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People always said he was too skinny. His ribs would show a little, he was lithe and, even though now he earned enough to pay his bills, Grammy's bills, nice food and suits every single month, he still didn't eat all that well, and kept on riding his bike all the way to work. People would blame the habits he picked from when he was poor, his own laziness to eat properly, Harvey's habit of riding him too hard, his own sadness for his lack of parents, and it went downwards from there.

The truth was, he liked being thin. He appreciated larger figures like Harvey's, for example, but he didn't see himself that way. Didn't even want to. Landing a good punch was useful from time to time, yes, but seeing his reflection in his mirror and agreeing with what he saw was even more important, because that was useful every single day of his life.

René would have to forgive him, eventually, because he wasn't going to 'fill' any suits larger than his own. Not today, and not in the foreseeable future, if he had a say on it.




He was taking his vitamins – doctor’s orders, because he was eating regularly and wasn't gaining a single pound – when he saw Harvey down the hall. He smiled, waved and went ahead. Next thing he knows there are hands framing his hips and pushing him so he's out of the way of the mail chart guy, who's all apologies.

“Are you OK?” Harvey asks too close to him and he nods, breath slowly regulating itself, just to pick up some speed. Harvey's hands are big. “You don't look OK. Are you going to faint?”

“I'm fine, Harvey.” He pushes him, but nothing happens. “Don't you have work to do? Because I certainly have.”

The older man frowns, but says nothing. Once his hands are off Mike's body, he can breathe again.




“Do you think I look fat?” Donna asks him on the next day.

He shakes his head. “You look good, Donna.”

“I gained a pound this week. I'm afraid it went to my ass.” She tilts her hips, looking at her figure on the reflection from the glass.

Mike shakes his head again. “Your ass looks the same. Maybe that extra pound is just water or something.”

She smiles. “You're right. I'll take those diuretics my doctor prescribed, then.” He sits back, smirking at him. “And you?”

“What about me?”

“You look thin,” She purrs. “Is it because you're trying to compensate the way Harvey is looking bigger each time he comes to the office? He's still able to convert fat to muscles, but in a few months, it’ll start to show. All that whiskey, bagels and hot dogs are giving him love handles.” The redhead giggles.

And what does he say to that? “I… haven't noticed.”

“Don't be silly, of course you did. You can't take your eyes of his waist.” She pauses. “Except when it isn't his waist you're looking at.”

“Donna, this is-”

Shh. Bad puppy. Donna is thinking.” Donna taps her long fingernails on the coffee table and her grin grows at the same pace Mike grows redder. “You're looking at his hands, aren't you?”

Please.” He pleads and a second later Harvey enters his office. She just keeps on smirking and stands up, hurrying back to her desk.

“You do realize that I don't pay you for gossiping with my secretary, right?” The man says as he drops onto his own chair, filling up the space nicely. He looks imposing, and Mike has no doubt that's what he aims at.

“I was working here because the bullpen was too crowded and noisy, and then Donna enters and starts asking me if she looks fat, and then goes on noticing you gained weight too.” He's not above pointing the finger, not if Harvey is the judge. The redhead simply shows her tongue to both of them.

“Donna, stop harassing the puppy.” He barks. “And, really, I haven't gained any weight.”

“You keep telling yourself that.” She answers through the intercom.

Harvey's eyebrow shot up. He focused on Mike.

“Have I?”

“Of course n-”

“Don't you dare lying to me.” His face is somber. “You know how I feel about lying.”

Mike suppresses a flinch. “Maybe?” Wrong answer. “A bit. Around the hips.”

“He said you have love handles.” Donna helpfully provides.

You said that!” He squeals indignantly.

“Love handles, huh?” Harvey discreetly checks himself out on the glass's reflection.

“You're still hot, though.” The moment those words left his lips, Mike regrets them. He's beetle red by the time he hears Donna laughing her ass off on her desk, while he gathers his papers.

