Series: Five Hotels (#3)
Word count: 6,847
Summary: The one where they play strip poker in a shitty hotel room.
Notes: This story is for thatotherperv, because I love her, but also because the entire plot of this thing was her idea. She also beta’d for me, because she’s just that awesome. ♥
Sometimes Harvey shows up at Mike’s door uninvited. This time he’s wearing casual clothes.
“I should have known,” Mike says. He actually did know — Harvey’s knock has a distinctive persistence to it — but he feels the need to point out that this is becoming a bit of a habit. He’s not sure what it is Harvey wants but no doubt it’ll end up being fun.
Harvey raises an eyebrow. “If you’re trying to suggest that I show up on your doorstep without an invitation more than you show up on mine? You are entirely wrong.”
To be fair that’s an accurate statement. Mike has gone to Harvey’s place uninvited exactly three times more than the other way around. “Did you want something?”
“Yes. Throw whatever you need for an overnight trip in your backpack, or whatever it is you use for travel—”
“—I have a suitcase, Harvey—” Because he bought one for himself a month ago, for precisely this purpose.
“—we’re going to Clifton Park.” He doesn’t explain further, because he doesn’t need to. Jason Miller, key witness in their class-action suit against Fielding International Bank, lives there. He keeps hanging up on them when they call, but Mike knows that he and Harvey have a good shot of bringing him on board if they can just get in a room with him for ten minutes. “I’m driving.”
Mike shivers with excitement, his eyes widening. “Really? Which car do we have?”
The self-satisfied smile on Harvey’s face does nothing to calm Mike down. “‘69 Mustang.”
“Oh man. They’re letting you take it overnight?”
“Of course. Hurry up, I want to be on the road before dark.”
The rain is torrential, visibility nearly non-existent, and they’re still a good few hours away from their destination. Harvey has turned into a swearing machine, resentful at the necessity to drive at an insultingly slow pace for such a magnificent car, and Mike’s quips and needles aren’t helping his increasingly foul mood. When Mike spots a hotel up ahead of them he taps Harvey’s arm. “Come on, man, let’s stop here for the night. It’s already seven o’clock, by the time we get there — if we get there — it’ll be too late to knock on Miller’s door anyway.”
Mike’s suggestion does not go down well.
“We are not staying in that dive.”
“But it looks just like the Bates Motel, Harvey. I thought you liked movies?”
“We are not staying here.”
“But I’m hungry and I’m tired and I’m scared.”
“Yeah, I’m scared.” Mike casts an accusatory side-eye at Harvey. “The wind is picking up and if your stubbornness is the reason we get blown off the road and killed by a falling tree I will never forgive you.”
“This car can handle the wind,” Harvey retorts, but he doesn’t look or sound particularly convincing, and he does slow it down to a crawl, and then brake just before he needs to turn it into the hotel’s driveway. He’s shaking his head. “I can’t stay here.” That he sounds certain of.
“Come oooon, Harvey,” Mike says, prodding his bicep a few times with the pad of his index finger. “Roughing it for one night won’t kill you.”
“Yes it will. And stop that.”
“Staying on the road might, however. Come on, we’ll have something to eat — I bet the food here is as unreliable as any New York street vendor’s, it’ll make you feel right at home — we’ll watch some TV, we’ll get some sleep, and we’ll hit the road first thing tomorrow.” Mike shakes his head. “Did you not check the weather report?”
That touches a nerve. Harvey throws a grimace his way and mutters, “Yes, but I chose not to believe it.”
“So what you’re saying is, you got us into this mess.”
Instead of replying, Harvey turns the car and drives it into the parking lot.
He’s polite enough to the receptionist but Mike can tell from the forced smile and clenched teeth that he’s absolutely fuming. They’re given rooms next door to each other, which Mike finds oddly comforting, although when he walks into his and sees what they have to contend with he purses his lips against a laugh, torn between amusement and sympathy.
It’s not what Mike would describe as a dive, not exactly. It’s perfectly clean and this isn’t the kind of establishment that rents rooms by the hour (because it’s in the middle of fucking nowhere). But it’s way too small to contain Harvey’s ego, and ugly as sin; the carpet is threadbare and was clearly chosen some time in the seventies, and the TV is an ancient, tiny little box. The bed is too soft and the pillows are kinda lumpy, and the pokey little bathroom doesn’t even have a mirror in it. Poor, vain Harvey. He must be having some sort of apoplectic fit right about now.
