Page 262 of Untouchable

"Guess you gotta chug it then, bro," Gil says, sounding like a sports announcer.

Parker throws the drink back in one long, uncomfortable swallow, then wipes his mouth, shuddering. It’s truly vile, sweet in all the wrong ways like rot.

“That was… so gross,” Parker says with a grin. He shakes his head as though that will clear the taste from his mouth. “What was even in that? It kind of tasted like… pickled cotton candy. Is that what’s cool in Portland? Remind me not to bar hop when I go there.”

Harp barks a laugh.

“It’s the coolest thing in Portland,” Gil said. “Most people don’t even get a chance to try it because they can’t get off the waitlist.”

Parker snorts.

“I don’t believe that,” he says with a grin. He shudders once more. “Oh god, I need some water. No offense, Gil.”

The alcohol is already hitting Parker, and he realizes he hasn’t eaten since breakfast. His body feels loose and easy, and he’s looking forward to the night.

* * *

Harp wondersif he should intervene now and tell Gil to quit the act.

But this is what he wants, right? This is what he'd asked Gil for—to just go with the flow.

Maybe if Parker feels more comfortable—even with Gil acting like a total ass—he'll show more of himself to Gil.

Or maybe Parker mirrors whatever someone shows him. Maybe Parker is only deep with you because you're deep with him. Maybe he'll be shallow with Gil because Gil is being shallow to bait him.

And then, something more insidious asks: Are you already making excuses for Parker?

That's terrifying. There's no way he's been so wrong about Parker.

Still, Harp needs to do something to stop this buzzing that's now occupying most of his mind—and all he can think of is smoking or drinking the first thing he can get his hands on.

Harp nurses a whiskey on the rocks while Gil and Parker regroup and get ready to go. Something in his chest sinks when Parker comes down the stairs with a bag on his shoulder.

"You're... ah, shit. I guess it is Tuesday," Harp says. His heart has fallen to the soles of his shoes.

"Yeah," Parker says sadly. "Back to the grind bright and early tomorrow. I figure. Gil can drop me off after dinner?"

"Of course," Harp says, drawing Parker into a hug. "I feel like I got goddamned robbed. Hey, would you mind taking a look at Gil’s wrist? He’s been having issues with it—I know this is work for you, but I was thinking that—”

“I’d love to,” Parker interrupts, grinning broadly. Gil is giving Harp an absolutely lethal look, which Harp ignores. “What’s the issue?”

It’s almost funny to see them interact, Parker blithely unaware of Gil’s barely disguised irritation as Gil fills him in on the problem. Parker grabs Gil’s wrist with such confidence Harp can see Gil is taken aback, and Parker immediately sets to work, his fingers kneading at Gil’s wrist and hand and forearm with precision.

“Hm, yeah, pretty tight here,” Parker says, more to himself than to Gil. “Hang on a second, this isn’t going to feel great—”

Gil opens his mouth to say something, but then Parker is digging his thumb into some spot below Gil’s elbow, massaging it with quick, brutally efficient movements. Gil yelps and jumps away, shaking his hand.

“What was that for?” Gil huffs.

“It’s therapy,” Parker says with a beatific smile. “Roll your wrist. See how it feels.”

Gil glares at Harp as he does so, but then he looks surprised.

“Holy shit,” Gil says, almost in spite of himself. “That… worked.”

Parker grins.

“Um… thanks, I guess,” Gil says, his tone rather begrudging. He disappears for a moment and Harp pulls Parker in for a kiss.

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