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Trial Run

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Friday turns up with a cold, heavy fog that settles in the Valley floor.  You’re prepared for it, at least somewhat, ripe pumpkins huddled in one of the outbuildings to cure and the remaining plants covered in black plastic to keep them warm.  It at least has left you time to make preparations of a different kind.  

You spent yesterday’s coffee date with Harvey making plans.  He’s agreed to meet up with you at Emily’s place after the movie marathon so the two of you can spend the weekend together properly.  This time you’re determined to make sure everything is in less of a state of disaster. The house is as clean as you can possibly make it, refrigerator once again fully stocked, and your nightstand drawer has approximately enough condoms to suit up a small battalion.

You are prepared.

Not that you plan on spending the entire weekend in bed, no matter how appealing that idea is.  If the weather holds, you’ve got it in mind to take him for a walk down through the woods while there’s still some leaves left on the trees.  The woods at the edge of the field are lovely right now, and you’re of the opinion that a little fresh air would do the man good after spending so long cooped up in the clinic.  

Mostly, though, you just want a chance to breathe.  October has been about as kind as a kid with a magnifying glass perched on an anthill, and you’re desperate to have a few days where you can relax and not find yourself worrying over what might come next.

You text Harvey on and off throughout the morning as you make it through your chores.  It is most likely his last slow day for the foreseeable future, thanks largely to the arrival of cold and flu season, and he’s taking the opportunity to catch up on what he can of his paperwork.  Harvey seems grateful for the interruptions, complaining that he could be doing this sort of thing in his sleep (and might soon be if he doesn’t make another pot of coffee).

Being the helpful sort that you are, after a quick check to be sure he’s alone in the office, you take a quick photo to send him as a pick-me-up, tugging the neckline of your thankfully stretchy t-shirt down past your breasts and adjusting your bra so that your nipples peek out over the cups.

It takes almost five minutes of what you can only describe as deeply flustered silence before he texts you back.

Definitely awake now.  No more or I’ll never make it through this shift.  See you tonight, sweetheart x

 

 

Emily greets you at the door that evening with a wide smile, hair wound back in a series of bright blue braids that spill down over one shoulder of her equally bright red sweater.  She beams, pulling you into a hug.

“Hello Old Mac!” she cries happily.  “Good to see you when the world’s not falling down.”

“Tell me about it,” you say with a chuckle, patting her on the back.

“Shane’s already here,” she mutters confidentially, then adds in her usual, boisterous voice, “go on ahead and put that in the kitchen with the rest of the snacks.  We’ll start shifting everything out to the living room once everybody’s here.”

As you round the corner you find Shane hunched over the kitchen table picking at a platter of deviled eggs.

You set the bucket on the counter and wrap your arms around his shoulders.  “Hey kiddo, how’re you holding up?”

He grumbles sourly, but pats your arm.  “Wishing everybody would stop asking me that.”

“Hm.  Fair. How’s the chickens, then?”

“Good company for temporary shut-ins,” he says, but the corner of his mouth gives a little twitch that’s almost a smile.  He points at the platter in front of him. “Their contribution to tonight’s shindig.”  

“Very nice.  I’ll save a bushel of corn for them next harvest for their trouble.”

“Oh they’ll love that.  I don’t know what you’re doing up there, but they go half mad for the corn from your place.”  He falls quiet a moment, considering. “Hey, can I ask you a favor?”

“Keeping in mind that everything I said about knowing a hitman in Pine Mesa was a joke; yes.”

“Fuckin’ smart ass.  I might need a ride next week.  I’ve got that appointment on Thursday and I dunno how long that shit’s gonna take.  I don’t want to leave Aunt Marnie and Jas without the truck all day.”

You nod against his shoulder, knowing full well that’s only a sliver of the reason - the real reason - he’s asking you.  “‘Course,” you say without hesitation.  

“Thanks,” he mutters, then shoves a deviled egg over his shoulder in the direction of your mouth.

Maru arrives next with Penny in tow, smiling nervously, their hands clasped.  It’s a bit of a surprise. You’ve known they were an item for some time - something you tripped over by accident back in the spring after the flower dance - but few others did.  Pam didn’t seem to care one way or the other about Penny’s preferences, but Maru hadn’t yet figured out just how to broach the subject with her parents - her father in particular- and had instead begged Harvey to play along as a potential boyfriend during events.

Something you realize quite suddenly you had inadvertently put an end to.

Emily pulls Penny aside as an extra pair of hands to help mix up yet another bowl of snack food and waves Maru in the direction of the kitchen table.

“So, first of all, I'm an idiot,” you tell Maru as she crowds in next to you and begins picking through a vegetable platter arranged in the shape of a large skeleton.  "Second: on a scale from one to ten, how badly do you want to kick my ass?"

“Oh, hardly,” she says, waving a celery stick.  “Honestly I’m not sure how much longer me and Harvey could’ve kept up that shtick anyway.  He’s too anxious and I’m too gay. Can you imagine the two of us trying to play happy couple at Winter Star? Yoba, that would’ve been a disaster .”

“He would’ve caught on fire,” you say solemnly.  “Real actual fire.”

“One way to keep the food warm,” Maru says with a snort.

“Hey, seriously though?” you say quietly.  “I’m sorry, I should’ve talked to you first before I set fire to the rumor mill, given you a little warning.”

“It’s fine ,” she says, prodding your arm with the vegetable and smearing a bit of peanut butter on your elbow in the process.  “It was time I sat Mom and Dad down for a talk. The talk.  Finally.  Like I said, awkward.  Very. Mom just hugged me until I couldn’t breathe and wants me to bring Penny home for dinner.  I’m not sure Dad gets it , not really, but mostly I think he’s just relieved I’m not going to give up a career path in favor of playing The Grease-Monkey Housewife.”

“101 Ways To Get Engine Oil Out Of Your Fine Linens,” you say with a snort, poking at a giant bowl of dip with a carrot.

There’s a mild ruckus at the door as Abigail bursts in with the biggest bag of pre-popped popcorn you’ve ever seen, Sam filing in behind her.

“Sebastian couldn’t be roused, huh?” you say to Maru, who shakes her head furtively.

“Oh no.  Too many people.  Also y’know. Me.”  She tries to put on a brave face with that last, shrugging it off with a smile, but the landing doesn’t quite stick.

Shane claps her on the shoulder.  “Cheer up, grease-monkey. We still tolerate you.”

“You’re all heart,” she says, but her smile eases into something a little more genuine.

“Alright everybody, grab a plate and pile in!” Emily cries happily.  “It’s showtime!”

 

 

“What the fuck even is this?” Shane asks incredulously.  He sits between your knees on the floor, one arm around your leg, the other around Emily’s shoulders.  

You settle your chin on the top of his head with a dramatic sigh.  “Poetic cinema, my son, poetic cinema. But like, if the poem was a really bad limerick.”

You’re up to the third movie of the night, an absolutely atrocious picture that Emily found called Death Bed: The Bed That Eats.   Honestly you’re not sure how anybody could’ve thought a man-eating bed was a great plot pitch, but given the fact it looks like the budget amounted to whatever a hungover college student had managed to fish out of the dorm’s couch cushions after a kegger, well, surely someone knew how bad it was.

Presently, the soul of a dead artist that is Totally Not Aubrey Beardsley is smoking a stolen cigarette and monologuing at the aforementioned bed, chastising it for its cruelty as the remaining survivor of its attacks huddles across the room, attempting to look upset.

“It almost makes Troll 2 seem coherent,” Abigail says, snickering.

Shane shrugs, digging into the closest bowl of popcorn.  “Meh. I’ve seen worse.”

“You sure about that?” you ask, tipping his head back to look skeptically down at him.  “This is a pretty steep landmark of badness.”

“One word,” he says solemnly.  “Birdemic.”

The entire room groans in assent.

“Shit, you’re right, but you don’t have to say it,” Abigail says.  “I was perfectly fine not remembering that existed.”

You’ve utterly lost the plot by now - not that there was much of one to lose - all you really know is the hippie with the really long hair is now attempting to wrestle a man with a spectacular flop of curly hair away from the munching clutches of the evil four-poster.  Even this strange display is enough to send Penny hiding against Maru’s shoulder again, and when the doorbell rings in the middle of the mess, she squeals loud enough that Sam upends his popcorn bowl all over himself, and Abigail.

“Shit on toast, Copper Top!” Shane cries, laughing.

Penny titters out an apology, heavily muffled against Maru’s shirt.

Distantly you hear a familiar apologetic and deeply startled voice call out.  “Sorry! I-it’s just me! I mean, it’s - it’s Harvey!”

“Coming!” you call back, laughing, and shuffle off for the door.

Harvey looks possibly the most flustered you’ve ever seen him outside of a compromising situation, cheeks bright red under Emily’s porch light.  His hair is a bit damp and an effort has been made to comb it back - an effort which it has immediately rebelled against. “I didn’t mean- I’m sorry I- wh-” he stammers, hands splayed out in front of him.

“Hello handsome,” you say, smiling up at him.

He sputters again, then drops his hands.  “Hi.”   

There’s a mixed chorus of hellos and a few fresh pelts of popcorn in the direction of the door.

“Come in, Harvey!” Emily calls out, waving.  “We got started a little late, but the movie’s almost over.”

“Oh, uh, th-that’s okay.  I’m not much for horror. I can just, um, I can wait in the truck-” he says, trying furtively not to look at the television screen.  

You laugh, shaking your head.  “Trust me, the only thing horrifying in this one is the acting.  And the writing. You’re pretty safe.”

You stretch up on tiptoe, meaning to kiss him.  It’s not terribly successful, because suddenly the entire room erupts in laughter and you turn to the television to see the curly-haired man, now free of the bed’s grip, holding up his hands, which have been “eaten” down to blindingly white plastic bones.

Harvey follows your eyes and bursts out in surprised laughter.

“See?” you say with your hand on his chest.  “Not so bad.”

“This is absurd !” he says, shuffling forward and leaning over the back of the couch.

“I promise that’s the only reason we’re still watching this,” Abigail says, picking popcorn out of her hair.

“You sure you don’t want to finish this disaster with us?” you ask, bumping your shoulder against his arm.

His mouth works a bit, eyes flicking back and forth between you and the screen.  Then he squares his shoulders a little and nods. “Alright.”

You tug him over to the couch, squeezing in next to Maru and Penny and ruffling Shane’s hair as you settle back in.

Shane swats at your hand, grumbling.  “Geddoff.”

“You had popcorn husks in your hair.”

“I’m starting a new fad, Phil, get with the program.”

“Movie Theater Carpet Chic?”

“Just missing the gum and cum.”

There’s a collective groan of disgust and Shane grins, a little too pleased with himself.

Harvey nudges you, gesturing in the direction of the door.  “I um, I packed an overnight bag,” he whispers confidentially.  His shoulders are hunched, hands clasped on his knees in an effort to make himself small.  “I went ahead and put it in the truck, I hope that’s alright.”

“Of course it’s alright.”  You smile up at him, shifting to cuddle up against his shoulder.  

Harvey stiffens, and for a second you feel him start to pull away.

“You okay?” you ask softly.  “If it’s bothering you, we can leave.”

“No, no,” he mutters, head shaking jerkily.  “It’s fine.” Tentatively he reaches out for your hand, lacing your fingers together.

It’s a mixed reaction when the end credits finally roll.  Boos from Abigail and Sam, delighted cheers from Emily and Maru, and a soft mutter of “what the fuck was that?” from Shane.

Penny finally unburies her face in relief and Maru laughs, kissing her cheek.

“We’re crowd-sourcing the movie choices next time,” you tell Emily, laughing as a fresh fall of popcorn pelts the screen.

“Sam, I swear, if you throw any more of that you’re staying to help me vacuum,” Emily says, leveling a finger.  She turns to you. “I thought that was really fun!”

“It was...certainly an experience.”

“Like dropping acid in an abandoned Hot Topic,” Abigail adds.

Shane tosses his head back and laughs.  “Why does that sound like the voice of experience?”

Abigail stretches, looking up at the ceiling.  “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Alright nerds, geeks, and miscreants,” you say, hauling yourself to your feet.  “We should head out. This was a blast, though, thank you for doing this, Emily.”  You tap Shane on the top of the head. “Text me if you still need that lift next week, okay?”

Shane nods and pops a tight-lipped salute.  “Get the fuck outta here, Phil.”

 

 

“Shane seemed to be in good spirits tonight,” Harvey says as you walk to the truck.

The chill in the air has deepened, mist swirling around your ankles as you walk and pluming from your mouths as you speak.

“He was a little dour when he first turned up, but he perked up pretty quick.  I think it helped the movies were bad enough to rag on. I might talk to Emily, see if she’s alright making this a bit more of a regular thing.  Give him a chance to hang out and be social in a place where beer isn’t , y’know?”

He nods.  “That’s not a bad idea at all.  What was that you were saying about a ride?”

“Hm?  Oh. For his appointment next week.  The therapist. He doesn’t want to leave Marnie without the truck and I reckon he’d prefer an escort that was a little less…”

“Judgmental?”

“That’s the one.”

“That’s good.  It’s going to be rough going for awhile, it’s good that he has people that are looking out for him.”

“People like you,” you say, poking his side.

“People like you,” he says.  

You resist the urge to give him a pinch on the backside as he climbs into the truck - a feat only made possible by the fact that you can see a line of faces crowded at the window.  You flip them a discrete double-bird as you make your way around to the driver’s side followed by the muffled sound of Maru’s laughter.

As soon as you’re inside, Harvey leans across the seat for a kiss.  “I owe you an apology,” he says, laying his forehead against yours.

“Apology?  What for?”

He takes your hand again.  “Inside. For hesitating. I’m...I’m not used to...”  He gives a little shrug, and holds up your clasped hands.  “This. In front of other people.”

“Should I-”

“No,” he says quickly, and kisses you again before you can finish.  “This is all...it’s a lot to take in for me, and I know I don’t always handle it well.  Sometimes I don’t know how to handle it at all. But I don’t want it to stop. It’s just...it has been a very long time since I was close with anyone.  I haven’t been in anything I could even loosely call a relationship in...well in awhile..”

“How long?”

He sighs heavily through his nose.  “Seven years, give or take. Somewhere around there.  We, uh, we got together not long before I started in the ER and it went downhill fast.”  His face works a little, searching for words. “She...well suffice to say she wasn’t much for physical displays of affection.  Honestly, by the end there I think she was ashamed of me. I was in a bad way, and it brought out a very bad side of her. The worse I got, the more she just saw me as...as a coward.”

A little puzzle piece slots into place in your head and you squeeze his hand.  Hard. You still remember with vivid detail the panic on his face when he’d broken down after Marnie had come to collect Shane.  That miserable expectation of disdain. A sudden flare of anger kindles up in your belly.  

“You’re no coward, Harvey,” you tell him flatly.  “Anyone that could look at you falling apart and call you a coward for it is a terrible person.  You are the sweetest man I have ever met, and I am proud to have you on my arm any day.”

You pull him across the seat to you, kissing him because somehow you have to - it’s an urge as impulsive as it is imperative.

“Come home with me,” you mutter as you finally part.

Harvey nods, pressing his lips to the side of your neck.  “Yes, please.”

