When they finally returned to the beach house, Hutch's mind was in turmoil. He could see that the depression still weighed heavily on Starsky's shoulders. We came here to help me heal, he thought, but you're the one who's broken.
He carried the picnic basket to the kitchen, his mind working furiously. Starsky stood, staring at the ocean, as if he couldn't figure out what to do with himself. "Hey, Starsk . . . why don't you take a hot shower? It'll make you feel better."
Starsky nodded too easily and went into the bathroom. Soon, Hutch heard the water running.
He looked at the way he was dressed. I'm been keeping myself closed off from him deliberately. Why else would I be wearing all these clothes? I haven't even wanted to let him see me. He was still confused over his feelings.
His eyes wandered toward the bathroom. He needs you now. Give him something, some part of yourself.
Hutch shed his shirt and walked towards the bathroom. He entered the small room quietly, and dropped his pants as he'd done so many times before showering with Starsky. Staying clothed kept everything hidden, so I didn't have to see my impotence, and especially so Starsky didn't have to see it. Like if he never saw it, then it wasn't real, it was just my choice not to participate in our lovemaking. Hutchinson, you're a total head case! He doesn't give a damn about any of that; he never did.
He shucked off his concerns about his inadequacy along with his clothes, and, pushing the shower curtain aside, he stepped into the tub.
Starsky turned, clearly startled.
"Mind if I join you?" Hutch said blithely, smiling, forcing his mind away from the part of him that remained uninvolved with the proceedings. He held his arms out, waiting.
Starsky hesitated for a moment, then moved into them. They hugged tight, holding onto one another under the spray.
Hutch pulled back a little. "Hey, you missed a spot," he said playfully, grabbing the soap and a washcloth. Starsky managed a wan smile, but didn't try to stop him. Hutch leaned in for a quick kiss, then began soaping up his partner's lithe form. Starsky held onto Hutch's wet shoulders as he lathered up Starsky's neck, then his shoulders and arms. He watched a trail of suds drip low over Starsky's well-defined chest and abs, and followed them with the washcloth, covering him in soap. He scrubbed his back, making Starsky lean against him, and giving them another excuse to embrace.
Starsky turned his face up, and Hutch found himself drawn to that mouth. It opened under his lips like a flower, and he drank from it, loving the feel, the taste of it. He sighed as their kisses escalated.
You still haven't touched him below the waist. And he won't touch you till you ask him to. They continued to kiss, one sweet joining after another, and as they did Hutch stroked the soapy cloth down the beautiful curve of Starsky's spine, then used it to spread soap over the globes of his ass.
Starsky gasped into his mouth and moved closer to Hutch, his kisses growing more fervent. Hutch deliberately slowed his hand, moving the cloth more provocatively, wanting to please, and tease, and excite. He felt his own blood stirring, and tried not to care if his body responded. It was enough to please Starsky. More than enough. He moved the cloth down the crack of his ass, and Starsky lurched as Hutch purposefully soaped his anus. He felt his lover's beautiful body tremble, and took joy in the fact that he was pleasing him. He teased Starsky's anus again and again, then brought the cloth over his hip and swabbed it over his semi-erect cock, then down over his balls, then behind them.
Starsky clung to him, gripping his shoulders, then moaned low. The sound curled around Hutch's belly, and he felt his balls constrict. He ignored it. It didn't matter if he ever got it up. He could please his lover; that's all that mattered.
He worked up a thick lather over Starsky's genitals, then dropped the cloth to be able to use his hands directly.
"Hutch!" Starsky cried out, as he gathered Starsky's growing erection in his palms.
"Gotta make sure you're clean," he whispered, feeling his own hands shake as he took Starsky's excitement into them for the first time in so long.
Starsky shifted from foot to foot as if he couldn't bear the pleasure. His erection grew with every slick stroke, and when Hutch slid his hand over Starsky's ass and toyed with his anus again, he groaned throatily.
"I love it when you make that sound," Hutch confessed. He fingered Starsky's ass and gently pulled on his balls, and Starsky gave it to him again.
"You're killing me," Starsky complained half-heartedly.
"That's funny," Hutch said. "You feel really alive to me." He squeezed Starsky's cock, then held it tight as he leaned in for an urgent kiss. The sudden need to fuck nearly overwhelmed him, to slam Starsky up against the tiles and shove his way deep inside him again and again. His balls tightened more as his tongue did what his body wanted to. He felt a stirring at his groin, but nothing further. He forced it from his mind. It wasn't important. Only Starsky's pleasure was.
Starsky was devouring his mouth, wrapping both arms around his neck as if to stop him from leaving. Their teeth clicked as their tongues embraced every way they could.
Hutch had to pull back to catch his breath. Starsky tried to follow his mouth, he was so hungry for him. That thrilled Hutch. He pushed Starsky back gently. "Easy . . . easy . . . ." He had to catch his own breath. "Come on. Let's rinse off . . . "
"You didn't wash," Starsky reminded him. Then he leaned over quickly to retrieve the cloth Hutch had dropped. "My turn," he said, soaping it up. And then he waited.
For me to refuse him, Hutch realized. He smiled at Starsky and nodded, and the sun came out in Starsky's expression. That's all it takes?
Starsky gently bathed Hutch's neck and shoulders, being especially tender around the still healing wound below his Adam's apple. Then he lathered up Hutch's arms and even washed his hands, soaping every individual finger.
"I ever tell you about how much I love your hands?" Starsky asked. His voice was subdued, and still had a trace of tears in it.
"Not lately," Hutch said. But he remembered so many times when Starsky, writhing in passion, told Hutch explicitly how much he loved his hands and what they were doing to him.
"They're so big, yet so handsome," Starsky said, washing the backs of Hutch's knuckles. "Musician's hands. Doctor's hands, when they're nursing me. Boxer's hands; whenever we're in a brawl. Marksman's hands, when you handle that Magnum. I'm always aware of your hands, Hutch. When we're in the car and you're drumming your fingers on the doorframe, when we're on a case and you're grabbing some reluctant snitch by the collar. Your hands are always so expressive. Especially, when they're lover's hands. When you're putting them on me, so careful, so gentle, or urgent, even rough with your need. Beautiful hands." He turned them over and kissed the palms.
Hutch felt his blood turn to vapor. "Starsk . . . ."
He dropped Hutch's hands and went back to washing his torso. "It's hard to say whether I love your hands more, or your mouth. Or this big gorgeous frame of yours. It always makes me feel so strong when you're loving me, that I can handle a man like you."
He's seducing me, Hutch realized. He wants something and he's going after it. The thought tantalized him.
When Starsky finished soaping Hutch's chest and back, he slid the washcloth lower then paused, looking up at Hutch.
Asking permission, Hutch thought. He nodded, unable to speak for the moment. Then finally said, "Please."
Without taking his eyes off Hutch, Starsky slid the washcloth over his rear, down one side, up the other, then slowly and deliberately down the crack. It was Hutch's turn to shiver under Starsky's touch. To keep himself focused, he held onto Starsky's steady gaze, which was smoky with passion. I don't need to watch what I'm doing, Starsky's eyes said. I know you that well. Starsky washed him thoroughly, intimately, and Hutch felt it down to the soles of his feet. Then he brought the cloth around, lathered Hutch's hips and thighs, and cleaned his belly. Bringing the washcloth up between his legs, he gently swabbed his perineum. The sensation rocked Hutch. Then Starsky turned his attention to Hutch's balls, which were growing tighter by the moment. He was gentle and so careful, knowing just how much pressure would please, how much would hurt. Hutch had to grab hold of Starsky's shoulders to keep his balance, and the tender teasing wrung a deep groan from him. Starsky's eyes sparkled. Finally, he brought the cloth up against Hutch's groin. With care and devotion, he washed Hutch's flaccid cock, cleaning carefully under his foreskin, washing his pubic area until he was thoroughly lathered. Then he dropped the cloth and took Hutch's cock in both hands and stroked.
Hutch was shocked at how good it felt.
"You like that?" Starsky asked.
"God, yes!" Hutch realized he had been treating his unresponsive cock as though it no longer belonged to him.
"You don't have to get hard to feel pleasure, Hutch," Starsky said.
Hutch knew it was just a tease, knew he couldn't ejaculate like this, but he couldn't deny the enjoyment Starsky was giving him. He'd always loved having Starsky's hands wrapped around him. It was wonderful even now.
"I love making love to you," Starsky told him, "no matter how little or how far we go. It doesn't have to be all or nothing. There's pleasure enough just in the play."
Hutch's knees were buckling as Starsky proved what he said, stroking Hutch's cock, his groin, rolling his balls in his palm, rubbing his fingers up under his perineum. He couldn't take much more.
He gripped Starsky's biceps, harder than he intended. "I want you in bed. Now."
Starsky smiled, then adjusted the shower spray so they could rinse off every bit of soap. Hutch wasn't sure if he'd ever been this clean.
The tussled lovingly with the towels, drying each other off in bits and spurts until Hutch grew impatient. "Come on," he urged, taking Starsky's arm and starting to lead him to the bedroom.
Starsky held back a second. "Wait." He took Hutch's hand, urged him to sit on the toilet seat. "Let me do this."
Confused, Hutch started to protest, then saw the first aid cream in Starsky's hand.
"Remember, they said to put this on after showering, when everything was soft, that it would reduce the scarring," Starsky reminded him. He tipped Hutch's chin up and rubbed some over the throat wound, then kissed him quickly before rubbing more on the wound on his back. Hutch suddenly felt like that small attention from Starsky was as healing as anything the medical staff had ever done for him. Unable to express himself, he wrapped his arms around Starsky's torso and hugged him, pressing his head against Starsky's sternum.
Then, before he could get too emotional, he moved off the seat, and towed Starsky into the bedroom, playfully wrestling him onto the bed. The urge to fuck was on him again, and he tried not to let it frustrate him. He lowered himself onto Starsky, thrust a leg between his, and found the mouth he loved. They kissed for long moments, both of them grinding against each other. Starsky's hard-on rubbed languidly against Hutch's limp cock, but the sensations were pleasant, and his balls were definitely responding.
He took joy in the erotic dance Starsky performed under him, his every motion testimony to his excitement—excitement Hutch was giving him. Hutch wanted to tease him into a fever, make him come again and again, exhaust him with passion. If he couldn't fuck, he could still drive Starsky wild, still make him sing with pleasure and cry out when he came. He wanted that almost as much as he wanted to fuck.
Gasping for air, Starsky pushed away from Hutch, as if he needed to catch his breath.
"Hutch," he rasped, "you're making me crazy!"
"You can handle it," he reminded Starsky.
Starsky's eyes grew hazy. He smiled. "Hutch, I . . . I want something . . . ."
Hutch remembered Starsky's eloquence in the shower. He'd been so seductive; Hutch knew it was going somewhere. He couldn't wait to find out.
"I've given you everything you've wanted from me," Starsky reminded him. "I want something now. I want to make you feel good. Like in the shower, only more so. That's all I want. A chance to please you."
Unstated was the obvious: It doesn't matter to me if you never get it up again. I know I can give you pleasure.
Hutch hesitated. He realized suddenly that his need to control what they did and how far they went, even when and how Starsky came, was all compensation for his inability to perform. Starsky wanted him to give up that control for a while, to let him lead. He wanted Hutch to be passive. Hutch wasn't sure how he felt about that.
"Tired of waiting?" he asked Starsky.
Starsky smiled crookedly. "Hell, no. This is the most fun waiting I've ever had."
Hutch found his mouth going dry. He felt inexplicably nervous. "What did you have in mind?"
Starsky held his gaze steadily. "Just kissing you, like we've been doing. Only . . . letting me kiss you . . . however . . . and wherever I wanted to. If you'll let me." Starsky was still letting him lead, letting him make the decision.
Hutch was uneasy. There was a comforting security in setting the limits, controlling when and what they did. "Starsk . . . I don't know . . . how far I . . . "
"Then stop me whenever you want. I can take no for an answer better than anyone you've ever known."
How could he refuse? It was such a small request. Starsky had done everything he wanted, no matter how outrageous. They were partners. It was only fair.
Hutch shivered, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. Unable to articulate his insecurities, he just nodded.
Starsky smiled, then moved up for a kiss. Always eager to taste his mouth, Hutch relaxed into the kiss, as Starsky's tongue reminded him of how much he enjoyed this. One kiss led to another, and another, and Hutch let himself fall into the pleasure of it, the sweet, wet intimacy of it. He was completely relaxed when Starsky urged him to roll over, and followed his body as Hutch lay on his back, with Starsky now on top of him.
It felt wonderful being blanketed by his lover, feeling the soft, crisp texture of Starsky's body hair against his smooth skin. Once on top, Starsky was able to use his hands to stroke Hutch's arms, his sides, pet his face, stroke his hair. Hutch felt like he was being indulged, pampered, flooded with pleasure. He threaded his fingers through Starsky's dense hair, loving the feel of it against his hand, as his other palm swept up and down Starsky's spine, then stroked low over his ass.
Starsky pulled away just enough to say, "I'm gonna kiss you all over, every inch of your big, beautiful body."
Hutch gasped as Starsky lovingly kissed his cheeks, his eyelids, his brow, his jaw, then traveled down over an ear, kissing the shell, then snaking his tongue-tip inside the canal. The sensation rocketed down Hutch's spine and he groaned. Starsky took the lobe into his mouth, tonguing it, then nibbling on it gently. The teasing touch made Hutch squirm. He felt sweat bloom over his chest and abdomen.
Starsky's mouth kept moving, mapping out the long column of Hutch's neck, kissing, licking, nipping, moving carefully around the wound but not ignoring it. Hutch found himself gripping the bed sheets to control the urge to tackle Starsky to the bed and . . . Fuck him. Fuck him through the mattress. Oh, god, to be able to fuck him!
Starsky kissed the broad expanse of Hutch's chest, and the sensation of his soft lips against Hutch freshly washed skin was intoxicating. Then Starsky found Hutch's nipple and he was lost, drowning in sensation, the pleasure jolting his balls, which drew up hard. He sucked it avidly, making it wet and hot, nipping it once or twice as if to get Hutch's attention. Unable to stop himself, Hutch buried a hand in Starsky's hair as if to hold his head there. He moaned and tossed in delight.
