Summary:

Harvey Specter loves Subs, but commitment has never really been his thing. That is until he hires a skinny-ass Dom whose real orientation is not the only thing he has to hide. And really, it doesn't matter how distracted Harvey is by his new associate because Mike doesn't want to be a Sub and he certainly doesn't want to be Harvey's Sub... at least, that's what he tells himself.

A love story that takes place in an alternate reality almost exactly like our own, apart from the fact that everyone is biologically determined as either Dominate or Submissive. And who you are really does make a difference. A BIG difference.

Notes:

This is the first story in what will be a series of at least three. The series is set in the D/s or BDSM AU. However, I'm taking my own liberties with the universe as it's fairly new and has varying rules. If you're familiar with the AU, I understand there are many different variations, but for the purpose of my story, I have decided to pick, choose and... enhance.

The first installment is mostly pre-slash and relationship development, but toward the end and in the following stories, the rating will kick up and so will the kink warnings.

I have to confess that I'm a rather new fan of Suits, but am now completely head over heels! This story was already writing itself before I made it through the pilot. I had to force myself to take breaks from writing to watch, and then to take breaks from watching to write! So... because I'm a newbie and currently without beta, if you see something that seems like a genuine canonical error, and not a conscious choice (which most things are in my case), please let me know. I'm still learning here!

Finally, part one is more than half finished, but for the sake of quality and consistency you can expect one update a week. I do, however, reserve the right to provide more if I choose ;)

Thanks for reading!

"This is really good stuff Mike, it'll put you down for hours." Trevor holds an unrolled joint up for Mike to sniff. Even the smell makes his sight go dark and his muscles feel like buckling. He inhales long and hard, then looks the other way.

The two are reclining on Mike's couch surrounded by half a dozen full zip-lock bags of the pinkish colored herb that has been a constant in their life and friendship for over a decade.

Trevor is dividing his attention between a rerun of some cop show Mike knows so well he could replay it in his head using the back of his eyelids for a television, and a plate of 'Subspace' he's meticulously rolling and stashing in his old dented chewing gum tin. Trevor takes two joints and places them on Mike's coffee table without a word. Mike can't afford to pay him and he knows it.

While Trevor is a happy addict, Mike can't help feeling like a failure. If he wants to act the Dom then he should be able to pull it off without drugs. Without satisfying the biological inconvenience inside him that keeps telling him to get down on his knees already and be done with it. He stares at the two joints and tries to lick the dryness from his lips.

The Dom cop in the show is gently petting the head of a Sub tied to a dumpster while police sirens come skidding down the alley. The Sub, a pretty Asian woman with stereotypically long sleek hair, is whimpering gratefully as the deep baritone voice above her whispers encouraging praise and apologies for not arriving early enough to protect her from attack. The ripped sleeves and bloody skirt don't leave much to the imagination.

Subs get raped at a statistical majority that makes Mike's head spin. It's also the leading reason he'll do anything to keep up his facade.

He saw an article a couple months back. It said that about sixty-five percent of Subs can expect to experience some non-consensual encounter with a Dom in their lifetimes. One out of every four can expect that encounter to escalate to a life-threatening risk level. Of course, a hard spike in 'Subspace' addiction among Subs is a big part of the problem. It's a lot easier to take advantage if a Sub has been taken down with chemistry instead of psychology.

Approximately .02% of rape cases are reported by Doms. The popular theory maintains that most Doms wouldn't report it anyway, which skews the margins. But, still - point. zero. two. percent.

Mike wipes his brow with the back of his hand. The summer night is too warm and his ceiling fan broke over a year ago. Despite his frustration he can't help but feel a little stir of arousal and flutter of jealousy for the woman on the TV. The way she leans into the cop's hand like a house cat, the blissful expression on her lips, the full attention of her temporary Dom that makes everything blur and mute out around her despite the whirl of paramedics and rescue personnel. The scene must be having a similar effect on Trevor who has stopped rolling joints and is also staring, momentarily transfixed. When it switches to commercial they abruptly shake out of it. Nevertheless, Mike is pretty sure they're both thinking about - or more likely trying not to think about - the same thing. Mike stands to get more beer from the fridge.

"What are you doing Friday morning?" Trevor asks to his back while Mike pulls out the bottles. He really wants Trevor to just leave. He suddenly needs to smoke some Subspace but he never does it with company. It's too personal.

"I dunno. I'll probably pick up some work."

"Okay. Now, before you say no, just hear me out - "

"No." Mike says firmly.

"Come on, Mike, don't pull that shit on me. We practiced the Dom voice together when we were fifteen."

Mike just shakes his head and takes his beer back into the living room. He flips off the TV and stands staring at his friend. "What is it?"

He sweeps his hands over the bags of Subspace. "I need all this delivered to a hotel on Park Avenue. I have a client coming in from out of town. I would go myself but I have another appointment that's more, delicate."

"I'm sorry. Find someone else."

