Chapter 10B

Your love is like a shadow on me all of the time
I don't know what to do
I'm always in the dark
We're livin' in a powder keg
And givin' up sparks
                Bonnie Tyler – Total Eclipse of the Heart

    This is nuts, Starsky thought disgustedly, as he folded the dishtowel neatly and draped it over the dish rack. I feel like Little Sally Homemaker. He'd washed, dried, and put away all the dishes, straightened the living room, hung his clothes up, made the bed, and done the laundry. But now it was eleven thirty at night and he'd run out of things to do.

    I've grown too dependent on Hutch to keep me entertained, he realized. Over the last year, they'd been practically inseparable. Hours were filled with conversation, games, or just the comfort of each other's company. I ain't used to being alone anymore. It feels weird. This is dumb but -- I miss him, and he's only been gone a few hours. He glanced out the windows facing the street, as if he might catch sight of the blond coming home, then moved away disgustedly.

    It's way too early. He won't be home before dawn. Stop lookin' for him. May as well take a shower and get into bed. It'd been a long, stressful day and he could use the rest. No doubt Hutch would wake him, stumbling over furniture in the dark as he tried to sneak in quietly.

    Wonder how he's doing with the lawyer. Wonder if they're back at her place by now. Wonder if -- He brutally cut off that train of thought.

    He took his freshly laundered pajama bottoms and some clean towels into the bathroom and hung them behind the door. But before he could start undressing, he heard a familiar, melodic whistling coming from the staircase. A key turned in the lock and the door swung open.

    Hutch grinned at him. "Hey! You're still up!"

    "Hey, yourself," Starsky said, grinning back automatically, "you're home!" He felt a sudden flush of relief seeing Hutch again, as though they'd been separated for days, not mere hours.

    As the blond headed for the refrigerator and a beer, he slowed down and looked around. "Wow! You must've been really bored, Starsk. The place looks great. Thanks!"

    "Well, it was a little quiet without you. Had to find something to...." He trailed off suddenly, as he spied the time on Hutch's antique clock. Eleven forty-five. A successful Hutchinson date should've brought him home closer to six a.m. A rash of confused feelings swept over him. "So, uh, how'd things go?"

    "Great!" Hutch said too cheerfully, hoisting his beer as if to salute his date. "She's an interesting lady. We started the evening doing cop work! She had to talk with some 'source,' down on hooker's row. I played back-up. If felt good in a weird way."

    Starsky experienced a sudden stab of jealousy. Hutch was out playing cop without him? Backing up some lawyer? He shook the odd feelings off as Hutch continued.

    "Afterwards, we ate at the Pits."

    "You ate in the Pits?" Starsky said in a small voice. Without me? I couldn't even get up the nerve to go in without you!

    Hutch shrugged. "Yeah, we ate there. Why?"

    "Didn't – didn't it feel kinda weird, goin' back in there?" Starsky couldn't believe Hutch had actually managed to eat inside the restaurant. He was startled at the sudden flush of envy that swamped him.

    "A little. But I figured no time like the present. And I felt more comfortable taking Kelly there than some new place. I knew Huggy would run interference if need be. Huggy told me he saw you. Anyway, Kelly and I had a nice meal and we found a lot of things in common to talk about. I like her a lot."

    Starsky nodded, forcing his mind back to what Hutch was really saying. His partner's all-too-easy patter made everything all too clear to him. "Oh, yeah? Well, either she's one of the fastest women you've ever gone out with," he made a deliberate show of checking his wrist watch, "or, buddy, you didn't score. You barely had time for a decent meal."

    "Is that all you ever think about?" Hutch said with his usual impatience. "It was our first date! She's a special lady, Starsk, she's not the kind to -- "

    "You never even put the moves on her, did you?" Starsky pressed, his voice deliberately flat, emotionless. He was too confused to push Hutch on this, but at the same time he felt obliged to push, if only for Hutch's sake. To complicate the issue further, part of him was relieved nothing had happened, even though part of him was furious. He didn't know which part to listen to.

    Hutch sighed tiredly and his body sagged. "I did what you wanted. I went out with her. I even had a good time. I think she did, too."

