Archive of Our Own

Harvey wakes feeling well-rested and smiling from the unparalleled satisfaction that comes from having won an important case the day before. The Wilkes case was a tough one, but Mike, as always, had come through and found the one loophole they’d needed to win. Harvey had wielded it like a sword, sharp and exact, shredding the opposition with ease. With each new victory, Harvey is shown just how perfectly he and Mike fit together; a perfect, professional unit. For all his foibles, the rookie is just what Harvey needs.

The thought stays with him as Harvey rides in the back of Ray’s town car, debating with him about whether Hendrix’s instrumental cover of “Born Under a Bad Sign” is better than the original. Ray is always up for a good musical debate and their conversation only augments the sense of satisfaction Harvey feels. It’s as if all is right with the world.

Mike isn't at his cubicle this morning and Harvey’s mind immediately begins thinking up subtle methods of punishment; filing, proofing, sending him to work for Louis. He ignores them as best as he can and moves on. Mike helped him win yesterday; the least Harvey can do is give him a bit of leeway this morning. If he’s not in within the next hour, then Harvey will have him proofing the McClain briefs for the rest of the week.

Harvey’s good mood lasts right up until he reaches his office. He smiles at Donna, a quippy ‘good morning’ poised on his lips, but is cut short by the index finger she raises to him while she murmurs into the phone. It’s clearly an indication that she’s busy, but this is Harvey. Donna never brushes Harvey off, least of all first thing in the morning. She’s always at her desk with a smirk, a list of messages and a perfectly made cup of New York’s finest brew from Harvey’s favorite coffee shop. Donna hands him his coffee and messages alright, but the snarky greeting and ritualistic morning banter are missing completely. His smile replaced by a perturbed little frown, Harvey tries once again to speak.

“Donna, I-”

She shushes him and gives him a beseeching look as she mouths ‘later’. Her mouth is in a hard frown as she turns back to her phone conversation, rubbing at the spot between her eyes.

It would probably be amusing if it wasn’t so perplexing. Harvey’s just about to attempt to speak again when he notices the rigid line of Donna’s spine and the fine thread of tension in her voice as she continues her quiet conversation. Now Harvey’s really worried. Whatever is going on must be serious; Donna never loses her composure in public. Even when things are stressful, she’s never anything less than calm and collected. It’s one of the reasons she’s lasted so long with Harvey.

Given the worried look on her face, Harvey decides to let it go. For now. He takes a bracing sip of his coffee and trudges into his office, his previous jovial spirit crushed back with concern for his secretary.

Harvey sifts through the files left on his desk by Mike the day before, only half absorbing their contents as he sneaks surreptitious glances through the glass walls of his office at Donna. Thirty minutes later, she still has the phone pressed to her ear, her fingers flying over the keys of her computer as she takes some sort of notes. Harvey’s curiosity is eating at him, but Mike proves a welcome distraction as he sails into the office an hour later than usual, a sheepish grin on his face.

“I see you decided to grace us with your presence,” Harvey drawls, his smirk and tone sharper than he’d originally intended. It seems whatever is bothering Donna is affecting him more than he’s suspected.

“Sorry. I had a hell of a time getting over the obscene number of shots you fed me last night at our celebratory dinner.”

“I didn’t feed them to you, you chose to drink them knowing full well we had work the next morning. As you’re more or less a grown man, I figured you’d know your limit and stop. My mistake.” Harvey’s taunting smile is a bit more genuine now, the thrill of winding Mike up temporarily assuaging the twist of worry in his gut.

“‘More or less’?” Mike rolls his eyes in exasperation. “I'm a perfectly grown man. You just wouldn't be able to handle me if I showed you."

Harvey can’t keep his eyes from widening in surprise at the blatant flirtation and opens his mouth to retort, only to be cut off by the sound of the door opening. Donna steps into the room, effectively stopping any words he might have thrown back. Good thing, too, because Harvey isn’t sure he had anything to say that wouldn’t involve uncharacteristic stuttering.

“Donna,” Harvey says, coughing lightly when his voice comes out slightly higher than usual. “Donna, everything all right?”

“I need to talk to you about something. You know I wouldn’t interrupt if it wasn’t important.”

“Of course,” he replies as he gets up from his desk and moves to the sofa, gesturing for Donna to join him.

It barely takes a glance from him to send Mike for the door and Harvey takes a moment to appreciate how readily Mike picks up on his subtle commands these days. His brow lifts when Donna stops Mike with a hand on his arm.

“Actually, I’d like Mike to stay.”

“Are you sure? It must be pretty personal if it's got you this worked up.”

“I’m sure. I could use his perspective.”

A look passes between Donna and Mike and she barely has to glance at one of the empty seats for Mike to take it, hands clasped before him as he leans in attentively. It's no different a look than Mike usually takes when he's with a client, but the ease with which Mike did as Donna wanted without wondering why Donna would need him makes something in Harvey stand at attention, as if some part of him wants to pull Mike away from Donna and reestablish his claim on him. Harvey forces himself to brush aside the urge, baffled by it, and nods.

“Alright, fine. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

He lets out a silent sigh of relief when Donna releases Mike’s arm and steps back to sit on the love seat next to the couch. That tight, ugly urge he’d felt before dissipates as Mike moves to take the seat next to him, carefully not touching, but close enough that Harvey can feel the warm line of his body.

“I just got off the phone with a friend of mine, Tommy Harding. He’s a professional sub at Black and Blue.”

Harvey’s glance slides automatically to Mike. “By ‘sub’ you mean?”

“Submissive. Black and Blue is an elite BDSM club in Hell’s Kitchen. It caters to the obscenely wealthy. About a month ago, Tommy was working his usual shift and one of the VIP clients came in to play. By the end of the session, Tommy was a mess. That bastard put him in the hospital with bruised ribs, ten stitches in his face, a concussion and God knows how many other cuts and bruises.”

It is impossible not to notice the way Mike’s body tenses beside him; impossible not to see the way his hands curl into fists on his knees. Harvey restrains himself from doing any more than observing Mike's response; the boy is, as always, a bleeding heart for the underdogs and the down-trodden. Any situation that involves the potential of a client having been taken advantage of by another has Mike's guard dog mentality rearing its eager head. For all the cynicism Mike should be carrying on his shoulders, he has the hardest time understanding the concept of bad things happening to good people.

Sure enough, Harvey can hear the incredulity in Mike's tone when he cuts in briefly on Donna's story. “Jesus, didn’t they have a safe word or something? I thought they were required.”

Donna's focus jumps to Mike immediately. “Of course they had one, but the client wouldn’t listen. Tommy said he kept screaming it, but the client just kept beating him.”

“What’s to stop the club from claiming he wanted it to go that far? After all, he’s a sub, and if there’s a record of him taking similar abuse, we’re going to have a hard time proving he wasn’t into it.”

“Being a sub isn’t just about beatings and abuse, Harvey. There are so many different facets to it and so many different kinds of subs. People outside the scene rarely make an effort to understand that. All they think of when BDSM is mentioned is whips and chains.”

The defensiveness in Mike’s tone has Harvey’s eyebrows lifting. “I didn’t realize you knew so much about it.”

“Yeah, well, I mean...I read. Besides, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

A flash of short, tense silence falls between them as he holds Mike’s gaze. It’s all Harvey can do not to ask him to elaborate and assuage his ignorance. Now is hardly the time or place, not when they have a case to discuss and Donna practically burning a hole in the side of Harvey’s head with her eyes.

“What do you mean by ‘different kinds’ of subs?”

Mike blinks at the subject change, but rolls with it. “BDSM is a compound acronym for Bondage and Discipline, Dominate/submissive, Sadism and Masochism. There are tons of different levels and BDSM combinations. It’s not all an extreme and not even always sexual. A sub could be into masochism, or they could simply enjoy being tied up. They could be receptive to a lot of pain or just like being spanked and humiliated. Some just like taking orders.”

It takes everything in Harvey’s willpower to pretend he doesn’t notice the way Mike’s cheeks redden as he mentions that last part. Harvey had noticed Mike’s eagerness to perform tasks and do his bidding, but until this moment, he had simply chalked it up to Mike wanting to keep his job. Now, he wonders if he is seeing another, more intriguing side to his associate.

Swallowing thickly, Harvey forces himself to return his attention to Donna. “So what is our boy Tommy into, then?”

Donna arched a brow -- a clear indication that she’d cottoned on to Harvey’s train of thought and would be bringing it up later -- and answered. “He leans toward bondage and spanking. Also, a heavy dose of humiliation. He likes pain and has the endurance needed to hold several positions, but as far as I know, he’s never done anything that would have left him with the sort of injuries he sustained.”

“So, this mystery client went way beyond Harding’s boundaries. What did the management do? I assume they have some sort of contractual agreement set in place to protect their employees?”

“They do, but apparently they refused to confront the client. He brings in too much revenue for the club. They don’t want to risk losing his patronage. One of the bartenders dropped Tommy off at the ER, didn’t even stay with him, and they refused to cover his hospital bills. When he wasn’t able to show up for work for a week, they fired him.”

The fire that lights in Donna’s eyes as she says this is one that Harvey has rarely seen, but knows to respect. The last time she’d had it, she’d all but ordered Harvey to leave the DA’s office. A few days later, he’d done just that, taking her with him.

“I just...I need you to help him, Harvey. Black and Blue is going to fight this tooth-and-nail. He’s not going to win this without the best.”

“Don’t worry. He’ll have it.”

He’ll have to run it by Jessica first, but Harvey is determined to get her to agree no matter what. He’s ready to do whatever he can for Donna. Besides, if Jessica doesn’t go for it right away, he can always argue that she’s constantly haranguing him about pro bono work anyway.

Mike does his best to try and convince Harvey to let him go on his own to retrieve the records they need from Black and Blue, but Harvey won’t hear of it. He insists that he needs to see the place for himself, that it’ll help him get a feel for the club and for the people running it. He also insists that Mike go with him, and no amount of briefs, proofs, or errands for Louis can dissuade him.

This is how Mike ends up in the back of Harvey’s rented car, clutching his hands together and hoping to high heaven that Harvey doesn’t notice how uncomfortable he is. It isn’t so much that he’s ashamed of his proclivities -- Mike came to terms with them years ago -- it’s that they’re hardly something he wants his boss to find out about. Especially a boss he’s been having inappropriate fantasies about since day one. Mike’s almost certain if Harvey had even the slightest notion of what Mike wishes he would do to him, he’d be out of a job. So, he sits, tense and silent, as Harvey looks over the case file and reminds him to let him do most of the talking. Mike simply nods and hopes that he doesn’t somehow give himself away.

“This is...tame,” Harvey comments when they step through the door of the club. “I thought there’d be more whips. Maybe some chains hanging on the wall.”

“Yeah,” Mike agrees with a nervous little laugh, “I guess they save that sort of thing for the back rooms.”

Harvey only slants him a sidelong glance before moving on. As Harvey strikes up a conversation with the bartender, Mike takes an opportunity to look around.

It wasn’t a club that Mike frequented often. At least, not in the strictest sense of the world. His name is down on a Welcome Guests list somewhere, and he supposes that he could have been considered a regular years ago, but it’s been a long time since he’s been here. Even so, he has fond memories of the few visits he did happen to make, all of them with one of the finest thieves New York has ever seen. Neal Caffrey had been a wonderful teacher, lover, and friend. He’d brought Mike into the scene. Everything Mike knows now, he learned from Neal. They might not have worked out in the end, but just the thought of being here with him has Mike smiling softly to himself.