Two minutes later Harvey is banging on his door. It’s an angry knock, and Mike is trying his best not to laugh as he opens the door and is faced with a wild-eyed Harvey. “I’m not staying here,” Harvey says.
With a hand on his chest Mike pushes him out of the door frame and closes the door behind him, immediately getting sprayed in the face by sideways facing rain. “Come on, let’s go find some food.” They jog down the porch and into the lobby.
The restaurant...is not so much a restaurant as it is a few tables and chairs thrown together in a poorly lit, box-shaped room, in which there are no other guests.
“Do you think we’re the only people staying here at the moment?” Mike whispers to Harvey.
“I should have brought my gun with me,” Harvey mutters.
Mike widens his eyes in alarm and mouths at Harvey, “You have a gun?”
“You don’t?” Harvey says. “And you call yourself a New Yorker.”
Dinner is surprisingly tasty - shepherd’s pie that’s almost as good as Grammy’s and lightly steamed green veg; Mike orders them a side of fries and a beer each to cheer Harvey up - and by the time they return to their rooms, Harvey is in a marginally better temper.
Outside Harvey’s door, Mike shouts at him over the roar of the wind and rain, “Wanna watch some TV together?”
Harvey grimaces and then gives him a sulky nod, so Mike follows him inside his room — it’s just as awful as Mike’s — and settles on the bed.
TV doesn’t work, of course.
So they relocate to Mike’s room, but the television is black and white and the only channel that gets decent reception is currently playing infomercials, all in Spanish. Harvey is frothing at the bit once more so Mike has an idle look around for alternative entertainment, and is delighted to find in the top draw of his bedside table, not a bible — this really is a godforsaken place — but an old deck of playing cards. He picks it up and thrusts it high into the air. “Aha!”
There’s no table or chairs in the room so they have to take off their shoes and sit on the bed.
“What are we playing?” Mike asks.
“Poker,” Harvey says, like it should be obvious, because poker is the only card game in the world. He grabs the deck out of Mike’s hands and, with the flawless technique of a professional croupier, starts to shuffle.
“I have like, five bucks on me.”
An expression of undiluted contempt crosses Harvey’s features.
“What? I didn’t have an opportunity to hit up an ATM today. You kind of ambushed me with this trip, remember.”
“Fine,” Harvey says, “We’ll play strip poker.”
Mike laughs, but Harvey continues to look like he was being completely serious.
“I’m not playing strip poker with you, Harvey.”
“You chicken? Or are you just shy?”
Mike scoffs. And then he shrugs. “Okay. Let’s play strip poker. What rules?”
“Five card draw. One round of betting. Raises allowed.”
“Wait, so we’re actually betting items of our clothing. Does that mean I can win your tie?”
“No, idiot, I’m not wearing a tie. The rules are this: when you lose the hand you lose the item of clothing that you bet.”
Mike rolls his eyes. “And what do you get when you win?”
“I get the pleasure of watching you lose.”
“Harvey, are you sexually harassing me right now?”
“It’s not a sexual thing, it’s a dominance thing. It’s a — I’m gonna kick your ass, counting cards won’t help you here, you’re gonna lose all your clothes while I remain fully dressed, how humiliating for you thing.”
“Yeah right.” Mike trails fingertips down his chest with a sultry look towards Harvey. “You’re just dying to see the goods aren’t you, you fucking pervert.”
That makes Harvey laugh.
Mike grins. “You gonna deal or are you just gonna flirt with me all night?”
He’s shaking his head, muttering “Idiot” under his breath as he deals the cards, but he’s chuckling. Times like these Mike remembers how lucky he is to have Harvey in his life. When he’s not being a cold-hearted jerk the guy is really kind of awesome. Other than Trevor, Mike hasn’t been close to many men, and Harvey is so much better for him than Trevor ever was.
It snuck up on them; both of them, because Mike knows this isn’t a one-sided bromance, and that Harvey is more than just his mentor: it’s so obvious Harvey adores him it borders on hilarious that he even bothers trying to hide it anymore. Even when Mike doesn’t deserve it Harvey’s always got his back; and when Harvey’s genuinely, and righteously mad at Mike? It cuts to the fucking bone. They’ve become so close Mike finds himself thinking about Harvey all the time; thinking about him and smiling and feeling grateful for his existence. Or, sometimes, thinking about him and panicking about the thought of losing him.
