Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

Beneath a Heart of Darkness	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 4658 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- 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
- 29
- 30
- 31
Two hours later
The remnants of the storm hung heavy in the atmosphere, adding to the gloom of the unlit apartment. Tom sat on the couch, his damaged arms laid out in front of him, the bloody razor still gripped tightly between his thumb and forefinger. He stared at the open window, watching in fascination as a cool breeze ruffled the net curtains, the channel of air rhythmically caving and billowing the fabric in an exotic dance of mesmerizing beauty. The hypnotizing sway reminded him of Salome and her veils, and closing his eyes, he visualized Brigid Bazlen’s portrayal of the voluptuous seductress in King of Kings. For the first time in almost a month he felt a stirring in his groin, and unbuttoning his jeans, he slipped a hand inside his boxers. However, when the tips of his fingers made contact with the silky flesh of his shaft, a wave of nausea rolled over him, instantly dampening his arousal, and quickly withdrawing his hand, he struggled to control his rising panic. Tears of frustration welled in his dark eyes, the opaque droplets clinging to his long lashes, blurring his vision. When a lone tear slid down his cheek, the forgotten razor slipped from between his fingers, embedding in the thick-piled carpet, and covering his face with his hands, he gave in to his sorrow. Loud, racking sobs filled the apartment, the weight of his grief bearing down on him, smothering him with icy tendrils of guilt, shame, and regret. He was a lost soul, his life no longer had purpose, his existence no longer had meaning. He was a hollow shell, a broken shadow of the man he had once been, and all because he hadn’t fought hard enough to stop McCarter from viciously violating his innocence. As a police officer, it was a bitter pill to swallow knowing he could have prevented his rape if only he hadn’t panicked and had, instead, used his wealth of training to defuse the situation before it got out of hand. The knowledge weighed heavily on his mind, and he couldn’t help but wonder if that was the reason Booker had deserted him. In his confusion, he overlooked the fact that the Pi Taus had also easily overpowered the dark-haired officer. He could only see his own failures, his own missed opportunities, and the glaring inadequacies of his character were slowly eating him up inside. He was an incompetent, pathetic excuse of a man, and he didn’t blame Booker for abandoning him. His self-loathing attitude was also the reason he had pushed Penhall away, refusing to speak to him when he phoned or turned up on his doorstep. He did not want the officer’s misunderstood sympathy because he was certain if his friend knew the real reason behind his breakdown, he too would reject him, and it was easier to shut himself away than face the pain of losing another friend.
Gradually, his wretched sobs subsided, and sniffing loudly, he wiped a shaky hand across his bloodshot eyes. His forearms throbbed painfully, and he could feel the beginnings of a headache stabbing behind his right eye. Tired and disillusioned, he curled up on the couch and closed his eyes. The fall breeze blowing in through the curtains cooled his heated skin, and he shivered slightly. But his weariness prevented him from getting up and closing the window. Instead, he pulled down his shirt sleeves, and wrapping his arms around his torso, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
**
Later that evening
A loud banging jarred Tom back to wakefulness. He jerked upright, his mind only semiconscious, and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he struggled to orient himself in the darkness. Once he realized he was in his apartment, and the loud noise was someone knocking on his door, relief expelled a rush of air from his lungs. But his comfort was short-lived, and visions of Michael McCarter’s mocking expression had him searching for his gun before he remembered he’d surrendered it to Penhall the day after his talk with Fuller. Getting to his feet, he winced as his bare foot made contact with the razor blade embedded in the carpet. Fortunately, it barely pierced the skin, and reaching down, he picked it up off the floor and held it in his hand. It wasn’t as effective as a gun, but he could inflict a painful wound if he aimed at McCarter’s face, and gripping it tightly in his fingers, he slowly approached the door. Another loud knock had his heart leaping into his throat, and creeping forward, he pressed his eye against the peephole. But when he saw who was standing in the hallway, the razor slipped from his grasp, and his fingers scrabbled frantically at the chain. He eventually released it from its track, and unlatching the deadbolt, he yanked open the door.
