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Mike hadn't expected Harvey to be the 'post coital: roll over and go straight to sleep' type of guy. But then again, he never really expected to be in a position to witness any of his pre-, during-, or post-coital habits, so it was a night for firsts all round.
He reached out and touched a tentative hand to Harvey's skin. The older man didn't stir so Mike trailed his fingertips lightly over his shoulder, his chest. He traced the small red mark he had left on Harvey's chest an hour previous, remembering how Harvey moaned when he bit into his skin. And then in retaliation (although it was a reprisal Mike welcomed) Harvey had left a similar mark on Mike's stomach, and when Mike lay still and concentrated he could feel it throbbing slightly.
Mike figured that he should stop ogling his sleeping boss and get to sleep, but the part about him sleeping with his boss stuck in his head and he started freaking out. His mind was a wild thing, often running off in one direction without Mike's consent, and now all he could think about was how he had just slept with his boss and how this could ruin everything and what the fuck were they thinking? Was it really worth it, the loss of their working relationship and friendship just for some (admittedly mind-blowing) sex?
But then again, maybe this didn't have to mean the loss of everything. Maybe they could have everything they had before, and more. Because he knew Harvey, and despite appearances he knew that Harvey would never cast aside their relationship just for one night of sex, especially since he was Harvey fucking Specter and there was probably a perpetual line of people constantly waiting at his door in the hope that one day he would choose them, if only for a night. No, Harvey would never risk Mike and everything they had unless he was sure, unless he wanted more.
Following this chain of reasoning to its logical conclusion should have been reassuring, should have sent Mike off to sleep where nothing but sweet dreams awaited him. But it was such a heady thing to realize he was the object of Harvey's desire. He knew that Harvey wanted him (and he had the physical marks and pleasant aches to prove it) but this was desire on a whole new level. It meant something.
He continued to stare at Harvey in the low light of the room, his lips slowly quirking into an indulgent smile. He pressed his lips lightly to the nearest piece of Harvey's skin (which just happened to be the curve of his shoulder). Harvey stirred at the touch. Mike froze in place, not wanting to disturb Harvey's sleep, and was unprepared when Harvey suddenly reached out and pulled Mike down to his chest, his arms wrapping firmly around Mike where he was half sprawled over Harvey's chest.
Mike was warm and secure in the wrap of Harvey's embrace. He angled his head up as much as he was able and saw Harvey sleeping contently, obviously unaware of his actions. He settled into place, a smile brushing against Harvey's skin, and made himself comfortable for what was surely going to be a long and sleepless night ahead. And Mike was looking forward to every second.
Mike had gotten used to Harvey's large windows and the constant low light of the bedroom surprisingly quickly. While part of him still preferred the small and dark nook of his apartment where his bed lived, Harvey's room definitely trumped his with its excessively comfortable mattress and opulent sheets, not to mention the delectable specimen usually to be found lying beside him.
So he acclimated to the sight of the shimmering lights of the city silently edging into the room. And then one night New York City experienced its worst storm in years.
Mike was snapped awake by the sound of a roll of thunder so loud he was convinced it was right above the building. He was instantly awake. Sheets of rain pounded against the windows. A crack of lightning illuminated the bedroom, and Mike stopped breathing.
He knew it was stupid and irrational and just plain juvenile, but he had this small fear of storms. He could deal with most of them, had no problem with rain and could handle mild storms by concentrating on something else (work, reading, watching TV – anything to keep his mind focused elsewhere). But severe storms, like the one occurring at that particular moment, kinda terrified him.
He knew where the fear came from. Two months before his parents died they had gone to Stone Harbor for the weekend, the last free weekend of the summer vacation. Only as the day was ending a freak storm appeared from nowhere. All of the beach's inhabitants fled as soon as they could, Mike and his parents included, but the storm beat them to it and a woman was struck and killed by lightning. Mike didn't see the actual incident, but he heard the crack as the lightning hit, and he was close enough to see the smoke and sand wafting up from the beach.
Mike was well aware that it was a freak accident, that the odds of the same thing happening to him were off the charts. And in truth, when a storm like this one rolled in, he wasn't scared of the same fate being bestowed upon him. It was just a general unease and anxiety that took over his whole body. He froze in place, couldn't move a muscle, tried to keep his breathing steady and even as the lightning and thunder continued to put on an impressive display outside.
Harvey stirred an indeterminate time later (it felt like hours to Mike, but was more likely about twenty minutes, if that). Mike had his back to Harvey as he remained a rigid figure in the bed, and he felt Harvey's hand tentatively rest on his arm before he mumbled, "Mike, are you okay?"
