City of Angels

"Hey Evan."

Evan Malone looked up from his table. Now that he'd moved to days, he was up at six am every morning to hit the gym. He had showered and was getting one last jolt of caffeine at a little bodega in Venice before heading out when he saw Andy from the station standing in front of him.

"You mind if I join you?"

"Sure, of course. Have a seat."

Andy was his age, cute and openly gay. Evan had a passing friendship with him—nothing more than casual conversation up until now. But perhaps it was good timing, Evan thought. He was glad to see him.

"So, I hear you've put in for sergeant," Andy said. "That's cool. Should be a lock for you."

"Yeah, I hope so," Evan said. "Thought it was time."

"Oh well it shouldn't be a problem. Everyone knows your record."

Evan paused, not quite knowing how to go forward.

"Andy, can I ask you something personal . . ."

Andy's eyes sparkled with interest. "Shoot."

"Have you ever run into any problems in the station from, uh . . ." Evan glanced around the coffee shop, " . . . being out?"

Andy, who'd had a crush on Evan for years, was overjoyed. He leaned in towards him.

"Why do you ask?"

There was a friendly light in Andy's pale green eyes, and his smile was warm and encouraging.

"Well, I . . ." Evan stammered, hesitating. How to say it? He considered just saying the words. "Andy, I'm gay." It didn't bother him to say it. It didn't bother him if anyone knew. But he couldn't. Or wouldn't. It didn't seem right. He simply could not convey what he was going through with those small words. They did not seem remotely sufficient—neither for Craig, nor for the feelings he had just sitting there with Andy and looking into his eyes.

Instead, he settled on the most honest description of how his life had changed in the past few weeks. "Well I recently started seeing someone. . ."

"Oh," Andy said flatly, and his face fell. "Would this be a male someone?"

"Yes," Evan said. "Yes, it is."

Andy assessed Evan, wondering where he was at. He felt sure this was Evan's first experience with a man. And he could tell that it was a powerful one. He could see it and sense it. He wondered if this was what he'd really wanted to talk about.

"Well, as far as the LAPD goes, I have a lot of insight, shall we say. I'd be happy to discuss it more, whenever you want. Long story short—it's only going to be a problem for you if you want to keep moving up the chain. But . . ."

"Yes?"

"Just—uh—anything you want, Evan. Say the word. I'm all ears."

Evan half whispered, "What about you—do you have a partner, or . . .?"

Andy shook his head, trying not to let his gaze linger on Evan's lips. "No. Nope, completely single at the moment."

Evan stood up. "Alright, well, I have to get going. Andy-thanks."

"Sure. No problem. Anytime, Evan."

Andy watched him go, saying "Damn! Damn, damn, damn!" to himself and wondering who the hell was the lucky guy.

+++

At the same moment, early in the day, Craig Symons was in downtown LA, in Larry Binder's art studio, clad in nothing but a pair of expensive new underwear underneath a fuzzy bathrobe. Larry was the most successful and famous gay artist in LA, some would say in the whole country, and at the moment he was setting up a photo shoot for an underwear ad—his "bread and butter" he called it. He occasionally did artsy ad shoots for designers that paid him a hell of a lot of money, and this one needed to be good, so he'd roped Craig into posing.

The idea was to feature actual gay men as principals in the ads, instead of models—men who represented the modern gay world, each portraying a different city. When it came to Los Angeles, Larry never hesitated. Of course it would be Craig. He had an idea to set him up as a heavenly being lying on a cloud, surrounded by angels. His studio was a madhouse with assistants and makeup artists and wardrobe people running around among extras clad in nothing but gold G-strings.

"I need more cherubs!" Larry's voice boomed through the vast cavern of his studio.

Larry sauntered over to Craig, exasperated.

"We have to wait for the fucking dry ice machine. How are you, darling, I haven't seen you in weeks."

Craig smiled. "I'm doing fine. Great, in fact."

Larry immediately shot him a look. "Oh, don't tell me."

"Hmmm?" Craig said.

"You're fucking someone. Who is it?"

But Craig wasn't about to answer him. He wanted to keep that all to himself.

Craig was suddenly slammed into a makeup chair in front of a mirror and primped and pawed and coiffed, and then he was led to a white velvet couch hidden in fake clouds. He was manipulated and maneuvered and posed by unseen hands as Larry yelled from behind a camera and began snapping.

"You're beautiful, baby! One arm over your head, that's it, that's it. . . spread your legs, a little more, that's it . . ."

