By My Side
By Robyn LaSalle a.k.a. TM Alexander
Fandom: 21 Jumpstreet
Pairing: Doug Penhill/Tom Hanson Tom Hanson/Dennis Booker
Rating: NC-17
DISCLAIMERS: Yeah.
ARCHIVE: The folks who asked me last time, go fer it! <G>
First
printed in THE CHOIR BOYS fanzine, (c) 1991 by Bodacious Press.
Author's
Note: This takes place following the episodes "The Best Years of Your Life" and
"Draw the Line."
By My Side
By Robyn LaSalle a.k.a. TM
Alexander
"In the dark of night
Those small
hours
Uncertain and anxious
I need to call you
Rooms full of
strangers
Some call me friend
But I wish you were so close to me..."
-
INXS, "By My Side"
The rain and the ride across town from the
playground where he had found his friend chilled Tom Hanson to his core. The
last secret had been revealed: Doug Penhall, at the age of eight, had tried to
commit suicide. While his attempt had not been as successful as the one his
mother had made two years before, he had been a child and had seriously meant to
kill himself.
Tom now huddled close to the larger man's back, shielding
himself from the elements against the broad, leather-clad shoulders, his teeth
chattering from more than the cold.
Doug Penhall had confessed a great
deal of darkness in the last twenty-four hours, all brought on by a case that
had featured the unexpected suicide of a kid they suspected of a recent string
of cat burglaries. Doug had withdrawn from both the assignment and from life
altogether, retreating into a shell without explanation, lashing out at those
who tried to investigate out of
concern.
Finally, when his girlfriend
Dorothy showed up at the Jump Street chapel with a claim that Doug was missing,
Tom knew almost instinctively where to look. //Why didn't *she* know?// he
wondered, as he made his way to the playground and found his partner, pale and
battered by inner demons and leaning against his motorcycle.
Penhall then
proceeded to tell Hanson about his horrible past. It took every ounce of Tom's
will to keep from crying for the big guy, forcing himself to remain strong, to
lighten the mood and to suggest counseling. Doug had shrugged off the idea, but
if Tom knew him well enough, he ould
probably seek professional help on his
own.
They reached Tom's apartment building and Doug toed the kickstand
into place. Hanson dismounted and turned to face him. "Wanna come in for a
while?" he asked, shoving his fingers into his pants pockets and glancing
around.
Penhall smiled fleetingly. "Yeah, sure." He swung out of the
saddle and joined his partner, climbing the steps to the door. Once inside, they
looked at each other's wet hair and clothes, and laughed. "You should take a hot
shower and get into somethin' dry," Doug told Tom, always the protective Mother
Hen.
"What about you?"
"Me? I'll be okay."
"Sure you will."
Tom grinned. "You can take a shower after me, then I'll run your clothes down to
the basement and throw 'em in a dryer." He headed for the bathroom, stripping
off his shirt as he went. "And since you'll be staying a while, you should call
Dorothy and let her know you're all right."
Penhall grimaced. He was
still a bit disgruntled by his last confrontation with his girlfriend, wherein
they'd argued and she stormed out of the loft apartment they shared. She had
disappeared for two days without so much as a call to reassure Doug that she was
alive. It was probably for the best, however, because in his state of mind he
had needed the space. The
only person he'd been willing to let into his
darkness was Tom, and as yet he still could not figure out why.
He dialed
home and spent the next few minutes listening to Dorothy chatter at him like an
angry squirrel. She was offended that he was with Hanson - what was new? - and
not with her, particularly when she had been so worried about him. That welled
the frustration in Doug, and he shot back a remark about the depth of her
concern being as shallow as her walking out on him for several days without so
much as a note to say where she'd gone. The call ended when Dorothy hung up on
him, after telling him that she didn't care how long he chose to stay with his
partner - it was obvious that *Tom* could give Doug more than she could by way
of reassurance, anyway.
Grumbling, he replaced the receiver and wandered
towards the bathroom, where he could hear the shower. "Looks like I'll be
campin' out on *your* sofa tonight, pal!" he called over the sound of the
water.
Tom poked his head out from behind the curtain, frowning in
puzzlement. "Didn't you call Dorothy?"
"Yeah, and if I go home it'll be a
repeat performance of the other day. Round two." He made the sound of a bell
being rung, and started a half-hearted shadowbox before dropping his arms to his
sides and slumping against the sink. "Sometimes I wonder if this relationship
ain't worth the backaches I get from sleepin' on the couch, y'know?"
Tom
nodded, then regarded his friend's attire. "You still wearin' those?" he
demanded, putting on a serious face. "Strip, Penhall, and get your butt in
here."
Doug laughed out loud. "What, with *you*?"
Leering
wickedly, Hanson suddenly lashed out, snagging one arm and yanking Doug into the
tub.
Off-balance, the big man had no other choice but to stumble in,
fully dressed and howling in protest, "HAN-SON!"
"Whassamatter? I said I
was gonna put 'em in the dryer!"
Doug swiped his face and grabbed at the
smaller fellow, who ducked and laughed, trying to evade him. He finally captured
the slippery, warm flesh, crushing Tom into a bear hold. "Awright - now you're
gonna get it," Penhall growled menacingly.
