PROMPT FIC - Sometimes—a lot of the time—her organization turns him on.

*BETA'd 23.06.18* (That moment when people reference old fic and you have to run back and check it.

Organisation

By Atheniandream

Harvey Specter has been in a funk for about a week, post Mike. The leaving of such has left in the wake of his departure, a pretty visible hole in the side of an otherwise sailing ship.

It's left him lacking, to say the least.

Donna, on the other hand,

Has been working over time. Literally overtime.

Beyond the bounds that her contract states.

And Sometimes,

No, Scratch that.

Quite a lot of the time,

Her anality pushes at the edge of his usually comfortable resolve.

Now, he can't put a finger on why exactly, something about the way she compiles things and likes to rile him with the revelation that he can't move sideways for everything that she's accomplished in the day - and all for him.

But the urge he gets, whenever she slaps something on his desk, or reams off a list for the day...

It seems to be getting worse.

She saunters into his office at about a quarter to nine in the evening, a large pile of paperwork in one hand; and by the look of the green garment bag, his fresh suits, draped over the top of her arm with a white bag dangling from her other wrist, smelling suspiciously like his favourite Italian restaurant.

He looks up at her from the confines of his desk, a deliberately casual look on his face.

He knows what's coming.

"Okay. Leinmann briefing for tomorrow," She says, handing him a copy. "Finished."

"Okay." He says, vaguely.

She then pulls out two files from the pile in her hand, popping those on his desk as well. "Your Paperwork for tomorrow, and also Thursday." She notes, eyeing him.

"Thankyou," He says, a slight smirk on his lips. He sits back and watches her glide to the closet on his left, opening it, and in one fluid motion picking up the garment bag with the still loaded left hand and placing it on the rail. He can't help but grit his teeth as she turns to him, elbowing the closet shut behind her, before walking towards him.

She pauses, last of the papers and the white bag still in her hand, and bends down over his right shoulder. He straightens at the little piece of exposed clavicle that appears as his eyes follow the motion, and when she places the paperwork down right in front of him, he swears he feels his pants tighten just ever so slightly.

"Your dentist appointment for next week, your dry cleaning bill and the confirmation of the tickets you wanted for Marcus and his wife's anniversary, with your air-miles; seeing as you never go anywhere," She remarks dryly, knowing that it'll get a rise out of him.

Pity she's unaware of the other rise, currently making itself a prominent feature under the table…

"And last, but most certainly not least, dinner. And your favourite; which, considering the amount of paperwork on your desk still; I gather, will be well received?" She saunters to the coffee table, bending in front of him to place the hot bag onto the cold glass surface, opening it slightly to take out the cutlery and napkins and placing them on the table.

When she looks back around, aware of his obvious silence, he's sitting rather awkwardly, with his right leg crossed over his left.

"Oh and I forgot… your cleaning lady has changed her day this week as her son is sick. So unless you want to hear her singing, do not be there during the day on Friday."

"Hmm. Right." He says, the tension meeting his throat.

He wasn't joking when he asked her to marry him a year ago. If she's that organised in her life, then he could only imagine what she was like in the bedroom nowadays. And putting her strange fascination for whipped cream and meeting deadlines, it could be a very interesting experience indeed.

She frowns, eyeing him suspiciously. "Harvey? You okay?"

"Fine." He says, sitting forward.

"I did everything you asked, which means it can't be anything I've done,"

"Donna, could you leave? Please?" He interrupts, a blanket look of strain on his face.

"Ookay…"

"It's late. No one else is here you should go..." He reams off quickly, backtracking any sentiment.

"Okay." She answers vaguely. "Night, Harvey."

If this was his opening to have her leave immediately, then it was his worst attempt yet.

He watches as she wanders to her desk, picking up her bag - and bending again, much to his alarm - and saunters down the hall.

He straightens his leg, the deep guttural sigh of a man almost out of the woods…

He looks around, eyeing the hall. It's nearly nine o'clock. No one is around nor likely to come wandering on a floor when one of two managing partners hasn't signed out yet.

If he can just relieve himself for five minutes, then he'll possibly be in with a chance of finishing the night off having prepared for tomorrow. And if he doesn't…

Well. Mere looking at her is going to put a huge dent in his morning, that's for sure.

Before he even feels the sensation of a partial release, his pants are unzipped, and his cool hand is making it's way down into his boxers, the feeling of himself in his hands is disappointing, but perfunctory. He moves his hand along his shaft, closing his eyes at the sheer thought of her, flame haired and Prada-clad as she kneels down in front of him.