In the several years since his last visit, the owners have done renovations -- like the cherry wood panelling on the walls that lends a softer edge to all the black leather and stainless steel and the parquet flooring that cuts short at the curtained thresholds of each of the five exhibition rooms. Mike happily notes that the bar has doubled in size and expanded on its top shelf, and the staircase beyond it leads to a new floor, which, Mike assumes, has the private rooms.

He smiles as the thought brings back the memory of the first time Neal brought him here. It was the first time Mike had ever been to a place that catered specifically to the scene, and up until that point, Neal had been fairly tame with him. That night, Neal had brought him to a private room and finally taken the kid gloves off, obliterating any chance Mike ever had of burying his need for submission.

“...going back now. Mike?”

Mike blinks and tries to refocus on the present where Harvey is staring at him with expectation and what could be suspicion.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I zoned out for a minute. I’m fine.”

“Well, you’d better be. I didn’t bring you here to daydream. I need you focused, Mike. Now come on.”

Mike follows Harvey through the club and into the manager’s office. The room is small, yet cosy. Everything, while apparently functional, tends toward luxury. The desk is a gleaming cherry wood, the fixtures a fine, polished brass. The chairs that sit either side of the desk are plush leather, the kind that envelopes Mike when he sits into one. It is clear that this man likes his comfort and spares no expense to ensure that he got it.

The manager himself is of average height and wears a smile that does not quite meet his shrewd, beady eyes. He looks calculating and cold and Mike has no trouble at all believing that he is the kind of guy more likely found skulking around ledgers and counting money than the people he from whom he'd earned it. The falsely cheerful way in which he greets the two of them does nothing to dissuade that impression.

"I take it you're Tommy's defending champions," the manager sneers, looking Mike and Harvey up and down as if he is inspecting meat. Personally, Mike feels a little violated. "Where's your warrant?"

Harvey steps forward, taking up the manager's attention easily. He flattens his fingers against the buttons of his waistcoat and then folds both hands in front of him as he levels a look in the manager's direction and smiles smugly. "Do we need one?" he asks.

The manager bears Harvey's intent stare with more grace than Mike would have. "You're not on the club's roster, ergo the only way you could have gotten past security is if you had a warrant." He holds out his palm. "Let me see it."

Harvey's smile broadens slightly. "It would look better for you if we could just ask for what we needed and have it give it to us in good faith."

"I'm a business man, Mr. Lawyer, not a priest," the manager says. "I've no interest in your faith. Now hand over the warrant."

Grudgingly, Harvey plucks the folded legal document out from the pocket on the inside of his coat and holds it out. The manager snatches it from Harvey's fingers and reads over it with such paranoid care that Mike half-expects sweat to bleed off his thumbs and smear the ink on the pages.

"All the records of our employees and clients for the last three years," he reads aloud, then sits back in his chair. He lets the warrant slide out of his fingers, and Harvey picks it back up, folds it, and tucks it in his jacket pocket again. "I can have electronic copies sent to your office in the morning. Is this sufficient?"

"It'll do," Harvey says, then flicks a finger toward Mike to get his attention. "Give him our address, Mike."

The order barely leaves Harvey's tongue before Mike is rifling through his messenger bag for his business card. When Mike holds it out to him, however, the manager clasps Mike's fingers along with the card. Those beady, calculating eyes bore hard at Mike's face and Harvey's in turn before the manager finally lets Mike pull away completely.

"Mike, is it?" the manager asks. He glances down at the card. "Mike Ross, Associate. How impressive of you. You must work very hard. Must be quite the eager little lackey for this one." He indicates Harvey with the barest glance, but just as quickly, his gaze is eating its way through the solid layers of Mike's clothes until he felts like he is being laid bare. "Do you like what you do, Mike? Does he give you orders the way that you like?"

Distinctly uncomfortable with this turn in the questioning, Mike takes a step back. He doesn’t want to answer any of these questions, but he is suddenly afraid that the manager might withhold information or make this case more difficult for them if he doesn’t play along. The last thing he wants to admit however is that, no, Harvey doesn’t order him around the way he'd like and is never likely to. Uncertain as to how to proceed -- whether he should go along with things or get defensive -- Mike looks to Harvey for direction.

Harvey is no longer smiling. He sweeps his arm around Mike and grasps him solidly by the back of the neck so that he can turn Mike toward the door. "Thank you for your time, sir," Harvey grinds out in an utterly displeased tone. "We'll be expecting your records in the morning. Don't make me have to come back with reinforcements."

Mike doesn't get to see the manager's expression when he says his farewells. He doesn't want to. His concentration is solely on the heavy weight of Harvey's palm, the possessive dig of his fingertips into the side of his neck, and the hard curve of Harvey's thumb behind his ear. Mike doesn't dare let himself think that a moment like this has staying power, but his brain makes natural associations between the gesture and the meanings he wants to lay behind it.

Come morning, he'll forget about Harvey pushing him forward and through the club and out the entrance just by his neck. For now, though, Mike can imagine some outrageous scenario where a Dom tried to take him and Harvey had come in at the last moment to claim him properly. He can imagine that Harvey is guiding him out of the club now to take him home and mark him up something good. But as soon as Harvey's grip releases him into the cool air of the street outside the club, reality breaks through all the elements of the fantasy Mike has woven himself into.

"What a scum bag," Harvey mutters as he strides past Mike toward the car. He seems to be shaking himself. "If I never see him again, it'll be too soon. Jesus."

"I hate to break it to you, but we're probably going to have to deal with him again at least a couple more times during this case," Mike points out.

This only serves to darken Harvey's mood. He whirls on Mike and while one hand is braced on the roof of his car, the other points viciously in the direction of Black and Blue's unobtrusive entry. "Tell me that guy didn't bother you!" he practically shouts.

Mike holds his hands up soothingly. "Of course, he bothered me. He's a creep, but more importantly, he's a creep that probably lets his employees get taken advantage of. I can handle it, though. So what's your problem, Harvey?"

Harvey jerks his car door open instead of answering immediately. His mouth is set into an unhappy twist and when he finally answers, it is with a hard snap: "Nothing. Get in the car. We've got a case to win."

Black and Blue's files are almost entirely electronic. There are hard copies of the original wavers that all the club's patrons and employees are required to sign, of course, and those are kept in the owner's office. What gets over-nighted to Pearson and Hardman and left on Mike's desk is a thick package -- a terabyte external hard drive, a return address label, and some legal forms to remind Mike that the hard drive's contents are not to be shared beyond Harvey. Though he'd been worried at first that he might be faced with hundreds of thousands of documents to sort through, Mike is relieved to discover that the hard drive isn't even a quarter full.

All the files are organized in an interesting fashion. The folders often have shortcuts into other sections and Mike finds almost as many excel documents as he does pdfs. First, he finds the schedule rosters, which are sorted by fiscal year, then month, and then week. These documents are very simple, with time slots marked by the hour and columns matching room numbers to employees to clients. The clients are all set down by nickname, however, which is frustrating, but next to each are small notations -- paid, pending, paid, paid, paid,...

The employee records are slightly haphazard. Though everyone's files are sectioned into their individual folders, all contract agreements and their biannual updates are left in the open in addition to their public profiles. Like their customers, employees function under pseudonyms instead of their given name, for the sake of privacy, and their profiles give a list of practices that they are willing to participate in, as well as their specialized skills in things like flogging or Shibari rope-tying or role play.

Tommy Harding's file spans five years' worth of employment. His file tells Mike that Tommy allows for a great deal -- including full-body bondage, bruising, and wax play -- but he draws the line at the drawing of blood.

Mike goes one-by-one through the shortcuts that lead to Tommy's clients. These records are sparse: one file for safety agreement; one file for consent agreement; one file for healthy safety wavers; and then an excel file that covers their visits, payments, and profile information. It takes a while for Mike to find "Mr. Carmine" among all the shortcuts, but once he has, Mike sits back in disappointment.

Carmine's records indicate a spotty club attendance to begin with and no preference between submissives. There were several updates to his profile, which show a tentative interest in the things in which Tommy specializes and then a developing taste for it over the last year. His recorded visits cut short a couple months before the incident Tommy had described.

"Well, this doesn't look good," Mike says to himself.

“Harvey,” Mike starts as he steps into Harvey’s office.

Harvey’s on a call and his eyes narrow as he holds up a single finger in a clear order to be quiet. Mike falls silent instantly and fairly snaps to attention at the look of censure in Harvey’s eyes. As Harvey ends the call, Mike chastises himself - it’s ridiculous for his heart to be beating double time simply because Harvey’s moving the way Mike has always imagined he might were he to punish him properly. Every movement is slow, fluid, and deliberate; as if Harvey is waiting for the perfect moment to strike, hard, fast and utterly ruthless.

“What have I said about barging into my office?”

Harvey’s voice is warm and deep and Mike really needs to get a grip.

“Um, sorry, it’s just, we have a problem.” Mike holds up the hard drive in his hand.

The frown on Harvey’s face deepens. “What kind of problem?”

Without waiting for an invitation, Mike crosses the room and moves behind the desk, practically pushing Harvey out of the way so he can reach his computer.

“I was going through the club’s files,” he says as he navigates through the folders on the hard drive, the focus of the case helping him ignore the fact hat he’s close enough to Harvey to feel the body heat emanating from him, “and either there’s an entire chunk missing or Tommy was lying about his meetings with Carmine.”

Harvey puts a pen to his mouth and caches it between his teeth as he often does when he’s putting the pieces of a case together. It’s utterly distracting. Or, it would be if Mike wasn’t such a professional. And he is extremely professional. The most professional. “What makes you think it’s missing?”

“See, here, how Carmine’s visits just stop abruptly? It seemed odd to me, so I checked the properties of the folder and it says it was updated a week after Tommy was let go from the club, the same date Tommy’s was altered.”

“It’s definitely suspicious.” Harvey raises his voice just a bit. “Donna, get Mr. Harding on the line for me.”

When Tommy is put through, he insists that he files are wrong and Mike doesn’t doubt for a second that he’s telling the truth. There’s a desperation in his voice, a plea for them to believe him that Mike doesn’t think can be faked. Harvey asks Tommy a few more questions, testing him, weighing his answers, before he finally nods and tells him not to worry, they’ll sort it out. It’s only after the line is disconnected and Harvey turns to face him that Mike realizes how close he’s gotten to Harvey. They’re practically nose-to-nose, breathing each other’s air. There’s a moment where Harvey seems to realize it as well and they both freeze before Mike’s face heats and he stands up from the edge of the desk to put distance between them.

“Go back through the drive.” Mike is sure the rough edge to Harvey’s voice is purely coincidental. “You’re going to check every last folder and look for any other discrepancies. If they’ve given us an incomplete set of files, we’re going to have to get the rest or we’ll have no case.”

Mike nods and then falters when he sees the clock. “Crap, Louis wanted me to finish off his proofs for the Linderburg case. I’m supposed to have it on his desk in an hour.”

Typically when Mike tells Harvey he has to do something for Louis before the work Harvey assigns him, he looks unimpressed and slightly irritated. This time, there’s almost an edge of possessiveness to the look, though whether or not Harvey is aware of it is anyone’s guess.

“Who’s associate are you, Mike?”

Mike’s eyes widen at the phrasing of the question and it takes him a moment to manage a reply. “Yours.”

