Chapter 16

CHAPTER 17

He swore he'd take your love away from me
He said our life was just a lie
And two faces have I
Well go ahead and let him try
            Two Faces -- Bruce Springsteen

    Starsky heard the phone ring five times before someone finally answered it. "Detective Baylor!" came the slightly breathless response.

    "Just the cop I wanted to talk to," he said.

    "Well, if it isn't his royal highness," Baylor said jokingly, "who gets the cushy job while the rest of us peons have to slave away in the dungeon."

    He had to smile. He always regretted that he never got a chance to take Linda Baylor to bed, but there was a part of him that suspected she was way too much to handle. "Find out anything interesting from those two bozos you arrested?"

    "Only that they'll never have the stomach to watch another baseball game again," she teased. "No, really, they didn't have much to share, even when Hutch," she coughed lightly, "leaned on 'em. The only thing we did determine is that whoever hired them was a real virgin. They're the only banditos involved. And since they failed so conspicuously, it's a good bet that there won't be anyone else interested at taking pot shots at the lady no matter what they're offered. You know how fussy mechanics are these days. Very skittish about having their faces bashed in and then having to go to jail besides."

    Starsky chuckled, but felt relieved. He had some concerns about how long his and Hutch's luck could hold out.

    "So, uh," Baylor continued, "I'd say it was okay to call off the twenty-four hour guard. Unless you're just having a good time there...?"

    "Jealous?" he asked, smiling.

    "Maybe. Is the chow any good?"

    Linda and he shared a love of Mexican food, the hotter the better. "Vegetarian," he said. "Without beer."

    "Fuh-get it!" she said. "The job's all yours."

    "Hey, Linda, I need to talk to Hutch."

    "Sorry. He split. There really wasn't anything else he could do here and I didn't have the heart to make him write up the reports, seeing as how he ain't even gettin' paid."

    "He go home?"

    "I guess. He didn't give me his schedule. He might've dropped by the Pits, but they're about to close soon, too."

    "I'll find him. Thanks, Linda. For everything."

    "That's okay," she said, and he could hear the grin in her voice. "Sooner or later you boys are gonna be back here, and then, oh brother, are you gonna owe me!"

    Starsky hung up the phone quietly, then moved back to the bedroom. Callahan seemed so small, sleeping soundly in the middle of her bed, covers over everything but her face, ropes of red hair spread all over the pillow. She looked like a little girl curled up comfortably after a hard day of play. Her face was peaceful and her sleep untroubled. Curled against her belly, on top of the covers, was her cat. Buddy opened one baleful eye a slit and focused on Starsky.

    Don't worry, old man. My work here is done. She's all yours tonight. I won't be back.

    He was still trying to decide exactly what it was he was going to say to Hutch, but whatever it was, he knew he had to say it tonight. It couldn't wait. He promised himself he'd be as truthful as he could. They had to find some real meeting point in their feelings, and they had to do that out of bed.

    Starsky still didn't know how he felt about Hutch or about anything, but he knew there wouldn't be any more experiments with innocent parties. Not until he understood all this better. Not until he figured it out.

    He went back to the phone and dialed the Pits.

    "What it is?" Huggy said tersely. He sounded tired and irritable.

    "How you doin', man?" Starsky said quietly.

    There was a long pause, but finally Huggy said, "Well, you are the very last man I expected to hear from tonight. I'd like to ask after the welfare of the lady, but I'm afraid the answer might be more than I could deal with."

    "Ease up, Huggy, will ya? I'm lookin' for Hutch." Belatedly, Starsky wondered if that wasn't the worst thing he might've said.

    "You're looking for Hutch! What the hell for? I thought you had your assignment! Or should I say assignation? I saw Hutch give you the job my own self!"

    "Huggy--" Starsky pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn't imagine what he would have to do to get back into Huggy's good graces, especially if he ever learned the details of this evening.

    "Hutch ain't here. If he's drowning his sorrows over you, he's found another place to do it. Which is a good thing. Because I would have had plenty to say to him if he showed up. It's one thing for you two to be playing major head games and heart games with each other. It's a whole other thing to go tossing some innocent victim into the middle of your mess."

    "She really liked the food, Hug," Starsky said, desperate to deflect his friend's anger.

    "She did, huh?" Huggy said in grudging gratitude.

    "A lot more than I did. What the hell happened to my Huggy special?"

