“C’mon Hutch, give it a try.  You might like it.”

 

Hutch crossed his arms and stared at the Super 8 video camera whirring away in the corner of the bedroom.  “I already know I don’t like it.”

 

“Why not?”

 

Hutch looked at the ceiling.  He would have turned to look at Starsky, except that Starsky was sprawled buck naked over the bed.  It was hard to maintain his resolve at the best of times, and damn near impossible when Starsky took his clothes off.

 

“Hutch?” asked Starsky.

 

Hutch closed his eyes.  Starsky’s voice had taken on a slightly strained timbre.  He was probably touching himself, his fingers curling lightly around his shaft, his thumb idly caressing the head...

 

“Look at me,” said Starsky.

 

“No,” said Hutch.  He could hear Starsky’s breathing becoming harsher and he knew that Starsky had tightened his fist on himself.  He would be moving his whole hand now, stroking up and down his length.

 

Hutch knew he should walk out.  Just leave the room now, before things went any further.

 

He might have known it would come to this.  Should have known, the moment he decided to start sleeping with a man who had once thought having a mirror hanging over his bed was a terrific idea.  Starsky was an exhibitionist.

 

The camera whirred in front of Hutch.  Behind him the bed creaked.

 

Hutch jumped as Starsky’s hands landed on his hips.  “I hate it when you sneak up on me!”

 

“Relax.”  Starsky’s mouth brushed the back of his neck.  “This will be fun.”

 

“It’s staring at me,” said Hutch, tightly.  The single black eye of the lens was focused right at him.

 

“I’m the only one who will ever look at the tape.”  Starsky’s hands tightened on his waist, pulling him back.  “Just me and no one else.”

 

Hutch felt Starsky grind into his rear, his cock pressing insistently into the back of his corduroys.  Despite his resolve not to react, he felt himself hardening.  “I’m turning the camera off.”

 

Starsky’s hand slid around to the front of his cords.  “No.”  His fingertips lightly brushed Hutch, just once.  “You need to relax.  Let me run things.”

 

Hutch shivered, feeling pinprickles chase each other up the back of his spine.  “I don’t want to do this.”  All he had to do was reach forward and turn it off. 

 

Why, wondered Hutch, aren’t I moving?

 

“I can tell you hate it,” murmured Starsky.  He pressed harder into Hutch’s rear for a moment, his fingers tugging at Hutch’s cords.

 

Hutch felt the button of his corduroys come undone.  He swallowed hard.  His head was spinning and his knees felt weak. Mustering the last of his willpower, he turned, tearing himself out of Starsky’s grip.  “We are not –” Hutch stopped.

 

Starsky stood in front of him, his hands on his hips, grinning widely.  Naked and utterly unashamed of it.  His cock jutted out in front of him, heavy and flush, and bouncing slightly.

 

Hutch wrenched his eyes away from Starsky’s crotch.  Staring determinedly into Starsky’s eyes, he tried to explain why the camera was a terrible idea.

 

“Uh,” said Hutch.  “Um.”

 

“Yes?” asked Starsky, politely.  He reached down between his legs and cupped his own balls, rolling them gently together as his hips arched forward.

 

Hutch forgot to breathe.

 

“Is there something you wanted to tell me?”  Starsky’s hand moved into the crease between his own leg and his groin.  Dark hair curled between the knuckles of his fingers.

 

 

Screw it, thought Hutch.  Then he thought, no, screw Starsky.

 

Yeah, that sounded like a good plan.  Better than good.  It was fucking fantastic.

 

Hutch smacked his palm hard against the center of Starsky’s chest.  Starsky staggered back and his calves hit the edge of the bed.  He sat down, abruptly.

 

Hutch looked down into Starsky’s startled eyes.  “Well?”

 

Starsky’s expression brightened.  “All right!”

 

Hutch felt more blood rush into his groin as Starsky worked his zipper down.  He closed his eyes again, trying to find his equilibrium.  He had to maintain some semblance of control, or this would be just another case of ‘did you see the masked man who just fucked me?’”

 

Starsky was working his cords down over his hips now.  Hutch opened his eyes.  Starsky had a look of intense concentration on his face, and his tongue was caught between his teeth.  Dizzy, Hutch reached out to brace himself on Starsky’s head.

