Page 47 of Under Construction

Chris's eyes track down Dennis’s body. "Never seen someone make safety protocols look so…" Chris tilts his head, raising his eyebrows, “hazardous to my health.”

Heat crawls up Dennis’s neck.

Those pants weren't chosen by accident—neither was Chris's dress shirt, which molds to his shoulders in a way that should be illegal.

Dennis’s collar feels too tight. "That's... that's not very responsible at all."

"No?" Chris steps closer. Voice drops lower. "Want to hear what else I've been thinking about that isn't very responsible?"

Dennis flushes but doesn’t respond. He forces his brain to shut down instead, before it short-circuits completely.

"Fine." He grabs his jacket. "But just a ride."

Chris's smile curves, slow and dangerous.

Like he's got plans Dennis is not ready to hear about.

"Just a ride."

They head out to the carpark. Dennis walks in front, trying to ignore the imaginary heat that somehow always seems to emanate from Chris’s presence behind him.

They get to the car. Before Dennis can open the door of the passenger seat, Chris has got it opened for him, his eyes boring into Dennis’s.

“Thank you.” Dennis tries not to stammer.

“Pleasure’s all mine, princess.”

The Lexus purrs to life. Chris turns out of the lot, heading deeper into the industrial district. His hand finds Dennis’s thigh immediately, settling there like it belongs.

Dennis tries not to fidget under the weight of it, but it’s hard to stop his leg from bouncing.

When they pass yet another exit toward the city:

"This isn't the way to my place."

The realization that he never actually gave Chris his address hits him.

"Scenic route."

Chris doesn't seem to notice this oversight either.

"At midnight?" Dennis watches Chris's profile, the streetlights catching the crinkle at the corner of his eye as he grins.

"Perfect time to get lost." Chris's fingers press deeper into Dennis’s thigh. "No one around to give directions."

They wind through empty streets. Past dark shopfronts. Past light-industry buildings with faded logos where streetlights cast long shadows.

Chris's hand inches higher with each turn, until Dennis’s breath comes short and his pants feel too tight.

The lot Chris chooses is secluded. Loading docks on one side, abandoned warehouse on the other.

He kills the engine but leaves the keys in, music playing soft through expensive speakers.

"Interesting scenery."

"Thought you'd appreciate the architecture."

"What archite—"

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