CHAPTER 11b
They climbed into the bed together, breathing now in sync, gasping, sucking wind as if they'd run a mile or made love for hours instead of just starting. Hutch's hands were shaking as he knelt over Starsky's supine form and reached for him. He grasped the heavy cock boldly through the thin blue pajama bottoms and watched Starsky's eyes roll up then close blissfully. His moan was pure pleasure, as he arched and thrust under Hutch's hands; Hutch's heart expanded with a dark joy.
I can please you, Hutch thought at his partner, feeling smug. I can please you so much you can't stand it. He stroked slowly, teasingly, feeling a bead of moisture soak through the cloth as the mouth of Starsky's cock shed a tear.
Starsky's body was shaking, his hips rocking, his back arching as he thrust convulsively into Hutch's grasp.
You're so hot, Hutch thought, dazedly. So hot for me.
Starsky cried out, and the sound was just like the one he made in his sleep. It made Hutch ache, made him worry. He knew Starsky was still fighting the pleasure Hutch gave him.
"Don't be afraid, Starsk," Hutch coaxed gently, as he continued his stroke. "It's just me. Just Hutch. We'll be okay. Just enjoy it."
Starsky opened his eyes, his gaze somber. "I am afraid. You make it so damned good, Hutch. It scares me."
"Shhh," Hutch murmured. "Stop thinking. Just feel it. I want to make it good. As good as I can. Let it happen. Enjoy it. Just relax."
Carefully, he untied the drawstring at Starsky's waist with his free hand, then used both hands to pull the pajama bottoms off the tense man. Starsky helped him as much as possible, then cried out in protest when Hutch knelt beside him and took his erection in his hand.
There were so many emotions battering Hutch's brain, his heart, his body, that he felt dizzy. Dizzy and hungry. He ached to kiss Starsky, to press his lips hard against that wet, parted mouth, to plunge his tongue inside and enjoy the deep, soulful kisses he'd shared with this man once before.
But instinctively he knew that would not be permitted. Kissing was too intimate. Touching was one thing, but kissing, kissing a man -- Hutch wet his mouth, wanting it so bad he could barely see straight. In a desperate attempt to sublimate his own need, he bent low and without warning wrapped his mouth around one of Starsky's nipples.
His partner's reaction was incendiary. He bucked wildly and grabbed a thick handful of Hutch's hair as he let out a harsh shout. He babbled Hutch's name over and over, pressing Hutch's head harder against the nipple the blond had suddenly become attached to. The texture, the feel of the hardened bud in his mouth made Hutch crazy. He sucked it hard, then gently, then hard again, bit it once sharply, then licked it lightly as if to apologize. Slowly, he rubbed his moustache across the tiny bud, back and forth, just to tantalize.
Starsky was moaning rhythmically, his whole frame tossing from side to side in a frenzy of desire. He whispered Hutch's name then called it out loud, then begged, pleaded for him to stop, only to insist the next minute that he wanted more. He was frantic, senseless. He was loving it.
Hutch abandoned the nipple abruptly only to lean across his partner's chest and fall on the other one, treating it just as badly as the first. Starsky's hands started moving, one grasping the back of his neck, the other digging its nails into Hutch's spine.
The blond moved his mouth lower, tonguing the soft, dark hair that swirled in patterns over Starsky's chest and belly. He pulled the hair with his teeth, wrote his name with his tongue-tip over Starsky's ribs. All the time, the man beneath him moaned, gasped, and cursed his pleasure.
Fine, thought Hutch with a vengeful glee, don't kiss me. Don't touch your mouth to mine. I can think of plenty of things to do to keep my mouth busy while you're not kissing me.
He found Starsky's navel and plumbed its depths, nipping around it the way Starsky had nipped his a few nights ago, though hair kept getting caught in Hutch's teeth. He placed small hickeys over Starsky's hips and lapped his way over the crease of Starsky's legs. Starsky's moaning sounded like keening now.