When Starsky latched onto to the other nipple, Hutch felt his whole body throb. Was it possible for an impotent man to enjoy sex this much? He forgot the question as soon as Starsky bit him again, making him thrash.
But Starsky clearly had miles to go yet. He kissed Hutch's rib cage, tickling him deliberately, making him laugh and writhe, then spent a long time finding out just how sensitive Hutch's navel was—very. He kissed his way down Hutch's sides, trailed his mouth and tongue to the juncture of hip and thigh, but very deliberately avoided his groin. Hutch forced his mind away from it, losing himself in the pleasure of the moment. Starsky's mouth traveled down both thighs, taking his time, running his tongue along the sensitive inner thigh, making Hutch splay wide in shameless abandon. When Starsky's mouth found the backs of his knees, Hutch thought he'd go in orbit, but it was just as bad when he traveled down his calves and shins, then over the arch of his foot. He couldn't tolerate having Starsky play with the soles of his feet. He was just too ticklish for that. It didn't matter since Starsky clearly wasn't interested in amusing him anymore. He was getting serious.
Hutch realized Starsky was rock hard, pre-come dripping liberally from his crown. But he never touched himself, so focused was he on Hutch's pleasure. Taking Hutch's knee, Starsky urged him to roll over on his stomach, and Hutch didn't argue. Slowly, Starsky kissed his way up Hutch's legs again, tormenting him wonderfully, then tenderly kissed and licked his way all over Hutch's ass, until Hutch was clutching the pillow and moaning fitfully.
When Starsky parted the cheeks of his ass, Hutch froze. "No!"
Starsky stopped, but didn't take his hands away. All he asked was, "Why?"
The truth was: too much intimacy. But Hutch couldn't very well say that. It was hardly the first time they'd done it.
"Afraid you'll like it too much?" Starsky asked bluntly.
Hutch couldn't find his voice. He just lay still, trembling with pleasure and a little fear.
"Afraid you'll love it?" Starsky challenged, his voice soft.
Hutch groaned, confused, excited, and frustrated all at once.
"I want you to love it, Hutch," Starsky told him. "I'm gonna make you love it."
Then Hutch felt it happening. Starsky's mouth kissed down the crack of his ass, then his tongue snaked out, leaving a slick, seductive trail to his anus. He lurched, he cried out, but he couldn't make himself pull away. Then Starsky's tongue found him and made love to the most sensitive, intimate part of him. He groaned aloud and spread his legs like a five-dollar whore, clutching the mattress, burying his face in the pillow so he couldn't see anything, so he couldn't be distracted from the most incredibly sexual sensations centering on his anus. Starsky held him open and rimmed him as if he'd been starving to do it. His thumbs teased and stroked Hutch's perineum, damp with sweat and saliva, and that additional sensation made him wild.
Hutch's need to fuck was overwhelming, frustrating him beyond belief, even as he forced himself to accept this incredible, sublime pleasure.
"You loving it yet, Hutch?" Starsky asked, coming up for air. His voice was rough, and Hutch could hear him panting.
He could only moan in answer, but it must've been enough because Starsky's mouth was on him again, making him buck, making him cry out helplessly. He felt that incredible tongue pierce him and that made him insane.
Soon, Hutch was babbling incoherent sounds and words, clawing at the bed, writhing in an agony of delight. He knew he couldn't come and that sent tremors of fear down his spine. How long could Starsky keep this up? Hours? He couldn't handle much more.
Then suddenly, it stopped, and Hutch sagged limply in the bed, gasping for air like a winded racehorse. He was soaked with sweat, shaking all over. He pulled his face out of the pillow, and found Starsky wiping his own face on one of the bath towels. His lungs were heaving like a bellows, his muscled chest and abdomen taut and sheened with sweat, his cock rising proudly against his belly. He was as beautiful as Hutch had ever seen him.
Hutch suddenly wanted nothing more than for Starsky to put that magnificent cock in him. If he couldn't fuck, he damned well could be fucked. But before he had a chance to say anything about it, Starsky took Hutch's knee and rolled him back onto his back. It was only then that Hutch discovered he was semi-erect. He stared at it in wonder, as if he'd never seen it before. Starsky had him so sensitized, so excited, he couldn't separate all the various pleasures he was feeling.
Starsky leaned over him, blowing a gentle stream of air over his nodding cock. "Gorgeous," he said softly. Then he leaned over and kissed it, moving his mouth up and down its expanded length. The sensitive organ twitched and the shocks of pleasure it sent up and down Hutch's legs were unmistakable. Starsky kissed all over Hutch's groin, tender, sweet kisses designed to tease and tantalize, then moved his mouth over his tightening balls.
Hutch had to shut his eyes as Starsky started to tease him there, kissing then licking his testicles over and over, loving them with his mouth. It was making Hutch wild. Starsky finally moved his mouth back over to Hutch's cock minutes before Hutch thought he'd be reduced to begging. He ran the tip of his tongue wetly over Hutch's soft glans, running it under Hutch's foreskin. In spite of its semi-soft state, his cock was throbbing. Then Starsky took the whole thing in his mouth, sucking gently, teasing it with his tongue.
Hutch shouted and thrashed, unable to bear the tender sensations. Starsky held his hips down and used his mouth to remind Hutch's cock how wonderful sex with him could be. It grew a little harder, but that almost didn't matter, because Hutch couldn't take the onslaught of endless pleasure.
Desperate for relief, he cried out, "Starsky, please! Oh, god, please, fuck me!"
Starsky released his cock and looked up at Hutch. He shook his head no, startling Hutch out of his fog of passion.
"What . . . ? Why not?" he asked, baffled.
Starsky smiled, and wiped a bit of saliva from the corner of his mouth. "Because I'm saving myself for marriage."
Hutch blinked, unable to make the words take on a form that made sense. "Starsky, come on. Quit fooling around. I want you—"
"No," Starsky said firmly. "On our wedding night. Not before. It'll give you something to look forward to."
Hutch felt the blood rush to his face. "I never agreed that we'd get married . . . ."
"I know. But I'm not fucking you until we do."
Hutch had to stop himself from spluttering in rage and frustration. "Starsky, that's emotional blackmail!"
Starsky grinned. "No, Hutch. That's romance. I want everything to be special for our wedding night. So I'm saving that. I told you before . . . I don't mind waiting."
Hutch sat up abruptly, grappling Starsky by the shoulders, pinning him quickly to the bed. He loomed over Starsky, then crawled on top of him. Rubbing his semi-erect cock against Starsky's painfully hard one, he watched his lover's eyes roll up in frustrated need. "You don't want to wait," Hutch growled at him. "You want to fuck. I know you. You live for it."
Starsky shook his head while Hutch tormented him. "I can wait. I keep telling you that."
"But you want it. I know you do. You want to fuck me!"
Starsky's eyes fastened on Hutch's. He said very clearly, "No, Hutch. I want you to fuck me."
Hutch recoiled. He thought that had to be the cruelest thing Starsky had ever said to him.
"I want you to want me as much as you did that night in the stakeout apartment," Starsky said. "I want to feel all that passion, that rage of need that overcomes every civilized thought in your head. I want you to take me and make me yours like you did that night. Brand me. Claim me. And fuck me as hard as you can."
Hutch thought he would weep. "Don't you think I want to?"
"What's stopping you?"
Hutch squeezed his eyes shut and moved off Starsky, turning his back on him and sitting up. "You son of a bitch. How could you say that to me?"
Starsky reached out and grabbed his wrist, pulled on his hand. "Haven't you learned anything? We've been making love all week long, and it's been good for you the whole time, even when we were only kissing. There's a million ways to make love, Hutch. It doesn't have to be perfect to be wonderful." He pulled Hutch's hand to his mouth, kissed the back of it, then turned it over and kissed the palm. He stared at Hutch intently, then kissed his fingertips. "Fuck me, Hutch. Right now. Make me yours." He drew two of Hutch's fingers deep into his mouth and sucked them.
Hutch drew in a shuddery breath as he watched his fingers disappearing into Starsky's mouth, just as his cock had a few moments before. And suddenly his fingers felt as sensitized as his cock once did. Starsky's mouth was tight and hot and wonderfully wet, and Hutch found himself shaking with need. He pulled his fingers out of Starsky's mouth then shoved him back down on the bed.
His voice nearly cracked as he loomed over him, "You wanna be fucked? Fine. I'll fuck you."
Starsky gasped and he smiled. "Make me yours, Hutch. Go on!" Starsky somehow found the tube of lubricant tangled among the sheets, no doubt where he'd put it earlier, and shoved it into Hutch's hand.
Hutch felt himself losing it, and leaned over to take Starsky's mouth roughly, using the power of his kiss to anchor him to the here and now. Starsky kissed him back in kind and soon they were trying to crawl down each other's throats, their passion boundless and evenly matched. Impatient and burning with need, Hutch left a bruising trail of kisses and bites down the length of Starsky's torso. He'd always tried to be a gentle lover, and it always bothered him to be rough. But he was too hot to hold himself back right now. He was too close to having what he so desperately wanted.
Skimming his tongue around Starsky's groin, Hutch deliberately didn't touch his cock, knowing he had to be impossibly close. Starsky's body thrashed with every new contact with Hutch's mouth.
Hurriedly, Hutch pulled Starsky's legs apart, climbing between them. Starsky watched his every move, his eyes glazed with desire. He looked so incredibly wanton, so ready to be fucked, that Hutch felt himself harden more just at the sight of him. But not enough.
Hutch uncapped the tube of lubricant, making sure Starsky could see him doing it. "You must be two seconds away from coming, as hard as you are," he said with incredible calm.
Starsky swallowed, but couldn't make himself answer.
"The minute I touch you, you're gonna go off like a rocket," Hutch said. "So we're gonna get that over with first. Then I get to play. And however long it takes you to recover is your problem."
Starsky blinked in surprise, but remained silent.
Hutch took hold of Starsky's left hand and squeezed a glob of lubricant into it. Starsky stared at it, confused. "I love watching you make yourself come for me," he reminded him. "So do it. Now. Here."
Without hesitation, Starsky clutched the head of his cock with the lube-filled hand and stroked himself twice, then arched his back and shouted. He ejaculated hard into his own hand, and Hutch watched the pearly come drip over Starsky's hard column. His mouth watered, but he wouldn't let himself get distracted.
"Was it good for you?" Starsky said hoarsely, still clutching himself and panting.
Hutch grabbed the towel Starsky had used before, and cleaned Starsky's hand, his cock, and his groin. "The best." Hutch used the lube again; only this time he coated his own fingers with it. Starsky watched him with lidded eyes. Hutch knew his post-coital lassitude was creeping over him, but he knew, too, that Starsky was the most passionate person he'd ever met.
Hutch took hold of Starsky's ankle and pulled his leg up, draping it over his shoulder. Starsky's eyes opened wider and he swallowed. "I've been wanting to fuck you ever since we were in the shower," Hutch confessed. "It's been burning inside me the whole time we've been in bed. I can't remember ever wanting something as much as I want this."
"Take me, Hutch," Starsky urged. "I'm all yours, babe."
Hutch reached down and slid his fingers down over Starsky's perineum into the valley of his ass. He rubbed the lube everywhere he touched, then rimmed Starsky's anus with it, making it slick. Starsky gasped and drew his other leg up. Hutch pushed his thighs apart wider, wanting him to feel as vulnerable as possible. Starsky's cock lolled against his belly, as semi-erect as Hutch's was. Hutch collected more lube, deposited it against Starsky's anus, then used some more on his other hand, and gently massaged Starsky's balls.
"Oh, damn," Starsky sighed.
Starsky's ass was relaxed and pliant after his orgasm. Hutch rubbed the ring of muscle over and over, feeling it yield to his fingers.
"That's so good," Starsky said.
Hutch felt his own cock twitch encouragingly as he continued to play with Starsky's ass. Soon, his lover was breathing hard, tossing his head, moaning softly in pleasure. Finally, Hutch couldn't wait any longer and slid both fingers inside right up to the knuckle. Starsky tightened down and bucked, clutching at Hutch's arm. Hutch continued massaging Starsky's balls, waiting for the spasm to pass. He felt the incredible strength of Starsky's ass as it clamped around his fingers, felt the intense heat of his lover's body.
Barely able to speak, Hutch whispered, "Starsky . . . I'm sorry . . . I know I rushed you . . . ."
Starsky's body suddenly relaxed, and he grinned as he exhaled a heavy breath. "It's okay, Hutch. It was good. I wanted to feel you and I do. I love it when you're in me. Go on and fuck, Hutch. I'm yours, babe."
The words excited Hutch so much, his organ hardened further. He tried to ignore it as an extraneous artifact having nothing to do with what was happening to them. He didn't need it to fuck Starsky; it just wasn't that important any more. He moved his hand inside his lover, and Starsky writhed and moaned. Hutch fucked him slow with languid strokes designed to bring Starsky's cock up, make him hard. He deliberately toyed with Starsky's prostate, loving the way that made him cry out in ecstasy. When Starsky was nearly fully erect and panting like crazy, Hutch squeezed more lube onto his hand and inserted a third finger.
Starsky shouted at the sensation and clawed Hutch's chest. He thrust himself against Hutch's hand, clamping down on it, trying to take it in deeper. Hutch kept massaging his balls, pulling on them gently while fucking his ass until Starsky was sobbing with pleasure and his cock was rock hard.
"Look at you," Hutch said to him in amazement. "Look how you love being fucked."
"By you, Hutch," Starsky rasped out. "Only you! Oh, goddamn, it's so good!"
"Can you still wait?" Hutch asked. "How long can you wait now?"
"Forever! Oh, jeezus, Hutch, fuck me forever!"
Starsky was so full of lube there was no resistant at all to Hutch's hand. He twisted and turned his fingers, riding Starsky's prostate, torturing his hole, stretching it, impaling it, and Starsky let him know he loved every second of it.
