Brad stands in front of his closet, frowning. He used to have so many shirts, now there are half a dozen. Nothing on the hangers looks like something one would wear to a club. He casts his mind back, trying to remember when he has last been out dancing. Maybe on his and Aiden’s one-year anniversary? More than four years ago, in any case. He remembers the night at a place in Harlem, a bohemian club of Aiden’s choosing. The evening had ended with him and Aiden fighting. Even then, drama was never far away. But on the question of what he’d been wearing that night Brad draws a blank. Probably nothing that’s still in his closet now.

There might be clothes stored in the still unfinished attic. But he can’t go looking now; he’s already running late. Brad rubs his face. Get on with it, he thinks. All you’re doing is dragging out the inevitable. Now that it’s time, he would much prefer to stay in. But Eric has badgered him all week at work, and finally Brad couldn’t take it anymore and agreed to go.

With a sigh, Brad pulls a denim shirt with short sleeves from the closet. He can roll the sleeves up all the way onto the shoulders. He seems to remember that used to be a thing with young gay men a few years ago. Maybe it still is. He puts the shirt on and slides the closet door shut. As he fastens the buttons, he studies himself in the mirrored closet door. Yeah, this will do. The denim looks pretty good over the white dress slacks he picked out. Brad has never worn them before. They’d been Aiden’s idea.

“Your ass looks awesome in them,” he’d grinned when Brad had tried them on at Macy’s. Then he’d pulled Brad close and nuzzled his neck. “I wanna show you off on the dance floor again.” That shopping trip had been a rare happy outing in their last year together. They’d never gone dancing again; during the last few months of their relationship they’d gone nowhere.

Surprisingly, it doesn’t bother Brad that Aiden chose the pants. Maybe he’s starting to come to terms with it. Maybe three months post-breakup he’s allowed to let life feel normal again sometimes. He inspects his own behind in the mirror. And his ass does look good in white.

Brad pulls on a pair of dark blue suede leather loafers. He hasn’t worn anything but trainers in his spare time for longer than he cares to think about. For work, it’s always steel-capped black boots. He chooses the NYPD’s uniform issue footwear over the dressy looking black leather shoes most of the plainclothes detectives prefer. Brad likes to have his feet protected, and he likes the solid stride the boots give him. The soles of the loafers feel odd as he walks around the house to collect his wallet and keys, and even stranger as he jogs down the front steps and heads toward the subway. The May evening is pleasant, and Brad can feel his spirits lift in the balmy warm twilight.

Brad has agreed to go out with his partner Eric and Eric’s friends. It’s the first time he’s going out with anyone since Aiden left. He’s seen Maria, of course, but she’s family so that doesn’t count.

Eric is twenty-eight and has been Brad’s partner for less than a year. He made detective at twenty-seven, which is just one year older than Brad had been when he’d passed his own exam. Until Eric was assigned as his trainee partner, Brad had known few gay cops at the NYPD and none on the current detective squad. Brad is out at work but doesn’t bring it up if he can help it. Eric has no such qualms, and Brad was aware of his new partner’s sexual orientation by the end of their first joint shift.

Aiden was indignant when Brad told him about his new partner. “They’re giving him to you because all the old-timers balk at the thought of a gay rookie,” he said. Brad doesn’t care. He’s not indifferent to the discrimination that’s still present in the police force, but he knew right off the bat that he was lucky to get Eric. The young detective is exceptionally smart, and Brad has solved some of his most notable cases since Eric joined the detective bureau.

And he’s become a friend, too. Something that’s been in short supply in recent years.

Eric is married to Neal, a lawyer seventeen years his senior. They met at a social event organized by the UChicago alumni network. Neal, who went to Law School there, is a patron. Eric had attended the event at the spur of the moment while visiting family three years ago. The fact that it’s easier to meet and fall in love with a New Yorker in Chicago is one of Eric’s favorite jokes. He and Neal will be celebrating their second anniversary soon. It might look like an odd match, but to Brad, their life seems perfect. They own a beautiful townhouse on Staten Island, and they adore each other. And despite the age gap they’re comfortable around each other’s friends. Eric has told Brad that Neal even tags along to the clubs with the younger crowd now and then.

