As seductions went, this one should have been simple.

After all, Hutch was open-minded and cosmopolitan. Never blinked in the gay clubs. Was perfectly relaxed around the transvestites and leather types. And always up for a threesome, on the rare occasions Starsky could find a girl willing to play.

Starsky, for his part, had finally worked through his childhood prejudices and decided that the only difference between a threesome and a twosome was that a twosome was easier to arrange, and he wouldn’t have to pretend he was interested in the girl.

Really, Starsky figured, when it came right down to it, he ought to be the one getting seduced, not Hutch. But the weeks rolled by and, other than the occasional oddly uncomfortable moment – nothing. Nada. Zip.

He tried everything he could think of to get Hutch’s attention. He ran his jeans through the coin dryers so many times that he had to use a coat hanger to get them on in the morning. He gave up wearing underwear, to the point where he was getting badly chafed. He left his shirts open halfway down his chest, and wore a lot of chains with pendants whose symbolic (and erotic) significance he pretended not to understand. Hutch didn’t show any interest at all, and by the end of the month, Starsky was so broke he had to beg dimes off of everyone in the department just to feed his candy bar habit.

So he began showing up for work early and draping himself seductively over the Torino’s hood, ostensibly to wait for Hutch. Hutch said hi, and kept walking. He tried posing against the interrogation room wall, hipshot. Hutch asked him to get coffee. He sat on the edge of Hutch’s chair and leaned over his shoulder and talked right in his ear about the report Hutch was typing. Hutch thanked him politely for his input. Starsky had tried everything short of throwing himself at Hutch and ripping his clothes off right in the middle of the squad room.

And he was pretty sure that if he’d tried that, Hutch would have looked at him with that little frown line between his eyebrows and asked if everything was okay.

Because that was Hutch. Gentle, compassionate, and thick as a brick.

It just wasn’t fair.

*

Hutch was not looking at Starsky’s legs. They weren’t even nice legs. Far too hairy, too muscular and... those raggedly cut off shorts made them look really quite long, and then there was the way the back of his calf curved into his bare ankle... Never mind. He was trying to explain to Starsky that when your best friend drinks too much and has to sleep over or else the Chippies will be pulling him out of the ditch by morning – Well, sharing a bed really isn’t on the menu.

And he wasn’t looking at Starsky’s legs.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” said Hutch. That’s what he’d done every other time he’d stayed over. What was so wrong with tradition?

Starsky shook his head. “Not with your bad back. It’s a lot worse these days, and you know it.”

Hutch stared at the exact center of Starsky’s chest, muzzily wondering why all his clothes these days seemed to have shrunk. “Then you can sleep on the couch.” Those shorts have to be doubling as a contraceptive…

“It’s my bed!”

“I’ll...” Hutch remembered that he couldn’t drive home. And then he made the mistake of looking up into Starsky’s pleading face. “Fine. We’ll share.”

Starsky broke into a wide grin. “Terrific! I don’t know why you got this hang up, buddy.”

Hutch stumbled as Starsky shoved him into the bedroom. “I don’t have a hang up.” There were several long white threads trailing down Starsky’s thighs, clear evidence that the shorts were unraveling a bit more every time they went through the wash and would shortly become completely indecent. As it was, his white pockets were clearly visible on either leg, framing...

Hutch tilted his head back and rubbed his face with both hands. He was not looking at Starsky’s pockets. Or anything that might be in between.

Pulling his shirt off over his head, Starsky said, “You know, I shared a bed with my brother for twelve years. Wasn’t until I came out here to live with my aunt and uncle that I got a room of my own.”

Brothers, thought Hutch, desperately. That’s all this is, it’s like sleeping with a brother.

“’Course we don’t do that anymore. When Nicky visits, he gets the couch. That way he doesn’t forget who’s in charge.” Starsky stopped, his fly undone. “You don’t kick, do you, Hutch?”

Then again, Hutch had never had a brother. “I don’t know. I might kick.” He looked down at the buttons of his shirt, resolutely trying not to notice how Starsky was now squirming out of his shorts.

