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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
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After a six-hour drive, all Tom wanted was a hot shower and something to eat. Turning his key in the lock, he pushed open the door to his apartment, but as he took in the confronting scene before him, his feet remained frozen to the spot. He had only been away two nights and in that time, his home had turned into something resembling a war zone. Dozens of empty beer bottles lay strewn across the floor, along with several near empty bottles of Jack Daniel’s. The couch was turned over, its tiny wooden legs pointing towards the ceiling in silent protest and its cushions scattered in disarray around room, their covers stained with food and liquid. Several knick-knacks lay broken on the floor and his record collection was scattered across the room. Turning his head towards the kitchen, he saw dirty plates covering the counter top, each encrusted with half eaten food that had hardened in the warm weather. The trashcan was on its side, its contents spilling onto the floor in a sticky, congealed mess, adding a foul aroma to the airless room. It looked like the aftermath of many a college party he had attended but the reality was far more disturbing. Booker had gone on an alcohol-fueled bender and that meant only one thing; his friend was falling apart.
Pursing his lips together, he angrily threw down his bag and picking his way through the debris scattered across the floor, he pushed open the bedroom door and stared into the darkened room. The smell of stale sweat and alcohol assaulted his nostrils and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. Moving across the room, he drew back the curtains and opened the window, instantly flooding the room with soft moonlight and some much-needed fresh air. Turning back around, he saw Dennis passed out naked on his bed, an arm thrown over his face as though attempting to block out the world. Tom’s eyes traveled down the length of the toned body, spread out in an unconscious display of exhibitionism and his breath hitched in his throat. It was the first time he had seen Dennis in a state of undress since his rape and he could not avert his gaze from the dozens of scars that crisscrossed the muscular torso. It was a psychopath’s sadistic masterpiece, a human etching depicting control and humiliation and the sight tore at his heart, immediately extinguishing his anger. If anyone had an excuse to seek comfort from alcohol, Booker did, he had been through more than one man should ever have to bear. But it was also a disturbing insight into Dennis’ troubled mind. He had turned to alcohol after their argument and that meant he no longer possessed the skills to deal with his anger and frustration. He was seeking a crutch, a way to soothe his inner turmoil and it worried Tom that it could become his coping mechanism.
Stepping forward, he carefully pulled the crumpled sheet up over Dennis’ body, covering his naked form, and with a final glance, he exited the bedroom and quietly closed the door. He gazed around at the messy apartment and just as he was deciding where to start cleaning first, he heard a knock at his door. He stepped over a pile of clothes that had mysteriously found their way into the middle of his living room, and pulling the door open a crack, he was greeted by Penhall’s smiling face. “Hey buddy, wanna go for a drink?”
Rubbing a hand over his tired eyes, Tom returned a weary smile. “Now’s not really a good time Doug."
Never one to take no for an answer, Penhall tilted his head on one side and gave Tom a quizzical look. “Why not? It’s Friday night, we always used to have drinks on a Friday night. It’s only since Booker came to live—”
Stepping back, Tom opened the door, revealing the battlefield that had once been his home.
“Jesus,” Penhall muttered as he entered the apartment. “What the hell have you been doing?”
Tom closed the door and let out a sigh. “Not me. Booker. I went away for a few days and this is what I came home to.”
Doug mentally counted the empty bottles that littered the floor. “He really tied one on,” he stated quietly. "I thought he was doing okay.”
Tom motioned for Doug to help him right the couch and once it was back on its legs, he replaced the stained cushions and feeling exhausted, he flopped down and stared despondently up at his friend. “We had a fight.”
Taking a seat next to Hanson, Doug studied his face with interest. “What about?”
Uncomfortable at Penhall’s close scrutiny, Tom lowered his gaze. “It doesn’t matter," he mumbled, "we made up and I thought he was okay with it. But then I came home and… well, obviously he was more upset than I thought.”
Taking a deep breath, Doug decided to be direct. “You don’t have to put up with this Hanson.”
