AN: There was a request for a "Queer As Folk"/"Suits" crossover story at suitsmeme on LJ where Justin and Mike are dating and Brian and Harvey team up to split them up to get them where they belong. Here's what I came up with. This is my first published fan-fiction story (not drabble) EVER, so I NEED feedback. I'm choosing to ignore the fact that the law firm's actually called "Pearson Hardman". A company with multiple surnames as a title with out, at the least, an ampersand? That's just silly! This now being BETA'd by LJ's "skuzzbopper," AKA my saviour. Enjoy. ... Chapter 2 will be written and up soon.

There he is, Harvey thought to himself ... with him.

Commanding lawyer, Harvey Specter, hadn't frequented a bathhouse so much since his Harvard days, shortly after realizing that sex with a man had certain expediting benefits - as well as some others Harvey would deny if he were, in any way, the shameful type - after getting hammered with some imported farm boy at a frat party. It wasn't that he was gagging for it more than usual, though he was, but more about whom he was gagging for. Nearly a month prior, Harvey had overheard him telling Rachel that the reason he was so genuinely happy for her when she started seeing a sculptor named Salvatore was that he'd recently started seeing some one, too, also an artist. "Name's Justin Taylor. Heard of him? I don't know much about new art, but-". Rachel gasped, clutching at one of Mike's arms out of plain shock, but that was nothing compared to Harvey's unseen reaction, "You mean you're ...". "A bisexual male," young Mr. Ross concluded. Rachel countered by saying, with a vixen grin, "Wish you would've told me sooner ... yeah, I have heard of him, actually. He's amaz-". Harvey stopped listening and resumed heading down to Ray and the limo for his 3:00 meeting. He couldn't distract himself fast enough from this onslaught of information, and that unnerved him.

There, now, weeks later, he was watching them go at it 15 feet before him. They were unaware of his particular presence, but some young, freckled thing kneeling directly in front of him was surely aware of Harvey's whereabouts (in his mouth), Harvey's reflection mocked only him in the mirrored wall by his side. Three and a half hours. That's all that it took. At around 6:30 on the day in Harvey learnt of his associate's ancient and modern sexuality (and current relationship), he had retreated to his upscale apartment and secluded himself to his shower stall to renew himself for a typical night of white-collar swindling by way of being a powerful and attractive lawyer. Before he contemplatively knew that he was turned on, dick in-hand, answering a subconscious urge from his nervous system, Mike Ross was the one and only thing that his boss's mind's eye could see as he, uncharacteristically, frantically jerked himself off in his lonely shower. Harvey didn't go out that night. That night, after not contemplating how, nor why, he was fantasizing about the messy puppy while getting off, he contemplated. Well, his brain tried to for a few hours, but Harvey, his whole self, conjured a lie to his brain, and other parts of his body (mainly, chest and groin), that he didn't care, and just went to bed.

He went out the next night. He did some thing sort of new; he wandered in to a gay bar, having sent Ray home early, and not leaving the office himself until after nine. He sat in a stool chair for approximately twenty minutes, nodding off the various random men whom made attempts to approach him while he let his glass of cognac nurse him, for he needed looking after and not the other way around. This is ridiculous, he thought, jamming the empty, useless glass back on to the bar with more than enough cash. He started to grab his suit jacket from the back of his stool when his eardrums were turned in to chalkboards and a familiar smart-assed laugh played like fingernails against them, and he froze mid-action and turned his head towards the door, whispering to himself, "Of all the places ...".

There was Mike, striding through the frame with a blonde, ex-twink-looking man following in behind him. Harvey had an instinct to somehow flee before Messy Puppy saw him, but he found that his absorption with the concept of "Mike's Boyfriend" was stronger.

Justin was shorter and only slightly older than Mike. There wasn't any thing wrong with him, but he wasn't what Harvey thought was right for his preferred lackey. Mike should be with a guy more older, well-to-do [obviously, Harvey's path had never crossed Justin's prior to now], like-minded (Mike can recite every book he's ever read; how could this guy appreciate Mike's natural intellect and ability to out-wit those whom only think that they're superior?) [again, Harvey Specter had never met Justin Taylor before], and his own height! Wait ..., Harvey put an end to his run-away-train of thought, I just found out the kid's in to guys; why am I assuming I know his type? ... And, why did I just fucking describe myself?

Just then, as Harvey wanted nothing more than to get out of there, Mike spotted him.

Mike suddenly found himself with the task of deciding which scared the crap out of him more; his boss finding out that he had a thing for guys (he told Rachel; what was wrong with Harvey finding out? – he couldn't think about it), or the now-easy assumption so did his womanizing boss. His face said it all. Messy Puppy could easily have his nickname changed to Blinded Dear, but Harvey was too self-conflicted himself to consider a re-dubbing. Before Mike could remind his jaw muscles that they normally rest higher than their current position, Harvey jutted from his bar stool, and went towards the door as though he were any where else (like he owned the place and every one in it). At the door, standing in front of Mike (still stagnant), he waited for acknowledgment.

"Uh, Harvey ... hi ... this is Justin. Justin, this is Harvey, my boss," Mike stammered, making the appropriate gestures.

"Boyfriend, I presume," Harvey said, cool as a cucumber, holding out a hand.

