A misunderstanding leads Starsky to believe Hutch is leaving him for a woman. After Hutch is taken hostage by a crazed gunman, Starsky is more determined than ever to fight for him at all costs, but a dream helps Starsky put things in perspective – – he has to let Hutch go.
Originally published in Venice Place Chronicles IV in 2004.
Starsky settled into the kitchen chair, propping his blue Adidas on a corner of the table. He watched his partner prepare a ghastly assortment of ingredients in the blender, pulsating the mixture into a greenish concoction of which he shuddered to even imagine the taste.
Pouring the drink into a glass, Hutch sipped the beverage with satisfaction, running his tongue across his upper lip, savoring the taste. He tipped the glass toward his friend. “That hits the spot. Want some?”
“Honestly, Hutch, do ya have to drink that stuff in front of me?” Starsky asked, making a face, shaking his head, and shrugging his shoulders up to his ears. “I’ve smelled better things floating in sewers.”
“Gives me lots of energy.” Hutch planted a light kiss on Starsky’s lips, fingertips caressing the length of his throat. “I doubt I’ll hear you complaining about that tonight after dinner.”
The thought of Hutch on his knees pleasuring him replaced Starsky’s repugnant look with a devilish grin. Returning the kiss, Starsky tilted his head toward the remaining mixture in the blender. “There’s still a little left. Make sure you drink all of it.”
“Uh, huh, that’s what I thought,” Hutch responded with a nod. “You know I don’t need any drink when it comes to loving you. I could go all night, babe.”
Starsky sat up straighter in the chair, a familiar tingle stirring low in his groin. Hutch could turn him on by even the slightest mention of having sex. “Ya know, we have a while before the deal goes down. Why don’t we head back to bed for an hour or two, or three?”
“I’d love nothing more than that.” Hutch frowned with regret. “But I still have to change clothes when we get down to Metro. The whole deal shouldn’t take long, though. Once I collect the money for the hit, we bust her. It should go down without a hitch unless she decides she doesn’t want to do away with her husband, after all.” He downed the last of the drink and set the glass in the sink.
Starsky’s expression reflected the disappointment he and his neglected cock were feeling, and he accepted the proposal with a heavy sigh.
Cupping Starsky’s chin within his palm, Hutch guided the discontented gaze toward his own and offered apologetically, “Don’t worry. I’ll make it up to you tonight.” He leaned over Starsky in pursuit of another kiss, but an intrusive knock at the door thwarted his intentions.
Without waiting for the door to be answered, a buxom blonde hastily entered and proceeded over to the surprised detectives. She wrapped her arms securely around Hutch’s neck and kissed him affectionately on the cheek. Her half t-shirt barely covered her large breasts, which were now pressed firmly against Hutch’s chest, making her cleavage even more pronounced. White silk shorts clung scantily to her rounded buttocks. “Hi, cutie,” she chirped in a high-pitched, almost annoying voice. “How ’bout lunch today?”
Hutch grinned awkwardly and immediately pulled the tightly clasped hands from his neck, his uneasiness evident as his gaze shifted between Starsky and the petite blonde. “Uh, no thanks, Tonya. Gotta work.”
“Oh, pooh,” she replied, childishly stomping her foot on the floor. “That’s no fun.”
Starsky loudly cleared his throat, intentionally diverting Tonya’s attention away from the object of her affection.
Running a nervous hand down the length of his face, Hutch motioned toward his glowering partner. “Oh, Tonya, this is Dave Starsky, my partner and best friend.”
And lover, Starsky wanted to add, but he restrained himself. “Nice to meet you, Tonya.”
Tonya greeted him warmly. “Nice to meet you.” She draped her arm around Hutch’s waist and gave him a gentle squeeze. “This is some partner you have, Dave.”
Starsky teemed with jealousy. “Yeah, I know,” he replied, his voice edged with sarcasm.
Hutch pulled free from Tonya’s embrace and anxiously guided her toward the door. “Look, Tonya, I don’t mean to rush you, but we really do need to get going or we’re gonna be late for work.”
“Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” she asked hopefully.
“Sorry, gotta work then, too.” Hutch threw his hands up in a helpless gesture.
“Okay, but as the old saying goes, all work and no play makes Kenny a dull boy.” She gently tapped Hutch on the chin and bounced jovially out the door.
Starsky watched in ire as the shapely blonde left. He looked back at Hutch, arms folded across his chest, face expressionless. “Well, Kenny, you don’t wanna disappoint her. Maybe you should ask Dobey if you can have tomorrow evening off.”
Hutch shook his head in innocent denial. “C’mon, Starsky, it’s not what you think. She lives right down the hall. I’ve been trying to help her out by-”
“Hey, you don’t owe me any explanations,” Starsky gruffly interrupted, waving his hands in front of him. His jaw tightened and his eyes darted nervously from side to side in an unsuccessful attempt to hide his jealousy.
Hutch took Starsky’s hands into his and pulled him from the chair, against his body. Wrapping his arms around the worn leather of Starsky’s jacket in a reassuring hug, he peered into the blue depths swirling with insecurity. “Starsk, you don’t have a thing to worry about. You’re all I need. All I’ll ever need. I’m just helping her out. That’s all.”
Starsky melted into the warm embrace, suddenly feeling foolish for doubting his lover. “I’m sorry, Hutch. I don’t mean to act like that. I really don’t. It’s just when I see someone else kiss you like that, I just don’t know how to handle it.” He nuzzled against the smooth skin of Hutch’s neck. They had been lovers a mere three months, but every day seemed like the first since they’d discovered their love went beyond friendship.
Hutch smiled compassionately. “It’s okay. Can’t say I wouldn’t react the same way.” He reached to cup Starsky’s face in his hands, dotting his lover’s lips with a sprinkling of light kisses. He enveloped Starsky’s entire mouth, his tongue exploring and tasting the remnants of a chocolate-donut breakfast before he pulled away and uttered his approval. “Mmmm…that was nice.”
“Nice? Only nice?” Starsky posed with mocked insult. “I’ll show you nice.” The kiss, not nearly as gentle as the one bestowed on him, was just as eagerly welcomed. Hutch responded with a low moan as their tongues encircled one another’s. Purposeful hands ran down the blond’s back, stopping to grasp the firm buttocks, pulling their hips closer together. As Starsky gripped the cheeks tightly, he felt a brisk slap on his own, severing the moment. “Ouch! Whadya do that for?” he snapped, abruptly pulling away and rubbing a hand across the tender spot.
“We gotta get to work,” Hutch replied, grabbing his holster from the back of the chair. “A few more seconds of that, and I’m afraid we would have reached the point of no return.”
“Well, that’s what I was hoping for,” Starsky retorted with frustration, while shifting uncomfortably in his tightened jeans.
Hutch patted Starsky gently on his face, a light peck on the lips his unspoken apology. “Let’s go, lover. The sooner we get this day over with, the sooner we get to your place and take up where we left off.”
“I’m for that,” Starsky fervently agreed as he followed Hutch from the apartment.
~*~*~
Hutch pulled the dark green t-shirt over his head and hung it in the locker, replacing it with a polyester shirt sporting a very loud pattern. He was careful not to dislodge the wire taped to his abdomen.
“I don’t know why you have to wear such cheesy clothes,” Starsky commented, his legs stretched out on the locker-room bench as he watched his partner continue to undress. Hutch pulled down his jeans, revealing long, slender legs and black silk boxers, a pair that was one of Starsky’s personal favorites. Starsky smiled, pausing a moment to appreciate the lean physique, covered up by cheap imitation designer-label slacks, before he continued. “I mean, if this lady wants to have her husband knocked off and risk getting caught, you’d think she’d at least want to find someone with decent taste in clothes.”
Hutch adjusted the outdated sport coat he had slipped on and unbuttoned his shirt even farther, making sure the gaudy gold chain draped around his neck was in clear view. The white imitation leather shoes he wore complimented the outfit perfectly. Checking his appearance in the mirror on the locker door, he scowled at the unflattering clothes as he smoothed his blond strands with an over abundance of hair gel. “It’s not the clothes she’s interested in, Starsk,” he taunted haughtily. Turning to face Starsky, he tried to don a suave, sophisticated look while smiling broadly. “What? You don’t think I’m breathtakingly gorgeous? You know she thinks I’m going to sweep her off her feet after I snuff the guy, and whisk her off to some romantic hideaway.”
Starsky emitted a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a snort, lowering his voice so he wouldn’t be overheard. “Well, I know what’s hiding under all those thrift-store rejects, so I definitely think she’s getting a good bargain in the deal. She must be wanting to get rid of him pretty bad, though, if she’s willing to fork over five grand to do it and settle for a hustler making an ugly fashion statement.”
“I’m not sure if that was an insult or a compliment,” Hutch stated coolly, dismissing the comment with a snide look directed at his partner. He hastily slipped on a pair of worn Foster Grants and slammed the locker shut. “Almost time. Let’s roll.”
Starsky followed Hutch down the hall at Metro, enjoying the sneers and jeers directed at his partner and his new attire.
“Hey, Hutchinson, you got a hot date tonight?” a middle-aged detective quipped as he passed the duo. “Lookin’ real sharp, there.”
“Ha-ha, Lenny, very funny,” Hutch retorted with a warning glare.
Starsky chuckled as the remarks continued.
“Damn, Hutchinson,” a rookie cop chortled. “Sure hope I make detective one of these days so I can afford threads like that.”
“I’m working a case, okay?” Hutch snapped, while pushing his glasses farther up the brim of his nose.
“Yeah, Kelsey.” Starsky attempted to appear defensive, his hand protectively reaching around his partner’s shoulder, even as a mischievous grin sneaked across his face. “It’s not every day Hutch gets to wear his Sunday best to work.”
Hutch perched his hands on his hips, his head shaking with annoyance as he pulled away from his betraying friend. “Oh, you’re hysterical, Starsky,” he growled with biting sarcasm. Eyes narrowed, he sought his revenge. He cleared his throat, making sure his voice carried in both directions down the hallway. “Well, maybe you can loan me your flannel jammies with the teddy bears on them in case I get lucky tonight.” With a smug tilt of his head, Hutch exited through the door leading into the parking garage, leaving Starsky amid howls of laughter.
“I thought you had such a macho reputation, Starsky,” one officer sneered. “Now, I hear you’re not so tough, after all.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Starsky snapped back.
After unsuccessfully attempting to explain the teddy bear pajamas, Starsky stormed into the parking garage. He found Hutch waiting in the passenger seat of the Torino, his arms folded confidently across his chest. Starsky slid behind the wheel and slammed the door, his body turning in a defensive stance toward his partner. “Hey, how’d you know about those pajamas, huh? I hid those so no one could find them.”
Hutch grinned evilly, his haughty attitude evident by the smirk on his face. “No one but me. I know a lotta things about you, partner.”
Shaking his head in disbelief at the calm reply, Starsky growled, “Are you proud of yourself? Do you know how long it’s gonna take me to live that down? I’m the laughing stock of the precinct!”
“Should’ve thought about that before you joined the ranks in ridiculing me,” Hutch replied curtly. There was an uncomfortable silence, then he sighed with a touch of remorse, not intending to truly upset his friend “I think we’re even, now. Truce, partner?” he asked, blue eyes batting with sincerity, hand reaching to gently squeeze Starsky’s shoulder.
Starsky exhaled sharply in defeat, unable to resist the Hutchinson charm and realizing he was equally at fault. “All right. I guess I did deserve it, but enough about the teddy-bear pajamas, all right?” He shifted the Torino into drive and headed toward their destination.
~*~*~
“I can’t wait ’til we get out of this town and can finally be together.” The busty redhead ran her fingers through Hutch’s hair, ruffling the blond locks. She planted a kiss firmly on each cheek, leaving behind cheap red lipstick residue in the shape of her full lips.
“Yeah, me, too, darlin’,” Hutch whispered seductively, nuzzling her neck, while trying to ignore the overpowering scent of her Charlie perfume. He returned a kiss and pulled the woman closer. “Wanna make love to you on the beach with the waves rushing over us.”
“Oh, please,” Starsky mumbled, rolling his eyes, the conversation blaring from the hand-held radio nestled close to his ear. “This isn’t From Here to Eternity.” He was sitting in the Torino, across the street from where Hutch had agreed to meet Angie Daniels, the woman who had hired what she thought was a hit man to kill her husband. The obvious sounds of kissing filled the interior of the car, the surprising clarity of the radio seeming to amplify the smacking of lips and deep breathing. Starsky shifted uneasily on the leather seat.
“You’re everything a woman could want in a man, you know that? You’ve got looks, charm, a knockout body. Bet you’ve got women flocking to you all the time,” Angie complimented, her fingers sliding under the wide lapels of Hutch’s sports jacket.
“Well, I’ve had my share,” Hutch bragged, his face turning a modest shade of red. “I love the ladies, but it’s you I want.”
I love the ladies. Starsky grimaced, the words echoing in his ears as if Hutch were shouting them again and again. He told himself he was acting irrationally-Hutch was working undercover¾but he seemed to be enjoying himself, really enjoying himself. He reflected on earlier that morning, when the buxom blonde had wrapped her arms tightly around Hutch’s neck, his partner’s face breaking into a huge grin. Hutch had always enjoyed the company of women before they had become lovers. Then it all ended for him. Starsky hoped that what they shared made Hutch happy. The friendship was there, the sex was good-earth shattering was a better description¾but what if Hutch missed sleeping with women? The thought nagged relentlessly at him. He hunkered down in the seat, feelings of sadness, anger, and doubt weighing heavily on his mind.
The woman grinned broadly, her long fingernails grazing Hutch’s smooth chest before moving to the zipper on the front of his slacks. “Can’t believe this is all mine.”
Before Hutch could react, the woman abruptly pulled down the zipper, her hand groping him through his black silk boxers. “So big,” she purred. “Mmmm…and black silk. So sexy.”
“Shit, Hutch!” Starsky groaned aloud as his anger surfaced, clenched fist slamming against the steering wheel. “You gonna screw her before you get the damn money?” He felt somewhat foolish as jealousy surged through him, but he couldn’t overcome the feeling.
Hutch nervously pushed the sunglasses farther up the brim of his nose and quickly pulled the woman’s hand from his pants, zipping them closed again. “Hey, Angie, we have plenty of time for that. First, we gotta take care of the important things.”
A disgruntled frown spread across the woman’s face. “Oh, yeah, him.”
“You have to tell me what you want me to do,” Hutch pushed to finalize the details.
A wanton smile spread across the red painted lips as she raised Hutch’s hands to her full breasts. “I want you to make love to me. That’s what I want you to do.”
Starsky’s stomach twisted in knots, the words unsettling to him.
Taking his hands away, Hutch giggled like a schoolboy. “Those are very nice, Angie, but you know what I mean.”
She sighed in exasperation at Hutch’s timidity. “Kill the bastard! That’s what I want you to do. Tonight. The sooner the better.” Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a large envelope. “I know I promised you five grand, but I only have four here. I hope that’s not a problem. Thought maybe we could use the rest for our little getaway.” She snuggled against Hutch, eyelashes batting innocently. “Where do you think? The Bahamas? The Caribbean? Mexico?”
Hutch took the envelope and peered inside, observing the contents¾four neatly banded stacks of money. “Got a better place to go, all expenses paid.”
“Really? Where’s that, honey?” Angie asked inquisitively, her eyes twinkling with excitement.
“The California Institution for Women.” Hutch deftly pulled his badge from his pocket and held it within inches of the woman’s face. “You’re under arrest, darlin’. Conspiracy to commit murder.”
~*~*~
Two uniformed officers, responding as back-up, offered their assistance in transporting the infuriated woman to Metro. Hutch gratefully accepted as he watched the woman glower at him with daggers in her eyes.
“You jerk!” the woman screamed toward him as she was loaded into the back of the squad car.
Ignoring the woman’s scoffs, Hutch joined Starsky in the Torino. “Ready, Starsk?” he asked, glancing over at his partner. “We’ve still got two hours of paperwork waiting for us.”
“Sure,” Starsky replied brusquely, his eyes traveling across Hutch’s mussed hair and lipstick-tainted cheeks. Tires screeched against black asphalt as the Torino pulled away from the curb.
“What’s eatin’ you?” Hutch asked with irritation, gripping the dashboard to keep from being thrown against the door.
“Nothin’,” Starsky snapped, his fingers wrapped around the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip.
“Yeah, well you coulda fooled me with the way you took off back there.” Hutch stared at Starsky in bewilderment. “What gives?”
“I said nothin’, okay?” Starsky’s voice was louder, angrier. “Just drop it. It’s nothin’.”
With a disgruntled shake of his head, Hutch reluctantly let the matter drop and changed the subject. “We still on for dinner tonight?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t we be? You got other plans or somethin’?” Starsky asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm.
“Of course I don’t have other plans. What’s with the cynical attitude?” Hutch propped an elbow on the back of the seat and turned toward his partner in agitation. “Who would I have other plans with?”
“Well, Tonya wanted to see you, and I’m sure there are other women just vying for your attention.” Without waiting for a reply, Starsky glanced over at Hutch and growled, “Wipe that lipstick off your face, will ya? And do somethin’ with your hair. You look like you’ve been at an all-night orgy.”
Hutch glanced in the side mirror, smoothing his hair and wiping the lipstick from his face before responding. “Is that what this is all about?” he asked, the anger building in his voice. “For God’s sake, Starsky, I was working undercover! I don’t think I would’ve been quite as convincing if I was whispering sweet nothings in the microphone to you!”
“Well, you didn’t have to enjoy it so much,” Starsky answered quietly.
“I was doing my job!” Hutch threw his hand up in the air, before letting it fall to his thigh in a resounding slap. “I’m sorry if I’m good at what I do.”
Feeling foolish for having reacted so groundlessly, Starsky sighed in defeat and tried to smooth things over. “Well, you are good at what you do.” He reached over and ran his hand across the length of Hutch’s thigh, insinuating he wasn’t referring to detective work. “I’m sorry for reacting like that.”
Hutch smiled with forgiveness, his hand closing atop Starsky’s, giving it a gentle squeeze. “That’s okay. I’ll show you just how good I am after dinner tonight, lover.” His eyes squinted in a seductive stare as his thumb tenderly brushed across Starsky’s knuckles.
“Salad, chicken, and sex. I’ll be looking forward to it.” Starsky relaxed, his fears easing for the moment.
~*~*~
“Ah, nothin’ like a cold beer after a day’s work,” Starsky commented, propping his feet on the coffee table next to his model ship. He tinkered with the fine detail of the miniature sails, admiring the work he had accomplished the night before.
