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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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Wednesday December 24th 1991 (7.18 a.m.)
Tom adjusted the temperature of the shower and stepping under the warm flow of water, he pulled the curtain closed behind him. Bowing his head, he exhaled a contented sigh as the therapeutic spray thrummed against his scarred flesh. Nearly three weeks had passed since his visit to Doctor Levine and his head was feeling much clearer now that the dosage of his anti-anxiety medication was half the amount his previous doctor had prescribed. He no longer suffered from short-term memory loss and his speech was almost back to normal, although a slight hesitancy still remained, hinting that he was still uncertain of his words. But overall, it was a marked improvement, despite the tremor in his hand and mild apraxia that was only noticeable when he walked and he was feeling much more positive about the future. However, there was one aspect of his rehabilitation that he was dreading, and that was his impending meeting with the psychologist. The lead up to Christmas had made it almost impossible to schedule an appointment, and although he had kept his thoughts to himself, he was secretly relieved that the earliest consultation was not until the New Year. He was dreading sitting down in front of a stranger and recounting the last four years of his life, starting with the death of Amy and finishing with his ongoing impotence. The inability to obtain an erection weighed heavily on his mind because he was convinced it defined him and confirmed his inadequacies as a man. His mental and physical defects simmered just beneath the surface of his consciousness and they reinforced his belief that he was incapable of giving or receiving love. There was no getting around it, he was a failure as a human being and he deserved the life that fate had bestowed upon him.
He deserved to remain loveless and alone.
A shiver of repentance brought goose bumps prickling to the surface of his skin and reaching down, he stroked a finger along the length of his flaccid cock. Come hell or high water, he was determined to feel something, anything that would restore his confidence and reassure him that he could still experience sexual pleasure. He would be damned if he would talk about his sexual failings with a stranger, he would cure himself, even if he had to masturbate a hundred times a day.
Closing his eyes, he attempted to relax his shoulders, but the tension in his body made it impossible and so he turned his full attention to the limp shaft in his hand. Slowly pumping his fist up and down, he willed his cock to harden as he began to mutter a soft mantra under his breath.
“C’mon c’mon c’mon c’mon…” he breathed, but the incantation had no effect and his penis remained soft and unresponsive between his fingers.
Seconds turned into minutes and when the inanimate flesh in his hand failed to respond to his ministrations, a surge of raw emotion erupted from within him. “DAMN IT!” he screamed and releasing his lifeless cock, he slammed his fist repeatedly against the mosaic-tiled wall. “DAMN IT! DAMN IT! DAMN IT!”
Pain flared in his knuckles and holding his damaged hand against his chest, he fought back tears. “Why?” he lamented quietly. “Why can’t I feel anything?”
A loud pounding on the door had him jumping in surprise and pulling back the shower curtain, he struggled to focus his teary eyes. Seconds later, Booker’s panicked voice sounded through the wooden paneling. “Tom! Is everything okay?”
Releasing the curtain, Tom swallowed down his tears. “Leave me alone,” he muttered in a barely audible voice.
“Tommy! If you don’t answer me, I’m coming—”
“I SAID, LEAVE… ME… ALONE!” Tom shrieked, his face reddening with the force of his words.
The steady stream of water interspersed with the resonance of labored breathing soon became the only sounds echoing off the tiled walls and satisfied that Booker had retreated, Tom turned off the faucets and stepped out into the steamy bathroom. He swiftly patted himself dry with a towel, the sight of his naked flesh making his skin crawl. He was beginning to loathe every aspect of his body; it was his adversary, his betrayer and a constant, mocking reminder of his impuissance. But if he wanted to overcome his sexual inadequacies, he needed to cast aside his revulsion and focus on obtaining an erection. Otherwise, he was facing the demoralizing and humiliating experience of disclosing his impotence to a therapist.
Once dry, he quickly covered his naked flesh with a baggy t-shirt and sweatpants. He avoided looking in the mirror, preferring to finger-comb his damp hair. After brushing his teeth, he pulled on a pair of worn sneakers and taking several deep, calming breaths, he mentally counted to ten and opening the door, he stepped out into the living room.
Booker stood on the small fire escape, staring out at the traffic below. When he heard Tom’s footsteps behind him, he did not turn around; instead, he continued to study the cars that streamed in increasing numbers past his building. Many of them were packed for the holidays and he felt a pang of nostalgia as he remembered loading up his father’s Buick in readiness for their once a year road trip to visit his grandmother in Portland. Up until his twenty-first birthday, they had spent almost every Christmas with his Granny June and he had fond memories of the festive season. But in an unprecedented move, he had suggested to Tom that instead of celebrating Christmas in the traditional sense, they would spend the day fly-fishing at Dockweiler State Beach. His rationale was twofold. Firstly, he knew Tom could not afford to buy him a present, and as gifts were a traditional part of both their upbringings, he decided it was easier to avoid any embarrassment. Secondly, he was worried Tom might start to dwell on absent friends and family, especially Doug and his mother. Christmas tended to be a time of reflection and he did not want him spiraling into a black pit of depression as memories of past holidays haunted his mind. He wanted his friend to experience a relaxed, carefree day spent outdoors in the company of nature and he hoped, by starting a new tradition, their first Christmas spent together would be a memorable one.
