Page 16

The week after their first night together unfolds like warm taffy—sweet and sticky with possibility.

It starts with looks.

Chris's eyes finding Dennis’s across the site, holding just a second too long.

Dennis catching glimpses of dimples and wanting to taste them.

Then touches.

Chris's hand at the small of Dennis’s back during inspections, gone before anyone notices.

Dennis’s fingers brushing Chris's when passing reports, lingering just enough to make Chris's breath catch.

"These support calculations need review," Chris says Wednesday morning, leaning over Dennis’s shoulder in the office. His chest presses against Dennis’s back, warmth bleeding through two layers of clothes. "See here?"

"Mm." Dennis can't focus on numbers when the way Chris smells wraps around him like this. "Show me."

Chris's palm covers the back of Dennis’s hand on the tablet, guiding his finger across the screen.

"Right there." His fingers curl into Dennis’s, pressing their hands together. "That's your weak point."

Chris's nose finds the side of Dennis’s neck, a low sound rumbling in his throat when Dennis tilts his head—not for Chris, but to escape, obviously—which only exposes more skin for the taking.

"The only weak point here is your self-control," Dennis mutters.

Chris's laugh ghosts across his ear. "Says the guy who jumped me in the supply closet yesterday."

"That was—" Dennis starts to defend himself—it's not his fault Chris cornered him first—but Chris is already moving away, professional mask back in place as Jason walks in.

*****

The texts start innocently enough:

Progress meeting @ 2 can’t wait to see you in that blue shirt again

Why?

Because watching you try to be professional while I stare is my new favorite hobby

But they escalate quickly:

Still thinking about how you looked bent over those blueprints this morning

Working. Stop it.

Just conducting a thorough site inspection, boss. Very hands-on management style.

By Friday, Jason's suggestion of drinks feels like a match near gasoline.

"On the company," he says, waving a platinum card that belongs to Dennis’s father. "We're ahead of schedule for once."

The whole team packs into some overpriced downtown bar. Music pounds. Drinks flow. Everyone's riding the high of victory and top-shelf liquor.

Everyone except Chris, who's been watching Dennis all night with dark eyes and darker intentions.

He hasn't touched his glass. Hasn't joined the rowdy celebrations. Just leans against the bar, a bit too much focus trained on how Dennis’s suit pants pull tight when he moves.

Dennis pretends not to notice. Pretends his skin doesn't burn every time their gazes meet across the room.

Pretends he hasn't spent the last month thinking about that night together, reliving it in liquid dreams and five-minute bathroom breaks that leave him frustrated and aching for more than his own hand.

By midnight, the crowd thins. Jason's passed out in a booth. The crew stumbles home in twos and threes.

Chris is on his phone arranging rides when Dennis heads toward Jason. "I'll get him home—"

"Don't worry about it." Two guys from surveying hoist Jason up between them. "We've got a whole system for when he blacks out after one beer."

Dennis watches them navigate toward the door, making sure no one face-plants into anything expensive.

He feels Chris's presence before he hears him.

"Need a ride?"

He turns to find Chris with one eyebrow raised, keys dangling from his finger.

"You've been drinking."

"Water." Chris holds up his glass. "Some of us are responsible adults."

Dennis snorts. "Since when?"

"Since I watched you inspect the support beams this morning."

Chris's eyes track down Dennis’s body. "Never seen someone make safety protocols look so…" Chris tilts his head, raising his eyebrows, “hazardous to my health.”

Heat crawls up Dennis’s neck.

Those pants weren't chosen by accident—neither was Chris's dress shirt, which molds to his shoulders in a way that should be illegal.

Dennis’s collar feels too tight. "That's... that's not very responsible at all."

"No?" Chris steps closer. Voice drops lower. "Want to hear what else I've been thinking about that isn't very responsible?"

Dennis flushes but doesn’t respond. He forces his brain to shut down instead, before it short-circuits completely.

"Fine." He grabs his jacket. "But just a ride."

Chris's smile curves, slow and dangerous.

Like he's got plans Dennis is not ready to hear about.

"Just a ride."

They head out to the carpark. Dennis walks in front, trying to ignore the imaginary heat that somehow always seems to emanate from Chris’s presence behind him.

They get to the car. Before Dennis can open the door of the passenger seat, Chris has got it opened for him, his eyes boring into Dennis’s.

“Thank you.” Dennis tries not to stammer.

