Page 200 of Untouchable

“That meant a lot to me,” Parker says after a moment, his voice so soft he barely hears it.

Harp puffs a laugh.

"Letting you what? Give me feedback on how self deprecating I am?"

“Stop that,” Parker says, swatting Harp’s arm lightly. “I’m being serious. For letting me… go down on you.”

Harp laughs again. "Believe me, it was my pleasure. It was incredible."

Parker bites his lip, trying to articulate himself better.

“It’s not just about the sex,” he says. “I mean. Well. It is. But—while we were lying there, after, I had this thought that… I’d kind of been freaked out, without even realizing it. That things were uneven. Because you’d done so much for me and didn’t want me to do anything for you. And, in my world, y’know, that doesn’t end well. It always ends up with someone calling in their favors in a way that… ends up being bad for you.”

He lets a little bit more of his weight fall back on Harp, as if he’s letting go of the fear mentally andphysically.

“Not that… not that I ever really think you’d do that, but… it’s just the way things have always been. And it’s not—I don’t want you to think that I had a problem with waiting or going slow or—fuck, please don’t take it that way—I just—it’s—it makes me feel good that I was able to earn your trust. And that… you were able to… let me in. That you wanted to try.”

"It doesn't feel good to take without giving," Harp says. "I get it. Even if I tell you a million times that it's not transactional and that I get as much out of getting you off as you do, there's always something that'll tell you you're taking."

Harp kisses the skin of Parker's neck gently.

"That's why I thank you. For being patient. Because you were," Harp says.

“Well, I mean, it wasn’t exactly hard for me—” Parker stops and laughs. “Er, well, it was hard but it wasn’t difficult.”

Parker starts to say something else, but he’s distracted because Harp’s hand is tracing down his stomach for Parker’s cock. Parker is hard again so quickly it’s almost comical, and he leans his head back against Harp’s shoulder, his body heavy and relaxed, sighing up through the steam as Harp lazily jerks him off. The lights are dim, Harp’s hand tight and slicked around him, and when he finally comes, he sees blue-purple sparks behind his closed eyes.

Drowsy from the heat and a post-orgasm haze, Parker allows himself to be shepherded out of the tub, where Harp towels him off so thoroughly, so tenderly, that it makes Parker’s heart hurt, before guiding him into bed. He falls asleep in Harp’s arms, a million miles away from any of his problems. His dreams are sun-soaked and soft.

In the morning, they forgo brunch at The Stewart in favor of hash browns and coffee in chipped ceramic mugs at The Red Hut, a diner that had been faithfully churning out Denver omelettes and fluffy stacks of pancakes since 1952, according to the sign.

They eat slower than usual—they’re too busy holding hands and getting lost in each other’s eyes, and every other puppy love cliche in the book. Parker doesn’t care. Parker hardly notices there’s even anyone else around—all he sees is Harp, sitting across from him, the person who’d once been a prickly, hostile stranger, who Parker had come to trust, to admire, to care for so deeply.

And, for the first time in a very long time, this doesn’t scare Parker. With Harp, there’s no undercurrent of desperation, no gut-wrenching fear of abandonment. He feels safe and happy and calm.

He deserves good things. Harp had taught him that, and now… now, Parker is finally starting to believe it.

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