Note: I actually don't think I've ever written pre-canon smut before? But that's what my brain spit out, so I went with it and tried to fit it in a place that felt natural.
Thank you Heather and Alyssa for the betas and support! I can't be me without you.
Moonlight tickles her face, forcing her awake and Donna shifts —
— on top of Harvey.
She blinks.
Well. That's new.
He's out like a light, arms wrapped around her waist trapping her securely to him. And she's just drowsy enough to bask in the warmth of half-sleep and the comforting scent of Harvey Specter, casual on her couch, guard let down.
She watches him breathe for a moment as the memory of last night comes flooding back. Harvey arriving at her door, shamelessly holding up Top Gun and a brand-new Macallan. She let him in with no preamble and they both knew why. Mike and Rachel's sudden departure affected them both more than they'd like to admit, left them scrambling for a sense of normalcy. They've felt it before, with the absence of colleagues and friends and family and lovers; they found solace in each other then like they find solace in each other now. It's what they do, how they work.
(It doesn't mean anything.)
Donna recalls dozing off halfway through the film, exhausted from the whirlwind wedding and playing catch-up through the work week. Resting her cheek against Harvey's strong shoulder, stuffing her feet under the couch cushion, succumbing to feelings of serenity and security and home.
The television is now off and their glasses sit empty on her coffee table. She can't see the time, but knows it must be late.
What shocks her is that — he stayed.
Not only that, he'd consciously made the decision to fall asleep with her on her couch. Underneath her. She barely felt a jostle. Had he moved her? Or was it mutual, seeking contact in sleep like they did while awake, though far less obvious?
Despite how awkward it should feel, it doesn't. She's content and pleasantly sated, his body an anchor, one large hand splayed on her back.
She should move.
She should wake him up, send him home.
The problem is, it's late and she's tired, and not just from lack of sleep.
And what she should do and what she wants to do never quite line up. Especially lately, and especially with him.
His eyes open, then, and meet hers, hazy and confused. They're both still exhausted enough to just blink at each other in the dark, fuzzy shapes transforming into familiar features, his heartbeat steady under her palms and his whispered breath on her cheek.
Then the moment of realization hits and time seems to stand still.
Excuses and quips already forming on her tongue, Donna moves to slide off of him — and discovers that certain parts of Harvey are anything but still.
The slight pressure on her stomach doesn't shock or deter her, rather it emboldens her, and she holds his gaze.
She has two options.
Get up now, ignore the obvious, and file this under things we never speak of again.
Or.
She parts her legs, nudges her hips ever so slightly against his knee.
Option two. Pass go and collect two-hundred.
One look at Harvey's dark, hooded eyes and parted lips, and she knows which road she's taking.
To hell with should.
There's the underlying current of maybe we can come back from this as he fits his knee between her thighs, hitting her sweet spot as she gives a wordless gasp; as he presses his growing hardness into her stomach, breathing hard; as she ruts against his leg, again and again and again. Eyes locked the whole time. Silently daring the other to say stop. Reading between the lines in their matching expressions, feelings buried that now rise to the surface, that bubble over and scream keep going.
Any remaining borders are demolished completely when Harvey brazenly cups her ass and kneads, and she moans and bites her lip and now, now this is really happening.
There's no going back.
That's fine by her.
Donna untangles herself from his legs, moves forward to straddle his waist and his hands bracket her hips, guiding her home, and they don't stop for air; he pushes her down and she grinds like she means it, like she's waited twelve goddamn years to do it because she has, and he's rock hard for her, pure heat and want and need straining against her. His nails dig into her skin and leave marks on her waist but she wants them there, wants to know this is real, that this happened.
Her movements become erratic and he thrusts up, bumps against her clit just so, and she's done teasing. Her brain is short-circuiting as she seeks her release on him, the friction from the fabric, the fact that they are still fully clothed becoming all too much. His hands help her move in vivacious circles on his lap, holding her in place as he drives up sharply against her.
The vein in his neck stands out and his brow furrows in concentration as he grits out yes and that's it and come on, Donna, come for me and she falls apart, keening and gasping and bouncing over him.
She rubs brazenly on his dick until her orgasm peters out, savoring the last sparks of pleasure. Harvey lets her slide on him to her heart's content and she can't fucking believe she just did that but god did it feel good, and it's hard to be ashamed when Harvey is looking at her like that.
No going back.
"Hi," he rasps, sliding his hands up her arms, across her shoulders to tangle in her hair.
Donna turns her cheek into his palm, embraces the contact. "Hi."
