Never Enough

utterly exhausted, he would have suggested turning the camera on again. Since they were, and it was three in the morning their time, he reached over and switched off the lamp.
They did their best to sleep on the flight. In between catnaps, they talked quietly about the tour experience. Not the porn tour, but the tango tour. All the screenings, performances, and after-parties had gone off without a hitch.
They’d had good transport and interpreters, acceptable hotels, and excellent security. They’d emailed with their counselor during the trip, confirming that they felt safe. “So how are you feeling about being home, catnip,” Andy said about seven hours into the flight. “It seems like I’ve had more rage issues than you.”
You’ve got an extra trigger now. “And you always have more insomnia than me. Monkey brain.”
“Yeah, whatever. But seriously. No anxiety? Are you sure you want to do without a car team?” They’d had a driver and a security escort for years.
“The drama’s dropped off a lot since last fall.” It was as if the real violence had re-educated people who’d thought sending death threats wasn’t actual terrorism. “We’ve got the on-site guy. We’ve got the surveillance.
Let’s try it this way for a while.” Victor regarded Andy. He couldn’t exactly say why he wasn’t as angry as his husband. “I’ve had my moments,” he said.
“I mostly work it out in the gym. Maybe because it wasn’t the first time. I
was closer to dead in Mazatlán than I was last fall.” The knife attack, when he was a teenager.
“Ugh.” They gazed at each other. Andy knew that Victor’s rage about that long-ago event had more to do with grief for his boyfriend, left dead outside a gay club, than with his own injuries. That thought led him to, “And you’re mostly mad because that guy last fall was trying to kill me.”
“Exactly. I’m not happy I got shot, it wasn’t fun, but he didn’t kill me.
And even more importantly he didn’t kill you.” Andy made a sound of disagreement. Victor knew they would never quite mesh on this. “I love you.”
“I know you do. I love you too.” Andy took Victor’s hand and kissed it.
“If we get sick of driving again, though, I’m totally down with a car service.
Maybe we could bribe Stan and Jamil to ditch the studio team and come work for us.” Victor laughed. “So how do you like this ring.” He’d chosen one in Australia, thinking it would be a great reminder of this fantastic trip.
“I fucking love it. That dreamtime inlay. Never take it off.” Andy was laughing under his breath. “I like this thing, too.” Victor wrapped his hand around the new cuff: a broad, supple braid made of many strands of thin crocodile-leather cord. It was held flat with metal clamps and closed with a pair of fold-over latches. “Should I guess why you got gray?”
Andy gave him a look. He’d stopped coloring his hair a year ago, when they were preparing for Tanith’s movie. It was now about twenty percent gray. His body hair wasn’t there yet, but he could tell the day was coming.
“You can guess but I’d thank you not to say it out loud.” Victor snickered.
“Yeah, you can laugh in ten years when we see what’s happening with your hair.”
March 2019
“Un-fucking-believable,” Andy said, when Victor asked about the Tempest photo shoot. “They’re going to be down here in a minute. Or thirty, or however long it takes them to bang. Probably not that long.” Victor laughed. “I thought they were going to lose it before lunch.” Andy was giggling now too.
“Yeah, from your text, I figured things were getting steamy.”
“That Geoffrey. I’ll show you the pictures. Like, here’s Niall’s face
before Geoffrey did whatever he did, and here’s his face after. That poor guy.
He’s trying to be a good subject, and I’ve got them right up against each other, and all they’re really wearing is dance belts. Then here’s Geoffrey with his hot little ass and oh my God.” Andy laughed.
“I don’t know why you say little, he’s taller than me.”
“Yeah, I don’t know either. Fairly sure he weighs more than I do.
Serious athlete, really, but he’s so pretty.”
“Shut up.” Victor wasn’t jealous. He was used to Andy being complimentary about other men, and they were always surrounded by good-looking men. If he’d ever thought Andy was seriously tempted, it would be different. He knew his husband never wanted anyone but him. “So you’re happy with the work?”
“The work was great. They were in it. Took direction well, gorgeous to look at, the makeup was perfect, the costume pieces were terrific, and that throne of Red’s really sells it. I wish there were some way to use that for other things in the series.”
“It’s definitely going to be a series, huh.”
“Has to be. I don’t know that I ever would have thought of doing something text-based like this, but you know how fast you were throwing me things in Asia. I’ll bet we can cast the whole thing in about an hour, once we’ve read the plays and figured out what characters I should do. I know you said Rory and Dana are going to pick their own.” Andy leaned against the kitchen counter, smiling at Victor. Dinner was waiting in the oven, wine was breathing, and once he got rid of the two Englishmen he thought they might play a scene of their own. It probably wouldn’t be anything from Shakespeare.
“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