Page 20

Twenty minutes later, they're pulling into the private garage of Dennis’s building, past the security checkpoint where the guard actually salutes Dennis.

Chris's Lexus looks like it took a wrong turn somewhere, surrounded by vehicles that cost more than most houses.

"Must be nice," Chris says, but there's an edge to his voice that wasn't there before.

His usual confidence evaporates. He follows Dennis to the elevator like he's mapping escape routes, jaw clenched, eyes scanning everything without really seeing.

The way his fingers drum against his thigh reminds Dennis of someone preparing for battle rather than just feeling out of place.

Dennis makes a mental note to ask Chris about it later. For now though, the elevator opens directly into his apartment.

When Dennis flips the switch, floor-to-ceiling windows showcase city lights. A grand piano sits unplayed in one corner. The kitchen gleams with appliances that have never been touched.

"The housekeeper's gone for the night," Dennis says, because Chris looks like he's expecting armed guards to materialize from the walls. He jerks his chin towards the hallway. "Office is this way."

"Right." Chris's hands are shoved deep in his pockets as he follows.

They walk past bold, abstract art—all sweeping lines and splashes of muted color—into Dennis’s office, sectioned off by a glass wall and door, clear and seamless except for thin black steel framing.

Minimalist elegance fills the space. His gleaming executive desk commands attention from the far wall, while a butter-soft leather couch invites relaxation along the right side.

The wall opposite the couch showcases a floor-length mirror, its frame matching the black steel of the glass partition.

Dennis can barely contain himself. Three months he's been waiting for this moment. Three months since he commissioned that stupidly expensive frame just to see the look on Chris's face when—

"What. The. Fuck ."

There it is.

Dennis spins around, face split in a shit-eating grin, drinking in every micro-expression as Chris's jaw drops at the wall above the desk.

At Chris's very first dick pic displayed in all its glory, complete with museum lighting and a tiny brass plaque that reads "A Study in Workplace Harassment #1."

"You..." Chris's eyes nearly pop out of his head as he steps closer, finger jabbing at the frame. His gaze ping-pongs between the picture and Dennis like he's watching a tennis match. "You actually..."

"UV-resistant glass." Dennis slouches against the wall, hands tucked in his pockets, smirking as he raps his knuckles against the pristine surface. He can't hold back his grin anymore. "Had to preserve it for posterity."

"You're actually insane , you psycho!"

"Is that right?" Dennis’s voice lilts up with an eyebrow, sounding equal parts amused and innocent. "Says the employee who sent his boss unsolicited nudes."

"That was different!" Chris grips his chest like a scandalized Victorian lady with pearls to clutch.

He circles the desk, eyes still glued to his framed—very enlarged, very hard, very veiny dick—like it might detach and bounce across the floor. "I was literally and technically trying to piss you off."

Dennis’s head falls back as laughter erupts from his chest. God, it feels good to have someone who gets his slightly twisted, very lame sense of humor.

"And I was trying to get back at you, so, winning!" He drops into his chair sideways, both legs slung over the arm, smug as anything.

"Been waiting months for you to see it,” he says, sighing happily. He cranes his neck to look up at Chris, big smile on his face.

"Yeah?" Chris takes a step behind him, then hands land on his shoulders, strong fingers digging into knots Dennis didn't even know he had.

A moan escapes as his head lolls side to side, muscles melting under Chris's touch. Fuck, that feels amazing.

"That why you brought me here? To show off your interior decorating?" Chris chuckles. "I can't believe you planned this, you nutjob."

"The framing? Yes,” Dennis admits, clicking his tongue and wiggling his shoulders when Chris kneads just right at a spot that’s been killing him. “The emergency permit situation?” He tilts his head to the side to rub his cheek across Chris’s thumb in thanks. “Surprisingly no."

"You're actually evil, Dennis Kim."

"Hey," Dennis taps Chris's fingers when they pause, demanding more of that heavenly massage. "It's not my dick up there. Maybe you shouldn't have let it out of your pants."

"And look how well that worked out." Chris's hands abandon Dennis’s shoulders, ignoring his disappointed complainy noises.

Before Dennis can turn to sulk at Chris properly, Chris spins his chair around. Gathers his legs and drops them back on the floor.

"You did frame it."

"For revenge." But Dennis’s breath hitches as Chris kicks his legs apart.

"Working out great for you, isn't it boss?"

Chris drops to his knees, spreads Dennis’s thighs wider with his palms, then starts sliding his warm hands up and down to knead into the skin.

His fingers work the tired muscles until Dennis’s head falls back, throat exposed. It really has been such a crazy long day.

"Real professional,” Chris says with a touch too much amusement.

"I am extremely—" Dennis’s words crack when Chris's mouth presses against his cock through his pants, nuzzling in hard.