“I'm just gonna go.” And passed through them, finding himself a nice spot on the file room to proof briefs and do his job, generally speaking. A job that didn't, in any circumstance, include Mike noticing if his boss had love handles or not.




And then Ray gets caught in another accident (he's a professional driver in NYC, alright), only Mike inside the vehicle and when he goes outside to see what he can do to help, the other man grabs him from the hair, gets him in an uncomfortable position with his back curved to the point of snapping, and he can't move or breathe pressed on the car like that.

“Skinny boy here may be able to pay us for the damages… I bet he's gay and everything, all small and soft,” The Very Big Man tells the other, who's holding Ray in place with an arm around his neck. “You would love that, wouldn't you? To pay us by taking it up your ass?”

It's late, but it's not that late, and those people are too cocky because while they are dragging him to an alley, the cops arrive, Ray shouts and all hell breaks loose.

“Are you OK, Mr. Ross?” They ask, and Ray asks, but, even though they mean good, it means nothing.

He's not OK, he's not even close to OK, but he doesn't wanna talk about it, he just wants to keep-

“Where the hell are you?” Is the first thing he hears when he grabs his phone and his whole body sags in relief.

“Car accident.” Is his brief answer, the only one he can manage. “Some gangsters, I don't know.”

“Are you both alright?”

“Yes. Police's with us right now.”

About an hour and a half later, when he and Ray are both released, the man turns to him.

“I'm going home to my family, Mr. Ross.” He says. “But I can take you somewhere if you like.”

Michael manages not to choke on his own saliva.

“Take me to Harvey.”



Harvey's condo is huge, gorgeous, and still, the safest place he has right now. His own apartment was already invaded by so many people he doesn't even try to pretend it's safe anymore, the firm is a hostile, competitive place, and even though Harvey's office, the file's room and Rachel's office are cool, he can't let go in there too, because they all (except for the stuffy file's room) have glass walls, and anyone walking by can enter.

Here he had thoughtful, meaningful conversations, away from prying ears and eyes. Here Harvey lived, and Harvey had already put himself between Mike and damnation one too many times, even when he himself was at risk. Harvey was big hands, big cars and big words, but his actions, what really mattered, he always had Mike's back. Always.

So, there he was, even with Harvey nowhere in sight, still at the ball Mike was supposed to attend to too. He was able to get up with a bit of sweet talk to the guard on the front and the proof that he had his boss's password up.

He felt a bit like a kid, lost in this big place, but in the end, he drags his own feet towards a bedroom, which he honestly can't say if it's the main or the spare one. Doesn't matter. Once in, he takes off his suit and belt. Considers opening his shirt, too, but he feels too naked, exposed, without that.

Curling onto himself, he's out like a light in moments.



Once he wakes, the smell of breakfast makes its way to his nose and then to his head and seconds later he has his head down the toilet, getting rid of anything he had in his stomach (which isn't much already). He has a comforting hand on his back moments after.

“You weren't really OK, were you?”

It seems he's just waiting to have Mike in his arms and shush him until he's empty and dry.




Harvey is big, but, more than that, his presence is huge. It's nearly impossible to stop yourself from noticing him in a crowd. And, as Mike knows, he likes that. He likes being noticeable, even when it's improper – the only person the blonde ever saw that he couldn't and wouldn't obfuscate is Jessica Pearson herself, because that woman is a tigress and you don't wanna stand between her and the spotlight.

Mike, on the other hand, is good, he prefers being in the shadows. Invisibility suits him. And, since he's done some illegal stuff himself, it's always good to keep the 'I'm not here' stunt going.

He usually uses the bullpen when he's on the firm, and, outside, he hides on Harvey's shadow. But, well, he feels protected even when the older man puts him in the spotlight, because he'll be there to pick up the pieces.

Right now, however, he just wants to vanish between the other man's arms. He's complying the best that he can, covering him with his arms and chest, wrapping him in a blanket and closing the blinds. He's shamefully clinging to him, but it isn't shame that he feels.

