Sweet Thang


"You," Mike says, banging into Harvey's apartment (it is still technically Harvey's, even though half Mike's stuff and probably two-thirds of his net worth has permanently moved in) and chucking his keys on the counter. "You are not subtle. At all."

"I am incredibly subtle," Harvey replies, not even looking up from the file he's perusing. Then, "Who says I'm not subtle?"

"Um, that would be the titanium/carbon Merlin that somehow found its way under my bike lock, the Forzieri bag that all my files mysteriously migrated into over lunch, and the seven gold-plated pens sitting in my desk drawer!"

Harvey sniffs.

"It's our four-month anniversary. I'm entitled."

"Oh, I'll show you entitled."

Mike yanks the file out of Harvey's hands and drops it on the floor. It's quickly followed by Harvey's tie, Harvey's waistcoat, and half the buttons from Harvey's shirt.

"You know, having sex with me every time you think I've gone overboard with the presents isn't a very good way of discouraging the behavior. Haven't you read Pavlov?"

"I'm not having sex with you." Mike's tongue is poking out of his mouth in concentration, as he struggles undo Harvey's belt and fly without actually getting out of his lap.

"Really? Could have fooled me."

Harvey goes the much more expedient route of just untucking Mike's shirt and pushing it up his chest as far as it will go. Mike shivers when Harvey starts rubbing the pad of his thumb over his nipple – and then takes advantage of the distraction to nose his way into Mike's collar and start sucking a hickey above the hollow of his throat, right where it'll show if Mike loosens his tie a single inch tomorrow.

"You're kind of a possessive dickhead, you know that?" Mike gasps, twisting his fingers into Harvey's hair. But he can't help the way his hips hitch upward, pressing his ass against Harvey's cock, so Harvey just hums contentedly and keeps at it. It takes all of Mike's self control to pull Harvey away and lean over backwards, reaching for the bag he dumped on the coffee table.

At which point Harvey slides a hand down and palms Mike's dick through the dark fabric of his slack.

"Oh, God – okay, this, right here?" Mike now takes it as a point of pride that he can keep talking while Harvey's doing that. "The wandering-hands thing? Is why I knew I'd have to tie you up for this to have any chance of working."

Harvey stops and looks up sharply, because he's a kinky bastard.

"Yeah, you heard me." Shakily, Mike levers himself to his feet, speaking as authoritatively as he can manage with his shirt rucked up to his armpits and his dick making a tent in his pants. "Go in the bedroom, take off your clothes, and wait for me on the bed."

Harvey throws him a lazy salute and stands, letting his half-wrecked shirt slide off his shoulders and puddle on the sofa. He's unbuckling his belt as he walks away; when he disappears around the corner, Mike hears the clink-swish-thump of his pants hitting the floor and has to suck in a quick breath through his nose.

This…might be more difficult than he anticipated.

When Mike finally makes it to the bedroom after unpacking his supplies (few) and making an attempt to calm down a bit (futile), Harvey is sprawled out on the bed, legs spread wide as he lazily strokes his cock.

"So, explain something to me," Harvey says. "How, exactly, does this not constitute having sex?"

"I may have misspoken," Mike admits, climbing up onto the bed and stripping off his shirt. "I shouldn't have said I wasn't having sex with you. I should have said I wasn't going to let you come."

"Light bondage and orgasm denial?" Harvey, much to Mike's alarm, looks delighted. He lets go of his cock and stretches his arms wide, hitching up so that he can almost reach one bedpost with each hand. "Have at it, babe."

Mike makes a face, but refuses to be put off. He binds Harvey's wrists in place with two sturdy silk scarves (selected for their luxurient feel, and also because Harvey should be able to slip free of them if anything goes wrong); at least Harvey has the good grace to frown a little when he tests the knots and finds them secure.

"I read a book over lunch break," Mike explains, and grins at Harvey's skeptical look.

"You brought a book on bondage to work?"

"Psssh, no. I found it in your office."

"…ohhhhh. That book." Harvey watches raptly as Mike shimmies out of his pants and chucks them over the side. "So, what exactly are you trying to get out of this?" His expressive wriggle indicates Mike's whole, not-that-elaborate-but-hey-he's-trying set up.

Mike ignores him in favor of scooting back on his haunches, bending over, and swallowing down the entire length of Harvey's cock in one smooth, well-practiced motion (sucking dick for weed does encourage the cultivation of a certain skill set). Harvey groans and yanks at his bonds; after four months, he still hasn't gotten used to this particular trick of Mike's. Not that Mike has any incentive to help him. A blissed out and inarticulate Harvey is incredibly appealing, he's found.

He pulls back a little, enough so that he can tease Harvey's slit with the tip of his tongue, coaxing out droplets of salty-slick precome. Every one is accompanied by a jerk of Harvey's hips, pressing up against the arm that Mike has laid firmly across his stomach. Even after a full day at the office, Harvey still smells faintly of the stupidly expensive coconut body wash he insists on using. Mike actually likes the scent, now; he associates it with a naked Harvey.

Eventually, Mike's jaw starts to ache and Harvey's groans take on that desperate quality means if he doesn't come, now, drastic things are going to happen. Which of course makes it the perfect time for Mike to sit up and start rummaging in the night stand for lubricant. Harvey's eyes are glazed and and heavy-lidded, his gaze hungry enough to make Mike shiver with want as he uncaps the clear tube and squeezes out a too-large dollop.

