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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
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19 days later - Saturday January 13th 1990 (5.27 a.m.)
The gentle caress of fingertips gently stroking his face jerked Tom from his REM dream state and back to reality with a jolt. Lifting his head off the pillow, he gazed through sleep-filled eyes at the shadowy figure standing before him. In the faint dawn light filtering in through the window, he could see that Mosco was naked from the waist down, his enormous erection jutting proudly out in front of him, waiting for attention. It had become a familiar sight over the last few weeks and he knew exactly what his cellmate was about to say before the Latino even opened his mouth and uttered the fateful words, “Estoy caliente. Chupa mi verga mi chico hermoso. (I’m horny. Suck my dick my beautiful boy.)”
The first time Mosco had woken him with his request, even though Tom had not understood the words, there had been no mistaking their meaning and he knew the surprised look on his face must have amused the hell out of his cellmate. Since their first sexual encounter almost three weeks before, barely a day went by without Mosco requesting some sort of sexual favor from him and even though in return he received the pleasure he so desperately craved, he was starting to feel more like a sex toy than a lover or a friend. The realization troubled him and he often found himself wondering if he had made a huge mistake by willingly giving himself to Mosco. But he knew that even if he had, there was no turning back; all he could do was forget about Booker and move on. However, even though he tried his hardest to remove from his mind the man he attributed as being his savior, Booker was never far from his thoughts because the dark haired officer was as much a part of him as his own soul. It was not too difficult to occupy his mind with other thoughts during the daylight hours, but at night, when he fell into the blessed escape of sleep, Booker infiltrated his dreams and he awoke every morning feeling enormous regret for not keeping himself chaste for the man he loved. Of course, waking every morning confronted by Mosco’s erect penis eagerly awaiting oral stimulation only added to the confusion of his mixed emotions. He needed his cellmate if he had any chance of surviving his time inside and he wanted the sexual gratification he received from him because without it, he feared he would once again lose all sense of love, and the thought of returning to the shadowlands of his past terrified him. It was a double-edged sword because being with Mosco meant he could lose Booker forever, but in his heart, he knew he could not risk going back to the emptiness that had engulfed him after Amy's death, because if he did, he feared he would never return.
He was a helpless fly trapped in a spider’s web and there was no way out.
Mosco’s impatient voice cut through his thoughts, bringing him back to the present with a thud. “C’mon brown eyes, I’m dyin’ here. Wrap that pretty mouth around me and suck me hard.”
Tom ran a hand over his blurry eyes and sitting up, he swung his legs over the edge of the bunk. Mosco immediately stepped forward, his erection just inches from Tom’s face and reaching out a hand, he lovingly stroked his sleep-tousled hair. “That’s it beautiful,” he coaxed in a soft voice. “Give Papá what he wants and I promise I’ll return the favor.”
The thought of Mosco giving him a blowjob was all the incentive Tom needed and placing his hands on his friend's hips, he licked his lips before pressing them around his cellmate’s cockhead and lovingly sucking on the tip. He knew it was what Mosco liked and he found himself instantly rewarded by the soft caress of gentle fingers massaging his scalp. “Yesss,” the Latino hissed, his voice echoing loudly around the small cell. "Chupa mi verga Tommy, chupa mi verga. (Suck my dick Tommy, suck my dick.)”
At the sound of Mosco's voice, a chorus of excited jeers echoed throughout the Block. “Yeah Jefe! Fuck that bitch’s pretty mouth… fuck him… C’mon Jefe, don't keep him all to yourself, share him around… Hey Tommy, how ‘bout you suck my cock after breakfast...”
The vulgar comments continued as Tom moved his mouth over Mosco’s shaft, the erect cock between his lips continuing to engorge, filling him completely with its hardness. Salty precum coated his tongue, the now familiar flavor sending a shiver of arousal down his spine and his own cock began to swell. But he refrained from touching himself because he wanted to experience the erotic pleasure of Mosco’s lips wrapped around him, his teasing mouth bringing him to orgasm and rewarding him for a job well done.
Loud, excited moans quickly replaced the taunting catcalls, the sexual mating songs of consenting cellmates taking pleasure in each other’s bodies now resonating off the walls, the thrill of their titillation intensified by Mosco’s enraptured groans. Not long after, desperate, terrified cries added to the cacophony of vocalizations, as those too weak to protect their bodies suddenly found themselves under attack, the rapes perpetrated by inmates who had the ability to dominate and take that which should only be given willingly. The masculine stench of testosterone-fueled sex filled the stagnant air and the single guard in the control room overlooking the cells unzipped his trousers and massaged his cock. It was against regulations to allow the prisoners to engage in any form of sexual activity, but all the guards ignored what went on, mostly for their own perverted gratification, but also because to try to stop it was a pointless exercise. Sex was a part of prison life; the inmates would always find a way to gain their release, whether it was consensual or by force and for the hacks, it was easier to turn a blind eye than intervene. It was all part of the prison code and it left those subjected to daily rapes, helpless and with nowhere to turn.