Starsky's scent filled his senses, his unique musky maleness exciting him even more. The scent triggered memories, expectations, desire like nothing else could. It triggered hunger, a bone-deep starvation that he feared could never be satisfied. He couldn't wait anymore, couldn't hold back his raging need. Without thinking or planning, Hutch grabbed hold of Starsky's furious erection at the base and fed it to his hungry mouth.
"NO!" Starsky shouted, as if Hutch had finally pushed him too far, but the blond didn't care. He was bigger, stronger, in a more advantageous position in the bed; he used it all for his own benefit -- and Starsky's. He swallowed the cock deeper, sucking hard, running his tongue over every inch.
"No, Hutch, no!" Starsky protested, but his complaint was weaker, less sincere. "Don't do this, babe, no, oh god, not this, don't...." His head tossed frantically on the pillow, his body rocking, hips thrusting hard, seeking Hutch's heat and wetness. His cock made a liar of him, and Hutch was glad when it did.
Go on, Hutch thought furiously at his partner, deny me your kiss. But that's all you'll deny me. It's all you can stand to deny me.
Hutch devoured him, taking him deeper, deeper. He couldn't believe how hot it was making him, how wonderfully sexual it felt to do this to Starsky. He knew Starsky was loving it, too. Knew the man could barely handle the way Hutch was sucking him. Hutch knew, too, that he could make this last a long, long time.
Oh god, I love you. I could do this to you for days, please you like this, love you like this. You're so delicious, so sweet against my tongue. I'll love you so good, so hard, I'll make you mine. And that's exactly what you're afraid of, isn't it?
Hutch settled in for the long haul, making himself comfortable. He lay down his side, his spine facing Starsky's head, his left arm supporting his weight over Starsky's groin, his right hand still holding the beautiful hard-on, squeezing and releasing it in an arrhythmic pattern that Starsky couldn't predict. He could control his partner's pleasure this way and that pleased him even as it shook Starsky to his core.
After awhile, Hutch lay across his friend's hips so he could bring his other hand into play. Using the same maddening fingertip massage that had lured Starsky to his bed, he stroked the strong thighs, the lean flanks, and petted the sides of that beautiful ass. Hutch's left hand crept between the powerful, spread legs, tracing delightful patterns on the inner flesh that made the taut muscles jump and flex. Starsky's soft moans were like a song to Hutch, a pleasure song that made his blood rage, made his cock bob and pulse. He wouldn't think about the future, wouldn't think about the turmoil this would cause Starsky later. He couldn't. It was his turn to be selfish in bed, and all his pleasure lay in giving everything to his partner.
When you're in this bed you're mine, Hutch thought desperately, hating, for this moment, his own unlimited need for this man. You're mine when you're in my mouth. Even you can't deny that.
He sucked and licked and pleasured the burning flesh as if he were competing with every lover Starsky ever had and still found his own technique wanting. He toyed with the sensitized shaft, tormented it wonderfully, and used his moustache to torture the flaring glans.
"Babe!" Starsky gasped, his hands flailing against Hutch's back, his hair. "Babe, please! Let me -- let me -- oh, god!" He grabbed the elastic waistband of Hutch's pajamas and tugged it down, exposing the blond's pale ass. Starsky's hand was shaking, the palm sweating as it tentatively stroked the curve of one buttock.
The delightful touch took Hutch by surprise, the pleasure such a shock it made him jump. He nearly bit Starsky in his excitement, but instead only tightened his ass. He shut his eyes, his need so strong it rattled him. No woman had ever accomplished so much by doing so little.
He was ready to beg Starsky to touch him, to pet him, anything, any small gift he might deign to grant, but instead, wrenched his mind away and concentrated on his own performance. Starsky's hand kept wandering over the soft skin of his ass, distracting him. He tightened his mouth around Starsky's flesh and tried to ignore his body's reactions to the gentle stroking.
"So nice, Hutch," Starsky murmured. "So good for me."
The praise was so welcomed, Hutch moaned and took more of Starsky inside him. The pressure against his lips, his tongue, his palate was wonderful and strong. Starsky's maleness was so hot, so demanding, that Hutch could only adore it with his mouth.
