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Starsky gave up the pretense of trying to sleep, for Lisa Thompson's constant chatter made it impossible. He sat up in bed.
She was bent over his vanity, tiny panties stretched across lovely buttocks. In the mirror, he could see her cleavage and a good portion of her breasts as she leaned close to her image to apply makeup.
"Of course," she was saying with her southern accent, "being the loyal employee that I am, I'd prefer not to switch airlines. But Melinda and Sophie have both gone on to Transworld and they say the benefits there are sooo much better."
He'd missed the first part of the conversation but chose not to reveal that. "So, what have you decided to do?"
She turned around to face him, presenting another gorgeous view of that perfectly shaped body. "I haven't decided yet," she announced then turned back, her thick, chestnut hair bouncing with her movement.
Starsky restrained a sigh. Just watching her caused a stir between his legs. They had already coupled three times during the night, and still he wanted more. But then, he'd just plain wanted more and more the past few weeks. He'd finally decided the culprit was boredom. He and Hutch were working on very mundane cases, and there wasn't the usual dosage of frustration and self-righteous martyrdom to take his mind off sex. In fact, his mind had been on sex so much lately that in those rare evenings when he couldn't find anyone to come home with him, he'd masturbated ferociously instead.
Mr. Prick, he silently told his swelling groin, you're impossible.
"So," he said with forced casualness, "when is it you have to be at work?"
She swung around, her beautiful smile widening. "My, aren't we the devil. You didn't get enough last night, darlin'?"
"Last night was last night. This is a new day. The way I see it, we -- "
"And I have to report at seven o'clock sharp," she said, swinging back around and applying eyeliner.
Starsky sighed. He'd known the chances of another encounter were slim.
"Your partner was that way, too," she noted.
Starsky's ears pricked.
"Of course, it's been a long time since he and I have slept together, but I do remember that he always liked to try to grab that last quickie before I had to get going." She looked at him via the mirror. "I'm afraid I usually had to disappoint him. We get into big trouble when we're late."
Starsky plopped back on the mattress. He and Hutch used to both like it with stewardesses because the ladies were out of town so much that it made for undemanding relationships. Also, the ladies talked amongst themselves and usually weren't shy or jealous about introducing their single co-workers to the lonely detectives. That meant that someone they knew was usually available for a date. But because they both dated from the same circle of girls it meant they often were sleeping with someone who had also slept with the other. That time was in the past, however. At least, considering what happened two months ago, he hoped it was.
"I don't remember that he quite had your energy level," Lisa said while rubbing cream into her face, "but, boy, he sure liked to enjoy himself when he had the chance." She straightened and put the lid back on the jar of cream. "He really likes it Greek, you know."
Starsky blinked. Greek? He hadn't heard the term in so long that it was a moment before he realized what it meant.
"Of course," Lisa went on, "I don't normally like for guys to do that to me. But he was just so... so sweet about it, who could resist?" She giggled.
Starsky found himself staring at the ceiling in puzzlement. How could one be "sweet" about asking if they could fuck you up the ass? Leave it to Hutch....
There was the clinking of perfume bottles, the occasional sound of a spray, as Lisa continued. "And, man,"she drawled "he was such a darlin' when he was getting you ready for him. Oh, yeah, he knows all the tricks." She giggled again. "A naughty, naughty boy, that partner of yours is. I'm kind of sorry he hasn't called in so long."
Starsky was growing uncomfortable with discussing Hutch behind his back, but also intrigued, because he was finding out things he hadn't known before. Levelly, he offered, "I could put in a good word for you."
"Would you, darlin'? I'd love it with you anytime, so I'm not choosing him over you. I'm just sayin' that sometimes a girl likes a little variety. Just like you guys do."
Honey, if you want a prick shoved up your lovely behind for 'variety', I'd be more than happy to oblige. Except he'd need to get aroused again because the conversation had eased his desire. In fact, he was still trying to figure out if he'd been insulted or not when she spoke again.
"I hope I'm not making you feel bad," she noted sweetly. "It's just sort of funny the way he always ended up after everything else wanting to do it Greek. I mean, he was really much more romantic doing it that way than doing it normally."
Starsky felt a mixture of surprise at the information she was revealing -- for Hutch had never talked about any such fetish -- as well as a stab of jealousy and curiosity at his partner's skill. Whenever he'd tried to ass-fuck, he'd always ended up causing hurt, which made him feel guilty and frustrated, and it eventually got to the point where he just downright stopped doing it unless his bedmate insisted, which was very rare.
"Do you mind if I ask you something?"
Starsky shook himself and got up on an elbow. She had turned around to look at him, in all her skimpily-clad glory. He shrugged, not knowing if he would mind or not until he knew what the question was.
She reached for her panty hose, which was draped with her other clothes over the back of a chair. "Do you and your partner ever get it on? Just for kicks?" She was working with the hose and not looking at him.
She wasn't the first person who had ever asked. Starsky gave his usual answer, forcing a snort of amusement. "Hutch and me don't swing that way."
Lisa looked at him. "It doesn't have anything to do with 'swinging that way', darlin'. This is the seventies. The sexual revolution is on. Most people believe in trying anything and everything. If it feels good, do it, as they say." She pulled the hose up her legs.
Starsky rolled over onto his stomach and propped his chin in his hand. "In that case, do you and your girlfriends get it on in the name of trying anything and everything?"
She thought for a moment, then shook her head. "Nah." She reached for her blouse. "Except Melinda and Sophie got it on together once when they were both in bed with the same man, but they just did it because it turned the guy on."
"Lisa," Starsky said firmly "I think most people spend a lot more time talking about the sexual revolution than participating in it."
She was buttoning her blouse, an aura of seriousness overtaking her as she put on more clothes. "You're probably right. I just wondered about you and Hutch since he was so skilled at doing it Greek. I thought maybe you and he had practiced on each other."
She shrugged, slipping into her skirt. "Guess he must have learned somewhere else, then." She moved into the bathroom and closed the door.
Starsky once again took refuge in the ceiling, sighing heavily. Hutch, guess what the girls you've slept with are saying about you? You're a real Romeo when it comes to taking the back door. He frowned. Who did you learn your lessons from, anyway? And how about sharing with a pal who needs a refresher course?
He lay there, fantasizing about him and Hutch doing it solely for the sake of "practice." He winced at the thought -- even as his groin hardened -- unable to imagine himself letting someone stick their prick up his ass. Not even Hutch.
Except this was fantasy, he told himself, so he could pretend it wouldn't hurt.
Lisa had said that Hutch "knew all the tricks". What tricks were those? Starsky knew about lubrication, putting it on himself and on his partner, knew about using a finger first to try to stretch a very tight, resistant muscle. He also knew that all the patience in the world still didn't stop it from hurting when he forced that tight barrier with his huge prick. That, once inside her, he had to squeeze her tits and rub his fingers all over her clit before she could even begin to have some semblance of enjoyment. It was a tremendous amount of work, and she usually never came, anyway. And his feelings of guilt and inadequacy made his own orgasm very unsatisfying.
So, to be so pleasing, Hutch either had a very small, harmless erection -- which Starsky found impossible to believe, considering his own locker room glances while it was in a relaxed state -- and/or he knew some other techniques that Starsky hadn't even thought of. Except that, in Hutch's case, there seemed to be more involved than just technique. According to Lisa, Hutch liked it that way even more than "normal". A naughty boy, Lisa had called him... with delight.
Well, Starsky deducted, we all have our fixations. He grinned. Even after all these years, there's still some things I don't know about you.
The bathroom door opened, and Starsky quickly removed his hand from beneath the covers, realizing just then that he'd been stroking himself.
Lisa gave him a blazing smile. "I had a good time," she said. She picked up her jacket, draped it over her arm, and checked her watch. "Melinda should be here any moment. I'll wait outside."
Starsky was quickly out of bed and pulling on a robe. "Least I can do is show my lady to the door." He trotted past her and bowed elaborately with his hand on the door knob. "I'll be calling you soon." He straightened and kissed her on the mouth.
A horn honked.
"That's Melinda,"she said, pulling back. She kissed her fingers and touched them to his lips. "Bye, darlin'."
Starsky closed the door behind her, then sighed mournfully. Another day, another conquest to make before nighttime, so he would once again have someone to share his bed. Unless... he wondered if it were possible to go without. He'd like to think so. Being a horny devil was exhausting and expensive, considering the necessary wining and dining before bringing his lady home. There were always plenty of fantasies to masturbate with... it's just that he preferred the real thing.
He entered the bathroom and turned on the shower.
"So, how did it go with Lisa last night?"
Starsky looked up from his newspaper. He and Hutch were waiting on a batch of flies from R&I and had nothing else requiring their immediate attention. "How did you know I was with Lisa?" he asked suspiciously.
"You told me. Remember?"
Starsky did remember, now that Hutch mentioned it. Before they'd parted yesterday, he'd said he would be hosting Lisa unless her flight was delayed. He shrugged. "She was her usual, energetic, gorgeous self." He grinned at the memory and went back to his paper.
"Did you tell her hello for me?"
"Huh?" Starsky put the paper down.
Hutch rolled his eyes. "Moron, I told you to tell her I said hello. I didn't want her to think I'd forgotten about her just because I don't call her anymore."
"Tell you the truth, partner," Starsky said with relish, "I was sort of distracted while I was with her."
Hutch muttered something unintelligible.
The darker man sat back in his chair and considered the conversation between him and Lisa this morning. She'd wanted him to remind Hutch about her. Well, Hutch didn't need reminding.
The blond was straightening papers on his side of the desk. "So, who is it tonight?"
Starsky frowned. "What do you mean?"
Hutch laughed without humor. "Oh, come on, dirtball, you've been banging a different lady almost every night for the past two months. Don't tell me tonight's going to be any different"
Starsky ducked his head. It was true, and he wasn't proud of it.
"What's the matter," Hutch went on, "none of them want you two nights in a row?"
