Page 151 of Untouchable

Take whatever you want from me,his mind, his body, his heart, is urging. I’ll give it all up.

* * *

"I like it,"Harp says in between kisses against Parker's chest, "when you tell me what you like."

It's not just an idle statement. It helps, Harp realizes, to have the reassurance that what he's doing is wanted, is delivering for Parker, is hitting the target and not merely fumbling around.

The living room is just as dark as Harp's had been that night, and Harp resents the darkness. He wishes he could see more of Parker as he kisses and teases down his torso, finally reaching Parker's stomach.

"I've been thinking about kissing your stomach ever since you sent that stupid text message," Harp grumbles against his skin. "You're really an asshole when you're drunk."

“You’re more than welcome to kiss whatever you want,” Parker says innocently. Harp barks out a laugh.

“I intend on it,” he says, and his words are practically a growl. Parker stretches his arms overhead, arching his back to display himself for Harp.

“And, yeah,” Parker says, “I’d say I was sorry about that but, well, you know what happens when I drink. I get really slutty. Well, except for that one time I cried, but I was slutty right up until then.”

When Parker stretches out, long and lean, Harp can't help himself. Parker's apologies barely register now because he's leaning into Parker, pressing them together, pressing Parker deeper into the couch.

"Jesus, Parker," he groans. His brain is so thick with want that he stops thinking, licking Parker's bare skin, his smooth chest. He smells like soap and something that's so distinctly male, so specifically Parker. Harp finds himself kissing into Parker's armpit, burying his face in the hollow and simply appreciating the unrestricted access he's being given.

* * *

Parker laughs and squirms,but doesn’t pull away. The sensation is strange but pleasurable—ticklish, but somehow bizarrely intimate. He’s still not used to the way Harp touches him, as though Parker is some strange, enchanted new world laid out before Harp, there to be explored and celebrated.

And while Parker knows he’s conventionally attractive, there’s something about Harp’s focus that makes him feel lovely and radiant, and, even more remarkably, unashamed of feeling that way. He wonders if he’s somehow seeing himself through Harp’s eyes, but it seems impossible, or at least improbable, that another person would look at him and see so much light, so much potential.

But maybe it’s true.

Harp maps inch after inch of skin with intense concentration. His lips and tongue follow his hands until he's moving down the couch, kissing down the center of Parker's chest until he reaches the band of Parker's flannel pajama pants. Neither of them can ignore Parker's erection, insistent against the soft fabric.

He hooks his fingertips into the band of Parker's pants and looks up at him.

"Can I take these off?"

“Er, you can,” Parker says, blushing slightly. “But I’m not wearing anything under them.”

"That's alright with me if it's alright with you," Harp murmurs.

“Then yes,” Parker says, wriggling his hips to encourage Harp. In one fluid motion, Harp sits back and pulls Parker’s last layer of clothing off, casting them aside. He looks down at Parker, who feels flushed and exposed under Harp’s gaze. He squirms again at the strange mix of pleasure and vulnerability of being completely bare before Harp.

He realizes, too, that Harp is still entirely clothed—and while there’s something lurking deep inside Parker that thrills at this contrast, he’s also never actually seen Harp entirely naked. He reaches up and weakly tugs at the hem of Harp’s flannel.

“Do you wanna…” he says.

* * *

Harp is nearlyin a trance when Parker tugs on his shirt.

"Hm? Oh," Harp says. He unbuttons his flannel, barely conscious of his hands moving down the front of the garment. He's too wrapped up in the sight of Parker, totally naked before him. His skin is the perfect mixture of pink and cream and tan, every freckle in just the right spot. Everything about him is balanced, from the taper of his thighs to the deep V grooves on either side of his navel and for the millionth time Harp wonders how the hell he'd ever gotten so lucky.

Parker smiles up at him with perfect teeth, blushing. "What?"

"You know what," Harp says, frowning.

Parker laughs. "I really don't."

"Every inch of you is perfect," Harp groans.

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