"Fuck, Chris!" One hand tangles in Chris's thick hair, fingertips massaging his scalp while the other cradles his jaw, thumb tracing the stubble there.

These secret spots that only Dennis gets to touch, gets to know.

Chris leans into the touch like he's starved for it. It has, after all, been a whole day for him as well. A full day without the physical contact neither of them can seem to go without lately.

"Extremely what?” he snorts, burying his face into Dennis’s crotch again so he moans. “Professional?"

Chris peers up, eyes narrowed, face all sharp angles and impeccable bone structure that makes Dennis squirm in his seat. Seriously, what gives him the right to look this good?

"Want to try that again?" Chris says dryly, if a little muffled.

Dennis tries to keep his voice steady, tries to maintain some semblance of control. "Want to do your job and finish what you star— ah! ”

Chris has already got Dennis’s zipper down, fingers hooking into pristine white cotton to free his half-hard cock.

His eyes study Dennis’s face. Travel down to watch his chest heave. Then that mouth wraps around him, slow and wet and hot, god, so hot around his tip before sliding halfway down his shaft.

Chris sucks and drags, circles with his tongue and laps just under the flare of Dennis’s head until all thoughts of permits and professionalism and propriety dissolve into static.

After a month of this—of being absolute shit at keeping their hands off each other—Chris's mouth is as skilled as it is demanding.

It twists Dennis’s stomach in ways that make him spread his legs wider. Cant his hips up a little more. Make rambling, panting noises spill from his lips, completely unfiltered.

Dennis would rather not stop, but he does when he notices Chris palm and squeeze himself through his jeans, the bulge there huge and tempting.

Because Dennis has got other plans tonight.

He grabs Chris's hair, yanking his head back until Chris pops off with a wince.

"Get up," Dennis hisses, skin practically crawling with need.

It's been a whole twenty-four fucking hours without Chris all over him and he's done waiting.

"Bossy," Chris snarks from the corner of his mouth, one eye closed at the sting in his hair.

But he rises, lips red and shiny with spit, and Dennis wants nothing more than to wreck that gorgeous full mouth even more.

"I am your boss."

Dennis stands up, fingers shaking with impatience as he unclasps Chris's belt. He yanks it out in one fast motion like a whip and throws it across the room.

His fingers attack Chris's jeans buttons next, ripping them through their holes with a pop pop pop .

He steps forward, backing Chris towards the leather couch on the other side of the room.

When Chris doesn't move fast enough, Dennis shoves him, palms flat against his chest.

"Remember?"

"Hard to forget when you—" the back of Chris's knees hit the couch and he drops onto it with an oof . "When you keep reminding me." His eyebrow quirks up and lips twist, playful and curious.

"Someone has to keep you in line." Dennis stares him down, then hooks his thumbs into the sides of his pants and underwear and strips them off in one smooth motion.

He steps out of his clothes and kicks them aside, watching Chris's eyes go wide.

Dennis straddles his lap, knees caging Chris’s thighs. Grabs the hem of Chris's shirt and rips it over his head, chucking it to the side to join the mess he’s made.

"Since you clearly can't behave yourself."

"You like it when I misbehave." Chris's hands slide up under Dennis’s shirt. He hums appreciatively at what he finds there, having discovered something tasty. "Like it when I push your buttons."

His touch slides back down and onto Dennis’s hips. Then his grip tightens and he's twisting Dennis around.

Dennis catches on fast, using Chris's shoulders for leverage as he lifts himself. They pivot together, Chris's strength and Dennis’s quick reflexes making it work.

His thighs land on either side of Chris's legs facing the mirror, fingers grappling for Chris's forearms to steady himself.

"Push this." Dennis grinds down hard, watching in the mirror as Chris's head falls back with a strangled noise.

Twisting at the waist to face him, Dennis reaches back, weaving an arm behind Chris's shoulders. His fingers thread through Chris's hair from the back of his head, before closing a loose fist in the strands to prop his head back up.

"Eyes on the mirror."

Chris's eyes lock onto their reflection—Dennis perched on his lap, bare from waist down except for those expensive dress socks hugging his calves. His work shirt is still crisp and proper above the waist, though his tie's long gone, and he has a couple of buttons undone at the collar.

They both look fucked out already, before they've even started.

Dennis’s cock fills out against his stomach. Chris's jeans are strained where his crotch is still trapped between them.

"Fuck," Chris breathes. His hands tighten on Dennis’s hips. "You planned this too?"

"The mirror's new." Dennis rolls his pelvis, watching their reflection. His dick bobs against his belly while the friction of Chris's jeans against his ass draws a soft moan from his throat.

