A/N: This was inspired by Uma's tweet: "Married darvey casually setting up their bed for the purpose of having sex and having conversations between making out and going down on each other, u know, married stuff". Hope you like it :)
He's been eyeing her dangerously all night, sneaking his hand up her thigh beneath their table, deliberately and shamelessly staring at her lips and making it very clear that he's not interested in having dessert - at least not this kind of dessert.
She loves this, loves knowing he still wants her with inconsumable fire and that she wants him just as much. They've been together for a while now, well beyond the traditional honeymoon phase when every couple wants to jump each other madly, and it still hasn't passed. Of course some days are more intense than others, but she still wants him every single day, all the time, and so does he.
It feels so incredibly soothing to know that the years spent apart didn't dampen their desire at all, that their fit yet less lythe and resistant bodies can still go whole nights up getting drunk on each other. It was a secret worry she had, that by the time they got together they just wouldn't have the same disposition as before and would end up missing out on the best the other had to offer in bed, but that couldn't be further from the truth.
Harvey further reinforces that by pressing her up against their door the second they step foot inside their condo, kissing her hungrily as if he hadn't kissed her in years instead of a couple of hours, and that's something else she loves about them, how they make every moment count because they know the value in that.
They grin against each other's mouths at his hurry, his fingers fumbling with the bow on her wrap dress, and they groan in unison when she hooks a leg around him and grinds into his crotch. It's easy with him, effortless, and while she most certainly still makes an effort, be it with positions or gadgets or lingerie, she loves that she literally only needs to exist and he'll want her, no matter the time or place or attire. It settles something inside of her, the fear she used to have that he'd never really want her this way - he cherished her and admired her, sure, but she never felt wanted by him, and a million men could want her but they'd never really measure up.
It's also such a relief, after decades of first times and adjustments and concessions, to be with him and to feel how well he just knows her body. They usually like to take their time when they can, but if Harvey wants to he can have her coming in under five minutes and she just loves that, the familiarity, the way he's instinctive about her body. They try new things and there are still awkward moments here and there - that usually end up in laughter and even more desire, as opposed to less - but there's none of the tentativeness of being with someone who's so obviously not your soulmate.
Because he is, her soulmate. And it shows.
They tumble through the living room and into the bedroom, and she's already being deposited on the comforter when she pulls away mid-kiss, "No, wait, we should pull the covers first."
"Just leave them," he mumbles into her neck, clearly having moved on easily from her lips.
"Last time we did we kicked the pillows and it knocked over the lamp, remember?" she sighs as he sucks on her pulse point.
"Yeah, and we bought a new one," he tries to reason, pressing his hips into hers and drawing a tiny whimper from her.
"That was three weeks ago, I'm not gonna buy a new lamp every month," she counters and it takes a second but he huffs against her, conceding as his hands go limp and he stands up.
She can definitely sympathize with his frustration but she still smirks winningly at him as they each take a pillow and take them to the armchair in the corner. He's complained about her fixation with pillows but it's a habit she carried across the country with her and into their shared bedroom, and he can pout all he wants but the beauty of a lush, pillow-abundant bed makes up for the extra two minutes it takes them to get rid of them.
They come back to the bed and pull the comforter until it's folded neatly at the foot of the bed, and she can still feel her body burning for him - and see his burning for her - but there's none of that fire in their relaxed, coordinated moves, and she likes that juxtaposition of fire and warmth that marriage has brought them.
As a reward for his good behavior, she kneels on the mattress, crawling over to him, still standing by his side of the bed, and kisses him hungrily, undoing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt and soon enough he's forgotten all about pillows and comforters.
They roll around leisurely, undressing each other, tongues roaming and hands heavy, and a chill runs down her spine when he starts kissing a trail down her stomach. He teases her over her panties, licking and sucking until she's panting hard and fisting the sheets. He finally ends his torture, pulling her panties off and tasting her properly, humming around her folds and making her buck her hips. He knows how much she loves this, and he always lavishes her with attention, going for as long as she'll have him.
She has her fingers woven tightly around his hair, biting her lip in ecstasy as his tongue flicks over her clit, when he pulls back suddenly.
"Harvey!" she whines in frustration, eyes flying open and a frown in place.
"Did you remember to buy the appetizers for tomorrow?" he asks, referencing her trip to the supermarket this afternoon, his tone sounding genuine, and she'd almost laugh at his timing if she hadn't been close to an orgasm.
"Yes, I remembered the appetizers, now get back there," she rolls her eyes and pulls his head closer to her center.
He chuckles and dives back in, tracing her seam from bottom to top and making her squirm. "Hm, such a good wife," he teases her, wrapping his lips around her clit.
She's half out of her mind with need but she still finds it in her to return the quip. "Please, we both - mmh - know I'd be a good wife even without - fuck - that."