Tom raised his head, and found
his nose a hair's breadth from the hawkish point of his partner's. All joking
fled with the rising steam as some unknown reason compelled him to move closer,
to touch the parted lips in a tender kiss.
Perhaps if the surrounding
conflicts had not been so intense, and the emotional level not as high and raw,
Doug would have reacted with surprise and disgust. But now, instead of throwing
off the slighter man, he found his arms relaxing into a gentle embrace, his
hands supporting instead of imprisoning, and his mouth returning the touch.
Perhaps it was a need for closeness, understanding, and physical comfort that
powered his response; whatever the answer, it didn't matter at this moment. All
that mattered was Tom, and this new feeling.
They parted gently,
gradually, and regarded each other with new awareness....and they both accepted,
humbly. Tommy stepped out of his partner's embrace, smiling as he reached to
help him out of his now-soaked clothes. Doug assisted, tossing his shirt over
the curtain rod with a wet slap. He steadied himself as he peeled off his jeans
one leg at a time, then giggled self-consciously when he straightened, facing
Hanson, naked before him for the first time.
As he realized this, he also
noticed Tom's state of undress, and stared at him, taking in the sight of his
rivulet-traced body. Hanson was beautiful, all olive-skinned and slender but
well toned. He had the grace and delicacy of a young woman, but the power of a
young man. With his black hair plastered back against his skull, his finely
sculpted face was completely visible, from the sharp cheekbones to the small,
full mouth, and the large, dark eyes.
Doug reached for him again,
mesmerized, and drew him into another deep kiss. It was oddly natural how they
fit together, belly to belly, flush against each other under the hot torrent.
Tommy's taste was unique in its normalcy, special only because of him, and what
he meant to Penhall.
Passion began to rise when Hanson suddenly broke
away. Laughing breathlessly as he held Doug at arm's length, he said, "You, ah,
finish up." He located the soap and pushed it into his friend's upturned palm,
then smiled fleetingly. "I'm going out to make you something to eat."
"Okay," Doug mumbled in reply. Numbly, he watched the smaller man slip out of
the tub. Shrugging, he lathered up, too amazed to think of his
arousal.
By the time he turned off the water, his erection had dwindled.
Looking around, he found a large bathsheet and wrapped it around his waist,
tucking the end securely. He could smell food, and abruptly was hit by nausea.
Bile rose in his throat. "Geez!" he muttered as he staggered into the
kitchen.
Tom looked up from the pot he tended at the stove. Wrapped in a
knee-length plaid robe, his hair spiky and still damp, he looked pleasantly
domestic in a Normal Rockwell kind of way. He smiled. "Making you some cream 'a
chicken," he remarked.
"Thanks." Doug returned the grin and nodded, but
found he could not concentrate on conversation. Drawn to his partner as a plant
to the sun's warmth, he moved up behind him, winding his arms around his middle
in a wordless hug.
Hanson chuckled, ducking his head as Doug nuzzled the
back of his neck. "*Doug!*" he warned lightly. Strangely, this was something
they had never done before, yet it felt *right.* He found himself leaning back
into the bigger man, one hand stirring the soup while the other rested on the
paws possessing his stomach. "It'll be ready in a minute."
Doug
straightened and turned Tom around to face him. He pulled him up close, silently
appropriating the pouting lips in a demanding kiss. He cupped the smaller face
between his large, gentle hands, stroking Tom's jaw before skimming down and
around to scoop up the tight little ass and hold him steady. He tore his mouth
from Hanson's, gasping for air. "Oh god!" He
buried his nose against the
slender throat. "God, Tom...I need...gotta have..."
"I know."
Withdrawing, Tom touched Doug's forehead with his, smiling tenderly as he
caressed his friend's cheek. He lifted his chin and met the troubled,
honey-brown eyes. "But I want you to eat, first. You need something on your
stomach - something other than beer." He indicated the bedroom with a tip of his
head. "Go in there and get the blanket off my bed. Wrap yourself up and sit on
the couch while I finish up, here."
Nodding, Doug released him and
watched as he returned to the stove, then proceeded to carry out the order. He
fetched the quilt, a warmly fuzzy comforter that smelled of Tom. Doug bundled in
it gladly before flopping on the sofa. He was still in a state of review, going
over his past and the last few days. All the memories had been reanimated due to
this teen suicide, all the pain of his childhood, the heavy secrets he'd
carried, bottled up inside, all these years. He thought about what he'd told
Tommy, how he had never been able to confess those things to anyone before. He
still wondered why he had been able to tell *him* and no one else.
He
knew the reason, now. He did not feel he could trust anyone the way he trusted
Hanson. Not only was this his partner, but he was his friend, his brother - and
now, he was becoming something else. //Lover?// His stomach flipped at the idea.
Was he hallucinating, dazed from the lack of sleep and nourishment, and the
haunting memories? Could Tom just be humoring him,
allowing his curiosity
and his need to find comfort and release his terrors?
He stopped thinking when his host appeared with a large mug, above which
tendrils of steam frolicked, and a box of saltines tucked under one arm. He
accepted the cup from the smiling man. "Thanks," he rasped.
"Sure."
Sitting down next to Doug, tucking one foot under his butt, Tom opened the box
and pulled out a plastic-wrapped column. "You know I'd do anything for
you."
"Yeah, I guess so." Doug took a sip and winced. "Ooh.
