Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

Take Two	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 1006 -:- 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-Qui Vivra Verra (He Who Lives, Shall See)
- 2-Twenty-Four and There's so Much More
- 1
- 2
The B-52s, ‘Love Shack’ played through the Mustang’s speakers, and although upbeat, the lyrics sent a nervous shiver throughout Tom’s tense body. After his explosive outburst in the locker room the day before, he felt ready to try a second date, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t anxious. In terms of a sexual relationship, he still wasn’t sure how far he was prepared to go with Booker, and his ambivalence bothered him. It was this nagging uncertainty that played havoc with both his conscious and unconscious mind, and the previous night, he’d experienced one of the most vivid dreams of his life. In his vision, he was standing in a room surrounded by people adorned in fancy dress. Soft, pink lighting shimmered over tendrils of silver gray smoke, the faux mist curling and dancing around the party-goers’ legs in playful wisps. From above, the dark, solemn strains of a cello sounded through large, overhead speakers, the dirge-like music adding weight to the esoteric mood. Dressed all in white, Dream Tom drifted through the crowd, his eyes fixed on the dark silhouette of a man standing in a shadowy corner, the mysterious figure drawing him forward with an unseen, supernatural force. The surreal atmosphere, coupled with the eerie, melodic harmony echoing throughout the room should have alarmed him, but it didn’t. He was spellbound, trapped within a sensory web, and he longed to lay eyes on the enigmatic apparition, to see his face, to touch him, hold him, breathe in his scent. But as he approached, he noticed the black-clad figure was wearing a white Bauta that obscured his features. Crestfallen, he studied the mask’s over-prominent nose, thick, supraorbital ridge, and projecting chin all of which drew attention away from the vizard’s missing mouth, creating an illusion that both enhanced and disguised its grotesque appearance. In his subconscious mind, Tom knew the mouthless man was Booker, but at that point, the rapid hammering of his heart had awoken him with a start. He had no idea of the significance of the dream, or what it symbolized. What he did know was his body had reacted to the imagery, leaving him with a rock-hard erection, which his talented hand had taken care of with thoughts of Booker (sans mask) floating through his mind. Although confusing and somewhat disconcerting, the young officer was level-headed enough to know it was just a dream, and over-analyzing its meaning was a pointless exercise. It was sound advice, but unfortunately, his brain refused to co-operate. Hours later, he was still trying to figure out if the dream was a portent of doom or the result of one too many beers while watching reruns of ‘The Twilight Zone’ the night before. Either way, it hadn’t stopped him from keeping his date with Booker, but it had added an extra dimension to his nervous demeanor, leaving him sweaty, tense and more than a little nauseous.
With a sudden jolt of awareness, the young officer realized he’d driven past Booker’s apartment. Cursing under his breath, he yanked the Mustang’s wheel to the left, sending the car spinning 180 degrees. Out of nowhere, the sharp blare of a horn sounded behind him, followed by a tirade of obscenities shouted through the open window of a brown Toyota. As the sedan sped past, the driver continued to articulate his annoyance by gesticulating wildly with his middle finger. But Tom did not react. Inattention and negligence on his part had almost resulted in an accident, stunning him into silence, and flicking his indicator, he pulled into a parking space and switched off the Mustang’s engine.
When a modicum of calm caressed the tension from his muscles, he climbed from the car and walked across the road. Memories of his first case with Booker flashed in his mind, and he blushed with embarrassment when he remembered breaking into the dark-haired officer’s apartment. Lost in thought, he stood for a moment on the sidewalk, staring up at the 1930s, gray-bricked building. Only a few months had passed since that night, but a lot had changed in a short space of time, and he now considered Dennis more than just a friend, he was, in fact, his lover.
Shocked by his readiness to admit the intimacy of their relationship, the word reverberated in Tom’s head. Lowering his eyes to the pavement, his blush deepened as he wrestled with the concept. Booker was his lover… his lover! While he had grappled with the idea of falling in love with the dark-haired officer, the realization he was his lover had only just occurred to him. Why it had taken so long to acknowledge the fact was one of life's many mysteries, but there it was, out in the open for all the world to know. Except the world didn't know, no one did, apart from him and Dennis. Theirs was a clandestine affair, a cloak-and-dagger romance carried out under cover of darkness. Not that the young officer cared, he wasn’t comfortable coming out to his friends and family, at least not while his feelings were still so new and confusing. He was still coming to terms with his bisexuality in his own mind, and until he had it straightened out in his head, he figured it was better to let sleeping dogs lie. However, he couldn't help but wonder if there was more to it than just his sexual confusion. As much as he tried to ignore it, the annoying voice of doubt continued to whisper in his ear. Deep down, he knew he was being paranoid, but his insecurities gnawed at his intuition, chewing at his confidence until all that was left was uncertainty. It was the story of his life. Despite what most people thought, he lacked faith in his own sociability, and it took time for him to relax and open up to strangers. Penhall, however, had been the exception. Their easy-going friendship was a unique blend of brotherly love and mutual respect that grew in intensity with each passing day. But that type of instant friendship was a rarity for Tom. Fiercely private, his humility was sometimes mistaken for arrogance. Although perceptive, he didn’t see in himself what others saw; a gracious, kind, engaging man, and therefore, he often questioned people's motives. Modesty was his curse, and he couldn’t understand why someone as charismatic as Dennis Booker had fallen for him. Therefore, mistrust continued to fuel his anxiety, trapping him in a perpetual cycle of self-doubt. Caught in a web of his own making, he struggled with the idea of being loved just for himself. While he understood the lust of Eros based love, he was not a believer in the rarer Pragma or longstanding love and using his parents’ marriage as an example, his cynicism had festered. Thomas and Margaret Hanson’s union had been fraught with problems, most due to the diligent officer’s long working hours and his wife’s constant fears for his safety. Then, after his father died, Tom’s mother had entered into many short-lived affairs, all of which had ended in heartache. At the impressionable age of sixteen, it had reinforced Hanson’s cockeyed attitude toward passionate, long-term relationships, leaving him wary. However, there was still a smidgen of romanticism buried deep inside his soul, and he had faith that one day, someone would come into his life and prove him wrong. Maybe that person might even be the cocky, self-assured officer who was slowly yet surely, stealing his heart. After all, stranger things had happened. Belief in the magical qualities of love was a far cry from Tom’s usual, pessimistic view, but it did give him some measure of hope for the future. If nothing else, it was a step in the right direction, even if it was only a small step.
