don't back down; harvey/donna ; r (and maybe NC-17); 2,375 words;
2
somewhere between leaving and coming back something just changes somehow
a/n: so i have this friend erica who was all "watch suits, it's really good" and so i did and now i don't know what to do anymore because suits, so she wanted me to write baby!fic as she always does so here it starts
"Do we need to talk?" He asks before she can leave his office. She turns on her heel to face him again, his eyes absently motioning to the chair across from his desk. His jaw tightens as he presses his knuckles into his cheek, "it used to be easy."
"Is that an observation?" She asks. The question is left a bit opended and he isn't sure if she's mocking him or if she's being sincere.
"There's just this feeling between us now," he admits, "like we've left some things unsaid. That isn't like us."
"I don't know. It's late, Harvey. You should go home," she suggests in an attempt to blow him off, "get some sleep. You look like you haven't slept in days."
"I've had a lot on my mind," he starts. He lightly shakes his head and doesn't continue, just fuses his lips together and narrows his eyes. He doesn't look right at her, just absently rubs his knuckles against his jaw. "Donna, wait. I just wanted you to know that if it's something you want to do, then I want to be a dad."
"I couldn't do it. It didn't feel right to do anything without talking to you. I just kept thinking about how if anyone else had been the father, I'd stll want to talk to you and it didn't feel right."
"I need you, Donna," he replies.
A smirk pulls at the corners of her mouth, "I know. What do you want to do, Harvey?"
"I think we should get some dinner, go back to my place, and watch Star Trek," he says with a grin, eyebrows bouncing slightly on his forehead. He doesn't wait for her answer because they don't address what they've been doing really, they just do. One of them kisses the other and everything goes from there; the idea of a baby brought forth opportunity for real conversation. "You're hesitating. Why?"
"Because I'm tired and confused about what your endgame is, Harvey," she counters.
He tilts his head to the side, "I just want you."
"Please don't say things that you don't mean," she concedes.
He leans back in his chair, tilting it in her direction, "you know I don't say things I don't mean."
Her eyes lock on his for a few moments before she laughs a little, her eyes briefly closing as she shakes her head, "you say whatever you have to say to get what you want."
"And I want you," he reiterates with a grin. "What's so hard to believe about that?"
"Harvey-"
"I bought a book," he interrupts, feeling beneath stacks of papers and pulling one out to toss to the end of his desk, "about pregnancy. I just wanted to know if I should read it."
"Read it. Don't read it," she replies without commitment.
"Donna," he whines.
"I'm not trying to play games with you, Harvey. We spend 2 months together and I get why no one knew, but then this all became really real, really fast. It's suddenly important that people know, suddenly important that we figure these things out and I don't even have the energy to talk about them."
"So, I talk," he says as he stands up, "you listen."
She smirks, "I listen to you all day."
She moves in, or not. He doesn't really know and he doesn't really ask. There's a sense of realism that comes with asking and he doesn't want to bail, but he thinks that maybe she had something that day in her kitchen implying all he wants from life is a rush - he thinks that maybe the real rush could be parenting. But some of her clothes end up in his closet. After that, it's like a ripple effect and his bathroom counter is cluttered with make up and hair products and he can barely find his toothbrush. At one point he wasn't even sure which one was his so he waited until she brushed her teeth and used the other one.
He's new at the relationship thing, isn't even sure what to do so that's one area he tries to take her lead without a fight. He goes to the appointments when she marks them into his schedule and sometimes even when she doesn't. They still are better reading each other than saying the words that go unspoken.
He sighs because she's wearing him out - not necessarily in a bad way, he's just more tired now than he can ever really remember being. She takes care of things without him having to ask, but that doesn't mean she doesn't ask more of him than she did before. She asks it in a way that makes him believe he has no choice but to do it, but it's still difficult getting used to her needing him to do things for her.
He let's her go home earlier than she used to, sometimes he even told her to because she can be stubborn at times. Even now, he's still surprised when he walks in the door of his condo and there's evidence that she's there. Somehow he's convinced himself that she's going to get tired of him soon enough and decide she'd rather be at her apartment.
With the distraction of tuning into the noise on the television and the distinct sound of her sobbing coming from the living room, he trips over her shoes in the entryway. Choking back a grumble, he proceeds further down the hallway with furrowed eyebrows that only deepen when he notices the end of the couch has a pile of laundry. She catches sight of him and sits a little straighter.
"Donna? Is everything okay?" He lightly shakes his head as her red hair slides along the back of his leather couch; he unbuttons his suit jacket, ready to toss it aside, "why are you crying?"
"I'm fine," she answers.
"Are you - are you sure? Did I," he doesn't ask the question because he isn't sure what he's trying to ask her. Instead, he swallows and sits down beside her on the couch while offering her a tight smile. She isn't convinced, he's sure of that. "You can tell me."
"It's nothing," she insists, "I'm just tired. I'm kind of growing a child in my uterus."
"You can go to bed," he replies gently.
"I have so much to do," she says, glancing over his shoulder at the pile of laundry.
"It's okay, I'll pick your shoes up out of the entryway," he counters with a grin; she laughs a little and he relaxes at the sound, "see, that's funny because you were talking about the laundry."
She looks at him pointedly, eyebrow arched warningly as he kicks his own shoes off underneath the coffee table. He pulls his knee up on the couch and faces her, his knee sliding against her leg with the movement. He reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, fingers trailing down the side of her face.
