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I Only Have Eyes for You	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 940 -:- 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
- 1-Hell Hath No Fury ...
- 2-Ooo, Baby, Baby!
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- 2
This fic is dedicated to my loyal reader, reviewer and friend, vidalhbea, who requested this story. I hope it doesn't disappoint. xx
The crowded bar was noisy, smoky and in no way what Tom had in mind when he had suggested to Booker that they were in a slump and they should set time aside for a weekly date night. When he had made the proposal, he had expected quiet nights in listening to music or dinners at fancy restaurants, but so far, they had experienced the unsavory environment of a pool hall and a night out at a Monster Truck exhibition. To say he was unimpressed would have been an understatement; it appeared Booker was not only adept at getting his own way, he also did not have a single romantic bone in his body. He apparently lacked the ability to think of thoughtful and suitable ideas for the perfect date and the realization pissed Tom off. The younger officer felt trapped in a masculine world of bikes, burritos, and bars and although he enjoyed all of those things, he longed for something more; he wanted Booker to woo him.
A heavy sigh exhaled from between his pouting lips and picking up his drink, he took a large sip of whiskey, the nutty sapidity immediately pleasuring his palate. He was not in the mood to get drunk, but he did feel the need to drink. It was his vague hope that once the alcohol entered his system, he would relax and start to enjoy himself. However, it was a hope kept alive only by the smiling faces around him who all appeared to be having the time of their lives. He knew he should at least try to enjoy himself, but he could not rid himself of the nagging feeling that if he had his way, he would be out of the door faster than thought or time (as Shakespeare had penned in such an eloquent fashion). But for the moment he remained trapped, at least for the next few hours, or until the alcohol fueled Booker’s sexual appetite and his lover dragged him out of the bar and back to his apartment for a bit of old-fashioned lovin’.
Because that was the story of his life, it was all about Booker having a good time … and sex, lots and lots of sex. His wants and needs did not appear to enter into the equation anymore, he had, to all intense and purposes, become the silent partner.
Turning his head, his frown deepened when he noticed a licentious smile curling at the edges of Booker’s lips. It was obvious that someone had caught his lover’s attention and with his curiosity piqued, he followed Booker’s line of sight. Instantly his eyes narrowed and his mouth hardened into a firm line. There was no mistaking who had captivated Booker’s interest and his hands curled into tight, angry fists. A scantily dressed blond woman with large breasts stood at the edge of the dance floor, her full, cherry-red lips seductively sipping a Mai Tai through a straw. As her hips swayed provocatively in time to the music, her unsupported bosom jiggled invitingly with each flowing movement and her heavily made-up eyes fluttered enchantingly at the crowd, the intentional play for attention working like a charm. Dozens of eyes stared unblinkingly at the erotic display, but when Booker’s tongue flicked over his lips, Tom could no longer contain his jealousy and with his face flaming a deep shade of red, he rammed his elbow forcefully into his lover’s side.
The sharp jab in his ribs caught Booker off guard and his drink slopped over the rim of his glass and onto his hand. Turning to face Tom, he bit down on his lower lip when he saw the furious look in his lover’s eyes. The expression in flagranti delicto popped into his mind and he only just managed to smother a smile. There was no mistaking it, Tom was jealous and even though he had been caught red-handed eyeing off a woman, he refused to feel guilty. He appreciated a beautiful body, both male and female and he would not apologize for having a wandering eye. Not that he would ever take it any farther than that. He was one hundred percent faithful, but in his mind, looking did not constitute cheating; looking was just harmless fun.
Amused by Tom’s livid expression, he lifted his hand and licked the drops of whiskey from his skin. He had consumed a few drinks and he could not resist poking fun at his lover for being envious of a woman. “Aw, c’mon, Hanson,” he teased with a grin. “Are you telling me you don’t miss it? The soft curves, the voluptuous breasts, the moist—”
Tom, however, was in no mood for games. “Enough!” he snapped, his dark eyes flashing angrily. “If you crave tits so much, maybe you’re in the wrong relationship.”
From the moment he had met Tom, Booker had become proficient at pushing his buttons and he took great delight in needling him whenever the opportunity presented itself. But as he looked into his lover’s flushed face, he wondered if he had taken the taunting too far. The green-eyed monster had surfaced in all its rampant glory and it puzzled him to know that Tom could feel such a futile emotion. His lover was a complex character; private and detached one minute, open and warm the next, and on the odd occasion, volatile and insecure. Their relationship was an emotional roller coaster, which was just the way he liked it; he never knew from one day to the next what would happen. But, at that precise second in time, he knew exactly what the outcome would be if he did not desist and, therefore, he decided to back off … if only for a moment.