Because that’s what happens to Mike. The people he cares about go away. They leave. Or they die.
The one time he let himself fantasize about what would happen if Harvey died it nearly made him cry. It was a stupid thing to do, and he’s not even sure why his damn brain went to such a morbid place, but he supposes it’s hardly surprising given his sorry history; since then, whenever he finds his mind drifting towards dystopic futures in which Harvey is not a part of his life, or a time when they don’t have...this, Mike forces himself to shut it down. Think happy Harvey thoughts instead.
Conjure up the photo perfect image of Harvey’s smile in his mind, because that never fails to cheer Mike up and make him feel like everything is gonna be okay.
He doesn’t need his memory to see that image right now, however, as Harvey is smiling at him in a disarming fashion.
Disarming because he’s just taken a look at his cards and Mike has no idea what that smile means. Harvey’s so damn good at poker he has no discernible tells. Or at least if he does Mike hasn’t yet been able to discern them. Mike never had to learn those kinds of skills at the table because counting cards and playing the odds meant winning every time, but with this method of poker his abilities won’t help him at all because, presumably, Harvey will insist they shuffle between rounds.
Harvey is a consummate bluffer, that much Mike knows. Mike’s pretty sure that’s the smile he gets on his face when he’s bluffing, so Mike reckons his pair of queens will probably win him the round. But then Harvey only exchanges two cards and the three new cards Mike gets do nothing for his hand.
“I bet one sock,” Mike says.
“Don’t be a pussy,” Harvey replies. “Socks are one item of clothing. I see your socks and I raise you my shirt.”
Already trying to alpha him out — there’s no way he’s got a good hand. It’s an intimidation tactic, pure and simple, designed to get Mike to fold and lose his socks. He calls with his hoodie, and then Harvey lays three tens down on the table with a barely-there smile that Mike recognizes to mean ‘I fucking own you’.
“Goddamit,” Mike says, pulling off his socks and hoodie. The only clothing he has left are his jeans, his t-shirt and his boxers. At this rate he’ll be completely naked within ten minutes.
He’s down to his jeans before he gets a lucky hand — a full house, yesss — but Harvey can clearly read him like a book because he folds before they get to the betting round and thus, the prick remains fully dressed.
Which is the tactic Mike decides to adopt for the next several rounds of shitty hands: folding, folding, folding, and hanging on to his remaining clothes, if not his dignity. Every time he folds Harvey rolls his eyes just to make Mike feel worse about himself. Then Mike gets a flush and either the sulky look he forces himself to keep on his face convinces Harvey that his hand isn’t very good, or Harvey’s simply gotten bored with the game not moving forward, because Harvey bets his socks and shirt again and, finally, loses a hand to Mike.
Seeing Harvey in only his pants and a black t-shirt improves Mike’s mood enormously, and he finds himself unable to contain his gloating, actually hopping off the bed to perform a victory dance.
“Why are you so pleased with yourself? It’s the first hand you’ve won. Correction: the first hand I let you win.”
It’s probably true but Mike doesn’t care. “Oh right, sure. Feeling a little bit warm were you? Is the sight of me half naked getting you a little hot under the collar, Harvey?” He gives Harvey a sympathetic head tilt. “Is that why you threw the hand?” He’s not quite sure why he’s yet again suggesting that Harvey wants his body, but he figures it’s all in the spirit of the game, and it’s not like Harvey’s contradicting him.
“You gonna be a smartass or are you gonna deal?”
They play again and Mike loses his jeans. Thank God the heat works in this room; it’s actually nice and toasty in here and Mike is feeling pretty comfortable lounging around in his underwear although he’d be even more comfortable if Harvey were in his underwear too — he really needs another good hand.
The next one isn’t it: he gets a pair of twos and he can’t help but let out an incredulous laugh. Why bother trying to hide his reaction when Harvey can read his mind anyway.
“I can’t raise you,” Mike says. “This is all I got.” He glances down at his shorts.
“Show me your cards.”
Mike tosses them onto the bed and Harvey stares at them for a while and then starts laughing.
He lays down his hand.
Pair of threes. “How d’you like them apples?”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Mike says, staring at Harvey in disbelief.
