WARNINGS: sex while under the influence (marijuana), proceed with caution. for context, they have only shared one joint, only enough for a buzz.

Donna's giggling.

It's a nice sound, definitely, just...unprecedented. All the times Harvey has ever heard her laugh, it's been quiet chuckles through the intercom, ringing low in his ear, or snorts into her scotch when he's impersonating Norma. Once, just once, he'd witnessed a full belly laugh — a drunken Mike stumbling into the women's restroom had Donna in an uproar.

But this is a giggle. High, girlish, flirty, dare he think it, and exceptionally loose.

And as he's feeling quite the same, he comments on it.

She takes the joint right out of his hand for another drag. "I'm having fun. Sue me."

Harvey grins despite the smoke being blown back in his face.

"You don't giggle."

"How would you know?" she asks, eyebrow cocked.

"I know you." It comes out more sincere than it's meant to.

Donna lies back on the couch with a contemplative hum. "You just have to get me to laugh more."

It's a tease and a challenge all in one.

Harvey rises from the chair, crosses in front of the coffee table to sit beside her.

She looks up at him through wisps of hair, disheveled on her forehead and blocking her eyes.

With no warning at all, he tickles her ribs and she gasps, shrieking and writhing.

"S - stop," she breathes through new giggles, over and over and over again and he keeps going because he wants to hear that sound for the rest of his life.

Eventually his fingers stop tickling and start caressing, brushing lightly up and down her ribcage, halting just shy of her breasts and skirting below her waist.

His mind is hazy and there's a ringing in his ears as he crushes his lips to hers, parts her thighs with his knee and swallows her moans.

He was wrong; that's the sound he wants to hear for the rest of his life.

Soon they're rutting like teenagers on his couch; the office is deserted but he's still not convinced she'd want to be defiled in a room with floor to ceiling glass. So he stands, pulls her with him and turns her around so her back is against the wall, tucked behind his record shelves, and he drags his fingers roughly along her center, pressing and searching.

Donna hikes one leg around his hip, panting in his ear as she unzips him, takes him in her hand and strokes, hard, and he hisses. He's high on her, bunching up her dress to slide home and the second their bare stomachs meet and she sighs, he grabs her ass with both hands and pounds her against the wall, desperate, needy, sloppy.

Her lips are open and drag across his face, and it's wet and hungry and when she sucks on his bottom lip his knees nearly give out.

He comes first, and blindly he chastises himself for it until he feels her walls clamp around him, a low cry echoing in the dark.

Amazingly, she doesn't untangle herself from him, doesn't blame the weed or the hour or tell him to put it out of his mind and never speak of it again.

Instead she kisses him slowly, arms around his neck, blowing sweet air across his face that tickles his nose.

"You wanna get more sounds out of me?"

He drops a kiss on her nose.

"I want to get every sound out of you."

It's the closest he can get right now to saying he wants everything, with her, for the rest of his life.