Here's a little present for all my listsisters. I've been assured by my2 editors that this should come with a "Keep Your Heart Pills Handy"warning, so there it is! This story is a sequal to "Dear Bent," byLCabrillo.

Somewhere in the Aegean

by

Flamingo

Row, Row, Row your boat
Merrily out to sea....

Starsky leaned against the door frame of the small cabin and watched silently as Hutch tidied up the deck of their rented sailboat. As he enjoyed the sight of his golden lover framed against the afternoon sun as it dipped toward the blue Aegean Sea, he kept glancing back at the last secret letter he was still composing to his friend. It was hard to believe that this would be the final night of their vacation. Making sure Hutch was still preoccupied, he glanced over what he'd written. The letter was hidden in a shallow drawer set in a built-in dresser that stood behind the door frame, where Hutch couldn't see it.

"Dear Bent,

"I've had some fun sneaking out little notes about what me and Hutch were up to while sightseeing in Greece and sailing around on our little rented boat, the Neried. You promised you'd never tell no one about all those intimate details I gave you and I'm holdin' you to that--in spite of the fact that Hutch says you're the world's second biggest liar. (He says that crazy Flamingo lady has to be the first! He's just mad cause she always gives me the gold in the Olympics, which obviously, I deserve. What's wrong with givin' extra points cause I've got great buns?) If the Blintz ever found out about me tellin' you that stuff--well, let me just say, it would take all the erotic connotations out of the term, 'having your ass in a sling,' if you know what I mean--and I'm sure you do. But sometimes, when things have been as great as they have been these last few weeks in Greece, well, sometimes you've just got to share it or bust. And for some reason, I can tell you stuff that I never told no one before. I don't know why. Maybe you're just the world's best listener. Or maybe I just can't resist watching you get that glassy-eyed expression and grope for your heart pills when I tell you what it's like when me and Hutch get it on. Maybe you just put the 'oy' in voyeurism. That's a Jewish joke! Ha-ha."

He shook his head, laughing softly at his own lunacy. Another check on his blond assured him of a few more moments of privacy.

"Anyway, it's fun to share some of this stuff with you, regardless of where my ass ends up. But, I'm warning you, Bent, if you repeat any of this to that crazy commune, that nutty bunch of ladies who've moved into Venice Place, well, you and me are gonna have a whole different kinda private conversation, which won't be nearly as much fun for you. If you catch my drift."

Just then Hutch, his bronzed back to Starsky, bent over to pick up some cushions from the deck so he could replace them on the chaise lounge. As he did, Starsky felt his heart rate climb as his eyes narrowed in concentration. It was hard to turn back to the letter, but he finally managed to scribble a few more lines.

"Hey, Bent, you know how people are always asking, 'who's got the beef?' Well, that man of mine's got it, that's who. I know those crazy VP women keep going on and on about my butt, like it's the world's best or something. And that's real flattering. Hell, I ain't modest. I know women like it. I get plenty of looks, and it ain't accidental I wear my jeans a size smaller than I should. But Hutch--I'm lookin' at him now, just watching him move some things around, and I gotta tell you--that man is poetry in motion.

"He's got nothin' on but that tiny black Speedo--which is barely able to keep him contained, and ain't hardly enough to cover his wide, pretty ass. If you haven't noticed lately, my Hutch is big, front and back--or is that 'fore and aft' like Mr. Sea-Scout-From-Duluth keeps saying since we came on board. There's so much of him, and Bent, I swear, it's all prime--and it's all mine. The big muscles in his legs are flexing and stretching, while his strong back twists and turns, and his beautiful ass tightens and relaxes. It's makin' me hard. Ain't no genteel way to put that. That tiny Speedo can't conceal much, and beads of sweat are running down his spine right into the crack of his ass. All of that golden man is framed by intensely blue sky and sea and our lovely boat--it hurts my eyes to just look at him and how beautiful he really is. My man. Mine."

Starsky had to swallow a thick lump that had suddenly formed as he tried to frame his rapidly eroding thoughts into something he could actually write. Hutch kept working, oblivious to his presence and his scrutiny, and to the emotional state Starsky was working himself into.

