A/N: I wasn't even gonna publish this because I wrote it strictly to get the idea out of my head but in case anyone else needs some light, silly, half-bad... something, here it is.
Title from "Mr. Brightside" by The Killers but the fic was inspired by a Brazilian song called Batom de Cereja by Israel & Rodolffo. Hope you like it :)
Being at the same party as Donna had always seemed like a bad idea, ever since Samantha practically strong-armed everyone into this outing for her birthday. It's only gotten worse and worse with every new hour they spend there.
The thing is, things between him and Donna have been weird. After his breakup with Paula they were on shaky ground, so fragile and unsteady that he was constantly walking around in fear that the smallest misstep would send them crashing down. And then came Mike and Rachel's wedding and it was as if something shifted. They shared a moment there, something deeper than just comforting each other because of their friends' departure, something intimate and singular. He had the distinct feeling that Donna might not have turned him down if he were to try something then. But her voice telling him she didn't feel anything when she kissed him still rang in his head, along with the promise he made her all those years ago that he wouldn't try anything anymore if she started working for him.
They went back to what he thought was "normal" until two weeks ago when he told her he got off thinking about strawberries and whipped cream, which they both sort of knew was really code for her. It was meant as a joke, even though it's absolutely true; just their usual banter, teasing and toeing the line as they've always been known to do. But after he came back from Boston she became distant, catty even, easily annoyed and short-tempered with him. He has no clue what he did wrong, can't identify a single thing he did differently from usual, anything that could have set her off.
And now they're here, and she seems supremely invested in spending time with everyone but him. She dances with Katrina, spends almost half an hour talking to Samantha, joins his, Alex and Louis' circle and only engages with the other guys. It's as if he's invisible, nothing more than a spec of dust in her periphery, and if she set a personal goal to go the entire night without even acknowledging him, she's definitely succeeding.
It annoys the hell out of him. It's clear to him by now that he likes having her attention. Of course she's allowed to have friends and they're not joined at the hip, but it doesn't sit well with him that she's going out of her way to enjoy everyone else's company while actively avoiding his. He was her friend before everyone else here, and she's not his but... she kind of is.
And as their friends start to leave it only gets worse. Samantha and Donna, the only ones left besides Alex and him, move to the dance floor, clearly intent on meeting new people. They're obviously very attractive women, a fact all the men in the place seem to have picked up on, and guys flock around them like pigeons around breadcrumbs, desperate and hungry. Alex and him head to the bar to get new drinks, and his friend is telling him about his latest douchebag client but he's only half-listening, too busy following Donna's every move around the place.
She's glowing, far more beautiful and enticing than any other woman here, and all eyes seem to be on her. She's open and breezy tonight, engaging in conversation with any guy brave enough to approach her, laughing easily, touching their shoulders. It makes his blood boil, because none of these guys are good enough for her and they likely don't have a single pure thought in their minds as they talk to her, probably just trying to take her home. It's absurd, because as incredibly hot as she is - he would know - there is so much more to her than her looks, and he's willing to bet none of these assholes even care, too busy trying to sweet-talk their way into her pants.
He thinks he doesn't have much right to resent them - she's a grown woman, perfectly allowed to have meaningless sex with a random guy if she wants to. He just... wants more for her. She deserves it, someone who will appreciate all of her, who will want more than just sex and who will be able to give her even a fraction of what she gives everyone else. She deserves to be happy for longer than one night.
He only regains notion of the time when Alex tells him he's heading home. Harvey considers going as well, but something inside him nags at him to stay until Donna either picks a guy to leave with or leaves by herself. It's utterly ridiculous, because he's not her bodyguard and she doesn't owe him any explanation, but even considering leaving while she's still here makes his mouth sour. So he orders himself another round and watches on like a total creep.
She looks amazing in a tight navy blue dress, right on the line between work-appropriate and sexy as hell, a line she often navigates masterfully. Every new man that approaches her makes him want to march over and wrap his arm around her waist so every other guy here will fuck off, which strikes him as completely selfish and disrespectful. She wants to have her fun, he should be trying to do the same instead of considering cockblocking her, literally.
