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SINK OR SWIM
"Where's that partner of yours?"
Starsky looked up from where he was folding a paper airplane. "Well, see, Cap'n, Mother Nature called and he had to make a beeline for the little boy's room." He winked conspiratorially. "Too much bran this mornin'."
"Humph. When he's finished his business I want to see you both in my office."
Starsky saluted. "Yes, El Capitan."
Dobey turned to his office, unimpressed with the dramatics.
Starsky sent the paper airplane flying at the black man's back, but it made a nosedive and landed in Hutch's chair. Dobey had already closed his office door.
Starsky frowned at his lost creation--for he didn't want to get up from his comfortable position and retrieve it--and started folding another. He couldn't do anything more on their current assignment until Hutch returned from sweet-talking the clerk down in Records for files they needed in a hurry.
The clerk was young, pretty, and single. And had lots of nice curves. Starsky grinned inwardly, knowing that Hutch would enjoy looking at her, but that, when it got down to it, he wouldn't be interested. The big blond's nights would now be occupied by his partner.
Starsky shook his head. It amazed him how the world was full of so many different ways of expressing love. And Hutch had decided that the way he wanted to express his love for his partner was to take him to bed.
Of course, it fell right in line with Starsky's own needs, at least for the time being. Hutch had stuttered through an apparently difficult confession, bearing his soul, admitting that he'd wanted to talk to Starsky about it before.
How would I have felt about it if none of the other stuff had happened?
He would have been surprised, that was for sure. For that matter, he was surprised yesterday when Hutch revealed all, but his exuberance that they were both after the same thing over-rode it.
But would I have wanted to sleep with him?
It was hard to imagine turning Hutch down when the other wanted something, because the big blond asked for so little.
But I would have felt funny about it, that's for sure. Still, it's hard to believe we wouldn't have eventually ended up in the sack. As for the long-term association that Hutch was looking for....
That was a harder pill to swallow. Starsky could see them keeping each other amused, meeting each other's needs, soothing away a particularly lonely night, as the years went by. Their own private little secret. But it was difficult to imagine that the only other people either would ever sleep with again was each other. That seemed like closing a door.
At least for Starsky. Maybe Hutch would want monogamy for himself, while Starsky went off to enjoy himself with whomever he wanted.
He frowned now. Seeing others was off limits for the time being. Who knew how long it would be before he felt confident enough to go out with someone again. But at least the wheels were in motion for a cure. It might take forever at the rate Hutch was wanting to proceed, but Starsky couldn't deny that last night had been...magical.
They had eventually moved to the bedroom. Hutch had undressed as casually as if they were in the locker room. Starsky had decided to undress, too, though he didn't see the point if Hutch wasn't going to touch him below the waist.
At first, Hutch's rule had annoyed him. But as time ticked by, with them rolling around in bed together, doing nothing but kissing and rubbing at each other's backs and chests, Starsky was able to see the benefit of it. There was no anticipation--no dread--of when Hutch was going to attempt to touch him in the sensitive area that was the cause of all this in the first place. Knowing that Hutch wasn't going to press the issue had allowed Starsky to simply enjoy what they were doing, without having the expectation of it building to something further.
But it did build, as it was impossible for two bodies to be treated to so much intimate contact without a reaction. Starsky developed a firm hard-on and brought it to his partner's attention. Hutch had more or less responded with a nonchalant, "So?" After all, Starsky's ability to get aroused had never been a concern. It was just that now that he was aroused, he wanted it to receive some attention. But they resumed their kissing, enjoying it for what it was instead of an act of foreplay. Still, his erection wouldn't subside, and eventually he'd remembered that Hutch had said he wouldn't touch Starsky below the waist, but there had been no mention of vice versa. Finally, he'd gotten himself into position and shamelessly humped Hutch's leg. Hutch had let him do it, arms locked around his back, and then holding him close after he'd left his little residue on the soft-haired skin. And then they'd kissed some more.
Hutch had gotten a hard-on, too, but he seemed content to let it be until it subsided when they finally decided that sleep was in order, the air warm and cozy between them.
He'd liked doing it with Hutch, Starsky decided now. Even more than he'd imagined when he'd only wanted his partner to fuck him and get it over with. He'd known, of course, that the trust would be there since, for him, that had been the whole point in the first place. He had also expected a degree of warmth, given the intensity of their feelings for each other. But what he hadn't anticipated was the simple joy in pleasuring each other...making love to the person they each loved most in the world.
Starsky lowered his eyes, creasing the already-creased paper of his new airplane. He'd never had a desire to take Hutch to bed. He'd always enjoyed loving his big blond in other ways. Standing back and watching him. Rallying him whenever he seemed to get down or discouraged. Letting him always have the last word when it seemed important to him. Playing the fool whenever he seemed to need a good laugh. Holding or petting him whenever a show of affection was the only thing that could make it better.
All of those had worked for Starsky, and made him feel complete in the partnership that he and Hutch owned.
And now there was frosting for that already very delicious cake....
"Four o'clock this afternoon...maybe."
Starsky looked up. "No way sooner?"
"Nope." Hutch sat down. "And maybe not even then." He stood abruptly, wearing a puzzled expression, and then pushed Starsky's squashed airplane from his chair. "I see you've been busy."
Starsky tossed his new plane into the air. It went a few feet before making a nosedive. "Dobey wants to see us."
Starsky shrugged as both men headed toward their superior's office.
The black man was wearing a self-satisfied smile of amusement as the detectives sat down. "Hutchinson, I suppose there is such a thing as too much health food."
