Author: Rebelcat

Gen or Slash: Slash

Rating: NC-17

Category: Established Relationship, Smut, Mild Kink, Lemon Challenge Fic

Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters, I just take advantage of their good nature.

Feedback/Critique: Yes, please! It feeds my obsession.

Grateful Thanks To: Nik Ditty, who persevered through technological challenges to beta this story for me.


Living the Golden Rule

Don't worry, it only seems kinky the first time. ~Author Unknown

Hutch learned very early on, after liking turned into loving and his best friend became the only person he ever wanted to roll over and see in the morning, that Starsky was surprisingly conservative when it came to sex.

The word prudish sprang to mind, but Hutch would never put it so unkindly. The way he saw it, it was just that Starsky knew what he liked, knew how to get it, and couldn’t see any reason to try anything different.

Hutch, on the other hand, knew very well the dangers of complacency. He was determined not to repeat the mistakes he’d made in his short-lived marriage. The last thing he ever wanted to hear Starsky say was, “I’m bored.”

He considered toys. But the few times they’d been in the sex shops – usually because they needed to interview a witness – Starsky had turned bright red and refused to look at anything. Hutch tried pointing out the rack of dildos once, only to have Starsky whisper at him vehemently that there was no way those things were ever coming anywhere near his body. Any part of his body.

Hutch decided that he’d have to tell Starsky about the locked briefcase under his bed later. Much later. Like when they were both sixty and Starsky was finally over his hang ups. It wouldn’t do to scare him off now, not when they’d just settled down.

So Hutch started small, with a dirty movie or two, under the pretense of meeting informants who suspiciously failed to show up. Eventually Starsky clued in, laughed about it for a few days, and then they started going openly.

Alice in Wonderland was the first feature length film they saw. Hutch had judged it silly enough to be non-threatening. Starsky, for his part, found the sight of Alice giving head to the Mad Hatter very inspiring. Hutch considered sending a thank you note to the producers, but then decided they might not receive it in the spirit intended.

They both enjoyed the naughty nurses from Deep Throat. But consequently, they had a hard time keeping straight faces the next time they had to go into the emergency room. Hutch had gashed his knee on a garbage can lid thrown at him by a fourteen year old wannabe desperado. The kid had tried to hold up the Sex-o-rama with a water pistol.

“Don’t you think we’re getting a little old for this?” asked Hutch, afterwards.

Starsky was shocked. “What else would we do? We need the excitement, the action. We’d be miserable doing anything else.”

Starsky needed constant variety on the job, but apparently not in the bedroom. For a while Hutch thought they might get permanently stuck on hand-jobs and blowjobs. Not that he was complaining. Starsky was getting really good at the blowjobs. He didn’t just use his mouth. He had this whole wrist action thing going...

Then they saw Debbie Does Dallas. In the midst of everything else, there was an anal sex scene. Hutch watched the cheerleader speculatively and then said, very casually, “You know, you could do that to me.”

Starsky gave him a goggle-eyed stare.

Hutch resisted the urge to check if he’d just grown second head – or dick. He waited patiently while Starsky turned to look at the screen, and then back at him, and then at the screen again.

Finally, Starsky said, “She doesn’t look like she’s having a very good time.”

“They’re porn actresses,” said Hutch. “Hardly any of them look like they’re having a good time. I was worried the one in the high school locker room was going to fall asleep right there on the screen.”

Starsky nodded, looking doubtful. However, instead of addressing the topic directly, he said, “I thought it was pretty cool that we could see her Caesarian scar.”

Hutch glanced at Starsky, but he was now staring intently at the screen. He refused to look at Hutch again for the rest of the movie. Hutch decided to give him time to get used to the idea.

But after three weeks of Starsky throwing spooked glances his way whenever he brought the topic up, Hutch figured he’d waited long enough. It was time to take control of the situation. He threw himself down on the bed and said, “Okay, give it to me!”

“Give you what?” asked Starsky, his shirt half off.

“Your dick, my ass, two great...”

“If you say two great tastes that taste great together, I’m going to kick your butt.” Starsky’s tone was forbidding, but Hutch noticed that he hadn’t stopped undressing.

