Disclaimer: Jump St doesn't belong to me. It belongs to the wonderful Stephen J. Cannal, who could have had some very raunchy story lines. I am just filling in the raunchiness where he didn't

Summary: A phone call is all it takes for something good to go wrong and the truth to be revealed. M/M

A/N: Includes male-male, slash, and references too. If you don't like that sort of stuff well…

This is especially for goodnightmysweetprince and Hanson's Hot. The two greatest gals!

- - -

To Be Used

Chapter One
Phone call

"Doug!" A childish giggle, "Do-ug!"

He pushed his larger frame onto the smaller one of Tom Hanson, "What Tommy?" he drawled, knee pinning him loosely against the storage room wall.

Another soft giggle and Tom Hanson flashed his teeth, pouted rose lips stretched, pushing the roaming hands of Doug Penhall away without much strength or resistance, "What if we get caught?"

A bemused chuckle, "And what if we don't?" he pushed his lips against his partners, sharing each others laughter.

Tom pulled away before Doug could use the laughter as an excuse to force his tongue hungrily down his throat, "We're back on duty in ten!" he turned his head to the side, grabbing Doug's hand, pulling it away from his crotch.

"So?"

"So," he gasped as lethal lips locked onto his neck, sucking greedily, "So…If we start this," his voice squeaked as Doug pressed harder, smothering the left side of his neck in ravenous kisses, "I don't…don't….Do-ug!" he moaned, body melting into the welcoming, stronger one of his partner, "think I can…can stop."

Doug mumbled into his neck, his wispy breath and flutter of lips tickling Tom's tender skin. He grabbed at Doug's hair, running his hand threw it in lust and desire, "Doug…we gotta stop," though he didn't want to.

Doug pulled up, letting his bottom lip trail on his neck for a moment longer, "I knew the mops and buckets in here would make you jealous. Tom, we've been through this. I have eyes," he reached for Toms crotch, mouth drawing closer to the smaller mans, "And every other body part," his hot breath against his jaw excited Tom, "only for you." Doug locked lips gently with Tom, prying apart the eager lips and poking a tongue in; enjoying every crevasse of Tom's tongue, every bump of his teeth, the soft, moist feel and the sweet taste of fading mint and coffee

Tom reluctantly pulled away, "If we both go in aroused, pink faced, sweaty and lust ridden, they're gonna get even more suspicious, 'specially booker."

Doug nodded, leaning against the wall on his left side, arms crossed, "We gonna continue this?"

Tom stood, stretching, "Well that all depends," he made a grab for the door handle, lips dangerously close to Penhall's, "you gonna let me stay over this time?"

Doug nodded; last Tom had had to leave earlier as Booker had come over to query a case they had been on. Tom was forced to change from room to room as Doug led Booker around until Tom finally crept and snuck out of the front door, but not before he heard Bookers faint curiosity arise.

"Good," he opened the door, checking to see if anyone was coming around the corner, "I'll drive to your place shortly after you leave."

"Our place," Doug corrected.

Hanson turned and smiled. That's what he loved about Doug, anything that was his, was Tom's, and vise versa, and Doug made sure never to forget it. "Yea," he breathed huskily, "ours."

- - -

"C'mon!!"

"Shut it Penhall!"

A pen hit the floor with an angry thud, fist connecting with the desk, "Stay outta this Judy!"

Tom didn't even bother to look up, "Can you two take your bickering back to pre-school, I'm workin' on something very important."

"What? Checking out Playboy weekly?" Booker's patronizing call came shortly, "Bet that takes up a lot of your concentration Tom ol' boy."

Tom blushed a light shade of red, "Don't you have somethin' to do? Asses to kiss, pets to be?"

"This is the second time! The second time!"

Judy sighed irritably, how she was supposed to concentrate with Doug Penhall in the same room as her was beyond comprehension. At least Booker and Hanson were manageable! "What Doug?! What did you do for the second time?"

Booker strode up to Hanson's desk, "So whatcha doing Tommy?"

"Go away Booker, I'm fresh out of fly spray."

"The same mistake," Doug scrunched up a piece of paper, throwing it towards the growing pile, "I keep mixing up the case files. I can't remember what I was doing for any of them, and then I confuse them with the other and-" his fist connected with the desk, "I hate paper work!"

