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To Chase a Feather in the Wind	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 1696 -:- 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
- 19
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- 21
Four days later
Booker’s fingers picked nervously at the thin sheet covering his body and his ears strained to hear the sound of a key turning in his door lock. It was this innocuous sound that for the last three nights had started his body trembling and his mind silently screaming in anticipation of what was to come. His was a classic Pavlovian response and if Alexander Giebelhouse had known, he would have found it a fascinating premise to add to the paper he was writing.
When the soft click sounded in his ears, his cock immediately twitched to life. Every night for the last four nights, Levi Brady had entered his room and enthusiastically abused him whilst Giebelhouse stood in a corner making notes. Deep in the recesses of his damaged mind, he knew it was wrong but he was too weak to fight against it. This was what he wanted, this was what he had dreamed about since his Daddy died, and now that he had it, he was not prepared to let it go. He always thought he would find his nirvana outside Rosewood’s walls, little did he know it was right there waiting for him.
The door pushed open and soft footsteps sounded across the room. Moments later, the thin mattress depressed and he felt warm breath against his ear. “Miss me?” Brady taunted in a low voice.
Booker's voice trembled from both fear and the thrill of expectation. “Y-Yes."
Throwing back the covers, Brady’s eyes flashed with anger and drawing back his fist, he punched Booker in the side of the head. “What the fuck are these bitch?” he swore as his hands grasped at the material of Booker’s boxers. “Didn’t I tell you to sleep naked?”
Booker’s hand flew to the side of his head and he stifled a cry. “I’m s-sorry,” he sobbed. “I forgot.”
“Stupid ass whore,” Brady muttered under his breath and grabbing hold of the offending material, he ripped it from Booker’s body. Once satisfied that his toy was how he wanted him, he stripped off his own clothes and knelt on the bed. “Now pretty boy, what shall we do to you tonight?”
Booker knew it was not a question he was supposed to answer and so he continued to stare up at Brady’s face with frightened eyes. When a rough hand squeezed his cock, he gasped as equal bursts of pleasure and pain shot through his nerve endings. The sensation was indescribable and his body tingled from the effect. Moments later, he felt cold steel pressing against his abdomen and looking down, he saw the glint of a knife shining in the pale light. His eyes grew wide and he watched in fascination as Brady pressed the blade against his skin and opened up a three-inch wound just above his pubic hair.
“Shallow cuts… shallow cuts,” Brady murmured as he carved up Booker’s skin and a slow grin spread over his face when he felt the cock in his hand hardening under his ministrations. “You like that don’t you, you twisted bastard.”
“Yesss,” Dennis breathed.
Trailing the knife slowly downwards, Brady pressed the tip against Booker's perineum and made several superficial cuts.
Closing his eyes, Booker let out a loud moan. “Hurt me Daddy, please hurt me.”
It was the first time Booker had uttered the word Daddy and Giebelhouse smiled in satisfaction. “You may proceed,” he murmured from the shadows.
With a growl, Brady threw down the knife and roughly bent up Booker’s knees. His cock was already rock hard and with a grunt, he positioned himself between his victim’s open legs and without any preparation, he slammed his erection inside Dennis, ripping his already damaged muscles. Dennis’ body arched off the bed and wrapping his legs around Brady’s waist, he grabbed hold of the headboard and forced his body upward to meet every countering thrust .
Ducking his head, Brady sank his teeth into the flesh of Dennis’ neck and bit down hard. Dennis’ screams and the warm saltiness pooling into his mouth only fueled his desires and he rammed his cock deeper inside. Blood seeped from Dennis’ anus, lubricating Brady’s cock and making it easier for him to penetrate deep inside the body beneath him. He pounded his cock in an out as he sucked on the wound he had opened up on Dennis’ neck. When he heard Dennis’ climactic scream, he lifted his head and spat blood and saliva into his victim's face as he shuddered out his own release.
The sound of heavy breathing was all that could be heard until a resounding slap echoed throughout the tiny room. Tears stung Dennis’ eyes at the shock of being smacked across the face and staring up at Brady, he gave him an injured look.
