If Love is Real: Addiction (Complete)

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Originally published in 1999 as a stand alone zine by In Person Press with cover art by Suzan Lovett.

Includes Part 5 in the If Love is Real series. Taking place during and immediately after the episode, The Fix, Hutch battles his addiction with Starsky’s help. However, the experience is proving tougher than either of them expected.

Special thanks to Keri T who uploaded all my stories from the old dot com archive to our new archive. If it weren’t for her, my stories would have been the last ones moved. And thanks to Keri also for all her behind-the-scenes efforts on behalf of the archive. She and all the other volunteers who upload stories are keeping our fiction alive through their labors. I am very grateful.

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If Love Is Real: Addiction

by Flamingo

Cover art by Suzan Lovett

Chapter 1

One man on the chessboard
Get up and tell you where to go
And you just had some kind of mushroom
And your mind is moving low…
And the White Knight is talking backwards…
                        Go Ask Alice — Jefferson Airplane

 

The Addiction

Why did there have to be so many questions?

“Where is she? Come on. Where’d you stash her?”

Can you even remember? Can you remember anything? What’s your name — who you are — what you are? Yes. You remember. Hutchinson. Cop. Remember.

Then try to forget.

Forget when it’s good, so good, so sweet, like lightning in your veins, like the best orgasm you ever had magnified a thousand times —

Can you remember who you are? What you are? Hutchinson. Cop. Remember — ?

“Hey, cop, what’s your name?”

“Hutchinson. Hutchinson!“

More questions. Why did there always have to be more questions?

“Where’s Jeannie, huh? Where is she?“

Can you remember? Jeannie? Jeannie….

“Come on, punk, where’d you stash her?”

Don’t tell! Don’t!

You have to. You have to tell. If you don’t, they won’t help you. No one will help you. And you need help. Why won’t they give you any help? Maybe if you tell them….

“…At the point…. Seaview point….”

You answer the questions. All the questions. And finally, after making you wait a long time — too long! — they give you some help. Because of Jeannie. Something about Jeannie —

Jeannie visits you, kisses you, she’s so pretty, she smells so good…. She unties your wrists. But you really don’t care. A lovely girl…but you’re high again, and that’s all that matters. You don’t even mind when she goes away…. Bye, Jeannie….

As she leaves you hear her tell Forrest, “I’ll be anything you want.” She sounds so sad. You try to understand what it means, why she would say that, but your mind drifts away and you can’t hold it. You nod.

~~~

The scream of the ambulance is sounding in my ears
Tell me, Sister Morphine, how long have I been lying here
What am I doing in this place
Why does the doctor have no face
Oh, I can’t crawl across the floor
Ah, can’t you see, Sister Morphine, I’m trying to score
                        Sister Morphine — Rolling Stones

 

Withdrawal — The first hour.

“Where d’ya figure, Monk?”

“Off the point. Water’s deep. Current oughta carry that body out about two hundred miles. By then he oughta be shark’s bait….”

Open your eyes. Think. Think hard. They’re gonna throw you off the point. For the sharks. You can swim. But just not right now. Right now you can barely walk. And you need help. You can’t swim off the point now. Not now, not like this.

You’ll drown.

Think about this. You’re Hutchinson. Cop. Try to think.

They’re going to drown you. That’s the answer to all the questions — you’re going to die.

You need help.

Can you walk? Can you run? You have to run.

Kick! Strike out! Shove open the door.

Now run! Run hard! Run for help. Don’t stop till you find help! Gotta find it, find help! But there is no one to help and soon you’re all run out….

“He’s your partner, isn’t he?“

“Yeah.”

Partner. Yes. He’s your partner. Starsky. Cop. Your partner. He’ll help you. He’s got to help you. You need help. Some medicine. Something. To stop the pain. Make it sweet again, just for a little while, just to stop the pain.

The pain is cresting, twisting, wrenching your guts. You can’t stop yourself, you gag, everything turns inside like knives ripping you to shreds. Someone — Starsky? — is holding you, grabbing your arm, staring at it….

You don’t want him to look at your arm, but you can’t remember why. You still feel the terrible need to run, to hide…from Starsky? So Starsky won’t see your arm? You can’t remember. Everything’s spinning out of control, and you’re falling. Falling. Coming down.

“My God! He’s a junkie!”

“Shut up, huh? I’ll handle it!”

Then he’s pulling you close, holding you tight, not letting you fall. It doesn’t stop the fall, can’t stop the pain, but at least you don’t land in your own vomit. Because Starsky’s holding you tight.

“I gotta make a report!”

“No report! This didn’t happen, Bernie. I’ll take responsibility….”

You’re lifted, nearly carried, put in a car again. This almost makes you laugh. Are we going back to the point? Will Starsky take you for that swim? Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Just a little while in the water. You always liked the water. And Starsky would never let you drown….

This car is familiar. Red and white. A flashing light on top. You touch the car, the leather seats, trying to remember. Who you are. What you are. Where you are. You can’t remember. You start to nod.

“Hutch? Hutch, don’t pass out, okay? Can you hear me, Hutch?”

Someone — Starsky? — is forcing your eyelid open. You’d pull away if you had any strength, but you don’t. Are my eyes still blue? Not like yours; mine are pale, yours are dark. But blue. Still blue?

You nod, feeling a shadow of the sweetness and ride it for as long as it might last. Forever, you hope. You just want to nod forever. You just want to feel the lightning one more time….

“Jeezus, Hutch….”

You start to slide in the seat, so Starsky pulls your head down. Your cheek rests on his thigh. You sigh happily, feeling a small rush, and let the nod take you, cuddling your face against his strong denim-covered thigh. You feel safe, for the first time in so long….

The car starts, the rumble as comforting as a lullaby, easing, for a little while, the terrible knives, the pain, and the cold. You nod. You sleep.

“Good lord, what the hell happened to Hutch?”

“Look at his arm, then figure it out. Somebody snatched him, did this to him, I don’t know why. We gotta hide him, keep him safe. Get him clean. Come on, Huggy, help me. Can we get him upstairs without anyone seeing?”

You have no idea. Nor do you care. The car is familiar, comforting, warm. It smells good. Like food. Clean leather. Like Starsky. Such a good smell. You want to stay here and try to hold onto the thigh, but it slides out from under you. Still, Starsky’s hands are there, gently supporting your head, not letting you fall. Not like the others. These hands aren’t hurting hands. You remember that. These hands are kind, loving, comforting. And sometimes… sometimes these hands give pleasure…. You remember that dimly, from a long, long time ago….

“I think so. The place is jumpin’, Starsky. But that’s good; the more activity, the less likely anyone will notice. Put this hat on him to hide that hair. You keep your face turned, take his left arm. Stay on the inside of the stairs, by the wall. I’ll take the banister. It’ll look like I’m just helpin’ another old friend upstairs to sleep it off.”

Are you at the point? Is it time to swim? You try to remember who you are, what you are, and it starts to come back. You try to focus.

I’m Hutchinson. He’s Starsky. That’s Huggy.

Your friends. They’ll help you. You’ll get help now. And you need help. You need it bad.

You think you’re bad now, punk, in two hours you’ll be banging your head on the floor.

You remember that, remember feeling just that way, after you told them about Jeannie, after they left you for so long. Then they gave you that last shot and it was good again. And now you’re coming down….

Your friends wrestle you out of the car and you’re proud you don’t throw up again. For a moment you wonder about how you look, how you smell, about the vomit spattering your clothes, or the blood, or even the urine. But the concern passes and you stop caring about that. You think about food; when did you eat last? Then you lose interest again. Who cares?

When was your last shot? That’s all you care about now.

Everything hurts where they beat you, but you don’t care about that either. Until your friends lift your arms, sling them over their shoulders. It hurts then, your body. Everything hurts. Your feet touch every third or fourth step. You just can’t get your legs to work right, but it doesn’t really matter because the two men get you upstairs so quickly you don’t have time to worry about it. Then, carefully, they ease you onto something soft. A bed. You’re not being carried anymore. You’re not in the car anymore. You don’t have to escape anymore. Finally, you can just lie there and feel everything. And it’s starting to feel bad, really bad. It all hurts.

Just curl up and feel it. All that hurt.

“We need coffee, Huggy, lots of coffee. With sugar. Make it real, real sweet. The sugar helps a little. But be cool about it. Nobody can know. Come on, Hug, don’t stare at him like that!“

“I’m sorry, man, I just can’t believe — oh, God, Hutch! Yeah, coffee! I’m on it. And don’t worry. No one downstairs is gonna say squat to anyone, you gotta know that.“

“Right. I know. I just…. Just need that coffee, Hug….”

You’re curled up in a strange bed, wrapped around your own gut. And now it’s really cold. You’re shivering. Really cold.

Why did there have to be so many questions? Questions in your own mind?

Where’s Jeannie? What happened to Jeannie? You remember seeing her…but you’re not sure…you remember her leaving…you remember her saying…something….

Starsky will know. Starsky knows everything. Ask him. He’ll know.

He gets into bed with you, starts moving you around, pulling you onto his lap. You grab his shirt, look up at him hopefully. Starsky will know.

“Come on, it’s okay…” he said softly.

“Jeannie — ?”

“Yeah, yeah, Jeannie. Take it easy. Try and relax.”

He’s rubbing your arms, tries to get you to unfold your legs, but you can’t because you’re too cold. The rubbing just helps you focus on how cold you are. You’re shaking all over, trembling, freezing. Why doesn’t he turn on the heat? He rubs your arms harder, moves you around, tries to wipe your face with a clean towel.

You need help. Starsky will get it for you. He knows how. He knows where it is. Starsky can help you. Just ask him.

“Please, Starsky. I need something. I’m so cold.”

He keeps rubbing your arms, wrapping you up in the blankets, rubbing your back. Maybe he didn’t hear you.

“I need some medicine. Something….” You’re clutching his shirt again. “Get me some help.”

“How about some coffee?”

He’s wrapping you up in blankets, holding you tight, making you feel safe. Now, all you need is a shot, and everything would be perfect.

He holds up a warm cup to your mouth.

“Come on, Hutch, be careful, it’s hot.”

When did you last eat? When did you last drink? When did you last care about that? Not since the lightning, that last sweet shot.

He tilts the cup; the coffee smells good. It touches your mouth and you taste sweetness, and then you need it. It’s sweet, and you need it. Suddenly hunger and thirst are real again, if dulled. You drink, the flavor, the fragrance filling your mouth. It’s good. Not as good as the lightning, but it helps a little. Because you’re hungry. And thirsty. And it’s sweet.

But that’s not what your body wants, so it tries to send it back. Your gut heaves, and it’s agonizing when it does. Starsky holds a towel to your face, ready to help you if you lose it.

“Come on, Hutch, hold on to it!”

Your gut is twisted, tortured. Starsky tries to give you more coffee, but you remember what happened last time, and you shove it away. Cup and liquid go flying, you don’t care. You need help! What’s wrong with him? Who the fuck needs coffee? He’s your friend, he’s supposed to help you.

“Man, he’s hurtin‘!”

Huggy sounds real upset as he climbs in the bed with you and takes off your shoes.

“Nothin’ but sweat and pain for the next forty-eight hours!”

Huggy’s wiping your face. How can you be so cold and be sweating so hard at the same time? Maybe if you could get some help from someone you’d have the time you need to think about these things —

“Tell me how? Who?”

Huggy keeps wiping your face, while Starsky holds you, rocks you, rubs warmth into you.

You don’t know the answer to Huggy’s question. And you really don’t care. What do you know? Just this — you need help. You need it now.

But Starsky knows all the answers.

“They tied his wrists, pumped him fulla stuff. Somehow he got away….”

Starsky knows everything.

“It’s okay, boy…okay…. They’re gonna come lookin’ for him, whoever they are. For now, nobody knows where he is except you and me, got that?”

Starsky knows how to get help.

“Here’s another cup of coffee for you….”

“Starsk…I need some help! Some medicine….”

Starsky looks like he might start crying, but he doesn’t say anything, he just holds you tight, rubs your arms while you shiver and rocks you in his lap. You grab his shirt. Maybe he didn’t hear you. Tell him again. You need help. Medicine. All he does is pet you, stroke your face, your throat.

“It’s okay. I’m right here, boy. You’re gonna make it, ya big lummox.”

It doesn’t make any sense what he’s saying. You need help. You need help. And Starsky can get it for you.

He rocks you in his lap and rubs your arms and begs you to rest, to sleep, but all you can do is shiver violently and plead with him for help. Why won’t he get it for you? Why won’t he help? You always thought he loved you….

~~~

Well, it just goes to show, things are not what they seem
Please, Sister Morphine, turn my nightmare into dreams
Oh, can’t you see I’m fading fast
And that this shot will be my last
                        Sister Morphine — Rolling Stones

 

The fifth hour

You lose your sense of time and place. You lose everything except this — need. You shiver and ache and tremble and beg and cry but it all falls on deaf ears until finally you doze fitfully, exhausted. But your brain keeps working, like a ferret facing a well-built hen house. There’s a way around this, a way inside, a way to get help — you just haven’t figured out how yet. But there’s got to be a way. Even asleep your brain works on it, like the ferret. Nosing this way then that, skulking along the boundaries of what might work and what might not.

Your every nerve is screaming, you want to go crazy, smash things, shriek to God, to someone, to help you, why the fuck won’t someone help you? but you don’t make a sound. You’re never sure anymore of where you are. Or who’s with you.

Finally, cautiously, you open your eyes and look around.

Gone is the dingy room, the ancient, sagging bed, the thin bedspread, the hand-me-down furniture. All of it, gone…. You’re alone on a bed, but it’s firm, new, plush, with sheets of gleaming white linen, fresh and clean. You run your hand over the sheets, feeling their smoothness, so soft against your skin. You’re nude against the white sheets, but clean. Freshly scrubbed, immaculate, your hair soft and shining, you practically glow. It feels so good to be clean again, lying against fresh sheets. Such a basic pleasure, cleanliness. You slide against the sheets just to enjoy the sensuality of it. Then you look around some more.

You don’t know this place. A vast room, filled with art — O’Keefe, you think, but you’re not sure. Her flowers. Reproductions — huge ones, giant blow-ups of some of her most famous works. The colors leap out from the brilliant orange-red poppies, the sparkling white of the nicotina.

There’s a narrow mirror near the head of your bed. You see your face, clean and freshly shaven. There’s no bruising, no blackening around the eyes, no mottling on the jaw where they struck you again and again. There’s no pain either. Hesitantly, you turn away from the mirror and look at your arm.

There are no tracks. You touch the soft skin in the crook of your arm, rub it, trying to feel the scars. There’s nothing. Just your soft, fair skin. Unblemished. Unbroken.

You don’t understand.

You look around, stare at the art, all the beautiful flowers, so huge, so brightly colored, all the poppies…. Then you see the couch. The dark green velvet upholstery is half-covered by a bundled form sleeping under a clean white sheet. All you can see is a mass of dark curls, but that’s all you need. He’s turned away from you, but you know him too well to be mistaken.

Starsky, sleeping on his stomach, stretches beneath the sheet and slowly it slides away from him, revealing his nude form.

You stare, mesmerized as he is revealed. He’s beautiful in sleep, the clean, spare lines of his body taut and powerful. Your breath catches, and you grow hard. You touch yourself. The ferret in your mind searches for answers, searches for entry, looks for all the ways it can achieve its end. You stare at the beauty of your friend and let yourself feel something you have never felt before — a physical attraction to his masculine grace. You have loved this man, but not because he was a man. You have loved him because he loved you, because his heart called to you and you had to answer. For the first time, in this heroin-laced hallucination, you see him as you never have before, as an object of desire.

The ferret knows there is an answer here, an answer that can help you. Help you fulfill the need.

