Word count: 7,971
Spoilers: “Dog Fight”
Notes: I am eternally grateful to thatotherperv, my personal fandom queen, for inspiring me to actually sit down and write this thing, for her superlative work as my beta, and for just generally being awesome and talented and making me happy.
Summary: Rachel regrets leaving Mike that phone message and decides to seek comfort at the bottom of a martini glass, but she gets more than she bargained for when she runs into Harvey in a bar downtown.
Man in the Middle, by Kate
It takes Rachel approximately forty-eight hours to figure out that Mike never got her message. It’s a relief in a way – she’d been fueled by alcohol-induced self-assurance, and it was a stupid, impulsive thing to do; the next morning, under sobriety and daylight’s unforgiving glare she was overcome with embarrassment. What the fuck had she been thinking? Sure, she’s crazy about him. She wants him. She might even be in love with him. But drunk dialing him? Leaving a phone message? Ugh. That is not the kind of conversation you have without the other person in the goddamn room with you. Unless you enjoy surrendering all your power, and waiting by the phone like a chump.
He’s already knocked her back once, he’s seeing another woman who Rachel finds difficult to hate, and, most importantly, she’s not even sure she wants a relationship with him. It’s too complicated, too risky. And ‘serious’ is what it would have to be if they made the decision to give things a go. It certainly can’t be a casual fling. Not after everything.
What was she thinking?
She finds some solace in the fact that it’s the weekend and she doesn’t have to face him for a few days, but as the minutes tick by with no word from Mike—not even a text of acknowledgment—Rachel’s anxiety pitches up to eleven. Until Sunday night arrives and it occurs to her for the first time that there’s no way the Mike she knows would just ignore a message like that.
So maybe, just maybe, he didn’t get it.
He’s not at his desk on Monday morning and there are rumors flying around the bullpen: apparently Mike’s in some kind of trouble although no one knows exactly what’s up. Rachel’s patience is already worn thin but she lingers near the action nonetheless, drawn to the gossip even while it repels her. Some of the theories spewing forth from the associates are so ridiculous she has to clench her teeth to stop herself from shouting at everyone to shut the fuck up. Jealous, disloyal pricks, every last one of them.
“He is a genius remember,” Kyle says. “If anyone could hack into the firm’s bank account, it’s Ross. “
Rachel glares at him. “Are you kidding me, Kyle?”
He looks a little guilty but doesn’t retract his accusation.
“Nah, he’s too much of a boy scout for that,” Devon counters. “I reckon he got caught on his knees in front of Harvey, and Jessica’s doing them both for fraternization.”
Everyone finds this totally hilarious and the office is loud with whoops and laughter when Louis stalks in. The noise quickly fizzles.
“What’s so funny?” He addresses the question directly to Harold, who shrinks away from him, eyes darting left to right. “That’s what I thought. Get to work, everyone.”
When Mike appears in the door of her office that afternoon wearing a guileless smile, his eyes clear and bright and bluer than sky, relief floods Rachel’s veins.
“Come in,” she says with an urgent beckon. “What’s going on? Word on the street is you’re fired.”
“Ha, yeah. No.” He walks in, pushing the door shut behind him, and drops into the seat in front of her desk. “I still have a job. No thanks to my good-for-nothing former best friend.”
Rachel’s eyes widen. “What did he do now?”
“I can’t even believe he did it. I guess he found out about me and Jenny somehow and decided to get revenge by telling Jessica some stuff about my past. Stuff I would have preferred to keep a secret.”
“Oh my God, that’s awful. What did he tell her?”
He waves her question away. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Do you have any idea how he found out about you and Jenny?”
“Nope,” Mike says. “And I’m too mad at him right now to ask.”
Rachel shakes her head in sympathy. “Surely Jenny didn’t say anything.”
“No way. She’s as pissed at him as I am.”
“Well who then?”
Rachel wracks her brain.
The penny drops.
The phone message.
The phone message Rachel left Mike on Friday. In which she talked about Mike and Jenny. The phone message that Mike obviously never heard, because somebody else got to it first.
Rachel can feel herself wincing and hopes Mike doesn’t detect the guilt simmering beneath the sympathy. That goddamn phone message nearly got Mike fired. Rachel nearly got Mike fired.
They sit in silence for a few moments, Rachel lost for words, but then Mike stands up and motions towards the door. “I better get back to work,” he says. “Harvey’s furious enough with me already.”
“Why?” Rachel says, suddenly annoyed. “It’s not your fault Trevor’s an asshole.”
“Yeah, but it is my fault I keep ignoring Harvey’s demands that I cut Trevor loose.”
Outrage bubbles up inside her. “Who the hell does he think he is? He’s your boss, Mike, he doesn’t get to choose your friends for you.”
“Except he’s not exactly wrong,” Mike says. “Trevor is…” He makes a frustrated sound instead of finishing the sentence. “Point is, I’m too loyal for my own good.”
As he heads for the door, Rachel toys with the idea of confessing, but then Mike says, “It could have been worse.”