"The problem," Starsky said defensively, "as you well know, is that most of 'em are stewardesses, and they aren't available two nights in a row. Plus, they're single ladies and they like to see different men just like we single men like to see different women." Pointedly, he added, "As you well know." Except, he was all too aware, Hutch usually only needed it a few times a month.
The phone rang and Hutch picked it up. He nodded said "Thanks" and hung up. "R&I has our files pulled."
Both men left the squad room. As they moved down the stairs, Hutch leaned toward his partner and whispered, "You know what I read last week in Readers' Digest?"
Starsky looked at him. "What?"
"When you do it every night for more than six weeks in a row, your nuts shrivel up and fall off."
Starsky made a face and didn't bother with a retort.
Christy -- young, single, and blonde -- greeted them while pushing a stack of files their way. "Here they are. Twenty-two, total." She favored Hutch with a particularly sweet smile. "We still on for tonight?"
Hutch nodded, his smile smooth and cool. "Pick you up at seven."
She pushed a clipboard his way. "Sign here."
While Starsky watched her watching Hutch an image crossed his mind of those two blond, pale bodies in bed together.
He likes it Greek, you know.
The vague image took shape. She on her stomach, Hutch pumping her from behind.
Or would he like her ass in the air? Or maybe her bending over something? Starsky looked at Christy. This would be their first date. Does she know what Hutch is eventually going to want to do? He found that unlikely. He'll sweet-talk her into it, even if she says she doesn't want it like that. And he'll make it good for her. She'll be smiling at the memory like Lisa was.
Hutch pushed the clipboard back. "Thanks." He grabbed half the stack of files and Starsky took the other half.
As they made their way up the stairs, Starsky had to bite his lip to refrain from saying, Hutch, do you know when you ass-fuck too much your prick shrivels up and fails off?
The air conditioning was working, but still Starsky's hair was plastered to his forehead. He lay in the dark, practiced fingers soothing his erection, but he had been unable to sustain a fantasy, and now all he was feeling was frustration.
Maybe this is the end of my horny phase, he thought hopefully. Except he had a three-quarters erection that demanded completion.
Starsky had been through all his favorite scenarios. Six women pleasuring him at once on a deserted island. A tall, exotic, dark-haired woman he picked up while driving down Main Street who never talked but used her hands and mouth in an exquisite fashion. The blonde with the huge breasts who held a huge paddle and told him he needed a spanking. The prison where all the guards were female and he was told if he pleased all of them, one by one, he would be set free.
Any of those usually worked for him, but tonight he found himself bored with the images.
He looked at the clock. 11:10 pm. He could call Hutch. That would be a great pay-back for that smart-ass remark his partner made to him about his nuts falling off. Hutch should be in the middle of pleasuring Christy right about now. Maybe kissing her breasts. Sucking on her nipples. Maybe he'd already penetrated her once and they'd both be sweaty and moist between the legs the tempo slowed while they gradually worked up to round two.
Starsky wondered how it felt to her, having Hutch hovering over her. That big, strong, tall body. Smooth chest. Soft hair. Maybe she would reach up and brush at his mustache while he stroked her between her legs.
Or maybe they had already started round two. Maybe Hutch had turned her over, had already talked her into it.
Starsky frowned. How did Hutch talk them into it'? What had Lisa meant by him being "sweet" about it? Did Hutch literally whisper sweet nothings? Did he convince them that he was so skilled that they'd enjoy it even though they expected it to hurt? Just exactly what did Hutch do that made it special?
And why did he like doing it that way, anyway?
Starsky curled up on his side. His heart was beating pleasantly in his chest. His erection had wilted. He held onto the image of Hutch hovering over her, maybe petting her, soothing her, using that soft voice. Things that had been used on Starsky when he was injured, sick, or grieving. Things that made it all better. That made him feel loved and cherished and special. Things that made him feel that Hutch was taking care of everything and he didn't have to worry. That he would be fine because Hutch wouldn't let it be any other way.
Starsky drifted into sleep.
"So, who were you with last night?"
Starsky barely looked up from the file he was reading. "Nobody."
Hutch tossed a file aside and reached for another. Smugly, he said, "Beat it raw, huh?"
The curly-haired man sat back in his chair and regarded his arrogant partner calmly. "No. For your information, smart boy, last night was the first in a period of celibacy."
Hutch snickered. "Celibacy? With your recent track record? You've gotta be kidding."
Starsky glanced at the file in his lap. "I'm serious. I'm all fucked out. A few weeks of abstinence ought to set me back on an even keel."
Hutch leaned forward conspiratorially. "Uh, Starsk," he whispered, batting his eyelashes innocently, "I was only kidding about your nuts falling off." He winked, then straightened, disgustingly pleased with himself.
The other tilted his head. "No kidding," he said blandly.
The blond chuckled.
After a moment of silence Starsky said, "So, how was it with Christy?"
Hutch shrugged, serious now. "It wasn't."
Starsky looked up. "Huh?"
Nose in a file, the blond said, "Her sister called from out of state and said their grandmother had been put in the hospital. So, she had to catch an early flight out this morning."
"Oh." Starsky was about to say "sorry" about his partner's bad luck, but then decided that Mr. Smart-Ass didn't deserve it.
After more silence, Starsky said, "You want to do something tonight?" It suddenly struck him how it seemed like it had been forever since he and Hutch, just the two of them, had socialized together.
The big shoulders shrugged. "I don't know. What did you have in mind?"
They never used to have to plan it. "Why don't we go for a beer at Huggy's and see what develops?"
Hutch snorted. "And have you pick up the first thing in a skirt that comes along? No, thanks."
So, Hutch didn't believe him. Starsky decided he couldn't blame him. "Okay, then let's have a beer at your place and go from there."
"Yeah, whatever," the blond muttered, studying another file.
Starsky grinned at him and went back to work.
Starsky's took the LTD's microphone. "This is Zebra Three, signing out."
"Ten-four, Zebra Three. Have a good evening."
Starsky hung up the microphone.
Hutch glanced at him from the driver's seat. "You still want to go to my place?" Starsky frowned at being asked. "Yeah. Let's stop for beer."
The blond still had one eye on his passenger. "Don't your nuts usually start itching right about now?"
Really, despite his upper class upbringing, Hutch could be incredibly crude at times. "No. Let's get some beer and some food and eat at your place."
They settled on Chinese.
Of course, Hutch used chopsticks. Starsky watched him take each delicate bite while toying with forkfuls of his own food.
"How come you're not eating?"
Starsky squirmed. "I am," he protested. "Just don't feel like stuffing myself silly."
"That's a new one, too. You turning over a new leaf on me?"
"What is it with all your questions lately?" Starsky countered with a scowl.
Hutch shrugged. "Not sure I know you anymore," he teased, tossing back the last of his beer. "Today you've told me you're going celibate and that you don't want to shove food down your face." He shook his head. "Don't know if I can handle this 'new Starsky' all at once."
Starsky pouted. "Yeah? Well, I know a 'new Hutch' who does nothing but ask a lot of stupid questions."
The blond held out his hands in a placating gesture. "Why shouldn't I ask questions? I feel like I haven't seen you in months."
The other frowned. "What are you talking about? You see me practically every day."
"See you, yes," Hutch nodded. "But do you talk to me? No, hardly at all. You're too busy lining up your next conquest."
Starsky crumbled up his napkin, irritated because he knew Hutch was right. Then he sighed heavily, trying to relieve the tension he felt. "All right, fair enough," he relented. "But I'm tellin' you: I'm over all that messin' around." His voice softened. "Just don't want to do it for a while."
The apology seemed to be all that Hutch needed, for now the blond also softened, his voice sympathetic. "Starsk, is it that you're lonely?"
Starsky closed his eyes, wishing he could say 'yes' just to make it all easier. He threw the crumbled napkin toward the trash bin. "I dunno," he admitted. But, he knew. Realized it last night when he was able to fall asleep so easily. He gazed at the floor, and it was a long moment before he spoke. "I miss my friend. My buddy. My pal."
"Starsky, I've been right here. You're the one who's been going off every evening with someone else."
Hutch's tone was level. Overly so. Starsky snapped his head up, a wave of guilt washing over him. What had all of his time with others cost his partner in terms of loneliness?
But it wasn't that simple. Starsky swallowed thickly, tilted his head toward the floor again, because it hurt to say the words. "Nothing's been quite the same since… you know."
Hutch released a deep breath. "So," he said brusquely "it's been your way of punishing me."
"No." Starsky quickly shook his head. "It's not that at all." He considered a moment, making sure his facts were straight. "It's had to do with me, not with you." He looked up, found his partner watching him intently. "I think... I think some part of me was determined to have what I wanted, but not get involved. God knows, I don't want to get involved again." He realized, too late, how that must sound, so he rushed to explain, "Not -- not because of what you did, or what she did. But because of what I did; the mistake I made."
"What mistake?" Hutch demanded softly.
"Thinking what we had was more than it was. It wasn't all my fault; but, lookin' back, it was obvious you two had an attraction for each other. I just got caught up in believin' that she and me were an item. I was so stubborn about it that I missed all the signs."
"So, you're never going to fall in love again, is that it?" The blond's voice dripped disapproval. "Just dozens of faceless fucks instead?"
Starsky managed a wry smile. "I'm not gonna say never." Then he sighed. "I just need a breather. Need to step back and get some distance. From both sides. Getting involved and one night stands." His eyes lowered again, as did his voice. "I want to put more energy into me and you. I wanna make up. For real."
Gently, the other said, "I didn't know we hadn't."
"You know what I mean," Starsky insisted, getting up from the table and gathering empty cardboard boxes. "We've both been treading delicately ever since I walked in on you at her place." He tossed the containers into the trash. "I'm sick of it. I want my friend back."
"I've been wanting mine back, too."
