Page 86 of Untouchable

Parker shrieks as Harp pivots, doubling over and throwing his arms around Harp’s head for security, nearly launching his phone off into the snow. Before he can fall, though, Harp is crouching down, and Parker inelegantly rolls into the snow.

"Hey, Christ, I'm sorry, c'mere," Harp says, reaching down to pull Parker up out of the snow. He manages to haul Parker into a rough hug. Parker puts his arms around Harp’s middle, snaking inside of Harp's jacket. Harp squeezes him hard around the shoulders.

Harp feels drunk off the adrenaline, off the fact that he freaked Parker out and Parker still isn't pulling away. He hugs Parker even tighter.

“You okay?” he asks when Parker shudders softly.

* * *

“Y-yeah,”Parker says shakily. “I’m good—just a little surprised—” He doesn’t want to admit that his heart is still in his throat. He lets out a breath and rests his head on Harp’s chest as his heart rate steadies.

“I can’t believe that worked,” he laughs, his voice muffled by Harp’s sweater.

Time seems to slow, and as Harp’s arms tighten around Parker, Parker relaxes even more of his weight against Harp. He’s cocooned by Harp’s bulk and Harp’s warmth, and a distant part of his mind wonders how he could have ever felt unsafe, because he’s certain in that moment that Harp would move mountains if that’s what was necessary to keep Parker safe. Parker fists his hands in Harp’s sweater, crushing them together, before he quite realizes what he’s doing.

And Harp doesn’t pull away.

Harp doesn’t pull away.

Even though Parker’s crush is so massive it’s visible from space. Even though Parker has managed to offend Harp so many times he’s lost count. Even though Parker spent the previous evening sobbing on Harp’s couch. Even though Harp is smart, funny, intellectual, and capable, everything Parker is not.

He is the best person Parker has ever known, and, in this moment, he’s more handsome than he’s ever been, his features sharpened in the snowy, silvery moonlight, his warm eyes full of care and concern, a few errant snowflakes dusting his beard.

Parker turns his face up towards Harp, their bodies still pressed together, and his breath catches in his throat.

And suddenly Parker knows—he knows that Harp wants him too, that they were drawn to this point in time by the snow and the moon and a prowling coyote. Harp will kiss him, their mouths hot in the cold air, they will tumble together in the snow, they will finally admit to the throbbing, aching want they’ve both been ruled by—

He tilts his head back, his lips parting slightly, eyes heavy-lidded.

* * *

Parker is sogorgeous in the moonlight when he looks up at Harp that he can barely breathe.

Parker says his name once, "Harp..." and it's tender and fond and it makes Harp throb.

He releases Parker from his vice grip and steps back. Parker seems to miss a step, not realizing that Harp is letting him go until there’s space between him.

"Thanks, buddy," Harp says, clapping him on the shoulder with an air of hetero masculinity that Harp instantly hates. "You probably saved some kittens. Let's head back and check the place out."

* * *

Parker nearly fallsas Harp steps back, and when Harp claps him on the arm and calls him buddy, he instantly understands.

Harp does know. And Harp, in his kind, gentle, shockingly tactful way, is telling Parker he’s not interested.

It’s like a punch to the gut, and Parker can’t quite believe he’d been so sure about something so far off base. Parker takes a step back, putting distance between them. At the very least, Harp hasn’t explicitly rejected him. The thought of having Harp’s voice bouncing around in his head, telling him softly that he doesn’t want Parker like that, is excruciating.

“Sounds good,” Parker says, his voice unsteady. He offers up a weak smile. “I’m—I’m really glad that worked.”

They trudge down from the ridge, and though the quiet between them is amicable, Parker is crushed. He should have known better—hell, he did know better, but he’d let the adrenaline and the cold night air and the moonlight get the best of him, and he’d dared to hope.

At the very least, Harp had been kind about it, hadn’t ridiculed Parker for thinking there was even a shred of a chance Harp might be interested in some over-eager, under-educated jock the same age as his little brother.

But somehow, that makes it worse, because it just makes him like Harp even more. He’s so good, so thoughtful, so clever.

And Parker—Parker is a fucking idiot.

* * *

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