"Who doesn't," mumbled Judy.

Booker sat on the edge of the desk, making a grab for the magazine Tom was holding, "C'mon Hanson, give it here!"

"Booker!" he threatened, "If you don't get of this table…."

"Yea?" he sneered, leaning back, "What?"

"Beat it!"

"Can you two can it for a minute?" Doug's plead came from across the room.

"Oh! Oh! Look who's talking!" Hanson shifted forwards on his chair, "Mr. 'I-can't-fill-in-a-simple-form-without-making-a-big-display'" he leaned out of reach from Bookers hand, "And you," he rounded, "Get lost!"

"Make me!"

"Is that an offer?"

"Is that a threat?" Dennis mimicked.

"All of you shut up!" Judy fumed, throwing her pencil on her desk in exasperation.

Shouts came from all across the room, sounding like a race track much more than four officers on desk duty in a small building.

"Stay outta-"

"Booker!-"

"Give it!-"

"I can't concen-"

"Get lost!-"

"Another mistake!-"

"Shut it!-"

"Hanson!-"

"ENOUGH!" The last voiced resonated above all of them, hushing the 'children.' "What the hell is going on out here!!?"

Voices mingled again, "Doug won't shut up!-"

"Judy keeps sticking-"

"Booker won't-"

"That's 'cause Hanson-"

"Yea but Doug-"

"And Judy-"

"You didn't have to-"

"Oh so I'm being-"

"ENOUGH," sounded again, this time with a sharper tone that sent the toughest mafia man cowering "I can hear you all the way out the hall, while I was talking to Blowfish about fixing the heating system, again," he emphasized, "But it you'd all rather much freeze to death, that's fine. It saves me a lot of unwanted paper work and lets me keep the funding money, okay?"

A mutual, incoherent murmur. "Pardon?" Fuller called.

"Sorry," they chorused.

Fuller sighed, straightening the papers in his hands, "Some how, I don't think there's as much belief in that word as there use to be, as much fear." He turned to leave, slamming his office door behind him.

There was a moment's pause. A paper rustled a little, the sound of a page turning, the clatter of a dropped pencil and the hum of machines. Then a soft buzz, a barely audible murmur, and in tones only slightly hushed, it started again.

"Right, Booker, I swear-"

"That's it!-"

"I mean it!-"

"If you don't-"

"Go away!-"

Amongst this Tom and Doug caught each others eye. Although their faces were masked into frowns and smirks, their eyes danced with love and mirth. In a short while they would be gone and heading home. In a little while they would be alone in the same vicinity as the other. In a while, they would be in each other's embrace.

- - -

Tom spun the wheel to his left, checking over his shoulder for any blind spots and to watch out that he didn't hit the fence, pole, or car behind him. Satisfied, he shifted gears, looked forwards, turned the wheel, looked back, then forwards again and exited Jump St, following the main road to Doug's place, to home.

He gave the volume knob a turn, lean fingers tapping to the music, head bobbing up and down, lips puckered as he uttered along side the drums. The car came to a stop at the red light; he glanced at his watch then messed his hair up in the rear view mirror. In fifteen minutes he would be at Doug's. A smile spread upon his lips.

The green light flashed and Tom pounded the accelerator, shouting the lyrics, "I'm like a laser, six streamin' razor," He turned the car wheel sharply, pulling a face as a car horn sounded at him for his late indicator. He was in too good a spirit. That's what Doug did to him. It made his hormones crazy, like a crazed sixteen year old, made his heart throb and ache, lust and desire. His mind envision, want and crave. The pure thought, mere mention, call of name or even print of his name, made Tom excited, speed up his pulse, gave him a rush of adrenaline. Every time a new thought of Doug came, Tom's heart jumped a little, stomach flipped and he craved his fellow cop all the more.

Tom slowed the car as it approached the street, heart beat quickening. He brought it to a gradually halt, car jumping as the engine shut off. Checking him self in the rear view mirror again. He gave another ruffle to his hair, giving it the 'just-got-up' look that Doug loved. He reached across the glove box, sifting through papers, dry bullets, containers, food wrappings, money, and bandanas. A plastic container knocked against his palm and he pulled it out with a rattle. Popping the lid, he tipped a few Tic Tacs into his mouth before chucking the container in the back. Tom was paranoid about bad breath and kissing; to him, there was nothing worse.

