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You can call me "Honey" if you want, because I'm the one you want
Mm-mm
When anyone called me "Sweetheart"
It was passive-aggressive at the bar
And the bitch was tellin' me to back off
'Cause her man had looked at me wrong
If anyone called me "Honey"
It was standin' in the bathroom, white teeth
They were sayin' that skirt don't fit me
And I cried the whole way home
But you touch my face
Redefine all of those blues
When you say "Honey"
It started as a joke. Mike had come barreling into Harvey’s loft at half-past midnight, without bothering to knock. Mike’s key was for emergencies, but he treated Harvey’s penthouse like he owned the damn place.
Mike waved a file erratically when he shouted in a sing-song voice, “Honey, I’m home!”
Harvey sucked in a barely audible breath, schooling his expression before Mike noticed. Instead, he leveled his most menacing glare at his associate.
“Call me that again, and I’ll throw you off the damn balcony,” Harvey hissed.
Mike saw right through his bluff, slinking up to Harvey with a lopsided grin. He caressed Harvey’s face.
His voice was soft as butter as Mike gently said, “Oh, honey, don’t be like that. Your life would be way too boring without me in it.”
Harvey was too busy reminding himself to breathe normally to respond. In-out-in-out. Mike grinned, patting Harvey’s cheek and quipping, “Thought so.”
Mike didn’t even stay long enough for a drink. Every so often, he snuck a puzzled look at Harvey, who’d barely said three words since The Incident.
Harvey collapsed on his couch in a daze when his door clicked shut.
What the fuck just happened?
If anyone else dared to use a pet name on him, even in jest, he would have decked them or swiftly kicked them out of his loft.
It didn’t stop there.
Two weeks into this little dance, it became a game of chicken neither man wanted to back down from.
“Honey, I finished the file you asked for.”
“Honey, I found precedence.”
“Honey, your tie is crooked.”
Harvey glared at Mike for real that time, swatting his associate’s hand away from his $300 light blue Armani tie. If it matched Mike’s eyes, that was between him and the twinkle in Renee’s eye when he chose the color.
“You know damn well that Harvey Specter’s ties are never crooked.”
Mike snorted. “Third person. Cute.” After a beat, Mike added in a husky voice, “Bet I could rumple your tie.”
Speaking of ties, Harvey was grateful that it hid his Adam’s apple when he swallowed at the innuendo. This was getting out of hand.
Harvey yanked his tie back, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles from his suit and demanding, “Get the hell out of my office.”
Mike snickered as he exited Harvey’s domain, high-fiving Donna on his way back to the bullpen.
She turned on the intercom, barely holding back laughter when she teased, “You look a little pale there, honey.”
Harvey’s scowl could shatter glass. He cursed the fact that it didn't. “If you like your salary, I suggest you never call me that again.”
Donna looked at her perfectly manicured hand with disinterest. “Funny how you haven’t threatened to fire Mike any of the 14 times he’s used that very same moniker this week — which started yesterday. Some people might call that foreplay.”
Harvey yanked down his privacy blinds, muttering about ungrateful secretaries under his breath. He unplugged the intercom for the rest of the day, but Harvey could still hear her laughing. Traitor.
His office was too quiet. He wished he hadn’t isolated himself, but Harvey couldn’t take it back now. So, he was stuck with only his wandering thoughts, silently willing his phone to ring.
No one had ever dared to call Harvey honey — no one who knew him, at least. Not since his mom pleaded with him to keep her secret about the affair. He gritted his teeth at the memory of the fake sincerity in her voice when she begged, “Honey, don’t break up our family.”
He’d spat back, “That was all you, mother.”
Sometimes, a waitress would say something like, “Sure thing, honey” at the bar. It was always either a hot waitress hitting on him or an older woman with a concerned tone after he ordered his fourth scotch. Regardless, they never said it again after the menacing look he shot their way.
When Harvey still worked in the mailroom at the firm, one of the then-associates looked at him with disgust, sneering, “That suit doesn’t fit, honey. You really left the house looking like that?”
Harvey had been fresh out of college without a dime to his name after cutting off his mother. By that point, he was still getting the hang of turning off his emotions. He hated feeling inferior — weak. But from then on, Harvey was determined to look the best and be the best. No one would ever talk down to him again.
Never again would he cry over what some dickhead had to say about him in a public fucking bathroom. If he wanted to be the best, he had to believe it himself. And from that point on, he did.
