38. Matthew

38

MATTHEW

T he laundry gets done, and Fischer helps me fold it. We go out to eat at my favorite Thai restaurant and it feels like a proper date. Candlelight and everything. He looks amazing in candlelight. Inspiration for days.

Because of that, though, my defenses are failing. My excuses to maintain some mental distance from him are getting flimsy as hell. And I can't stop kissing him.

It's late, and we're back on my bed, clean sheets all tucked in. We're fully dressed and all over each other. Mouths engaged, cocks grinding, hands roaming, hair pulling. It's like we're doing everything possible not to have sex and yet, somehow, we're still fucking.

He started it with a smile, and I tackled him.

"Why do you turn me on so much?" That's me. Wondering aloud.

"I have no fucking clue."

"I wanna do the craziest shit to you."

He lets out a short laugh, his mouth right up against mine, "Like what?"

My mouth wants to kiss him more than it wants to talk. He moans, softening in my arms, his head tipping back from the force of my kiss, his body yielding to mine, totally making my point because I feel like a predator—completely set on having this man and only this man. I want him to be my toy. I want to use the fuck out of him. I want to destroy him for anyone or anything else.

This isn't normal. And it's definitely not the norm for me . But he's letting me .

I plant my hands on the mattress and shove myself away from him, but seeing the strand of saliva still connecting us makes my cock thud against my fly. "Whoa," I whisper. "Sorry."

Fischer frowns, crossing his arms behind his head to regard me all casually. Like he's not just as hard as I am. "Have I overstayed my welcome?"

I shake my head, keeping my eyes on his.

"I'm okay," he says. "You don't have to apologize for anything."

His face is totally unreadable. I feel like I usually have a better idea what he might be thinking, but maybe my own thoughts are racing too fast. "Maybe we should hit pause for a second," I blurt out, not so subtly begging him to save me from myself.

"Okay."

I push myself off to one side and sit up. Slowly he does, too. We're still facing each other, but he looks past me to the door, and I shift my gaze to the window. "Can I be honest with you?" I ask.

"Yeah, that'd be great," he says, his voice low and sort of dejected. I hate it.

"I've been having sex with guys since I was eighteen. And I always pictured myself ending up with a man. But then I started picturing myself with you—and you were straight. At least, as far as I knew."

Fischer puts his head in his hands, and I see him rubbing his eyes with the heels of them.

I go on. "I had a lot of strong feelings for you, and I think I started to think, maybe …anyway, you went back to work, and honestly that kind of fucked me up."

Fischer lifts his head, eyes bleary. "I get that this doesn't matter, and words are cheap, but I was fucked up by you and me too."

"Because you felt ashamed."

"No… It wasn't just that."

"We got close, though," I say. "You admit that, right? Like maybe too close, and it maybe could have given me the wrong idea?"

"Yes, Matthew. We were close. It was getting…intimate."

"Right, and I was all good with that, like zero guilt whatsoever, but when you left and came home to marry a woman, I kinda figured you did have some guilt about it. Which made us wrong, which made me wrong, and it made a lot of things about me wrong."

"If I had it to do over, I would change a lot," he says. "But not because I felt like we were wrong."

"Did you realize leaving would hurt me?" I ask.

He looks down at his folded hands and shakes his head. "Yes and no."

The reason I believe him is so hard to explain. Being with Fischer when he was recovering sort of trapped me inside myself. He made me feel things—shit I wasn't ready for—that I knew I had to hide. It's hard to undo that impulse no matter how much I want to be open with him today. It helps knowing I wasn't completely alone in wanting more from our time together, but ultimately he'd rejected me, even if he hadn't realized that's what he was doing.

"I assume you also figured getting married wouldn't bother me, either," I say.

"I figured you'd moved on. I didn't think it mattered to you what the fuck I did, and I don't mean that in a shitty way, I just thought I was off your radar. So no, I definitely didn't think that would hurt you. I just misread things."

"So, you didn't think twice about me. Good to know."

"Matthew. Jesus. Think back for a second. What were you up to when I was dating Nicole? Do you remember?"

He's making it sound like he does. "Working," I say. "Going out."

"Hooking up?"

"How would you know?" I ask, curious.

"Because whenever I did see you, you were hungover with multiple hickeys in various stages of healing."

"Yeah, I got around a lot back then. But that's my point. Are you sure you wanna be doing this?" I ask. "It's not like it's uncomplicated."

"What would you rather be doing?" he asks in a fun twist. Sometimes it feels like he's probing my mind like an alien abductor. I feel his sideways questioning like thumps on my skull. I drop my forehead to my knees because what a fucking great and impossible question. "I don't know," I whisper.

"If I left now, what would you do?"

"Freak out probably."

"And what would that look like?"

I'm honestly not sure.

