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1.
When Harvey invites him to a baseball game, Mike jokes that it would be a fun date. He doesn’t expect to somehow end up half drunk on cheap beer, nearly falling onto a similarly inebriated Harvey in the cab they’ve managed to flag a few blocks from the pub they hit afterward.
Harvey looks peaceful and contented as he stares out the cab window and Mike commits the image to memory despite himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows it’s a mistake, a too-big risk after a line blurring day that was explicitly not a date, but after spending hours laughing harder than he has in ages, he’s simply too happy for caution. Mike finally let his finger gently brush along Harvey’s jaw the way he’s been itching to do for longer than he’s willing to admit.
Harvey chuckles, like Mike’s small slip has secretly pleased him, and turns more fully towards Mike. The awkward shift tugs at Harvey’s v-neck just enough that Mike’s eye locks onto a dark set of curves inked onto Harvey’s chest. He swallows and drags his eyes away just in time to see Harvey leaning in. Mike gasps into Harvey’s barely there kiss, and they both retreat enough to look into each other’s eyes for a beat. Seeing the small crinkles forming at the edges of Harvey’s smiling eyes does something to Mike’s stomach and he reaches up to pull Harvey close again. Mike basks in being the center of Harvey’s attention and loses himself.
“Goddamnit, rookie,” Harvey says as he finally breaks the kiss, his voice a little husky and his breathing a little pronounced. Mike realizes they’re just about at his apartment, and starts wondering how to get Harvey to come upstairs without seeming as desperate as he feels.
As they pull up to Mike’s building, Harvey sighs. “Mike, listen… this wasn’t actually a date. I mean, I didn’t expect--”
Mike is still a bit tipsy on both the alcohol and the make out session, so he cuts Harvey off before the rejection can fully manifest. “-I get it, Harvey, don’t worry. We were drunk, it’s been a long day, stuff happens. We don’t have to make a thing of it.” Lying to Harvey always feels like sinning. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Harvey, thanks for the ride.”
As he showers and falls into bed (too late for any real rest to find him; too early for any real fun to be had), Mike refuses to dwell on all the complicated stuff tonight brought up. Instead, he finds himself trying to figure out what Harvey’s chest tattoo is. Not that he’d ever actually get the answer out of him.
2.
The days that follow are surprisingly without awkward moments between them. Mike would think the cab ride was a sleep-deprived daydream except he can’t not remember the taste and smell of Harvey mixed with sunshine and beer. He can’t stop feeling Harvey’s hand around his waist, fingers absently caressing his side as they shared unhurried, indulgent kisses. His own hands remember Harvey’s stubble beneath his palms.
It happened. But nothing changes between them. Mike works to find peace with that.
And then he barges into Harvey’s office weeks later, proud and excited to explain to Harvey the loophole he’s found in a corporate restructuring case they are working on. He catches Harvey as he’s buttoning up his white shirt, the backup one he keeps at the office. Again his eyes are drawn down and he realizes that his boss doesn’t have one chest tattoo, but many. Possibly his entire torso is adorned. Before he can verify or take a closer look, Harvey’s reaching the top buttons and reminding Mike where his eyes are.
“Did you have something for me or do you have an alarm that goes off when I’m changing?” Harvey has moved on to his tie, proper lawyer uniform nearly complete.
Mike’s not proud of how long it takes his mouth to find words. He looks down at the folders in his hand and tries to remember what they contain.
“If I’d have known all it took to shut you up was a little skin I would have had Louis change the corporate dress code ages ago.” Mike blushes as he hands over Harvey’s suit jacket.
He prays he’s not as transparent as he feels in the moment before his brain comes back online. “While you were in here playing dress up, I was working and finally found our in…”
Later that day, Mike finds himself doodling on his legal pad. He can’t stop thinking about the thick black patterns, the delicate lines, the dramatic letters in half-revealed words. He knows he should not be obsessed with the parts left unseen (too late) or his boss at all (way too late), especially after that cab ride, but the ink is also permanent in Mike’s persistent memory. His brain keeps absently returning to solve the puzzle of the patterns and words only glimpsed in pieces. His fingers itch to trace those lines, to feel Harvey warm under his hands.
