Page 12

The mattress is clean.

The sheets are soft and cool against overheated skin.

And Chris...

Chris takes his time.

"Thought you were going to wreck me," Dennis gasps as Chris's mouth trails down his chest. The scrape of teeth followed by soft lips makes his stomach muscles tense.

"I am." Chris's hands pin Dennis’s wrists above his head. His skin smells like sawdust and something expensive—a cologne that probably cost more than this entire apartment. "But properly."

He proves it with lips and teeth and tongue, tracing over every ridge and hollow of Dennis’s skin. Sucking over his collarbone, lapping at the dark rose of a nipple—lingering until Dennis is trembling, the sheets twisted tight in his fingers over his head, breaths coming short and sharp.

The more Chris nips and bites and sucks, the more Dennis writhes, uncontained like a live wire.

"Chris—" he finally chokes out.

"Patience, princess." Chris's voice rumbles against Dennis’s hip bone.

But patience has never been Dennis’s strong suit. The way Chris is controlling everything—the pace, the pressure, where their skin meets—drives him crazy, makes him want to push back.

Every touch scorches hotter than the last until Dennis can't take it anymore.

He hooks his leg around Chris's waist and uses the leverage to flip them over.

Chris lands on his back with a surprised exhale, hands automatically finding Dennis’s thighs as he settles above him.

When Dennis looks down, Chris's usual smirk is gone. His eyes are fixed on Dennis’s face, pupils blown wide, mouth slightly parted.

Like he's stunned. Like someone's knocked all the air from his lungs.

Like he’s seeing something he never expected.

"I want—" Dennis’s hips shift restlessly, his thighs trembling where they bracket Chris's waist.

But he doesn't know what he wants. But he needs something. His skin feels too tight, too hot, everywhere they touch, burning.

Dennis bucks his hips experimentally.

It makes Chris sound a low croon in his throat as Dennis’s cock leaves a wet trail across his abs.

Not enough.

Dennis tsks , repositions himself until he's right over Chris's cock. When their lengths press together, already leaking, the sensation makes both of them groan.

He does it again, harder this time, watching Chris's eyes flutter shut, feeling Chris's fingers dig into his thighs.

But when Chris's hands slide up to his ass, Dennis freezes.

"I'm not going to fuck you." The words tumble out too fast, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"Bold of you to assume I'd let you do any of the work." Chris's thumbs press circles into the muscle of Dennis’s ass.

His lashes lower for a moment, then he's looking up, eyes boring into Dennis’s with an intensity that makes Dennis’s stomach flip. "Just want to make you feel good, princess. Let me?"

"Chris..." Dennis’s voice hitches. Everything feels too exposed, too much . He's half-hard and aching but he's never—

"Hey." Chris's hand slides up Dennis’s spine to cup the back of his neck, drawing him down until their foreheads touch. "Focus here." He catches Dennis’s mouth in a slow kiss, tongue sliding against his.

Dennis feels his shoulders drop, his fingers unclenching where they'd been twisted in the sheets.

"Just this. Nothing else."

Dennis’s hips rock forward instinctively, their cocks pressing together again.

Chris groans into his mouth, and Dennis freezes, guilt flooding his chest.

"But you want—"

"I want you," Chris breathes against his lips. "However I can have you."

When he pulls back, his eyes are dark, but the way he's looking at Dennis makes something smoulder hot in his chest.

"Let me show you something else?"

Dennis’s shoulders hunch up, fingers digging into Chris's shoulders like anchors. His heart's pounding so hard he's sure Chris can feel it.

Chris presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Hey,” he says—gently, lightly—pulling Dennis back into the moment. “Trust me?" The words vibrate against Dennis’s skin.

" Ngh ," is all Dennis manages, throat too tight for words.

Chris guides them onto their sides, legs tangled together.

The new position brings their cocks flush against each other, making Dennis’s lungs stutter.

Chris's hand slides between them, wraps around both of them at once, and Dennis’s brain whites out at the sight.