Following Larry's orders, Craig lay back, thighs spread, his long soft cock just barely visible through thin white cotton. He didn't smile, only gazed at the camera, thinking about the past month with Evan. He imagined Evan alone looking at him, that it was only Evan he was posing for, and tried to control his hard-on. He looked forward to seeing him that night, and a soft, dreamy, invitingly sensuous look came into his eyes.

Larry was used to seeing gorgeous men through his viewfinder, but what he saw as he looked at Craig now was something different, something indescribably hot. His cock swelled in his pants as he snapped the camera over and over. He zeroed in on Craig's face, intent on capturing the look in his eyes.

What was so damned mesmerizing about him? It wasn't only Craig's beauty—though he certainly was that. His face was a perfect blend of soft and strong, male and female, dominated by such meltingly beautiful blue eyes. His hair ranged from deepest gold to the palest blond highlights. His body—fantastic. But it wasn't any of those surface things.

The best models had an ability to just give up and let themselves become objectified. They did not hold back. Something in their nature just flourished under the gaze of the lens. They couldn't help but open up their souls for the world to see. And Craig was a natural. His true personality was completely and totally on display. He projected pure come-fuck-me lust, as intense and focused as a laser, as well as raw, open desire and need, and an achingly sweet vulnerability, with no defense and no protection.

Somehow, Larry thought, he just embodied homosexuality. He personified it and reveled in it. One look and you knew this was a man who had never been and never would be anything else and had absolutely no desire to be anything else. He was the most fuckable man Larry had ever photographed. If this picture didn't make every gay man in the city rock hard he had failed in his job.

"Oh, this is a moment. Craigy, this is . . . you're going to be famous . . . this is the best thing I've ever done . . . look at me, right here."

Craig heard the loud snap of the camera and a triumphant shout from Larry, who rushed over to him and gave him a big wet kiss. "Fucking fabulous!"

As Larry watched him go, he considered that his old friend seemed so different. Relaxed. Happy. The look in his eyes. Goddamn it, who was the mystery man? He whipped out his cell phone to call some friends. What was going on with Craig?

+++

Evan headed up to Craig's place around 8:00 that night, eager and excited to see him. It had only been a while, but being with Craig was already changing him.

He'd spent the rest of his afternoon filling out his formal application for sergeant. He felt fantastic doing it. Not only was it a promotion, with more money and security, but it was also work he was actually looking forward to, since it included teaching a class at the academy and training new cops. He liked the idea of assuming more responsibility and interacting with younger people. It was time. He'd made plans to go see his father the coming weekend to talk it over, and to see how he was doing. It all made him feel like he was growing up and going forward with his life.

His relationship with Craig—at least that's how he thought of it—seemed to light a fire within him. He just wanted to make all of his life more substantial and solid, to commit to it in every way. He had decided to move out of his crappy apartment and was looking into buying a condo—a place Craig might like, and nearer to him.

Zipping up PCH, he didn't notice the ocean, or the sky, or anything else around him. Craig had texted him that he was on the way, too, and all he could think about was the moment he could hold him in his arms.

Evan powered up on his bike, getting hard, as images of sex flashed through his head. Whenever he thought of it, at work, at home, with Craig, he felt simultaneously grateful and angry—profoundly grateful that he was finally figuring this out, and furious that he never had before. Why had it taken him so long? Because he knew this was how he was meant to be, there was no question of that. Every moment with Craig was like finding a lost piece of himself—scattered pieces that every kiss, every stroke, every slide into Craig's body, put back together into a coherent picture. Every moment of discovering Craig was a self-discovery as well. When he was away from him, he felt threatened with dissolution and a frustrating confusion and blankness seeped into his mind; when he was with him, it all slid back into place and became perfectly clear. He knew who he was.

When he arrived at his house he saw Craig's Porsche and instantly felt his pulse quicken. He knew he would never forget this late summer, and the peace and stillness and quiet of this place, with the gentle surf the only sound. His boots crunched on dried laurel leaves as he headed in. Everything, even that, was sexual—the creak of the steps on the way to Craig's door, the glimpse of silver ocean reflecting the setting sun, the dry, hot scent of the desert. And then Craig, opening the door—golden and tanned, barefoot in faded jeans and a yellow shirt.

"Hey."

