Page 29

Morning brings chaos.

Dennis rushes from breakfast through back-to-back investor meetings before he even reaches the site.

By then, his inbox is flooded with resignation emails from half the electrical team.

According to Jason’s frantic communications that morning: no notice, no real explanations—just vague words delivered with tight smiles and a few apologies.

His phone keeps lighting up with texts from Chris:

One of MY guys just tried recruiting ME for their new boss

Some rich fuck's been poaching the whole crew

Can't pin down who though

Dickhead called from a blocked number

Wanted to "meet in person to discuss terms"

Told him to shove his terms up his ass

They offering stupid money too

Like 2x market rate

Who tf has that kind of cash??

Got new guys coming in. Gonna be hands on all day babe

Might not see you till late

Miss your grumpy face already princess

Dennis considers calling his father to let him know of the situation but immediately recoils, shoulders hunching up to his ears.

Everything will be his fault somehow. Better to handle this himself than face that disapproving stare and ice-cold tone.

He dives into work instead, there's too much ground to cover today.

The day crawls without Chris's constant presence.

Dennis should get more done without the distraction, but paperwork blurs together as his mind drifts to shared lunches and stolen kisses between meetings.

By seven, he's still buried in permit applications and contractor disputes, but of late, he rarely sees midnight at his desk.

Chris had finished with the site hours ago—the crew long gone at five sharp.

Yet here he is in Dennis’s office, moving quietly as Dennis juggles phone calls about material delays, last-minute design revisions on Zoom, and an inbox that's exploded since morning.

Chris makes himself useful without fanfare. Organizing supply orders no site manager should care about. Triple-checking load calculations he shouldn't understand.

When Dennis finally wheels back from his computer, neck cracking as he rolls it side to side, he hears the familiar shuffle of papers being stacked.

Footsteps approach.

He looks up to find Chris's extended hand and that smile that means work is done.

Dennis takes it without hesitation, then their first kiss of the night, of the day, of the Earth’s full spin around the sun, happens there. Finally, finally, finally.

Dennis dissolves against Chris's chest, letting himself be held. Losing himself in the impatient coil of tongues seeking reunion and the reassuring thump of Chris's heart against his. His body practically liquefies in Chris's arms, every tense muscle turning to jelly. No apologies.

Their lips part after what feels like forever, but before either can say anything, Dennis’s stomach lets out a growl like an angry bear.

Chris bursts out laughing, yanking Dennis back against his chest.

While Chris's palm circles his empty belly, Dennis flops his head back onto Chris's shoulder with a groan. "I haven't eaten since breakfast!"

"Perfect timing, princess. Ethiopian?"

Dennis squints up at Chris. "Is that the one where I have to eat with my hands? You're gonna regret this—I am soooo hungry!"

Chris tips back, knees bent with laughter. "You've never had injera? Princess, you haven't lived!"

Dennis lets Chris drag him along. His food recommendations never fail, and whatever that thing is Chris mentioned already sounds amazing.

The ride to dinner starts with Chris venting about the electrical team. "Who poaches half a crew mid-project?"

Dennis notices how Chris's hands tighten on the wheel when he talks about the anonymous calls, how the veins on his neck pulse visibly when the conversation turns to potentially losing more of the crew.

Over shared platters, they brainstorm ways to keep the remaining team from jumping ship.

"We could match their offer," Dennis suggests, scooping up spicy lentils with torn injera.

"With what budget?" Chris snorts. "Unless you've got a trust fund you're willing to tap?"

"Maybe we don't need money." Dennis leans forward. "What if we offered them stakes in future projects? Partnership tracks?"

Chris pauses mid-bite, eyes lighting up. "Now that's the kind of thinking I—"

He breaks off as their server appears with baklava drowning in honey.

Dennis isn’t a dessert person, but it’s been a long day, and things are looking up and feeling pretty great now that he’s back with Chris.

Maybe that’s why his "just one bite" at Chris's needling turns into polishing off most of it, Chris's delighted giggles only slightly annoying.

Maybe Chris is right about him needing more sweetness in life, even though Chris is plenty sweet as it is.

Not that Dennis would ever admit it.

They walk after dinner, through the quiet riverfront park where foot traffic dies after sunset.

Where they won't run into anyone from work.

Dennis thinks this to himself a little more consciously than he’d like. Most of the team lives closer to the city and wouldn’t bother coming out this far.

The backs of their hands brush with each step until Chris captures Dennis’s fingers, lacing them together.

Dennis’s face warms, but he squeezes back, heart racing at this small intimacy.

Chris claims he needs to work off dinner, then immediately contradicts himself by stopping at an ice cream cart tucked between fairy-lit trees.

"Someone stole my dessert," he declares loudly, ordering gelato.

The shoulder smack he receives is purely symbolic. Dennis helps himself to generous spoonfuls of pistachio as punishment for such slander, which Chris accepts with suspicious enthusiasm and an exasperating twinkle in his eye.

Back at the apartment, they head straight for the shower.

What started as occasional shared showers on nights Dennis stayed over or days Chris skipped the gym has evolved without discussion.

Gradually, Dennis stopped taking that nightly Uber home. Even on days Chris showered at the gym, he'd join Dennis under the spray anyway.

Their routines merged quietly, naturally, until they found themselves coordinating schedules just to end up here together. Neither mentioned it, allowing this ritual to grow between them as naturally as breathing.

The bathroom might be basic, but at least the shower is roomy enough for two.

