Chained to the Thought of You

At this hour, just after six, the place is nearly empty, the faint tang of sweat and rubber hanging in the air as Harvey enters. Mike has volunteered to look after Eden and keep her entertained over pancakes at the hotel restaurant. That leaves Harvey with a rare slice of quiet time, just him and some workout.

As he strides toward the locker area, the quiet hum of the gym feels oddly soothing, almost meditative, as he slides his bag into a locker. There's a satisfaction in routine, in the way the gym lets him focus on something physical instead of the endless swirl of thoughts he's been carrying lately.

He warms up for twenty minutes on the treadmill, his mind clearing with every rhythmic step. Sweat begins to bead on his forehead, and he relishes the burn building in his calves and thighs. After the treadmill, he makes his way to the weights area, feeling loose and ready to push himself.

A sturdily built man hovers around near the shoulder press machines, presumably a few years younger than him. As Harvey approaches, the guy flashes him a bright smile. "Morning," he says, his voice cheery in a way that seems out of place for the early hour. "I'm Brett."

Harvey pauses, a little thrown off. He's not used to making conversation at the gym, especially not at this hour. "Harvey," he replies curtly, setting the weight to 70 kilos and gripping the side handles.

Brett takes the identical machine right beside him. He says nothing else at first, but Harvey can feel his presence, can almost hear the guy's unspoken challenge as he adjusts his machine to the same weight.

Harvey doesn't even try to suppress the slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. So, he's going to play that game, is he?

Never one to back down, he increases his own setting to 80 kilos. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Brett glance at him, then wordlessly adjust his machine to match.

Harvey braces his shoulders and focuses on his breathing, channeling all his attention into the exercise. His muscles scream in protest as he presses the handles upward. The resistance is intense, his body working hard to overcome it—his jaw clenching with effort, knuckles whitening, triceps flexing.

He's halfway through the lift when Brett's voice cuts through his focus. "Man, you look really hot," Brett says, loud enough to echo slightly in the quiet gym.

Harvey's concentration snaps like a rubber band. His arms slacken, and the weight drops with an almighty clang that reverberates through the space. He blinks at Brett, unsure if he heard him right. Is he being… hit on?

The answer becomes obvious when Brett laughs, a low, confident chuckle. "I'm sorry," he says, though his smirk makes no apology. "I've been watching you since the moment you walked in, and I had to say something. You know, just in case you're…" He pauses for effect, raking his eyes deliberately up and down Harvey's body. "…available and I have a shot."

Harvey's mind stumbles, caught between discomfort and an odd sense of flattery. This isn't the first time a guy has hit on him, though it's rare enough to catch him off guard. There's a part of him—one he doesn't examine too closely—that finds it flattering. He's worked hard to stay in shape, and it's not entirely unpleasant to have that noticed, even if it's not coming from someone he's interested in.

Still, there's a tightness in his chest, a flicker of awkwardness he can't quite shake. He's not sure what to say, so instead, he tightens his grip on the handles, lets out a grunt and presses the weight up halfway, then fully, focusing back on the task at hand. He repeats the motion, pushing through the burn in his arms, determined to drown out the awkwardness with sheer effort.

The weight crashes down again after a few reps, his muscles shaking with exertion. He leans forward, catching his breath and letting the endorphins wash over him. As he grabs his towel and water bottle, Brett is still eyeing him, that smirk firmly in place.

The other man takes a slurp of water, wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist, and shoots Harvey a smug, challenging look. "So," he begins, his voice light but teasing, "are you available?"

Harvey straightens and meets Brett's gaze, his expression neutral. "No," he says simply, shaking his head. There's no hostility in his tone, just a matter-of-fact response, almost apologetic in its delivery. And that's the strange part—he does feel a little sorry, even though he knows he shouldn't. It's not as though he's conflicted about his answer.

He's never been into men, not once, and he's not interested in exploring it. But Brett's confidence, his easy demeanor, reminds Harvey of the times he's been turned down when he was younger, unattached, and just as sure of himself. It's an empathy he can't quite shake.