You stare at your friend, as the poppies in the art come alive and sway in the breeze while still in their frames. Excited, you grip yourself hard.

~~~

Opened my eyes today
And I knew there’s something different
Saw you in a brand new way
Like the clouds had somehow lifted
                        Hopelessly Addicted — Corrs

“He finally asleep?” Huggy asked softly, as he came up to check on the coffee and the patient.

“For the moment.” Starsky watched Hutch’s eyes move restlessly back and forth under his bruised lids and felt thankful that his friend was able to sleep for at least this little while. He knew it wouldn’t last long. He turned away from Hutch to speak to the man hovering over him. “You bring a fresh pot?”

“It’s right here. Gonna take the old one down with me. Brought you some chocolate, too, ‘case he gets hungry.”

Starsky turned back to his dozing partner. “He won’t be able to keep anything down for a while yet.”

“Yeah, but he’ll be wantin’ somethin’. The candy’ll help.”

Both men grew quiet, staring at the sleeping cop who looked so unlike a cop right now they could barely believe it. Starsky felt Huggy’s hand on his shoulder and looked back up into liquid brown eyes filled with compassion.

“How you holdin’ up?” Huggy asked.

Starsky had no answer to that. He only shook his head and turned back to Hutch, his mind whirling.

“Ain’t the first time we been here,” Huggy reminded him, trying to comfort.

Starsky closed his eyes wearily and nodded. Indeed, he and Huggy had been here too many times, if truth be told. They were fourteen the first time they’d walked one of Huggy’s best friends out of an overdose. Then there was that girl Starsky had fallen for when he was sixteen… until he found out she was a hype. He talked her into going cold turkey, and he and Huggy had stayed with her the whole time, keeping her together, keeping her safe. Three months later she’d gone right back to square one. Dead at eighteen, a ravaged, weary prostitute. Huggy knew better than to mention her name.

Too many friends from the streets, entirely too many….

But none of them were Hutch.

Starsky felt like his heart had been physically pierced. His relief at finding his friend alive was still there, and he had to remind himself to appreciate that. When a cop disappeared for four or five days with no word and nothing to go on, there was little hope he’d turn up alive. But to find Hutch like this, addicted to heroin…! It was a sickening nightmare. He should’ve found his partner sooner, turned up more heat on the streets, done something.

This was Hutch — a man who jogged faithfully every day, who rode Starsky constantly about his junk food diet…. Hutch, who epitomized the health-crazed golden Californian. Addicted. To Heroin. Starsky’s mind could barely let him accept it. It was everything he could do to keep from bursting into tears.

The warm hand on his shoulder squeezed, and he glanced back at Huggy. But the man he’d grown up with on the streets wasn’t watching Hutch. He was staring meaningfully at Starsky.

“If I didn’t know better….” Huggy frowned, as if debating the rightness of his speculations. “Starsky — is it that way between you an’ Hutch?”

He asked the question quietly, but with a surety that said he knew he had the right. When they were kids, Huggy’s friendship, his honesty, his street smarts, and his openly fluid sexuality had been a comforting refuge for the young Dave Starsky — especially on those rare occasions when Starsky’s own love life took a sideways turn.

They’d known each other too long for Starsky to even attempt an evasion. Still, the answer was too complicated for a yes or no. “Not really.”

Huggy looked another question at him.

Starsky shrugged. “Hutch’s straight, Huggy, you know that. And I told you long ago, I’m not playin’ that game anymore. It’s too risky.”

Huggy nodded, entirely too knowledgeable. “But that didn’t stop you from fallin’ in love with him, did it?”

Starsky closed his eyes. “I can handle it. Most times. It’s okay. He’s my partner. My best friend. Closer than a brother…. You know that. Just, right now…it’s….” He trailed off, losing the ability to explain his feelings. “What they did to him…. It’s as bad as rape. Worse maybe. I’m gonna find ’em, Hug. And when I do….” His throat tightened with rage and he couldn’t speak anymore.

Huggy squeezed his shoulder again. “We’ll find ’em, bro. You know we will. And you’ll do what you have to. I’m gonna take this cold pot downstairs.”

“You may as well call it a night,” Starsky told him. “One of us oughta get some sleep so they can be with it tomorrow.”

“You sure? You might need — ?”

Starsky shook his head. “He’s sleeping now, and I’m gonna doze while he is. The fresh coffee’ll hold us. We’ll be ready for more in the mornin’. You know tomorrow’s gonna be rough. He’ll be wired, not helpless like he is now. I’m gonna need you for back-up, ‘case he tries to fight me. You know how strong he is.”

“You think he might?”

Starsky shrugged. “Hard tellin’. You saw how bad he was, and all the tracks. The stuff they used on him must’ve been close to pure, not street-trade, and they must’a hit him pretty often. It’s the only way they coulda got him this strung out that fast. When he’s feelin’ stronger, it’s hard to say how driven he’s gonna be. But he’ll have to kill me to get outta this room.”

Huggy nodded, then took the cold pot with him. “I’ll be up first thing in the morning,” he promised. “Try to rest while you can.”

Starsky nodded wearily, as he continued to stroke Hutch’s filthy hair.

How’d you come to this, Hutch? he wondered, as Huggy went back down the stairs. What was it in that nice, clean, white-bread world of yours back in Minnesota that made you want to walk these mean streets with a badge and a gun? You ever even seen a junkie before you came out here? Now, look at you…. Oh, God, look at you…! How could I let this happen to you? My partner…. My best friend in the whole world….

He wouldn’t put words to the other feelings he held for Hutch, had held for him since the Academy. He would not pull those feelings into the light, not now, or he would burst into helpless sobs at what had happened to his friend…someone he loved so much….

As he stroked Hutch’s hair, his partner suddenly stirred.

Already? Starsky thought, disappointed, wishing his friend wouldn’t wake for the next forty-eight hours. Please, Hutch, stay still, stay sleepin’….

He came up all at once, his eyes showing something Starsky had never seen before as they glanced around the room. There was a new haunted cunning in them, a wariness….

“Sssh,” Starsky said, “go back to sleep, Hutch.”

Bundled in his lap, the battered body rolled over. Hutch’s arms eased away from his own stomach, shifting instead to slide around Starsky’s hips in a loose embrace.

Hoping Hutch was just getting more comfortable, Starsky continued to stroke his head. “Easy, boy. Go on back to sleep.”

The bloodshot eyes darted around, taking in everything, as if looking for his assailants.

“It’s just us, Hutch. Just you and me. We’re at Huggy’s. We’re safe here. We’re alone.”

But the taut body didn’t relax. Hutch turned a bit more, pulled himself closer to Starsky. Thinking he needed more warmth from the constant chills sweeping through him, Starsky rubbed Hutch’s back, massaged his shoulders.

“Starsk…need…” he croaked, finally fixing his gaze on his friend’s face.

“I know,” Starsky said sadly. “I know. Want some coffee?”

Hutch shook his head slightly. “Need…you. Starsky, please. I need you.”

The words cut through all his guilt and pain and arrowed straight into Starsky’s heart. “I’m here, Hutch. I’m right here,” he promised, wishing more than ever that he could make this nightmare go away.

Hutch shook his head as if Starsky misunderstood him. “Need you, babe. Need you.” He moved his head until his cheek nestled right against Starsky’s groin, then rubbed his face against the fly.

Starsky stared, still uncomprehending.

Hutch deliberately kissed the closed fly, then bit the fabric suggestively. “Need you…” he whispered, kissing Starsky’s groin again.

He’s out of it, Starsky thought, knowing how the drug and especially its withdrawal could mess with your mind. Typically, heroin diminished the sex drive, but not always. Starsky had heard of guys who played around with it because it turned them on and kept them going for hours. It was rare, but it happened.

He wondered if Hutch were having some kind of confused flashback, maybe to when Vanessa left him and he’d felt like he’d had to have a physical manifestation of caring from his partner, the one person he knew still loved him. Hutch had been drunk that night as he offered himself to his, fortunately, sober partner. Starsky had succumbed to Hutch’s need, but only enough to get him off so he’d sleep away the drunk. He hadn’t allowed Hutch to follow through on his ambitious suggestions.

The rare occasion after that always seemed to follow grief of some sort, but however spontaneous their sexual activities might be, they were always brief, simple, with one objective — the necessary purging of shared pain. Hutch was straight, and Starsky never forgot that.

“Come on, Hutch, try ‘n relax. You need to sleep.” Gently, mindful of his wounds, Starsky eased Hutch’s head off his groin onto his thigh.

Bruised eyes fixed on Starsky’s face. Hutch shifted, moved his arm, brought his big hand up to cup Starsky’s groin and rub it seductively. And like a trained seal, Starsky’s cock rose on command.

“Need you, love,” Hutch whispered. “Want you. Let me, Starsk, please.”

What the — ?

“I can give you what you need, Starsk,” Hutch whispered conspiratorially. “Give you everything you need.” Hutch pulled himself up, gripping Starsky’s shirt, drawing closer to his face. He tilted his face slightly, muttering, “And who else could know what you need better than me?”

As Starsky sat, a mesmerized cobra confronted by a crafty mongoose, Hutch’s mouth drew closer. Starsky was suddenly assailed by a gust of his fetid breath, redolent with old blood from his battered gums. The shocking odor coming from the normally fastidious man snapped him out of it. He grabbed Hutch by the shoulders, pushing him back gently as he turned his face away.

Softly, he admonished, “Hutch, cut it out. The only thing I need is to watch you get some sleep.”

Undaunted, Hutch brazenly nuzzled Starsky’s ear. “You think I don’t know you? I know you. I know your needs.”

“Hutch, quit!” Starsky begged, repelled and confused by his advance. “You need to rest — ”

Now Hutch sounded more agitated. His grip on Starsky’s shirt tightened. “You-you think I wouldn’t do it, but I would. It’d be okay, Starsk, it’d be good. I’d give you what you need, anything you need. We could do it all. I-I…I’ll be whatever you want. And-and then, maybe then — you…you could get me — what I need….”

The only thing Starsky could do was stare as his friend offered to trade his body for a fix. The words of the uniformed cop, Bernie, rang over and over in his ears.

My God, he’s a junkie!

He’s a junkie!

A junkie!

Hutch is a junkie!

As the words bounced around his brain, he resisted them, but the truth was clinging to him, rank body odor and all.

How many hypes have I used as snitches over the years? A hundred? And why? ‘Cause they’re reliable. They’ll sell their mothers for the bucks to make a shot. But since their mothers aren’t usually available, the next most convenient commodity is themselves. Male, female, don’t matter. When hypes have the need, their bodies are their most reliable merchandise.

It was the most likely indicator of an addict’s condition, how quickly they offered you whatever they thought you’d go for. A blowjob, a quick fuck, whatever. But Starsky was never in the market. Information only, no dessert. They all knew it, too, and no matter how hard up they might be, they never offered. If they did, he wouldn’t say anything to them, just turn away. But he wouldn’t be back for more information. It reminded him of too many rooms like this, and too many friends he’d helped quit cold.

But not Hutch. Hutch…is a cop! My partner. He didn’t volunteer for this, it was forced on him. He knows he’s gotta get clean. He knows —

“Everybody has needs, Starsky, everybody,” Hutch argued reasonably, as if his worldview was the only one that made any sense. “You, me, everybody. I know what you need, and you know what I need — ” He gripped Starsky’s erection with the familiarity their brief encounters had given him and stroked his partner just the way he knew Starsky liked it. “I’ll make it good for you, Starsk. Then all you gotta do is help me get through this. Get me just enough to take the edge off — ”

Starsky’s erection collapsed under Hutch’s hand like a broken dream. “Don’t!” he said sharply, his fingers digging harshly into Hutch’s arms. “Don’t talk like that! You’re a cop! Think about what you’re saying. You’re talkin’ like a junkie!”

“No, no,” Hutch argued reasonably, shaking his head. “You don’t understand. It’s not like that. I need you, partner. I swear — it’s just — ”

It’s just the drug talking, Starsky told himself, but he couldn’t get past the fact that it was talking out of Hutch’s mouth. The nervous, tentative touches Hutch was giving his groin weren’t sexual, but obscene.

You knew this would happen. He really needs it now, it’s comin’ down hard on him. And that’s why he needs you to be with him — the one person he can trust not to take advantage of him. Even when he’s begging you to do it.

“Come on, Starsky!” Hutch snapped suddenly, his patience ended. “What, are you getting off on making me plead for it? Come on. It’s a fair trade. You’ve waited so long — you can have it all. All of me. I’ll do anything…I’ll-I’ll be anything you want! Just help me, just this once. Help me get through this, dammit!”

Starsky couldn’t even help himself just then, as his eyes filled and spilled over. He blinked furiously, shaking his head to clear his vision.

I can remember a night we chased some suspects a couple of miles. By the time we booked ’em, we were ripe. You were supposed to meet that pretty brunette, Emmie. But instead, you broke the date. You wouldn’t face her unless you could shower and change and brush your teeth. An’ now you’re tryin’ to trade me a quick fuck for a single dose when you ain’t been near a toothbrush, washcloth, or changed clothes in five days. Hutch, oh, God, Hutch. Are you even still in there?

Hutch tried once more to kiss Starsky, but he anticipated the move and slid out from under him. Getting out of the bed, he left Hutch sprawled in a tangle of sheets and blankets. The loss of body contact was so painful for Starsky he wanted to scream. But he couldn’t comfort Hutch anymore with hugs or petting. They were past all that. Alone, trapped here together, they’d have to weather out the rest of the night however they could.

Miserably, Hutch curled up in a fetal ball again, only this time Starsky couldn’t hold him, couldn’t try to keep him warm. Alone in the bed, he started to cry. “You always said you loved me. How could anyone who loved me let me go through this without helping me?”

You’ve been here before, Starsky remembered, steeling himself against the anguish Hutch’s soft sobs wrung from him. You know how it’s gonna go. You can’t let him get to you. You can’t let him win, ’cause then you both lose.

Sitting on the floor by the bed, where Hutch couldn’t easily touch him, Starsky leaned against the sagging mattress. Like the experienced cop he was — and the street-wise man he’d grown up to be — he hardened himself against his friend’s pain and waited for things to get worse.

 

First the good news
It’s gonna feel very nice
Then the bad news
You gotta pay a heavy price
                        One More Addiction — Natalie Imbruglia

 

The twenty-sixth hour

How many times have you said in your life, “that makes my flesh crawl,” without ever really understanding what that meant? To have your flesh crawl. Really crawl.

Hutch prowled the small confines of Huggy’s upstairs room and rubbed his arms compulsively without really being aware of what he was doing. His flesh crawled with a million pinpricks of awareness as if his nerve endings had been dipped in caffeine. His need to do, to go, to find, was animal-like in its driving urgency. Yet he was trapped, just like an animal. His keeper barely spoke, rarely acknowledged anything Hutch said or did, but always managed to keep himself between Hutch and the door.

The door. The door to outside. If he could just get out the door….

They’d had a hundred battles over the door. It had started at sunup when Huggy came in with the first pot of coffee. He’d already started prowling the floor, tense and frantic, when the opening door screamed at him to make his break. But Starsky tackled him, giving Huggy time to get in with his burden. He tried to explain it to Huggy, tried to get him to see reason, but that was a no-go as well. He’d verbally abused both his friends most of the morning, but they just ignored him, and poured coffee down his throat. Then when he lost it, they helped him make it to the john, and cleaned up after him when he didn’t.

Hutch couldn’t understand, as hyper as he was, how he couldn’t get past Starsky just once and get out the door. They’d wrestled, they’d fought, Hutch had swung out many times but never connected. He was a mess. If he could just get out, it would all be better. If he could just get out, he could…he could…

You’re filthy. You reek. Starsky hid your shoes. Even if you could get out, where could you go? Who would help you? How would you get what you need?

For the first time, a glimmer of sanity crept through.

No one would help you. All the help you’ll ever find is right in this room with you.

And then the crushing depression.

Your best friend. Your partner. The one man on the planet you can’t bargain with.

Right now, Hutch hated him. He needed someone, something to focus his chaotic emotions on, his frenetic need, and Starsky was the only target. Throughout the night, he had alternated between trying to seduce and alienate his friend. But it didn’t matter whether he was promising him sexual delights he had no idea how to perform or calling him every kind of sick perverted bastard he could think of. Starsky was unmoving, unflinching. Grim-faced, he refused to respond, even when Hutch had thrown things at him, called him a cock-sucking faggot, or accused him of trying to turn Hutch into one. Starsky didn’t flinch, didn’t respond. Just set his back against the door and stood firm.

The depression was on him now, as he nodded over a checkerboard Starsky had found somewhere. Whenever Hutch sat still, he’d nod off, completely exhausted, but any attempts at real sleep were futile as the chills and sweats or stomach churning nausea alternately swept over him.

He became convinced this was going to be his whole life, this nightmare of erratic emotional swings, this aching hunger that Starsky would never let him fulfill. The two of them would be trapped here together in their own little hell with only Huggy to be witness to it.

In a fitful need to move and vent his inner rage, Hutch swept the checkerboard off the table and began prowling again. He could feel the dark eyes on him, as Starsky quietly moved to the door, re-secured the lock, stood by it again. He’d always thought he was faster, stronger, more clever than Starsky. Why couldn’t he get past him?

He heard a slight knock on the door, but it was only Huggy with all his false cheerfulness. Mercifully, Starsky shushed him up, but Hutch knew it was only partially in deference to him. Huggy had information — but it was for Starsky’s ears alone. The whispering of the two men really grated on his nerves, but when he tried to figure out why, he didn’t like the answer.

Huggy’s information used to be for us both — but now there’s only one cop in this room…and it’s not me….

He could hear Forrest’s taunting voice —

What’s your name, cop?

Hutch ran a hand through his hair, his scalp crawling as if living things were throwing a party in it.

Did you tell him? Did you tell him everything? He found Jeannie, didn’t he? He brought her to you just to rub it in. So, you must’ve told him where she was.

He didn’t want to face that, wasn’t ready to deal with the memories of groveling on the floor, begging for another hit. Forrest had played with him the way a cat does a mouse when it’s already eaten. But at that moment, Hutch didn’t care. He needed a hit. Needed it bad.

And just like Jeannie, you became whatever he wanted. Not a cop anymore. Just another junkie.

He blinked, not wanting to remember that, not wanting to think about it, but he had little control over what he got to think about now.

Then something caught his attention…out of the corner of his eye —

The door. It’s unlocked. Starsky’s not minding it —

The ferret made its move, frantically darting toward the unlocked barrier, but somehow, someway, Starsky was there, blocking him, resisting him.

They struggled, wrestling frantically as Hutch fought to get past his partner. Starsky’s resistance was passive, ducking beneath Hutch’s swinging arms, pushing him gently back, holding his arms so he couldn’t do any real damage to either of them. Hutch wanted to scream.

Desperately, he tried to appear reasonable. “I-I-I just want some candy, some candy, that’s all. I just want to get out!” He didn’t think he’d ever said anything more honest in his life. He’d go crazy if he didn’t get out. He began to think maybe he’d even die.

Starsky had that unflinching, Sphinx-look again. Nothing touched him when he got like this. Hutch was surprised when he mumbled, “I can remember a man who hated candy.”

It was too much, a rude slap in the face with what he had once been — whatever that was. Right now, he could barely remember. He exploded in a white-hot rage. “AW, SHUT UP!”

A glimmer of a smile lit up Starsky’s expression, and he said softly, “Now, that’s the Hutch I know.”

And then their eyes met, and he saw his own reflection in those deep indigo pools. He saw the shattered, shambling wreck he had let himself become.

Can you even remember? Can you remember anything? What’s your name — who you are — what you are? Yes. You remember. Hutchinson. Cop. Remember.

It hit him so hard, so suddenly, he sagged in Starsky’s grip. What was he doing? Trying to get out, trying to score? He was a cop! Or he had been, once.

Starsky grabbed the back of his head, eased his forehead onto his shoulder, rubbed his neck, patted his arm. Once more rewarding him with the comfort he’d been denied ever since….

Every since I offered him….

Offered him….

He couldn’t think about it, not now, not with Starsky’s strong touch letting that love and comfort flow back into him. How could he have been so stupid as to offend Starsky so much he wouldn’t even touch him.

But he doesn’t trust me. He won’t pull me close, won’t hug me. He doesn’t trust me not to try to trade on it like I did before. Like I might do again before this is all over.

He accepted the caring from those warm, strong hands and basked in it for a few moments.

“Yeah, you’ve got a ways to go, huh?” Starsky said softly, still petting him.

You always used to say “we” when either of us was hurt, you’d say “we” like we were Siamese twins, as if when one of us is cut the other one bleeds. Not this time, buddy. You might be here, but this one’s all mine. We might’ve gone through it together, but I ruined that by trying to buy you with sex.

Hutch had seen the Sphinx before — every time some junkie tried to soften Starsky up by offering him free head or a quick roll in the sack. As sexually aggressive as the dark-haired cop could be, he had no truck for addicted prostitutes, and thought that cops who took freebies from them were the lowest of low.

And that’s just what you did, Kenny-boy. Offered him sex in exchange for dope. As if he’d have done it. How could you have been so stupid?

The thing that really scared Hutch was that he knew there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t do it again. When the need crested — which it did every few hours — he was capable of anything. He could barely believe it, but, unfortunately, there was nothing wrong with his memory. What he wouldn’t give for a decent dose of alcoholic amnesia now.

Wearily, he moved out of the loving embrace, feeling unworthy — and edgy. His flesh was crawling again. And the depression was hitting hard. He hated himself. Hated the way he felt. The way he looked. The way he smelled. He hated this room.

And he hated Starsky.

No! That’s the problem, you don’t hate him. You love him. The closest person in the world to you….

He hated Starsky.

In a frustrated burst of anger, he swept all the knickknacks off the long dresser, finding a strange comfort in their crashing clatter. Grabbing a hard-backed chair, he sat and rubbed his legs, fighting the urge to scream.

Suddenly, the Sphinx was in front of him. Hutch ignored him.

I feel like howling at the moon. I feel like beating you to death. I feel like running and running and running….

“Feel like talkin’?” the Sphinx said.

“No!” Hutch snarled.

“Good,” the Sphinx said. It cared little for how Hutch felt. It was as clever as the ferret. Only the Sphinx wasn’t hampered by its need. It was pure cunning. Hutch would have to be careful.

Starsky questioned him relentlessly about things Hutch couldn’t care less about. What were their names? How many voices? He hammered at him, repeating the same questions again and again.

Dimly, somewhere, Hutch remembered doing the same thing to crime witnesses who were too upset to remember details unless you asked them over and over and over.

The questions touched memories, broke through the fog of his need…he found the answers…answers he didn’t want to remember…. All of a sudden, it came to him with a disturbing clarity, and he confessed it to Starsky shamefully.

“They…wanted Jeannie…and I think I told them where she was….”

The Sphinx softened, his face taking on the same caring expression Hutch remembered from other painful times. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Hutch wanted to weep. He knew damned well it would never be okay again.

It gets scary
to feel so much
to let somebody touch you
so hot
so cold
so far out of control
so hard to come by
and harder to hold
                        I Need All the Love I Can Get — Sisters of Mercy

 

The fortieth hour

“Hutch,” Starsky said quietly from where he was slouched in the old armchair, “why don’t you lie down? Try to sleep.” The very word held a tantalizing lure to Starsky. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay awake. He couldn’t figure out how his strung-out partner just kept on going.

Hutch sat cross-legged at the head of Huggy’s bed, his back pressed against the wall as he fought the nods. He was wired, irritable, and depressed, but he was on the downhill side finally. His conversation made more sense, and he had either lost his desire to bolt from the room or had finally given in to defeat, Starsky wasn’t sure. A few hours ago he’d taken some broth Huggy had provided and actually kept it down.

“Starsk?” Hutch mumbled, forcing himself awake.

Starsky managed to pay attention. Hutch hadn’t exactly sought him out for lively conversation lately. He’d alternated between frantic begging, insane demands, and vicious accusations. This more reasonable tone was something new. “Yeah?”

“I…uh…I’ve been thinking. Remembering…. They must’ve gotten Jeannie.”

“You think so?”

Starsky was ashamed to admit that he had to feign interest. As a cop, he should care about anyone who’d been abducted by a mobster crazy enough to snatch a cop and addict him to drugs just to get information. But the truth was Starsky had never warmed up to Jeannie Walton, and now he knew why.

He had been so happy that Hutch had finally fallen in love again that he had ignored troubling details while they’d been dating. But his cop’s instinct was rarely wrong. To Starsky, she looked like a hooker, plain and simple. Not a street-walker, but one of those high-priced call girls who worked the hotels in Vegas and were usually controlled by some big macher who kept a string of them under his thumb. He wondered now if that was how she’d ended up in LA — trying to escape only to have her owner come after her. Even in his sleep-deprived state, he realized whoever Jeannie’s owner might be, he had to be a powerful figure in the drug world and a very dangerous man. Any mobster who would risk killing a cop was not rational.

To Hutch, Jeannie had been a damsel in distress who desperately needed him. When it came to women that seemed to be the only thing that ever stirred Hutch. Jeannie had been the first woman Hutch had shown any real interest in since his wife had left him years ago. While Starsky had been glad to see his partner finally getting involved again, Jeannie didn’t exactly look like wife-and-kids material to him. Now he found himself hoping that this wasn’t the kind of woman Hutch was going to make a habit of falling for.

“Yeah,” Hutch agreed, still struggling to remember. “They must’ve picked her up…. I think they let her see me. I think I remember…her crying….” He blinked hard, struggling to recall, then turned to his partner. “She was so afraid of that, Starsk, so afraid they’d find her again — ”

“It’s okay,” Starsky soothed, since Hutch was getting agitated. He felt a glimmer of joy. Hutch was starting to think like a cop again. “We’ll find her, buddy. We’ll get her back.”

Hutch sagged back against the wall. “We will, huh?” he said softly. “That’s the first time you’ve said ‘we’ since….”

The quiet insight cut deep. Starsky hadn’t even realized he’d stopped referring to them as a team during Hutch’s withdrawal. He was amazed that through everything he’d endured, Hutch was not only aware of Starsky’s omission, but hurt by it.

“I’m sorry, partner,” Starsky said. “I never meant — ”

Hutch shook his head wearily. Shutting his eyes, he rested his head against the wall. “Don’t apologize. You were right. If I’d treated you like my partner, I’d have told you what was going on with Jeannie right from the start, instead of doing it her way and keeping it all to myself. I guess I was afraid you’d see through everything and tell me things I didn’t want to hear.” He opened his eyes. “You knew, didn’t you? Soon as you saw her. You knew she… she’d been a hooker.”

Starsky couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

Hutch smiled bitterly. “You got this funny look on your face when I introduced you. You went all blank — I knew there was something…but I didn’t want to know. So, I excluded you. I cut out the ‘we’ between us long before you did.”

“Hutch,” Starsky said quietly, “even if I did think that about Jeannie — it don’t mean anything. People fall into that kind of life because of hard luck and problems. It doesn’t mean they can’t turn their life around again. An’ if you were Jeannie’s big bright hope for a new life, and if you’re okay about it, then I am, too. I wouldn’t condemn anyone for the mistakes of their past. God knows I’ve made my own.”

Hutch’s expression nearly crumbled and he said in a tight voice, “That’s nice to know, pal. But some things… I think some things are harder to forgive than others….”

“Like…?” Starsky prodded, wanting Hutch to keep talking, to find his way back to where they’d been before this happened.

Hutch looked like he was fighting tears. “How many times have one of us said, ‘we aren’t like other cops — we don’t make deals.'”

“Lotsa times,” Starsky confirmed.

“Well, I can’t say that anymore. I gave them Jeannie for a fix. I gave them the woman I love… for a shot of dope.”

“Hutch, that’s different. You were hurting, they addicted you, you couldn’t help it — ”

He glared at Starsky. “Yes, I could. I could’ve handled it. I could’ve ridden it out. I begged them for it.”

“Don’t, Hutch. Don’t do this to yourself. You couldn’t help it — ”

“You would’ve never done it. You would’ve never given in.”

“Don’t be crazy. I’d’ve done the same thing you did — ”

Hutch shook his head. “Not you. You would’ve curled up around the pain and cursed them until you died. I know you. You would’ve never given up anyone you loved.”

Starsky heard the underlying words he didn’t say. You would’ve never given me up. Jeannie wasn’t the issue anymore. Hutch believed that had they wanted Starsky instead, he would’ve given up his partner just as easily.

“That stuff’s still messin’ with your mind, babe,” Starsky said gently. “It’s making you depressed, down. It’s part of the withdrawal. I don’t believe any of that. You’re my partner. Still my partner. And as soon as you’re well, we’re gonna get Jeannie back, and put a real hurtin’ on those bastards. Now get some sleep, Hutch. You gotta get well.”

“Sure, Starsk,” Hutch said morosely. “Whatever you say.” But he never changed his position.

And Starsky suspected he fell asleep long before Hutch ever did.

 

Wild boys wonder where is glory
And lovers war with arrows over secrets they could tell
                        Wild Boys — Duran Duran

 

Chapter 2

My life makes perfect sense
Lust and food and violence
Sex and money are my major kicks
Get me in a fight I like dirty tricks
‘Cos if you wanna run cool
You got to run on heavy, heavy fuel
                        Heavy Fuel — Dire Straits

The fifty-fifth hour

“Detective Starsky!”

The sharp, nasal tone made him slow down just enough to allow the voice’s owner to jog abreast of him and match his steps with Starsky’s hurried ones.

“Make you’re point quick, Counselor, I ain’t in the mood for idle chatter,” Starsky grumbled, looking straight ahead.

“You’ll have to be in the mood once we get before the judge, won’t you?” the lawyer snarled back. Latching onto one of Starsky’s elbows he forcibly brought them to a halt.

They were in one of the endless corridors in Parker Center. Starsky’s destination was near, but he had no intentions of sharing it with this… this…. His abusive vocabulary failed him as he stared down at Ben Forrest’s lawyer. He yanked his elbow out of the man’s grip, and fought his own surging anger. Beating the shit out of this guy wasn’t going to help anything. Even if it would be fun.

“It is illegal to keep a client isolated from his lawyer once he’s requested counsel,” Attorney Samuel Garner reminded him. “Where’ve you got Forrest stashed, and why?”

Where’ve I got Forrest stashed? Ain’t that irony? “What are you talking about? Look, thanks to your clientI’m ass-deep in reports — ” which was where he’d left Hutch, crouched over one of the shared typewriters in the squad room. And ever since he’d left him, he’d had to fight his own paranoid fears — is he still there, or did he slip out of the building to go looking for —

He blinked, forcing his mind away from that track and made himself deal with this parasite in front of him.

“Don’t cry the blues to me, Detective,” the lawyer shot back. “And don’t give me the innocent act, either. You and I have had this dance before.”

Ain’t we, though? Starsky thought. He’d lost his share, too. He wondered if there was some special switchboard for bad guys who needed legal help. For great counsel call Sam Garner. Guaranteed to get off rapists, drug runners, and organized crime lords if they’ve got enough cash. Well, not this time, Garner.

“They’re telling me in booking that they don’t know where my client is,” the lawyer insisted. “For some reason, I can’t help but think that you do.”

“Me? Look, you know the drill, Garner. He got his phone call, right? That’s why you’re here, huh? So, he’s gotta still be in processing somewhere. These things take time.”

“He’s been processed. He’s awaiting arraignment. This is when I’m supposed to have access to my client, but nobody seems to know where he is. And for some reason, no one will look me in the eye when I ask about him.”

Starsky took a deep breath. “You tellin’ me you can’t figure out why any cop would have trouble looking you in the eye? Come on, Counselor. You know everyone here thinks the world of your work — ”

“My client, Detective!” the lawyer all but shouted.

“Calm down, Garner. Go on down to processing and have yourself a sitdown. He’ll show up soon. I’ll ask my captain to look into it. I mean,” Starsky gave him his most disarming grin, the one guaranteed to charm virgins right out of their inhibitions, “we certainly wouldn’t want any citizen to be deprived of his constitutional rights, now would we?”

The lawyer sputtered a bit more, warning if he were responsible — but Starsky had already tuned him out as he proceeded down the hallway, glancing back just once to be sure Garner had taken the elevator off the floor. Backtracking, Starsky approached an interrogation room where a lone uniformed officer stood sentry.

“How ya doin’, Bernie?” Starsky asked the veteran cop.

The older man nodded. “Just fine, Starsky.”

“My man inside?”

Bernie glanced up and down the hall, ensuring their privacy. “Just like you asked.”

“I owe ya, Bernie,” Starsky said. “Twice now.”

Bernie’s eyes went soft. “How’s your partner?”

I wish I knew, Starsky thought worriedly. Aloud, he said, “He’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna get through this.” He’d explained to Bernie the circumstances of Hutch’s situation, knowing the older cop would also have to tell his own partner. Starsky knew the veterans and knew the information would go no further. Bernie was a good man, had helped train Starsky in his rookie days. He knew he could trust him, and was thankful Bernie had been in the black-and-white that had first found Hutch.

“Sure he is,” Bernie agreed. “He’s got a good partner. That’s the most important thing in this business.”

“You got that right,” Starsky said, patting Bernie’s arm. He glanced up and down the deserted hallway. “Don’t let anyone in.”

Bernie nodded once, and Starsky slipped past him into the interrogation room.

The man inside was pacing nervously like a caged tiger. Caged, but not defanged, Starsky reminded himself as he closed the door quietly. Forrest was still wearing his pristine white suit, the expensive fabric accenting his physique in all the right ways. He turned toward Starsky and gripped the back of a chair, as if considering swinging it at him. Starsky leaned against the closed door and eyed his opponent.

“Where’s my lawyer?” Forrest demanded.

Starsky’s eyes narrowed as he struggled to contain his passions. He had to be cool — no, cold. He couldn’t let anything this monster said touch him. As much as it repelled him, he was here to bargain. See, Hutch, you ain’t the only one ready to cut deals. I’m here to deal with the Devil himself. He made his face impassive and just shook his head.

“No lawyer?” Forrest laughed mercilessly. “Just you and me? That’s rich. Why don’t you just violate a few more of my rights, cop? Maybe beat the shit out of me just for good measure! My lawyer’s gonna love this! Come on! You wanna piece of me? Come and get it!”

“They pulled a set of works off of you when they booked you, Forrest,” Starsky said, not letting himself respond to anything the mobster said. “You were gonna get Jeannie addicted again, weren’t you? That’s how you kept her quiet, kept her in the stable. Kept her jumpin’ through your hoops.”

Forrest grinned, his eyes narrowing, as if recognizing rules he could understand. One predator to another. “How’s your partner? Still a little twitchy? Should be real interesting working with him on the streets from now on. You’d best be counting every little bag you confiscate or you might catch him sampling the goods.” He laughed.

Starsky wouldn’t react. “I came here to talk.”

“I’m not supposed to be talkin’ to you without my mouthpiece, cop,” Forrest reminded him.

“This is just between you and me,” Starsky insisted.

“Yeah, I bet it is. The arraignment should be real interesting. We might be able to work something out. Especially if you drop the kidnapping charge.”

Starsky shook his head. “There’s only one thing on the table right now. And you know what it is.”

Forrest laughed again. “You must be talking about the long-term business relationship I had with your partner. How he started sleeping with my hooker. How she got him addicted. And how he came to work for me — ”

“The dope we hauled out of your warehouse, and the evidence we pulled out of your house on the hits you ordered and your other ‘business transactions’ is gonna put you — and a whole boatload of your associates — away for a long time, Forrest. You may never get out. Now, I’ve got enough people who can testify to Hutch’s relationship with Jeannie, and there’s enough physical evidence still on him to support his claim to abduction and forced addiction — ”

And torture. You stinkin’ motherfucker, you tortured my partner for days, and if there were any justice in this world I’d be given a half-hour alone in this room with you and a crowbar —

“Not to mention Jeannie’s abduction. But the reality is — ”

“That admitting Hutchinson was ever addicted to heroin would cause him untold complications within the department,” Forrest said.

“There’s nothing for you to gain by bringing this up in court,” Starsky reminded him. His voice was calm, unemotional. “The only thing it might do is muddy the water for Hutch. You’ll be risking a lot more jail time if you bring it up. And you’re already in for twenty-five plus. You talkin’ about Hutch’s addiction is only gonna guarantee that they lock you up and throw away the key. Keep it out of court, and we just go on the charges we got now, and we don’t push for anything more.”

“You call this a bargain?” Forrest’s laugh was nearly a bray. “You gotta give me something else. Or your partner’s gonna be spending every Wednesday with the department shrink until his retirement.”

Starsky walked carefully up to the table separating them. He kept his voice contained. It was important that Forrest understand him clearly and believe him. Because he had never been more serious.

“You ever wonder why Monk couldn’t find Hutch once he got away?”

“You had him hidden,” Forrest said as if it didn’t matter.

“You made one big mistake, when you snatched Hutch. See, my partner, he’s the original White Knight. Sometimes I call him the choirboy. He’s never even had a traffic citation. He’s got the cleanest record in the entire state. Puttin’ mud on Hutch ain’t gonna be that easy. Too bad you didn’t snatch me. My record’s a little different. I got some history. But that history sure comes in handy on the street. I hid Hutch at an ol’ friend’s place. A brother. A brother with more connections than you could imagine. This brother and me, we’re tight. Tight as me and Hutch are, and we go back, further than me and Hutch, we go way back.”

“I’m not surprised that you’d freely associate with the lower classes. But why should I care about this touching family history?”

“I’ve already talked to my man, and he’s made the arrangements. Now, I’m playin’ the odds, Forrest, but I’m pretty good at this. I’m suggesting to you that if you go before the arraignment with your lawyer and work out whatever you can try to work out on the charges we’ve already got against you, you’re gonna end up with twenty-five to forty years of serious time. Not much to look forward to. But the chances are good you’ll end up in the same pen and in the same wing with all the other ‘businessmen’ who’ve run into similar misfortunes. Life there, with your own, could be fairly comfortable since you’re so high up on the food chain. On the other hand, you bring up Hutch’s addiction, and we’re pulling out all the stops. You against the choirboy. And maybe he’ll have trouble in the department, and maybe he’ll be benched, but you — I’m willin’ to guarantee that you’ll end up in the wing with all the hardened, violent criminals. No tidy, civilized businessmen on that wing. The real bad-asses. And that’s where my family’s got connections.”

Forrest’s eyes narrowed. “Are you threatening to have me killed in prison, Detective?”

Starsky rested his fingertips on the table and leaned forward, balancing on them. He shook his head slowly from side to side. “Oh, no, Forrest. I don’t want you dead. I want you to live. So’s you could enjoy every single day to the fullest. Just like you made Hutch and Jeannie enjoy it. You know, there are drugs in prison, too, Forrest. And what goes around comes around. For twenty-five to forty years.”

There was silence between them for a moment as the criminal considered what Starsky had told them. Then Forrest’s cheek twitched and Starsky knew he had won.

“It’s up to you, Forrest. I’ll make sure you get connected to your lawyer now. See you in court.”

The gangster glowered in silence as Starsky backed out of the room. Never turn your back on another predator, he thought as he left, his face, his voice emotionless.

“How’d it go?” Bernie asked, when Starsky left the room.

“Good. Real good. His shyster’s downstairs waitin’ on him. You mind delivering him?”

“Sure, Starsky,” Bernie assured him. “You get used to hauling garbage in this job.”

Starsky stood in the hallway while Bernie manacled the prisoner and watched until the elevator closed on them. So he was taken completely by surprise when his arm was grabbed roughly from behind and he was spun around. Before he could recover, he was shoved into the same interrogation room Forrest had just left.

The door was slammed shut and he found himself confronted by his outraged captain. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dobey bellowed. “Do you know everyone in this building has been looking for that prisoner? His lawyer’s raising hell with the DA on down! And you’ve got him stashed in a private conference? Are you trying to get this case dismissed?”

“No, sir,” Starsky said meekly. He knew when to capitulate. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the captain this furious.

“What were you talking to him about? He can claim violation of his Miranda rights. He can — ”

“He won’t. It’s okay, Cap… there were just some… things I had to say to him. It won’t hurt the case, I swear.”

“If it does…!” Dobey wagged a beefy finger in Starsky’s face. “I’m not kidding, Starsky. You can’t afford any private parties on this one. You know what it would do to Hutch if this were dismissed?”

A rush of blood colored Starsky’s face and all the bottled rage he’d kept in check with Forrest threatened to explode. “You think I’d do anything to hurt Hutch, after all we’ve been through?”

Both men seemed to pause then and regroup, as if each realized they were just giving each other a chance to express emotions they couldn’t otherwise.

“He still workin’ on those reports?” Starsky asked, not allowing himself to face his own concerns.

“Yes,” Dobey said, admitting that he’d been watching Hutch. “He looks like he needs to be hospitalized, not working on a police report. After the arraignment later today I want the two of you to take a few days off. Give yourselves time to recover.”

“Thanks, Cap’n. We both need it.”

“Are you… going to be with him for awhile?” Dobey asked.

“You know it. He’s gonna be surprised when the need comes on him again in a few days, or two weeks from now. He ain’t gettin’ rid of me.”

Dobey nodded. Then he looked Starsky right in the eye. “Be honest with me, Starsky. Is Hutch going to be okay?”

Starsky flared again. “Of course he is! How can you even ask me that?”

“I’m asking because I know what that stuff can do to a man. It destroys him from the inside out. If it had been you, I don’t know that I’d need to ask, but Hutch…. He’s strong, but he’s not you. And you can be strong for him, and I know you will… but you can’t give him back what they took from him, Starsky. Not even you can do that. And I’m asking because I’ve got two men to worry about. Is Hutch going to be there for you when you need him? On the street? With the pushers? And the junkies? And the junk? Or will you find yourself alone one night in a tight spot just when you need him?”

Starsky’s jaw clenched as all his own fears slapped him in the face. “He’s gonna be okay. He will. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Starsky — ” Dobey admonished.

“It’s my back he’s gonna be watchin’, ain’t it?” Starsky snapped. “Then, it’s my worry. He’s gonna be okay. Now, I’m gonna go help my partner with our latest creative writing project. See you, Cap.” He stormed to the door and yanked it open, then paused before leaving. Without looking back at the imposing black man, he said softly, “And thanks, Captain. Don’t think I’ll ever forget what you did for Hutch. I know it cost you, too.” And then he shut the door to go back to the squadroom.

 

I come along but I don’t know where you’re taking me
I shouldn’t go but you’re wrenching dragging shaking me
Turn off the sun, pull the stars from the sky
The more I give to you the more I die
And I want you
You are the perfect drug
                        The Perfect Drug — Nine Inch Nails

 

Two weeks later

Hutch briskly toweled himself dry, then cleared a section of the fogged mirror in Starsky’s bathroom so he could shave. He no longer flinched whenever he faced his image since the worst of the facial wounds had faded. There was still a slightly yellow cast under one eye, and a faded cut over the other one, but they weren’t that noticeable, and Hutch had never been that obsessive about his appearance. Basically, his face had once again assumed its familiar countenance. He glanced in the mirror, lathered his face efficiently, and wielded the razor the same way he always did. But these days, he couldn’t shake the impression that the face he was shaving wasn’t his. The face he was shaving was actually a mask, something he’d put on to help him get through the day. He wasn’t sure what his real face looked like, or that he’d recognize it if he even saw it, but this bland, white-bread exterior wasn’t it.

This was a choirboy’s face. And he wasn’t a choirboy any more.

“D’j’ou die in there, or what?” Starsky griped blearily from the other side of the door.

The familiar, cranky, nearly ever-present whine evoked so many conflicting emotions in Hutch he could no longer sort them out. As comforting as it was having Starsky with him constantly during the bad times — which still showed up with alarming regularity — it was equally exasperating to have him as a constant reminder of his own personal failure. He wondered if he’d ever be allowed to have a completely private moment again. Tamping down warring feelings of gratitude and resentment, he washed the remaining soap off his face and wiped his face clean.

Slinging a towel over his neck, he pulled open the bathroom door and faced his friend. “Good morning, partner. Haven’t had our first cup of coffee yet, have we?”

“Me neither,” Starsky grumbled and shuffled past him.

The dark curly hair was tousled in a thousand directions, as if malignant elves had played havoc with it all night. The deep blue eyes were narrowed to sleepy slits, while the heavy beard darkened the masculine, triangular face. Hutch noted all the familiar details of Starsky’s typical morning appearance as they passed briefly in the doorway. He noted all of that and more.

Too much more.

He noted that not only were the bright red skin-tight briefs Starsky’s only article of clothing this morning, but that their color stood in bold contrast with the dusky shade of his skin and the dark hair covering his well-shaped torso. He also noted how the briefs hugged his body like a second skin, outlining the voluptuous curves of his ass, and revealing the perfect contours of his heavy sac. Hutch wished he hadn’t noticed these provocative details, just as he wished he hadn’t spotted the vivid image of Starsky’s morning erection, struggling to escape those bright red briefs as his partner made a beeline for the john.

But even as he wished to be oblivious to the poetic movement of taut muscle under tanned skin, he turned and started to say something else to his friend, if only to get Starsky to pivot once more in his direction. But before he could frame a thought, the bathroom door shut firmly in his face.

He was absurdly grateful yet disappointed at the same time. Silently, he placed his palm on the closed door as though he could absorb some needed vibrations right through the wood.

My partner. My buddy. The man who saved my life and my sanity. The man who keeps me safe. He closed his eyes wearily.

The man who’s become my latest addiction.

He rested his forehead against the door and wondered if life would ever be normal again.

No. Not ever. Never. How could it? After what had happened to him. After what he’d done. After what he’d said. And especially now, with the way he felt.

We both need privacy, he realized. It’s making us crazy, all this time together. But that was his fault, too. He couldn’t bear to go back to the little yellow bungalow in Venice. The place where Monk had captured him all too easily. Starsky had brought his clothes and Huggy’s cousin was watering the plants. Hutch needed to go apartment hunting, but there never seemed to be any time. Or at least he couldn’t make any. The truth was, he wasn’t ready to be out on his own yet. Living with Starsky was becoming too comfortable, too secure.

We both need time apart. Or with a change of company.

Even as he thought it, he knew it was a lie. The thought of being alone even for an evening terrified him. He didn’t trust himself, and he knew damned well Starsky didn’t trust him either. Why should he? Yet, their constant togetherness gave Hutch a pervading sense of claustrophobia that dogged his heels. Somehow, it always seemed more pronounced in the morning.

You’d feel better if you went back to jogging, he told himself, not for the first time. But he couldn’t seem to get started. He didn’t feel well enough. It was raining. They’d be late for work. There were always enough reasons to put it off.

And besides, Starsky hated jogging and wouldn’t go with him. And leaving him behind had become impossible for Hutch.

You’d feel better if you got laid.

He slammed a door shut on that thought before it grew wings. But that was the truth, too. He would feel better… but there was only one person on the planet he had any interest in. He might as well be angling for a trip to the Moon. He’d just have to get over it. It couldn’t be any harder than —

The memory of silver lightening in his veins came over him uncontrollably, making him shudder and bite his lip. Then it was gone that fast. Just a reminder. Of how good it was. How sweet. Would fucking Starsky be that sweet? Would he feel the same jolt of power, of heavenly euphoria if he slid inside that tight, hot mystery? Starsky —

He told himself it was just some weird backlash reaction to his experience. He’d had courses about this in the Police Academy, about how victims might react to violent crimes. They might become overly paranoid, dependent on others, obsessed with details, the need to control every aspect of their lives. Yeah, Hutch knew all the symptoms. But the focus in the Academy was how to help the victim give accurate testimony or to be a reliable witness in spite of these problems. Those courses never dealt with how to cure the symptoms. That wasn’t a cop’s problem. They never talked about what happened when a cop was a victim of violent crime. And they surely never talked about what happened when a cop was-was —

He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to put the words to it, but suddenly it was right there, in the forefront of his brain —

Abducted out of your own house. Beaten. Starved. Tortured. Shot up with junk. Addicted to horse. Injected into you. In your body. That seductive euphoria the only relief from the pain. The hunger. The terror. Until Starsky found you. Held you in his arms. Touched your face, your throat, freely giving you the absolute purity of his love. Which you promptly threw back in his face in the vilest way possible, showing him just how corrupt you had become.

He didn’t even realize he was leaning against the door with his eyes squeezed shut and his hands balled into fists until Starsky opened it suddenly and Hutch nearly fell against him. Startled rudely back into the immediate present, Hutch vainly struggled to recover, but he knew the blood had drained from his face, knew he had that spacey, shell-shocked expression that was too familiar to them both.

Starsky grabbed his upper arms, supporting him as he regained his equilibrium. He didn’t ask if Hutch was all right, or question what he was doing nearly lying against the bathroom door. He just held him up, his face a careful mask of non-emotion.

For Hutch, the contact was like an electric charge as his body reacted predictably to his partner’s nearness. He could feel Starsky’s heat, smell his personal musk, and his body went into overdrive. His nearly instant erection was just another slap of humiliation and regret that just added to a constant pileup of shame and embarrassment. Could he get any more screwed up?

“It’s okay,” Starsky murmured.

Hutch yanked himself out of Starsky’s grip and turned his back in a desperate attempt to get himself under control. “The hell it is,” he choked out, furious with himself and the body that had once done anything he’d wanted it to and now couldn’t seem to mind the simplest request.

“You just need some coffee,” Starsky insisted, moving over to the percolator and filling it with water.

“No coffee!” Hutch insisted, louder than he intended.

“Hutch,” Starsky said, sounding exasperated.

“I said no coffee!” he said again firmly, his voice more controlled. “There are enough chemicals in there to start a factory. Not just caffeine and other addictive stuff, but stomach irritants and carcinogens. Pesticides from the growing fields — all kinds of crap. No coffee! You ought to give it up, too.”

He hadn’t touched a drop since that last morning in Huggy’s upstairs room. I can still taste it though. Bitter. Yet sweet. So damned sweet. Almost narcotic. Starsky held the cup to my mouth and I drank, as I trembled all over and clung to his arms. It made me sick, but he didn’t care, he just held me in his lap, giving me his love, trying to heal me. The way he touched me —

He jerked his mind away from the image.

Since then, no coffee, no beer, no alcohol of any kind, no sweets — nothing that might ever, in any way, claim his soul and remind him of the hunger he could never again satisfy.

He’d made his blender health drinks, scrutinized every scrap of food that entered his body for wholesomeness, and swallowed a regimen of vitamins and minerals that was so complicated it nearly took a chemist to figure it out.

“Hutch, you gotta stop this,” Starsky said patiently. “You’ve drunk coffee since you were a kid and it never did you any harm. You act like a cup of coffee or a single beer is gonna — ”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Hutch snapped. “It could. When you’ve got an addictive personality….”

Starsky clenched his jaw. “Listen, partner, those people at AA are helpin’ a whole lotta folks, and they know their stuff, but they’re dealing with hard-core alcoholics. People who can’t sniff a cork without getting the DTs. What happened to you has nothin’ to do with what that. You didn’t belong at that meeting you insisted on going to.”

Hutch shook his head. “You didn’t hear a word they were saying, did you? Sure, anybody fed the stuff I was fed would’ve gotten addicted, but most people would’ve gotten over it easier, shook it off faster. They wouldn’t have-have — ” The words jammed up in his throat.

They wouldn’t have fought you the way I did. They wouldn’t have tried to use you the way I did. They wouldn’t have abused you, said the things I said to you… and they sure wouldn’t have tried to sell themselves to you for a shot the way I did.

Hutch rubbed a hand over his face. No. He knew what he was. And he would spend the rest of his life fighting it. And that meant no coffee. No beer. Nothing addicting.

Which meant the only thing left for his brain to focus on was his partner, and the sudden, overwhelming and unreasonable desire he’d developed for him. Your only remaining addiction. Just something else you can never indulge. He wouldn’t look at Starsky. At the sleek body clothed in nothing but the tormenting briefs. At the strong, confident sex that curved deliciously inside the front panel of the skimpy pants.

He knew the feel of that sex, knew its size, its heat, its strength. He’d held it in his palm, made it purr, made it come. So long ago, but he remembered. Such a simple contact, his hand on that rigid, responsive flesh. He’d never tasted it, but he wanted to. He could do that for Starsky, take him in his mouth. Starsky had done that for him long ago. Hutch had never done it before, but he was willing.

He imagined for just a second going down on Starsky and shivered a little. Starsky’s erection moving in his mouth, against his tongue, held fast by his lips. Then almost immediately, he imagined Starsky’s erection moving forcibly into his body. Inside him. If he were honest, he’d admit that he wanted that, too. He was afraid of that, a little, of all the unknown factors of that exotic, erotic act. But he wanted it. He wanted it all.

Sure you do, he thought, annoyed. It doesn’t take a Freudian analyst to figure that out. You need to be penetrated. To be injected. Fixating on a sex act with your partner is just a substitute for getting injected with some other fluid you can’t have.

His body reacted helplessly to the sensual, visual images assaulting his brain.

“I thought you were gonna go jogging this morning,” Starsky said quietly, startling Hutch out of his reverie so much, he flinched.

“I never said that.”

“Last night. We were talking about it and — ”

“You were talking about it,” Hutch corrected.

“You were complaining about getting out of shape,” Starsky reminded him.

“Maybe if we got up earlier I could go to the gym and work out,” Hutch hedged. He knew they couldn’t get up earlier because he still had trouble sleeping, and Starsky never closed his eyes until he was sure Hutch was out for the night. Because there’s a part of him that’s still afraid you’ll go looking for a connection while he’s asleep.

“Scenery’s nicer around here, Hutch,” Starsky said with a sly smile.

He felt himself go cold all over. Starsky was referring to Sharon, the cute brunette bank teller that lived a few houses down who went jogging first thing every morning. Hutch had gone out once for a run when they first started staying here and she’d appeared, almost out of nowhere, and accompanied him, trying to make small talk, until Hutch insisted he was out of breath, and had a serious stitch in his side and had to go back. She was such a nice girl, so clean and all-American, an open-hearted beauty. She deserved something a hell of a lot better than a broken cop with an addictive past and a weird jones for his partner. Hutch hadn’t gone jogging again.

“Starsky,” Hutch said, not looking at him. “I’m not ready for that yet.” He wasn’t talking about the physical act of jogging.

His partner didn’t need a translation. “Why not? You’re healthy, Hutch. You’re gainfully employed. Fully functional.”

So, you’ve noticed, Hutch thought mockingly. How could he not, since, lately, Hutch spent more time at full bloom than he had since he first hit puberty. Self-consciously, he rubbed the inside of his arm. The marks were still vivid. The very thought of a woman touching him there made his manhood shrivel. He shook his head. “No, I’m not. Not fully functional. That’s a nice girl, Starsk. I’m not ready for that.” He had serious doubts that he’d ever be again.

“Hutch,” Starsky said, “life doesn’t have to be this complicated. I swear it don’t.” He turned away and proceeded to make a pot of coffee.

Hutch felt his throat tighten in response and for the two thousandth time since this had happened to him, wished that Starsky’s simple view of the world could be his as well.