Oh well, no use dwelling on his defeat, he needs to get this moment over with. Harvey looks far too amused right now — expectantly so, like he has no intention of letting Mike get away with not removing that last tenuous connection he has with his pride. So Mike decides to make a meal of it and show off a little, flopping down onto his back and lifting his hips, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and making eye contact with Harvey, who is smiling at Mike with raised eyebrows. Mike tugs the shorts down ever so slowly, the elasticated waistband dragging over his ass and hips and cock, and now he’s bared himself entirely to Harvey, Harvey’s seen everything there is to see of him, and Mike watches with interest as Harvey’s eyes are drawn to the newly exposed parts of Mike’s body like he can’t quite control them.
Mike flings his boxers onto the floor, sits up and crosses his legs. “Will you at least give me a chance to win back some of my clothes?”
But Harvey’s gone quiet. He’s blinking a lot and his eyes keep doing this thing where they’re fixated, in a kind of unfocused way, on Mike’s face, but then his gaze drops, again and again, like an involuntary spasm, to Mike’s cock. Several blinks later and he says, with a magnanimous smile, “I think I can do that,” but he’s not fooling anyone: Mike’s nudity has disarmed Harvey in a way neither of them were anticipating.
Although it’s obvious to Mike what the problem is.
Mike has a nice dick. A very nice dick. He’s been complimented on his dick by almost everyone he’s ever slept with. Mentions of his dick are often appended with one or more of the following adjectives:
Jenny used to rave about his cock, every time they had sex. Begging to suck it, marveling over how beautiful it is, etc etc. He really misses Jenny.
That said, it’s still a big surprise to see Harvey so captivated. Not an unwelcome one because hi, Harvey is hot. Seriously hot. But a surprise nonetheless. And having Harvey stare at it so helplessly is starting to get Mike a wee bit hard, which is no bad thing because his dick, like all dicks, looks way better when it’s hard. It’s probably not acceptable Strip Poker etiquette but Mike wants to know what kind of reaction he’ll get when he does it, so he wraps his hand around himself, squeezes, and then gives his cock a couple of slow, solid strokes, before placing his hand on the top of his thigh and letting it rest there.
It does the trick. Clearly doing his best to keep his eyes on Mike’s face, the movement causes yet another helpless downward glance, and then Harvey visibly gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, his eyes glaze over, and his eyelids start to flutter. Mike can hardly believe what he’s seeing, and he’s particularly enjoying how annoyed it’s making Harvey — he knows Mike can see him, he’s trying his damndest to control himself, and yet he’s still unable to hide his response.
“Your deal,” Harvey says, handing him the deck of cards.
Shuffling the cards is a pain in the ass because all he wants to do is watch Harvey getting turned on against his will; he considers giving him a hard time about it — ‘Maybe you shouldn’t have suggested strip poker, boss. If you can’t take the heat and all that’ — but he keeps his mouth shut and instead deals himself another terrible hand.
Nothing. He gets absolutely nothing, even when he exchanges three of his cards he has nothing, and why didn’t he think earlier about what he would actually bet? The idea that springs to mind is completely outrageous and he knows he definitely shouldn’t suggest it...
Harvey’s regained his composure and is smiling at Mike, so obviously enjoying Mike’s predicament. “I bet my pants,” he says, sounding way too enthusiastic.
And now it’s Mike’s turn.
It’s Mike’s turn to bet, even though he has nothing to bet with.
“If you...” he starts, squirming with arousal because what he’s about to say is so fucking naughty it thrills him just to be thinking it. “If you win.” He pauses; waits ‘til he’s sure he has Harvey’s full attention. There’s no amusement left in Harvey’s expression, only open curiosity. Mike takes in a slow, deep breath, smiling at Harvey on the exhale. “I’ll let you suck it for ten seconds.”
Harvey actually twitches he’s so surprised, head reeling back, blinking rapidly. But his quiet scoff is entirely unconvincing, because then his eyes drop again to Mike’s cock, which is getting stiffer by the second, and this time he lets his gaze rest there for a while, until he appears to come back to himself, blink it off and return his attention to Mike’s face. He’s shaking his head, like he can’t believe Mike’s audacity, and he doesn’t respond for several endless seconds. And then he says, in a soft, low voice: “Okay.”
A jolt of arousal forces a gasp from Mike’s mouth. Never before has he been so pleased to have a losing hand.
Harvey wins the round with a straight and they sit there staring at each other until Mike says, “How do you want me to sit?”
“Spread your legs, bend your knees and lean back, supporting your weight with your palms on the bed.”