Mosco thrust his hips forward, ramming his cock against the back of Tom’s throat. A soft grunt escaped his lips and tangling his fingers in Tom’s hair, he drove his erection even deeper into the moist mouth. “Buen chico, (good boy)” he moaned, taking great delight in watching his cock pump forcefully in and out from between Tom’s full lips. “You’re so fucking beautiful and tonight, I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you’re gonna be beggin’ me for more.”
Seconds later, his orgasm exploded from deep within his loins and holding Tom’s head firmly in place, he shuddered his release into the warm, inviting mouth. An arrogant smile played over his lips and he grunted in satisfaction as he watched his toy struggle to ingest his salty offering. He had trained his little bitch well and he had eighteen months of pleasure to look forward to before he handed Tom over to his Jefa for the final phase of the operation. Although he would be sad to lose his bello puto, he would not be lonely for long; he would soon find another beautiful, frightened inmate to take his place, continuing the cycle of abuse and Tom would become nothing more than a distant memory.
As the warm, saliferous fluid flooded his throat, Tom screwed his eyes closed and concentrated on not gagging. Inside his head, his mind screamed no, no, no and he desperately tried to push the image of Booker’s horrified face from his thoughts. But he failed dismally and a single tear leaked from the corner of his eye, the salty droplet trickling down his pale cheek. Once again, he had betrayed his lover and he felt the devastating burden of loss as darkness slowly claimed another piece of his soul.
**
Saturday January 13th 1990 (9.17 a.m.)
Tom leaned over the pool table and squinting through one eye, he lined up his shot. With a gentle tap, he pushed the white cue ball across the green expanse, where it softly ricocheted off his target, sending the 8-ball into the corner pocket. He straightened up and placing his cue on the table, he held out his hand. “That’d be three in a row, pay up,” he chuckled, an attractive smile tilting at the corners of his lips.
Mosco grinned back and reaching into his shirt pocket, he pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and removing three, he tossed them across the table. “You don’t even smoke Hanson. What use is a frajo to you?”
“Currency,” Tom replied as he carefully tucked the strong smelling cigarettes into his pocket. “You never know when you’ll need a favor.”
Red-hot jealousy coursed through Mosco’s veins, but apart from his fingers tightening their grip around the pool cue in his hand, he remained outwardly calm. The thought of his Tommy going to another inmate for a favor did not sit well with him and his eyes flashed a darker shade of green. “If you need a favor Tommy, all you have to do is ask,” he stated in a cool voice.
Realizing his mistake, Tom quickly backpedaled and rubbing a finger over his top lip, he smiled nervously. “Yeah I know Mosco, I just like having them, you know, ‘cause they’re my winnings.”
When Mosco’s expression relaxed, he slowly exhaled in relief. Moments later, a guard approached and clapped him on the shoulder. “Looks like someone’s finally come to see you Hanson, your name’s on the visitation list.”
Tom’s eyes widened in surprise. “Are you sure?” he asked, the sudden excitement he felt evident in the slightly raised pitch of his voice.
Edward Hanley smiled. Tom was a model prisoner and apart from his association with Miguel Mosco, he had proven himself to be a pretty decent guy, which made his job on the Block a hell of a lot easier. “Checked it myself. Someone named Booker has signed in for a visit. Be ready in twenty or you’ll miss out.”
An excited flush stained Tom’s cheeks and turning around, he grinned happily at Mosco. “Did you hear that? He’s finally come to see me!”
The urge to snap the pool cue in his hand and stab the jagged end in Tom’s eye was overwhelming, but Mosco managed to maintain his cool long enough to say, “Have a nice visit,” before turning away and approaching a group of men playing cards.
The news had Tom so caught up in his own elation, he did not notice the animosity in Mosco’s tone, but if he had, it would have sent a shiver of foreboding down his spine because pissing off el Jefe never ended well.
**
Saturday January 13th 1990 (10.06 a.m.)
The visitors’ room was in stark contrast to the majority of the prison. Children’s drawings adorned the brightly painted walls, giving an air of hope to an otherwise bleak environment. As Tom entered the room, his eyes flitted left to right as he anxiously tried to catch sight of Booker and he jumped slightly when Hanley once again placed a hand on his shoulder. “He’s on the left Hanson, table twenty-three.”
Tom slowly made his way through the cluster of tables, the noise in the room reaching fever pitch as prisoners exchanged hugs and greetings with their loved ones. He kept his eyes straight in front of him, afraid that if he caught a glimpse of his fellow prisoners’ elated expressions, his emotions would get the better of him. He needed to stay calm and focused because he only had forty-five minutes to convince Booker that he still loved him.
As he neared table twenty-three, he saw Booker’s face for the first time in nearly two and a half months and his resolve crumbled. Tears blurred his vision and quickening his step, he reached out and wrapped his arms around the man he adored. There was a moment’s hesitation before two muscular arms circled his waist, but the embrace was tentative. Hoping to gain a more loving response, Tom tightened his hug. “God I’ve missed you,” he whispered against the soft flesh of Booker’s neck. “It’s so fucking good to see you.”
