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Chasing a Butterfly	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 2592 -:- 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
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Sunday October 15^th 1989 (6.18 a.m.)

The sensation of warm breath tickling the flesh of his cheek pulled Booker from a deep slumber. When he saw Tom’s pale face hovering above him, he rapidly blinked the sleep from his eyes and cleared his throat nervously. “Tom? Is everything—”

“Am I a bad person?” Hanson asked in a barely audible voice.

“W-What?” Booker stammered as he wiped a hand over his bleary eyes. When he saw the genuine look of pain on Tom’s face, his expression softened. “Of course not. Why would you ask me that?”

Tom’s tortured eyes shone bright with tears and his lower lip started to tremble as he struggled to speak. “Because I don’t know if anybody could love me the way I am,” he whispered, “and I don’t know if I’m capable of feeling love for somebody else.”

Sitting up in bed, Booker gently cupped Tom’s face in his hand and stroked his cheek with his thumb. “Of course someone could love you. Jesus Tom, the last seven months of your life don’t define you. You lost your way for a while, but you can find your way back if—”

“Do you love me?” Tom interrupted in a soft voice.

Booker’s left eye twitched nervously and lowering his hand, he quickly hid his embarrassment. “Jesus Hanson, where’d you get an idea like that?” he snorted scornfully, and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he attempted to stand up so he could escape Tom’s scrutinizing gaze. But as he started to rise, a firm hand grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back down onto the mattress. Fearing that his secret was about to be revealed, his discomfort turned to anger and whipping his head around, he glared indignantly at Tom. “Do you mind?” he growled through clenched teeth.

Unfazed by Booker’s anger, Tom tightened his grip and stared back serenely. “Just answer my question and I’ll let you go. Do… you… love me?”

Furious at Hanson’s obstinate refusal to let the matter drop, Booker yanked his arm away and standing up, he glowered down into the younger man’s pallid face. “No I don’t,” he spat vehemently. “I could never love a drug addicted whore.”

As the hateful words spilled from the dark-haired officer’s lips, Tom’s eyes widened in shock before slowly filling with tears. Getting unsteadily to his feet, he stood and faced the man he had come to think of as his friend. “Don’t you mean murderous drug-addicted whore?” he uttered in an unsteady voice. “You might as well throw in an adjective to describe how you really feel about me.”

Hearing the pain in Tom’s voice, Booker immediately regretted his hot-headedness and stepping forward, he laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I don’t know why I said that.”

Tom’s shoulders slumped and he lowered his eyes to the floor. “You said it because it’s true,” he muttered miserably. “I am a murderous drug addicted whore. Doug was my friend. I never should have run, I should have owned up to what I did and faced my punishment.”

A physical pain stabbed at Booker’s heart and wrapping his arms around Tom’s slight frame, he pulled him into a tight embrace. “You didn’t murder Doug,” he whispered against his ear. “You made a mistake and—”

Gently extricating himself from Booker’s arms, Tom took a step backwards and tilting his head on one side, he stared into the older man’s dark eyes. “You keep protecting me. Over and over you come to my defense and I want to know why. Why do you care so much about what happens to me?”

When Booker remained tight-lipped, Tom stepped forward and placing his hands on the young officer’s hips, he leaned in close, his eyes flashing with a sudden heated desire. “Is it ‘cause you wanna play with me?” he murmured seductively. “I owe you so much, so you know, I don’t mind, if you wanna get off.”

It was the moment Booker had waited a lifetime for, but Tom’s words made him feel sick to his stomach. The man he loved was offering himself up like a prostitute and he suddenly understood why he had uttered the hurtful words just moments earlier. No matter how he tried to spin it, Tom was a drug-addicted whore and as much as he wanted him, he would not degrade himself by become one of his clients.

“No thanks,” he replied stiffly. “If I wanted to sleep with a prostitute I’d go to a brothel.”

This time, the harshness of Booker’s words evoked a burning anger deep inside Tom’s soul and he let out a cruel laugh. “Oh don’t bullshit me Dennis,” he spat. “You’ve been lusting after me ever since you laid eyes on me and I’m betting if I spread my legs for you right now, you’d shove your cock so far up my—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Booker’s fist slammed into his jaw and stumbling backwards, he fell to the floor. With a primordial yell, he jumped to his feet and charged head first at his attacker, knocking him to the ground. Fists rained down heavy punches as each man tried to gain the upper hand. They fought like bitter enemies, neither man holding back and within moments, their blood began to flow. But as their bodies crushed together, their fury suddenly transposed into a heated passion and in a simultaneous transition, angry fists became groping hands ripping at clothing in their desperate need to feel bare skin. Fingers clutched and scratched, drawing blood in their frantic need for contact. Their blood-smeared lips smashed together and hungry tongues sought to taste the other’s flowing juices. Wanting control, Booker rolled on top of Tom and began to grind his cotton-clad erection against the lithe body beneath him, each thrust bringing forth a fevered growl of dominance. Not to be outdone, Tom immediately bit down on Booker’s lip, eliciting a soft cry of pain from his lover. As they frantically humped and gyrated against each other’s bodies, Tom forcefully rolled Booker onto his side and reaching down, he released his cock and began to pump his fist over the erect shaft.

