Page 33

After the party's over, Chris picks Dennis up from the convention center. He's already arranged everything for the weekend crew, and Jason has officially email-kicked Dennis out of his own office with a "Go home before your zombie face harshes everyone's buzz, you cranky bitch."

They drive straight to Chris's apartment. Chris hasn't mentioned his earlier behavior, and Dennis’s temple throbs too much to ask.

When Chris notices his pinched expression, he reaches over to squeeze Dennis’s hand.

The gesture wipes away thoughts of that weird moment with Mr. Lancaster—probably just another asshole from Chris's past. God knows that’s how they started, too. As long as Chris keeps his dick to himself—well, to Dennis—Dennis couldn't care less about ancient history.

Speaking of dicks, Dennis is about to combust. Chris is sitting there in his perfectly tailored tux like some kind of edible fantasy, and Dennis needs to unwrap him before his head actually explodes.

They barely make it up the stairs, Dennis’s social battery drained to zero. He keeps grabbing Chris by the lapels and dragging him into sloppy kisses on the stairs, against the landings, all along the stairwell.

Dennis doesn’t give a fuck who might walk past and see, not with the way Chris’s urgency seems to ripple through every touch, every press of their mouths together.

By the time they reach the door, Chris is fumbling with his keys, his movements clumsy as Dennis drapes himself over Chris’s back like a cat in heat, his lips mouthing Chris’s neck, teeth grazing with sharp little snips.

"You're not helping," Chris mutters, the key slipping from his grip as Dennis rocks his hips against him.

Dennis’s laugh is breathless. "Not trying to."

The door finally gives, Chris stumbling under the weight of Dennis pressed against him. Dennis takes advantage, propelling them both inside. "Stop talking and fuck me."

Their formal wear hits the floor piece by piece as they stumble toward the mattress, already winded. Their hands reach for each other's hair. Their tongues search, then meet like they're starving for contact, making up for lost time.

The stress of the day, the tension still crackling under Chris's skin—it makes everything more raw. More primal. More urgent.

Chris breaks the kiss and spins Dennis around by the hips. He kicks Dennis’s legs apart so they're wider than his shoulders, then plants him face-down on the bed. His palm presses between Dennis’s shoulder blades, keeping him flat while his other hand yanks Dennis’s ass higher by his pelvis.

"If you want lube you better grab it fast, or I'm fucking you raw—can't wait anymore."

"Patience, babe," Dennis drawls. He can feel himself unwinding, much more relaxed already. "You know I can't even walk after you do that, and I want you inside me about five more times today."

Chris blankets Dennis’s back, his hand already tugging at Dennis’s cock with the kind of grip that makes Dennis’s toes curl and his breath catch.

"Hurry hurry hurry," Chris pants, his hardness sliding between Dennis’s cheeks like it’s impatient to be allowed in. "What if I just eat you out? Please please please?" His other hand starts sliding toward Dennis’s ass.

Dennis reaches back to swat him away. "No, no stop it,” he scolds, “always so greedy! What about my needs? I need that cock in me."

Chris whines, sinking his teeth into the flesh near Dennis’s ribs until he gasps, feeling a twinge of guilt for thinking only of himself.

Dennis reaches for the bedside drawer, arm straining as Chris's weight pins him down. "Just a minute, baby. Be good for me now and I'll let you have whatever you want later, okay? Almost there—" His fingers scrabble against wood until they bump plastic. "Got it!"

He passes the bottle of lube over his shoulder, getting up on his hands and knees. No need to get fancy. Chris taking him on all fours will be exactly what both of them need right now.

Dennis adjusts his stance. Spreads his thighs wide and low. The position makes his back arch naturally, presenting his ass at the perfect angle for Chris to line up.

"Chris, hurry, come on." He's already dripping onto the sheets and pointedly avoids wondering what housekeeping thinks about the number of bedsheets he sends to the laundry.

