Page 27 of Untouchable

"I'm trying to remember," Harp says, feeling like a dumbass. "I just don't really know. Can we do it again and I'll try to describe it to you better?"

* * *

Parker smiles tentatively.He’s thrilled Harp is at least attempting to respond to his questions. Maybe he hasn’t fucked things up completely irreparably.

“Not knowing, or not remembering, is a perfect answer. I think—” He pauses, trying to frame this more tactfully than he had before. “Earlier, I was—I was trying to say that, because of the amount of pain you’ve been in, and for how long, you’ve probably gotten pretty good at tuning your body out. So part of what I want to help you do is… learn to listen to your body again, you know? But… that isn’t going to be a fun process necessarily. It… it will help, though. I promise.”

He bites his lip, the last two words coming out more forcefully than he intends them to. But suddenly, he feels a fierce sort of protectiveness for his client, for this strange, prickly man who insists he isn’t lonely. Parker wants to take away all the pain that has snarled all through his body like brambles.

And then, miraculously, Harp nods.

By the time he gets started, Parker’s feeling something close to calm. His strategy is similar to what it was last time—he’s going to be as gentle and soothing as possible, to teach Harp that a hand on his body, or attention to his hip, doesn’t necessarily mean pain. And against all odds, Harp is continuing to trust Parker. Even as Parker has been busy jamming his foot into his mouth.

And so now he’s determined to do some good.

The anxiety Parker had felt dissipates as he begins to work. When he truly gets into the flow of things, Parker is just a set of hands and forearms and elbows, searching out muscles and gliding across skin on the warm—and slightly furry—geography of the client on the table. Parker and Harp have ceased to exist, and there is no barrier between them.

* * *

Harp tenses at first,waiting for it to get bad as Parker's movement reach the cluster of damage at his hip.

The pressure is light, and although it doesn't feel good, the discomfort is tolerable.

Is it pain, or am I just scared like Parker thinks?Harp wonders. He's often gotten lost in his own thoughts on topics like this. Was reality objective? Certainly sensory experience was not. Was Harp's physical pain any less real just because some of it may originate somewhere other than his hip—in his head, maybe?

He isn't sure yet, but it helps to take a step back and try to be objective.

By the time Parker moves away from the area, Harp's muscles are no longer quivering in anticipation of pain. His breaths are deep and even.

* * *

This time,Parker spends a little less time on each area of the body. During their last session, he’d noticed that Harp’s back was knotted and tense—not exactly surprising—and now Parker thinks that, at the very least, if Harp’s not ready for Parker to work on his hip, then he can at least help with his back. After kneading through some of the less tightly bound knots, he gently instructs Harp to turn over once more so he’s laying on his back. Harp’s eyes are closed, and his face looks serene, for once—Parker thinks he may be drifting in and out of sleep.

Parker plans to address Harp’s back issues from the front, and so he sets about warming up the very upper parts of Harp’s chest and pectorals. He uses firm but gentle strokes, not enough to hurt, but enough to start breaking down the tension that Harp has clearly been carrying there for god knows how long. Harp’s chest is almost comically hairy, but Parker uses enough oil that his hands slide easily as he settles into a rhythm, opening up the muscles on the front of Harp’s body.

* * *

Harp ison the edge of falling asleep when Parker's shoulder massage drifts lower—and stays lower.

He starts in on Harp's pecs, and Harp realizes as Parker begins to smooth and knead that the muscles are bound tight. He'd never thought about holding tension in his chest since it doesn't tend to hurt, but as Parker leans into the muscles, the bindings start to open up.

It feels good and bad all at once. Parker strokes deep across his right pec and Harp lets out an inadvertent grunt.

“Pressure okay?” Parker asks softly as Harp makes a noise.

Harp chuckles and shakes his head. "Yeah it's good—it's fine. It hurts but it's a good pain. Does that make sense?"

“Makes complete sense,” Parker says, smiling. “Just let me know if it’s too much. This will really help your back, but it can get intense.” He falls silent, slipping back into the rhythm of his work.

There's something so uncanny about that knife's edge of pleasure and pain that's being wrung out of Harp's muscles that he doesn't even realize what his body is doing at first.

He wants to keep moaning like a porn star because it feels so good and the pressure is perfect and—

Harp's getting hard.

His heart beats double-time at the realization. The rhythm and the pressure and the sensitivity in his chest that he's really never paid much attention to before have all come together to make his body have the absolute worst reaction possible.

For maybe thirty seconds, Harp thinks he can fight it. He goes away from his body first, just straight up astral projecting as far away as possible, entering a different goddamn universe to get away from this reality. But his body is still back on earth, and his body really likes—apparently—the steady, confident pressure tracing shapes into his chest.

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