Page 102 of Under Construction

Dennis steps back from the mirror, twisting to check the length. The fabric just skims his ass, the curves of his cheeks visible beneath the hem.

"Pretty sure you've taken everything I own." Chris deposits a blob of toothpaste onto Dennis’s toothbrush. "Got two pairs left for work unless you want us going commando tomorrow."

"Oops." Dennis accepts the toothbrush. "Housekeeper's back from leave today. I'll bring everything home tomorrow, promise."

He reaches down to cup Chris through his pants, nodding with satisfaction at finding him equally bare underneath. That’s only fair. Dennis keeps his hand there, enjoying the soft weight against his palm while he brushes.

Chris gargles then finishes up before wrapping around Dennis from behind, fresh, minty teeth finding his ear while Dennis rinses.

Now, washed up and clean, they're finally ready to unwind.

With their show finished—the last episode of the series they'd been binging together, Dennis grabs Chris’s hand and pulls him toward the balcony, scooping up the ukelele from the floor on their way out.

"Let me serenade you under the stars tonight, sweetness," Dennis winks to Chris’s groan-guffaws. "I think I've got that song memorized."

They step out into the brisk evening air, the sky just beginning to dim.

Chris settles on the tatami mat against the wall, his legs bent at the knees to cage Dennis properly. He spreads a T-shirt over one of the new outdoor cushions he’d bought for Dennis last week, and Dennis makes himself at home between Chris’s legs, bare ass protected from the rough fabric. His ankles cross as he leans back against Chris’s naked chest, fitting there like he always has.

He does a couple of experimental strums as he tunes it, keen to show off the melody Chris had first sung for him all those months ago. His fingers still stumble over half the chords, and he winces at notes that make distant cats yowl, but he's determined to get through it.

Chris's enthusiasm never wavers—"Princess, you're getting so good at this!”—and despite knowing he's butchered at least three verses, Dennis can't help grinning at the praise. He'll get there eventually.

Now the ukulele lies forgotten beside them.

Chris's arms circle Dennis under the flannel shirt, palms warm and flat on his tummy like they’re trying to cover as much skin as possible. Dennis’s soft cock nestles in the seam where his thighs press together, balls sitting round, full, and nude against the smooth muscle beneath the hem.

As lights flicker to life across the busy streets on the horizon, Chris rocks them gently side to side. Dennis hums, leftover notes from the song still lingering in his head, his hands covering Chris’s clothed ones while the summer sunset bleeds orange into purple over the city.

"So how was the fancy Kim family dinner?" Chris asks, lips brushing Dennis’s ear. "Has daddy dearest approved of our revolutionary progress, or are we still beneath his standards?"

"Oh mygoddd," Dennis groans, head falling back on Chris's shoulder to loll there. "He spent the whole time talking about how I never return his calls while calculating profits in his head. I think I blacked out somewhere between the fourth glass of wine and his lecture about market expectations. Though Mom did rip him a new one about innovation. I swear I'm too old to watch my parents go at it like teenagers."

"At least your mom's cool— no wait, scratch that. She's fucking awesome," Chris grins. "Nothing like what I expected after dealing with her impossible son all these months."

"If you fell and cracked your head right now, I'd bring chocolate and porn to the hospital and be eternally grateful that you’ve forgotten that entire day."

"Mmm, I'd love to have amnesia just to taste you for the first time all over again," Chris murmurs, nuzzling up and down Dennis’s neck.

His fingers dig into Dennis’s ribs, making him giggle as he swats Chris's leg with one hand, even while the other messes through Chris's hair, pushing him closer.

"You and your one-track mind," Dennis snores. "Tell me about your family dinners instead. Make me feel better about mine."

Chris goes quiet for a moment.

"Chris?"

"You're lucky, you know that?" His voice comes softer now.

Dennis turns slightly, shoulder brushing Chris's chest. "Hmm?" He blinks, surprised. "Lucky? How?"

"Your mom." Chris's fingers still on Dennis’s stomach. "The way she looks at you. Supports you. Fights for you." He takes a breath that shakes slightly. Swallows. "The way she's just... there."

Dennis frowns, thumbing over Chris's knuckles under his shirt. "Chris?"

"Lost mine when I was sixteen." The words come out flat, rehearsed. "Car accident, they said. Except they never found her body. Never found the car either."

Dennis’s breath stills. "I didn't know."

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