Work Text:
Saturday Night
Saturday nights are theirs.
It's not something either Harvey or Mike ever put down as a rule, just something that happened as their relationship progressed. During the week they work late too often to spend any real time with each other, so Saturday is the only night they have where they can be together without any interruptions, and without the thought of work looming over them early the next morning.
So Saturday nights are theirs, and most weekends they don't even think about going out and instead hole up in front of the TV – or in the bedroom, on more than one occasion – and spend as much time as they can with their phones turned to silent and thinking about anything but work for as long as they can.
Mike loves Saturday nights. He loves greasy pizza or Indian takeout for dinner, loves curling up around Harvey on the sofa as they watch silly movies or TV-shows, he loves lazing around on the deck chairs with a book until it gets too dark to read and Harvey pulls him back inside. Most of all, he loves stripping Harvey out of his clothes piece by piece and spend the entire night skin against skin, making love until they're both sleepy and sated and fall asleep wrapped around each other on top of the rumpled sheets.
This past week has been particularly stressful, with Harvey wrapped up in a huge merger that started out boring but which his client's stubbornness turned into a legal nightmare halfway through the negotiations, and with Mike buried in tons of paperwork following Louis' order of 'all hands on deck' for the case he was working on. Mike has been looking forward to seeing this week end since around lunchtime on Monday, and now that it's finally Saturday evening, his stomach is full with the best pizza in all of Manhattan and he's settled on the couch with a beer and a bowl of popcorn, he can finally feel every single muscle of his body relax and almost melt into the soft leather cushions.
He's full and content, there's a couple of Shark Week specials that he hasn't seen yet saved on the DVR, and Harvey is right next to him, so it's safe to say that Mike is content. Harvey doesn't particularly care for Shark Week, so instead of watching he has sat down beside Mike with a well-worn copy of Ender's Game. Or rather, he started the evening sitting beside Mike. Over the past hour he shifted through a number of positions in his seemingly endless quest to find the one perfect reading position. Mike indulged him, even as Harvey manhandled him around, shifting restlessly and propping pillows against Mike's side in seemingly random places only to discard his position again just a few minutes later.
Mike endured this restless shifting with a fond smile on his face while Harvey slowly but steadily explored every possible way to use Mike's body as a pillow. The quest was successful, and by now Harvey is stretched out along the length of the couch, book propped up on his chest and his head pillowed on Mike's lap. Not that Mike is complaining. Harvey's head is a warm, comfortable weight in his lap, and the way he is stretched out beside him is practically an invitation to rest his right hand against Harvey's chest. The cotton of his old t-shirt soft and warm beneath Mike's fingers as it rises and falls gently in time with Harvey's even breaths.
Most of all though, that position gives Mike the perfect opportunity to run the fingers of his left hand through Harvey's hair. Harvey took a shower earlier, washing away the pound of product that normally keeps his hair caked together, and now the strands fall loose across his forehead and the fabric of Mike's sweatpants. It's impossible to resist the urge to run his fingers through the soft strands, so Mike doesn't even pretend to fight it.
Harvey makes a low humming sound in the back of his throat as Mike's fingers settle against his scalp and start running through his hair. There's the rustle of a page being turned, but when Mike looks down, he finds that instead of reading, Harvey is looking up at him.
"What's wrong? Bored with the book already?"
Harvey rolls his eyes and turns his face a little more into Mike's thigh. He huffs out a sound that's probably meant to be a laugh. "No, in fact I'm not. It's a great book, and I know that you know it, too, because I think this is your copy."
He puts a finger between the pages to mark his place and then closes the book to show Mike the cover. Mike isn't too sure, but it's entirely possible that the book is his. He knows that his copy looks well-read, and that it's a bit dog-eared from being stuffed into a variety of bags over the years, but right now Mike is too tired and content to seriously contemplate the question whether or not the book is his or Harvey's. Most of Mike's books have found their way into Harvey's bookshelves by now, leading to a surprising number of double copies, and Mike has long since figured out that it's easier to think of them as theirs than to try and keep them separate.
"Could be", he agrees, and Harvey reopens the book and settles against him once more.
"Besides, even if I read the book before, it's still more valuable entertainment on a Saturday night than watching your documentaries on man-eating fish."
"Sharks aren't man-eating per se…"
"Yet I still don't see you sign up for surfing lessons, either."
Mike huffs out a laugh. "Yeah, maybe that is because surfing isn't exactly the number one sport here in New York."
"Or maybe you're afraid to end up as shark bait."
There's a sly smile on Harvey's face, and it takes a lot of self-restraint on Mike's part to not lean down and kiss the smirk right off his lips. He's pretty proud of his self-control.
"I was a wrestler in High School. It's safe to say I'm more of a contact sport kind of person, so I don't think surfing is for me."
Harvey chuckles and mumbles something about how quickly surfing can turn into a contact sport when the sharks get hungry, but Mike decides to ignore the jibe in favor of running his fingers through Harvey's hair again. After a few moments, Harvey goes back to reading his book and Mike turns his eyes back to the TV-screen. Only half of his attention is on the Shark Week special, though, the rest is taken up by the feel of Harvey's hair sliding through his fingers.