Hutch sat down next to him, stretching his legs alongside Starsky’s while sipping his own beer. “You said it, partner. It’s not often we get out of there before five. The evening’s still young, and I plan on makin’ the best of it.” With an affectionate pat on his friend’s leg, he savored a large swig of the ice-cold brew before a thick hardback book near Starsky’s feet caught his attention. He leaned forward, curiously inspecting the cover and flipping through the pages. “Hey, what’s this?”
“Oh, just a book about pirates,” Starsky replied casually. “It has all kinds of neat stuff on pirates and their ships.” He tipped his beer can toward the model ship he’d been working on for quite some time. “Thought it might give me some more ideas to help finish my ship. You oughta read that book, Hutch. I think pirates are really interestin’. Not just their ships, but the way they lived, too. There were some really mean ones out there with little mercy for anything that crossed their paths.”
Hutch was not interested. “Thanks, but I’ll stick with Steinbeck.”
Not surprised by his partner’s reply, Starsky shrugged indifferently, his attention turning to the low growl in his stomach. “Hey, I’m hungry. Let’s get dinner started.”
“Sounds good.” Trudging into the kitchen, Hutch peered inside the refrigerator and began piling an array of ingredients on the counter. “Hope you got everything.”
“Of course I got everything,” Starsky retorted, making a mental accounting of what he had purchased at the grocery store. “One thing I don’t forget is food.”
Hutch continued to forage in the refrigerator before looking up, a discontented frown on his face. “Where’re the apples?”
“Apples? What apples?” Starsky asked innocently. “You never said anything about apples.”
“Yes, I did. It was right there on the list,” Hutch replied with irritation. “How can I make apple-rosemary chicken without the apples? Now the meat is going to be dry.”
“Can’t ya just cook it like normal people do?” Starsky countered, trying to make the best of the situation. “You know, with flour and oil-the good kind.”
Hutch shook his head in disgust. “Yeah, I can just hear my arteries clogging now. I’ll do something with it,” he surmised with a sigh, lifting the bird by the leg and tossing it into the roasting pan. “Just don’t blame me if it tastes like shoe leather.” Pushing his sleeves up, he began to prepare their meal.
Starsky set the table, then leaned against the counter, sipping his beer. He admirably watched Hutch busying himself with cooking, something his partner enjoyed doing in his spare time. Insecurities still nagged at him, the events of the day crowding his thoughts. He took a big swig of beer, hoping to ease the nervous feeling stealthily enveloping him. “Hey, Hutch.”
“Yeah?” Hutch answered nonchalantly, a carrot clenched between his teeth.
“You ever miss…” He cleared his throat, before continuing the question. “…you know…women?”
Hutch hastily sprinkled thyme over the dish he was preparing, never looking up. “Starsky, I thought this was all settled.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Starsky persisted.
Slamming the spice jar on the counter, Hutch stared at his partner, sighing with frustration. “What am I supposed to say to that, huh? I slept with women for almost twenty years. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss them at times, and you would be, too. But it’s you I want to be with.” He reached over and tapped the tip of his finger gently on Starsky’s nose. “You. Okay? I don’t understand all this jealousy. I mean, what do you wanna do, keep me naked and chained to the wall?”
Starsky’s eyebrows arched with interest, his face breaking into a devious grin. “Can I?”
Hutch rolled his eyes and shook his head in exasperation, obviously not amused.
Starsky’s gaze drifted to the floor. “I’m not such a bad guy, ya know. It’s just because I love you so much.”
Hutch’s expression softened, a deep sigh escaping him. “I know, I know, and I love you, too. Which is why you have nothing to worry about, okay?”
“Yeah, I guess.” Starsky replied with uncertainty, turning his back to Hutch and leaning his hands on the counter.
Hutch checked the temperature of the oven before returning to the preparation of the chicken. He smeared a light coating of vegetable oil across the surface of the bird.
“Hey, Hutch.”
Hutch hastily tossed a handful of carrots in the roasting pan as he heard the words from over Starsky’s shoulder, his jaw tightening with annoyance. “Yeah, what is it?”
“Just how much do you miss women?” Starsky clenched his eyes shut, dreading the reply, but there was only silence. Opening his eyes slowly, he felt warmth spread across the back of his neck. “Hutch?” He turned around to find his nose mere inches from the blond’s. The look upon his partner’s face was unreadable, somewhere between anger and mischief. “Are you okay?” Starsky asked worriedly.
Hutch smiled like the devil had taken possession of his soul, but didn’t reply. Taking the can of beer from Starsky’s hand, he slammed it on the counter and stepped closer, until the tips of their noses touched.
Trapped in the small space, Starsky couldn’t step backwards. Instead, he tried to lean his head back in an attempt to get a better view of Hutch’s expression and understand his intentions, but strong hands wrapped tightly around his dark curls, preventing his head from moving in any direction but forward, toward hungry lips that pressed forcefully over his, taking possession of his mouth. Starsky could do little to protest, not that he wanted to. Any objections were stifled by the velvet-smooth fullness of the lips covering his, allowing little more than a low moan to escape. Closing his eyes, Starsky succumbed to the impassioned attack, returning the same fervent kiss, until the taste of Hutch suddenly left him, leaving his mind reeling. When he opened his eyes, Hutch was gone, but only from his peripheral view. A sudden tug at his waist caused him to drop his gaze downward to find Hutch kneeling, hands already inside Starsky’s jeans, moving them over the curvature of his tight ass, pushing them over his hips and onto the floor around his ankles. With little warning, Hutch engulfed the growing cock within his mouth, barely giving Starsky enough time to grab the counter behind him as his knees buckled from the onslaught of ecstasy.
“Geez, Hutch!” Starsky gasped excitedly, his erection rapidly blossoming to its full and impressive size. He took another sharp breath as Hutch released the imprisoned cock, his tongue running its entire length before taking it again in his mouth. “Oh, babe,” Starsky whispered, head tilted back and eyes closed in concentration.
Hutch’s lips curled tightly around the head of Starsky’s cock, moving only slightly down the long shaft before retreating, his tongue teasing the sensitive tip but offering nothing more. He craftily reached behind his unsuspecting lover and grabbed the vegetable oil, tilting the bottle until two fingers were generously coated with the slick liquid.
Starsky grabbed Hutch’s hair, attempting to pull him forward. The need for his lover to take him deeper was bordering on urgency, as the throbbing ache in his groin cried out for further attention.
Resisting the zealous advances, Hutch pulled back quickly, trailing his oil-slicked fingers down the small of Starsky’s back, sliding between the tightened cheeks and into the warm channel with little warning. He immediately sought the tiny nub, stroking it in one smooth movement, sending Starsky’s hips bucking forward in response to the exquisite unexpected torment.
The sudden thrust pushed the bulk of Starsky’s cock into Hutch’s mouth, the motion anticipated and welcomed by the wily blond. He smiled around the girth of his lover’s erection, his vigorous sucking pulling Starsky deeper until his lips brushed the course mound of pubic hair nestled at the base. His fingers continued working their magic from behind, relentless in their quest to send Starsky soaring to the heights of ecstasy.
Starsky’s hips wildly pivoted back and forth, the dual stimulation sending him to the edge of two worlds, precariously teetering between the two, until they both seemed to explode into oblivion. His knees buckled beneath him as he reached the pinnacle of the universe, before floating gently downward like a feather adrift in a light wind until he landed in the arms of an angel.
Hutch swallowed the last of the warm fluid as Starsky nearly collapsed on top of him. Catching him under the arms, Hutch leaned him against the counter, peering between the slits of his half-closed eyes.
“Oh, God, Hutch, that was incredible,” Starsky whispered in a raspy voice, his head slumping forward onto Hutch’s shoulder.
Hutch backed away slightly and cupped Starsky’s chin, tilting his head upward and guiding his gaze toward his own. “Oh, but we’re not finished yet, lover,” he asserted with a wry grin and a slightly quivering lip. His mocked self-control was quickly waning, as his own bulging erection painfully reminded him from the confines of his increasingly tighter jeans.
“Huh?” Starsky mumbled through his haze of contentment. He nearly stumbled over the pants around his ankles as he was dragged the few steps to the kitchen table where he was abruptly pushed chest-down amid their place settings for dinner.
Hutch anxiously unbuttoned his jeans, his massive erection forcing the zipper down as it sprang from its prison. He poured a copious amount of vegetable oil in his hand, hurriedly coating the length of his straining cock before turning his attentions to the profound sight of his partner, bare-assed before him, waiting to be fucked. Pushing Starsky’s shirt up, Hutch hovered the bottle of oil above the ridge of his lover’s spine, letting the lubricant trickle from the bottle across the sweat-dampened skin.
Starsky’s head jolted upward as a tickling sensation trailed down the cleft between the cheeks of his ass. A large hand unyieldingly forced him down again, keeping him in place while a massive presence pushed inside of him. Starsky purred his acceptance with a throaty moan, his hands reaching out to grasp the edges of the table.
Emitting a low, animal-like groan, Hutch moved deeper, impaling himself within this man he loved. Starsky tightened around him, funneling him closer to the edge with every thrust. “Love-you-Starsk. God-I-love-you.” The words were uttered with each panted breath as he glided with practiced cadence inside this gifted wonder he held within his grips, until he exploded in a passionate frenzy, sending plates, forks, and cups scattering to the floor.
Hutch lay across Starsky’s back, breathing heavily, a light sheen of sweat pasting their bodies together. His lips moved closer to his lover’s ear, brushing softly against the tender lobe before he uttered, “Have any doubts about what I want now, partner?”
Starsky made a feeble attempt to answer, his only words a mere whisper. “No, no, I think you’ve convinced me.”
“Good.” Hutch gently withdrew, planting a loving slap on Starsky’s rear, as he nudged him toward the bathroom. “Now let’s get cleaned up and I’ll finish our dinner.”
They took a shower together, one of their favorite things to do after making love, each taking turns lathering the other, letting the pulsating spray revitalize their tired muscles. Hutch stepped from the bathtub and dried off, while Starsky lingered behind, still basking in the steam and hot water.
“Be out in a few,” Starsky called from behind the shower curtain.
“No hurry,” Hutch assured him. “Dinner will be a while yet.”
The sound of Starsky’s slightly off-key singing drifted from the bathroom, bringing a smile to Hutch’s face as he put the finishing touches on the dinner preparation. Setting the timer on the stove, he plopped onto the sofa and placed a phone call.
“Tonya?” he spoke into the receiver. “Yeah, it’s me. Thought I’d call you while I had a little extra time.”
Starsky turned off the shower and reached for the towel next to the tub. He paused as he heard the sound of Hutch’s voice from the other room. His heart skipped a beat when he heard Tonya’s name. There was no doubt Hutch was the one who had called her. He felt somewhat guilty for eavesdropping, but he couldn’t help wonder what was going on. Leaning closer to the door, which was slightly ajar, he listened to Hutch’s side of the conversation.
Hutch continued talking. “Work’s been crazy, to say the least.”
“Have you had a chance to check into an apartment for Adam and me?” Tonya asked.
“Yeah, I found an apartment. It’s really nice for the money. Utilities are included, which can save a lot of money; winters in Duluth can be brutal. I think you’ll really like it. It’s not gonna be easy, though, starting a new life like that together. My father is not an easy man to work for.”
“Adam is willing to take the chance. It’s not every day someone gets a shot at a job like that. If you hadn’t mentioned that your father was the president of a bank in Duluth, this never would’ve come about. I’m so glad you urged Adam to call him. He’s been ready for a change for a while now, and this was the perfect opportunity. I think he’ll be a real asset to your father.”
“I feel the same way, Tonya.”
“I know we’re giving up a lot here, but it’s nothing compared to the life we can make for ourselves in Duluth. It’ll be worth all the hardships of starting over together in a new city. “
“I know it’ll be worth it. Love makes everything worthwhile.”
“It sure does. I can’t thank you enough for helping us. Does Adam know about the apartment?”
“No, I haven’t told him yet.”
“Good, then I can surprise him. The one thing he isn’t going to like is all that snow. He hates snow.”
“It’ll be hard for him to adjust to at first, but he’ll get used to it. Look, I’d better go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay, I’ll come by then to pick up the directions. Thank you again, Kenny. We owe you a lot.”
Starsky leaned against the wall for support, the color draining from his face. “God, no,” he whispered. “I knew it. He’s leaving me. He’s going back home with her.” He felt the bottom fall out of his world, shattering into a million pieces. How long had this been going on? Why hadn’t Hutch told him? What was he waiting for? Hutch had tried to reassure him this evening, but it was all a lie-the lovemaking, the repeated “I love you’s,” the tender moments they shared in the shower-it was all a lie. I trusted you. He wasn’t surprised to hear Hutch’s father was involved. Richard Hutchinson didn’t approve of his son’s job or the close relationship they shared, even though he wasn’t aware of the intimacy involved. He would pay almost any price to get his son home and back under his controlling thumb. Obviously, he had succeeded. Choking back emotion, Starsky swallowed the huge lump building in his throat, and dressed. He wanted to see how long Hutch continued this betrayal, so he decided to say nothing, suppressing both the pain and anger consuming him. With a deep breath, he appeared from the bathroom.
Hutch glanced up at him and smiled. “Hey, I was getting ready to come in there and check on you.” He noticed the ashen tint to Starsky’s normally dark-complected skin. “You look a little pale, you okay?”
“Sure, just fine,” he replied sharply. “Must’ve just stayed in the hot water a little too long.”
Patting the cushion next to him, Hutch beckoned Starsky over. “Well, have a seat and relax. Dinner won’t be ready for another forty-five minutes or so.”
Starsky hesitated before accepting the offer, careful to keep a large gap between them as he turned on the TV and sat down on the couch.
Hutch suspiciously eyed the space Starsky had left between them. “I took a shower, too, you know. Get over here.” Reaching his arm around Starsky’s shoulder, he attempted to nudge his lover closer.
Starsky resisted, pulling away. “I’m fine where I am. I’m trying to watch TV. Can’t you see that?”
Glancing at the TV, then back at Starsky, Hutch sighed in frustration. “Since when do you like Sixty Minutes?”
“Since right now, okay?” Starsky snapped. “I do like other things besides football and monster movies, ya know.”
“Starsky, what’s wrong with you? Everything was fine¾more than fine¾a few minutes ago when we were making love.” Hutch motioned toward the kitchen.
“I’m just tired. Can’t a guy be tired in peace?” Starsky didn’t look over, instead making an unconvincing attempt to appear interested in whatever Andy Rooney was saying.
Hutch abruptly slapped his legs on his thighs and stood up. “Okay, fine,” he agreed in exasperation. “No sense pushing the issue. I think I’ll go for a jog and hope you’re in a little better mood by the time I get back.” As he headed for the door, he bounced on the balls of his feet several times, warming his muscles.
Resentfully wondering how Hutch had the energy to jog while pleasuring both him and Tonya, plus handling their caseload at work, Starsky grumbled under his breath, “A regular Jack LaLanne.”
“You say something?” Hutch called back from the doorway.
“No, nothin’ at all.”
The protective wall of anger came crumbling down as Starsky watched Hutch leave, the slamming of the door and the silence of the room an eerie foreboding of what he feared the future held.
~*~*~
The crisp night air was invigorating to Hutch as he jogged along the quiet sidewalk. With no warning, a sudden deluge of rain descended upon him, hastening his gait. “Damn, weather forecasters,” he grumbled to himself as his clothes quickly soaked up the battering raindrops. “It wasn’t supposed to rain.”
Fortunately, a small grocery store was close by, but not close enough to prevent Hutch from entering the store dripping wet from head to toe. Shaking the droplets of rain from his hair, he voiced his dissatisfaction with the weather to the man behind the counter without looking up.
“Looks like the weatherman missed the mark again,” Hutch grumbled. He sensed the man’s presence but heard no reply. Glancing up, he found himself staring at the barrel of a pistol, the hammer cocked and ready to fire. His attention was immediately drawn to a man lying on the floor behind the counter, a bullet piercing his chest, lifeless eyes staring at nothing. The image of his Magnum in its holster draped across the back of Starsky’s chair flashed through Hutch’s mind as he silently cursed his vulnerability.
“Yeah, it’s a hell of a night,” the man responded scathingly, keeping the weapon trained on Hutch. “Bet ya wish you would’ve stayed home.” His other hand held a brown paper bag, stuffed with money from the open cash drawer. Greasy salt-and-pepper hair draped across his shoulders, framing bloodshot eyes, their dark brown color a stark contrast to the yellow of his rotted teeth.
“Just take it easy, Mister,” Hutch coaxed in a soothing voice, while keeping his hands held up at his side. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“Little late for that, don’tcha think?”
The faint wail of a siren pierced the quiet of the small store.
“Damn!” the man cursed under his breath, realizing a passerby must have heard the gunshot and called the cops. He glanced in the paper sack at the meager offerings he had taken from the register. “All this for a lousy fifty bucks,” he grumbled to himself. His gaze returned to Hutch as the siren grew louder. “On your knees,” he demanded.
Hutch hesitated, fearful the man’s intentions were the same as those dealt to the store clerk. “Look, you have time to get out of here before the cops arrive,” he reasoned. “They’re still a few blocks away. Just take your money and go.” He knew the chances of the robber getting very far were slim.
As the shrill cry of the siren loomed closer, the man’s eyes darted between the door and his captive. “Ain’t got time,” he decided to Hutch’s dismay. “I said on your knees.”
Again, Hutch paused, his defiance rewarded with a staggering blow across his cheek from the butt of the gun, knocking him to the ground.
“Don’t hear very well, do ya?” the man sneered.
Lying on his stomach, Hutch grimaced in pain, barely conscious, his head pounding from the unexpected blow. He could feel the warmth of blood trickling down the side of his face. The thug rummaged through his pockets in search of money and anything that could be used as a weapon, only to find what Hutch dreaded most.
“Well, well, well, lookey what we have here-a pig.” The man rubbed his thumb across the shiny BCPD badge before snapping it shut and grabbing Hutch by a handful of hair. “I reckon they’ll be a little more anxious to get one of their own back. Pay ’bout anything, probably. Don’t think they’d want the blood of a fellow officer on their hands.” He dragged the barrel of the pistol through the blood trailing down Hutch’s cheek, hissing the taunting words.
Hutch’s arms were pulled roughly behind him and bound with rope. A booming voice sounded from a bullhorn outside the store, announcing the arrival of the officers and the guarantee that he would remain alive, at least for the moment, as a bartering tool for this man’s freedom. Hutch’s airway was suddenly restricted, as another piece of rope was looped around his neck and drawn taut. Like a dog on a leash, Hutch was dragged gasping toward the front door of the store before being pulled to his knees and paraded for the attending officers to see.
“I got me a pig,” the man boasted loudly to the men outside. He kept the pistol at Hutch’s temple, while his other hand gripped several lengths of the rope around Hutch’s neck. “And unless you do exactly what I say, he’s gonna die. I already got one dead man in here to prove I mean business.”
