Oops. I didn't write the last part quite the way you wanted. Sorry. Please read and review it.
Harvey peers at Donna with one eye as Mike rambles on aimlessly. Normally, Harvey would snap at Mike and tell him to shut his mouth before he made himself look any more like an idiot, but today he can't be bothered. His gaze is trained on his secretary like she's moving in slow motion.
Her dress hugs her hips and falls just above her knee. The hem of the black material slips up her thigh as she moves. He can't help watching her, noting her every movement.
She bends forward, the v cut in the front of her dress exposing a little more than he should really be okay with. She balances on a heel while leaning on her desk with one arm and balancing her desk phone between her ear and shoulder. She smiles as she speaks, a client on the other end getting her charm that works so much magic for his benefit.
Donna catches him staring and looks at him accusingly. That doesn't stop her from perching her pen between her teeth and winking at him. If he didn't know any better, he'd think that she was trying to drive him up the wall. He lightly shakes his head in return, and sticks his tongue in his cheek.
Mike has gotten off on a tangent.
Harvey doesn't care.
He doesn't know how he's managed to have her in his sights this long without going crazy.
Donna places the phone back into the holder and glances at him again. She pushes herself to her feet, the torso of her dress hugging her body again, and Harvey nearly sucks in a deep breath. She grabs a file and struts into his office.
Harvey swallows, "Mike, I need a minute alone with Donna." Donna has barely taken two steps into his office before he's glaring at Mike from his reluctance. "Shut the door on your way out."
"Looks like someone is getting in trouble," Mike teases.
"Now," Harvey barks.
Harvey pushes himself to his feet and closes the space between them, coming around his desk as she puts her file down on it. He steps close, a little too close, and stares her in the eye. She returns the look, refusing to back down. Mike closes the door and nearly runs down the hallway.
Donna smirks and brushes a loose strand of red hair out of her face, "you're pushing it."
"You're pushing it," he counters, "and your dress is inappropriate."
"I've worn it a thousand times," she points out, "you've never commented on it before."
"But I've thought it," he corrects.
"Oh, you've thought it," she mocks, "and why are you saying it now?"
"Because it's making me think very inappropriate thoughts about you," he explains.
She laughs, "that was the idea."
Theo really doesn't want to go shopping. He hates shopping. He thinks that the only redeeming thing about shopping over the years is that Donna is the one who takes him. Donna accompanies him a lot when it comes to shopping or midday things, and he still can't tell if it's because his father is really that busy or of it's because he just doesn't want to do it.
As he's gotten older, she's tried to give him some space and freedom to make his own choices even if it is something as simple as just his clothing choice. He would be pleased wearing any basic thing, but he guesses that Donna is there to reflect his father's taste. Harvey is very particular and feels that the people are around him are an extension of him.
Theo can understand that, he guesses. Well, he's tried to understand that. His dad isn't really strict. He just doesn't endorse wearing clothes that aren't nice. There isn't anything wrong with that. He guesses that it could be much worse. He could have ended up getting used clothes his whole childhood, wearing clothes that have holes in them because that's all he gets.
Donna's always a good sport though. She carries around arms full of clothes, makes suggestions, and only makes him try on the pants. He's skinny anyway and she almost always makes comments about how they really need to fatten him up. Not long after his mom died people used to mistake her as his mother – they still get that when they're out from time to time. If he were honest, he'd admit that he kind of likes it. It's nice that he feels loved by someone who has absolutely no obligation to love him.
He's almost called her mom too many times to count when they're out, just the two of them. Man, that would have been embarrassing. He isn't really sure how either of them would react, but he knows that it would probably be pretty awkward and result in him freezing every time she was in the room with him.
Maybe he really needed to get more on board with Chelsea's plan of getting their parents together because he couldn't really ask for a better mom.
"Honey, did you try these pants on yet?" Donna asks, holding up a pair of khaki pants.
He lightly shakes his head. "Not yet. I've been looking for a shirt."
"You try them on and I'll find you a shirt," she suggests.
He thinks about it for a moment before he decides that is something that could work. He takes the pairs of pants he hasn't tried on yet from her and heads towards the men's dressing rooms. He doesn't even know how many pairs of pants he has there so when the lady asks him, he scrambles to count. There are more pants there than he'd remembered picking up. Donna must have added a few.
Sometimes he thinks about what it would be like if his dad actually got a girlfriend or, even worse, a wife and what that would mean. He thinks it would mean having Donna in his life less. He thinks he'd end up missing the things in his life that makes him feel like he has a family. He gets it. He's a 15 year old boy; he isn't supposed to think about things like that.
