Halloween Party

Hutch took the steps up to Starsky’s place two at a time. He couldn’t believe that the DA had kept him so long doing his deposition. At least Starsky had managed to leave early and get started on the party. If Hutch was lucky, he might just have time to change into whatever costume Starsky had gotten for him. God only knows why he trusted Starsky with the costume rental every year. Actually, he knew why. If he had to get his own, he’d never wear one. And Starsky knew it, so he’d appointed himself costume guru almost from day one.

Last year hadn’t been too bad. Starsky had kept the Mime and the Charlie Chaplin costumes from their undercover job. This year, Hutch would find out what Starsky had chosen in about twenty seconds.

Wearing costumes undercover never bothered him. In his real life, he always felt self conscious and hated the holiday.

He opened the door and stepped into the living room adorned with scary décor, or at least it would have been if he was ten. “You around, Starsk?” he said. “That took a hell of a lot longer than I planned.”

Silence, except for the shower running.

Hutch had a funny feeling in his gut. Something wasn’t right. He walked toward the bedroom. “Thought you’d be ready by now, partner.”

Hutch got halfway across the room when something bowled into him from the rear, knocking him flat on his belly and the wind right out of his sails. Hands grabbed his wrists and swiftly cuffed them behind his back. Before he had the chance to do anything, his ankles were shackled in the same way.

Hutch tried to inhale and get some life back into his inert body. His mind was screaming fight, but his limbs just weren’t getting the message. His hands and feet were pulled towards each other and he heard a click. Straining to pull his body straight, he realized he wasn’t getting anywhere. He was hog tied, good and proper. Great, Hutchinson, give them your freedom on a plate.

And where the hell was Starsky?

“Gotcha,” said a familiar voice.

“Starsky! What the hell are you playing at?” Hutch asked indignantly. “Release me.” In the back of his mind, he had known it was Starsky tackling him, which was why he hadn’t fought back, or so he reasoned.

Starsky laughed. “I’m getting you ready for the party.” He reached over Hutch’s head and stuck a ball in his mouth, fastening it tight with straps around his head.

Hutch struggled, shaking his head and shouting expletives. But all that came out of his widely stretched mouth was “ghhghfhghhhgjdhhggg.”

“Final piece,” Starsky said, pulling a hood over Hutch’s head.

Hutch instinctively closed his eyes as the fabric molded to his skull.

“There, all done,” Starsky said, a jovial tone in his voice.

Hutch felt something wet on his lips around the ball and opened his eyes, not expecting to see anything. However, the dark material wasn’t opaque and he saw a shadowy Starsky. He was licking Hutch’s lips with his tongue. How?

“Mouth hole,” Starsky answered the silent question. “Can’t hide those gorgeous lips, lover.”

Hutch struggled again, but gave up when the metal cuffs dug viciously into his flesh through the material of his socks and shirt. Okay, you’ve had your fun. Now let me go. Or at least that’s what he tried to say. All he managed were more muffled sounds around the gag.

“Don’t you like your costume? It’s what all the naughty slaves are wearing this year,” Starsky said, condescendingly. He nudged Hutch with the toe of his sneaker.

Knock, knock.

Starsky clapped his hands. “Sounds like our first guest has arrived.” He walked to the door.

Hutch resumed his struggling. No, Starsky. Please, no. Don’t let anyone in. Surely Starsky wouldn’t be that cruel and let people see him like this. Where the hell had Starsky got this idea from anyway?

“Hey, Huggy. Welcome to chez Starsky. Come on in, my friend.”

“Hey, my man. How it is?” Huggy walked past Hutch lying on the floor.

“Don’t mind Hutch. He’s been a bad boy,” Starsky said, sounding like it was the most normal thing in the world for Hutch to be restrained.

“Evening, Hutch,” Huggy said, as if he found nothing strange about Hutch being trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

“Gghhhhmmmf,” Hutch replied. There wasn’t a whole lot else he could do until Starsky stopped messing around and freed him. He could manage the teasing from Huggy, he wasn’t sure about the others.

More knocks on the door, and more feet marched past Hutch’s impaired vision. Male, female, young or old, he couldn’t tell most of the time, what with the unusual footwear of their various costumes, and the speed at which they passed him. Not one of them seemed to find his predicament strange, or questioned what Starsky told them about him being a bad boy. Were they all in on the joke? Not that Hutch was finding this very funny. Starsky was going to pay big time for this. Hutch liked a prank as much as the next man, but this, this was torture, pure and simple. And he was not a happy camper.