How Harvey even knew something was wrong was a mystery, though if Mike was a betting man he would guess it was because of the way he hadn't moved an inch for the last twenty minutes. It probably wasn't surprising to learn that Mike was usually a restless and tactile sleeper. He was constantly throwing an arm over Harvey's chest or torso, twining their legs together, tossing and turning every half hour, constantly flipping from his side to his back to his stomach, alternating between facing Harvey and the bedroom windows. And Mike remaining as still as stone for the last however long probably pulled him from his sleep. Either that or the latest roll of thunder had woken him.
"Yeah," Mike whispered in reply.
But Harvey clearly didn't believe him. He shifted closer, dropping an arm over his side. He pressed a soft kiss to Mike's shoulder blade before murmuring, "What's wrong? Tell me."
Mike figured he should’ve known better than to try and lie to Harvey. He felt stupid saying the words, but he eventually confessed that, "I may have a tiny, little, miniscule fear of storms."
He didn't know what reaction he expected, but it certainly wasn't what he got. Harvey didn’t say anything, just tugged on Mike's shoulder until he turned and faced Harvey. Harvey threw a leg over Mike's thighs and rested a hand on the side of Mike's neck, his thumb brushing back and forth over his jaw line. He whispered reassuring words (it's okay, just look at me, you're fine, you're safe) until Mike felt the tension drain from his body.
How Harvey managed to sleep at a time like this, Mike didn't know. He was too jittery, the familiar nerves taking hold and keeping him hostage.
Mike sat against the headboard, his lap covered with Pearson Hardman folders, the top one open as he scanned the documents one last time. Once done he placed the file at the bottom of the pile, picked up a new one, and started reading.
"Do I need to remind you that you are a genius with eidetic memory who doesn't need to read those files again?" Harvey mumbled without opening his eyes.
Mike couldn't help but smile, never tiring of hearing Harvey call him a genius (technically his eidetic memory didn't grant him genius status but he never corrected Harvey on that). From the corner of his eye he saw Harvey rub tiredly at his face before sitting up and staring at Mike until the younger man gave in and gave Harvey his full attention.
"Mike, you know this stuff backwards and forwards."
"It's important."
"I know it is. And do you really think I would let you sit first chair on a case this big if I didn’t believe you could do it?"
Mike knew that Harvey trusted him, knew the faith Harvey had in his abilities and knowledge. But Mike also knew that Harvey's faith didn't mean that something couldn't go spectacularly wrong during cross-examination tomorrow. And he wasn't going to apologize for wanting to be as prepared as possible. But he did have to concede that Harvey had a point. He already knew everything on these pages.
"Just five more minutes," Mike said, and Harvey made a big show of grabbing his watch from the bedside table to count the time down.
So Mike kept reading, occasionally asking Harvey for some advice and engaging in a quick debate on tactics before Mike went back to his file. As soon as his five minutes were up Harvey put his watch on the table and announced, "And that's time."
"Just one more minute," Mike said, not even looking up from his reading.
In reply Harvey simply took the file straight from his hand. Mike turned, an outburst on his lips, but Harvey cut him off with a bruising kiss, one Mike couldn't help but melt into.
"Okay," Mike said between kisses, mouth still pressed to Harvey's as he exhaled the words. "You win."
Harvey grinned. "I always do."
They separated long enough to carefully remove the files from the bed and then they were back, kissing heatedly. Harvey pulled Mike down so Mike was lying atop him, something the younger man didn't mind at all, using his position to trail wet kisses down Harvey's neck to his chest.
"Do you know what you need?" Harvey said, to which Mike looked up at him with a raised eyebrow and an expression that read 'did you seriously just ask me that?'.
"Do tell, o wise one," Mike replied, intrigued.
"I think the time has come for us to create a pre-trial ritual. Something to take your mind off the case just for a bit, get you relaxed."
"And what exactly did you have in mind?"
Harvey rested his hands on the pillow behind his head as Mike continued his assault on Harvey's chest, looking nothing short of completely smug. "What would you like?"
There was something in the way Harvey said the words, low and lascivious, that stopped Mike in his tracks. He had made it to Harvey's lower stomach, hand to the waistband of Harvey's boxers, ready to pull them down. But instead he looked up at Harvey, chin pressing into Harvey's stomach, to find the older man grinning down at him. And when he realized what Harvey was suggesting, he beamed.
"Top?"
Harvey nodded, and Mike practically groaned. He leaned up and kissed Harvey, tongue tracing deep in his mouth as he pressed their bodies together. One of his hands tangled with Harvey's while the other slowly traced down Harvey's ribs and side before it slipped under his shorts.