"Take the night off," he suggests, "we can relax. We can order in. I'll even let you eat in bed."
"Keep talking," she says.
He laughs at that, leaning forward and pressing his lips into hers. It's brief, like a habit, like they've been doing it for as long as he can remember and will still be years from now. He sighs against her mouth at the comfort of familiarity. He lets his hand slide down and fingers lightly press into her stomach, almost starting to show.
"What sounds good?" He ventures.
She laughs in the back of her throat, "what doesn't?"
"All right, then I'll get your favorite," he says with a wink.
Her mouth drops a little, "since when did you know that?"
"I pay attention," he says, leaning forward and pressing his lips to hers again.
Her lips fuse with his as her fingers grasp his forearm, a certain element of surprise shutting his brain down completely. It takes him a moment to respond, muscles flexing beneath her grasp, but when he does it's her mouth the parts ever so slightly first. He takes the opportunity to slip his tongue out, tease her bottom lip as he drags it across there. He releases a breath, his own hand moving to her hip and slipping around her waist.
His thumb slides over her hipbone, fingernail catching on the material of her dress, and the pads of his fingers appreciate the the soft feel of dark blue. She makes a noise against his mouth, one that he's still getting used to but he thinks was literally the last thing he had left to learn about her. He can't help the smile that pulls on his mouth, her tongue finally giving in and touching his.
Things escalate quickly, the way her fingers find the knot in his tie and tug downward with an ease that indicates experience. Her lips press harder against his and he feels her body flush against his; his fingers find the hem of her dress, pads of his fingers hot on her thigh. His nails scratch against her skin and he swallows the noise that falls out of her mouth. He smirks against her lips, disentangling his mouth to look at her.
His forehead glides against hers, "you feeling okay?"
"Never better," she replies offhand; he watches her breath hitch as his fingers pull upward and tease the skin between her thighs.
"You've been very adamant about not doing this here," he says with a smirk. He tilts his head a little as he pushes up on her dress to reveal more skin. The way she absently shrugs isn't lost on him, like she knows they're crossing a line but it isn't a line she hasn't crossed before. "You're unusually happy."
"I'm always happy," she counters, digging her nails into his skin, "and it's a slow day. I'm bored. Stop talking and amuse me or I'll find someone who can."
"Are you threatening me?" He asks with a quirked eyebrow.
She bats her eyelashes, "I would never. Think of it as curing boredom."
"I'm kind of busy," he retorts teasingly, "not sure that I have time."
"It won't take long," she mutters.
His eyebrows narrow as she loosens his tie just a little before her hands slide down his chest. It doesn't take long, like she said, before her hands are undoing his belt buckle. He's pleasantly surprised by her lack of underwear and he briefly wonders if this was her plan all along (and then come more questions like Did she leave the condo with any on? If she didn't, at what point was he not paying attention enough for her to neglect putting them on?)
His thoughts are scrambled but completely ignored when she slips her hand into his boxers. Her watch catches on his waistband and he inhales a deep breath, fingers sliding into her. She grabs him by the wrist and moves his hand away with a firm shake of her head; smirking, he pushes his hands into her hips and lifts her as the pants of his expensive suit hit the ground - he fights a grimace.
"I will take your suit to the dry cleaners after this and you can put on your spare," she says with a sigh and a quick roll of the eyes.
Her legs squeeze around his waist, his fingers fluttering against her skin as he covers her mouth with his, a sloppy distraction as he pushes into. Her mouth separates from his as she releases a quiet moan that she has difficulty keeping quiet. He pulls a face, lifting a hand and covering her mouth.
"Shhh," he mutters, "I'm pretty sure that just because everyone knows doesn't mean we can freely tear one off in the bathroom. Is the door locked?"
"Oh, honey," she laughs, "the door doesn't lock."
He quirks an eyebrow and lifts his hand, sliding it into her hair and kissing her. Her mouth moves against his, her fingers finding their way around the lapels of his suit jacket. Her hair curls around his fingers, hugging the base of his digits as he thrusts forward.
He presses her harder into the wall, her teeth nipping at the corner of his mouth. He hears his name fall off of her lips, the smirk on his lips forming against her mouth. He feels her hot breath trail over his cheek when she laughs in the depths of her throat, the gentle bellow echoing in his ears and driving the pads of his fingers to the base of her neck.
He thrusts again, her mouth pulling away from his and her teeth clamping down on his neck. His cheek slides along her as he slips a hand between them, his thumb circling around her clit. The motions are familiar, a grunt against her throat as his breath collects in a cloud between them. It beats on her skin, the moisture beading as her neck flushes.
The warmth gathers in the pit of his stomach as her movements meet his and it doesn't take much, just a push of the finger against her as his tongue slides along her jaw. Her muscles tense around him and it's slow and fast at the same time, the way they both reach their peak together. She laughs as their breath collides in the air between them and he proceeds to lazily press his mouth against hers.
The bathroom door opens and closes and he stills, muscles in his shoulders tightening. His eyes widen as she just smirks, his fingers digging into the back of her thigh. He detaches himself from her, her hands pressing into his jaw as she guides his mouth back to hers. She distracts him just long enough for him to relax.
He breathes again, finally, and gets his attire in order with her fingers expertly fixing his tie. He opens the stall door and tries to ignore her hand on his hip as she follows closely behind. He tilts his head and smiles carefully.
"Hey, Rachel," he mutters at the same time that Donna says hey, Rach; he shifts his gaze towards the redhead, "decent?"
"Decent," she agrees.