And then, of course, there's the other reason. The real reason. Since the moment he woke up this morning, there's only been one person occupying his thoughts, and she's miles away.

Brett chuckles, breaking the silence. "Well, I had to try," he says with an exaggerated shrug that makes Harvey huff a quiet laugh.

The moment passes, and Harvey turns back to his workout, feeling the tension ease from his shoulders. Brett shifts his attention to his own machine, the competition evidently over. But for the rest of the session, Harvey can't help but catch himself stealing quick glances, half-expecting another comment. He tells himself it's purely out of caution, a desire to avoid another awkward moment, but he's not entirely sure. Maybe there's a touch of curiosity too.

By the time Harvey finishes his workout, his muscles ache in the best way, but his mind is still strangely restless. He wipes the sweat from his forehead, reaching for his water bottle to hydrate, when Brett speaks up again.

"She's a lucky woman," he says as he stands, slinging his towel over his shoulder. There's no malice in his grin, just a faint trace of disappointment mixed with humor. "I guess I'll see you around." For a brief moment, Brett's gaze softens, and Harvey realizes it isn't just bravado. The guy genuinely believes what he's saying.

"I'm the lucky one," Harvey mutters under his breath as Brett walks away.

Because it's true. If there's a future for him and Donna, it means the universe has blessed him twice—once with the woman he met in college, the one he loved and thought he'd spend forever with. And then… Donna.

He never truly believed he'd find love again, at least not the kind that once made his world whole. For years, he didn't even let himself hope for it. And while he's never been one to believe in fate, the more he thinks about it, the more he wonders—maybe, just maybe, his angel wife had a hand in bringing Donna into his life. To keep him from being alone.

Oh God, he can't fuck this up!

The thought hits him with the force of a freight train, leaving him momentarily breathless. Harvey sighs deeply, pulling his bag from the locker and slinging it over his shoulder. Then he reaches for his phone and shoots Mike a quick text.

H: Heading back to the hotel now. Need a shower.

M: We're out on a city stroll. Watching the ducks in the park. No rush.

Harvey smirks at the text, sliding his phone back into his pocket as he heads for the exit. The hotel is only a short walk away, but his mind is already miles ahead. By the time he steps into his room, he's barely aware of how quickly he's moving. Tossing his bag onto the bed, he checks the clock, debating his next move.

The urge to call Donna is overwhelming. More urgent than the need to shower, more pressing than the ache in his muscles. He needs to hear her voice, to feel some kind of connection to her, even if it's through a screen. So, he calls her number before he can second-guess himself.

When she answers almost immediately, her voice is warm and bright, "Harvey… Hey!"

Harvey can practically hear the smile in her voice, and it makes him exhale softly, the tension in his body unwinding. He loves the way she says his name, as though they're intimate, as though she's known him for years. It makes his body go taut and his blood pound in his ears.

"You're the last person I expected to call me, especially this early," Donna teases, but there's a shift in her voice, a hint of concern. "Is something wrong? Is Eden okay?"

"She's fine," he mumbles, brushing her question aside.

It's not about Eden. It's about her. About how much he misses her, how much he needs to see her right now. His mind fills with the image of her—that fiery red hair framing her face, her beautiful hazel eyes, and those freckles scattering across her skin like constellations. God, he could never forget what she looks like, and yet he feels like he's forgetting every detail.

"Is it okay if we…" He clears his throat, and as he continues, he sounds almost shy. "Can I put you on video?"

Donna laughs nervously, the sound light and endearing. "Y-yeah, just give me a second…"

There's a shuffle on the other end of the line. Fabric rustling, the faint sound of her moving around. Is she changing clothes?

He imagines her still in her nightgown, though something tells him Donna isn't the type to wear frilly sleepwear. Probably shorts and a loose shirt, something casual and effortlessly gorgeous. Though it doesn't matter what it is, she'd look stunning in it. The thought alone sends a ripple of heat through him, and he swallows hard, shifting his stance as his body responds against his will.

