Page 48 of Under Construction

Chris kisses him.

Not gentle. Not sweet. Nothing like their night together.

This is hunger and need and a month of wanting crammed into one burning touch.

Dennis should push him away. Should remember they're in public.

Or at least he would, if his hands listened to his brain instead of pulling Chris closer instead.

"Back seat," Chris's voice comes out rough against his mouth. "Now."

They scramble over the console. All elbows and knees until Chris manages to haul Dennis into his lap, thighs spread wide across leather seats.

"This is a terrible idea," Dennis pants as Chris attacks his neck.

"My best ideas usually are."

Chris gets Dennis’s belt open, tugs his shirt free. When his hands slide up Dennis’s sides, they both groan at the contact.

"Been thinking about this all night." Chris’s hips buck up involuntarily, cock straining against his zipper.

"Just tonight?" Dennis arches into Chris's mouth, fingers digging into his shoulders, a moan escaping when Chris sucks that spot under his jaw.

"All week." Chris's teeth find his collarbone, the sharp bite under it followed by the soothing sweep of his tongue.

"Just this week?" One of Dennis’s hands slides up the back of Chris's neck, the other threading into his hair, fingertips savoring the warmth of his scalp. It's been so much longer than a week for him.

"You know exactly how long." Chris's mouth drags up his throat. "Since you walked out my door that morning."

Something blossoms in Dennis’s chest. His grip tightens. "Shut up and touch me."

Chris's hands grab his ass, yanking him closer.

The friction of their cocks through too many layers of fabric makes them both groan.

"Why are you still dressed?" Chris fumbles with Dennis’s buttons. "Every damn meeting, every site visit—too many layers between us."

“Sorry, we can't all show up shirtless likesomepeople.” But Dennis is already helping Chris with the buttons. “Some of us have standards to maintain."

“Good thing I'm doing a private inspection.”

Dennis’s laugh cuts off into a gasp when Chris gets his pants open.

The first touch of Chris's hand on his hard-on makes his hips jerk.

"Fuck." Chris's voice goes from surprised to hungry. "No underwear? Oh mygod."

"Ruins the lines of the suit." Dennis rocks into Chris's grip, impatient for more contact.

"Ruins me is what it does."

Chris's hand wraps around Dennis’s cock, thumb rubbing circles into his frenulum where precum's been threatening to soak through his pants since he noticed Chris staring earlier in the night. Chris’s other hand traces up Dennis’s spine as Dennis bucks into his grip, gasping.

"You have no idea what you do to me."

"Show me."

When Chris does, his gaze searches for Dennis’s hooded eyes and parted lips, flushed and trembling. His hand strokes Dennis’s dick in a steady rhythm—not too fast, not too slow—each motion calculated, adjusting to the shift in Dennis’s breathing and the high, choked sounds teased from his throat.

---