Title: Interlude
Author: TheMastress (You can also find me on LJ and AO3 under smartalli, and on tumblr under pinkhairisnotpunk.)
Count: 2300+
Fandom: Suits
Characters/Pairings: Harvey/Mike
Warnings: Sex
Summary: Mike has a thing for Harvey's stubble.
Disclaimer: Don't own it. Not mine. Don't sue.
A/N: From a prompt from suits_meme given by 0justlisten0.

The day Mike was promoted to Junior Partner, a party was thrown in his honor. The Senior Partners called it long deserved – a credit to his excellent work – the other Junior Partners welcomed him into their ranks, and the associates put on congratulatory smiles while they privately simmered in barely-contained jealousy. Paralegals mixed with partners, assistants mixed with associates, and Harvey Specter strode across the room, wrapped his hand around Mike's neck, and pulled their mouths together, effectively outing them to a stunned Pearson Hardman.

Mike gave him a wide grin and Harvey straightened his suit, and that was that. Harvey and Mike were officially off the market, and Donna was a few thousand dollars richer, having swept the office pool. She bought a new TV and Mike helped her break it in, marathoning romantic comedies with her one rainy weekend when Harvey had a business trip to Chicago.

At their wedding six months later – a tiny thing with just Donna, Harvey's brother Paul, Mike's Grammy, and the justice of the peace – Donna hugs them both, says something to Mike that makes him simultaneously grin and tear up, and tells Harvey that she loves him, and she's happy for him, and if he hurts the puppy, she'll bury him herself. Harvey hugs her back even harder.

He takes Mike to the Caribbean, to an out of the way resort with their own private beach, and Mike wastes little time in stripping down and diving in. He surfaces with a cheeky grin, shaking the water from his hair, and Harvey smiles and walks slowly down the beach and toward him, shedding his clothes piece by piece, before he dives into some of the bluest water he's ever seen.

When he surfaces next to Mike, Harvey sweeps the water from his eyes and wraps an arm around him, kissing the breath out of Mike as he wraps his legs around Harvey's waist. Mike makes a little keening noise in the back of his throat and rolls his hips, and if Harvey hadn't already been half hard the moment he dove into the water, that would've taken care of it.

Harvey rolls his hips in response and Mike groans, dropping his head back as Harvey kisses a line down his throat, sucking a mark into Mike's skin at the base of his neck. Mike mumbles something that sounds like Harvey's name and clutches at the back of Harvey's head and Harvey sucks a nipple into his mouth, grazing his teeth ever so slightly against the sensitive skin.

"God, you're good with your mouth."

Harvey lifts his head and ignores the sound of disappointment that trails out of Mike's mouth, fisting Mike's hair and lifting Mike's head up to look in his eyes. "Clearly not as good as I think I am, since you're still capable of coherent speech."

Harvey leans back in to leave kisses on the underside of Mike's jaw and Mike tilts his head to allow him access, fingers rubbing nonsense patterns at the base of Harvey's skull and the slope of his shoulders, skin quickly warming under the heat of the afternoon sun.

The first time they got together – sloppy and desperate and long overdue as it was – Harvey discovered Mike was nowhere near as talkative during sex as Harvey had expected him to be. That hasn't changed. He doesn't ramble on ad nauseum like he does over dinner, when he constantly relates facts on pasta consumption and studies on organic produce, or like he does in the town car on the way to work, when he and Ray debate the greatest rock bands of all time. No, from the first, when Harvey had Mike backed into the south wall in his condo, his hand down Mike's suit pants and his mouth latched onto Mike's neck, Mike has been loose and pliant and calm in Harvey's hands. He's trusting, giving, easy in a way he doesn't allow himself to be at the office, not anymore.

