A/N: Rate M
Epilogue – Part 1
I
Donna wakes to a quiet, still morning.
It's the kind of quiet that settles in a house just before dawn. A rare calm. She stretches lazily, limbs unfurling. The sheets are cool against her bare legs and she shivers, the early spring chill still clinging to the penthouse. Her gaze drifts to the window, toward the first faint hints of sunlight peeking over the skyline. It's going to be a beautiful day.
She shifts her focus to the other side of the bed, to the empty space beside her. A pang of wistfulness flickers in her chest before she tamps it down. Or attempts to, anyway. It's getting harder to ignore the gnawing ache when Harvey's not by her side, even if the rational part of her brain understands his absence.
Slowly, she rises and heads toward the kitchen. She finds Harvey's sweater hanging on the back of the couch, exactly where he left it the previous night, and slips it on. It envelopes her, warm and cozy, the familiar smell of him filling her senses. She can't help but smile.
He is everywhere in this place. His belongings mingle with hers. Books, movies, the record player, even his taste in art graces the walls. Their lives have been thoroughly intertwined, blended to such a degree that she can no longer separate her from him, the boundaries between their individual homes blurring until the distinction feels arbitrary.
It happened gradually, and not entirely by design. They'd spent the first several months after Donna resigned – the entire pregnancy, really – apart, only seeing each other at doctor's appointments and ultrasounds. They were tentative and nervous, both unsure of their boundaries and the best way forward, neither wanting to do anything to jeopardize their delicate balance. They were healing, separately, but together, too. Working on themselves. On being honest and present with one another.
Those early months after leaving the firm were some of the most difficult Donna's ever faced. She had been so consumed by her identity as Harvey's secretary, as a part of Pearson Specter Litt, that stripping it all away left her feeling empty and adrift. She had to relearn how to exist outside of Harvey's sphere, to make choices solely for her own interests rather than factoring his wants and needs into every equation.
She dug deep, peeled back layers upon layers of repressed trauma, childhood wounds, and denial. It was an excruciating process of self discovery. There were days she didn't think she could do it, that she would forever be stunted in a suspended state of arrested development.
But she worked through it, with therapy and her own stubborn determination. She filled the emptiness with other pursuits – hobbies, friends, travel. She grieved the loss of the connection she believed she'd had with Harvey and rebuilt herself from the ground up. Rediscovered her identity and sense of self-worth. Allowed herself to dream new dreams untethered from his.
And Harvey…God, Harvey. He gave her the space she needed. He didn't push, didn't make demands. He simply showed up, steady and supportive, letting her find her own way while making it clear he wasn't going anywhere. That they were together in this, even if it meant being apart.
In a lot of ways, their separation was the healthiest thing that could have happened. Because somewhere in that long, arduous journey, something profound shifted in how she saw Harvey. The dense fog of anxious attachment, sacrifice, and control started to dissipate. She came to view him as an equal. Not as a savior, or a crutch, or a means for validation. She stopped looking at him through the lens of her own fears and anxieties and recognized him for the complex, flawed, beautiful man that he is.
And the desperation, the fear of losing him, the tangled ties that had bound them for so long...it all faded away. And in its place, love reemerged. Deeper and more authentic. Less driven by survival instinct and trauma and more by conscious choice. A calm love. Peaceful. Like the rolling waves of the ocean or the endless stretch of the horizon. It's the kind of love that builds with every conversation, every revelation, every decision they make as a united front. There are no expectations. No pressure, no tension. No games or drama.
And it felt right. Natural. Like it was always meant to be, but they'd gotten it wrong all those years before.
Then the baby came, and her whole world turned upside down all over again.
Harvey was no longer a distant presence. He was in her home, taking care of her, helping her through the final trimester, the birth, the newborn exhaustion and insanity. It was messy and intense. Beautiful and terrifying. And made infinitely easier to bear having Harvey there with her.
It is a profound thing, watching the man she loves so wholly step up, fully present and committed. All the drive and focus he put into his legal career and image, he now pours into their little family. He has embraced being a father, his love so intense, so protective and fierce, it can be almost intimidating. She has watched him grow and change, transform before her very eyes, and every day, she is filled with a mixture of awe and pride.
He has proven, in every possible way, that he is ready for this, for them. And Donna has found she is too.
Which is why the emptiness beside her when she wakes this morning is becoming especially difficult to swallow. Because it's not a lack of commitment, or fear or uncertainty. It's just that they aren't quite there yet. They haven't crossed the final line. They've been toeing the boundary, but the moment to fully bridge the gap hasn't arrived.
Donna knows it will, though. And soon. She can feel the shift happening between them, the energy building, anticipation humming along her skin. Something is changing. She can't explain it or pinpoint precisely what is different. Only that the air is charged with some unseen force, pulling them forward.
It will happen. They will cross that final line. When they are ready, and on their terms. Until then, she is content knowing they are exactly where they are meant to be.
Coffee percolating, Donna retrieves her tablet from the counter and taps the screen, pulling up the feed from Harvey's apartment. The image resolves, revealing a dimly lit nursery. There, nestled in the crib, lies her sleeping son, tiny face half buried in the crook of his arm, blonde hair tousled.
Relief floods Donna's chest, the ever present tension she carries easing slightly at the sight of Reggie safe and resting peacefully. Even now, nearly a year since he was born, she finds herself overcome by the urge to simply watch him breathe, to witness the rise and fall of his little body and revel in the fact that he exists, that he is whole and alive and...everything.
He is everything.
Donna swallows against the tightness in her throat as her gaze drifts over his features—the delicate slope of his nose, the bow of his lips, his thick dark lashes fanned against his rounded cheeks, the hint of stubborn determination etched into his tiny face, even in sleep…all Harvey. Her chest constricts with a profound sense of wonder—of incredulity that this beautiful boy is hers. Theirs. It is remarkable, still, that something so perfect and beautiful could exist after all the pain and fear she's carried.
Her fingers trace the edges of the tablet, following the curve of his cheek. She's tempted to go to him, to press a kiss to his forehead and inhale his soft scent, feel the weight and warmth of him in her arms, but she refrains. He will no doubt be awake soon, eager for attention, and she has a few more tasks to accomplish before then.
Besides, he's in good hands.
Donna switches off the tablet and sets it aside. The coffee maker sputters its final gasp and she grabs a mug from the cupboard, filling it before sliding onto a barstool. Steam rises in lazy spirals. She takes a careful sip, then opens her laptop, answering emails and going over next week's agenda, the only work she allows herself on a Sunday. When the sun crests over the horizon, painting the penthouse in warm, golden light, she closes the computer and pours another cup of coffee into an insulated mug, adding two sugars and a splash of vanilla before securing the lid.
She checks on Reggie one more time - still out, the lucky boy - then slips from her penthouse, crossing the hallway to the apartment two doors down. Using her key, she lets herself into the foyer.
