Spoilers/Timeline: None/Set in the future

A/N: I'm back! Seriously, they won't leave me alone and I love it.

Disclaimer: Suits doesn't belong to me; title from Josh Turner's Time is Love.

Stretching, he lowers himself to the floor, glancing around the room in disbelief.

A couple months ago it was filled with unwanted corporate gifts and a couple outdated suits. Then a few of her extra blouses and dresses slipped into the closet and, next thing he knew, her Cap'n Crunch had taken up residence next to his Corn Flakes, her shoes found a home behind the couch and beside the new nightstand and... really, she just had too many damn heels...

Glossy fashion magazines mixed in with the three daily newspapers he received (nothing wrong with being well informed); hell, even her dishes complemented his to an odd degree.

As much as she loved the view, the way the condo had easily become theirs not his, she'd still insisted on needing something just for herself.

So she wouldn't bludgeon him with a cocktail shaker one day, she said.

He'd mock resisted, insisted that the extra room was useful as it was, because she expected it and that's what they did, but it had been easy in the end.

To see the way she planned every detail from the soft green of the walls to the perfect low cabinet to slide her mat into... yeah, it was worth it.

What he hadn't foreseen was her convincing him to give yoga a try himself.

("Just one day a week... I did go to the auto show with you...")

Yet here he was, early on a Tuesday morning, following the sun salutation as she hummed quietly next to him.

The first rays of light dance through the window, across her back as she leans forward and his breath catches in his throat. Partially in awe at how effortless she makes it, how beautiful it is, and partially in pain because, oh fuck, he's pretty sure he can't bend that far.

Lunging forward, he inhales and stands, starts the pose once again as she continues next to him.

Her hair falls free as she leans back, the long line of her body arching in a way that stuns and warms him all at once.

He can't help but pause, stop and watch as she effortlessly goes through the movements again. The sudden recognition between how she is here, now—the quiet, controlled motion—and at work—the efficient way she keeps him on time, challenges him whenever he needs it—washes over him and makes his heart pound, his mouth turn up in that cheeky smile he keeps just for her.

"See something you like?" She's bent forward, head turned towards him as she breathes slowly.


It comes out huskier, more needing, than he intends so he arches an eyebrow at her, relaxes as amusement and knowing light in her eyes and she laughs.

"Too bad you can't keep up with me, old man."

He doesn't even think, just leans across the space separating their mats and pins her to the floor, his hand cushioning her head as they fall and his hips press to hers. "I'll show you old."

She smiles against his skin, her hands stroking down his back, pressing against his sides in challenge. He rocks against her then, groans her name as she gasps beneath him, her hands tightening in the worn fabric of his shirt.

Their legs tangle as their mouths finally crash together, lips and teeth and ohshityes mingling in the rising sun. Her tongue strokes over his, tests a rhythm as his fingers slip under the hem of her shirt, pulling her closer.

He breaks away slowly, hand stilling on the small of her back as their eyes meet and the flush high on her cheeks deepens. Her nails press into the nape of his neck and it's all he needs, his lips follow the column of her throat as she tugs at his shirt and—


"I know, it's good, right?" He breathes it against her throat, feels it flare low in his back as he finally pushes her pants off.

"No, not..." She presses her lips together, fights back the urge to laugh at the horror in his eyes, the rigidness of his shoulders. "This..." She arches against him, thumb brushing across his jaw. "Is amazing, but..."

"But you just remembered your parents are making a surprise visit to ask about my intentions or—"

And now she does laugh, eyes closing as her head tips back. "Good to know the weak spot, Specter. No, we're going to be late."

Leaning down, he kisses her more fiercely, fingers twisting in her hair as he mumbles against her. "I'm... we're... invaluable; time to set our own hours..."