Aloha-Oy

by Robyn LaSalle, aka TM Alexander

Fandom: 21 Jumpstreet

Pairing: Penhill/Hanson

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Penhill...Hanson and a pineapple pizza

Okay, this was originally printed in a zine called FRUIT COCKTAIL: A SECOND HELPING, by Fruit Press, in 1992. All stories had to have a "theme," that being the involvement of fruit -- any kind -- somewhere in the tale. Here was my 21JS offering, written under my nom de plume of Robyn LaSalle.

Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine, just the ideas...yep, I'm just a fan, writing a fan story...not to infringe upon any copyrights, yadda yadda, falls under laws of parody...you'll waste your time and money trying to sue me because I don't have any money, although you're welcome to my POS 1984 Mercury....

by Robyn LaSalle, aka TM Alexander
(c) 1992

A pounding knock on the apartment door caused Tom Hanson to hit his partner's beefy arm. "Answer the door," the slender cop ordered, his sable-brown eyes never roving from the tension-filled football game playing across the television screen.

Wincing, Doug Penhall grabbed his biceps and frowned. "Why should *I* get it?" he pouted. "'S *your* house!"

Sighing heavily, Hanson rolled his eyes and left the sofa in disgust. Doug went back to the game, bouncing on the edge of the cushion with anticipation.

Grabbing his wallet off the breakfast bar as he passed, Tom shuffled in sock feet to the door as more pounding resounded. "Awright! Awright! I'm comin'!" He unchained the bolt, opening the portal to reveal the pizza deliverer.

"Your order, *sir*?" the pimply-faced teen snapped. No doubt he had been run ragged today during the course of the big game.

From the couch came a roar of triumph. "Oh, beautiful!"

Automatically, Tom shot the distant television a glance, before grimacing. Maybe he could catch the instant replay.

"Sir?" spoke the voice of reality, calling Hanson back from the Wide World of Sports.

"Yeah, thanks," Tom muttered, taking the large cardboard box in one hand, holding out a twenty with the other. "Here. Keep the change."

The pizza boy shoved the bill into his jeans' pocket, mumbled a "thank you" and "have a nice night," and disappeared back down the hallway.

Hanson closed and locked the door, then carried the pizza back to the living room. He deposited the carton on the magazine-littered coffee table, and just began his descent when his partner said hastily, "Could you get us a coupla beers while you're up?"

Tom peered around and down into Doug's smiling, beguiling face, and snorted at the fluttering eyelashes. Straightening, he made a quick trip to the kitchen, retrieving the last of the six-pack. As he plunked down the four cans in front of his friend, he glared. "Anything else you can think of, before I can get back to the game?"

Penhall raised his eyebrows. "Napkins?"

Tom glared threateningly.

"Ah," Penhall coughed nervously. He flashed a smile. "I can…use my sleeve."

The smaller officer made a repulsive noise before making another visit to the kitchen. He came back with a roll of paper towels, and purposefully plopped down into his former spot to indicate he was finished with errands for the remainder of the game.

Another astounding play melted away any other concern. Awestruck, they gaped at the screen, mesmerized by the sight of enormous men crunching each other over a tiny, oblong ball. Never losing sight of the action, Penhall opened the pizza carton and dug up a slice.

Hanson was about to raise his own portion to his lips, when Doug's grunt of surprise caught his attention. He did a double take, seeing the big man trying to sever his piece from the bite he'd taken. Something yellowish that did not even remotely resemble cheese caught the detective's eye, and he dropped his gaze to his own handful.

As if to narrate what he saw, he heard Doug mumble, "It's got *pineapple* on it!"

Tom blinked, then regarded the rest of the pizza. Sure enough, there were large rings of fruit all over the top of the deep-dish. Slices of ham, mushroom, green pepper, and gooey cheese commingled, in no way resembling the pepperoni, sausage, onion and black olive combo they had ordered an hour ago.

The game was forgotten temporarily as they stared at their discovery together.

"I guess with everyone callin' in today," Doug suggested quietly, "they probably got the orders screwed up."

Hanson was not as understanding. "Really, Doug? Ya think?" He had always been a fussy eater, and usually stuck with the things he knew best: burnt hot dogs and sauerkraut, for one. And pizza - how could anyone ruin a pizza? The other toppings he didn't mind - but pineapple? Whoever heard of putting fruit on a pizza?

