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They ended up in North Carolina. Kitty Hawk, to be exact. After spending the morning learning all about the Wright brothers at the various tourist attractions, they made an afternoon of strolling along the beach. Swimming was kept to a minimum, as Starsky wasn't up to fighting the waves for any length of time.
Starsky was about to suggest they head for an early dinner when he spotted something red, glinting from the beach. He reached down to pick it up, a shell with an unusually deep color. "Look at this," he said, holding it up.
Hutch, obviously sensing Starsky had reached the limit of his stamina for the day, was buttoning a light shirt over his tanning skin. He brushed next to Starsky and took the shell from him. "Hmm. What an odd color."
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking." Starsky ran his fingertips along it. "Really a neat shell, huh?"
Hutch was examining it closer. "Yeah. Never seen one like that before. You going to keep it?"
Starsky took it a moment longer. It would be neat to have it at his apartment, but he found himself strangely sentimental. He heard giggling, and from the corner of his eye he could see two slender women lying on the beach, apparently talking about him and Hutch. He felt uncomfortable. "Not for me to take," he noted, dropping it to the sand.
Now the blond was scolding. "Everybody else does."
Starsky shrugged. "Then let somebody else enjoy it."
Hutch seemed distracted. Then he whispered, "I think we're being observed at four o'clock."
Such an old game. And played purely out of habit. Even Hutch's voice wasn't alive with enthusiasm, but sounded as though he was resigned to the status quo.
Starsky nudged him again, wanting to stop any further interest. Once they started talking to the girls it would be almost impossible to not let the old habits play themselves out. "Hutch," he said in a low, shy voice that carried the touch of a plea, "I'm... you know... not quite up to par." It wasn't a lie. But it also may not have been entirely the truth. He'd thought so little about sex since awakening, he wasn't exactly sure of what he was capable of.
Affection welled up within Starsky as he and Hutch started walking again, taking them away from the girls. But then he was overtaken by guilt as he realized Hutch had no physical limitations. The blond hadn't even had a date since Starsky had first taken ill. "Hey, uh, if you want to talk to them," he gestured awkwardly, "you know, I can find something to do for a few hours. There's lots of things to see around here."
Hutch looked at him, his tiny smile so sincere. "We came here for us, buddy. Other things can wait."
Starsky grinned. "Yeah." They hadn't really talked about anything yet, since there was no sense of urgency. Between Starsky's convalescence and Hutch's being on indefinite leave without pay, they could return home whenever they felt like it. And now, seeing how seriously Hutch was taking this time together, Starsky felt all the more determined that they were going to use this private time constructively, and make the right decisions for both of them.
* * *
They had flown into Raleigh the previous evening. The motel they'd selected was small and a little rundown, but it was near the beach and had a comfortable feel. After eating a seafood dinner in town, they retired to their room, Hutch leafing through the newspapers he'd purchased. Starsky tried some TV, but nothing was interesting, so he picked up the deck of cards he'd brought and laid out a game of solitaire on his bed.
After spending a couple of minutes placing cards on top of each other, he glanced at his partner. At that moment, the blond had also looked up from his reading, as though to see what his partner was doing.
Starsky shrugged his shoulders, trying to rid himself of a painful itch along his back, inside his shirt. "So, is there anything earth-shattering that's happened in the news?"
Hutch grunted. "Nancy Reagan's china set is causing a big uproar."
Starsky reached back and scratched along the material of his shirt. "Sounds serious."
Hutch chuckled softly, then folded the paper in half with an air of finality. "You get sunburned?"
"I dunno," Starsky replied truthfully, scratching harder. He was wearing a nylon shirt, and the material felt slightly coarse.
"Scratching isn't going to help," Hutch said, getting to his feet. The tall frame bent to a suitcase beside the bed, and a moment later he produced a tube of ointment.
Starsky put his cards down and removed his shirt. Ointment of any kind sounded very soothing. He focused on the game again while the mattress dipped with his partner's weight. He flinched at the persistent itch but was determined not to scratch again.
Fingertips brushed against his skin. "Yeah, all along here," Hutch said, tracing a line from his shoulder, down along his back, over to his other side. "It's really bad right here." He tapped a few inches below Starsky's neck, in the center of his back.
Starsky flinched while still placing cards. "Ouch."
Cool moistness touched the area, feeling ticklish for a moment. Then fingers were there, rubbing firmly, spreading the coolness. The motion was so strong that it caused a slight rocking of the bed, which in turn caused the cards to slip from where they'd been overlapped. "You're messin' up my game."
"Yeah, like you want me to stop," Hutch said with knowing affection.
Starsky giggled, because Hutch's point was so true. He gave up on the game and started scooping up the cards. Hutch was now spreading the cream along his right shoulder, which wasn't burned as badly as his back. "You get burned anywhere?" he asked, thinking he'd return the favor.
"Don't think so. I used plenty of sunscreen, goofball."
Starsky chose to let the superior tone pass. "Thought I did, too." The hands were feeling good, so he let his upper body plop forward onto the mattress. "Mm."
Hutch chuckled softly. After a moment, he said, "You've got some on the back of your legs, too."
Starsky fell silent while the hands ventured from his shoulders down to his legs. They were rubbing and squeezing, massaging more than doctoring. He became aware of a stir between his legs, and realized he must be healthier than he'd first thought. Being against a mattress, someone working with his legs, evoked old instincts....
He knew better than to fight it. Hutch didn't need to know about it, and even if he did, he would understand. They'd seen each other in every state imaginable in all their years together. And it wasn't just the number of years, but the intensity of their closeness during that time. A closeness Dobey had called "unnatural".
"You're being awfully quiet."
Starsky made a noise of agreement, but didn't want to share his thoughts. He turned his head so he was facing away, hoping Hutch wouldn't think the gesture a rejection.
The hands slowed, and Hutch teased, "Feeling too good?"
Starsky considered not responding, for he really did want to stay in the circle of his own thoughts, but he knew that was impossible with Hutch so near. Half-heartedly, he said, "Guess we coulda talked to the girls."
Hutch slapped him gently on the back of a thigh. "You say that with all the enthusiasm of a man going to the gallows."
Starsky turned his head back the other way. Hutch was putting the cap on the bottle of ointment. He and Hutch had come all this way to talk about their future. That meant holding nothing back. "Dobey said something to me those last few days I was in the hospital."
Hutch looked at him worriedly, for Starsky's tone was so serious.
"He said that we were `unnatural' together." It felt good to have it in the open, to see his partner's reaction, to talk about it.
Pale brows came together in puzzlement. "Dobey said that?"
"Yeah." Then Starsky assured, "He didn't mean it in a bad way. I mean, not in, like, a dirty way. It was more like he was concerned."
Hutch's tone hardened. "About what?"
Starsky hadn't expected the sudden defensiveness. He kept his tone calm and soothing while getting up on an elbow. "Concerned that we're so wrapped up in each other. That we don't have anybody else. You know, he was talking about families and all that. Always having people there for you."
More harshness. "He doesn't think we're family to each other?"
"'Course, he does." Starsky was all the more determined to keep a cheerful tone. "But we're really all the family each other has — you know, when it comes to having to lean on others. I think he meant it more that, since death is a part of life, if you have more family members in your life than just one other person, then you have more people around you when one of those important people die."
Hutch blinked and drew a deep breath. Then, still hard, "Well, sometimes life doesn't work out in such nice, neat little packages."
"I know that," Starsky soothed. "I'm sure he knows it, too. Like I said, he was just concerned. You know, wondering why we're still bachelors and all that. Gee, Hutch, it's not like I'm trying to say we should go out and get married and start families."
The blond head turned to look at him. The tone was softer, but still full of puzzlement. "Then why did you bring it up?"
Starsky realized it was a very good question, and he knew the answer, because he'd never been very good at pulling veils over his own eyes. He swallowed thickly and pulled himself up into a sitting position, while leaning one shoulder against the headboard. He had nothing to be embarrassed about now; for the conversation, and the need to soothe his partner, had his full attention and the other problem had vanished. "Well, I guess because since we're going to be talking about the future and stuff — this just falls right into that, doesn't it?"
Hutch snorted and his reply carried reluctant sarcasm. "Buddy, I thought we were going to talk about what we were going to do with our lives. Not plan our relationships — as if that's something we can map out in advance." He got up and went over to his own bed, bending to put the lotion back in the suitcase.
"Well...," Starsky reasoned, "a serious relationship would have a big effect on anything we decided. I mean, we'd be looking at things differently."
The shortness was present again in the other man's reply. "But neither of us is in a serious relationship, are we?" He had straightened and was looking at Starsky squarely.
Starsky bowed his head. He hadn't meant to upset Hutch. In fact, he didn't understand why his partner was so irritated. Nor why he himself felt so apologetic as he pointed out what seemed to him to be obvious. "Yeah." He looked up hesitantly. "You're right, and that's why I think it's important to talk about it. I mean, depending on what we decide for ourselves, it could... you know, make it difficult to form any relationships in the future." He shrugged, realizing that wasn't very clear. "You know, like say we live in some big house or something. It would be kind of odd for you to marry someone and then have me living there. And vice versa. I mean, it's not like you're gonna kick me out just because you found someone, right?"
Hutch sat looking at him, expression softening to one of vulnerability, as though he didn't know how to voice what was on his mind.
"I mean," Starsky went on, deciding to keep clarifying until he was interrupted, "we're talking about what we're gonna do as a one-package deal. You've been actin' like you're gonna share the money with me all the way down the line. So, it's not like you're gonna stop sharin' it with me if you happen to want to get married." His voice lowered timidly. "Could make for an awkward situation, tryin' to explain it to your lady friend why your things and her things don't belong to the both of you." He drew a deep breath. "And think of it the other way. What if I find someone and get married? How am I going to explain that everything I own is half yours?"
He saw enlightenment settle on the other's face. Softly, Hutch said, "I guess it's like we're already married. To each other."
Starsky drew another quick breath, for the statement caught him by surprise — surprise at its very truth. Yes, that's what he had really been trying to say when he'd started this conversation. Confident now, he grabbed a pillow, stretched out across the bed and rested his chin upon it. "Yeah, and we're gonna become even more so by planning our future together."
"So, what are you saying?" Hutch demanded in a quiet tone, eyelashes fluttering. "That we should find women now before we get so stuck together that we can't become unglued?"
Starsky grinned, for the mental image was funny. But he also knew his partner needed reassurance, and he made his tone gentle when he spoke. "No. What I'm saying is that we need to be aware of just exactly what it is we're doing. And consider the consequences, if you want to call it that." It occurred to him that maybe he needed to say something outright. "I wanna keep sharing my life with you, Hutch." The last emerged more bashfully than he'd intended.
Something in the other's face looked hopeful. "And I want to share mine with you, like we have all along." He made an ironic snort. "It's like we've already been married. In a lot of ways."
"Yeah," Starsky nodded, feeling they were finally getting somewhere.