The ride home is quiet save for the radio and the occasional spattering of light rain on the windshield.  Harvey’s hand rests high up on your thigh as you drive, not teasing, but present. When you finally pull into your driveway you barely have the chance to put the truck in park before Harvey pulls you across the seat to him, covering your mouth with his.

“Someone’s excited,” you gasp, half-laughing as he comes up for air.

“You have no idea.  I have been thinking about this all day.  Even before you sent me that picture.”

“Suppose I don't have to ask if you’re still up for playing tonight.”

Harvey stares at you for a moment, mouth working, then seems to decide words aren’t implicit enough and grasps your hand and presses it between his legs.  He is hard already, cock sticking straight up and pinned against his body by the waistband of his trousers. You squeeze gently and he hisses, hips rocking up towards your hand.  You bite your lip, as thrilled by Harvey’s boldness as you are by the prize under your fingers.  

“All day,” he reiterates, a little strained.  “The only thing I’ve been able to think about was coming home with you tonight, and all the things you wanted to do.  Do you have any idea how hard it is to focus on filling out paperwork when all I can think about is…” he trails off, and even by the faint light of the dashboard and your porch light you can see his face darkening.  “It has been practically unbearable.”

“Sweet thing,” you mutter, leaning closer.  “You could’ve spared yourself and rubbed one out.”

“I did,” he says, burying his face against your neck with a sigh as you palm him through his trousers.  “I started to. More than once. But I didn’t want to come without you.”

His breath is heavy, raising goosebumps up the side of your neck and down your arms.  You trace the length of him - so hot you can feel it even through the heavy wool - underneath the knitted sweater vest to the thick, smooth leather of his belt.  Carefully, you snake a finger between the buttons of his shirt. Harvey groans as you brush against the head of his cock, trapped and swollen underneath his waistband.  A warm, slick bead of pre-come forms almost immediately, and you circle your finger gently, teasing.  

He jerks up towards your touch, whining at the pressure as his cock strains against his belt and the contrasting swirl of your finger.  He’s still leaking, first a trickle and then a gush, dampening his shirt.

“You make such lovely sounds,” you tell him truthfully, slipping another finger through the parted cloth to rub him more firmly.

“S-st - ohhh - stop, please,” he moans, tugging at your wrist.  “I’ll come if you don’t.”

“I think I’d take that as a compliment right now,” you say, pulling your hand back and suck delicately on the tips of your fingers.

“Sweet Yoba,” he mutters, laying his head back against the back window.  “I-I need a minute. I’m afraid if I move at all…”

“Take all the time you need,” you say, nuzzling against his shoulder before settling back into your own seat.  “We’ve got all night.”

It takes a few minutes before his breathing finally evens out.  You’re careful not to look at him, no matter how much you want to.  He’s too wound, and if this week has proven anything, it’s that he is very reactive to your gaze.  He’s not quite an exhibitionist - the thought of people watching him in such a state is more of a stressor than a turn-on.  However much he enjoys occasional risky behavior in places where you might be caught, it’s the might be that appeals to him there.  It’s not that he likes being looked at, it’s that he likes you looking.

“Alright,” he says at last.  “I think, I think I’m good.”

“You’re always good,” you tell him, finally risking a glance.  He still looks ruffled, but his color has evened out for now. You tug at his hand, kissing the back of it.  “Come on. Let’s get inside before the rain picks up.”

“Yoba it’s cold tonight,” you mutter as you rush to your front door, shivering a little.  As soon as you get the door open you make straight for the thermostat. The heating is on, you had enough presence of mind to put it on before you left the house, but only enough to just barely take the chill off.  “It’ll take a little bit to warm up if you’d like a drink first,” you call out over your shoulder. “Give you a chance to thaw out. And cool down,” you add with a smile.

“Might not be a bad idea,” Harvey says, pointedly ignoring your teasing and closing the door rapidly behind him.  “Anything hot?” he asks, rubbing his hands together.

“Tea, hot chocolate, I think I’ve got some decaf on hand if you’re desperate.”

“Sacrilege,” Harvey whispers in mock outrage.

“Yes, well, my doctor tells me I should avoid caffeine in the evenings.”

“Sound advice, but decaf is still an insult to the coffee bean.”

“Snob,” you say with a smirk.  “There’s some cider in the fridge I could heat up if you’d rather be more festive.”

“Hot chocolate, please.”

“Coming up.  You can go ahead and put your bag in the bedroom if you want.  I made space in the nightstand if you had anything you wanted to stash.”

Harvey freezes, half turned towards the bedroom doorway.  “You, you didn’t have to,” he stammers, a little thunderstruck.

“I wanted to,” you say simply, pulling a saucepan down from the pot rack.  “You’re welcome here, Harvey, and I want you to feel at home.”

His eyes are a little over-bright as he smiles at you, clearly touched. 

There’s light sounds of rummaging in the next room as Harvey unpacks, and you stand in front of the stove, whisking milk into cocoa powder and just listening.  It’s been a very long and very hard week, and you are glad beyond all description that it is over. It’s good to be home, and it’s even better to have Harvey with you.  You couldn’t put it into words if you tried, but you feel a sort of settledness with him here.  Not just in you, but somehow in the house itself.  As if the old place had been lacking something to make it truly feel like a home and, having found it, has sunk comfortably into its foundations in relief.

Again you feel that mild sense of panic, that warning bell that this is all too sudden, and you brush it off like a bothersome fly.  It is sudden, yet it isn’t. The same way that spring creeps in with faint hints of green and warmth and then all at once explodes in a riot of verdant growth.  

He has grown on you.  And people, like plants, sometimes grow quiet.

You hear him approach as you knuckle the water out of your eyes, and when he slips his arms around you, you let out a deeply contented sigh.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you tell him.

A warm huff of a breath against your ear.  It might be a laugh. “So am I.”

“Have I told you I missed you?” you say as he presses a kiss to your earlobe.

His head drops to your shoulder.  Message received and understood. “I missed you, too,” he says, then sighs.  “One day I’ll say it properly. I promise.”

“I’m not going anywhere.  Take all the time you need.”  You turn your head just enough to kiss the end of his nose.  “Hot chocolate’s done.”

 

 

“This is nice,” Harvey says.  You’ve pulled him to the couch - this time blessedly free of coats, books, and junk food wrappers - and have snuggled into the crook of his arm, sipping at the last of your mug of chocolate.

“It is.  We should make a habit of it.”

There's a faint teasing edge in his voice.  “The chocolate, or-”

“You know what I mean,” you say, bumping your head on his shoulder.

“I suppose I do,” he says, setting down his mug and taking yours, as well.  He kisses you then, tilting your face up towards his.  It’s gentle enough to start, warm and sweet and tasting faintly of chocolate.  It’s your restraint that frays first, hand slipping down past Harvey’s belt with a searching, curious touch.  He’s no longer hard, but he’s still curiously full, a thickened line of flesh under wool.  He groans into your mouth, rocking up against your touch, and you feel him swell almost instantly.

“D-do you still-” he stammers.

“Oh yes.  Are you ready, or do you want to wash up first?”

He laughs hoarsely.  “I already did before I left.”

You grin, squeezing him.  “Good. Come with me, sweet thing.  I want you in my bed.”

He mutters something that might actually be a prayer as you tug him to his feet and lead him to your bedroom.  Harvey, it seems, made a few preparations of his own. A large sheet towel has been laid out across the quilt, another left folded at the end of the bed, and his bottle of oil has been laid carefully next to it.

“Always prepared,” you chuckle, pulling his glasses off and kissing him soundly.

He tries to say something, but it devolves into laughter and sputters as you push his jacket off his shoulders and start tugging at his sweater vest.  By the time you reach his belt he’s nearly as hard as he was outside in the truck.

You give a little cry of surprised delight as you push his slacks and boxers past his hips.  Underneath the exclamatory rise of his cock, Harvey’s balls are completely clean shaven.

“I thought, I thought you might like it,” he says, swaying with his pants around his ankles.

You brush your fingers along the smooth skin, cupping them.  “I can’t say I don’t approve.”

His throat works.  “I’m glad.”

“Any particular preferences, or should I just explore a little?”

“I, uhm - oh -”  He falters as your hand closes over him, stroking him with a desperately gentle touch.  “I’ve um, I’ve always wanted to, to…”

“Yes?” you ask with a long, slow stroke.

“M-my g- your tongue,” he groans, coloring so deeply you’re afraid he’s either going to come on the spot or pass out.  “I want to feel your tongue.”

You grin, delighted.  “It is amazing how frank you are with a hand on your cock, Harvey.”

He swears, burying his head once again in the side of your neck.  His face is absolutely burning.

“You want my tongue?” you ask.  “I’ll give it to you gladly.”

You drop to your knees, pressing his cock up against his stomach and running your tongue down the length of it to his shaven balls, pulling them into your mouth.

He lets out a soft groan, running his hand through your hair.  “That’s - oh - that’s lovely, but it’s not quite-”

“I know what you meant, Harvey,” you say, looking up at him and tracing a deliberate line down the seam of his sac with your tongue.  “Patience is a virtue.”

He nods, mouth agape.  A grin that’s all nervous excitement breaks across his face.

You pull him into your mouth, moaning a little yourself as you sink down.  This, you think to yourself as you feel his thighs tense up under your hands, is something you just don’t do enough.  Harvey moans a little, swaying on his feet.

“That’s wonderful,” he sighs.

You hum once in what might be agreement and he makes a soft, startled sound at the vibration.  You pull back long enough to draw a deep breath before pressing forward again. Further and further.  Relaxing your throat until you feel him slip past that first stage of resistance. He cries out soundlessly as you swallow him down to the last, all breath and no voice.  You hold him there until you can’t bear it any longer and as you pull back, gasping, he leaves a trail of warm salt along your tongue.

And so you stop, kissing your way up along his hip and the gentle swell of his belly to his chest as you stand.

He helps you with your clothes, hands skimming eagerly over bare skin each time a part of you is uncovered.  You have half a mind to make him take a knee and get you off first, but as you trail your hands down his back to the wonderful curve of his ass he lets out a low, anticipatory groan, and you can’t bring yourself to make him wait.

“Turn around.  Bend over the bed.”

He sighs, eyes sparkling, and turns obediently, resting on his elbows.  The muscles in his thighs are taut, back arched like a spooked cat, buttocks clenched.  Eager beyond words, but unbelievably tense. You run your hands over his thighs and buttocks up to his back, trying to calm him.  

“Move up a bit for me, sweet thing.  On your knees.”

He does, crawling on his elbows until he’s about halfway up the bed, gathering a few of the pillows under him.  You settle on the bed behind him, pouring a small amount of oil into your hands and resume your ministrations, rubbing and kneading his muscles until at last his back drops and his buttocks unclench.

Slow, you remind yourself.  There’s no rushing this. You work your hands in circles, closer and closer to the cleft of his ass and trailing down to stroke over his balls and down along his cock.  When the first, soft moan escapes him you bend your head, pulling his cock back towards you and dragging your tongue along the same path, from the tip of his cock up and up and up-

“Oh!”

The cry is startled, and muffled by pillows.  You repeat the motion, pressing in more firmly with your tongue as you reach his ass.

Again he cries out, rocking back against your tongue.

“Ever done this before?” you ask, biting playfully on the curve of his right cheek.

“N-no.  I’d always wanted to try, but I never, I never - oh fuck.”   

All grasp of the English language slips neatly from his head as you spread him open and begin to eat him out properly.  He rocks and moans, clutching at the bed clothes, stuttering out half-formed swears between deepening, ragged gasps. His cock leaks steadily, slickening your hand and trailing darkening spots on the towel beneath him.  He is desperately hard now, pulse pounding along the veins bulging down the length of his cock.  

Part of you wants to keep going, to make him come like this, whining and moaning on his knees, hips rolling ceaselessly between the attention of your hand and the wet swirl of your tongue.  It wouldn’t take long, not with him having spent the better part of the day nursing a hard-on. But you have other plans for him tonight, and so you slide your hand off his cock and instead wrap it around his balls, squeezing and tugging gently.

“Don’t stop,” he moans, frustrated and trembling.  “Please don’t stop.”

“You’re too close, sweet thing,” you tell him regretfully, pressing wet, open kisses along his buttocks and thighs.  “Wouldn’t be fair to leave you aching all day and finish you off in under ten minutes. That would be criminal.  Besides, I’ve got other plans for this lovely ass of yours.”

Harvey whimpers a little too plaintively to be in protest.

“Turn over, Harvey.  I want to look at you.”

Panting, he tucks his shoulder and rolls, squirming around until he is on his back in front of you, legs spread.  His face is beet red, a faint sheen of sweat across his brow. His hair, which had finally begun to dry from his shower, sticks to his temples in damp, dark curls.  A faint, silvery thread of pre-come trails from the head of his visibly throbbing cock to slowly pool against his stomach.

“Oh that’s lovely.  You look wrecked already,” you say, smiling.

He laughs, eyes crinkling, and you press down over him, kissing the hollows over his collarbones and the bobbing knot of his adam’s apple.  

“I feel a little guilty,” he says.  His hands come up, skimming along your sides.  “I’ve barely touched you.”

“Tonight’s not about me,” you mutter, tongue circling the small pebbled peak of his nipple.  When his hands slide up further towards your breasts you parry them neatly, grasping his wrists and pinning them over his head.  He’s a big man, but right now you have all the leverage, plus several months’ worth of built up farm muscle on your side.

Not that he’s resisting.  His eyes have gone wide, pupils blown.  You’re not entirely sure he’s breathing.  The only sure sign of life is his cock, which twitches hard enough to bounce wetly against your stomach.

“You can make me come after,” you tell him, smiling.  “Or I can make myself come, and you can watch. But right now all I want is to see you dripping and moaning and falling to pieces and know it's me that got you there.”

You roll your hips against him, a simulation of a thrust, and his cock slides freely along your stomach.  He groans, mouth falling open, eyelids fluttering.

Your grin widens.  “Just like that, sweet thing.  Just like that. Now. Would you like me to play with your ass again?”

He swallows hard, and nods.  “Please.”

“Good boy.”

You kiss him, far more gently than he seems to expect, and then rock back on your heels, releasing him.  The bottle of oil is still on the bed and you grab it, pouring a little in your palm and stroking your fingers through it.  

Harvey’s eyes are riveted to you, a look of shocked hunger on his face, as if he can’t quite believe this is all really happening.  His hands move, consciously or otherwise, cupping his balls and drawing them up to give you a clearer view.

“D-do you, have you done this before?  Do you know where, um…”

“I have,” you tell him.  “And I do. Though it has been a hot minute so, forgive me if I don’t get there right away.”

He sighs as you circle your fingers over the flat patch of skin beneath his balls, massaging down with gentle strokes.  When reach his puckered hole his breath catches and falters, struggling to remember to breathe as your finger presses in slowly.

It’s easier than you expected.  Whether that’s a testament to your oral skills, his eagerness, or simply the fact that this is not his first time, you’re not sure.  There’s little resistance beyond that first ring of muscle, all else is a soft, slick pressure around your finger.

“Good?” you ask, thumb circling his perineum.

A little moan escapes him and he nods, licking his lips.  “Yes.” 

“Good.  Good is good.  Let’s see if we can aim for better.”