Starsky found himself grinning as he moved to the couch and sat on the back of it, facing his partner. "Then everything should be easy since we agree on what we want."
"We've never had a problem with that," Hutch noted, rising.
Starsky held out his hands part way. "Then come 'ere."
Hutch went over to him and placed his arms loosely around his partner's back. Starsky drew the other close, hands wrapping around the slim waist, face resting against his chest, and sighed dramatically. He squeezed with his arms and closed his eyes, absorbing the other's warmth, loving the gentle swell in his chest.
Hutch was standing with his hands resting on Starsky's shoulders. The fingers rubbed against the cotton of his shirt.
"Ah, man, this is nice," Starsky said.
"It's been here, whenever you've wanted it."
Starsky tilted his head back so he could look up at his partner. "So you keep reminding me. Okay, I admit it: I've been an ass."
After a soft chuckle, Hutch seriously said, "I guess we've both been a bit… off balance…after what happened."
"Yeah." Starsky buried his head in the other's chest again. What a fool he'd been to have ignored all his partner's strength and comfort, when it was so readily available.
His hands felt along Hutch's back, drifting lower until encountering the dip of the waist. His fingers kneaded and he asked, "Little sore right there?" Hutch often was, as being taller than most people caused him to bend over a lot and when he was up and down from his desk the muscles in his lower back complained.
"Mm," Hutch noted, stepping closer, rocking his stomach against Starsky.
Grateful to be doing something healing in nature, Starsky pulled at the blond's shirt until the tail came out of his jeans. He held the shirt up with one hand while rubbing firmly against bare skin with the fingers of his other hand.
Hutch grunted agreeably.
"Wanna take off your clothes and lie on the bed so I can do it for real?"
Another soft chuckle. "With the way you've been behaving lately, I'm not sure I trust you with my clothes off."
Starsky slapped him -- hard -- on the butt. Hutch jumped with a yelp but didn't move away. "You want a massage," Starsky's fingers dug deeper, "or not?" He couldn't believe how good the playfulness felt.
Hutch's arms slid around Starsky's back again and tightened. "I'm not sure I want you to stop what you're doing," he admitted lamely.
Starsky closed his eyes, relishing the warmth that was between them. He didn't really want to stop either, for the other's solid strength and tender arms were what he wanted most in the world. But... "I can do a much better job if you're lying down."
Abruptly, Hutch moved away. "All right. I'm at your mercy." He turned toward the bed.
Grinning, Starsky followed. It would be so good for them both for him to be able to do something nice and undemanding for his partner.
Hutch pulled off his t-shirt, kicked off his shoes, and slid out of his jeans. Clad only in briefs, he lay face-down on the bed.
Starsky took off his Adidas and got on his knees beside Hutch. He started on the middle of the blond's back, then drifted downward. As he neared the waistline, he said, "Tell me when I get to the sorest part." His hands had inched beneath the waistband of the briefs before Hutch started making agreeable noises. Starsky worked on the area for a while, abandoning it only after he felt the muscles relax. He shifted and went up to Hutch's shoulders, paying special attention to his partner's neck. By the time he was finished there and working back down his spine, it was apparent that Hutch was asleep. Starsky found a robe and covered him with it, then returned to the living room and sat on the couch.
He intended to watch television but found his thoughts drifting before he had a chance to peruse the local tv guide.
He looked around the apartment, these four walls that were so familiar. The last time he'd spent the night here was while waiting for Hutch to come home. Which the blond didn't do until morning. Starsky hadn't known it at the time, but it was obvious later that Hutch had spent that evening with Kira. His girl. Only, she didn't belong to him, which was the point she had so succinctly made after he and Hutch had their little tussle at her apartment.
Hello, women's lib, Starsky thought forlornly.
The hurt had sliced right through his heart. Starsky couldn't figure out who he was madder at, him or her, but Hutch was the safest target to take his anger out on. For Hutch could handle his anger.
The pain kept them apart until that night when they drew together to close in on the dance-hall killer and dispose of his live grenade. They had made up at Huggy's, in front of Kira, but it was a timid re-bonding.
Starsky could excuse Hutch's behavior because no healthy male would turn down a lovely, willing, throws-herself-right-at-you sensual woman like Kira. He could excuse Kira's behavior because, as she said, she had every right to do as she damn well pleased, despite the questionable morality of propagating a situation that was bound to cause friction between two best friends. What Starsky couldn't excuse was his own behavior.
Kira had been his first serious relationship since Rosie Malone. And, as with Rosie, his desperation to believe there had to be something for him after the tragedy with Terry had caused him to allow himself to fall head over heels in way too short a time. He had been desperate, in both cases, to make what he feared was a last grab for love and romance and happiness and all that garbage people were fed all their lives. He had been afraid that he would be left behind. So he'd pursued, caught his prey, and then was mocked by fate for having given himself so whole-heartedly.
In the two months since Kira, he had continued the desperate pursuit, but refused to give anything more of himself than the physical, as evidenced by the very nature of his chosen companions. One-night stands soothed his frantic desperation… but only for an evening at a time. They were relief and release, but left empty dissatisfaction in their wake.
And Hutch had spent how many lonely nights, waiting to be forgiven?
Starsky closed his eyes and pressed a hand against his forehead. Perhaps what Hutch had said tonight had, deep down, been true. Perhaps running away every evening to shallow lovers had been a way of punishing Hutch.
Or, perhaps, it had been a way of punishing himself.
Either way, Starsky wanted it to end. He didn't care if the all-American dream left him behind. The best that life had ever offered him was simply being with Hutch. For, in the presence of his partner, love was the most intense with the least amount of effort.
Thankfully, Hutch seemed to feel the same way. After Gillian, he had made his own desperate grasp for love by solidifying his on-again, off-again relationship with Abby. Then she had walked out on him. Like Starsky with Rosie, Hutch had tried to force a relationship where none existed -- and could not exist -- because of an impossible situation. And Marianne the blues singer had been the last attempt Hutch had made to capture the dream for himself. Now, like Starsky -- only with much less frequency -- he rarely dated the same woman two times in a row.
We're pathetic, Starsky thought. And, yet, he could not find a place within himself that truly felt such. There was nothing pathetic about the friendship he and Hutch shared. Even after the crisis with Kira, it had a solidity about it that could not be broken. Trust that temporary anger could not betray.
And Hutch was more loving than anyone who had ever shared Starsky's bed.
And now they had thoroughly made up. Without going through the motions that most "couples" did.
"What's that smile for?"
Startled, Starsky looked up. Hutch was wearing a robe and rubbing at his eyes. "You didn't sleep long."
"Didn't need much." There was the gentlest of smiles as Hutch approached the sofa. "Thanks, pal."
"Want a beer?" Hutch was now moving toward the kitchen.
After handing his partner a bottle, the blond sat at the other end of the sofa. "So, what were you smiling about?"
Starsky ducked his head. "It's nothin'." But his grin widened despite himself.
The curly-haired man pushed to his feet and moved toward the window. "Just a silly thought that crossed my mind."
"I could use a silly thought. What was it?"
Starsky realized that to not say anything was to make too much of it. He turned and with forced casualness said, "I was just thinkin' how we were… you know, making up tonight."
"And," he shrugged, "the thought crossed my mind about how most people make up. I mean, husbands and wives. Boyfriends and girlfriends."
Hutch pulled his beer away from his mouth. "You've been spending too much time with Lisa Thompson," he said with feigned seriousness.
"Oh," Starsky noted with surprise, "did she ask you about us, too?"
"Yeah, she did."
Starsky's brows narrowed as he came back toward the sofa. "Then why would she have asked me if she already asked you?"
Hutch took another sip. "Probably because I wouldn't answer her."
Starsky straddled the arm of the sofa that was opposite the side where Hutch was sitting. "You didn't?" he asked with puzzlement.
"Because it's none of her business if you and I have slept together; not any more than anyone else's."
Starsky considered that. He supposed it was true. It's just that not answering would tend to make one think the answer was yes. He tried to be soothing. "She didn't really seem all that interested. She just likes to make conversation in the morning."
Hutch groaned, "I know. I remember."
They sat in silence a few minutes, each sipping his beer. As Starsky watched his partner pick up a magazine, he couldn't help but recall other things Lisa had said while making conversation. He considered teasing Hutch about it, then decided his heart wasn't in it.
And he wondered if Lisa's experience was unique, or if Hutch truly preferred it "Greek" most of the time.
Starsky gazed at the sofa cushions as she danced across his thoughts. He had enjoyed all his dates with her, had enjoyed her immensely in bed. Yet... she never seemed quite satisfied with basic sex. She was always suggesting other things… different positions, trying extra hard to have simultaneous orgasms. Once, she had even wanted to be tied up. Starsky indulged her, but he thought the whole thing rather silly and didn't understand why she just didn't enjoy them being intimate with each other. He was well-skilled at working a woman's magic button with his tongue. Once he'd perfected his technique, he hadn't come across anyone he couldn't thoroughly satisfy. But Kira wanted more.
Along comes Hutch into Kira's bedroom. A man more than willing to do things that other people rarely talk about, let alone act upon. Kira had probably loved it, having Hutch's huge prick up her ass. He probably didn't even have to sweet-talk her into it.
Starsky frowned, wondering how she'd felt to Hutch. He wasn't jealous, for that feeling had long since disappeared. He was more intrigued by the thought that Hutch would want to enjoy her -- or anyone -- that way when, in Starsky's opinion it felt so much better doing it the way nature intended. But then… whenever he himself had done it, he'd had all the psychological roadblocks of being unsure about the whole idea in the first place, to say nothing of his companions' whimpers of pain.
His eyes darted to his partner, who was idly filling in a crossword puzzle. What makes that way special for you, Hutch?
Starsky remembered his fantasy that night when Hutch was supposed to have a date with Christy from R&I. Imagining Hutch loving and petting her, turning her over with his big, gentle hands; soothing her with his soft, confident voice. Making her unafraid at the idea of his hard, huge prick penetrating her tight little opening.
