Chapter Text
Non-Member Night. Contra NYC. Friday, 8 p.m. Join the party.
SeriouslySuited reblogged ContraNYC:
Guess who’s attending! Keep an eye out… catch me if you can ;)
Mike stared at the bright light of his computer screen, eyes carefully scanning the words. SeriouslySuited never attended kink parties, at least none that the internet knew of. Mike scrolled as the man’s comments started blowing up, a mix of shock and excitement.
The thing is, no one, not a single person would be able to recognize the great and mysterious SeriouslySuited. Despite running one of the most popular kink blogs on Tumblr, the man never posted anything identifiable. All he had that was remotely close to revealing his identity was a simple close-up photo of a suit and tie accompanied by a vest in black and white, zoomed in perfectly to keep the man’s identity hidden. That, however, is if it even was him in the photo. Everything he posted, from pictures of intricate bondage to paddle marks left on willing subjects—presumably his work—never included anything recognizable.
Discovering SeriouslySuited’s blog on a random Tuesday night a month ago uncovered a side of him he didn’t even know existed. On one of Mike’s late-night Tumblr scrolls, he’d accidentally stumbled upon SeriouslySuited’s page. His cock stirred at seeing images of men, who looked much like himself physically, tied up, saliva pouring down the sides of a ball gag, red and purple marks littered all over their bodies, completely and utterly fucked out, ranging from artistic close-up shots to straight up porn. Mike’s stomach bubbled with desire—he couldn’t stop thinking about it and naturally, he thought he was weird for enjoying it. How could all this possibly turn him on?
For the next month, Mike would spend all his free time researching BDSM. Mike was obsessive—something that came with his eidetic memory—which resulted in him consuming every bit of available knowledge about it as if it was just another random topic to be learned and shelved away in the library of his mind. He’d done this many times before, randomly reading up on really niche topics that would most likely never be useful to him just for the fun of it. It was different this time, though; he’d gone down the rabbit hole and had no interest in stopping until he reached the very end of it.
Sure, he’d unknowingly dabbled in a little kink here and there with previous partners, basic things like handcuffs and toys, and had weird fantasies niggling in the back of his mind for the better part of his teenage years, but everything clicked when he first stumbled upon those pictures. He ventured into the world of submission—he’d always pegged his eagerness to please down to being a people pleaser—but he was finally able to put a name to a desire he’d felt for years now, not knowing exactly what it was before. Everything made sense now.
Eventually, Mike would settle into a somewhat familiar routine—work, home, shower, Tumblr, and more specifically, SeriouslySuited’s blog. It was unhealthy, really, his accidental encounter with what he’d call “a whole new world” would lead to Mike stalking this guy’s blog, checking to see if he’d updated his blog whenever he could. Admittedly, Mike would jerk off to pictures the man posts. He’d check his blog like the morning paper, internally cheering when he found a new piece of treasure to get himself off to.
He was borderline obsessed and infatuated with not only the idea of BDSM but the mystery man in the suit. Maybe it was the way presented himself—cocky and arrogant and confident, based on all his posts and replies—he’d always been attracted to assholes, apparently (case in point: Trevor), or maybe it stemmed from his burning desire to be subjected to the things the man did in the pictures. Either way, he wanted it, and he wanted SeriouslySuited badly.
It didn’t take a long time for Mike to come to terms with the fact that this was something he was seriously interested in and that he wanted to try something of the sort one day. He had an insatiable curiosity to know what it felt like to reach subspace, to try anything in the world of BDSM. Based on his research, subspace could make his mind go quiet, which would be a very good break from his overactive mind—what he’d give to just not think for a while. God, Mike wanted it so badly. He wanted to feel the bite of rope on his skin, the leather of a collar heavy around his neck, the feeling of submitting to someone, the feeling of being owned.
Mike scrolled back up, expanding the original post to see the details of the event. New York.
This event was in New York. Very close to Mike. If anything, this was his chance to experience the very thing he’d been craving the past month. It’s non-members night, meaning he’d be able to go to the club without a membership, something he found difficult to do with so many exclusive clubs around. Perhaps he’d be able to talk to like-minded people in the scene or experience things firsthand. Sure he’d done an extensive—bordering excessive—amount of research, but he never actually knew where exactly to start. Not to mention, SeriouslySuited would be there.
