Espionage

Donna stiffens, breathing in sharply as she tries to imagine being somewhere else—shopping on Fifth Avenue, laying on a beach, crowded in the subway—anywhere that isn't the shallow nook Harvey had manhandled her into. He has one arm clutched around her ribs, the other hovering at her waist, trying to obstruct their view from the camera now pointed in their direction. The piece of equipment had suddenly sprung to life, sweeping her and Harvey's only route to the exit, and leaving them trapped until it moves again. Although they hadn't found anything to aid in his case, they are still trespassing, and adrenaline numbs her embarrassment as she wriggles back into a space that doesn't exist.

"Donna, relax." He squeezes her, proving they're as close as physically possible—willing her to stop moving. There's only millimeters separating them from the security device, but he's in danger of getting caught for a different reason, and he tilts his head, trying to angle away from the scent of her perfume tickling his senses.

"Easy for you to say." The last time she'd been captured on a feed she'd almost been charged with a felony, and it's not his face that's closest to the corridor.

"Not if you keep squirming like that," he mumbles.

The comment vibrates with a low warning and she freezes instantly, heat flushing her cheeks, until she feels his smirk bristle her ear, and for Christ's sake—really. "We're about to get arrested and you're making jokes… What is wrong with you?"

He's tempted to tell her he isn't exactly joking. Grabbing her had been instinctive. He hadn't thought about his arm landing squashed beneath her breasts as he'd hauled them back. But now it's wedged snugly in place, tight enough to feel the underwire of her bra, his imagination filling with visions of delicate red lace and hardening, rosy nipples he wants to give his attention to. He's screwed, but not in the rewarding way his desire is responding to. "You said you wanted to get out of the office," he counters, hoping if she's pissed off, she won't notice the bulge in his pants threatening to make itself known.

"This isn't what I had in mind." She swallows thickly, trying to determine if his thumb is actually moving or if she's imaging the barely detectable circling motion at her hip. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not Mike, and orange really isn't my color."

"Believe me, I know." He snorts, willing the damn camera to move again. If he was pressed this intimately up against Mike, he'd be having an incredibly different reaction, and he tries to think of prison, baseball, Louis—anything else.

Her eyes widen at the sudden, additional presence sprouting to life between them—and shit. She doesn't know whether to point out the extra invasion of space or ignore the 'situation', but goosebumps flare across her skin in response to the growing problem. She'd once told him he was obviously capable of seeing her in that way, and with literally nowhere he can run, she pulls her lip between her mouth with a curious hum.

He inwardly groans at the noise. She doesn't have to say anything. He might spend a lot of time claiming to be ignorant, but he knows her looks, sounds and gestures by heart, the actions having been ingrained into his memory over the years, and he answers before she has a chance to ask. "I'm human, Donna."

She gives a faint nod, almost forgetting how close she is to being outed by the security system, and she quickly jerks her head back, but he instinctively moves out of the way, sinking his chin into her shoulder to avoid the collision. She doesn't understand how they can be so in sync in some ways, and out of tune in others, but she knows he'd be hard pressed to deny how well they fit together—literally. "Is that really all it is?"

There's no judgment or anger lacing her tone. It's a simple question, but that doesn't mean there aren't consequences to answering. So he takes a second, weighs up all their arguments, his fear of losing her, the line he'd thought she'd made clear from day one, and he flirts with the danger of accessing what he probably shouldn't. "You know it isn't, Donna."

She feels his mouth flutter at her neck, the sensation of a kiss so light that maybe she imagined it, and she closes her eyes, everything she wants bubbling up in her throat when he's suddenly moving.

"Donna, go."

Realising the camera is rotating, she pulls from his arms, her heels clicking loudly as she rushes ahead of him, but he catches up quickly, his hand falling to the small of her back, and the touch sends shivers down her spine as they weave their way to the main entrance.

They slow their steps as they reach reception, so as not to cause suspicion, and her heart thunders when they breach the daylight outside, safe from being discovered, but his face is flushed, already piecing together an excuse, and she mirrors his words from earlier. "Harvey, relax."

She knows by now, backing him into a corner—figuratively and literally—only ends one way, and she gives him an out, saving him from having to break any walls to escape.

She turns, presumably to hail a cab and let the matter go, but he catches her wrist, delivering her earlier response back. "It's not that easy."

Her heart skips a beat, not sure which piece on the board he's moving, until he tugs her closer, his mouth covering hers and his lips wrapping around everything they both want.

He clasps her waist, inhaling all the mistakes he's made in the past, and breathing it out again as he grips her tighter. When he dares to surface for air, he knows that this time he's done with second guessing himself.

"Completely incorporate."

He startles as an older woman glares at them, ruining the moment, but Donna's soft smile steers him away from the interruption, and a grin spreads across his face."How about we go be inappropriate back at my place?"

She searches his gaze, wondering what's changed, but instead of questioning him, she lets her heart guide everything she's sensing. "You sure?"

He nods, slipping his hand down to hold hers, and raising an eyebrow. "I'm a man in serious need."

A laugh catches in her throat, reading into the double entendre, at least half of the evidence still presenting itself, and she tries to fight her amusement but can't. "You're an idiot."

"I was," he says, growing more seriously. "Not anymore."

He bends down, and she smiles into his kiss.

They might not be signing up for the CIA anytime soon, but out of all the ways their little espionage mission could have ended, she's confident they can both deem it a complete success.