Hutch's need to fuck was heightened painfully. He loved what he was doing to this man, loved the way Starsky arched and called his name. Wanting to up the ante even more, Hutch leaned down and ran his tongue over the tip of Starsky's cock, making him choke back a scream. Actually having the taste of Starsky in his mouth again made Hutch dizzy with desire; the flavor was sharp and keen and every bit as good as he remembered. He wanted more.
When Starsky incoherently begged him to stop, he knew he couldn't possibly, and fucked Starsky with a slow, maddening rhythm while teasing his cock with his tongue. The way Starsky rode his hand, tightening and relaxing around it, told Hutch how good it was for him. Needing even more, Hutch slid his hand out, then pushed back in with a fourth finger. At the same time, he took Starsky's cock down his throat.
This time Starsky did yell, arching wildly and grabbing frantically at Hutch's hair. Only the fact that he'd come so hard before kept Starsky from coming again, Hutch knew. This was heaven, Hutch thought, sucking and fucking this man into a frenzy. He was barely aware that it wasn't his cock buried deep in Starsky's body.
Then a sudden surge below his navel made him pause. The sensation was so distracting, that he pulled away from Starsky, leaving him panting and trembling. He stared down at himself in wonder. "Starsk . . . ?" he said softly, as if afraid bringing too much attention to it would make it disappear.
Gasping, Starsky leaned up on one elbow and looked at Hutch's face, then following his gaze lower. "Holy shit . . . " he murmured, as they both watched Hutch's cock lengthening to nearly its maximum size.
Before Hutch could fully react, Starsky was moving over to him purposefully.
"God, look at you," Starsky said, his voice hushed. "You're beautiful, Hutch. Incredible." And before Hutch could even think, Starsky went down on him, enveloping his hardening erection deep into his mouth.
Hutch threw his head back and moaned in shock as that warm wetness surrounded him. Starsky's tongue started its sensuous play all along his growing length. Hutch collapsed back on the bed, helpless in Starsky's mouth, his rocketing emotions frayed beyond belief.
Starsky pulled off for a minute, staring at Hutch's cock as if he'd never seen it before. "You're gettin' bigger in my mouth. Harder. Can you feel it?" Before Hutch could answer, Starsky went down on him again, making him cry out in an almost painful pleasure.
Can I feel it? he thought in amazement. Sensations jolted down the backs of his legs to his feet, then up again into his spine. Starsky's mouth and tongue devoured him, loved him, worshipped his expanding length. He felt that talented tongue slipping under his receding foreskin, felt it toy with his slit, then circle his crown over and over. He twisted in the bed, then grabbed handfuls of Starsky's hair as if hanging on for dear life. His balls tightened up achingly hard, his cock grew firmer, then a bubble of pre-come surged up his length and erupted into Starsky's mouth. His lover moaned as if the taste of it was food for his soul.
I need to come! It was the only coherent thought Hutch was capable of now. His hips humped up again and again, but Starsky rode him like an expert, using his mouth as if devouring Hutch were his only purpose in life. Make me come, Starsk. Oh, god help me, I need to come! He realized he was moaning hoarsely, nearly incoherent with need.
Starsky pulled off again, nearly making him sob. "Look how big you are, Hutch. How hard. I love havin' you in my mouth like this, making you so excited." Starsky took him all the way inside this time, deep down his throat.
Hutch cried out. He couldn't think anymore, couldn't make his brain work. All he could do was react, feel, enjoy. His urgency to come was becoming the focus of his world, all he could remember, think about, desire. He forced himself to try to tell Starsky what he needed. "Starsky . . . please . . . !"
Starsky was purring around his cock, as if this part of Hutch was the center of his world, as if it were the most sensuous delight he ever wanted. As his mouth made love to Hutch, his hands stroked his thighs, toyed with his sac, teased his perineum, even toyed with his anus. All of it designed to make Hutch harder, totally erect, but none of it was enough to get him off. But Starsky had made him come a million times with his mouth. He knew what it took. Why wasn't he . . . ?
"So big," Starsky murmured, pulling off Hutch's length. "Feel it, Hutch?"
He groaned helplessly. "Starsk . . . do it . . . come on . . . . I need—"
"—To fuck," Starsky reminded him.
The words were like a cattle prod against his balls. He lurched and his cock throbbed even harder, bobbing in Starsky's hand.
Starsky ran his tongue up and down Hutch's entire erection, teasing, tantalizing, bringing him no relief at all. "You've been wanting it since we were in the shower . . . ." Starsky reminded him.
The memory of that need surged up in him, exciting him wildly, desperately.
"You still want it," Starsky prodded. "It's burning you up inside. The need to fuck. Come on, Hutch. Now you can have it all. I'm here for you. Wanting you—"
Hutch rose up in the bed, unable to think, unable to speak. He was shaking violently, breathing loud and harsh. He knew only one thing: he wanted this man.
Grasping Starsky under the arms, he shoved him up higher in the bed, then covered him with his body, frantically searching for his mouth.
"Oh, yes!" Starsky cried, just before Hutch's lips claimed him.
The kiss was rough, hurried, needy. Hutch plundered Starsky's mouth wildly, needing the most intimate contact with him. Starsky obviously needed it, too; he clawed at Hutch's back, as if he couldn't get close enough. Their mouths battled fiercely as Hutch reached down blindly and grabbed Starsky's leg, hooking his arm under Starsky's knee to hold it up. Before Hutch could aim himself, Starsky's hand was there, guiding Hutch's cock to his center. Starsky was still slick from the lube Hutch had used on him before, so once Starsky placed him, Hutch couldn't stop himself from plunging in with all the strength in his legs.
Starsky moaned into Hutch's mouth, and clamped down tight around Hutch's length. It only excited Hutch more as blindly, frantically, he began to pump hard. Starsky surged up against him, taking everything he could give and riding it out. His cries and moans were ones of deep, intense pleasure. Hutch loved those sounds and moved harder to make him sing out more. Starsky didn't disappoint him. He clutched Hutch's ass as if holding him in place, and tightened around him maddeningly as Hutch got up on his knees and pounded hard into Starsky's body. It was sublime, the most perfect experience, and all of it was for him. He clutched Starsky's body to him, felt his own body grow slick with sweat as Starsky rode his rhythmic, powerful fucking.
He remembered all those nights of terrible dreams, when Starsky had pulled him from the painful scenes with passion, giving himself to Hutch with all the openness and love he had. He remembered doing the same for Starsky, and knew this moment was much like that. The separation and doubt, the long period of discord, needed to be purged. Like the dreams, it needed to be conquered by the power of their passion, the power that had defeated even death.
"So good," Starsky purred when he pulled out of their kiss to gasp for air. "Do it, you son of a bitch. Fuck me. Fuck me hard! Make me yours, Hutch, all yours!"
Hutch growled and pounded harder. "Mine," he gasped, needing to say it. "You're mine now. Mine. Mine!"
"Yours," Starsky promised. "Only yours. Now and for always. God, Hutch!"
He felt himself growing harder, and then it was there, on the edge.
Starsky shouted suddenly and Hutch felt warmth spreading between them as Starsky's ass tightened around him convulsively and his body writhed wildly in its orgasm.
Hutch cried out in helpless need and thrust hard, burying himself as deep in Starsky as he could as he came explosively. He felt as if he were pouring his life into this man, binding them with his essence, the physical manifestation of his profound desire, his need, his ever-deepening love. Unlike that moment of fierce possession in the stakeout apartment, this moment was mutual in its impact. Hutch was not only claiming, but being claimed. He recognized that and took great joy in it.
As their orgasms crested and slowly subsided, the two men clutched each other and kissed again, more gently this time. This was a celebration of their togetherness, their renewed passion, and they each knew it. Trembling, Hutch released Starsky's leg as he felt himself slip out of Starsky's body. He mourned the lost connection, but knew with confidence that Starsky was his to claim any time and any way he wanted.
Starsky was shaking in his arms, kissing him back, still moaning weakly.
Finding his voice somewhere, Hutch whispered against Starsky's lips, "I love you. I swear I do. I love you so much."
Starsky hugged him, but seemed too overcome to say anything. All he could do was return his kisses, putting all his feelings and emotions into them, welcoming Hutch back to him and rejoicing in his return.
"I'll love you forever, Starsk," Hutch promised. The madness of his lust had receded, and he was regaining himself again. He felt drained and jubilant all at the same time. They'd been through the fire together, and could never be torn apart again. Hutch knew there was a way he could relate that to Starsky, a way Starsky would truly believe.
"I love you, Starsky, and I want to marry you. Will you marry me?"
Starsky started laughing low, the sound coming from deep in his chest, and Hutch knew it was his way of staving off tears. But they fell soon anyway, tears of joy, as he kept on laughing and murmured, "Yes, yes, yes," around the kisses they continued to share long into the night.
"This is the Pits. Huggy Bear here," he said into the phone.
"Hello, Huggy, how are you?" a feminine voice replied.
He smiled wistfully. Rosey's voice sounded clear, stronger than the last time they'd spoken. "Hello, my fair lady. How are things in Sante Fe?"
"I'm settling in all right. I've got a nice gallery, and the agent running it and I get along really well. We're getting off to a strong start."
"That sounds great," he assured her. "But I asked how you were doing. I know with your dedication and business sense that you can do nothing but succeed with your pottery."
There was a slight pause as she, no doubt, considered how much to tell him. "I'm doing okay. I'm . . . dealing with everything. I mean . . . it's going to take time to . . . get over him. I'm trying to give myself that time."
"You seeing anyone yet?" Huggy pushed gently.
"No," she admitted without apology. "It's too soon. I'm just dealing with each day as it comes. But, I think, if there's any hope of my . . . finding someone else to share my life with, then this is a good place to do that. There are a lot of people in my field, and yet, it's a small community. But it's too early for me to think about that. Besides . . . if that's going to happen, well, then it will. It isn't exactly something you can arrange for. God knows my father tried hard enough."
"I hear you," Huggy said in agreement. "But you've got to remember, too, that it can only happen if you're open to it happening. You've got to let your heart recover, and be ready to let someone else in."
"I know," she agreed quietly. "I'm working on that."
"Good," Huggy said agreeably. "You keep doin' that."
There was another pause. Huggy knew why she was really calling, but he didn't want to anticipate or put words in her mouth. Finally, she asked, "How's Hutch doing?"
Huggy sighed. "Really well. He's still healing, still having some therapy, but it doesn't look like there'll be any problem with his returning to active duty."
"I'm glad. Relieved, really. I've . . . felt so guilty over him getting hurt . . . . And . . . David? Is he all right?"
The quiet yearning in her voice was heartbreaking. "He's doing fine. He's taking classes, going for his degree. He and Hutch are probably going to be taking the lieutenant's exam. If they can get promoted, it'll get them off the streets and put them in an administrative track. They know it's time for them to cut back on the dangerous stuff."
He knew that wasn't all she wanted to know. "Huggy . . . is he happy? I just worry, you know. It would help if I knew if he were really happy."
I only hope it'll help you let go of his memory, Huggy thought. "He's happy, honey. He and Hutch . . . they're both really happy. Things are good with them. You can stop worrying about that."
There was another pause that said too much. Finally, she said, "That's what I needed to know. I knew you'd tell me. I appreciate it, Huggy. You've been a good friend to me, and to them, too. I miss you! If you ever find yourself in Sante Fe, you know you've always got a place to stay here."
"I won't forget," he promised her. "You never know where my travels are apt to take me. That's a part of the country I've always loved. I'll be sure to let you know if I'm headed out there." He waited for a moment, then said, "I wish you the best of luck, Rosey. I can't think of anyone who deserves it more."
"Thanks, Huggy. I'll consider that a good luck blessing. You take care. Bye, now."
The click of the phone had the sound of finality to it. Huggy suspected he wouldn't be hearing from her again.
"Haven't you left yet?" Anita said, coming in from the back room. "You're going to miss your flight to San Francisco!"
Huggy hefted his bag. "The cab just pulled up a minute ago. I'm going, already. You've got the keys, and the delivery schedule—"
"And the work roster, and every other damned thing I need to run this sorry-ass place," she said scoldingly. "It's not rocket science, Huggy. Now, get out of here or you're gonna be late. And here!"
She shoved a bag of something in his hand. He looked at it, perplexed, then realized what it was. "Rice?" he said.
"I knew you wouldn't remember! Fine best man you're gonna make. Throw some at the happy couple for me. Now get out of here."
He kissed her on the cheek. "Anita, you're a hopeless romantic, but your secret is safe with me!"
"Go on!" she said, shoving him toward the door. "Get!"
"I'll kiss both grooms for you, too," Huggy said as he dropped the bag of rice into his pocket and grabbed his suitcase. He dashed out to catch the cab without looking back.
As Starsky showed the bellboy where to stash their luggage, he was aware of Hutch wandering around their large hotel suite, looking everything over. The only word Starsky could think of to describe the place was plush. Everything, from the furniture, to the padded headboard of the massive king-sized bed, to the dense carpeting, was white trimmed with gold. There were gold-framed mirrors everywhere, and fancy lamps with crystal drops.
Hutch went into the bathroom and shut the door while Starsky dealt with the bellboy. Starsky guessed he was probably making a necessary pit stop. He was out a few minutes later, wearing a sly smile. Starsky wondered if the bathroom had gold fixtures, or some other lavish extras. It was supposed to have a Jacuzzi, Starsky had made sure of that. Hutch continued to stroll around the suite, finally moving over to the huge window overlooking the bay and the Golden Gate Bridge and settled there.
He looked like a leading man from a 1940's movie, Starsky thought, with his golden hair and gorgeous looks, as he stood tall and handsome against the backdrop of the scenic view. His black tuxedo stood out in sharp contrast to the white-on-white room. He took Starsky's breath away.
Dragging his attention back to the task at hand, Starsky smiled and handed the bellboy a five as he finally finished unloading their luggage from the cart. They had enough stuff to set up housekeeping, never mind spend two weeks in Hawaii. They'd be lucky if they didn't go over their weight allotment on the plane.
