Madison Avenue Closer Summary: Harvey didn't want to be profiled in a magazine as one of New York's most eligible bachelors.

Nobody even knew Mike had been. Notes: Originally written for a prompt at the kinkmeme. Chapter 1 Chapter Text Harvey wasn't even going to pretend to be interested in the New York Talk article. He hadn't wanted to do the stupid "New York's Most Eligible Singles" profile in the first place; Jessica had talked him into it, saying he had a duty to the firm to get the name out there, and if the name got out there under the banner of Harvey Specter Needs A Wife, he would do the damn thing and smile while he did it. It was just so...desperate seeming. Harvey liked being single. And there was something creepy about the tone of the journalist who came to interview him. Elise, a restauranteur and fellow "eligible single" Harvey sometimes hung out with because nobody else properly appreciated a well-cooked paella, summed it up when they met for drinks a few days before it went to press. "It's tackily hetero," she said, sipping her wine. "I mean, I told them I'm the biggest dyke on the upper west side, but I'll bet you five grand they don't run that." "No bet," Harvey said. "Be fun for you if they do, though." "Mm. Would I date girls who read New York Talk?" Elise asked nobody in particular, pondering it. She grinned at Harvey. "You tell them your dirty little secret?" "I told them as little as possible." "You have to come out of the closet sometime," she sing-songed. "Harvey Specter, indiscriminately discriminating. Come on, kiddo, there's a cachet in being bi these days." "Not when you work for Pearson Hardman, there's not," Harvey said sourly. "Sleep with whoever you want, but for God's sake don't talk about it." "Gospel of Jessica?" Harvey waved a hand. "Jessica doesn't care. The ten other senior partners and Hardman, on the other hand..." "Ah. Well, when you're Managing Partner, you can take the whole firm to Pride," she said. "One day, my dear, homos will rule the world." Harvey raised his glass in salute, and drank maybe a little faster than he should have.

The day the magazine actually came out, he was prepared for a reasonable amount of good-natured teasing from Donna, probably more than a reasonable amount from Mike, and one or two pointed barbs from Jessica, despite it all being her fault in the first place. Any fallout on the dating scene would remain uncertain for a while, but Harvey had dealt with gold-diggers in the past and would again, to be sure. He did not buy a copy, did not flip through a copy at the news stand, and did not look up the magazine's website. Nonetheless, when he reached his desk, there was a copy of it sitting on top of his keyboard. "Donna," he said patiently. "I'm not sure if I'm going to call you Hottie or Playboy today," she answered over the intercom. "How bad is it?" "So much worse," she said gleefully. "I'm not reading it," he told her, and set the magazine in the trash. "You'll wish you had when Mike gets in," she told him. Mike was five minutes late, which was an improvement over his usual, and gratifyingly he hadn't stopped to buy a copy. Harvey heard him faintly, through the glass wall of his office, trying to cajole Donna into sharing hers. "Donna, send Mike in," Harvey called. Mike's head jerked up, and he pushed through the door eagerly. "Have you seen it yet?" he asked. "No," Harvey replied. "Why not? Donna said she gave you a copy -- " "Because I am a lawyer, Mike, not a debutante." "You'd look very pretty in the fluffy white dress," Mike said, with a weird sort of loyalty, like he had no doubt in Harvey's ability to pull anything off with style. Harvey was about to make a cutting retort that would reduce Mike's ego to ashes when someone blurted "Oh, my God!" and burst into his office. Rachel; Harvey knew better than to out and out yell at her, but he still glared sternly. Rachel, if she noticed, didn't seem to care. "Mike!" she said, waving the magazine. "Have you seen it yet?" "Can we not do this in my office?" Harvey complained. "No, Donna wouldn't lend me her copy," Mike said, hurrying over to her. "You're in it!" Rachel crowed.