Starsky's fingers crept daringly over the cleft of Hutch's ass, making his body quiver, turning his bones to liquid. Hutch closed his eyes, afraid to let Starsky know how much that delighted him, afraid to let him realize how far Hutch might be willing to let him go. The fingers crept lower, their touch more deliberate, more tantalizing, more possessive. Hutch was helplessly in thrall, making soft sounds around Starsky's cock. The vibrations of his moans must've added to Starsky's pleasure, because he pumped harder into the willing mouth, wanting, demanding more. He knew Hutch would give it to him, too, and he did. He found the broad cockhead pressing against the back of his throat and without thinking about it, Hutch swallowed hard and took it in, deepthroating Starsky so suddenly, the man cried out in stunned surprise.
Mine, Hutch thought triumphantly as the cock filled him, you're mine now.
Starsky sang his delight even as his traveling hand slid under Hutch's ass and between his legs to torment his balls. Starsky's long delicate fingers tickled the soft wrinkled skin of Hutch's sac as if discovering something knew and unexpected. Hutch's balls drew up tight to his body, the stimulation wrecking his concentration, destroying his resolve. He heard himself whimper under that touch.
Starsky purred in answer, and Hutch's heart trip-hammered crazily. The hand stroked the soft sac, teasing it deliberately, wickedly.
You can handle that, can you? Well, I don't know if I can. It's so good, your touch! Hutch moaned low, passionately. Your hand. Oh god, Starsk, your beautiful hand!
As if his friend could hear his thoughts, the fingers traveled higher, the arm sliding further forward between Hutch's thighs until Starsky's palm enveloped Hutch's pulsing cock.
Hutch cried out in shock and amazement as Starsky took possession of him. As if anticipating his reaction, Starsky gripped a handful of blond hair and forced Hutch's head lower onto him, whispering a desperate, "Please!" even as he did.
Now Hutch was struggling for air as his own excitement soared. Starsky filled him roughly, fucking his mouth, taking what he craved, even as his skillful fingers pumped Hutch's burning cock. Hutch's legs tightened convulsively around Starsky's forearm, letting the man know just what effect he was having on the blond.
As he found himself suddenly controlled by the man he'd been managing just a few seconds ago, Hutch cried out around the swelling maleness rudely taking him.
"Come on, Hutch," Starsky ordered, his voice low, harsh. "Come on, do it. Isn't this what you wanted, to make me crazy, to make me totally nuts for you? Congratulations, partner. You got what you wanted." The hand in Hutch's hair tightened as Starsky's body trembled violently.
You're losing it because you're so close, because it's so good for you, Hutch realized, awed by the hunger he'd released in his friend, yet gratified by it, too. If I've got to send you off to a woman's bed, I'm gonna give you something to remember me by.
Starsky thrust harder, deeper between Hutch's lips, his breath roaring harshly, even as he kept the same pace with his hand, the tightness of his grip and the length and speed of his perfect stroke enflaming Hutch's every nerve. Starsky was touching him, touching him. Willingly giving him pleasure. He felt like his brain was on fire, felt like every cell of his body was reaching, yearning for this man's erotic caress. A thick bubble of pre-sem surged through Hutch's cock and Starsky's thumb was there to capture it, use it to make his stroke slick, slippery, wonderfully wet.
Hutch shuddered violently. He would've begged, cried out, screamed incoherently if his mouth wasn't full to bursting with Starsky's raging cock. He felt the glans swell as it slid down his throat, then his mouth was filled with the salty flavor of man, as Starsky dripped pre-sem himself. It wasn't as strong as semen or as bitter, and in the flush of Hutch's desire it tasted all Starsky. It tasted wonderful.
"Oh god, Hutch, stop!" Starsky suddenly ordered, his voice a staccato bark. He stiffened, his legs going rigid, the hand in Hutch's hair clenching spasmodically, then roughly trying to pull Hutch's head back. "Don't, Hutch, don't! Dammit, I'm gonna come!" He pulled his hips back, trying to slide away from Hutch's mouth.
