“Yeah, for all I know they’re going to go with Prince Hal and Falstaff. I listened to ‘Othello’ on the drive today,” Victor said. He liked that Andy was saying ‘we’ about this project. “Not a fan of the storyline. I think Desdemona should kill Othello and Iago.” He watched Andy laugh again. “Who could you see as that Desdemona? She has this line, ‘Talk you of killing?’ On the recording it’s this tremulous, scared thing. But I thought, that’s so Taxi Driver. That’s, are you talkin’ to me? Let’s see who kills who, you jealous motherfuckin’ meathead. She could be wiping a dagger on that stupid handkerchief.”
“You’re good at this.” Andy stepped over to the control center, found a
notepad, and wrote down the character name and the line. “I think we might have to have a Twister tournament. We know so many awesome women.
Tanith could play the hell out of it.”
“Anya,” Victor suggested. “You know she’s wanted to kill a few guys in her time. Or, like, every day.” They both cracked up.
The night before Andy left for Miami, Rory and Dana came over for dinner. There had been a few texts back and forth about the whole video SOS
thing, and everyone expected the subject to come up. They found other things to talk about for a while. Victor and Andy told tour stories, Dana talked about her TV show, and Rory talked about stage-managing the first Underground Cabaret show of the year. Halfway into their second glasses of wine, she planted her elbows on the table and said, “So, Andy. Your boy toy let us know you are looking at potentially a very shitty year.”
“I figured he might have.”
“Yeah. So, since you very much suck at admitting you need help, or want help,” Rory tried to look stern, “we will be watching you like hawks and probably will be making epic pests of ourselves with preemptive or premature offers of help. Because we love you.”
“I love you too.” Andy had his elbows on the table now too, gazing back at her affectionately. “At the moment it’s kind of a wait and see situation.
After this trip I’ll know if they’ve been selling me a load of bullshit.”
Because neither of them can lie to my face.
“You’re still planning to go on location with Victor, right?” Dana was done eating. All of them were.
Andy drank the rest of his wine, thinking seriously about pouring a refill.
He set down the empty glass with a sigh. “I’m still going to go. I’m still planning to do all the things I want to do with Victor. If something happens, I’ll change the plans, that’s all.”
“And we’ll do those things another time.” Victor was watching his husband. “We’ll get Dmitri to start us off on those two routines before I leave. We’ll be able to practice while we’re out at the Great Lakes. The shoot’s supposed to wrap the first week of August.”
“Plenty of time,” Dana said. “And what about this whole Shakespeare thing?”
“We’re going to mess around with character ideas on location,” Victor said. “Once we’re back Andy can start scheduling people.”
“Did you see that video of Red’s?” Andy asked. “The Macbeth swordfight?”
“Oh my God yes!” Rory looked delighted. “That looked seriously legit!
Are you stealing some of that?”
“I totally am, they already said I could. Do you want to see the stuff I shot with Niall and Geoffrey? It’s really gorgeous, I’m completely obsessed with it.” Andy mostly made the offer to get everyone’s mind all the way off the Miami situation, and it worked. He set up the laptop, then cleared the table and listened to the commentary. “So I’m looking at one or two lines to do with all the other subjects.”
“Oh thank God,” Dana said. “I can’t believe there’s another play where you could yank out this many lines and they would work so perfectly.”
“I’m going to be learning a lot more about Shakespeare than I ever did before, that’s for sure.” Andy got the coffeemaker going and came back to the table. “But they look great, right?”
“Really great.” Rory stood up, wriggling her back. Victor gave her a
‘what’s up’ look and she said, “A little stiff. You know, this whole over-forty thing is a crock.” She rolled her neck. “But that reminds me. Did you guys actually make a, you know, episode every place you went on tour?”
Victor cracked up. Andy made a ‘maybe’ face. Dana said, “Why did that remind you of that?”
“Well, the reason my neck is stiff,” Rory began, and Dana performed a swift ‘say no more’ gesture, trying not to laugh.
