This story was originally published in The Fix #4, put out by Amapola Press in 1988.  Thanks go to SHaron for scanning and to Lori for proof-reading. Comments from this story can be sent to and will be forwarded to the author. 




Starsky wandered out into the main room of the cabin in his sock feet, still scrubbing away at his teeth. "So wha're oo'ng oo'are'ow?" he asked around the red plastic handle.

"What's that, Starsk? I don't speak toothpast-ese."

I said," he enunciated carefully, emphasizing with the toothbrush, "what are we doing tomorrow? I bet you want to hike to Nevada or something. Am I right?"

"Well, actually, I thought we'd get in a little relaxing fishing. Lie around in the boat all day and drink beer. Then we can have a fish dinner. How's that sound to you?"

"Better than hiking, if you ask me." The dark head disappeared from Hutch's line of sight as Starsky rinsed his mouth. It reappeared a moment later when he apparently missed Hutch's next comment.

"What was that?"

"I said I'll set the alarm for five. We gotta get out there early if we're going to catch any fish." Hutch set the final dish in the drying rack and strolled into the main room wiping his hands on an ancient dishtowel.

"You gotta be kidding!" Starsky yelped. "This is supposed to be a vacation! I'm not getting up at five in the morning!"

Hutch twirled the dishtowel between his hands, watching appreciatively as Starsky stripped off the blue cotton shirt and started on the tight jeans. At the first sight of the trapdoor opening of the red union suit, Hutch snapped the towel out, making a large cracking noise in the quiet cabin.

Starsky screeched and jumped, pulling the jeans up fast. He turned slowly to face the taunting blue eyes, left hand rubbing the sore spot. "You're going to pay for that, Blondie. First the owl, then the bear meat, and now this! Kiss your life good-bye, babe." He began to stalk his lover around the living room.

"C'mon, Starsk," Hutch cajoled, backing around the couch, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure he wouldn't trip. "It was all in fun. Besides, the opportunity was just too beautiful to pass up."

"Yeah? Well, come over here and I'll show you what's fun." With a quick lunge, Starsky maneuvered the taller man into the far corner by the fireplace. He started with light kisses on Hutch's chest, where the pale skin peeked through the unbuttoned black long-john shirt. He moved up the neck to the ears, then worked around to the lips. Hutch began to untense, moving his arms around Starsky's waist, and returning a few of the kisses. Starsky pressed him in the corner, and one hand wandered down to Hutch's crotch, pressing gently.

Suddenly, Hutch felt a pressure at the back of his knee, Starsky's hand grasped his shirt collar and pulled, and Hutch found himself on his back on the floor. Starsky was seated on his chest, fingers poised above his sensitive rib cage. Oh, shit, I fell for it again.

"What if I just apologize now, before you tickle me?" Hutch appealed. "I'll make it up to you." He tried his most seductive smile.

"Oh, yeah, Mr. Mountain Man, what did you have in mind?" Starsky relaxed back, situating himself suggestively.

"Oh, I'm sure we could come up with something . . ." Hutch let the sentence trail off as he began stroking Starsky's chest, and coincidentally unbuttoning the front of the long-johns. His fingers trailed inside the fabric, fastening on the nubs of Starsky's nipples and massaging them. "But don't you think we could find a more comfortable location?"

Starsky leaned forward and kissed him deeply, then rose lithely to his feet, offering a hand up. Hutch took it, and was pulled into another kiss. It lasted until the need for air forced their slight separation. Hutch took the opportunity to draw his lover toward the bed in the corner of the room. He eased the already-unzipped jeans over Starsky's hips, then settled him back onto the bed. He was drawn forward into another kiss, but broke it off to kneel down and pull off the red wool socks and the jeans. He placed a soft kiss on the arch of each foot before tossing the wrinkled jeans over the end of the bed, then rose and quickly discarded his own clothing.

Starsky was spread-eagled on the bed, the red union suit outlining every muscle, and the open front pointing like an arrow to the erection that was still covered. He wore a smile that said he knew exactly what the view was doing to his partner.

"Hey, are you coming in, or are you planning to freeze your balls off out there?" The tone was teasing, and it roused Hutch from his hypnotized stare to realize that the cabin was quite chilly and that there was a very warm alternative available. In a single move he was on the bed, wrapping his arms around his lover, and being squeezed tightly in return. Starsky rolled on top and began to explore Hutch's neck with his tongue. When the wet tip wandered into his left ear, a shock ran through him like touching a live wire.

