Work Header

Must Be All That Biking

Work Text:

Mike doesn't know why he does it. There's really no reason to, aside from Harvey's face goading him, laughing like Mike could never pull off drag.

Not that he does it often, because he doesn't. For the LSATs it was always like he told Harvey, they both took the test and just wrote each others' names. He has a lot of horrible test scores out there attributed to him, which he tries not to think about.

The drag was... unrelated. Well, everything was related; he probably wouldn't have started doing it if he hadn't been high, just like he would never have sold test scores if he hadn't been high. When you're high everything seems like a good idea. Plus, Trevor thought it was hilarious.

Anyway there's occasionally dressing up for a night on the town, and there's coming to work dressed up, and Mike isn't sure he can keep his current job for long but he doesn't want to get fired for having a bit of fun. If he gets fired it's going to be legit.

So he's only vaguely considering showing he can pull it off. He checks that his favorite little black dress still fits, and that he's still got the girl shaving gel and home waxing kit (hurts like a motherfucker, but if you're going to wear a low-cut high-cut little black dress it's better; if he's going all out then by god he's going all out, and shaving cuts just don't look right on the chest). He practices walking in kitten heels, but only inside his own apartment. He buys new mascara and eyeliner, which are really necessary for completing the look. He's not a fan of lipstick but a little bit of gloss and liner are fine. He buys them separately, just one little extra thing thrown in when he has to stop at the store for something else, all casual like it's not really happening. He doesn't keep the receipts.

They do actually go out a couple times but it's all work-related. If Harvey ever took him to dark clubs for dancing he might chance it anyway, but it's all high class bars with liquor he can't afford and classy men in suits and women in formal wear. His dress is a little bit (a lot) short for formal wear.

But the more he thinks about it, about how he could definitely pull it off and how he used to, all the time, the more he really rather wants to do it, whether Harvey is involved or not. It would probably be better for his general well-being if Harvey wasn't involved at all, as a matter of fact, and so he starts looking at where he could go, and thinking about if any of his old friends would be up for a good time.

He's finally got a Saturday with no work-related activities, which he figures is a sign. So he spends the morning waxing, and shaving the finicky bits, and slicking up with the lotion he picked up on a whim (not on a whim at all, but he's trying this thing where he lies to himself about his motivations; it feels good). When he's done with that he really has to just put the dress on. It's pretty comfortable, and he likes the way his newly-smooth legs slide against each other.

In fact if push comes to shove he'd probably deny it, but he spends over half an hour sitting on the couch stroking his own calves. They're that awesome.

After that it's the proverbial slippery slope. He stopped for a mani-pedi on his way home from work the day before (god bless that 24-hour place with discount rates after 11 PM) which is totally defensible because no way are Harvey's nails naturally that kept. So it's really just the hair (he puts in some soft product and works it into messy spikes), the makeup (he's still good at eyeliner, thank god; some things really are like riding a bike and drag is less fun if you poke yourself in the eye a lot first), and then he's sitting on his ratty couch, wondering how soon is too soon to go to a night club. It's not dark outside yet, so it might be too soon.

Then, because it's him, and his luck has always held, the phone rings. Caller ID identifies it as Harvey.


Harvey hangs up the phone and regrets it nearly immediately. Yes, he was working from home, and yes, he really did need the files Mike had taken with him. But Mike had sounded odd when he'd picked up the phone. Maybe he should have said Sunday was fine. Maybe Mike had special weekend plans. Having Mike come over, when he'd specifically barred Mike from visiting before, could fuck with the boundaries he'd established between them on purpose.

Well, whatever, he wasn't going to call back because he didn't call people back, they just followed his orders (as they should) and if he changed his mind they learned to roll with the punches. Mike could always go out drinking or whatever he did on the weekends for fun when Harvey didn't make him work at some later time; it wasn't like Harvey was going to make him stay (because that would lead to trouble). And yes, he had needled Mike on the phone until Mike said he was putting on his shoes and walking out the door, but he didn't want the kid to get distracted by something and never show up. The sooner he got here, the sooner he could leave and Harvey could stop thinking about him at all.

The doorman buzzed up to his apartment before he'd had time to really worry about anything too much, or change. But it was a Saturday, anyway, so what if Mike saw him wearing an old pair of jeans and a soft worn Harvard t-shirt; he'd probably be in something ridiculous like a track suit so he wouldn't have any room to talk.

"There's a young... gentleman down here for you," the doorman says, an odd pause in his voice before gentleman which is totally proving Harvey right, that Mike isn't dressed like he belongs. Kid needs to visit Rene again and get everything straightened out. Appearances matter, and you never know when you're going to run into someone important, like a client or opposing counsel.

There's a knock on the door shortly after, and Harvey swings it open quickly so he can grab the files and get back to work. He's waiting by the door solely so he can get this over with, not for any other reason. He spends far too much time thinking about Mike these days. It's fucking with his productivity, and he can't have that.

