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Beneath a Heart of Darkness	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 4657 -:- 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
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Twelve days later
Booker stood with his hands braced against the tiled wall of the shower cubicle, his head bent low so the spray of hot water cascaded over his shoulders, soothing the stiffness in his muscles. He had spent the day lugging boxes of files from the Chapel’s basement to the parking lot, where he had loaded them into a waiting van ready for transport to the central records office. Despite his powerful physique, the work proved physically demanding, and by the end of the day, the dark-haired officer found himself tired, sore, and ready to punch someone if they dared look at him the wrong way. While he recognized he had eagerly accepted the backbreaking task so as to avoid his fellow officers, every time he puffed up the stairs, his biceps straining from the weight of the files, he had found it increasingly difficult to ignore Penhall’s softly spoken taunts. The cleverly disguised harassment was almost the straw that broke the camel’s back, and with each labored step, he had fantasized about drilling his fist into the vexatious officer’s smirking face. But as much as he would have enjoyed the thrill of breaking Doug’s nose, a little voice inside his head cautioned him against doing anything that would cause his lover unnecessary stress and heartache. Therefore, through sheer will and his love for Tom, he had managed to grin through the humiliation and ignore the provocation, all the while convincing himself it proved he was the better man.
When the day had finally drawn to a close, he had silently congratulated himself for successfully surviving hours of mental and physical suffering without losing his cool. It hadn’t been easy, and he had looked forward to putting the day behind him and spending some quality time with Tom. But when he arrived home, he had discovered his apartment shrouded in darkness and no sign of his lover. Disappointment had immediately dampened his already dark mood, and it was then he had decided a hot shower followed by copious amounts of beer were exactly what he needed to shed the stench of humiliation clinging to his sweat drenched body. So, with his mind made up, he had stripped naked and leaving his discarded clothing in a pile on the floor, he had walked into the bathroom and closed the door.
But after spending thirty minutes under the therapeutic spray of warm water, his appetite for alcohol had disappeared, along with his bad mood. Although tired, he made the decision to skip the beer-binge and settle for a relaxing night in front of the TV while enjoying takeout from his favorite Chinese restaurant. It didn’t exactly fit with his tough guy persona, but he didn’t want Tom to come home to find him passed out on the couch, drooling onto one of the mismatched cushions. His friendship with Tom was still new, and while their level of intimacy hadn’t progressed past kissing, he wanted the honeymoon period to last for as long as possible. With Tom now off his medication, it was only a matter of time before their relationship blossomed into something more than roommates, and he did not want Hanson to think of him as a boorish drunk. There was a faint scent of promise in the air, and he had waited far too long to ruin his chances of romance with the man he had secretly idolized since the day they had met. Tom deserved the very best, and he wanted to bestow upon him the security of a life filled with love, peace, and honesty.
In the words of Paul Weller, he just wanted Tom to feel happy until the end of time.
When the water turned tepid, he pushed his dripping hair from his eyes and turned off the faucets. Stepping out into the steam-filled bathroom, he quickly dried off and wrapping a clean towel around his waist, he walked out into the living room.
At first, he didn’t notice the light filtering through the partially open bedroom door, but when he heard a window closing, he realized Tom was home, and a smile curved the corners of his lips. Now he wouldn’t have to spend the night on his own, and pleased with the turn of events, he grabbed two beers out of the refrigerator and sauntered into the bedroom. But he pulled up short when he saw who was standing in the middle of the room.
“What the hell!”
The lamp on the nightstand illuminated Jorge’s naked body, the broad expanse of his chest and the defined ridges of his abdomen clearly outlined in the soft light. Below, nestled in a shock of dark pubic hair, the evidence of his arousal stood proudly erect, the tip already glistening with a pearl of pre-cum.
With a coy smile, the Latino tilted his head seductively and touched his erection. His fingers skillfully toyed with his cock, the erotic display both provocative and enticing. He was the puppeteer, carefully drawing Booker in with each loving touch, and the sight of his long, talented fingers gliding over his erect shaft had the desired effect. A fire erupted in Booker’s groin, and the young officer envisioned wrapping his lips around the Latino’s throbbing member and sucking him dry. The brazen display of self-gratification had a bewitching effect, and his tongue darted out, the moist tip lasciviously caressing his upper lip. His body started to react to the visual stimulation, the salacious sight swelling his cock until it strained against his towel, forming a noticeable bulge. He knew it was wrong, he knew he was betraying Tom by having such erogenous thoughts, but his cock had a mind of its own, continuing to harden under the allure of Jorge’s physical perfection. It was an impossible scenario; his body screamed yes, but his mind screamed no. He was trapped in a battle of wills, and his body appeared to be winning.
