Page 101 of Under Construction

Their routines merged quietly, naturally, until they found themselves coordinating schedules just to end up here together. Neither mentioned it, allowing this ritual to grow between them as naturally as breathing.

The bathroom might be basic, but at least the shower is roomy enough for two.

Dennis’s upgrade to the showerhead—originally a peace offering after he and Chris nearly came to blows over load-bearing capacity in the east wing—turns the water from a trickle to a satisfying spray. On warm nights like this, it’s a blessing to have this flow of refreshing, cool water wash away the day's exhaustion.

The shower runs hot at first—summer sun baking the rooftop tanks all day—so Chris lets it flow while they strip. Their clothes land in the hamper that Dennis has started taking home for housekeeping to deal with. Might as well get some use out of the service he pays for, even if his apartment's beginning to feel more like a very expensive closet.

By the time they step under the spray, the water runs pleasantly cool against heated skin.

While the water streams down Chris’s body, Dennis traces its path with his fingertips, following the grooves between carefully sculpted muscles. He admires the dedication here—toimprovement, to beauty, to maintaining the strength that draws his touch.

Their mouths meet from muscle memory. Eyes fall shut as initial demand softens into something deeper. Their heads tilt, seeking better angles, wanting to taste more, feel more.

The powerful spray drums around them as Dennis’s knee slides between Chris's thighs, needing to somehow feel Chris closer, closer,closer. His fingers map the shifting muscle beneath wet skin—all that power and stamina that could match him in any fight.

It’s the normalest thing in the world when their hips start rolling lazily, half-hard cocks brushing together without urgency. Just sensation. Just this moment of shared arousal while the water washes away everything else.

This time belongs to them—to exploring mouths and skin and senses until their minds empty of work stress and hiding what they are to each other and all the what-ifs of how this ends. Until thoughts of this-means-nothing and we're-just-convenient fade beneath the solid reality of touch and taste and scent. The shower's become Dennis’s sanctuary, the physical proof that today is done, that Chris is here with him now, and tonight holds so much more.

Dennis’s secret relief is never having to ask for this closeness, never being the only one craving it.

When they're dizzy from kissing and squeaky clean, Chris delivers a final peck and playful ass grab before stepping out, giving Dennis his privacy.

It's ridiculous being shy now, after everything they've done, but some habits die hard.

Dennis uses this time methodically—preparing himself in ways he'd never imagined before Chris. His body is all hard angles and muscle. No softness, no curves, nothing delicate about it. Yet Chris can’t seem to keep his hands off him.

Dennis studies his reflection sometimes, trying to see what Chris sees, but finds only the same planes and edges as Chris’s own body. Offering no insight as to why he finds himself just as helplessly drawn to Chris’s form. This only deepens the mystery.

Maybe it’s just Chris, then. Just them.

No point dwelling on it. He focuses instead on getting himself clean and ready for those addictive fingers, approaching the task with his usual precision.

Dennis knows it’s his cue to finish up when Chris appears with clothes for him.

Sometimes it's just boxers, sometimes a shirt on cooler nights, sometimes shorts—whatever fits the weather. Not that they ever stay on very long anyway.

Tonight, a breeze has picked up. A welcome change from the afternoon heat that had everyone on site dripping and irritable. The temperature shift means they might actually need blankets.

Chris confirms this by stepping into the bathroom with long flannel pants on. He sets a fresh towel and something unfamiliar on the counter.

Dennis squints through the scratched shower partition, making out what appears to be matching flannel, but several shades brighter than Chris's sleepwear.

Dennis shuts off the water. Steps out and onto the bath mat, reaching for his towel.

Chris is already at the sink brushing his teeth, eyes meeting Dennis’s in the mirror as he dries off.

After hanging his towel next to Chris's damp one, Dennis joins him at the counter.

"What's this?" He picks up the blue pajama shirt, shaking it out.

"Just the top half of these," Chris says, his voice muffled and bubbly around the toothbrush. "Never worn it, but the fabric's nice. Think you'll like it."

His free hand finds Dennis’s butt, giving it absent, leisurely squeezes while he watches himself brush.

Dennis glances around. "No underwear tonight?"

He pulls on the shirt. Chris's broader shoulders make the sleeves fall past his fingers, but the hem barely covers his ass. The deep V shows off his pale skin, the column of his throat, the definition of his chest.

---