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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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Monday March 23rd, 1992 (11.22 p.m.)
Booker silently opened the bedroom door and stared out into the dimly lit living room. Tom’s face peeked out from beneath a swaddle of covers, the flickering light of the TV screen illuminating his pale skin as he stared transfixed at the small television. A middle-aged woman with bright red lips and an eighties bouffant hairdo read the late-night news, but the sound was too low for Booker to hear what she was saying. However, her expression was a mask of solemnity, and he quickly realized she was reporting on the aftermath of the US Air flight to Cleveland that had crashed on takeoff at LaGuardia the day before. When he thought of the families of the victims, a deep sadness filled his heart, and it emphasized the miracle of Tom’s existence. He had come frighteningly close to losing the man he loved in a filthy warehouse only ten months before, and the realization sent a shiver of thankfulness throughout his body. The devastating images of the crash site exemplified how truly lucky he was to have Tom in his life, and he sent up a silent prayer of thanks to whoever was responsible for saving his friend’s life. It was the reality check he needed, and as he stood undetected in the doorway, staring at his friend’s gaunt face, he knew he could not let him go. Theirs was a love story unlike any other; spanning years and taking them both on a roller coaster ride of the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. But his over cautiousness had almost cost him the one person he loved most in the world, and it was time to make amends or live with his regret forever.
He slowly counted to ten and after inhaling several deep, calming breaths, he flicked on the light and walked over to the couch. “We need to talk.”
Tom continued to stare at the TV with dull, lifeless eyes. “Do we?” he muttered in a flat voice. “Gee, I can hardly wait.”
In no mood for sarcasm, Booker grabbed Tom’s ankles and forcing his legs off the sofa, he sat down in the vacant space. “Jesus, Tom,” he huffed in exasperation, “How ‘bout you quit being a jerk for once and hear me out.”
Pushing his lower lip into a moody pout, Tom sat up and wrapping the duvet around his shoulders, he glared angrily back at Booker. “Okay, I’m listening. Enlighten me with your words.”
Booker could feel his ire rising, but he was determined to be the bigger man and not let Tom’s acrimonious attitude get the better of him. He carefully studied his friend’s surly expression; the narrowed, suspicious eyes coupled with a sullen pout, and he knew he needed to proceed with caution. He had one go to make things right, and if he lost his temper, there would be no second chance.
An obvious pain shimmered in Tom’s dark eyes as he waited for Booker to speak. His self-esteem was at rock bottom; he felt shunned and ridiculed, and in his eyes, he was subhuman in comparison to his peers, especially compared to Booker. Instead of rejoicing his achievements since starting therapy, he now felt embarrassed, and he wished he had kept his secrets to himself instead of allowing Dennis to read his innermost thoughts. However, he could not turn back time, what was done, was done, and all he could do was wait and see if Booker accepted or rejected him. But in his heart, he was sure he already knew the answer; he was about to be jilted.
So when a light hand rested on his thigh, he instinctively jerked away, and a flush of humiliation reddened his cheeks. He self-consciously shoved his trembling right hand under the soft folds of the duvet, and in doing so, the comforter slipped from his shoulders, revealing the scars crisscrossing his naked chest. A moment of panic constricted his chest, and he quickly covered his shame as he struggled to inhale a much-needed breath. But in that split second, everything became blindingly apparent. He had been deluding himself. Even though Booker had assured him that the wounds did not matter, he knew differently; he was repulsive, and it was little wonder that the man he loved had shied away from any contact with him. It was his view that every hypertrophic scar told a story because they were a testament to his life; he was a whore, a murderer, a drug addict and a criminal, he was…
“Tom?”
Surprised out of his self-flagellating reverie, Tom’s head jerked upwards and his gaze immediately met two soft brown eyes. “Huh?”
Booker’s brow creased with concern as his worried eyes flitted over Tom’s flushed face. “Shit, Tommy, I never meant to make you feel—”
“Don’t apologize,” Tom interrupted quietly. “I understand why you don’t want to be with me.”
“What?” Booker exclaimed in astonishment. “Tom, this isn’t about me not wanting to be with you. I fucked up, I admit it, and I should never have made you feel unwanted. But, baby, the only reason I pulled away was because it was so fucking hard being around you and not being with you. Don’t you get it? I wanted you to get well so we could be together, but instead, I behaved like a jerk and—”
“You still want to be with me?” Tom whispered, his eyes widening in surprise. “I thought—”
“You thought wrong,” Booker replied hastily, and as the tension in his muscles slowly diminished, his face relaxed into a smile. “Jesus, I’m so proud of you, and I wish I’d told you that sooner. You did what Doctor Li asked, and now you’re no longer… I mean… you can…”
Tom’s face flushed a deeper shade of red, and he wrapped the duvet tighter around his body before casting his eyes to the floor. “I haven’t been able to, you know, I haven’t stayed hard long enough to—”
Booker’s smile slowly transformed into a cheeky, crooked grin and reaching out, he pulled down the duvet’s protective covering, revealing Tom’s naked chest. “Maybe I could help you with that,” he murmured as his gaze roved hungrily over the scarred flesh that was his temple.
The softly spoken words awakened Tom’s cock, and it immediately twitched to attention. However, although arousal stirred within his neglected body, he was instantly wary. As much as he longed for the feel of Booker’s touch against his skin, he did not want pity sex. Also, he was still extremely fearful of penetrative sex, and he did not know how far his friend expected him to go. He was still coping with a conundrum of emotions; many positive, but most still negative and he was terrified that his body would not react to the stimulation. The pressure to perform right there right now had his heart hammering painfully in his chest, and his anxiety levels rose. If he failed, he would never be able to look Booker in the eye again; if he failed, their relationship would be over before it had even begun.