“Ray told me what happened.” His boss declares. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head and Harvey sighs.

“I figured. You can stay here as much as you like.”

“Are you going to work?” He asks and hates how small he sounds.

“Nothing to do there.” He was probably lying, but Mike couldn't, wouldn't care.




By then, he's a bit careless and doesn't pay attention, and Harvey's forced to push and pull him more than one time by the hallways and rooms on Pearson Hardman, parties and balls they attend to. It isn't like he does it on purpose, it's just that his brain is always so far away he doesn't see what's in front (back, left side, right side, all four diagonals, etc.) of him. Maybe it's because of the almost-assault he suffered, maybe he's just too distracted with the inhuman work load; it doesn't matter, because it's happening. And, honestly, he doesn't want it to stop.

Other people's hands – Louis's, Kyle's, Jessica's – make him flinch. They make him uncomfortable. The others – Donna's, Ray's, Harold's, Rachel's, Harvey's – he cherishes their touches. He feels all warm and fuzzy and safe, cared for, when Donna gives him a coffee and tugs his hair playfully, when Rachel hugs him or when Harvey gets him out of the way of mail charts, people with coffee cups, and everything else. So, yes, he doesn't want to bump into things and fall, but he knows he won't, because he has someone to look out for him.

“You've been clumsy. And distracted.” His boss assesses. “Do you need therapy or something?”

He blushes. “I-”

“Leave the puppy alone.” Donna intervenes from the intercom.

“And why should I?” His brow rises. Oh-oh. Bad move.

“He's still the best associate, isn't he? What is there to complain about?”

“He may be good with eyes and brain but he won't be respected unless he looks where he's going. If it wasn't for me, he would be covered in coffee, catchup and dirt by now. It's not even nine o'clock yet!”

She looks at them through the glass walls. “Good thing he has you, then.”

Harvey narrows his eyes.

He's so fucked.




He's testing Mike to Donna's theory and Mike knows it. He knows.

It's awkward.

It's also so damn good.

He would be reading or studying a case, precedents or something like that, and a warm hand would lay the back of his neck.

He would be walking through the halls and a hand would guide him gently so he wouldn't stumble and fall.

He would be sitting in the car and Harvey's hands would steady him in an abrupt break.

He couldn't wait to see what the next step would be.




He was working late when sleep pulled him hard, to a place where no coffee or red bull could reach him. Since the firm was empty, he simply searched for his boss's office, entered it and laid on the couch, falling asleep almost instantly.

It could have been minutes or hours, he wasn't sure. He woke up feeling warm and cozy, and, really, why would he move? Why would anyone ever move while they were feeling that comfortable?

But the light was starting to hurt his eyes, telling him that he should open them, and that he does, being immediately confronted with a glimpse of those huge windows and inches and inches of expensive cotton, which was actually touching his forehead. Of course, inside of that shirt was a body, a body he was clinging to, heart thudding against his face. The body's arms were also around him, legs tangled together so they both fit the narrow space of the couch, reason why it was difficult to raise his head to see what he already smelled.

“You both have to wake up.” He raises his head to see Jessica herself on the office's door. “People are going to see two of my employees sleeping on working hours and it won't look good.”

“It will look like you're the most merciful boss who was ever born.” Harvey's sleepy voice came to answer. “And don't you dare taking a picture.”

“Already did.” She said, amused. “Donna's probably framing it right now.”


“Back to work, boys. I don't pay you to sleep.” With that, she was gone.

After a few immobile moments, Mike decided it was time to try. “Harvey?”


“Harvey, we gotta wake up. People are going to see us here and I can't leave this couch without dropping you to the floor unless you move first.”

“Then stay.” Is his grumpy answer.

“Harve-” He's interrupted by his own unmanly giggles when the other man's hands come to tickle him near his waistline. “Harvey!”

“What is it, rookie?” He seems a lot more awake now, chocolate brown eyes staring at Mike's with warmth and amusement. “You answer to me, and I told you to sleep, so go back to sleep.”