Impatient to finally have Hutch all to himself, Starsky went over to the door and held it open for the bellboy to leave. The young man was dazzlingly attractive, as most of the young men in San Francisco seemed to be.
"Thank you, sir," the bellboy said quietly, looking Starsky in the eye. "If there's anything you need, be sure to ask for Jason."
Starsky blinked in surprise. Was every guy in Frisco on the make? "Right. Jason. I got it."
"You won't forget?" Jason murmured as he stepped outside the room. His eyes made a blatant sweep of Starsky's body.
"Simmer down, son," Starsky advised. "I've got all I can handle right in this room." He shut the door on the boy's disappointed expression. Placing the safety lock on the door as an afterthought, he sauntered over to where Hutch was standing. "Y'know, I think I look really hot in this tux!"
Hutch smiled knowingly. "Bellboy flirt with you?"
"How'd you know?" Starsky asked, surprised.
"Well, he couldn't take his eyes off you in the elevator," Hutch said. "And the guy behind the desk was flirting so hard with me when I signed us in I thought I was going to have to make a commitment to do a threesome just to get the room key." They both laughed.
"I'm not surprised that you were breakin' hearts downstairs," Starsky said. "You look damned hot in that tux!"
"Of course I do! Isn't that why you insisted we go formal?" Hutch grinned at him saucily. Then his eyes grew soft. "Y'know, I'm almost afraid to say anything for fear of jinxing it," he said quietly, then glanced around surreptitiously, "but I think we're finally alone."
"You think?" Starsky said, scanning the richly appointed room. Hutch had refused to allow Starsky to reserve the honeymoon suite, but he did allow him to get one of the higher priced suites. Considering how extravagant this place looked, Starsky was suddenly glad they skipped the dubious pleasures of a heart-shaped bed.
Hutch corralled Starsky gently with his arms. "I think it's just you and me, schweetheart." They shared a gentle kiss, then hugged each other.
"Feel like a married man yet?" Starsky asked.
"More like a nervous virgin," Hutch said, laughing. "Was it my imagination or did I stutter my way through the vows?"
"No, that was me," Starsky assured him.
"The hell it was. You didn't even need prompting. You already knew them all by heart: from this day forward, forsaking all others, in sickness and in health, 'til death do us part—"
"We might as well have taken those vows in the Academy, Hutch," Starsky reminded him. "We've been living it ever since. 'Cept for the 'til death do us part, part. We've fought that one to a draw. I think even Death accepts the fact that it can't separate us."
Giving Starsky a hearty squeeze, Hutch leaned down for a kiss and they lingered over it until a knock at the door interrupted them.
"I knew it wouldn't last," Starsky moaned.
"Let me get it," Hutch said. "If it's our little bellboy I'll put on my jealous lover face and discourage him."
"Don't scare the kid," Starsky warned. "We'll need him to carry our luggage downstairs on Monday when we leave for Hawaii."
But it wasn't Jason. It was a deliveryman with an iced bucket of champagne and a gift basket that nearly dwarfed them both.
Hutch read the card on the ice bucket. "The champagne is from Huggy. 'A little bubbly to ease the wedding night jitters,'" he read. "Cute."
Starsky was poking around the cellophane-wrapped basket. "There's cookies, chocolate, fruit, cheese, some fancy instant coffee . . . all kindsa good stuff." Starsky dug through the basket until he found the card. "It's from the Dobeys. 'To Starsky and Hutch: Partners in every sense of the word.' Didn't we just leave all these people at the restaurant less than an hour ago?"
Hutch was smiling. "Yeah, and they're still taking care of us. We're rich in friends, Starsk." Hutch took two chilled glasses out of the ice bucket, uncorked the champagne bottle, and filled the glasses. Starsky opened up one of the classy chocolate boxes from the Dobey's basket and popped a fancy truffle into Hutch's mouth. He made an appreciative sound as he ate it.
"It was really great of the captain and Edith to come up for the wedding," Hutch said around the mouthful. "I wasn't sure if he was going to be comfortable doing that."
"He looked pretty comfortable to me," Starsky said. "Especially once he saw the buffet at the restaurant! He was smiling so much you'd have thought it was one of his kids tyin' the knot. Though he looked a little green around the gills when I told him my criminology professor wanted me to give a seminar on using informants in police work."
Hutch nodded, remembering. "When you told him you would only do it if Huggy agreed to be a guest speaker, I thought he was going to choke on his prime rib!"
Starsky grinned. "Huggy made a spiffy best man, didn't he? Though I think I'll be finding rice in my shorts for the rest of the night."
Hutch handed a champagne flute to Starsky. "I thought I was going to lose my nerve completely when Edith starting crying!" They both smiled at the memory.
"To my one and only," Starsky said, raising his glass to Hutch.
Hutch got a funny look on his face, then, in a husky voice said, "To my true love."
They tasted the champagne, and the bubbles tickled Starsky's nose. "Hey, this is really good! Huggy went all out." But Hutch was staring into his champagne glass and it didn't look as if he were counting the bubbles.
Starsky put a hand on his wrist. "Something's on your mind. Wanna share?"
Hutch's eyes looked into his with an odd wistfulness. "I'm sorry, Starsk . . . . I should be counting my blessings. We're together, we're in love, we're happy . . . ."
"We're married," Starsky reminded him.
Hutch nodded, and his expression became even more poignant. "We're married. And I'm happy about that, really I am—"
"But—" Starsky added, worriedly.
Hutch shook his head. "No buts. It's just— I found myself thinking about Rosey today, Starsk."
Starsky's stomach knotted. He was swamped with a rush of guilt and sorrow he couldn't keep off his face.
"I'm sorry," Hutch said. "I shouldn't have said anything—"
"Don't hold back from me, Hutch. We've made a lifetime commitment today. That means we've got to share everything: the good and the bad, the doubts and the sure things. Tell me what you were thinking."
"I found myself thinking that because I lived . . . I'd stolen what should've been hers," Hutch confessed. "I couldn't get her off my mind."
Starsky's heart felt heavy as he thought of Rosey again. He recalled too easily the sight of her walking away from him when they were in the hospital.
"Hutch," Starsky said quietly, "I told Rosey how I felt about you, about us, before we knew for sure whether or not you were going to live. She left the hospital before we heard. I wasn't hedging my bets. I wasn't thinking, well, if Hutch doesn't make it, I've got this lady here as back-up. I couldn't have married Rosey if you hadn't lived. It wouldn't have been fair to her, to know she would've always been second best to you, to your memory. If I had lost you, you would've still held my heart. I don't know if I would've ever gotten over losing you. But I wasn't asking her to stay 'til I found out. Rosey wouldn't have been standing next to me today if you hadn't lived. I wouldn't have been standing there at all."
Hutch shut his eyes as if those words filled a place inside him that had been empty until now. "Okay. Okay. Still . . . she and I love the same man. I have some idea of what she's feeling, and I'm sorry for her." He took a deep breath and let it out.
"I am too, Hutch, believe me. The only thing that woman ever did wrong was fall in love with me. She didn't deserve to have things play out the way they did."
Hutch held his eyes, as if he had more to confess. "Just before the ceremony, she was so much on my mind that I said something about her to Huggy. He's been talking to her. He knows where she is, says she's doing all right."
"I hope hearing that made you feel better, Hutch," Starsky said. "I pray she's doing well, and hope with all my heart that she'll find someone to love her the way she deserves. I'm glad Huggy's in touch with her, and if you need to know more, you ask him. But I don't need to know where she's living or what she's doing. Remembering how I hurt her is a penance I'll carry forever. That's all the weight I can handle."
Hutch shook his head. "I'm sorry, Starsk. I didn't mean to put you through this. Especially today."
"Put me through . . . ? Hutch . . . what about what I put you through? Is the reason that Rosey's on your mind is because you're concerned that she might come back to LA, that we might bump into each other . . . that if I saw her I'd put you through all that heartache again?"
Hutch looked away with a guilty expression.
Starsky took his chin and made Hutch face him. "I don't know how to make you believe in me, trust me again, so I guess we're just gonna have to take it one day at a time. But I swear, Hutch, no matter what I might still feel for Rosey, if she moved next door to us, if I had to see her coming and going every day, it wouldn't change anything. I know where my heart is now. It's in your hands. No one else's. It'll never be anywhere else again. So help me, God."
Hutch's smile was tenuous, even as he hugged Starsky hard against him. With a slight quaver to his voice, Hutch said, "Sometimes I think I'm afraid to be happy. Maybe I just can't believe that we're really here, that we've really done this—" He held up Starsky's left hand and held it beside his own to stare at their matching gold wedding bands.
"—That we're going to live happily ever after? Why not, Hutch? We've been through hell together and we've come out the other side. We deserve to be happy. We earned it, through our own blood, sweat, and tears."
Hutch grabbed him suddenly, clutching hard. "God, I love you! It scares me sometimes, you know?"
Starsky pulled back, stroked Hutch's cheek with his hand. "Don't be afraid. Not of loving me. I belong to you, now and forever."
Hutch reached for Starsky's mouth and Starsky met his lips eagerly. Their kiss lingered as they savored each other. When they finally separated, Hutch whispered, "Kissing you is still one of my greatest joys. More intoxicating than champagne. Sweeter than chocolate."
"You silver-tongued devil! Come here," Starsky gasped, grabbing Hutch by the nape of his neck and pulling him into another kiss. Their tongues toyed with each other wetly, their teeth clicking as they enjoyed the taste.
"You are hot in that tux, Starsk," Hutch murmured against his lips.
"You think so? Really?"
"Uh-huh. But not nearly as hot as you are out of it."
As they continued to kiss, Hutch reached up to undo Starsky's tie and pull it off his neck. As he worked to unfasten the pearl buttons buried in the Starsky's frilly shirt, Starsky managed to undo Hutch's cummerbund, then pulled Hutch's shirt out of his trousers and started unbuttoning it from the bottom up. Pausing just long enough for each of them to shed their jackets and hang them carefully over nearby chairs, they returned to each other's arms, picking up where they'd abruptly left off.
After a few more minutes of torrid kissing, Starsky stepped back a little as if to catch his breath. "Hey, isn't this the point where you're supposed to go into the bathroom and put on some frilly nightie you bought just for tonight?"
Hutch frowned. "I knew there was something I forgot to pack."
Starsky chuckled as Hutch moved in for another kiss. Easing Hutch's shirt off his shoulders, he let it fall to the ground. Then he kissed the still-pink scar beneath Hutch's Adam's apple. Hutch closed his eyes, gripping Starsky's shoulders.
"Please tell me you've forgiven yourself," Hutch whispered.
"As much as I can," Starsky admitted. He moved his lips higher, covering Hutch's long throat with soft, loving kisses. "As much as you ever did."
Hutch took Starsky's face in his large hands and made him look up at him. "Neither of us have had bad dreams since that night in the beach house. That was weeks ago. It's behind us, Starsky. We've got to leave it there."
Starsky nodded, understanding that Hutch wasn't just talking about the shooting, but also their mixed feelings about Rosey and all that they'd been through. "I love you," Starsky whispered, then waited for Hutch's mouth to claim him again. Hutch didn't disappoint him.
Beneath the tuxedo trousers, he felt Hutch hardening, and his heart thudded with joy. It was a sensation he would never again take for granted. Reaching for Hutch's length through the pants, he grasped the growing erection just to feel it expand. Hutch made a low sound, and Starsky's balls tightened.
"It's our wedding night," he reminded Hutch.
Hutch smiled. "The night you've been saving yourself for."
It hadn't been easy. There had been times when Hutch had tried to ambush him, impatient with desire. But Starsky had held out. Not that the waiting was bad. Hutch's edgy passion often resulted in a tumultuous round of lovemaking that was just as satisfying, if in different ways.
"Tonight, you're mine," Starsky reminded him solemnly.
"Like I wasn't yours yesterday?" Hutch teased.
"Not in the same way. Tonight you're not just my partner in every sense of the word, but you're also my mate. My spouse. And tonight I'm gonna take what's mine."
Starsky felt a shudder run through Hutch's frame and that made him smile. Hutch's erection jumped in his hand and grew more substantial.
"I've always been yours, Starsky," Hutch reminded him. "For as along as I can remember. Today just made it official."
Starsky raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Even though that wedding wasn't legal, wasn't really binding?" He was gently reminding Hutch of some of the reservations he'd expressed when they were at the beach house.
Hutch's eyes grew misty. "Laws change at the whim of society. We, of all people, know how often the law fails. But when you looked into my eyes this afternoon and said your vows, I knew you meant them from the bottom of your heart. And when I repeated them, they were the truest things I'd ever said. It's funny . . . I didn't feel that way when I said them with Vanessa. But today, I knew it was the real thing. It was binding all right."
Starsky sighed and moved in for another kiss, needing it bad. He rubbed Hutch's erection through his trousers, keeping the tension slow and sensuous. Hutch's hands roamed his body, sliding up under his open shirt. Their lips never separated as Hutch divested him of the shirt, then continued running his palms all over Starsky's bare skin. Hutch brushed his knuckles against Starsky's nipples, which were already hard and sensitive. That made Starsky groan, and he pulled away slightly before he lost his focus. Hutch had that affect on him; he could make him crazy with just the simplest touch. But not tonight. Tonight, Starsky had to keep a clear head.
Placing both hands at Hutch's waist he took a deep breath, reining in his passion. Hutch tried to move in for another kiss, but Starsky dodged it. Hutch looked confused, and taunted him by pinching his nipples, making Starsky's cock jump hard.
Starsky smiled. "Don't try to distract me, big boy. I got plans for you."
Hutch blushed and returned the smile. "Yeah, I bet you do."
"You don't know the half of it, babe," Starsky warned, and eased onto his knees.
Hutch eyes glowed softly in the lamplight, the clear blue color reflecting the cut crystal refractions of the lamps. "Hey, weren't you supposed to do that when you proposed? Little late for that now, isn't it?"
"Oh, I don't think so. Besides, I've still got plenty of things to propose to you. More propositions that you can keep count of. This is just the first of many."