Hutch was now staring at the floor thoughtfully. Those brows worked again, then he said, distantly, "We give each other everything we need. Except... sex." He looked up, as though amazed he'd said the word out loud. Or afraid that he'd said it.
Starsky swallowed. He felt his heart beat heavier in his chest, and in the back of his mind he wondered if it was good for him, considering his relatively fragile state. He wasn't sure whether to steer left or steer right; in fact, in seemed there were too many directions to choose from. He struggled to keep his voice calm as he admitted, "Seems like that's all we need women for, anymore. At least, that's how it's seemed the last few years."
Hutch blinked, his chest rising and falling, though he looked much calmer than Starsky felt. And was bolder. "Too bad you aren't better looking."
Starsky shrugged with feigned resignation. "Can't win `em all." He knew Hutch had only meant the knock as a gender statement, and not that he truly thought his partner was bad looking.
A hesitant grin, and Hutch carried the thought through. "Too bad I'm not better looking to you, huh?"
Making a joke, though he was aware it had deeper meaning, Starsky said, "I guess if we could just get past our looks, then we could have a really good thing going."
Hutch chuckled awkwardly.
Starsky was suddenly aware that he was, indeed, fully recovered from his bout with disease. And that it had been a terribly long time since he'd participated in any sexual activity, including self-indulgence. He pushed off the bed and made it to the door in two giant strides. "Goin' for a walk."
* * *
The early summer air was inviting, the scent of the Atlantic in the breeze. Starsky walked around the long block that encompassed the motel, hands in his pockets.
They'd been joking, but it was one of those things where you couldn't deny that what was being said in jest might have a touch of truth. Or more than a touch.
He didn't really consider Hutch bad-looking. In fact, not bad-looking at all. Handsome in a sophisticated way, not in a plastic, made-up way. But Hutch was missing soft breasts, smooth skin (though his was smoother than most guys'), a delicate frame, curves that Starsky could fit his hands around. And missing a particular place at his crotch that Starsky otherwise might like to breach. Of course, there's other places. When you're horny enough, any opening will do.
Or when you're in love enough.
Starsky winced, feeling a chill come over him as the breeze from the ocean blew more harshly across the shore. Hutch was right. They met each other's every need. Except the need to make love. And, with women anymore, that wasn't really the need that was being satisfied, but more the need of simple desire.
It had been a long, long time, Starsky realized, since he had made love to someone he was in love with.
And it seemed to have been a long time since the conquest held any real meaning. Once again, the truth was there: he and Hutch met each other's needs. Fitting together so perfectly, despite many differences. Knowing how to overcome the bad times. A long history of making their partnership work. They were as married as any two people who had marched down a church aisle. And now, with all the talk about a future together, even more so.
Starsky stopped and leaned against a street lamp. He realized that he could rationalize it a dozen different ways. That he could find all sorts of reasons why he and Hutch should cross that one remaining barrier to compete intimacy.
But reason had nothing to do with passion. Or desire.
If I were to run my hands down his bare sides..., he imagined himself doing so, would he feel ticklish? Would his skin quiver? Would he back away?
No, Hutch would never do that. Hutch might not be crazy about the idea, but he wouldn't reject anything Starsky wanted to try.
Starsky pushed away from the lamppost and moved to a bus bench a few yards away. He sat with his head in his hands.
Poor Hutch. Between Gunther's bullets and the Herpes virus, Hutch had played the part of doomed watcher way too long. Had had to bear it when doctors told him there was no hope. Had had to sit and wait, bearing his pain alone, while waiting for the end to come.
Almost wonder if he wished I woulda died either of those times; so it would have been over.
No. That was foolish. The waiting may have been over, but the most intense pain would have just begun. Maybe pain wasn't even the right word. But utter, utter loss. Complete emotional devastation. And desolation. Missing his partner every single moment of every single day. Starsky could feel it in his gut now — a phantom pain — for he had had samplings of it in times when he thought Hutch might be lost to him.
They were so much to each other. Unnatural. Maybe so. But all the more precious and unique, for being so unusual. What was between them was something to be protected and cherished and nurtured.
They had been nurturing each other for forever, it seemed.
Starsky had heard it once said that friendship is a single soul in two bodies. He and Hutch had paid their dues in taking care of the two bodies. Now, perhaps it was time to nurture that third element between them. The single soul they had created together. It was time to turn their attention to that, to actively grow it, rather than just passively care for it.
Nothing about them was ordinary or natural. No, wait. Dobey had been wrong. He had confused what was natural with what was ordinary, basic, status quo. For what was between him and Hutch was natural. There was nothing more natural than two people loving each other and wanting to create something together with that love.
They were gifted in their receipt of each other. In their determination to survive. In their ability to love.
Those qualities belonged to them. It was time to stop expending them on others.
Starsky got up and headed back to the hotel. Drawing a deep breath, he was more conscious than ever before of himself and of the world around him. And now he was going to officially forfeit his individuality and give himself to another and in the process become part of something greater.
That thought was so exciting that he could hardly wait to tell Hutch about it.
* * *
The air conditioning had been turned on and Hutch was watching television while sitting up in bed, but Starsky doubted the blond was paying much attention to the program.
"Was it something I said?" Hutch asked as Starsky closed the door behind him. But the blond's tone wasn't one of feeling guilty or upset. Or even very puzzled.
"You're damn right it's something you said." Starsky switched off the television.
Hutch looked at him curiously, those blue eyes so bright.
Starsky reached and turned off the light, leaving them in darkness, save for the street lamp outside the window. They needed darkness to focus on what was being said. To focus on the soul they had created. Not to be distracted by exteriors. He was standing a few feet from Hutch's bed. Softly, which now seemed appropriate for the darkness, he said, "It's been a long, long time since I've made love to somebody."
Forced humor followed a snort. "Oh, great, guess that means I get to be a substitute." Apparently, Hutch was already accepting what was going happen. It seemed his thoughts had run similar to Starsky's while they were apart.
"No, Hutch. You've got it backwards." Starsky loved saying the words, revealing the truth between the two of them. "I think — for a long, long time — everyone else I've been in bed with has been the substitute." He realized, a moment later, how that might sound. Like he'd been lusting after Hutch for years and turning to others for an "acceptable" outlet. He took a step toward the bed, pulling off his shirt. "Like you said, the only thing married people do that we haven't done is have sex." No, that wasn't right, either. It sounded like fulfilling a quota. There was a more forceful point to be made. "I don't want to share you with anybody else."
So far, Hutch had feigned nonchalance. Or maybe it wasn't feigned. But now a release of a heavy breath was heard in the darkness, indicating that Starsky had said something that Hutch couldn't shrug off casually.
He couldn't be casual about the subject of being loved. That was his Hutch. Starsky stepped closer to the bed, his knees touching the edge of the mattress.
Now the evasive humor was back. "Does this mean we're on a honeymoon and a consummation is going to take place?"
"Right on, baby blue." Starsky reached out, felt an arm. There was the sound and feel of Hutch shifting away. Starsky slipped off his shorts and shoes and got beneath the covers, settling into the space provided. It did, indeed, seem natural when he rested his head against the bare chest exposed by the unbuttoned shirt, and felt perfect when an arm came around him.
Hutch finally said something deliberately serious. "I love you, buddy."
With that, it seemed safe to let his subconscious insecurities rise to the surface. "Guess that's why you aren't freakin' out that your partner's in bed with you with a hard-on."
A thoughtful "Mmm", and then Hutch said, "You're right, that's why I'm not freaking out. And also because I'm so horny I can hardly stand it."
Starsky could relate, but did not yet feel an urgency to move from his comfortable position. "Horny for me, or just horny in general?"
"What's this?" Hutch wondered. "Prove To Me You Love Me games before the honeymoon is even over?"
Starsky punched him in the ribs — with extreme gentleness. "Hey, I'm a guy, you know. I know how it is. Sex can be something totally separate from feelings. Especially when you've been without a long time — like you and I both have been."
"So, maybe in the morning," Hutch suggested, "we won't feel like we want to be married anymore."
Starsky felt himself grin. Broadly. "Not a chance." It seemed so natural, then, to shift just enough to tilt his face up.
Thankfully, the light from the street lamp was enough for Hutch to see what he was doing. Hutch looked down.
It was the most perfect of sensations when soft lips settled upon his.
"Mmmmmmm," they murmured in unison, the vibration between them all the more stimulating.
"Got a proposition," Starsky said with a heavy breath. He slipped back against the comfort of Hutch's shoulder. He didn't want anything to be rushed. This was too perfect.
"What's that?" Hutch whispered, the air from his lips brushing across Starsky's nose.
"I'll feel yours, if you feel mine."
Hutch took his hand within fingers as quivering as his own. Grasped by the wrist, Hutch pushed Starsky's hand down to the mound outlining Hutch's shorts.
Starsky felt movement beneath the cloth, an enlarging firmness. He closed his fingers around it.
Hutch closed his eyes and groaned, "Oh, God." He swallowed thickly, then said breathlessly, "I don't have any pride left, buddy."
"Pride has no place between us," Starsky pointed out. He felt along the mattress until he found Hutch's hand. Picking it up, he placed it against the front of his own briefs. His erection leapt against the pressure, and he pressed it harder against himself, not shy about voicing a deep groan of his own. "Feel inside," he demanded.
Delicious fumbling, an aching pause, then digits inside the slit, finally curling around him in a firm grip.
"Oh, Jesus, God." Starsky had risen to his knees. A part of him wanted very badly to bend down and suck on Hutch, pleasure him in a delicious way. But he'd never be able to stay focused. Not with his own groin throbbing so powerfully.
Hutch seemed to be ahead of him. "How about," with his free hand, Hutch was trying to push down his own shorts, "getting on top of me and rubbing against me?"
"Okay," Starsky said quickly. They let go of each other to remove the rest of their clothing. When Starsky was naked, he bent to the flesh being freed from confinement. Hutch's groin smelled of sweat and musk and salt from the sea. He licked at the jutting spear briefly — an interesting, tangy flavor — just to show that he was willing to do that. Then he maneuvered himself on top of Hutch, his excitement increasing.
Hutch had him in hand, stroking. Oh, God. The blond panted, "I'll hold us together, you push."
Starsky now felt himself against something equally hard, perhaps just a little wider, a touch longer. A tight hand enclosed both organs.
Starsky arched his rear up, then thrust forward. Hutch's hand was too tight, stilling the movement, but the grip eased before Starsky thrust a second time. This time he felt his flesh move along that beneath him. Such a teasing sensation....
He groaned, thrusting again, desperate to reach the peak. "Play with my nuts," he pleaded. To heck with going slow.
An awkward stretch of the body beneath his own, then digits were brushing against his scrotum. Now dancing, straining to get a grip. Starsky thrust again, and a finger found its way to the outer edge of his anus. He realized it was intentionally trying to remain there, and the fact that Hutch was willing to play with his asshole was too much to bear....