Hutch struggled to breathe, the man allowing little slack in the rope. His head was forced to the side from the pressure of the gun barrel against his temple. Even through the blinding pain in his head, he recognized several of the officers who had responded. Their faces were grim, the seriousness of the situation every cop’s worst nightmare.
“You’ve got ten minutes to get me someone on the phone to strike a deal, or you’re gonna have a dead cop on your hands,” the thug warned, as he pulled Hutch from the view of the officers.
There was little Hutch could do as he was dragged mercilessly across the floor by the rope around his neck. His legs flailed weakly in a half-hearted attempt to free himself. The light in the room seemed to dim to a purple haze, intermittent with speckles of white. He was losing consciousness, his air supply choked off by the binding rope. With one sudden movement, he was dropped to the floor, his head landing with a sickening thud against an ice-cold surface. He gasped for breath as the rope around his neck slackened. After several sharp intakes of air, the room came into focus amid a light fog. Neatly stacked cardboard boxes lined the wall, all with the words “Keep Frozen” clearly emblazoned on the side.
“Thought I’d let you cool your heels in here a bit, while I work out the details of my getaway,” the man cackled.
Hutch watched helplessly as the warm blood trickling down his face seeped across the floor, into the crevices of the concrete, melting the fine crystals of ice. “No, please, wait…” The room grew dark as the door of the walk-in freezer slammed shut.
~*~*~
Starsky peered through the curtains of his window, the wailing of a siren catching his attention. A squad car raced down the street in front of his apartment in the direction Hutch had traveled nearly half an hour earlier. Glancing at his watch, an uneasy feeling crept over him. He knew Hutch should have returned by now, but he was hoping the rain had caused him to seek shelter until it let up before heading home. “Where are you, Hutch?” he asked aloud, his concern overriding his earlier anger. Their argument hadn’t been heated enough to keep Hutch from returning, especially with dinner waiting in the oven. The ringing of the phone interrupted his thoughts. Dobey’s voice was on the other end, bearing the details of the hostage situation and bringing to light his worst fears. As he quickly slipped on his jacket and holstered his gun, Starsky caught sight of Hutch’s Magnum on the back of the chair and intuitively tucked it in the back of his waistband before bounding out of the apartment in a desperate bid to save his partner’s life.
Within minutes, the Torino pulled up on the rain-slickened pavement in front of the small store surrounded by a barrage of police cars. Starsky was briefed on the situation by the officer in charge. The robber had been identified as an escaped felon who was serving time for three counts of first-degree murder, one of them a policeman killed during a botched bank robbery. He had yet to make any demands, only requesting a go-between, while assuring them his hostage would be killed if they attempted to subdue him. There had been no signs of Hutch, heightening Starsky’s fears.
~*~*~
Inside the freezer, Hutch slowly struggled to a sitting position, knowing the consequences if his bare skin remained in contact with the cold cement floor. Minutes seemed like hours, the cold wrapping him in its ruthless embrace. Dizziness gripped him, his head pounding relentlessly as he leaned against the cardboard boxes, the blood on his face dry and sticky against his numb skin. His movements were slow, affected by both cold and pain. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, shivering from lack of warmth, his rain-soaked clothes growing stiff as a light frost settled on them. His mind flooded with images of Starsky and what would happen to him if he didn’t make it through this ordeal alive. He couldn’t die, couldn’t leave Starsky behind.
~*~*~
“Get him on the phone!” Starsky demanded to the officers. “I wanna talk to him and find out what he wants. I want Hutch outta there, now!”
The connection was made and the man answered the phone from inside the store, his voice calm and smug. “Look, I got a cop in here, and he’s gonna die unless my demands are met.”
“We can talk about this,” Starsky coaxed, trying to hide the desperation in his voice. “Let me come in, and you can tell me what you want, okay? I’ll get it worked out. Whatever it is, I’ll get it worked out.”
“Okay, you can come in,” the man agreed warily. “But you try anything and the cop gets it. I killed a pig once. I ain’t afraid to do it again. And make sure you ditch the gun in your holster. I’m watching you.” He slammed the receiver down.
Starsky quickly hung up the phone and started toward the store, placing his gun on the hood of the Torino in clear view of the shop front windows. “I’m going in,” he announced hurriedly to the surrounding officers.
~*~*~
Hutch squinted from the bright light when the freezer door opened. The figure of the convict was silhouetted against the open doorway, moving toward him. He gasped for air as the rope tightened around his neck once again.
“Let’s go, Pig,” the man growled, dragging his hostage behind him toward the light of the small store. “We’re gonna have us a visitor.”
The thug pulled Hutch to a kneeling position next to the counter. He wrapped several lengths of rope around one hand, assuring himself the rope would stay taut around his captive’s neck, and gripped the pistol with his other hand, pressing it firmly to Hutch’s temple.
Starsky cautiously entered the store, his gaze immediately transfixed on the shivering figure of his partner, hands bound, struggling to breathe. “Oh, God, Hutch,” he whispered to himself, trying to retain his composure. “Not this way. I can’t lose him this way.”
“Keep your distance,” the man warned.
As cold air drifted from the open door of the walk-in freezer, Starsky realized why Hutch hadn’t been seen within the store. Anger seized him, the thought of his partner left in the subzero cold tearing at his heart. Hutch’s lips, once full and rose-colored, were now tinged with blue, drawn tight across his pain-stricken face as shivers wracked his body. His wet clothes were frost covered, giving him a nearly ghost-like appearance.
“St-St-Starsk,” Hutch began, before a sharp tug on the rope around his throat stifled his pleas and further reduced his air supply. He struggled feebly against the rope, gasping for oxygen, his face turning a deep red.
“He can’t breathe.” Starsky stared helplessly as Hutch gritted his teeth in agony. “Loosen the rope. He’s no good to you dead. He dies, and you’re as good as dead, too.”
“Sure, Cop,” the man sneered, loosening a meager length of rope from his hand, allowing enough slack for Hutch to take a desperate breath. “Now, you gotta do somethin’ for me.”
Hutch’s head lolled forward with exhaustion, his chest heaving with every restricted gulp of air.
“Anything. You name it,” Starsky agreed, his relief evident as he watched the bluish hue ease from Hutch’s lips.
“I want five-thousand dollars, and I wanna ticket out of here. That’s what I want,” the man demanded. “And he’s goin’ with me.” He jabbed the barrel of the gun into Hutch’s temple, emphasizing his intentions. “Just as a little insurance.”
“You want a car?” Starsky offered, slowly reaching into his pocket in an unthreatening manner. “Here. Car’s right outside with a full tank of gas.” He tossed the keys toward the man’s feet. “But he stays here. I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go. It’s too late to get that kind of money together tonight, but tomorrow when the banks open, you’ll have every penny of it. You have my word that no one will follow us.”
“S-Starsk…no…pl─” Hutch forced out through short gasps of air. A sharp jerk on the rope allowed nothing further than an anguished cry of pain.
“You think I’m a fool?” the man growled at Starsky through clenched teeth, his knuckles turning white from the grip he held on the rope. “You just gonna waltz outta here with me?”
“That’s what I said. You have my guarantee,” Starsky reiterated with conviction.
The blaring wail of more approaching squad cars filled the room, their flashing lights beaming through the large plate-glass windows of the store front, creating a maddening strobe effect.
A crazed look spread across the man’s face, his eyes darting wildly back and forth like that of a caged animal as he shook his head. “No, no, you’re lying! Look at all those cops out there!” He motioned toward the small army of squad cars visible through the window. “You’re not gonna let me go. None of you are!” His finger tightened around the trigger of the gun. Small beads of sweat trailed across his forehead. “If they’re gonna kill me, then I’m gonna take as many of you pigs with me as I can.” He pressed the gun farther into Hutch’s temple and pulled the trigger.
The world seemed to stop for Starsky. Time taunted him, allowing every tortuous second to pass in slow motion, forcing him to helplessly watch as the hammer of the gun moved away from the firing mechanism, then ominously snapped forward with wicked determination, intending to send the hollow-point bullet channeling through flesh and bone, taking Hutch from him forever.
His eyes met Hutch’s for what he knew was the last time. What he saw there, etched in the battered face, was unimaginable. Every emotion screamed at him, drowning out the pounding of his heart-pain, fear, hope, dread, love. There was no time for action, no time for good-byes, only time for death. Golden eyelashes tipped with frost closed over cornflower blue eyes, concealing their agony. “NO!” Starsky screamed, hand outstretched, waiting for the explosion of gunfire, but there was only a subtle click.
The disgruntled convict mouthed an obscenity as he glowered at the misfired weapon.
A split-second reprieve.
Another chance.
Save him.
Hutch struggled fiercely to free himself from his captor, but remained tethered by the rope wound tightly around his neck, eyes brimming with terror.
The battle wasn’t over; the man once again lowered the gun to Hutch’s head. He pulled the hammer back, watching as the next bullet rotated into the chamber, determined to succeed in taking the life he held in his grip.
Two shots reverberated throughout the small room, leaving the acrid smell of sulfur hanging heavy in the air. Hutch was lying on the ground, struggling to breathe, clothes splattered with blood, the rope around his neck still clutched within the hand of the dead man next to him. A bullet was embedded in the wall nearby, fired from the man’s gun as he fell to the ground, his shot diverted from its target as Starsky’s bullet struck his chest.
Starsky clutched Hutch’s Magnum in front of him, hands shaking, a light smoke filtering from the barrel. He had tucked the weapon discreetly in the back of his jeans, hoping it would not be discovered, praying it would save Hutch.
“Hutch!” Starsky raced toward his partner, tearing the rope from the dead man’s hand, allowing Hutch to breathe. “Hutch, talk to me. Are you okay?” He gathered his friend into his arms, cradling him in a protective embrace, grateful to feel him move, his cold, stiff body a shocking testament to what could have been.
“Oh, God, St-Starsky, help me…don’t wanna d-die,” Hutch pleaded through sputtering coughs. Blood was splattered across his face and clothes, giving him the appearance of being severely wounded. “I know it’s bad. I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry,” he spouted repeatedly as his body trembled uncontrollably. “F-for everything that’s ever c-come between us. I’m sor-”
“Hutch!” Starsky intervened, his gaze focusing on the terrified man he held in his arms.
“So s-sorry, Starsk,” Hutch continued through chattering teeth. “For everything. Y-you gotta believe m-me.” He glanced down the length of his crimson-spattered body. “Where am I h-hit?”
“Hutch, no, take it easy. You weren’t shot.” Starsky soothingly caressed Hutch’s face with the palm of his hand. “That’s not your blood. I got him. I got the bad guy. You’re gonna be okay.”
“Not shot?” Hutch asked disbelievingly in a raspy voice.
“No, babe, you’re gonna be just fine.” A slight smile spread across Starsky’s face as he felt Hutch relax in his arms.
“Th-thought I was a goner for sure,” Hutch uttered under his breath. He nestled close to Starsky, his body continuing to shake uncontrollably. “C-cold, so cold.”
“I need an ambulance, now! And get me some blankets!” Starsky screamed to the officers rushing into the store, before turning his attention back to Hutch. “I know you’re cold. Look, just lean against me and I’ll untie you, okay?”
Hutch huddled closer, allowing access to his hands. “C-can’t feel my fingers,” he announced worriedly.
“It’s just because you’re cold and the rope is so tight, that’s all. This will help.” Starsky reached both arms around him. “Easy, now,” he soothed, while loosening the bindings, allowing Hutch’s arms to fall stiffly to his side. “Better?”
A quick nod, then another shiver. Hutch pulled his arms in front of him, awkwardly drawing them into the warm space between him and Starsky. “B-better.”
Starsky removed his jacket, draping it across Hutch. “Gonna be okay now.”
Hutch moved closer, tucking his hand in the gap between the buttons on Starsky’s shirt, numb fingers caressing the dark curly hair on his chest.
A bombardment of policemen and crime scene investigators descended into the store, quickly surrounding the two detectives in a flurry of scribbled notes, flashing cameras, and yellow tape.
“S-S-Starsk?” Hutch asked thoughtfully, his cheek brushing against the soft fabric of Starsky’s shirt.
Starsky pressed his lips into golden strands, gently rocking the man in his arms, oblivious to the commotion around them. “Yeah?”
“Were y-you really g-gonna give that g-guy your car?”
“You kiddin’? Those were the keys to your car.” Starsky’s voice quivered, eyes spilling over with emotion as a tear kissed Hutch’s bloodstained cheek.
~*~*~
Starsky kicked the apartment door shut with his foot, his arm carefully supporting Hutch around his midsection, hand cupping his elbow. “C’mon, we gotta get you to bed. It’s after midnight,” he urged.
“Starsky, I can walk just fine,” Hutch assured his eager friend as he was led toward the bathroom. “I think that new intern in the ER prodded and poked at me enough to convince me my legs aren’t broken. I’m fine.”
“I wouldn’t call five stitches to your face, not to mention a mild case of hyperthermia, fine,” Starsky insisted, still retaining his hold on his partner.
“Hyp-o-thermia,” Hutch corrected with a corresponding shiver.
“Huh?” Starsky muttered, not heeding much consideration to the correction, his attention focused on getting Hutch into the shower.
“Hyp-o-thermia. I was shoved in a freezer, not stranded in the desert.”
“Oh.” Starsky shrugged with indifference. “Well, whatever it is, I think you shoulda let them keep you overnight like they wanted to, but I’m glad you at least agreed to come back to my place where I can keep an eye on ya.”
“You know how I hate hospitals. I’m cold, I’m tired, and I have a pounding headache. I just wanna take a hot shower and go to bed.” Hutch rubbed at his weary eyes.
“Well, let me help you get undressed then.” Starsky reached toward the buttons on Hutch’s shirt, yearning to tend to his every need.
Hutch darted him a warning glare. “Starsky, you’re pushing your luck with me. That overzealous intern examined me for every known malady ever recorded, and I checked out fine. I said I can do it.”
“I know you can do it, but I just wanna help. I’ve taken your clothes off enough,” he bragged haughtily, wiggling his eyebrows. “Could do it with one hand tied behind my back.”
Hutch grabbed Starsky’s wrists, looking him squarely in the eye. “If you don’t let go of my shirt, you’re gonna have both hands tied behind your back.”
“Hmmmm…wanna try the kinky stuff, huh? Okay, I’m game, but let’s wait until you’re feelin’ better, ‘kay?” Starsky paused, waiting for the anticipated chuckle he hoped he’d earned. A smile snuck across Hutch’s bruised face, and Starsky beamed with success. Hutch kissed him lightly on the nose, apologizing for his crankiness with love, not words.
“Just give me a few minutes and I’ll be out, okay?” Hutch managed a smile and a gentle pat on his friend’s stomach.
“Okay,” Starsky answered reluctantly, peering over his shoulder as he sauntered from the bathroom, a warning finger waving in his friend’s direction. “But I’ll be right outside this door, and if you need me, just holler.”
~*~*~
Waiting anxiously on a corner of the bed, Starsky jolted to his feet when Hutch appeared from the bathroom, dressed in nothing but a bathrobe. “You okay?” he asked worriedly.
“Yeah, just can’t seem to get warm.” A shiver engulfed Hutch’s body from head to toe. “I don’t think that hot water helped much.”
“You want somethin’ to eat?” Starsky pointed over his shoulder toward the kitchen. “Our dinner’s probably not worth salvaging, but I can whip you up some soup or hot tea.”
“Thanks, but I couldn’t eat a thing,” Hutch replied. “Just wanna get under the covers and stay there until morning.” Slipping the robe from his body, he tossed it across the foot of the bed and slid between the sheets. He pulled the blanket tight around his shoulders, inhaling sharply as another shiver gripped him, sending a jolt of pain through his head.
“Here, you’re not gonna get warm that way.” Starsky stripped off his clothes and crawled into bed next to Hutch, turning on his side and moving close to his shivering friend, one arm cradling his head, one leg draped gently across his thighs, creating a blanket of human warmth.
Hutch nuzzled the fur-covered chest before planting an appreciative kiss in the midst of the curly hair. The moment grew serious, and he peered up at the man holding him, warming him, comforting him. “Starsk?”
Sensing the seriousness in Hutch’s voice, Starsky swallowed hard, a gentle hug accompanying his reply. “Yeah, babe?”
“Thank you.” Hutch’s chills were easing, the warmth of Starsky’s body sheathing him.
“Hey, all of this hair is good for somethin’, huh?” Starsky teased, understanding what Hutch was really thanking him for.
“No, not for that¾for saving my life.” Hutch briefly closed his eyes. “I can still hear the sound of that gun going off. I thought that was it. Thought our luck had run out this time. How can I ever thank you for saving me?”
Starsky paused in thought. The answer was simple. He held it in his arms-warm, vibrant, alive. Thank God, he was alive. He tilted Hutch’s head toward his and leaned closer, their lips touching in a lingering kiss. For the moment, everything was right, just like it used to be-no Tonya, no good-byes. “You already have, babe. You already have,” he whispered. For now, holding his partner was more than he could ask for. He knew the pain of losing him would come soon enough.
Hutch’s gaze traveled away from Starsky’s face as he nestled closer, his eyes growing heavy with fatigue. “Love you, Starsk…” his voice trailed off, sleep overtaking him.
As Starsky listened to Hutch’s breathing settle into a peaceful rhythm, he murmured, “Love you, too.”
~*~*~
The peaceful sleep was short-lived. Hutch stirred from his sleep, moaning in anguish while pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes.
The movement had awakened Starsky. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, immediately concerned.
“Yeah, yeah, just this damn headache. Feels like someone stuck my head in a cannon and fired it.”
“Here, I’ll take care of you. Come over here.” Starsky turned onto his back, gently pulling his friend between his legs so Hutch’s back was resting against his stomach. “Now, you just close your eyes and relax. I’ll do the rest.” He lightly pressed his fingertips to Hutch’s temples, moving in small circular motions.
“Oh, damn, Starsk, that feels good,” Hutch commented gratefully. “You can stop in about a week. The pain is already easing up.”
“Glad it’s helping.” Starsky continued the massage for a while longer before his mood turned somber. “Hutch?”
“Hmmmm?” Hutch muttered through closed eyes.
“I was so scared tonight. Don’t think I could handle losing you.” It wasn’t just the hostage situation he was referring to. He stroked the length of Hutch’s throat, cupping his chin and guiding his lips toward his own, stealing a light kiss while his other hand trailed across Hutch’s body in an all encompassing touch, briefly stroking his chest, stomach, and thighs before coming to a rest on his flaccid cock. He felt Hutch respond to the feather-like touch, and he moved his hand away, certain neither of them was in any condition to make love. “Hey, take it easy there. Don’t think you’re up to that right now.”