He may have deleted my apps, but they're still in the cloud. Even with no phone, this city is Babylon—teeming with debauchery and temptation. Normally, I like that about it, but whatever Fischer and I have is real, and it has consequences, and I already have too many feelings attached to it—to him . If he left, I might just curl up in a ball and let myself wither.

"Matthew?" he asks, when I haven't answered after a while.

And I still don't.

"You don't want me to go, do you?" he asks, and I see that vulnerability that kills me creeping into his expression again. The one that says he's dying to put a hand somewhere on my body just to remind himself that I exist. That we exist.

I finally look at him again. Our eyes meet. "No. What about you? I haven't scared you off yet?"

He shakes his head.

"I might eventually."

"You're gonna let me try for eventually?" he asks, sarcastic.

"You want to?"

"How many times do I have to say it?"

"You scare the shit out of me," I say.

His silver eyes narrow, and a slow smirk curves his mouth. "You scare me, too. It's why I'm not sure I mind that I fucked you up for all other men."

I shake my head. "Your ego, though… I never said that."

"It was implied."

"Yeah, well… You did," I admit. "Congratulations."

He finally reaches up, dragging his fingers through my hair, his eyes all in shadow. "I'm not gonna hurt you, Matthew."

"How can you say that?"

"Because it would kill me."

"Ugh," I groan, letting myself sag toward him. "I'm a fucking mess without you."

He dips his head to find my mouth and press a light kiss to it. "You wanna keep talking?"

I shake my head, kissing him back, feeling lighter than before.

"I have an idea, then," he says, his tone deep and seductive. "If you're ready to move on. "

"I'm ready," I tell him. "What's your idea?"

"I thought you might wanna show your big brother what a nice, fat cock you have."

Holy shit.

"Do I have a big brother?" I ask, trying not to sound as excited as I suddenly am.

He nods, staring at my mouth. "You can tell me anything. All your dirty secrets. And if you have any questions about what to do with that dick, I can show you…"

"Jesus," I whisper, because I am so fucking twisted, and he knows it because he's as fucked up as I am.

I get closer to him, opening my pants.

He runs a hand down my chest, a finger traveling the length of my cock. "What do you like to do you with your dick, Matty?"

So we're doing this… "I like to play with it."

"Yeah? Show me how you play with it. Show me how you make it grow big."

"It's embarrassing," I whisper.

"You need me to help you?"

"Yeah."

"Lie down," he says.

I do immediately, my erection jutting up between us, needing no help whatsoever.

"Get undressed," he tells me. "Let me see what you're working with."

I whip off my shirt and shove my pants and boxer briefs down, kicking my shoes off. He grabs the pile of clothes and tosses them to the floor. Then he looks at me, like he's seeing me for the first time.

"Fuck, baby brother. You've got a big dick."

I try to suppress my grin. "I know. It's too much."

Half role play and half not, I'm not only getting off on this, but I'm getting into it. If he's not careful, he may be about to learn more about me than he bargained for. Like how I always wanted a brother and how bad I like to be.

"Looks slutty," he says, getting a gentle grip on it and stroking upward, his thumb brushing the crown. "What do the girls say about it?"

"Depends on the girl."

Another stroke elicits a few drops of precum and a soft groan from me. "You keep it so pretty."

"Thank you," I say, suddenly feeling shy and younger than I usually do with him.

He continues to jerk me slowly, a pace that makes me squirm.

"I didn't think you liked me," I say.

"Because you're a weirdo. You and your sister. Sheltered. Over-indulged. You don't get outside enough. You eat a bunch of crap."

"You aren't exactly friendly, you know?"

He lifts a shoulder and lets it drop. "Whatever. You don't need me."

"I've always wanted to be more like you. Be able to check out and not give a shit what people thought of me."

"You'd be surprised, then…how much of a shit I give."

He has a grip on my base and is massaging it with pulsing squeezes of his fist.

"God, that feels good…" I whisper.

"You like that?"

"It's making me so hard."

"You have a crush on me, don't you?"

"Maybe…"

"Little perv. What would our parents say?"

"People get crushes on strangers all the time," I say.

"Did you always know you were queer?" he asks, surprising me.

"Yeah," I sigh shakily. He's killing me is what he's doing.

"How?"

"Because I can't remember a time I wasn't obsessed with cock…"

"Mmm…" The sound rumbles through him, and he runs his other hand across my abs.

"I used to spy on you," I confess. "Did you know that?"

He shakes his head.

"Like if you took us on a hike and went to piss in the woods—I'd try to catch a glimpse."

"Did you see anything?"

"Once. A little. The angle wasn't great."

"That's very, very naughty."

"I couldn't help myself. You always left me wanting more."

"More of what?"

"Everything," I breathe, reaching to grab the back of his neck and using it as leverage to pull myself up. I kiss him hard, and his hand abandons my cock to grab both sides of my head and kiss me back.