Dennis’s upgrade to the showerhead—originally a peace offering after he and Chris nearly came to blows over load-bearing capacity in the east wing—turns the water from a trickle to a satisfying spray. On warm nights like this, it’s a blessing to have this flow of refreshing, cool water wash away the day's exhaustion.

The shower runs hot at first—summer sun baking the rooftop tanks all day—so Chris lets it flow while they strip. Their clothes land in the hamper that Dennis has started taking home for housekeeping to deal with. Might as well get some use out of the service he pays for, even if his apartment's beginning to feel more like a very expensive closet.

By the time they step under the spray, the water runs pleasantly cool against heated skin.

While the water streams down Chris’s body, Dennis traces its path with his fingertips, following the grooves between carefully sculpted muscles. He admires the dedication here—to improvement, to beauty, to maintaining the strength that draws his touch.

Their mouths meet from muscle memory. Eyes fall shut as initial demand softens into something deeper. Their heads tilt, seeking better angles, wanting to taste more, feel more.

The powerful spray drums around them as Dennis’s knee slides between Chris's thighs, needing to somehow feel Chris closer, closer, closer . His fingers map the shifting muscle beneath wet skin—all that power and stamina that could match him in any fight.

It’s the normalest thing in the world when their hips start rolling lazily, half-hard cocks brushing together without urgency. Just sensation. Just this moment of shared arousal while the water washes away everything else.

This time belongs to them—to exploring mouths and skin and senses until their minds empty of work stress and hiding what they are to each other and all the what-ifs of how this ends. Until thoughts of this-means-nothing and we're-just-convenient fade beneath the solid reality of touch and taste and scent. The shower's become Dennis’s sanctuary, the physical proof that today is done, that Chris is here with him now, and tonight holds so much more.

Dennis’s secret relief is never having to ask for this closeness, never being the only one craving it.

When they're dizzy from kissing and squeaky clean, Chris delivers a final peck and playful ass grab before stepping out, giving Dennis his privacy.

It's ridiculous being shy now, after everything they've done, but some habits die hard.

Dennis uses this time methodically—preparing himself in ways he'd never imagined before Chris. His body is all hard angles and muscle. No softness, no curves, nothing delicate about it. Yet Chris can’t seem to keep his hands off him.

Dennis studies his reflection sometimes, trying to see what Chris sees, but finds only the same planes and edges as Chris’s own body. Offering no insight as to why he finds himself just as helplessly drawn to Chris’s form. This only deepens the mystery.

Maybe it’s just Chris, then. Just them.

No point dwelling on it. He focuses instead on getting himself clean and ready for those addictive fingers, approaching the task with his usual precision.

Dennis knows it’s his cue to finish up when Chris appears with clothes for him.

Sometimes it's just boxers, sometimes a shirt on cooler nights, sometimes shorts—whatever fits the weather. Not that they ever stay on very long anyway.

Tonight, a breeze has picked up. A welcome change from the afternoon heat that had everyone on site dripping and irritable. The temperature shift means they might actually need blankets.

Chris confirms this by stepping into the bathroom with long flannel pants on. He sets a fresh towel and something unfamiliar on the counter.

Dennis squints through the scratched shower partition, making out what appears to be matching flannel, but several shades brighter than Chris's sleepwear.

Dennis shuts off the water. Steps out and onto the bath mat, reaching for his towel.

Chris is already at the sink brushing his teeth, eyes meeting Dennis’s in the mirror as he dries off.

After hanging his towel next to Chris's damp one, Dennis joins him at the counter.

"What's this?" He picks up the blue pajama shirt, shaking it out.

"Just the top half of these," Chris says, his voice muffled and bubbly around the toothbrush. "Never worn it, but the fabric's nice. Think you'll like it."

His free hand finds Dennis’s butt, giving it absent, leisurely squeezes while he watches himself brush.

Dennis glances around. "No underwear tonight?"

He pulls on the shirt. Chris's broader shoulders make the sleeves fall past his fingers, but the hem barely covers his ass. The deep V shows off his pale skin, the column of his throat, the definition of his chest.

Dennis steps back from the mirror, twisting to check the length. The fabric just skims his ass, the curves of his cheeks visible beneath the hem.

"Pretty sure you've taken everything I own." Chris deposits a blob of toothpaste onto Dennis’s toothbrush. "Got two pairs left for work unless you want us going commando tomorrow."

"Oops." Dennis accepts the toothbrush. "Housekeeper's back from leave today. I'll bring everything home tomorrow, promise."

He reaches down to cup Chris through his pants, nodding with satisfaction at finding him equally bare underneath. That’s only fair. Dennis keeps his hand there, enjoying the soft weight against his palm while he brushes.

Chris gargles then finishes up before wrapping around Dennis from behind, fresh, minty teeth finding his ear while Dennis rinses.

Now, washed up and clean, they're finally ready to unwind.

With their show finished—the last episode of the series they'd been binging together, Dennis grabs Chris’s hand and pulls him toward the balcony, scooping up the ukelele from the floor on their way out.

"Let me serenade you under the stars tonight, sweetness," Dennis winks to Chris’s groan-guffaws. "I think I've got that song memorized."

They step out into the brisk evening air, the sky just beginning to dim.

Chris settles on the tatami mat against the wall, his legs bent at the knees to cage Dennis properly. He spreads a T-shirt over one of the new outdoor cushions he’d bought for Dennis last week, and Dennis makes himself at home between Chris’s legs, bare ass protected from the rough fabric. His ankles cross as he leans back against Chris’s naked chest, fitting there like he always has.