    He could hear the evil smirk in Huggy's voice. "The last time you ate red meat from my kitchen, you turned into a savage with a weak bladder. I wasn't about to risk that knowing whose company you were in. Just accept the fact that you will never get a scrap of beef out of this establishment ever again. Besides, vegetarian fare is good for you. You'll live longer. Unhappily, I hope."

    Huggy was enjoying himself entirely too much. "Huggy, I need a favor."

    The silence was deafening and he could imagine his friend staring at the phone wide-eyed in shocked dismay. Finally, Huggy managed to say, "It's true what they say about you. You've got more balls than...."

    "I need to find Hutch," Starsky interrupted.

    "I already told you--"

    "I need to go look for him. But...I don't want to leave Callahan by herself." He couldn't bear to have her wake up once again to a vacant apartment. "I thought maybe you could rustle her up a decent breakfast."

    "You think that's all it takes to heal the human heart?" Huggy said quietly. "A decent breakfast?"

    "No," Starsky said honestly. "But I think a decent breakfast served by a caring friend can go a long way to make the day brighter."

    There was another long silence. Finally, Huggy sighed. "Well, you're in luck. One of her volunteers is here. I can borrow the key from him. I'll be there by dawn. You're off the hook. For now."

    "Huggy...I really appreciate--"

    "Don't! Do not thank me. Just...don't make things any worse and maybe in a few years I'll stop bein' mad about this."

    "Deal," Starsky said and quietly hung up the phone. He checked on Callahan once more, but she hadn't budged. He'd already showered again, so he slipped his boots on his bare feet, donned his jacket over his bare chest, and shut off all the lights before quietly exiting the place. He felt like he was leaving something behind.

    It didn't take Starsky long to cruise past the few late night watering holes Hutch might be hiding out in. Not seeing the midget car Hutch insisted on driving by any of his usual haunts, and being unable to raise his partner on the radio, Starsky decided to stop by Venice Place just in case. He could make sure Hutch wasn't sulking in his greenhouse, and if he wasn't, take the opportunity to grab a clean tee shirt and some socks at the same time.

    He tried to frame what he would say to Hutch when he saw him, but he didn't have the slightest idea. His feelings were just as chaotic as they'd always been. Hutch was the one with the power of words. Trying to frame his emotions into some kind of order he could explain seemed an overwhelming task.

    But if he couldn't...he'd lose Hutch. He wasn't sure what he wanted their relationship to be, but the one thing he did know was that there had to be one. He wasn't ready to consider the possibility of life without Hutch in it. He could at least admit that.

    As he drove through the dark streets of Venice, he felt that same kind of electric charge he always got before he and Hutch faced down something heavy. He was edgy, tense. He imagined Hutch in his mind, saw his face soft with caring. He'd understand Starsky's confusion. Hutch always understood him best when he didn't understand himself.

    He blinked, and suddenly the vivid dream-image that haunted him night after night was in the forefront of his mind. Hutch. In his white leathers. Tall, and lean, and golden. Standing before Starsky who was dressed in black. Then slowly going to his knees. Unlacing Starsky's fly--

    NO! he ordered himself, but it was too late. He was rock hard, strangling in his pants. He grunted in pain and shifted to adjust himself. What the fuck...? He rubbed his palm comfortingly over his suddenly throbbing, rigid organ. Son of a bitch! Where the fuck were you when I needed you, huh?

    The sudden realization of just what it was that woke up his sex drive was like a cold slap. Great. You'll have a real easy time discussing your relationship with Hutch if you can't do it without throwin' a rod. You're an adult. Control yourself. Unfortunately, he was arguing with the most primitive part of himself, a part he never had had much luck controlling. The part that got him in more trouble throughout his life than even his mouth.

    There weren't any parking spaces in front of Venice Place, so he pulled the Torino into a space across the street and halfway up the block. Good. The walk back should solve my problem. He left the car, adjusted himself more comfortably, and strode back up the street, spotting Hutch's Belle right in front of Venice Place, parked behind some nondescript Chevy.

    As he drew closer to the building, he saw that the lights were on in Hutch's apartment. Couldn't be better. He's home. We'll sit down, get this worked out....

    He slowed as he drew abreast of the building, still across the street from it. Something flickered in the light of the apartment, as though someone were walking around. Starsky stopped, his eye caught by the activity. The window was in Hutch's bedroom. He was probably getting ready for bed.

    Then there was another flickering shadow movement, and Starsky realized there was more than one person in Hutch's place. He went very still.