Starsky turned around and began shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he inched his shorts down over his ass. “Well, if you do, I’m kicking you right back.” The tight fabric had marked his skin, and Hutch could see the outline of every seam.

Hutch was fairly certain that the sight of his own brother mostly naked – if he’d had one – wouldn’t have caused this sensation in his stomach. And lower.

Crap.

He broke speed records shucking his clothes off and scrambling under the covers. He yanked them up so high he found himself looking at blue cotton weave instead of the ceiling. Mustering the nerve to look up over the top edge of the blanket, Hutch discovered Starsky still standing in the middle of the room.

Starsky closed his mouth, and shook his head, his expression one of bafflement. He shoved his shorts the rest of the way down his legs and stepped out of them.

Naked as... the day he was born, thought Hutch. But he didn’t want to think about an infant Starsky. Naked as a jaybird, then.

“Comfy?” Starsky asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed and pulling back the covers on his side.

Hutch nodded, not trusting his voice. He realized he was gripping the blankets white-knuckled and forced himself to let go. He folded his hands over his stomach, and discovered that he could feel his own heart pounding. There was nothing unreasonable about Starsky sleeping naked, even if he’d always worn pajamas in the past. Lots of people slept naked. Hutch liked to sleep naked himself, when it was warm.

Starsky threw himself down beside Hutch, making the bed bounce. “Okay! Good night. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite. Pretty sure I got rid of them anyway. And stealing the blankets is a shooting offence.” He grabbed the covers and rolled over, taking most of them with him.

Twenty minutes later, Hutch was still wide awake, staring wretchedly into the darkness, while Starsky slept the sleep of the truly oblivious beside him. It wasn’t fair. His feet were cold, he had a hard on that wouldn’t quit, he was desperately tired and he couldn’t sleep, and he was pretty sure he was beginning to hate Starsky.

*

Starsky sighed inwardly. He could hear Hutch’s deep, even breathing behind him. He’d been so certain earlier - Hutch had been blushing like the Minnesota farm-boy he wasn’t any more. Starsky had been triumphant, thinking that the shorts had finally done the trick and he was going to get properly seduced.

But then Hutch had gone to sleep instead! Bastard.

Keeping his eyes closed, Starsky curled up tighter, pulling the rest of the blankets with him.

Let’s see if that gets a reaction, he thought.

Sure enough, a moment later, he felt a tentative tug on the edge of the blanket.

He tightened his grip and waited, suppressing a smile.

Another tug.

With the third, Starsky uncurled and rolled with the blankets, colliding happily with Hutch in the center of the bed. Still pretending to be asleep, he flung his arm over Hutch’s chest and snuggled in contentedly.

If he wasn’t getting a lover tonight, at least he could have a warm pillow.

*

Hutch had only wanted his fair share of the blanket. He hadn’t expected to end up with Starsky wrapped around him like a clinging vine.

He was certainly warm enough now. Starsky had his head on Hutch’s shoulder, and one leg between Hutch's knees. Hutch rubbed his nose with the palm of his hand and moved his face out of Starsky’s hair.

Starsky sighed in his sleep and pulled him closer.

Like a brother, Hutch reminded himself, trying to loosen Starsky’s grip around his chest.

Except that he could now feel something pressing into his hip that he was absolutely certain Starsky had never inflicted on his brother. So maybe Starsky was dreaming he was holding one of his girlfriends instead. Or maybe Hutch had been misreading the situation entirely, and Starsky wasn’t as oblivious as he seemed. But if that was the case, then he really might have to kill Starsky after all.

Because Starsky had made it very clear over the years that he was not interested in sex with guys. He thought gay sex was unnatural, and he considered homosexuality in general as something akin to a venereal disease. The first time Hutch had suggested they might try making love to a single woman at the same time, Starsky had blushed so red, it had looked like he was going to pass out from sheer embarrassment. And the few times Starsky had consented to participate, he’d been so focused on the girl that Hutch could have paraded the entire precinct through the bedroom without him noticing.

