A/N: First I'd like to thank you for the review of the previous chapter, I love reading them so please keep them coming :D

Warning: Male-Male Slash... If you don't like... What the heck are you reading this for? ROLF. :)

Not Beta'ed, you've been warned; there will most probably be spelling/grammar mistakes. Hope you like if you continue.

CHAPTER FOUR

Joe walked into his empty apartment after spending the night following Ed Buchan's ripper tour around the dark streets and alleys of Whitechapel. Talking off his coat and shoes, making sure they were placed back neatly where they were always kept. His keys left into the small bowl beside the door before heading into the living room, dropping down on the black leather couch and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. Joe ran over everything the man had told him. His gut was convinced they were dealing with a copycat. His problem was convincing his sergeant and the team.

If he was right, solving this case would do wonders for his career. The dream would be one step closer to becoming a reality. Solving the ripper copycat would make his name.

Getting to his feet Joe pour himself a glass of scotch and stood at the large window looking out over the London skyline, with one hand in his trouser pocket and the glass hanging from the fingers of his right hand, his gaze turned in the direction of Whitechapel. If he was right he'd be a living legend, but if he was wrong he'd be the laughing stock of the Met. There would be no hope of a promotion, there would be no dream and he'd probably be left to rot in the badlands of East London, surrounded by men who despised him.

Joe threw back his scotch in a single swallow, sighing as it scorched his throat. He was going to have to be very sure about this if he didn't want to destroy the reputation and career he'd spent years building. The career his father had wanted for him.

Stepping away from the window Joe went to wash up his glass, returning it to the exact same place he'd gotten it from before strolling tiredly into his bedroom. Stripping out of his dirty clothes he placed them in the laundry basket, took a shower to wash away the grim of London and climbed into bed.

As he lay there his thoughts turned away from the possible ripper case and down a path he's spent the whole day avoiding. He fought against the temptation to bask in the memories for as long as he could but eventually found himself resigned to the inevitable. Relaxing, he allowed the images to flood his mind, unsure if what he saw behind his closed eyelids were memories or fantasies.

29th August

Joe followed the young man up the steps of his converted Edwardian house. His heart racing as he stood silently behind him. They hadn't spoken since leaving the bar, Joe had just followed after the dark hair man. It had taken them less than fifteen minutes to reach the man's flat on foot.

They walked through the red door and up another flight of stairs, pausing to open a second door. Inside the flat Joe glanced around. The living room was untidy and Joe knew that if his mind was working he'd be swamped with a feeling of disgust, but as it was all his mind, addled as it was, could think about was the lust boiling in his veins.

"Sorry about the mess. My roommates." the young man said as explanation.

Joe smiled, adding a little nodded, meeting the man's dark brown gaze.

He was led up another flight of stairs and down a small corridor to a pokey bedroom with barely enough room to swing a cat. Joe stood on the threshold for a few seconds, his mind fight to regain control but it was a lost battle, his desire was too strong.

Taking a deep breath Joe crossed the space separating him from the younger man, his finger instantly clenching hold of the man's dark curls as his mouth crashed down on his, devouring him utterly, the man's hands clinging onto the folds of Joe's suit, pulling him closer.

Joe could hear that little voice in the back of his mind, sounding so like his late fathers, telling him to stop, that he'd never be superintendent if he was gay, that the police force didn't accept such perversions within its ranks. Joe pushed them away though. Right now he needed to relax, to let go of the stress that drowned him daily. He needed to feel anything but scared. Lust, desire and inevitable shame were all better than fear.

With the voice inside his head silenced Joe shrugged out of his jacket, allowing it too fall to the carpet without a care, his hands then went in search of the hem of his partner's t-shirt, yanking it up over the man's head and tossing it aside.

The rest of their clothes followed, being removed and scattered haphazardly around the small room. Then Joe's hands were roaming over the pale slim form in front of him, savoring the feel of the heated flesh beneath his palm.

The heat in the room increased with the manic display of desire as the two men kiss and groped their way to the bed, before toppling onto the unmade covers. Moan's filled the room as the men rutted against each other in a need for friction and fulfillment, the young man lifting his hips to meet Joe's frantic thrusts. Sweat coating both their bodies and filling the room with the musky scent of sex.

It soon became clear that their current activity wasn't going to send them to that blissful place where nothing else existed but themselves.

"Do you ha….?"

"Top drawer." the young man groaned, nodding towards the bedside chest.

Joe moved away and yanked at the drawer so hard it came flying out of the chest to land nosily on the floor. "Sorry." he murmured, leaning over the edge of the bed to retrieve what he'd went in search of.

With trembling hand it took him a few agonizing seconds to get the condom on, and even longer to work his fingers inside his bed partner. He was rewarded though with the man's deep dirty moans of pleasure. When Joe was sure he was ready, he removed his fingers, replacing them with his painfully hard arousal, pushing in fast and hard, a cry of exhilaration being ripped from his throat.

He didn't wait for either of them to adjust, he just began to thrust deep into the younger man, who's hips lifted to meet every movement while crying out when Joe hit his prostate. It was crazed and frantic, while being controlled at the same instant. Joe's hands bit into the flesh of his partners hips with a grip that would undoubtedly leave him bruised. The man's out fingers returning the gesture as he clung on to Joe's toned biceps, though there was no fear of him being left with bruises. Joe glanced down at the dark head that rolled back onto the pillow, exposing a length of neck. Joe leaned forward and pressed his mouth to it, sucking hard.

Joe could feel his climax on the horizon and reached out for it, his head falling back as white lights shot in front of his eyes and a cry broke from his throat.

"Kent!" Joe shot up in bed, breathless, sweat covered and sticky.

~WHITECHAPEL~

Joe worked. That's all he could do. Waking up that morning after such a strong, vivid and over powering dream, it had been all he could think to do. He hoped that if he focused on proving his theory about a copycat right, the dark desire would fade, that he wouldn't have time to think or dream. Even if the object of his fantasies was sat not a foot away in a grey shirt and tie, smelling impossibly wonderful - So unlike the other in the office - That was why Joe worked, throwing himself and the team into the case.

And if saying the young detectives name sent a shiver through him, if hearing his respectful and quiet voice saying "yes, sir." made his flesh warm. - If he looked at him a little longer than was appropriate, well Joe ignore that and worked.

TO BE CONTINUED...

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