The blond's face was puzzled again. He looked at their superior and then at his partner, who only shrugged. "What, Captain?"
"Remember, son," Dobey said firmly, "moderation in all things."
Hutch started to speak again, but Dobey interrupted by clearing his throat. "How long is it going to be before you get your files?"
"Four o'clock at the soonest."
"In the meantime, you can start working on this." He handed them a sheet of paper. "This is an anonymous tip that we received."
"Tip for what?" Starsky asked.
"The identity of the men who killed Stanley Morrison. You remember--Morrison used to be a detective."
Both men nodded as Starsky accepted the slip. Hutch looked over his shoulder as they read: Try old industrial district for the men who killed Morrison.
"That's all?" Hutch asked.
"All we've got," Dobey replied, "which is more than we had before it arrived. Morrison's body was found in the alley between 2nd and Fleming. That's quite a ways from the warehouse district."
"That murder was months ago," Starsky said. "I wonder why the tip is just coming through now."
Dobey shrugged. "We may never know. But I want you two to see what you can find out while your other case is waiting for R&I."
"Right, Cap'n." Hutch stood and Starsky followed him to the door.
"Oh, and Hutchinson," Dobey was grinning again. "Remember: moderation in all things."
Hutch nodded obediently as the two stepped into the squadroom and closed the door behind them. The blond looked at his partner. "Do you have any idea what that was all about?"
Starsky picked up his jacket from the back of his chair as they headed out the door. "Yeah," he replied casually. "I told Dobey that you'd made an emergency trip to the john because you had too much bran this morning." He shrugged. "I guess he believed me."
Silently, Starsky counted one...two...and then he charged down the hallway.
Behind him, Hutch yelled, "STARSKY!"
* * *
The old industrial district covered some ten square blocks. Many buildings were abandoned; some housed machine shops. Starsky and Hutch flashed Morrison's picture to some homeless people on the street and paid generously while requesting if any recognized Morrison or had seen him in the area months before. None had.
While Starsky bought hot dogs for them both from a mobile stand, Hutch found himself looking up and down the length of the block. Surely, Starsky was thinking the same thing as himself: they weren't far from where Starsky had been assaulted.
He was reluctant to voice the thought. Apparently, Starsky was, too.
Besides, they had much more pleasurable things to look forward to when their shift was over.
* * *
Hutch waited until they were warmed up, flesh warm and fuzzy from having kissed leisurely since abandoning their clothes. He hadn't stated any rules this time, but was pleased to see that there was nothing hurried about his partner's actions. Even without forced restrictions, Starsky seemed content for them to once again enjoy what they could, without making an issue of the direction they were headed.
The perfect time to introduce a new technique.
Hutch pulled back, lips releasing his partner's with a reluctant sucking noise. "Starsk?"
The other opened his droopy-lidded eyes. "Huh?"
"Want to do like a mirror?"
Starsky blinked, as though trying to get his brain in working order. "Mirror? Whaddya mean?"
The other looked so kissable that Hutch hated to interrupt what they'd been doing. But, hopefully, this would be even better. He turned down to Starsky's feet and propped himself upon an elbow, so that they were facing each other, on their sides, head to waist. It was hard not to notice the almost-full erection in the vicinity of his mouth.
"What are we doing?" Starsky asked curiously.
"Put your hand on my butt."
Starsky did...without hesitation, Hutch noted tenderly.
Carefully, Hutch also put his hand on Starsky's hip, keeping his touch light. "What I want you to do," he said, "is touch me any way that you want to be touched. My hand will only do what your hand does." When the other didn't say anything in reply, he prompted, "So, explore all you want. Or as little as you want."
The hand on his rear moved a few inches, as though testing, and Hutch moved his own hand as well. He was gratified when Starsky relaxed against the mattress. He, too, allowed his cheek to drop to the sheets.
The hand slowly moved down his buttock, then back up. As Hutch followed suit, he was pleasantly surprised that Starsky was willing to be touched so much in that area. His partner was demonstrating an unexpected boldness, but not one born of martyrdom, such as when he'd wanted Hutch to simply fuck him. It seemed that Hutch's ploy was working, for Starsky trusted that Hutch's hand wouldn't go anywhere he didn't want it to go.
Their hands skipped the crevice and moved to the opposite buttock. There, they rubbed leisurely.
After a time, Starsky said, "You know, for someone who's tall and pretty skinny, your butt sure has a lot of cushion to it."
Like it? Hutch wanted to ask. Instead, he said, "So's yours."
"Yeah, well, I've always been a pretty compact person. One just wouldn't expect someone with your build to have much substance to their ass."
"I like how yours feels," Hutch told him. It was as close as he'd come to reminding Starsky how deep his feelings...and yearnings...ran. He was making an effort to not squeeze the flesh beneath his hand.
He felt Starsky relax further against the mattress, the other's hand continuing to wander across Hutch's buttocks. Hutch relaxed more, too, enjoying the simple pleasure they were providing each other.
After a time, Starsky shifted and Hutch felt a soft touch against his scrotum. His legs parted as he also shifted to copy the action. Now, the gentle digits rubbed lightly against his tender skin.
"Ah, that's nice," he purred, mirroring the activity.
The exploration continued, fingers against his pouch hesitantly feeling along their shape before becoming bolder and pressing more firmly. After a time, the fingers moved back to his buttocks. They rubbed again for a moment. There was a pause. Then, so gently, fingertips crept into the crevice dividing them.
It seemed such amazing progress that Hutch was tempted to stop the exploration for now. Starsky had come so far, exhibiting no negative reaction to anything Hutch's fingers did. But there had to be a limit, for surely The Creeps had left their imprint.
