Turn around/
Every now and then I know there's no one in the universe as magical and wondrous as you
Turn around/
Every now and then I know there's nothing any better and there's nothing that I just wouldn't do
Turn around bright eyes
             Total Eclipse of the Heart -- Bonnie Tyler

       For the first time in three days, Hutch awoke without a feeling of dread. He rose easily, stretched, and looked around his room. He felt good. Better than good, really. Satisfied, he realized, and smiled.

   The other half of the bed was empty, and the coolness of the sheets told him it had been that way for awhile. There was no way he could anticipate what Starsky's reaction might be on seeing him this morning but, frankly, he just couldn't make himself worry about it. He felt too good. There'd been no dangerously dark, erotic dreams, no nightmares, just good, solid sleep after an orgasm that was so fine, it would have brought the house down had it been a ticket-selling event.

   You are really in love, Hutchinson, he chided himself, but that only made him smile more. Foolishly in love. Helplessly in love. In love with someone who might never be able to return half of those feelings. It didn't matter. The memory of Starsky reaching for him last night was burned into his brain, his heart. It was hopeless. No matter how he scolded himself, Hutch had the insane, optimistic notion that Starsky really was in love with him, just wouldn't let himself face it. It would take time. Hutch would have to be patient. But he truly believed those feelings were there, buried deep inside, and only Starsky's terrible childhood experiences were preventing them from coming to the fore. It had been a long time since he'd felt so optimistic, especially when the reality of their situation was really so bleak. The dream-like mirage of Gillian's promise floated before his mind.

   Dimly, Hutch thought he could hear music playing. Could Starsky be in the kitchen? Possibly preparing food? That would be too good to be true. Scratching his stomach, he discovered he was covered in the filmy detritus of what he and his partner
had shared last night. He really needed to shower, but part of him hated washing away the evidence of their mutual passion.

   Starsky's right about you. You're a hopeless pushover, he told himself again, and didn't care.

   After showering, he draped a bright orange towel around the back of his neck, and knotted another around his narrow hips. As he left the bathroom, he realized the music was now considerably louder. Mingling with it was the slightly off-key nasal intonation that passed for Starsky's singing. It was some rock, bluesy thing, but from this distance Hutch couldn't make it out.

   He'd intended on getting dressed first, but his curiosity got the better of him. Moving quietly toward the kitchen and the music, he finally saw Starsky. His partner was working diligently at the counter, his back towards Hutch. He was wearing nothing but those indecently small, garishly designed briefs he loved, with a kitchen towel knotted around his waist so that it fell over his front like an apron. From Hutch's angle he had a perfect view of that wonderfully ripe butt sashaying around as his partner improvised Motown dance steps in his bare feet while joining Aretha Franklin in an impromptu concert. He was helping her get through the song, "Think" while weilding a large carving knife as a baton when he wasn't using it to hack away at a selection of fruit, or butter toast, or poke at some other things he had spread out across the counter. It looked like he was making brunch for a crowd. Gladys Knight and the Pips? Hutch wondered.

   "You betta think," Starsky and Aretha sang,
think `bout what'chu tryin' to do to me,
ye-aah,
think, think, think,
let your mind go,
let yourself be free."

   As they sang, apples and oranges met their demise under that knife.

   Hutch watched the man dance on, mindless of his audience, and realized, maybe for the first time, just how beautiful his best friend was. An odd combination of street-wise, hard-nosed cop and innocent child, Starsky wasn't just a pretty package with his strong, long back, broad shoulders, narrow waist and sexually dynamite ass and bowed legs he was a man who managed to be deep without being pompous, open without being naive, and as loving a friend as anyone could ever hope to have.

   "You need me," Starsky sang lustily, arranging food on a plate,

   "I need you!" He snagged toast as it flung itself out of the toaster but before it could go into orbit.

   "Without each other,
there ain't nothin' we can do! Oh, ye-aah!"

   That friendship was the most important thing to Hutch, even now. As deeply in love with Starsky as he was, as sexually attracted to him as he'd become, he still knew what was really important. He couldn't let anything interfere with their friendship. It was everything to him, and it occurred to him suddenly what a very dangerous game he was playing. His attempts to make Starsky see how Hutch believed he really felt could jeopardize their friendship. He would have to be careful more than careful. He could live without Starsky's passion, though it would be hard. But to be without his friendship that would be impossible.

   The radio station must've been running a block of Aretha numbers, because as soon as "Think" came to an end, the music slowed, and moved right into the next. A ballad. By Starsky's reaction, one of his favorites.

   "Lookin' out on the morning rain,
I used to feel so uninspired," he and Miss Franklin sang from the heart.