Harvey gives a slight nod, his lips quirking at the corners as if he’s holding back a smile. “Exactly. Louis can get someone else to do his busy work. Get to work.”

The order has Mike bowing his head and hurrying for the door, eager to get started. He’s just curled his hand around the metal of the door handle when Harvey’s voice stops him.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Mike turns to see Harvey holding the hard drive out with a smirk on his face. All traces of possessiveness, real or imagined, are gone. He’s back to just being Harvey, amused, slightly condescending, and ridiculously handsome. Harvey waves the drive pointedly at him and Mike rolls his eyes and takes it from him.

“I want answers by tonight. Don’t leave until it’s finished.”

With that, Harvey turns back to the open file on his desk and Mike knows he’s been dismissed. Nodding to no one, Mike heads for the door and gets to work.

Two hours later, Mike has only made it through “A” and “B” of the client list and has developed a minute headache. Being a speed-reader is a great skill to have in this job, but it does little good when he has to flip back and forth between half a dozen files, matching up client pseudonyms and their actual data so as to compile an accurate list. It doesn’t help that Louis has come by three times already; twice to nag at him about his proofs and a third to threaten his termination.

He’s halfway through the “C”s when something occurs to him. Someone is missing. Mike scans the list he’s created and double checks that he hasn’t missed a folder somewhere. Then he cross-checks the “R” folder to be sure. There’s at least two clients missing from the list and it’s more than enough to convince him that Black and Blue are holding out.

Grinning with the sheer intoxicating pleasure of doing a good job for Harvey, Mike prints off his list and hurries to Harvey’s office. This time, he waits to be waved in and Mike gives himself a mental pat on the back for remembering. Harvey’s approval is evident and it’s all Mike can do to contain himself.

“I’ve found it. They’re definitely hiding something.”

“Show me.”

Mike hands over the list he’s compiled and eagerly awaits Harvey’s reaction. If he were a dog, he’d be wagging his tail furiously.

“What am I looking at?”

“That’s the cross-referenced list of regular clientele for the club. They’ve deliberately left clients off of the hard drive.”

Harvey frowns. “How could you possibly know that?”

“Because,” Mike answers, “I’m not on it.”

Mike had been so eager to please Harvey by finding a break in the case, he’d given his secret away without hesitation. Seconds after he told Harvey about the discrepancy, he came to his senses and began to panic as he waited for Harvey to freak out. Instead, Harvey had merely given him a thoughtful, assessing look and moved straight to talking about how they were going to go about getting the missing records. Now Mike’s standing in Harvey’s bedroom putting on the ridiculously expensive clothes his boss picked out for him and trying not to think about how closely Harvey is watching him.

“I still can’t believe you made me buy all this stuff,” Mike complains as he reaches to pick up a three hundred dollar vest and swings it around his shoulders. The entire ensemble is slick, right down to the tiny, black pearl buttons that slip under his fingers as he tries to do up the vest. “It’s a BDSM club, not a black tie event.”

Harvey rolls his eyes and steps close, his hands batting Mike’s away to take over the task of buttoning. “The fact that you think you’d wear that vest and those pants to a black tie event only shows how little you know,” he says as his long, elegant fingers slides each button through its loop, lingering just a moment too long before they move to the next.

Mike watches, fighting the urge to blush. Ultimately, he fixes his gaze around Harvey's eyebrows so that he doesn't look like he's leering at his boss's hands. God, how weird would that be if Harvey noticed and commented? The last thing Mike needs right now is for him to deduce that the idea of wearing clothes that Harvey approves of and has put him in goes right to the base of his skull. It makes him a little dizzy just thinking about it, so he stares at anything other than Harvey's fingers, even though he can feel them moving steadily from the bottom of the vest up -- butterfly kisses of sensation following a line up the center of his body.

“The place is high-end. You have to look the part or they’re going to laugh you and your skinny tie all the way out of Hell’s Kitchen. Besides, it’s not as if you had to pay for it.”

It takes a moment for Mike to register the words as Harvey smooths imaginary wrinkles from his chest and finally steps back. “I wish you hadn’t bothered. I mean, I have plenty of my own clothes at home. You didn’t have to spend a grand on new ones.”

Harvey’s shrug is far too casual for the intensity that rests on his face as he looks Mike up and down. The heat of his blush rises as Harvey’s gaze travels. Mike fancies he can almost feel it; a phantom touch.

“Something’s missing,” Harvey mutters. A sinking feeling hits Mike, the same one he gets any other time he disappoints Harvey. He does his best to ignore it, as always, and cocks a brow in question.

Harvey makes a soft sound and moves to his dresser. He returns a moment later with a set of cuff links that probably cost more than Mike’s yearly salary. They're big, bold, squared off bars of platinum that are very different from Mike's usual, understated choices. Though they would be hard to miss in the regular world, they're hardly on par with an actual collar in terms of obviousness, but all the same, Mike’s heart skips a beat when he notices they’re engraved with Harvey's intricate initials.

“I can’t wear those,” Mike says, his voice not quite as strong as it was moments ago. Part of Mike is absolutely giddy with the thought of wearing something so obviously Harvey’s, but another part can’t bear the thought of Harvey making a gesture like that unintentionally. “Harvey, I can’t wear those.”

“Of course you can," Harvey says -- completely oblivious to the possible meanings behind his actions -- and reaches for Mike's arm. "They complete the look.”

“You don’t understand,” Mike protests, pulling his arm away. “I can't wear these. They’re engraved. With your initials. I’m sure you don’t realize it, but in the Dom/sub world, that’s a mark of ownership. Essentially, you'd be claiming me -- marking me, so to speak.”

Harvey stills, taking in Mike's knowledge as he rolls the cufflinks between his fingers. "So, when people see them, they'll think that you belong to someone else."

It's not a question per se, but Mike replies as if it is one anyway. "It's way more subtle than a collar, but yeah, basically." He hesitates, wondering if there's a better way to phrase what he means to say. Harvey clearly knows enough to dress him for a club in Hell's Kitchen, but understands none of the intricacies behind it all. Mike tries to think up an argument against wearing the cufflinks that isn't intensely personal, but ends up with nothing.

"You can't just go in like you're a Dom?" Harvey asks.

The suggestion makes Mike go a bit bug-eyed. "Me? A Dom?" He laughs a little. "No. No way. That would never -- I mean, I could never --" He cuts himself off, hyper-aware of his stammering, and swallows around his nerves. "It wouldn't work."

Harvey's gaze is sharp, narrowed. He doesn't push the idea, but he broadens his stance with a half inch shift of his feet -- enough to let Mike know that he's being reassessed again and that his adamant denial has been added to whatever profile Harvey has of him in his head. He spreads his hands soothingly with the cufflinks still pinched between two fingers.

"Alright, fine, so you'll go as a sub," Harvey says. He's so matter-of-fact about it that Mike is sure that the way the acknowledgement makes him lean in momentarily and with heavy-lidded eyes before righting himself isn't even on Harvey's radar of Things Worth Noticing. "But going in on your own, you're going to get hassled if you don't have some way of throwing people off, right?"

Mike stalls, scratching at the back of his neck. "Uh, yeah, I guess, but it wouldn't be anything I couldn't handle."

The look that Harvey gives him at that comment is all dubious belief. "I'm sure you could, but better safe than sorry," he says and reaches for Mike's cuffs again.

Mike is more than a little aware of how he might react to the gesture. However momentary it might be, it's going to be one night back at his old club, in that atmosphere of power play and with the knowledge that he has Harvey's initials holding his cuffs tight around his wrists. It worries him how much he knows that he wants it. The cufflinks are only the first step; it's just one stumbling step after another before he reveals a little too much and freaks Harvey the fuck out and then where will he be?

He's scared, and he has such a horrible poker face that the fear probably shows. He holds fast against the pull of Harvey's hands. When he says Harvey's name in a timid sigh, Harvey looks up at him with wide, curious eyes. They narrow in the next second and Harvey's fingers tugs Mike's cuffs more tightly than he needs to get the cuff link through the loops.

Harvey swivels the end piece onto the cuff link's post, but doesn't let go when he's done. Mike's cuffs squeeze snugly around his wrists, held there by Harvey's fingers. "Mike," he says and tugs the cuff a little as if to bring Mike's attention to it -- like Mike needs to be made any more aware of how it feels like he's been bound in place, in these clothes that Harvey has put him in.

“You will wear them.”

The urge to lower his gaze and call Harvey ‘sir’ is overwhelming, but Mike bites it back, holds Harvey’s gaze, and instead breathes, “Yes.” It's all he can say now. It's the closest he'll ever get, he's sure.

After a few seconds, Harvey glances away, dropping his hands from Mike's wrist in favor of holding them out expectantly for the other. Obediently, Mike lifts his other arm, letting him attach the second cuff link properly. With that, the tension of the moment dissipates, but Mike is left with an untapped fission of energy under his skin.

He's unbalanced. Mike knows this. He knows that Harvey doesn't have anything more than the basic understanding of this lifestyle and couldn't possibly see how easy it is to hear the dominant undertones in his voice or to see them in his posture. Mike is pretty sure that Harvey doesn't know he even has a Dom voice, let alone how it affects Mike personally.

He fidgets uneasily, trying very hard not to notice the way Harvey’s fingers keep brushing his wrist. In an effort to find something else to give his attention to, Mike opens his mouth to speak. “So," he says, "I get in, mingle, and find out where the real list is kept. Seems easy enough.”

“It won’t be,” Harvey cautions as he straightens Mike's cuff. “There’s a lot of money coming into that club. Security is going to be tight. You just make sure you’re not caught.”

“Oh, come on, I never get caught.”

Harvey rolls his eyes skyward. “That’s funny, because I distinctly remember having to pay off that security guard when we were working on the Drybeck Accounting case. You are a terrible liar.”

“That was one time and I am not a terrible liar! I con people all the time!” Harvey arches a brow and Mike throws his hands up in surrender. “All right, not all the time, but when I have to, I’m very convincing. I did it to get into the Harvard tour and to get past those cops the day we met.”

“And they were so convinced by your performance, they decided to chase after you and would have caught you if it wasn’t for me.”

“What about the case for Morello? I totally had that guy thinking I was a federal agent.”

“Ah, yes, one of your more brilliant ideas,” Harvey counters dryly as he hands Mike his jacket. Mike pulls it on with a huff that’s quickly cut off by Harvey’s hands adjusting his collar.

“Well, whatever, my point is, I know the plan and I’m not going to get caught. I’ll get the list and be out of there in no time.”

“We’ll see.” Harvey finally finishes tweaking Mike’s jacket and takes a step back, leaving Mike feeling oddly disappointed. “Ray’s waiting for you downstairs.”

“Right. Well, I’ll get going. See you after.”

Mike gives Harvey one last little smile before he turns and heads for the door. As he steps into the elevator, he finds himself wishing that Harvey was coming with him. They’d agreed it would be too risky; Harvey is too high profile and easily recognizable whereas Mike blends and knows the scene. Even still, Mike can feel Harvey’s absence like a palpable thing. It’s only the cool press of Harvey’s cuff links to his skin and the lingering sensation of his hands on Mike’s body beneath his clothes that center and comfort him as he steps into Ray’s car.

Getting into Black and Blue is the easy part. All he has to do is tell the bouncer his club alias and after it gets looked up in the directory, he's in -- simple, clean, and, hopefully, not at all suspicious. It's trying to get into the owner's office that's the hard part. He hasn’t used his picks in ages and while he has relatively decent picking skills, the lock on the manager’s office is one he hasn’t seen before.

