level as their host gives them the tour. Even so, Harvey will have to train the instinct to fawn out of him. It’s better not to let clients know you’re overly impressed by their wealth.
Fortunately, Harvey’s the one leading the show, and he’s not impressed at all. He’s seen bigger, and Nettle’s taste is hopelessly out of date, from the furniture straight out of the ‘80s to the forced-casual khakis and polo he’s donned for the occasion.
“This has been great,” Harvey lies when the tour brings them back to the mansion’s sweeping entryway, “but we came here to talk about your business, not admire your real estate.”
“Oh, you’re no fun.” Nettle claps his hands together and leans towards Mike. “Is he as demanding in the bedroom as he is about work? I’ve always wondered.”
“Uh…” Mike’s eyes dart between Harvey and Nettle, searching for a life raft. But this is a test, and not one Harvey can get him out of, which he conveys the only way he knows how: staying silent.
Fortunately, Mike gets the message. He breaks into a sly smile. “Oh, come on, Mr. Nettle. A gentleman never kisses and tells.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Nettle concludes.
Mike shrugs, cocky and unbothered. It’s a good performance. “You can take that however you want, but Harvey’s right. If you want us to get anywhere this weekend, we should start working.”
Nettle nods and turns back to Harvey, obviously impressed. “Guess his is more than a pretty face. Okay, gentlemen, have it your way.”
***
The rest of the afternoon and evening rushes by in a series of phone calls, discussions, debates, drafting, more phone calls. All the ins and outs of dealmaking that Harvey can do in his sleep, especially with Mike by his side, recalling the details of decades old contracts and catching fudged report numbers with an ease that never ceases to amaze, no matter how many times Mike tells Harvey he should be used to it by now.
The best part is, because they’re working, there’s no more prodding at their so-called relationship. Nettle might be a slimeball, but he takes his business seriously. They don’t even stop for dinner; they eat lobster and clams while hashing out finer points of the deal with Nettle’s in-house counsel, who apparently has a house of his own nearby.
The work doesn’t wind down until well past ten, and Harvey gives himself an internal high five for surviving the evening intact. Of course, that’s exactly when Nettle says, “Drink?” in a tone that suggests the only acceptable answer is yes.
Harvey suppresses his sigh. This is the job.
“We’d love to,” he agrees. “But you better break out the good stuff.”
***
They drink out by the pool. Harvey’s never really understood the point of having a pool when the beach is right there, but he can’t deny its beauty now, glowing against the dark, even if he could do without the faint smell of chlorine.
He focuses on the soft shimmer of moonlight dancing on the water as he sips his scotch—the good stuff, as requested—and listens to Mike impress Nettle with his encyclopedic knowledge of his company, the latest moves in the stock market, and even, surprisingly, the hottest new shows on Broadway. Normally Harvey’s the one who would do the client wooing, but it’s good practice for Mike. At least, that’s the excuse he’d give for letting the kid lead the show, if asked.
In reality, he’s too on edge to be pleasant, constantly waiting for Nettle’s next inappropriate comment. It takes so long for that shoe to drop, he’s almost lulled into a false sense of security.
Almost. He’s not so easily fooled.
It does come, eventually, in the form of Nettle asking, “So are you two in a fight, or what?”
Harvey pulls his attention away from the water, eyes darting to glare at his host. “What did you just say to me?”
“Wow, defensive, much? I was just noticing you haven’t touched him all day.”
And here comes the headache. Harvey clenches his jaw, unsettled at the idea that this man has been observing them so closely.
Observing Mike so closely.
“It’s called being professional,” he deadpans. “Maybe you should try it sometime.”
Nettle laughs, but there’s an edge to it, a threat. He can tell Harvey isn’t joking, and he doesn’t like being called out. “I think I’ve touched a nerve.”
“Nettle…”
“Harvey,” Mike cuts in, “it’s okay.”
Harvey shifts to glare at Mike, who gives him a small smile. “What?”
“I mean, who are we fooling here? He already knows, so…” Mike scoots his chair closer, until their arms brush. “Might as well act normal.”
He fixes Harvey with a pointed look. Too pointed, really. Harvey gets the message: he shouldn’t antagonize their client, and he has Mike’s permission to cross whatever lines he needs to cross to get through the night.
