A/N: Up until the line "I wish you didn't have your rule", 90% of the writing was originally written by Maya (AnonymousDH), who generously allowed me to kidnap her story and take it into a different direction. I highly encourage you to read her gorgeous (and much more sensible) original version: fanfiction (.) net /s/14183249/11/
Title is from Keith Urban's "Break On Me". Hope you like it, and once again, huge thanks to Maya for her generosity.
The smell welcomes her a mile away and they're lucky it's past midnight and no one is there or his recent promotion would be thrown out the window at this very second. But she doesn't say anything about that as she steps into his new office. He's sitting on the couch, a forlorn look on his face as one of his father's records plays quietly in the background.
She simply sits down next to him, her hand briefly hovering above his knee. She so desperately wants to comfort him, but for once she doesn't know how.
It's been a week since his father's funeral, and she's never seen someone so lost and in so much pain in her entire life. At first he tried suppressing it entirely, focusing on work and pretending like nothing had happened. But going to the funeral - at her insistence - seemed to have really driven the point home, and the whole altercation with his mom and where he left things with his family just made everything a million times worse. The sadness he was trying to keep locked in now seems to gush out of him, uncontrollably staining everything around him. It's much more feeling than he knows what to do with, she can see how overwhelmed he is by the sheer volume of it, and she doesn't know how to help because nothing seems to work.
She took on half his workload, trying to give him space. She's been keeping him company throughout the entire work day, and has even been texting him occasionally once they go home. She has wordlessly offered a shoulder to cry on or to confide in, both of which he seems intent on not accepting. She's tried goofy jokes to alleviate the mood and she's tried somber silence. She's tried cheering him up and pretending nothing happened. She's tried providing him with all sorts of company and she's tried leaving him alone.
Nothing helps. The pain still oozes out of him like a ruptured artery, and a part of her is starting to worry that this will never end, that this is how he is always going to be from now on. That the sparkle in his eye is gone forever.
It's a terrifying thought, one she can't really give into because it would ruin him, and she can't let that happen.
So, when he brings it up to his lips once more, taking a puff, she steals the blunt from his fingers and does the same, hoping her simple presence is enough for now. She doesn't talk much, he's too lost and heartbroken for that. Besides, she simply doesn't know what to say, so she hands it back and lets him indulge in this bad habit just for one night.
She knows it won't be the last time for him, but it is for her, because when he finally speaks, his words floor her so much she's sure she will still be able to hear them years later whenever she thinks back on it.
"I wish you didn't have your rule."
It's said dejectedly, while he's not even looking at her, an air of disappointment and hopelessness to his voice. It's almost an observation, an out-loud thought, and it stuns her into silence for a moment or two while she at first questions whether she even heard him right, and then tries to quickly figure out how to respond. She isn't sure what he means by it, so she goes down the route of reason.
"You know why I do...," she counters softly, watching his profile as he continues to stare blankly at the empty space in front of him.
"Yeah," he sighs, then leans forward and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands as if he's trying to ward off a tiredness he's been harboring not just for this past week, but for his whole life. And then he says, in a tiny voice mostly muffled by his palms, "I just wish there could be more."
Her heart breaks at how small and fragile he sounds. She doesn't know what "more" is, if he means more between them, more of all that happened on their one night together or what, but she wishes there could be more too, more of whatever would allow her to free him from some of his pain, whatever would allow her to share his burden.
They don't really touch, not usually, and in the past they've both been content with her offering silent support, but tonight that's not enough and she decides that being there for him is more important than upholding their usual dynamic, so she reaches over and places her hand on his back, stroking it tenderly and slowly, up and down. On the next upward stroke she goes all the way to his shoulder and tugs him towards her a little until he takes the hint and leans fully against her shoulder. She feels him take a deep breath and watches as his eyes close.
They stay like that for a moment until suddenly Donna feels him shift, and then his lips are brushing her neck and he's inhaling her. The move once again catches her completely by surprise and sends goosebumps across her skin. Despite the entirely inappropriate context, they haven't been this close in years, and his proximity and the secret intimacy of his move makes her forget herself for a second and ignites the tiniest spark in her belly, but she forces herself to focus and pulls back to look at him. "Harvey...," she trails off, trying to let him down gently.