S'hot."
"Of course it is. I just took it off the stove." Snorting, Hanson
shook his head in amusement. He carded through the package and extracted five
crackers. He passed them to his friend. "Here."
"Thanks." Dipping one
into the soup, Doug shoved the whole thing into his mouth and chewed. He sighed
as he felt his taste buds sing with a hunger about to be satiated. Brows tilted
upward, he moaned. "This is the best thing I've ever eaten," he said around his
mouthful.
"I know what that's like." Tom watched him, pleased and
satisfied at once. He had been very worried about Doug, but his concern had come
out in angry words when he'd first confronted him. Penhall had responded by
unloading the shocking story about his mother. Numbed, Hanson had returned to
work but could do nothing more than sit at his desk and replay the words over
and over in his head, as though trying to understand it all.
He knew that
Doug needed help, knew he needed support. As his partner, he would do whatever
he could to make sure they would be a functioning team again. As his friend, he
would stay by his side through whatever shadows that enveloped him. He was
certain that, in a reversal of roles, it would be the same.
He had been
mildly surprised when Doug kissed him, and wondered why the big guy hadn't said
anything about his immediate and unquestioning response. He understood that
Penhall could have been reaching out to him, seeking reassurance and affection
in some fashion, driven by emotion. Under normal circumstances, he probably
wouldn't have been so physical. Tom hoped his buddy didn't think he was leading
him on, and he hoped he really *wasn't*.... He found himself enjoying the
contact, welcoming it - but he had to maintain a balance, for Doug's
sake.
As if he'd been following Tom's thought process, Doug asked
suddenly, "Does it...bother you?"
"What?"
"Y'know." Penhall
gestured between them. "The...kissin'. We never kissed each other
before."
"No," Tom agreed, setting the cracker box on the coffee table.
He shrugged, shaking his head. "But it wasn't *bad.*" He looked at Doug
sincerely. "Personally...I *liked* it." He hesitated. "Did you?"
"Yeah!"
Penhall replied, nodding vigorously. "A lot. Liked it a lot." He trailed off,
averting his gaze, hiding his sudden shyness in his mug as he took another deep
swallow of soup to finish it off. "Wouldn't mind doin' it again,
either..."
Tom stared at him, then burst into a grin. "You wouldn't,
huh?"
"Nope." Doug looked up again. "Would *you*?"
"Like to kiss
you again?" Hanson nodded slowly. His onyx eyes were bright with adoration.
"Very much."
Doug studied him, smacking his lips, silently contemplating.
He set the mug down, dusted the crumbs off the front of his blanket before
opening it in invitation.
Tommy sighed as he pressed against the big,
naked body. He angled his head, turning his face up to receive Doug's mouth.
Tongues greeted again, waltzing around each other, darting out to entice. What
began as casual exploration quickly escalated into wildfire lust, and they
ground against each other, teeth striking teeth, breath coming from flared
nostrils in delirious huffs.
Hanson grabbed Penhall's ears, hauling him
over to lie on top of him. They shifted, the kiss broken as they grunted and
tried to find a comfortable horizontal position.
"Okay?"
"No -
there."
"Awright."
"Ow!"
"Wha?"
"Crushing my
hip..."
"Oh...sorry. How's that?"
"Better. Yeah, that's
good."
They looked at each other and smiled. Tom wrapped his legs around
Penhall, his feet resting on the backs of the meaty thighs. His robe had come
open and now just covered his arms, but Doug blanketed the rest of his
body.
Doug stared down at his friend's face, studying him, taking in
every detail. "I never realized," he whispered, stroking the soft hair back from
the smooth forehead, "how pretty your eyes are."
Hanson colored and
chuckled huskily, looking away. "Aw, c'mon..." He met Doug's gaze again. "You're
not so bad, yourself."
"Yeah?" Penhall cocked an eyebrow. "Is it my Clint
Eastwood chin? Or my Burt Reynolds cheekbones?"
"Burt *Reynolds*?" Tom
rolled his eyes. "Gimme a break."
"What, you don't think I look like
Burt?"
"No, you look more like that funny guy he hangs out with all the
time."
"Huh!" Scowling, Doug could not maintain his pout for long. He
laughed along with his partner, subsiding with the return of sobriety. "You're
really somethin', you know that? My whole life, I never met anyone who makes me
feel....I dunno...as *good* as you do." He sighed. "This make any sense to
you?"
"Yeah." Tom smiled, digging his slender fingers into the thickness
of Doug's hair. He combed through the damp tangle, coming out at the shoulders,
which he kneaded gently. "You turn me on," he whispered. His arms dropped back
onto the couch, and he searched Penhall's face with a meaningful look. "Get me
going."
The come-on launched a shudder of breathless excitement that
traveled up Doug's spine, and he complied with eagerness. They kissed and petted
until the desire became too intense. Hanson reached down between their hips and
grabbed Doug's cock for the first time. He pumped it, curled his hand around it,
and Penhall began to fuck the hole he had created.
Wanting to
reciprocate, the bigger man fumbled to grasp his partner's sleek organ, tugging
it towards climax. He was a little embarrassed at first about touching another
man's penis, but he looked for and found strength in Tom's eyes. He also located
a new hunger, one he wanted to share with his lover to the absolute limits of
their physical and spiritual powers.
