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Confessional

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Mike is kneeling, hands folded on his thighs, knees only slightly spread; head bowed, eyes closed, he could be at prayer, if it weren't for the fact that he's naked, and his skin shines a little with sweat.

Harvey certainly isn't at prayer, hasn't prayed since he was nine, hadn't believed even then. But he likes the way Mike looks, like this, an obscene caricature of innocence, for once not loud and defiant and difficult.

Though he is kneeling too, hips pushed up against Mike's back, thighs cradling Mike's. One arm around his waist, the other sliding up the outside of his leg, fingers tracing muscles (that bike's good for something, anyway) and brushing the fine hair there against the grain. Mike's breathing is deep, but not calm.

"I needed one good thing in my life this week," Harvey says, thumb brushing the top of Mike's thigh, and he knows it was the wrong way to begin when Mike tenses.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Mike says brokenly, and Harvey wants to cover his mouth, but not yet.

"That wasn't what I meant," Harvey replies. He runs his hand down the hard plane of Mike's thigh, squeezing gently.

"But I -- "

"Michael," Harvey murmurs.

They're still new at this, but Harvey made no bones about what he wanted from it; Mike wants to be cared for, and Harvey wants his complete submission, just here, so that he knows he still has control. Now more than ever, having control over something gets him through the day.

This way they both get what they want.

"You won your case in court," Harvey continues. "You did very well."

He can feel Mike vibrating with the need to accept it, but he's such a stubborn little bastard sometimes.

"But I didn't really -- "

"You did," Harvey soothes, lacing one hand with the other, over Mike's stomach.

"The client lied -- "

"There comes a time in this work when there's nothing else we can do but trust testimony. Law is predicated on truth. You're a law library, not a lie detector."

Mike huffs, but relaxes a fraction.

"You won with what you had, and when you found it wasn't right, you fixed it," Harvey continues, letting one hand drift up over his ribcage, his chest. Mike whines softly. "Easy. Let it go."

Perhaps this isn't prayer, but tonight, yes, a confessional of some kind.

"Donna -- "

Harvey groans, pressing his nose to Mike's shoulder. "You tried to stop her."

"I didn't stop her."

"But you tried. Prevented me from perjuring myself."

"But we -- "

"Michael. The only consolation for failure is having done all you can."

"I didn't know you knew the meaning of the word."

"You tried. She made the call. Let me handle the rest. This isn't on you. Who's boss, here?"

"You are."

"Hmm?"

"You are, sir," Mike repeats, and all the tension drains out of him at once, so fast Harvey has to shift to take his weight. Mike's head tips back and Harvey's hand rises to hold it there, cupping his chin, keeping his neck stretched out, his jaw closed. His fingers brush Mike's throat. So very, very delicate, the pulse of blood under the thin skin there, the lax muscles, the rise of collarbone.

He's in trouble, and he knows it, but not tonight.

"You are my one good thing, Michael," Harvey says against the side of his throat, teeth nipping his skin, and Mike makes a high, needy noise. "My one good thing I needed this week. You know that, don't you? Trust me."

Mike can't nod, not with one of Harvey's hands pinning his head in place, and he can't move his jaw to speak, but he whines through his nose, pleading.

"Stay still," Harvey adds, and lets go of Mike's jaw, running his hand down his side, to his hip. Slides it between them, keeping Mike's weight steady, and slips a finger into his ass. He'd been ready when Harvey came home, something Harvey is very appreciative of, something he would like to say 'thank you' for to whoever trained Mike before he came along. Mike is admirably quiet, all his weight settled back on Harvey, not a twitch or a grind when Harvey makes sure he's still ready.

"Good boy," Harvey says, sliding inside him slowly, catching his breath at the tight, slick heat and the way Mike just takes it. It's awkward, fucking like this, but it means Mike can barely move at all even if he wanted to, and Harvey controls everything. Mike's head resting on his shoulder, body against his chest, hips framed by Harvey's thighs. Kneeling even when he's fucked.

"You were so good this week," Harvey repeats, keeping his motions gentle, keeping Mike steady with an arm, drifting his fingers up and down Mike's chest with his free hand. Mike arches a little and makes a choking, gasping noise.

"Harvey -- "

"You did everything right. You're doing everything right," Harvey continues, and breaks off on a long moan as Mike tightens around him. "That's good -- oh, Christ that's good."

He's moving faster now -- was already skating on the edge, tension and stress making it urgent that he have this, that he take this, and if Mike doesn't get to come until later, well, he'll look after his boy eventually. Right now this is for him as much as for Mike, and this is what he needs. Mike has said he can take it, so he will.

"So beautiful and. All. Mine," he mutters, his movements rocking Mike's body, Mike's pretty flushed cock bumping untouched against his belly. His hands are still on his thighs, obedient, and Harvey groans at the sight and turns his face into Mike's neck, biting where the shirt collar will hide it on Monday.

"My good boy, obedient, perfect," he gasps, and hears Mike's soft cry, pleasure and desperation, a sign he's deep down somewhere that lets his mind shut off, lets him just exist. Harvey draws his arm up a little, changing their position, and Mike groans. "Smart and mouthy and -- oh, fuck, yes," because Mike has shifted his hips just slightly and now, now it's perfect. "That's it, beautiful, that's -- "

Mike stiffens, and for a split second Harvey wonders what he's said to make him tense like that again, but then his body arches tightly against Harvey's arm and he all but yells -- wordless, gasping shouts.

Oh, he's better than perfect.

"Sweet, wonderful boy," Harvey says into Mike's throat, and Mike comes without anything else, without Harvey's hand or mouth on his cock, comes and comes like he was made for this, made to be exactly what Harvey needs. Harvey's hips snap up, jolting them both forward, and he comes silently just as Mike slumps all his weight back. It's blinding and wonderful and it belongs to him, it's his to have and play with like a toy. He controls it completely.

When the shudders die down, when he blinks his eyes open, Mike's head is turned towards him, eyes huge and dark and empty, not worried or afraid at all.

Harvey smirks at him. I did that. "Feel okay?" he asks, slowly pulling out. His legs are beginning to cramp.

"Yeh," Mike slurs, and gives him a goofy, high-as-a-kite grin. "Good?"

"Good," Harvey assures him, easing him down, reaching for the tissues on the bedside table. This is no less a part of what he wants, Mike boneless and compliant, staring up at him as he cleans them both up and strokes Mike's hair flat where it got ruffled.

"'S'at what you wan'ned?" Mike manages.

"I told you," Harvey says, lying on his side next to him. "You're my one good thing."

"Kay," Mike agrees, eyes closing. "Let's do 't again."

Harvey laughs. "Later. Sleep," he adds, fingers exploring Mike's cheek, the dip at the edge of his nose. "I'll be here."

They do say confession is good for the soul.