Harvey had a small problem. Well small was definitely not the right wrong word to use, he thought to himself, but then again big didn't exactly fit, given the lack of big was the whole problem.

And it was a problem that Harvey Specter absolutely did not suffer from, ever. Harvey Specter had a certain reputation and it definitely wasn't this.

The first time it happened was a dismal Thursday night over a month earlier. He headed to a bar after work, one he frequented on the occasions he needed relief beyond what his own palm could give him.

Donna had taunted him all day, parading around the office like the forbidden fruit she was, wrapped up tightly in a form fitting blue dress that dipped devastatingly low at the front, and was held together by a full length zipper at the back. A zipper he had spent all day dreaming of undoing. He happened to walk past her office that morning as she bent over to pick up a file that had fallen to the floor. The sight of her ass, straining through the fabric of her dress and her hair falling forward over her face, had quickly resulted in his pants becoming unbearably tight. With no avenue to relieve the build up, he'd been at virtual half mast all day.

Before leaving that night she had stopped by his office to drop off some files. The tantalising peak down her chest as she leant over his desk to place down the documents, the view of that damn zipper as she walked away, the lingering scent of her perfume, vanilla and something intrinsically Donna, had been the final straw.

Harvey needed a release, and not the type that came from the actions of his own hand and a head filled with visions of red. He needed the kind of release that could only be achieved when he lost himself in someone else's warm, wet body.

He ordered a scotch at the bar and scanned the room, looking for prospects. His eyes raked over an impressive figure clad in tight jeans but when he reached her red hair he instantly moved on. Harvey didn't do redheads. Ever. Except for that one particular time.

A blonde eventually caught his eye, tall, pretty and already returning his gaze with her own strong interest. He hit her with the Specter smile and a wink and it wasn't long before they were on their third drink and his hand was resting high on her thigh and his lips were at her ear asking if she was ready to go.

He had the first inkling of trouble in the elevator. The blonde, whose name he had honestly already forget, was all over him. And it was hot and she was hot and her skin was so soft and warm and her tongue was tracing his collarbone like he usually loved and it all felt so good. Everywhere that is except in his pants, where he realised there was a serious lack of reaction happening.

The blonde hadn't yet seemed to notice and Harvey figured things were sure to perk up once he got her naked in his bed. He made himself focus as they worked their way through his apartment towards the bed, clothes being discarded left and right. Focus on the taste of her mouth and the feel of her skin beneath his hands and sight of her naked breasts as he rolled a nipple with his fingers.

And yet still nothing. His cock had never been less interested.

Fuck. This never happened. Ever.

He spread the blonde out on his bed and dove between her legs, tongue and fingers working over her. And she was wet and eager for him and as he guided his fingers inside her she felt so hot and tight around him, in away that would normally have his cock thrusting into her in seconds. Except it still lay limp and useless against his thigh.

He brought the blonde to orgasm, figuring at least one of them might as well come tonight because he was now pretty certain he wouldn't be. She moaned and cried out loudly as she clenched tightly around his fingers, over and over again, and normally the feeling of someone coming apart under his touch was Harvey's kryptonite, but he might as well have been standing naked in a snowstorm for all the heat that currently existed in his groin.

She pounced on him as her release began to recede and it was then, as she reached to stroke his non-existent erection that she discovered his little problem.

"Oh" she exclaimed in surprise as her hand encountered his flaccid cock and Harvey didn't even know what to say, feeling a flush of embarrassment. The blonde seemed to take it in her stride though and after muttering something about having work to do slithered her way down the bed, capturing his softness in her mouth and hands.

And he'll give it to her, she tried her best, her skill clearly not lacking. But it was all for nothing, because, despite her impressive attempt, he couldn't even reach a state worthy of being called semi-hard.

And as she worked on him, all he could think about was the fact that her perfume smelt like strawberries, which had his mind wondering into forbidden territory, into the realm of wishful thoughts of whose mouth he would prefer to have wrapped around his cock. He felt the tiniest flicker of arousal pulse through him as he let his mind drift to her, to Donna.

And that's when he stopped it, called time on the night. Because while the truth might be that images of Donna regularly accompanied his self ministrations, thinking of her while he was with another woman felt like crossing some sort of dangerous line.

He shrugged and apologised and sent the blonde on her way. And he chalked it up to a one off, some bizarre set of circumstances. A combination of too much alcohol, work stress and having been over stimulated and on edge all that day.

The following evening, when he had himself growing in his palm with just a few strokes, he deemed everything back to business as usual. And he chose to conveniently forget the fact that the mental stimulation came from visions of strawberries and whipped cream spread over milky white, freckle dusted skin. Too relieved to have an erection and too desperate for the much needed release to question the matter more deeply.