Ah yes, that was definitely not the reason he was so eager to go.
Mike was seriously considering going, biting his lip at the thought of finally being able to experience the very thing he’d been spending the better part of his days thinking about. His dick thought it was a good idea as well, perking up in excitement.
If someone told Mike from a month ago that he was thinking of attending a kink event, he’d laugh in their face—or more accurately, have absolutely no idea what BDSM was.
He thought of the logistics of it all. He’d have to wear some sort of mask to hide his identity, no matter how exclusive the club was. It wouldn’t be funny if someone recognized a Pearson Hardman associate at a kink party. Not only would that make his life a living hell in the office, but he’d rather keep this side of him far hidden from anyone he knew. The rational part of his brain reasoned that this wasn’t a risk worth taking, but he was a hedonist at heart.
CrustIsStuffed replied:
Some lucky boy's about to hit the honey pot.
SeriouslySuited replied:
I hate to disappoint you but my rubber lips are immune to your charms.
What the fuck. Mike gawped at his screen. The man himself had just replied to him. It wasn't the first time he’d commented on SeriouslySuited’s posts, having left cheeky little comments before, his attempts at getting the man’s attention were to no avail. Honestly, he didn’t even know what he was looking for in replying to the man. It was, however, the first time he’d ever responded to Mike.
Mike was in the middle of typing his response, fingers trembling in excitement when he heard aggressive knocks on his door. It was ten at night, and literally, no one would be knocking on his door besides… Harvey.
Seriously?
Mike groaned, scrambling to close all his tabs, willing his erection to go down. He’d rather die than have Harvey find out what he did in his free time.
“Why are your cheeks so flushed?” Harvey raised an amused eyebrow, stepping into Mike’s lame excuse for an apartment. Mike took in the sight of Harvey—in a tux, in the middle of his messy apartment—sticking out like a sore thumb but looking impeccably good. Harvey in a tux was always a treat.
“Why, ‘good evening to you’, too,” Mike rolled his eyes, attempting to act as nonchalant as possible as he tried to regain his composure.
“Change. Wear a tux, we have a… situation,” Harvey instructed.
Well, shit, he was also in the middle of a “situation”.
“A… situation? That requires us at ten at night on a Sunday?” Mike eyed Harvey skeptically at the vague wording. “Plus, I don’t exactly have a tux…” he trailed off, shaking his head to clear any thoughts of the mysterious man in the suit.
It was now Harvey’s turn to roll his eyes. “See, I predicted you wouldn’t have a tux. I have a spare one, change.”
“I’m not Bruce Wayne!” Mike raised both hands in his defense.
“Don’t I know it,” Harvey retorted, shoving the extra tux into his chest. A few seconds passed and Mike was just standing there and gawping at him. “Well, are you going to just stand there or are you going to change?” He questioned, shooting Mike an expectant look.
Mike’s cheeks flushed. “You-you’re literally standing right there! I’m not gonna change in front of you, turn around or something!” To be fair, he could’ve just gone into the bathroom, but for some reason, his brain short-circuited and thought that changing in front of Harvey was the only option.
“Nothing I haven't seen before,” Harvey mumbled under his breath, looking almost too smug, but turned around to give Mike some privacy nonetheless. “Now change before I drag you out of here half naked.”
What the fuck is “nothing I haven’t seen before” supposed to mean? “You wouldn’t,” Mike said, a little mortified at the thought of A, Harvey even seeing him naked, and B, actually going out naked. “A public indecency charge would reflect badly on you, and the firm, and it would be all your fault.”
“Oh trust me, I would. A little nudity never hurt anyone.” Mike couldn’t see his face since he was turned around, but he was a hundred percent sure Harvey had a huge smirk plastered on his face.
“God, what are you into? What are you, some sort of exhibitionist?” Mike had said it as a joke, obviously, but oh, Harvey’s pause spoke volumes.
“Yeah, I don’t think you want to know what I’m into,” he chuckled dryly, almost ominously, which left Mike a little curious. He sure as hell wasn’t innocent either when it came to what he was into, and that wasn’t a road he was willing to go down. “Change.” It was a simple command, said in a tone that left no room for argument, and Mike had no choice but to obey. Or at least, his brain didn’t make it seem like much of a choice.