When Harold pops up at Mike’s desk, he realizes that his proofing notes look more like a moody sketchbook of fonts and shapes in blue ballpoint.
“Whoa Mike I didn’t know you could draw,” Harold comments as he leans into Mike’s space to get a better look. Mike goes to hide the page, but Harold already has it. “You’re like a freaking artist, man. These are sick.”
“Uh, no Harold I was just doodling while thinking, it’s not--” Harold’s voice is too loud, and Mike tries to shut this down before he attracts more attention. This isn’t many steps away from inking “Mr. Specter-Ross” on his binder.
“Really Mike? I’d love to see your real work if this is just a doodle. It’s almost like a tattoo. Oh man, I should get something like this! It would look so awesome. Hey Kyle—Hey!”
“Sorry gotta run,” Mike snatches the pad back from Harold and leaves before Kyle can make his way over too. He considers throwing out the entire pad but burning it would likely be the only way to prevent any more unwanted attention.
3.
It’s been a long day. Mike and Harvey share a drink in Harvey’s dim office after hours, winding down together as they finish up their paperwork. Harvey’s sleeves are rolled up, and Mike wonders against all good sense whether Harvey has tattoos on his upper arms as well.
Mike clears his throat and tries to aim for casual. “Can I ask you something?”
“Don’t think I could stop you if I tried,” Harvey deadpans without looking up from his page.
“It’s just, the tattoos are… unexpected.”
“Is there a question in there, counselor?”
Mike sighs. “How many do you have?”
“That’s the question?” Harvey finally looks up, and Mike reads… amusement?
“I don’t know, I’m just… curious. You’re so into your suits and your hair and this image… that’s not just a drunken night out tattoo. It looked like a lot.” He knows he’s rambling. He’s pretty sure he’s blushing again.
Harvey looks him in the eye like he’s calculating. “Was this from when I changed my shirt? That was weeks ago.” When Mike only shrugs, ready to drop the subject, Harvey continues. “It’s not really anyone’s business, rookie. But… We don’t all have magical memories like you do. They’re reminders of who I used to be. They help me stay on top of my game… and I like the image too.” The glint in Harvey’s eye reminds Mike of that cab ride and suddenly he feels warm.
“Like what? You’ve got Harvard Alum on your butt or something?” Does the joke cover Mike’s craving to see Harvey’s life printed across his skin? Not at all. But he doesn’t know how to stop pressing in that direction.
“Did you expect me to take off my shirt and tell you my life story in my glass walled office?” That’s a no. Mike can hear that Harvey’s words are effectively ending the conversation, but Harvey’s eyes are sparkling and he’s leaning in.
“Is this lighting not enough for you? Should we go out to the bullpen?”
“How about my place?”
Mike wonders when he stumbled into an alternate universe and his mouth worries without sound for a moment.
“Just to be clear, only the shirtless part is on the table. The life story isn’t.” Harvey rises and grabs his suit jacket, moving to stand in the center of his office.
Mike stands too and he knows his nerves are on display as he enters Harvey’s personal space. “What about the cab ride?” he asks, voice low. “Why invite me now if it was a mistake?”
“Can you blame a guy?” And that grin. That fucking grin. “I saw how you looked at me, even if you shut me down last time. And if I’m way out of line tell me so, I’ll never say anything again and we’ll forget about all of this. I mean it.”
“Sorry— I shut you down? You said it wasn’t a date. You said you didn’t mean for it to happen.” He’s still in Harvey’s space. Too close for professionalism, too far for his liking.
Harvey has his lawyer face on, ready for arguments. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. It wasn’t a date, I just wanted to spend time with you. We were drinking, I’m your boss. It’s goddamn complicated. I stopped to check in with you because I didn’t want you to have any regrets if we went where it seemed like we wanted to go. I paused and you shut it down, said forget it, and left. What was I supposed to do, push after you said no?”
Mike’s mind is spinning. His heart is racing. He knows what he wants, but he needs to be sure they’re on the same page this time, because if Harvey is just looking to get it out of their systems, it’s not worth the risk.
“What are you saying, Harvey?”
