Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.

Notes: I actually wrote this right after the pilot was aired, so if there's anything that doesn't match with the rest of the season, please keep that in mind. :)

Warning: Contains explicit sex.

The first time Harvey takes Mike home, it's because it's raining out and Mike is actually planning to bike home, and it's almost too sad for words—Harvey just eyes him and thinks about what would happen if Mike got hit by lightning and fried to death, they'd both be pretty well fucked then, and says smoothly, "Okay, get in the car, and don't say I never did anything for you. Actually, don't say anything at all."

Mike eyes him right back like he's got a smartass comment lingering on his tongue and he's just searching for the appropriately devastating wording, but apparently the prospect of wading through the torrential rain all the way home is enough to stop him from voicing it. He slides in and keeps quiet for approximately six minutes, before he says, "So, am I allowed to tell you where I live, or have you neglected to mention your mindreading skills?"

This is when Harvey realizes he's started on his route home on autopilot, and stifles a groan of frustration. "I'm not done with you yet; you don't sleep until you know this case inside-out, remember?" he says casually as if he planned it this way, ignoring the way Mike eyes him sidelong with a little smile like he isn't fooled at all. "We'll go over these files at my place, then I suppose I'll have to let you crash on my couch. It's a real honor, so don't let it slip. We wouldn't want to make the other kiddies jealous."

Mike shrugs. "Sounds good to me," he says easily. "I just had a date with a frozen pizza planned."

"Classy," Harvey says dryly, and wonders why it feels like Mike is laughing at him a little bit.

When they get to Harvey's place, Mike looks all around with unhidden interest while Harvey thinks about the potential ramifications of letting someone with a memory like Mike's run around his place unfettered, before shrugging it off. He's got nothing to hide.

They study the files for a while before Harvey breaks out the beer, and when he's had a few and wants his next and says casually, "Mike, pass me one, would you?" that's when it happens—

Mike hands it over, smile crinkling his eyes, and on the pull-back, Mike's fingers slide over Harvey's hand in a way that can't be anything but deliberate, and Harvey's mind snaps onto that gesture sharp and ready, thinks oh really, and—

It might surprise people to learn that Harvey does actually sleep with men on occasion. He supposes that when you're looking for something specific, it's good sense to not limit your option pool; as to what he's looking for, he isn't quite sure what that is, beyond—well, someone who doesn't bore him. Someone who can keep up with him. Harvey hates mediocrity, it sets his teeth on edge; he wants someone bright, brilliant, unique. Someone challenging.

He's been looking for a while.

Harvey really hadn't been planning this, but—it's there for him to take, and right now Harvey can't see why he shouldn't, and once Harvey makes up his mind, he acts.

So it starts with Mike passing him a beer with his fingers slipping over Harvey's, more skin contact than is required for beer-passing, invitation in his eyes, and a split second of consideration on Harvey's part; it ends with their clothes strewn across the floor of Harvey's bedroom, Harvey watching the ceiling and wondering idly exactly how this is all going to blow up in his face, and Mike definitely not sleeping on Harvey's couch.

The middle, though. That's the interesting part.

"Trevor and I used to get high and make out when we were in high school," Mike tells him when Harvey shoves him through the doorway and onto his bed, like he's imparting great wisdom or something. "Also I blew him a couple of times, I give great blowjobs. And there were other guys after that. A lot of guys."

"Do you always bring up other people you've had sex with when you're in bed with someone?" Harvey asks, amused, working Mike's shirt open with efficiency, "because I can't imagine that's been working too well for you."

Mike just grins at him and slides Harvey's tie loose, says, "No, but I wanted to reassure you that I have done this before. You looked like you were wondering."

"Yes, everything about you just screams worlds of experience," Harvey says dryly, "but thank you for the information."

They stop talking for a while after that, and pretty soon Harvey's cock is becoming intimately acquainted with the inside of Mike's mouth, and yeah, he hadn't just been bragging.

"If you tell me you read this in a book somewhere and learned it with your freaky brain—" Harvey pants, not even sure where he wants to take that sentence; but Mike just pulls his mouth away and cracks up, leaning his forehead against Harvey's thigh, shoulders shaking.

"No, I just practiced a lot," he says, looking wicked and so young that Harvey almost feels a little uncomfortable, except, well, he's Harvey Specter and he doesn't care about that shit, and he really needs to get his cock sucked.

"Okay, stop talking," he says with a snap in his voice, and—Mike shivers a little in a way he can't hide, dives back in to suck Harvey's cock down, fuck; it's gratifying to get his own back. Harvey tugs on Mike's hair because he knows, all intuition, that Mike does not want him to be polite about this. "That's right," Harvey murmurs, falling into the words he can't help, words that should sound ridiculous except for the way they visibly slice into Mike, the way he squirms at them, lets out a muffled noise that vibrates around Harvey's cock. "Suck me off, jesus, look at that mouth on you." Mike groans, lets Harvey pull his hair again. Fuck.