He's not ashamed to say that he thinks of her. That she's been in the forefront of his mind for a while now, and not just in a 'maxim cover' kind of fantasy. But whether it's at his apartment, or a thought at the office, it's triggered with her handing him things, and that self-satisfied look on her face from the precise kind of organisation that only comes from years worth of being great at second guessing.

He groans, adjusting the thrust at the memory of her this morning; coffee carrying and reeling off the itinerary for today. That little devil may care smugness at knowing she has his life fully in order. It's twisted and beautiful and completely them, and he's just-

"Look, Harvey. I can't have you send me off home and think that I've done something to piss you-Oh my God!" She freezes in front of him.

Her, mouth open, eyes wide.

Him, sheen of sweat on his forehead and his hand around his...

"Oh fuck." He says, his eyes shutting in the wake of his orgasm.

It isn't pretty. And he's deeply embarrassed. But thoroughly, thoroughly satisfied.

She may have even helped, he thinks to himself, as he picks up a now possibly soiled file, thinking to place it in front of himself, until he mumbles. "Turn around.", and she does so automatically, her expression having not changed a millimetre since she first got there, her bag still hanging from her hand.

He leans forward to grab a tissue, a immediate frown on his face now that he'd finally satisfied the potent urge.

He could go again, in all seriousness.

He waits for her to sense the right moment; watching her as she turns around slowly to face him.

"So," She says awkwardly.

"So," He mimics, the silence in the room hitting like a blunt knife edge.

"That's...why you wanted me out of the office? I...get it now."

"Yeah…" He mashes his lips together, slightly drained from the experience and also slightly confused as to just how much of a mess he's made.

"You know. I know that you just broke up with Scottie, and you're trying to be monogamous…Harvey. But you could just...find a girl. In a bar...and do what clearly comes naturally." She hides the smile that comes out at the mere suggestion of such a thing.

"It's you." He says roughly.

"Wh-What?" She swallows the clear lump in her throat, her brows knitting together. "I don't," She stutters. She never stutters. He didn't think it was in her vocabulary to stutter in times of stress. "What?" She repeats.

"It's you. And your…" How does he put it. "Organising." He replies, his throat dry.

"This is...my fault?" She narrows her eyes, pointing vaguely at his crotch.

For a second he can't tell what she's thinking… until she laughs, outright, a sputter that almost spits across the room.

"Donna. Donna it's not funny." He says, dead-panned.

"My organising...turns you on?" She mock-frowns; the humour of his words painting what must be an interesting image in her head. She steps forward, fractionally. "But Harvey, I've...always been organised for you." She says, a slight flutter of her lashes.

There she goes again...

"Yeah, well. Ten years is uh...putting a dent in it." He says, aware that she looks extremely sexy right now.

His eyes widen as she starts to walk gradually towards his desk. He feels the overwhelming prominence that such a deliberate gesture carries.

"So. Wait...just get this into perspective. What exactly turns you on? Me organising your office,"

"Mh-hmm." He mumbles in agreement, biting down on his lip.

"Organising your paperwork,"

"Yep."

"Your very busy schedule,"

"That'll do it,"

"Or your personal time?"

"Donna, I swear, to God, if you say another word, I'm gonna have to-" He swallows the last word when she gets a little closer than is safely recommended. He watches, the way she saunters up to his chair with that innocent smile and sway in her hips.

She's almost completely oblivious to how close she is to getting thoroughly fucked.

"So. What can I do to help you feel a little less...strained..at work?" She asks.

Her tone is alien to him. He feels like he's in the sex version of the twilight zone. Maybe he fell asleep...

"You really need an answer to that?" He breathes, looking up at her as she towers over his seated form.

"And, just for the record. There's nobody else that can...fill the position?" She asks him, bending down just slightly to smooth her hands down his tie.

For a moment he's confused, whether in a haze of post-orgasm and moistness or a week's patchy sleep deprivation, her questions all seem to be heading towards an impossible place.

A place that she told him they would never venture to...ever again.

"Just...you." He inhales, a hand grazing her thigh as it bumps deliberately against his own.

She never wears stockings. Never in a day has he ever seen her wear stockings, he realises. His fingers linger just an inch from her inside leg, his eyes flicking up just in time to watch her lick top lip and then press it gently against her bottom one.

He stifles a slight moan in his throat, as she straightens, bringing his pale blue tie with her. He stretches, following the motion, until she gestures for him to stand.