You crook your finger, stroking up as you pull back and rubbing more firmly with your thumb.  Harvey lets out a harsh sigh, hips tilting down towards you.

“There?”

“A-almost,” he pants, moaning and rocking as you find a rhythm, shucking a little deeper with every thrust.  His cock remains untouched, and is turning a particularly deep shade of red.

“Deeper?”

“Yes,” he whimpers.

You work him slowly, trying for a mimicry of the same curling, clasping motion he uses on you.  Harvey follows your rhythm, rocking shamelessly towards the curl of your finger. As he begins to pick up speed his moans become a near constant thing, pausing only when he has to draw a breath.

“More,” he mutters breathlessly.  

He whines when you pull back and nearly out of him, and when you push forward again with two tightly wound fingers he cries out, shuddering and grasping the base of his cock in a white-knuckle grip.

“Easy, sweet thing,” you croon, stilling your hand and rubbing his thigh.  “You can go a little longer, can’t you?”

“T-trying,” he pants, biting his lip  “It’s been s-so long, I - f-fuck - I forgot how good this feels.”

“Batting averages,” you say, lowering your head to kiss and nip at the sensitive skin high up on his inner thigh.

“What?” he says.  Puzzled, he raises his head, blinking at you dazedly.

“I hear it helps,” you say with a shrug.  “Probably need to be into sports though. Planes then.  Makes and models. Run some numbers through that pretty little head until you cool down a little.”

He wheezes laughter, shaking his head, but after a few moments the trembling in his legs begins to ease, and he nods.  “Okay,” he mutters hoarsely.

You build him up again, working your way deeper with each stroke, pressing up a little harder, relishing every gasp and moan he makes as you patiently fuck him.

“You’re giving me all sorts of ideas, Harvey.  Maybe I should make an investment.”

He doesn’t respond.  He can’t, really. All that comes out when he opens his mouth is a long, low groan.

“I could find a nice strap for you,” you say, pressing up harder.  “Fuck you properly. Would you like that?”

Your fingers slip just a little deeper as Harvey arches up, and he bucks against you suddenly, crying out.  A gush of pre-come dribbles down his wavering cock, and as you press more firmly against the spot you’ve found, the little runner of fluid turns opaque white.

“There you are,” you say coyly.

“F-fuck me,” Harvey whimpers, thrusting down toward your hand, trying hopelessly to drive you in deeper and harder.  “Please, please fuck me.”

Harvey has hardly been quiet tonight, but as you push your fingers up towards his prostate, working him with a firm and unyielding pressure, he becomes beautifully noisy.  He lets out a long whimper that builds louder and louder into a whining keen of unchecked pleasure. And he begs. He begs you to fuck him. To not stop. To never ever stop.  His heels dig into the mattress, desperate for leverage, for contact, cock shining with pre-come and aching for release.

“Do you want to come?”

“Yes!” cries, squirming.  “Yes yes please yes!”

You still your hand again and he practically sobs.

“A little longer, baby,” you mutter gently, running your free hand up his stomach to his chest, feeling the gallop of his heartbeat against his ribs.  “You can do it. Just a little longer. You’re so full up.”  

You lean forward taking one of his balls into your mouth, sucking gently.  A shudder ripples through him, hands clenching and unclenching in the quilt.

“You’re going to make such a mess.”

“Please,” he whines breathlessly.  “Please.”

“Please what , baby?  You have to tell me what you want.”

“Touch me.  F-fuck me. Make me come.  Please.  I can’t stand it.”

“Good,” you say, bending over him.  “Come in my mouth, Harvey. Come in my mouth while I fuck you.”

He gives a hoarse, strangled shout as your fingers move again, curling and circling with the same sort of kneading pressure he so delights in using on you.  His whole body jerks as your mouth engulfs his aching cock, sucking and bobbing. One of his hands finds your hair, making a fist in it. For a second you think he’s going to force you down and you relax your throat, readying yourself, but he only holds you there, not wanting to be left at the brink again.  

There’s a flood of bitter salt on your tongue before Harvey arches up, a growling, grating roar breaking from him, and you push down, burying him as deeply in your throat as you can as he comes.

His entire body goes rigid, muscles trembling like struck piano wire.  You can feel each pulse pound against your tongue, spilling down your throat.  There is just so much .  The hand in your hair tightens, tugging hard enough to bring tears to your eyes.  

You pull back, swallowing, desperate for air, and wrap your hand around him.  You slow your fingers, smearing the last of his spend across the head of his cock, and just as his breathing begins to slow you arch your fingers up again.

“Oh!”   He lurches up, shaking, air leaving him in short, staccato bursts.  His hips leave the bed, then slam down again. More come dribbles down his cock, now turning a deep shade of violet-red.

“I can’t,” he whines, gasping, “I can’t stop coming.”

You trail your tongue over him as you work your fingers steadily, milking two more pale runners of come from him before he squirms, releasing his grip on your hair.

“Oh f-fuh-fuck!" he cries, shaking as a third trickle oozes from the head of his cock.  "Oh-okay okay uncle!  Mercy!  Unngh - holy - I surrender, it’s t-too much, I can’t, I can’t!”

Slowly and carefully you slide your fingers free, and Harvey breathes a ragged sigh of relief.

You leave him to catch his breath a moment, slipping into the bathroom to wash your hands, which are a mess of oil and come.  You’re only gone a moment, shuffling back in to curl up at Harvey’s side, kissing his temple.

“I hope that was worth waiting for.”

“I haven’t...I’ve never... come so hard...in m-my... fuck,” he pants, stammering. 

You feel an overwhelming burst of pride, and you press your lips against his shoulder, smiling.  “Best news yet.”

He rolls towards you, brow furrowed.  “Are you...did you even…” He shakes his head, too scrambled to say it right.  And so he reaches out, sliding a hand between your legs. His face goes slack with surprise as he finds you quite astonishingly wet.

“Oh.”

“Does that answer your question?” you ask, breath catching.

He swallows hard and nods.  “Come here,” he says darkly, rolling onto his back and pulling you on top of him.

You giggle, not quite understanding until Harvey begins to wriggle downward, leaving you grasping onto the headboard as he takes his place between your legs and pulls you down onto his face.

Your laughter cuts off abruptly as his mouth fastens over you, tongue rolling sweetly over the stiff and swollen rise of your clit.  He’s less voracious this time. More patient. More exhausted, frankly, but somehow still determined to take his time.  

Your hands grip the headboard a little tighter, rolling your hips and grinding down against his tongue.  You watch him for a time, loving the wicked spark in his eyes whenever he catches you looking. When you feel his fingers slide into you your eyes fall shut, head lolling back, and all there is left to do is lose yourself to the sensations and hang on for dear life.

“Yes,” you gasp, rocking towards his clever fingers and open mouth, chasing the sweet building friction that burns slow but so unbearably hot.  You rake your hand through his hair, muttering breathless praises. “Make me come.”

His mouth is barely touching you now, but even the feeling of his breath and the barest brush of his tongue burns, and when he whispers a plea for you to come, you can do little but comply.  There’s a sudden jolt as your orgasm hits, a sharp spike that sends you up and over the edge and you find your voice in a cry that rises and rises and finally breaks.

When the room stops spinning and your eyes open you find him gazing raptly up at you, peppering your spread thighs with soft kisses.  There’s a dark, crescent shaped mark high up on your left thigh where he'd bitten you as you climaxed.

You roll off of him carefully - your legs are still very wobbly - and rest your head back against the pillows, trying to catch your breath.

Harvey crawls up to your side, kissing his way to your mouth.  As he pulls away you fall to giggling, hiding your face against his neck.

“What?” he asks, incredulously.

“I bought so many condoms,” you say, hitching with laughter.  “And we didn’t even need them.”

Harvey gives a little chuckle, kissing your temple.  “Well, we still have all weekend.”

You smile against his neck.  “Yes. Yes we do.”

Chapter Text

The alarm goes off just before seven.  It’s quiet.  Some acoustic song with the volume set incredibly low.  Enough to wake you, at least, and not quite enough to rouse Harvey.  He lies curled up on his side in a snarl of blankets, his back to your front, snoring softly.  Carefully you reach for your phone, hoping you can switch off the alarm without waking him.

It’s a bit of a fight - one of your arms is wedged quite firmly under his pillow, your hand resting against his shoulder - but after a good deal of stretching your fingers finally close over the phone.

Just as Harvey groans and rolls towards you.

“Sorry, sweet thing,” you mutter, dismissing the alarm.

“No such thing as sleeping in on a farm, is there?” he mumbles.  There’s a bit of grump in his voice, but it melts away into a contented hum as he snuggles into your shoulder.

You brush the corkscrewed mess of his hair aside and kiss his forehead.  “Mm. Not for me. But you can sleep in if you want to. Long as you like.  Bed’s all yours.”

“The appeal is in the company,” he says with a chuckle.  “How much have you got to do?”

“Not much.  Clean out the stalls and feed the kids.  Give the pumpkins a once-over and make sure the covers are still on.  All the big stuff is Monday work.”

“D’you want a hand?” he asks, his words beginning to slur as sleep starts to overtake him again.  

Smiling, you shake your head.  “No, sweet thing, I’ve got this on lock.  I’ll get the chores out of the way and bring up something for breakfast.  You sleep. You sound like you need it.”

He huffs a little indignantly.  “Your fault,” he mumbles. “Did me in last night.”

“Good,” you say with more than a little pride.  “Enjoy your orgasm coma. You’ve earned it.”

“Minx,” he rumbles as you kiss him, eyes closed and mouth curled in a smile sweeter than your morning coffee.

By the time you’re dressed and twisting your hair into a knot, he’s sound asleep, curled up around your pillow.  His glasses are still sitting on top of your dresser by the bathroom door where you’d set them the night before. Careful of the few still-creaking floorboards, you make your way to the bedside and lay them on the nightstand next to him.  You linger a moment, watching him sleep, then gently tug the blanket up over his shoulders and make your way out of the house.

Even with all your scrambled planning, there’s still plenty of work to be done.  Getting the barn stalls cleaned out and the animals fed and pastured is not the most time-consuming of your daily routine, but it’s still work, and a chore that’s set to increase before too much longer.  Marnie’s been rather excited at the prospect of getting you started with dairy farming, even just for your own use, and the two of you have been in talks to see about an AI tech coming out in the spring.

The weatherproofing is holding up well in the field and in your own garden, and by eight o’clock you’re walking back to the house with a basket full of eggs and the last scant handful of blackberries off the briar.  French toast for breakfast, you've decided.  The baked sort.  Something you can fastball at the oven and then curl back up with Harvey until it's time to eat.

The shower’s running when you get back.  You can hear the muffled hiss of water as you set your basket down on the kitchen table, and beneath that, growing louder as you approach the bathroom door, you can hear Harvey humming.

“I’m next after you,” you call out.

There’s a sudden, startled noise, followed by the unmistakably loud bong of something hitting the old cast iron tub.

Panicked, you push your way into the bathroom, half-expecting to see Harvey crumpled in the bathtub and bleeding.  “Are you alright?”  

The shower curtain is pulled closed, but you can almost see the top of Harvey’s head over the railing.  He is, at least, still upright.

“Shit, bastard, balls,” he sputters.  “Yes, I’m fine, I’m fine.  Just startled me, that’s all.  I dropped the shampoo.” His head peeks out from behind the curtain, bedraggled and flustered, thumbing the water out of his eyes.

The laugh that bubbles out of you is as much in relief as in sympathy as you stretch up on your toes for an apologetic kiss.  “I’m so sorry, sweet thing, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s alright,’ he says, softening enough to kiss you back.  “What did you say?”

“I said I’m next after you.”

Harvey rakes his hair back out of his eyes, a considering look on his face.  “I only just got in. You might as well join me.”

You grimace.  “I smell like barn, sweet thing, I’m not going to subject you to that.”

He looks down at you, still blinking away water, a look of mild puzzlement on his face.  And then his hand slips around the back of your neck, pulling you forward into a kiss, open-mouthed and heavy.  Water trickles under the collar of your shirt and down your back, first hot then cold, but that’s not what sends a shiver down your spine.  Your hands come up automatically, fingernails scratching through the wet swirl of hair across his chest.

“Get in here with me,” Harvey says, breath short as he pulls away, lips brushing against your cheekbone.  Water spills down the parted curtain and down the both of you, puddling on the floor. The place is going to be an utter mess if you don’t make your mind up soon.  

“Please,” he mutters with a smile, just barely heard above the rush of water.

You swallow hard, more than a little dizzied by the intensity of his affection.  “Alright,” you say, nodding, and trip your way out of your clothes.  

As soon as you step into the bathtub Harvey pulls you into his arms and into another kiss so urgent it almost sends you off-balance, grappling for both the wall and his shoulders to keep you on your feet.

“Good morning to you, too, Doctor.”

“Good morning,” he rumbles, turning you carefully into the stream of hot water.

“This is probably not the best place,” you manage between kisses, pressing firmly against the stiffening length of him despite your own protestations.

Harvey closes his eyes and nods.  “I know,” he says a little sadly. “No protection.  Not advisable even if there wasn’t a risk of falling.  I just wanted you with me.”

“You’ve got me, sweet thing.”

His answering smile is soft enough to make your chest ache, and enough that for half a second you feel dangerously close to breaking a promise  Luckily, there’s a sizable diversion nudging against your thigh.

You smile coyly, shifting against him.  “You know. Maybe I should just see about the pill.  We wouldn’t have to scramble for the bedside table every time.”

“Oh?”  A little smile curls the corner of his mouth.  “Well, I um. I’d recommend speaking to your doctor about that.”

“Really?”

“Mm.”

“Well, doctor, I have this boyfriend.”

“I see,” Harvey says in a nearly convincing professional tone.  There’s a glint in his eyes now, though, body starting to shift with you.  “And what about him?”

“Oh, he’s a wonderful man,” you croon, slipping a hand between the two of you and steadily stroking what you find there.  “He's sweet and funny and charming. And he has absolutely the most delectable cock I’ve ever seen.”

Color finds Harvey’s cheeks in a rush that’s almost worrying, but he grins, lop-sided and sheepish, as if you didn’t have your fingers curled around the member in question.  “And my ego grew three sizes that day.”

You smile back - it’s too hard not to answer that smile - and kiss his chin.  “But you see, doctor,” you carry on, “the problem is he’s just too sweet, and I can’t go five minutes without wanting to climb on him and ride him until he pops like a bottle of champagne.  And I’m afraid I just can’t afford to keep buying stock in Trojan.”

“I can take care of that,” Harvey says, a little more earnestly than you expect.  “If you really want.”

“It’d spare me hiding condoms all over the Valley in the event I can’t wait until I get you into a proper bed.”  You pull him back down, pressing your mouth against the side of his neck, and then, close to his ear: “Besides, I’d love to feel you come inside me.”

Harvey groans, a deep and almost pained sound, and the pinned length of his cock throbs between you.

“Let’s, let’s hurry up,” he says, pulling away an enormous amount of effort.  “Get out of here so-”

“You can get into me,” you finish helpfully.

“Sweet Yoba, you are too much.”

You barely make it out of the bathtub before you’re on each other again.  Harvey grabs a towel off the rack and wraps it around you, but instead of rubbing you down he pulls you close, folding his around your waist.  There’s water everywhere. The bathmat is sodden, more water dripping off the two of you as you stand there, too wrapped up in each other to even notice.

