Having spent the better part of my life trying either to relive the past
or experience the future before it arrives, I have come to believe that in between these two extremes is peace.
IT JUST happened.
No big bang...
Well, maybe one bang. And then
others after that. But not a bang in the revelatory sense of the word.
There were definitely no declarations
of undying passion; no sudden realization of romantic love. Nobody woke up and found themselves irrevocably changed. In fact,
when Starsky considered it later, he concluded that it had the feel of something inevitable -- even unremarkable. With a touch
of deja-vu tossed in for good measure.
It began in a moment of quiet.
Starsky had tumbled Amber into
bed, and assumed Hutch was doing something similar to Veronica on the couch in the living room.
Some girls got self-conscious
about being so close to another couple, but not Amber. She’d already implied that she and Veronica had tried threesomes.
Starsky thought maybe next time Hutch was tied up at work or seeing someone else, he might have to explore that claim further.
And from the look on Hutch’s face when she’d said it, Starsky figured he was probably thinking the same thing.
But this time there was one for
each of them.
“Your place or mine,”
Starsky had said to Hutch, delighted to be able to say the words again, to have everything so normal, so right. And Hutch,
instead of looking annoyed, or suggesting that maybe he didn’t need that much back up when he made love, had
simply replied, “Yours.”
Once upon a time, Starsky had
tried to keep his partner nearby out of concern that, in a vulnerable moment, he might get himself kidnapped or hurt, or fall
in love, or... who knew with Hutch. Sometimes it felt like he couldn’t take his eyes off the man for a moment. The slightest
inattention, and he might lose him forever.
Not that watching him had ever
been such an unpleasant thing, but Hutch used to get cranky about it. He used to complain that Starsky was crowding him, never
leaving him room to breathe. “You’re like a dog,” he’d told Starsky once. “Every time I meet
a pretty girl, you’re all over us. What -- are you jealous? Got to mark your territory?”
Starsky had denied it, but afterwards
he’d tried hard not to step on Hutch’s heels. He’d even tried to find a steady girl of his own, but then
Hutch had gone behind his back and slept with her. It really made him wonder about the hypocrisy of it all. Okay, fine, Hutch
didn’t want him elbowing in on his relationships. He could understand that. But why’d he have to then go and wreck
one of Starsky’s?
It wasn’t fair, but before
they’d had a chance to settle it like gentlemen, Starsky got shot, and had died, even if only for a minute or two. And
all of a sudden it was Hutch who was doing all of the watching.
Starsky worried about that. It
wasn’t normal. And the one thing Starsky wanted above all else these days was to make things normal – for everything
to be back the way it had been before.
He’d even managed to talk
Hutch into shaving off that damn mustache, and kept after him until he lost the paunch he’d been working on for the
last year and a half.
It was a good start, but it hadn’t
erased the lines of worry and stress on Hutch’s face, and he didn’t quit watching. So Starsky decided they needed
to start dating again. And when he played the ‘officer wounded in the line of duty’ card on Amber, he made sure
to do it outside of Hutch’s earshot. There was no point in bringing up bad memories for Hutch. Not when the goal was
Amber liked scars. She thought
they were a major turn-on. Her hands kept running down inside his shirt all evening, and by the time they got back to his
apartment, Starsky was happily imagining himself a romantic hero. Wounded in a chivalrous sword fight, maybe. The fair maiden
had a bit of a mouth on her, but when it was applied in the right manner, who cared?
Right now, however, despite her
enthusiasm, he had a feeling something was wrong. It was too quiet.
Amber lifted her head and asked,
“Baby, what’s up?”
That drew his attention away
from the puzzling silence in the other room, and he laughed. “I’m up, aren’t I?” Then he tossed her
over onto her back, and returned the favor with enthusiasm.
In the living room, he heard
Hutch murmur something to his date, encouraging and teasing her in his usual manner.
But Starsky knew the significance
of that brief silence. There was no mistaking it.
Hutch was listening.
