Page 99 of Untouchable

“What’s wrong, Harp?” Parker asks. He figures, at this point, there’s no use in not being direct.

"Nothing's wrong. I'm happy to be here with you," Harp insists.

Parker frowns.

“I know you better than that,” he says. “It’s literally my job to read body language. What’s up?”

"Jesus, am I that obvious?" Harp asks. His leg begins to bounce nervously. "I'm just anxious."

Parker reaches out and puts his hand on Harp’s forearm.

“Why?”

"You're... you. And I'm me. I guess I'm just—... I don't know. This is newer for me than I think I realized. I'm a mess," Harp says, laughing.

Parker knows he told himself to take it slow.

He knows he said he would let Harp take the lead.

He knows he’s being pushy as all hell.

But Harp looks so… cute right now, lost and gentle and unsure, and Parker can’t help it. He finds himself crawling into Harp’s lap, straddling him a little awkwardly as he loops his arms around Harp’s neck. Harp’s eyes go wide as Parker plants a soft, chaste kiss on his lips.

“Why won’t you believe me when I say I like you?” he says.

Harp shivers and brings his hands to Parker’s waist.

"Because someone like you liking someone like me is like, the most unlikely thing to, like, ever happen," Harp says in a joking tone.

Parker’s brow knits as he tries to untangle what he’s feeling. There’s a thread of frustration there, and he’s not proud of it. But there’s also sympathy, because he too knows what it’s like to think your partner is out of your league, to constantly be scared of losing them. There’s fear as well, that maybe this is insurmountable, that maybe Harp won’t let himself be loved.

But most of all, Parker feels a deep, gentle determination. When he’d first met Harp, the man had been ornery, standoffish, and rude. And now, here they are, Parker on his lap, his hands resting gently on Parker’s hips. They’d only gotten to this point because Parker had been patient. Had seen something more. Had been willing to stick around to learn the real Harp.

And Harp, in turn, had done the same for Parker.

“What would help you relax right now?” Parker asks softly. If his body had its way, he’d be grinding against Harp right now, begging to feel Harp’s rough hands roving over his bare skin. But—and Parker gets it now, really gets it—he cares more about Harp than he cares about sex with Harp.

So he remains still, his voice gentle.

* * *

Harp isthankful that Parker doesn't push things any further. He feels extraordinarily weak with Parker in his lap in this moment, and there's nothing Parker could ask for within his power that Harp wouldn't move mountains to give him.

"A handle of vodka or about half a pound of chronic," Harp says, laughing softly. "I'm going to have to be heavily sedated to exist around you, like this, I think."

“Okay,” Parker says. He extends his hand down to Harp, who takes it almost instinctively, and Harp allows himself to be pulled up to standing.

“So do it,” Parker says with a smile. “I mean, like, probably not an entire handle, but like, do… whatever you normally do. I mean, like, I probably should be advocating yoga or some shit, but now’s not exactly the time to be implementing new coping mechanisms, you know?”

Harp eyes him warily. This feels like a trap but... well, duh. Parker is obviously right.

He doesn't want to drink any more. It would feel bad to be drunk off his ass and practically browning out, in case something does happen between them. But that leaves...

"Would it annoy you if I rolled a joint?" Harp asks. "It might... help. I don't know."

Parker snorts.

“Of course not. Seriously, just—do whatever you need to do. Like, fuck, if it’ll make you feel better, we can both just… go to bed—in separate bedrooms—and sleep on it.”

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