After Harvey comes in his mouth, making a mess, Mike licks his lips clean and lets Harvey look him over: pink-faced, eyes dark, clearly so turned on he's gone stupid with it, and yet Mike's stupid is such that he somehow finds it in himself to run his mouth off, quip, "I think you've been watching too much porn."

Harvey grabs him under the arms and yanks him further up the bed, pushes him sprawling onto his back so that Harvey can fist his cock and jerk him a few times. "Let's not even pretend that you didn't love every minute of it," he says calmly, smugly, when Mike bites his lip in a rush to stop himself from making any more noise (hint: it doesn't work). "It's cute that you're trying, though."

Mike makes a noise of protest, but obviously gets distracted by Harvey's hands which are, admittedly, damn good; and he definitely doesn't look able to come up with a smart comment while he's too busy coming all over himself.

Harvey very generously gives him a minute to recover before unleashing the full force of his clearly well-deserved self-satisfaction.

Mike rolls his eyes and flops onto his back. "Do I need to get dressed?" he sort of mumbles, sounding lazy and his eyes already drooping a bit, and clearly means do you want me to leave?

Harvey doesn't cuddle or anything, but kicking Mike to the couch after he's had his cock in Mike's mouth seems oddly—backward.

"You'd better not goddamn snore," he says, and shoves Mike to the side so he isn't taking up the whole damn bed with his starfish arms and legs. Mike laughs, and turns on his stomach, and falls asleep in ten seconds flat.

He makes an odd whistling noise when he inhales, but he doesn't snore.

Harvey wakes up before Mike the next morning, and puts a hand over his face and thinks yeah, this was not a good idea.

"This can't happen again," Harvey says as soon as Mike makes noises like he's starting to stir.

"…Okay," Mike says, squinting at him with an arm thrown over his face. "Can I at least get some coffee before you kick me out? Otherwise I might actually accidentally kill myself down the stairs."

"I'll give you breakfast and everything," Harvey says generously.

"Awesome," Mike says around a yawn. Watching the pink stretch of his mouth, Harvey's cock makes an impassioned plea for a morning blowjob, but he tries not to let it make too many decisions for him. Things tend to go badly that way.

"Seriously," Harvey says again, later, after watching Mike down two cups of coffee and eggs and toast and finally look like he's returned to the land of the living, "this really can't happen again."

"I got it," Mike says easily—he could at least look a little broken up about it, Harvey thinks with a slight frown—and bumps Harvey's shoulder lightly with his fist, "sexual shenanigans in the workplace are a bad idea, copy that."

"Right," Harvey says. It's good that Mike is so blasé about this—otherwise it could have gotten very awkward, very fast—because this really isn't going to happen again. Ever.

It happens again.

A lot.

"Don't get attached or anything," Harvey says, watching Mike throw his head back against the pillow as he slides his fingers inside him and curls them, "I don't do feelings. This is just because you were unexpectedly good in bed, I have to make sure it wasn't a fluke."

"Okay, your totally flattering lack of faith in my bedroom skills aside, can't we just have this conversation at breakfast again? You're kind of killing the mood," Mike pants, fisting his hands in the sheets and fucking himself onto Harvey's fingers. The again trips Harvey up a little (because with it comes the realization that, yes, this is the fourth time they've done this and Harvey has had that conversation the morning after, every time; Harvey does hate to be predictable), but he powers past it like a champ.

"As long as we're clear," he says, and pulls his fingers all the way out when Mike tries to push back for more, because sometimes being a vicious motherfucker is fun.

"Yes, clear, we're so clear," Mike babbles. "Just fuck me already."

Begging is an unanticipated turn-on. This is the only reason why Harvey's much-lauded stamina takes a bit of a hit once he starts fucking Mike and making him spill pleas and curses, of course.

He does make Mike come before him, though, so there's that.

There's no hint of anything when they're at work. Harvey doles out all his Oh yeah guess what I went to law school and you didn't wisdom, Mike wanders around doing as he's told and mouthing off about it, and everything is normal.

Well. As normal as Mike makes life, anyway. He is nothing if not a colossal pain in Harvey's ass, not the least because he insists on caring all over the place and trying to get Harvey to do the same, like some sort of bizarre "I'm saving your soul" moment.

Harvey has to find a way to instill a healthy sense of cynicism in him somehow. Hanging around that much unfeigned optimism is kind of freaking him out a little.

And, well. He'd rather not see Mike burn out and crash in a fiery wreck on his own impossible naiveté, if he can help it. Only because it would reflect poorly on Harvey, of course.