There was no denying that he had a crush on Harvey. As much as he tried to fight it, it got harder to ignore as time went on. It was the quick, witty banter and the way their humor clicked. It was the way they were intellectual equals, and could easily keep up with each other when no one else could. It was the lighthearted teasing. It was the way Mike felt a rush of adrenaline every time he and Harvey would accidentally graze fingers, or brush against each other, or when their knees would accidentally touch when they sat a little too closely next to each other.
It was the weirdly charged sexual tension. It was the way Harvey was so possessive over him. It was the way Mike got all hot and bothered whenever Harvey would utter even the slightest praise. It was the way he tried to do anything to get Harvey to forgive him that one time he smoked weed because of Louis. It was the way Harvey responded to that—(“It’s your job to do what I say when I say it.”) that made Mike shiver. He never stood a chance against all that.
Mike shook his head, mentally slapping himself for that train of thought, changing quickly when he saw Harvey tapping his foot impatiently out of the corner of his eyes. Finally, he followed Harvey into the back of his town car, not without a little “Took you long enough,” comment from him.
Mike tried not to think about the fact that he was literally looking at porn just thirty minutes ago, and now he was dressed in a tux, in the back of Harvey’s town car, on the way to God knows where. His day could not have gotten weirder.
“There, is that good,” Mike sighed, turning to Harvey, exasperated after his sixth time trying—and failing—to tie his bowtie.
Harvey took a look at Mike, unable to stop the laugh that escaped his mouth at seeing the terribly lopsided bowtie. Unexpectedly, Harvey slid into the middle seat, closing the distance between the two. Reaching his arms out, he took the piece of fabric and worked his magic, fingertips brushing against Mike’s skin ever so slightly, sending jolts of electricity down his spine. Harvey expertly tied the fabric around his neck, Mike’s breath catching in his throat when he felt him tightening the knot around his neck. If he closed his eyes, it was almost as if Harvey was tightening a collar—
Oh fuck no. His mind was not going there.
He shouldn’t be getting butterflies at Harvey doing something as simple as fixing his bowtie, but he couldn’t help but find it almost intimate. He was practically in Mike's face, clouding his thoughts, and he could feel Harvey’s hot breath on his face, a hint of mint and scotch in his breath. His lips were mere inches away and it was dizzying, but before Mike even had the chance to do something he might regret, Harvey scooted back into his seat. Mike was almost disappointed. For a brief moment, Mike wondered how Harvey’s soft lips would feel on his, how he’d taste.
Sneaking a look at his phone, Mike turned his body strategically to make sure his screen wasn’t visible to Harvey. He opened up Tumblr, staring at the reply from SeriouslySuited. He kept typing and deleting, trying to come up with a witty response. He settled on “Holy SeriouslySuited Reply!” A silly little play on Robin’s “holy…” catchphrase from the 1966 movie, which was a little embarrassing in hindsight, but he was fairly certain that the man would get the reference and appreciate it.
As soon as he sent out his response, Harvey’s phone vibrated. Mike didn’t think anything of it. Harvey was a busy man, after all, he got hundreds of notifications a day.
They made it to Atlantic City with a clueless Mike who still had no idea what they were doing there, and while he enjoyed spending time with Harvey for the most part, he’d much rather be at home freaking out over SeriouslySuited’s reply.
Immediately, they were greeted by two women who offered them champagne, drinking away as Harvey talked to them. “You think this happens if you walk in here in a t-shirt and jeans?” And, yeah, fair point—there was nothing better than free champagne.
“Okay, so let me get this straight. He has a gambling and drinking problem?” Mike repeated, trying to keep up with the too-quick pace Harvey was walking at. Nodding in response, Mike was left a little perplexed. “Then why is he in Atlantic City?”
“Because he's the keynote speaker at a clean energy conference, and he promised me he'd stay out of trouble.”
“And you took the word of an addict?” Mike asked incredulously, because come on, someone as smart as Harvey couldn’t seriously have believed him.
“What, are you talking from experience?” Harvey teased, snatching Mike’s third glass of champagne away—rudely, might he add—before he could even take a sip.
