Page 184 of Untouchable

Parkerbarely even notices the movie, which is fine by him. He’s seen it before, and it really is a terrible movie, even by his standards. The moment is everything he needs it to be, though, just him and Harp and the evening laid out before them, glimmering like a perfectly wrapped Christmas present.

He can’t help smiling to himself as he realizes, too, that maybe this is even better than a dinner in a fancy restaurant. Because even though he doesn’t get to reach his hand across the pristine tablecloth for Harp’s, to show everyone around that he is Harp’s and Harp is his, this is much better—Harp’s flannel swaddling him, Harp’s arms around him, Harp’s chest rising and falling underneath him, the steady thud of Harp’s heart.

When the food arrives, Harp makes Parker stay in bed while he deals with it. He starts to pull on his jeans as he makes his way to the door.

"You don't have to put on pants. Hotel people know you're not wearing pants. They've seen legs before," Parker says, watching him, perched on the bed.

Harp snorts and keeps turning the garment the right side out.

"I'm going to be offended if you put pants back on. You're ruining my weekend," Parker whines.

Harp fixes him with a stare and, when Parker doesn't back down, he takes the dare.

Parker laughs as Harp crosses the living room, leaving Parker behind, and opens the door for two bewildered looking room service staff who wheel in the ridiculous amount of food Harp has ordered them on two separate tables.

"You can just leave it," Harp says. "I'll take it from here."

Harp tips them generously, and the minute the door clicks in place behind them, Parker dissolves into hysterics in the other room. Harp slowly wheels the two room service tables into their bedroom.

“Oh my god,” Parker says loudly as Harp brings the food in. “This is so much. I can’t wait to eat it all.”

As Harp goes about setting up the food, Parker scrambles to the edge of the bed and reaches out, smacking Harp lightly across the ass. When Harp whips around and looks at him sternly, Parker blinks up at him, all wide eyed innocence.

“You are a menace,” Harp says.

“Yeah, but you knew that,” Parker says with a smirk.

Harp drapes one of the cloth napkins over his forearm like a waiter and begins to remove the covers from the dishes. The first plate is the lobster tail.

"For the first course, the messieurs will enjoy the finest three-pound sea goblin, wrestled by hand at the bottom of the sea." He reveals another plate, this time scalloped potatoes. "And on the side, thin-sliced heirloom starch orbs layered with cat cheese and rare cave spices."

Parker puts his hand over his face and bursts out laughing.

“Cave spices? Catcheese?”

Harp gives him a stern look, and immediately Parker straightens up, his face going serious.

“Ah, yes,” he says, in his most hoity-toity voice, holding his pinky high as he adjusts his imaginary monocle. “The sea goblin does look quite exquisite. Indubitably.”

Harp works through the rest of their menu, coming up with bizarre explanations for the steak frites and tapas and salads, one of which he insists is shrouded in mystery.

"So... can we eat?" Parker asks after a dramatic pause.

"Mais, bien sur," Harp says an over-the-top French accent. "Bon appetit."

"Does that mean we can..."

"Yes, you can eat," Harp says, laughing. Parker doesn't even bother getting off the bed, making a plate from the corner of the bed and Harp follows suit.

"Wait, shit, did the alien go into the dog while I was talking?" Harp says, turning back to the movie once his plate is full.

"No, okay, you missed the part where we find out the alien is attracted to the archaeologist and ends up going into her cat first—"

"God, this is a good movie," Harp says, falling back onto his pillow.

"You really like it?" Parker asks, settling in next to him.

"It's absolute garbage. I love it."

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