He finishes off his dose and takes a look around the room, scouting his options. He hasn't had a one-night stand in a while it the idea suddenly appeases him. He could use the chance to decompress. He spots a blonde that would have been his exact type a couple of years ago, and he thinks it won't hurt to try. He gets two beers and strolls over, offering her one, striking idle conversation. She's a banker, mid-thirties, witty enough, and even hotter up close.
Except he can't stop sneaking glances at Donna. She's been talking to the same guy for some good five minutes now, and he wants to see if something more will happen. The woman is interesting enough but it doesn't take him long to realize he cares more about following Donna's moves than taking this girl home. So he politely excuses himself and resumes his place by the bar.
The guy is getting handsy, his hand taking Donna's, twirling her as she laughs. Samantha seems just as invested in the guy's friend, and he's been on the other end of that scene enough times to know the likely outcome of this. Another guy joins their group with enough shots for them all and the women clink their glasses before throwing them back.
And then she kisses him.
He's seen Donna kiss other men before, once or twice, and it's never not annoyed him, but this time his stomach drops and he feels slightly nauseated. It's not exactly chaste, both clearly inebriated, the man holding her close by the hips, her arm slung over his shoulder. He wonders what's wrong with him that he feels physically ill at the sight and yet he can't stop staring, watching the way she moves against the guy, wondering what sounds she's making, if things will escalate. His body is warm and sluggish from the alcohol, fingers tingling, and his heart speeds up when Donna and the man part.
She just smiles at him and takes Samantha's hand, heading to another part of the dance floor, and relief washes over Harvey's whole being. It was just a kiss, probably not even good because she didn't want to continue it. Everything's okay.
Turns out everything was not okay, because Donna and Samantha found a new group of guys to fawn over no more than two minutes after they'd left the previous group. He doesn't understand what's so funny or so interesting about all these men they've been talking to, there's no way they're all that impressive. They look mediocre and boring, probably douchey investment bankers who absolutely cannot handle Donna, and yet she still smiles and laughs and flirts. He can't hear her but he just knows she's flirting, because he knows the face she wears when she does it like he knows the back of his hand.
He keeps drinking and the women keep moving around, and every new conversation makes his heart jump. He hates this, cannot for the life of him understand why he can't just leave when it's late and he's alone and definitely crossing the line of acceptable here. But he can't. He just can't.
Donna's swaying her hips when yet another man comes up to her. Harvey just scowls, too defeated to make up reasons why this guy is bad news. Maybe he isn't. Maybe he'll end up being the love of Donna's life and they'll marry and have children.
He downs his whiskey to drown that depressive thought.
He thinks she must be drunker than he realized because not ten minutes later Donna's pulling the guy in by his shirt collar and clashing their lips together. He feels sick again, ticked off and upset and like he wants to punch something (or someone). He can't say he's never been guilty of kissing more than one person in one night - God knows he's done a lot worse than that - but it's not something he ever thought he'd witness from Donna and it makes him even more irrationally annoyed because she's better than that.
Granted, this is supposed to be a fun, carefree night, as ordered by Samantha herself, and it's not the end of the world, but by now Harvey can feel a headache forming as his head swirls a little from the alcohol, a sour taste in his mouth.
He sulks as Donna kisses the guy, more enthusiastically than last time, and he almost wishes they'll leave together soon so he can be put out of his misery. The other group was close to the wall and he had to tilt his head a little to see them, but this time they're right in his line of vision, not even very far away, and he wonders if this is some sort of karma.
After a while they part and Harvey thinks surely this time they'll head to the door, and his jaw almost drops to the floor when Donna looks over the guy's shoulder and straight into his eyes. He almost thinks he hallucinated it, but her stare, however brief, is so piercing and certain that there's no way it was a coincidence.
Outrage sparks inside him. Has she been doing all this to tease him, get a rise out of him? To, what, make him jealous? That's so childish and so beneath her and so fucking rude.
He's fuming, trying to think of what to do, when he sees her head in his direction. She leans on the bar next to him and orders a water bottle.
"So, I see you're having a lot of fun," he tells her snarkily, pettily, but he doesn't care. He's trying to get as much of a rise out of her as she did with him.