Harvey is undeterred, leaning his forehead against hers and closing his eyes. "I just need you," he whispers. She knows he does, in more ways than one, but his words still make her heart skip a beat and her breath hitch.
With more strength than she knew she possessed, she once again pulls away from his orbit. "You're high."
He instantly shakes his head, looking away. "I'm not. Took two drags of that shit, it barely tickled."
She isn't so sure, but it doesn't matter, because there's another, more pressing reason why they should put a stop to whatever is happening right now. "You're grieving," she argues instead.
Harvey scoffs a little bit, not at her but at the world, and nods. "Yeah, Donna, I am, and that's the fucking problem. Grief is all I can think about, every single minute of every single day since it happened. It's killing me. And it fucking sucks."
It kills her to see him like this - Harvey, who's never sad, never defeated, never dejected. Harvey, who's always on top of his game, ready to deal with the world. Donna thankfully hasn't experienced the loss of a parent, but she remembers how she felt when her grandmother died, how intense the sorrow was, how it took her months to feel like she could fully breathe again. She can only imagine what it feels like to him to lose his father, and a father he was so close to.
She desperately, desperately wants to comfort him somehow, so she goes out on a limb with her suggestion. "Hey, we can talk about it if you want."
He buries his face in his hands and rubs his eyes again, almost like he doesn't know what else to do. "I don't want to talk about it, Donna," Harvey practically whines, looking so young and adrift, and she just wants to cradle him, wrap herself around him and bring him back to shore, keep him safe and sound and away from all the horrors of the world. "Talking about it makes me remember, and that only makes it worse. I want to forget." He drops his hands and looks away, staring blankly ahead, and she understands it then.
It's funny how we don't always want what's best for us. We should want clarity. We should want to heal, to learn, to work through things so that they stop harming us. But sometimes that's just not the case. Sometimes we want to be wrecked, sometimes we want to poke at our own wounds until they're completely exposed with no healing in sight, sometimes we want to wallow in self-pity even if it's drowning us. Sometimes we should face something, but we want to run instead, even if running only brings us further away from being freed from it.
And sometimes, helping and caring for and loving someone means telling them the hard truths and forcing them to face it. But other times, maybe helping and caring for and loving someone can mean letting them take the easy way out. Opening the door to it, even while knowing that it won't fix anything. Sometimes just holding someone's hand on their way to rock bottom is better than desperately trying to pull them up.
Donna doesn't know if this is that kind of situation. A part of her thinks she should push more, force him to confront his mourning and the situation with his mother. That part thinks she should be strong when he can't be, that she should save him from himself. But Harvey's a grown man, and one hell of a stubborn one at that. Sometimes he does listen to her, but tonight, with this, she's pretty sure he won't. It's just as likely that he'll just turn to something else instead - work, more weed or booze, a faceless woman in a bar. He will find a way to bury his pain for the night, and she doesn't want him to turn to that. She wants him to turn to her, because she cares more about him than anyone else in the world, and because she knows that with her, even if he lets go, he'll still be protected.
She knows it's not the smartest move. That he should face his feelings, process them properly in order to heal. But she also knows that, as far as bad decisions go, this is far from the worst one given his current condition. And, if she's being honest, there's also a more egocentric, possessive part of her that likes that he chose her as his outlet, that he could have dived deeper into drugs or meaningless sex but he didn't, he picked her instead. And, though she's a bit ashamed to admit, she wants to be that for him. She wants to be the place he comes to forget and feel good about himself, even if just for tonight. She wants to be that lifeline, that elusive moment of reprieve he's so desperately been seeking all week. She's played that role several times before, though in much less dangerous ways, and it's always left them both feeling happier. Perhaps, just this once, she can stop trying to tell him what he needs and give him what he's asking for instead.