A year as Harvey's associate hasn't dulled his senses much, but to be fair, he didn't have a very strong sense of self-preservation to begin with. Because of that, he doesn't notice that the security guards are nearby until he accidentally drops his double round and sees that they're almost upon him. Their hulking presence is hard to miss, however, and Mike turns away from them, determined to play it cool as he winds through the decently full crowd to the far side of the room.

Security is gaining on him and Mike’s beginning to think he’ll be caught when he spots a familiar face just two feet to his right. Neal Caffrey looks absolutely divine. He's always been the type cut from a finer cloth than the rest of the world and that cloth only seems to have become finer. His hair's grown out and been pushed back, and when Neal rises from his booth seats, his narrow-boned fingers drag along the edge of the table in a way with which Mike is intimately familiar -- absently, objectively, appreciatively.

Mike hasn’t seen Neal in over five years, and now, when Mike least expects it, he appears, looking better than ever. It’s an unbelievable stroke of luck and Mike’s not about to let it slip past him. Biting back a sound of triumph, Mike pounces. Neal opens his mouth, clearly ready to tell him off, but, instead, blinks in apparent surprise.

“Mike?”

Mike shoots him a grin and tugs him into the nearest corner before crushing their lips together. He watches out for security for the first few seconds. Then Neal catches up and kisses back and Mike’s head more-or-less empties of everything but the feel of Neal’s lips against his. It’s been a while since he last kissed someone, let alone someone who knows just the way he likes it.

“Well this is a surprise,” Neal murmurs as he presses kisses along Mike’s jaw, “I didn’t think you still came here.”

“I don’t.” Mike’s voice is uncontrollably breathy as Neal nips and nibbles at his ear. “I’m here on business.”

“Really? The sort of business that has you being chased down by security?” Neal bites down harder, hard enough, it feels, to leave a small mark, and Mike finds his posture changing in an instant; muscles relaxed, head bowed, ready to take orders. Apparently his body is more than willing to slip back into old habits.

“Mike,” Neal prompts sharply when Mike fails to give him an answer.

“Books. I was looking for the books.”

“What books?”

Mike shakes his head and tries his best to regain his focus. “Shit. Okay, they’re making another pass. I have to get out of here.”

Neal presses another kiss to his neck and nods minutely. “You can’t go out the front, it’s too well guarded. There’s another exit out the back past the private rooms. Follow my lead.”

Without waiting for a response, Neal grips the back of Mike’s neck and pulls him away from the wall. Mike’s head drops in submission automatically as Neal leads him through the club toward the back rooms. Mike can practically feel the looks Neal is dishing out, warning others away as they pass, letting them know that Mike is his. It’s intoxicating to feel wanted and claimed again, if only for the time it takes for him to get out of the club unscathed. Mike hasn’t looked for a Dom since he started working for Harvey. When he first started, he’d rationalized it away as his inability to commit time to both the scene and his job. As time went on, though, he’d started realizing that it has more to do with his ridiculously inappropriate feelings for his boss. Regardless of the reason, it has clearly been too long.

Heavy curtains line the walls between rooms, as much for atmosphere as to absorb any sounds that might escape them. They also hide the back exit from sight, making it easy for Neal and Mike to slip between the folds and out the door. Once in the alleyway behind the club, Neal lets go of Mike’s neck and steps back with a grin.

“You always did know how to make an entrance, Ross.”

“Sorry for jumping on you, I just reacted.”

Neal arches a brow. “Do I look like I mind? You just made my night infinitely more interesting.”

“Well,” Mike says with a shrug and a smile as they head to the main street, “you know me. I do what I can.”

“Uh huh,” Neal drawls as they head to the mouth of the long alley. Mike pulls a phone from his pants and sends a text to Ray, asking him to pick him up. “So. You want to tell me what all that was about?”

Mike glances up from his phone and back again when it beeps. It’s Harvey, not Ray, that has replied to say that they’re on their way. Mike’s heartbeat quickens. “It’s nothing, just, I needed information for this case I’m working on.”

“Case?”

“Yeah, our client was attacked by one of the regulars here and when we requested the club’s client records, they conveniently left out a chunk of information.”

“So, you finally went for it! You became a lawyer.” The obvious pride and happiness on Neal’s face has Mike blushing again. “I knew you would.”

Mike gives a shy smile as he slides his phone back into his pocket. “Yeah, well, that makes one of us.”

Reaching out, Neal traces Mike's cheek bone with his thumb. He smiles gently and, as usual, without the edge that implies ownership in his gesture. “You’re still fucking adorable when you blush.”

“Heh, yeah...well...” Mike coughs with embarrassment and shuffles as he shoots a look up through his lashes. Neal always did love to tease him.

“So, did you get what you were looking for then?”

Mike relaxes a bit at the question, grateful for the change in subject. He’s never been good at accepting compliments. “Not quite. I almost got pinched trying to pick the lock to the office. I must be pretty rusty; I dropped my fucking picks.”

Neal shakes his head, his expression fond and nostalgic as though a thousand memories are replaying in his mind. “Memory of a god, but still as subtle as a brick.”

Mike lets out a sound of indignation. “Oh, come on! It’s not my fault, that lock was impossible to pick!” A second later, Mike deflates and lets his disappointment show. “Of course, that’s not what Harvey will say when he learns what's happened."

“And Harvey’s your...Dom?”

Mike’s head shoots up so fast his neck pops. “What? No! God, no, Harvey’s my boss. Harvey Specter.”

“Just your boss?” Neal asks with a slow smirk and damn it, Mike can feel himself blushing again.

“Of course he’s just my boss, Neal. Our relationship is purely professional. Why would you even suggest otherwise?”

Harvey’s car pulls up before he can answer and Mike snaps to attention like a dog whose leash has just been tugged. He can feel Neal scrutinizing him, but it’s a small, insignificant thing compared with the knowledge that Harvey is in that car and Mike now has to get in and tell him that he failed. He’ll have to see the look, that awful look Harvey gets whenever Mike disappoints him. Even though he’s dreading telling him, Mike is eager to see him, some part of him half-wishing for a punishment he knows will never come.

“That’s him, isn’t it?”

Mike simply nods, his eyes glued to the gleaming black car. “I have to go.”

“Uh huh. Purely professional,” Neal says with a knowing smirk. That earns him another narrowing of Mike’s eyes, the effect of which is probably undermined by Mike’s obvious need to get in the car with Harvey. Mike’s phone beeps insistently and he knows without looking at it that it’s Harvey texting. “Go on, then. Don’t want to keep him waiting.”

Mike shoots Neal a grateful smile and starts for the car.

Harvey watches with narrowed eyes as Mike hurries toward the car, his gaze flicking between Mike and the man still watching him walk away. Scratch that -- watching Mike’s ass walk away. A surge of irrational irritation sweeps through him and Harvey can feel his mouth twisting into an uncontrollable sneer. If Harvey didn’t know himself better, he’d swear he was jealous.

Then Mike slides into the car, his cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen and red, with a fucking hickey blooming on his neck and Harvey knows he’s jealous. It’s wildly inappropriate, but all he wants to do when he sees it is jump out of the car and shout at the stranger still watching that Mike is his. Instead, he stifles the urge and simply arches an unimpressed eyebrow at Mike.

“Well?”

To his surprise, Mike flushes and lowers his gaze. Usually, Mike has more fight than that.

“I couldn’t get it.”

Harvey’s frown deepens. “I thought you said it was going to be easy. What happened?”

In the dim light of the car, he thinks he sees Mike wince. “I know, I’m sorry. I couldn’t pick the lock in time.”

Mike’s looking up at him through his lashes, his eyes ridiculously earnest and practically begging Harvey to take pity on him and Harvey nearly does. Then light from a passing car filters in through the window and highlights the mark just above Mike’s collar.

“Apparently you had more important business to attend to,” Harvey says with a sneer.

Mike has the nerve to look confused and Harvey carries on, his tone sharpening with every word.

“I thought you said the cufflinks would keep them from bothering you.”

At that, Mike blushes and his hand flies up to his neck to cover the mark. “He wasn’t bothering me. I needed a cover so I could lose the guard that was on my tail.”

The fondness in Mike’s expression leaves a bitter taste in Harvey’s mouth. Even if he had needed a distraction, he didn’t need to look so fucking pleased about it. “So you grabbed a random stranger and let him paw at you like a cheap chew toy?”

Mike bristles at that, his back straightening as his expression changes from mildly guilty to disbelieving anger. “I did what I had to do to get out of there cleanly. And what does it matter to you? I would have thought you’d be glad that I didn’t get caught.”

“You thought I’d be glad that you had to hump some twisted pervert to avoid getting caught by security guards whom you wouldn’t have been in danger of if you had done the job correctly in the first place? They were probably only onto you because you’ve proven yourself incapable of even the simplest forms of subtlety.”

Now Mike looks as upset as Harvey feels and Harvey doesn’t even care, is glad for it. At least now he’s not the only one worked up.

“Twisted pervert?” Mike’s voice is shaky and raw as he repeats the words and Harvey feels a stab of guilt as he realizes how much he just hurt him. “Look, I know I fucked up and I’ve apologized for it, but there’s no reason for you to be so pissed about it. I understand you being upset about my failing to get the books, but what really gets me right now is that you seem more bothered by my using some guy as a diversion than not getting the missing files. You sound more like a jealous lover than my boss.”

And that stops Harvey in his tracks. Mike’s right. Harvey has no reason to be so upset. They’re not dating, not even close. Mike wearing Harvey’s cufflinks has no meaning because he hasn’t actually bothered claimed anything. He isn’t even sure Mike would let him, even if he managed to admit that he wanted to, and that stings his pride almost as much as the hickey he still can’t quite look away from.

“The point is you were sent in to do a job that you said you could handle and you didn’t deliver. Now they’ll have their guard up and there’s no way we’ll be able to gain access to the missing files. What’s more is there’s not enough evidence to prove they’re missing in the first place, meaning we’ll never get a court order to retrieve them. Our case is officially fucked. I hope it was worth it.”

Throughout Harvey’s little speech, Mike’s anger seems to fade to regret, and at his final dig, he flinches. It was low, but Harvey’s still stinging from Mike’s accusation of jealousy and he night’s events, so he doesn’t take it back. Not even when Mike shoots him what Harvey privately refers to as Mike’s “wounded puppy” look.

“It’s not over. I’ll find a way to fix this.”

Harvey shakes his head as they come to a stop outside of Mike’s building. “There is no way, Mike.”

“Come on! Aren’t you the one always going on about finding one hundred and forty-six different ways to get out of a bad situation? Just give me until tomorrow afternoon. I’ll find something.”

Mike’s making no move to get out of the car and he looks so determined, Harvey is almost certain that he’ll stay right where he is until he gives in. It’s not like he wants to give up on the case and besides, Mike’s not even asking for a full twenty-four hours. Harvey lets out a sigh and nods once.

“Fine. You have until two o’ clock. And it’d better be good.”

Harvey is sitting at his desk, looking over the file for the Harding case and trying to convince himself he’s not brooding, when a movement outside his office catches his eye. There, leaning against Donna’s desk with a smarmy grin and a ridiculous hat is the same asshole who pawed Mike the night before. It may have been dark, but Harvey would know him anywhere just by the calculating gleam in his eyes.

