Booker's Abandon: A Fictional Narrative

“You’re hurt,” Tom stated, his laconic responses beginning to grate on Booker’s nerves. “He hurt you.”

Falling forward, Tom pressed his lips against Booker’s open mouth and kissed him passionately. Removing his finger, Booker wrapped his arms around Tom’s narrow body and pulling him close, they thrust their bodies together as they continued to shudder out their release. Seconds passed, and when they were both finally spent, Tom slowed the kiss and sitting up, he trailed a finger over the seminal fluid covering Booker’s chest. “Wow,” he grinned.

Tom’s lower lip trembled. “It’s my fault,” he whispered, his eyes shiny with tears. “I was so young, and I didn't know how to stop...”

Booker’s grinned widened. He knew exactly how to push Tom’s buttons to trigger a reaction, so much so that he hardly considered it sport anymore. However, he continued to goad the younger officer because any response, even an angry one, was better than no interaction at all. He needed Tom’s attention in the same way he needed oxygen; it was crucial, and he knew the only way he would get it was to continue to piss him off. But, in

Emboldened, Tom lightly grasped Booker’s testicles, and with a tentative hand, he gave a gentle tug. He was rewarded with another moan and he smiled against the creamy flesh beneath his lips. It had been a long time since he’d had complete control over another person’s sexual pleasure, and he started to believe he could be the lover Booker deserved. Not that he claimed to have half the skills Booker possessed when it came to effecting an orgasm in a male partner, but in time he would learn.

The emotional anguish shining from Booker’s dark eyes brought a lump to Tom’s throat, and before he had time to think about the consequences of his actions, he leaned forward and brushed his lips over his friend’s quivering pout. The brief contact sent a shiver of arousal down his spine, and flustered and confused by his overt display of affection, he stepped back, his face flaming red and a shy smile playing over his lips. He had no idea what had made him act so impulsively, and uncertainty quickened his pulse. His stomach rolled with a mixture of nerves and humiliation, and he quickly lowered his eyes to the floor, too embarrassed to meet Booker’s gaze. But as a lengthy silence hung in the air, he dared to peer up through his long lashes,

Derek screams while thrusting himself into a sitting position in the uncomfortable hospital bed, and the pain which he felt earlier commenced. A nurse ran in and began checking Derek’s vitals making sure that his body wasn't in shock or shutting down. “Your fine,” the nurse with bags under her gray eyes stated. “Don’t yell unless you are dying.”

“He’s stable. He lost a lot of blood, which is why he lost consciousness. The bullet didn’t cause any major damage and was simple to take out. He’s going to be fine.” Dr. Blake informed. “He’s awake and you may go see him. He’s in room 14.”

"It's okay, will put you on antibiotics, until your wounds fully heal, okay?" My aunt asks him.

After closing the door, Tom motioned Fuller to the couch. Once seated, he cleared his throat in readiness before speaking in a voice trembling with regret. “Cap’n, I just want you to know I never meant—”

“I see, so if we make him feel fear, then his heart rate will speed up. So if we make him calm, it will slow down, causing him to change back. He needs serious medical care urgently and will need to be delivered to the hospital.”

“Talk to me, Tommy,” he murmured into his friend’s dirty hair. “If you think Booker’s in danger, you need to tell me what’s going on.”

“Just go,” Dean breathed pulling her close. She was awake and tears were falling from her eyes she couldn’t speak gasping for breath but she gently rubbed his arms. As if he was the one who needed comforting.

After his confrontation in the bar, Booker 's consciousness shifted to self-reflection, the intensity of his resentment decreasing as his levels of anxiety increased in slow, measured bursts. Tom had not only infected his heart, but he had also infected every fiber of his being, leaving him unprepared as a rising surge of emotion consumed his mind, body, and spirit. The Booker of old would have taken the attractive man back to his apartment and screwed his brains out, but the new and improved Booker had no interest in casual sex. He wanted Tom, not just as a sexual partner, but as a friend and confidant, someone he could share his innermost thoughts with when he needed advice or a sympathetic ear. He didn’t want to spend his life alone, and with the calming effects of the alcohol coursing through his bloodstream, their fight now seemed trivial, a superfluous response born from jealousy and embarrassment. In the heat of the moment he had overreacted, his protectiveness coming to the fore, his need to coddle Tom ultimately pushing him away. It was a foolish mistake and one he knew he might have to live with for the rest of his life if he didn’t make things right. Therefore, he made the decision to ignore his ego, apologize for being a monumental pain in the ass, and beg forgiveness, even if he had to do so on bended knee.

“I’ll explain later,” Booker declared in a rush of words, his eyes flitting nervously between Tom and the basement door. “We need to get out of here.”