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Catechism	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 1064 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own 21JS or the characters. 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-Sealed With a Kiss
- 2-Voulez Vous Coucher Avec Moi Ce Soir?
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- 2
After their heart to heart in the park, Tom managed to avoid Booker for the rest of the day. He likened his behavior to that of an obstinate child, his decision to distance himself from the man who had turned his world upside down an immature attempt at self-preservation. But buried beneath the protective shield of denial lurked an insatiable curiosity. As far as he knew, none of his friends, family or coworkers were bisexual, which somehow added to Booker's mystique. While he had always known about the officer’s sexual proclivities, he had never given much thought to it before. While he had never given much thought to Booker’s sex life, all that had changed the moment he had found him semi-naked in his bed, smiling his entrancing smile, one eyebrow arched in mock surprise. And now he had a ton of questions. Had Dennis felt an attraction to both boys and girls from a young age or was there an epiphany at puberty? If so, why had it taken him until the age of twenty-four to have the same impulses? It was these questions and many others that had tortured him all day. Was he bisexual, or was it the allure of Booker's enigmatic personality that yanked his crank? His mind was in a whirl, and desperate for answers, he spent a good part of his day studying his male companions, looking for any signs of attraction.
First, there was Penhall. Handsome, funny, honest to a fault, he was, without a doubt, the best friend Tom had ever had. But when the young officer closed his eyes and tried to imagine kissing him, his nose wrinkled in amused disgust. The idea that they would ever get down and dirty was laughable, as well as a little disconcerting. Doug was his friend, and as much as he loved him, any thoughts of romance were just plain ludicrous.
Then there was Harry, suave, dapper Harry. The gentleness of his character stood in stark contrast to his fighting prowess. But while Tom recognized the physical appeal, there was no sexual attraction. In fact, he didn’t feel anything when he looked at any of the men roaming through the chapel’s hub. Except that was a lie. When he looked at Booker...
Booker. Even the name sent a wave of desire rippling through his body. What was it about the brash, conceited officer that had him feeling so hot under the collar? Was it the faint trace of uncertainty that sometimes flickered beneath the amusement shining from his dark eyes? The gentle sway of his hips when he swaggered into a room? The sweet, yet impish grin that curled the edges of his lips? The cocky, bad-boy biker persona he had perfected to a T? The…
A wistful sigh escaped from between Tom’s lips. He could sit and ponder the mysterious power of attraction for the next week and still be none the wiser. Or, he could take the bull by the horns and face his fear head-on. He needed confirmation that what he was feeling was normal, and the only way he was going to ease his troubled mind was by talking to the man who now occupied his every thought.
With his mind made up, he rose from his desk and walked over to the water cooler. Caught in the scattered daydream of his imagination, he remained unaware of the dark, penetrative gaze following him from across the room. If he had known, he would have had a better idea of just how complicated his life was about to become.
**
A thin veil of pollution hung over the downtown area, the sultry night air doing little to disperse the noxious haze. Opening the window leading out to the fire escape, Booker stared down at the traffic below, the heavy stench of exhaust fumes mingling with the thin line of smoke rising from the tip of his cigarette. He could feel the weight of the day’s events bearing down on him, the heaviness of guilt crushing his spirit. A bitter tang of regret rose from the pit of his stomach, the acid reflux burning his throat, and desperate to eradicate the taste, he raised his cigarette to his lips and sucked in a lungful of smoke. Holding his breath, he let the nicotine work its magic before exhaling, the toxic cloud wafting through the open window in a whispery plume. He had fucked up big time, and he wasn’t sure what to do to make things right. When he had tried reaching out to Tom, he had only made matters worse, and their relationship, although never close, was teetering on the brink of extinction. He was running out of time, and if he didn’t put things right, he ran the risk of driving a permanent wedge between himself and the man he had a secret crush on.
Taking a last drag of his cigarette, he butted it out on the sill and flicked the filter down to the street below. Although sickened to the stomach by his actions, he had ordered a pizza in the hopes a full stomach would help him sleep. He glanced at the clock, a frown puckering his brow. Over an hour had passed since he’d phoned through his request for a large pepperoni with extra cheese, and he wondered what was causing the delay. But as if on cue, he heard a knock, and grabbing his wallet from the kitchen counter, he opened the door.
Tom stood in the corridor, shoulders hunched, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his ripped jeans. To Booker, he looked like a man in need of a hug, but given their current situation, he decided that was the worst idea he could have come up with. So, instead of smothering Tom with affection, he played it cool by offering the young officer a laid-back smile. “Hey, Hanson. What’s up?”
“Hey.”
The emotionless greeting sent a chill through Booker’s body, and stepping back from the door, he motioned his friend inside. But Tom remained immobile, his troubled eyes darting from side to side, his chin pointing toward his chest. Neither man spoke, the awkward silence fraught with unasked questions. They remained trapped within the invisible bounds of emotional vulnerability, too frightened to proceed yet too nervous to retreat. It was the classic Mexican Standoff, the fear of ridicule playing a powerful role in each man’s reluctance to take charge. But it didn’t take long for Booker’s restless nature to come to the fore. The tense muscles in his shoulders relaxed, and he addressed his friend in a soft voice. “Tom, I—”
“I want you to kiss me.”
Booker’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “Wh-what?”
Tom rubbed a nervous hand over his mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t… what I mean is, I need to know if this is real.”