“Hey! Rude,” Mike exclaimed, pouting as he glared at Harvey. “You dragged me here at 10 p.m. on a Sunday, the least you could do is let me enjoy the free champagne.”
“We’re here to work, not to get drunk off champagne.”
“Oh, as if you aren’t here to gamble yourself,” Mike snorted, giving Harvey a knowing look.
“Okay, lippy. We’re going to find Keith, make sure all’s well, and then I’m going to do some of my own gambling because unlike him, I don’t have a gambling problem.” Harvey placed a hand on his lower back, pushing him along until they reached the poker room where whoever this Keith Hoyt person was supposed to be. Mike was left momentarily stunned, almost jerking at the unexpected contact, and definitely not expecting him to keep his hand there.
They watched closely as the intense game unfolded in front of them, and everything seemed to be going well for Keith until they revealed the river to be a ten of clubs. There was a mix of “oooohs” and noises of sympathy from the crowd who’d gathered to watch, and Mike saw Harvey pinch the bridge of his nose, sighing loudly.
Again, Harvey ushered Mike towards Keith, his hand returning to rest on his lower back, and it took everything in him not to self-combust. “That was insane. You just lost three million dollars. Who the hell is that guy?”
“Who’s that guy,” Keith retorted, pointing to Mike accusingly—and shit, what did he do to be met with such hostility?
“Keith, Mike Ross, my associate. Mike, Keith Hoyt, a long-term friend and client.”
Mike extended a hand for the sake of propriety, only for him to ignore it. “So that’s what they call it these days, hmm?” He joked, chuckling lowly. And… what? Did he just imply that he and Harvey were together? Was everyone slowly losing their minds?
To Mike’s dismay—or perhaps delight—Harvey’s hand didn’t move an inch. Instead, his fingers slowly crept closer to his waist, and yeah, maybe Keith did have a point despite being drunk enough to gamble his company. They were standing closer to each other than strictly necessary, he could feel the warmth of his body behind him and he couldn’t deny that it may look that way to others.
Skillfully ignoring his previous comment, Harvey continued to chew Keith out for irresponsibly gambling and drinking, but he seemed adamant on asking him about Mike because apparently, inquiring about his lawyer’s love life was far more interesting than coming up with a solution to losing $3,125,000 and his entire company on a cocktail napkin at a poker table. Yeah, everyone had officially gone insane.
After a painfully long conversation with a drunk Keith that went back and forth, Harvey sent Mike off to find a way to invalidate the ridiculous napkin, while he presumably gambled the night away. “Oh come on, you’re sending me home now?” He whined. “So I’m just supposed to find a solution while you gamble away.”
“It’s almost as if that’s what I hired you for,” Harvey said, looking awfully smug. “Your job is to make my life easier and to do what I say when I say it. Plus, I don’t need a stray puppy following me around in the casino.”
“You do know I can count cards, right?”
“And get us both kicked out? I have a reputation to maintain. Take the morning off, be in the office by nine!” he said, patting Mike’s shoulder, before disappearing away into one of the private rooms.
Well, that was one hell of an interesting night.
* * *
The event was in two weeks. Mike had plenty of time to consider actually going to the event. He tried not to let this little fantasy of his interfere with his daily life—not to much success—but it was all he could think about. It’s crazy how something can consume your entire life in just a month.
To Mike’s disappointment, SeriouslySuited did not respond to him, not that he had expected him to, of course. To his delight, however, Harvey didn’t bring up the… things Keith said and pretended as if nothing happened. Okay, maybe it was a little disappointing, but at least it wasn’t awkward.
In an attempt to feed his curiosity, Mike visited the club’s website, trying to see if there were any requirements of any sort to attend the club—this was a very exclusive and private club after all. He thoroughly scrolled through the entire website, navigating the menu of the website, glancing over the about, club photos, rules, memberships, and events pages.
He took his time going through each part, stopping especially long at the club photos. Mike scrolled through the gallery on Contra’s website, taking in the sight of the different levels, private playrooms, dance floors, the bar, the dungeon, and public play areas. He recognized some of the places as backgrounds of SeriouslySuited’s posts, which meant he must be a member of the club.
