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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
Six months later - Friday September 1^st 1989 (7.14 a.m.)
The sensation of several tiny legs massaging his scalp, coupled with a full bladder, pulled Tom from his nightmare and back into consciousness and with a disgusted growl, he swiped a two-inch cockroach from his hair. Sitting slowly up in bed, he gazed through bleary eyes at the insect that now lay on its back, its spindly legs waving frantically in the air as though silently screaming for help. He watched in fascination as it fought an internal battle but when his need to urinate became too strong, he leaned over and picking up his boot, he raised it above his head. But just as he slammed his hand towards the floor, he had a change of heart and stopping just inches away from the struggling vermin, he tossed his Doc Marten to one side and using his fingers, he gently turned the roach over. The six-legged creature appeared surprised to be back on its legs and pausing for a moment, it waved its long antennae in what appeared to be a gesture of gratitude before scuttling behind the battered chest of drawers.
With his need to urinate now becoming an issue, Tom staggered unsteadily to his feet and using the nicotine stained walls as support, he stumbled across the threadbare carpet of the tiny room and into the equally small bathroom. Steadying himself with a hand against the chipped porcelain basin, he sighed contentedly as he relieved his aching bladder. He pulled the chain and after washing his hands, he lifted his gaze and stared at his reflection in the mottled mirror. Two bloodshot eyes glared back at him, each underlined by dark smudges, giving testament to his unhealthy lifestyle. The flickering fluorescent lighting highlighted his need for a shave and his skin appeared sallow. Leaning in closer, he licked his lips and he could immediately feel the dry, jagged edges of skin against his tongue. With a sigh, he raked a trembling hand through his dirty hair and attempted to think back to when he had been happy. But the memories were faded, like yellowing photographs from long forgotten times and he struggled to latch onto a particular time, a particular place or a particular person where he could honestly say he had been carefree and content with his life. Except… except… but he quickly pushed the unwanted image from his mind. Doug was gone and to bring his memory back to the surface was just too painful.
Turning away from his fragmented reflection, he walked back into the main room and sitting on the bed, he searched through the pockets of his jeans with a trembling hand. He needed something to take the edge off but he came up empty. Grabbing his wallet, he stared in dismay at the solitary two-dollar bill. After withdrawing all his savings six months ago and selling his Mustang, he was now officially broke and a feeling of panic gripped at his heart. Without money, he could not afford his rent but what terrified him the most was, without money, he had no drugs.
A cold sweat chilled his skin and he shivered involuntarily; he was in the words of the urban poets, screwed.
****
Friday September 1^st 1989 (8.42 a.m.)
The Los Angeles vice squad was a far cry from the Jump Street program but for Booker, it was a chance to feel like a real cop. After Tom’s unexpected vanishing act, he had thrown himself back into work as a way of dampening the pain in his heart. He felt used and abused by the man he had put his career on the line for but most of all, he felt foolish. It was a harsh reality check to realize he had been taken in so readily by allowing his cock to rule his head. He should have seen Tom for what he really was; a self-absorbed and heartless prick.
But he had picked himself up and dusted himself off in true Booker fashion and with his new found enthusiasm, (or, if he was completely honest with himself, his determination to keep busy so he would not lust after Tom) he had eagerly flung himself back into his job. However, in the aftermath of Penhall’s death, the Chapel became a very different working environment to what it had been. Unable to cope with the loss of her friend, Judy had asked for a transfer. Fuller had hesitated at first but as the weeks turned into months, he quickly realized that her grief was too insurmountable and he rubber-stamped her requisition. The next to go was Harry. After several months of rehabilitation, he had been back at the Chapel only a few weeks when he advised Fuller he had applied to join the vice squad. It had been another blow for the middle aged Captain but when Ioki accepted the position, he gave him his blessing. However, that decision was ultimately Jump Street’s undoing and a week later, word came through that the mayor was shutting the program down. Harry immediately suggested to Booker that he apply for a position in vice and after an agonizing week of not knowing, he finally received the answer he was waiting for.
He was in like Flynn.
However, teaming up with Harry had been both a blessing and a curse. The two officers worked well together but for Booker, there was always the underlying guilt about Harry’s shooting. Whilst Ioki had no recollection of the events, Booker carried with him the knowledge that Tom was ultimately responsible and he felt extremely ashamed that he was keeping such a vital piece of information from his partner. However, too much water had passed under the idiomatic bridge for him to own up to his lies and therefore, he had learned to live with his transgression and moved on.
But on the odd occasion when he caught Harry subconsciously tracing a finger over the five inch scar hidden beneath his shirt, his mind wandered back to that fateful night and it would take him days to once again, rid the image of Tom from his mind.
****
Friday September 1^st 1989 (9.38 a.m.)
Pushing open the door of the disused warehouse, Tom struggled to walk in an upright position. His need for a hit of heroin had now reached the point that he was going into withdrawal. He felt severely agitated and he had trouble keeping track of his thoughts. The cramping in his stomach was almost unbearable and his sweat drenched t-shirt clung to his thin frame. For anyone who had known Tom, it was a devastating sight to behold but if they looked past the obvious; the dirty hair, sunken eyes and skeletal frame, therein still lay a beautiful man, whose chocolate brown eyes could draw you in with a bat of their ridiculously long lashes.
It took Tom several seconds to adjust to the dimness of the warehouse and holding onto the wall for support, he called out in a shaky voice. “Drexl! It’s Tom. Are you there man? I really need—”
“Keep your fuckin’ voice down,” Drexl snarled and stepping out from the shadows, he gave Hanson the once over. “Geez Tommy, you look like shit.”
