Page 150 of Untouchable

As Harp’s hand drags across the flat expanse of skin below his navel, Parker makes a strangled noise and pushes himself back, his hands braced against Harp’s chest to separate them. Harp’s head snaps up and he looks at Parker, concerned.

“Harp—” he pants. “I—I know you want to go slow but—I need to stop for a second. It—it’s too much.”

"What's wrong?" Harp asks, sitting back, half-panting.

“Nothing’s wrong—” Parker says. “It’s—really good, and that’s the problem.”

"Then I don't think I see the problem..."

Parker lets out a frustrated little growl, covering his face with his hand.

“Are you—are you really going to make me say it?”

Harp’s brow furrows and Parker laughs at the ridiculousness of it all.

“I’m really turned on,” Parker admits sheepishly. “And… the last time we made out, you wanted to… just kiss, and I ended up convincing you to… y’know… and I—I’m trying really hard to respect your boundaries, but—also if we keep going I’m probably just going to end up grinding against you until I make myself come, y’know?”

The words fall out in a rush and Parker stares resolutely at a point somewhere behind Harp. A smile is tugging at the edge of his mouth, though, because it’s all so absurd—that Harp wants him, that Harp is here, that just a few minutes of making out with him can have Parker so twisted up and fucked out.

"If that's really all that's bothering you... hell, Parker, I love turning you on. I thought that was a given," Harp says, pulling him closer, running a reassuring hand down his side. "I feel comfortable stopping you when I need to, and I like your attention. If you don't mind... me stopping us sometimes."

Parker bites his lip and searches Harp's eyes, weighing this.

"And I hope you know, I would never want to leave you hanging," Harp adds after a moment. He lets his hands rest on the waistband of Parker's pants like a question.

It’s very hard to think when the weight of Harp’s hand is dragging down the waistband of his pajama pants, but Parker takes a deep breath, willing his mind to clear. This is important.

“I don’t mind that at all,” Parker says. He frowns. “You stopping us, I mean. But—I know that—I get kind of pushy sometimes, and I didn’t want to make you feel like you had to do anything, or you owed me anything, because last time, y’know, we went further than… we’d talked about and I… I don’t want to like, uh, violate your consent or anything like that.”

* * *

"We went furtherbecause I wanted to go further," Harp says gently. He pulls his hands away, wanting Parker to understand that he's serious. "I got you off because I couldn't imagine not getting you off. I wanted to. It wasn't because you were pushy or because of anything else other than who you are and how good you feel in my hands."

Parker shivers, as if Harp’s words send a pulse through him.

“Y-you’re sure?” Parker asks. Harp nods solemnly, and Parker swallows hard. “Okay—yeah. I’ll trust that you stop me if you need to. And just, um, I guess flick me in the eyeball if… I’m being pushy or whatever in a way you don’t like.”

Harp brings his hands back to Parker's body, letting them rest on his hips this time.

"I want to keep going tonight," Harp says. Parker sighs and Harp leans to kiss the front of Parker's throat.

"Is that okay?" Harp murmurs against his skin.

"Yeah. Yes. Definitely."

"Good," Harp says. He kisses Parker's collarbone and then the shell of his ear, and then in a gravel voice he whispers, "I want to make you come, baby."

* * *

“Oh, fuck,” Parker whimpers. “I—I really—I really want that—”

He drapes his arms around Harp’s neck again and this time doesn’t try to hide when he rocks his hips against Harp, knowing Harp can feel Parker’s hard on grinding against him.

"Sit against the arm of the sofa," Harp says, nodding in the direction that he means. It takes Parker a second to understand what's being asked of him. As soon as the order sinks in, though, Parker scoots off of Harp's lap, smiling and looking at him incredulously. He settles in the corner of the couch, obviously misunderstanding. Harp smiles and takes him firmly by the hips, dragging him another foot down the couch so that Harp can lean over him, can kiss his chest, his belly.

Parker gasps with surprise and pleasure as Harp rearranges him with such confidence, such ease. He has a good vantage point like this, braced against the arm of the couch, and it’s surprisingly comfortable.

“I like when you do that, too,” Parker says breathlessly, looking up at Harp. “When you… take charge like that. Manhandle me or whatever.”

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