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"Starsky, will you please tell me what's bothering you?" Hutch said irritably. He shifted in the Torino's front seat. It was 2:30 AM and he was very tired of sitting in a miserably silent car, on a dark side street, trapped alone with a sullen partner. He was tired, too, of hoping that the fugitive they were staking out would finally come by to assault his former girlfriend again. It wasn't that he wished any harm on the hapless woman, but he was looking forward to taking out his frustration from hours of non-communication with Starsky on someone who deserved it. If he was lucky, this bastard would resist arrest.
That was the trouble with stake-outs. They were almost fun if your partner was in a good mood. But if there was something troubling that incomprehensible mind, then it was like being trapped in a prison cell with a bad cellmate. An eternity of minutes ticking away one by one. Hutch was ready to go crazy.
Starsky didn't answer him, but then, Hutch didn't expect him to. It hadn't been a good week. This was their third night waiting for their prey on this lonely side-street, and they were both short-tempered and losing patience over the wasted hours, even Captain Dobey. Stake-outs weren't normally so bad when you had Starsky to entertain you with a constant stream of nonsensical prattle, bad jokes, trivia, and convoluted logic problems. But trapped in near darkness in a traveling Coke can with your best friend and lover radiating serious resentment was a whole other thing.
Hutch wasn't used to it. Since they'd turned their life around (was it just two years ago?) and fallen in love and then bed, life had nearly been one long honeymoon. It still amazed him sometimes, how compatible they were, how much in love they were, how much joy was in the life they shared together. And it wasn't like they didn't have the same old arguments they'd had before giving their bodies over to what their souls had known for so long. But most of their conflicts centered around the basics -- the job, cars, meals, and personal style. The same old things they'd always harassed each other about.
Hutch wasn't used to getting the silent treatment from Starsky. As much as he complained about his partner's motor-mouth, he found the ensuing silence unnerving. He knew Starsky knew it, too, and was waiting for him to crack. He was close. He checked his watch, wondering if this twelve hour shift would ever end. Of course, then he'd just get to enjoy his Silent Starsky in the privacy of their home --
He blinked, remembering. "This isn't still about this morning, is it?" he asked, disbelievingly.
Starsky didn't answer, but there was a subtle shift in his posture, even though his gaze never left their target.
Hutch wanted to shout, "AH-HAH!" but restrained himself. Rolling his eyes, he felt his exasperation climb. "I can't believe this. I-I can't believe that you're putting me through all this emotional blackmail because we didn't have time to--"
"We had time," Starsky said quietly. He continued to eye their objective.
"No, we didn't. We had twenty minutes to get up, shower, get dressed and get out of there to be on time for the meeting this morning."
"We had time," Starsky repeated. "What one of us didn't have was desire. That simple."
Hutch felt like his partner had just hit him with a dead fish. "What are you talking about?"
Finally, Starsky turned his eyes to Hutch. Automatically, Hutch turned to look out the windshield, keeping his focus on the short stoop that lead to the girlfriend's front door. "We had plenty of time. We must have, since you managed to water every one of your damned plants, and give each of them an individual pep-talk."
"Starsky," Hutch said, trying to regain his reasonable tone, "if I didn't take the time to water them this morning, I would've had to spend a lot more time rescuing them this evening. It's not like we've been getting home at reasonable hours. And it's not like we've been getting more than a few hours sleep every night." He looked around at the dismal neighborhood. Several of the street lights were out, which had given them the chance to park in near-darkness while in plain sight in Starsky's neon-mobile. Normally, they did stake-outs in Hutch's drab, beat-up car which would've blended in much better in this neighborhood. But the lack of lighting gave Starsky the excuse to insist they use his vehicle. It was more comfortable. But he'd cut out his tongue before admitting that.
"You had time to water your plants," Starsky said, in a tone that brooked no discussion. "So, don't say we didn't have time."
"Do you have any idea what a ridiculous conversation this is?" Hutch said. "You're jealous of my plants?"
Starsky turned his attention back to the suspect's front door, which allowed Hutch to peer at him again. Starsky didn't answer.
