The Muse's Undoing

“We fucked,” he says more emphatically.

“But who topped?” I ask.

“I did.”

I laugh. Maybe too loud. “Wait, you’re kidding, right?”

“That’s the part that’s hanging you up?”

“Well…yeah…”

“Why?”

“I just can’t picture it.”

“As my brother, maybe I’d rather you didn’t.”

“You’re such a bottom, though.”

He gives me a confused look. “What does that even mean?”

“It means what I said. There’s no way Nicole didn’t ride you every time you had sex.”

Fischer looks both surprised and called out. “How do you know that?”

“And I’ve met Ravenna. She’s a top, too.”

“Have you fucked her?”

“It’s a vibe, Fischer.”

“That’s ridiculous.” He shifts toward me, putting him practically in my lap, which proves my point. “Anyway, ask Gibson’s pet. She basically only knows how to bend over and purr.”

“Just because you can top doesn’t make you one.”

“I don’t like this conversation.”

“Why?” I ask. “Feeling too seen?”

He scowls. “Maybe. But Raven’s not a top. She’s just high maintenance.”

“Why’d you stop fucking men?” I ask abruptly.

“That is a fair question I don’t want to answer tonight, but also I met Nicole.”

“And you’re telling me you’ve never had a man inside you?”

“Why are we talking about this?”

“You brought me to a sex club and then opened a whole can of gay worms.”

He sighs, “Fine. Mouth yes, but no. I’ve never had a cock in my ass. And when you put it that way, I’m glad I haven’t.”

“My poor intimacy-hating brother,” I joke even as I mindlessly rub his back, and he wraps his calf around mine to the extent that he can. We’re doing everything but making out. Luckily he didn’t introduce himself to my boss as his brother. I get what this looks like. But I also get why we’re like this, and it’s more or less innocent. I think.

I basically nursed him back to health, which in my opinion, speaking of high maintenance people, he got kind of used to. I’m protective of him now that he’s home and needing to walk with a cane. So it’s kinda like I can’t not touch him, and he likes the attention. Problem is, on my end, it’s not a hundred percent platonic. I let him get away with a lot, and sometimes I don’t think he realizes how far he’s actually going. As in—it’s hard to believe the congressman seduced him.

Ever since I let him lie on my chest to watch Game of Thrones, we’ve been practically on top of each other whenever we’re in a room together. He likes to be petted, and I like touching him. Sometimes, he’ll return the favor, by rubbing my back or whatever, but I almost always have to ask—or beg—like Monday morning when I wanted him to, and he acted like it was some big chore, not an actual habit that occurs at least once a week.