The Law Of Attraction
LeahxLeah
For Tina
Throughout Mike's life, he had found that the majority of the people he'd met underestimated him. From time to time, he could see why they might make that assumption—he had blue eyes so large and bright they could have made Bambi weep, blonde hair that stuck up like he'd just woken up from a nap, a sort of 'crumpled' look to his clothes, and he was sweet. He did good things, and liked to help people. Yes, he was adorable, and generally, adorable people didn't do anything wrong.
By principle, he tended not to, especially now that he was a lawyer and had no need to cheat for a living, or deal drugs. The world continued to think of him as a knight in shining armour, despite the fact he had only gotten his job through fraud and Harvey, whose morals related only to laws and not people. Jessica thought he was naïve, Rachel thought he was too kind, Louis thought he was an idiot, Donna also thought he was an idiot (in a cute sort of 'Mike' way), and Harvey? Harvey, despite knowing the truth about him, still thought of him as all of the above in a world full of cut throat people.
Typically, Mike was what they claimed him to be—except when he wanted something. Not like when he 'wanted' a sandwich or Harvey to let him go home early, but actually wanted. This type of want seared him from the inside out, turned him into someone a lot less like 'Mike' and more like a master chess player, willing to make any number of sacrifices to capture the queen. He became calculating and passionate all at once, and suddenly his towering I.Q. finally got a chance to be fully used. No one could outthink him, let alone see him coming—his 'adorable' attributes fixed that.
When Mike sought after something, nothing could stop him.
And as soon as he'd started working at Pearson Hardman, that thing had been Harvey.
He had been mortified when the thoughts first overtook him; he'd seen two guys making out in a back alley on his way back from buying groceries, and had laughed quietly at them. Come on, have the hotel prices really gone up that much? That really can't be sanitary.
The man on the bottom looked up, his blue eyes flashing up to Mike's, and Mike froze. The other man could have been his twin, at least from that distance—his twin that was pressed up against a brick wall, a slightly taller man holding him to it. They were both wearing a similar pair of faded jeans, and a plain purple shirt; they both had high cheekbones. The taller man's focus couldn't seem to tear away from Mike's twin, and Mike heard his twin let out something like a moan when the taller man bore down on his neck.
There's no way we're related—whether or not he looks like me, there is no way in hell I'd have sex in an alley.
The taller man kissed Mike's twin, and for a second he thought he spotted brown eyes and brown hair slicked back, and a white, long sleeved shirt. He tried to look again, but it had just been a trick of the light; his eyes tired after having worked for far too many hours in a row and hunger pangs sweeping over him. He blinked, rubbing his eyes before quickly walking away. What was he doing, watching them? He wasn't into men, after all, and even if he was he would have rather looked up porn online than watch it in an alley.
It was sick, and it was wrong, but for a second there, he thought he had seen him and Harvey.
The memory of that wormed it's way into Mike's mind, and suddenly it was in his dreams—Harvey's lips on his, hands everywhere, clothes falling away—and Mike thought he was going crazy. He tried to chase that insanity out, but no amount of sex or alcohol could change the fact that now when he looked at Harvey, he wanted those kisses in that alleyway.
But more than that, though—he wanted to be the one person Harvey looked at with that singularity, the one that could steal his whole universe with a smile.
He wanted Harvey to love him.
And Mike would, without a doubt, get what he wanted.
OoOoO
Harvey didn't figure anyone else would be at the office at one o'clock in the morning on a Saturday evening—hence the reason he'd come, to sit by himself, maybe put a record on, and possibly get some work done. Sleep was for the weak, after all, and he wasn't exactly being productive at home, watching Star Trek reruns.
The light coming from his office surprised him, and he subconsciously glanced around for anything that could be used as a weapon—a lamp, a plant, a painting, any one of Louis' possessions…
He was taken aback again when he saw someone had beaten him to his spot on the couch: Mike. Harvey instantly dropped his apprehension and flashed to anger, which switched to sympathy when he realised Mike had a glass of scotch in one hand and an icepack in the other, pressed to his face. The kid looked miserable—his suit was even more crumpled than usual, and his jacket draped over a chair. Mike tilted his head back, letting out something along the lines of a sigh, and Harvey raised an eyebrow.
"If I were you, I wouldn't switch from pot to scotch—neither is good for you, and my scotch is about twice as expensive," Harvey said, causing Mike to jerk out of his relaxed pose.
"What are you doing here?" Mike asked, alarmed.
"Answering the bat-signal. What the hell are you doing here?"
"Oh," Mike replied, staring down at his glass. "That's…kind of a long story, which I'm sure you aren't interested in hearing. So I'll just go, then. Sorry for the scotch!" Mike stood up, heading for the door before Harvey reached out, catching him by his elbow.
"Wait," he said, steering Mike back to his previous seat. "Sit back down and talk."
