Title: Private Show
Word Count: ~1,530
Disclaimer: This is a not-for-profit piece of entertainment for the fans. I don't own them, they're toys from someone else's sandbox that I stole.
Warnings: Umm, tease!Harvey?
Summary: Written for this prompt at suitsmeme. Mike's having a horrible morning, and then he spills coffee on Harvey before an important meeting.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to the lovely ilfirin_estelfor making sure this looks presentable and not like something I banged out on too much caffeine and too little sleep during the ungodliest of ungodly hours. <3!!!
When it's all said and done, Mike will look back on the experience and think that maybe he isn't the one to blame, maybe it's all some elaborate and ridiculously Specter-colored means to an end. An end which Mike feels he will forever be unworthy of. But still.
The morning starts badly. Mike anticipated this, knowing that early-morning meetings are by no means ever easy for him. Especially not after three consecutive all-nighters hunting the information he and Harvey need for this particular early-morning meeting. So Mike set three alarms—borrowing an alarm clock from Mrs. Jones three doors down to add to his own alarm clock and his cell phone—to make certain he'd be up on time. He laid out his clothes before nosediving into his bed to avoid rushing about the apartment and struggling into them while trying to shove a piece of toast down his throat. He even gathered together all the files for the client meeting into his messenger bag, and made sure the bag would be waiting patiently by the door for him on his way out.
What Mike hadn't anticipated was all of it going wrong.
The alarms don't go off as planned—apparently, the power had flickered sometime overnight so only his annoyingly-chirpy cell phone alarm alerts him that it's time to haul ass out of bed and to the firm. The suit he laid out magically got some powdery-chalky stain on it overnight—something Mike just knows Harvey will never forgive him for if he actually wears the damn thing. The messenger bag gets stuck in the door as Mike simultaneously snatches it up and jerks the door open—resulting in a mess of manila folders and documents spilling to the floor of his apartment and the corridor just outside. Harvey is definitely going to kill him if any of the apartment building grunge stains those documents, so Mike fumbles and gathers it all up within thirty seconds which he's pretty proud of, actually.
Then he glances at his watch and sees, oh shit, he needed to leave fifteen minutes ago to make it to Pearson Hardman on time to meet Harvey for a quick debrief.
Mike manages to make up ten minutes by nearly sending himself into a spontaneous fit of cardiac arrest and pulmonary failure—and also skipping his typical coffee run—and basically crashes into the bike rack outside the building, giving the lock a perfunctory jerk to set it before he darts inside and skids into the elevator.
He's panting and bouncing on the balls of his feet as he watches the numbers indicating each floor light up until he reaches his. Absolutely ignoring the murmurs of the five-or-so others riding the elevator with him, Mike slides through the doors barely before they're open to rush to meet Harvey—
Only to gasp and throw up his hands to steady both himself and his boss when he slams into him, and subsequently the cup of coffee that Harvey's holding.
There is a long, drawn out pause as Mike stares in silent horror at the growing coffee-brown stain on Harvey's otherwise immaculate dark heather God-only-knows-what-fancy-Italian-name-
“Oh, God, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—please don't feed me to Rene,” Mike blurts out, eyes darting up from the stained suit to Harvey's less-than-amused expression.
Despite the obvious annoyance painting the elder lawyer's features, Mike catches a quirk at the corner of Harvey's mouth and a certain sparkle in his eyes at Mike's outburst. Harvey gives Mike a cursory glance-over, mouth thinning again in that kind of studious look he gets when he's risking a moment to judge whether or not Mike's worth the trouble. Apparently finding his associate satisfactory, Harvey thrusts the half-squashed Styrofoam cup into Mike's hands and says in his badass-Harvey tone, “Get my spare suit from Donna and meet me in the car.”
Except that doesn't seem right because why would Harvey need the spare suit in the car and why isn't he firing Mike and— “Uh—okay?” Mike finally says, forming it like a question because Harvey's already brushing by him and into the next elevator as it cycles back down to ground floor and Mike is confused.
He dumps the crushed cup in the trash, consults with Donna who rolls her eyes at his stumbling mumbles of half-apology and half-explanation and shoves a suit bag at him with a warning glare, then rushes back down to the car.