   "And when I knew I had to face another day, oh, it made me feel so tired."

   His butt swayed to and fro in time with the music as he punctuated the rhythm with his body.

   "Before the day I met you," he sang as he poured coffee, one for him, one for Hutch, "life was so unkind;
you're the key to my peace of mind...."

   Hutch tried not to read too much in the words Starsky was singing, seemingly from his heart, especially when the whole effect was somewhat diminished by the chorus.

   Starsky warbled out unabashedly to his audience of cabinets, dishes, and food containers,

   "`Cause you make me feel,
ooohh, you make me feel,
ye-esss, you make me feel
like a nat-chu-ral woman!"

   Starsky sang on as he moved over to the blender, pouring in soy milk (the nutritionist had ordered them off goat's milk in light of Starsky's high cholesterol count), vitamin E (was that a double dose he threw in?), lecithin, nutritional yeast, and sea kelp. Then Starsky dumped in a healthy portion of his own special ingredient without which he would not touch the brew a double dose of Ovaltine. As the blender whirred and Starsky sang, he straightened up the counter, cleaning up behind himself.

   Hutch began to think he should slink back into the bedroom, but he couldn't pull himself away.

   The last chorus came soon enough anyway, as Aretha and Starsky enjoined,

   "Oh, baby what'chu done to me?
Made me feel so good inside.
And I just wanna be
close to you;
you make me feel so alive!"

   On the last line, as the famous refrain came up, Starsky spun around, eyes squeezed shut. Now facing Hutch, he sang out with everything he had,

   "You make feel, yeah,
you make me feel, oh,
you make me feel like a nat-chu-ral " and opened his eyes to find Hutch leaning against a wall, waiting expectantly on the last word.

   Starsky flushed all over and choked in shock, leaving poor Aretha to finish any way she could. Magnanimously, Hutch applauded anyway.

   "How long have you been there?" Starsky demanded, as red-faced as Hutch had ever seen him.

   "Oh, three or four songs," Hutch said blandly. "Isn't this a free concert? I must say, Miss Aretha, you are lookin' mighty fine this morning. I especially love your skirt and haven't you done something different with your hair?"

   "Damn, Hutch," Starsky spluttered, "you should'a let me know you were up! You scared the shit outta me!"

   He turned back to the counter, then, as if he'd just caught something telling in Hutch's expression, whipped back around to face his partner again. "Have you been standin' there starin' at my ass?"

   Hutch affected the most innocent look he could muster pure Minnesota choir boy, he hoped. "Me? Starsky! What a thing to ask your partner."

   "You were!" Starsky accused, blue eyes narrowing. "Admit it! You were watchin' my ass!"

   Hutch had to grin at his friend's shocked outrage. "Looked like two bear cubs in a gunny sack, Starsk, the way you were moving all around. Nice."

   "Fine partner you're gonna be on the street!" Starsky snapped, shaking the knife at Hutch like an accusatory finger. "Your supposed to be watching my back, buddy, not my butt!"

   Hutch ambled over, and casually disarmed his friend, placing the knife on the counter a discreet distance away. He stepped closer to the smaller man, deliberately moving right into his personal space. Starsky tried to take a step back, but was stopped by the counter pressing against his spine.

   "Well, I hope, when we're back on the street, your butt will have a little more clothing on it and won't be so damned distracting," Hutch said, grinning. He placed his palms on the counter so that his arms pinned his friend in place, but didn't touch him. "So, how'd you sleep last night?"

   "How the hell do you think I slept?" Starsky grumbled, trying to suppress a reluctant smile. "First sex I've had that I could remember in a year. I slept like the dead."

   "No dreams? No night terrors?"

   Starsky shook his head. "You?"

   "Same here. Never felt more rested. Think we're onto something? If we could bottle it, we'd put Sominex out of business."

   "Maybe," Starsky said, dropping his eyes, swallowing nervously. "Hutch, I, uh "

   "Talk to me, Starsk," Hutch murmured, serious now. "I need to know what you're thinking."

   Starsky looked up at his taller friend, his eyes suddenly clear. "I've got that `new fish' feeling again, Hutch, and it's weirdin' me out. You've got me cornered against the counter like some sweet little stew you brought home for the night. I've known some aggressive women in my day, and I don't mind that, but I'm not used to being treated like a sex object by my partner."

   Hutch felt a guilty pang, and took his palms off the counter, carefully taking a measured step back to give his friend some breathing space.

   Starsky's expression relaxed a little and he mumbled, "Still on the other hand...." He glanced down again and this time, Hutch followed his gaze.

   The towel apron was tenting outward as Starsky's rising phallus lifted it away from him.