He was stopped, however, when Tom
released him and stilled his hand, dislodging his grip. Tom drew Doug's fingers
to his mouth. Their gazes held one another as Hanson sucked the thick middle
digit between his lips, coating it thoroughly with saliva. "This way," he
rasped, and guided the hand back down. He lifted his ass off the sofa as he
showed Doug where to touch him. He positioned the finger and impaled himself,
groaning with joy as the firmness sank into his rectum.
"Tommy?" Amazed,
Penhall wriggled his finger experimentally, stunned by the
reaction.
Hanson's fingernails bit into Doug's shoulders and he opened
his eyes, staring hard at the larger officer. "Fuck me, Doug," he begged,
shivering with exhilaration.
"You sure?"
Tom nodded frantically.
"I want you," he gasped, and swallowed firmly. He rolled his hips on the finger
sheathed in his ass. "Please...please, Doug."
He reminded Doug of a
junkie in need of a fix. Spellbound by the request, Penhall shook his head. "I
don't know what to do," he mumbled. He became uncertain; trepidation was setting
in. "I could....hurt you...if I do somethin' wrong."
"No - it's okay.
Here. Get up."
Withdrawing from his partner, Doug sat back on his heels
and watched as the smaller man climbed off the couch and stumbled towards the
kitchen. He returned moments later with a plastic bowl. "Margarine?" Penhall
identified it, then laughed. "All the way with Parkay, huh?"
Tom tossed
the lid aside, digging his fingers into the creamy warmth. "Good thing I left it
out this morning," he said, coming up with a glob of yellow. His gaze touched
Doug's and he leaned forward. "This'll make it easier."
As Doug watched,
gracefully slick fingers encircled him, coating his cock liberally, gripping him
tightly as they slid along his staff from base to head. He moaned and closed his
eyes, enjoying the hand job. Tom abandoned him before he could achieve the peak
of pleasure, leaving him aching hard. He opened his eyes and beheld his friend,
who had resumed his place on the sofa, legs spread. One foot hooked over the
back of the couch, while he raised the other to his chest, spreading his ass
cheeks wide to reveal the entry point. The sight was enough to push Penhall over
the edge of need and straight into the pit of voracity.
With a growl, he
lunged at Hanson, who grabbed him automatically and guided his cock home. Doug
pushed several times, finally sheathing himself in one short, sharp thrust. The
ring of tightness made him choke back a cry, and he found he had no patience for
method or rhythm.
They slammed together over and over, their bodies
riding the wave like mating dolphins. Doug ground his knees into the cushion as
he shifted, angling himself for better trajectory, and picked up speed. He
moaned out loud, warning his companion of the approaching crescendo of release,
knowing it would come soon.
He made several deep plunges, to which Hanson
gasped, a delighted spasm ripping through him. Inner muscles contracted along
the thick cock, and with one magnificent explosion of light, sound and
sensation, he felt the channel grow more slippery with Doug's
seed.
Doug's skull throbbed as he finally pulled out and flopped limply
against the opposite end of the sofa. "Oh my God," he panted, hairy chest
heaving and dripping with sweat. "That as...Šncredible. I don't believe it. That
was amazing." Glancing down, he noticed the off-white residue clinging to his
belly, the results of Tom's orgasm.
Tommy watched him touch the
substance, a wry smile stretching his mouth. "Let me take care of that," he
offered huskily, and rolled forward onto his elbows and knees, bowing over the
scarlet cock as his hips nuzzled the stickiness.
Doug gasped again and
grabbed the back of Tom's head instinctively. "Oh my GOD!" he chirped. "Hanson -
where'd you learn to *do* that?" He moaned as the skilled tongue flicked
expertly at the tip. "And where'd you learn to do it so *good*?" He lifted his
hips in automatic response, plowing into the steamy haven of his friend's mouth,
dragging over the rough edge of teeth. He inhaled brokenly at the wet stroking
of active flesh as Tom's tongue wound around his shaft.
Penhall never
came so hard in his life, particularly for a second orgasm in less than fifteen
minutes of the first. Every atom in his physical makeup imploded. He bucked,
then folded over the smaller man, clawing at him as his cock leapt and pulsed
with release. He cried out Hanson's name, sobbing in litany, whispering his
gratification. At last, he slumped back into
the corner, washed out to sea
on the tide of ecstasy.
Tom licked his lips and smiled as he sat up. He
regarded his buddy's dreamy expression, assured that he had done well in
pleasing him. His own member had regained consciousness, aching for attention,
but he decided he would wait for the next round to begin when Doug was ready. In
the meantime, he contented himself by curling up next to his companion like a
cat.
Penhall's voice broke the room's silence. "You *have* done that
before," he murmured hollowly.
Tom stiffened inwardly, detecting the note
of accusation - however minute - in that statement. Sitting up, he felt his
heart freeze as he looked into Doug's eyes and saw the confusion, the
questioning, and above all else, the hurt that filled them.
"Guess the
moment of truth has arrived," Hanson muttered. He moved to perch on the edge of
the couch, wrapping his long fingers around the back of his neck. "Okay. *Yes* -
I know what to do, because I *have* done it before. In fact...I still do it." He
looked up, meeting the other man's stare. "I'm bi, Doug. I swing both
ways."