With a sigh of disappointment, Hutch reluctantly agreed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right, but with you pressed up against me like this and your hands all over me, you can’t blame a guy for tryin’.”
Starsky leaned down for another kiss, his arms possessively embracing his friend. “I couldn’t live without you, you know,” he candidly confessed.
Hutch arched his back slightly within the captive embrace and returned the kiss. “Oh, sure you could, Starsk,” he responded with an air of confidence. “No one to nag you about your eating habits, no one to complain about that parade float on wheels. You could even watch all of the Monster Movie Marathon without having to change channels so I could watch the news. You’d think you never had it so good.” He chuckled, intending for Starsky to laugh along with him.
Starsky abruptly pulled away. “I’m trying to be serious, Hutch, and all you can do is make fun of my car and eating habits?” He nudged Hutch’s shoulders, wanting him to move. Hutch rolled over Starsky’s leg, allowing him to exit the bed and slip into his jeans. “Don’t you realize how close I came to losing you?” he exclaimed, pacing the floor. The wall of emotions he had suppressed was finally breaking free, his voice building in intensity. “Don’t you know what that would do to me? Do you really know?”
His mouth agape in astonishment, Hutch pushed himself up on the pillows and quickly apologized. “I’m sorry, Starsk. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Well, you did.” He stopped pacing, turning to Hutch and looking him squarely in the eye. “I was just trying to tell you how I feel, because I don’t want to keep anything from you…anything. And I hope you wouldn’t keep anything from me, either. You wouldn’t, would ya?” he asked, hoping this would give Hutch the opportunity to tell him the truth.
Hutch stared blankly at Starsky and shook his head with assuredness. “No, of course not. I’m not keeping anything from you.”
Starsky’s head lulled forward. “Yeah, well, that’s good to know,” he uttered in disappointment. His gaze returned to the man before him. Hutch’s face was still etched with pain. He could see it around his eyes. This was not the time to press for answers. Hutch’s pain still came before his own. He still loved him. Oh, God, how he loved him. “I’m sorry, Hutch,” he apologized with sincerity. “I don’t know why I blew up like that. I guess it’s just the stress of what happened tonight. You need to rest after what you’ve been through.” He leaned over his friend, kissing him lightly on the forehead and pulling the blanket up around his shoulders. “I don’t wanna keep you awake, so I’ll be right out here on the couch if you need me.”
Grimacing slightly, Hutch nestled under the covers and mumbled as he closed his eyes, “You know, if my head didn’t hurt so bad, I wouldn’t let you walk out of here until you explained to me what this is all about.” A hand sneaked from under the covers and tenderly rubbed Starsky’s thigh. “Can we talk about this in the morning?”
“Yeah, sure,” Starsky agreed. “G’night, Hutch.” With a discontented sigh, he turned away and quietly sauntered from the room.
Hutch attempted to go over the events of the evening in his mind, trying to figure out what had upset his friend so much, but fatigue and the nagging pain in his head won their battle over him, and he drifted off to sleep once again.
~*~*~
Starsky grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and settled on the couch with a resounding plop, nearly consuming the entire can in one large gulp in a miserable attempt to drown his pain. He stared with disinterest at the model of his clipper ship on the coffee table and took another drink before leaning forward and lightly trailing his finger over the fine thread holding the sails in place. Noticing one was loose, he took the time to repair it, taking extra care to make sure the glue held this time. It was a welcome distraction, and several minutes later he found himself paging through his book on pirates, looking for additional ways to add to the authenticity of the model. Images of ruthless swashbucklers, standing proudly on the decks of their beloved vessels stared back at him, their cruel tactics outlined in graphic detail below the pictures. One, in particular, caught his eye-that of a dark curly-haired pirate, pistol drawn, urging his men forward in the throes of battle. Bodies of several men lay at his feet, a testament to the merciless encounter. Starsky stared intently at the picture, drawn to the noticeable similarities between the pirate and himself. He stifled a yawn as he perused several more pages, the soft chime of the clock on the wall reminding him sunrise was not far away. Mental and physical exhaustion began taking their toll on him. He closed the book and stretched out on the couch, draping a forearm across his bloodshot eyes.
Sleep would not come easily. He tossed restlessly back and forth, every sound, every image from the previous evening still prominent in his mind-the phone conversation with Tonya, the face of the man so intent on taking Hutch’s life, the echo of gunfire, the reality that Hutch was going to leave him. He tried to focus on happier times¾when they discovered their love went beyond friendship, the first time they made love¾but it only seemed to intensify the hurt.
Restlessly turning to his side, Starsky shook his head with defiance, even as sleep overtook him, muttering aloud, “No, I won’t lose you, Hutch. Whatever it takes, whatever I have to do, I won’t…lose…you…”
Starsky’s eyelids fluttered rapidly, his subconscious mind taking control as the image of a large ship sailed into view.
~*~*~
A gentle breeze toyed with the dark curls of the man at the helm, as he attentively peered through a telescope at the distant vessel. Captain David Starsky surmised the size and distance of the ship, lips curling in a wry smile across his sun-tanned face. He was ruggedly handsome, with dark features that complimented his solemn disposition. Dressed in tight-fitting khaki breeches and a black leather belt adorned with a large brass buckle, he confidently waited for the opportunity to strike, his hand reaching down to anxiously encircle the sword at his side. His black shirt was loose fitting and partially unbuttoned, allowing the breeze to cool the sweat that beaded in the hair on his chest. The cerulean eyes squinted in concentration, taking in every feature of the ship in his view, absorbing every detail of his prey. Starsky’s ship was prepared to endure most any battle, as it had proven many times before. Equipped with several cannons, as well as a small arsenal of black-powder guns, the vessel was extremely well maintained, its captain taking great pride in every detail of the nearly one-hundred-foot schooner. A flag waved gently from the mast above the deck, its deep red color offset by a stark white stripe that ran through the middle. The plan of attack would be simple yet successful, as so many of his previous ventures had been. He glanced around at his crew going about their normal seafaring duties. They were an efficient and reliable crew, something uncommon after enduring an extended life at sea. Propping a booted foot on a nearby crate, he leaned an elbow on his knee and called to a thin black man adjusting the rigging on a sail.
“Huggy, tell the men to prepare for battle,” Starsky commanded.
Huggy was his trusted captain’s quartermaster. Having been under his command for several years now, the young man was a loyal and respected member of the crew. He glanced up at the ship in the distance before replying, “Yes, sir!” Turning to the other men scurrying around the deck, he repeated his captain’s wishes. “Prepare for battle!”
The crew, some twenty-five in number, immediately began rounding up kegs of black powder, muzzleloaders, and cannonballs, never questioning their instructions, showing complete confidence in their respected captain. Their frenzied pace quickened as they closed in on the ship in the distance.
~*~*~
“Captain Hutchinson!” a harried man called down from the crow’s nest above the deck. “Pirate ship at four o’clock! It appears to be the notorious Captain Starsky, sir!”
Captain Kenneth Hutchinson stood at the bow of his ship, taking notice of the distant vessel through the small telescope held to his eye. The tall, lean man was dressed all in white, except for knee-high black boots that fit his calves snuggly atop skintight breeches, accenting his long legs and muscular thighs. Straw colored hair streaked with sunshine lay in light wisps around his fair-skinned face, framing the piercing blue eyes that scrutinized the approaching enemy. His brow furrowed in thought as he recognized the name, knowing a battle with this feared pirate would certainly end in bloodshed and lost lives.
Sighing with dreaded anticipation of the imminent battle, he called up to his first mate. “Alert the others, Samuel. Be prepared to do battle, but wait for my command before firing.”
“Yes, sir, Captain Hutchinson!” The man scampered down the pole with lightning speed, calling to the other sailors both on deck and down below.
Captain Hutchinson did a quick inspection of his ship from bow to stern. Old and battered, he knew the weathered vessel was no match for the modern clipper Captain Starsky manned. His ship was too old to outrun his adversary, yet ill equipped to do battle and win. The cargo of liquor and spices he carried, though small, would still fetch a lucrative price in the back alleys of Bay City. Drawing a strong hand across his troubled face, he quickly devised a plan he hoped would save both his ship and the irreplaceable lives of his crew.
~*~*~
The distance between the two ships closed quickly. Within minutes, Captain Starsky bore down on the inferior ship, loaded cannons ready to fire. “An easy target,” Starsky whispered confidently to himself, though the appearance of the shoddy ship caused him to wonder if she carried any worthy cargo. As they came closer, he was surprised to observe a tall blond-haired man, obviously the captain, standing in full view at the bow of the ship, his expression stern, arms at his side in an unthreatening manner. His crew stood in a line across the deck, several feet from the cannons that were their only means of defense. The sight of the handsome stranger perplexed him, and he held a hand up to his battle-eager crew. “Hold your fire, men.” As they came within striking distance, he watched his adversary cross his arms confidently across his chest and step forward.
“Where is your captain?” Captain Hutchinson called out to the nearest crewman of the opposing ship. “I wish to speak to him.” His voice was firm and unwavering.
Appearing from the shadows of the main mast and sail, Captain Starsky approached the bow of his own ship, within earshot of his opponent. “I am Captain Starsky,” he bellowed loudly, his voice drowning out the sounds of the waves lapping at the sides of the ships. “You want something?”
“I think I should be the one asking that question, with the way you chased me across several miles of ocean,” Hutchinson replied sharply, sizing up the man before him. “What do you want?”
“Gold, whiskey, anything worth somethin’,” Starsky called back with purpose. His steely blue gaze bore through Hutchinson with a calculating coldness, as his hand weighed heavily on the sword at his side. The apparent calmness with which Hutchinson approached him was intriguing. Even the men who stood behind their blond captain appeared at ease, yet still cautious.
“You won’t find any of that here,” Hutchinson assured him without hesitation. “I suggest you be on your way.”
“Be on my way?” Starsky mocked with a chortle. “Do you know who you’re dealin’ with? You think you can holler ‘shoo,’ and I’ll just go away?”
“I know who you are,” Hutchinson replied firmly. “I can’t give you what I don’t have,” he reiterated with a simple shrug of his shoulders.
“You expect me to take your word for this, Captain, and be along my merry way?” Starsky smiled warmly, before his lips quickly tightened and anger flashed in his eyes. Pulling his sword from its sheath, he stepped forward. “You wanna play me for a fool?” he growled. His men followed suit, swords or pistols in one hand, torches in the other, prepared to light the fuses of the cannons.
His strategy failing, Hutchinson offered one last proposal. “Wait! What I carry on my ship will only bring you a few gold shillings. I can get you a hundred times that much.”
“Really?” Starsky asked curiously. “I hope you don’t plan on sellin’ your ship to pay me off. I’m surprised she floats.”
Hutchinson ignored the sarcastic comment. Keeping a wary eye trained on the dark-haired pirate, he calmly clasped his hands behind his back and offered his explanation. “If you are familiar with Bay City, then you must have heard of my father.”
“I know the place.” Captain Starsky became more interested. “Who’s your father?”
“Richard Hutchinson. I am his son, Kenneth.”
“Of the Hutchinson dockyards?” The name was well known throughout Bay City for the fine clipper ships they build. It was no secret that the family was wealthy-very wealthy.
“That’s him.” Hutchinson took a deep breath and looked the pirate squarely in the eye. “I’ll turn myself over to you if you agree to let my men and ship go unharmed.”
“Captain Hutchinson, no! He’ll kill you!” Samuel pleaded from behind his captain.
With a firm wave of his hand, Hutchinson quieted the frantic man without uttering a word and continued. “My father will pay you well for my safe return.”
Starsky eyed the blond’s ship suspiciously. “If Richard Hutchinson is your father and he builds all those fancy ships, why do you sail in such a heap?”
“Not that I owe you an explanation,” Hutchinson replied, voice tinged with sarcasm, “but I pay my own way through life. Do you think I would offer myself in trade, knowing you would probably slit my throat if you discovered I was lying?”
Hutchinson’s answer seemed sensible enough to the pirate. “Okay, Captain Hutchinson.” He motioned to his men. “Toss the grappling hooks, men, and bring us closer.”
His crew immediately obeyed, tossing the long-roped hooks, tethering the ships together mere feet apart. A long plank was perched atop the railing, allowing a makeshift walkway between the two ships.
“Come aboard, Captain.” Starsky motioned with his sword in a welcoming gesture. He watched intently as Hutchinson shouted a few quick orders to his men, then mounted the unsteady board as his crew helplessly looked on. Starsky was somewhat dumbfounded by the selfless gesture of this stranger, who didn’t know whether he would live or die within his clutches. He studied this “white knight” from head to toe as he steadily crossed the plank, his slender figure silhouetted against the blue sky, silken hair reflecting the afternoon sun, rivaling even the sheen of the tranquil blue ocean.
Once safely aboard, Starsky abruptly grabbed Hutchinson by the collar, pulling him against his body. He briskly patted him down, searching for weapons, and removed a black-powder pistol tucked inside his prisoner’s coat pocket. “Don’t think you’ll be needing this,” he smirked, before bracing a forearm against Hutchinson’s neck and pressing the barrel of the weapon to his temple. “Welcome aboard, Captain.”
Hutchinson held his hands away from his sides in a gesture of surrender, offering no resistance.
“Now, you tell your men to get word to your father that I want one-hundred gold shillings by tomorrow. I’ll meet him at the port of Bay City at 1200 hours. If he doesn’t show, you’ll be a new piece of scenery draped in chains at the bottom of the Pacific. Got it?” Starsky released his hold, shoving his prisoner toward the railing and allowing him to pass on the information. Satisfied his demands were made clear, Starsky ordered the ropes linking the ships to be retrieved and the opposing ship to leave unscathed. He then turned toward Huggy. “Huggy, take Captain Hutchinson below and make him comfortable. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
“Aye, aye, moi capitan,” Huggy replied, as he guided the prisoner below.
~*~*~
Captain Hutchinson surveyed his surroundings. The room Huggy had left him in was simple, yet surprisingly comfortable. There were no windows in the room. Only a small kerosene lantern illuminated the small area, allowing his eyes to focus on his surroundings. He had nothing to do but wait and wonder what the future held for him. He knew the chances of the ruthless Captain Starsky letting him go alive, even after collecting the ransom, were slim, given the reputation of the feared pirate. Still, he didn’t regret his decision. He was unmarried and childless, while the majority of the men in his crew had families back in Bay City waiting for them to return. He hadn’t met that special someone in his life, though his father believed otherwise and was pressuring him to take a woman’s hand in marriage and return to work at the dockyards. She was someone he barely knew and cared nothing about. Yes, he had made the right decision to sacrifice himself for the lives of his men. He only hoped his death would be merciful.
~*~*~
Captain Starsky traipsed down the narrow stairwell to his prisoner’s room and lightly rapped on the door. “May I come in?” he politely called from the other side.
Hutchinson took a cautious step backward and replied, “Uh, yeah, I guess.” As the door swung open, he stood in a guarded stance, fists clenched, prepared to protect himself.
Starsky entered the room, a gentle smile spreading across his face. “Everything comfy?” His expression was warm and friendly. He was unarmed and made a point his captive was aware of that as he turned in a slow circle, surveying the room.
“Yeah, all the comforts of home,” Hutchinson snapped, while jerking at the chain around his ankle, tethering him to the wall.
“I’m really sorry about that,” Starsky offered apologetically. “It’s just for the protection of me and my crew.”
Hutchinson’s eyebrows arched with surprise. “Sorry?”
Sensing Hutchinson’s obvious confusion, Starsky grinned while trying to explain. “Look, I’m not gonna hurt you. I just wanna collect my money, and then you’ll be free to go.”
“Free to go where?” Hutchinson scoffed. “Into the deep blue sea as I’m forced to walk the plank?”
The comment brought a roar of laughter from the strikingly handsome brunet. “Not hardly. I figure your family will be glad to have you back after a few days with the ‘notorious Captain Starsky’.”
“I’ve heard you have quite a reputation,” Hutchinson stated tersely.
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Starsky was quick to answer. “It’s one I haven’t lived up to. I was kinda surprised to hear some of the things I’m guilty of, really-murder and rape among other things.” He tilted his head in thought, reflecting on the hair-raising stories he’d heard about himself. The corners of his mouth curved in a smug grin.
Hutchinson shook his head in disbelief. “And you are innocent?”
“Completely.”
“I don’t believe you. How dare you mock the lives of all the innocent men you have killed.” Hutchinson’s eyes flashed with anger.
“You don’t have to believe me, but it’s true.” Starsky shrugged his shoulders showing his lack of concern for his prisoner’s doubt.
“But you threatened me, my men, put a pistol to my head.” Hutchinson angrily gestured toward the chain around his ankle. “You had me brought down here and chained to the wall.”
Proud of his acting performance, Starsky grinned broadly, “Hey, I gotta look convincing. I don’t think you would’ve turned yourself over if I’d threatened to throw rocks and called you a bad name.”
Hutchinson was livid. He stormed toward the dark-haired swindler, dragging the heavy chain behind him. “Damn you! You tricked me!”
Starsky calmly took a step backward just as the length of chain abruptly stopped the blond, leaving him comfortably out of harm’s way. “Uh, uh, uuuuhh,” he taunted, while waving a finger in front of the enraged blue eyes before him. Mustn’t hurt the captain.”
“Take me back to my ship!” Hutchinson demanded through clenched teeth.
“‘Fraid I can’t do that. You see, even though I’m not such a bad guy, I still have my men to take care of. They have families to feed. The money I get for you will be put to good use. My men need the money very badly. I’ll keep only what I need to live on and keep my ship afloat. The rest, they share.” Starsky looked away modestly, as if he were uncomfortable revealing his charitable side.
Hutchinson’s jaw dropped at the candid confession. Turning away from his captor, he walked the few short steps to the bed and sat down, while restlessly running his hands through his hair. After a moment of silence, he looked up and responded in a softer voice, “I can appreciate what you’re trying to do for your men. I’d do the same if I were given the chance to make my men’s lives easier, but not this way. It’s not right. To have my father pay such a high price for my release when there was never a threat to my life in the first place.”
“But he doesn’t know that,” Starsky reasoned. “Would you rather me beat and starve you to make it look good?”
Hutchinson’s posture stiffened at the comment, his eyes widening with alarm.
Starsky sighed sympathetically at Hutchinson’s obvious trepidation and tried to smooth things over. “Look, it’s only until tomorrow. I collect the money, I let you go.” He wriggled his eyebrows, eyes twinkling with mischief. “But if you want to tell everyone how you suffered hours of torture at the hands of the ruthless Captain David Starsky, be my guest.” He folded his hands calmly behind his back and turned to leave. “I’ll bring some supper down later.”