He told Mike to trust him; he’s going to prove he’s worthy of that trust by crossing as few as possible.
Forcing a smile, he tosses his arm around the back of Mike’s chair and rests his hand at the base of his neck. He squeezes, a thank you. Then he turns the smile on Nettle, twisting it into something smug and possessive. It’s what their host expects. Men like that always think Harvey is the same as them.
“Better?” Before Nettle can respond—Harvey does not want to hear it—he adds, “Anyway, how’re the kids?”
The distraction works: Nettle launches into a rant about his eldest daughter’s failed attempt to make it in Hollywood. Harvey concentrates just enough to make sympathetic comments and snide remarks at the appropriate moments. The rest of his brain is busy with the warmth of Mike’s skin under his hand, the softness of the hair his fingers idly drift through as they talk, the faint flush that rises on Mike’s cheeks and doesn’t leave for the rest of the evening.
***
When Nettle finally releases them to their room—“I hope you have a very good night”—Mike is subdued, only making a few comments about the case before disappearing into the ensuite bathroom. When he emerges, he’s dressed in an oversized grey t-shirt and checkered fleece pajama bottoms, too heavy for the warm night. Harvey would bet good money he normally wears boxers in this weather.
He considers giving him shit for covering up unnecessarily, but that wouldn’t be fair; Harvey brought silk pajama bottoms for the same reason. Instead, he nods and trades places, slipping into the bathroom.
He expects Mike to be in bed when he gets out, maybe even pretending to be asleep, but instead he’s sitting in a chair, flipping through some of the documents they drafted earlier. He looks up when Harvey walks back into the room, eyes flicking from his bare feet to his silk pants to his tight black t-shirt, before finally resting on his face.
“You got a comment?” Harvey prods, a little challenging.
“Nah.” But this is Mike; he always has a comment. It only takes a second for him to add, “It’s just weird. Like seeing Batman outside of his costume.”
“Did you think I slept in a suit?”
“I considered it a real possibility.”
“You’re an idiot.”
Mike grins and ducks his head. When he looks up again a few seconds later, his expression has settled into something serious and unreadable. “Harvey, can I ask you a question?”
“Yes, I do get my pajama pants tailored by Rene.”
Mike snorts, but he doesn’t back down, fixing Harvey with a measured stare. “Are you actually attracted to men?”
Uh-oh. This is not going anywhere good. Harvey sighs and walks over to the bed, sitting at the foot and resting his elbows on his knees. The position puts half a room between them but still allows him to meet Mike’s eyes as he says, “Why are you asking?”
Mike worries his bottom lip before answering, “I was just wondering. Because the thing is, for Nettle to believe this whole act, he must have some reason to think it’s possible. And then, tonight, you didn’t seem uncomfortable touching me. So…yeah.”
Harvey resists the urge to close his eyes or rub his forehead. Either gesture would give away too much. As it is, Mike would only be asking for one of two reasons, and either spells trouble. “Would it be a problem for you if I am? Because you said it doesn’t bother you.”
“No. No, definitely not. It would…definitely not be a problem.” Mike blushes and looks away.
Okay, door number two it is. Not exactly a surprise, but not something Harvey can do a damn thing about.
Well, scratch that, he could. Very easily. He could turn on the Specter Charm and have Mike off that chair and on his knees in three sentences or less. But he’s not going to, for all the same reasons he avoided confirming Mike’s interest in the first place.
“Glad that’s settled,” he says, dismissive, as far from Specter Charm as he can get without being downright cruel. “But if it’s not a problem either way, then it’s also none of your damn business either way.”
“Isn’t it?” Mike asks, softer, still not looking at Harvey. “I feel like you’ve made it my business.”
And isn’t that too close to the truth. The brains on this kid. “I most certainly have not. What we’re doing is playing parts. Whether or not I ever actually sleep with men has no bearing on that.”
“Ah.” This time, Mike doesn’t pretend to cover up the disappointment in his tone. Or maybe he’s just not able. “Right. I forgot; Harvey Specter doesn’t share personal details with lowly associates.” He turns back to his files. “I’m going to finish reviewing these before I go to sleep.”