"He's berry-brown from all the time we've spent outside, and slick with sun-screen, topped by a too-long mop of unruly silver hair. There's no other man on the planet half as beautiful--maybe there never has been. I can barely breathe watching him, and my cock wants to climb out of my own little red Speedos and I'm wondering if I should have done what Hutch said and bought the larger size. Nah--why start a new trend now?"

Just then, Hutch turned to put some tools away and spied Starsky propped half-in and half-out of the door frame. The blond wore one of those half-exasperated expressions that told Starsky his partner was about to launch into him for not helping. But then the cornflower blue eyes trailed slowly over Starsky's nearly nude form. He flushed all over from his lover's scrutiny--an examination that was more than physical, more than erotic. It was downright challenging.

In two seconds, Starsky realized, he's gone from thinkin' about chewin' me out for goofin' off, to thinkin' 'bout chewin' me up. Glad I didn't listen to him about the Speedos.

Without taking his eyes off his lover, Starsky surreptitiously closed the drawer on his half completed letter, hiding it securely.

"Are we all packed?" Hutch asked quietly, moving closer.

"All packed," Starsky said, unable to hide the regret in his voice. "'Cept for the stuff we're gonna wear tomorrow. And these." He snapped the Speedo against his hip, deliberately pulling Hutch's line of sight back to his swelling groin. The blond's gaze lingered there an indecently long time.

Finally, he broke the silence by saying, "Starsk, you don't have any sun screen on." He sounded slightly breathless.

"Day's almost over," Starsky replied softly. "Didn't seem worth it."

Hutch took a well used tube off a bench and moved closer. "Late afternoon sun can really burn. I'll put it on for you."

It's funny, Bent, Starsky thought, still mentally composing the unfinished letter, but Hutch can be such a klutz. Sometimes I think he can't figure out what to do with his feet, cause they're so big. Or where to put all two miles of arms and legs. But there are times, like when he's movin' in on the bad guys--or when he gets to wantin' me, an' starts to make his move--times like that he's as graceful as a cat. Like he's stalkin' me. Movin' one smooth step at a time, so graceful, so poised--coilin' to strike. It makes my heart race and my palms sweat and a nerve in the head of my cock gets to pulsin'--

Hutch squeezed a dollop of cream into his palm, warming it. "We're gonna have to go back to work in a few days. You can't afford to burn now. Or let your skin get dry." He slathered the warm cream across Starsky's shoulders and onto his neck, his big hand sensuously caressing his lover's skin. His voice lowered till it was almost a purr. "It always surprises me how soft your skin is, Starsk. Specially along your neck," he rubbed more cream there and Starsky moved his head cooperatively, "and your shoulders," he anointed that just as carefully, "your arms...." His hands were blatantly stroking now, oiling Starsky as diligently as if he were a precious antique.

"You've gotten so brown," Hutch murmured, "you look like you were born here." He turned Starsky, slathering sunscreen over his back and spine, trailing his hand low, then slipping his fingers down inside the Speedo to cover his lover's lush ass with the slick stuff. "You're a beautiful man, you know that, don't you?" He lingered over the heavy, heart-shaped rear, working the warm ointment well into the skin.

"Me?" Starsky murmured. He was having trouble keeping up with the conversation. He leaned back, resting his weight against the one man he could always depend on.

"Yeah, you," Hutch murmured into the nearest ear. "Specially when you're oiled." He squeezed one cheek gently as if to emphasize his point. "And you know it, too." There was a smile in his voice. "You've got the medals to prove it, don't you, hotshot?" He turned his lover back around to face him. They were both smiling now.

Starsky's eyes grew hooded, his lashes lowering in bliss as Hutch started to work on his front, meticulously oiling his shoulders, his arms, his furred pecs, his washboard abdomen, until finally he couldn't ignore Starsky's formidable erection straining the integrity of the stretchy Speedos.

"Looks like we have a little problem here," Hutch teased.