"What?" Mike asked, stopping dead. "What?" Harvey echoed, standing up. "They gave you a sidebar under Harvey's profile," Rachel continued. Mike made a grab for the magazine but she pulled it away and held it up, reading. "Our profile of Harvey Specter wasn't meant to turn up any diamonds in the rough, but while Harvey was off sealing deals we got to know Michael Ross, a first-year associate and Harvey's personal go-to boy." Harvey stared at them both. "Lemme see, lemme see," Mike said, finally snatching it out of her hands. "Where did they even get a picture of m -- oh, my God, it's my ID photo." "Also they called you a legal hottie," Rachel added to Harvey. "And Mike is a blue-collar kid made good." "Don't you have work to do?" Harvey asked mildly. "He's a lawyer, not a debutante," Mike told her. "Mike, out, now. Rachel, out of respect for your professional standing, I'll say please when I order you to leave. Please get out," Harvey said. They left, giggling like children over the article, and Harvey sat down again. His email alert flashed.

FROM: elise.konstanova@eliteeats.com TO: harvey.specter@pearsonhardman.com SUBJECT: AAAAHAHAHAHA Told you they wouldn't run me being gay. You're a lawyer, Harvey, can I sue them for defamation of character? E. -Elise Konstanova CEO, Elite Eats "Feed Your Style"

FROM: harvey.specterpearsonhardman.com TO: elise.konstanova@eliteeats.com RE: AAAAHAHAHAHA I'm a lawyer. Put me on retainer and find out. (No.)

-Harvey Specter Senior Partner Pearson Hardman

FROM: elise.konstanova@eliteeats.com TO: harvey.specterpearsonhardman.com RE: AAAAHAHAHAHA Aw, don't be cranky, your profile looks great. Drinks tonight? Sixish? You can even bring your wingman if you think it'll help you score. E. -Elise Konstanova CEO, Elite Eats "Feed Your Style"

Harvey was about to tap out a reply when an email came through from Louis.

FROM: louis.litt@pearsonhardman.com TO: harvey.specter@pearsonhardman.com SUBJECT: (no subject) This is adorable. You two are like pinky and the brain. -Louis Litt Junior Partner Harvard JD '88 Pearson Hardman

FROM: harvey.specter@pearsonhardman.com TO: louis.litt@pearsonhardman.com RE: (no subject) Why thank you, Louis. I always knew sooner or later my scheme to take over the world would succeed. -Harvey Specter

Senior Partner Pearson Hardman

FROM: louis.litt@pearsonhardman.com TO: harvey.specter@pearsonhardman.com RE: (no subject) Who said I thought you were the Brain? -Louis Litt Junior Partner Harvard JD '88 Pearson Hardman

FROM: harvey.specter@pearsonhardman.com TO: louis.litt@pearsonhardman.com RE: (no subject) In a world where you're the baseline, Louis, everyone's the Brain. -Harvey Specter Senior Partner Pearson Hardman

Harvey sat back, satisfied; insulting Louis always relaxed him. On the other hand...

FROM: jessica.pearson@pearsonhardman.com TO: harvey.specter@pearsonhardman.com CC: michael.ross@pearsonhardman.com Subject: New York Talk Harvey, Mike, I'd like to see you two in my office to discuss this. 8am. Be there. J. Pearson -Jessica Pearson, Managing Partner Pearson Hardman

That couldn't be good. Harvey weighed his pride against his instinct for self-preservation, but he only had ten minutes to prep; might as well make the most of them. He pulled the magazine out of the trash, leaning forward to flip through it, holding it under his desk so nobody would see.

"I can hear you preening," Donna said. "I'm not preening," Harvey replied, though he had to admit the photos of him did look good. There it was. His profile, under a huge ugly header marked THE CLOSER, and underneath all of that, a washed-out picture of Mike headed THE WINGMAN. "Wait till you get to the part about how you're cocky but sweetly shy," Donna said. "I'm not hip," Harvey muttered, skimming his profile. "I think you're very hip!" "Hip is not a compliment." He couldn't find anything in the writeup on him that would give Jessica pause, except maybe the mention of street racing. All the motor club cars were GPS enabled, though, so if it came down to it he could prove to her that it was ad copy and not reality.

