those unfulfilled fantasies
kissingonconey
A/N: Written in half an hour. Also...I kind of haven't seen this episode. :)
"I heard rumors of indiscretion at work today," Harvey smirks. "In the file room with a certain associate."
Donna does a little half-turn. A small smile tugs at her pursed lips.
"And who told you that?"
"Does it matter?"
He takes a moment to admire her. Body encased in black, hips and breasts accentuated. It's the only part of his day that's at all worth it. The rest of it has been pure shit.
"You jealous?" she asks. He can see that the taunt isn't at it's full force. It doesn't have the regular flick of the hips accompanying it or the jaunt of the head that exposes that lovely, long neck. Something's wrong on her end too. But he doesn't push that end of their flirtation—he's not going to turn it serious when neither of them can take it.
And in terms of jealousy? He's not jealous only because he knows that Donna would never go for Mike Ross. And Mike Ross is too scared of him to even toe that line. Not that he would care if Donna and Mike were fucking like bunnies in the file room.
But there's something about her almost-admission, even though nothing happened at all, that prompts his tired body into action. His tired mind into fantasy.
What would it be like to look down at her naughty face, her red hair spiraling down her back?
He doesn't know why they'd be in the file room together, but at this point he doesn't care. He'd slide a hand across her back as he leaned over to grab a folder. She'd turn, press her full breasts against his arm.
"Hey," he'd say, and then she'd press her hands to his chest.
A kiss. He doesn't want to think about that kiss. Because if they kissed—he'd be pressing his whole body against hers in an attempt to get closer. He'd caress her mouth. He'd drink her in. He'd say I love you with his tongue on her tongue, his teeth clashing with hers, with the flutter of his eyelids when he wants to see her feel him wholly.
But past the kiss, she'd slide to her knees neatly. Lithe fingers against his zipper. And those eyes looking up at him, like she'd be uncovering his last secret.
He might whisper her name, just to make sure that she was sure. But his hand would be fisting in her hair.
She'd slide one finger down his length experimentally. Then two. Then the whole hand, going up and down up and down.
And then, leaning forward, she'd pout those pretty lips and then—
Those little sucks, the heat of her mouth around him, the swish of her tongue around and around, the slightest touch of her teeth. One hand reaching up to fondle a little higher.
The red hair would be falling into her face, and he'd want to move it out of her eyes, except he'd be too busy groaning her name and concentrating on grabbing at the shelf and not the files because she'd kill him if he messed up all the files, but her mouth, Jesus Christ.
He'd come hard, he knows. Even outside the fantasy, he's hard, glad he's sitting at his desk so she can't see. And she'd take it down, lick her lips in a way that would get him going again, and stand up. Breasts peeking out of the low-cut dress, cheeks flushed, hair ruined.
And after—
Well, he won't think about the after, because that could be: leaving without speaking, an awkward joke, dinner at their Italian place, him taking her home, him taking her home and into her bed, the morning after being bacon and toast, confessions.
There's a reason he's not going to let this fantasy come to fruition.
"So you are jealous?" Donna teases, in wake of his silence.
"Nah," Harvey says. "I'll get you next time."
Her laugh echoes around the office, and he thinks—I'm not laughing.