City of Angels

And Evan had to admit it wasn't just the sex. He had feelings for him. He'd felt this strange tenderness and protectiveness for Craig. Where the fuck was this all coming from? And he still felt extremely curious and attracted. He wanted to see him again. He wanted to talk to him and find out more. He'd only begun to ask him what he wanted to know. But what if those two guys were right—what if he was just some random hook-up Craig was using to get over some other guy? Evan was just a cop. He had no part of Craig's world.

Days went by. Several times, sitting in his car on the highway late at night, he'd been tempted to call. Instead he'd driven up the coast and cruised by his house. Once he saw lights on and had to fight the urge to just drive up and let himself in at the gate. But what if he had another man there? He couldn't do it.

After a week, he started giving in to the temptation to stroke himself as he thought about Craig. He'd avoided that, feeling it was just too gay. But he couldn't stop himself. One morning he was in the shower. He'd woken up hard, as he had ever since the encounter. What had happened was so quick and intense; he found himself slowing it down and replaying it like a film in his mind, focusing on the image of Craig kneeling in front of him and re-experiencing the incredible feel of his lips on his cock. He'd had a man suck his dick! It had felt so indescribably amazing, but now he slowed it down and really concentrated on that fact. Oh fuck it turned him on that a man would want to do that for him. He loved it. His fantasy dwelled on Craig's face--his eyes, his open mouth, his obvious pleasure in being on his knees. He re-experienced the sense of power and control, and jerked himself harder and faster as he remembered pumping his cum into Craig's mouth.

He had to steady himself, getting light-headed in the steamy shower, as he got closer to coming, thinking about fisting Craig's hair, holding his head and fucking his mouth deeper and harder. When he came, his orgasm was entirely focused on the image of Craig eagerly swallowing his load while his blue eyes looked up and begged him for it.

"Fuck!!" Evan groaned out in the shower. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK!!" His climax shook him from head to toe, his swollen dick jerking and pulsing and spurting in his hand. He found himself thinking "The next time. The next time. There has to be a next time." He wanted Craig to open his mouth. He wanted to hold his head while he jerked his cock himself and gave him his sweet cum, like a gift.

+++

Craig Symons was having a bad week.

The day after the party, he'd gotten a voicemail from his father, summoning him to his offices in Century City. It was so typical. No "Hi, how are you?" No "Hey, it's Dad." Just a curt message telling him he needed to see Craig about some "family business."

His nerves were on edge all week, the closer it got to seeing him. He rarely saw his father, and when he did it was with a combination of dread and eager anticipation, followed by self-contempt. No matter how old he got or how well he knew his father, he couldn't change. He looked forward to these visits like a lover, hopeful and full of pleasure, and left disappointed and panicked. He hated himself for it. But that was the cycle. It had always been the same.

His dad was the youngest of five brothers, and the most handsome, confident and magnetic. He was currently on his fourth marriage. Craig and his sister were products of the first one to a crazy, beautiful, "aspiring actress" named Candace. His parents had split when he was five; his mom had been too drunk or drugged up to deal with them so they stayed with his father, though he was never around. Their childhood was very unstable, split between strange visits to his whacked-out mom in Topanga Canyon and the quiet, huge mansion in Beverly Hills. His dad came and went, in between his many affairs and short-lived marriages, while Craig became a surrogate parent to his younger sister.

Craig Sr. should never have been a father. He had no concept of parenthood, and looked on himself and his sister as a burden. But then, Craig thought, that's how it was in most rich families. Their relationship now was cool and distanced and fake, exactly how it was supposed to be, exactly how it had been with Craig Sr. and his father. There was really nothing "different" about it in his family's social circle.

But it had bothered Craig tremendously growing up. His teenaged years especially had been hell, with a lot of fights and violent arguments. That was when Craig had been to see a therapist for the first time.

He thought about that as he drove to Century City. It had never done any good. He still suffered from severe anxiety and panic attacks. He'd had several small breakdowns. But he'd never learned a damn thing from therapy.