~~~

Wild boys fallen far from glory
Reckless and so hungered on the razors edge you trail…
They tried to break us, looks like they’ll try again
                        Wild Boys — Duran Duran

“STARSKY!”

He heard the baritone bark before the squad room doors had even swung shut behind them.

“Not yet,” Starsky griped softly, fighting a nearly instinctive urge to hide behind his slightly taller partner.

Hutch glanced at him questioningly as if to say, Now what?

Dobey exploded out of his office into the squad room, amazingly quick for such a big man. His meaty fist clutched a tattered file jacket that he waved in the general direction of the seats they usually occupied. Not seeing them there, he swung around, finally spying them standing by the double doors. “Starsky!”

He tried to disarm the angry bear. He smiled sweetly. “You bellowed, mon capitan?”

“Don’t give me that jive,” Dobey snapped, using the file folder for emphasis. “You’re late!”

Starsky lifted his left hand to glance at his watch, opening his mouth for a useless protest, but Dobey never gave him a chance.

“This report is a joke, Starsky. I want you in my office! Now!”

Dutifully, Starsky moved forward to enter the lion’s den. Hutch moved quietly but steadily at his back.

“Your name’s not Starsky, is it?” Dobey growled at him. “Don’t you have some reports to finish?”

“Actually, no, Captain,” Hutch said, in that calm, reasonable voice that drove Dobey nuts when he was on a tear. “You already have all my reports, typed, and signed in triplicate — ”

“Then finish one of his!” the captain shouted, pointing at Starsky. That stopped Hutch dead in his tracks.

Starsky glanced back at his friend, giving him a bit of non-verbal gratitude for his support as he slid past Dobey’s bulk into the trapped confines of his very angry captain’s inner sanctum. The door slammed tightly on Hutch’s concerned expression.

Dobey slapped the folder down on his desktop and nearly threw himself into his beleaguered desk chair. Starsky didn’t dare make himself comfortable, not when Dobey was this kind of pissed. “I want it straight, no fooling around.” The crumpled file folder was shoved in a drawer and forgotten as dark eyes pinned Starsky in the center of the room and he felt all his natural defenses gathering around him. “What’s going on with Hutchinson?”

Starsky felt his stomach muscles tighten as for one vertigo-induced moment he wondered if Dobey had found some way to spy on them this morning. He saw him and Hutch in their tense tableau, neither of them wearing much, Starsky clutching his partner to keep him on his feet, Hutch swaying, as if he were high, and sporting an erection that was positively scary.

Snap out of it! he warned himself. He couldn’t afford to be paranoid now. Dobey knew them as well as anyone did, but if he suspected anything about their past, he kept it to himself.

“What do you mean, Captain?” Starsky asked, keeping his face and tone carefully neutral.

“Don’t hand me any of that Brooklyn okey-doke!” Dobey shouted. He was making sure that was heard beyond the doors, to maintain the fiction of a report-gone-bad. “You know damned well what I mean.”

But Starsky wasn’t taking any chances. “Spell it out,” he said abruptly.

Dobey stood and came around the desk. His voice was quiet, contained, yet deadly serious. “I’ve been watching him for the last two weeks. You know I have. You expected me to. So that means I know the same thing you know. Hutch isn’t getting any better. In fact, I think he’s getting worse.”

Starsky felt the blood rush to his face as Dobey put words to the traitorous thoughts that had been trying to make themselves heard over his denials all this last week. “You’re wrong!” he argued, but even he could hear the doubt.

“The hell I am,” Dobey said, standing nearly toe-to-toe with him, as if he could force him to accept the truth simply by his proximity. “He’s gaunt. He’s not eating, is he? He’s not sleeping well. I’ve seen him fast for a week and not look this pale, this haggard, this tired. Three days ago, Matthews said Hutch hesitated before pulling his weapon when the two of you showed up at firefight — ”

“There were twenty cops on the scene with their guns out. I didn’t — ”

“Matthews said you were out of the car and armed and ready to go on the scene, but it wasn’t until you moved around one of the black-and-whites and got in the line of fire that Hutchinson ‘woke up,’ as Matthews put it, drew his weapon and covered you.”

“Which he did. And that’s his job, isn’t it? Covering me? Protecting my back. Matthews needs to worry more about that boob he’s got riding beside him every day than paying attention to a cop of Hutch’s caliber!”

“Forget the snow job, Starsky,” Dobey growled, stalking around him. “You’re covering for him. He looks like hell.”

“Wha’d’ya talkin’ about? He looks fine. All the bruises have faded, and the ladies can’t take their eyes offa him, just like always.”

“Yeah, the bruises have healed all right — on the outside. But inside, he’s still bleeding. And you know it. I don’t like what I’m seeing. He’s covering the details almost obsessively, handling all the little things, while the big issue just sits there on his back — ”

Starsky rebelled at the analogy. “Hutch is clean!”

“Chemically,” Dobey specified. “I know that. But psychologically, physically — he’s not healing. He’s lost his inner strength, his confidence. He hesitates. He doubts himself. He second-guesses his every decision. What happened to his flash, his drive, his self-esteem? Not only has he not put this thing behind him, he hasn’t even dealt with it. He’s denying it and carrying it around with him. Instead of a monkey on his back, this experience is turning into a rabid gorilla!”

Starsky’s jaw worked back and forth, but he couldn’t find the words to deny Dobey’s truth.

“It’s hard to believe that it was just a few weeks ago he was such a strong, vital cop,” Dobey said, more to himself than to Starsky. “He had everything going for him, a good career, a good life. He was a young man in love, at the peak of his form. And now — ?”

It was almost painful for Starsky to remember back that far.

You know how it is, Cap’n, Starsky had said to Dobey right in this office. He’s in love. Love! Pinches the capillaries.

When he failed to fight back, it seemed to take some of the harshness out of Dobey’s stance. “Look, Starsky, I know it’s asking a lot, expecting Hutch to just get over this. He’s been victimized in the most brutal way. He should be under psychiatric care.”

Starsky’s head jerked up, his eyes wide. No! That’d kill him!

“I know, I know,” Dobey acquiesced wearily, “that’s the problem. The secrecy is part of Hutch’s burden. Is he at least talking it out with you? In the evenings?”

No, we just shadow box around real issues, turn on the television, quarrel about what to eat and then watch as Hutch prowls the house like a prisoner not being given enough time in the yard.

“I didn’t think so. He needs to open up, Starsky. He needs to talk to someone. If it’s not gonna be you… well, I might be forced to send him to the department’s doctor.”

“You can’t!” It was a whisper. A soft, helpless plea. Starsky had never heard himself sound this way in this office.

“He needs help, Dave,” Dobey said just as quietly. He returned to his chair, looking defeated. “You think you know what’s best for him, but I think you’re too close to this whole thing.”

Starsky felt as if the ground were turning to sand under him. There was a time when he was sure he knew what was best for his partner, but his own confidence had been roundly shaken by Hutch’s addiction. But that didn’t sway his defiance. He approached the desk. “We need more time.” He was afraid it sounded too much like begging.

Dobey sat like an intractable Buddha, a potentate with total power over Starsky and the man he was determined to protect. There was a long silence as the two men held eye contact. Then finally, Dobey dropped his gaze. “Okay. You’ve got some. But not much.”

“How much?” Starsky couldn’t believe he’d had the temerity to push it, but he needed to know.

Apparently, Dobey was just as surprised by his brass. “I don’t know!” he snapped. “That’s my prerogative! But I’ll tell you this: it won’t be much longer. You find a way to help him pull it together, or he’s on a desk in the mornings and a couch in the afternoons. You understand that?”

Starsky drew into himself and acknowledged the statement with sullen silence.

Dobey frowned. “I’m worried about you, too, Starsky. Because you’re the one who’ll get hurt if he’s not functioning. I’m worried about you both.”

“Hutch would never let me down,” Starsky insisted.

“I sure hope you’re right about that, son,” Dobey said quietly. “Because it’s your life you’re betting.”

Starsky gave an abrupt nod, then, without waiting for dismissal, left the office.

Hutch was sitting in his usual place at their desk, dutifully working, tapping away on the typewriter. Not only can he type, but he’s got great legs. He’d make someone a perfect secretary, Starsky thought sarcastically.

“Wha’d’ya doin’?” he asked his partner wearily.

“Well, Dobey has a point,” Hutch said blandly. “You are behind on your reports.”

“So, you’re writin’ ’em?” Starsky asked incredulously. “Cut it out! Come on. We gotta hit the streets.”

Hutch looked peevish. “I’m almost done with this — ”

Starsky suddenly became painfully aware of the other detectives staring in astonishment as they realized what Hutch was doing. Normally, Hutch would rather spend three days nagging his partner into doing his half of the paper work, rather than three minutes actually doing it for him. It was a point of pride with him that he had a much easier time writing up the endless stream of reports than Starsky ever did.

Starsky reached over and abruptly yanked the paper out of the machine, making the carriage whir. “Later.” He tossed it into their inbox, and without looking back marched toward the doors, trusting Hutch to follow.

“What’s the rush?” Hutch asked, closing the gap. “And what the hell was going on with you and Dobey?”

“Later,” Starsky growled again, storming through the corridors of the precinct. A precinct full of cops, and none of them able to help Hutch when he needed it. And with all these dozens of peace officers, there was only one who could help him now. And that one was wracked with doubt. Because Dobey was right. Hutch was in trouble. He needed help, serious help.

Starsky could hear those plaintive words from Hutch’s own mouth as he lay shaking like a plague victim in Starsky’s lap. I need help. Please. You gotta help me, Starsky. Help me….

He was still pleading for it, if silently. And Starsky was still unable to provide it. But they were running out of time. Hutch needed him. And if he couldn’t find it within himself to produce a cure they would lose everything. Starsky wasn’t ready to face that. He couldn’t even think about it. But he had serious doubts that he could provide his partner with whatever help he really needed.

Wild boys never lose it
Wild boys never chose this way…
                        Wild Boys — Duran Duran

 

Chapter 3

All you have to do is choose me
And if you would try
An alternative high
Then tell me, what have we got to lose now?
                        Drug — Duran Duran

 

Starsky pulled up outside O’Reilly’s bar at Third and Jefferson and switched off the ignition. Hutch was looking out the passenger window, taking in the new location. “What’s the setup?” he asked. “New snitch?”

“Maybe,” Starsky said. “Depends on how we play it.”

Hutch turned back to him questioningly. O’Reilly’s was a pretty quiet place. They never had cause to do much business here. The bartender, a big man named Al, was a no-nonsense guy who kept his nose out of most of his customers’ business. He wasn’t fond of cops or their informants, but he wasn’t fond of felons, either. He did a careful job of straddling the fence, and the place was clean enough that they rarely had any business here.

“I made a connection while I was lookin’ for you,” Starsky explained matter-of-factly. “That little weasely guy, Richardson, heard I was shakin’ the streets for a lead, and figured he could cop a fin so he called me to meet him. His rap was jive, though, so I shook him off and was gettin’ ready to leave when all hell broke loose in the bar. This pimp I never saw before broke bad with one of his ladies and started beatin’ the shit outta her right in front of me.”

Hutch’s jaw knotted when he mentioned the brutality, but Starsky ignored it and went on. “So I leap-frogged a table, tenderized the bastard and cuffed him. The hooker was nearly passed out, but she’s beggin’ me not to take him in. She was so scared, it was sickening. After I put the piece of shit in a black-and-white to go downtown, Al tells me this joker’s been in town about three weeks, he’s got a stable of maybe ten girls, a couple of ’em way underage, and that they’re all in various states of disrepair. Seems he likes them that way. Makes them handle a lotta rough trade, too. Bigger bucks.”

Hutch closed his eyes for a moment as if to collect himself, then said quietly, “Al must really hate that guy to give you so much information.” They both knew the bartender rarely offered them anything, that only outrage could’ve fueled this outpouring of cooperation.

“That’s an understatement,” Starsky told him. “The pimp’s got the stable scattered all over, but the little blonde he knocked around in front of me is parked in one of Al’s rooms. Needless to say, she wouldn’t press charges against the bum, and, in fact, bailed him out less than an hour after I put him in. Case was dropped. I tried talkin’ to her, but she wouldn’t have anything to do with me since I roughed up her man.”

“So, now what?” Hutch asked patiently.

Starsky looked at him, waiting for his partner to meet his gaze. When Hutch did, he said, “She knows me, knows I’m a cop, so I can’t get anywhere with her. This one’s not a juvenile, she’s got miles on her. And a substantial record for soliciting. If you try to initiate some action with her, put her in a compromising situation, we might be able to turn her. One more serious bust and she goes up for real time. I don’t think she can handle it. I think it might be the one thing she’s more afraid of than him. If we can use her to set him up, find out where he’s stashed the underage girls, we should be able to bust him for everything from child endangerment to violating child labor laws and put him in so deep he’ll never come out. I know it should be Vice’s case, but I got Dobey to clear it with them because I’m already involved.”

Hutch nodded, not saying anything, just taking the whole scene in. Then he smiled a little. “You really don’t like this guy, do you, Starsky?”

It was a glimmer of the old Hutch, and for a second Starsky thought he wouldn’t be able to talk around the lump in his throat. He smiled back and managed to say, “Well, let’s just say I’ve taken him off my Christmas card list.”

“How do you want me to play it?” Hutch asked without hesitation.

Dobey’s wrong, Starsky thought with a flush of pride. You’re the same cop you were before. My partner. The man I can depend on to back me up every day. We’ll show him. He gave Hutch a few of the standard phrases he’d been told that the pimp used as signals that a john was a special customer.

“So, you want me to be rough trade?” Hutch asked, but looked away when he did.

“Uh-uh,” Starsky told him. “Just the opposite. I want you to turn on all that Hutchinson charm. You’re new in town. Don’t know anyone. She’s gonna wonder why someone like you needs to go to a hooker for action — ” Hutch gave him a look of total bewilderment, but Starsky ignored it, ” — so you’re gonna have to convince her she’s got something special you need. Think you can do that?”

“Well, that’s her job, isn’t it?” Hutch said knowledgeably. “To convince me she can earn my cash. I’ll play it by ear, but I’m sure I’ll come up with something.”

“She’s kinda frail, Hutch,” Starsky warned. “She’s on edge. Once you cement the transaction and hand her the cash, we’ve got to move fast, press her hard. She’s got to be convinced we’re gonna send her up for a long ride or she’ll never be willing to give him up. She’s that scared of him.”

“Suppose she won’t?” Hutch wondered. “Then what?”

“I can’t help but think she’d be better off doin’ time than getting whaled on every few days.”

Hutch nodded and grabbed the door handle to leave the car. But before he did, he turned back to Starsky one more time. “You ever gonna tell me what Dobey’s gripe was, or not?”

Caught flat-footed, Starsky couldn’t come up with a quick enough lie. Hutch knew just how to play him like that, and he fell for it every time.

“He’s worried about me, isn’t he?” Hutch said calmly. “He thinks I can’t hack it out here. He’s worried I’ll let you down.”

Starsky ground his teeth. “You don’t need to worry about what he thinks! The only opinion you need to worry about is mine. And I know that ain’t ever gonna happen. I know I can count on you.”

Hutch got pensive but wouldn’t look at his partner. “Your faith is touching, Starsk, but… I’m worried that it might be misplaced.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

This time Hutch did look at him. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately. Maybe — maybe I’m not really cut out to be a cop.”

For once, Starsky couldn’t maintain the kind of emotionless defenses he often affected when hearing things he didn’t like. His jaw dropped, and he went clammy all over. Hutch had never said anything like that before, no matter how down he got.

“Maybe,” Hutch continued quietly, “I haven’t got what it takes for the long haul.”

Without thinking, Starsky slid across the seat and grabbed Hutch by the back of the neck, forcing him to face him. His voice was a choked growl. “Now you listen to me! You’re the finest cop this city’s ever seen, and I don’t wanna hear how you ‘can’t cut it.’ You’re my partner, the only partner I ever wanted, the one thing in this whole screwed-up world I can count on. You got more honor, more integrity, than the whole damned department put together, and more guts than anyone I ever knew!”

Hutch was staring at him, nearly nose-to-nose, shocked at his outburst — and clearly disbelieving. “Yeah. I’ve got all kinds of integrity. That’s why I sold out the woman I loved the first time things got tough for me. That’s why I used the most personal moments between us to try and force you to give me what I wanted. You think you can count on me? For what? To let you down just when you need me the most?”

Still hanging on to Hutch’s neck, Starsky clutched his shoulder with his free hand, giving him a shake. “Cut it out! That wasn’t you. Wasn’t your fault. You gotta get over that. It’s behind us and we gotta move on.”

“It’s behind us all right,” Hutch said, and his voice cracked. “It’s standing right behind us, looming like a shadow over everything. Can’t you see what’s gonna happen? Dobey can, and he’s worried as hell. You think I don’t know that? Well, I do. And he’s right to worry.”

Hutch reached up, slowly touched Starsky’s cheek with his fingertips, and his worried expression went soft. It was a gesture so intimate it stunned Starsky. It was a lover’s touch, and there was no way to misinterpret that. “I’m scared, Starsk, scared of what could happen if I let you down. You’re too important to me….”

Starsky realized then the tense tableau in the confines of the car might have been the worst thing to subject Hutch to. He was hard again, and Starsky couldn’t pretend he didn’t notice. He flushed and released Hutch as if he’d been slapped.

“Sorry, partner,” Hutch said, clearly embarrassed as he shifted in the seat, trying to adjust himself. “Well, at least I can use it to my advantage with this hooker. It should be pretty easy to convince her of my need now, huh?”

Starsky closed his eyes, mortified. He blamed himself for Hutch’s current confusion. If he’d never told Hutch how he’d felt about him all those years ago, if he’d never touched him sexually, this wouldn’t be coming between them now. In some ways, he felt as if the brief moments of passion between them had corrupted Hutch more than Forrest’s drugs had. “Don’t apologize to me,” Starsky ordered him. “It’s not your fault.”

Hutch just snorted a bitter laugh, then opened the car door.

Starsky latched onto his sleeve. “We gotta talk about this, Hutch. You’re keepin’ too much inside you. We gotta — ”

Hutch pulled his arm away savagely. “That’s exactly what I don’t need. An intimate evening sitting around spilling my guts to you. I already can’t get through the nights without you holding my hand. And every day this-this thing — “ they both knew he was referring to his sudden uncontrollable sexual desire for his partner, ” — just gets worse. What I need is some time to think. Some time to myself. Now I’m gonna go up to this hooker’s room and pretend I’m a functioning cop and do my job. And when this is done and the forms are signed I’m going home to my own house and spend the night alone, like any normal adult. And I’m going to use the time to make some serious decisions about my future.”

Starsky stared at him. “You mean our future, don’t you?”

