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Patience isn't exactly one of Mike's greatest virtues. It can be, when he tries, but it takes some extenuating circumstances. During a trial, the waiting is torture. Long, boring meetings are like a personal sort of hell. Busy work is more Mike's specialty.
He'd like to say that no one would ever accuse him of not being thorough but that would be a lie. Because Harvey. Harvey would. He'd accuse Mike of cutting corners for something as stupid as not knowing what their client's ex-husband had for breakfast last Thursday.
While patience may admittedly not be Mike's best quality, he does consider himself very thorough. So when he walks into Harvey's office to an immediate insult to said thoroughness, he loses that lack of patience, as well as his temper.
"So why don't you do it yourself?" Mike asks foolishly.
He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, because to Harvey, that's an open invitation to be even more patronizing and pushy than usual. He tries to steer Mike into the Senior Partners' lounge-slash-restroom, and Mike only gets away by twisting unexpectedly to break Harvey's hold on his wrist.
"Not here." Only after he says it does he realize that makes it sound like he's agreeing at all. But before he can clear that up with a reasonably voiced 'not anywhere', Harvey makes the decision for him by saying that Mike can just start staying at his place. "At least that way I'll know you're halfway presentable before you even get here."
And that's that.
So it shouldn't surprise Mike that much when after waking up for the first time in Harvey's bed, next to Harvey, in Harvey's room, in Harvey's apartment, Harvey keeps his word the way he always does and shoves Mike up onto the cold marble countertop and produces a shaving kit.
Mike rolls his eyes and tries to scoot off the icy counter, but Harvey's palm catches him flat on the chest, pushing him back into place. Mike shivers, nothing but a pair of thin boxer-briefs to protect him from the permeating chill of the slick marble beneath him and the smooth mirror behind him.
"You've got to be kidding me," he says flatly and Harvey just stares back, blank and calm.
"No, this is exactly what you asked for. You said you couldn't do it yourself and needed me to do it the right way."
"That is not what I said! And I was joking."
"I don't think you were."
"No," Mike starts to protest but Harvey slaps a handful of shaving cream over his mouth and proceeds to rub it around, effectively cutting Mike off. Mike glares and hopes the message is loud and clear, I hate you being repeated over and over in his head.
The look does nothing to deter Harvey and goes on completely ignored as Harvey fills up the sink. Without a word, he jabs Mike in the underside of his jaw - with what Mike thinks is unnecessary force - to make him tilt his head up.
The first swipe is quick, clean, and precise. It's not until after Harvey has dragged the razor over his carotid that he thinks about all the times he and Harvey have talked about trusting each other. They've been working together for months, sleeping together for weeks, but it's that day, that moment that it really hits home for Mike. He trusts Harvey. He trusts Harvey with his secrets, with his heart and his body; he trusts Harvey with his life.
Harvey is concentrating on what he's doing, putting so much effort into that menial little task, Mike doesn't even think he notices when his knees pull in closer to Harvey's body, leeching heat from his bare torso. Mike lets his feet dangle, brushing up against Harvey's firm, silk-covered calves. He tightens his thighs around Harvey's hips and feels Harvey lean his weight into it. He waits for Harvey to rinse the blades before he tips his chin up higher, baring his throat for better access to Harvey's razor.
For a while, it's enough to just watch Harvey make his very serious face while he concentrates on shaving Mike, but inevitably, Mike's patience run out long before Harvey is finished.
"This is taking forever. No one takes this long to shave," he grumbles.
"Perfection takes time. Unfortunately we only have a couple of hours to spare, so we'll have to make do with what you've got." Mike kicks him in the back of the knee with his heel. Harvey doesn't even react. "Speaking of, that suit you brought is horrible. Don't worry, I'll lend you something."
"You're a saint, truly," Mike mumbles sarcastically. "I'm just not going to stay over again if this is how I get treated in the morning."
"You're right. People are going to notice if you don't look like you rolled out of a paper sack. I changed my mind, the suit can stay."
"You think they'll notice when I push you out of your office window because I personally think I'd be their hero for that."
"Do you think it wise to threaten me while I have a razor pressed to your throat?"
"Touché."
"Now stop moving."
Mike obeys, but then it's boring again. The silky strings holding Harvey's pajama pants up are mildly entertaining. Once he realizes Harvey doesn't have anything on underneath, he's even more entertained. The razor drops to the counter with a clatter when Mike unceremoniously slips his hand inside.
Harvey grabs hold of Mike's wrist and pulls his hand free of Harvey's pants. He collects the other hand up too and presses them both to the countertop at either side of Mike's hips. "Behave."
Boring.
He keeps his hands at his side only long enough for Harvey to pick up the razor and resume his task. Really, he thinks Harvey must know it's coming; for all he claims to read people, he has to see Mike's not well guarded plan. He gets both of his hands inside of Harvey's pants while Harvey rinses the blades in the sink.