Harvey mumbles something that sounds a lot like for a goddamn genius… but takes a breath and squares up. “I’m saying that I want you, that I’m not really sure what I’m doing, but I want to try this if you want to try it too.”
Mike’s grin makes his cheeks ache, and he’s pretty sure it stays plastered to his face as they make their way back to Harvey’s.
Once they make it through the door and settle in, Harvey reaches for Mike’s hands. “I feel like I should have taken you out to dinner first.” Is Harvey Specter nervous?
“We had bagels this afternoon. It was very romantic,” Mike’s smile turns cheeky as he leans in. He’s clocked hours thinking of the last time he and Harvey kissed, but it pales in comparison to this moment. While last time was sexy in its own surprising, stolen moment sort of way, this time they’re savoring the contact and taking their time. Harvey steers them towards the couch, kisses deepen, touches linger, and pressed bodies begin to insist.
When Mike nearly slips off the couch trying to get even closer to Harvey, they laugh together and it’s sweeter than honey.
“We could,” Harvey pauses, arm still wrapped around Mike’s waist pulling him closer, “move to the bedroom if you’re interested.”
“What, and miss out on you taking me to dinner first?” Mike nips at Harvey’s ear and chuckles.
“How about I take you to breakfast instead?” Harvey helps Mike stand up.
“Bagels again?” Mike laces his fingers through Harvey’s.
“I heard they were very romantic, actually.” Harvey lets Mike lead him to the bedroom.
Shoes and suit jackets are shed and tucked aside. Harvey reaches to undo Mike’s tie and shirt. Mike undoes his own pants and is quickly left only in his boxer briefs. Harvey’s eyes become hungry, and he reaches for Mike. Their lips meet again as both move to clumsily undress Harvey. Then Harvey is bare except for his own boxers, stood before Mike in the dim bedroom lighting.
And Mike is awestruck.
For a moment he had forgotten all about the tattoos he’s been obsessing over, but now… now he can see everything. Harvey doesn’t have a couple of tattoos: he’s essentially marked on his entire midsection down to his thighs. Some images stand out easily- the scales of justice, the baseball and mitt, words in Latin Mike absently connects to Harvard. Geometric and tribal patterns fill in spaces and accentuate his frame. All are in black or grey tones as far as he can tell, which creates a dramatic effect. They are like hieroglyphics. He can’t identify all of the images at the moment, and he’s sure there are more on parts he hasn’t seen yet; he doesn’t know what all of these mean to Harvey either. He does know that the tattoos are pieces of him, though. Tiny bits of Harvey peeking through without his armor on. Harvey, who is so sure and strong, but so vulnerable and bared to Mike alone in this moment.
“Mike?”
“You’re… you’re gorgeous, Harvey.” Mike gently runs his fingertips over the patterns on Harvey’s chest, and then leans down to kiss the same spot.
“Look who’s talking, rookie,” Harvey smiles before tipping Mike’s face up and kissing him deeply.
4.
Mike learns Harvey this way, tracing the inked lines around his body. He's permanently adorned like a statue of a god, and he can't help but kneel and adore him. His tongue can't tell the difference between the marked and unmarked skin, but he uses the borders as a road map while he explores. Harvey likes to be kissed near the fading Latin on his chest; he squirms when Mike nibbles on the stylized boxing gloves on his hip bone; he loses control when Mike sucks the geometric patterns covering his upper thigh.
At first Harvey still won't share the stories behind the tattoos, and that makes Mike crave them all the more. Harvey only shrugs and gives a bland non-answer, and Mike takes what's offered even when he knows there's more. Someone like Harvey doesn’t mark himself on a whim or trend. For Mike, just seeing his body is gift. To touch and taste Harvey's skin is a blessing. When Harvey finally, finally does share, it feels like a sacrament.
Mike stands in the bathroom doorway and Harvey is laying face down on his forearms in his bed, eyes closed, looking deeply at peace. Mike already knows from his breathing that Harvey isn't asleep, but he remains silent all the same as he rejoins Harvey under the blanket. The city lights glow against Harvey’s back in the dark room, and Mike wonders at how that exact blend of gold and shadow has been inked into his memory. Mike should be sleeping; they both should. But Mike can’t help himself. He gently rests his cheek on Harvey’s shoulder blade, and his finger slowly traces the winding lines he has already memorized. He bounces his fingertips along the music notes scattered throughout and feels Harvey take a deep breath beneath him, ribs shifting under his hand. Mike anticipates a half hearted grumble about going to sleep. He does not expect Harvey to offer up explanations he won’t be pestered into giving.