Reaching out, he attempted to engage his lover by cupping his face in his hand, but Tom moodily turned his head. Sighing in frustration, he tried again and this time he made contact with the smooth cheek. “Aw, don’t be like that, baby, I was only foolin’ around. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Tom’s lower lip pushed into a sulky pout. “But I saw you eyeing her up,” he replied in an irritable tone. “You were lusting after her.”
It had only taken a matter of minutes for their conversation to teeter precariously on the edge of a full-blown argument and Booker knew he needed to tread warily. However, he was not about to let Tom emotionally blackmail him into apologizing for being a red-blooded bisexual male and he cast a final furtive glance at the woman before looking him in the eye. “I wasn’t lusting after her,” he explained with a cheeky grin. “I was appreciating her. You’ve gotta admit, she’s pretty hot.”
Tom blew out his lips in an exaggerated pfft and rolling his eyes in disgust, he turned his head away and glared gloomily into the crowd. “If you like that sort of thing,” he muttered childishly.
Without realizing it, Tom had given Booker the opening he needed to stir the pot just a little more and with dancing eyes, the dark-haired officer unwittingly delivered what was to be the final blow. “Sorry, Tommy, but I do. If I were single, my face would be buried between those soft, inviting—”
His lover’s admission was too much for Tom and fueled with an explosive anger, he slammed his glass down on the bar with such force, whiskey splashed over the edge, spotting the polished wood. “FUCK YOU!” he screamed into his lover’s smirking face and snatching his jacket from the back of the bar stool, he barged blindly through the crowd of carefree twenty-somethings and out the door, leaving Booker wondering if he had just made a monumental mistake.
**
Four days later – 10.08 a.m.
Booker flopped down in his chair and stared despondently at Tom’s empty desk. The two men had barely spoken since their disastrous date at the club; partly because Tom had eagerly volunteered to go on a stakeout and partly because neither man was willing to admit he was wrong. Booker was astute enough to know Tom was avoiding him; his lover hated stakeouts almost as much as he now appeared to hate attractive, busty women. He also knew he should apologize, but admitting his faults and voicing his regrets were sentiments he struggled with, especially since coming out. Living life as an openly bisexual man had toughened him both mentally and physically. The disapproval of his parents, the constant teasing in high school, the disdainful looks in the Police Academy and the curiosity of his co-workers had all played a part in changing his personality. As a child, he had been happy, bright and openly friendly, but over the years, he slowly built a psychological wall to protect himself from the abuse and now he found it difficult to connect with others emotionally. But then he had met Tom, who was still finding it difficult to come to terms with his bisexuality and was reluctant to disclose his sexual proclivities to his friends, and everything had changed. In less than a month of secretly dating, he had found himself revealing his true nature to his lover, the softer, more amenable side of his personality. However, he still had a long way to go before the character traits of his childhood overrode those that had become ingrained in his adulthood and admitting he was in the wrong was something he still found almost impossible to do, even if the person he had hurt was Tom. He was well aware that his ego was his biggest obstacle in life, but he had yet to reach a level of maturity where he could cast aside his insecurities and live comfortably within his own skin, and, therefore, he was unable to tell Tom that he had behaved like an ass and he was sorry.
A restless sigh expelled from between his pursed lips and picking up a pile of paperwork, he moved it to the other side of his desk, revealing a blue envelope tucked beneath his worn desk blotter. A puzzled frown creased his brow and picking up the sealed letter, he stared at his name scribbled across the front in Tom’s untidy hand. With his interest now sufficiently aroused, he carelessly ripped open the envelope and a door key tumbled out onto his desk. His eyebrows rose in surprise and grabbing hold of the key, he slowly turned it over in his fingers before placing it back on his desk and pulling out the small scrap of paper that had accompanied it. His hand shook slightly as he unfolded the note and read the brief message Tom had written in his distinctive scrawl.
My place, 7 o’clock tonight. Let yourself in.
Tom
The message was intriguing in its vagueness and a shiver passed through his body, hardening his cock and causing his stomach to flip-flop with a hot desire. Being a cup half-full type of person, he pushed aside the worrying thought that perhaps Tom wanted to end their relationship. After all, who left a key for their lover when their sole intention was to break up? However, the nagging doubt hovered disturbingly in the back of his mind, refusing to leave completely and it made concentrating on his paperwork difficult. He longed for the working day to finish so he could unravel the true nature of Tom’s cryptic note.
**
Five hours later
Tom stood naked in his bathroom, a disposable razor held in the fingers of his trembling hand. He felt guilty about his behavior at the bar and he desperately wanted to make everything right. He loved Booker, but their relationship was floundering and if he did not take drastic measures, their affair would be over before it had begun.
However, to fix what he perceived to be wrong within their relationship, he needed to give his lover what he so obviously craved and that meant taking extreme measures, even if he had to humiliate himself in the process.
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I Only Have Eyes for You