Mike looked up at him, his eyes wide and hopeful. "You better have a pretty damn good reason for breaking into my office and stealing my scotch," he finished.
"Well," Mike said, "I, uh, got dumped."
"By who?" Harvey asked.
"Jenny, my girlfriend—ex-girlfriend now, I guess."
"Jenny…why does that name sound familiar?"
"Oh, um, right. She used to be, ah, Trevor's girlfriend," Mike said timidly.
"Please tell me you're kidding me," Harvey replied.
"No."
"Keep going, kid, before I decide to give you another black eye."
"I always liked her, and after she and Trevor split up—"
"—and you thought it would be okay to date a drug dealer's sloppy seconds—"
"—she and I—well, you get it. But I also liked Rachel—"
"—a paralegal? Really?"
"—who turned me down before Jenny and I got together, and I ended up calling out the wrong name during sex—"
"—usually staying quiet is the best policy—"
"—and it turns out that drug dealer's ex-girlfriends tend to punch, not slap. Now I'm locked out of my own apartment, where everything but my key-card is, so I came here. Because she has my wallet, so I can't rent a hotel room."
Harvey sighed, taking the bottle away from Mike a pouring himself a glass, trying to bite back a smile. He failed miserably, grinning at Mike and groaning simultaneously. "You really suck with women, Mike. It started off as being funny to watch, but now it's just sad—sort of like if you watch someone repeatedly smash into a glass door."
"Gee, I'm sorry I can't be 'Harvey Specter, playboy extraordinaire', but no matter how many times I try to be perfect, I end up screwing up," Mike said, taking a sip from his glass and readjusting the icepack.
"Why are you trying to be perfect?" Harvey asked.
"So they'll like me," Mike replied.
"Like you where? In bed? On a date?"
"Everywhere?"
"Look, I'm not trying to tell you to be yourself, but women hate perfection. That's why nice guys don't get laid, and you can quote me on that," Harvey said.
Mike looked at him miserably.
"Fine," he began, "I'll help you out."
"What do you mean by that?" Mike asked, his face lighting up.
"I'll teach you how to seduce a woman—but I have one condition."
"What?"
"You can't tell anyone," Harvey said, taking a drink. "And by that I mean no one. Not your friends, not your grandmother—you can't even tell your plants, okay? I have a reputation to maintain, and if this gets out people will take it the wrong way."
"What's the right way?"
"I'm not doing this because I care about you—if you're a complete loser with women, and word of that starts to get around, I look bad. Understand?"
"Sure—but you can't call me grasshopper."
"Why not?"
"I put up with 'kid', 'puppy', even 'Mikey'—but considering you don't know any martial arts, 'grasshopper' is out."
"Would you prefer 'butterfly'?"
"Would you like a bruise just like mine so that we match?"
"I'd kick your ass if it came to that—"
"—I was on the wrestling team in high school—"
"—honestly, I really don't want to know that you liked to stick your head in other men's armpits—"
"—it's a sport!"
"It sounds more like an erotic pastime, kid."
"Start teaching or I'll start tackling."
"Oh, please Mike, don't stick your head in my armpit!" Harvey mocked.
Mike glared as a response, and Harvey rolled his eyes before holding up four fingers, looking Mike in the eyes. "Put down the drink—you'll need to remember this."
"Four?"
"That's right—four steps. And they must be done in order, every single time. You can't skip one, otherwise it doesn't work."
"Okay."
"Each lesson will be one step. Make time for them, or I won't bother."
Mike nodded.
"Okay, first things first—this will work on anybody. Sexuality is fluid at best."
"Bullshit. If I started hitting on you, right here and now—"
"—I'm not anybody, but the principles would be the same. Obviously you couldn't now, because I'm well aware of what you're doing, but if you pulled this on Louis, for example—"
"—stop, stop, stop! I get the picture. No need to bring Louis into this, okay?"
"Anyways, it's universal. I've never tried it with a man, but I've been told it works. You already have an edge—you're more or less attractive—"
"—and that confidence booth came to you live from Harvey Specter!" Mike announced.
"What, would you like me to hold your hand and tell you you're beautiful? Jesus, what do I look like, a British boy band?"
"I can't picture you in skinny jeans, if that's what you're asking. Okay, I get it—it's awesome, works on anyone, and I don't resemble Freddy Kruger. What's next?" Mike asked, watching Harvey raptly as he stood up, walked towards the window and looked out on the darkened city, cabs still dashing back forth and some lights in nearby skyscrapers on.
"Step one is to compliment them."
"Compliment them?"
"You heard me the first time."
Mike paused, frowning. "But I do that all the time. How come it doesn't work then?"
"Because it's only the first step, and it's only one compliment. It means nothing if done in excess, or even if it's blatant. Subtly works best—you don't need to do a full body scan or wolf whistle, you need to make them feel special."