It's quiet inside. She moves silently through the hall and into the kitchen, leaving the travel mug in the center of the island. Then she heads down the corridor, coming to a stop in the doorway to the nursery.
Reggie is stirring now, his dark eyes blinking open as he slowly emerges from sleep. He makes a soft sound, stretching his chubby little arms, then his eyes land on Donna. He breaks into a sleepy smile, reaching toward her, fingers flexing.
"Hi, sweet boy," she whispers, crossing the room. She lifts him from the crib and he snuggles into her, pressing his face into her neck. His small body is warm and pliant, limbs still heavy with sleep. She kisses the crown of his head, his soft blonde hair tickling her nose. "How'd you sleep?"
He babbles incoherently, a slight scowl on his face. She imagines his disappointment, waking to find he's no longer wrapped in daddy's arms. Donna chuckles. "Yeah, me too."
Reggie pulls back, gazing at her with bright, adoring eyes. She can't help but grin, her heart melting a little as she reaches up and gently runs her thumb across his velvety cheek. God, she loves this kid. This beautiful, peaceful, inquisitive boy with his father's smile and his constant stream of observations, as if there isn't a thing he sees or thinks or feels that isn't interesting. Alice was wild and fiery, always jumping in head first, but Reggie seems more content to observe and let the world unfold in quiet wonder. The yang to his sister's yin. Two different halves of her whole.
A quiet sadness seeps through Donna at the thought, sadness that she knows will never fully fade, but instead evolve, becoming a bittersweet acknowledgment of the incredible force that was her daughter. A wave of gratitude crests alongside the sorrow, for the indelible imprint Alice left in her life, for the life she's living now, a life where Reggie gets to grace the planet with his presence. A life that she never could have imagined a year ago, and yet there is no other place she would rather be. No other reality that fits.
Reggie has noticed her wandering thoughts. He runs a small hand over the fabric of her sweater, tugs on her necklace, then meets her eye. There seems to be concern in his serious expression. His arm lifts and pudgy fingers land on the curve of her cheek, testing the dip in the same way she was stroking his. As if trying to glean the source of her distraction.
"I'm okay, baby," she tells him gently. "Sometimes when I look at you I just feel...so lucky." She catches his little palm in hers, brings it to her mouth and presses a kiss there. "I love you."
The genuine distress melts from his expression at her words, the bright smile returning. He bounces in her arms, impatient and excited all at once. He wants to start the day, to explore and play and eat. She smiles against his warm hand. "Okay, okay. Let's get you dressed."
Quickly, she changes his diaper and puts on a clean set of clothes. Reggie is easily wrangled this morning, fully compliant and even cooperating, as if sensing the big day ahead.
"Alright," she says, lifting him onto her hip. "Let's go wake up that lazy old dad of yours."
She grabs the insulated mug from the counter and crosses the living room, making her way to the master bedroom. The door is open, the room shrouded in darkness. Her lips quirk at the corner at the motionless lump in the middle of the bed. Harvey is sprawled on his back, one arm flung above his head, sheets tangled around his waist.
She leans against the door frame, holding Reggie close and watching him sleep for a moment. Her eyes sweep the length of him, drinking in his form — the bare skin and muscle exposed above the sheet, his broad chest and defined shoulders. The unguarded slackness of his features. His dark lashes grazing his cheekbones, mouth slightly parted.
Her heart clenches, a sharp burst of longing twisting in her gut. It would be so easy to slide in beside him, to crawl into the warm circle of his arms, to run her hands along his body, to kiss a line down the ridge of his jaw. To take him into her and get lost in the feel and taste of him. God, she wants him. So damn much. It's a physical ache so fierce it would terrify her if she didn't know the feeling so intimately.
But now is not the time. And she won't allow her impatience or desire rush their progress.
She takes a deep breath, clearing her mind, then she steps into the room, depositing the mug safely on the nightstand before sinking onto the mattress next to him. "Harvey," she murmurs, hand drifting to squeeze his bicep. "C'mon, sleeping beauty. Time to wake up."
Harvey stirs, a soft groan escaping his lips, the sheet sliding lower as he stretches, revealing the hard planes of his abdomen. Donna's fingers itch to follow the contour of his muscles, but she curls them into a fist, fighting the urge.
Slowly, he blinks awake, eyes settling on her.
"Donna,'" he says, voice rough with sleep. "Everything okay?"
"Everything's fine." She curves her palm over his stubbled cheek, savoring the slight rasp of evening growth against her skin. "I would've let you sleep, but we promised Mike and Rachel we'd met them at ten."
He manages a slow nod, some of the sleepiness clearing from his expression. He covers her hand with his own, pressing it more firmly to his face, the intimacy of the contact not lost on either of them.
It's been like this lately. Little touches, more care and attention. Stolen glances and lingering hugs. Their resistance crumbling by increments.
"Plus," she says lightly, withdrawing her hand, "your son is ready for breakfast, and we both know how disappointed he'd be if I had to cook it."
His gaze slides from her to the child in her arms. His expression shifts, something soft and warm filtering into his eyes. He smiles. "Hey, buddy."
She can't look away. There is something utterly captivating about watching him watch Reggie, features swimming with open adoration. There's an obvious vulnerability there. An eager openness to his features that highlights just how serious fatherhood is for him. That reminds her what a wonderful gift he's given her in being a present, attentive parent and building a genuine connection with his son. It's all she ever wanted, once the initial hurdles had been navigated, to know that the man Reggie will come to know as his father is the genuine article – devoted, selfless, everything she could have dreamed for her child and more.
Reggie squirms, babbling something unintelligible, head swiveling toward the source of his father's rumbling baritone. His face splits into a wide, drooling grin, showing off all eight of his teeth. Harvey chuckles and reaches out.
"C'mere," he murmurs, voice gentle, his long fingers wiggling invitingly.
Donna shifts Reggie in her arms, passing him over. The boy lunges, scrambling across the distance. Harvey's arms engulf him, tugging him to his chest. Reggie lets out a happy laugh and squishes his face against his father's bare skin, rubbing his cheeks back and forth as he snuggles.
"Morning, kiddo," he says, the affection in his voice so apparent, so earnest.
A flutter fills Donna's belly. It's not a new feeling, this rush of warmth and pleasure that floods her every time she witnesses them together, but the intensity is still enough to surprise her. This life she's stumbled into after believing all was lost…it still doesn't feel real some days. It doesn't seem possible, after everything. And yet here they are, co-parenting and living across the hall from each other. Nightly family dinners and weekend outings. Raising Reggie together, side by side, with an ease and understanding Donna never would have predicted.
They've come such a long way in the past year. Together, as a team. All these months of sharing chores, drifting between their two penthouses, raising a child in this unique circumstance — for all the careful plans and cautious negotiation, she finds herself constantly surprised by the unexpected layers of love and companionship revealed, the deepening connection and sense of shared purpose that has grown organically over the months.