"That's not behaving," Harvey says lowly.
"Oh, am I distracting you?" Mike asks, masking the challenge with poorly feigned innocence. Of course Harvey sees right through him, a slanted look like, Really? That's the best you can do? "I'd hate for you to not do a thorough job."
Hook, line, and sinker. "I could do a better job shaving you while distracted than you could do with unlimited time and a magnifying mirror."
"Challenge accepted," Mike says smugly, thumb tracing over the ridge of Harvey's tip.
He hears Harvey's breath stutter. "You miss the same spot, every time." Harvey swipes the blades none too gently over said spot, and Mike glowers.
"Don't get rough with me."
"Funny, I seem to remember you saying the exact opposite last night," Harvey replies.
Mike tightens his hold on Harvey's cock, twisting his wrist so the too-dry drag of his palm will catch him right where it hurts. Mike knows the move would be enough to make his own knees jerk, but Harvey's only reaction is to flare his nostrils and threaten Mike with a glare. Mike presses his luck by finding the slit with his thumb and letting his nail catch just slightly. Harvey's throat bobs but he still brings the razor back up to Mike's face. Mike presses in again, knowing it must hurt, but he's delighted when Harvey leans into it, his cock giving a kick in Mike's tight grip. He gentles away the pain with the pad of his thumb, slick with the pre-come of Harvey's reaction to the pain.
"Are you just going to tease?"
Mike wonders if he's really supposed to be buying the indifference that Harvey is putting out. Maybe it's only been weeks, but Mike can read Harvey better than that. Even if they were complete strangers, the hard and wet cock in his hand is a bit of a giveaway.
"You want something?" Mike asks, slowing down his movements even more, stroking over him long and slow now, really just teasing over the head this time.
"Yeah, stop talking," Harvey says, pressing his fingers to Mike's lips, not to get inside, but to hold them closed as he raises the blades to swipe at Mike's upper lip. If there wasn't shaving cream all over Harvey's fingertips, Mike would be sorely tempted to suck them into his mouth. Work them between his lips and with his tongue while he jerks Harvey off nice and slow.
When Harvey finishes with his upper lip, he moves his hand away from Mike's mouth and sets it over the bulge in his underwear instead, just a firm pressure against Mike's hard on. Mike squirms, then shivers when his thighs meet the countertop where it's not skin-warmed.
Harvey smirks. "You were so good last night. Took it so good for me."
Mike's eyes fall shut unconsciously, his grip tightening now that his own breaths have started to stutter.
"Such a good boy. Opened right up for my cock."
Mike doesn't realize what he's allowed to happen until the sucking sound of the drain catches his attention. Harvey is done shaving him, and Mike's probably closer to coming than Harvey ever was. Well, fuck.
For his part, at least, Harvey doesn't look completely unbothered. His impatience is showing through when he grabs Mike around the waist and practically tears Mike's underwear in his haste to get them off. He gets Mike by the knees and spreads his legs wide, and Mike just lets himself be manhandled around, complying easily to Harvey's demands. He starts yanking open drawers as soon as he's sure Mike's not going anywhere. But where would he go anyway? He's unbearably turned on and nothing sounds better than a quick, hard, inpatient fuck on the bathroom counter.
Harvey produces a trial size packet of lube from one of the drawers and squeezes it directly onto Mike's ass, cold. Two fingers screw into him, and then a third, and Mike has to catch himself on an outstretched palm to keep from sliding off the counter when his leg kicks out in a burst of pleasure-pain.
Harvey wrings a couple more drops of lube out of the packet and onto himself, and replaces his fingers with his cock far quicker than Mike expects. Harvey slams in deep and Mike struggles to get a hand on himself while keeping his balance at the same time. He just finds a good angle when Harvey slams into him again, knocking everything out of place once more while Mike gasps.
"The only place I want you to sit comfortably is on my cock." Harvey's voice is a rough, deep sound, reverberating through Mike's body. He squeezes his cock and thinks Jesus Christ and then Harvey knocks the blasphemy right out of his head with another deep, hard thrust.
"Harvey," Mike chokes, tightening up in a wash of pleasure, coming into his fist and all over his belly as Harvey groans and keeps himself buried deep in Mike's ass, grinding against him.
When he comes, Mike knows that he'll feel it for the rest of the day, sore and wet and uncomfortable. It's all he's going to be able to think about. This. Harvey grunting his name and holding his knees to his chest and fucking him through an orgasm good enough to make him see stars.
In the end, Harvey gets exactly what he wants. He gets Mike clean-shaven, fucked stupid enough to actually have some patience; sore in the ass and distracted by thoughts of Harvey, unable to sit anywhere comfortably, and as always, he's thorough, a better associate than Pearson Hardman has ever seen, except for maybe Harvey himself.