“Dennis! Jesus! Where have you—”
A brown paper package slammed into his chest. “Here,” Dennis interrupted, his eyes not quite meeting the young officer’s startled gaze. “I hope this makes you happy.”
Confused by the turn of events, Tom’s fingers clutched at the wrinkled bag. “Happy? I don’t understand. Dennis, what’s going on? I’ve been worried sick about—”
Ignoring the barrage of questions, Booker turned away. “Fuck you, Hanson,” he muttered under his breath, and shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket, he walked toward the stairwell, the sound of Tom’s desperate voice ringing painfully in his ears.
**
Twenty minutes later
Although Booker had left Holland’s home without incident, he did not feel truly liberated until the moment he stepped over the threshold of his apartment. The burden of his ordeal still weighed heavily on his shoulders, but knowing he had managed to free Jorge from the sexual and physical abuse gave him some measure of solace, and it almost made the degradation and hardship he had endured worth it.
Almost.
With a strained smile, he turned and placed a comforting arm around the young Latino’s shoulders. “So, this is it. Home sweet home.”
Jorge smiled politely, his eyes widening ever so slightly as he took in his surroundings. The small, untidy apartment was an obvious step down from the luxury he had grown accustomed to at Holland’s country hideaway. However, he realized beggars could not be choosers, and as his mama had often told him when he was growing up: El hogar está donde está el corazón (Home is where the heart is), and there was no doubt his heart now belonged to the beautiful, brave man standing beside him.
“It’s nice,” he lied, and snaking his arms around Booker’s waist, he snuggled in close. “But you don’t look happy? Is it because of me? Do I make you sad?”
Embarrassed by the young man’s affections, Booker gently disengaged from the hug and quickly busied himself by picking up the discarded clothing littering the room. “Of course not,” he replied softly. “I’m just tired, and, you know, adjusting to being home.”
With Jorge’s new-found freedom came an increased level of confidence he had not known existed, and stepping forward, he placed a hand on Booker’s shoulder and asked the question foremost on his mind. “And that man you visited... that Tom. What about him?”
“What about him?” Booker snapped irritably. “He’s nobody, just someone I work with.”
“Oh,” Jorge replied quietly. “I thought perhaps he was your boyfriend.”
A telltale twitch of Booker’s eyelid revealed just how much the innocent observation pained him. But he was an expert at disguising his feelings, and a well-practiced sneer curled his lip. “Hanson? You’re kidding, right? He’s definitely not my type.”
Seizing his chance, Jorge tilted his head to one side and flashed the young officer a seductive smile. “Sooo, does that mean you’re single?”
Backed into a corner, Booker knew he needed to answer the question honestly, but he was wary about giving Jorge the wrong idea about their so-called relationship. While he had deep feelings for the young man standing before him, given the circumstances of their friendship, he was reluctant to take advantage of him. Jorge had spent the last few years indulging the sexual fantasies of a serial abuser, and he needed time to heal his psychological and physical scars. After years under the control of Holland’s cruel dictatorship, there was a high likelihood he was emotionally stunted, and Booker did not feel equipped to cope with such a delicate matter. Despite the abuse, during his years of incarceration, Jorge had formed an unhealthy attachment to Holland, and Booker was determined not to become his substitute Sugar Daddy. While it would be extremely easy to agree to a casual relationship based solely on great sex, he understood that Jorge deserved more. The younger man needed someone to love him unconditionally, to shower him with the affection and respect that had been sorely lacking in the last few years of his life. But these were serious undertakings Booker knew he could not commit to; at least not until he sorted out his own life. He had no idea if he still had a job to return to, and if he did, he was certain Fuller would bust his hump for at least the next few months just to teach him a lesson. But all that paled in comparison to his biggest dilemma; Tom. But that was a problem for another day, his priority was setting the ground rules with Jorge before things got out of hand.
“I’m not looking for a relationship,” he declared softly. “I think we should get to know each other as friends and see what happens.”
A soft pout formed on Jorge’s full, enticing lips. “Don’t you enjoy having sex with me?”
Booker’s stomach flip-flopped with a hot desire, and he swallowed down a moan. “Jesus,” he whispered, “I loved having sex with you. But there’s more to a relationship than just fucking, Jorge. Don’t you want to go out and experience the world before settling down?”
