Work Text:
The Physics of It All
"It's not the same as weed," Mike says, placing his second empty beer bottle down on the table. "The buzz doesn't come as easy."
Harvey raises an eyebrow. "Easy enough that you're talking to me about weed in public. No, scratch that—that you're talking to me about weed at all."
Mike smiles, feeling happy despite—or maybe because of—the weed nostalgia. Thinking about weed used to mean thinking about Trevor. Lately, thinking about either topic hasn't been quite so painful. Plus, it's been a good day. Another case won, another hard-earned smile Harvey sent his way when he offered to let Mike buy them dinner and drinks. So far, they'd only ordered the drinks.
"Plus, alcohol sits pretty heavy in my tummy," Mike says as he signals the waitress.
"Your tummy? If you're going to talk like that I'm going to need something stronger than beer," Harvey says before downing what's left in his own bottle.
Their waitress approaches, smiles, and asks, "Another round, gentlemen? Or are you ready for something to eat along with the drinks?"
"No, thanks," Mike says. "I mean, no more beer. I'll have … a White Russian this time."
"Sure. And for you, sir?"
But Harvey is shaking his head at Mike. "You're complaining that beer sits heavy in your—no, I can't say it—but you're now ordering a drink made with cream? What are you, a cat?" To the waitress Harvey says, "I'll have a Gin Rickey."
"You have something against cream, Harvey? Sometimes White Russians are made with milk, you know."
"And again I ask … are you a cat?"
Mike stretches his legs out under the table until they’re bumping into Harvey's. Mike doesn't move his legs away; he leaves them there, not pressing but most definitely touching. Just to try it out. "Did you know, Harvey, that when cats drink cream—or milk, or water, or Gin Rickeys—they do it differently from other lapping animals?"
Harvey starts rolling his eyes, but Mike shifts his legs just enough to put a bit more pressure against Harvey's. Harvey narrows his eyes instead of rolling them and focuses intently on Mike. "Do they?" he asks, pressing his legs right back.
Mike somehow manages to keep from biting his lip at the unexpectedness of this situation. Maybe he’s gotten more of a buzz from the beer than he'd thought. Might as well see how far it takes him.
"Yup. Unlike, say, dogs, cats don't actually penetrate the surface of the liquid." The waitress returns with their drinks and Mike picks his up, holds it close to his mouth. "They kind of rest the tips of their tongues there, and the liquid sticks." Mike briefly touches his tongue to the surface of his milky cocktail while Harvey doesn't quite manage to pick his own drink up. "It's actually pulled upwards with the cat's tongue, into their mouths," Mike continues, “like a column of liquid, only breaking when the cat closes its mouth." He repeats the cat-tongue thing and draws his tongue back in quickly, laughing. "It's pretty complicated physics, believe it or not. Plus, cats usually manage to keep their chin fur and whiskers dry."
Harvey picks up his own drink and takes a healthy swallow. "Do you, Mike, manage to keep your chin and whiskers dry?"
Mike's eyes widen, but then he's laughing again. "Nope. When I use my tongue, I make a giant mess."
*****
Mike wasn't kidding about making a mess. Currently, that mess is Harvey—lying on his back, legs over Mike's shoulders, a pillow under his ass. Mike's putting his tongue to good use, licking around Harvey's hole while Harvey grips the bedsheets tightly and tries to thrust his hips toward Mike's face.
"Fucking hell, come on. Jesus, Mike."
"Hush, Harvey. Complicated physics, remember?" Mike answers. He gives Harvey's hole one quick swipe with his tongue, blows on it gently, and then returns to just teasing the perimeter.
But Harvey is having a hard time just going with it, so when he uses one hand to grip Mike's hair instead of the sheets, it's not entirely a surprise. Mike's having none of that, thank you very much, and he pulls his tongue back into his mouth.
"Mike, would you just fuck me already? You're never this obstinate at work—"
"Oh, but we're not at work, Harvey, and if you want my tongue in your ass you need to just lie back and let me do it my way."
Harvey lifts his head off the pillow and looks down at Mike, but he doesn't let go of Mike's hair. His expression is a mixture of impatience, lust, frustration … but lust wins out. "Complicated physics, huh?"
Mike nods, mouth tightly shut, refusing Harvey even a glimpse of tongue.
Harvey laughs and drops his head back down. He lets go of Mike's hair and makes a "have at it" gesture.
Mike wets his lips and returns to licking around Harvey's hole, circling closer and closer until he's ready to start working Harvey open but he doesn't try to press inside yet, just against it, increasing the pressure incrementally until Harvey is moaning and cursing but – amazingly – not trying to get Mike to do anything more. Mike's dick is pretty freaking happy with this, and he thrusts a little against the mattress, just enough to take some of the edge off.
Harvey is panting heavily now, and Mike's not cruel, so he licks Harvey's hole, lapping at it like he'd done with the White Russian, and this time Harvey does thrust forward a little, but Mike doesn't mind. He's starting to actively hump Harvey's bed, but he doesn't want to come like that. He needs to move things along.
Mike presses the tip of his tongue against Harvey until it slips inside, just a little, but it's enough to make Harvey grab his own dick and squeeze hard at the base.
"Fuck fuck fuck," Harvey says, and Mike obliges, pushing his tongue farther inside and swirling it around as best he can. Harvey's tight and Mike can't help but imagine what it would be like to truly fuck Harvey, to get him sloppy wet with spit and lube and fuck him while he's lying on his back, legs over Mike's shoulders, a pillow under his ass.
And Mike realizes that tonight, he's going to have to settle for coming while humping Harvey's bed because that's just what he does as he pushes his tongue in as deeply as he can manage. Harvey's helping out by totally losing it and fucking himself forward, jacking himself off and coming with a loud groan all over himself. Through both their orgasms, Mike just keeps licking, keeps thrusting, keeps making a giant mess out of them both.
"Jesus," Harvey whispers.
Mike pulls his tongue out of Harvey's ass and kisses him there, gently, then thinks Oh, what the hell, and gives Harvey's hole one more hard swipe.
"Jesus!" Harvey nearly shouts, grabbing at Mike's shoulders and pulling him into an ungraceful heap on top of Harvey. And Harvey's come.
"Ewww," Mike complains, but Harvey just whacks him on the back of his head.
"Considering where your tongue has just been, you're complaining about come?" Harvey asks, then kisses his ear, which totally cancels out his biting tone. Harvey shifts their bodies so that they're lying on their sides, facing each other, and drops one of his legs over both of Mike's.
Mike looks at him, at Harvey's half-closed eyes, and hears how his breathing is evening out. Harvey is falling asleep—covered in come but no blanket, with Mike held close and … wow. Mike did that. Mike did that. To Harvey.
Mike watches Harvey fall asleep, and he then somehow manages to pull the blanket up over them without waking him up. Maybe, just maybe, the physics of it all aren't as complicated as Mike had thought.
end