Starsky’s bladder woke
him sometime after midnight. The house was still, and he could hear the soft breathing of his house guests. Sliding out from
under Amber’s arm, he sat up, and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
He had to pause, and wait until
the vertigo faded and his vision cleared. He shook his head carefully, feeling the pressure behind his eyes competing with
the tug of tired muscles and still-healing scar tissue.
Behind him Amber shifted, rolling
over and pulling a pillow close to her chest. The sheet slid off her bare hip, and Starsky was tempted to wake her.
But then his bladder reasserted
itself, painfully, and with a muffled groan he pushed himself up onto his feet and limped out of the bedroom.
He didn’t turn on the light
in the bathroom. The thought of inflicting 60 watts on his too-sensitive eyes made him cringe, and he knew his own bathroom
well enough not to need light to aim by, anyway. He also told himself it was
more considerate to leave it off, as the light might wake the sleepers in the living room.
Drying his soapy hands on a towel,
Starsky paused in the door of the bathroom. The most urgent need taken care of, he could now appreciate the sight before him.
Hutch had pulled out the sofa-bed,
and had bedded down with Veronica. Hutch was sleeping on his side with his back to the girl and his knees drawn up. Starsky
grinned. His partner looked like an oversized kid; all he needed was a thumb in his mouth... and a few less lines on his face.
Starsky’s smile faded.
He can’t stop worrying, even in his sleep.
He decided that Hutch had just
been listening for trouble when they’d been making love to the girls earlier. Probably prepared to leap to Starsky’s
rescue at the slightest sign of a muscle twinge or bruised ego.
Starsky sighed. He couldn’t help but find this theory a little depressing.
When morning came, Starsky’s
first awareness was of the sound of whispers and muffled laughter. Then the smell of bacon and eggs filtered in.
He almost got up. Hutch was cooking,
and Starsky was hungry enough to eat almost anything, let alone one of his favorite breakfasts. But then he heard Amber say,
“Sssh, you’ll wake him!” Veronica giggled. And Hutch -- Hutch
So, Starsky stayed where he was,
eyes closed, listening.
It was good to hear Hutch being
happy. Not hysterically happy, the way he’d been when Starsky had first woken up, when he’d managed to take his
first steps during physical therapy, or when the doctor had said there was an excellent chance he’d make a full recovery
and return to the streets. Not that kind of happy. Just the ordinary, everything’s fine, normal kind-of-happy. Exactly
the kind that had been missing these last couple of months.
Starsky stretched, carefully. He felt pretty good this morning. Not as sore as he’d been the night before.
Rested, relaxed. Sex will do that for a guy, he thought, contentedly. Sex is good.
His only disappointment was that
he’d overslept and missed the chance to get himself another round of it before Amber left.
Starsky listened as Hutch hustled
the girls out the door, with promises of more dates and other times. Which might happen, or it might not. Amber and Veronica
weren’t the sort of girls who wanted to stick around forever -- certainly not to become cops' wives, anyway.
Guys like him and Hutch were
good for a tumble, but not for a long term commitment.
The latch clicked and he heard
Hutch turn and walk back. His footsteps paused at the bedroom door.
Starsky held his breath.
“I know you’re awake,”
Starsky rolled over, grinning.
“Thanks for not blowing my cover.”
Hutch raised an eyebrow at him.
He walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Any particular reason why you didn’t want to say goodbye
to the girl you just fucked?”
Shit, is he mad at me?
Starsky tried to explain. “You all sounded like you were having so much fun. I didn’t want to spoil it.”
Hutch nodded, accepting the answer.
“They’re nice girls.”
“But?” asked Starsky
when he didn’t add anything more.
“I don’t know.”
Hutch’s hand picked at the sheet, pulling it up into hills and then smoothing it flat. “I think maybe I’m
getting a bit old for one night stands.”
Starsky tried to figure that
one out. It was just sex, wasn’t it? How could there ever be anything wrong with sex? “You mean, you wanna get
serious? Get married?” He didn’t say, ‘again’. He didn’t have to. He wrinkled his nose at the
notion of Hutch marrying Veronica.