Besides, although it obviously doesn't even come close to Harvey's pain, she also felt Gordon's passing pretty deeply. Despite only having met him a few times, she had almost weekly phone chats with him where he'd call to hear from Harvey and talked to her instead, certain he'd get much more information on his son's well-being this way than if he'd gone straight to the source. Gordon was a kind, funny, passionate man, someone she grew incredibly fond of, and she, like Harvey, is also still reeling from his loss. Maybe she and Harvey can both comfort each other.
Taking a steadying breath and hoping like hell that she isn't making the wrong move, she runs her hand across the expanse of his back, hand coming to nestle at the base of his neck and caressing the short hairs there. She feels him shiver, which makes her stomach flutter, but when he turns his face back to her he can't even look at her, his eyes the saddest she's ever seen, and that's what solidifies her choice.
She cups his cheek and pulls him closer, letting their lips meet gently. It's been years since they last did this and the context was completely different, but she immediately feels the exact same spark, electric and buzzing between them. Harvey had apparently taken her protests at face value, because for a millisecond he freezes, but shortly thereafter he's kissing her back, tugging on her bottom lip more intently.
The second their tongues touch, it's like the ground opens beneath her and she's free-falling, the feel and taste of him dizzying and intoxicating, the subtle tinges of whiskey and pot adding to the sense of illicitness of the whole thing. They part for a moment and Harvey rearranges himself on the couch, turning to her fully. When he goes back to kissing her, his hands envelop her body, arms strong around her waist and his palms snaking tantalizingly up her back and tangling in her hair.
It takes no time for the kiss to turn heated, his tongue insistent against hers as he leans over her, effectively pinning her to the backrest. Donna gives herself over to the kiss, clinging helplessly to his neck as his hands start to roam, pulling her closer and closer to him. He skims the side of her breasts, her thighs, her hips and back up to her hair, setting her body on fire in a way she hadn't felt in a long time.
He kneads her ass and she whimpers, and it's when his fingers are blindly trying to find their way beneath her dress and inside her panties that she realizes that they've only just started this and it's already almost uncontrollable. And this may just be comfort sex with no promise for anything more, but it still means something, and she doesn't want it to be some horny quickie that leaves them with a moral hangover. If they're going to do this, if they're going to break her rule, she wants them to do it right.
So she clutches his wrist and stops him gently. "Harvey, slow down," she mutters against his lips and he pauses as soon as he processes the words, pulling back with a wounded look on his eyes that screams rejection. She caresses his jaw to dispel that notion and tells him softly, "You said you needed me. So let me be here for you."
He looks completely dumbfounded, but lets her guide him back to his sitting position, and then she hikes up her skirt and straddles him, his hands immediately finding her hips and his body relaxing beneath hers at the reassurance that she's not changing her mind. She brushes his hair with her fingers, taking him in, before she leans in and gives him a soft, chaste kiss. She then moves to his chin and jaw, leaving a trail of the gentlest kisses she can possibly give him. When she reaches his neck, she sucks just a little, tasting the salt on his skin and reveling in the sigh he lets out. She takes her time, wanting to give him exactly what he asked for: a moment of distraction, one that provides not the speed and whirlwind he was looking for, but the safety and comfort he needs.
She cares about him, so much it makes her chest ache, and she wants him to feel every ounce of that care and affection on the pads of her fingers and the touch of her lips.
Tasting him again feels surreal, and it doesn't take her long to forget all about why she had her rule and why they haven't done this in years as she kisses more of his neck and feels him warm up beneath her and his hands hold her more firmly.
She goes back up to his mouth and this time it's decidedly less chaste, their tongues tangling together hotly, their breaths mingling as she melts into him a little. He's still letting her set the pace as she said she would, but he's starting to take a more active stance, kissing her neck and clavicle and making her skin burn. She can feel heat coiling in her belly and, though this started as a way to comfort him, there's no doubt she's in this just as much as he is.
