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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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When Booker arrived at the dorm room, he found Tom curled up on his mattress, his face protectively covered by his arm. A heavy ache throbbed in the dark-haired officer’s heart and closing the door, he walked over to the side of Tom’s bed and sat down. His hand hovered over Hanson’s trembling body, unsure whether to offer comfort or leave him be. Tom was wary of contact, and he did not want to cause him more pain than he already had. The seconds ticked slowly by, but eventually his heart ruled his head, and taking a deep breath, he lowered his hand gently onto Tom’s side. But he quickly snatched it away when the younger officer visibly winced in pain. A deep frown furrowed his brow, and he rubbed an anxious hand over his lips. “Shit, Tommy, are you okay?”

“Leave me alone,” Tom mumbled into the crook of his arm.

Pushing his lip into a stubborn pout, Booker narrowed his eyes as he studied Tom’s quivering body. “Not until I know you’re all right.”

Tom lowered his arm and slowly rolled onto his back, his breath catching in his throat as a sharp pain flared in his ribs. “I’m fine,” he replied through gritted teeth.

“You don’t look fine,” Booker commented softly, his eyes filling with concern. “So how ‘bout letting me have a look?”

Too tired and sore to argue, Tom started to give his consent. But the pain radiating throughout his tired, battered body suddenly overwhelmed him. He felt emasculated; he was as weak and pathetic as Harold Horshack, and he wished he were anywhere but lying on a bed with Booker towering over him, mocking him with his muscular physique. He fought valiantly to contain the emotions bubbling inside him, but he only just managed to gulp back the tears that threatened to spill from his tortured eyes. Booker's tender scrutiny of his face seemed to last forever, and it did not take long for him to lose his internal struggle. His lower lip started to wobble, his eyes filled with unwanted tears, and the words he attempted to speak turned into a strangled, unintelligible sob of pain and humiliation.

Mortified by his lack of control, he threw an arm back over his face, hiding his shame as his body trembled with raw emotion. He was a psychological wreck; he hated revealing his weakness and vulnerability to Booker. Waves of embarrassment washed over him, and he wished he could crawl under a rock and die, rather than face the ridicule of the man he considered his nemesis. His dignity lay in tatters, and he knew in his heart Booker would never let him forget the moment his bravado collapsed; revealing a pitiful, broken man.

But he could not have been more wrong. The distressing sight of Tom's emotional breakdown actually caused Booker’s heart to fill with pain, and compassion softened his dark eyes. “Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured as he tenderly rubbed at Hanson’s arm. “I’ll just lift your shirt and have a quick look, then you can rest.”

A loud sniff was the only answer he received, and therefore, he took Tom’s silence as consent to proceed. With trembling fingers, he carefully lifted the sweat-soaked tee shirt, revealing the younger officer’s naked flesh.

A loud gasp sounded from between his lips as his eyes traveled over Tom’s damaged body. Dozens of angry red bruises covered Hanson's torso, the mottled contusions marring the perfection of his smooth skin. The worst of his injuries were contained to the left side of his rib cage, and Booker’s cheeks flamed crimson with shame. By not standing up to a bully, he had caused the man he loved an inordinate amount of pain and misery, and he instantly regretted his decision to fight. However, common sense soon calmed the remorseful hammering of his heart. They were undercover cops, and sometimes they had to endure painful mental and physical torment so they could collar the bad guys. It was all part of the job, and Tom knew it just as well as he did. However, the knowledge only alleviated some of his guilt, and the shock of the injuries laid out before him brought penitent tears to his eyes.

“Oh, Tommy, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, and without thinking what reaction he might provoke, he lightly trailed his fingers over Hanson's bruised and battered skin. “I’m so, so sorry.”

The tenderness of Booker’s touch brought goosebumps to Tom’s naked flesh, and the fine hairs covering his body stood to attention. He inhaled a sharp intake of breath, the erotic sensation of soft fingertips caressing his skin igniting a fire within, the unexpected arousal casting doubt over the certainty of his heterosexuality. Panic gripped his heart as conflicting feelings overwhelmed him, and although he relished the comforting touch, he pushed the warm hand away. There was no question his reaction was a definitive signal for Booker to stop, but the motion was gentle, not forceful, and for a split second, their fingers entwined, uniting them as one.

But the moment was fleeting, a mere sensory pleasure of the flesh that became a memory before it had a chance to evolve into something more meaningful and Booker immediately mourned the loss of contact. For the briefest of moments, he and Tom had connected, and he longed to feel that kinship again. However, there were more pressing issues at hand and swallowing down his emotions, his expression became serious. “I think you might have cracked a couple of ribs. You should go to the hospital.”

Without lowering the arm covering his face, Tom shook his head. He was too embarrassed to meet Booker's tender gaze, too afraid his eyes would betray him and reflect the confusion he was feeling about the dark-haired officer's tender ministrations. He had expected Dennis to mock him, to flaunt his superiority and prowess as a fighter. Instead, he had shown a caring and compassionate side of his personality that Tom had not known existed. It was a startling revelation, and he suddenly questioned everything he thought he knew about the enigma that was Dennis Booker.

