Sdv Harvey Smut - Tumblr Posts

a healthy venture

Summary: As most know, sexual experimentation is all apart of a healthy relationship! It just so happens to coincide with a very awkward relationship for a couple like Harvey and Clarice, however.

Pairing: Cringefail(Clarice) x Harvey. (if you know you know.)

Word Count: 7.4k. I know, it’s ridiculous.

Warnings: Smut, smut, smut. AWKWARD smut. Takes a hot minute to get there, but when it’s there, it is THERE. The sexual experimentation in question is PEGGING with not much else, so….

a/n: this is silly and very crackfic-adjacent but also So Serious to me. also, yeah I guess they’re in a relationship, but early stages? probably had sex before this? Idk, whatever makes the most sense. sorry if the writing style comes off kinda cringe sometimes!!! I really tried to connect the writing style to what I imagine cringefail’s thought process would be like. and it might generally come off more amateurish since it’s been a hot minute since I’ve written. have mercy pls I swear I was so much better at writing like a year ago I’m getting back into the swing of things </3. If you have no idea who cringefail is or why’s she being paired with Harvey, she’s from @clarisinne ‘s comic!!! check it out!!!!!!(peer pressuring you). also @cowboyweevil since u asked me to tag u!

——

Clarice will be the first to admit that her life is consistently in tatters, and more often than not, it's her own hand that tears up that life the most. She had never been the type to have a sturdy head atop her unsteady shoulders— more the type to awkwardly headbutt into every problem and success that dared to beseech her. Both intentionally and unintentionally, sometimes simultaneously.

One thing she does know, a tidbit of information carved so deep into the recesses of her mind that even dementia wouldn't rob her of this simple fact— her sister was a fucking menace.

Clarice could have given her sister some semblance of underserved grace, could have said she wasn't so bad, if only that's where her bad qualities stopped. But Mars's abhorrent behavior was made all the more pesky by how relentless she was.

Her sister was as relentless as the damn splinter still wedged into Clarice's foot, a recent injury she had been careful to make sure Harvey wasn't privy to.

Harvey.

This was all his fault, really. For such a highly respected doctor, for whom which his town had only the most upstanding of opinions of him, beholding him as kind and responsible, Clarice feels safe in saying that her health had went down a steep decline since the moment. . . this happened. Since the moment this strikingly warm, gooey feeling coagulated in her heart, not unlike that of a fatal blood clot. Her life is effectively cut in half from the amount of stress she's experience since moving to this town. Her life force is visibly draining away, day by day, she's sure.

And her darling sister has the nerve to kick her while she's already down. Escalating the gradual deterioration of Clarice's health like the terminal illness only Mars can be like.

Even now, her sister giggles behind her hand in midst the autumn wind, brimming with an audacity that makes Clarice seethe. She has to bite back the urge to chuck her full watering can at her.

Casually, her sister leans down to pluck a pumpkin from the ground, holding it proudly in her arms. A smile plays on her face, one Clarice does not like one bit. "You know... I've been thinking—"

"Stop doing that."

"I've been thinking—" she trots along, happy as a clam. Content as a mischievous cat might be more apt. "If Harvey doesn't step up more, you might really have to take the reins. In a way you don't expect."

Stubbornly, Clarice stays off to the side. She crosses her arms, clutching the watering can high up in protest. Her job this morning was to water whatever crops weren't already covered by their sprinklers, and she was feeling like her labor wasn't deserved the more this conversation carried on. Nothing of substance had been said yet, but Clarice's ears pick up on the lilt in her little sister's voice.

Said sister finally shoots her a cursory glance over her shoulder. "Really! I'm just trying to help you out!" The laughter in her voice says otherwise. "Because, honest to God, the more I think about it— the more plausible it becomes."

Clarice's eyes narrow, body tense in anticipation for the nearing punchline. "... What?" However hesitant, the word ebbs out all the same.

Clarice can see her sister's figure trembling already, frame wracked with inexplicable mirth, and she already wants to sink into the dirt. "Because—" she starts, unhelpfully, voice warbling, "I'm sorry, but that is the exact kind of man who'd wanna get pegged."

Mars's voice grows high-pitched, wavering, and the cackle she lets out would rival a witch. Clarice can hardly focus on that sound, her ears ringing so loud it blocks everything else. Pegging. What the fuck?

Her face grows hot, and it takes conscious effort to not pass out right onto the dirt ground. Whether it be from the thought alone or merely from the fact that her younger sister thought this made for acceptable conversation, Clarice can't be sure. Before Clarice can even hope to respond, the other is rattling off like she's finally been given an excuse to.

"And— and listen! I'm not judging! Good for Harvey! Good for you! As long as everything is safe, sane, and consensual, right?" She bites the words out a bit, trying not to laugh too hard, nearly dropping the pumpkin.

"Stop." Clarice chokes, half plea half threat, blood rushing through her ears. Her mind is fraying at the edges, her brain rotting in record time. She's just starting to stomp her way over to her bastard sister.

"All I'm saying is— I know an online shop that'll ship here, yeah? Sells strap-ons, and has good variety. Pretty quick, too! Poor Harvey won't have to wait very long."

Clarice's free hand just reaches up to claw at her scalp in mortified agony, freezing for one sickening moment. She's on the path to getting her bearings and cursing Mars out like she never has before. Her mind is just on the verge of rewiring itself into proper working order. Like most things in her life, however, Clarice's life never stops at one bad thing.

"Um."

Harvey's voice is small, but the effect it has on her body is not. Clarice's body goes stiff as a rod, and the awkwardly loud clearing of his throat finally coaxes her into snapping her head back to look at him. So hard that one of her braids whips against her throat. Harvey stays where he is, loitering around the entrance of the farm with an odd rigidity to his face.

Clarice's body proves untrustworthy, and the hand holding the watering can goes limp. It's the moment after the tepid metal slips from her fingers that the gravity of her mistake hits her.

It really does hit her— the hefty watering swishes loudly as it lands straight on her foot with the accuracy of an Olympic gymnast.

"Fuck!" Clarice all but howls, stumbling back and promptly tipping back onto the dirt with an equally pained shout. It's a hard fall that ends with her gaze blearily aimed up at the blue sky, her ears picking up the sounds of two pairs of shoes scuttling up their respective pathways.

Of course. Of course it was the foot she had the splinter in.

——

Of all the sexual escapades both her waking and unconscious mind liked to torture herself with by envisioning… Clarice will admit that pegging isn't one of them. Not to say that her thoughts are incapable of running along the more adventurous paths she catches herself pointedly trying to ignore, but it simply had never come up.

Until now, at the violation of her coveted free will, at her sister's hands. She wishes all the terrible things for Mars, sometimes.

And she really shouldn't be mulling over her sister's words seriously, but her mind is deliberately caught on the thought.