Hutch sighed. "Starsk...we'd fucked like bunnies less than five hours before! We're nearing forty, but we have sex more often than most twenty-year-olds, and we've been going at it like gang-busters since we first fell into bed! Look...don't take it as a rejection, I was running on empty, and I couldn't stop worrying about--"
"Your ficus," Starsky interjected, "that was going to go into major leaf-drop. And the brown edges on the Boston fern. And the Swedish Ivy was looking droopy. I heard you. We were about to have a major environmental catastrophe if you didn't water your plants right that second. But that ain't all I heard. I heard everything you weren't sayin', too. I can see the writing on the wall." He sighed in a tone that sounded final. "The honeymoon's over."
Hutch had to stop himself from groaning aloud.
"That's how it starts," Starsky continued. "I've seen it before. First, you don't have time for it in the morning. You're too tired. You're too busy. Your plants need attention. Then before you know it, there's no time at night. Next thing you know, we're down to three times a week, then two, then once...then once in a while. And after awhile everything's more important, and we're right back to square one, being two really close partners who spend too much time together to feel the need to spend time together in bed. The honeymoon's over."
"Well, since you've got the demise of our relationship all mapped out," Hutch said, "can you tell me if we found the time to talk to a marriage counselor, or are we in separate bedrooms already?"
Starsky turned to face him again and his look was so intense, Hutch couldn't pull his eyes away in spite of his sense of responsibility. "You turned me down, Hutch. You never did that before. Ever. You didn't want me. For the first time since we became lovers." He turned back to watch the target.
Hutch was torn between joking his way out of this or bulling his way out of it, when the radio squawked their call name. Hutch grabbed it just to have something distracting to do. "Zebra Three, wha'd'ya got for us?"
"Dobey here. Huggy Bear called here for you, and I took it. He had word that our target was showing up at a night spot over on Delancy." That was a good three miles from their stake-out. "I verified his location. It's no wonder he hasn't showed at the girlfriend's. Seems he's stepping out with one of the waitresses in this juke joint. I've got two cars on surveillance on the scene, and two plain-clothes men posted at the exits. As soon as he walks outside, he's nailed. So, I'm pulling you two off-duty tonight. You've been putting in a lot of hours. Unless you hear from me, sleep in tomorrow. I'll call you later in the day and let you know what's going on. Get some rest."
"Thanks, Captain. We could use it. Zebra Three out." Hutch hung the handset up.
"Yeah, I guess at our age, we need rest more than anything else," Starsky said quietly from the driver's seat.
Hutch resisted the urge to bang his head on the dashboard.
Starsky shifted in the seat and put his hand on the ignition, preparing to turn the key. "So, our bozo's steppin' out on his favorite knock-around. Ain't the way it goes? First...the honeymoon's over, then next thing you know--"
Too far. Hutch slid across the bucket seat and grabbed the hand Starsky had on the ignition. "Now, you wait just one minute. I'm not gonna sit here and be compared to that low-life."
Starsky looked at him brazenly, not giving an inch. "I guess I never thought it would cool off. Somewhere in my mind, I saw us as wizened eighty-year-olds, still makin' each other scream every chance we could get. That was kinda dumb, huh?"
"Did I carry on this way two weeks ago when I was looking for a little afternoon delight on Sunday, and you put me off to wash your precious car?" Score!
Starsky was caught off-guard, trying to remember. "Hey, c'mon Hutch. The car was filthy and I woulda been way too tired to wash it if we'd gone to bed first." A smile started up one side of his mouth. 'Sides...soon as I came in, all wet and soapy you made me get in the shower...."
Hutch remembered. Starsky had worn his typical car-washing outfit: the remnants of a blue sweatshirt that covered his shoulders but left his arms and abdomen bare, and the shortest cut-offs Hutch had ever seen. The crotch was barely intact. Both pockets hung below the severed legs. Hutch couldn't figure out why Starsky's genitals didn't fall through. He'd watched Starsky's performance from the living room window, mesmerized as he lovingly wet then soaped the big red car, the muscles in his arms and abdomen rippling and flexing with the repetitive motions. It wasn't until Starsky turned his back to the window, though, that Hutch realized that the ripe bottom curve of Starsky's buttocks were exposed to the world. He'd nearly lost it then as Starsky hung over the car, washing, then buffing it, his ass clenching and relaxing over and over. By the time Starsky got back in the house, covered in soapsuds and sopping clothes, Hutch nearly dragged him into the shower and almost drowned them both, ravaging Starsky frantically against the tiled wall of the tub. It had far surpassed afternoon delight. It had been more like afternoon delirium.
