The Muse's Undoing

“What time is your bedtime?” Vaughn asks.

“Eleven.”

“Wow. Can we watch Coco until your bedtime?”

Matthew glances over at me. I shrug, giving up. “Sure,” he says. “I don’t have anywhere to be in the morning.”

“My mom picks me up early.”

“We better get started then.”

“Were you and Dad kissing?” he asks.

My eyes blow wide, but Matthew says smoothly, “We were hugging and giving kisses,” he says. “You like to give kisses, I’ve noticed.”

“Twenty kisses,” Vaughn says. “It means I love you.”

“Is that what that means? Maybe I should start counting.”

Vaughn giggles. My favorite sound.

“What does ten kisses mean?” Matthew asks.

“Probably I’m in a hurry.”

That makes us both laugh. Vaughn flashes us his baby-toothed smile. “Dad always tries to make me snuggle with him, too.”

“Because I love it,” I tell him with a wide grin.

“Snuggle with me,” Matthew tells him. “I’m a good snuggler. You’ll see.” Effectively changing the topic, Matthew grabs the remote, switches from Netflix to Disney, and convinces Vaughn to let him spoon him. I lean back on the opposite arm and pull my phone out of my pocket, trying to force my heart rate to return to normal. What if I’d unbuttoned my pants? Jesus.

Matthew’s foot nudges my leg, and what I see when I look up makes me set my phone on the coffee table rather than unlock the screen.

He’s rubbing my son’s hair, his fingers delicately tracing his forehead and brushing his cheek with the backs of his knuckles. Vaughn’s eyes are already shutting, and the movie’s barely started. The kid stands no chance in that man’s arms. I know from experience.

I lay a hand on Matthew’s calf and squeeze. He sends a wink and a smile my way. It’s so warm. So familiar and easy, I fall in love with him all over again, but this time feels more like falling off a cliff. Landing on the rocks below, my chest shatters. I am fucking done for.

They called his birth a miracle, and, not for the first time, I’m in complete agreement.

43

MATTHEW

Fischer was too paranoid to have sex with me the night Vaughn walked in on us, and I don’t blame him, but I’ve been making up for lost time ever since.

When I come out of the bathroom Friday morning, dawn is breaking outside, and he’s exactly how I want him. Passed out. No, I didn’t drug him, though I absolutely won’t hesitate to if he gives me the green light—I know people—but I did put him through his paces. All night. I’d also forced him to stay awake so that when he did fall asleep, it’d be hard.

The desire to mess with him while he’s asleep is a Fischer-specific need. It probably started after his first nightmare—the night of the thunderstorm. The times I’ve indulged in his sleeping body since have been unforgettable.

I stroke his exposed leg as I stand beside the bed, my other hand on my cock, which doesn’t need much help to get hard when he’s ass up and relaxed like this.

I use a small amount of lube, rubbing it between my fingers to warm it before I slick up his crease with a slow, light touch. When he shifts, I freeze, and my dick gives a rough throb. But then he settles again.

Precum forms a bead at my tip, and I shudder with restraint and want. I let go of my cock for the moment, already too stimulated. Softly, I press a fingertip to his hole, rotating to outline the rim. He’s so soft. So beautiful with his leg hitched up and his swollen lips slightly parted, spent, and debauched. All mine.

I pick up my phone, open the camera app, and hit record to capture my prime time princess in all his filthy glory. My big brother who can’t help himself with me. Nothing has ever felt more right than doing wrong things to him.

I can’t explain how much I love him. I love him because he’s as familiar to me as breathing. I love him because he surrenders all his hard-earned control with me. I love him because he looks at me like I’m worthy of worship. But I also love him because he’s as irascible as he is vulnerable. He’s a lifeline and the voice in my head that says to do better.