Hutch met his gaze levelly. “No. You already know your future. Mine’s completely up for grabs at this point.” And then he left the car, and Starsky watched him enter the bar alone.

~~~

A million magic crystals painted pure and white
Twice as sweet as sugar, twice as bitter as salt
And if you get hooked, baby, it’s nobody else’s fault
                        White Lines — Duran Duran

 

Could you have made him feel any worse? Hutch berated himself as he walked up the stairs to the prostitute’s room. But he had to be honest with Starsky. He couldn’t live with himself if his bad judgment ended up causing Starsky to be endangered, and he didn’t know how much longer he could spend in Starsky’s company without losing control of himself. And these days, his self-control was tenuous at best.

As he climbed the stairs, the touch of Starsky’s hand on the back of his neck lingered on his skin. It mingled with bitter memories of Monk and his men —

 — restraining him for the shots, pulling his hair, holding the back of his neck, big, powerful male hands wrapping around his throat, restricting his breathing —

It was all a confusing mélange of touch, sensation, and restraint, combined with wild surges of adrenaline-fueled flight response, all of it overlaid with the remembered rush.

 — the needle puncturing his arm — the terror — the useless resistance — the surge of pure pleasure —

— The soft murmuring of his captors —

It’ll be good, blondie, hold still.

You know cops love to ride the white horse, Goldilocks.

That was as easy as givin’ candy to a baby.

He took to that like a baby to a bottle.

Don’t think about it! he ordered himself, an order that was becoming harder and harder to obey.

Standing before the prostitute’s door, he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. He’d ruin Starsky’s whole setup if he couldn’t get his act together. And the last thing he could bear was to let his partner down more than he already had. He spent another moment considering what his story would be, then scrubbed a hand over his face and knocked on the door.

The woman who opened it was prettier than he expected, in a brittle kind of way. She was wearing a clinging dress that accented her figure with an amazingly high hemline. Her ash-blonde hair was fashionably arranged, and her make-up was carefully applied.

Too carefully, Hutch realized, able to see the shadow of discolored bruises around her mouth and cheek and on her throat. He remembered Starsky’s warning about her fragility, and found it fairly easy to smile at her.

“Hi,” he said softly, wanting to seem as uncomfortable as he really felt. “I’m Ken. Hope I’m at the right place.”

She eyed him blatantly, and smiled encouragingly. “So do I.”

“Uh — well, Jake sent me over,” Hutch told her.

“Oh, yeah?” she said, still smiling, but not opening the door any wider.

“Uh-huh.” He glanced around the hallway as if concerned that someone would overhear them. “He, uh, he said you’d be able to help me.”

Her smile broadened. “Did he?”

“Yeah,” Hutch assured her. He moved closer to the door, but didn’t take hold of it. He didn’t want to threaten her with his size; he was more interested in seduction. He pitched his voice low and wore an anxious expression. “Jake said you’d help me. He said…you’d have just what I needed.”

She seemed delighted as he mouthed the pimp’s catch-phrase. “You can take that to bank, Ken. Come on in.” She opened the door to the rented room.

He entered hesitantly, hands in his pockets, and she shut the door behind him. The room was cleaner than most hookers’ quarters, and held a number of personal touches that told Hutch that this woman considered this place her refuge as well as her work place. It depressed him, in spite of the bright wall hangings and the stuffed toys that had obviously been hugged a great deal.

“My name’s Roxie, Ken,” she said, as she moved to the freshly made bed, sitting on it cross-legged. She patted the mattress. “Why don’t you come on over here and tell me what exactly it is that you need.”

He hovered around the bed, acting reluctant to sit with her. He laughed self-deprecatingly. “It’s kinda hard to talk about.”

Her eyes glittered and she eyed him again. “You can tell me, though. Tell me what you need. Let’s get business out of the way first, then we can party, however you want.”

“Yeah, well….” he hesitated, hoping she would start to lead him on. He’d have to be careful about entrapment now. If he said too much, it would kill the case.

She slid off the bed, moved close to him. “Am I going to have to guess, Ken? I don’t get many shy ones here. You’re even blushing a little. That’s sweet.” She leaned forward and cupped his genitals gently, but the gesture startled him and he flinched. He’d lost his erection on the climb upstairs, but fully expected it to come back up quickly at her manipulation. To his chagrin, nothing happened. Roxie glanced down as she stroked him with a bit more insistence. “The size of you, Ken! This is my lucky day! Don’t you like that?”

He waited for his organ to do the job he needed it to do. He could barely keep the damned thing reined in while watching television at Starsky’s house but now that it was receiving a pretty woman’s undivided attention it seemed to be dead.

Roxie didn’t seemed fazed. “Is that it, Ken? Is that why it’s hard to talk about? You poor kid.” She seemed genuinely concerned that a young, handsome man like Hutch might suffer bouts of impotence, and her sympathy was suddenly humiliating to him.

He wasn’t prepared for the touch of her hand on his right arm as she clasped it in a friendly gesture. Grasping him at the elbow, her thumb pressed right over his injection sites. He jerked back slightly before he could control his reaction, and she put two and two together.

“Sure, I understand,” she said gently. “This happens sometimes when you’re playin’ around with — the stuff. Don’t feel bad. I know just what to do.”

He blinked dazedly, unsure of what she meant. This wasn’t going right. He had to get her to agree to illegal acts, name a price. He had to hand over money before — “What can you do?” he asked, sounding a little desperate.

She took him by the wrist and pulled him closer to the bed and he let her. “It’s obvious you haven’t been doing this very long,” she said in a tone that spoke of too much experience. “With guys, sometimes you have to make a choice. Juice or sex. Some guys can take the juice and still get it up. Some can’t. Sometimes if you stay off it for awhile, things will start working again.” She urged him to sit beside her on the bed. He did.

“What-what can you — ?” He was stuttering from nervousness, and couldn’t remember when he’d last felt less cop-like. But his fumbling manner just made her more interested in him. And why not? He wasn’t here to rough her up or use her in some other degrading way. Whatever he was there for, he was clearly letting her set up the rules.

“Well, I’ve got a few tricks that could raise the dead, handsome, so we can try that if you want. It’s all extra stuff, so it’s priced accordingly.”

“I-I-I’m not sure I understand. Like w-what? How m-m-m — ?”

She patted his cheek, charmed with his shyness. “Depends on how far you want me to go.”

He wet his mouth, found his voice. He had to have her give him a price, state what she would do. “I want you to help me — ” His own words to Starsky seemed to echo around the room — I need some help. You’ve got to give me some help — and he shuddered. He started again. “I-I want — everything.”

She smiled. “My pleasure. Everything, huh? You want it itemized?” She giggled, and he managed to smile back at her, hoping she’d think talking about it was turning him on. She obliged, her language geared to sound sexy, the terms all standard street slang that could be hard to pin down in court. But Hutch was used to those problems. Some of the offerings really did make him blush, and that delighted her even more. She gave him a price without ever mentioning dollars, and as soon as she did he nearly exhaled in relief.

He was reaching for his wallet to seal the bargain when she pulled open the drawer of a small nightstand.

“I like you, Ken,” she admitted, sounding almost as if she meant it. “I can tell this is all kind of new to you, so I want this night to be really special. For an extra twenty, I’ll add a little sauce to the party. What do you say?” She placed something on the nightstand, then pulled out a small bag.

Hutch turned and found himself instantly mesmerized by the paraphernalia on the stand.

A full set of works. A spoon. A candle. A baggie full of white powder.

Heroin.

Heroin!

He stared so long at it, she rubbed her fingers gently in the crook of his arm to get his attention. “You’re lookin’ kinda hungry, there, honey. Thought you might want a little just to start. A taste? Sometimes that can get everything working again.”

His mouth had gone completely dry as he sat there, his every nerve ending thrummed.

“I don’t usually share my stash with customers,” she confided. “But I can tell you need it. And this stuff is good, really pure — ”

Hutch forced himself to snap out of it, and turned to her. “This-this is yours?” He swallowed hard and his brain started working. She’s holding. I’ve got her dead to rights, holding. Think about that. Just think about that. Don’t think about the stuff just sitting there….

“Uh-huh, so you know it’s clean,” she went on, blithely. “I had some just a few hours ago. I’ve got a steady supply, too, so you can count on me to have it for you if you want me to be your supplier. Sometimes if the stuff you’re using isn’t clean, it can cause all kinds of problems for guys. But when it’s clean, that doesn’t happen. If it’s clean stuff, you can go all night. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, handsome?”

Hutch blinked, registering the typical junkie folklore as to why addicts became impotent after taking heroin. Details began clicking into place — why she was willing to take beatings and rough trade in the first place. An attractive woman like this could usually get an easier gig hooking than the one Roxie had chosen. But her pimp had a pipeline into some pure horse and she was a junkie. It all made so much sense, now.

“So, would you like that, Ken? A little taste to start the party? Just an extra twenty? I can cook it up for you. Or if you want we could smoke it or snort it. Your choice, handsome.” She seemed so cheerful.

Hutch felt as if he were plummeting head first down the rabbit hole. How could you be a slave to that stuff and be so content with your life? Selling yourself. Willing to do anything, anything sexually with a complete stranger. Enduring brutality. Just to keep the supply coming.

How dare you even ask that question? Look at this woman. She’s you. You were willing to give your ass to Starsky, and you would’ve let him do anything if he’d just score for you. Even before that, you begged those cons for the stuff. Begged them. And after they let you wait for it, you would’ve done anything for it. For free. Just for the juice. At least this woman has the dignity to demand money in payment.

“Don’t be shy, Ken,” she urged him. “I told you I’d have just what you needed.”

Just what I need — even she knows it. She can see the need in me.

The sudden realization that he was less than two feet and twenty dollars away from having what his body had been craving for the last two weeks made him feel as if his blood had chilled down ten degrees. He stared at the bag again, becoming oblivious to the undercover act he was supposed to be running. “Just twenty for the horse?” he said quietly, afraid of being overheard. He was staring at it again, unable to pull his gaze away.

“Uh-huh,” she agreed. “Twenty, added to the other forty for the special party.” She cocked her head to one side flirtatiously. “And for you, handsome, a money-back guarantee. Jake never lies. I’ve got just what you need.”

Twenty for the horse. That’s all. Just twenty. His mouth watered, and he felt sweat break out on his upper lip.

Then just as suddenly, he snapped out of it. What are you thinking? You’re a cop, working an informant! Do your job!

“O-okay,” he stammered, and reached for his wallet, extracting the bills and laying them on the bed.

She smiled, seeming genuinely pleased as she scooped them up and put them in the nightstand drawer. “Good. Business is over. Now, it’s time for fun.”

Before Hutch could respond, the door to the room swung open quietly, revealing Starsky standing in the doorframe, his badge and ID held prominently in his hand. “Not for you, Roxie.”

Hutch stepped back as if he’d been caught red-handed. He was shocked at his partner’s sudden appearance even though it was standard operating procedure for them. Of course Starsky would be just outside the door listening. It was the best possible way to entrap the prostitute, having Starsky overhear the transaction. They’d done it a dozen times. But the minute the heroin had appeared, Hutch had forgotten all their normal procedures. He felt flushed and unprepared.

Roxie’s face twisted in anger. “You again?” she spat. “What are you, my guardian angel? For your information, your help isn’t wanted here. This is an old friend of mine, right, Ken? He was just lending me some money. You can’t prove otherwise.”

Hutch was surprised how much it bothered him to have to extract his badge and show it to her. “Sorry, Roxie.”

She seemed stunned. “You’re a cop? I could’ve sworn — ” She blinked and closed her mouth, but Hutch heard the words she didn’t utter. I could’ve sworn you were a junkie — like me!

She made a sudden move, lightning fast, grabbing up the nickel bag and turning to throw it out the open window. Instinctively, Hutch tackled her, gripping her wrist, wrestling the bag of dope out of her hand. He closed his fist around it to keep it safe from her. “Sorry, Roxie. That’s evidence now.”

The plastic of the bag seemed to be melting a hole in his palm as he clutched it way too tight. Distractedly, wanting to be rid of it, he unconsciously slid it into his front pocket, then yanked it back out again as if it burned him through his pants. Snapping, “Here!” he tossed the baggie at Starsky. He had to get rid of it.

His partner snatched it out of the air without even looking at it, then tossed it aimlessly from hand to hand, like it was nothing. Hutch found he couldn’t watch Starsky doing that, so kept his attention on the hooker.

She clutched herself, blinking rapidly as if thinking faster, trying to figure a way out. “Go on and book me. Jake’ll have me out in an hour.”

Starsky moved into the room with that slow saunter that told his opponent just who owned this space right now. He kept tossing the baggie in front of the prostitute. “Not this time, Roxie. Bail will be too high. You’re gonna do some serious time. We’ve got you cold, not just on soliciting, but — ” he held the baggie by the corner and shook it for emphasis, “holding and distributing. You know it. Jake’ll know it. He’ll hang you out to dry. You know that, too.”

Starsky moved closer to the bed, wandered around it, finally pocketing the dope, much to Hutch’s relief. Hutch pushed the door shut and leaned against it. Starsky positioned himself by the window. There was a fire escape there. Neither of them felt like chasing her down it. Both exits cut off. No escape.

“You know what getting busted means, Roxie,” Starsky said ominously. “Cold turkey withdrawal.” Hutch had to remind himself that Starsky wasn’t talking to him. “Public defense lawyers. Serious time. We’re talkin’ ten to fifteen. Not just hooking. Pushing.”

Roxie buried both hands in her hair, looking like she might fall apart. She shook her head desolately, muttering, “Oh God, oh God.” Her hopelessness tore at Hutch.

“It doesn’t have to be that way, Roxie,” he said softly.

She looked up at him, trembling. Hopeful, yet afraid.

He glanced at Starsky. This was his play. He didn’t want to interfere, but…. Starsky gave him a small nod. Go ahead.

“We don’t really want you at all,” Hutch said clearly. “We want Jake. You can give him to us.”

Her eyes went wide with fear. “No. No way. He’d kill me. He’d get out on bail and I’d never live till the trial.”

“Not if we get him just right,” Hutch told her. “He’s a violent man, and you know that.” He reached out, gently touched the healing bruise at the corner of her mouth. Her lip trembled. “We know he has underage hookers. We know he’s just as rough with them. He’s got them on the stuff, too, doesn’t he?”

Her eyes filled with tears and she nodded rapidly.

“All we need from you is information,” Hutch assured her. He sat on the bed with her, took one of her hands, held it in his. “We need to know where the youngest hookers are. What his routines are. Where his supply is. Where he’s getting it from. If we can tie all this in together, along with his record of violence, we can convince the judge he’s a flight risk, and a danger to society, and keep him under lock and key. But the information’s got to be good.”

She sniffled a little, and almost smiled at him. “You weren’t kidding. You really do want everything.”

“If you give it to us, Roxie,” Starsky said quietly, “we’ll forget all about this evening’s little interlude. It’ll be our secret.”

“What would life be like if you were free of Jake?” Hutch asked her, his voice still gentle.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m afraid, Ken. I’m so afraid of him!”

The sound of her fear twisted inside him, and suddenly he wanted this pimp as fiercely as Starsky did.

“Roxie, don’t make us lock you up in detox,” Hutch said sincerely. He knew he’d never be able to stand the thought of her curled up alone in that cell, giving it up cold without anyone to help her through it. “Help us, and we’ll help you.”

“Lotta choice I’ve got,” she complained, then seemed to pull herself together. “Okay. Okay. I’ll help you. But I won’t be able to explain away losing all that dope so easy. Either give it back, or pay me for it. Or the plan fails right away.”

Hutch glanced at Starsky, who extracted his wallet. “We’ll pay for it.” An analysis of the quality would help them build a case. He tossed enough bills on the bed to more than cover the dope and the time she should’ve spent sharing it with customers.

She nodded her gratitude and collected the bills.

“You don’t have to call us directly,” Starsky told her. “You can call Huggy’s bar,” he scribbled the number on a piece of paper and gave it to her. “Talk only to Huggy, and let him know what’s going on. He’ll get the word to us. I know you’ve got customers that hang out there. It’ll look just like your regular business calls.”

She nodded. She quickly ran down what information she already had on the minors Jake was running, and the two warehouses where he usually kept his drugs stashed in unmarked cargo boxes. Starsky took notes in his sprawling, canted script while Hutch held onto Roxie’s hand and offered support.

Finally, their business transaction was completed. Hutch smiled and got off the bed. He gave her hand one last squeeze and released it.

She looked him in the eye as she said, “You’re some kind of actor, Ken. I thought to myself, ‘Well, this sure can’t be a cop. He’s got the need so bad it’s written all over him.'”

He smiled wanly as the blood drained from his face. Before he could respond, Starsky had him by the arm.

“Guess you ain’t heard, Roxie,” Starsky said glibly, “they’re sending us all to acting school these days.” And with that he hustled his partner out the door and halfway down the hall before slowing down.

If he asks me if I’m all right, I’ll scream, Hutch thought.

But instead, Starsky said, “Hutch, I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t know she was a junkie.” He sounded stricken.

Hutch looked at him. “City’s full of ’em, Starsk. Sooner or later it had to happen.”

Starsky stared at him, his eyes full of sincerity. “That was some job you did in there, buddy. The way you played the scene — ”

“Don’t!” Hutch hissed, suddenly angry. “Don’t tell me what a great cop I was in there, how well I handled it. You were right outside the door. You heard me. I was trying to score!”

Starsky looked as if he’d been slapped. “I don’t believe that. You’re a cop and you were doin’ a cop’s job.”

“If that’s what you want to hang on to,” Hutch said wearily, “you do that. But the truth is I nearly blew it half a dozen times in there. I was falling apart. And if you hadn’t walked in when you did, I would’ve let her hit me. I can’t do this anymore, Starsk. And it’s time you faced it.” He left Starsky standing there and started down the stairs. But when he got to the next landing, he remembered something and waited for Starsky to catch up with him.

His partner looked at him without saying a word.

Hutch could barely meet his gaze. “Uh — thanks.”

“For what?” Starsky asked, sounding baffled.

“For not asking for the dope while I was holding it,” Hutch said, and continued on down the stairs.

~~~

And the White Knight is talking backwards….
                        White Rabbit — Jefferson Airplane

 

By the time Starsky got to the Torino he felt completely shaken. Nothing about this day had gone right, and nothing he could do could set it right. From the very moment they’d gotten up this morning, things had gone from bad to worse. Hutch acted like he was on the verge of cracking up before they could even scavenge breakfast, Dobey was convinced he needed some concentrated couch time, and now Hutch didn’t think he could be a cop anymore. The very concept of that was turning Starsky’s whole world upside down. He couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t accept it. And he felt completely powerless to do anything about it.

He slid into the driver’s seat while Hutch sat in the passenger’s, both of them staring straight ahead. Finally, Hutch spoke as Starsky put the key into the ignition.

“I can’t work this case with you, Starsk.”

Hutch’s words were one more deep stab wound into Starsky’s soul. Before he could collect himself to say anything, Hutch continued.

“I’m not ready to handle being exposed to quantities of dope, or do stake-outs where I’ve got to watch some low-rent version of Forrest do to those young girls what Forrest did to Jeannie.”

Or to me, sat between them unsaid.

“I won’t be reliable if I have to do that kind of work. You’ll trust me, ’cause you’re you, and that’ll be a mistake — ”

Starsky couldn’t stand it. “Trusting you could never be a mistake!”

“It nearly was today,” Hutch insisted. He didn’t raise his voice, and that rattled Starsky. Whenever Hutch got loud, that meant he was coping with his emotions. This quiet, dead-sounding Hutch scared the hell out of him. He didn’t know this man, didn’t know what was going on inside him. “If you’d waited in the car, let me run the whole thing, like most partners do, I’d be up there right now, nodding out, not comparing notes with you on how to handle the case! I’m telling you it’s no good. Let’s go back to the station, so we can write this up. You present it to Dobey and work it out. You can handle the case with Vice.”

“It’s our case,” Starsky protested, but even he could hear how feeble that sounded.

Hutch just shook his head tiredly. “You’ve got to face the facts, Starsky. I’m an addict. A dope addict. I’m not fit to be on the streets. Now, take me back to the station, damn it, let me write this fucking report and let me go home — to the bungalow in Venice.” He’d never raised his voice above a murmur, but the words were like quiet bombs in Starsky’s heart, tearing apart his soul.

Hutch turned to face Starsky. “I’m going I need to be alone for awhile. On my own. Do you trust me enough to leave me alone?”

After today? After you just finished telling me you were ready to score this afternoon? Starsky blinked, unable to confess his fears, yet unable to lie about them, either.

“What-what am I supposed to tell Dobey?” The words choked him. He was drowning in the same feelings he’d endured when he’d been searching for Hutch, fearing he’d never find him alive, fearing he’d end up working the rest of his life without him. But he’d found him. Saved him. So how could it be coming down to this anyway? He squeezed his eyes shut tight, fearing he might cry right here in the car.

“Tell him,” Hutch said wearily, “tell him he was right. I can’t handle it. Tell him I want to hand in my badge.”

In utter desolation, Starsky turned the key in the ignition and drove the car toward the station.

 

Rip tide, we slide, we ride on a deep forbidden sea
Under we go — so slow
And you’re hanging onto me
                        One More Addiction — Natalie Imbruglia

 

Chapter 4

Love is like oxygen
You get too much, you get too high
Not enough and you’re gonna die
Love gets you high
                        Love Is Like Oxygen — Sweet

 

Hutch sat in the front seat of the battered Ford that Starsky loved to hate and clutched a partially consumed bottle of cheap scotch to his chest like a lover. He stared at the little yellow bungalow he was parked beside as though it were some unobtainable treasure forever lost to him. Perhaps it was.

I loved that place, he thought again, much as he had when he’d first pulled up into his old parking space two hours before.

The first time he’d moved into this house had been a few years ago. He was still married to Vanessa, and had imagined it to be their honeymoon cottage, but she’d never seen it that way. To him it was an enchanted place, with a greenhouse for his plants and the kind of open environment he preferred with few walls and fewer doors. He’d filled it with lush plants, bright colors, and the odds and ends of interesting things that had caught his latent artist’s eye. Hutch loved Venice with its canals and street artists and the beach so near, but to Vanessa it had been a cheap bungalow in a run-down neighborhood. She’d never been happy here, and finally insisted they move to a better part of town. He’d hated to leave the little yellow house, but he was desperate to improve their deteriorating relationship.

Of course, the move didn’t help. They’d been just as miserable in a new apartment.

He took a long pull off the bottle and wondered how much of it he’d have to down before he’d get drunk. At least a third of it was gone now to little effect.

Well, that figures, he thought bitterly. You’re a drug addict. What’s a little alcohol to you? He took another sip, enjoying the sharp burn of the cheap brew. Vices should be painful. They should extract a toll from whoever indulged in them. He rubbed the crook of his elbow, feeling the healing itch there.

The next time he’d moved into the yellow house was after Vanessa gave him his divorce papers. Starsky had found out the little house was back on the rental market, and Hutch had been happy to return to it. This time when he’d filled it with plants and driftwood and flea market furniture, there’d been no one to protest his “second-hand junk.” The house, the environment, was his. And the only other person who mattered to him was always comfortable in it.

Hutch gripped the neck of the bottle, aching for Starsky’s presence and fearing it at the same time. He needed to get out of the car. He needed to go into his home. So far, he’d been able to do neither. At this point, he couldn’t even go back to Starsky’s, since he’d had too much to drink to drive safely.

You’re a mess, Hutchinson! Get your ass out of this wagon and go into your house. Go to bed. Wake up tomorrow and —

And what? Technically he was on leave, since Starsky refused to tell Dobey Hutch was quitting. You want out so bad, hand in your own badge, Starsky had said, knowing Hutch didn’t have the stomach for a confrontation with his captain right now. But he couldn’t take off forever. Eventually, Dobey would call and demand his presence. Maybe by then he’d be able to quit without his partner’s damned interference.

That man’s damned interference has saved your sorry blond ass, more than once.

Thinking of Starsky and the word “ass” caused his traitorous cock to stir. Furious with himself, he shoved open the car door and nearly fell out of the car. Regaining his balance, he pulled the car keys from the ignition, and ambled somewhat unsteadily toward the bungalow’s front door.

What the hell do you need those keys for? he wondered, even as he clutched them in his hand. House key’s over the lintel, where you always leave it.

Is that how Forrest’s men let themselves in, he wondered? Or did they just slip into the open bedroom window? He froze on the porch of the house, hand reaching for the knob and stood there, unmoving for long moments, half-considering bolting back to the car. He could call Starsky on the car radio. Starsk would come to get him, take him away from the house he’d once loved and now feared.

He bit the inside of his cheek to break the cowardly train of thought and grasped the door knob. It was locked, so he used his key and let himself in, snapping on the light before he crossed the threshold.

The interior looked so innocent. Just like it had that night. In fact, the house was as neat as he’d left it when he went to work that morning. His clothes were all at Starsky’s now, but the furnishings were still here, and the bed — where Jeannie and I last made love — was neatly made. There was a slight film of dust on everything from disuse and the air was a bit stale, but other than that it looked as if he had just left the house this morning.

Except for Jeannie’s picture. Starsky took it out of the frame and put it in the back of my photo album. I was going to throw it away, but he said I might want it some day.

Hutch was barely inside the threshold and couldn’t find the motivation to move any further into the house.

It’ll be hard to sleep in the doorway, Hutchinson. Stop acting like a baby and go inside.

He nodded at his own badgering and took two steps forward. The sense of invasion was thick in the house as his mind involuntarily supplied him with all the details.

I opened the door. Took off my jacket. Hung up my gun. I started pulling my shirt off to shower before I met Jeannie. And they came at me. From the corners, from the dark spaces. They were just there. I fought. They knocked me cold. They took me away.

He’d written it on the report of his abduction, the report that had jailed the men who had survived the gun battle in the alley. He’d written it, but he hadn’t actually talked about it, not with Starsky, not with anyone. Because he knew talking about it would make him relive it and he didn’t want to do that. He didn’t want to think about the attack, or think about the feeling of terror that flooded through him as he realized he was losing consciousness, that he was about to become prey to these men he didn’t know for reasons he didn’t understand. He didn’t want to relive any of that.

He was two feet inside his door, standing on the spot where he’d collapsed in an ungainly sprawl like a giant starfish as consciousness slipped away. They took him like a discarded toy they weren’t finished playing with, took him, drove away with him, and left nothing behind to help Starsky find him.

It was the only thing he’d had to cling to when he’d slowly come to, head throbbing, disoriented — blindfolded, tied to a chair in a strange place, in darkness, nothing but strange voices around me, so many voices. He knew within seconds of waking that he was facing death, that these men would never release him so he could find them again. He was a cop. They’d abducted him. They would kill him. He knew that as soon as he’d come to. He knew that every moment tied to this chair could be his last, that anything he said could be the last words he ever uttered.

That feeling of imminent death washed over him like a smothering blanket, making his stomach roil from the fear and the alcohol. He sank to the floor, clutching his bottle, one hand holding his nauseous gut.

So alone. So alone. All those voices yet you were all alone.

Starsky would come looking for him, once he realized he was missing, but it would be five days before he realized that. Because Hutch was taking days off with Jeannie, and in her terror of Forrest and her intense paranoia she’d begged Hutch not to tell anyone where they’d be, and he’d indulged her because of her terrible fear. Five days. Hutch fully expected to be dead long before that.

He couldn’t see. But he could hear. He could smell. And he could feel. He was tense with fear when they’d started questioning him but he wouldn’t yield, wouldn’t give them what they wanted.

Why did there have to be so many questions?

Jeannie. They’d wanted Jeannie. But he wouldn’t tell them. She was so afraid of them, and for the first time Hutch really understood why. Men who would abduct a cop would do anything, anything at all. And now they had him, and they could do anything to him. But he wouldn’t give them Jeannie. He was determined not to do that. Even when they’d started beating him.

Oh, God, he didn’t want to think about that! But it was too late. He folded over his stomach protectively — which he could not do when he’d been tied in that chair — as he remembered the blows, one after another, again and again. One man would tire and another would step in, so there was no end to it. Big men. Big hands. Heavy hitters.

Answer the question, Hutchinson.

Refuse. Tense for the blow. His stomach. His chest. His thighs. His face. Again, again, again. He prayed to pass out, prayed finally for death. It was coming eventually, why not now and spare him their brutality?

Answer the question.

Tense for the blows. His stomach. His chest. His groin. That had made him scream and he fainted. A short respite.

He was sitting cross-legged now, hugging his bottle, rocking back and forth. It was no good. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t sleep here. He couldn’t even stand being awake here. The shadows of those men stood in every dark corner of this house. Waiting for him, waiting to take him, waiting to addict him.

No! Not again!

The house creaked around him, and he drew his gun, held it defensively. It glinted a deep black-blue in the dim light of the room. The gun he’d left hanging here when they’d taken him, oh so easily from his home.

He felt the sob escape, knew he’d drunk too much, and didn’t care. You’re an addict. You’ve got lots of vices. At least alcohol’s legal! Clinging to the gun, he upended the bottle, taking another healthy swig.

But alcohol couldn’t help him anymore. Nothing could. He thought of the small white packet he’d held so tightly in his hand just a few hours before. So harmless looking. So simple. Just a little of that powder could take you to heaven. Make you forget that your body was in agony. Make you forget that you hadn’t eaten, hadn’t had water. Make you forget the careless, almost sexual way they handled you when they held you for the injections. Make you forget all those hands on you, doing whatever they wanted while you were blindfolded and bound. That simple white powder could make you forget everything — even the most important things, like loyalty, decency, love, and honor.

He’d kill to have his hands on that little packet now. That’s all he wanted, as he sat rocking on the floor of a house he had once loved. He wanted to forget. Forget how he’d betrayed Jeannie, giving her up just for a little taste, forget how he’d betrayed Starsky, treating him as if he could be bought with something as valueless as a sexual romp with a stoned, filthy junkie, forget how he’d betrayed his oath as a cop, betrayed everything he’d believed in.

His face was wet, he realized, as a tear splashed on the hand that held his gun. He stared at it fascinated, then studied the gun some more. This solved problems, too. Big problems. Solved them permanently. He stared at the gun, feeling an empty desolation he’d never known, at least not since he’d met Starsky.

He’ll never let Dobey give him another partner, Hutch realized. Not as long as he thinks he can talk me into going back. He’ll keep waiting, working the streets alone. He’ll be in danger with no back-up.

This new problem — just another in the unending list of crises Hutch’s addiction had precipitated — disturbed him more than any of the others. What could he possibly do that would make Starsky stop waiting for him, make him accept the inevitable, find another partner and start his life over? There had to be something —

Hutch stared fixedly at the gun for a long time and started to tremble. Of course.

He was good with his gun. And the Python was one of the deadliest hand-guns in the world. One shot, that’s all it would take. One bite from the quickest snake and Starsky would be free. And Hutch would, too.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He brought forth one last image of Starsky from his memory, from just this morning, looking tousled and half-asleep and nearly nude. The most beautiful thing Hutch could possibly imagine, red underwear and all. It reminded him of the drug-induced dream he’d had of Starsky in the white room, lying nude on the green couch. He smiled wanly and surrounded the image with love as he lifted three pounds of steel slowly to his head.

But the gun seemed to grow steadily heavier in his hand until finally he was unable to raise it any higher. Confused, he opened his eyes and realized something was restraining his wrist. He blinked.

A man’s hand gripped his wrist, controlling the aim of the gun, which was now turned away from him.

“Wha’d’ya think you’re doin’, huh?” asked a familiar worried voice.

He blinked blearily. Starsky was beside him on the floor, down on one knee, like a man proposing. He was hanging onto Hutch’s gun wrist. He looked anxious, upset, but still beautiful. Maybe more beautiful because of his caring.

Hutch suddenly didn’t know the answer to Starsky’s question. But he had one of his own. “Why are you here?”

“I thought I’d tuck you in,” Starsky said glibly. He reached into Hutch’s lap, pulled the bottle around so he could read it and made a face. “I see you’ve started the party without me. But I thought you had better taste than to swill down that crap.”

Hutch shrugged. “It was on sale.”

Starsky smiled wanly, then said firmly, “Give me the gun, Hutch.”

He wasn’t ready to give it up yet. Maybe he could use it to bargain. “Promise me something first.”

“What?”

“Promise me you’ll let Dobey find you a new partner right away. Promise me, Starsk.”

“I’m not promising that,” Starsky said in a kindly tone.

Hutch thought his heart would break. “I can’t stand the thought of you on the streets, all alone, no back up.”

“So don’t think about it. ‘Cause it ain’t gonna happen. I’ve got a partner. The only one I ever want. Now give me the gun, Hutch.”

He shook his head. “I need it.”

Starsky sighed, and pressed his thumb hard into Hutch’s wrist at a sensitive point, surprising him. He gasped and dropped the weapon as his hand went numb. Without releasing Hutch’s wrist, Starsky palmed the gun and kept it out of reach. Then, gently, he rubbed feeling back into the wrist to apologize.