Chin resting on clasped hands, Hutchinson didn’t reply, instead emitting a curt grunt and defiantly turning his head away as Starsky left the room.
Starsky paused on the other side of the door, taking a deep breath. This prisoner of his burned an image in his mind that left him with a feeling he couldn’t quite discern. It was almost as if he’d known him for years. The proud, undeniably handsome captain had selflessly allowed himself to be taken hostage to save his own ship and crew, thinking he would most likely die when the ransom was paid. He admired Hutchinson’s sacrifice-that was it. Taking one step, he stopped again, a thought still nagging him. Undeniably handsome-was he more taken with Hutchinson’s looks and charm than his heroism? As he strolled back to the upper deck, he shook his head, dismissing the thought from his mind…or so he thought.
~*~*~
Hutchinson lay back on the feather-soft mattress, dragging the chain over the footboard as he stretched out his legs. Tucking a forearm behind his head, he stared at the wooden ceiling, deep in thought. The stories were untrue. Here he was, in the grip of the murderous Captain Starsky, lying on a comfortable bed, waiting for supper to be brought to him. His handsome captor had warm eyes and a kind heart. He allowed himself to relax somewhat as the threat to his life seemed less imminent. There were worse places he could be. His eyes drifted shut as he inadvertently found himself studying the appearance of this man in his mind, his features striking, muscular body, strong and capable of protecting his ship and crew. Forcing the image from his mind, his eyes opened abruptly, anger seizing him again. Starsky still had no right to keep him here against his will, chained to a wall, forcing his father to pay for his release, and he didn’t intend to accept his predicament graciously…or so he thought.
The pitch of the ship seemed to be increasing at a steady rate, giving Hutchinson an uneasy feeling. Leaning up on his elbows, he listened intently to the crash of the waves battering the ship that were steadily growing louder. He sensed a storm was brewing, which was not a matter to be taken lightly. The ocean waters were warm and unstable this time of year, but the temperature could change drastically in a few hours, bringing with it sharply colder weather and stormy seas, enough to sink even the most seaworthy vessel.
A knock on the door signaled Starsky’s return. He entered, carrying a tray of steaming hot food and set it on a small table as Hutchinson rose from the bed. “Here’s your supper,” he boasted proudly, lifting a lid from the covered plate. “I hope you like roast chicken and carrots. Just a little peace offering I whipped up.”
Hutchinson inspected the food, taking a fork and piercing the meat. “The meat seems tough.” His eyes briefly scanned the tray. “And no fruit?” he asked ungraciously.
Starsky’s jaw tightened in irritation. “My men haven’t had a meal like this for months. I killed my only hen for you, and you have the nerve to complain because you think the meat is tough and there ain’t any fruit?”
“I have fruit on my ship,” Hutchinson bragged. “I also know how to properly cook a chicken.” With hands defiantly perched on his hips, he stepped away from the meal.
Seething with anger, Starsky slammed the lid down on the rejected food. “You ungrateful-”
His words were cut short as a sudden pitch in the ship hurled them to the floor, sending food, legs, and arms flying. Hutchinson lay flat on his back, stunned. Starsky lay atop him, his mouth a mere inch from the blond’s. For a brief moment, there was silence between them as their eyes locked. Even the creaking noise of the ship’s structure as it weathered the first gusts of the storm went unnoticed. Starsky wet his lips, impetuously drawn to the warm body under him.
Hutchinson peered into the suggestive eyes, his lips parting slightly as Starsky leaned closer, but he stubbornly quelled the inviting temptation and shoved his hands against Starsky’s shoulders. “Get off of me!” he demanded.
Starsky scrambled to his feet, the moment severed by both Hutchinson’s protest and the howl of the wind. “Storm’s comin’. I don’t have time to deal with you or this mess,” he snapped, stomping toward the door, leaving Hutchinson amid the broken dishes and spilled food.
Hutchinson quickly stood and hurried toward Starsky, dragging the heavy chain behind him. “You can’t just leave me chained to this wall with a storm brewing! What if the ship goes down? I won’t have a chance!”
“You better hope she weathers it well then, ’cause I ain’t takin’ that chain off,” Starsky remarked callously as he stomped toward the door.
Hutchinson was adamant. “C’mon! The way this ship is pitching, this storm could be a mean one. I know how to navigate her. If it gets rough, you’re going to need my help. We probably don’t have more than an hour before we face the full brunt of the wind.” The creaking of the ship against the battering waves reemphasized his words. “Unchain me.”
With a sigh of defeat, Starsky reluctantly turned back to Hutchinson and removed the chain from his ankle. “There. Happy now? You wait here, unless I need you. Got it?”
“Yes, sir, Captain Starsky…sir,” Hutchinson mocked, taking a quick step toward his captor. A slight smile spread across his face as he landed a forceful blow to Starsky’s jaw, sending the man toppling backward against the wall.
Starsky moaned in pain as he slid down the wall into a crumpled heap on the floor, teetering on the brink of unconsciousness as he captured one last glimpse of the traitorous blond making his escape.
Hutchinson hurried from the room, up the stairs and to the railing of the deck. A quick survey of the water around him showed land within swimming distance. The ocean was choppy with some whitecaps, but he was hopeful it wasn’t too choppy for an experienced swimmer like himself. There was no time to deliberate. He dove into the water unseen, Starsky’s crew too preoccupied with the storm preparation to notice the escapee. The water was colder than he expected, almost frigid, but his desire for freedom urged him on. Shore was less than a half-mile away, though the battering waves and cold made it seem nearly unreachable. His limbs were growing number with every stroke, his pace slowing, his lungs gasping for air as he coughed up seawater propelled down his throat by the relentless waves. The gray sky was turning black, but nightfall wasn’t near. He was succumbing to the sea, his consciousness slipping away. He felt the cold water rush over him one last time, as he slipped below the surface, just as his face painfully brushed against a jagged surface and everything went black.
~*~*~
A sharp pain in his jaw brought Starsky back to consciousness. Rising from the floor, he rubbed his hand across the tender spot on his face, cursing himself for being so trusting. He rushed topside and scanned the deck quickly, but saw only his crew. “Huggy!” he called to his friend behind the wheel. “Have you seen Captain Hutchinson?”
“No, sir,” Huggy replied with surprise. “Last I saw of him, he was chained down below. Is there a problem, Cap’n?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” He didn’t want to elaborate, feeling foolish for allowing his prisoner to flee. “Carry on.” He glanced at the sky, its stormy gray beginning to lighten somewhat. “Keep her on course and stay close to shore. Bay City isn’t far. We may get lucky and miss this storm.”
“Sure hope so,” Huggy agreed, dark eyes scanning the sky as well. “If I see Cap’n Hutchinson, I’ll let you know.”
Another stab of pain in his face reminded Starsky of his careless trust in the blond stranger. “Thanks, Huggy,” he replied with a grimace, pain edged in his voice. “Hope he drowns,” he mumbled to himself as he retreated to his quarters.
~*~*~
The sensation of water intermittently rushing over his back slowly nudged Hutchinson awake. His body was numb, arms and legs stiff with cold. Only a warm feeling on the side of his face gave him reassurance that he could still feel. He realized it was blood, trickling in a steady stream down his cheek, no doubt from being battered on the rocks as he swam toward shore. Slowly, his hands closed around the gritty wet sand under him, as he tried to drag himself out of reach of the waves, their long sea-foam fingers trying to pull him back out to sea. The effort was painful, his whole body aching with every inch he moved. His nose bumped something hard, and he attempted to focus on what appeared to be a pair of boots in front of him. Glancing up, he saw the image of a man staring down at him.
“Please, help me,” Hutchinson implored, his voice weak and raspy.
The figure leaned closer, kneeling down next to the injured man. “Who are ya?”
“C-Captain K-Kenneth Hutchinson.”
“Captain, huh?” the man questioned. A greedy smile spread across his face, revealing sparse yellowed teeth. Shoulder-length salt-and-pepper hair was loosely tied behind his head with a tattered ribbon. Even in the overcast skies, the man’s chocolate brown eyes glimmered with a telltale sign of evil. “Did ya fall overboard during the storm?” He scanned the horizon and took note of the ship in the distance.
“N-no. H-held prisoner. Had to escape.” Hutchinson shivered uncontrollably, his body cold and wracked with pain. “C-cold. Please, h-help me,” he implored again, as he tried to lift his head from the sand.
The man ignored his pleas. “If you’re on the run, then they’re goin’ to be lookin’ for ya, ‘specially if you’re a cap’n. Wonder what you’re worth to ’em?”
Hutchinson realized what the man’s motives were and squeezed his eyes shut, regretting what he had revealed. Before he could attempt to escape, his arms were roughly pulled behind his back and tightly bound, his body too weak to fight back.
The man left him long enough to retrieve his horse, just a few yards away. “Yeah, they’ll come lookin’ for ya,” he reiterated confidently, pulling a long length of rope from his pouch and tying one end to the horn of the saddle. “And whens they do, I’ll get me a nice bounty.” Making a loop in the other end of the rope, he put it around Hutchinson’s neck and pulled it taut. “C’mon, you,” he ordered, as he mounted the horse and took up the slack. “Ain’t goin’ far. Wanna be close by for whens they come for ya.”
Hutchinson tried to object, but the rope tightened around his neck, choking off his pleas and his air supply. He was dragged several feet before he gathered enough strength to get to his feet. Exhausted and weak, he didn’t get far before he fell to his knees, struggling to breathe. “Please….”
~*~*~
Starsky’s eyelids fluttered, his consciousness fighting to end the dream. “He can’t breathe. Please don’t hurt him.”
~*~*~
“Get up!” the thug demanded. “Gonna camp right over here.” Mercilessly he nudged his horse forward, dragging Hutchinson by his neck the last few feet to a small grove of trees just beyond the beach. He dismounted and pulled the gasping captain to the closest tree, untying his hands long enough to pull them around the trunk and bind them once more.
Hutchinson made a futile attempt to jerk away, but was forced back against the tree as the rope around his throat was also bound tightly around the trunk. A strangled cry escaped him, the rope digging into his neck, cutting and twisting flesh into the braided strands.
“Now, we’s just wait for ’em to come lookin’ for ya,” he boasted smugly. The smell of cheap whiskey was heavy on the man’s breath. He built a small fire, its heat well out of reach of Hutchinson’s chilled body. Settling on the ground against a tree, he began humming an old Irish tune, while sipping from an amber bottle three-fourths empty.
Hutchinson attempted to speak, but the taut rope around his neck left him mouthing only unspoken words, neither heard nor seen by the drunken ruffian.
The sun peeked out from behind the breaking clouds as it slipped behind the horizon, taking the last of the evening’s heat with it. Wet clothes clinging to Hutchinson’s bruised body felt like a sheet of fine ice draping his numb skin. The warm blood that once flowed from his head was now dry and tight, depriving him of the only warmth he savored. His body shivered uncontrollably, as much as his bindings would allow. He hoped his death would come quickly, the cold claiming him in a peaceful sleep.
~*~*~
Starsky slammed the door of his cabin, angrily pulling a chair from his desk covered with neatly rolled maps. He collapsed into it, propping his elbows on his knees and holding his head in the palms of his hands, awash in emotion. He was glad the unruly, ungracious, uncaring, undeniably handsome captain was gone.
“Damn it!” Starsky cursed aloud, the face of the attractive blond seeping into the corners of his mind. He shoved the maps from the table into a crumpled heap and began pacing the floor. Let him go. He’s more trouble than he’s worth. Nothing special about him. He grasped at the dark curls around his face, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to force the images from his mind, the feel of Hutchinson’s warm body under him, his lips so close. His pace across the small room quickened, beads of sweat forming across his brow as he fought against the feelings for this man intruding his soul. “I can’t deny it,” he shouted aloud, reaching his decision. “I want him back.”
Determination showed on his face when he stormed from the room, back to where Huggy stood behind the wheel of the vessel. “Drop anchor, Huggy, and get the dinghy ready. I’m going ashore to find Captain Hutchinson.”
Huggy didn’t question his captain’s orders. “Not much light left, Cap’n,” he observed, squinting in the evening light.
“I’ve got enough,” Starsky surmised. He examined the cap on his black-powder pistol and holstered it at his side. Hutchinson’s surrendered pistol was also checked and discreetly tucked in the back of his waistband before he hurriedly boarded the dinghy.
The small boat glided smoothly across the waves, the passing of the storm bringing calmer waters. Starsky scoured the coastline in the dimming light, looking for any signs of his escapee. A faint light beckoned from a small group of trees not far down the shoreline. A warm fire would certainly be welcome to someone after a swim in the frigid waters. He paddled in that direction, hopeful his assumption would lead him back to the blond captain.
~*~*~
“Surprised they ain’t come for ya, yet, Cap’n.” The drunken man stood over his captive, bloodshot eyes glaring. “Ain’t got all night,” he growled impatiently. He lifted his wine bottle to his mouth to find only a few drops lingering in the bottom. Shards of glass scattered as he hurled the bottle at a nearby tree. “Damn you! The last of me liquor is gone now! Ya better hope they show up soon.” Kneeling next to Hutchinson, the man held a black-powder pistol to his head. “You wouldn’t be tellin’ me’s a story now, would ya? You know, abouts bein’ a captain and all. ‘Cause I don’t take too well to storytellers.” Slowly, he ran the pistol down the length of Hutchinson’s face, taunting him.
Hutchinson fought to speak, both the cold wracking his body and the rope around his neck making the task nearly impossible. “T-told you the tr-truth. P-please, let me go.” His voice was a forced whisper. Gold eyelashes slowly fluttered closed, his struggle ceasing, consciousness slipping from his grasp again.
The man lifted his pistol, striking his uncooperative prisoner across the face, jolting him back to brief consciousness. Hutchinson cried out in agony, the heels of his boots digging into the sand, body arching in torment before going lax once again.
“Leave him alone!” a stern voice called in the distance.
The man rose unsteadily to his feet, shouting into the darkness. “Who’s there?”
Starsky appeared from the shadows into the light of the campfire, gripping his pistol, his gait confident and unyielding. “Let him go.” He moved closer, trying to keep focused on his adversary, but his eyes were drawn to the battered body tied to the tree. The reflection of the campfire dancing in Starsky’s eyes matched the rage of anger coursing through him. He glowered at the thug who now chuckled amusingly. “I said let him go!” he demanded through clenched teeth.
Ignoring the command, the man bragged, “Yeah, I knew they’d comes for ya, Cap’n.” He kicked at Hutchinson’s leg, trying to wake him, but there was no response. “What’ll ya give me for him?” he asked Starsky greedily, rotted teeth grinning at his opponent.
“How ’bout a ticket outta this place? I’ll take you wherever you wanna go. My ship’s anchored right offshore.” Starsky strolled closer, waiting for his response.
There was silence as the laughter stopped. “That some kind of joke?” the man asked furiously, putting the barrel of the pistol to Hutchinson’s temple. “I don’t want meself a trip around the world. I want money. Now, I said, what’ll ya give me for him?”
Starsky tensed, keeping his eyes focused on the weapon in the man’s hand. He realized there was no way to fire his own pistol without risking Hutchinson’s life, too. Reaching into his pocket, he removed a small drawstring bag. He dumped its contents into the palm of his hand and extended it in offer. “Twenty gold shillings. It’s all I have.”
The man’s eyes twinkled with greed, a lascivious smile spreading across his face. “Throw the money here.” He pointed at the ground in front of his feet. “Along with your weapon.”
“Let him go first.” Starsky was adamant.
“I reckon ya didn’t hear me, bloke,” he hissed, pulling back the hammer of his pistol and pushing it firmly against Hutchinson’s head. “Throw the money and your weapon over here, and I ain’t tellin’ ya again.”
“Okay, just take it easy.” Starsky held his hands up in a gesture of surrender, attempting to calm the agitated man. “Here, take it.” He tossed both his pistol and bag of money at the man’s feet. “Now, let him go.”
Reaching down cautiously, the man retrieved the money and weapon, tucking them in the pocket of his worn jacket. “Fool,” he taunted. “Ya think I’m just gonna let you walk off with ‘im, so you’s can hunt me down and kill me later?”
Starsky stared in sheer horror as the man’s finger tightened around the trigger. It seemed time stood still around him as the hammer of the pistol moved slowly forward. He couldn’t react fast enough, only watch helplessly as the hammer snapped against the firing mechanism.
“NO!” Starsky screamed in desperation, waiting for the explosion of gunfire, the smell of spent black powder permeating the night air, and the eerie silence of death. But there was only the soft click of the weapon and nothing more.
~*~*~
“Dear God, no!” Starsky cried from his restless sleep, his head thrashing from side to side. “Please don’t take him from me.”
~*~*~
The disgruntled man threw his pistol to the ground, furious the weapon had misfired. Glancing in Starsky’s direction, his gaze was met with livid blue eyes. The man’s terror-stricken face changed to an evil grin as the weight of the surrendered pistol in his pocket reassured him he still had the upper hand. He deftly produced the weapon, pulled the hammer back, and pressed it to Hutchinson’s temple. The crack of the explosion echoed through the night, and, through the billow of clearing smoke, the body of the thug could be seen lying outstretched in the sand, bleeding profusely from his chest. The slug from the pistol the man had fired lay embedded in a nearby tree, several feet from its intended victim. Starsky’s arm was still outstretched, his hand gripping Hutchinson’s pistol as he anxiously waited to see if his aim had struck its target. He was not disappointed. A wave of relief flooded through him, almost dropping him to his knees. His heart was racing, his skin beading with sweat, even as a cold wind rustled the leaves of the trees around him.
He ran to Hutchinson and knelt beside him, a reluctant hand reaching toward the bloodied face, hoping his touch would still find warmth. Brushing a stray lock of blond hair from his brow, Starsky whispered, “Hey, it’s okay. It’s over.” A pained grimace assured him Hutchinson was still alive.
Hutchinson’s head lolled slowly to the side, his face contorting in anguish as the rope around his neck dug farther into his skin. “P-please…no m-more…h-hurts…so c-cold.”
“Just hang on.” Starsky moved behind the tree and loosened the ropes, careful to catch Hutchinson in his arms as he toppled sideways. He cradled the captain, briskly rubbing his hands over the length of Hutchinson’s arms, attempting to generate heat into the shivering body. Pained blue eyes awash in uncertainty peered helplessly up at him.
“Please, help m-me.” Hutchinson’s voice was a mere whisper. His eyes grew wide with fear as he scanned the area around them, the sand tinted red with fresh blood. “Sh-shot.”
Starsky’s arms closed gently around him, effortlessly pulling him closer against the warmth of his body. “Take it easy. You weren’t shot.” He cupped Hutchinson’s chin in his hand and turned it toward his face. “Do you understand? You weren’t shot. Just a cut to your face, that’s all. Now, take it easy. I’m gonna get you out of here.”