Scrolling further, he found pictures of people mid-scene and people playing. Actual people taking part in the things he thought only existed in his little fantasy world. Men and women with collars, ropes, gags, paddles, cock cages, vibrators, kneeling, submitting, crying out in pleasure. Oh God, this place is real. Obviously, he knew it was real, but now there was an opportunity dangling right in front of his face to visit an actual place to experience all this, it felt a little too real.
Finally, Mike made it to the events page, where he easily found the most recently announced event, the non-member night he was planning to attend. He scrolled to read about the rules of the event and how to attend. There were only thirty-five slots for non-members, you had to RSVP by emailing the club, and you had to come in any day before the event to get vetted and register your ID. He found that non-member nights were very rare for Contra. It was an annual event with limited slots, and exclusivity was something the club promoted.
It was simple enough. He clicked on the website's email, typing up all the information they required. It was dumb in hindsight, considering he had to provide his full name, but Contra was one of the most private and exclusive clubs in New York—not quite on the level of “invite only”, but they were quite selective and didn’t exactly advertise the club—and they promised confidentiality, so he just had to pray they kept their word. Worst case scenario? Mike could sue the club for breach of confidential information, but that would definitely be quite awkward. Double-checking to make sure he wasn’t using his work email, he hit send before he chickened out.
Now that was out of the way, Mike had to figure out how to hide his identity. The most logical solution he thought of was to wear some sort of mask, so he went on Amazon in search of a mask to cover at least part of his face. He’d seen some of SeriouslySuited’s subjects wear masks in some of the photos he posted, so he tried to search for similar ones.
Unsure of what to search for, he tried different variations and combinations of the words “BDSM leather mask”, feeling rather silly searching for something like this. Eventually, he settled on a simple black leather mask, holes cut out for the eyes, a slight muzzle around the mouth with evenly spaced stripes to allow breathing, silver studs perfectly placed all around, and detachable ears.
By the time he was done, he’d already gotten an email back from Contra.
ContraNYC <[email protected]>
Hi Mike,
Thank you for registering for Non-Member Night at Contra!
Please come by the club for the mandatory vetting. Feel free to come by anytime before we open at 7 p.m. We look forward to having you join us.
Contra NYC. 324 Grand St, New York, NY 10002
Cheers,
Contra
* * *
Mike was in no rush to go to the club, there were still two weeks after all. As expected, all attempts to leave the office before seven proved to be futile. After a week of failed attempts, he decided to drop by Contra on Saturday, six days before the event. It’s not like he had any other plans that day.
He dressed casually, in a plain t-shirt and jeans. He didn’t think he should dress up in fetish wear, since neither the email nor the website said anything about a dress code, so he decidedly played it safe and wore something comfortable.
A little jittery, he stepped into the cab and gave the address. Of course, by some streak of bad luck, in the cab on the way to the club, his phone buzzed with a message from none other than Harvey Specter. God forbid lawyers have days off.
Harvey: Mike. We need to go over the financials for the Bainbridge briefs.
Mike: Harvey. Okay, can’t this wait till Monday tho?
Harvey: Nope. Meet me in my condo in an hour.
Mike: C’mon Harvey, don’t you have any plans? It’s Saturday night…
Harvey: Oh? Like you have plans? Do those plans involve sitting on your couch and watching Different Strokes?
Mike: No, actually, but fine, I’ll be there. I might be late tho.
Harvey: Late because you’re busy watching Different Strokes?
Mike: Aw Harvey, are you jealous that I have plans and you don’t?
Harvey: 7. Don’t be late.
Honestly, he probably wasn’t going to be all that late, the club turning out to be only a few blocks away from Harvey’s. The club was unsurprisingly hidden, slotted discreetly between a few buildings. To the average person, it would just look like a normal club with ‘Contra’ written on a sign in an elegant font.
Upon stepping in, he was greeted by a kind and welcoming woman, blonde and gorgeous, he noted, who was dressed in a black skirt and a corset top. She explained the vetting process, which was simpler than Mike had expected considering this was one of the most exclusive clubs.