 

As his hand landed in the dark brown hair, he saw Starsky’s shoulders shake as if he was laughing silently.

 

Hutch didn’t care.  It was taking all his control not to reach down and grab himself, bringing himself off right there and then. 

 

Starsky had his fingers folded over the waistband of his underpants now.  Hutch canted his hips forward at him, only to find Starsky’s hand on his stomach, pushing him back.  He groaned as Starsky peeled down his cotton briefs.  The air felt cold on his overheated skin.

 

Starsky paused and tilted his head back to look up at Hutch.  “So, you don’t mind the camera?”  His grin was all teeth.

 

Hutch had forgotten the camera.  He tightened his hands into fists, trapping them in Starsky’s hair.  “Goddamn it, Starsky.”

 

Starsky leaned forward and licked the tip of Hutch’s cock, just once.  “You’re all wound up.  Let go.”

 

Hutch felt that one light touch like he’d just stuck his dick into an electric socket.  “Jesus!”

 

This time Starsky laughed out loud.  Hutch couldn’t stand it anymore.  He pulled on Starsky’s head, forcing him forward into his crotch.  Starsky made a sound of discomfort, but his lips opened willingly.

 

The wet heat of Starsky’s mouth almost sent Hutch over the edge.  He gasped, trying to stem the rising tide of his arousal.  Then Starsky reached up and wrapped his hand around Hutch’s shaft.

 

Hutch thrust forward, straining to find his rhythm, mesmerized by the sight of his cock sliding in and out of Starsky’s mouth.  Maybe the camera wasn’t such a bad idea after all.  What would this look like from a few feet away?  Himself, in just his sweater and socks, fucking Starsky’s mouth...

 

Starsky’s tongue flicked twice at the sensitive tip of his cock, setting off bright sparks of behind Hutch’s eyes.  His knees sagged.

 

Starsky’s arms wrapped around his waist, catching him.  Hutch almost cried out with disappointment as he slid out of Starsky’s mouth.

 

But then he was being guided down onto the bed, and Starsky was straddling him, pulling his sweater up over his head.  In seconds flat, Hutch was as naked as his partner, except for his socks.

 

Starsky wasn’t smiling now.  His eyes were dark and determined as he leaned forward, wrapping his hands around Hutch’s wrists.  Hutch felt another surge in his groin as Starsky kissed him, open mouthed.

 

Hutch bit Starsky’s bottom lip.  “Come on,” he said, impatiently.  He felt his socks slide on the sheets, as he tried to get better purchase, grinding himself into Starsky’s ass.

 

Starsky licked Hutch’s nose, his expression still serious.  “Want to make this something worth filming?”

 

Hutch felt a prickle of apprehension.  “Uh, what?”

 

Starsky’s grip tightened on his wrists.  “You like it when I do this.”

 

The sensation in Hutch’s gut was exactly the same as when he was on a roller coaster, slowly climbing up into the sky, knowing the drop on the other side was inevitable.

 

“And you really like it when I do this.”  Starsky pushed his arms up over his head.  Hutch didn’t resist.  The coaster was climbing higher.

 

“But when I’m holding you like this, I can’t do other stuff.”  Starsky’s grip on his wrists loosened and his fingers curled inward, tickling Hutch’s palms.  “So, what would you think if I just went and tied you to the bed?”

 

“No,” said Hutch.

 

Starsky let go of his wrists.

 

“What?” asked Hutch, startled.

 

“You said no.”  Smiling, Starsky sat up and rubbed his hands together.  “So what’ll it be instead?  Blow jobs all around?”

 

Hutch felt himself deflate.  The coaster was rolling backward down the track.  “You never took no for an answer before.”  The camera whirring away in the corner was proof of that.

 

Starsky’s eyes were half lidded.  “This is different.”

 

“You’re going to make me ask for it?”  The ride was over and the park was closing. 

 

“Babe, I’m going to make you beg for it.”

 

Hutch heard the coaster start up once more.  He hesitated. 

 

Starsky didn’t move.

 

“Okay,” said Hutch.

 

“Say please,” said Starsky, his smile widening.

 

“Please.”

 

“Please oh Master, tie me to your bed and take triple x-rated advantage of me.”

 

“Fuck you,” said Hutch.

 

Starsky shrugged, beaming.  “Close enough!”  Grabbing Hutch’s wrist, he pulled his arm up over his head and wrapped something soft around it.