Hanson managed a twitchy smile. “I’m really hurting Drex, but I’m low on cash so I thought—”
“Tsk, tsk Tommy,” Drexl admonished in a slow, mocking voice. “You know the rules, no credit, not even for my favorite customers.”
Tom’s dark eyes grew wide with desperation and staggering forward, he clutched at the drug dealers sleeve. “But I need it Drex! I’m good for it, honest. If you could just give me a little something, you know, to see me through I promise I’ll pay you back… I promise!”
Drexl cast his eye over Tom’s trembling body. Beneath the filthy clothes and greasy hair was a breathtakingly attractive man and an idea suddenly formed in his mind. Smiling sweetly, he draped a companionable arm across Tom’s bony shoulders. “You know what Tommy? I think we can come to some kind of arrangement.”
“R-Really?” Tom responded in an excited tone that was several pitches higher than his usual timbre. “Fuck Drex, I really appreciate it.”
A slow, sinister smile played over Drexl’s full lips and he gave Tom’s shoulders a squeeze. “Nah Tommy, you’ve got it all wrong. You see, others are gonna appreciate it, once you start work that is.”
Confusion flashed in Tom’s watery eyes and swiping a filthy sleeve across his runny nose, he tried to comprehend the meaning of Drexl’s words. “Work? What kind of work do you—” But his question remained unspoken as long fingers suddenly began to caress his cock through his denims. Taking an unsteady step backwards, he stared at the dealer in bewilderment. “W-What are you doing?” he stammered in a shocked voice. “I d-don’t understand.”
Drexl stepped forward and popping the button of Tom’s jeans, he slowly lowered the zipper. “You see Tommyboy,” he murmured seductively as he reached inside and released Tom’s cock from the confines of his thin cotton boxers. “You’ve got something men want. Clean yourself up a bit and you’ll find several dead presidents crossing your palm… or more accurately, my palm, if you get my drift.”
Tom’s body froze in fear and he barely heard Drexl’s words over the hammering of his heart. He tried to pull away, but his deadened soul started to feed off the exhilarating sensation mounting between his legs and a low moan rumbled deep in his throat before bursting unrestrained through his partially open lips. Closing his eyes, he reveled in the sensation as inquisitive fingers stroked and fondled his neglected cock and a fire ignited within him. His sexual appetite had dwindled with his increased drug use and he rarely bothered to pleasure himself anymore. But now, the sensuous feeling added a new craving to his already hunger ravaged body and thrusting his hips forward, he urged Drexl on, wanting more, needing more, desperate for some kind of human contact to fill his empty world. Up until that moment, he had not realized how much he missed the touch of another’s hand but now that the memory had been reawakened, he wanted nothing more than to be caressed all day long.
When warm breath tickled his ear, he struggled to hear Drexl’s silky voice over the pounding of blood in his ears. “I’ll give you everything you need,” the drug dealer crooned, his fist working expertly over Tom’s erect shaft. “I’ll give you drugs, I’ll pay your rent and all you have to do is lie there and look pretty. Whatcha say Tommyboy, is it a deal?”
“Mmm,” Tom murmured softly. Drexl’s words formed no cognitive meaning in his preoccupied mind; his only focus was on the wondrous sensation that was erupting between his legs. He had forgotten how titillating and thrilling a great hand job could feel and he gave his whole mind over to the heat that was burning deep inside his soul, bringing it to life after months shrouded in darkness. His desires were slowly reawakening under the teasing stimulation of Drexl’s skilled hand and his addled mind wondered how he could have existed for so long without it.
Sensing that Tom had been living in a sexual vacuum, Drexl smiled wickedly and shoving him against the wall, he mashed his mouth over the smaller man’s parched lips and forcing them open with his tongue, he kissed him violently. Tom struggled against the invasion but the burning in his loins soon had him whimpering in submission and he willingly gave into the dominant kiss. Drexl’s fingers continued to move over his erection and he was quickly reaching the point of no return. Precum leaked from his cockhead, coating the drug dealer’s fingers in the viscous fluid and making it easier for his fist to pump over the long shaft in his hand.
Tom’s legs began to tremble uncontrollably, making standing difficult and moments later, his hips jerked forward and with a strangled cry, his life’s seed shot forth, coating Drexl’s t-shirt and fingers with his seminal fluid.
Abruptly breaking the kiss, Drexl did not waste any time on post-climactic canoodling. Wiping his hand on his soiled t-shirt, his lip curled into a cruel, slightly sadistic grin and trailing a warm finger down Tom’s flushed cheek, he gave a hollow laugh. “Now you’re mine.”
The words resonated in Tom’s brain but he felt no terror or revulsion at the statement. For the first time in a very long time, he craved intimacy almost as much as he craved heroin. It was not love, he knew he was incapable of feeling that emotion and neither did he want to. Love caused pain and he was too used to the empty void in his heart to want to replace it with something that hurt so damn much. But casual sex was a different animal entirely. It was a way for him to feel that nerve-jangling euphoria as the brain’s receptors produced dopamine and flooded it into his system. It was pleasure without guilt, without pain, without love. It was release, nothing more, nothing less.
A slow tilting smile played over his lips and cocking his head on one side, he gave Drexl a cheeky grin in return. “So when do I get my drugs?”
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Chasing a Butterfly