SquidgeWorld Archive

Hutch was clearing the small breakfast table in the greenhouse when he discovered the square plastic box stashed under a pile of napkins. Displayed untouched in small compartments were Starsky's medications for the last four days. Puzzled, he called out to his partner, who was vacuuming the recently expanded bedroom.

"Starsky!"

"Yeah?"

"C'mere for a minute, wouldja?" came out more forcefully than he'd meant for it to.

Starsky slipped into the room, looking a little like a child expecting to be chastised.

"What the hell is this?' Hutch asked, holding the offending object under his nose.

"Looks like a pillbox to me."

Hutch sighed deeply.

"You know damn well it's a pillbox....yours....and it's still got the last four days meds in it. Why?"

"'Cause I didn't take'em."

"Starsky, we've been through this a million times." A slight thread of desperation made its way into his voice. "Why aren't you taking them?"

Since the shooting in May, life had been chaotic. Starsky had been hospitalized for several months and during that time Hutch had taken a leave and used some of his trust fund to expand the Venice apartment, appropriating space which had been sitting empty for years. He'd made the living room bigger and created a large bedroom with a big bathroom able to accommodate his partner's convalescing needs. Starsky had agreed to let his place go and Hutch had everything moved for him prior to his release. When he'd brought his partner home, it was with the understanding that Hutch would take care of him, backed by a team consisting of a visiting nurse, along with both physical and occupational therapists. Or 'terrorists', as the dark-haired man enjoyed referring to them. All had gone smoothly until a couple weeks before, when the patient had reached an intolerable level of boredom and started exerting his independence.

"Christ, Blondie, I'm sick of takin' pills! I'm feelin' better and I figure I don't need 'em anymore."

Hutch's composure slipped another centimeter.

"You figure? You've been through hell....your lung still isn't completely healed. Don't you think you could trust your doctors to tell you when you're ready to toss the meds?"

"No!"

"No?" Hutch felt himself begin to overheat, like the Torino on a 98-degree day.

"Damn it, I'm on happy pills...."

"Antidepressants, just to keep your spirits up." Hutch corrected him.

"I take pills to make me shit, pills to make me piss, pills to knock me out....raise my heart rate, lower my blood pressure, keep me from getting infection, keep my energy up and.... you know what the end result is?"

"You're still alive?"

"Only half....they....they just....well, they mess with my mind."

Hutch felt a wave of compassion dispel the anger that had been building up. He put his hand on the other man's shoulder.

"Aw, Starsk....that's inevitable. Things'll fall back into place in time."

"Not this....this is something new....for me, anyway."

"Sit down....talk to me. We've always been able to work things out together before."

Starsky snorted. "Not this time. This is one even you can't help me with."

"You might be surprised."

"Okay, hotshot. I've been looking at my old collection of Playboys lately."

"Hey, that's a damn good sign and..."

"And....nothing. Nothing happens. I can't get it up."

"Oh....I get it." Hutch quickly backpedaled, but the only thing he could come up with was a lame-sounding, "Hey, you're not givin' yourself enough time, man."

"Am I still? A man, I mean? I think about women I've been with and it doesn't turn me on at all. Hell, I might as well be a fuckin' eunuch."

Hutch didn't want to appear insensitive, but somehow the idea of Starsky as an asexual being didn't strike him as a problem that could possibly be permanent. He thought maybe if he could get the other man to see the humor in what he was saying, it would take his mind off his situation.

"Starsky, in the first place, that's a complete contradiction of terms. It's physically impossible to be a fuckin' eunuch." Hutch grinned. "And, really...when you think about it..."

"I tell you I can't even get a hard on anymore and all you can do is make jokes? I knew I shouldn't have said anything. I'll just go back to my housework now." Starsky turned to go back into the bedroom. "Probably all I'm good for anymore."

"No....wait." Hutch grabbed his arm. "I really don't think it's a problem. I know it seems scary to you now, but, believe me....once you're completely healed, everything'll be working again."

"They tell me I'll only ever have half the lung capacity I did before. Even if I can get things workin' again, how do I know this won't turn out to be the same kinda problem?"

"I always did say you had a tendency to go off half-cocked." Catching the sullen expression on the other man's face, he tried again. "Hey, I've seen you with a hard on. Half capacity is as good as the average man."