    Several possibilities filtered across his mind. Some cop could've driven Hutch home and stopped in for a beer. That was no problem, how much longer could they hang out? Starsky would just wait. Or maybe Hutch decided spending the night alone was a martyr trip and went out and found himself some female company. That would be more awkward. He didn't know how to feel about that, but he'd be damned if he'd interfere. After what they'd been through, Hutch was entitled. Starsky would just have to find another place to sleep, maybe a motel room somewhere, since he still wasn't ready to crash at his own place and--

    The shadows moved again. One of them stepped right in front of the window. It wasn't Hutch. But it was definitely a man. A very tall man. He blinked and watched the shadow as though staring at it could make it disappear. Starsky's stomach roiled, as if he'd been sucker punched in the gut. There weren't many men that tall, with that build. Starsky closed his eyes, then looked again. It was Whitelaw. He'd been a cop for too many years not to remember a prime suspect.

    A second shadow stepped forward, and this one was as familiar to Starsky as his own. Hutch moved toward Whitelaw and without hesitation, they embraced. The two men stood there, brazenly, right in the window, holding onto each other for a long moment.

    Starsky's heart hammered in his chest, making it hard to catch his breath. Of all the possibilities he'd considered, this one had never crossed his mind.

    What a sap you are. What a pushover. You think you would've learned something after Kira, but no. You were the one kept telling Hutch the guy was after him. So, you just walked away and left the door open....

    He should go back to the car. Go find a hotel room. Get a good night's sleep and deal with this in the morning. It was only fair. He couldn't very well expect Hutch to act like an angel when he'd gone to bed with a woman tonight.

    It was a very reasonable argument. The only problem was, Starsky wasn't listening to it. He couldn't really hear it over the sound of the blood pounding in his ears.

    As Whitelaw held Hutch in his arms, then gave him a long, passionate kiss, Starsky felt all rationale drop away. A tiny voice tried to reach him, telling him to go, to walk away, act like a civilized adult.

    But the most primal part of Starsky thought, The fuck I will. Hutch is mine!