Starsky's eyes narrowed and Hutch realized he'd come up with a counter argument. "Things got pretty hot for us after I washed the car. A lot hotter than if we'd just had a quickie before hand."
"You did that deliberately...." Hutch suddenly realized.
Starsky's grin was positively gloating now. "Ain't my fault you got this obsession with my rear end."
"Those cut-offs--" Hutch protested, but Starsky interrupted him.
"For a few minutes this morning, I thought you were playin' the same song. Not many people water their plants in the nude. And you know I get off on watchin' you, your big golden body movin' all over the house, getting caught in the sunshine from the windows. So it didn't bother me at first, havin' to wait. I just let it all simmer, enjoyin' the sight of you murmuring all your little love songs to your plants, thinkin' you were primin' my pump by making me wait--"
Hutch sagged. He hadn't even realized where Starsky's head was at, he'd been so focused on his neglected plants.
"So, I didn't mind...until you yelled at me to get the hell up, we were running late. And then you got in the shower without me, leavin' me in that condition. And that's when I knew. You didn't even notice how much I was wantin' you. The honeymoon's o--"
Hutch's head snapped up and he slid closer to Starsky, looming over him, even though he knew Starsky was impossible to intimidate with brute force. "Stop saying that! We were late. We were the last one's to walk into that meeting, and Dobey and the DA were both pissed."
Starsky was still wearing that smirking, indolent smile. He leaned back against the door and met Hutch's gaze unflinchingly. "It's my problem. Needin' you. Wantin' you. Must get on your nerves after awhile."
Hutch was about to burst into a furious retort about all the things that Starsky did that did get on his nerves -- like the way you twist the most innocent thing into a romantic crises just to make me crazy -- when he finally heard the tone of underlying insecurity that was masked by the smirking smile. Needing me? Wanting me? You think I think that's a problem? Oh, babe....
He shifted even closer, slinging one arm over the steering wheel and the other over the back of the car seat. "You get on my nerves all right," Hutch murmured, deliberately pitching his voice into the tone he used whenever they were intimate. Starsky's eyes widened slightly in surprise and his pupils began to dilate. " Like when you wear jeans so tight it's a miracle you don't get gangrene of the balls and you spend the whole day making sure you walk in front of me, or climb stairs ahead of me, so that by the end of the day I'm crazed for you. Those are the days I end up tackling you right inside the door and nailing you in the foyer in a blind haze of lust. Or the days when you manage to find a million excuses to touch me, bump against me, brush your hand down my back, surreptitiously over my ass, even sometimes grazing my groin so that by the time we get in the house I'm nearly blind with wanting you. Or the days when you can't say a single thing that isn't some subtle innuendo about sex, about us having sex, using the kind of specific references only we would understand, so that anyone near us wonders what the hell I'm so red in the face about--"
"Not my fault you blush so easy, blondie," Starsky murmured with a low chuckle.
"The hell it's not. It's all your fault. My perpetual hard-on. My continual state of consternation wondering what the hell you'll come up with next to keep me wired. And it all works, too. So where do you get off whining about one short morning? As it was I was lucky I could walk this morning, let alone water my plants, after what we did last night."
Starsky looked insufferably smug.
"And you've got the nerve to complain--"
"You turned me down, Hutch," Starsky reminded him.
Hutch was ready to throttle him. "You think I didn't want you? Think again. You think I wasn't aware of you lying in that bed, watching every move I made? You think I couldn't see you sprawled across the bed, the sheet covering up nothing of importance, while your erection waved at me to get my attention? It was everything I could do to get the job done--especially when you started stroking yourself so slow just to drive me crazy!"
Starsky's voice was a low, tantalizing whisper. "And did it, Hutch? Did it drive you crazy?"
"You son-of-a-bitch--" Hutch growled, and grabbed Starsky by the back of the head, pulling him into a bruising kiss.
Starsky purred, then chuckled around the kiss as their tongues clashed and warred delightfully. That knowing laughter raised Hutch's blood pressure another notch.