Hutch felt his eyes grow wet as he said, “I can’t stay here, Starsk.”

“I know that, buddy. That’s why I’m here. I’m gonna take you home now.”

“And you’ll stay with me?”

“I’ll always stay with you, Hutch. I won’t let you send me away any more.”

“Oh, good,” Hutch said wearily, and sagged against his friend.

Starsky slipped an arm around his waist and hoisted him to his feet. His legs seemed remarkably uncooperative. “Come on, babe. Y’gotta help me here. There’s way too much of you to wrestle with.”

Hutch tried to support himself with Starsky’s assistance, and together they managed to get him into the big red car. Hutch felt an inexplicable rush of nostalgia on seeing the Torino. It had been one of his clearest memories that day Starsky found him strung out in the alley.

Just as he had then, Starsky helped Hutch into the front seat and put his legs in the car carefully before shutting the door. Hutch inhaled the familiar scent, ran his hands over the soft leather, and suddenly wanted to weep. Just then a hand in his hair forced his attention elsewhere.

“Hey, you okay?” Starsky was asking.

Just having Starsky touch him again felt so good, so right, he could only smile and nod. When Starsky’s hand left his hair and gripped his shoulder, he let it guide him down till he was nestling his head in his friend’s lap. Just like that day….

“Take a nap, Hutch,” Starsky told him, gently petting his hair. “We’ll be home before you know it.”

Curling a hand around the strong thigh pillowing his head, Hutch instantly obeyed and let sleep wash over him as the familiar rumble of the car urged him to relax, to let go, to let Starsky handle everything….

He awoke suddenly, unsure why, but with an insistent feeling that would not be denied. He sat up abruptly and with a rush of vertigo realized the car was still moving. “I’m going to be sick,” he announced clearly.

The car lurched instantly over to the side of the road, as Hutch jerked open the car door and leaned out to empty his stomach. A strong hand snaked around his left arm, keeping him from toppling into the street. He moaned and threw up some more. Another hand patted his back comfortingly. Another heave but this one was dry, then finally he was guided back into the seat to rest upright.

“You okay?” Starsky asked. “We’re almost home.”

Hutch was miserably sober now. His mouth tasted horrible. “Yeah. I’ll make it.”

“I got some orange juice. That and some aspirin and coffee will help.”

“Yeah,” Hutch agreed half-heartedly. Why did Starsky always think that coffee cured everything?

Hutch wasn’t sure that he could make it all the way up Starsky’s staircase, but somehow he managed. Once inside, the lighting seemed too bright and he winced. The crushing depression was on him again, but he knew there was no use in trying to go back to the bungalow or to find a way to enjoy his blues in private. And there was no way Starsky was going to give him his gun back. He saw the Python tucked in the back of Starsky’s belt, then his partner took it out of there and put it and his own Baretta in a locked cabinet. Hutch nodded approvingly and got even more depressed.

“Here, try this,” Starsky said neutrally, pressing a huge glass of orange juice and a few aspirin in his hand. He didn’t have the strength to object, so he downed the pills and drained the glass, praying it would stay down. It did. Moving wearily to the bathroom, he scrubbed his teeth to rid his mouth of the bitter taste of stomach bile.

“Can I put on some coffee?” Starsky asked from the kitchen.

What’s he asking me permission for? Hutch wondered as he rinsed his mouth, but before he could say anything, Starsky appeared in the doorway.

“Since you fell off the wagon tonight and decided to have some alcohol, I thought coffee would be the lesser of the two evils.”

Hutch nodded and wiped his face. “Yeah. I’ll take some coffee.”

Starsky went about his domestic chores entirely too cheerfully. He was humming some nondescript show tune and clattering around with the pot and the grounds. Hutch moved into one of the dining room chairs, feeling miserable and unfocused. He held his head in both hands, and realized that the orange juice and the aspirin were beginning to work and he was starting to recover. That just made him more depressed. He leaned forward and supported his head in his hands.

I’m back to square one, here with Starsky. My guardian. My baby-sitter. I’m hopeless.

He felt both of Starsky’s hands on his slumped shoulders, kneading. “Coffee will be ready in a minute.”

Hutch nodded, yielding to the pleasant sensation of Starsky rubbing his shoulders, easing the tension. His cock stirred traitorously. “Don’t,” he warned dejectedly.

Starsky ignored him and kept up the sensual touching, as if defying his caution.

“Starsk…” Hutch warned more seriously.

He continued the massage, moving down the part of Hutch’s spine he could easily reach, then to his arms.

“I’m going to throw a rod if you keep that up,” Hutch said succinctly, tired of dancing around the issue. Yet, he found he was unwilling to move away from that healing touch.

“So?” Starsky said casually. “That doesn’t scare me, Hutch. It’s not like I haven’t seen it before.” He stopped then, and Hutch ached for those hands to return even as he feared them.

A cup of hot, black coffee was placed in front of him. “Try that,” Starsky ordered. “Go on. It’ll clear out some of the cobwebs.”

The scent hit him like a powerful perfume, and he lifted the cup to his mouth. After going cold turkey at Huggy’s he thought he’d never touch the stuff, but this was strong and bitter, not sweet, and the flavor hit his mouth like a heady brew. He took a strong swallow, then another. A low grade headache he didn’t even realize he’d been carrying suddenly dissipated like storm clouds breaking before the sun. “That’s good, Starsk,” he muttered, and drained the cup.

“Glad you like it.” He went back to the massage, working his way up the column of Hutch’s neck, into his hairline, rubbing away knots of tension and fear left over from the incident at the yellow house.

Hutch closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy the touch for as long as it lasted. But his depression wouldn’t let him leave the topic alone. “How come this isn’t against the rules?”

“Hmmm?” Starsky murmured, rubbing Hutch’s temples, then the muscles in his tense jaw.

“Starsky’s rules. How come this isn’t against the rules? What partners can and cannot do in the name of partnership, love, and normalcy.” Starsky’s hands were back on his neck, stroking his throat, and Hutch had a sudden memory of him doing that when he was lying in Starsky’s lap at Huggy’s going cold turkey. His cock came up hard, pulsing, choking in his tight pants. He reached down, adjusted it so it would stop hurting.

“It’s just a massage, Hutch. You’re wound tighter than a spring.”

“You’ve got incredible hands. They’re making me hard, buddy. That’s got to be against the rules.” He opened his eyes, tipped his head back as Starsky cradled his jaw.

His partner’s expression was a complex amalgam of worry and devotion. “Maybe I’m ready to throw the rule book out, Hutch.”

He went rigid with anger. In three quick strides, he was out of the chair and across the room. “I should’ve known. You went to all this trouble to throw me a pity party?”

“I don’t pity you, Hutch,” Starsky insisted. “I don’t feel sorry for you. But when you hurt, I do, too. I want to be here for you, any way you need me. I-I love you, dammit!”

As Starsky moved closer, Hutch stabbed a finger in his direction, halting his progress. “You think I want that? You think I want you as some kind of noble sacrifice on the altar of your precious heterosexuality?”

Starsky looked baffled and advanced again. “What the hell does that mean? I’m not offering to sacrifice nothin’! There’s no one in this whole world as important to me as you. I’ve put my life on the line for you a hundred times, just like you’ve done for me. Well, right now I’ve got nothing else to give you but myself. You think you need that, so why shouldn’t I give you what you need? If it was me standin’ there with an aching hard-on and a fucked-up head, what would you do?”

Starsky was toe-to-toe with Hutch now, his expression fierce, his eyes indigo with intensity. “You’d come after me, that’s what. You’d make me take whatever comfort from you I could. Just like you’ve done before.”

Hutch had to close his eyes and turn away, knowing Starsky was talking about the warning Hutch had given him after Starsky had loved him back to health when Vanessa had left. Next time you’re hurting, I’m coming after you. And then he did, when Starsky was devastated by Helen’s dumping him and didn’t want any consolation. It had been easy to give Starsky the love and physical caring he’d needed to shore up his broken heart.

But this is different. It’s all wrong now. I’ve ruined it with the things I said to him. The way I treated him. And my need for him, it’s not real. It’s some sick addiction I’ve developed. It doesn’t have anything to do with love or caring, it’s just need. Raw craving.

Somehow, he managed to utter, “I can’t, Starsk. I can’t just use you. And that’s all it would be.”

Starsky shook his head in bewilderment. “Hutch, I’ve been in love with you for a long time, and you know it. You think that’s something that just goes away? It doesn’t. I keep it locked up inside me, ’cause most of the time, it’s not safe to let it out. And I know you don’t feel the same way. This thing going on with you, I know it’s all passion and need, it’s all tied up with all the bad things that have happened to you lately. You might love me, but you’re not in love with me, and I know that, too. But what does any of that matter right now? You’re fallin’ apart, doing crazy things like getting drunk and talkin’ to your gun.”

Hearing the catch in Starsky’s voice, Hutch opened his eyes and saw the pain etched on his face.

Starsky swallowed convulsively and struggled to get his words out. “What the hell am I supposed to do with all this love inside of me if you blow your fuckin’ brains out? Who am I supposed to give it to, then, huh? Yeah, I made the rules. I made ’em to keep us safe, to keep IA off our backs, to keep our careers on track, our lives normal. And I made ’em to keep myself together when you fell in love with some lady like I knew you would — like you should. When things are going right you’re happy with those rules, and I am, too. But how could you think that stuff’s more important to me than you, than your life?”

Hutch was shaking his head, unable, unwilling to accept what Starsky was saying to him. “You’re not making any sense. Tomorrow you’ll be telling me — ”

“Don’t talk to me about tomorrow!” Starsky shouted. He grabbed Hutch by the shoulders, gripped him hard. “If I’d’a gotten to that damned bungalow a half-hour later, there wouldn’t be any tomorrows for us to talk about. Right now, all I want for tomorrow is to wake up with you in my bed, wrapped around me like a blanket, all warm, safe, alive, and with me.”

Starsky’s surge of frustrated rage was a catalyst to Hutch’s own passion. The erection currently strangling in his pants pulsed and grew and became so painful that he couldn’t bear it. His every nerve ending throbbed with unrelieved need — all of it focused on the man holding him, shouting at him, demanding a response. Hutch no longer had any choice. Starsky was here. Hutch wanted him. And Starsky was saying he could have him.

But part of him still couldn’t believe. So, he decided to take the one thing Starsky had steadfastly refused to give. Grabbing a fistful of dark curls, Hutch pulled Starsky against him roughly and took his mouth in a determined and possessive kiss. Starsky had never permitted that, so Hutch indulged himself, knowing it would all be over in a moment.

As their lips clashed roughly, Hutch’s grip on Starsky’s thick hair tightened. His other arm moved around Starsky’s slender back and pulled him closer, pinning him. Hutch’s hips crushed his aching erection against his friend’s groin. An answering hardness responded. Starsky’s hands were still holding his arms; Hutch waited for them to push back, fight, reject the kiss. Hutch’s tongue traced Starsky’s smaller mouth, insisting on entry, which he knew would be denied.

Standing, they wrestled together for a long tense moment.

Starsky gasped in surprise as Hutch pulled him against his body, his strong arms rigid, unrelenting. A powerful hard-on shoved roughly against his own awakening shaft. His mind reeled as it tried to regain its balance, tried to understand what was happening, why it was happening. Because Starsky thought he’d had this all worked out. But this was definitely not part of the scenario.

His carefully scripted seduction had started unraveling the minute he’d found his partner crouched on the floor, drunk, depressed, and seconds away from the afterlife. And now Hutch’s frantic passion had taken the entire issue out of his hands.

As Hutch’s demanding mouth pressed harder against his, and his slick tongue insisted on entry, Starsky tried to figure out just how he was going to regain control of the situation. He had to get them back on track so he could love Hutch tenderly back to health, get him to talk, get him to —

Hutch nipped his lower lip impatiently, making Starsky grunt. That forced his mouth open, and then Hutch was shoving his way inside, lapping at Starsky’s teeth, stroking his tongue.

Oh, God, not that!

The heady sensation of Hutch in his mouth went right to Starsky’s head, making him dizzy, making his knees sag. He never could handle kissing him. Not since the first time, in the Academy, when kissing Hutch had made him lose all sense, all rational thought. He’d never let them do it again. He couldn’t handle that surge of feeling, that wild, out-of-control, heady sensation that only kissing Hutch had ever given him.

But Hutch was giving him no quarter. He wasn’t asking for this, wasn’t playing a seductive game, he was taking it. If Starsky dared pull away that would end any chance of getting through to his partner, of finding the way around his pain and hurt to the other side where his sane, healthy friend still existed.

Hutch’s tongue invaded him ruthlessly. Trembling under the sense of shock and invasion and the sheer sexual delight of it, Starsky had no choice but to yield. With a throaty groan, he closed his eyes, opened his mouth, buried his own hands in blond hair and kissed him back.

Hutch swallowed his moan with a shudder as their tongues engaged, two practiced warriors meeting for a long denied rematch. Starsky nipped the tip of Hutch’s tongue in retaliation for his bit lip and Hutch jumped as his cock surged hard against Starsky’s groin.

As the kiss became more mutual, Hutch released his hair. Those big palms slid down Starsky’s long torso and brazenly latched onto his ass. Hutch rubbed their straining rods together as he bruised Starsky’s lips with the power of his kiss, the force of his need. It was erotic, compelling, completely overwhelming. Before Starsky realized what was happening, his body jerked spasmodically as he came in his pants, pulsing hard, leaving himself covered in liquid heat and numb surprise. He trembled in Hutch’s arms, but his erection never subsided. It was nothing more than the initial release of steam from a pressure cooker, just something to keep the whole system from exploding. His heart pounded insanely. He wanted more.

Dimly, Starsky realized they were moving backwards. No, that wasn’t quite right. He was moving backwards. He was being moved by an irresistible force. The force of Hutchinson unleashed propelled them both, carrying him backwards, step by step. It was just motion to Starsky as he drowned in the sensations of the devastating kiss, motion like the tide or the wind, not really making sense or having direction or destination. Nothing mattered to him at this moment, only that Hutch might keep kissing him. Then the side of his own bed hit him behind the knees and he was falling onto the mattress. But Hutch was still with him, still kissing him, his mouth fierce and unrelenting, totally unyielding.

Starsky glanced past Hutch’s head and looked up at his mirrored canopy, and briefly watched their wild tableau — himself sprawled helplessly beneath his blond partner, Hutch surrounding him, enveloping him, possessing him. Starsky blinked. He had to slow this down, get control. He had to help Hutch, not just give him more reasons to be wracked with guilt in the morning. But he had never seen Hutch like this, wild with need, out of control. He’d seen him enthused, impassioned, ferocious with rage at some injustice, at the abuse of innocents, but Hutch’s passion had always been tender, accepting, gentle and loving — no, he’d never seen this.

No, he realized just as suddenly, that’s wrong. You have seen him like this before, you just don’t want to remember.

And it was there in the front of his mind: Hutch, transformed in an instant from a wheedling, pleading junkie bargaining his body for a fix to a psychotic, infuriated addict capable of doing anything, using anyone, to get what he wanted. The fury, the rage, the uncontrolled passion, had all surfaced like a malevolent spirit as Hutch fought him to get out the door. Hutch had said and done the most hurtful things as he fought viciously, fought dirty, for what he needed.

Starsky had been forced to realize that night that his partner really was a junkie; and now he had to realize that he was dealing with the same man. That knowledge cut as cruelly as a jagged knife, but this time he did not have to refuse Hutch the thing he needed. If he truly were facing a man in desperate need of his fix, this time the fix was something he could provide. Because this time, he was the fix. And whatever mixed feelings he might have about that, he was damned if he would refuse Hutch again.

As suddenly as he’d grabbed him, Hutch just as abruptly released him, leaving Starsky momentarily confused. He took the opportunity to suck in air, needing it as if he’d been drowning. But as Hutch pulled back, Starsky found he was reluctant to release the handfuls of blond hair he found himself gripping. Hutch didn’t seem to notice. His partner seemed focused on only one issue at the moment — divesting Starsky of his clothes. Grabbing Starsky’s blue work shirt near his belt, Hutch yanked it out of his pants, latched onto the front tails and pulled them apart, sending buttons flying.

“Hutch!” Starsky rasped, still gulping air, still shaking with the aftereffects of his abrupt orgasm. “Babe, listen — ”

Hutch shook his head as his hands moved confidently to Starsky’s belt. He opened it quickly then unbuttoned the waistband. “No more rules, Starsky! Just me and you. The way I feel. The way you feel. I need you.”

It was as heartfelt a plea as Starsky had ever heard, and it pierced whatever armor he had left. As Hutch wrenched Starsky’s zipper open then used the jeans’ waistband to haul them down his legs, Starsky sat up, stroking his partner’s face with a gentle touch. It caught the frantic man’s attention, and he paused to look at Starsky. Hutch’s eyes were wild, unfocused ice shards set in his determined face. He glared at Starsky, daring him to deny what was happening between them.

Starsky brushed his knuckles against his partner’s cheek, and somehow found the voice to promise, “No rules, Hutch. Whatever you need. I’m here for you.”

A tremor passed through Hutch, then he was back at work, towing the jeans off, fighting with blue sneakers, red socks, yanking everything off and away, then stripping off his own black turtleneck in one quick move, turning his fine hair into a halo of light waving wildly around his head.

“Hutch, come on,” Starsky urged breathlessly, “there’s no rush. I’m not gonna run away from you.”

He shook his head, denying something, but Starsky didn’t know what. Hutch dropped his gray cords to the ground, kicked off his boots, then glanced suddenly at his partner who had not moved, had not dared to budge from where Hutch had put him. Hutch’s eyes suddenly focused on Starsky’s groin. He halted his rushed activity.

“That damned underwear,” he muttered, glaring at Starsky’s red bikinis, which only baffled him. Then Hutch’s eyes softened, and he reached out a hand to carefully touch the front of the red briefs.

Starsky realized his friend had just noticed the fresh semen stain.

Hutch’s icy eyes melted a bit as he seemed puzzled. “From a kiss?” he asked incredulously.

“Your kiss,” Starsky specified.

Hutch let out a strangled sound and then suddenly he was back in the bed, sprawled on Starsky again, just as frantic as before.

I gotta slow him down, Starsky decided, as Hutch surrounded him, his hands roving Starsky’s body, grabbing at him, struggling to possess him. If anything, Hutch’s sense of urgency was worse now.

Starsky wondered if some of this had to be backlash from the experience Hutch had had at the yellow bungalow. He was attacked, overpowered there. And being back at the site of the attack just reminded him of all that again. All the confused, disturbing feelings about the abduction that he’d never expressed. But what course of action should Starsky take in reaction? Should he resist, or yield? What was best for Hutch?

Hutch moved in for another kiss, and Starsky evaded it, knowing he wouldn’t be able to think clearly while that was happening. He nuzzled his own mouth over Hutch’s cheek to his ear, saying gently, “Easy, boy, easy,” and kissed his way to Hutch’s throat. When Hutch trembled in response, Starsky placed a palm on his shoulder and eased him over onto his back. Hutch let him.

“I’m here,” Starsky reassured him as he kissed his neck lightly. Hutch’s hands still gripped him, unwilling to risk release. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Hutch squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head as if he couldn’t speak, couldn’t explain the turmoil inside him.

Starsky placed a kiss on Hutch’s sternum, felt the frantic pounding of his strong, healthy heart. He could still turn things around here. Seduce his wild man. Ease his pain. Love him so gentle, so right — make Hutch his.

I’ll suck him, make him come. He loves that. Then he’ll be relaxed and we can take it slow. Make it last. Like I always wanted to.

The vision of himself climbing between Hutch’s legs, of teaching him a whole new world of pleasure, was so clear, Starsky had to shut his own eyes so that the fantasy didn’t overwhelm him. “It’s gonna be okay, babe,” he promised. “It’s gonna be fine. Just you and me, that’s all we’ve ever needed, isn’t it? Right from the start.”

Hutch opened his eyes. “You don’t understand,” he said mournfully. “Starsk, I-I,” he closed his mouth, licked his lips, “I need you. I can’t help it.” The words were whispered. Ashamed.

“It’s okay. I’m here. For whatever you need.” His hands stroked the bare chest, trying to ease the tension, the hurt inside, the terrible memories.

“Oh, God,” Hutch moaned, as if that was the last thing he wanted to hear. With an abrupt surge, he reversed their position, shoving Starsky onto his back and looming over him. “Why do you keep saying that?” he demanded, sounding furious. “We shouldn’t — we can’t — we — ” His mouth descended without warning, took Starsky’s again, refusing to allow him to evade the kiss Hutch had to have.

Starsky gave it to him with a sudden sense of foreboding. Davey, you might be in big trouble here.

Then the delight of Hutch’s kiss overwhelmed him again and he couldn’t think clearly. Distantly he became aware of Hutch fumbling with his tight red briefs, yanking at the waistband, his hands shaking and rough. Cooperation seemed the only sensible course, so Starsky lifted his hips as Hutch’s blunt nails scraped his butt and thighs as he dragged the bikinis off his ass. For a moment, his knees were clumsily trapped by the tight fabric, but with Hutch’s pulling and Starsky’s collaboration the briefs finally ended up around his ankles. Slipping one foot free, he separated his bound legs.

As if they’d coordinated the move, Hutch insinuated a knee between Starsky’s spread thighs then moved his body between them. He groaned painfully down Starsky’s throat, as if the shock of feeling Starsky’s bare skin against his was more than he could endure.

Pulling out of the kiss, Hutch hissed, “What are we doing?”

Staring over Hutch’s shoulder at their struggling image in his ceiling mirror, Starsky thought, Don’t you know?

The reality slapped him in the face. He wasn’t sure he was ready to accept it. It’s been a long time for you, Davey. Hope you’re ready for this. He wasn’t sure he could watch it, and shut his eyes.

Hutch eased away from Starsky barely long enough to shed his own briefs, then settled over him again. The shock of skin-to-skin contact between their dueling erections was so erotic, Starsky almost came again. Sensations ripped through him as Hutch thrust roughly against his hyper-reactive organ. Starsky’s hips rocked up, hoping his partner could get off with some frantic frottage. He stroked blond hair now plastered with sweat onto Hutch’s long neck, petted his arching back. But Hutch couldn’t be soothed.

“Why don’t you stop me?” Hutch rasped. He was pleading.

Starsky thought of the wrestling matches they’d had in front of the door in Huggy’s upstairs room as he prevented Hutch from escaping. He thought about the way he’d had to deny Hutch the physical display of his caring when his friend was trying so hard to turn it against him. It had torn out his heart to refuse Hutch, to be the obstacle to his needs, even when those needs were wrong. And while he knew he could stop his partner now, he wouldn’t.

“I don’t want to,” Starsky confessed in a whisper.

Hutch tensed, turned his face to see Starsky’s. His eyes were wide, uncomprehending.

“I can’t say no to you anymore,” Starsky said simply.

Hutch let out a sound that was half growl, half sob, and abruptly reached under Starsky’s right knee and pulled his leg up high.

The vulnerable position startled Starsky and he tensed. You ever do this before, choirboy? With a man? No, he knew he hadn’t. But surely — with a woman? As the blunt probe of Hutch’s erection butted against Starsky’s tender perineum, Starsky suddenly had his doubts. And it’s not like you’re up for a whole lotta suggestions right now, are you, blondie? As Hutch shifted his hips, trying to home in on his single-minded goal, Starsky found himself fighting a rising tide of panic.

Scrabbling backwards with one arm, Starsky reached for his nightstand, managing to snag the drawer pull with his fingertips. Hutch didn’t notice. Yanking on the knob, he managed to slide the drawer open and fumbled for the tube, barely capturing it before knocking the whole drawer out completely. Hutch never noticed the crash as it hit the floor and condoms and tissues scattered.

Could he even get through to Hutch at this point? Impulsively, he jabbed the cool tube roughly against Hutch’s side. Jumping away from the surprisingly hard, cold object, Hutch blinked in confusion. Starsky touched him with the tube again, held it against him where he could pull it away in defense.

“You can’t do this without lubricant, babe,” Starsky told him when he was sure he had his attention, however briefly. “You’ll tear me apart if you try.”

Hutch’s expression softened and Starsky realized the alcohol still in his system wasn’t letting Hutch think things through clearly. And that didn’t bode well for him. It had been years since Starsky had done anything like this with a man. Not since the army. Considering the time span, he might as well be a virgin.

Releasing Starsky’s strained leg, Hutch fumbled with the tube, almost immediately losing the cap in the bed sheets. His hands were shaking, his whole body trembling. He’s a wreck. He can’t last long. Just handle it. However you have to. Just get him through it.

He watched Hutch grease himself too quickly. Starsky gripped his arm to get his attention. “Use a lot!” he ordered, needing to get through to him. “On me, too. I’m gonna need it. Put some inside me. Understand?”

Hutch nodded once and went about the task. But while he slathered Starsky’s crack liberally, his touch was timid and hesitant, and Starsky realized there was no way Hutch was ready to use his hands to help open him. Tough it out, Davey. It won’t be the first time.

Hutch moved back over Starsky’s body, dropping the tube of jelly somewhere. He nestled over his partner much as he would the body of woman, hoisting his leg again, settling in. Starsky shut his eyes and blanked his mind, breathing deeply. He was grateful for the brief orgasm that had bled some of his body’s natural tension and tried to force his muscles to relax. He told himself Hutch couldn’t last but a few seconds as anxious as he was.

As Hutch took hold of his chin, Starsky opened his lids a slit, finding that unnerving glacier-like gaze completely focused on him. “Last chance,” Hutch whispered.

Last chance to stop him, Starsky realized. Hutch was shaking, quivering like a man in pain. Almost as bad as when I was holding him in Huggy’s bed. Starsky recognized suddenly that he was still holding Hutch, just in a different bed and in a different way. And this time he didn’t have to refuse him the thing he craved. He reached a hand up, brushed Hutch’s cheek with the back of his knuckles. Then he said simply, “Kiss me?”

Hutch rushed to oblige him, covering his mouth possessively, his moan of desire rumbling down Starsky’s throat. Both of his big hands slid down Starsky’s spine and took firm hold of the globes of his ass. He jumped as Hutch grabbed him so intimately, holding him with a strong grip. Then the tip of Hutch’s cock slid slickly into the crease of Starsky’s ass, like a guided missile homing in on its target. As Hutch probed around, Starsky wished he was coherent enough to take direction, but knew he was too far gone for that. Starsky knew he needed time to relax completely, that it would go much easier for him if Hutch would use his hand to open him, remind his sphincter how pleasurable this could be for both of them. But then the crown of Hutch’s cock found its target unerringly as if guided by radar, and there was no more time to think, to wish, to second guess.

Hutch’s strong legs tensed, driving forward, and Starsky’s cry of shock and pain was devoured by Hutch’s ravaging, unending kiss. Hutch felt huge, enormous, like he was splitting Starsky’s body right down the middle, but Starsky knew his frantic partner had barely begun entering him. Starsky struggled for air around the kiss as he was overwhelmed by the adrenaline rush from the pain of penetration. He needed to breathe, to gulp air by the lungful if there was any hope of getting his body to relax and accept the sudden assault.

Pulling back a bit, Hutch shuddered violently, as if he were the one being penetrated, not Starsky, then he moved into Starsky’s body deeper, stronger. Starsky’s legs went numb as pain rocketed up his spine like a shot of white-hot lightning. He stiffened uncontrollably, and fought to be released from the kiss. Hutch let him go, but only for a second, so he could mutter incoherently as Starsky fought for air and struggled to handle what was happening to him.

“Starsk! Starsk!” Hutch gasped, as if his partner might suddenly disappear, as if he could dissolve away from under him. Starsky felt tears fill his eyes, spill out the corners while he grabbed all the air he could before Hutch’s mouth took him again.

It was an incontestable fact now, something he could never deny.

Hutch is fucking me. How did we ever get here, that Hutch should be fucking me?

All the years, all the fantasies, the desire he wouldn’t let himself admit to, he had always imagined it happening at some point, but always with himself on top, riding sweet, riding hot. Not this sharp agony, this need for his own total surrender. Anything but that. Oh, he’d done it before, but always as a reciprocal act, something you gave back after you’d had yours. Something to do in fairness. Nothing like this. Hutch was taking him, plain and simple, and he’d volunteered for it. And somehow, he’d have to find the rationale to live with it later. Assuming he would live through it at all.

Hutch pulled back again, and Starsky knew this third thrust would force him to take it all, Hutch’s complete, impressive length and breadth, more man than he’d ever known. As Hutch’s sweet tongue thrust into him, claiming him, his cock plunged deep, leaving Starsky speared fore and aft, nailing him to the mattress as powerfully as if he’d been crucified there. His brain spun, and stars spangled in front of his tightly clenched eyes as he was pierced to his heart.

He tried to cry out Hutch’s name, to beg him to stop, to wait, to give him the needed moment to accept the pressure and fullness of so much man, but he couldn’t escape the relentless kiss, the powerful obsession of Hutch’s craving.

For you, he reminded himself.

All of Hutch’s need, his driving passion, was focused on the one man he could trust with his love, his complete vulnerability, his very life. Remembering that rocked Starsky for a moment, filling him with a flush of joy that enabled him to relax enough to accept Hutch’s cock sheathed within him. He sighed in sudden contentment, and just accepted and everything changed.

As if Hutch realized this, he released his possessive grip on Starsky’s ass and reached up to clutch his upper arms. Holding tight, Hutch shifted his weight subtly as his hips started to move, shallowly at first.

Immobilized, Starsky started to feel dizzy as he realized, He’s holding me down. Holding me so I can’t move. So he can fuck me senseless. Like I once said I wanted to do him. It had come full circle, from that powerful moment in a dorm room as Starsky confronted a young police cadet with his shocking desire for him, to here, in his own bed. Getting fucked senseless by a man I’ve wanted all this time. More man than I’ve ever had. Maybe more man than I can really handle.

Hutch was doing what came naturally now, to him or to any man, fucking with long, smooth strokes. He might not have known how to ease his entry into a man, how to prep him for the act, but this he knew how to do. This was his art, Starsky realized, as the blinding pain began to subside, slowly but surely being replaced by a growing pleasure, the likes of which he’d never known. The fullness and pressure was all-encompassing, but now it only heightened the intensity of Hutch’s fucking. And the big cock inside him reached deep, rubbing hard against his prostate, each stroke shocking him with jabs and blows of sharp pleasure. He began tightening around the big plundering shaft, amazed that he could still do that, as stretched as he was.

Hutch gasped in reaction and moved even more strongly, his broad back arching, driving the powerful rear, his beautiful legs running the good race.