He's already inside, seated, and offering the spare suit like a religious sacrifice (and yeah, normally he would try to make a joke and pass it off, but it's already been a bad morning and he's quite frankly kind of surprised—and still confused—that Harvey didn't put him through the gauntlet yet for his tardiness and his clumsiness) to a rather amused-looking Harvey.
Only then does Mike risk a glance upward, and he is alarmed to see Harvey has already removed his jacket, waistcoat, and tie and is currently unweaving his button-down. Startled, Mike glances aside to see the dark privacy screen shielding the backseat from Ray's view. Even more startled, Mike starts to ask, “Should I—am I, um—?”
“I need to know the details for Mrs. Rose's suit, rookie,” Harvey says in a crisp, detached tone, like he isn't revealing inch-by-inch of tanned, toned skin to Mike's wide eyes. Mike's mouth goes dry. His throat clicks as he swallows heavily. Harvey shoots him a sharp look. “Mike. Speak, boy.”
“Uh.” Mike's voice is a rasp, and heat crawls up the back of his neck even as he pointedly averts his gaze while Harvey undoes his cuffs and shrugs out of the button-down to reveal more firm muscle and flesh. He clears his throat once, then again when the strange tightness recedes, only to leave a liquid feeling unfurling in the pit of his stomach. “Right, um,” Mike starts out stammering, tugging at his messenger bag to retrieve the files and information he needs, and he makes the mistake of quickly glancing up to see if Harvey appears exasperated.
Harvey's hands are deftly undoing his belt buckle, and with a tiny, not-squeak Mike turns bodily away from the sight of Harvey opening up his belt buckle. He ignores the slight shhhhp of a zipper being undone as he says thickly, “Mrs. Rose, um. She—her husband—her former-husband, he, um.”
Mike can't help it—the quiet shuffle of fabric and the ghost of what might be an honest-to-God chuckle drag his gaze back towards Harvey. Harvey who is calmly watching him, one thumb hooked under the waistband of his pants, one brow raised eloquently, and one damn corner of his damned mouth upturned as he leans in toward Mike.
Oh God, oh God, oh God...
Mike stares silently, and he knows from the shift of paper in his hands that he's trembling as Harvey draws up close, waiting until their noses are near-to-brushing before he says, “Is something wrong, rookie?”
Besides the fact that his boss is apparently stripteasing for him? No, Mike thinks, not at all. He doesn't give voice to the thought—can't, really. He's like a small animal caught in the hypnotic spell of a predator's gaze.
A spell that suddenly breaks when Harvey huffs softly in laughter. “Tell me what you found, Mike. I know my appeal is overwhelming, but we really don't have time for your ogling.”
Mike's face is burning, temper and embarrassment piqued, and he forces himself to stiffly deliver the information, keeping his eyes—mostly—on the words below him and not on his boss' hasty undressing, definitely not on the black boxer briefs Harvey wears under his suit as he pulls on the spare and puts himself back into pristine order.
Once Harvey is safely back behind the mask of professional asshole boss and not just asshole, Mike finds that it's easier to finish delivering the summary of all he's found for the suit and much, much easier to focus on his annoyance rather than the lingering touch of embarrassment that he knows will cling for at the very least the rest of the day. Harvey gives him a short nod of approval once he finishes summarizing everything, just as the car rolls to a stop outside Eileen Rose's condo.
Mike climbs out on his side, and waits quietly on the sidewalk. Ray lets Harvey out behind him and Mike just tries to gather his .
Fingertips brush casually along his nape, tugging at his collar, and for a quick, intense moment, Harvey's voice is hot against his ear. “Impress me today, and a more leisurely private show can be arranged for tonight.”
The touch and the heat vanish along with Harvey as he strides toward the building, leaving Mike weak-kneed and gaping after him. Harvey has to send him a sharp glance over his shoulder only once before Mike skips back into step to follow him. A brief smirk paints Harvey's face as they head toward the elevators, and Mike echoes it when he sees it.
The morning's sucked so far, but he's so having a great night.