"You fucking tease," Hutch swore, as he bit Starsky's lower lip, making him jump. His hands jerked open the zipper of Starsky's leather jacket, then tore at Starsky's shirt, yanking it out of pants roughly. He needed to feel the silk of his skin, needed it now. "You play me like a fish. Don't think I don't know it."
Starsky was chuckling harder. "You're damned right. My favorite eel. And now I'm gonna reel you in."
"You think so?" Hutch swore as his hands traveled all over the lithe body he had trapped against the door. His fingers splayed over the taut muscles surrounding Starsky's spine, moving around until his thumbs brushed the hardened nubs of Starsky's nipples. "Your legs'll fit just as well over my shoulders in here as they do at home."
Starsky laughed out loud until Hutch lowered his head and latched onto one of those nipples. His teeth clamped down punishingly on the tip, making Starsky lurch and hit his head against the driver's window. His laughter died in a low rumbling moan that made Hutch go totally hard. He knew that sound, knew what it meant, and it aroused him like no other. He sucked the small nipple, his anger making him rough, urgent--the way Starsky loved him to be.
"You make me so mad," Hutch grumbled against his lover's furred chest.
Starsky's voice was a husky rasp that raised the hairs all over Hutch's body. "And I love you that way, tiger."
Hutch bit the other nipple just as hard, making Starsky go rigid all over. Hutch's hands jerked open Starsky's belt, yanked his zipper down. He was wearing no underwear. Hutch nearly lost it on the spot. "Where the hell are your drawers, you tease?" Starsky started laughing again, that rich taunting laughter that was like the flash of red to a bull in rut. "You shameless slut."
The laughter grew deeper, tormenting him, exasperating him, arousing him to a fever.
He drew Starsky's erection out without gentleness, making him gasp in surprise. "Damn, Hutch, we're in the car!"
"Like you give a damn," Hutch snarled. "Like you wouldn't let me go down on you on Hollywood Boulevard, like you wouldn't bend over the squadroom desk for me." It was dark in the car, but even so, Hutch could see the beautifully sculpted cock in his hand. Its heat and scent was both familiar and exotic. Without warning, Hutch took Starsky's hard-on deep into his mouth, sucking it strong, needing to feel it deep inside him, needing to please it, even as his oral loving pleased himself. To taste Starsky--
Starsky exhaled in a rush, his hands burying themselves in Hutch's hair, holding his head in place as though forcing him to do this thing he craved doing, this thing he was so good at. Starsky bucked under him, and Hutch grabbed both cheeks with his hands and pinned his man in place, determined to make him insane with his mouth, knowing how much Starsky loved it. "Jeezus, Hutch," Starsky gasped, breathless, "jeezus.... You're damned right I'd let you do me on the squadroom desk. Why not? I let you take me in Parker's men's room that night we were there so late. Remember? We were arguing. You were bein' all bullheaded, and so I kept goading you until you hoisted me onto the sinks and nailed me right there. Remember? We nearly got caught by the janitor. And that time I got you off in the movie theatre usin' just my hand and no one knew until you moaned when you came? Bet no one ever got off watchin' 101 Dalmations before. And look at you now. Like a 16-year-old, suckin' me off in the front seat o' my car. Suckin' me like a fuckin' expert. You are so good at this, Hutch. Your mouth was made just for me, Hutch. So good...."
Hutch devoured Starsky as though he were starving, the scent and taste of his masculinity driving him wild. How did Starsky always manage to get him like this, so crazed, so much in heat? He was too old for this kind of behavior, wasn't he?
Starsky's hands tugged at his pullover, and he released Starsky's cock long enough to shed his jacket, holster and sweater. The car was like a sauna now, the windows steamed up, the heat from the bodies warming the interior excessively. They were both sweating. Hutch cracked one of the windows to let in some cool air. He grappled with Starsky's impossibly tight jeans until they were down around his thighs, then went back to his feast, as though leaving it for those brief moments had simply whetted his appetite.
Starsky's hands roved his back, his shoulders, his arms while his head tipped back against the window, his eyes rolled up in ecstasy. Hutch loved it when he looked like this, loved knowing he was the cause of it. His own erection was strangling, but he didn't care. Not yet. But visions of nailing Starsky on his own precious leather seats inflamed him further.
