Page 6 of Untouchable

Parker bites back a sigh. Part of him wants to double down and make Harp admit to the pain that Parker knows he is feeling, but that’s not going to accomplish anything.

“Okay then,” he says, slipping back into his therapist voice. “Well, you’ve definitely got some mobility issues. I’m not surprised there’s pain. Let’s go ahead and start with some work on the glutes to loosen up the hips. I’ll be checking in with you about pressure, but at any time if you want less or more, just let me know. Go ahead and turn over.”

"Oh, we're going to—okay guess we're... getting right into it."

* * *

The moment Harpstarts to move, he wants to die. Is he supposed to stand up in his gross sweaty boxer briefs and turn around and—then what, get on his hands and knees and then lower his bulk down? Or is he supposed to just sort of spin in place under the blanket like a sweaty gas station hot dog?

He ends up doing a combination of the two, his body too big and too weird in a bedroom that has never felt crowded before this minute, his legs tangling in the sheet.

“Perfect,” Parker says, adjusting the sheet so it’s laying flat. “I’m going to start by undraping your leg.” He places the blade of his hand against Harp’s upper thigh so Harp can feel where the sheet will be removed to. In one quick, neat motion, Parker twists the sheet and tucks it under Harp’s leg.

Before Harp has time to protest, he feels the coolness of air on a part of his body that wasn't exposed before. Is my entire ass out right now or what? And what happened to my fucking underwear?

He shifts his weight and finds that Parker has somehow tucked the sheet in around his hip so that his underwear was also tucked up.

There can't possibly be as much of his ass exposed as it feels. That can't be real.

* * *

Harp is clearly stillon edge. Parker makes an executive decision then—he will keep moving forward, and hopefully within a few minutes, the client will begin to relax. He’s not concerned—the first time he works with someone can sometimes be awkward, but it fades quickly once he begins to work.

Parker slicks his hands with oil, rubbing them together quickly to warm them. This is one of his favorite parts of a session, when he can sink into the rhythm of whatever therapy he’s providing, a connection growing between his mind and the body of another person, by way of his hands. He loves seeking out the problem, literally kneading and pulling the tension and pain out of a person. It’s satisfying.

He gets to work, warming up the muscles of the client’s entire leg, from calf all the way up to the glute in long, firm strokes. His legs are covered with thick, coarse hair, and it suits his mountain man demeanor. There’s a lot of tension here, and Parker knows it’s going to take a very long time—months or more—to see even minimal progress.

* * *

Just lyingfacedown on the stiff table would be enough to have Harp hurting. He hates sitting still for any period of time, really, because once he's been up for a few hours, stiffness and pain creep in from every direction. So even with his head cradled and his posture neutral, Harp would be uncomfortable here.

But as Parker's slow warmup strokes become more insistent, pressing deeper, each new movement brings agony.

He can almost remember what it was like to be touched by someone other than an EMT, a nurse, a surgeon—someone who cared about him or a friend just comfortable enough for contact. But it was nothing like this.

The strokes are almost cruel. Harp sets up hard limits of pain in his mind where he promises himself that he'll speak up.

But he's already been such an ass, he can’t imagine admitting that it hurts now.

* * *

The client’smuscles might technically be warmed up, but the client himself is far from relaxed. Parker’s excited about this treatment, but he reminds himself not to get too far ahead of himself.

“How’s the pressure?” he asks gently.

"It's uh—mhm," Harp mumbles.

“Okay,” Parker says, nodding to himself. He falls back into the rhythm of it. “Harp, I’m going to do a little deep tissue work right through here.” Again, he taps the blade of his hand against the client’s hip so he can feel where Parker will be working. “It’s going to be a little uncomfortable, so just keep breathing.”

Harp makes another garbled noise that sounds almost like “all right,” and so Parker begins to press his elbow into Harp’s hip, sliding slowly outward.

* * *

Jesus. Jesus.

What he's done so far isn't what Parker would qualify as uncomfortable?

Still, Harp's been to hell and back. If he can't take some 160-pounds-soaking-wet college kid rubbing his back for half an hour, there's something really, really wrong—and it isn't going to be fixed with more massages.

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