Fic - Equivocation (Harvey/Donna) R, 1/1
Dec. 2nd, 2012 02:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
abvjTitle: Equivocation
Summary: They do this sometimes. Harvey and Donna work out some of their issues after the trial-run. All it proves is they are more screwed up than most people think.
Rating: hard r
Author's Notes: 2,090 words. Set during 2x09, Asterisk. Some liberties are taken. All mistakes are mine. These characters are not. I feel like it's been FOREVER since I've written these two, so go easy on me? Con-crit is, as always, welcome and appreciated.
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
magisterequitum because she is awesome and the best and I know I owe you some D/E, but maybe you'll take this as an IOU?
The door shuts behind them and Donna sighs, heavy and weighted, once they are inside her apartment.
Harvey watches her move in circles around him, eyes tracing the straight line of her spine as she brushes past him to flip on a light. He thinks about making a joke – knows the dinner party would be a suitable punch line, but he’s grasping at straws, wants her to look at him, to fight with him, to give him something, so he makes a play at dredging up old wounds instead.
He’s never been one to play fair when it comes to her.
“Just like old times,” he says, a worthless attempt, and her eyes snap towards his, narrowing sharply. She stands in front of him, just a mere foot away, but the distance between them is palpable.
“Don’t.”
“Donna –”
When she reaches for him, her fingers are angry when they claw at the back of his neck, her mouth angrier as it slides against his – teeth biting against his lip, her tongue flicking against his without remorse. It is Harvey who sighs now, the sound a mere hiss, a sharp release as he gives into her, palms smoothing down her sides until they rest at her hip, thumbs tracing patterns into the sharp angles of the bones at her hips.
(They do this sometimes.)
“You’re still angry.”
The words drop between them, heated but soft, his voice a mere rasp against the smooth skin of her throat. Donna’s groan is one of sheer frustration, the sound low and thick as he swallows it, readily makes it apart of him before managing to press his mouth to hers just once, all tongue and teeth for a mere half second before she pulls away. Her palms land flat on his chest, pushing him back, back, back until he’s stumbling, losing his footing somewhere near the coffee table he vaguely remembers helping her pick out all those years ago. His left hand leaves her waist only to brace against her couch when he feels himself start to loose his footing and fall backwards. Donna stumbles forward, all grace and beauty as she slides a jean-clad thigh on either side of his, moving into him, over top of him, pushing him onto his back until he is exactly where she wants him.
It is probably one the sexiest goddamn things he has ever witnessed, so Harvey allows it, allows her to push and pull and take, take, take as her fingers work against his tie and the buttons of his shirt with the mere intention of seeking out skin. Her nails drag against the muscles at his sides, over the bones of his ribs. It’s harsh, her touch, and he winces, is reminded of her anger as it thrums between them, as he tastes its bitterness on the tip of his tongue as he tires to kiss her again, but she turns her head, forcing him to miss and meet hers at the corner.
Still, he moves into her, fingers gentle, calm, almost tender as they curve around her jaw, bringing her mouth to his properly. Donna wants none of it though, doesn’t want the tenderness, and fights him every inch of the way, her mouth harsh as it slants against his, her touch foreign, a stranger’s as it works over him.
It doesn’t feel right, and he doesn’t want to like it, feels anxious as the situation spirals so completely out of his control, so he murmurs her name, just once, a warning of sorts. But his body betrays him, responds to the sheer closeness of her, the smell of citrus and the faint scent of her lotion, the feel of her against him – close but not nearly close enough. His hands wander to her waist; they push at the cotton of her shirt, palms spreading across the smooth skin of her back. He closes his eyes, kisses her again – soft, leisurely, tries to coax her into what he wants, what he needs, but she turns it to something bitter, something with edge too quickly.
She’s fighting him for control, and Harvey is at a complete and utter loss as to how to respond, struggles against her every inch of the way.
“Donna,” he tries again, but she pulls back, reaches to the hem of her shirt and slips it over her head, tossing it to the side. His throat constricts at the sight of her, at the sight of her pale skin and the lace of her bra, the freckles near her collarbone and shoulder. He pushes himself upwards on steady hands, mouth running along the soft curve of bone near her shoulder.
She rolls her eyes – he doesn’t have to look at her to see the movement, he knows her well enough to know it is exactly what she is doing – and moves to the side, away from him, and pushes him back down to the couch with an amount of force he always knew she was capable of. Her hands are steady as they reach for his pants, the smooth sound of a zipper coming undone popping in his ears. He reaches for her again, tries to still her, but she wrenches herself out of his grasp.
“Harvey, I swear to god – either shut your goddamn mouth or put it to better use.”
He’s not an idiot and she’s beautiful and sexy and Donna, and she wants this, she needs this, so he gives in all too easily. Gives her exactly what she wants and needs – which he knows has less to do with him and more to do with control, with anger, with needing to take something away from him after all he has taken from her.
