Page 28 of Under Construction

He holds one out. When Dennis takes it, their fingers brush.

Lingering.

Deliberate.

"So." Chris takes a swig of his own beer, eyes not leaving Dennis. "Still hate me?"

"Still sending dick pics to colleagues?" Dennis takes a long pull, his head back, eyes closed, Adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow. Heahhs when he’s done, looking at the label. Dang, that’s a good beer.

"Just the pretty ones." Chris says, gaze now fixed on where Dennis’s throat had worked around the beer.

Dennis almost chokes. "Wait—you think I'mpretty?" He scoffs, incredulous, shifting his shoulders back a little. "Dude, I work out!"

Chris's eyes travel over Dennis’s broad shoulders and toned arms. They slide down his solid chest to where his shirt pulls tight at his tapered waist."I think you're fucking gorgeous and you know it."

He reaches past Dennis to set his beer on the counter, arm brushing Dennis’s side. Takes a step closer. "I think you're stuck up and privileged and drive me absolutely insane."

"That's rich coming from someone who—" Dennis’s back finds the counter, cold metal biting into his spine. He fumbles his beer onto the surface behind him, afraid to drop it. His eyes dart around the apartment—searching, thinking.

There’s a Lexus parked outside but this place is falling apart. Nothing makes sense about Chris.

The contrast makes his head spin—or maybe that's just how close Chris is.

"—who drives a Lexus but lives like this?"

"I think about you all the time." Chris pins Dennis against the counter, no space left between them. All muscle and heat and raw need. "Think about that punch. Think about your mouth." His tongue swipes across his bottom lip as his eyes fix on Dennis’s mouth. "Think about bending you over every surface in this place—"

Dennis’s face burns so hot he’s convinced it’s a beacon in the dark.

This isn’t right.

He wedges a hand between them and pushes against Chris’s chest, into solidness that won’t budge.

“No.”

“No, what?”

Chris’s fingers circle his wrist.

“I—I’m not into men.”

“Me neither.”

"Then what the fuck is this?" Dennis glares, eyebrows furrowed, unreasonably annoyed. "You don't make any sense."

"Don't have to. I know what I want, and I want you." Chris's grip tightens, thumb pressing into Dennis’s pulse point. "Tried hating you,” he admits, “didn't work. Made you hate me instead and all I got was a hard-on watching you punch me."

Dennis’s fingers close around Chris's shirt, bunching the fabric until his knuckles brush against warm skin underneath.The contact shoots up his arm like lightning. "You're actually insane."

"I just need to know how you would feel under me. How it feels to have you."

His hand slides up, past Dennis’s elbow, fingers spreading over his tricep, pulling him closer even though there's nowhere left to go. Chris's other hand finds Dennis’s hip, thumb pressing into the dip of muscle there, making Dennis’s breath catch.

"Once. That's all I'm asking."

Dennis’s hand slides down, following the divide between Chris's pecs, over his sternum, down the flat, sculpted plane to rest just above his abs. He feels each breath making Chris’s muscles shift under his palm.

“But I don’t wantthis.”

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