"I'm pretty sure the doorman thinks I'm a hooker, just FYI," Mike says.

It's possible that Harvey's brain literally short-circuits. That can be the only explanation for how he grabs Mike's wrist and pulls him in, slamming the door as soon as he's clear. Mike stumbles a bit because he's wearing heels (HEELS, Harvey's brain says in all caps, MOTHERFUCKING HEELS), and Harvey has to catch him because maybe he showed up on Harvey's doorstep wearing some kind of totally ridiculous getup which mostly makes Harvey want to never, ever let go, but that doesn't mean he deserves to trip all over the place.

"And now all your neighbors do, too," Mike says, pulling his arm out of Harvey's grasp and rubbing it while glaring at him balefully.

Tripping a little bit, though, would be totally fine. He could trip and maybe his skirt would slide a little bit farther up his leg and Harvey could see if he was wearing any underwear. Which was totally inappropriate. No tripping it was, and no skirt sliding either.

This was not going to end well at all.

"You wanted these?" Mike asks, holding out the files.

"Right, yes, put them on the counter over there," Harvey says, gesturing across the room to a space on the counter literally as far away from him as Mike could possibly get but still be in the same room. He would just press himself against the wall, and Mike would walk far away out of touching distance - and while he walked the heels did interesting things to his steps, and his dress was inching ever so slightly up his thighs, and his calf muscles were really very nice. He had a lot of leg, more than one person should decently have for Harvey's own peace of mind. He could lick them, they were so beautiful. Must be all that biking.

"I didn't bike over here, no," Mike says. "Not in this, are you crazy? The skirt is too short, and biking in heels is not the easiest thing in the world."

"What?" Harvey says. His dress is sleeveless, too, and the straps are a bit on the skinny side, and his collarbone, really, it's indecent. He could just nip it, gently, or maybe a little rougher if Mike let him. It would be covered by his dress shirt anyway, at work, so unless he goes out dressed like this all the time, no one would ever have to know. Only Harvey would know, and he could just treasure his knowledge secretly at appropriate moments, like when they were in meetings with clients.

Get a grip on yourself, Harvey instructed silently. If he hadn't pushed Mike up against the window and ravished him when he was high, or hit Trevor when the kid put his hands all over Harvey's property, or bent Mike over his desk when he came to deliver files and then had to lean over and point things out, he certainly would not do anything now, just because Mike happened to put a dress on, once.

If he did dress like this all the time, then he and Harvey were going to have to stop hanging out, ever, because Harvey was sure, really sure, that there was some reason Mike had come over, and not just so that Harvey could ogle him. It wasn't appropriate to ogle your own associate, it probably says that in the Pearson-Harden rulebook somewhere.

"Harvey?" Mike asks. His lips are really shiny. Also, he's wearing eyeliner. Harvey has seen people wear eyeliner before. He is really positively sure he'd seen it. Jessica wears eyeliner, probably, and he's probably looked at her face before. Donna too, there's at least a reasonable chance.

No one has ever been as pants-meltingly hot as Mike in eyeliner.

"Mmmm?" Harvey is pretty sure Mike was asking him things, but he has no idea what they are.

"You called me, on a Saturday, and asked me to come over here with these files so you could do something with them."

"Hmmmmm," Harvey agrees, because he probably did do that. It sounds like something he'd do. He wouldn't wear a dress, that is something he would not do, but Mike did. Does, maybe. He needs to know the parameters of the occurrence. "Did you shave your legs?"

Mike sighs. Harvey isn't sure what that's about; it is a reasonable question. Shaving the legs indicates a commitment to the act, although if Mike was hanging around his apartment not wearing clothes and Harvey calls with an emergency and the clothes he throws on before he runs out the door are a dress and high heels, well, that's an entirely different story. Maybe his legs are just shaved all the time. Maybe he does it every night before he goes to bed. They are very nice legs, and now that Harvey has noticed them he won't be able to un-notice them.

Mike grabs his hands and puts them on his thighs. "I waxed them, and I told you I could pull off cross-dressing before but you didn't believe me. Make all the stupid comments you want, because I was planning to go out and enjoy this, and I'd like to have time to do that still."

He doesn't know when they got close enough again for Mike to be able to grab his hands and put them in touching proximity of his stunningly smooth legs.

Chances are high that he's going to come in his pants.

"Fuck," he says, because he is eloquent. That's how he became Jessica's best closer, after all. Being eloquent, not fucking. "I'm going to kiss you now," he adds, because consent is a thing, and he would let Mike walk away right now if he had to. But he's really hoping he doesn't have to because he really, really wants to lick Mike's calves.

"Oh," Mike says, which Harvey figures is good enough for now.

His lips are soft, and delicious, and Harvey wants to kiss him forever. They could curl up on his couch and kiss for hours, and Harvey would just take advantage of the cuddling to touch Mike's legs whenever he wanted.