Harvey finishes mapping Mike's neck with his mouth and moves on, tugging at an ear with his teeth as he reaches down and takes Mike in hand. Mike lets out a deep gasp at the first flick of the wrist, then another at the first press of Harvey's thumb – ohgodthere yesthere pleaseHarveyplease – and his mouth drops open as his eyes roll back. Mike's hips jut forward in a delicious rhythm and Harvey rolls his own hips, capturing Mike's mouth with his. His fingers squeeze and knead Mike's ass as the younger man drops his head back and gasps up to the sky, his hips now moving erratically as he grasps Harvey's shoulders, his hands seeking solid ground. Harvey increases the speed of his hand and mouths at Mike's exposed throat, and when Mike finally comes he collapses, Harvey's arms the only thing keeping Mike from falling into the ocean and, most likely, drowning himself in a blissful stupor.

When Harvey says as much to Mike, Mike grins unrepentantly and lifts his head, nosing Harvey's temple and dropping a hand down between their bodies. Once...twice...three times and Harvey is done for, losing his balance briefly as he comes, stepping back into the sand and nipping at Mike's shoulder.

Mike laughs and tightens his hold on Harvey, refusing to let go, and Harvey makes references to koalas and monkeys and where they fall on Mike's family tree as he rolls his eyes, walking them out of the water and back up to the bungalow on less than steady legs.


"Mike, have you seen my razor?"

Harvey looks over at Mike, lying naked in bed, left hand resting on his stomach as he stretches languidly, still a little exhausted after Harvey spent the early hours of the morning fucking him into the sheets.


Harvey shoots him a look from the doorway of the bathroom. "Because I want to do my taxes."

Mike rolls his eyes with a grin. "C'mere."

He holds out his arms and Harvey raises an eyebrow but goes to him, sliding up the foot of the bed and slipping effortlessly into the space between Mike's spread legs. Mike sits up and leans forward, rubbing his cheek on Harvey's, letting out a contented little sound that could only be called a cross between a hum and a purr.

"Mike...where's my razor?"

"I took it out of your bag before we left."


Mike runs his nose under Harvey's jaw then runs his lips over the stubble on Harvey's cheek so softly Harvey can barely feel the touch, and Harvey closes his eyes at the contact. He feels a pair of lips leave a soft kiss on his upper lip, then a chin rub against his, and his eyes open when Mike's fingertips begin tracing patterns on his jaw. "When was the last time you let it grow in?"

"High school."

"Exactly." Mike leans in for another kiss and Harvey indulges him, resting his weight on his forearms as Mike weaves his hands into Harvey's hair. When Mike pulls back, he rubs a smooth cheek against Harvey's day-old stubble and says, "No one gets to see you like this."

It took Harvey very little time to realize that Mike was as guileless a being as he'd ever known. The first day he started work at Pearson Hardman, Harvey privately wondered if he'd made the right choice in giving Mike the job. Mike's brain could handle the work, Harvey was sure about that, but could Mike?

He adapted. It's safe to say that the Mike who burst into the interview room with a cheap suit and a stolen name wouldn't recognize the man who drops thousands of dollars on a Tom Ford suit and doesn't even blink.

But the man who walks around their condo in Harvey's old Harvard t-shirt and a pair of ten year old jeans with his heart on his sleeve?

Best friends.

Harvey scrapes his chin across Mike's collarbone and rubs his cheek back and forth slowly across Mike's right nipple, smirking as Mike shudders and sighs, his eyes falling closed.

Harvey can work with this.

Mike's body bends and flexes, a contortionist without control as Harvey maps out his body, stubble grazing hipbones, ribs, and thighs, kissing slightly reddened skin before he moves on to Mike's knees, his shoulders, his neck. Mike gasps out his name and Harvey looks up, smile growing rapidly as he leans the side of his face against the inside of Mike's thigh, watching Mike's hands wring the sheets beneath him.


Oh yes. Harvey can work with this.

