Author: Rebelcat

Gen or Slash: Slash! And some more slash...

Rating: NC-17

Category: Holiday-themed Blasphemy. Shameless Smut. Lemon Challenge fic.

Disclaimer: No offence is intended to anyone. If you take religion very seriously, this is not the fic for you.

Feedback/Critique: Oh, yes please! Except to tell me I’m going to Hell, because I’ve already booked my room in the second circle, reserved for sins of the flesh.

Notes: I’d like to thank EH for beta’ing this story. She claims she didn’t do it, but I saw her! Hah!


Crucifixion is a Cakewalk

All I really need is love, but a little chocolate now and then doesn't hurt!
Lucy Van Pelt

“Well, well. Look at what the Easter bunny left for me.”

Starsky closed his eyes with a groan. He would have also clapped his hands over his ears, but his wrists were shackled to the wall.

“What have I told you about trusting sweet little old ladies?”

Starsky sighed expansively. It would probably be best to just give his tormentor what he wanted. “Little old ladies can’t be trusted. They blow things up, rob gangsters at gunpoint, and...”


“And run porno palaces.” Starsky opened his eyes and glared indignantly at his smirking partner. “But, Hutch, Blanche bakes brownies!”

Hutch lifted one of Starsky’s eyelids with his thumb and looked into his left eye. Then he checked the other one. “Any idea what they were spiked with?”

“Nope, but I’m fine. Jus’ peachy. Not even a headache. So, are you gonna get me out of these?” Starsky first yanked at the restraints holding his wrists, and then at the ones around his ankles. It was hard to get leverage with his arms extended out at right angles from his body.

Despite everything, he wasn’t uncomfortable – the cuffs were lined with something furry. Bunny fur, probably. His feet were flat on the floor, so he wasn’t feeling much strain on his shoulders yet. He did wish that Blanche hadn’t stripped him down to his shorts while he was unconscious, but at least her dungeon was well heated.

It was just that...

“Hutch, why’re you just standing there?”

This wasn’t anything at all like the rescue Starsky had imagined. He’d expected a little teasing, sure. It wasn’t often a man got himself thrown into a dungeon quite this... bizarre.

The couch with the crocheted throw was understandable. Even torturers need a comfortable place to sit. And large heart-shaped beds were no doubt the very latest in props for ravishing prisoners. But the tasseled covers on all the lamps were a bit much. And the cute ceramic Easter bunnies on the shelves next to the whips and leather gear were frankly disturbing. Especially since they appeared to be staring at him with lust in their beady black eyes.

Still, no matter how weird the dungeon, Hutch was supposed to rush in with something resembling concern and release him immediately.

What Hutch was not supposed to do was stand there with his hands on his hips, staring at Starsky with inexplicable intensity.

“It’s not uncommon,” said Hutch, slowly, “to see a crucifix on an old lady’s wall. However, it’s not everyday that you find your partner hanging from one.”

Starsky lifted his chin. “Pah,” he said, airily. “Crucifixion is a cakewalk.”

“You haven’t learned anything from this, have you?”

“What are you talking about?” As far as Starsky was concerned, he’d paid in spades. Kidnapped, and shackled half-naked to a cross. If his mother ever heard about this, she’d kill him.

Hutch braced one hand against the wall and leaned forward until he was an inch away from Starsky’s nose. “All a senior citizen has to do is bat her eyes at you and look helpless, and you turn to mush. I keep telling you, little old ladies can’t be trusted!”

“It’s not like she actually hurt me,” protested Starsky.

Hutch abruptly pulled back, throwing his hands up. “But she could have Starsky! She could have poisoned you, or knifed you, or shot you. Or, or... molested you!” Hutch stopped abruptly and cleared his throat. “For God’s sake, what if she hadn’t called me on her way out of town?”

“That’s how you found me?” Starsky blinked. “Oh... Does that mean she got away with the loot?”

“Every last penny of it,” said Hutch. He didn’t sound as upset as he should have. He was still staring at Starsky, seemingly fascinated by the sight of his partner, crucified.

“Oh, God!” said Starsky. “What if Jackpot Jack tracks her down? She’ll end up at the bottom of the bay, wearing cement overshoes!” He felt a surge of adrenaline, but there was nothing he could do until Hutch released him. “We’ve got to find her!”

“I think,” said Hutch. “That ‘Blanche DuBois’ is more than capable of handling Jack Andrews. And that’s assuming she isn’t already living it up in Tijuana as ‘Stella Kowalski’.”

Hutch stepped forward. He was so close that Starsky could smell coffee on his breath. He brought his eyes up and found himself trapped by Hutch’s gaze.

The energy coursing through Starsky’s bloodstream suddenly centered in his groin. He inhaled, sharply.

“What am I going to do with you, Starsky?” asked Hutch.


Hutch’s eyes tracked down the bare length of Starsky’s body, stopping on his well worn cotton shorts.

Starsky blushed.

Hutch said nothing. He had a speculative expression on his face.

“It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose!” protested Starsky. “C’mon, Hutch?”

“C’mon what?” asked Hutch. “C’mon let you go, or c’mon commit some kind of blasphemy on your body?”

Starsky licked his lips. “Well, I was thinking let me go, but... a little blasphemy sounds okay. Besides, I don’t think it counts for me. I’m a Red Sea pedestrian and proud of it.”

Hutch’s eyes were glittering. “So was He,” he said, just before he closed the distance between them.

