“After the tango Olympics last year?” The movie they’d made together was wall-to-wall dancing. “After the way you slaughtered that thing at the premiere? Yeah, not surprised. I’m glad, though. Are you going to throw yourself on Dmitri and say find me a partner?” The thought was not entirely pleasant. Victor loved dancing with Andy. But the dancing he could do wasn’t up to what he knew Andy could do.
“I’d dance with Dmitri,” Andy said, watching his husband. Dmitri was a good friend; he also owned a dance studio, and had been quietly pestering Andy for years to get his ass into it as something other than the official photographer for the Underground Cabaret. Andy had thought that after the pressure cooker of ‘Vice,’ and the even-more-intense experience of the movie, Victor would be glad to work on something solo for a while. But his perfect Valentino face wasn’t entirely supporting that conclusion. “I’d consider doing something with the Cabaret. I’m considering all options at the moment. It’s going to be so awesome dancing all over the damn place with you for six weeks.”
Victor couldn’t wait. “Like our honeymoon times three.”
“I’m so glad you married me.” Andy reached out a hand. Victor was close enough to catch it. “You about ready for breakfast?” Victor nodded, and shifted forward in his seat. Andy didn’t stand up, though. Instead he said, because he’d just been struck by inspiration, “I had this wild idea.”
Victor settled back again. More talk was good. “What’s that?”
“It would take a while to put together. A Broadway thing, like a concert,
at Chrome.” He was thinking out loud. “A little showcase for us, the two of us. Song and dance.” Victor was smiling. “You like that?”
“I love that.”
Andy leaned across the gap between them. Victor met him halfway for a kiss. Andy still had his hand. “I really love you. ‘Vice’ was stupid and that movie was tough but I don’t want to stop doing things with you. You might need to take a jazz lesson or two. Would you do that?”
“For another show together, one that’s all for us? You’d better believe I’ll do that.” Victor lifted their joined hands to his lips. “Do something for me?”
“Anything.”
“Get yourself a new ring for this hand.” He knew his tone was a little bit wicked. That ring Andy used to wear, before he joined the TV show, had driven Victor crazy. There was something about the smooth metal against his skin. He could still feel it sometimes. “And something for your wrist.” The ring and the leather cuff had somehow made Andy seem slightly dangerous.
Or maybe it was all in the way he used that long-fingered, surprisingly strong hand.
Andy was watching Victor think, and pretending not to notice signs of returning arousal. I could have you back in bed in another minute. “Not another tattoo?” They had matching wristband tattoos on their left arms, dating back to their first vacation out of town. Andy only had two: the wristband and the delicate artwork at the base of his throat, also matching Victor’s. Victor had lost one of his tattoos to the bullet wound. Andy knew he would get a new one sooner or later. He didn’t especially want another one himself. “Because that shit hurts.”
“You don’t need any more of those. I’ve got you branded now.” Andy laughed. Victor said, “Could be leather again. I liked that braided leather.”
“I know you did.” He was so tempted to go back to the bedroom. Some days it was like this, especially these days when neither of them were called to the set, neither of them had a meeting, they were free. There weren’t enough of these days. Decision made, Andy stood up and pulled Victor to his feet. Victor stepped over Molly the dog because Andy was moving back, away from the windows, toward the bathroom door. “Silver or gold?”
“Gold. To go with our wedding rings.”
“All right.” They were crossing the bathroom now. Andy was walking backward, Victor’s eyes telling him where he needed to go to avoid crashing.
His legs contacted the bed and Victor stopped right up against him. They stood there for a minute, arms around each other, kissing like they hadn’t seen each other for weeks. Then Andy had Victor’s head between his hands, and seconds later both hands lightly around his neck. “You want to feel it here, don’t you. Put that chain on and let my ring rub against it.” Victor hadn’t worn that chain for a while. Andy still remembered the first time he’d seen it, signaling ‘bite here.’
“Oh God. Yes. The way it scraped.” Victor shivered, from that memory and from Andy’s voice. They were both fully aroused now, as if they hadn’t done anything before coffee, or anything during the night. “Jesus, Andy. It’s never enough. I never get enough of you.”
“I know. I love it. I love you.” Andy kissed him again, stroking his hands through Victor’s hair.
“I love you. I wish I’d met you ten years earlier.”
“I wish you had too.” God, did he wish that. Andy bit gently where that chain should be, hands on Victor’s hips now, thumbs stroking in, across and down. Victor had both arms around Andy’s neck, one hand wound into the graying dark hair, his head tipped back and eyes closed. Andy’s voice, that low silky murmur. “How do you want me now.”
“Take me. Take me like you did that first night.” Victor still thought about that, still fantasized about it. There were things to regret about that night, but he’d never surrendered like that before. He would never regret that.
“Jesus, Victor.” Andy didn’t argue. He wanted that too. He kissed Victor hard, then