He continued to stare down at the traffic that had now slowed to a snail’s pace as commuters fought to leave the city for their holiday destinations, and his mind returned to Tom’s recent outburst. Although not one hundred percent certain of the cause, he had a pretty good idea and he felt an overwhelming sense of helplessness. On several occasions, he had caught Tom discreetly fondling himself through his jeans and it had soon become apparent that his friend’s impotence was becoming an issue. But he had quickly made the decision not to broach the subject unless Tom brought it up first. Being a male, he understood Tom’s humiliation; there was nothing more emasculating than a failure to perform and he did not want to add to his embarrassment by confronting him about it. However, he also knew he could not ignore the tantrum and so he addressed Tom without turning to face him. “Are you okay?”
Tom’s lackluster voice sounded from directly behind him. “Yeah, I guess.”
An uncomfortable silence hung in the air and sighing heavily, Booker turned around. Immediately, a warm, hungry mouth engulfed him and the stringent taste of spearmint toothpaste assaulted his taste buds as a moist tongue entwined with his own. Although the contact was unexpected, it was what he had dreamed about every night since finding Tom, and for a fraction of a second, he allowed the emotion and fervor of the kiss to sweep away all of his fears and doubts. But when Tom’s body began to grind desperately against him, common sense kicked in and breaking the kiss, he staggered backward. “Whoa!”
Immediately, Tom’s lower lip pushed into a petulant pout and his dark eyes flashed with annoyance. “What?” he asked in a stony voice. “Once upon a time, you couldn’t wait to get into my pants. What’s changed? Is it ‘cause I can’t get it up, is that it? Am I a turnoff? An embarrassment? Do I repulse—”
“Stop!” Booker exclaimed in a loud voice and raking his fingers through his hair, he glared at Tom with huge, incredulous eyes. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Tom exhaled a snort of contempt. “Are you shitting me? What’s wrong with me? Where would you like me to fucking start?”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Booker replied in a more moderate tone. He could see that Tom was really hurting and he refused to allow his temper to exacerbate an already volatile situation. “Talk to me,” he murmured, “tell me what’s going on.”
Tom’s glowering expression slowly faded to one of despondency and wiping a trembling hand across his mouth, he struggled to articulate his feelings. “You don’t understand... I can’t… and I thought… shit! I thought maybe... I dunno... I thought maybe I’d feel something if we…”
His voice trailed off and he stared morosely out of the open window before exhaling heavily. “Pretty stupid, huh?”
Without hesitation, Booker stepped forward and wrapping his arms protectively around Tom’s waist, he nuzzled against his neck and inhaled the sweet soapy scent that permeated his skin. “No, not stupid,” he murmured into the shower-warm flesh. “It’s just… I don’t think it’s the right time, that’s all.”
Closing his eyes, Tom basked in the sensation of contentment as Booker’s hot breath tickled his sensitive skin. But he needed answers and with a restless sigh, he gently disengaged himself from the young officer’s hold. “Is it 'cause Doc Levine told you to back off?” he asked bluntly, his dark eyes searching Booker’s face for any sign of deception.
Aware of the scrutiny, Booker chose his words carefully. “Partly, but mostly because I want to do things right this time. I don't want to screw everything up by being too… impulsive.”
A flicker of sadness crossed Tom’s gaze and lowering his eyes to the floor, he wrapped his arms around his torso and scuffed at the carpet with the toe of his sneaker. “You didn’t screw things up before,” he mumbled into his chest. “I did.”
Booker heaved a regretful sigh and rested a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “It doesn’t matter who was at fault, Tommy. What’s important is that we don’t make the same mistake again.”
Tom’s expression became pensive before his lower lip pushed into a soft, enticing pout and lifting his gaze slightly, he peered solemnly up at Booker through his long, thick lashes. “I have trouble trusting people,” he confessed softly, his dark eyes shimmering with emotion. “But I do trust you. I’m lonely, Dennis. I had no real human contact for six months and then you showed up. It was terrifying, but suddenly, there was someone who believed in me and didn’t just see a disabled ex-con. You made me want to be Tom Hanson again and that’s why I stopped taking my meds; I didn’t want to be that fucked up zombie anymore. But I crave more… I need more. There’s something between us and I can’t live here pretending there’s not. I know we can’t be intimate, but there’s nothing wrong with hugging and kissing, is there? I mean, we’re friends, right? We can do that as friends.”
As Tom spoke openly from his heart, Booker’s eyes remained fixated on his moving mouth and the alluring pink bow of his pouting lips, accentuated against the paleness of his skin, was too much for him to bear and he felt his resolve wavering. However, as much as he wanted to lose himself in the warmth of Tom’s embrace and savor the sweetness of his soft, tender kisses, Doctor Levine’s words echoed loudly in his mind. Whilst he understood Tom’s need for affection, he respected Levine’s qualifications as a doctor and he knew he needed to push aside his own wants and needs, and do what was right for the damaged man standing before him. Therefore, he made a decision that he hoped would be agreeable for all concerned.
Taking Tom by the hand, he studied his damaged knuckles for a moment before leading him over to the couch and sitting down. When Tom had seated himself beside him, he brushed the long bangs from the dark eyes gazing intently at him and smiled hesitantly. “Yes to hugging, no to kissing.”
When Tom started to protest, he held up a hand in a gesture of silence. “We need to do this right, Tommy. I love you, but I’ll be damned if I’ll be responsible for hurting you again. First, you need extensive counseling by a trained psychologist and then, maybe we can talk about it again.”
“Maybe?” Tom responded petulantly. “That doesn’t sound very promising.”
Booker suppressed a grin. “That’s all I’m offering. Take it or leave it.”
Although disappointed, Tom knew Booker well enough to know he had made his mind up and exhaling heavily, he managed a small smile. “I’ll take it.”
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Chasing a Butterfly