With a devilish grin, Jorge stepped forward, and reaching out a hand, he lightly cupped Booker’s crotch and gave a gentle squeeze. “I’m not talking about settling down,” he murmured, his enticing lips brushing against Booker's cheek. “I’m talking about you fucking me till I come. Don’t you wanna play with me?”
A fiery ball ignited in the pit of Booker’s stomach, and for the briefest of moments, he allowed himself to believe no harm would come from giving in to temptation. Jorge was nineteen-years-old, and in the eyes of the law, a consenting adult. However, there were extenuating circumstances. Only God himself knew of the horrors he had witnessed and endured during that time, although, after experiencing two-and-a-half weeks of sexual abuse at the hands of the mogul, Booker had some idea of the extent of the maltreatment. Therefore, he was wary of exacerbating the psychological damage Holland had inflicted on the young man. But his brief encounter with Tom had left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he longed to take Jorge into his arms and forget the last month of his life. He wanted to erase all memories of Hanson from his mind, and immersing himself in the physical wonders of Jorge’s beautiful body would be the distraction he needed. So when his new friend’s soft pout brushed over his mouth, he found himself wavering, and parting his lips, he kissed him tenderly.
Encouraged by the response, Jorge pressed his body against Booker’s, his cock grinding against the hard mound of his lover’s growing erection. “Fuck me,” he gasped into the depths of Booker’s moist mouth.
The desperately spoken plea startled Booker back to reality, and pulling away, he wiped a trembling hand over his lips, his wide-eyed gaze filled with dismay. “No, no, no,” he protested softly. “Jorge, we can’t. Don’t you see how wrong this is?”
Confused by the rejection, Jorge’s smooth brow wrinkled into a deep furrow. “But how can it be wrong if it feels so right?” he asked innocently.
It was a valid argument, and Booker wished his conscience would shut the fuck up and allow him to enjoy just one more night of carnal bliss with the beautiful man standing before him. The hypnotic gaze reflecting deep from Jorge’s trusting eyes held him in a trance, and he wondered if he was strong enough to reject the advances of such a beautiful, alluring man. But he knew a moment’s happiness would lead to a lifetime of regret, and summoning all his inner strength, he made his decision. “I dunno, but it just is,” he explained quietly. “Let’s take it slow, okay? We’ve both been through a lot, and we need time to adjust.”
With a sigh, Jorge lowered his eyes to the floor. “Okay,” he muttered moodily.
Relief eased the tension in Booker’s shoulders, and his muscles relaxed. “Great,” he replied a little too quickly. “Now, how ‘bout we get something to eat?”
Shaking his head, Jorge’s gaze remained stubbornly focused on the worn linoleum. “I’m tired, I wanna go to sleep.”
Surprised by the younger man’s sudden mood change, Booker rubbed an awkward hand over the back of his neck. “Um, okay. You can take the bed, and I’ll sleep on the couch.”
Jorge peered up at him through his long lashes, his look so innocent, so beguiling. “I don’t wanna sleep alone.”
“Shit,” Booker muttered. He could feel his resolve floundering, and taking his friend by the hand, he gently squeezed his fingers. “All right, we’ll share the bed. But I need some time alone, so I’ll join you later, okay?”
“Okay,” Jorge conceded, a sweet smile curving his lips.
But little did Booker know, his problems had only just begun.
**
Tom sat hunched on the floor with his head in his hands. The two VHS cassettes lay discarded at his feet, the evidence of his rape forever memorialized on the T-60 tapes. He felt sick, and yet, in an odd way, he also felt immensely relieved. At least now he could destroy the video documentation, and no one would ever have to know what happened in the basement of the Pi Tau house.
But with his relief came questions. How had Booker managed to procure the tapes, and did it have anything to do with his disappearance? The mystery gnawed at his brain, and as much as he craved the solitude of his apartment, safe from the outside world, he knew he had no choice. If he wanted answers, he needed to visit Booker.
- 29
- 30
- 31
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

Beneath a Heart of Darkness