Never Enough

by Alexandra Caluen

  again.” He brought the coffee over to the couch, sat beside Andy, and kissed him. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning. God, thanks for this.”

  “You’re welcome. Happy first day of vacation.” They smiled at each other. “What do you want to do today? Aside from a massage.”

  “Lie by the pool. Eat breakfast. Fool around with you. Not necessarily in that order.”

  “That’s kind of a full agenda for the first day of vacation.” Victor was grinning. “Should we start with breakfast?”

  “Probably, yeah. You’re going to need your strength.” The day’s program ended up being: breakfast, fool around, shower, pool, massage, an early dinner with Loretta, fool around again. Andy crashed first, and crashed hard. Victor quietly got himself packed and ready for their departure, then took care of most of Andy’s stuff. He was curious about the early-morning thoughts, but they had plenty of time to talk about that.

  So much time, he thought while he was walking Molly. So many days to look forward to that could be almost exactly like this. Maybe they really should buy the neglected property on the other side of their duplex, tear it down, put in an aesthetically-pleasing guest house and a pool. Be obnoxious Hollywood millionaires. It was only a single-family home, and their other two properties already served five households. No one could reasonably object. That was something else to talk about. Eventually he lay down beside his sleeping husband, and simply gazed at that beloved face until he fell asleep too.

  Victor, as usual, managed to nap on the flight home, reclining in the semi-private first-class seat with Molly in his arms. Andy’d had almost ten hours of sleep and couldn’t have napped if someone had offered him money for it. He’d checked his email before packing up his laptop. Not too surprisingly, there was a message from Reggie:

  My dear sir,

  Your proposition is most welcome. Nearly any proposition from you would be. Leaving that aside, price is a function of size (size does matter). And that said, yes I can work from a photo, yes I’d bloody kill to paint that picture, and when do you want it.

  I don’t suppose you’ve much need to economize but the price is also very much negotiable if a limited-edition print run could be made available through the site. Your husband is not the only person who might like that image on his wall.

  Will look forward to your thoughts on these variables.

  R. Galant, still hyperventilating

  Andy replied by text, after consulting his records regarding the surface area of various bedroom walls and after Victor and Molly were in nap mode: Hi Reggie size would be 30x40, when would be Christmas, and print run depends on what V says. I want this to be a surprise so can’t answer that yet.

  Quote me as if no prints, and then if he says prints are OK we could work out a royalty

  A reply came back fast with a quote Andy thought was more than fair. It even included shipping to Los Angeles. By the time Victor woke up, the deal was made. Andy was reading some Shakespeare. He’d chosen one of the funnier plays, just in case Victor caught him giggling.

  The ‘Countdown 3’ production had run over, but not by a full week.

  Victor, Andy, and Molly were home and officially beginning their very extended vacation only six days later than expected. Their first night back, Andy and Victor settled Loretta into the guest room, went upstairs with Molly, pulled the door closed, and cracked up. “I feel like in loco parentis,”

  Andy said.

  “You’re loco all right. You’re not old enough to be her father.”

  “Well, actually I am.” Loretta was thirty-four. “But seriously. I hope she closes her door. I’m thinking, how loud can we be before she hears us?”

  Victor giggled. “Am I going to start to say something really vile and then choke?”

  “Maybe you’ll like keeping it quiet. Didn’t you ever do that thing where you’re messing around and someone’s in the next room and if they catch you you’re in a heap of trouble?”

  “Well, sure.” Victor laughed again at Andy’s isn’t-that-obvious tone.

  Then he stopped laughing because Andy’s hand was in his hair and they were kissing as if they’d been separated for months, instead of embarking on this wonderful, glorious almost-a-year together. Victor broke for a breath after a

  few minutes, staying close with his face against Andy’s. “You still like the beard, huh.”

  “Oh my fucking God.”

  Andy laughed under his breath. “I need to get a haircut.”

  “Don’t do that either.” Victor kissed him again, hard enough and long enough that he almost forgot what he meant to say. “Go full Renaissance for me.”