Chris's hand slides up Dennis’s inner thigh, inching higher and higher, until his thumb starts stroking the V of Dennis’s pelvis and his knuckles brush against Dennis’s balls.

"Decorator's choice last week," Dennis pants, grinding down harder as they both stare at the decorator's impeccable taste. "Happy accident."

"Nothing's an accident with you," Chris groans.

His other hand glides around Dennis’s waist, dipping lower to cup his balls. Chris weighs them in his palm as his mouth finds Dennis’s nipple through his shirt. His teeth catch the fabric, hot through the cotton until Dennis makes little encouraging sounds in the back of his throat.

"I swear this actually is,” Dennis giggles, “promise!” But Chris doesn’t seem to be listening.

He’s busy watching his fingers slip down Dennis’s shirt buttons one by one. He eases it off Dennis’s shoulders, then pulls a packet of lube from his pocket.

God, that still makes Dennis blush—the way Chris is always so ready to finger fuck him, so shameless and blasé about it.

Despite his own shyness, Dennis helps tug Chris's jeans and underwear down over his ass, eager to finally say hello to his cock.

“Holy shit," Dennis breathes when Chris's dick springs free.

He reaches for it on instinct, but Chris makes them shift themselves instead. Adjust their positions until Dennis’s legs spread as wide as they can over Chris's parted thighs, hooked over his knees.

Chris's hardness presses fat and heavy against Dennis’s spine. Dennis can feel how thick and throbbing it is, long upon his skin.

"Definitely didn't plan how good we'd look together," Dennis admits.

“Let me see your fuckhole, princess,” Chris says, as casual as he’s asking Dennis to pass a report over at work. “Lean back on me,” he instructs as his own hands prop Dennis’s ass up from under his ass cheeks.

Dennis does as he’s told, comfortable with Chris taking charge where his hole is involved.

In the mirror, Dennis’s small, pink, puckered asshole comes into view.

Chris has never disappointed whenever he’s asked Dennis to present himself to him. It always feels so nice, the way he pays attention to it like he can’t get enough of this opening into his body.

With the tip of his longest finger, Chris traces Dennis’s rim over and over as they both watch their reflections. He circles it. Presses against it with a pad. Jiggles it while Dennis stays heavy against Chris's left shoulder, breath coming faster as arousal pools low in his gut.

"I love your hole, princess," Chris murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to Dennis’s shoulder.

His fingers pull gently at Dennis’s rim, spreading him just enough to see the pink crinkle smooth out. "Always so pretty for me, so clean and perfect."

Dennis flushes hot—Chris doesn't need to know about his extra-long showers these days, or the discrete black toiletry bag he keeps in his office drawer. But the way Chris worships his body makes all that preparation worth it.

"Beautiful," Chris breathes.

Dennis’s rim flutters at the praise, making Chris groan. Making him slide his palms up Dennis’s inner thighs until they're framing his balls, his taint, his hole.

He pulls Dennis’s thighs wider still, like he’s trying to spread him open completely—revealing every last detail of Dennis’s most private parts, making sure nothing is hidden from him.

The too much stretch sends delicious tingles radiating into Dennis’s core.

"Look at it winking at me." Chris’s mouth sucks a blotch onto a smooth spot of Dennis’s arm just below his shoulder, then he adds with complete sincerity: "I think it wants me to kiss it."

"Chris!" Dennis laughs, swatting at his back. "You're so gross!" But his protests are short lived.

It’s simply easier for his fingers to thread through Chris's hair from nape to crown, slow and lazy. Easy to let his eyes fall shut, breathing in the moment.

He's never felt this relaxed, this at peace, than when he’s with Chris.

Chris tears open the lube packet with his teeth, slicking up his fingers as he hums something tuneless with his beautiful voice.

Dennis stays still against his front, feeling Chris’s breath on his ear, the rise and fall of his chest against his back.

His legs are wide open, just waiting. Both Chris’s arms border him, holding him in place as he lubricates.

Dennis trails a fingertip along Chris’s knuckles, the back of his hand—sun-tanned and wood-roughened—before tracing back again.

What a thrilling thought, knowing that in a moment, these steady, capable fingers will be in him.

“Going to make you feel good now, princess,” Chris murmurs into the side of his face before depositing a small kiss on his temple.

Then he drags his wet fingers up and down Dennis’s taint—those firm strokes he seems to love giving this particular spot.

His other hand keeps Dennis’s butt cheek pulled apart, keeping everything exposed and taut, amplifying each touch.

Dennis shivers from the cold of the lube, but it’s not long before Chris starts circling his rim until it starts twitching, begging for more attention.

Dennis is floating in pleasure, but impatience stirs.

When he thinks Chris has been alternating between his taint and rim long enough, he turns his face into Chris's neck, hand cupping Chris's cheek as he noses at the skin, giving it tiny kitten licks.