"What makes them feel special?"
"You need to specify the compliment to whoever you are complimenting—here, try it on me."
"Wait, what? Try to…make you feel special?"
"Say your usual pick up line," Harvey said, turning to Mike and opening his arms slightly. "Don't worry, I promise I won't screw up the other side of your face."
Mike paused, coughing awkwardly, looking at his feet. "Uhm, wow, your eyes look really beautiful in this light," he muttered.
Harvey frowned. "What, are you hitting on me, or the floor? Although I'm pretty sure the floor can't hear you either."
Mike grudgingly lifted up his head, scowling at Harvey before setting his face back to neutral, then adopting a look of wonderment. "Your eyes look beautiful in this light."
Harvey paused, throwing in a pensive look before turning back to the window. He swallowed.
"I know, it's really corny, but—"
"—it wasn't completely awful, kid. Maybe if I read Harlequins, I'd give you my number, but no such luck. Also, a little too general."
"So, what's a better one?"
"Okay, pretend you've never met me before. Maybe I'm—or a pretty girl, or whoever you're trying to seduce—standing in front of you while you're in line. What do you do?"
"I'd bump into you and apologize."
"Good. Then?"
"Compliment you."
"Give it a second try, kid."
Mike looked down at Harvey's hands, faking an interest before asking, "Hey, do you play guitar?"
Harvey smiled. "Not bad, aside from the fact you stole it from a sitcom. Try again?"
"Do you dance?"
"Only drunk."
"Do you work out?"
"Way too blatant."
"Do you play the piano?"
"Only as a child, and drunk."
"I think you have a musical form of alcoholism, Harvey."
"Laugh all you like, you still haven't gotten my number yet."
Mike glanced at Harvey's shoulders, frowning slightly. "Hey, do you play baseball?"
Harvey grinned. "Bingo. Now, what would you say if I said 'no'?"
"Really? Sorry, you looked like the type."
"Perfect. Now I'm flattered, and I'll probably try to converse with you. What do you do then?"
"Give you my full attention."
"While…?"
"Making eye contact?"
"Yes."
"Do I have your number now?" Mike asked, his tone hopeful.
"Yes, but therein lies the key—you need to give them your number, too."
"Why?"
"So they can call or text you, not the other way around. But that's step two. We'll worry about that later."
"What are we worrying about now?" Mike questioned, his eyes fixed on Harvey's gaze, hanging off of every word.
"Your face," Harvey replied, crossing the room and gesturing for Mike to stand up. Mike stood, and Harvey pried the icepack from his hands, staring at the injury.
"Doesn't look so bad," he said, gingerly pressing against the pink flesh around Mike's eye, their bodies inches apart. Mike bit the inside of his lip to keep his face from lighting up like a Christmas tree, savouring the warmth of Harvey's skin against his and the feel of his breath running down Mike's cheek. Harvey's fingers shifted, trying to find a sore spot, and Mike let out a fake hiss when Harvey brushed his eyebrow.
"Is it purple?" Mike asked as Harvey withdrew his fingers, handing the icepack back to Mike.
"No, I think you iced it before it could bruise or swell," Harvey replied.
Or, y'know, I just put an icepack over my eye until my skin went pink.
Harvey put the bottle of scotch and the glasses away, saying as he turned, "Not that I give a damn, but where did you plan to stay tonight?"
Mike scratched the back of his head, replying with, "Um, here?"
"On my couch?"
"Well—yes."
"What did you figure the janitor would say?"
"Nothing polite, I assume."
Harvey sighed, looking at Mike. "Ask."
"Ask what?"
"The question."
"Will you marry me?"
"Wrong question."
"What am I asking for?"
"To stay with me."
"Why would I ask that?"
"Because you need a place to stay."
"Why don't you just offer?"
"That would imply that I care."
"But you did offer—sort of."
"Just ask," Harvey replied shortly.
"Could I stay with you for one night, please?"
"Alright. As long as it's just one night."
"Harvey—"
"—you can stay in the guest room—"
"—no, seriously, what the—"
"—don't use my toothbrush. I have five new ones still in their packages for one-night stands."
Mike raised an eyebrow.
"I have a lot of one-night stands," Harvey said, tossing Mike his coat and flicking off the light.
Mike smiled softly in the darkness to himself before leaving the room, putting his coat back on. His plan was working out so far—Harvey was having a difficult time not admitting to himself that he cared about Mike.
And that was only step one, because Mike always got what he wanted.
OoOoO
I'm baaaackk…
This entire story is dedicated to my friend Tina, who is on the very very short list of people I can't refuse.
Anyways, I've kinda added a layer to Mike here, but I needed that for my plot to work—also, I always found it odd how he never took advantage of people since he's so smart, and is probably great at mind games. What do you think? I honestly want to know.
Thanks! :]
LeahxLeah