Sometimes, Harvey felt guilty about mocking Mike for his horrid collection of skinny ties and lumpy suits. He knew the kid was broke, just like he was before Jessica threw him a rope. But Harvey wanted the best for his associate. Harvey had needed that push to drive him forward, so maybe he could do the same for Mike.
Summertime spritz, pink skies
You can call me "Honey" if you want because I'm the one you want
Wintergreen kiss, all mine
You give it different meaning 'cause you mean it when you talk
Honey, I'm home, we could play house
We can bed down, pick me up
Who's the baddest in the land? What's the plan? (What's the plan?)
You could be my forever night stand
Honey
When anyone called me "Sweetheart"
It was passive-aggressive at the bar
And the bitch was tellin' me to back off
'Cause her man had looked at me wrong
If anyone called me "Honey"
It was standin' in the bathroom, white teeth
They were sayin' that skirt don't fit me
And I cried the whole way home
But you touch my face
Redefine all of those blues
When you say
After the fourth week of this little game, Harvey’d had enough. He manhandled a wide-eyed Mike into the file room, pushing him past the threshold and locking the door behind them.
Harvey didn’t stop pushing Mike until he was cornered against the shelf, which wobbled from the force.
Mike’s eyes were blown wide, and if Harvey didn’t know better, he’d say there was a touch of lust in there with the mild unease. Harvey had Mike locked in place with his thighs flush against the younger man’s, leaving just enough room for Mike to push Harvey off.
He didn’t.
Harvey whispered in Mike’s ear, his hot breath stirring goosebumps on the younger man’s neck. “Say it again, rookie. And see what happens.”
Mike swallowed so loudly that Harvey could hear it. Neither mentioned the obvious excitement they were both feeling at the close proximity of their hips.
This was it. The final round of chicken. Harvey would either call Mike’s bluff, or they would finally do something about this schoolyard game they were playing.
Mike swallowed again before croaking, “Honey.”
Harvey bit Mike’s ear. “Again, like you mean it. Or I walk away, and we never speak of this again.”
Mike looked panicked, grabbing Harvey’s thigh and half-shouting, “Honey!”
Harvey shut Mike up with his lips, inhaling the fresh taste of wintergreen gum Mike always chewed when he was nervous. Mike whimpered into his mouth as Harvey ground their hips together and slinked his hands under Mike’s too-baggy dress shirt and up his back.
They both held their breaths when they heard the doorknob jiggle, followed by Harold awkwardly asking, “Um. Hello? Is anyone in there?”
Harvey clamped his hand over Mike’s mouth as the younger man tried to contain his laughter. But Harvey’s glare was enough to make Mike swallow under his boss’ hand and promptly shut the hell up.
A minute after Harold stuttered, “Uh, okay,” Harvey deemed it safe to remove his hand. He replaced it with his lips. Again. And again. And one more time.
Mike let out a breathless, “Harvey,” when he pulled away to catch his breath.
Harvey ran his fingers through Mike’s hair, debating whether or not to voice the thought that he hadn’t been able to shake since the first time Mike said it in his loft.
Mike touched Harvey’s face, waiting for him to say whatever he was holding back.
It tumbled out against his will. “You can call me honey if you want, because I’m the one you want.”
Mike was still grinning when he smashed their lips together for a sloppy, heated kiss that somehow felt more monumental than the first one they shared.
Harvey’s phone dinged, jolting them out of their bubble.
Donna: Jessica’s looking for you.
They both groaned, and Harvey pecked his lips once more, taking his time smoothing Mike’s hair and tucking his shirt back in. Mike shivered when Harvey’s hands circled the inside of his pants.
As he straightened his associate’s tie, Harvey promised, “All in good time, rookie.” He paused before adding, “My office, 8 p.m. sharp. We can go to Delmonico’s and talk about … this.”
Mike smiled softly at the older man. “Wouldn’t miss it … honey.”
Harvey rolled his eyes at the nickname, but both men knew he was secretly preening. What did this kid fucking do to him?
He sent Mike off to the bullpen before making his way back to his own office a few minutes later. His tie was, in fact, mussed.
Harvey tried to slide past Donna’s desk without making eye contact, but no dice. She smirked at him. “Have a good time in the file room, hon-”
He cut her off. “Finish that sentence, and you’re fired.”