  “Oh, for Antonio? I’m not sure they actually wore their hair this long –”

  Andy stopped talking because they were on the bed. Victor was stretched out on top of him, elbows planted beside his head, both hands in that hadn’t-been-cut-since-May hair, making sounds into Andy’s mouth and moving in a way that said they might have waited too long to get their clothes off. Oh no you don’t. Andy exerted himself a little and rolled them over. Once he was on top he tore off his shirt, unbuttoned Victor’s, then put his mouth on that tanned chest. Spared a glance at the silver chain, thought later for you, and headed south. Unbuttoned, unzipped, pulled the jeans off and then the briefs.

  Heard the hungry, desperate sound. “Jesus, Victor.” Replaced Victor’s hand with his own, and then with his mouth.

  “Fucking Christ!” Victor surged up uncontrollably, felt teeth scrape, heard Andy’s apologetic sound, didn’t care. The heat, the pressure, the tongue. “God damn oh my fuck Andy –” The next sound wasn’t a word. It wasn’t quiet, either. Andy held him in his mouth till the end. Victor felt his throat work and surged again. Then he lay there gasping, breath gradually slowing and evening out. “Was that as loud as it sounded in my head?” Andy laughed, mouth still on Victor, and finally let him go. He brushed his bearded face against Victor’s groin, heard a muffled whimper, and smiled to himself.

  “Yes it was. You have officially blown our cover. Or I have.” He watched Victor laugh silently. “What do you have to say for yourself, Mr.

  Garcia.”

  “I’ll say anything you want.”

  “Tell me what you think I should do with you now. I have a few ideas of my own.”

  “I’ll bet you do.” Victor had his eyes closed, but he felt Andy get off the bed. Heard another pair of jeans hit the floor. Heard the nightstand drawer open. “Are you going to get in me?”

  “Yes, I think so. This way?”

  “This way. I want to see your face.”

  “I want to see yours, too. I want to watch you watching me fuck you.” A cushion hit the bed. Victor still had his eyes closed. “Push up, catnip.” Victor arched his back, lifted his hips. Andy got the cushion under him. “You look like someone who spent three and a half months making an action movie.

  Pretty ripped, there.”

  “Speak for yourself.” Victor had his eyes open now, because Andy’s hands were on him, and he wanted to see everything. But Andy was sitting back on his heels between Victor’s legs. “I can’t see you.”

  “See what? This?” Andy raised up, watching Victor’s eyelids come down, his lips part, his breath catch. “You want me to fuck you with this?”

  “Jesus, yes.” Andy stayed where he was, one hand working Victor with the lube until he was half-hard again and Andy was about to explode. He bent to put his mouth on Victor’s thigh, felt both legs jerk, listened to the sounds of renewed arousal as his mouth traveled from one leg across the groin to the other. “Andy. You’re killing me.”

  “Well, how do you think I feel, looking at all that.” A hand on himself now, plenty of lube, and a push. Victor moaned. Andy felt a little lightheaded. I might not even get in before, hell. Victor arched, pushing back, taking him. “My fucking movie star.” Deeper, faster, panting.

  “Yours.”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Victor half-laughed. “
We are a blasphemous pair of filthy fuckers.” Victor laughed out loud. “Oh damn don’t do that, don’t laugh.”

  “Don’t make me laugh. God damn Andy.”

  “Yes. God damn me. Holy fucking hell, no, Jesus God I love you, I want to fuck you all night, I can’t.” Andy bit his lip, pulling Victor’s thighs tight against him, watching his husband’s ecstatic face and rigid cock. “I want to fuck you till you come again. Come again. Victor.”

  “Andy. I love you. Touch me.”

  Andy changed his hand and arm configuration because he really wanted to see that. Right hand on Victor, wrapped around Victor. Holding still inside Victor because those hips were moving again and there he went, Jesus, “God, you beautiful thing.” Andy’s voice on top of Victor’s cry. He hoisted Victor

  up, reaching under for that cushion and shoving it aside. Then they were down and flat, Andy tight against Victor and thrusting hard, coming hard, saying something loud and unbelievably vile that Loretta would surely hear.