“What the hell, Harvey?” He huffs, and then squeals when the hands on his hips manhandle him (gently) on top of Harvey, who's now occupying the whole couch. “What do you think you're doing?” He asks because he doesn't want to think of his boss's body, firm and warm under him, accommodating all of his weight as if he doesn't weight more than a feather. 

His smirk was totally self-satisfied. “I'm getting you back to sleep.”

Mike huffs again, but there's no fighting those anaconda arms holding him down with his head on top of the name partner's chest. “If you get silly-handed around me…-”

“Shush, rookie.” Harvey chuckles brightly. “You know you'd like it.”

He can live with that.




Now Donna catches Harvey with his hand on Mike's ass and Louis goes back to see if he saw it right (he must be watching too much television). Jessica just snorts when she sees Harvey tickling him and, well, there's nothing else to do, really.




Except that Harvey is driving him crazy.

Mike's drinking coffee and he's there, hands on his crotch, pressing him against the counter top until someone shows up.

His hands always slide upwards and upwards between his thighs, until the blonde is holding his breath for an inch of his life.

In the bathroom, the older man makes a point of devouring his associate whole with his eyes, before dropping a kiss on the back of his neck and walking away.

But they never kissed and never had sex.

Mike's no teenager, but his body is hanging by the thinnest string.




“Go fuck yourself, Harvey!” He screams when they fight and, really, he had it coming with all the sexual and work tension adding up. When he storms out of the office, out of the firm, he feels a bit empty. A bit lost. When Ray sees him, he motions for Mike to come with him, and guides him into a car.

Mike doesn't ask. He trusts Ray like Ray trusts him, and that is enough. Enough for him to only pay attention to their destination once they arrive. The driver is right, of course, and Mike is as transparent as pure water.

He enters Harvey's condo, gets rid of everything uncomfortable on his body, takes a long, hot shower and grabs some of Harvey's home clothes. The place's owner arrives when he's concocting some dinner (he can't help being hungry).

“Please, be my guest.” He quips while he loosens his tie and takes off his suit. Mike just rolls his eyes.

“You know I have nowhere else to go.”

“And then you decide to come into the one place you know I'll be, even though you told me to fuck myself earlier today.” Harvey argues. “What about Rachel? Harold? Your little blond friend, Jenny? Julia?”

“Harvey, please.” He tries, but he can't discuss this because he has no point to make. It's just how he feels, and feelings can't be justified.

“Please what, Mike? You want me to go fuck myself now? Maybe I should leave you alone in my place to get comfortable while I sleep in the shoebox you call your place.” He's practically growling.

“It's the only place I feel safe.” He finally confesses, ignoring the fizzing pan on the stove, because his boss's eyes are as big as the egg yolk he was cooking. “My place has already been invaded so many times I can't count, the firm is made of glass everywhere, Grammy’s dead and I don't have anywhere to go. Every time I was hiding from someone or thought I was fucked I knew I could come here and you would be here, and, Harvey, we may fight but you always have my back, same way I have yours.” It's hard to swallow. “Everything's so you up here, that I...”

“And my clothes?” His brow arches up, infuriating and hot.

Mike blushes. “It's like being extra covered in you[1].”

Harvey pulls air inside and pushes it outwards as if he was punched. He closes his eyes, frowns, rubs the creases in his forehead. “You can't just… say shit like that and now expect me to haul you to a wall or something.”

“I…-” The blonde tries to hide that he flinched. Fuck. What did he do this time? Harvey doesn't want commitment, he doesn't do feelings, and there is Mike, pushing feelings down his throat. He's an idiot.

“How come you always understand everything wrong, rookie?”

Moments later he is hauled – but onto the counter top, legs sprawled open so Harvey can stand between them. He can feel the other man's warmth through the rustling fabric of his shirt and the soft undershirt that lies underneath it all.

 Harvey's hands are still on his waist, holding him in place without much effort, the tip of his nose sliding from his temple to his jaw. Mike has a feeling he's about to be eaten alive.