"Hey. That's a damn big problem if you ask me," Starsky replied, his voice low and husky.

Hutch rubbed his knuckles over the stiffened flesh, drawing a shudder from his lover. "Yes. It is a big problem, isn't it?" He moved closer to Starsky, and brushed his lips over his partner's ear. Starsky could feel Hutch's sweet, warm breath trailing sensation across the shell. "Big enough for me, anyway. Plenty big enough."

Starsky turned his head, found Hutch's mouth and they engaged. Arms wound around torsos, legs slipped between legs, one light, one dark, one light, one dark, as tongues dipped and tasted, explored and dallied in familiar and well-loved places. Hutch's hands slid down the back he'd so carefully oiled until his fingers traced messages of need and urgency against the plush swell of Starsky's ass.

Starsky, quickly losing all coherency, pulled away from the wide mouth devouring him just to gasp, "It's your problem, blondie. Yours alone."

"Damn right about that," Hutch growled. Reaching between them, Hutch latched onto Starsky's ever-growing problem and squeezed. "Mine. All mine." As if to prove his point, Hutch gently lifted Starsky's erection and tightened sac out of the tortured fabric of the red Speedo.

Starsky's eyes shut in bliss as his hand moved up to grasp silken strands, nearly white from the sun. He felt Hutch lowering himself and opened his eyes to watch his lover perch on his knees in front of him. His whole body quivered as Hutch cradled his tense, pulsing sex, then brushed his cheek against it reverently. He kissed the crown gently, making Starsky gasp. Starsky's hand tangled in the white-gold strands tightened.

"It's a beautiful problem," Hutch crooned, his warm breath teasing the over-sensitized flesh. "A wonderful problem. The one problem in my life I love solving, over and over again."

"Hutch..." Starsky gasped, afraid to say more.

Even on his knees, his blond was a formidable man. He looked up and chuckled, his face full of joy. "I love when you call my name, when you sound that way. Like that one word means everything. 'Hutch!'"

So Starsky said it again, because that's what he meant when he said it--everything. "Hutch!"

"I'm here," he promised, pale blue eyes meeting dark. "I'm right here, buddy." Then, never moving his gaze from Starsky's, Hutch took firm hold of his lover. Starsky stared, mesmerized, as the blond god kneeling before him--before him--ran his tongue around the swollen crown of his cock. Starsky's knees buckled, as Hutch did it again, then again, then again, then finally, with a satisfied sigh, took the whole crown into his mouth.

Starsky choked back a cry as Hutch's mouth enveloped him, the shock of sensation so intense, so hot, he nearly fell. That beautiful, wide mouth engulfed his flesh as a sweet tongue lapped, licked, and encircled his head. Pre-come bubbled up from his balls and that felt incredible, and when it leaked into Hutch's mouth the tall man purred lustily, as if it were the most wonderful flavor. And that made Starsky's knees even weaker.

Hutch was really getting into it now, and all Starsky could do was grab a fistful of hair and hang on. His left hand cradled his lover's jaw so he could feel the muscles working him over as Hutch started a gentle rhythmic sucking designed to drive Starsky insane. At the same time, Hutch's tongue moved tirelessly over Starsky's crown and all his length, driving him wild.

Starsky had to wet his own lips just to keep murmuring Hutch's name over and over. And each time he whispered that one word, Hutch reacted, loving that. Grabbing Starsky's hips, he pulled Starsky in deeper, deep-throating him lustily, until Starsky thought he'd shatter. He threw his head back and called Hutch's name loudly, making Hutch rumble in pleasure. The vibrations of that sound traveling through his cock rocked Starsky to his core. But Hutch was only getting warmed up, he realized.

When Hutch's large hand slid inside the back of the Speedos to cradle his ass; Starsky tensed as Hutch stroked his slippery-soft skin. They always got in so much trouble when Hutch started fooling around back there. Wonderful trouble. Terrible trouble. Starsky trembled, and even with his mouth preoccupied, Hutch chuckled.

