City of Angels

He hovered over Craig's face using his powerful arms for leverage, looking into his eyes. Craig was watching him with awe and expectation, and Evan leaned down to kiss him, hard and forcefully, his arms and mouth shaking with uncontrolled, new-found lust. Craig ran his hands down to Evan's lush, round ass and held him tightly, trying to calm him down. He whispered "It's ok, take your time." He loved that Evan was new to this. He was giving him nothing but pure desire untainted by any bullshit.

Evan moaned as he kissed and licked his way down Craig's neck, smelling and savoring the taste and feel of his salty skin, "That's the one thing I don't have tonight." He could have stayed at his lips forever, but he continued to devour him, tenderly kissing down his chest as he undid each button, amazed at how strangely erotic it was unveiling Craig's smooth, flat chest. Images, memories, of breasts flashed in his head for a second. Small and cute and firm. Huge and soft and heaving. He didn't miss them. He'd never felt such lust for another person's flesh as he did now. He bit each male nipple lightly before swirling his tongue around and sucking the tiny nubs into his mouth as he heard Craig gasp. "I only want you," Evan thought, teasing the sensitive points, "I want you."

Evan's hands spread Craig's shirt open slowly, leading down to his crotch. He couldn't help kissing and sucking every inch of hot, tanned skin he exposed on his journey downward. He licked everywhere, noticing there was no hair whatsoever. It was all perfect.

When his lips got as far as the tight waistband of Craig's jeans he yanked at it and seemed unable to go any further. He glanced up to Craig with his dark eyes, giving him a silent but unmistakable directive to do it himself. He shifted downward onto his elbows as Craig raised his ass, thrusting his bursting crotch upwards and reaching down to undo his button-fly jeans. His cock was so full and hard he had a difficult time getting the buttons undone. Evan watched in heart-pounding anticipation.

Evan pulled back on this knees as Craig was finally able to kick off his jeans. He wasn't wearing any underwear and his golden, smooth, bare cock and balls sprang into view. Evan had never seen anything more absolutely beautiful in his life. He simply stared for a second at the glorious, perfect, long and ridged member while his own cock throbbed with pleasure. Craig lay back again, with one hand behind his head, on display, beautiful, reveling in his objecthood. He looked to Evan like nothing less than a classical sculpture—an angelic muse whose sweet passivity penetrated to the deepest core of Evan's unknown, unsuspected sensuality.

Evan roughly pushed Craig's knees apart and got between them, spreading them wide and holding them open with his own muscular, massive thighs and instinctively grabbing his own hard, swollen rod. This was strange. They were in a sort of missionary position, he had his primed cock ready to fuck, but . . . it was a guy. The subliminal knowledge of where they could go from here pushed at some kind of wall in his mind. He couldn't do it. Instead he gazed down at Craig's face, Craig's body, and began to stroke himself, his breath coming harsh and ragged. He watched Craig's sweet cock rising and swelling and throbbing directly beneath his own, and bent down to touch them together. He felt the first pre cum begin to erupt to the surface and slowly stroked it out onto the beautiful cock head beneath him.

Craig watched Evan's clear fluid dribble onto him, mixing with his own. He took as much as he could between his fingers and slathered it back onto Evan, pushing his fist out of the way to take over for him, working the slippery head with his fingers.

Evan put his hands behind his back and watched for the first time a man's hand gradually work its way down his shaft, tugging and pushing, arousing him to maximum rigidity, solid and ripe. "Ohh fuck," he hissed as Craig began to jerk him faster.

Craig grabbed the base of his own cock and bent it toward Evan, slipping it behind his sacks and touching the tender skin of his ass. As he snuggled it up under his balls he thrust slowly into his hairy appendages, gently nudging his tender orbs around with his head.

Evan breathed louder, squeezing his hands together behind his back, holding still for a long time as Craig worked his magic.

He was so close. As he felt it coming he scrambled forward so he was straddling Craig's chest, towering over him, and could look into his eyes while his strong body pinned his shoulders tightly to the bed. His meaty cock was about to explode. He felt so powerful, so dominant; they had fallen into these positions so naturally and as he looked down he knew Craig was loving where he was. His eyes were full of worshipful lust for the man risen above him.

"Ohhh . . ." Evan groaned, in between clenched teeth. It was so fast, sharp, and explosive. He was gonna come, he was gonna come!