Still in his uniform, Evan stepped inside, tossing his leather gloves on the counter and reaching for Craig's waist. He pulled his body close to his, already pulsing and swollen, and kissed him deeply on the lips as Craig leaned back on the counter. His hands automatically caressed his hair. Their eyes locked together in mutual lust.

"I missed you" Evan breathed, pushing his hard cock into Craig's. "I thought about you all day."

Craig smiled a genuine, happy smile. "Me too."

"Yeah? What were you thinking?"

"Just this," Craig whispered, kissing him back, and trailing his lips down his neck. "God I love you in this uniform."

"Oh, well 'Daddy' had a long day," Evan laughed, his eyes glinting at Craig's as he whispered a hint of their "bedroom" talk. "A long, hard day at work thinking about you. I couldn't wait to change to come here and see you."

Craig moved his hands down to Evan's ass, loving the feel of his big, strong body. "I'm so glad you're here. This is, uh . . ." he trailed off into a laugh.

"Fucking hot? Perfect? Amazing?" Evan whispered, pushing him back against the counter and smiling into his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah it is." Craig replied. "You know I had an interesting day."

"Tell me."

"I was in that photo shoot I told you about."

"Oh right, right. How was it?"

Craig laughed. "It was fantastic. You know why? I've never dated anyone who wasn't part of the scene. Much less a cop. And I love it. I love that you're not part of it. It's a new thing for me. I thought about you the whole time. And no one knew. Just me."

"It is nice, isn't it?" Evan whispered, wrapping his arms tight around him. "We have our own thing going on, don't we?"

"So what do you want to do for dinner? Same place?"

"Yeah, I'm starving. I want those fish tacos. But let me change."

"Let me just get my shoes, hang on."

For the past month, they'd been scouring the local eateries of Malibu, finding an abundance of little out of the way Mexican or seafood places. They'd settled on a favorite dive close to the ocean with amazing Margaritas. Evan didn't know how many times he'd passed it while on the job, never knowing what fantastic empanadas they had. Every time he went in with Craig he shook his head wondering at the strange turn his life had taken. Not that he was complaining.

The short Latina lady who owned the placed already knew them, and welcomed them in with a heavy accent. She brought them to the outside patio which looked out directly onto the beach. There was a cool, wet breeze coming in from the ocean, but heat lamps kept them nice and warm.

The waitress brought them the house specialty of guacamole hand made at the table in a heavy stone pestle. She expertly mashed the soft, buttery avocados with a squeeze of lime and a hint of sharp cilantro. The accompanying hand-rolled chips were fresh from the oven.

"Mmmmm . . . god this is heavenly," Evan said.

"So what's going on with work? How was your day?" Craig asked between sips of his Margarita.

"Good, good. You know, finished the application."

"So where will you be working if it pans out?"

"Well I'll be moving around. A couple of days in Santa Monica, a couple in Elysian Park teaching classes."

Craig suddenly had a picture come into his head of gorgeous young men drooling onto their pens over the hot instructor. He laughed.

"What?"

"What do you mean, 'what'? You. Hot young recruits. I bet they're all in uniform . . ."

Evan laughed. "At the LAPD? You're crazy. Plus. . . I wouldn't notice."

"Oh come on. You think it's not going on? I'd love to be a fly on the wall in those showers. You think there haven't been a few circle jerks in the locker rooms? One thing leads to another. . ."

Evan laughed, shaking his head. "I, uh . . . I wouldn't know."

"I know," said Craig. He contemplated Evan for a second. "So what

was

high school like for you? What, did you have a girlfriend? A homecoming queen or something?" The idea was totally bizarre, but he thought he'd ask.

"Me? Nah. No. I didn't date at all—well, unless you count senior prom."

"Well then what did you do? Jerk off all the time?"

"No. No. I was angry all the time. I mean, I did, but mostly, I took it out on the football field. And hanging out at the beach. Just me and Chad, really."

"Chad? Who's Chad?" Craig said, immediately intrigued.

Just then the waitress appeared with their entrees. Evan shot Craig a look, laughing. "Ah, just in time."

"Oh fuckkkkk," Evan moaned over the perfectly grilled mahi mahi and spicy pico de gallo wrapped in the most mouth-watering tortillas in existence. "Why have I never had these before?"

"So who's Chad?" pressed Craig.

Evan wiped his mouth before answering. "Chad was my best friend. All through high school."

"Oh? Was he cute?"

"Sure—yeah, I don't know. He played football, too. Actually we grew up together, on the same street. His dad's a cop, too."