"True," he smirks before slipping two fingers inside her, eliciting a long moan, "But that makes you an even better wife."
"In that case, be a good husband and make me come," she half-orders, half-breathes. And he does, tongue, lips and fingers all over her until she's seeing stars.
He waits for her to recover, caressing her thighs and kissing her neck. It doesn't take her long to be ready to go again, because as good as he is with his mouth and fingers, nothing beats having all of him, and soon enough she does, with Harvey kneeling and her legs wrapped around his waist, hips lifted off the bed.
His thrusts are measured and his muscles flex as they hold her ass in place. She loves the look of concentration on his face, loves the idea of him completely focused on her pleasure and their release. She's never felt like the supporting character with him, always the main star, and she makes sure to return the favor because giving him pleasure gives her pleasure as well.
The position allows him to hit her front wall and she's soon moaning, but the effort required of her stomach to keep her lifted keeps her from being able to fully let go, so they switch, Donna rolling onto her stomach as he enters her from behind, his knees bracketing hers. He hits deep like this too, and there's the added benefit that this doesn't tire them out as much as the previous way, and her belly flutters in anticipation of her next climax.
Instead of going for speed, he goes for friction, grinding into her ass, angling his hips so she feels all of him against her walls. It's so good she want to cry, and she buries her face into the pillow but sobs still escape her here and there. He's just started picking up the pace, their bodies rocking together, when she looks up around a gasp and notices the patch of white behind their bedside table where the paint chipped and fell off. They've been meaning to get the wall behind the bed wallpapered for a while now and the paint cracking just gave them another pretext, but they never actually did anything about it.
"Remind me to call the wallpaper guy tomorrow," she murmurs between pants, her eyes falling closed again.
"The wallpaper guy, Donna? Seriously?" he complains, frustration warring with abandon in his tone.
"Sorry, I just - ah - saw the chipped paint and remembered it," she grinds back into him to show she's very much into what they're doing.
"If you're bored I can just stop," he grumbles even as he speeds up, the head of his cock bumping into her and sending heat coiling in her belly.
"No, no, no," she grabs his arm clumsily, "Don't stop."
"Yeah?" he breathes and she can practically hear his smug smirk, but she supposes she can indulge him.
"Please," she whines, a little more dramatically than warranted, just for his sake. "Oh, God, right there," she adds after an expert thrust of his, for her own sake as well.
He complies, holding her thighs close together as he finally starts slamming into her, their skins slapping and grunts mixing in the air and it's incredible and almost inconceivable and they come shortly thereafter.
He collapses next to her, a sated smile on his lips, and her lungs burn as she struggles to catch her breath and rolls over to rest her head on his chest. His arm holds her to him and she feels so peaceful and protected like this, it's insane.
"I just realized we talked about groceries and wallpapers during sex," he deadpans after some good minutes of silence and she snorts.
"We did, didn't we? Guess we're definitely not twenty anymore," she grins, the sound relaxed, her eyes closed.
There's another moment of silence and then he says, sounding a little more serious than her. "Are we boring?"
His words and uncertain tone make her open her eyes and consider her approach.
"Do you think we're boring?" she lifts her head to find his eyes, trying to keep her tone light and open because she wants him to know he can be honest with her.
He seems to think about it for a second. "I just don't know how this part of things is supposed to go," he shrugs slightly, likely meaning marriage, lasting relationships, intimacy, all the things she knows he never really had before her.
She smiles at his honesty and his tentativeness. They've been here before, with Harvey trying to decipher what it is typical couples are meant to do, and she appreciates the thought and effort every time.
"This part of things is supposed to go however we want it to go," she tells him gently, smiling up at him and encouraging him to go on.
"Okay, then I guess I don't think we're boring," he says almost cautiously, clearly afraid of what she'll say.
"Good, because what we did last night was definitely not boring, and my wrists still bear the evidence of that," she tries for a bit of humor to ease the tension, leaning up for a kiss when she sees his lips stretch into a devilish grin, "But not every time has to be like that. I like that we get to discuss mundane, domestic stuff during sex."
It's basic and extremely unexciting but it's the truth. She loves sharing a home with him, having so much intimacy in bed that neither one has to pretend or perform for the other, they don't need to worry about what the other will think or that they'll do something that'll scare the other away. She doesn't want to fall into a sad routine, but she likes it that their domestic life can bleed into the sex sometimes because it just means they're together and finally sharing everything there is to share.
"Yeah, you're right," he agrees, his fingers tracing up her arm. "Besides," he adds after a beat, "Even when we occasionally do have old married couple sex, it's still the best sex I've ever had."
She chuckles, feeling light and joyful and complete, and leans up to meet his lips. "And don't you forget it."