He isn't supposed to think about the possibilities of his dad dating someone and how that would send Donna out of his life. His dad would get all of the parts of Donna that he already gets, but Theo would have to learn to live without Donna at all. He remembers what it was like when he was 12 and his dad was dating that Scottie lady. He didn't like her. He missed Donna a lot in those days.
He's beginning to understand that the only way to insure that Donna will remain in his life is if his father becomes personally attached to her as well. It could work. He could come up with a way to do this all on his own. It isn't like his dad has been noticing him much anyway. He's been too…preoccupied.
Theo doesn't really know why he cares so much. Maybe it's because Donna is the only person in his life that he can count on every time. He's probably just being ridiculous because his dad does the best he can. Harvey didn't know what to do with a kid all of those years ago. He probably doesn't know what to do with a teen now. Maybe he just makes too many excuses for his dad.
Once he's tried on the pants, he finds Donna in the store. She smirks at him and shows him a shirt that she found. Theo is pretty sure that if Harvey ever saw him wearing it that he wouldn't be happy, but he likes it. And he can always just say that Donna picked it out. Theo actually thinks that Donna would probably be in as much trouble as he would.
He laughs, "my dad would shit a brick."
"It's just a shirt with a little bit of texture," Donna replies with a shrug. She's right. There isn't anything wrong with it. It's just a little bit outside of his father's taste.
"He's going to hate it."
"Don't you worry your pretty little head about that, Kid," Donna fires, "I'll take care of your father."
Theo smiles a little and takes the shirt from her. "I think he's a little bit in love with you."
"You think?" Donna asks playfully.
"Yeah," Theo replies with a shrug, "I mean if I were him, I would be."
Donna does a double take like it takes her a moment to process his words. "Well, your father is a very…special guy, Theo, but he's also very complicated. It takes him a long time to let people in."
"He just loves you," Theo disagrees, "that's why nothing ever works with anyone else."
"That's very observant and insightful of you," she notes with a smile; Theo shrugs just moments before her eyebrows pop up onto her forehead, "but you're wrong."
"Am I?" Theo challenges.
Donna absently wonders when her and Harvey's feelings became the center of everyone's attention – especially their own.
His breathing bounces against the door in front of him and hits him in the face. His can hear his heartbeat in his ears, like time has stopped and the throbbing in his ears is just an echo of the time ticking away. It isn't like he's never stood in front of a closed door before, but he is Harvey Specter and waiting is not in his vocabulary.
She opens the door and, "Harvey? What are you doing here?" passes between them.
He feels as though he can breathe again upon seeing her. Her cheeks flush a bright red, make up no longer gracing her face or hiding her natural beauty, and he can see her true embarrassment. She almost curls into herself. That isn't the reaction that he wants from her when she sees him.
He tries to form words but he can't just yet. He stares at her for moments too long. He can't come up with any words to convey how he feels. Feelings have never been something that he's good at, but here he's been trying with her. Maybe it's always been different with her.
"My god," he finally mutters, "you're beautiful."
"I don't even-"
"You don't need it. You were distracting before, but now you're just," he searches his brain for the right word and he realizes that it probably takes moments longer than it should, "breathtaking."
"Harvey," she disagrees. It's simple, her disagreement, but he understands what she's getting at. He truly had never thought that seeing her like this would be more than seeing her all dressed up in some revealing dress that has the back missing. He never thought, really.
"I mean it, Donna. You're so," he trails off, unable to come up with a word that he feels justifies what he's seeing. He leans a little on the doorframe like he needs the extra support. He steps a little bit closer to her, trying to test her boundaries just a bit. "Are you alone?"
She smiles softly. "You know I'm alone."
"Are you going to invite me in?" He asks.
"What do I get out of it?" She presses.
"Donna," he starts, exasperation written all over his face.
She smirks and takes a step back as her way of inviting him inside. He steps forward, large enough to close the space between them, and he kisses her. She isn't expecting it. She still isn't used to him kissing her, to them knocking down that barrier between them. It all takes her by surprise.
She's more familiar, more comfortable with the fleeting kisses that have passed between them over the last few days. His mouth has found hers in the secret places – in the hallways by the bathrooms, in the copy room, once in the stairwell when she was trying to take the stairs to be faster and he'd been waiting for her. He's been different, the same but different.
His tongue presses against her bottom lip and he's nervous. He's afraid that after seeing her so exposed, so much on display for over 8 hours, that his inability to resist her wouldn't be well received. He doesn't think he could stand her telling him no. When she kisses him with the same level of eagerness, he feels a relief wash over him.
