Page 25

The phone interruptions grow more frequent.

Chris has gotten better at hiding his reactions, but Dennis has gotten better at reading them—the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his eyes dart to the screen before he silences it.

Tonight it happens while they're tangled on Chris's mattress, Dennis settled between his thighs, savoring every inch of him.

He’s gotten better at this too—at reading Chris’s body.

Months of practice have taught him exactly how to reduce Chris to breathless sounds and which spots make him writhe.

Chris's cock fills his mouth perfectly now. A satisfying, familiar weight on his tongue.

Dennis hums around the head, just to feel Chris's thighs tense. His tongue flits back and forth across Chris's frenulum, just to hear Chris curse.

The phone buzzes again—the third time in an hour.

It's been like this lately, the intervals between messages shrinking while Chris's attempts to ignore them grow more strained.

Chris's whole body goes rigid. Not the good kind.

"Fuck," he mutters, cock softening against Dennis’s tongue.

Dennis slurps off, lips wet. His tongue laps up a trail of saliva—neat and tidy—trickling down Chris’s shaft before it drips to his balls.

"You need to get that?" He drags his lips across the head—left, right, left. Smooches the skin as it creases—faint wrinkles forming with the ebb of Chris’s arousal—marking his territory.

The more time he spends with Chris’s dick, the more he comes to adore it. Dennis likes to think they have shared custody of it now.

"No." But Chris's eyes keep flicking to where his phone lies face-down on the floor.

"Hey." Dennis rises onto his hands, crawl-walking up Chris's body until Chris is under him and they're face to face.

The streetlight filtering through the window catches the furrows between Chris's brows. Dennis smooths his fingers over them, stroking each crease until he feels the tension melt under his touch. "What's wrong?"

"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 Chris adjusting 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 !"

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 that smell 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 site manager 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.

Dennis whimpers around his mouthful, arching up to chase that intoxicating, heady smell—even more potent now.

His enthusiasm draws a groan from Chris, whose thumbs find Dennis’s nipples, circling them before flicking rapidly until precum beads at Dennis’s tip.

Dennis grabs Chris's hands, pressing them harder against his breasts, showing Chris exactly how to pinch and tug until his nipples slip free from the firm snag, again and again. Each delicious squeeze draws muffled moans from his stuffed mouth.

"Fuck, baby, you're so hot it hurts," Chris groans, twisting Dennis’s nipples until he curves off the bed, pleasure-pain shooting straight to his cock as he garbles around Chris's balls. “God, you’re unreal.”

Chris's filthy praise floods Dennis’s veins like a drug, each word amplified by the cruel bliss of obedient fingers on his chest.

"You like that, princess?" Chris pinches harder. Pulls and shakes. "Like how I'm the only one who knows exactly what your body needs?"

Dennis’s jaw aches, his tongue too sore to keep servicing properly. Chris's balls press down deeper, choking him, making him gag in an expulsion of drool that trails messily down to his collarbone.

It has his hand stroking quicker over his cock while Chris tweaks and torments his tits—something indulgent turning into something meaner, harsher.

The burn makes everything more intense. Each jolt makes his nerves sing brighter, his own balls drawing up tight against his body.

"Look at what you've become." Chris's voice grates around the words, rough and raw. "So ruined and needy, letting me wreck you like this, just for me."

Dennis jacks himself harder, faster, planting his feet flat on the mattress to lift his chest higher for Chris's abuse.

His knees spread wide as Chris plays with his nipples, voice dropping lower with each twist.

"Want my cum all over that pretty face?" Chris's words slur together. "Want me to fuck you up? Leave you dripping, wearing all of me so everyone knows?"

His fingers keep wrenching Dennis’s nubs raw—flushed and burning. "Gonna shoot just for you, baby, make you wear it like— oh shit, fuck !" Chris stutters forward, too close for words.

Dennis tries to beg yes , please ! He wants Chris streaming down his throat, dripping off his chin, glazing his chest. But all that comes out are these starved, frenzied sounds, the vibrations spilling helplessly around the satisfying weight of Chris’s sex filling his mouth.

His jaw protests every movement, too spent to do much more than cradle Chris’s sac, his tongue pressing weakly against the taut skin.

He shakes his head side to side, coaxing more friction where his mouth alone can no longer provide, hungry for every reaction it draws from above.

It’s all he has left—this final, relentless effort to draw more from Chris, to wring him out completely.

"Oh god— princess— I'm—" Chris's whole body goes rigid before he finally convulses, coming untouched and pulsing thick, creamy ropes across Dennis’s middle—the first splash of warmth hitting his stomach, surprising them both.