Hutch shook his head emphatically.
“God, no! I’m not... I mean...” He stopped, looking frustrated at his inability to explain himself.
“Then, what? I don’t
“No, I didn’t think
you would.” Hutch began to stand up.
That was the last straw. Starsky
lunged and grabbed the back of Hutch’s pants, tugging him down onto the bed. Hutch fell onto his back, and Starsky scrambled
over him, pinning his shoulders to the mattress. “Hey! You can’t blame me for not understanding, when you won’t
Hutch looked up at him, his expression
unreadable. Suddenly, he lifted his head and kissed the tip of Starsky’s nose.
Startled, Starsky sat up and
rubbed his nose. Hutch took advantage of his moment of distraction by suddenly
rolling to the side and dumping Starsky onto the bed. Before Starsky could defend
himself, he’d been flipped over onto his back, and now Hutch had him pinned to the bed, and was grinning smugly down
“Hey!” bellowed Starsky.
“Yeah? Then what’s
this?” Hutch leaned forward and kissed Starsky again, this time on the side of his neck. His lips lingered there a moment
too long, and Starsky felt a shiver travel the entire length of his body. He was suddenly, excruciatingly aware of the fact
that he was naked, while Hutch was fully clothed.
And they were in bed.
And he could smell sex. On the
sheets, on the covers, on Hutch...
Hutch pulled back.
Starsky wanted to say something,
but even with a million things tumbling over in his brain, he couldn’t turn any of them into actual words. He stared
at Hutch in mute astonishment.
Hutch’s gaze dropped. “Sorry,”
he said, his mouth twisting as he turned away.
He was going to leave, Starsky
realized. He was going to leave and that’s all there would ever be between them, just a couple kisses and Starsky hanging
forever on the edge of this precipice. Except that Starsky wasn’t a big fan of the agonies of unrequited lust.
“Hey!” Starsky protested,
grabbing Hutch’s shirt. For a moment they both eyed each other warily, and then Starsky finally found the words he needed
to say. “You started this, you can damn well finish it!”
Hutch’s laugh held more
surprise than real amusement. But he leaned back down over Starsky, his face a few inches away, and Starsky breathed in the
scent of bacon, and musk. He was expecting another kiss, this time maybe on his lips. That
would be okay, even if a little weird. However, Hutch’s hand landed instead
on Starsky’s lower belly, and Starsky felt himself immediately harden.
Since the shooting, he’d
been handled by Hutch in every manner conceivable. Hutch had bathed him, dressed him, held him when he’d cried and puked,
and his stitches ripped and his meds messed with his mind, but not even once had his touch ever had this effect.
Hutch chuckled. “Nope,
not Christ. Just me.” His other hand found Starsky’s side now, and his head lowered to the same spot on Starsky’s
neck that he’d found before, his mouth teasing, tickling.
Hutch whispered, “Are you
Starsky drew in a sharp breath
and turned his head, trying to answer by catching Hutch’s lips. They struggled for a few moments, and then Starsky had
him. As their mouths mashed together, Starsky tried to get Hutch’s pants down over his lean hips. Because it wasn’t
right that Hutch was fully clothed still, and he wasn’t. Especially if they were going to do this.
Sex with Hutch. Jeez...
“Slow down!” commanded
Starsky whimpered. Bastard
always thinks I’m going too fast.
“You rush things,”
said Hutch, his hand traveling down until it reached the sensitive inside crease of Starsky’s thigh, causing him to
jump. “It’s like you think that sex is all about getting on top and driving until you hit your climax. You act
like five minutes of foreplay is doing your date some sort of huge favor.”
I knew he was listening!
lost his grip on Hutch’s belt and his hips thrust up helplessly. He reached for his own cock, desperate to relieve some
of the torment. But Hutch caught his hands.
Starsky grabbed the pillow behind
his head and squeezed his eyes shut. He felt tortured, but was still determined to find out where Hutch planned to take this,
to take him. Because surely he had no intention of stopping now.