It's a strange, wonderful new world. She has everything you could ever want, and yet…
It's still not quite enough.
As if sensing her thoughts, Harvey looks at her, an expression she can't quite decipher flickering through his eyes. Something intense and questioning. A tingle rolls down her spine, goosebumps breaking out along her arms. The moment stretches, loaded with a thousand unspoken things as their eyes hold. She feels that magnetic pull, the familiar tug low in her belly that tells her it's only a matter of time, that this thing between them is a question of when and not if. And there is no sense of panic or fear at the possibility. Only quiet certainty, a spark of thrill and an ever-growing sense of inevitability.
Reggie seems to notice the shift between them, the change in the air. He shifts on Harvey's chest, lifting his head, brow puckering curiously. "Mama," he says, in a tone that sounds suspiciously like an admonishment. A subtle chiding of, 'Stop distracting my dad and leave us to our cuddle time.'
"Okay, okay." She gives in, rising from the bed, a grin pulling at the corners of her mouth. "I can take a hint."
She picks up the insulated mug, handing it to Harvey. "You want me to get started on breakfast?"
He shakes his head, sitting up and shifting Reggie higher on his chest. "Nah, I've got it this morning. Go relax for a bit. I'll meet you in the kitchen."
She nods and heads for the door.
"Hey," he calls after her. She turns to find him smiling. "That sweater looks good on you."
"Yeah?"
His gaze rakes her form appreciatively. "Yeah."
She bites her lip, heat unfurling low in her belly, heart skipping. She wants him. Badly. So badly. It takes all her self control not to walk straight back to the bed, to climb onto his lap and straddle him, to finally feel him again. To show him just how much he means to her, and to prove, once and for all, that she is ready, that there is nothing holding them back.
"Maybe I'll keep it, then," she says, turning toward the door before she can do something foolish, like jump him right in front of their child. "See you in a few."
She slips from the room, shutting the door behind her, and leans against the wall, closing her eyes. A small, private smile tugs at her mouth.
Yes. Definitely inevitable.
II
The Coney Island boardwalk is packed. They weave their way through crowds of people, past the rows of carnival games and food stalls. Children race by, squealing with delight. The sun is shining overhead, the air cool but not chilly. Harvey adjusts Reggie on his hip, the boy wriggling in his arms, eager to join the masses. He slows his pace, letting him take it all in. Reggie points at the people walking past, at the cotton candy stands, the roller coaster in the distance. He turns his gaze to the sky, eyes following the seagulls swooping above.
"What do you think, champ?" Harvey asks, leaning in. "Pretty cool, huh?"
Reggie's response is a round of exuberant babbling, his tiny hands slapping Harvey's chest, pointing at everything and nothing. He's wearing the biggest smile, the one that shows off all his teeth, his eyes alight with wonder. Harvey can't help but mirror the expression.
He's been doing a lot of that lately, smiling for no reason. The kind of grin that pulls involuntarily from the core of him, a lightness filling his chest.
"I'll take that as a yes," he says, giving Reggie a squeeze.
Harvey glances at Donna, walking beside him, and catches her staring, a strange sort of half smile playing at her lips.
"What?"
She shrugs. "Nothing."
He quirks an eyebrow, giving her a knowing look. He recognizes that expression. It's one she's been wearing all day. "No, c'mon. What is it?"
Her lips curve a little higher, then she reaches for him. Her palm slides around his shoulder and she leans in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "It's nothing," she repeats, pulling back. "Just...I'm happy, is all."
He lifts his free arm and drapes it across her shoulders, pulling her to his side.
"Yeah," he says softly, glancing between her and Reggie. "Me too."
They walk on in silence, the noise of the boardwalk fading behind them, the crowd thinning the further they move from the center of the amusement park. The sound of crashing waves fills the air and the salty ocean breeze whips across the sand in the distance.
He watches Donna as they walk, unable to look away. She's breathtaking, always, but the way the sunlight is playing across her features, the glow of contentment emanating from her, the way her eyes are shining with joy and peace—it's enough to steal his breath.
Her words echo in his head.
I'm happy, is all.
He is too. God, he is. Happier than he's ever been.
"Donna."
She stops and turns to him, eyebrows lifted in question. "Hm?"
He drops his hand to her waist, pulling her closer. Reggie reaches for her and she takes him, shifting his weight in her arms. Harvey doesn't let go, though, and suddenly he is holding them both, standing in the middle of the walkway, staring at her, at this woman he loves, the mother of his child.
His family.
And he just...
He doesn't know how he got here. How any of this is real. He never thought he would have a life like this. Not after the way he was raised, the choices he made, the person he became. Yet, here he is. And it's incredible. Beyond anything he ever imagined for himself.
His chest tightens. His throat feels thick. He stares at her, unable to speak.
It must be written all over his face, because Donna's eyes go soft. Her free hand drifts to his chest. She doesn't need him to say anything. She knows. She always knows.
"Yeah," she whispers. "Me too."
And he can only imagine the expression on his own face, the sheer, naked longing in his eyes, because Donna's gaze flicks down, toward his lips, and she draws in a short, unsteady breath. Harvey leans forward, dipping his head—
"There you guys are!"
Mike's voice cuts through the air and Harvey pauses, inches from Donna's mouth. They turn in unison to find Mike and Rachel a short distance away, walking toward them.
Harvey sighs. He straightens, giving Donna's waist a squeeze. "We'll finish this later."
She nods. There is a promise in the look she gives him, one that has him wanting to take her hand and haul her off somewhere private, immediately. "Counting on it."
Rachel and Mike close the distance, both grinning. "We thought you'd stood us up." Mike slings an arm around Rachel, who has already scooped Reggie from Harvey's arms. She presses kisses to his cheeks and nose, eliciting a happy giggle, before settling him against her hip.
"No," Donna says, "but it was close."
"She insisted on changing the kid's outfit four times," Harvey explains. "Apparently it's a fine line between too cold and too hot. He can't be seen wearing something he's worn before, and gamboge is not his color."
"Okay." Donna crosses her arms. "It was two outfits, and the real reason we are late is because Harvey decided to have a nap after breakfast."
Harvey rolls his eyes, though his mouth twitches with the effort not to smile. "You say that like I'm some kind of layabout."
"I mean..." She raises her brows at him. "You certainly are a man of leisure compared to the old days."
Mike makes a face. "A man of leisure and a pain in my ass. That motion you denied on Friday —"
"Was a reach," Harvey says. "And you're welcome."
"For what? For screwing me over?"
"For saving you the embarrassment of presenting your crap case."
"You're a real bastard, you know that?"
"Hey." Donna moves to step between them, fixing Mike with a stern look. "Harvey was doing his job, and you need to watch your mouth in front of my kid."
Mike's eyes go wide. "Sorry," he says quickly. "But you keep saying we're hemorrhaging money and his pettiness isn't helping."