“Don’t stay up too late. We have a long day tomorrow.”
As Harvey slips into the left side of the bed, he congratulates himself on a conversation well handled. Mike might be stung, but he’ll get over it—and more importantly, he got the message before anything got out of hand.
As for the hard pit of disappointment settling in Harvey’s stomach? Whatever. He’ll get over it, too.
He always does.
***
He falls asleep before Mike gets into bed and wakes to the sound of the other man in pain.
Or—shit. Definitely not in pain. When Harvey’s brain claws its way into clarity, he realizes he’s flat on his back with Mike curled into him, grinding against his hip, the thick weight of his erection obvious even through his fleece pajama pants.
A quick glance at Mike’s face, clear in the dim moonlight, reveals a jaw slack with sleep as he sighs through gasps of pleasure. His breath smells like peppermint toothpaste and his eyes are squeezed tight, as if somewhere in whatever dream world he’s occupying he’s concentrating hard.
And, fuck, Harvey’s body apparently decided to take matters into its own hands while he was asleep. He’s so hard it hurts; the urge to start rutting back is almost unbearable.
Goddamnit.
Harvey stills. Of all the scenarios he prepared for coming into this weekend, this was not one of them. In retrospect, that was a real failure of imagination on his part. He needs to game out his options, and fast.
Okay, okay. Option One: stay where he is and don’t do anything. No go; that’s completely inappropriate. Option Two: slide out of bed and hide in the bathroom until Mike’s dream runs its course. That has its upsides, but if Mike wakes with dried come in his pants tomorrow, he’s going to freak out. Option Three: wake Mike up, tell him it’s no big deal, and then lie next to him as he freaks out all night instead, because there’s no world in which Mike believes this isn’t a big deal.
Or there’s always Option Four: cut his losses and do what he knows he wants to do, because at this point things are going to be completely awkward no matter what.
No, that’s a bad excuse for a worse decision. There’s awkward, and then there’s shoving your tongue down your employee’s throat in the middle of the night. One you can come back from, the other you can’t.
Option Three, then. That’s the mature, adult choice. Bodies do things, it doesn’t mean anything, they’ll be weird for a week and then Mike will get over it. Fine. Good. Or at least best of a bad batch.
He means to follow through on the plan, he really does. Or at least he thinks he means to. He has the best of intentions.
But when he gently places his hand on Mike’s waist and shakes him, he doesn’t wake up. So Harvey rolls to face him, shaking harder, whispering, “Mike, Mike, you’re dreaming.”
And that means that when Mike’s eyes fly open, there’s no way to miss that his pupils are blown wide with lust, obvious even in the dark. Worse, it means that when Mike thrusts forward again, the involuntary movement of someone still getting their baring, their dicks brush.
Suddenly all of Harvey’s good reasons for saying no don’t mean a goddamn thing, because he needs to feel that again.
He tightens his grip on Mike’s waist, pulling him closer, and then they’re kissing. Harvey couldn’t tell you who started it. Doesn’t matter. Whoever started, Harvey never wants to stop. Mike’s mouth is warm and wet as their lips move together and fuck, he could swallow him whole.
He wraps his arms around Mike’s back, rolling them until Mike’s on top, not breaking the kiss (how could he possibly?). He guides Mike’s movement with a hand on his hip, urging him to thrust faster, harder, then slides down to cop a feel of his ass, which is as toned and grabbable as Harvey always imagined. He groans into Mike’s mouth; Mike responds with a choked off whine, bucking harder.
“Harvey,” he whispers, voice pebbly. “Fuck, Harvey, I thought you didn’t—”
“Shh.” Harvey curls the hand not currently occupied with Mike’s ass into his hair. “Don’t ruin it by talking.”
Mike huffs, but goes back to kissing, which is good because if they start talking Harvey’s going to start thinking and then he’s going to be the one freaking out and he doesn’t want that, not right now. If they’re making this mistake, he’s damn well going to enjoy it while it lasts. Which—given how turned on Harvey is and the way Mike’s picking up the pace, moving with the stuttered rhythm of someone close to orgasm—isn’t going to be long.