He ran his fingers under Hutch's waistband, unfastened the top button, then pulled the zipper down. Expecting to find Hutch's cock underneath a layer of conservative cotton cloth, Starsky was dismayed to discover that beneath Hutch's formal black trousers was a brilliant shock of red fabric. He stared, confused, then pulled the trousers away, sliding them down Hutch's legs. Hutch was wearing a skimpy bright red satin bikini, the kind of underwear Starsky normally wore. Hutch usually favored the comfort of what Starsky called "old man boxers," but right now, his true love was standing before him in incredibly sexy briefs, which barely restrained his erect cock and heavy, tight balls. Starsky's mouth watered. He glanced up at Hutch, too startled to speak.
"I may have forgotten the nightie," Hutch said wryly, "but I did find something that I thought would make our wedding night special." Hutch stepped back and out of the trousers from where they'd pooled around his ankles, then removed his shoes and socks.
Starsky was unable to take his eyes off the blond god now standing, nearly nude, before him. The red briefs looked incredible against Hutch's fair skin. The tiny bit of fabric could barely restrain him, and that was so erotic, Starsky felt a flush of goosebumps run down his spine.
Hutch was grinning, obviously enjoying Starsky's stunned expression. "You'll be gentle with me on this, our wedding night, won't you?"
Starsky shook his head. "Not a chance," he said huskily, making Hutch laugh.
Sliding his hands up the back of Hutch's thighs, Starsky pulled him closer to where he knelt. Hutch cooperated, burying his fingers in Starsky's hair the way Starsky knew he loved to do. Starsky loved it, too, feeling those big hands hanging onto his head, sometimes guiding him, sometimes urging him, but usually just hanging on as if for deal life. That's all Hutch was doing now, gently stroking his hair, running his fingers through it.
Trailing his palms up and down Hutch's legs, Starsky leaned in to plant a light kiss just below his navel and above his waistband. Hutch sighed, and Starsky saw his cock bob in the ever-tightening briefs. He placed a few more gentle kisses along Hutch's abdomen, then over his hips. Hutch was watching him through lowered lids, his expression blissful. When Starsky slid his hands over Hutch's rear, Hutch's legs and buttocks flexed, and a drop of moisture stained the sexy briefs. Starsky loved Hutch's ass, petting it over and over, slowly, teasingly, as he leaned forward and lapped at the small spot of pre-come darkening the briefs. Hutch gasped as Starsky's tongue teased at the satin. Hutch's eyes were just slits now, but he wasn't closing them. He was obviously enjoying the show too much. Starsky planned for him to enjoy it even more.
He ran his tongue wetly up and down Hutch's erection, soaking the bikinis so that Hutch could feel the contact even more. He then licked up along the waistband, making Hutch suck his abdomen in. His mouth returned again to the fabric-covered cock, licking, kissing the excited organ, making it jump and twitch and drip. He could taste the pre-come through the briefs and that was an incredible sensation. But there was so much more he wanted to do. He ran his tongue down over Hutch's heavy balls, licking them through the fabric, running his tongue tip against the elastic leg bands. Hutch spread his legs wider to accommodate him.
Starsky lapped at the soft skin inside Hutch's thighs, making him moan in helpless desire. As he used his mouth to enflame Hutch, his hands never stopped fondling Hutch's ass. It was making Hutch crazy. Starsky could tell by the way Hutch's hands clenched and released his head, gripped and pulled at his hair, stroked and petted him with sweating palms and trembling arms.
Starsky's mouth had to return to Hutch's cock; he loved it too much to stay away long. He sucked the crown through the briefs and Hutch shuddered and moaned, thrusting his hips, begging silently for more. So Starsky gave him more. He slid his hands under the top band of the briefs and pulled them down, exposing Hutch's ass as he continued sucking on Hutch's glans through the fabric. Starsky's hands took rough possession of Hutch's rear as his mouth teased and tormented Hutch through the red briefs. He clutched the globes of Hutch's ass, then rubbed them hard, running his fingers down the cleft, all the way down to his perineum. He wanted there to be no question in Hutch's mind as to his intentions. He was claiming Hutch tonight. He was going to make Hutch his.
Hutch was gasping, making small sounds of surprise and delight as Starsky toyed roughly with his ass and gently with his cock. Hutch's strong legs tensed and flexed, reacting to every new sensation. Finally, his legs quivering, Hutch cried out, "Please!" then bit his lip as if to stop himself from begging.
Starsky was grateful. He needed to be sure Hutch wanted this and now he was. Staring into Hutch's glazed eyes, Starsky slowly, deliberately lowered the briefs to the top of his thighs, freeing his erection. Carefully, he lifted Hutch's heavy testicles out of the binding of the fabric. Hutch moaned at the freedom, and his hands reached for the briefs to slide them down his legs.
Starsky stopped him. "No. Leave them there." He fingered the silky fabric where they bunched up against Hutch's upper thighs.
Hutch hesitated. "Starsky?"
"Leave 'em." It was an order, and Hutch acquiesced, removing his hands and returning them to Starsky's hair. As a reward, Starsky gripped Hutch's cock and took it into his mouth, sucking it deep inside him.
Hutch lurched, nearly losing his footing, and he clutched Starsky's hair frantically, holding on tight. That felt good to Starsky, as excited as he was, and he moaned. He slid his left hand into Hutch's cleft and stroked the sensitive skin there, teasing, warning, as he sucked Hutch rhythmically, thoroughly, servicing him like a pro.
Hutch began sweating and shaking so Starsky knew he was making it good, really good, for his mate. Moving his right hand under the briefs, he cradled the tight testicles in the fabric, rubbing and rolling them so they could feel the sensuous material slipping and sliding over them. Hutch was trying to hold still, but it was getting harder and harder for him to do that as he reacted to the gentle fondling of his balls and the intense sucking of his cock, while Starsky's teasing, tormenting fingers roamed his ass and his crack.
Starsky slid his finger, wet with Hutch's sweat, slowly down the valley between Hutch's buttocks until he found the tight center of his body. As his finger rimmed the muscle, tenderly assaulting it, he was surprised a second time. Hutch's anus was already slick with lubricant. Unable to mask his expression, he pulled away and blurted, "When—?" then remembered Hutch's side trip to the bathroom when they first arrived. "You mean—?"
Hutch nodded with a wicked smirk. "I wanted to be ready for anything you had in mind."
A wave of desire swamped Starsky. His eyes held Hutch's and he read the intense love banked there, the willingness to yield, the hunger for Starsky that Hutch had had for so long. Starsky, realizing how very much he was loved, felt humbled. He remembered how Hutch had willingly released him to find his own heart, even when that meant Starsky would leave to love another. He remembered Dobey saying to him that he'd never seen anyone love someone the way Hutch loved him.
Starsky swallowed hard, the emotions nearly overwhelming him. "I . . . I'm not sure I'm ready for you, babe."
"Sure you are," Hutch told him. "You've been ready all this time. Just keeping me simmering on a slow boil. I'm yours tonight, and forever more. Anyway you want me."
Starsky swayed on his knees and moaned, then took Hutch's cock back into his mouth, determined to love this man as well as he deserved. Hutch sighed as Starsky sucked him, then lurched as Starsky's finger returned to stroke his anus. But Starsky wouldn't let him evade it, rubbing the tightening muscle, taking his time, while his mouth made wonderful love to Hutch's cock.
"Oh, god, Starsky, I can't! I can't!" Hutch gasped. He was jolting back and forth, thrusting his cock into Starsky's mouth then pushing his ass back against his tormenting fingers. At the same time Hutch rolled his hips from side to side in reaction to the hand riding his balls. "You gotta stop. Stop . . . or I'm gonna come."
Starsky would've grinned if his mouth weren't full. Grasping Hutch's tight testicles within the confines of the briefs, he took Hutch's erection all the way down his throat, piercing his anus at the same instant. Hutch's whole body went rigid as he pulled Starsky's hair, shouting, "YES!" He ejaculated with a rush, flooding Starsky's mouth.
Starsky groaned and closed his eyes, taking the wonderful surge of bittersweet come and swallowing it gratefully. He penetrated Hutch deeper, found his prostate and stroked it. Hutch made a strangled sound and his cock jumped in Starsky's mouth, releasing another spurt of semen. Starsky's tongue rubbed the spewing cock, pulling all the sweetness out. Hutch moaned like a man in pain or in ecstasy, it was hard to tell which.
Finally, Starsky drained the last drop and Hutch's legs trembled, threatening to fail him. Starsky released his hold on Hutch so that he could grip his hips and keep him on his feet. Kissing Hutch's over-sensitized cock made him hiss.
"Oh, god, oh god," Hutch gasped.
Starsky rose and took Hutch in his arms. His mouth found Hutch's and they merged, Hutch finding the strength to return the kiss, mingling and savoring their flavors. Hutch was still moaning softly, still shaking.
"Can't . . . can't stand up anymore," Hutch whispered.
"I've got you," Starsky assured him, then carefully walked him over to the huge bed and eased him onto the plush white quilted bedspread. The red bikinis were still tangled around his thighs.
Hutch collapsed against the silky texture of the luxurious quilt, more than willing to let the expansive bed take his weight. He sprawled, ungainly, arms and legs akimbo, his lax muscles refusing to do anything to support him. Desperately trying to catch his breath, Hutch glanced at Starsky and caught him staring at the red briefs still binding his legs. He looked down at himself and saw that the bikinis were lifting his balls up as if offering them to Starsky. The expression on Starsky's face was pure appetite, and the hard-on pushing against his black pants was unmistakable.
Hutch grinned happily. "If I'd had any idea a change of underwear would have that kind of affect on you, I'd have dumped my boxers months ago."
Starsky shook his head as if to snap out of it, then laughed, pulling the pants down Hutch's legs, freeing him. Holding the damp briefs in his hand, Starsky shook his head. "You could give a man a heart attack wearing something like this without warning him."
Hutch smiled lazily. "I don't think you were the one in danger of having a fatal attack there, buddy. You nearly killed me! And you're not even undressed yet." Forcing himself to work through the lassitude of his afterglow, Hutch sat up. He hooked his fingers into Starsky's waistband and hauled him onto the bed with him, scooting back to make room. This isn't a bed, he thought, looking around at the massive mattress, this is an adult playground!
As Hutch fumbled with the top button of Starsky's pants, he was surprised to hear Starsky ask, "Was it good for you, Hutch?"
He was stunned that Starsky felt the need to ask. Then he recognized the look of insecurity on Starsky's face. No doubt Hutch's own hesitancy, his talk about Rosey, put that doubt in Starsky's heart. He concerns melted in the face of Starsky's openhearted worry. "It's always wonderful with you, Starsk," Hutch said. "You make me fall more in love with you every day. Never doubt that."
They were both on their knees. Hutch's declaration brought them together for a sweet kiss, a sharing of emotion more than passion. Hutch pulled away first. It was impossible to ignore Starsky's rock hard cock pulsing against him. "You must be aching."
Starsky tried to sound casual as he said, "Who, me?" but his voice cracked, ruining it. They laughed together. "You're pressed up against me inch for inch," Starsky said, in better control of his voice, "all that golden skin of yours totally naked. We're alone and it's our wedding night. Why should I be excited?"
Hutch rubbed his semi-erect cock against Starsky's taut hard-on. "No reason. Want me to put the briefs back on?"
Starsky growled and shoved Hutch down on the bed, crawling on top of him, pressing him down against the mattress. "Not unless you want me to cause you some grievous bodily harm!" He buried his face between Hutch's neck and shoulder, nipping at the tender skin there, sending rockets of sensation through Hutch's body.
Embracing Starsky, Hutch enjoyed letting Starsky overtake him. He hugged him hard as Starsky devoured his throat and shoulders. Starsky's hands were everywhere, so Hutch let his own hands wander, enjoying the feel of his lover's strongly muscled back and the animal-sleek curve of his spine. He stroked the ass he adored, realizing again that Starsky was still half dressed.
Shifting, he rolled them over in the bed. "Doing it in a tuxedo just seems a little too kinky for me," he complained, reaching again for Starsky's waistband.
Breathing hard, Starsky said, "This is a helluva time to find out you're only interested in the missionary position."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Hutch assured him as he unfastened the pants. "I'm just weird enough to want my husband completely naked when we make love. It's a quirk of mine."
"Your husband, huh?" Starsky said, his eyes sparkling.
"We're married, aren't we? Hey, you know we never discussed which one of us is changing his name. Or are we going for the hyphenated-surname thing? I always thought that was a lot for the kids to have to carry."
Starsky laughed delightedly just as Hutch wrestled his zipper down. The relief that brought Starsky was evident by his groan as his cock surged free. Starsky's own tiny briefs were a vivid blue. Hutch couldn't imagine anyone else going to the trouble of buying underwear that matched his eyes.
Sliding down in the bed, Hutch unlaced Starsky's shoes and dropped them over the side, stripped off his socks, then towed the trousers down his legs.
He took a moment to enjoy the sight of his bronzed-skinned lover. The slash of color across his groin just accented his beauty. "You're magnificent," he whispered. Hutch had the overwhelming urge to climb on top of Starsky and forcibly take his cock into his body. He restrained himself, but slowly clambered up Starsky's body on all fours anyway.
Straddling the prone figure on hands and knees, Hutch leaned down to kiss him quickly, just a closed mouth tease.
"What are you up to?" Starsky asked. He was breathing hard.
"No good, my love, absolutely no good." He placed a kiss on Starsky's collarbone, then another on his breastbone, then one on each nipple.
"Hutch . . . ." Starsky said warningly.
Hutch grinned. "Tell the truth. You're two seconds away from coming, aren't you?"
Starsky had the look of a man desperately wanting to deny the truth. "Well . . . maybe three."
Hutch nodded. "It's my wedding night. You've been saving yourself and depriving me. Teasing me. For weeks. Your performance has to be up to all that foreplay. Therefore . . . I'm going to have my way with you now, and you're going to lie there and take it. If you're a good boy, I'll even let you have a little nap. Then, after we've taken the edge off and you've had some rest, I expect you to nail me through the mattress all night long."
Starsky's whole body flushed and his cock jumped, nearly escaping the tiny briefs. "Jeezus, Hutch, talk about giving a guy performance anxiety . . . ."