He starts kissing a path down her chest, trailing the edge of her cleavage, and she grinds almost involuntarily against him, letting out a pant that transforms into a moan as he dips his tongue into the cup of her bra. He doubles down, kissing her breasts more intently and pulling her hips closer to his, and the spark between them is intoxicating and distracting, taking over their bodies and giving them a mind of their own.
Harvey follows the slow pace she set, but doesn't stall either, dragging her dress the rest of the way up and off her and immediately latching on to her neck. She moans again as he sucks on her pulse point, her hand trailing softly up and down his back. She wants to make him feel cherished and cared for, and not like she's just scratching an itch for him, and so she caresses his back and his scalp affectionately as he kisses wetly everywhere he can reach.
He's fully hard beneath her now, and his mouth on her nipples makes her writhe against the bulge in his pants, leaving her even more turned on. She's sure she's probably ruining his pants at this point but it feels too good to stop, and Harvey doesn't seem too interested in stopping either because he soon reaches behind her, over her ass and into her panties, making her breath hitch as his fingers meet her wet heat. She leans further into him to give him more room to work and he readjusts himself on the couch, giving them both a better angle.
She resumes kissing him as he works her folds steadily, teasing her deliciously back and forth, circling her clit and even incorporating some moves he must have remembered she liked during their first and only night together. He's gentle yet talented, so talented he has her riding his fingers intently, her body undulating on top of him and her moans low in his ear as he bites and licks her neck. It's an onslaught of sensations and she shuts her eyes tightly, willing away the world and focusing solely on him until the moment he rubs her clit just so and she can't hold back anymore, coming quietly around his fingers.
Her body melts a little, flooded with endorphins, and she kisses him sloppily as she waits for the final waves to fade. She thinks she'll be ready to go again in no time, but she still wants to make him feel as good as she possibly can, so she climbs off his lap and kneels between his legs, Harvey's eyes following her moves darkly but with an unmistakable hint of astonishment.
She can see his cock twitching inside his pants before she even reaches the zipper, and it once again floods her with pride and self-satisfaction that he came to her for comfort, not anyone else; that she can make him this eager and surrendered when he could have the pick of the New York crop. And, well, seeing his dick again floods her with something else too. It's something she hasn't let herself think about too much since The Other Time because it already took her long enough to get it out of her mind last time, but there's no denying she'd missed him, his taste, the feel of him in her hand.
She takes him out and pumps him gently, more focused on the sensations for both of them than on the destination. Harvey watches her almost in awe, and it's a little amusing how he was the one who asked her to have sex with him and now he's almost surprised by this development. She smiles up at him before leaning down and leaving a gentle kiss on the tip of his cock, and the way his eyelids flutter makes her buzz.
She envelops him with her mouth and Harvey's head falls heavily against the couch, and even despite the weed he has been so tense all night that she can see his muscles fluttering beneath his shirt. Having him in her mouth again gives her such an amazing sense of fullness, and after she's enjoyed his initial reaction she just closes her eyes and focuses on the motions, committing his taste and feel to memory again. She doesn't go too far, unwilling to let him come like this, and stops as soon as he starts writhing beneath her.
By now she's fully eager for him once again, so she climbs back onto his lap and kisses him hotly, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt and untucking it from his pants. Harvey with no shirt on is always a vision, and she takes a second to take him in, run her palms down his pecks and abs before she returns to his lips. He's so pliant, so raw, so pure it's hard not to let her mind drift a little to an alternate universe in which they do this not out of need, but out of want, a want that doesn't carry any risk, only reward.
But that's not this universe, and she distracts herself from her musings by positioning herself over him, holding him in place and sinking slowly onto him, feeling the delicious burn as her walls stretch to accommodate him. A strangled little moan escapes him, and she tips his head up and finds his eyes as she nestles into his lap, giving them both a chance to adjust. His eyes are glazed over, but his hands are sure on her hips and their bodies seem to be pulsing in the same rhythm.