Oh, no you don't! Hutch thought, wishing he could grin. Don't tease me with your taste, then pull away the feast.
"Shit, Hutch, quit!" Starsky demanded through clenched teeth, his hand spasmodically tightening around Hutch's glans, making him see stars.
Even the pain excited him, as he took the cock all the way, sucking, licking frantically. His big hand enveloped Starsky's tight, shrunken balls and rolled them provocatively. It was too much for the man to take. With a roar, he shoved deep into Hutch's mouth, as the hand pulling Hutch's hair suddenly reversed its action and sharply shoved down. Hutch moaned, as warm, viscous, bitter fluid flooded his mouth and throat. In desperate gratitude, he swallowed convulsively, trying to breath, trying to give pleasure without choking.
Starsky pumped and pumped, jets of thick semen filling Hutch, forcing him to swallow and swallow, until the body went lax beneath him, shuddering with aftershocks. Finally, the cock began to shrink, and Hutch released it with a gasp of his own, as his stiff jaw finally protested its abuse. His lips were numb, the tender tissue on the inside of his mouth swollen. He felt thoroughly ravaged, and loved the feeling, memorizing it, relishing it.
Okay. Now, you can go to her, he thought smugly. He rested his weary head against Starsky's belly and sucked in air to make up for all he'd lacked.
Slowly, breathing roughly himself, Starsky sat up, gently easing Hutch's head onto his thigh. He was still holding onto the blond's erection, which was now painful in its need. Hutch couldn't make himself care about it, though. He was still tasting Starsky in his mouth, and the profound emotional reaction he was having to that threatened to shatter him.
"Hutch, why'd you do that, huh?" Starsky asked softly, tiredly.
The blond could only smile in answer, feeling proud, feeling strong. Strong enough to give you everything. He rolled onto his back so he could see Starsky's expression in the dim street light.
His partner looked bewildered, amazed, a little besotted, and totally sated. Good. I did that for you, put that look on your face. You loved it, too, loved what I did to you.
Starsky released Hutch's cock and used his hand to guide Hutch onto his back. The blond's cock stood proudly, nudging his belly with his unsatisfied need, yet Hutch really didn't care. He'd gotten Starsky off in spite of his reluctance. He'd made him scream in pleasure. He'd drunk Starsky's seed. Whether you like it or not, we're lovers. Even if that word scares you. I made love to you, made you want what I gave. It was good for you. I don't even have to ask.
"Real pleased with yourself, huh?" Starsky asked softly. There was no anger in the question, just truth.
Hutch didn't answer that, he didn't need to -- Starsky could read his expression as easily he could read Starsky's. "You're never sleeping on that couch again," Hutch said simply. "Don't even think about it." It was an order, given plainly. Once in bed, Starsky could command his every move, but at this moment, Hutch would make this one demand.
"No," Starsky agreed, almost to himself, "I guess I'm not." His fingers traced Hutch's swollen lips, and on reflex, Hutch's tongue slipped out, licked the tips. "You okay? You were makin' me crazy, Hutch. I never felt that way before, never acted so wild -- " He stopped, swallowed, then moved his hand over Hutch's mouth. "Lick my palm," he said quietly. It was a command.
Hutch didn't have to be asked twice. He lapped the small, long-fingered hand delicately, tracing patterns on it. It was the hand Starsky had been stroking him with. He could taste himself on it, combined with Starsky's own sweat. It was nice.
"Make it wet," Starsky instructed, "really wet."
Hutch obeyed happily. Then the hand moved away, shocking him by taking hold of his hard-on. He groaned in surprised delight.
"You were just gonna lay there and will it away, weren't you?" Starsky said wonderingly, stroking the cock slowly, smoothly. "You wouldn't even ask me for this little bit of pleasure for yourself. Why?"
Hutch shook his head, not even sure. What he'd just been granted had seemed so much, he couldn't bring himself to ask for more.