She frowns. “How exactly?”
Mike just sighs and pushes the door open. “Nothing. I’m making excuses for him again. I really gotta stop doing that.”
Rachel gulps. Tell him now. Just tell him now. Get it over with.
“Seeya later,” Mike says, walking away, calling back at her. “Lunch tomorrow?”
“Sure,” she shouts after him.
She has possibly the least productive afternoon of her entire career. Unable to concentrate on work, she whiles away the hours obsessing over the predicament she’s gotten herself into, but the debate she’s having with herself is circular and fruitless; she’s no closer to settling on a course of action by five o’clock than she was at one.
As to what happened, she can only assume Mike left his phone somewhere for Trevor to find it and Trevor took it upon himself to listen to Mike’s messages. That means, assuming Mike has his phone back, he may not think to check old messages, and so it’s possible that he’ll never hear it and Rachel is in the clear. But that’s a best case scenario and Rachel isn’t comfortable relying on blind optimism when, equally, it could only be a matter of time before Mike does find out about the message. For starters, he’s too much of a softie to hold a grudge against Trevor indefinitely - they’ll make up, like they always do, and Trevor will explain to Mike his reasons for seeking revenge. He’s unlikely to leave out the part where Rachel was the catalyst for everything that happened.
But how does she get there first and tell Mike her side of it before Trevor does, without facing the prospect of discussing their potential romantic future? That she’s feeling less and less ready to deal with the further away from Friday night’s revelation she gets?
She needs Donna.
“Oh honey,” Donna says, grimacing. “A phone message? I know I was not drunk enough to sanction that particular terrible decision.”
“Help me,” Rachel says. “Why am I such an idiot? What am I going to do?”
“It’s not your fault,” Donna says. “It’s men. They’re the worst.”
“They really are.”
“Okay, so you’re gonna have to tell him, the sooner the better. Mike won’t be able to stay away from Trevor for much longer - he’s got the impulse control of a five year old. So I’d say you have until the end of the week before he finds out what happened from a far more untrustworthy source than you. Keep it light, keep it factual. Tell him you’d been drinking and you were feeling amorous and it seemed like a grand idea at the time.”
“Right, right.” Rachel nods. “I’ll make it more about the apology than the declaration of love.”
Donna looks alarmed. “You told him you loved him?”
“No, no no no, of course not. It was a figure of speech. I’ll say: ‘I’m really sorry I dropped you in it with Trevor and nearly destroyed your career, Mike; please don’t hate me. And don’t bother listening to that message because I didn’t mean a single word of it. I only like you as a friend, honest.’”
Donna responds to that with a hearty laugh and Rachel glares at her.
“Shut up,” she says.
She reaches a decision at half six, takes a deep breath, applies a fresh coat of lipstick, checks her reflection in her compact, and makes her way down the corridor to Mike’s cubicle.
He’s not there, of course, because that would be too simple, and his empty chair makes her lose her nerve anyway.
Screw it – she can handle one more night of anxiety-induced insomnia. She’ll confront him first thing tomorrow, tell him everything, and hope he doesn’t either A) reject her again, or B) suggest they give dating a shot. Rachel isn’t certain what options that leaves, but if anyone can surprise her with a perfect Plan C, it’s Mike Ross.
Once outside the office she finds the prospect of going home decidedly unappealing. Her roommate Trudy is out of town this week and, in her current state of confusion, being alone at home with her thoughts is not an attractive prospect. She’s wearing her most comfortable heels, and the weather is mild enough to make walking the streets a viable option – so she wanders in the general direction of her apartment, stopping after an hour or so at her favorite Malaysian diner for some roti.
It’s dark outside by the time she’s paid the check, and she lingers on the street a while, unsure what to do next. When she sees a cab approaching she hails it and climbs inside.
Rachel hesitates. It’s almost nine o’clock on a Monday night and she should go home, pour herself a big glass of wine and watch some television like a normal person. Instead she instructs the cabby to take her to The Outsider, a bar not too far from their location that serves lychee martinis that make Rachel swoon.
It’s quiet inside, but still warm and inviting; jazz plays over the sound system, the lights are turned down low; there are a few couples sitting at tables, a Suit at the bar.
As she approaches the bar she comes to the startling realization that she knows exactly who the Suit is.
“Harvey?” What the hell is Harvey Specter doing in this part of the city?
He turns his head, looking about as surprised as Rachel feels. “Rachel,” he says. “Hello.”
“What a coincidence.” She stops a few paces away from him, frowning. “What are you…”
“I like the music,” he says, picking up his glass of whiskey and staring into it. He swirls the liquid around a few times and then knocks it back, before nodding at the bartender for a refill. “And whatever the lady’s having.”
“Lychee martini,” Rachel says, feeling uncertain about what to do next. Harvey just bought her a drink and they’re both here alone, but he looks a little moody and his tone of voice is flatter than normal. She has no idea whether it would be appropriate for her to join him, but there doesn’t seem to be any polite way not to. Besides, if she does go and sit somewhere else she won’t be able to enjoy her drink, because he’ll be there, at the bar, his presence making her uncomfortable.