For Booker, his dream was now a 3D, surround sound reality and his nerve endings jangled from the erotic pleasure. “Yes, yes, yes,” he panted against Tom’s throat. “Oh fuck… oh Tommy… oh God!”

Without breaking pace, Tom pulled down his own boxers and grabbing Booker’s hand, he guided it towards his erection. “Touch me,” he moaned into Booker’s hair. “Touch me Dennis… touch me touch me touch me…”

Without hesitation, Booker’s fist worked over Tom’s shaft and eventually they fell into a synchronized tempo. Their previous frenzied fervor settled into a more rhythmic thrusting of mutual pleasure, their soft moans and grunts filling the room as they once again found each other’s mouths and their tongues danced a sensual tango of both lust and wanton need.

So lost in the pleasure of their coupling, Tom struggled to speak. “I’m close,” he gasped. “Oh God oh God oh God oh GOD!” His body shot forward and raking his fingernails painfully down Booker’s back, he spasmed violently as he exploded his orgasm over his lover’s fingers.

The unexpected pain fueled Booker’s arousal and his climax hit hard and fast. “TOMMEEE!” he yelled and thrusting forward, he shuddered out his release. Brown eyes met brown eyes and placing his free hand behind Tom’s head, he pulled him into a slow kiss. A post-climactic calm washed over him and he savored the sensation of Tom’s full lips pressing against him. He took his time, tasting and exploring the warm inviting mouth, his fingers tenderly tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck, and when they eventually broke a part, he brushed his lover’s long bangs from his face and gave him a shy smile. “Shit.”

Tom smiled back nervously. He had no idea if what had just happened was a product of lust or love. Lust he understood, it was an emotion of intense desire within the body, but love was something different, love terrified him because he was convinced he was incapable of feeling it, knowing it or receiving it.

Therefore, he decided to play it cool and nuzzling against Booker’s neck, he playfully nipped and sucked at the taught skin. “Yeah, it was fun,” he murmured softly.

A flicker of darkness passed over Booker’s eyes and pulling away, he tilted Tom’s chin so their eyes met. “Fun?” he asked in a strained voice. “Is that all it was to you?”

Jerking away from Booker’s embrace, Tom yanked up his boxers and stood up. “What do you want me to say?” he muttered in a flat voice. “It was just sex Booker. You wanted it, I wanted it, why are you making such a big deal of it?”

Humiliation burned at Booker’s cheeks and tucking away his softening cock, he glared up at Tom. “So what was all that do you love me bullshit?” he muttered in a petulant voice. “I’m so fucking tired of the mixed signals you keep sending me.”

Embarrassed that he had revealed his insecurities, Tom kept up his indifferent attitude in an effort to mask his inner pain. “I’m withdrawing from drugs,” he replied with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “It fucks with your emotions, don’t read too much into it.”

Getting up from the floor, Booker angrily struggled into his jeans. “Yeah?” he shot back sharply. “I guess being a junkie gives you all kinds of excuses huh?” When Tom remained silent, he pulled his ripped t-shirt over his head and throwing it angrily to the floor, he walked over to his friend and poked him in the chest. “Do you wanna know what your problem is Hanson? You’re a fuck up. You don’t take responsibility for anything you do and you know what? I’m done. Have a nice life.”

Terrified of losing Booker forever, Tom grabbed his arm. “Dennis don’t go!” he implored in a desperate voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. I know I’m fucked up, I know it, but I can’t do this on my own, I need you!”

Booker’s expression was unmoved and he angrily snatched his arm away. “Need but not love,” he stated flatly and rummaging through Tom’s meager belongings, he grabbed a t-shirt and pulled it over his head. The material clung too tightly to his muscular frame but he did not give a damn how ridiculous he looked, he wanted to get as far away from Hanson as he possibly could. Picking up his boots, he headed barefoot towards the door. “You’re a selfish prick Hanson, you don’t know the meaning of love and you never will because—”

A sharp pain exploded in the back of his head and with a groan, he crumpled unconscious to the floor.

Tom stood over the lifeless body, his gun in his hand. He had not meant to strike Booker so hard with the butt of his Glock, but he needed it to look realistic. Squatting down, he checked his vitals and confident that Booker was in no danger, he stood back up. Apart from his shaky hands, his nerve rattling cravings for a hit were now nothing more than an irritating itch. It was a relief and he silently prayed that he was over the worst of his withdrawal and that it was not just his post-climactic tranquility masking the symptoms, because where he was going, he was not sure he would be able to cope with the pain on his own.

Tossing his gun onto the bed, he quickly dressed and when Booker uttered a soft moan, he squatted back down and gently brushed his hair from his pale face. “I want to know the meaning of love,” he whispered in a trembling voice, “and maybe this will prove to you I’m a better man than you think I am.”

At the sound of Tom’s voice, Booker’s eyelids fluttered slightly before he once again fell back into the blackness of unconsciousness. Tom continued to stroke at the dark hair for several more minutes before standing up and with one last glance at his lover, he picked up his gun and with a heavy heart, he took the first steps towards what was sure to be a hellish nightmare.
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Chasing a Butterfly