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kathierif_ficTitle: Black Suede Shoes
Fandom: Suits
Pairing: Mike Ross/Harvey Specter
Rating: FRM
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Mike falls in love with Harvey’s shoes
A/N: For kink_bingo, prompt foot/shoe fetish. The title is such a stupid pun, but I seriously couldn't think of anything else, sorry.
Mike doesn’t know why exactly he focuses on this particular aspect of Harvey. It could have been anything, and yet, it’s this tiny and, in the end, inconsequential detail of Harvey’s appearance.
Maybe it’s because it’s the first part of Harvey he sees when he realizes he’s in love with Harvey..
He’s sprawled out under a table in the filing room after going through documents for a case all night long. It was around five in the morning when he started dozing off and gave up on work, too tired to go anywhere. He wakes up to an impeccably polished black man’s shoe right in his line of vision, and in that moment, halfway caught between the state of being awake and being asleep, he thinks that he wouldn’t do this for anyone else in the world, except maybe for his grandmother.
For her, he would work all night and day without a single substantial break, because he loves her and she’s always standing by him. He knows he can trust her to keep him safe and watch his back.
There is one more person who Mike can trust with his deepest and darkest secrets, and that is Harvey.
Harvey, who he almost feels as deeply for as he does for his grandmother.
Who he loves almost as much as his grandmother.
He loves Harvey. Not like his grandmother, obviously, but with almost the same intensity. His feelings for Harvey are a lot more sexual, though.
Huh.
And while his brain comes to that realization, he still keeps staring at these shoes. His brain takes in every stitch, every single, intricate detail, and commits it to memory.
It’s not really a surprise he develops a shoe fetish after that. It’s always there, at the edge of his awareness, like a thin veil draped over his reality. He can see through it, but it’s still there.
Wherever they are going, Mike’s eyes are glued to the shiny, black leather of Harvey’s shoes. Since most of the time, Harvey is walking ahead of him at a brisk pace that screams busy and important, it isn’t even suspicious when he stares at Harvey’s shoes when hurrying after him.
These shoes represent everything Harvey is and does. They are sleek and highly polished, giving them the same effortless elegance Harvey carries himself with. They are expensive and just looking at them gives an impression of self-indulgence and hedonism, reined in by strong self-control and smooth edges. Like their owner, the shoes look fierce and strong, but Mike could take and win any bet that they are soft and caring and comfortable on the inside, just like Harvey.
When he goes home, he touches himself thinking about Harvey’s black shoes. He fucks his fist imagining the smooth leather brushing against his skin and the taste of shoe polish, and he comes with the mental image of milky-white splatters across shiny black shoes, sliding down across the tip and leaving faint traces for Mike to clean up again.
The thought makes him feel hot and bothered. For a while he wonders how he can go to the office feeling like this, how he can look at Harvey – Harvey’s shoes – without embarrassing himself, but by the time he drags himself out of bed and into the bathroom the next morning, his thoughts are circling around the case and how he can help Harvey solve it once more.
Once in the office, he gets ambushed by a stray thought.
What if it’s shoes on general that turn him on? What if this is a kink he’s had all the time, he just wasn’t aware of it?
It’s something he probably should have thought of before, but just because he remembers everything he reads doesn’t mean he’s exceptionally smart.
He spends the rest of the day staring at people’s shoes.
Rachel’s are tasteful, but they already have slight scuffmarks on the sides. She wears them because she likes this particular pair of shoes. They are comfortable and won-in, and they don’t make Mike feel anything in particular.
Jessica’s shoes simply fill him with awes and amazement at her ability to walk in them.
Louis’ shoes make him feel betrayed and careful not to reveal anything at all about himself.
He doesn’t see Donna’s feet all day. A part of him starts to believe she doesn’t even have real feet, just floats around like an angel and makes people think she’s human, but that might be the after-effect of the last movie he had watched with his grandmother.
And then, Harvey breezes in, and one glances down makes Mike’s heart jump into his throat and his dick stir in his pants.
Harvey gives him a knowing smirk, as if he knows perfectly which effects his ass-kicking shoes have on his associate, and then he starts talking about bylaws and puppies cleaning up their own messes and Mike escapes to the men’s room where the sight of Louis makes him feel like someone poured ice cubes over his groin.
Mike doesn’t know how he survives the rest of the day. He’s just thankful to stagger out of the office at an almost reasonable time and go home where he can jerk off in peace while thinking about Harvey’s shoes.
He’s almost there, his dick hard and red in his hand, precome oozing from the tip and mixing with the lotion he used, when the phone rings and Harvey summons him to his apartment for something that is apparently really important.
When Harvey opens the door, Mike’s eyes automatically wander down, taking in the long-sleeved shirt with the fading print, the sweatpants, and then, his heart almost stops.
Harvey is bare-footed.
He isn’t wearing his ass-kicking shoes and yet, Mike’s heart is pounding, his blood is rushing loudly in his ears and his dick is hardening against the zipper of his jeans.
Vaguely, he is aware of Harvey staring at him, but his brain is too busy committing the sight of Harvey like this to memory, from head to the tip of his toes.
It’s not, he slowly realizes, just the sight of Harvey’s shoes that turns him on. It’s also his toes, the arch of his foot, the way he leans against the doorjamb, his hair, this smirk, his shoulders…
It’s everything about Harvey that makes his knees go weak.
He doesn’t just have a Harvey-shoe-fetish, he is head over heels in love with Harvey.
And he has no clue what to do about.