She compromises and takes a seat two bar stools away from him. That way he’s under no obligation to talk to her, but he can if he wants to; she’s not avoiding him and yet they’re not officially Sitting Together.
Harvey’s looking at her with a bemused smile, and she fears he can read on her face how foolish she feels; he has a reputation for being a master at reading people—Mike’s mentioned his skill in that area on more than one occasion—and now Rachel is under the spotlight of his gaze and all the stupid thoughts in her head are plastered all over her face and he’s going to start laughing at her any minute now.
“Why are you here alone?” he asks her. “Bad day?”
She raises her eyes to the ceiling with a rueful smile. “You could say that. I did something stupid,” she says. “Haven’t quite figured out how to deal with the consequences. So I choose alcohol.” She narrows her eyes. “Even though that’s what got me into this mess in the first place.”
Rachel doesn’t have a clue why she says the thing she says next; maybe it’s down to nerves, and wanting to fill the silence that Harvey doesn’t seem perturbed by in the least but that Rachel finds awkward as hell. Maybe she genuinely wants to talk about it with someone who knows Mike as well as she does, if not better. “It’s my fault Mike got into trouble today.”
Harvey wasn’t expecting that. His eyebrows shoot up and he gives her a questioning look.
“I had a few drinks with Donna on Friday and I left Mike a phone message telling him…” she closes her eyes in embarrassment. “Anyway, I mentioned something about him and Jenny. Trevor must have heard the message.”
“Ah.” He’s looking off into the distance, processing Rachel’s story, and then he focuses his big, dark eyes back on her. “Did you tell Mike?”
Rachel shakes her head. “Nope. I chickened out. I’ll tell him tomorrow.”
“Probably a good idea, but look, Rachel, it’s not your fault. Trevor is the only one to blame here.” The look of distaste on Harvey’s face says all anyone would need to know about his opinion of Trevor. “Mike, too, for not taking better care of his phone, but mostly for not kicking that loser to the curb years ago.”
Rachel feels a flare of annoyance. “They’ve been best friends since they were kids. Mike’s not the kind of person who would ditch someone he cares about just because his boss disapproves of them.”
“No shit,” Harvey says, with a short humorless laugh. “But he shouldn’t do it for me—not that he would—he should do it for himself.”
“And if he doesn’t you should respect his decision because his personal life is none of your business.”
Harvey looks amused at her outburst, before murmuring, “You’d be surprised.” He takes a sip of his drink and sets the glass back down on the bar carefully. “I know it sounds like I’m crossing a line, but I’m just trying to protect him. Believe it or not that kid’d be lost without me.”
“I know,” Rachel says. “I’m sorry, I just. I care about him too. And I know you’re right. Mike would be better off without Trevor.”
“I am right,” Harvey says, with the confidence of a man who can’t imagine being wrong. His gaze shifts to a distant point over Rachel’s shoulder and the self-assured expression on his face turns to one of bewilderment. “What does Mike even see in him?”
“Oh come on, we’ve all had friends who weren’t good for us. And Trevor must have some positive qualities—“ Harvey shakes his head. “He must. Everyone else Mike cares about is great.”
There’s a flicker of something in Harvey’s face—if Rachel didn’t know any better she’d say it was pleasure—and it makes her smile. “He’s right about you,” she says.
“What about me?”
“You do care about him.”
Harvey looks singularly unimpressed. “Mike told you that I care about him.”
“Not in so many words,” Rachel says. “He did tell me that your whole Not Caring thing is just a big act and that you’re actually a giant marshmallow beneath all those expensive suits. But it’s obvious by the way you talk about him.”
Harvey rolls his eyes.
“Why are you here tonight?” Rachel asks him. “Drinking alone,” she adds, raising her eyebrows at him.
His smile says it all.
“It pissed me off, okay? What if he’d lost his job today? If he’d only listened to me, he would’ve—“ Harvey stops himself with a frustrated exhale of air through his nose. “Let’s change the subject. I came here to take my mind off my errant associate, not to get into an argument with his girlfriend about what a goddamn handful he is.”
“Hey,” Rachel raises a dissenting hand. “I am not his girlfriend.”
“Sorry,” Harvey says, grinning. “Future girlfriend.”
“Oh please. That’s never gonna happen.” She finishes her drink and tries not to visibly react to Harvey motioning the bartender for a replacement.
His smile is condescending. “If I were a less dignified man I’d wager that it’s only a matter of time.”
“Stop it. I thought you didn’t want to talk about Mike.”
Harvey laughs. “I don’t. But I do enjoy making you blush.”
Rachel grins, her face hot. “Har har. So was it working?”
“Was what working?”
“Before I turned up. Were you successfully keeping your mind off Mike?”