"What's goin' on back there?" Starsky murmured, staring down at the golden man he loved. Hutch chuckled again, as he must've remembered another place and time when Starsky had asked him that. In answer, Hutch did this little magic teasing thing with his tongue right against the underside of Starsky's cock that always drove him crazy. "Oh, jeezus...!" he gasped and pulled hard at Hutch's hair, but he ignored that.

Then Hutch's broad palm was sliding further into the Speedos, the strong fingers creeping into the clenched crevasse of Starsky's rear. "Hutch, don't, dammit!" Starsky felt his self-control, the little he had left, dissolving.

Hutch was peering up at him through fine blond strands and Starsky could swear he was grinning in spite of the fact that he was giving Starsky the most incredible head....

Familiar fingers, slick with sweat and the sun-screen on Hutch's hands, brushed against his anus. Starsky shuddered all over and moaned low as Hutch toyed with him gently, teasing, delighting him, promising him. "Hutch!" Starsky whispered; it was a plea.

He answered the incoherent request by sliding the tip of his middle finger inside Starsky's compliant body.

"Oh, god, yesss," he hissed. The sexual rush was so profound, Starsky's cock pulsed hard in Hutch's mouth and he nearly lost it. That made Hutch laugh wickedly, even as he secured his toy and pulled it in deeper into his throat.

Trapped both fore and aft between Hutch's mouth and his hands, Starsky yielded to the pleasure being forced on him and let Hutch have his wonderful way with him for long, delicious minutes.

But even Starsky had limits. Staring down at his love's wonderful labor, he smiled. When in Greece, darlin'.... Grasping Hutch's jaw, he cautiously disengaged from the tireless, maddening mouth. "Ease up, tiger, ease up."

"Why?" Hutch complained, pursuing the elusive member.

Starsky grasped Hutch's arms and urged him to his feet.

"Cause it's our last night in Greece!"

"So?" Hutch reached for his lover's hard-on, stroking it so perfectly, Starsky nearly lost his resolve.

"So...don't you wanna see how fluent I've gotten in the language?" That got Hutch's attention and his curiosity.

"What language?"

Still grasping his arms, Starsky walked him backwards till they stood beside the chaise lounge. "Greek. The language of love. The language you speak so well. The language you taught me to love."

"I taught you to love it?" Hutch looked skeptical. "I don't remember giving you language lessons."

"I learn best by example, babe," Starsky assured him. He let go of his lover long enough to pull the cushions off the chaise and drop them on the deck.

"Kneepads for me?" Hutch said, grinning. "You're so considerate."

"If you want it on your knees that's okay with me, but that wasn't my plan."

Hutch needed little urging to lower his rear to the chaise cushions. "You wanna do this out here, in front of the fishies and everybody? The sun's still up. Suppose someone sees us?"

"Ain't no one out here but the mer-people, Hutch. Just you and me and the sea and alla Nereus' fifty daughters." As Hutch lay back, Starsky perched between his knees, sliding his hands up and down the long, oiled, downy thighs.

Hutch made a small sound in his throat but continued to handle Starsky's manhood, keeping it hard, keeping its attention focused. Starsky could feel his pulse pounding behind his ear, the same pulse keeping a steady rhythm in his cockhead.

Starsky reached for the rigid length of pipe Hutch was vainly trying to hide in the tiny black Speedos. "You're gonna get gangrene if you don't let this beast out to breathe." Reverently, Starsky lowered the Spandex suit and Hutch's impressive manhood sprang forth, hard, hot, furiously red. Hutch's heavy testicles were drawn tight against his body.

"Hmmm. Looks winded--see how red he is? Think he needs mouth to mouth." Starsky lowered himself toward the bobbing member that seemed to be growing longer just to reach him.

"Hey, I thought you were gonna give me language lessons," Hutch murmured, but he wasn't really complaining.

"In a minute," Starsky assured him. "First I wanna make sure I've got your attention." Then before Hutch could think or react, Starsky inhaled him, swallowing him whole, taking the entire formidable length of him into his mouth, down his throat, welcoming him with his wet, agile tongue, proving with his deep-throated passion just how much he loved pleasuring his blond.