"Mike, it's the fucking Chilton Hotel. I need someone who can walk in with a briefcase full of Subspace and not get nicked at the door for looking like a trafficker."

"And that's me?"

"Yes! You think I know someone else who could pull it off?"

Mike shakes his head again and then starts filling up Trevor's duffel bag.

"No chance. I told you I'm not getting involved in this shit. I'm just... not."

Trevor groans and sits back on the couch, rubbing his face in frustration.

"Take all this and go home. Say hello to Jenny for me."

After Trevor has gone and Mike is clearing away the empty beer bottles and pizza boxes, he pulls out one of the two joints still tucked beside his red BIC lighter. It's been a really shitty week.

Mike turns out the lights, bolts the door, sheds his clothes into a pile, and sighs as he sits back on the couch. It's dark except for the blue light streaming in from one of the street signs outside. He flicks his lighter a couple times until the orange flame appears, dancing in front of him hypnotically, then he holds up the joint and watches the end burn and crinkle black.

The first inhale shuts him down completely and he starts floating. His muscles turn liquid and every care and worry seems to evaporate around him, and it feels so good that it doesn't surprise him at all when he feels his cock getting hard. Not all Subs react like this to Subspace. In fact he's an exception. Subspace isn't designed to get you turned on. That would be counterproductive and just plain frustrating. If the Sub had someone around to help get them off they wouldn't be taking this stuff anyway. But Mike doesn't really care.

When the joint is smoked down to a nub he has just enough awareness to drop it in the ashtray and then let his hand rub weakly up and down his cock. He's too far gone to finish the job, but while he's still conscious it makes everything feel that much better. At some point he drifts off. In the morning, despite the inevitable hangover, he'll be rested for the first time in over a week. That's something good at least.

Mike is sitting next to Gram while she flicks through the morning newspaper to show him something she'd read. It's an article about a new bill they're trying to pass in Washington to enforce better workplace equality for Subs. He's nodding and smiling and trying to sound enthusiastic. His Grandmother is from a generation where being a full time, stay at home Sub, with nothing to worry about except how to please their Dom, was something to be proud of. But now that Mike has made it clear that that kind of life is not only not for him, but is just plain offensive, she's become more open minded.

"I just hate seeing you go through so much heartache." She touches his cheek with her frail fingers. "Being a Sub isn't so bad, and things are changing all the time." She points with her other hand at a photo of his Grandpa and her Dom of over fifty years. She wasn't even eighteen when he collared her. One of the worn down leather collars she'd worn for him, probably the first, is sitting in an open wooden box with painted flowers on the lid.

"He took such good care of me." Her eyes are watering. "And he was my great love. I might not have had as many opportunities, but I was happy."

Mike smiles. "I know you were Gram."

"But you're different, right?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"I think you're right about that, dear. You want so much more out of life, and that's good." Her eyes are shining. She's lucky not to have developed bad vision and cloudy eyes like so many others he sees in this place.

"But don't forget who you are." She pats his cheek and lays back in bed. "Now, that's all I have to say."

Mike smiles sadly and goes back to reading the article while she begins her afternoon nap.

"She's welcome to stay here, of course, Mr. Ross." A soft spoken Sub, one of Gram's nurses, is walking with him down the hall.

Mike is making sure to keep his posture erect and his shoulders back. His physical appearance is contradictory enough to a Dom's natural features that he has to work extra hard. His attitude is pretty convincing so most people don't see through the smoke screen and start wondering.

For example, if anyone paid attention they might notice that he's too thin. Even if he weren't a lazy ass he wouldn't be able to build up very much natural muscle. But, he makes up for it with baggy, bulky clothes and a hair cut above the ears - a strictly dominant style. Even in the gay scene Subs tend to keep their hair below the shoulders. They need to in order to make a statement when they're seen out with another Sub wrapped around them, their fingers all twisted up in each others physical sign of submission to 'the man'.

"We have enough resources here to keep her comfortable, but if you ask me, sir," she looks up at him through her eyelashes. "There are places that provide services that will, frankly, keep her alive longer. Your grandmother was collared for fifty years. She needs special care to keep healthy."

"How much would a place like that cost?"

"The best one I can recommend has an entry cost of 25,000 dollars for the first six months, and then another thirty-five hundred or so a month in fees."

Mike rubs at his eyes where a pressure headache is forming. "And you really think she'd be better off?"

"I'd give her about a year or two if she stays with us. There are only so many programs we can offer. I think you could double or triple her life expectancy if she had the proper medical and emotional care."

"I don't have that kind of income." It's an understatement. He's never had anything close to 25,000 dollars at one time. That's Trevor's reality, not his.

"I wouldn't presume to know your situation, sir. I just felt I should give you my advice while it might still make a difference." She nods once and walks away.

Now that he thinks about it this place really is a shit hole. There's a rotting ceiling tile in this part of the wing that no one has bothered to fix in months. And the wallpaper still has little ducks and rabbits from when this was a children's hospital back in the eighties.