  Finally spent, Victor’s legs crossed behind his back, gasping into each other’s mouths. They were both quiet for a few seconds. Then Andy performed a slow backward collapse, disengaging, ending up on his back, stretching out his legs. “I should clean us up.”

  “Eh. We can get in the shower.”

  “You first.” Victor was apparently close enough to bite an ankle. “Ow.”

  Some more activity, Victor finding the cushion and tossing it somewhere. An offended snort from the floor. “That was Victor, Molly, he’ll apologize later.”

  Victor was laughing. “I can’t even see her.”

  “Then you shouldn’t be throwing cushions.”

  “Sorry, Molly.” A soft thump as Victor’s feet hit the floor. He got his hands around Andy’s ankles and pulled him around to the edge of the bed.

  “Jesus, you are strong.”

  “Says the guy who lifted me off the bed.”

  “Only half of you.” Victor laughed. Andy was smiling. “You were power-lifting Loretta. You’re such a movie star. That scene is going to absolutely kill.”

  “I wonder which take they’ll go with.” To Victor, it was a toss-up. The director might choose the first take, which had been closest to perfect in terms of execution of the whole dance (including the lift). On the other hand, he might choose the third, when they’d almost whiffed it. Victor’d had to do a half a turn with Loretta in the air, setting her down with a degree of haste that almost certainly read as ‘near disaster.’ Which would be perfect for the storyline, and by then the extras were expecting the lift to go well, so when it had looked as though Victor might drop her there had been an audible reaction. “They didn’t let me see the rushes.”

  Andy sat up, finally. “The third time was funny as shit. It wouldn’t have been funny if you’d dropped her, but because you didn’t.” He shrugged. “Or more accurately, if she’d overshot her position. You weren’t dropping her. It was a balance thing.”

  “She was great. I love her.”

  “I know, I do too. Hope she isn’t down there going, oh my God, how

  long can I tolerate that kind of racket.” They both giggled. Victor gave Andy a hand up off the bed and they headed for the shower.

  “A week to rest,” Victor said lazily a few days later, when they were all in the backyard, lounging in the sun. “And get those routines back in our heads here at home. Then it’s into the studio with Dmitri for ‘Love is Blindness,’ right?”

  “Right.” They were on the double lounger. Andy had Victor’s hand in his. “I’ve got our costume managed thanks to Kenji, and he’s going to do Shylock for us. Charlie said she could shoot our lines. We’ll get that out of the way and then I can start scheduling the others.”

  “Patrick looks like the Armenian Ricardo Montalban.”

  “Wrath of Sarkisian.” They both giggled. “I think Dmitri digs it. Have you decided what you want to do, amiga?”

  Loretta knew all about this project by now. She was putting herself through Shakespeare boot camp. Her high school hadn’t taught it, she’d never read any of the plays, and had seen only one film adaptation. She was mowing through Andy and Victor’s DVD library while she read the plays.

  “Do you already have Viola?”

  Andy sat up a little and looked over at her. God you’re cute, he thought.

  She was lying on her front in her bikini with her hair up in an octopus clip, e-reader in front of her, and reading glasses perched on her nose. He let go of Victor, fished his camera out from under the lounger, and took a few pictures of Loretta. “No, we don’t. Did you find a good line?”

  “I think so, but it’s not twisted.” She looked worried.

  “It doesn’t have to be. We’ve got Macbeth and Macduff straight out of the play. There’s quite a few of these that are going to be played straight.”

  “Oh good.”

  “So?”

  “‘I am not what I am.’ When she is Cesario.”

  Andy was pleased. “Oh lord yes. See, Shakespeare already twisted that one for us. Historical costume?”

  “Oh, yes please.” She looked excited. “I can put the picture in my portfolio?”

  “Of course you can. Hey, holy shit, that reminds me.”

  Victor looked over; he thought he was completely up to date on Andy, but possibly not. “What?”

  “Raquel sent me this thing. A historical thing for next summer, an English production. Filming partly in England and partly in Spain. It’s about the siege of Badajoz, during the Napoleonic Wars, which I knew absolutely zero about until I saw the script.”

  “Oh that’s what you were muttering about last night! I was like, Bada-what?”