She leaves a sweet smooch on his lips and slowly lifts herself off, bracing herself on his shoulder. The slide down is slicker, and after a couple more strokes she settles into a calm but steady pace. Harvey apparently can't decide what to do with his hands, running them up and down her back, capturing her breasts and teasing her nipples, pulling on her hips, kneading her ass. By now a lot of the grief and pain has dissipated, however temporarily, and his eyes are filled with wonder, pupils blown out and lips agape whenever he looks up at her, and it's a sight to behold.
On her next upswing she clenches her walls around him and Harvey moans, bucking his hips a bit and shooting sparks down her spine. Biting her lip, Donna takes his hand that's resting on her hip and brings it to her breast, showing him how to work it, and their joint hands working in tandem to bring her pleasure makes her close her eyes and throw her head back, a little delirious. He takes the opening and buries his face in the crook of her neck, nipping and licking and sucking on her neck in a way that might very possibly leave a mark but she couldn't care less right now.
She cups the back of his head, fingers tangled in his hair, and keeps him there. Even at her mercy he is still so good, so fucking hot, the way he fills her is different from anything else and fuck, she's so glad they're doing this even if the circumstances aren't ideal.
Harvey starts thrusting more purposefully into her, still not quite fast but hitting a new angle she wasn't reaching alone, and she cries out at the waves of bliss it brings. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, effectively hugging him to her, and they're so close, their chests and stomachs brushing as she rides him, and the air around them feels hot and still and it's all so intimate, it's like time stops and there's just them, just their bodies slick with sweat, their skin touching and her affection beating strong in his chest.
They never do speed up, their movements remain tender and caring; eventually, it's Harvey's hand slipping between them and teasing her clit that makes her come with a whimper and a sigh, and her nails are still digging into his shoulder when he comes around a strangled groan muffled into her clavicle.
They pant in unison for a moment before Harvey collapses against the couch, completely spent, a sheen of sweat covering his forehead. Donna climbs off of him and he instantly brings her into his side, clumsily reaching for his suit jacket and draping it over them.
She tucks herself into him a little, his arm around her shoulders, and they spend a while in silence, staring blankly at his new office.
"I'm sorry," he mutters suddenly, voice low and rough.
"For what?" she asks, almost idly.
He shrugs, jostling her head in the process. "For making you feel like you had to."
His words instantly sober her up, and Donna pulls back to look squarely at him. "I didn't feel like I had to." She says it gently, but firmly, because it's very important that he knows that. It's true that this probably wouldn't have happened if it weren't for the unique circumstances they are both going through, but she knows that if she had denied him again he wouldn't have pushed anymore and it wouldn't have been an issue. Ultimately, she did it because she wanted to, because for once she felt like giving in to her ever-powerful instinct to protect him in the one way she never allows herself to do, and it felt good and right. It was a choice, and she wants him to know that, for both their sakes.
Harvey doesn't look too convinced, though, eyeing her askance.
"I didn't," she insists seriously, gazing intently at him.
It must get through to him, because he nods minutely after a moment and says "Okay." And then he's the one to lean into her, nestling into her chest with a sigh, and she resumes her caresses from earlier, her fingers skating across his back and up and down his arm.
She waits another while, then half-whispers, "You know this was just for tonight, right?"
He nods against her. "Yeah. It's okay. I just needed a break," he replies quietly, sounding so small she can't help but tighten her grip on him a little more.
Harvey looks up at her and he at least doesn't seem as sad anymore, and she hopes that's true as their lips meet again and they kiss some more, silently saying goodbye to this little pocket of time away from reality.
When they part, it's clear that the moment is over, and they dress in comfortable silence. He offers to take her home, and she accepts, unwilling to have to face taking a cab at this hour, and it's nice to have that extra time together, especially since she can already feel some of their usual camaraderie returning. He wishes her goodnight with a small, yet earnest smile, and she thinks, with an accompanying flutter of her heart, that he'll be just fine.
A/N: I don't usually justify my writing, but since this can be a delicate subject I just wanted to finish this off making it extra clear, in case the writing failed to do that, that despite the circumstances and Donna's initial hesitation, both of them really wanted all this to happen and they both got something out of it, no one was manipulated into anything etc etc, haha. Thanks for reading!