 

Hutch craned his neck, startled by the suddenness of Starsky’s move.  His wrist was bound to the brass headboard with a tie.  A very familiar tie.

 

“Hey, that’s mine!”

 

Starsky dangled his own brown tie in front of Hutch’s nose.  “I only own one.  I had to borrow yours.”

 

Hutch hadn’t left any ties at Starsky’s house.  “You stole it!”

 

“Yup,” said Starsky, unperturbedly tying Hutch’s other wrist to the headboard.

 

The ties, the camera, it all fell into place.  “You planned this!”

 

Starsky reached down and folded his hand around Hutch’s cock.  “You’ve been tied up in knots for weeks, babe.  I’ve been wracking my brain, trying to think of what to do about it.  Then I thought – why not make it real?”  His fingers tightened.

 

Hutch arched up off the bed, pulling at the ties.  “Oh Christ!”

 

He couldn’t move, couldn’t resist.  Starsky was in complete control.  Hutch teetered at the very top of the roller coaster.  Hadn’t he vowed to stay in charge of this encounter?

 

Then Starsky twisted around until all Hutch could see was his ass.  Round taut cheeks with an indent of muscle on either side, paler than the rest of him.  He could see, but he couldn’t touch.

 

The heat of Starsky’s mouth engulfed him and Hutch fell over the other side of the coaster.  He thrust up, trying to push deeper.  His shoulders strained, and his hands wrapped around the ties.  “Please, Starsk.” 

 

Starsky pushed his knees apart and impossibly Hutch felt himself grow even harder.  Starsky hummed contentedly, his tongue teasing and his hand squeezing.  Hutch felt himself falling further until all that existed in the world was his cock and Starsky’s mouth.  He pushed up, again and again, his heels digging into the bed.

 

He tensed, feeling the end coming, rushing at him, too soon, too late, too much – then abruptly Starsky let go.

 

“Hey!”

 

Starsky shifted, and a moment later he was looking down at him, the corners of his eyes creased.  “Not yet, Hutch.  I can’t have you going off like a rocket.”  He stuck his finger into his mouth and pulled out a single blond hair.  He held it up and examined it.

 

Hutch wanted to scream with frustration.  His balls felt like they were tying themselves into knots.  “Please?”

 

“Not yet.  It’s my turn.”  Starsky wiped his fingers on his hips.

 

The next thing Hutch knew, Starsky was kneeling over his chest.  Hutch stared at the head of Starsky’s cock.

 

Starsky didn’t move.

 

Hutch squinted and discovered that the expression on Starsky’s face this time was much closer to panic than arousal.

 

Hutch sighed.  “Starsk, I can’t reach that far.”

 

“It’s okay?” asked Starsky, his voice cracking slightly.

 

“For God’s sake!”  If Starsky didn’t get a move on, Hutch might have to kill someone.  “Just stick it in!”

 

Starsky complied so eagerly, Hutch almost choked.  But then Starsky moved back and Hutch was able to breathe again, though the fullness in his mouth made it a challenge.

 

Every other time Hutch had given Starsky a blow job, he’d given it to him.  He used his hands and his mouth and he controlled the entire scene.  He loved the sense of power it gave him, feeling Starsky shudder and shout, making him come.

 

This was different.  Hutch wasn’t giving Starsky anything.  Starsky was taking and Hutch’s only choice was to submit.

 

But good God, it was hot.

 

It was every forbidden fantasy come to life at once.  He was helpless, completely dependent on his partner.  No responsibility, no power to make decisions, nothing to do but surrender.

 

Hutch stared up at Starsky’s stomach, his hips rocking forward, sliding in and out of Hutch’s mouth.  I shouldn’t be getting off on this, he thought.  But he did, and that knowledge shocked him.

 

Before long, however, Hutch had more pressing issues to concentrate on.  Doing it like this was hard work, especially as Starsky’s movements growing jerkier.  Hutch’s jaw ached and he was hard pressed to keep catching Starsky with his tongue, stopping him from sliding down the back of his throat.

 

Starsky groaned.

 

Hutch tightened his mouth, moving his bottom lip up against the sensitive bottom of Starsky’s cock.  Starsky trembled in response, and then abruptly tensed, pushing hard into Hutch’s mouth.  Hutch felt bitter liquid pulse against his tongue.  He swallowed.