"Best pre-trial ritual ever," Mike grinned against Harvey's mouth.
Mike was an idiot. He knew it, Harvey knew it, the world at large knew it. He really needed to get over his habit of rushing into situations without thinking first. Thinking was good. Thinking was required.
A thinking person, when confronted with the sight of a woman being held at knifepoint, would have scared the assailant off from a distance, or grabbed the attention of the two cops across the street to deal with the situation. But no, not Mike Ross. He didn't even think about his options or any possible consequences, just went charging down the alleyway, ready to insert himself between the criminal and victim if that was what it would take to protect this woman.
On the upside, she was safe and unscathed. On the downside, he ended up with a nearly four inch long wound on his inner left forearm.
The victim, Emmaline was her name, started crying as Mike fell to the dirty ground, the brick wall at his back the only thing keeping him even remotely upright. Mike was vaguely aware that the mugger had run off, but he kept his concentration on his wound, clamping down as hard as he could to try and staunch the flow of blood. He saw Emmaline run away, and for a terrifying moment he thought he was being left there alone, abandoned in this dirty alley, left to bleed out in peace. His heart was racing and the blood was warm where it rushed down his skin and all he could think of was Harvey. Harvey, Harvey, Harvey. And the last thing he remembered before passing out was Emmaline and a pair of New York's finest crouching in front of him, asking his name, and him murmuring, "Harvey," before everything went black.
The rest of the day was a blur, and to be honest, Mike kinda hoped that it would stay that way. There was the hospital, a kid who looked even younger than him closing his wound with a nice even-dozen stitches. There was the police, taking his statement, assuring Mike that Emmaline was fine, asking if he would be willing to meet with a sketch artist. There was Emmaline, upset but unhurt, her mouth spilling gratitude with such fervour it made Mike uncomfortable. There was Harvey, rushing into his room like he had run the entire distance from Pearson Hardman to his hospital room, the look of worry replaced by a cool rush of relief upon seeing that Mike was relatively okay, his lips warm against his in a desperate kiss.
The day was wasted after that, between the hospital and the police station and the pharmacy, and it was late, past midnight, but he still couldn't sleep. It wasn't that he was experiencing post-traumatic stress or anything. Granted, it wasn't exactly a pleasant experience, but he had dealt with his parents dying and he had been the victim of a hit and run a few years back and he knew he was safe here, in Harvey's bed, in his condo in the sky. It was the discomfort from the wound more than anything else that was keeping him up.
He had filled the pain prescription the hospital had given him, and it had taken the edge off. But his forearm was warm where the blood pooled at the wound, his skin was itching from the stitches, his arm feeling like it was throbbing to three times its normal size.
He didn't even realize Harvey was still awake until he felt the older man's fingertips lightly skirting the skin on his arm. The touch was so gentle, tracing circles and patterns only Harvey could make out, that it almost tickled. Harvey shifted closer, his leg thrown casually over Mike's, head resting on Mike's pillow. Mike didn't turn and face him, just kept his gaze focused on Harvey's hand against his skin, the ridiculous dichotomy of Harvey's tanned hand against Mike's absurdly pale skin.
"I was so scared," Harvey whispered at last.
It was the first time they had really spoken about it. Harvey had been there to deal with the paperwork at the hospital, escorted him to the police station and sat by his side as he recited each and every feature the attacker had that he could remember. But by some tacit agreement they hadn't actually spoken about what had really happened, that Mike had had a knife slice into his skin, that his artery had been nicked and he had lost a lot of blood, that if it weren't for the quick thinking and skills of all involved things could have been a lot worse.
"Me too," Mike replied, voice equally low. "But I'm fine."
"Yes. My brave boy," Harvey murmured, so soft Mike almost didn't hear, before pressing his lips to Mike's bare shoulder.
They lay together in silence after that, and eventually Harvey's hand stopped its invisible illustrations in Mike's skin and Mike knew he had fallen asleep. He laced his fingers through Harvey's, the simple act of being here with Harvey making him feel warm and safe.
Mike lay in bed, idly twirling the platinum ring around his left ring finger. It fit perfectly, of course it did, fit like it was made for the sole purpose of engaging one Michael James Ross to one Harvey Reginald Specter.
He still couldn’t believe it. They had been together for over a year, had known each other for two before that, and Harvey was still capable of rendering him speechless, of pulling the rug completely out from under him, and to be honest Mike wouldn't have it any other way. He had known for a long time that this was it, he was done, Harvey was it for him and he could never love anyone else (and in truth, he had known for longer than he would ever admit, even to Harvey). But marriage was still something he never thought he could have.