With no other defense at hand, he screwed his eyes closed, shutting out the vision. A moment later, a soft, alluring voice cut through the silence. “Don’t you want to play with me, Dennis? Don’t you want to make me come?”
But if Jorge thought his seductive lilt could win back the man he loved, he was sadly mistaken. The teasing tone was not the voice of Booker’s dreams, and with the hypnotic spell now broken, the young officer’s eyes flew open. “NO!” he yelled, his eyes flashing with fury. “I don’t! How dare you break into my apartment, I could arrest you for trespass, you fuckin’ punk! After everything I’ve done for you, why would you do this? Why?”
Tears glistened in Jorge’s eyes, the opaque droplets clinging to his long lashes. “Because I love you.”
Booker placed the unopened bottles of beer on the bureau, and grabbing his robe from the back of the bedroom door, he covered his arousal within the soft folds of the terry cloth. “Get dressed,” he commanded stiffly. “We need to talk.”
A fractious pout formed on Jorge’s lips, the tears in his eyes magically vanishing along with his well-practiced air of vulnerability. “About what?”
The discernible change in the Latino’s nature immediately made Booker wary. Despite his strong emotional attachment to the young man standing before him, he was beginning to realize things were not always as they seemed. It was becoming increasingly apparent to him that Jorge was a master manipulator, most likely due to his long years of incarceration. The fundamental motive of all living creatures is survival. Through sheer necessity and the deeply rooted inhibitor of risk: self-preservation, he had developed certain coping mechanisms to withstand the daily abuse. It wasn’t his fault, he was a product of his environment, a helpless pawn controlled by Holland’s cruel hand, and in all probability, if he had lived a life free from exploitation, he would not be the man he was today. There was no denying the fact that life had dealt him a bad hand, but that did not mean he could not rise above the adversity and emerge victoriously. Holland was out of his life, and with some gentle guidance, he could become the man God created him to be; he just needed to shake free from the shackles of his human bondage and believe in himself. Otherwise, he was destined to live a life of a slave, forever bound by the will of others.
“Well?” Jorge muttered moodily when Dennis did not answer his question. “What’s so important you’d rather talk than have sex?”
Determined not to lose his temper, Booker inhaled deeply through his nose and counted slowly to ten before exhaling the calming breath out through his pursed lips. “First, I want you to get dressed,” he instructed coolly, his gaze focusing on Jorge’s dark eyes. “Then we talk. Got it?”
The Latino sighed heavily, his enticing pout sharpening the curve of his full lips. “Whatever,” he mumbled, and picking his clothes up off the floor, he turned away and started to dress.
**
Two hours later
When Tom walked into the apartment, he found Booker sitting in the dimly lit living room, a large tumbler of whiskey in his hand. Closing the door behind him, he approached the dark-haired officer, and sitting down next to him, he took hold of his hand and squeezed his cold fingers. “Bad day?”
Booker lifted his head and looked at Tom through tired, red-rimmed eyes. “I found Jorge in my bedroom. He’d climbed up the fire-escape and… Shit, Tom, he was naked! He was fucking naked and erect, and wanting to have sex and…”
His voice petered out, and lowering his gaze to the floor, he exhaled a heavy sigh. “He just won’t take no for an answer.”
Tom released Booker’s fingers from his grasp and standing up, he took a step back and wrapped his arms protectively around his torso. “Did you touch him?” he asked, his voice stiff with emotion.
Startled, Booker’s head snapped up, his eyes flashing wildly. “What? No! Jesus, Tommy, how can you ask me that?”
“But you were tempted,” Tom stated flatly. “I can see it in your eyes.”
Booker shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his face flushing red. “He caught me by surprise,” he offered lamely.
“And he made you horny,” Tom continued, a hint of distress rising in his voice. “You looked at him, and you wanted to have sex. Isn’t that right?”
“I WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU!” Booker exclaimed loudly, and slamming his glass down on the table, he jumped to his feet and grabbed Tom roughly by the upper arms, his nails digging painfully into the exposed flesh. “I DIDN’T INVITE HIM HERE! I DIDN’T ASK TO SEE HIM NAKED! SO WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU BLAMING ME?”
Unmoved by his friend’s outburst, Tom yanked free from the brutal hold. “And what if I can’t give you what you want?” he muttered, his fingers rubbing at the red marks on his arms. “Then what?”
“What do you mean?” Booker asked, confusion knitting his brow. “I love you, Tommy, nothing else matters.”
“Doesn’t it?” Tom asked softly, his dark eyes filling with sadness. “You say that now, but how will you feel in three months? Six months? A year? What if I can’t ever get an erection? Will you still love me then?”