"Y'mean...I wasn't the first guy you..?"
Tom shook his head
with a grimace of apology. "No. I've been sexually active with men for a while,
now."
Before Tom knew it, anger changed Penhall's expression, hardening
his face. "You mean to tell me...you've been fuckin' other guys - and you didn't
even *warn* me?"
Hanson frowned at the rise in his friend's voice.
"'Warn' you?"
"Yeah!" Doug gestured. "If you'd'a told me you've been
lettin' other guys fuck you up the ass, I coulda wore a *rubber* or something,
to protect myself!"
"Pro-" Tom cut himself off, enraged. "For your
information, *you* are the first guy I've ever let touch me, *without*
one!"
"Yeah, well, you sure knew what you were doin' when you were givin'
me head, baby!" Penhall snapped. "Diseases can be spread *that* way,
too!"
"Did it ever occur to you that I might have used a condom *then*,
as well?" Tom stood up abruptly. "You may not be my first experience, Doug, but
in a way you *are.* With you, I didn't *want* to hold back, or let anything come
between us. Goddammit, Doug - I *love* you!"
By the look of shock on his
face, it was clear that Tom hadn't planned on revealing that secret. Certainly
he and his partner cared for each other, but never had the "L" word passed
between them. And somehow Hanson knew that, should the true depth of his usage
of "love" be exposed, there would be repercussions.
Penhall's voice had
softened to a toneless murmur. "So." He rubbed his palms together slowly. "What
happened tonight...wasn't no sympathy fuck. Somethin' to make me...feel
better."
Tommy remained standing, ready to take his punishment. "No," he
rasped. "I've...wanted you for a while, now." He shrugged helplessly, a short
laugh escaping him. "Tonight was the realization of something I've fantasized
about for the past...five months. I've wanted you to touch me for so long..but I
didn't want you to hate me for it, afterwards."
Doug squirmed uncomfortably. "I don't hate ya," he blurted finally. Sighing
heavily, he ran his hands over his tousled hair before rising to his feet and
stepping over the coffee table. "I gotta go." He brushed past Hanson on his way
to the bathroom. "Dorothy's worried about me - I gotta get home to
her."
Tom's heart shattered. He wanted to scream, to snarl his
frustration and jealousy, that Penhall would never find anyone to love him as
much as *he* loved him - but nothing would come out. He swallowed back the hard
emotion that had knotted in his throat, unable to move as he watched his partner
return pulling on cold, damp clothes that Hanson had forgotten to take to the
dryer. He forced himself to speak. "Please," he managed, shaking his head. "You
don't have to go."
Penhall paused at the door. His gaze traveled up and
down the smaller man's frame, as if to commit the sight of his beautiful
nakedness to memory...for that was all tonight could ever be, from this moment
forward. "See ya at work," he whispered, his own voice thick with feelings he
could not express right now. With that, he left the apartment...and
Tom.
*
That night went unmentioned in the months that followed until summer
vacation, and the close of the Jump Street program. Whereas Judy had proposed
they all stay in touch, Doug and Tom did not associate with one another over
that period.
Penhall knew he had been wrong to turn on his friend. He had
treated Hanson like trash, as if what he had done in his personal life made him
less than human. When he had left his partner that night, he cursed himself for
his own bullheadedness and petty jealousy - particularly when he contemplated
his own deepest feelings.
It was too late, once he had walked out, to go
back and admit his love for Hanson, to confess a mutual attraction and to
propose a new aspect to the partnership. He would have been more than willing to
be Tommy's lover on a regular basis, but his petty pride refused to let that
happen. His fear of actually crossing the line that ran between "straight" and
"gay" was a tangible wall that stretched for an eternity in all directions,
refusing to let him near his friend in any way. There was too much water under
that bridge...but he never stopped thinking about what could have been, whenever
the memory of their sweet passion came back to tease.
He made wild,
desperate stabs at crystallizing something stronger in his relationship with
Dorothy, but it was futile at best to find satisfaction where he knew he could
never be content. He had been willing to change his entire life, his
personality, to fit into a mold that she required, but something was not right.
A taunting voice inside him would chastise him at those moments, telling him
that *Tom* never would have compromised *his* style. Doug's conscience continued
to call him an idiot for walking out the door that night.
Over the
summer, he was accepted into Intelligence and placed on various surveillance
cases. It kept him busy, and kept Dorothy quiet. She was happy that he had
chosen to "stop playing with the high school kids" and act like a grownup. When
September rolled around and classes resumed, he tried to ignore the return of
the Jump Street program and the urge to go back to his
old job.
He
was surprised when, after three months of silence, Tom had come by to see him at
work. They shared a nice chat over coffee and doughnuts, briefly filling each
other in about their summer "vacations." While he didn't ask outright, Doug
sensed that Hanson wondered when he would come back to the chapel. He couldn't
reply, even if he wanted. He did, however, react with jealousy when Tom
mentioned having a new partner. After their meeting, Penhall felt depressed and
lonelier than ever. He really missed his buddy.
One day, Tom showed up to
ask him about a new cop in Jump Street's jurisdiction. "I'm not supposed to tell
you," Penhall said. "I could get into trouble and lose my job."
"I
understand." And respectively, Tom pushed no further.