“Pleasure’s all mine, princess.”

The Lexus purrs to life. Chris turns out of the lot, heading deeper into the industrial district. His hand finds Dennis’s thigh immediately, settling there like it belongs.

Dennis tries not to fidget under the weight of it, but it’s hard to stop his leg from bouncing.

When they pass yet another exit toward the city:

"This isn't the way to my place."

The realization that he never actually gave Chris his address hits him.

"Scenic route."

Chris doesn't seem to notice this oversight either.

"At midnight?" Dennis watches Chris's profile, the streetlights catching the crinkle at the corner of his eye as he grins.

"Perfect time to get lost." Chris's fingers press deeper into Dennis’s thigh. "No one around to give directions."

They wind through empty streets. Past dark shopfronts. Past light-industry buildings with faded logos where streetlights cast long shadows.

Chris's hand inches higher with each turn, until Dennis’s breath comes short and his pants feel too tight.

The lot Chris chooses is secluded. Loading docks on one side, abandoned warehouse on the other.

He kills the engine but leaves the keys in, music playing soft through expensive speakers.

"Interesting scenery."

"Thought you'd appreciate the architecture."

"What archite—"

Chris kisses him.

Not gentle. Not sweet. Nothing like their night together.

This is hunger and need and a month of wanting crammed into one burning touch.

Dennis should push him away. Should remember they're in public.

Or at least he would, if his hands listened to his brain instead of pulling Chris closer instead.

"Back seat," Chris's voice comes out rough against his mouth. " Now ."

They scramble over the console. All elbows and knees until Chris manages to haul Dennis into his lap, thighs spread wide across leather seats.

"This is a terrible idea," Dennis pants as Chris attacks his neck.

"My best ideas usually are."

Chris gets Dennis’s belt open, tugs his shirt free. When his hands slide up Dennis’s sides, they both groan at the contact.

"Been thinking about this all night." Chris’s hips buck up involuntarily, cock straining against his zipper.

"Just tonight?" Dennis arches into Chris's mouth, fingers digging into his shoulders, a moan escaping when Chris sucks that spot under his jaw.

"All week." Chris's teeth find his collarbone, the sharp bite under it followed by the soothing sweep of his tongue.

"Just this week?" One of Dennis’s hands slides up the back of Chris's neck, the other threading into his hair, fingertips savoring the warmth of his scalp. It's been so much longer than a week for him.

"You know exactly how long." Chris's mouth drags up his throat. "Since you walked out my door that morning."

Something blossoms in Dennis’s chest. His grip tightens. "Shut up and touch me."

Chris's hands grab his ass, yanking him closer.

The friction of their cocks through too many layers of fabric makes them both groan.

"Why are you still dressed?" Chris fumbles with Dennis’s buttons. "Every damn meeting, every site visit—too many layers between us."

“Sorry, we can't all show up shirtless like some people.” But Dennis is already helping Chris with the buttons. “Some of us have standards to maintain."

“Good thing I'm doing a private inspection.”

Dennis’s laugh cuts off into a gasp when Chris gets his pants open.

The first touch of Chris's hand on his hard-on makes his hips jerk.

" Fuck ." Chris's voice goes from surprised to hungry. "No underwear? Oh my god ."

"Ruins the lines of the suit." Dennis rocks into Chris's grip, impatient for more contact.

"Ruins me is what it does."

Chris's hand wraps around Dennis’s cock, thumb rubbing circles into his frenulum where precum's been threatening to soak through his pants since he noticed Chris staring earlier in the night. Chris’s other hand traces up Dennis’s spine as Dennis bucks into his grip, gasping.

"You have no idea what you do to me."

"Show me."

When Chris does, his gaze searches for Dennis’s hooded eyes and parted lips, flushed and trembling. His hand strokes Dennis’s dick in a steady rhythm—not too fast, not too slow—each motion calculated, adjusting to the shift in Dennis’s breathing and the high, choked sounds teased from his throat.

Every pump slides Dennis’s foreskin over the head—wet, throbbing, and taut—dragging it just enough to make his thighs tremble.

It makes Chris hum low in his throat, a sound that vibrates through the quiet air when Dennis’s whole body starts to shake without his permission.

"Yes, princess," Chris murmurs, his voice breathy and rough. "Take what you need. Use me. Show me how you want it."