It’s all too easy to give into her and that is exactly what Harvey does. He curls his fingers into her hair, pulling her mouth to his until their lips smear together, the kiss rough and hard, the sheer force of it reverberating in the base of his skull. His hands move from her hair to smooth down her back, curling against the curve of her perfect ass before working on the button and zipper of her jeans. But they’re too tight, and it takes both of their efforts to get them and her underwear down her legs.
The couch is too small for the both of them, one of his legs on the floor bracing his weight as the other gets stuck somewhere between the cushions. Harvey thinks idly about making some sort of joke, something along the lines of how they’re probably getting to old for this because this isn’t them, this isn’t how they do this, and he wants for familiar ground almost as much as he wants her. He opens his mouth, but Donna stops him with her hands on him, shoving his slacks down just far enough. Donna’s fingers are nimble and warm as she takes him between her palms and suddenly he can’t think. He can’t breathe, can’t focus on anything outside how smooth her skin is and the evenness of her breaths as she reaches somewhere behind her, the foil packet between her teeth to open it before she rolls it over him.
Reaching between them, his fingers lick into her, the moan ripping through his throat at how wet and ready she is, and the room spins, the heat sticking to his skin like a glove as she pushes him away, barely gives him warning before she slides home easily.
Donna is angry and forceful, possessive, doesn’t wait for him to catch his breath, doesn’t wait for him to breathe, to acclimate before she begins to move gracelessly, the slow roll of her hips against his building into something deeper, something that breathes panic and ferocity. There is no laughter, no banter, no words spilt and spread between them. The silence snaps in his ears, sets him on edge, and he feels the desire coil and burn deep within him as he watches her wide-eyed, her name constantly just on the edge of his tongue, daring to fall off but never quite making it far enough. Donna just moves and keeps moving, her back bowing, her eyes closed tight as she braces her weight with a fist against his shoulder. She leans down and into him when he least expects it, her tongue and teeth grazing the dip of skin near his collarbone as his fingers dig into her waist, holding her up when her knees start to buckle against the fading upholstery of her couch.
It’s over before it really begins.
She comes first with her teeth sinking into the soft skin near the base of his throat and his thumb on her clit, tirelessly working her towards release. He follows easily, the sight of her and the soft hiss of her sigh pushing him to the edge and over, his groan muffled against her hair, the fingers of his free hand digging into the smooth skin of her ass so hard he knows she’ll wear reminders of this for days. It takes a moment, a full minute even, for the world to calm and right itself, for the hum to dull in his ears. Harvey presses a kiss to her hair, allows his hold on her to loosen, his fingers drawing themselves idly up and down the knobs of her spine.
It’s his version of affection, the glide of his fingers as they count her bones, and he knows it is a good thing, that they’re making progress when she merely breathes through the moment and doesn’t try to move away. The weight of each of her breaths is hot and warm against his neck and Harvey presses his eyes closed as they sink into his skin.
The shift occurs easily after, the moment transitioning into something else entirely as she pulls away, reaches for her shirt and throws it over her shoulders, slides her underwear back on. She moves off the couch and away from him, placing the distance between them once more, redrawing the line in the sand just so they can return to the familiarity of toeing it.
A large part of him welcomes the change. An even bigger part of him – that part he swallows down and buries in sheer reflex – despises it.
They’ve been here before, and Harvey knows her, all of her, and can predict her movements before she moves to make them. In a minute or five he will leave, return to the office, and this will be just another thing, just another moment shared and forgotten because there was a time when they decided it was best for things to remain stagnant, unchanged by time and circumstance.
In a minute or five, he will leave, and this will become just another thing they do not speak of.
There is a joke now, something vaguely funny and he laughs at it a beat too late, his head turning to watch her as she crosses the room to slide open a window. The smile she offers him when she catches his gaze is familiar, kind, and it’s the first time he’s felt like things just might turn out okay in weeks. He has missed her, is hit with the sheer force of just how much as he runs the tips of his fingers over the marks her mouth left in their wake on his throat, but does not tell her.
That isn’t what this was about, he reminds himself.
“You’re going to be late,” she points out, tone almost sing-song from somewhere near the window.
It is ridiculously hot in her apartment, his shirt and slacks wrinkled beyond repair. He’ll have to go home and change before going into the office, will probably have to reschedule most of his morning because this is not what he intended to happen when he came here to grovel, but the sight of her with mussed hair and flushed skin looking well-fucked by him makes it worth it.
He puts himself back together, listens to her complain about how it will take days to redo her filing system, and he breathes a soft sigh of relief as the ground slowly begins to feel solid beneath his feet again.
In the doorway Harvey lingers, his hand on the knob. His tie is crooked, but she’s smiling at him the way she always has – wide and sharp around the edges. His mouth turns accordingly.
