Page 153 of Untouchable

Parker's noises seem to egg Harp on, but he's careful not to fall into a steady rhythm. He swallows deeper around Parker, taking him to the base before pulling off, stroking with his hand, and then doing the whole thing again. And again, but slower.

“Fuck,” Parker whispers. Harp keeps alternating strokes and techniques and pressures and speeds, and each one is better than the last. Parker sighs again and tries—in vain—to let himself receive affection without trying to control it or guide it or somehow reciprocate, but the next time he pulls off Parker’s cock, Parker’s hips thrust up involuntarily, chasing after the hot velvety sensation of Harp’s mouth, and Harp’s hand is immediately clamped on Parker’s hip, easing him through one slow, deep thrust. His touch is gentle but firm, and the message is unmistakable: this is what Harp wants.

Parker moans something—it’s intended to be a question, but it comes out as an incoherent little sigh.

* * *

Harp only hasto guide Parker through one more thrust before he gets the idea. Harp loves the way Parker can't seem to hold himself back, and really he's been looking forward to giving Parker a chance to take whatever he wants from Harp's mouth.

Parker stays gentle at first, and that's fine, but Harp pushes the pace if only to communicate that Parker is in no danger of breaking him. When he feels Parker's hands move to curl into his hair, Harp groans around his cock. This is exactly what he had pictured, exactly how he wants to make Parker come.

Harp’s moan, vibrating low around Parker’s cock, is all the encouragement and confirmation Parker needs. He brings his other hand to the back of Harp’s head, and Harp nods approvingly. Harp’s mouth and throat are tight around Parker’s cock, and Parker’s hips begin to move of their own accord, as though the feral need coiling inside him has taken over his body entirely. He moves faster, his thrusts hard and rhythmic, as Harp lets Parker use his mouth. Disastrous need and want coil in Harp’s belly and he has to remind himself that this is what he wants, that he can get Parker off but he’s not ready to do more.

After a moment, Parker is babbling again.

“Fuck—Harp—so good—Jesus Christ—oh fuck, fuck, fuck—”

Harp takes his quickening strokes easily, alternately relaxing and swallowing around him. He reaches forward, supporting Parker by his bare ass with both hands and guiding him as if to say again come on, I've got you.

* * *

Harp’s handsare gripping Parker’s ass, urging him on, and Parker spreads his legs apart even more, sinking further down the couch to get better leverage as he fucks up into Harp’s mouth.

“Oh god—Harp, I’m really close—oh god—” Parker gasps, and again, Harp makes an approving noise, squeezing Parker’s ass as if in answer. It makes Parker suddenly sharply aware of his hole, how despite the perfection of Harp’s mouth on his cock, he feels empty there, aching to be filled with Harp’s tongue, his fingers, his cock. He can vividly imagine Harp’s slicked finger, wide and blunt and a stretch even just like that, pressing into him, and this thought sends him over the edge—

He cries out as his entire body tenses, and he comes down Harp’s throat, his fingers fisted desperately into Harp’s hair, his muscles trembling from the force of his orgasm.

* * *

Harp humsand gulps as Parker pulses, slowing down as Parker's movements become shaky. Harp breathes hard through his nose when he finally pulls off, sitting back on his haunches to draw a hand over his mouth before leaning forward, catching Parker by the waist and kissing his hip, his stomach.

Parker squirms and puffs and laughs through his nose. He's delightfully ticklish and overstimulated and Harp can't help but to draw a languid hand up the inside of Parker's thigh, up his belly, catching him finally under the chin to pull him into another kiss. Parker's eyes flutter open for just a moment before he melts again, opening to Harp.

Harp feels tired and satisfied and more turned on than he can even recall—but that's not Parker's problem. Finally, he pulls away and backs off, thinking Parker might appreciate the breathing room and sighing happily.

* * *

Parker sits up,following Harp and pulling him back in for a kiss—he can taste himself in Harp’s mouth, and it’s unexpectedly erotic, though he’s physically completely spent. He pulls Harp back down on top of him, twisting sideways so he’s laying slightly at an angle, Harp’s weight crushing him pleasantly. Harp laughs into the kiss but Parker clings to him, not letting him break the kiss. At last he pulls back, keeping his arms and legs wrapped tightly around Harp so he can’t pull away.

"What do you even... What are you doing," Harp says, his voice fond. "Do you even want your clothes? Not that I'm complaining I guess."

“Want you,” Parker mumbles, his voice slurry. “Clothes… inna min…” He buries his face against Harp’s neck.

"Oh no, you are not falling asleep out here," Harp says. "Don't let go."

Parker must only understand when Harp is halfway off the couch that Harp means to carry him. Parker laughs and protests, "Don't drop me!" but Harp just grumbles that he'd better not let go, then, and after a moment, they're tumbling onto the smooth comforter in Parker's room.

"If you want to nod off naked, you're definitely doing it in your own bed," Harp chides.

“Not sleeping…” Parker mumbles. “Just… kinda restin’ for a mo…”

Harp laughs but lays back, allowing Parker to curl up against him. Parker, eyes still closed, sticks his hand out and fumbles at the comforter. Harp takes the hint, gently shifting Parker to the side and pulling the comforter over them.

“Good,” Parker mumbles.

Harp reaches to loop an arm around Parker's waist. Parker flips to face him though, scooting forward and nestling into Harp's chest where his shirt falls open. He drapes his leg across Harp, and it’s only when he feels the ridge of Harp’s fading erection that he remembers—oh, right—Harp hasn’t gotten off yet. Parker goes from only semi-conscious to wide awake in the span of a second. When he glances up, he sees Harp’s eyes are closed, and Harp’s chest is rising and falling evenly, but he can tell from the way Harp is holding Parker to him that Harp isn’t asleep yet.

And, god, it’s amazing to see Harp here, in his bed. It’s incongruous and fated all at once, because while Harp should look out of place under the crisp white comforter, still fully dressed, with his full beard and large frame taking up most of Parker’s double bed, he just looks… perfect. Like he’s meant to be there. And suddenly Parker can hardly remember what it’s like to sleep here alone.

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