It's not every day that a company turns 100 years old. And when that company has been a client of what is now Litt Wheeler Williams Bennet for over a decade, the guest list for the gala they're throwing includes all name partners - as well as Jessica and Harvey.
Donna and Harvey are initially unsure about whether they should attend, but despite how much they love their new life in Seattle, they miss the glitz and glamour of New York and this seems like a great opportunity to revive it. They decide to make an extended weekend out of it, eager to see their friends and their city again.
The party is in full swing by the time they make their entrance, and they've always been a power duo, their joint presence usually imposing, but eyes literally turn their way as they step into the ballroom. Harvey feels a smug sense of satisfaction at the knowledge that they have upstaged everyone else in this room tonight, a sense of satisfaction he doesn't bother to hide as his smirk grows and his hand tightens around Donna's waist.
Their marriage is hardly a secret, and they exchange looks and appropriate touches as they work the room together, happy that they can finally enjoy such an occasion without the pressures of public opinion and their own misguided ideas of what their relationship was supposed to be.
But they're still their own people and Donna really wants to catch up with everyone and Harvey really wants to discuss third-party funding for their cases with some of the guests, so they part ways, safe in the knowledge that any time they do not spend together here will be well made up for later.
It's liberating to him, in a way, the safety of the certainty of them. He doesn't have to keep her in his field of vision to see if anyone's approaching her with lewd intentions, he doesn't have to keep coming up with ridiculous excuses to spend time with her when he shouldn't. They part ways and it's no problem at all.
Still, he does miss her after a while, which is why he greets her with a beaming smile as she approaches him when he's talking to a potential investor.
"Hector, this is Donna Paulsen, my wife," Harvey introduces as he makes space for her next to him, effervescent pride bubbling in his chest even now, after almost one year, at her new title. "She used to be the COO of our firm when we were still in New York."
He places a gentle hand on her back and watches as they greet each other and make quick small talk.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, but apparently we're being summoned for a Pearson Specter Litt picture," Donna says pleasantly and Harvey resists the urge to roll his eyes at the idea. Still, he excuses himself and follows her as she makes her way towards the entrance of the hall, taking the opportunity to enjoy the view of her exposed shoulders and the way the hairstyle she chose fits the slight dip at the back of her dress perfectly.
"Okay, I'm giving this ten minutes, then we come back here. There are still people I want to talk to," he tells her as he falls in step with her, checking his watch.
"We're not taking pictures," she replies casually, though her voice is low.
"What do you mean?" he turns to her, suddenly confused about her decoy.
"You and me are going into that bathroom right now and we are going to have sex," Donna tells him calmly, collectedly, as if she weren't propositioning him in the middle of a crowded room.
Thank God he wasn't drinking anything, otherwise he might have done a spit-take.
"What?" his voice comes out strangled.
"It's your own fault for wearing that damn white tux and being so far away from me for over an hour," she comments casually, not even looking at him.
Fire instantly shoots down his spine.
Donna had been ogling him. She had spent the entire time they were apart watching him from afar and thinking he looks hot and goddammit, he shouldn't be thrilled by this because he's well aware of the fact that he turns Donna on, but this... this sounds like at least one third of all the fantasies he's ever had about her.
The place has genderless bathrooms, those big, fancy ones entirely out of while marble and golden fixtures, with a wide sink, a large stall and pleasant lighting.
Donna scans the perimeter and swiftly pulls him inside after her, locking the door behind her.
And then she's all over him, gripping his lapels and slamming their lips together as if they hadn't seen each other in a month. He lets out a surprised little sound before his brain catches up and he's wrapping his arms around her waist and hugging her close, responding in kind.
They're both pretty sexual people and they obviously have amazing chemistry, but he loves it when it's Donna who's horny, when he can feel her desperation in the way it makes her fumbly and a lot less neat than usual.
Her fingers tangle helplessly in his hair, tugging left and right, diving beneath his collar, her nails scratching his neck and scalp. Her tongue chases his hungrily, sucking it into her mouth and making her moan.
She is a woman on a mission and he's half amused, half out of his mind with want.
He roams his hands hotly over the bodice of her dress, kneading her (braless, as he well knows) breasts, keeping her as close to him as humanly possible. Sadly her choice of dress doesn't help her goal, because it has close to a million layers and the skirt is full and slightly structured and he can't grind into her as well as he'd like to but he'll work with what he has.
He backs her gently against the wall opposite to the sink and presses his whole body against hers as he moves to her neck, sucking on her pulse point and leaving sloppy kisses up and down her throat.
She clings to him, one hand grabbing the back of his jacket, the other buried in his hair as she breathes wantonly in his ear.
He would have wanted to take his time but she's clearly eager and they're in a public bathroom anyway, so better get going. He starts bunching up her dress and she gets the hint and helps, both hurriedly pulling up endless fabric.
By the time they're done, he could almost laugh if it weren't so damn inconvenient: the front of the skirt is bunched up around her hips, creating so much volume between them their chests are barely touching. He starts kissing her again, his right hand running up her thigh, caressing her skin gently until he reaches her center and -
"Holy shit, Donna, you've been walking around like this for an hour?" he practically squeals at the feel of her laced panties soaked against his fingers.
"I told you, it's the tux," she shrugs shamelessly before kissing his jaw and sucking on his earlobe.
He teases her over her panties until she's panting, bucking her hips forward to meet his fingers. He finally slips them beneath the fabric, running them up and down her folds, building up pressure and speed until she's moaning.
Donna lifts her left leg to prop her shoe against the sink for added support and he follows the movement with his eyes until he suddenly notices the mirror behind him. He's instantly entranced by the image of them, his white jacket a stark contrast against the sea of black that is the dress currently engulfing him, her pointy black heel with a black and white strap to match the marble beneath it.
