I'm locked out of my ao3 account right now, so in the meantime all ficswill be posted here... here's hoping I can get back into it soon!
"You think I should go."
She's on her way back from the bathroom when he corners her in the hallway, catches her wrist and rumbles low in her ear. The rest of their colleagues are waiting for them out on the balcony — a fact she's keenly aware of — but she swallows and meets his molten gaze anyway.
"I think you need to go." It's decisive and unwavering. Nothing like the fluttering in her stomach.
"And you'll be here when I get back?"
The firm, she thinks. But she knows he means her, and where they are now.
So she nods. Places both hands over his heart.
"I have faith in you. Now it's your turn to have faith in me."
That seems to unlock something in him; the part of him that told her he loved her, the part of him that kissed her back; and that part of him kisses her now, hands tangling in her hair, lips sucking out her soul. It's harsher than she'd like, for what feels like a first time, a monumental time, but maybe that's what makes her certain. Certain he'll be here when he returns, the Harvey that's now brushing his lips over the apples of her cheeks and threading his fingers tightly with hers.
"I need you." His whisper brands the words into her skin. She's not quite sure if he means always or right now, or if it's both.
But regardless, she has her answer. "I'm here."
He fuses his mouth back to hers in an instant, hooks one leg behind his hip so the hard ridge of his shaft can slide up her center; the feel of his cock has her trembling in a way she hasn't for years.
Laughter drifts in with the wind and Donna freezes, considers stopping him, but the merriment is quickly drowned out by the sounds of his belt and his zipper and the soft grunt he makes when their bellies slap together, her body stretching for him, their union scorching and soothing at the same time.
They rock into each other, a jumbled rhythm, seeking friction and connection. Her fingers tickle up his chest, his collarbone, until her palms cradle his face and she tugs him down to rest, nose to nose, exchanging sweet eskimo kisses and when he opens his eyes she sees nothing but promise.
So she cranes her neck, exposing it to his eager mouth, and as he descends her other leg hikes up and over his waist and her body surrenders, all of her in his capable hands, and there's so much of him on her, in her, around her that the tornado crescendos and carries her away so suddenly that her arms go slack, collapsing her full weight into his frenzied thrusts.
Then he jerks against her, once, twice; lets himself go. Labored breathing pounds to the beat of her heart as he grows soft. She kisses the sweat on his temple, untangles their limbs and ushers them into his bedroom to clean up.
Once the door clicks shut, the adrenaline gone, she searches his face for that promise she saw while fucking him. He's studying her, and she can't read him where her own emotions are involved, so she waits and inevitably prepares for the worst.
"You've always been my compass," he affirms, right before he closes the distance, and the doubt, with a feather-light caress of lips.