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Crazy Little Thing Called Love	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 986 -:- 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-Start Me Up
- 2-Chain Reaction
- 1
- 2
This will be my final post for 2016. Thank you to everyone who has read my stories throughout the year. I send you and your families season's greetings, stay safe, and I'll see you in the new year.
In peace,
OpenPage x

One week later
With a forceful hand, Tom slammed his locker closed, the metallic clank echoing throughout the empty change room. He was fed up, his testy mood a product of long working hours and not enough sleep. At least that was what he kept telling himself, but deep in his heart, he knew it was a lie. It was his date with Booker that was troubling him, the problem was, he was too damn cowardly to admit it.
Since their rendezvous, his contact with the dark-haired officer had consisted of little more than a passing nod, a quietly spoken hey, or, if they were alone, the occasional stolen kiss. He recognized this was because they were working on different cases, but it was also partly because he was keeping his distance. However, there was a valid reason behind his anti-social behavior, and that reason was Mick Jagger.
Leaning against his locker, Tom closed his eyes and allowed the memories of their date to play through his mind. It was a movie reel of emotion, played out in startling color, complete with accompanying soundtrack. First, there was Booker’s teasing smile when he likened him to a prostitute. Then the car journey, the latest Guns N’ Roses album blaring through the Cadillac's speakers the only thing saving them from an uncomfortable conversation. Drinks at the bar followed, the alcohol helping to lessen Tom’s nerves. The altercation with the drunken bigot was next, with Booker standing up and defending their honor. However, after the drive home, the remainder of the evening was a blur, a fuzzy recollection of sensory snapshots. Dark eyes penetrating his soul… The intoxicating flavor of smoke and whiskey tingling his tongue… Sharp teeth, nipping, ripping, scraping... Salty droplets of blood adding a metallic tang to the river of saliva flooding his mouth... Warm fingers, caressing, coaxing, teasing him to life… An unfamiliar hardness pressing against his hand, thick, long, twitching beneath his touch… An intense pressure; rising, rising, until he can’t hold on… A strangled moan... A euphoric wave crashing through his body… Cursing… Another moan… Dampness against his fingertips… A moment of clarity… Mick.
Although not a believer in fate, after such an emotionally charged experience, hearing the words, “Stay away from me. Ain't no use in crying. Stay away from me,” had sent a surge of foreboding rippling through Tom’s body, the tsunami of doom quickly overpowering the tingling pleasure of his orgasm. He’d managed to keep his fears in check until Booker left, but he’d spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, wondering what he’d gotten himself into. The unsettling seesaw of emotions swamping his mind were starting to take their toll. One moment he was riding the dizzy heights of a man in love, the thrill and excitement leaving him breathless. Then, without warning, there was the gut-wrenching panic, followed by waves of self-doubt. He’d never felt such a roller coaster of emotions, but then he’d never been in a relationship with another man before. As much as he knew in his heart he had deep feelings for Booker, there was still a nagging voice in his head telling him he was making a huge mistake. There was no basis for his apprehension, but his lack of sleep had him teetering dangerously on the precipice of paranoia. And so, he had withdrawn from the source of his emotional anguish and thrown himself head on into the drug case he was investigating, creating a vicious circle of more sleepless nights, which added fuel to the stream of negative thoughts swirling through his mind.
A whisper of warm breath tickled Tom’s ear, the unexpected sensory invasion snapping him out of his reverie. His eyes flew open, fear constricting his chest. But his panic soon subsided when he recognized Booker’s coal-black eyes twinkling back at him, and expelling his breath in a heavy rush of air, he threw his lover an irritated look. “Geez, Booker, wear a bell next time.”
Tickled by the reference, Booker’s mouth curved into a mischievous smile. “So, I was thinking,” he crooned, his index finger trailing a seductive path down Tom’s torso. “Maybe we should try the whole date thing again. But this time, you invite me over, cook me dinner, and that way, we don’t have to deal with any obnoxious drunks ruining our night.”
Tired and out of sorts, Tom grabbed his lover by the wrist and yanked his hand away before it could reach its intended destination. “I’m not your fucking girlfriend, Booker. So stop treating me like one.”
Amused by the comparison, Booker’s grin widened. “Hey, man, chill out. Nobody said you were. I was just suggesting we—”
“What you were suggesting is I cook for you,” Tom snapped. “What am I? Your fucking mother? And you know what, I’m getting tired of you constantly emasculating me. You’re always telling me how pretty I am and—”
“Always?” Booker queried, his eyes dancing with merriment. “Jesus, Hanson, can you say overreaction? We’ve barely spoken all week, and anyway, you are pretty, waay too pretty for a man. In fact, it’s kinda surprising you haven’t been hit on by more gay men.”
A searing rage rippled through Tom’s body, and with eyes blazing, he stepped forward, the muscles in his neck visibly cording. “You fucking—”
The sound of heavy footsteps stopped Tom mid-sentence. Both men waited expectantly, their argument hanging heavy in the air, adding tension to the atmosphere. A moment later, Penhall strode in, a white towel draped over his shoulders, his face dripping with perspiration. “Hey, fellas, what’s up?”
The corners of Booker’s lips curled into a mischievous smile, and casting a furtive eye at Tom’s crotch, he raised one eyebrow. “Well, not Tommy, apparently,” he quipped. “At least not yet.”
“Huh?” Doug inquired absently, using the towel to mop his sweaty face.