"Okay, I'm ready," she says finally, her voice cutting off in a soft giggle.

Harvey taps the video call button, his heart pounding in his chest. And when her face appears on the screen, smiling back at him, everything else fades away.

Her hair is damp, clinging to her skin in dark, uneven waves, a few stray droplets trailing down the curve of her neck. Her skin glistens with the remnants of her shower, a soft sheen catching the light in a way that makes her appear even more beautiful. It's not the polished version of her that he usually sees, or even the playful, teasing one. This soft, exposed version is achingly real, and it steals the breath right out of his chest.

His heart skips a beat, then starts racing as if trying to catch up. Nervously, he adjusts the angle of his phone before meeting her eyes through the screen. "Hey," he murmurs, a smile spreading across his face. He can't help it.

"Good morning," Donna replies quietly. "Why are you calling?"

Harvey exhales, running a hand over his face.

Because I missed you.

Because I missed seeing your face.

Because you're all I think about.

Instead, he blurts out, "Because I can't make dinner." He pauses, already hating the words as they leave his mouth. "I'm so sorry, but we had some major turbulence during our flight, and Eden got so scared, she doesn't want to fly back. So…" He sighs, closing his eyes as he leans against the hotel desk. "We have to get a rental and drive to New York, which means I won't be back in time for our date."

He waits, bracing himself for the disappointment he's sure is coming. He knows how much this evening means to her, how much she means to him, and he hates that he's letting her down.

"It's okay, Harvey," Donna says, smiling softly, her tone as understanding as ever.

But he shakes his head, his jaw tightening. "No, it's not okay," he insists, his voice more forceful than he intended. "This is…" He stops himself, the word important hanging unspoken in the air. He closes his eyes again, trying to pull himself together, but the panic is already bubbling beneath the surface. He hates feeling like this, like he's screwing up something so vital, so precious.

As if sensing his struggle, Donna's voice cuts through the silence. "Harvey," she says gently. "What if we just do it on Sunday instead?"

Her words are a lifeline, pulling him back from the edge. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly as the panic begins to dissipate. "Yeah," he croaks after a moment, his voice rough with emotion. He clears his throat, nodding. "Yeah. That'll do."

"Then Sunday it is," Donna says, her smile widening. There's no trace of disappointment in her expression, just warmth and reassurance.

"Thanks, Donna," he murmurs.

"Anytime," she replies softly.

Harvey looks at her for a moment longer, feeling like he has his heart in his eyes. She's just so beautiful. Inside and out. He's not dated anyone since his wife died, rarely felt genuinely attracted to someone, and now he's falling for the first woman who stirs feeling inside him?

Christ, he's really falling for her, isn't he? And she has no idea. How much he cherishes whenever they're together, no matter how brief. How much he thinks about that time he should've kissed her… but didn't. How much he wants her to feel safe. Protected. He'd do anything to—Right. Her message.

"Donna," he begins after letting the silence wrap around them for a minute, his voice soft. He doesn't know if he should even bring up the subject. "Do you wanna tell me about who's suing you and why?"

Harvey watches closely as she pauses, her gaze dropping for a fraction of a second before meeting his again. It's subtle, but Harvey's known her long enough by now to catch it. Even through the screen, he can see the way her throat moves as she swallows, the way her shoulders rise and fall with a quiet breath. She shakes her head lightly, a strand of hair falling across her cheek.

"Not over the phone," she murmurs.

Harvey exhales slowly, studying her a moment longer. "Fine, I get that, but… How are you feeling? Are you okay?"

Donna nods, her lips curving into a faint smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Yeah," she breathes, the word soft and almost hesitant. Then, as if sensing his doubt, she adds with a bit more conviction, "I'm okay, Harvey."

There's a beat of silence before she continues, her voice quieter now. "I'm okay knowing you'll help," she says, her smile becoming a little more genuine.