"... Yeah, hey," Justin answered, shaking Harvey's hand. "Nice to meet you".

"You, t-" Harvey was replying as the barkeep interrupted from behind them, "Lonely sir, your jacket".

Harvey clambered back to the bar to retrieve one of many Armani suit jackets, glaring at the elderly man whom he took it from, and went back to the door where Justin and Mike still stood, observing the odd behaviour.

"I want that Shaeffer Disposition on my desk by 7:30, tomorrow morning," Harvey declared. With out having to wait for a response, he was gone from the establishment.

42 minutes later, the boyfriends emerged from the building, looking perfectly contented, and ... well, gay. Harvey felt a rare burning-pit sensation in his chest. He was never this pathetic. Correction: Harvey Specter was never pathetic at all, but his curiosity was ruling him; he needed to know more about this mysterious side of Mike. Being the only person in his "new life" to know about his old one was no longer enough, and he silently berated himself as he trailed Mike and Justin to a ... a bathhouse? a block away (yes, any further and Harvey would've given up). In dismay, Harvey hailed a cab back to his apartment with out being re-seen. His brain was tangled with revelations of a Mike Ross he hadn't been previously privy to; a Mike Ross that he wanted to know more of ... a lot more of.

At work, the men acted as if nothing happened; nothing changed. Harvey still rode Mike as hard (though, his musings of Mike riding him, hard, started threatening actual distraction), and Mike was still on a mission to prove Harvey wrong when ever possible, if unknowingly in one particular case. Again, Mike and Rachel were talking with Harvey eavesdropping.

"So, what? You have sex in public?" Rachel asked in a hushed tone.

"No! ... I mean, yes, but it's dark, and ... ugh, I don't know! ... It is exciting, and we go every Thursday, but he can seem distracted when we do it there". Rachel had to repress a guttural laugh as she rolled her eyes as if to say 'obviously'.

"No, I mean I think that he used to go to them with the infamous ex back in Pittsburgh, and I know that Justin's not completely over him, and ..." Mike tried to explain.

"But, didn't that end years ago?" was Rachel's next prompt.

"Brian Kinney apparently doesn't do relationships or love, but proposed to Justin when Justin was only 23, and he only left because of his career, and Justin hasn't really dated again until now. I heard all of this from their friend, Emmett, when he came up for dinner and to see 'The Book Of Mormon' on Saturday. And, Brian's moving here next week!" Mike ranted.

Rachel shrugged, and held up a folder. "Well, 'And' Boy, I have to get these to Gregory, but know that, while I wouldn't say this to you on your first day, you're cute. You never know what'll happen".

And, with that, Rachel left.

So, they weren't perfectly contented. Harvey almost disgusted himself as he had Donna clear his schedule for the foreseeable Thursday nights quietly from his Blackberry, but Justin was sounding more and more like he'd only break Mike's heart, and Harvey's job was to protect Mike ... right?

Weeks went by, all of Harvey's showers (and other daily occasions of sperm excursions) were now completely focused on Mike. Why did the kid have to suck on highlighters so ... intelligently? And, thanks to his strategically anonymous nights at Northern Men's, Harvey knew that highlighters were just a substitution for what Mike actually liked to suck on.

He also knew that Mike liked getting fucked. Seeing how Mike liked getting fucked slowly and teasingly turned Harvey in to putty for faceless men who'd be mistaken to think he's coming harder than most have ever seen was because of what they did to him.

So, here he was again, shooting a load in to Freckles's eager mouth. Still trying to keep his eyes on a naïve Mike and blinded-by-his-own-orgasm Justin through his afterglow, Harvey noticed a man slide up beside him, and felt the deadly-sexy-(and-not-just-for-his-age) ~40 year-old lean in close to his ear.

"Stop gawking. He's mine," said the Adonis.

"Get in line," retorted the audacious lawyer, half-heartedly.

"Was there first, will be there last," countered the beautiful stranger.

Jealous rage was what brought Harvey Specter completely back from his post-ejaculation haze, though, luckily, no one but the man whom he was addressing noticed (Freckles had already moved on). "You've slept with Mike?"

The smug look on the older man's face immediately turned in to one of puzzlement. "What? No!" His gaze fell back on the man whom he thought they were both referring to, and the gangly, yet cute, thing he's just screwed and raised an eyebrow. "... No. I meant the beautiful blonde-boy-ass who's just fucked him so good 'cause he learned from the absolute best," he assured Harvey.

"Brian Kinney?" Harvey began to smile. There was hope yet.

"My reputation proceeded me all of the way up to here, in The Big Apple?" Brian sardonically questioned.

"Ever heard of Harvey Specter?" was asked of Brian, and "Partner at Pearson & Hardman," with alliteration on "Hardman," "-one of the law firms I'm considering for the new office of my leading advertising agency, Kinnetic. Sexy, young lad, but far too high-strung for my taste," was the answer he gave while playfully leaning closer.

"Meet me outside in 20. I'll give you my card. You want Justin back," Harvey gestured towards the blonde, "and I want him," gesturing to Mike, whom was losing himself in one of Justin's sweet kisses. "Let's work some thing out".

Seeing his Sunshine with an "age-appropriate" brunette was the only reason that Brian later did get the card; he thought that he could use the help.