Chapter Text
"This is really good stuff Mike, it'll put you down for hours." Trevor holds up an unrolled joint for Mike to sniff. The smell makes his sight go dark and his muscles buckle. He inhales long and hard, then looks the other way.
The two are reclining on Mike's couch surrounded by half a dozen full zip-lock bags of the pinkish herb that has been a constant in their life and friendship for over a decade.
Trevor is dividing his attention between a rerun of some cop show Mike knows so well he could replay it in his head, and a plate of 'Subspace' he's meticulously rolling and stashing in an old dented chewing gum tin. Trevor takes two joints and places them on Mike's coffee table. Mike can't afford to pay him and he knows it.
While Trevor is a happy addict, Mike can't help feeling like a failure. If he wants to act like a Dom then he should be able to pull it off without drugs. Without satisfying the biological inconvenience inside him that keeps telling him to get down on his knees already and be done with it. He stares at the two joints and tries to lick the dryness from his lips.
In the show, the Dom cop is gently petting the head of a Sub tied to a dumpster while police sirens skid down the alley. The Sub, a pretty Asian woman with stereotypically long sleek hair, is whimpering gratefully as the deep baritone voice above her whispers encouraging praise and apologies for not arriving in time to protect her from attack. The ripped sleeves and bloody skirt don't leave much to the imagination.
Subs get raped at a statistical majority that would make your head spin. It's also the leading reason Mike will do anything to keep up his facade.
He saw an article a couple months back. It said that about sixty-five percent of Subs can expect to experience a non-consensual encounter with a Dom in their lifetime. One out of every four can expect that encounter to escalate to a life-threatening risk level. Of course, a hard spike in 'Subspace' addiction among Subs is a big part of the problem. It's a lot easier to take advantage of a Sub who has been taken down with chemistry instead of psychology.
Approximately .02% of rape cases are reported by Doms. The popular theory maintains that most Doms wouldn't report it anyway, which skews the margins. But, still - point. zero. two. percent.
Mike wipes his brow with the back of his hand. The summer night is too warm and his ceiling fan broke over a year ago. Despite his frustration, he can't resist feeling a stir of arousal and flutter of jealousy for the woman on TV. The way she leans into the cop's hand like a house cat, the blissful expression on her face, the full attention of her temporary Dom that makes everything blur and mute around her despite the whirl of paramedics and rescue personnel. The scene must be having a similar effect on Trevor who has stopped rolling joints and is also staring, momentarily transfixed. When it switches to commercial they abruptly shake out of it. Nevertheless, Mike is pretty sure they're still thinking - or more likely trying not to think - about the same thing. Mike stands to get more beer from the fridge.
"What are you doing Friday morning?" Trevor asks while Mike pulls out the bottles. He really wants Trevor to leave. He suddenly needs to smoke Subspace but he never does it with company. It's too personal.
"I dunno. I'll probably pick up some work."
"Okay. Now, before you say no, just hear me out - "
"No."
"Come on, Mike, don't pull that shit on me. We practiced the Dom voice together when we were fifteen."
Mike just shakes his head and takes his beer back into the living room. He flips off the TV and stands staring at his friend. "What is it?"
Trevor sweeps his hands over the bags of Subspace. "I need all of this delivered to a hotel on Park Avenue. I have a client coming in from out of town. I would go myself but I have another appointment that’s more, delicate."
"I’m sorry. Find someone else.”
"Mike, it's the fucking Chilton Hotel. I need someone who can walk in with a briefcase full of Subspace and not get nicked at the door for looking like a trafficker."
"And that's me?"
"Yes! You think I know someone else who could pull it off?"
Mike shakes his head again and then starts filling up Trevor's duffel bag.
"No chance. I told you I'm not getting involved in that shit. I'm just... not."
Trevor groans and sits back on the couch, rubbing his face in frustration.
"Take all this and go home. Say hello to Jenny for me."
After Trevor has gone and Mike is clearing away the empty beer bottles and pizza boxes, he pulls out one of the two joints still tucked beside his red BIC lighter. It’s been a really shitty week.
Mike turns out the lights, bolts the door, sheds his clothes into a pile, and sighs as he sits back on the couch. It's dark except for the blue light streaming in from one of the street signs outside. He flicks his lighter a couple times until the orange flame appears, dancing hypnotically, then holds up the joint and watches the end burn and crinkle.