His father's office was in the penthouse suite of the nicest building in the futuristic office complex. When he got to the plush reception area, the secretary, Karen, said "He'll be with you in a minute, Craig." Typical. He was just another appointment in his busy schedule. On the walls were maps of Los Angeles. His father had started this whole enterprise himself—"Symons Development"—soon after he'd split from Craig's mother. His little "sideline" was now the second biggest moneymaker in the extended family. His father had worked constantly when he and his sister were growing up, so they were taken care of by nannies while "Daddy" did his business. They'd had every advantage, every material thing they could want. And just like every rich kid he knew, no love or real family structure. The advantages of being a Symons were supposed to more than make up for that.

Craig waited and waited, checking messages on his phone, getting more and more nervous. If he wasn't careful he'd hit rush hour on the way home and that was a very bad thing.

At last, after keeping him waiting an hour, the intercom buzzed and Karen said, "You can go in, now."

He was there, sitting erect behind his big desk, with a fresh legal pad in front of him, tapping a pen. As always, Craig felt his father's presence like a physical blow. Craig knew he wasn't being prejudiced when he said his father was the most seductively attractive man he'd ever known. It was just a simple fact. He had a blend of features and qualities that made him maddeningly sexy to men and women alike. He was brilliant and dominant and severe in his public life and in his business, but completely sensuous and lustful in his private. He had the total confidence of a very successful man, yet he knew how to charm with sweetness. He was 55, and the years had only added to his attractiveness. He was tanned and blond and blue-eyed, just like him, though his hair was cut perfectly and he had some gray at the temples. He liked to dress well, and today he had on an expensive dark blue pin-striped suit and paisley tie.

Craig simply could not squash the warm and instinctive pleasure he felt in being in his presence—until he spoke.

"Thanks for coming, have a seat."

And there it was—the "tone." Businesslike, cold, and uninviting.

"What is it?" Craig sighed with impatience.

His father stared at him. "I've had your trust redone. I need you to sign it."

"Redone? By whom?"

"I had my lawyers do it."

"Your lawyers. And what am I?"

His dad held up his palms immediately, as if to ward off an argument. "I wanted someone with financial expertise, that's all."

"I'm sure," Craig mumbled, as he looked over the document. He took his time, while his father checked his watch.

"What is this?" Craig said, tossing it on the desk. "You're cutting the account?" He saw his trust principal had nearly been halved.

"It's just a temporary thing. I'm going through some restructuring here, and—"

"Re-structuring?" Craig didn't believe it. He could tell something else was up.

He gestured to the paper. "I don't give a fuck about the money, but I would appreciate some honesty. What's this really about?"

Craig's father's face got red and he averted his eyes.

"Tell me, I think I have a right to know."

"Jeannie's pregnant." Jeannie was his 33-yr old wife.

Craig shook his head, as if he couldn't believe what he had just heard. Aside from himself and his sister, there were no other children. And now after all this time?

He just blurted out the first thing that popped into his head. "Oh, you can't. You can't do that to another kid. Are you fucking crazy?" The idea of him becoming a father again turned his stomach.

"It is what it is, Craig. Things are going to have to change, financially speaking."

"Christ. You're cutting my trust fund to keep paying your alimony, that's what's really happening. Why don't you try staying in a relationship for a change? And having a child?! What do you think you're doing? You think you're going to be different this time? Are you going to let this one to grow up by themselves, too?"

"Stop it, Craig, right there, if you're bringing up this 'abandonment' crap again," his father sneered, with vicious contempt in his voice.

Craig felt a wave of nausea hit him and he had to get out of there. The fact that he was even there talking to him made him sick.

He scribbled his name on the paper and flung it at him. "Here. That's all you want, right? Well, you got it."

He stormed out of the building and by the time he made it to his car, he was hyper-ventilating. He wanted to throw up. His own behavior made him sick. He yelled out "Fuck!" and slammed his hand so hard on the steering wheel he cut it. Blood spurted out all over the beautiful blue interior. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK!"

He felt embarrassed, humiliated and furious with himself. Every single time he saw him he went through the same bait and switch, and yet he always came back. It never sunk through his head that he'd never get what he wanted from him. Ever. He had to have his nose rubbed in the fact over and over again. And here he was, sitting in a car he'd paid for with fucking "family" money.