Harvey slowly works his fingers into Mike one by one, forcing Mike's hips back down to the bed when he tries to lift them, slapping away Mike's hand when it reaches for his cock, chuckling when Mike responds with a groan. Mike's head thrashes to the side as he pants, his patience quickly evaporating, and Harvey plants a kiss on Mike's hip as he begins the slow slide up his body, leaving behind kisses and more slightly reddened skin in his wake.

Harvey takes Mike's mouth in a deep, slow kiss and enters him inch by excruciating inch, testing his own resolve to the max before he's where he really wants to be, his hips flush with Mike's, his cock fully seated in Mike's body.

His first thrusts are shallow little things, barely any movement at all, and Mike groans. "You really suck."

Harvey laughs and ups his tempo, balancing on one arm as he grabs a hold of Mike's cock, thumbing the head. Mike's body bows and his head falls back, gasping as he grabs at Harvey's shoulders, clumsily trying to bring them closer together.

"Okay...okay. You only suck a little bit."

Harvey increases his tempo even more, almost slamming his hips home, and when Mike finally comes it's with gasps and groans and profanity and countless words detailing his utter devotion to everything Harvey chooses to be.


They have sex on the beach, Mike's hands grasping for purchase in quickly shifting sand as Harvey fucks him from behind, and hours later find sand in places it shouldn't be.

They decide it's overrated.

But the image of Mike, bathed in sunlight, taking everything Harvey gives him, begging for more?

That's going to stay with Harvey for a while.


There are early morning blowjobs – definitely Harvey's favorite way to wake up – there are hands grasping headboards and shower shelves and anything that won't move. And there is Mike in Harvey's lap, riding him as the sun dips below the horizon.


Mike is lying on his stomach in the center of the bed, naked, when Harvey walks out of the bathroom. It's practically an invitation, and Harvey kneels on the bed, sucking a mark onto Mike's left ass cheek then rubbing his stubble on Mike's right, moving up the bed to blanket Mike's body with a grin when he hears Mike's muffled laugh, his face pushed into his pillow.


Harvey pulls the duvet up over them and Mike shifts sleepily in Harvey's arms until he's laying on top of him, his head on Harvey's shoulder, an arm and a leg thrown over Harvey's body.

Harvey's very own human octopus.


They get in one more round after breakfast the next morning – Mike tasted like orange juice and fuck...that thing he did with his tongue? That was new – before they're forced to pack up, Harvey carefully folding and rolling his clothes, Mike stuffing and shoving.

When they've searched the corners of the bungalow for anything they might've missed, Mike hands Harvey his razor and hops up onto the bathroom counter, leaning back against the wall and watching as Harvey lathers up his face. He shaves his face slowly, methodically, and looks at Mike out of the corner of his eye when Mike's fingertips reach out to touch newly smooth skin.

Harvey leans into the brief touch and finishes shaving, rinsing the razor under the tap a final time, giving it a shake to dislodge any water. Mike takes the razor from his hand and packs it away in his suitcase, and Harvey dries off his face and watches Mike move around the bungalow through the bathroom mirror.

Mike stands and looks out the doors, toward the ocean, and says, "Think we've got time to squeeze in one more round before the bellman gets here to take our bags?" He turns to Harvey with a hopeful look on his face, but just then a knock sounds on the door, giving him all the answer he needs. "Damn."

He smiles through his disappointment and goes to answer the door, and if Harvey is already making plans to search for real estate listings in the Caribbean on the flight back, well...that's no one's business but his own.

The bellman takes their bags one by one, loading them onto the cart, and Harvey steps up behind Mike and wraps an arm around him. He leans forward, rubbing smooth cheek against smooth cheek, feels Mike smile, and smiles into Mike's skin as he pulls Mike back against him, whispering all the things he's planning to do to him when the front door to their condo is finally closed behind them.

Harvey's still not sure they've really gotten proper use out of those red deck chairs. They are, after all, awfully comfortable.

Mike bites off a groan as the bellman loads the final suitcase onto the cart. "Promise?"

Oh yes. Harvey promises.