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Thrill of the Chase	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 839 -:- 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-The Art of Seduction
- 2-So, What If I Told You...
- 1
- 2
The drive home in the limousine with Doug didn’t disappoint. Although only a short journey, it proved to be as privately entertaining as Tom had originally hoped. Penhall quizzed him about his mystery lover, and keeping a straight face, the young officer had dropped subtle and somewhat cryptic hints. Dark-hair, penetrating yet soulful eyes, a seductive smile, a great sense of humor, mischievous, playful, a devilish laugh… on and on he went, all the while exacting great pleasure from his best friend’s frustration as he continued to guess incorrectly. It was an amusing and entertaining way to end a tiring yet satisfying first day back at work, and he almost wished the ride had lasted longer. Almost, but not quite. He couldn’t wait to get home and see if any other surprises were awaiting him. Romance was definitely in the air, and with the long-stemmed rose clutched in his hand, he bade farewell to Simon the chauffeur and caught the elevator up to the second floor.
When the doors opened, Tom stepped out and slowly walked toward his apartment. As he drew nearer, he could see something taped to his door, and an almost childlike excitement had him quickening his pace. Pain radiated in his side, the increased exertion aggravating his damaged ribs. But he ignored the intensifying discomfort, the thrill of receiving yet another romantic message far outweighing his suffering. Love had him acting like a giddy teenager, and he wore his emotion on his face like a badge of honor. For the first time in a long time, he was happy to let his guard down and openly express his feelings. He was smitten, and he didn’t care who knew it. But there was a catch. His euphoria only extended to a physical display of a man in love, not the emotional complications attached to it. He still wasn’t ready to come out of the closet and publicly declare his commitment to Booker. But that was a problem for another day. The present was all that mattered, and all he wanted was to sit back and enjoy the high before having to face the daunting task of coming out to his friends and family.
Approaching the door, he saw his name scrawled on the front of a folded piece of paper. A red hand-drawn heart in the corner had his pulse quickening, and a delightful tingle rippled over his flesh. Reaching out a shaky hand, he plucked the note from the door. The urge to rip it open almost got the better of him, but he curbed his enthusiasm long enough to enter his apartment. Once inside, he flicked the light switch and with trembling fingers, he opened the daintily folded note. Booker’s familiar scrawl filled the page, and leaning back against the door, Tom began to read.
My shy, beautiful Tommy,
If love burns eternal,
Then I am your flame,
An immortal candle,
Flickering, captivated,
A beacon of light,
For you to come home to.
I think of you always,
You’re my first thought in the morning,
My last as I drift off to sleep.
You are my sun, my moon,
My night, my day.
I adore every inch of you.
The sweet curve of your lips,
The scent of your hair,
Your flawless skin,
The depthless pools,
Of your expressive brown eyes.
These are my seasons,
My land and sea,
My stars in the sky,
My everything.
You are my world,
From east to west,
North to south.
My Autumn song,
My final leaf,
When all the rest have fallen.
I worship every breath,
Every spoken word,
Every contented sigh,
Uttered from your succulent mouth.
I hear you,
See you,
Feel you beneath me,
Your trembling flesh,
Shuddering beneath my touch.
You are my belief,
You are my blood.
In each fluttering beat,
Of my love-sick heart,
I feel your presence,
Your laughter,
Your fears.
Through the darkest of days,
And the lightest of nights.
You are my reason for living,
My reason for being.
You are my forever,
My now,
My then,
My always.

All my love, Dennis x

P.S. I’ll call you tonight.
Dumbstruck, Tom stared at the piece of paper, his disbelief evident by his slack-jawed expression. The poem in his hand wasn’t written by Shakespeare, it wasn’t written by Keats, and it certainly wasn’t written by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. It was a raw, straight from the heart, Dennis Booker original. Booker had written him a poem. Booker. Had. Written. Him. A. Poem.
On the surface, the open-hearted sentiment seemed strange, incongruous even. Booker was a smart-mouthed, leather-clad, arrogant, know-it-all. He wasn’t a lyricist. He rode motorcycles, drank beer, and watched sport, he didn’t compose poetry. Except he did… and he had… and it was the most stirring, and enchanting piece of literary work Tom had ever read. The words bounced inside his head to the beat of his heart, the rhythmic ballad lighting a fire inside his soul. Each letter stood bold, proud, waiting for the next to roll off the tongue, waiting to form a cohesive whole… a word… a sentence... and finally, an emotion-filled declaration of love. It was an emblazoned and symbolic representation of the dark-haired officer’s devotion, and it was his, all his. Never had anyone taken the time to gift him something so personal, so intimate, and his heart sang with joy. Love Booker-style was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Every minute he spent with the enigmatic officer, every hand-delivered message, every thoughtful gesture told him he’d finally found his twin flame. He was, in the most simplistic of terms, falling in love.