Hutch must want it very badly to go through all that trouble, all that foreplay. Starsky imagined after Hutch was in her… the blond's eyes closing, hips pumping carefully, savoring every forward and backward stroke, feeling that tight flesh all around his prick...
And having no one to love him while exposing such a secret part of his being.
Starsky moved off the sofa, heading for the trash with his empty beer bottle. Join the club, pal.
"Want another beer?" he called over his shoulder.
Hutch was still bent over the magazine. "Still have some." He held up his partially full bottle.
Starsky took another for himself and sat at the table. Here we both are, determined not to love anymore, making it with virtual strangers to cool our desires, and yet… absolutely crazy about each other.
He stared at the back of Hutch's bent head.
The thought was there, knocking.
The fantasy of Hutch in bed with Christy. Except, now, instead of leaning over her, Hutch was leaning over Starsky. Petting him, whispering to him. Warm, fuzzy air drifting between them. Starsky would already know what Hutch wanted. Hutch wouldn't have to ask.
It would feel just as good to you, wouldn't it, Hutch? Doing it with me instead of with a woman? You wouldn't even have to work hard at making me want it. Not work at it at all. I'd give it to you. With open arms. So you could enjoy yourself with someone who gives a damn.
Starsky bit his lower lip. He'd never in a million years thought he'd want someone to do that to him. Not even Hutch.
But Hutch knows what to do to make it so it doesn't hurt. And we'd have all that other stuff to fall back on... all that warmth and caring. We could sleep together, wake up together, not have to separate in the morning. Not even have to wine and dine each other ahead of time....
Starsky rubbed his fingers along forehead. It could be so good. Perfect.
And there wouldn't be any more Christys or Lisa Thompsons. No more Rosie Malones or Mariannes. Just Hutch and me.
"What's a five-letter word for a border?" Hutch called from the couch.
Starsky turned to look at him. Hutch was hunched over the magazine, pencil in hand. "A frame," Starsky supplied.
"Ah," the blond said with relish and began writing in the magazine.
Starsky took a sip of beer.
If I say something to him about it, in order he'll, 1) Laugh at me. 2) Get annoyed when I persist. 3) Start thinking about it and realize I make sense. 4) Say "no" because he likes to be contrary. 5) Give in because he knows that a) if it turns out to be a bad idea he can blame it on me, or b) if it turns out to be a great idea, he can take all the credit by virtue of having agreed to it in the first place.
Starsky left his beer on the table and approached the sofa.
Hutch was erasing something from the crossword puzzle.
Starsky bent and put his arms around the blond's shoulders from behind, took the pencil and magazine and tossed them aside. He pressed his cheek against Hutch's. "We need to talk."
Hutch seemed startled by Starsky's action. After a moment the blond said, "Fine. But, sweetheart, you really need to shave."
It was too bad Hutch was sitting, Starsky thought, because he really wanted to deliver another smack to his rear. Instead, Starsky reached up and pulled at Hutch's mustache.
"That'll teach you."
Hutch was obediently silent before cautiously asking, "What are we talking about?"
"I wanna make up." It wasn't the most literal explanation, but it was in line with the conversation they'd already had.
The blond sighed. "Starsky, we already made up at Huggy's when we left Kira with our arms around each other. And we made up again tonight." He turned to look at Starsky. "What more are we --"
Starsky grabbed his partner's cheeks and kissed him. It was fleeting, without much pressure, but Hutch sputtered, "What are you -- "
Starsky kissed him again, pressing hard this time, trying to still the jaw that was determined to move. He could feel the mustache against the bottom of his nose. It didn't really tickle all that much, but he could feel the brusqueness of the firm hairs. He liked it, For it was so... Hutch-like
Once the blond quit trying to speak, Starsky pulled back. The other's eyes were bright with shock and surprise. His mouth hung partway open. He whispered, "Starsk?"
Starsky swallowed. He wanted to say all the right things, but didn't know if he could find them. He'd never been particularly eloquent with words. He fell back on the security of the evening's theme. Softly, he said, "I wanna make up."
The sea-blue eyes stared back at him a moment. Then they closed as Hutch shook his head, causing Starsky's hands to drop. The blond laughed shortly. "Starsky, this is ridiculous. We've already made up."
"But I meant -- I mean...." He took a deep breath, trying to calm his brewing anxiety. "I want to... keep doing it."
Hutch's eyes narrowed. Then a snort. "I don't believe this. You're horny again. It doesn't matter who you go home with, does it?" His voice was edged with disapproval.
Starsky protested, "I'm not horny." Then challenged, "Wanna feel?"
Hutch stood and backed away from the couch. "No, I don't want to 'feel'." He ran his hand through his hair. "You've obviously been spending too much time listening to Lisa Thompson." A forced laugh. "Starsky, this is nuts."
"Why?" the other demanded. "Why shouldn't we do it together? I love you, you love me. I don't love anyone else, you don't love anyone else. And you like doing it that way."
Hutch's head jerked up. For a long moment he glared at his partner. Then, voice deathly quiet, he said, "Lisa Thompson has a big mouth."
Starsky hadn't meant for his statement to emerge like it had. But now that it was out, he pressed the issue. "But... she's not the only one you've ever done it with, right?"
"What is this?" Hutch demanded. "Some kind of sex survey? Pardon me, buddy, but I got my fill of that with Kira. If she hadn't started in with all her questions and all her rationalizing, I never would have slept with her that day, and then..." Hutch squeezed his eyes shut and his voice became small. "And then I never would have hurt you like I did." His eyes opened, revealing his pain.
Starsky knelt on the sofa. "Hutch, I -- I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that… that if you like doing it like that… then… it would just make everything easier."
"Easier for me or for you?" Hutch challenged.
Starsky thought about that. "Both," he decided. "I mean, normally, I wouldn't ever want to do anything like that -- have it done to me -- but if you're… you know, if you know what you're doing, and if you like doing it, it just seems...." He was at a loss for better words.
The blond's eyes narrowed. "Let me get this straight," he said harshly. "You're saying, after all these years, that you've suddenly decided you want a cock up your ass?"
"Not a cock. Your cock." Starsky shook his head in exasperation. He wondered if someday he'd be able to look back at this conversation and laugh. Softly, he said, "Hutch, I love you so damn much. And I want to be close to you. Close as humanly possible. It just seems we could be more -- more intimate than we ever have before if we, you know, go all the way. I mean, if we did it with each other…" he shrugged, the simplicity of it so clear, "then we wouldn't need to do it with anyone else."
Hutch paced a few steps. "So, that's what this is all about? Making sure we each never see anyone else? That's being awfully possessive, don't you think?"
"So?" Starsky countered. "You telling me you like it when I see so many different women?"
Hutch softened. "Starsky, if we give up women, we're giving up... 'the dream'. A chance for what everyone wants."
The other's voice was firm. "Hutch, I don't dream that dream any more. I gave it up. A long time ago. I got something better. You." But it suddenly occurred to him that his partner might have different feelings. Starsky's voice became quiet. "Hutch, if... if you still want to pursue it, I'd step out of the way. When it was necessary." He swallowed thickly, knowing he wasn't disguising his reluctance to do as he promised.
The blond stopped pacing. "I don't dream it anymore, either," he admitted softly. Finally, he sat in an easy chair. After a long moment, he asked, "What exactly did Lisa tell you?"
"That you're good at it. That you like it. More than… than the other. That you make it incredibly good for your partner."
Hutch closed his eyes briefly, then gazed at the floor. "Vanessa would never let me do it to her," he said quietly. "I was always… fascinated by the idea of it. The mystery of it. The eroticism of it because it was taboo. She thought it was 'dirty'. After the divorce, I was able to experiment a little. But I found out to really have your partner enjoy it, you have to know what you're doing." Shyly, he said, "I paid attention, learned from every opportunity." He looked up at Starsky. "It's supposed to be better for men. I mean, being on the receiving end."
Starsky lowered his own gaze, unable to meet his partner's eyes while discussing such a sensitive, personal subject. But he understood what Hutch was saying; he'd read something himself along those lines over the years.
"Starsk," the blond sighed, causing his partner to look up, "I -- I don't know anything about doing it with a man. I mean… the rest of it."
Starsky shrugged. "Neither do I." Then he grinned. "I'm as virgin as they come."
Those kind eyes gazed at him a long moment, calculating. Then, seriously, "If you're such a virgin, then how can you know that you want it?"
Starsky rolled his eyes. "I told ya. I don't want it. I want you. I wanna…" his voice softened tenderly, "be with you. Share it with you, all that pleasure. Make you feel good all over. Make you happy that you're doin' it with me." His gaze dropped to the floor, and he softened his voice even more. "I just thought… that… it'd be something real special, for both of us, to be doing something so... private and personal… with the one person we both love and trust most in this world."
There was silence for a long time. Then Hutch jumped to his feet. "This is nuts. I can't believe we're having this conversation." A brief, harsh laugh. "Sorry, buddy, but I think your gonads have taken over your brain once again." The blond moved to the refrigerator.
Starsky sat staring at the carpet. The harsh words didn't hurt. Hutch was now in his "contrary" phase, which meant agreement wasn't far behind.
He closed his eyes. Before the night was over, they would…do something. Something so intense and private and special that it would take their partnership to a new level. A place where they had never been before. A place they would never want to leave.
There was the sound of Hutch taking a sip behind him, and then a hand dropped onto Starsky's shoulder. Gently, the blond said, "Pal it's not... I mean, it isn't," he rested his beer on the back of the sofa as Starsky turned to look at him. Their eyes met. "It's not that I'm turned off by you, or-or anything like that. It's just… crazy. That's all." He moved away from the couch.
"That's fine," Starsky noted levelly. He turned and settled back against the arm of the sofa, hands behind his head. "We'll both just go on pursuing shallow lays, getting our rocks off, and feeling empty when it's over. And keep seeking out each other's company when we aren't fucking, because being with each other is where all the nicest feelings are."
