taking it down
kissingonconey
The bun does Harvey in. It sits high on Donna's head, and her bangs flutter into her eyes so that she has to keep pushing them back. She looks elegant.
"Are you going somewhere tonight?" he asks casually.
She blinks twice, probably surprised that he noticed. But he can't not notice the beautiful red curls pinned high. He loves her hair.
"Date tonight," she says. "I have to go straight from work. Thought I'd just wear what I have on."
He steps back to admire her. He's been trying to do it more often: admire the way she keeps her desk clean, admire her good work, admire the confidence in her gait. Ever since the memo mistake, the fight, the coming back. He just wants her to feel appreciated. Because he's realized he never wants this—whatever is between them—to end.
Not to mention, admiring her is plain fun. But Harvey doesn't tend to linger on that thought.
She has on a silky gold button-down, and black heels and skirt. It can't be that important of a date, he thinks, because lovely as she looks, it's not a date-dress. Somehow the pleasure he feels from that skates straight up his spine and into his smile.
"Have fun," he murmurs.
He doesn't mean to do it, but the case is not working out for him. Pearson Hardman—name change pending—isn't exactly top of its game. And Harvey knows he better do as well as he fucking can, or else this firm isn't going to survive. And he can only be at the top of his game when she's around.
"Hey," he says when Donna picks up the phone, "listen, I'm sorry, but—"
"Oh!" and her voice comes out high and unnatural, "do you need me? I'll be right there, Harvey. See you." Harvey can hear the beginnings of her insincere apology to the date before she hangs up.
Twenty minutes later, she's actually there.
"You okay?" he asks immediately.
He's been trying to do this more too. Ask her things. Make sure she's okay. Because he can't have her leave in a huff again.
Not to mention he wants her to be better than okay. He wants her to be on top of the world at all times because someone as loyal and caring and beautiful as her deserves that.
"Yeah," she says. "He was getting handsy. And honestly, the guy spit everywhere when he talked. And he talked forever. Worse than you!"
He laughs. "Well, I'm glad you're here. I need help."
"You always need help." She steps further into the office. The light reflects on everything: the blouse, her hair, her eyes. She glows.
Suddenly he's not as interested in the legal work.
"Did you at least get to finish dinner?" he asks.
"Halfway through," Donna replies, dismissively. "I'm fine though. So what do we have?"
He beckons her closer, and now a spark of thrill goes through his spine when she follows his direction. He can't help but rove her body with his eyes, mouth dry.
Maybe he's been ignoring it since the trial, but that desire for to admit that she loves him still rests in his chest. And the thing that he's been especially ignoring is why he wants it so badly. Other things he ignores: how good it feels to see her at her desk, how much more he smiles around her, how much he wants to place a gentle kiss on her wrist.
But tonight he sees her and he lets himself know all those things. And he knows that this is the night, because if he doesn't make a move now, he won't ever admit it to himself again. He won't admit that he cares for her. That he really and truly cares for her.
"Look through these for me," he says, pushing the papers forward on his desk. "I need you to find every instance of Jamieson's dealings."
She pulls up a chair like she did when he was banished to a downstairs office. Another thrill. But she sees his face this time and frowns.
"Uh, did you want me back at my desk? Sorry, I should've—"
"No. No, it's okay. Stay." Part of him hopes she can hear the plea in his voice, but the other parts hopes that she misses it completely. Harvey Spector doesn't ask women to stay.
She doesn't make anything of it either way, at least not in a discernible way. She simply slides into the hair, throws her head back and stretches it and then starts to highlight. It's 8:32.
Harvey does his best to concentrate. In fact, he gets things done. But he always stiffens when he stretches his leg and it touches hers. She always pulls back, and he sits there, wanting to entwine with her. He stiffens when stretches, and her breast push forward, and he wishes that maybe one button would burst. He stiffens when he can smell her perfume. He keeps himself under control, but it's tiresome.
And every so often, Harvey looks up to see the last associate, or Louis, or Jessica leaving. They're alone.
At 11:16 Donna starts.
"What?" he asks immediately.
"I found something good." A large smile spreads across her face. "Come look."