Pressure and heat, and the feel of Hutch’s lips on his own. Starsky opened his mouth, and Hutch’s tongue dipped inside for a moment. He grabbed for Hutch’s lower lip with his teeth, only to feel it slip away as Hutch’s mouth moved to the side of his neck.

Starsky’s skin prickled, shivers running up and down his spine. He desperately wanted to touch, to hold... He strained against his bonds, trying to press closer to Hutch. It wasn’t enough, and he moaned with frustration. “Please!”

“You know,” said Hutch. “I’m going to Hell for this.” He reached down between them and massaged Starsky through the thin fabric of his shorts.

“I’ll be right there beside you,” gasped Starsky. The friction of cotton on his skin, and Hutch’s fingers working their way back to find the sensitive spot behind his balls, were setting off fireworks in the back of his mind.

Hutch crouched down on his heels. “There’s lots of bad guys in Hell.” He reached up and slid Starsky’s shorts off his hips, easing them down to his knees.

“Then it’ll feel just like home – oh, God!” Sudden warmth engulfed Starsky. He tried to thrust, to drive himself deeper into Hutch’s mouth. He couldn’t. Hutch pulled back, and his tongue played across the tip and Starsky yelped.

Hutch sat back and licked his lips. “You like that?” he asked, innocently.

“No! God! Will you just—!”

“Not sure you should be taking His Name in vain,” said Hutch. “Under the circumstances.” He grabbed Starsky’s hips and pulled him back into his mouth. His fingers were just under the crease of Starsky’s ass, and when he flexed them, Starsky threw his head back and sobbed.


Starsky couldn’t decide if he was receiving the best or the most frustrating blow job of his life. Hutch kept changing tactics on him. He’d work on Starsky with hand and mouth until Starsky was right on the edge. Then he’d switch to playing with his balls or kneading his ass.

Starsky closed his eyes, feeling himself build to the breaking point. Hutch’s thumb and forefinger abruptly tightened around the base of his cock, and he couldn’t come. He pushed and strained, and Hutch – the bastard – held him until the urge subsided.

He begged. He said please over and over again. When that didn’t work, he tried cursing Hutch and all of his blond Norwegian ancestors.

Hutch simply chuckled, his mouth still wrapped around Starsky’s cock, the sound sending vibrations through Starsky’s body. His hands slid up Starsky’s sides and he raked his nails lightly from under his arms down to his hips. Starsky convulsed in his bonds, his arms aching.

He was afraid it would never stop, and he prayed it would never end. He was already in Hell and loving every minute of it. Finally, Hutch allowed him to fall over the edge. Starsky howled as he came. If it hadn’t been for the restraints holding him to the wall, he would have fallen to his knees.

Starsky was still trying to regain his scattered senses, when he felt Hutch’s hands on his left wrist, unlocking the shackles.

“I can’t imagine how many Hail Marys I’d have to say if I was Catholic,” said Hutch, as the restraint popped open. “Bless me Father, for I have sinned. I blew my partner on the cross. Except, I’m not at all repentant. In fact, I’m now wondering if I can get one of these things installed in my bedroom and leave him fastened to it all the time, except when we’re at work...”

Starsky rotated his shoulders while Hutch worked on his other wrist. He was pleasantly surprised to discover that his feet were already free, and he stepped out of his shorts. Hutch was still talking, something about perverting the stations of the cross.

Starsky blinked until his vision cleared. Hutch was grinning broadly, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Someone, thought Starsky, needs to be taken down a peg.

As soon as his right wrist came free, Starsky twisted his foot between Hutch’s calves and brought him right down onto the deep shag carpet on the dungeon floor.


“Turn about is fair play,” said Starsky, straddling Hutch’s back. He had Hutch’s arm up between his shoulder blades. His partner wasn’t going anywhere.

It felt great to be in control again.

“I should have left you on that wall!” Hutch wiggled his nose, trying to move his face out of the fluffy pink carpeting.

“Now is that any way to talk to your best friend in the whole wide world?”

Hutch sneezed, explosively. “You mean the moron who gets duped by old ladies bearing chocolate brownies?”

Chocolate. There was an end table nearby, and the bowl on top was filled with Hershey’s Kisses. “I guess I owe you then, don’t I?”

“Damn straight you do.” Hutch tried to look over his shoulder. “If it weren’t for me, you’d still be on that cross.”

Starsky rolled off of Hutch and grabbed a handful of Kisses.

As Hutch twisted over onto his back, Starsky quickly unwrapped one. If he was very lucky they might be spiked with some kind of aphrodisiac. But even if they weren’t, Starsky was confident he could manage.

He popped the candy into Hutch’s mouth, grinning at the surprised expression on his partner’s face.

“As long as Blanche is on an extended vacation,” said Starsky. “I don’t think she’d mind if we borrowed her dungeon, do you?

Hutch swallowed the chocolate. “So you don’t want to crucify me?”

Starsky unwrapped a second Kiss. “Nah, I got other plans for you. I’m in the mood to hunt for Easter eggs.” As he leaned down and claimed Hutch’s mouth, he felt for the zipper of Hutch’s corduroys and began to work it down. The candy was melting on his tongue and he felt Hutch smile.

“Blasphemy,” said Hutch, when Starsky finally pulled back. “I think it’s my new favorite pastime.” He licked chocolate off his lips.

“Happy Easter, partner!” said Starsky.