“Come on,” Harvey mutters as he backs you towards the door.  “Quick.”

You half-stumble your way to the bed, laughing giddily into each other’s mouths.  You have just enough presence of mind to spread the towel out beneath you to spare the quilt getting completely soaked as Harvey rakes through the nightstand for the box of condoms.  As he straightens your mouth finds the front of his hips, holding him steady by the lovely curve of his ass. He’s not an overwhelmingly hairy man, but he is delightfully fuzzy, and you busy yourself quite happily following the thin trail that travels south from his navel with your mouth.  

When your lips brush the base of his cock he shakes his head, hips moving away.  “No,” he says, fingers grasping at your hair and tugging your head back. He lowers his mouth to yours, the hand in your hair turning immediately gentle, thumb tracing the corner of your jaw.  “You don’t have to,” he says. “I still owe you for last night.”

“You don’t owe me, Harvey.”

“Yes I do,” he says, and there’s the faintest crack in his voice that says he doesn't just mean sex.  “Lie back, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.”

Your heart trips into a gallop, but you do as he asks, folding one arm behind your head.  For a long moment he just stands there over you, stark naked and soaking wet, erection jutting out almost comically.  But the look in his eyes as he takes in the sight of you on the bed is unbearably tender, a soft smile blooming on his face.  A little hitching huff of breath escapes him and he shakes his head.  

“You’re beautiful.  I don’t tell you that enough.”

Something in your chest flutters and flips, and you reach up, needing to touch him so badly it’s like an ache under your skin.  “C’mere.”

He bends, settling over you on his elbows and buries his face in the crook of your neck, lips against your pulse point.  The ache subsides. A new one takes its place. Lower. Deeper.  But just as urgent.

Harvey shifts, trying to keep his weight off you, but you pull him down, a low, contented groan leaving you as his weight settles and presses you into the mattress.

“Sorry,” he mutters, mistaking the sound for distress, and you can feel the immediate flush on his cheeks as he tries to push himself back up.

“No, no don’t,” you say with a sigh, wrapping your arms around him.  “I love this. You have no idea.”

“I’m, I’m not too heavy?”

“Not even a little.  It’s-” You close your eyes, pressing your cheek against his temple, searching for the right word.  “Fucking bliss. Feels safe. Comforting .”

He makes some sound low in his chest and it resonates there, vibrating against your rib cage.  For a second you feel like a crystal glass, struck and ringing, and you instinctively wrap yourself around him tighter.

“You feel wonderful,” you breathe, running your hands through the damp tangle of his hair.

There’s a rush of breath against your neck as he laughs, and your arms prick up in goosebumps.  “Flatterer,” he says. “I haven’t done anything yet.”

His cheek is rough, unshaven in the sudden rush to get you into bed.  You nuzzle against it anyway, running your hands down his back. “Not what I mean.”

He goes a little still, pressing his forehead against you.  “I know,” he mutters against your ear. He strokes a hand up and down your side from your hip to your breast and back again.  “So do you.”

His touch continues its circuit twice more, then deviates, carrying on past your hip to your thigh and lifting it.  Then travelling up and up and up.

Your grip on him tightens when he traces his fingers up your slit.  You’re so wet and so ready he could push forward and bury himself to the hilt in a single stroke, but all he gives you is a gentle swirl of his fingers.

You whine, frustrated, trying to push up against his hand, but he’s got you pinned with his own weight, the warm length of his cock tantalizingly close and throbbing against your hip.

“More?” he asks, circling your clit.

“Fuck, Harvey, don’t tease me, I want your-”

He kisses you to hide a smile as he slides his fingers into you, cutting off your words, tongue parting your lips and swiping across the roof of your mouth.  And he sets his practiced hands to work on you. In you.  Your breathing turns harsh almost at once, muffled by Harvey’s mouth as you try fruitlessly to rock your hips against the attention.

He pulls back, just far enough to look at you, one hand combing through your hair, the other moving expertly between your legs.  “Beautiful,” he mutters, his pretty green eyes heavy-lidded and dark.

You cup his face, feeling the rasp of stubble beneath your fingertips, your knees drawing up and locking in around his ribs.  Accommodating as ever, Harvey moves with you, still keeping as much of his body pressed against yours as possible. The angle changes, his fingers plunging deeper, still-bare cock resting close enough to slide against the slickened spread of your folds.

Harvey clenches his jaw with a choked groan, eyelids fluttering, still sensitive from yesterday’s nearly priapic edging.  

He watches your mouth work, watches your face flush and your eyes squeeze shut against the mounting sensation, rocking with you in spite of himself.  He mutters praises in an increasingly thick and heady voice as his fingers work inside you, and when he slips a third finger into you, you cry out, digging your nails into his shoulders.

He growls at that, the sound alone enough to send another ripple of heat through your body and you clench around his fingers with a whine.  “Good girl,” he whispers, tightening his grip and drumming out a relentless rhythm inside you. “Such a good girl.”

You try to tell him you’re close, you’re so close, but your mouth only hangs, caught on the first syllable of his name.

But he knows.  Gazing raptly down at your face while he’s three fingers deep inside you - of course he knows.

“Yes,” Harvey hisses as he feels your muscles tighten.  “I want to see you come, sweetheart. Let me see you come.”

And you do, buckling beneath him with a cry.  When he finally relents and draws his fingers out of you, you can only lay there, gasping and giggling, your face pressed against the side of his neck.

You don’t even notice him putting the condom on until you feel the head of his cock press against your entrance.

“Yes,” you gasp, grasping him tightly and pulling him forward.  “Fuck me, sweet thing. I want you so bad.”

He whispers something you can’t quite catch in a shaking voice, a little tremor rippling through his shoulders.  And then his arm loops around your leg, catching your knee in the crook of his elbow, angling you up, and when he pushes forward he slides so deep you can’t even breathe.

He rocks you.  A slow canter that builds smoothly to a gallop and leaves you clinging to his neck and pulling at his hair as the friction mounts.

“I-I don’t - fuck - I don’t know how much longer I can last,” he stammers, head bowed with the effort of control and more than a little embarrassment.

You gasp out a reassurance in his ear, but Harvey only shakes his head, a choked and desperate sound caught in his throat and pulls out and away from you.  You reach for him, whining in protest, but he’s inching himself down, mouth trailing biting kisses across your breasts and belly until he’s half-off the bed and fastening his mouth over your swollen sex.

“Oh fuck.”  One hand finds his hair, the other grabs a fist full of bunched bedclothes as he slides his fingers into you again.

Not until you’ve come a second time, back bowing and legs shaking, does he crawl his way back up, a musky taste of salt on his tongue as he kisses you.

"Fuck, baby," you moan, stroking his face.

He props himself up a little higher, grasping your hip.  “Over.”

Still panting, eyelids half-closed, you roll.  

“If I remember right, I think you liked this,” he says, straddling your hips and sliding back into you.  He folds over your back, mouth against your shoulder, a soft-sharp sensation of lips and teeth.

Your mouth falls open, soundless and breathless as he fucks you, your shoulder clamped in his teeth, cock pounding mercilessly against your g-spot.

After what seems like ages your muscles finally unlock and you gasp, a ragged, whistling breath that looses itself again with a broken wail.

He comes before you do - barely.  You can feel him fighting it. He knows you’re close, too, but he’s closer.  His rhythm stutters and slows, things that might be words trying to rush out of his mouth all at once and coming out in a mangled series of syllabic gasps.  As much as you want to reassure him - you can almost feel the embarrassment on his face -you’re not sure you could speak right now, even if your face wasn’t half-buried in the quilt.  So you reach for him, up and over your shoulder, finding the tangle of his hair and trailing down to grasp the back of his neck.  And you hope it suffices.

And maybe it does.

Harvey’s hips push forward again, pause, then deeper.  His arms give out and he drops to his elbows over you, coming with long, almost apologetic groan that dissolves into a shuddering sigh when you cry out after him, tightening around him as your own orgasm follows.

“S-sorry,” he pants, still rocking through the last of his spasms.  “Ohh m-my f-fuck , fuck I’m sorry. I tried, I-I wanted-”

“Baby,” you say, vowels drawing out into a moan.  His cock twitches hard at that, still seated deeply inside you, sending shivers straight down to your toes.  “Three. Three times.   What do you think you’ve got to apologize for?”

A breathless little laugh against the side of your neck.  “I was hoping for four."

You sputter, falling to giddy and incomprehensible giggling.  “You ambitious fucker.”

“Literally, yes,” he mumbles, and you don’t need to feel the graze of his teeth on your shoulder to know he’s smiling.

“Patron Saint of Orgasms.”  You hum happily, running your fingers through his hair.  It’s not just your ears that are ringing, it’s all of you, a full-body fuzz that makes you feel as if you’ve crawled inside a church bell at noon.  “Verily I have been blessed.”

Cool air hits your back as Harvey pulls away and you hear the less-than-appealing sounds of rubber snapping.  When it’s done he flops down next to you on his back, grazing his knuckles against the back of your arm.

You wriggle your way to him on your elbows, still loose-limbed and short of breath, and kiss him.  He’s a wreck, hair corkscrewing out in six different directions and deeply flushed, but there’s a set to his mouth and a faint furrow between his brows that doesn’t belong on his face.

He’s disappointed in himself.

You trace the line on his brow.  “I’m not keeping score, Harvey.  You know that, right?”

He drops his eyes.  “I know.” He sighs as he says it.  If it was anyone else you’d accuse them of being melodramatic.  But this is Harvey, and he isn't the sort for melodrama.  “After all you did for me last night, I just wanted to do the same for you.”

“Mission damn well accomplished,” you tell him, stroking his cheek when he gives a faintly relieved smile.  “That was wonderful. I just don’t want you to think you’ve got to be a walking orgasm dispenser.”

He snorts.  “No coins, please.”

“I mean it.” 

You're still smiling, voice light, but his expression shifts - falls - ever so slightly.  The words follow on their own, a knee-jerk apology.  “I’m s-”

Cursing rather thoroughly in your own head, you take his face in your hands and kiss him.  When he kisses you back you let out a muffled sigh against his mouth. 

“You don’t owe me an apology,” you tell him as you part.  “You haven’t done anything wrong. I just...I need you to know there’s no goal posts here.  There’s not a quota you have to meet. I did what I did last night because I wanted to make you feel good.  And I loved doing that for you. I did. I love touching you. And I love it when you touch me, and the way you make me feel.”  

You take a deep breath, trying to reach for some kind of composure.  “I just don’t want you to be so hard on yourself. The only thing I want is you.”

His eyes shine as he looks up at you, pupils blown.  He pulls you tightly to him, one hand grasping the back of your neck, the other pressed against the curve of your spine, and kisses you with all the fervor he can muster.

 

 

Your hair’s nearly dry by the time you finally make it out of bed.  It’s hunger that finally does it, both of your stomachs growling quite insistently.

“Breakfast,” you say, scrambling your way out of Harvey’s arms and off the bed with enormous reluctance.  “I was going to make that. Like, hours ago.”

He watches you rise with a focus that says he just might be committing the moment to memory.  The first morning spent like this as an actual couple. It’s obvious - he’s obvious - but you rather think he’s earned that right, especially today, and so you take perhaps a little longer than absolutely necessary rummaging through your underwear drawer for something nice to pull on.  There’s set in the back you think he might appreciate. An old-fashioned camisole and panties. Coffee-colored and a bit lacy. Pretty, but not so complicated as to interfere with the idea of a lazy weekend.

“Oh,” is all he says as you step into your panties.

“Hm?”  You turn, and by the look of him, you made the right choice.

“Can...can I-”  Red-faced and quite preoccupied with the sight of you, he points towards the nightstand to where his phone lies.

Your smile is enough of an answer that he nearly lunges for his it.

He takes well over a dozen pictures as you dress.  Your blouse is still unbuttoned when you lean over him and pluck the phone from his fingers.

“You'll run out of storage before you ever get to the good bits."

"You are the good bits."

“Now who’s the flatterer?" you ask, face growing hot.  You lean forward, kissing him just for the delight of it.  "I knew you wanted dirty pictures.”

“Some things deserve to be photographed,” he counters.  “You are definitely one of them.”

With a teasing sort of reluctance, you hand his phone over.  "In that case, you can take the rest when I undress tonight."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

You glance down in spite of yourself and find his cock swelling a little as you watch.  “You’re insatiable , sir.”

He chuckles, eyes sparkling.  “Mind of its own,” he mutters, more than a little proud.  

“I’m going to go get breakfast on, otherwise we’re never going to get out of the bedroom.”

“Was that not the plan?” Harvey asks with a teasing smile.

“Most of the plan, yes,” you concede.  “But as a doctor I think you’ll agree we need a good meal to keep our strength up if we’re going to spend the next two days fucking each other’s brains out.”

As if on cue, Harvey’s stomach gives another low growl.  “If we must,” he says with a put-upon sigh.

“I was going to toss some french toast in the oven, sound okay to you?”

“Sounds amazing.”

“Good.”  You give him another kiss - something you’re not sure you’ll be able to stop doing the entirety of the weekend - and as you rise you trail the tip of one finger ever-so-lightly down the tender length of his cock.

“Get him under guard before he gets you into trouble.”

Harvey grins, and it’s the smile that finally does it.  He’s surely got no idea how disarming that smile is, or how sweet.  The sight of him leaning back on his palms, naked with his hair mussed and grinning like a kid at Christmas is so overwhelmingly endearing that it hurts.  The thought rockets through your head like a freight train - sweet Yoba, I love this man - and you surge forward once more, covering his mouth with yours to keep from saying it aloud.

 

 

Harvey emerges from the bedroom just as you get breakfast into the oven.  The sight of him makes you do a double-take, leaning against the oven door as you close it.  He’s pulled on a burgundy and cream-colored sweater that does frankly wonderful things for his shoulders.  His hair’s combed, though thoroughly resisting becoming neat, and he’s taken the time to shave. There’s a small box in his hands - two of them, in fact - but you’re so busy looking at his legs you don’t even notice that yet.

He’s wearing jeans.

“Wow.”

He blinks, nudging his glasses up with a knuckle.  “What?”

“I didn’t even know you owned jeans.  You look good. Very good.”

Harvey gives a flustered little half-smile as you gawk at him.  “Well, I can’t wear slacks all the time,” he says by way of a defense.  “And I thought maybe I should aim for something practical in the unlikely event we actually make it out of doors.”

He sticks a long leg out, planting his heel against the threadbare rug to show off a pair of very new and very very clean work boots.

You coo appreciatively.  “I’m impressed! We’ll have those puppies dirtied up and broken in in no time.”

“Finally I’ll match my shoes,” he says, grinning when you laugh.  “Is there coffee?”

You fix him with a look.  “You come into my house and ask - of course there’s coffee.”  You flap a hand in the direction of the kitchen table.  “Sit, you.”

The boxes are laid out on the table when you set his cup down and settle across from him with your own.  “What’s all this?”

“Morning meds,” he says, sliding the smaller plastic one over.  “How long before breakfast?”

“Half an hour, give or take?  I didn't make a big batch.”