Levi Brady withdrew his cock and climbing slowly from the bed, he wiped the blood from his lips with his thumb. Looking down at Dennis’ blood splattered face, he flashed him an amused smile. “After everything I just did to you, a slap across the face is what brings tears to your eyes? Jesus man, you’re one fucked up little whore.”
Turning his head towards the wall, Dennis allowed his tears to flow freely. He knew what he craved was not normal, but he had no idea how to stop.
**
The following morning
A dull pounding pulled Doug from a deep sleep and groaning loudly, he lifted his head off the warm pillow and squinted at the luminous glow of his clock. It was 10.36 a.m. but he had been on a stakeout all night and had fallen wearily into bed only an hour before. In no mood to deal with hawkers, he rolled onto his back and filling his lungs with air, he bellowed in a loud voice, “GO AWAY!”
The knocking stopped but seconds later, Tom’s voice sounded from behind the front door. “Doug, it’s me. Open up, I need to talk.”
“I’M SLEEPING!” Doug yelled back and rolling onto his side, he buried his face in his pillow. “At least I’m trying to,” he finished in a mutter.
When Tom did not answer, Doug smiled contentedly and closing his eyes, he snuggled back down beneath the covers. But his respite was short lived and seconds later, Tom called out again. “Doug please!”
This time, there was no mistaking the distress in Tom’s voice and unable to ignore his friend’s pleas any longer, Penhall fell from his bed and stumbled down the stairs. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he muttered through a loud yawn, “keep your hair on.”
When he yanked open the door and saw Tom’s pale, distraught face he quickly forgot his weariness. “Jesus Hanson, what the hell’s wrong?” he asked worriedly.
Tom walked inside and throwing himself down on the couch, he stretched his legs out in front of him and raked his fingers through his hair. “Booker’s signed a Voluntary Commitment Order.”
Penhall balled his hands into fists as he struggled to control the urge to punch Tom in the face. He had been rudely awoken from an erotic dream featuring Yasmine Bleeth, only to be told that Booker was a nutjob, and that was not exactly news to him. But when he saw the pain in his friend’s eyes, he relaxed his shoulders and rubbing a hand over his weary face, he let out a heavy sigh. “So?”
Tom leaned forward in his seat, his eyes blazing with anger. “Don’t you see? It’s that Doctor Giebelhouse I told you about, he’s behind it, he has to be!”
Flopping down onto an armchair, Doug tried to reason with his friend. “Behind what Tommy? You’re seeing conspiracy where there’s only mental illness. Booker’s sick, really sick and he’s in the best place to help him deal with his disorder.”
Tom’s brow furrowed into a deep frown. “Disorder?” he echoed in an icy tone. “Is that what you and the others are calling it?”
Penhall let out a frustrated groan. “What do you want me to call it Hanson? Huh? What’s the politically correct term for a man who willing allows another man to fuck, cut and beat him? You tell me ‘cause you seem to be the fucking expert!”
A deep resentment flashed in Tom’s dark eyes and standing up, he glared down at Doug. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Penhall rolled his eyes. “Oh for fuck’s sake, don’t start with the whole homophobic bullshit again. That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
Suddenly, all the anger and fight left Tom’s body and sitting back down on the couch, he buried his face in his hands. “Why won’t anyone believe me?” he groaned.
Not one to stay angry with his best friend, Doug sighed heavily and heaving himself out of the armchair, he walked over to the couch and sat down. “I want to believe you,” he stated in a soft voice, “but I think where Booker’s concerned, your judgment is a little clouded.”
When Tom lifted his head, Penhall was shocked to see tears glistening in his eyes. “They're hurting him Doug, I just know it; hurting him and controlling him. He was desperate to get out of there and now… now something’s happened to make him change his mind.”
Unwilling to upset Tom any further, Doug chose his words carefully. “Okay, let’s say it has, how do we prove it?”
Tom’s mouth twitched nervously at the corner. “You could ask Fuller to send someone in undercover.”