None of which explained how he could be here in Starsky’s bed, with Starsky’s dick poking him in the side.

Hutch felt a responsive twitch in his own groin and bit down hard on the inside of his lip. This was not happening. He was not going to let this happen. He was going to get up and go to the couch, and...

“Where are you going?” asked Starsky.

Hutch jumped, startled. He sat up abruptly and found Starsky looking at him, wide awake and clear eyed.

“You’re not asleep!” Hutch felt an abrupt surge of anger.

Starsky folded his hands behind his head and smiled smugly. “Nope.”

That was it. Hutch was not going to sit here and let Starsky mock him. He swung his feet out onto the cold floor.

“Hey, hey!” said Starsky, grabbing the back of his boxers. “Don’t go!”

“Starsky,” said Hutch, warningly. He reached back, trying to disentangle Starsky’s grip. He could feel Starsky’s fingertips brush against his tailbone, and he groaned. Irritation and lust twisted uncomfortably together inside him.

“Look, I’m sorry! I’ll just lie here on my side of the bed, and I won’t touch you, okay?” said Starsky, quickly withdrawing his hand.

The sincere apology in Starsky’s voice was the final straw. Hutch turned quickly and leaned over his partner, looking down. Starsky looked up at him, his eyes wide.

“This isn’t a joke!” Hutch said tightly.

“I didn’t--”

“You can’t turn me on and then leave me twisting in the wind!”

“I turned--?”

“I don’t know what kind of sick power trip you think you’re on, but--”

Starsky suddenly twisted to the side, knocking Hutch’s right arm out from under him. He continued rolling, taking Hutch with him right off the bed. Hutch hit the floor hard, on his back with Starsky on top.

Grinning, he straddled Hutch. “I turn you on?”

Hutch dug his heels into the carpet and tried to throw him off, but that brought his groin into contact with Starsky’s ass. He gasped. “No fair!”

“How long have I been turning you on?”

It was Hutch’s worst nightmare come true. Starsky had found out his secret and he thought it was all one big joke. All this time he’d been playing games, fully aware of the effect he had and enjoying it. It probably fed into his vanity. Hutch looked up at Starsky’s face, so close. Anger and longing and miserable confusion all came together, leaving him only one choice.

He grabbed Starsky’s head between his palms, pulled him down, and kissed him.

*

Fun and games, that’s what Starsky had thought. Seduction. Sex.

Nothing serious.

That’s what he’d believed, until Hutch looked up at him and there was nothing playful at all in his expression. Appalled, Starsky had started to apologize, only to find himself unable to speak as Hutch’s mouth covered his own.

All there was in the world was Hutch, the taste of him and the smell of him and the feel of him under Starsky’s body. He pushed closer, his knees sliding back on the carpet. Hutch’s hands traveled over Starsky’s shoulders, all the way down to his hips. His fingers curled under the cheeks of Starsky’s ass, bringing their groins into tantalizing contact.

Within minutes, Starsky was gasping for breath, convinced he’d found paradise. Hutch pulled his mouth away, and his hands left Starsky’s ass to settle on his waist. Starsky groaned, disappointed.

“This is not a joke,” said Hutch again.

Starsky shook his head, mutely.

“You don’t play games with me. You don’t play games with us.”

All Starsky could do was nod. He’d have agreed that the sky was green and the grass was blue, and even that the Torino was perhaps not actually the coolest car on the road. Anything, anything at all, if Hutch would just stop talking and get back to the kissing.

“I’m going to give you what you want,” said Hutch.

Yes, please, thought Starsky. He felt Hutch’s hand on the side of his face, and closed his eyes.

“But tomorrow we’re going to talk about why you kept me hanging for years, letting me think you had no idea at all. And then we’re going to talk about your… punishment.”

Starsky’s eyes flew open wide with shock, just as Hutch kissed him again.

His last thought, before pleasure completely obliterated his senses, was ‘God help me, I’ve created a monster!’

~end~