The office should smell of money. Silk ties falling serenely down shirtfronts, expense accounts with multiple zeroes (all before the decimal point)...
Or paper. Heavy boxes (weapons) brimful of densely printed sheets leave the air rustle-dry.
Or maybe-- But, no.
The office reeks of sex.
Mike hears Louis talk of ponies, branding, claiming. Hears Harvey's whispered "Good boy" and craves the brush of his hand in all the right (wrong) places.
Walks around hard, his skinny (cheap) tie dangling.
Wants to be worth something and knows he'd blow Harvey for a smile.
Feels cheap. Feels dirty. Feels good.
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