Page 171 of Untouchable

"Oh, Mr. Harper," the man says. "We spoke on the phone earlier. The suite is ready for you."

Harp does remember the man's voice—he had been exceptionally kind and patient—and he's happy to feel like he has an ally, suddenly, in this sea of foreign, intimidating elegance. The man is Parker's age or maybe a year or two younger, and his eyes flick between the two of them as he prepares their key cards.

"You'll take the second set of elevators on the left to the top floor," the man says, his eyes lingering on Harp's for a half second too long and expressing—what? Intrigue? Approval? "Enjoy your stay."

Harp feels utterly unmoored as he paws for Parker's hand again, walking like a zombie towards a tiny, gilded elevator.

* * *

“Asuite?” Parker asks. He’s bouncing around, unable to contain himself. He cranes his neck to look up at the top of the Christmas tree, awestruck, and nearly crashes into an architect, who shoots him a dirty look. He hardly cares, allowing Harp to tow him to the elevator as he stares up at the ornate woodwork on the ceiling, the tiny twinkling lights on the tree, the garlands wrapped in neat, perfect spirals around the bannister of the sweeping staircase. It all feels impossibly elegant and cosmopolitan. “This place is gorgeous—I’ve never been here before, well, I mean, I was here once before for a job interview at their spa but I’ve never stayed here and anyway I got offered a position at Rocky Mountain which is way better for me anyway because it’s medical not spa massage, you know. This is like, the best surprise ever, it’s sofancy—”

He can’t help himself—while they’re waiting for the elevator he turns to Harp and plants a quick kiss on his cheek.

"It is?" Harp says.

The elevator doors draw open to reveal a hallway lush with draperies and dark wood. Harp leads them to the fourth door and puts in the room key.

The air inside the room is several degrees warmer, and Parker sees a fire burning merrily in the fireplace—a fireplace, in their hotel room.

In their suite, Parker corrects himself mentally.

"Oh my God. This is amazing. I feel like Bo should be here," Parker says, smiling as he kicks off his shoes, picturing the little dog curled up on the hearth.

"You read my mind."

Two overstuffed leather chairs are pulled up close to the fire. Between them is a pedestal ice bucket with a bottle of champagne. Past that are a large set of windows with a breathtaking view of the snow-capped mountains and an open set of double-doors leading to the bedroom.

“Oh my god,” Parker says, spinning around. He can’t decide what he wants to examine first—the oil painting of Mink Creek, circa 1880, hanging on the wall, the smooth, intricate rockwork of the fireplace, the sleek brochures spread out on the desk detailing the many treatments available to them in The Stewart’s famous spa.

He sees the double doors and sprints past Harp, launching himself onto the massive bed, bouncing hard and instantly messing up the impeccably-made bedding. He starfishes out belly-down across the bed, stretching out each limb to try and take up as much space as he can.

“It’s too bad the bed is so tiny,” Parker says, his voice muffled by the luxurious down of the comforter.

"Do you drink champagne?" Harp asks, stepping into the doorway with the bottle and laughing as Parker rolls on the bed. "I didn't even think to ask. I could call down for something else if you want—or we don't have to drink at all. Whatever you want to do—that's what we're here to do."

Parker bounces up off the bed.

“Harp,” Parker says, cutting him off with a grin. He pushes Harp backwards towards one of the overstuffed chairs. “Stop worrying. This is… this is beyond perfect. Like, this is fucking magical. I just—I just love it, okay?”

Harp’s legs hit the chair and he sits down automatically. Parker immediately climbs into his lap, straddling him. He presses their foreheads together, bringing their faces close.

“It’s perfect, you’re perfect, and I love it,” he says. “I’m so happy.”

He loops his arms around Harp’s neck and kisses him fiercely.

* * *

Harp can seewhere the trajectory of this is going immediately.

"Hey," Harp says, breaking as soon as the kiss goes a little more urgent, as soon as Harp can feel his own body beginning to respond. "Let's take our time, okay? We have all night. And tomorrow..."

Parker pulls back, his face flushed.

“Me? Rush things? I would never—” he says, and Harp laughs. Parker relents, sitting back on Harp’s thighs and just smiling at him.

“What?” Harp says.

“I’m—I’m happy. This is—” He gestures to the room. “It’s, like, fucking insane. That you’re doing all this for me? Kind of in a scary way, you know? Like, not that it’s actually scary—fuck, that was like, not what I meant to say—I guess, I mean—I mean you saw what… the last person I dated was like. It’s kind of hard to wrap my head around you wanting to do this nice stuff for me.”

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