He does a couple of experimental strums as he tunes it, keen to show off the melody Chris had first sung for him all those months ago. His fingers still stumble over half the chords, and he winces at notes that make distant cats yowl, but he's determined to get through it.

Chris's enthusiasm never wavers—"Princess, you're getting so good at this!”—and despite knowing he's butchered at least three verses, Dennis can't help grinning at the praise. He'll get there eventually.

Now the ukulele lies forgotten beside them.

Chris's arms circle Dennis under the flannel shirt, palms warm and flat on his tummy like they’re trying to cover as much skin as possible. Dennis’s soft cock nestles in the seam where his thighs press together, balls sitting round, full, and nude against the smooth muscle beneath the hem.

As lights flicker to life across the busy streets on the horizon, Chris rocks them gently side to side. Dennis hums, leftover notes from the song still lingering in his head, his hands covering Chris’s clothed ones while the summer sunset bleeds orange into purple over the city.

"So how was the fancy Kim family dinner?" Chris asks, lips brushing Dennis’s ear. "Has daddy dearest approved of our revolutionary progress, or are we still beneath his standards?"

"Oh my goddd ," Dennis groans, head falling back on Chris's shoulder to loll there. "He spent the whole time talking about how I never return his calls while calculating profits in his head. I think I blacked out somewhere between the fourth glass of wine and his lecture about market expectations. Though Mom did rip him a new one about innovation. I swear I'm too old to watch my parents go at it like teenagers."

"At least your mom's cool— no wait, scratch that. She's fucking awesome," Chris grins. "Nothing like what I expected after dealing with her impossible son all these months."

"If you fell and cracked your head right now, I'd bring chocolate and porn to the hospital and be eternally grateful that you’ve forgotten that entire day."

"Mmm, I'd love to have amnesia just to taste you for the first time all over again," Chris murmurs, nuzzling up and down Dennis’s neck.

His fingers dig into Dennis’s ribs, making him giggle as he swats Chris's leg with one hand, even while the other messes through Chris's hair, pushing him closer.

"You and your one-track mind," Dennis snores. "Tell me about your family dinners instead. Make me feel better about mine."

Chris goes quiet for a moment.

"Chris?"

"You're lucky, you know that?" His voice comes softer now.

Dennis turns slightly, shoulder brushing Chris's chest. "Hmm?" He blinks, surprised. "Lucky? How?"

"Your mom." Chris's fingers still on Dennis’s stomach. "The way she looks at you. Supports you. Fights for you." He takes a breath that shakes slightly. Swallows. "The way she's just... there."

Dennis frowns, thumbing over Chris's knuckles under his shirt. "Chris?"

"Lost mine when I was sixteen." The words come out flat, rehearsed. "Car accident, they said. Except they never found her body. Never found the car either."

Dennis’s breath stills. "I didn't know."

"Nobody does." Chris's laugh echoes empty. "One day she was there, making breakfast, telling me to study hard. Next day... nothing. No one could tell me who she was with, where she went, what happened. Just questions without answers."

"I—I'm sorry for..." Dennis fumbles, knowing a decade-old loss doesn't make the words any less inadequate. "Your loss..." He trails off as Chris shrugs, a tiny head shake suggesting he doesn't know what to say either.

"What about your father?" Dennis asks softly, the question hanging between them.

Chris's entire body locks up against him—muscles turning to stone, breath catching in his throat, heartbeat stuttering under Dennis’s palm.

He eases away from Dennis carefully despite his tension. "Need some water. Want any?" Without waiting for an answer, he disappears through the balcony door, past their mattress, into the kitchen.

Dennis watches him go, each step rigid and controlled like he's barely containing something explosive.

After a moment's hesitation, he follows.

He finds Chris at the counter, knuckles white where they grip the edge, head bowed, shoulders hunched as if bearing an invisible weight. His face in profile shows a clenched jaw, furrowed brows—pure fury barely contained.

The last time Chris looked this angry, it was directed at Dennis during their worst fight when Dennis ended up punching him. He hasn't seen it since.

Someone else might keep their distance. Dennis moves closer instead.

"Hey." He wraps his arms around Chris's waist from behind, feeling the quick inhale, the momentary tensing, then the slow release as Chris exhales.

Dennis presses closer, hands smoothing over Chris's abdomen where the muscles bunch and knot. With Chris leaning forward against the counter, Dennis presses his lips to the nape of his neck, then rests his cheek against the curve of his spine.

They settle into the kind of quiet they've mastered. Like those late nights at the site when everyone's gone, or silent support exchanged across meeting tables, or cozy evenings cuddled up with Dennis reading while Chris games on his phone.

"I know you don't talk much about yourself," Dennis says softly, picking his words with care.

He's terrible at this—awkward with words thanks to his mom, worse with feelings courtesy of his dad. But Chris needs something, and Dennis would rather die than not try.

"You don't have to tell me anything. But if you want to—and it doesn't have to be now—you can.”

Dennis swallows, racking his brains for the right things to say. How come being stupid and unserious with Chris comes so easily but when it really counts, he can’t even help?

“There's never any rush to heal from these things, you know,” Dennis tries, soldiering on, no matter how cliché he sounds to himself. “Never any pressure to be okay… okay?"

Because Chris has always seemed fine—easy grins and dimples just for Dennis, crude jokes and mind-blowing sex.

But he's more than that.

Chris has also become Dennis’s rock, his shelter in every storm, the anchor that keeps him steady when everything feels like it’s falling apart.

And as perfect as Chris might seem, it’s become obvious that there are cracks somewhere in that perfection.