He clicks his tongue softly, a guiding pace that matches the movement of his hands, clearly savoring the way Dennis’s hips jerk upward, chasing every bit of friction.

Dennis can't help but move, riding Chris's lap while his head falls back, throat marked and exposed. The windows fog up. The car rocks. Outside, a street light flickers on and off, casting strobing shadows over heated skin.

He's so pent up, it only takes a few strokes before Dennis is coming all over Chris's fist.

The sudden orgasm pulls the air straight out of his lungs. His lips part but not a single sound escapes as he spurts, then leaks between the spaces of coaxing fingers and the soft rasp of Chris’s murmured praise against his jaw.

His eyes roll back beneath closed lids, and everything narrows to the roar in his head—a rush that drowns out the world, leaving him weightless and quivering.

"Fuck, princess, you're incredible like this," Chris breathes into the hollow of his throat, fingers pressing bruises into Dennis’s hips like he can't get enough of feeling him fall apart.

They stay like that, Dennis catching his breath.

The sweat that broke out in his frenzy cools on his skin. City lights scatter patterns through tinted windows.

When his breathing steadies, Dennis shifts back onto the seat. Chris turns to follow the movement.

"What are you—"

Dennis answers by unzipping Chris's pants, working them down with focused determination.

His bottom lip catches between his teeth as he stares at the bulge in Chris's briefs.

God, he's missed this—the sight, the feel, the smell of him.

His mouth waters. "Taste you. I want to taste you."

He tugs Chris's briefs down, burying his face in the coarse hair at the base. The warmth, the musky scent, the velvet-soft skin against his cheek makes him sigh.

This is what he's been craving.

"No, princess, you don't have to—" Chris's hands hover uncertainly.

Dennis wraps his fingers around Chris's shaft, mesmerized by the weight of it. Presses a kiss to the middle, then glances up. "I want to. You didn't let me before, and now I want to."

Chris sinks back against the seat. "If you're sure..." His voice comes out soft. In awe. All cockiness gone.

Dennis rises up, kisses Chris the way he wants to—thorough and unhurried, like they have all night. It’s been too long, and Dennis wants to savor the moment.

Only when Chris goes pliant under his mouth, as if in understanding that this is entirely Dennis’s decision to make, does he trail kisses down Chris's neck, past his open collar, back to where Chris's cock juts up, heavy and swollen like he's been aching for this as long as Dennis has.

The first taste is tentative—just the tip of his tongue exploring the head while Chris's fingers card through his hair.

He peeks up to find Chris transfixed, eyes locked on him, not even blinking.

Holding his gaze, Dennis’s mouth stretches around the width, struggling to take in the head from lack of practice.

The gentle pressure of Chris's hand on his nape gives him courage.

Dennis takes more of him in, jaw working to accommodate the girth.

Everything about this is new and it’s different than he expected—the solid weight pressing down his tongue, every vein and ridge introducing strange new textures against his lips, the smooth slide of precum coating his mouth.

When he copies what he remembers Chris doing to him on their first night—sliding his tongue along the underside then sucking hard, Chris's whole body shudders to a groan escaping his lips. His fingers tighten in Dennis’s hair.

"Watch the teeth, baby, the teeth—" Chris shifts restlessly in the seat, thighs tensing under Dennis’s hands like he's fighting to stay still. Like the feeling is too tight, too new for him as well.

The 'baby' catches Dennis off guard. His head jerks up in surprise, but Chris is still in his mouth—teeth dragging across the sensitive head and making Chris's hips buck with a gasp.

" Princess! "

Dennis’s hands spread over Chris's thighs, soothing the trembling muscles. He looks up through his lashes, mouth still full, and Chris lets out a string of curses at the sight.

When Chris's breathing steadies, Dennis lets his teeth graze the head again—just to see what happens, now that it’s been confirmed that a guaranteed reaction will ensue.

Chris's whole body jerks, electrocuted. His cock swells impossibly larger in Dennis’s mouth, and the fingers in Dennis’s hair tighten to the edge of pain.

Whether it's from fear of getting his dick bitten off or desire for more, Chris pushes deeper.

Dennis responds by sucking harder.

" Fuck , princess—" Chris's hips stutter upward once, twice, then he floods Dennis’s mouth, hot and thick.

The taste hits Dennis’s tongue—sharp and salty, like ocean air but heavier. It overflows past his lips, running down his chin before he can swallow all of it.