"You let me come in your mouth," Starsky said in amazement. "Then you swallowed me, swallowed it all. How could you do that? How could you let me?"
"I liked it," Hutch confessed in a whisper, worried about Starsky's reaction. "I mean, it wasn't the first time I'd done it with you! And I loved pleasing you that way. Your taste is so strong, so much you -- "
"Hutch!" Starsky said, his brow furrowed, his voice worried.
"It's okay," Hutch said, his voice nothing more than a sigh. Starsky's stroke was debilitating him, destroying him. He could barely breath, barely think. "I'd never ask you to -- "
"No, of course you wouldn't," Starsky reprimanded. "You wouldn't even tell me you hadn't gotten off. Wouldn't even ask me for that. Damn you, Hutch. Let me give what I can, will ya?"
"Okay," Hutch agreed weakly, his hips pumping slowly, rhythmically into the intoxicating touch. "That's good, Starsk." He moaned softly, loving his friend's gentle, sexy stroking.
"I'm glad," Starsky said, placing his other hand over Hutch's mouth. "Come on, lick it. Make it wet."
Hutch complied, but slower, unable to concentrate as much. This hand joined the first, concentrating on his glans, the wet palm rubbing him into a frenzy as the first hand stroked with agonizing slowness. With both hands working him, Hutch began humping harder into the maddening touch. Starsky's hands were so gentle, so loving, so incredibly erotic. Hutch cried out, his buttocks tightening, his hips arching.
"Is it good?" Starsky whispered, leaning over Hutch's body, watching the play of emotion and sensation travel across his face.
Still resting on the strong thigh, Hutch's head tossed helplessly. "Oh, Starsk, that's so good. You're so good to me. I love -- " He bit the words off sharply, clamping his teeth on his lower lip.
Starsky looked at him sadly. "Say what you want, babe. Say what pleases you. There's little enough I can do for you. Don't be afraid to be honest."
His balls tightened suddenly, and Hutch knew it would happen soon, could feel the surge gathering in his groin like a storm.
"Oh, god, Starsk!" Hutch called out helplessly. "I love you! I can't help it! I love you!" He erupted like a geyser, feeling like his body, his brain, was flooded with such intense sensation that it might just kill him. He pumped hard as Starsky tightened his hand, stroked him powerfully, granting his every wish, even the ones he didn't know he'd made.
"That's right, baby blue," Starsky crooned at him, "give it to me. Give me all that sweet stuff. Oh, Hutch." He sounded relieved, a little breathless. He sounded pleased.
The delightful spasms slowed, eased, leaving Hutch trembling in their wake. Hutch met Starsky's gaze and realized that it finally seemed peaceful. He reached up, brushed his knuckles against his partner's cheek. "Thank you," he whispered.
"For what?" Starsky asked, sounding baffled.
"For letting me -- "
Starsky placed his fingers against Hutch's lips. "Don't. Don't thank me for letting you love me. It's a privilege having you love me. A gift I don't deserve. I should be thanking you. Hutch -- your passion, it's -- it's beautiful, y'know? You make me crazy. I don't know how, but you do. I just wish I could...."
Fall in love with me. It was Hutch's turn to press his hand against Starsky's mouth. "It's okay. What we've got is enough for me. I'm happy. You know -- 'whatever gets you through the night....'"
Starsky nodded, but he seemed a little sad again. Taking a corner of the sheet, he wiped the spatters of semen off Hutch's chest and belly. "You might be right about the Indians, y'know. 'Bout the way they handled dreams. I'm not gonna dream tonight. I'm too wiped, for one thing."
Hutch nodded, feeling totally destroyed himself.
"Come on, babe," Starsky whispered, coaxing Hutch to move back up to the pillows. Hutch complied willingly, if slowly. Starsky arranged them, taking charge, rearranging the bed clothes, settling Hutch under them comfortably before moving behind him, curving himself around his spine. He held Hutch's back against his front and enfolded him in his arms. "Time to sleep. Time to rest. Man, I'm totaled."