“Hey,” Andy said. “If you’re going to ask about ours, I think it’s totally fair to ask about yours.”
“We did not spend six weeks tangoing around the world making a porno,” Dana said, totally failing at not laughing.
Rory held up her glass, squinting through it at the light. “Because we are wasting our lives.” She drank the rest of her wine.
Knowing their days on ‘L.A. Vice’ were coming to an end, Andy and Victor had decided to replace their cars, both wrecked by a vandal eighteen months ago. They’d delegated the job; car-shopping was very low on Andy’s
list of preferred ways to spend time, and Victor was more concerned with getting the job done than with doing it himself. Their business manager took care of it while they were on tour. Andy was satisfied with his new Subaru Crosstrek, and Victor loved his new Acura RDX. It almost made the trip to the airport tolerable. He pulled over on the curb at Departures and switched on the hazard lights. “Give me a call when you get in, okay?”
“You know I will. And I’ll ping you as soon as I know how long I think I need to stay.” Andy knew he had some heavy conversations to get through, and didn’t want to rush them.
“Take as much time as you need, baby. I wish you didn’t have to go.”
Victor meant ‘I wish this wasn’t happening,’ and Andy knew it. “Give them my love.”
“Definitely.” Andy leaned over for a kiss. “Let’s get my shit out. Like the new buggy?”
“I’m going to sleep with her tonight.” Andy laughed. They both got out of the car. Andy didn’t need any help but Victor was trying to get every last second with his husband. “I already miss you.” A kiss before the rolling bag came out of the cargo area, and another once it was on the ground. Andy touched his face, leaned in for another kiss. Victor hugged him. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Victor let him go, and Andy stepped back. “God I hate to leave you.”
“I hate it too. Get moving.” Victor watched him all the way into the checkin area. Then a cop beeped at him. He did a ‘yeah, sorry’ thing, got back into the car, and drove home.
Seven hours later, he finally got the call. He and Molly were cuddled together on the couch; he was reading, or sort-of reading, a script his agent had sent. Music was playing. It should have been a nice relaxing evening.
When the phone rang he snatched it up. “Andy.”
“Hi sweetheart. It’s raining like somebody ordered an ark over here.”
“Aside from that, how was the trip?”
“Eh. It was a cross-country flight. I’m heading over to the house pretty soon, having a snack here at the hotel first so I can legitimately tell Mom she doesn’t have to cook. What are you up to?”
“Reading with Molly. She thinks this script is crap.”
“Why are you even reading a script?”
“Because I read some Shakespeare earlier today and I was having ideas about your thing and thought I’d better step back.” He was hoping Andy would tell him not to.
“Why would you do that?” Andy sounded surprised. “Don’t do that.
You’re good at this shit. Have all the ideas you want. I want your ideas, okay?”
Victor was pleased, and let that come through in his voice. “Yeah, okay.
So Parker sent me this thing, Pop Quiz wants to do a follow-up about the movie and the shooting and all that. Did you get anything on that?”
&nb
sp; “Haven’t checked. Hang on.” Victor waited. He knew Andy usually started up the laptop as soon as he was properly inside a hotel room. After a minute, Andy said, “Sure enough. They say a sit-down, one-on-one thing. Is that what yours says?” Victor made a sound of assent. “Why the fuck wouldn’t they want both of us. Well, huh. Do you want to do it?”
“Not especially.”
“Which means absolutely not. Me neither, but one of us should, so I’ll do it. Maybe it’ll be Sherry again. Hey, maybe I can swing it over to being all about me and dancing, we can end the whole conversation about the shooting. I know you’re tired of talking about it.”
Victor really was. There had been far too many questions about that for the past six months. “If you don’t mind, that would be great.”
“Anything for you, catnip. I’d better get moving, though. Ping me anytime.”