... How does Clarice even feel about the concept? Even vaguely, if she just distantly ponders over what exactly that would entail? Maybe she feels some sexual curiosity she'll get to sating one of these days, should Harvey give it the okay?

If Clarice lets her mind do more than skim over the topic, however... the honest reality of what such an activity would bring is enough for her to be content to shelf it out of sheer mortification, never to see the light of day. Harvey, as always, is a different case. Adds integers into the equation that forces Clarice to reconsider everything, to reach for a different conclusion she otherwise never would have. She's forced into growth with him, sickeningly enough.

More annoyingly, she's forced into tending to herself in areas where she usually would shrug and walk it off. As soon as the hard, metal, heavy watering can had crashed onto her foot, the strange tension dispersed throughout the farm had vaporized on Harvey's part. Harvey had been painfully normal to her for those few minutes. Fussing over her, taking her carefully by the arm and coaxing her into her own house, insisting he check her foot for any major damage.

Mars had the social grace to stay outside, and Clarice prays she has enough to feel ashamed. She's knocked out of that thought when Harvey cautiously presses down on the top of her foot, and she promptly hisses.

"Sorry, sorry," he says, mouth flitting to a little frown. Harvey looks up at her from where he's taken a knee in front of her to closely inspect her foot, those brown eyes of his more like puppy dog eyes. "Just want to make sure nothing's fractured." Despite his words, he presses down at a different area of her foot, and Clarice's leg twitches with the instinct to kick him.

Her mind continues to fluctuate between nauseating panic and increasing irritation at Harvey's continued poking and prodding. It all culminates when he leans back, seeming satisfied with his work, meeting her eyes another time.

Abruptly, his eyes widen and his gaze scatters back to the floor, and that's all the confirmation Clarice needs to know exactly what place Harvey's mind goes back to. She'd had hope he'd forgotten about it, but that hope is thoroughly dashed and thrown back to drown in the river.

"So. Um..." he trails back into silence just as rapidly as he starts to speak, a palpable tension fracturing any temporary peace that had settled. Harvey shuffles, a stiffness settling over his body that she notices. It's the soft blush that peeks over his ears that does Clarice in, an innocent seashell pink that makes her eyes dart to the opposite direction of the room in deflection. Her hands claw shakily at the leather of the couch.

"Listen... I know it's technically none of my business, and it wasn't exactly meant for my ears—" Harvey lets out a labored breath. From the corner of her eye, Clarice can see his head tilt up, before hesitantly bobbling back down. He seems torn on where he should be looking. "And, uh— I didn't exactly hear everything? So, uh..." he says, voice wavering at the end. Clarice chances a glance, only to see a bright red blooming over the slopes of his cheeks, hands clenching at the pant leg of the knee he's supporting his weight on.

"I'm really sorry if I'm misunderstanding, but... how exactly did that topic come up?" He squirms a little from where he's kneeling, as if even just saying such vague words wired a shot of adrenaline straight through his nervous system. Clarice can relate, even if she knows what he's feeling is infinitesimal compared to the amount of adrenaline coursing through her.

Steam might start coming out through her ears if her mind ponders on any of this any longer. "... My sister brought it up." she mumbles, voice strained. Clarice brings her hands up, rubbing her temples, her cheeks nearly scorching her palms. Apologies, insults directed at her sister, humiliated blubbering, all sit at the tip of her tongue, but she just can't manage it. It's more like there's a stone in her mouth, on the verge of suffocating her, and her lips feel dementedly stitched together. "She thought you'd— I don't know. You know." It feels like flames lick up her cheeks then, and she winces with grief at the bitter loss of normalcy regarding their relationship. Who is she kidding? That ship had long since passed.

"Ah," Harvey actually scratches at the back of his neck, and something about that makes her want to scream in pain. It's such a stereotypical display of anxiety, and it makes those gooey feelings spring up like unwanted weeds along the sidewalk of her heart. It's endearing, damn him. "So, you're not...?"

Harvey eyes trail back up, she can feel them on her body before she can see them. Her eyes meet his in quick succession, and she feels herself jolt as if she's touched a live wire. He himself seems a bit frozen in comparison, but there's a glint in his eyes. Eyebrows furrowed, looking uncertain yet decidedly... curious. Flustered and nervous, but not disgusted.

Clarice jolts again, eyes going wide, hands falling from her head. She probably tears a few red hairs out in the process, but doesn't have the presence of mind to care when her mind is racing a mile a minute. "Oh God, you are into it." she blurts, bewildered for a multitude of reasons.

Any bravado Harvey seems to have procured promptly breaks from under him, his head bowing down as he's left to pick up the pieces. "I didn't say that!" he insists shakily, sweeping a hand through his hair.

"It's just— if that was something you were into, I wanted to..." Harvey's voice dies, swiftly fishing his hand out of his hair. "I... didn't want you to feel ashamed about it, is all. Or like you couldn't talk to me about it." he finishes with an exhale, his face brimming with a vibrant red.

Clarice swallows, shifting on the couch with an antsy energy. "... How do you feel about it?" she forces out, more stiffly than she'd like. Her methods of communication were never as smooth or clear-cut as she envisioned. Moments like these only exacerbated that flaw. "You can... talk to me, too." She cringes. She sounds a little robotic.

Yet, Clarice had promised herself to try and be more... open, about any such topics with Harvey. To be considerate and hold his feelings with higher priority than following through on her track record and waving them away. Instead of regressing into the skittish fawn she is at heart and dashing away.

Harvey fidgets before slowly rising to his feet, face still red as a rose. "I haven't thought about it much, until now. But honestly, I don't feel negatively about it." Something shifts in his expression, fills his face with unyielding tension, and his eyes shyly flit to the other side of the room.

"Morbid curiosity is probably the most accurate emotion for what I'm feeling." It's said with a weight, as though he's confessing some grand sin to a noble higher priest. "It was clearly just meant to all be jokes, though, so the last thing I'd do is expect anything out of it! Not to say I even really want anything out of it."

She sucks in a deep, steadying breath.

"It's okay if you do." Clarice's face flames as soon as she dares to utter such words. She gestures awkwardly with her hands, body more akin to lifeless metal than flesh and blood. "Haha! Sex—" she chokes, abruptly restarting the sentence.

"Sexual— Sexual experimentation is just a part of a healthy relationship! And we're healthy!" Smiling tightly, the inflection of her voice comes out more manic, a little frantic. She bumps her elbow against him, harder than she means if the wince that stretches over Harvey's face has anything to say about it.

"And it's normal! We're normal, and we can do this! Right, doctor?" Clarice grits her teeth a little, elbowing him again, desperate.

"Y- Yeah! Hah, definitely!" Harvey laughs nervously, rubbing the side of his stomach. "But, we should probably discuss this more, if you're really being serious—"

"— Harvey," Her face is promptly buried in her hands, unable to even cast a glance in his direction. "I'm at my limit. Please."