Harvey forces his brain off and focuses on the only thing that matters in this moment: Mike. He slips his hand into the waist of Mike’s pants, tugging down, insistent. His movements are sloppy, but they get the point across; Mike lifts his hips, letting Harvey work the bottoms off far enough to free his dick before returning the favor just as hastily.
And then they’re touching, flesh to flesh, movement eased by their pre-come. Mike moans, and Harvey does, too, clutching Mike as close as possible. He wishes they were both naked, but he can’t imagine stopping for long enough to make that to happen, so instead he breaks the kiss and buries his face in the crook of Mike’s neck, inhaling deep to drink in the scent of body wash and sweat. When he licks, he tastes salt; nothing has ever tasted better.
“Mike,” he whispers, even though he’s the one who said they shouldn’t talk. “Mike.”
He bites Mike’s shoulder; not too hard, but enough to be possessive. Mike goes still, coming with a hitch in his breath, warmth spilling between them. Harvey keeps thrusting through it, nuzzling closer; when Mike whispers back, “God, Harvey,” he comes, too, shuddering and uncontrollable.
***
It takes a while for Mike to roll off Harvey. He doesn’t go far, curling against his side, barely bothering to pull his pants back up.
“That answers that, then,” he murmurs, with the blissed-out tone of someone still too high on their orgasm to realize what they’ve done.
“Hmm?” Harvey asks, and maybe he sounds a bit the same.
“You do like men,” Mike explains, pressing even closer.
Of course Mike’s a cuddler. Harvey should tell him to stop. He should move over, put as much distance between them as possible. But he doesn’t. He’s still enjoying this. He can get away with letting it last until morning.
“Amazing deduction skills you’ve got there.” He allows his hand to curl around Mike’s shoulder, holding him close.
“Mmm,” Mike agrees, nose brushing Harvey’s collarbone. “Or maybe you just like me.”
Harvey freezes, and then forces himself to relax. Freezing is more telling than anything else he can do.
“Go to sleep, Mike,” he whispers.
Hopefully Mike is too close to passing out to register that Harvey’s heart skips a beat or three as he says it. That’s a detail he does not need Mike’s magic memory storing for future analysis.
***
Harvey wakes to the pale light of dawn slipping in through the windows and panic gnawing at his stomach. Fortunately, Mike is still dead to the world, and if Harvey knows him, he’ll stay that way for another few hours, which gives Harvey a chance to get this situation under control.
He does the only thing he knows how to do in this kind of situation: he runs. Literally. He slips out of the house and sets a jogging route that will take at least an hour and a half. It’s longer than he normally goes, but he needs to clear his head.
He should use the time to think, but there’s nothing to think about. What happened can’t happen again, that’s all there is to say. So he puts on his favorite playlist, breathes in the sea air, and hits the road, letting his mind go as blank as possible, until he feels nothing but his feet pounding pavement and the music surging through his body.
***
He stops at an overpriced café for coffee and a breakfast sandwich halfway through the run, mostly to put a little more time between himself and the inevitable. When he gets back, Mike’s not in the room anymore, which was the plan. Harvey quickly showers and then heads downstairs, where he finds Mike in the expansive kitchen, eating pancakes and talking business with Nettle.
“Harvey! Nice of you to finally join us,” Nettle says, grinning a knowing grin. “I assume you had an enjoyable night?”
Harvey slides his eyes over to Mike only long enough to acknowledge him before focusing on their host. “How we spent our night is none of your concern. How we’re going to wrap up this deal is. Any updates while I was out?”
And with that, they’re back on track. And if Harvey can feel Mike’s eyes burning a hole into the side of his face as they talk, so what?
***
Eventually Nettle sets them up in his home office to finish drafting the main deal points as he makes calls. As soon as they’re alone, Mike immediately takes the opportunity to say, “You were gone when I woke up.”
Harvey settles into a desk chair before replying, offhand, “Yeah, well, some of us believe in this newfangled thing called exercise.”
Mike, still standing, shakes his head and leans against the desk, doing a bad impression of casual. The lie is obvious in the tension around his shoulders. “I ride my bike to work! Besides, you know what I mean.”
“Do I?”