    Starsky closed his eyes. He was so used to Hutch-speak he needed no translation. "She knows you're not interested. She figured it out."

    Hutch held out his hands, half conciliatory, half argumentative. "What do you want from me? I went. I tried. I couldn't pretend to want someone I didn't really want."

    "You've managed before," Starsky shot back with more anger than he realized he felt. Maybe it wasn't anger. Maybe it was fear. "You've nailed suspects while undercover." And bragged about it the next day!

    "Kelly's not a suspect, dammit!" Hutch fired back. "She's not some one-night-stand I could use and toss away, either, just to make you happy. She's a good person. She's a friend. She deserves better than to have someone use her for rehabilitation therapy."

    Starsky shook his head and turned his back on Hutch. He needed to think, to figure this out. He hadn't allowed himself to consider this possibility, that when faced with a warm, living, breathing woman Hutch wouldn't be able to muster the interest! He ran his fingers through his hair distractedly, trying to figure out what to do next, how to fix this. His brain was buzzing with white noise.

    And the most disturbing thing of all was the little part of him struggling to be heard that was really, really glad things had happened just this way.

    He closed his eyes and was startled when Hutch's voice sounded right next to him. He looked up to find the man handing him a beer. Starsky took it automatically.

    Without smiling, Hutch said, "You owe me ten bucks."

    Starsky blinked, and took a sip of the brew. "What the hell for?"

    "I gave you five when Kelly accepted my offer of a date. But she only did it in the hopes of getting closer to you." Hutch finished the last of his own can, crumpled it, and tossed it into the trash. "She asked my permission to ask you out. Gracious being that I am, I granted it. She's got the hots for you, friend. Just like I originally bet you. So, you owe me my five back, and five more. I'll collect it when she asks you."

    "She asked your permission to ask me out?" Starsky said feebly. That can only mean one thing. She knows how Hutch feels about me. Either she guessed it -- which is bad enough -- or he confessed it -- which is worse! He wanted to groan in frustration, wanted to throttle his crazed, confused, screwed-up partner, wanted to –

    His brain suddenly skidded to a halt. Wait a minute. "She wants to ask me out?"

    "I was wondering when the main message would work its way through your scrambled little neurons," Hutch said smugly. "And here I thought the lady had taste."

    "You--you said I'd go?" Starsky asked again, feeling like he was sliding across the thinnest of ice.

    "I indicated that the chances of your saying yes were extremely good," Hutch admitted. "Considering that, as you pointed out, she's probably the only woman in L.A. who would even be interested."

    Starsky felt like his tongue had turned into a giant sausage in his mouth, that he couldn't find anything sensible to say. "And...that's okay with you? If I go out with her?"

    "Didn't I say I said so?" Hutch insisted. He was starting to sound a little frayed around the edges, like his good nature was finally being unraveled.

    He walked aimlessly around the apartment, poking at his plants, at his knickknacks, anything, so as not to look directly at his partner. "I'm not your mother, Starsky. I don't need to give you my blessing. You're not gonna get a lot of chances like this, at least not for awhile. I suggest you grab the opportunity while you can. And try not to screw it up. This isn't some lady cab driver, or -- "

    "Answer the question!" Starsky said, raising his voice. Hutch stopped dead and stared at the floor. "Are you okay with this? Really? Me going out with her? Hutch?"

    The blond paused two beats, then swallowed. "What do you want from me, blood? Go out with her, Starsk. Have a good time. It's gonna happen sooner or later, may as well be with someone I like as much as I like her. I trust her. That's the best blessing I can give. I'll be okay. Really. I mean it."

    That cost you a lot, Starsky realized. I can't even guess how much. All because his partner loved him. Hutch had to get over this, he had to.

    "Look, uh," Hutch muttered, still not looking at Starsky, "it's late, and I'm beat. Why don't we worry about this in the morning? I'd just like to call it a night."

    Starsky nodded, then mumbled agreement when Hutch glanced at him for an answer. "I was just going for a shower when you walked in."

    "Fine. I'll go after you." Hutch moved into the bedroom, shedding his shirt as he went.