He pushes the chair back and moves around the desk. The perfume is even stronger here. And her neck looks pale and creamy. He wants to trace it with his mouth. So he does the best he can: he leans over her shoulder, enough to see, but also to let his hot breath carress her. And finally, finally, she stiffens too.
"It's good," he whispers. "You're the best, Donna. Thank you."
He thinks it's the compliment that gets her, but it could also be the gratitude. But she composes herself. Pretends it's just a headache. He watches her dainty fingers touch her temple, and then focuses his attention on her poor hair, all tied up. When he makes love to her, he wants it down around her shoulders.
"Maybe your head would hurt less if you didn't tie your hair into this torture system," he jokes, flicking the bun.
"Shut up," she says, trying to bat his hand away. But he just pushes it away and digs his fingers into her scalp. She moans. It's involuntary, but he feels it everywhere in body. He wiggles further, and a few bobby pins begin to spring free. He pulls them out, one by one, watching the tresses curve, in their beautiful way, down her back.
"Harvey," she says.
"Let me see your hand," he says. And then he places each pin into her outstretched palm. When it's all done, and she looks mussed and wild, he smiles and says: "Better."
Everyone's gone now, and he wants to do this.
"What are you doing?" she whispers. He lets his hand slide down the curve of her neck.
"I missed you when you were gone. And you missed me, right?"
"Yes."
"And you're happy to be back?"
"Yeah."
He's not watching her face, but he knows she's trying hard to keep telling the truth. That's something else they've been practicing.
"You're more than a secretary to me. You know that?"
"You're more than a boss to me." Her voice quivers.
He grabs her hand and pulls her up so that's she's standing toe to toe with him. And somehow they fall into a hug. Her waist pushes against his stomach, and he encircles her tightly.
"Sometimes I go home and I miss you," he says against her hair. "Even though I've seen you for hours. I just do."
Her head leaves his chest, and the light is still reflecting in her eyes. He leans down and kisses her gently. She feels tiny against him, but her kiss is just as strong. They pull back and stare at each other.
"I want this," she says finally.
The next kiss is hotter and more generous than the last. Her entire body is taut against his and she grinds her hips into him. He can't get enough of tasting her though. Like honey, he thinks, with a pinch of salt. He loves it.
When they finally pull apart again, he knows that his eyes are wide with desire. They travel her body, and slowly his hands move to her chest. There are five buttons. He starts on the top. His fingers feel thick, but he manages. The skin he reveals is pale and slightly freckled. He runs his thumb against it, and then moves onto the next one. By the time he gets to the end, he's kneeling at her feet. He presses a hot kiss to her navel, and she shrugs the shirt off.
"Nice bra," he smirks. But it is. Dark and lacy against her skin, it only prompts the desire in his groin.
"They match my panties," she says, and immediately his fingers are on the zipper of her skirt, pulling down hard. "Careful! That's expensive."
She does match. Black bra and panties and stilletos. He stands her kisses her neck. His pants are straining. But he ignores it. He wants to leave a mark. He's a closer, he needs to sign the deal somehow.
"You've got so many clothes on," she says. "It's not fair." Then she smirks and nods at the desk. "I'll go get comfortable. You take care of this slightly overdressed situation."
He chuckles low in his throat and obeys. He's glad no one's around. He doesn't know if he could stop this.
When he turns, he stops. Ever the brilliant secretary, she moved his files so they won't get jumbled. But she's sitting on his desk, a small smile on her lips. And her hips are moving a little impatiently.
"Fuck," he says.
"Yeah, I was thinking we could do that."
He grins, and slips closer, then plants a long kiss on her. "Just to be clear, you're not gonna fuck me and leave, are you?"
Not like last time, is the unspoken part of that.
"No," she whispers against his mouth. "I'm only here because I'm here to stay."
They're in love, Harvey realizes suddenly. Maybe they have been for years. No one else could admit these things and then joke about them. It's because they're two halves of each other.
This is what makes him link hands with her so that they fingers are totally twisted together and kiss every part of her that he can reach.
And then he takes her shoes off gently.
He brings her home. He makes her coffee. He watches her hair spread out on his pillow.
She's there to stay, after all.