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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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Friday June 1st 1990 (3.18 p.m.)
The unseasonably cold weather had taken everyone by surprise and jamming his hands deeper into his pockets, Tom shrugged his shoulders in a vain attempt to protect himself from the blustery conditions. He leaned casually against the perimeter wall of the exercise yard, silently watching a group of inmates playing a loud and energetic game of basketball. The men’s bodies dripped with sweat, despite the cold weather, but even though the participants appeared to be enjoying themselves, he felt no inclination to join them. His mind was preoccupied with other matters, matters that he had thought buried and forgotten until the Warden had called him in for a meeting and in a cold and somewhat matter-of-fact tone, had explained the situation. It had only taken a matter of seconds and a few short words to implode his world yet again and he wondered if he would ever know real peace, or if he was doomed to pay for his sins forever.
The sound of footsteps on gravel pulled him from his self-pitying reverie and refocusing his eyes, he exhaled heavily when he saw Mosco walking towards him. He was not in the mood to talk about his troubles, but he knew he would not be able to fool his lover into thinking he was okay; Mosco could read him like a book, which was both extremely comforting, but also somewhat annoying.
“Hey,” he murmured with a smile, but when he saw the shadow pass over his lover’s face, he knew he had failed miserably at his thinly veiled attempt to hide his inner turmoil.
“Don’t give me that bullshit, Chico,” Mosco replied softly. “Something’s wrong.”
Tom lowered his gaze and shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “It’s nothing, Mosco. I just got some news, that’s all.”
Unconcerned about their lack of privacy, Mosco wrapped his arms around Tom’s waist and pulled him close. “Tell me,” he whispered against Tom’s ear, his cold breath sending a shiver of desire down his lover’s spine. “Maybe I can help.”
Although moved by the concern in Mosco’s voice and craving the protectiveness of his warm embrace, Tom hated displaying their affections in public and pulling away, he took his lover’s hand in his and gently squeezed the chilled fingers. “Let’s talk in private.”
Mosco nodded and releasing Tom’s hand, the two men walked side-by-side back into the warmth of the prison. Taking a seat in the recreation room, Tom pulled off his woolen hat and throwing it onto the table, he launched straight into his speech without pausing to think what effect his statement might have on Mosco. “There’s something that happened to me that I never told you about, something that happened when I was in jail.”
A deep frown creased Mosco’s forehead and his voice sounded strained when he spoke. “Go on.”
With a sigh, Tom picked up his hat and fingered the stray woolen threads that had pulled free from the knitwear. “I was raped,” he whispered softly, his eyes remaining fixed on the woolen hat in his hands, “and the sonofabitch that did it goes on trial on Tuesday.”
The quiet confession had an immediate effect on Mosco and his hands curled into tight fists as he struggled to contain the mounting fury that reddened his face and sent tremors of rage throughout his tense body. Even though he was guilty of coercing Tom into having sex with him when they first met, his lover continued to assure him it had not been rape. But now he understood why Tom had been so adamant; it was because someone had violated him and the knowledge sent Mosco's mind spiraling into a tornado of emotions. As he stared at Tom, a thunderous fury racked his body when he thought of his beautiful Chico suffering such a brutal attack at the hands of some filthy criminal, but he also acknowledged the deep sense of remorse he felt for his own actions. For the thousandth time since he and Tom had begun a proper relationship, he wished he could turn back time and change what he had set in motion. But he could not. There was no way out of the plan, not now, not ever.
Sensing Mosco’s anger, Tom laid a reassuring hand over his lover’s clenched fist. “It’s okay, it’s just... they want me to testify and I guess I’m freaking out about it. I put it behind me a long time ago and now…” His voice trailed off and resting his head in his hands, he struggled to fight back the tears that threatened to spill from his tortured eyes. “I want to forget my past,” he choked. “I just want to move on with my life and look towards the future.”
The Mosco of old would have selfishly indulged in his rage, but Tom often brought out the very best in him and pushing his murderous thoughts aside, he concentrated on giving his lover the comfort he needed. Getting up from his chair, he squatted next to Tom and placed a loving arm around his quivering shoulders. “And once you testify, Chico, you can,” he murmured against the soft flesh of Tom’s neck. “That hijo de puta (motherfucker) deserves to rot in hell for what he did to you.”
