A/N: Thank you to my wonderful beta, ashadesofblue, for reading through this and for all her helpful and supportive comments (and for not telling me to throw my laptop into the firey pit at once, always a good sign). It's been a long time since I've written fic, so excuse any rustiness.

This was meant to be a simple one-shot, but they got chatty, and well. Should have around 7 chapters. Most of it is written, so hopefully not a long wait between updates.

M rating throughout.

Enjoy!

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I. there's trouble where i'm going but i'm gonna go there anyway

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First time Harvey gets himself off thinking about Donna, it's unexpected but not unwelcome.

Unexpected, not because he hadn't thought about fucking her. No, it's definitely not that. He thinks about it pretty damn often, to be honest, in an idle kind of way that would have her rolling her eyes in mock disgust. She'll bring him papers to sign and he'll catch a glimpse of her cleavage and he thinks how glorious her breasts would look splayed under him. He'll look up from his screen just in time to catch the backs of her knees on their way out of his office, and seven different ways he could bend her legs flash in his mind in rapid succession. It's a brief interruption to his day and it's back to the depositions even before she's back at her desk. She's attractive. He notices. A lot.

It's unexpected because he normally doesn't think about anyone in particular when jerking off. It's usually just a series of anonymous tits and asses and pussies – much like when having sex, he doesn't need a context to get off.

It's been a long uncomfortable day. Dennis was in a shitty mood for most of it and was all too happy to take it out on him. In the end, Harvey got to the witness and his current case was back on track, but it left him too exhausted to socialize and too keyed up to sleep.

He needs a drink.

He is just pouring himself one when Donna pokes her head through the door on her way out, "I'm gonna go. I'll see you tomorrow, okay."

"Mhmm," he grunts noncommittally, then looks up. She's changed. It's red and it's revealing. He raises his eyebrows, unable to help a grin spreading, "Hot date?"

"Date," she shrugs, stepping in. "We'll see about the other thing. He seems promising and I'm known for enabling people to reach their potential."

Harvey lets out a short laugh, "I bet you are," he winks at her. "I was gonna ask you to join me, but," he trails off, waving the glass in her general direction. It's a lie. It didn't even cross his mind, not tonight, but now that she had other plans… The thought irks him.

"No lady friends waiting on your bed tonight wearing nothing but a smile?"

"Flying solo tonight." He finishes his drink.

"Just be careful not to pull any muscles, lover boy. There are loads of documents you need to sign tomorrow, wouldn't want any injuries to your writing hand." The wink she tosses him over her shoulder as she exits his office is exaggerated and ridiculous and meaningless. He opens and closes his right fist in response as if to stretch it, she chuckles and is gone.

He's still thinking about it an hour later, on his sofa, his tie undone, as he finishes his fourth glass of scotch. The buzz is real now and it's making him mellow, reckless. He picks up the phone but just as quickly puts it down when he realizes he doesn't really feel like hooking up tonight.

He wonders how Donna's date is going. Should be seated by now, waiting for their meal with a second glass of wine. Maybe she's excusing herself to go to the bathroom. Harvey feels his dick catching up with his brain as he imagines her hips sashaying away from the table, her legs going on for miles in that just-short-enough dress. His hand twitches on his thigh. She's winking at him smugly again; his hand moves to his crotch.

Her date is probably staying put, refilling their glasses and hoping to get lucky tonight. Harvey doesn't hope. He'd follow her to the bathroom, catch her wrist, move his body closer but just short of touching. She'd catch on right away – she's Donna, after all – and she'd smirk. He'd smirk back, before closing the distance between them, walking her back until she's up against a wall, kissing her just under her ear. Not her lips, that would be an obvious move, and Harvey Specter is not a predictable fuck. He can smell her; his head falls back on the couch and his fist is now tight around his cock. He can hear her; low and throaty as his fantasy self drags his open mouth down her neck, his right hand under her ass, his left on the wall next to her face, so close he can feel her breath on his fingers as it hitches.

He'd return his lips to her ear, "Am I living up to my potential?"