"You've brought this on yourself," Hutch told him. "Take it like a man." He settled carefully between Starsky's legs and went down on him in a move calculated to have the maximum affect in the minimal time.
Starsky tensed and grabbed fistfuls of Hutch's hair. He gasped Hutch's name, thrusting hard into his mouth. Hutch loved Starsky this way, seconds from countdown, intense in his need, desperate for the release only Hutch could give him. He grabbed hold of Starsky's ass to hold him in place and sucked him mercilessly, right down to the root. Starsky shook like a tree in a hurricane. As Hutch concentrated lips and tongue on his flaring glans, Starsky groaned low and came hard.
Who needs champagne? Hutch thought, greedily taking every drop. He trembled as Starsky's cock went lax in his mouth, and hungrily placed gentle kisses along its length. Starsky's body suddenly went limp, his hands releasing Hutch's hair.
Hutch glanced up to see his partner sprawled bonelessly across the bed, mouth open, already asleep.
He had to grin. "Congratulations, Hutchinson," he said quietly as he moved up in the bed to cradle his love in his arms. "World record time from orgasm to unconsciousness! We must be married." Chuckling happily, he cuddled Starsky close, watching the stars appear through the big bay window.
An hour later, Hutch was still content, lying close by Starsky's side, contemplating the course of events that brought them here. Life was so good right now he found himself in much the same reverie he'd been experiencing just before Rosey abruptly walked back into Starsky's life. In spite of all they'd been through, Hutch was once more a man who'd rediscovered the joy of living, the righteousness of working, and the wonder of loving—even though he had giving up all hope of ever having that again. There was a part of him that would always be tempted to glance over his shoulder, to wait for the bad news to come walking up behind him, but he'd have to learn to ignore that part. Starsky's unflagging devotion and his blatant need for him could not be denied. He remembered how hard it had seemed to repair the damage done after Kira. But they had. They would survive this, too, and survive it well.
He nuzzled Starsky's curls, inhaling the subtle smell of his shampoo, relishing the quiet moment as his love lay sleeping in his arms.
Ten minutes later, he thought Starsky was starting to wake when he shifted restlessly and sighed. Leaning up on one elbow, Hutch stared into his face, wanting to see those incredible eyes open and fasten on him before anything else.
But Starsky didn't open his eyes. Instead, he frowned in his sleep and shifted again. He made a small sound, like a groan, then swung an arm randomly, then shifted again. His eyes were moving rapidly under his lids. When his mouth opened and he began to pant, still with that distressed expression on his face, Hutch's stomach lurched.
No. Not here. Not now. It's over! It had been so long since either of them had had the disturbing night terrors, he'd been convinced, as he'd told Starsky, that they were finally over them. But Starsky shifted again restlessly and let out another moan, louder this time. There was no mistaking the symptoms of the dream. He wasn't curling up fetal-like or clutching his chest as he'd often done during the worst nightmares, but his expression told Hutch he was suffering through a bad dream.
Cautiously, Hutch pressed his lips against Starsky's cheek, the side of his face, then his jaw. His eyes grew wet; he blinked it away. He couldn't take the time to indulge his own anxiety right now. He had to help Starsky. Stroking the scars on Starsky's chest, Hutch tried to take way the remembered pain.
Quietly, he murmured, "I love you, Starsky. Never loved anyone else the way I love you. And I'll never leave you, not ever, in this life. Believe me, my love."
Starsky exhaled heavily and rolled against Hutch in his sleep. His frown changed, looking more confused now than distressed.
Hutch kept planting small kisses against Starsky's forehead, his eyes, his cheeks. He tasted salty moisture, but just kept repeating his loving mantra, waiting for Starsky to regain consciousness. "I'll never leave you," Hutch repeated. "And I'll never love anyone else, not ever in this life. I'm here, Starsky. I'm here." He rubbed his hand soothingly over and over the faded scars on Starsky's chest, hoping that, in the dream, he was healing them, and healing Starsky's heart as well.
Still sleeping, Starsky pressed against Hutch, then brought a hand up to cradle Hutch's head. Burying his fingers in Hutch's long hair, Starsky gripped it as if trying to anchor himself in reality. Hutch wrapped his arms around Starsky tightly, holding him close, wishing he could protect him from the disturbing dreams that had invaded the joy of their wedding night.
As Hutch stroked the scars on Starsky's back, Starsky turned his face up, silently asking for the kiss that would pull him from the nightmare. Hutch remembered how much he had needed that healing kiss himself when they were reconciling in the beach house. How drawn he'd been to the comfort of Starsky's mouth, the sweetness and intensity of his giving, loving kiss.
It was easy to return that gift. When he touched his mouth to his sleeping lover's lips, Starsky surged against him, his mouth responding even though he was still trapped in the dream. Starsky's arms clutched at Hutch clumsily, his hands grabbing him as if he were fighting gravity, struggling to keep from falling. Hutch held him tighter, wanting to convey all the security that the strength of his body could.
He murmured against Starsky's lips, "I love you. I'll never leave you. Not ever. I promise."
Slowly, Starsky's kisses changed from a desperate, fear-driven response, to gradual awareness and growing passion.
"I've got you, babe," Hutch assured him. "Nothing can hurt you, not while I'm here. I love you, Starsky."
Starsky moaned, whispered his name, then said it again, louder. He sounded confused.
"I'm here. I'm here. I won't let you go," Hutch said.
Starsky shuddered. Hutch felt the brush of his lashes against his face as Starsky's eyes fluttered sleepily.
Hutch waited for Starsky to tell him he loved him. That was the signal that meant the dream was over. But Starsky didn't say that. Instead, he pulled out of their kiss and peered at Hutch through half-lidded eyes, as though he couldn't imagine what Hutch was doing there with him.
"Hey," Hutch said quietly, "it's me. It's okay. Are you awake?"
Starsky nodded, then shook his head no. He blinked a few times then looked around the room. Hutch realized the unfamiliar surroundings would only be adding to his disorientation.
"Tell me what's going on," Hutch urged. "What's happening to you?"
Starsky closed his eyes and pressed closer to Hutch, almost as if he were trying to hide.
"You walked away," Starsky said, half-groaning. "You left me. We were all there: Dobey, and Edith, and Huggy and . . . and . . . " He paused as if trying to remember, then hesitated as if wanting to leave something out. "And you walked away. You didn't look at me or say anything, you just left."
"In the police garage?" He tried to imagine how that must've felt for Starsky, for Hutch to walk away while Starsky believed himself to be mortally injured.
"No . . . . At the wedding," Starsky said, completely confusing him. "We were here, getting married, everything just like it was, except . . . except . . . " He frowned, as if trying to organize all the conflicting thoughts. He looked away from Hutch, distressed. Again he seemed reluctant to speak, but finally said, "Except . . . Rosey was there, standing beside Huggy. She didn't say anything, she just stood there looking sad as you walked away. And I suddenly knew that I'd lost both of you—that I was alone."
Hutch felt flooded with guilt, convinced that his bringing up her name had planted the distorted images in Starsky's subconscious. He hugged Starsky hard, burying a hand in his hair.
"I couldn't get you to come back, or turn around and look at me, or anything," Starsky complained, sounding almost angry, as if still trapped in those memories.
"It was just a dream," Hutch reminded him. "It was just a jumble of memories from all the things we've been through recently." He pulled away a little. "Look at me, Starsky, really look at me. I need to be sure you're awake."
Starsky blinked dazedly, but did as Hutch asked.
"I will never leave you, do you hear me? Hear it and remember it. I will never, ever leave you. You're mine, now and forever, just like we said this afternoon."
Starsky sagged against Hutch, as if only now recalling the real wedding ceremony. "Shouldn't I be saying that to you? You never left me in the first place. I left you."
"You came back," Hutch reminded him, cupping his face with his hand. "I don't need to be your first love; I only want to be your last." Hutch sighed and hugged him hard. "Starsky, I love you." Those were the words that solved everything, weren't they?
Evidently, they were. Starsky pulled back from the embrace to be able to see Hutch's face. Entwined with him in the smallest possible space on the massive bed, Starsky spoke his heart. "I love you, too, Hutch. So much." His eyes held the truth of it. They were soft, full of love, longing, and concern. They were the eyes of a man who'd only learned recently what he really and truly wanted, and now held it here in his arms.
Hutch let himself fall into the promise in those eyes, and felt a rush of joy that seemed brand new yet well-tested. And he knew that from now on, this was what waking up to Starsky's love would be like. No doubts, no need for assurance—this was love, for now and ever.
Their mouths met in mutual desire, each of them needing that physical comfort. But Hutch knew Starsky needed more than that. And Hutch wanted to affirm not only their love, but also their life, the life each of them had fought Death for and won.
He stroked Starsky's body, slowly, sensuously, wanting to remove the taint of the dream and make their reality his only focus. He own heart rate increased and he began breathing harder, as he mapped Starsky's body with his hands. The tension in Starsky's back and shoulders told him how anxious his lover still was. Hutch didn't worry about that. He paid attention, instead, to the surprising softness of Starsky's skin, the rough texture of the body hair that coated his chest and abdomen, and the restless motion of his muscles as he moved and shifted, responding to Hutch's petting. The scars he felt along Starsky's chest and back were now just bookmarks of a certain time and place; nothing more important than that.
Starsky tentatively touched the fading scar at the base of Hutch's throat, then stroked it more purposefully. Hutch wondered if Starsky was thinking the same thing he was. This is where we've been, but it doesn't have to be where we're going. The women in their lives had left scars, too. Those couldn't be seen, but they were deep nonetheless. Hutch would always love Gillian, and Abbey would forever hold a place of tender memories. Terry would always be a part of Starsky; Rosey would, too. Starsky would never stop loving her anymore than Hutch would stop loving Gillian. That love, like their body scars, was a healing place in their hearts that would never let them forget. But they would get past that and move on, together.
Hutch felt an inner peace he had not known in a long time. He wanted Starsky to feel it, too.
His hands grew more urgent, and Starsky responded to the sensual caresses. Hutch nuzzled Starsky's face, finding his ear under a riot of dense curls and teased the lobe with his tongue, then licked it slowly, tracing the shell, the sensitive skin behind it, even probing inside, knowing that would drive Starsky crazy. It drove Hutch crazy, too. The taste of Starsky's skin brought memories of so many nights of comfort and wonderful passion. They had so many memories yet to make.
Starsky called his name with that tense urgency that made Hutch's blood boil. Starsky's hands were wandering over him tentatively, fingertips skimming his sides, his shoulders, his back. Hutch's own hands were spread wide, covering as much of Starsky as he could, needing to feel every inch, every bit of him living and breathing and loving. Starsky adored his hands, especially their size, so Hutch wanted them to seem even bigger as they stroked and petted Starsky into a fever.
"Hutch . . . Hutch . . . " Starsky murmured, turning and moving under Hutch's hands as if trying to help Hutch find every inch of him. As Starsky rolled onto his back Hutch moved with him, stroking his chest, his softly furred skin, brushing his knuckles against Starsky's small sensitive nipples then stroking flat-palmed down his taut abdomen.
They were kissing again, not frantically, but languidly. Sweet, tender, close-mouthed kisses like they'd shared in the bed in the beach house. It was their wedding night, and they were new lovers again, rediscovering each other. Hutch knew that it would always be like this for them whenever they'd go through hardship. They'd rebuild every time, coming together new and fresh, starting over from the beginning. It was exciting to know their love would be renewed over and over and never grow stale.
Hutch fumbled under the pillow, looking for the tube he'd put there while Starsky slept. He drew it out, then flipped off the cover. Starsky was too busy loving him to be aware as Hutch filled his own hand with the lubricant and warmed it. He was counting on the element of surprise as he collected Starsky's nodding cock in his slippery palm.
Starsky tensed all over, tossing his head as he dug his nails into Hutch's ass. "Damn it! That's incredible."
He stroked Starsky slowly, hoping not to bring him up too fast. He wanted this to last, wanted them both to remember it forever. Starsky hardened against his palm as Hutch fisted his semi-erect organ slowly. Grabbing a handful of his hair, Starsky didn't let that maneuver distract him from Hutch's mouth. You always did have an oral fixation, Hutch thought, inwardly smiling as he met Starsky's kiss with equal fervor.
The increasing activity south of his navel meant that Starsky would no longer be satisfied with sleepy close-mouthed kisses. His tongue demanded entrance, and Hutch had no choice but to give it to him. It was, after all, their wedding night.
Starsky moved into Hutch's mouth aggressively, nipping Hutch's lower lip, exploring his teeth, sliding their tongues together. They were both making soft sounds of pleasure. Hutch's hand tightened around Starsky's now rigid cock, and his stroke grew more demanding. Starsky's hips, always ready to dance, pumped up into Hutch's fist, loving the rhythm.
Starsky pulled out of the kiss with a gasp, peering down the length of their bodies to watch Hutch stroke him. Hutch could see how excited that was making him. Starsky was breathing hard, sheened with sweat, his hips on automatic pilot. Starsky's eyes glittered as he watched Hutch please him. And Hutch loved doing it.
He thought of the times he'd made Starsky bring himself off. Starsky would never know how hot that had been to Hutch. Starsky was so beautiful when he came, his entire body responding to the act. When they were making love together Hutch would get lost in his own passion and had trouble focusing on that moment when Starsky orgasmed. Watching Starsky do it to himself had been a sublime erotic act in and of itself. Thinking of that, he shifted in the bed to get a better grip on Starsky's hardness and rubbed his slick palm over and over the tip of Starsky's glans. The sound his lover made was wrenching, agony and delight all in one. Hutch grinned, pleased with the reaction.
"Know what?" Starsky gasped.
Hutch was amazed that he was able to articulate at this point. "No, what?"
Starsky's eyes, surprisingly alert, captured his gaze. "I think I've had enough waiting."
Hutch felt a flush of color rush through him. His cock nodded so hard it slapped his stomach. "Oh, yeah?" he said, breathlessly, his mouth suddenly dry.