Mike looked around curiously, taking in the interior and atmosphere of the club. The lobby was a fairly cozy one, ambient lighting washed over the reception area. There were a few leather couches tucked away facing one another surrounding a carpet, acting as a sort of lounge that left a nice space to socialize. Past the lobby, red LED lights contrasted the warm ambiance of the lobby. Mike could see the bar to the left of the first floor and a dance floor, which was currently empty considering they hadn’t opened for the night. It looked like a normal club, which meant the play areas must be on the other levels.
Mike gave the woman his ID card, getting registered into the club’s system. As much as he didn’t want his name tied to anything of this sort, he understood that all of this was a safety precaution, and it did make him feel slightly safer. Shortly after, the woman, Lydia, returned with his ID card and a red wristband with the club’s name discreetly imprinted on the inner side of the wristband.
Lydia offered Mike a tour of the club. He’d briefly considered it, he had another twenty or so minutes before he had to be at Harvey’s, but decided against it to give himself time to collect himself after going to a fucking BDSM club.
“Thank you. I’d love to, but my boss sorta called me and I have to meet him in like… twenty minutes,” Mike grimaced, checking his watch.
“Aww man, your boss makes you work on Saturdays?” Lydia gave Mike a sympathetic smile.
“Unfortunately so. He’s quite the hardass, so it’s not all that surprising.”
Lydia snickered, patting Mike on the shoulder. “Well, you better get going then. Feel free to come back for a tour before the event and ask questions, or if not I’ll see ya on the night of the event.”
“Thank you again, see you!” Mike smiled, exiting the club. He tucked the red band away into his pocket, deciding to walk to Harvey’s.
It’s like Harvey knew Mike whenever he was doing something of the sort, always interrupting him whenever he tried to do something kink-related. The kink police. Yeah.
* * *
“You’re late,” Harvey tutted, opening his front door to let Mike in.
Mike glanced down at his watch, which read 7:03 p.m.
“Three minutes, Harvey. Cut a guy some slack, it’s Saturday night,” Mike rolled his eyes, stepping into the living room.
“Well, I suppose I’ll let it slide, I’m not feeling particularly mean today. Have you eaten dinner?”
“Nope,” Mike replied, taking his messenger bag off and plopping down on the couch. “Plus, I think you were already being extra mean the second you called me in here on my precious Saturday night,” Mike pouted playfully.
“Oh rookie, you’ve never seen me extra mean before, and I can assure you you don’t want to experience that.” Mike hated the way his body involuntarily shuddered at the sudden shift in tone, Harvey’s eyes burning with something he’d never seen before.
“Well, I kinda have. You’re extra mean at work?” Mike offered. It was true—Harvey was a huge dick at work.
Harvey simply chuckled. “Okay, I’ll go ahead and order us some pizza.” He passed Mike a beer from his fridge and pointed to the multiple stacks of documents scattered on Harvey’s coffee table.
“Stuffed crust!” Mike called out, clearing his throat and shaking his head of all and any inappropriate thoughts that had crept into his mind. He accepted the beer from Harvey, thanking him and going straight to going over the financials.
They settled into a comfortable silence on the couch, one of Harvey’s jazz records humming in the background, as they went through documents at lightning speed. They continued to work side by side until a knock on the door signified that the pizza was there.
Harvey hastily walked over to the door, paid the delivery guy, and took the pizza in, digging right in. Much to Mike’s delight, the crust was of course stuffed. The little things Harvey did for him.
“Y’know, I didn’t peg you as the type of guy to spend a Saturday night reading financials with your associate,” Mike spoke after a while, breaking the comfortable silence in Harvey’s condo, taking a break from the overwhelming amount of numbers he just digested. He may be good at math, but there’s only so much math a guy can do within the span of a few hours.
“Why are you so fixated on me not having Saturday plans, Mike? Maybe I did have plans and canceled them because, unlike someone, I take my job seriously,” Harvey questioned, raising an amused eyebrow.
“Hey, at least I’m here, you should be honored. Just admit you enjoy my company, Harvey.” Mike stuck his tongue out at Harvey.
“Yeah, three minutes late, by the way,” Harvey scoffed. “And me? Honored? If anything you should be honored I’m spending my Saturday night with you. You did say so yourself—I’m not the type of guy to spend a Saturday night with my associate.”
“You’re one to talk about lateness considering you show up to the office past nine half the week,” Mike retorted.