    In a cold rage, Starsky crossed the street to Venice Place.

~~~

    The taste of Peter's kiss was new and pleasant and Hutch felt arousal building leisurely in his blood as their tongues toyed cautiously together. After being denied Starsky's kiss, his craving for mouth-to-mouth contact would take a long time to satisfy. He was aware of everything, the fullness of Peter's lips, the shape of his tongue as it played with his, and the unique sensation of a moustache brushing against his own. So different. But good.

    Loving this man wouldn't have the white-heat intensity that loving Starsky did, but he was glad of that. He wanted his senses about him while he was with Peter. He wanted to experience this with his awareness as well as his passion. He'd accepted the fact that he could be aroused by a man other than Starsky, and in some ways that was the most shocking discovery.

    He no longer heard the music from the living room, was no longer aware of anything but Peter's warm mouth, and the large hands that tenderly stroked his back and sides, that played with his hair. Peter wasn't rushing him. He was taking it at a leisurely, careful pace. Hutch was grateful.

    He wanted to take it slow. Make out like kids. Discover the wonder of a new lover. He was beginning to think he could stand here and kiss this man for a very long time. Peter seemed more than willing to indulge him.

    They weren't rushing things below their belts either, just gently rubbing, making sure they were aware of the interest their maleness was showing in the proceedings.

    The heavy bang of the front door slamming shut sounded like a sudden gunshot. Both of them jumped apart. Hutch's heart climbed to his throat as he instinctively expected a violent attack. But as soon as he moved around the bed, he saw Starsky. This startled him even more than the sound of the slamming door.

    He approached his partner, his emotions a turmoil of betrayal and anger. "Starsky, what the hell are you doing here?" Starsky was shirtless, his hair unruly. He clearly had showered. "We agreed-- I told you--"

    Starsky wasn't wearing his blank nothing-about-this-can-affect me expression. He was furious. Sarcastically, he parroted Hutch's words at the crime scene. "'Take her home. Stay with her. Call me in the morning.'" His dark eyes moved to Hutch's side.

    Hutch turned and found Peter standing beside him, looking amazingly relaxed, bland even, hands in his pocket, as though this were nothing more difficult than a town meeting. "David," he said calmly in greeting, as though they were all good friends getting together for a few beers.

    Be careful, Peter, Hutch thought at him. You don't know him.

    Starsky glowered at Peter. "Pretty good view from Hutch's window, isn't it, Councilman?"

    Hutch didn't like the deadly tone in Starsky's voice, but right now he was so mad himself, he didn't care.

    "Actually," Peter said mildly, "I wasn't really paying much attention to the view."

    It was the wrong thing to say. Starsky moved aggressively toward Peter, fists clenched, but Hutch stepped in front of him, blocking his way. He had no illusions that Starsky wouldn't hit him, but he hoped he could at least slow him down.

    "Starsky," he snapped, "why did you come back here? I told you not to."

    It was enough distraction to regain Starsky's attention. "You sure did, didn't you! That was pretty slick, Hutch. Not many cops are together enough at a crime scene to set up not one, but two dates, never mind such complicated ones."

    "Starsky--!" Hutch protested wearily, but his partner was on a tear. He wondered when it would occur to Starsky that he wasn't the offended party.

    "Been here long, Councilman?" he asked Peter, but never took his eyes from Hutch's face. "Wha'd'ja do, call him from the station?"

    "Believe me, David, I haven't been here nearly as long as I would've liked!" Peter said drolly.

    "You son-of-a--" Starsky lurched forward again, fists up this time, but Hutch caught him by the upper arms and held him back.

    "Will you two cut it out!" Hutch snapped. He gave Starsky a rough shake. "And what the hell are you so mad at him for? If you've got a problem, it's with me!"

    Starsky nodded as if in agreement. "You made me think you were sending me away for my benefit. You put that head trip on me. But all along it was for you. You had your own plans. And you sure couldn't have me around to make 'em happen."

    "Starsky, you are so far wrong, you're not even--"

    "Just tell me, huh?" Starsky demanded. "Was it the last kiss of the night, or just the beginning? I just want to know how big a jerk I've been." He wrenched away from Hutch's grip and stood a few feet away, chest heaving with pent-up rage.

    "Oh, no you don't!" Hutch stormed after him, getting right in his face. "Don't you play the betrayed lover with me! You've been pushing me away with both hands since this started. How long did you think I would keep coming back for more? How many mornings was I supposed to wake up to your unrelenting guilt and regrets?"

    Starsky's face was a mask of outrage as he glared at Hutch. The two of them stood squared off in front of each other for a beat, and in the stillness, the record that had been forgotten on the stereo suddenly filled the silence.

    "If she can't love you the way I do," Bonnie's smoky voice sobbed, "God, I want you back again.".

    As though someone had flipped a switch, Starsky exploded into action. He darted over to the hapless stereo, knocked the needle off the record, ripped it off the turntable and smashed it on the corner of the set. It shattered violently into dozens of pieces flying around the apartment. Next went the stereo itself, as Starsky picked it up and flung it to the floor.

