Page 149 of Untouchable

Parker ducks his head, leaning in to present the smooth skin of his neck to Harp, hoping Harp will take the hint and drive Parker crazy the way he had their first time together.

Harp starts just behind Parker's ear and makes his way down slowly, taking his time in a way he never has before.

Parker finds himself waging the same internal war as before—when he’s only focused on the sensation of Harp’s lips on his skin, he’s immediately driven mad wanting more, wanting to go further, wanting to be covered in nothing but a thin sheen of sweat with Harp on top of him.

Slow and steady,he thinks. He brings his awareness to his other senses, to the ragged hitch of Harp’s breath, to how soft and worn the flannel of Harp’s shirt is underneath Parker’s grasp.

Parker wonders if it will always be like this, but he knows it’s the newness that is so overwhelming. He’s not quite sure if he could go through life becoming this fucked out every time Harp laid a hand on him.

* * *

He hadn't thoughtabout it, but now that he's here with Parker in his lap, Harp realizes how different this is. He's not afraid that Parker will wake up in a haze of regret, not uncertain about whether or not what he's doing is right. These kisses aren't stolen but given willingly—the foundation for more.

And as Harp trails kisses and attention down Parker's throat, as Parker shifts his weight and whines, Harp wants to be ready for more than this.

There's something transcendent this time because Harp is letting go, and Parker is letting him. It's safe to be himself here, to be unguarded. Parker knows most of the important ugly parts of Harp now, the parts curled with potential like the tail of a scorpion, full of poison.

But Parker has chosen him anyway.

Harp moves to the place where the marks have faded on Parker's neck. They're just ghosts now and Harp breathes on the skin before he kisses it, before he dares to press his tongue against it. Parker gasps and then half-laughs at his own noise, a quiet, fond noise. Harp kisses the spot chastely before catching the skin between his teeth, applying enough pressure to hear Parker's breathing change yet again.

Finally, Harp relents and sucks the mark that he knows Parker is waiting for into his skin.

* * *

Parker makes another noise,louder and more pornographic now, as he feels the sharp bite of pressure against his skin. The sensation is the perfect complement to the firm, gentle strokes of Harp’s hands over his sides—it’s a quick, bright flare of feeling that makes Parker’s cock twitch and his hips jerk involuntarily.

“I—I like when you do that,” Parker gasps out, his voice ragged. He’s too embarrassed to say the rest of what he’s thinking out loud, though, the way Harp’s teeth make him feel small and vulnerable and exposed, at Harp’s mercy in the most perfect way, how it seems to unlock something primal sleeping deep within him, something feral uncoiling which no other person has managed to awaken before this.

"Yeah?" Harp breathes out.

Harp tugs Parker's sweater open, stretching its collar to move a few inches lower on Parker's neck. Parker gasps but doesn’t protest.

Harp nuzzles into a spot and repeats himself slowly, alternately worrying the skin between his teeth and giving it attention with his lips, his tongue. Parker gasps and grinds against Harp lightly, unable to control himself. Harp moans against his skin.

“Yeah,” Parker gasps. Parker whines again as Harp continues to worry the spot where Parker’s neck meets his shoulder. Harp’s slightly rougher handling of him is doing nothing to help Parker go slowly. His whole body is alight—he wants to rut against Harp until Harp throws him down on the carpet and fucks him until Parker has rug-burn on his hands and knees. The vision makes Parker shiver with pleasure. He’s never been into rough sex like that, but, then again, he’s never been with someone like Harp, who makes him feel safe and cherished and protected even as he’s leaving a trail of bruises along Parker’s shoulder.

“I want—” he starts, then stops himself.

“Tell me, baby,” Harp whispers against his collarbone when he realizes Parker isn’t planning on finishing. Parker can’t help grinding himself against Harp again, eyes fluttering as the friction sends a rough wave of pleasure rolling through his body.

I want you,he thinks. I want you to take me, to take everything from me and leave nothing behind. I want whatever you’ll give me.

Instead, he breathes out one word in a high, pleading whisper.

“Please,” he gasps.

* * *

The word would've been enoughto bring Harp to his knees if they'd been standing. He groans and moves, grabbing Parker's sweater by the hem and dragging it up, quick and firm so that Parker doesn't have a chance to get tangled in it.

Parker looks at him, astonished, goldfishing a little. Harp leans in to kiss his jaw, dragging his hands over the newly exposed skin, appreciating how narrow Parker feels between his hands, how smooth he is all over.

He wants Parker to feel that way again—helpless against pleasure in the hands of someone he can trust. He wants to get Parker off again, he realizes abruptly. But he'll take his time.

* * *

Parker is a little alarmed,but mostly delighted, that ripping off his clothing seems to be Harp’s idea of “slow.” It’s perfect and awful all at once to be shirtless—perfect, because he’s two layers closer to feeling Harp’s skin against his own, and awful because his senses are heightened, and he’s hyper-aware of every inch of his exposed chest. He loves the possessive way Harp’s hands rake over his skin, like Harp is memorizing him, like Harp is claiminghim.

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