"Hutch!"

"I'm sorry....I know it's not funny, but I'm sure it's not serious, either. In fact, I guarantee you it's not." Hutch pulled him in the direction of the bedroom. "Let me rub your back and relax you a little. You're gettin' yourself all worked up and that's not good for you, especially when you haven't taken your meds."

The agitated man allowed himself to be towed along into the next room, where his partner pushed him gently down on the bed. Hutch started unbuttoning his shirt for him and quickly had him stripped down to boxers before he could change his mind about it.

He started to gently knead the tight neck and shoulder muscles, the area which seemed to bear the brunt of Starsky's pain. One of the bullets had broken through his collarbone and torn its way perilously close to the carotid artery through his chest and shoulder, before becoming embedded in the roof of the Torino. This affected his right arm, causing him a great deal of agony and difficulty of movement. Hutch had learned from the therapists and had put in many hours as his masseur. As Starsky began to relax, his blond partner was able to coax him to lie down on the bed.

Hutch closed his eyes and sighed. It was only when rubbing away the torment from the injured man's flesh that he was able to let down his guard and dream. At some point during Starsky's convalescence, the realization had come to him that his love for his best friend had become more than that. It had been a difficult concession to make, but once he found himself able to whisper with wonder, "I'm in love with Starsky," it had been an especially hard secret to keep. Only his fear of the other's rejection restrained him from blurting out his feelings.

As he felt the supple, hard-muscled flesh beneath his fingers, he yearned to be free to caress and explore each plane and hollow of the body under his. His fantasies took flight and he lost himself in the smoothness of skin, the scent of sandalwood and the heat of his passion.

Awareness that his patient was becoming restless brought him back from his daydream and he encouraged Starsky to turn over on his back, so he could massage the tense chest muscles, a routine which had caused intense pain when the therapists had begun, but which had proved extremely beneficial in the healing process. His partner obliged him, closing his eyes and soon appeared to have fallen asleep. Hutch was startled when the deep blue eyes sprang open in what seemed to be alarm.

"Starsk, you all right?" Hutch asked anxiously. "It's not your heart, is it?"

His partner smiled uneasily. "A little bit lower than that."

His anxious pale blue eyes left the sparkling cerulean of the other man's and raked the length of the lean body until they rested on the tented front of Starsky's boxers, which signaled an impressive erection.

He chuckled, his relief evident. "Guess there's no need to put you out to pasture yet, huh, buddy?"

"Nope. I only wish I had somebody female to celebrate the occasion with." The dark-haired man complained.

Hutch knew he might be treading on thin ice, but decided to venture out to the middle of the lake anyway. "I could help you out with that if you wanted to close your eyes and pretend I'm whoever you'd rather be with."

Starsky's eyes widened in surprise.

"I wouldn't ask you to do somethin' like that. I mean....that's above and beyond the call 'a duty."

"You didn't ask....I offered and if I don't have a problem with it, why should you?"

Starsky closed his eyes tightly and after a moment of thought, he nodded his head.

Almost reverently, Hutch first touched the throbbing hardness through the fabric of the underwear, to get his partner used to the feeling of his hands on him. It was definitely not the first time this contact had been made in past months. He'd helped Starsky take care of his every need and that had included a great deal of intimacy, which constantly irritated the dark-haired man with its necessity. But, of course, this was entirely different and the fear that he might be taking advantage of the situation raised every red flag in the blond detective's guilt-prone mind.

Even that consideration failed to deter him....the man he loved was giving him this gift and whether he knew it or not, it was the opening that Hutch had been looking for, the chance to proclaim his love and make his partner feel so special, so cherished, that Starsky's only recourse was to fall into his arms and remain there for the next forty or fifty years, if Hutch had any say about it. At least that's what he hoped would happen

Easing the clingy, silken boxers down, he touched the object of his desire, marveling at the velvety, soft skin stretched over the steely hardness beneath. He knew this was a defining moment, one he wanted to remember for the rest of his life, so he spent time memorizing every detail. The dusky color of the secret flesh he held cupped in his hand, so different from his own, the aroma of Starsky's arousal....making him drunk with need, the small chuffing sounds he'd never heard the other man make before. He didn't think of his own cock straining to break free....his only thought was to make this good for his partner.