    Hutch ran over and grabbed him before the speakers were destroyed. When Starsky turned his rage on inanimate objects, he could demolish an apartment in moments. "Stop it, damn it! Will you quit!"

    Starsky turned on him, grabbed two fistfuls of his white leather vest and nearly yanked Hutch off his feet.

    Suddenly, Peter was between them, trying to force them apart. "Hey! Hey! Cut it out! Both of you!"

    But that just gave Starsky an excuse to vent his rage on his real target. Hutch saw him shift his weight and pull back his fist. He grappled Starsky around the waist, lifted him off his feet and swung him around. His punch narrowly missed Peter's face.

    "Starsky!" Hutch yelled.

    "Listen!" Peter's commanding voice broke through to them as they struggled. "You two can't afford a police complaint! You know damned well they'd be happy to bust you for disturbing the peace. So simmer down!"

    That seemed to get through to Starsky. He halted his wrestling with Hutch and pulled away. Yanking his jacket into place, he stood with his back to the two of them. He and Hutch were both panting hard.

    "Peter," Hutch said, as he caught his breath, "I'm sorry. But you'd better go." He shot an angry glance at his partner. "I think it's pretty obvious we've got some things to clear up here."

    Starsky glowered back at him, then turned his attention to the floor. Hutch didn't kid himself. He knew Starsky was still wound tight and likely to go off again. The next time it could be worse. He wanted Peter out of here before that happened.

    Peter glanced between them and shook his head. "I'm not leaving you here alone with him. He's violent!"

    Hutch almost laughed. Truer words were never spoken. Starsky had murderous rages, and there'd been more than one occasion when the two of them had ended up fighting because of them. But it always ended in a draw. He could handle his partner. He was confident of that.

    Hutch walked over to Peter, took him by the arm, and led him to the front door. "It's okay. We'll work it out. You don't have to worry." He could see real concern in Peter's eyes. "Look...go on home. I'll...I'll call you."

    Peter's jaw clenched as he looked back at Starsky. His eyes met Hutch's evenly, and Hutch could plainly see doubt in them. And loss. "Sure," he said quietly. "Call me. Let me know you're okay."

    "Peter, we'll talk," Hutch assured him. "I promise."

    Giving his word seemed to reassure him. Peter nodded, and left quietly. Hutch locked the door behind him.

    The apartment was ominously still. Starsky continued to stand in the middle of the living room, unmoving, his back to Hutch. Hutch leaned his back against the door and looked at his partner. He was staring at Starsky's back. Three bullet holes were stitched across the back of his dark leather jacket. Without his shirt on, Hutch could see Starsky's skin through the holes. The scars were invisible from this distance, but Hutch could see them anyway. How long had he watched them grow from huge, hideous wounds, to smoother incision lines, to rigid scars that eventually, over time, softened and smoothed out to subtle reminders of that ordeal? How much aloe had he rubbed into them to heal them? How often had he had to tell Starsky that women would still find him beautiful even with his marks?

    He closed his eyes. He didn't want to think about that now. He didn't want to feel bad for Starsky. He wanted to hold onto his anger.

    When he'd sent Starsky to guard Kelly, he'd had no illusions as to what the consequences would be. Starsky desperately needed to prove his heterosexuality. Hutch thought he'd known how it would go. He had fully expected not to see Starsky until the next day at the Parrot. He'd expected Starsky to bear all the telltales signs of a particularly good conquest. Starsky would then tell Hutch he'd either be returning home or staying with Kelly. That was the only scenario Hutch had anticipated. He was willing to accept the inevitability of it. To keep Starsky's friendship, to keep their partnership, he would have to. He'd accepted all of that.

    But he'd never expected to have Starsky show up at this hour, ready for a jealous confrontation over some imagined transgression of Hutch's. To Hutch, it was surreal.

    You come back here after bedding a woman, and act like I've violated your holy trust because I spent a moment kissing a friend? Uh-uh. You can't have it all. You can't have her then claim me, too.

    He decided to take the offensive. "Why didn't you stay at Kelly's?"

    Starsky looked over his shoulder at him, as though he wanted to keep Hutch focused on the bullet holes. "Why weren't you honest with me about why you wanted me to go?"

    "I was honest with you!" Hutch stormed, coming around to face him again. "I had no plans, no romantic schemes! Grow up! Peter saw our performance on the tube. It freaked him out. He came over to--"

    "I saw what he came over for," Starsky growled.

    Hutch narrowed his eyes. "You've got a lot of damned nerve. Are you going to stand there and tell me you didn't go to bed with Kelly tonight?"

    Starsky flinched and lowered his eyes. "No. I went to bed with her."

    "Are you going to try to tell me you didn't kiss her? That you didn't spend as much time as you could making love to her so you could prove to yourself what a stud you still are? Now, I'm supposed to be okay about that? That you had sexual relations with a woman, not because you cared for her, but because you were trying to convince yourself that sex with me didn't really mean anything to you?"