"First things first," She mumbles low into his ear. "No talking about it. No asking for it. And certainly no expecting it. Ever."

"Okay…" He sighs, the agreement of such making his feet ache. But he complies.

"And lastly," She says, taking his hand. "We better get some room."

"Donna," He mumbles, his eyes finding hers.

"If we're going to do it, then we're going to do properly. No shortcuts." She says, leading him to towards the couch.

He notices in a moment of idleness that the white bag of his takeout is still waiting on the table for him. She notices his glance towards it.

"That's for later." She explains.

For a second he wonders if there's enough for two. Or even if she's planned this entire arrangement...

He expects to stop not too short of the sofa, until she diverts him to the lounger beside it.

It's like all his birthday's have come at once…every single one of those ten.

She turns, guiding him so that his legs brush the lounger. He's doing everything in his power not to pull her onto it and have his way with her right there and then. Instead, he does as told, and stands there as she undoes his cufflinks, placing them on the coffee table, before glancing at his tie, her burgundy polished nails wrapping around the knot and unwrapping it in a practised notion.

"Do you...undo these for a living?" He quips, watching her.

"I think we both know what I do for a living," She mumbles, very quiet and intimately in the small space between them.

He loves the look on her face that she gets when she's doing a task especially for him. That concentrated pout and the little frown line, her aubergine tinted eyelashes merging together as the little creases around her eyes show at her sheer concentration. He focuses when she clears her throat, pouting as she folds his tie and then oddly...throws it at the couch.

"Donna," He comments, alarmed somewhat at her strange action.

"Something for later," She shrugs, that playful look in her eye as she continues with the buttons on his shirt. "You want to know what you have planned tomorrow?" She whispers in his year, her fingers grazing the hairs under his shirt.

"Give me Thursday instead." He says, his voice low and calmly.

"Why Thursd-"

"Just. Thursday." He presses, the tension in his voice peaking ever so slightly.

"Well...Thursday, so far, you have a meeting with Louis at eight, over the redraft of the firm's bylaws."

"Please don't say Louis's name again. Go on."

"Then you have a conference call with Samsung; then another with Joyce Lineman, as she's currently on vacation in Bora Bora," She continues, moving a leg to rest between his.

"Hmm," He hums in agreement as he continues to watch her. "The Merger?" He enquires.

"The very same," She says, her hands resting on the buckle of his leather belt. His breath hitches at the action, her fingers resting just centimeters from his stomach and...other notable things. "Sit." She says suddenly, pointing to the lounger.

Again, in half wondering of just how he's so compliant, he does as is told, sitting on the lounge.

"Put one leg on either side." She commands, waiting for him to do so. He leans back, watching as she raises a hand to her neck, to find the inevitable zip waiting there.

"You need a...hand?" He asks, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Stay Put." She orders again, before shimmying out of her dress, as it pools to the floor in a silk laden puddle leaving her lacy and pink.

"You gonna get that?" He indicates to the messy dress on the floor, the irony of not commenting on her lingerie isn't lost on him.

"Not yet." She replies, smirking as she slides on top of him, settling on his waist and pulls her hand through her long wave of hair. He bucks against her and sighs heavily, a groan flooding his vocal chords, as his hands finally graze her upper thighs.

She lets out a low moan as she grinds against him, causing him to frown at the pressure.

"Donna, this is…"

"A treat. Don't get used to it." She smirks, leaning forward enough to sweep her tongue up the side of his neck, as her fingers dig into the muscles of his arms at the well timed grind against him. His hands slide around her waist when she moves to ease off of him, his eyes meeting hers in a silent protest, until one hand slides around her front and over the delicate laces of her panties.

"Ladies first," He says, gently pressing his thumb against her as his lips draw towards hers.

In a flash her hands grasp his shoulders. "No, Harvey." She breathes, leaning away from him. "You can't kiss me."

He pauses, frowning at the sudden cog in the works. "What? Why not?"

"This is just sex, Harvey."

"Donna." He protests. She almost completely ruins it then and there.

"Don't make it any more complicated than it already is."

"I…" Is all he manages in the moment. It's definitely a thought for afterwards. He pulls at her then, pulling her closer to him, cradling her so that he can push her chest forward, planting a long line of kisses across the tantalising lace of each bra cup, his thumb slipping between the fabric barrier of her panties and onto exposed flesh, causing her to yelp slightly.

"Huh." She breathes. "Harder….ohhhh, that's it," She smiles lazily, before stopping him for a second, and undoing his belt and pants in what he suspects is record timing.