Tom lifted his gaze and gave Doug a sad smile. “Yeah I do. He doesn’t have anyone else and he’s so damaged, I can’t just leave him to—”
Doug cleared his throat in warning and shifted his gaze furtively towards the bedroom door. Turning around, Tom saw Booker standing in the doorway, the crumpled bed sheet wrapped protectively around his body. He looked distraught and Tom mentally cursed himself for opening up to Doug with Booker in the apartment. He quickly stood up and his mouth twitched into a self-conscious smile. “Hey Dennis, I didn’t know you were awake.”
Booker’s tortured eyes appeared huge in his pale face and Tom felt a physical pain stabbing at his heart. “Dennis?” he whispered. “Are you okay?”
A look of pure anguish passed over Dennis’ face and he turned away. “I need a shower.”
Penhall and Hanson watched silently as the dejected figure shuffled into the bathroom and closed the door. Sitting back down, Tom ran a hand through his hair and gave his friend a wretched look. “Shit.”
“Yeah,” Doug replied quietly. “I’m guessing he heard what you said.”
Exhaling heavily, Tom rested his head in his hands. “I feel like a complete asshole. Now he’s going to think I’m only helping him because I feel obligated.”
Penhall stared at Tom’s bowed head whilst rubbing his hand pensively over his chin. “Maybe that is the real reason,” he suggested softly. “You feel guilty.”
Tom lifted his head and stared angrily at his friend. “Of course I don’t!” he refuted forcefully. “I’m doing this because Dennis is my friend.”
“And because in some twisted way, you feel responsible for him seeking out Keppler,” Doug stated knowingly. “Don’t bullshit me Tommy, you think it’s your fault that he raped you.”
Tom’s eyes filled with pain and standing up, he began to pace around the messy room. “Of course it’s my fucking fault!” he exclaimed. “How can it not be? I made sexual advances towards a straight man who had been brutally raped. What kind of a selfish prick does that? I wanted him so badly and I didn’t give a shit about anything else. But that’s not why I’m doing this. I’m doing this because I love him!”
Doug’s face flushed pink. He still found it difficult to come to terms with Tom’s bisexuality and to hear him speaking so candidly about his feelings for Booker made him slightly uncomfortable. But he loved Tom with all his heart and he wanted him to be happy. He just hoped his infatuation with Dennis would not stand in the way of him finding his one true love.
Getting to his feet, he draped a companionable arm around his friend’s shoulders. “You’re beating yourself up over this and it’s not... your... fault. Like you said, Booker’s damaged, he was bound to commit some violent act whether you came onto him or not.”
Too tired to argue, Tom sat dejectedly back down on the couch. "Maybe," he muttered.
Feeling the need to do something productive, Doug maneuvered his way through the clutter and entered the kitchen. "Coffee?"
Tom nodded again. "Yeah, thanks."
Doug busied himself making a strong brew and when he returned to the living room, he found Tom staring miserably at the floor. "Here," he murmured, handing him a steaming mug of much welcomed caffeine.
“Thanks,” Tom muttered and grasping the cup in both hands, he took a sip and gasped as the hot beverage scolded his tongue. He remained silent until he heard the shower turning off and looking across at Doug, he gave him a wan smile. “I think you’d better go.”
Doug frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” Tom replied with a heavy sigh. “I really need to talk to Dennis alone.”
Penhall stood up and headed towards the door. “Okay… well, if you need me—”
“I know where to find you,” Tom quipped quietly. “Thanks Doug.”
With his hand on the doorknob, Doug turned around and revealed his lopsided grin. “You owe me a drink,” he teased and opening the door, he exited the apartment.
Just moments later, the bathroom door opened and Booker emerged through a waft of steam. Wearing a towel around his waist, he ignored Tom and walking into the bedroom, he slammed the door closed behind him.
A tension headache pulsed behind Tom’s eyes and screwing them closed, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers in an effort to alleviate the pain. Minutes passed and opening his eyes again, he stared morosely at his messy apartment, and with a sigh, he started to clean up.
