Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

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
- 26
- 27
- 28
Please note: I do not speak Spanish, so I ask your forgiveness for any inaccuracies. All translations are in brackets.
In peace,

OpenPage x
Eleven days later - Monday December 25th 1989 (12.12 p.m.)
An attempt by the inmates to bestow a bit of festive cheer had fallen miserably short of the mark. Worn pieces of tinsel hung haphazardly around the dining room, the dullness of the grey walls now highlighted by brightly painted children’s drawings depicting misshapen Santas and lopsided Christmas trees, each vivid piece of artwork drawing attention to the decades old nicotine stains they attempted to hide. For Tom, it was a depressing misrepresentation of his favorite holiday and the dismal attempt at a Christmas feast only added to his misery. A slice of overcooked turkey meatloaf, a dollop of lumpy mashed potato, limp beans and a spoonful of tepid, watery gravy was not his idea of a Yuletide banquet, and the unappetizing affair left his mouth dry and his stomach growling. It was a fittingly disappointing ending to what had been an emotionally stressful morning.
Throughout the long, tedious hours that should have been spent drinking eggnog and opening presents, he had tried to contact Booker by phone, the desperate need to speak to his lover now overwhelming him. But each time he tried he had reached the answering machine and hearing Dennis’ voice asking him to please leave a message, had caused a physical pain in his heart and brought stinging tears to his eyes. Although it was becoming increasingly obvious that Booker had abandoned him, he refused to give up hope completely and so he had left a faux cheery message in return, wishing him a Merry Christmas. He made sure to hang up quickly before the tremor in his voice betrayed his true feelings of desolation and despair because he did not want to cause his friend any guilt. But never before had he felt so alone and he longed for the Yule celebrations to end so the days could once again return to the boring humdrum predictability of everyday prison life that he found his mind slowly adjusting to with each passing day. Even though he still hated the confinement, the familiarity and routine were somewhat comforting, giving him the stability he craved and with every hour that passed, he found the days a little easier to cope with. It was a classic case of institutionalization and even though he recognized it for what it was, he refused to acknowledge that by the time his release came about, in all likelihood, he would view D Block as home.
Pushing his uneaten tray of food to one side, he gazed out in front of him with unfocused eyes. The loud banter and raucous laughter of the other inmates; all of whom appeared to be enjoying their Yuletide feast; barely registered with him. He was lost in the fantasy of his own mind and the men’s strident merriment quickly became the resonance of Booker’s low chuckle, the imagined sound bringing a smile to his lips. In his mind's eye, he could see his lover standing before him, a small teasing smile playing over his full lips and his dark unruly hair pushed back from his face, revealing his expressive coal-black eyes. The image remained burned into his memory and he knew if he never saw Booker again, the vision would remain with him forever.
He jumped slightly when a warm hand rested on his forearm and refocusing his eyes, he turned his head to the right. Mosco’s vivid green eyes gazed serenely back at him, the left eyebrow arched in question. “Is everything okay Hanson?”
A rush of air exhaled from between Tom’s lips. “Yeah,” he replied in a flat voice. “I guess so.”
Standing up, Mosco picked up his empty tray. “C’mon, let’s have a game of pool, it’ll get your mind off things for awhile.”
Grateful that his cellie did not press him for details, Tom smiled back. “Sure thing, but be prepared to lose.”
Mosco threw back his head and laughed, his green eyes flashing with merriment. “Dream on muchacho,” he grinned, “you’re goin’ down.”
The melancholy of the last few hours slowly evaporated and pushing all thoughts of Booker from his mind, Tom followed Mosco into the recreation room.
**
Monday December 25th 1989 (12.33 p.m.)
Joyce Booker placed a glass of eggnog next to her son. “You need to forget about him,” she stated in a cool voice. “That Tom is nothing but trouble.”
Dennis’ hands balled into tight fists and even though his insides were a broiling mass of suppressed anger, he remained outwardly calm. “It’s not that easy, I still love him.”
With a resounding pfft, Joyce pursed her thin lips in disapproval. “Even though it goes against God’s teachings, I have unwillingly supported your decision to be bisexual because you’re my son Denny, but I won’t support your decision to date a criminal. Enough is enough, you’re embarrassing the family.”
