Title: Change of Plans
Author: themastress (smartalli on LJ and AO3, weaponsofclassdestruction on tumblr, if you'd like to follow me)
Count: 921
Fandom: Suits
Characters/Pairings: Harvey/Mike
Warnings: None.
Summary: There are about a million places Mike would rather be right now.
Disclaimer: Don't own it. Not mine. Don't sue.
A/N: From a prompt from suits_meme left by anonymous.

"Remind me again why we're meeting the client on a Sunday morning in a box at Yankee Stadium?"

"Charlotte Rose is the firm's third highest billable client. If she wants to meet us at Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, we'll do it. She's a big fan of the Yankees. Particularly Robinson Cano. She never misses a home game."

"She has to get to the stadium three hours before the game is even scheduled to start?"

"She likes to tailgate."

"I don't think that's what it's called when Mario Batali caters your pregame celebration in a climate controlled luxury box."

Harvey shoots him a look over his shoulder. "What's wrong with you?"

He sighs. "It's Sunday, Harvey. The one day I don't have to wear a suit, the one day that's actually mine. I look forward to this day every week. And yet here I am...wearing a suit, standing in an elevator, getting ready to meet a client."

"I'm sorry, Mike. Did I interrupt your scintillating plans to go over the Waldorf financials with a beer in your hand and the game on in the background?"

Mike shifts. "There was going to be a pizza too."

"With cheese in the crust?"


Harvey looks back over his shoulder at Mike, his lips twitching.

Mike shoves his hands in his pockets. "Shut up."

The twitching morphs into a laugh as the elevator descends from floor twenty to floor nineteen, and Mike leans back against the back wall of the elevator.

Okay, so his social life isn't exactly thriving. So sue him. There are still so many more things he'd rather be doing than this right now. Like reorganizing his sock drawer.

Or massaging Grammy's feet.

Or listening to Louis give him the Pony Speech again.

A ding sounds through the otherwise silent elevator as they descend another floor, and Mike looks up to find Harvey facing him, staring pointedly at his throat.


Harvey nods toward his throat and Mike looks down briefly, but doesn't see anything out of the ordinary. Pants? Check. Ironed, stain-free shirt? Check. Tie? Check.

He looks up, baffled. "What?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake."

Harvey rolls his eyes and grabs Mike's tie, pulling him close.


Mike reaches out a hand to push Harvey's hands away from his tie and Harvey bats them away, buttoning Mike's collar before he unknots, then re-knots Mike's tie with practiced movements, his fingertips grazing Mike's chest over his white oxford shirt with maddeningly light touches.

Mike bites down a groan as Harvey slides the knot of Mike's tie up snugly against his throat, drops his hands, and buttons up Mike's suit coat.

Mike had a dream like this last night. Only, you know, in reverse. This is just as torturous.

No, strike that. This is worse. Because at least this morning, there was a way for him to take care of it in his nice, medium-sized bed in his nice, empty apartment.

Mike really hates his life.

At this point, the only way his morning could get any worse is if Harvey's eyes migrated a little further south and got wind of someone else's eagerness to join the party. Because that's just about the last conversation he ever wants to have with his boss.

Oh, you noticed that? Well, funny story, but I've been having these dreams about you lately where you strip me down and fuck me until my muscles aren't capable of holding me up anymore. Where? Oh, everywhere. Your office, my cubicle, the file room, your condo, the back of the town car. This morning was particularly fun, though. This morning you took me up against the wall in your glass elevator. Neat, huh? So why are we meeting with Charlotte Rose this morning?

Yeah, that would be really nice.

But, since Mike's basically incapable of getting a break this morning, in his examination of Mike's general appearance, Harvey chooses that precise moment to look down. Of course.

Well, fuck.

Harvey looks up at him slowly and meets his eye as his hands fall away. A ding sounds in the elevator and Harvey tilts his head just slightly, his face softening. Mike is blushing so hard, his face is practically on fire, and he looks away, desperate to find something other than Harvey to look at.

Hey...that corner looks nice.

There are so, so many other places he'd rather be right now.

"The meeting with Charlotte should run forty-five minutes. An hour, tops. Then you're free to strip off this suit and spend your Sunday any way you please."

Harvey turns around slowly and faces the doors, sliding his hands into his pockets as he tilts his head up to watch the light move from one floor number to the next.


Mike really hopes that didn't sound as strained to Harvey as it did to him.

Floor three lights up. Almost to the lobby.

"So, uh...what are you going to do with the rest of your Sunday?"

Harvey's head turns toward him slightly. An acknowledgement that he heard him. "Hmm? Oh...I thought I'd turn on the game, pop open a beer. Maybe order a pizza."

"A pizza?"

There's no way Harvey missed the crack in his voice that time.

The doors open as the elevator comes to a stop at the lobby and Harvey steps out, turns around, and says, "Maybe with cheese in the crust." He pauses, tilts his head, a twinkle in his eye. "I've never had it before, but I've been told it'll blow my mind."