Page 137 of Under Construction

He scrambles off Chris, barely making it to the bathroom before his stomach lurches. Nothing comes up but alcohol—he hasn't eaten in days. The burn is worse coming back up, makinghis eyes water. Chris pounds on the door, calling his name, but it sounds distant, underwater.

Dennis sits on the cold tiles, bare ass freezing, Chris's release trickling down his thighs. He drops his head onto his forearm on the closed toilet lid, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

Eventually he pushes up, finds his balance. Flushes. Brushes his teeth until the acid taste disappears. Rinses and wipes his mouth on his shirt before stepping out.

The floor is empty. The bedroom too. He walks toward his office and freezes—through the glass walls and black steel framing, he sees Chris crouched over the scattered papers, studying one intently like he's searching for something specific.

"Looking for more ways to sabotage my project?" The words scrape out of his throat.

Chris's head snaps up, eyes wide. He stands too quickly, reaching for Dennis who jerks back, arm raised like a shield.

"What? No, Dennis. Please let me explain." Chris's voice cracks.

"Explain what exactly?" Dennis coils like a cornered animal. "That you've been forging my signature to delay permits?" He jabs at the blueprints littering the floor. "That you've snuck in here stealing documents that could ruin everything? Since all the way back when you were pretending we—" He cuts off with a laugh that sounds brittle and devastated.

"It's not like that, Dennis, I swear." Chris approaches like he's trying to calm a feral cat, and Dennis thinks resentfully, how well Chris has practiced those skills on him.

Chris's lips move but Dennis can't process the words. Doesn't want to.

"Is that why you invited me for drinks that day? To 'celebrate' my innovation?" Each word feels like swallowing glass. "To get in my pants? So I'd—what—drop my guard and let you in?"

Their ragged breathing fills the silence.

"How could you think that?" Chris's voice comes lower and smaller than Dennis has ever heard it.

"Answer the question!"

"Youmustbe able to tell I'm in love with you, you idiot." Finally, anger flashes in Chris's eyes.

Good. Dennis wants to dig deeper, draw blood.

"Even your mom could see it,” Chris seethes. “Only you're blind enough that you can't or won’t—you never wanted me to want you that way. I stayed happy with any crumb you'd throw me, always being your dirty little secret." Bitterness drips from Chris's words.

Dennis reels. He loved Chris first—howdarehe?! "What the fuck are you even saying?" Dennis’s fists clench by his thighs.

"In the end, making daddy happy was always going to come first."

The words hit like a slap. "We're supposed to be professionals,” Dennis hisses, incredulous. “Was I supposed to flaunt our—our—whatever this is, so everyone thinks I play favorites?"

Chris's eyes blaze. "But I was your favorite in the end, wasn't I? Because I was easy and available and always there when you wanted a cheap, quickfuck—"

Something snaps in Dennis's chest and he launches himself at Chris with a roar. Months of shared dinners and lazy mornings dissolve into pure violence.

He slams into Chris full-force, driving him backward until Chris's spine hits the wall. Twice now Chris has decimated years of Dennis's carefully constructed control. Twice he's proven they're nothing but two men who hate each other.

"Take thatback, you motherfucker!" Dennis spits, fisting Chris's shirt and throwing him sideways. His knuckles scrape against Chris's collarbone.

Chris catches himself, pivots. "Easy for you to say shit like that when youhavea mom." His palm connects with Dennis's sternum, shoving him back until Dennis's heel catches the edge of a fallen paper box.

Dennis uses the momentum, grabbing Chris's wrist and yanking him down as he falls. "You know exactly what I meant!" They hit the floor together, papers scattering. Dennis drives his knee up between them. "But you want to drive me crazy, make me lookinsane, use this against me and my project. Show everyone how I fuck up over and over—you’re dreaming if you think I'm going down without you."

Chris twists, using his weight to flip them. His forearm presses across Dennis's chest. "Youarefucking insane!” His eyes glint wild and unhinged. “Making shit up because you need someone to blame and I'm convenient. Just like I'm a convenient fuck that doesn't mean anything to you."

They roll across hardwood, sending blueprints flying. Chris's raw power should give him the advantage—his hands could easily crack Dennis's head against the floor. But Dennis is trained for this, knows exactly how to shift his weight, where toplace pressure. He could hyperextend Chris's elbow, could snap off blood flow with the right grip.

Instead, their strikes land soft. Each grab loosens before it can bruise. Every throw ends lighter than it starts.

Dennis sees his opening. He hooks one leg over Chris's shoulder, the other crossing at the ankle behind Chris's neck. A twist of his hips brings Chris down, traps him there with Dennis's thigh pressed against his cheek. They freeze like that, half-naked and trembling, Chris's breath hot against Dennis's skin.

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