Rubbing softly at first, he soon increased the pressure and pace, somehow knowing intuitively when the other man needed him to slow down and when he wanted more. In this, as in most things, it seemed as though they fell into perfect sync, Starsky raising his hips to meet the downward thrusts of the compassionate hand. Exhilarated, Hutch wanted his lips where that hand was and, with the symphony of his partner's crying out his name, he bent and kissed the tip and drew it between his lips gently.

"God....Hutch, no!" Starsky cried out in alarm. But even as he protested, Hutch could feel his hands pulling on the thinning blond hair in an effort to hold him in place. The dark-haired man made a last valiant effort to pull himself away as semen began to flow into the other man's waiting mouth, but Hutch wouldn't allow it and swallowed, wincing at the salty, bitter taste. It was palatable only because it was the essence of the man he loved and that's what he wanted, Starsky in him, now a part of him.

"Jeezus....I'm sorry. I got carried away and couldn't stop." Starsky grabbed him and hugged him in apology. "It's been way too long for me."

"No, it was my fault. I'm not sorry for what just happened. I won't apologize for that." Hutch held the other man to him desperately. "I wanted it, but I feel like I took advantage of you."

Starsky pulled back to peer into eyes sparkling with the colors of the Caribbean sky. "If anyone took advantage, it was me." he said contritely.

"I've never cared for anyone more, Starsk. You think I'd do that for someone I didn't love?"

Starsky squeezed him again. "I love you, too, buddy. Always have."

"I don't think you're really getting the message." Hutch knew he hadn't made himself clear. "I'm....in....love with you."

Shocked, Starsky drew back from him. Hutch could clearly identify many of the conflicting emotions in the deep blue eyes. He'd gone through his own share of trauma in dealing with these new feelings.

"Why are you talkin' like this?"

"I'm just telling you how I feel." It was obvious that this was a completely new and quite foreign idea to his partner. "I-I thought you might just be interested....or at least keep an open mind."

"Hutch, I ain't gay."

"Did I imply you were?" Hutch replied with some asperity.

"What you're feeling is just 'cause of the shooting and you takin' care of me all this time. We've been together almost constantly and you're startin' to read more into it than there is."

"I know how I feel." Hutch retorted brusquely.

"You know how you think you feel...."

"Okay, I'll say it once more and try to make it clear to you." Hutch took a deep breath. "I love you and all I can damn well feel is you....you in my mind so that half the time I can't think straight....you....filling up all my senses until I can't imagine anything else." He laughed nervously. "To you I must sound like some hopeless damned lovesick teenager, but I know now that it's always been you....from the day I met you." He looked deeply into the disbelieving eyes. "Is there some part of that so impossible to understand?"

"Hutch....don't..."

"No, let me finish this." He paused to catch his breath. "Does that really make me a homosexual or does that just make me another victim who fell for the wrong person?"

"Would you quit askin' me questions and then not lettin' me answer 'em?" Starsky growled at him. "Even if you do feel that way, you know it's not right."

"Don't judge me, Starsky." Hutch bit off each word angrily. "If you can't or won't let yourself feel the same way, I understand....but don't sit there and tell me I'm not allowed to care about you, 'cause it doesn't change a fuckin' thing."

Hutch grabbed his jacket and headed out the door, slamming it behind him. Starsky, who'd followed him from the bedroom, still shaken by his partner's revelation, dropped heavily onto the couch, feeling like he'd been cold-cocked by a particularly vicious perp. Guilt for the obvious hurt and rejection he'd just caused crowded into his mind and he attempted to justify his harsh reaction by self-denial, but it wasn't working. After all, if he didn't have some kind of erotic feelings for Hutch, why had he allowed the intimacy to continue?

"I really could've handled that better," he muttered to himself. Trying to find some peace with the situation and failing miserably, he eventually fell into a troubled sleep.

The phone rang shortly after one o'clock, rousing him. He grabbed the handset as quickly as possible so it wouldn't wake Hutch, whom he assumed had come in quietly and gone to bed without waking him.

"H'llo?" He growled, still half asleep himself.

"Starsky?" He had no problem recognizing Huggy's voice even over the din of the bar behind him. "Your better-half home and tucked up in bed yet?"

"Should have known he'd head over there. Hang on a minute, Hug."

