Page 131 of Under Construction

"If we mess up another one, Dad's going to kill me."

"He's going to kill ME," Jason groans. "Then tell MY dad we're incompetent. Then my dad will kill me and I'll be doubly dead."

"I'm sorry, Jae."

Jason shakes his head. "It's not your fault and you know it. Something's fucked up here."

That week drowns in quadruple-checking applications, watching more crew members resign with tight lips and airtight secrets—the poaching virus spreading from electrical to HVAC and structural teams.

Between city hall drama and equipment "malfunctions" that seem too coincidental, Dennis can't focus on actual architectural supervision or material specifications. Not that he'll have investors to show progress to at this rate.

Near midday, Chris appears for the first time that week with fresh bad news. "Jerry just quit."

"What?" Dennis and Jason chorus.

"When?"

"Just now. Loading his truck."

Jason bolts for the stairs, footsteps thundering. "Jerry! Jerry, hold up man!"

Dennis collapses in his chair, heels of his hands pressing into his eyes. A sound between a groan and a sigh escapes him.

"I don't get it..." It's all he can manage. Because he really doesn't.

Chris approaches the desk, studying the permits branded with red "REJECTED" stamps and the fresh blueprints.

He drops to his knees, turning the chair until he's between Dennis's legs. His hands slide up and down Dennis's thighs.

Dennis won't look at him but doesn't stop him either. How can he? He's still furious, but he's craved Chris's touch—this gentleness he'd forgotten Chris possessed.

Chris nuzzles into Dennis's crotch, breathing deep like he wants to fill his lungs with him. His eyebrows draw together, something pleading in his expression.

"Stop." Dennis's fingers lace into Chris's hair.

Chris looks up and Dennis knows he's transparent—days of avoiding Chris have left him raw, exposed. He knows Chris can see, clear as day, that Dennis is weak for him.

Chris grabs his elbows, pulling him down for a kiss.

Dennis responds despite himself. Even this small tenderness is better than nothing, though it makes him feel both angry and pathetic.

Their fingers fumble with each other's belts, neither breaking the kiss.

"This is a bad idea," Dennis mumbles against Chris's mouth.

"Everything's a bad idea lately." Chris pulls him up, turns him around, bends him over the desk. "Want me to stop?"

"Yes," Dennis whispers without conviction as his head tips back, chasing Chris's touch.

Chris's fingers trail down his spine and Dennis gasps, "No."

Chris's palm spreads him open and Dennis breathes, "Maybe."

When Chris's lips burrow between his cheeks and his tongue swipes along his taint, suckling the strip like he’s starving—Dennis melts. "Mmmm no, definitely not."

"I've been thinking about you all day, princess."

"Don't call me that." The pet name stings—he hasn't felt like Chris's princess in too long.

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