**
Two hours later
Tom cautiously entered the dark bedroom. When his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw Booker stretched out on the mattress, dressed in boxers and black t-shirt, a muscular arm once again covering his face. Assuming he was asleep, Tom turned to leave when a haunting voice muttered from the shadows, “I’m sorry.”
Tom walked over to the mattress and sat down on the floor. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been talking about you behind your back.”
Lowering his arm, Booker gazed up at his friend, his dark eyes filled with misery. “But you were right, I am damaged and you shouldn’t have to feel obligated to take care of me. I’ll speak to my therapist tomorrow about moving into a group home.”
Several long seconds passed before Tom finally spoke. “Move over,” he murmured.
Surprised by the request, Dennis shuffled across the mattress. His breath caught in his throat when Tom lay down next to him and wrapped a protective arm around his waist. “I don’t want you to live in a group home,” he whispered into his ear. “I want you here with me.”
With his heart hammering in his chest, Dennis turned and peered at Tom through the gloom. “Why?” he asked breathlessly.
Tom’s hand traveled slowly upwards and cupped Dennis’ face. “Because I love you.”
Dennis’ stomach flip-flopped and his heart fluttered with excitement. “What does that mean exactly,” he asked, unable to keep the anticipation out of his voice.
Smiling playfully, Tom brushed Dennis’ dark hair from his face. “It means if you want to, then I want to.”
Hot desire flashed in Dennis’ eyes and placing an arm around Tom, he drew him in close. “I want to,” he breathed. “Oh God I want to.”
Without hesitation, Tom brushed his lips over Dennis’ soft pout, eliciting a low moan of approval. Encouraged by the sound, he parted his lips and kissed Dennis tenderly. A moist tongue immediately entered his mouth and it was his turn to moan in pleasure. Their tongues entwined, dancing slowly together, reveling in each other’s taste. Tom breathed in the subtle aroma of Booker’s shampoo, the familiar scent awakening his desires. But he controlled his impulse to explore Dennis’ body with his fingers and instead, he took pleasure from the softness of his lips and the faint taste of spearmint toothpaste that tingled across his taste buds. It was what he had dreamed about for eighteen-months and he wanted to savor every moment.
Minutes passed and as their kiss deepened, a hand caressed his butt cheek, squeezing it playfully. His cock hardened at the thrill of the sensation and groaning loudly, he threw a leg over Dennis' body. When Dennis thrust against him, he feared things were moving too fast. He began to pull away, but a firm hand drew him closer and he felt Booker’s erection grinding into him. ‘Please,” Booker moaned desperately against his mouth, “I want this… I need this…”
Tom realized that they were too far-gone to stop and rolling on top of Dennis, he broke the kiss and gazed down into two jet black eyes filled with desperate longing. “Okay,” he panted heavily, “but we do this with our clothes on.”
Although not exactly what Dennis had in mind, he nodded his head frantically up and down in agreement. “Okay,” he moaned and pulling Tom closer, he devoured him with his mouth. His hands grasped Tom’s buttocks, holding him firm and as their bodies crushed together, he rubbed his cock against the hardness pressing against him. Their kiss became frenzied, teeth and tongues clashing in a frenetic need to consume each other’s essence. Each man’s movements became more frantic as they desperately sought the euphoria that was just moments away.
Bucking his hips upward, Dennis held Tom close and letting out a strangled cry, his orgasm hit hard and fast. Tom continued to grind against the hard body beneath him and seconds later, he too shuddered out his release. As their bodies relaxed, their kiss slowed until Tom finally pulled away and gazed down at Dennis with tender eyes. “Shit,” he muttered with a half smile.
A slight frown wrinkled Dennis’ forehead. “Shit in a good way… or shit in a bad way?”
Pressing his lips against Dennis’, Tom kissed him lazily. “Shit in a good way,” he murmured against the full pout.
Dennis’ smiled into the kiss. He had waited a long time but once again, his life seemed worth living.
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To Chase a Feather in the Wind