“You see, rookie, I’m able to do that because I dominated when I first got here. They thought I worked a hundred hours a day, now no matter what time I get in, no one questions my ability to get the job done.” Mike tried not to think about the way Harvey emphasized the word “dominated”, brain going haywire at the thought of what he’s been indulging in the past month.
At this point, the stack of documents was long forgotten, scattered all across the floor and couch. They ended up in some ridiculous debate about “who’s the man” in Star Trek—it was Captain Kirk, of course, as Harvey said—which led to them talking about just about everything and anything. Mike liked to think they were at least friends because as much as Harvey tried to deny it, they both did enjoy each other's company.
Mike lay there on the couch, eyes mindlessly wandering around the condo when a picture he’d never seen before caught his attention, and hung up on one of the walls. Harvey didn’t exactly have a lot of decorations in his condo, preferring to keep it simple and classy—which was a little boring, in Mike’s humble opinion—so a new picture was definitely a surprise.
He had to admit, though, that it was very much Harvey’s style, and it fit right into the aesthetic of his condo. The picture in question was in black and white, depicting a hand that appeared to be covered in a leather glove, in contrast to the otherwise plain gray background.
Mike couldn’t pretend to know shit about photography and art, but it was framed nicely and looked good. However, he couldn’t help but find it a bit odd—why a random leather glove? “Did you just get that?” Mike asked, pointing to the picture on the wall.
“Yep,” Harvey replied simply, offering no further explanation.
“What’s it supposed to be?”
“Well, it’s supposed to be a leather glove. I thought it looked cool,” he shrugged.
Seemingly unsatisfied, Mike pressed further. “Yeah but, why a leather glove? Like it’s cool and all but it’s such a random thing to have on your wall when you barely have anything else hung up.”
“Are you here just to question my artistic choices?” Harvey joked, raising an eyebrow and pointedly deflecting the question. “Let’s just say it’s a…hobby.”
What hobby could possibly involve leather gloves? Well…for one, his current “hobby” had a lot of leather involved, and he didn’t exactly want to think of Harvey in that context, so no. The average person would probably relate leather gloves to motorcycle driving, gardening, and even sports maybe? Not Mike, though. “A hobby as in the gloves are part of your hobby, or a hobby as in you do photography?”
“Both.”
Well, that didn’t exactly answer anything, but he’ll make do with it. “Shit, I didn’t know you were into photography, that’s sick!”
“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me,” Harvey chuckled, but Mike didn’t miss the way his eyes flashed with something he couldn’t describe.
Mike shifted in his spot on the couch, neck and back having gone stiff from being in the same position for the past two or so hours. Unbeknownst to Mike, the red wristband slipped out of his pocket, landing next to him on the couch.
“What’s that?” Harvey’s eyes narrowed, eyeing the red piece of silicone next to Mike and strategically changing the subject of the conversation. “Are you trading friendship bracelets now?”
Mike’s eyes followed where Harvey’s eyes were trained, heart dropping when he realized he was talking about the wristband. He tried not to let his panic show, blurting out a rather unconvincing “It’s from the nursing home.”
Shit. Does he know? It’s a plain red silicone wristband for God’s sake, it really could be a band from the nursing home for all Harvey knew.
He silently thanked the gods that the wristband was only imprinted on the inside, very discreetly too. He had to give the club credit for that.
Harvey simply raised an eyebrow, not pressing the issue any further. Fuck you, “press till it hurts”.
Harvey cleared his throat. “Well, I think we’re done for the night. We can continue the rest on Monday, so feel free to enjoy the rest of your Saturday night which I have so cruelly robbed,” Harvey said, breaking the subtle tension that rose in the air.
“Right, thanks for stealing my Saturday night, Mr. Saturday Grinch,” Mike smiled, packing up his things and quickly tucking the wristband back in his pocket. Perhaps it was quite illogical to put a wristband from Grammy into his pocket instead of wearing it, but he was beyond relieved when Harvey just dropped the subject.
“That doesn’t even make sense,” Harvey muttered as Mike made his way to the door.
As much as Mike enjoyed Harvey’s company, he desperately needed to go home and touch himself. He’d been half hard since his visit to the club, the thought of seeing the place where his fantasies could come alive excited him.
It was time for home, shower, and SeriouslySuited.