"Yeah," Starsky said in a firm voice. He groped around Hutch's arm, snagging the lube from where it lay near Hutch's hand.
Hutch couldn't wipe the grin off his face. "You won't need that. I'm ready for you."
"We'll need it," Starsky warned. "Trust me."
Hutch wasn't very successful in swallowing his groan of anticipation.
Starsky sat up and glanced around, finding the towel he'd used before. Tugging Hutch's wrist, he pulled Hutch's hand off his cock, and wiped his fingers clean. Then he kissed the palm. "Your hands, Hutch . . . . God, I love your hands."
"I ever tell you how much I love yours?" Hutch asked. He turned his palm around and grasped Starsky's fingers, rubbing them. "They're slender and elegant, yet amazingly strong. Beautiful hands. Lover's hands. When you put them on my body, I can't help but respond. One touch and I'm yours. They're magician's hands." He pulled the fingers to his mouth, kissing the knuckles.
Starsky touched Hutch's cheek, then got on his knees. He stroked both palms down Hutch's body, then over his arms, and down his sides. Hutch was already at a fever pitch, and the loving touch was just bringing him higher.
"Starsky, please . . . ." he groaned, wondering if Starsky would tease him for hours, just for the sheer joy of it.
"That's all I want, Hutch," Starsky assured him, "to please you." Taking hold of Hutch's knee, Starsky urged him to roll over.
Hutch was amazed at his reaction to that. As he turned onto his stomach, his balls tightened, his body tensed, and a line of goosebumps trailed down his spine. "Starsky?" he whispered. Clutching a pillow under his chin, he looked back over his shoulder, not wanting to miss anything.
"I'm here, babe," Starsky assured him as he spread Hutch's legs wider. He rubbed his palm over Hutch's ass, as if gentling a skittish horse. "Come on, relax." Starsky stroked down Hutch's ass, trailing his palms over the backs of his thighs.
Glancing around the room, Starsky must've spied something that intrigued him because he suddenly got off the bed and grabbed something from a long, low couch nearby. "I'm not goin' anywhere," he said, before Hutch could even comment. He held something white with gold trim, something plush and rectangular—
Couch pillow, Hutch realized, as Starsky prodded him to lift his hips. He did so and Starsky placed the cushion strategically under Hutch's groin. As he settled over it gingerly, what he felt startled him. "Starsky . . . what is that . . . ?"
"Velvet, I think. Crushed velvet, maybe. How's it feel?"
Terrifying, Hutch thought as incredible softness and plush comfort surrounded his aching cock. The urge to strop against the luxurious pillow was almost compulsive. "Starsky . . . I don't know if . . . "
"Shhhh," Starsky soothed. "You comfortable?"
"Oh, yeah," Hutch said.
"Good." He rubbed Hutch's spine, again with that gentling action as if wanting to help Hutch relax. But the anticipation was too great, and Hutch knew he was more anxious than he'd been the first time they ever did it.
Starsky climbed back between Hutch's legs and settled over his body, letting Hutch take his weight. The warmth of Starsky's body and the exotic sensation of his body hair rubbing against Hutch's smooth skin was like an electric current running through Hutch's blood. He shuddered all over.
"You need some champagne?" Starsky asked out of the blue.
"What?" Hutch asked, baffled. He became aware of Starsky's lubed cock rubbing gently against his perineum, nudging his balls. The contact was intimate, erotic, and threatening all at once.
"For the wedding night jitters," Starsky reminded him. "You're shaking like a leaf, and your whole body's rigid."
"It's all this waiting," Hutch told him. "The anticipation's killing me."
Starsky rubbed his hands down Hutch's thighs, then up over his ass, and then down the front of his legs. He placed a kiss against Hutch's spine between his shoulder blades. "Oh, yeah?" Starsky said softly. Suddenly, Hutch felt a dollop of lube rubbed over his anus. His entire ass clenched in response but Starsky ignored it, just used his fingers to rub the gel in and around Hutch's tight portal until it began to relax in spite of his tension. The probing, tormenting fingers excited Hutch wonderfully. His legs spread wider, inviting Starsky to take whatever he wanted. Starsky's hand never penetrated Hutch, he just teased the edge, reminding him how good it could be—would be—once Starsky claimed him.
Moving on automatic pilot, Hutch rubbed his cock against the velvet pillow. The sensation of Starsky teasing his ass and the pillow comforting his erection soon reduced him to a moaning, humping man who desperately needed to be fucked.
Starsky was still lying over him, and the weight of him felt wonderful. Being blanketed by his lover made him feel incredibly desired and cared for. Watching my back in the best way of all, Hutch thought.
"Hutch," Starsky said, still placing loving kisses along his neck and shoulders, "all those nights when I held out on you—some of it was to make up for those nights . . . when you had to sleep alone."
Hutch slowed, suddenly aware of the confessional tone in Starsky's voice.
"I wanted you to have me on your terms, anyway you wanted," Starsky continued. "I felt like . . . if I'd taken you, I was just givin' myself something I didn't deserve. Those nights when you lost your patience and took me by storm, those nights I felt like I was making it up to you a little . . . not that anything really could."
"Starsky," Hutch said, his heart throbbing with love. But Starsky's hand never let up its tormenting contact with his anus. His teasing was making Hutch's toes curl, making his balls tighten up painfully. It was impossible for him to think of a single thing to say.
"I know that doesn't make much sense," Starsky said, "but that's the way I felt about it. Just wanted to give myself to you as much as I could. I wanted you to be sure of me, be sure I was yours. And as the days passed, I could see you beginning to believe in me again. Maybe not quite like before, but getting there. I wanted you to know about that, about why I did it. Some of it was for romance, like I said. But some of it was just payback. Marriage has to be the most equal of partnerships. And I wanted us to go into it with all of that past behind us." He paused for a minute, kissing Hutch's spine a few more times. "I gotta tell you, though, Hutch, if you thought my holding out was hard on you, you can't even imagine what it was like on me. I'm just tellin' you this so that you'll understand . . . my need for you tonight . . . well, it's pretty intense."
"It's okay," Hutch breathed. He was so excited he could barely talk. His body was so sensitized, he was afraid any sexual contact would make him go off. "Starsk . . . I'm ready. And I want you just as bad."
"That's good," Starsky said, shifting over his back, "'cause I can't wait anymore."
Hutch's eyes widened and he held perfectly still as Starsky's hand left him. Starsky moved his hips subtly, then Hutch realized Starsky had taken hold of his own cock. He felt the blunt probe of Starsky's glans against his ass, felt Starsky moving, centering it blind.
"Jeezus . . . just touching you like this . . . ." Starsky gasped against his ear. "Ah, Hutch, I love you. And now you're really mine . . . ."
Starsky entered him hard, clearly unable to hold back any longer. Without giving Hutch a chance to catch his breath, he buried himself to the hilt. Hutch moaned, half in pain, half in wonder, and lay helpless, unable to move or react. The penetration was the most exquisite, intense, overwhelming sensation he had ever felt.
Starsky drew back sharply, like a sword yanked from the sheath, and Hutch gulped air, struggling to handle it. That's what Starsky needed—for him to handle it.
"You're mine, now, Hutch," Starsky growled and bit his shoulder as he plunged in again. "Mine!"
"Yes!" Hutch cried, shoving back against him, wanting to feel every bit of it, every harsh, beautiful second. Starsky was taking him in the truest sense of the word, and he loved it. He wanted Starsky to know that.
Starsky knew. He pinned Hutch's upper arms against the bed to make sure he didn't move, and thrust hard and deep, again, again, again. Hutch rose to meet him, wanting it, loving the sharp slap of their flesh, the soft bumping of Starsky's balls hitting his ass, and the amazing, electric sensation of smooth velvet rubbing against his own cock.
"Everything," Hutch managed to rasp as Starsky just kept going, over and over, on and on, pounding into him. "Give me everything!"
Starsky groaned and shifted slightly and suddenly Starsky's heavy cock was hitting his prostate with unerring accuracy. That upped the ante as the pleasure and pain coalesced into a battery of sensations flooding his body, all of them wonderful, terrifying, addicting. He was being assaulted from without and within. He felt like he was the center of an aggressive orgy, a helpless victim of passion, and all he could do was yield. So he did.
Suddenly Starsky released his arms to wrap his arms tight around Hutch's chest. Rocking back sharply onto his knees, Starsky grunted, pulling Hutch up with him. Now, they were both kneeling, Hutch's back pressed tight against Starsky's front. He felt disoriented, his cock bobbing in the air, the velvet contact lost. But Starsky's cock was still hilt-deep in his ass as Starsky sat back on his heels, hauling Hutch with him. He pulled Hutch down hard in his lap, driving his cock in even deeper.
Hutch cried out, gripping Starsky's arms where they wrapped around him.
Starsky's hands slid down Hutch's chest, one of them moving under Hutch's balls and gathering them in his palm, rolling them, owning them. His other hand gripped Hutch's erection. Hutch tensed around Starsky's cock, making him hiss.
"Oh, yeah," Starsky purred against his ear. "That's good, real good."
When Starsky stroked Hutch's inflamed cock, Hutch was startled to feel Starsky's hand was full of lube. The slickness and Starsky's grip was more intense than the velvet pillow, and Starsky's wicked teasing of his balls alone was nearly enough to make him come. He struggled to rock forward, away from Starsky's lap to thrust into his hand. Starsky fisted his cock and he lurched back, impaling himself again, then rocked forward for the next stroke.
Which is apparently exactly what Starsky had in mind. "That's right, baby, come on,"
Realizing he had some control over his own pleasure, Hutch took advantage of it, moving back and forth deliberately. He felt like he was fucking himself coming and going. He was drunk on the intensity, dizzy with passion. He couldn't grab enough air, couldn't sort one incredible sensation from another. Dropping his arms, he reached low to grip Starsky's thighs. Hutch hoped his lover was enjoying all this work, because he sure was.
The orgasm began climbing up his spine from the soles of his feet. He moved faster, harder, to a beat only the two of them could hear. Starsky was urging him on, telling him how hot he was, what an incredible lover he was, singing to him words of lust and passion that made Hutch wild.
"I need to come!" he gasped finally, growing desperate.
"I know," Starsky said. "Let it happen. I want to feel it."
"You, too?" Hutch asked, worriedly.
"No," Starsky said. "You wanted to fuck all night, and that's what I intend to do. So, come on, now. Give me everything. I want you to." He whispered right in Hutch's ear, pitching his voice low, seductive. "Come for me, Hutch. Now."
Nothing could've stopped it. He clamped the yell down behind his teeth as his body went nova, tightening impossibly around the swollen shaft inside him as he spewed semen across the bed and Starsky's pumping hand. He felt the orgasm rocketing down his spine, into his feet, out through the tips of his fingers.
Starsky groaned but somehow held still as he stroked every last spasm out of Hutch. "Beautiful. My god, Hutch, you are one incredible, beautiful fuck."
Hutch was gasping, his body slick with sweat. His genitals ached and even the air blowing against them felt like too much sensation now. And he still sat on Starsky's lap while Starsky's cock, fully erect, pierced his body, just waiting for him to recover. "Starsky . . . !" he whispered, shaking his head, not sure of what he was trying to say.
"You're magnificent," Starsky said, kissing his neck. "And you're mine." He reached back somehow without dislodging himself and grabbed the towel. Tenderly, he wiped the sweat from Hutch's face and chest, and carefully cleaned Hutch's cock and balls, even though it made him jump and tighten down—or maybe because it did. Hutch wasn't thinking very clearly. He couldn't. Not with this demanding erection intruding into his trembling, sated body.
"Okay," Starsky whispered, "lay back down. Easy now." He helped Hutch settle against the bed. Hutch's arms felt like rubber and he was sure his whole body had the consistency of a deflated balloon. An intensely satisfied one, though. If Starsky would just give him a few minutes to recover . . . .
"Don't go to sleep," Starsky said, rubbing his shoulders and spine with the towel, wiping the sweat from him.
"I let you sleep," Hutch complained.
"That was your big mistake," Starsky said. He settled back over Hutch's body, blanketing him again. He was breathing hard, making Hutch realize how excited he still was. "God, Hutch, you're so hot. Specially on the inside." Starsky shifted, making Hutch aware of the cock still possessing him. Hutch groaned. "I wish I had the words, Hutch. I wish I could tell you how amazing it is to take you, to own you . . . to make you mine. To have a man like you give me so much . . . I swear, Hutch, I'll never take it for granted." He pressed his lips to Hutch's nape. "I'm not too heavy, am I?"
Hutch shook his head, unable to speak, or move, or do anything but lie still and be possessed by the man he loved. Dimly, he became aware that his cock was once again nestled against the velvet pillow. And it was stirring, just a little. That anything at all was happening down there was pretty amazing, considering that Hutch was half-dead.
Starsky was still talking, but Hutch wasn't paying much attention. Then Starsky's hands started moving and Hutch realized he'd better pay attention if he wanted to live through this. Starsky was petting him, sweet and gentle, and moving his hips just enough to keep his cock interested and make sure Hutch couldn't forget who was driving. Starsky groped around the bed one-handed, then found the battered tube of lubricant. Hutch shut his eyes. He wasn't ready. He didn't think he'd ever be ready.
"Told you we were gonna need this, didn't I?" Starsky muttered.
Hutch felt Starsky withdraw halfway, then felt the cool gel touch him as Starsky coated himself. When he slid back into Hutch, the cooling lubricant felt wonderful and he sighed.
"Good boy," Starsky whispered. "Feeling better?"
Hutch laughed. If he felt any better he'd be in orbit.
Starsky stroked his hair, then ran his hands over his sides as he settled over his back again. "I'm glad you're feeling good, 'cause we got hours ahead of us before we'll sleep. I'd almost forgotten how good this was, Hutch, taking you, making you mine. But we're here now, and I'm feelin' like I never did this before, like I could last for days." He kissed Hutch's nape, which made Hutch shudder beneath him, knowing Starsky could feel it. "Of course, we can't really fuck for days," Starsky added, sounding almost sad. "We might miss our plane. But we do have all night. And that's what you asked for, so it's the least I can do."
