Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

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
- 42
- 43
- 44
I apologise for the delay in posting, I've been unwell.
In peace,
OpenPage x

After an excruciatingly uncomfortable cab ride back to his neighborhood, Tom paid the driver, and ignoring the curious stares from the many bystanders going about their Saturday morning business, he hurried into his apartment building. He felt vulnerable wandering around in public in his underwear, and he longed for the sanctuary of his home, free from the scrutiny of prying eyes. While he recognized he had acted irrationally, spurred into action by the ferocity of Booker’s kiss, it was the second time his lover had pounced on him and forcefully tried to demand what should only be given freely, and the uncharacteristic behavior unnerved him. Something wasn’t right, but as much as he loved the dark-haired officer, he was too afraid to hang around and find out exactly what was going on inside his head. He needed space, and although he didn't want to admit it, he also needed time to reevaluate their relationship. A ripple of uncertainty was slowly gaining momentum inside his mind, and he was no longer sure if committing to Booker so soon after his rape was the right thing to do.
As if on cue, the words to Van Halen’s ‘Why Can’t This Be Love’ played through his head, and he suppressed a wistful sigh. He did get a funny feeling inside every time Booker touched him, but he wasn’t convinced it was enough, not anymore. They had both experienced too much physical and psychological pain, the scars of which they would carry to their graves, and he wondered if being entwined in each other’s lives in both a physical and an emotional level could, in fact, be causing them more harm than good. It was certainly something to consider, but he was too tired to give it too much thought, at least for the moment.
When he pushed open his door, the cold, desolate atmosphere of his apartment did little to ease his agitation, and switching on the overhead light, he stared morosely at the broken fragments of his life littering the living room. Although he had planned to take a long, hot shower, he felt the urge to get his home back to some semblance of order, which any reputable psychologist would have quickly interpreted as a symbolic desire to get his life back in order. He carefully weighed up the pros and cons, but the impulse soon became too strong to ignore and abandoning his initial plan, he walked into the kitchenette in search of a dustpan and brush.
An hour later, although bare of any sentimental knick-knacks, his apartment no longer resembled a war zone. With only his broken television and a large bag of rubbish left to dispose of, he decided to take his long-awaited shower rather than embarrass himself further and walk down to the basement in his boxers. He’d had enough humiliation for one day, and he craved the sensation of warm water against his bare skin. It was his hope the therapeutic thrum would magically wash away the remnants of past regrets… and more importantly, the disturbing memory of Booker’s kiss. He just wanted to be Tom because he was tired of feeling like a victim, and he began to think the only way he would ever again feel like a real man was to move to a place where no one knew his history. By creating a new persona, he could finally break away from the shackles of his past and eradicate the ghosts that haunted his memories. It wouldn’t be easy, moving never was, but it might just be the answer to all his problems.
With a formative plan taking shape in his mind, he pulled off his hoodie and discarded it on the couch. However, before he could make it halfway across the room, a tap at his door had him spinning around, a frown puckering his brow. As he stared at the door, his teeth nervously worried a dry piece of flesh on his lower lip, unconsciously ripping at the jagged edge until blood pooled to the surface, the metallic tang adding to the taste of fear filling his mouth. Once again, he knew he was behaving irrationally, but his encounter with Booker had heightened his levels of paranoia, leaving him incapable of controlling the rising agitation twisting his stomach into a painful knot of anxiety. He was alone, unarmed, and if Michael McCarter was standing outside his door, emotionally ill-prepared to face-off against a sexual predator. Beads of perspiration formed on his upper lip, and as he absently wiped them away with the back of his hand, his gut churned with indecision. He figured he had two options, he could walk into the bathroom, close the door, and ignore whoever was standing in the hallway or he could do what any sane person would do and peek through the peephole.
When a second knock rattled the door, he made his choice, and creeping quietly across the floor, he pressed his eye against the viewer. Immediately, a relieved rush of air expelled from between his parted lips, and drawing back the chain, he opened the door. “Hey, Doug.”
“What’s up, Hanson,” Doug greeted, a hint of annoyance tainting his voice. “Long time no see. You’re a hard man to catch.”
Tom stepped back from the door, the silent gesture a clear invitation for his best friend to enter. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that,” he apologized with an awkward smile. “I haven’t been home much.”
Curious to hear his friend’s excuse, Doug played it casual. “I figured. So, where’ve you been?”
A wave of heat prickled up Tom’s neck, mottling his skin, and he struggled to keep up the pretense of a calm exterior. “Oh, you know. I spent some time at my mom’s and—”
“You were at your mom’s?” Penhall queried, his gaze deliberately studying his friend’s face, searching for any trace of nervousness. He’d spoken to Margaret Hanson, and he knew Tom was lying, but what he didn’t know was why. However, he planned to find out, even if his inquisitiveness caused another argument. He was tired of being on the outer, and he missed having a best friend. Although it was corny, soppy, and extremely effeminate to feel such a strong emotion toward another man, all he wanted was their relationship back to how it used to be when they confided their innermost secrets to each other. He couldn’t help it, he loved Tom, and he wanted him back in his life, even if he had to ruffle a few feathers to achieve his goal.
