Work Text:
Knuckles rap against the glass door, and the pristine glass shakes at the force of the knock. Michael “Mike” Ross pushes through the door, holding a file in his hand. He places it confidently on the desk in the vast office, the man behind it glancing up at him with a raised brow.
“Watch the desk. What’s got you so chipper?”
“I managed to convince Meyer to settle.”
“And how’d you do that, Doogie Howser?”
Mike scoffs and rolls his eyes. “My boyish charm. Duh.”
Harvey Specter takes the folder and opens it, flipping through the paperwork. He purses his lips for a moment before shutting the folder and pushing it aside.
“And wait, if I’m Doogie Howser, what does that make you?”
“Mitchell Anderson. Donna!”
This has been going on for the past month. Mike is well cemented as one of the better associates of the firm, and Harvey has found a rhythm with his golden boy. The firm seems to think the two of them are fine. Mike has that run in with Rachel, but Donna assures Harvey they broke up. Harvey’s not sure why he cares so much, but he tells himself it’s because she can easily leak Mike’s status as a non-lawyer to the office in a heartbeat, especially if Mike screws up. Harvey knows he screws up sometimes, especially with his personal life. Harvey tucks that fear deep down; he doesn’t want to be afraid for Mike. He wants results.
Mike, on the other hand, thinks Harvey cares very little. Harvey saves his own ass every time, and Mike picks up the pieces. Mike enjoys picking up the pieces for Harvey only because he so desperately craves that approval. Donna sees it, and she teases him. Then again, when doesn’t she tease him?
Mike retreats to his desk, working on paperwork that Louis wants from him. He doesn’t particularly like the associate work; he much prefers being in the room with Harvey and working with him. He knows that being a lawyer is more than what he does with Harvey; there’s a certain paperwork-y aspect that he has to get used to. Doesn’t mean he has to like it, though.
The next time Mike looks up, he notices it’s past dark. Standing, he walks to Donna’s desk, planning to slap the folder he has made up for another Harvey case. He stops when he sees Harvey pouring over something with a glass of scotch in his hand. He looks exhausted and surprisingly unkempt. His tie is loose, still far more impeccable than Mike’s. He discarded his suit a while ago, tossed over the back of one of his chairs. The vest he has on is undone but still loosely wraps around his body, broad shoulders and all. Mike ignores his observations and pushes into the room. He smells Harvey’s cologne. It’s expensive and rich, flooding Mike’s senses in a way he’s not used to.
“Got something for you regarding the Glaciarts case,” Mike mumbles.
Harvey looks up at him, and Mike’s knees almost buckle. So, he sits down, unable to look away from Harvey’s rich brown eyes. The office is hauntingly silent, save for their quiet breathing. The rueful smile on Harvey’s face makes Mike’s stomach do flips. He ignores these bodily reactions, folding his hands over the small stack of papers.
“Leave them on my desk. And…head home.”
Head home? Mike never leaves earlier than 10pm. However, it is 9:52. He can technically leave. Technically. But does he want to? Not at all.
“I can stay a bit longer, help y—”
“Michael.”
“Harvey.”
“Listen to what I’m saying for once. Head home.”
Mike debates for only a second before he speaks up. “No. What’s wrong? You’re being uncharacteristically stoic. You can be a hardass, but you’re never stoic.”
Mike finally stands and walks over to Harvey’s side of the desk, pouring himself a glass of scotch and taking a small sip from the glass. It burns as it slides down his throat, but he uses that tickle of pain to propel him into his spiel. Or rather, he uses it to prepare himself for whatever Harvey has to say in response.
“I said go home. I don’t have any work for you. There’s nothing you can do about my stoicism tonight. It’ll be gone in the morning; I can guarantee that.”
Mike grins, leaning a bit closer. “That a Harvey Specter guarantee?”
A small smile creeps onto the older lawyer’s features. He snorts out a laugh and looks down at his whisky, taking a small sip of it and sitting it back down. He stands up and puts his hands in his pockets, looking down at Mike with something the associate can’t parse out. Mike continues to down his scotch, wanting it to be effective if Harvey reams him for—
Harvey kisses Mike before he can finish his thoughts. His lips are softer than Mike has imagined. Not that he imagines kissing his boss. Not often, at least. Harvey’s hand comes up to cup the stubble on Mike’s jaw.
“How many times do I have to tell you to shave?”
“I forgot,” Mike whispers, eyes flicking up nervously to look at Harvey who looks like he’s in punch-drunk love at the moment.