Starsky rolled off the couch, feeling every one of his still freshly healed-over wounds as he trudged to the bedroom, only to find that Hutch's bed showed no signs of being touched and he was nowhere in the apartment.

"Huggy, when did he leave and what kinda shape was he in?"

"Damn, I knew I shoulda poured that boy into a cab, but he wouldn't have any part of it. He put away some serious juice, but didn't act like he was over the edge, so I let him go. Then I got busy....musta left about an hour ago."

"An hour? Why didn't you call me sooner?" Starsky was genuinely worried now.

"Hey, man....I ain't no baby-sitter and it doesn't pay to try to tell you white boys a thing, anyway. Like....the way you feel about him, you should know where he is and if he ain't where he's supposed to be, you should be on it like white on rice, par-don the pun."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I don't know if you're gonna want to hear this, but he left with a lady of the evening, if you know what I mean."

A pang stabbed through the dark-haired detective's heart, shocking him more than Hutch's profession of love. His well-ordered world seemed to be hurtling down around his feet and he didn't have a clue where to find all the puzzle pieces, let alone put them in any semblance of order.

"Do you know who she was?"

"Sure....you know her, too. Sweet Alice, she's always had a thing for Mr.America."

"Yeah, well....thanks, Hug."

"Hey, I always considered you a smart man, but you're lettin' your adolescent brain do your thinkin' for you."

"Ya want to just spell that out for me?"

"Glad to. Your partner's the most important thing in your life and you been carryin' a torch for him for awhile now." Huggy paused to let the words sink in. "Wise up, Starsky. Someday you're gonna have to turn and face it."

"Hutch spill his guts to you tonight?" Starsky asked defiantly.

"Man, he didn't have to. Nobody else could've hurt him that bad."

"Spare me the Ann Landers routine. Thanks for callin', anyway."

"Any time, man....any time." The phone was hung up with a thud, leaving Starsky feeling dazed, wondering if everyone else had gone crazy or just him.

Rationalizing his actions as wanting to make sure Hutch had made it to his destination in one piece, he wasted no time getting to the car and racing over to the small apartment Alice kept as headquarters for her nefarious career. Hutch's beater was in the parking lot, which both eased his mind and scared the hell out of him on some level that he couldn't understand. He spent the rest of the night soul-searching and came up with only one answer....he wasn't gay and it didn't matter how many people thought he was.

The next few days were spent cordially enough, but without the usual banter and good-natured joking. If Hutch knew that Starsky was aware of where he spent some of his nights, he didn't mention anything. They each had trouble maintaining eye contact and seemed off balance, like a team who'd recently been partnered and felt unsure and self-conscious with each other.

They danced around any weighty issues for a little over a week, always just avoiding discussion of anything other than small talk. The atmosphere in the apartment was growing tense and each of them knew they'd have to hash out their differences soon. Things began to come to a head when Starsky came out of the bedroom one evening dressed for a night on the town.

"What's up, buddy?" Hutch asked casually, his heart thudding almost painfully against his chest.

"Got a date," his partner replied, just as indifferently.

"Don't you think you're rushing that a little?" Hutch asked, worry about Starsky overriding the jealousy he felt.

"I think I have to, Hutch." Starsky answered, feeling guilty. "You can stop coddling me....the lady's picking me up and I promise I won't hit the discos. Just a quiet dinner....nothing too strenuous."

"Do I know her?" Hutch heard himself ask despite his resolve not to.

"Candi, one of my nurses," Starsky smiled, recalling how they'd fought over who was going to date her first. "You promised to let me get out of the hospital before you put the moves on her. Remember?"

Hutch certainly did. Blonde, blue-eyed and very curvaceous....definitely Starsky's type. And his, before his taste had changed and centered on one curly-haired, sexy and very hard-headed male cop. Butterflies the size of turkey buzzards circled in his stomach, taking bites out of his insides as they flew.

"Sure do. Guess you got there first after all."

"Hey," Starsky chuckled, "You had your chance."

Hutch muttered defiantly. "No I didn't, you moron. I got blindsided by a Mac truck driven by Cupid." He knew the best thing was to let the other man discover reality by himself.

"What'd you say?" Starsky questioned.

"I said....'short-sighted of me to act so fuckin' stupid, huh?'" Hutch retorted with a little bit more irritation than he'd intended to display.