“This?” Booker ventured, the arrhythmic thumpity-thump-thump-thumpity-thump of his heart sending tremors of excitement through his body. “What exactly do you mean by this?”
If there was one look Tom had perfected, it was the slow, tilting smile. “This thing between you and me,” he answered, the surge of adrenaline pumping through his bloodstream giving him a sudden boost in confidence. “I think there’s something… there.”
The light in the hallway flickered, throwing eerie shadows over the wall, the effect adding to the suspenseful atmosphere. Time stood still, the annoying sitcom laugh track blaring from the neighbor’s television the only sound. But it didn’t take long for Booker to find his voice. “I think you’d better come in.”
Tom's heart fell out of rhythm, the fluttering beat sending tingling vibrations through his fingers and toes. He hesitated before stepping over the threshold, his face an unreadable mask. A collective sense of expectation hung between them, the invisible pulse reigniting his nervousness. He had no idea what was about to happen, but with Booker involved, he had a feeling it would be thrilling.
But his expectations were soon dashed when Booker sat on the floor, the casualness of the pose catching him off guard. He stood in the center of the room, unsure what to do with himself now that he was there. For the first time since making his decision to confront Booker face-to-face, he wondered if he’d made a mistake. Things weren’t going the way he’d imagined, and he began to feel foolish. A telltale blush crept up his neck, flushing his cheeks, and he ducked his head in shame. Like it or not, he had initiated the contact, and so, there he stood, wishing with all his heart he was anywhere but Booker’s apartment.
“Have a seat.”
The friendly invitation jolted Tom back to reality, bringing an embarrassed smile to his lips. “Um, thanks,” he muttered, and taking a quick look around the room, he settled on a worn, beige fabric easy chair. Sitting down, he perched on the edge of the seat, his muscles rigid, his eyes focused on a spot on the floor just to the right of Booker’s foot. Another awkward silence followed before Booker spoke, his voice light and teasing. “So, you wanna kiss me, huh? Interesting.”
Tired of feeling like an ass, Tom leaped from his chair, his hands balling into angry fists. “Why do you always have to make a joke out of everything?” he snapped. “I came here because I need help, not so you can poke fun at me.”
Regret softened Booker’s eyes, and standing up, he approached the angry officer. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to act like a prick. Sometimes I don’t even know I’m doing it.”
The genuine remorse in the officer’s voice calmed Tom’s rage, the release of anger leaving him depleted. His shoulders sagged, the utter despair radiating from his eyes revealing the depth of his tortured confusion. “I… I need...”
A rhythmic Tom Tom Tom echoed inside Booker’s head, the poetic mantra drumming in beat to the up-tempo pulse of his heart. He was hovering between hope and disappointment, the unfinished response hanging in the air, mocking him with its ambiguity. It was too much. He needed an answer, or he would forever be left wondering. “You need what?” he asked in a soft, gentle voice.
“I need... I need to go,” Tom replied in a rush of words, his body turning away.
Growing weary of the cat and mouse game Tom was playing with his emotions, Booker grasped the young officer’s shoulders and spun him around. “Wait! Hanson, you can’t keep running away from me every time you—”
“Every time I what?” Tom cried, his hands shoving against Booker’s chest. “Every time I want to kiss you?”
It was the second time in less than five minutes Tom had mentioned kissing, and Booker wasn’t about to let him off the hook again. “If you want to kiss me, then kiss me.”
“I can’t!”
The distressed hitch of Tom’s voice triggered an intense emotional reaction in Booker. His friend was in pain, and being the impulsive, jump-straight-in kind of guy he was, he did what Tom was too afraid to do. Cupping the young officer’s face in his hands, he pressed his lips against his quivering mouth, the soft, lingering kiss a chaste testament of his love. When a gentle hand grasped the back of his neck, pulling him closer, he tested the waters by slipping his tongue between Tom’s lips, deepening the kiss. Their tongues met, dancing a slow, erotic tango, stroking, exploring, familiarizing through touch and taste. For Booker, his fevered daydreams were now 3D, surround sound reality, for Tom, the safe, heterosexual bubble he thought was his existence was about to pop.
A soft moan resonated in the back of the young officer’s throat, the desirous rumble vibrating into his mouth. It was a kiss unlike any other, the slow, gentle caress of Booker’s lips awakening a deep, spiritual understanding in his heart. The key had turned, unlocking the truth. He had his answer and with it the knowledge his life would never be the same again.
Cold tendrils of panic wove through his chest, squeezing, tightening until he couldn’t breathe, and jerking backward, he placed a trembling hand over his mouth, his chest rising and falling in short, shallow breaths. “Shit.”
A mischievous grin curled Booker’s lips. “I was thinking more like, wow.”
With the ice now broken, Tom’s face relaxed. “Yeah, okay. Wow!” he conceded with a laugh.
Encouraged, Booker asked the burning question. “So, does that mean you wanna take this further?”
Tom’s smile vanished, his expression once again serious. “I don’t know.”
A knock at the door interrupted their discussion, the long-forgotten pizza having finally arrived. “Stay,” Booker requested in a low voice. “I’ve ordered pizza, and there’s enough for two.”
For Tom, what would have been an easy answer two days before was not so easy with the smoky essence of Booker’s kiss lingering on his lips. But he hadn’t come to the dark-haired officer’s apartment to run away with his tail between his legs. And so, he ignored the warning thud thud thud of his heart and gave his reply. “Okay.”
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Catechism