Oh? That's all you have to say to this blatant example of sexual harassment?”

He smirks. “Now I'm covered in four layers of Specter. In what world would that not get me off?”

He can see Harvey making the calculations in his head. When realization dawns in his face, he looks genuinely surprised.

“Yes, the underwear is yours, too.”

The older man grunts and puts Mike on his shoulder, carrying him to the bedroom.

Of course, he has to verify for himself.



He should've seen it earlier. Of course, the name partner would realize it sooner than later. Obviously.


They're dry humping in a bathroom stall, clothes on, and Harvey holds him down against the wall, wrists up, so Mike doesn't have any say at all on when he'll come.

Harvey's fingering him, hips against the emergency stairs railings, pants pooling around his ankles, boxers just under the swell of his ass, and they have no lube but god, it must have rained on someone's head downstairs.

He's being face-fucked in the file room, drooling everywhere, messy and sloppy but Harvey doesn't seem to mind, just holding him there and thrusting until he's coming down his associate's throat and smirking while trying to wipe the mess on his chin with a handkerchief.

He's not being fucked by the man's cock, though.

Not yet.




He shows up at work at seven-thirty, grinning like a madman. Drops the McKenzie files on Harvey's desk and walks around feeling good.

They have no idea why.

Donna asks him. Rachel asks him. Louis, Harold, Kyle. Jessica.

He's on fire.

“Seriously, what's up with you today, puppy?” The redhead demands. “I mean, you're practically glowing. Did you and Harvey have a good night, just like I wished you to?”

“Donna, have you been imagining your boss and me fucking?” He muses, smirking.

“A girl can wish.”

“Would you consider a threesome? I bet you're great in bed.”

“You may be good, puppy, but you're not major league yet.” She looks annoyed, so he knows he hit a spot.

“Maybe not if we're speaking about law, but if the theme of this conversation is sex...” He murmurs right above her shoulder. “Wouldn't you like to know?”

She pauses and then rushes out. “I need to go to the ladies’ room.”

He just chuckles.

Seconds later Harvey pops in, and double takes Mike in.

“What's up with you today? You scared Donna away, she was running to the bathroom.” He says while he sits down on his chair.

“Let's just say,” He leans on the table on his elbows seductively. “your puppy developed a tale.”

Harvey frowns. “Isn't that teeth?”

Mike beams at him and shakes his head before turning around to walk out the door. He hears Harvey gasp and can only imagine his face once realization dawns on it.




“You have no idea,” Harvey growls between his teeth, pressing Mike against a wall while awkwardly fumbling to get past his clothes. “No idea what that little stunt you pulled earlier-”

He's lubed and plugged since he left home, and the older man takes his time to play with his gaping hole with his fingers. Mike's impatient, though, and doesn't stop moving even when Harvey slaps his ass hard enough to burn.

“Stop fucking moving, cause I'm going to enjoy this wet hole like I should have if you hadn't told me right before a meeting with Jessica.” Three fingers in and Mike groaned.

“You didn't show much interest in my wet hole before.” The dirty-blonde-haired mused. “I had to take matters into my own hands.”

Fuck, now I'm imagining you fingering yourself.” He grunts and finally pushes in, inch by gleaming inch, until he's fully sheathed by Mike's warm, pliant body. They both moan once he bottoms, and Harvey has to fight his orgasm down or he'll come.

He just chuckled, feeling as Harvey tried hard to stave off his orgasm, and licked his lips. He was safe, he was complete, he was home.

He clenched his muscles and snickered as Harvey moaned once again, slapping his ass in response to his teasing.

He was home. There, in Harvey’s bed, between his arms, his cock between his cheeks. Working with him, sleeping with him, waking up with him.

Home. And there was nothing else he could ask for.







[1] - Mike's line and Harvey's answer come from this fanfic. There's also another line, the "In what world wouldn't it get me off?" line is not mine. I recommend this fic, and all credits to the author.