Mike knew Harvey loved him, was committed to him, that the bullshit façade he put on at work about how caring brings you nothing but trouble was just a part of the whole Harvey Specter, best closer in New York City projection. But still, marriage seemed so … final. It was real, it was public, it was declaring to the world who they were.
And Mike knew enough about Harvey's past to know that marriage was not something he took lightly. This wasn't just something he thought of on a whim (because even though the proposal was simple and casual, he still had a ring, which meant it was premeditated and planned). Harvey meant this, wanted to spend his life forever intertwined with Mike's, and if that wasn’t enough to momentarily render him speechless, he didn’t know what was.
It had been a long day, moving into Harvey's condo (theirs now, he supposed), unpacking everything and deciding how their belongings mixed together. Mike had collapsed onto the couch, exhausted, head thrown back and eyes closed. Harvey had been in the kitchen, ordering them dinner on his cell. He was so exhausted he thought it entirely possible that he could fall asleep right then and there. But when he heard Harvey call his name he slowly opened his eyes, searching for Harvey's form and finding it easily, smiling at Harvey as the older man leaned casually against the kitchen counter.
"There's one more box you haven't unpacked," Harvey told him.
Mike couldn't think of anything that he hadn't unpacked, and Harvey was smirking at him like he knew some great secret. Mike only had time to throw a questioning expression in Harvey's direction before Harvey had pulled a small box from his pocket and tossed it easily to Mike.
Mike caught it instinctively, hands wrapping around the small, unfamiliar box. He had never seen it before, but intuition kicked in, and he knew that when he opened it he would be presented with an engagement ring. He looked up to Harvey, disbelieving and nervous and hopeful all at once.
"So, what do you think?" Harvey asked casually, moving in to the room.
"Pretty sure I'm going to need you to be more specific than that," Mike replied when his voice came back to him.
Harvey sat on the couch beside Mike, covered one of Mike's hands with his own. "Will you?"
Mike grinned. "On one condition."
Harvey quirked his eyebrow in silent question. Mike sat up straighter, and very purposely let his gaze wander to the floor between the couch and the coffee table before looking back at Harvey. The older man let out a laugh, amused by Mike's unspoken demand that he do this properly.
In the end Harvey went one better. He took the still unopened box from Mike's hand before sliding to the floor, settling himself on one knee. Mike was overwhelmed at the sight before him, the quivering smile Harvey bestowed as he tried to conceal his nerves, the twitch of his own hands as the absolute need to reach out and touch Harvey flooded through his veins, the enormity of this moment and everything it meant for both of them.
Harvey opened up the ring box and asked, "Will you marry me, Mike?"
Of course his answer was yes (as if there could be any doubt) and Mike was too busy kissing Harvey to notice him slip the ring onto his finger.
They had spent the evening celebrating (by christening every surface they could, both horizontal and vertical, stopping only long enough to snack on some food to refuel) and now his fiancé slept beside him in their bed.
Fiancé. The word sounded strange even within the confines of his own mind. One word was too insignificant to sum up everything they were to each other, everything they had been through, the highs and lows and everything in-between that led them to this moment. It was just … not enough.
Mike spent the long hours listening to Harvey breathe beside him, mentally listing every word he had ever heard (in whatever language he had heard it) that could cumulatively describe what he and Harvey were to each other, twisting his ring around his finger the whole time.
No one could ever accuse Harvey of not going to full mile. Hell, more often than not he went the extra mile, and then some.
He hesitated to say that their wedding was the social event of the season, mostly because he wasn't a Victorian heroine in 19th century England (or Louis Litt for that matter, and wasn't Mike so fucking proud when Harvey refrained from eye-rolling when he heard those words come out of Louis's mouth), but whatever the modern equivalent for the gay niche of the New York glitterati set was, that's how their wedding was perceived. It was large, it was extravagant, and it made him happier than he genuinely thought he deserved.
When they had hired the most expensive wedding planner in town, it honestly wasn't about showing off or anything like that. It was just that the legal world wasn't going to stop being insane just because they wanted it to, and he and Mike were far too busy to actually plan the day for themselves, so they figured that if they were going to trust someone to organize the most important day in their lives then they wouldn’t settle for anyone but the best. And he liked Julianne enough to not give her the dishonor of implying she had made their wedding into the event that it was to further her own career. Harvey was self aware enough to know that the marriage of one of the city's best and most powerful attorneys to his younger protégé (who was of the same sex) would have been a political and social event no matter who organized it.