He ejaculated fiercely, yelling toward the ceiling. Distantly, he heard Hutch groaning in frustration.
Starsky collapsed beside his partner, the most wonderful feeling of lassitude settling in. But he was aware of Hutch jerking himself fiercely, and Starsky managed to lift a hand over Hutch's leg. He found his plump testicles and fondled them.
Hutch made a noise of agreement, and Starsky pressed more firmly, flattening them, fascinated by the feel of the light fur, the soft skin. He wanted to try tasting them with his tongue, but nor did he want to disrupt the rhythm to ecstasy.
Hutch reached the pinnacle a moment later. In the glow from the street lamp, Starsky watched as his partner's buttocks clenched, and he arched up slightly, and then fluid burst forth, and Hutch made a guttural sound of relief.
Starsky drew his hand back and relaxed against the mattress while listening to the sounds of his partner's recovery. He liked the thought that now both their emissions were resting on top of Hutch's smooth belly. Nevertheless, Starsky thought it would be polite to rouse himself and get a towel. He moved from the mattress ungracefully, feeling that wonderful wobbliness in his legs, and reached inside the bathroom to turn on the light. He took a towel from the rack, brushed it against his groin, then tossed it to the bed.
"Thanks," Hutch said lazily. He picked up the towel and wiped it along his belly, spreading his legs in the process.
With Hutch taking up most of the mattress, Starsky wasn't sure if he should return to his own bed. But he didn't want to. He decided to rest a hip on the edge of the bed near Hutch's head. The blond then shifted, and Starsky was able to relax against the back of the headboard.
With the bathroom light, Hutch's grin was easy to see as he looked up, tossing the towel aside. "That felt good."
"Mmm," Starsky agreed, and he had to lean down to that happy face. A moment later their lips connected, and Starsky decided that it felt just as good as when he was horny. When they drifted apart, he drew the covers up over his legs, and let his heart speak. "Can't wait until I know how to please you, Hutch. You know, make you feel really good by finding secret little places you don't even know about yet that'll drive you crazy."
Hutch was looking at him as though bowled over by the sentiment, then let out a heavy breath. "I'll get horny again with talk like that." He reached over the other side of the bed for his underwear.
"What a stud," Starsky remarked with amusement. "I think this is going to hold me for a good two weeks."
Hutch snorted, pulling the elastic band around his waist. "Ha, right."
"I'm serious," Starsky insisted, even though he wasn't. "My balls got drained good. Might take a while for them to recharge."
"Hope that doesn't mean I'm just a one night stand."
Starsky decided he was tired of the word games and curled closer to Hutch, resting his arm across his partner's lean stomach. He brushed his lips against Hutch's salty forehead and said, "No more one night stands. For either of us. This is where we ended up... to start a new beginning." He decided he liked that, as he said it. "And that's what we're gonna do."
Tender blue eyes looked at him, and Hutch's arm came around his waist, pulling him close. "Well, if you're going to put it that way...." The teasing voice began.
"That's how it is. Me and you and whatever life we create together."
"Mmm," Hutch said simply, then rested his forehead against the fur of Starsky's chest.
Starsky put his arms around him, enclosing him, feeling himself go soft all over. And realizing how very, very long it had been since he'd embraced Hutch. It seemed so ironic, for Hutch had suffered so much because of his love for his partner.
Partner. Now the word seemed to mean so much more than ever before.
Warm breath brushed across his sternum. "You know what I'd like to do?" Hutch whispered.
"Stay at a nice hotel tomorrow. One with all the amenities where we can lie in bed all the next day and not worry about being disturbed. And just... be together."
It was out of Starsky's mouth before he even thought about it. "You want to fuck, don't you?"
The blond head tilted up to look at him. "You love being romantic, don't you?"
Starsky squeezed him. "I just know what my buddy needs."
"W—" Hutch's mouth opened, then closed. After another moment, he said tenderly, "It's not like you have to be the one on the bottom."
Starsky grinned, squeezing Hutch closer. "S'okay. I'd even let you do it tonight, but...," he hesitated, wondering if it were true, "we don't have — you know — anything for grease."
Hutch took a deep breath and disentangled himself, sitting up. "I wish you wouldn't have started talking about this."
"Gettin' hard again?"
"What do you think?"
Starsky chuckled softly. Man, this is gonna be great. "Know any nice hotels in the area?"
Hutch was thoughtful now. "We pretty much covered all this area has to offer." He brightened. "Why don't we drive up to Virginia tomorrow. We can visit some Civil War battlefields and then stay in Richmond. I've always wanted to visit Virginia. There's so much history there."
Starsky didn't care what they did, as long as they did it together. He felt a warm glow as Hutch turned on the bedside lamp and reached to the floor for the atlas. He was muttering about interstates as he began studying it.
Starsky nodded and made appropriate noises to show his interest. But what was most on his mind was how exciting it was that tomorrow would be the first day of the rest of their lives.
* * *
He had to admit the battlefields were interesting, even though the afternoon ended up being interrupted by a sudden downpour. Hutch had called ahead and made reservations for a nice hotel in Richmond, and they were currently in rush hour traffic while making their way through water-logged streets. Starsky kept wondering if they should stop at a drug store, but he felt funny about bringing it up.
He also felt funny about not feeling funny about the whole idea. He wondered when he had gone from being appalled by the thought of two guys corn-holing each other, to eagerly anticipating having his asshole ripped open. And then he decided it wasn't what was going to happen to him that was exciting — in fact, it was a bit scary when it got down to it — but what he couldn't wait to do was give Hutch something that his partner needed very badly. Lots and lots of love and guiltless pleasure. That wasn't too much to ask for after all his months of worrying over and caring for his partner — first after Gunther, and then after the illness. He wanted Hutch to have the fuck of his life. Two or three times over, if they were up to it.
"Sure you know where we're goin'?" Starsky asked conversationally.
Hutch was hunched over the steering wheel. "Of course, I know where we're going," he replied testily. "We just need to get to Norwood Street, which is the second light past Blair Avenue. Blair should be the next street or two up. If this traffic would just get going...."
"Relax," Starsky soothed. "There's no hurry, ya know. " He reached over and rubbed a pair of fingers along the back of the tense neck. He suddenly felt odd doing it — like maybe it was too lovey-dovey. Carefully, he pulled his hand away.
Hutch looked at him, then managed a half-hearted grin. "Never have liked sitting in traffic."
"Then think about what we're going to be doin' tonight." It was the first time they'd talked about it, beyond calling the hotel for reservations.
Hutch looked at him again, the grin full-fledged this time. But his shook his head. "Uh-uh. That's hardly going to improve my mood, you know."
Starsky wiggled his eyebrows, enjoying the game. "I could take care of you here in the car."
Gritted teeth surrounded the reply. "Starsky, I swear, you have — "
"What?" he interrupted. "A way of gettin' to ya? I think I like that."
Hutch was suddenly turning. "Here we go. Blair Avenue. Finally. We're looking for Norwood."
Except, suddenly Hutch was turning into the parking lot of a shopette, and was out of the car in a flash. Starsky's instinct was to follow, but he decided not to upon reading the store sign: Richmond Drug Store. He'd feel too funny. Best to just let Hutch take care of the details.
Wonder how much he knows about ass-fucking, anyway. Not that he'd admit it if he doesn't know anything.
Starsky put his feet upon the dashboard, once again trying to get accustomed to the knowledge that this was going to be a regular part of their lives.
Fucking with Hutch. Fucking Hutch. Haven't really thought about that much....
And, beyond that, not yet knowing what they were going to be doing with their lives. So many roads to explore. Starsky had always been content in the past to keep the status quo and maintain the routine he'd established for his life. Now, it seemed they were on the most glorious and noble of adventures. Learning how to love each other even more, and deciding what the background is going to be for all that love.
Keep each other healthy and happy and content and excited. He had no doubt that he and Hutch were forever. May as well have walked down a church aisle....
* * *
It seemed like forever before they got rid of the bellhop, who had to know what they were to each other, because they had asked for a room with one bed. It was easy not to be self-conscious, so far from home. They were on the eighteenth floor of an expensive hotel and Hutch was fishing out change for a tip.
Starsky stood back, watching his partner. Hutch's mustache was a little droopy where it had gotten rained on. His bangs were plastered to his forehead. His shirttail was hanging partway out of his jeans.
Always loved him, Starsky affirmed to himself. Always thought he was good-looking. Always thought I'd rather be around him than anyone else. Even when he's bein' a prick. And now he looks like...
Having finally closed the door behind the bellhop, Hutch turned.
....like an angel from heaven. Starsky grinned, his chest getting heavy. "Hey, there."
Hutch sighed heavily and then tugged at his clothing. "We're here," he noted with a straight face. "Time to relax and watch some TV." He headed for the king-sized bed.
Starsky took two long steps and grabbed his partner around the waist, preventing further movement. "Not a chance," he said in as threatening a tone as he could muster.
Hutch blinked his eyes innocently. "Huh?"
Starsky giggled as he brushed himself against the long, damp form. "Big phony." He tilted his head up and puckered his lips, realizing he'd been wanting to do this all day.
His eyes were closed, and it was pure sensation when soft moistness pressed down upon his lips. Though the pressure was kind, Starsky felt weak in the knees and was afraid he might collapse, so he took a tighter grip on that tall, lanky body. But it didn't matter. He was sinking... sinking... felt his knees touch the carpet. He whimpered when gravity forced them to part.
"There," Hutch said breathlessly, voice heavy with passion. "You're right where I want you." He reached for his fly.
Starsky was about to scold him for being so insistent upon one-liners, but then decided that it didn't matter. He didn't know what it would be like to put his mouth on it; just knew that he wanted to make it so good for Hutch. He waited obediently while Hutch, after pausing as though he had only been kidding, now pushed his jeans and briefs down to just past his hips.
It sprang free, firm peach-colored flesh. Starsky put his mouth around it.
"God." It was a low, poignant cry of disbelief, accompanied by thick movement. Starsky swallowed while trying to keep his teeth clear of it, then undulated his tongue along the underside, feeling as though his mouth were stuffed. A hand came to the back of his head, pressing him closer while trying not to grip too hard.
It was tickling the roof of his mouth, filling the back so there was little air. He didn't think he was doing much good, and pulled back, looking up at Hutch for guidance.
Those intense blue eyes were looking down at him in wonder, as though Hutch were just now realizing that this was how it was going to be. And then he reached down and tugged insistently on Starsky's shirtfront. Starsky unsteadily rose to his feet. And then Hutch's hands gripped him and those so-soft lips crashed against his, teeth threatening to rake against his, arms coming around him, pulling tight, the stout erection poking at his cotton-clad pubic region.
He could feel Hutch trembling all over, and Starsky still had the weak-in-the-knees feeling. He wished Hutch would throw him to the bed and take what he wanted, what he so badly needed. Starsky finally got his wits about him enough to reach around and grab a bare buttock, squeezing firmly. He managed to gasp, "Do anything you want."
