charybdis: (discworld)
[personal profile] charybdis
Title: All Right
Characters: Harvey Specter/Mike Ross
Summary: The one where it's Mike's ass and therefore, Mike's decision.(And his decision remains, "don't stick anything in there.")Written for a Suits kinkmeme prompt here. NC-17, 2,700 words.
Notes: Mike calls Harvey a kinky shit, and it's not explicitly stated that it's a joke, though it is.


The first time is the Friday evening of Pearson Hardman's non-denominational holiday party, and Mike catches Harvey and Harvey's plus one coming out of the supply closet, her mouth bare of lipstick, flushed all the same, a neat row of four pink finger-shaped marks on the back of her shoulder, fading rapidly.


Mike drinks a little too much and accepts when Harvey, his date long gone, offers a ride home. Mike waits until they reach his block to slant his eyes across the back seat at Harvey and say, "At the holiday party, really? Was it good?"


Harvey smirks, teeth flashing under the passing streetlights, says, "Why, you think you can do better?"


Mike could blame the alcohol, but he knows what he likes, even though he almost never fucks guys, and he knows it's the way Harvey shows his teeth when he smiles, the way he moves, the shape of his shoulders under his expensive suits. So he knows he's got no one but himself to blame when he ends up on his knees in his bedroom, proving to Harvey that "better" doesn't even begin to cover it.


***


Mike expects to wake up in the morning to an empty bed, expects to spend the next few weeks forgetting that he ever had his boss's cock in his mouth, and trying awkwardly to avoid said boss. Which is honestly, probably for the best. Only, he wakes up to Harvey's naked shoulder half-smothering him, morning sunlight slanting in between the blinds that he forgot to close, with a slight hangover and some pretty serious morning wood. Which is how he finds out that Harvey is very into morning handjobs.


Mike thinks he should break it off before Harvey starts trying to stick his dick in him, but ditching the guy who just made you come like a freight train is a completely jerk move, and Mike figures they can have that conversation on Monday, once the afterglow has worn off and their work obligations loom immediate and obvious.


***


Mike never manages to have that conversation -- for some reason, it keeps getting derailed by handjobs in the bathroom or more late-night blowjobs and one instance of undignified humping in a supply closet, necessitating a new tie and a change of pants, each. It goes rapidly downhill from there, and by the next Friday, Harvey is giving Mike a blowjob up against the door of his stupidly swanky condo and (this is the relevant part) trying to slip Mike a couple of fingers.


Mike shoves at Harvey's shoulders, but he's heart's not in it -- he's thinking, Oh my god, Michael, let it go, let it go, SEX NOW PLEASE. Harvey Specter is blowing him -- lips slick, on-his-knees, still wearing his tie, as if he was just that desperate to get Mike's cock in his mouth -- a couple of fingers up the ass, while uncomfortable, would be totally worth seeing Harvey like this. They can talk about it later, if ever.


But Harvey stops, pulls off and stares up at him. "Problem?"


Mike's cock is flushed and shiny with his spit, not even a foot away from his face, and Harvey still manages to put on his blandly professional Robot Face. It's a little off-putting, though Mike can't deny that it works, makes it easier for Mike to come right out and say, "I don't do anal."


Without seeming to, Harvey backs off -- suddenly, he isn't touching Mike, at arms length, still on his knees. "Have you tried it?" His voice is rough, steady, and he sounds curious, not judgmental, not disappointed, but then, Mike has seen this act before.


"That would be how I know I don't like it, yeah," Mike says, a little more defensive than he means to be.


Harvey tilts his head to the side, takes a moment to examine Mike's face, and then says, "all right," nodding once, like it's no big deal, and starts to lean back in.


"Wait," says Mike, "What?"


"Is there something else?" This time, Harvey's look is a lot more exasperated, a lot more Do you want this blowjob or not?


"Yes! I mean, no! Crap. It's just-- seriously? Just 'all right'?"


Harvey does something between a glare and a squint that Mike has definitely never seen at the office -- if he didn't know better, he'd say it was confusion, with an edge of aggressive exasperation. "Yeah, 'all right'," he says, slowly, like Mike is stupid -- that's more familiar. "It's not a deal-breaker."


"You say that now--" Mike feels like he should point out that this is the entire reason that he doesn't sleep with guys -- not for lack of attraction, but because this usually is the deal-breaker, and it doesn't seem fair that Harvey just gives it a shrug and a pass.


Except Harvey grabs Mike's hips with both hands, pins him back against the door, and swallows him whole, hot and tight and wet. Mike moans embarrassingly loudly and flexes in Harvey's grip, yeah, like that, yeah, and comes, gasping, unable to control himself.


***


Mike knows it's going to come up again. Harvey has lube in the drawer of his end table in the living room -- there's no way he's just going to let it go at 'all right'.


