Page 174 of Untouchable

* * *

Harp doesn't wantto tell Parker how tight he is at the risk of sounding like a second-rate porn script but Christ, it's mind-boggling. Harp goes slow, but he doesn't bother to check in every time his brain tells him to. He'd just be asking Parker over and over again if he was alright, if that was okay, if Harp needed to slow down and... well, the Boy Scout of lube had made it clear that slow was not and has never been his speed.

Sure enough, when Harp is patient, Parker lets him know what he needs and how, and after a moment of adjusting and sighing and moaning, Parker starts to move in Harp's lap, to work back against his hand. Harp leans up to kiss Parker, groaning into it, drinking in this first echo of penetration together, this first intimation of the sex he knows Parker wants from him, the intimacy he wants to have with Parker, sooner or later.

* * *

At last,the sensation shifts from stretching to fullness, and Parker slowly begins to roll his hips, sliding himself almost all the way off Harp’s finger before sinking back down again. His eyes flutter shut at the sensation, and he licks his lips as he begins to settle into a rhythm—he goes slowly, every bit of focus centered around his ass, of the feeling of Harp’s finger pushing into him. He adores the feeling, and for once, he’s not trying to push the pace, rushing towards an orgasm however he can get it. If Harp wanted to keep him here forever, Parker thinks, working his finger in and out of Parker’s ass, Parker would be more than happy to let him.

For the first time, Parker slows down, taking his time, rutting against Harp's bulge and then back against his hand. Harp steadies Parker's hips for a moment, pumping for a few beats possessively into Parker and groaning as he bites Parker's shoulder.

Parker’s head falls forward as Harp takes back control, sliding his finger in a little faster, a little further, than before, and Parker whimpers, arching his back even more to encourage Harp to take whatever he wants from Parker.

“Please—” Parker whispers against Harp’s neck. “I want more—”

* * *

Harp imaginesfor the shortest second what it might feel like without any clothes between, what it might feel like to really be in Parker—but the thought is so overwhelming that he shudders and closes his eyes.

Any sort of resolve to go slow collapses somewhere between Harp's brain and his cock and he finds himself fumbling for the lube immediately. He slicks a second finger and then steadies Parker, pulling him down against Harp's hips, kissing him as he presses in as slow as he can, knowing it'll be a stretch and a challenge, trying to ease Parker through it in any way he can.

“Good?” Harp asks, and Parker nods.

“Yeah—” he gasps. “It’s—it’s really good—just—been a while—”

Harp moves his fingers slowly, the fingers of his other hand pressing the soft skin of Parker's lower back, encouraging him to move if he wants to, to keep grinding, if that's what his body needs. He works in slowly, listening to Parker's breathing, the cadence of his movements, the way he begins to settle in against Harp with short, needy strokes.

* * *

Parker realizeshe’s practically forgotten about his own cock—despite the fact that he’s rock hard and leaking. The friction of rocking himself against Harp is nothing compared to the feeling of Harp’s fingers pushing into him, working him slowly open.

It’s good—so good—and soon he finds his hips moving, his body seeking more friction, more pressure, more depth, more everything. He braces one hand against Harp’s shoulder and shifts backwards, more upright now, and cries out loudly as Harp’s fingers stroke over his prostate, sending a sharp shock of pleasure shooting up his spine. Parker lets his body move of its own accord, and soon he’s fucking back onto Harp’s hand, hitting that same perfect angle each time. With his free hand, he cards his fingers in his hair and then strokes down his body, touching himself, running his hands over his collarbones and his chest and his nipples as if he’s only just now discovered his own body. He feels like he’s on some kind of drug—not that Parker would really know what that was like—but every nerve in his body seems to light up with pleasure, and he’s never been quite so aware of himself—his hands gliding over his skin, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, the sweet ache of his thighs as he fucks himself on Harp’s hand, the feeling of Harp’s fingers deep inside him.

He realizes he’s moaning loudly.

He finds he doesn’t care if the whole goddamn hotel hears them.

* * *

This,Harp realizes, is why it was worth it to go slow. Because this isn't a transition, or an afterthought, or a moment of rushed foreplay as they stumble over themselves trying to come. This is languid and personal and vulnerable, more intimate than any sex Harp has had.

He could die happy in this moment with no regrets, really, because the sight of Parker taking charge and leaning in is beyond comparison. Harp's free hand joins Parker’s in roaming his torso, teasing his skin, and finally in stroking him through the soft material of his jock strap.

Parker has momentum going, fucking himself back onto Harp's hand. Harp uses his whole body to rock up, to grind back into Parker and press his fingers into him, stroking him just so and knowing he's hit his target when Parker makes a noise that sounds like he's coming apart.

“Harp—Harp—” Parker gasps.

“Keep going, baby,” Harp says, his voice hoarse and raw with need, and Parker seems all too happy to oblige. Harp’s hand is still on Parker’s cock, working him softly through the material of his jockstrap, and Parker’s head falls back, exposing his neck. He moans again.

They're at a precipice Harp fears—where sex becomes a little less gentle, a little more frenzied, louder and simply more. Some piece of him has been waiting to check out, to feel sleazy, to go back to feeling the way he did when he'd been nothing but a hookup for people.

But it doesn't happen. He is consumed instead by Parker, the muscular way he writhes and throws his head back, looking every inch like an obscene classical statue—and Harp wants him. He is present, and he could come now, he thinks, without losing himself, without connecting to the part of his past he's ready to leave behind.

Harp puts a hand possessively but gently against the front of Parker's throat.

"Not now—not tonight—but soon, baby... I want to fuck you just like this," Harp says, imagining the scene with nothing between them, allowing himself to hip up against Parker as he presses his fingers into him, his own hard-on throbbing.

"Oh my God," Parker breathes out, and his hips stutter, falling into a faster cadence, desperate. "Oh God, I just—"

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