Hutch swung them both around — not an easy task with his pants bunched at his thighs — and pushed Starsky toward the bed. Starsky fell back on the mattress and watched as Hutch quickly divested himself of the rest of his clothing. And then the pale form was before him, its most needy member jutting forth. "Finish it," came the gentle command.
Starsky knew Hutch wouldn't be so blunt and demanding if he thought his partner had any doubts. But since there weren't any doubts, Starsky got on his elbows and strained toward it. But before his lips could touch it, he looked up and made a demand of his own, though his voice was softer. "Tell me how to make it good for you." He scooted a little farther forward on the mattress, then took the thick cylinder into his mouth once again.
Hutch took Starsky's hand, making him shift his weight onto his side. Hutch pushed on Starsky's hand. "Grip it."
Starsky held it tightly, pulling his mouth back, so only a few inches past the head was enclosed. It gave him more freedom to work, and he went at it enthusiastically, bobbing his head while continuing to run his tongue along the underside, bringing up his other hand now to increase his grip.
"Ah, that's beautiful," Hutch finally gasped. He thrust gently.
"Mmmm," Starsky groaned, wanting Hutch to know that he enjoyed pleasing him like this, that Hutch could demand anything of him.
Hutch released a tight, in-drawn breath, then said softly, "Allll-most there."
Starsky was amazed that he was that good — or that Hutch was that horny for him. He kept up the motion of his tongue, the suction of his mouth, the grip of his hands. All the muscles in use started to complain, but Hutch was groaning now — deep and incoherent. So close....
It was fascinating to hear the cry that started deep within his lover's throat then. The throb of the thick barrel in his mouth. Then the release of ecstasy. The emission soaked his taste buds, and he waited until the shrinking flesh pulled back before he finally swallowed. Then he looked up.
Hutch's eyes were hooded, his face flushed, but there was a grateful smile as he gazed down at Starsky.
Starsky grinned and moved aside, and Hutch collapsed next to him.
Starsky was on the blond immediately, kissing his neck, tasting his sweat then kissing downward until settling upon the expanse of the smooth chest. He smacked his lips across it, then tongued at a nipple.
Hutch grunted and rolled, tipping them both over.
Such a different feeling, being covered by someone as strong as he. Masculine strength that matched his own. Now a wide, sweeping tongue moved across his own nipple through the open buttons of his shirt, tickling the surrounding hair.
Starsky thrust up. He didn't want to be impatient, but having Hutch on top of him, his beloved weight pressing against him, was stimulating in the extreme. "Ah, man, " he finally groaned.
Full lips released the nipple with a smacking noise. "Ah man what?" Hutch asked casually, clear blue eyes dancing with amusement.
Starsky couldn't figure out if he wanted to play around, get sucked, or get fucked. He finally decided to follow Hutch's lead. "Ah, man, I think we're gonna have a great time tonight."
He circled his arms around Hutch's back, loving the feel of that strong body. He wasn't certain exactly what pleasures awaited, but knew they were going to be new and special, because it would be between Hutch and him.
Those amused eyes were still dancing. "Just tonight?" Hutch teased further.
They were close enough that Starsky felt Hutch's warm breath across his face. He resisted the urge to thrust again. He wanted tonight to last forever. He supposed it qualified as a honeymoon of sorts. "Maybe," he suggested, "we should call room service, and shower up, and eat dinner, and then....," he shrugged.
Soft laughter, the kind that made Starsky want to keep Hutch happy forever. The blond grinned at him. "What do you mean, room service?" His voice was soft, enticing. "I'm having you for dinner."
Starsky rolled his eyes back and collapsed against the mattress. He was putty, pure putty, for Hutch to mold as he wished.
Another soft chuckle. Then Hutch's wide tongue lapped against his nipple again. "Mmm," he said, "you taste awfully good." He settled himself more fully on Starsky, wriggling to get comfortable.
When Starsky had the nerve to meet those loving eyes again, Hutch said, "Gonna get you boiling. Then I'm going to simmer you for a while." His lips moved closer, so that only a half inch separated them. "And then I'm going to swallow you down."
A little cry escaped Starsky's lips. "Oh." And then Hutch kissed him. It was so nice, Hutch's weight growing heavier as he melted against him, their lips blending into a single bit of flesh.
It was a few seconds after Hutch pulled back that Starsky was able to gather his wits enough to speak. "What about dessert?" he wanted to know.
A finger was placed against his lips in a scolding gesture. "Uh-uh. Dessert is for later. We don't talk about that now."
Starsky thought his heart might burst. He wanted Hutch to fuck him for dessert. He wanted Hutch to have that so much. And he knew Hutch didn't want to talk about it, because the mere thought was heavily arousing to the blond, and any discussion would cause everything to happen too quickly. Starsky released a heavy breath, making a deliberate effort to relax. But he announced, "I'm boiling right now." It was all he could do to not thrust up against Hutch again. He wanted tonight to last forever.
Brusque mustache hairs skimmed along Starsky's chin. Then Hutch planted a kiss there. "Then we'll have to cool you down to a simmer." Hutch kissed his nose as he moved aside.
Starsky missed that wonderful weight immediately. He watched as Hutch's nude body moved to the wall. He turned off the lights. It was dusk outside, and with the glow from the city the outline of furniture was easily seen. So was Hutch's pale form as it returned to the bed.
The blond pulled the covers back and fussed with the pillows, then reached for Starsky's arm. "Up here," he beckoned.
Starsky scooted back along the bedspread. Hutch reached for his sneakers and started to work them off.
Starsky put his hands on his shirt to unbutton it, but they were gently slapped away.
"Uh-uh," Hutch muttered.
Starsky understood then that Hutch wanted to do the undressing. Something seemed so heart warming about that. When his feet were bare, Hutch pushed back the covers and, still clothed, Starsky put his legs beneath them. Pillows were behind his back and head, supporting him.
"I love you," he whispered in the direction of that fair hair.
"Shhh." Hutch scolded gently as the mattress dipped to Starsky's right with his partner's weight.
Hutch couldn't even handle being told I love you? Or was it simply... "You sayin' you want me to shut up?" Starsky's tone was merely a request for information.
Hutch kissed him. So gentle. Warm breath blew across his upper lip. "Yes. Shut up." Stated so sweetly. Then, equally sweet, "I just want to... taste you for a while."
Starsky sank back into the pillows, fully aware of the blood pooling at his groin, the confinement of his tight jeans.....
Hutch's fingers were at his buttons, carefully pulling them apart, the patient motion making Starsky feel worshipped. Then Hutch pushed the flaps back, exposing Starsky's hairy chest. Hutch ducked his head....
Starsky closed his eyes, felt soft wetness move between his pectoral muscles, mixing with the hair there as a pointed tongue investigating downward. Then he placed a soft kiss just above his belly button. Hutch's warm breath then moved upward. His eager lips sucked at the skin of Starsky's throat.
Starsky shivered, groaning at the sensation of being possessed by some one so eager to have him.
Hutch made murmurs of love as his lips left him, then pressed butterfly-soft kisses against Starsky's eyelids. That sweet touch moved between his eyes... down to his nose... as his shirt was worked off his shoulders.
His upper body was left naked as Hutch shifted his arms so his clothing could be tossed aside. A moment later loving touches were covering him once again, Hutch's soft cheek nuzzling against his own stubby one. Starsky groaned, and when Hutch's lips started down his neck once more, he reached up and captured his partner's cheeks, then brought them to his lips.
It was a form of death, the incredible softness against his lips, the brusque mustache hairs below his nose. Then Hutch's soppy tongue wrestled against his own as they sucked each other....
Starsky couldn't wait any more. He felt for Hutch's hand, gripped the wrist and pressed it against the taut mound of his jeans. The contact sent shock waves through his veins, and he groaned loudly against the mouth his possessed, while arching up against the hand.
Hutch also groaned, but it was more a noise of disbelief at how good it was. When he finally managed to drag his lips away from Hutch's kiss, Starsky muttered, "You better get to the main course before it burns." As he said the words, he felt his hot breath bounce off his friend's face and drift back to him.
Hutch's gentle lips touched him high on his cheek as though in apology. Or perhaps reassurance. For now fingertips moved to the waistband of Starsky's jeans, tickling the sensitive flesh of his belly. His breath came faster as Hutch fumbled with his snap, and then it came undone. Starsky shifted on the mattress, begging for them to come off.
Sure hands gripped his clothing, dragged the jeans down, Starsky arching up to assist, gasping with relief as his desire was freed. It seemed a long wait until his pants and underwear were dragged down his legs and finally pulled free. He pushed the covers back and away, so that when his legs were bare, he was able to spread them wide.
Time seemed to stand still as the outline of his partner, smoky gray in the light of dusk outside the window, settled on his stomach on the mattress, between Starsky's legs.
Smoky gray... except for that pale cap of hair. A cap which now ducked down to Starsky's crotch.
Starsky felt himself flare in anticipation, his baby-soft skin pulled taut. And then a soft, wet touch at the base of his erection. Gentle noise of moisture against flesh. Tongue darting out... tasting.
"Oh," Starsky pleaded, wanting more. So much more.
Gentle rocking of the mattress. Blond cap higher now as Hutch got up on his elbows. And then dipping to swallow him....
"Oh, babe!" Starsky cried as suction enclosed him. He put both hands on the sides of that delicate cap of hair, holding it in place.
It was the greatest torment he'd ever known. Hutch sucking him... unbelievable. His big beautiful, powerful, intelligent, top cop partner tending to him like this. Running his tongue over his length, sucking Starsky back into his mouth. But all of it experimental... testing... constantly moving and not concentrating where he needed it most.
"Suck me, Hutch," he pleaded hopefully, fingers gently curling in Hutch's delicate strands, trying to get his mouth to hold still and give him persistent suction. In moments he felt the back of Hutch's eager tongue, and it was all he could to not press Hutch down and love into Hutch's throat.
He did thrust up a little, encouraging, and Hutch's tongue began working the underside of his barrel with a greater sense of purpose. "That's good, baby," he gasped. "That's feelin' extra specially nice, right there." He wanted to give even more praise and petted tenderly back through his partner's hair.
The sensation was lost a moment later. Hutch's generous mouth still held him, but Hutch was shifting his arms, bracing against the mattress. And suddenly Starsky's buttocks were gripped in Hutch's big hands.
"Oh, dear God," Starsky cried out, unprepared for how good it felt. Hutch's fingers massaged deeply into his generous flesh, taking possession of his backside, wanting him....
Hutch's tongue worked him seriously again, his mouth muscles sucking, fingers gripping....
"Oh, God, I'm gonna come!" The building climax felt extra special because it was taking place between him and this most special of men, this living definition of love. "HutchIloveyousomuch." He managed to voice the mouthful of words just as sensation tripped him over the edge. "Aaaaaaahhhhhhh," he cried out, feeling the wonderful spurting shooting against the inside of his partner's cheek, his buttocks and leg muscles tightening within those hands that now relaxed their grip.
