By eleven-thirty on Friday night, wallowing in the heat and scent of dozens of excited bodies and listening to the driving beat of one seamless dance track after another at a club called Sash, Roman realised he was horny. No big surprise. It was a near-permanent state for him most days, but tonight, the urge was stronger than ever. He wanted to feel skin against his skin, hot breath in his face, the hardness of one groin pressing into his.

He needed a man…and badly.

“I’m gonna move on,” he told his flatmate, having to shout directly into Ashley’s ear to be heard above the deafening music.

“We’re about to order another round,” Ashley yelled back, not taking his eyes off his boyfriend Patrick, who was deep in conversation with a muscle-man Roman didn’t recognise.

“You stay. I’m fine on my own.”

Ashley looked at him sideways, reluctant to take his attention off Patrick completely. “You know it’s not safe out there. Stay here with us. There’s another cabaret starting soon.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m not going far.”

Now Ashley gave him his full interest. “You’re not going to The Viaduct. Please tell me you’re not.”

Roman nodded. “I’ve had enough of it in here. It’s too noisy. But you stay. Enjoy it.”

“That place is a sewer,” Ashley grimaced. “A shithole. Only freaks and sluts go in there.”

Roman patted his friend on the shoulder. “That’s what I’m hoping for. Have a good night. I’ll see you in the morning, if not before.”

“If you’re still in one piece,” Ashley retorted before giving a reluctant nod. “Be careful…in every way.”

With a smile of reassurance, Roman slipped away.

As always, Sash was packed. It was Roman’s least favourite venue in the city, and he had to edge and slither his way through the crowd to reach the door. There was a queue six deep at the bar, while a DJ in full club-kid drag ignored the punters and focused on the music with life-or-death gravity. Roman didn’t care for this place at the best of times. The drinks were overpriced, and the atmosphere was more than a little crazed. Tomorrow would be the first Saturday in weeks when he didn’t have to go to work. A rare opportunity. He could stay out late, until the early hours, and didn’t want to waste his time in here, especially when his dick was calling the shots.

There was zero chance of him hooking up in Sash. The cliental were too self-important, too bloody cool or out of their minds on drugs to indulge in face-to-face flirting. They came in their packs and cliques and never broke rank. The only way to get off with someone else in the bar was through an app, and even then, the chances were slim.

He made it to the door and burst into the street, relieved as it swung shut behind him, deadening the relentless soundtrack. The cold of late October was a relief after the extreme heat of the bar. He inhaled, drawing cool air deep into his lungs. He would have left much earlier if he’d had the chance. When Ashley had realised Roman was coming out tonight, he’d insisted on dragging him along with his awful boyfriend and their cackling friends, no matter how much he’d objected.

At last, he was free to enjoy the kind of night he wanted.

Despite the time—getting on for midnight—the traffic was heavy in both directions. Roman made it to the centre of the road and waited his chance to cross to the other side. There were plenty of people on the streets, though most of them moved around in groups between one venue and another. The gay village of Blyham was no longer considered to be the safe LGBTQ space it used to be, but Roman had no fear of walking around on his own, not when there were so many others about. He stuck to the main streets and knew where to avoid.

The Viaduct was located on the opposite side, down the steeply sloping street, at the intersection of Salvin Road and Broad Street. When he arrived, there were six men waiting to get in, and he joined the line behind them. It was a slow wait. The Viaduct was for members only, and it always caused a delay when a new member tried to sign up at the door.

Roman shivered and hugged himself. The cold air had caused his nipples to harden and peak the front of his pale blue T-shirt. At least that would be good for some attention once he got inside. He cast his eyes over the men in front of him. There were a mixed bunch of ages and sizes. None of them caught his immediate interest.

Roman wasn’t sure what kind of man he was in the mood for tonight, but he would know him when he saw him. There was a time when he would have settled for any guy who paid him attention, regardless of age or body type. As long as they weren’t totally ugly, he used to oblige. Roman had been younger then—and a lot skinnier.