While Hutch contemplated calling a halt, Starsky's fingers crept deeper, creating a tingle of exposure within the blond. His fingers copied the action.
Starsky gasped, then froze.
Hutch did as well, cursing himself for not stopping this mere moments ago.
He could sense the beating of the other's heart. He wanted to take his hand away, but Starsky still had his own fingers frozen in place, and Hutch thought it more important to keep demonstrating his determination to mirror his partner's action, and do nothing more...nor less.
After a timeless moment, Starsky swallowed thickly and moved his hand back on Hutch's rump.
Hutch did as well.
Starsky swallowed again. Gruffly, he said, "I keep trying to tell myself that it shouldn't matter. You aren't going to do anything to me that I don't want you to do."
"Starsky, it does matter. That's why you stopped just now. It went further than you're ready for." Hutch gentled his voice. "That's all. You'll feel less threatened with time. It's amazing that you were willing to do this much...let me run my hand all over your ass."
The other didn't reply, but Hutch could sense his partner's self-deprecation. He shifted into a sitting position, nudging his partner onto his back. Starsky's eyes were bright with shame and frustration.
"Hey," Hutch leaned over him. "Look at me." He bent close to the rugged features as the hesitant eyes obeyed. "I love you so much." He blinked, feeling his chest swell, and reminded, "The night's still young."
The bright eyes softened just before Hutch lowered his head.
Starsky's lips were warm and receptive beneath his. The love Hutch felt intensified as the other's arms came around him, Starsky showing his willingness to put the prior disappointment behind them. They kissed for a long time, the blond stretching out on top of his partner. He was willing to relinquish Starsky's lips only when he felt a promising hardness swelling against his thigh.
Hutch pulled back and gazed down at the other's love-soft features. He whispered, "There's something I've been wanting to do for..." he hesitated, then admitted, "it seems like a long time now."
A spark of curiosity flared in the deep blue orbs.
Hutch kissed Starsky on the chin. Then he buried his face into the other's chest rubbing his cheek against the mat of hair, swirling his tongue about it. He moved downward, making loud smacking noises as he devoured the other's flesh along his journey. Starsky squirmed and quivered beneath him, occasionally gasping at the force of his partner's attack.
When Hutch reached the groin, he briefly rubbed his cheek against the stiff erection. He allowed his mouth to fill with saliva. And then he lowered himself on it, his own erection hardening with excitement.
Starsky made a noise of disbelief. And then his hands were in Hutch's hair, frantically rubbing and petting.
Hutch slowed his pace, determined to take time to enjoy the thickness filling his mouth, the little cries and gasps that signaled his partner's pleasure.
He sucked leisurely.
* * *
The fat man moved away with his food, and now the person in front of them was at the window of the hamburger stand. Starsky fidgeted, anxious for it to be their turn in line. He glanced down the block and spotted a refuge.
He nudged his partner. "Hey, get me the usual. I need to get some spark plugs." He indicated the shop on the opposite corner.
Hutch glanced at the shop, then at Starsky. "I don't have enough cash."
Starsky took out his wallet and slapped a five into his hand. "There." He then trotted briskly toward the auto parts store.
Upon entering, he made a left so that he was looking out the front window. He stared back toward the hamburger stand.
Hutch was waiting patiently in line, his tall form slightly hunched as he rested a hand against his back pocket. His other hand held the five Starsky had given him, which could be seen flapping in the breeze. The blond now frowned up toward the sun, as though wishing he were wearing his shades.
Starsky took a deep breath, but it did nothing to still the thundering of his heart. It had taken all his willpower to stand next to Hutch and appear as nothing more than the partners they'd always been. The urge had been so strong to butt his head against Hutch's shoulder, rub his cheek against the cotton of the other's plaid shirt, perhaps nuzzle his nose against the taller man's armpit.
What are we going to do? Starsky wondered. He thought the question forlornly, but couldn't deny the excitement that was there, too.
He had been disappointed in himself last night. Hutch had presented a brilliant means for allowing them to increase their physical closeness with each other in a totally non-threatening manner. And yet, the minute there had been the slightest hint of Hutch's fingers touching him intimately, he'd felt himself freeze, his heart pounding wildly at the remembered pain.
Hutch, of course, had taken it in stride. Not only had he not seemed surprised or disappointed, but he had continued with the pleasuring, culminating in the most wonderful blow job Starsky could ever remember receiving.
But it wasn't just because of the technique, Starsky admitted now. In fact, he wasn't sure it was because of technique at all. It was the way Hutch had gone about it, even verbally admitting he'd been wanting to do it. And then that gold head was lowered over Starsky's groin, taking his rock-hard cock into his nicely lubricated mouth. Hutch had sucked on him as leisurely as if he genuinely enjoyed it.
And it had been a turn-on watching him do it.
After his orgasm--which Hutch swallowed eagerly--Starsky had wanted to do nothing more than to roll over and fall asleep. But his partner was aroused and it just didn't seem fair to let him go another night without returning such freely given pleasure. So, they had traded places. There were no words or further foreplay. Starsky had felt desperate not to allow himself to think as he took that pale, smooth-skinned hardness into his mouth. For there had been a time when he'd thought sucking another man's cock to be the ultimate in demasculinization...next to being penetrated.
He'd felt terribly self-conscious as he went about his task. He wanted to hurry so the awkwardness would be over as quickly as possible.
But then he'd felt a hand beneath his jaw, gently pushing him back until only the first couple of inches remained inside his mouth. And then his partner's tender voice had directed, "Easy, buddy. I like it best just behind the head."