"Chris?" he whispers, voice sleepy from how good everything feels. "Won't you finger me now? I want to feel you in me."

"No hurry, princess," Chris says. But he does pull Dennis in by the elbow until they're half-facing each other.

"Hmm?" Dennis hums, lifting a hand to stroke the shell of Chris's ear, tugging at his lobe.

"Just wanna taste you," Chris husks, burying his face in Dennis’s chest and zeroing in on a nipple, his hands never stopping. "Wanna taste you everywhere."

Dennis sighs, indulgent, letting Chris have his way. His thumb traces Chris's jaw, feeling it work as he suckles and nibbles and nurses at his nipple. His eyes follow the soft curve of Chris's closed lids—such a delicate feature against everything else tough and rugged about him. Watching Chris lap and suck like he's drunk on the taste of Dennis’s skin.

But soon even this gentle attention has Dennis feeling like he might burst. He’s beginning to get a distinct impression of being a tightly wound cord, fraying and ready to snap in too many places at once.

“Chris, I want— mmph! ” Dennis croons on a particularly hard suck that ends with a sharp nip of teeth.

“What do you want, gorgeous?” Chris murmurs into his nub, now tender, dark pink, and exquisitely sore. “Let me give you what you want.”

Dennis catches Chris's face between his palms, lifting until Chris's lips pops off his nipple with a wet sound.

He pulls Chris into a kiss that starts slow, tongues eager to meet each other, then deepens until they're both breathing hard.

"I want us to make each other come," he whispers against Chris's lips, his own smile soft and satisfied.

Chris's face presses against Dennis’s shoulder, nuzzling firmly as he guides him to turn forward again.

He nudges Dennis’s right knee up onto the couch with gentle persistence while Dennis’s left foot—leg still hooked over Chris’s—balances on its toes on the floor.

Dennis grabs around Chris’s shoulder to steady himself. One palm falls behind him to take his weight on the couch.

The precarious position leaves Dennis completely at Chris's mercy—spread much wider than before, fully opened to him.

Here, in the moment, he is experiencing everything that happens to his body in real time. But if he turns his head a little to the left, it’s like he can watch them performing on HDTV.

Chris's cock, no longer pressed against Dennis’s back, now lies heavy beneath him.

A rough palm wraps around Dennis’s dickhead, making him gasp. The other starts a firm stroke up from Dennis’s balls, up along his shaft until Chris's hands meet each other, over and over.

Despite his impatience, Dennis lets him.

Wants Chris to do all the little things he likes doing to Dennis’s body.

He loves when Chris seems to be enjoying himself with his gropes and fondles. It feeds the little part of him that can’t help but wonder if Chris is getting enough back from their couplings.

Chris's petting grows bolder. Until Dennis is keening and breathless, wriggling and restless. Doing all he can to stay still while Chris glides over his length and painfully tight head, tugging off the sensitive ridge over and over.

"Do you have any idea how good we're going to look, princess," Chris asks, his tone conversational, eyes fixed on what his hands are so carefully tending to. "When I finally get inside you? When you're ready to take all of me?"

Perhaps it’s more of a statement than a question, because Dennis’s soft moans shatter sweet and high as two of Chris's fingers push in, stretching him like they have been for weeks now, but this time with a suddenness that makes his toes curl.

The unexpected wideness of two fingers at once has him gasping—they've never skipped the slow build-up before.

His body fights the intrusion, muscles clenching around the thickness, but then Chris flexes his fingers back and forth—not softly testing how tight Dennis’s walls grip onto him like usual, but demanding they yield and ease their suction around his fingers.

They scissor him wider until he sees spots. What starts as an overwhelming burn dissolves into something mind-bendingly euphoric.

"You're still— oh !" Dennis cries out when Chris twists his wrist, turning his fingers all the way inside him before reversing the motion.

The new feeling leaves him with his lips parted and lashes fluttering. "Still preparing me for your cock?"

Chris groans at Dennis’s words. "Always."

He leans in toward Dennis, catching Dennis’s earlobe with his teeth. "Want you ready. Want you begging me for it. I want to see you gagging for my dick in your ass.”

With another thrust of his fingers, that makes Dennis grunt in surprise, Chris says, “Baby, I wanna fuck you so hard you can taste it in your throat."

Dennis’s head reels, vision blurring so he feels faint. Every insecurity from the past few weeks evaporates, replaced by a rollercoaster in his belly and chest.

Nothing exists except Chris and him, except them , right here, right now.

"Look how big you make me, princess," Chris murmurs, his lips brushing over Dennis’s skin, now damp and glistening from the heat of their movements and the flush of foreign entry, a sensation that never feels less strange no matter how accustomed Dennis has become to it. "Look at what you do to me."