He reached around the lowered jeans, and gripped Starsky's testicles firmly. They were drawn up tight already, and he had to fight the urge to be rough with them. His need drove his urgency, but this needed a delicate touch.
"Oh, God! Oh, God!" Starsky cried. "Easy, oh, please, Hutch, go easy." His whole body went rigid, and his cock swelled even more.
He rolled the fragile orbs in his hands dangerously. Starsky went bow-string tight. Hutch pulled off long enough to threaten his lover. "You make me insane for you, then I'm supposed to go easy? You keep playin' with fire, boy, you gotta pay the price." He rolled the testicles again, tightening on them just a bit.
"Oh, shit!" Starsky swore, thrashing as Hutch went down on him again. "Don't! Don't! Hutch, I'm gonna come!"
And wake the whole damn neighborhood while you're doing it, Hutch thought smugly.
Wanting to send Starsky into orbit as payment for tormenting him all day, Hutch slid his other hand beneath his plush rear, and penetrated him suddenly with his middle finger.
Starsky clenched his jaw and tried to smother his frantic shout, as he lurched and exploded hard into Hutch's mouth. Hutch drank him greedily, loving the taste and feel of Starsky's essence. It was like an aphrodisiac to him, showing him how much he could please this beautiful man, how much he could satisfy him. His own need was raging and soon he'd be out of control with it. But for the moment, he'd relish these brief seconds of satisfying release as Starsky came joyfully in his mouth.
Starsky was shuddering as his orgasm waned, his eyes seductive, heavy-lidded, the deep blue promising things Hutch didn't dare think about or lose it completely. Starsky's body sagged bonelessly against the passenger door. He was panting, his mouth half-opened. He looked thoroughly wanton, chest and groin exposed, deliciously inviting. He looked like a meal waiting to be ravaged. Hutch's heart was pounding so hard he could hear his blood ringing in his ears.
"Don't you ever tell me the honeymoon's over," Hutch rasped, grabbing Starsky by his jacket and pulling him up against him. He kissed him hard, making him taste himself on Hutch's tongue. Starsky moaned helplessly, melting against Hutch, his strength gone with his orgasm. The brush of Starsky's chest hair against his own smooth flesh was almost too stimulating to bear. Hutch leaned back against the passenger door, pulling Starsky's negligible weight on top of him. He loved the feel of him against his body, loved his strong, masculine body and the way it felt against his. His hands roved Starsky's back under his shirt, until Starsky stripped, removing jacket, gun holster and shirt. Hutch slid his hands down his slender back and gripped Starsky's beautiful buttocks, his palms burning for the feel of them. "Don't you ever say I don't want you when I can barely keep my hands off you all day. An hour doesn't go by that I'm not fucking you in my mind, that I'm not on my knees worshiping your cock in my fantasies, that I'm not bent across a chair taking it from you in my imagination. And you make sure of it, you make sure I don't have time to think about anything else but you. You make sure you're the center of my world."
"Damn right," Starsky hissed against his mouth. "I want you crazy for me. I don't want you to have any time to think about anyone else. I want you on the edge all the time, so insane for me you can't take the time to get our clothes off. That's just the way I want you, lover. Mine. All mine."
"Always have been," Hutch swore in a whisper. "Don't you know that, crazy man? From the beginning. No woman ever meant to me what you did. No lover ever pleased me like you do. I've never loved anyone the way I love you, you idiot. You hear me? I love you, Starsky. Only you. Ever. Always."
Starsky pulled back, trying to focus on Hutch's eyes in the dim glow of the distant streetlamp. The humor was gone from his eyes. "Ah, Hutch...I need you so much. You gotta know that."
They paused, letting the truth of their words settle around them. Their kiss this time was loving, sweet, the urgency banked. But not for long. Hutch shifted, rubbing himself deliberately against his partner.
"Not as much as I need you right now, babe," Hutch swore. His erection was killing him.
"Oh, yeah?" Starsky said, the taunting back in his voice. His hands undid Hutch's belt, drew his zipper down as Starsky eased back, kneeling on the car's bench. "Let's see. Man. Are you hard!"
Hutch shut his eyes. Don't beg. Don't beg. "Starsky...please...." His whisper made Starsky smile.
