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“Harvey! Can you get that, please? Louis will be here soon and I’m not ready yet,” Mike yelled from the bedroom as the phone started ringing.
Dragging himself off the couch from where he’d been catching up on his not so guilty pleasure, ‘How to Get Away with Murder’, (he refused to dignify Mike’s suggestion that maybe he had a soft spot for kickass black women lawyers with killer wardrobes with a response), Harvey answered the phone, muttering under his breath about why exactly Mike felt the need to ruin a perfectly lovely Sunday afternoon by agreeing to go biking with Louis. Just because Louis was on a health kick didn’t mean they had to get dragged into it.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Mr. Specter-Ross, this is Tom at the front desk.”
“Hey, Tom. What can I do for you?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but I have someone here who says his name’s Louis Litt and that you’re expecting him, but…”
Tom didn’t get any further than that before Harvey heard a very familiar, very irritated (and irritating, but that was beside the point) voice huffing in the background. “I don’t say I’m Louis Litt! I am Louis Litt! And you’re about two seconds away from getting Litt up, Tom!”
Harvey snorted and rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, that’s him all right. It’s okay, send him up, we’re expecting him.”
“O… kay,” Tom replied, obviously still a little dubious, but willing to take Harvey’s word for it.
“Oh, and Tom?”
“Yes, sir?”
“You know how every year at Christmas I tip you and you demur and say it’s far too much and you don’t deserve it because you’re just doing your job, etc?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Trust me, you’re not gonna have to say that this year. Even just two minutes of having to deal with Louis and you’ve earned it.”
Tom chuckled. “No argument here.”
Hanging up with a laugh, Harvey shouted to his husband that Louis was on the way up then headed to the door ready to greet his only remaining senior partner at the firm.
Harvey had seen some things in his day, but nothing had prepared him for the sight that met him when the door swung open to reveal an obviously still seething Louis Litt.
“Goddamn lobby Nazi!” Louis griped, storming past a shell-shocked Harvey into the condo’s main living area. “Wouldn’t believe me when I said I was expected! Insisted on calling you to check. Said my name wasn’t on your pre-approved list of visitors who can come and go without having to be buzzed up! Why aren’t I on your pre-approved list, Harvey??”
Louis stopped talking long enough to draw breath and realise that Harvey hadn’t yet spoken a word to him, but was just standing there, gaping at him.
“What? What is it? Why are you staring at me like that?”
And that did it. The dam broke as Harvey finally processed the sight before him and burst out laughing. Naturally, that only served to exacerbate Louis’ annoyance.
“Harvey, I swear to God, if you don’t stop laughing and tell me what the hell is going on with you, I'll…”
“You’ll what, Lance Armstrong?” Harvey managed to get out. “Run me over with your bike?”
“Harvey, goddamn it, what’s so funny?”
Harvey went into another fit of laughter before he regained his composure enough to say, “Louis, are you serious right now? Have you seen yourself today? What the hell are you wearing?”
Louis looked down at the neon yellow and blue Lycra monstrosity he was clad in before looking back up at Harvey, clearly confused.
“What? Mike and I are going biking. I’m wearing biking gear.”
“Yeah, but you’re going for a couple of laps through the park, not entering the Tour de France! You look ridiculous! Even for you.” Harvey felt another peal of laughter coming on, but then his eyes fell on the skintight cycling shorts Louis was wearing and he suddenly didn’t feel like laughing anymore.
The conversation he and Mike had once had about whether or not Louis had worn a codpiece for his turn as Shylock in Donna’s play that time or if he was actually packing that much heat of his own popped into Harvey’s head and he realised they finally had their answer. He would’ve been impressed if he wasn’t so nauseated at the thought that it was Louis’ junk he was contemplating. Turns out some questions really are better left unanswered, he thought with a shudder.
Trying to put the disturbing image out of his head (which was hard when it was right there and, oh God, he didn’t need the word ‘hard’ conjuring up any more traumatising pictures in his head) Harvey yelled, “Mike! Get your ass out here!”
“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Mike fired back, before tripping through the door from the master bedroom, pulling on a t-shirt.
Taking one look at Louis he turned on his heel without missing a beat and headed back to the bedroom with a resounding, “Nope.”
Harvey just laughed again before he caught sight of the offending bulge in Louis’ Lycra once more and made a mental note to be extra generous with Tom’s Christmas bonus this year.