Summary: Mike can't seem to stop having sex with Harvey.
Word count: 999
Warnings: None. Well, the vaguest of groping. Do not take this ficlet seriously.
The first time it happened, they were drunk. It wasn't all that surprising—the drunk bit, at least. They'd won over an important client, and their professional relationship was comfortable enough that it felt more like camaraderie sometimes. So they got plastered. In celebration, and not out of any sort of strange, sexual anticipation.
Except the next morning Mike woke up in his boss' bed. It took him a few moments to gather his thoughts, and in the meantime, Harvey just watched, looking disturbingly like a cat who had just gotten the cream. A sleepy, mussed, pleased cat. Who was decidedly not freaking out at all like Mike was.
"Well," Mike started, but his words stuck in his throat when Harvey's rather large hand circled his thigh under the sheets. He tried again. "Well, it's clear to me that this can't happen again."
"Mhm," Harvey agreed, then leaned upwards to nuzzle drowsily at Mike's neck. Mike felt teeth grazing his stubble just the slightest bit. "'course it can't."
It happened again.
By the fourth time, it was no longer a sexuality crisis. Mike was so very past that point that it was hard to believe it had even been a point to begin with.
"Look, Harvey," he panted, squirming a bit to help Harvey get a hand down his pants. "The problem isn't that you have a penis."
Harvey's breath puffed out against Mike's jaw as he snorted. Mike frowned, slightly perturbed at being laughed at while also being touched in his most intimate areas. "In fact, I like your penis. It's a nice… penis. As far as penises go. Peni? Is that the plural form of—"
"Mike," Harvey groaned, sounding both amused and exasperated. "You can tell me about how much you appreciate my penis once you're actually touching it."
So Mike did touch it, rather awkwardly in the cramped space of the supply closet, and he explained what he liked about it, too. "Nice shape," he commented offhandedly moments later, and it was the first time anyone ever came while simultaneously laughing at him.
For two weeks, Harvey and Mike worked separate cases, barely making enough time for a grope or two in the men's room. Mike didn't know if Jessica was doing it on purpose, if she was punishing Harvey for something by limiting the time he had free to spend with Mike doing intercourse-things. He didn't know how she would have found out to begin with.
Either way, he wasn't entirely decided on whether he should thank her, or be annoyed with her, or just have sex with her. Not that he thought she'd agree to that sort of unprofessional behavior.
He'd been becoming kind of used to getting some on the regular, as it was.
It had been two months since the first time, and it was going on three dozen separate incidents when Mike decided to really put his foot down. Really.
He turned to Harvey, who no one would really ever guess was a morning person, and opened his mouth to say something that would hopefully lead to a huge enough fight that this—this thing, whatever it was—would end. Then Harvey squinted a bit with one eye against the sun streaming through his windows, and grinned, slow and early-morning languid, just like he had on that first morning. Except this time, it felt different to Mike.
Mike's heart stuttered a bit in his chest and he looked away, coughed uneasily. "Harvey—look, this is—I mean, we can't really… You bought me a toothbrush."
Harvey blinked at him for a few seconds before speaking, and when he finally did, his voice had that obnoxiously appealing pre-caffeine rumble to it. "So?"
"So, that's weird," Mike said exasperatedly, wondering why Harvey just didn't seem to get it. "It's really weird, dude."
Harvey seemed to be waking up a bit more now, if the creased beginnings of a frown at the corners of his mouth were any indication of his rising awareness in this conversation. "So what you're saying is that you have a problem with me buying you a toothbrush so that when we make out like horny teenagers in this very bed nearly every other morning, you will have been able to brush your teeth before going to bed. You're saying it's bothersome that I actually tolerate you calling me "dude" now, and that it's unacceptable to you that you're getting to have mind-blowing sex with the best lawyer in town, not to mention the best-looking."
"Is that what you're saying, Mike? Because we can stop this right now. You can keep the toothbrush if that's what's making you look so—"
And for the first time in two months, Mike decided to be the one initiate some full-body contact, pushing Harvey down so that they both bounced a little on the bed and scrambling on top of him. It was probably the most uncoordinated instance of pinning someone down for potential foreplay in history.
At Harvey's raised eyebrow, he shrugged helplessly. "Has anyone ever told you you're extremely sexy when you rant?"
"Has anyone ever not?"
"Okay, yeah, we're putting a stop to that right now. No bringing Louis up in bed. Actually, no bringing up anyone else in bed, period. We clear?"
"Crystal," Mike said, and realized then that their dynamic had not really changed and would not change, after all. It was a comfortable thought. The most comfortable one he'd had on this subject since the whole thing started, in fact. "I'm going to make breakfast. Cereal. Gourmet breakfast cereal, I'm going to make some of that. And you're going to be very impressed by my cereal-pouring skills, and we're going to eat, and then I'm going to brush my teeth."
"And then we're going to make out like horny teenagers?" Harvey suggested with a grin.
"On this very bed," Mike agreed.