“See you tomorrow?” he asks.
Donna merely grins.
Summary: They do this sometimes. Harvey and Donna work out some of their issues after the trial-run. All it proves is they are more screwed up than most people think.
Rating: hard r
Author's Notes: 2,090 words. Set during 2x09, Asterisk. Some liberties are taken. All mistakes are mine. These characters are not. I feel like it's been FOREVER since I've written these two, so go easy on me? Con-crit is, as always, welcome and appreciated.
For
magisterequitum because she is awesome and the best and I know I owe you some D/E, but maybe you'll take this as an IOU? The door shuts behind them and Donna sighs, heavy and weighted, once they are inside her apartment.
Harvey watches her move in circles around him, eyes tracing the straight line of her spine as she brushes past him to flip on a light. He thinks about making a joke – knows the dinner party would be a suitable punch line, but he’s grasping at straws, wants her to look at him, to fight with him, to give him something, so he makes a play at dredging up old wounds instead.
He’s never been one to play fair when it comes to her.
“Just like old times,” he says, a worthless attempt, and her eyes snap towards his, narrowing sharply. She stands in front of him, just a mere foot away, but the distance between them is palpable.
“Don’t.”
“Donna –”
When she reaches for him, her fingers are angry when they claw at the back of his neck, her mouth angrier as it slides against his – teeth biting against his lip, her tongue flicking against his without remorse. It is Harvey who sighs now, the sound a mere hiss, a sharp release as he gives into her, palms smoothing down her sides until they rest at her hip, thumbs tracing patterns into the sharp angles of the bones at her hips.
(They do this sometimes.)
“You’re still angry.”
The words drop between them, heated but soft, his voice a mere rasp against the smooth skin of her throat. Donna’s groan is one of sheer frustration, the sound low and thick as he swallows it, readily makes it apart of him before managing to press his mouth to hers just once, all tongue and teeth for a mere half second before she pulls away. Her palms land flat on his chest, pushing him back, back, back until he’s stumbling, losing his footing somewhere near the coffee table he vaguely remembers helping her pick out all those years ago. His left hand leaves her waist only to brace against her couch when he feels himself start to loose his footing and fall backwards. Donna stumbles forward, all grace and beauty as she slides a jean-clad thigh on either side of his, moving into him, over top of him, pushing him onto his back until he is exactly where she wants him.
It is probably one the sexiest goddamn things he has ever witnessed, so Harvey allows it, allows her to push and pull and take, take, take as her fingers work against his tie and the buttons of his shirt with the mere intention of seeking out skin. Her nails drag against the muscles at his sides, over the bones of his ribs. It’s harsh, her touch, and he winces, is reminded of her anger as it thrums between them, as he tastes its bitterness on the tip of his tongue as he tires to kiss her again, but she turns her head, forcing him to miss and meet hers at the corner.
Still, he moves into her, fingers gentle, calm, almost tender as they curve around her jaw, bringing her mouth to his properly. Donna wants none of it though, doesn’t want the tenderness, and fights him every inch of the way, her mouth harsh as it slants against his, her touch foreign, a stranger’s as it works over him.
It doesn’t feel right, and he doesn’t want to like it, feels anxious as the situation spirals so completely out of his control, so he murmurs her name, just once, a warning of sorts. But his body betrays him, responds to the sheer closeness of her, the smell of citrus and the faint scent of her lotion, the feel of her against him – close but not nearly close enough. His hands wander to her waist; they push at the cotton of her shirt, palms spreading across the smooth skin of her back. He closes his eyes, kisses her again – soft, leisurely, tries to coax her into what he wants, what he needs, but she turns it to something bitter, something with edge too quickly.
She’s fighting him for control, and Harvey is at a complete and utter loss as to how to respond, struggles against her every inch of the way.
“Donna,” he tries again, but she pulls back, reaches to the hem of her shirt and slips it over her head, tossing it to the side. His throat constricts at the sight of her, at the sight of her pale skin and the lace of her bra, the freckles near her collarbone and shoulder. He pushes himself upwards on steady hands, mouth running along the soft curve of bone near her shoulder.
She rolls her eyes – he doesn’t have to look at her to see the movement, he knows her well enough to know it is exactly what she is doing – and moves to the side, away from him, and pushes him back down to the couch with an amount of force he always knew she was capable of. Her hands are steady as they reach for his pants, the smooth sound of a zipper coming undone popping in his ears. He reaches for her again, tries to still her, but she wrenches herself out of his grasp.
“Harvey, I swear to god – either shut your goddamn mouth or put it to better use.”
He’s not an idiot and she’s beautiful and sexy and Donna, and she wants this, she needs this, so he gives in all too easily. Gives her exactly what she wants and needs – which he knows has less to do with him and more to do with control, with anger, with needing to take something away from him after all he has taken from her.
