Page 176 of Untouchable

Harp frowns. "I said I've never been in a relationship with a man before," Harp clarifies. "Despite that, I'm sorry to say I've done enough with men to know what I'm doing."

“You’ve, um, had sex, right? With a guy?”

* * *

Harp nodsand searches Parker's eyes. He owes Parker more of an explanation than this, he knows—but he's not sure if Parker really wants to know all of this about him.

"I've been with a lot of men, Parker," Harp says, seriously. "Just physical, but it wasn't... infrequent. I don't know how much about all of this you really want to know. I don't have anything, but only by the grace of God because I wasn't as careful as I should've been."

Parker laughs.

“Oh my god, that’s not what I was asking—I mean, yeah, that’s good info to have, and same for me, y’know? I, uh… haven’t been with anyone since the last time I was tested. But—that’s not what I meant—”

Parker pauses, biting his lip.

“I mean, you don’t have to talk about it if it makes you uncomfortable, you know? I’m just curious. Like, you talk about it so sadly, but… you’re also, well, really good. Was it even fun for you ever?”

* * *

Parker suddenly becomes veryinterested in his cuticle, wondering if he’s overstepped some line and ruined the lovely softness of the afternoon.

"It was, but maybe not in the way that you think," Harp says after a moment.

"Sex addiction is a real thing, but set that aside for a minute. I'm not a sex addict and I never have been. But what I was doing—the infidelity, the furtive hookups—was an addiction. It was a compulsion. I was a married man addicted to men, and I was ashamed of it. So if you ask an alcoholic if he ever had fun drinking, of course he says yes. But the fun times he has because he's drunk are always going to be... bitter to remember. It was only fun while I was doing it—then I went back to hating myself. As I should have."

Parker frowns. His heart aches to hear Harp talk like this. He hates thinking about this deep well of pain, hates thinking about the darkness and the sorrow that must have surrounded Harp for years and years and years. He hates thinking about Harp being unable to stop himself from hurting a woman he cared about deeply, his best friend. Parker feels a sense of helplessness, too, of wishing that somehow he could go back and shield Harp, or take away even the smallest bit of his pain and shame, but he knows he can’t.

He sets his champagne flute down as he stands up and crosses to Harp, climbing into his lap once more. Instead of straddling him, though, he simply curls up with Harp, wedged in the comfortable chair, and puts his arms around Harp’s neck, resting his head on Harp’s shoulder.

“Oh, Harp,” he says softly. “I wish you’d forgive yourself. I know you think you don’t deserve it, but you do. You’re the best person I’ve ever known. Not because you haven’t done anything bad. But… not a lot of people care about the harm they do to other people. But you do. You care about the right things.”

"I didn't mean to take that to such a negative place," Harp says quickly. He strokes a hand across the downy hair on Parker's upper thighs. "I want this to be a good weekend. You deserve some fun after what happened with your car."

Parker grins and kisses Harp on the cheek.

“Uh, I’m having plenty of fun,” he says. He’s quiet for a moment, just enjoying the feel of Harp’s hands on him. “You know, you’re doing that thing again. Where you answer me but then it’s kind of… a non-answer that sounds like an answer but then later I’m like… wait a second.”

He glances up at Harp and sees Harp’s brow knitted.

“And if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay, but… sometimes you give me… your analysis of an experience rather than the experience itself—fuck, I dunno if that makes any sense. I mean, I was literally just asking, hey, have you ever, like, I dunno, made out with a guy from your soccer team in the back of the 1997 Dodge Neon that used to be his brother’s in the parking lot of your school after practice one evening? Or, you know, something like that.”

Parker pauses and licks his lips.

“And if you don’t want to tell me that stuff, or if it feels really bad to, that’s fine. Tell me that and I won’t ask. But, y’know, I like learning about you. I like collecting all these… facts about you. And I know you’re… not proud of some of the stuff in your past but… you can still talk about it if you want to. I’m not going to think you’re a terrible person or something if you’re not beating yourself up every two seconds each time you talk about something from a while ago.”

* * *

Harp kissesParker and it's chaste and it's a thank you without saying the words.

Because he knows that this is exactly what he's been doing. It's simply what he does and for Parker to pay enough attention to notice it makes him feel seen in a way that, for once, isn't terrifying.

"I don't mind telling you. I just don't know how to talk about myself. And you don't make me ashamed of it, which is how I'm used to framing it," Harp says, slowly. "I didn't kiss a man until I was six years older than you are now. There's never been anything gentle and patient about it for me. Or intimate, really. And even while it was happening—even while I was enjoying it—I went to some other spot in my mind. Like somebody else was piloting my body and making me make these bad choices."

He watches his hand as it moves across the planes of Parker's body—as he moves his hand, present in his own body. This sort of casual intimacy is what he's never had. He's never sat with a man naked on his lap, just talking.

"When I'm with you, sometimes it's a struggle not to do that again. It's not because of you—what we have is so different. It's just the movements. My cock in someone else's hand, or a man moaning in my ear... Even when it's you, I feel like I'm just a breath away from going back. Does any of that make sense?"

* * *

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