Driven by a
faithfulness that could never die, Doug gave in. "His name's Dennis Booker. He's
with IAD. He's in to check on you guys, to see if you're using entrapment to
nail these high schoolers. Be careful."
Tommy flashed that adorable smile
of his, one that used to give Doug every bit of confidence and assurance he
needed. This time, however, Penhall found he could not shake the agitation.
Something just wasn't *right*.
He found out what it was when he returned
to Jump Street several weeks later. A botched case got him ejected from
Intelligence with his tail between his legs. Not knowing where to go or what to
do, he found himself on Captain Fuller's doorstep. He got his old job back -
much to Dorothy's displeasure - but he was going back to a very different
chapel.
Booker had decided to stay on with the program. His young looks
provided him with the proper requirement to work the schools, and he was teamed
up with Hanson more and more. Their partnership had also gone beyond that of a
working relationship, made obvious by unassuming touches, looks, and casually
planned get-togethers after duty. Their closeness made Doug highly
uncomfortable, a feeling which quickly settled into basic jealousy and intense
possessiveness.
*What have you got to be possessive about?* Penhall
scolded himself. *You made it clear last year that there wasn't going to be
anything but work between you an' Hanson. YOU turned HIM away - you can't
dictate his life. Hell, you don't even know what YOU want, for
yourself!*
He now watched the handsome demon lean over Hanson and whisper
in his ear, then saw Tom respond with a laughing smile...one he used to reserve
for Doug. Tom stood up, grabbed his coat, and fell into step with Dennis as they
left the chapel together. Penhall felt his heart collapse upon itself with
remorse and self-loathing.
He had blown his chance, and he would have to
live with that for the rest of his life.
*
"I don't know what smells better: you, or what's on the stove."
Tom
chuckled, trying to pull away from the arms that snaked around his waist from
behind and the lips that nuzzled the nape of his neck. "I need a shower," he
groaned. "I reek of sex."
"Aye, but it's a great scent!" Booker growled
in a bad Irish accent, parodying the soap commercial from television. He nipped
at his lover's skin, one hand sliding into Hanson's robe to caress a nipple
while the other hand drifted down to seek out the well-used cock.
Hanson
sighed. "Didn't you get enough?" he muttered. He turned around to face the
taller man and accepted the mouth that sought his. He tasted toothpaste and
smelled fresh aftershave. "You already bathed," he noted, breaking the kiss.
"Hope you left me some hot water. Here -" He shoved the spatula at Dennis.
"Finish the pancakes. I've gotta clean up."
Using the spatula to swat Tom
on the fanny, Booker cackled when the smaller man jumped in surprise. He winked
and blew a kiss at the baleful glare he received for that, before turning his
attention to breakfast.
In the bathroom, Hanson closed and locked the
door, shrugging out of his robe as he stood before the mirror. His reflection
showed the myriad of bite marks and bruises, the remnants of last night's
passion play. He grimaced and grabbed his red toothbrush, noticing the green one
perched next to it on the left, and the yellow one on the right.
He
touched the wet bristles of the former and thought back to the day when it came
to reside there. He had been shocked by his attraction to Booker; even more
stunned when the older, smooth-talking detective in the black leather jacket
slipped into him with a seduction that knocked him on his ass. Tom had succumbed
to the power, the charisma, and the machismo that Dennis possessed, and after
the first week of heady sex, the green toothbrush materialized in the
holder.
He then glanced at the yellow one, which had been gathering dust
over the summer. It was Doug's, one he had brought with him one morning when he
showed up before a case, brushing his teeth after Tom served up breakfast and a
run-down of their plan of action. He smiled, recalling that day, remembering how
Penhall had made him laugh. It was the first time he realized he felt more for
Doug than just friendship.
His memory rewound and he thought about
everything that happened since the night he and Doug touched each other's souls
- the night Penhall had bared his, then ran away, unable to accept the love
Hanson wanted to give. Tom had thought he was making the right move by
confessing his deepest feelings for the big guy. Doug had given him what he
considered all the right signs, from his encouragement that Tom break up with
Amy, to his tender support during the hard times that followed in the wake of
her death.
He had read Doug wrong and, in the end, nearly lost him
forever as a friend. He gave Doug the distance he needed without question, but
over the summer he neither saw nor heard from his partner. Then he found out -
through Ioki - that Penhall had been accepted by Intelligence. When he dropped
by the loft apartment, Tom discovered that Doug had moved. Again, he learned
through a mutual acquaintance that Doug had bought a cottage and set up house
with Dorothy... just like a real grownup.
Tom did not want to see the
years they had spent, careful constructing trust, to get washed away like a
bridge of toothpicks over a raging river. Willing to forget - at least, for Doug
- that the sex never happened, he took a stab at reestablishing the
relationship. If there had been any real truth in it, the friendship *would*
survive.
That first reunion made his heart soar. Doug was still his
buddy. At least he would allow that. Penhall was so important to Hanson. It was
all that mattered.
But then...Booker came along.
He hated the
Internal Affairs cop from the moment he met him. He resented him for being a
spy, for being a bigot, for being so cocky and self-sure. He still could not
explain what possessed him to let Dennis take him home from that strip joint. He
hadn't been very drunk. He was also still seeing Jackie. It wasn't as if he was
hard up.