Starsky's eyes were black in the dim light as he watched Hutch's imploring expression as he lowered his head to Hutch's groin. His mouth enveloped Hutch slowly, inch by inch as Hutch grabbed frantically at the seat back and the dashboard to help him maintain control. He wanted to shove Starsky's head down roughly, he wanted to totally control him, fuck his mouth savagely, his need so keen. He gripped the seat instead, every muscle in his body coiled, and clung to his tenuous control. Starsky's mouth was magic, seductive, searingly hot, wonderfully wet. He mouthed Hutch wonderfully, giving him long, agonizing moments of transcendent pleasure. Starsky's hands were all over him, adding to the excruciating delight of his mouth. He stroked Hutch's chest, his arms, and petted his ass, pushing his jeans down as he did. All Hutch wanted to do was come in that mouth, and if Starsky just kept doing what he was doing, it was going to happen very soon. Just as Hutch yielded to his craving and slid a hand into Starsky's curls, Starsky's head lifted, letting Hutch's tortured cock slip free. He groaned in frustration, and urged the head to return, but it resisted.
"You think you're gonna get off that easy?" Starsky said softly. "Think again, baby blue. You owe me for this morning."
Hutch blinked, his sexual euphoria clouding his thoughts. "Huh? Starsk...come on, babe, please."
Starsky was shifting in the seat, yanking at Hutch's jeans, tugging at his boot. "You're ass is mine, boy. You owe me. Lotta nerve talkin' 'bout my legs over your shoulders.... We're in my car!"
Hutch's boot thudded to the floor as his brain fog lifted slightly. Starsky pulled his right leg out of his jeans. His erection was killing him. "Starsk...we're in the car...." He looked around dazedly. The windows were completely fogged in spite of the two inch gap in the open window and they were still in almost total darkness. The street was completely silent and there hadn't been a bit of activity here since nine PM and it was almost three now. But still...it was a public street. They were cops...!
Starsky hoisted Hutch's bare leg onto the dashboard. As Hutch looked at his kneeling partner, he realized Starsky's erection was back at full bloom. How did he always manage to recover so fast?
"Be grateful I don't have you stretched across the damned hood," Starsky growled. "You think you're the only one who's on a runaway train? I been waitin' for this express since this morning. You owe me."
Hutch saw his partner fumbling in his jacket that was now on the floor of the car. As Starsky pulled out a small tube of lubricant, Hutch's sexual haze lifted enough for it all to become clear to him. "You planned this!" Hutch sputtered. "The whole thing. The pouting, the honeymoon ploy, pissing me off, taking your car...you conniving little slut."
Starsky grinned as he slathered lubricant onto his straining erection. "You're damned right I planned it. You think about that the next time you're too busy for me." While Hutch sprawled, dazed, against the passenger door, Starsky lifted Hutch's knee over his shoulder. "You're right, Hutch. Fits just fine." He shifted and lunged forward, impaling Hutch in one swift, shocking move.
The sensation was so intense, so overwhelming, Hutch nearly came. But Starsky must've anticipated it, since his hand clamped down tight around Hutch's cock, holding back the surge. Hutch bucked like a bronco, but Starsky rode him expertly, thrusting hard into his tightness and holding him in place.
Spangles erupted behind Hutch's eyes. It was exquisite, sublime, and wickedly cruel. He couldn't remember ever being this excited. In the front seat of this fucking tomato.... He'd never live it down. He'd kill this bastard...sometime later. Starsky thrust deep into him again, then again, and Hutch felt his lover's testicles slap against his ass. Oh God, he's in me...all the way in me....
"I damned well better be the center of your world, Hutch," Starsky rasped, his voice strained. "Cause you're the center of mine. God, I love you, Hutch. Need you so much."
Any control Hutch might have thought he had then was lost as Starsky began pounding into him, grunting with the power of his thrusts, nailing him over and over, tearing into him. Hutch grabbed at Starsky's shoulders and suddenly their mouths were meshed, their tongues entwining wetly as Hutch's hips snapped back, meeting the powerful lunges, wanting more and more. Starsky never released his cock, gripping it hard, pumping it with lubricant warmed by his hand. Hutch's brain lost all coherent thought as his body was wracked by pleasure and his heart felt like it would burst to overflowing with love and passion. He couldn't pull in enough oxygen, couldn't buck hard enough, couldn't separate all the different sensations he was assaulted with. He was dimly aware of the big car rocking beneath them, cradling them safely in its dark interior. He was suddenly grateful Starsky was so obsessed with its care as its well-oiled joints bobbed silently with their fucking. His own car would've been screaming in protest and woken the entire neighborhood.