“Hm.  Better wait, then.”  He slides the box away again, mustache tilted comically.

A thought occurs to you, a light in the attic flickering on.

“Last weekend...you didn’t...”

“I only missed the morning, it’s fine,” he replies quickly, but his color’s up, and this time it’s not for the sake of his libido.

“Tell me you didn’t miss anything important.”

He mutters something a bit long that sounds suspiciously like it contains the words “antidepressant” and “blood pressure.”

Your heart sinks, a hot wash of guilt prickling your face.  “I would’ve driven you back.”

“I didn’t want to go,” he says, shaking his head.  “I was afraid if I said anything you might think I didn’t want to stay...and I didn’t...I didn’t know how you’d feel about it.”

It hits you then just how much he trusts you.  How much it must take for him to be open about this, to sit here with his medications in a box and be willing to take them in front of you.  Again you remember that look on his face, stricken and tearful when the panic had hit, so afraid that you would hate him for it.  You swear under your breath, reaching for his hand.

“I’m sorry.  I wouldn’t have kept you all day if I’d known.”

Harvey only shakes his head.  “I wouldn’t have traded that day for the world,” he says softly.  “Meds or no meds.”

“Not an advisable medical stance.”

“Maybe not.  But it’s the truth.”

His grip on your hand tightens.  “Listen, I...I have something for you.”  He takes a deep, shaky breath, and pushes the second of the two boxes forward.  It’s old. Squarish with rounded corners. Something like an old jewelry box.  It might’ve once been white, but time has faded it to something closer to a dirty beige. Harvey taps it with a finger.

“My grandfather was a pilot,” he says slowly, with the sort of precision that says he’s spent a good deal of time rehearsing his words.  “Fighter pilot actually, during the first war with the Empire. He enlisted straight out of high school, and just after he proposed to my grandmother.  It was sort of customary at the time for soldiers and their sweethearts to exchange trinkets before deployment, so they went, found a jeweler, and bought a pair of lockets.  One on a necklace chain for my grandmother, and one on a lapel pin for my grandfather. It was a last-possible-minute thing, and there ended up being a little bit of a mix up with the boxes.  My grandfather packed up and left with the locket by mistake.  He wore it anyway, of course, because he was a sentimental sap, and because he figured it was good luck. Part of my grandmother coming with him, and a reminder that he had something to come back to.  Something worth keeping alive for."

“I think I see where you get it from.”

“What’s that?”

“The romantic streak.”

He laughs, thumb worrying across your knuckles.  “I suppose so.” His smile slips. Sobers. He leans forward and you feel a little of the air leave the room.

“About six months into his service, his plane went down.  It took three days for rescue to arrive. They found him on a sandbar, roasting a coconut crab over a fire he'd built out of driftwood.  His co-pilot had died on impact, but the worst injury my grandfather had was a sprained ankle. He never said it, but when he talked about it, you could see there was part of him that was completely sure the only reason he came home in one piece was that locket.

“This week got me thinking.  In a few directions, really. Some of them good, some of them considerably less so, but it did make me think about what’s important in my life.  After Marnie took Shane home, and I...I never wanted anybody to see me like that again.  Least of all, you.  I’ve spent so long being called a coward and calling myself a coward I didn’t think anybody else could look at me and see anything else.  But you did.  Somehow you did. And I will never understand how or why but I am so grateful.  That means more for me than I think I can ever put into words. There are so many things I want to say to you, and it is killing me not to say them.  But I can’t yet. Because the last time I said it, the last time I thought I had this, it all went wrong.”

There are tears again.  You reach across the table, stroking them away, and Harvey presses the cup of your palm to his lips with a grateful sigh.

“I don’t want to get this wrong,” he says in an unsteady voice.  “But even more than that, I don’t want you to think that I- that I don’t feel the same about you.  Because I do. So until I can find the courage to tell you, I’m going to do my best to show you.”

He releases your hands, sliding the box forward and wiping at his eyes.  “Open it.”

The box smells faintly of mothballs and old lavender sachets, its hinges creaking as you open the lid.  Inside is a small heart-shaped locket on a fine chain. It’s gold - real gold - burnished with wear and inlaid with faintly yellowed mother-of-pearl.  Set atop the inlay is a small crooked-t shaped symbol of Yoba.

“Turn it over.”

You give him a questioning look, but he only gestures at the pendant in your hands.  On the back is an engraving, small and fine, worn nearly smooth with time and the worrying of fingertips.

Your heart is safe in mine.

It’s a fight to even speak his name around the lump in your throat.

He’s on his feet, still sniffling, and circling around to your side.  “I know we’re hardly in a war zone. But as much as I try to err on the side of optimism, I’m still a professional worrywart. I’d feel better knowing you had it.”

He plucks it from your fingers, fastening it around your neck with hands that only tremble a little bit.  He smiles as it settles against your chest. “It suits you,” he says, lips brushing your forehead.

You’re speechless, and just as well, you’re far too close to tears to speak properly right now.

Then he starts, pulling away and rummaging through one of his pockets.  “I almost forgot. I have something else for you.”

You laugh a little thickly, wiping at your eyes.  “Alright, now you’re just spoiling me.”

There’s a jingling sound as Harvey produces a key ring from his jeans pocket.  Two freshly cut keys dangle from it, clinking against a silver fob stamped with the Rod of Asclepius.

“I had spares made,” he says, pressing them into your hand.  “To the clinic and to my door.”

And that’s it.  That’s officially too much.

“Better than any birthday,” you manage to say before the tears take everything else.

 

 

“It’s beautiful out here.”

It’s afternoon now, sunlight slanting through the thinning canopy of leaves.  The path through the Cindersap Woods is a little less traveled these days, brush choking in at the edges, but not yet overgrown.  And it is just as beautiful as you promised him it would be.

“I love it,” you say with a sigh, fingers toying unconsciously with the locket around your neck.  “I do a lot of foraging out here. Just throw a basket over my shoulder and see what I can find. But most of the time I just like to walk.  It’s peaceful. Except for the mosquitoes in summer, they’re godawful.”

Harvey chuckles, squeezing your hand.  “I'm glad they’re out of season.  I'm practically a mosquito magnet.  Little bastards love me.”

You share a look, and he colors, a smudge of red across his nose and the tips of his ears.  “Don’t say it,” he says, laughing in spite of himself.

“As on-brand as it would be for me to let something like that slip out for the sake of word play, I promise I will restrain myself.”

“Good,” he says, pulling you to a stop and nuzzling at your cheek.  “I don’t have that many talents, I’d hate to be usurped in that one.”

“Oh you liar.”  You’re grinning now, eyes fluttering closed.  “You have many talents. I can name three right off the bat and I’m sure there’s more I don’t know about.”

“Spot the optimist,” he says, smiling crookedly.

You pop your thumb out.  “You’re a good doctor.”

“That’s a skill set, not a talent, but I suppose I'll allow it.”

Index finger.  “You make excellent model airplanes.”

“From kits,” he insists.  "Not exactly high art."

Middle finger.  “You’re fucking dynamite in bed.”

Harvey bursts out laughing, flushing deeply.  “Alright, if you keep that up I’ll never be able to make it back into the clinic.  My head will be too big to fit through the door.”

“It’s fine, we can set you up a little booth in the square.”

With a little effort, you untangle yourselves enough to keep walking.

“Piano,” Harvey says after a moment.

“Hm?”

“I used to play.  Took lessons for years.  One of my mother’s insistences when I was a child.  I hated it, but then my appreciation for music didn’t really find its legs until I was in college.  Always sort of wanted to go back to it, see what I could remember.”

He glances at you, finds you grinning.  “What? What’s so funny?”

“I knew it.”

“You knew I played piano?” he says, arching an eyebrow.

“With hands like that I knew you played something.  I kinda figured it was either piano or guitar.”

“Huh.  Lucky guess.”

“Lovely hands.”

“Stop .  You’ll start a forest fire with me as kindling,” he says, rubbing the tip of his ear.

You wind yourself around his arm, resting your head against his shoulder.  “You know, I'd always wondered about the airplanes. I take it that’s your grandfather’s influence?”

“Oh yes.  He used to tell me all sorts of stories when I was a kid.  The planes he flew, missions he ran. I had a wall of my room that was nothing but black and white photos he’d given me, all airplanes. I swore up and down I was going to be a pilot when I grew up, just like him.”

There’s a peculiar edge to his voice and you glance up, frowning.  His face has twisted into a rueful smile that’s so unlike him it stops you in your tracks.

“What happened?”

He turns, and your concern must be clear enough on your face because that bitter smile falls, and his hand tightens around yours.

He leans forward, turning his head and parting the hair at his temple.  There is a thin scar there, so faded at the hairline it’s almost invisible, but it streaks away into the tangle of his hair, getting thicker as it goes.

“I was seven.  Maybe eight. I’m not sure.  Our next door neighbor had a tree house - I use the word loosely, it was just a wooden platform, really - and we used to go up and play airplanes.  One day while we were playing, my brother-"

"You have a brother?"

He blinks.  "Yes.  Kenneth.  Did I never mention him?"

You shake your head.  "No, I don't think so."

"Huh.  Well we're not exactly close.  Not much of the family is."

"Sorry.  I didn't mean to derail you."

"No, it's alright.  Where was I?"

"Playing airplanes, I think."

"Right, right.  Ah.  Anyway, my brother decided that our plane had taken a hit and someone needed to go out on the wing and fix it. Our neighbor, I think his name was Davy or Donny, something like that, he flat-out refused.  My brother called him a chicken, told him we were all going to die if nobody fixed the wing, et cetera. Big dramatic stuff, you know how kids are. So I went. Which frankly was a bad idea to begin with. I was already big for my age.  But I went. Shuffled out onto this big, wide branch that my brother was pointing at and started breaking off small branches and tearing off leaves to ‘fix’ the wing.”

A cold, squirmy feeling takes over the pit of your stomach.  “Don’t tell me the branch broke.”

He laughs a little.  “You’d expect that, but surprisingly, no.  I’d been doing a good job of not actually looking down the whole time, at least until Donny - or maybe Davy - his mother came out the back door and started shouting up about damaging her tree.  Startled me badly enough I lost my grip.  And then to make matters worse, I looked down.  Realized just how high up I was.  How far away she was.  Then everything started spinning. I think I heard her scream. It’s all a fuzz after that. Head trauma and age don’t do much good for memory.  Apparently I uh, I hit another branch on the way down, which, in a fantastic stroke of luck, both broke my fall enough to keep me from snapping my neck and gave me a concussion.  Impact was close enough to my face it detached the retina in my left eye.  Suffice it to say I spent a fair amount of time in hospitals that summer. They were able to reattach the retina, but my peripheral vision is pretty well shot on that side.”

He holds up your clasped hands at an angle on his left side, eyes straight ahead.  “Now I see you,” he says, then pulls your hands back until they’re just about level with his cheekbone.  “Now I don’t. I lucked out, truthfully. A blind spot and migraines is not the worst I could’ve been left with.  That’s what the blood pressure medication is for, by the way. My heart’s fine, it just keeps the migraines under control.  But heights…” he sighs, shaking his head. “I can’t.”

"I'm sorry."

He shrugs, chuckling a little grimly.  “Saved time, I suppose. Killing the dream in the cradle before I had the chance to disappoint myself with it.”

“Hey.”  You tug at his hand, frowning.  “Don’t do that to yourself.”

Harvey grimaces.  “Sorry. Old habits.” A long pause, and then, on its heels: “I’ve never told anyone that before.”

Tentatively you kiss the tips of your fingers and press them to the old scar.  He closes his eyes at the touch, leaning into you.

“You would’ve made a fine pilot, Harvey” you tell him, carding your fingers through his hair.  “But you made an amazing doctor.”

He lets out a small, breathy laugh, eyes shining, and dips down for a kiss.  And he lingers, because for once he can. Because there’s no risk of Maru barging in or a clock to keep tabs on because time might just be running out.  Because at last he has the luxury of being happy, and he intends to take it.

“Well,” he breathes when you finally part, clearing his throat and leaning his forehead against yours.  “Any plans for tonight?”

“I was thinking we could curl up on the couch.  Watch something completely ridiculous. Have a nice dinner and then fuck each other’s brains out until we fall asleep.  How does that sound?”

“As close to heaven as I’m liable to get,” he says, pressing one last kiss against the side of your neck.  “Lead the way.”

Chapter Text

“Can I ask you something?” Harvey asks you later that night as he helps you clear the dinner dishes from the table.

“Of course.”

He slips the plates into the hot water in the sink, rolling up his sleeves.  He’s not quite frowning yet but his eyebrows are drawn together. It’s his thinking face, the one that Maru calls him Grumpstache for.  “Did you mean what you said early? About the birth control?”

“Yes.  That’s not a problem, is it?  You’ve got Grumpstache going.”

His eyebrows shoot up abruptly and he nearly drops the plate he’s washing.  “What- no! No, of course not. I’ve just-” he sighs, shoulders dropping. “Got my doctor’s hat on again I suppose.”

“Alright then,” you say, bumping his side gently and taking the plate from him to dry.  “Tell me what’s going on under the doctor’s hat.”

A little of the bothered look eases.  “Have you been on birth control before?”

“A few times.  The pill, mostly.  Entertained the idea of an IUD for a bit, but never really got around to it.”

“Any troubles with the pill?”

“Eh.  Couple of them made me feel a bit whoopsie, but nothing major.”

He nods, chewing at his lip.   “I’ve got a few varieties of birth control pills on hand at the clinic if you want to go that route again.  If you wanted to try for an IUD you might be better off heading downtown for that. I’ve never done one of those, and if you’ve got a mind to get one I’d rather you see someone with a little experience.”

“Don’t want to go spelunking?” you tease.

“I don’t want to take risks,” he says, tone gone swiftly serious.  “Especially not where you’re concerned.”

You lean into his shoulder, throat gone suddenly tight.  “Softie.”

“There’s, um, there’s also an implant now,” he continues, clearing his throat.  “About the size of a matchstick. Goes under the skin of your upper arm. Lasts for about five years, I think?  I’d have to doublecheck, but I believe that’s right.”

“Fancy.”

“There’s options , is what I’m trying to get at,” he says, handing over the last plate and starting on the pots.  “The decision is yours, I’m just here to advise.”

“Can you do the implant, or would I need to hit up a clinic downtown for that, too?”

He makes a considering face.  “Might take a few days to actually get one here, but yes.  I can do it, if you want me to. If you want it sooner you’re better off making the drive.”

“I’m farm-bound until at least Wednesday.  So six of one, half a dozen t’other.”

“If I put the order in tomorrow morning I can probably have it in office by then.  Do you know where you’re at in your cycle?”

You chuckle a little at the novelty of that - of the entire conversation, really.  It’s more than a little charming having a boyfriend who doesn’t pull a face and actively flee at the mere suggestion of a period.  One of the many perks of dating a doctor, you suppose.

“Soon,” you say ominously, drying off the saucepan Harvey passes you.  “If I had to ballpark it, probably around Tuesday?”

“Perfect,” Harvey says without a shred of sarcasm.  “I think I can get you in for Wednesday, and if you’ve started by then it should be effective almost immediately.”

You can’t help but chuckle.  “Guess I’ll have to find someone to offload a truckload of Trojans onto.”