Harvey is mentally willing Donna to send the bastard packing and when she buzzes him to let him know that she’s sending Mister Neal Caffrey in, he vows to fire her or to at least have her mental state evaluated for letting such an obviously devious man charm his way post her. He’d thought Donna was stronger than that.

“Mister Specter? Neal Caffrey.”

Caffrey offers his hand and Harvey simply stares at it. It’s a petulant thing to do, he knows, and he’s rarely so petty, but this is the man who left a mark on Mike’s neck. He figures that alone is worth at least one petty slight.

“What can I do for you, Mister Caffrey?” Harvey asks, his tone formal and cold.

Caffrey’s eyes widen slightly and his smile falters as he pulls his hand back. A moment later the smile is back, but his it doesn’t reach his eyes. Harvey can practically see the wheels in his head turning as he reassesses the situation.

“It’s less what you can do for me, and more what I can do for you.”

It’s only then that Harvey notices the small, manila envelope in Caffrey’s hands. His eyes narrow as he studies the man across from him.

“What could you possibly do for me when I haven’t even met you before today?”

"Listen, Harvey -- can I call you Harvey?" Taking a seat, Caffrey pulls the edges of his jacket out from behind him and adjusts himself into a pose that is casual and self-assured. "I don't want there to be any misunderstanding between us. Misunderstandings make life very difficult and I make it a point to lead a life that’s as free of complications as possible. I'm here to be your friend and give you something you wouldn't otherwise be able to get." He spins the manila envelope between his fingers.

"Is that what's in the envelope?" Harvey asks. "Things that I can't get on my own?"

"This?" Caffrey holds the envelope up and scoffs as he tucks it into the space between his leg and the arm of the chair. "God, no. These are just old tax forms to be sent to my lawyer. Nothing of interest."

"Uh huh." Harvey taps his finger against his mouth. "So Mike didn't talk you into breaking into their manager's office and stealing their client records so that we'd have a good case?"

Caffrey laughs. "As persuasive as my dear Michael can be--" (Here, Harvey bristles ever so slightly.) "--he's hardly capable of making me do something I don't want to. It'd be stupid to steal their records directly. It's much cleverer to just make copies."

With his cocky smile still firmly in place, Caffrey stands up to leave. He seems to think about shaking Harvey's hand again, but apparently thinks better of it and simply starts for the door after inclining his head politely in Harvey's direction. Harvey watches him go, relieved that he doesn't have any more shifty almost-conversations with the guy, and then notices that the manila envelope is still in the chair. Grumbling, he picks it up and gives chase. He's not interested in any of Caffrey's help -- especially if it screws up their case.

"Hey!" he calls. Caffrey turns, having apparently paused at Donna's desk to make small talk, and both brows are raised inquiringly. Harvey holds out the envelope. "You left your tax forms."

"Oh." Caffrey's brows are furrowed now. He tugs his lapel to the side and exposes the folded corners of a manila envelope within his jacket. He pulls it out and brandishes it around. "No, these are my tax forms." Caffrey even opens his envelope up to reveal what are definitely tax forms for the past ten years. "The one you've got must have been from someone else. A former appointment, perhaps?"

"It's definitely yours," Harvey insists.

Caffrey tucks his tax forms away, shaking his head. "Maybe you should open it and double check."

Harvey frowns and advances into Caffrey's personal space. "What are you doing, Mister Caffrey? What game are you playing?"

He merely smiles and ignores Harvey's questions. "If I'm wrong about what's in the envelope, Mike'll know how to get ahold of me. You can get it to me through him."

Harvey slaps the front of Caffrey's chest with the envelope. "And what would Mike have to do with any of this?"

"Nothing that'll hurt him, I promise you," Caffrey says, withdrawing. He tucks his hands into his pockets and saunters backwards. "He's very dear to me. I just want to make sure that all his needs are taken care of." He ducks his head into his fancy fedora and fingers its brim before saluting casually at Harvey. "Have a good day, Mister Specter."

Thinking and hoping that that's the last he's seen of Caffrey, Harvey turns his attention to the manila envelope again. There aren't any marks on the outside to indicate that it's Caffrey's, so he unhooks the flap and pries open its throat to pull out the stack of papers within. It's a list of names, plus their associated aliases and customers, and across the top of each page is Black and Blue's signature logo. Harvey can't be sure without running it past Mike, but this -- this may be everything that they need to give some foundation to Tommy Harding's case.

Quickly, he heads toward Mike's cubicle to have this information verified, but stops short on the edge of the open room where all the Associates work. Mike is at his desk, looking busy because he always is, but leaning over the partition is Caffrey. His hat is tipped to the side now, rather roguishly, and he's smiling at Mike like they're the oldest of oldest friends. Mike is shaking his head, saying no to something that Caffrey's asking him. He's probably moaning about how much work he still has to do because it's not like Harding's case is the only one that they've got on their plate right now, but Caffrey just brushes it away.

Caffrey's wheedling. He's prying, and with every attempt, Mike breaks down a little more before he's finally nodding and allowing Caffrey to take his hand and bow over it. It almost seems like he's about to kiss Mike's hand, and Harvey takes a half-aborted step forward to break up their more-than-friendly moment.

The kiss never happens. Caffrey stops just shy of actually doing it. He doesn't even purse his lips as if he's changed his mind halfway through it. He just draws back slightly, looking over at Harvey until Mike is doing the same, and then Mike turns scarlet and yanks his hand out of Caffrey's grasp.

Telling himself that he's just being foolish, Harvey comes up to Mike's desk and though the urge is strong, does not body check Caffrey out of the way for having apparently picked up his associate when Mike's got plenty of work to be done. Mike is the one that's always complaining about how he barely has enough time to sleep, let alone actually eat dinner. He certainly doesn't have time to socialize, especially if it's socializing with Caffrey.

"What's this?" Mike asks, entirely too chipper, as he takes the manila envelope from Harvey's hands without being told.

"Just a little something that got left in my office," Harvey answers. Only half of his attention is on Mike. The rest is focused on Caffrey -- on staring him down and studying his profile and on being instinctively pleased by the challenge when Caffrey doesn't back down. "It looked like it had potential. Can you tell me if it's useful?"

"Yeah, sure thing," Mike says. "I can have it ready for you by morning."

"I want it before you go home today," Harvey tells him.

"But--" Mike stops himself from arguing further, but Harvey sees in his periphery the way Mike glances at Caffrey.

Good, he thinks. Mike doesn't need another manipulative friend like Trevor anyway.

"That's fine." Caffrey smiles pleasantly at Mike. "I'm sure you order-in lunch all the time. I can bring you something instead."

"If you have time to talk while you eat, then you have time to work," Harvey says. "Don't let me catch you slouching."

"Hey, since when have I ever slouched?" Mike frowns.

“Just get it done.” With that Harvey stalks back to his office, taking pride in the fact that he manages to do it without looking back once.

The morning goes by fairly quickly despite Mike’s worry about what Harvey will say or do when Neal shows up with their lunch as he knows he will. Neal never has been one to let others intimidate him, no matter how much power or influence they possess. It is one of his best -- and at times, his worst -- qualities.

Mike manages to finish enough of his work that by the time Neal swaggers in, his arms laden with Chinese from Mike’s favourite take-out, he’s able to more-or-less kick back and simply enjoy Neal’s company. They catch up properly, discussing their latest achievements and lifestyle changes. Neal compliments Mike on finally ditching Trevor -- he always disapproved -- and Mike congratulates Neal on finally getting out of prison and back in the game of the outside world. They tease each other about their lack of respective love lives -- though Mike is pretty sure Neal is dulling his down to make him feel better.

The conversation is good, easy and familiar, and Neal’s so comfortable to be around. His smile is still amazing enough to make Mike’s heart skip a beat and Mike hasn’t had anyone in so long. It would be so easy to just fall back into it; to let Neal have him and get what he needs -- even if he wishes it was Harvey providing it. It’s past time that Mike accepts that no matter how much he wants it and no matter how many mixed signals Harvey might send, it is never going to happen.

“Thank you again for what you did,” Mike says. He still can’t believe Neal did that for him after all these years.

Ever cautious, Neal just gives him a beguilingly innocent smile. “I don’t know what you mean. But if I had done something, you’d be more than welcome.”

Mike swallows hard as Neal sends him a flirtatious wink. Stealing his courage, he lets himself sink back in his chair, parts his legs subtly, and sends Neal his most come hither look. “Maybe when I’m finished here I could take you home and thank you properly.”

Neal’s eyebrows lift in a moment of surprise before he shakes his head and smiles. “Come on, Mike. You know that’s not what you really want.”

“How do you know?” It takes a lot to keep Mike from cringing at how petulant the question sounds.

Neal just gives him a pointed look that clearly says without words that of course he knows him. He knows Mike better than probably anyone else in the world and he knows when he’s full of shit.

Feeling foolish now for having asked, Mike breaks eye contact and stares instead at the take out carton that's still a quarter full of noodles. He pushes it away, all appetite lost with the unhappy confession unfurling in his throat. “Well, it’s not like I can have what I really want, is it? Why can’t I have the next best thing?”

Neal has been -- up until recently -- the most observant man that Mike has ever had the privilege of knowing. That, combined with his quick mind, means that he takes in Mike's defeated posture in a single sweep and connects it with the sight of Harvey's office. It's glass walls at the end of the hall are barely visible from Mike's desk, and Neal has to lean back to get a better look through them. Mike's done the same thing once or twice before -- pushing back from his desk and straining just to see the tailored cut of Harvey's shoulders as he paced his office.

Those times were a reward unto themselves for Mike, but Neal clearly has other ideas. His expression, when he refocuses his attention back on Mike, is mostly neutral with an edge of fond exasperation.

“Okay, you’re obviously distressed and drowning in denial, so I’m going to let that comment slide and just focus on my point. I won’t scene with someone who isn’t in it completely. You don’t want me. I would just be a poor substitute for the real thing and you know it. You and I both deserve more than that. Even though the sex would be amazing.”

Embarrassment and defeat flow through Mike and he slumps down with a sigh, pulling a hand through his hair. “Fuck, Neal. I don’t know what to do any more. I can’t...he doesn’t want me. And even if he did, he sure as hell wouldn’t want me in full sub mode. He doesn’t even know the scene for fuck’s sake.”

Mike looks up from his lap to catch Neal staring at him like he’s just said something ridiculous. “What?”

“It’s just amazing how you’re so oblivious even now. Mike, have you ever seen the way that man looks at you? Have you ever really looked?”

“What do you mean?” Mike asks, completely confused.

Neal rolls his eyes and laughs. “If looks could brand someone, he’d have already tattooed ‘property of Harvey Specter’ across your forehead countless times by now. He wants you, Mike. He wants you big time, probably more than either of you realize or are willing to admit. And so what if he doesn’t know about the scene? You didn’t know a damn thing before we got together and you picked it up beautifully. I’ve only seen you interact once, but something tells me it wouldn’t take much to talk him around to the idea of being your Dom.”

A lump forms in Mike’s throat and his heart races at the thought of Harvey really wanting him. “Are you sure you’re not just projecting? I mean, you’re good at reading people, but you don’t know Harvey. He’s really good at showing people what he wants them to see.”

“And why would he want to show me his weakness for you?”

“Maybe he just wants to keep you away because he knows we were together and he doesn’t want anything to distract me from my work.”

The smirk on Neal’s face grows. “Oh, he definitely wants to keep me away, but it has nothing to do with anything even remotely resembling work.”