Starsky let himself sink as the spurts trailed off into a dribble. Carefully, Hutch released him. His hand still rested in his partner's soft hair as he listened to the sound of swallowing. Not exactly the greatest tasting stuff, but we'll get used to it, huh, pal?
Hutch gently kissed his belly. The mattress shifted, Hutch's legs brushed against his own, which Starsky pulled closer together. Hutch lay alongside him, and Starsky turned to face him, his hand reaching out to half-heartedly pet the broad forehead as he drifted.
Fingertips trailed down his face, then a voice whispered, "I like loving you."
Starsky grunted, grinning. "Lucky me."
Hutch's answer was the softest of chuckles.
After a while, Starsky felt his lassitude beginning to dissipate. Their mutual blow jobs had only been foreplay, to take the edge off so they could focus on more important things. "Now it's time for you to get lucky," he noted.
"Like loving you all these years hasn't make me lucky," Hutch whispered with affection.
Ah, Hutch. "Of course, it has," Starsky agreed. "But now your good luck is gonna become even better luck. Time for dessert." Genuinely curious, he asked, "Did you get hard again, doin' it to me?"
It was now completely dark outside and very little of the room could be seen. Hutch picked his hand up, then placed it against a warm, soft-skinned erection. "Of course, I did."
Starsky gripped it and it swelled even more. It just now dawned on him the sheer physicality of what he'd agreed to do. What he wanted to do. "Feels big." He heard the hesitation in his own voice.
Hutch shifted, causing Starsky to lose his grip, and rose to his knees. A moment later he dropped one long thigh over Starsky's legs, effectively straddling him.
Starsky's breath quickened. He was in bed with a sexually aroused male who had a strength which, at the very least, matched his own. His male instincts dropped into place, telling him he must fight any bodily violation.
Hutch's broad forehead rested against his own. Hutch's voice was soft in the darkness. "You aren't committed to anything, you know."
"I know." But he wanted to give this to Hutch, wanted Hutch to abandon all concerns of propriety and yield to pleasure.
The next words Hutch spoke were even softer. "A little bit scary, huh?"
Starsky swallowed. "Yeah," he said breathlessly. "Maybe even more than a little." Was it just yesterday that he'd offered himself to Hutch in Kitty Hawk, only the lack of lubricant preventing it from happening? Why had he felt so calm about it then? But other feelings he'd experienced then were just as strong now. "Want you to enjoy yourself with me, Hutch. Want you to enjoy it so much." Make up a little bit for having to be so scared for so long because of me. "And, you know," he swallowed again, "it's gonna happen eventually, anyway. Gonna probably take a while to get used to the idea."
Hutch kissed his forehead. Then, he said with gentle amusement, "I like the idea of it taking a while to get used to."
"Yeah," Starsky agreed, feeling bashful for reasons he didn't understand. He decided to abandon his masculine pride. "You, uh, know what to do?"
Hutch's warm touch pulled back as he straightened. Again, Starsky heard a hint of amusement in his voice. "I know which part to put where." Then, more seriously, "We'll go real easy, buddy. Take our time."
It was difficult for Starsky to decide what he wanted more — for Hutch to be tender and sweet, or to pound him mercilessly and take his pleasure. "So, you, uh, got some stuff at the drugstore?"
Hutch's limbs shifted around him, making the mattress creak. "I got a variety of `stuff'." Hutch was now on the feet, and he murmured, "Gonna get the light."
A moment later, weak illumination came from the entryway. Hutch looked tall and pale and blond and almost fully aroused. He stepped into the bathroom and came out with a handful of towels. He then moved to a small table next to the bed and turned the sack upside down. He leafed through the various plastic jars and tubes, then selected one of the latter.
"Man," Starsky said, wanting to talk to keep things from getting too tense, "looks like you bought out the whole pharmacy."
Hutch shrugged. "Didn't want to be missing anything once things got started." He was now moving to get on the bed.
Starsky grinned at him, reaching up with widespread arms. "You efficient blondie, you. Think I'll keep ya."
With a gentle snort, Hutch got on the mattress and wrapped his arms around Starsky, having dropped the tube on the bed.
Starsky pulled tight, patting his partner's back. "Mmm." His head rested nicely against Hutch's shoulder. He felt turgid flesh near his rib cage. After a long moment, he muttered, "Don't want to keep you waiting."
Hutch answered him tenderly, "I love you, buddy."
Ah, man, Hutch. "Good," he said as Hutch finally pulled back. "And I like knowin' you still think of me as your buddy."
Hutch was now kneeling in front of Starsky and looked at him with a puzzled expression. And then he seemed pleased.
His next statement was very serious. "I don't want to hurt you."
Starsky shrugged, thinking, not for the first time, that his partner had the most soulful of blue eyes... even in darkness. "Not a whole lot we can do about it, is there?"
Hutch drew a deep breath and swallowed. "It'll help the more relaxed you are."
"Well," Starsky noted reasonably, "since I'm kinda nervous about how big you are, I don't see that I'm gonna be able to be particularly `relaxed'." He reached out and squeezed the nearest arm. More gently, he said, "Let's just do it, okay?"
The expression on Hutch's hopeful countenance was now resigned. "I want you to keep talking to me, tell me what you're feeling. I don't want to have to guess at anything."
"First shut up, and now talk," Starsky complained, but he didn't mean it.
Hutch chuckled softly. His hand was resting in Starsky's hair, which felt very good. He looking around the bed, as though expecting to find an answer there. "Not sure what position will be most comfortable," he admitted.
"Well, this is what I think," Starsky decided. "The one doing the fucking ought to be the one who gets to decide how it's done. So... how do you want me?"
Hutch kissed him for that. Full, soft lips pressed against Starsky's own, brief mustache hairs against his own five o'clock shadow. Need to shave next time....
Big, strong hands massaged his shoulders... feeling so nice. Starsky groaned and turned just enough to lose the support of the headboard against his back, and instead allowed himself to slowly sink back to the mattress and pillows. His legs spread even as he felt the threat of Hutch's strength as his partner used gravity to his advantage and pressed more firmly with his lips, the blond's elbows now sinking into the bed.
Starsky made a noise, needing to get his breath, and Hutch pulled back a few inches, his lips making a reluctant smacking noise. "Man," Starsky said, drawing a deep breath, "you kiss really nice."
A soft exhalation blew across Starsky's face as the other murmured, "That's because you're so nice to kiss."
"Mmm," Starsky said as that loving face moved closer. He closed his eyes and drew his arms around Hutch's neck as those lips settled upon his once again. Hutch's arms closed against his back and their bare chests were against each other, the smoothness against his hair feeling so special.
"You know what?" Hutch whispered as he pulled back.
"What?" Starsky's eyes were held by those above him.
"I think you're feeling pretty relaxed right now." So pleased.
That was a pleasant thought. Starsky let his arms slip away and he bounced back against the mattress. He spread his legs wider, proving to himself the truth of Hutch's words. His partner's hot erection rested against his genitals as Hutch lowered himself on top of him, his elbows taking his weight. Then the heavy genitals moved away as Hutch bent.
Starsky watched as a wide tongue lapped across his right nipple. "Mmm," he approved, feeling himself tingle there — and in his groin — as the tongue continued to love that one little spot. When he realized this was going to take a while, he closed his eyes and let his hand rest against the back of the blond head, fingers fanned out possessively.
Hutch finished finally. Starsky felt a kiss in the center of his chest, and then his left nipple was being lovingly nuzzled. "Mmm," he encouraged again, not opening his eyes, but just feeling the love coming from the attention of that moist flesh. His fingers stroked through soft hair. So incredible, knowing that it could always be like this....
He heard a heavy sucking noise and almost felt pain. Starsky opened his eyes, flinched as skin from his chest was sucked hard into Hutch's mouth, pulled briefly... then released.
Hutch was gazing at him, eyes slit with passion, but he didn't apologize. Instead, his head ducked and Starsky felt himself pressed back against the mattress as his lips were captured once again. The kiss had a different texture now... possessive... demanding... soppy... stealing his breath. His hands grabbed at Hutch's, and he felt the trembling of arousal. Hutch's erection was back, poking at his vulnerable crotch as Hutch's lips continued to devour him.
Starsky was trying to match Hutch's passion, then realized that, for the first time in his life, he wasn't going to be the sexual instigator. He decided to let this happen, to let Hutch use him. He went limp, groaning as Hutch's large, thick tongue stabbed into his mouth. He was gasping for breath when Hutch finally released him, the blond gasping, too.
"I want you so much," Hutch whispered tightly.
That felt good. "Then now's the time, " Starsky panted. "Let's make you all nice and happy."
Insistent lips moved against his throat, ballooned by smacking kisses, hungry noises moving against his flesh. Starsky's prick hardened as a quiver raced up his spine.
Finally, Hutch straightened, leaving Starsky's throat wet. He looked around, picked up the tube he'd brought from the table, opened it and tossed away the cap. He squeezed a dollop of something onto his forefinger then laid the tube aside. His eyes met Starsky's in the near darkness as he bent and let his arm take his weight.
Starsky was determined to stay relaxed as he felt the moist finger poke at his butt. It felt around below his ass, then was moved in the wrong direction, toward his spine.
Starsky reached between his legs while getting up on an elbow. He touched Hutch's palm, then felt farther, finding the base of the finger. He brought the digit back closer to his balls, stopping when it found the recess in his body. He let go and lay back against the bed, seeing the gratitude in Hutch's eyes.
"Talk to me," Hutch said as his finger poked at Starsky's opening.
It felt blunt and invasive as it pushed in. Uncomfortable. Big and threatening. Tight. Starsky swallowed. "Use a lot more stuff." Everything would be okay just as long as anything inserted in there could move freely. He could deal with the discomfort as long as he knew Hutch could enjoy himself.
Hutch had a pair of fingers together and he squeezed a huge lump of grease all around them. Some of it dripped lazily onto Starsky's skin before the fingers disappeared back between his legs.
Another moment of searching, then one of those fingers went in easily. Not tight like before, but still full-feeling. "Hey, that's easy," he noted encouragingly.
It moved back and forth, pushed upward then downward. Involuntarily, Starsky captured it, felt amusement at Hutch's expression of surprise. He likes that. Deliberately, he relaxed, and felt he actually might be able to participate a bit. Man, Hutch, if I could manipulate your prick....
"Talk to me," Hutch reminded again. His finger pushed in all the way.
Starsky drew a deep breath, feeling the depth of Hutch's finger, his nerves objecting to the movement from the "wrong" direction. He deliberately relaxed once again, exhaling. "Ready for the other one," he said.
Hutch shifted, looked down at his hand as Starsky felt something else poking at him. He grunted as he was stretched further and a second finger slid all the way in to join the first. "Oh man," he gasped. It was definitely uncomfortable.