Hutch shouted as his ass arched up off the cushions; he buried both hands in Starsky's thick hair. As if Hutch's organ were all he needed to slake his hunger, Starsky worked the heavy cock wetly, until his partner was trembling, until he was just as frantic as Starsky was himself.

"Think I've got your attention now," Starsky said breathlessly, as he released his hold on his lover.

Hutch was panting, looking dazed, making small sounds of pleasure and dismay. "Oh, damn, babe...did you have to stop?"

"Oh, yeah," Starsky assured him as he towed Hutch's tiny bathing suit off, then removed his own. He stroked the glistening erection as if to apologize. He hated letting go of it, but his need was undeniable now. His hands shook as he scrambled to uncap the sunscreen and he nearly dropped it before he squeezed an overly large amount into his palm.

"You okay, there, partner?" Hutch asked, laughing as Starsky's urgency showed.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine! In a minute I'll show you just how fine."

Hutch laughed some more. "You liar. You're a wreck. Look at you. If I grabbed hold of you right now you'd explode all over the boat." He reached for Starsky's hard-on, but he knocked Hutch's hand aside.

"You think so, huh?" Starsky said, laughing himself. "We'll see who explodes first." He grabbed Hutch's leg behind the knee and hauled it up roughly, pulling him onto his back. Hooking that leg over his shoulder, he quickly divided the sunscreen between his hands, then slathered the slippery stuff over Hutch's cock. Hutch lurched in pleasure and moaned. Then Starsky's other hand coated the cleft between his cheeks and he tensed automatically. "Easy, babe. Let's slow it down. Can't have you tightenin' up on me."

Hutch opened his mouth as if to say something, but he seemed to be suddenly struck speechless. Starsky kept a close watch over his face and body, wanted everything to be pleasure, making sure there would be no pain. He stroked Hutch slowly, smoothly, rubbing his thumb against the sensitive spot beneath the crown just the way he knew his man loved it. As Hutch sighed, and his body showed its pleasure, Starsky slipped a well lubricated digit inside his love.

"Oh, damn!" Hutch sighed, his mouth dropping open in bliss. "So good." His eyes were hazy with lust as he watched Starsky work. "Talk to me, magic hands. Talk to me in Greek."

Starsky grinned and slid another finger in, twisting his hand, looking for just the--

"YESSS!" Hutch called, his back arching, the leg over Starsky's shoulder pulling him close. "Oh, yes, oh, yes, oh dammit! Enough. Quit teasing."

"Not yet," Starsky warned, refusing to let Hutch call the shots. He slid in a third finger and Hutch's moan made his cock jump. "Soon. Soon. Hang on, baby blue." He moved his hand in and out slowly, stroking the rounded swell of Hutch's prostate, making everything more intense, until Hutch was quivering with need, until his cock was literally throbbing against his palm.

"Starsk!" Hutch gasped, barely able to speak. "Starsk, please!"

"I love it when you call my name," Starsky parroted at him, "when you sound like that. 'Starsk!' Like it means everything."

Hutch clawed at Starsky's arms, trying to pull him up, pull him over his body. "You bastard, you're making me crazy!! Come on, will ya! Starsk!"

Hutch's excitement was making him crazy, adding that much more intensity to everything--their exotic surroundings, the gentle rocking of the boat, their freedom out in the open air--and the stunning beauty of the nude blond sprawling beneath him. Unable to restrain himself any longer, Starsky cautiously withdrew his hand and positioned his flaring glans at the entrance to Hutch's body.

Hutch froze, a look of expectation on his face. He clutched at his lover's arm and waited, finally murmuring, "Now, Starsk!"

Starsky smiled, waiting for that invitation, and with the utmost care sheathed himself inside his love. Hutch's eyes rolled back as every muscle in his body tightened down. "Yes!" Starsky murmured, feeling as if his lover had just captured him. He didn't move, he didn't dare. Hutch would let him know when--for this moment, he would be content to wait.

"Oh, Starsk!" It was one long exhale, plea and exhortation all at once.