"Yeah, gorgeous, okay." Chris uses one palm to press Dennis’s upper back down until his cheek squishes against the mattress, hands flat by his head, elbows up. "Don’t get up. Stay down like that for me. Need to see that ass up high while I destroy it."

Dennis makes a pleased sound in his throat, wiggling his hips. What he wouldn’t give to watch Chris rip him apart too. But more importantly, finally, they can skip the foreplay—his body's been ready since the car ride.

Chris tips the bottle, and Dennis hears the wet splat of lube hitting his palm. Chris slicks his cock, then starts rubbing the excess between Dennis’s legs, but Dennis clenches, irritation spiking.

"Chris, get that fucking thing in my ass before I pin you down and take it myself!"

He's dying here!

Dennis reaches back to spread one cheek, his other hand grappling behind himself for Chris's dick. Christ, if you want something done right around here...

"Says the guy who's always preaching about patience!" Chris jerks his foreskin down and drives in with a single stroke, zero ceremony. "Holy fuck—how are you still this tight? Fuck fuck fuck—"

He surges forward, getting his feet planted on the bed into a squat while his hands dig into Dennis’s shoulder blades, forcing his ass higher with each push inside. His hips snap forward at a brutal pace, the apartment filling with the sharp crack of skin meeting skin between their gasps and groans.

Dennis floats away as the world dissolves around him. He reaches back to grip his thighs, trying to anchor himself in place while Chris smashes into him—his thrusts so hard it shifts the whole mattress across the floor.

"So good," Dennis moans, voice gone fuzzy and distant. "Dick's so good, baby, love your cock, made for fucking me, just me," he babbles mindlessly.

Chris groans. He seizes Dennis’s arms and hauls him up on his knees, yanking them behind his back. Dennis’s breath catches at the sharp bite in his shoulders. Chris locks one arm around Dennis’s elbows, fists the other in his hair, then uses his grip to slam into him harder.

Dennis’s spine curves on instinct, his hole flexing around Chris like it wants to swallow him. The new angle makes his passage tighter. Makes his inner walls clamp down each time Chris pushes in.

Whenever Chris twists him into this position—makes Dennis’s body grip him like this—it means Chris is close. His thrusts turn wild from how Dennis’s guts suck him in.

Chris wrenches Dennis back harder. Pain blazes across Dennis’s shoulders, his shoulder blades shrieking as Chris pulls his arms taut. His scalp burns where Chris's grip forces his head back.

"You love this, don't you?" Chris pants into his ear, breath hot and wet. His knees dig into the mattress as his hips jackhammer up into Dennis from behind, holding him exactly where he wants him, using him for their mutual pleasure. "Can't get enough? Only my cock makes your fuckhole feel this good, princess."

"More more more," Dennis chants until they're both shaking apart. Their moans echo off the walls as Chris helps twist Dennis halfway around, mouths seeking each other hungrily. They bite and lick through their release, tasting each other's gasps while Chris pulses inside him.

So good. So satisfying. Dennis’s head spins. He could sleep for days after Chris has fucked the gala stress right out of him. God, Chris always knows exactly what he needs.

When it's over and they've sucked each other's mouths raw, Chris drops onto him like a ton of bricks.

"Get off me, you giant," Dennis wheezes, tapping out on his thigh.

"You know what else is giant?" Chris mumbles into the back of Dennis’s neck, words slurring together.

"Yes, yes, your dick." Dennis coughs under Chris's solid weight. "Now move it, I can't breathe!"

Chris's laugh vibrates through both their chests as he rolls to the side, tugging Dennis into the curve of his body. He buries his nose in Dennis’s hair, arms tightening around his waist, palm flat and protective over his chest.

"So good," Chris murmurs. "You're so good, baby. Why are you always so good?"

Dennis snorts softly, pushing his ass back against Chris's softness until Chris takes the hint, spreading Dennis’s cheeks to nestle himself between them.

