Page 89 of Under Construction

Ah, so no one's ever worshiped Chris’s balls like this. Dennis feels a surge of pride at being the first.

Chris’s voice cracks as Dennis drags his tongue in long, deliberate strokes, systematic and thorough like everything else he does.

"You feeling better?" Dennis asks between licks, watching Chris's chest rise and fall, his throat releasing soft whimpers that deepen into low, guttural groans.

"Better's... one word for it." Chris’s fingers dig crescents into his own thighs as Dennis buries his face, nuzzling into the scratchy patch of pubes and the base of his cock.

He shakes his head like he can’t get enough, dragging his nose over every inch of skin, inhaling deeply. He wants thatsmell to soak into his skin, fill his lungs, cling to him all night like an imprint he doesn’t want to wash away.

"Dying might be more accurate." Chris brushes Dennis’s hair back from his face, thumb stroking his temple. "Let me see you properly, baby. Wanna watch my balls mess up that pretty face."

Dennis snorts against Chris's crotch, somehow endeared.

"Holy fucking christ, princess," Chris pants, voice thick with awe. "The way you worship my cock and balls like they're your personal playground—"

"Shhh," Dennis soothes, pleased that Chris's phone seems forgotten. "Just lie back and let me take care of you."

"No chance," Chris's eyes are glued to Dennis’s mouth. "Need to see those perfect lips working my nuts. Fuck, never knew I needed this until you—” he jerks up, sucking in a breath between his teeth when Dennis blows a raspberry into his pouch, loud, messy, and wet. “You’re killing me here, you know that?!” he yelps.

Dennis presses his face into Chris's inner thigh, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter at how openly desperate Chris sounds. A new experience reducing his sharp tongue and quick thinking to a babble of incoherent praise.

"Is that so?" Dennis’s lips curve against Chris's skin. If Chris wants a show...

Dennis rises to his knees, grabbing Chris’s hands and pulling Chris up with him.

Chris follows, eyebrows raised, until he’s kneeling with his thighs spread on the mattress.

Then Dennis cups Chris's testicles in his palm, lifting them up before dipping down to press one last kiss to the springy, stretchy skin.

"What are you—" Chris cuts off as Dennis turns around to lie on his back, scooting between Chris's legs.

He taps Chris's thighs wider, shifting until Chris's scrotum hangs directly above his waiting mouth.

"Trust me." Dennis wraps his palms around the back of Chris's thighs, drawing him down until he’s forced to spread his knees wider, lowering himself with a sharp inhale.

"Always, but—ohmyfuckinggod!"

The curse dissolves into a sound Dennis has never heard before as he takes one ball into his mouth. He bathes it with his tongue, keeping his mouth soft and wet, more cradling than sucking—just wanting Chris to feel enveloped in warmth.

When Chris is reduced to ragged breathing, Dennis lets it rest on his tongue before opening wide enough to welcome its twin.

It’s a struggle, but worth it for the strangled sounds Chris makes like he's being murdered, his thighs trembling violently under Dennis’s hands.

Dennis tries to steady him, running his palms up the backs of Chris's thighs to grip his ass, kneading the tight muscle before sliding to his lower back, then down again to squeeze behind his knees.

Dennis has never heard Chris like this before—throat catching on half-formed words, lungs struggling to remember their function between broken curses. The usual cocky sitemanager nowhere to be found, replaced by someone who can barely form words.

His tongue circles both balls. Spit slobbers down his chin at the effort of keeping them snug in his mouth, wet and sloppy just how Chris seems to need it.

The grunts and trembling exhales above him make Dennis’s eyes roll white.

Chris's pungent scent fills his nose until his own cock lies painfully engorged and neglected against his stomach. He releases Chris's ass to stroke himself, drawing another stream of curses from above.

"Look at you," Chris's voice cracks as Dennis’s hand moves slow and languid on his length. "Getting off on this. On having my rocks in that greedy slutty mouth—fuckin' hell, princess!"

Chris's hands glide down Dennis’s chest to his belly and back up, his hips sinking lower until Dennis can press and rub his nose into the smooth, untouched skin between Chris's balls and ass.

It makes Chris let out such a strangled sound that Dennis pauses for a heartbeat, worried he's pushed too far—but then Chris's fingers reach back to twist into his hair, holding him there.

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