The hood was starting to get sticky around his chin. He assumed that some of the spittle forming in his mouth was seeping past the ball. When was this going to end? Was Starsky seriously going to keep him like this all night? Except for when they’d first come in, everyone was ignoring him and having fun. Occasionally, someone stepped over him on their way to the bathroom.

Hutch wrestled with his bonds again, although, he knew it was pointless and would get him nowhere. He was majorly pissed and needed to do something, no matter how futile. He plotted his revenge on his so called friend and partner. Right now, Starsky was neither as far as he was concerned. Friends didn’t do this to a person, and a partner certainly didn’t. Starsky was going to be so dead when Hutch got out of this.

Joyous laughter and clinking of glasses assaulted Hutch’s ears. Hearing his friends having fun around him, without him, was hurting more than the pretzled position of his body. Around about now, when the party was in full swing, was the time he would be picking up his guitar and singing to their guests. It didn’t matter whose apartment they were in, the guests were always Starsky and Hutch’s, never just Starsky or Hutch’s.

“Entertainment time,” Starsky bellowed. “Everyone pick up a stick and come over to the piñata.” Starsky said.

Piñata? Hutch couldn’t remember seeing a piñata hanging in the room.

“All bad boys have to be punished,” Starsky continued, standing next to Hutch’s head.

The guests surrounded Hutch’s bound body. No, oh, no.

“On the count of three. One, two…”

&&&

“No, no. Stop,” Hutch screamed, sitting up in bed, sweat dripping into his eyes. He looked around the darkened room in panic. Empty.

Damn. He really needed to sort out his feelings for Starsky. The dreams were getting worse. First, he’d dreamed about his partner’s lips and what it would be like to kiss them. Then they’d progressed to other things. Acts that he didn’t dare think about. And now! Where the hell had that one come from?

Hutch was a little uptight about Starsky’s Halloween party tomorrow. But that was it. No way was he crazy enough to let his partner choose his costume. So what had the dream meant? Did he want Starsky to tie him up? Or was he wanting to be humiliated and dominated by Starsky in front of their friends? Or was it just another stupid dream?

No, none of the above. A nightmare, that’s what it was. A pure and simple nightmare brought on by his indecision, anxiety, and his infatuation for his best friend.

Time to make a decision. Tell Starsky or forget this feeling ever existed. He couldn’t go on like this. He felt like he hadn’t slept well in weeks.

“Hutch. Are you okay in there?” Starsky shouted from the living room.

Shit. He’d forgotten that Starsky had stayed over. “Yes, fine. A nightmare, that’s all.” Tell him, tell him now.

Starsky opened the door. “Want some company?” he asked, hovering just inside the doorway. “I’m good at cuddling the monsters to death.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Please,” Hutch said, more needy than he realized. It didn’t mean anything. Starsky had offered. He’d accepted. A simple cuddle, that’s all. He’d take it, and that would be that. No more fantasizing.

Starsky walked across the room and lay on the bed, pulling Hutch into his body.

Hutch settled his head against Starsky’s hairy chest. It felt so right, so perfect.

Starsky kissed his head. “I love you, Hutch. And I would never do anything to hurt you. You know that, don’t you?” he said in a halting, almost whispered voice.

Hutch tensed. Had he been talking during his nightmare? “I know, buddy. We’ve got each other’s backs.”

Starsky pressed his groin against Hutch’s leg. “I don’t mean that.”

“Oh,” Hutch said. There was no way he could mistake the meaning of Starsky’s erection against his thigh.

“And when I tie you up, it will be in private,” Starsky breathed into Hutch’s ear.

“What? How?” Hutch looked up at Starsky. “I did talk in my sleep, didn’t I?”

Starsky shook his head. “No, buddy, you didn’t.”

“Then how?” Hutch was less confused and more confused than before. Every question answered was replaced with another question.

“Things happen on Halloween,” Starsky said cryptically, the half shadows in the room cast a menacing mask on his face.

“But it’s not Halloween until tomorrow,” Hutch said.

Starsky inclined his head towards the clock on the nightstand. “Wrong.”

The red, inch high numbers said 12:43.

“Sleep now,” Starsky said, shuffling down the bed and turning onto his side.

Hutch nestled into Starsky’s front, wiggling until every part of his back connected with Starsky’s torso. “Night,” he mumbled. Suddenly, he didn’t care if he dreamed, or even how Starsky knew what he dreamed. Starsky felt the same way and that was all that mattered.

“Night, babe.”