“Harvey—”
“Mike, don’t.”
Mike sighs and moves to another chair, across the desk from Harvey, dropping into it with a defiant glare. “Don’t as in not here, or don’t as in we’re never going to talk about it?”
“Don’t as in go back to work so we can get home at a civilized hour.”
Mike slides further down in his seat, overdramatic. “I should’ve known you’d be a dick about this.”
“And I did know you’d be a child.” Harvey squints at the contract in front of him. He’s finding it hard to focus. “Don’t make me tell you to do your job again.”
***
Mike keeps quiet about it the rest of the day, which is probably as much because most of their time is spent in the presence of Nettle or his general counsel as anything else. At least they get the job mostly wrapped up, just finishing touches left to be done when they get back to the office.
And miracle of miracles, Nettle manages not to make another dirty joke as he shakes their hands goodbye and sends them home in his helicopter.
Mike is decidedly less enthusiastic on the ride back, which Harvey refuses to feel guilty about. At least the steady beat of the propellers and the presence of the pilot are enough to keep him from trying to talk about last night again. And then they’re in Ray’s car, and Mike sure as hell knows enough not to mention it there.
It’s only when they arrive at Harvey’s apartment that Mike almost gives things away, squawking, “Are you kidding?” when Harvey tells Ray to take him home to Brooklyn.
“You thought you were coming up?” Harvey asks.
Mike’s eyes dart to the driver’s seat, where Ray is switching out a CD of good music for whatever abomination he keeps stored away especially for Mike.
“Yeah,” Mike says after a pause. “I thought you might want to discuss the case some more. You know, the stuff we were talking about last night?”
Oh, very subtle, Mike.
“Nope,” Harvey says, flippant, opening the door and sliding out before Mike has a chance to argue. “And you better be in on time tomorrow. I want to get these deal papers done by the end of the day.”
He slams the door before he can hear whatever Mike has to say about that.
And he goddamn does not feel guilty about it. He doesn’t.
***
When Harvey wakes up the next day, there’s a message from Mike on his phone. It was left at two in the morning.
Well, that can’t be good. He considers not listening, but that would be purposefully depriving himself of valuable information, and he’s not in the habit of going into difficult situations unprepared. He sucks it up and hits play.
“Haaarvey,” comes Mike’s voice, clearly drunk. “I know you’re never going to agree to talk about it, but ha, look at me, I found a way around your system. You might not talk, but I can talk, and you have to listen and, and”—there’s a ruffling sound, like maybe he was shifting around on his couch—“and I felt something last night, and it wasn’t just sex. And I think you did, too. And, also, seriously, the whole fake boyfriend bit? You said it’s not a romcom, but that’s totally a romcom move. Well, I can make a romcom move, too. Like a speech. A big, romcom speech. So, you ready? Okay, here goes: I know you’re emotionally stunted and I’m your associate and whatever else, but don’t forget—I’m also just a boy, standing in front of another boy, asking him not to be a total dick.”
The message ends there.
Harvey stares at the phone, torn between throwing it at the window and bursting out laughing.
What has he gotten himself into?
***
Mike shows up to work bright and early, the hangover he must’ve given himself sending that message apparent in the bags under his eyes. Despite his obvious exhaustion, he marches into Harvey’s office with the confidence of a man still hyped up on righteous indignation, crossing his arms as he comes to a stop in front of his desk.
“Well?”
“I need all the deal documents finalized and on my desk for review by three,” Harvey replies, expression and tone carefully neutral.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
Mike stares at him incredulously.
“What are you waiting for?” Harvey makes a shooing gesture with his hand. “Deal needs to get done today. Go.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Mike spits, not even pretending to be in the realm of professional, before spinning on his heel and storming out the door.
***
Harvey gives Donna credit: she waits a full four hours before confronting him about it.
“What took you so long?” he asks when she slips into his office after lunch and looms over his desk, fury all over her face.
“I was hoping you’d get your head out of your ass on your own for once, but since you’ve been avoiding the poor kid all day, that’s obviously not happening.”
“I haven’t been avoiding him, we’ve both been busy.”
“Sure. Which is exactly why you’ve been on fake calls every time he’s tried to see you.”