Dennis stares at their reflection. Chris’s cock being closer to the mirror, and bouncing every time the back of his knuckles hit it as he strokes Dennis off, looks so much larger from this angle—positively monstrous.

The sight makes him shudder. His body trembles uncontrollably, vibrating from a cocktail of arousal, anticipation, and a hint of uncertainty, the mix sending him haywire.

Dennis has been wondering, been craving , but now that he can see them like this together he can't believe it.

"That's going to be in me?" The words slip out in a whisper of disbelief before he can stop them.

"Every inch." Chris's fingers drive deeper, ram harder. "Going to fill you up so good. Stretch this pretty little hole until you're all loose and sloppy for me. Make you take it all again—" his knuckles force past Dennis’s ring, "and again—" deeper, "and again—" until the web between his fingers hit against Dennis’s entrance, making him whimper.

"Fuck!" Dennis’s hips stutter from the sensations Chris is forcing into his body and the image Chris has forced into his head. "Chris—"

"But not yet." Chris's free hand tightens around Dennis’s shaft making him yelp.

Dennis pulls himself in towards Chris, scrabbling closer, burying his nose in Chris's cheek trying to breathe himself steady.

"For now, just watch." Chris releases Dennis’s dick to pinch his chin and turn his face back to the mirror. "Watch how fucking perfect we look together."

The mirror shows everything—Chris's fingers pistoning in and out of Dennis’s hole. The way Chris has fucked him hard enough that even just two fingers have softened him up. Stretched him wider than before.

Each time Chris withdraws completely, Dennis’s entrance stays open for a moment—a soft pink circle that pulses once, twice, before drawing closed again.

Chris breaches him over and over—sometimes while his hole is still gaped, other times waiting for it to whorl shut, only to pry it open again with his fingers.

When Chris slams back into Dennis with one brutal stroke before it can wrinkle back closed, the arm clinging around Chris's shoulder shoots back onto the couch in shock.

Dennis’s head drops back between his shoulders as Chris pushes rougher, harder, deeper until something explodes in Dennis’s gut and his eyes go wide.

His fingertips dig into the leather, back arching up at the relentless pummeling of his insides.

Dennis moans at how filthy they look, how obscene it feels, how well Chris’s fingers bully their way inside him despite the burn.

How their bodies slot together like this was always meant to happen.

"Ah—ah—Chris!" Dennis’s voice rises with each thrust, breaking into these high, desperate sounds he can't hold back.

Chris's biceps flex as he strokes firmly down Dennis’s belly, like he always does when he needs Dennis distracted while he forces him past another limit.

"Look at you," Chris scrapes his teeth over the round of Dennis’s shoulder. "Look at how you take my punches now, how you want it. So pretty for me."

"Does this—" Dennis’s voice cracks and his eyes squeeze shut as Chris attempts to push in a third finger.

Chris’s eyes are fixed on Dennis’s closed ones, the expression on his face, watching for any signs of pain or uncertainty.

He hums low in his throat so Dennis knows he’s monitoring. His other hand still grips Dennis’s dick tight at the base—keeping pleasure mixed with the stretch, making sure Dennis stays hard while Chris opens him up, unclenches his walls.

"Does this turn you on?” Dennis warbles at accommodating this new width. “Watching me take it?"

"Baby, you have no idea," Chris hisses through his teeth. "Love seeing you fall apart on my fingers like this. Just wait till you see how you look when I’m pounding into you for real.”

" Chris! Shut up!"

But Chris’s predictions make Dennis’s eyes flutter open.

Then he can't tear them away from their reflection.

From how Chris is staring at him with an intensity that burns straight through him, gaze locked like Dennis is the only thing in his world.

The shudder this time scuttles up his spine like electricity wrapped in silk, and fuck, he's so close.

"Beautiful," Chris breathes. "So fucking beautiful like this. It's going to be soon," Chris promises, bunching and curling his fingers just right until Dennis’s whole body convulses.

"Soon you'll be ready for me. I want you open and loose all the time so my cock will always feel good in you. But for now—" Chris presses down on Dennis’s belly with a firmer touch. "Come for me, just on my fingers. I want to see you lose it."

"Fuck," Dennis squirms, realizing somewhere in his pleasure-soaked brain that his body's about to obey just because Chris said so, and he doesn't even care. His muscles clamp down around all three of Chris's fingers, making them both groan at this promise of more.

"Coming Chris, comingcomingcoming —" Dennis’s eyes squeeze shut, teeth clenched. His elbows drop heavily onto the couch, making his untouched dick wobble as it pulses and dribbles from the tip. His head hangs back, then he feels it—the pleasure coiling tight, tighter, tightest—before it explodes, flooding from his groin through his whole body until his mind whites out completely.

