Page 93 of Untouchable

It changes everything.

It’s as if all of the wanting that he’s bottled up and refused to acknowledge has just been set free, flooding every part of him.

There is such sweetness and softness in the familiarity of Parker, but it takes on a sharp edge and a hunger now as Harp’s mind begins to consider the possibility that Harp might be wanted in return—that his attraction to Parker isn’t a flaw to be hidden and a compulsion to be ignored and carefully packed away.

Harp acknowledges how much he craves Parker’s closeness, his attention, his touch. He’s ached for it without letting himself admit it—but now that he's internalizing that this impossibility is a reality, now that he’s closer to touching every part of Parker that he’d previously told himself was absolutely forbidden, Harp knows they must stop.

But he wants anything but that. Harp wants Parker's plush lips again, the taste of his mouth, the muscles under his shirt that Harp was just beginning to feel.

* * *

And,at last, Parker stops his assault on Harp as what Harp says begins to sink in.

In his haze, he’d only been thinking of the present moment, his desire for Harp’s lips on his neck, Harp’s hands on his waist, Harp’s thigh slipping between his legs to grind against him. But suddenly, Parker’s mind is bounding a hundred miles per hour into the future, imagining a life where he wants Harp, and, for some unknown reason, Harp wants him too.

And this, above all, is the most overwhelming part. Not Harp’s weight, crushing him pleasantly. Not Harp’s hand warm on his wrist. Not the pine forest, warm flannel scent of Harp. It’s the simple fact that Harp, too, envisions this being something more than a hasty, whiskey-fueled makeout on the couch.

“Okay,” Parker whispers hoarsely. “I—I don’t think I’d ever regret this, though.”

"I want to kiss you again," Harp says, his voice raw as well. "But I think we should... take a break. And I don't think we should do anything but kiss tonight."

Harp puffs out a fond laugh and shakes his head.

"Jesus, I can't believe I have you under me and this is what I'm saying."

Parker wants to push, wants to ask why, wants to demand, like a petulant child, to know why he can’t have what he wants, exactly when he wants it.

Instead, he exhales slowly, every nerve in his body going haywire.

“I guess—I guess I can—manage that,” he stammers.

* * *

Harp is relievedthat Parker isn't going to fight him on this, and he rewards him with a trail of kisses across Parker's perfect jawline before Harp kisses him deep again.

Parker whines into the kiss again, but it feels like it’s over before it’s even started.

“Hey,” he gasps. “I thought—you said—no fair.”

Pulling himself away from Parker is the single hardest thing Harp has ever had to do, and Parker catches him trying to smooth and tame the unruly hard-on threatening to tent his pants. Harp can hardly believe he doesn't have to be embarrassed by it—even though he most certainly is.

* * *

Parker doesn’t even bother avertinghis gaze, and he drinks in the sight of Harp’s dick pressing against the fabric of his clothing.

It’s fucking huge. He swallows hard—instantly he’s picturing wrapping his lips around the base, taking it deep in his throat, or straddling Harp, his hands braced against Harp’s hairy chest, eyelids fluttering as he sinks down onto it.

He realizes Harp is staring at him staring at Harp, and he shakes his head.

“Uh—I think—I think I need some water,” Parker says. He’s wearing only sweatpants, and there’s not much he can do to hide how turned on he is. He stands up, dragging his hand across his crotch almost cursorily. Harp knows, so what’s the point in pretending?

He knows, though, if he wants to have any hope of honoring Harp’s request to go slow, he needs to take a break.

Holy shit, he thinks as he walks into the kitchen, a goofy smile spreading across his face. Holy fucking shit.

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