The Muse's Undoing

“Let’s go back to my place. I’m a mess.”

He stands first, putting his dress shirt and jacket back on but not bothering to button anything.

He holds a hand out to help me up, and I take it. Once I’m standing, he straightens me out while I remain still and let him. He fastens my pants, buckles my belt, tugs my lapels, and carefully tucks a wild wave of hair behind my ear. “You look good,” he says again, unprompted.

My eyes narrow minutely, just for a moment. “Are you good?”

“Sure. Ready to go?”

“Your uh…cock’s still out.”

Matthew holds my gaze as he tucks himself back in and zips his pants. “We good now?”

“Yeah. You sure you’re okay?” Maybe this wasn’t one of our better ideas.

He picks up my cane and nods toward the exit. “Let’s go.”

In the elevator, he leans against the wall, facing me and says, “You win. You’re not uptight.”

I drag my gaze up from his exposed left nipple. “Sorry. Maybe I went too far.”

“You’re fine,” he says.

“You’re quiet.” I tell him, slightly accusatory.

“Just thinking. There was a lot to process up there.”

“Yeah,” I mumble. I’m processing too much, too. Hence the need for another drink. “You’re not gonna ditch me at my place are you? You’ll come up?”

He meets my eyes without raising his head. “Wanna watch some TV or something?”

“That sounds good. After I shower.”

“Want me to spend the night, too?”

“Do you want to?”

He shrugs. “It’s easier. I planned on it. Sort of thought we’d be out later.”

“If you don’t want to, I could always get you a car,” I offer.

He thinks about it too long. Maybe he’s torn. Maybe he’s trying to figure out an excuse to leave. “Like I mentioned, I’m almost done with my piece. I was planning to finish it up tomorrow.”

Excuse it is… “And then I get to see it?” I ask as the elevator reaches the ground floor.

“If you behave.”

“I’ll be a saint,” I say with a solemn nod.

He makes a face. “Saints are no fun.”

The question about whether he’ll spend the night remains unanswered.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Fischer.”

One second I’m getting up to take a piss, the next, I’m on my back, staring up at Matthew’s face. The living room chandelier frames his head like a glittering crystal halo.

His hands are on my face, and he’s examining me closely. “Can you see me?”