Another anxious little laugh bubbles out of him, pulling at a loose thread hanging from his coat. "Of course. Yes, that's, whatever makes you comfortable. We can talk about this later."

——

The simple fact of the matter is that they do. It's a verbal scuttle that seesaws back into Clarice conversationally dragging her feet, as most conversation between them winds up being on her end. How Harvey puts up with it is beyond her— hell, Harvey himself is beyond her.

Kind, wonderful Harvey mystifies her as much as he begrudgingly enchants. He is some strange, glittering galaxy that perplexes her with his intent to be swept into her chaotic gravity. Terrifyingly considerate, practically falling over himself with every other word when he insists that they don't have to do this, he wants her to be comfortable, he only wants what she wants—

And... What does Clarice want? The question echoes in her mind, the answer echoing in kind.

To be sated.

This curiosity, it stifles her in its attempt to persuade her. It sits in her chest, leaves residue when it attempts to glue itself in her head. Clarice had waved it off, tried to ignore it, but the remains fester there. The rot of the idea is only fertilizer, and ultimately, it only grows. She's curious, and she's always been one to explore what springs that emotion in her. For the most part.

And when she finally wrings out that honesty out of herself, Harvey flusters, but moves with the natural pull that such a confession swings a conversation into: what now? What's the plan?

There's a list of questions that are steadily answered, ticked off the mental list she's sure Harvey had conjured up in his head. Where? Definitely your apartment, I'd kill you and myself if my sister heard. Okay. Uh, how would we get the... equipment? Ship it to your apartment. My sister would never let me live it down if she got even a hint of it.

Many similar questions and answers filtered out amongst them. Harvey makes some timid remark about doing his own personal research regarding how he should prepare himself, and the conversation is effectively capped off for a few weeks. It's the persistent elephant in the room, one that grows inexplicably bigger one day in later Autumn. Finally, after some surface level digging that more exposed how deeply it burdened Harvey's mind rather than exposed any real concern from Clarice, he admitted that that the equipment came. 'It,' he'd referred to it so aptly.

It. It came. There wasn't much more to plan than the main event itself. Not much more to do other than biting the bullet and doing it. With the grand exception being thinking about it, a crime which Clarice finds herself exuberantly guilty of. The last few weeks had given her heartburn, her thoughts becoming expertly nomadic in the way they traveled from normal and innocent to salient and crude. Stray thoughts that clustered rapidly in one great moment of imagination before popping and deflating like a balloon. Leaving her flustered in midst her daily chores, normalcy strained for the rest of the day.

What would Harvey say? What would he sound like, how would it feel? How would Clarice feel, really, to be the one giving in such a way?

She didn't have to wonder much longer. Even still, her curiosities still ring so loud in her head as she stands at the door of the clinic, heart running at such a magnitude that a hummingbird's would pale in comparison. She clutches her to go bag in an iron grip, the reason why she had a to go bag making her body all the hotter.

Clarice's mind whirrs when the door opens, and it doesn't stop until they reach Harvey's humble apartment towards the top, and even then, it only dulls. She isn't even sure what sort of pleasantries they exchanged, too strung up in her thoughts to be in anything other than on autopilot.

"We don't have to do this," Harvey drills the notion yet again into her head as he is bending down at the side of his bed, hand grasping blindly at the space under the bed frame. "Really. We could just sit in for a normal night. I wouldn't mind any."

Clarice gathers herself, though her efforts are futile when it's like trying to keep water in her hands. "I would." she bites out, sucking in a breath through her teeth with a whistling sound as she gracelessly lets her bag drop to the floor. "I want to. We're doing this." she says, surprising herself with the shaky, albeit no less sincere, conviction in her voice.

"... As long as, you know, you're still down with it." she falters, twiddling with the sleeve of her jacket absently. Her gaze returns to Harvey when she hears a sliding sound, like something being dragged across the floor.

"I am!" Harvey breathes, voice wavering. He isn't looking at her, instead looking at the box he'd apparently stashed under his bed. "... I just like to be sure about these sorts of things." He stands back up with the box in tow, presenting it to her as he steps closer and closer. His face is already flushing, though it's a soft dainty pink that she finds all too fitting on him.

As her gaze roves over the box, it is not a dainty pink that seizes her face. On the white box is an understandably crude picture of a dildo, a strap-on she thinks belatedly, with words in varying fonts spewed around it. Reviews, the technical name of this model, the brand. Interestingly enough, it seems Harvey bought a set, her eyes pick up. A strap-on and a harness.

It hits her all at once, and she makes a sound that is part laugh and part cry. She's incredulous, unable to conceive everything that is happening, the things that click into place. "God, you hid it? Under your bed?" she mumbles, the humor of the situation washing over her as she lets out a raspy laugh. Harvey, the highly respected doctor of Pelican Town, hiding a strap-on under his bed.

Harvey makes an affronted noise, though his voice trembles a little with laughter when he weakly replies, "Yes. It— I didn't have room for it in my drawer." Bashfully, he gestures to said drawer, the one next to his colossal bookcase.

Clarice snorts, and the tension eases. Where this is all going, where the current is taking them, doesn't seem so scary for a moment. Harvey smiles, still a little timid, and starts to open up one of the flaps of the box. "Is it really that funny?"

"I don't know. Probably not." Clarice admits in a weak voice of her own, swallowing as he moves back the layers of the box. It's one of those types, weirdly shiny and like plastic more than the traditional brown box. That tension fills back in slightly when her eyes catch sight of it. Well, not yet, it's in a protective pouch— but nothing can really hide the distinct shape that the fabric really only enhances.

It only takes a moment for Harvey to grasp it, holding it in a limp grip as he pointedly looks at the other contents of the box, ears tipped in red. "And, ah, hm," Awkwardly, he moves the pouch into the curve of his elbow, the back of his arm holding it against his body. His free arm fishes out the harness more preparedly, touching it less like a dead fish. "Here's... the harness."

It takes a moment to realize that he's holding it out to her, waiting for her to take it. Clarice shuffles with nervous energy, taking it and holding it stiffly away from her body. As if any making any further contact with it will scorch her. She already burns, and it's in the most humiliating way. An uncomfortable heat bread-crumbing its way lower and lower, with plenty of pauses. "Should I... put it on?"

Harvey makes a sound, lips parting as if to say something. They only close again, and she can see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. He only nods, abruptly turning around. Only then does he find his voice. "Probably, yes."

Respectively, both parties begin to disrobe, Clarice starting with her shoes and socks and whittling away at the rest. A part of her tries to be neat about it, wants to be, but quickly loses that train of thought as soon as she has it. Anxiety gnaws at her the whole way through, until there's a messy pile of clothes sitting next to her and a weight in her chest. And the harness tightly in her grasp. Clarice rubs the fabric between thumb and forefinger curiously, sighing as she starts to journey of putting it on.

