I'm leaving the prompt at the end for spoiler reasons. M-rated for sex, step away if that's not your thing. :)

Three weeks.

Three challenges.

Three teams.

The initial premise behind the 1st annual Specter-Litt Triathlon was to build firm camaraderie after the stress of Jessica getting disbarred. The three teams were led by Harvey and Donna, Mike and Rachel, and Louis and Katrina. Each pair would work together with assigned teams to compete in each of the challenges.

Land the biggest client.

Win the unwinnable mock trial case.

Hire the best new associate.

Harvey and Donna together against the rest were the obvious favorites. And yet somehow they'd managed to lose the first round to Louis and Katrina. They arrive at the firm at nearly 11p.m. after the winner was revealed at their first dinner event. She marches into Harvey's office with him seething close behind, the moonlight a gradient on the lonely firm.

He puts on some jazz. "How could Louis have possibly chosen the one client to beat us?" His voice holds an edgy exasperation.

Her first order of business is to settle him. Macallan. Double and dry. She passes him the first glass, pouring herself the second.

Louis besting him at anything still echoed to events in the past she knows he'd never quite managed to temper.

She watches as he downs the entirety, her own intake of the harsh liquid nursed in sips.

"He does have Katrina. She's sharp. Not to mention tricky," she offers, letting the information percolate.

"I'd say they tampered with ballots, but Ralph Sangrin was on our list." He pours himself another, grabbing a stack of files along with their notes for round two, and falls back into his sofa with a huff.

She studies him from afar. The fine lines of his years are etched deeper than in the past, like a warning of more to come if he doesn't take heed with rest soon. His tie is astray, the starch is long worn from his shirt. Purple and gray shadow under his eyes, his skin slightly sunken and worn like over-ripened fruit. It's not a good look on him. She knows he's comfortable here; it's his second home, just as much for him as it is for her. But they're both exhausted and neither of them can burn through all hours like they once could.

She saunters over, focus on him feline-like, perching on the adjacent club chair. "Let's go home, Harvey."

His head raises, expression blank and swarming with turmoil. She's sure as much from the competition as the firm's challenges themselves.

"You can do all of this from your place. Even better- let's do it in the morning."

He traces her face with mystery thoughts then looks back to the spread of papers. "I think better here, especially when I have you with me." His mouth bends in a slight smile.

She drops her shoulders, leaning to shove the file off his lap, purposefully giving him ample view of cleavage and replacing the manila cardboard with her derriere. With an arm looping over his shoulders, she wets her lips, eyes alluring and pointed. "Harvey-" she runs a finger down his tie "-let this go and take me home to bed. Now."

His lips purse in appreciation, containing his amusement. The muscles in his shoulders flex as he swallows.

She loves that even five months into their coupling, he's still so affected by the idea of her wanting him. A single heated moment changed everything where they collapsed walls and gave in to lust.

His tongue darts over his lips and he drops his gaze, easily pressing his mouth to hers as his thumb grazes a goosebump-inducing path from neck to somewhere low on her spine. He lingers there as they pull apart, then shifts her off his lap as he quickly stacks files.

With a hand on her waist she cocks a hip. "Really? Perhaps I should feel slighted you're worrying about tidying when I just offered you sex." It's a tease. She knows he's not one to leave things unsettled. He's thorough in all things, especially to her benefit.

He drops the file in his hand, now wearing a tight smirk with narrowed eyes, in front of her in nearly an instant. Assertive fingers find her hips, using the leverage to pull her close. "If you're in a hurry we could..." His jaw drifts, surveying the space, mischief and want painting the room.

"Harvey," she warns.

"You wanted me. This would speed up the process."

"No."

"Where's your sense of adventure?"

"You weren't complaining about my adventure when I sucked you off in the broom closet last week."

His Adam's apple bobs. "So what's the problem?"

"I didn't realize your were such an exhibitionist."

"I'm surrounded by glass, didn't that clue you in?"

She rolls her eyes at his absurd argument. "Hundreds of people pass through here daily. It's too risky."

"This is a corner office. I have less traffic now." His arms extend from his sides. "And no one's here." He yanks her closer, his growing need a persuasion. His mouth finds the hollow under her jaw. Argument points suddenly abandon her. Damn him for coaxing her weaknesses.

"What if someone sees us?" she asks.

"We've done it before." He pouts, looking about as pathetic as a fluffy puppy begging for her plate of steak.

"That was different."

"How so?" he challenges.

"I was drunk. This," she motions between them, "Was new."

"Are you saying the allure has worn off?"

"No." She bites her lip. "Only that my access has increased."

"I also know first hand that night you were dripping with want. Like I bet you are now."

"Don't be vulgar."

"When else would be the time for vulgarity? Also, we can rectify your lack of drunkenness."