Harvey breathes in slowly through his nose and peers off to the side, before looking back at her. “No. I was sitting here fuming.” The bartender puts a fresh martini in front of her. “So I guess I should thank you for at least putting a smile on my face, if not taking my mind off my problems.”
She picks up her glass by its stem and raises it in Harvey’s direction. “You’re welcome. And you know – you too.”
He raises his own glass and they both take a sip. He looks pointedly at the seat next to him, a small smile on his face. “Would you like to join me?”
Rachel slips off her seat and shifts to the one next to Harvey.
She’s never given much thought to Harvey Specter—this is by far the longest conversation they’ve ever had—but of course she’d noticed how attractive he is. Because she has eyes. She’d never go there, of course, because…well for a million reasons; but the main one, she realizes now, is that she'd never imagined an opportunity would present itself. And now here they are, alone together in a dimly lit bar, the sweet, sexy sound of a muted trumpet weaving its way around them, she’s sitting close enough to him that she can smell his cologne, and the vodka is starting to kick in.
And he’s good company. He tells her all about Mick Cable, Pearson Hardman’s head of Litigation and douchebag extraordinaire. It’s not even a story, it’s just a list of facts, each of which Harvey delivers like a punch line, all deadpan contempt and timed to synchronize with Rachel catching her breath between helpless peals of laughter.
“He’s got a pet tarantula.
“He’s also got a chihuahua, one of those freaky hairless Sphynx cats called Albert, and a budgie.
“I like animals, but come on.
“His twenty nine year old daughter plays trombone in a marching band.
“She still lives at home.
“He’s a vegan.
“He treated himself to a red Porsche for his midlife crisis.
“One time he ran over his wife’s foot with said Porsche.
“His wife haaates him.”
After a few more minutes Rachel begs him to stop talking, stomach cramping from laughter, tears blurring her vision.
She hasn’t even finished her second drink when a third appears in front of her. “Oh Jesus. I hope you know I don’t normally drink this much on a Monday night.”
“Me either,” Harvey says. Happy’s a good look on Harvey, and Rachel can’t quite believe she’s the cause of it. “But I’m not ready to go home yet. Are you?”
“No,” Rachel says, shaking her head. “I’m having fun.”
Harvey’s smile widens. “Good.” His gaze shifts momentarily to her mouth, and Rachel flushes.
Wow. He is...
“What are you thinking about?”
Rachel lowers her eyes and tries her best not to smile, but she can’t help it. When she looks back up at him his expression has changed – it’s more serious now, there’s more intent in his eyes as they search her face, and it makes her feel warm and sexy and reckless. “Nothing,” she lies, tucking her hair behind her ear. The possibility of something happening between them is becoming increasingly likely. Rachel knows that look, she’s been on the receiving end of it enough times to know what it leads to, should she want it to, and now’s about the time she needs to make a decision one way or another.
To have sex or not to have sex?
Her brain is telling her it’s the worst idea in the world. Harvey’s a senior partner at her law firm – if anyone found out it would look like she was trying to get ahead that way; even though it isn’t true it’s what everyone would think and she can’t afford that kind of damage done to her reputation. Then there’s the fact that it would be an especially cruel thing to do to Mike; bringing Kyle to their double date wasn’t very nice of her, she’s willing to acknowledge that now, but fucking his boss? That would be unconscionably bad form on her part.
On the other hand, her body wants her to stay as close to this man as humanly possible tonight. He’s dangerous in a way that Mike is safe, he’s gorgeous and funny and charismatic, and the way he’s looking at her right now—with this confident, focused heat... Rachel can’t remember the last time she felt this excited around a man.
“Do you live far from here?” he asks her.
“Ten minutes in a cab,” she replies. “You?”
He smiles, and Rachel finds herself captivated by the deep lines creasing the corners of his eyes. “Your place is closer than mine.”
The statement hangs in the air between them and okay, it can’t possibly get more explicit than that. That’s a direct proposition and Rachel needs to respond to it right now, one way or another.
“Are you offering to drop me home on your way?”
Harvey crinkles his nose, grin blinding. “Of course. I’m a gentleman.”
They finish their drinks and stand up, and they don’t speak as they leave the bar together, Rachel’s heart pounding in her chest. She could still get out of this. She is under absolutely no obligation to invite him inside once they reach her place.
Harvey hails a cab and opens the door for Rachel, who climbs in and scoots over so Harvey can slide in next to her. She tells the cabby her home address and freaks out internally when Harvey doesn’t mention that he’ll be traveling on. Cocky sonofabitch.
They don’t speak at all on the drive to her place and when the cab stops outside her apartment block, she turns her head towards Harvey and finds him looking at her, a small smile on his face.
“This is me,” she says. He tilts his head, smiling widening, and says nothing. “Oh my God.” She squeezes her eyes shut and curses herself for yet another bad decision made while under the influence. “Did you wanna come up?” she says, her voice a little higher pitched than normal as she stares at a spot on the ceiling of the taxi.
Harvey’s laugh is soft and low and sexy. “Do you want me to?”
She spreads her hands. “I feel like I shouldn’t.”