Tonight, though, Eric waits for Brad by the Southeastern Times Square subway exit by himself. As Brad jogs up the stairs Eric’s eyes glide up and down his body.

“Nice,” he grins. “I see you’re coming out of your self-imposed celibacy.”

Brad grimaces. “Three months is hardly celibate.”

“Maybe not for you, old man,” Eric says with a waggle of his pale eyebrows. Brad rolls his eyes.

“Kids today,” he grumbles, but Eric’s mirth is infectious. “Speaking of which…no Neal tonight?”

Eric shakes his head, unperturbed. “He wanted to stay in,” he says over his shoulder as he leads the way down the crowded sidewalk. “He’s been looking forward to a night alone in forever.” Brad raises an eyebrow, and Eric laughs. “No, he’s not playing sugar daddy to some rent boy,” he jokes. “When I left he was on his second glass of red and about twenty pages into Gone with the Wind. I’m not even joking. Though I bet he’ll find time for a nice bath and a wank, too.”

“Thanks for oversharing,” Brad says.

“Don’t mention it,” Eric says, grinning down at him. Brad grins back. He has to tilt his head way back to see Eric’s face this close. The young detective is tall enough to have made the NBA. After playing basketball all through college, he did in fact try out for the Bulls but found that the NYPD’s fast track offered a more interesting challenge for his impressive intellect.

“So, why’re we going to the Ritz Lounge, of all places?” Brad asks. The trendy gay bar in Hell’s Kitchen wouldn’t have been his choice, especially not on a Friday night. But he’s the first to admit that he doesn’t have a go-to place anymore. He’s been out of the game for too long. Now that he’s made it this far, though, Brad finds that he’s happy to be going out. The walls started to close in a little at home recently. Brad likes his own company well enough, but lately, he’s missed having someone to talk to in the evenings.

“It’s my buddy Jake’s twenty-fifth,” Eric says. He nudges Brad’s shoulder. “We gotta hook you up tonight. You’re definitely sugar daddy material.”

Brad grunts and hides his hands deep in his pockets. He’s glad to be out of the house, but whether he’s quite ready to jump back into the game remains to be seen.

They arrive at the club a block away from Times Square to find Jake and his friends holding them a place in the line. The half dozen men are all in their mid-twenties, and their good-natured teasing is infectious. Within minutes, Brad laughs along to their jokes, and Eric looks very pleased with himself.

Inside, they make their way to the bar. “First one’s on me!” Jake’s boyfriend, Saeed, calls to loud cheers from the others. They hang around for a few minutes, rocking on the balls of their feet to the beat and sipping their drinks. But soon a song comes on that Jake finds irresistible, and he pulls Saeed onto the dance floor. Their friends soon follow, and only Brad and Eric stay behind.

“You don’t have to chaperone me, bud,” Brad shouts over the music at Eric, who watches his friends. “If you’d wanted babysitting duty you could’ve stayed at home. We old farts can take care of ourselves for one night.”

“If you’re sure…,” Eric says.

“Totally sure!” Brad gives his partner a shove toward the dance floor. “Go on!”

Eric grins and hurries to join his friends, who greet him with cheers and suggestive moves. Soon, they’re out of sight, swallowed by the mass of bodies gyrating to the music.

Still holding his first beer, Brad wanders the outskirts of the dance floor. He watches the beautiful bodies, many shirtless, some wearing little more than tiny Speedos. This is good. It’s like therapy to see these guys enjoying themselves. Brad soaks up the music, observing the patrons. Tension that he hadn’t even noticed drains from his body. He can feel other men’s eyes on him, which sends a not unpleasant tingle down his spine.

One pair of eyes continues to linger, but Brad takes his time before he acknowledges the attention. When he turns toward the bar, making eye contact with a man who leans against the gleaming wood, he is pleasantly surprised by what he sees. The young man cruising him is handsome, with a shock of red hair and an athletic body.

With Aiden, sex had become first routine, then a chore, then it had as good as stopped. Being looked at with desire again, and not feeling guilty about it, is a sensation Brad has almost forgotten.