She didn’t have to finish it. Her bemused expression said it all, amping up to full laughter when Harvey cursed under his breath.
At five to eight, Harvey caught Mike pacing down at the other end of the hallway, nervously pulling at his hideous tie. Harvey sauntered up to him, taking Mike’s fidgeting hands into his own and straightening the eyesore with their hands still clasped.
“It looks fine, let’s go.” Mike whacked Harvey on his thigh when he heard his boss mutter, “As fine as that ugly ass thing can look.”
Mike started fidgeting again the second they sat down across from each other on the ornate, red chairs.
When the waitress glided over to their table, she ignored Mike, flipping her waist-length blonde hair back before asking Harvey, “What can I get you, sweetheart?”
Harvey barely glanced in her direction when he cooly said, “Sorry, but only he gets to call me that.” He jammed his thumb toward Mike without looking at him.
Harvey didn’t give the waitress time to respond when he met Mike’s wide eyes and linked their hands together. “Two steaks, medium rare, and two glasses of your best Macallan, please.”
As much as Harvey didn’t want to start this conversation, he knew Mike wasn’t going to break the silence. Harvey was the commitmentphobe, so it made sense that Mike didn’t want to show his cards until he knew where Harvey stood.
Harvey took a deep breath. He muttered softly, “No one’s called me honey since my mom.”
Mike popped his mouth closed immediately after he realized he’d opened it.
Harvey amended, “No one that mattered, I mean. No one who wasn’t hitting on me or being condescending at a bar. No one who wasn’t jealous that their partner was eyeing me up and down. As if I would ever be someone’s side piece. But that’s the point, Mike. They didn’t know me.”
The ‘not like you’ may have been silent, but it couldn’t have been louder.
Harvey continued. “I know this started out as a joke. But the minute you said it to me … the minute I didn’t want to immediately throw you out the door. I knew. That this thing was real. At least, I wanted it to be.”
Mike gently brought their clasped hands to Harvey’s face and whispered, “It is. Real, I mean.”
“God help me, you make me fucking soft, Ross. I hated it at first. On some level, I probably still do. But I don’t want to run anymore. I don’t want a string of meaningless one-night stands.”
Mike meekly asked, “You really mean it?”
Harvey kissed their clasped hands. “Do you think I would have kissed you if I didn’t?”
Mike shyly looked at the table. “Thought you just wanted to shut me up.”
“I can assure you that I don’t make a habit of kissing my subordinates to shut them up. But now that you mention it, I’m not opposed to employing that tactic in the future.”
Mike’s cheeks were flaming red. Harvey wanted to bite them.
They hastily ate their food, not bothering to savor the $100 steaks like they normally would. Well, Harvey would. Mike would inhale it in five minutes, bouncing his foot until Harvey ordered him chocolate cake. This time, Harvey met his pace, throwing $500 at the table and yanking Mike out the door.
The sky was cotton candy pink as the sun set. Harvey would never admit it, but he took a few seconds to admire the way Mike’s hair glinted in the summertime spritz.
Harvey whistled for a cab, hopping in the nearest one. Mike just stood there awkwardly until Harvey asked, “Well? Are you coming?”
Mike scrambled into the seat next to him, shutting the door and asking, “No Ray?”
Harvey shook his head. “Didn’t want to wait.”
When they got to Harvey’s door, the older man walked in first, followed by Mike, who softly said, “Honey, I’m home.”
Before Harvey could even think about it, he whispered, “Yeah, you are.”
Mike caressed his face, getting in one more “honey” before Harvey hoisted Mike around his waist and carried him to his bedroom.
When Harvey flopped Mike down on the bed, his associate teased, “Who’s the baddest in the land, what’s the plan?”
Once again, Harvey’s mouth was moving before his brain could catch up. He whispered, “You could be my forever-night stand … honey.”
Mike gasped, climbing on top of Harvey and kissing him breathless. Even Harvey was surprised he’d said it, but the second he did, he knew it was true.
On some level, it was more than a love declaration. From Harvey Specter, the city’s best closer and notorious commitmentphobe, it was just about as close to a proposal as someone like him could get. His pulse quickened at how inevitable the other thing seemed. How once Harvey let those floodgates in, they’d consumed him.
Mike’s bemused voice jolted him out of his internal spiral. “Hey, I’m doing some of my best work over here.” He caressed Harvey’s cheek. “What are you thinking about, honey?”
