Page 60 of Under Construction

"I thought you liked messy,” Chris leers, grin wide, elbow on his knee, leaning in closer. “You didn’t seem to mind whenI came all over your face the other night.” He waggles his eyebrows.

Dennis’s face burns up. "Hey Chris," he says quickly, desperate to change the subject, "what did the architect say when he saw the hot construction worker?"

Chris's eyebrows shoot up. "You think I’m hot?”

“Chris!”

“Okay, okay, what?"

"Nail me harder!"

Chris snorts rice out his nose this time, clutching his stomach as he wheezes with laughter.

"Oh my god, you're actually revolting!" Dennis screeches, jerking back and making vomitty faces, but his smile fades slightly at the edges as he watches Chris lose it completely.

God, he's missed this today.

"Gym time," Chris announces later, rolling his shoulders back with a groan.

He twists left, then right, making his T-shirt bunch and ride up his stomach, chocolate-bar abs and that teasing trail of dark hair disappearing into the waistband of his Calvin Kleins peeking above his jeans.

Dennis’s mouth waters even though he just ate.

They get up and Dennis walks him to the door, passing over keys, wallet, and a paper bag of empty takeout containers. "Thanks for dinner."

Chris's smile brightens up the whole room. He leans in, kissing Dennis on the lips like it's the most natural thing in the world. "Don't work too hard, yeah?"

Dennis swallows, willing the red flush to stay below his neck. "It's fine," he says airily, "my gym's 24-hour."

"Not what I meant, dumbass." Chris rolls his eyes. He snakes an arm around Dennis’s waist then tugs him closer until their thighs bump together. His hand slides down, squeezing Dennis’s ass.

"Call if you need help. With work," he adds when Dennis smirks, fingers already sneaking under Chris's shirt to trace the hard lines of his abs.

Goddamn, Chris’s skin feels so silky and taut and warm under his touch.

“Not the other kind of help. Or, or, or," Chris decides, melting into the groping, “the other kind of help is okay too."

His eyes roll up like he’s just had the best idea ever, making Dennis snort, digging his fingers into Chris’s ribs.

“You’re ridiculous,” he laugh-scolds as Chris yelps at the tickle.

They come together again without thinking, Dennis’s eyes fluttering shut as his lips curve up against Chris's mouth.

The kiss lingers long and deep, neither wanting to pull away first.

Dennis’s hands slide higher under Chris's shirt, palms spreading over bare skin—the same chest that'll soon be pumping iron and dripping sweat.

Fuck. He needs to focus on the supplier deadline, not imagine tracing those ridges with his tongue, feeling each groove catch against his lips. His dick needs to behave so he can actually get some work done.

Dennis gives Chris a little wave off, then watches as his footsteps fade into the dark hallway.

He drags himself back to his desk. Powers through emails while his back screams from sitting too long. He paces circles around his office, phone pressed to his ear—talking, negotiating, arguing—as overseas suppliers start their day.

Ten bleeds into eleven, and he works faster because fuck it if he's pulling another all-nighter.

His phone buzzes. Dad flashes across the screen.

Dennis straightens his spine automatically, shoulders squaring like he's about to face a firing squad, because he is. He takes a deep breath, then answers.

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