"This okay?" Chris's thumb swipes over their heads, spreading wetness to twin groans. “Can I touch you like this?”

Dennis can only nod, fascinated by how they look together. His hand joins Chris's before he realizes what he's doing.

Chris slides his grip lower, letting Dennis explore their tips.

They're about the same length—no one could ever say Dennis was small—but next to Chris...

Dennis has seen his share of locker rooms, but he's never encountered anything this thick. Not anything that’s ever made him stop and look.

When he clenches his fingers, Chris's cock twitches against his palm.

Dennis loses himself in the sight and feeling. It makes him forget his own arousal, transfixed by Chris’s dick.

Both hands move without thinking—one wrapping around Chris's base, undressing his cockhead from its hood and holding it taut, the other tracing the sensitive pink band under his foreskin.

His breath comes fast and shallow, eyes fixed on how his fingers barely meet around the girth. He doesn't notice he's biting his lip until Chris's thumb pulls it free.

"Like what you see?" Chris's voice comes out rough, strained. His skin simmers hot against Dennis’s palms, cock leaking steadily over his fingers. The scent of sex, sweat, and cologne fills Dennis’s lungs with each breath, intoxicating him.

Chris’s hips jerk when Dennis’s thumb finds the pinched ridge under the head.

" Fuck ." His hand shoots out to grip Dennis’s hip, hard enough to leave marks. "You're killing me, princess,” Chris pants, chest heaving now, “turn over for me, beautiful."

"What—?" Dennis can’t stop the panic from escaping into his voice.

"Trust me."

Chris helps him roll onto his front, then slides behind him. His cock settles hot and heavy between Dennis’s thighs.

"These," Chris says, running his hands up the back of Dennis’s thighs until they're under his ass. He kneads the muscle, taking his time to massage into them until Dennis moans, then relaxes.

Chris spreads him open. The sudden exposure to air makes Dennis gasp, his hole clenching reflexively. "Are perfect." He presses Dennis’s thighs back together, his cock forcing a slide between them, already slick with moisture.

The first thrust makes Dennis gasp. Chris feels huge like this, his cock dragging between delicate untouched skin. Sweat and precum make everything slip-slide just right—filthy and wet. Makes each thrust smoother than the last, their skin creating obscene sounds in the quiet room.

Each movement rocks against Dennis’s balls, and the base of Chris's cock keeps catching against his hole, making his thighs quiver.

“Oh my god, princess, how do you feel this good?” Chris marvels.

His full weight presses Dennis into the mattress until Dennis is planting his hands in the sheets and pushing up to his knees. Then Dennis pushes back until his spine curves like an offering.

" Fuck ," Chris grits out, an arm wrapping around Dennis’s waist. They find a rhythm together, the sound of skin on skin mixing with their harsh breathing.

"Ahh! That’s—" Dennis starts when the sensation builds, but Chris snaps his hips harder, making Dennis’s ass bounce. His head drops forward with a shocked moan.

"Good?" Chris’s hips snap forward, again and again, making Dennis sway on his hands to the slapping sounds of their skin. "Do you like that?"

His fingers dig into Dennis’s waist, pulling him back onto each thrust like he can't get him close enough. "You feel amazing like this, princess, so fucking tight for me."

Dennis should feel embarrassed, being manhandled like this. Should feel inadequate, not giving Chris what he actually wants from his body.

Instead his whole person sparks aflame with how much Chris seems to want him, need him, can't stop touching him. Like Dennis’s skin is something addictive.

Like he’s everything Chris needs.

The thought sends Dennis’s head reeling. "Touch me," he gasps, reaching back to grab Chris's wrist. He tugs at him, ears filled with static. " Please ."

"Anything, princess," Chris breathes, "anything you want."

His hand wraps around Dennis’s cock, starting the stroke slow and testing. But when Dennis pushes back harder, faster, Chris matches his pace.

His thrusts turn brutal, hip bones slamming against Dennis’s ass. The base of his cock keeps dragging over Dennis’s hole with each movement, making trails of precum drip steadily from their tips.

