Chapter Text
Harvey was dead to the world. The kind of sleep that hits you like a freight train, heavy and immovable. His arm lay across the pillow, mouth just barely parted, one leg kicked out from under the covers. It was Saturday, and Saturdays were for silence, blackout curtains, and the refusal to acknowledge anything before ten.
But Mike was awake.
More than awake—he was buzzing. He blinked at the ceiling, his skin tingling with heat that had nothing to do with the summer air pushing through the cracked window. His thighs squeezed together out of instinct, a quiet huff leaving him as he shifted closer to Harvey's sleeping form.
It had started with a dream. Nothing coherent, just flashes of heat and hands and the kind of pressure that made him squirm even now, fully awake and achingly aware that he was wet. Not figuratively. Actually wet.
He poked Harvey’s shoulder.
Nothing.
Mike tried again, this time with more intent, fingers jabbing just under his shoulder blade. "Harvey," he whispered.
Still nothing. Not even a grunt.
Frustration curled in his chest, followed by a wave of stubbornness. He shoved at Harvey’s back more firmly. "Harvey."
The older man groaned, but didn’t move. "What," came the growl, muffled by the pillow.
"I’m horny," Mike said bluntly.
Harvey finally cracked one eye open. He looked half-dead, hair a mess, voice thick with sleep. "Christ, Mike. It’s—" he rolled onto his back, eyes flicking to glance at the clock, "—six forty-five."
"It’s technically morning."
"It’s technically a crime to speak to me before seven."
Mike didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he flopped dramatically onto his back for a second, then shifted in one smooth motion so he was straddling Harvey’s hips. The warmth between his legs pressed right down on him, and Mike bit back a shiver. "So? Morning sex is a thing. You’ve even said it’s your favorite."
"Post-coffee," Harvey muttered, eyes closing again. "And after I’ve had eight hours of uninterrupted sleep, which you’ve very clearly decided I don’t need."
Mike leaned forward, letting his mouth skim over Harvey’s neck, lips hovering just enough to make him twitch. "But I want you."
Harvey groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I swear to God, you’re cursed. No one has this much stamina."
"I didn’t invent being horny," Mike shot back, smirking. "Don’t blame me because your dick’s tired."
"It’s not my dick that’s tired. It’s the rest of me."
Mike pouted—an honest to god, lower-lip-jutting, wounded-innocence pout.
Harvey cracked an eye again and groaned like it hurt. "Go use a toy or something. You’ve got an entire drawer of them."
"It’s not the same," Mike said, frowning, like the suggestion was borderline offensive.
"And I’m not a machine," Harvey countered. But despite the words, his hands found their way to Mike’s thighs, thumbs moving in lazy circles. "Fine. You wanna get off that bad? Use me. Do all the work. I’m not lifting a finger."
Mike’s entire face lit up like a kid being told he could have dessert for breakfast. "Seriously?"
"I’m gonna close my eyes and pretend I’m a very supportive mattress."
Mike didn’t need to be told twice.
He surged forward, pressing his mouth to Harvey’s, the kiss far too eager for the early hour. Harvey kissed him back because—well, because Mike was Mike—but otherwise kept his word, letting him take the lead. Mike kissed down his jaw, catching the edge of it between his teeth before sucking at the skin like he had a vendetta.
"God, you’re warm," Mike murmured, rocking his hips down. He wasn’t subtle about what he needed—never had been. Harvey loved that about him.
Mike reached between them, guiding Harvey into position with a slick ease that made Harvey’s breath hitch despite himself. Mike sank down slowly, a shaky breath spilling from his lips, his expression twisting in that sweet, gut-punch way Harvey would never admit got to him.
Mike started to move. Slow, deliberate, each roll of his hips dragging another soft sound from him. His hands pressed to Harvey’s chest, fingers curling for balance. His head tipped back, exposing his throat, curls sticking damp to his skin.
Through barely-open eyes, Harvey watched him. The flush on his cheeks, the way his lip caught between his teeth, the tight little crease between his brows. Mike was putting in the work, just like he promised. And God, he looked good doing it.
It didn’t take long.
Mike came with a quiet, desperate sound, body tensing and then trembling as he rocked through it. His thighs shook, hands gripping Harvey’s chest like he needed to anchor himself to the planet. Harvey felt every little twitch, every aftershock, as Mike slumped forward, breath hot against his collarbone.
After a few breathless moments Mike made to lift off but Harvey caught him by the hips and held him there.
"Harv—" Mike started, but Harvey cut him off with a low hum.
"You wake me up before seven, you don’t get to just bail the second you come," he murmured. "You sit there and take it."
Mike whimpered. Actually whimpered. "Sensitive," he mumbled, squirming as Harvey shifted his hips just enough to remind him exactly how full he still was.
