WARNING(s):
yes, geniuses, this is slash, and rated M, so if you don't want to read it, get the hell out.
there are also some - but not really a lot - spoilers (so far till s02e04, but this can change - in this case I will let you know, of course.
Okay, so I've just written it. The idea has been stuck in my head for a couple of days and I finally decided to go with it. I never send stories without checking them the next day, but I just can't resist with this one. Suits deserve more fanfiction!
This is just a prologue. The chapters will longer, don't worry :)
Hope you enjoy.
He hated that feeling. His mouth was dry, punding in his head was intolerable, eyelids firmly closed in a mission not to let any of the light in. He smelled alcohol. 'Like a high school kid -' he thought to himself, trying to find a more comfortable position without rapid moves 'I've gotten drunk like a high school kid. What a shame.' He knew the images of last night would eventually come back to him, but for now he didn't really know where he was. Hopefully, in his own bed, but strangely he didn't remember getting home. And God, this light... He had always hated that. If he just hadn't finished this bottle of whiskey... what whiskey?
'I suggest you take a day off' a blurred, yet concrete voice came to his ears. Male voice.
'Trevor?' he mumbled. Did he get stoned whith Trevor? Combined with all this alcohol, it couldn't have get him any good.
'I'm not even trying to understand, what your drunk mind tries to say, I'm already late because of you. I'll tell Jessica you are sick and leave you here. The spare key is on the table. When you finally get your ass together, get the hell out.'
Mike furrowed his eyebrows, trying to recognize the voice. One crazy idea started to grow in the corner of his mind, but no, that was just ridiculous. And yet, when all options are wrong, the most possible one must be true. He shivered. The pillow he was lying on smelled friendly. Hugo Boss? Fuck.
He wanted to say something explaining himself, but then he heard the sound of the closed door.
Then - like always in situations like that - a load of pictures, some blurred, some disturbingly vivid, came through his mind. He remembered getting few more drinks that he should have on the associate's meeting after work. It was late, around ten o'clock, and he was tired, so the alcohol sink into him surprisngly fast. And then, things about Rachel came up. He left the bar, probably around one (no, it acually was 1.02, he remembered the watch of the bartender) and insted of going to his apartment (how could he have been so stupid?) he bought a bottle of whiskey and came to Harvey's place. And he didn't send him away (another mystery).
That was when the fucked up part started.
He really tried to make a good conversation with Harvey last night, he even wanted to talk about the cases they were dealing with. But then he started talking how he freaks out about the changes in the firm, and about Hardman's return, and that Jessica knows (she knows!). As far as he recollected, Harvey said nothing. So how the hell did he end trying to kiss his boss? He remembered it all, he wished he hadn't - but it was too late.
His shaking hands and unstable grip on Harvey's shoulders. His perfume smell, the way his lips tasted. He remembered Harvey's grip on his head when he pulled him closer. And then - God - how somehow he succedeed to undid buttons of Harvey's shirt and slip with his lips across his torso and hungrily kiss his stomach, lower and lower and...
'Fuck photographic memory' he thought, sighing.
Would you like me to continue? Leave a review, please.