Fucking hell, so specific. Of course Harvey would know exactly how he wants Mike positioned. Mike does what he’s told and watches Harvey’s reactions closely — he’s now unabashedly checking Mike out.
“Should I get my phone so we can set the timer?” Mike asks him.
“Stay there, I’ll get it,” Harvey says, getting off the bed, eyes still roving all over Mike’s body.
“It’s in my jacket pocket, over there,” Mike tells him, nodding his head at his suitcase, over which his jacket is flung.
When Harvey returns to the bed he passes the phone to Mike and, one-handed, Mike brings up the timer.
“Huh,” he says. “One minute is the shortest time it allows. We’ll have to use the stopwatch and I’ll just tell you when it’s been ten seconds.”
“Okay,” Harvey says. “Don’t start it until you’re in my mouth.”
Mike responds with shudder and a rapid nod. “No problem, boss.”
Sitting directly in front of Mike but not close enough to do the deed, Harvey instead tilts his head and takes a good, long look between Mike’s legs, until Mike can feel himself heating up all over, his face breaking out in a sweat. Harvey makes him wait so long that when he finally shifts forward Mike lets out a moan of relief.
It starts with Harvey wrapping his hand around the base of Mike’s cock, and then giving him a stern look. “Don’t start the clock yet,” he says. “Not until you’re in my mouth.”
“I know,” Mike whispers, wondering how he’ll be able to keep it together to start it at all.
The way Harvey is dragging this out is both amazing and driving him crazy. He wants so much to be in Harvey’s mouth right now that the wait is like torture, but at the same time, Harvey wanting this to last for as long as possible makes Mike feel really fucking sexy.
He can feel Harvey’s warm breath on the head of his cock, he can hear Harvey breathing in long and deep through his nose, and Mike can already smell his own arousal from here, it must be potent from where Harvey is. And then Harvey’s lips make contact with the tip of his cock, but he doesn’t waste any time as his mouth opens up around him and his head sinks right down — Mike starts the stopwatch — Mike’s cock disappearing into Harvey’s mouth until the tip of it hits Harvey’s soft palate, and then Harvey pulls off, goes down again, drenching Mike’s cock in saliva, sucking and licking, up and down, and it feels so fucking good, Harvey looks so fucking good sucking him, Mike groans, remembers to check the phone—
“Shit,” Mike says, his voice a breathless shudder. “That’s ten seconds.” Actually more like fifteen, but who’s counting...
Harvey pulls off, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and returns to his seat, this time leaning against the headboard. Eyelids drooping, he licks his lips and says, “Play again?”
Harvey deals and Mike gets an okay hand: two aces. Finally a chance to get Harvey out of those stupid clothes. He offers up ten more seconds with his dick as a bet, and when Harvey raises him with his t-shirt, he calls it with twenty. But Harvey loses, which means they’ve nearly leveled the playing field, which means that soon Harvey will have to start putting sexual favors into the pot. (Much to Mike’s relief Harvey seems to have forgotten about his request to win back some of his clothes.)
As Harvey strips off his pants and t-shirt, Mike leans forward in excitement, cock bobbing against his belly. Harvey is wearing white boxer shorts that look to be made of silk, and that do nothing to hide his erection; the pink head of Harvey’s cock strains against the flimsy material, made transparent by wetness and leaving nothing to the imagination. Jesus fucking Christ, and Harvey hasn’t even touched himself. He got that hard just from looking at Mike and sucking him.
Mike’s next hand is horrible, which is no bad thing, even if it does mean waiting at least another round before Harvey is naked. But when it’s his turn to bet instead of offering up a further ten seconds he says, “What do you want?”
Harvey’s breathing is erratic, his pupils dilated. “I want a minute.”
Oh Jesus. “Fine,” Mike replies. “If you win...you get a minute.”
This time Mike uses the timer, but he’s careful not to start it until Harvey has him in his mouth. With a decent amount of time at his disposal Harvey shows Mike what he can really do, and Mike is delighted to discover that Harvey knows how to deep throat. It’s not about the sensation of it — it doesn’t actually feel that different from a regular blowjob — but the willingness and the ability and the want to take Mike all the way into his throat, is what makes it special. The way it makes the experience messier and wetter, Mike’s cock and Harvey’s lower face...the way Harvey has to pull off entirely just to suck in a breath...he’s so hungry for it he’s practically suffocating himself on Mike’s dick, and Mike wraps a hand around the back of Harvey’s head so he can push him down while he thrusts up, dick right in Harvey’s throat—
He reluctantly drags his hand away from Harvey’s head and watches, unblinking, as Harvey slowly releases his cock, tongue swirling around the tip one last time.