His body spasms, hips jerking wild and uncontrollable. His hole clenches and releases around Chris's knuckles.

" Fuck , Dennis—" Chris's voice breaks on each curse as he wraps his hand around Dennis’s swollen head, letting it spurt—first in hot, urgent bursts, then tapering off into weaker throbs—into the warmth and safety of his palm.

They stay like that, catching their breath.

The mirror shows their aftermath—sweat-slicked skin, bruises mottled on Dennis’s breast. Chris's fingers are still buried deep as Dennis’s cock twitches with aftershocks. His other hand has started smearing the cum it held, round and around Dennis’s stomach—slow and languid—as they wait for his high to subside.

Chris stares at him through the mirror, like he can't quite believe how he ended up with Dennis Kim sprawled across his lap, letting him do these wonderful, dirty, absolutely filthy things to him.

When Dennis’s breathing steadies, he feels Chris's cock press between the cleft of his ass, still thick and hard.

"Let me take care of you too," Dennis slurs, clambering back up, a little dizzy, reaching between his thighs to wrap his fingers around Chris's length. "You've been so good to me."

Chris catches Dennis’s wrist, his thumb brushing back and forth over the pulse point—the thin, delicate skin there, a rare softness untouched by Dennis’s strict workout regimen.

"You wanted us to make each other come, didn’t you?" he says, voice low.

Dennis’s eyebrows pinch together at the question, but when their eyes meet in the mirror, Chris's smile turns just a bit evil. Then he's holding Dennis’s waist with both hands and hauling him up until Dennis is straightened up on his lap.

"Then rub your wet, loose asshole on me princess," Chris whispers by his ear, "Let me feel how hungry that pretty hole is for my cock."

Dennis is still floating from his orgasm, knees weak, but god he wants to make Chris feel good too. He wants to so, so much.

Chris spreads his legs, giving Dennis space. “Come on, sweetheart, you can do it.”

With trembly hands, Dennis holds onto Chris's thighs. Then he starts bending and straightening his knees, arching his back deep to expose that hidden strip between his cheeks that only Chris gets to see now.

He slides his taint and hole along Chris's length, his balls swaying back to brush Chris's shaft with each movement while Chris's thumb keeps his cock pressed against Dennis’s entrance.

"Like this?" Dennis asks, wanting to be good for Chris.

"Just like that," Chris says, eyes fixed on how Dennis’s wet little gape appears and disappears with every clench and release. "I can't wait to fuck you ruined and sloppy, get you so stretched out you can't even close it anymore—mess you up so, so pretty."

“ Chris! ” Dennis exclaims, his spent cock already twitching back to life. “Can you not !” Dennis scolds, or at least tries to. “F—feels too good,” he manages, by way of a terrible explanation, words emerging in half-pants and drawn-out mewls. “So, so, good, good, good!”

"Move faster then, push back harder," Chris encourages, guiding his hip. "Yeah, just like that, get yourself off on my cock, show me how bad you want it."

The way Chris's whole attention zeroes in on making him come again—already—makes Dennis feel so spoiled that he purrs from his throat, head lolling back.

"Do you feel how greedy your sweet, pink hole is for me, baby?"

"Y—yes," Dennis gasps, his knees threatening to give out from everything they’ve done, Chris's shameless words turning his head inside out. His knees nearly buckle as he begs, "F—fuck, Chris, p—please—want you to fuck me..."

"Yeah?" Chris breathes, ducking down to suck and bite the back of Dennis’s rib hard enough to make him cry out at the new bruise forming. "So you do want me to mash this tight little cunt ? Fuck it all up until you can’t take it anymore?”

"Yes, Chris, god , yes!" Dennis’s cock hardens again even though he just ejaculated, his ass feeling too good to even notice.

"You want me to come inside you until my cum's dripping out of it and you're all pink and raw, so swollen and weak you can't even feel what I put into you?"

"Chris, whatthefuck —"

Dennis’s words choke off into a squeal, as his body convulses against Chris’s dick, taking him by utter surprise. Holy fuck, his second orgasm blindsides him so hard he thinks he might pass out, Chris’s dirty talk strangling his brain completely.

Chris rams all three fingers into Dennis’s hole with a loud groan, his own cock jerking hard against Dennis’s skin. Dennis yelps at the sudden intrusion, and Chris just holds them there, other hand gripping Dennis’s hip as he pushes up until Dennis is forced onto his tiptoes, just hovering off Chris’s lap.

Dennis clutches Chris's forearms, giddy from how good the pressure feels as he comes. Chris follows instantly, Dennis’s reaction tipping him over. His cum shoots out hot and wet between them, so much of it after being pent up all day that it soaks Dennis’s lower back and ass.

