Page 103 of Untouchable

Immediately, he leans into the kiss, tilting his head slightly and parting his lips to encourage Harp to deepen the kiss.

Harp cups Parker's face with both hands, and the way Parker opens to him has Harp fumbling to fill up the space. Overeager and uninhibited, Harp licks into the heat of Parker's mouth and forgets to breathe.

Parker leans forward, his hands braced on Harp’s thighs. Parker makes another little noise, somewhere between surprise and approval, as Harp’s tongue darts into his mouth.

Harp breaks after a moment, his back cramping. The pain knocks him completely out of the pleasure of the kiss and he winces as he sits up.

"Fuck. Sorry."

Parker pulls back and blinks, completely dazed.

“Are you okay?”

"Bad angle," Harp admits. "Christ, I couldn't be suave if my life depended on it."

He tangles his legs with Parker's but can't quite meet his eyes.

* * *

Parker stands up.His nerves are gone, his self-consciousness is gone, and he has no doubts about where things stand between them. He holds out his hand to Harp and pulls Harp to standing, towing him into the living room.

Harp looks a little awestruck as Parker gently pushes him so he’s sitting on the couch and climbs into his lap—although this time, instead of crying into Harp’s shirt, as he was last night, Parker straddles him and grins.

“I don’t want you to be suave,” he says, looping his arms around Harp’s neck and pressing their foreheads together. “In my experience, guys who are suave are assholes.”

* * *

Some piece of Harp wonders,now that Parker has taken charge, whether he should've just let Parker dictate the pace of everything so far.

No, he reminds himself. That's a fast way to lose him.

Harp closes his eyes and rakes his hands down Parker's sides. He doesn't know what, exactly, he was picturing when he said that they could kiss, but he hadn't planned on it involving Parker straddling his lap. Their positioning alone is so suggestive that Harp knows he's going to be pressing a hard-on against Parker in no time.

He lets his forehead rest against Parker's, just breathing, tracing his sides.

Parker laughs softly.

“I told myself I’d let you set the pace,” Parker says. “I was gonna try not to push, but…”

Parker throws his head back to let out a helpless little laugh and Harp stops thinking again. He'd forgotten about the mark he'd left on Parker's throat earlier but now that he's seen it again, he can't stop himself from kissing Parker's neck.

“Fuck,” Parker whispers. After a moment, Parker is squirming in Harp’s lap. Harp pauses for a moment, and Parker leans into him once more. “Don’t—don’t stop.”

Miraculously, now that he's smoked, Harp can actually concentrate on what he's doing instead of being completely swept away in the flow of pleasure. He's glad they paused for a moment, because now Harp's mind is clear and he knows exactly what he wants: to give Parker every bit of pleasure he can without violating his own terms for tonight.

* * *

Parker’s tryingto hold himself in check, but it’s difficult when Harp is kissing his neck like this. He’s all but giving Harp a lapdance at this point. He realizes he’s fisted his hands into the back of Harp’s shirt.

Then, a strange kind of clarity comes over him, as though observations are being held up under a bright light that he’d never noticed before—it must be the weed, he knows—and Parker realizes that it’s not even the physical stimulation of Harp’s lips on him that’s working him up this much. It’s the simple fact of knowing it’s Harp who is kissing him, that Parker finally has what he’s wanted for so long.

He breathes out deeply and relaxes down against Harp, letting out another soft little noise. He buries his face in Harp’s neck, nuzzling at him.

Parker's body fits just right against Harp's. And it’s perfect like this—less desperate and rushed. Harp's hands search for bare skin, finding it under Parker's flannel shirttail. Parker's skin is hot and smooth and Harp strokes up Parker's back under his shirt.

Parker relaxes even further as Harp runs his hand along his back—he’s practically melting against the other man, now, and he realizes after a moment he’s making soft noises with almost every exhale. He’s hyper-aware of his body all at once, intensely present in the moment—the calluses of Harp’s hand on his back. Harp’s beard rough against Parker’s cheek. The broad planes of his chest as Parker brings a hand down between them, exploring the topography of Harp’s body once more.

It’s like, he realizes, their moonlight hike. It was the same valley they’d walked through during the day, but under the silvery moon, the ice had sparkled, the shadows had stretched in a different direction, the whole world had taken on a different quality, somehow more muted and more vivid all at once.

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