Needing air himself, Hutch finally pulled out of their marathon kiss. Starsky’s mouth was swollen, but his greedy tongue searched for its mate, mourning the loss already. Both men were wheezing for air, gasping to pull in more and more, their bodies starved for it. Hutch’s tongue ran the length of Starsky’s jaw, found his ear, penetrated that and Starsky shouted his name.

That made Hutch moan and confess, “Starsk. The way you’re taking me. Jesus God I can’t handle it.”

Taking him? Starsky thought fuzzily. What the fuck’s he talkin’ about? He’s nailin’ me to the mattress, fuckin’ me through the floor. If he doesn’t come soon I won’t be able to walk for a week.

“You’re so hot inside,” Hutch whispered. “So tight around me. So beautiful. I need you so bad.”

“Take what you need,” Starsky rasped back, his voice shattered. “It’s all for you, babe.”

Hutch choked off a strangled cry and picked up the pace. Starsky arched and cried out, the pressure on his prostate so intense he just wanted explode. He desperately wanted to stroke himself, do whatever he had to, to get off, but Hutch had him pinned down ruthlessly. Starsky’s cock, swollen so tight it ached, rode between their bodies, getting stimulated, but maybe not enough. He couldn’t be sure. He didn’t know anything. Only that his ass was screaming from a morass of sensations he couldn’t separate out, that his insides were shrieking with more pleasure than he’d ever felt, and that no man had ever made him love this act before. That wasn’t something he was really ready for. To learn to love this, and to love Hutch doing it to him. No. Not that.

Then the tempo of Hutch’s thrusts changed, and Starsky began to fear that he might never come, that the sly innuendoes and smirking remarks Vanessa used to make about Hutch’s stamina were the barest hint of truth. Hutch drove into him hard, fast, pounding into his body, again, again, again, relentlessly claiming him. Starsky felt his cock rubbing against Hutch’s sweaty, smooth belly, felt himself climbing that familiar spiral up and up, when there was nothing else familiar about this moment. He was getting closer, his back arching higher, his own hips rocking in tempo. He clawed Hutch’s back and sides, anything his pinioned arms could reach.

“Hutch! Hutch!” He shouted his name, as if they’d been separated in a firefight, as desperate as that.

“What you’re doing to me,” Hutch gasped. “Can’t believe what you’re doing to me!”

Addicting you, Starsky realized with a numbing insight. That’s what you think. Even though you’re injecting me. Like Forrest’s men, I’m forcing you into a type of pleasure you would have otherwise never known. And you can’t handle it. But you’re wrong, babe. Wrong about which one of us is getting addicted.

“Go on, Hutch,” he said fiercely. “You’re in me so damned deep. Just pull out my heart. Pull it out and keep it!”

The words made Hutch tense all over. Then with a last sudden sharp thrust, he threw his head back and cried out Starsky’s name, his voice one pure beautiful note. And Starsky felt the pulsing deep inside him, the liquid heat rushing forth. That was all he could take. With a cry of his own, Starsky felt his body tighten down around Hutch, felt his ass milk the heavy cock which made Hutch shout again. Starsky’s cock jerked hard between them and the rush of semen was the most incredible sensation he could ever remember. He felt like a virgin again, like he’d never had sex before, and trembled wildly from head to toe.

The two men quivered and shuddered against each other, as Starsky’s emission glued them together in passion. Hutch finally released his arms, but Starsky knew he’d wear handprints there tomorrow. He didn’t care. Hutch’s arms slid around his back and pulled him tight, as if afraid he might try to escape his human prison. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

Starsky moved his hands down Hutch’s body as the aftershocks wracked his frame. He cupped his broad ass and held him in place. If he pulled out too suddenly, Starsky feared his entire colon would follow. The pain of his departure would be bad no matter what. He wanted to postpone that. “Don’t move,” he implored. “Please, babe, just don’t move.”

Hutch shook his head and held him close. His lips grazed Starsky’s face as they shuddered in unison, each slowly coming down from the incredible experience. Starsky didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to think. Apparently, Hutch didn’t either, as he brushed his cheek against Starsky’s, the soft blond stubble of his beard feeling just fine.

Absently, Starsky wondered if they’d be able to face each other tomorrow, or would memories of the intense sex-crazed coupling interfere with their own images of themselves. He couldn’t work it out right now, it was too complicated. He just wanted to lie beneath Hutch and throb with pleasure and remember this moment forever. When Hutch had needed him more than anything. When Hutch had loved him.

Eventually, Hutch’s shaft began to shrink, and slipped out of its abused berth. Starsky winced, but it wasn’t too bad. Hutch carefully rolled them onto their sides to take his weight off Starsky, and the two of them snuggled comfortably together in that position, legs casually intertwined. Soon, Starsky knew, he’d need to sit in a warm tub, go to the bathroom, find out if he could walk without losing his insides. Soon, but not yet. His hands idly stroked Hutch’s back, as those long arms held him tight, comfortingly close. He felt cherished and didn’t look forward to the moment when this feeling might end. Especially if other feelings might intrude. Would he look different to himself when he faced the mirror?

Then, just as he began to think that Hutch might be getting ready to drift off to sleep, that he might be able to ease out of the bed to tend to those necessary bodily needs, Hutch cleared his throat.

“They were waiting for me when I got home from work that night,” he said.

Starsky’s eyes widened and his whole body went on alert. One of his hands came up to stroke Hutch’s blond hair, to reassure Hutch, as he nestled his head between Starsky’s neck and shoulder, that he was safe there, comfortable and easy to comfort both.

“I’d just taken off my jacket and gun, and was getting ready to shower. They came out of the shadows, completely surprising me. I managed to punch one of them, plow into another, but the third one, Monk, I think, hit me hard with a black jack and I went down, unconscious. I guess they must’ve carried me out to the car.”

They’d taken Hutch’s car, too, but the department eventually found that down by the docks. There’d been no prints in it, no leads. Starsky suspected they meant to drown Hutch when they were through with him, and hoped the car’s presence might make them think he’d been a suicide. That thought brought back the image of his partner cradling his gun in the yellow house. Starsky felt a shiver of dread, and prayed Hutch would keep on talking.

He did. The words were halting and hesitant, but they kept coming. About how it felt to wake up tied to a chair, blindfolded, believing these were your last moments. Hutch talked honestly about the fear, able to admit to it now. He and Starsky had just shared the most intimate, vulnerable moment two human beings could, and Hutch must’ve felt as if there were nothing he needed to hide from Starsky anymore. So he talked. Starsky wanted to weep in a confused joy that Hutch would trust him with his memories of terror and dread, and knew he’d have no trouble looking in the mirror now. He was helping his friend. His profound love had unlocked the door, released the demons, so that Starsky could keep them for Hutch. Free him from them word by painful word.

Hutch talked about the beating, about the pain, the sickening fear of dying, how it felt to be so helpless, at the mercy of such unthinking, ruthless cruelty. He wasn’t a man in that chair, he was an object. An object of derision, good for sadistic entertainment and nothing more. The terror was only matched by the degradation.

“And the whole time…the whole time,” Hutch whispered, “I kept thinking how you’d feel when you found my body. I knew you wouldn’t come looking for days, ’cause I was supposed to be gone with Jeannie, that even at the end of the time you’d probably shrug off the next day’s absence as my extending my time with her. You knew how hung up on her I was. I kept thinking how tore up you’d be when they finally found my body and you’d lost all that time you could’ve been looking. I knew you’d never get over it and that hurt more than the beating, more than the fear. I felt like I’d let you down, because they took me so easily. And you’d have to live with it.”

Hutch’s voice was choked now, and Starsky felt a tear hit his bare shoulder just as one slid out of his own eye. He contained the emotion, needing to be together for Hutch. But what he’d said was no lie. It would have destroyed him if they’d found his body, beaten to a pulp, without Starsky ever having known he was missing. He wouldn’t have been able to live with it. That was the truth.

Starsky stroked Hutch’s hair and kissed his cheek. “You didn’t die. You lived. You’re here with me. Alive.”

“Yeah…but….” Hutch must have been thinking of the drugs, thinking of what he’d become.

“No buts. You’re alive. With me. That’s everything to me, don’t you know that?” He held Hutch’s trembling body fiercely.

“I was so afraid,” Hutch said in a small voice. “I was so ashamed.”

Starsky rocked him. There was nothing to be said to that honest admission, so he held his big blond and rocked him like a child. And then he admitted, “When I realized you were gone, when I found your gun at your place, I was scared, too. And as the time kept stretching out, and there were no clues, I got more and more scared.” He found it so hard to talk about. “I went through the morgue every day. I had to see for myself. They had your picture, and they’d insist you weren’t there, but I made them pull out all the drawers anyway. I had to be sure. And then I’d go outside and throw up my morning coffee, out of relief that you still weren’t in there. That’s how scared I was.”

“You found me,” Hutch said. “You found me.”

Starsky frowned, and pulled away a little. He took Hutch’s chin, made him look at him again. “I didn’t find you.” He remembered then how out of it Hutch had been, and realized he probably had no clear memory of the events. “You found me. They must have been taking you to dump you somewheres. We don’t even know how it happened. But you got away from them somehow. You ran and ran. You knocked over about a dozen pedestrians in the first non-vehicular serial hit-and-run the city’s ever seen. You were totally out of it, half high, half comin’ down, runnin’ on empty, but runnin’ none-the-less. You were spotted by a black-and-white, two uniforms I’ve known forever. One of ’em brought me up when I was a rookie. Bernie. He’s the one who recognized you and followed you there. They called it in and I showed up after the great escape was all over. You don’t remember any of that?”

Hutch seemed puzzled, his brow furrowed with intense concentration. “Maybe. Some of it. I remember…something about swimming. Monk was talking about swimming off the point — I think…think I kicked one of them in the face…took off…. I remembered needing to run, run as fast as I could. They should’ve been able to catch me though.”

“They must have seen the black-and-white and couldn’t risk it. But Hutch, I didn’t save you. You saved yourself. You did it. Even pumped fulla pure horse, you still managed to think like a cop and pull your own ass out of the fire. I was last man on the scene.”

It was clearly a revelation to Hutch, and Starsky realized he’d just handed Hutch part of his pride back. Hutch smiled tentatively and settled back in Starsky’s embrace, holding him close. Softly, he whispered, “I love you, Starsk.”

Swallowing the lump threatening to choke him, Starsky kissed Hutch’s forehead and whispered back, “I love you, too.” Within seconds, Hutch sagged into sleep.

Starsky desperately wanted to hit the bathroom then the tub, but he couldn’t bear to run the risk of disturbing the first peaceful sleep Hutch had had since this whole ordeal started. Humming a dimly recalled lullaby, he lay still and held his friend safe from the demons in his soul. As he did, he watched their image in the ceiling mirror, wanting to remember forever how beautiful they looked entangled like this.

 

I’ll make a wish this day
And I’ll send it to the heavens
That we will always stay
Entwined like this forever
And though the world may change
Coz nothing stays the same
I know we will survive
                        Hopelessly Addicted — Corrs

 

Chapter 5

Last time I was sober, man I felt bad
Worst hangover that I ever had
                        Heavy Fuel — Dire Straits

 

“Delivery for Starsky?” The young man held out a paper bag as he checked the address.

Starsky cinched the belt of his blue bathrobe more securely. “Yeah. Here ya go.” He handed the kid a folded bill.

“Thanks, mister!”

Starsky nodded, bag in hand, and shut the door softly. Barefoot, he padded back into the bedroom to check on his partner, being careful not to crinkle the bag. It was early yet, and the last thing he wanted was to wake Hutch.

But he needn’t have worried. Hutch slept soundly, eyes moving rapidly under shadowed lids, his breath steady, his arms and legs wrapped securely around the pillows Starsky had given him as substitutes for his own body.

Never had anyone wrapped around me like that before, he thought. Kinda nice.

Hutch slept on, unaware of Starsky’s pensive mood. Starsky enjoyed watching him since it was the first really sound sleep Hutch had had since his ordeal. And, in a way, the hours Starsky had slept had been his first good sleep, too. They had remained intertwined for six solid hours before Starsky could no longer ignore the demands of his body and had to move.

At that point, he couldn’t avoid going to the bathroom any longer, and that unpleasant experience had prompted him to call the drugstore with the twenty-four hour delivery service for emergency supplies. Remembering that he was still holding those things, he moved silently to the bathroom farthest from the bedroom — the one with the tub, not just the shower stall. Once there, he unpacked his order — medicinal cream, medicated bath salts, anti-inflammatory tablets, and — he looked into the bag, feeling an odd mixture of anxiety and anticipation — three new tubes of lubricant.

He sighed and drew himself a warm bath, adding a liberal dose of the medicated salts to the water. It was funny how something you hadn’t done in so long could still be so familiar.

An hour later, feeling considerably better, Starsky poured coffee for himself and his partner. He’d called Dobey and, without saying anything incriminating, told him that they needed some leave. He implied that they’d made a breakthrough in Hutch’s recovery, and Dobey didn’t ask for details. In fact, Starsky had the distinct impression he didn’t want any. He was so grateful that something positive was happening with Hutch, that he granted them as much time as they needed. He all but told Starsky that Hutch’s well-being was in his hands. As Starsky hung up the phone he tried to imagine Dobey’s reaction if he ever found out what form Starsky’s therapy had taken.

After that, he put the drawer he’d knocked out back in place, and tucked the new lubricant in it. He even managed to find the old tube tangled in the sheets, and tossed it. Hutch had shifted a few times while he’d done that and he could tell from dozens of stake-outs that his partner would be waking soon.

He carried the cups into the bedroom and placed Hutch’s on the nightstand, while he enjoyed his own. The scent of the dark brew brought Hutch up like a bloodhound. He inhaled, shifted the big blond body barely concealed by the cover sheet, then started blinking. It pleased Starsky that he didn’t snap awake in wide-eyed hyper-alert mode like he had been doing the last two weeks.

Hutch peered at him, seeming confused, no doubt sorting out dream from memory. Before Starsky could worry about his friend’s reaction to last night’s interlude, Hutch reassured him with an easy, natural smile — something Starsky hadn’t seen for awhile. The reaction it had on his own blood pressure was amazing.

“Morning,” Starsky said softly. “Ready for coffee?” He wondered if he’d get the same argument he’d been getting ever since Hutch had gone cold turkey. But all Hutch did was stretch — rather provocatively, Starsky thought, deliberately averting his eyes from a half-revealed bare buttock — and nod.

Starsky handed Hutch the brew and he drank gratefully, then handed it back. As Starsky took a sip then put it on the nightstand, Hutch latched onto his wrist.

“You ran out on me this morning,” Hutch complained with a gentle smile.

That relaxed, happy expression did unsettling things to Starsky’s heart. “You know me. When nature calls, I gotta obey.”

“Starsky,” Hutch said hesitantly, and some of the smile left his face, “can I ask you something?”

In spite of the tightening in his gut, Starsky said in the same tone, “Anything. Any time.”

Hutch’s eyes searched Starsky’s face. “Are we lovers now?”

The question took Starsky completely by surprise. Of all the things Hutch might say to him this morning, that was not even on the list. He could barely speak around the tightening sensation in his chest. “What do you want us to be?”

Hutch’s eyes seemed startlingly blue, a wet, glistening color that was impossible for Starsky to look away from. “That’s what I want. For us to be lovers, finally. For it to just happen, and for us to just be together in it. But…only if you want it, too. If you don’t….”

He was long past the point of denying Hutch anything. In spite of the alarms going off in his head, his heart was running his mouth right now. “Then we’re lovers. Together. Me and thee. Just like always.”

Hutch actually grinned then, and Starsky felt dizzy that such simple words could pull that reaction from his partner. Hutch tugged on the wrist he held. “Then why are you out there while I’m in here? Or am I gonna make you late for work?”

Starsky remembered Hutch’s self-enforced leave. “I’ve already called in. I’m takin’ leave, too. We’ll work out the details later.”

“Okay,” Hutch agreed unquestioningly. That should’ve bothered Starsky, but he wasn’t ready to deal with it now. Hutch tugged on his arm more forcefully. “Then you’re out of excuses. Come back here.”

Starsky had one knee on the bed, but pulled back playfully. “Uh-uh.” Ignoring all the warnings coming from his brain, he yielded to temptation. “Look, ya big blond stud, even lovers need to shower after goin’ full tilt boogey like we did last night.” He turned his hand around in Hutch’s grip, clasped Hutch’s forearm, then tugged back. “Come on. I’ll wash your back. And maybe a few other parts.” Hutch’s face lit up again and Starsky knew he would be willing to say anything, do anything, that would keep that expression on this man’s face.

“I guess I must be kind of rank,” Hutch said. “And you… you smell really… clean. Did you shower already?”

Realizing Hutch was smelling the medicinal salts he’d soaked his sore parts in, he decided to just side-step that whole issue. “I washed up some. Come on, lazy, outta the bed. I still got a few surprises for you.”

Hutch let the sheet fall away as his long limbs moved over the side of the bed. Starsky had to force himself to stare at Hutch’s face and ignore the body that was suddenly hypnotically alluring. Hutch’s cock was already up, ready for him, and Starsky felt his whole body flush at the sight. His own cock started to tent his bathrobe and that made Hutch beam.

“Problem there, buddy?” he asked teasingly, one eyebrow arched.

“I think that’s your problem,” Starsky teased back. “Why don’t we negotiate it in the shower?”

Hutch let himself be towed into the red-and-blue bathroom nearest the bedroom. Moving to the shower stall, Starsky adjusted the water flow one-handed without turning his back on his friend. He was neither ready to deny himself the privilege of staring at someone who was at once familiar yet brand new, nor was he completely comfortable at leaving his back unguarded. That was hard to admit, but it was there. He’d never known this level of sexual vulnerability before. Or this level of desire. He was treading new ground and didn’t know how to deal with it. He didn’t expect to feel inexperienced at this stage of his life.

Hutch didn’t seem to have nearly as many inhibitions. Pulling at Starsky’s belt, he untied the looped cord, and dropped the ends. The robe fell open and Starsky stood there while Hutch just looked at him.

This is nuts, Starsky thought. Me and Hutch have seen each other a million times, taken a hundred showers together. But they’d never really let themselves just look. One more of those things that were against the rules, Starsky realized. It was scary to be this free. He didn’t know if he could get used to it. And he didn’t think he should. But as Hutch examined his body in a bold and thoroughly sexual way, Starsky knew he no longer had the ability to resist the lure of that freedom.

Starsky shed the robe, and Hutch had to release his arm to let him do that. That seemed to free them from their mutual discovery of male beauty. Hutch turned to the sink, grabbed a toothbrush and paste. “You brushed your teeth, Starsk, I can smell it on your breath. Looks like I’m running to catch up here.”

“Won’t take long,” Starsky assured him, and ushered him into the shower stall. He entered right after, latching the door behind them.

Hutch was briskly brushing his teeth as the hot water struck his back and shoulders, keeping most of the force of the stream off Starsky. That gave Starsky the chance to lather up a wash cloth and start soaping up his partner.

This was something he’d been dying to do while Hutch had been going through withdrawal. He’d been so unspeakably filthy, it had shaken Starsky to his core. It was bad enough Hutch was so grubby, but the fact that he didn’t care about it bothered Starsky even more. It was pure pleasure now to wash him, tending to him in the way that he’d craved to do just a few weeks ago. It felt wonderful to lather up that big, familiar, beautiful body, to watch soap and water drip down over Hutch’s strong arms, long neck, and powerful back and front. Starsky tried hard not to recall the images of his favorite masturbation fantasy — the one where he took Hutch in the shower….

“Having a good time?” Hutch asked, after he’d rinsed his mouth and put the toothbrush up.

“Actually, yeah,” Starsky admitted a little shyly. He was still unsure of how much of this Hutch would enjoy, or how far he could go. Boldly, Starsky reached for the brazen member pointing at him, enfolded the heated length in the soapy cloth and washed it with careful attention. Hutch bit his lower lip and hissed.

“Should’ve done this last night,” Starsky said, watching Hutch’s reaction with a racing pulse. “It’s not good to go to sleep without washing. You can get irritated that way.” And God knows I wouldn’t want that to happen. “But you wouldn’t let me go.”

Hutch’s hands gripped Starsky’s shoulders as if holding on for dear life. Blue eyes sparkled out of lowered lids as water cascaded over his body. “Didn’t want to wash you off me.”

You’re as dangerous with words as you are with your body, Starsky thought. He lathered Hutch’s heavy cock, soaped his balls, slid the wash cloth past them, spreading soap everywhere he could reach.

Hutch was watching him slyly. “You are having a good time.”

“You object?” Starsky asked as he swished the soapy cloth up and around and started scrubbing Hutch’s broad, pretty ass.

Hutch shook his head, his eyes never leaving Starsky’s face. “Now I know how the Torino feels when you give it those long, meticulous baths. But I think I should be participating more.” He reached past Starsky for the washcloth hanging behind him.

Two mornings ago we used this bathroom separately and never foresaw this moment, Starsky remembered, as Hutch pulled his own washcloth between them and lathered it. Carefully, almost reverently he began soaping Starsky’s chest. The sensation was electric and Starsky felt as if someone had just pumped champagne into his bloodstream. His cock was as rigid as Hutch’s. This was nuts. They hadn’t even had breakfast yet.

Hutch was handling him so cautiously Starsky had to say, “I won’t break, partner. I’m not fragile.”

Hutch’s smile was tenuous. “Yeah. I found that out last night.” He swabbed the washcloth gently over Starsky’s peaked nipples.

He feels guilty, but still can’t talk about it. He’s not sure how far to go, or whether there’s a problem about last night.

Before Starsky could think of something to say to relax him, Hutch asked quietly, “Did I hurt you?” His expression showed a level of concern he’d kept concealed till now.

“I’m okay,” Starsky tried to reassure him. “Like I said, I’m not fragile.”

Hutch’s jaw got that knot it always did whenever he was worrying something to death. “Did I hurt you?”

He considered lying about it, but knew Hutch would see through that. He reached up, grabbed a fistful of fair hair to make sure he had Hutch’s complete attention. “Some. At first. It’d been a while. But the pain don’t last, babe. Not like the joy. It was good for me, Hutch. It was beautiful.” He rubbed his thumb over Hutch’s wet cheek.

Hutch looked torn, as if agonizing over the right or wrong of what he’d done. Starsky couldn’t stand to see him wearing that expression again. He turned them a half step so the water would rinse off the front of their bodies, their chests, erections, and legs. Then he turned them again so that the water was mostly striking Hutch’s broad back.

“How long?” Hutch asked.

Starsky felt as if he’d lost track of the conversation. “How long what?”

“You said…’it’d been awhile,'” Hutch reminded him. “How long?”

The question almost made Starsky smile. When Vanessa had left Hutch he’d needed this kind of reassurance. How long since I let another man fuck me? “Since before I even knew you. Long time ago.”

“Army?” Hutch asked softly.

Starsky nodded. And before Hutch could ask, he offered, “No other man since. Just you.”

Hutch shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it. “Why’d you let me?”

A dozen answers ran through Starsky’s mind but none of them seemed right. Placing his palms against Hutch’s wet chest, Starsky used him as a shield from the pummeling water as he sank to his knees. As Hutch watched with an expression that mingled dismay and anticipation, Starsky took hold of the straining shaft of flesh that beckoned him. Deliberately brushing his bristly cheek against it, he said simply, “Because I wanted you,” then took Hutch’s broad cockhead into his mouth.

Hutch lurched as if shocked by the sensation, then latched onto a towel rack for support. “Goddamn, Starsk!”

Starsky felt warm water striking his head and face and shut his eyes. He moved his tongue around the ridge of Hutch’s crown, marveling that he was so erect that his entire foreskin had disappeared. Hutch’s body jerked, his muscles tightened, and Starsky knew that he was pleasing his partner. He took the heavy cock deeper.

Hutch moaned and gently cupped Starsky’s jaw with one hand, his thumb tracing his lower lip, as if he had to feel the connection between them to know it was true. Emboldened by Hutch’s reactions, Starsky’s hands moved possessively over his rear as he took his cock deeper, sliding his tongue all over the length and breadth of it. His own mind was reeling as he finally let himself play out his shower fantasy for real, giving Hutch the kind of pleasure he always dreamed of. He began sucking in earnest, wanting to delight Hutch, wanting to devastate him.

Hutch’s hands told him that was exactly what he was doing. He touched Starsky’s hair, his face, clutched his shoulders, conveying in their frantic contact how amazed, how overwhelmed he was by what Starsky was doing to him. Starsky took a deep breath, relaxed his jaw, his throat, and swallowed Hutch’s length, deep-throating him until his nose was buried in the wet, blond fur of Hutch’s groin. The sound Hutch made was somewhere between a curse and a prayer, and the desperate edge of it made Starsky’s cock ache. He reached for himself, stroking some of the need away as he continued to suck his partner deep and strong.

I love doin’ this to you, he admitted, relishing Hutch’s flavor, delighting in the act itself. Sex with men had never been this involving before, not like with Hutch. It had been entertainment, the relief of need, sometimes affection or infatuation, but little more. Not this soul-rattling hunger. Right now, he was living for just one moment — the instant he’d make Hutch come in his mouth. He shuddered, anticipating it, wanting it.

“Why?” Hutch asked plaintively, confusing Starsky. “Why are you doing this?” He sounded shaken to his core, near to tears.

Startled, Starsky made himself look up, trying to see his expression through the splashing water, needing to know what was going through his head. But before he could, Hutch forcibly pulled out of his mouth. Grabbing a fistful of Starsky’s wet hair and latching onto his upper arm, Hutch hauled him up, shoved his back against the shower stall, and braced him there with his own body pressed tight against him, chest to chest.

Starsky’s mouth was still open, his jaw aching. He felt abandoned and confused. A stream of warm water splashed onto his head, dribbling down his face in a stream, forcing him to shut his mouth or drown.

Hutch pinned him against the tiles. “How you can you give me this, after what I said to you? After what I called you? Why would you do it?”

Then Starsky remembered. Hutch was talking about the night at Huggy’s, when things got ugly. Starsky had pushed so much of that from his mind, not wanting to recall the vicious things Hutch had said. He wouldn’t let himself think about them now, either. “That wasn’t you. That was the drug talkin’. It didn’t mean anything.”

Hutch seemed baffled. “How can you say that? I knew exactly what I was doing, what I was saying. Everything I said was coldly calculated to have the maximum effect. I called you a — ”

Starsky slipped his hand over Hutch’s mouth. He didn’t need to hear the words again. You called me a cocksucking faggot, and said I’d tried to turn you into one. I remember. At the time, the words had cut deep. Starsky had struggled not to let them draw blood, and he was proud that he’d risen above the moment. “They’re just words, Hutch. Words people made up to turn somethin’ good into somethin’ bad. I don’t have a problem with giving you pleasure any way I can. I’m not ashamed of it.”

Hutch nodded as Starsky pulled his hand from his mouth, but his eyes were still clouded. “Well, I’m ashamed. Ashamed of what I said, and why I said it. Ashamed of the shadow it’s thrown over the beautiful feelings you’ve given me. I want to take that shadow away.” Pinning Starsky’s wrists tight against the tile wall, Hutch dropped to his knees in the shower stall.

Starsky’s eyes widened. “Hutch, what — ? No, listen, don’t do this! Hutch, I don’t want — !”

Without Hutch’s body to block the flow, most of the shower stream struck Starsky in the chest, stimulating his already sensitized nipples, then ran in rivers around his genitals. His cock loved the added sensation and bobbed in the air, alarmingly close to Hutch’s face.

Hutch looked up as the shower water poured over his own head and back. “What don’t you want? Me? This? Or me doing this? You said the words didn’t matter. But they do, don’t they? If I do this, if I go down on you now, then I make everything I said true, right? Isn’t that what you’re thinking?”

“No!” The sight of Hutch on his knees was making Starsky crazy, making it impossible for him to think, to breathe. And his cock was killing him, aching for a soothing touch — a kiss, just one from that mouth — NO! “Hutch, this ain’t right. Get up from there, goddammit!”

“You don’t want me?” Hutch’s voice nearly cracked, his expression heart-breaking.

Starsky wanted to scream from frustration. “Of course I want you! Wha’d’ya think, I’m crazy? But it’s not right! Hutch, you’re straight!”

Now he looked furious. “You got a hell of a short memory, buddy. Last night, I fucked my best friend and then I slept the night away in his arms. If you consider that, and the fact that I’m also an ex-junkie, well, then even you have to admit that I’m not straight by anyone’s definition!”

“It’s not the same thing! Hutch, get up! I mean it! You can’t! I’m — I’m too close!”

“That’s suppose to scare me off? Look, if I were you, I’d hold real still. I’m new at this, and I might not be too good at dealing with a moving target.” Then he fixed his attention on the pulsing erection inches from his mouth.

“Don’t!” Starsky was flat-out pleading now. “If you do this — it’ll change everything!”

Hutch looked up at him in surprise. “After all the things we’ve been through together, that’s the only thing that really scares you, isn’t it? Don’t be scared, Starsk. If there’s going to be changes, at least we’ll be dealing with them together.” As if that last speech had given him the courage he needed, he moved forward and planted a soft kiss on the underside of Starsky’s dark, rigid shaft.

Starsky’s knees nearly gave out and he gasped. Hutch still had his wrists pinned as he extended his tongue and ran it up the underside of the bobbing erection, lapping at Starsky’s sensitive flesh and the cascading water running off it. He must’ve found the taste acceptable, because the next time his tongue moved more confidently, licking up and around the ridge of Starsky’s crown, lingering for a knowing moment on the sensitive spot right under the head. Starsky’s whole body tensed and lurched forward, revealing more about his need than even he was willing to admit.

Hutch’s tongue grew bolder, licking all over his pulsing shaft, exciting Starsky to a level he hadn’t thought possible. His toes were trying to curl even as he struggled to stay on his feet. Hutch kept licking. Now his tongue moved down, over the wet crease of Starsky’s thigh, down to his shrinking scrotum. His testicles drew up tight. Hutch nuzzled them, kissed them, and gave them small, tentative licks.

“Don’t! Don’t!” Starsky begged futilely. “I swear I can’t take this!”

That made Hutch smile and suddenly inhale one of his sensitive orbs into his mouth. Starsky arched back against the wet, warm tile, feeling his hard-on rub roughly against his partner’s cheek. Hutch released the testicle, only to give the same attention to its neighbor. Starsky cried out, the sound echoing around the small space. He would die before Hutch was through with him. He’d have a heart attack, at least. He couldn’t take much more pleasure, couldn’t endure it.