 

After a moment, Starsky slipped out of his mouth and slid down to lie on top of Hutch’s body.  He drooped, breathing heavily.  His forehead touched Hutch’s.

 

“You’re not done,” said Hutch.  His lips felt numb and swollen.

 

The corner of Starsky’s mouth quirked.  Then Starsky rolled off and lay beside him.  He grasped Hutch’s cock in his hand and Hutch felt his arousal flared into renewed life.

 

Starsky pulled once, twice and then suddenly let go.

 

“Now what?”  Hutch was getting very tired of the games.  Starsky had gotten his rocks off, now it was Hutch’s turn.

 

Starsky reached across his chest, and pulled open the drawer of the bedside table.  When he straightened up, Hutch saw the jar of Vaseline in his hand.  “Oh boy,” said Hutch, suddenly unable to breathe.

 

Starsky grinned.  Unscrewing the top, he scooped out a handful and began smoothing it onto Hutch.

 

The slick glide of Starsky’s hand up and down the length of Hutch’s cock was maddening.  “Starsky, please.  Please!  You can’t... Oh God.”

 

He was going to come.  He was going to come and ruin it all and he couldn’t do a damn thing to help himself.  He kicked helplessly, trying to push Starsky off of him with his knees. 

 

Then Starsky stopped. Hutch blinked through watering eyes, and saw Starsky stick his fingers back into the Vaseline.

 

Mesmerized, Hutch watched as Starsky curled forward and inserted a finger into himself.  Hutch felt the sensation in his own crotch as if he was entering Starsky already.

 

“Please,” he begged again.

 

“I should tie you up every day,” said Starsky.  “I’ve never heard you so polite before.”

 

“Fuck you,” gasped Hutch.

 

“Or with such a limited vocabulary.  Please and fuck you.  Is that all you can say?”

 

Apparently it was.  Hutch stared at him, mute and in agony.

 

Throwing a leg over Hutch’s hips, Starsky took Hutch’s cock in hand.  Hutch felt himself pressing up against Starsky, pushing into his ass.  Slowly, agonizingly he slipped inside of Starsky.

 

Starsky felt so tight, for a moment it almost hurt.  Then Starsky blew out a long breath and the pressure eased fractionally.  Hutch’s hips lifted off the bed.  Starsky leaned back, moving with him.

 

“Please,” said Hutch, helplessly.  “Please, please...”  He was terrified Starsky would stop, and this time he was sure it would kill him.  He couldn’t stand it.

 

Just one more thrust.  He was so close.

 

One more.

 

And one more.

 

And then Hutch felt something let go deep inside of him and he was arching up into Starsky, coming with a force he’d never felt before.  He sobbed, his eyes squeezed shut.

 

By the time Hutch came back to himself, he was untied and Starsky was kneeling over him.  He looked scared.

 

Hutch smiled weakly and wrapped his arms around Starsky.  “Wow.”  His fingers tingled and he could hardly feel his legs.

 

“Are you okay?” asked Starsky, lying down on his chest.  “I’ve never seen you cry. I mean, like that.”

 

“I cried?” asked Hutch.  Starsky’s mouth was only an inch away, so Hutch kissed it.  It seemed like the right thing to do.  His heart was pounding in his chest.

 

Starsky touched his cheeks, and only then did Hutch realize they were wet.  “Yeah, you cried.”

 

“We’re destroying that tape,” said Hutch.  Right after I watch it a couple times, he thought.

 

Starsky’s expression was odd.  He bit his lip.

 

“What?”

 

“Uh, there isn’t any tape in the camera,” said Starsky, sounding embarrassed.

 

Hutch pushed him off and sat up.  “You mean, I went through all that and I wasn’t even being taped?”

 

Starsky propped his head up on his hand.  “I thought it might make things seem...  I don’t know, more dangerous.”

 

“So it’s danger you want?” asked Hutch.

 

“Uh...”  Starsky looked at him uncertainly.

 

“Because, while what we did here was a real trip,” said Hutch, “there wasn’t any danger in it.”

 

“I guess...”

 

Starsky had shown Hutch the eroticism of surrendering control.  The least Hutch could do was return the favor.

 

“Where do you keep the video tapes?” asked Hutch.

 

 

~end~