Hemorrhaging money? It's a struggle not to react to that statement. It's a rule that they agreed to when she resigned, that there are certain things they will avoid discussing — work, primarily. It was too easy, and too tempting, to fall back into old patterns, and they needed the line drawn. They have a life outside their careers now, and they have to protect that.
He glances at Donna. Her expression is calm, but he can see the tension in her shoulders. She doesn't meet his eye.
"Let's table the work talk," Rachel suggests. She smiles at Reggie. "It's a beautiful day. Let's enjoy it."
"She's right." Harvey claps a hand on Mike's shoulder. "We can discuss your inadequacies later."
He catches Donna's eye and tilts his head in silent question. Is everything okay?
She gives him a subtle nod. Everything's fine.
Mike and Rachel head down the midway, Reggie sandwiched between them. Harvey falls into step beside Donna, and she slips her hand in his, giving him a gentle squeeze. He smiles at her, his thumb grazing the back of her palm, and her features soften. She leans against him, her head resting briefly against his shoulder, a wordless assurance that whatever is going on, they will work through it.
They catch up with Mike and Rachel, the four of them walking along the boardwalk, chatting and laughing. Mike and Harvey fall into their usual back and forth, the Mets, basketball and baseball season predictions, and the latest courtroom gossip. They bicker, like always, but it's good natured, easy. Rachel and Donna talk quietly, their voices hushed and intimate, heads bowed toward one another.
Reggie is still tucked in Rachel's arms, his hands reaching for Donna's hair, the red strands sliding between his fingers. She grins and plants a kiss on his cheek, and Harvey's heart gives a little tug, the sight of her and their son together never failing to send a rush of affection coursing through him.
Mike notices the exchange and turns his attention to Harvey, expression thoughtful.
"I gotta tell you, man. I didn't think this would ever happen. You, the family man, having picnics on the beach, raising a kid. I always thought you'd stay the bachelor king forever."
"That makes two of us."
"So..." Mike trails off, watching Rachel and Donna again, then, "Are you two official now, or..."
Harvey's brow furrows, his gaze dropping to Donna's hand entwined in his. They've only recently started doing this. The casual, simple touches. He still feels a jolt of surprise every time she reaches for him, a thrill racing down his spine when her body presses against his. He keeps waiting for the shock to wear off, for the novelty to fade, but instead the desire only seems to intensify.
But it's not like they're dating.
He can't exactly put a label on their relationship. They aren't boyfriend and girlfriend. They don't talk about exclusivity, or where this is going. They're just...them. Together, always, and yet somehow apart.
He knows they need to discuss their future. It's been long enough now that they can't pretend this isn't serious. It's an elephant they've both been carefully sidestepping. Maybe it's a lingering fear of screwing it all up again. Maybe it's the comfort and ease they've fallen into. Maybe they've grown so accustomed to being together that they haven't even noticed they aren't actually together.
"We're working on it," is all he can offer, and Mike nods, seeming to understand.
They fall silent. Ahead, Rachel has paused in front of one of the game booths - a pitching game, it looks like, a wall lined with bottles - and Reggie is straining toward the stuffed animals hanging from the ceiling. His little hand reaches out, a string of nonsense words falling from his mouth.
Donna turns and catches Harvey's eye, a smirk forming on her lips. "Think you still got it in you?" she asks, nodding to the booth.
"I always got it in me."
She lifts a challenging brow, her smile widening. "Well, let's see it then."
Harvey releases her hand and steps forward, slipping his wallet from his pocket. He passes the vendor a ten and the man retrieves five baseballs and sets them on the counter. Harvey picks one up, testing the weight.
"How about a bet?" he asks, rolling his shoulders and warming up his pitching arm.
"A bet?" Mike scoffs. "This is a carnival game, not the World Series."
Harvey ignores him, keeping his gaze trained on Donna. She's still smiling, amused, clearly enjoying herself. She glances at Reggie, bouncing excitedly in Rachel's arms, then her eyes find his again.
"I'm listening."
"If I can knock down all five bottles, you have to kiss me."
Mike snorts, a quiet 'oh boy' slipping from his lips, while Donna's eyebrows lift, a hint of surprise in her expression.
"Wow," she says. "Pretty bold of you to assume I'd be a good prize."
"Oh, I know you're good." His eyes rake her body, a deliberate, suggestive sweep. "Best I ever had."
She shakes her head, grinning. "And if you don't knock them all down?"
"I'll buy you that Ferragamo handbag you've been eyeing."
"The limited edition?"
"The limited edition."
"That's a lot of money for one kiss."
"Worth every penny."
Her lips twitch, the expression in her eyes shifting from amusement to something more serious. "Alright. I'm in."
Harvey nods, turning his attention to the row of bottles. He shifts his stance, taking a deep breath, and draws back. His arm whips forward. The ball flies through the air, striking the target dead center with an audible crack.
Another crack sounds as a second target drops. Then a third. And a fourth.
The fifth target teeters, the bottle wobbling for a moment, then it too drops.
Mike lets out a low whistle.
Harvey turns to Donna, smirking.
She blinks, a slow smile tugging at her lips.
"Show off," she says. Then she's crossing the distance, her palms cupping his jaw and pulling him toward her. She kisses him, and there is nothing tentative about the press of her mouth, no sense of restraint or hesitation. It's a full kiss, open mouthed, her tongue sliding against his. She kisses him like she has every intention of doing a lot more if not for the audience.
He kisses her back, unable to stop himself. He wraps his arms around her, drawing her flush against his chest. Heat flares, a white hot burst of pleasure racing down his spine, and he has to swallow a groan.
She is the one to break away, pressing her forehead to his.
"Not bad," she says. "You still got some game left in you."
"Oh, there's plenty more where that came from."
She laughs. "I bet."
He doesn't release her, his arms tightening around her waist, his eyes dropping to her mouth. He's tempted to kiss her again, to keep kissing her, for the rest of the afternoon, the rest of the day. For the foreseeable future. He could live and die with his lips pressed against hers.
There is a quiet cough, and they turn.
Mike and Rachel are standing a few feet away, expressions ranging from amusement to discomfort.
"Finally," Mike mutters, a wry smile twisting his mouth. "I mean, really, it's been long enough."
"Right?" Rachel says. "I was wondering how long we were going to have to watch them circle each other today."
Harvey opens his mouth to defend himself, but is cut off by Reggie, who is squirming and reaching for him, demanding his share of the attention. Harvey takes the boy and hoists him up toward the line of stuffed animals. "Alright, sport, pick your poison."
Reggie stares up at the brightly colored animals, his dark eyes roving over each one. Harvey waits patiently, watching his son study the choices, knowing Reggie won't make a decision until he's carefully considered all the options. It's the same process for everything — dinner, toys, activities, bedtime stories — every choice is met with careful deliberation, a full analysis before he commits to anything. The kid is methodical and deliberate. It's such a stark contrast to how he was created, to the whirlwind of emotions and impulsiveness that was the night he was conceived, as if the universe took all the passion and urgency from that evening and channeled it into a single soul meant to balance out all the recklessness and indecision of the parents who brought him into the world.