Dipping his head, Tom brushed his lips against Mosco’s angry pout. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice choking with emotion.
Mosco remained silent, the lies that spilled so readily from his lips weighing heavy in his heart. Tom did not have a future, not anymore and it was all because of him.
**
Thursday June 7th 1990 (11.31 a.m.)
The thought of facing the man who had brutally stolen the final piece of his dignity had Tom teetering on the precipice of full-blown panic and he spent the nights leading up to Manning’s trial tossing fitfully on his narrow bunk, his mind unable to relax enough to sleep for more than an hour at a time. However, when the day had finally arrived and he stood at the witness stand, his body trembling with fear as Manning pursed his lips and blew him a kiss from his place at the dock, he had found an inner strength he had forgotten he possessed. It had not been easy, but he had refused to cower under Manning’s leering gaze and pulling himself up to his full height, he had recounted the day of his rape. During his testimony, he had remained so focused on giving a clear and concise account of the assault that his moment on the stand passed by in a blur of words and within minutes, he found himself sitting in the courthouse holding cells awaiting transportation back to the prison that had become his home. The day he had been dreading was finally over and he relaxed in the knowledge that he could put the whole incident behind him and move forward.
The following day, he had received notification from the Warden that the jury had found Manning guilty of sexual assault and his sentence was three years imprisonment. It was a huge relief knowing that his rapist would have to spend time in prison for his crime and he felt a huge weight lifting from his shoulders. For the first time in days, he felt as though the universe was once again smiling down on him and life was good. However, his elation was short-lived and the following day, his world once again imploded.
Standing next to the pool table with his cue in hand waiting for Mosco to take his shot, Diaz nudged him in the arm. “Looks like we’ve got some new fish.”
Glancing over to the doorway with interest, the curious grin that was forming on Tom’s lips quickly froze and the color drained from his face. At first, he thought he must be hallucinating, but as the line of half a dozen men followed Hanley towards the cells, he knew what he was witnessing was not his fevered imagination conjuring up visions from his past, but stone cold reality.
Leroy Manning was now a prisoner in D Block.
The pool cue slipped from his fingers and clattered loudly to the floor, the sound immediately catching Mosco’s attention. When the Hispanic caught sight of his lover’s expression of fear, he threw down his own cue and hurrying over, he tenderly held Tom’s face in the palms of his hands. “What’s wrong, Chico?” he whispered, his gaze desperately searching his friend’s terrified eyes for answers.
For several seconds, Tom was unable to speak. His body remained paralyzed with a panic that caused a tightening around his chest, making it difficult for him to breathe and as he struggled to draw in some much-needed oxygen, his eyes bulged in fear and his fingers grasped frantically at Mosco’s shirtsleeves. “It’s… him,” he wheezed. “It’s…” But his anxiety had now become a full-scale panic attack and with one final gasp, his knees buckled from beneath him and his eyes rolled back in his head as darkness shrouded his mind and he fell into a dead faint.
With a grunt, Mosco managed to catch Tom before he hit the floor and holding his unconscious lover in his arms, his eyes glinted murderously at the backs of the men ascending the stairs. He had no idea who ‘him’ was, but when he found out, there would be hell to pay.
**
Saturday June 9th 1990 (4.38 a.m.)
The rhythmic resonance of loud snoring pervaded the early morning silence, but Tom found the cadence strangely soothing. Sitting cross-legged on the edge of his bunk, he stared silently out into the darkness as his fingers picked at the woolen pills scattered across the thin blanket covering his knees. Since Manning’s arrival two days before, a tight ball of anxiety knotted his stomach, tensing his muscles and making it difficult for him to eat or sleep. He was permanently on edge, jumping at the slightest noise or unexpected touch and he found himself withdrawing from those around him. For the most part, Manning had kept his distance and he had figured it was Mosco’s constant presence that kept his rapist at bay. However, even knowing that Mosco was only ever a few feet from his side, he did not feel safe. Officer Howell hated him and all it would take was a few dollar bills changing hands for him to find himself alone with the man who had ultimately destroyed the last shred of his innocence.
