"I'm not gay."
His eyes drift shut, his hand leisurely fisting his cock. It's a warm night and he's pushed the sheet down to the bottom of the bed. He's exhausted. He's only just got back from the hospital and has to be up for work again in three hours. He moans as he feels his flesh harden beneath his hand.
They've failed spectacularly in catching the Ripper but Miles – thank God – is going to be okay. He should be thinking about all the tedious reports that will need filing and the upcoming debriefing he'll have to undergo. Instead, he can't get Miles' words out of his head.
"No, well, no one is on the job."
What did that mean exactly? Had Miles been dropping some kind of hint that he himself was gay? He had a wife and children but of course that wasn't conclusive proof one way or the other. He was probably just being kind; believing Joe to be gay and trying to assure him that it didn't make any difference.
Still, just the idea that Miles might be gay makes him marvel at the possibilities. It doesn't change anything of course; after all, he won't act on any of these feelings, but the potential is there and that's all he needs to entertain fantasies of him and Miles together.
He stretches his body out on the bed, his feet tangling in the sheet. He palms the tip of his cock once, twice, then again, smearing the moisture gathered there before speeding up his pace.
He could always go to Kent. He doesn't believe he'd have any objections if he propositioned him but it wouldn't be fair to make a young kid like him feel obliged and the last thing he wants or needs is a charge of sexual harassment filed against him.
Coming out in the police force when you're fast tracking your way to the top is professional suicide. It doesn't matter that opinions are a lot more liberal now than they were a few years ago. Not that he'll be fast tracking his way anywhere after his meeting with the Commander tomorrow but whatever happens, he knows he's got to remain discreet.
If only he could find out for sure, he and Miles could be discreet together. A subtle but meaningful nod in the direction of the gent's loos and a few minutes later they could be pressed up against a cubicle wall, working their dicks together. And if Kent or McCormack just happened to come in to use the facilities, they could pause with their hands over each other's mouths, panting hotly through slick fingers until all was silent again and they could resume. A mutual release of tension with no one any the wiser.
The scene, so vivid in his mind, reaches its conclusion and he moans as he spills over his fingers, his breathing harsh and loud in the stillness of the room. When he recovers sufficiently, he reaches over and gropes blindly for a tissue on top of the cabinet beside his bed. He really should have a shower but he feels too loose and relaxed to bother getting up now. He gives himself a cursory wipe clean and drops the tissue over the side of the bed. He manages to wait ten full seconds before he groans in frustration, his OCD forcing him to retrieve it and flush it down the toilet, despite his desperate need for sleep.
He pulls the sheet up over him as he climbs back into bed and settles down with a contented sigh, sleep not far behind.