If Harvey looked turned on before his minute with Mike’s cock, there’s no describing the state he’s in now. He’s panting and his eyes keep crossing and uncrossing, like he’s on drugs, and his hands are actually shaking when he deals the next hand.
Mike’s disappointed to see he has three nines. All he wants to do is lose again, so they can get back to what they were just doing, although when Harvey bets his shorts Mike remembers that the upside to his good hand is that he’ll at last get to see Harvey naked.
So he lays his cards down and responds to Harvey’s pair of queens with a hurried nod. Come on come on come on, lose the shorts. Let’s play again. Because the next thing Harvey bets is going to be so much more interesting.
“Oh man,” Mike says, staring at Harvey’s cock. It’s pointing straight at Mike, long and hard, the head flushed pink, and dripping wet from the slit. It’s a little veinier than Mike’s but just as attractive in Mike’s opinion. Definitely lickable. “Nice,” he mutters, to which Harvey huffs out a chuckle.
“Yours too,” Harvey replies, with a wry smile.
Mike deals. He does well again — after the card exchange he has a full house — but this time he’s not disappointed, because this time no matter who loses something sexual is going to happen.
“I bet...” Harvey start. “One minute of kissing.”
Oh fuck yeah, Mike wants to win that. He doesn’t bother coming up with anything particularly innovative for his own bet — another minute with his cock — because it doesn’t even matter; this round is his.
He’s delighted when Harvey loses with a pair of fives.
“You’re not even trying anymore, are you,” Mike says, crawling towards Harvey, who leans back against the headboard, a small come hither smile on his face.
He climbs into Harvey’s lap, because even though it’s just the kissing he won he wants as much bodily contact as possible. “Oh it’s like that is it?” Harvey says, but he looks pleased as punch as he grasps Mike’s hips and guides him down until their cocks are pressed together. His hands slide up Mike’s back and Mike presses his mouth to Harvey’s, lips parting to welcome Harvey’s tongue inside.
After a second, Mike pulls back slightly, and says, “I forgot to start the timer.”
“Where’s the phone?”
He looks behind himself and leans back, Harvey supporting his weight as he stretches his arm toward the phone, which, thankfully, is within arm’s reach. He taps a few buttons, sets the timer and jams his mouth back onto Harvey’s. Wet and passionate from the outset, mouths open, their tongues sliding together, Mike licks into Harvey’s mouth, trying to get as close as possible. And even though it wasn’t part of the bet they’re kind of fucking each other a little bit, rolling their hips and rubbing their cocks together as they make out. But the main thing is that they don’t stop kissing until the timer goes off, and then they part lips and share loud, shallow breath as they slow down their moving hips. Mike uses every ounce of willpower he has to sit up on his knees and shift back to his original position.
They’re both so fucking hard at this point it’s a miracle they’re still playing the game, but Harvey doesn’t mention it, he simply deals again.
When they get to the betting part of the round, Mike says, “What do you want?”
Harvey gives him a contemplative look. “I want twenty minutes to do whatever the fuck I want to you.”
Head spinning, Mike tries and fails to focus his eyes, eventually replying with a nod, a yeah and then a “me too, I want the same.”
“Sure,” Harvey says, throwing down his hand.
Harvey’s pair of aces beats Mike’s pair of tens.
They busy themselves preparing for Harvey’s twenty minutes of heaven, Mike getting the timer ready and, much to Harvey’s irritation, sweeping all the discarded clothes off the bed and onto the floor, just in case they need the room. Harvey gathers up the cards and sets them down on the bedside table, and then he gives Mike a pillow to put at the foot of the bed. “You might need that later,” Harvey says. “But in the meantime resume your previous position.”
Once Harvey’s lips are back wrapped around Mike’s cock, Mike starts the timer again and then tosses the phone aside and puts it out of his mind. Twenty minutes is an eternity compared with the single minutes they’ve been dealing in so far. Maybe he’ll even get to come...
Although...if Harvey keeps doing what he’s doing with his mouth Mike could easily come well before the twenty minute mark, which is less than ideal. The last thing he wants is to disappoint Harvey, or make him mad.