Reggie's chubby hand shoots into the air and lands on the foot of a giant stuffed panda. "Bah," he says, tugging on Harvey's collar and pointing at the animal. "Dada. Bah."
"The panda?" Harvey turns to Donna. "He wants the panda."
Donna smiles, stepping close and wrapping her arms around Harvey's waist. She rests her chin on his shoulder, gazing at their son. "Go on then, daddy. Make it so."
Harvey hands the bear to Reggie, who immediately presses his face into the soft material, mouth wide open, tiny teeth and gums biting into the toy. He lets out a squeal, the sound muffled, then looks up and beams at Harvey, an expression of pure delight, a look so happy that it sends a sharp surge of love and protectiveness coursing through him.
He thinks of every baseball trophy he's ever won, every award and promotion and accolade. Of every victory and accomplishment. None of it holds a candle to the simple, uninhibited joy in his son's eyes, or the knowledge that he was the cause of it.
Donna must feel it too, because she hugs him a little tighter, burrowing into his side. She brushes a kiss across his cheek.
"You did good, dad," she whispers.
He closes his eyes, savoring the moment, the warmth of Donna's body pressed to his, the feeling of contentment washing over him. The realization that, for the first time in his life, he truly has it all.
Well, almost.
III
They spend the day exploring the boardwalk, wandering the carnival, stopping for hot dogs and ice creams, and then finally settling on the beach to watch the sun sink lower and lower over the water.
Donna stretches out on a blanket, the sand cool beneath her, a soft breeze playing with the hem of her sundress. She gazes at the sky, the deep blue slowly fading into a wash of oranges and reds. The ocean crashes against the shore, the scent of saltwater filling the air. A few feet away, Mike and Harvey are crouched in the sand, building an elaborate sandcastle under Reggie's careful supervision. She listens to their playful banter, the laughter and good-natured insults, and smiles to herself.
"I can't believe Reg is going to be one next month." Rachel's voice comes from beside her, the woman leaning back on her elbows. "It feels like yesterday that we were all crowded into that hospital room."
"I know." Donna shifts, resting her head against Rachel's shoulder. "Feels like I blinked and everything changed."
"In a good way, though."
"A very good way."
"So," Rachel drawls, a smile in her voice. "You and Harvey..."
"Are still taking it slow," Donna says. "But...I don't know. Something's changing. It feels different."
"Different how?"
"Like, more purposeful. Like maybe we've finally stopped fooling ourselves, and we're ready to admit what this is."
"Which is..."
Donna pauses, a sense of certainty rising in her chest.
"The real thing," she says quietly, the words settling somewhere in her soul, a truth she's been feeling for a while now, one that she hasn't let herself dwell on. But here, now, staring at Harvey, watching him with their son, knowing, without a doubt, that she will never love anyone the way she loves him — it feels right, like the truth has finally caught up with her heart.
Rachel hums. "Finally."
Donna can't help but laugh. "Yeah. Finally."
Rachel leans into her, and they fall into a comfortable silence, content to listen to the waves, and Mike and Harvey's playful arguing.
"So, what's the plan?" Rachel asks after a moment. "For your whole celibacy thing. Not that I don't love your 'I'm so horny I could die' rants, but they're getting a little explicit."
"Hey." Donna nudges her. "My horniness is not a joke."
"I'm not making fun." Rachel grins. "Just, you know, the first few months I could handle, but the longer it goes, the more graphic your fantasies get, and I'm not sure my delicate sensibilities can take much more. I mean, that last text was so detailed I'm not sure I can ever unsee Harvey wearing–"
"Okay, okay." Donna lifts a hand, cutting her off. "You've made your point."
"I'm just saying. Maybe you should revisit your decision. If not for the sake of my sanity, then for the sake of your vagina."
"Oh, trust me." Donna looks across the sand at Harvey again, at the curve of his jaw, the shape of his shoulders. He glances up and catches her eye, a half-smile quirking his mouth. She sighs. "My vagina is very much aware of what it's missing."
"So then –"
"I'm just..." Donna trails off, hesitating.
"What?"
She doesn't answer, still staring at Harvey. He's turned his attention back to their son, helping Reggie bury his feet in the sand, the boy squealing with laughter.
"You're what?" Rachel asks.
"I don't know." Donna turns back to her friend. "It's not even about sex, really. I mean, yeah, obviously, I want it. I want him. God, do I want him."
"But..."
"But I just...I need him to know that I'm not taking this lightly. I've already screwed things up once. And maybe we've moved past it, and maybe he's forgiven me, but that doesn't erase the damage. I want to know that he knows, without a doubt, that this time it's different. That I'm different. I need him to see that he's the one I choose. Not just because we have a child, but because there is no one else. He's it."
"Donna." Rachel's voice is gentle, but firm. "He knows. Anyone with eyes can see how much you love him."
"Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, I don't want him to ever wonder again."
Rachel stares at her, gaze searching her face. "You have a plan, don't you?"
"It's coming together."
"Care to share?"
"Not yet. I have a few more details to sort out."
"But—"
"I promise. You'll be the first to know."
Rachel narrows her eyes, still studying her. Then, finally, she relents.
"Okay."
Donna turns her attention back to the men. They're building an enormous sand mound, a castle wall, by the looks of it. Harvey's sleeves are rolled up, exposing the muscles of his forearms, his hair ruffling in the ocean breeze. He's saying something, smiling down at Reggie, the two of them lost in their own little world. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, feeling a wave of serenity settle over her.
She's not sure how long she stays that way, but when she opens her eyes, it's to find Harvey seated next to her. Rachel is absent, now helping Mike and Reggie fill the castle moat.
Harvey's gazing out at the water, the orange light of the sunset bathing his features. There is a quiet, peaceful expression on his face, his mouth relaxed, his eyes soft. All the years she's known him, she's only seen him look this at ease a handful of times, but lately, she's noticed it more and more.
"Hey," she says.
"Hey." He looks down at her, gaze sweeping her form. "You look comfortable. Enjoying yourself?"
"Very much. You?"
"Yeah, it's a good day." He leans back, resting his weight on his elbows, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "The beach, the sun, my beautiful ex-secretary and an eleven month old. What's not to love?"
"You're leaving out all the hotdogs and cheese fries you ate. I'm pretty sure you've consumed enough calories for a family of five today."
"You can't come to Coney Island and not hit every food stall."
"Clearly."
They smile at each other, and he lays back, stretching out on the blanket. Donna lets herself study him, the way his biceps flex as he tucks his arms behind his head, the subtle ripples of muscle exposed as his shirt rides up, the curve of his hip where the hem of his jeans is pulled low. Before she can stop herself, her hand is moving, fingertips brushing against his abdomen, feeling the smooth warmth of his skin. His eyes drift shut, breath hitching.
