—
spank
—
It's one of those nights, where they were working late and the late night turned into one scotch and then three.
He's sitting in the armchair in his office, tie loose and shirt sleeves rolled up, jacket long discarded. She's on the couch, heels somewhere on the floor and feet tucked underneath her, glass pressed to her lips to hide her laughter.
They're telling stories, talking like best friends do, laughing at years of pranks on Louis and telling tales of Mike and Rachel and Jessica and everything and everyone they know.
It's been weeks since the kiss and they agreed to go back to normal and it's been a rough road but tonight, tonight finally feels like they are back to normal, with the exception of the lingering knowledge they both have of his flirty teasing about strawberries and whipped cream in lieu of tomatoes.
Somehow, she's still not sure how, they've crossed into the murky waters of flirting and teasing yet again and the undercurrent of sexual tension is present, as it always seems to get when it's just them with three fingers of scotch between them.
"Harvey?" She questions on the tale end of a laugh.
Smiling, he hums his response waiting for her to continue.
"About what you said earlier," she says, expression still light but serious.
"What?" He retorts with smirk, knowing exactly what she's referring to.
"What do you mean what? You confess you spank the monkey to images of us and we're just gonna what? Not talk about it?" She asks, frustrated by his ability to keep cool.
Choking on his scotch he utters out, "Spank the monkey, Donna? Really?" Barely keeping it together, he laughs and wipes the scotch from the side of his mouth.
"Got a problem with that?" She responds teasingly. "What would you prefer? Five knuckle shuffle? Busting a nut? Rubbing one out?"
"Donna Paulsen, I never," He says, feigning offense. "And if anyone's rubbing one out, it's you Miss Paulsen."
Her mouth drops open on a gasp, clearly surprised at his assertion, realizing that alcohol has clearly lowered his inhibitions.
"So what if I do, Mr. Specter?" Apparently the alcohol has lowered hers too.
Then it's his turn for his mouth to drop open. They sit and stare at each other for moments, sexual tension coloring the air. She waits as she always does to see what his next move will be, and after long enough she realizes that his next move is no move, as it often is, so she throws back the remainder of her drink and gathers her shoes and belongings and makes her way to the door.
"You think about me like that?" He says with a whispered tone she barely hears.
She knows he's not ready for this with her tonight, because otherwise he would have made a move, so instead she just glances back at him from the door, with dark eyes and a gentle smile, sends him a wink and says goodnight.
Tomorrow, maybe tomorrow.
—