And a journey it is, anxiety quickly becoming secondary to the frustration that shuffles to the forefront of her mind. Trying to figure out what could be adjusted, how to hold certain parts of the harness while she slides it further up her body, it was a bit of a nightmare. Clarice adjusts the position of the O-ring when she's decently certain it's secure enough, pulling the adjustable straps against her body tighter afterwards just for extra security.

Clarice exhales a slow breath as she turns, wiping sweat from her brow. Only to find Harvey watching, naked from the waist down, his dark eyes a little wide and glazed, clutching the hem of his shirt. He jolts, hand fidgeting with the hem, as if unable to decide if he should take it off or not. "I'm so sorry, I just—"

"Were you staring at me?" Clarice asks, mortification budding at every nerve in her body in hot sparks.

"I wanted to make sure you weren't struggling with the harness!" Harvey says defensively, slipping his shirt off in one bold movement. "Because, if you were, I did look into it. I... should have mentioned that." His voice grows calm again, face ripening to more of a raspberry pink. Predictably, he folds his shirt up with practiced ease, almost more of a nervous tic than him actively wanting to.

Her eyes absently wander over his body, only to trail down harshly even at something as simple as the look of his bare chest. Clarice catches blurry snapshots at every other part of his body, but her mind is too scrambled to attempt to study the details.

"Should I..." she hears Harvey swallow this time, him almost making a gurgling noise at the back of his throat. "Should I get onto my back?" he continues, voice edging on squeaky.

"No," she blurts, shaking her head frenetically. She can't. There's many things she can do right now, is willing to, wants to do, but having Harvey on his back under her during this, helpless and pliant... she just can't do that right now. It stirs something in her, sure, something she may want to get to know more intimately in due time. Maybe. But not now. "I'm getting on my back. You're going to have to just— figure it out."

She hugs her body, wobbling over to his bed with the intention to plop down in a show of dominance, only to pause. The pouch lays on his bed, the fabric still doing absolutely nothing to disfigure the phallic shape. That's all it takes to make her sweat again, that anxiety of hers rising from its grave as she picks it up much like he had carried it previously. Underlining it all is that tailspin of anticipation, lying snugly under any negative emotions that threaten to impede the event.

"I mean you can just, you know," she stammers, eyes bulging at her own thoughts. "You know." Her eyes avoid him, digging her fingers into the opening and tugging it open, looking away when she grasps at the flared base. Clarice has no hope of keeping her eyes open as she slides it out of the silk, immediately fluttering closed just upon seeing purple. Prying her eyes back open, she forces a study session of sorts, discerning any texture she can make out by sight. It seems... smooth, not sculpted to be very indicative of an actual dick besides the base shape. More like an artist's under drawing.

Harvey is staring at it just as intently, with bated breath, hands clenching into fists. "That's okay, I can do that. I just, before that, I'll need to... prep myself. I can't just—" His hand lurches up to adjust his glasses shakily, that scarlet Harvey has been valiantly fighting off spilling on his cheeks like paint. "I-I need to use my fingers first."

Clarice's eyes aren't beckoned away from the toy at that, but her brain fizzles. It flickers and flames, a part of her screaming to watch and another pleading to cover her face the whole time. You'll never survive if you watch, it pleads.

"... Okay." she chokes, because what other response is there? "I'm also going to... prepare." Her voice sounds so small, even to her own ears. With a trembling hand, Clarice twists the toy in her grip, carefully holding the flared base awkwardly to her pelvis, trying to figure out how to thread the base into the O-ring. Harvey tries to pipe up helpfully, blabbering nervously about what to do, but shuts up when Clarice begs out, "Please shut up."

Harvey is fumbling with something, and once Clarice ensures the strap-on is slotted in correctly, she turns to see him drawing out a little bottle of what she can only assume is lube. He opens it in a diligent twist, coating his fingers quickly and wincing. She notes how he seems to focus on covering two fingers above all else, and that flame stirs again. More like a spark, hesitant but hungry for a chance to ignite.

She stiffly sits and lays on the bed, in such a way that her legs splay out over the side of the bed, soles of her feet touching the wood. Harvey passes the lube to her, pressing it to her stomach. "You're... You should probably use this, too." he says, face flushing a red that Clarice's own rushes to imitate. Harvey sits, but does not lay, in the same way she does. Except he props a leg up on the bed, spreading himself open, pressing that knee to his stomach as he settles next to her. She decides to be grateful she can't see anything from this angle, only his back, everything else too far in her peripheral to make anything particularly lewd out.

That gratitude is a fleeting present, for she is suddenly made intimately aware of the moment he must edge a finger into himself by the way his breath hitches. Clarice can't not notice, it's such a sharp sound that resonates in her ears— the leg up on the bed twitches. The bed creaks, and the spark ignites like a firework.

She brings a hand up to her mouth as her eyes betray her, her own thighs twitching with want for relief as she scours his back. Sees his shoulder blades flex when he must push in deep, loosen when he pulls out shallow. Harvey's very breath is trembling, his hips attempting to buck, but only succeeding in a meek roll with the way he's scrunched up.

"I'm so sorry if this is weird," he says, voice muffled and breathy. He must be covering his mouth with his free hand, too. Clarice can't say anything, especially not when he sighs as a tremor wracks through his body. His hips give another pitiful roll, his head lolling back for a brief second.

"H-Have you done this before?" she asks, perhaps too banally. It's just too practiced, he falls into each motion with too much ease. Experience. Her ears are reacting that way to sound again, any noise muted, as if underwater.

Harvey whines quietly, though the sound reeks more of humiliation than bliss. Clarice's body reacts the same regardless, shifting on the bed fruitlessly. She can feel herself pulsing, and she thinks she's gonna pass out if she focuses on that facet of this situation any more than she needs to.

"... Not before any of this came up. Just over the past few weeks." he manages shakily, "Just... just to see what I thought. To see if I liked it."

The bed creaks particularly loud with one swipe of his pelvis, and the sound he makes does sound more pleased. "Didn't want to make you go through any of this if I didn't even like it."

"... And you like it?"

Clarice buries her face in her hand then, when the silence stretches out a bit too long. Every part of her burns. Every nerve is roaring fire, and it's suffocating. What could even relieve her, she doesn't know.

"... Yeah. It was— it's nice." Harvey gasps out, a flurry of panicked breaths escaping him. He's trying to catch his breath, body going tense as wood. He tries to exhale, some other noise laden in it. "I think— I think I'm ready."

Harvey's arm looks disfigured as he moves it from this angle, the movement sputtering to a quickness that slows just as soon. His head tilts as he wipes sweat from his forehead with his free hand, seeming to completely pause. it's confirmed when he rests the other hand on his leg.