Without thinking too much about it Mike kisses his Grandmother goodbye and makes his excuses for leaving early. It's Sunday. He usually stays through dinner and an old movie on TCM.

As soon as he's outside Mike pulls out his phone and dials Trevor.

"I'm in. I'll do the job, but I want $25,000." He waits through the silence on the other end.

"Done. Be at the Chilton Hotel tomorrow morning at ten o'clock."

Harvey has a lot of appeal as a Dom. Actually, he fancies himself one of the best Doms around and even that's modest. However, even his own skills pale compared to Jessica's natural aura of dominance. Having her sitting next to him while trying to pick up a particularly hard-to-get Sub is never something he'll pass up. The way Subs fall at her feet you'd think she'd taken a bath in pheromones. This of course works well for her in the office where somebody at least needs to have a one up on all the big bad and very very cocky Doms she hires.

The good news for Harvey is that Jessica doesn't take on Subs anymore. Not ever. Not since she lost her last. So when a good looking one gets a sniff of her and comes to pant heavily at her feet, he has the benefit of being the Dom who actually gets to take them home for the night.

But just for the night. Harvey Specter doesn't do relationships.

This particular Sub isn't really his type but she's stubborn and at least that's a challenge. She'd been sneaking around their table all evening, being particularly attentive to Jessica. Harvey's just about ready to divert her attention while it might still work in his favor.

Ideally, he prefers his Subs small, fair, and absolutely gagging for it. But he also likes a Sub who he has to push to their knees a couple times before they actually drop. It's just more fun that way.

"Listen," Harvey looks at his waitress's name tag. "Lisa. I don't normally do this."

"Do what, sir? Drink in public?"

He smirks. If they were at home he'd slap her for that. She smiles prettily with her blood red lips and he knows she'd love it. She's a pain slut, he can tell. Always asking for trouble.

"No. I don't normally scene on a Sunday night."

"I see. And are you deluded enough to think that I'll be your exception?"

Harvey scoots forward in his seat until he's inches from the ample breasts of what he knows will be his next treat.

He grins up at her and plays with the end of her long brown ponytail. When she's about to open her mouth to say more he quickly wraps her hair up in his fist and tugs down sharply. She gasps.

"Be at my apartment by ten. If you're late you'll regret it." He slips his card into her blouse pocket. The one with his address on the back that he keeps in a special suit pocket for just such occasions.

Lisa nods. "Yes, sir."

He gives her neck a soft lingering kiss. She's shivering a little but not pulling away. In fact, she's pressing in closer.

"Good girl," he purrs.

There's a sway in her step as she stumbles away. Another Sub behind the bar helps her fix her hair while she smiles from ear to ear and discreetly gestures across the room at him.

"I'd call you a genius," Jessica says in her smooth drawl, "but you hear that far too often." Every time she speaks in public Harvey could swear Subs everywhere turn and drool. It isn't fair.

"She would have gotten down under the table for you if you'd given her the time of day."

Jessica shrugs. "Perhaps. But if I let her do that I'd never hope to get another free drink out of you. This is the only reason you bring me along."

While Jessica continues where she left off talking about something dull and not-his-problem that had happened at the firm that morning, Lisa walks by once more with two more shirt buttons undone. She makes sure to catch his eye and winks.

She's wearing a leather bra under her prim white blouse.

Harvey sighs dramatically and stands up from the table. He tosses a wad of money down and dusts off his suit.

"It has been a pleasure, Jessica, but it appears I need to go home and set up my sling."

"Don't you dare be late for your interviews tomorrow," Jessica shouts through the crowd. "The Chilton Hotel. Ten o'clock sharp." Harvey gives her a thumbs up and disappears.

"Strawberries smell good on you."

Harvey bites a sliver of fruit from Lisa's stomach and then licks the juice off with the tip of his tongue.

"What do you think? You want one?" He holds it up. "Oh, I see. Your mouth is full."

Lisa is strapped spread eagle to the bed with his best black leather straps and in her mouth is one of his less comfortable ball gags.

He clicks his tongue at her. "It's your own fault. I told you last night what the punishment is for bad girls who talk too much."

Harvey's pretty sure if she could kick him in the face she would. She was tough to take down. Really tough. But worth it. And she was lovely while in subspace. It's just too bad she came out of her high this morning with such a bad attitude.

He bends over and licks off another berry. He's propped up on one elbow and reading the newspaper with her thigh as a prop. He'll give her a few more minutes to wallow in it before he unties her and sends her off to eat the bowl of oatmeal and coffee he left out on the kitchen counter. No one has ever accused him of being a bad host.

Honestly, he really needs to shower and leave by a quarter after if he's to make his interviews on time. He rolls out of bed and goes to the bathroom. Lisa growls angrily behind him.

Oops. Almost forgot. Harvey tries to make it look purposeful when he turns around and unties her.