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He doesn't usually do this. Well. He does. But it's usually the paralegals and the Harvard Douche-bags that he finds spread out across his bed, all long smooth lines of skin. There's usually lingerie on the bed post and stockings trailed across the floor and Christian Louboutin's by the door.
This morning there's a pair of cheap oxfords by the door and the body in the bed doesn't have a stitch of lingerie on it. The lines are too harsh and broad and Mike is lean in an underfed way rather than a artful dieting way.
He stands there with a cup of coffee- bemused, a little weirded out, hungover- looking at the bottle of scotch on the nightstand, a shirt that isn't his on the floor, and Mike Ross in his bed. He looks younger asleep. Which is weird- he looks young enough when he's awake and in a suit. Harvey's hazy memories of the night before are full of bare limbs, grasping hands, Mike's face slack with alcohol and pleasure.
He shakes his head and looks to his coffee.
It's something he's done a million times and something he's done never before.
He'd taken Mike out to a bar as a reward for the case they'd just closed and enjoyed the wide-eyed joy in the boy's face, the way he was earnest and sweet and just... Real. It was unsettling. He'd plied Mike with drinks- scotch and martinis- anything just to watch him enjoy it. They'd tumbled into a taxi and the next thing Harvey remembers is laughing in his elevator, some joke he can't recall, and offering Mike just one more drink- some special scotch he doesn't share with anyone- and Mike had looked at him as he unlocked the door all burning earnest eyes and Harvey had felt a jolt all the way down to his thousand dollar shoes.
He'd opened the scotch while Mike stared out the windows at the city, speechless, and come up behind him once again thinking, 'He's so skinny'- Mike didn't need those skinny ties to make it worse, he'd held out the cut crystal glass, the inside of his arm brushing Mike's shoulder- and it was only then he realized he'd reached around Mike, almost holding him in his arms. It was shockingly intimate and for a second it sobered him.
“Thanks.” Mike had murmured, bashful, and the scotch and vodka came rolling back in a massive wave and Harvey didn't care anymore.
Mike sipped the scotch, lips glossed by it, pressed against the rim of the glass, and Harvey watched his throat work as he swallowed- Harvey shot his back, not caring about the price and the quality and watched Mike's eyes go wide, knowing-
He grabbed Mike by the shoulders, jerking him around and pressing him back into the glass. New York glimmered outside but Harvey didn't see it anymore. Mike's eyes were closed and he made this pathetically adorable noise as he gave it up- Harvey's left hand grabbed Mike by the hair, what little there was of it, and pressed him close, slanting their mouths at a better angle and Mike just... melted into it.
Crystal shattered and Harvey couldn't care less. He yanked Mike away from the window and pushed the jacket from the thin shoulders, feeling lean muscles under the cloth of his cream colored shirt. He felt the jacket under his shoes and kicked them off, pushing Mike towards the bed- his hands were clutching anywhere they could find purchase. Mike touched his hair and the side of his face and the back of his neck, all of it with wonder in his touch and the edge of nails. Mike's hands were shaking a little.
“Have you done this before?” Harvey demanded. Mike made another whining noise, full of want, and shuddered out a breath against Harvey's lips.
“Yeah- yeah-” Mike stuttered. His irises were blown, eyes so big and blue he looked scared. He licked his lips and Harvey almost strangled him with his own tie as he tried to yank it off. Mike's hands came up to help, shaking and covering Harvey's, and they pulled it off together, then the shirt came off, baring thin shoulders, dotted with freckles. Mike was muscled in a wiry way- it didn't show but everywhere Harvey spread his hands- he felt like he might be able to own him if he touched him enough- and they came together again, frantically kissing.
Somehow they made their way to the bed- he blamed the scotch but all he could remember next was the two of them sprawled on the bed, Mike under him, groaning as they rubbed together. Mike's hands were clawing into his back and the younger man's head was thrown back, throat marked with bites and red with hard kisses. He grabbed Mike's hands and shoved his arms over his head, watching the muscles shift under his pale skin- he bit Mike's bicep and the groan Mike make went down to the bottom of Harvey's soul.
Next he remembers being on his back, Mike's mouth around his cock- god, he still looked so earnest and young, even doing that, and doing it so well- Harvey cried out punching his hand into the headboard to keep from coming and Mike had looked up at him, chuckling like some kind of imp- he'd licked his lips so slow and one thin-fingered hand had wrapped around Harvey's cock, striping him indulgently.
“Oh, god-” And Harvey had groaned that last part for seconds, eyes blind to everything.
And then- and then-
He stares down at his coffee and wonders how long Mike is planning on sleeping. He looks innocent now.
He looked innocent last night, lighted by the city, on his knees, straddling Harvey while he laid there lazy and pleased as a lion, and Mike had reached back behind himself- grabbing Harvey's cock and then-
Sliding into his assistant- into Mike- that brilliant- genius- tight, oh god, he's so tight and Harvey has never done this before- he's so hot on the inside, like his brain is burning his whole body up, and the rippling heat of him- Harvey grabbed him by the hips, fingers clenching so hard that he had to be hurting Mike but the boy had just groaned, shameless, and shifted down and Harvey swears he might have blacked out it was so good. They were fucking- fucking so hard the bed was rocking and Mike was crying, whimpering- he looked lost and stricken and holy and Harvey flipped him over onto his back and rode him so hard that the only noises Mike made were wordless- like he was speaking in tongues. Mike's hands had clutched at Harvey like he was the only sure thing in the world- the only thing Mike had left since he'd taken a chance and changed everything- his anchor-
And Mike had cried out, different this time, and he came- he came so hard that Harvey was struck dumb and followed him- bit his shoulder so hard that Mike clenched down on him again and it felt like it wrung a whole new orgasm out of him-
He looks up from his coffee and Mike is watching him- a little bashful, a little pleased, a little bruised- and Mike smiles at him, raising one pale brow and leans up on one elbow. It makes the sheet drift down his chest baring skin that Harvey is now thoroughly familiar with and Harvey slowly looks back up, tracing that chest, now peppered with bruises and scratches and semen, and finds Mike smiling, having caught him looking.
“Is that coffee?” Mike asks.
It stalls Harvey's brain a second. “Yes.”
“Is there more?”
“Yeah.” He admits, watching.
“You going to pour me some?” And there's something else behind the question- how does Harvey feel, how does he feel about this, does Mike still have a job- he can hear all of it with his lawyer's intuition. It takes him a second to answer.
“Yeah. I'll get you a mug.”
When he looks up Mike is grinning.