Now Hutch was getting adventurous, nudging Starsky’s tight sac out of his way with his nose so that he could run his tongue along the perineum behind them. No doubt he was emboldened by the clean taste of freshly washed skin and running water. Starsky was lost in the exotic sensations. He’d never imagined this in all the years he’d indulged his fantasy, and never imagined that reality could eclipse the pleasure he’d fantasized Hutch would give him.

Hutch’s tongue moved up the crease of his other leg to finally home in again on Starsky’s aching cock that had grown even darker with suffused blood. Hutch’s eyes fixed on Starsky’s tortured expression. “You said we were lovers. Don’t lovers do this?”

The tiny portion of his mind that wasn’t completely besotted with pleasure tried one last time to reason with him. “Hutch, please…you don’t have to do this!”

“Yeah, I do. Now, hold still.”

Starsky held his breath as he stared, mesmerized, at the man kneeling before him. With the warm shower still cascading all over them, Hutch leaned forward and slowly took the tip of Starsky’s cock between his lips.

I’m gonna come! Starsky thought, nearly panicked, and struggled to hold the roiling sensation down. He felt Hutch’s tongue pressing seductively against the sensitive spot right under the head as he took more of the crown inside. The warm, wet tongue swirled around his glans tentatively, then more confidently, and Starsky thought he’d pass out from the effort of holding his need in. The taste of Starsky’s wet, clean cock must have eased Hutch’s last inhibitions, because he pulled back on the cockhead, then enveloped more of it into his mouth, sucking now, using his tongue, learning what it felt like to have a man inside him. As Hutch took him deeper, Starsky knew he couldn’t hold back anymore. Just watching Hutch do him was enough to bring him off. The actual sensations of his tongue and mouth were hardly necessary.

“Stop!” he shouted, frantic. “Dammit, I’m gonna come!”

He’d have thought Hutch would’ve pulled off then, but no. Whatever absolution he needed was still eluding him. Hutch bent low, took the cock even further into his mouth, and used his tongue to rub the shaft hard.

No, no! Starsky’s whole body tensed, his back arching as his crown touched the back of Hutch’s throat, flared wide, and ejaculated.

Hutch flinched as the hot jet struck the back of his throat and Starsky waited for him to gag, but he didn’t. To his amazement, Hutch swallowed and the sight and feel of that made Starsky’s orgasm double in intensity. It was really happening. Hutch was sucking him off, and the eroticism of it nearly tore him apart. He shouted Hutch’s name and yielded to sensations he could no longer control. His orgasm was intense, raging, and he filled Hutch’s mouth with more of his essence than his inexperienced lover could handle. Hutch coughed but struggled to hold the spasming cock in his mouth, even as semen dripped down his chin and was washed away by the shower.

“Enough! God, it’s enough. You gotta let me go now!” Starsky’s voice sounded ragged even to himself.

But Hutch wouldn’t release his erection until the last spasm had passed and the last drop spilled. The feel of that mouth was almost too intense at that point, and Starsky cried out again when Hutch finally released him. He was gasping by the time Hutch let go of his wrists and stood again.

“Wash your mouth,” Starsky advised him, cupping his cheek. “Clean the taste out. Use the toothpaste. What the hell did you do that for anyway?”

“Don’t wanna wash the taste out,” Hutch insisted, moving against him. Starsky could feel the big frame trembling and that startled him. “Wanna share it.” He captured Starsky’s head in his hands and held him in place for a rough kiss. Starsky felt light-headed as Hutch’s tongue invaded him, coated with his own bitter flavor. His lover’s heavy cock stood as hard as a nightstick between them, and Starsky ached for him, knowing how needy he must be by now.

Starsky pulled out of the kiss that was making him heady. “Your turn, babe. Let me please you. You must be needin’ it bad.”

“Real bad,” Hutch agreed as he pulled just far enough away to turn Starsky around. He pushed him against the wall and pressed the bulk of his cock against his crack, sliding it up and down.

Starsky closed his eyes. This wasn’t what he’d thought he was offering, but Hutch clearly did. Good work, Davey! And you practically asked for it! “We need lube, Hutch! Not soap.”

“Want me to get the tube from the bedroom?” Hutch asked, his voice betraying his intense need.

Starsky shook his head. “It’s water-based. That won’t work in here. There’s baby oil behind you, near the shampoo.” He was grateful for the small plastic bottle he kept there to soften his elbows and knees. “Use a lot. On me, too.”

“I remember.”

He felt the cool, slick glide of the oil drip down his crack and shut his eyes. After last night, this was going to be rough. He was already swollen, incredibly sensitive back there. The medicated cream had helped but —

“Starsk, I need you,” Hutch whispered as he pressed his oiled crown against Starsky’s slick hole. Slipping his hand under Starsky’s right knee, Hutch drew it up to ease his entrance.

“I know, babe,” Starsky assured him as he gripped the nearby towel rack and the handle of the soap dish. “Go on. I’m here for you.” He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the tile.

Hutch encircled his chest with his left arm as he positioned his cock. The fingertips of his left land brushed lightly against Starsky’s nipple, then stroked through the wet fur on his chest. Roughly, he pulled Starsky tight against him as he thrust forward.

Hutch groaned in pleasure as Starsky bit down hard on his lower lip. The piercing was excruciating, but in spite of the pain, Starsky was amazed to feel an intense, scary pleasure racking him from within. Hutch moved in hard and strong, claiming him in one smooth move, and for an intense second, Starsky thought he might pass out. But in spite of the pain and the shocking sensation, the pleasure pulsed through him like a frightening force he couldn’t control, could barely understand. He tightened around Hutch making him groan again.

“I’ve got you,” Hutch whispered, increasing his grip around Starsky’s chest and still holding his leg under the knee. “I’ve got you. Won’t let you fall. God, Starsk, I need you so bad.”

Starsky let his head loll back against Hutch’s shoulder, unable to do anything but feel as the massive cock took him, stretched him, filled his aching body. The sensation of Hutch fucking his tender tissues was frightening in its intensity, yet a sharp knife-edge of pleasure overrode everything. His lax cock rose again, growing hard, and Hutch’s left hand moved low over his abdomen and found it, grabbing hold and stroking him with the same rhythm that big cock was using on his ass. Starsky couldn’t move, again, he felt pinned fore and aft. Hutch’s mouth moved against his ear, his tongue teasing Starsky’s lobe. Hutch’s teeth nipped him hard, but it was nothing compared to the unbelievable pounding pleasure going on in his lower body. Hutch was fucking him to death and making him love it.

“It’s as sweet as heroin,” Hutch told him. “I swear it is. Being inside you. That good. That intense. What are you doing to me?”

Doing to you? He’d never been helpless during sex before, not like this, actually physically helpless. It unnerved him when he could think about it, but right now he could barely think at all. You’re doing it, Hutch, not me. You’re injecting me with your beautiful passion. Makin’ me crazy for your cock. Turning me into a junkie for you. Jeezus, you’re gonna make me come again!

He heard himself moaning incoherently, felt his balls tightening, felt himself nearing the edge. He’d never recovered from an orgasm so fast in his life, even when he was a kid. What was happening to him?

Hutch’s hips moved harder, faster, and Starsky prayed he was nearly there, too. “You’re close, aren’t you?” Hutch whispered. “Me, too. Come with me, babe? I need that from you. Please, Starsk — ” He mouthed Starsky’s ear, kissed his cheek, even as he pounded frantically into his tender ass.

Hutch’s cock grew amazingly larger, and that was all Starsky could endure. He shouted, as Hutch tightened his grip on his cock. With a jerk, Starsky came, spattering the tile wall. A second later Hutch growled low against his neck, and he felt the telltale thrusting that indicated their release was mutual.

Starsky sagged as the strength fled his muscles. But Hutch supported him, holding him up. The shower turned cool. They’d used up the whole tank. The chilling water felt good as Hutch’s cock slipped from his body. Hutch moved to the side slightly, so that the water could rinse oil and semen from them both. He washed them both quickly, efficiently, then rinsed them again as the water turned colder and became uncomfortable. Then Hutch turned it off and, grabbing one of Starsky’s arms, slung it around his neck.

“I’m done,” Starsky muttered, half in explanation and half apology.

“I know,” Hutch assured him. “I’ve got you.” He moved them out of the shower into the bathroom, snagged the towels hanging there, and walked them into the bedroom, still supporting Starsky’s weary frame.

Once beside the bed, he wrapped Starsky in both towels and laid him on the bed. Starsky winced as his rear contacted the mattress, and shifted to his side to take the pressure off. His legs were trembling and he felt weak as a newborn.

Hutch covered him with the bedclothes, and went off somewhere out of the bedroom. Was he leaving him? Where was he going? Starsky felt so exhausted he couldn’t even sum up the energy to call his name. But Hutch was back in moments, his own hips wrapped in a towel, with another draped around his neck. He plunked down the used tube of medicinal cream onto the top of the nightstand where Starsky could easily see it.

Uh-oh.

“Look what I found in your other bathroom when I went looking for more towels!” Hutch said accusingly. “I found the medicinal soak, too. You’re hurting, aren’t you? I’m hurting you. Why are you letting me do this to you? Dammit, Starsky!”

He closed his eyes. All he wanted was for Hutch to climb into bed behind him and hold him. He mumbled into the pillow, “I’m okay!”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Hutch grumbled.

Starsky stifled a moan. He hated when Hutch got into “doctor” mode. Why couldn’t he have gone into accounting instead of pre-med after he dropped out of law school?

Hutch briskly dried himself with the towel draped around his neck, then tossed it to the floor. He pulled the blankets off Starsky’s damp form, then used the towels wrapped around him to dry him off. He enjoyed having Hutch fuss over him, but he knew the pleasantness wouldn’t last. Sure enough, Hutch turned him gently onto his stomach and spread his legs.

“Oh, Christ!” Hutch swore, as he examined Starsky’s rear. “I’m tearing you apart.”

Starsky pulled away from him, and covered his bare rear with the blankets. “Do you mind? You’re givin’ yourself too much credit! I’m fine! Sure, it’s a little swollen. That’s what happens when you’re outta practice.”

“Yeah, right!” Hutch snorted disbelievingly. “Well, since you’ve got this stuff, let me at least put some on you — ”

Oh, no! Starsky sat up abruptly, snatched up the tube of cream and left the bed. “Thanks, but I can take care of my own ass, if you don’t mind.” He tried to march back into the bathroom with some dignity, but even he had to admit his legs were too shaky to pull it off. Hutch was right behind him acting all solicitous, forcing Starsky to close the door practically in his face. Once inside, he used the cream liberally, then washed and dried his hands. As an afterthought, before leaving the bathroom, he swallowed a couple of the mega-vitamins Hutch ate every morning. He figured it couldn’t hurt and might actually help him keep up with his hyper-sexed partner.

When he finally returned to the bedroom, Hutch was almost finished changing the sheets. He’d discarded the towel and attended his task in all his glorious blond nudity. “Will that stuff help?” Hutch asked as he tucked the last corner and drew the blankets up.

“Sure it will,” Starsky reassured him. “It’ll cure whatever ails ya.”

Hutch looked at him bashfully. “Come back to bed with me? I…promise to behave.”

Starsky smiled. “I’ll only come back to bed if you promise not to make any stupid promises like that.”

Hutch nodded. “Deal.” He climbed in the bed, and held up the covers to beckon Starsky in.

Starsky climbed in beside him, and deliberately turned so that his back was pressed against Hutch’s front. Loving someone was all about trust. He wanted to show Hutch that he trusted him completely.

Gently, Hutch encircled him with his arms and Starsky lay against his warm, fragrant body and felt the security those strong arms represented. Hutch nuzzled his still damp hair.

Starsky waited a beat, then said, “It was good for me, Hutch. It was incredible. Nobody’s ever made me feel like that. Ever.”

Taking a deep breath, Hutch said softly, “You lied to me, Starsk. All those years ago when Vanessa left me, and I asked you if it was better for you with men? You said it had nothing to do with men or women, it all depended on the feelings involved. You weren’t telling me the truth. It is better with men. Loving you — all of it, everything, it’s more intense, more powerful than any sex I’ve ever had with a woman. It’s better than good. Fucking you…Starsk, it’s better than anything. I never knew it could be like this, make me feel like this. It’s always been intense between us before, but now — I’ve never needed anything the way I need you.”

Starsky closed his eyes, Hutch’s words shaking him to his core. “I didn’t lie to you, Hutch. I told you the exact truth. It’s so good cause we love each other so much. That’s all. What we’ve got between us, it’s the realest thing we’ll ever have. That’s what makes it so good.”

Hutch’s arms tightened around Starsky. And in a few moments, he started talking. “The first time they injected me, I had no idea that’s what they were going to do.”

Starsky lay still and just rubbed the arms holding him, wanting to transmit comfort and caring.

“They’d been beating me pretty steadily, but I wouldn’t tell them anything. Then, all of a sudden they were all in the room, and I knew something was about to happen. I thought that maybe this was it, that they were tired of dealing with me and were just going to call it a day and execute me.”

Starsky closed his eyes, imagining the sickening flood of terror that must’ve washed over Hutch in that moment.

“I tried not to show anything, but I was shaking all over. They untied my wrists, but I was still blindfolded, and really hurting from the beating, so they didn’t have much trouble restraining me. One of them pulled my head back by the hair, then another one, I think it was Monk, grabbed my left arm and pulled my sleeve up and put on the tourniquet. Then I knew they were gonna inject me. I thought that’s how they were going to kill me, just give me an overdose, and try to make it look accidental. It didn’t make much sense to me, and I knew you wouldn’t believe it for a moment, but that was all I could think of. Monk asked me one last time just before he injected me where Jeannie was, but I wouldn’t tell him.”

“Even when you thought it meant your life, you wouldn’t talk, huh?”

“I couldn’t tell them. She was so afraid of them. And once they had me, I really understood why.”

Starsky felt a surge of pride. “You were bein’ a cop, Hutch. All beat up and facing death, you still wouldn’t betray a trust. You wouldn’t give in to the bad guys. You were doing your job.”

Hutch didn’t say anything to that, just held Starsky tighter. “Then Monk gave me the shot.” Starsky heard him swallow. “And in the space of a second, all the pain, all the fear, it just kind of went away. I was suddenly flooded with the most incredible pleasure. It was too good, too intense, and for a half-second I thought I would puke, but there was nothing in my stomach, and in a moment the nausea passed, and then there was nothing but the drug. I — I wish I could tell you exactly what it felt like. I know now why junkies stay hooked on it for decades. That moment, that rush, when it first pours into your blood, it’s like — like kissing God. Like the best orgasm multiplied ten thousand times. It’s like…” he kissed Starsky’s ear, his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin there, “loving you. Like being inside you. That intense. That perfect. I loved it.”

The shame in his voice nearly broke Starsky’s heart, and he turned in Hutch’s arms so he could embrace him. Hutch cooperated with the change in their positions, and tucked his head under Starsky’s chin as Starsky rubbed his back comfortingly and held him tight.

“They never let me come down after that,” he continued. “The moment I’d start to come off the high, start to show any lucidity, they’d hit me again. I tried to pretend the high lasted longer than it did, just so my mind could be clear for a little while, but they were too experienced. They could tell the minute I started to come down. They knew just how much to give me, just how high to keep me. I was on an endless rush for days on end. It was terrifying to be so helpless. But it was wonderful, too.” His voice was thick with shame.

The events Hutch described startled Starsky, but it made sense when he thought about it. Most junkies doled out their drug, and spent a fair amount of their day just maintaining so they could be functional. But there was nothing typical about Hutch’s enforced addiction. They’d given him the maximum they could of a really pure form of the drug, no doubt increasing the dosage every time. It all made sense to him now, why Hutch was so badly addicted in such a short period of time, and why it was so hard for him to kick it, why he had been so desperate to score again.

Hutch kept talking about how it felt to be forced into so much pleasure, pleasure he knew he shouldn’t be having, shouldn’t be enjoying. It told Starsky a lot about Hutch’s mental condition, about the tug of war he’d been playing over the rights and wrongs of what he’d done and what he’d been forced to do.

And now we’re confusing that whole issue even more, being in bed together, he worried. But Hutch needed to know he was loved, and worthy of being loved, that he wasn’t ruined by what had happened to him. No matter what might happen, Starsky knew he wouldn’t regret what they were sharing now.

Finally, Hutch’s voice wound down and in the middle of a sentence he sagged into sleep. But Starsky didn’t let him go, just kept holding him, enjoying the clean scent of his soft hair and the warmth that filled his arms.

They really fucked you up, didn’t they, babe? God, just please don’t let me be doing the same thing. Don’t let this be bad for Hutch. It would kill me if that happened.

As Hutch slept soundly in Starsky’s arms, Starsky stared at the ceiling and prayed until sleep stole over him as well.

 

Well you can slow me down or quick me up
You’re my drug
Well you can spill me down and lick me up
You’re my drug
And I don’t know if I can give you up
You’re My Drug — Chips

 

Chapter 6

Mirrors on the ceiling
Pink champagne on ice
We are all prisoners here
Of our own device….
                        Hotel California — The Eagles

 

“Delivery for Hutchinson?” The young girl held out a small package as she checked the address on her invoice. Glancing up at her customer, she stared at him with frank admiration, a sly smile spreading across her attractive face.

Hutch gathered his orange bathrobe more securely around his bare chest. “Yes, thank you.” He handed the girl some folded bills.

“Have a nice day,” she said with a wink as Hutch shut the door.

He nodded, package in hand, and shut the door softly. If I have any nicer of a day it might kill me. Barefoot, he padded back into the bedroom to check on his partner, being careful not to clatter the objects in the box. It was dusk, but after their strenuous morning the last thing he wanted was to wake Starsky. But he needn’t have worried.

His partner — his lover — slept soundly, eyes moving rapidly under closed lids, his breath steady, his arms and legs wrapped securely around the pillows Hutch had had to give him as substitutes for his own body.

No one ever held me like that before, he thought. Of course, most of his bed partners weren’t tall enough or substantial enough to envelope him in their arms the way Starsky could. One of those things that kept pointing out the strangeness of their affair. Still, he thought, I could get used to it — if he let me.

Hutch padded back out to the kitchen to peruse his purchases. In spite of the grit and grime he and Starsky were forced to deal with on a daily basis, there was one major advantage about living in LA. You could not only buy just about anything, you could get it delivered.

He opened the box and pulled out the organic herbal medicinal cream and the special mineral bath salts. He’d taken a good look at the commercial products Starsky was using and they were full of harsh chemicals and petroleum products. He was appalled by the contents and the toxic effects they could have on Starsky’s health. The only hope Hutch would have for getting Starsky to try something more beneficial to his body was for him to not only supply the products, but somehow persuade his hard-headed partner to use them.

Hutch smiled. Why not take on a difficult task! He shook his head as he pulled out his purchases. Jasmine, the proprietor of The Emporium of Golden Health and Sunshine, had personally recommended this skin cream. Full of good things like Aloe, Vitamin E, and olive oil, she assured him it was not only excellent for body massages, but that it helped skin recover from sun damage, injuries, and scarring. He opened the jar and touched the silky lubricant, running it between his fingers. It had a nice feel, not too heavy, with a light scent. Starsky hated anything that smelled flowery.

A sudden glance at the crook of his elbow gave him a jarring reminder of just what brought them here, to Starsky’s house, to this state of affairs. The small dark marks on his fair skin screamed at him, a vicious souvenir of his experience. He spread some of the healing cream on the tender skin. It was the first therapeutic gesture he’d made to his abused arm. For a long time, he would’ve much rather cut it off then spend a second nurturing it, as if the arm were responsible for his situation.

He definitely had a better attitude about it today. Starsky never treated that arm any differently than the other. He’d kissed the marked skin, loved it just as gently as he had the rest of his body. If Starsky could overlook the terrible things Hutch had said and done during his withdrawal, then the least Hutch could do was learn to deal with it, too.

He rummaged around in the box some more. The fresh vitamins and energy powder would definitely come in handy, as would the special high performance herbs the store’s proprietor had recommended. It was a good thing he was a steady customer. He was able to get her to make recommendations on his vague and discreet information.

It wasn’t like I could say that my newest lover was wearing me out! Though what he had said was close enough to the mark. He smiled. Starsk, what the hell are you doing to me? I haven’t felt this way since I was seventeen!

There was a soft knock at the door, making him jump. Almost forgot! He grabbed more money out of his wallet.

“Delivery for Hutchinson?” an older man asked, holding out a flat square box and a bag.

He didn’t worry about his modesty this time as the pizza man didn’t seem inclined to flirt.

“That’s right. Here you go. Thanks.” Hutch handed the man the money, and took the objects from him.

Placing the box and bag on the table next to his other purchases, he stood back and tried to decide what to do first. Opening the flat box, he stared at the steaming pizza. Half of it was an image of healthful eating — it was packed with fresh roasted vegetables and a smattering of chicken strips. The other side — the toxic half — was a dieter’s nightmare of spicy Italian sausage, hot peppers, anchovies, onions, and garlic.

The things you do for love, he thought ruefully.

He wouldn’t think about what Starsky’s breath would be like after devouring that mess. He damned well better not think about Starsky’s breath, because that would get him thinking about —

— Starsky’s mouth…on me…in the shower…Starsky nude, wet, his hair in dripping tendrils around his face as he knelt before me…Starsky on his knees…putting his mouth on me —

He jerked his mind away from the erotic image before he threw another rod.

Opening one of the jars of powdered supplements, he carefully dusted the product over Starsky’s half of the pizza. This way, at least, Hutch could feel that he wouldn’t be killing him by feeding him this slop.

Quietly, he opened the bag and pulled out a chilled bottle of root beer. Opening the bottle, he took a spoonful of vitamins and with a scientist’s precision, poured it into the narrow-mouthed bottle. He was unprepared for the volcano-like reaction that occurred as the vitamins reacted with the carbonated soda. Instantly, brown fizz exploded out of the bottle.

“Damn!” Hutch grabbed the bottle frantically before it doused the pizza and the rest of his purchases. Soda spewed everywhere as he tried to protect the table, the vitamins, the pizza, and somehow keep the soda from baptizing himself. He reached for a dishtowel, but it was just too far away, and the sink seemed miles out of reach. As he stood juggling the bottle, the purchases, and the foaming soda in a scant second of indecision, a voice from behind completely unhinged him.

“Do I smell pizza?”

He spun around, nearly anointing Starsky with bubbling soda foam. His partner, used to Hutch’s bouts of near-fatal clumsiness, sidestepped disaster, efficiently snatched the effervescent bottle out of his hand and dumped the foaming brew in the sink without a second thought.

“What the hell are you doing?” Starsky wondered as the bottle fizzled its remains harmlessly into the sink.

While Hutch stood with his mouth silently opening and closing as he searched for a reasonable answer, Starsky picked up the dishtowel, and began mopping up the remains of the soda that had spilled everywhere. He eyed the culturally conflicting items on his table, and started picking through them.

“Pizza and root beer? For breakfast? Hutch. You really do love me!” He grinned naughtily.

Hutch shrugged, embarrassed. How come he had never noticed how well that blue bathrobe accented Starsky’s eyes? “It’s almost dark. It’s hardly breakfast.”

“Pizza and vitamins?” Starsky examined the label of one of the jars. “Don’t tell me you’re sending half your salary over to Jezebel at The Empire of Quackery and Snake Oil again.” He rummaged through the various jars and ointments, pausing over the items that were clear substitutes for his own more conventional cures.

Hutch felt suddenly ill at ease. “I-I-I just wanted to make sure we, that is, you, that is, we had whatever, you know, we might need, if — ”

“Yeah, I hear ya,” Starsky drawled with a slow smile. Then his expression grew suspicious. “You didn’t put any of this health stuff on my half of that beautiful-lookin’ pizza, did you?”

“Oh, no! Uh, well, maybe…just a little. A pinch. A dusting, no more, honest! You’ll never taste a thing! I mean, if you don’t want to eat it, you could eat some of mine, which already is very healthful — ”

Starsky glowered at his partner. Pulling out a piece of the gooey, anchovy-encrusted side, he took a defiant bite and chewed thoughtfully. He narrowed his eyes.

“See! You can’t taste anything over those damned hairy fish. And you better believe I’m going to personally supervise how well you brush your teeth after eating that gross concoction!”

One dark eyebrow quirked up as Starsky mumbled around a hearty mouthful, “You ordered it.”

“Well, after all these years, I think I should have some idea of what kind of pizza you like. Don’t stand there like a barbarian. Sit at the table. I’ll get you a plate and some silverware — ” Hutch was halfway to the cabinets when he had a disturbing thought. “You, uh — that is…I mean…you can sit down, can’t you?”

Starsky’s expression was once again a glower, but it was hard to take seriously with one cheek stuffed full of pizza. Without releasing his slice, Starsky snagged the nearest chair, spun it around and straddled it backwards, plopping down on it as if to prove his able-bodied condition.

The sight of Starsky’s bare legs spread around the dining room chair while the bathrobe barely concealed his maleness caused Hutch to flush to his hairline. He forgot what he was supposed to do. All he could do was stare.

Starsky finally swallowed. “I’m sitting, already. You gonna get the plate, or what?”

Plate? Hutch thought, confused.

“Plate!” Starsky reminded him. “For the table? So I won’t be a barbarian? Forget the silverware. You’re the only one weird enough to eat pizza with a knife and fork.” He took another substantial bite of pizza and a trail of cheese stretched between his lips and the slice. Staring directly at Hutch, he used his tongue to draw the stretchy stuff into his mouth.

Hutch couldn’t move.

Finally, Starsky captured all the errant strands of cheese and licked his mouth. Softly, he asked, “Problem, buddy?”

Hutch blinked and came back from the fog he’d been in. Without a word, he went to the cabinet, grabbed some silverware for himself, a glass of water and two plates, and then returned to the table. He set a plate in front of Starsky who was looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Just remember, friend,” Hutch said, “sooner or later, my problem’s yours.”

Starsky grinned defiantly and devoured more pizza.

Somehow, Hutch managed to get a grip on his rampaging hormones and tackled the food. He was suddenly ravenous, and the combination of savory roasted vegetables, mozzarella cheese, and spicy tomato sauce lit up his mouth with pleasure. It had been weeks since he’d actually enjoyed eating. For once he didn’t have that queasy feeling when faced with normal food. He ate with gusto as did his partner, and the suddenly normal moment between them as they downed pizza together nearly overwhelmed him with a wave of aching nostalgia.

As they put away most of the pie, Hutch’s mind skittered around, remembering bits of this, moments of that, as it tried to shy away from another heart-rending round of what ifs.

Starsky was washing down the last of his first slice with a fresh bottle of root beer, and the letters “B-E-E-R” on the side of the label caught his eye. He blinked, staring at it.

Hesitantly, he asked, “Starsky, what happened to Mickey?”

His partner paused, bottle in mid-air.

The word “BEER” had made Hutch think of the two-bit snitch Starsky always swore would sell his own mother for a brew. “I, uh, I suddenly remembered…. Huggy said Mickey had a message for you, so I went to meet with him since you were busy. I felt pretty good when I left Huggy’s but by the time I pulled into the bar to meet Mickey the physical activity of getting there had just about wrung me out.”

Starsky’s face grew grim. “Huggy wasn’t supposed to let you outta there. You weren’t ready for the streets. It was dumb, Hutch. You nearly got killed — ”

“Because Mickey sold me out to Forrest’s men. I figured that much out. But when we were filling out the reports…I guess I just blanked on his involvement. But I know you. You don’t forget anything. And Mickey’s been nowhere to be seen since. I didn’t realize it till now, but it’s like he just up and disappeared.”

Starsky turned back to the pizza, refusing to meet Hutch’s gaze. “A little weasel like that, who knows what might’ve happened to him. I’d promised him that if he ever lied to me, he’d have to find a whole new city to drink in. Maybe he’s gone up to Frisco, or to Las Vegas.”

Hutch got a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Or better yet, maybe he’s gone to hell. Starsk, did you — ?”

Starsky looked exasperated. “Come on! If I didn’t find some excuse to put a bullet in Forrest’s ear when we busted him you think I’d risk everything to take out a worthless piece of shit like Mickey?”

“Okay,” Hutch said, but he wasn’t about to let the topic go. “So, tell me what did happen to him. Because we’ve worked together long enough for me to know that he didn’t skip town. You would’ve never let that happen. What did you do?”

Starsky still wouldn’t look at him. He picked up another piece of pizza. “Nothin’, Hutch. I didn’t do nothin’ to Mickey. He’ll turn up sooner or later.”

Hutch sat back in his chair and stared at his friend. He didn’t say anything, just watched Starsky go after a new slice. It was one thing for his partner to help him kick a heroin habit that had been forced on him and it was another thing for Starsky to treat him like an emotional cripple and hide the truth from him. He crossed his arms and waited.

After another two bites, Starsky put the half-eaten piece down, slugged back some of the soda and grimaced. “Okay. You wanna know what happened to Mickey, I’ll tell you.” He turned his unflinching gaze on Hutch. “He was picked up about an hour after the firefight with Monk went down. Right around the time we were bustin’ Forrest. He was back at that hovel he calls a room, and the uniforms caught him throwing his shit into a sack, getting ready to bail out. They had a warrant. It was all legal.”

“What were the charges?” Hutch asked, feeling suddenly cold.

“Conspiracy to abduct a police officer, conspiring in the attempted murder of a police officer, withholding evidence in the conspiracy, etc. etc.”

“So, they picked him up,” Hutch said hollowly, having a terrible feeling of what must have happened.

“The uniforms picked him up. He resisted — ”

“You told them,” Hutch said softly, feeling queasy again.

“They already knew about the abduction, Hutch,” Starsky insisted. “Everyone at Parker knew you were gone. There was a missing officer report out on you, and everyone knew I was shakin’ up the streets. That wasn’t a secret. But they didn’t know about the heroin, Hutch. Dobey and me, we kept that quiet. They just knew you’d gotten snatched and really worked over.”

“And the uniforms thought Mickey was a part of that.”

“He was!” Starsky said angrily. “He sold you out to them! ‘Cause they outbid me. I offered him fifty. They gave him a hundred. He was ready to hand us both over for that much. They got another chance at killing you because that lyin’ bastard sold you to them. And they came damn close to succeeding, too! So, don’t sit there with that righteous look on your face and ask me to feel sorry for him.”

Hutch couldn’t let it go. “What happened after the uniforms worked Mickey over?”

Starsky went back to his pizza with a casual air that made Hutch want to throttle him. “He got put in a cell.”

Hutch closed his eyes. “Mickey’s a hard-core alcoholic. Did he get any medical help? Withholding alcohol from someone in his condition is — ”

” — Like withholding heroin from a strung-out junkie to get what you want out of him?” Starsky said quietly.