Hutch rubbed at his temples. "Damn, you're stubborn."
"I'm also right."
The tall figure was very still. "Are you saying that you want us to, after spending all day with each other, come home and sleep together? Every night? As if we don't get enough of each other on the job?"
"Well, I don't know if it would have to be every night," Starsky stated reasonably. "But the idea is kinda nice. And for your information, we don't get enough of each other on the job. That's why we used to always spend so much of our off-duty time together." His voice lowered. "And why recently, when we haven't spent much time together, we've missed each other." Hutch only blinked, as though he wanted to argue, but nothing came out. Calmly, Starsky added, "Sure, Hutch, we'll fight and all that, but we do that anyway. Every day. It just seems that, this way, the good times wilt be even better." He felt a grin over take his face. "Better than they ever have before, because we'll be makin' each other feel so good."
"Damn," Hutch muttered softly. He sat down in the easy chair and buried his face in his hands.
"Is it really so hard just to say yes?" Starsky asked. "Just to agree to... try it?"
The head came up, and then shook slowly, gentleness over-taking the pale features. "Starsky, don't you understand?" the blond asked with quiet intensity. "I can't just… play with you, like you're some one-night stand. Experiment with you, just to see if we like it. If we... allow ourselves that kind of closeness, it's going to open a door that I don't think can be closed. It-it-it'll... commit us."
Starsky's heart beat wonderfully at the way Hutch was trying so hard to work it through. "Big dummy," he said with affection. "I'm ready to be committed. That's what I've been tryin' to say. When you think about it, we've already been committed to each other. For years. Saving each other's lives and watching each other's back and all that. I guess this would just… consummate it."
Now a soft laugh as the blue eyes crinkled around the edges. "You're such a damn romantic."
Seriously, Starsky said, "You have that effect on me."
Another laugh, this time bashful. Hutch took a sip of beer, eye on his partner.
Starsky sighed heavily and scratched at his chest. He wondered if Hutch was waiting to be pushed, so the blond wouldn't feel responsible for anything. While he considered that, he noted that the other's gaze dropped from his face, down to the rest of him, seemingly to catalog what he saw.
Then Hutch looked away. "Starsky, this is nuts."
"You've already said that," Starsky pointed out. "What are you afraid of?"
The blond looked up, eyes narrowing as he considered the question. Then, unsteadily, he admitted, "That I'll like it."
When it was apparent that was all Hutch had to say, Starsky noted, "I sure hope so."
"You're so damn sure of yourself."
Starsky shook his head. "Not of myself. Of you."
A brief snort. "That's great. You realize what this does to me? It puts all the pressure on me for a grand performance. If Lisa hadn't told you what she did, you wouldn't even be considering it."
"Then we owe Lisa one, don't we?"
"You stubborn imp," Hutch began.
"What's so funny?"
"You. You trying so hard to say no when you want to say yes."
Hutch came toward the couch. He stopped, standing beside it. For a moment, he looked lost. Then he pushed Starsky's legs to one side and sat. A hand went to the other's forehead. "Ah, Starsk."
Starsky scratched lightly along the nearest thigh, waiting for the rest. When there was only the feel of the large hand scratching into his hairline, he said, "I know that you know that it's on the table now, that the thought is out there." He closed his eyes, letting his feelings drift up from his chest to his vocal cords. When he looked at Hutch again, his voice was soft. "I wanna do it. So much. Do it with you."
The puzzlement in the other's blue orbs shifted to kindness, then tenderness. Starsky's cheeks were taken in both hands, and then that mustache was coming toward him.
He closed his eyes again.
He felt the full, puckered lips just before he felt the strip of hair. The lips pressed, their noses bumping, and the hands against Starsky's cheeks grew firmer determined to hold them in place.
When the pressure disappeared, Starsky said breathlessly, "You do that real nice."
Hutch looked away to hide a bashful grin. Then he laid a hand on Starsky's shirt, gently massaging along the cotton. "You're right. The thought's out there… no turning back." He shifted uncomfortably. "Damn, I wish you weren't so eager. You don't know what you're doing to me."
"Gettin' all horny for me?" Starsky teased. For himself, he was just simmering in a nice way.
Hutch's hand moved slowly from Starsky's chest down to his stomach. Seriously, he said, "I've got to be able to... slow it down."
"We'll work it out." Starsky took Hutch's hand and kissed its center.
The other's orbs were raking over him. Finally, Hutch said "G-guess we ought to get more comfortable."
Starsky felt a grin overtake his face. He pushed his hand back through fragile, blond strands. "Okay." He found it endearing the way Hutch seemed so unsettled.
He got to his feet first and turned toward the bed, but Hutch grabbed his wrist. The blond's breath brushed across Starsky's face. "Shower first."
"Oh. Okay." Whatever Hutch wanted. Whatever Hutch needed.
He took a step in the other direction, but was stopped by hands placed flat against his chest. Hutch's gaze was lowered, and his fingers toyed with a button, as though threatening to undo it. "Starsky, this is crazy."
The hesitation was back. Starsky took the pale cheeks in hand. "Hey," he whispered, "you not likin' anything that's happened so far?"
A slow headshake answered him, his partner still not meeting his eye. "I-I'm just not sure that you realize what you're asking," he confessed feebly.
Starsky stepped closer, brushing their clothing together. "Hey," he said firmly, "I'm not asking. I'm telling." The grip of his hands eased, as did his voice. "Just think of it that way and it'll be okay." The other could now relinquish all responsibility. "Okay?"
Just as his hands released the other, Hutch gripped Starsky's face. The shorter man was treated to a soft, lingering kiss. As though in gratitude.
It felt so good, so perfect, that Starsky wrapped his arms around the blond's back, squeezing tight. The warmth that rose between them was, he realized, what he really wanted most of all.
Hutch made a small, agreeable noise and returned the embrace. Starsky listened to the swift beating of the other's heart, felt the quiver in the other's flesh. "Your motor's runnin', huh?" he whispered.
A hand touched his face, and lips brushed along his own. Hutch pulled back slightly and his eyes glowed with such intensity that Starsky thought his heart might burst.
When the full lips touched his again, Starsky realized that Hutch's hesitation had fled. Hutch was serious now, more confident, trembling slightly with arousal, his kiss more deliberate than any of those previous.
Ah, yes, you big blond beauty. Sweep me off my feet. Ravish me. Devour me. All of me is for you.
A hand wrapped around his wrist, led him toward the bathroom.
Once there, Hutch turned to face him. This time the blond unbuttoned his shirt rapidly and pulled it off his shoulders. Starsky took over with the rest of his clothing, and Hutch turned aside to undress himself. They reached nudity at the same time. While Hutch reached into the shower stall and turned on the water, Starsky stood back and studied the pale form. He'd seen it a hundred times before -- if not a thousand -- and found that its mere appearance did not excite him further. What did excite him was the generous erection raised to partial salute. The spear of flesh that would join them.
Hutch straightened and took Starsky's arm, standing aside to allow him to get in first. Once he was under the water, Hutch joined him.
Before Starsky had a chance to figure out what to do next, he felt two hands and a bar of soap at his back. They started at his neck and progressed down his spine, the motion smooth and workmanlike.
The hands were efficient, turning him this way and that. Starsky didn't mind the handling; in fact, he felt a sense of security that Hutch was taking care of him. To say nothing of the little thrill that was brewing along his veins from all the intimate attention.
"There," Hutch said, putting the soap aside. "Get out and dry off good."
Starsky obeyed, realizing that Hutch was going to stay in the stall and finish his own shower. He rubbed himself dry with a towel, unable to stop from thinking about what this was all for. Wondering how his partner was going to go about it, wondering how it might affect their feelings for each other.
Of course, he couldn't believe that there would be any negative repercussions, or he wouldn't have suggested this in the first place. At worst, he would be experiencing something exciting that had never happened to him before. At best, he and Hutch would find it to be such an exquisite addition to their relationship that they'd want to keep enjoying it.
Starsky tossed the towel onto the rack. Looking in the mirror, he rubbed his hand along his five o'clock shadow. He wondered if Hutch wanted his face clean or preferred him more rugged. Over the sound of shower, he called, "Want me to shave?"
There was a hesitation then, "Yeah."
Starsky was puzzled by the hesitation, then reminded himself that Hutch had never been in bed before with five o'clock shadow, so he probably didn't know if he would like it or not. For a moment, as he spread shaving cream over his face, he felt a twinge remembering what Hutch had said earlier: "This is nuts." Maybe it was. But if it was why was his prick standing at a 90-degree salute? And why was he so eagerly looking forward to Hutch snuggling up in bed with him, wrapping his arms around him, using him so lovingly for his own pleasure?
Starsky grinned as he applied his razor. Sometimes life was too perfect for words.
"What are you smiling about?"
It wasn't the first time tonight he'd been asked that. Starsky turned as the water went off, watching Hutch grab a towel and apply it to his body, not bothering to hide his own generous erection.
"Just thinking," Starsky said, turning back to his task.
Damp arms came around him, crossing over his middle, wet hair fragrant against his face. "Second thoughts?" Hutch whispered.
"Look a little lower," Starsky directed hurrying to finish shaving. "Does that look like second thoughts?"
One arm gripped him a little tighter. The other went lower, and then he was taken in a strong hand.
Starsky squeezed his eyes shut, the sensations shooting from his barrel making his thighs quiver. "Oh, God, Hutch."
The damp body pressed closer. Lips kissed his neck, then were at his ear. "If you want to come, don't hold back."
That was all fine, except the hand gripping him wasn't enough. Starsky's hips arched backwards, and he felt a swelling against his buttocks. The feel of it caused the sensations along his penis to shift near the head and he made an unabashed noise of delight.