“Could you fuck it first?” asked Hutch, hopefully.

Starsky pushed his jeans down to his knees then sat down on the edge of the bed. As he pulled off his socks, he said, “Maybe I don’t like chocolate on my peanut butter.”

“How do you know, if you’ve never tried it?” Hutch reached for the lube sitting on the bedside table. “Besides, you can’t tell me you’re not interested.”

Starsky’s big saving grace, when it came to sex, was that his body frequently acted on a completely different level from his mind. If not for that, Hutch wasn’t sure they’d ever have got together in the first place.

Starsky took the lube out of Hutch’s hands and slicked himself up. “This isn’t going to work,” he said, his cock giving clear lie to his words.

Hutch turned over and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. He grinned as he felt Starsky’s hands on his hips.

“I’m not having fun,” said Starsky.

Hutch felt Starsky’s cock nudge tentatively at his rear.

“And it’s too small and I’m too big and it’s not going to fit and this isn’t the way it’s supposed to go anyway, and--”

Hutch took a deep breath and deliberately relaxed, tuning out the arguments. He reached back between his legs and nudged Starsky into alignment. Pressure became fullness, became a sudden panic that it wasn’t going to work after all, and then... something right happened. Hutch gasped in response, and Starsky froze.

“You okay? I knew this was a bad idea!”

“God! Do that again!”

“What, like this?” Starsky moved again, carefully.

Too carefully. Hutch braced himself and shoved back firmly.

“Hey!” Starsky’s voice cracked in surprise.

“Like that!”

It was the strangest sensation of Hutch’s life. One part of his mind was insisting he had to take a crap, which was not a sexy feeling at all. But then Starsky began to move, and it was rockets and fireworks exploding all over the place.

Hutch came first, surprising himself. He was still recovering when he felt Starsky stiffen, heard him groan, and realized that he must be done too. A moment later Starsky’s cock slipped out. Hutch let his shaking arms collapse and fell onto his side, barely avoiding the wet spot.

Starsky wrapped his arms around him, his face in Hutch’s hair.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” asked Hutch, wishing he could see Starsky’s expression.

Starsky made a non-committal sound.

“Starsk--.” Hutch stopped, unsure what to say next. He didn’t want to sound like he was begging for post-coital compliments. He just needed to know what Starsky thought.

“Oh, all right,” said Starsky. “It was fine. It was...”


“Great,” admitted Starsky. He laughed, and Hutch felt warm breath puff past his ear. “Really weird, but fun. I guess I do like chocolate on my peanut butter.”

“So we’ll do it again?” Hutch felt like cheering, but realized that a touchdown celebration immediately after sex could be considered insensitive. After all, he didn’t want Starsky thinking he’d lost anything. Except possibly his virginity.

“Yeah...” There was a dubious note in Starsky’s voice.


“Well, you’ll have to do it to me, right? Fair’s fair.”

Secure in his victory, Hutch could afford to be magnanimous. “You don’t have to. I’m good either way.”

“If you can do it, so can I. I’m not some kind of wimp, you know.”

Hutch had known Starsky would say that. He had known it from the first moment he’d sat down in that theatre, watched a cheerleader take it up the ass, and thought, man, I’d sure like to do that to my partner.

Some days, when Hutch thought about how blatantly he manipulated Starsky into doing things he’d never do otherwise, he was convinced he’d be going to hell for all of this. On other days, he wanted to believe that he was doing all of this for Starsky’s benefit. After all, he was only doing unto Starsky exactly what he wanted Starsky to do unto him.

The problem was that Hutch was never sure how Starsky felt about it all. Sometimes he would catch his partner looking at him speculatively, but when he offered him a penny, Starsky would just smile and decline to share his thoughts.

This state of affairs persisted for the better part of a year, until the day Hutch looked at that perfect ass bent over in front of him and decided to slap it.

Starsky yelped, and lit up brighter than a Mars light. He came within seconds of Hutch entering him, then proceeded to giggle throughout the rest of act while Hutch desperately tried to focus enough to finish what he was doing.

His own climax was… anti-climatic.