And he wants—needs—Chris to know that whatever pain, past, or scars he carries, it doesn’t matter. It won’t change how Dennis feels.

"Just... I'm here. If you need..."

Me , he wants to say, but that feels presumptuous.

"If you need someone. I'll always be here."

Chris stills, then his head turns first, like it’s moving towards Dennis’s voice, his body following a moment later.

Dennis starts to step back, but Chris holds onto his elbows, keeping him close. His gaze drifts from one of Dennis’s eyes to the other—studying, searching.

"Dennis..." his name falls from his lips, barely audible.

Dennis meets his gaze, caught in this moment where neither can look away. Neither wants to.

Chris is so handsome. So kind. Always there for Dennis in ways no one else has been. Lately he's become Dennis’s whole world, even though Dennis doesn't dare hope for the same.

At the noodle shop, Chris had heard every word Dennis’s mother had said. He must have—she wasn't exactly subtle. Even if he thought it was just a joke, he never mentioned it, never acknowledged it.

Maybe he didn't want to. Maybe the idea of something real with Dennis wasn't part of his plan. After all, if Chris wanted more, wouldn't he have said something by now?

Dennis would know.

But standing here, wanting to be whatever Chris needs, Dennis realizes it doesn’t matter where Chris’s emotions lie. What matters is the strength of his own—unwavering, undeniable, and impossible to ignore.

Dennis cups Chris's face between his palms, thumbs stroking his ears as he tilts Chris's head. His eyebrows draw tight as he considers what this is.

He's heard people describe falling in love like getting hit by lightning—sudden, violent, earth-shattering. Or like drowning—desperate gasps and flailing limbs until you surrender. Some say it's careful construction, like their pavilion—each piece deliberately placed, tested, secured.

But with Chris, it just... is.

Like watching the first bamboo beam of each new expansion rise against the sky. Like having Chris's coffee order memorized without trying. Like waking to Chris's texts on mornings he sneaks out early, letting Dennis sleep an extra hour. A thousand ordinary moments that somehow mean everything.

His thumb traces under Chris's eye, along his cheekbone. His other palm stays against Chris's neck, following each bite of his jaw, each swallow.

Is this love?

Not some earth-shattering revelation, but as natural as Chris’s hand reaching for his waist whenever they're close enough to touch.

The kiss starts gentle—lips brushing, soft pulls, tongues greeting each other like old friends. Affectionate. Heartwarming. Nothing like their usual fire.

Chris kisses Dennis deeper, hands coming up to frame his face. When Dennis’s eyes flutter open, he finds Chris's squeezed shut, eyebrows pinched tight like he's fighting something inside himself, and Dennis aches to smooth away that pain.

Chris needs someone. If he can just let that someone be Dennis—if he can just let Dennis be there for him—that would be enough. Chris doesn't have to love him back. Dennis has enough love for them both.

"I want—" Dennis breaks the kiss, his breath mingling with Chris's as their eyes meet.

Chris stares at him like he’s being drawn into Dennis’s gaze, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. It gives Dennis the courage to say:

"I want you tonight, Chris," he whispers, voice steady but low.

Chris’s fingers tighten at his waist, pulling him closer.

"All of you."

"Are you sure?" Chris's voice comes out rough.

Dennis brushes a wayward curl from Chris's forehead, smiling. "Try and stop me."

Their mouths meet again as they stumble toward the couch, the nearest soft surface.

The familiar electricity sparks between them, but tonight it's wrapped in something softer. Different.

Chris guides Dennis down onto the couch, never breaking their kiss. Dennis props himself on one elbow, keeping his other hand against Chris's face—needing that contact, that warmth beneath his palm.

Chris braces one knee beside Dennis’s thigh, his other foot planted on the floor. He pulls back just to look, fingers drifting from Dennis’s cheek down to his collarbone. The pajama top slides off one shoulder as Chris tugs it down to press a reverent kiss to the hollow there.

"Let me make you feel special, princess. Tonight you're all mine."

The words send Dennis’s pulse racing. His cheeks flush pink, eyes going wide before darting away as realization hits—Chris wants to take care of him, worship him in ways that Dennis has been avoiding.

"I just want to give you everything. Please?"

Dennis swallows hard. He starts chewing on his bottom lip. He turns his face aside, hand sliding to the back of Chris's neck where his fingers knead small circles, trying to self-soothe.

"Baby?" Chris rubs his nose against Dennis’s temple, along his cheekbone, presses their foreheads together until Dennis’s eyes close and a shaky breath escapes. "Let me show you how good it can be?"

Dennis looks up at Chris, but his eyes skitter away again almost instantly. He gives a tiny nod, still nibbling his bottom lip.

Chris's next kiss promises safety. Then he eases back, lifting the hem of Dennis’s shirt with careful fingers.

They’ve seen each other naked plenty of times, yet each new inch of exposed skin makes his lips part, like he's unwrapping something precious. The fabric in his hands trembles as his eyes drink in every detail. His pants tent against his obvious arousal—Dennis’s body laid out just for him, only for him.

He rucks the shirt higher, bunching it at Dennis’s chest before leaning down for another kiss. His weight presses Dennis into the couch cushions.

His mouth follows a path down Dennis’s chest, lips dragging across flushed skin. He takes his time with each nipple, suckling and nipping, teasing and flicking while Dennis struggles to lie still. His palms slide over Dennis’s ribs, around his waist, relishing every curve and plane.

At Dennis’s navel, Chris’s tongue licks into the hollow—round and around—until Dennis squirms, breath quickening as his fingers lace into Chris's hair. When Dennis is vibrating uncontrollably under Chris’s tongue, Chris arranges his legs wider—one perched on the backrest, the other bent and spread.