Mike clenches his teeth and shakes his head as he fights to speak past the growing lump in his throat. “I wish I could believe that, Neal, but I just can’t afford to take that risk. If I approach him and you’re wrong, it’ll ruin everything -- my job, our friendship, everything. I care about him too much to fuck our relationship up on a hunch.”

A hand slips over his and Mike looks up as Neal leans close, his eyes serious and earnest as Mike has rarely seen. “The best things in life come when we take the biggest risks, Mike. What if I’m right and you let your chance slip by you? You’d regret it for the rest of your life. Harvey could be your perfect Dom. He could be the Dom I was never able to be.”

The mere thought of losing Harvey before he’s even had him makes Mike’s eyes sting with the threat of tears, but before he can respond, a loud cough, bordering on a growl, cuts through the moment. Mike jerks away from Neal and blinks the dampness from his eyes as Harvey glares down at them from the other side of the cubicle wall. The anger behind his eyes has Mike wondering if Neal wasn’t right about at least some of what he said. Harvey looks like an irate and jealous lover ready to destroy them both for their indiscretions.

“Harvey, we were just--”

“Where are my briefs for the McKellen case?”

The bite in Harvey’s voice is sharp as a knife and makes Mike heel so fast, his head spins with it. His head drops down and to the side, offering Harvey the side of his neck in utter supplication. He fights not to let loose the apologetic whine that rises in his throat.

“They’re nearly done. I just have a few more pages.”

Mike can feel Harvey’s displeasure and disappointment radiating from him and it makes him long to get down on his knees and find some way to appease him.

“Then I suggest you stop flirting with Mr. Caffrey and finish them. I expect them on my desk in twenty minutes. Is that clear?”

A shiver of want rolls over Mike, but he forces himself to ignore it and nods. “Yes, sir.”

Despite Mike’s compliance, Harvey lingers. Mike looks up just long enough to see that Harvey is glaring at Neal while kneel leans back and gives him a knowing smirk. Mike nudges him subtly with his foot, drawing his attention.

“I suppose that means I should go,” Neal says casually, as if it was his idea and not Harvey more-or-less demanding it. “Think about what I said, Mike.”

Mike feels heat rise in his cheeks and nods once. “I’ll call you.”

With one last wink and a cheeky smile in Harvey’s direction. Neal disappears from the cubicle and makes his way from the office.

“What the hell that about?” Harvey asks, making Mike’s cheeks heat even more.

“It’s nothing. Really. I’ll just...” Mike gestures to the stack of files on his desk and opens one of the last ones with an apologetic smile.

Harvey merely arches a brow, clearly unimpressed and tugs sharply at his lapels. “Twenty minutes, Mike.”

With that, he makes an abrupt about face and fairly stalks down the hall to his office. The moment he’s gone, Mike deflates with a sigh and puts his head down on his desk. He takes a minute to wallow in his own self-pity and the helplessness of the situation before he straightens and forces himself to work. He’s not going to let Harvey down again.

As he works, though, Mike finds himself thinking about what Neal said. He can’t help but wonder what would happen if he actually took a chance.

Harvey’s looking over his files and finishing some last minute details for Tommy Harding’s case when Mike wanders into his office looking like he hasn’t slept in a week. There are bags under his eyes, his hair is a veritable bird’s nest, and his lips are swollen and obviously abused -- almost like he spent the entire night kissing someone. Jealousy -- he finally forced himself to admit it the night before when he saw Caffrey holding Mike’s hand -- flares in Harvey’s chest, hot and vicious as he imagines just how Mike spent his night.

“I’m sure Caffrey is quite scintillating company, but you’d do well to remember that your commitment to this firm --” (to me, Harvey thinks) “ --comes first. You’re to be here on time, not to meander in whenever you’ve rolled your ass out of bed, do you understand?”

Mike blinks in surprise before his face crumples into what Harvey, were he not currently incensed, might typically classify as an adorable frown of confusion. “What?”

Rather than finding Mike’s confusion amusing as he usually does, it only serves to anger Harvey more. How dare he come in and pretend not to know what Harvey’s talking about? “Are you really playing this game? Fine. Let me put it to you simply. I don’t care if you spend the entire night fucking your pain-in-the-ass boyfriend, but when it affects your ability to come in on time and do your job, it’s a problem.”

This is the part where Harvey expects Mike to do what he always does; blush, drop his head in apologetic deference, and swear not to let it happen again. Harvey waits for it and the rush that it never fails to bring, but instead what he gets is an irritated glare and a sneer.

“It’s none of your business what I do in my off time.”

Harvey’s eyes narrow and his hackles raise at Mike’s defiance. “It is when it affects your ability to do your job the way you should.”

The way Mike’s eyes flash should be a warning, but all it does is make Harvey’s heart race. “There is nothing wrong with the way I do my job. And I was here on time, but Louis pounced the minute I stepped off the elevator. I finished as soon as I could and came straight here. If you have a problem with that, take it up with him.”

Excitement and irritation surge through through Harvey at Mike’s order. He’s practically asking for Harvey to reprimand. Punish him. The thought -- and the mental images it evokes -- has Harvey blinking in surprise. He swallows roughly and tries to fight the inappropriate lust now coursing through him. “You know damn well that you are my associate. Not Louis’.”

Mike scoffs. “Why do you even care?”

“Look, I don’t care about you or where you put your dick. I don’t even care about the client. All I care about is the bottom line; winning the case and getting the job done. I can’t get that job done if you’re sleep-deprived and running around doing Louis’ bullshit tasks. Show up on time, looking presentable, and ready to do what I tell you, when I tell you. Are we clear?”

Harvey isn’t sure he’s ever seen Mike so angry before -- he looks like he’s practically shaking with it -- but what gets to Harvey is the obvious hurt in Mike’s eyes.

“Crystal.”

The word is brittle and sharp and it makes Harvey want to take back everything he’s said. Before he gets the chance, Mike tosses the files he’s holding onto Harvey’s desk and leaves. A moment later, the intercom beeps.

“Well done.”

Harvey doesn’t even try to argue with the scathing sarcasm in Donna's voice. Reading between the lines, she’s right; he is an ass.

They win the case by a fair margin, but Harvey can’t really take the time to relish their triumph. He’s too distracted by Mike -- who hasn’t spoken to him except when absolutely necessary since the day before -- to care. There’s no celebration, no ridiculous dancing or attempts to fist-bump Harvey in a garish show of gloating. Nothing. Just a reserved smile and a sincere handshake for Tommy Harding as Mike tells him he was happy they could help.

Finally, Harvey decides he has had enough silence. As Mike finally bids goodbye to Tommy and leaves him to Donna’s uncharacteristically exuberant hugs, Harvey falls into step with him, heading toward the car. He’s about to say something that may or may not qualify as an apology when none other than Neal fucking Caffrey arrives.

Neal doesn’t even announce himself, he simply throws his arm over Mike’s shoulders and pulls him close with a grin that’s far too friendly for Harvey’s liking. What’s more is that Mike doesn’t even seem to mind. He smiles for the first time in twenty-four hours, granting Caffrey with a grin so bright it cuts right through all of Harvey’s rationality.

“Stop!” His order has them both freezing instantly. “Get your arm. Off of my associate. Now.”

Harvey’s voice is deeper than he’s ever intentionally let it go before and somehow, without even meaning to, he has infused it with an almost palpable force of will, as if Caffrey will listen to him if he puts enough resolve behind his words.

Amazingly enough, he does.

Caffrey’s arm instantly unwinds from around Mike and when he even goes so far as to step away and put space between Mike and himself, Harvey almost smiles. Instead, he refocuses his attention on Mike who is now standing there looking at Harvey with wide, almost glassy eyes, and his mouth hanging open as if he’s caught halfway between yelling at Harvey and dropping to his feet to beg for more orders.

“Mike, get in the car.”

It’s ridiculously obvious that it takes all Mike’s willpower not to comply. Even still, he takes two steps toward the car before forcing himself to stop and speak up. “Why should I?”

He looks almost terrified. Sweat beads on his face and Harvey can see he’s trembling from where he stands, five feet away. Despite his obvious anxiety, Mike seems determined and his mouth is twisted into a defiant little moue that Harvey wants nothing more than to kiss. He closes the distance between them without thinking and leans forward, only to stop himself before he completely crosses the lines of acceptable public behaviour .

Harvey takes a deep breath and stares at Mike from mere inches away. “Because I do care. Now, get in the car, Michael.”

Whether it’s the use of his full given name, Harvey’s confession, or the fact that Harvey almost kissed him, something seems to click and Mike doesn’t argue any more. Instead, he shoots Caffrey the briefest of looks and does as he’s told without another word.

Harvey lets out breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and allows the pleasure of having Mike’s compliance once again sweep over him.

“Well, it looks like my work here is done.”

Tension gathers in Harvey’s shoulders once more as his eyes flick over to a smug and smirking Neal Caffrey.

“Excuse me?”

Caffrey just shrugs. “You just needed a bit of a push is all. Happy to help. You can thank me later. Now, if you’ll excuse me...”

Harvey watches with bemused irritation as Caffrey flips that ridiculous fedora onto his head and saunters over to give Donna his smarmy grin. Part of him wants to go interfere, but at the moment, he has better things to attend to -- namely, Mike. Besides, Donna’s a big girl. She can take care of herself.

With a nod to himself, Harvey slides into the back seat of his car and tells Ray to take them to his penthouse. Mike and he need to talk and the last place Harvey wants to have this conversation is in the office.

Harvey is intimately aware that he and Mike need to talk -- not just about his previously-assumed unrequited attraction, but also about how apparently Mike returns it if the way he reacted to almost being kissed is any indication. Despite that, the drive to Harvey's apartment is spent in nearly absolute silence, broken only by Mike's softly audible breathing and the wet sound Mike makes as he licks his lips.

Harvey can't bear to look in Mike's direction and stares resolutely out the window at the passing buildings so that he doesn't give in to the burn of Mike's focus on the side of his face. He knows that if he does -- if he so much as glances over -- he'll do something like drag Mike into his lap and ravish him thoroughly. He might not regret doing it and hell, Mike might even be agreeable to it, but Harvey can't know that yet. That's why they need to talk first, so Harvey does nothing.

The silence persists as Harvey leads the way to his apartment with Mike dogging his every step. Once they're inside the door, he heads straight to the minibar in the corner of his living room and pours them both a couple fingers worth of drink. He hears Mike moving quietly behind him, shutting and securing the front door just as Harvey expected him to, and, drinks in hand, turns to find Mike setting his bag at the foot of a wall table. Mike straightens uncertainly, though it doesn't seem like he's got the urge to bolt, thank god.

"Sit," Harvey tells him, gesturing with one glass to the sofa, and Mike goes. He sits rigidly upright and accepts his glass, but doesn't drink it. He just holds it between his hands and turns it in circles, fidgeting. "So we should talk."

"Yeah," Mike agrees, watching raptly as Harvey takes a seat in the chair adjacent to the corner Mike chose.

"I'll start," Harvey says, sensing that Mike won't be as forthcoming without some give from his corner. "I --" He hesitates ever so slightly, picking carefully at his words. "I care about you. I want you." These small, straight-forward admissions are enough to make his mouth dry with nerves. He's been hoarding these truths so long that saying them aloud now takes a lot out of him. "To be honest, these last few weeks have been the worst I've had in a very, very long time what with seeing you and Caffrey--"

"We're not together," Mike cuts in almost instantly.