Blue eyes watched him carefully. The fingers rocked together, pushing upward — causing a tingling sensation — then downward, stretching him further.
Starsky raised his hand, his fingers extended. "Push up," he pleaded, demonstrating.
As though encouraged that he could do something Starsky actually wanted, Hutch rocked his fingers upward. It caused the tingling again. And then they moved back and forth, while still pushing upward.
"Oh!" Starsky exclaimed, unprepared for the feeling that produced. "Oh, that's nice." Please do it again.
Hutch did. Fingers massaged right over that spot where everything felt special. "Oh, man," Starsky gasped, closing his eyes and relaxing completely. "Man, that's nice." They continued and all he could do was groan... loud and long. Then, "God, that feels good."
"That's my beautiful love," Hutch whispered tenderly.
Starsky let his eyes drift open. Hutch looked so... pleased. So soft. He didn't want to lose the feeling, but they could repeat this anytime. "Your turn, babe." He squeezed the digits appreciatively, meaning it as a gesture of farewell.
Hutch grunted, as though approving.
Yeah, Hutch, that's right. Your prick is gonna feel real nice when it's in there getting squeezed, nice and snug.
Slowly, the fingers snaked back. They were resting just inside the opening when Hutch asked, "Want to try three?"
Starsky shook his head. "Uh-uh. Want that big thing of yours."
He was prepared for it this time when hot breath descended against his mouth, a trembling body moved on top of him, a tongue devoured his lips, then pushed inside, one hand gripping his arm possessively. Hutch's undulated against him, hot erection against his softer flesh....
"You're horny," he accused, when Hutch's mouth finally drifted away. The humor felt good.
"Ten times that of a ram in rut," Hutch agreed breathlessly.
Starsky arched up his hips, his own warming erection meeting the hot spear above it. "Fuck me, Hutch. Fuck me good." He was deliberately trying to arouse Hutch more. He wanted Hutch to take what he wanted.
Hutch groaned from deep within his chest and straightened. He was pushing the covers back while pulling at Starsky, encouraging him to get more in the center of the bed.
Starsky obliged, for his right leg had been against the headboard. Now, more in the center of the bed, he was able to spread his legs more freely. Hutch was gathering the pillows, his erection bobbing in the air. It was long and thick and pale.
Starsky swallowed as he arched his ass up to let Hutch thrust a pillow beneath him. That big thing was going to be sharing space inside his body. His own prick hardened, even as he realized getting Hutch's erection past the opening was going to be unpleasant. He arched his ass up even higher, for Hutch, after a moment's hesitation, had decided on a second pillow. When it was in place, Starsky felt vulnerable and exposed. Once Hutch was on top of him, inside him, there would be nothing he could do to dislodge that spear, since gravity would be in Hutch's favor.
He wouldn't want to dislodge it. But being so thoroughly submissive was a completely new experience. He wanted to meet it bravely, which in itself seemed a contradiction.
Hutch was back between Starsky's legs. He turned his head and kissed the inside of an upraised knee, and Starsky felt himself go soft all over. "I want it, Hutch," he whispered. "Want you so bad."
Hutch lips kissed his knee again... softly, longingly, as though in worship.
"Ah, Hutch," Starsky said out loud. "Love me all you want later. It's time to fuck."
Hutch closed his eyes a moment, then straightened abruptly. He looked around and found the plastic tube. He squeezed a huge lump out into his palm. Then he dropped it to the bed and wrapped his hands around his length, stroking it... spreading the gel.....
As that massive flesh was tended to, Hutch's eyes roamed up Starsky's body. When they met Starsky's own orbs, Hutch said longingly, "I want to love all of you. Every inch of you."
Starsky grinned, feeling a warm flush. "We've got the whole rest of our lives, buddy boy."
Hutch swallowed, closed his eyes, his face still soft, even as his hand stroked more purposely along his length.
"I think you're trying to prolong my virginity," Starsky teased.
Hutch quickly shook his head, his hand slowing to a very deliberate motion as his pulled up and off his glistening erection. When his eyes drifted open, he said in a tight voice, "Want it to be good for you."
Starsky knew what to say to that. "Hutch?" He waited until those glowing eyes met his. Then whispered, "What will make it good for me is you having the fuck of your life."
Hutch closed his eyes again and made a sharp, "mmph" noise. His hand closed tighter on his erection, soothing it.
"It's gonna hurt me a little, Hutch," Starsky went on tenderly. "Can't help it. So... you just gotta enjoy yourself to make it up to me." He spread his legs wider.
"I love you," Hutch declared raggedly.
Starsky grinned. "I know. That's why somethin' nice is gonna happen while we're joined together." He sobered. "Join us, Hutch." It seemed he'd been trying to get Hutch to do that for quite a long time.
Hutch sat back and looked down. Starsky watched as he felt thumbs expose him. One hand stayed where it was while the other took the thick erection and guided it, Starsky felt blunt, moist power move against his asshole. Hutch looked up then, eyes bright, almost apologetic as he leaned over Starsky, arm taking his weight.
The hardness pushed at him. Then he was forced apart.
Starsky gasped, "Oh, God," because it felt even bigger than he'd ever expected... or feared. He squeezed his eyes shut, then made a deliberate attempt to open them, wanting to see Hutch's expression.
The blond was concerned... anxious... breathing heavily... but holding very still, eyes large and liquid.
Starsky took a deep breath, swallowed thickly, so relieved that it wasn't pushing in any more. "Jesus God."
Hutch's expression eased as he continued to gaze at Starsky, and Starsky realized he was now relaxing significantly, even though it felt like his asshole was stretched much further than nature ever intended. Hutch was watching him so intently... waiting.
Starsky grinned at him.
More hints of apology softened the blond's features as the thick mass pressed once again into Starsky's rectum. It didn't hurt any more than it did already had... just felt deeper. He grunted from the pressure, but stayed relaxed, watching Hutch watch him, waiting for the signal that Hutch was starting to enjoy himself.
The blond finally made a noise himself, almost of disbelief, as he pressed in a final inch. And then closed his eyes slowly.... A loud groan emerged that lasted a long time.
Starsky thought that was beautiful. This whole moment was beautiful. Hutch's face was beautiful. Hutch was beautiful. His asshole hurt, but what they were doing was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened on Earth.
Hutch pulled back... just a little. He drew in a sharp, deep breath, eyes slitting open.
Starsky just wanted to watch the show. In a whisper, he taunted, "That felt good, didn't it?" He felt it push back in... just a touch deeper than it had been before. Not quite so horrendously tight now. There was room to move. "Mmm," he encouraged.
"Ohhhhhh," Hutch groaned softly, continuing to move... so slowly. Eyes closing again... briefly... before opening.
"Ah, yeah, Hutch." Starsky `s hands found the blond's arms where they were braced against the mattress. He clasped them. "Nice, tight, and snug in there. Just for you."
Hutch gasped sharply at the words. His hips moved a touch faster. "Ohhh," he said, more high-pitched, as he continued to undulate. His face so soft with pleasure. "Ohhhhhhh."
Starsky felt himself grin again, watching Hutch. Tender, soothing, he said, "That's the expression I wanted to see. That's my Hutch. Enjoyin' himself."
The undulations came faster, the rhythm more powerful.
His ass was going to be sore for days. That big prick had spread the lubricant too thin inside him, and now he felt raw with each forward and backward stroke. A part of him hoped it would be finished soon. "Fuck me, Hutch."
Hutch's eyes opened wide, staring at him. Hips moved faster. Slammed him. The bed rocked. Heavy weight fell against his butt with each thrust. "That's my Hutch," he encouraged.
A different rhythm now. "Oh... oh....," Hutch announced, slamming Starsky's ass, "oh... OH..." Then growling in a way that Starsky had never heard before.
Screaming now... accompanied by quick, shallow thrusts.
"Ah, Hutch," Starsky called out, encouraging him. "Fuck me, Hutch."
A rumble went through Hutch's body as his hips gradually slowed and his face seemed to sag, eyes closing reverently.
"That's my Hutch," Starsky cooed. The motion had stopped completely, and Hutch seemed to be in some netherworld of his own. "That felt good, didn't it?"
Finally, the eyes cracked open as Hutch's whole body seemed to relax. He muttered, "That's the understatement of the century." And then he collapsed on top of Starsky, withdrawing in the process.
That sated weight on top of him felt wonderful. Starsky reached up and furrowed through pale strands of hair. His heart swelled when Hutch groaned deeply.
They lay like that for a while. Then Hutch got up on his elbows and tilted his head, touching his lips to Starsky's in the gentlest of kisses. When he pulled back, his eyes were soft and bright. "I love you so, so much."
Ah, Hutch. But Starsky grinned in reply. "You're just sayin' that because you got to fuck me."
Hutch regarded him lovingly for a long time... so long that he'd obviously given up trying to come up with a clever retort. But, eventually, his face sobered and, sweetly, he asked, "You want to do it to me?"
Starsky felt himself throb at the suggestion. But he had more immediate needs. "We need to eat first. And then...," he paused enticingly, "we can see what happens." He pushed the blond's heavy frame. "I gotta get to the john. And then we'll order room service."
Hutch moved aside. Starsky got up and became aware of aches and pains in various areas of his body. Having a firm someone who weighed 170 pounds of top of you — to say nothing of being inside you — was a whole different sexual experience than being on top of a soft someone weighing 120 pounds.
Hutch was cleaning himself with a towel, and he nodded toward the supplies on the table top. "There's some ointments there. Antibiotics and such."
Starsky sighed and looked at the table. He supposed his ass was bleeding, though he couldn't tell. Just knew it felt like something huge had been forced inside him. He picked up a tube of medicated cream and turned back toward the bathroom.
* * *
When he came out, he bypassed the thought of a robe, for Hutch, who was beneath the blankets, was holding the covers open for him. He'd turned on the lamps on both sides of the bed.
Starsky paused to take the menu out of a beside drawer, then slipped beneath the covers. He was on his side, facing the telephone, and felt a wave of tenderness wash through him as Hutch's warm body snuggled up behind him. He felt the blond's chin take residence upon his shoulder.
Starsky's eyes roamed the menu. "Man, all this stuff is really expensive."
"Doesn't matter," Hutch reminded softly.
Starsky swallowed. He wasn't sure he would ever get used to the idea of having lots of money. Especially when it was really Hutch's money. He tilted his head back. "What do you feel like?"
The chin on his shoulder moved. "Think I'll take the chicken cordon bleu."
"Mmm. Think maybe I'll take the New York strip steak." He turned the menu to the back page. "Want some wine?"
A hand stroked his rib cage. "Sure. Pick out one of the blushes."
Starsky's eyes had gone to the prices again. He decided on the one that was least expensive — but which still was highway robbery. "Okay." He wriggled a little to get out of Hutch's possessive grip and reached for the phone. His stomach was growling, and after he called in their order, he asked how long it was going to be. He sighed as he hung up. "They say forty-five minutes to an hour."