Booker’s arms loosened their hold and gently disengaging himself from Tom’s grasp, he sat back down at the table. Disappointed by the lack of warmth in the greeting, Tom’s happy mood instantly evaporated and pulling out a hard metal chair, he sat down opposite his friend. “So… what took you so long?”
A flash of anger darkened Booker’s eyes and the muscles in his jaw tightened. “Is that really how you’re going to start the conversation?” he asked in a cold voice.
Tom exhaled heavily and resting his head in his hands, he gazed morosely down at the table. “I’m sorry,” he muttered softly, “this isn’t going the way I had hoped. I thought you’d at least be happy to see me.”
A feeling of regret washed over Booker and reaching out, he gently pulled Tom’s hand away and entwining their fingers together, he gave a tender squeeze. “I’m sorry too and of course I’m happy to see you, I’ve missed you like crazy.”
“Really?” Tom asked, a small hopeful smile brightening his face. “Because I kind of figured you’d abandoned me.”
A soft sigh escaped from between Booker’s lips. “I needed time to get my head around it Tommy. That was one hell of a bombshell you dropped at the courthouse.”
Tom’s shoulders sagged and his lower lip pushed out into a soft pout. “I know… and I’m sorry. But you understand why I did it, right? I need to be punished for what I did because otherwise, the rest of my life will be built on a lie.”
Booker remained silent for several long minutes before replying in a sad voice. “I get it Tommy, I really do… it’s just… I really wish you’d talked to me about it first.”
“Would you have let me go ahead with it if I had?” Tom asked curiously.
A small smile twitched at Booker’s lips. “Probably not.”
Tilting his head on one side, Tom’s lips curled into a cheeky grin. “Sooo then… am I forgiven?”
Booker could not believe he had forgotten how exquisitely beautiful Tom was and he found himself instantly drawn in by his beguiling smile. “Yes baby, you’re forgiven,” he murmured and leaning across the table, he pressed his lips against the soft flesh of Tom’s pout and kissed him lovingly.
The piercing sound of wolf whistles echoed throughout the room and a stony-faced guard quickly approached their table. “Enough of the lovey-dovey crap fellas,” he admonished in a cold voice. “Save it for the outside.”
Unfazed by the guard’s caution, Tom grinned back happily, but if he had known Mosco’s second in command, José Diaz, had witnessed his tender moment with Booker, his cheerful disposition would have vanished as quickly as it had manifested. But he was blissfully unaware and taking both of Booker’s hands in his, he gave the fingers a squeeze. “Tell me everything that’s happened since I last saw you.”
Shaking his head, Booker gazed back with troubled eyes. “No, firstly I want to know if you’re all right. Are they treating you okay Tommy? I mean, no one’s pressuring you in any way are they?”
A sudden weight bore down on Tom’s shoulders. In the few minutes he had spent with Booker, he had completely forgotten his betrayal and the memory stabbed at his heart like a knife. The color drained from his face and he immediately lowered his gaze, unable to meet Booker’s trusting look for fear that he would reveal his infidelity. “I’m fine,” he replied in a rush of words. “It’s actually not that bad in here. I’ve made some friends and even the hacks are okay most of the time.”
Booker’s brow creased into a deep frown and reaching out a hand, he gently tilted up Tom’s chin and stared him in the eyes. “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter Tommy,” he muttered softly. “Is someone hurting you?”
Tom’s head shook furiously from side to side whilst attempting to give his lover a reassuring smile. “No Dennis, honestly, everything’s fine. I mean, some inmates have a hard time of it, but I’m not one of them.”
As he studied Tom’s worried face, Booker came to the conclusion that he was hiding something. But even if he was, there was little he could do about it whilst his lover remained incarcerated. He knew the prison code well enough to know that snitching was not an option and so he decided to let the matter drop, at least for the moment. “Okay baby,” he murmured quietly, “but if you ever need to talk, promise me you’ll—”
“Okay, I will,” Tom replied hurriedly and the tight knot of betrayal in his stomach tightened with every deceitful lie that came out of his mouth. He misguidedly figured that what Booker did not know, would not hurt him and once the parole board granted him his release, he would find a way to break it to his lover that he had betrayed him. But for the time being, he needed Mosco’s friendship to survive and he was sure that once Booker understood the truth, he would forgive him.
In the opposite corner of the room, José Diaz listened with one ear to his wife’s cheerful chatter, but his main attention remained focused on Tom and Booker and he could not wait to disclose to Mosco just how affectionate the two men were towards each other.
A cruel smile played over his thin lips. Once Mosco found out his puto still had eyes for another man, there would be hell to pay and Hanson would find himself suffering a world of pain because no one cheated on el Jefe… no one.
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Chasing a Butterfly