"I am, thank you," she replies just as defiantly, and finally turns to him, facing him head on. Her lips look a little plump, thoroughly kissed, and it has the maddening effect of making him want to kiss her at the same time as it makes him angrier.
"Thought you'd have a little more self-respect than that," he continues hotly, though he has no clue what exactly "that" means. She hasn't exactly done anything wrong and he realizes the irony of him talking about self-respect when he's done some pretty damn self-disrespectful things in the past, but his body is literally vibrating with annoyance and, if she's leaving with someone, he just wants to get a punch in before he goes home.
That soon proves to be the wrong choice of words when she turns to him, the picture of indignation and affront, an underlying wrath to her tone. "Excuse me?"
Okay, fine, he didn't really mean that; he's not exactly the most sensitive guy but even he can understand how that would be an offensive comment. He almost wants to apologize but he doesn't want to outwardly cave, so he looks away and works his jaw in the way the both know really means he's tucking his tail between his legs. "I just didn't expect to see you with so many guys," he finally grumbles once he's ready.
"Well, Harvey, this may come as a surprise to you but I don't live my life trying to meet your expectations," she snarls at him, taking a sip of the water that's just arrived. "And, for your information, I have a lot of self-respect," she adds dryly, "Enough to actually go after what I want."
He can tell that's a jab at him somehow and it peeves him, the meaning of her words lurking just beneath the surface, just an inch out of his reach, it seems.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
She scoffs at him. "If you wanna play dumb, I'm not gonna hang around and explain it to you, Harvey. But I do wish that, for once in my life, I could say I was surprised by you."
It sounds accusing and excessively frustrated for the context they're in, makes him think there's something bigger at play here and he's tired of trying to read her haphazard signs. "You know what?" he snaps, "You've been cagey with me for weeks now and I haven't even done anything."
"And that's the problem, isn't it?" she throws her arms open, as annoyed as him, "You haven't done anything. Not one thing. And I'm tired of that. So, you know, it's as they say. Fish or cut bait," she finishes dryly, leaning into him at the end to add flare to her words, fixing him with a hard glare, and he's frozen in place.
At first her words don't make any sense - she's agreeing that he hasn't done anything, isn't that a good thing? But something about her inflection, about the way she spits out her anything as if it's a dirty word, the way she says she's tired, it sends to wheels turning in his brain. She's tired of him not doing anything. She's tired of him not doing anything about... them?
He thinks back to Mike and Rachel's wedding and the looks she gave him, the looks he didn't know how to read. He thinks back to his comment and how she smirked at him and how her words turning him down weren't actually that harsh, almost daring him to push further. And he didn't. He didn't do anything at the wedding nor that day nor after he came back from Boston, nor any other day where they've had a moment and he let it pass.
This isn't exactly a moment. She's pissed at him, and rightfully so; they're both inebriated, if not outright drunk, and she's just made out with two guys. But she's turning around and starting to walk away and it somehow feels like some sort of close-enough version of a moment, one he suddenly doesn't want to waste anymore.
Fish or cut bait, she said.
"Oh, I'll fish alright," he says almost under his breath, then reaches out for her wrist and tugs her back to him. She doesn't have time to ask him what the hell he thinks he's doing because he holds her jaw in place and kisses her, pressing their lips together and hoping this is actually something she might want and not yet more disrespect.
The most surprising thing of the night so far is that she doesn't push him away. She doesn't slap his cheek or lecture him. Instead, she kisses him back, taking merely a few seconds to catch up with the situation. Her mouth molds to his easily and he can feel her warm breath on his face and it makes this so real and true and he thinks he really did fish and caught a big one.
His hand releases her wrist and curls around her waist, bringing her closer as he deepens the kiss, letting their tongues dance together. She hooks an arm around his neck, tangles a hand in his hair and pushes her body into his and he has the distinct impression that she didn't kiss any of the other guys like this. This, this need to get closer, this desire to feel him, that's only for him, and the thought fills him with pride. He doesn't exactly know just yet what's going on or where it's going but this feels different than a random drunk dalliance.
They don't want to part, separating only for seconds to catch their breath before meeting again. She's holding his head to her, keeping them firmly fused together, as he snakes his arms tightly around her waist, trapping her between him and the bar counter. Their kiss is feverish, intense and hungry and wild with abandonment because he finally did something and it feels like she's rewarding him. He can't get enough of her, feeling the curves of her waist and hips, itching to map more of her skin but unwilling to cross any more lines without her approval.