Starsky grinned, withdrew carefully, then plunged back in. The fair fingers gripping his arm dug in hard, and that made him smile all the more. He withdrew again, then back in once more. This time Hutch's body rose to meet the thrust, the leg over his shoulder pulling him in, urging him closer, tighter, deeper. He stroked down the long, shapely leg, then kissed the knee riding his shoulder. "Was I right, babe? Don't I speak it good? Don't I do good Greek?"

"Gods, yes!" Hutch gasped as Starsky took him again and again. "Starsky, please!" He tugged, and Starsky happily obliged, easing the long leg off his shoulder, moving it around his waist, so he could cover his love with his length. Whenever they did this Hutch always wanted him close, pulling at him until Starsky blanketed him. He did so now, wanting to give Hutch anything anything that would enhance his pleasure.

Hutch's arms wound around him, and in an instant their mouths were joined. Hutch's kiss seemed starved, ravenous, as Starsky tried to fill that hunger with his tongue and his steadily driving cock. Hutch's body was alive with tension, with need, as he absorbed everything Starsky fed him, lips and tongue and relentlessly fucking shaft.

"Is it good?" Starsky struggled to whisper against his lover's ear as he rode that beautiful ass. "Really good? I want it to be the best."

Hutch shuddered, his nails digging hard into Starsky's back. "That's what it always is with you! The best. Doesn't matter where. Every time, the best! Oh, Starsk!"

He slid both hands underneath to clutch at the rich mounds of Hutch's ass, lifting him to meet each pounding drive. Hutch whimpered, his strong legs still wrapped around Starsky's waist pulling them closer and closer, over and over.

"So good f'me, babe," Starsky swore. Hutch's heavy organ rode between their slick bellies, rubbing, swelling that last little bit. "Always so good with you. Now, gimme all you got. I need it now, Hutch. Now!" Unable to stop himself, he stiffened all over and erupted deep inside his partner.

Hutch pulled him even closer, crying out with that familiar, wonderful pure note of pleasure. Starsky felt wet warmth pulsing between them, as he covered Hutch's open mouth with his own and searched for the song Hutch sang only for him. The cry turned into a purr as Hutch's tongue met his in a joyful dance.

Slowly, their bodies finished thrashing and pulsing and finally eased into a relaxed state, as their kiss changed from fierce to mellow and loving.

"Mmmm," Starsky murmured, finally pulling away for air. He buried his head in the crook of Hutch's neck and whispered his name.

He could feel his lover smiling, as he cradled his head with one hand and lazily stroked his ass with the other. Cautiously, Hutch's legs untangled themselves from around Starsky's waist. "You still alive, there, Starsk?"

"Guess not," Starsky mumbled. "Cause if this ain't heaven, then I ain't goin'."

Hutch chuckled. "I wonder why you always feel as if you weigh two ounces just before orgasm and two tons after?" He poked his lover gently in the ribs. "Come on, dead man. I can't breathe."

"M'dead," Starsky protested, burrowing deeper against Hutch's neck. "Dead people can't move."

Hutch clenched his ass tight around the organ still buried within him, forcing Starsky to quiver from the onslaught of sensation.

"Oh, jeezus, Hutch! What are you...?"

"I do believe we've got a miracle here, folks! A dead man's just risen from the grave!" He tightened again.

"Will you cut that out?" Starsky protested, sliding away from him. He couldn't help but notice Hutch wince as he did. "Hey, you okay?"

"Sure," Hutch insisted, sitting up. "Just the normal wear and tear. We're both a mess. Let me get us a towel, since you never prepare for these spontaneous little outbursts of yours."

"Well, then they wouldn't be very spontaneous, would they?" Starsky grumbled smugly, enjoying the view as Hutch rose, still nude, and went into the cabin.

Starsky sighed, resting on one elbow, eyelids drooping as his body sagged into that wonderful lethargic afterglow he always enjoyed after fucking Hutch through the floorboards. It suddenly didn't matter if today was the last day of vacation. Life was good. Life was great. Life--

"What the hell is this?"