Sighing, he started on Mike's profile, shorter than his (justifiably so) and less flattering. When he reached the second paragraph, he groaned. Chapter 2 Chapter Text He met Mike outside Jessica's office; as always when he had to be in the same room with her, Mike looked twitchy and awkward. "She's going to neuter you," Harvey informed him. "I didn't do anything!" Mike said. "Be quiet and don't speak unless you're answering a direct question. Let me do the talking and she might let you keep your manhood," Harvey answered. Mike nodded, wide-eyed (...big blue eyes would charm anyone...). Jessica wasn't actually going to murder anyone, Harvey saw when they entered; they might get spanked, but both he and Jessica knew this wasn't a major issue. Still, Mike needed the fear of God put into him before he pulled a stunt like this again.

"Harvey," Jessica said. "Mr. Ross. Have a seat." "Thank you, ma'am," Mike said, and then shot an apologetic look at Harvey. "The goal of putting Harvey's face out in the public eye," she said, opening a copy of New York Talk, "was to make Pearson Hardman look good. Accessible. Positive." Mike kept quiet. Harvey raised his eyebrows at her. "Mike, when an article runs about how hard it is for our rookie employees, and how low we pay them, and how blue-collar they are, do you think that makes the firm look good?" she asked. Mike glanced at Harvey. "Jessica, with all due respect -- " Harvey began. "Mike?" Jessica interrupted. "Does that make Pearson Hardman look good in the public eye?" "Um, no," he said. "Ma'am." "So why would you tell a reporter these things? Because believe me, if the work is that hard, we can find someone else to do it," she said. "Jessica -- " "Harvey," she said, composure slipping slightly. Harvey gave Mike a look that clearly said Sorry, kid, you're on your own. "I didn't tell them those things," Mike said. "Then how did they get into a profile on you in New York Talk, Michael?" Jessica asked, in that fauxsweet way she had, which indicated someone was about to be disemboweled. "I don't know," he said. "I'm not an idiot, I know everything said to a journalist is on the record. I was supposed to keep them happy while Harvey finished a conference call. We talked about cycling and where a good place to get a sandwich is. That's all. We certainly didn't discuss my salary. Which, which is generous," he added nervously. "So you didn't tell them you're Harvey Specter's protege apparent?" "No!" Mike said earnestly, and then a strange expression crossed his face -- surprise, anger, resignation all in one tight little bundle. "Ah," Jessica said, catching it. "What happened?" "Why do you think -- " "Harvey, you really have to teach this kid how to lie convincingly," Jessica interrupted. "I thought I'd break him of the skinny tie habit first," Harvey remarked. "Mike, tell Jessica what you know."

Mike swallowed. "I saw one of the associates talking to the journalist after she was finished doing Harvey's profile. I thought he was just making a pass." "Which associate?" Jessica asked. "I don't -- " Mike cut off before one of them could do it for him. "Kyle." "Kyle doesn't like you," Jessica said. "No, I don't think he does." "And he's very good at PR," Jessica continued. "It takes a pretty twisty mind to turn 'Harvey Specter's protege' into a bad thing," Mike admitted. "But Kyle could do it." "Just so we're clear, you weren't approached to be profiled?" Jessica asked. "No ma'am. I didn't know until this morning." "Where'd they get the photograph?" Mike held out his ID badge. Jessica examined it and nodded. "I'm going to have a word with our security people," she said to Harvey. "And then a very long talk with Kyle." Harvey stood up; Mike sat frozen in his chair. "That means you can go," Jessica said. Mike shot out of his chair and was at the door with almost unseemly haste. "Oh, and Mr. Ross." "Yes?" Mike's voice nearly cracked. "When you get picked up -- and after this article, you will get picked up -- try to do a little damage control?" Mike nodded vigorously. "Harvey, go put him to work." "My pleasure," Harvey said, grasping Mike by the back of the neck and marching him out the door. In the hallway, out of view of Jessica's office, Mike shrugged off Harvey's grip and leaned against a wall, eyes closing in relief. "I am so screwed," he said. "I'm a snitch. Kyle's going to kill me if Jessica doesn't kill him first." "See, on this side of the law, snitches are good things," Harvey told him.