Doug took another bite, this time prepared. After a moment, his eyebrows lifted and he nodded. "Mmm. Not bad." He glanced at his partner, who regarded him with an expression of horror and revulsion. "What's your problem?" he demanded. "It's *good*!"

Tom scowled. "*You* would think so," he grumbled, and tossed his un-tasted slice back into the box.

"Aw, c'mon!" Penhall sighed. "Are you tellin' me you'd rather starve than eat something you never tried before?"

"Yes," Hanson snapped, leaning back and folding his arms over his chest. "How do I know it won't give me some bizarre disease?"

The larger cop snorted. "Well, you don't see *me* droppin' over, do ya?" Suddenly, he grabbed his throat, made a choking noise, and fell over sideways.

Hanson glowered, then elbowed the big ass. "Sit up," he growled. "I don't want any of that crap to get on my white sofa."

"Aw, it's not like Naugahyde don't wash easily!" Obliging, however, Doug righted himself and studied his friend. "Look. Why don't you just pick 'em off? It'll be okay."

Tom's gaze returned to the dread pizza. He sneered at the offensive food, then groaned, "All right, fine." Sitting forward, he reclaimed his slice, and proceeded to peel off the fat, juicy rings. His nose wrinkled at the slimy squishiness, and he shook his long fingers over the box to dislodge any clinging bits. Finally pineapple-less, he sighed and took a tentative bite. There was a slight sweetness to the cheese where the fruit had been, but he managed to bite hard into a green pepper and dissolved the glucose.

He made it through one slice, then realized that Doug had downed three in that time. Tom shook his head, knowing he would be eating cold, coagulated pizza by the time he caught up, and got frustrated all over again. "Forget it," he mumbled, wiping his hands on the legs of his gray sweat pants. "This is too much work for a Sunday dinner in front of the TV."

"Geez, you give up too easy!" muttered Doug. He grabbed a wedge and picked off one ring, popping it into his mouth.

Hanson watched, wincing at the sight.

"Oh, cut it out! Sheesh!" Penhall shook his head. "Y'know, if I'd've been as persnickety as you are over what I eat, I probably wouldn't be here today."

"Yeah - all of you," Tom said coldly, poking the other man in his thick tummy. Doug tended to be on the heavy side and, if he wasn't careful, could bloat up quickly into something resembling the balloons in the Macy's parade.

"Ha-ha." Doug peeled off another ring, tipped back his head, and opened his mouth. His tongue extended to greet the pineapple as it lowered, spearing the center hole in an almost erotic manner. Chewing, he handed the clean pizza slice to his friend. "There ya go. And while you're eatin' that, I'll get another one ready for ya."

Surprised, Tom accepted the food. "You'd do that for me?" he murmured.

"'Course I would! What do you think I am, a putz?"

One corner of Hanson's sensuous mouth tugged upward at the Yiddish word. As he was part-Jewish, Doug would translate some of the commonly heard but never quite understood terms often used by Mel Brooks aficionados. "Naw," Tom told him fondly. "You're a mensch. Through 'n through."

Doug peered over his shoulder at him, then grinned.

Tom finished the second piece, then waved off the third as he reached for a beer. He washed down the food, then belched. "Thanks, Doug," he said after a moment.

Penhall, licking his fingers, snagged the paper towel and pulled off a sheet to wipe his hands. "What for?"

Tom smiled, long lashed lowering to half-mast. "Just…thanks." He patted the other man's thigh, rubbing it gently. "You're the best friend I've ever had. Not even my own mother would pick pineapple off a pizza for me."

"I know your mother," Doug reminded.

Reconsidering, Hanson had to agree. "Yeah, okay - maybe she would." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Sometimes I wonder what I do to deserve you," he sighed. "And sometimes I wonder…what I *do* to deserve you."

Doug blinked, but obviously he understood the meaning. He smirked. "Maybe it's because you can't find anyone who'll put up with your pickiness, your nagging, your crabbiness, your -"

"Oh, yeah? And who's gonna put up with *your* sloppiness, your bad manners, your smelly feet, your -"

"Dem's fightin' words!" Penhall bellowed, and lunged. He grabbed Tom, who tried to shrink from his attack, and they wrestled briefly before surrendering to each other's lips. Mouths locked together in a long, passionate kiss, not unlike the first one they shared after discovering their sexual attraction to one another some time back. Being partners at work in the Jump Street chapel, or partners in bed, they had come to the mutual realization that they needed no one else to complete them.