“I—” he choked, but he was unable to finish his sentence as a wave of emotion paralyzed his voice.
When strong arms pulled him into a tight embrace, he did not pull away. Instead, he took comfort from the protectiveness and warmth of the hug and relaxing against Booker’s broad chest, he exhaled a jagged breath.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Booker murmured, the warm breath tickling Tom’s scalp.
Shifting his position, Tom gazed up into Booker’s worried face. “I’m scared.”
Sympathy flashed in Booker’s dark eyes and he immediately regretted his impulsiveness. Once again, he had made the wrong decision, and he began to wonder if he would ever make the right one where Tom was concerned. It appeared no matter how he responded, he always made things worse, and he began to have serious doubts about his motives. Did he want Tom in his life because he loved him or was his purpose purely self-serving? Did he want to help him, or just have sex with him? His reasons seemed clouded even in his own mind, and he had a moment of misgiving. Maybe he should have let sleeping dogs lie after all.
“Dennis?” Tom whispered, his dark eyes searching Booker’s face. “Did you hear me?”
With a regretful sigh, Booker freed Tom from his embrace and gave him a strained smile. “Yeah, I heard you and I think you’re right. It’s too soon.”
“Because I’m still damaged?” Tom asked in a small voice.
Booker’s lips twitched nervously. “No,” he replied quietly, “because I am.”
Tom’s eyebrows rose in surprise and struggling back into a sitting position, he gave Booker a quizzical look. “I don’t understand.”
For the first time in a very long time, Booker revealed his vulnerability and his shoulders slumped forward as he struggled to articulate his confession. “I don’t think I’ve completely come to terms with what happened to you at the warehouse. When I saw you… shit, Tommy, I thought you were fucking dead, and I swear time really did stand still. I couldn’t breathe, or move, or feel… I think I died for a moment and then Harry said you were alive and… and I was terrified because you were so badly injured. But I pulled it together and went to the hospital, and I was hell bent on staying with you, but then you muttered Mosco’s name and I felt like an intruder. He was the one you wanted, not me—”
“Dennis, I—”
“No, Tommy, let me finish. I need to say this,” Booker interjected. “I thought you didn’t need me, and I dunno, maybe you didn’t, but a part of me still feels guilty for leaving you to recover on your own. And now, I’ve fucked up again. I abandoned you during your therapy because I thought I was doing the right thing. But every time I think I’m doing the right thing it turns out to be the wrong thing. Don’t you see? It’s not just you, I’m part of the same fucking problem and if we jump into bed together, who knows what the hell will happen.”
Tom’s body started to tremble, and he fought to control his emotions. “So, where to now?” he mumbled dejectedly. “If you want me to move out I—”
Booker’s eyes widened in horror. “Baby, no! That’s not what I’m saying! What I mean is… I think maybe I need to go to therapy too.”
The admission was the last thing Tom expected to hear out of Booker's mouth and he stared back in shock. “You’re kidding me? You want to go to therapy with me?”
A soft rush of air expelled from Booker’s nostrils and grinning awkwardly, he self-consciously ran his fingers through his tousled hair. “Yeah, I do.”
“Jesus,” Tom muttered as he furiously rubbed his index and middle finger over his upper lip. “I don’t know what to say.”
A nervous laugh sounded from between Booker’s lips. “Just say yes.”
Tom’s expression softened and resting a hand on Booker’s knee, he gave his answer. “Yes.”
**
Tuesday March 24th, 1992 (2.36 a.m.)
Booker lay on his side staring down at Tom, who was sleeping peacefully on the mattress under the window. His fingers played with his semi-erect cock, expertly teasing it to life as his eyes greedily devoured the intoxicating fullness of Tom’s bowed lips. The exquisiteness of Tom’s features still had the same effect on him as the very first day he had laid eyes on him, and stroking his fingers over his hardening cock, his breathing became jagged. More than anything, he wanted to feel Tom writhing beneath him as he slowly fucked him into a state of blissful euphoria. But he had learned his lesson the hard way and he now knew that patience had its virtues and he was doing the right thing by keeping their relationship platonic. If he and Tom could both excise their inner demons, they had a better chance of maintaining a healthy sexual relationship when the time was right. He knew it would be difficult, he was not one to talk openly about his feelings. He had built a defensive wall many years before to protect himself against the homophobia he had experienced in high school, and it would take a skilled psychologist to break down the barrier. But he had trust in Doctor Li. Tom had made incredible advancements with his recovery after only a few short months, and he was certain that in time, his friend would be able to live a life free of fear and self-loathing. It would not happen overnight, but it would happen, they just needed to stay focused.
Coating his fingers in the precum bubbling from his slit, he wrapped his hand around his shaft and started to jerk off. An excited gasp of pleasure escaped from between his lips, and as his fist pumped faster, he could feel his orgasm rising. He knew he would not last long, and his gaze traveled hungrily down the length of Tom’s duvet-swathed body before resting on the outline of his curved buttocks. Although the imagery of Tom's sleeping form was strictly, G-rated, it was enough to push him over the edge and with a strangled cry, he climaxed forcefully over his fingers.
A post-climactic calmness enveloped his body and rolling onto his back, he gazed up at the ceiling and slowly regulated his breathing. His twenty-sixth birthday had proven to be much more than just a celebration of his birth; it was an important turning point in his life, it was a celebration of everything that was to come.
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Chasing a Butterfly