So they accepted their fate and ran with it, inviting their powerful friends and clients, people from all walks of life (politicians, sports stars, celebrities, not to mention the upper echelons of the law world). People called it a great step forward for equality, that the seemingly stoic and assumedly heterosexual Harvey Specter could be so unabashed and public in his love for this man. Harvey didn't give a fuck about any of that. All that mattered was that he said I do and Mike repeated the same and they were going to spend their lives together.
The reception was held in the Starlight Roof room at the Waldorf. Mike's eyes were wide the whole time, looking for all the world like he had stepped through the looking glass and never wanted to return. Harvey would grin and squeeze his hand, would get Mike to turn his focus onto him, and Mike would smile, relieved by the familiarity and warmth looking at Harvey exuded in him, and he'd lean in and kiss Harvey, just because he could.
It was a long night, between the gorgeous food and delicious wine and the mingling that was required on both their parts. Considering it was their marriage they were celebrating they spent surprisingly little time together, always at opposite ends of the room, ensuring each and every guest received their undivided attention, if only for a few minutes. Harvey's favorite moments were the quiet ones he and Mike shared; chatting together at the head table while they ate, the simple words they whispered into each other's ears when they danced, their fingers entwined as they sat side by side at one of their guest tables while having completely separate conversations.
The party had been in full swing for hours, and with all the official aspects of the reception over Harvey felt that they could leave everyone to party on without them without offending anyone. He told Donna that they were leaving so she could cover for them, found Mike, and the two of them quietly slipped from the room.
They had reserved a suite at the hotel, so they slowly stumbled to the elevator bank. Harvey kept a hand firm to the small of Mike's back, supporting him the whole way. Poor Mike looked wrecked. He had been much more nervous about the day than Harvey had been, Harvey pulling the confession from Mike's lips as they danced that he didn't exactly have the best night's sleep the night before. Add to that a long day in the spotlight (Mike still wasn't entirely comfortable being the center of the attention of that many people; Harvey relished it) and a couple of glasses of champagne and Mike looked exhausted.
But he wasn't too tired to plaster himself to Harvey's body as soon as the elevator doors closed. Harvey smiled against his lips, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened. Mike grabbed at his lapels, crowding Harvey between his body and the carriage wall. Harvey cupped a hand to the back of Mike's neck.
"I love you," Mike breathed between kisses, voice no louder than a whisper, but to Harvey it was all he could hear.
They separated when the elevator doors opened, Harvey taking Mike's hand and leading him to their suite. Harvey had checked them in earlier that morning and readied for the ceremony there while Mike had stayed at their apartment. So Harvey knew to expect Mike's wide-eyed reaction to their room, but that still didn't stop it from being a thing of glory.
Harvey trailed after Mike, amused at the expressions on his husband's face (even though he would like to say that Mike should be used to the high life by now, he didn't mind the wide-eyed wonder Mike projected, because that was part of what he fell in love with). Mike actually groaned when he found the master bedroom, toeing off his shoes and shedding his jacket before collapsing face first onto the bed. Harvey laughed, leaving Mike to relax and going into the en-suite. He shed his jacket and carefully pulled off his bowtie, then removed his cufflinks from his shirt and put them away in the box he had used to pack them into. He took a few minutes to do the basics (washing his face, brushing his teeth etc) and when he re-entered the bedroom he was greeted by the sight of Mike lying flat on his back in the middle of the enormous bed, eyes closed and apparently sleeping soundly.
"Mike?" Harvey ventured, getting no reply. He gingerly climbed onto the bed. Mike didn't stir. "Are you awake, baby?" he asked, knowing that the term of endearment, so rarely used, would definitely capture Mike's attention. Mike made a vague, non-committed noise in reply.
Harvey knew he shouldn't have found it as funny as he did, Mike falling asleep on their wedding night before they had even had a chance to get to the sex. But he couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his throat. Life with Mike had been nothing but atypical since the moment they met, so of course their married life would continue at that pace. He ran a hand lightly through Mike's hair before getting off the bed.
Mike had stripped himself down to his underwear before drifting off, so thankfully Harvey didn't have to worry about divesting him of his suit. He did however pick up Mike's suit from where he had left it on the floor, placing it more carefully in the closet. His own suit soon joined it, and after that he grabbed a spare blanket from the closet and carefully laid it over Mike's sleeping form. He turned off the lights and climbed into the bed, lying on his stomach beside his new husband. Mike's face was tilted in his direction, so Harvey leaned over and kissed him. Mike was awake enough to return the pressure, just for a moment, and he instinctively edged that much closer to Harvey.
I love you, Harvey mouthed to Mike's sleeping form, before closing his eyes and falling asleep himself.