"I thought you must have said all those things! Or -- or Donna or someone," Mike said. He looked disappointed, almost. "I thought, you know, maybe calling me your protege was some kind of reward." "Reward for what?" Harvey asked. "Being your go-to boy?" Mike shrugged. "That's a privilege, not an achievement," Harvey told him. Over Mike's shoulder, he could see Donna watching him; when she caught his eye, she made a stroking motion, like she was petting an imaginary puppy. Harvey sighed. This mentoring gig was such bullshit. "Look, your first magazine article is always traumatic," he said. "Was yours?" Mike asked. "No, mine made me look awesome, but I've heard stories," Harvey replied. "You'll get over it." Donna was gesturing encouragingly now. The things Harvey did to keep her happy, honestly. "Finish the briefs you're working on and take that deposition at three today, and you can come out for drinks tonight," Harvey said. Mike smiled, a little warily. "Can I get that in writing?" "Go," Harvey ordered, and Mike slunk off down the hallway. "You're not just a cool success or a pretty face," Donna told Harvey as he passed. The rest of the day was a morass of busywork, phone calls, and spirited attempts to avoid wellmeaning fools who wanted to compliment Harvey on his profile and introduce him to their sister/friend/girlfriend's friend/daughter (ye gods). By five-thirty, he was more than ready for that drink. Mike was looking considerably less downtrodden when they met at the elevators; Harvey deliberately didn't ask, but Mike told him anyway, all the way to the bar, about how Kyle was on probation and all the associates were murderously envious of 'Harvey Specter's protege apparent' and about the memo that Louis had sent out, clearly at Jessica's request, about What We Say To The Press. (Nothing.) It was a relief to find Elise in a booth at the back and let her airkiss his cheek and introduce her to Mike. "Mike Ross -- " "Your wingman!" Elise said delightedly, patting Mike on the head and ignoring his outstretched hand. "I'm Elise, I'm a lesbian." "Um?" Mike glanced at Harvey.

"Did you see my profile too?" she asked. Mike nodded. "They left out some key information, so I've been telling people all day. Be a darling and get me a vodka tonic? Harvey?" "Two," Harvey told Mike, who looked a little crestfallen to be made drinks boy, but went anyway. "My God, he's adorable," Elise said. "I want to put him in my pocket." "He's half feral, you'll catch something," Harvey told her. "Not before she does." Harvey followed Elise's gaze and saw a woman standing very close to Mike at the bar, grinning at him; her friend wasn't far behind. "It begins," he sighed. He put his fingers to his teeth and blew a sharp whistle; half the heads in the bar turned, including Mike's. Harvey raised an eyebrow and Mike hurried back, carefully carrying two vodka tonics and a beer. The women at the bar leaned in close together and talked urgently, watching them. "Looks like you could take your pick, tonight," Elise said to Mike. "They were just being nice," Mike said. "They were digging you. Probably you wouldn't even have to pick," Elise said speculatively. "Harvey?" "Too young for me," Harvey said, sipping his drink. "I was asking your opinion, not prompting you to act." "And now you have it," Harvey said. "Don't you have a girlfriend, Mike?" Mike gave him a deer-in-the-headlights look and muttered, "Not anymore." "Aw," Elise said, pouting sympathetically. "Harvey, take the boy in hand, teach him your mystic ways." ...as Harvey's protege apparent, Mike's no fool... "I would have to have many, many more vodka tonics before that becomes an option," Harvey said. "I can get my own dates," Mike protested. "And it's true he can't help you much with keeping them." "Hey!" Harvey frowned at Elise. "I don't want to keep them. The point of being single is that I don't have to keep them."

