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Mike leaned over to pick up the Zimmerman files. They were sitting in the middle of Harvey's desk, and for some reason, he couldn't just ask Harvey to hand them to him.
No, he had to practically drape himself over Harvey's back in order to grab them.
Harvey cleared his throat meaningfully. Unfortunately, Mike seemed to have woken up in a particularly obtuse state of mind this morning, because he just glanced at Harvey and raised his eyebrows in a question, all the while continuing to brush his chest against Harvey's shoulder and breathe on Harvey's neck.
Harvey fought the urge to react, neither allowing himself to shrug away from Mike's touch, nor take hold of Mike's ridiculous skinny tie and yank him closer in order to kiss the clueless look off his face.
They stayed motionless, stuck in that absurd tableau for long enough that Mike grinned and Harvey lost his usually reliable brain-to-mouth filter just long enough to lose his usual cool demeanor.
"Are you hitting on me?" he asked Mike incredulously.
"Are you insane?" Mike asked back, just as incredulously, straightening up so quickly he almost fell over.
Harvey stared at him another minute, his eyes narrowed, and then he relaxed.
"Sorry, stupid question," he said dismissively. Flapping a hand, he waved Mike out of his office, taking care not to look in Donna's direction.
There was no way she didn't hear every word of that conversation.
Mike just stood there, though, looking both thoughtful and wary, and Harvey glared at a spot just past the tip of his left ear.
"I assume you have work to do?" His voice didn't come out quite as indifferent as he'd hoped it would.
Finally, Mike nodded and left, glancing one more time at Harvey over his shoulder as he left the office.
Harvey took a deep breath and slowly let himself relax back into his chair.
What the hell was he thinking?
*
Harvey took both hotdogs from the vendor and handed one of them off to Mike.
Mike looked as pleased as if it had been a six-course meal, and Harvey indulgently watched him squirt mustard all over it, narrowly missing getting some on his jacket.
They walked a few feet away from the cart, eating and arguing about the Zimmerman case. Harvey was convinced Clara Zimmerman was lying through her teeth, and Mike was equally convinced she was an innocent bystander in the complete mess her family had made of their lives and finances.
"I don't care if no one ever told her a bedtime story, she -" Harvey was saying, when Mike reached out and rubbed his thumb across Harvey's bottom lip. Harvey stopped talking mid-sentence, just stood there with his mouth open, his tongue wrapped around the next word he'd been planning to say.
"Mustard," Mike said with a helpful smile. He gestured at Harvey's face. "You had mustard on your chin."
Except that wasn't Harvey's chin Mike had swiped his thumb over, that was his mouth. His lips.
And then Mike brought his thumb to his own mouth and sucked on it, licking the mustard off, his eyes never leaving Harvey's.
Time seemed to slow down, all the people rushing by them at lunchtime on the busy Manhattan street fading into the background, and the only sound Harvey could hear was his own heartbeat.
And then Mike frowned and said, "Clara never claimed abuse or neglect, Harvey. She just said –" and the world came back into focus again.
Harvey's "Did you just lick mustard off my lip?" was lost in the blare of a taxi's horn, which Harvey thought was proof right there of a benevolent God. He closed his mouth and straightened his shoulders, deciding that the gleam of amusement in Mike's eye was really a trick of the midday sun.
"Clara Zimmerman is a con artist," Harvey said firmly. "We need to get her to talk." He tossed his half-eaten hotdog in a nearby trash can, chalking up the look of disappointment on Mike's face to the fact that their lunch break was over. "Come on."
He stalked down the sidewalk toward Ray and the car without checking to see if Mike was with him.
He knew he was.
*
Mid-town traffic was snarled up worse than usual, which meant Ray was driving slowly and carefully, so there was no reason for Mike to slide closer to Harvey as Ray smoothly navigated the turn from 54th St. onto Park Avenue.
Sure, the leather seat was soft and buttery, and it was possible that it was slippery enough to cause someone to slide a bit, but Harvey really doubted it.
Mike had his head tilted back against the seat. His eyes were closed, so Harvey studied him for a moment, taking in the circles that smudged like bruises under his eyes, the lines of tension around his mouth.
He looked like what he was, an over-worked associate in a busy law firm who didn't get enough sleep; nothing Harvey hadn't seen a million times before. But something about the vulnerability on Mike's face when he didn't know Harvey was looking tugged at Harvey's chest.
Ray eased the car to a stop at a traffic light, and Mike sighed, slipping close enough that Harvey could smell his aftershave, could feel the warmth his body radiated. Their shoulders were mere inches apart, and at this rate, Mike would be sitting in Harvey's lap before they got to Clara Zimmerman's apartment.
Harvey cleared his throat and Mike blinked his eyes open, turning his head on the seatback to smile sleepily at Harvey. Their noses were almost touching.
"We there yet?"
Wordlessly, Harvey shook his head.
"Good. This is nice." Mike's eyes drifted shut again.
Right. Mike was over-worked and sleep-deprived. Of course he would appreciate a few minutes respite. That's what he thought was nice.
Not the fact that he and Harvey were sitting so close together they may as well be cuddling.
A rueful snort escaped Harvey at that thought. Did he want there to be cuddling at some point in this relationship?
He had no idea, and for that he completely blamed Mike.
Harvey was tempted to wake Mike up, ask him once and for all if he was hitting on him, but thought better of it when he caught Ray's eyes in the rear view mirror.
He could wait a little longer before getting his answer. Maybe he should figure out what he wanted that answer to be before he asked again.
*
Harvey had a feeling the celebratory scotch might have been a mistake.
First of all, scotch of this quality was completely wasted on Mike. He had no appreciation for the fine, smoky flavor, and had actually asked why there were no ice cubes. That hurt Harvey deep in his soul.
Secondly, Harvey felt a buzz he wasn't quite accustomed to, but he didn't think he could blame it all on the scotch.
Mike was making him dizzy.
He was standing too close, his smile was too amused, and his voice was too warm. Harvey wasn't used to being around a Mike who was this confident, and it was throwing him off balance.
"Have you been hitting on me?" he blurted before he even knew he was going to open his mouth. Smooth, Harvey. Real smooth.
"Do you want me to be?" Mike was still smiling, but his eyes were uncertain. That made Harvey feel surprisingly better.
"I think I'd like that, yes," he said, cocking his head at Mike, almost a challenge.
"Cool," said Mike. "I can do that."