Harvey kissed him back like he meant it that time, and whispered, “You,” in Mike’s ear.
You can call me "Honey" if you want because I'm the one you want
I'm the one you want
You give it different meaning 'cause you mean it when you talk
Sweetie, it's yours, kicking in doors
Take it to the floor, give me more
Buy the paint in the color of your eyes (of your eyes)
And graffiti my whole damn life
Honey
When anyone called me late night
He was screwin' around with my mind
Askin', "What are you wearin'?"
Too high to remember in the morning
And when anyone called me "Lovely"
They were findin' ways not to praise me
But you say it like you're in awe of me
And you stay until the morning
Honey
Three months after their first kiss, Mike had a drawer, and his bathroom products were scattered all over Harvey’s sink and tub. Harvey would razz him about it and then tidy them up himself. He chose Mike Ross, and with Mike Ross came chaos.
It was a sacrifice he was willing to make. Happily.
As for Mike’s drawer, it was basically just Harvey’s stuff that Mike had stolen and claimed as his own. His old Harvard t-shirt and sweatpants. A Pearson-Hardman-branded hoodie from that horrendous attempt at team bonding the firm threw a few years ago. It ended with Louis on a stretcher. Who’s surprised? But that alone made the sweater a sweet memory worth holding onto.
Mike had also stolen a pair of Harvey’s gym shorts before he’d washed them, immediately putting them on and telling Harvey they smelled like him.
Harvey had rolled his eyes, whacked Mike on the ass, and snarked, “Yeah, you freak, that’s because I just sweated in them for an hour.”
Mike just shrugged and said it was as close to working out as he ever wanted to be. He came to watch Harvey in the boxing ring sometimes. Their sex was particularly feral on those nights.
Harvey hung up a suit for Mike in his sacred closet one day, tailored perfectly to Mike’s specifications. Renee was a goddamned artist. Harvey watched Mike look at himself in the mirror and slid his arms around his boyfriend’s waist, kissing his neck. He whispered, “perfect,” in his ear.
But then Mike noticed it. Mike picked up his tie, looked at himself in the mirror, and then glanced at the color of Harvey’s light blue walls.
Mike whipped around in Harvey’s arms, stunned. He held up his tie and asked, “... did you?”
Harvey could tell that Mike didn’t want to say it — didn’t want to be a narcissist. Mike always teased Harvey, telling him, ‘That’s your job, honey.’
He shrugged, answering Mike in his own way. Harvey caressed the corners of Mike’s eyes, muttering, “They’re my favorite color.”
Mike didn’t try to hide his intakes of breath anymore. He knew Harvey lived for them.
After rewarding Harvey with a kiss, Mike said, “That’s either the most romantic or the creepiest thing anyone has ever done for me. Your entire apartment is white and bland as fuck except for your room. When did you do it?”
Okay, that he didn’t want to admit. But Mike was leveling him with his puppy dog eyes, and he’d just admitted they were his favorite color. And damn it, he didn’t lie to Mike. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.
Harvey sighed and mumbled, “The week after I met you.”
Mike shot him a bright grin, landing a sloppy kiss on his mouth. “Oooooh, sweetheart, you had it bad.”
Harvey rolled his eyes. “I show you how bad I have it at least three nights a week, once during business hours, and all weekend.”
Mike snorted. “Well, yeah, you’re a virile slut for such an old man.”
Harvey pinched him on the ass before Mike added, “But I meant how sentimental the stoic Harvey Specter really is. Sleeping with one-night stands while you were thinking about my eyes. It’s both poetic and a little self-destructive.”
Mike kissed him again. Yeah, they were gonna be late for work. But he was a name partner, and his morning meetings were no one’s business. No one’s but Mike’s, at least. Harvey recalled the dozens of morning meetings and late-night “what are you wearing” texts he used to partake in before Mike.
Harvey was worried he would miss the no-strings-attached, anonymous sex — the parade of bodies that entered and exited his loft. He was wrong.
As Harvey slid his tongue over every spot that made Mike whimper, Harvey relished in knowing his partner so well — waking up to Mike’s octopus limbs and secretly smiling at his boyfriend’s ridiculous pet names.
They’d been a team since day one, but now they were partners. In every sense of the word. It didn’t scare Harvey anymore. Mike was his and only his. And that was enough. That was everything.
By the time Harvey was finished with him, Mike’s new suit needed a good dry cleaning before it would be safe to wear at work.
