𝘵𝘸𝘰-𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦

|| “𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨.” ||

@VelvetGrcves a warrant. I'm ready to move on it, but I need clean probable cause from you. I don't want this getting shredded the second it hits the judge's bench." Dent looked up, his eyes locking onto Beckett's with professional intensity. "What do you have for me?"

@VelvetGrcves focused, as he tapped the edge of the manila folder against his palm. His voice dropped just enough to stay between the two of them in the noisy bullpen. "Gordon told me you had a tip that the Falcone crew is moving a shipment down at the docks tonight, and he said you needed -

Good morning, all you beautiful people.

called out, his voice miraculously finding its smooth, reassuring courtroom register. "Just wrapping up some paperwork from the trial. I'll be right there."

breathing. "Harvey?" Gilda’s voice drifted through the wood, sleepy and gentle. "Are you alright? I thought I heard you come in." He swallowed hard, staring at the closed door, his body still slick and trembling from a betrayal she would never see. "Yeah, honey," Harvey -

Harvey froze, the adrenaline instantly turning ice-cold in his veins. He grabbed a file and placed it over the cream thick evidence on the desk. He then frantically shoved his hands beneath the desk, his heart leaping into his throat as he tried to stabilize his ragged -

freed his hard, aching length. He closed his eyes, and the boundary between reality and fantasy completely dissolved. It wasn't a stranger from the bar anymore. It was Bruce. He imagined Bruce’s muscular frame pinning him against the cold, graffiti-scrawled wall of the stall. -

too sharp, too thick with years of buried longing. Harvey came hard, a hot, messy release that spilled over his knuckles and onto his desk calendar, his chest heaving as he let out a choked, silent groan in the dark. Suddenly, a soft, tentative knock rattled the office door. -

He imagined Bruce’s rough hands fisting his hair, dragging him down, taking him with a brutal, possessive hunger that Harvey would never dare ask for in the daylight. “Bruce,” he breathed into the empty room, his hips bucking in a frantic, desperate rhythm. The fantasy was -

shared. He didn't go to bed. He walked straight into his small home office and shut the door behind him with a quiet, definitive click. He didn't turn on the lights. He sat in his chair behind his desk in the dark. Harvey unzipping his trousers, before his trembling hands -

his coat and fled into the cool night air. The train ride back to the apartment was a blur. When he unlocked the door, the place was dead silent. Gilda was already asleep, the bedroom door cracked, her soft, even breathing a testament to the quiet, predictable life they -

weight of his own conscience slammed down. Harvey pulled himself back, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. He turned on his heel and walked out, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He didn't even say goodbye to the office crowd; he just grabbed -

stranger didn't say a word; he just held Harvey’s gaze for a long, heavy heartbeat before turning and walking into the handicap stall. He left the door wide open, a blatant, silent invitation. The temptation hit Harvey like a physical blow to the chest. The booze made the -

forward, his breath hitching, his fingers twitching at his sides. He could do it. He could let himself be ruined in a filthy bar bathroom, just to feel something that cut through the neat, perfect life he was supposed to want. He almost faltered. But the heavy, legalistic -

risk feel distant, almost abstract. In the dark, crowded spaces of his mind, the stranger’s face blurred, shifting into the sharp, devastating features of Bruce— the man he’d been quietly starving for, the ghost that haunted the edges of his marriage. Harvey took half a step -

me, fellas," Harvey muttered, cutting his colleague off mid-sentence. "Got to use the head." He walked briskly toward the back of the bar, the hallway dim and smelling of bleach. He’d barely washed his hands when the restroom door swung open. It was the guy from the bar. The -

argument, but every time he glanced up, those dark eyes were waiting for him. Hot, heavy, and full of a dirty promise. The alcohol in Harvey's system was buzzing, loosening the tight knot of restraint he carried every day. He felt a sudden, suffocating need for air. "Excuse -

dangerous confidence. The stranger wasn't even pretending to look at the hockey game on the television; his eyes were locked entirely on Harvey, tracking the line of his jaw, the fit of his shoulders. Harvey tried to focus on his colleague’s animated breakdown of the closing -

The neon sign of the bar across from the courthouse buzzed with a low, electric hum, competing with the loud, drunken cheers of the DA’s trial team. Harvey was twenty-four, two years into a marriage that already felt like a neatly pressed suit he couldn't quite breathe in. They -

were celebrating a major conviction, the glasses clinking, the whiskey flowing, but Harvey’s attention was completely fractured. Through the haze of cigarette smoke, he noticed him. A good-looking guy at the far end of the bar, sharp-jawed and radiating an effortless, -