Starsky frowned. Now what? Did Hutch find a fly in the ice tea? He blinked sleepily, resenting anything that might interrupt his satisfaction. Hutch had a towel in one hand while the other was holding some kind of paper he was reading--

Starsky was instantly awake, alert, and totally glowless.

THAT'S MY LETTER TO BENT!

He was off the deck and at Hutch's side in an eyeblink. "Now, wait a minute, Hutch! That's private!" He lurched for the paper but it was way too late. Hutch simply used his superior height and length of arm to keep it out of reach.

"I can see that it's private!" Hutch snarled, his expression murderous. "That's why it was hidden in the drawer near the towels. Too bad you left a corner hanging out. They say the criminal mind always gives itself away eventually! And this is damned near criminal! You've been writing that-that-that pervert about our intimate lives? What the hell have you been telling him?"

"Nothing! I mean, nothing important! I mean, hardly anything really!" Starsky realized that it didn't matter how he batted his eyes, how ingratiating he acted. Hutch was pissed.

"Nothing?" Hutch growled, advancing menacingly on him. "Nothing important?" He waved the letter in front of Starsky's nose but by the time he made a grab for it it was out of reach again. "You write this-this so-called journalist about the size of my ass and it's nothing important? You send him 'intimate little details' about our lives, and it's 'nothing'? Don't think I can't read between the lines, buddy. What's our next event, maybe something you both think I could win, like the Two-Hour Bottom Marathon? Little letters of no importance, from the guy who can't write a straight police report without embellishing? I shudder to think what you've sent to him! I oughta feed you your own testicles!"

Hutch had been steadily backing him up across the deck. "Now calm down, Hutch. It's not that bad. I mean, you didn't have time to even look at that letter. You never even stopped to really read it. Go on, take a good look. Go on."

Glowering, Hutch took the now crumpled paper and glanced over the scribblings. "I'll be damned if I can figure out how he can even translate this scratching of yours...."

Starsky saw his opening, and like the master strategist he was, he took advantage of it. "D'j'ou even get to the part about...how beautiful I think you are? Or the place where I wrote--"

"Who's got 'the beef'?" Hutch murmured quizzically.

Starsky saw him blink and furrow his brow. "I can't help it, Hutch. I got all this stuff inside me about how much I love you an' all, and how you make me feel, and sometimes, well, sometimes I gotta find a way to let it out."

He saw Hutch relaxing visibly, struggling now to hold onto his anger. "I've got the beef, huh?"

"Yeah. You sure do. And...far as I'm concerned, that's better'n a gold medal any day."

Hutch's eyes narrowed and Starsky wondered if he'd pushed too far. But then Hutch used the towel to rub away the semen still glistening on Starsky's stomach. "I oughta make you eat this letter."

Starsky made his move. He tried to make himself as adorable as possible. "It's our last night in Greece, lover. Wouldn't you rather I eat something else?"

Hutch struggled not to smile as he gently wiped off Starsky's semi-flacid cock. "We should wash first."

"'Kay. How about a last swim? One last dip in the Aegean, ow nat-chu-rail." He gave Hutch one of his best smiles.

"A dip for a dip," Hutch agreed, with a look that said he knew he was being conned. He shoved the letter between Starsky's teeth.

"Mfpf rfpp pffll mmmff," Starsky agreed willingly as he started chewing.

"And if you promise to behave yourself..." Hutch pointed an emphatic finger at him, "maybe you can teach me some more Greek later." Starsky mumbled around the half chewed letter, which Hutch finally pulled out of his mouth, crumpled and threw overboard. "What was that?"

"I said, beef a'la Greek. Sounds good to me, blondie. Last one in--"

Hutch grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the rail. "Is on the bottom!" he declared, as he did a perfect swan dive from the deck.

"Hey! No fair!" Starsky argued, but Hutch was already sluicing through the blue sea with perfect form and couldn't hear him. S'fine, Blintz, Starsky thought, grinning, as he jumped into the water to join his lover. Betcha I still win more gold medals than you! At least...outside the bedroom.

Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily
Life is but a dream....

Not Quite The End