“It’s one of my Dad’s songs,” he says into the darkness.
Mike is almost afraid to respond, like his voice could desecrate the moment. Finally he settles on asking, whisper soft, “Why this one?”
“I was there when he wrote it. I watched him and heard the process and got to be there the day he recorded it. I felt like I was a part of it.”
“… and now it’s a part of you?”
“Something like that.” Harvey makes a pleased noise as he shifts them both to press his body against Mike’s back, wrapping his arms tight around him. He kisses Mike gently below his ear and mumbles a small goodnight.
Mike can’t sleep for a while yet; he can’t shake the feeling that he’s falling, even though he’s still held tight.
5.
Mike drops his keys into the bowl by the door and pauses when he sees Harvey shirtless in the kitchen, pulling a tray out of the oven.
“Looks delicious,” Mike comments appreciatively.
“You can’t even see the food from over there.”
“I wasn’t talking about the food,” Mike grins and kisses Harvey before settling himself in.
“You’re just with me for my ability to cook shirtless,” Harvey teases.
“Nonsense. I also love the way you watch movies shirtless and make the bed shirtless.”
“Ah, a true man of substance. I’ll count myself lucky.” Harvey pours Mike a glass of wine and begins plating their meals to eat at the kitchen island.
“How did your session go today, by the way?” Mike nods towards the bandage wrapped around Harvey’s bicep. “When do I get to see the fresh ink?”
“Soon, maybe tonight.”
“It’s strange that you’ll finally have a semi-visible one. At least in t-shirts and stuff. Are you ready for the world to know you’re secretly very edgy?”
“Some things don’t have to be so private, I think,” Harvey replies, and Mike is quietly pleased to see him opening up in his own way.
“Maybe I should finally get a tattoo…” Mike thinks aloud.
Harvey looks skeptical as he eats. “What would you get?”
“Maybe I’ll get a big red stamp on my butt that says Property of Harvey Specter,” Mike jokes, but Harvey shakes his head. “What? Is that something we have to wait until marriage for?”
Harvey sips his wine. “You don’t need my name on you to be mine, Mike, everyone takes one look at us and knows. And tattoos hurt. They’re a long uncomfortable process.”
Mike is about to make a comment about Harvey being a literal pain in the butt when he reaches for Mike’s hand and continues. “You have every precious and painful thing that’s ever happened to you on instant replay whether you like it or not. I’d hate to be the reason you ever felt an ounce more pain. And I sort of consider it part of my job to keep you from getting hurt in general, thank you very much.” He leans over to kiss Mike’s temple. “So leave the body art to me, maybe?”
They’re sitting close enough for Mike to pull Harvey in for another kiss.
That night, Mike asks again to see the tattoo when Harvey goes to wash it. It’s the first wholly new work he’s gotten since they’ve been together and Mike has opted to give Harvey his space through the process.
“Sit on the bed, I’ll show you in a moment,” he instructs, and joins Mike after a few minutes of washing and applying the ointment. New bandage in hand, Harvey finally turns. Mike wasn’t sure what he expected for Harvey’s first casually visible tattoo, but it isn’t this.
Across Harvey’s bicep is a set of five overlapping playing cards. The cards are arranged like a poker hand: a 10 of Hearts followed by the Jack, Queen, Ace and King on top. A royal flush, Mike realizes, even with the cards slightly out of order. But even with through the clearly upset skin and shiny salve on top, Mike can see that the King card, while traditionally inked, has blue eyes, and the heart symbols are colored the same blue while the rest of the tattoo— the rest of Harvey’s entire collection— is in black.
He says nothing. He can’t form words that fit the moment. Instead he looks up to meet Harvey’s gaze, a question in his eyes.
Harvey licks his lips before speaking, “I just never want to forget how lucky I am.”
Mike considers the ring box he has hidden in the back of the shared closet, and suddenly knows what to say next.