Dennis tries to relax into the sensations. Everything feels incredible, but shyness from what’s to come makes him hesitate, makes him want to hide.

When Chris nuzzles into the groove of his pelvis, Dennis tips his head back, digging the crown of his head into the cushion, fighting to contain lusty sounds even as his cock hardens fully against his stomach, nudging Chris's cheek.

Chris breathes his way down one side of Dennis’s inner thigh, leaving light marks, claiming territory until Dennis’s tongue slips out to wet his lips. He turns his head to the side, gripping the cushion as tremors run through him. Chris strokes his belly in steady circles, calming him back down, before sliding his arm up the center of Dennis’s body until his fingers brush Dennis’s lips.

Dennis turns into the touch gratefully, welcoming two of Chris’s fingers into his mouth. The gentle suction instantly settles something in him.

"Relax," Chris murmurs against his balls, pressing his face deeper into the warmth.

Dennis nods, swallowing hard around Chris's fingers.

Then Chris is moving up, dragging his nose from Dennis’s balls to the tip of his penis, inhaling him in deeply beneath the head, before pressing a kiss to that pink, precious twist—a promise to return.

His tongue traces the seam of Dennis’s sac, then follows the raised ridge down his taint in lazy zigzags where goosebumps rise in the wake of each touch.

When Chris's mouth reaches his entrance, it’s another first time for the both of them, experienced together as one.

Chris sighs, finally allowed to press tender kisses there like he would against Dennis’s lips.

A gasp tears from Dennis’s throat—the same mouth that smiles at him, laughs with him, kisses him goodnight, now explores this most private place. The most shameful part of his body. His rim flutters and clenches, responding to each touch with a need that startles him. Dennis does all he can to quiet his body down. Stop it from acting so eager, but to no avail.

Chris's mouth opens wider, closing around the rim completely. His tongue joins in, circling and teasing like he's French kissing Dennis’s anus. He licks and tastes until Dennis arches up, fingers clutching the threadbare couch, whimpering as Chris's tongue flicks into the thin, wrinkled skin.

"Chris," Dennis moans, his head spinning so hard the room tilts. "Chris!" His back lifts clean off the couch with a sharp "Ahh!" as Chris's tongue pushes inside, widening and flexing, probing left and right, up and down. Chris's tongue presses against his walls that clench in surprise, invading him in the most carnal of ways, taking him slow and deep.

His whole body buzzes with the newness. Chris's tongue is nothing like his fingers—not firm or rough with jagged knuckles. No precise or targeted pressure. Instead it's hot and wet and silky-soft, rolling and swirling, undulating within, while his lips seal tight around Dennis’s rim.

Drool leaks around his anal opening, making everything messy and sloppy. Wet, squelchy sounds mix with Chris's steamy sighs as Dennis writhes, fighting an orgasm with every sweep and prod of Chris's tongue.

Dennis is falling too deep into pleasure. White noise fills his ears as prickly sparks race up his back and neck. He shakes his head, trying to hold back. Not like this—he needs, needs, needs —

"Chris," Dennis cries, thighs trembling. "Chris stop, please."

But Chris only grips his inner thighs harder, spreading him wider. His fingers dig in until the skin stings, holding Dennis open while he devours him like nothing else exists. Chris loses himself between Dennis’s legs until Dennis chokes back a sob.

"Chris no more, stop stop —" The words catch in his throat. Tears prick at his eyes as pleasure radiates from his core, blazing through every nerve ending.

Chris is up in an instant, cradling Dennis’s face, fingers sliding into his hair.

"Baby," Chris murmurs, studying his expression.

Dennis sees the worry in Chris's eyes, but he can't speak. His face burns scarlet, chest rising and falling so fast he wonders if this is what drowning feels like.

"Does it feel good?" Chris's voice drops low, gentle. Even now, when Dennis wants to be here for him, Chris puts Dennis’s needs first.

Dennis tries to look away but Chris's fingers guide him back. Left with no choice, Dennis nods. Admits the truth.

Chris's intense stare deepens Dennis’s blush. Words fail him as his body betrays him—his hole clenching rhythmically, wanting and empty—until Chris's fingers return to it like he knows exactly what Dennis needs. He circles and strokes the outside, massaging with just enough pressure until Dennis’s breathing steadies, the earlier panic dissolving.

"What do you need, darling?"

Chris's words send a buzzing scraping through Dennis’s scalp, down his spine, out to his fingertips. His lungs seize, too tight for speech. Instead, he yanks Chris down by the neck, licking into his mouth with little whimpers and breathy sounds, kissing him hard enough to bruise.

"Den—no, don't—!" Chris stiffens in surprise before melting into it. They sink into molten, drawn-out kisses while Chris's fingers keep teasing his rim. Dennis keens into Chris's mouth, hips rocking as he chases more friction, both arms locked around Chris's neck.

When they part for air, Chris says, "You want to watch."

It’s not a question. Not an observation. Just certainty—he knows parts of Dennis that Dennis has barely discovered himself.

Dennis frowns. His eyes flit away before finding Chris's again. He nods, face red.

Chris kisses him again, lips curved in a pleased smile. "Baby, you can tell me these things. I want to hear every thought in that beautiful head of yours, okay?"

"Shut up," Dennis squirms, but warmth fills his chest. Even at his most exposed and inarticulate, Chris accepts all of him. He kisses Chris again, partly to hide his vulnerability, partly to wipe that tender smile off his face.