He rolled onto his back and tried to hide his face. Starsky climbed on top of him and peeled his hands back. “What the hell was that?” He wrinkled his nose and then snickered.

“Just something I wanted to try,” said Hutch. “I sure didn’t expect that reaction.”

Starsky’s grin broadened. “You surprised me. I didn’t hate it, though.”

“So, you liked it?” Hutch briefly allowed himself to imagine spanking Starsky on a regular basis. It was a dangerously attractive fantasy. That ass was just begging to be abused, in every way imaginable.

“I can’t like it, Hutch!”

“Either you like it, or you don’t.”

“No...” Starsky was using his ‘talking to slow people’ voice. “I said I didn’t hate it. But spanking? Where’s the dignity in that?”

“Sex isn’t dignified, Starsky!”

Starsky’s expression became thoughtful. He climbed off of Hutch and retrieved a towel from the bathroom. After cleaning himself up, he threw it at Hutch. “You know, I used to think I knew what sex was.”

“Oh?” Hutch knew better than to say much. When Starsky was in this kind of mood, it didn’t take much to shut him up. One sarcastic comment and that’d be it for the rest of the evening.

“Sure, sex was a man and a woman, a penis and a, uh... you know.” Starsky clenched his fist loosely and pumped it once. “They go together, right?”

Hutch nodded.

“And then,” said Starsky, as he retrieved his jeans from the other side of the bed, “I did the army thing overseas. And blow-jobs were cheaper than a fuck, and safer, and... I think sometimes the girls preferred giving them.” He frowned briefly. “I wanted to do what they wanted, you know? I felt bad for them.”

Hutch felt a twinge of guilt, remembering how he’d spent those same years comfortably enrolled in college, getting a degree he’d never use.

Starsky pulled on his jeans. “By the time I got back, I figured I had this sex thing down cold. Heck, I was even willing to go down on a girl – so that made me hot stuff, right?”

“I think you’re hot stuff,” said Hutch. Then he had to duck the t-shirt Starsky pitched at him.

“You have to say that, because you love me,” said Starsky. “It’s in the contract somewhere.” He threw himself down on the bed next to Hutch.

Right in the middle of the wet spot.

Hutch considered pointing that out and then decided it was too late. Anyway, he’d got most of it up with the towel. And Starsky was a fine sight right where he was, sprawled on the bed in nothing more than his jeans, the fly still open and a few curls of dark hair just visible.

“My point is,” said Starsky.

Hutch pulled his eyes away from Starsky’s groin, sternly reminding himself to pay attention.

“My point is,” Starsky repeated, “I had no idea I didn’t know what sex was, until we started doing it with each other. Now it seems like you’re showing me something new every day.”

Hutch felt a stab of uncertainty. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Starsky’s answer was reassuringly firm. “Nah, I like it! I complain a lot, but I know that if we left things up to me, we’d be giving each other hand-jobs every night at exactly 8pm for the rest of our lives. And that’d be pretty grim, wouldn’t it?”

“Starsky, if that’s what would make you happy--”

“But it wouldn’t,” interrupted Starsky. “That’s what I’m trying to say!”

“So... spanking?”

“I haven’t made up my mind on that one yet.” Starsky poked Hutch in the ribs, firmly. “But I’ll tell you this, oh buddy of mine. There will be no whips, chains, leather things with zippers, clampy things with teeth, or any of that freaky stuff. I don’t want to be cuffed with my own cuffs, or tied up, unless I can get out really easily by myself.”

Hutch was having trouble dealing with the visions this brought to mind. “Uh.”

“You got that?”

“I can tie you up?” asked Hutch, wondering if he’d heard that part right.

“Only if it’s pretend. I don’t want people breaking into my apartment and finding me tied to the bed.”

Hutch had to agree that was a legitimate concern. “Okay.” He felt suddenly lighter as a whole new world of possibilities opened up before him. “You really like what I do for you?”

Starsky leaned over and kissed him. “Teach me some more, Professor Hutchinson.”

Hutch rolled him back into the wet spot, happy to oblige. “Hey, Starsk,” he said. “You know, I’ve got this briefcase under my bed...”