Pulled out of his reverie by a light hand resting on his thigh, he jumped involuntarily, the movement forcing a rush of air from between his lips as a sharp stabbing pain radiated in his chest. Feeling foolish, he slowly lowered his arm and attempted to smile through his misery. “I’m fine. Just get something from the nurse.”

Unconvinced, Booker's expression remained anxious. “Is it painful to breathe? I’ve fractured my ribs, and it hurts like a bitch.”

Grateful that Dennis was attempting to assuage his feelings of fragility and inadequacy, Tom’s face relaxed into an appreciative smile. “Yeah, I kinda figured that out for myself,” he joked in a halfhearted attempt at humor. “But if you tape me up, I’m sure they’ll heal just fine.”

Pleased that Tom had found an inner tenacity to help him fight through the pain, Booker stood up. “Okay, but I want to reassess your condition in a couple of hours, and if you’re still in a lot of pain, you’ll agree to go to the hospital. Deal?”

Touched by Booker’s level of concern, Tom grinned back. “Yes, mom.”

A slow, sweet smile played over Booker’s lips and an impish twinkle lit up his eyes. “It’s not your mom I wanna be, Hanson,” he teased softly.

On cue, Tom’s cheeks flamed red, the pink hue highlighting the paleness of his fatigued face. But instead of responding with an acerbic comment, he chuckled softly. The movement vibrated through his damaged ribs and wrapping a stabilizing arm around his chest, he moaned softly.

But when Booker rushed to his side, he started to laugh, his eyes watering from a mixture of pain and amusement. “I’ve gotta give you points for trying, Booker,” he grinned. “Maybe one day your persistence will pay off.”

Shocked by the remark, Dennis gave a convincing impression of Cletus the Slack-jawed Yokel. His mouth gaped open, and he stared at Hanson with wide, confused eyes. Although he knew the younger man was joking, the shift in his attitude was bewildering. Only an hour before, he had beaten the shit out of Tom—albeit not by choice—and now it appeared he was being seduced with promises. It was a perplexing situation and the ability to save face with a witty comeback eluded him. For once, Tom had the upper hand, and his face burned red with embarrassment as he struggled to think of something smart to say. But his brain had turned to mush, and feeling flustered, all he could manage was a garbled, “I’ll be back in a minute,” before turning away and hurrying from the room.

**

The first thing Booker saw when he returned was Tom sitting propped against a pillow, a protective arm wrapped around his damaged ribs, and a look of pain etched on his beautiful face. With his composure now restored, he entered the room with a grin and held up a roll of tape. “Success!”

A smile crinkled the corners of Tom’s eyes before a bout of pain overwhelmed him, the discomfort contorting his grateful expression into a grimace. It was obvious that his suffering was beginning to take its toll, and Booker quickly closed the door and walked over to the bed. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a box of Advil and removing the foil packaging, he popped two tablets into his palm and offered them to Tom. “For the pain,” he explained simply.

Tom took the tablets without comment and placing them on his tongue, he pulled a wry face and swallowed them down with an audible gulp. Meanwhile, Booker busied himself by tearing off several long strips of tape. He stuck the ends to the nightstand, and when he was done, he sat down on the bed, his lips tilting into a rueful smile. “I need to take off your tee shirt. Are you okay with that or do you want to do it yourself?”

Although Booker’s intimate touch had awakened a sense of deep sexual confusion inside him, Tom had passed the point of caring. All he wanted to do was go to sleep and forget the whole demeaning experience, at least for a few hours. If achieving that goal meant consenting to contact, then he was prepared to give Dennis carte blanche to do what needed to be done. He had no idea why he had flirted with the dark-haired officer just minutes before. All he knew for certain was the ache in his upper body was physically and mentally wearing him down, and analyzing the whys and wherefores of his changing attitude toward his nemesis would not cure the pain radiating throughout his body. Whether he liked it or not, he needed Booker’s help, and everything else was incidental. He would worry about the strange feelings the older man’s tender touch elicited inside him at a later date…

Or not.

With a resigned sigh, he finally admitted defeat. “I’m gonna need help,” he muttered, his pale, drawn face showing signs of fatigue.

Booker’s expression became serious, and he slowly nodded his head. “Okay, raise your arms as high as you can and I’ll pull your tee shirt over your head.”

The very idea of moving filled Tom with a mixture of apprehension and embarrassment. He did not trust the fragile state of his emotions, and he feared revealing his weaknesses to Booker again. However, when he saw the deep look of compassion radiating from Dennis’ soft brown eyes, he realized it did not matter. Booker was not the ogre he had made him out to be, in fact, he was proving himself to be a sympathetic friend and a gentle caregiver, much to his surprise. Therefore, without overthinking it, he took a breath and raised his arms above his head.