**
Tom stared expectantly at Adam Fuller. “So, will you send someone in?”
Fuller glanced furtively at Penhall before returning his attention back to Tom. “It’s not a lot to go on Hanson,” he replied cautiously, well aware of Tom’s penchant for stubbornness, “also, who do I send in? Booker knows everyone who works here.”
Sensing a glimmer of hope, Tom’s eyes lit up excitedly. “What about the guy who replaced me? What’s his name?"
“McCann,” Penhall stated helpfully.
“Yeah, McCann!” Tom echoed enthusiastically. “Booker’s never met him and—”
“Whoa, hold on Hanson,” Fuller cautioned. “I haven’t agreed to launch an investigation yet, you still need to convince me that Booker’s in trouble.”
Tom’s lower lip pushed into a sullen pout. “Why can’t you just trust me on this one Cap’n?”
Sighing heavily, Fuller turned his attention to Doug. “What do you think Penhall?”
Doug rubbed a hand slowly over his chin. “I dunno Coach,” he replied honestly. “Booker’s pretty sick so—”
Jumping to his feet, Tom’s eyes flashed with anger. “Why do you keep saying that? I know he’s sick, I’m not an idiot! If I hadn’t told you I was attracted to him then you’d be taking all of this seriously!”
Fuller’s expression registered his shock. “You and Booker are a couple?” he asked incredulously.
Sitting back down on the chair, Tom buried his face in his hands. “No,” he mumbled wearily. “Booker’s straight… or was straight… hell, I don’t know what he is anymore.”
Tilting back his chair, Fuller tented his fingers under his chin and gave Tom a look of empathy. “But you're attracted to him, is that what you’re telling me?” he asked in a soft voice.
Lifting his head, Tom’s dark eyes flashed defiantly. “So what if I am?”
Fuller tapped his fingers thoughtfully together for several moments before leaning forward and placing his palms flat on his desk. He studied Tom’s insolent expression before turning his gaze to Penhall. “Get McCann.”
**
Booker lay curled in a ball, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees. A dull pain throbbed throughout his lower body and blood oozed from his damaged anus, staining his boxers. Staring sightlessly into space, his fingers absently picked at the latest knife wound on his abdomen. Giebelhouse had once again increased his medication and he felt disconnected from the world around him. He slept, ate, drank and wandered aimlessly along the maze of corridors, but he did not feel… could not feel, except at night when his body trembled beneath the sheets, as he waited to hear the soft click that signaled Brady’s arrival.
The sound of heavy footsteps broke through his catatonia and he turned his dull eyes towards the open doorway. No one visited him except Giebelhouse, Brady and a male nurse who treated his wounds. He was unaware that the nurse was freelancing for Giebelhouse but it also never occurred to him that the man should be horrified by his injuries. For him, it was just his life and he expected others to view it in the same way.
Giebelhouse strode into the room and pulling up a chair, he sat down and opened up his notebook. “How are we feeling today Dennis?” he inquired.
“Okay,” Dennis muttered, his voice devoid of any emotion.
“Uh huh,” Giebelhouse replied distractedly. He spent several minutes reading through his notes before addressing Booker again. “And last night, how did that make you feel?”
Booker continued to stare blankly in front of him. “Good,” he replied flatly.
Giebelhouse let out a frustrated sigh and closing his notebook, he gave Booker a hard stare. “Be more specific Dennis. I want to know how it felt when Brady… ahem… put his fist inside you. Were you scared or excited?”
At the memory, Dennis’ eyes flashed excitedly before quickly losing their spark and returning to a lifeless stare. “Excited,” he mumbled.
“Good, good,” Giebelhouse muttered and opening his notebook, he scribbled down his findings. “What about the pain? Would you prefer him to be gentler?”
“No,” Dennis replied in a monotone voice, “I like pain.”
“Because?” Giebelhouse prompted.
Focusing his bleary eyes on the doctor’s face, Booker gave him a penetrating look. “Because pain is the only thing that makes me feel alive."
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To Chase a Feather in the Wind