"I don't know how you can still eat like a teenager and look the way you do," she says. "I gained five pounds just thinking about those cheese fries."
He says nothing, his breathing gone shallow. She lets her fingers drift a little lower, the tips of her nails tracing the sharp V of his pelvis.
Harvey's lashes flutter, dark eyes meeting hers. "Are you complaining?"
Her hand flattens, spreading out, palm sliding along his skin, his muscles flexing beneath her touch. He lets out a ragged breath, lips parting. Her own breath catches at his response. Like he's barely holding on. Like it's taking everything he has not to grab her and pull her down onto him.
"No," she says, fingers tracing the edge of his jeans. "No complaints."
He's breathing harder now, chest rising and falling. Her fingers drift lower, skimming the waistband, teasing the edge. She's close, so close, to where she wants to be, the desire to push further nearly overwhelming. To reach for the button of his jeans and release it, to slide her hand lower and feel him, hard and ready beneath her fingers, to take him in her fist and stroke, slowly, firmly, until his hips buck and —
Harvey's hand comes down and covers hers. He pulls her fingers away and laces them with his, and then his thumb is stroking her knuckles, a gentle caress, and it's such a sweet, tender touch that it makes her want to cry.
She's an idiot. A horny, ridiculous, lovesick idiot.
"Sorry," she whispers, a sudden, sharp surge of emotion welling in her chest.
"Don't be," he murmurs, lifting their joined hands and pressing a kiss to the back of hers. He gazes at her, the look in his eyes so warm and loving. "Trust me, I don't mind. I'm just not sure Mike and Rachel are prepared to witness whatever would happen if you went any further."
"Right," she says, her voice thick. She can't take her eyes off him, can't stop staring at his lips, the way they pressed against her hand, the thought of that same kiss landing on her mouth, on her neck, lower—
"I'm not going anywhere," he says softly, as if he can read her mind. "There's no rush. We have plenty of time."
She closes her eyes, letting the words wash over her. The certainty in his voice, the unshakable confidence. As if he knows, as well as she does, that the only reason they aren't together right now is because she wants it that way. Because she needs it. Because he's giving her the time and space she needs to process everything, and he's waiting, patiently, for her to be truly ready.
But the truth is, she doesn't need time. Not anymore. She doesn't have a single doubt in her mind. There is no hesitation. No fear. Nothing holding her back. She's never been more certain of anything.
She shifts, turning onto her side and curling against him, her head coming to rest on his chest. He releases her hand and wraps his arm around her, drawing her closer. His chin rests on the top of her head, and they fall into a comfortable silence, watching the sun disappear over the horizon.
She presses a kiss to his chest, just over his heart. "Yeah," she whispers, "we have plenty of time."
IV
Later that night, Harvey is on the couch watching the Knicks vs the Bulls, Reggie snuggled against his chest. The boy is asleep, the rise and fall of his chest steady and even, but his grip on his stuffed panda remains strong.
Donna sits beside him, her legs draped across his lap, her back propped up against the armrest. She's reading a book, but she keeps peeking over the top at Reggie.
"I know," he says, rubbing a hand up and down his son's back. "You think I'm spoiling him. Fostering poor sleeping habits and all that, but the kid wanted to watch the game."
"Uh huh," Donna says, not bothering to hide the amusement in her voice. "And what about when he wakes up at 4 am and demands the same treatment? It's my night with him, you know."
"Five minutes. Then you can kick me out."
"I'm not trying to kick you out." She sets the book down and leans closer. She touches Reggie's hair, gently stroking his head. "I love that you're here. That you choose to spend time with him when you're technically off the clock. It's a good thing."
He should never be 'off the clock' when it comes to his son. He should always be available, ready to jump in at the drop of a hat, to be wherever Reggie is. To make sure his boy is loved and cared for and happy, every moment of every day.
But Donna is right. He is spoiling the kid. He can't seem to help himself. Every time he's with him, he doesn't want to leave. Doesn't want to let him go. He wants to be a part of every little thing, even when he knows, logically, that Reggie will survive just fine without him.
The kid is only eleven months old. It doesn't matter how many games Harvey watches with him. Or how many nights Harvey tucks him in and reads him bedtime stories. He'll never remember any of it.
But maybe that's not the point.
Maybe the point is just this, being here, present, enjoying every minute he can get.
Maybe the fact that the kid will never remember these moments doesn't matter, because Harvey will.
Donna's hand trails down his arm, squeezing his bicep. "What are you thinking?"
He shrugs, but doesn't answer. He's not sure how to put it into words, or even if he wants to. He knows how it will sound. Selfish and irrational. But he can't shake the sense of guilt he feels whenever he thinks about missing a milestone, a first word or step, an accomplishment. And he doesn't want Donna to feel like he's pushing her for more than she can give, or trying to undermine her authority, or that he has any doubts about her ability to be a single mother.
He looks down at Reggie, his small hand curled against Harvey's chest. He traces the delicate ridges of his son's knuckles, the tiny bones fragile and delicate.
"Harvey," she says quietly. "Talk to me."
He doesn't respond right away, and she waits. Patient. Giving him the time and space to think.
"I've just been thinking," he says slowly, choosing his words carefully. "That...you and I are doing a pretty damn good job. At this. Co-parenting and...everything."
She nods. "Yeah. We are."
He glances at her. "I was worried, at first. That I'd screw it all up. That I wouldn't know what I was doing or that I'd be a bad father or..."
"You're not," she assures him. "You're not a bad father. You're the best father, Harvey. Reggie is so lucky."
He gives a little shake of his head, not quite able to accept the praise. "What I mean is, I thought it was going to be harder. I spent the whole pregnancy dreading what came next, imagining it was all going to be a struggle and I wouldn't be able to keep up, or we'd argue and fight. I kept picturing all the ways it could go wrong. But..."
He trails off, gaze drifting back to their son. Reggie is so peaceful in his sleep, so calm and content. So unaware that, if things had gone differently, he might not be here right now.
"But it's not," he finishes at last. "It's not hard at all. With us, I mean. Everything is just so easy. And I never imagined...I guess I'm just wondering why the hell it couldn't have been like this all along."
Donna is quiet, watching him. "Harvey—"
"I'm not complaining," he says quickly, not wanting her to feel guilty. "I'm not. I'm just saying... God, I don't even know what I'm saying."
"I do." She shifts, swinging her legs off the couch and tucking them beneath her. She turns toward him, leaning her elbow against the backrest. "We were a mess. All those years, the two of us, dancing around our feelings, too scared to take a chance, and when we finally did..."
She shakes her head, expression sad. "That's not on you. That's not a reflection of you. You didn't make me pull away."