Hutch's hands traveled inside the longjohns, massaging Starsky's back, wandering down to caress the round ass and back up to the shoulders. He pushed the garment over Starsky's shoulders, temporarily trapping his arms, and took the opportunity to drop a quick kiss on his partner's nose. Starsky stifled a giggle, freed his arms from the clinging material and returned to his study of Hutch's neck and ear.

As much as Hutch appreciated the way the red longjohns looked on his partner, they were getting in his way now and he pushed them impatiently over Starsky's hips. Starsky obliged him by lifting up and performing an acrobatic move that resulted in a pile of red material on the floor, and Starsky's very warm body pressed against his inch for inch.

Starsky started gently rocking his hips, while his mouth moved on to explore Hutch's face. Hutch retaliated, bringing his hands away from Starsky's ass to cup the beloved face, sinking his long fingers into the dark curls. The loving followed Starsky's lead, slow and comfortable. The intensity between them built with each caress.

"Starsk, oh god, Starsk, I love you . . ." Hutch whispered as the waves of the orgasm finally broke over him. Starsky clung even tighter, covering Hutch's mouth with his own, then joining him in the gentle release.

Hutch's mind wandered back to the here-and-now to find his face buried in his partner's neck. The skin was still mottled red with arousal and he smiled at the physiological response that for some reason embarrassed Starsky.

"H'tch?" The whisper was totally devoid of energy.

"Yeah, babe?"

"Love you."

Hutch started to respond, but Starsky's breathing had already slipped into an even rhythm. He settled for kissing the ear he could reach, then snuggled into the warm shoulder and slept.


Starsky woke with a start from his nightmare of drowning, but in the unfamiliar darkness, the difficult breathing and the pressure on his chest continued. It took him a moment to gather his wits and realize that Hutch had moved in his sleep. He was now resting across Starsky's upper body, comfortable for him, but making it nearly impossible for Starsky to breathe.

"Hutch?" he whispered, "hey, Hutch, you 'wake?" There was no response from the blond. "C'mon, ya big lug, get off me!" But Hutch slept on obliviously.

It took a few minutes of maneuvering and whispered curses before Starsky was able to wriggle out of the bed. The cold air of the cabin hit him as soon as he was away from Hutch's warm body. Several more curses saw him through struggling into the abandoned long underwear, though he couldn't get it buttoned all the way up. He fished under the bed and came up with Hutch's wool socks instead of his own, but his feet were so cold that he didn't worry about it.

Finally warm, Starsky wandered into the kitchen and opened the aged refrigerator in search of a snack. He eyed the supplies that Hutch had purchased with dismay. "Damnit, why can't he buy any real food, anyway?" He grabbed the carton of milk from the top shelf. In the dim light cast from the appliance's interior, he searched for the canister of chocolate powder that he'd seen earlier. He found it in the corner cabinet. "Hah, you're all mine!" he gloated to the cartoon-figure rabbit on the side of the can as he dumped several heaping spoonfuls into his glass, and added the milk. "Have to remember to thank the Cap for leaving this around."

Starsky wandered back into the living room, navigating by the light from the open icebox. Nursing his chocolaty milk, he thought back over the group of "kids" and their fire across the lake, but when he looked out in the dim moonlight, everything seemed quiet. "I'm not sure I buy your explanation, buddy, but I guess if they don't bother us it's none of our business," Starsky spoke softly to his reflection in the window.

When he had finished the dregs of the sweet concoction, Starsky rinsed the glass and placed it carefully on the drainboard. He replaced the carton of milk and closed the door of the refrigerator, returning the cabin to darkness.

Starsky was unsurprised to discover that, in his absence, his partner had claimed the entire bed. With those incredibly long legs and arms, Hutch seemed to expand to fill any available bed space.

Wonder how Dobey and Edith manage it? That bed is pretty small. The idea of his stout captain falling out of bed made Starsky chuckle.

He briefly considered trying to get Hutch to move over, but short of a full-scale war, nothing would wake Hutch until dawn or the alarm, whichever came first. Then he would bounce up and be obscenely cheerful. God, the man is insufferable sometimes. Starsky leaned over the inert body, ruffled the blond silk tenderly, and picked his way across the living room to the pile of gear in the corner.

When he encountered the spare sleeping bag, he unstuffed it and settled himself on the lumpy couch in front of the fireplace. "S'not so bad up here, just Hutch 'n' me," he muttered, snuggling down under the warm bag. As Starsky drowsed, his mind wandered back over the mock-argument. Not like some we've had, but if he really tries to get me up at five . . . .

"Shit! He set the alarm!" Starsky struggled out of the sleeping bag and found the clock with the help of the glowing numbers on its dial. He turned the alarm off, then nestled back into his bed on the battered sofa.

"Maybe now I can get some sleep in peace," he mumbled, already drifting off . . .