He was back to working order and he would simply banish the embarrassment of that night from his mind.

That was until her spotted today's dress, black and simple. But it was short, distractingly short, pushing against the edges of professional short. And loose, the skirt fluttering around Donna's legs as he watched her walk away from him. His eyes were glued to the flashes of thigh it revealed and for some reason he found himself wondering what sort of underwear she was wearing underneath and before he knew it, his cock was swollen and rock hard, fighting for space in his pants while his hand gripped the desk. He felt so on edge he was actually fearful of erupting.

Stuck in his glassed walled office with a raging hardon was far from an ideal situation and Harvey tried desperately to force his mind anywhere else, to seize control back of his body, failing miserably as his cock continued to pulse.

With a client due to arrive for a meeting any second, he caught site of Louis out the corner of his eye, gesticulating widely to an associate, and Harvey zeroed his thoughts in on him. He concentrated on his ridiculous actions and then made himself picture Louis mudding. Desperate times called for desperate measures and the imagine of a naked Louis covered in mud proved as good as any cold shower Harvey had ever had.

Finally he felt his pulse drop, his blood flow spread from his groin and his erection begin to deflate. And he shuddered heavily, both at the fact that Donna could have such an intense effect on him and the fact he had to think about Louis just to bring himself back from the brink.

Fuck.

He went out again that night, found a different bar and another woman, a brunette this time. But he never made it home with her. She pushed the boundaries of public decency with him in the taxi ride to his apartment, her tongue in his mouth and her hand slipping into his pants and once again he found himself stone cold and soft, not even a twitch. He sent her home once the taxi reached his building, mumbling some excuse, even though they both knew the reason for the sudden change in plans.

And so an infuriating pattern formed. Donna would have him hard in seconds, both her physical presence which teased him daily and also the memory of her in his minds eye while he brought himself undone with him own hand, now his only form of release.

He watched her lick some stray icing off her finger from a slice of birthday cake for Gretchen and his cock instantly grew so hard he had to go and hide in a bathroom stall until he willed it away. She wore a new dress to work with a high thigh split and he spent an entire partners meeting imaging what it would feel like to slid his hand through it and stroke the soft skin beneath, work his way up. At the end of the meeting he had to feign the need to respond to an important email, just as an excuse to not get up from the table and expose his heavy, visible need.

It got to the point that Harvey began to feel like he existed on the edge of an erection the entire time he was at work, at times not even needing to see Donna to feel a reaction, simply the knowledge of her proximity enough to send the blood flowing south.

And then he would leave the office, head out to a bar or some other venue, catch the eye of a beautiful woman. They would flirt and drink and chat, but despite his best efforts none of them could get a rise out of him, quite literally.

One night, a few months after his problem had begun, he had his latest attempted conquest pushed up against the brick wall at the side of a bar, his mouth sucking on her neck and his hand dipping into her damp underwear, trying to trigger a response in himself. She raked her nails down his back before reaching to cup him, her hand finding him soft and unaroused, as was the usual for Harvey now.

She tilted her mouth into his ear and he heard her whisper that there was a drug for his problem. He pulled back at her words, hand slipping from between her thighs, as he vehemently declared that wasn't the cause of the problem.

"Someone's really done a number on you then hasn't she" the woman responded with a knowing look and a shake of her head. She kissed him hard on the mouth and walked away, leaving Harvey with no other option but to head home alone, where he eventually allowed the vision of Donna and the green silk dress she had been wearing that day fill his mind as he thrust against him palm.

After that night Harvey stopped bothering to attempt to have sex. It was clearly a futile act at the moment. He contemplated visiting his doctor but he wasn't interested in a drug induced erection. And clearly it wasn't that he couldn't get one, but rather, he could only get one for one specific woman. The woman.

And he realised how much of an idiot he had been, having ignored what he wanted, what he felt for her for so many years, until even his own body was now physically refusing to allow him to continue to hide and pretend. He needed to tell her. He was going to tell her.

Harvey was still working on the courage to do so a week later when the problems with Scottie arose and led to her phone conversation and not so thinly veiled message to get his head out of his ass and finally man up to his feeling for Donna.

And the words were there on the tip of his tongue that night, the truth almost set free. Until Thomas Kessler arrived and everything changed.

That night the images in Harvey's head were of someone else pulling down the zipper of the dress Donna had been wearing that day, the zipper he had, for an infinitesimally small moment of time, wondered if he might be undoing that night himself, before the elevator doors opened and everything ended.

Needless to say nothing was popping up that night, and Harvey seriously wondered if it ever would again.