Gamesmanship

by Jane Davitt




Mike fans himself with a file folder, never quite looking at Harvey, a dismissive, bored look on his face. Even from the corridor, Louis can see how provocative that look's intended to be. His cock stirs, hardening at the thought of the games the two of them must play in private if they're this fucking blatant in public. Harvey's not the forgiving type, but Louis bets Mike knows how to buy a twisted leniency by going down on his knees, spanked-scarlet ass in the air, that pretty mouth babbling tearful excuses Harvey won't listen to, only enjoy. Jesus, he's got to control himself. His erection's probably visible from space.

"I'll finish it by tomorrow."

Harvey corrects him with that pleasant smile of his, the one that makes Louis's dick feel like it's been rubbed down with sandpaper and doused in lemon juice every time it's directed at him. Not that he minds that."You'll finish it before midnight, or your bike will turn back into a turnip."

Mike frowns. "Pumpkin."

"Yourbike? It wishes. Out."

Mike's flushed and muttering something rude under his breath as he walks past Louis, barely nodding a greeting, but his eyes are sparkling.

Oh yeah. That's one Cinderella who's found her Prince fucking Charming. Time to play some games of his own.

Harvey doesn't look up when he walks in. "I'm busy, Louis."

Louis perches on Harvey's desk, knowing it'll piss him off. "I could see that. So, tell me, when he's with you does he make that weird noise when he comes? I'm thinking of using it as my new ringtone."

Harvey sets his pen down and leans back in his chair. No smile. Intent, bordering on vicious glint in his eyes. Louis's dick can't decide whether to shrivel small to protect itself or grow another three sizes. God, Harvey's good at this. So fucking good.

Harvey shakes his head. "Let's pretend you didn't say any of that."

"Let's pretend I give a fuck if I have to share him with you." Louis shrugs carefully, uncomfortably aware that his suits cost more than Harvey's, but never look as good. It's not his fault. It's his shoulders. He can't help his shoulders. "I don't. I don't care if you piss in the same stall I do either, as long as you don't use it the same time as me."

And isn't that a thought. God. Mike between them, no, under him, writhing and clawing and begging as Harvey watches them fuck and sees, really sees just how good he can be in bed with the right partner, when he's not exhausted, whipped raw by lack of sleep and too much hope. Not a good memory, that quick encounter in the executive washroom, dawn approaching, but it's the only one he has of him and Harvey and he's used it to jerk off to until it's threadbare and faded, rewriting it so that he doesn't come at the first real touch he gets, spurting spunk over Harvey's trousers and gleaming shoes.

God, that snicker Harvey hadn't even tried to suppress...not as bad as the condescending pat his face had gotten, not as bad as standing there mute with humiliation as Harvey had efficiently jerked off into the sink, a bored look on his face, washing away the creamy splatter with a fastidious grimace.

He could've used Louis's mouth instead of the sink, but no. Arrogant fucking--

Harvey doesn't get to his feet, or even clench his fists, but Louis goes cold, a prickle of sweat breaking out down his spine. Too far? Too much? Jesus, why don't they teach you how to do this--

Then Harvey smiles and his hand slides over Louis's knee.

"And I was planning to invite you over tomorrow night to watch me teach him something new. Can you believe he thinks I won't really use clamps on his balls? Oh well. Another time, maybe."

Louis swallows, his mouth thick with lust and longing, but he knows Harvey too well not to see when he's playing him. "You're not fucking him? Really?"

"I'm not," Harvey says and there's a hint of regret in his voice, but Louis makes himself just listen to the words.

Harvey's not his, probably never will be, but he's not Mike's either.

Not yet.

There's still time.


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