"Am I dreaming?" Harvey asks, and he sounds so hopeful and earnest that she can't help but lean forward to brush her lips across his.
"You tell me," she whispers, and before he can get too carried away she is kissing her way down his chest, his stomach, until her mouth hovers over the bulge in his pants — the spot still wet from her earlier activities — and she flattens her tongue against it, her name leaving his lips in a strangled cry.
She sucks him over his pants, bites and drags his zipper down with her teeth and her nose brushes the inside of his thigh. He jolts and oh, he's sensitive there, she remembers. She nips lovingly and laughs when he tugs at her hair.
"Donna." It's a plea. And it makes it all the more real.
And real it is, she thinks as her fingers slide into his boxers and squeeze his dick, hot and heavy.
He generously lifts his hips so she can slide his pants and boxers off and once he's bared to her she doesn't waste any time, licking from base to tip in one fluid motion and Harvey groans.
"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck."
Donna smiles wickedly, stares up at him while her mouth descends, humming around his shaft. Up and down and up again, swirling her tongue around the tip, sucking gently before engulfing all of him once more.
He stands tall and proud for her, glistening from her attention, and she boldly snakes a hand between her legs. Harvey's own hands clutch the couch cushions in a vice and she'd much, much rather he wrap them in her hair, looks him dead in the eye as she grabs both wrists and drags them to her scalp, and his fingers tighten in the strands without prompting. She licks her lips and he whines a little.
Oh, Harvey, she thinks as she leans back down, running her lips against the silky head, you don't even know.
She takes her time, still unsure if this time will be the last time, and if it is she'll be damned if she doesn't remember everything. She catalogues every noise out of his throat, every jerk of his hips, every pulse of his cock against the roof of her mouth. Every flutter of his abdomen under her fingers, her saliva dripping down the length of him; every taste, every touch, every sight. Every intimate detail to be filed away, added to the ones from all those years ago, to revisit on lonely nights, in dreams, and in hope for that reality.
The rhythm builds on its own, slightly messy but she makes sure to cover every surface, every crevice. Flicks of her tongue on his balls, a gentle massage, dragging up to where they meet his shaft and she spends extra time there, finishing with a delicate kiss before raising her head.
She swallows all of him back in her mouth, down her throat as far as she'll allow, though it doesn't feel far enough. That's when she pats his slack fingers in her hair, giving him the green light, and he takes the hint and guides her head down over him, slowly at first, then with the gentle pressure she so desperately craves. He fucks her mouth and he's not taking so much as he is giving. There's no other way to describe it; he tugs her down but smooths her hair almost immediately, cradles her head, her cheek. His thumb finds her lips and she takes it in with his dick, sucking greedily.
"Fuck," he swears again, voice lower than she's ever heard it and that's when she drags her teeth lightly over the ridges and veins and hot muscle, smoothing with her tongue on the way back down before repeating the motion.
Holding his gaze, she sucks him fully, lips forming his name again and again, a tune all her own, and his "fuck, Donna, keep doing that" is music to her ears.
He comes and explodes and it's beautiful. She swallows and thinks that licking him clean is a true form of intimacy, one she wants to cling to and experience a thousand times over.
A satisfied grunt escapes her as she releases him from her mouth, her lips coated in his semen and she kisses him, lets him taste, reclaiming his tongue for the first time all night and in nearly twelve years.
Harvey breathes slow and deep as he grows soft in her hand. She rests her head on his shoulder and circles a mole on his chest, waits for the nerves to snap back into place.
It's quiet for a long time. But there's something in the way he's stroking her spine, clutching her arm like it's his lifeline, that lets her know it's more than fine. They are more than fine.
The thought thrills her and terrifies her.
But it's the best kind of terror.
"So you did feel something." Harvey's voice rumbles in her ear, and she closes her eyes and smiles at the sound. Turns on her side so she's nestled between him and the cushions, wanting to see his face.
And she knows exactly what he's getting at, but feels the need to tease just a little. The barest nudge.
"Oh, I felt something, all right."
He gives her a look. "Donna."
She waits a beat; searches his gaze.
"I felt everything."
It's out there. And for once he doesn't brush it off, back down, switch gears.
Instead he traces her face with a smile that says more than words could ever say.
But he's still Harvey.
"Just now? Or before?"
She hums and buries her nose in his neck. "Wouldn't you like to know."
"I would."
"Which time?"
"All the times."
"All the times?" Donna leers, hand ghosting his rib cage. "That could take awhile."
Harvey squeezes her waist. "Good thing we have time."
That, they do.
Thank you so much for reading!