Page 88 of Under Construction

"Nothing." Chris's fingers thread into the hair above Dennis’s ear, sliding down to cradle his neck before pulling him in for a kiss that's meant to distract. "Just work stuff."

The kiss is sweet and Dennis is always happy to taste Chris—can't help but suck Chris's bottom lip between his own. But something sinks in his gut.

That's bullshit. They practically live at the site together these days, the project running smoother than ever. If it were really work, he'd know.

Friends maybe? But Chris has never mentioned any.

His whole life seems to revolve around their routine now—long days on site when Dennis stays late, weekends tracking down stray cats, quick gym sessions that always end in takeout or a Dennis-made meal eaten on the apartment floor.

Even when they're apart, Chris's texts arrive instantly, like he's just waiting for an excuse to reach out.

Every night ends the same—Chris coming home to this apartment. To Dennis.

Family?

Dennis suddenly realizes how little he knows about Chris's life beyond whatever this thing betweens them has become.

An ache spreads across his chest. Chris should feel comfortable talking to him. They spend almost every waking moment together, don't they?

Unless Dennis is just another casual fuck, which—

Well, that was the agreement, wasn’t it?

To keep it simple. It doesn’t have to mean anything because it means nothing. Yada yada.

But being casual doesn't mean he can't listen. Can’t be there for Chris as a friend.

These things aren't mutually exclusive and Chris should know that, shouldn’t he?

Surely, they’re at least friends now.

…Aren’t they?

The invitation for Chris to share sits on his tongue, but Chris looks so unsettled that he pushes them aside. Dips down to mouth at Chris's balls instead.

Oral always improves Chris's mood. As an added bonus, it lets Chris's natural musk fill his nose as well—that distinct scent that means stolen moments and shared secrets. The comforting smell of Chris’s lust that brings Dennis back to himself when his thoughts threaten to spiral.

"Stop thinking so hard," Dennis mumbles against the silky-soft skin of Chris's scrotum, loving how it gives beneath his lips like something fun and squishy. He pretends to bite, teeth barely grazing, just to hear Chris hiss.

This is their time together, and Dennis is determined not to let whatever's happening intrude on it.

Dennis presses Chris’s shaft against his sculpted stomach. "Hold yourself up," Dennis instructs, taking Chris's hand to replace his own, making sure Chris knows to keep it there.

Chris's fingers tighten in Dennis’s hair while his other hand holds his dick flat against his abs, presenting his balls perfectly for Dennis’s attention.

Dennis explores this often-neglected territory with all of his senses. Here, where Chris smells strongest, the most intimate, the most like him.

A scent that means safety and togetherness. That makes Dennis want to burrow in and live here on his toughest work and family days.

In fact, Chris smells and feels so good it makes Dennis’s mouth water. He’s practically conditioned now—some kind of fucked-up Pavlovian response where even the sight of Chrisadjusting himself during meetings makes Dennis’s mouth flood with anticipation.

"Fuck," Chris breathes, propping himself up on his elbows when Dennis’s tongue traces his seam with feather-light strokes, testing how the delicate skin puckers and tightens under each touch. His cock twitches against his abs, leaving wet streaks of precum. "What are you doing down there?"

Dennis doesn't bother answering. But he does take a firm experimental lick that makes Chris's whole body jerk.

"You like that?" Dennis purrs against Chris’s glossy, dampened testicles, letting his hot breath ghost over the wet skin until Chris's thighs quiver. "Never had anyone do this to you before?"

Chris's laugh sounds shaky. "Not like this— never had anyone take their time to—Christ!"

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