The squeak of the well-worn bedsprings above his head alerted him to Mosco’s presence and he watched as his lover jumped lithely to the floor and sat down next to him. When a comforting hand ruffled his hair, he closed his eyes and allowed himself the luxury of exacting pleasure from his lover’s affectionate touch. Seconds later, a warm mouth brushed against his forehead and opening his eyes, he sought out the fullness of Mosco’s lips. The two men kissed lovingly for a moment before Tom murmured a greeting against the soft flesh. “Hey.”
Mosco’s mouth twitched into a tender smile and breaking the kiss, he gazed fondly into Tom’s brown eyes. “Feliz Cumpleaños (Happy Birthday), Chico” he whispered softly. “Do you want your present now?”
Tom’s eyes flashed with arousal and a slow, mischievous smile played over his lips. It was his twenty-fifth birthday and even though he would never have imagined that he would spend it in prison, he was happy to be sharing the milestone with the man he adored. “What did you get me?” he asked playfully.
Taking the opportunity to nip and suck at the inviting flesh of Tom’s lower lip, Mosco pulled away the blanket and ran his fingers lightly over his lover’s boxer-clad cock. “Whatever you want, mi chico hermoso,” he murmured. “Today, it’s all about you.”
A shiver of excitement ran down Tom’s spine and gazing into his lover’s startling green eyes, he made his request. “I wanna fuck your mouth.”
Mosco slowly moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, the seductive gesture immediately intensifying Tom’s arousal and getting to his feet, the Hispanic held out his hand. “Stand up,” he instructed softly. “I wanna do this right.”
Tom’s cock hardened at the thought of what was to come and for the first time in nearly two days, he forgot all about Leroy Manning. Taking Mosco’s hand in his, he stood up and followed his lover over to the darkest corner of the cell before positioning his back against the cold cement wall. When gentle hands lowered his boxers, the coolness of the air danced over his sensitive cockhead, eliciting a barely audible gasp from between his lips and when skilled fingers lightly played over his growing erection, the gasp transformed into a low moan. He was in for a treat and he could not wait.
Mosco soaked up the emotional sight of Tom’s blissful expression and a deep stirring of love swelled within his heart. It had been difficult to witness his lover’s mounting levels of anxiety knowing that he had to bide his time until he could fix the problem at hand. He had even taken the unprecedented step of meeting with the Warden and all but begging him to transfer Manning to a different Block, but Simpson had met his request with an unsympathetic refusal. The Warden had explained that the Californian penal system was in the throes of a crisis and that all the prisons were running at maximum capacity, with some experiencing the fatal effects of overcrowding. In a direct and forthright manner, Simpson had laid the cards on the table; Tom needed to toughen up and accept Manning as an inmate of D Block or he could spend the remainder of his sentence in solitary.
However, in Mosco’s mind, neither of the Warden’s suggestions offered a satisfactory resolution to the problem and so he had devised his own plan, a plan that he intended to carry out that very day. But the feel of Tom’s erection hardening beneath his touch reminded him that he had a more pleasurable issue to attend to and dropping to his knees, he gazed seductively up at Tom through his long, dark lashes. “Do you want me to kiss it, mi amante (my lover), or do you want me to suck you hard?”
Tom’s legs began to tremble and reaching out, he weaved his fingers through Mosco’s tousled hair and slowly guided his lover’s head forward. “Kiss it,” he murmured, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
Mosco grinned. He knew what Tom liked and he was more than willing to give him what he wanted. Moistening his lips in preparation, he smiled slightly and pressed his mouth against the smooth flesh of Tom’s cockhead.
“Ohhh,” Tom breathed softly, his fingers gently pulling at Mosco’s thick tresses. “Ohhh, yeah.”
With an unrivaled expertise, Mosco took Tom’s hardening member into his mouth and using his tongue and lips, he gently teased it to life. Within minutes, there was a growing urgency in Tom’s thrusts and opening his throat, he allowed his lover to fuck his mouth. A steady rhythmic grunting sounded from above and closing his eyes, he reveled in the unique flavor of the saliferous precum that coated his tongue. His own thickening cock jutted out proudly, seeking his attention and reaching down, he released it from the confines of his boxers and tugged gently. Almost immediately, the sapidity mixing with his saliva grew stronger and opening his eyes, he glanced upwards to see Tom’s desirous gaze taking in the salacious sight.