At six feet tall, with a naturally slim build and large nose, he’d spent most of his teens and early twenties feeling awkward and unworthy. That had all changed a couple of years ago. When he was twenty-four, his body unexpectedly filled out, and his face, previously drawn and uninteresting, matured into something more traditionally handsome. Though he had never been an ugly duckling, he suddenly transformed into a hunk. Almost overnight he got attention from the kind of men who wouldn’t have looked at him before.

Roman didn’t have a preference or type. He wasn’t hung up on looks, physique or huge dicks, but he had reached a stage where he could become more discerning about the men he fucked. He could take his pick and no longer had to settle for whatever was on offer. It was a liberating change of circumstance. He didn’t think he was vain, but being considered hot brought a lot of advantages he didn’t have before. It was like a new-found super-power, and he had revelled in it. He still did and wasn’t ready to settle tonight.

He was horny as hell and wanted a man who would satisfy his every primal, base need.

By the time he reached the front of the line, his skin was rippled with gooseflesh, and he stepped into the foyer, grateful for the warmth. He showed his membership card to the attendant on the door and paid the entry fee. Fridays and Saturdays were the most expensive days of the week. Roman had a feeling, though, that tonight would be worth it.

The Viaduct was located in the lower vaulted cellars of Old Elvet Bridge, a railway bridge that ran through the centre of the city. The street-level entrance opened onto a small, low-ceilinged cloakroom and changing area. Throughout the week, the club ran a variety of theme nights, ranging from leather to sportswear and jock straps. Members had the option of going fully naked at any time. Fridays were more relaxed and mainstream. The dress code was topless. The men who arrived before him had stripped down to underwear and sneakers. Two of them wore backless briefs, displaying their wide, juicy arses.

Dispensing with the changing room, Roman pulled his T-shirt over his head and stuffed it into his waistband, bait enough to attract what he was looking for. If not, he would strip down to his underpants later.

The Viaduct had a smell like nowhere else in Blyham. The stone vaults had a permanent odour of damp, combined with the aroma of stale booze, sweat, poppers and aftershave. It was an intense aphrodisiac. He breathed it in, and his cock stiffened with anticipation of what might come. With a quickening pulse, he passed through the dark, beaded curtain to the next room.

The bar area and small dancefloor were busy but nowhere near as packed as Sash had been. He found it easy to move through the crowd and make an order. Unlike other places, the bar was not where the real action took place. Porn scenes played on large monitors around the room, but Roman had little interest in watching them. He’d come for more active involvement.

As he waited for his beer, he cast his eyes around the dimly lit interior, searching for a potential fuck-buddy. Several sets of interested eyes stared back at him. A couple of guys in the corner had potential. They leaned against a beer barrel and looked him up and down. Not bad. They were in their early thirties, gym-built but not too big. He couldn’t decide if they were together. Couples could be fun when everyone involved had the right attitude and knew what they were getting into, but in his experience, it was rarely worth the effort. It could also get extremely messy, especially if he was into one half of the partnership more than the other.

Physically, this pair were well matched, but it was too early for him to make a decision.

He wouldn’t settle until he found out who else was available.

Of the dozen or so men gathered in the bar, there was no one who piqued his interest.

Roman finished his beer and began his search.

On the far side of the room, a door led outside to a small yard—the smoking area. He walked straight by and took the narrow, stone staircase up to the first floor. This level occupied a larger section of vaults than the room below and was a network of low ceilings and archways. He’d heard in the past, centuries ago, that the vaults beneath the bridge had stored grain and silk. It had been a refuge for the homeless and destitute and at one time had served as the cells of the first Blyham prison.

Now it was an illicit labyrinth of sex.

In the largest room, illuminated by red lights and more screens showing a variety of different porn films, was the main play area. A middle-aged man lay in a sling, his legs hoisted high and wide. He was naked except for boots, a black jockstrap and a blindfold. A skinny guy with his jeans around his ankles fucked him while a group stood around to watch or wait their turn.

In the opposite corner, a young man lay in a copper bathtub while two guys pissed all over him. An older man was bent over the spanking bench, groaning in pleasure each time his ample arse was struck from behind.

This level of kink was not for Roman…not tonight. He wanted straightforward man-on-man action. He wanted to get fucked and not for the amusement of all these hungry eyes.