"Oh god! Oh fuck," he moaned as the uncontrollable wave burst up from his balls in shudders of painful ecstasy.

"Take it, take it, oh fuck, take it, Craig, take it, take my fucking cum!!!" Evan yelled as he watched sprays of semen jet out in long arcs onto Craig's neck, face and opened mouth. The pleasure was so intense Evan thought he would simply go crazy. Over and over his aroused cock pulsed, spitting out ropes of thick jizz under Craig's enraptured gaze. He saw it land on his lips just as he felt Craig come at the same time, and Evan impulsively leaned down to kiss his wet, open lips, sucking on them, and licking and tasting himself as Craig moaned and cried into his mouth.

Evan lay dazed for several minutes, his chest mashed against Craig's, their hearts pounding close together, the taste of cum in both of their mouths. Evan reached up to stroke and clutch Craig's hair. He caressed his head tenderly, almost like an apology.

After a minute he rolled off, and they both lay there breathing heavily, overwhelmed.

"Fuck, I gotta go," Evan said in one exhaled breath.

He wiped his face on the bed sheets and got up to get dressed. While Craig cleaned himself up he went down to retrieve his shirt and by the time he came back he was in full uniform.

Craig watched him from his bed, wondering what he'd do this time. He was still blissed out from his own fantastic climax. He felt completely at peace for the first time in many days. He didn't quite know what to make of Evan yet; this was certainly a wonderful, hot thing—and surprising—but not exactly unique in his experience. Any moment he was expecting him to flake out and disappear like many guys had before.

But then Evan did something unexpected. He came over, leaned down, put his hand on the back of Craig's head and kissed him sweetly on the lips. There was something so fucking hot in the way he did it—like he was a husband possessively kissing his wife or lover before he left for work. Craig felt his attachment and interest in him kick up to a whole new level.

Evan stood at the bed a bit awkwardly, hesitating before he spoke.

"So, uh . . . you still interested in that ride? Would you like to?"

Craig smiled at him. "Yes, I would."

"All right. I'm going to be working a lot this week, and I have to take a trip down to Laguna sometime, but maybe this weekend?"

"Sounds perfect."

"Good. I'll come by Saturday morning? Maybe we could hit the beach?"

"It's a date."

"All right, I'll see you soon, then. Good night."

"Evan."

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you came."

+++

As his police cruiser floated down the Pacific Coast Highway on the way home, Evan marveled at the strange beauty of his native city. The dawn was blossoming like a lazily budding flower over the horizon, sending pools of pink light into the midnight blue sky still studded with stars. The moon shone down on the white classical columns of the Getty Museum, so high up on the cliffs they seemed to float in the sky. The fog and clouds obscured everything but the glimmering lights of the hills sweeping down to the majestic ocean. In less than an hour, this same stretch of highway would be bumper to bumper with stressed out drivers, the towering cliffs would reveal their glaring billboards, and the coastline would give way to mini-marts and cheap snack shacks. But not now. Now, it could be anywhere, anytime. Evan liked to imagine it was ancient Greece—Athens, perhaps, nestled in the inlets and isles of the Aegean Sea.

He leaned back and enjoyed the ride, taking his time, his body still pulsing in post-orgasmic bliss. He adjusted his posture as he felt his cock swelling yet again thinking about Craig.

Evan had had no idea he was going to stop by Craig's that night. He just did it. He'd stood outside for 20 minutes, knocking softly every couple of minutes, unwilling to leave, but reluctant to pound on the door. He just had to see him. And when he did, he was surprised that the attraction he felt was even stronger than the first two times. These brief encounters at night were like something out of a fairy tale.

He was deep in thought, pondering the sadness he'd seen on Craig's face, when he suddenly slammed on the brakes, nearly spinning off the road into the cliffs. The harsh glare of his headlights revealed the glowing eyes of a family of coyotes picking their way lazily across the road. They stared at the lights and noise for a minute before trotting back up the embankment. This had happened before. He'd seen coyotes, bears, rabbits, even wolves. The second largest metropolis in North America co-existed with a wilderness that was always there, threatening to swallow the valley back into his primitive grasp.

An hour or so later, by the time Evan checked in his cruiser at the Santa Monica police station and picked up his own car, the magic had evaporated along with the night. It was going to be another shit kicking, hot smoggy day in LA. The beauty of the city, the lust of the evening, the memory of his orgasm, crumbled into dust in the face of early morning garbage trucks, weary maintenance men, junkies and scrawny dogs, and the endless gray urban sprawl. Here and there a bougainvillea bush remained the sole reminder of the night's glory. Evan closed the door on his small one-bedroom and instantly crashed into a dreamless sleep.