   "Seems my body's got different notions all of its own," Starsky complained.

   Hutch couldn't stop smiling. "I'm sorry, Starsk. I keep promising myself I'm not gonna pressure you, I'm gonna back off and let you make up your own mind about things but then I walk in the kitchen, and you're, well, you're just being you, and I start to lose it."

   Starsky nodded. "I know this ain't easy on you, Hutch. I know you been tryin' real hard to back off, too. Last night I don't know how much self-control that must'a taken. More'n I've got, that's for sure. When I've been in love, I want everything from that person, and I want it right now. But you you were so good to me. You never asked for nothing back. You never even tried to kiss me. I know that hadda be tough. I appreciate it. I really do. I mean, I never kissed no one with a moustache! I don't know that I could'a handled that."

   "Don't make too much out of it," Hutch said glibly. "I was trying to keep you from jumping out of the bed."

   Starsky got serious then, reached up and touched Hutch's cheek. The blond felt himself melting inside at that simple connection. Unable to stop himself, he leaned his face into that warm, strong hand. "It was good, last night, Hutch. It was really good for me. Everything. Your makin' me talk about all that stuff when I was a kid, and then the way you loved me.... I can't remember when something so simple felt so good. I could feel all that love you've got for me, and I liked it. I just I guess I'm just worried about the future."

   Hutch didn't say anything, waiting till Starsky worked it all out.

   "Things are nice, now," Starsky said, "and they'll be good for awhile, but Hutch someday in the future alla this stuff's gotta wind down. I mean, a year from now, two years, where are we gonna be at? I mean, what happens if, in the future "

   "You're wondering what I'll do if you meet a woman," Hutch said for him.

   "Why just me?" Starsky asked. "What happens if you meet one? A woman you like. Your type. Got everything you always looked for in a woman. It'll happen. Then, how are you gonna feel? Specially if we keep goin' this way."

   "You mean," Hutch asked, wanting his friend to be specific, "if we really become lovers?"

   Starsky just sighed. "I'm worried about us, Hutch. I'm worried about our partnership. Our friendship. You were right when you said last night that we would be as good at makin' love to each other as we were at everything else. The minute you touched me, I knew that was true. But that's not what's really important, is it? Not compared to our friendship. I'm scared of losing that."

   "I've been thinking about that, too, Starsk," Hutch assured him, and drew back some more to give his partner room to move away if he wanted. He was cheered when Starsky remained where he was. "Believe me when I tell you our friendship is just as important to me. I could give up anything, live without anything physical between us as much as I want that if the choice were that or our friendship."

   Starsky exhaled in a rush. "I'm glad to hear you say that, Hutch. It's not that I didn't think you cared, but it's hard to think straight when you're filtering everything through your dick."

   Hutch had to laugh. "And about that other thing the women "

   Starsky looked away from him, "It ain't fair of me to just talk about that. I shoulda said women or men but I'm still havin' trouble dealing with that. You and some other guy."

   "Stop worrying about it, Starsky!" Hutch said vehemently. "I don't want any other man. And I don't want any woman, either. I've had more opportunities on that score than you've had, especially while you were still hospitalized. Shit, if I'd wanted, I could've nailed the entire night shift of nurses while you slept!"

   "I wish you hadda," Starsky mumbled. "Then, they wouldn't'a been waking me for those damned shots and blood tests and stuff."

   Hutch chuckled. "But as for you look, Starsk, I'm not asking you to marry me. You're a free man. And I respect the fact that you don't feel the way I do. I wouldn't try to hold you to me. Be my friend, my partner, like you are. And if we can share something that gets us through the night that'll be enough for me, for as long as it lasts. And if a woman enters your life " Hutch smiled too brightly, made sure his voice was cheerful, "well, I hope you'll ask me to dance at your wedding."

   Starsky's brilliant blue eyes searched Hutch's face. "You're such a lousy liar," he murmured, "but I love you for it." He paused a long moment and asked quietly, "Hutch, are we gonna end up bein' `fuck-buddies,' like Russo always called us?"

   Hutch returned the searing gaze, wanting Starsky to see his sincerity. "Babe, if the labels are gonna be that hard for you to bear, I swear I'll never touch you again, if that's what you want. I don't want to do anything that's gonna hurt you, or make you think less of yourself."

   "I feel like two people, right now," Starsky confessed. "One of `em wants a time machine to go four days in the past and change everything back to the way it was. And the other one The other one "

   "Yeah?" Hutch whispered, afraid to move, to breathe.

   "The other one wants to feel the way you made me feel last night," he admitted reluctantly.    

Continued in CHAPTER 7b