"I know," Harvey said with a smirk, eyes still closed. "That’s the point."
Mike tried to glare, but it was ruined by the way his eyelids fluttered and his breath hitched. "You’re evil."
"I’m tired."
Mike bit his lip again, but this time it was because he was trying not to moan.
And really, it wasn’t a bad 'punishment'.
His thighs trembled with every micro-movement. His breath came in stuttered gasps as Harvey’s cock pressed against his oversensitive nerves. He could feel everything—heat, pressure, the lazy throb of Harvey still hard inside him. His brain was melting.
Harvey, for all his talk of being half-asleep, was clearly enjoying this. His hands kneaded Mike’s thighs gently, thumbs brushing in soothing circles while he kept him pinned, all while his smirk grew more satisfied with every passing second.
"You done being annoying?" Harvey asked lazily.
Mike gasped. "You’re—fuck—you’re the one who said yes."
"Correction. I said you could use me. I didn’t say I’d let you up afterward."
"You’re the worst."
"You’re the horniest man alive. We all have crosses to bear."
Mike leaned forward and kissed him, open-mouthed and messy, like that alone might be enough to distract from the way his whole body was vibrating. Harvey didn’t resist. If anything, he deepened it, smug and slow, hands slipping to Mike’s ass and squeezing.
Mike whined against his mouth.
Eventually, Harvey relented—just enough to roll them over, keep himself inside, and pin Mike beneath him instead. "Alright. You woke me up. You used me. You got off."
Mike blinked up at him, dazed and still twitching.
"My turn," Harvey said, and finally, finally, started to move.
The second his hips rolled forward, Mike made a sound—somewhere between a whimper and a gasp—that went straight to Harvey’s spine. His thighs jerked, the overstimulation immediate, raw and sweet. Harvey kept the motion slow, just grinding into him deep and steady, watching Mike’s face crumple in that helpless way he always did when his body was caught between too much and not enough.
"God, you’re such a whiner," Harvey murmured, grinning like the devil himself. "You beg to use me, and now you’re gonna act like this is too much?"
Mike let out something that might’ve been a protest, but came out sounding more like a sob. His hands scrabbled at Harvey’s shoulders with absolutely zero leverage, nails digging in like that might anchor him to something solid.
"Y—you said I could ride you," Mike managed, breathless. "You didn’t say you’d—fuck—you’d keep going."
Harvey bent low, nose brushing Mike’s cheek, lips grazing his ear. "I said it was my turn," he whispered, then thrust just a little harder, a little deeper. Mike’s entire body jolted.
The reaction was so instant, so predictably dramatic, that Harvey laughed under his breath. "Jesus, you really are my favorite toy."
"Asshole," Mike gasped, and Harvey could feel him clenching around him, fluttering and slick.
But the insult didn’t have any bite. Not with the way Mike’s eyes were rolling back, and definitely not with the way his hips tilted up into every thrust like his body couldn’t decide whether to escape or get more.
Bravado, Harvey thought, fond and smug all at once. All that mouth, all those clever little barbs Mike threw around during the day—courtroom, boardroom, bedroom. But when it really came down to it, when Harvey had him flat on his back and shaking from too much stimulation, Mike was nothing but a puddle.
So predictable. So his.
Harvey kept moving, smooth and unhurried, dragging himself in and out with practiced rhythm. His hands gripped Mike’s hips, thumbs digging into soft skin, guiding him just right. Mike was leaking again, wet and messy between them, and every squirm made a fresh, desperate sound tumble out of his throat.
"Still sensitive?" Harvey asked, mock-polite.
Mike glared up at him, or tried to. It failed spectacularly given the way he was panting and clutching at the sheets like they’d save him. "Yes," he hissed, and then moaned loud enough that Harvey wondered if they were about to get a very awkward knock on the door.
Not that he’d stop.
Harvey had a goal now—more than one, actually. First: make Mike come again. Second: make him squirt, something Harvey had only managed once before and had not stopped thinking about since. Third and most importantly: wear him out enough to reclaim at least four more uninterrupted hours of sleep.
Dream big and all that.
He shifted slightly, adjusting the angle, and hit that spot inside Mike that made his back arch clean off the bed.
"Oh fuck—Harvey—fuck—" Mike choked out, and yeah, that was the one.
Harvey did it again. And again. Kept grinding into that spot like he had all the time in the world and no qualms about torture.
Mike came apart. Not with grace—no, never with grace. He clawed at Harvey’s arms, then at his own hair, whining and moaning and doing absolutely nothing to hide how out of control he was.
"You’re so loud," Harvey teased, low and amused. "Bet the whole building knows who’s fucking you."