"You weren't half bad yourself, Mr. Giant Dick.”

Chris's quiet laughter resonates deep in his chest, the gentle vibration against Dennis’s back making him drowsy.

After a moment of complete silence, Chris speaks:

"We should run away together." He kisses the back of Dennis’s head, breathing him in with an audible inhale.

" Pfft. " Dennis scoffs. "Do you know how much logistics and packing and planning that takes? Who has time for that? Why would we even run away?"

"Why not?" Chris asks cheerfully, tracing lazy circles on Dennis’s stomach. "Just picture it. You, me. The Lexus and my ukulele."

"And the designer sheets," Dennis quips. "I'm used to being spoiled around here, you know."

Chris laughs. " And the designer sheets. What my princess wants, my princess gets."

Dennis wants to purr with contentment, but something Chris said earlier nags at him. "That debt must be big, huh?" He keeps his tone light, but his hand finds Chris's. His fingers slot themselves into the gaps waiting for him, seeking closer contact.

"You have no idea."

Dennis turns around, Chris's dick sliding free from between his cheeks. He props himself up on one elbow and his eyebrows draw together. "If you're serious, that's actually dangerous." He chews his bottom lip, worry clear in his voice.

"Don't worry," Chris laughs, cupping Dennis’s face to kiss him. Their lips meet softly at first, then turn wetter, greedier, like they can't get enough of each other's taste. Chris presses forward until Dennis tips onto his back, Chris's weight following him down.

"Nothing's wrong, baby." Chris's eyes bore into Dennis’s, unwavering. His thumb sweeps over Dennis’s cheek, then down to his neck. Dennis tilts into the contact, sighing as Chris's fingers ghost the column of his throat.

"Just thinking how fucking good it'd be, you know? Just us." Chris's palm wanders down Dennis’s belly to his hip, fingers circling the sharp jut of bone there. He captures Dennis’s mouth again before moving to his jaw, teeth finding his earlobe.

Dennis’s fingers trace Chris's face while his other hand kneads Chris's thighs and ass, feeling the power coiled in each muscle.

Chris pushes Dennis’s legs apart with his knee, one at a time, settling between them. "We could bounce after your bamboo paradise is done... build our own. I hear your site manager's pretty fucking spectacular."

Dennis laughs, deep and rich. He peers up through his lashes, tugging Chris's ear playfully before spreading his legs wider. "Mmh, and modest too."

Chris's soft chortles ripple between them. He rocks slowly against Dennis, both of them content just to feel their genitals squish and glide together, neither rushing toward anything more.

"Where would we go?" Dennis asks, playing along.

"Umm... Mexico?" Chris lifts Dennis’s balls with a hand, then holding his half-hard dick, drags its head lower. Taps and flicks and rubs along his taint until Dennis tilts his hips up, chasing more contact.

"I know this perfect beach... surfing, art galleries, total peace. Wake up to birdsong in hammocks." Chris's voice drifts dreamy and soft.

Dennis sinks into the feeling, head falling back as Chris's cockhead finds his hole. Chris pops just the fleshy bulb into Dennis’s waiting, slackened rim, then brackets Dennis’s head with his hands. He huffs a laugh when whimpering noises float up from under him.

Dennis’s tongue peeks out, seeking kisses. Chris dips down to trace Dennis’s lips with his own, pulling back each time Dennis’s tongue darts out to catch his.

"Baby, need you now," Dennis breathes, eyes closed, hips moving in slow circles. His fingers trail the backs of Chris's arms, up and down, pinching the soft skin at his elbows. Everything, everything, everything about Chris floods through him like a tide. "Please."

He never, never, never gets enough of this man.

"Anything you want, princess." Chris rises up and hooks Dennis’s legs over his shoulders, then drags him closer with his thighs as he pushes in.

A shared sound of relief escapes them.