He didn't give a fuck about the money, that was true. But burning underneath was the knowledge that the second his father needed to "cut back," he, Craig, was the first to go. He was expendable to him, he couldn't have made that any clearer. And now he'd have to make these trips less often, and then there was the kid. A baby! His dad would be totally taken up with that. Craig loathed himself for the way his stomach swooped up and down with uncontrollable anxiety at the thought of "losing" what little contact he had with his father. He absolutely hated himself. He looked down at the blood and was glad to see it.

He peeled out of the garage and started to head home, but at the last minute decided to take a cruise up through the Hollywood Hills, past Jason's house.

His hands were shaking as he drove slowly by, hoping he'd see Jason taking out the trash, and replaying that humiliating last night. He'd shown up at his door with fucking flowers. He thought about it and thought about it, berating himself, telling himself how pathetic he was—first for the silly flowers and then for stalking him. The longer he lingered, the worse and more pathetic he felt.

It wasn't until later, driving home at sunset, that the real anxiety hit.

"Oh no, oh no," Craig said to himself. Instantly, he checked the traffic in front and behind. Ohhh, he had to get out of here!!

He felt the back of his calves shaking. It always started there, then traveled up his spine to his stomach, heart and chest. He felt panic on top of panic. If he just got home, he might be able to deal with it, but if he got stuck in this traffic now he'd have a full-blown panic attack, which made him panic even more. Noooo . . . already he felt the terror creep upwards. His car was going to explode, or fall apart, right here! He could feel it! He could feel the tiny little bolts and screws holding it together coming loose. He could hear something hissing and leaking, about to catch fire. He had to do something!

Up ahead he saw an open side street, and he began to calm down a bit. Ok, ok. Three blocks, two, one. He pulled over into the parking lot of a seafood restaurant and opened the window, breathing deeply. That was so close. He glanced over to the highway. He'd have to wait here, perhaps an hour, but he'd be all right, he'd be all right.

He whipped out his phone and found his sister's number. Oh please, please be there, please . . .

"Craig?"

"Sharon."

His sister immediately heard the anguish in his voice. She'd been through this many times. "It's ok. It's ok. Just breathe. I'm here. Breathe, that's good. There you go."

Craig's hand was white from clutching the phone so hard. He listened and listened, letting his little sister whisper in his ear. Tears were pouring down his cheeks.

"What's wrong with me?" he cried to her. "What's wrong?"

"You're having an attack, baby, that's all. You're all right."

"Sharon," Craig moaned, "I can't go on like this."

"You're all right. You're doing fine. What are you doing tonight? Do you want me to come over?"

Craig pictured his huge, gorgeous house, and the lonely, empty night in front of him. That's what was waiting for him. That's why he'd really panicked. The emptiness and quiet waiting like a monster to swallow him up in his own house. He couldn't stand to be alone sometimes. But he felt like such a pathetic baby calling his sister. She was out in the valley, he couldn't ask her to come babysit him.

"No, no, it's ok, I'll, uh . . . uh . . . cook some dinner and uh . . . do some work . . ."

He finally pulled in an hour and a half later, and immediately went inside and curled up on his couch, trembling. As he was falling asleep, and the anxiety drained away, leaving him in peace, he let his mind drift to Evan and the soft touch of his hands on his head as he sucked his sweet cock. He'd been so stressed out all week he hadn't had much time to think about him, though he certainly hadn't forgotten. When he did now, he felt blessed relief, and yearning pain, wondering if he'd ever see him again. He didn't think so. He probably freaked him out. He was much too nice—and normal—to want anything to do with someone like him.

+++

Craig was awoken hours later by a noise. It was dark. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep.

He listened carefully. It was a knock on his door. He heard a soft tapping and padded over, puzzled. When he looked out the window, he saw Evan. He was leaning against the door and it looked like he'd been there a while. He was wearing his black uniform.

Craig felt the most amazing sense of relief. What was he, his guardian angel? Always appearing at the right moment, when he needed him? Because he needed him tonight. He didn't even know how much he needed him until he saw him.

He opened the door and Evan just stood there, looking sexy and leaning against the doorframe. He said "Hey."

Evan took one look at Craig and knew right away this was not the same guy from the party. This was the guy he'd met on that first night. His face was haggard and sad, and he was just looking at him with this desperate, pained expression.