Until then, he had to borrow one of Harvey’s, which hung loose on his lithe frame. Harvey inched his fingers under the shirt before Mike could tuck it in. “It’s the eighth wonder of the world how you still eat like a frat bro stoner and stay this skinny.”
Mike swatted his arms away. “For fuck’s sake, Casanova, are you trying to ruin this suit, too?”
Harvey contemplated it, and Mike whipped the tie out of Harvey’s hand to finish changing in the bathroom.
He shouted in the direction of the ensuite, “As if a full suit has ever stopped me before.”
Sometimes, he liked slowly peeling Mike out of a suit layer by layer. Other times, they couldn’t wait to take them off at all. But they did have to get to work. It was already 9:30, and they had an actual morning meeting at the firm. One they had to be fully clothed for. A damn tragedy, really.
Harvey slid his hand possessively against the small of Mike’s back when he walked him to the car, resuming the position when he guided Mike to their office building’s lobby bathroom. They had to straighten their suits and mussed hair. The mile to the office took over 20 minutes by car during commuter traffic, okay? And Mike was wearing Harvey’s clothes. Sue them. Really. Just try.
When anyone called me "Sweetheart"
It was passive-aggressive at the bar
And the bitch was tellin' me to back off
'Cause her man had looked at me wrong (he looked at me wrong)
If anyone called me "Honey" (ooh)
It was standin' in the bathroom (yeah), white teeth
They were sayin' that skirt don't fit me
And I cried the whole way home (cried the whole way home)
But you can call me "Honey" if you want
As Harvey shamelessly oggled his boyfriend in front of the mirror, he missed that some jackass day trader from the building walked in.
The asshole stuck his nose up at Mike’s ill-fitting suit, curling his lips into a sneer to reveal perfectly white teeth. “Honey, that suit don’t fit you.”
Yeah, no. No one dissed his rookie except Harvey. So he punched him. Hard.
And that’s how they found themselves in Jessica’s office instead of their meeting after she’d talked the guy down from pressing charges with what some might call a bribe. Allegedly.
Mike looked like he wanted to burrow into the ground, while Harvey donned his best Harvey ‘I Don’t Give a Fuck’ Specter smirk.
After making them sit in uncomfortable silence for a minute, she sighed, knowing that neither would speak up first. “Can I ask what would possess you to throw a goddamned punch at a stranger in our place of work?”
Harvey shrugged, and Mike stared at his feet.
Jessica quirked one perfect eyebrow at the two of them. “Is that your suit, Harvey?”
Harvey winked at Mike, who sank lower in his chair.
She sniped, “That wasn’t a rhetorical question, Harvey.”
He leaned back in his chair. “And yet, you already know the answer. Fine. Let me spell it out for you. Yes, it’s my suit. And as for what possessed me? No one but me gets to call Mike honey or roast his suits. Happy?”
She wasn’t. Jessica pinched the bridge of her nose and tossed a folder of forms at them.
“You two are a fucking HR nightmare. Now get the hell out of my office.”
And that was how they came out to the firm, though they had a suspicion that half of the office had already suspected anyway. When Harvey dropped off a coffee at Mike’s desk, he watched his associate’s cheeks turn pink when he read the post-it-note: File room, 3 p.m.
Mike’s blush was Harvey’s second favorite color. Maybe he’d re-tile their bathroom with it. He could have all three colors made.
Later in the file room, it took Harvey approximately 3.4 seconds to coax a deeper blush out of Mike again when he kissed him against the wobbly shelves. Harvey realized he’d forgotten to lock the door the second it swung open to display an irate Jessica.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, would you at least lock the goddamned door if you’re going to act like randy teenagers during billable hours? I’m going to start getting sexual harassment complaints from Louis because he’s jealous you’ll kiss Mike and not him.”
She twisted the lock before slamming the door closed. Harvey raised his eyebrows when Mike reclaimed his lips.
Mike stopped to shrug and say, “Hey, Mom said.”
Harvey wrinkled his nose. “Never again, rookie. Never again.”
Mike kissed him with a smile. “Whatever you say, lovely.”
Yeah. No one else could get away with it. But Mike could call him honey, or sweetheart, or lovely, or god help him, sweetie — or whatever gooey pet name he came up with next. Because Harvey was the one Mike wanted. And Harvey couldn’t say no to Mike goddamned Ross.