Hutch relaxed behind him and sat back against the pillows. Starsky followed suit, snuggling up against him. At least the long wait meant his didn't have to move for awhile.
Hutch's arm was around him. "As soon as we get back, I want to move all the money into accounts with both our names on them."
Starsky looked up at him, not sure he wanted to have this particular discussion right now. "Why?" he asked as levelly as he could manage.
"Because it makes you uncomfortable," Hutch replied tenderly. The arm squeezed him. "And I guess I can understand. If you were the one paying for everything on this trip, I guess I'd be uncomfortable about it, too."
Starsky felt himself bristle. "It's just that... I haven't earned any of that money. It's hard to feel like any of it is mine."
Another squeeze. "I know that, buddy. Remember, that's why I rejected it in the first place. I hadn't done anything to earn it. But now I see it differently. It's an opportunity. An opportunity to change our lives — if we want. Maybe it'll help if you try thinking of it that way, in the sense that it's foolish to throw away opportunity."
Starsky settled back, sighing. "I guess it comes down to what we end up doing with it." But he wasn't sure that was true, either.
"I'm ready to talk about that, if you'd like."
Starsky squirmed. "Well... just how much money is it, anyway? Relatively speaking. I mean, is it like, if we wanted, we would never have to work again for the rest of our lives?"
"I doubt it," came the reply. "If we lived very conservatively, and invested it wisely, we might be able to live out our lives on it. But that wasn't what I had in mind."
Starsky looked up at him, more interested now. "So, what do you have in mind?"
The other shrugged. "Thought, maybe, if you wanted to get out of police work, we could use it to start some other type of business."
"Like what?" Starsky pressed, intrigued.
"Whatever you'd like," Hutch replied tenderly. "It really wouldn't matter much to me. But if you'd like to create anything of your own — say, a toy shop for kids, or an auto repair shop that specializes in custom cars — we could use the money to get us started. Of course, it would eventually run out if we never made a profit, so we'd have to be serious about being successful at whatever we decided to do."
"Wow," Starsky muttered. His own shop, working on souped-up cars. Dealing with expensive clientele. Or, how about a toyshop for little kids? Working with kids on a daily basis would keep him feeling young. But businesses like that meant employees to keep them going. Which meant managing employees. He shifted uncomfortably. "But if we really did something like that, we'd be spending all our time running the thing and not really doing the work. I can't see myself doin' that — you know, not being hands on. I'm not the kind of guy that can spend all day telling other people what to do, while I get an ulcer."
Hutch was thoughtful a moment. "I could handle the bookkeeping and the management if you wanted to, say, work on cars. But you're right, in order to be successful, it's not like it could just be the two of us for something like that."
Starsky was pensive as he wondered about Hutch's agreeing to anything he wanted to do. He remembered, in the hospital, vowing to himself that he'd spend the rest of their lives together doing whatever Hutch wanted. "What about you? Isn't there anything in particular that you've wanted to do, if you ever got the `opportunity'?"
Hutch shrugged. "I've always wanted to live pretty simply." He seemed to think really hard for the next few moments. Then, "I like... helping people. I like the idea of doing something service-oriented, if we start up something on our own." He hesitated, then, "You know, buddy," his arm came back around Starsky and beckoned him closer, "this all hinges on getting out of police work in the first place. But we don't have to do that. We can keep doing what we're doing, and — other than maybe getting a better place to live — we can just invest all the money and focus on, say, retiring sooner than we otherwise would."
Hutch always came back to the fact the nothing had to change. Starsky was silent, trying to search within himself for the truth. It remained elusive. "You know," his cheek was against Hutch's smooth chest, "I just haven't felt the same about police work since I've been sick. And I don't know why since our jobs didn't have anything to do with my getting sick." He thought about it some more. "But I seem... ready, I guess. I mean, if we're gonna ever change our lives, I guess it makes sense to do it now." He sifted through what had already been said. "But I like what you said, about helping people. I'd like to do that. Except... it would be a nice change to help living people, instead of finding out who murdered people who are already dead."
Hutch's hand trickled up and down Starsky's arm, fingertips gently massaging. "Well... we can start with common occupations for ex-cops. What are they? Security guards. Body guards. Neither of those are appealing to me."
Starsky took up the train of thought. "We could do something else with guns, maybe. Like teach ordinary people how to use them. Maybe put on classes."
Hutch grunted. "I'm not sure I like contributing to the idea of the average person owning a hand gun. We would have been a lot less busy if there were less guns available."
Starsky wasn't sure he agreed. He pointed out, "That's why safety is all the more important." Still, he couldn't see himself staying interested for very.
"If we're going to talk about teaching," Hutch said, "the police academy is the obvious place to start."
Starsky hesitated. "I don't know, Hutch. That's putting us right back in with all the bureaucracy of the LAPD. I'd like to be independent of the red tape that's frustrated us all our careers."
"Maybe we could be private detectives." The thought had just occurred to him.
Hutch grunted. "That would keep us from having to learn a new occupation. And it would allow us to be independent."
"Yeah," Starsky agreed, liking it more than the other ideas, by far. "And we could pick and choose who we wanted to work for. And we wouldn't just deal with dead bodies — maybe no bodies at all. We could find missing persons, spy on cheating spouses, stuff like that. Investigate the background of employees who are about to be hired by large firms. There's all kinds of stuff we could do. It wouldn't necessarily be the same thing over and over."
Hutch was silent for a long time. Then he said, "The only problem is that I think it would take a long time to build up a client base. It would be really difficult to advertise ourselves, get our name out."
"But we could afford to lose money for a few years, right?" Starsky suddenly saw the value of having an excessive amount of money. "It's not like we'd be under a lot of pressure to show a profit right away. You know, we'd still have plenty to eat and a roof over our heads, even if we had hardly any business at first."
"Hmm," Hutch said, as though deep in thought.
Starsky deflated, for he'd found himself getting excited about the idea. But... "It's just... well, I guess there's always the risk that the money could run out at some point. And then we'd be back to square one."
He was hugged closer, and he decided that he really liked the feeling. "I don't mind losing the money, if we lost it trying to do something we believed in, " Hutch said. "If that happened, we'd just have to go back to regular jobs. And, besides, if we're lucky with our investments, it would take a long, long time to run out. We'd either have to be pretty stupid — or pretty unlucky — to ever reach that point. But if it happens, it happens. At least we could say we tried."
Starsky was glad Hutch had that attitude about it. He draped an arm across Hutch's middle. "Gee, this is exciting." How good it felt to be thinking of something other than simply getting well. To have something to move toward. To have a purpose other than getting to work every day.
"Yeah," Hutch said. "Let's toss it around for a while. See if we come up with any other ideas in the meantime that we like even better."
Starsky almost wished they were heading back home, so they could get started with their plans. A thought struck him then. "Hutch, have you wanted to travel? I mean, would you like maybe want to travel for a while first... to places you've never been before? Before we pursue something else, I mean."
He felt a shrug. "There's places I've always thought I'd like to go, like Australia, Russia, but it's not important right now." His head tilted down, tender blue eyes brushing along Starsky's face. "I'm much more interested in making a life with you." He kissed him gently.
That brief touch felt so good. But Starsky had missed having reasons to tease, so he reminded, "We've been making a life together for years."
Hutch gazed at him fondly. Then a twinkle developed in the blue eyes. "Then I'm much more interested in perfecting this new element of our lives together."
"Mmm," Starsky agreed, liking the word. "Perfecting."
They kissed again.
* * *
Eventually, they showered and made themselves presentable for room service. They toasted their tentative plan and dived into their meal hungrily. Afterwards, they turned out the lights and watched television in bed for awhile. Inevitably, hands wandered and fingers caressed. Lips insisted. The television was muted and its glow made an ambient nightlight.
Starsky had beckoned Hutch into a crouch on the bed. As he'd suggested earlier, the one doing the fucking got to say how it happened, and he was hoping that if Hutch was at an angle more natural for penetration, it wouldn't be quite as uncomfortable as it had been for himself. He now had the tube of gel in hand and was applying it to his fingers. He took a moment to plant a sloppy kiss on an upraised buttock, savoring the tender flesh, and wanting to make up for the fact that he'd asked Hutch to get into a rather humiliating position, though his partner had done so willingly.
Since he had a full view of the area he wanted to pleasure, he didn't have to fumble around. He put his gel-coated fingers up against the wrinkled recess, and inserted his index finger. The sphincter muscle was strong and tight, but he pushed past it. Hutch parted his legs a little more, as though to steady himself. Starsky knew the forced entry hadn't felt very good. But now that his finger was inside, he moved along the lower tract. He remembered how stimulating Hutch's fingers had been. "Tell me when it starts to feel good," he requested. His finger moved back and forth, twisted, and he felt the tight muscle begin to relax. He focused on the lower part of the tract again, and slowly pushed the finger back, before pushing it in again... just as slowly.
Hutch groaned. "Oh, God."
Encouraged, Starsky kept the finger in a smaller area, feeling it. Hutch spread his legs a little further, this time eagerly. Starsky could feel a raised area beneath his finger, and he pressed on it, using a downward spiraling motion.
"Oh," Hutch cried softly.
Starsky's prick throbbed. He shifted on his knees, anxious to keep pleasing Hutch. Lovingly, he said, "I'm gonna put in another one. So, it's gonna feel twice as good."
Hutch gasped in anticipation.
The opening still seemed incredibly tight. Starsky brought up his other hand and tried to pull back the skin to one side of the orifice. Hutch sucked in a breath and Starsky wished he'd been gentler. But now the second finger was pushing at the opening, trying to gain entry.
"Relax, Hutch," he coaxed softly.
Hutch obeyed, and Starsky pushed the second finger in. The whole tract tightened in protest, and he waited, barely rocking the digits, trying to stretch the opening. The change was so subtle that it wasn't until his fingers seemed to move on their own that he realized he'd been successful, and Hutch had relaxed significantly.
He could manipulate his fingers inside Hutch. He moved them back and forth, massaging the little lump.
Hutch quivered. "Oh, my God," he groaned, throwing his head back. He began to rock his body back and forth.
Pre-cum fluid drip from Starsky's prick. There was nothing more perfect on Earth than Hutch using him for his own pleasure. In addition to the slow rocking motion, Hutch was rotating his hips, as though finding the ultimate sensation that Starsky's fingers could achieve. He groaned even louder.
Starsky kissed the buttock again. Then he ducked his head and lapped widely at the hanging scrotal sac, enjoying how it danced back and forth with the force of his tongue.
Anal muscles tightened around his fingers, and Hutch made a more poignant noise.
Starsky couldn't remember ever getting quite this hard before. Reluctantly, he pulled his fingers back. He spread them apart as they withdrew, trying to stretch the opening even more. With his other hand, he lightly patted a pale buttock. "Gonna put my cock in there, Hutch. And I'm gonna try to make it rub on that spot just like my fingers did." That had been another reason he wanted Hutch in this position. He thought it might be easier to manipulate the motion of his prick, especially if he didn't shove it in very far.