“Harvey, what does this mean?”
“Don’t. Don’t take this personal, Mike. I just wanted to test something.”
“And the result?”
“You’ll never know,” Harvey says, smug smile creeping back onto his features. Mike hates that look, but he can’t deny that he adores it too. He adores the way Harvey looks at him when he expects Mike to have the answers. He likes the subtle satisfaction Harvey has when Mike does something right — the satisfaction that he did something right in picking Mike out of all those Harvard schmucks.
“I can live with that,” Mike breathes, pulling him close again by his tie and renewing their kiss. It’s brief, their liaison, but Mike revels in it, letting Harvey lift him onto the desk as his hands grip Mike’s straight hips.
“Harvey,” he breathes, and he’s lost in the scent of him, the touch of his hands on Mike’s tragically cheap-by-comparison dress-shirt.
“Mike, we can’t do this,” but Harvey doesn’t seem to stop, even though he knows they should. Mike knows it might be the alcohol, but he also knows that Harvey doesn’t do stupid things. He’s smart, and Mike knows if Harvey wanted to stop, he would, right?
Harvey, on the other hand, feels like he’s drowning for the first time in his life. He can’t stop grabbing at Mike, pulling him as close as he can. Their chests press together, the buttons of their shirts clicking together in the quiet office. It’s heated passion and hard kisses for the next few minutes, both of their bodies responding in kind.
“Harvey,” Mike whispers against his lips.
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
The hands stop. Harvey’s kisses stop. Those dark eyes that Mike adores so much look over at him with apprehension. Mike’s saying a bit too much too soon, and he knows he’s fucking up again. He remembers Trevor saying something, and it lingers in his brain. ‘Once a fuck up, Mikey, always a fuck up.’ Maybe he was right.
“I…” Harvey pauses. He loves Mike too, but saying that and knowing that are two wildly different things. He shakes his head. “I feel the same. I just can’t…”
Harvey Specter unable to conjure the words up. Mike can’t believe this. He settles on the desk, wrapping his legs around Harvey’s waist to pull him close again.
“I get it, Harvey. You love me too. You just can’t show me.”
“Yeah. Keep telling yourself that, Tinkerbell.”
“We can wait until you’re ready.”
“Don’t make me sound like a bitch, dick.”
Mike laughs, and Harvey laughs too, pulling him down to place a tender kiss on his forehead. Mike leans into his touch, desperate for any sort of attention he might get from his illusive boss. Harvey takes Mike’s face in his hands, thumb brushing along Mike’s cheekbone and rubbing circles into the stubbled skin below. They look at each other for a moment longer before Harvey finally steps back, allowing Mike to slip off the desk.
The associate starts for the door, waving goodbye to Harvey before he makes his grand exit. Harvey watches him go, but when Mike pushes at the door handle, Harvey stops him with a soft command.
“Mike, stop.”
Mike does as he’s bid, stopping and looking back. He waits with a hand on the door, watching Harvey’s eyes, lips, and Adam’s apple. Harvey, meanwhile, struggles with what he can say to prevent the embarrassment from cementing further.
“Don’t hold your breath, okay? It won’t last, Mike. Don’t get your hopes up. Whatever there could be between us. It’s not possible in the long run.”
Mike’s tiny smile finally falls, blue eyes searching Harvey for any hesitation. However, like always, Mike finds no qualms. Harvey crushes Mike’s still beating heart, and he doesn’t have an ounce of remorse in his body. Mike nods, lips pursed in that way he often does when he’s thinking or upset, and he walks out of the office, going into the associate’s bullpen to grab his bag and leaving via the elevator. As the metal doors close, Mike wipes away a lingering tear in his eyes. Harvey’s right. No feelings from Mike. No feelings from Harvey. That’s what’s best.
Harvey sits down as soon as Mike’s out of sight, and he covers his eyes with his hand, pressing his fingers against his eyelids to both inflict pain and prevent any weak crying. Why had he said that? He wonders what was going on, but he knows he’s just covering his bases. He doesn’t pursue a relationship with Donna for the same reason. He doesn’t pursue any relationship because it’s just too messy. Harvey hates mess. Of course, it’s hard to tell with the stacks of paper on his desk. He stacks the papers neatly before tightening his tie and buttoning his vest. He throws his suit jacket over his shoulders, bearing this suit like that of a knight donning armor. He knows he’s right. No feelings. That’s what’s best.
They both tell themselves that, but they know when they wake up in the morning, that ache will still be there, and they know they will work, ignoring it every second.