"I don't think I could do that. I'd get lonely," Mike remarked, sipping his beer. He was mid-swallow when he saw Harvey's expression; he swallowed hastily, nearly choked, and set the glass down with exaggerated care. "I mean, it's fine if you want to. That's just not me." "He's in it for love. I told you, adorable," Elise said. "Come on, Harvey, you don't think about settling down?" "I'm very settled. I have a career, a great place -- " "-- all the cool toys that come with being a multi-million-dollar dealmaker," Mike finished. "Watch yourself, rookie, you're one of them," Harvey said. Elise snorted. "You should at least take him with you when you go mingle," she said. "He is your wingman, after all." "I'm not mingling tonight," Harvey replied. She tipped her head. "What? There's a reason I'm drinking with you. Believe it or not, some of us have learned to avoid being led around by our hormones, especially the same day a huge spread goes out in a magazine. Been there, done that." "Two years ago Harvey was profiled in Time Magazine," Elise told Mike. Harvey rubbed his forehead. "It wasn't even a big spread, just a sidebar. He was beating them off with a stick for weeks. I don't think you got laid the whole time," she added to Harvey. "I'm not interested in being collected," Harvey said. "I like a challenge." "I would never have guessed," Mike told him solemnly. "As much as I would love to be your beard all evening," Elise said, gathering up her drink, "If neither of you are getting any tonight, someone has to keep up the side. Harvey, I'll email you, we'll do lunch. Mike, very nice to meet you." "You too," Mike said, enduring another headpat as Elise left. "Need another drink?" Harvey asked, indicating Mike's empty beer glass. "Yep, I think so." "Good." Harvey held out his own empty glass. Mike rolled his eyes, but took Harvey's glass and went to get refills. Chapter 3 Notes: And then I got bored with the story and went for the porn. (See the end of the chapter for more notes.) Chapter Text "When Elise said you didn't get laid for weeks -- " "Shut up," Harvey mumbled, shoving Mike against the door inside his condo.

" -- did she mean just women?" Mike continued, twining a leg around Harvey's. "Because it seems -" "Shut up," Harvey ordered. He was trying to tug Mike's shirt out of his pants but he wasn't feeling very coordinated and Mike's arms were in the way, Mike's hands sliding up his ribcage with uneasymaking intimacy. "I'm just saying," Mike bucked his hips sharply and Harvey groaned. "You're even more eligible if you like -- " Harvey kissed him to make him be quiet, and Mike dove into it with enthusiasm, distracted. Harvey triumphantly got his mostly-unbuttoned shirt out of his pants, shoving it off. He hauled him around by his shoulders, bare and warm under his palms, and pressed Mike's hips against the kitchen counter, stumbling because Mike still had one leg wrapped around his. Harvey wasn't quite sure how they got there -- well, no, he remembered that, they called a cab -more, existentially, he didn't know how they got from "get me a drink" to actually talking like equals about sex to Mike saying, "Wait, you're bi?" to Mike brushing against him while Harvey flagged the cab to -Oh, right, Mike making some smartass remark about Harvey's challenges in the cab and Harvey kissing him, because with about one too many vodkas in him and Mike all soft and mussed from matching him drink for drink, it seemed like a good idea. Actually it still seemed like a good idea, a fantastic idea, as Harvey pushed his advantage and Mike clutched at his shirt. Screwing the smartass right out of Mike was something he'd considered before, but workplace relationships were tasteless and making a pass at a subordinate was crass. "Oh -- fuck -- Harvey," Mike managed, edging up onto the counter, but Harvey pulled him back again and they staggered backwards towards the bedroom, Mike nuzzling against his neck while he worked Harvey's vest buttons undone. Where had their ties gone? "They definitely didn't mention this in the article..." "Jesus god I am going to fuck you until you can't talk anymore," Harvey promised, kicking the bedroom door shut behind them. Mike gave a tug and his vest and shirt came off together, and then he pushed Harvey up against the door. "Have fun trying," Mike growled in his ear. "I plan to," Harvey replied, tugging Mike up against him, hand possesive on his ass. "Hold still." "Don't you like a challenge?" Mike asked, squirming against him. "Harvey, Harvey -- " "Mm?" Harvey pushed, trying to get leverage, but just ended up with his thigh between Mike's legs, Mike's hard-on against his hip. "Who said you get to fuck me?" Mike asked in a whisper, against his ear. Harvey arched against the door and got enough momentum to push Mike back, across the carpet and onto the bed, still standing next to it to pull his undershirt off. Mike laughed and wriggled out of his pants, diving forward to work Harvey's belt buckle open.