"Donna –"
"I made mistakes, Harvey. Big ones. And I'm sorry for all of them. For hurting you and leading you on. And I'm sorry that I'm the reason we've been wasting all this time."
"Donna, come on. I don't blame you for what happened. It was just a long string of shitty luck and bad timing. I could have handled it better. I could have been less impulsive and desperate to keep things the same."
"No." Her tone is firm. "This is not on you. Okay? This is on me. My fear. My baggage. And the mistakes I made. This is on me."
"So, what, you're the villain in our story?"
"No, Harvey. But I am a coward."
He's about to argue, to insist that she isn't, when he sees the expression on her face. It's open, and sincere. And she's not angry, or defensive, or sad. She's just...there, sitting with him, the weight of her honesty hanging between them.
His argument dies on his tongue, and instead, he says, "You're the bravest person I know, Donna."
"I wish that were true."
"It is. You've faced every single obstacle head on. You took control of your life and did the work. No one has had to fight harder for Reggie than you. I mean, Jesus, you went to prison, endured a government corruption trial and the publicity that went along with it. Then the pregnancy and a career change... You're a goddamn warrior. It's not at all cowardice to need time to process everything. You're entitled to that."
"I didn't do it alone." She reaches for him, palm cupping his jaw, her fingers warm and soft. "And you're allowed to be sad about what we missed, or resentful. You're allowed to ask me for more, or to question whether I'm ready. You don't have to carry that weight for me. We should carry it together, Harvey. Whatever it is."
He nods, his gaze falling back to their son, still sleeping, undisturbed by their hushed conversation.
"I just... I don't want you to think that I'm not happy. Or that I want things to be different. Because I am, and I don't."
"I know." She smiles. "Believe me, I know. We're the picture of domestic bliss. It's almost sickening."
He laughs softly, the tension lifting from the room.
"Stop worrying, okay?" She slides her hand down to his shoulder, her thumb rubbing back and forth over his collarbone. "Things are good. Really, really good. Let's just try to enjoy it."
"Okay." He takes a deep breath, then exhales slowly, letting the last of the anxiety and frustration go. He lifts a hand, brushing her hair back from her face. "I am. Enjoying it."
She leans into his touch, her eyes drifting shut as his thumb strokes her cheek. "Me too."
He doesn't know which one of them moves first, or if they both do, but the next thing he knows, they're kissing, her hand sliding into his hair and holding him close, her lips parting under his.
He lets her take the lead, savoring the slow, tender way she explores his mouth, the soft, breathy sound she makes when his hand grips her hip and draws her closer. They keep it PG, for Reggie's sake, the kiss remaining unhurried and gentle.
Then she leans back and breaks the kiss. She doesn't release him, however, her hand still on his neck, her nose brushing against his. "We should put Reggie to bed," she murmurs.
Harvey nods. His lips are tingling, a low buzzing spreading through his veins.
He doesn't move, doesn't want to break the contact. "Okay."
He expects her to stand, but she doesn't. Instead, her mouth drifts lower, skimming his jaw, her lips a whisper against his skin. She presses a kiss to the edge of his chin, then the hollow of his throat, just below his Adam's apple. Her hand slides down, her palm curving over his shoulder, fingers trailing along his bicep.
Then she's kissing him again, her mouth a little more urgent, a little less restrained. She nips at his bottom lip, teeth grazing his skin. His heart picks up speed, thudding against his ribcage. His hand flexes, gripping her hip a little tighter.
"Donna," he breathes, her name a warning, a reminder.
She pulls back again, her mouth hovering over his. She's breathing faster now, and there is a flush on her cheeks, her pupils dilated.
"Okay," she says. "I'll put him to bed."
Neither of them moves. They stay there, breathing each other in, neither willing to let go.
"You're not helping," she says, a laugh in her voice.
"Sorry." He forces his fingers to release their hold on her.
"Are you really, though?"
He grins. "No."
"Good." She kisses him again, a soft, chaste press of her lips. "Don't go anywhere."
He nods, and watches her as she stands, taking their son with her. Reggie doesn't stir, and she cradles him close, pressing a kiss to his temple.
He stays on the couch, listening to her moving around the apartment, and a few minutes later, he hears the soft click of a door closing, followed by silence.
He shuts off the TV and stares out the window, the lights of the city twinkling beyond. The air is cool against his face, his heart still pounding. He closes his eyes, remembering the way she kissed him, the soft, breathy sounds she made, the feel of her tongue against his.
He grips the cushion, trying to ignore the insistent ache in his groin, the urge to touch himself and relieve the tension. He shifts, a little uncomfortable, a little desperate.
It's ridiculous. They've barely kissed, and his body is already on fire, the memory of her mouth enough to have him straining against his jeans.
He doesn't want to push. Doesn't want her to think that he can't control himself. Doesn't want to ruin what they have, the closeness they've built, the careful balance they've found.
But fuck, he needs her.
His hands come up, rubbing his eyes, the heels of his palms pressing against his eyelids.
Give her time. Wait. Be patient.
It's getting harder and harder, though. And he knows he's going to have to leave soon, before the urge becomes too strong, before he loses control and crosses the line. Before he does something stupid like grab her and press her up against the nearest surface, hiking her dress up around her waist and —
Jesus, what the hell is wrong with him?
He's about to get up and search for his keys, when he hears the sound of her footsteps coming down the hall. He glances up as she rounds the corner.
"Everything okay?" he asks, standing.
She doesn't answer. Just walks straight toward him, a determined look in her eye.
"Donna –"
She pushes him back onto the couch and straddles his lap, her mouth landing on his. He doesn't hesitate. Doesn't even question it. Just wraps his arms around her and kisses her back.
They're not slow and gentle anymore. There is nothing careful or cautious about the way they consume each other, hands wandering, bodies pressing closer. She tugs at his shirt, running her hands beneath the fabric, nails scratching lightly at his skin.
His mouth drifts to her neck, and he kisses his way down the smooth column of her throat. His hands slide up her thighs, slipping beneath the hem of her dress. "God, I've missed you."
"Me too." Her fingers tangle in his hair, drawing him back up, her mouth hot and urgent against his. "So much. I've missed you so much."
He hums, his grip on her thighs tightening, the feeling of her legs wrapped around him driving him crazy. She makes a little noise, a cross between a gasp and a moan, grinding her hips into his, his erection pressing against her, her movements sending a shock of pleasure rippling through him.
He slides his hands around to her ass, pulling her even closer. She deepens the kiss, her tongue tangling with his, their bodies moving in a familiar rhythm, his hips lifting off the couch to meet hers, over and over. He's not even sure how far this is going, but he can't bring himself to care. Gone is his control and all his reason. He's consumed with the need to get closer, to feel her, everywhere, with his hands and mouth and cock. He's aching and desperate and so fucking turned on he can't see straight.