Her mind is caught in a constant loop of What do I do? and I don't know for a few seconds. For once, Clarice's body is dependable and rational, a hand grabbing for the small plastic bottle on her stomach. It's like all sentience has seeped out of her ears, her mind going blank as she pumps the strap-on absently, making the toy nice and slick. Apparently, she’s already poured it out on her hand.

The blankness in her head abruptly swirls into color, thoughts, visions, when Harvey turns his body. He gets onto his knees, ushering himself closer to her body, but not bridging any actual distance. His warm skin and body sit plainly out of reach.

Harvey hums plaintively, and Clarice can't even begin to explore what that could mean.

"You're really sure you're okay with this?"

A deep sigh reverberates throughout the room. Clarice leans back on the bed, pressing her hand harder against her face. "Yes," she groans out, agonized. "I'll tell you if I'm not feeling it."

Harvey lets out another heavy breath, though it sounds less burdened. "Alright. In that case then, I'll, uh, I need to..."

"Okay." Clarice says, high pitched, pulling her hand quickly away from the strap-on. It's weird, wearing this thing. She can feel the phantom sensations of where it tilts, now that her hand isn't there to direct it straight.

"Okay," Harvey echoes her, similar down straight to the tone, the almost squeaky way he says it. "I'll... try not to put too much of my weight on you."

"Thanks." Clarice merely whines, wilting into the mattress.

Harvey shuffles over, bed creaking with every new placement of his knees jutting into the bed. There's a moment where the anticipation builds, becomes something tangible and unbearably thick. The tension squeezes against itself, then loosens, like a heartbeat. Like it's a real, pulsing thing.

Harvey places a hand on the bed, around her side, gripping his covers tight as he murmurs apologies. Throws a leg over her waist as his other hand braces near the other side of her, releasing a shaky breath. He keeps himself up on his knees, looking down at himself and grasping at the strap-on feverishly by the base, holding it more in a line. Clarice doesn't know what expression he's making, what expression she's making, all too busy covering her face. Risking glances through the spaces of her fingers. It's all happening simultaneously too fast and tortuously slow.

"Alright," Harvey exhales, adjusting his knees one more time, face wrought with anticipation. "... Alright."

With a steady gaze downwards, Harvey slowly lowers his body down. He jolts as if struck with electricity when the tip presses against his rim, lips parting with a slow breath as he inches down further after a pause. There's a start of a whine in the back of his throat every time the strap-on slides in deeper, but he always staves it off. Always sucks in more air, and keeps going dutifully.

Harvey keeps to his promise and carefully holds himself up even as the strap-on fills him, an occasional shake winding from his face to his legs. Those dance aerobics classes seem to be paying off, in any case.

This seems to be one of the rare circumstances where Harvey is considerate of his boundaries and limits, hips undulating up and down with a careful air. It's a process he treats delicately, gives himself plenty of time to relax in between motions, and Clarice can appreciate that solely because he deserves to be treated gently. Even if she's horrible at doing it, he deserves that much. That sort of growth is something she owes him, one of these days.

That day will come, but today is a different one, a different milestone. Harvey doesn't contest these thoughts of hers, moaning softly once the gentle treatment becomes unnecessary. Unwanted, if the gradually increasing speed of his rhythm could have any thoughts on the matter.

Through the slits of trembling fingers, Clarice watches. Everything is magnified, all the emotions breaking some impossibly high dam despite the odds. There's shifts in Harvey's expression every time he effectively bounces, lips twitching with effort to keep himself quiet. Sweat glistens along his forehead and neck— he shines in the low lamplight that sits glowing only about a foot away.

The heat between her legs is unbearable. Clarice can't remember the last time she had gotten so wet and hadn't tended to herself. Hadn't been able to. It's humiliating, but that emotion is so weak and malleable in the current of pure arousal her body is getting lost in. Her head is foggy, yet her vision is vibrant with clarity, with Harvey.

Harvey, who's working himself down harder with every passing second. Instead of that lost, cloudy look catching in his eyes, he only looks all the more searching. Harvey sits back further on his heels, letting out a moan that sounds frustrated. Unthinkingly, Clarice's eyes glance downward at the dick between his legs. Straining and flushed against his abdomen, with him close enough that she can see the pearl of pre-cum beading at the very tip. It moves with every motion he makes. The bead drips over, trailing over every bump and ridge.

"... What's wrong?" Clarice dares to speak, voice containing a rasp that floors her.

"... I can't," Harvey whines, back arching as he sculpts his hips into a particular rocking motion. "I-I can't, I need—" he chokes, leaning far enough that he has to grind his hips forward and back more than up and down for the strap-on to stay inside.

Then he jolts at a particular thrust he implores, gasping sharply. His brown eyes go wide, glasses jumping with every movement that he makes, suddenly speeding up. "Oh! Oh, please, please—"

His thighs tremble with effort, and suddenly he's sliding right down. Harvey's weight presses right into her as he essentially sits on her lap, making her let out a grunt of surprise rather than one of any meaningful discomfort. He's straddling her completely, and the whimper he lets out is downright pitiful.

Harvey blinks with wet eyes, his eyes searching for hers, face twisted with embarrassment. Need laces it, need seems nestled into every frantic little movement Harvey attempts to make. Only for Harvey's body to slump back down, clearly too exhausted to keep doing all the work. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I can't— can you—?"

He suffers through the moment for air, face red as a strawberry, thighs still shaking even as he's seated. ".... Help me," he breathes, air whistling through his teeth a little. "Please."

The blood in her body is torn between two places. Clarice feels light-headed, her chest heaving for air she hadn't realized had dissipated. She's sweating before she's even doing anything, before she warily places her spare hand on his hip for support. Harvey groans with relief before she even properly helps him out. "Thank you, thank you." he chants.

He starts to move up again, more uninhibited thanks to the added momentum of Clarice's hand moving with him. Harvey lets out a hoarse cry when Clarice gathers enough courage to start rolling her hips up, meeting in a messy pace where neither is sure who should follow who.

Clarice shudders at the sudden increase in sounds, and more importantly, the volume. Face flaming, her mind wails to reprimand him in some way, to remind him of his neighbors who know him, but more importantly her. It's here where input and output scramble uselessly in the recesses of her brain. "Harvey! You— You need to quiet down." she hisses from her hand, on the cusp of a grand mistake. Her mind aims for swatting at his arm, but seeing as both hands are busy with equally important tasks, an easy pair of dots are connected.

Clarice raises her hand for a brief moment, smacking his ass lightly. Absently.

Harvey downright squeaks with shock, jerking on her lap. "I'm— I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

She could die right that moment, but thankfully, Harvey seems too out of it to make a comment on it. She cowers further into her hand all the same, body as hot as a furnace, eyes watering.

Clarice is just as quick to look through her fingers again, her other hand gripping his hip tightly, heart stopping in her chest when Harvey bites into his palm, muffling yet another cry. His eyes are lidded behind his glasses, breathing unsteady against his palm.