Hutch groaned with anticipation, his legs bracing against the mattress.
Starsky straightened while still on his knees. Too high. He pushed on Hutch's spine. "Lower a little, if you can." He applied a thick coating of gel to his phallus.
Hutch stretched his arms out in front of him, which made it easier to lower his hips by spreading his legs even more.
Still gonna be hard on him, Starsky realized. He hoped he could make it worth it.
He squeezed both buttocks, remembering how that had felt when Hutch had done it to him earlier. The flesh felt pliant in his hands, and Hutch groaned appreciatively.
Oh, man, Hutch, you're so beautiful for wanting this from me. He positioned his phallus against the moist opening. He grabbed Hutch by the pelvis now. And thrust.
Hutch drew a desperate gasp as Starsky felt himself disappear into that tight warmth. He barely had the head in, and he waited, feeling Hutch fight the instinct to bring his legs together and close himself off from the foreign intruder. Hutch then seemed to stretch his arms out further in front of his body, as though forcing himself to remain submissive.
Good boy. Starsky rocked forward. Firm, but shallow thrusts. A half inch at a time. He felt the tight sphincter working around his girth, but Hutch otherwise remained still. He was breathing heavily, however, as was Starsky.
Starsky stopped when he was halfway inserted. He shifted a little to make sure he wasn't in danger of slipping out. Then he pressed his right foot against the bed for leverage. Carefully, he thrust downward against Hutch's rectum, trying to direct the crown over that special spot. Loving the tightness....
Hutch grunted, as though with discomfort.
"Help me find it," Starsky pleaded. He kept the motion of his hips slight, barely moving back and forth.
Hutch shifted forward an inch and Starsky slipped out.
He growled at having lost his beloved sheath. Placing a steadying had on Hutch's rear, he inserted it again, feeling considerably less resistance this time around. Firm and snug and warm in there....
"Not so deep," Hutch gasped, trying to be helpful.
Starsky knew what Hutch needed then, why he'd pushed forward. Not much space between Blondie's nuts and his asshole. Starsky pulled back until just the head of his member was within Hutch. Then he pushed downward again, but only about another inch or so. He barely pulled back before pushing just a little ways again.
"Yeeeeeeess," Hutch groaned. Deeply.
A quiver went up Starsky's spine. He could actually please Hutch. He continued to undulate with a cautious motion, massaging Hutch's precious prostate gland. He introduced a circular motion, moving more around and around than back and forth, and Hutch became even more vocal.
My prick's gonna explode. It was harder than he could ever remember it being. Starsky decided he'd earned the right to be selfish, and he thrust deep inside Hutch, marveling at how easily the relaxed rectal walls accepted him. But something was missing.
Puzzled, Starsky pulled back toward the opening, where it was tighter around the head of his prick. Hutch groaned again. Starsky's balls were full and tight. The length of his prick was stimulated. But as he pushed in deep again, he felt alarmed that, while the sensations were right, they weren't coming together like they usually did for orgasm. Climaxing was going to be impossible.
Shit. He settled across Hutch's back, feeling himself throb with frustration. He considered thrusting quickly and then making noises like he'd come. But he disregarded the idea almost immediately. Deceit was not a good way to begin a marriage. He kissed Hutch's shoulder blade.
Hutch raised his head, as though he wanted to say something. But he seemed reluctant to disrupt the mood.
Starsky realized he was going to have to. He laid his cheek against Hutch's back and muttered, "Not gonna get there." Remembering how sore his own asshole had been, he carefully dismounted from Hutch, and listened to his turgid member drop from its sheath with a dissatisfied wet sound.
Starsky threw himself into a sitting position against the headboard. He reached for a towel and used it while watching Hutch carefully straighten, and then move to also get beneath the covers.
"Not your fault, you know," Starsky said while running the terry cloth along his length. "Guess I'm still a while away from bein' a hundred percent. Can't come twice in one night."
Hutch was getting settled beside him. He turned and took Starsky by the chin. Sweetly, he said, "Guess that means the foreplay will be all that more important." He kissed him.
Starsky grinned and tossed the towel aside. He was grateful that Hutch knew it wasn't anything he'd done wrong. He curled up next to that strong body.
A kiss was planted on his forehead. "Loved what you were doing to me," Hutch said with great passion.
Starsky grunted. "Guess I can turn you into my sex slave then, by promisin' to play with your secret part."
Hutch also grunted, as though equally amused. Then he kissed Starsky. Deeply. Seriously. Ran his tongue along his lips. Pulling back, he whispered, "I love being loved by you. And made love to by you."
Starsky groaned and mock-complained, "I'll end up being your sex slave if you keep talkin' like that."
A sloppy kiss trailed down his cheek. "Mmm. I like that idea."
Starsky punched him on the arm, gently. Then he draped his upper body across Hutch's lap and wriggled to get more comfortable. He closed his eyes and muttered, "Turn off the TV." But he made no move to let Hutch up.
He drifted into sleep with the nightlight still on.
* * *
They lay in bed all the next day and fooled around and drifted in and out of sleep. Finally, they left their room in the evening to catch a movie, and ended up hanging out at a bar for a few hours. A couple of young women came on to them, and they chatted politely for a while, but neither felt guilty about sticking to the "other plans" they'd told the ladies they'd had.
They spent all the next day touring the colonial town of Williamsburg. It was one of the most fascinating tourist stops that Starsky had ever been to. But all the walking around for hours told on him, and he was exhausted by dinnertime.
"I feel like I could drive a while," Hutch told him after slurping the last of a cola. They were at a restaurant outside the park and Starsky had felt better after putting away a full meal. "I thought maybe we could go to the other side of the state and spend tomorrow messing around in the Appalachians."
"Sounds good to me," Starsky shrugged. While a part of him was hoping to get back home and get going with their new lives, another part was enjoying that each new day seemed like an adventure. He was seeing parts of the country that he'd never seen before. More importantly, Hutch seemed to be enjoying himself a great deal. Starsky didn't want to go back until Hutch was ready.
Hutch had the map out. "We'll take the interstate back through Richmond, then go on to Charlottesville. We should get there by about eight o'clock or eight thirty." He looked up and grinned warmly. "We can go to bed early, and then maybe get up early."
Starsky merely nodded, feeling too full and lazy and tired to answer.
* * *
A few miles west of Richmond they stopped for gas. They were beyond the city limits, and finding a gas station had forced them to travel another mile after exiting from the highway. The road twisted and turned before they found the gas station that had been promised by a road sign.
Starsky purchased a soda and a candy bar to wake himself up. He concentrated on eating and drinking a while, then realized that they still weren't back on the interstate. "Where are we?" he asked. Darkness had fallen, and they were the only car on the two-lane highway. Trees and pastureland surrounded them.
"I don't know," Hutch admitted after a moment. "I must have taken a wrong turn. Guess we'll just see where this takes us. We should be able to find a way back to the highway at the next intersection."
Starsky was getting impatient as they continued their lonely trek. Finally, they came to an intersection with road signs.
Hutch put on the parking brake, turned on the overhead light, and pulled out the atlas. "Mm," he finally said, after glancing back and forth between the map and the road signs. "I guess we can't get back on the highway from here. But it's just as well." He put the map down and turned off the light. "If we take 33 west, it'll still take us to a town outside of Charlottesville. It'll be a more interesting drive anyway."
Starsky swallowed as Hutch turned west. The forest became thicker and Starsky was starting to feel claustrophobic. It was such a dark night that all they could see was what their headlights revealed. And what those lights often revealed were frequent curves of the road, to say nothing of little dips and bumps. And that made Hutch drive much more slowly. "How long is it gonna take us?" Starsky asked.
"Maybe a half hour or so more than if we'd stayed on the interstate. We should still be there by, say, nine o'clock." Hutch's voice was cheerful. He rolled down his window part way. "Smell that country air," he marveled. Then, "Just think — three hundred years ago, our forefathers were traveling these roads. That's what makes the east coast so much more interesting than where we live. There's so much history here."
Starsky couldn't quite relate to his partner's passion. But he did point out, "Well, where we live also has a history going back three hundred years and then some. It's just by Indians instead of the white man."
Hutch chuckled softly. "Good point."
Starsky decided to try to relax and enjoy the road. As trees continued to loom over them, broken only occasionally by patches of grassland, he found himself thinking about what Hutch had said. "Hutch?"
Starsky shifted uncomfortably, but tried to voice his question as levelly as possible. "Have you ever wanted to live anywhere else? I mean, if we're gonna make a major change in our lives, it would make sense to move now, if we wanted to."
The other shrugged. "There's lots of places I'd like to live. I don't have a preference." He paused, then, "You mean, like out here?"
"Yeah. Or anywhere. I've never had a reason to move before, but I'm a pretty adaptable person when I need to be. I just thought that if you'd really like to move to some place else...."
"Nah," Hutch said after a moment, looking over at him. "Besides, if we do end up opening our own private detective business, we already live in the best place to do it. Southern California is where the most people live who have money to spend on something like that. Who knows, we might even be able to get some Beverly Hills clients."
"Yeah," Starsky said after a moment, having never considered that. Feeling better, he dropped his empty soft drink can to the floor and gazed out the window. Still, the feeling of claustrophobia was somewhat present, and he rolled down his window and stuck his head out to look up at the starless sky.
The air did feel fresh, clean, with the distant scent of hay fields. Hutch wouldn't be able to last here, anyway, because his allergies would kick in. It's too humid. Now convinced more than ever that they would never have to live in a place like this, he continued to gaze at the tops of the trees... the sky....
"Wow," he said, spotting lights in the lower part of the sky, "that plane looks really low." He pulled his head back in the window.
"Must be an airport nearby," Hutch said.
Starsky sought the lights again. They looked even lower, but more behind them, than when he'd first seen them. Larger. Closer.
Suddenly, the car engine sputtered and choked.
"Damn," Hutch muttered, hunched over the dashboard.
"What is it?" Starsky asked, heart pounding. Stranded way out here in the middle of nowhere....
Hutch threw up his hands in disbelief as the car rolled along the pavement, gently slowing. "The whole thing just died."
"Oh, shit," Starsky said. The dashboard and headlights were completely dark.
* * *
When are we gonna get there? It was all Starsky could think about. Thankfully, they'd gotten the car going again. Just get out of this Godforsaken forest.... He felt he wanted to sleep. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open. He had the feeling that Hutch felt the same way, for his partner had been dead silent for what seemed like a long time now.
* * *
It had been the longest night of Starsky's life, but finally they were safely in a motel room in the little city of Gordonsville, about fifteen miles north of Charlottesville. Hutch had already stripped down and was getting beneath the covers. Starsky took off his glow-in-the-dark watch and laid in on the nightstand. No wonder we're beat, he muttered to himself, it's friggin one-fifteen in the mornin'.
He fell asleep instantly.