“But you do.”
“Then I will.”
He pays the cabbie and, next thing she knows, he’s following her up the front steps to the door. They stand side by side in the elevator, facing the doors, every muscle in Rachel’s body tense with nervous anticipation, and Harvey isn’t making any effort to put her at ease with some small talk, or any kind of talk; he just stands there in silence, hands in his pockets, occasionally turning his head towards Rachel and giving her a look that says more about what he plans to do to her than any words possibly could.
When they get to her front door it takes her what feels like an eternity to locate her keys, hiding in a dark corner of her handbag, and with Harvey standing so close behind her, she’s amazed she doesn’t fumble or drop them as she unlocks the door.
The moment the door shuts behind them, Harvey closes in on her and kisses her. It’s almost embarrassing how enthusiastically she responds, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her body close.
She’s already aroused but not to the point where nothing else matters, not yet; thoughts about how painfully small and shabby her apartment is niggle the back of her mind. She loves this place and it’s definitely got an empirical charm about it that she’s sure Harvey would appreciate were he paying attention, but Rachel still feels a twinge of self-consciousness about its many flaws: the couch needs reupholstering, the wooden floor boards are scuffed to hell and haven’t been polished in years, there’s cat fur all over the arm chair, the television is a huge, ancient box that she and Trudy have never seen the point in replacing but that certainly does not belong in this century, and the big mirror above the fireplace is warped in the center and has a splatter of black paint in its bottom left corner. Rachel adores the mirror and won’t let Trudy get rid of it, but Harvey would probably be appalled by it; she’s seen his freakishly organized office, and he’s always flawlessly presented, with his perfectly coiffed hair and his clean, expensive scent – there’s no two ways about it: the guy is anal.
But it’s only a small niggle. Mostly she’s marveling over what a sensational kisser he is.
She probably shouldn’t compare the two of them, but kissing Harvey is nothing like kissing Mike. With Mike she’d initiated the kiss in a moment of recklessness and, while it had definitely been sexy, it was over quickly, and their tongues hadn’t touched. With Harvey it’s foreplay. It’s sex. It’s designed to arouse them both to the point of wanting to get naked, and it’s working. One palm flat and solid on the center of her back, the other he slides over her ass, squeezing it, and when she licks into his mouth she can taste the whiskey on his tongue.
She pushes at his suit jacket. He shrugs it off and tosses it over the back of the fur-covered armchair to his left. Rachel winces, grabbing him by the sides of his neck and pulling him in for another kiss. This time he grabs her ass with both hands.
After a few more minutes making out, Rachel pulls away, takes his hand and leads him over to the couch. He sits down with his legs spread and grins at her as she hikes her skirt up a little so she can climb astride his lap. They both groan when her crotch makes contact with the stiff length of his cock. He moves rhythmically beneath her, and slides his hands up her thighs and under her skirt until they’re cupping her ass. “Mm,” he says, shifting around so he can recline back onto the couch, pulling her with him. “Come here.”
On top of him, straddling him, grinding against him and fucking his mouth with her tongue...
Not bad for a Monday night.
Something catches Harvey’s eye. “Hello puss,” he says. Rachel turns her head to follow his gaze and sees Orson sitting a few paces away, glaring at Harvey.
Orson is a fat, cantankerous tabby cat and Rachel’s pride and joy.
“You hungry, darling?” she asks him, but he ignores her, outraged yellow eyes fixed on Harvey, who seems determined to win the staring competition. The cat breaks first and strolls off in the direction of the kitchen, totally unimpressed. “I should feed him,” she says to Harvey.
“Yes,” he says, grinning. “I think if you keep him waiting much longer he’ll try and eat me.”
Rachel laughs. “I don’t know why I’m laughing. That’s a distinct possibility.”
Harvey reaches around her and unzips her skirt. “You don’t need this to feed—what’s his name?”
“Cute. After Orson Welles?”
“Who? I dunno. Maybe. Yeah, that actually rings a bell. He originally belonged to my ex, but when he moved out I refused to let him take Orson with him. Letting me keep him was the nicest thing he ever did for me.”
She stands up, skirt pooling around her hips, but when she tries to smooth it down over her thighs and zip it back up, Harvey says, “Off.”
Dark eyes travel up and down her body as she gives the skirt a push and lets it fall to the ground. She steps out of it and feels a flush of pleasure at Harvey’s appreciative hum.
When she reaches the door to the kitchen she turns around and sees Harvey, head tilted to the side and shamelessly checking out her ass. “Gorgeous,” he murmurs. “Hurry back.”
Feeding Orson in just her blouse and panties feels ridiculous, but also kind of hot. Because she’s got a seriously sexy man waiting for her in her living room and he likes the way she looks right now. Of course, he’s probably out there inspecting all her possessions and judging the crap out of her, so she hurriedly throws some biscuits in Orson’s bowl and heads back out, where she finds Harvey pulling off his tie and laying it over the back of the couch.