"If I'm just a reflection of you, you realize how incredibly narcissistic that makes you, right?" Mike asks him one time. If he's able to form full sentences while Harvey has him pressed up against the window, fucking him in short, controlled thrusts, clearly Harvey isn't trying hard enough.

"Well, I am an incredibly good-looking bastard," he says, and then when he fists his hand around Mike's cock, he adds, "Charming and intelligent too, you should take it as a compliment."

"God, shut up," Mike says, a current of strained laughter running through the words, and then he drops his forehead on the window and chokes on Harvey's name when he comes all over the glass.

Harvey has a new strategy for dealing with this thing that isn't really a thing, because it's not like it's planned or regular or something he's attached to in any way (though he has to admit that this can't happen again is a resolution that hasn't exactly held): just don't talk about it.

Simple. There is no need to discuss what is clearly a straightforward case of Mike being hot and easy and surprisingly flexible and Harvey not being idiot enough to turn that down, so they won't. Discuss it. Ever.

Harvey drafts this mental memo and files it away under "things to remember," and that is that.

Maybe he should have made sure to somehow forward it to Mike, though.

After Mike gets down on his knees and sucks Harvey off and Harvey maybe says some things about his mouth and how good he is—what, this is his cock talking, not his brain— and then comes, Mike straightens up, licking his lips carelessly like he has no idea what he looks like (little shit, the fuck he doesn't know) and says innocently, "Now that that's done, do you want to tell me the part about how you don't care about me again?"

Harvey rolls his eyes and grits his teeth. "You've got a pretty mouth and a great ass and your brain's keeping us both out of trouble. Beyond that I really don't give a damn," he says flatly, sounding unconvincing to even his own ears.

Mike just smiles at him, supremely unconcerned. "I'm just saying, this is like the eighth booty call. You wouldn't want to get attached or anything."

"What, you kept count, princess?" Harvey says, deflecting and fully aware of it. Mike's grin is an irritation scraping under his skin, and the fact that his first thought is to kiss him until he's panting and that grin disappears should maybe tell Harvey something important. He just pushes that thought away. Repress, repress, repress, it's been doing him damn good so far.

Mike smugly lounges around Harvey's place for a while and smugly zips through a few files, and afterward he smugly fucks himself down onto Harvey's cock until Harvey swears at him and rolls them over so he can take over and do it properly.

"That was fun," Mike says after, and promptly falls asleep with his head buried firmly under a pillow.

It's possible that somewhere along the line, Harvey has lost control of this situation.

Harvey takes a woman home that Friday night, because he is Harvey Specter and Harvey Specter can do whatever the fuck he wants. Harvey Specter does not do feelings, or get attached, or think about taking his mouthy, irritatingly cheerful associate home on a Friday night and fucking him through the mattress until he cries.

Seriously, Harvey tells himself sternly, don't think about it.

Her name is Delia, and she's all smiles and breathy laugh and stunningly attractive legs, and she's flexible on top of all that.

Like, literally on top of that.

She's smart, too, works in advertising—if anything they can bond over their mutual ability to dress bullshit up in shiny wrapping and make it look good.

And yet, Harvey is so fucking bored. It's too easy. There's no challenge in it at all, nothing to make him work for it. She doesn't laugh at him when he falls into his smooth, slick routine designed to part thighs and drop underwear. She doesn't give him shit for the stupid noises even he can't manage to stop himself from making when he's in bed. She's not—

Jesus, this is just sad.

There's really only so much denial Harvey can wallow in before even he gets fed up with himself.

He's a smart guy, okay. Why deny himself the things he wants?

"Let me save you some time," Mike says one morning, throwing his jacket on and looking a little wicked, before schooling his face into an appropriately serious expression. "This can't happen again, blah blah; so unprofessional, because it's not like the two of us are involved in anything else other people might find unprofessional; leave, no feelings allowed, I still don't like you even a little bit." He shoves a piece of toast into his mouth and mumbles through it something that Harvey takes to mean "See you at work."

Mike is almost to the door before Harvey clears his throat, still determinedly staring at his plate, and says with studied nonchalance, "You can leave that file here, if you want. Take it with you after you come over tomorrow."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harvey sees Mike stop in his tracks and whirl around. This is—they don't plan for this to happen, Harvey usually just eyes Mike meaningfully every once in a while and Mike shrugs easily and follows him home, and then they have highly satisfying sex in whatever room they decide to drop their clothes in, and Harvey knows he is fucking with that here, but—

Harvey finally meets his eyes with a flat expression he hopes adequately conveys not a word, no, seriously, I can so easily change my mind about this.

But Mike just says, "Okay," clearly humoring Harvey, and leaves with a delighted, satisfied grin that stretches his face and makes him look even more boyish than usual.

Christ, he is going to be smug beyond belief after this.

But strangely enough, Harvey still feels like he's won something too (and that is a thought that will never, never cross his lips in front of Mike).

(Probably.)

- End -