Chris helps Dennis sit up against the backrest, grabbing a cushion. "Lift up, baby." He slides it under Dennis’s hips, then kneels between his legs. He arranges Dennis until he's slouched back, ass lifted high, knees over Chris’s shoulders.

Chris picks up the hem of Dennis’s shirt, which has fallen back over his dick and lifts it to his mouth. "Hold this for me," he instructs.

Dennis bites down, keeping it out of the way as Chris leans forward.

"You'll see everything like this," Chris murmurs between soft kisses to the inside of Dennis’s thighs. He starts slow, tongue tracing and deliberate, savoring Dennis’s taste—but control slips fast. His hands tighten on Dennis’s lower back as he dives in, until he's consuming him like a starving man, raw and frenzied.

Little moans spill from Dennis’s lips as Chris's plush mouth, velvet tongue, and rough stubble create a symphony of sensations around his most intimate areas. Dennis pulls his legs away from Chris's shoulders, drawing his calves back until his ankles are by his ears—spreading himself wider, presenting his body the way Chris loves.

Chris groans Dennis’s name between eager licks, eyes closed as he loses himself in Dennis’s body. Between wet slurps and deep rumbles, his teeth scrape gently, then he's marking up the outside edges of the rim and all along the taint—that tender, pale flesh hidden from the world.

His aggression builds as he pushes his tongue deeper, sucking harder until Dennis whines. Chris yanks his pants down just enough to free his cock, then jacks himself while his head moves in rough circles, tasting every fold and ridge of Dennis’s heat.

Dennis’s hole clenches around Chris’s tongue on instinct. Each graze of teeth draws helpless, choked noises, muffled by the shirt in his mouth.

He wants to touch himself so badly, but he can't—one stroke and he'd explode. Instead, he watches Chris feast on his ass like a man possessed, tongue fucking him deep, wet and filthy. Watches precum collect in his navel, rippling with each throb of his cock.

"You taste so fucking good," Chris growls, turning his head to leave a red circle of teeth marks on Dennis’s pale skin. He uses his thumb to stretch Dennis’s rim wider, jerking himself faster as he stares into it. "Could do this forever, holy shit. Love how you open up for me."

"Chris," Dennis moans, watching Chris pleasure himself just from eating him out. "I need you to fuck me, need your cock stretching me open, have to feel you." He begs, struggling to hold back his orgasm.

Chris moves instantly, gathering Dennis up until his legs wrap around his waist. Just like their first night together, Chris carries him to bed while Dennis kisses him from above, half-convinced they'll trip, crash, and break their necks.

And like that first time, Chris settles them on the mattress, both sitting back on their heels with Dennis between Chris's spread thighs.

Chris strips off his pants completely, then tugs Dennis’s shirt over his head, tossing it aside.

After weeks of preparation and Chris's thorough attention with his tongue, two fingers slide in easily, scissoring Dennis with intent. Chris kisses across his shoulders, down his arms while his other hand pets Dennis’s stomach, distended from how sharply he arches his back to accommodate the first stretch.

Dennis leans back against Chris's shoulder, trying to relax, one hand reaching up to tangle in Chris's hair, the other trailing along his thigh.

Every time Dennis turns his head, Chris is there with soft kisses and gentle lip-bites, helping him through the initial burn.

Dennis rocks carefully against those skilled fingers he loves so much, trying not to lose himself. It’s all too easy to come untouched these days. His body responds to Chris's touch like it was designed for this alone.

When his hole loosens around three of Chris's fingers, Dennis reaches back to squeeze Chris's thigh—their signal.

"Okay, one more, yeah princess?" Chris eases in a fourth finger, both of them holding their breaths until Dennis’s body yields. "That's it, you can do it, doing so well," Chris murmurs as Dennis rocks back carefully, trying to accept Chris's palm despite the discomfort.

He knows he needs this stretch if he wants to take Chris's cock tonight.

Chris stays patient, whispering against his skin. "Imagine how good we'll feel when you're ready. Want to be in you so bad, sweetheart. You're doing this for us, for me. God, I'm so hard for you—only you. Can't even look at anyone else anymore." His fingers wiggle and twist, working deeper past his knuckles toward the web of his thumb.

When the sharp pain fades to a dull throb, Dennis knows it's time. "I'm ready," he pants, cock flushed and leaking against his stomach.

Chris's erection presses into his back, tempting Dennis to fall back on familiar territory—sucking Chris's cock, taking him down his throat like he's learned to do so well. But not tonight.

Chris withdraws his hand and guides Dennis onto the bed. He stares at how Dennis’s hole stays open, pink and eager for him.

The unfamiliarity of this new act—and what’s still to come—punches Dennis in the gut, a visceral shock that makes his chest feel hollow and his pulse erratic. He doesn’t know what to do with Chris’s ravenous acceptance of his body—so unexpected, so disarming—only that it melts through him, turning his insides to mush.

When Chris reaches for the bedside drawer, straddling Dennis’s hips, Dennis catches his wrist. Thumbs the inside of it.

"You know I'm clean," he says softly, reaching up to brush hair from Chris's forehead.

Chris swallows. Nods. "Me too, I just didn't know if you wanted—"

"Well," Dennis sighs, his hand finding Chris's stiff erection and stroking it lazily, casually, because it’s there. "Your tongue's been in my ass, then I kissed you, and we've swallowed so much of each other's cum, like honestly..." He trails off, smiling as he watches Chris's cockhead appear and disappear when he slips in and out of his foreskin.