Harvey shakes his head, babbling around his hand as his body starts to tense up. "Clarice. Clarice. Feels good." His voice catches, bed creaking. An embarrassed pride stings her chest, hand clawing into his hip with her nails.

Despite the strain her voice, she forces what she knows he needs out. "You're doing so good, Harvey."

Harvey trembles, eyes squeezing shut, head tipping back. "... Clarice, 'm gonna..." he's nearly incoherent, too weak to keep riding the strap-on even with Clarice's guidance. Her moving hips seem to be enough to suffice, his teeth visibly digging deeper into his skin.

He blinks, once, then twice, then again, each one more rapid than the last. Harvey's body seizes, Clarice can feel it down to his thighs, his head bolting back forward. To her surprise, his other hand goes to cover the one holding his hip, his hips rolling in sporadic little bursts.

Harvey holds her hand to him tightly, dragging in one more ragged breath as the tension crests and drops with an abruptness entirely expected. He wheezes a little, sounding almost pained as his body quakes through the orgasm, cock twitching with little spurts.

All Clarice can do is watch with wide eyes, hiding them behind her hand again when it gets too much. All of this has been too much, really, but the feeling really implodes in the aftermath.

Soon enough, Harvey manages to haul his body to the spot next to her, sluggish and sated when he lets his body collapse. The bed squeaks in protest. Clarice's eyes burn more and more with unshed tears by the second, face hotter than the sun. She is half convinced that when she pulls her hand away, there will be burns staining her fingers and palm.

"Do you..." Harvey suddenly pipes up, lungs still audibly fighting for oxygen. "... want me to return the favor?" he asks, managing to sound as timid as he was breathless. "I mean, I know you didn't... finish." he coughs as quiet as a mouse.

Clarice makes a strangled sound, rolling on the side that turned her back to him. Tears spill out of her eyes, though she can't say any part of her regrets the experience. She's just... overwhelmed, mortified, and irritatingly horny. "No."

"Are you crying?" The bed dips as Harvey's voice pitches higher up in panic. "Oh, I'm so—"

"Harvey, it was hot," she sputters through tears, not giving him the chance to piss her off through his relentless apologies yet again. "Shut up. I'm just overwhelmed."

A hand tentatively reaches for her shoulder, Clarice's body tensing when she feels him stroke her shoulder assuringly. She hates him a little for it, hates it more when she actually relaxes.

It takes a moment of deliberate silence until the feeling soothes in her chest. Wiping away a few tears, she reluctantly rolls onto her other side, facing Harvey. “… Hi.” she says, voice a little muted.

“Hi.” The sentiment is mimicked easily, breathlessly, though he tacks a hesitant smile onto his flushed face. Clarice bursts into a giddy giggle for a reason she can’t quite pin down, giving him a watery smile. Harvey’s smile brightens, looking relieved. Some sexual exploration is healthy in the long run, she supposes, if it feels this freeing at the end.

fool’s gold

Summary: Harvey doesn’t make a habit of tending to himself… physically. Today proves to be the rare exception, much to his chagrin.

Word Count: 1.6k words.

Warnings: not much else, harvey gets off to the most pathetic thoughts that only make it that much more transparent how starved he is for love! it’s……. pretty sad actually.

a/n: yeah, I was having…. Thoughts. I have no defense for myself, just enjoy my horrifically depressing take on harvey masturbating!!!

——

Harvey is not one to indulge himself, really. Especially in matters such as this. These instances come few and far in between, only allowing himself to be rewarded when these desires run ragged and old, can be relished like a fine wine. He only allows himself frigid little sips, all too terrified for an indulgence to become a new, petrifying hobby. It's not healthy to spoil oneself with too much of a good thing.

All that is to say, Harvey does not make a habit of tending to himself... physically. Today proves to be the rare exception, much to his chagrin.

Yet Harvey stumbles into his apartment door all the same, despite his apparent ire, hurriedly locking the door and standing stiffly in place. There's a pit in his stomach, interwoven with it a prickly heat that leaves his body clammy and nerves spiraling, unsettled. He'd been innocently twitchy all day, but it'd become a familiar sort of ache by the time the clinic closed for the day, after a few hours of him working unperturbed. It makes him want to be hasty with this, as if god, and maybe even he himself, will forgive him as long as he's quick with it. As long as he hurries, before he wastes more time on this than is defensible.

Heedlessly, he unfurls his coat from his body and throws it to the table, next to his TV. His mind is so frazzled, mind caught in such a frenzy, that he only realizes he's walked to his bed when he plops down onto it, a shameful heat blooming in his cheeks. It blooms everywhere in discordant embers, in multiple parts of his body, all sensation narrowing to one specific place.

Futile debates are made in his head, his dignity fighting tooth and nail against the natural current of human instinct. There is no sign of waning in the water, only the current that ebbs away more and more at his restraint. Finally, he peeks down at his slacks, at the unmistakable curve that presses a subtle indent along the middle seam.

He fans his legs out tersely, swallowing hard as he raises a shaky hand to his face. He can feel how hot his face is when he sweeps his fingers over his cheeks, carefully pushing his glasses back. He breathes in and out, before undoing his tie, leaving it hanging around his neck as if branding himself with some scarlet letter of shame.

Harvey undoes the buttons of his white button-down as well, not wanting to get anything messier than it should be. And then, with a drawn out sigh, he unzips his fly. Hesitates a moment longer, then slides the hem of his boxers over his... dick. Humiliatingly, the slightest friction provided by the fabric sliding down the underside of it makes his hips lurch up, a sound clogging his throat.

He has to take a moment to sigh disbelievingly at himself, then another to belatedly reach for the lube in his nightstand. There's a procedure to this, a fine tightrope to balance on, teetering between thinking about this too much and too little. He thinks too much when pouring the lube over his hand, dousing his fingers and palm, too little when he hovers said hand lower.

Another wave of emotion runs through him, another anxiety gnaws gracelessly at the precipice of his thoughts, but his hand doesn't slow any longer. Harvey exhales sharply through his nose when his fingers so much as make contact with the head, inhales shakily when he forms a firm fist around his dick. An idle thought stirs in him all the while, when was the last time I did this? and then a later, embarrassed I really should be working.

All of those thoughts flatten away to nothing as that traitorous desire rears its ugly, tantalizing head— his mind all too eager to egg on that soft-spoken part of himself that longed so badly for a warmer bed. He tries so hard to bury these thoughts in material sturdier than dirt, in cement— but his desires are alive just as much as he is. It brims under his skin, flows downwards as he moves his hand in a steady stroke. The root of it all stems from inside his very soul, an impossible want steering his every action.