“Pity we don’t know anyone named Troy.”

You giggle, swatting at him with the dishtowel.  “Dork. Alright. Wednesday. It’s a date.”

“Not much of a date, I’m afraid.”

“A date with added medical equipment.”

He snorts laughter, pulling the plug from the drain.  “I regret to inform you that is decidedly not something I’m into.”

“Aw.  And here’s me already picking out my nurse’s uniform.”

Harvey tilts his head, considering.  “But exceptions could always be made.”

Laughing, you give his backside a pat.  “I’ll make a note of that, Dr. Greenwood.”

“We should do that,” he says, drying his hands on the towel you’re still holding.  His eyes have gone a bit soft and dreamy. “A date, I mean. A real one. Not just getting half-hammered and fondling each other in a store room.”

“I didn’t mind that last bit, actually.”

“I mean it,” he says earnestly.  His hand closes on yours, wound up in the damp cloth.  “You deserve a real date. Flowers. Wine.”

“A mariachi band,” you offer.

“Oh, full orchestra,” he says with a wry twist to his smile.  “Not sure how we’ll fit them all in the Saloon. We may have to leave them assembled in the square and just tell Gus to open the windows.”

You smooth your hands down the soft knit of his sweater. “I don’t need big gestures, Harvey.  Just you.”

His smile goes instantly soft and he bends, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“That...you don’t know how good that is to hear,” he says, lingering with his forehead pressed to yours.  “But if we’re going to do this properly, I, I want to do it properly. I’ll take you up for a cup of coffee after your appointment.  How’s that for starters? We can work out a real date once our schedules calm down a bit.”

“I’d like that, but-”

“But?”

“Shark week, sweet thing.”

“Coffee,” he repeats with a blustering laugh.  “I mean actual coffee. I do still enjoy your company when your clothes are on, you know.”

“I’m glad to hear it.  Otherwise I’d be spending the winter with frostbitten nipples.”

“You’re terrible,” he says, shaking his head solemnly.

Smiling, you stretch up, curling your arms around his neck.  “You like it.”

He huffs a laugh.  “Maybe I do.”

Harvey’s hands find your back and you sway off-balance, nearly dangling from his neck on your tiptoes as he kisses you.  It is soft and unhurried and, more than anything, contented. But it is far too easy to get carried away with this man, and before long it has opened, deepened , and he’s breaking away from you, trying to catch his breath.

“I believe,” he mutters, clearing his throat, “you wanted to watch a movie tonight?  Something ridiculous?”

A little winded yourself, you nod, drumming your fingers against the collar of his sweater.  “Yes, right. I did. I do.   The um, the DVDs are in the cabinet under the bookshelf.  Have a look, see if you can find anything appealing and I will pour us a bit more wine.”

He nods, kissing your forehead and bending slightly to set your heels back on the ground.

His choice turns out to be Young Frankenstein .  You have no objections, curling quite happily into the crook of his arm with a perhaps too-full glass of wine, the both of you tossing out favorite lines right along with the movie and falling into fits of giggles when you do so in unison.

Halfway into your glass, you find yourself getting wholly distracted.  You realize you’re spending less time watching the movie and a good deal more of it listening to him laugh and watching the way he holds his wine glass, fingers tapping idly against the stem.

You’ve named it now.  That’s the trouble. Accidentally or otherwise, you put the word to the feeling and now you can’t shake it loose.  You love him. And you’ve made a promise to not say those words until he’s ready; until he’s said it first. You’ll keep it, of course, come hell or high water.  But you’re becoming aware now of just how hard keeping that promise is going to be when everything about him makes you want to climb up on the old chapel spire and shout it so loud even deaf old George could hear.

His chuckle at the film - and Inga’s remark that the creature “vould haff an enormous schwanzstucker” - turns to a sigh as you nuzzle against the side of his neck.  He hasn’t brought his cologne, but he still smells faintly of aftershave and the more essential smell of warm skin. You run your hand down the front of Harvey’s sweater, feeling his chest rise and fall with his breathing.  His heart, which thuds along rhythmically beneath your hand, begins to beat a little quicker.

The locket around your neck presses into your skin as you cuddle up, pinned between the two of you.  Harvey’s hand slides up your back, leaning his head against yours, and your eyes slip closed for just a moment.

If you can have this, you reckon you can manage without words for a little longer.

 

 

“Ohhhh, sweet mystery of life at last I’ve found youuuu!”

You giggle, nuzzling against Harvey’s shoulder as the movie fades out and the credits roll.  “I know that tune.”

Harvey blusters, rosy-cheeked from wine and laughter.  “Are you suggesting I’ve been body-swapped?”

Smiling, you give his waist a squeeze.  “Not at all. Just paying a compliment to your schwanzstucker.”

He gives a little snort, twisting to pull you up a little closer.  “Flatterer.”

“I speak only truth, good sir.”

Harvey ducks his head to try and hide the deepening red in his cheeks, grazing a kiss past your temple.  “Careful, or I’ll start getting used to this.”

“Which, the flattery or spending time with me?”

He smiles, mustache tickling your earlobe.  “Both, I think.”

“Good,” you announce, slipping your hand under his sweater and giving the bouncy pudge at his waist an affectionate pat.  “That is entirely the plan.”

“Is it?”

“Mm-hm.”

He finds the remote, clicking the tv off.  “I think I like that plan,” he says, and pulls you up into a kiss as slow and sweet as molasses. It sets your head, which was already light and buzzing from the wine, spinning almost instantly. 

A little too eager, you push up, deepening the kiss.

His hands find your shoulders, pushing you back.  A flustered laugh escapes him as you part.

“Slow down, sweetheart,” he says.  “For once, we’ve got time. I’d like to take it while we’ve got the chance.”

You bump your forehead against his, lips skimming the corner of his mouth.  “Sorry. Carried away. You tend to have that effect on me.”

Harvey brushes your hair back, smiling broadly.  “Do I?”

“Oh dear.”  You raise your eyebrows, fluttering your lashes the tiniest bit.  “Have I been too subtle in my advances, Doctor Greenwood?”

“I suppose that depends on where office blowjobs fall on that spectrum.”

“Mm, I really should do that again sometime.”

He laughs.  “You’ve ruined that desk for me, you know.  I can’t sit there without thinking of you under it.”

“I could duck behind the front desk next time.  See how good your poker face really is.”

“Not remotely good enough for that,” he says, beginning to blush.

“That’s even more fun.  Come in on a day when you’re all alone, no appointments.  Suck you off so slow you’d beg me to let you come.”

“Careful,” he says, and there’s a wicked gleam in his eye now.  “If that’s a game you want to play, I promise you I will get you back.  I’ll sit you down next to me in a booth at the tavern and see how good your poker face is.”

“That sounds like a challenge , sir.”

He smiles, and the sweetness of it doesn’t dull its wickedness.  “Only if you want it to be.”

“Hm.  We’ll see.”

He leans into you, fingers under your chin, and you start over.  You can’t help but feel a bit like a teenager again, bundled into the back row of a movie you will never remember.  Only this time the lights are on, and you both actually have some experience. When at last his hand slips underneath your blouse it’s not in a scrabble to get to second base before the lights come on.  There’s just the warmth of his hand and the need to touch and be touched.

“I could get used to this, myself,” you sigh as his hand slips up over the curve of your breast, teasing the nipple to a point.

Harvey smiles, rolling your nipple between his fingers until you gasp.  “Good.”

You tug at his hair, pushing forward against his hand.  A low, shuddery heat builds steadily between your legs as his mouth covers yours again, tongue tracing along your lip almost delicately, fingertips rolling and pinching and tugging.

“Tease.”  The word tumbles out of you with a groan.  

“Oh yes,” he says, free hand warm against your neck.  “I haven’t had the time to do it properly just yet. I think,” he adds, pausing almost reverently over the locket before slipping down to work open the buttons of your blouse, “maybe it’s time to remedy that.”  

It’s an old shirt, well-worn, and the buttons slide free with ease, exposing the camisole underneath.  He tugs it down, tucking the soft lace underneath your breasts, and traces an agonizingly slow path down to your nipple with his tongue.  

You arch your back against his touch, stroking your fingers through his hair, trying to hang onto some degree of patience.  But Yoba, it is hard.   It’s no time at all before you’re squirming under the attention, rocking your still-clothed hips up against empty air.  

His name falls from your lips, urgent, half-pleading as he works over your nipples with mouth and hands.  Slowly, gently, but unrelenting. What started as a low heat has built to a damned bonfire, muscles clenching spasmodically, and you realize with more than a little surprise that he might just make you come like this.

“More,” you moan, shuddering.  “Harvey please.”

His only response is a low chuckle stifled against your skin, as he sucks just a little harder.

It’s nearly enough, so very nearly.  You’re close and he hasn’t so much as grazed a finger below your waist. His teeth rake gently over your skin and you pitch up with a confounded cry right on the cusp-

And his hand retreats.  His mouth leaves you. For a moment the only sound is your ragged breathing before you whine, utterly indignant.

“Oh you ass,” you breathe with a frustrated laugh.

Harvey chuckles again, placing a brief and nearly chaste kiss to your lips.  “I told you I like to tease,” he says, tracing the line of your jaw with a fingertip.  “The only place you get to come tonight is on my cock. And you will have to be very very good before you can have that.  Understand?”

There’s a glimmer in his eyes, breath quickening, and a little shiver runs through you, pricking up your skin into goosebumps.  The list the two of you made is in your bedside table, something you’ve perused more than once lying in bed at night. And you can guess at least one of those entries he has in mind right now.

“Yes sir.”

His back straightens, shoulders rolling back, and the smile he gives you is indulgent and hungry.   It’s a look you’ve only seen once before, backed into a corner in the Saloon’s store room.

“Good girl.  But you don’t have to call me that just yet.  Now, come with me, sweetheart. You’ll want a bed under you.”

He takes your hand, leading you to your bedroom.  His jeans are heavy denim and don’t quite provide as nice of a show as his usual dress slacks, but there is still a gorgeously prominent ridge standing out against his hip.  You could slip your hand in his pocket and grasp it. You know exactly how it would feel in your hand - feverishly hot, even through the fabric of his boxer shorts and the cotton lining of his pocket, with a small, spreading damp patch at the tip.   The thought takes you over so thoroughly for a moment that you reach for it, eagerness getting the better of you.

Harvey grasps your wrist and hold you there, inches away from your prize.  “Ah-ah. Not until I say you can.”

That sends a shiver straight down your spine, raising goosebumps on your arms.  He feels it, grip loosening ever so slightly, his thumb rubbing against your pulse point.  

“Is this okay?” he asks, a touch more serious now.  You can see now just how thin that veneer of confidence is, nerves threatening to crack it already.  There’s things he wants - things he wants you to do and things he wants to do to you - that he’d barely been able to admit to when you first broached the subject.  This is just the tip of the iceberg, but he’s already in danger of being dashed against it.

“Yes,” you tell him, nodding eagerly enough that the faint, worried crease in his forehead disappears.  “Please.”

“Good,” he says, perhaps a little too relieved.  “I haven’t done this in a very long time, so forgive me if I’m a little rusty.”  

“What do you have in mind, exactly?”

Harvey takes a deep breath, holds it, gathering his nerve.  “I...want to tie you up a little. And tease you,” he says, turning a spectacularly vibrant shade of reddish-pink.  “If you’re up for it.”

That’s a thought that leaves more than a few parts of you tingling.  “I leave myself in your capable hands, doctor.”

Harvey grins, boyish and sweet, and plants a kiss against the corner of your mouth.  “Just to be on the safe side, did you ever decide on a word, or would you rather use the stoplight?”

You raise your eyebrows.  “You think I’ll need it tonight?”

“I think when restraints are involved it’s best to be on the safe side.”

Though few things on your list could be considered to lie on the dangerous side of kinky, you and Harvey are both firmly in agreement that boundaries are never only necessary in extremity.  And while the usual precedent is for each involved party to pick a safeword for riskier play, Harvey told you as you’d compiled your list of assorted kinks, he tended to prefer the stoplight method, as it at least gave a little more flexibility and a better gauge of limitations than a full stop.  Green for go, yellow for slow, and red to stop entirely.

“Stoplight,” you say with a decisive nod.

“Perfect,” he says, and presses a kiss against the inside of your wrist.  “Hands behind your back until I say, sweetheart.”

His hands slip around the back of your neck, unclasping the locket and laying it on the bedside table.  He undresses you then, slowly. Pushes your blouse off your shoulders and tugs the camisole up over your head.  He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your jeans, holding your gaze as he pops the button and unzips them. He bends briefly, carefully pushing them down past your hips, and gives a low, approving groan at what he finds.

“You’re soaked,” he says, rubbing his thumbs along the hem of your panties.

“I told you you have an effect,” you say quietly.

Harvey doesn’t respond, just works a hand into your hair and kisses you soundly, guiding you back onto the bed.

“Pictures,” you mutter as he lays you down.  “You wanted pictures.”

“Yes.  No.” He laughs, shaking his head.  “Later.”

His hands slide across your shoulders and down your arms, grasping your wrists and guiding them up above your head.  He raises up, tugging at his sweater and finding the buckle on his belt. The sight alone is enough to make you dizzy with want, but instead of opening his fly, he pulls his belt free and begins to loop it through the bed rail and around your wrists.

“Okay?” he asks, cinching the leather down carefully.  The concern is back in his eyes again. “Not too tight?”

You shake your head and test the restraint just a bit.  The headboard rattles, but the belt holds. “More than okay,” you reply, rolling your hips up towards him.  “Touch me, Harvey. Please.”

The smile he gives you is sweet, but almost immediately he shifts out from between your legs.  Before you have the chance to object he stops your mouth with a kiss, tweaking one reddened and swollen nipple.

“You are so responsive,” he mutters into your mouth as you gasp.

“More.”

“Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart,” he says, his hand warm against your skin as it travels down, stroking you with a feather-light touch through your soaked panties.  

You jut your hips up, desperate for more friction, but he draws back, hand low on your stomach, pressing your hips back down into the mattress.

“The more you push, the slower I’ll go,” he warns, tracing up and down the clothed seam of your cunt.

“Please.”

“Patience.”

He tugs your panties aside, and the first touch of his fingers against your bare and slickened sex sends a shiver rocketing through you.  “My my,” Harvey says, stroking you open with deliberate slowness. “Is all this for me?”

“Yes,” you moan, fighting to keep your hips still as he swirls the soft tips of his fingers over your clit.

Harvey settles at your side, and the feel of him, warm and fully-clothed against so much of your own bare skin, is far more enticing than you would’ve thought.  He presses against you deliberately, just once, just enough to feel the outline of his cock straining against the thick denim of his jeans, and then shifts away again.

“Is this what you do when I’m not around?” he asks, fingers working deftly.

You gulp air, nod.

“What do you think about when you touch yourself?”

You’re moving with his fingers.  Just a little, hips rocking barely an inch up and down.  A giggle escapes you, high and tittery. I should think that would be obvious , you hear him say in your head. 

“You,” you say, and for a second your breath leaves you as he sinks his fingers into you.  

“Me?”

“Oh f-f-fuck , yes.”

He bends his head, sucking at your breast, his teeth grazing sharply against your nipple.

