Page 72 of Under Construction

Chris walks around the room, gathering their scattered clothes, then sorts them into two piles on the couch as Dennis drags his feet over, still upset.

They dress without talking, the earlier heat cooling into something quieter.

"Need a ride tomorrow?" Chris asks once he's done and Dennis is buttoning up his shirt.

"No, no—don't drive all the way back here from work just to get me,” Dennis flaps Chris away with a hand, eyebrows pinched in agitation even as his chest warms at Chris's thoughtfulness. “I'll just grab an Uber."

"Suit yourself, princess." Chris pats Dennis’s ass and gives it one last squeeze before heading to the door.

He pauses there, fully dressed but still looking like sex on legs—hair sticking up where Dennis pulled it, red finger marks and scratches peeking out of his rumpled T-shirt. "But next time..."

"Next time?" Dennis raises an eyebrow, curious as he tucks in his shirt.

"Next time I'm bending you over that desk." Chris's smile becomes downright sinful. "Right under my portrait."

"Oh my god, you're so stupid!" Dennis can't help but laugh. "Get out!"

Chris's laugh echoes down the hall until Dennis’s front door clicks shut.

The silence that follows feels wrong, like there's a Chris-shaped hole in the room.

Dennis stares at the framed dick pic. At the mirror still holding shadows of what they'd done. At all the degrees his father chose, hanging neat and proper on the wall.

His phone buzzes again—just enough time for Chris to reach his car.

He glances down expecting one of Chris's usual numbers but sees "Unknown" instead.

Dennis laughs out loud before he even opens it. Trust Chris to have stockpiled spare numbers from their enemy days just to harass him. They were such idiots back then.

He taps the message:

Sweet dreams princess. Think of me when you're sitting through that board meeting tomorrow.

Dennis swallows hard, lips pursed tight as he tries to quell the feeling rising in his chest. The one he doesn't want to have. The one he can't risk messing everything with, when things are so great with Chris.

His finger hovers for a moment before he blocks the number, just for shits and giggles. To piss Chris off so tomorrow will be fun. But also maybe for some semblance of self preservation.

He saves the message first though.

Just because.

21Midnight Musings

The thing about sneaking around is that eventually, it stops feeling like sneaking.

Somewhere between stolen moments in supply closets and rushed encounters in Chris's car, Dennis starts keeping a toothbrush at Chris's apartment. Chris starts keeping Dennis’s favorite coffee in his kitchen. Neither mentions it.

Tonight, Dennis is sprawled across Chris's mattress, watching city lights paint shadows across their bare skin. The sheets lie crumpled on the floor where they'd kicked them during round two—or was it three? The night air raises goosebumps across his sweat-cooled skin.

Chris notices his shiver because of course he does. He always notices.

"Cold?" His voice still carries that post-sex roughness that makes Dennis’s stomach flip.

"Mmm." Dennis winds himself around Chris, leg hooking over his hip, face pressed into his neck as he breathes in the mixed scent of sex and Chris's stupidly expensive cologne.

"There's a blanket in the closet." Chris stretches, arms over his head, abs flexing in ways that draw Dennis’s gaze like a magnet.

The movement makes every line of his body stand out—the dip of his hip bones, the curve of his ass, the thick muscle of his thighs. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, still pink and slightly swollen from use.

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