Harvey nods, thinking about how Caffrey backed off Mike without argument and, more importantly, how he joined Donna immediately afterward. "Of course you aren't. Not after me telling him off today."

Mike leans forward, setting his untouched drink on the coffee table. "No, I mean, he and I haven't been together for years now. We're just friends."

"Oh. That's good. Very good," he says, relieved. It's then that Harvey realizes that he might have a legitimate chance as something more than a rebound relationship. He smiles and automatically, Mike returns it. "I'm interested, if you are." He gestures for Mike to speak and takes a drink, grateful that he poured them before he actually needed it.

"I'm interested too," Mike admits quickly, but Harvey sees him cast his eyes downward. Mike licks his lips nervously, lapsing into silence.

"But?" he prods.

"But..." Mike scrubs his sweaty palms over the tops of his thighs. "There are things you should know -- things about me -- before we go any further. First of all, I can't do casual. It's not a choice, really. It's just that the things that I need out of another person require a certain level of trust and understanding. I can't just hook up with someone for a one night stand, so if that's what you're looking for, it'd probably be better for both of us if I just left."

It's an interesting stipulation and one with which Harvey is happily in agreement. While casual hook-ups aren't beyond him -- and sometimes even preferable -- he has no interest in that being the case with Mike. If he learned nothing else from his reactions to seeing Caffrey and Mike interact, it was that he passionately despised seeing Mike with other people. Since it seems that Mike is willing to be his on a permanent basis, Harvey is hardly inclined to let the opportunity slip past him.

"I don't want casual," he assures Mike. He has within his grasp the chance to have something he's always wanted -- a relationship with real staying power. He can hardly believe that this conversation is even happening, let alone that it's progressing so smoothly. Still, Harvey is a pragmatist. "If it doesn't work out anyway?"

"If it doesn't work out, then it doesn't work out," Mike answers, shrugging. "We go back to our jobs, no harm, no foul. It might suck for a while, but if we can't work it out, it won't be because we didn't try."

"Fair enough." Harvey leans forward, propping himself up on his knees with is elbows. "What other things do I need to know about you?"

Mike stalls for a moment by reaching for his drink and taking a heavy swig. It's the first real sign Mike's given that this conversation is incredibly important. Nerves is one thing; they were expected when negotiating the start of a relationship with such obvious potential for backlash. Mike's not the type to need liquid courage to deal with his anxiety. He usually barrels right on through them just fine. Now though, he drinks and lets the alcohol sit in his mouth for a while before swallowing.

"So, those things that I need from another person, they're not exactly things that everyone can give me. I'm not even entirely sure if you can, to be honest, but I hope you are," Mike explains, setting aside his glass again. "The things you've probably learned over the course of this case with Harding, they'll give you an idea of what I'm looking for in a partner."

Here, he pauses, swallowing thickly around nothing, and then abruptly, he slides off the sofa. His knees hit the carpet with a muffled thump, but the sound seems to match the sudden pounding of Harvey's heart. In his private thoughts, Harvey has pictured Mike in a myriad of positions. Many of them featured Mike on his knees, but never quite like this -- upright, shoulders squared back, and chin lifted proudly to expose the blank canvas of his throat. The urge Harvey gets to cover that neck with something like his hand or a high-necked collar is strong and unexpectedly welcome. With the exception of that bare expanse of skin, Mike looks perfect, right there, kneeling at Harvey's feet.

"I'm a sub," Mike confesses softly. "I need a Dom. I can't -- I can't be with someone without it."

It slots into place then -- what Mike is asking of Harvey and why he's so cautious now on top of how he was so intimately aware of the subtleties of the lifestyle that clubs like Black and Blue represented. Harvey would be lying if he says that he hasn't thought about this possibility, but the idea of actually going through with it is largely overwhelming. Harvey isn't at all sure he can do the responsibility justice; he suspects that a few weeks' worth of research is hardly the level of preparation he should have to really give Mike what he wants.

"I'll understand if you don't want to," Mike goes on to say. "This is a hell of a thing to ask. Just... if you think you can, please give it a shot. I can show you some things if you need me to, but don't do it for my sake. I wouldn't want to drag you into something you'd resent me for later."

The observation slips out of him, "Caffrey doesn't seem to resent you."

Mike smiles a little. "He wouldn't. He's the one that introduced me to this whole Dom/sub thing. We just didn't match each other very well."

"Good," Harvey says. Though Mike's already told him that he and Caffrey are long over, it's comforting to know that avenue has already been tried, tested, and found wanting.

There’s a pause, this palpable moment where something heavy and full of potential hangs in the air between them. Mike stares up at Harvey with a look of tentative hope so sweet that Harvey knows he has to at least try.

“So,” Harvey pauses to take another bracing sip of his drink before leveling Mike with a steady gaze, “what sort of things are you into?”

A delightful blush rises in Mike’s cheeks, but he holds Harvey’s gaze without a hint of shame. “I like orders. I...well, I need them. Even when I’m not scening. They make me feel useful and good. When I’m feeling stubborn or if I fail at something, I should be punished.”

Harvey swallows as the word ‘punished’ has him picturing a startling number of things. “And how exactly would one go about punishing you?”

Mike’s Adam’s apple bobs once before he answers the question. “It’s up to my Dom. Spanking, bondage, edging, orgasm denial, anything more-or-less along those lines. But I draw the line at causing actual damage or drawing blood. I won’t do masochism or pain.”

A quiet sigh of relief escapes Harvey’s lips. After everything he heard Harding was willing to do, he was afraid Mike would want to take it to the more extreme side of things and, from what he’s read, Harvey isn’t nearly ready to consider anything like that.

“And if you’re good?” Harvey asks quietly, trying to ignore how tight his pants have become in the last few moments.

“If I’m good, my Dom rewards me.” The words are simple enough, but the blatant yearning in Mike’s eyes when he says it speaks volumes. “Though, just knowing I’ve pleased him is a reward in itself. Just hearing him praise me, calling me a good boy, is amazing on its own.”

Something clicks and Harvey finds himself remembering all the times he’s said exactly those words to Mike or called him his puppy in the past. He’s been participating in this for far longer than he’d even consciously realized. Somehow, that makes it easier to give in. He’s clearly wanted this for a while, clearly gotten off on it on some level to have played into Mike’s submissive nature with his own domineering one.

“And when I’ve called you a puppy...no wonder you didn’t mind. Most associates get annoyed, but you just smiled like it made you happy.”

That self-same smile curls on Mike lips and he leans forward, the movement itself like that of an animal looking to be petted. “It did. It's just one of the reasons I'm attracted to you, even if you didn’t actually call me your puppy.”

Harvey’s heart gives an almost violent thud and his voice deepens as he asks, “Do you want to be my puppy?”

“More than anything.” The words are nothing more than a tremulous whisper, but Harvey has no trouble hearing every syllable. Maybe he should be worried that the thought of Mike roleplaying as a dog, eager to please him, has his cock harder than he can ever remember it being, but at this point, he’s too turned on to care.

“Take off your shoes and come here.”

Mike’s heart feels like it’s going to burst through his chest. Harvey’s orders are spoken softly, but firmly, and are utterly irresistible. They’re exactly what he needs to steady himself and find his center, and how the hell does Harvey do that? He anticipates Mike’s needs just as often as Mike does Harvey’s and it’s fucking intoxicating.

It only takes Mike a few seconds to pull off his shoes. Knowing Harvey is a stickler for neatness, he arranges them perfectly parallel with the side of the chair he vacated moments ago and moves to kneel directly between Harvey’s knees.

He stares up at Harvey, anticipating his next orders, but also expecting him to change his mind at any given moment. The expression on Harvey’s face is one Mike has never quite seen on him before; openly surprised and almost in awe with realization. Mike can see the moment Harvey makes up his mind, the resolution is written plainly across his features, and he lowers his head, bracing himself for rejection. What he gets instead is Harvey’s hand sliding under his chin to grip his jaw, forcing Mike to look at hm.

“Get up here.” Harvey’s hand slips down to grip his tie and give it one hard tug.

That’s all it takes to get Mike off his knees and onto the chair, straddling Harvey’s thighs. His heart is racing, but as Harvey moves his hand to grip the back of his neck and pull him closer, Mike’s hands press against flat his chest and he can feel that Harvey’s is too. It calms him somewhat, knowing that Harvey is just as affected by this as he is. He gets further proof when Harvey’s other hand slides down to Mike’s hip and drags him further into his lap.

“What if I do something you don’t like?” The hint of uncertainty in Harvey’s tone is almost as exhilarating as the hard press of his cock against Mike’s.

“Safeword is ‘Louis’. I’ll say it if I want to stop. And that goes for you too.”

Harvey snorts and a small smirk curves at the corner of his mouth. “Probably the safest safeword ever. ‘Louis’ it is.”

His smile fades as he finally, finally closes the distance between them. The first brush of Harvey’s lips against his is like an electric rush, and Mike can’t help the whimper that rises in his throat. It’s tentative at first, but not for long. Before Mike can even process that this is really happening, Harvey makes an almost desperate sound and presses closer, deepening the kiss.

They spend the next few moments like that, kissing and letting their hands wander more with each second until Mike’s fairly trembling with want. Suddenly, Harvey pulls away.

“You should...um...” Harvey clears his throat. “You should get on your knees and suck my cock...er...puppy.”

It’s probably the most unsure Mike has ever seen Harvey be, and it’s for that reason alone that he’s able to stifle the laugh that rises in his throat. Instead, he simply smiles and leans forward to kiss him again.

“Don’t think too much. You’re doing fine.”

Harvey nods and his shoulders relax a bit, though the hesitation in his eyes remains.

Mike slowly sinks to his knees, his gaze never leaving Harvey’s. He takes his time, nuzzling and kissing, teasing Harvey until he finally growls and tells Mike to get on with it. Smirking at the frustration in his voice, Mike works Harvey’s pants off just enough to get his cock into his mouth and licks a hot line up the length of it.

Harvey’s soft sigh when Mike finally takes him in is like some sort of benediction and it goes straight through him. Sucking cock has always been one of Mike’s favourite things to do; he loves the feel of it weighing heavy on his tongue, loves to feel the hot pulse of another person’s body deep within him. The fact that it’s Harvey has something in Mike demanding to be taken, owned, hurt just a little bit.

The only problem is, Harvey’s being far more polite than Mike thought he would be. His hands are clutching the supple leather of the chair he’s sitting in rather than yanking at Mike’s hair the way Mike wants. Even when Mike reaches up and physically puts Harvey’s hand on his head, the most he gets is a gentle pet. Trying not to show his frustration, Mike nuzzles up into Harvey’s palm like a dog begging for affection and makes a frustrated sound low in his throat when Harvey doesn’t take the hint.

That need is clawing at his gut and Mike knows he needs more. He needs Harvey, his Harvey, the confident and delightfully arrogant bastard, who doesn’t hesitate to tell Mike exactly what he’s going to do and how. He needs Harvey to stop being nervous and simply take control. Talking didn’t work and neither did hinting. The last thing Mike wants to do is make him feel even more self-conscious by trying to direct him -- not to mention if having to talk someone through sex isn’t a mood-killer, what is? So Mike does the only other thing he can think of; he pulls away.

Harvey makes a sound of protest and blinks at him in confusion as Mike simply sits there on his knees, letting a small, dismissive smile spread on his face.

“Wh-what are you doing? Why’d you stop?”

Mike simply arches a brow and watches with delight as Harvey’s face clears and confusion turns to obvious annoyance. Now they are getting somewhere.