It's rare enough that Harvey lets his hair down like this – pun fully intended. He might drop the suit jacket, tie and vest when he gets home from work in the evening, but that's about as casual as he normally gets. Even after a year of being in a relationship with him, the sight of Harvey lazing around on the couch in sweatpants and an old t-shirt is anything but common. The same goes for Harvey with his hair not styled to perfection. The first time Mike saw him with his hair not slathered in gel, he was surprised. His hair is a lighter brown than Mike initially assumed, and fresh out of the shower it looks almost…fluffy. It makes Harvey look so much younger, and a lot less unapproachable, and Mike simply loves the feel of it between his fingers, soft and slightly tangled from the way he was shifting around earlier.
Harvey makes a contented sound as Mike digs his fingers in a little harder, running blunt fingernails across his scalp before he continues to comb his fingers through the brown strands. It's a gentle movement that's just as soothing to Mike himself as it seems to Harvey, and Mike doesn't interrupt it even as he lets more and more of his attention drift back to the documentary on TV. Occasionally, Harvey will make a small sound or move a little into the touch of Mike's fingers, but other than that the occasional rustling sound of a turning page is the only noise he's making.
The only disadvantage to the position is that both Mike's beer as well as the bowl of popcorn are out of his reach, but Harvey's warm weight against him more than makes up for that small disadvantage.
The documentary is interesting, even though it doesn't really tell Mike anything he hasn't heard before, but he's warm and content and won't have to think about work for the next twenty-four hours at least. It's safe to say that right now, life is good and Mike is happy. And who knows what the rest of the night will bring. It's still early in the evening, after all, and there's a perfectly functional bed just down the hallway. Mike wouldn't be opposed to this simply being the quiet innuendo to a more active night.
The documentary ends, and Mike switches off the DVR and turns down the volume on the TV.
"See? I'm not saying I want to go swimming with them, but sharks aren't exactly man-eating monsters, either."
There's no immediate answer, and for a moment Mike thinks that Harvey is too engrossed in his book and hasn't heard him. He looks down and can't help the smile that spreads on his face. Harvey's eyes are closed and the book is lying facedown on his chest, his fingers still resting loosely on the cover. His chest is rising and falling slowly and steadily underneath Mike's hand.
"Harvey?"
The older man doesn't even stir, which seals it. Harvey is asleep. He fell asleep with his head in Mike's lap.
"Seriously? Again?"
Harvey still doesn't so much as twitch, and with a fond smile Mike runs his hand through his hair one last time. It's adorable, really, that Harvey fell asleep with his head in Mike's lap, and it's even more adorable that it's not the first time this happened. The last time they ended up in a similar position a couple of weeks back, Harvey was out cold in a matter of minutes, as well. It's almost like this is going to become a trend.
"You know, the next time this happens, I'll make sure to have my phone on me so that I can take pictures as proof."
There's no visible reaction to his words, and with a smile Mike strokes a strand of hair away from Harvey's forehead.
"Who would have guessed, the great Harvey Specter is a cuddler."
Harvey still doesn't react, and Mike takes the opportunity to simply watch the other man for a moment, unguarded in a way he never allows himself to be when he's not asleep. There are no hard lines on his face when he's sleeping, none of the tension that's normally lingering in his expression, and Mike really wishes Harvey could be this relaxed more often.
"You know, I don't mind, even if my leg is falling asleep."
Harvey shifts then, though probably not in reaction to Mike's one-sided conversation. He makes a small sound in the back of his throat and turns a bit, nudging his head into Mike's still hand. Mike chuckles, but he picks up where he left off and starts running his fingers through Harvey's hair again. Harvey hums, a sound that is almost a purr, and turns around fully until his face is buried against Mike's stomach. The book slides off his chest and ends squished against a cushion, but before Mike can even think about saving it before it gets even ore dog-eared than it already is, Harvey's hand slides up his side and inches up underneath his shirt.
There's no intention behind the movement, though, at least none beyond establishing a point of contact, and as soon as his fingers rest against bare skin Harvey sighs and presses his face further into the folds of Mike's t-shirt as his body goes completely limp against him.
"All right, if this is how you want to play it, I can work with that."
Harvey doesn't answer – at this point, Mike really doesn't expect him to – but he makes a small noise of protest as Mike lifts his hand out of his hair for a moment to pick up the remote control again. He does a quick search of the DVR hard drive and finds an episode of Boston Legal he hasn't seen in a while. It can't quite compete with seeing Harvey Specter in the courtroom, but it's entertaining. Harvey won't even be able to complain should he deign to wake up, seeing as it's got Shatner in it.
For now, Harvey's body against his is completely relaxed and sleep-warm, his breaths are brushing in steady puffs against Mike's stomach, and Mike almost automatically brings his hand back to Harvey's head to run his fingers through his hair.
As far as Saturday evenings go, Mike thinks it doesn't get much better than this.
The End