Harvey purses his lips. There’s no way to deny that; she can see when he’s not really on a call. “What do you want?”
“What do I want?” Donna’s nostrils flair, like she can’t believe he’s even asking. “I want to know what the hell you did to him to make him to talk to you like that.”
“I didn’t do anything to him.” She gives him That Stare, the one that makes him feel like a naughty child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He sighs. “I may have done something with him. But trust me, both parties were very much on board.”
She pauses long enough to think that through, and then her eyes go wide. “Holy shit. You didn’t.”
“In my defense, it was very late and I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“Holy shit,” she repeats, before starting to pace. “And then, let me guess, you refused to talk to him about it.”
“Maybe.”
She nods, still pacing. “You refused to talk to him, and yet you admitted it to me with almost no pressure at all, which means…” She stops and drops into the chair across from him. “You know what I’m going to say. You just need someone who isn’t you to say it.”
Harvey’s heart sinks, deeper than it should. She’s probably right; she normally is. And there’s only one thing she would say in this situation. “You’re going to say I need to tell him it can never happen again.”
“No.” Donna tilts her head, considering. “Well, not necessarily.”
“Not necessarily?”
“Not unless that’s actually what you want, and judging by the look on your face, it’s not.”
Harvey leaps to denial, but the words die in his mouth as he tries to get them out. There’s no use trying to hide it, not from Donna. “Then what?”
Donna leans forward, resting a gentle hand on his forearm. “You need to deal with it, one way or the other. Because not talking to him? That’s guaranteed disaster.”
“One way or the other?”
“Your choice.”
Harvey takes a deep breath. “I don’t know how,” he admits.
“Harvey, I know for a fact you do know how to ask a person out.”
And of course she assumes that’s the choice he’s going to make.
Well, maybe she’s right about that, too. Maybe he already made the choice when he started this whole charade in the first place. Or when he let what happened happen. Or when he listened to Mike’s message ten times before leaving the apartment this morning.
“It’s different,” he insists.
“Because it’s Mike?”
He nods.
Donna laughs, squeezing his arm. “Don’t worry. You could take that boy to McDonald’s and he’d think it was the best thing that ever happened to him.”
When he meets her eyes, they sparkle with amusement, and beneath that, understanding. She knows it’s not date logistics that are tripping him up, here.
“Do you actually think this will be okay?” he asks.
She smiles fondly, and shrugs. “I don’t know. But I do know you’re going to regret it if you don’t try.” She squeezes again and stands. “And that is enough talking you through your feelings for one day. I think you can handle the rest from here.”
“Thank you,” he tells her, sincerely. He should probably be worried about how much better this conversation made him feel. He’s a grown man; he doesn’t need anyone’s permission to go after the person he wants. But he must admit, it’s comforting to know that at least one person as smart as Donna doesn’t think this is the worst idea in the history of ideas. “Seriously, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Don’t I know it.” Donna smiles a mischievous smile. “And don’t worry, the new Louboutins you’re going to buy me will thank me just fine.”
***
Mike storms back into Harvey’s office at two-thirty and slams a pile of folders on his table with a huffy, “There you go. Unless you have anything else, I have work for Louis to finish.”
“Great,” Harvey replies, cool as ever. “I’ll look it over and let you know if I need any changes.”
The look Mike gives him is pure despair. This time Harvey lets himself feel the guilt. But everything else aside, they do have a job to get done; he needs to review the work before he thinks about anything else.
And, okay, maybe he’s putting off a certain conversation for a little longer. He’s man enough to admit that to himself.
Not that it puts it off for long; Mike’s work is, as ever, impeccable. Once Harvey’s done, he sends everything away with Donna to get printed and couriered over to Nettle’s office for signatures.
“And Donna,” he says as he hands the papers off, “tell Mike to get up here. I want to talk to him.”
The knowing wink she gives him almost settles the anxiety pounding through his chest.
Almost.
***
Harvey plants himself in the corner of his office that keeps him most out of view of prying eyes and watches the sun setting over the city as he waits for Mike to arrive. It doesn’t take long; Mike must’ve run over as soon as he got Donna’s call.