    The shower gave Starsky some time to think, some time to clear a few of the cobwebs out of his head. He only made one decision while he was in there, but he knew the one he'd made was going to cause enough problems, at least till Hutch got used to it.

    By the time the blond emerged from his own shower, Starsky had the couch completely made up, and was already ensconced under blankets across its length.

    Hutch froze as he moved around the couch and caught sight of his partner's reclining form. Slowly, he pulled the towel off his damp head, leaving blond strands sticking up in a hundred directions.

    Starsky wouldn't look directly at his friend, trying hard not to remember the blond hairs he'd pulled off his own pillow earlier that evening. Just accept it, Hutch, and go to bed. Don't say anything. Don't make it harder than it's gonna be on both of us.

    But Hutch wasn't good at keeping his peace. His jaw tightened and he said softly, "Are you punishing me for not going to bed with Kelly?"

    "No!" Starsky insisted, just as quietly. "I just think -- I think we're both gettin' confused, and sleeping together isn't clearing up the issue any."

    "So, you're punishing me for going to bed with you. You're punishing me for last night," Hutch decided.

    Starsky sighed wearily. "If I was doing that, I'd be punishing us both. That ain't it, Hutch, I swear. I meant what I said. It's gonna get harder for us every day. We're gonna start working at the Parrot tomorrow, we're gonna be in the public eye. Worse, the gay public eye. We gotta remember who we are, Hutch, who we really are." Starsky felt tired both in body and soul. "Look, I'm still here. I could'a gone to Huggy's or a hotel or something. I'm still here. But, we need the space. We both do."

    Hutch didn't say anything for a moment, then finally said, "Okay. Sure. Fine. But when your head gets clear on this, partner, just make sure you keep me updated on what else I might need. I wouldn't want to make any more mistakes."