He sees her face flushed, her lips plump and her hair slightly dishevelled. He meets her eyes, staring at him intently, waiting for his next move. Gazes still locked, he circles her clit once, twice, a few times, and watches her reaction.
Donna digs her teeth into her bottom lip and her eyes screw shut and God, she's the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. He wants to keep watching her but the position is uncomfortable and distracting and he'd rather just kiss her anyway, so he turns back around after a few more moments and feasts on her lips, her jaw, her neck, anywhere he can reach.
Soon she is grinding against his hand in earnest, meeting his movements. He slips a finger inside, then another, and she groans. She feels hot and slippery and he can't wait to be inside her for real.
He works her up as she nibbles on his earlobe and he's so impossibly hard his slacks feel uncomfortable.
"Harvey," she grits through her teeth, "Just fuck me already."
Jesus Christ. He almost, almost does.
"Your fucking dress won't let me," he groans back, arousal mixing with frustration in his tone. "So unless you want me to get you naked right here, right now, you're gonna have to settle for this and we can finish the rest at home."
Donna whines in protest.
"Unless you want me to stop," he says, and times the words with an expert curl of his fingers because he's an asshole.
The air puffs out of her in a low moan. "No, don't stop," she murmurs urgently as she seeks his lips and kisses him deeply as he strokes her front wall a few more times. Not long after, she's coming, trembling in his arms as he holds her up by the waist and lays gentle kisses on her clavicle.
Once she's recovered he disentangles himself from her carefully, retrieving his fingers and sucking them clean as he watches her eyes go dark again. He really needs to go home right now.
She rearranges herself quickly in the mirror as they debate whether to say goodbye to the host of the gala and truly, it's remarkable how Donna has the unmatched ability to look as poised as she arrived even after hours of party and being finger-fucked in the bathroom.
They decide to just slip away unnoticed - he's not a name partner anymore, who cares. He would have liked to make the final networking round he was planning on before his wife sequestered him, but he honestly cannot bring himself to care about anything else right now.
They hail the first cab they see and thank God he kept his condo - everybody knew he would never be able to let go of it anyway - and that it's close by because Donna keeps kissing him and rubbing his thigh and he is genuinely worried about their driver's well-being.
They stumble out of the car (he doesn't even know how much money he gave the driver) and through the lobby (he doesn't greet the doorman this time) and up the elevator (he needs to keep reminding himself it has cameras) and he can barely remember anything between her orgasm and now but it doesn't matter because they're finally, finally in his apartment.
He's thankful that the all-consuming need they used to feel in the first months is gone; that unbridled desperation to do everything they possibly can, to make sure they don't miss a single moment because twelve years of exclusively missed moments weighs too heavily over them.
Tonight he can just turn her around and unzip her dress unceremoniously, kiss her neck hungrily as she steps out of it. He doesn't need a whole song and dance, doesn't need to worship every last inch of her skin because they'll be doing this again in a few hours. This is far from their first time and far from their last; it's the middle of the forever they have always wanted with each other, and that brings a wonderful ease and simplicty to this moment.
Their tongues swirl around each other as she undoes his tie and the first few buttons of his shirt and he showers her breasts with the attention they deserve, kneading the flesh, pinching the nipples between his thumb and index.
He goes to remove his jacket but she stops him with her hands. "Keep it," she breathes, "It's turning me on." And she's fully naked and telling him about a kink and he thinks the only reason he hasn't exploded yet is because he wants to be inside her when he does.
He groans and picks her up hastily and takes the two steps needed to reach the first flat surface available - his trusted kitchen island, home to many of their trysts.
He places her down gently and slides a thumb over her clit but he wouldn't even need to because she's already hot and slick and ready for him again. She makes quick work of his pants and his briefs, pushes them down just enough and soon he's gliding into her and God, she really is home.
They let out twin sighs as he buries himself to the hilt and pauses, letting them adjust. Donna wraps her legs around his hips, tightening her hold on him, and one hand stays splayed out on the island for support while the other one grabs his lapel again.
He takes her lips in his as he starts moving, slowly at first, building up the pace as their bodies rock together in their learned rhythm. He loves that he knows exactly what to do to drive her crazy, like when he grinds down and circles his hips around a thrust, adding pressure on her clit that makes her cry out. And he loves that she knows it too, as he feels her hands untuck the back of his shirt and sneak up so that her nails can rake down his back almost forcefully.
She's telling him to go harder and he complies, leaning down to suck on the soft skin of her breast, taking her nipple between his lips.
He angles her hips a little higher for the gran finale and she whimpers with every thrust and soon they're tumbling over the edge together, trembling and breathing hard against each other's necks.
He releases her thighs and leans forward on the island, feeling his whole body tingling with his recent orgasm as his legs tremble a little from the strain.
Donna brushes a few stray strands of hair away from her face, cupping his cheek and pulling him in for a lazy kiss.
"That dress may have been impractical but you looked really beautiful in it," he tells her softly, almost against her lips, because before he hated how complicated it made their lives, he too had been admiring her all night.
"Thanks," she smirks. "You're definitely wearing this again," she tugs briskly on his lapel and he grins.
He helps her down from the island and they pick up the trail of clothes they left behind. The best part of being married to Donna is that they get to do all this and still be together for the afterwards; they get to clean up together and fall asleep together and wake up together and they'll never have to doubt or question it again.
She never actually puts her clothes back on and he ends up shedding his tux and it's clear once again that no matter how impeccable his Tom Ford suits and her Wayne Clark dress and her Dior shoes and her whatever jewelry look, he always prefers them naked anyway.