a merry ghoul (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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crack_van2014-01-06 09:05 am
merryghoul) wrote in crack_van2014-01-06 09:05 am
dancing on the legs of a newborn pony by ariadnes_string (PG-13)
Fandom: SUITS
Pairing: Mike/Harvey
Length: ~7700
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ariadnes_string
Author Website: Fic masterlist
Why this must be read: Another h/c fic, but this time, Mike breaks his arm and gets a concussion. Harvey takes care of him. The images in this fic are very vivid--you can see them coming to life as you read. And the h/c here isn't filled with saccharine words and phrases.
Harvey had just managed to find a good spot on the wall—one that when he focused on it the room actually stopped spinning—when someone tapped on the door.
“Harvey?” a voice whispered, soft, solicitous, and annoying as hell.
“Christ, Mike, I’m not dying. Come in and drop the condolence-call voice already.”
“Uh…Okay.” Mike shuffled into the room and arrayed himself at the foot of Harvey’s bed, an old Thomas Pink shopping bag held in front of him like a shield. “You sure? ‘Cause you look—“
“Mike—“ Harvey tried to put enough warning into his voice to get Mike to shut up. He had no desire to hear how Mike thought he looked, in a hospital gown, hair stiff with dried blood and sweat, casted arm propped up beside him. It almost worked.
“Because Donna said they brought you in on a helicopter, and they usually only do that when things are really bad.”
dancing on the legs of a newborn pony
Pairing: Mike/Harvey
Length: ~7700
Author on LJ:
ariadnes_stringAuthor Website: Fic masterlist
Why this must be read: Another h/c fic, but this time, Mike breaks his arm and gets a concussion. Harvey takes care of him. The images in this fic are very vivid--you can see them coming to life as you read. And the h/c here isn't filled with saccharine words and phrases.
Harvey had just managed to find a good spot on the wall—one that when he focused on it the room actually stopped spinning—when someone tapped on the door.
“Harvey?” a voice whispered, soft, solicitous, and annoying as hell.
“Christ, Mike, I’m not dying. Come in and drop the condolence-call voice already.”
“Uh…Okay.” Mike shuffled into the room and arrayed himself at the foot of Harvey’s bed, an old Thomas Pink shopping bag held in front of him like a shield. “You sure? ‘Cause you look—“
“Mike—“ Harvey tried to put enough warning into his voice to get Mike to shut up. He had no desire to hear how Mike thought he looked, in a hospital gown, hair stiff with dried blood and sweat, casted arm propped up beside him. It almost worked.
“Because Donna said they brought you in on a helicopter, and they usually only do that when things are really bad.”
dancing on the legs of a newborn pony