While he’d still been with Aiden, several men had made passes at him. He had been tempted to just give in to one of those invitations, and, in the arms of a stranger, forget the burden of Aiden’s illness for a few hours. He never had succumbed, and now he’s glad. The guilt about how it all ended has been bad enough.

Maybe it’s the remnants of his vaguely Catholic upbringing, or maybe it’s the disgust his usually so conscientious mind has heaped on him these last three months that has had him tossing and turning at night. He was so sure that locking himself away, and doing penance for his sins, was the right thing to do. But right now, in a way he hasn’t in a long time, Brad wants to live, and not wallow in the past.

The young man whose eye Brad has caught has a handsome, smooth face. He’s indeed very young. Not quite a college kid, but close. He raises an eyebrow, and Brad gives him a nod.

No further encouragement is needed. The guy pushes himself away from the bar and saunters over. As he comes closer, Brad can see that his face, neck, and arms are covered in a fine, bronze spray of freckles. He has a pleasant, open expression, and his pale blue eyes sparkle. Brad has to tilt his head as he stops before him. He’s got a good three inches on Brad’s five foot eight.

The guy leans down so he can talk close to Brad’s ear over the music. “I’m David,” he says, and then without waiting for a reply, “You the dinner-and-movie kinda guy?”

“Not really.” The words are out of Brad’s mouth before he knows they’re coming. David straightens up, grinning. Brad feels himself blush, but he returns the grin. “I’m Brad, by the way.”

“We going then?”

And that’s that. As they make for the exit, Brad scans the dance floor and catches Eric’s eye. His partner gives Brad a thumbs-up.

David steps outside first and holds the door for Brad. “Your place?” he asks.

“If you want,” Brad replies. “It’s all the way out in Brooklyn, though.”

David shrugs. “Beats Woodbridge Hall.” When Brad looks confused, he adds, “I share a dorm room with a classmate. Columbia.”

So Brad was on the money. The guy’s a college kid. “Brooklyn it is, then.” He’s not sure how he feels about this, but leads the way to the subway nevertheless. He lets the silence stretch while the age thing gnaws on him. When they get onto the platform he can’t take it any longer. “So, what kind of a cradle robber you turning me into?”

David chuckles. “Calm down, gramps. I’m a grad student, nearly finished, too. I’m twenty-four.”

“What do you study?” Brad asks, reassured.

“Physics,” David says, his pride evident.

“Gorgeous and a Brainiac. My lucky day,” Brad says.

David laughs. “Brains aren’t a turn-off, are they?” He gives Brad a long, assessing look. Brad’s pants grow tight.

“On the contrary,” he murmurs and steps a little closer. Their bodies aren’t quite touching, but Brad can smell the other man’s aftershave, and his erection stiffens another notch.

He’s never been one for public displays of affection. It’s a habit borne of growing up in a house where everyone struggled to come to terms with his orientation, and working in a profession where, while overt discrimination is dealt with harshly these days, the atmosphere is still rife with crude jokes and innuendo.

When the train comes it’s almost empty; they’re in the lull between the early shift and the midnight crowd, who won’t even leave the house for another couple of hours. They sit next to each other on the bench opposite some giggling young women. David presses his leg against Brad’s but makes no other move. “What do you do, Brad?”

“NYPD,” Brad says. “Homicide.”

David gives a quiet whistle. “I better behave myself, then.”

“Were you planning on murdering someone tonight?” It’s such a tired old joke, but there’s a chance David hasn’t heard it yet. He’s so young.

David chuckles, proving Brad’s hunch right. “Maybe I’m a serial killer,” he ventures.

“You’re not.” Brad’s gaze meets David’s, and he puts a hand on the younger man’s leg. “I’d know.”

“Would you now?” David glides down until he’s half slumped on the hard, plastic seat. Brad’s hand slides up until it lies on the other man’s crotch. Which, Brad notices as he lets his eyes glide down from the smiling, freckled face, bulges under his fingers. David’s voice is breathless as he continues, “I’ve never been with a cop.”

Brad raises an eyebrow. “Don’t be so sure. Undercover detectives are pretty good at their jobs.” He’s a little surprised how easy the banter comes. Idle words are not his style. But the young man is like a cool rain after a drought. And suddenly, a little PDA doesn’t seem such a terrible idea either. By the time the now deserted subway car judders to a halt at their stop, David’s hand is down the back of Brad’s pants, and they’re kissing.

