Page 97 of Untouchable

"Because I want to do a whole lot more than just fucking. I think you... know that."

Parker crosses his arms over his chest and cocks his eyebrow.

“Um, look, I know you think I’m the boy next door or something but I’m pretty experienced.”

"Jesus Christ," Harp breathes out, trying not to laugh, knowing that it'll only piss Parker off and it's not fair.

But it's so fucking cute.

"My darling, darling Parker," he says, making sure he sounds fond and not condescending. "That's not what I mean. I care about you more than I care about... sex with you."

Getting the words out are like pulling teeth.

* * *

Parker chewson his lip as he mulls this over, trying to play it cool.

“Okay,” he says at last. He grins. “I—I think I can manage taking it slow. I mean, my impulse control isn’t… the best, but I’ll try.”

I care about you.

Harp’s words make Parker’s insides turn warm and sweet, like caramel. Sex has always been the way Parker had expressed affection with past partners, and vice versa. It’s strange, now, to think that not having sex might be a way to do that, too.

And, Parker realizes, it’s a lovely, novel feeling—to be wanted for something more than his body, than his looks.

"I don't want to do anything to ruin being your friend," Harp says. "Everything that's happened in the last day—it's great, don't get me wrong. It's perfect. But being your friend is something I worked for—you worked for—and we shouldn't fuck that up by rushing into a quick... by sleeping together before you've had time to think about this. Away from me."

And at last, everything clicks into place. Parker can’t imagine a world where he’d want anything less, but suddenly, Harp’s reluctance is understandable—because Parker knows exactly what it feels like when he switches places mentally. The thought of losing Harp in his life—Harp in any capacity, as a friend, as a lover—is awful.

He picks at the frayed hem of the flannel.

“Okay,” he says thoughtfully. “So, um, maybe… maybe we could… talk about… how slow you want to go? Like, I mean, I’m fine with that, but… if you don’t want to do anything else tonight, I should probably, like, go take a very cold shower or something—”

Or jerk off for ten million hours,Parker thinks.

"I want to kiss you," Harp says quickly. "I think I could do that without hating myself. If you'll let me."

Parker grins.

“Let you?” he laughs. “I’m… definitely up for kissing. Believe me. But… no more?”

He tries to keep his voice level—he knows he sounds a little pathetic, some oversexed kid begging to get off, but he really does intend for the question to come across… maturely. To show Harp he really is trying to respect these boundaries.

"Trust me," Harp says, dragging a hand down the front of his pants. "I want more. But unless your dick's going to fall off before Christmas, I also want to take my time."

Parker licks his lips as a pleasurable shudder rolls through his body. He likes the prospect of this—he likes the idea of potential. Of a future.

He begins to button his flannel back up.

“I can work with that,” he says. “But, um, we… should… probably… not touch for a while. I need to, um, y’know. Calm down a bit.”

* * *

Harp snorts.It's no use trying to hide his hard-on at this point so he rolls his eyes and says, "Yeah, I hear that," while adjusting himself.

He's already getting hard just thinking about kissing Parker again. You're such a disaster.

It's still so novel to be wanted by Parker that every reminder of it—every piece of proof—is thrilling.

---