The hand stroked, intensifying the sensation, and a flush went through Starsky's body. "Ah, man," he gasped. He let the razor drop into the sink, and he gripped the arm that was around his body with both hands. He wanted to turn around, kiss Hutch, but was afraid of losing the sensation. Starsky was so focused on it that he became alarmed when he felt the hand hesitate, and he encouraged, "That's so good. So good. Keep doin' it like that."
He had swelled so much that the hand had to work harder at keeping its grip. But it did, tightening and loosening around the head, the thumb rubbing at the ultra-sensitive area beneath.
The sensations peaked to a point of no return. Starsky made an incoherent noise.
For a long moment, all he knew was pleasure as the pressure was released. And then his nerves went fuzzy, and he would have collapsed had it not been for both arms now wrapped around him. Instead, they let him gently sink to a kneeling position.
Starsky gasped repeatedly, strong hands still holding him. A subtle chill began to replace the fuzziness, and he let himself collapse back against the warm flesh behind him as Hutch was also kneeling.
"Ah, man," was all Starsky could manage, his tone richly appreciative.
He could feel hardness poking near his spine. But Hutch's voice was very soft. "That feel good?"
"You kiddin?" Then jokingly, "Sure you haven't been practicing?"
"Just on myself. When I was a teenager, I mean."
Starsky chuckled. "Right." He couldn't resist any longer, and he twisted just enough so he could turn to look at his partner. Hutch looked both tense and serene. "Want me to do it for you?" He wondered if he could perform nearly as well.
The blond presented a partial shrug. "Maybe. Let's get in bed first."
It seemed so practical. Starsky wiped at the shaving cream still on his face. He felt whiskers. "I gotta take care of this first." He stood on legs that felt wonderfully wobbly and turned to pick up his razor.
Hutch was drying his hand off. "Then it's my turn."
As Starsky finished, he wondered if he wanted Hutch to. After all, his partner didn't have course hair, and it might be interesting to feel that gentle stubble against his skin. He was never one who wanted his bed partners clean to the point of near sterility. He liked the feeling of naturalness.
But Hutch had already applied shaving lotion so Starsky wrapped a towel around his waist and left the bathroom. He thought it odd, and yet not, the comfort they felt around each other, even when broaching this new plane. As he got into bed, he wondered if maybe Hutch would prefer a blowjob over being jerked off. He liked the thought of the intimacy the former presented, even if he didn't have any confidence in his ability to do it well. On the other hand, maybe Hutch didn't want to come until they did... that. Hutch seemed to know what he wanted to do, how he wanted to go about it. Starsky knew he could count on the blond's guidance.
Hutch switched off the main light before appearing in the shadow of the sleeping area. He, too, had a towel about his waist. Starsky was about to make a comment about the incongruity of it -- after all, they'd seen each other naked plenty of times so their physical appearances held few surprises -- but found that he preferred to let Hutch speak instead.
"How you doin', pal?" the blond whispered while getting beneath the covers.
"How do ya think? My prick just got beat off by a master, and now I'm in bed with someone who's gonna take me to Wonderland."
That brought a bashful snort. "Wonderland? Is that what you think it's going to be like?"
"Well, I don't know," Starsky admitted. But surely it wouldn't be terrible. Nothing like he used to always imagine it would be between two guys. Hutch would be good at it.
The other still seemed to be waiting for a response and Starsky said, "Want a blowjob?"
The pale form moved closer. "Let's do this first instead."
Next thing Starsky knew, Hutch upper body was on top of him and the blond's lips pressed against his own. So gently at first, but then with increasing pressure, and Starsky responded whole-heartedly, loving the fuzziness that returned to his veins. He wrapped his arms around Hutch and tipped them both onto their sides.
"Ah, man," he said when they parted, his hands stroking through the delicate strands of hair. "Didn't know it could be so good."
"I didn't either," Hutch replied with a happy laugh. He kissed Starsky, then said, "It never occurred to me. Other than… you know."
"Yeah, I know," Starsky said as he ended up on the bottom again, Hutch sitting on top of him, "it was one of those in-the-back-of-my-mind-but-never-really-thought-about-it things."
"Little devil," Hutch scolded with affection, bending close so that his breath brushed across Starsky's face. "You and all your brilliant ideas."
"I'm not complaining," Starsky said, his voice this time full of happiness and challenge.
"I'm not ether," Hutch admitted, ducking to capture Starsky's lips once again.
They let it last a long time. Starsky was aware of the taut cylinder poking at his upper body, and when they finally pulled apart, he whispered, "Need to come, don't you, pal?"
Hutch only closed his eyes in answer.
Starsky wasn't sure what that meant. Sympathetically he offered "'Fraid you won't be able to again later?"
The other shook his head. "That's not it. Need to come once first, so -- so I can take my time later. I just," a heart-melting smile, "just don't want anything to be over too quickly."
It wasn't Starsky's plan to make any commitments or vows. But after that statement it was so natural to want to offer a solution. "Hey, if it is, we can just do it all over again, night after night." To prove it -- and to stop Hutch from feeling obligated to respond similarly -- Starsky reached out and took the turgid flesh in a firm hand.
Hutch closed his eyes again.
"Like to suck on it," Starsky said, tugging on it in an attempt to bring it closer. "Don't know how good I'll be, but we all have to start somewhere."
Hutch inched closer, but still he was obviously holding back, as though not wanting to force Starsky.
"S'okay," Starsky encouraged. "Wanna taste it, just like I wanna taste all of you. Experience everything."
Hutch allowed himself a groan and let his erection bump against Starsky's mouth. Starsky's lips parted and he leaned forward, eager for more, surprised at how it completely filled his mouth. The skin felt thin and soft, though thoroughly stretched, the ridges of the head very pronounced as he explored with his tongue.
A hand settled on his head and Starsky closed his lips tighter and sucked along the generous length. It did feel good. Not offensive at all, like he thought it might be with another guy. But this wasn't anything like "another guy". This was Hutch, the man whom he wanted to please more than anything. Make everything perfect for.
He wondered how he was doing, even as his jaw muscles were tiring. Hutch was moving back and forth within him, not speaking, but making low groaning noises. Starsky wished he had told his partner that it was okay to guide him, tell him what would make it better.
The intimacy Starsky had wanted was there -- he felt very close to Hutch, doing this for him. And yet, there was room for more. Starsky placed a hand on the blond's waist, let it drift down and around to a buttock. He squeezed, surprised at how pleasurable it felt to do that, and felt vindicated when Hutch groaned louder. Starsky grabbed more of the firm flesh, his fingers inching near the depression of the cleavage. He wasn't sure Hutch would want him to play there. But being so near, he couldn't help but think of what it might be like to some day know that area so well that he would feel it was his to penetrate whenever he pleased. And even as his groin responded enthusiastically to the thought, Starsky reminded himself that that wasn't the point of what they were doing tonight. He wanted to take all his lessons from Hutch, so he could be as good as he knew Hutch would be when he took his opportunity.
"Buddy," Hutch gasped, "getting real close. I'll tell you when. You don't have to swallow it."
They were both so anxious to make sure the other didn't have to do anything possibly deemed unpleasant. Starsky now used his hand to press the buttock closer, trying to communicate that Hutch didn't need to pull out right before. Then he got a better idea and, with his other hand, gently squeezed the blond's taut scrotum.
"Oh," Hutch groaned. "Oh, dear God." Starsky fingered the pouch, studying the mixture of textures, liking it that he could hold Hutch prisoner like this, the blond not daring to pull back when such a vulnerable area was in another's hands.
"God, GOD." Through the corner of his eye, Starsky saw abandonment as Hutch threw his head back. He didn't try to pull away. Instead, he listened as a powerful yell gave way to an agreeable whimper.
The flavor didn't register until a moment later. It was salty and bitter. Starsky let the organ drop away, and then he deliberately swallowed thinking it odd how much closer it made him feel to Hutch.
The blond collapsed to one side.
Starsky lay beside him and kissed the center of the smooth chest. The taste and texture inflamed him more, and he kissed along the brief indent between the pectorals, occasionally lapping to cover a broader area. He pressed his partial erection against Hutch, wanting the other to know how turned on he was again.
Hutch responded, and pushed at Starsky, forcing him onto his back, settling on top of him. He lavished kisses on Starsky's neck and earlobe, then matched his lips to Starsky's.
After they pulled apart, Starsky opened his eyes and found Hutch regarding him with an exquisite tenderness. "Liked it," the taller man whispered. He kissed the bridge of Starsky's nose, as though in thanks.
Starsky kissed his lips. "Anytime you want. Liked doin' it."
"Want to do it to you." With that, Hutch kissed Starsky's collarbone. Then he stuck out his tongue and drew a line down the center of Starsky's chest, seeming to delight in having it entangle in the curled hairs. Starsky placed both hands on the palomino head, helping encourage the eager tongue toward its goal, while also wanting to maintain as much contact as possible.
It felt funny when the tongue brushed along his belly. And then it made him tingle when it made the rugged trek across his pubic hairs, his straining erection bumping the blond's neck and chin. When Hutch moved back a little, Starsky breathlessly directed, "I like it real wet."
Starsky closed his eyes then, not wanting to see anything, so he could only feel what was going to happen. The tongue tickled up the underside of his shaft. It went away a moment, then returned, soaked with saliva, dancing around the crown. "Oh, Jesus," he gasped.
And then a warm, wet mouth enclosed him, while two hands gripped him at the base of his prick, sensations rippling through him. He writhed against the grip, selfish for more, and he could feel Hutch struggling to stay with him as he moved.
Then he gave in and lay still, rewarded when the mouth took more of him and sucked more firmly. It stopped to tease at him, the tongue running along the tip, tasting the slit, and as he gasped at the feeling, Starsky wished he had done the same for Hutch.
He was frustrated when the mouth left him. But when it returned it was again full of natural lubricant, which Hutch swirled around the shaft. The sensation of pure suction returned, and Starsky panted, "Don't stop, babe. Don't stop. Almost there."