Starsky had relaxed then, the kind words reminding him that this wasn't a cock in his mouth, but his partner, who only wanted--and deserved--to feel a special pleasure. He ran his tongue along the underside, just behind the ridge, knowing where the special spot was, feeling ashamed that he hadn't paid more attention when he knew better.
He was determined, then, to make it up to Hutch. And he'd stayed with the other, gently milking him, even when his jaws got tired. He grew bolder upon hearing his partner's agreeable whimpers, and reached down to squeeze his scrotum. Hutch had liked that. He'd come moments later, yelling loudly.
They'd both fallen asleep shortly thereafter.
Now what, pal? Starsky wondered.
He knew what he wanted to do tonight. He knew when his fear was going to emerge, and he was determined to fight it. Hutch wasn't going to push him on the matter, so he was going to have to push himself. As it was, he'd enjoyed what they did last night before he'd frozen up. Running his hands over Hutch's ass. Scratching at his balls. While he had his own hang-ups about going further, Starsky was now intrigued with the idea that Hutch might not have any at all. After all, the blond had obviously given this all some thought before the incidents with The Creeps. Maybe he wanted to be played with. And then some.
Hutch was now at the serving window and Starsky lowered his gaze. He could feel the tightening in his pants even as he thought about the possibilities, and tried to view their love-making and potential lovemaking as Hutch did. Already his chest was expanding, merely from the idea of their increased closeness. Sex wasn't everything, but there were times when it was the ultimate form of communication between two people in love.
Starsky grinned now, scoffing silently. In love? Don't know about that one, buddy.
Or maybe the idea seemed so far-fetched because it implied that their love for each other had changed.
But it hasn't changed, has it, Hutch? We love each other like always. It's just the way we show it to each other that's changed. That's all.
Tonight, the way they showed it to each other was going to change even more.
Starsky's erection softened as determination now dominated his fantasies. He went back to his partner's side.
"Where's the spark plugs?" the blond asked while handing Starsky his food.
Starsky shrugged. "They were out of the right kind."
* * *
Hutch hung up the microphone after logging out. Gazing out the windshield, he said, "Let's go to my place. It's closer."
Starsky felt too bashful to look at his partner, though he sensed the other's grin. "Okay."
* * *
"Let's do that mirror thing again."
Hutch wasn't surprised at the request, which was voiced more like a demand. They had warmed up quickly tonight, Starsky having seemed more intense and eager than the prior two sessions. Now that Starsky's fear had a more specific definition, Hutch had assumed the other would be all the more hell-bent to conquer it.
The blond lay alongside his partner, head to waist. He felt a hand on his buttock and hoisted himself onto an elbow. "Let's use lubricant. There's some in the top drawer there."
The fact that Starsky didn't hesitate or ask for a reason showed that Hutch's instincts were correct. He watched the other pull a tube of K-Y from the indicated drawer. It was why Hutch had wanted them to go to his place tonight, since he knew he had some on hand.
Starsky had the cap off, and he squeezed a generous amount along the fingers of his hand. Then he tossed the tube to Hutch, and the blond did likewise.
They lay back down. Starsky had his hand on Hutch's hip, and he stammered, "Uhhh..."
They weren't in the best position to do what he wanted them to do to each other. Hutch lifted his leg, allowing Starsky to get his head and arms between them. Then Starsky did the same, and Hutch settled against the mattress and Starsky's lower leg, the other's generous buttocks directly in front of him. He felt himself harden merely from the extra exposure occurring at both ends.
"Remember," Hutch said breathlessly, "I'm only going to do what you do. No more, no less."
"That's what I'm counting on."
Starsky's hand rubbed against his buttock. Then it gripped it. Hutch did likewise, and as he hardened further he wasn't sure if it was because of what Starsky was doing to him, or what he was doing to Starsky.
The hand skipped over to his other cheek and squeezed that one, too. Hutch wished his partner would take the time to slow down a bit, but he wasn't surprised to feel moist fingers inch into the crevice between his own asscheeks. Resigned to the situation, he mirrored the action.
It wasn't until his fingers almost touched the opening that Starsky froze. It was already more progress than last night, but they had just gotten started and Hutch knew his partner would demand more of himself. There was only silence, save the sound of Starsky taking deep, steadying breaths. And then the finger pushed at him.
Hutch wriggled from the threatened invasion, unable to fully appreciate the bluntness of the digit. He firmed his jaw as he did likewise to Starsky, pushing against the opening, hating that he was causing the same offense.
Starsky froze again, and the ring of muscle contracted involuntarily. Hutch was sure his own probably had as well.
Now a finger stroked gently against his asshole. Hutch relaxed, relieved that his partner seemed to realize there was an easier way of doing this. Starsky might grit his teeth and bear his own pain, but he would never intentionally hurt his partner.
Copying his partner's actions, Hutch stroked at the wrinkled orifice before him. He liked feeling along it. This was entirely different than when he'd applied first aid after The Creeps did their number. This was a testing and exploration of pleasure centers. He certainly liked what Starsky was doing to him, and his erection--which had shriveled at the prior bluntness--now surged appreciatively. Starsky's had swelled only slightly, as fear was probably still a strong intimidation.
"Where's the gel?"
Hutch found the tube and stretched awkwardly to give it to the hand that reached back toward him. The finger was removed, there was the sensation of fumbling, and then his lower buttock was pushed aside and a thin substance was smoothed around his anus.
"Here," Starsky said a moment later.
Hutch stretched again and took the tube back. He placed the nozzle against the orifice before him and squeezed. Clear liquid settled upon the bunched muscle, and he dropped the tube to the bed.