    His honest anger seared Hutch's soul, like a cauterizing knife on a bleeding wound. If their relationship was going to be ended, let it be shattered like that brittle album. Let it explode like a nova.

    Hutch's voice got lower. "Let me tell you something. Obviously, you saw us in the window. Well, in that case, buddy, you saw it all. But I wasn't doing that with him to prove anything to myself about my manhood. And I wasn't doing it to prove that sex with you was meaningless. I did it because I liked him and he liked me. And more importantly, he wasn't afraid to admit to having feelings for me. He was willing to not just kiss me, but to do it in front of the world. I wasn't just a guilt trip with him. He made me feel wanted. I haven't felt like that for a while."

    Starsky's head snapped up. "I don't make you feel wanted? Where do you get off sayin' that to me? You turn me inside out in that bed, and you know it. You take me through hoops, make me beg for it. So don't stand there and try and tell me I don't make you feel wanted."

    Hutch nodded in partial agreement. "You're right. I know you want me. But don't forget, I've seen you with other lovers. I've been in the same bed with you. I've seen that same hunger come over you for the body of the moment. And the next morning you can't get out of there fast enough, as if you gave too much of yourself away and you can't handle it. But you can't get away from me in the morning, can you? Because I'm your partner."

    Starsky was shaking his head in denial. "That is not true. You can't compare it."

    Hutch felt his anger surge anew. He went back to his original question, the one thing Starsky hadn't answered yet. "Why did you come back here? I asked you for one thing, to let me deal with it on my own. But even after having had Kelly, you had to come back here. And when you saw I was with someone, why the hell didn't you go on home?"

    Starsky still wasn't looking at him. "I needed to see you. I needed to talk to you."

    Hutch ground his teeth. "To rub my nose in it? To let me know how well it went? How great it was to be with a woman again? That you were a real man again? That it was finally over between us?"

    Starsky turned to him now. Hutch could see how furious he was. His pent-up rage was so tightly bottled he was shaking. His voice was forced out between clenched teeth. "You bastard. You were in the goddamned bed with us the whole fuckin' time. Your ghost was so real we could see it. I couldn't get you outta my head, and neither could she. You think I proved I was a man tonight? That's a joke. I couldn't even get it up, not once, with a good woman like that. First time in my whole fuckin' life."

    That announcement stunned Hutch, and it showed on his face before he could stop it. He didn't think anything could come between Starsky and a sexual conquest.

    "I didn't know what to do," Starsky said, his voice breaking. "I didn't know how to feel. And where do I go when I don't know what to do? How to figure things out? I come to you. My partner, the brains of this outfit. And the minute I turned the corner onto this block I threw a rod I'm still carrying. I didn't lose it even when I saw you wrapped around another man like you found your calling."

    Hutch tried not to get too distracted by the painful revelation. But at the moment he had no idea what to say.

    "I never felt so jealous in my whole life," Starsky confessed. "I couldn't see, couldn't hear anything, it was like a red haze fell over my eyes. And all I could think was, 'He's mine. Hutch is mine.' I know I've got no right to feel that way, but it's the only feeling I've been able to really understand since--"

    "That night," Hutch interrupted. "You kept saying that the first night. You were obsessed with it. Kept asking me if I was yours. If I'd ever had any other men. I figured it was just a weird backlash of the drug. But, maybe there's more involved...."

    "I don't remember," Starsky said plaintively. He squeezed his eyes shut as if in pain. "Can't remember none of it. God, don't you think I wish I could? You think hurtin' you is something I enjoy? You think none of this is hurting me?"

    Hutch felt his rage sputtering away and clung to the shreds of it. He was too upset to forgive Starsky too easily. He didn't want to forgive him. He'd had enough. He tried to focus outside himself just to clear his thoughts. "After everything that had happened to her tonight, not to mention everything we've put her through, how could you walk out on Kelly? Leave her all by herself? Alone?"

    "I didn't just abandon her," Starsky argued. "I did make love to her, I won't deny that. I owed her that much. My failure didn't have to be hers, too. She felt bad enough. When I left, she was asleep." He sighed disgustedly. "For a woman jerked around by two assholes, she was doing okay. I...uh, asked Huggy to bring her breakfast in the morning. He said he would." He looked at Hutch defensively. "It's not like stayin' there with her would've made her feel any better, Hutch." He paused, and in a quieter tone said, "She was the one insisted I talk to you tonight."

    Hutch looked at him, blatantly daring him. "So go on. Talk."

    Starsky clenched his teeth then glared at Hutch. "The whole way over here, that's all I tried to do. Figure out what to say to you. How to say it."

    Hutch felt an almost reckless need to push his partner. "It's a pretty simple thing to say--goodbye."