They stay there, Chris's hands anchoring Dennis against him, their combined cum dripping from Dennis’s balls and butt —trickling down Chris’s forearm and pooling at his elbow—neither of them in a hurry to move and break their shared high.

Dennis finds his voice first. "Goddamn..." he croaks.

"Uh huh." Chris sounds far away. He eases his fingers out of Dennis’s body, with much more care than he’d fucked him with. His lips find Dennis’s shoulder, his neck, the corner of his jaw. "Holy crap, princess,” he says, voice thin, “I think that's the sluttiest shit we've ever done."

“Who the fuck taught you to talk like that,” Dennis slurs, waiting for his vision to un-double itself. “Goddamn sleazeball…”

“I’ve had a lot of practice with you in my head.” Chris sounds just as out of it as Dennis does.

"Mmm," is all Dennis can manage in his hazy, dazy state.

"Did you like it?" Chris asks after a moment, pulling Dennis back onto his lap. “All that stuff we just did?”

His arms circle Dennis’s waist. He doesn’t stop kissing or nuzzling into him. Little pecks and brushes here and there, on whatever skin he can find.

Dennis just nods, still too blissed out to form words.

Neither mentions how soft those kisses are. How Chris's arms tighten like he doesn't want to let go.

How despite everything filthy they just did, this feels dangerously close to—

"The permits," Dennis says suddenly, reality crashing back. "Fuck, I need—"

"Go." Chris lets him up. "I'll just enjoy the show," he says, attempting a leer but too boneless and content to pull it off.

Dennis winces as he stands, walking carefully to his desk with cum cooling on his skin and that ache between his legs—a soreness he finds strangely satisfying now, after weeks of Chris teaching him to crave it.

Chris's eyes follow every step, sprawled on the couch like a large, lithe, very, very satisfied jungle cat.

"Stop staring." Dennis drops into his chair, face heating under Chris's thorough attention—which is ridiculous given what they just did. "It's distracting," he complains.

"Everything about you is distracting." Chris arches his back, muscles rippling from shoulders to abs as he stretches his arms overhead. His cock, still thick and impressive even when soft, catches Dennis’s eye.

"Like what you see, princess?"

Dennis rolls his eyes at that super annoying rumble in his voice.

"I'm trying to work." Dennis tsk s, irritated at being caught looking. He jerks his attention back to his computer. "Go... uh, go walk around or something."

His fingers attack the keyboard, eyes refusing to leave his monitor lest he get caught twice . "You know what, better yet, go get me some water."

"So demanding." Chris yawns, linking his elbows behind his back as his joints crackle and pop. But he's already up, strolling naked through the office like he owns the place.

Dennis tries to focus on his screen—on permit modifications, material orders, and his father's expectations.

Not on the way, if he glances just slightly from the corner of his eye, he can see Chris—nude, captivating, and unsettlingly irresistible—in his kitchen through the doorway.

Not on the marks darkening on his skin. Not on Chris's promise to finally fuck him properly.

He keeps working even as Chris returns with water, fingers brushing his shoulders to let Dennis know the glass is on his desk.

Even as Chris wanders his office, idly scanning the books and trinkets on the shelves, the framed photos, the wall of acrylic awards from Kim Industries projects.

Dennis is just pulling up the final file when he realizes it's been too quiet. He looks up to find Chris studying his degrees.

"You okay, Chris?"

"Harvard Business," Chris reads. "MIT Architecture. Oxford Urban Planning." His finger traces the frames. "Quite the collection."

"My father's collection," Dennis corrects, eyes dropping back to his screen as he types. "Each one carefully chosen." He snorts softly. "Each step mapped out since birth."

There’s a prolonged silence.

It makes Dennis look up, where he sees something dark crossing Chris's expression before he asks:

"No choice in the matter?"

"The choice was Harvard Business or Yale Business." Dennis’s laugh comes out harsh. "Architecture was my compromise. Urban Planning my rebellion."

"And sustainable design?"

"My war." Dennis pushes away from his desk and joins Chris at the wall.

He stares at his younger self—all fake smiles and stiff handshakes with prestigious professors, collecting degrees that made everyone happy but him.

Dennis shifts closer to Chris, drawn to his body heat and the scent of their combined sex and sweat still clinging to his skin.

"Sometimes I think he let me have the Sacramento project just to watch me fail."

He edges even nearer until their arms touch, then presses his thigh against Chris's, trying not to be too obvious about chasing the contact.

But you're not failing." Chris's hand finds Dennis’s waist, and Dennis can't help but shuffle in until Chris's chest presses against his back, strong arms circling his middle.

"You're changing things." Chris plants a kiss on his temple. "Making a difference."