“I’m close,” Tom gasped, his hips thrusting violently forwards and backward with erotic abandon. “Oh, Mosco… oh, God… oh… oh… OHHH!”
Warm semen flooded Mosco’s throat, the erogenous sensation fueling his own sexual appetite and with several quick strokes, he brought himself to orgasm. With a contented sigh, he stroked his softening cock as he lapped and sucked lovingly at Tom’s dwindling erection. He took his time, his tongue savoring the salty flavors that awakened his taste buds, but when gentle hands beckoned him from above, he climbed slowly to his feet. A warm inviting mouth immediately sought out his mouth and wrapping his arms around his lover, he pulled him close and kissed him affectionately. He would do whatever it took to protect the man whose quivering body he held in his arms, even if he ended up spending years in prison, or worse, facing the death penalty. In his mind, the risk was worth it. All that mattered was seeing his beloved Chico, safe and happy for the short time he had left.
**
Saturday June 9th 1990 (3.58 p.m.)
Eleven hours later and Mosco stood secreted in the shadows behind the metal staircase that led up to the cells. His emerald eyes narrowed into angry slits, the expression hardening his handsome features and it was obvious by the murderous look on his face that the cold heartened criminal that still lurked beneath the surface of his being had reawakened. He watched with a growing hostility as Manning sauntered into the bathroom after a heavy workout at the gym, the large man's swagger portraying the self-confidence of one who considered himself impervious to harm and his cockiness only served to inflame the fury boiling deep inside Mosco’s soul. Although itching to exact justice, his hands clenched and unclenched in a steady rhythm of self-control. He needed to exercise restraint and pick exactly the right moment to make his move, otherwise the personal risk he was about to take would all be in vain. It was a matter of timing and he was skilled in the art of stealthy observation.
He was the lion and Manning the gazelle.
An inconspicuous nod from Diaz gave him the all clear to act and with one last furtive glance around him, he walked into the shower room. Manning stood alone, naked as the day he was born and looking up, he gave Mosco an appreciative once over. “You shouldn’t sneak up on a man in prison, Paco,” he sneered. “If you’re not careful, you might find a shank in your gut, or worse… a cock up your ass.”
Mosco stared at the enormous appendage dangling between Manning’s massive thighs. “Impressive,” he crooned, his bright eyes twinkling seductively.
Manning ran his tongue over his thick lips as he studied Mosco’s muscular physique. “Do you wanna taste me, green eyes?” he whispered and taking his cock in his meaty hand, he began to stroke himself to hardness. “I know you Cholos love to suck dick.”
“Yes, we do,” Mosco replied softly and he stepped closer to his prey, his body moving with the fluidity of an exotic dancer… lithe and sensual, with a hint of enticement. “But first, I wanna feel that big cock.”
With a low moan, Manning released his growing erection and allowed Mosco’s skilled fingers to play over his shaft. “That’s it, Paco,” he groaned, “make me hard so I can fuck that pretty mouth.”
Mosco’s lips curled into a docile smile, but when the big man's eyes fluttered closed, the smile quickly turned into a cruel sneer and reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his homemade shiv and in one quick motion, he jammed it into Manning's carotid artery. It was a well-designed move and leaving the shank buried in Manning's thick neck, he backed away. When he reached the safety of the doorway, he watched his plan unfolded in a movie-like surreal slow motion. He knew enough about human nature to know what was about to happen and his eyes flashed with a morbid fascination as Manning reached up a meaty hand and pulled out the homemade knife.
Blood immediately gushed from the wound, the spurting fountain of fluid splattering against the walls, the stream of blood creating a macabre painting of bright crimson splashes. Manning dropped to his knees, his hand now ineffectively clamped over his wound. "Oh, God... help... me!" he spluttered.
Mosco stared coldly into Manning’s panicked eyes. “God won't help you, you fucking violador (rapist)," he murmured quietly and turning away, he walked from the room, leaving Manning to die alone on the floor.
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Chasing a Butterfly