A finger was already circling around, nudging against his opening. As Hutch focused upon his own task, the finger gently pushed inside. It didn't seem as invasive this time, now that it was so well lubricated. He hesitated, then did the same thing to Starsky with his own finger.
He heard the other swallow, could see the penis near him retract in protest.
There was a long moment of silence, then the finger penetrated farther. Hutch resisted the urge to wriggle around it to increase the stimulation. He had a job to do.
He pushed his own finger in, feeling the muscle harden around it, trying to reject it.
"Take it out."
Hutch withdrew the digit, relieved to do so, but puzzled that Starsky had made the request verbally, rather than removing his own finger from Hutch's body.
"Just wanna do you," Starsky explained in a gruff voice.
Hutch felt his brow narrow in puzzlement. The whole point of all of this was to conquer Starsky's fear. But tonight, Starsky didn't seem interested in himself.
The other was nudging him with his free hand, the finger of the other hand still inserted. "Turn over."
While Starsky moved his legs away, Hutch flattened himself against the mattress, on his stomach. He felt the other shift behind him, and then the finger was stabbing at him more purposely. It stimulated him, and his penis surged against the bed.
The finger stopped. "Gonna put in another one, if you want it."
Starsky sounded so confident, so sure of himself. "I want it."
Hutch felt the other shift more. There was the sensation of something else probing at him. He made a conscious effort to relax as the ring of muscle stretched as the new finger pushed in.
"Is there enough grease?"
Hutch hesitated a moment. The second finger created an uncomfortable pressure, but now that both digits were moving back and forth, he had to admit that he liked the way it felt. "Yeah," he replied.
"What do you want me to do with them?" Starsky asked. "Want them to go in deeper? Want them to play with the opening? What?"
The blond felt his chest constrict. He'd never imagined Starsky as anything other than kind and considerate in bed. But the other's request for information--solely for the purpose of increasing his partner's pleasure--was so far beyond anything Hutch had expected. It even encouraged him to overcome his shyness about answering such deeply personal questions.
"Want to feel them," he muttered, his mouth against the mattress.
He could feel the fingers wriggle, stretch, bend, teasing. He groaned, then gasped, "Dear God." He didn't want them to stop. Never wanted them to stop.
Then something touched his balls, flat and soft. After a moment he realized it was Starsky's palm, gently rubbing against the back of his scrotum. He gasped again.
With one hand up his ass and another massaging his balls, what more could he ever want?
He moved his hips a little, trying to rub against the sheets.
"Hutch?" Starsky's voice was deep, almost trembling.
The blond only breathed heavily in reply.
"You want another finger? Want me to beat you off?" A pause. "Or do you want my prick?"
Such a short time ago, he'd thought it could happen only in his dreams. Thought there was no way they could come to this. Hutch would have been completely content with either, or both, of the first two suggestions. But he couldn't resist the third. "Fuck me."
There was a pause...a millenium ending and another beginning. Then Starsky said, "Where's the grease?"
The fingers were still inside him. Hutch felt for the tube and weakly held it up.
It was taken from him. The fingers shoved deep within--Hutch could feel the rest of Starsky's hand against his ass--and then they were removed. He missed them immediately.
He spread his legs and wondered if he should get a pillow, then decided he could maneuver on his own into any position that would help Starsky's angle.
There was the quiet sound of gel being handled. Then the soft bouncing of the mattress, the brush of a foot against his leg. The feel of a moist, steel hardness against the back of his thigh. Then his buttocks were parted wide.
Time seemed to stop as he waited to be pierced.
There was only silence. For an eternity.
Then there was a brief, gut-wrenching cry of despair. Then a whispered plea. "No." Hutch got on an elbow and looked back. Starsky had released him and was sitting up, eyes squeezed shut. Hutch could barely make out the shrunken flesh between the strong thighs.
His excitement disintegrated. "Ah, buddy," he said, getting to his knees, taking the other's tense form into his arms. He brought Starsky down on top of himself as he lay back against the mattress. He rubbed up and down the other man's back, determined to not let the disappointment fester.
Starsky only gasped again, as though trying to get his breath.
"Buddy," the blond said tenderly, continuing to pet, "is it because you were afraid of hurting me?" He squeezed with his arms.
Starsky nodded, managing to open his eyes, revealing pained orbs. "Yes."
Hutch pressed the other against him, so that the dark curls rested beneath his chin. "Not wanting to hurt is nothing to be ashamed of." He was relieved to feel the body in his arms start to relax. "Besides," he whispered, "you wouldn't have. Couldn't have. I was as ready for it as I could possibly be."
"I know," Starsky said, voice trembling. He pulled back to look at Hutch. "I was ready, too. But I just--" His expression revealed confusion as he trailed off.
Hutch continued to rub the other's back and shoulders with both hands.
"Wanted so much to give you what you wanted," Starsky muttered against him.
"Already given me more than I'd thought possible." Hutch released his hold, then pushed on Starsky's shoulder until the other was propped on his elbows. The self-deprecation was still there. Hutch couldn't bear it. He pulled the rugged features down to his own soft ones.
He kissed Starsky, a gentle touch on his lips. Then his cheek. Then the other cheek. Then his chin.
When he brought their lips together again, he wrapped his arms around the slightly broader form, pulling it closer.
They had moved too fast. And yet, Starsky had seemed so ready. So willing. So confident, since his focus had been on pleasing Hutch rather than fighting his own demons. But, still, the demons were there.