Harvey grinned and rested a hand on Mike's head. "While you're down there..." "Did your personal tailor make these?" Mike asked with a smirk, cupping Harvey through his (expensive, but not tailored, there are boundaries, thanks) boxers. Harvey, in reply, pushed against Mike's hand, delicious friction, and grunted. Mike nuzzled into his stomach, hot little breaths on his skin. "Why do you think they rated our style?" Mike asked, nosing along the line of Harvey's thigh as he tugged his boxers down. "Inside that naive exterior is a thinly-veiled narcissist," Harvey answered, tipping his head back. "No but I mean," Mike continued, and then sucked the head of Harvey's cock into his mouth, and Harvey had a brief moment of warm, brilliant suction -- "Looks and wealth?" Another brief suck, oh god, Mike was secretly a porn star -- "Is that all there is?"

"Just looks, in your case," Harvey replied, twisting his fingers in Mike's short hair and trying to hold him still. Mike twisted against him, sitting up, and pulled with an arm around Harvey's waist, making him stumble against the bed and fall onto it. He rolled, about to pull Mike on top of him, but Mike was already there -- pinning him, tricky little narcissistic porn-star wrestler. "Stay," Mike told him, and kissed him, wet and hungry. "I bite when displeased." Harvey drew one leg up, relaxing back, but kept still. Mike bent and licked his nipple, nuzzled against his abs, rested both hands on his hips. Another quick wet suck, a kiss to Harvey's thigh, and then Mike bobbed his head down, tongue working against the underside of Harvey's cock, slick and warm. "Finally he's quiet," Harvey groaned, and felt Mike laugh around his dick. It was perfect, eager and tight and hot, he should have done this months ago. With a sense almost detached from the pleasure sparking along his skin, he felt Mike's hand slide around to his thigh, thumb stroking the skin just below his balls, brushing his ass. He should protest, but it had been a long time since anyone had fucked him like that, and he wanted this whole horrific day to go away. Mike lifted his head with one last, insufficient lick, and leaned against Harvey's leg. "Seriously, I'm going to fuck you," he said. "Seriously, do you see me stopping you?" Harvey asked. Mike's thumb pressed down. "Bedside table -- " Mike leaned up, over, and Harvey wrapped an arm around his shoulders to hold him there while he rummaged for lubricant, tossing a condom carelessly over his shoulder onto the bed. When he tried to lean back, Harvey tightened his arm and kissed him. "Oh, okay, like that," Mike said against his mouth, and slid around a little until he could get his arm free enough to open the lube and (okay, talented trickly little narcissistic porn-star wrestler) onehanded, tip some out into his palm.

