Page 247 of Untouchable

Parker, who by now has managed to get them both most of the way naked and is currently straddling Harp, sits back and smiles down at him.

“I’ll be okay. We’ll go slow, okay? And I’ll tell you if I need to stop. I mean, unless you don’t want—”

"I didn't say I don't want to," Harp growls, steadying Parker by the waist and hipping up. "I just don't want to hurt you."

* * *

The thingsHarp feels as he follows Parker hand-in-hand to bed are dangerous. It's intoxicating and frightening that something could alleviate all of his pain, all of his sorrows so effectively.

It can't stay like this forever, Harp reminds himself.

Instead of feeling caution at the reminder, though, it simply makes Harp throw himself headlong into the pleasure of the moment, the enveloping warmth and safety of time with Parker.

“Well then,” Parker says, leaning down so his lips brush Harp’s ear. “What are you waiting for?”

Harp laughs softly and maneuvers them over so that Parker is on his belly on the bed, thankful immediately that he'd built his own sturdy bedframe as the big wooden thing remains silent and inert.

Parker moans as Harp drags his last layer of clothing off, kissing down his spine.

"It was hard not to think about doing this," Harp says, gently spreading Parker and kissing against his hole, "after you mentioned how sensitive you were."

“Oh—goddamn—” Parker moans. Maybe he is still a little sore, but that makes it better somehow, kicking Harp’s arousal into high gear—thinking about Parker’s sensitive, overstimulated skin—as Harp slowly and thoroughly fucks him with his tongue. Soon Parker is grinding against the bed and gasping, biting down on a pillow to keep from making noise.

The thought almost makes Harp laugh—if Gil didn’t like Parker before, he definitely wouldn’t like him after hearing Parker’s sex moans.

Harp takes his time with prep, reminding Parker at every step that he's promised to be quiet. It adds an unexpectedly gentle element to the entire process with afternoon light filtering in through the blinds, making the sight of Harp's fingers fucking Parker open look that much more surreal. Instead of frantic, urgent sounds, there are only the sounds of their breathing, Parker's soft sighs.

"Are you ready?" Harp asks, finally, after Parker has begun to roll his hips against the bed with more insistence.

“Yeah—fuck, Harp, I need you—” Parker gasps.

“How do you—” Harp starts, and Parker rolls over, pulling him down for a kiss.

“Wanna see your face,” he whispers.

Harp presses in, slow and sweet, slipping his lips against Parker's jaw as he does it. "God, it's so good," he whispers, going slow, loving the way Parker goes pliant under him, the way he urges Harp forward until their hips are fitted together.

* * *

Parker lovesthe way Harp is so, so gentle with him, and when Harp is buried inside him, he pulls Harp down into a slow, deep kiss. When they break for air, they are still for a moment, their foreheads pressed together, utterly lost in one another, as intertwined as two people can be.

I love you, I love you, Parker thinks over and over. Even now the words are flimsy, nothing compared to the well of emotion fizzing in his chest like champagne, but they are an anchor for Parker, a kind of prayer he can cling to as Harp rolls his hips in slow, deep thrusts that make Parker’s mind short-circuit with pleasure.

It’s everything he needs, the gentle sun-on-snow light of the afternoon, the sheets soft and warm around them, and Harp’s lips on his neck, moaning Parker’s name against his skin as they come. By the time Harp rolls off of him and gently cleans them up, the morning feels far, far away.

“Merry Christmas,” Parker mumbles as he nestles into Harp’s arms, drifting in and out of light, cotton-soft dreams.

* * *

Harp can't tell immediatelyfrom the angle of the light when he wakes how long they slept, but Bo is barking downstairs and it sounds like something has crashed in the kitchen.

"I guess that means it's dinnertime," Harp mumbles into Parker's hair. "You don't have to come down yet, if you don't want but I should spend some time with Gil where I'm not about to strangle him for being an ass to you, probably."

“I’ll be down ‘n a bit,” Parker says into the pillow. When he feels the mattress shift as Harp sits up, he manages to pry one eye open.

“Harp,” he says, reaching out his hand to rest it on Harp’s forearm. Harp turns to look at him.

“What is it, baby?”

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