The Muse's Undoing

She gives me a hug before my dad pulls her off me and into the car they have waiting. He waves goodbye to the rest of us.

“Our car is almost here,” Fischer says.

“You want to come out for another drink with us, Matty?” Maggie asks, excluding Fischer for reasons I can’t put together. Because he’s old?

“No, thanks,” I say.

“It’s fine,” Fischer tells me. “I’m not trying to hog you.”

“You’re not—” I force myself to take a deep breath, suddenly overwhelmed. “I’d like to go home.”

“Thanks for coming to dinner,” Stuart says, reaching out to shake both our hands. “It was wonderful to meet you both.”

Maggie gives me another hug and apologizes again. “Are you okay?”

I was. “Yeah.” I give her a final squeeze and pull away.

“Here it is,” Fischer says, meaning our ride.

We say good night and get into the car. Before it even pulls away from the curb, I say to him, “I think I might be the one having nightmares tonight.”

“Don’t worry,” he tells me. “I know exactly what to do.”

4

FISCHER

Matthew’s alarm goes off as I’m on the verge of orgasm. Sensing his warmth and all the pressure against my erection, I open my eyes to find myself grinding against his ass.

Jesus fucking Christ. I let go of him and flip over, pressing my hand to my cock and praying it doesn’t explode. Matthew hits snooze on the alarm and slips immediately back into sleep as usual. I roll off the bed, find my balance, and make my way into the bathroom. Behind the closed door, I stand over the toilet with one hand on the wall, and the other wrapped around my cock.

Two tugs, and I’m coming so hard my back bows. I end up spraying the wall with thick ropes of white. One after another after another until I finally let myself go. My head falls against my bicep, and I breathe into it heavily. Fuck. If he noticed that, I’ll die of humiliation.

Once I’ve cleaned myself and everything else, I splash some cold water on my face and run my hands through my hair, trying to put it in order before I go make coffee.

As I’m leaving the bathroom, he’s coming in. “Morning,” he says, voice hoarse and sleepy.

“Good morning.”

So far, so good.

My leg feels great today. No more limp. No more sharp pain. It fatigues easier than my other does, and I doubt I’m ready to start running again, but nine months out from my surgeries, the surgeon calls it a full recovery.

Now I have a decision to make, and every day I think I’ve made it, the next day comes, and I change my mind again.

Instead of coming out for coffee, I watch Matthew exit the bathroom shirtless and crawl back into bed.

“Coffee’s ready,” I tell him.

“I don’t feel good. I’m not going in today.”

That’s not like him. I walk back into the bedroom and sit near his feet. “What’s wrong?”

“I have a headache, and my throat hurts.”

“I can make you some tea.”

“Tea sounds good.”