“I will. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Andy was back in Los Angeles four days later, earlier than expected but none too soon. After a long embrace in baggage claim, he walked out with Victor. Both of them ignored the people whispering, pointing, and taking phone pictures. They weren’t there for publicity. Andy waited until they were outside before he said, “We almost had a fight. Me and Pop. He was all, did you suggest your mother should move out of here when I’m gone, and I was all, yes Pop I did, because for one thing this street is under water at high tide and for another she is also almost eighty and in case you haven’t noticed this place needs a lot of work. He got so mad.”
“Thought it was a criticism?” They were in the parking deck now.
“Exactly. Which it kind of was. You know ever since I started making TV money I’ve been trying to get him to hire some of that work done. Told him I could help. He was always no, I can handle it. Well of course none of it ever got done.” Andy made an impatient gesture. “If Miami takes a direct hit from another hurricane, their roof is going to end up in the fucking Bermuda Triangle.”
“So how’d you leave it?” Victor glanced over his shoulder. Yes, there was someone walking the same direction, about twenty feet behind, carrying a gym-sized bag. Just another traveler, he told himself.
“We argued for an hour, we had a beer, he said yeah you’re right.
Goddammit.” Andy stopped walking. He didn’t shout, but he put all his stage training into his voice; his “What the hell do you want?” rang through the parking deck. He turned as he spoke.
The person following them jerked back as if someone had yanked on a leash. “I, what? I’m sorry, my car is this way. I wasn’t trying to listen. I wasn’t going to bother you.” Andy stared at him for another second. Victor was staring at Andy. “Look, I’ll go around this way. I’m sorry.”
Andy sighed. “No, never mind. My husband got shot in the back last year. I’m a little touchy about people coming up behind us.”
“Yeah, I get it. Um, I’ll, yeah.” The guy walked around them, giving them plenty of space, and moving as if he thought there might be land mines.
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.” The guy gave a half-assed wave and headed for a car.
Pulled keys out of his pocket. Got into the car. Andy and Victor were still standing there when he drove away.
“Are you actually okay?” Victor said quietly. He was having one of those moments of seeing Andy with fresh eyes, letting the soft-focus lens of
‘friends, lovers, married’ clear. Really seeing the fatigue, the grim expression, the need for some kind of violent release. Victor didn’t think Andy had ever hit anyone in his life. Yelling at that guy was probably the closest he’d come.
Andy lifted his chin, stared at the concrete above them, took a visibly deep breath, let it out slowly. Then he looked back at Victor. “Not, actually.
Let’s get out of here.”
They didn’t talk much on the way home. The traffic was horrible, Victor needed to pay attention, and he wasn’t sure how best to proceed with the next part of this. They absolutely had to talk, which meant his original intention of going straight to bed was on hold. After parking at home, he didn’t get out of the car right away. “What do you need, baby.” He thought he knew, but he needed Andy to say it.
Andy had his head back. He turned to gaze at his husband. After what seemed like a long time he said, “I need to hug my dog. I need at least one very large vodka martini. I need you to fuck me till I can’t think. In that order, please.”
“And after that, will you tell me what’s going on?” His tone said he might not agree to that order of business otherwise.
“Yes.”
“Okay, then.” They went inside. Andy parked his bag by the stairs and spent a few minutes on the floor with Molly, who acted like he’d been gone for a hundred years.
He gave her a treat and petted her pretty blonde head. “You’re getting old too, aren’t you, best girl.” He cupped her muzzle, noting the white fur.
“Why can’t dogs live as long as humans?” She licked his nose.
“I think there’s a theory that they’re too good for this world.” Victor nudged his shoulder with a large, icy-cold glass. Andy took it, sipped, and nodded thanks. “She can’t be more than seven. That’s what the vet said, anyway.”
“Yeah, I know. Good for a few more years, right Molly?” He hugged her again, and stayed there on the floor with her while he drank most of the martini. “Yes, I know, I’m guzzling. I didn’t have one on the plane.”
“Why not?”
“Didn’t want to let my guard down.” Victor was leaning against the kitchen counter, watching him. “You’re not having one.”