Hutchinson gave a comprehending nod and relaxed within the security of the embrace.
“Look, I’ll get you back to my ship, but you’re gonna have to help me a little, okay?” Starsky wasn’t sure if he detected a nod in agreement or another shiver. “Just help me get you to the dinghy right over there, and I’ll get us back to my ship, ‘kay?”
“O-okay,” Hutchinson agreed through chattering teeth.
Starsky helped him stand, draping an arm across his shoulder and carefully supporting him around his waist. Hutchinson moaned aloud, but managed to support his own weight long enough to maneuver back to the dinghy. As Starsky paddled the small boat toward the mother ship, he glanced at the resting man whose head was nestled in his lap. He released his hold on the oar long enough to trace a gentle circle with his thumb across Hutchinson’s bruised cheek. “Got you back,” he whispered contentedly. “I’ve got you back for now.”
~*~*~
With Huggy’s help, Starsky managed to get Hutchinson below deck to the room he had escaped from.
“I’ll take it from here, Huggy,” Starsky asserted gratefully, as he helped Hutchinson to the bed. “Can you heat some water, so I can clean the gash on his head?”
“Sure thing, Cap’n.” Huggy acknowledged him with a quick salute and left the room.
Shivering uncontrollably, Hutchinson reached for a blanket on the bed, attempting to pull it up around him.
“Wait a second.” Starsky took the blanket, generating a disgruntled frown from the blond. “First thing we gotta do is get you out of these wet clothes. You’ll never get warm, otherwise.” He nimbly unbuttoned the row of brass buttons along the front of Hutchinson’s shirt, pushing the garment from his shoulders and onto the floor.
“So c-cold,” Hutchinson reiterated, his arms folded stiffly across his now bare chest.
Starsky smiled sympathetically. “Yeah, I know you are.” Carefully lifting each of Hutchinson’s legs, he tugged on the tall leather boots, water spilling onto the floor as they were pulled from his feet. “Anyone ever told ya, you shouldn’t swim with your boots on? I’m surprised you stayed afloat.”
“I’ll remember th-that.” Hutchinson attempted a half-hearted chuckle, wincing in pain from the effort.
Observing the large bruise and gash on Hutchinson’s face, Starsky’s jaw tightened, anger surging through him, the thought of someone hurting this man causing a fierce protectiveness to surface. He continued to undress the shivering captain. “Okay, lay back. Gotta get these pants off.” Carefully, he helped ease Hutchinson onto his back, cradling his head to prevent any more discomfort. His eyes were drawn back to the bruise, its purplish hue prominent against the fair skin. He harbored muddled anger toward Hutchinson, knowing none of this would have happened if he had stayed there…with him. This was not the time to discuss it, though, and he let the matter go. Starsky pulled the wet breeches over Hutchinson’s hips, and as he moved them farther down, drew in a sharp intake of air. This man was beautiful, the mound of course blond curls nestled around the base of his-
Starsky abruptly looked away, his gaze returning to Hutchinson’s face. His attempt to stay focused on the handsome facial features proved a challenge, as he slipped the pants over the rest of Hutchinson’s legs before tossing them on the floor in a sodden heap with the shirt. He draped the blanket over the bright pink skin, covering Hutchinson up to his chest, relieved the enticing view was no longer taunting him.
“Okay, now let’s take a look at your face.” With utmost care, Starsky examined the injury. Hutchinson flinched as he touched a particularly tender spot. “Sorry,” he apologized, momentarily pulling his hand away. “Didn’t mean to hurt you.” The examination continued amidst a few moans and groans from his patient, before he surmised with guarded optimism, “I think you’ll be sore for a few days and have a pounding headache for a while, but you should be good as new in a week or so.” He pulled the blanket up to cover the rest of Hutchinson’s body, taking extra time to tuck the corners under his shoulders. “All done. I’m gonna get some water so I can get that gash cleaned up. You just take it easy, okay?”
Hutchinson nodded, settling with contentment against the soft mattress and the blanket covering him.
Starsky started for the door before stopping in mid-stride, a thought seizing him, and he turned back toward the bed. He retrieved the chain from the floor and, pulling the blanket back from Hutchinson’s leg, securely fastened it around his ankle. The blanket was once again tucked around Hutchinson’s leg, while Starsky made a quick check to ensure the man’s entire body was fully wrapped in warmth.
Hutchinson watched him intently, a flash of ire lighting his eyes. “That’s not necessary,” he stated sharply from his makeshift cocoon.
Starsky smiled wisely, briefly rubbing his hand across his still tender jaw. “Just protecting my investment.” He felt the intensity of Hutchinson’s stare bore through him as he sauntered from the room.
~*~*~
Returning with a bowl of warm water and a soft cloth, Starsky found Hutchinson still shivering profusely under the covers, the blanket’s warmth inadequate in the room chilled by the damp ocean air.
Starsky sat on the corner of the bed and began tending to the head wound. “Might sting a little,” he warned, pressing the warm cloth to the gash.
“Mmmmm,” Hutchinson uttered with acceptance. He turned his head to the side, allowing Starsky better access to his injury. “Feels g-goo¾” His words were cut short, replaced with a sharp cry of pain as his whole body shook again. “Can’t get w-warm.”
“Take it easy,” Starsky comforted. “It’s gonna take you a while to warm up.” He continued to dab at the gash, wiping away the dried blood and salt water, grateful to see the wounds appeared only superficial. Glancing briefly away in thought, he looked back at Hutchinson, his stern gaze demanding answers. “Why’d you hit me like that and run? I mean, was it so bad here that you had to escape? I told you I’d let you go as soon as I got the money. You could’ve frozen to death out there.” He didn’t wait for an answer, tipping Hutchinson’s chin up and tending to the rope burns around his neck. “Or that drunken bum could’ve shot you…right in front of me…and there wasn’t anything I could’ve done about it….” his voice trailed off, his throat tightening with emotion. “Why did you want to leave so badly?” he asked again, this time wanting an answer. “I trusted you.”
“I wanted my f-freedom, that’s all. I saw my chance and I t-took it,” Hutchinson replied truthfully, sighing with regret. His eyes shamefully trailed to Starsky’s face. “Does it hurt much?”
Starsky raised a hand to his red swollen cheek. “Nah, I’ve had worse.”
“S-sorry I hit you so hard. Didn’t mean t-to hurt you.” Hutchinson winced again, gritting his teeth against the pain, but continued his apology. “Th-thank you for saving m-me. I would have died if it hadn’t been f-for you.”
“Yeah, well that’s okay,” Starsky replied modestly, the corner of his mouth rising in a slight smile. “Figured you didn’t deserve to die like that, even after blindsiding me.” His reply wasn’t fully comprehended, Hutchinson yielding to the exhaustion of his ordeal, eyes drifting closed. “‘S okay, you rest, now.” Starsky patted his shoulder lightly, reassuring the sleeping man he was safe.
Concern was mounting in Starsky, as he watched Hutchinson fight the cold seizing his body. Even in sleep, the man shook continually. “He needs more heat,” he ascertained in a hushed whisper to himself. “Only one way to warm him up.” He stripped out of his clothes and quietly slipped under the blanket, moving close to Hutchinson’s shivering naked body. He found the sensation comforting, almost pleasurable, even though there was nothing sexual involved. Turning toward Hutchinson, Starsky propped his head on his hand and watched the man intently. He had a surreal beauty about him, almost angelic, one he couldn’t deny being attracted to. Starsky draped his leg across Hutchinson’s lean thighs, intending to add a human blanket of warmth. Slowly, he moved his leg up and down, generating friction between their skin, hoping to add needed warmth. With every gentle stroke, his knee gingerly brushed against Hutchinson’s flaccid cock.
Hutchinson moaned lightly in his sleep and moved instinctively toward the pleasurable feeling and source of heat warming him. Suddenly, his eyes darted open and he found himself staring into the roving eyes of Captain Starsky as he quietly studied him. “What are you doing?” he asked with alarm. His hands tore at the blankets covering him, as he weakly fought to move away from the man whose nude body was partially draped across his.
Starsky effortlessly grabbed Hutchinson’s hands, holding them firmly yet gently in his grip. “Take it easy, I’m just warming you up,” he replied honestly to the writhing captain, intensifying the heat between their bodies. “Looks like it’s workin’, too. You’re not shivering anymore.”
Hutchinson’s eyes darted over the length of his body in silent observation, then he relaxed within Starsky’s hold. “Oh, yeah, I guess it is,” he agreed with slight hesitation.
Starsky hovered only inches above Hutchinson’s face, while reveling in the feel of this man’s body against his own. His knee brushed against the soft cock once more, and he was surprised by the look of disappointment on Hutchinson’s face as he moved away.
Hutchinson didn’t move in response to the seductive touch. He turned his head slightly toward Starsky, his tongue darting across dry lips, moistening them to a pinkish sheen. “How can I ever thank you for saving me?” he asked innocently, the question accompanied by an evocative smile and a slight shift of his naked body against Starsky’s.
The corner of Starsky’s mouth turned upward in a childish grin, his eyes twinkling with wonderment as if he’d been given a present he had longed for all his life. Releasing Hutchinson’s wrists, he leaned closer, ever so slowly, giving the blond every chance to flee or turn away, but he remained still…waiting. Their lips touched briefly, the tentative kiss they shared gentle and reserved. Starsky pulled back, watching for Hutchinson’s reaction, hoping to find acceptance. Pools of misty blue stared at him, smiling their approval. Tracing a finger along Hutchinson’s strong jaw line, Starsky leaned forward again, planting another brief kiss, still testing the waters of this unexplored territory before following it with a longer one. Their tongues slipped across smooth rose-colored boundaries, beckoning the other with a warm haven of unfamiliar tastes and desires.
Pulling the blanket away from his shoulders, Hutchinson took a deep breath, his slender fingers reaching up to entrap dark curls, pulling Starsky closer, forcing their kiss to deepen as their inhibitions faltered.
Starsky’s fingertips explored Hutchinson’s smooth chest, venturing to a nipple where his thumb gently encircled the tiny bud, teasing it to a taut peak. Feeling Hutchinson’s mouth tense against his, he immediately retreated, his hand moving away, fearing he had ventured too far. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” he offered apologetically, though his words were not entirely truthful.
“Don’t be,” Hutchinson replied, his finger blazing a path through the hair on Starsky’s chest and belly.
Starsky’s body trembled at the sensual touch, goosebumps spreading across his skin like a rampant wildfire, the heat spreading through him, reaffirming the intensity of the flames. He captured Hutchinson’s mouth in his once again, nipping at his top lip, then the bottom before stopping to catch his breath.
“Do you always seduce your prisoners like this?” Hutchinson questioned rhetorically, tenderly brushing the back of his hand against Starsky’s cheek.
Starsky planted a small kiss on his forehead, the tip of his nose then trailing the bridge of Hutchinson’s before landing in another kiss on moistened lips. “No, no, you’re my…my first.”
“Your first, huh?” Hutchinson reiterated with a contented arch of his eyebrows.
Starsky replied to the question with a series of kisses trailing along the fair-skinned neck, the last ending in a gentle nip at Hutchinson’s earlobe. “You always let your captors seduce you?” he questioned in a tender whisper at Hutchinson’s ear.
“No, you’re my first, too,” Hutchinson assured him with conviction, a return nip at Starsky’s ear accompanying his confession.
They shared a smile, a mutual understanding, without any further words being spoken.
As their lips met once more, Hutchinson shifted his body, turning to be closer to the man lying next to him. The chain around his ankle raked across the footboard of the bed, severing the tenderness of the moment. With an agitated roll of his eyes, Hutchinson frowned with obvious irritation. “Take this chain off,” he whispered, the words more of a plea than a demand.
“Why? So, you can slug me and escape again?” Starsky asked, his thoughts returning to Hutchinson’s previous betrayal. “Not a chance.”
“That’s not exactly what I had in mind,” Hutchinson replied suggestively, his lips curving in a wry grin. He attempted to turn on his side, bringing their hips closer together, but his bruised cheek painfully brushed the pillow, causing him to quickly rebel against his movements. He winced in pain, a sharp cry escaping him.
Starsky eased him back against the mattress. “Take it easy. You’re not ready for the high seas yet.”
With a sigh of regret, Hutchinson nodded. “Yeah, I don’t guess I am.”
Starsky slipped from the bed and into his breeches, pleased that Hutchinson watched him with obvious approval, curious eyes scanning him from head to toe. “I’m gonna get you some warm soup and hot tea. You haven’t eaten for quite a while. You’ll get weaker if you don’t eat.”
Hutchinson rubbed a hand across his stomach. “Soup sounds good,” he decided gratefully.
“Good, I’ll be back in a minute.” Starsky was pleased that his offer was accepted. With an amorous pat to Hutchinson’s leg, he left the room.
Hutchinson pulled the blanket back up around his shoulders, the lack of Starsky’s warmth immediately evident to his cooling skin. The image of the man who had stood before him was etched in his mind, tanned skin rippled with toned muscles, softened by the dark fur that spread like a silken web across his chest and belly. He had watched the strong body disappear behind the tight-fitting breeches and bloused shirt, lending a hint of mystery to the dark-haired man and hiding the delectable secrets that lie underneath. As he hunkered down under the warmth of the blanket, he contemplated his predicament, one he no longer found completely undesirable.
~*~*~
As the door closed quietly behind him, an indescribable feeling flowed through Starsky, his mind crowding with salacious thoughts of the handsome blond captain. The kiss had come easily to him, like it was something he had done a thousand times before. What else would come this easily? He whistled a light tune, his hips playfully swaying to the beat as he sauntered toward the galley, hoping he wouldn’t have to wait long for the answer.
~*~*~
Hutchinson gratefully sipped the hot tea and attempted a few spoonfuls of soup, but he abandoned the effort and slumped against the pillow, exhausted, slowly losing his battle to stay awake.
The intimate kisses they had shared were not discussed and Starsky didn’t force the issue, sympathetic to the weary captain, hoping there would be time for more discussion later. Settling in a chair next to the bed, he watched Hutchinson drift off into a peaceful slumber, the pain etched in the fair features easing from the bruised face. The supple lips once tinged with blue from the cold were now a kiss-deepened rose color, a pleasant reminder of their taste and feel against his own. Leaning back in the chair, Starsky smiled with contentment, as that moment played back in his mind. A warmth flooded his veins, his heart brimming with…with what? Love? He rubbed his hand down the length of his face, pausing to cup his palm over the smile that was sneaking across his face, welcoming the idea.
Hutchinson shifted on the bed, causing the chain to rattle against the footboard, the noise wrenching Starsky from his daydream. He stared at the heavy chain, a disturbing thought suddenly settling like a sickness in the pit of his stomach. What really was keeping Hutchinson there? His gaze followed the length of the chain from the wall to Hutchinson’s ankle, the answer hitting him with undeniable clarity. He had removed the chain once and the man had run, risking life and limb to escape him. Hutchinson had asked him to remove the chain again during a vulnerable moment. Were the kisses they shared merely a ploy for him to escape once more? Starsky stood from the chair and turned away from the bed, trying to push the suggestion from his mind, while another thought plagued him. He was due to collect the ransom the next day and had promised the captain his freedom. Either way, he would lose him. Turning back toward the bed, he stared at the chain again, a solution presenting itself. He didn’t have to let him go. There was no pirate’s creed that said he had to uphold his end of the bargain. He immediately dismissed the thought. The idea of holding Hutchinson against his will, a prisoner to his own desires, could only lead to resentment and give him further reason to escape. He couldn’t force the man to love him back. With a heavy heart, Starsky came to the realization that he had to let him go. Taking the key from his pocket, he removed the chain from his prisoner’s ankle, careful not to wake him, and silently stepped from the room.
~*~*~
Light even breathing assured Starsky that Hutchinson was still resting comfortably even as the noon hour approached. He quietly draped the blond captain’s clean and dry clothing over the back of the chair, careful to arrange them neatly to prevent them from wrinkling. The time was nearing to collect the ransom and set him free. Taking a deep breath, Starsky leaned over and stole one last kiss from this man he had grown to love, before quietly slipping from the room.
~*~*~
“Have to let you go,” Starsky muttered, lost in the throes of his dream, his face contorting in anguish. “Can’t make you stay.”
~*~*~
A light rap on the door went unanswered. Starsky peeked inside, expecting to find Hutchinson gone, having taken advantage of being set free from the chain that had held him. Instead, he found him still asleep, a testament to the ordeal he had been through the previous day. He crossed the room and once again sat in the chair next to the bed, watching this vision before him that would soon disappear from his life. Leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees, he inadvertently allowed his sword to rake against the wooden floor, breaking the silence in the room.
Hutchinson stirred, the noise waking him from his slumber. As his eyes fluttered open, he scanned the room, his blurry gaze settling on the figure before him. “Hi,” he mumbled in a sleepy tone.
“Hi, yourself,” Starsky replied evenly. “How ya feelin’?”
Hutchinson touched his hand to his head, slightly wincing as he brushed across the healing gash on his face. “Like my head’s been stuck in a cannon during a battle at sea.” His face twisted in a pained grimace again, before he added, “I think I lost.”
Starsky smiled sympathetically. “Why don’t you try and sit up for a while? You’ve been asleep a long time.”
“Is it morning already?” Hutchinson asked with surprise, holding a hand to his forehead as he tried to sit up.
“More like afternoon,” Starsky corrected.
“Really? I guess I was a little tired.” He stifled a yawn while rubbing at his drowsy eyes.
“Yeah.” Starsky’s voice was tinged with sadness. “Look, I, uh, brought your clothes. Your boots may still be a little wet, though. Didn’t figure you could leave here sporting nothin’ but your birthday suit.”
Hutchinson’s eyebrows arched with surprise. It was then he realized the chain was no longer around his ankle. “The chain, you took it off,” he observed jubilantly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and sitting the rest of the way up, testing his freedom, the blanket still draped across his lap.
“I told you I’d keep my promise,” Starsky uttered flatly. He stood from the chair and walked to the other side of the room, his back to Hutchinson.
“What do you mean?” Hutchinson’s eyes widened in heightened anticipation of his impending freedom.
“The ransom-I collected it a few hours ago. You’re free to go. Your father agreed not to follow me as long as I set you free within the hour. One of my men will take you to shore. He’s waiting for you there.”
“You mean, I can leave?” Hutchinson asked, his enthusiasm evident as he ardently stood from the bed and reached for his clothes.
“I said I’d let you go, didn’t I?” Starsky snapped, angered and hurt by the zealous response. He heard the rustling of clothes behind him.