"Is this not a good time? I'm sorry, I should have called or—"

But Craig took Evan by the hand and pulled him inside. He shut the door and turned around to face him, leaning back and looking at him invitingly, still holding his wrist. "Stay, please."

God. Evan had never seen such naked need on anyone's face. His tone was pleading, not commanding. Again Evan felt that pure instinct come over him. He moved very close to Craig and reached up, putting one big, warm hand on his cheek. "You all right?" Craig reached up and touched his arm. "Please stay," he said again.

Evan knew otherwise, but he still found it hard to believe that someone as beautiful (and rich) as Craig had any problems at all. He dragged his thumb across his lips, gazing at his mouth. He had such nice lips and perfect white teeth. He couldn't help moving closer, widening his stance, and getting comfortable as he looked at him. He felt both of Craig's hands move down to his waist, and he thrust his hips closer.

"What's happening here?" Evan whispered. "I don't . . . I've never . . . I'm . . . mmmmmm" he stopped mumbling as he leaned in to kiss him.

"Oh, fuck . . ." Evan whispered into his mouth. "I don't know what you do to me, Craig, I—"

"It's ok," Craig whispered against his lips. "Just please stay with me."

"I, uh . . . drove by your house a few times before I came up. Felt like a stalker."

Evan had stalked him? Craig smiled. "Lot of that going around." He pulled Evan closer so that his hips reached his, and they could both feel their mutual arousal. Their hard cocks touched through their clothes.

Craig ran his hands over Evan's thighs and hips until he reached his heavy belt and tugged at it.

"Aren't you on duty?"

"Yeah," Evan whispered, "Yeah, I am . . ." and then his mouth found Craig's. "Oh fuck . . ." he felt so good. Soft and warm and receptive. He loved kissing him. His hands reached up to hold his head tightly as he pushed his cock into him and widened his mouth with his, opening his lips and finding his tongue.

They both groaned when Evan's teeth found Craig's tongue and pulled and bit and nipped at it, drawing it into his mouth and sucking hard and deep. He opened his mouth wider and for several minutes they swirled and sucked and licked each other's tongues. Finally Craig had to break away in a gasp. He reached for Evan's shirt and started pulling it out of his waistband.

"You have a bedroom?" Evan said, before getting embarrassed at his own question.

"Yeah," Craig laughed. "Follow me."

He walked to a curving, hanging staircase leading up to the second floor. Evan trailed behind, his dick throbbing, watching Craig's ass move in front of him. He was shaking and trembling as he hastily unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off, tossing it down onto the living room floor. His hands automatically went for his belt as he followed him into his spare, minimalist bedroom. A big, wide window was open to the night sky. Out here you could see stars and the lights on the hills, and hear the surf. The sharp, medicinal scent of eucalyptus blew in with the curtains, and palm trees rustled in the wind. There was a low, king-sized platform bed, and Craig was already lying back on his elbows, watching Evan as he walked in. Craig whispered "Oh shit," under his breath. Evan had a wonderful body. He wasn't pumped up with muscles, but he was solid and compact, and exuded a sense of latent rather than overwhelming power and strength. Craig took in his red nipples and the soft trail of dark hair leading into his pants. His thighs and ass were nice and full.

Evan stood over him, looking down as he pulled off his heavy belt with all its attachments. They both heard the radio crackle.

Evan glanced at it and said, "I can't stay long."

"It's all right. I'm just glad you came," said Craig.

Evan hesitated for a second at the buttons to his pants. He stared at Craig with his hands clenching and unclenching. Again that lust for dominance came over him. Craig was so completely luscious—passive, gentle, awaiting his move. Even though he was the one undressing, it was clear Craig was his object, his to do with as he wanted. It was why he'd come here. As if on cue, Craig shifted on the bed, widening one leg and lifting one hand over his head.

That was it. Evan pulled off his uniformed trousers and ripped off his briefs in one second, so eager to get to the blond god lying so seductively on the bed. He crawled to him on all fours, his cock free and unencumbered and curved in a beautiful arc from a small dark bush at the base of his flat abs. Oh, this was nice. It felt so good, so natural, to be naked with him! Any doubt he'd had was erased, and all he could wonder was what had taken him so long.