The shrill peal of the phone pierced through the still air, and without thought for his well-being, Tom raced across the room and snatched up the handset. “Hanson!”
Booker’s concerned voice floated through the receiver. “Hey, Tommy, are you okay? You sound like you’re in pain.”
Gingerly lowering himself into a chair, Tom clutched his side with his free hand. “I’m all right,” he gasped. “I forgot I was injured and I ran to answer the phone.”
“Hanson, I’m touched,” Booker murmured, his voice oozing with seductive charm. “Do you miss me that much?”
“Where are you?” Tom inquired in an excited rush of words. “Are you coming over?”
“Do you want me to?”
The breathless question hung suspended between them... hopeful… expectant… a ticking time bomb of suspense-filled anticipation. A hot flush of arousal colored Tom’s cheeks, and ducking his head, a coy smile tilted his lips. “Well, yeah. I kinda want to thank you in person.”
“For?” Booker teased in a soft, lilting voice.
“Everything,” Tom breathed into the mouthpiece. “But especially for my poem.”
A low, husky laugh sounded down the phone line. “You read it, huh? I know I’m no Wordsworth, but—”
“It’s beautiful,” Tom whispered.
“Really?”
There was a note of vulnerability in Booker’s voice, a need for reassurance, and his openness only made Tom love him more. Placing the poem on his knee, he traced a fingertip over the words. “No one’s ever written me a poem before,” he confessed in a soft voice. “I feel a little overwhelmed.”
Always the joker, Booker chuckled. “Yeah? Well, I’d never written a poem before, so I guess it’s a first for both of us.”
Tom smiled into the receiver. “So, you didn’t answer my question. Are you coming over?”
An audible sigh sounded in Tom’s ear. “I can’t. Not tonight.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Sorry, baby,” Booker lamented with another sigh. “Fuller’s got me working around the clock on this case. But I’m free on the weekend.”
They weren't the words Tom wanted to hear, but he understood the pitfalls of the job all too well. His father was often absent, especially during his formative years. Not that it had impacted on their relationship. They’d been as close as any father and son could be, and Tom took reassurance from the knowledge he didn't need to see Booker every day to feel his presence in his heart. “Okay,” he relinquished with a sigh. “How ‘bout Saturday? Or Sunday for the Dodgers’ game?”
“Saturday's good,” Booker replied. “And I promise, I will make it up to you.”
“You’d better,” Tom laughed. “You’ve set the benchmark, I’ve got very high expectations now.”
“All will be revealed,” came the cryptic reply.
In the background, the sound of voices grew steadily louder. “Hey, baby, I’ve gotta go,” Booker whispered. “I’ll call you when I can,” and before Tom could reply, the line went dead.
Crestfallen, Tom hung up the phone. But his disappointment didn't last long. He had a date with Booker, and that was all that mattered.
**
Over the following days, Booker continued to lavish Tom with gifts. Chocolates and flowers magically appeared on the young officer’s desk, along with a bottle of Jack’s and several CDs, including Tom Petty’s ‘Full Moon Fever’ and The Pogues ‘Peace and Love’. It amazed him the dark-haired officer managed to find the time to call into the chapel when he was working such long hours, but however he was doing it, he never missed a day. For Tom, every morning felt like his birthday, the overt display of affection soon piquing the interest of his fellow officers. Upon his arrival, they gathered around his desk like vultures, their hungry eyes coveting the array of goodies. And while the young officer hated the attention, he did enjoy the pampering, and he eagerly counted down each day until he could thank his lover in person.
**
Tom glanced at the clock, an anxious frown creasing his brow. Booker was thirty minutes late, and he hoped that didn’t mean he would cancel their date. He was in the mood for a night out, especially because for the first time since his accident, he was almost pain-free. His world was returning to normal, and once a departmental doctor cleared him for active duty, he would return to the job he loved.
On edge and unable to contain his impatience, the young officer started to pace the room. Another seven minutes passed before a knock at the door liberated him from his mental torture. But he played it cool, and closing his eyes, he slowly counted to ten. When a second knock echoed through the apartment, he opened his eyes and sauntered over to the door. Nerves had his hands shaking, and he silently admonished himself. He was acting like a love-struck teenager, and he took another few seconds to compose himself before opening the door.
“Hey,” Booker greeted, his smile valiantly trying to mask the tiredness projecting from his eyes. “Sorry I’m late. Are you ready to go?”