He is doomed.
~end.
Fandom: Suits
Pairing: Mike Ross/Harvey Specter
Rating: FRM
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Mike falls in love with Harvey’s shoes
A/N: For kink_bingo, prompt foot/shoe fetish. The title is such a stupid pun, but I seriously couldn't think of anything else, sorry.
Mike doesn’t know why exactly he focuses on this particular aspect of Harvey. It could have been anything, and yet, it’s this tiny and, in the end, inconsequential detail of Harvey’s appearance.
Maybe it’s because it’s the first part of Harvey he sees when he realizes he’s in love with Harvey..
He’s sprawled out under a table in the filing room after going through documents for a case all night long. It was around five in the morning when he started dozing off and gave up on work, too tired to go anywhere. He wakes up to an impeccably polished black man’s shoe right in his line of vision, and in that moment, halfway caught between the state of being awake and being asleep, he thinks that he wouldn’t do this for anyone else in the world, except maybe for his grandmother.
For her, he would work all night and day without a single substantial break, because he loves her and she’s always standing by him. He knows he can trust her to keep him safe and watch his back.
There is one more person who Mike can trust with his deepest and darkest secrets, and that is Harvey.
Harvey, who he almost feels as deeply for as he does for his grandmother.
Who he loves almost as much as his grandmother.
He loves Harvey. Not like his grandmother, obviously, but with almost the same intensity. His feelings for Harvey are a lot more sexual, though.
Huh.
And while his brain comes to that realization, he still keeps staring at these shoes. His brain takes in every stitch, every single, intricate detail, and commits it to memory.
It’s not really a surprise he develops a shoe fetish after that. It’s always there, at the edge of his awareness, like a thin veil draped over his reality. He can see through it, but it’s still there.
Wherever they are going, Mike’s eyes are glued to the shiny, black leather of Harvey’s shoes. Since most of the time, Harvey is walking ahead of him at a brisk pace that screams busy and important, it isn’t even suspicious when he stares at Harvey’s shoes when hurrying after him.
These shoes represent everything Harvey is and does. They are sleek and highly polished, giving them the same effortless elegance Harvey carries himself with. They are expensive and just looking at them gives an impression of self-indulgence and hedonism, reined in by strong self-control and smooth edges. Like their owner, the shoes look fierce and strong, but Mike could take and win any bet that they are soft and caring and comfortable on the inside, just like Harvey.
When he goes home, he touches himself thinking about Harvey’s black shoes. He fucks his fist imagining the smooth leather brushing against his skin and the taste of shoe polish, and he comes with the mental image of milky-white splatters across shiny black shoes, sliding down across the tip and leaving faint traces for Mike to clean up again.
The thought makes him feel hot and bothered. For a while he wonders how he can go to the office feeling like this, how he can look at Harvey – Harvey’s shoes – without embarrassing himself, but by the time he drags himself out of bed and into the bathroom the next morning, his thoughts are circling around the case and how he can help Harvey solve it once more.
Once in the office, he gets ambushed by a stray thought.
What if it’s shoes on general that turn him on? What if this is a kink he’s had all the time, he just wasn’t aware of it?
It’s something he probably should have thought of before, but just because he remembers everything he reads doesn’t mean he’s exceptionally smart.
He spends the rest of the day staring at people’s shoes.
Rachel’s are tasteful, but they already have slight scuffmarks on the sides. She wears them because she likes this particular pair of shoes. They are comfortable and won-in, and they don’t make Mike feel anything in particular.
Jessica’s shoes simply fill him with awes and amazement at her ability to walk in them.
Louis’ shoes make him feel betrayed and careful not to reveal anything at all about himself.
He doesn’t see Donna’s feet all day. A part of him starts to believe she doesn’t even have real feet, just floats around like an angel and makes people think she’s human, but that might be the after-effect of the last movie he had watched with his grandmother.
And then, Harvey breezes in, and one glances down makes Mike’s heart jump into his throat and his dick stir in his pants.
Harvey gives him a knowing smirk, as if he knows perfectly which effects his ass-kicking shoes have on his associate, and then he starts talking about bylaws and puppies cleaning up their own messes and Mike escapes to the men’s room where the sight of Louis makes him feel like someone poured ice cubes over his groin.
Mike doesn’t know how he survives the rest of the day. He’s just thankful to stagger out of the office at an almost reasonable time and go home where he can jerk off in peace while thinking about Harvey’s shoes.
He’s almost there, his dick hard and red in his hand, precome oozing from the tip and mixing with the lotion he used, when the phone rings and Harvey summons him to his apartment for something that is apparently really important.
When Harvey opens the door, Mike’s eyes automatically wander down, taking in the long-sleeved shirt with the fading print, the sweatpants, and then, his heart almost stops.
Harvey is bare-footed.
He isn’t wearing his ass-kicking shoes and yet, Mike’s heart is pounding, his blood is rushing loudly in his ears and his dick is hardening against the zipper of his jeans.
Vaguely, he is aware of Harvey staring at him, but his brain is too busy committing the sight of Harvey like this to memory, from head to the tip of his toes.
It’s not, he slowly realizes, just the sight of Harvey’s shoes that turns him on. It’s also his toes, the arch of his foot, the way he leans against the doorjamb, his hair, this smirk, his shoulders…
It’s everything about Harvey that makes his knees go weak.
He doesn’t just have a Harvey-shoe-fetish, he is head over heels in love with Harvey.
And he has no clue what to do about.
He is doomed.
~end.