Page 35 of Under Construction

Their combined release turns the space between Dennis’s thighs and balls sopping wet as their bodies press tight together, until Dennis whimpers from oversensitivity.

Panting and trembling, they collapse forward, Chris's weight pressing Dennis into the mattress for a moment before they roll to their sides.

Dennis blinks at the far wall, trying to remember how to form words. His body feels liquid, disconnected, like he's floating somewhere between reality and whatever fever dream this night has become.

Chris curls around him from behind, one arm draped over his waist. His fingers remain open and flat—grounding and protective—on Dennis’s stomach while their breathing evens out.

Dennis’s fingers find Chris's. Absently, he traces the knuckles with his fingertips before sliding between the gaps.

Chris closes his grip, gentle but sure, holding them loosely tangled.

The night air drifts through the window, cooling the sweat on their skin, but neither moves to separate.

Outside, the city hums faintly. In here, there's just the creak of the mattress, the soft flicker of candlelight on brick walls, and the warmth between them.

Time stretches, filled with nothing but the quiet rhythm of breathing, fingers grazing skin, a silence they both sink into as their bodies mould to one another.

Dennis doesn’t know how long they lie there. Ten minutes? Maybe an hour? Time seems to be an abstract concept when he’s floating like this, mind pleasantly blank. His bodyfeels heavy and light at once, like he's sinking into the mattress but could also drift away.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, the minutes blurring together feels like a guilty indulgence, marked only by the steady rise and fall of Chris's chest against his back.

“Water?” Chris asks after a while, voice rough around the edges.

"Mmm." Dennis nods.

Chris shifts, disconnecting them, letting in a sudden burst of cold air and the discomfort of uncoupling.

He rolls out of bed and heads to the kitchen, lean muscle cutting through the shadows as he moves.

Dennis sits up, after a moment, turning around to definitely not stare too hard.

He does watch as Chris grabs a bottle from under the counter, then tosses it gently, so Dennis catches it, fingers curling around the cool plastic.

“You good?” Chris’s voice floats over.

“Yeah.” Dennis twists the cap open and takes a sip, feeling the ache settle in, the good kind that stays for a while. “You?”

"Yeah."

A beat passes. Quiet, but not uncomfortable. No need to fill it in.

Chris drifts around the apartment, then stops to pick up something small and curved beside the mattress.

In the candlelight, Dennis catches the glint of strings, the soft shine of worn, polished wood.

Chris glances over, his eyes soft. “Want to see the stars?”

Dennis never thought of himself as a star-gazing kind of guy, but for some reason…

Suddenly, he really, really does.

13Starlight

The balcony's tiny. Barely enough room for both of them.

Chris pads across the apartment, snatches a T-shirt from the floor on his way to the sliding door.

Outside, he drops onto a tatami mat, back against the wall, legs stretched along the narrow concrete. Overhead, the edge of the awning shields part of the balcony from the night breeze, but the stars remain unobstructed. The ukulele rests across his thighs.

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