"We okay with this?"

"You know how I feel." Hutch picked up a magazine and started to page through it. "Just go on and do what comes naturally."

"Thanks, Blondie." Starsky sighed with relief. "Hey, I'm not tryin' to hurt ya, just need to find out where my head's at."

Hutch beamed benignly. 'At the end of your dick and that belongs to me.' He thought mutinously.

"Should I expect you home tonight?" He forced himself to ask, pleasantly.

"We'll play it by ear, but not if everything goes right."

"Then maybe I'll call someone to keep me company." The blond cop mumbled, more to himself than to his partner.

Starsky was surprised at the jolt of electricity that sped through his body at the words. Sensing that anything he said at this point would only make things worse, he wisely kept his mouth shut.

"I told Candi I'd meet her at the restaurant downstairs, so I'm outta here, okay?"

"Think I can function just fine without ya," Hutch answered nonchalantly. Inside he was in turmoil. Jealousy had him tied up in knots....worry that Starsky would never accept what was right in front of him grabbed hold of his mind and refused to let go.

"See ya later, then." And he was gone, leaving Hutch alone with a lot of baggage he'd never asked to be saddled with.

He finally managed to doze off in the early hours of the morning, but was dragged from sleep by a loud crash from the vicinity of the living room. He propelled himself out of bed and warily crept to the door of the bedroom. Switching on the light, he was just in time to see Starsky trip over a footstool and land forcefully on the floor. With alacrity born of years of loving and caring for his partner, he closed the distance and leaped over the couch to kneel beside the other man, hoping he hadn't hurt his head in the fall.

"Starsk?" he questioned. "You all right?"

It happened so fast that Hutch didn't have time to catch his breath. Starsky rolled onto his back and enveloped his partner in a crushing embrace. The larger man sucked in the overpowering smell of whiskey just before possessive lips claimed his and seemed to be trying to devour him whole. Instinctively, he pushed away the warm clinging body, which appeared to have as many busy appendages as an octopus.

"No way!" he shouted vehemently, startling himself as well as Starsky. "This just isn't happening."

"But, Hutch, I thought ya wanted me." Starsky protested, slurring his words comically.

"Oh, I do....but not this way; not shit-faced and definitely not fresh from someone else's bed." Hutch stared straight into the other man's eyes. "Truth, Starsk....you slept with her, didn't you?"

The man's face was abnormally inscrutable.

"Yes, but, Hutch....I..."

"Then you don't owe me any explanations."

Hutch led his wobbly partner into the bedroom and pushed him down on his bed.

"You're gonna feel like hell in the morning, Gordo. At least, that gives me some satisfaction." He pulled off the damp shirt and the dress shoes and then, feeling that it would be tempting fate to go any further....pulled the covers over him. It was seconds before Starsky was snoring softly.

***********************

A loud bang next to his head woke him. Once he pried his eyes open, he saw Hutch standing over him. The smell of strong coffee directed his gaze to the nightstand and the heavy, steaming mug which his partner had placed none-too-gently by his side.

He squinted up at Hutch and could tell at a glance that he wasn't happy. Starsky groaned, knowing he could expect a lecture from the other man and hoped that it wouldn't take too long, because he had a headache that threatened to blow the top of his skull off and he also needed to pee very badly.

"What's the matter?" Hutch asked in a syrupy pseudo-sympathetic voice. "Your head hurt? Maybe you even have to go to the john? We need to have a little talk first."

"You hadn't oughta stand between a man and his bathroom. That's cruel and unusual..."

"Yeah? Well, live with it. You're not getting past me until you agree to discuss our problem maturely, honestly and without all this preconceived adolescent bullshit."

"Hutch....damn it....I gotta piss and I'll go straight through you, if I have to."

Hutch smiled wickedly. "I don't think so. I've observed your hangovers for years. Right now you have a helluva headache and you'll be lucky to fall off the bed and crawl into the john, let alone push me out of the way. But....knock yourself out, if you want a challenge."

Starsky raised himself to a sitting position, wincing as he did and fell back weakly onto the pillow.

"Okay....okay, just clear outta the way!"

"You'll talk to me?"

"Yes....I'll talk to you."

"Maturely, honestly and..."