He doesn't even get her to remove her panties, and instead pushes the fabric firmly aside, enough so that she can lower down onto him with ease.

And God, has he missed this. She's so warm and tight and inviting that it's like coming home for the first time after school, like hitting a record out of the park, like signing his signature on the contract to his wonderful apartment.

Like pure freedom.

And the sound she makes when he thrusts into her is just the icing on the cake.

He notices, mid thrust that she loses herself, when she lolls towards him, her lips just inches from his when he looks up at her. For a second he thinks she's going to bend that rule just the one time as well, until her eyes flutter open and she seems to punish him for the thought in his head by raking her hands down his chest and settling them on his shoulders.

Her breathing hitches in fits and starts and he knows that he's doing something right with his hands, until she starts to frown and digs her fingers into the flesh of his shoulders as he presses a hand on the middle of her back.

"Harvey,"

"Yeah?" He breathes in return.

"Harder," She commands, a counter thrust hard and dominating against his own, which only encourages him the more. He sneaks a smile at her and grabs her ass with both hands, thrusting harder and harder, and watching as she moans with each one, her brows knitting together as she fights her own orgasm.

She's beautiful and twisted and perfect and he feels like the luckiest guy in the world because he has her.

She jerks then, lifting her chin as her eyes close and she bites her lip, her hands raking at the nape of his neck. It's enough to have to coming like a rocket inside of her, as he too jerks against her, frozen by the inevitable release, as she grips his shoulders, them sagging slightly together, much closer than they had previously been.

He hears her smile, a small laugh of shock escaping her. For some reason it piques his paranoia, in such an exposed state. "You okay, there?" He asks.

She looks at him with that look; the one where she knows exactly what he's thinking, and chiding him for it. She rolls her eyes, pointing out the window.

"That office….right there. Watching us." She smirks, panting slightly in the aftermath.

He lifts them both up slightly to see two people in the glass building opposite. Clearly watching.

"Well...they can't see much." He says, slumping down in the chair as his arms wrap around her waist.

"No...but they can," She comments, pointing to another, nearer, but unfortunately more opportune building.

"Ahh. Well. Then they owe us twenty bucks for the show." He smirks, rocking her upper body towards him.

She sighs then, tapping his hands to release her. He huffs, doing as he's told and watches, still post-sex phased as she balances on one heel and steps into her dress.

"Where you going?"

"I have to go." She says, pulling up her dress as if in rewind, carefully pulling up the zip with one hand behind her lower back, before raising one above and over her shoulder to finish the job.

"Donna…" He sighs, frowning as he does up the buttons on his shirt. "There's food. Stay."

"Harvey…" She warns. He can see her shutting back down again. Like Haley's Comet, disappearing before his very eyes in a flash that ghosts in your eyes moments after.

"Have some food. I promise not to kiss you," He remarks, his hands coming up in defense.

"You really think this is about a kiss?" She says, seeming pained.

"No." He agrees. "But I'll tell you what it can be about. Food. Eating. And just that. Like we do every day." He shrugs simply. "So...stay, and eat. I'll have Ray drive you home." He offers.

She examines him for a second, and the takeout on the coffee table, as if she's weighing up every eventuality in the room.

He finally lets a breath go when she settles on the couch, quietly unpacking the food she'd brought. He takes care not to sit too close. For his sake as much as her own.

They sit in a strangely comfortable silence whilst she automatically divvies out the portions, occasionally noticing him watching her, and smiles to herself.

When she hands him a plate and some cutlery for some reason he is completely speechless. No declarations. No admittance of feelings or revelations of such.

They just...eat.

"So…my organisation turns you on, huh…?" She suddenly says.

"Sometimes," He smirks, picking up a mouthful.

"Sometimes?" She questions, pausing.

"Alot...of the time." He corrects.

The look she gives him is priceless. "It's...it's a problem." He sighs.

"It's a...fun...problem." She says, quietly hiding her own smile behind her fork.

He has an Inkling that she's going to use this information at some point.

Down on the West Coast, they got a saying
If you're not drinking, then you're not playing
But you've got the music, you've got the music in you, don't you?
Down on the West Coast, I get this feeling like it all could happen
That's why I'm leaving you for the moment, you for the moment
Boy blue, yeah you
It's getting harder to show it

I'm feeling hot to the touch
You say you miss me
And I always say I miss you so much
But something keeps me really quiet
I'm alive, I'm a lush
Your love, your love, your love

- 'West Coast' By Lana Del Rey