Hutch smiled peacefully. I did that to you. And you loved it.
Starsky hugged him companionably, pressing his bristly cheek against Hutch's shoulder. As the blond's eyes drifted shut, he heard Starsky murmuring in sing-song behind him as he snuggled against Hutch's body, "Whatever gets you through the night, well, it's all right, yeah, it's all right...."
~~~
Mathew Cantrall had just snapped his briefcase shut when his phone rang. The single aide he still had working for him had long since left for the night. Cantrall glanced at the clock. Too late to be hearing from the old man. It's nearly midnight. He could let the service get it, but....
"Welles, Kelly, and Hodson," he said quietly. He could always pretend to be the service if it was a nuisance call.
"It's me," the tinny voice on the other end murmured.
Cantrall strained to hear the soft-spoken voice, glad that he'd answered himself. He waited for information. It was the only reason this one would be calling.
"She's going to be a bigger problem than Gunther thinks," the voice muttered. "The mayor's office is in an uproar about it. Everybody there's freaked out now that she took their case. They're already talking compromises. They sure don't want to go to court with her after last time."
Cantrall's jaw clenched. He couldn't convince the old man Callahan was their biggest obstacle, but Cantrall wasn't from the same generation. He'd gone to law school with women just like her. He knew how formidable a committed female could be in court. All Gunther could see was a little lady, a secretary, an aide. Just another female waiting to find the right, well-placed husband so she could stay home and breed. He was wrong. This new generation of women had other agendas.
"And now," the voice continued, nearly whining, "she's dating them."
"What?" Cantrall said distractedly, the words not registering.
"I said," the man complained, "she's dating them. One of them was with her tonight. The blond. I saw him."
"Well, they're her clients. That doesn't mean anything...."
"Yeah, it does," the voice insisted. "I watched them. He was treating her like a date. A hetero date. I can tell the difference."
There was a pause as Cantrall digested that. It was worrisome. If she had an emotional attachment added to her already driven social conscience....
Suddenly the voice on the other end of the phone erupted in anger. "You said they were gay! You were positive! That's the only reason I -- the only reason I agreed to -- "
"You were paid," Cantrall interrupted, his voice modulated, calm. "You were paid well. Don't tell me you only did it for the principle. You held out your hand. I filled it. I can again." He waited. The protest was bitten off at the source. "Besides, I think you're jumping to conclusions. Just because they went out together, doesn't mean anything. Those two have been lovers for years. Since they were in the Academy together." Gunther had too much evidence on that. It had to be true. That had been the whole rationale behind their attack. Two deeply closeted gay cops hiding their long-term affair behind sham relationships. Two cops so macho, no one would ever dare accuse them.
Cantrall considered what it might mean if Gunther had been wrong. If they'd really been straight all along. Was it even possible? He shook his head. How could it be? How many straight men spent so much time together, sharing the same clothes, the same food, the same bed. How many straight men touched so often or so casually? Those two didn't even have any personal space between them. And why would they stay together after what happened to them? Two straight men would've broken up over that, if no other reason. No, those two were a couple. You could see it in the damned courtroom!
But if Gunther was wrong about that, then he might be wrong about....
"I'm warning you," the voice said suddenly, sounding stronger, more secure. "Callahan's gonna whip the city's ass over this. She's gonna get the media on her side, just like she did the last time, and those two are gonna come out smelling like roses. The city might even have to pay them damages. It'll be like winning the lottery. And they'll still be together, working together as cops. You're gonna lose, Cantrall. You and the old man."
"You just keep doing your job," Cantrall said, but without his usual confidence. "Keep doing it, and keep calling me. Your information is still important. And don't worry about Callahan."
I'll worry about her. I'll have to. She's my problem now.
Without another word, Cantrall hung up the phone.
Once upon a time there was light in my life
But now there's only love in the dark
Nothing I can say
A total eclipse of the heart
Turn around, Bright Eyes
Bonnie Tyler -- Total Eclipse of the Heart