    Starsky looked pained. "That's the one thing I never wanted to say to you. Not ever. That's the only thing I knew for sure. I...I can't see my life without having you in it."

    "In it, how? Best friend? Partner? Illicit lover? Perverted secret sex partner? The kind you can deny during the day, but who's always there waiting for you at night? What?"

    Starsky shook his head slowly, but Hutch couldn't tell if he were rejecting the choices or denying that he could make a choice.

    Unable to resist the urge to live dangerously, Hutch approached his partner. "What made the difference, Starsky?"

    He lifted his head, looked Hutch in the eye. He didn't understand the question.

    "You said you couldn't get it up even though you made love to Kelly."

    Starsky looked pained and nodded his head tersely in agreement.

    "And then on the way back here, all of a sudden, you turn a corner and you're fully functional. What made the difference? In bed with a beautiful woman, you can't perform, but alone in your car...something had to have happened...."

    Starsky's face darkened and he turned away again.

    I'm getting close. "Come on, Starsky, give me something here to cling to. Were you at least thinking of me? Did the thought of coming home to me turn you on? Or was it just some stray sexual image you wandered across in that vast storehouse of pornography you've got locked in the dusty file cabinets of your mind?"

    Starsky wouldn't look at him. "It was you. Thinking of you."

    That's not the whole truth. The guilty look on Starsky's face triggered something in Hutch and then he realized what it had to be. I should've figured it out before this. "No. It wasn't really me you were thinking of. It was the dream again, wasn't it?"

    Starsky didn't move, didn't answer him.

    "You can't get away from that thing, it's making you crazy. But it's not me, Starsky, it's a fantasy. Is that the way you want me? As a fantasy lover?" He snorted a laugh but there was no humor in it. "A dream lover. Something you can't control. That fades away in the morning light."

    Starsky squeezed his eyes shut. "I can't help my dreams, Hutch. I'd make 'em go away if I could. I came to talk to you, my partner, my best friend. I...I hate all this anger and confusion and bad feelings between us. I just want...I just want things to be like they were. When it was good between us, just you and me, with none of this crazy stuff." He swallowed hard.

    The words were out before Hutch could pull them back. "I'm not the least bit confused. I'm in love with you, Starsky. I can't make that just go away. I can accept the fact that I can't have you. But if I can't, then you've got to let me find some consolation somewhere else, 'til...'til I can get over you."

    The heat was back in Starsky's face. "You mean, Whitelaw? You told me you didn't want him. You said you were never gonna want him or any other guy. So, what? You've changed your mind? You really want him?"

    "He wants me," Hutch insisted. "Like the song says, 'You can't always get what you want, but sometimes you can get what you need.'"

    "No!" Starsky said through clenched teeth. "You can't!"

    "Why not?" Hutch asked coldly. "Because that might mean that I swing both ways? And that's too close to being gay to make you comfortable?" He moved closer to Starsky until they were nearly nose-to-nose. He used his height advantage and loomed over his partner. "Or is it because I belong to you and you're not sharing?"

    "Hutch!" Starsky choked out. It was clearly a plea.

    "The truth," Hutch insisted.

    Starsky lifted his head and met Hutch's angry gaze. His expression was full of need, anger, and bewilderment. He couldn't answer, and that made Hutch angrier.

    "You branded me that first night," Hutch reminded him. "You put it right on the line. 'You're mine now, Hutch. Only mine. No one else.' You wanted to be sure there was no question about the way things would be. You wanted to 'put flesh to the marriage' of our partnership. You offered me your body, then confessed how badly you wanted mine. I was afraid to go that far, afraid of how you'd feel about it in the morning. But maybe...if I'd let you have your way...maybe that would've been something you wouldn't have been able to forget."

    Starsky tried to shake his head, but the denial was half-hearted.

    "Maybe you've never forgiven me for not giving in, for not going along with you. Maybe...if you'd taken me that night...it would've satisfied that need in you to possess me." Hutch paused, trying to put all the pieces together.

    Starsky looked nearly panicked. "Don't!" he gasped.

    Another piece fit into place. "That's what happens in the dream, doesn't it?"

    "NO!" Starsky shouted, then seemed to realize how that loud denial betrayed him. He shook his head again. "No. No!"

    Hutch started to smile, pleased with himself. "Oh, yeah. It's your dream. If things can't go the way you want in your own dream, where can they? Tell the truth, Starsky. You fuck me in the dream, don't you?"

    "Stop talkin' about it!" Starsky snapped out, finally finding his voice. "It's a dream, just a stupid dream. It doesn't mean anything!"

    "It's your subconscious trying to break through your thick skull!" Hutch insisted. "You can't even let yourself admit to what you want. You love me and want me, but you don't dare let yourself feel those things in the daylight. Too scary. Too real. So, instead, you fuck me in your dreams--"

    Starsky clamped his mouth shut and turned away, walking toward the door.