  “I know about that,” Loretta said, surprising them both. “We didn’t study it in school but I read about it in a romance novel. The hero was there and he had, like, PTSD. His dreams were so horrible and sad, I had to look it up. Are you going to take the part?”

  “Well, they want me to do a couple of scenes on video. I’d be playing a Portuguese, meaning a good guy.”

  “An officer?” Victor was thinking he’d love to see Andy in uniform. It might have come through in his tone; Andy shot him a laughing look. “Do they want an accent?”

  “Apparently the baseline is Spanish-inflected English. Which I can do, especially if I study with Nick for a minute.” One of Andy’s friends was English. “Anyway so the idea is I send in the video and if they like it they’ll ship me some costume, and if they like the look it’s mine.”

  “And that would be while I’m doing my thing?” Victor was delighted.

  Andy nodded. “That is awesome.”

  “Wikipedia says there was a TV movie about this back in 1994. I’m going to try to track it down.”

  “Do you want to read this book?” Loretta asked. “I have it here in my e-reader. It’s really good, I read everything this person writes.”

  “Tell me what it is, I’ll get my own copy.” Andy looked around for his phone, found it, and pulled up his Amazon app.

  “It’s ‘Summer Campaign,’ by Carla Kelly.”

  “Great.” Andy squinted at the screen and did things. A few minutes later he nodded with satisfaction. “Thanks, chica. I’ll read that tonight.” He set down the phone, looked with disapproval at his empty glass, and went to get a fresh drink.

  A couple days later, Andy realized he had the house to himself, and felt not relieved but abandoned. “Molly,” he said, “there was a time when being alone at home was all I wanted. Now I hate it with the fire of a thousand suns.” He petted her head for a minute. “Guess what we’re going to do? If she’s home.” He found his phone, dialed, waited. “Hey there. Victor just left for a two-hour session with our counselor. He’s dropping Loretta off at the spa. Are you free? Could I bring Molly over to play with the pack? Well of course I’d like coffee, when do I not like coffee. See you in a few minutes.”

  He parked in front of Rory and Dana’s cottage fifteen minutes later. The front door opened
and three small animals dashed out. Andy got out of the car. Molly jumped out right behind him and started running around with the others. He watched them for a minute, smiling, then transferred the smile to Dana. “So where is the cherubim?”

  “She’s at Dmitri’s, and then she’s going to the gym. What’s up? Come on in.”

  “You finally got a break,” he said, following her in. “That show of yours is stupid.” She made a sound of agreement, leaving the front door open, taking him through to the dining den. “Jesus, it smells good in here.”

  “Rory made cookies before she left.” There was a plate on the table with the coffee things. “You are amazingly hairy.” Andy snorted. “It’s really kind of hot.”

  “Victor likes the beard. He’s all, don’t cut your hair. It seems to be a year for embracing the grizz.”

  “I had to start with mine.” Dana was philosophical. “I realized it wasn’t only the not-getting-as-much-sun thing, though that was part of it, so I’ve been making time to get outside. Shaya is hooking me up.”

  “Highlights?”

  “She goes through with a crochet hook and separates the gray chunks and turns them a better color.” Dana was forty-six. “I am officially now high-maintenance. Between the Botox, the facials, the gym, the hair, and the imminent neck lift and eye job.”

  “You’re going to do that?” Andy didn’t quite approve.

  Dana shrugged. She wasn’t committed to it. But, “The face is the only part of me I can’t maintain in the gym.”

  “It’s still way better than average. I think you’re more beautiful now than

  you were when I met you.”

  “Aw, thanks. I was thinking next summer for that, if this stupid show will wrap the season at a normal time. But maybe I’ll let it go a while longer.

  Anyway. How are you doing? How do you like having Miss Cuban America in the house?”

  “She’s so fucking cute. She didn’t grow up like us, with books. She’s mainlining Shakespeare, we talk about it constantly. Victor has more of the academic view, his high school was about ten times better than mine for that shit. I sit there with the internet open looking up commentary so we can figure out what the dude was actually saying with this line or that. And in exchange, she turned me on to romance novels.”