Page 78 of Under Construction

Dennis slaps Chris’s shoulder, blushing fire-engine red. "Chris!" he exclaims, scandalized by the thought of him staring at his hole, despite everything they do on the regular.

"Because it’s yours." Chris grins. "Nice save right? The way it's winking at me though, calling my name—"

"You were doing so well, Casanova!" Dennis bursts into laughter. "Now you sound like a super lame pornstar!"

Chris just nudges Dennis to his side, wrapping around behind him, still snickering. He doesn’t stop finger fucking him until Dennis’s breath quickens and he’s parting his legs on his own, one knee hiked up high so Chris can deliver a few sharp punches that have Dennis moaning low and long, his body trembling on the brink.

The squelch of lube and the faint, rhythmic thuds of Chris’s fingers smacking against Dennis’s ring fill the room, mingling with their ragged breaths. The next orgasm builds fast, and Chris talks Dennis through it, his voice low and encouraging, fingers curling and scissoring with careful precision.

Dennis is still catching his breath when Chris slides down behind him, spreading Dennis’s legs wide with a firm grip on his thighs.

Dennis instinctively raises his hips, easing them just off the mattress, his knees only slightly bent beneath him. His chest stays pressed flat on the bed but his lower back arches, spreading himself wide, fully open for Chris to take and use him however he needs.

Without needing to be told, Dennis reaches back and holds his own ass cheeks open, pulling the skin taut to keep his hole well parted and entirely exposed. The gap strains to close but cannot, the slick rim trembling under the tension.

He does it because he knows it’s what Chris wants to see—the way Chris’s breath catches every time he does this, the way his groans deepen, and how quickly he comes afterward are enough to tell him.

Chris doesn’t rush. He’s kind to himself tonight. He simply watches at first, head tilted, the dim light catching on the wet stretch of Dennis’s split, the sheen extending over his perineum, and down to where his balls and flaccid dick dangle, swaying gently with every breath.

A low, guttural sound escapes Chris as his cock presses forward—not to enter but to glide against the wet, well-used skin, the underside of his length slipping easily along that sensitive strap of loveliness nestled between Dennis’s butt cheeks.

Chris’s hips move in slow, deliberate strokes, his hands relaxed at his sides, as if letting the connection between their bodies guide him. Dennis shifts subtly in response, pushing back when Chris pushes in, their movements instinctively in sync after their countless, just-casual couplings.

When Dennis’s thighs begin to tremble, Chris gently positions him flat onto the bed, lowering him onto his belly. He draws Dennis’s thighs together, creating a tight press of warm flesh that lets his cock slip between them. The friction of Dennis’s body and the soft drag of his genitals against Chris’s length has Chris swearing under his breath.

His thrusts grow faster now, shallow and focused, chasing his release. Dennis lies pliant beneath him, breathuneven, until Chris lets out a rough groan, spilling himself between Dennis’s legs with a final, stuttering jerk of his hips.

Chris’s high leaves him heavy-limbed, pulling him toward sleep almost as soon as he presses a kiss to the back of Dennis’s nape. He shifts them onto their sides, settling his softening penis in between the warm cleft of Dennis’s ass, his palm finding Dennis’s soft dick like it belongs there. His breath slows against Dennis’s hair, each exhale growing deeper and steadier until it evens out completely. Soon, his body falls into the kind of rest it’s been needing for days.

Dennis, however, stays awake. Breathing in their combined scent. Trying to ignore how weirdly sexy their cum smells together. It normally lulls him to sleep, having them snoozing in each other’s embrace in no time. But tonight, no matter how hard he tries, sleep doesn’t come.

Instead, he listens to Chris’s heartbeat. Feels it thumping a strangely comforting rhythm into his back. Listens to Chris’s breaths getting deeper and longer as he drifts into dreamland. Feels it warm and a little ticklish against the back of his head.

In the secrecy of Dennis’s mind, he thinks about being Chris’s first. The first of many things, and if they continue on as they’re doing—the first of many more.

Not daring to consider what that might mean.

Not daring to admit how special that makes him feel.

23Stray Cats

"Someone on Facebook reported kittens near Pacifica," Chris says one Friday morning, leaning into Dennis’s office doorway. His safety vest hangs unzipped as usual. "Want to check it out tomorrow?"

"Pacifica?" Dennis raises an eyebrow. "That's two hours away."

"Good surf spots." Chris's dimples appear. "Not that we’d be surfing," he winks.

Which is how Dennis finds himself in Chris's Lexus at dawn, watching fog roll over coastal highways.

Chris drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on Dennis’s thigh, thumb stroking circles that make it hard to focus on the scenery.

They stop at a gas station halfway there. Middle of nowhere, paint peeling off concrete walls.

"Need anything?" Chris asks, already heading for the bathroom.

Dennis follows because maybe hedoes.

The bathroom door is barely locked before Chris has him against cracked tiles, hands working his jeans open.

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