He's practically on top of her, half-laying her down on the bar, fronts glued together, and Donna begins undulating her hips, sliding their pelvises together, and it steals the air from his lungs. He hadn't realized he was half hard until he felt her crotch brush his, and it sends a warm rush of blood south.
He releases her lips and kisses a trail to her ear. "Let's go to my place," he proposes breathlessly, voice rough and heavy with desire.
She just shakes her head. "Too much time," she pants as an explanation. And then she pushes him back gently, takes his hand and gives him a look that could burn him up on the spot, dripping danger and greed. He just follows her lead, stumbling after her as she expertly weaves her way through the crowd. He wonders if any of the men who tried to score with her can see them right now; if any of them know they lost. Because Harvey doesn't intend to be like the guys in this place. He intends to stick around.
They reach the bathroom and he doesn't know why he didn't think of that before, probably too focused on the feel of her hand firmly around his.
She checks the stalls to make sure they're empty, then makes her way to the door, locks it and turns to him expectantly. He just stands there dumbly, waiting for her, brain foggy with arousal, until she strolls up to him again, framing his face and kissing him intently, all tongue and teeth. He lets go, hugging her close again, savoring her taste, her neck, her pulse point.
Her dress is tight but he manages to snake a palm beneath it, up the back of her thigh until he's cupping her ass, squeezing the soft flesh. They don't have a lot of time, what with this being a semi-public place, but he's overwhelmed by this desire to just enjoy the moment, take his time, taste her whole body. Donna doesn't seem as interested in going slow, her hands untucking his shirt hastily, nails raking his abs and sending shivers down his spine.
His other hand sneaks up her skirt, pulling her hips into his, and she tugs them backwards, stumbling together until her ass hits the edge of the sink counter. He slides her dress up to her waist and hoists her up, caressing her thighs when the cold granite of the surface gives her goosebumps. They haven't said a word since they got here but they're so in sync it doesn't even look like's it's been thirteen years since last time. A part of him wishes they were at his place and he had time and space to properly undress her, explore her hidden corners, but there's something illicit and reckless about doing it here, in a club bathroom, that fits their desperation well.
Donna unbuttons his pants, widening the flaps until she has enough room to pull his pants and briefs down, freeing his cock, already tall and proud for her. She doesn't waste any time, moving to kiss his neck and suck on his pulse as her hand starts working him, long measured strokes that become a swirl around the head that has him panting as if he'd just run a marathon.
Her lips move to his earlobe and he reaches for her as well, stroking her through her panties and eventually inside them, his pads sliding intently between her folds. She's wet and scalding hot and he may be incredibly distracted by her hold on him, the way she feels heavenly around his cock and he knows it's not even the best part yet, but he's still aware enough to feel her pussy getting more and more swollen around his fingers, in time with her quickening breath and subtle squirms.
She won't take long and neither will he, so he retreats and pulls her panties to the side as far as they'll go. He replaces her hand with his around his cock and guides himself between her folds, the head sliding easily with her desire and precum. He slides himself up and down, enjoying the delicious torture they're providing to each other, and his dick twitches when he glides over her clit and she cries out in his ear. He repeats the motion some more times, speeding up until they're a frantic mess and she's rutting against him.
"Harvey, now," she whines, low and breathless, as her hand curls around the back of his neck, her nails digging into his skin.
He slows down, positions himself so he can have a clear view of her, and thrusts, careful not to hurt her. Her mouth falls open around a sharp gasp as he enters her, her eyes fixed on his, an expression of pure bliss on her face. He bottoms out and goes slow but doesn't wait, pulling back and forward again, watching closely as her gasp turns into a quiet chuckle, loose and delirious from desire and the alcohol and the sheer absurdity of this situation.
He's fucking Donna. In a club bathroom. How can this be real.
And yet it is, as reinforced by her nails scratching the nape of his neck and her hips starting to move with his. She's graceful, even disheveled and half-drunk, leaning back for purchase and bringing him with her. She feels incredible, fits perfectly around him, and he feels like he's drowning in her, his cock fully sheathed and her tongue assaulting his. He can barely catch his breath but he doesn't care, he just wants to be lost in her forever.