"And . . .?"

"What? We were close. You know—two guys, a lot in common. Chad probably knows me better than anyone. Or did, at any rate."

"What happened to him?"

"I don't know exactly. We just drifted apart I guess. He left, after senior year. Football scholarship to Alabama. I saw him a few times afterwards, but . . ."

Actually, it was a painful topic for Evan. He'd made several efforts to contact Chad over the years, with no results.

"And there was never anything between you?"

"What?! No, no, nothing like that. He was just a friend. A good friend. We liked to surf. Every day that we could. God, we'd spend every weekend at the beach."

"What did he look like?"

"Oh—blond. Blue eyed. Way more of an athlete than me."

"He sounds dreamy."

Evan laughed and said quietly, "Look, it wasn't like that. I would have known."

Evan reached out to touch Craig's hand. He had grown so used to him over the past month, and more and more comfortable with who he was with him. It was getting to be so natural and easy, to the point where he was beginning to totally forget his life before Craig.

"It doesn't matter. None of that matters."

"Well, it sounds nice. I wish I had had that. A best friend."

"What—you? What about all those 'boys'?"

"Like I said, it was just sex. Nothing serious. Nothing like you."

Evan found his leg under the table, stroking it with his foot. "I'm glad to hear you say that."

Evan knew Craig well enough by now, through long talks in bed, that he sometimes shut off his emotions. It was like he hit a wall, and didn't want to go any further. He could sense it now.

"What was it like? Your family?"

Craig shrugged. "Lonely."

"You can talk about it, you know."

Craig balled up his napkin. "I have talked about it. In 'therapy,'" he said with a sound of disgust.

"Look, there's nothing dramatic, nothing horrible," he said, seeing the look of concern on Evan's face. "No one beat the crap out of me or abused me. There's no skeletons in my closet. Just a dysfunctional rich family . . . typical LA story . . ."

"All right." Evan knew Craig was making light of it, and he let it go. He had as much patience as Craig needed.

The waitress came and took their things away and they sat for a while listening to the ocean as candles flickered on the table. Evan continued to hold his hand.

"Are you staying over tonight?" Craig said quietly.

"Yes, if you want me to."

"Yes!" Craig said, a little too quickly.

"Then let's get out of here."

+++

By the time they arrived back at Craig's house, they were so horny from touching and stroking each other in the car Craig could barely get the keys in the door. They were both laughing as Evan pushed his hard cock into his ass from behind and nuzzled his neck as he pushed him quickly inside and slammed the door shut behind them.

"Mmmm . . .," they moaned and laughed through frantic kisses, making their way to the huge couch in the living room, unable to hold out and get to the bedroom. Evan had Craig's shirt untucked and halfway over his chest and Craig had swiftly undone Evan's belt.

Evan roughly pushed Craig back onto the plush tan pillows, and hurriedly got between his knees, on the floor in front of him. Craig tried to sit up but Evan pushed him back down.

"Oh!" Craig laughed, taken aback. For the past month, he'd always sucked Evan first, for a long time. In fact, Evan had not yet taken his cock in his mouth.

"Oh," he laughed again, "Oh . . . yeah . . . ok," he sighed, relaxing backwards onto his elbows to watch. He stroked Evan's dark curly hair with interested eyes and looked at himself swelling up under his tight jeans. He kept his thighs spread, thrusting forward, the lust collecting and growing and making him rock hard under Evan's gaze.

Evan scooted up close to his face and kissed him hard, holding him by the back of his head.

"Stop putting yourself down, alright? There's nothing wrong with 'just sex.' Not the way you do it. Not with what you're doing to me."

Craig stared helplessly into his kind eyes, unable to look away or even breathe. No one had ever talked this way to him before.

"I love your sexuality. I love it. I love how you are. I love what you've done for me. I can't imagine being without you now, ok? You're . . . mmmmm . . ." He leaned down to lick Craig's neck, ". . . so fucking beautiful," he whispered. He looked back into Craig's eyes. "You're beautiful. So let me show you. Let me adore you in the way you were meant to be adored, alright?"

This wasn't natural for Craig, to be the one being coddled. He liked to be the one to please his lover, not the other way around. But for Evan's sake, he willingly obeyed. He said nothing as he lay propped up on his elbows, Evan's voice and manner suddenly making him feel comfortable with this unusual situation. He watched with curiosity as well as pleasure to see what Evan would do.