He keeps his hand slow and lax, tries to imagine it's someone else touching him so gently. Shame tries to cloud his head, but it's quickly cleared by the thought of a kiss, languid but addled with simmering passion. His mind works in a such a disorganized way, having the audacity to touch himself in this way and think of something so quaint. Something, though he pushes it back futilely, he isn't so sure he's earned. Even the mere concepts running wild in his head are undeserved, a tenderness not befitting of a man such as—

He sucks in a harsh breath, imagining warm caresses over his cheeks, in his hair. Kisses so soft that they graze over his skin like butterfly wings. This won't happen, but his mind is versatile, desperate really— he can pretend. He thinks of the most gentle of neck kisses, of honeyed whispers that he feels more than he hears. Whispers that sink into him so smoothly, disarm him and pry him open, Harvey all too wanting.

He doesn’t fear this vulnerability, this momentary emptiness is as much him as is the fullness he feels the moment the light is invited in. This touch is a sun, tender and encouraging. He glows under it, never burning, and his gratitude cannot be understated. He thinks of someone breathing out how wonderful they think he is, tone so adoring and so heartbreakingly sincere that his hips buck up frantically.

There's another earnest whisper in his ear, telling him how good he's doing as a thumb swipes around the head of his erection, drawing an abruptly startled whine from his parted lips. That brings him back to reality a bit, makes him realize how shallow his breathing has gotten. The movements of his hand don't slow any, his breath stuttering. He usually manages to stay quiet enough, even his slip-up now had been relatively silent, but he makes a decision to bring his hand up to his mouth. It's better to be safe than sorry.

Harvey claws back at the fantasy that had started to unravel, mind working to find new threads to weave into it. A few more kisses over his chest, maybe, a bit firmer but ultimately delicate, like that of a paintbrush. The ticklish sensation of nails sweeping over his sides, then against his cheek as it's cupped. Soothing circles rubbed into his cheekbone, right as the narrow slit of his dick is teased gingerly. He thanks himself for taking such precautions as he muffles another soft sound into his palm.

Lips are back around his jaw now, and he surprises himself with a faint nip, a strange warmth filling him as he imagines an airy little laugh. Almost an apology, as their hand starts to pump him faster, which has Harvey tensing and leaning against his bed until his back is flat against the mattress. His breathing is labored, his heart swelling with something so light yet so heavy.

Kisses are trailed up to his ear, lips tickling his earlobe. "You're okay, Harvey, I got you." His breath hitches so hard it hurts his throat. The hand speeds up, and it plucks a full-body shudder from him. He can't take much more, his body is too weak. Too needy. It's been too long, and everything is too wonderfully warm. He feels safe, and the trust flows easier than the lust does.

"I love you so much, honey. So much." Harvey gasps, eyes flying open. He can't remember when he squeezed them closed so tight, but even the muted shade of his ceiling is so bright in the wake of it. His hips cant up with singleminded focus.

He swears he can hear a nervous swallow. "… I love you." The voice is so soft then, velvety but not sultry. Barely louder than a breath. It's said as though they'll cry from it, from how much love burdens their heart. All for him, all expressed in these tender touches.

The whine he lets out then is choppy as he finally comes. His eyes flutter back shut, pressing his hand hard against his mouth, eyes burning with unshed tears as he desperately pumps himself through it. Harvey is huffing into his palm, eyes fluttering back open and closed in varying intervals. It takes little more time for his body to go slack, resting his trembling hand against his stomach.

Harvey stares at the ceiling until the color dulls, until the warmth of the moment is robbed from him. There's no one here to kiss him afterwards, to smile so fondly that they barely can press their lips to his successfully. He can't bashfully try to wave off a lover as they tend to him, as they scoff lightheartedly and wipe his stomach with a washcloth despite his protests. I love you, they'd say, I want to. And then the unspoken words that would shine in their warm eyes, continuing to clean him up. Words that wouldn’t stagnant in their polish when they tugged him forwards, held him so close in a way he's only dreamed of; You deserve this.

Harvey leans his back further, blinking rapidly as the natural temperature of his apartment cools his body down. His eyes burn again, breathing picking up again.

He doesn't need this, he reminds himself, he lives a life few are lucky enough to get.

He... should get back to work.

soaring ahead

Summary: Harvey deserves some extra loving, and you’re more than happy to voice that opinion. In multiple ways.

Pairing: Sub!Harvey x Soft Dom!Reader

Word Count: 2.0k.

Warnings: explicit sexual act/smut! more specifically, harvey gets a bj!

a/n: this doesn’t really have hard sub/dom undertones lol, reader is a verrryyyy soft dom, but it’s really important to me that it’s made clear! Harvey’s the biggest sub in the world in anything I write!

——

It isn't about control. This is not about making him vulnerable in your hands, for the sole sake of satisfying your own whims— but it's getting embarrassingly close the farther you get into this.

Harvey is a gentleman, with not a single bone in his body dedicated only to his own pleasure, and he will remain that way for the rest of his life likely. In some minute way that sprawls out through all of his actions, all his shy but endlessly loving glances. He's selfless with devotion.

Here, Harvey is still wholly himself, every bit of the soft man you love. Not that you'd expected differently. His brown eyes faltering, but still steadfast in their approach to meet yours as he continues to whisper if you're really sure about this— right as you drop to your knees in front of the bed.

It's taken a lot of reassurances to get even this far. Harvey, in his unyielding consideration of your feelings, can never quite bypass his need to assuage any pressure he frets over putting you under. He'd even tried to insist you both lay down on the bed, so you don't hurt your knees from being on the floor.

You still aren't sure if you've ever seen him turn redder than when you'd insisted you prefer it— this way, I get to see your face more clearly, you'd told him maybe too honestly.

Despite stating the reason for your preference, Harvey is still shying away, torn between looking at you in admiration and averting his eyes in mortification. It's cute, to see him flounder between either option, hesitantly holding his first to his mouth. He seems to decide on closing his eyes, fist trembling with the effort it took to not fully cover his face. Trying earnestly to please you without completely forfeiting his desire to hide. He squirms a little when your hand makes contact, wrapping carefully around his dick.

"Hey," you start, voice low but soft. Plush like a warm blanket, knit with thick yarn, "... Can you look at me?" One of your hands goes to rest on his bare knee, right where it bends, thumb rubbing where you can feel the faint indents of his bone.

You can see his shut eyes scrunch closed a bit tighter for a moment, whining quietly when your other hand moves a little as well, stroking his dick in a slow and smooth motion. You'd already gotten his pants and underwear down, were already well on the cusp of giving him the attention he deserved. You trail your thumb up towards the underside of his tip in a misshapen circle. This makes Harvey's eyes fly open with a start, an exhale sharply bursting from his lungs. He still presses his hand to his mouth, the fingers curled into his palms digging in particularly hard when you carefully lick up from hilt to the very top.