"Of course," he replies, his reply instinctive. "And just so you know, I'm doing it for free."

"Harvey, you—"

"No, I don't want you to pay me a single dime." He clears his throat, forcing himself to push past the mess of feelings swirling inside him. "Donna, you spend every day of the week looking after my daughter. The least I can do is make sure you win this case."

Donna's smile grows as she mouths a quiet, "Thank you."

She lingers for a moment, her gaze steady on him. Then, just as the moment starts to stretch, her expression shifts. A teasing glint sparkles in her eyes, and the corners of her mouth lift into a playful smirk.

"So, what have you been up to? You look all sweaty," she quips, the words laced with her usual wit.

He chuckles. "I've just been to the gym," he explains, sitting down on the bed.

Donna cocks an eyebrow at him as she says, "I guess you could use a shower then, huh?"

Her words are casual, but there's something about the way she says them that makes his heart skip in a way he's not entirely prepared for. Her voice carries just the faintest hint of mischief, enough to make his imagination run wild.

"Yeah," Harvey says, his voice low, almost gravelly. He watches her through the screen, the way her smile lingers, the way her hair falls just slightly into her face. "I probably should."

"Probably?" she teases, her grin widening.

He grins back at her. "Okay, definitely."

He watches as she fumbles with her phone, the camera angle shifting momentarily. "Hold on, let me just—"

For a split second, the screen fills with a view of her chest, and Harvey can't stop his gaze from zeroing in on the fine outline of her breasts beneath the soft white shirt she's wearing. The fabric is just damp enough to hint at what's underneath, and his breath catches in his throat.

His entire body tenses, but this time, the tension has nothing to do with guilt or nerves, or a heavy workout. It's a different kind of tension altogether, an undeniable reaction that makes his heart race and his skin feel too warm. He swallows hard, willing himself to look away from the screen, but it's impossible.

Donna adjusts the phone quickly, the camera snapping back to her face, completely oblivious to the momentary distraction she's just caused. "Sorry about that. Just trying to get comfortable," she says, chuckling lightly, clearly unaware of the effect she's having on him. "How are you and Eden doing?"

Harvey barely registers the words. All he can think about is how close he is to slipping up, how easy it would be to let his guard down and say something he shouldn't.

He shifts uncomfortably, forcing himself to focus on her voice, on the way she's smiling at him, but his mind is already running wild. The image lingers, and his jaw tightens as he tries to keep his thoughts from straying too far.

His hand moves to his crotch, palming his semi-hard cock through his sweatpants, and it stiffens in an instant. He hisses a soft groan, hoping she can't hear it, and closes his eyes. It's been so long since he—He curls his fingers more firmly around his erection, teasing it gently. It feels so… good.

"Harvey?" Donna prompts, her expression turning serious. "Everything else okay over there?"

He nods, still trying to focus on her words instead of the way her shirt accentuates her curves. Instead of the way his body is thrumming with growing pressure, with a need that fills every cell, tightens every fiber of every one of his human muscles.

"Uh, yeah," he mutters, his voice coming out a little too gruff.

"That doesn't sound very convincing," she notes.

Fuck!

"No, it's just…" He clears his throat as he lets go of his hard shaft. "I have a meeting today... with some people I can't stand. But Eden's doing well. I mean, apart from her newly developed fear of flying."

Donna's expression softens with empathy. "That might just be a phase," she reassures him. "Maybe she just needs a bit of time to process what happened before she feels safe flying again. It's not unusual, Harvey."

"I hope so," Harvey murmurs.

The peaks visible beneath her shirt are almost out of focus, but not enough to stop his gaze from lingering. It's not intentional, but once he notices, it becomes impossible to ignore. His body betrays him, tension coiling low in his abdomen as the sight sends an undeniable jolt through him.

"Maybe it'll help if she knows you're taking her fears seriously. Let her see that it's okay to feel scared, that it's not something she has to hide from you," Donna says, leaning back against the headboard, the movement causing her shirt to pull tighter.