She circles back around and stands in front of him, taking a moment to appreciate the view: Harvey is sprawled on her couch, legs spread and the jut of his cock visible beneath the fine gray wool of his pants; his hair has a slight tousle to it now, and the small, pleased smile on his face as he looks her up and down makes it impossible not to smile back. Instead of climbing back on top of him, she cocks her head and says, “Bedroom?”
Harvey nods and stands up.
He follows her to her room and the moment they enter, before they’ve even shut the door behind them, Harvey grabs her hips and pulls her against him, her back flush against his chest and his erection pressed into the crease of her ass. She leans her head back against his shoulder and moans as he kisses her neck and slides his hands over her pelvis. He slips two fingers between her legs and presses up hard, whispering, “You’re wet for me,” before sucking in a breath through his teeth and reaching inside the crotch of her panties, the skin of his fingers making first contact with her slippery cunt. “I can’t wait to taste you.”
Rachel rocks against his fingers, gasping when he pushes one inside her.
“Your pussy’s so wet,” he grunts, breathless. He sounds so turned on and Rachel pushes her ass back against his cock, encouraging him to crank things up a notch. He pulls his hand free and spins her around, walking her backwards to the bed and pushing her onto it, and then he reaches down, hooks his fingers into the sides of her panties and peels them swiftly off. “Open your legs,” he tells her. “Wider…good…fuck me, you’re beautiful.”
Rachel unbuttons her blouse and keeps her legs open, too aroused to feel shy under Harvey’s slack-jawed gaze. He just stares at her cunt, eyelids drooping and mouth open, panting, as he pulls off his undershirt. He doesn’t take off his pants, apparently because he can’t wait a second longer before climbing onto the bed after her and kissing and nipping his way up the insides of her thighs. She scoots up the bed so she can lay her head on the pillow, forcing him to crawl after her, which he does with a frustrated groan. Lying there with her blouse open and her legs spread, Harvey scrapes lips and teeth and tongue across her skin as he moves up her body until he’s hovering over her face, and whispers, “Are you a dirty girl?” He kisses her. “Do you like to be fucked?”
She raises her hips off the bed as he presses his cock against her pussy, and damn it’s hot that he doesn’t care about his expensive pants getting smeared with her desire. “I think I’m gonna like being fucked by you,” she replies.
“Mmm,” he hums in agreement. “I think you are too.” He slides two easy fingers into her. “Jesus. I’ve gotta...” he pecks her quickly on the lips and then he’s gone, moving down the bed and settling in between her legs. He watches himself fingering her, thumb swiping over her clit sending shock waves of pleasure through her body. Then he leans in and licks her.
Rachel gasps, and pushes her hips forward in a silent plea for more. He opens her up further with a third finger, fucking in and out of her, gazing at his busy fingers like he’s hypnotized. Diving back in to lend assistance with his mouth, and Rachel soon realizes she’s in the hands of a pro. Not only does he seem to be thoroughly enjoying himself, he knows what the fuck he’s doing. His fingers work in and out of her in a steady rhythm while his lips and tongue play her clit like fiddle, with just the right amount of pressure to get her from the point of enjoying being eaten out because it feels amazing to ohmygodimgonnacome in the space of about a minute.
She’s actually fucking his face now, and moaning so loud the neighbors can probably hear her. Not that she cares. It’s been seven months since she last got laid and she deserves this.
She comes with a high pitched gasp, every muscle in her body clenched tight and her skin on fire, pleasure intensified by the obscene sight of Harvey’s face: lips and chin shiny wet, teeth flashing as he grins up at her; he looks pretty pleased with himself as he climbs off the bed, as he should be.
This is it.
Seeing a man naked for the first time is always a curious experience, but with a guy like Harvey, who struts around like his cock would put a horse to shame…he has a lot to live up to. She stares at him, unblinking, as he removes his shoes, pulls off his socks, takes off his pants. The bulge in his boxers is certainly impressive, and her eyes widen even further when he pushes them down over his hips and ass and his cock springs up to attention.
“Oh wow,” she murmurs, opening her legs again in welcome. “Get up here.”
Harvey smiles and obliges. Naked and kneeling between her legs, he closes his eyes with a sigh as Rachel grabs hold of his cock and squeezes.
“Hey big boy,” she whispers, kissing him. “Does that feel good?”
He nods, and the little gasping sounds he makes as Rachel strokes him are so sexy she’s starting to work up an appetite again. “You wanna suck it?” he asks her, but not like a question. Like he already knows she does.
“Yeah, God yeah.”
“Good. Then I’m gonna fuck you.”
They switch places, so Harvey’s leaning back against her pillows with his legs spread, and Rachel positions herself between his legs, staring at his cock. He holds it in his hand, pointing it at her mouth, a little fluid seeping from the slit, begging to be tasted. It’s a nice-looking, well presented cock: long but not too long, thick but not too thick, dark brown pubic hair trimmed close.