They had appeared the moment before penetration. As he continued to love the other with his mouth, Hutch wondered what it must have been like for Starsky. His partner had been hot and eager, wanting to complete the act. And then, everything was ready. He had been behind Hutch. In between his spread legs. Pulling his buttocks apart to have greater access.
And then all desire had fled.
Hutch circled his legs around Starsky, locking the other into place on top of him. Starsky's mouth was hot and pliable, showing a willingness to put this new setback behind him. Hutch could even feel the renewed stir of the genitals against his own.
When Hutch had found Starsky two months ago, Starsky had been facedown. Legs parted. No doubt, the Creeps had needed to spread his buttocks wide to insert whatever objects they'd violated his partner with.
Perhaps it was the image that had been Starsky's undoing. Seeing his partner lying there, exactly as Starsky had imagined himself appearing to the Creeps. And that image was associated with extreme pain in Starsky's memory.
Perhaps changing the image would change the association. Starsky was definitely getting aroused again, and now he attacked Hutch's throat, firm nips that caused the blond's own groin to reawaken. He reached between their bodies and took Starsky's gel-coated phallus in hand, stroking it.
Starsky moved down and tongued at Hutch's nipple. The blond groaned, loving the wet feel, wishing the fingers would return to fill the emptiness below. Or better yet....
He gripped the thickness more firmly, then reached awkwardly between their bodies with his other hand and squeezed his partner's balls.
Starsky made a noise of agreement, rubbing his cheek against the smoothness of Hutch's chest.
They needed to try again. He wanted to. Starsky wanted to. "Need the pillows," Hutch gasped, as Starsky sucked in a mouthful of flesh between his ribs. The other was still attacking his torso, so Hutch squirmed beneath the onslaught and grabbed the pillow beside him. He arched up his hips, and Starsky finally moved to one side so Hutch could slide the pillow beneath his own butt. Then he took the pillow from beneath his head and struggled to arch up high enough to fit it between himself and the first one.
Starsky helped out, but his expression looked doubtful.
"It'll be easier this way," Hutch assured, settling on top of the mountain of softness. "Just watch me, buddy." He encouraged the other to get between his upthrust legs. "Watch how much I want it. I'll do the rest." He took his partner's phallus in hand.
Starsky leaned over him, studying his eyes, breathing heavily as Hutch's hand brought him back to full erection.
Hutch lifted one leg so that his foot could rest against Starsky's back. He guided the phallus down to the area below. "Okay, buddy," he panted, pulling it closer until he felt it nudge against his slick opening. "Go ahead and push."
Starsky's eyes brightened with renewed excitement. Hutch felt the thickness pushing against him, but that was all. The deep blue eyes reflected alarm.
"It's okay, buddy, it's okay," Hutch soothed. He thought quickly through his own experiences with women. "Don't be afraid of it feeling too tight." But telling someone who was afraid not to be afraid never worked. "Listen, buddy," he said, hearing the other's thick pants even more than his own, "on three, okay? On three, you push and I'll open for you. Okay?"
The other gave a quick, desperate nod.
Hutch gripped the phallus again, making sure it was still hard enough. Then he held his partner's gaze. "One...two...THRE--" he grunted, forcing himself to open, and something thick and hard surged passed his sphincter muscle.
He closed his eyes against the pressure, at the same time gripping the nearest thigh to keep Starsky from pulling back. "It's okay," he gasped. "It's okay."
He opened his eyes. Starsky was still perched over him, panting heavily, confusion and distress on his face.
"Push," Hutch told him. He took a deep breath, then more calmly assured, "It's okay."
Starsky closed his eyes and pushed again. Hutch was penetrated more deeply, and Starsky let out a long moan.
Hutch grinned, feeling sweat plastering his bangs against his forehead. "Feel okay?"
The dark eyes opened. They looked different now. Hutch wasn't quite sure if it was pleasure reflected there; perhaps wonder was a more accurate description.
Starsky made a small noise--almost a whimper--of disbelief.
Hutch's grin widened, feeling that thickness fill him. He swallowed, then gasped, "You know what I'd like more than anything?"
Starsky's mouth opened, but no sound came out. He barely shook his head.
"I want you to use me to enjoy yourself." Hutch's voice softened as he repeated, "That's what I want the most."
Starsky pulled back, then pushed in harder. Hutch took a moment to raise his other leg, giving his partner easier access. Then he relaxed as his partner began to pump in earnest, loving the feel of the thickness brushing against his prostate, the look of intense concentration on the face above him as Starsky seemed to be listening inward to his own pleasure.
Starsky was thrusting so hard that the bed rocked and Hutch felt his head bump against the brass headboard. There was the sound of flesh against flesh as Starsky's flanks smacked his ass. There was a growl, and his shoulders were gripped hard....
And then quick, shallow thrusts as Starsky was screaming toward the headboard.
Hutch felt a wave of relief wash through him as the pumping motion abruptly ended. Finally, Starsky had the confidence of knowing he could once again successfully complete an act of love.
His partner withdrew and collapsed on top of him.
Hutch felt his protective instincts over-ride his prior excitement. His erection softened as he scratched into Starsky's hair. After a long moment, he said, "That was nice, buddy."
Starsky tilted his head to look up at him. With concern, he said, "But you didn't come."
Hutch closed his eyes briefly, wishing it wasn't so complicated. Gently, he said, "I guess you could say that I understand now what women mean when they say that sometimes the closeness is enough." His voice softened. "I liked it, buddy. It was still stimulating. And...special...knowing that you can get that from me."
Starsky let out a breath. Then he hoisted onto his elbows and kissed Hutch. "Was it really okay? Didn't hurt?"