“Tell me,” he says with a crook of his fingers.  “The first time. I told you mine. I want to know yours.”

“N- now?”

“Yes,” he says, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles.

“P-promise you won’t laugh?”

“Cross my heart.”

He draws his fingers out of you, stroking patiently along your slit as you talk.

“The um...m-my first checkup.  You t-took my pulse and, and all I could think about were your hands, and how close you were, and how good you smelled and...and…”

“And?”

“I-I- fuck , Harvey you feel…”

“And?” he prompts with a slow circle around your clit.

You let out that same high giggle.  “I never even m-made it out of my truck,” you admit, resting your forehead against his.  “I rubbed myself off in the cab as soon as I put the thing in park. I wanted your hands on me so bad.  So bad.”

There’s a flush on his cheeks as he kisses you.  “I hope I measured up to expectations,” he says as his fingers slide back into you.

You groan, low and loud, eyes fluttering closed.  “Oh, s-sweet thing,” you mutter. “You are so much better.”

“Are you close?”

You tighten around his fingers.  “Yes.”

“Do you want me to make you come?”

“Y-yes, yes.  Please. Make me come.”

He smiles, bright and beautiful, and pulls his hand away.  “No.”

“Nnngh, d-dammit!” you cry, half-laughing in your frustration.

Harvey covers your mouth with his own, stopping the inevitable blue streak that was to follow.  “I told you,” he says, nose against your cheek. “You’re only allowed to come on my cock. You made me wait last night.  I’m just returning the favor.”

“Shit,” you mumble.  “I’m doomed.”

“Pessimist.  It will be worth it, pet.  I promise.”

He moves across you, mouth against your shoulders, your breasts, your belly, leaving a trail of biting kisses that make you squirm.  More marks for your collection.

His mouth covers your slit and for one exhilarating and terrifying moment you expect his teeth there, too.  But there is only the soft, wet heat of his mouth, and it’s only the weight of his body on yours that keeps your hips against the bed.

“Please,” you gasp again, grinding up against his tongue.  “I want your cock.”

“You want to come,” he corrects, voice muffled with his head between your legs, but you swear you see his cock twitch hard in his pants.

“I want you,” you counter, head lolling back as he builds you up for a third time.  The words fall from your lips again and again as he drags his tongue over you with long, heavy strokes.

“You want me to fuck you?” he says, pulling his mouth off of you with a sucking pop.

“Yes , fuck yes, baby I need it.  I need it.”

Rational thought is all but beyond you now.  You feel like a live wire, buzzing and cracking and popping.  The feel of his mouth and those unbearably clever fingers is exquisite, but what you need , Yoba help you what you need is his cock.  Buried deep and throbbing inside you.

“Not yet,” Harvey says, sinking his teeth into your thigh; a match for last night’s lovebite.

Your orgasm fizzles again, leaving a throbbing ache between your legs.  A sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob tumbles out of you.

“Harvey, please,” you whine, long past petulant and onto desperation.  You tug hard at the makeshift restraint, wanting to grab him, to pull him into you and ease that ache.  And even if it wasn’t part of the game you’d still beg, you’d still want , still need.   “Fuck me, please, I want you so bad.”

Harvey’s eyelids flutter.  The smile on his face is almost one of intoxication.  

“Almost, sweetheart,” he promises.  “Almost.”

His hand rests against your stomach, warm and gentle, and he leans away towards the bedside table.  You’re too close to the middle of the bed to get a good look at what he’s searching for in the nightstand drawer, but when you hear the foil wrapper of a condom crinkle you close your eyes and sigh in relief.

Then his face is close over yours again, flushed and intent.  His kiss is brief, but toe-curlingly deep.

“You want me?” he asks, settling between your legs.

You strain up, chasing his mouth.  “Yes.”

His hand disappears between you, and you hear the familiar sound of a zipper.  “You want my cock?”

“Yes.”

He drags the head of his cock up the inside of your thigh, hot and sticky, leaving a smeared trail of precome on your skin.

“You want me to fuck you?”

It’s impulse that drives your hips up, needing and unthinking.  Your answer dissolves into a moan as his cock slides against your swollen clit.  To hell with the condom, you’d take him right now if he’d only push forward. Every inch, bare and hot and throbbing and fuck the risks, fuck everything if he’d only just hurry up and fuck you.

“Is that a ‘yes?’”

“Yes, yes, I want you to fuck me.  I want you to fuck me, I need you to fuck me, please.”

He tears the foil wrapper with his teeth, and you sigh, pressing your face against your arm.

But what touches your bare and swollen sex next is not his cock, but the familiar silicone of your vibrator.

“Be good for me, sweetheart,” Harvey says, bending low over you.  “One more time. And then you can have my cock.”

“Baby-”

“Be good, pet.”

You swallow around a growing lump in your throat and you nod.  “I’ll be good. I’ll be good for your cock, baby, I promise.”

The vibrator clicks on and you gasp, shaking at the force of the sensation.

He’s not teasing now, not pulling away to just give you a taste.  This is a challenge, and one you’re not sure you’re up to. Your voice is beyond your control, panting and wailing as you fight to hold back against the mounting pleasure.  Trying to keep muscles lax. Trying not to squeeze. Trying not to move or to think .  You hold your breath, but it only makes it worse.  You lock eyes with Harvey. He’s not smiling now. All that’s on his face is hunger .  He wants you almost as badly in this moment as you want him.

A shudder ripples through you and you twist beneath him, bucking and moaning.

“Do you want to come?”

Your lips are pressed tight, breath held.  I can’t take it, you think, I don’t know if I can take it.   

And then: I want to take it.

A little longer.  Just a little longer.

So you bite it back, nodding.  Let the air out of your lungs in an explosive rush.  Sob your answer: “Yes!”

A faint pressure at your entrance.  “Beg.”

“Please-please-please Harvey, please sir, please can I come?”

“Yes.”  

He pushes forward.  Fills you. And sweet Yoba, it has never felt so good.  So much like relief.  You shout yourself hoarse with the overwhelming sweetness of it.

“Come on my cock, sweetheart,” he says, and this time it’s not a whisper, not a plea.  This time it’s a command.

It hits you so hard you see stars, vision and hearing shorting out in the overload.  It steals your breath, body jerking with the force of it, eyes rolling back. And he doesn’t stop.  His hips meet yours again and again, pounding against you, the heavy denim rough against your bare skin.

You moan his name as you start to come down, shaking helplessly, dragging in ragged lungfuls of air as if you’d just been dragged up from deep underwater.

He clicks the vibrator off, tosses it aside.  Hooks his arms under your knees and pushes your legs up so he can watch his cock slide into you, bearing down and sinking deep.

A low groan leaves him and he shakes his head as if trying to clear it.

“I-I think,” he says, pulling at his pocket, “maybe I will take those pictures.”

You nod, gasp out something that might be a “yes.”  

He locks eyes with you.  “Yes?” Not a challenge, but confirmation.

Another nod, this time with your eyes a little clearer.

He fucks you slower as the sound of artificial shutter clicks punctuate your cries.  His thumb grazes your clit and your body jack knifes, back bowing and hips bucking.

“Oh look at you,” he says indulgently.  There’s a different sound. A beep. It takes a second for the sound to register in your ringing ears.

Video.

He spreads you apart with his free hand, pulling nearly out of you and then sinking slowly back in.  “Sweet Yoba, look at you,” he almost growls.

He wriggles his hips flush against you, pulls back, then lands three sharp, jarring thrusts in a row.  

You pitch up as he slows, legs trembling.  “D-d-don’t-” you gasp, barely able to breathe let alone speak.  “Don’t stop.”

He sighs.  Moans. Laughs.  The sounds run together.  You wish you could see the look on his face, but your eyes won’t focus.  He repositions himself - knees wide, hips low - and drives himself up into you.  His thumb is on your clit again but this time it’s less like a graze and more as if he’s popped it like a match, and you light up like dry tinder, twisting and shrieking.

Harvey slows, gentles, mutters praises you can’t even hear for the sound of blood rushing in your ears.  But he doesn’t stop.  

He’s still recording.  You’re aware of so little beyond sensation but you’re aware of that.  You’ll barely see each other next week, save for your appointment on Wednesday, something you’re far too aware of.  It aches, the way an old break does before the weather turns. You wonder dimly just how many times he’ll find himself watching this back over the next week, cock slick and aching in his hand, wishing he was back inside you.

You hear the phone beep again.  Hear him toss it away. He folds over you, the weight of him familiar and and comforting.

“Baby,” you mumble, lips against his earlobe.

“Okay?”  His arms slip under your shoulders, hips rocking slow and unconsciously.

You nod, pressing a kiss to his temple.  “B-better. Better than okay.”

“Your hands?”

You flex them.  No tingling. “Good.”

“Do you need a break?”

Reluctantly, you nod.  “Just, just for a minute.”  Your voice catches, breaking painfully.  You clear your throat, grimacing. “I think I fucked my voice a bit.”

“Aw, sweetheart,” he says, pressing his lips to your throat apologetically.  “I’ll take care of it after, I promise. Do you want some water?”

You start to say no, but the word catches.  You clear your throat again, louder and harsher, and you nod.

“One second.”

Your muscles clench as he draws away, an involuntary bid to keep him inside.  The air strikes you, bare as you are, as he climbs off the bed. He’s a sight, flushed and fully clothed with his cock out and wavering.  He has to hang onto his jeans to keep them from slipping down on the way. You can just barely see him at the sink from the open door, filling the water glass you keep there and knocking it back quickly before refilling it.

He half-kneels beside you, one knee on the bed, raising your head so you can drink.

“Needed that,” you say with a sigh.  “Thank you.”

“Of course.”  He twists, setting the near-empty glass on the nightstand, and your eyes land rather inevitably on his cock, wavering tantalizingly close to your face.

He catches your eye as he turns back, catches you watching, and strokes a finger across your cheek.  “Something you want, pet?”

“You,” you answer, surprised at the hot flush you feel rising in your cheeks.

“You’ve got me, sweetheart,” he says with a gentle smile.  “But you rather look like you have something specific in mind.”

You feel the blood rush to your head, feel your cheeks burn, not even sure why.  “Let me taste you.”

He angles his cock down towards your face with his thumb.  “You want me in your mouth?”

“Yes sir.”

“Open.”

Obediently, you open your mouth, running out your tongue.

Harvey rubs the still-sheathed head of his cock against it, spreading a faint taste of lubricant and your own, far stronger salt-musk taste.  There’s a soft sound of disapproval before he pulls back, rolling the condom off and tossing it unceremoniously in the wastebin.

“Now,” he says, nudging into your mouth.  “Suck on me, sweetheart.”

He holds your head - a small mercy that is bound to save you a kink in your neck later - guiding you back and forth.  Your jaw strains a little. His cock is just a little wider from this angle and it’s harder to keep your teeth from catching.  But even with the lingering taste of lubricated rubber, the feel of him in your mouth is lovely.  

Harvey groans, rocking forward.  “Good girl,” he rumbles darkly, pulling back to slap at your tongue and cheek with his cock; bone-hard, heavy, and wet.  “Such a good girl.”

He pushes his way back into your mouth, one hand still bunched in your hair and the other kneading roughly at your breasts as he begins to steadily fuck your mouth.

It’s that realization as much as the attention given to your overwrought nipples that sets you shivering, hips rocking up against nothing.  He’s fucking your mouth. Harvey. The man who can barely make it through a conversation without blushing, is slowly and patiently fucking your mouth.

“You want my cock?” he asks again, but there’s a tremulous edge to his voice now.

You voice your agreement as best you can as his cock drags against your tongue, nudging the back of your throat.

His hand slides down, cups your sex, dripping wet and swollen.

“Here?”

You suck harder.  “Mm-hmm.”

He curls his fingers into you and your eyes flutter closed.  “You want me to come inside you?”

Oh, but that’s a dangerous question, more dangerous for the answer.  You feel him push into your throat, feel him shudder at the sensation, and you swallow around him, squeezing, pushing him back out.

He swears, hisses.  “Minx,” he says with a moan.  His fingers retreat, then strike once against your clit in reprimand.  You let out a little yelp and he pulls out of your open mouth. “Mind your manners, pet.  Teasing’s my job tonight. Understand?”

You nod, shivering a little.  “Y-yes sir.”

“Good girl,” he mutters, and his touch becomes gentle again, rubbing soft circles over your slit.  “Now answer my question. Do you want me to come inside you?”

You rest your head against his hip, wriggling your tongue past his open fly to lick at the faintly prickly skin of his balls.  “Yes. Yes I want you to come in me.”

He bends, kisses you once, then levels his eyes on you seriously.  “We have Plan B at the clinic. We can drive in tomorrow morning for it, or I can put on another condom.  Whatever you want.”

And Yoba, that’s tempting.  You’re not sure you’ve ever been more tempted by anything in your life.  But even more, you’re so floored and grateful for the consideration, you can barely speak.  You chase after his mouth, kissing him hard.

“Later,” you promise, surprised yourself at the answer.  “Condom for now.”  

You couldn’t put it into words right now if you tried, but perhaps it’s just that you need to be able to say no, just the once, and trust that he’ll listen.

Harvey gives you a smile and presses his lips against your forehead, and for a second you think your heart might just burst out of affection for this man.  And then he’s pulling away, standing up and stripping off his clothes, chucking them off across the room in an uncharacteristic display of sloppiness.

He fishes out another packet from the drawer, straddling your thigh as he rolls on a fresh condom.  “Turn a bit,” he says, grasping your other leg and turning you. “Like this. Good girl.”

He slides into you easily to the hilt, his arms holding your leg to his chest.  He nips at the skin over your knee.

“B-baby,” you cry, breath already short.  You try to think just how many times today he’s made you come, how many times he’s been inside you.  There is the beginning of an ache in you that’s less want and more use , but at the promise of more your muscles give a fluttering clench in anticipation.

He grinds against you slowly.  A tease. A chance to tap out.

“Yes.”  You roll your hips up at him, moaning.  “Fuck me, sweet thing. Let me feel you come.”

He grins dazedly.  Runs his tongue along your calf before biting down.  He kisses the mark he leaves there, reverent rather than apologetic, and begins to move.

He is almost gentle.  Almost. But even having already come once today, his restraint is frayed to the point of breaking.  He pitches forward, hand splayed across your belly, holding you as he moves, a little faster, a little harder.  

The hand slips up.  Rests between your breasts.  Up. Finds your throat. He doesn’t squeeze - far too risky with your hands bound - but he holds you there, rubs his thumb against the edge of your jaw.  He shifts his angle, turning his hips until he hears you gasp.

“Th-there!” you cry, rolling against him.  “Oh shit right there right there right there.”

“Yes.”  He lets out a chuckle that breaks off sharply into a groan as you tighten around him.  “Good girl,” he pants, quickening.

“I-I…” your body jerks, tenses, arms straining at the belt that holds your wrists so hard you hear the old metal creak.  “F-fuck, Harvey, I-”

“Yes,” he says again.  “Come on, sweetheart.”

You shudder, gasping and quaking as you come.  Harvey fucks you through it, chasing each spasm with another thrust.  You can't quite come down.  It’s like being tossed on choppy waves in a small boat, not high enough to capsize, not calm enough to still.

Harvey says your name, voice strained.