God, he wouldn’t, would he?
Hutch shifted, and his mouth
moved down Starsky’s neck to his chest. Hutch hesitated with his lips on Starsky’s collarbone, and Starsky started
to worry about his scars. Amber had thought they were sexy, but he doubted Hutch felt the same way. They probably brought
back all sorts of bad memories for him...
Starsky’s arousal began
to fade, but then Hutch’s tongue found the first of the scars, the one nearest his shoulder. Starsky gasped, as gently,
carefully, Hutch traced every one of them with his mouth, leaving behind a sensation that destroyed all capability of telling
pleasure and pain apart. Starsky wanted him to stop, but not as much as he wanted
him to continue. By the time Hutch reached the surgical scar that wrapped around his side, Starsky was ready to claw his way
right out of his skin.
He knew what they were doing
was supposed to be wrong, but it felt so right. Every one of his nerves was on edge, and yet he’d never in his life
felt so cherished. Hutch was loving him, every square inch of him.
Starsky was as hard as he’d
ever been in his life, and still Hutch hadn’t even touched him where it counted. Unable to help himself, he was thrusting
rhythmically now, frustrated as Hutch avoided him, giving him nothing to rub against.
The briefest of warm breaths
on his cock was the only warning Starsky had before he felt himself enclosed in warm, wet heat. He groaned and almost lost
it right then. He would have, except that Hutch’s hand had seized the base of his cock, holding him tight, preventing
It was inconceivable. Insane.
Starsky’s mind babbled incoherently, unable to get past the simple truth that Hutch was giving him head.
And it was fantastic.
He wanted to last longer, he
really, truly did, but then Hutch’s massaging tongue found the vein behind the head of Starsky’s cock. Fireworks
exploded behind Starsky’s eyes, and he howled as he came, choking off the sound at the last moment, clapping both hands
over his mouth as his eyes watered. Too much noise was a bad thing. There were neighbors, after all.
When he finally caught his breath
and rubbed the tears out of his eyes enough to see again, he noticed that Hutch was naked.
Starsky wondered when that had happened. He squinted, realizing that Hutch
had come as well, and was now cleaning up, using his t-shirt. Hutch had a preoccupied air about him, but he smiled when Starsky
met his eyes.
Then Hutch’s expression
sobered. “I think -- I shouldn’t have...”
said Starsky. Sex was always good. Even when it showed up unexpectedly. Maybe
especially when it was unexpected.
Hutch looked doubtful. Guilty,
even. “But, this isn’t...”
Starsky cut him off, before he
said something they’d both regret. “I’m happy! You were great!” He rolled over onto his stomach, and
tried to point to a spot between his shoulder blades. “Now scratch my back, right there.”
Hutch obliged him. As he scratched,
he imitated Starsky’s voice. “Shut up, goddammit, I’m happy!”
“Damn right,” said
Starsky, closing his eyes with a sigh. He wiggled, trying to help Hutch find the itch. “No, not there. Down a little.
Lower. A bit to the left...” Hutch hit the spot, and Starsky sighed in rapture. “So, did you save me any breakfast?”
“What?” From the
tone of Hutch’s voice, he’d clearly expected some sort of deep discussion. Probably about relationships or maybe
society and right and wrong, and all sorts of things that could lead to no good.
Starsky pushed himself up onto
his knees and punched Hutch lightly on the shoulder. “I’m hungry! Are you telling me you’ll have sex with
me, but you won’t make me breakfast?”
A familiar, mocking look had
returned to Hutch’s eyes. “So that’s all I am to you? The guy who fucks you and feeds you?”
“And scratches my back.
Don’t forget that part.”
Hutch threw up his hands in surrender,
and Starsky grinned.
all things had to return to normal, Starsky decided. He had died after all, so it stood to reason that there’d be a
few things that would be different. They might even be different in a good way.
And this sex thing with Hutch
was definitely one of them.
~ end ~