+++

Evan looked forward to his day with Craig all week. He was hoping they could actually keep their clothes on and talk this time. He had a lot to say, a lot to ask him. He thought about a little trip. Maybe they could go as far as Santa Barbara. He wanted to make it fun for Craig. He found himself thinking about him a lot. He felt such protectiveness for him. He just wanted to whisk him away on a little adventure, away from LA for a day.

The week was busy. When it got really hot like this, crime increased, people were in bad moods, he made many more little arrests. The searing heat, while dry, was a killer during the day. It wasn't so much the actual temperature as the relentless power of the sun. It turned LA into a prison of ugly 70's-style architecture with its fading aqua and pink facades, peeling, flaking concrete walls, and dull brown palm trees. Evan preferred to sleep for most of the day, looking forward to the quick desert cool down at dusk.

He made a few trips to the gym in Venice, where he lived, as he always had. But he was seeing it through new eyes. When he walked in, he was intensely aware of the men who immediately looked at him, and followed his movements on the way to the locker room. The same old usual place seemed to come alive for him with scents, sounds and images—the grunts and groans, the smell of sweat, the quick glimpses of muscles, tank tops, hands, thighs, and sometimes, bulging mounds in thin shorts. Above all the glances. Had he really, seriously, not ever noticed before?

He saw Craig in every man. Felt him. Remembered him. Compared everyone to him. Bits and pieces of their nights together broke free into his daytime thoughts—a flash of an image of cum on open lip; the sight of a spurting cock; kissing Craig's smooth chest. They intertwined with the smell of jasmine and eucalyptus, the feel of the ocean breeze, and the long, slow trip up to Malibu, lining his mundane days.

Close to the weekend, he had to make the trek down to Laguna. It was his parents' 25th wedding anniversary and he'd promised to show up at the big party. As usual, he dreaded it. But he had promised. His sister, aunts and uncles, and relatives would all be there.

Powering down on his bike in the opposite direction of Malibu, he had the feeling he was going back in time. Not only to his past, but to an older way of life. His parents were conservative, to put it mildly. He'd actually been born in Simi Valley, that haven for cops, before they moved to a bigger house in Laguna when he was two. His mother's large, extended Italian family was rooted here. They were all "solid," middle class, religious people. Life revolved around family vacations, backyard barbecues, holidays, sports, and the police department. His mother's father had also been a captain. It was how she'd originally met Michael Malone.

Evan stopped at a florist shop to pick up the bouquet of roses he'd ordered for his mother before heading to the party. As he pulled in to the house where he'd grown up, he instinctively looked for his dad's SUV. He wasn't there yet.

He smiled when he saw a gorgeous dark-haired girl holding a beer in the driveway.

"Well, well, well," she said, smiling. "The prodigal son returns."

"Only for a while, Gina." His sister was two years older and lived with her husband and kids in the same neighborhood. She was married to a cop.

"The captain's not here yet?"

"He'll be here, don't worry."

They went inside, where Evan was mobbed with hugs from various relatives. He went over to his mother and kissed her on the cheek.

"These are for you, mom."

"Oh, thank you, honey. My favorite."

"Where's dad?"

"Oh, he's coming. Probably picking up my present at the last minute."

"Well I hope it's something nice," Evan said, kissing her again. "You deserve it."

"Evan, I have a favor to ask. Be good to your father today. He hasn't been feeling well."

"When have I ever not been?"

She looked at him. "Please, Evan. He's been under a lot of stress lately."

"I'll try, Mom."

As Evan wandered around the old place, his thoughts dwelled on Craig almost to the point of obsession. What was he doing? Who was he with? Was he hanging out with Larry? He knew he had a lot of gay friends—was he with them now, brunching in West Hollywood? He felt more anxious than ever to get some alone time with him. Being in the old place was bringing back that restless feeling that had plagued him recently, but which really went back to high school. That was when his conflict with his father had begun. It was all part of some big rebellion and anger he began to feel at that time. He hated coming back here because he felt it closing in on him again, and threatening his new experience. He couldn't stop wondering what Craig was doing with all his friends—friends who were much more "out" . . . who were much more gay. Jesus. Even thinking that word here made him look over his shoulder. You'd never know, living in this town, that there was a big city to the north where people like Craig Symons existed. Here Los Angeles meant the LAPD, and not much more.