"Hutch....I can't answer for what I might do if you make me wait much longer."

The blond detective moved aside, watching with some amusement his partner's frantic scramble into the bathroom. He took the bottle of Aspirin out of his shirt pocket and sat down on the bed to wait.

When Starsky returned a few minutes later, he looked pale and wrung out. Without a word, Hutch piled up the pillows on his side of the bed, covered him up and put three Aspirin in his hand, providing some water to wash them down with. He then handed the cup of coffee over and stretched out on the other side of the bed, head propped on one hand

He kept quiet, knowing Starsky would initiate the conversation. It wasn't long before he noticed cobalt eyes regarding him circumspectly through lowered thick, dark lashes. Soon silence goaded the other man into speech.

"So, talk already."

"I just want to hear one thing from you." Hutch began. "Do you love me?"

Starsky focused his full attention on him. "Of course....you know how much I care about you, Hutch."

"That's not what I asked you." Hutch repeated the question. "Do you love me?"

The dark-haired man stared defiantly at the other man for a long time. Then his features softened and he let his head fall.

"Yes, god help me....I love you." He murmured softly

Those three words sent a chill through Hutch's taut body, relaxing every muscle that he'd held rigid and stiff the last few months.

Starsky's head snapped back up quickly, as if he felt a need to qualify his confession.

"But that doesn't necessarily mean I'm gonna do anything about it."

A bucket of ice water couldn't have squelched Hutch's spirits any faster.

"Just tell me why." Hutch asked plaintively.

"Maybe I'm just not ready to give up my dream of a family yet."

"Bull, You haven't even gotten close to another woman since Terry...I don't believe..."

"Maybe I-I've got something started with Candi and want to see where it goes." Starsky searched for words.

"Maybe you're just scared." Hutch moved so close that Starsky couldn't evade his gaze. "Did you have sex with Candi?"

"I told you I slept with her."

"That's what she said." Hutch stared the other man down. "She said you made it to the bed, but nothing happened."

Starsky sat up so suddenly that his hands went instinctively to his head to make sure it was still intact. "You checked up on me?"

"No, she called me. You got out of there so fast that you left your jacket." Hutch backed off. "In passing, she told me that all you did the whole night was talk about me. Said she thinks we should have a talk....that we'd make a great couple."

Starsky's jaw clenched and a dull flush stained his features.

"Does everyone in the free world think I'm a fag?"

Hutch's resolve to be patient was disintegrating. He knew Starsky had been raised in a much different world than he had, but why did it have to be such a horrendous thing for a man to give in to his feelings.

"Where's your gun?" He asked.

"Why, you plannin' on shooting me?"

"Just give it to me." Hutch ordered through clenched teeth.

Starsky opened the drawer of his nightstand and handed his partner the weapon.

Hutch hefted the Beretta, much lighter than his own Magnum.

"Is this standard police issue?" He asked casually.

Starsky shifted restlessly, not sure what Hutch had up his sleeve.

"You know it isn't." He answered, puzzled.

"Don't you take some flak for using this instead of a conventional weapon?"

"Sometimes."

Hutch flopped over and grabbed one of his partner's shoes off the floor.

"What's this?" He asked, a slight smile of indulgence on his face.

"One of my shoes, bonehead. Where are you goin' with this?"

"Do most men have a whole row of identical blue Adidas in their closet and insist on wearing nothing else on their feet?"

Starsky bristled, sitting up a little straighter. "I don't have a whole row of 'em. I just know what I like. They're comfortable and I don't care who likes 'em and who doesn't."

"And that parade float parked outside. Is that a conventional, normal undercover car?"

"Fuck, no, but I do what I want and damn anyone who tries to tell me whether it's right or wrong."

Feeling he'd made his point, Hutch let the words hang in the air until he saw awareness light a fire in his friend's beautifully expressive eyes.

He grinned. "It's up in the air whether your car is more important to you than I am, but your gun and your shoes? Do they mean more to you than your love for me?"

"God....no, it's just damn hard for me. All my life....where I came from....gays have been the butt of jokes and downright cruelty. I've just never imagined myself..." His voice trailed off, unable to put words to exactly what he was feeling.

"Do you remember kissing me last night?" Hutch asked.

The other man seemed to be considering whether he wanted to lie or admit the truth.