She licks a stripe from the base to the tip and then she sucks the head clean. When she looks up at him she finds him staring down at her. “That’s good,” he whispers. “Do it again.” She repeats the action and then this time she lowers her mouth onto him as low as she can go without choking herself and as she slowly pulls off she soaks his cock in as much saliva as she can produce, spreading it around with her hand, making it as wet as possible.
He tastes and smells like any other man, but he’s not any other man. He’s Harvey Specter. And it’s never far from her thoughts that this particular man is someone she has no earthly right to be with, that the negative consequences of doing this are likely to outweigh the awesomeness of it, and that this is her only shot with him so she needs to make it count.
She puts her all into blowing him but stays alert to the shifting timbre of his breathing, and even though she lets him set the pace with a guiding hand gripping the back of her head, if he starts to sound like he might be nearing an orgasm she pushes back against his hand, pulls off, takes a breather, drags her tongue up the length of his cock and waits until he’s calm again before taking him back into her mouth. Because there’s no way he’s coming like this. If he comes, that’s it, it’s over, he’ll never fuck her and Rachel will suffer eternal regret. So she pulls off several beats before she thinks Harvey’ll reach the point of no return and sits up.
“I’m gonna get a condom right now,” she informs him.
Harvey nods at her. “Please do.”
She finds a condom in her bedside table and checks that it hasn’t expired before chucking it at Harvey. He catches it and tears it open, staring into Rachel’s eyes as she returns to him and straddles his lap; he puts the condom on without breaking eye contact, and while he’s doing that she takes the opportunity to shuck her blouse and fling her bra aside.
“Come here,” Harvey says, clutching her ass. She shuffles up until her breasts are pressed against his chest and they kiss each other while Rachel lowers herself onto Harvey’s cock. They groan in unison as she sinks down, welcoming him inside, and when she leans back into his arms, he bends his head and sucks on her left nipple.
“I can’t believe we’re having sex,” Rachel says, closing her eyes, pleasure washing over her with each lazy upward thrust of Harvey’s hips.
“Me either,” Harvey replies. “We should probably keep this between us.”
“You feel good.”
Rachel throws her head back, riding him, and wonders if it’s going to be easy to move on from this once it’s over.
She kisses him and thinks of Mike.
What if he could see her now? What would he think of her? What would he think of Harvey? Would he be jealous? Would he hate them both? Would he be able to forgive them? Maybe he wouldn’t care. He’s already rejected Rachel once and he’s got Jenny. He doesn’t own Rachel. She’s free to fuck whoever she pleases, and Harvey pleases her.
He’s kissing her neck, whispering in her ear. “Where did you go?”
“Tell me what you’re thinking about.”
She laughs softly and speeds up the pace. “Don’t take this the wrong way but I was thinking about Mike.”
He doesn’t seem offended, or lose his rhythm. “What about Mike?”
“This would hurt him.”
“That’s why we’re not going to tell him.”
“You weren’t wishing you were fucking him instead of me then?”
“Absolutely not,” Rachel says, running her palms up and down Harvey’s wet cheeks, kissing him on the mouth. “You are exactly who I wanna be with right now.”
Harvey wraps his arms around her and flips her onto her back. “If he only knew what he was missing,” he whispers, fucking into her. She’s getting close again, as Harvey keeps talking in her ear, voice ragged and breathless. “You two would look good together. I’m not convinced he’d fuck you as well as I can but he’d get points for enthusiasm.”
Rachel chokes on a laugh, and says, “Stop talking about Mike while you’ve got your dick inside me.”
“You’re the one who brought him up,” Harvey replies, grinning at her. “It’s okay to want us both. I’m not the jealous type.”
They’re both drenched in sweat and moving fast and steady in perfect synchronicity. “Maybe you wanna watch us,” Rachel breathlessly suggests.
“Oh my God you kinky freak,” Rachel gasps, moving faster.
His lips are wet against her throat. “You like that?” he says through gritted teeth. “You want me to watch you and Mike?”
She can’t speak, she’s close—
“Now when you fuck Mike—and you will fuck him—you’ll imagine I’m there in the room with you, watching you—”
“Watching him fuck you—“
“Ohgodohgod—“ the orgasm starts in her groin and blooms through her body in relentless pulsing waves of intense pleasure and she can hear her cries echoing around the room, Harvey fucking her through it.
His thrusts become longer, deeper, more ragged; he’s ceded control to his imminent climax, so close he can no longer keep to a rhythm. When he comes he clutches her upper arm tight almost to the point of pain, his handsome features distorted for a few glorious seconds, and he holds himself inside her, shuddering and gasping for breath.
He pulls out and moves away from her to deal with the condom, but when he returns and climbs into bed, he opens his arms in invitation.
So Rachel wraps herself around Harvey and lets him hold her. After a while she feels the need to talk. “That was incredible.”
Harvey chuckles. She looks up into his eyes.
“You’re quite the dirty talker,” she says.
“Mm, about that.” His smile is a little sheepish. “None of that should be taken seriously, I just like to talk.”
Rachel snickers. “It worked for me.”