He felt Starsky's body coil in preparation, as Starsky squeezed his cock in reaction to his own mounting need. Hutch erupted suddenly, wonderfully, and his spasming, clenching body pulled Starsky into orgasm with him as the two of them tried to stifle their cries of release against each other. He thought for a moment he might lose consciousness as he gasped like a fish out of water. Starsky collapsed like a dead weight against him, muttering, "Love you, blintz, love you so much."
"Love you, too, baby. But don't go to sleep," Hutch warned dazedly, his own body trying to shut down. The long hours of the last few days and their strenuous performance were taking a toll. Hutch couldn't forget where they were, though. They'd gotten away with it so far, but they couldn't afford to wake up on a public street in broad daylight nearly nude, with Starsky's ass displayed for all the world to appreciate. "Starsky, don't go to sleep," he said again, his own eyes starting to drift shut.
"A minute...jus' another minute, mom...," Starsky said, his breathing already evening out.
Bad idea, Hutch told himself sternly, but the warm bundle of sex-scented flesh in his arms was a soothing blanket. Can't sleep here.... Hutch thought dimly as his body sagged against the door.
"So, this is LA's finest, on the job," said a mocking voice through the open window.
Hutch came awake in a panicked lurch, dislodging Starsky who bolted away from him, nearly kneeling on his bare testicles. Feeling totally vulnerable with his pants half-on and half-off, bare-chested and unarmed, Hutch scrambled for his jeans, but was blocked by Starsky's equally frantic maneuverings. How was it getting undressed in the car seemed so easy, but getting clothes back on suddenly seemed like an Olympic event held in a bathtub?
"You two ought to be ashamed!" scolded the disapproving voice.
Huggy, Hutch realized, not very relieved. They'd never live this down.
"You s'posed to be protecting the fine citizens of this good city, but instead, what are you doin'? Practicin' debauchery on the public streets. Isn't that against the law, officer? I am shocked, shocked, I say, that two members of our po-lice department could carry on like a couple of kids in a parked car." He tsked disapprovingly as he leaned against the Torino.
Starsky planted an elbow painfully in Hutch's side as he scrambled for his shirt just as Hutch finally managed to get his leg in his jeans and cover his bare ass. He was so mortified, he nearly snagged his genitals in his zipper.
"Huggy, what the hell are you doing here?" he asked wearily. The car windows were no longer steamed. They'd fallen asleep in the car in full public view with Starsky's ass mooning the entire neighborhood. It was still dark, but the sputtering, darkened streetlamp above them had miraculously burst into renewed life and now shined down on the Torino like a spotlight, highlighting them in flagrante, especially in Starsky's case, delecto. Hutch wanted to die.
"What am I doing here?" Huggy protested. "Why, I'm just doing my civic duty, officers. As a respectable, public-minded citizen who still has some sense of public decorum, I drove over to see if you were still here, after calling your house and getting no answer. Dobey told me you were supposed to be off-duty, but remarked that you'd never logged out, so I took a chance on finding you. Imagine, carryin' on like that, in public and on the clock! My tax dollars at work!"
Shit, Hutch groaned mentally, we never logged out. Dobey could've called us anytime. A patrol car could've come by. Oh, man...what a risk. We've gotta stop doing this kind of thing.
"Hutch, we gotta stop doin' this kinda thing," Starsky moaned, slipping his shirt on and scrambling around for his holster and gun. "We're gonna get in trouble."
Hutch turned to him, astonished, and glared daggers at him. "We've gotta stop...? You...you...."
"Listen, Blondie," Huggy said, cutting off his tirade. "You're gonna have to deal with your domestic disputes on your own time. I ain't drivin' around the city all night for my health. Or for my anatomical ed-you-KA-shun, if you get my drift."