She throws him a look, then tries to decide if she needs courage or wits toward the suggestion. He tilts his head at her, then picks up her tumbler before dragging her off by the hand to the liquor cart. He pours, then shoves it her way. "Drink."

"I'm never having sex with you again if this ends badly." She drains the liquid including the last sip, feeling the burn down her throat and the spin doing its work.

"Oh, no." He takes her glass and sets it down. "This will end very, very well."

A breath expels from her throat, a jolt hitting her low. His lips takes hers, tongue slipping between her parted lips easily in effortless pace. She whimpers when he jerks into her again, keeping them flush as he begins to back them up.

He leads them to his club chair, the back of her legs hitting the arm. She rests there, while he finds the closure to her wrap dress and pulls the first tie free and then the second, parting the silk blend fabric of her black Escada dress. Hooded eyes and labored breath worship her chest covered in crimson lace.

"Are you just going to stand there staring at me or are you getting on with it?" He does a light shake of his head and removes his suit jacket, tossing it behind her.

"I was just thinking about the thing we did that made you so loud your neighbors put in the complaint."

"I have to draw some lines. That's a home activity. But if you deliver, when we get home I can do that thing with my tongue you love so much."

His jaw drops the slightest. "Maybe we should rethink going home."

"Oh no. You promised me a good ending and now I'm too horny to wait."

His pupils dilate, then he bends down to hook her legs around his waist and walks them over to his desk, setting her down beside it. He clears all objects to the floor in a single motion. "Sit."

"On your desk?"

He nods.

"It's marble. What if it doesn't hold?"

He scratches the back of his neck, sheepish. "It will."

"How do you…" Her eyes widen. "Oh my God. You've done this before."

"No. I just purchased it with… Intention."

"You just bought this when you made managing partner."

"I had goals."

"To fuck me on your desk," she dares.

He shrugs.

She arches a brow. "Took you long enough." A thought of missed opportunity creeps up like a starving mouse. "Did your last one…?"

"You don't remember?"

"We never did that." She scoffs.

"No, but you were there when I picked it out."

She lets that image permeate, the memory suddenly making her straighten. He'd asked for weight limits to the perceptive and overzealous salesman. "I'd… let that detail slip out of my mind. Thinking of you using it with someone else in my view wasn't on my list of things I wanted to remember."

"No one else was on my mind." He nips along her jaw, marking a trail from her chin to just under her ear, a chill left behind from either him or the office AC.

"I never did, you know." He says against her skin. "Use it."

"Come on. Scottie?"

His head jerks back. "Not a good time, Donna."

"Then stop talking already," she scolds. "And have me on your desk."

He doesn't waste time. With his lips to pressing to hers, fingers bunch up the hem of her dress until he can reach the waistband of her panties. He yanks them around her ass and lowers them until they encircle her feet.

She darts her eyes out of the glass, nerves bubbling in her abdomen to mix with the excitement and alcohol already there. She settles on the ivory surface, the cool stone pressing into the bare skin of her ass. He hooks an arm around her waist, fingers tangled in her hair to better angle her head for his tongue to explore her mouth. His kiss is both hot and demanding- a candle lighting the heat that pools in her center. He's between her thighs as he grinds against her, still fully clothed in his $1500 pants and she wonders what his dry cleaner must think with as many as this man must ruin.

His lips taste from chin, to neck, to chest, making the stop there extra long. His hands search the trail of his mouth is making in erratic touch, his mind seeming already too distracted by his goal to worry about focus.

He kneels between her legs, spreading them wider as he nips at her inner thigh. Awareness of how exposed she'll be if someone sees returns, wanting him to hurry but not stop. His tongue soothes where his teeth made stake, the sensuality of the action almost enough to undo her before even gets to his destination.

She gasps when the warmth of his mouth makes full contact against her clit, languid strokes against the hypersensitive nerves making all fret of being seen a distant thought. Despite the cool office he's oxygen to her fire.

There's something so brazen and satisfying having her ex-boss burying his face between her legs on the desk she once kept for him. Like he's worshiping her pleasure, and paying her back on his knees. She holds in a giggle at the absurdity, not wanting to interrupt his impeccable rhythm. His tongue is like lava, all fluid and heat, just enough suction to want more but wonder if she can take it. She can feel a crescendo from her core spreading to her limbs, present but not yet at fortissimo.

Fingers grip the longest strands of his hair, giving herself the notion of control as her legs involuntarily quake as they hang off his desk. He hooks them over his shoulders, fingers soon plunging easily inside, her body on such a high all she can feel is the tightness gripping her toward the crest.

"H-H-Harvey. Right there."

He adds rhythmic flicking of his tongue. She's just centimeters away, an unknown X on her map to pleasure.

"Please. Don't stop."