Awareness came to Booker, not in a blinding flash of light, but in a slow dawning of understanding, and placing his hands on Tom’s shoulders, he looked him straight in the eyes. “What brought this on? I thought Doctor Ross put your mind at rest about that. You’re no longer taking your SSRIs, so it shouldn’t take long—”
“Doctor Ross recommended I speak to a psychologist,” Tom blurted out.
A cloud darkened Booker’s eyes. “When did he say that? I was with you at your last appointment.”
Embarrassment brought a flush to Tom’s cheeks, and he quickly averted his gaze to the floor. “I know we agreed we’d talk to Doctor Ross together about my recovery, but I’ve been off my meds for a week and a half, and nothing’s changed. I was only on the SSRIs for a few days, so the drug is out of my system, but I still can’t…”
He hesitated for a moment, before continuing, his voice steadily rising as his emotional pain spilled forth in a rush of words. “Jesus, Dennis, I was scared the drugs would make me impotent, but I was deluding myself. I was already fucking impotent, and that means it’s all in my head! Don’t you get it? I can’t get it up because I’m scared to have sex! I can’t even get a hard-on when I masturbate! I’m dead below the waist because of what those fucking assholes did to me! So tell me again how it doesn’t matter because it fucking well does, it matters a lot! Without sex, I’m nothing more than your fucking roommate, and one day, you’re gonna wake up and realize you wasted your time on someone who can never give you what you want!”
Without batting an eye, Booker continued to study Tom’s flushed face. “Have you finished?” he asked quietly.
Taken aback by his friend’s serene tone, Tom faltered. “I-I...” he began, but when Booker held up his hand, he immediately stopped talking, and lowering his eyes to the floor, he waited for his friend to speak.
Several long seconds passed before Booker finally broke the silence. “You’ve had your say, now it’s my turn. You were raped, Tom.”
The calmly delivered statement was not what Tom expected, and lifting his head, he stared at his friend in annoyance. “Congratulations, Sherlock,” he snapped. “Do you think I don’t know that? I was there, remember? I fucking lived it.”
“Exactly,” Booker replied softly. “You survived a horrific assault, and you need time to heal. Not just physically, but emotionally. And despite what you may think, I don’t give a rat’s ass how long it takes, so stop making up bullshit excuses as to why we shouldn’t be together and let’s get on with living our lives. Okay?”
Tom’s shocked expression slowly transformed into an embarrassed smile, and shoving his hands in his pockets, he shuffled uncomfortably. “Do you really mean that?” he asked, not daring to believe.
A long breath of frustration exhaled from between Booker’s lips. “Jesus, Tom, how many times do I—”
“Okay, okay!” Tom conceded quickly. “I believe you.”
“Good,” Booker replied, a tight smile straining his lips. “And just so you know, I warned Jorge about Holland, so there’s no reason for me to see him again.”
Although they were the words Tom wanted to hear, they did not make him happy. Jorge had suffered too, and as difficult as it was for him to admit it, the young Latino deserved Booker’s friendship just as much as he did. It was a defining moment in his recovery because, for the first time since his assault, he understood the true nature of his relationship with Dennis. Sex was only a physical aspect, their emotional attachment ran much deeper, and he knew in his heart he could trust his friend implicitly. He just wished he’d figured it out sooner because he was tired of fighting, but more importantly, he was tired of living his life in fear.
With a fiery determination to make things right burning in his soul, he took hold of Booker’s hand and squeezed his fingers. “No. You should stay in contact with him, he needs you.”
Uncertainty puckered Booker’s brow. “Are you sure? ‘Cause I don’t—”
“I’m sure,” Tom replied with a smile, but little did he know, his magnanimous gesture was about to shatter both their worlds yet again.
**
Jorge stood on the sidewalk, the glow of the streetlight shining directly on his upturned face. His gaze remained fixed on Booker’s apartment window, and he observed with interest the two shadowy figures moving around the room. From his vantage point behind a tree, he had watched Tom arrive home, and it had taken all his self-control not to confront him and give a blow-by-blow account of what had taken place just hours before. Although Booker had spurned his advances, he had seen the lust shimmering in his eyes, and he wanted Tom to know he wielded a certain power over the dark-haired officer. It was petty, but his emotional maturity was well below his years, and he wanted to lash out and hurt the man who had stolen his Dennis because every day without his lover was another day he lived in hell.
With his attention focused on the apartment above, the young Latino did not see the shadowy figure approach until a soft voice broke the silence. “Hello, my beautiful boy.”
Heat flared in Jorge’s groin, the arousal bringing a smile to his lips, and turning around, he greeted his long, lost friend. “Hello, Mister Holland.”
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Beneath a Heart of Darkness