Tom shot his lover an annoyed look before addressing his friend. “Ignore him, Doug. Booker’s just being a jerk… as usual.”
A witty comeback was there for the taking, and not about to let the opportunity go wanting, Booker tilted his head to one side, his demeanor innocently provocative. “Hmm, as I remember it, Tommy, you kinda like it when I jerk you.”
Shock animated both Tom and Doug’s faces, the smaller officer throwing his lover another furious look. But Booker showed no signs of apology. It was in his nature to tease, and without realizing it, Tom often left himself open to ridicule, making him an easy target. It wasn’t really sport when the opportunity was handed to him on a silver platter, but that didn’t mean Booker wouldn’t grasp it with both hands. He couldn’t help it, he enjoyed watching Tom squirm, especially in front of Doug.
Unsure of the meaning behind the cryptic comment, Penhall’s eyes flitted between the two officers before settling on Dennis’ amused face, his eyes narrowing into slits. “You know, Booker, sometimes you can be really weird.”
Unperturbed, Booker’s lower lip pushed out, the faint shrug of his shoulders expressing his lack of interest in what the officer thought. Turning his attention back to Tom, Penhall rolled his eyes, but the private exchange gained no response. An uncomfortable energy deadened the air, further oppressing the atmosphere, and although he couldn’t explain it, Doug suddenly felt like a third wheel. “So, I guess I’ll leave you fellas to it,” he muttered, and throwing the towel over his shoulder, he walked toward the shower cubicles.
Once out of earshot, Tom turned his fury on Booker. “Why do you always do that?” he fumed. “Why do you always have to make a joke out of everything? What if Penhall had figured out what you meant?”
The light in Booker’s eyes dimmed. “And what if he did? Would it matter? And anyway, I’d rather make a joke than always take everything so seriously. You’re so fucking repressed, Hanson. You need to learn to lighten up.”
Anger worked its way down Tom’s arms, the force of his internal rage culminating in his hands, balling them into tight fists. “REPRESSED?” he yelled. “HOW CAN I BE REPRESSED WHEN I KEEP LETTING YOU JERK ME OFF?”
The shadows in Booker’s eyes darkened. “Let me? You didn’t let me, you fucking begged me! You were the one who asked me to touch you. And you came to my apartment and asked me to kiss you. So don’t blame me, Hanson, you’re in this relationship just as much as I am!”
It was then Tom completely lost it. “Relationship? What relationship? This isn’t a relationship, Booker, it’s a fucking nightmare!”
Pain radiated through Booker’s heart, and lowering his gaze, he hid the hurt shining from his eyes behind his thick, dark lashes. While he understood the anguish of his lover’s internal conflict, he hadn’t expected him to lash out with such vitriolic force. He knew their relationship wasn't perfect, but likening it to the horror of a person trapped within the torment of a hallucinatory vision was hitting below the belt. While he recognized their relationship wasn’t perfect, likening it to the horror of a person trapped within the torment of a hallucinatory vision was hitting below the belt. Tom’s confusion over his sexuality was obviously messing with his mind, but that didn’t make the caustic outburst any easier for Booker to swallow. However, despite his ability to provide witty comebacks to suit almost any situation, the dark-haired officer was at a loss for words. Tom had made his feelings clear, and the sense of loss was soul destroying.
The long, drawn-out silence hanging in the air gave Tom the time he needed to rethink the validity of his statement. What he had with Booker wasn’t a nightmare, it was just different to anything else he’d ever experienced, and once put in perspective, he regretted his outburst. As the seconds ticked by, a knot of remorse balled in his stomach, and raking his fingers through his hair, he exhaled an apologetic sigh. “Sorry.”
It took a moment for Booker to respond, but when he did, there was an edge to his voice that was new and unfamiliar. “I’d never do anything to hurt you, you know that, right?”
Shame averted Tom’s gaze, and shuffling his feet, he stared at the toes of Booker’s boots. “Yeah, I know. I don’t know why I said those things. I guess I’m just tired.”
It was a lame excuse, but Booker let it slide. However, he needed to know where he stood, and even though he was terrified of the answer, he asked the question foremost on his mind. “Okay. But I need to know, do you still wanna keep seeing me?”
A shy smile tilted Tom’s lips, and lifting his gaze, he peered out from behind the protective curtain of his long bangs. “Yeah, I do.”
Relief sent Booker’s heart skipping into an arrhythmic tattoo of fast, heavy beats before it returned to its regular cadence and desperate to make things right again, he reverted to his usual, teasing self. “Great. And just so you know, I’m an equal opportunity kinda guy, so how ‘bout you come to my apartment, and I’ll cook you dinner.”
A look of uncertainty passed over Tom’s face. “Can you cook?”
Booker shrugged, a cheeky grin chasing the remaining shadows from his eyes. “Who knows? But there’s only one way to find out.”
Tom nodded, a small smile curling his lips. “All right, but not tonight. I need to get a decent night’s sleep.”
“So, tomorrow?”
There was no disguising the hopeful expectation in Booker’s voice, and although Tom could have done with a week's worth of sleep, he didn’t have the heart to say no. “Yeah, okay. Tomorrow.”
Satisfied, Booker brushed his lips over Tom’s soft pout. The contact was fleeting, but the message was clear. He would prove himself worthy, even if it took him lifetime.

To be continued…
- 1
- 2
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Crazy Little Thing Called Love