Hutch shook his head. "Just a lot of pressure at first."
Starsky kissed him again, this time on each side of his nose. When he pulled back, his eyes were bright, and he said, "I feel like a man again."
Tenderly, Hutch replied, "I didn't know you hadn't."
"I didn't," the other admitted. "Not really. Yet..." he trailed off.
"I guess I know what you mean," Hutch said, feeling that he did, though it couldn't be put into words. After a moment, he suggested, "Maybe you're really all right now. Maybe this is all you needed."
Starsky shifted. He picked up Hutch's hand and guided it to his rear. The dark head shook. "If your hand goes too far, I still feel afraid of it. That's why I had to stop what you were doing tonight, so I could just concentrate on you."
"That was a pleasant surprise," Hutch admitted.
A lop-sided grin developed above him. "Yeah. You really like your asshole played with."
Hutch looked away, not knowing how he was supposed to respond to such a mixture of fact and teasing.
A finger brushed across his mustache. More seriously, Starsky said, "You should have told me before."
Hutch raised his eyebrows in disbelief.
"I mean, you've told me you've been thinking about us doin' it for a while. So I figure you've had a lot of time to decide what you'd like doin' and not like doin'. You should have told me before."
Hutch said sarcastically, "Oh, sure, buddy, I can just picture the scenario four or five months ago: 'Starsk, after shift let's go to my place for some scrambled eggs. Then, after dinner, how about doing me a big favor and sticking your fingers up my ass and playing with my nuts?'" He snorted. "I can imagine how well that would have gone over."
Starsky was grinning, then he grew serious. "I woulda done it, Hutch. I mean, it would have been kinda weird but, when you think about it, no more weird than other little quirks you have. I mean, drivin' a car that oughta be condemned, and having something like scrambled eggs for dinner." He briefly lowered his gaze. "I might have thought it was strange, but in the end I would have given you whatever you wanted."
Hutch pushed Starsky to one side. Now that the other's weight was off him, he took a deep breath and propped himself on an elbow. "That just it. That's part of what was making me hesitate to even bring up the whole idea of us sleeping together in the first place. I knew you'd do anything because I asked you to. And, then, I'd never know if you really wanted to or not."
"Same difference," Starsky replied. "What difference does it make whether I was wantin' to do it because I thought of it, or I wanted to do it because you thought of it? If something makes you happy, then it makes me happy to make you happy, so I don't know why it matters whose idea it was."
Hutch blinked, trying to compute what Starsky had just said. On the surface, his partner's reasoning made sense. But in reality.... He shook his head, not up to the task. "I think it's time for sleep." He began to shift the covers.
Starsky sat up, holding his hands away from his body and looking down at himself. Droplets of lubricant was stuck to various parts of him. "I gotta shower." He looked at Hutch. "Wanna use the john first?"
It probably wouldn't be a bad idea, but Hutch shook his head.
He watched the trim, compact form leave the bed and make its way toward the bathroom.
What Starsky said couldn't be true, even if the other believed it was. Starsky wouldn't have been willing to pleasure him like that, if he'd up and suggested it. Starsky would have looked at him like he was crazy. Maybe even laughed at him.
Of course, Starsky looked at him funny and laughed at him at times, anyway. Once, he threatened, in a severe tone, to take Hutch's National Geographic magazines away from him. Would he have really reacted all that differently to Hutch's revelation of a private, deeply personal desire?
Hutch curled on his side and closed his eyes. It didn't matter now. They had conquered a mountain tonight. And there was still another to follow. He hoped climbing that summit would be as rewarding as this one had been.
* * *
Starsky pulled the Torino into the parking lot of the taco stand and turned off the motor. He looked at his watch. It was a quarter until three, so he settled back and resigned himself to waiting.
He wondered if Hutch had been truly as sincere as he'd appeared when he'd shrugged and said, "Okay," when Starsky told him they couldn't get together tonight. The blond hadn't asked for any explanations. Perhaps he'd figured that it was only natural that their intense, every-night sessions had to come to an end. And, perhaps, Starsky's quick assurance that they would get together tomorrow evening curbed any insecurities that would have otherwise developed on the blond's behalf.
Starsky shifted in the seat again, spreading his legs as he ran his hand over his groin. Such a relief to have everything in working order. To be whole again. And it seemed ironic that it had all happened without them ever doing what Starsky had originally insisted was the point of all this in the first place.
In the two evenings since Starsky had proven that he was still capable of fucking, Hutch had spent hours trying to help him conquer the more direct fear. Starsky would never again have a license to tease Hutch about liking his asshole played with. For Starsky himself now fell into the same category, perhaps even more blatantly than Hutch did. For Hutch had corrupted him, seduced him...in the most wonderful way imaginable.
All Starsky could recall about the last two nights was fingers. Fingers up his ass, fingers playing in his crevice, fingers massaging his balls, fingers teasing the area between his ass and his scrotum. Of course, Hutch had started out two nights ago with only one. Had gently probed at Starsky's tight, reluctant muscle. He had patiently stroked and teased it. They no longer did the mirror thing. Like Starsky had for Hutch, Hutch had his whole concentration on Starsky. And every time Starsky relaxed enough to let the finger penetrate a few more millimeters, he was rewarded with its teasing and stroking of the area already conquered. It was a great motivator to allow it to penetrate further.
Starsky wasn't sure if what they'd been doing could even be defined as sex. The only orgasm that had occurred the past couple of evenings had been his own last night.