His mouth leaves hers, his lips dragging down her neck, tasting her, tongue licking at her skin. She arches into him, head falling back, giving him access. His hands slide up her sides, under her arms, finding the zipper on her dress. He drags it down, exposing her skin, and then his mouth is there, his lips on her collarbone, trailing lower, her skin warm and smooth beneath his tongue.
He reaches the swell of her breast, finds her nipple and flicks his tongue over the hardened peak through the lace. She gasps, hands tightening in his hair, her hips bucking against his. He takes it between his teeth and bites gently, and she makes a choked, desperate noise, and buries her face in his neck.
Her lips graze his ear, her hot, heavy breaths fanning against his skin. She's moving faster now, her fingers clutching his shoulders, the muscles in her thighs flexing and trembling.
He grips her hip, encouraging her, pulling her down against him harder, his own body tensing, the pressure building.
"Donna," he rasps, his free hand grabbing a fistful of her hair, dragging her mouth back to his, the kiss messy and rough, all tongues and teeth. "God, please."
He's not even sure what he's begging for. To come or to stop. For her to keep going, or to let him slow things down.
She moans, her hips rocking, faster, more desperate.
"Harvey," she breathes, a frantic note to her voice. "I'm —"
"I know." He slides a hand between her legs, pressing his palm to her, his fingers cupping her through her panties. "That's it, baby. Let go."
She grinds down on his hand, the heat and wetness of her seeping through the fabric. He feels her body tighten, her movements becoming more erratic, her grip on him almost bruising.
He pushes aside the scrap of lace and slides a finger along her slick entrance, stroking her once, twice, before circling her clit.
She cries out, her head falling back, his name on her lips. He can't take his eyes off her, can't look away, the sight of her on the edge, her chest flushed, her breasts heaving, her expression twisted in pleasure, nearly enough to make him lose it right then and there.
"Harvey," she whimpers, her hips jerking against his hand, seeking more.
"I'm right here," he whispers, pressing down on her clit, his other hand squeezing her hip, urging her on. "Come for me, baby. I want to watch you."
Her hands grip his shoulders, her thighs trembling. Her mouth drops open, a breathy little Oh falling from her lips, and then her entire body goes rigid, a muffled cry escaping her as she comes. She collapses against him, her body jerking with aftershocks, his own hips still rolling, the pressure building and building.
She lifts her head and kisses him, the movements of her mouth matching the roll of his hips, her tongue sliding against his, her body warm and sated. He grips her thigh, holding her in place, his other hand still buried between her legs, working her, her moans and whimpers filling the air.
She slides a hand down his chest, over his abs, and then her fingers are tugging at the button of his jeans. She fumbles with the zipper, and he groans when her fingers brush against his boxers, his hips lifting instinctively.
"Donna –"
She slips off his lap, and his brain can't quite process the sudden lack of contact. He blinks, and then she's dropping to her knees between his legs, her hands pushing his jeans and boxers down around his thighs. She looks up at him, her lips swollen, hair a mess, cheeks flushed.
He reaches for her, unable to form words, to do anything but watch as she takes him in her hand, and then, without breaking eye contact, ducks her head and takes him in her mouth.
"Oh, fuck." His head falls back against the couch, his eyes rolling shut, a low, guttural groan tearing from his throat.
He doesn't dare look at her. He can't, or he'll lose it. Her mouth is so wet and hot, her tongue sliding against him, her hands working the rest of him, a perfect combination of friction and pressure.
He tries to be still, to keep his hands to himself, but then she moans around him, her hand pumping him harder, and the feel of it is too much, too good, and he has to touch her, has to feel her, has to be part of it.
He slides a hand into her hair, his fingers gripping the strands, holding her in place as his hips rise up, meeting her mouth. She makes another sound, an eager, desperate whimper, and it's all the encouragement he needs.
He lets himself go, thrusting into her mouth, his fingers tightening in her hair, a litany of curses falling from his lips. His orgasm builds, his muscles tensing, a delicious, all consuming burn spreading from his spine and curling around his lower abdomen.
"Shit," he gasps. "Fuck, Donna, I'm going to—" He makes to push her away, but then her hand is gripping the back of his thigh, pulling him closer, and her mouth is moving, her tongue stroking the underside of his cock, and he's done.
His body arches off the couch, a strangled, incoherent sound tearing from his throat, as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over him, his release pulsing into her.
He collapses back against the cushions, his vision spotting, his chest heaving, the blood pounding in his ears.
It takes a while for the world to come back into focus. For him to regain his ability to move and speak.
He looks down, and sees her still kneeling on the floor, watching him. She's resting her cheek on his thigh, her fingertips tracing lazy circles on his calf.
"You okay?" she asks, her voice a little hoarse.
"Yeah," he says, the word coming out on a laugh. "Yeah, I'm good."
She grins. "I bet."
He laughs again, still a little lightheaded, his limbs weak and tingly. He pushes himself upright and reaches for her.
"C'mere."
She comes easily, letting him pull her onto his lap. He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, the pad of his thumb brushing over her cheekbone.
"You're amazing," he whispers.
"Yeah?"
"God, yeah."
"I'm glad you approve." She smirks.
He chuckles, and presses a kiss to her lips. Then he slides his hands up the outside of her thighs, beneath her dress, his fingers hooking into the edge of her panties.
"These have to go."
She gives a little hum of agreement. "By all means. Remove away."
He pushes the material down, helping her to kick them off. She moves, swinging a leg over his hips, straddling him once again.
He kisses her, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, his hand sliding into her hair, holding her close.
"I want you," he murmurs, his fingers drifting down, skimming over her breast, her stomach, coming to rest on her hip. He pulls her forward, bringing her flush against him.
"I'm yours."
Her words are a whisper, her breath hot against his ear, and it sends a shiver down his spine. He leans back, gazing up at her, the trust and love in her eyes almost too much to take.
He brushes her hair back from her face, then presses a soft kiss to her jaw, then her cheek, then the tip of her nose. "I'm so in love with you," he says quietly. "And Reggie. I just...I love you both, so much. I'm so goddamn lucky."
She doesn't say anything. Just kisses him, long and slow and deep, and he can feel it, the weight of her emotion, her heart laid bare, all the words she can't quite say.
It's enough. More than.
It's everything.
A/N: Fluff is not my strong suit, so apologies if some of it came off cheesy. I had a lot of pain to make up for, right? Anyway, one more to go! Or at least there is the potential for one more, if people are still interested in reading. I have a few loose ends to tie up (their career changes, Donna's plan for Harvey, and what the hell happened to Jonathan?) so we'll see if I can manage it.
Thanks, as always, for reading, and for the lovely reviews and tweets. I appreciate you all.
Luisa, your feedback made this so much better, and I owe you a BIG for listening to all my self-conscious ramblings and for convincing me that the Darvey fandom is horny enough to handle Donna on her knees.
KateMCK, you are saint and I cannot thank you enough for reading and rereading every draft I send you. You're amazing - I could gush about you for days, but I'll spare you the sap.