Dennis simply knew which buttons to push...and he pushed them,
right up Hanson's ass. Repeatedly. Personality-wise, he was still the most
offensive man Tom had ever known - next to Russell Buckins, of course -- and Tom
still did not like him. Booker knew how to screw, though - oh *yes*, he was good
at *that*! - just as well as he knew how to fight. He was an
efficient
officer, too.
But Tom didn't love him.
He sighed, bitterly
returning to the present. Snagging the Crest and squeezing a big dollop onto his
own brush, Tom paused and looked at his reflection again. These days, it was
nearly impossible to see humor in anything. With Penhall, it had been more than
fucking, more than
sex. With Penhall, he was willing to give himself
completely - something he had been unable to do with anyone, male or female, now
or ever. More than anything, he missed the closeness and camaraderie he and Doug
had once shared.
He would give anything to have a chance to laugh again.
*
"Where's Booker?"
Doug's smile faltered and he turned his gaze out the
passenger window. Finally, he replied, "He quit. He was busted down to basement
file clerk for his...'illegal methods'...of investigating your case."
Tom
did not need to hear any more. He knew enough of the ever-proud Dennis Booker to
understand. He was a cop, not a clerk. He would never be happy anywhere but on
the streets. And now he was there, without a badge. Hanson tightened his jaw. In
the end, Booker had come through for him as a real friend...and now, because of
Tom, he was off the force.
"Tom..."
"It's okay, Doug." Taking a
deep breath, Hanson gripped the steering wheel of his beloved blue Mustang and
released a shaky sigh. "I just...wanna get home." It then occurred to him that
he no longer *had* a home; while he was in prison over the past few months, he'd
lost his apartment. Doug had told him that during one of his many visits to the
pen over the summer. Tom laughed shortly, choked by a lump of grief forming in
his throat. "Wherever *that* is," he added.
Penhall stared at him,
sympathetic. Reaching out, he lay his hand on his friend's arm. "You can stay
with me, 'till you find yourself a new place," he murmured.
Tom shot him
a surprised glance. When Dorothy had kicked Doug out of the cottage, Hanson had
been willing to give Penhall a place for the night...but had balked against
anything more. Indignant, Doug had asked if Tom doubted their friendship could
survive a permanent living arrangement. Tom had replied with a very serious, "Do
*you* think it could?"
In all honesty, he would have loved for Doug to
move in...but Tom knew *he* would be the one to ruin their carefully
reconstructed relationship. He would have been unable to control himself - and
at the time, Booker and he were seeing a lot of each other. Tom would have
longed for Penhall, then run to Dennis to fulfill his fantasies...and no one
would be happy with the tension that would have resulted.
During his
imprisonment, he had been awakened to an all-new, very different way of looking
at things. Booker, who had enjoyed him purely as a piece of meat, proved that
was the extent of his feelings when the conviction was made. To him, Tom had
been guilty of murdering a fellow cop. No questions, no denials, just complete
acceptance of the jury's conclusion. The only time he had shown up was in the
last two weeks, when he suddenly had a change of heart and wanted justice.
Forget that Hanson had suffered. Tom hated him more in that first moment, when
he gladly knocked Dennis on his ass.
Doug, on the other hand, had come
through for Hanson as a true friend and partner. He had put his own career on
the line when he lied on the stand. Even though Tom had still been sent to jail,
Doug remained faithful. He came for visits every weekend, bringing magazines and
treats, and spending every available moment telling him about life on the
outside. He had given Tom something to look forward to, some hope during the
darkness of prison. If not for him, Hanson knew he would not have made
it.
The big guy still showed support even now, offering Tom a place to
stay, opening his home to him. Moved, Hanson swiped at the tears forming on his
cheeks, and focused on the road ahead. "I don't want to put you out," he managed
to say.
"Hey. You *wouldn't* be." Doug smiled, reaching over to squeeze
Tom's shoulder. His touch was a lifeline to which Hanson needed to cling. Tom
captured Doug's hand and Doug didn't withdraw; instead, he turned his palm over
and returned the grip, allowing the contact to remain for as long as Tommy
needed.
They reached Penhall's apartment, pulling into a spot alongside
the motorcycle. Doug grabbed the small bag of his partner's effects, throwing
his big arm around the slender body as they walked to the front
door.
When they stepped inside, Tom saw his sofa - as Doug had told him -
standing in the middle of the room, right across from the television. When his
place had been closed, it was Penhall who made the arrangements to have his
belongings packed and put into storage. Some things, such as the couch, were
brought here on a temporary basis. Tom smiled. It made him feel even more
at
home to see some of his own furniture.
"Uh, Judy, Blowfish an' Cap'n
Fuller wanted to know if you'd be up to havin' a dinner, celebratin' your first
night out an' all..." Penhall was saying, as he hung up his jacket and held out
his hand for Tom's. "I told 'em...it'd have to be up to you, dependin' on how
you felt, 'n stuff."
Hanson smiled. "Not tonight," he replied quietly.
"You don't mind, do you?"
"Are you kiddin'?" Closing the door to the
foyer closet, Doug faced him. "It'll give us a chance to talk..alone. Just the
two 'a us. Y'know?"
Tom nodded, relieved that Penhall understood. Turning
away, he walked around, looking at everything. Not much had changed since the
night he was released into Booker's care, for what Dennis had told the warden
was "to attend the funeral of a friend." It had been the only way he would get
out of prison, and in the twenty-four hour period, he was able to do what Booker
originally intended: he worked to clear his own name.