After a minute, Doug pulled back and smiled down into Tom's beautiful face. He traced the high cheekbones with a fingertip, then trailed down over the full lower lip. "Y'know," he whispered, "I can think of somethin' else that might taste good on pizza."

Hanson cocked a slender eyebrow. "What's that?"

Penhall's large hand slipped down between their bodies, reaching the waistband of the smaller man's sweats. He found the string and tugged, untying the bow. Loosening the pants, he reached in and cupped the front of his lover's Fruit of the Looms, squeezing and rubbing the mound as it heated under his touch.

Tom groaned and closed his eyes, head tipped back. Doug kissed his chin and suckled at his throat, before shifting to kneel on the floor between the couch and coffee table. Opening his eyes, Hanson lifted his hips and watched as his pants were peeled down. He placed his legs on either side of his partner, his feet resting on the edge of the table, his knees spread wide. No one ever had to twist his arm to get him to agree to sex: he loved to touch, suck, and fuck, anything to achieve that ultimate bliss. Doug and he had taught each other a lot in their two years of sexual exploration and discovery. While they enjoyed set patterns, they were always coming up with new methods through a process of trial and error.

Hanson was glad for one thing: Penhall was oral, be it food or fellatio. He had a gifted mouth, a tongue as agile as a snake, strong lips, and a great under bite.... Tom was most certainly the one who went bottoms up more than not, but Doug was the one who usually went down.

The bigger man leaned forward, kissing along the silken inner thigh of one shapely leg. Reaching the apex, he nuzzled the sparse thatch of pubic hair, inhaling the musky scent. His hawkish nose pushed at the dusky testicles before his tongue darted out to lap and taste.

Tom inhaled softly, gripping the cushion beneath him, and opened his legs wider. His gaze never left his lover, hypnotized by the sight. Doug continued to wash his companion's balls, before moving on to the scrotum. The tip of his tongue spun around in a tight circle where the sac joined the base of the cock, until Hanson squirmed from the sweet torment. Licking upward, Penhall followed the shaft's underside to the head. He had to wrap his hand around the swaying organ and hold it steady as he tickled the circumcision scar and probed the urethra slit. Hanson gasped, arching, his hips bucking upward in response.

"Ah-ah!" Withdrawing his mouth, Doug milked the growing erection as he twisted around to fish in the pizza carton.

Tom frowned, puzzled. "What," he panted, "are you doing? C'mon - don't stop now! Please, Doug!"

"Shh," cooed Penhall. He returned, a thick, sticky pineapple slice held between thumb and forefinger. "Easy."

Hanson squirmed. "What's that for?"

"A taste test." Very carefully, Doug placed the ring over the head of his lover's cock and pushed it down gently so it circled the staff like a ballerina's tutu. He leered.

Tom held his breath, unbelievably aroused by the new development. He grinned, eyes wide, and sank back to enjoy.

Doug began by licking off the juice left from the pineapple's descent from tip to base. He took the hard-on in his mouth, sucking deeply, his lips coming within a fraction of the fruit before retreating. The slow, deliberate caress repeated several times, until the organ glistened in the cool, open air. The big cop proceeded to lap beneath the ring, picking up droplets that oozed down the scrotum and the sperm-heavy balls.

Hanson moaned again, biting his lower lip, and grabbed at the back of the sofa above his head. His toes curled in his socks, his feet up in the air as he writhed in delight.

Finally, Penhall began to nibble, then suck whole sections of the pineapple. Chucks that fell onto Tom's heaving belly were saved until the sticky rod was licked clean. Doug's meaty hand continued to pump his buddy's manhood, pulling him closer and closer to orgasm.

It did not take long, at that rate. Heightened by his partner's erotic experiment, Hanson could not hold back. With a shot, he clutched at the back of Doug's head, fingers knotting in the thick, brown hair. His seed pulsed rhythmically and Penhall was there to catch every generous drop, swallowing eagerly. Dizzy, Tom slumped, his eyes rolling closed. "Ohhh…."