“Yes, you did,” Hutchinson agreed apologetically. He stiffly pulled on his breeches and retrieved his shirt from the chair. “I didn’t mean to sound like I doubted you.”
“Couldn’t blame you if you did,” Starsky was quick to reply, turning back to face Hutchinson. “You know, with my reputation for being such a monster.”
“You’re not so bad,” Hutchinson assured with a modest smile and a twinkle in his eyes. He slipped his shirt over his shoulders and fastened the buttons. “Thank you for letting me go,” he offered gratefully as he reached for his boots next to the bed.
“Don’t mention it.” Starsky watched the long slender legs slide into the boots, unable to turn his gaze away.
“Well, I guess I’ll be going,” Hutchinson announced with hesitation. His gaze dropped to the floor before returning to meet the riveting stare of the handsome swashbuckler. “Look, I know I owe you a lot. I owe you my life, and I don’t know how I can ever thank you for that. I hope things go well for you.”
“Thanks.” It was the only word Starsky could muster, his expression remaining stern, determined not to show the pain he was feeling.
Hutchinson stepped toward the door, passing Starsky before he abruptly turned back to him. “About last night…when we kissed.”
Starsky felt his heart jump into his throat. “What about it?” he asked anxiously.
“I just want you to know…that was…nice.” He raised his hand to Starsky’s face in a tender caress across his still swollen cheek. “I want you to know that.”
“Nice…yeah,” Starsky replied sarcastically, hastily stepping away from Hutchinson’s touch.
Hutchinson’s hand fell to his side. Taking a deep breath, he attempted an explanation. “Look, there’s this girl waiting for me. She’s really nice and I-”
“I said you could go, okay?” Starsky interrupted in fury. “I got what I wanted-one-hundred gold shillings.” His voice faltered, the lie spilling from his lips. “You’re free. Now get outta here before I change my mind and demand a hundred more!”
Hutchinson visibly flinched at Starsky’s callous remark. “I’m glad you got your money,” he retorted, eyes flashing with anger.
The door slammed shut in Starsky’s face as Hutchinson stormed from the room and out of his life.
~*~*~
As the dinghy approached the shoreline, Hutchinson reflected on the previous day and night. He was troubled by feelings that tugged relentlessly at his heart. There was anger and hurt, and then, there was…no, that was a ludicrous thought he convinced himself, even as he glanced over his shoulder at the ship behind him, hoping to get one last glimpse of the dark-haired stranger who had entered his life. A pang of disappointment drifted over him as he saw only the crewmen tending to the ship. What did he expect? Starsky to come swimming after him? He had been used only as a bartering tool for money, nothing more. The stinging words Starsky had said to him were still fresh in his mind. The pirate got his money. It’s all he wanted. With a resounding sigh, Hutchinson stepped from the boat onto the dock, saying nothing to the man who had brought him there.
He scanned the small waterfront in search of his father, certain he would find him there. He’d be waiting to give his son a lecture about how much he had cost him, how sick with worry his mother had been, and how, if he had stayed and worked in the family business, none of this would have happened. But the area was empty except for an old fisherman tending to his net.
“You couldn’t even wait for me, could you, Father?” Hutchinson mumbled with disgust under his breath.
Time is money, Kenneth.
“Lookin’ for someone?” a voice asked from behind him.
Hutchinson turned to see the gray-haired fisherman grin toothlessly at him as he repaired a net strung across the end of a small boat.
“My father,” he replied, quietly. “I guess he had to get back to work.”
“Who might that be?” the fisherman asked, eyebrows arching with interest.
“Richard, Richard Hutchinson. Do you know him?”
“Who doesn’t?” the man answered with a shrug. “Yeah, he was here a few hours ago, actually. Carrying a big satchel. Paced around here on the dock for a while, kinda nervous like, before spouting something about he couldn’t believe someone didn’t come for the money, and something about he’s probably dead and he shoulda listened to him. Don’t have a clue who he was talking about, but he sure left in a hurry.”
“You mean, no one ever met him here? A man with dark curly hair?” Hutchinson asked with alarm. “No one came for the satchel? You’re sure?”
“Nope, been here all day, too.” He motioned to the net he was mending. “Damn net has a hole in it. Lost my entire catch.”
Hutchinson didn’t hear him, his gaze turning back to the ship on the horizon. His mind reeled with confusion, the pounding of his heart echoing in his ears. “Mister, can you get me out to that ship?” he asked hurriedly, pointing to the distant vessel.
“Gonna cost ya,” the old fisherman squawked.
Hutchinson’s heart sank. “I don’t have any money.”
“Guess you don’t have a ride, then.” The old man turned his attention back to his net.
“Please, I’m desperate,” Hutchinson begged, his eyes imploring for help.
The man glanced up, surveying Hutchinson from head to toe. “Well, maybe we can work somethin’ out.”
~*~*~
As the small boat skimmed across the water, Hutchinson wiggled his bare toes against the damp wooden floor, frowning at the man proudly admiring the boots he now wore, even if they were three sizes too big.
The ocean was smooth and the current was in their favor, allowing for a hasty ride to the ship. Huggy spotted the small vessel and, recognizing the blond captain, allowed him to come aboard. He didn’t question Hutchinson’s return, instead pointing him in the direction of Captain Starsky’s quarters.
Hutchinson knocked lightly, waiting anxiously for the door to open.
“Go away,” a gruff voice called from inside.
Hutchinson knocked again with determination.
“I said go away!” The voice was louder, angrier.
Another knock was met with an abrupt opening of the door. “Didn’t you hear me? I said go-” Starsky stopped in mid-sentence, at a loss for words as he stared into the face of what he was sure was an apparition. He blinked repeatedly, expecting the image to disappear.
“I need to talk to you,” Hutchinson declared sheepishly.
Starsky continued to stare at him, gaze fixed, his mouth gaping open. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he forced himself to speak, his voice a mere whisper. “About what?” he asked, stepping aside from the doorway, allowing Hutchinson to enter before closing the door behind them.
“I have to know something.” Hutchinson crossed his arms across his chest in an unyielding stance. “The ransom money-you never collected it.”
Starsky looked away, avoiding eye contact as the truth came to light. “Yeah, I figured you’d find that out sooner or later.” He turned his back to Hutchinson, attempting to escape the tension building between them.
“But why? Why did you lie? Why did you let me go without collecting the ransom?” Hutchinson pressed him for answers, the questions flowing one after the other. He raised his hand to Starsky’s shoulder, gripping it gently. “My father was waiting with the money, why didn’t you come for it?”
Starsky’s heart was pounding, his chest heaving with every breath. Sweat was rolling down the side of his face. He whirled around, spouting words that revealed the feelings he had tried so hard to bury. “I didn’t want the money, okay?” His gaze dropped to the floor, his words barely audible. “I didn’t want the money. I-I wanted you.”
“What?” Hutchinson raked his hand across his face in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted to, I did. But you were so happy that I was letting you go, you practically ran out of here.”
Hutchinson paused in contemplation. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” He stepped forward, his hands reaching to caress the soft curls at the nape of Starsky’s neck, gently nudging him closer. “I love you, Captain David Starsky,” he revealed.
“Oh, God, Hutch.” Starsky couldn’t contain his emotions any longer. He grasped handfuls of hair within his fingers, pulling Hutchinson against him, their mouths forced together as each one embraced the other tighter. Their tongues encircled, dipping to explore every crevice and taste, the duel evenly matched as the kiss deepened, lips gently nipped and sucked until the lack of oxygen drove them apart.
“Don’t you see?” Starsky explained through heavy breaths. “I love you. That’s why I had to let you go. I didn’t want to force you to stay with me, keep you chained forever, knowing you wanted to escape from me.”
“You didn’t force me to come back, and you’re not forcing me to stay here now,” Hutchinson responded, a familiar smile spreading across his lips. “I love you, Starsk. I always have and I always will. Why can’t you believe that?”
Before Starsky could respond, the image of the handsome captain began to fade. He desperately reached out, trying to grab him, but the face disappeared, leaving his empty hand cupped in mid-air. “No, please don’t leave me!” he called out, but Hutch was gone. Starsky looked down in despair, knowing he had lost him forever.
~*~*~
Suddenly, warmth filled his hand, and Starsky looked up into the eyes of the man he loved. “You came back,” he mumbled in disbelief. The rays of the morning sun streamed through the living room window, framing Hutch’s hair like a halo.
Hutch pressed a kiss into the palm of Starsky’s hand. “Came back?” he asked in surprise. “I never left.” Dressed in a fresh change of clothes, he sipped a cup of black coffee, the scent of the hot brew filling the small living room of Starsky’s apartment.
Starsky sat up on the couch, a cold sweat breaking out across his body. “But, I saw you disa─ I mean…I thought you were gone.” He trembled, the dream still fresh in his mind.
“Hey, you okay?” Hutch asked with concern as he sat down on the couch. His hand was moving in calming circles across Starsky’s back. “I thought I heard you call out to me when I got out of the shower. You were dreaming.”
Still trying to catch his breath, Starsky replied shakily, “Yeah…yeah, I guess I was. I’m all right now.” He didn’t sound convincing.
“You sure?” Hutch asked apprehensively. “Wanna talk about it?”
“No, it was nothing, really,” Starsky was quick to answer. “Guess I watch too many late, late movies.” Wanting to change the subject, he added, “Hey, how’re you feeling?” He studied the large bruise surrounding the stitches on Hutch’s face. “Head still hurt?”
“Not much,” he replied, lightly touching his bruised cheek. “I feel a lot better. I’d feel even better after a bite to eat. Since Dobey let us have the day off, I thought maybe I could whip us up some breakfast. You’ve got to be hungry.” He affectionately patted Starsky’s belly. “How about one of my famous omelets? I promise I won’t put anything from the health food store in it. Sound good?”
Starsky grimaced, food the last thing on his mind. “Maybe later. I’m just not hungry right now.”
Hutch eyed his friend suspiciously. “You’re not okay. Since when do you turn down breakfast?”
Ignoring the question, Starsky abruptly stood up. “Hutch, look, we gotta talk, okay?” The dream had served as a wake-up call, leaving him unable to control his emotions any longer. He had to say what was on his mind.
Hutch leaned back on the couch and prepared to listen. “Sure, babe. What do you want to talk about?”
Starsky took a deep breath. There was no easy way to say it. He wasn’t sure why Hutch had stayed with him so long, not if he loved someone else. Was it pity? Their job? Their friendship? The sex? Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. He knew the time would come when Hutch would tell him the truth, but he couldn’t go along with the charade until then. A part of him wanted to be this fierce fighter, determined at any cost to never let Hutch go, but it wouldn’t be right. He wouldn’t be any better than the man who had held Hutch hostage against his will, keeping a gun to his head; no better than the pirate holding him for ransom, keeping him chained to the wall. If Hutch didn’t want to be with him, there was nothing he could do about it. The love he felt for this man was immeasurable, but what if the love wasn’t reciprocated? There was only one thing left to do-let him go, just like in his dream. It would be less painful than Hutch leaving him. He wouldn’t have to hear the words I don’t love you anymore. He wasn’t sure he could bear that. Looking deep into the blue eyes before him, Starsky swallowed hard. “I wanna talk about us.”
“Okay.” Hutch shifted uneasily. “What about us?”
“I’ve been thinking a lot lately about our relationship, and I just don’t know where it’s heading.” Starsky made a conscious effort to speak calmly. Hutch knew him too well. Any hesitation on his part would immediately be picked up on by his adept partner.
“What do you mean?” Alarm was evident in Hutch’s voice as he leaned forward and set his coffee down, hands nervously brushing across the tops of his thighs.
“Things just aren’t the same anymore. Like they were when we first started sleeping together, you know?” Starsky asked almost nonchalantly, like he was making casual conversation.
Hutch slowly shook his head in denial. “No. No, I don’t know, Starsk. What are you trying to say?”
“What I’m trying to say is maybe we should give each other some space, see other people. We’re together day and night, and I thought a little time apart would do us some good. I think we may have rushed into this a little too fast. I mean, we’ve only been lovers for three months. Maybe we made a mistake.”
“No, it wasn’t a mistake,” Hutch stated with conviction. “I thought everything was fine between us.”
Starsky tried to sound convincing, even as he felt his own heart breaking. “Last night made me open my eyes, realize that life is too short not to live it to the fullest. It’s not fair to you or me.” He watched Hutch closely, expecting to see his face awash in relief, knowing he wouldn’t have to be the one to break things off. But the reaction was not what he’d expected. Hutch’s face turned ashen, his lips struggling to form words that weren’t there. Silence filled the room. “Hutch?” he asked, trying to initiate a response.
Hutch’s voice quivered. “I-I don’t understand. Last night you were afraid of losing me. Now you’re telling me to get out of your life? But, but why?”
“I was afraid of losing you, of you dying, but this is different. I’m talking about commitment. I still want you in my life, but not as my lover,” he lied. “I’m sorry, Hutch. I think it’s for the best.”
“Just like that? It’s over?” Hutch asked incredulously, tossing his hands up in a helpless gesture.
“Hutch, we’re still best friends, and we do have to work together.” The words seemed almost ludicrous after what they had shared, but Starsky said them anyway, hoping he wouldn’t lose Hutch entirely¾not yet. He would still see him at work until he moved to Duluth.
“Friends, yeah, sure.” Hutch dragged his hand through his hair and took a deep breath. He stood up, never directly looking at Starsky, and forced a smile. “Well, I guess I’ll be going then.” Grabbing his jacket, he walked briskly toward the door.
Starsky took several steps toward Hutch, then stopped, realizing he couldn’t go after him. “You okay to drive?” was all he could think of to say. “I can give you a lift if you like.”
“No, I’m fine,” Hutch called back without turning around, the door closing behind him.
It took every ounce of strength Starsky had to watch him leave, even though he knew he had made the right decision. Hutch was free to love whomever he pleased now, to go back home and start a new life…without him.
~*~*~
Hutch lay on his back in bed, eyes senselessly skimming the pattern of the textured ceiling in his apartment. He couldn’t cry, nor could he curse his partner aloud in anger. There was no bitterness, not even sadness. He felt dead inside, just as surely as if that bullet had taken his life. His soul was gone, leaving nothing but a hollow shell. The shadows in the room grew longer as morning turned into afternoon, but Hutch remained entranced in his pain. Even the intermittent ringing of the phone didn’t initiate any reaction. He continued staring at the ceiling, the repetitive pattern now blurred before his tired eyes. The phone rang again, the intrusive noise reverberating in the quiet apartment. Rolling over on his side, he pulled a pillow over his head, gritting his teeth as the first sob attempted to escape him. He was determined not to cry but slowly lost the battle. A tear slid across his bruised cheek, followed closely by another, then another, until they flowed like an uninhibited stream, landing in soft plops on the pillow. The tears were soon replaced by anger as Hutch rehashed Starsky’s words in his mind, making the love they had shared seem like a spigot that could be readily be turned on and off to suit his partner’s needs, while having little regard for the impact it would have on him. Abruptly pushing himself up on the bed, Hutch wiped at his tear-stained cheeks as he listened to the phone clamor once again. He waited for the ringing to subside before grabbing the phone from the cradle and hastily dialing a number.
~*~*~
Starsky quietly hung up the phone for what seemed like the umpteenth time. Still no answer. Probably celebrating with Tonya. He was supposed to see her today, so why would he be home? A sickness grew in the pit of his stomach at the thought of Hutch spending time with her¾a quiet afternoon together, planning their future. Wanna make sure he’s okay, that’s all. Just because we aren’t lovers anymore, doesn’t mean I can’t still care about him. He’s still my partner. He tried Hutch’s number one more time, but to no avail. Nervously pacing the floor, he pondered the thought of going over there. It had only been a few hours since he’d last seen Hutch, and already he was nearly climbing the walls. He picked up a photograph of the two of them from a small shelf on the wall and lightly brushed his hand across the surface of the glass, a slight smile spreading across his face as he recalled their happier times. Both were smiling broadly, arms wrapped lovingly around the other’s shoulder. It was taken the same day they had made love for the first time, and Starsky had proudly displayed it as a quiet memento of that special moment.
“Oh, God, Hutch,” he uttered aloud to the blond smiling back at him from the picture. “How am I ever gonna make it without you? Tell me how.”
The ringing of the phone interrupted his thoughts, nearly causing him to drop the picture as he raced to answer it, desperately hoping it was Hutch.
“Hutch?” he called anxiously into the receiver.
“No, Dobey,” responded a gruff voice.
“Oh. Hi, Cap’n.” The disappointment in Starsky’s voice was evident.
“What’s gotten into that partner of yours?” he barked angrily.
“What do you mean?” Starsky was alarmed by the tone of his captain’s voice. “Is something wrong?”
“Hell, yes, something’s wrong. He just called me to say he’s turning in his resignation, no notice, no explanation, nothing. He said he’ll be in later to sign the papers and turn in his gun and badge. Do you know something about this?”
Anger seized Starsky. Couldn’t wait to get out of here, could you, Hutch? Couldn’t even work two more weeks with me or give your captain the benefit of a notice, could ya? He couldn’t let it go that easily. Hutch owed him more than that after what they’d been through together. He feigned partial ignorance to his captain, not up to a detailed explanation of Hutch’s betrayal. “We had an argument, Cap’n, but I had no idea he was planning this. I’m heading over there, and I’ll find out what’s going on. I’ll get back to you, okay?”
“Well, make sure you do. You tell Hutchinson he’d better have a damn good explanation for walking out on his job and me like that.”
“Oh, I’ll tell him,” Starsky replied vilely. “He’s walking out on me, too.” Hanging up the phone, he stormed from the apartment.
~*~*~
Hutch flung a large suitcase onto the bed and haphazardly began tossing a careless assortment of clothing into it, not bothering to fold anything. He didn’t let a brisk rap at the door interrupt him as he continued packing.
“Hutch?” Starsky called out sharply. “I know you’re in there and I wanna talk to you.”
“I’m busy,” Hutch answered brusquely with a callous glance toward the door.
“Well, I’m not leavin’ until you open this door and explain a few things to me, so you might as well let me in.” Starsky waited impatiently for a reply, hands perched on hips, but there was only silence. “I’ll use my key if I have to,” he added, sternly. His posture straightened as he heard the sound of footsteps shuffling toward the doorway.
The door opened abruptly, Hutch not uttering a word as he turned and immediately resumed packing. His hands moved with a noticeable tremor as he pulled an assortment of shirts from their hangers in the closet.
With a firm gait, Starsky followed him into the bedroom, determined to get some answers. “Dobey called me.”
“Yeah, so?” Hutch never looked up as he continued his trek from the closet to the suitcase.
“So, he told me you were quitting the force.” Starsky’s gaze followed Hutch across the room, his nostrils flaring in anger.
“That’s right,” Hutch answered in an even tone.