Mike only sobbed. Actual, full-body shudders overtook him, and Harvey felt it—his body tightening again, heat coiling between them like a live wire. But this time, there was a different kind of tension, one Harvey recognized from the last time he’d pushed Mike this far.
He adjusted again, kept his fingers on Mike’s hips, and said, "Come on. Show me. I know you can."
Mike shook his head, but his body betrayed him—his hips jerked, his pussy clenched around Harvey with ridiculous intensity, and then—
"Oh my God—!"
It hit. Fast, sharp, and blinding. Mike’s whole body bucked as he came again, wetter this time—so wet Harvey actually stopped for half a second, eyes wide as he felt the sudden rush against his thighs. There it was. Squirted like a goddamn fountain.
"Oh hell yes," Harvey muttered, patting himself on the back in his mind while Mike trembled beneath him like he’d been struck by lightning.
But he didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Mike was still fluttering around him, hypersensitive and gushing, every involuntary clench dragging a low groan from Harvey’s throat. He knew from experience that if he kept it up just a little longer, Mike would melt completely.
Mike moaned again—ragged and hoarse, almost broken. His hands were limp now, barely clutching at Harvey’s arms, too wrecked to do much else. His thighs twitched with every push forward, his mouth hanging open like he’d forgotten how to close it.
"Still with me?" Harvey asked, voice low, almost a growl as he kept thrusting, slower now, more deliberate, driving in deep and dragging out slow enough to make Mike gasp every single time.
"Y-you’re—" Mike couldn’t even finish the sentence. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, darting somewhere over Harvey’s shoulder like he was lost in the haze of it. His body said everything for him, trembling and clenching and giving him away.
Harvey leaned in, mouth brushing his ear. "One more."
Mike gave the smallest shake of his head, breath shuddering. "Can’t—Harvey, I—" The rest dissolved into a whimper as Harvey rolled his hips just right, hitting that spot again.
"Yes, you can," Harvey coaxed, tone somewhere between a dare and a promise. "I’ve got you. Just let it happen."
Mike made a strangled sound that might’ve been a laugh if it hadn’t been broken in half by another moan. "You’re—fuck—you’re insane."
"Yeah," Harvey breathed, pressing his forehead to Mike’s temple, every muscle in his body tight as he kept the rhythm steady. "And you love it."
Harvey could feel how close he was himself—his own control stretched thin, every flex of Mike around him sending white-hot sparks up his spine. He was wrecked too, sweat sliding down his back, his breathing uneven. But there was no way in hell he was finishing without taking Mike with him one last time.
Mike’s nails scraped weakly at Harvey’s shoulder, like he wanted to push him away but couldn’t find the strength. "I’m—ah—Harvey—" His voice cracked on the last syllable.
"That’s it," Harvey murmured, feeling the tension coil in both of them at once. "Just like that. Give it to me."
The sound Mike made when he came again was nothing short of obscene—loud enough that Harvey was absolutely sure the neighbors would be side-eyeing them in the hallway for weeks. His body arched up, clamping down so tight that Harvey swore under his breath, chasing his own release through the aftershocks wracking Mike.
"Jesus, Mike—" The words were a grunt, strangled and rough, and then Harvey was gone too, burying himself deep and holding on while the pleasure tore through him. He stayed pressed close, chest to chest, every muscle drawn tight until it broke and left him trembling.
It was a long moment before either of them moved. Harvey stayed braced above him, both of them dragging in ragged breaths, sweat cooling slowly against flushed skin. Mike’s eyes were barely open, his body slack in that perfectly satisfied, perfectly destroyed way Harvey had been aiming for from the start.
By the time Harvey finally let up, Mike was boneless beneath him. A mess of sweat and flushed skin, blinking up at the ceiling like it had personally offended him. His chest rose and fell with every heavy breath, legs still trembling. Harvey eased out slowly, murmuring something low and soothing as he kissed Mike’s temple.
"See?" he said, wiping a bit of sweat from Mike’s brow. "All that noise and you’re still in one piece."
Mike didn’t answer. Just flopped one arm across his face and groaned like he’d aged ten years.
Harvey couldn’t stop the smirk. "Tired now?"
A weak middle finger was his only reply.
Which meant: mission accomplished.
Harvey grabbed a towel, cleaned them both up with practiced efficiency, and maneuvered Mike under the covers like a sack of emotionally exhausted potatoes. The kid didn’t even protest when Harvey wrapped an arm around him and pulled him in, chest to back.
The room finally quieted. The air was still warm, faintly damp with leftover heat, but Harvey could already feel his body settling back into that perfect post-orgasm heaviness. He nuzzled into Mike’s hair, smug and satisfied.