They struggle to contain themselves on the short walk to the brownstone. Brad has only ever had sex with one person in this house, he realizes with a jolt. That will change tonight. With some difficulty, he lets them in the door.

“You want a drink?” he mumbles past David’s eager mouth that hasn’t left him alone long enough yet to turn on the downstairs lights. Groping on the wall behind him, Brad finally finds the switch, and they’re bathed in the glow from the soft dimmer lamps that Brad uses again now that he got rid of Aiden’s garish garage sale finds.

David breaks away to have the breath to answer. “Just some ice water, thanks. Wow…,” he adds as he follows Brad through the open-plan living space. He walks over to the restored, modernized fireplace and studies the pictures on the mantel. Brad has removed any that showed Aiden, and even though he still knows where the gaps are, David notices nothing.

Brad brings over two tumblers of water with plenty of ice and lemon. David accepts one and takes a long drink. “The bedroom as nice as this?”

Brad grins. “Come upstairs and find out,” he says in a low voice and hooks a finger into the front of David’s denims. He pulls him into a long kiss, savoring the coolness of the other’s lips from the ice water. Then he turns and leads the way up the staircase made of reclaimed teak. He enjoys the effect his house has on visitors, even when they’re just staying the night. Between the interior designer and Maria’s style, he knows his decision to redo Auntie Hedda’s old and tired home got him a real gem. It’d been either gut the place or sell it. Thankfully, Maria had convinced him that a redesigned brownstone would beat a new and swanky apartment in Manhattan any day. Brad has no artistic talent; that was Aiden’s special skill. But he appreciates beauty, and when they get upstairs he realizes just how well his handsome houseguest looks in the huge, minimalistic bedroom.

“Wow,” David says again, but his eyes only skim the bedroom. Then, in one fluid move, he strips off his sleeveless shirt and advances on Brad. “What happened to the walls?” he asks as he reaches for Brad’s face and pulls him into a long, languid kiss. When Brad comes up for air, not much blood is left in his brain, and it takes him a moment to make sense of the question.

“Had them knocked out,” he says, and begins to tug David toward the bed that sits against the load-bearing wall adjacent to the staircase. “Don’t care for walls much.”

“Or for furniture.” David is now busy with Brad’s shirt buttons and has them all open before he looks up again.

“Yeah,” Brad murmurs as he sinks onto the king-size bed, which is one of the few pieces of visible furniture. The closet is hidden in the all-mirror wall next to the short corridor that leads to a small home office and the bathroom. The design is unconventional to say the least.

“Did you have the basement renovated too?” David asks, clearly still fascinated with the house, even as he’s in the process of stripping off his pants and boxer briefs.

“Yeah,” Brad says as he wriggles out of his own pants and underwear on the bed. “I’ve got a weights room there, though I prefer the gym. And...” Aiden’s studio, he almost adds. But that room hasn’t been Aiden’s studio in a long time. In his last year here, Aiden started not a single new artwork and had given away everything he’d ever made. All that’s down in the dark, locked room are a few old canvases and dried-out paints.

Brad doesn’t want to think about that now. He beckons to David. “You done talking architecture? I got needs, y’know.”

To drive home the point, he takes his own erection in a firm grip. David, the grin on his face now devilish, joins him on the bed.

But he’s not quite done yet with his house commentary. “I didn’t know NYPD pay this well. Clearly I decided on the wrong career.”

As David props himself onto one arm and begins kissing his neck and chest, Brad says, “We keep that on the down low, or else we’d drown in applications.” David’s breath, when he laughs against Brad’s belly, is ticklish. He glances up from under pale lashes.

“Let me guess: Inheritance? Rich old uncle?”

“Aunt,” Brad says, and exhales with a huff as David’s hand grips his dick. “Can…can we change the subject? Not the best mental image to go with…this.”

He’d much rather not talk at all, and just enjoy David’s deft and skilled strokes on his shaft. At least David now changes the subject, to something more relevant, and enjoyable. The fingers that aren’t on Brad’s dick slide up and down his side, grazing his abs. “You stay clear of the donuts at work, huh?”