Hutch had taken a page from his book, for a hand gently enclosed his scrotum, intensifying the feeling that was building there.
Starsky made a noise which he knew was incoherent. Then he said, "Comin' right now. Right now. Right... n--" the world trailed off into a strangled cry as his body shuddered, the energy flowing from him. He let himself float until the feeling of swallowing disturbed his over-sensitized tissues, and he jerked abruptly.
Hutch straightened. "Sorry. You'd think I'd know better."
Starsky raised up enough to tug at the other's arm. "Come 'ere," he panted. Hutch moved to settle along beside him.
"You're somethin'," Starsky whispered breathlessly, his nose almost touching the other's. "You know that?"
Hutch kissed his neck.
"Man," Starsky continued in the same quiet tone, feeling the most wonderful laziness overtaking him. "I think I'm dead. Just throw a cover over me and bury me."
Hutch draped an arm across him. "Not a chance."
Starsky lay there a couple of minutes, riding the lassitude. Then he felt guilty that they hadn't even gotten as far as doing what they'd intended all along. "Don't care what you do with me now," he said, hoping Hutch took it as intended. "You could hit me over the head with a two by four and I'd never feel it."
Hutch seemed to understand for he moved to his knees. But he asked, "Still want to?"
The blond's voice hadn't masked his own desires very well. Starsky managed a grin. "Sure. Don't see how it can feel anything except nice." He wondered if this was how Hutch always got what he wanted: brought his bedmate to multiple orgasms so that they were too wonderfully drained to care what happened next.
Gently, Hutch asked, "Can you turn over?"
"If I can find the energy." Between the two of them, Starsky was manipulated onto his stomach. He wondered if he really had any idea of what it was going to be like. Hutch's prick had felt so huge in his mouth; he could only imagine how huge it would feel from the other end. But he was anxious for Hutch to do it; that was for certain. He wanted the big blond to take his pleasure from him. "Enjoy yourself."
A hand petted up and down his back. "I am enjoying myself," Hutch whispered, his voice sounding pleased. "Nothing's going to happen yet. Have to get you ready first."
The hand felt so soothing. "Guess I should have brought the Vaseline from the medicine cabinet." He didn't like the idea of Hutch having to leave the bed to get it.
"I use something else, but I'm not ready for that, either."
Starsky was puzzled by the delay, but took refuge in the fact that Hutch knew what he was doing. He let himself melt against the mattress as the hand continued to rub so slowly along his back. It had been concentrated at his shoulders, but now it was near the curve of his waist. The friction left his skin feeling warm, and that, coupled with his two orgasms, convinced Starsky that he didn't have a care in the world.
A second hand joined the first when his buttocks were reached. Each cheek was firmly massaged. Rather than parting the flesh, as Starsky expected, the hands kneaded outward, toward his hips.
'"At's nice," he whispered. "Mmm." He could see Hutch's magic now, how his partner could talk women into doing it. He made them feel so wonderful that no one in their right mind could deny him anything. And, certainly, after all his foreplay Hutch did deserve something special in return.
The hands were now on his thighs.
Starsky let his thoughts drift to where Hutch was headed. He tried to find the place within himself that used to so fiercely believe that he'd never in a million years let anyone do that to him, not even Hutch. After a fruitless search, all he found was an excited anticipation about the level of intimacy they would achieve, a curiosity about how it was going to feel -- and if it hurt a little, that was okay, he'd decided -- and a longing for Hutch to have whatever he wanted.
The hands stopped. Delicate wetness touched the middle of his left buttock. Then his right. Ah, Hutch.
A hand reached up and took the pillow Starsky wasn't using. Softly, Hutch asked, "Will you let me put this under you?"
Starsky shifted onto his side. Hutch folded the pillow in half and held it down, then nudged Starsky until he understood that Hutch wanted him on top of the pillow to prevent it from unfolding.
It was a very awkward feeling, having his buttocks raised thus. But not the first time he'd presented his naked rear to Hutch. His partner had once had the unglamorous task of pulling cactus pricks from his butt when he'd tripped and fallen into a neighbor's garden. There was the painful removal, then the stinging iodine…all performed with the detachment of a physician, but the tenderness of a special friend. Only after the first aid was finished was Hutch merciless in his teasing.
Wetness touched the middle of his back, focusing on his spine, and Starsky shivered. Hutch's tongue lapped at the vertebrae, moving down to his lower back. There, the tongue shifted direction and worked its way back up, passing the center where it started, moving between his shoulder blades. A moment later Starsky felt a brief kiss at the back of his neck.
Starsky had been relaxed for a long time. He grinned. "What do you think? You're damn good at that, blondie. At everything you're doin'."
A brief grunt was the only acknowledgment of the compliment. The mattress shifted, then two firm hands parted Starsky buttocks. A moment later wet flesh touched the center there.
Starsky started, and it was a moment before he realized what it meant. Feeling embarrassed for them both, he pleaded, "Hutch, you don't have to do that."
The air around him seemed heavy with silence, though the hands still gripped his butt. After a moment, a breathless whisper said, "I want to do it."
Starsky hesitated, not sure how to word his protest.
"I scrubbed you myself, silly."
Starsky closed his eyes. Hutch had intended this all along, as part of the foreplay. More seriously, the blond asked, "You don't like it?"
God, how could anyone not like what Hutch wanted to do? Starsky couldn't give an answer, other than to relax against the mattress in defeat.
A hand left one cheek, and he felt it on his back, petting along his skin. "Don't be afraid to enjoy it."
Starsky swallowed. Ah, Hutch.
His cheeks were gripped firmly this time and he felt the wetness again, at his center, the soft flesh washing along the opening there. Starsky's instinct was still to move away, but he fought it. "Ah, man," he gasped, and then felt the tongue stab at him more purposefully.
Jeezus, no wonder Hutch could talk anyone into doing it. After having this done for them, only the most selfish of people would refuse to grant the blond's later request for his own pleasure.
The darting motion stopped, the tongue lapping thickly against him instead. Starsky felt the little hairs of Hutch's mustache along his skin. Even though he was too spent for another orgasm, the quivers that ran through his system teased him like nothing else he'd ever felt.
He squirmed, loving the feeling, but his heart aching. "Hutch, come on," he pleaded. The tongue thrust more determinedly. He reached back to tug at the blond's shoulder. "Come on."
Finally, the stimulation left him. A hand was placed on his lower back and then the worried whisper, "You really don't like it?"
Starsky turned onto an elbow, grasped a leanly muscled forearm and pulled on it, beckoning Hutch forward. "What's not to like?" he admitted breathlessly. Then, softer, "It's your turn, babe."
Hutch was beside him now, and in the darkness Starsky could see tenderness spread over the pale features. "I like to play," the blond admitted.
"So do I, but you gotta be on fire by now. Come on, Hutch, it's your turn. Go for it, babe. We can play later all you want."
Hutch kissed him then, pressing firmly, pushing against Starsky until the latter rolled onto his back, the pillow feeling awkward beneath his butt. Hutch was getting on top of him, covering him, and Starsky realized it was this closeness he wanted more than anything, so much so that he didn't mind that Hutch's tongue was stabbing into his mouth even after what it had just done.
He wrapped his arms around the tall form, trying to increase the closeness, then felt concerned again when the rock-hard erection poked against him.
"Let's do it," he gasped, bracing against the broad shoulders to keep the other from trying to bring their mouths back together. "Come on, Hutch. Your turn. It's your turn now."
The blond started to straighten and Starsky grabbed his forearm. "Wait. Hutch?"
The other bent closer, circling Starsky's lips with his fingertips his expression asking, "Hmm?"
"Can we do it without me turning over? Huh, babe? Wanna see you while you do it." It hadn't occurred to Starsky before, but now it seemed so important. This was for Hutch, and he wanted to watch the other enjoy it, wallow in the other's pleasure.
The blue eyes gazed at him, then Hutch stuttered "W-w-well sure. If, you know you think you can fold yourself up."
Starsky had to think a moment. The necessary gymnastics would be difficult. But he couldn't imagine saying no to anything it would take. "I'm more limber than you think. Go ahead and shove that huge thing into me."
The words had an effect, for Hutch turned away and pulled open a drawer by the nightstand. There was a momentary fumbling and then he produced a plastic tube that had lost its roundness.
"K-Y. It's better than Vaseline."
It was on the tip of Starsky's tongue to say that Hutch didn't need to bother with further preliminaries. He was ready and willing. The waiting was getting difficult, but he reminded himself that Hutch knew much better than he what needed to be done.
In a voice that was almost apologetic Hutch said, "You have to spread your legs."
Starsky spread his legs. In fact, he wriggled until his ass was in the highest possible position.
He felt a jolt go through him when Hutch grabbed his cock in passing, before getting between his legs. It was almost completely soft, spent by the prior activity. He hoped Hutch wasn't going to try to get him worked up again. He just wanted to lie back and watch the other get his.
When Hutch bent to apply the ointment Starsky did what seemed natural and raised his legs to place them over the other's shoulders. This position did feel awkward, cramped, and gave him a feeling of extreme exposure, but also filled him with pride and satisfaction that he could do this for Hutch.
A finger stroked at him, then pushed inside. Hoping to speed things along, Starsky gripped it, trying to show his willingness to take whatever Hutch wanted to put in there.
Hutch paused, a deep groan releasing through his nostrils.
"I want it, Hutch. Can't wait."
Two fingers pushed in. "Starsky, it's going to hurt."
Starsky felt the threat from the pair of fingers the additional stretching that bordered on discomfort.
"So does going to the dentist. But I bet I get a lot more benefit out of this in the long run."
Hutch shifted. "Just let me try to stretch you out more."
Starsky felt the fingers at work. Circling, stretching, rotating. He relaxed, liking the idea of Hutch playing with his asshole, making him ready. It seemed odd that he now truly wanted to feel Hutch's prick in there. That it seemed that's where it should go. And maybe Hutch wouldn't ever want to put it anywhere else.