Hutch pushed him. "Truth, buddy."

"Yeah, I wasn't that wasted."

"How did that feel?" Hutch murmured softly.

"Felt like all my fantasies coming true."

"Fantasies, huh? Could I kiss you now?" Hutch asked softly. "Just as an experiment, maybe?"

After a moment of thought, Starsky nodded, optimistic about his ability to stand firm against whatever wiles his best friend used against him.

"Okay....go for it, buddy."

Hutch cupped his partner's face in his big hands and very gently touched the soft lips with his own. He was prepared for resistance, but there was none. He went further, exploring the narrow upper lip and then the full lower one with his tongue. A series of short kisses followed, culminating in tender, gentle nipping at the lower lip, then a deeper, longer tasting of Starsky's mouth in which he tried to put every bit of his love and soul. Hutch couldn't help letting his tongue explore the warm, moist cave, fearing that he was in danger of incurring injury, but there had been no response from the other man. He lost himself in the sweetness of the moment....time stood still for him. He had wanted this for so long that it was no longer about proving anything to Starsky and became all about simply making love to him with only his mouth.

Hutch felt the other man shudder and started to pull away; afraid he'd gone too far, but Starsky leaned into the kiss and grabbing him by the back of the head, pulled him back for more, aggressively meeting Hutch's tongue and mounting his own exploration of the blond detective's mouth.

When breathing became labored, they pulled back and Hutch studied his friend's face anxiously. He looked like a debauched little boy. Wonder, confusion and insecurity all warred for supremacy on his face. Lust smoldered in eyes that seemed almost black, half-hidden by heavy lids and desire-swollen lips marked a well-kissed mouth, hungry for more.

Hutch pulled him back into his arms, gratified that he made no move to pull away. He sensed that now was not the time to go any further. Exhilarated that Starsky had surrendered to his feelings, he knew from experience that he'd need more time to get used to them. He pulled them both back down on the bed, clinging to him as though he'd never let him go.

"You okay, Starsk?"

"My brain hurts, babe."

Hutch chuckled. "It'll get better. I had to come to terms with this, too, ya know?"

"How'd it happen, Hutch?" Starsky shifted, so his curly head was lying on Hutch's shoulder.

"Fate made us soul-mates." Hutch shrugged his shoulder, bouncing Starsky's head and making them both giggle like teenagers. "Maybe we've loved each other in former lives."

"Fate's got a perverted sense of humor." There was a long silence, then Starsky looked up at him. "Say we decide to carry the ball to second or third base, is one of us gonna start actin' like Sugar?" He shuddered, remembering the cross-dressing entertainer from the Green Parrot.

"You do, I'll kick your ass," Hutch laughed. "We're more likely to end up arm-wrestling to see who gets to be on top."

"Why the hell are you assuming it'd be me?" A quizzical expression contorted the darker man's features. "How about when one of us gets the urge to slide home? Hutch, I..."

"Hey, you're gettin' way ahead of yourself." Hutch caressed the stubbly cheek with his palm. "Nobody's gonna make us do anything that we don't want to."

"Maybe I want to, but I don't know the game plan." Starsky chuckled nervously. "And I know for a fact you ain't using a regulation-sized bat."

"What is it with the Howard Cosell commentary?" Hutch kissed him on the forehead. "You feelin' insecure with your masculinity now?"

"S'hard to put it into words. All the names for what we might wanta do sound so crude." Starsky mumbled regretfully, trying to stifle a yawn.

"Aw, lover....the ways I want to make love to you. There's nothing crude about any of 'em." Hutch whispered, rubbing his cheek against the other man's soft curls.

Starsky snuggled up as close to his partner as he could and draped his arm over the hard stomach muscles.

"Lover....I think I like that." He said sleepily. As if to reassure himself this was real, Starsky shyly moved his hand down so that it brushed the rebellious cock Hutch was courageously trying to bring under control. Hutch groaned and whispered against his silky hair, "Me, too."

"Always have to do things the hard way, don't I?" Starsky muttered, falling asleep with his hand lightly cupping the swollen and willing organ.

Hutch lay awake for a long time, not ready to relinquish to Morpheus the joy he was feeling from just holding the man he loved and looking forward to whatever was in store for them. Finally he, too, dropped off to sleep.