Page 82 of Under Construction

"Are you calling my design weak?!"

"I'm calling it perfect." The hand on Dennis’s back slides lower, coming to rest just above the curve of his ass.

Chris leans in, his warmth pulling Dennis closer as his lips hover near Dennis’s cheek, breath faint against his skin. "Just needs the right support."

It would be so easy to cross the line, to let the moment shift into something else. But it’s a new day.

There’s work to do.

Their morning rhythm becomes a dance of productivity and provocation. Chris sketches modifications while Dennis reviews permits, their chairs pushed close enough that their thighs touch under the desk.

When Chris explains load variations, his hand lands on Dennis’s knee. When Dennis points out structural concerns, he leans into Chris's space.

"The garden specs came back," Dennis says, spreading blueprints across his desk. "We need to adjust the central support beam to account for soil weight."

"Already handled it." Chris pulls up a 3D model on his tablet. "See? Redistributed the load here and—" He stops when Dennis stiffens. "What?"

"You changed my design without consulting me?"

"I improved your design." Chris zooms in on the modifications. "The original specs wouldn't have supported full planter boxes."

"That's not the point." Dennis’s voice has a bite to it. "You can't just—"

"Can't what? Do my job?" Chris's thumb still strokes his knee even as they argue. "Last I checked, that's why you hired me."

"I hired you to execute my vision, not—"

"To make it work." Chris's hand slides higher, contradicting his professional tone. "Which is exactly what I'm doing."

"By undermining my authority?"

"By supporting your genius." Chris grabs both arms of Dennis’s chair, yanking it around until Dennis faces him, still sitting stiffly upright with indignation.

Dennis wants to argue more. Wants to maintain some semblance of professional hierarchy. But Chris is looking at him like that—that mix of challenge and admiration that makes the butterflies in his stomach come to life.

"Show me again," Dennis sighs finally. "The load distribution."

Chris's grin gets twice as wide. "Which kind?"

"The structural kind, you menace." But Dennis doesn't move away when Chris rolls their chairs closer.

They actually work for a while, heads bent together over calculations. Chris points out stress points while his free hand absently skims up and down Dennis’s thigh. Dennis suggests aesthetic adjustments, his knee nudging gently against Chris’s, tapping like it’s making its own silent arguments.

It's professional.

Mostly.

Until Chris demonstrates material flexibility by bending Dennis over his own desk.

"These need to be signed by four," Dennis gasps as Chris works his pants down. The blueprints scatter, falling like leaves. "Chris—"

"Plenty of time." Chris's hands span his hips, thumbs finding yesterday's marks, pressing until Dennis hisses at the sweet ache. "Want to show you something first."

"What, more load distribution?" But Dennis is already spreading his legs, already arching back the way Chris loves.

"Mmm," Chris murmurs, his hand gliding down the toned curve of Dennis’s back to the dip of his ass. His longest finger slips into the cleft, resting there like it belongs. "Something like that."

He trails lower, finding Dennis still slick from their morning encounter in the supply closet. "God, how are you still so open for me?"

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