“I might later.” He really wanted to ask, right now, why Andy was so upset. He was sure it had to do with his parents, most likely his father. Andy had been there for him after his mother died, when they weren’t even together. He’d said the right things, let Victor cry, stayed with him so he wouldn’t have to be alone. And every day they’d been together since, Victor had wished he could have said something earlier. On their very first night.
During the worst of that time, he might not have had to be alone at all, if he’d been just that little bit more brave. At least he was with Andy for this. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I’m always here for you.”
“I know.” Andy finished the drink. Handed the glass to Victor, petted Molly one more time, and got to his feet. “Whoa, yeah, that was strong.
Perfect.”
You haven’t eaten, have you. “Go on up and get ready. I’ll take Molly out for a minute.”
“Get ready.” Andy set a hand on Victor’s shoulder, slid it up into his hair, lowered his head for a kiss. “Get ready for what?”
“Remember Berlin?”
“Oh.” Not quite a smile, but warmth in those deep dark eyes, and another kiss. “I believe I do.” Andy went upstairs slowly, feeling the vodka, and went into the bathroom. He was on the bed, naked, stretching, when Victor came up, carrying two full shot glasses. The lube was already out on the nightstand.
He watched while his husband set the glasses on the other nightstand, then stripped.
Victor waited for a sign. He’d said ‘Berlin,’ and that meant face to face.
He wasn’t sure if that was too intimate in this moment. But Andy lay back, spread-eagled on the bed. Okay then. Victor was relieved. And also, inevitably, turned on. He had a hand on himself almost at once. A firm hand, stroking down to the head, squeezing. Then he picked up the lube and got on the bed, kneeling between Andy’s legs. “You and your legs.” Andy huffed out a breath, almost a laugh. Victor put his hands on those legs. Stroking from ankles to knees, fingertips reaching behind to the sensitive skin there.
Then up the insides of the thighs to the groin, watching Andy’s eyes half-close, watching the erection that rose as his touch swept near. He was dying to touch it. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll touch that.” Andy laughed under his breath, as Victor had hoped he would. “Get those knees up.”
&nbs
p; “Bossy.” Andy bent his knees, tempted to lock his feet behind Victor’s neck and pull him down for a kiss. But then this would be over too soon. He needed all of it, every second of it. Needed to be possessed, to feel Victor everywhere. His arms were spread wide on the bed, palms down.
“Yeah, you keep your hands out there. Digging into the bed. Hanging on while I fuck you.” Andy’s breath went out. Seeing his abs tighten made Victor even harder. He got some lube on his fingers and went to work. This
wasn’t what he’d imagined for the night, but it was what Andy needed, and it was impossible not to respond. He remembered to breathe so he could say,
“What do you want now.”
“Your cock. Fuck me. Jesus, Victor.” Breathless, panting, desperate.
Then “Oh God” as Victor engaged. Andy arched his back, offering resistance so Victor could go deeper.
Victor had his weight on one hand, the other arm under Andy’s thigh, gripping his hip. Imagining how this looked, with Andy’s foot on his shoulder. The other was hooked over the top of Victor’s thigh. He was trying not to come too soon. Listening to Andy’s vocal breaths, watching those hands. “That’s how you want it? God you feel good.” He was starting to lose focus. Pulling that thigh against him now. “Jesus Christ.”
Andy was making sounds he almost never made, mixed in with, “Yes.
God. Yes. Fuck. Oh Jesus, yes.” Gripping the bed the way Victor had known he would, fighting for Victor’s climax and against his own.
“Don’t you fight me. Let me see that. Come on, baby, give it to me.
Jesus you’re beautiful. God you’re so close. Andy, fucking do it, I can taste it from here, fucking come Andy, yes.” Victor bit his lip, holding still as Andy’s body spasmed, listening to his cry and watching his face. When he relaxed Victor put both hands down, felt Andy’s feet lock behind his back, and let himself go. Fast shallow strokes as the tension coiled, then unwound in a surge. His harsh sound was echoed by a murmur from Andy. A hand in his hair while he rested for a few seconds, propped on his elbows, breathing fast.
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