"Such a romantic, princess," Chris groans, shaking his head—not from the dick stroking, though he still bucks into Dennis’s grip, unable to help himself. "Geez, you really know how to set the mood."

They share a laugh that breaks the tension before Dennis pulls Chris down by the chin, sucking his bottom lip. "Haven't been with anyone since you anyway."

"Haven't even looked at anyone else since you first stormed onto my site," Chris admits, grinding their foreheads together.

"But you look like such a skank," Dennis accuses, scrunching his nose.

"Thanks, princess." Chris chuckles, kissing the tip of his nose. "But you fried my brain that first night. Can't imagine anyone else under me now," he adds, voice going quiet.

The confession hangs between them. Dennis knows—this is the moment.

"Get the lube." He pats Chris's balls playfully while squeeze-squeezing his cock. "I want this in me, Chris. Less talk, more action."

Chris curses as his dick jolts in Dennis’s hand. Half-laughing, half-shaking his head, he lunges for the lube on the mattress.

He squeezes it onto his cock while Dennis slicks him up with both hands, enjoying the thickness, the warmth, those heavy balls filled with a whole day's worth of spunk saved just for him.

When Dennis taps Chris's thigh to signal he's ready, Chris settles between his legs. Dennis slides his hands beneath his knees, pulling them up and spreading them wide. His teeth worry his bottom lip.

Chris aligns himself, pulling his foreskin down to the base, cockhead pressing against Dennis’s entrance. He rubs it up and down the weakly clenching hole.

"Easy," Chris murmurs as he pushes in. The tapered head breaches first, drawing pleased sounds from Dennis. Then the whole crown pops in with a faint sucking noise, making Chris sigh as Dennis’s asshole squeezes around the strange, thick intrusion. Chris trembles with restraint as Dennis’s walls grip him, wet and tight.

Dennis lets out a long, low keen, eyes squeezed shut, neck supple and ivory, torqued to the side. One hand grips Chris's thigh while the other winds into the sheets by his head.

Chris's fingers might have loosened him up, but his cock stretches Dennis in ways fingers never could—uniform and complete, spreading him wide in every direction at once.

"Baby, if it hurts, we can stop—" Chris pants, overtaken by the hot, pink softness surrounding him.

"Don't you dare." Dennis locks powerful legs around Chris's waist. "Just... slow. Keep going."

Chris pushes deeper, disappearing into Dennis’s body, stealing his breath.

Even after weeks of prep, Chris's size makes him gasp. But the head went in smooth and feels incredible—now he just needs to adjust to the rest.

"Good, good," he pants, bringing both arms up around Chris's neck. He needs him closer in this moment of surrender, giving himself completely as he receives Chris. "Feels so good."

"Barely started, princess." Chris's voice strains. "Hold onto me."

He pushes deeper and Dennis’s eyes fly wide as the true girth stretches him. A high, broken sound escapes as Chris reaches places never touched, the stretch flaring deep into his core.

"Shh, shh, shh," Chris soothes, worry creeping into his voice. "We can stop—"

Dennis’s face pinches in pain even as he shakes his head in frustration. "Chris, I want this." His fingertips dig into Chris's back, holding him in place. "Want you, baby. Need you, please."

"Shit, princess." Chris kisses Dennis hard. "Keep calling me that and you can have anything you want." He rocks his hips with focused care, breaking off the kisses only to watch Dennis’s face as he inches forward, bit by bit. When he’s further in, they both freeze.

"Fuck," Dennis shudders, voice cracking. "That's... so deep..." His chest rises and falls rapidly. "How much more?"

Chris sucks in a breath through clenched teeth. Pushes himself up and looks down. "About half."

"Ahh—shit." Dennis turns away, eyes squeezed shut, fingers twisting frantically in Chris's hair like they're searching for an anchor but can only grasp and pull. "Why the fuck is your dick so damn big??"

"Sorry, princess," Chris says, and he really does sound it. Swiping cold sweat from Dennis’s brow, he adds, "Just hold on for me, yeah?"

He peppers Dennis’s face with kisses, tongue smoothing out the crease between his eyebrows. As he pushes deeper, Dennis yanks Chris's head closer, needy for his mouth. When Dennis breaks away with a pained moan, Chris stills. "Baby, is it too much?"

"I don't know," Dennis pants, distraught yet needing more. "I don't know, just p—please don't stop."

"I won't, I won't," Chris hushes Dennis against his skin. "Will you trust me?"

When Dennis nods, still trembling from the alien fullness—a penetration simply too wide to fully take in—Chris withdraws slowly.

Dennis lets out a frustrated sound at the loss, caught between relief and emptiness.

Tears gather at the corners of his eyes, and he feels pathetic—crying because he can't take Chris's dick? A new low, even for him. But he wants so badly to give this to Chris after all his patient preparation. To show Chris how much he means to him. To give him something no one else has ever had—or could ever have.

To be each other’s first .

"God, you still think so loudly." Chris's voice carries affection and wonder as he kisses down Dennis’s stomach to his pelvis. "We'll get there, I promise. Let me make you feel good first, princess, help you relax."

Dennis sighs as Chris’s familiar hot mouth engulfs his cock, taking him to the root, enveloped in that warmth he’s come to crave. Two fingers slide home, coaxing give into his walls, the way his body has learned to love. They press upward, seeking that firm, ridged surface toward his belly that makes his whole self seize with pleasure.

Even through his disappointment, rapture builds fast—coiling tight then flooding through him in waves until he's convulsing, eyes rolling back. His climax crashes through him like an avalanche, obliterating his senses as his muscles contract so hard he can't breathe.