His mother’s words grated on Dennis’ soul and clenching his hands tighter, he concentrated on feeling the pain his fingernails inflicted on the soft flesh of his palms so he would not act on the compulsion to pick up the eggnog and throw it against the wall. “It’s not a decision to be bisexual Mom,” he replied through gritted teeth. “I am bisexual and what I feel for Tommy, it’s complicated because—”
“Because nothing,” Joyce interrupted coldly. “If you love him so much, why don’t you go see him? Seems to me it’s because deep down you know he’s letting some other man commit unnatural acts—”
“MOM!” Booker exclaimed and jumping to his feet, he began to pace across the floor, his fingers raking through his hair in agitation. “STOP! JUST STOP!”
An uncomfortable silence echoed throughout the festively decorated home. The Christmas tree’s lights twinkled merrily, adding a fake sense of warmth to the emotional coldness that quickly filled the room and when Joyce eventually opened her mouth to speak, Booker held up his hand, stopping her before she could utter a word. “Don’t.”
Joyce’s expression hardened. “Please don’t raise your hand at me Denny,” she rebuked. “I won’t tolerate insolence in my house.”
“Maybe I should leave,” Booker mumbled and picking up his jacket, he made his way towards the door.
Stubbornness ran in the family and Joyce refused to beg her son to stay. “That Tom is going to cause you nothing but pain, you mark my words.”
“Bye Mom, Merry Christmas,” Booker muttered and opening the door, he strode purposefully out of his childhood home.
**
Monday December 25th 1989 (9.58 p.m.)
A low hum settled over the prison and bending forward, Tom spat a mouthful of toothpaste into the drain of the stainless steel basin in his cell. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he lifted his head and his eyes widened in surprise when he saw Mosco's face reflected next to his own in the mottled mirror hanging on the wall. When the cell lights dimmed, plunging the room into a shadowy darkness, an arm circled his waist and shocked by the unexpected contact, he started to speak, but his words caught in his throat as gentle fingers began to massage his cock through the material of his boxers. “W-Wh—”
“Shh,” Mosco murmured against Tom’s ear, his warm breath tickling the exposed flesh of the younger man’s neck. “I know you’re missing that boyfriend of yours, why don’t you let me help take your mind off him for awhile.”
“M-Mosco...” Tom stammered and staring into the mirror, his eyes grew steadily wider as his neglected cock began to react to the tender stimulation.
A moist tongue licked a trail up the long column of his neck and a shiver of excitement ran down his spine. It had been so long since he had felt the erotic pleasure of arousal and his body instantly awakened. Blood rushed to his cock, hardening his shaft and heat spread throughout his body, flushing his cheeks an attractive shade of pink, the effect causing Mosco to laugh teasingly. “Mmm, I never expected you to be shy Chico,” the Latino murmured, his talented fingers gently caressing Tom’s lengthening shaft. “Word is your tight little ass has made plenty of men very happy. But don’t worry Tommy, there ain't no shame in seeking comfort from others, we all have needs and if you let me, I can make your time here a lot less lonely.”
Tom’s eyes fluttered closed and clutching the edge of the basin, his toothbrush slipped from between his fingers and fell discarded to the floor. “Ohhh,” he breathed and rocking his hips forward, he pushed his erection into Mosco’s willing hand. "Yesss."
Using his free hand, Mosco lowered Tom’s boxers, the soft material dropping to the floor and pooling at the ex-cop's feet. Pushing down his own underwear, he quickly stepped out of the restrictive material and rubbing his burgeoning cock against Tom’s backside, he nipped playfully at his earlobe. “Do you like it rough mi chico hermoso, (my beautiful boy) or do you want Papá nice and slick?”
A metaphorical switch clicked on in Tom’s mind and he found himself transported back to the time when he had pleasured men for drugs and was willing to do or say anything to please his client. “Yes,” he moaned indecisively, the exhilarating titillation rendering his words almost unintelligible and closing his eyes, he gave into the erotic sensation of the light fingers teasing his cock to life. "Hell yes."
“That’s my boy,” Mosco whispered excitedly and reaching out, he grabbed a small tube of moisturizer from a shelf above the basin. Releasing Tom’s cock, he coated the fingers of his right hand in the slippery oil before liberally lubricating his penis. When he was satisfied, he dropped the lotion to the floor and wrapping his hand back around Tom’s erection, he tugged gently as he roughly inserted a slick finger into his anus. Tom gasped as a mixture of both pleasure and pain confused his senses, jangling his nerve endings with excitement. Without warning, Mosco inserted a second finger and using a scissoring action, he forced open the tight rings of muscle inside Tom’s channel. There was no love in his touch, just a determination to take what he wanted, however, his ministrations were not cruel, he just lacked the tenderness of a caring lover.