Tom studied Booker’s drawn face, and stepping forward, he wrapped his arms around his waist and placed a tender kiss on his lips. “You look beat,” he murmured against the plump flesh. “Are you sure you still wanna go out?”
The sensual touch of Tom’s lips against his own sent a shudder of arousal through Booker’s body. He wanted nothing more than to explore every inch of his lover’s body with his mouth, but his planned surprise was too delightful to put off for another day. And so, ignoring his growing erection, he returned Tom’s tender kiss before stepping back. Taking his lover’s hand in his, he gave the fingers a gentle squeeze. “I’m sure. Now, grab a jacket, I’ve got something special lined up for you.”
“Is it better than my poem?” Tom asked, his eyes shining brightly. “‘Cause I’ve gotta say, Booker, you really outdid yourself with that.”
Booker shoved his hands in his pockets, a bashful smile curling the corners of his lips. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it, Hanson. That was a one time only, exclusive, Booker original. My writing days are over.”
A teasing pout formed on Tom’s lips. “Spoilsport. I was kinda hoping for an anthology, you know, something like, ‘How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Ways’ or maybe, ‘Tom Hanson Rocks My World - a Collection of Poems by Dennis Booker’. Whaddya think?”
Amused by the comment, Booker snorted. “Dream on, lover, it’s never gonna happen.”
Secretly thrilled with the use of the term lover, Tom hid his delight by going in search of a jacket. When he returned, he entwined his fingers in Booker’s and led him out the door. “Let’s go, I wanna see my surprise.”
A tingle of excitement ran down the length of Booker’s spine. He was about to gift his lover something that was sure to leave him speechless, and he couldn’t wait to see the elation light up his beautiful face.
**
Pulling into the parking lot of ‘Joe’s Garage’, Booker switched off the Caddy’s engine. “We’re here.”
Tom peered out of the windshield at the unlit building. “You’re taking me on a date to an auto shop?” he laughed. “How romantic.”
Undoing his seatbelt, Booker opened the car door. “Not just to any auto shop, Hanson. To a self-serve, do-it-yourself auto shop. C’mon, I’ll show you.”
Puzzled by the strange turn of events, Tom climbed out of the car and followed his date. The dark-haired officer produced a key, and with a conspiratorial waggle of his eyebrows, he unlocked the door and walked inside. Moments later, light flooded the inside of the building, revealing a large workshop filled with cars, all in varying stages of disrepair.
Tom looked around him, his expression a mask of confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“You will,” Booker replied with a cheeky grin. “Now, shut your eyes, I’ve something to show you.”
Somewhat uncomfortable at the prospect of being at Booker’s mercy, Tom hesitated for a moment before closing his eyes. When a strong arm wrapped around his waist, he automatically jerked away, the involuntary movement bringing forth a nervous laugh. “Sorry,” he apologized.
Booker’s warm breath tickled his ear. “Don’t worry, baby, I’m not gonna hurt you, I’m just gonna lead you across the room. Keep your eyes closed, okay? I promise it’ll be worth it.”
Although not completely convinced Booker was on the up and up, Tom did as he was asked. He took several faltering steps, his hands held out in front of him before deciding to place his trust in his lover and enjoy the ride. His heart pounded heavily in his chest as they slowly crossed the room, his excitement mounting with each step. He had no idea what his lover was about to reveal, but he knew it would be something worth waiting for.
After about twenty steps, Booker stopped, and releasing Tom’s waist, he took a step back. “Surprise.”
Tom opened his eyes and stared at the twisted wreckage in front of him. It took a moment for his brain to register what it was he was seeing, but when it did, his eyes lit up with delight. “My Mustang!” he exclaimed in an excited voice. “But it was totaled in the crash. How did you—”
“I purchased the wreck from the insurance company,” Booker explained. “I thought maybe we could fix it up together. You know, like a project.”
“You bought back my Mustang?”
The wonderment in Tom’s voice brought a lump to Booker’s throat, and swallowing it down, he shifted uncomfortably. “Well, yeah,” he replied in a soft voice.
“But why?”
It was an easy question for Booker to answer, and taking Tom’s hand in his, he gave a light squeeze. “Because I know how much it means to you.”
A bolt of pure love ripped through Tom’s heart, and releasing Booker’s fingers, he placed his hands on either side of his face. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you from me, and thank you from my dad,” and leaning forward, he pressed his lips against the warm, plump flesh of the dark-haired officer’s mouth.
Lost in the reverence of the kiss, the room fell away, the only thought on Booker’s mind, the sweet taste of Tom’s saliva mingling with his own. It was a tender, loving moment, and as his tongue lightly probed the depths of his lover’s mouth, it was then he knew, everything would be all right.

To be continued...
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Thrill of the Chase