    Silently, the blond turned off the lights and moved to his own bed, leaving Starsky alone in the dark. Listening to the soft sounds Hutch's mattress made as the big body settled against it, Starsky felt as if he'd mortally wounded someone whose only crime had been to have the courage to share his open heart.

~~~

    Hutch came awake with a strangled cry, wrestling with the sheets. It was several seconds before he was sure of where he was.

    My bed. Not the beach. My bed. My place.

    This time, the beach had been a cold, forbidding place in his dream. Overcast, wintry, gray, with ominous rolling clouds and a wind that had whipped the ocean into a threatening mass of crashing waves and frothing whitecaps. Hutch had stood on the sand and watched the water smashing into the beach, eroding it, damaging it. But no matter how close he walked to the shoreline, the water never touched him. It surged all around him, even behind him, but his feet stayed dry.

    Bet a shrink could do a helluva job on that one, he thought, trying to catch his breath. Chilled from a slick sheen of sweat, he was half-erect. It's just adrenaline, he told himself. There was nothing arousing about the dream. Instead, it was lonely, depressing. He touched himself lightly through his pajama bottoms to ease his flesh into relaxing.

    Then a sound from the living room brought him fully alert and off the bed before he'd had a chance to think about it. He was only five feet from the couch before he could bring himself to a halt.

    Starsky cried out again in his sleep, but this time Hutch recognized the sound.

    He's not in pain, he's not in danger, he reminded himself impatiently. He's just dreaming, just like you were doing. A bad dream won't kill him. Go back to bed.

    Alone.

    Hutch turned to obey his own order but stood frozen when his partner's voice murmured a word -- My name? -- then cried out again, sounding anguished.

    He turned back, trying to make out the shadowy form tossing on the couch. He could see one of Starsky's arms thrown across his face, covering his eyes. The other arm was against the couch, the fist clenched. One knee was raised, tenting the covers. Hutch moved a step closer, unable to hear this man's pain, even imagined pain, without responding.

    Let it go, he told himself. It'll only last a minute. Go on back to bed. He doesn't want your comfort. It'll just make everything worse.

    Starsky tossed violently, crying out harshly, the wrenching sound tearing at Hutch.

    "Starsky!" he called sharply. "Starsky, wake up! You're dreaming!"

    "Oh, god, Hutch, please...!" the man on the couch gasped softly, still dreaming. In the dim light, Hutch could see his friend touch his groin. He realized Starsky was fully erect.

    Dammit! Hutch swore silently. He was incapable of walking away now, but he couldn't endure Starsky's disapproval or face one more rejection. It was too hurtful. He felt like it had taken him hours to go to sleep, hours where he had lain in bed with his back to the living room and ached. Just for his presence, just for the privilege of having him near me. Hutchinson, you're pathetic!

    Starsky released a moan that had no pleasure in it. Hutch couldn't stand by anymore. He leaned over, touched Starsky's shoulder, shook it gently.

    "Come on, buddy. You're dreaming. Wake up now, let it go."

    Starsky came awake with a shout, jerking into a sitting position, his eyes wide and searching. He was panting, seeming nearly panicked. He flailed wildly in the darkness until he corralled his partner's arm.

    "Hutch? Hutch, that you?" he whispered roughly.

    "Who else?" Hutch asked quietly. He squeezed Starsky's bare shoulder. "Are you awake? Do you know where you are?"

    Starsky looked frantically around the room, but when Hutch tried to pull his arm away to stand up straight, Starsky latched onto his wrist, tugged him down on the couch beside him, and leaned heavily against his side.

    This is downright cruel, Hutch thought at his partner, who was still too groggy and confused to really know what he was doing. He tried to ease away. "Come on, Starsk. You'll be okay now. Dream's over. Relax for a minute and then go back to sleep." Hutch tried to leave the couch, but Starsky clutched him.

    "Wait, wait!" the frantic man asked. "Hutch?"

    "I'm right here," Hutch assured his friend. While telling himself he shouldn't, he tentatively slipped an arm around Starsky's back and rubbed his palm gently down his bare spine, hoping to relax him. His friend was drenched in sweat.

    "Damn, you're soaked. What's goin' on, huh?" Hutch tugged at the tangled covers and managed to wrap a blanket around the now-shivering body. Unable to do anything but respond to Starsky's needs, Hutch drew the trembling man against him, tucking the curly head under his chin. He wrapped both arms around the man and rubbed his back, wanting only to warm him. Starsky curled up against him, as if this were the only place he could find any heat.

    "Hutch...?" Starsky gasped shallowly.

    "I'm right here," the blond assured him quietly, absurdly grateful to be allowed this simple, caring gesture. Like Pavlov's dog, he's got me trained. One whimper and I'm all over him, checking for bruises, for signs of life. I'm totally hopeless! "Wanna talk about it?"

    Starsky just pressed harder against him, saying nothing. Hutch could sense Starsky's erection, like a short, thick limb standing angrily against his belly and struggled to ignore what couldn't be ignored. His own cock nodded and slowly started to swell as if in response to some silent mating call he was completely unaware of. If he notices, it's bound to piss him off, Hutch thought worriedly, his body tensing in anticipation.

    Shaking his head, Starsky muttered, "Can't talk about it."

    That bad, huh? the blond thought bitterly. You can't even bear making love to me in your dreams? But all he could do was rub his friend's back to help ease him. "Try to relax, will you? It's just a dream. It's over now."

