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Feel Like Makin' Love	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 1070 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own 21 Jump Street or any the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. All characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is coincidental

Chapter List
- 1-The First Cut Is the Deepest
- 2-A Kiss in the Dark
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Dedicated to my friend, vidalhbea, because she needs cheering up. This will be a short, two chapter story. I was listening to Bad Company, and this little tale came to mind. If you aren’t familiar with the song, go to https://youtu.be/TeZqjZ_kvLY and lose yourself in some 1970s classic rock. (Yes, I’m definitely showing my age :D)

In peace,
OpenPage x

The apartment door burst open, the force sending it slamming back against the wall with a crash. “DADDY’S HOME!”

Tom exhaled a relieved sigh. After a humiliating encounter with a barbed wire fence, he had spent four, long, tedious days lying on his side watching television and lamenting his misfortune. With dozens of deep, jagged cuts acting as a painful reminder of his recent folly, his self-esteem was at an all-time low, and he looked forward to the peaceful evenings spent wrapped in the comforting arms of the man he adored. Dennis’ loving embrace was the only tonic he needed to ease the stinging discomfort of his physical and mental wounds, and he counted the hours until his dark-haired Adonis walked, or more accurately, burst through the door.

But before Tom could struggle to a sitting position and greet his lover, Booker closed the door with a resounding bang. “What? No pot roast in the oven?” the officer bemoaned in a mocking voice. “Geez, Hanson, you really suck at the wifely duties. I’ve been bustin’ my hump all day, and I come home to find you lazing on the couch with no sign of dinner on the table. Didn’t your mom tell you the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach?”

A heavy scowl swallowed the smile forming on Tom’s lips, and moving stiffly into a sitting position, he glared angrily at his lover. “Don’t,” he snapped moodily. “You know I hate it when you do that. I’m not your fucking wife, so stop treating me like one.”

Amused by Tom’s agitation, Booker cleverly disguised the smile twitching at his lips, and sauntering across the room, he squatted down beside the couch and tenderly brushed the younger man’s hair from his eyes. “Aw, baby, you know I’m only teasing. Of course you’re not my wife … You’re just my girlfriend ‘cause, you know, we’re not married.”

With lightning speed, Tom’s bandaged hands connected with Booker’s chest, the force behind the shove revealing the level of his anger. Caught by surprise, Booker toppled backward, his left shoulder catching painfully against the edge of the coffee table. “Ow!” he cried out, and pushing himself to a sitting position, his fingers tenderly rubbed at his bruised flesh. “Why the hell did you do that?”

Unperturbed by Booker’s injury, Tom’s dark eyes radiated with a harsh, unforgiving rage. “You’re such an ass, Booker. Sometimes I wonder why the hell I put up with your shit.”

Dennis initially faltered under the malevolent glare blazing from Tom’s narrowed eyes, but he quickly reclaimed his dignity by curling his lip into his trademark sneer. “Lighten up, Hanson. Can’t you take a joke?”

Frustrated by Booker’s lack of understanding, Tom was in no mood to explain how the thoughtless teasing had the power to emasculate him. With a grunt, he heaved his battered body from the couch. “Fuck you,” he muttered, and stepping over Booker’s legs, he limped into the bedroom and slammed the door closed behind him.

**

The squeak of the door’s hinges alerted Tom to Booker’s presence, and screwing his eyes closed, he feigned sleep. But his lover was not easily fooled, and moments later, the edge of the mattress depressed under the dark-haired officer’s weight.

Dressed in tee shirt and boxers, and with his hands swaddled in white bandages, Tom looked incredibly vulnerable. Several deep lacerations crisscrossed the tender flesh of his inner thighs, the angry, red wounds accentuating the paleness of his skin, and Booker instantly regretted his thoughtless provocation. His lover was in pain, and instead of showering him with the love and attention he deserved, he had behaved like an insensitive fool. But he was determined to rectify the situation, and reaching out a hand, he lovingly stroked a finger down Tom's pale cheek. “Do you want me to rub some lotion on your cuts, baby?” he asked softly.

Tom kept up his charade for another minute before slowly opening his eyes. “No,” he muttered moodily. “I just want you to leave me alone.”

Not one to be put off by his lover's petulance, Booker flashed what he hoped was an alluring smile. “Aw, baby, don’t be like that,” he murmured, his fingers trailing a slow, erotic dance up Tom’s naked thigh. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

Pushing himself up on one elbow, Tom stared deep into Booker’s chocolate-brown eyes. “Do you really want to make it up to me?” he asked quietly.

“Of course, baby,” Booker crooned, a beguiling smile tilting his lips. “Tell me what to do; I wanna make things right.”

Tom chewed on his lower lip for several seconds before voicing his request. “I want to make love to you.”

Booker’s dark eyes flashed with arousal. The extent of Tom’s injuries had cooled their affection to the point where they hadn’t made love in nearly a week. The memory of his lover’s tight muscles squeezing his cock as he slowly slid in and out of his willing body made him instantly aroused, and he grinned boyishly. “Sure, as long as you’re up to it. I’ve gotta admit, I’ve missed feeling you writhing beneath me. This is gonna be a treat for both of us.”

Tom’s face flushed red, and lowering his gaze, his head shook from side to side, his unruly bangs whipping across his finely chiseled cheekbones. “No, that’s not what I mean. I don’t want you to make love to me. I want to make love to you.”

At first, the words made no sense to Booker, but in a light bulb moment, the quietly spoken statement suddenly became crystal clear and getting up from the bed, he took a step backward. “Nuh-uh,” he replied with a shake of his head. “Sorry, Tom, but the answer’s no.”

Disbelief widened Tom’s eyes. “No? What do you mean, no? Why the hell not?”

Despite Tom's hurt expression, Booker’s steely gaze didn’t waver. “Because I don’t bottom.”

The muscles in Tom’s jaw tensed, and his nostrils flared with indignation. “Oh! But it’s okay for me to bottom because I’m the fucking feminine one, is that it?”

Irritation pushed Booker’s lower lip into a sulky pout. “I didn’t say that,” he scowled. “Don't twist my words just so you can justify your self-pitying mood.”

An explosive anger erupted from deep inside Tom, and he jerked forward, his dark eyes flashing with a fiery mania born from the physical and emotional pain racking his body and soul. “I DON’T TWIST ANYTHING!” he screamed hysterically. “YOU CALLED ME YOUR FUCKING GIRLFRIEND! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW EMASCULATING THAT IS, YOU STUPID SONOFABITCH?”

If anyone but Tom had dared to speak to him in such a manner, Booker would have punched them square in the face. But he managed to rein in his fury, and balling his hands into tight, angry fists, his body bristled with an apoplectic rage. “Screw you, Hanson,” he seethed through clenched teeth, and snatching his jacket from a jumble of clothes lying on a chair, he stormed out of the apartment.
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Feel Like Makin' Love