“Yes I noticed.” They grin at each other.
“Will you stay the night?” she asks.
He nods. “Of course. Do we need to…”
“No,” Rachel says. “I know this was a one time thing. And you can count on me to be discreet.”
“C’mere,” he murmurs, leaning down and kissing her softly on the mouth. “Goodnight.”
She falls asleep in his arms.
He leaves early in the morning, and it’s weird seeing him in yesterday’s suit, unshaven, unshowered, hair free of product, but he’s still blindingly handsome, and before he goes he makes Rachel coffee and brings it to her in bed. He kisses her goodbye, and says, “See you at work.” And then he’s gone and Rachel hugs herself and squeals, her helpless smile so wide it hurts her cheeks.
“Was it real?” she asks Orson, who leaps onto the bed to join her, delighted that his territory is finally free of intruders. “Did you see him, baby? Did you see how gorgeous he is?” Orson butts her hand with his head, making her pet him, and purrs happily.
Mike pokes his head into her office at eleven in the morning. “We still on for lunch?”
Rachel nods and smiles at him, not trusting herself to speak, and he grins, says, “Cool,” and disappears.
“I have to talk to you about something,” Rachel says, once they’re seated and the food has been ordered. She takes a sip of sparkling water, feeling weirdly calm.
“I left you a phone message on Friday. Did you get it?”
“Oh,” Mike says, surprise and confusion flitting across his features. He’s looking over his shoulder at the suit jacket hanging over the back of the chair, lifting his arm and reaching into the jacket pocket to fish out his phone. “No.” He’s tapping at his phone to retrieve the message.
“Mike, wait. Don’t. Don’t listen to it.”
He freezes, looks at her, eyes questioning.
“I mentioned in the message that you’re seeing Jenny. I think Trevor heard it.”
His facial expression shifts through a complicated tangle of emotions. He’s annoyed with Trevor but not surprised. “So that’s how he found out.”
She waits for him to realize that her confession is incomplete. It doesn’t take long.
“Why were you calling?”
Rachel takes a deep breath. “I was drinking with Donna, we were talking about you. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Now he just looks suspicious and slightly irritated. “What seemed like a good idea at the time?”
“I told you I couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss, and that I couldn’t go back.”
Mike blinks slowly and exhales, shaking his head. “Okay,” he says, fixing her with a piercing blue stare. “What are you saying?”
“I…I’m saying sorry. I was out of line.”
“Right,” Mike says. “So you…don’t want to be with me?”
“Well at least you’re consistently fickle.”
Rachel winces. “It’s not that I don’t want to be with you. But you’re with someone else. If things don’t work out with Jenny...” She trails off.
Mike nods at her, looking appeased, if not happy.
And if her answer wasn’t the whole truth, it was at least a truthful aspiration. She genuinely hopes that the reason she no longer feels inclined to pursue Mike is because he’s not available. She genuinely hopes it’s that, and not the far less noble, far more troubling reason, that she’s now into Harvey.
Because seriously. She cannot have a thing for Harvey. There is no happy ending for Rachel and Harvey; she knows it like she instinctively knows that beef wellington tastes better when paired with a full bodied burgundy.
She’s got to be smart about Harvey. It’s only natural that she’s still on a high from her night with him—they were having (great) sex less than twelve hours ago—and the memory of it, fresh and potent in her mind, will of course impact the way she feels today. By the end of the week, when the memory of it is distant to the point of unreal and when she’s made peace with the fact that she’ll never be with him again, she’ll have a better idea about where she stands with regards to the Mike situation.
By the end of the week she’ll know if she’s still in love with Mike.
The rest of the day is manic; she’s got a ton of shit to get through, mostly because she slacked off so much yesterday, so she throws all her energy into work. She feels wired and alert, thanks to not enough sleep, an onslaught of endorphins and a good mood she just can’t shake. It’s nearly seven by the time she decides to pack up and go home.
She relaxes into her chair and gazes at the ceiling, a smile spreading across her face.
Turning her head, she finds Harvey standing at the door of her office.
“I was just thinking about you,” she says.
Harvey bows his head, smiling, and when he looks back up at her he says, “How has your day been?”
“I wanted to…” The look in his eyes—conspiratorial and full of warmth—makes Rachel realize she’s in the presence of a man who still respects her, and she completely understands why Mike worships him. “…stop by, see how you are. Say goodbye.”
“I’m good,” she says, beaming at him. “So good.”
He laughs a little, under his breath, and then he’s frowning and grinning at the same time. “See you tomorrow.”
Rachel holds in a giddy squeal and spins her chair around and around, her cheeks aching.
This story ends on a bit of a cliffhanger, and I'm sorry for that. A lot more is going to happen but I’m slow and I wanted to get this out there, and I felt that this was a pretty positive and exciting place to leave things.
Why Harvey/Rachel, you ask? Despite practically no canon interaction I’ve always found the idea of this ship really powerful. For reasons that should now be obvious. :)
Or if you prefer you can read this story at AO3