Dennis catalogs everything that has happened:

The pulse of Chris's cock against the inside of his cheek.

The way Chris's face transforms with each swipe of tongue and the barely-there touch of teeth.

The sounds he makes when Dennis applies suction.

It’s fascinating.

So much so, that Dennis can't help but try one more, itsy bitsy, teeny tiny, experimental suck .

Chris nearly levitates off the seat.

" Fuck— princess—baby— fuck —" His hand flies to Dennis’s face, then he slides his thumb into the corner of Dennis’s mouth, gently breaking the seal.

He releases a shuddering sigh when Dennis unlatches.

Chris looks destroyed—chest heaving, eyes heavy-lidded, lips parted around harsh breaths.

Dennis pulls off, wiping his chin with the back of his hand, eyes wide and questioning.

That was quick. For his first time, how could he have possibly known what to expect? Although whatever he did seemed rather effective because Chris can barely focus on him, looking dazed and boneless.

The sight makes something in Dennis’s chest purr, so he leans back in towards Chris's dick— mmm… curiouser and curiouser!

"Princess!" Chris wheeze-laughs, grabbing his wrists. "I swear you're trying to end me."

Then Chris is yanking him up for a kiss that makes Dennis’s spent cock twitch with interest—the thought of Chris tasting himself on Dennis’s tongue doing unexpected things to his insides.

How strange. How very interesting indeed.

They make out until their lungs burn, exchanging breaths between parted lips, hands cradling each other's faces. They only pull off when they’re gasping.

"Well." Dennis finally shifts. Winces at cold air that hits his flaccid dick, still wet with their drying cum. "That was..."

"Yeah." Chris can't even manage his usual smirk, still looking punch-drunk and groggy. "I don't even know what that was."

They put themselves back together again—Dennis tucking himself away and straightening his clothes with meticulous attention.

When he glances at Chris, he finds him still looking fucked out and undone, fumbling with his own buttons amidst soft pants and heavy breathing.

Without thinking, Dennis reaches over to help—tucking Chris in, smoothing his shoulders straight and fixing his collar until he looks presentable again.

Chris's hands settle warm around his waist, then slide up to his ribs and back down.

Their eyes meet, and something in Chris's expression makes Dennis lean in automatically. In this moment, it feels strangely normal to do this, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The kiss is different this time—clean and sweet. Just lips pressing together, tongues meeting briefly to remember the shape of each other.

Then, the car doors open noiselessly in the quiet night as they climb out.

Chris circles around to hold open the passenger door for Dennis. He waits until Dennis is settled before closing it, then walks around to the driver's side.

The key turns in the ignition. "Where to?"

“I’ll send you a pin.”

Bzzz.

"Oh."

The single syllable carries something Dennis doesn't want to analyze right now. All he knows is that he can't assume it's an invitation to Chris's bed.

Anyway, he needs time to think. To lie awake replaying every moment of tonight while his heart pounds and his cock hardens at the memories.

Besides, he doesn’t want to look too eager. Chris has clearly done this before. He must be a bit of a player, surely, while Dennis…

Well, Dennis just made everything messier than it needs to be—as usual.

The drive passes in silence, their hands and thoughts to themselves.

Chris pulls up outside Dennis’s building, leaving the engine running. He takes in Oakview Heights' gleaming facade, his features unreadable.

"This is..." His voice sounds strange. "You live here?"

Dennis frowns at him, somewhat confused. "Problem?"

"No." But something flashes across Chris's face, like he’s seeing something he doesn’t want to. "Just... different world up here I guess."

Dennis hesitates, his hand on the door handle. He doesn't want to assume, so he doesn’t lean in one last time. Chris makes no move to close the distance either. So he settles for:

"Thanks for the ride.”

"Anytime, princess."

Their eyes meet in the rearview mirror.

Something flickers in Chris's expression—something that makes Dennis’s chest tight. But before he can figure out what it means, Chris looks away.

"See you on Monday?"

"Yeah." Dennis gets out. Monday."

Dennis doesn't invite him up.

Tells himself it's better this way.

Because it is.

He walks to his building, caught between wanting to run away and wanting to turn back.

The sensible thing would be to stop this now, before it gets even messier. But since when has anything about Chris been sensible?

He doesn't look back as he walks inside. Doesn't need to.

He already knows Chris is watching.

Just like he knows this thing between them just got more complicated than either of them planned.