“Donna said you wanted to see me?” he asks as he enters the office. He sounds wary, but marginally less pissed. Marginally.
Harvey gestures him over. When Mike stands further away than he normally would—and a lot further than Harvey wants—Harvey steps sideways to close the gap, close enough that their shoulders almost touch. The move earns a surprised glance from Mike.
Surprised, and hopeful. Good.
“Excellent job with the paperwork. I didn’t have to change a thing.”
“Oh. Uh…thanks?” Mike’s confusion is almost amusing. Normally, he’d be falling over himself after such high praise, but clearly it wasn’t what he was expecting from this conversation.
“We should celebrate,” Harvey adds, tone not giving anything away. “Tonight.”
“We…should?” This time, the confusion is infused with a tinge of excitement. Mike’s eyes dart all over Harvey’s face, searching for some kind of sign.
And okay, that’s probably enough toying with the poor guy. “Yeah, we should. I was thinking dinner, drinks, maybe head back to my place after…”
Mike’s mouth drops open, but give him props: he recovers quickly, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels as he replies, just a bit cheeky, “Only maybe head back to your place?”
“Well, I don’t want to be presumptuous.”
“No, we wouldn’t want that.” Mike tilts his head, giving Harvey a considering stare. “Are you serious right now?”
Harvey leans closer, bumping their shoulders together. “Yeah, Mike, I’m serious.”
Mike nods, slowly, as if he doesn’t quite believe it. “Like serious, serious? Because the thing is, with you I’m in real danger.”
He says the last bit like a quote. It takes Harvey a moment to place it: Hugh Grant’s character says it to Julia Roberts, right before the just a girl standing in front of a boy schtick. He goes on this whole ramble about how if they break up, he’ll be stuck seeing her in movies everywhere, and he doesn’t think his heart can take it.
Maybe not the worst analogy for being stuck at the firm together if anything goes wrong, actually.
“I can’t promise anything,” Harvey admits. “I’m just a boy, standing in front of another boy, asking him to give it a real shot.”
Mike’s lips twitch. “You did listen to the message!”
“Oh yeah. And if you think I’m not going to be mocking you about that for years to come, you’re sadly mistaken.”
“Okay, first of all, I asked you to not be a total dick.” But Mike’s fully smiling now, and he leans against Harvey as he adds, “And second of all, years, huh?”
Wow. Harvey hadn’t even realized the implications of that. But, yeah. Somehow, years sounds right. Not that he’s going to acknowledge it.
“If you think I’m going to stop being a dick just because we’re dating, you’re out of your mind.”
“Oh, we’re dating now? What happened to not being presumptuous?”
“Are you trying to talk yourself out of a lovely evening?” Harvey softens the barb by slipping his hand into Mike’s and lacing their fingers together.
That’s apparently what it takes to get Mike Ross to be quiet. He looks down at his hand then up at Harvey, eyes wide in disbelief, as if the idea that Harvey might do something as mundane as holding hands was completely outside the realm of what he thought possible.
Harvey takes advantage of the silence to lean over and kiss Mike, a swift peck on the lips. “I am sorry about being a total dick. I’ll try to keep it to partial dick in the future.”
Mike finally manages to snap out of his stunned silence. “Can I get that in writing?”
Harvey rolls his eyes, dropping his hand. “This is already a mistake,” he announces, all humor. “Go get your stuff and think about where you want me to take you tonight. Pick something fancy, I owe you after this weekend.”
Mike scratches his chin in mock concentration. “Oooor we could skip the restaurant and go straight back to your place…”
“Mike. I thought you wanted to be serious.”
“Okay, okay.” Mike glances at the door, probably to make sure no one can see, then gives Harvey another kiss, this one deeper, lingering.
Harvey wraps his arms around his waist, going in for another as soon as the first is over, before finally pulling away to rest their foreheads together. “For the record, I’m in real danger, too.”
Mike’s eyes widen, slightly. “Good thing we already know we’re a great team, then.”
“Yeah,” Harvey agrees. “Good thing.”
And then they’re kissing again, and Harvey starts to think Mike might have a point about skipping the foreplay and getting right to the main show tonight.
After all, if things go as planned, they’ll have plenty of time for restaurants in the future.