Page 52 of Under Construction

Because it is.

He walks to his building, caught between wanting to run away and wanting to turn back.

The sensible thing would be to stop this now, before it gets even messier. But since when has anything about Chris been sensible?

He doesn't look back as he walks inside. Doesn't need to.

He already knows Chris is watching.

Just like he knows this thing between them just got more complicated than either of them planned.

17Stolen Moments

Tentatively at first, and then bolder with time and the serendipity of everyday workplace interactions, they develop a routine.

Or rather, several routines, each one more dangerous than the last.

Monday morning finds them in the mechanical room, Chris pressing Dennis against humming pipes.

"Someone could— ah! Come in," Dennis gasps as Chris's teeth find his neck.

"Locked the door." Chris's hands make quick work of Dennis’s belt. "Besides, everyone's at the morning briefing."

"Which we should be at—fuck!"

"You were saying?" Chris smirks against his skin.

Tuesday afternoon it's Dennis’s turn. He crowds Chris into the supply closet and gets on his knees.

"Five minutes," he says, looking up through his lashes. "That's all you get."

"Princess," Chris's laugh turns into a groan, "that's all Ineed."

Wednesday, they barely make it to Chris's car, windows fogging up in the underground parking.

Thursday, it's the site office after hours, blueprints scattered across the floor.

Friday, they're reckless, desperate after a week of hiding. Chris corners Dennis at his desk, one hand braced on either side of his chair, caging him in.

"Someone could walk in," Dennis warns, but his hands are already reaching for Chris's collar, pulling him closer.

"Let them." Chris's voice drops lower, rougher. His lips brush Dennis’s jaw. "Give them something to talk about."

Footsteps echo down the hall—multiple sets, getting closer.

Instead of pulling away, Chris's mouth curves into that sly smile, the one that sends a rush through Dennis’s stomach, as he tilts Dennis’s chin up.

"Last chance to stop me, princess."

Dennis answers by yanking him down into a kiss.

They barely break apart when Jason's voice carries through the door: "—need those reports by—"

Chris straightens up, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. Dennis’s hands are still tangled in his shirt.

"My place later?" Chris asks, voice pitched low enough that only Dennis can hear.

"Depends on how much work you let me get done now," Dennis mutters, but they’re both already calculating how long it'll take his Uber to get there.

---