Harvey’s head moves up and down in a steady rhythm, wet so fucking wet so fucking good—
“Oh fuck, Harvey,” he whispers. “Oh my God, you better stop.” Harvey pulls off with a leisurely open-mouthed kiss to the head of Mike’s cock, pumps it a few times in his hand and then stands up on the bed. His erection is mere inches away from Mike’s mouth and Mike leans forward eagerly, but he’s stopped from reaching his destination by Harvey’s firm grip on his head so he just waits with his mouth open until Harvey’s ready. Harvey slaps Mike’s bottom lip and chin a few times with the warm, wet head of his cock, before dragging it around Mike’s lips, painting them with pre-come, breathing out “Good,” when Mike slips his tongue out for a lick. And then Harvey feeds Mike his cock, pushing it over Mike’s flattened tongue and as far into Mike’s mouth as it’ll go.
Mike can’t deep throat, but Harvey doesn’t seem to expect it, controlling the depth of his thrusting so that Mike can enjoy the sensation and taste of Harvey’s cock sliding in and out of his mouth without actually gagging on it. “Very good,” Harvey whispers. Mike slides his hands up Harvey’s thighs and clutches his buttocks and God Harvey has a nice ass. Muscular and shapely and inviting, Mike holds it in his hands, fingers dipping into Harvey’s crack as Harvey fucks his mouth and strokes his hair.
Running out of breath, Mike pulls off and flings his head to the side, dragging as much air into his lungs as he can, but when he turns back Harvey is lowering himself into Mike’s lap; they’ve reversed their position from earlier, this time Harvey’s on top with his legs bent over Mike’s thighs, their cocks pressed and sliding together. Harvey wipes up the drool all over Mike’s face with his thumb before they settle into a fresh make out session. It’s even sexier now than it was before, Mike’s entire body ablaze with lust and pleasure, sitting in the circle of Harvey’s arms and legs, his needy tongue pushing inside Mike’s mouth again and again.
“Best,” Mike pants between kisses. “Poker game.” He grinds against Harvey, dragging fingernails down his back. “Ever.”
“Mm,” Harvey agrees, pulling Mike against him, and they’re jammed so close they can’t get any closer. Mike’s so turned on all he can think about are the endless, terrible things he wants to do to Harvey and then, as if reading his mind, Harvey whispers, “Do you have a condom?”
Mike kisses him. “Yeah, in my wallet.”
“Good.” Kiss. “Do you have any lube?”
“No. Believe it or not I don’t carry lube around with me.”
It’s not unreasonable that neither of them has any lube with them but it is massively annoying and frustrating. “I didn’t see this coming,” he says, and it comes out almost like a grumble.
Harvey laughs. “Me either.”
“Dammit,” Mike says, throwing his head back in despair, groaning when Harvey’s lips and teeth make contact with his throat. “Wait, wait.” He grabs Harvey’s head and holds it in place so he can look into his eyes. “I have Vaseline. Will that work?”
Harvey’s nod is emphatic. “That’ll definitely work. Why do you have Vaseline?”
“I get chapped lips.”
“Poor baby,” Harvey says, kissing him again and then tracing the circle of Mike’s lips with the tip of his tongue. “Where is it? I’ll get it.”
“Fuck, Harvey, wait.”
“We can’t use Vaseline with a condom.”
Instead of facing up to their problem they kiss for a while, but it only serves to heighten Mike’s lust and dampen his need to be a responsible adult, the many good reasons for using a condom drifting off into the distance and then popping like a blow bubble. Because really, what are the chances one of them has something? Slim to nil. Harvey’s too fastidious to allow himself to contract an STD and Mike’s been careful the last couple years.
So he says to Harvey, “I trust you.”
“I…” Harvey’s staring at him, not blinking. “…trust you too. But that’s not the point.”
“Harvey, I’ve used condoms with everyone I’ve slept with since I last got tested. And you know I’m remembering that right.” Without breaking eye contact, he slides his hands down Harvey’s back until he’s got Harvey’s ass cheeks under his palms. He watches Harvey’s expression shift, a battle between temptation and precedent raging behind his eyes, and he nudges him in the right direction with a light caress and a reassuring smile. “The Vaseline is in my toiletry bag,” he murmurs. “I haven’t unpacked it yet.”
Harvey shudders. “Shit,” he says, squirming in Mike’s lap. “Okay.” He climbs off him, slips off the bed and unzips Mike’s case, retrieves the toiletry bag and rummages through it until he finds the tub of Vaseline. Popping the top and dipping a finger inside, he sniggers.
