Page 80 of Under Construction

"My brand-new pan," Dennis grumbles, stabbing a fork into his omelet. "It’s going to take days of soaking, and I’ll never get the burn marks out."

"Life’s hard, babe," Chris says with zero sympathy, slicing through a stack of five pancakes at once. The piece he offers to Dennis on a proffered fork is so squashed it’s flattened all the way from the tines to the handle, syrup dripping off the sides and pooling messily on the table.

Dennis rolls his eyes and takes a prim sip of his coffee instead. "You’re buying me a new one."

"Or what?" Chris leers, "You gonna punch me?” He spears another chunk of pancake, cramming it into his mouth. His eyelids flutter as he nods, making appreciativemmmsounds through the mouthful of food. He turns back to Dennis. “Please say you’ll punch me."

"Chris, I willactuallypunch you, you freak," Dennis hisses, looking around just in case a truckload of people have just decided to walk in.

"Ok, fine, don’t punch me, then," Chris says, leaning back and adjusting his crotch with gusto. "Beselfish. You were so hot when you knocked my lights out, though. Man, I get bricked all day just thinking about it." He sucks in air through his teeth. "Hurts my dick, bro."

"Oh mygod, you fucking masochist," Dennis screech-mutters, head in his hands. How does he even hang around this guy?

"You could be fuckingthismasochist a little more in about…" Chris glances at his watch, winks broadly at Dennis. "Oh, ten minutes."

Dennis tries to hold back a laugh, jabbing an elbow into Chris’s side.

"Ow!" Chris yelps dramatically, clutching his ribs like he’s been gravely injured.

His antics make Dennis bite his bottom lip, trying to hold firm, but the snort that escapes ruins everything.

Chris is giggling to himself now, much too pleased with his work.

Dennis leans back in his seat, finally letting the amusement settle. "When did you…" He falters, glancing away, embarrassed.

Chris looks up, mid-chew. "When did I what?" he prods, elbowing Dennis back before nudging him gently under the table with his foot when no reply comes.

"I dunno," Dennis says testily, his eyebrows scrunching in agitation as he crosses his arms over his chest. "When you… decided you didn’t hate me or whatever."

Chris sets down his fork and takes a long swig of hot chocolate, leaving a whipped cream mustache he doesn’t bother wiping away.

He leans back against the diner booth bench, eyes looking up as he thinks, while Dennis turns toward him, one leg bent with his thigh resting on the bench, ready to listen.

"I didn’t like you because I thought you were just another rich kid playing by daddy's rules." His tone stays light but something flickers behind his eyes. "Living that perfect golden life with nothing in that pretty head of yours—all style, no substance."

Dennis leans forward, methodically wiping first the left side of Chris's mouth with his thumb, then the right with his middle finger. He presses each to Chris’s lips in turn, letting him suck the cream off with practiced ease.

"Then I absolutelyhatedyou when I caught myself staring at your ass in those fancy pants like some kind of thirsty, creepy perv and it pissed me offsooobad." Chris shakes his head, the start of a smile touching the corner of his lips at the memory.

“You drove me crazy, princess.” He turns his head to look at Dennis. Grins easily. Places his hand on Dennis’s knee, thumbing at the edge of his kneecap. “Drove me up the goddamn wall.”

Dennis wrinkles his nose.

Chris laughs, reaching up to boop it with his finger.

"That first irritation-fueled wank fucked me up," Chris continues, casual as discussing the weather. "After the twentieth time, I figured, hey, I might as well put my dick where my brain kept going, you know?"

"Chris!" Dennis shouts, scandalized, cheeks red enough to match the tips of his ears.

Chris doubles over, laughing so hard he has to grip the edge of the table for support.

More hot chocolate sloshes over the rim of his mug, but he's too busy wheezing to care.

Oh well, Dennis thinks, glancing around at the empty café. At this time of night, no one’s here to notice. No one knows about us.

Us.

Dennis shakes the thought out of his head, stirring the coffee he shouldn’t have ordered a bit more violently.

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