He hums against her, the extra vibration driving her to the cliff. A palms splays across her abdomen to steady her as she falls over the edge at the command of his lips.

He lets her legs back down, then worships all her valleys on his journey back up. Leisurely kisses explore sensitive skin. He cups her head to lead their mouths together. The lingering scotch with the taste of herself is a wicked combination paired with the lascivious way his mouth moves against hers. She rubs him over the fabric of his pants, undoing the clasp of his belt.

He pulls back, her following to set her upright. He does a quick scan out of his office.

She grips his belt. "Now you're worried about spectators?"

"You had more scotch than I did," he defends.

She unhooks the clasp and zipper, dropping his now tainted slacks to the floor. "I was going to ask if you needed a moment to catch up." Her eyes widen, appreciating the impressive bulge straining against the thin layer of his boxer briefs. "But I think it's obvious-" she dips her hand under his waistband to grasp him "-you don't."

"If anyone sees us," he tugs down his boxers, his erection on proud display when he returns upright, "They can consider it part of their bonus."

She rolls her eyes. "I'm not sure all would appreciate the value." She strokes him, tempted to shove him into his chair and make him plead her name with her between his legs. Except she needs him.

She grabs a fist of his shirt with her other hand and pulls him closer. His face rests against her neck as he sets his positioning, pulling her legs back up. "They'd pay us if they knew how hard..." his first thrust matches his choice of words, taking her breath as he grunts. He holds himself still, letting her adjust even though she's already more than ready. "It was for us to get here."

Their joining here feels decadent, legs against his shirted chest, her center already satiated and with a pleasant ache, jolts caused by his movements making her dress to slip along the desk's surface, the skin of her bare ass sticking to the unslick stone. She tries to tame her vocal response, awareness of where they're doing this flickering in and out of her thoughts.

"Do something for me?" He manages, a sense of boyishness behind the request as he continues his pace.

"I'm a little occupied," she pants, stars beginning their assent to the peak for a second time.

He leans forward to try and reach her, pressing her uncomfortably to the surface as she angles to kiss him.

"Turn over," he requests with grit and a hint of demand in his voice.

She bites her lip. He slows, and her coming climax sinks. "You want to bend me over your desk to fuck me," she dares.

He thrusts again, her eyes closing at the surprise jarring. His lips coax her. He pulls back with a discerning look. "You expect me to believe you've never thought about it?"

Her eyes dart north and she pushes against his chest, him slipping out while she fully sits. He assists her up with a hand. Her dress drops down and she surveys the surroundings again. Still no evidence of a curious Specter-Litt Voyeur Society, so she stands taller in her Manolo's. "Get me your jacket." He cocks his head, brow drawn together.

"Fulfilling your fantasy; fulfilling my comfort."

He reaches for it off the back of the chair and passes it her way. She rolls up the outlandishly priced garment she's sure to his chagrin, and bends over, flipping up the back of her dress to flash her bare ass to him as her face buries in the fabric, a long inhale of the fresh spice and woody aroma that's all him, her head spinning to jazz and want.

He's at her back right away, stroking her newly accessible skin. Fingers find her opening first, then the head of his cock rubs her in the ultimate tease. She grinds against him and he hums a low and groan-like response, toeing the inside of her heels to widen her legs. He lightly smacks her bare cheek, and she turns her head to meet his eyes with amused want.

"I have an entire scenario for that fantasy."

"Is there anything about you that's not a gift?"

"No. That comes next time, Harv-"

His name falls off her lips as he's pressing at her entrance. There's more strain this way, but the payoff instantly takes her breath away in a sharp inhale.

"Oh fuck, Donna." The first stroke is slow and careful, making sure she adjusts to the new angle.

Hands caress her bare skin and back, soothing and gentle in contrast to his tantalizing invasion. The pace increases, momentum quickly climbing, hers keeping tempo with him impacting against her most pleasurably tender depths. His fingers of one hand repeatedly thread in her hair, as if without the recurring motion he might flex too tightly. Eventually one hand braces at her hip for leverage.

She's struggling to hold back mashed up expletives with his name to acceptable office levels. Judging from his groans he's not managing any better.

In no time she's lost herself, as if they're carving out their own moment in time together. It's always like this, almost seeming as if they're in their own movie and the rest of the world exists to lead them to their climax of the story. Only there's no ending and the only audience is their intense bond and the euphoria it creates.

Her peak comes quickly and hard, controlling abdomen to toes. She's grateful to his desk for being there to catch her fall.

She can barely take his final movements to meet her there, already so spent she only wants to rest in the safety of his arms. He lays against her back for a few moments, his body heavy and hot before he moves away. The air is suddenly cool behind her. He returns to clean her up with tissues before helping her stand, her legs shaky from pleasure fatigue. He helps her find her panties, then pulls on his boxers and pants.