Hutch had two fingers fully inside him. It was as far as they'd gotten during the prior session, when a call from Starsky's Aunt Rosie just to chat had disrupted the mood and they both were content to fall asleep afterwards. Now those fingers were moving, flexing, stroking, bending, all that activity inside him making him crazy and feeling like his balls were being fondled from inside. Fear was no longer an issue. Those fingers had gone this deep and there was nothing but good things as a result. There was nothing left to be afraid of.
He was on his side, and when his eyes were open he could see Hutch's expression. So serious it was...so concentrated. The blond now grabbed the flattened tube of lubricant with his free hand. As he worked with it, he glanced at Starsky. "Going to put my ring finger in." And then the blond's attention returned to where they were joined.
Starsky laid his head back and closed his eyes. He realized he was sweating in tune to his panting. His prick had been rock-hard for a long time; but demanding completion would mean an end to what Hutch was doing, and he wasn't ready for that yet. But then, he didn't know if he would ever be.
He felt the entry of the new finger. The muscle stretched to accommodate as it slipped inside, but it wasn't even uncomfortable anymore. Hutch had to have practically his whole hand covered with grease, and everything moved in and out easily. Starsky groaned as the three inserted digits now did just that. Moving as a group back and forth, their combined width stimulating the walls of his rectum, rubbing against the back of his nuts. And then they bent, knuckles probing at him, a fingertip reaching back and playing with the ring of his sphincter muscle. Starsky shivered all over, feeling sweat run down into his eyebrows.
Starsky's eyes popped open at the single word. Hutch was shifting so that he was now in front of him, his fingers still inserted. The blond looked up to make sure Starsky was watching. And then he stuck out his tongue and dipped his head. His tongue ran around the crown of Starsky's penis.
Starsky cried out, the sensation shaking him profoundly, but not enough to the pull the trigger.
And then that wet mouth enclosed him.
He came frantically, arching up, his anal muscles spasming around the fingers within. He continued to cry out at the multiple sensations, feeling it was a wave that might never crash down.
But it did crash, and dimly he realized he was gasping for breath, his throat making a high-pitched noise. It was only when he felt the residual after-spurts that he realized the mouth was no longer enclosing him. He squinted his eyes open and saw Hutch bent over his prick, trying to bathe his face in the fountain of fluid.
"Godalmighty," Starsky muttered. He wasn't sure if he were still on this side of the living. "Oh, man. Oh, man."
Hutch had straightened and was watching him from the corner of his eye. The blond stuck his tongue out and ran it along his own lips, then past them, reaching as many of the droplets as he could.
Starsky had no strength left, but a growl emerged. "Demon," he breathlessly accused.
Hutch looked at him without expression. He picked up a towel from the night before and rubbed his hands along it. When he tossed it aside Starsky limply reached out and tugged him down to the mattress.
Though he was totally devoid of strength and felt like he could sleep contentedly for a million years, he maneuvered himself on top of Hutch. He bent and tongued frantically at the drying droplets of semen along his partner's cheeks and nose. He didn't stop when he couldn't taste it anymore. Instead, he continued to lave at the soft skin, licking down into Hutch's neck, tasting the salty sweat. When he felt he'd covered every part he could reach, he held his partner's face still. Then his lips collapsed on top of Hutch's. He sucked and sucked at the other's lips and tongue, then inserted his own tongue, starting a new, desperate exploration of every part of Hutch's mouth, sweeping along the gullies of saliva, trying to brush along the roof of his mouth, wanting to insert his entire self inside there, where it was moist and warm and beautiful; Hutch's life-breath coming through....
He was pushed back, and he had no strength to resist. Hutch was panting. He was panting. His head was pressed against the soft shoulder, a hand resting in his hair.
His face was near an armpit. It was tempting to use his tongue again, nudge Hutch's arm out of the way, and explore the flesh beneath. But they had to stop...at least for tonight. He let the hand continue to hold his head in place.
Starsky swallowed thickly, clearing the way to speak. He was surprised at how small his voice sounded. "I love you."
The hand on his head pressed him closer. An arm that was draped around his waist tightened.
"Sleep," Hutch whispered.
It would be anti-climatic, Starsky decided now, whenever Hutch got around to fucking him. He knew he was cured, at least in a peripheral way. Nothing Josie or any other woman could do to him would hurt him like those Creeps had. Constant waves of pleasure were now the dominant memory. Having things lovingly put up one's asshole could be an exhilarating experience.
Of course, he couldn't cheat Hutch out of fucking him. Even though that in and of itself was no longer necessary, Starsky couldn't imagine denying his partner's right to do it. A part of him wondered if Hutch's continued hesitation was because the blond was afraid it would be the final chapter, and afterwards they would no longer be sleeping together.
Starsky had no such intentions. And he would tell Hutch that if the other didn't leave him so exhausted after literally hours of pleasuring. And they certainly couldn't talk before things got started, for they always departed to the bedroom as soon as they got home and had scarfed down dinner. It always started with kissing, rolling around on the bed together, feeling each other over. And then the night's lesson would begin.
There was the sound of voices and Starsky looked up. Josie had arrived and was waving to the girl at the counter. He got out of the car.
"Hey, Josie," he called.
She looked over at him. He was relieved that she smiled when she saw him. She trotted toward him.
He met her halfway. "Hi, there," he greeted.
She was young, so much so that he wondered why he'd ever gotten involved with her in the first place. "Hey, uh," he lowered his gaze bashfully, "I know I've been a prick for not seeing you sooner, but..." he chuckled self-consciously, "I was pretty embarrassed about..." he shrugged. "I'd like to make it up to you."
She stood there, grinning at him, waiting for more.
"So, uh, are you available tonight after you get off work?"
Her grin widened.