Chris rocks into him unhurried, steady. He takes his time until Dennis melts beneath him—arms bent, hands curled by his head, small smile playing on his lips. Happy enough as Chris claims him inch by inch. His lashes fan dark and thick over closed eyes.

"You know, if we ran away you could have this whenever you want." Chris eases Dennis’s legs down, spreading them wide. "No one to answer to. Do things our way. Take the work we're passionate about." He leans in close, voice dropping. "Could fuck my baby princess stupid every day until you're so spoiled you forget anyone else exists. Until you're ruined for anyone but me."

Chris pulls out to the tip, then sinks back in. He repeats this a few times, making Dennis feel every new breach.

Dennis nods, encouraging him. His eyes glaze over, body loose and pliant, offering himself up for whatever Chris wants.

At his next push in, Chris presses his palm into Dennis’s belly.

" Ahh !" Dennis’s spine curves off the bed, a high sound catching in his throat as his nerves light up.

Chris chuckles. His fingers work into Dennis’s skin, following his dick's movement underneath. Fingertips massage around the head, then slide along the shaft, pressing deep to map its shape through Dennis’s belly.

"Press your back flat on the bed, princess."

When Dennis obeys, Chris rises on his knees. The new angle creates more drag on Dennis’s rim, more pressure under his belly, making Chris’s cock more visible beneath the skin.

He watches Dennis grip and stroke along the bulge, before he moves up to circle his protruding belly button with trembling fingers.

When Dennis curses, then nods, Chris slides two fingers under his shaft, pushing them into Dennis’s hole alongside himself. He uses his fingertips to press upward again and again, making it bulge through Dennis’s skin. Each push forces Dennis’s navel to pop out, over and over

Dennis loves this—Chris's special treat just for him. Seeing and feeling Chris's whole length tunneling inside, boring him out so wide he'll feel empty and horny all day after. Just thinking about it makes his cock twitch. The way Chris fills him, owns him—messes with his head like nothing else.

"Don't worry, your highness, there's still wifi." Chris swivels his hips in figure eights, making Dennis feel him chart new territory inside. "You could share that genius brain with the world from anywhere."

Dennis can't think about plans anymore. "Mmm, you've really—ah—thought this through. Yes, yeah, that sounds— mmm —perfect, Chrissy," he slurs as Chris carves him open deeper.

"Yeah?" Chris pulls out, then pushes in slow and deliberate, one last time, feeding Dennis his fat, thick log until his pelvis meets Dennis’s ass. He grinds there, making Dennis sob out little sounds.

Fuck, Chris wasn't joking about making Dennis taste him in the back of his throat—Dennis swears he can feel him there.

"Will you go with me, then?"

Dennis is close. "Ahh, hah , yes, Chris, yes ," he gasps. Both hands frame Chris's dick where it moves under his skin, each word matched to a grind that can't go deeper because Chris has already bottomed out. He's agreeing to something but his brain's too fuzzy to remember what.

His yes's tumble from his lips faster and louder until he spills between them. Chris fucks him long and slow through it, holding back just long enough to make it good for Dennis before pulsing deep inside him too.

After, Chris stays buried in him. Dennis forgets the gala drama, Chris's earlier mood—nothing matters except this moment.

*****

They doze until darkness falls, waking to the evening breeze.

Dennis sprawls naked on the bed, making the shapes of skyscrapers and suspension bridges in the ceiling shadows with his fingers. Chris rescues their formal wear from the floor, hanging each piece carefully for dry cleaning.

They debate dinner plans—Dennis can't decide, Chris digs through clean laundry for regular clothes.

While Chris tidies up gala debris, Dennis finds Chris's old phone—his gaming phone—and taps on his game. The volume blasts through the apartment, followed by the distinctive sound of gems being spent.

"Princess, what the fuck? I was saving those gems for the Dragon Slayer sword!" Chris's voice, high and panicked, carries over from the baskets at the other end of the room where he's sorting through their laundry.

