There's scotch and Pretty Woman and a shared blanket between them, Donna half in his lap and Harvey lost beyond the first five minutes of the film because of Donna half in his lap.
And in his old Harvard sweatshirt.
He's been unashamedly fondling her all night.
"Why are you squeezing my breasts?" Donna finally laughs, pinching his side and Harvey chuckles, continuing to roll his thumbs up and down the soft flesh.
"Because I love them. Especially when they're in my sweatshirt." He punctuates this fact with another squeeze and kisses the corner of her smiling mouth.
Donna lifts the material over her head, revealing her full breasts and he immediately devours one, sucks the nipple into his mouth and bites down.
"That's better," she moans, twists and pulls at his hair as he blows cool air across the peaks, watches them harden with fascination. Takes both in his hands, kneads and pushes them together, licking at the undersides, nipping at sensitive skin as he frees his cock from the confines of his sweatpants.
He stands, stroking himself while Donna remains sprawled on the couch, naked chest flushed and inviting. Harvey straddles her lap, knees bracketing her hips and takes himself in his hand to trace along the circumference of each breast. Taps his dick on her nipples until they're raw and chafed, fucks himself between the globes and he hisses at the slight pressure.
She makes a noise in the back of her throat, a needy sound. "Harvey," she croaks, "more."
And he knows her well enough by now to know that it's not a "do more for me," but rather a "do more to me."
So he guides her head down to his cock, lets her take him in her mouth and work him up before he pulls out abruptly and strokes his saliva-coated shaft over her breasts once more, circling each nipple with the head, sticky and dripping before he plunges back in her mouth for a repeat performance.
She's writhing beneath him, and it's then that he realizes she's touching herself — right hand bunched in her underwear, swirling over her clit again and again and her eyes meet his before she leans up to kiss along his neck and whisper —
"Show me just how good you are at releases."
He knows what she's asking and that does it — he yanks hard on his dick until it's abused and spent, infatuated with her parted lips and heaving chest. White-hot stars fizzle behind his eyes at the sight of her strawberry nipples doused in his come, the sticky cream glinting in the low light. Her tongue flicks out to claim a spot where he spilled near her chin and fuck, she's fucking hot.
He moves to kiss her, but she holds up a finger, stopping him in his tracks.
Donna takes that same finger, trails it up and around her breasts, brings it to her lips and sucks it clean.
Harvey watches. While she does the same thing. Again. And again.
And then she's crawling up his body and sinking down on his revived dick, riding him slowly and purposefully to Dammi tu forza.
"What happened to Roy Orbison?" he asks absently, brow furrowed at the operatic swell coming from the television.
"Seriously? I let you come on me and those are the first words out of your mouth?" Donna stops moving, hands on her hips in mock indignance, and he rubs at her clit to bring her back to their moment.
"Wasn't it the whole point of this movie?"
"Okay, we're watching it again."
"Why?" he asks in between thrusts.
"Because," she says, "you clearly weren't paying attention.
"I had my attention on something else. Two very important somethings." He tweaks her nipple and he can see her lips twitch as she tries very, very hard not to lose her edge.
"Maybe I'll just focus my attention on something else," she sighs, rising off his lap with a smirk. Harvey grabs her waist, pulls her back down and she topples onto him with a shriek of laughter.
Harvey flips them so he's on top, staring her down. "You won't be saying that when you see what I'll be paying attention to next."
He starts kissing his way down her body, humming the lyrics as he goes and soon Donna is no longer laughing.