His hand flexes, another little noise regretfully getting muffled into it. He blinks wildly, and it shakes you then how disheveled he looks, hair mussed from your hands, face flushed scarlet. The thin sheen of sweat adds a shine to him, but where Harvey truly becomes striking is at his eyes.

It's not unusual to catch him looking at you as if you were a miracle, as if that's the only way he could comprehend a person like you coming into his life.

It's not a look you didn't expect, but there's a rawness now that you've only seen a handful of times. When all the attention's on Harvey, when he allows it to soak into his heart instead of gently ushering you back into the loving spotlight along with him. It's not that he only ever tended to you— he seemed to like it plenty when you were in the lead, guiding you both, gently guiding him where to go. Lavishing him with praise that got him all but melting under you, but he rarely let you take care of just him much farther than that. Not for more than a few moments.

The warmth in his brown eyes causes you to raise your hand, the one that had been on his knee, stretching it until it comes into contact with his cheek. You have to strain your arm like this, but you hardly care, especially when he readily leans into it, effectively abandoning his wrist. You press a kiss right to his tip, getting to feel him inhale shakily against your palm, nuzzling your hand in another attempt to hide.

"... You're so pretty." You barely have a chance to ruminate on the thought before it slips out of your mouth, Harvey's eyes rapidly focusing back on you. His hand and your own partially disfigure the look you get at his face, but the warm light of the lamp shows the red color settling on him nicely. "... I love you so much, sweetheart. You know that?"

Harvey seems to want to answer, his lips parting only to close with an unabashed moan as you settle your mouth down, taking him halfway and carefully keeping your teeth from grazing him. It seems to hit him all at once, whimpering as you look up at him, his hand that had been at his mouth, interestingly enough, rushing for the one on his cheek.

He takes it into his right hand, pressing a sweetly chaste kiss to your knuckles before lowering it to his upper thigh, away from where you were settled. His fingers twine with yours, holding it in a way that felt all too pure. He's looking at you with stars in his eyes, like your own have galaxies and more. You have a sneaking suspicion he knew you were straining your arm.

"... I love you, too." Harvey whispers in a wavering voice, body trembling when you push yourself farther down. You twirl your tongue around the head of his dick, and you can feel him fight the reflex to buck up from his next shiver, the next sound that escapes him sharp, head falling back for a quick moment before he's leaning back forward to look down at you. You suck and he almost repeats the motion, his free hand reaching to tenderly press some of your hair back.

You back off for what might look like a breather on Harvey's part, but it's only really because you want to talk. You shift on the floor, knees starting to ache. "Do you know that I love you?" You say gently, voice a little more hoarse than you'd expected. He hadn't answered your question.

That makes him glance down bashfully, which only seems to make his embarrassment worse since he mostly gets a reminder of what exactly's going on below the metaphorical belt. "O-Of course." He breathes shallowly, seeming to have needed the breather more than you.

"Of course... I wouldn't doubt you." Harvey says softly.

It's not that you don't trust him, but you know him. The doubts that are always riding his coattails, coasting along no matter how adoringly you touch him, no matter how much you praise him. You could give him the world on a sliver platter, kiss every atom of his body, and he'd still struggle to accept it. You want him to know it, down to his bones. For your love to be the airplane he can trust to see in the sky, through the radio, a certainty he can glimpse even in the clouds.

"Can you say it a few times for me?" You ask, swallowing as you gaze up at him determinedly. One hand continues to stroke his cock languidly, the other squeezing the hand he's holding. "Say that I love you."

Harvey blinks, looking a little uncertain. He shudders faintly regardless, sensitive to every touch. "You... love me?" He echoes doubtfully, as if not sure that's quite what you meant him to say, only to gasp when you take his dick back into your mouth, bobbling steadily. You nod as best as you can, which you're sure looks a bit silly, but Harvey doesn't seem to be focusing too much on how silly anything might be, thankfully.

In any case, he seems to be getting it, eyes widening in understanding. He whimpers again, maybe also because he understands. You can't remind him when you're like this, so you're pushing him to remind himself.

"... You love me." His voice shakes, but there's something imbedded in it that warms you. His face is twisting faintly with emotion, eyebrows scrunching when your free hand strokes at his base as you slide your mouth further down. Harvey's grip on your hand tightens, his breaths coming out quick, every other one a bit whiney. He's shaking.

"...Y-You—" His sentence is thoroughly chopped in half when you keep going, fighting your gag reflex as you aim for getting Harvey as deep as he can go. "— God, y-you love me. I love you. So— So much."

You roll the flat of your tongue against the very tip, light and cautious. Harvey's body goes tense before abruptly twitching.

"Honey..." He gets out, brown eyes fluttering shut, "H-Honey, I'm not gonna... I'm not..." He trails off with another noise, breathy and a touch desperate.

Embarrassment creases a few lines into his forehead from his own implication. You squeeze his hand this time, thumb moving to stroke the skin of his own. You're looking up at him again, the way his eyes soften impossibly for you. You can't really nod now, but you try to tell him when your eyes: It's okay. He flinches, endearingly sensitive.

You breathe through your nose, relaxing your throat before you go for the next inch. You don't think you quite succeed, but Harvey seems to think you have regardless. He's holding your hand like a lifeline. The hand in your hair retreats, going back to grasp the sheets with a grip that would have been painful. Your heart flutters with love as much as lust, doubling your efforts.

Harvey's whole body trembles, and you're focusing a bit too much on swallowing to fully appreciate how he sounds, high pitched and shuddering. Even still, it echoes loud in your subconscious mind.

When his body loosens, his hold on your hand loosening but firm enough to portray how little he yearned for its absence, you pull away with a sharp inhale, breathing a bit deeply. Harvey had moved his hand behind him to keep himself propped up, and you can tell it's taking some energy for him to not fall back-first on the bed in midst his bliss, but you can feel his concern reignite.

You leap up on sore knees before he can say anything, arms finding his back and tugging him forward tightly. His face ends up finding the crook of your neck as sinks into you like a ship consumed by the sea, nuzzling into your warmth and hugging you back as if you've been separated for years.

"I love you," you murmur, stroking his back, "I love you, I love you." It's as if you're making up for lost time, saying the words for when you couldn't. That makes him pull away, and you're quick to cup his cheeks, eyes looking meaningfully into his own as you rest your forehead against his. "I love you." Your voice wavers, caught up in a tide of affection that ebbs higher the more you look at him.

Harvey smiles brilliantly, a bashful tinge to it, as if he's still questioning his right to such joy and fortune. He leans until your noses brush in a featherlight touch, needing to touch you however he can. "I... I love you, too." He's still breathless, words a little too hushed, but his eyes glimmer a little from his own emotions. A deep brown that still somehow shines like the sun as they start to glisten with tears.

You pull him back into a hug. His chin rests on your shoulder, a content filling him as he relishes in the feeling of floating— the one time being so high up in the sky doesn’t feel so terrifying.