"Now that's a lovely sight," Harvey rumbles, as Mike reaches back to slip a slick finger inside himself. He's hasty about it, closing his eyes against the slight burn, but he doesn't want to let Harvey come down too far from his edge. Mike is man enough to admit that he really, really likes Harvey's cock in his ass; if he takes too long, he'll never stand a chance at outlasting him. So Mike resists the urge to crook his fingers and just tease his prostate until he comes, instead concentrating on working in a second finger, and then a third, as quickly as he can stand.

When he's sure that he won't do himself any injury, Mike slips his fingers out and wriggles into position. A bit of lube leaks down the inside of his thigh; he scoops it up and smears it over Harvey's cock, making Harvey hiss out a desperate breath between his teeth. Mike kneels up and then slowly sinks down onto the thick, familiar hardness of it, shifting carefully to avoid his prostate.

"You..neglected to mention," Harvey chokes out, as Mike settles into a steady rhythm, his dick twitching with every thrust, "what you're trying…to accomplish by all this." It takes Mike a few seconds to work up the wit to answer, in which time Harvey adds, "I didn't…take you for the…sadistic sort."

"A promise." Mike forces himself to slow down, feeling his balls already beginning to tighten. "You can't come until you promise to stop buying me all these stupidly expensive, random presents."

Harvey is enough of a tactician to know that he has to know arguing that the presents aren't random, or too expensive, is a lost cause. Instead – as anticipated – he attacks Mike's strategy rather than the premise underlying it.

"How, exactly," he's got a bit of his breath back, now, "are you planning on keeping me from coming, with my cock in your ass?"

"Well…something like this."

Mike leans back, pinning Harvey's thighs to the bed, shoots Harvey a smirk – and stops moving, right down to the instinctive, pulsing clench of his inner muscles around Harvey's cock.

"I've been doing Kegel exercises," he adds conversationally, watching as Harvey twists and bucks and realizes that between his spread-eagled arms and Mike's hands on his thighs, he's got no leverage at all. "You'd be amazed how effective they are, even for guys."

Harvey regards him for a long moment.

Then he sighs, and when he speaks he sounds affectionate – indulgent, even.

"Oh, rookie," he says. "You've still got so much to learn."


"Remember what I told you when I first hired you? You read books," he gestures to the knotted scarves, "and I…I read people."

Harvey sits up and wraps his arms around Mike's waist – and that's when Mike realizes that somewhere in that meaningful little pause, Harvey managed to slip both his wrists free.

He was probably working on it the whole time Mike was blowing him, the sneaky bastard.

"Hey, Mike."

"Yeah, Harvey?"

"I've got an alternative proposition."

The next thing Mike knows, he's flat on his back with one leg slung over Harvey's shoulder, and Harvey is grinning down at him – the now that I've got your balls in my fist, let's negotiate grin.

"I'm going to fuck you, now," he murmurs, bending his head to nibble at Mike's ear. "And I'm going to make you come. And for every minute between the time you come and the time I do, I'm going to buy you a ridiculously, stupidly expensive present, and leave it on top of your cubicle where everyone can see it. And every single one will be so perfect that you won't be able to resist using it anyway."

Mike closes his eyes and hangs on for dear life.

Harvey's hands are everywhere: now teasing and plucking at Mike's nipples until he writhes into the touch; now tracing the rim of his stretched out hole, making him wonder what it would be like if Harvey pushed his fingers inside; now roughly jerking at his cock as Mike shudders on the edge of orgasm, every moment sure that now, now he'll tumble over. The steady, merciless thrust of his cock against Mike's prostate is all the worse (all the better) for having avoided it before. Sparks of pleasure zip up his spine with almost every stroke, whiting out his thoughts – except for the constant whisper of Harvey's voice in his ear, telling Mike exactly what he's going to do and exactly how Mike is going to react, promising to tie him up for real, to put a cock ring on him and play with him until he understand what it means to be so desperate to come that he can't even speak to beg for it.

In the end, he doesn't make it more than five minutes, but considering Harvey only lasts another five—

driving desperately into Mike's hypersensitive body, clutching at his hips, gasping, swearing, shaking with need

—Mike counts it a resounding success.

Afterwards, cleaned up and sprawled across Harvey's chest (because the man is an octopus in his sleep, and this is the only way Mike can be certain he won't wake up in the morning and be completely unable to extricate himself), Mike is jostled out of his half-doze by a sudden, violent start from Harvey.

"Mike," he says, nudging Mike to look up at him. "Shit, I'm sorry, I wasn't – I, we didn't—"

"Use a condom?" Mike blinks at Harvey's stricken expression. "Why, have you been fucking around behind my back?"


"Have you had an STD this whole time that you didn't tell me about?"

"Of course not!"

"Well, then." He yawns hugely and settles back down. "Happy four-month anniversary, dickhead."

The room is pitch black and Mike's eyes are closed, so he can't see Harvey's smile – but he can feel it, in the change in his breathing, and the rumble in his voice, and the way his arm tightens, just for a moment, around Mike's waist.

"Happy anniversary, rookie."


Part 2 ~~~~~~~~ Back to Suits ~~~~~~~~         



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