Once happy Tom was stretched enough to receive him, he removed his fingers and pressed the tip of his erection against the younger man’s puckered hole. Staring at their reflections in the mirror, he gave Tom’s cock a gentle squeeze. “Open your eyes Chico,” he instructed softly, “I want you to look at me when I fuck you.”
With a low groan of excited anticipation, Tom readily obliged and he gazed back trustingly at Mosco’s distorted image. Mosco immediately found himself drawn in by the sensuous look in the soft brown eyes and he exhaled heavily. “Fuck you’re one beautiful hijo de puta (sonofabitch),” he moaned and holding the base of his cock, he pushed his erection inside Tom’s willing body.
“Fuuuck,” Tom breathed and leaning forward, he gripped the edge of the basin and pushed backwards, burying Mosco’s cock deeper within his ass. The exquisite sensation of a thick cock filling the emptiness inside him was almost too much to bear and when Mosco rocked his hips forward, the added force stimulating his prostate with every thrust, a fire radiated deep inside his soul and he became more vocal. “Harder,” he instructed, his breath catching in his throat. “Fuck me harder.”
With a growl of dominance, Mosco grabbed hold of Tom’s hips with rough hands and rammed his cock in and out of the tight anus. The erotically sexual slapping of skin-on-skin resonated around the tiny cell and as his arousal heightened, Tom began to pant a hypnotic mantra. “Touch me touch me touch me touch me touch me..."
Mosco’s full lips drew back, baring his teeth in a vicious grin and leaning forward, he pressed his mouth against Tom’s ear and taunted softly, “Do you wanna come mi bello puto? (my beautiful whore) Do you want me to stroke your dick?”
“Yes!” Tom gasped and reaching back, he grasped Mosco’s wrist and pulling his hand forward, he wrapped it around his aching shaft. “Please Mosco… please!”
The desperation in Tom’s voice widened Mosco’s manic grin. “Say my name,” he crooned in a tone dripping with power. “I wanna hear you scream it.”
“M-Mosco please,” Tom begged softly, “I don’t want the others to hear.”
“SAY IT!” Mosco yelled, his hand clamping down painfully on the base of Tom’s erect cock.
“Mosco…” Tom whimpered.
“LOUDER!”
“M-Mosco!”
“LOUDER BITCH!”
As Tom’s need to ejaculate became overwhelming, he closed his eyes, drew in his breath and abandoned his last shred of dignity. “MOSCOOO!” he screamed.
Mosco released the pressure on Tom’s cock and with a few quick strokes, he brought him back to hardness. Within seconds, Tom’s orgasm hit hard and he let out a strangled cry. Fueled by the strong scent of semen, Mosco's body thrust forward, slamming Tom’s stomach against the rim of the basin and he too ejaculated forcefully, his seed filling his lover's body.
The sound of clapping echoed around D Block and wolf whistles pierced through the darkness. “YEAH MOSCO, YOU CLAIMED THAT BITCH!” an inmate yelled in delight, his laughter floating eerily throughout the unit.
Tears filled Tom’s eyes as the realization of what he had done slowly impacted on him and with Mosco’s cock still embedded deep inside him, he lowered his head and vomited into the hand basin.
“Jesuuus!” Mosco exclaimed in horror and withdrawing his cock, he staggered backwards.
“What did you do to him Jefe?” a voice taunted from the cell next door, the sound of Tom's heaving resonating throughout the Block. “Didn’t he like your cock up his ass?”
“Cállate la boca! (Shut the fuck up!)” Mosco yelled angrily and gazing down at Tom’s bowed head, he felt a slight stab of remorse. Stepping forward, he placed a gentle hand on the small of the younger man's back. “Hey Tommy, are you okay?”
Tom lifted his head and gazed at Mosco through the mirror. “He’ll never forgive me,” he whispered, the haunted expression in his dark eyes revealing his inner torment.
Mosco let out a sigh and draping an arm around Tom’s shoulders, he tenderly wiped the saliva from his lips. “Then maybe it’s time to forget him.”
- 26
- 27
- 28
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Chasing a Butterfly