From across the street, the sound of approaching voices pulled Tom back to the present. His head snapped up, and with a quick glance over his shoulder, he hurried up the building's steps. He had avoided the rowdy party-goers before they could encroach on the inner sanctum of his thoughts, but he still had to face Booker, and once again, his anxiety levels rose. But he was a man of steely determination and pushing aside his doubts, he walked into the dimly-lit lobby.
Nicotine-stained wallpaper peeled from the walls, the musty aroma of stale cigarette smoke embedded within the worn piles of the decades-old carpet hanging heavily in the air. The oppressive atmosphere was a far cry from Tom’s modern apartment building, and the young officer wondered why Booker chose to live in such depressing conditions. When he’d visited two weeks before, his high levels of anxiety had blinded him to the rundown surroundings his friend lived in. But on reflection, he thought it seemed out of character. Booker certainly wasn’t a snob, but he was somewhat vain, and his apartment didn’t really fit the image. Except, the more Tom thought about it, it did. The dark-haired officer loved to portray a bad-boy character, and living in a building on the wrong side of the tracks added an element of danger to his facade. The thought amused Tom, and he chuckled softly. He was starting to see through Booker’s flippant, devil-may-care persona, and beneath the surface, was someone who battled with the same insecurities he did. It was a comforting thought, and his body relaxed. He and Booker weren’t that different after all.
The naked bulb above Tom’s head flickered once, then died, plunging the lobby into darkness. A woman’s loud, shrill voice sounded from an open, ground floor apartment. “Damn it to hell, Joe, I told you to fix that light. How’re people gonna get home if they can’t see to climb the fuckin’ stairs?”
Not wanting to get caught in the middle of a domestic between the super and his wife, Tom shuffled over to the staircase. With no handrail to guide him, he trudged up the worn stairs, his gait cautious. The last thing he wanted to do was stumble, so he took his time, counting each step under his breath to help steady his nerves. When he reached a small landing, light shone down from the first-floor corridor, illuminating his path. A relieved sigh expelled from between his lips, and with a renewed vigor, he took the remaining steps two at a time. He couldn’t explain why, but all of a sudden, he was anxious to see his friend. Turning left, he hurried down the narrow corridor, and stopping outside apartment 1C, he raised his hand and rapped his knuckles on the door.
Time stood still, and with bated breath, he waited. The echo of footsteps sounded from inside the apartment and before Tom could change his mind, the door yanked open, revealing Booker’s smiling face.
Caught somewhat off guard, Tom’s lips twitched into a nervous grin. “Hey.”
Touched by the awkward greeting, Booker stepped forward, and pulling Tom into a clumsy hug, he pressed his mouth against the young officer’s ear. “I’m glad you came.”
The sensuous whisper of Booker’s breath sent a bolt of arousal through Tom’s body, the delicious tingly vibration bringing goosebumps to the surface of his skin. Closing his eyes, he drew pleasure from the sexually charged sensation, his body homing in on the firmness of the dark-haired officer’s muscular frame pressing against him. The sweet, musky fragrance of Booker’s aftershave mingled with the faint aroma of cigarettes, the heady scent of masculinity enveloping him in its invisible fumes. His senses awakened, every nerve in his body eagerly awaiting the intimate moment when Booker’s warm lips pressed against his quivering mouth. But he was left disappointed. Without warning, the dark-haired officer pulled away, his expression serious. “About the other day, I didn’t mean to emasculate you.”
For Tom, it seemed an odd time to apologize, and the delightful calm relaxing his body vanished, leaving him once again jittery. “Um, yeah, I know you didn't,” he acknowledged in a quiet voice, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. When Booker remained silent, he voiced the concerns keeping him awake at night. “It's just, it’s weird ‘cause I don't really know where I stand with you. You’ve got all this experience, and I haven’t got a clue what I’m s’posed to be doing.”
A tender smile crinkled the corners of Booker’s eyes, and taking hold of Tom’s hand, he gave the fingers a gentle squeeze. “I don’t want you to do anything. I just want you to be Tom.”
With a visible relaxation of his shoulders, Tom returned a smile. “I can do that.”
Pleased, Booker stepped back from the door and allowed Tom to enter. Curiosity soon got the better of the young officer, and wandering into the small kitchenette, he peered through the glass of the oven door. “So, what’s for dinner?”
Booker’s dark eyes danced with mischief. “I may have lured you here under false pretenses,” he admitted with a grin. “The truth is, I can’t cook. So, how ‘bout I play to my strengths and order in pizza.”
Amused, Tom chuckled softly. “Pizza it is.”
While Booker busied himself finding a menu, Tom made himself at home. Lounging back on the sofa, he forced his body to relax. He had no idea what the night held, but he was more than willing to find out.

To be continued...
- 1
- 2
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Take Two