    There was no way Hutch was about to let him leave now. He grabbed a sleeve of his jacket and pulled him back around. Starsky avoided his gaze.

    "It's not that simple is it?" Hutch demanded to know. "It's not just a good, thorough fuck.... There's more. And it must be hot, too. Look at you. You're like a bomb about to go off. You're still hard, aren't you? From that moment in the car 'til now? That must be some scene."

    "I came here to talk to you. I came here to sit down and try to make sense out of what's happening to us."

    "Passion doesn't always make sense, Starsky. You of all people should know that." Hutch suddenly felt compelled to get through to him, to fight his way through Starsky's anger and get his subconscious to release his memories. He wasn't sure why he felt so driven, unless it was partly due to his own frustrated dreams. He saw those clearly: himself, perpetually alone on a beach, yearning for the ocean he could never satisfy, never touch.

    He moved closer to Starsky, quickly, not giving his partner time to react. Grabbing the lapels of his dark leather jacket, he pulled him near, close enough to feel his heat. Starsky resisted.

    "You want to talk?" Hutch murmured low. "So talk to me. Tell me how it goes, in the dream. What I do, how I please you. Tell me that."

    Starsky's jaw worked back and forth. He tried to pull away.

    Hutch wasn't letting go. Keeping a good grip on the leather with his right hand, he slid his left down to Starsky's crotch, boldly cupping the rigid swelling there. Starsky's whole body shuddered. In reaction, he grabbed a fistful of Hutch's white leather vest.

    "Please, Hutch," he whispered. "Don't, huh?"

    "There're two possible things that can happen here, Starsk." Hutch said it slow so he wouldn't miss anything. "We can recreate the dream, and you'll get over it. Never have it again. Forget you ever had it. Or, we can recreate the dream...and you'll remember why you're having it."

    "Or," Starsky proposed, an edge of desperation in his voice, "we can stop right now, right here. Before something bad happens we can't take back."

    Hutch frowned. "You're that afraid of loving me?"

    "You don't get it, do you? In the dream...what happens in it...has nothing to do with love!" He was staring at Hutch, pleading with him to see the truth in his eyes. "I just...just use you in the dream. The way I want. It's all for me. There's no love in that."

    He's still locked into that whole New York scenario. He's thirteen years old and thinking only with his balls.

    "You're wrong, partner," Hutch said. "It has everything to do with love. The love you don't want to believe in, the love you won't let yourself accept. I'm gonna prove it to you."

    "God, no...." Starsky moaned.

    "Oh, yes," Hutch whispered. He realized it didn't matter what he did at this point. Starsky was so locked into his own fears and dream terrors, that he'd see the fulfillment of that nightmare in anything Hutch did. So, he murmured the same words he'd said to Starsky the first night they made love. The words he repeated, like a vow, the night they watched the film and faced their new reality. He wanted to make sure Starsky remembered them always. "I love you. Like a mate. Like a spouse. Like the best part of me. I'm gonna show you how much."

    Then, if you can leave me after that, I'll accept it.

    Starsky's hand locked onto Hutch's hair, and the fist hanging onto his vest tightened. He looked desperate. Hutch hadn't seen him look this upset since the morning Dobey showed them the film.

    He had to wipe that expression off Starsky's face. He almost leaned forward to kiss him before remembering how Starsky felt about that. For once, Hutch thought that not kissing him might be the best idea. While Starsky had carefully showered away any evidence of his passion with Kelly, he still carried the scent of her soap, a different smell than Hutch was used to. He knew he couldn't handle kissing Starsky and running the risk of tasting her in his mouth.

    Instead, he leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his sternum, letting himself enjoy the sensation of Starsky's soft chest hair against his lips. As he kissed his way down the ladder of scars, he unfastened Starsky's jacket and slid it off his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground.

    "Hutch!" Starsky gasped, but he seemed rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to stop what was about to happen.

    Like in the dream? Hutch wondered. Does he see himself helpless, unable to stop me? Hutch had trouble seeing himself as a demanding succubus, a role he thought much better suited to Starsky. But if that's the way Starsky saw him in the dream, then that's the way he would have to be.

    Having rid him of the jacket, Hutch's hands moved to the lacing on Starsky's leather pants. He stopped kissing the broad chest, so he could watch Starsky's face. After dropping the jacket, he'd gone back to gripping his white vest like a lifeline, still looking half-panicked. Slowly, Hutch untied the leather thongs and pulled them free. Starsky's erection, tightly bound all this time, seem to bloom out of his pants, rampant and furious. Hutch knew he had to be in genuine pain, aching from having held the erection so long.

    As Starsky's cock freed itself of its confinement, his expression changed, some of the fear giving away to desire, to raw need.

    Yes, Hutch thought. You need me. Let yourself feel it. I'm going to satisfy that need like no one ever has or ever will again.

    Still watching Starsky's face, Hutch eased slowly to his knees.

Continued in Chapter 17b