“Yes baby,” you gasp.

His hips stutter, thrusting harder.  Another wave rolls. And another. Faster.  Closer. Higher.

You can’t tell his cries from your own as you tip over, one last orgasm, so sharp it almost hurts , and you feel the throb and the dim, dulled heat of his own release as he crumples over you, his head between your breasts.

It is a long, long moment before either of you can speak, let alone move.

Harvey sighs, breath stirring goosebumps against your skin, pulling out of you with some reluctance and binning the condom.

“Are you okay?” he says softly, stroking your arms and carefully unwinding his belt from your wrists.

Your arms are rubbery and a little achy, but you wrap them around his shoulders just the same.  You nod against the side of his neck.

“Are you sure?”

Another nod.  “Y-yeah, baby, I’m okay,” you say thickly, “Just, just gimme a second.”  

You wrap around him, pulling him down, and he goes willingly, pressing kisses against your neck until you feel steady again.

“I don’t think I’m going to have any trouble falling asleep tonight,” you say at last.

He chuckles.  “You’re not the only one.”

“You got your wish though.”

He raises up on his elbows, looking down at you quizzically.  “What do you mean?”

“Four times.”

Harvey laughs, dropping his head.  “I, I hope I, I mean I hope it was…”

You take his face in your hands and kiss him.  

“Four.”

He flushes prettily.  “I didn’t push you too much?”

“No.”

He glances down, sees one of the marks he’s left just above your breast.  “I didn’t hurt you too much?”

“No, sweet thing.  I’m going to be sore for days, don’t get me wrong,” you tell him truthfully.  “I don’t think I’ve come so much in one day since...probably ever.  We might have to take it easy tomorrow so my poor overworked snatch doesn’t stage a protest.  But that was wonderful. You were wonderful.”

“So were you,” he says, a little starry-eyed.  “I’d forgotten what that was like. Having someone want me enough - trust me enough to do that.  Thank you.”

“Any time, sweetheart.”  You brush the hair out of his eyes, tracing the faint crinkle of crow’s feet at the corners.  “I do trust you. And I always want you.”

His eyes shine.  He strokes your hair back, presses his lips to your forehead.  “You need tea,” he says, and the wavering in his voice is impossible to miss.

 

 

It’s raining when you wake, a steady spattering against the window above your head.  There’s a rumbling of thunder further off, not loud enough to be concerning, but enough to suggest that the season’s storms aren’t quite done with the Valley yet.

And by Yoba, you are sore.  For a moment you can’t quite remember why, but then the memory of last night surfaces.  A little smile creeps across your face.  He brought you ibuprofen after, and tea brimming with honey.  Sweet man.

Another rumble of thunder outside, closer this time, and loud enough to make the window panes rattle quietly in their frame.  

Check the tarps , you think to yourself, snuggling into the warmth of your bed for a moment longer.  The kids won’t leave the barn in this weather.  Have to clean up quick.

The room is dark when you open your eyes - darker than it ought to be, even at what you’re sure is an early hour - but even in the gloom you can see Harvey propped up on one elbow, watching you.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he says gently, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth.

“Morning.  This is new.”

“What’s that?”

“You up before me.”

“The storm woke me up.  I’m amazed you slept through so much of it.”

You slip your arms around his neck and he rolls towards you, wincing at the soreness in them.  “Your fault. How much?”

He glances past you to the bedside table where the clock sits, squinting.  “Half an hour I think? Forty-five minutes? Somewhere around that.”

“You just been watching me sleep this whole time?”  You raise an eyebrow, pulling him down closer.

“Mm.”

“I’m sure that was riveting .  Watching me drool into the pillow.”

He chuckles.  “You don’t drool.  You talk in your sleep a little, though.”

“Do I?”

“Mmmhmm.  Something about an enormous schwanzstucker.”

You smile up at him lazily  “After last night, maybe I was just extolling your virtues.”

He lets out a laugh that’s as dirty as it is flustered.  “You’re going to give me a big head.”

“You’re the one that put me into the orgasm coma.  Reckon you’ve earned it.”

Harvey drops his head against your shoulder, laughing.  “How much do you need to do this morning?” he asks.

You groan, leaning into him with a shrug.  “With this weather? Covers on the pumpkins have to be checked again.  Barn has to be cleaned, kids need to be fed. Cleaning’s going to take awhile if I can’t get them out to pasture.”

“How sore are you?”

“Scale from one to ten?  Fiveish. I think the weather undid whatever good the ibuprofen managed.”

“I could help you today, if you want.  I’m not exactly skilled in manual labor, but I can take a little of the slack.  Unless you think I’ll just get in your way,” he adds in a nervous rush.

Reluctantly, you let him out of your grip.  “You’re never in my way. I appreciate the offer, sweet thing, honestly I do, but do you really want to run around in the rain and shovel shit with me on your day off?”

He blusters a little.  “Well, shit-shovelling isn’t exactly a life-long aspiration of mine, and I’m not as strong as you are.  But if I can help, I want to. And it sounds rough out there. I’d rather you weren’t out in this weather too long.  Or alone.”

As if to further his point the thunder comes again, this time in a clap rather than a rumble.  You both give a little start, and Harvey swears against your shoulder, muscles in his back bunching.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” you ask as he raises up.

His features settle and set into what you suspect is his best attempt at a brave face, and he nods.

“Alright, farm boy.  I hope you’ve brought something you don’t mind getting dirty.”

The best he has is the t-shirt you’d given him, plus the jeans and new boots.  It’s not ideal, not in this weather, and you spend a bit of time digging through your closet for a jacket or heavy workshirt that might fit him.  There’s bound to be something , there’s a practical drift in the back of spare clothes - the accumulated detritus of family hand-me-downs and failed relationships.  Eventually you find an old railroad sweatshirt and a heavy denim workshirt that you think might do the trick, passing them back to Harvey.

“Try these.  I think there might be a rain slicker in the mudroom you could fit, too.  My granddad was nowhere near your height, but he was about as broad.”

A moment passes before he pulls the shirt from your hand, and you turn, a little curious at the delay.

Harvey’s eyes are locked quite solidly on the inside of your closet door.  A short, fluttery dress hangs there, periwinkle blue and trimmed in soft eyelet.  The dress you’d worn to the Flower Dance.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

A faint blush creeps across his cheeks.  “Just remembering.”

“Maybe I’ll wear it again next year.  Make good on a few of those ideas it seemed to give you.”  A little of the teasing goes out of your smile as you straighten his collar.  “Think you could stand to dance with a farm girl?”

“I am a terrible dancer,” he warns.

“I don’t know.  You certainly move your hips well enough.”

The faint blush turns a hot scarlet.  “I’m glad you approve,” he mutters. “Unfortunately it’s my feet that are the problem.”

“I’m willing to risk it if you are.”

The words strike him - or maybe it’s the startling thought that you’d still want him in six months’ time - and he straightens, a spark of resolve in his eyes.  He nods. “Absolutely.”

Grinning yourself, you tug at the clothes in his hands.  “See if those fit. I’m going to start a pot of coffee. We’re going to need the caffeine.  And the warmth.”

The sleeves on the workshirt are a tad too short, but it’s at least wide enough to suit his shoulders and barrel chest without straining the buttons.  The rain slicker is much the same, you discover after the two of you hastily gulp down mugs of coffee. The sleeves stop above the wrists, the bottom of it hanging well above his knees.  The rubber is stained and faded, a yellow more reminiscent of nicotine stains than cheery summer lemons, and though cracked in a few places, is at least not crumbling. 

“Best I can do,” you tell him with a grimace as he pulls the hood up.

“Do I look as ridiculous as I feel?” he asks with a laugh, trying to shove the springy fop of his hair up underneath the hood.

“No, but I think I’ve seen at least one horror movie slasher with this ensemble.  You might get done for copyright infringement. If you keep coming out here we’ll have to see about getting you some decent weatherproofs.”

“I’m getting that,” he says, tugging gingerly at the sleeves of the sweatshirt, which puff out ridiculously from underneath the raincoat.  “Alright. Where do we start?”

You take a second as you step out onto the porch, watching the rain pelt down in sheets.  “Hoo boy. Well. The kids can wait for a minute or two. We need to check the covers on the pumpkins, make sure nothing’s blown off or over.  Check for tears or anywhere that’s sagging and holding water.” You squint through the haze out at the field. “The wind’s not too bad, and they look alright, but we’ll see.  You ready for this, sweet thing?”

Harvey, who has the look of someone who has decided to skip second thoughts and head straight for the fourth and fifth ones, gulps a breath and nods.  “Lead the way.”

It’s not bad, which comes as something of a relief.  You’ve started to expect bad things where this field is concerned.  Most of the plastic is holding. The end of one row has managed to come loose and needs to be re-fastened, but the plastic is still in one piece, and by the look of things it hasn’t been exposed too long.  Harvey helps you lay out some additional sheets over the few tears you find - best fix you can really manage in this weather - and the two of you trudge up to the barn, soaked and mud-splattered.

“You do this every day,” he pants, shaking his head and trying to wipe the water off his glasses with a sodden handkerchief.

“Could be worse.  Could be raining, you say with a laugh.

Harvey snorts, fumbling his handkerchief away.  “Good call back.”

“It’s why you keep me around.  C’mon sweet thing, we’re almost done.  I promise I’ll let you have the light end of this bit.”

The barn is blessedly dry, thanks mostly to Robin’s restorations.  Harvey pulls a face as he shakes his hood back, the pungent smell of manure and livestock catching him a little off guard.

“So, normally I’d just let everybody out to pasture and get about cleaning the stalls while they’re out of the way.  But these three cretins of mine will not set nose or hoof outside the barn when it’s raining, let alone when it’s a straight-up downpour.  So this is going to be a little fun.”

Harvey’s brow knots together, clearly worried about the implications.  “What do I...I mean, what do you need me to do?”

“Relax first of all.  However horrible you’re thinking this is going to be, I promise it won’t be that bad.  I am almost positive you’ve seen worse.”

“I suppose you’re right about that,” he says with a dry, reedy laugh.

You tug at his sleeve, half-worried the thing might come straight off in your hand.  “Hey. You don’t have to do this. I mean it. You can head back up to the house while I finish up here.  I’ve done it plenty of times before. I’m not going to twist your arm into helping me with chores on your day off.”

“No, no, no,” he says, and through the discomfort you can see the sincerity.  “I said I would help. I mean it. I want to help. I’d feel like a schlub sitting up there by myself while you do all the work.”

“You’re sure?”

He nods, determination finally getting the better of his nerves.

You put a hand on his arm and give him a reassuring squeeze.  “If you’ll feed them, I’ll get set up with the wheelbarrow and the shovel.  Then while they’re busy with their breakfast I’ll clean out the stalls. It’ll be over before you know it.  I promise. And as soon as we’re done we can get a hot shower and some breakfast and go back to being lazy.”

A little of the trepidation finally fades from his face and he nods, corner of his mouth curling in that familiar lop-sided grin.  “Promises, promises,” he says, pulling on a set of work gloves.

It’s messy work, but it’s much faster with someone else to keep the animals distracted.  The horse is the only one stubborn enough to stay put, forcing you to work around him as he tries to lean against you and pin you against the side of the stall.  You’re not sure if he’s trying to make a point or if it’s just what passes for horse humor, but it nearly gives poor Harvey a heart attack until he hears you laughing.

After a stop at the compost heap and a quick detour to wash your hands and get the chickens fed, you head back up, jogging through the rain and mud with Harvey in tow.

“Good job, farm boy,” you tell him as you reach the porch, throwing your arms around his neck.

Despite the raincoat he’s still fairly soggy, and there’s a taste of rain on his lips when you kiss.

“Did I pass?” he asks, looking down at you through the water droplets on his glasses.

“It wasn’t a test.”

“I know.”  He blusters a little, ducking his head.

You cup his face in both hands, raising his head back up to look at you.  “You were a big help, sweet thing. I mean it. Thank you.”

At that he smiles, relieved and a little proud.  “I’m glad.” A little more rain trickles off him and onto you as he bends for another kiss, and you brave the rain gladly for it.  

The clock, you’re far too aware, is winding down, the weekend nearly gone.  Soon you’ll be up to your eyeballs in pumpkins and potted mums and bottle-blonde soccer moms detouring off the highway for the Quaint Fall Country Experience, and there will be no time to spare for coffee and kisses.  The thought settles in you with an unpleasant weight, but more than that it leaves you feeling absolutely greedy for his touch, his kisses, his company. You want to drink him in as deep as you can while you have the chance.

“Let’s get you inside,” you say, tugging at the drawstring dangling from the rainslicker’s hood, “out of this mess you had to dress up in, and into a hot shower.”

“Oh thank Yoba,” he sighs in utter relief.  “This hood smells like mothballs and nicotine.”

Laughing and dripping with rain, you pull him inside.

 

 

A hot shower has never felt this good before.  You’re almost positive of that.  You lean back against Harvey’s chest under the spray, feeling the damp chill dissolve.

“Needed this,” you mutter.

Harvey hums an answer, chest rumbling against your back, and your eyes drift closed.

“How’s the soreness?”

“Better.  Especially now.  Arms don’t feel so rusty.”

He touches the edge of a dark bruise - one of several that pepper your skin from chest to thighs.  “These?”

“A little tender.  But good.” You nudge your head against his chin.  “I like having a reminder of you on me.”

His hand strays south.  “And here?”

“Also tender,” you say, smirking a little.  “I’m not sure I’m up to anything as enthusiastic as we managed yesterday.”

“Me either, if I’m honest,” Harvey admits with a little reluctance.  “But I think I could manage one more go before you have to take me back to the clinic.”

That weight lands in your stomach again, and you turn in his arms.  “About that.”

“Hm?”

“You don’t open the clinic until nine.”

“Right.”

“I have to be up at six.”

He blinks, eyes a little unfocused without his glasses, not quite understanding.

“You could stay tonight.  I could drop you off in the morning.”

“That- you, you don’t have to.  You’ve got so much on your plate this week, I don’t want to-”

“Harvey I want you here,” you insist.  “I’m barely going to see you next week and I’m going to miss you like hell.  So if that means Shane or Abigail minds things for twenty minutes tomorrow morning so I can wring out whatever extra time with you I can get before that happens, I think that’s more than a fair trade.”

He mutters your name so softly you barely catch it above the rush of water.  “You’re sure?”

You give a nod, running your hands up his shoulders to the taut muscles of his neck.  “Positive.”

It’s only the nerves that make him hesitate.  He smiles, circles his arms around you. “All right then.  One more night. What would you like to do with it?”

The strained muscles in your shoulders protest a bit as you lock your arms tightly around his neck.

“First of all?  I want to stay in here until we run out of hot water.”

“I like this plan already,” he says with a chuckle.  “And then?”

“Breakfast.  I would kill a man for bacon right now.”

“I think we can probably manage that without the homicide.  After that?”

You shake your head, water flying from your hair.  “I don’t care. Anything. We could curl up on the couch and not budge until dinner time and that’d be fine by me.  Watch tv, listen to some music, be a matched set of couch potatoes.”

“Lazy day, hm?”

“Lay-zee day,” you agree, drawling out the words.

“Yknow,” he says, rubbing his hands across your back, “I think that’s the best idea I’ve ever heard.”