The sensation ripples outward from his core, each wave more intense than the last until he's floating, untethered from everything except the euphoria consuming him.

When his focus returns, Chris is already lifting his hips, hiking his knees up until they’re by his head and touching the bed.

Dennis is too boneless to question it, his head rolling left, then right, through heavy lids as he watches. His flexibility lets Chris arrange him like a rag doll, pliant and easy in his hands. Dennis feels like he’s being manhandled through clouds, drifting in post-orgasmic bliss.

Then Chris inserts two fingers of each hand into his hole, spreading him open on either side—the stretch effortless now from his earlier attempts—and spits Dennis’s cum directly into him.

"Chris what are you—oh my god!"

Chris rises to his knees, slaps his dick—once, twice, three times—onto Dennis’s hole, then presses in again.

This time it's divine—Dennis gasps, eyes wide, heart pounding as Chris sinks deeper and deeper.

"That's it, princess, let yourself feel it. You're doing so well, taking all of me," Chris says through gritted teeth, his voice strained as Dennis’s body, relaxed but still tight, resists just enough to make every inch a struggle.

Chris maintains his careful pace but keeps testing the depth, pressing through Dennis’s inner muscles whenever his passage softens just enough to welcome him.

Tiny gasps escape Dennis’s throat as Chris moves above him. He's never felt anything like this—being so stuffed, so connected. The way Chris watches him like he's something treasured makes him want to arch his body, offering himself up just right to look pretty for him.

The fullness is so much, yet somehow not enough. He’s greedy now, knowing Chris still has more to give.

"More, baby," Dennis urges, hands grabbing for Chris, wanting him closer. "Let me feel your cock, give me all of you, baby."

His words unleash something in Chris, who snarls low in his throat and slides in completely, bottoming out. Chris leans forward, bracing his weight on Dennis’s bent thighs as he presses deeper.

Dennis’s hands grip at his shoulders, fingers clawing for purchase, head tilting back as he’s caught between pure ecstasy and being pried open so fully.

"Move, please," Dennis begs against Chris’s lips, trying to buck and roll his hips but he’s folded too tightly beneath Chris. All he can manage are small jerks and twitches, his body straining against the press of his own thighs. "Fuck me properly," he slurs, still dizzy from the orgasm and the relentless way Chris has been fucking him through it. "Make me yours, own me, show me you want me."

"Shit, fuck , you're amazing," Chris pants, eyes rolling back as his thrusts build momentum. "You know I want you, only you, want to be the only one who gets to feel you like this."

Each thrust draws sharp cries from Dennis’s throat.

"I can't stop," Chris groans, "Can't ever stop with you, you got me so close, princess, fuck."

"Then fill me up," Dennis pleads, "let me feel you come inside me."

Chris's rhythm falters, his muscles locking when he drives deep one final time. A broken sound escapes him, then he releases, pulsing inside Dennis, each throb adding to the wetness already there.

The thought crashes into Dennis like a tidal wave—Chris, finally inside him after weeks of fantasies, pumping him full of his cum like he needs Dennis, like he’s claiming him completely.

It’s too much. Dennis’s arms lock around Chris’s neck, pulling him close. His teeth sink into the curve of Chris’s shoulder as a second orgasm tears through him—violent, raw, almost unbearable.

His spent cock jerks, spilling again between them, the pleasure excruciating, a lancing sting that splits down his body, leaving him trembling, undone in Chris’s arms.

Chris pants above him, his groans and curses mixing with gasping sounds of disbelief once the rushing in Dennis’s ears subsides.

Dennis has very little left to give, but he does what he can, guiding Chris’s mouth back to his and swallowing his low moans. Slowly, his body begins to loosen, legs slipping from where they’d been pinned, unfolding to splay around them as his muscles go slack.

Dennis’s hole pulses and clenches uncontrollably around Chris’s cock, and still, Chris refuses to pull out, shuddering with every squeeze, his body jolting and jerking as if he can’t leave.

Neither moves away, wanting to stay joined. Chris's weight presses Dennis into the mattress, and he's content to be pinned here forever.

After a while, Chris eases them onto their sides, still buried deep. Their kisses turn leisurely. Luxurious. Sometimes just brushing lips, sometimes licking along the dried, chapped skin there—dehydrated from lovemaking—gentle tongues and drunken touches so different from their earlier passion.

Chris's fingers drift over Dennis’s features—tracing his hairline, following his eyebrows, sliding down the slope of his nose. Dennis catches his fingertips with soft kisses whenever they pass his lips.

"Call me baby again," Chris mumbles, words melting together as exhaustion takes over. "Wanna hear you say it."

Dennis smiles, nuzzling Chris's nose, feeling his breathing slow.

"Baby," he whispers. "You're my baby, baby, baby," he says, testing the shape of the words in his mouth. Savoring how they feel on his tongue.

"Stay, don't leave me," Chris murmurs against Dennis’s throat, face buried there. His hand grips the back of Dennis’s thigh, hooked around his waist to keep them joined. "I need you to stay... please."

"I'm already here," Dennis says, stroking Chris's hair, but Chris's breathing has evened out into sleep's rhythm, words fading as consciousness slips away.

Dennis lies awake, pondering Chris's sleep-heavy ramblings. Chris's arms hold him tighter than usual, and somehow, tomorrow feels uncertain.

Because even with all the love expanding through Dennis’s chest, there's something delicate about them, as fragile as the stars flickering weakly above Chris's balcony.

As breakable as the secrets Chris keeps.