"Donna, I swear to fucking God," Harvey complains once again, voice raising before he meets her death stare. "Shut up and keep looking," she says in a no-nonsense tone that tells him he should just do as she says, though he'll be damned if he goes down without a fight.
"I told you I already looked through them all," he says petulantly, "I'm positive this one matches the one you showed me." He sees, more than hears, Donna's sigh as she leans down next to him. "This lace has flowers. This lace has zig-zags. They are not the same. Now get back to work." She says it like it's obvious and, well, looking more closely it actually is. He huffs, shoves all the hangers to one side of the rack and starts again.
Harvey hates being told what to do - though if there's anyone he'd ever obey, it's Donna. Harvey especially hates being told what to do on weekends when he's supposed to be free from any obligations. It is unprecedented how much Harvey hates being told what to do while he's crouching down in the lingerie section of a department store having spent the last ten minutes of his life uselessly looking through what seems like millions of identical panties hanging on the very lowest rack to find the one that'll match the lace on the bra that Donna picked out.
Despite popular belief, he doesn't care much about lingerie, only about taking it off. He's seen some pretty interesting numbers throughout the years, but Donna's picking a vanilla, daily-life kind of set, so it hasn't really sparked his interest so far. And rifling through countless shades of lace with intricate, irrelevant designs sure takes any residual fun out of the whole experience.
Finally, blessedly, he finds the right match - she has the audacity to pat him on the head. He's already thinking of where they're going to eat when she moves on to the next rack. "Which one do you think is more like me?" she holds up two sets. One is the white lace one they just spent half his life looking for; the other one is a slightly darker white with a satiny feel, some ridged detailing and a tiny bow in the middle. He objectively understands they're different, but he cannot for the life of him understand what actual difference it makes.
He picks one randomly and she ends up buying the opposite one, probably just to spite him.
She fishes out two more sets and he's about to pull his hair off when she reemerges from the sea of garments. "Can we go now?" he asks sullenly, practically dragging his feet on his way to her. She rolls her eyes, though he detects fondness behind it, "Yes, Harvey, we can go."
He's ready to beeline straight to the mall exit when she tugs on his arm and he feels her detouring. She's walking into an Italian lingerie store. "You're kidding, right? You just got three pairs!" his voice goes shamefully high with the despair he feels gripping his gut. He can't remember another time he accompanied a woman shopping - Donna doesn't usually make him do it, but she promised it would be a quick stop before their lunch and he regrets ever saying yes.
"Those were for me. This is for you," she explains simply, looking coyly over her shoulder before making her way into the store. He takes a closer look inside: extravagant lace and silk, strategic cutouts and see-through patches, garters. As if by magic - and, frankly, it's ridiculous how she can do that to him - he forgets all about lunch and follows her inside like a puppy.
"Hi, we'd like to see the 42C section, please," Donna says pleasantly to the clerk that greets them at the door. They're led around an island to a wall lined by all kinds of bras and related attires. Once they're left alone, Donna leans against a shelf and crosses her arms, a signature smug smirk in place.
"Go ahead, pick something you like," she prods him on, tone too self-satisfied for his taste. Still, he gulps and glances at the items in front of him. "I can choose anything?" "Anything," she stresses playfully. "Depending on the design, that shelf works too," she adds, pointing to a wall with a '44B' sign over it.
"What's the difference between them?" he asks - after all, he has to know the playing field well so he can make the right choices here. "Size," Donna explains, "The number indicates band length, the letter indicates the cup size. I'm a 42C, but a larger band sometimes allows for a smaller cup depending on which cup it is."
He straightens his shoulders and squares his jaw - his signature battle moves - and then checks out her breasts. She grins and gives her arms a squeeze to tease him and God help him, he's turned on already.
The search starts unsure, tentative; he picks out a few that seem nice and she gives a few pointers. "This one will make them look saggy," she scrunches up her nose when he shows her what seems to be called a lace bralette. "Really?" she glares at him when he picks a leather ensemble with what looks like a harness. She did say he could pick anything, but he figures she knows these things better than him so he takes her directions.
Some more minutes and he goes back to her with some good five options; she's also holding a couple more. They go through the alternatives together and when they come to an agreement she takes off to the dressing room. He tries to get a sneak peek but she manages to convince him it'll be better if it's a surprise.
"Oh, you're gonna like this," she tells him through the curtain and he suddenly wants to scrap lunch, scrap all their afternoon plans and just go home right now.
"Thanks for the patience," she cups his cheeks and gives him a peck once she's done before winking and heading to the cashier.
His hand travels from her neck to her shoulder, fingering the satin bow that sits atop it. He rubs the fabric together and pulls on it slowly, watching the bow get undone. The other side has already been untied and now there's only the middle left.
He drags his fingers down, feeling her soft skin textured by goosebumps. He can see her nipples through the silk of the cups; her cleavage has never looked better and he resents the bra for a minute for being so impractical (according to her) she can't wear it every day - although he guesses if she did he wouldn't be able to get much work done.
He finds the final bow and tugs on the satin string. It's slightly more work than the bras he's used to, but he is absolutely mesmerized by the effect the unlacing has on her breasts. He takes his time, savoring the view, and when he looks up she's biting her lower lip in anticipation.
He pulls one final time and the bra falls open, slipping down to the bed once there's nothing else holding it together, and he almost wants to cry from how beautiful she is.
"Man, bra shopping is the best," he mutters in wonder, the pain and suffering of the earlier experience all but forgotten.
She chuckles, but he swallows the sound with a kiss.
A/N: Fun fact: this was semi-inspired by a real time I had a (male) friend help me pick a new bra and ended up explaining to him how the sizing works :)