Dennis keeps tapping the screen, the corners of his mouth twitching. The little spending noise keeps pinging until Chris runs over and lunges for the phone, but Dennis rolls away, cackling.

"You're lucky you're pretty," Chris grumbles, landing a sharp smack on Dennis’s ass that leaves a bright red handprint. He shakes his head as he returns to the clothes, muttering about ungrateful princesses and their expensive habits.

Dennis feels a happiness that makes him dwell on Chris's seemingly ridiculous suggestions about running away. About living together. About it just being them.

Sometimes Chris talks shit. Always running his mouth, always playing around. Dennis tries not to take everything he says to heart. It hurts less that way.

In the shower, Dennis kisses Chris with his eyes closed. His palms explore Chris's chest, feeling his nipples harden under his touch. Chris hums into his mouth when Dennis gently tweaks and pinches them. Dennis watches Chris's reactions closely—he loves when Chris plays with his chest. Wants to return the favor. But Chris just focuses on shampooing Dennis’s hair, working the product out with careful fingers. Until they both spit and sputter when shampoo suds slip between their lips.

Chris's words about running away, about just them—they stick in Dennis’s head until they're dried off.

Until Dennis takes their clean clothes from Chris's hands and drops them on the counter.

Until he pulls Chris by the wrists from bathroom to bed.

Chris's eyebrows shoot up, then his mouth curves into that knowing look.

"Baby, we need to head out before everything closes. This isn't LA, you know,” Chris drawls, but he follows anyway.

Dennis pecks his lips. "I know. Just something quick. I really appreciate what you did for me today—what you do for me all the time." His eyes keep darting to Chris's face then away, teeth catching his bottom lip like he's trying to say more.

But it’s hard to know how to say it, sometimes.

Instead, he pushes Chris down by the shoulders so both of them are on their knees.

Then pushes Chris down until he’s on his back.

Then straddles his hips.

Crawls up his chest.

Past his neck.

Finally, he positions himself over Chris's face.

Chris's breath hitches. "Oh my fucking god, is it my birthday?" His hands grab Dennis’s ass, squeezing hard as he turns his head to mouth and suck at his inner thigh. "Am I dying?"

"And to apologize for spending all your gems," Dennis adds sheepishly.

Chris laughs, spreading Dennis’s thighs wider, sweeping his thumbs over the flushed skin. "Ride my tongue, baby,” he instructs. “Best apology ever—spend all my gems, I don't care. You should spend them more often." He yanks Dennis down and shoves his tongue deep, making Dennis gasp at the sudden intrusion.

Dennis doesn’t say a word. This is Chris's reward, and Dennis won't touch himself. Chris gets to control their pleasure now.

"Fuck, you should thank me more often too." Chris's words come out muffled and wet. "You taste amazing, smell amazing, you're so fucking amazing, princess." He pats Dennis’s ass. "Move for me."

Dennis rocks against Chris's mouth, switching between his rim and balls—Chris loves being smothered by them—then positions his taint for Chris to suck. When Chris's grip tightens, Dennis knows to wiggle his ass until his ring is around Chris’s tongue, then rise and fall, fucking himself on it.

His fingers card through Chris's hair over and over. He can't look away from that gorgeous jaw working, that perfect nose wet with spit, those full lips sucking and pulling at the edges of his hole like they own it. Chris's face is pure bliss. The slurping sounds of his mouth mix with his strokes below as he beats himself off.

Chris never lasts long eating Dennis out. Despite all their earlier fucking, Dennis feels Chris spasm under him as he comes, breathing hot and fast as he pants and moans between Denni’s legs.

When Chris’s muscles stop twitching, he spreads Dennis wider with his hands, tongue delving into that soft, pink heat until Dennis’s thighs tremble. When their eyes meet, Chris works his fingers inside through Dennis’s orgasm—his own way of saying thank you for Dennis’s sweetness tonight.