Thinking back
to that evening, when he saw Doug and could touch him without the prison
barriers to separate them, all he wanted to do was to be next to him. In his
nightmares, he had come to identify his friend as his sole salvation, the only
sanity to which he could turn...his shield and sword, his protector. Just as
Penhall became during his weekly visits, in dreams he was sanctuary. It was to
him that Hanson retreated whenever the other inmates threatened him...and that
night, when he returned to his cell, thinking of Doug had been the only thing
that kept him from dying.
The strangled sound that came from him alerted
Penhall. "Tom?" he called, closing the refrigerator. "You okay?" He came in from
the kitchen. "Hey. What is it, what's wrong?"
Hanson stood with his back
to Doug, his arms wrapped around his shoulders and his chin tucked against his
chest. He trembled.
Concerned, Doug reached out and touched him, only to be abruptly captured in
a choking embrace. Tom had spun on his heel and threw his arms around the larger
body, crying out in
wordless agony.
"Easy!" Penhall, throat tight
with fear, returned the hug gently. "It's okay." He petted the dark head as his
friend clung to him miserably. "It's over, buddy...it's over."
"Doug!"
Tom wailed. The dam crumbled. His teeth chattered painfully and he pressed
closer. His eyes opened wide with terrors only he could see. "Ohh, *Doug*! They
hurt me..they..hurt me!" Sobbing, he buried his face against Penhall's
chest.
Penhall swallowed and licked his lips. "*How*...did they hurt
you?" he asked softly.
Tom's slender fingers clutched at Doug's shirt,
ashen and cold. "They -" he gulped, hysteric gasps making it difficult to speak.
"We - always knew - what we heard - about prison - it's true. Every word - the
rape - the torture. It happens. It *happens*."
Penhall grimaced, quietly
cursing whatever god responsible for putting his friend through this hell. He
must have feared something like this would happen, not because Tom was "pretty,"
but because he was a cop, and inmates were renowned for giving convicted cops
more attention. Every week, he would ask if Tom were all right. Hanson had
assured him that he had been able to fend them off, although he did get into a
few fistfights. The admission of rape was news to him. "When?" he managed to
whisper.
"Last night," Tom responded tightly. "They got me...they
knew...I was getting out."
Doug winced, patting his partner's back, and
hugged him again. "I'm sorry," he murmured tenderly. Pulling back, he tucked
Hanson under the chin and lifted his face. Their gazes met. "We're gonna get you
all the help you need. I'll be there, too, if you want me to go to the counselor
with ya."
Tom reached up and slowly pushed the bigger hand away. He shook
his head. "You don't have to take responsibility," he rasped, the first wave of
crying now passed.
"I'm not," Penhall insisted, and entwined his fingers
with Hanson's. "I'm giving you *support*. As your *partner*." He hesitated, then
drew Tom back into his arms. "There's something...I've been wantin' to tell you.
I've been too scared to say it, but I was plannin' on doin' it, tonight. No
matter what. I'm not sayin' it because of anything you just told me, either. It
may give you a little, I dunno, a little *strength* to hear it, though." He
rocked the smaller man slightly, drew a deep breath, the released the words in a
sigh, "I love you, Tom."
Hanson tensed - then relaxed, melting
completely. He closed his eyes as new tears welled up. Returning to the embrace,
he held his friend securely, as if he would die without him. And he firmly
believed he would. "I love you, too," he mumbled.
"I...I know." Penhall
stroked his head again. "Please, Tom. Let's..let's try this again. Okay? I was a
real idiot. I thought I loved Dorothy, but I never did. It had no meaning, when
I said it to *her*. I just said it, 'cause I was programmed to do it.
Y'know...boy meets girl, boy and girl get house together...have kids...and live
happily ever after. Only me an' Dorothy, we didn't have kids. We didn't have
love, either. Not..the way *we* have it..you an' me. It just took me a little
longer to realize it, I guess."
Hanson laughed weakly. "In the four years
I've known you," he sniffed, "you'd think I'd have expected as much."
Straightening, he looked up into Doug's eyes. "Thank you for being here for me,"
he murmured. "Let's not let anything come between us again. But...let's take
it...one day at a time..okay? There's a lot of stuff I need to work
through...things that've happened. What
happened in jail...then all that
stuff I did with Booker...I know I hurt you, and I still hate myself for
it."
"Don't," Doug said, brushing his fingers over Tom's mouth. He shook
his head. "Whatever happened with you an' him...it doesn't matter,
anymore."
"No, Doug...it does. To me. And I have to deal with it." Tom
gulped deeply. "I just think I should probably get my own place again; it
wouldn't be right if we just moved in together permanently... although I
wouldn't mind it, someday." He offered a small smile. "If we're gonna make this
work, Doug, make it last...we've got to adjust to it gradually. We've waited
this long. I just...wanna make sure it *works*."
"Anything you say,"
Penhall told him. He wiped at the tears on Tom's face with his thumb. "So...when
do you, um, wanna start?"
"Right now is fine," Tom replied softly. He
wrapped his arms around Doug and pressed his cheek to the big man's heart.
It was truly the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
THE
END