Mike pulls back to take a breath but he's not stopping, so Harvey nips down his neck to his collarbone, and it's perfect, just like it looked it would be, perfect for a bit of teeth.

"Leaving marks," Mike gasps, and maybe he's lightheaded now like Harvey. An even playing field is a good thing.

"Dress shirts will cover them," Harvey says, probably. He's not sure he's speaking too clearly because he's got the collarbone and he's stroking circles on Mike's thighs, and Mike's put his hands in his hair, and it's all better than he could have imagined, if he'd let himself imagine it.

Later if it comes up Harvey is prepared to deny everything, but he's always going to be honest to himself so he knows how to lie to others, and he definitely whimpers when he lets his hands slide up Mike's smooth thighs and finds soft fabric edged with lace covering his ass.

He'd been planning to grope him some all along, because that's fun, but now he cannot resist pulling back from Mike's tempting skin and looking as he drags the skirt up to his waist.

"Um," Harvey says, intelligently. They're black, and lacy but only in parts, and he'd sort of just been expecting boxer briefs or even regular briefs and not women's underwear. They cling to everything, and he wants Mike to wear them all the time and he wants to rip them off immediately. "Can I..." he starts, then stops because he just has no idea. He's good at thinking on his feet when he isn't faced with Mike in a dress, and he's good at sneaky plans, and this is so far outside his normal scope that he can't decide what to do next.

"Yes, come on, anything," Mike says, and Harvey drops to his knees (wood flooring might hurt later, he's too old for this, he needs to get some carpet) and rubs his cheek against Mike's cock, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of him, all flowery lotion and sweat and desire.

He could stay there for awhile but that's best for another time probably, so he shifts and runs his tongue down the crease of Mike's thigh, right along the lace edging, and it's gorgeous because Mike is making sounds he could listen to forever and his hand is clenched in Harvey's hair, again, and he's not pulling but his fist tightens when Harvey presses kisses on his cock.

Harvey wants to lick everywhere but he settles for pulling Mike's underwear down with his teeth, which makes Mike swear something mostly unintelligible and dig the fingers of his other hand into Harvey's shoulder. That's fine, he doesn't mind at all, because it anchors him when he sucks the head of Mike's cock into his mouth and Mike's knees go shaky and they almost fall over.

It's been awhile, but he used to be the master of blowjobs; Harvey Specter does everything perfectly if he does it at all. So he doesn't have any trouble coordinating his hands and his mouth, and Mike is shortly alternating between outright pulling his hair and apologizing for it.

"Harvey, Harvey, Harvey, Harvey," he chants, which is such a head rush.

Harvey pulls back almost all the way, and then meets Mike's eyes while letting the head of his cock slide slowly out from between his lips. "Yes?" he asks. He knows it's hot, it's one of his patented moves. Not that he patents his sexual moves; it's not becoming of a Harvard graduate or an employee of Pearson Harden.

"Fuck," says Mike. "I can't, I need to -"

"Yes," Harvey says, because Mike can have anything, already has everything, and he's sliding one of his hands into his jeans, and that's going to be enough for him, too, which is kind of embarrassing because even when Harvey was a teenager and all teenagers were rutting against each other in dark corners and coming in their pants, he was better at this stuff.

Mike tugs on Harvey's hair and slides his cock back in Harvey's mouth, and Harvey tilts his head back and relaxes his jaw, and Mike is coming down his throat and Harvey remembers how to swallow and Mike is biting his lip and whining and Harvey wants to be up there, pulling his lower lip in between his own teeth and sucking on it, but he can't because he's down here instead.

He clenches his fingers around his own cock, still inside his own pants, and comes in this hot sticky mess which might make peeling his jeans off later kind of awkward.

"Oh my god." He is physically incapable of staying upright, even on his knees, so he lies down on the floor before he falls over and gives himself a concussion. A concussion would not be conducive to a repeat performance, and that is unacceptable. This is literally everything he loves about sex wrapped up in one crossdressing rookie package.

"Yeah," Mike says. He's clutching the counter top like he needs it to stand up, which is flattering. "So, that happened."

And of course he already wants to talk about it, he has a mouth on him and he loves to talk. Harvey has to close his eyes for this conversation and imagine it's normal Mike Ross, Mike Ross in a suit, because his suits are kind of ugly and he's gotten used to them. He can handle Mike Ross in suits.

Mike Ross in a dress, and heels, and eyeliner, with his lacy underwear pulled down to his knees, and his cheeks and chest flushed with arousal, he can't think straight around that. Pun totally intended.

"I'm normally a lot more suave," Harvey says, then thinks seriously about inventing a time machine and erasing that particular sentence from human history.

"I bet you are," Mike says, laughing.

"Come down here and find out," Harvey says. Mike's still laughing but he folds himself down gracefully onto the floor and Harvey reaches for him, grabs flailingly at his ankle. Good enough.