Hutch wondered whatever possessed him to say something so crazy.
Starsky was busy stroking the sides of Hutch's ass, but Hutch could feel the subtle change coming over his lover. Starsky had held off enough to control himself. He was ready, while Hutch had no idea if he'd ever be ready again. "God, Hutch, I need you so bad," Starsky whispered, his voice shaky.
Hutch swallowed, and somehow found enough air to say, "Then take me, love. I'm here for you."
Starsky groaned, and his hips starting pumping more seriously.
The reaction on Hutch was incendiary. The heavy cock pummeled his swollen, sensitive tissues making him shift and rock to find a more comfortable position. This made his cock strop the velvet pillow, and to his amazement, his sated organ responded enthusiastically. He moaned helplessly as he rubbed off on the seductive softness, and this only made Starsky pick up the pace.
"Yes, baby, yes," Starsky purred. "Come on, now, dance with me, Hutch." Starsky slowed his thrusting, but moved deeper into Hutch's incredibly sensitive ass. His balls tightened and his ass clenched in reaction, making everything that much more intense.
This can't be happening, he thought, as his body flushed in pleasure and his cock grew harder. "Starsky!" he gasped.
"I'm right here, Hutch," Starsky assured him, moving in deeper, harder, still slow and deliberate. "I've got it right here for you. All you want. As long as you want it."
"Yes . . . yes . . . " Hutch gasped, feeling himself moving in sync with Starsky. He felt like his cock was fucking even while he was being fucked, and it was incredible. He gripped handfuls of the heavy quilt, even as his knees found purchase in it, so he could get some leverage to thrust.
Starsky moaned as Hutch's hips answered the driving rhythm of his cock. Sliding his hands under Hutch, Starsky found his taut nipples. He pinched them roughly, pulling them, giving Hutch something else to react to, something else to love. It made him drive his cock harder against the pillow. Starsky's reaction was to grab Hutch's hips and ride him expertly.
Hutch rolled his hips and Starsky's cock found his prostate. That stopped any real thinking on Hutch's part. He suddenly became a sweating, rutting animal, fucking and being fucked, in a powerful rhythm that grew more and more intense. He felt as if he could last forever and right now he wanted to.
One of Starsky's hands released his nipple, sliding under him until he found his tightened sac. Starsky rolled it with an expert touch, which made Hutch cry out in sublime pleasure.
"You got something for me in there," Starsky hissed at him, toying with his balls, "and I want it. Give it to me, Hutch." He was playing Hutch like the finely tuned instrument he was, and Hutch knew he could deny Starsky nothing. "Pillow feels good, doesn't it? You should be wrapped in velvet, Hutch, every day. You should have nothing touch your beautiful skin but soft velvet, rubbing against you until you're so hot you can't hang on to it anymore. Your cock feels like velvet, babe, did you know that? Soft velvet against my lips, soft velvet over steel."
Dimly, Hutch was aware that Starsky was talking him into an orgasm, and was astounded to feel his body responding like a trained seal. The hand gently manipulating his balls was taking him so high he knew the end was inevitable. He didn't feel an answering urgency in Starsky's maddening, rhythmic thrusting.
"I wanna suck you, Hutch," Starsky suddenly said. "I need to feel that velvet and steel in my mouth."
It was too much. The sensations in his body, on his nipple and his balls, the sweet, sexy voice in his ears, coalesced into a wonderful, terrible tightening and then a sharp, shocking release. Hutch sighed, unable to find the strength to shout out.
His body clamped down around Starsky, making him hiss in pleasure and slow down. Hutch ejaculated all over the pillow, the feeling incredibly erotic. He shook all over, but in spite of this, his second release, he suddenly felt hyper-alert, aware that Starsky eventually had to be getting close. He couldn't imagine what that would mean for him.
As the last spasm left Hutch's body, Starsky pulled out sharply, making him lurch. Before he could move, Starsky had hold of his leg, towing him over onto his back. He lay there sprawled helplessly, as if he had no control over his own limbs. Starsky would have to do everything. He was wrecked. Fucked out. There was nothing left.
"God, look at you," Starsky said, panting, as he tossed the velvet pillow out of their way. "You never looked so beautiful, Hutch, I swear it. And you're still hard!"
Dazedly, Hutch stared down at himself and saw it was true. Apparently, his brain was all fucked out, but his body was still ready to play.
"I gotta have you, Hutch," Starsky said, sounding desperate, and before Hutch could do anything, Starsky went down on him, taking his cock all the way down his throat. This time, Hutch did yell as Starsky sucked on his over-stimulated cock. He thrust hard into Starsky's mouth. He was barely able to tolerate the contact yet was sure he could never get enough. His hands latched onto a mass of dark hair and he shoved Starsky's head down roughly, but that only made him suck Hutch harder, purring around his mass. Hutch yelled his name, nearly insane from the electric sensations.
Just as the point that Hutch thought he might actually faint from the power of Starsky's mouth, his lover released him. Desperately, Hutch gasped for air, realizing this slight pause would be his only chance. Starsky fumbled for the lubricant, nearly emptying it onto his impossibly hard erection. Hutch watched, mesmerized. Starsky was panting like a racehorse, his body glowing with sweat and excitement, the muscles in his arms standing out from all his work, his chest and abs hard, rippling with his exertion. Hutch couldn't get enough of the sight of him. Alive, thriving, throbbing with raw sexuality and power, Starsky never looked more beautiful.
Starsky looked up at Hutch, saw him staring at him. His indigo eyes glittered wickedly, and the expression on his face was determined. He licked his lips, and lifted Hutch's leg to settle it over his shoulder.
"Yes," Hutch rasped. "I want to watch you. I want to see you nail me to the bed. Go on."
Starsky chuckled. "Your wish is my command." He settled the other leg over his left shoulder, then positioned himself. "I better tell you this now, 'cause I don't know if I'll be able to say much once we get goin'." He looked up at Hutch again, his expression surprisingly soft. "I love you with all my heart, Hutch."
Hutch wanted to cry from joy, but managed to just grin and say, "Love you, too."
"You're mine, Hutch," Starsky swore, as he entered Hutch slowly, giving him a moment to adjust.
Hutch lurched. His tissues were so swollen and sensitive, the penetration nearly did him in. He moaned, as Starsky leaned over him to drive in deeper. Starsky held onto his legs, keeping them high, bent over his own body to get in even deeper yet.
"Mine, Hutch, mine . . . " Starsky murmured, withdrawing then driving in again.
Hutch reached out frantically, barely able to handle the intensity of Starsky's fucking. He latched onto Starsky's forearms and clung there, needing the anchor. Starsky slid in and out of him, methodically, wickedly, lighting him up inside, tearing him up, and amazingly, making him love it like never before. He couldn't move much in this position, but he was too exhausted to anyway. And he wanted Starsky to use him anyway he wanted to, until he was finally satisfied.
Starsky closed his eyes, his expression suffused with pleasure as he fucked strongly, beautifully. He kept murmuring Hutch's name, kept saying, "Mine," over and over, softly, a hypnotic background song to the most intense sexual experience Hutch had ever had.
"Yours," Hutch gasped out, wanting to reassure and provoke at the same time. He wanted Starsky wild, savage, totally uninhibited. "Only yours."
Starsky groaned out loud and began driving feverishly into Hutch's body.
Hutch was incoherent, unable to do anything by cry out at the fierce impact. The bed began to complain, but neither of them cared. Hutch knew his own peak was approaching, that it was the very last thing he'd be able to do. He was already stretched beyond his limits. After this, there'd be nothing left at all.
Starsky growled low and fucked faster, harder, his cock suddenly swelling more. Somehow, he remembered Hutch's needs, and grabbed Hutch's cock roughly, stroking him brusquely, the friction abrasive and shocking but somehow unbelievably good.
Hutch could barely endure it, but it was impossible to evade as Starsky pinned him in place with his body and hands and used him. Suddenly, Starsky's whole body went rigid.
"Oh, god, Hutch, YES!" Starsky shouted, and pounded in one, two, three times. He squeezed Hutch's cock and fisted it rapidly.
Hutch clawed his arms in reaction, and arched. He didn't have much left, but what was there exploded, ejaculating a small stream onto his belly. But the orgasm was as intense as any he'd ever had, and somehow, he and Starsky had managed to come together.
Starsky clung to his legs as he finished coming, kissing the sides of Hutch's knees, and began to sag. Hutch somehow managed to slide his legs off Starsky's shoulders. They thudded onto the bed as Starsky pitched face forward onto Hutch's chest. He moaned helplessly, as Hutch wrapped his arms around Starsky and rolled him onto his side. Starsky was shaking all over, trembling uncontrollably.
Hutch somehow found the strength to stroke Starsky's back, kiss his forehead, murmur words of love against his face. Starsky seemed comatose.
After a few moments, Starsky's lids fluttered. "Did someone shoot me?" he muttered drowsily.
"There was definitely more than one gun fired in this room," Hutch chided as Starsky hoisted himself up on his elbows. "But I think we were both hit."
Starsky was staring at his own body as if he couldn't believe what it had done. "That was unbelievable. I guess that's what happens when you hold out for weeks. Has some advantages." He grinned crookedly.
"If you think for one minute," Hutch warned, "that I'm ever going to let you say no to me again, forget it. I'm lucky I survived my wedding night." He kissed Starsky's forehead. "But it was very special, that's for sure." He forced himself to sit up and winced.
Starsky noticed. "You stay there. I'm gonna get the Jacuzzi set up. I think we both need it." He stumbled from the bed, barely able to walk on his shaky legs.
Hutch grinned, feeling wonderfully responsible.
He could hear water running when Starsky returned. Gimping over to the Dobey's basket, Starsky pulled some goodies out, then filled the flutes with the remainder of the cold champagne. He managed to juggle everything precariously and carry it over to the bed with him. Handing Hutch a flute of sparkling champagne, he said, "Breakfast in bed. We spare no expense." He dropped a box of chocolate covered strawberries onto Hutch's belly, then climbed into bed on the other side.
Hutch glanced out at the night sky outside their window. "Breakfast?"
"You looked at the time? It's close enough. Don't quibble. Try this. You need the energy."
Hutch chuckled and let Starsky feed him a strawberry. "Mmm. That's really good."
"We have more." Starsky sipped at his champagne. "And for some reason, I'm starving."
Hutch smiled. "And considering how especially good you were, chocolate strawberries and champagne in bed is the least you deserve." He held up his glass to Starsky, as if in a toast.
Starsky grinned at him.
Hutch shifted gingerly in the bed, and balanced the strawberries on the bed between them. They devoured the dish, and Starsky went back to the basket for exotic cookies, and some small individual wrapped cheeses.
Feeling a bit restored, Hutch decided to tease Starsky. His lover was still shaky on his pins as he went back to the bathroom to check on the water level in the Jacuzzi. Hutch waited until he was nearby again, rummaging for more treats. "You know, I'm feeling very married."
Starsky smiled, clearly pleased. "Oh, yeah. How come?"
Hutch grinned back at him. "Well, before you took your monkey gland pills and tried to kill me . . . you remember when I went down on you? You came in 15 seconds and fell dead asleep instantly. I knew then that you were true husband material."
Starsky looked at him through narrowed eyes. "That was your own fault. Between the red bikini underwear and that mouth of yours, I didn't stand a chance. But I'd like to see the average American husband make up for it the way I did. I mean, if you still need some convincing, I think I could manage to take you through the hoops one more time . . . ."
"Touché," Hutch said, not having the heart to continue chiding. He was too much in love, way too satisfied, and quite a bit too sore. Shifting again, he said, "That's quite all right. I'll be lucky if I recover enough to sit all the way to Hawaii!"
Shamelessly, Starsky giggled. He'd abandoned the basket and was fooling around with something that had been on the floor, making Hutch curious.
"What are you doing?" Hutch asked.
Starsky looked a little chagrined. "Trying to sponge the come off this pillow! You think they'll charge us for it?"
Hutch laughed and took the pillow out of his hands, tossing it away. "Who cares? Maybe we should just pack it in our luggage and pay for it when we leave. A memento of our wedding night. Besides, I wouldn't mind seeing your reaction to getting off on that thing. The way your mind works scares me sometimes."
"Come on," Starsky urged, pulling at his hands. "The tub's ready and we both need the therapy."
Hutch somehow found the strength to get to his feet, even though he staggered a bit. He felt thoroughly drained, but that, after all, is exactly what Starsky wanted.
Starsky took his arm and steadied him as he climbed into the steaming hot water. It felt like heaven on his battered, sated body. Hutch thought they'd both be lucky if they didn't fall asleep and drown in it.
Starsky slid in with him. It was a bit of tight fit, but then neither of them was about to complain about the close quarters. They rested against each other in the bubbling, massaging jets and enjoyed it.
Starsky ran a hand down Hutch's chest. "You still haven't gained all the weight you lost from the shooting."
Hutch took Starsky's hand in his and kissed it. "Well, I'll hardly be able to do that if you keep fucking it off me, or if we go out dancing here as much as you have planned."
"I'll fatten you up in Hawaii," Starsky announced, hugging Hutch and pressing a kiss in his hair. "The food there is great. We'll eat out every night."
Hutch had a sudden, poignant memory of a similar conversation he'd had with Starsky—the conversation that led them to the restaurant where Rosey had found them. Hutch took Starsky's chin and kissed his mouth gently. "No, let's not," he said solemnly. "Let's never leave our room. We can take the phone off the hook, run up an enormous room service bill, and do nothing but hide out, eat, and make crazy, bed-wrecking love for two solid weeks. I don't want to have to share you with another living soul."
Starsky looked like he was about to fall into Hutch's gaze, like a man totally besotted and completely in love. His expression lit up Hutch's heart. "That sounds wonderful. But . . . what about those nights when I'm especially good. How'll I get my reward? You know how hungry I get."
"I'll have all the resources of a tropical paradise at my disposal. I'll make you the most delicious surprises you've ever seen when you're especially good. And I know for a fact, Starsky, that you're going to be especially good every night for the rest of our lives."
Starsky grinned. "Count on it!"