pairing: mike ross x harvey specter
summary: mike ross finds out that harvey specter is behind his well-known ‘puppy’ alias. he has words with him. #flirting, #sugardaddyharvey
Harvey has this tendency to gift Mike things he imagines he needs. Like now, as Harvey sits on an overly comfortable futon in an empty dressing room, the only noise the squeaking of Mike’s shoes, doing the zipper on a new suit, and the hum of the AC.
Mike steps out, undoing the blinds, looking somewhat awkward. “I don’t like this one,”
“Neither do I,” says Harvey, because unless Mike exudes his usual boyish confidence, he doesn’t look great at all. “Try the other one. The navy one with the blue shirt.”
“I’ll look like a clown,” Mike groans playfully, laughing. “Or, worse; like a boy headed for his communion.”
Harvey frowns. “Try it on.”
“Yes, sir,” Mike mocks, winking.
The next few suits are another definite no, lacking Mike’s general flair. When he tries on a plan black with a plum-coloured tie, some of his personality comes back to him, and Harvey knows that he must buy this one. Next up, he tries this attractive navy pinstripe three piece, and Harvey convinces him it looks exquisite, even when Mike doesn’t explicitly think so. He thinks it makes Harvey happy.
What makes Harvey happier is sliding his platinum card into the reader as the serious-looking man behind the desk packages the suits into separate suit bags, which Mike has always seen as overkill.
“Alright puppy, you ready to learn some new tricks?” Asks Harvey, more of a statement than a question when they aren’t even one step from the suit shop.
Mike feels ridiculously small carrying his new, pressed suits while being labelled a puppy. “Sure,”
“That’s no way to show your enthusiasm,” Harvey picks on him.
“Have I told you lately that I hate you?”
“Who bought you those suits?”
“I can still hate you even if you buy me suits as bribes,” Mike amends, tugging on his tie. It’s heavier than the ties he’s used to, which is a ridiculous thought to have. Harvey bought this one, too. It’s embroidered with polo players on it.
“I stand corrected,” Harvey smirks, pressing his palm into Mike’s suit pocket, stroking it down the left of his chest. “They look good on you.”
“Thanks,” Mike flushes around the ears, “but I won’t take compliments as bribes either.”
Mike approaches Donna’s desk with the same trepidation as prey approaching his predator’s hunting ground. He’s not grown out of this unfortunate habit after two years of working here.
“Hey, pup,” Donna greets once she looks up from her terminal, face brightening.
Mike has gotten seriously over hearing this nickname across the past few weeks. “Hey,”
“You need anything?” Donna asks, with which the realisation comes that Donna’s unprecedented ‘pup’ has wiped Mike’s memory.
Donna grins up at him. “Something from mom or dad?”
“Stop,” Mike warns, “you’ll give me a reverse Oedipus complex,”
Donna smirks. “Come back when you remember.”
Defeated, Mike turns and walks away. A few paces forward, it dawns on him: he was about to ask Donna for help with the haywire fax machine. He does a little jump when the lightbulb flicks on above the crown of his head, quickly turning around to meet Donna’s expectant smile. “Can you help me fax something?”
Donna smittenly shakes her head.
Mike stands in the riveting silence of Jessica Pearson’s office like a boy waiting on his headmaster. He holds his hands behind his back then brings them forward to twiddle his thumbs then cups them behind his back again. He repeats that routine when the headmaster (Jessica) looks up at him from her computer.
“Harvey tell you that you’re working with me this week?” Jessica prompts, lithely folding her notepad over.
Mike swings on the balls of his feet. “Yep,” he pops the ‘p’.
“Okay,” Jessica can’t help but smile, “he tell you what the case is about?”
“No,” Mike admits, “but I did my homework.”
Jessica knows why Harvey likes having him around. Anybody who thought different was blind. “Alright, puppy,” she pulls herself from her desk.
Mike stills minutely. “Okay, what —?” He stumbles, falling over his feet and stumbling into a walk when Jessica floats ahead of him. “What’s up with that?”
“What’s up with what?” Jessica questions innocently. Mike jogs up to walk by her side.
“This whole . . .puppy business. Whose idea was it?” Mike accuses.
“Ah.” Jessica hums, smiling beside herself. “No idea. I heard someone else use it and, well. It just stuck.”
Mike frowns. “It just stuck?”
Jessica nods. “Mm—hmm,” she smiles downward, “it’s quite fitting,”
Jessica looks at him from the side—following her without question, as though on a short leash, watching her with wide-eyed anticipation. Yeah, that’s a good puppy, alright. She shrugs at him. He sighs and deflates. They walk into the meeting room together.
“This is all your fault,” Mike proclaims, storming Harvey’s office.
Harvey’s eyebrows crease in a frown and yet he can’t help the smile playing at his lips: he indulges in it and smirks at his associate. “Alright, Lady Bird, why so dramatic?”
Mike comes up to the front of Harvey’s desk and leans into it, eyes slim and scalding when staring down his technically-boss. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Refresh my memory?” Harvey gestures to his temple.
Mike’s frown deepens. He glares into Harvey’s eyes, which are creased at the corners from smiling.
Harvey leans over his desk, slender fingers reaching for Mike’s slim wrist. He ghosts his fingertips along the veins of his hand and they disappear into the cuff of his sleeve, wrapping around his bare forearm. It makes Mike dip further forward, abdomen nearly pressed to the lip of Harvey’s desk.
When Mike speaks, his voice is lower than before, yet level. “You’re the one that started calling me ‘puppy’ first,”
“Watch out, Mike, you’re about to make me jealous,” Harvey tilts his head, watching as the red on Mike’s face doesn’t dissipate. He snakes his hand up further, Mike’s sleeve bunching around his knuckles.
Mike reaches out with his free hand, the one untouched by Harvey’s palm, and traces a finger above Harvey’s brow bone, pressing into the beauty mark there. “I’m not saying I don’t like it,” Mike amends, “but I like it only when you do it,”
“Okay. I’ll tell Donna off.”
“It’s not just Donna,” Mike bemoans, retracting his hand just to scrub it over his face. “It’s everyone.”
“Louis?” Harvey looks honestly scandalised.
“Oh, ew,” Mike shakes his head, “not yet, but the mental image of that is . . .” He shudders.
“Right,” Harvey chuckles gruffly.
“Also, Donna’s looking at us through the glass,”
Harvey smiles lopsided, making Mike weak. “She’s such a voyeur.”