They walk over to his sofa, him sitting longways and pulling her into his lap. She rests against him and he buries his face into her neck, tasting her skin languidly. His hot breath whispers against her skin. "That was the perfect distraction."

"Is that all I am?" The nip of uncertainty plays in her thoughts, even though she's unsure of the origin.

They've been doing this well. Sex. Joining. Connection. But they still aren't so great at communicating feelings. The intensity without them sometimes amplifies her deepest insecurities.

"You distract everything. You always have." Lips move easily against hers, tongue dipping in just enough to touch. It's indulgent and soft. He pulls away finally with a small grin, his eyelids narrow and dare-she-think, happy. "Seriously though, I needed this."

"I know." She lets her own smile slide in at his admission, settling against him and further messing up his hair as her fingers run through it again. She appreciates how he now lets her re-arrange even his most protected parts.

He raises his head, studying her with unreadable thoughts.

She waits, her heart beat uneven while she's unsure of whatever rests behind the moment.

He slips back a stray hair from her face. "You know I love this. That I… Love you," he says with trepidation.

"Because I let you do me on your desk?"

He tilts his head, unimpressed with her brilliant humor. She relents it's ill-timed, maybe even acknowledging she's almost as bad at accepting from him as he is at opening up. "I know. And I do too. Love you. And this. Us."

A wide grins forms on his face. "So, should we get out of here and continue this in bed?"

"Like I suggested in the first place?"

"You're saying you didn't benefit? Twice, if I was counting."

"Dick."

"Is one of the parts you love about me," he gloats.

She smacks his chest with the back of her hand. Hard.

He chuckles, glancing around to the mess all over his coffee table. "It's still killing me I can't figure out how Louis knew about that client."

His head swings to her then, wide eyes locking with wide eyes, silent communication and matched insight practiced through years of partnership.

"He wouldn't. Not after the last time," he says.

She sits up, climbing off his lap. "He would if he was desperate."

"Your office?" He suggests, standing and ready to investigate.

"He's too scared of me."

"I'm managing partner."

"I'm COO. And Donna."

"So?" His lip twitches.

"You really want to get into this fight?"

"Donna, I punched him. And threw him into a glass table."

"One phone call, Harvey. He'd be done."

His face sobers, backing away from her a touch. "Fine. Where would he hide it?"

"You think it's still here?"

They began combing the room, checking behind all albums and in every cabinet. After a thorough search, they find no signs.

"Maybe we were wrong?" he suggests.

"No. Maybe I downplayed Louis's fear of being caught." She studies the room in place this time, getting into the unsettling head-space of Louis. She looks at the table to the right of the doors, steps toward it and squats down, fingers feeling underneath the flat surface. Bingo.

She hands the offending item to Harvey, a strip of duct tape wrapped around it.

He frowns. "I never pegged Louis for a duct tape kind of guy."

"Katrina," they say in unison.

"We need to teach them a lesson." A wide grin spreads on his face.

"What?" She asks with piqued interest.

"Was that thing still on?"

She notices the blinking red light. "Oh my God!" Had it been on all day? He must own stock in tiny data storage.

His brows draw together with a grin. "Louis wanted to hear something."

"No. We're not letting him hear us doing that."

"It would totally phase him. If we put it on his desk he might suspect we did it there. Steam cleaning. Disinfecting."

She smiles, in spite of her resolve. "He'd probably replace furniture."

His brow raises, the pathetic pout from earlier back in place.

She closes her eyes, shaking her head. "I can't, Harvey. Twice, remember?"

"Fine." He looks away, pressing his lips together. "You could trim it down, right? What about a snippet?"

She looks to the ceiling, hands-wringing. She's not the bashful type. She's not a prude, She's a classically trained actress for godsakes. But Louis? Hearing her moans and… other sounds while Harvey pounds her over his desk?

But, him and Katrina did cheat. And they did spy. And nothing would mortify Louis more than if they left just the right soundbite. She sighs. "Ten seconds, tops. And I approve which ones."

He looks like the cat that ate the canary, which in this case, she was the canary. She didn't want to dig deeper into what that made Louis. Regardless, from now on they were only talking triathlon strategy away from the office. In bed sounded like a safe bet.

A/N's: Okay, the prompt: Darvey finding out Louis put a dictaphone in Harvey's office, so they have sex to mess with him and the whole thing is recorded. Obviously I changed this a bit because I couldn't get Darvey to do it knowingly. They're opinionated like that. I pushed myself to be a bit more descriptive in this one. It took me months to finally feel like it was decent enough to post. Sex is a challenge to write well. Hope you enjoy anyway. Feedback makes this more fun, so if you're feeling generous, leave me a note. As always, I own nothing besides the silly ideas in my head.