Page 70 of Under Construction

Dennis just nods, still too blissed out to form words.

Neither mentions how soft those kisses are. How Chris's arms tighten like he doesn't want to let go.

How despite everything filthy they just did, this feels dangerously close to—

"The permits," Dennis says suddenly, reality crashing back. "Fuck, I need—"

"Go." Chris lets him up. "I'll just enjoy the show," he says, attempting a leer but too boneless and content to pull it off.

Dennis winces as he stands, walking carefully to his desk with cum cooling on his skin and that ache between his legs—a soreness he finds strangely satisfying now, after weeks of Chris teaching him to crave it.

Chris's eyes follow every step, sprawled on the couch like a large, lithe, very, very satisfied jungle cat.

"Stop staring." Dennis drops into his chair, face heating under Chris's thorough attention—which is ridiculous given what they just did. "It's distracting," he complains.

"Everything about you is distracting." Chris arches his back, muscles rippling from shoulders to abs as he stretches his arms overhead. His cock, still thick and impressive even when soft, catches Dennis’s eye.

"Like what you see, princess?"

Dennis rolls his eyes at that super annoying rumble in his voice.

"I'm trying to work." Dennistsks, irritated at being caught looking. He jerks his attention back to his computer. "Go... uh, go walk around or something."

His fingers attack the keyboard, eyes refusing to leave his monitor lest he get caughttwice. "You know what, better yet, go get me some water."

"So demanding." Chris yawns, linking his elbows behind his back as his joints crackle and pop. But he's already up, strolling naked through the office like he owns the place.

Dennis tries to focus on his screen—on permit modifications, material orders, and his father's expectations.

Not on the way, if he glances just slightly from the corner of his eye, he can see Chris—nude, captivating, and unsettlingly irresistible—in his kitchen through the doorway.

Not on the marks darkening on his skin. Not on Chris's promise to finally fuck him properly.

He keeps working even as Chris returns with water, fingers brushing his shoulders to let Dennis know the glass is on his desk.

Even as Chris wanders his office, idly scanning the books and trinkets on the shelves, the framed photos, the wall of acrylic awards from Kim Industries projects.

Dennis is just pulling up the final file when he realizes it's been too quiet. He looks up to find Chris studying his degrees.

"You okay, Chris?"

"Harvard Business," Chris reads. "MIT Architecture. Oxford Urban Planning." His finger traces the frames. "Quite the collection."

"My father's collection," Dennis corrects, eyes dropping back to his screen as he types. "Each one carefully chosen." He snorts softly. "Each step mapped out since birth."

There’s a prolonged silence.

It makes Dennis look up, where he sees something dark crossing Chris's expression before he asks:

"No choice in the matter?"

"The choice was Harvard Business or Yale Business." Dennis’s laugh comes out harsh. "Architecture was my compromise. Urban Planning my rebellion."

"And sustainable design?"

"My war." Dennis pushes away from his desk and joins Chris at the wall.

He stares at his younger self—all fake smiles and stiff handshakes with prestigious professors, collecting degrees that made everyone happy but him.

---