He strode lazily to Doug's apartment, using the intercom before climbing the stairs. He was going to take the longest route possible. For some reason he was more excited and nervous than he had ever been.

Tom stood at Doug's door, trying to calm his breathing. Why was he like this? So jumpy and nervous and…squeamish? The door opened in his face, not allowing him the chance to run off, "Hey," Doug smiled.

"Hey," he stood, looking uncomfortable.

"I saw you coming up, knew you'd be standing for awhile. Come in"

"Yea," he tried regain composer.

Not two steps in and door only just close, Doug had him up against in. Lips locked in furious play, body pinning him to the door, hand around Tom's waist. In shock, Tom didn't respond but gradually it dawned and soon Tom's hands were running down Doug's back, knees spread with Doug's one in between.

They stayed in that erotic position for a while, until Doug pulled a way. "I made dinner," he breathed heavily.

"You?" Tom leant heavily against the door, body suddenly weak.

"Yea, don't sound so," he needed more air; he had been deprived for a while, "shocked."

"I'm sorry but," his head rolled to the side, "cooking, as well as cleaning and organizing, don't come under the word 'Doug'. But I'm very flattered." He gave a soft smile; one that killed Doug and made him love Tom so much more.

"You should be, I didn't get to shower."

"Then go have one, we'll eat after." He brushed off Doug's unsure look, "C'mon, what can go wrong? I'm a trained cop. Plus I'm a better cook than you"

He sighed, defeated, "Just don't burn it 'right?" "

"Yea, yea. Go have your shower. You stink man, real bad"

An annoyed voice called from the bathroom, "Ha-ha. Real comedian ain't ya." Tom didn't bother responding as the bathroom door closed.

He shuffled his way to the fridge, picking up a bottle of beer. Popping the top, with difficulty, he chucked the bottle opener and bottle lid across the bench, flopping onto the couch. He lazily channel surfed, piecing together parts of different shows into a totally nonsensical conversation.

Startled out of his stupor from the shrill ringing of Doug's phone, he jumped over the back of the couch and picked up the phone, breathing, "Yea, Hello?" forgetting he was at Doug's place.

A soft female voice answered him, "Hi, is that Doug?"

"Uh-"

She cut him off, assuming it was, "Hey it's Cynthia. Just wanted to tell you I'm sorry that I couldn't come last week, but how about we go out next week. Friday's no good for me, nor is Sunday. Saturday?"

Tom's mouth hung slightly open, unable to find words, unable to get his mind around the situation. He made an odd noise that Cynthia took as a yes.

"Oh good! Look, I'll ring you later to discuss some details," she stressed the words seductively, "Love ya Douggie."

"Yea…" Hanson couldn't get his mind around the situation, around the meanings. He heard a click and then a buzz. Pulling the phone from his ear he replaced it back, numb and shocked. Some how he had made his way back to the couch and he had no recollection if it, staring at his un-drunken beer.

'Go out next week'

Go out? How long had Doug been going out with some one else? And was it sexual or not? Was it just a friendship that Tom was misjudging? Or was it something deeper than what he had Doug had?

'I'll ring you'

How many times had she run him or him her? How many times had it been her trying to get through when Tom was on the phone. How many times had Doug chosen to speak to her rather than Tom? What did they talk about? Casual, normal, mutual things like he and Doug did, or naughty, late night chats like he and Doug also did?

'Love ya'

How could such a simple phrase hurt and confuse him so much? Had Doug said the same thing to her? Were Doug's words as false sounding as Cynthia's? Did he sound like that to Doug, false and sickly sweet?

'Douggie.'

Wasn't he the only one who ever called him that? Ever have permission to?

"You alright?"

Tom jumped, startled. Blinking, he looked back at Doug. Hair slightly damp from the shower, tight, white t-shirt clinging to him, baggy tracksuit pants adding a comfy, warm look. His eyes were smiling; his mouth was turned up in a goofy side grin. A slight glimpse of his abdomen showed from where the t-shirt had ridden up. An abdomen Cynthia had touched, a smile she had seen, wet hair she had played with, naked body she had laid against. A sudden anger took over Tom.

"Cynthia called"

.
The lyrics Tom 'shouts' out is from Quiet Riot, Bang Your Head