He wandered deeper into the complex. Guys loitered in the archways, squeezing their crotches, enticing him into the smaller chambers behind with their curtains and vinyl-covered beds. No one spoke. The only exchanges were physical—a look, a touch, a suggestive gesture.

In the dim light, he recognised a guy he’d hooked up with a few weeks back—handsome, dark hair. John or Jack or something like that. Not that names mattered much. Roman took it as a given that most of the men he had sex with pretended to be someone they were not. It worked both ways, and he rarely revealed much about himself, either. No one came to The Viaduct for friendship or a companion. What he remembered most about John or Jack was that he’d claimed to be a top with a nine-inch cock who would fuck Roman like he’d never been fucked in his life. The size of his cock was no exaggeration, but when they had got back to Roman’s room, he had flopped onto his back, pulled his knees into his chest and begged Roman to destroy his hole. Roman had obliged to save the hook-up from being a total waste of time, but he would not be fooled twice. He knew what he wanted tonight, and a well-hung bottom was not on his wish list.

With a nod of acknowledgement, he moved on.

None of the men he found in the tunnels were right—too young, too old, too butch, too many tattoos, too many piercings. Some were too bald, and others wore their hair too long. On any other night he would have slipped into one of the private vaults without a thought, guided only by his dick. But tonight, it was no good. He wasn’t just looking for sex. He could get that any time. He wanted a man to excite him, someone irresistible, a man he would beg for.

None of these fit the bill.

The upper level of The Viaduct was identical to this floor with one exception. It was pitch black. There was no point in him going up there. He needed to be able to see the man he wanted.

Undeterred, he returned to the bar. The night was early. The Viaduct wouldn’t close until four. He could wait.

The lower floor was fuller than before, and at least down here, guys were prepared to talk to one another. The couple who had spied him earlier, gave him the eye all over again. They put their heads together and whispered as they watched him, staring with intent. Roman ignored them. He went back to the bar and ordered another beer before securing a spot in the corner from where he could see the comings and goings of the front door, the smoking yard and the staircase.

He didn’t know why he was so restless tonight. He usually came here with a single purpose—to get in, hook up, unload and get out. There were dozens of attractive, fuckable guys around, and he could have had a good time with any of them. But none of them were the one. It was like a shopping trip, when he didn’t really know what he wanted but would know it when he saw it.

Five minutes later, he did.

The man who stepped through the curtain at the entrance was not the most perfect, but the sight of him sent a bolt of raw energy all through Roman. It coiled like a snake around his stomach and groin. God damn.

That’s him. He’s the one.

The guy was in his mid-to-late thirties. His square jaw and cleft chin were coated in dark stubble. His thick, dark hair was dishevelled. This was not the kind of bloke who spent hours in front of the mirror making sure every hair was in place before going out. His torso was bare. A white shirt hung from the waistband of his jeans, dangling from the right hip. He had a naturally strong build with muscular shoulders and a good chest, his stomach was flat, but there was no six-pack. He didn’t need to spend hours in the gym to pump and grind his confidence. It exuded from him in waves.

Roman guzzled his beer, unable to take his eyes off the stranger.

He’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve seen…ever.

He watched as the man cast his eyes in a lazy sweep around the bar, beginning at the other side.

Roman straightened, tightened his abs and stuck out his chest. He raised his chin and turned his head, waiting for the man’s gaze to come in his direction.

In the last two years, Roman was used to having men fall at his feet, and he’d pick anyone he desired. It had become too easy. As he waited for the stranger to look his way, he was no longer a hot, self-assured twenty-six-year-old, but the skinny dweeb of five years earlier, the one who had struggled to find his place. His confidence deserted him.

At last, the man looked at him, and his eyes lingered. There was an intense, humourless quality to his face. Sexy as fuck, but kind of scary, too. Outside of The Viaduct, Roman would have been wary, unsure whether this guy was going to fuck him to death or punch him unconscious.

Roman was frozen in the force of his stare.

The man’s mouth twitched at the corner before it turned into a devasting smirk.

Then he walked away, giving the room one last look-over before heading to the stairs and the upper levels.

Before he knew what he was doing, Roman was halfway across the floor in pursuit.