Rattled by his friend’s cop-like scrutiny, Tom’s carefully constructed facade began to falter. “Uh-huh,” he replied hurriedly. “You know, she was kinda worried so…”
His voice trailed off, and he quickly averted his eyes to the floor. For some inexplicable reason, the deception techniques he had learned at the Police Academy were gradually fading, and he was unable to maintain a convincing poker face. For the briefest of moments, he wondered if it was because he had spent too much time fabricating stories over the last six weeks, and maybe he had used up the number of lies permitted at any one time. But while he knew the thought was absurd, in his heart, he accepted the jig was up. Doug, despite what many people thought, was nobody’s fool, and if he didn’t come clean, he risked losing the best friend he had ever had.
“Tom?” Penhall queried, his voice surprisingly tender. “Is everyth—”
“I’m lying,” Tom sputtered, his words running together in a garbled stream. “You know I’m lying.”
With the truth now partly out in the open, Penhall’s expression relaxed, and resting a companionable hand on his friend’s shoulder, he offered him his trademark tilting smile. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t exactly your best performance.”
Tom’s lips twitched at the corners without forming a smile. “No shit.”
Penhall’s lips pursed together, and two distinct worry lines furrowed his brow. “Are you okay, Hanson?” he asked softly, his inquisitive, brown eyes examining Tom’s face. “I mean, I know that’s a stupid question ‘cause, how could you be after—”
“I’m fine,” Tom interjected quickly, shutting Penhall down before he could mention his rape. “I just need some time.”
Sensing an opportunity, Penhall sought an answer to the question that had been bugging him for the last two weeks. “So, where’ve you been spending that time? ‘Cause I’ve called around almost every day and your Mustang’s parked out front, but you haven’t answered the door.”
It was not a question Tom felt comfortable answering, and once again, he was tempted to lie. But he quickly realized he was out of ideas, and any half-assed attempt to fool Penhall would only reinforce the bad blood brewing between them. While he had briefly flirted with the idea of starting a new life away from those who knew his dark shame, it was obvious he was kidding himself. He missed his friend, and he wanted to restore their unique relationship back to the point where they could tell each other anything, no matter how humiliating or painful. His and Booker’s relationship had matured to a point where it teetered on the brink of romance, but there were consequences. He had pushed Doug away, thereby destroying the trust he had once shared with the older officer. The only plus was that despite his appalling behavior, Doug had continued to stand by him, and therefore, he felt he owed him the truth… or a heavily edited version of what was sure to blow his friend’s mind.
Motioning toward the couch, he waited until Doug was seated before speaking, the hesitancy in his voice revealing the level of his unease. “If I tell you, you’ve got to promise not to get angry.”
The cloak-and-dagger response immediately aroused Doug’s curiosity, and leaning forward in his seat, he rested his elbows on his knees and stared intently at his friend. “Sure thing, man.”
Tom rubbed a nervous hand over his chin. While he knew he was making the right decision, the butterflies in his stomach told a different story. There was no ambiguity when describing Doug’s feelings for Booker; he hated him, and that meant the cat was about to be set among the pigeons. But Tom was tired of all the deception, and even though he was about to pick and choose how much information to divulge to his friend, he hoped to ease his conscience by admitting he and Booker were still in contact… at least that was the plan. However, if it backfired, he would lose the second most important person in his life, leaving him well and truly on his own, and that was not an experience he wished to endure.
But instead of allowing his reservations to manifest into a gut-wrenching fear, he summoned every inch of his resolve, and clenching his fists, he took a deep breath and revealed his secret. “I haven’t been home ‘cause I’ve been living with Dennis.”
It wasn’t so much Tom’s admission of his whereabouts that had Penhall reeling, it was his use of the name Dennis. For the second time in recent memory, his friend had used the dark-haired officer’s given name, and with it came a certain familiarity that rolled a little too easily off the tongue. Their bond was obviously much closer than he had realized, and with that knowledge came a rising swell of unease, coupled with a hint of jealousy. Tom was his best friend, and while he was happy the young officer hadn’t spent his time wallowing alone, he could not help but feel a tinge of resentment. But his greatest concern had nothing to do with envy. Although they had worked side-by-side on many cases, he did not trust Booker, and especially where Tom was concerned. The vision of the dark-haired officer sucking off his best friend still haunted him, and, despite Tom’s reassurances to the contrary, he still considered it oral rape. The very thought of them sharing an apartment had him feeling nauseous, but he knew he needed to harness any feelings of animosity and support Tom’s decision. Otherwise, their friendship was worthless, and he might as well turn around and walk out the door.
Mustering a smile, he attempted to feign some enthusiasm in response to Tom’s admission. “That’s… great. But you’re back home now, right?”
Somewhat surprised by Doug’s attitude, Tom released the expectant breath he had been holding. But he could feel his friend’s eyes boring into him, waiting for an answer, and the roots of his hair prickled before a hesitant smile played briefly over his lips, followed by a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders. “I guess.”
Penhall exhaled an audible sigh of relief. “So, do you wanna do something tonight? How ‘bout bowling, you know, if you’re up for it?”
The last thing Tom wanted was to spend a night in a noisy bowling alley surrounded by strangers, but he knew if he didn’t try to live a normal life, he never would. So, he drew on his inner strength and gave his friend what he hoped was a convincing grin. “Sure. Pick me up at seven?”
Doug grinned back. “It’s a date.”
- 42
- 43
- 44
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