Chris’s hips jerk erratically while his fingers clamp down on Dennis’s nipples, yanking harder than he should—harder than he means to—but he's lost to it, unable to stop himself.

The almost-brutal pull has Dennis trying to gasp, the sound smothered around the weight of Chris in his mouth, the sting heightening the heat punching deep in his belly. Another hot spurt lands on Dennis’s skin, both of them dazed by the force of Chris’s release.

Dennis’s moan gets trapped behind Chris's balls as he feels that goopy, moist proof of Chris's desire smear his skin. The scent of Chris’s spend—sharp, familiar, and purely him—floods Dennis’s senses, stains him as Chris’s, even if he pretends otherwise.

Each warm splash belongs to him, sticky white evidence of how much Chris wants him, craves him. It’s his gauge, his claim, all for him—only for Dennis.

Chris's cock keeps pumping, dripping heat onto Dennis’s sternum as Dennis writhes beneath him, his own need cresting.

The mess of it—Chris’s cum pooling across his body, the sticky streaks gleaming under the light, the feel of his knuckles slippery with Chris’s release—pushes Dennis over.

His body seizes in a full-body tremor, spilling over his hand with a smothered cry, his own load blending into the mess Chris has already made of him.

They stay frozen like that, trembling together while their hearts thunder in sync.

Chris's nipple-torture gentles into absent circles, his thumbs stroking Dennis’s breasts as they both float in the afterglow until their breaths even out, muscles turning liquid and loose

"Fuck me, princess, You're something else," Chris breathes after, shaking his head in disbelief, dizzy from the experience.

He gingerly removes his balls from Dennis’s mouth, swearing non-stop as Dennis sucks them clean and dry on their way out. Then scoots backward so he can lean down to press kisses all over Dennis’s face—his forehead, between his eyes, the tip of his nose—before licking into his mouth kissing him backward, the suckle of lips from lips facing the opposite direction, making both of them chuckle.

"Your balls were just in my mouth," Dennis whispers, both palms cupping Chris’s cheeks.

Chris looks funny upside down—just as handsome, but in a way that makes Dennis grin. His thumbs stroke lightly along Chris’s jaw as their eyes meet. Then Dennis pulls him into a kiss anyway.

Deep and unhurried, it lingers—a quiet ‘thank you’ for what they’ve just done.

For the easy companionship.

For whatever strange, unspoken thing that exists between fuck buddies who might actually like each other as people.

Chris lets Dennis take the lead at first, the kiss soft and sweet, almost reverent. Then he takes over, his version rawer, wetter—all extra tongue and barely-contained hunger, messy and unrestrained like he can’t get enough, determined to devour Dennis’s mouth completely.

His teeth find Dennis’s bottom lip, biting down just enough to make it puff up before he sucks it between his own, leaving it swollen and tingling.

"When I finally get to eat out that ass of yours," Chris murmurs, pulling back just enough to smirk against Dennis’s wet, battered lips, "I’ll kiss you after, and we’ll call it even."

Dennis barks out a laugh, knees curling up to his belly as if to shield himself, arms crossing over his chest. "What the fuck, Chris," he says, half scandalized, half weirdly delighted.

It should be gross. It should make him cringe.

But it doesn’t.

Dennis can’t figure out why. Instead, he slips a hand behind Chris’s neck, guiding him into another kiss, letting Chris kiss him back in that hungry, all-consuming way he does—the way Dennis secretly loves—until they’re both panting, on the edge of passing out.

Maybe they’re past the point of barriers now.

Maybe they’re past a lot of points they shouldn’t have crossed.

Later, after they've collapsed onto their sides, breathless and sated, Chris takes his time—pressing soft kisses along Dennis’s chest, laving his tongue over the tender peaks, cooling away the burn he'd worked into them earlier.

It’s slow and lazy, the complete opposite of what came before. They lie like that for a while, Dennis skating his fingertips up and down Chris’s spine, their breaths evening out, settling into that pleasant afterglow.

It’s when Dennis is almost asleep that he hears it.

The soft sound of Chris getting up.

The familiar notes of his ukulele drifting in from the balcony.

Of his voice—pure, soft, and mellow—a stark contrast to the gruff, rough-and-tumble man that kisses Dennis like he’s the only oxygen at the bottom of the sea.

Dennis’s phone buzzes.

He cracks an eye open. Rolls onto his side and gropes around blindly on the floor beside him until his fingers bump against the screen.

New message.

Saved number.

Chris’s number.

Miss you already princess

Even though Chris is right there, watching the stars, holding onto something Dennis can't quite reach.

Dennis stares at the message until the screen fades to black.