The first inhale shuts him down completely and he starts floating. His muscles turn liquid and every care and worry seems to evaporate around him. It feels so good that it doesn't surprise him at all when he feels his cock getting hard. Not all Subs react like this to Subspace. In fact he's an exception. Subspace isn't designed to turn you on. That would be counterproductive and just plain frustrating. If the Sub had someone around to help get them off they wouldn't be taking this stuff anyway. But Mike doesn’t really care.
When the joint is smoked down to a nub, he has just enough awareness to drop it in the ashtray and let his hand rub weakly up and down his cock. He's too far gone to finish the job, but while he's still conscious it makes everything feel that much better. At some point he drifts off. In the morning, despite the inevitable hangover, he'll be rested for the first time in over a week. That's something good at least.
Mike is sitting next to Gram while she flicks through the morning newspaper to show him something she'd read. It’s an article about a new bill they're trying to pass in Washington to enforce better workplace equality for Subs. He's nodding and smiling and trying to sound enthusiastic. His Grandmother is from a generation where being a full time, stay at home Sub, with nothing to worry about except how to please their Dom, was something to be proud of. Now that Mike has made it clear that that kind of life is not only not for him, but is just plain offensive, she's become more open minded.
"I just hate seeing you go through so much heartache." She touches his cheek with her frail fingers. "Being a Sub isn't something to be ashamed of, and things are changing all the time." She points with her other hand at a photo of his Grandpa and her Dom of over fifty years. She wasn't even eighteen when he collared her. One of the worn down leather collars she'd worn for him, probably the first, is sitting in an open wooden box with painted flowers on the lid.
"He took such good care of me." Her eyes are watering. "And he was my great love. I might not have had as many opportunities, but I was happy."
Mike smiles. "I know you were Gram."
"But you're different, right?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
"I think you're right about that, dear. You want so much more out of life, and that's good." Her eyes are shining. She's lucky not to have developed bad vision and cloudy eyes like so many of the patients he sees in this place.
"But don't forget who you are." She pats his cheek and lays back in bed. "Now, that's all I have to say."
Mike smiles sadly and goes back to reading the article while she begins her afternoon nap.
"She's welcome to stay here, of course, Mr. Ross." A soft spoken Sub, one of Gram's nurses, is walking with him down the hall.
Mike is making sure to keep his posture erect and his shoulders back. His physical appearance is contradictory enough to a Dom's natural features that he has to work extra hard. But his attitude is pretty convincing, so most people don't see through the smoke screen and start wondering.
For example, if anyone paid attention they might notice that he's too thin. Even if he weren't a lazy ass he wouldn't be able to build up very much natural muscle. But, he makes up for it with baggy, bulky clothes and hair cut above the ears - a strictly dominant style. Even in the gay scene Subs tend to keep their hair below the shoulders. They need it to to make a statement when they're seen out with another Sub wrapped around them, their fingers all twisted up in each others physical sign of submission to ‘the man’.
"We have enough resources here to keep her comfortable, but if you ask me, sir," she looks up at him through her eyelashes. "There are places that provide services that will, frankly, keep her alive longer. Your grandmother was collared for fifty years. She needs special care to remain healthy."
"How much would a place like that cost?"
"The best one I can recommend has an entry cost of 25,000 dollars for the first six months, and then another thirty-five hundred or so in monthly fees."
Mike rubs at his eyes where a pressure headache is forming. "And you really think she'd be better off?"
"I'd give her about a year or two if she stays with us. There are only so many programs we can offer. I think you could double, or even triple her life expectancy if she had proper medical and emotional care."
"I don't have that kind of income." It's an understatement. He's never had anything close to 25,000 dollars at one time. That's Trevor's reality, not his.
"I wouldn't presume to know your situation, sir. I just felt I should give you my advice while it might make a difference." She nods once and walks away.
Now that he thinks about it, this place really is a shit hole. There's a rotting ceiling tile in this part of the wing that no one has bothered to fix in months. And the wallpaper still has little ducks and rabbits from when this was a children's hospital back in the eighties.
Without thinking too much about it, Mike kisses his Grandmother goodbye and makes his excuses for leaving early. It's Sunday. He usually stays through dinner and an old movie on TCM.
As soon as he's outside Mike pulls out his phone and dials Trevor.
"I'm in. I'll do the job, but I want $25,000." He waits through the silence on the other end.
"Done. Be at the Chilton Hotel tomorrow morning at ten o’clock."