She wraps a leg around his hips and hitches her other knee higher until her heel catches the edge of the counter and oh.
The position allows her to thrust in earnest, rising up to him repeatedly, and he grunts into her neck, his whole body vibrating with need as he focuses on not coming before her. She doesn't help at all, moaning and sighing and driving him insane. She's so fucking hot like this, desperately clutching him, head thrown back in wild abandonment. It's not how The Other Time went, much faster and messier, but there's a sense of intimacy, of completeness, that they didn't have back then, even in this unexpected setting. He hopes she's feeling all this too, and that maybe this time things will end differently.
"Faster," she begs and he moans at the sound of her voice and at her request. He grabs her hips forcefully, locking her in place, and doubles up, drilling madly into her, giving her everything he has. She whimpers in time with his thrusts and he seriously needs her to come soon or he won't be able to hold back anymore.
"What do you need?" he grunts.
"Just don't stop," she shakes her head hastily, biting her lower lip as he feels her hand slipping between them. She starts rubbing herself and the way her face contorts in pleasure make shim want to see what she's doing, follow her moves and learn her tricks so that it can be him doing that next time, making her cry out like she's doing, but he's so dangerously close he thinks that will ruin everything. So he focuses on sucking that sensitive spot behind her ear, their hips crashing into each other, the sound of wet skin slapping almost drowning out the loud music outside.
Her moans become high and breathless and he almost lets out a hallelujah when he feels her falter and then clench madly around him, her body almost convulsing in his arms. He doesn't even ask, just speeds up and pumps into her a few more times until he's coming with a strangled groan, burying his face in her neck.
They just pant for a moment, trying to recover, until she straightens up a little and cups his jaw, bringing his face to her. She eyes him mischievously and brings her fingers to his lips. It takes him a second before he realizes what she's doing and he thinks he almost comes again as she slips the digits into his mouth. He sucks on them, swirling his tongue to capture every last drop of her taste as she watches, and it feels like they're gearing up for another round even though they literally just finished.
When he's done he releases her fingers and she brings his mouth to hers, sucking her taste off his tongue. It's hot, and he wants to taste more of her, unsatisfied by the brief contact, but they're still in a club bathroom and he's still completely spent and his lungs soon start burning.
He pulls back, struggling to catch his breath as her chest heaves as well and her hands rest on his shoulders. He looks up at her, finding her eyes, and shakes his head helplessly. "No more random guys. Please."
He wasn't planning on saying anything just yet but it slips out, and it makes him a bit nervous. He's not trying to police her, he's trying to show her he wants to be her only one, because, the truth is, she's been his only one for a while now. What he felt just now is unlike it was with all other women, even Paula, and he could have probably picked better words but he's so bad at this and he's just trying not to screw everything up.
She snickers at his pitiful plea and his heart leaps in his chest with hope that she got what he meant.
"No more random guys," she agrees and pecks his lips again.
A sudden loud bang on the door makes them jump, reality clashing forcefully with their little haven, and he slips out quickly, hurrying to get back in check, mind spinning trying to come up with an excuse that won't leave them so exposed to the person outside. Donna readjusts her panties and dress in no time and turns to him.
"Get in the stall and wait for them to finish, I'll wait for you by the bar," she instructs, and it sounds like a good plan. He locks himself in a stall as he finishes tucking himself back in. There's an irritated exchange between the person and Donna that he can't hear properly and he waits for the patron to get inside the stall next to him. When the coast is clear he slips out, navigating the sea of people towards the bar.
For a second he can't find her, and panic starts to build inside of him, the stinging fear that she's left him again, that she changed her mind or that she didn't meant the same thing he did with her words.
And then he finds her further to the left, chatting with Samantha, her purse on her shoulder and a water bottle in hand. Samantha spots him first and smirks knowingly, shaking her head at his idiocy and, frankly, he agrees. She says goodbye to Donna before he can reach them and he's about to comment on that, ask her what she told Samantha, when he sees her outstretched hand.
"Let's go home," she says, sweetly, a meaningful look in her yes, and all his worries subside.