The casualness of Hutch’s answer both hurt and angered Starsky further. “Just like that? You’re leaving?”
Hutch darted a harsh glare at his partner then quickly looked away. “Yeah, just like that,” he snapped sarcastically.
Just as Hutch turned to go back to the closet, Starsky grabbed his arm, stopping him in mid-stride. It was only then that he was able to closely observe Hutch’s face, eyes red and swollen. His anger softened as he realized Hutch had been crying. “Hutch, what’s going on? How could you just leave me like this without even saying good-bye? I thought I meant more to you than that.”
Blue eyes flickered with rage and resentment. Hutch jerked his arm from Starsky’s grasp and stepped away from his reach. “What do you expect me to do, huh? You tell me it’s over, we should see other people, yet we should just go on being partners like none of this ever happened. You might be able to turn your feelings off like that, but I can’t!”
Starsky was stunned that Hutch was trying to make him look like the bad guy, when it was he who was being so deceitful. “Now, wait a minute! What makes you think I’m the one turning off my feelings? How dare you try to turn the tables on me and make me look like I’m the one at fault.”
“And you’re not?” Hutch gritted his teeth in ire. “I seem to recall you being the one who wanted to cool things off and see other people.”
“After what you’ve done? Hell, yes, I wanna break things off.”
Hutch shook his head in bewilderment and angrily threw a pair of shoes into his suitcase. “And what exactly have I done, Starsky? What have I done that’s so bad you don’t want to stay in this relationship?”
“Oh, come off it, Hutch! Game’s over.” Starsky threw his hands up in disgust. “You owe it to me to come clean before you walk out on me. Give me that much!”
A knock on the door interrupted their heated discussion before Hutch could answer. He hurried to the door and briskly swung it open.
“Hi, Kenny!” Tonya greeted with a cheerleader grin. An alarmed look immediately replaced her broad smile. “My, God, those stitches! What happened to your face? Are you okay?”
“Just a little work mishap,” Hutch explained modestly. “I’m fine.”
Starsky recognized the high-pitched voice and sighed wistfully. “Terrific,” he mumbled to himself. “Perfect timing.” He made his presence known as he strolled into the living room, and was shocked to find Tonya standing there with another man, his arm wrapped affectionately around her slender waist.
“Oh, hi, Dave,” she announced with a welcoming flip of her hand.
Tonya’s eyes traveled from Hutch to Starsky and back to Hutch. The room was thick with tension. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is this a bad time?”
Hutch retrieved a piece of paper from the coffee table and pressed it into her hands. “No, it’s okay,” he replied softly. “These are the directions and phone number for the apartment. I hope it’s everything you two are looking for.”
“Thank you, Kenny,” Tonya acknowledged with sincerity, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “You don’t know how much Adam and I appreciate you doing this for us.”
Adam offered his hand to Hutch. “Yes, Ken, it was very generous of you to do all this. I’m looking forward to the opportunity to work with your father, and I’m sure the apartment will be just fine.” Adam leaned over and placed a light kiss on Tonya’s forehead. “As long as we have each other, that’s all that matters.”
“I wish you both the best.” Hutch shook the man’s hand and guided them toward the door. “Be good to each other,” he cautioned. “Love doesn’t come easy in this world.” He glanced over his shoulder in Starsky’s direction as he spoke the words, casting an accusatory glare.
Starsky stood there, mouth gaping open, too shocked to say anything as he watched the happy couple leave. The pain he saw in Hutch’s eyes permeated his soul, and he knew he was the cause of it. It was a horrible misunderstanding, and he immediately chastised himself for having ever doubted his partner. He reached out as his friend brushed by him, but Hutch dodged his touch and retreated to the bedroom, anxious to resume packing, making no attempt to continue their previous conversation.
“Wait! Hutch, w-wait,” Starsky stammered behind him, heart pounding in his throat.
Hutch stuffed the last few articles of clothing in the suitcase, slammed it shut, and pulled it from the bed.
“You can’t leave!” Starsky asserted, jerking it from his hands and tossing it on the floor. “Oh, God, Hutch, I’m sorry. I was wrong. Wrong about everything!” he confessed in agony.
His face drawn taut in anger, Hutch attempted to retrieve the suitcase, but Starsky blocked his path. “Give it to me, Starsky. It’s a little late for apologies.” He made a second try to retrieve the item, but Starsky gently grabbed his wrists in an attempt to make him listen.
“You don’t understand,” Starsky pleaded. His grip tightened around Hutch’s wrists as the enraged blond made an effort to escape his grasp. “Damn it, Hutch, listen to me!”
“I just wanna leave!” Hutch screamed in torment, his struggle growing fiercer.
Starsky knew Hutch had the capability of easily breaking the hold he had on him. He had to explain what had happened, but Hutch wasn’t listening, his attention instead focused on escaping from him. His only recourse was to sweep Hutch’s legs, sending him tumbling onto the bed. Starsky landed on top of him, straddling his hips and pinning his arms to the mattress.
His chest heaving with every breath, Hutch quit struggling. “Let me go. Just let me go,” he pleaded, his head lolling to the side.
Releasing his hold, Starsky raised the back of his hand to Hutch’s tear-streaked face, lightly caressing his cheek. “Oh, Hutch, I’m so sorry. Just listen to me. I had it all wrong. I thought you were the one leaving with Tonya, leaving me. I didn’t realize until a few minutes ago it was all a horrible mistake.”
Hutch turned his head sharply toward Starsky, his eyes widening with disbelief. “What? What did you say?”
“I thought you were leaving me.” Starsky’s eyes trailed downward in shame. He leaned back, shifting his weight to his heels, clasping his hands in his lap.
“Leaving you? Whatever gave you that idea?” Hutch reached up to Starsky’s chin, tipping it upward to look deeply into the moisture-filled eyes. “Starsk? What made you think that?”
Jaded eyes blinked remorsefully. “I heard you talking to Tonya on the phone last night, right after you got out of the shower. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, honest I wasn’t, but I overheard your conversation. It sounded like you were planning to leave with her and go back to Duluth. You’d found an apartment, a new job. What was I supposed to think?”
“C’mon, Starsky, me working for my father?” Hutch asked incredulously. “I’m not crazy, you know. How could you think that? How could you think that I would ever leave you?”
“You sounded very convincing on the phone,” Starsky assured him.
Hutch dragged his hands down the length of his face. “But why…why didn’t you ask me about it? None of this would’ve happened if you had told me what was wrong.” His voice held a tone of irritation.
Starsky momentarily squeezed his eyes shut, reflecting on the previous night’s events. “I was so confused. I couldn’t figure out why you were stayin’ with me, not if you loved her. I didn’t know if it was pity, or if you felt you owed it to me, you know, us bein’ partners and all. All I knew was, I didn’t want you to stay with me if you didn’t love me. I wanted to give you an easy out, so that’s why I said we should see other people.” He trailed his finger across Hutch’s lower lip. “I love you, Hutch. Love you more than anything, and I knew the greatest demonstration of my love would be to let you go, no matter how bad it hurt.”
Hutch smiled compassionately, an indescribable glint reflecting in the tranquil blue eyes. “I love you, Starsk. I always have and I always will. Why can’t you believe that?”
A chill ran up Starsky’s spine, the image of the handsome Captain Hutchinson briefly flashing before him as Hutch uttered the words from his dream. He warily reached toward the face before him, expecting it to disappear once again. Pausing before he made contact, Starsky held his breath, afraid to move any closer, but Hutch took the trembling hand within his own and pressed it to his cheek, assuring him as if he understood his fears.
Starsky welcomed the touch, his eyes briefly smiling with gratitude until regret stole the tender moment. “Hutch, I’m so sorry I hurt you. How can I ever make it up to you?”
Hutch brushed his palms across the tops of Starsky’s thighs, his touch sliding seductively under Starsky’s shirt, thumbs encircling the nipples hidden under the soft cotton fabric. “Well, I can think of one way and a few positions right off the top of my head.”
A low guttural moan sounded deep from Starsky’s throat, welcoming the proposition. “Sure you’re up to it?”
“Oh, I’m up to it, all right.” Hutch’s play on words was accompanied by an upward thrust of his hips against Starsky’s backside. “Besides, I don’t think I’m going anywhere with you sitting on top of me like this,” he observed.
“No, no, I don’t think you are, Detective Hutchinson,” Starsky replied smugly, leaning down for a kiss. He gingerly interlaced his fingers with Hutch’s, pushing the large hands into the soft mattress. “I’ve got you right where I want you, and right where I intend to keep you the rest of the night.” Starsky’s tongue blazed a moist path up the side of Hutch’s neck, ending as a hungry nibble at the tender lobe of his ear, leaving him squirming as heated breath tickled the tiny hairs on his skin.
Hutch presented a half-hearted struggle against his seducer, twisting and bucking under Starsky’s weight. “Starsk, that tickles! C’mon!” he giggled incessantly.
Starsky taunted his lover with a few other carefully placed licks and love bites, planting them where he knew Hutch was the most susceptible, the playful interaction leaving him laughing as loudly as his quarry.
Leaning up to catch his breath, Starsky’s gaze locked with Hutch’s, and the teasing and tickling abruptly stopped. The laughter had been liberating after the emotional turmoil they had endured, but they both longed for something more. Neither one moved, their eyes transfixed upon one another within the quiet of the room, sharing unspoken thoughts.
Blinking away the spell he seemed to be under, Starsky leaned down, planting a forearm on either side of Hutch’s head, fingers teasing the blond strands as the rest of his body stretched across the length of the lanky figure under him. “A lifetime of loving you isn’t enough, Hutch,” he whispered remorsefully, while peering into the depths of the eyes blinking back at him. “Even if I had five-hundred years, it still wouldn’t be enough.”
Hutch brushed a stray curl from Starsky’s forehead, the fullness of his lips thinning as he smiled broadly. “Well,” he surmised with a contented sigh. “I guess we’d better make the most of our time together, don’t you think?”
Sitting up, Starsky hurriedly peeled the shirt from his body, cherishing the sight awaiting him. “Yeah, I think that sounds like a great idea.”
Their eagerness was evident as clothes were strewn quickly in a haphazard fashion around the bedroom-a shirt across the lampshade, jeans and briefs on the floor, and socks balanced precariously on the leaves of “Genevieve” in her terracotta pot on the corner table.
As Starsky tossed aside his last article of clothing, he remained focused on the exquisite figure stretched before him, eyeing Hutch like a kid in a candy store.
Hutch tucked a forearm behind his head and returned the fawning stare, his eyes devouring every detail of his lover’s body with a hungry lick of his lips and a sigh of appreciation.
Outstretched arms greeted Starsky as he slid into bed, wrapping around his narrow waist, inviting him closer. Warm bodies melded together, arms and legs intertwined amid roving hands and impassioned kisses.
“I never thought we’d be doing this again,” Hutch candidly confessed, his back arching in delight as Starsky ran his hands across the creamy white smoothness of his chest, pausing to gently entice the buds of his nipples from their rose-tinted hideaways.
“Oh, we’re gonna do it-again and again and again,” Starsky firmly assured, as he once more straddled Hutch, hovering over him on hands and knees, allowing the tips of their growing erections to touch in a light kiss.
Hutch responded with a low moan, his cock springing to life from the sensual touch. He grabbed his lover’s well-rounded ass, squeezing the tight cheeks within strong hands, forcing their hips closer and allowing their cocks to nestle alongside each other. He wrapped his long legs around Starsky’s waist, entrapping his lower body and holding him in a vice-like grip, leaving their rigid shafts straining against heated skin. Slender fingers tangled in a mop of brunet curls, as Hutch’s mouth ravenously covered Starsky’s in a dizzying assault of kisses.
Caught by surprise, Starsky pulled away from the passionate onslaught, knowing he wouldn’t last more than ten seconds if Hutch continued at this feverish pace. “Hey, slow down,” he urged compassionately. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. Want this to last forever. Just relax, ‘kay?”
Taking a deep breath, Hutch nodded, releasing his hold and relaxing against the pillow, eyes closing in forced meditation in an attempt to regain a foothold on his emotions.
Starsky maneuvered backwards along the length of Hutch’s legs, fingers continuing to tantalize the taut nipples while his mouth traveled downward in a journey across a well-toned abdomen. He paused slightly for his tongue to tease the shallow recess of Hutch’s navel before continuing to its final destination-a mound of straw-colored hair framing the base of Hutch’s impressive manhood, heavy with need. Hovering just above the tip, Starsky’s tongue dipped to encircle the slit of the leaking cock, teasing the sensitive opening with gifted expertise. He leaned closer, planting a light kiss on each of Hutch’s balls, before trailing his mouth up the length of his shaft, lips just brushing the surface of the thin skin. Pausing above the tip once more, Starsky licked his lips as his gaze drifted toward his lover’s.
Hutch’s eyes held a glazed look, his chest rising and falling in short breaths. “Starsk…please,” he implored, hips bucking toward the teasing mouth. “Finish me.”
“Easy, babe,” Starsky coaxed, his voice calm and reassuring. “Gonna take care of you now, but not this way. Wanna give you more than that. Roll over for me.” He moved aside, allowing Hutch’s eager compliance with his request.
Retrieving a tube of lubricant from the bedside drawer, Starsky wasted little time preparing Hutch before coating himself and hastily tossing the tube aside. He leaned across Hutch’s back, his mouth nipping the velvet smooth skin of his shoulder, the tender love bites trailing upward to his ear. “Ready for me?” he uttered in a raspy voice. The hushed words were more of a caveat than a question, as he gently pushed inside without waiting for a reply, filling Hutch with his love.
Starsky’s moves, gentle yet purposeful, were met with a moan of approval from his lover. His slow, even strokes brought Hutch close to the edge, a slight retreat bringing him back down again. Mouth curving in a pretentious grin, Starsky watched Hutch writhe beneath him, a prisoner of his desires, holding mind and body captive, until he felt his own self-control dwindling. The euphoria gripped his body, casting doubt on who exactly held the other captive.
“Starsk, don’t stop, please. Don’t make me wait any longer.” Hutch pushed against his lover, urging Starsky deeper into him.
Starsky pulled back slightly against the zealous advances. “Don’t want this to end,” he countered.
“For God’s sake, Starsky. I want all of you now,” Hutch insisted with several determined thrusts back against Starsky’s hips.
Starsky frantically tried to hold onto a few more seconds, but quickly lost his grasp on time and his willpower as Hutch moved against him, demanding satisfaction. His hips thrust harder in response, grinding against the fair-skinned mounds of flesh until he was fully consumed by this man he loved, hand pumping Hutch’s engorged cock in perfect rhythm. His posture stiffened as he thrust forward one last time, back arching in anticipation of his blissful plummet over the edge of a mile-high cliff, the rapture so intense, so overpowering, he felt himself gasping for breath, calling out Hutch’s name again and again as he tumbled out of control.
“God, yes!” Hutch’s voice drowned out Starsky’s pleas, his plight completely at the mercy of the man piloting his destiny, propelling him into rhapsody with one last surge. His ears rang from the force of the explosion, energy draining from his body with every wave of pleasure that rippled through him, until his strength could carry him no further. He collapsed in a heap on the bed, Starsky lying on top of him, unmoving, heaving breaths the only assurance his partner was still alive.
“Starsk?” Hutch forced through short gasps, Starsky’s weight having some bearing on his ability to talk.
“Yeah?” Starsky replied, barely coherent.
“You okay?”
Starsky planted a kiss on Hutch’s shoulder blade, his words a mere whisper. “‘M okay.”
“L-love you.” Hutch attempted to shift under Starsky’s dead weight but didn’t have much success.
“Love you, too.”
“Shower?” Hutch suggested hopefully, as he endeavored to move again.
“Too tired.” A slower, more even breathing hinted that Starsky was getting quite comfortable in this position.
With another strained breath, Hutch moved his free arm, nudging Starsky in the ribs with his elbow. “Uh, Starsk?”
“Hmmmm?”
“Could you get off of me now? H-havin’ a little trouble breathing under here.”
“Oh, sorry, babe,” Starsky apologized with a gentle laugh, as he slid to the side of Hutch, hand reaching to caress tousled hair. “Kinda lost myself there for a minute.”
Hutch took a deep breath, allowing his cramped chest to fully expand. “Yeah, me, too,” he agreed with a tired grin. He turned to his side, facing his lover, fingers trailing a light path across the fur-covered stomach. “That was mind-blowing. Maybe I should leave you more often,” he teased.
“Don’t even think about it,” Starsky warned, placing a hand across the left side of his chest. “Don’t think my heart could take it.”
A warm chuckle sounded from the blond, as he rolled to his back, the lean body stretching in lazy contentment across the bed. “Yeah, me either.”
A quick clean-up and change of sheets found the two men back in bed. As they lay facing each other, Starsky with his leg draped over Hutch’s hip, they shared light kisses and fingertip caresses, neither ready to surrender to sleep, even as somnolent eyes blinked under the weight of heavy eyelids.
Raising his hand to Hutch’s cheek, Starsky stroked the fair skin, still craving reassurance. “I’m never gonna wake up from this dream, am I, Hutch? Tell me I’m not,” he asked worriedly, his mind still crowded with vivid thoughts from the previous night’s dream.
Hutch cupped his palm at the base of Starsky’s neck and pulled his lover closer until the tips of their noses touched. “You’re not, babe. Neither one of us is,” he assured with a slight quiver in his voice.
Gazing into soft blue pooling with moisture, Starsky regretted his heartrending words, the last thing he wanted was to upset Hutch further. “Good, ’cause I get seasick,” he added quickly with a stifled laugh.
“Huh?” Hutch asked mystified. “What does seasickness have to do with anything?”
Starsky smiled awkwardly, brushing off the comment. “Never mind, long story. I’ll tell you about it sometime.”
A gust of wind rattled the windowpane, intruding their conversation.
“Looks like we’re in for some more rain,” Hutch remarked through sleepy eyes.
“‘S okay.” Starsky pulled his friend closer, cradling Hutch in the bend of his arm. “We’ll weather this one together.”
“Yeah,” Hutch mumbled groggily, listening to the pattering of raindrops as they drummed a soothing lullaby on the glass.
“G’night, Hutch. Love you.”
“Love you, too, Captain Starsky.”
“Hutch?” Starsky asked with alarm.
“Go to sleep, Starsk,” Hutch replied with a chortle, eyes drifting closed. “And try not to talk in your sleep this time, okay?”
Starsky smiled nervously, wondering what he had divulged in the midst of his dream, but it didn’t matter now. All that mattered was what he held within his arms. The faint light of a street lamp illuminated the room, allowing a glimpse of a weary man, lips stealing one last kiss upon golden hair as he drifted off into a peaceful and restful sleep.
The End
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