The door gets shut somehow, he isn't quite sure when or who closed it, but he can feel her hips pressed against his thighs. He can't think about anything but the way that her skin is warm beneath his fingertips, His fingers curl around her shoulder blades and travel down her spine until they reach the small of her back. His fingertips press into her skin and he's barely aware of the rest of the world around him.
With reluctance, he pulls away. "I'm sorry. I've been wanting to do that all day."
She laughs a little in the bellows of her throat, "you're not sorry."
"I'm not sorry," he agrees. "Do you want me to be sorry?"
"No," she answers truthfully. Her hands find his chest and slide to the buttons on his jacket, fingers circling the bone of them. He smirks and she feels it in her bones, the warmth from her head to her toes; she hates that he makes her feel so many things at once. She's never stopped to think about all of the things he's made her feel over the years, but she's beginning to think that this one comes naturally. "I don't know how to tell you what I want."
She takes a step away from him but grasps his jacket to pull him further inside. He doesn't completely understand. She's been telling him what she wants for years. "I don't understand. You've been telling me what you want for years."
"This is different."
"Donna," he says. He's annoyed. She knows that he's annoyed and that isn't what she wants. She wants a lot of things that she doesn't know how to convey to him.
To save herself the trouble, she kisses him again. Not that she would necessarily call anything with him trouble. (Correction: she'd probably call everything with him trouble but in a different way.) She kisses him with a passion that she has been unable to convey with words, with her thoughts on her lips and her voice on her tongue. She sweeps her tongue over his slightly parted lips like she's asking him to meet her halfway.
He does.
He kisses her back with equal desire, with his thumbs pressing into her hips and his mouth pressing so hard against hers that she feels like he may bruise them. The shirt that she's wearing slips over her shoulder, exposes her skin so delicately that she almost believes that it didn't even happen for a moment. She thinks that there are so many things going on in her head - where his hands are, where his mouth is, that thing he's doing with his tongue, the way his knee slide between her thighs, the quiet growl in the back of his throat, the ghost of him surrounding her like it's ended too soon and it isn't even over yet - that she can't even focus on the possibilities of what could happen. Her guard is down and she is exposed for him, nerves bare and begging for him.
He pulls her to him, the pressure of his thigh pressing against her. She shivers a little at the contact, at the way that his hands circle her waist. (My, what big hands he has, she thinks absently.) His tongue slides against hers, touches is lightly and passionately at the same time, and part of her wonders why they haven't done this all along. Years ago they could have given in to their desires. They could have ignored the lines they silently set for themselves. They spent so many years actively avoiding how they really felt and pretending that whatever it is they are doing was never something that existed.
Harvey keeps telling her that she's thinking too much, but she isn't quite sure it's a bad thing. They have so much at stake. She doesn't want to lose her job, her friend or the time that she has with Theo. He is practically her child. She doesn't feel like she is just babysitting someone else's child when she's with him and she hasn't for years – not since he was 8. It's those thoughts that hold her back from being with a man that she probably loves, that she will probably love for the rest of her life. But it's also those thoughts that make her believe there isn't anything in the world that is more right than being with him.
She wants to berate herself for being so optimistic, for believing that after a week this could possibly mean something to him. She wants to believe that he wouldn't start this with her unless he was willing to work at it, willing to work at it forever, but she wants to believe a lot of things. She wants to believe that the concept of love is enough. Not that she loves him. Not that she doesn't.
She whimpers when his mouth finds her neck, teeth nipping at her heartbeat in her throat and lips sliding against her skin. It's unlike anything she's ever felt and part of her can't help wondering if it's because it has taken so long for them to get to this point. Her breath speeds up as his hands press against her, gentle but demanding at the same time. She can feel his erection growing.
She whispers his name into the air. It's so quiet that she almost doesn't hear it. He only slows his movement, holds her against him with his hands without allowing her to move. She doesn't want to move, not if it will make him stop. She worries that they are doing too much too fast.
(Work will be great with the saw you naked looks that will pass between them.)
"Bedroom," she mumbles.
He seems surprised to hear the encouragement but it doesn't slow him down one bit. He slides his fingers between hers and pulls back to look at her, to see it in her eyes before he makes the journey to her bedroom. He doesn't want to force her. He supposes that's probably what has kept him from admitting anything to her all along. They've both been thinking too much – she isn't alone in that aspect. He lets her make the final decision and makes love to her without saying so out loud.