It’s all too easy to give into her and that is exactly what Harvey does. He curls his fingers into her hair, pulling her mouth to his until their lips smear together, the kiss rough and hard, the sheer force of it reverberating in the base of his skull. His hands move from her hair to smooth down her back, curling against the curve of her perfect ass before working on the button and zipper of her jeans. But they’re too tight, and it takes both of their efforts to get them and her underwear down her legs.
The couch is too small for the both of them, one of his legs on the floor bracing his weight as the other gets stuck somewhere between the cushions. Harvey thinks idly about making some sort of joke, something along the lines of how they’re probably getting to old for this because this isn’t them, this isn’t how they do this, and he wants for familiar ground almost as much as he wants her. He opens his mouth, but Donna stops him with her hands on him, shoving his slacks down just far enough. Donna’s fingers are nimble and warm as she takes him between her palms and suddenly he can’t think. He can’t breathe, can’t focus on anything outside how smooth her skin is and the evenness of her breaths as she reaches somewhere behind her, the foil packet between her teeth to open it before she rolls it over him.
Reaching between them, his fingers lick into her, the moan ripping through his throat at how wet and ready she is, and the room spins, the heat sticking to his skin like a glove as she pushes him away, barely gives him warning before she slides home easily.
Donna is angry and forceful, possessive, doesn’t wait for him to catch his breath, doesn’t wait for him to breathe, to acclimate before she begins to move gracelessly, the slow roll of her hips against his building into something deeper, something that breathes panic and ferocity. There is no laughter, no banter, no words spilt and spread between them. The silence snaps in his ears, sets him on edge, and he feels the desire coil and burn deep within him as he watches her wide-eyed, her name constantly just on the edge of his tongue, daring to fall off but never quite making it far enough. Donna just moves and keeps moving, her back bowing, her eyes closed tight as she braces her weight with a fist against his shoulder. She leans down and into him when he least expects it, her tongue and teeth grazing the dip of skin near his collarbone as his fingers dig into her waist, holding her up when her knees start to buckle against the fading upholstery of her couch.
It’s over before it really begins.
She comes first with her teeth sinking into the soft skin near the base of his throat and his thumb on her clit, tirelessly working her towards release. He follows easily, the sight of her and the soft hiss of her sigh pushing him to the edge and over, his groan muffled against her hair, the fingers of his free hand digging into the smooth skin of her ass so hard he knows she’ll wear reminders of this for days. It takes a moment, a full minute even, for the world to calm and right itself, for the hum to dull in his ears. Harvey presses a kiss to her hair, allows his hold on her to loosen, his fingers drawing themselves idly up and down the knobs of her spine.
It’s his version of affection, the glide of his fingers as they count her bones, and he knows it is a good thing, that they’re making progress when she merely breathes through the moment and doesn’t try to move away. The weight of each of her breaths is hot and warm against his neck and Harvey presses his eyes closed as they sink into his skin.
The shift occurs easily after, the moment transitioning into something else entirely as she pulls away, reaches for her shirt and throws it over her shoulders, slides her underwear back on. She moves off the couch and away from him, placing the distance between them once more, redrawing the line in the sand just so they can return to the familiarity of toeing it.
A large part of him welcomes the change. An even bigger part of him – that part he swallows down and buries in sheer reflex – despises it.
They’ve been here before, and Harvey knows her, all of her, and can predict her movements before she moves to make them. In a minute or five he will leave, return to the office, and this will be just another thing, just another moment shared and forgotten because there was a time when they decided it was best for things to remain stagnant, unchanged by time and circumstance.
In a minute or five, he will leave, and this will become just another thing they do not speak of.
There is a joke now, something vaguely funny and he laughs at it a beat too late, his head turning to watch her as she crosses the room to slide open a window. The smile she offers him when she catches his gaze is familiar, kind, and it’s the first time he’s felt like things just might turn out okay in weeks. He has missed her, is hit with the sheer force of just how much as he runs the tips of his fingers over the marks her mouth left in their wake on his throat, but does not tell her.
That isn’t what this was about, he reminds himself.
“You’re going to be late,” she points out, tone almost sing-song from somewhere near the window.
It is ridiculously hot in her apartment, his shirt and slacks wrinkled beyond repair. He’ll have to go home and change before going into the office, will probably have to reschedule most of his morning because this is not what he intended to happen when he came here to grovel, but the sight of her with mussed hair and flushed skin looking well-fucked by him makes it worth it.
He puts himself back together, listens to her complain about how it will take days to redo her filing system, and he breathes a soft sigh of relief as the ground slowly begins to feel solid beneath his feet again.
In the doorway Harvey lingers, his hand on the knob. His tie is crooked, but she’s smiling at him the way she always has – wide and sharp around the edges. His mouth turns accordingly.
“See you tomorrow?” he asks.
Donna merely grins.