"Let me know if you change your mind."


Ah, there it is. "I'm not going to change my mind," Mike tells him, pulling back, steeling himself for an argument. Tonight was going so well, too, trading handjobs on the couch, watching a movie, almost a date night.


"Okay, okay," Harvey says, amiably, and wraps his hand around the back of Mike's neck, guiding him back down against his shoulder. "Go to sleep, kid"


***


Then one night, Mike is on his knees in the living room, sucking Harvey's cock, enjoying the way Harvey's hands are tight in his hair, kind of pushy -- Mike likes that more than he's really willing to admit. They've reached that point where Harvey gets incoherent, starts murmuring affectionate half-phrases, helplessly fucking Mike's mouth, when Harvey pulls him off abruptly, shoves him back a little. Mike makes a soft sound of regret, but he's kind of worried, once he gets a look at Harvey's expression.


"Is it an ass thing?" Harvey asks, breath coming short, his pupils blown -- he looks kind of shocky, actually, which causes a sharp twist of affection in the vicinity of Mike's sternum, along with the concern. It's uncomfortable.


"Is it a -- a what?" Mike repeats, stunned "What?"


"I know I said it wasn't a deal-breaker," Harvey says, and Mike knows exactly what he's talking about now, and he fights down a wave of anger. "But I meant if it was just receiving that you don't like."


"I refuse to believe that you are bringing this up again," Mike sighs, settling back on his heels. "I don't like anal. I have tried it. I know what my prostate is. Doesn't do anything for me. And if we have to have one more conversation about me getting fucked? This is over."


Harvey frowns, and for a moment, Mike is pretty sure that it's over anyway, which would kind of suck, since the sex is really awesome, as long as Harvey isn't trying to get in his ass.


Then Harvey says, "Did you actually hear what I said? We're not having a conversation about you getting fucked."


Mike's eyebrows go up. "Not an ass thing," he says, getting the words out in a rush as he scrambles to his feet, fumbles the lube out from the drawer where he'd seen it weeks ago. Harvey doesn't ask how he knew it was there, just smirks at him.


Mike hesitates when he gets back, though, Harvey's knees bracketing his shoulders, takes a moment to breathe, tell himself this is actually happening. He hadn't brought it up, because it didn't seem fair, to ask for something that he'd already made it clear that he wouldn't allow, and anyway, Harvey was top all the way, whether or not he fucked Mike.


"Okay," Mike says, breathless.


Harvey laughs at the expression on his face -- Mike can only imagine what that might be, since he'd never thought he'd get this chance. Disbelief, surprise, probably mostly lust, though.


"Don't gloat," Mike says, instead of thank you.


"Don't make me wait," Harvey replies. Then Mike slides a finger into his ass, and another, fits his mouth around Harvey's cock again and finds his prostate purely by luck on the first try, and neither of them have much to say until Harvey thrusts into Mike's mouth and comes with a choked off shout, sounding desperate, wrecked.


After, Harvey drags Mike up and crowds him against the back of the couch, gives Mike the best handjob he's ever had. Mike doesn't realize that he's gripping the cushions hard enough to make the seams creak, until Harvey wraps his free hand around Mike's straining wrist and murmurs, "Good boy."


It's almost embarrassing, how quickly Mike comes, after that.


***


"Intercrural?" Harvey asks, in bed one night, while Mike grinds their cocks together, slow, just warming up, really taking time to appreciate the drag of skin-on-skin.


Mike has a fleeting twinge of irritation but honestly, he wouldn't mind. Anyway, he's mostly distracted by the way Harvey is nibbling on his collarbone, just below where his shirts will hide it, leaving a red bruise.


"If you want," says Mike.


Harvey in bed is nothing like Harvey at work. Harvey in bed is generous and kind of kinky and he likes to manhandle Mike, and he never forgets what Mike likes, even the things that Mike has never really said that he likes. And sometimes he gets all weird and intense and asks before he even touches Mike. By now, Mike knows Harvey won't use this permission as leverage.


"Never mind," Harvey says, but Mike can tell by the way he traces his fingers up the insides of his thighs when Mike sits up, that he's disappointed.


"You can," Mike tells him, but Harvey grimaces, an exaggerated No thanks. Another thing that he never does at work -- it's becoming clear that the Robot Face is mainly to hide this kind of reaction.


Harvey grabs him and rolls the over so that he's on top, his shoulder pressing just right and completely incidental against Mike's chin, solid, his knees on either side of Mike's. They end up humping like horny teenagers, and it's kind of a mess, but good, it's always good. Still, Mike has a lingering feeling that it could be better.


It takes until breakfast the next morning for Mike to figure out how to word it, and he says, "So, intercrural," dropping into a chair at the dining table. Harvey raises his eyebrows in acknowledgement, but does not look away from the WSJ next to his plate. "Sometimes it's hot because you like it. Even if it's not at the top of my list, it could be really hot if you're into it."