The movement stretched his bruised muscles, immediately transmitting a sharp pain throughout the damaged area of his left side. He hissed sharply, but within seconds, his sweaty tee shirt was pulled over his head, and gentle hands slowly lowered his arms. He smiled gratefully at Booker, and he received a tender smile in return, coupled with a lingering, intense gaze. The smile and depth of the look had an unsettling effect on him, and his stomach rolled into flip-flops of arousal, again awakening an unexplained desire. He quickly lowered his eyes, breaking the hypnotic state he found himself falling into with each passing second of eye contact. But he could still feel the heat of Booker’s touch as the dark-haired officer continued to hold his wrists, the warm fingers heating his clammy skin. Embarrassed by his reaction, he slowly pulled his hands away. Blood pounded in his ears and his breath hitched in his throat as the beating of his heart became more erratic. He was spiraling back into a pit of confusion, but he did not have the energy to deal with the conflicting feelings. So, like a small child, he screwed his eyes closed and pretended it wasn't happening.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Sensing Tom was struggling with an inner disturbance, Booker decided to take a step back and not probe into the reasons. Instead, he freed a piece of tape from the nightstand and held it in his fingers. "Lift your left arm," he instructed softly. "I'm gonna start taping your ribs."

Keeping his eyes closed, Tom held his arm away from his body. Booker placed a strip of tape at the center of Hanson's spine and ran it diagonally towards his stomach. Grabbing another strip, he overlapped half of the tape and repeated the process until the whole of Tom’s rib cage was covered. When he was satisfied with his work, he laid a gentle hand on Hanson’s thigh. “All done.”

A pained smile pulled Tom’s lips tight, but his eyes remained closed as the Advil in his system finally started to take effect. “I think I might sleep for a while,” he muttered wearily.

Booker hesitated for a moment, his eyes wandering over Tom’s clothed body before asking what he knew was a delicate question. “Do you want me to help you undress? You’ll be more comfortable.”

Although Tom visibly stiffened at the idea of Booker undressing him, he knew it made sense and relaxing back against the pillow, he once again pushed aside his reservations. “Okay,” he whispered, a hint of pink coloring his pale cheeks.

Dennis understood Tom’s reluctance, but his motives were, in every way, pure. He was worried about the younger man’s condition, especially because he was the cause of all his pain, and he wanted him to rest comfortably. There was no underlying teasing in his intentions, and he understood he needed to undress Tom as quickly as possible so as not to cause him any further embarrassment.

Without waiting for further discussion, he quickly unlaced Tom’s boots and pulled them off. Next, he removed his socks and placed them neatly inside the boots. He had no idea why, he was normally very messy, but a knowing voice inside his head mocked him, telling him he was stalling, putting off what he both longed and feared to do. The previous day he had purposely needled Tom when he had undressed, provoking him in the hopes of a reaction. But now that Tom lay defenseless before him, like a vision from his dreams, he felt like a predator. It was not what he wanted; he would never take advantage of another human being, no matter how easy it might be. He might be a rakish sonofabitch at times, but he was not immoral. However, his inner conflict had him feeling a little foolish; it was only a pair of jeans he was removing, not Tom’s underwear and another little voice inside his head told him to get a grip and just do it. After all, it was what Tom wanted.

His hand hovered over the fly of Tom’s jeans for a moment before he took a deep breath and popped the button. Surprisingly, Tom did not react and feeling more comfortable about the whole procedure, he cautiously lowered the zipper. Without waiting to be asked, Tom slowly raised his buttocks off the bed, and knowing the position must be aggravating his friend’s damaged ribs, Booker swallowed down the last of his trepidation and biting down on his lower lip, he quickly pulled down the worn jeans.

The weight of the denim dragged down Tom's boxers, revealing a tantalizing tuft of dark pubic hair above the waistband. Booker unconsciously licked his lips before casting an eye at Hanson's face, but the young officer's eyes remained closed. Either he was oblivious to his partial state of undress, or he did not care, and Booker wondered how to proceed. After a moment’s delay, he decided to release Tom’s legs from the confines of his jeans and cover him with the duvet from his bed, thereby saving him from any further embarrassment. He felt awash with a protective, nurturing love for Tom that extended far deeper than his initial infatuation. It was what most women would identify with as a mothering instinct, and he could not remember anyone having such an intense effect on his senses. The sentiment was beyond any feeling he had ever experienced. It was love in its purest form and at that moment, he knew he would lay down his life for the man lying before him.

After carefully removing Tom’s jeans, he neatly folded them and laid them on the seat of the chair. He picked up the sweaty tee shirt and hung it over the back, and lastly, he placed Tom’s boots underneath. Satisfied everything was in order, he gathered up his duvet and being careful not to disturb Tom’s injuries, he covered his prone body.

All the while, Hanson had remained silent, and it was only when he was safely ensconced in the warm quilt that he murmured one, sleepy word. “Thanks.”
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Beneath a Heart of Darkness