"I don't know, are you," she'd reply coyly, giving him a light squeeze. "Mmmmmm. Why yes, yes you are."

He groans as he gives himself a long stroke, imagining her palm rubbing him through his pants, nothing hesitant about it, just like he's sure she wouldn't be. He can picture her face, all confidence and control, sure his own is just the same – equal, always equal, never missing a beat, never intimidated by his position or disarmed by his charm – and he's not much for locking eyes, but he'd want to look at her look at him as his fingers move from her ass to her panties, running up and down the material in time with his thrusts against her hand.

Her gaze would lower to his lips. His wouldn't. She'd roll her eyes. "Oh, just get over yourself and kiss me."

A strangled laugh escapes him and it sounds too loud in his empty apartment. He's jerking off in earnest now, right hand pumping his cock, the left next to his balls, and in his mind's eye he's kissing her greedily, her lips soft and responsive as they open to let his tongue in, securing her back against the wall and then up as he grabs the back of her thighs, her legs endless around him.

His pants around his ankles and the tip of his cock rubbing against her panties, he'd stop just long enough to point out, "You're so fucking wet."

"You're so fucking hard." Not a beat.

His eyes narrow and his grin widens as he slides her lacy underwear to the side, "It's not a competition, Donna."

"Isn't it?"

And maybe it is. Maybe he needs her to relent. Maybe he's an asshole, but he really fucking wanted her to choose a whimsical drink with him over her date, and yeah. He's definitely an asshole. It's not exactly a revelation, though, and it certainly doesn't affect his mood as he spits in his palm and thrusts into the wetness, imagining how her pussy would feel around him, so goddamn tight. And his thoughts go hazy and out of order, his hands and mouth everywhere all at once, cupping her over her bra, sucking her nipple through the lacy material as he angles his hips just so, and he's making her moan again and again, hitting that spot, rubbing her clit, until she's falling apart around his cock, fisting his hair, crying his name.

His own orgasm is so intense he thinks he might go blind. There's come all over his shirt and his cock doesn't go soft for long enough he thinks he might have broken it. "Shit," he exhales, rubbing his hand over his face, his head resting on the back of the couch, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell that was all about. "Shit."

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The next morning, she greets him with a cup of coffee and a stack of documents. "You have a 10 AM with Mrs Crowley, court has been rescheduled for tomorrow and Dennis is in a much better mood today," she gives him a quick thumb up.

"Well, good morning to you, too," he says as he takes the coffee and she follows him into his office. He thinks he should feel embarrassed or awkward, but it never comes. He considers that a good sign. Nothing's changed. He wonders if she got laid last night.

Donna runs down the day for him; he listens to most of it as he thumbs the papers she's given him. She leans into him and he pays attention. "Oh, and by the way. Jenna from payroll? Pregnant."

"What? I thought she liked women."

"So did her girlfriend," she widens her eyes in mock outrage.

He shakes his head in amusement. "Well, that should be interesting."

She's on her way out when he asks casually, "Hey, how was your date?"

"Eh," she waves it off, "Not worth that dress, that's for sure."

"That's a shame," he comments and doesn't even try to sound sincere. "Guess you would've been better off staying for that drink," he adds suggestively, his eyebrows waggling.

His bluntness makes her laugh. "You're shameless."

He thinks about her pinned against the wall, dress hitched, with him deep inside her. He smiles. "Oh, you have no idea."

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Their flirting only gets more obvious after that. A few months later Cameron Dennis turns out to be a bigger asshole than Harvey realized, they find themselves unemployed and he gets to fuck her for real. It's just as hot as he imagined, except it's also fun and effortless and, shit. He hasn't felt so goddamn happy in a good long while, and he has exactly no idea what to do with that. What he does know is that he can get sex anywhere, but he can only get feeling like that from Donna. And if past has taught him anything it's that getting romantic is a sure-fire way of losing someone. Keeping her with him is non-negotiable, and he tells Jessica as much. It all sounds so simple; he's pleased with himself for figuring it out.

He gets off to porn a lot after that.