    His partner was still trembling when he murmured, "It's more than a dream, Hutch. Lots more. Maybe it's wishes I don't wanna let out. Maybe it's what I really want from you." Starsky paused, then wet his mouth. His voice was strained when he spoke again. "I don't like it. I don't like what it says about me, what it says about the way I really feel about you. I don't want it to be that way with us."

    "Then it won't be," Hutch assured him, rubbing his cheek against a mass of dark curls. He didn't really understand what Starsky was talking about, but he wanted to say something to alleviate his irrational worries. "Things can be however we want them to be. It's up to us. You just had a dream. It's over now. It won't come true."

    Starsky lifted his head and even in the darkness, Hutch could see the liquid in his eyes, the worried expression. "It's already true. I'm pantin' like a marathon runner, and I'm hard as a pipe. I'm wanting you and you know it. I can't sleep twenty feet away from you without having nightmares, without dreamin' about -- " He shut his mouth so fast his teeth clicked.

    "What the hell did you dream?" Hutch demanded, clutching Starsky's arms. He had to force himself not to shake the truth out of the man. "Is it me? Do I hurt you? Do I force you? What? What are you so scared of?"

    "Yeah, it's you!" Starsky whispered. "But no, you don't force me. Even in my dreams, you could never hurt me." He swallowed really hard, and touched Hutch's cheek so tenderly, the blond felt his heart lurch. "You--you just love me, that's all. You love me, as much as I want, any way I want, whatever I want. You give me everything so perfectly...."

    Hutch could barely speak around the lump of hurt and anger swelling in his throat. "And my loving you, my giving you exactly what you want, even in your dream, scares you so bad you scream in your sleep?"

    Starsky shook his head, and grabbed a fistful of Hutch's hair hard. His voice was a growl. "Don't you get it? What scares me is how good you make it for me. You make me so crazy for you I take everything you give me and want more and more. I never give anything back. And that's okay with you. You just keep givin'. It's happening already, happening now. Look at me, look at how crazy I am. But you couldn't stay away. You had to come to me, had to give -- "

    "Don't," Hutch begged, wrapping his arms tight against his frantic partner. "Starsky, please. It's just a dream. Don't read so much into it. What did you want me to do, leave you screaming in the night until the neighbors call a cop?" Unable to stop himself, he stroked the dense curls, guiltily relishing the body contact. "You would've never had the damned dream if you'd just come to bed. Or, if you had, I could've just rubbed your back and eased you out of it. You're not used to sleeping alone anymore, and we've got so much going on -- "

    "You know what'll happen if I get back in that bed with you," Starsky whispered against Hutch's neck.

    Hutch bit his lip to keep from pleading, groveling. He was completely erect now himself, so hard he hurt. The two of them clung together as if they were trapped on a tiny raft, fighting for their lives.

    "I know," Hutch whispered back, terrified to say more.

    "If we get in that bed," Starsky said, as if he were compelled to lay it out for them, just to make sure there were no misunderstandings, "it'll be just like last night. You'll make love to me. And I'll let you. I'll take whatever you wanna give me, and I won't give nothin' back. Just like in the dream."

    Hutch closed his eyes. "That's not true. What you gave me last night was wonderful."

    "That was all I could handle. Nothing's changed between then and now. How can you settle for so little? How can that be enough for you?"

    "You satisfied me, Starsk. Why shouldn't that be enough?"

    Starsky shook his head. "You don't know me this way, Hutch. I can be selfish in bed. Greedy. Listen to me. I'm not in love with you in the dream! Just like I'm not in love with you here. You're my partner, my friend, an' I love you, but I'm not in love with you. But it doesn't stop me from taking everything you give me. And that's not right. Not when you feel the way you do about me. You deserve better, Hutch. Especially from your best friend. From someone who says he loves you.

    "I know," Hutch said quietly. "I know you're not in love with me. I don't care. You do love me. And for now, that's enough." He'd hit his limit. He was sweating, trembling with need, his cock screaming for him to do something, anything to bring it some relief. He slid his hand low over Starsky's thigh and ran his fingertips lightly over his partner's straining organ. Starsky jumped and gasped, as if he'd never been touched in his life.

    "Come on," Hutch ordered, tired to death of their arguing, "come to bed."

    Starsky couldn't speak, yet couldn't pull away. Hutch extracted himself from Starsky's tenacious grasp, but manage to keep up the gentle fingertip massage as he stood. He could feel the wonderful heat and hardness of Starsky's maleness bob and jump under his deliberately seductive touch. His mouth watered. He slipped his other hand under Starsky's arm and tugged.

    "Come on. Come on now. It's late. Starsk?"

    His partner rose and flowed into his arms in one sudden move, pressing himself so hard against Hutch, he nearly knocked him off balance. Hutch held him tight, leading him back to bed, and Starsky moved with him clumsily, like a sleepwalker. He couldn't speak; his breathing was rough, ragged.

    "Easy, babe," Hutch soothed. "Easy now." The blond's heart was pounding so loud he could barely hear. He was wildly excited, his brain racing so far ahead of the moment he couldn't keep up with his frantic thoughts. He wanted to weep, wanted to shout with joy. Starsky was coming back to his bed.

    And, just as he had predicted, Hutch wanted to give him everything.

Continued in CHAPTER 11b