He shifted, almost straddling Harvey's leg, still kissing him as he roughly pushed a finger into Harvey's ass. Harvey felt his eyes roll back in his head. "You're so easy," Mike muttered, biting his jaw. "So, Harvey," he continued, pushing a second in next to the first, and Harvey grunted, "How does this work? We fuck tonight, go in to work on Monday? I think -- " he groaned as Harvey shifted his weight slightly, leg brushing Mike's cock, " -- I think I can compartmentalize given I've been checking out your ass since you hired me -- " a slight burn, Jesus, right there, " -- but on the other hand I could be a constant challenge." Harvey wasn't really paying much attention, too gone on the way Mike's fingers shifted and worked. "And I know you like a challenge," Mike said, three fingers in now, more than a slight burn but he wanted it, wanted to be turned over and fucked, was so sick of waitresses and women who were easily impressed by cars. "Are you asking me to go steady?" Harvey asked, lifting his hips, getting Mike's fingers deeper. "I wouldn't say no to a promise ring," Mike said with a laugh. "Please say you're good, because -- " "I'm good," Harvey interrupted. "Just fuck me and we can write love letters in the morning, okay?" "Asshole." Mike took his hand out and slapped him on the thigh, hard enough to sting. Harvey tossed him the condom and rolled over, but Mike's hand caught him on his hip while he was still on his side. "Just there," Mike said softly -- hesitant, almost, like he wasn't actually as in-control as he was letting on. Harvey stilled, let his eyes close, felt Mike settle in behind and up against him. "There, that's -- " he went silent, the tip of his dick pressing hard in. He rolled his hips and thrust, shallow, and Harvey heard him gasp for breath. No, not as on top of things as he wanted Harvey to think. Another push and heat trickled up Harvey's spine. He groaned, low and long, and figured out what Mike was doing. Not enough weight to really put his back into it, not at that angle, so he was just bucking his hips, slow and hard. Harvey wasn't sure he could talk, and if he could stupid things would pour out -- begging and babbling, how he'd wanted to fuck Mike for months, how he wanted to own him, how he really really didn't want Mike to stop but if he would just... "Silent type, Harvey? That's unexpected." Mike wrapped a hand around his dick, settling in, stroking roughly, and Harvey made a sound suspiciously like an undignified cry. "Fuck, oh, fuck -- " "There we go," Mike murmured, and he kept moving, faster now, kissing Harvey's shoulder. "Christ, you're amazing." "Do you ever shut up?" Harvey managed, then groaned when Mike bucked again. "Fuck, Mike!" Mike bit down, right into the meat of his shoulder, and Harvey twisted, coming, only barely aware of the noise he was making. He felt Mike still and tense behind him and the orgasm on the heels of his own, his name almost a sob in Mike's mouth.

After a few seconds he caught his breath and shifted, edging Mike back a little, turning onto his stomach as Mike groaned and pulled away. He came back soon enough, collapsing against Harvey, curling around him, head cocked on Harvey's shoulder. Harvey turned to regard him, or rather what he could see of him -- the edge of an ear, mostly. He could feel the burn of the bite on his shoulder, and a creeping soreness, but the rest of him was much too relaxed to care. Mike nosed against his shoulder, snuffled, and then rolled away onto his back. "Jesus, I have terrible taste in men," he said, covering his face with his hands. "Excuse me?" Harvey asked, not moving. "Just, really." "Way to ruin the afterglow, rookie." "You know who the last guy I slept with was?" Mike asked. "I a million percent don't care," Harvey informed him. "Kyle." "Wow. You really do have bad taste." Harvey considered this. "Was he any good?" "Harvey!" "You brought it up." Mike groaned. "I don't even know. At the bar after the mock trial we got into a fight in the alley and I told him he could suck it and hey presto, he did." "I'm impressed." "He owed me that at least for the way he screwed me beforehand." "And did I owe you this, Mike?" Mike glanced over at him. "No, you're just my hot, most eligible bachelor boss with the power of life and death over me." "Let's not be dramatic," Harvey drawled. "You made the page too." Mike laughed. "Yeah, okay -- god, screw it. Love letters in the morning, right?" he said, managing to twist the bed's blankets up around him. "C'mere, kid." Harvey tugged him over until they were tangled together, Mike's head tucked under his chin. "Bearing in mind that my major reason for wanting to fuck you was to take your ass down a

peg or two, which is why I never did, because that's a pretty sketchy motivation for sex, you were a challenge." "So glad to be of service," Mike replied, sounding annoyed. "God, you never get it," Harvey sighed. "I don't do relationships. They're boring. You're not boring. So go to sleep and if we don't find each other intolerable in the morning, you can continue to try to challenge me." "You say the nicest things," Mike yawned. "It's like you're cocky and sweetly shy by turns." "I'm going to remember you said that," Harvey replied, "and in the morning I'm going to factor it into my opinion of you." "Mmhm," Mike mumbled. "I'm sure you'll give me a run for my money." Harvey considered a gentle shove in the ribs for that, but Mike was already asleep, and it'd be a shame to wake him and have to listen to him talk some more. "Most eligible single my ass," he muttered, closing his eyes. END