"I'll try," he mutters, his voice strained as he shifts again, trying to ease the growing discomfort pressing against his sweatpants.

This is torture.

Absolute, unrelenting torture.

"Anyway, I should probably leave you to it," he says, the words rushing out too quickly. He hopes it doesn't come across as rude, but if he doesn't end the call soon, he's not sure he'll be able to keep his composure. He has to release this damn tension.

Donna doesn't seem to notice his distress. Or if she does, she probably attributes it to his stress from traveling and taking care of Eden. Either way, she doesn't press him. "Alright, go shower," she says, waving him off with a grin. "And don't kill anyone later, okay?"

He swallows hard, nodding stiffly. "Yeah. I'll… I'll see you soon," he manages, his voice low and hoarse.

"Looking forward to it," she replies, her tone warm.

As the call ends and Donna's face disappears from the screen, Harvey lets out a long, shaky breath. He drops his phone onto the bed and runs both hands over his face.

This woman—this amazing, beautiful, utterly oblivious woman—has him so twisted up in knots he doesn't know whether to laugh or curse. He leans back, closing his eyes, and tries to will away his throbbing erection. But it's useless. The tension is too much, the memory of her in that shirt too vivid.

With a groan, Harvey pushes himself off the bed and heads toward the shower, hoping the cold water will do something to cool him down. As he strips off his clothes, cold air rakes his skin but it barely alleviates the heat swelling in his groin. He sticks his hand under the warming water in the shower, then hops in. The wet heat pelts him in hard blasts as images of Donna flash through his mind—her sultry eyes, wicked smile, and ample breasts.

Shit.

He grips his hard cock and thrusts his hips, pumping into the rising steam. Pressure coils in his tight, drawn-up balls as more blood engorges the shaft. Deep bellied grunts split his lips as he imagines Donna licking and teasing him, batting her eyelashes like a little minx, and moaning around his cock.

Fucking hell.

Dots suddenly flash in his vision, the tension cramping his stomach ripping through him. Harvey squeezes himself even harder and shouts in release, pumping fast until dizziness swamps him. Every emotional barrier he's tried to build is crushed then, and he lets it happen, moaning Donna's name in relentless pleasure.

His orgasm crashes over him with an overwhelming force, his entire body shuddering so hard his legs almost give out. When he comes down from that high, he hangs his head and braces his hands against the cool tile, breathing hard. Fatigue weakens his muscles. Shouldn't the shower have revived him? He snorts. How could it, with the evidence of his lust and aggression all over the tile wall?

Harvey reaches down, his hand trembling slightly as he takes hold of his softened cock. The tender touch sends a shiver through him, and he releases a low hiss, his breath catching at the raw sensitivity. It's been years since he last sought intimacy, not since his wife passed away. The memory of how to pleasure himself feels distant, shrouded in a haze of grief and neglect.

He struggles to recall the last time he felt such intensity, a kind of primal arousal that overtook him completely. His hand aches faintly, a reminder of how aggressively he pushed himself toward release. The sensation borders on discomfort, but it's nothing compared to the lingering warmth of the moment.

He exhales sharply and forces himself to move, cleaning up his mess before grabbing the bottle of body wash from the ledge and lathering a cloth. He scrubs himself until he smells finer than a spring day after the rain—or so the bottle claims he would. Then he washes his hair, but the heat curling low in his stomach refuses to fully dissipate, the ghost of Donna still haunting his senses.

The air outside the shower is cool, bracing against his damp skin, but even that doesn't dull the lingering hum beneath his ribs. Tugging a towel around his waist, he runs a hand through his wet hair and steps into the bedroom to finally get dressed for the day.

Sunday. Sunday he'll see her again. And until then? Until then, he'll think of red hair and hazel eyes, of the way she laughs, the way she teases, the way she makes him feel like a teenage version of himself.

And, if he lets himself—just for a moment—he'll think of how huge the urge is to close the space between them, to feel her lips for the first time, to taste the warmth of her breath. To finally, finally, kiss her.