Their shadows dance across the brick wall, writhing together in the candlelight. Chris's breath comes in punched-out groans, punctuated by praise that makes Dennis’s face burn.

" Fuck , look at you. Taking it so well. Being so good for me. Want to see you fall apart," Chris pants, doubled over, lips against his spine. "Always so composed. So perfect. Show me what you look like when you break."

Dennis’s head spins, pleasure starting to peak so intensely he can barely breathe. Someone's moaning Chris's name over and over. It might be him. Everything feels distant except where they're connected, where Chris's hands brand his body.

He zones in on where Chris's cockhead now slams unapologetically into the back of his balls with each thrust.

The hits of pain ignite illicit pleasure up his spine while Chris's callused palm rasps deliciously along his length—so rough, so coarse, yet so undeniably good —every bit the contradiction that Chris himself is.

Chris who tormented him for months.

Chris who makes his blood boil.

Chris who's rutting against him now like he owns him and has Dennis on his hands and knees offering up every secret, private part of himself, as if he’s begging to be owned.

Dennis’s orgasm hits like a lightning strike—his vision sparks out, muscles seizing as pleasure rips through him. His whole body locks up, clenching around Chris who groans like he's dying.

Chris follows instantly, teeth sinking into the space between Dennis’s shoulder blades. His grip turns bruising on Dennis’s hip as he spills hot, immediately trickling down Dennis’s legs.

Their combined release turns the space between Dennis’s thighs and balls sopping wet as their bodies press tight together, until Dennis whimpers from oversensitivity.

Panting and trembling, they collapse forward, Chris's weight pressing Dennis into the mattress for a moment before they roll to their sides.

Dennis blinks at the far wall, trying to remember how to form words. His body feels liquid, disconnected, like he's floating somewhere between reality and whatever fever dream this night has become.

Chris curls around him from behind, one arm draped over his waist. His fingers remain open and flat—grounding and protective—on Dennis’s stomach while their breathing evens out.

Dennis’s fingers find Chris's. Absently, he traces the knuckles with his fingertips before sliding between the gaps.

Chris closes his grip, gentle but sure, holding them loosely tangled.

The night air drifts through the window, cooling the sweat on their skin, but neither moves to separate.

Outside, the city hums faintly. In here, there's just the creak of the mattress, the soft flicker of candlelight on brick walls, and the warmth between them.

Time stretches, filled with nothing but the quiet rhythm of breathing, fingers grazing skin, a silence they both sink into as their bodies mould to one another.

Dennis doesn’t know how long they lie there. Ten minutes? Maybe an hour? Time seems to be an abstract concept when he’s floating like this, mind pleasantly blank. His body feels heavy and light at once, like he's sinking into the mattress but could also drift away.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, the minutes blurring together feels like a guilty indulgence, marked only by the steady rise and fall of Chris's chest against his back.

“Water?” Chris asks after a while, voice rough around the edges.

"Mmm." Dennis nods.

Chris shifts, disconnecting them, letting in a sudden burst of cold air and the discomfort of uncoupling.

He rolls out of bed and heads to the kitchen, lean muscle cutting through the shadows as he moves.

Dennis sits up, after a moment, turning around to definitely not stare too hard.

He does watch as Chris grabs a bottle from under the counter, then tosses it gently, so Dennis catches it, fingers curling around the cool plastic.

“You good?” Chris’s voice floats over.

“Yeah.” Dennis twists the cap open and takes a sip, feeling the ache settle in, the good kind that stays for a while. “You?”

"Yeah."

A beat passes. Quiet, but not uncomfortable. No need to fill it in.

Chris drifts around the apartment, then stops to pick up something small and curved beside the mattress.

In the candlelight, Dennis catches the glint of strings, the soft shine of worn, polished wood.

Chris glances over, his eyes soft. “Want to see the stars?”

Dennis never thought of himself as a star-gazing kind of guy, but for some reason…

Suddenly, he really, really does.