They're up soon after, getting dressed between kisses.

Dennis tugs on one of Chris's shirts, burying his nose in the collar. It smells like Chris’s hugs mixed with fabric softener. When he adds one of Chris's baseball caps, tilting his chin up defiantly, Chris dissolves into laughter.

"Who even are you right now?" Chris reaches to adjust the cap. "I've never seen you in anything but designer clothes and now you're stealing my stuff?"

They end up in a cramped pizza booth, shoulders pressed together as they devour slice after slice with greasy fingers, washing it down with ice-cold Cokes. Dennis is so relieved the gala’s over that he doesn't even lecture Chris about saturated fats or blood sugar spikes.

They share a chocolate sundae afterward, fighting over one spoon.

Chris nudges Dennis’s elbow.

"Hmm?" Dennis digs through the ice cream, hunting for chocolate syrup deposits—Chris's favorite part.

"Have you ever been in love?" Chris asks, licking the spoon clean before giving Dennis expectant puppy eyes for more.

Dennis focuses on scooping up more syrup, waiting for the drips to slow.

How to tell Chris? Maybe the truth is simplest.

"Yes." He carefully swipes the bottom of the spoon against the glass rim to catch stray drops, then looks up at Chris with soft eyes and an even softer smile. "Yes, I have."

Chris savors the next bite, eyes fluttering closed at the sweetness—he's down to four pumps of syrup in his daily mochas now instead of six, thanks to Dennis’s constant nagging. If anything, it makes dessert taste even better.

"What did you think about it?"

Dennis sets the spoon down, leaning into Chris’s shoulder. His fingers trace patterns on Chris's jeans while he thinks.

"I guess... I learned who I really am? Like how to be myself without apologies." His eyes flick up to Chris’s then back to his hands, hyperaware of Chris's intense gaze. "The right person just... unlocks something in you, you know?"

"How about you?" Dennis asks, aiming for casual even as his heart wobbles. He grins up at Chris—might as well face potential heartbreak head-on. "Ever been in love?"

Chris nods, arms folded on the table as his eyes roll up in thought. He glances at Dennis, then elbows him until Dennis digs out another Hershey’s-heavy scoop from what's left of the ice cream.

"I have," Chris says simply.

Dennis ferries the spoon over, palm underneath to catch sticky drips. "Learn anything from it?"

Sigh. Why does he even ask when he doesn’t want to know? He’s a goddamn masochist, that’s why. But Dennis keeps his smile on his face, even as something in his chest sinks.

Chris swirls the ice cream in his mouth thoughtfully, still staring at the ceiling.

Dennis shovels a huge spoonful into his own mouth, hoping sugar might dull the ache.

"Yeah." Chris is suddenly grinning at him, making Dennis raise an eyebrow.

"What'd you learn?" Dennis asks, actually curious now.

Chris's lips twitch at the corners, the same way they do before he makes Dennis’s life difficult. "I learned that I really—" He shifts closer.

"Really?" Dennis prompts.

"Really really—" Chris moves in, his breath warm on Dennis’s cheek.

Dennis tilts toward him, drawn in despite himself. "Really what?"

"Really really really—" Chris's mouth brushes Dennis’s ear.

" Chri-IS! " Dennis whines, the suspense killing him.

Chris's voice drops to a hot whisper:

"Really like eating ass."

"You—!" Dennis smacks him hard enough to make the ice cream rattle. "I hate you!"

But Chris just laughs, catching Dennis’s flailing hands and pulling him closer. "Ow ow ow! Princess, mercy! Save the rough stuff for home!"

Their combined giggles draw stares from other customers. Chris tucks Dennis against his chest while Dennis tries to muffle his laughter in Chris's shirt, failing miserably.

And no amount of ice cream could be sweeter than this—Chris's arms around him, both of them cracking up in their little booth, the whole world narrowed down to just them and their shared joy.