“Mostly, yeah.” Brad is pleased to see the effect his toned body has on the younger man. David’s face shows his appreciation, and so does his erection, lying full and hard against his belly.

“You a top?” David asks, his breath now coming fast.

Brad shrugs. “If you want.” He enjoys both fucking and being fucked, but he can do without another long conversation. And bottom or top, David is the one dominating their encounter in any case.

David nods, eyes alight. Brad pushes himself up and the other man rolls onto his back. “All right,” he growls. “I’ll fuck you, but only if you shut up.”

“Deal,” David agrees and arranges himself, tilting his pelvis. Brad reaches across him and into the nightstand for rubbers and slick. David watches him prep, and just when Brad is about to position himself between the young man’s legs David reaches out and pulls Brad down for a long and passionate kiss. When he lets go they’re both panting.

“Fuck me, officer,” he growls, and Brad smiles. He’s heard this one before, of course, but from this beautiful boy it ratchets up his arousal, if that’s anatomically possible. As he slides between David’s legs he’s very glad he let himself be talked into going out tonight.

The sex holds what the foreplay promised. David is a noisy, active lover, moving with Brad, showing him with hip thrusts and gestures what he likes. But he stays true to his word and doesn’t talk. Brad’s eyes and hands study the body beneath him, relishing the closeness and the touch. David’s torso is as milk pale and freckled as his face, and the ginger hair on his chest and belly is beautifully soft. Brad thinks that he could probably come just by watching this much physical beauty.

As they climb the peak, David places a hand on Brad’s upper arm. “Wait.” He smiles, white teeth shimmering, his chest covered in sweat. He moves so fast that Brad doesn’t know what’s happening. Before he can say anything, David has flipped onto his side and guided Brad back inside, rocking and humming, until he’s comfortable. “Perfect,” he whispers over his shoulder. “Get this one home, old man.”

Brad does as he’s told. For him, the change in position means a new angle from which to admire the beautiful body beneath him, but it seems to double David’s pleasure. It’s barely a minute before Brad senses the younger man tighten around him. And he’s ready, so he gives in and gives up his last bit of inhibition. Pressing his face against David’s bare shoulder, panting like he’s just run a race, he comes, just when David cries out on his own finish line.

With a grunt Brad pulls out and drops onto his back behind David. The other man turns over and scoots close, resting his head on Brad’s chest. They both lie still for a few minutes, waiting for their breathing to return to normal, savoring the endorphins. Brad cards his fingers through David’s copper curls, feeling very content.

He’s just about to suggest that they could order Chinese and maybe watch a Netflix movie before they have another go when David rolls over and sits up on the side of the bed.

“Can I grab a shower?” he asks.

“Sure,” Brad says, taken aback. “Towels are in the tall cupboard behind the door.”

“Thanks.” David is already halfway across the room.

Brad watches the perfect, taut body disappear down the hall, then stares at the ceiling. Maybe David just wants to be clean for their other activities. Somehow, though, he doubts that.

He probes his emotions for a moment. Yeah, he’s disappointed. But why? They both got their rocks off, and exceptionally nicely, too. Is he—the thought makes his heart beat a bit faster again—catching feelings for this stranger already? Sure, David’s gorgeous. But so what?

He makes no move to clean up, just pulls the sheet up to his waist over his now deflated, messy dick, then lies motionless, listening to the shower. He doesn’t say anything as David reemerges and collects his clothes from the floor, pulling on one item after the other. Brad follows the young man’s unhurried progress across the room. When he makes to sit up at last, David shakes his head. He comes over to the bed and crouches down. He regards Brad for a moment from now opaque blue eyes, then leans over and kisses him long and hard.

“Don’t get up,” he says as he sits back on his haunches. “I can see myself out.” His smile is genuine but no longer full of fire. “Thanks for this. Great night.”

He stands up and, without another word, strides from the room.

Brad listens to the footsteps on the stairs, then the front door opening and closing. Only after that does he push himself to sitting.

As he gets up off the bed and heads for the shower himself, he chuckles and shakes his head.

“Dude,” he says to the empty room. “If you’re after anything other than a fuck, don’t go looking for it at a gay bar in Manhattan.”