Page 58 of Under Construction

Dennis’s eyes fly open. "Fuck," he hisses.

No dick pic could have prepared him for this. It's too much. Too big.

"Easy, baby, easy." Chris's lips press soft words into his skin, his hands anchoring Dennis’s hips. "Slow down. We've got time."

"Wait," Dennis hisses, muscles seizing despite Chris's careful preparation. His face burns hot enough to scorch. "I can't— it's too—"

"Hey." Chris immediately stills. One hand coming up to turn Dennis’s face towards himself. "We don't have to. There's no rush."

"But I wanted—" Dennis’s voice cracks, upset. "You wanted—"

Why is he socrapat everything?! He used to be amazing at anything he touched.

"Shhh." Chris's kiss is soft, lingering. He knocks their foreheads together, Dennis still breathing hard. "We will. God, even this is amazing. Just feeling you so hot, so tight around my fingers—you have no idea what you do to me, princess."

"I'm sorry..." Dennis’s cheeks burn. He’s so fucking embarrassing. This has to be the worst night of Chris's life.

"Don't you dare apologize." Chris’s arms hug around him, tightening like a vice. "I'm the lucky one here. Can't wait to try again."

"Really?" Dennis doesn't mean to sound so small.

"Hell yeah." Chris's grin turns teasing. "Besides, the longer it takes for you to open up for my dick, the more material I get for my spank bank. Win-win."

Dennis’s exasperation wipes away every last trace of embarrassment, heat rushing to his face for an entirely different reason.

"You’re disgusting!" He slaps Chris’s chest with a loud smack, leaving a red handprint that stands out against Chris’s flushed skin.

"Ow!" But Chris is laughing, pulling him closer until their foreheads press together again.

Dennis’s hands find Chris's face, thumbs stroking his cheeks while Chris claims his mouth in kiss after kiss.

Maybe it's not the worst night after all. Maybe it's just the beginning.

19Late Night

The next week drowns in deadlines and stolen moments.

During the day, they keep it strictly business—Chris barking orders at his crew while Dennis checks material specs and signs off on endless modifications. But after hours...

After hours, they explore.

Sometimes it's frantic and filthy. Sometimes it's whatever minutes they can steal. Sometimes it's all teeth and bruises and need: Chris shoving Dennis against supply room shelves, Dennis yanking Chris into empty conference rooms by his safety vest.

Other times it's unhurried and thorough—nights Dennis looks forward to in Chris's apartment where they take their time, testing what makes each other gasp and shiver. Building something that feels good. A lot like familiarity. A bit like trust? Something that maybe seems too fragile to label.

But maybe it doesn't have to be named? Doesn’t need to be anything specific.

Because right now, it's nice. So, why ruin it?

If anything, these thoughts are a helpful distraction fromotherthoughts that seem to plague him.

They creep up more and more these days. Take root in his head with seemingly no intention to leave or any way to eradicate them. They become bigger and more vibrant the more Dennis triesnotto pay attention to them.

Thoughts like how, away from Chris's company, Dennis can't stop thinking about their first attempt.

The first time they tried to go all the way.

Thesethoughts, in kind, lead to other pesky musings.

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