"That's great." Harvey eyes him skeptically. "Except it's not hot if you're not into it. Options," he says, gesturing meaningfully with his fork.


Mike has a brief and very vivid flashback to the gun-to-your-head speech, blurts out, "You kinky shit," before he can stop himself.


Harvey glares at him.


"Jesus, fine," Mike sighs. "Yes, Harvey, I want you to fuck my thighs."


Harvey's shark-smile goes straight to Mike's dick. "All right."


***


"You don't have to ask every time you want to try something new," Mike gasps. "I'm a grownup; I'll tell you if I don't like it."


Harvey looks up from where he's sprawled on the bed, hand curled loosely around Mike's cock, licking Mike's balls. There's a shining slick of spit all over his chin and his eyes are hooded, soft and dark -- he looks like he's enjoying himself. "I like hearing you say yes," he says mildly, and he looks surprised when Mike arches suddenly into his hand, comes all over his cheek.


***


"All right?" asks Mike, as he eases a second finger into Harvey.


"All right?" asks Mike, rolling on a condom and sliding his cock against the lube-slick crease of Harvey's ass, catching a little at his hole on every drag, then easing in a little at a time, tortuously slow.


"All right?" Mike asks, and Harvey growls, "Mike, I will tie you to the bed and ride you until you can't see if you don't start moving now."


"Promise?" Mike murmurs, sounding a lot more hopeful than he meant to. He breathes deeply and tries to think unsexy thoughts -- the six-cans-of-redbull-and-zero-hours-of-sleep feeling, Jessica's Look of Supreme Disappointment, Louis's Face of Guile. It helps a little, not enough.


Harvey pushes back onto his cock, impatient, and it's awesome in a very literal sense -- Mike feels surrounded, every nerve alight and overcome by the tight, clasping heat of him, can barely manage to come up with words.


"Wait, wait-- I need a minute -- I-- Fuck, Harvey--" Mike's voice isn't working very well. He puts his hand on Harvey's stomach, in lieu of a plea.


"You said you did this before," Harvey says, breathless and oddly bewildered, protective. He reaches up to cup Mike's face in his hands, and Mike can't take it, doesn't want to be read right now, and he pulls away, leans down and presses his forehead to Harvey's collarbone, hiding his face, desperate, because he's irrationally afraid that the intensity in Harvey's eyes is going to push him over the edge.


"I said I'd been fucked," Mike grits out, "and I didn't like it."


Harvey goes very still under him, says, "Jesus, kid," like a promise he's going to collect on, his hand heavy on the back of Mike's neck for a moment, before he fans his fingers across Mike's jaw, tilts his chin up.


They kiss, Mike desperately focusing on Harvey biting at his lip, sucking on his tongue, anything, grateful for the slight distraction, though really it's not actually helping.


Harvey bears down and Mike whimpers, thrusting in, clutching at his shoulders. "Harder, yeah-- more, more, you can do better than that."


Mike can't help himself, it's so good, and Harvey wraps his legs around Mike's hips, urging him in, pushes up to meet him and reaches for his own cock. He does something complicated that squeezes in all the right ways, and Mike thought Harvey had been joking when he'd said 'ride you till you can't see', but his vision explodes in sparks, and that's it, his world narrows to the sound of Harvey's voice -- "Fuck me, come on, oh-- my perfect boy," and the tight, welcoming heat of his body surrounding him.


Mike is only vaguely aware of his own voice, gabbling something like, "Sorry, I, fuck, I can't, You feel so--."


"Don't-- fucking-- apologize," Harvey pants, composure gone. He shoves his arm under Mike's, yanking him in close, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulder for more leverage.


"Please, I'm gonna--" Mike chokes, thrusting helplessly, and Harvey says, "Yeah," on a sharp exhalation, jams himself down on Mike's cock, groans out a mangled sound that might be, "come for me," and Mike-- Mike does.


"I can't believe you let me do that," Harvey says, once they've cleaned up (at the expense of Mike's shirt) and he's got Mike pulled back against his body. The movement of his mouth against Mike's nape sends a quiet shiver down his spine.


Another time, Mike might have teased him about his mind-reading skills, might have said, isn't that supposed to be my line? Except he knows what it means that Harvey won't say it to his face, has been at this long enough to be able to tell when a statement is actually a question (Your first time, and you chose me?), and he knows, also, that Harvey, for all that he simply accepted Mike's "I don't do anal," as fact, without question, is a crazy person who can't do emotion worth a damn. So instead of playing it off, or equally, instead of making some grand declaration, Mike laces their fingers together and tells him,


"That's because you're not very smart," matter of fact.


Harvey laughs against his skin, relieved, and that's how Mike knows he did it right.





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