He was standing in the kitchen nursing a beer when he heard the door open and a flutter of voices. He felt his stomach clench. He could feel his father's presence from in here. His Daddy. He laughed to himself. It's what he'd called him when he was little. His Daddy the big strong policeman. How he'd waited for him every night to come home! He could still remember that feeling. The late afternoons turning to dusk, in his room playing with cars, wondering if he'd left work yet, if he was on the road, if he was almost there. His mother cooking dinner, his sister in her room. All of them waiting expectantly for the man with the booming voice and kisses for everyone. Coming back in his black uniform, tossing his hat on the couch, and smiling as he picked up his son and threw him giggling in the air. Evan remembered all of it.

He felt like an alien, now. The people were older, the hair a lot grayer, but really everything was the same—except him. He couldn't remember why, exactly, but at some point he'd become thoroughly disenchanted with his father's charm. He began to see him as a big phony. A pretender. A bullshitter. A narcissist. Now he could barely stand the sight of him.

His dad came into the kitchen, dark and handsome as always, and when straight to his mother. He put a hand on the back of her head and kissed her on the lips. It was his ritual. He saw his mother smile and thrill to his touch.

As his dad looked up, he saw Evan standing there and his eyes widened. He nodded curtly. "Evan."

Evan nodded back.

"Glad you could make it."

"25th. Wouldn't miss it," Evan said, lifting his beer.

"Well I'm sure your mother appreciates it."

"Was traffic bad?"

"Fuck yes. Got stuck on Chimichanga coming down from the valley."

"Cahuenga," Evan corrected him. "The Cahuenga Pass. You've lived in this city for 30 years."

He dad looked at him. He made a point of mispronouncing Spanish names—his not so subtle way of denigrating half the population of Los Angeles.

"So, how's work?" he said, changing the subject. "You off PCH yet?"

"No," Evan said, gritting his teeth. "I told you, I like it there. I like Malibu."

"You move to Orange County, it's one step up to sergeant."

His dad never stopped trying to get him to transfer to Orange County. He could not understand why Evan chose to stay in the city proper, why he'd ever chosen it to begin with.

"I can make sergeant this way, too."

"Takes a lot longer."

Maybe, Evan thought, but the fact was he preferred it. He liked the diversity, the mix of people, the insight into various lifestyles. It was how he'd met Craig, wasn't it? Would he ever have, any other way?

The thought of Craig while he stood talking to his father made him unaccountably angry and he moved away. Everything about him just irritated him! His close-minded conservativeness, his stubborn conviction he was right about everything, his confidence to the point of smugness, his success.

He wandered through the party in the backyard, feeling alone among all the people he'd grown up with. His dad was the center of all it, holding it all together. He stood with everyone else toasting the happy couple, watching them kiss. 25 years of a good, solid marriage. It made Evan claustrophobic to the point of screaming.

He made some quick goodbyes and was walking to his bike when his dad caught up with him. He was extremely red in the face and sweating and breathing heavily. Too many beers, Evan thought.

"Look, I know you don't want my help, but anytime, just say the word." He leaned in conspiratorially. "All I have to do is pass the word along! Make a few calls, call in a few favors. What are you doing, handing out speeding tickets? Let me help you," he insisted.

Evan looked at him. He knew he was right. It was like he was handing him the keys to the city—at least the city he knew, from his viewpoint at Parker Center. But all Evan could feel was a stifling sense of imprisonment. He felt the same restless dissatisfaction that made him break it off with Amy. No.

He revved up his motorcycle and kicked up the stand.

"Thanks, but no thanks. Congrats on the anniversary." And he took off.

+++

Two days later, he packed a little bag and headed up the coast to Craig's.

It was a gorgeous day. Overnight, the ocean air had finally beat back the searing heat of the desert, and it was a cool 79, with moisture in the air. Perfect beach weather. On the way there, he noticed red banners lining all the lampposts along PCH. They were advertisements for a new show at the Getty entitled "Gods of Love." He saw the word "Eros" flash by on the edges of his vision, along with reproduced male nudes. To his left, the ocean was pure cobalt blue, edged with white waves amid patches of deep emerald. His leather jacket kept him snug and warm in the rush of exhilarating wind.