Doug smiled as he finished, kissing his friend's hip in a loving gesture. "Betcha you got a whole new appreciation for pineapple pizza, now," he teased.

Tom opened one eye, peering down the length of his sweat-sheened body. "Doug," he mumbled, "only *you* would come up with something that kinky." He sighed. "Next thing you know, you'll be making hot fudge sundaes on my nipples."

Penhall stared at him. Suddenly, he bounded up, crowing, "Dessert!" and launched a second attack.

<><><><>

Judy Hoffs entered the Jump Street chapel, headquarters for the special police investigation team that placed young-looking cops into school systems to root out crime among kids. "Hey, guys!" the attractive black girl called, unshouldering her purse and draping her denim jacket over her desk.

At Hanson's desk, Tom and Doug looked up from the file they had been reading together. "Hi," they chorused in their usual fashion.

Judy smiled. "You catch the game last night?" she asked, wide-eyed with excitement.

The two men exchanged glances, realizing that they had forgotten the game as they concentrated on each other. "Uh…." Hanson looked at Hoffs and shrugged.

"Hanson's antenna got blown over sometime during second quarter," Penhall supplied innocently, but the double entendre was not lost on his diminutive buddy. He grinned despite the sharp elbow he received to his ribs. "Actually, I think it was third quarter. So we just sat around discussing…tight ends."

Tom paled visibly at the amount of innuendo pouring out of Doug's mouth, but disguised his shock by snatching up his coffee cup and mumbling about refills.

Judy watched him go before regarding Penhall again. "Sorry to hear about it. You probably caught the outcome on the radio this morning, huh?"

"Yeah, in the car." Doug, resting his butt on the edge of his partner's desk, his muscular arms folded over his barrel chest, tore his attention from Tom in order to smile at Judy. "Say, Jude - you ever try pineapple on pizza?"

She drew back, surprised. "Pineapple on pizza?" she echoed. She shrugged, reaching up to toy with one large, heart-shaped earring. "I never tried it. Is it good?"

Hanson returned, cup raised to his lips as he blew off the steam. "Is what good?" he asked, having come back in on the conversation with Judy's last sentence.

"Pizza with pineapple on it," she replied. "Doug here was just telling me about it."

Tom choked on the sip of coffee he'd taken. As Penhall hastened to pat him on the back, Tom glared at him. "What about it, Dougie?" he queried, an underlying note of danger in his tone.

"Oh, nothin'." Grinning, Penhall released him and faced Hoffs again. "I guess you could call it...an acquired taste."

She laughed. "Yeah, like oral sex," she snorted. Waving her hands, she shook her head. "I'll stick to pepperoni." Returning to her desk to begin work, she left the partners alone.

Hanson favored his lover with a withering stare. "Why don't you just take out an ad in the paper?" he hissed.

Penhall grinned like a jack o' lantern. "Like, 'I can do things with pineapple rings that should be against the law; call me?'"

Tom pouted. "You're gonna get us in a lot of trouble someday," he muttered, pointing a finger at the bigger man.

At that moment, their superior, Captain Adam Fuller, walked in. He paused on the way to his office; in his hand he carried a large, flat cardboard box. "Penhall - Hanson," he called out sharply. "Are you getting paid to work around here?"

"Yes, sir," mumbled a properly chastised Tom.

"Good. Then I suggest you get back to earnin' your keep."

Penhall motioned to the box curiously. "Hey, Cap - whatcha got there?"

"This?" the black man indicated, raising it slightly. "It's a pizza. I picked it up on my way in this afternoon."

Harry Ioki, one of the other officers in their ranks, came in from the locker room. "Did I hear someone say 'pizza?'" he asked. "I didn't get a chance to grab breakfast this morning; you mind sharing, Captain?"

"Not at all, Harry." Smiling at the Vietnamese cop, Fuller jerked his head in the direction of his office. "C'mon in."

"Sure. By the way, what's on it?"

"Ham....green pepper....and something new: pineapple."

As the captain and Ioki vanished into the office, Doug and Tom exchanged looks. Penhall grinned, and Hanson blushed furiously, before both men retreated to their separate desks and hid themselves behind waiting reports.

THE END