"Meh." Dennis shrugs. "Maybe." But he melts into Chris's hold—subtlety be damned—and lets his body sink back without guilt or shame.

It feels sooo good being naked like this—naked with Chris, naked together —wrapped up toasty in Chris's warmth like his own personal human blanket.

Dennis could never get sick of it.

"Or maybe I'm just being the difficult son. Again."

"The visionary son," Chris corrects. Something in his voice catches, like he's swallowing memories that taste bitter. "Trust me," he adds quietly, "there are worse things to be."

Dennis reluctantly peels himself from Chris's embrace and hurries back to his desk, Chris trailing after him.

Then he’s standing up, hunched over his desk, fingers flying across the keyboard while Chris offers his version of "help and moral support" by mouthing down Dennis’s spine, each kiss spreading a low buzz of pleasure through his overworked body.

"There." He hits send.

Chris's face lights up from where he's leaning against the back of Dennis’s shoulders, arms crossed.

Finally! Time to get his hands on Chris properly, all to himself.

Dennis spins around to find Chris grinning at him, hand already extended. When Dennis takes it, Chris pulls him up flush against his chest.

"Now we can take this to the bedroom—" he starts, matching Chris's wide grin.

Two distinct buzzes cut through the room—one sharp and high, the other lower and longer.

They both turn to look at their phones lighting up on the desk, screens casting twin glows, harsh against the warm overhead lighting.

Dennis lunges back for his phone, snatching it up to read the new message:

Good. Board meeting tomorrow. 8AM sharp.

"Augh! Fuckity fuck fuck fuck!! " Dennis wails, the last thread of his composure snapping like twigs.

"Mmm." Chris's hands slide around his waist, unfazed. "That an invitation?"

He reaches past Dennis for his own phone, his thumb tapping the screen while his other arm stays locked around Dennis’s middle. For just a heartbeat, that embrace tightens before relaxing again.

"That's my cue to sleep." Dennis pulls away, quite, quite ready to burst into tears. He’s too focused on his impending doom to notice the momentary tension in Chris's hold. "Some of us have meetings in the morning."

Chris laughs softly at Dennis’s downturned lips and wobbly eyes and gives him an understanding side-hug.

"I know, baby.” He pecks Dennis on the cheek. “Some of us have site inspections at seven," he sighs with equal disappointment.

Dennis swallows back his instinct to invite Chris to stay. They'd never actually sleep if Chris slept over, and they both need to be functional tomorrow.

Still, the thought of Chris in his bed, even just for sleeping...

Dennis sighs internally, rolling his eyes at himself. Gah! Why is he always trying to complicate shit when they're working so well as they are?

Chris walks around the room, gathering their scattered clothes, then sorts them into two piles on the couch as Dennis drags his feet over, still upset.

They dress without talking, the earlier heat cooling into something quieter.

"Need a ride tomorrow?" Chris asks once he's done and Dennis is buttoning up his shirt.

"No, no—don't drive all the way back here from work just to get me,” Dennis flaps Chris away with a hand, eyebrows pinched in agitation even as his chest warms at Chris's thoughtfulness. “I'll just grab an Uber."

"Suit yourself, princess." Chris pats Dennis’s ass and gives it one last squeeze before heading to the door.

He pauses there, fully dressed but still looking like sex on legs—hair sticking up where Dennis pulled it, red finger marks and scratches peeking out of his rumpled T-shirt. "But next time..."

"Next time?" Dennis raises an eyebrow, curious as he tucks in his shirt.

"Next time I'm bending you over that desk." Chris's smile becomes downright sinful. "Right under my portrait."

"Oh my god, you're so stupid!" Dennis can't help but laugh. "Get out!"

Chris's laugh echoes down the hall until Dennis’s front door clicks shut.

The silence that follows feels wrong, like there's a Chris-shaped hole in the room.

Dennis stares at the framed dick pic. At the mirror still holding shadows of what they'd done. At all the degrees his father chose, hanging neat and proper on the wall.

His phone buzzes again—just enough time for Chris to reach his car.

He glances down expecting one of Chris's usual numbers but sees "Unknown" instead.

Dennis laughs out loud before he even opens it. Trust Chris to have stockpiled spare numbers from their enemy days just to harass him. They were such idiots back then.

He taps the message:

Sweet dreams princess. Think of me when you're sitting through that board meeting tomorrow.

Dennis swallows hard, lips pursed tight as he tries to quell the feeling rising in his chest. The one he doesn't want to have. The one he can't risk messing everything with, when things are so great with Chris.

His finger hovers for a moment before he blocks the number, just for shits and giggles. To piss Chris off so tomorrow will be fun. But also maybe for some semblance of self preservation.

He saves the message first though.

Just because.