Starsky groaned piteously as he struggled into his holster. Hutch couldn't find his boot. If he did, he wondered if he could stuff it into Huggy's mouth.
"That bad boy, Carstairs, that you lookin' for," Huggy said, "well, he managed to give all Dobey's men the slip over at the KitKat Klub."
Hutch blinked dazedly. "He got away from all those cops?"
"It just happened a little while ago. You're lucky Dobey didn't send a car over here right away. That coulda been right interesting." Huggy smirked.
Hutch closed his eyes. They were never going to live this down.
"Y'know Starsky," Huggy drawled into the window, as though to be sure Starsky heard him, "that's a fine fundament you got there. Never realized it before. Thought at first glance Hutch was shackin' up with some pretty lady on the side--"
"You're pushing your luck, Huggy," Starsky growled in a voice that they all knew too well.
Huggy just chuckled. "You bein' the expert on that, Starsky, ain't you? Anyhow, Carstairs is in a dull yellow Pinto. But I heard from the bartender at the KitKat that he and his new squeeze, the waitress there, had a fallen out before he left. His pattern's always the same. He loses the latest lady, then shows up here to take out his anger on this poor girl."
Hutch nodded, his brain buzzing on adrenaline, lack of sleep, and sexual euphoria. All he wanted to do was sleep. And kill Huggy. And Starsky. Not necessarily in that order.
The radio crackled. Starsky grabbed it as the dispatcher called them. "Zebra Three here." Hutch couldn't help but notice how ragged his voice sounded. He felt a little smug. Then he shifted in the seat and his ass reminded him not to be too smug.
The loud rumble of a muffler-less car sounded from another street and Hutch realized they were too exposed under the suddenly working streetlamp. "Huggy, get in. Starsky, move the car back into the darkness."
As Huggy slipped into the backseat, Starsky started the Torino and backed it up out of the bright light, then killed the engine.
Huggy waved a hand in front of his nose, grimacing. "Whoo-eee, you two really been at it in here! Whew!"
Starsky shot him a murderous glare as Dobey spoke through the radio. "Where the hell are you two anyway? I thought I sent you home!"
They glanced at each other guiltily. "Uh, well, Captain," Starsky stuttered. "We got a tip that Carstairs slipped your leash, so we headed back here soon as we heard."
"You guys must be getting psychic," Dobey said.
"That what they callin' it these days?" Huggy muttered. "We just always called it--"
Both cops glared at their informant who promptly shut up.
"Keep your heads down," Dobey barked, "and your eyes open."
From the back seat Huggy chuckled wickedly.
"This clown could be showing up at any moment."
Just then a yellow pinto turned the corner, backfiring loudly, then grumbled to a halt in front of the dilapidated building they'd been watching all night. A rangy, poorly dressed man got out, slamming the door viciously, and took the steps two at a time.
"He's here, now, Captain," Starsky said. "Better send back-up. We're gonna give him a minute to start his conflict so he's distracted, then we're goin' in. Zebra three out." He hung up the handset.
"Be careful! He's fresh. You're not. You've been working all night. Don't do anything foolish."
Huggy chuckled some more. "Too late for that advice. Yeah, they been workin' all right."
Hutch pulled his Python and checked the ammunition. Its presence helped silence the peanut gallery in the back seat. "You ready?" he asked his partner.
Starsky just looked at him wearily, as he checked his own clip. "Why the hell did you let us fall asleep?"
Hutch just stared at him, dumbfounded. "I told you not to go to sleep! As usual, you ignored me. And why is it my responsibility to make sure we don't get caught in your little escapades?"
"Boys, boys," Huggy admonished with exaggerated patience. "If you don't catch Carstairs at the right minute, that poor lady of his is gonna be back in the hospital and he'll get away again."
Both of them nodded, focusing on the job at hand.
"Ready, partner?" Hutch asked as he left the car. It took him a second to slip his boot on once he was outside. He stood and faced Starsky, gun drawn. "Let's go nail that turkey."
Starsky looked back at him over the roof of the car. He was grinning again. "You got it, partner." He winked at Hutch. "For me, it'll be two turkeys in one night. Not a bad catch."
Hutch glowered, even as he shifted his tender rear. "Just wait'll I get you home."
"Lookin' forward to it, lover. In a major way!"