Page 119 of Untouchable

“Last night was pretty fun.”

Could Parker honestly think that, in the light of day? Seeing Harp vulnerable and weird, just talking him down from it and then moving on like it's nothing... And still not feeling at least a little odd about the night before?

"Yeah it was... really something, Parker." He doesn't know what to say. It was earth-shaking and life-changing but you're not supposed to say any of that out loud, and you're certainly not supposed to be thinking it the morning after. Not yet.

* * *

Harp,of course, is playing his cards close to his chest. Parker’s not sure why he’s surprised by this. If he had his way, he’d get on his knees right there in the middle of the kitchen and blow Harp, but he tries to remind himself that Harp is still coming down from a panic attack, and now is not the time for Parker to be selfish.

He stirs his cereal as he bites his lip. The milk is turning a rather alarming shade of purple, and it looks delicious.

“This has been… a perfect weekend,” he says softly. He wants to say more, of course. He wants to beg Harp to let him stay another night, even if the roads are clear. He wants to climb into Harp’s lap and kiss him. He wants to see Harp naked, to hear the noises Harp makes when he comes.

But he wants more than that, too. He wants to spend hours listing, in great detail, all the things he likes about Harp, all the things Harp has done that have made Parker’s heart feel sunny and full. He wants more of this—breakfasts in the soft morning light, with Bo snuffling around the kitchen looking for dropped morsels. Evenings curled up by the fire. Nights in Harp’s bed, in Harp’s arms.

He knows he’s going too fast, falling too hard, but he finds he doesn’t even want to try to stop himself. He feels safe with Harp, and it makes him brave enough—or stupid enough—to throw himself headlong into the feeling.

He glances up at Harp through his lashes.

“I—I like you a lot,” he says.

* * *

Harp tumblesthrough a hundred emotions at once.

He's never had this with a man before—this fumbling sweetness, this gentle reaching into the space between two consciousnesses. Parker beckons there like a first love, like a last love, like the type of love one feels when one has never been hurt before because one doesn't know any better.

Harp has done this dance before with Cherry, with harmless crushes—but never with someone like Parker, never a man, never someone so out of his league, never someone who surprises and delights him at every turn. Harp is not only a virgin all over again but he's a kid on a playground, he's a shy middle schooler, he's a grinning senior.

I could start from scratch with him.

Abrupt fear swells in his chest for whatever Parker is thinking, whatever he's inflating this into—not because Harp doesn't want more, but because when someone has expectations of him, it's only a matter of time until they're disappointed.

He feels gratitude too, though, that he'd stuck to his guns, hadn't let Parker do anything to Harp at least. Regretting getting a handjob up on Blowjob Mountain was definitely better, Harp thinks, than regretting blowing the king of Blowjob Mountain.

Thoughts bleed into each other and Harp's mind drifts.

* * *

As Harp sits there,the affection behind Parker’s words seems to float in the air between them, slowly drying out and crumbling into dust as the silence is drawn out longer and longer.

His throat is starting to tighten as worry sets in, and he abandons his spoon and the soggy cereal and the purple-tinted milk.

“S-sorry,” he says. “I—I know I come on a little strong. Fuck. Sorry. I—uh—”

He’s red-faced and stammering now, and he’s sure it’s a singularly unappealing look. He can hear Cole’s voice in the back of his head. Christ, Parker, you’re not cute when you’re acting desperate.

He can hear his parents, too, telling him to calm down, sit down, quiet down, to be less like himself and more like his sisters. Telling him he moves too fast, and it’ll be his fault if he gets hurt. He even hears Mindy, kind but practical, warning him to protect his heart, because, most of the time, others won’t.

"Parker—It's not that at all—" Harp says quickly.

Parker swallows hard and forces a grin. He’s not going to let himself do this, not going to work himself into such a frenzy that suddenly it becomes Harp’s responsibility to comfort him. It hurts, he thinks. It hurts, it hurts, but Harp doesn’t need to know that.

“It’s fine,” he says, and even he can tell he’s not particularly convincing. “Don’t—don’t worry about it. I… I know I’m overeager. You don’t have to…” He trails off.

Last night, things had seemed so clear and easy, had seemed almost fated. Everything Harp had whispered to him had been exactly what Parker had needed to hear, had him feeling safe and wanted.

But now it’s as though the memory is being played back through a staticky radio, and the words and reassurances are patchy and faded. He can’t get them back.

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