Harvey has a lot of appeal as a Dom. Actually, he fancies himself one of the best Doms around, and even that's modest. However, his skills pale compared to Jessica’s natural aura of dominance. Having her next to him while trying to pick up a particularly hard-to-get Sub is not something he’ll pass up. The way Subs fall at her feet, you’d think she’d taken a bath in pheromones. This works well for her in the office where somebody needs to have a one up on all the big bad and very very cocky Doms she hires.
The good news for Harvey is that Jessica doesn’t take on Subs anymore. Not ever. Not since she lost her last. So when a good looking one gets a sniff of her and comes to pant heavily at her feet, he has the benefit of being the Dom who actually gets to take them home for the night.
But just for the night. Harvey Specter doesn’t do relationships.
This particular Sub isn’t really his type, but she’s stubborn, and at least that’ll be a fun challenge. She'd been sneaking around their table all evening, being particularly attentive to Jessica. Harvey is almost ready to divert her attention while it might still work in his favor.
Ideally, he prefers his Subs small, fair, and absolutely gagging for it. But he also likes a Sub who he has to push to their knees a couple times before they drop. It’s just more fun that way.
“Listen,” Harvey looks at his waitress’s name tag. “Lisa. I don’t normally do this.”
“Do what, sir? Drink in public?”
He smirks. If they were at home he’d slap her for that. She smiles prettily with her blood red lips and he knows she’d love it. She’s a pain slut, he can tell. Always asking for trouble.
“No. I don’t normally scene on a Sunday night.”
“I see. And are you deluded enough to think that I’ll be your exception?”
Harvey scoots forward in his seat until he’s inches from the ample breasts of what he knows will be his next treat.
He grins up at her and plays with the end of her long brown ponytail. When she’s about to open her mouth to say more he quickly wraps her hair up in his fist and tugs down sharply. She gasps.
“Be at my apartment by ten. If you’re late you’ll regret it.” He slips his card into her blouse pocket. The one with his address on the back that he keeps in a special suit pocket for just such occasions.
Lisa nods. “Yes, sir.”
He gives her neck a soft lingering kiss. She’s shivering a little but not pulling away. In fact, she’s pressing in closer.
“Good girl,” he purrs.
There’s a sway in her step as she stumbles away. Another Sub behind the bar helps her fix her hair while she smiles from ear to ear and discreetly gestures across the room at him.
“I’d call you a genius,” Jessica says in her smooth drawl, “but you hear that far too often.” Every time she speaks in public Harvey could swear Subs everywhere turn and drool. It isn’t fair.
“She would have gotten down under the table for you if you’d given her the time of day.”
Jessica shrugs. “Perhaps. But if I let her do that I’d never hope to get another free drink out of you. This is the only reason you bring me along.”
While Jessica continues where she left off, talking about something dull and not-his-problem that happened at the firm that morning, Lisa walks by with two more shirt buttons undone. She makes sure to catch his eye and winks.
She’s wearing a leather bra under her prim white blouse.
Harvey sighs dramatically and stands. He tosses a wad of money down and dusts off his suit.
“It has been a pleasure, Jessica, but it appears I need to go home and set up my sling.”
“Don’t you dare be late for your interviews tomorrow,” Jessica shouts through the crowd. “The Chilton Hotel. Ten o’clock sharp.” Harvey gives her a thumbs up and disappears.
“Strawberries smell good on you.”
Harvey bites a sliver of fruit from Lisa’s stomach and then licks the juice off with the tip of his tongue.
“What do you think? You want one?” He holds it up. “Oh, I see. Your mouth is full.”
Lisa is strapped spread eagle to the bed with his best black leather straps. Her mouth is full of one of his less comfortable ball gags.
He clicks his tongue. “It’s your own fault. I told you last night what the punishment is for bad girls who talk too much.”
Harvey’s pretty sure if she could kick him in the face she would. She was tough to take down. Really tough. But worth it. And she was lovely while in subspace. It’s just too bad she came out of her high this morning with such a bad attitude.
He bends over and licks off another berry. He’s propped up on one elbow and reading the newspaper against her thigh. He’ll give her a few more minutes to wallow in it before he unties her and sends her off to eat the bowl of oatmeal and coffee he left on the kitchen counter. No one has ever accused him of being a bad host.
He really needs to shower and leave by a quarter after if he’s going to make his interviews on time. He rolls out of bed and goes to the bathroom. Lisa growls angrily behind him.
Oops. Almost forgot. Harvey tries to make it look purposeful when he turns around to untie her.