The Christmas decorations hang from the streetlights lining Sunset where the Christmas Parade passed a few days ago. Up in North Dakota, where I’m from, the tinsel and candy cane and lights look really pretty lining Main Street, with the cold gray sky and the lumps of snow all over everything. There’s the little party downtown the first night they turn the lights on and the sight of them makes you feel warm and hopeful.
Down here, it just looks like more cheap glitz. At the corner of Vine and Sunset, some bozo went and threw his girlfriend’s bra up there and it’s hanging down, too, along with the glitter. They’ll clean it up soon, don’t worry. Hollywood’s put a lot of effort into cleaning up its image. Maybe the streets are as dangerous as always, but the tourists, they don’t see any signs of it.
I’m sitting in the twenty-four-hour Dunkin’ Donuts on Vine, directly across from the Mary Pickford Motion Picture and Cinema Archives. It’s around three a.m. and all you got here in the shop are junkies filling up on sugar to quiet the jones.
This is a typical cops’ hangout. And I’m your typical cop, I guess. ’Cept I’m off duty right now. So I’m just a guy with a bag of frosted doughnuts. It’s two for one on the green and red ones and so I’ve got two dozen. They were warm when I bought them, but now they’re not so much ’cause I’ve been sitting here for an hour now.
Well, there’s nothing for it. I can’t walk away and truth is I’m dying to cross the street, go around the corner on Fountain to the Archive’s service entrance where I’ve left my car. I bring the big shopping bag out of my trunk, and jog down the three steps to the loading docks.
The door’s ajar there, and the alarm has been disabled. Now normally I’d be a little worried about that. Normally I’d be calling this in and waiting for backup. But in this case I know who left the door open and I know why he’s pulled the wires out of the alarm. These film people won’t have to worry about getting burgled. If he’s here.
If he’s here. And, see, that’s the reason I was sitting in the Dunkin’ Donuts for an hour watching some poor kid, who looked like sixteen going on eighty, try to steady his hand enough to down a cup of coffee. It’s not that I’m dreading seeing what’s down in that basement. God, it’s all I can think about some days. It’s that I’m dreading the day I go down there, and he’s absent.
Especially lately. Maybe it’s the impending holidays, or maybe it’s something else going on out there that he doesn’t tell me about, but his dark days seem darker of late, and his few light days have been full of shadows.
So, with all the familiar anticipation and dread, I trot down the two sets of stairs to the sub-basement. The Academy’s had this building for only a couple years and there are still traces of the former inhabitants. The files in old cabinets from when it was the AIDS care headquarters. Even the slim white boxes of negative from the days when ABC studios ran it. The whole place is like an archeological dig of Hollywood’s history.
By the time I get to the third level down, I can smell the ammonia he uses to clean. The lights, hanging from their hooks in the beams, swing back and forth when I pull the chains to turn them on, looking around. “Hello?”
A skitter of sound. I’d think it was a rat in any other place. “Adam?”
That sound again, a shadow moving in the shadows. My heart’s in my throat. Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s my wishful imagination.
I tread slowly into the room where the big sofa and the gym mats are.
“I brought doughnuts.” My voice echoes a bit. I set the bag down on the table and pull the chain that turns on the table light. I don’t know what it means that more and more these days, I find him sitting here in the dark.
And then, in the time it takes for me to blink, he’s standing there. Two feet from me and my heart has time for one great lurch of happiness and shock and then he’s got me in his arms and I’ve got his scent in my nose, his tongue down my throat.
It’s hard and fast the first time. He gets me on my knees, my pants down around my thighs, fingers rubbing slick into my hole for only a second before he presses in, arm over my shoulder and around my chest to hold me tight against him while he grunts and punches his dick against my prostate a few hundred thousand times it seems, before I’m panting and keening, my saliva and sweat hitting the mats and he’s groaning and twisting against me and we’re both done for.
Then we lay there and he’s still holding me and I can smell the wool of the sweater I brought for him last time and I can hear my own breath, harsh and loud.
He lets me go and staggers to his feet. “Sorry,” he says, and reels away.
Why he always apologizes, I don’t know. I like what he does to me. Obviously. The evidence of my liking is all over the mat beneath me. So I get my pants back up around my waist and I tuck my dick inside and I find some of the paper towels I’ve brought along with the other supplies and I mop up a bit while he stands over there in the corner.
Now we’ve got to go through that awkward period before either one of us gets to talking. Hey, maybe we’re fucking each other but we’re still men. Or at least I’m a man. He’s a…heck if I know what
he is nowadays, but he sure as hell is a male one.
I start putting away the supplies. He’s got a cupboard of sorts over here, bits and pieces he’s dragged up from the bowels of this place. I offered, a few dozen times, to get some wood and some boys down here and put a proper room in. Of course, he’d have none of it.
“They’ll ask questions.”
“No they won’t, not the boys I’d get.”
He doesn’t like it one bit. “Illegals?”
“Christ, Adam, what do you care?”
But he does care and that’s the glory and the curse of the man. See, me and Adam were both working for the LAPD at one time. But he was a very bad man. A dirty cop, a drug addict, and just generally the worst news you could hope to run into in Los Angeles County. He probably would have gone to jail for it. I might have even been the one unfortunate enough to put him there. If he hadn’t ended up dead.
“I don’t need anybody’s help.” Now, all of a sudden inclined to domesticity, Adam starts to help me unload the groceries I’ve brought him. Groceries, sheesh. I sound like my mother. It’s a couple gallons of blood and a quart of gas for that generator of his. A new blanket, coupla car racing magazines, a case of Millers, and, of course, the doughnuts.
He takes the opportunity to grab my ass while he’s standing there and I pretend to be shocked. “Stop it, perve, you’ll make me drop the beer.”
“It’s been a week.” He says it like it’s just about getting laid, but now I understand some of the edgy way he’s acting.
“We’ve been swamped,” I say. “You know, that’s why I gave you the mobile. So you can call.”
He doesn’t answer. Adam threw a real fit when I gave him that phone. I only convinced him to keep it because he might need it ‘for police business’.
Now he grabs the doughnuts and goes over to the sofa and starts wolfing them down. I’m a good-sized man, but he’s a monster. Over six feet four of fighting muscle. And sexy as hell with that thick brown hair on top and those slanty green eyes. His hands are big and scarred across the knuckles. They dwarf those fancy little doughnuts as he shoves them into his mouth. All sprinkles and frosting down his front and I could just eat him up, the big pig.
I come and sit down on the sofa and find excuses to rub up against him. “Gimmee one of those.” I make a grab for the doughnut he’s got in his hand there, and we have a bit of a wrestle until he’s laughing and spitting doughnut and then he’s kissing me tasting like sweet glaze and Adam.
This time it’s slow. He presses me down into the sofa and his mouth moves over me, his hands holding me still while I wriggle and twist around and try to get my dick rubbing up against him.
“You cold?” he whispers against my ear when he’s worked off most my clothes and he’s down to licking my belly.
I’m panting and groaning but I’m shivering too. “A little.”
And he’s up and fetching out the new blanket I’ve brought. It’s one of those Polartek things all covered with Santas and reindeer and he holds it up for a minute, laughing over at me and god, he’s so fucking gorgeous I could die. Then in a blink he’s back and those laughing eyes are an inch from mine. A hand is intimate with my balls and pushing my legs apart and he’s getting his dick up in there and lifting my hips, but he’s spread the blanket over me so I won’t be shivering, while he works me onto his cock, pulling at me to keep me hard while he does it.