Starsky squeezed his ass muscles, thinking about possessing it.
"You rascal," Hutch swore breathlessly. He pulled his fingers out, replaced them with the tube. A moment later Starsky felt the runny substance drip down the lower part of his crack.
The blond straightened, forcing Starsky's legs to drop away, and applied a stream of the substance to his own erection. His sides were heaving as he rubbed it along his length taking particular care with the head.
The tube was tossed aside, and a hand rested on Starsky's stomach. "Buddy," came the tender voice, "I'm gonna try to nudge it in, so you don't have to take it all at once." He leaned closer. "You say stop, I stop."
"Big softie," Starsky muttered. It all made so much sense now, how Hutch got women to do it. He played with them endlessly. Licked and nibbled and fondled. Made them not care that it might hurt some. Wore them out with ecstasy before he finally took his own pleasure.
Starsky placed his legs back over Hutch's shoulders as the blond crouched over him.
He didn't want Hutch to have to work so hard for it. Didn't want the blond to feel it wasn't his for the taking. Starsky preferred instead to offer it unconditionally, no permission necessary.
Hutch had his erection in hand, watching as it bumped against Starsky's anus. It felt huge. Thick. Moist from all the lubricant.
"Take a deep breath, partner."
"Let it out real slow."
Starsky felt the air expel through his mouth and nose.
Hutch leaned forward, bracing with an arm next to Starsky's shoulder, his other hand aiming so that Starsky felt the hardness poke more determinedly at the recess.
Hutch closed his eyes, thrust forward. Starsky felt it press against his asshole. Felt more pressure until it almost hurt, then Hutch pulled back. A second later it was pushing forward again, forcing his anal walls to stretch uncomfortably. And then it was gone.
He watched the motion of Hutch's hips. They kept pushing, a little further each time, then pulling back. Starsky lay there, concentrating on anticipating the motion. When Hutch pushed again, he felt himself yield for the intruder.
Hutch grunted, and Starsky echoed the sound, his eyes watering at the huge thickness he'd captured.
"Deep breath, buddy." The blond's voice was trembling.
Starsky did as before, filling his lungs up, then releasing the air slowly. It helped his body accept the foreign invader, and he swallowed with relief.
Hutch was now balancing his weight on both hands. He nudged further and Starsky felt the thickness go deeper. It still hurt around his asshole, but not any more than it already had. The knowledge that the worst was over allowed him to relax even more.
Hutch made a small noise, almost a whimper, and he lowered his chest to his partner's as he nudged in deeper still.
Starsky rose up and wrapped his arms around him. He realized then, arms full of Hutch, that he wanted his whole body full of his gorgeous blond. He relaxed more, accepting the thickness that now seemed to sink in on its own, gravity having taken over. Starsky shifted his cramped legs so that they were wrapped around Hutch instead of over his shoulders.
"Oh, God," Hutch panted in a small voice.
Starsky placed both hands in the other's hair, massaging along the scalp, feeling that he couldn't get enough of Hutch, wanting to feel all of him, wishing the other's entire body could fit inside his own, that he could absorb the other through every pore.
After a long moment, Hutch moved his head and tongued at one of Starsky's nipples. The wet mouth caused him to shiver, and Starsky squirmed in reaction.
Hutch straightened, hands resting on the mattress on either side of Starsky. He pulled back a little, and Starsky felt the firmness along his tract, the stimulation of his sphincter muscle.
The blond's eyes closed, his expression one of worship as he pushed back in, his breath halting and eager.
Starsky tried to arch his ass up, showing his willingness for more.
Hutch groaned. He shifted his hands to Starsky's legs, both holding them and bracing against them, as he began to pump with his hips.
The pressure was immense, but it was pressure Starsky didn't fear. The stimulation was constant, overriding any discomfort. More than overriding… the most wonderful sensation was developing behind his bails, adding to the movement in and out of his asshole.
"Like it, babe," he gasped. "Really like it."
Hutch opened his eyes, and they gazed into his partner's as he thrust harder.
Starsky had been holding onto Hutch, but now he threw his hands back to the pillow, determined to ride out everything Hutch could give him, wanting to intensify the sensations. He could see the look of wonder overtaking the blond's features, and he let everything he was feeling within express itself through his voice and body. "God, God," he gasped. His cock was getting hard, even though he had been thoroughly drained.
Hutch made a noise of his own, closing his eyes, as though wanting to imprint this moment on his brain.
"Love it, love it," Starsky encouraged further his body vibrating with each rapid thrust. "Incredible."
There was a groan that was so deep it almost seemed a noise of pain. Starsky's legs were gripped harder, and Hutch bellowed a noise from within his chest. The sound was masculine, raw, and deep. Suddenly the thrusts stopped and firm pubic hairs were pressed against Starsky's ass. Then, with a weary exhaust, Hutch withdrew. And collapsed to the mattress.
Starsky shifted his legs, finding that the muscles ached but that they still worked. He was also aware that his asshole felt raw and sore as it now sought to clamp around nothing. His prostate tingled with the memory of the intense massage it had received.
He looked over at Hutch.
The blond was lying on his back, still panting. He reached up and pushed at the sweaty bangs along his forehead. Then he turned to Starsky.
They fell toward each other, arms weakly reaching out as limbs loosely wrapped around sweat-damp bodies.
Hutch closed his eyes. "Loved being inside you," he panted, almost bashfully.
"Loved having you inside me." Starsky touched his forehead to Hutch's. "Never knew it could feel like that. Felt like I was flying."
His partner had found a towel and was using it with cautious hands. "Terrific. Now you'll start getting horny for guys."
Starsky knew it was a joke, but his reply was completely serious. "Hutch." He got up on an elbow, leaning over the other. "As long as we can make each other feel this good… well, I don't know about you, but I don't need it from anyone else."
Hutch tossed the towel aside. He turned to his partner and took the other's chin gently in hand. Then he leaned forward until their lips met. Starsky smelled the other's perspiration, which was such a familiar scent. Hutch pressed against him, and he rolled onto his back, so that Hutch could hug him even tighter.
When they parted the blond pulled back only a couple of inches. He traced Starsky's lips with a finger. "That was special," he whispered tenderly, "doing it with you. Making you feel good."
Starsky took that as agreement. Breathlessly, thinking about how it could be, he said, "You know what?"
"We should call in sick tomorrow. Say we ate something that had been in the refrigerator too long and got a touch of food poisoning. Then we can stay in bed all day."
Hutch snorted with amusement.
"Seriously, Hutch. I really want to. You can do it to me over and over. For that matter, you can sleep with it in me, if you want." His voice softened. "Liked it so much."
The other tapped his nose. "Flatterer," he scolded with affection.
"Not really," Starsky insisted. "I mean, I'm sure it would feel good to you, too. That's what we could do if we stayed home tomorrow. Maybe I could do it to you and you can see how good it felt."
Hutch settled back against the mattress on his side, facing his partner. His mouth formed a smile as his eyes closed. "I have to sleep. We'll talk about it tomorrow."
Starsky watched him a moment, and realized that he himself was probably only slightly less exhausted than Hutch. He adjusted the covers and snuggled beneath them. He was facing the blond, and there was too much heat between them for it to be comfortable pressing against him. So, instead, he wrapped his foot about the other's ankle.
He was seconds behind his partner in yielding to sleep.
"Uh, yeah, Captain," Hutch groaned into the receiver, "lots of Pepto for sure.... I guess the good thing is that Starsky won't be eating out of my refrigerator anymore. I think he's worse off than I am, since he had a lot more of the potato salad.... Uh-huh.... Uh-huh.... Thanks for your concern." Another groan. "If we don't show up tomorrow I guess it means you ought to check the obituaries." He listened a moment longer then hung up. Starsky was sitting in bed next to his partner.
"We're off the hook?"
"Off the roster, anyway."
"Ah, man." Starsky dived at the blond and pressed himself against the other, capturing the full lips, which were already swollen from the morning's activity. They'd awakened before dawn and had already had their first orgasms of the day. Pulling back, Starsky noted, "You lie so well."
"Guess I ought to keep lying, if this is how you're going to react."
Starsky swatted the exposed rear. After the expected yelp, he gripped it and said, "Man, after today is over this is going to belong to me. No one else."
Seriously, Hutch said, "I feel as if I've always belonged to you."
Starsky kissed him. "Keep talking like that; it drives me crazy." Hutch rolled them over so that he was on top.
Starsky lay there while the other's lips descended upon his own. He could feel the stout erection poking at his groin, and he arched his hips to meet it. He'd felt like he was flying last night, because of what Hutch did to him. Now he was flying still, even higher than before. This warmth, this closeness… all more intense now than in the past, and that was something that he'd never thought could be possible.
"We both owe Lisa Thompson a big favor," Hutch said, pulling back.
"Yeah, well, maybe we can send her some flowers or somethin'."
"She'd probably appreciate a more personal thank you."
"You'd better be playing devil's advocate," Starsky growled, "because you gotta know after last night I won't put up with you bein' with anyone else. You're mine."
Seriousness overcame the blond's features once again. After a long moment of studying his partner's eyes, he brushed a hand through Starsky's hair. "I love you."
Starsky collapsed into the mattress, his heart beating more powerfully than his groin. "Ah, Hutch." He melted whenever Hutch said that, even though he usually tried to keep it from showing.
"Things are sure going to be different," the blond said distantly. But he sounded pleased.
"Yeah," Starsky agreed with enthusiasm. "Better. Lots better. Because now we can be together all the time." It amazed him how much he wanted that.
Hutch's eyes slowly closed, as though worshipping the words. "Love you so much," he whispered a moment later.
Starsky kissed him. "Love you ten times that."
Hutch chuckled happily. He wrapped his arms around Starsky and brought their lips together. They didn't speak again until night had fallen.