“This is good. Your case was sitting next to the radiator so the Vaseline has liquefied ever so slightly. It’s the perfect texture.”
“Sweet,” Mike says, feeling dazed as Harvey straddles his thighs again, kneeling up and using his fingers to scoop out a glob of Vaseline which he then smears all over Mike’s cock. “Fucking hell, oh fuck me,” he whispers at the sight and sensation of Harvey getting him ready by massaging his dick with both hands like he’s milking a cow. And then he puts his hands behind his back and it’s obvious what he’s doing with all that excess Vaseline by the way his eyes cross. Mike curls his arms around Harvey’s lower back and slides his hands over the tops of Harvey’s hands, entwining their fingers, the greasy residue of the Vaseline clinging to Mike’s fingertips so that when he delves deeper, he can feel Harvey working a finger inside himself, and he’s able to insert one of his own alongside it.
And then it’s like Harvey just gets too impatient, he bats Mike’s wrists away and shuffles forward, winds one arm around Mike’s neck, and curves the other behind himself to grasp Mike’s dick and hold it upright, before sitting down on it, his brow set in concentration. Harvey’s slick hole sits level with Mike’s cockhead, and even though Mike’s done this before, many times, it doesn’t seem possible that it’ll fit, never seems possible, but Harvey takes his time, lowering himself slow as anything, circling his hips and working his way down, moaning through clenched teeth and blowing Mike’s mind.
“Jesus Christ,” Mike pants. “I’m trying so hard not to come right now you have no idea.”
Harvey inclines his head and murmurs into Mike’s ear, “Think unsexy thoughts.”
When he’s all the way down and seated in Mike’s lap, not moving, probably to give Mike time to cool his jets, they kiss for a while.
“You know,” Mike says. “I figured you for more of a top.”
“You figured right. I just happen to be a top who likes to be fucked on occasion...” he lifts up, sinks down, up and down, getting a rhythm going, his face a picture of bliss... “And your cock...is particularly...irresistible...”
Ooh, a new adjective for his list. “I know,” he says. “Feels good inside you...”
“Yeah, fuck yeah. So...if you normally top...does that mean you want to return the favor at some point?”
“You want me to fuck you?”
Mike nods, speeds up his hips, and Harvey kisses him, pushes him onto his back, hands gripping his shoulders. Speeding up slow until he’s riding him hard, face dripping with sweat, flushed from exertion, and — “Christ, yeah, this is the best sex I’ve had in...uhhh...a long time...”
Harvey’s panting hard, barely able to gasp out the words. “I guess you could win a fuck the next time we play poker—”
“Oh fuck you,” Mike says with a laugh. “You’re loving this as much as I am—”
And then they shut up and just go for it. They’re moving so fast that when the timer goes off on Mike’s phone neither are even remotely able to stop and Mike keeps fucking his hips up and up and up, body jerking as the rhythm gets away from him, as all time and sound and words and meaning and sense and logic and reason evaporate and all that’s left is the rapture of pure sensation, his heart pounding and his body on fire—
When the sound of the phone alarm bleeds back into his consciousness he’s not sure how much time has passed since his orgasm. He’s aware that his body is still twitching and that he’s not capable of moving to shut it off, and he’s aware that Harvey is jacking off, hand a blur on his cock.
Harvey comes all over Mike’s torso with a groan and then collapses on top of him.
The alarm is starting to get super annoying. “Turn that fucking thing off,” Mike moans, trying and failing to push a leaden Harvey off him.
“In a minute,” Harvey mumbles.
They do the bare minimum in terms of clean up, settling into bed together, ignoring the complete tip they managed to make of the room. Lying face to face on their sides, Mike says, “So who won the poker game?”
“I think we both did.”
“Yeah,” Mike agrees. “And what...does this mean?”
“I have no idea.”
“That’s the understatement of the century. But let’s not have that conversation right now. Get some sleep, we’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay.” Mike leans in and kisses him goodnight. “But for the record, I now have a big crush on you.”
The last thing he sees before he drifts off to sleep is Harvey’s delighted smile.
~ The one where they have adjoining hotel rooms and Harvey walks in on Mike while he’s masturbating.
~ The one where a drunken Mike decides bugging a sleeping Harvey is a good idea and then Harvey gets handsy.
~ The one with the horny masseuse who goes the extra mile.
~ The one where they’re forced to share a bed.