The Muse's Undoing

Having him home is a huge weight off. I’ve been more productive than ever. Which is why the sculpture I started in January is nearly finished.

One of the roughest days of my life was the day he left in a taxi bound for JFK to fly to the Middle East.

Look, I gestated with my sister, but I suffered with Fischer, and it feels like he and I have the deeper bond. Even if he does see me as a needy little brother, I consider him my best friend, and maybe a too frequently indulged fantasy.

All this to say my cock is fucking aching with his limbs twined around me and sex going on everywhere. His thumb rubbing my palm is driving me crazy. I can feel the edge of his erection on my thigh, and if he gets much closer, it’s going to touch mine, and I might lose my mind and grab his ass or something. But he’d probably just think I was being affectionate.

This whole revelation about him having been with men in his past? Gotta admit, it’s blowing my mind and filling our current situation with an unmistakable undercurrent—at least for my part. While I’m so fucking glad to have him home, I never would have thought to try anything more than cuddling. But now that I know he’s sucked dick, it’s got me thinking.

I decide to call him out on it. Like I said, I don’t drink much. My tongue is a little loose. “You’re not acting like you’d object to the company of a man…”

“Am I crowding you?”

“No, you know I like it when people are all over me.”

He backs off slightly. His erection leaves my leg, but he keeps his hand on my lower belly. Our faces are close when he asks, “What’s your point? You wanted me to keep you out of trouble, right? And you won’t let me leave you alone.”

“Maybe this was the wrong place to bring me.”

He arches a brow. “You think?”

Fischer’s sarcasm is part of his charm, both in prime time and after hours.

“I need to jerk off,” I say bluntly.

He laughs. “Sure. Meet me back here in half an hour.”

I glare at him. “Where are you going?”

“Hey, I’m single.”

“I’m—look, despite what you think, Val and I aren’t in a serious relationship. I just don’t like fucking around when I’m regularly sleeping with someone.”

“How is it not serious again?” he asks.

I don’t know how to explain my muses to people. Especially not one like Valentine whose heart is completely unavailable. I’m obsessed with her, yes, but I’m also obsessed with dental hygiene and being on time. I have OCD for fuck’s sake. I get stuck on things. Not usually on one person for as long as five months, but Val’s unique.

When I say she’s the perfect muse, I’m not exaggerating. She inspires my body and my mind without asking anything from me in return. She and I both know neither of us have more to give.

“It’s physical—not personal.”

“How’s that different from what I come here to do?”

“I mean—it’s more personal than this,” I say, gesturing toward the room.

“Maybe I don’t need personal.”

Having Fischer for a friend is great until I feel like he’s mentally outmatching me. I wish I could put words together the way he does—express a complete thought in a way that makes sense. It would save us a lot of time. “If you don’t want personal, then why don’t you just jerk off?”

He takes a moment to match my glare.

I nod toward the sunken stage and all the people hooking up and masturbating on the steps as they watch the latest attraction—a man edging a naked woman with a feather.

“In public?” he asks.

“When in Rome…” I challenge.

“Would you?”