“Mike, suck my cock.”

Mike ignores the order -- it’s not quite as firm as it should be, Harvey’s tone not quite as dominant as it could be -- and smirks defiantly.

“No.”

Harvey’s jaw drops just a bit and for a moment, Mike thinks he’s going to give up and tell him this was a bad idea. A moment later, though, he seems to see the challenge in Mike’s eyes. The change is almost instantaneous; Harvey’s eyes narrow, his posture shifts, and his lips twist in a smirk of their own. Even with his pants down to his knees and his cock standing naked and proud in his lap, Harvey is commanding and strong and it sends a shiver of delight straight to Mike’s core.

“Do it.”

Mike flicks his tongue out to wet his lips, his heart racing in the best way as Harvey’s eyes track the movement. “Make me.”

Such a provocation used to make Neal smile and declare how adorable Mike was when he was trying to be defiant, but not Harvey. Harvey is all flashing eyes and tightly-controlled movements as he reaches out to grip Mike’s chin between his fingers.

“Very well,” Harvey practically purrs. His voice is deep and dangerous, and Mike wants nothing more than to wrap himself in it, wishes it was even possible to.

He lets himself struggle, just a bit, just enough that Harvey’s fingers dig in and leave his jaw aching in the best way. Harvey lets go of Mike’s face to slip his hand around the back of Mike’s neck, squeezing the nape and using it to pull Mike within an inch of Harvey’s cock. He stops short before Mike can get his mouth around the head and simply holds him there.

Mike licks his lips and this time, he strains forward rather than back, desperate for another taste of Harvey. He manages to get a lick of just the tip before Harvey is curling his fingers into his hair and tugging him back, forcing a whine from Mike’s throat.

“On second thought,” Harvey pulls Mike back even further and scoots forward to the edge of the chair to bring his face close to Mike’s. “You seem quite eager to suck my cock all of a sudden. Thing is, Mike, you disobeyed me. I think that deserves some punishment, don’t you?”

The noise that rises in Mike’s throat is hardly human. He tries to nod, but Harvey’s grip makes it impossible.

“Yes, sir,” he manages.

Harvey’s smirk grows and his voice drops to almost a whisper. “Here’s what you’re going to do,” he begins, “you’re going to get up, strip off everything but the tie, and kneel on that chair with your legs spread. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” he repeats, his voice croaking from the dryness of his throat.

“Good.”

Harvey lets go of his hair and Mike stumbles back to the floor. He’s pleasantly surprised when Harvey does nothing more than arch an expectant brow at him and watches him scramble and fumble to obey, obviously lost in his Dom role.

Before Mike knows it, he’s naked but for the thin scrap of silk around his neck. He braces his hands on the back of the patent leather chair, his heart fluttering with excitement and anticipation, and when he hears Harvey stand, he turns to look.

“Eyes forward, Mike.”

Mike complies so swiftly, he wrenches his neck a bit. He can hear Harvey’s smirk in his next words.

“So how should we do this, hm?”

It’s clearly a rhetorical question, so Mike bites his lip to stay silent as listens to Harvey pace behind him.

“You said you wanted to be my puppy, didn’t you?” The leather of the chair creaks as Harvey leans against Mike’s back and whispers in his ear. “So how does one punish a puppy when he misbehaves?”

Harvey’s breath, hot against his neck, has Mike closing his eyes as he fights not to turn and look at him; fights to obey.

“I think I have just the thing.”

Without warning, the warm line of Harvey’s body disappears, leaving Mike far more chilled than it should be given how ridiculously turned on he is. He strains to hear what Harvey’s doing. There’s a rustle of paper and then silence.

“H-Harvey?”

A tiny brush of air is the only warning Mike gets before something hard and hollow strikes his ass. A sharp yelp of surprise escapes him as he’s hit a second time.

“Is...is that....newspaper?”

Another dull thwack sounds as Harvey brings it down across his cheeks again. “Did I say you could speak?”

“No, sir,” Mike whimpers, inwardly applauding Harvey’s creativity. He’d been spanked before, but never like this. Never with something so classically associated with punishing bad dogs.

“You need to remember who your master is. Remember who owns you,” Harvey’s blows are growing in force and speed, and Mike can’t help pushing back with a whine, eager for more.

“Please...”

The next hit isn’t the dull thud of rolled up paper, but the sharp sting of Harvey’s hand on Mike’s right ass cheek. Mike half-yelps, half-moans as his cock drips against the leather of the chair.

“Bad dog. I said no speaking.” Harvey follows up his words with a matching blow on Mike’s other cheek. “You’re mine, Mike. My puppy. Mine.”

And just like that, Mike’s gone. All he can feel is the warm throb of warm, tingling throb of Harvey’s hands on his ass, all he can hear is that possessive declaration that Mike is Harvey’s. His puppy. Mine.

Mike’s never felt so happy. He’s flying high and everything is simultaneously sharpened and dulled. The sharp sting of Harvey’s spanking, bright and perfect, the sound of his own moans and whimpers, soft and distant. The deep push of Harvey’s fingers, the crinkle of leather under Mike’s clutching hands, the hot trickle of sweat sliding down his back to pool at the base of his spine. When Harvey slides into him, Mike feels every inch of his body stretching, opening to accommodate him, welcoming him as his blood throbs and his mind chants mine, mine, mine.

He’s read about subspace before, but no one has ever been able to get him there, though not for a lack of trying. It’s like nothing Mike has ever experienced before. Time is disjointed, fractured, and everything seems to last so much longer. Each thrust is amplified, each touch lingering long after Harvey’s hands have moved on and when Mike hears Harvey panting in his ear, ordering him to come, he complies without a hint of hesitation or thought, as if his entire body knows it’s nothing more than an instrument for Harvey to play and manipulate. He’s Harvey’s boy. His puppy. His belonging to use as Harvey sees fit. Mike has never been happier.

“Mike?”

Mike smiles, giddy and still high as a kite, up at Harvey. His hair has come free of its gel and is hanging down in random strands, sticking to his sweaty face. He’s dishevelled and flushed and looks almost worried.

“Are you okay?”

Mike smiles wider. “Course I’m okay. I’m yours. Your boy.”

Harvey’s body relaxes just a bit, though he still looks adorably bemused. “Come on, you.” He lifts Mike like it’s nothing and all Mike can do is giggle. Now he really is flying.

When he finally comes out of it, Mike’s tucked into Harvey’s bed with the man himself staring at him.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Harvey replies.

“How are you?”

Harvey’s brows lift. “Me? You zone out for God knows how long, giggling like you just smoked the entire briefcase of pot you had when we met, and you want to know how I am?”

Mike feels himself blush and shrugs.

Harvey gives him an affectionate, if rather smug, smile. “I'm perfect. You're mine now.”

“Yeah,” Mike says as he leans close and kisses him. “I really am.”

It’s been two weeks since they won Harding case and already Harvey can’t remember the last time he so content. He’s closed every single one of his cases on a high note, Jessica is talking about giving him a raise, and even Louis is less of a pain in the ass. On top of everything else, his relationship with Mike is turning out to be pretty fucking amazing and everything he never knew he wanted. Harvey’s still learning, but that’s part of the fun of it all, having Mike teach him about things he hadn’t even thought of, discovering parts of himself that he never knew existed.

They’ve decided to keep their scenes going through the day as Mike and he both can’t seem to go more than an hour or two without testing each other. So far they’ve managed to keep things fairly PG in the office, but the constant work-day waiting to touch and take and own sometimes makes Harvey so tense, he thinks he’ll snap in half from it. Then again, it also makes it so much more amazing when he can finally order Mike to his knees and tell him what a good boy he’s been.

Sometimes Mike pushes his boundaries, struggles against Harvey’s dominance just to see what Harvey will do. Harvey looks forward to these little tests almost as much as he looks forward to rewarding Mike. The rush Harvey gets from putting Mike back in his place is unlike any other. Last night was one such night. Mike deliberately ‘misunderstood’ a direct order and then had the nerve to argue with Harvey about it. Not only did Harvey get to spank him for the infraction, it gave him a chance to try out the new leather straps he’d bought especially for his puppy.

An hour and a half after his defiance, Mike was tied to Harvey’s bed, his arse a beautiful cherry red and sticky with Harvey’s come, and a blissed out smile on his face. Harvey spent the next hour after that gently cleaning and caring for him until he came out of his trance.

Just remembering it brings a smile to Harvey’s face.

A movement outside his office catches Harvey’s attention and just like that, his smile disappears. Neal Caffery is in the hallway. Again. Okay, so Harvey doesn’t actually hate him and one could even argue that he was part of the reason Mike and Harvey finally got together (though Harvey likes to think that would have happened anyway). That doesn’t mean Harvey likes the man, especially not when he’s apparently back to hit on his secretary.

With a roll of his eyes and a heavy sigh, Harvey pushes back from his desk and heads for the door.

“And just what are you doing here? I can’t imagine you have any more mysterious envelopes to ‘accidentally’ deliver.”

Caffery’s smirk just widens into a genuine smile. “Don’t worry Harvey, I’m not here for you. Or,” he interjects, clearly preempting Harvey’s protest, “for Mike. I came to see this gorgeous creature.”

Harvey’s eyebrows lift as he looks at Donna. He fully expects her to make some quip about being a woman, not a creature for a man’s admiration, no matter how deserved, but she just smiles becomingly. “Seriously?”

Donna just gives him a dismissive smile and shrugs. “What can I say? I have a thing for the hat.”

“Hey, Neal. What are you doing here, man?” The warm line of Mike’s body almost touching his sends a burst of calm through Harvey. The wink of Harvey’s monogrammed cufflinks shining from the cuffs of the suit Harvey chose for Mike today soothes him even further.

Harvey doesn’t even realize he’s giving Mike a dopey smile until Neal waggles his eyebrows at him.

“Apparently Neal has come to woo our Donna.”

“Wow, Donna? Really?”

Something in Harvey’s gut uncoils as he realizes there’s not a hint of jealousy in Mike’s tone or body language.

“Is that so surprising to hear? You know how much I value intelligence and strength in a beautiful woman.”

“Oh, I know, I’m just surprised she’s giving your annoying ass a chance.”

Harvey snorts and strokes the back of Mike’s hand in subtle, silent praise. Caffery doesn’t even pretend to be offended, only smiles wider, and Donna simply rolls her eyes and stands.

“If we’re all done debating my lunch date, I’d actually like have it. I’m hungry.”

“Be back in time to field calls for the partner meeting at three.”

“You got it,” Donna says with a mock salute before shooting one of her more saucy looks over her shoulder to Caffery. “Hop to, Caffery. We have things to discuss.”

Harvey waits until Donna’s back is turned before giving Caffery the universal signal for ‘I’m watching you’, though all it earns him is a smirk and a tip of Caffery’s ever-present fedora.

“You’re not really bothered that he’s dating Donna now, are you?”

“Nah. He seems like he’s not entirely horrible. Irritating as fuck, but nothing Donna can’t handle.” Harvey glances at his watch, though he’s already made the decision to to cancel the next two hours of work he’d planned. Reaching out, he straightens his tie around Mike’s neck, tightening it enough to have Mike’s eyes dilating and his cheeks flushing. “Go get your coat and meet me downstairs in exactly five minutes. We’re taking a long lunch.”

Mike swallows hard and nods, a tiny smile quirking at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, sir.”

Harvey grins. “Good boy.”

THE END