Hutch shuddered. “You don’t know what it’s like. He would have the DTs. Hallucinations, the terrors, physical sickness — ”

“Yeah, he had all of that,” Starsky agreed mildly.

“He could have lasting brain damage from withdrawal that rapid!”

“And I’m supposed to care about that?” Starsky asked pointedly. “He sold you to men who were going to kill you. I’ll tell ya, Hutch, he suffered all right. But you know what? His addiction was self-inflicted. No one kidnapped him, tortured him, and forced him to become an alky. No one kept him tied in a chair makin’ him take drink after drink.”

Hutch lost his appetite. He pushed away from the table, feeling like his skin was crawling. He rubbed his arms compulsively and wandered around the combined kitchen, living room, and dining area. He suddenly felt trapped, caged.

I need to get out. Just get out.

He felt Starsky’s eyes on him, following him, watching, waiting. They might as well be back in Huggy’s little room. He started to tremble.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” Hutch said, but it was barely a whisper. “You don’t know.”

He closed his eyes, but all he could see was the specter of Mickey, huddled on the concrete slab of a holding cell, banging his head on the floor, screaming, crying, begging for a drink.

Did you go see him, Starsky? When it got really bad for him, did you go? Did you hold him tight against you and rock him to ease the pain?

He almost laughed. Starsky would’ve gone, all right. He would’ve stood there long enough to assure himself that the man who’d made the stupid mistake of trying to sell his partner was suffering, really suffering — suffering the way Hutch himself had. He would’ve taken no joy in it; that wasn’t Starsky’s way. No, it would’ve been an act of justice in Starsky’s view. You hurt Hutch. Your turn now. He would’ve stood there with all his anger, his hatred as raw as a wound, and he would’ve told Mickey that he wasn’t going through half of what Hutch had suffered. Maybe after ten dry years in jail, maybe then he might have suffered enough.

Hutch couldn’t shake the image of Mickey drying out alone in the cell, without help, without anyone to care. He couldn’t shake it and he couldn’t bear it.

“I can’t,” he muttered to the walls, to the furniture, “I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” Starsky asked softly.

“I can’t do this,” Hutch mumbled, not really to his partner.

“This what?”

“This. This. I can’t…be a cop anymore. I can’t. I don’t have the stomach for it. The backbone. I don’t have the guts. I can’t do this anymore.” He found himself wandering again. He wouldn’t look at Starsky, wouldn’t focus on anything, just walk, shake his head, move around, unable to escape the image of Mickey alone with the DTs. “I nearly blew it in that room with the hooker, nearly blew the whole case. You don’t know how close I was to letting her shoot me up. How close I was to begging for it. How much I wanted it. You don’t know. Don’t know what it’s like. I know. What it’s like to crawl on the floor, begging someone for something you know you shouldn’t have…but you’ve got to have it. You don’t know what’s like to need like that.”

“So, tell me,” Starsky said.

Hutch shook his head and laughed. “It’s like every cell, every nerve ending is alive and focused on only one thing. That thing. That thing you need. It’s all the way inside you. It is you. It’s the only thing you are. That thing you need. It’s like your real self is a prisoner somewhere inside, and that real self is begging you not to do this, but you’ve turned down the sound. ‘Cause you know what you need. It’s the only thing you know.”

He could see Mickey gripping the bars, begging Starsky, promising everything, offering anything he could think of. In his mind, he was Mickey, in that cell, begging, just like he had in Huggy’s room, and Starsky wasn’t a friend holding him, rocking him, trying to ease the pain — no, in his mind, Starsky was dressed in Forrest’s white suit, standing so far above him, so cool, so unneedy. Able to fulfill the need. But unwilling to do so. He closed his eyes wanting the image to fade but unable to shake it. Even now, Starsky had the one thing that Hutch needed — his body. Starsky still had the power.

“It’s ruined me,” Hutch admitted. “I’m too soft. I can’t be a cop like this.”

“I don’t believe that,” Starsky said.

“It doesn’t matter what you believe,” Hutch said wearily. “It’s what is.” Exasperated, he turned to his friend. “You saw what happened to me with that hooker. What do you think I’m going to do the first time I’ve got to deal with a hostage situation, somebody tied in a chair, blindfolded like I was. I’m gonna freak out, dammit! I can’t even think about shit like that now without falling apart!”

Starsky sighed. “Look, Hutch, you need to deal with this stuff. You need to face it square and deal with it. Find ways around what happened so you can handle it in the future. You can do that. But not if you won’t even try. You need to get this out of your system. You need to talk about it — ”

“I can’t!” Hutch shouted.

The denial hung in the air between them as Hutch saw the expression on Starsky’s face change subtly.

I can’t talk about it — unless I’ve fucked you. Then I can’t shut up.

He felt his color rise to his hairline. He didn’t need Starsky to say anything, the truth stood there in the room with them. Hutch could talk about it all right, but only after fucking. It shamed him. Give me everything. Then I’ll give you a little of myself.

His eyes burned and he squeezed them shut, forcing the tears back. He wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t cry, not now, not for sympathy. He didn’t want sympathy, didn’t want Starsky to soften right now.

Be fierce for me. As fierce as you were when you stood outside Mickey’s cell while he begged you for help. Make me do this.

Starsky didn’t budge. Didn’t change expression. Didn’t say anything.

I can’t. I can’t.

He wandered some more.

Finally, Starsky said quietly, “You’re right, Hutch, I don’t know what it’s like. None of it. All the stuff that’s ever happened to me in my life, and as a cop — no one’s ever kidnapped me, taken me hostage. So far, no one’s ever even gotten the drop on me.”

Hutch nodded. He turned away, afraid looking at Starsky’s sympathetic expression might do him in completely.

He heard Starsky push the chair away from the table, so he kept walking, hoping Starsky would keep away from him. He couldn’t endure being touched now, couldn’t tolerate that kindness.

Starsky was padding around, but he wasn’t coming closer. Hutch heard him go into the bedroom and open his closet and then some drawers. Maybe he was getting dressed. Maybe he needed to go out for awhile, get away from the intensity between them. Hutch rubbed his arms. If Starsky would just leave him alone for a little while, he might be able to get his head together —

There was a light tug on his sleeve and he jumped and spun around. He’d never even heard Starsky come up behind him.

Starsky was holding something in his hands, some cloths in a riot of color, reds and swirls of blue. Hutch just stared at it uncomprehending.

“Make me understand,” Starsky ordered him. “I want to. Maybe if I really understand, then I can really help you.”

Hutch still wasn’t following. “Make you…?”

“Like back in the Academy, remember? When they used to make us try to get into a criminal’s head, try to make us understand how their minds worked so we could figure out what their next move might be. We’d do those scenarios, remember? We’d have to act out whole scenes taken out of crime reports, critical scenes that had gone bad and see if we’d do better. They’d have actors bein’ the bad guys and we’d have to be the cops and run the scene just like it had happened, only we didn’t know the ending. We were good at those Hutch, even then, in the Academy. Any time they let us be partners, we always turned the scene around, remember?”

It was hard for Hutch to dredge up any memories before the ones that involved Forrest, but he forced himself to focus on what Starsky was saying. He remembered the crime scenarios, and he remembered that he and Starsky were so good at them that they split them up for the rest of the course and made them work separately. But he still wasn’t sure he understood what Starsky wanted.

“Remember that, Hutch, how we always turned the scene around? We always won in those scenes when we worked together. Took a bad ending and made it right. Like changing history. We can do that again, here, now. Take me to that place, Hutch. That place you spent so much time in. Put me in your place. In the chair. Make me your hostage. Take me through the scene. Make me understand what it was like for you, what you felt, what you went through. You’ve talked about it some,” after we’d fucked, went unsaid, “but it’s all just words to me, not feelings, not experience. But if I really understand, then, maybe together, we can take that whole scene, and turn it around. Make it right. And you can deal with it, get over it. If we do this together.”

Suddenly, the objects in Starsky’s hands made sense. A red bandana. To blindfold him. An old stained tie. To bind his hands.

Hutch went cold all over. He wanted to refuse, but nothing would come out of his mouth. All he could do was shake his head and back away.

Starsky wouldn’t let him escape, just kept advancing. “Come on, Hutch, we can do this. It’ll work. Take me to that place. Work through it with me. We can turn this around.”

“NO!” Hutch shouted as soon as he regained his voice. “No way! Get that stuff away from me!”

“Hutch, wait, listen — !”

“Back off, Starsky! Now!” His voice had gone shrill, frantic, as he bumped into an end table, knocking a lamp over.

Starsky grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him into a sitting position on the end table, ignoring the broken lamp. His grip was strong enough that Hutch couldn’t break away, not in this panicked state.

“Look at you!” Starsky snapped. “You’re a mess. You’re in a cold sweat, you’ve got the shakes, you’re nearly hysterical. You’ve got all this terror inside you wrapped around memories you’re afraid to face. You can’t fix all of this in bed with me. You’ve got to face it now! Look at it square, for what it really is. Recognize what you’ve been through, and that you beat it. Recognize the strength that got you through it!” He grabbed Hutch’s hand, pulled it forward, forced the tie and the bandana in it, then folded his bigger hand around them.

“I-I-I can’t!” Hutch stammered.

“Stop sayin’ that!” Starsky yelled. “You lived through that ordeal. You got away from those guys. You escaped on your own. You saved yourself! You can save yourself again.” Starsky stopped, as if he realized he was shouting. He took a deep breath and calmed himself. “We can do this. You and me. Together.”

He latched onto Hutch’s wrist and hauled him back over towards the kitchen table. Hutch followed, if reluctantly. Once they were near the table, Starsky released him. He took hold of the kitchen chair he’d been sitting in and pulled it away from the table so that it stood alone. “So, how did it go down?”

He’s gonna make me do this. Dear God, he’s gonna make me — Hutch swallowed. “Like I told you, they knocked me out cold at the house.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So, uh, when I came to, I, uh, I was already in the chair. Tied. Blindfolded.”

“Were you sitting like this?” Starsky sat normally in the chair.

Hutch had to think about it. He didn’t want to, but as soon as Starsky asked him the question he realized he wasn’t sure how he was sitting in the chair. If I’d had to write a report on that, I don’t think I could’ve done it. That’s what a cop’s life revolved around — details. Details on a report. Details that could make or break a case. Hutch didn’t have a lot of details. The heroin made sure of that.

He forced himself to recall. “I-I woke up and I was in the chair.” Hesitantly, he touched Starsky’s shoulder, pushed him back so that he was sitting straighter, back against the chair. It wasn’t a chair like this, though. It was a ladder-back chair. He could feel it suddenly, the wood of the chair pressing against his spine, his rear, his thighs. Something he hadn’t remembered until now, the tactile feel of that chair.

Starsky followed his guidance, sitting back, relaxing as an unconscious man might.

“They used some heavy black cloth for a blindfold, an ascot or scarf.” He stared at the bandana in his hand. It had a garish red and white pattern that made him think of that damned car of Starsky’s — how good those familiar leather seats smelled when Starsky eased me onto them after I escaped — and wasn’t as big as the blindfold they’d used on him. Nothing’s the same. It couldn’t be. He’s not my prisoner; he’s my friend. He’s trying to help me. Starsky knew they’d used a black scarf to blindfold him. He could’ve handed him one of those, but he didn’t. He could’ve found some clothesline, too. He didn’t want to. He wanted it familiar, but not the same. He wants me to deal with it, not relive it.

“Go on, Hutch,” Starsky said softly. “Take me through it.”

With trembling hands, Hutch fastened the bandana around Starsky’s eyes. “That’s not too tight, is it?”

Starsky smiled. “Is that what they asked you? Not too tight, Detective? Are you comfortable, Detective?”

There were so many questions, Hutch remembered, but none of them had to do with his comfort. He checked the tightness of the blindfold himself. “Can you see anything?”

“No. Just brightness through the cloth. Is that what you could see?”

No. I couldn’t see anything. Not even light. The blindfold was thick, but they must’ve been keeping the room dimly lit on purpose. He hadn’t remembered that either. Alone with strangers, terrible strangers, in the dark….

When Hutch didn’t answer, Starsky went on to the next salient point. “Were your hands tied in front, like this?” He crossed his wrists helpfully.

Hutch ground his teeth. He tried to keep his voice from wavering. “No. Like this.” He grabbed Starsky’s left hand and pulled it behind the chair, then did the same with the other. Crossing his wrists, he looped the tie around them and fastened them with a safety slipknot. “They used a length of old clothesline. Wrapped it around each wrist separately with a short length between them.” He had told Starsky that before, but found he couldn’t help talking about it again.

He didn’t like this. The memories were coming back way too clearly. He grew angry with Starsky for pushing him into this. He knew his partner well enough to know that repeated refusals wouldn’t help. Starsky would have his way. He might be the one tied in the chair, but he was still clearly the most competent person here. He was still the one in charge. That made Hutch angry, too.

“Comfortable?” he asked sarcastically.

Starsky had tensed when Hutch pulled his arms back and now sat rigidly still in the chair. His voice wasn’t casual anymore. “Actually, no. This is pretty uncomfortable.”

Hutch took a few steps back and looked at his friend. Starsky was still in his royal blue bathrobe, his thick hair still sleep-tousled. His strong, sculpted bare legs with their thick coating of dark hair were exposed to the thigh. His darkly furred chest was too, where the bathrobe opened to a V to his waist. The red bandana tied around his eyes always looked good on him when he used it as a sweatband, and it still looked good in spite of its purpose. Starsky had the perfect coloring for intense reds and blues.

Hutch realized with a shock that he was staring at his friend tied and blindfolded in a chair and marveling at how beautiful he was.

Hutchinson, you are one sick fucker.

His stomach rolled a little, so he went to the table, ignored the glass of water and, opening a root beer, slugged half of it down. The sweetness and carbonation helped. He still occasionally had that craving for sweets, another reminder of his addiction.

Starsky was following his movements with the only sense he could still rely on — his hearing.

“What’s that feel like?” Hutch asked. “Being held in that chair, not being able to see, not knowing exactly where I am? What I’m doing?”

“Unnerving,” Starsky said honestly. “You’re my friend. I trust you. I know you won’t hurt me. But just… not being able to see you… not knowing exactly where you are….”

“Uh-huh,” Hutch murmured. He knew Starsky was going through this like an Academy exercise. Putting himself in Hutch’s place. Making himself be Hutch.

I wasn’t with friends. I wasn’t in my own house. You’re thinking about that, putting yourself there, in my head, coming to in that strange place, surrounded by strange men.

He went to the wall switch and shut off the lights, and the apartment went dark. The sun was setting, it was dusk, and streetlights were on already.

Starsky noticed the difference immediately and his head swiveled around as he tried to get his bearings. Hutch moved quietly on his bare feet, the way the men who’d kidnapped him had done. The first blows had come out of the dark silence. Expected, yet surprising none-the-less. He felt a sick quiver of anticipation as he recalled those moments right after waking.

Sensory deprivation, Hutch cataloged. Couldn’t see. Couldn’t hear anything. Just Monk’s voice. All the questions. And then pain. And more pain. And more — His mouth went dry. He finished the root beer.

“It was dark in the room,” he told Starsky. He needed to keep moving, and circled the chair at a distance, observing his immobilized friend from every angle. There was just enough light coming in from the street lamps to highlight Starsky in the crisscrossing shadows.

“I was blindfolded with a dark scarf. There was no light. I was tied in a chair, blindfolded, and kept in the dark.” The whole time. Until they brought Jeannie in to see me. Why hadn’t he remembered that until now?

Starsky fidgeted. Tested his bonds. Strained to hear where Hutch was.

He remembered doing that. “When-when I came to I was already in the chair, already tied. They were holding me up because I kept trying to fall over in my unconsciousness.”

“What was the first thing you remember upon waking?” Starsky asked quietly.

Hutch felt a sudden overwhelming sense of rage. You’re tied and you’re blindfolded, held prisoner in the dark, and you’re still asking the questions? That’s not how it works, buddy.

In answer, Hutch silently took his half-full glass of water and without warning, flung the cold contents in Starsky’s face.

Starsky lurched backward in shock, gasping, and the jarring movement caught him off-guard, making him nearly upend the chair. He struggled for his balance and Hutch let him, not helping, not speaking, just letting him flounder with the shock of sudden sensation, the helplessness of being alone, tied in the chair.

You wanted to be where I was at. So, be there.

“When they threw the water in my face, I came to all of a sudden,” Hutch said softly, knowing Starsky was totally open to it now, the whole experience. Water dripped over his face, down his chin, onto his chest, the thirsty bathrobe absorbing it even as Starsky absorbed the scene and Hutch’s helplessness and fear. “My head was throbbing, I was confused, disoriented, but I was trying really hard to think. Think like a cop. How many men were there? I tried to keep track of the hands touching me, but that didn’t work.”

He touched Starsky suddenly, not gently, not with love, but casually, as if his body meant nothing, as if he were nothing, a sack of meat in a chair to be positioned, to be restrained, to be used. He moved the chair a little, unbalancing his prisoner, pushed him back, handling him possessively, contemptuously.

“How many hands? I didn’t know. I tried to pay attention to the voices, but I was too groggy. My head hurt. I was too confused. After a while, I began to think there were dozens. And all of them — ” He stopped, and Starsky did, too, straining to hear whatever Hutch had to say. He wet his mouth. “All of them willing to hurt me.” He took his hands away and left Starsky alone.

Starsky actually flinched. “Hutch….”

“Don’t. Don’t sit there tied in that chair and have the nerve to feel sorry for me.” Starsky sat up straighter. “Besides, I stopped worrying about all of that very quickly. Because I knew I was going to die. They asked their questions. I wouldn’t answer. They hit me in the face.” He slapped Starsky’s face lightly, first one side, then the other, just to give him the tactile anchor. Instinctively, Starsky jerked his face away.

“They punched me in the gut again and again.” He pressed his fist slowly into his partner’s solar plexus, in the most tender place. Starsky tried to curl his body protectively against the fist touching his abdomen, but couldn’t. He shivered and Hutch knew he was imagining taking those blows and being unable to fight back.

“They’d beat me till I’d pass out or pretend to pass out and then I’d get a break for awhile. Seemed like it went on forever. But it wasn’t the first time I’d been knocked around, so I just handled it. It was only pain, and I could deal with that. Every time I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, I’d think that if I told them where to find Jeannie, they might do this same thing to her, and I’d clam up again. He had, too. Forrest. He used to beat the shit out of her. Always real careful, so he wouldn’t hurt her face or anything vital. He’s a savage bastard, and remembering that kept me from giving her up.”

Hutch laughed bitterly. “Monk’s thugs actually admired me for taking it the way I did. I heard them telling each other how tough I was. They didn’t expect that from a cop.”

He grew quiet then, just padded around the chair, knowing Starsky couldn’t tell where he was if he didn’t speak. He didn’t want to talk about what happened after the hitting stopped. He didn’t want to talk about it, because he knew it didn’t matter what he said. Nothing could make Starsky understand what that was like, facing sudden death while tied helpless in a chair. To expect to die then, instead, to be kept alive, tortured with an incredible pleasure…he could never make him understand that.

But Starsky wouldn’t let it go till he did.

Hutch shuddered hard. “I’d thought everyone left after the last time I passed out. You know how that is, when everything goes dark. I know that’s happened to you. The world goes cold and then, it seems like, minutes later you’re aware again. And you have no idea how long you’ve been gone, or what’s happened while you weren’t there, or what shape you’re in, or if you’re in danger — ” He had to stop, that moment of semi-conscious terror coming back to him in a flood. “I thought I was alone for a whole, dark, silent minute. It was scary but it was a relief, too, to just be alone with myself, to try to marshal my thoughts, try to plan, try to hope…. Then, just when my mind started working again — ” Damn, he didn’t want to think about this! He found he couldn’t make himself say anything, so he demonstrated instead.

Moving closer to the chair, he placed the flat of his hand on Starsky’s hip without warning, then slid it over the swell of his ass.

Starsky did the exact same thing Hutch had done when he had felt that violating hand in his semi-conscious state. He cringed away, shocked, revolted. But Hutch was holding the chair just as his captor had been. And Starsky couldn’t get away. Hutch left his hand right there, cupping the swell of Starsky’s ass, letting his partner fidget uselessly.

“He didn’t say anything,” Hutch whispered. He could hear Starsky’s breathing increase as his heart rate accelerated — just as Hutch’s had. “He didn’t have to. They were all ex-cons, I knew that. And I understood the quiet threat. I was a cop, the kind of cop who sent men like them to prison for years at a time. There were worse things that could happen to me than a beating.”

Starsky was breathing hard, actually shaking. Hutch hadn’t talked about that before. He hadn’t wanted to remember it. He never wanted to think about it again. He let Starsky think about it for awhile. Then he took his hand away as his invisible captor had, and let him stew on it.

After a few more minutes of tension, Hutch said quietly, “I heard them come back in the room, the whole group, two, four, I was never really sure.” He’d told Starsky about this part before, but now it was time to demonstrate. He was at a loss.

He made more noise walking around the chair, wanting Starsky to hear him now. And his partner did the exact same thing he had done, turning his head, trying to figure out where, how many, and what — ?

“I knew this was it. The end. They were gonna finish me. I just didn’t know how.”

He moved closer to the chair, brushing against Starsky, who jumped slightly at the contact.

“I thought of you,” Hutch whispered, “how upset you’d be. I felt like I’d let everyone down. Let myself get taken so easy. And now I’d never get to say goodbye.”

Starsky was listening with every cell of his body, totally in tune with Hutch.

“One of them came up behind me, grabbed my right arm, took hold of my hair.” He buried his fingers in Starsky’s thick, clean hair and jerked his head back roughly, making him gasp. He pinned his right arm to the chair, digging his fingers in. Starsky resisted, even as Hutch had, but he didn’t ease his grip. He let him fight uselessly just as he had.

“They freed one arm, keeping the other one tied to the chair, and pulled my left arm out straight. I felt the tourniquet go tight and then I knew. I fought, but there were at least three of them. They asked me one more time, where was Jeannie? I wouldn’t tell them.” He held onto Starsky’s hair but released his grip on his right arm. Sliding his fingers now up the left arm, he found the soft skin in the crook, and stroked it with his thumb. Starsky’s skin was so warm, his arms so strong. Hutch could feel his pulse throbbing just under that smooth skin. He found himself mesmerized with the sensation.

“The needle hurt,” Hutch remembered. “Monk hit the vein first try. And then — there was that incredible rush.” He closed his eyes, the sweet memory flooding over him again. “It’s never as good as the first time. But you keep hoping….”

This is pointless, he thought. How can he understand what that felt like, all that terrifying pleasure, something I never should’ve known —

He stared at Starsky, his head drawn back as Hutch held his hair, his throat taut, bared, tied and helpless. He was completely at Hutch’s mercy, had put himself there voluntarily. His beautiful mouth was half-open.

Without making the conscious decision, Hutch suddenly knew.

He leaned down, covered Starsky’s open mouth with his and plunged his tongue into that sweet, inviting wet place.

Starsky lurched in the chair in total shock, just like Hutch had when the horse hit his brain. He had understood in that sudden instant why they called it horse. It had been like being swept away on a rampaging charger, where all you could do was cling to the mane and hold on for your life as the ground rushed by.

Starsky, shocked by Hutch’s ravaging kiss, struggled to get away, but that was impossible. Hutch’s tongue took what it wanted, and what it wanted was Starsky’s insatiable pleasure, the forbidden dark pleasure that Hutch knew he took from his kiss.

He could taste the pizza, the spicy sauce, a hint of rich cheese, even the salty aftertaste of the anchovy. In Starsky’s mouth it was reminiscent of the heady flavor of semen and Hutch went hard instantly, thinking about it.

Starsky was gasping, whimpering, sounding just like Hutch had when the first rush hit him. He pulled away for air.

“Hutch, wait!” Starsky breathed. “Listen!”

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Hutch hissed back at him, still holding him by the hair. “It’s racing through your blood, hitting your brain, and it’s oh, so good. But you know you shouldn’t have it. You shouldn’t like it. Shouldn’t love it.” He kissed him again, and saw that Starsky had gone hard too, was tenting the robe. It would be so easy to expose him. Hutch shivered.

Starsky struggled a while longer, while Hutch took his mouth. But soon he had to yield, as Hutch knew he would. He couldn’t resist Hutch’s kiss, and Hutch knew that. It was a heady feeling, knowing something so simple could affect this strong man so easily.

He released Starsky’s hair, stroking it instead of pulling it, running his hands lovingly over his face, his bare neck. Sweet, guilty pleasure, pleasure he was helpless to avoid. He could make Starsky come like this, just by kissing him, and the sense of power he felt at that was overwhelming. It was a power he’d never had over anyone before. Not just from a kiss —

He let Starsky breathe again, felt the frantic panting wash over his face, his own neck. “Hutch, please,” Starsky whispered, and Hutch knew now he wasn’t asking for release, but begging for more.

“Are you there?” Hutch asked, needing so badly to know. “Are in you that place you wanted to be? Are you there with me, feeling that rush? Not wanting it, yet not wanting to be without it?”

Starsky could only murmur, “Hutch, please — “

Hutch granted his wish and kissed him again. Starsky moaned deep in his throat, the sound vibrating through them both. Hutch’s hands began to travel.

He slid them inside Starsky’s bathrobe, over his shoulders, down his arms. Starsky struggled against the bonds, but he was held securely, and Hutch knew how frustrating that had to be for him. He’d loved Starsky enough times now to know how important it was for him to reciprocate, how he loved to gently touch, to stroke, to give pleasure back. This would be torture for him, to be forced to endure the light, teasing touches, the gentle pleasure while Hutch forced kiss after kiss on him.

Hutch wanted to see his hardness, watch him when he came. He untied the bathrobe’s sash, and Starsky moaned a protest. Hutch let him up for air, long enough to open the robe and expose Starsky’s body. His cock was so hard, already glistening in the dim shadows. It moved like a living thing with a mind of its own, blindly seeking its pleasure, looking for Hutch. Hutch let it search.

“Wait!” Starsky gasped, desperately sucking air into his lungs. “This isn’t fair. Take the blindfold off. Untie me. Let me touch you.”

“No,” Hutch said, and he could see the surprise on Starsky’s whole body. “It’s scary, I know, but it’s good, too. The pleasure. The sweetness. Being helpless. Having it forced on you. And loving it. It’s good, isn’t it?”

Starsky clamped his mouth shut as if the truth might escape against his will.

Hutch ran a fingertip around one of Starsky’s small nipples and the body beneath him thrummed at the touch. “Say it, go on. Admit it to me. It’s good, being helpless to forbidden pleasure. I need to know you understand, Starsk. So tell me. Or we’ll be here all night.” He realized he was pleading again and that made him mad. He’d make Starsky pay for that, and soon. “Okay, don’t tell me. But you will. You will.” Just like I told Forrest. Because I had to.

He shut his eyes at the memory and bore down again on Starsky’s mouth. Starsky’s heavy cock jumped in response. Hutch kissed him hard, long, and deep, and the moan that escaped Starsky told of a need so profound he didn’t realize it himself. A need for me, Hutch thought, and his own cock throbbed at the thought.

Starsky made soft noises of helpless pleasure as Hutch kissed him and he frantically kissed back, their tongues waging a dark, wet war. Hutch almost missed it, it came on so fast, but suddenly Starsky jerked beneath his hands, nearly overturning the chair as his hips rocked. Then his cock fountained in the air, semen spraying them both as Hutch kept kissing the come out of him, making his lover shudder helplessly in ecstasy.

Yes, yes! Hutch thought triumphantly. Come for me. Feel the rush. I gave this to you, made you feel this. Come for me.

The pearly essence dotted Starsky’s chest and thighs and groin as his moist cock softened. He was shaking, his legs trembling hard. Hutch kissed him gently one last time and released him. Starsky sagged bonelessly in the chair, and Hutch had to hold him upright, just as the men who’d injected him had had to.

“Oh, God, oh, God!” Starsky gasped. “You bastard.” Finally, he was able to brace himself up in the chair.

Hutch laughed. Yeah. Go on, hate me. But it was good and we both know it. He left Starsky, left him to think on his experience, and went to the bathroom to get a washcloth and towel.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” he asked when he came back. He washed Starsky’s face carefully with the warm, wet cloth, then his neck, cleaning up droplets of semen as he did. He dried him with the same gentle attention.

Starsky was still panting. “That what they did for you?” he asked through his gasps. “Give you a shot and a sponge bath?”

Hutch laughed again, amazed that he could. “You know damned well they didn’t. I guess their sense of smell wasn’t as delicate as mine.”

He’d urinated on himself after the first shot, he’d gone that deep into the rush. None of them seemed to care, yet the smell and feel of the drying urine on his pants drove him crazy…until maybe the fifth shot. By that time, nothing in the world bothered him except wondering how long it would be till the next hit.

He ran the washcloth over Starsky’s chest and stomach, then lower, over his groin and thighs. It was a dispassionate cleaning, almost impersonal. It was just another way to let Starsky know they were playing the game his way, not Starsky’s way.

When he slid the cloth around Starsky’s back and over the swell of his rump, Starsky said, “How often did that guy touch you?”

Hutch froze. How quickly this son-of-a-bitch could regain the upper hand as long as he could use his mouth! He didn’t want to talk about that. He didn’t.

He took away the cloth, the towel, dropped them in a pile on the floor.

“I’m the one who asks the questions, not you. You’re the one helpless in the chair, remember?”

Starsky’s smile was slight, but Hutch could see it in the dim light anyway. He was like this in the Academy, too. Loving the most dangerous games, always so confident, knowing he would win.

The question hung in the air between them. He couldn’t avoid it now. How often did he touch you?

“Once they started injecting me, he touched me every chance he got.” Starsky stopped smiling. “At the height of the rush I wasn’t always aware of it, but as soon as I started coming down I was hyper-aware of it. I could recognize his hands. His touch was different from Monk’s or the other guys. He had big hands. He was a big guy.” Hutch blinked. So much was becoming clear to him now. “He was in the back seat of the car with me. He was the guy I kicked in the face when I broke away….” The thought gave him an odd satisfaction.

“He would’ve fucked me if he got the chance,” Hutch said matter-of-factly. Starsky tensed in the chair and Hutch wondered if he was feeling like the threat was aimed at him in a way. “The other guy kept warning him off. Said if Monk caught him pawing me it’d be a bad scene. Monk had no patience for that ‘punk stuff.’ I remember the guy fondling me saying to his buddy, ‘How many chances are we gonna get to nail a cop? This is the perfect opportunity.’ But the other guy wasn’t in it for cheap thrills, it was just a job to him. He was nervous about the whole thing, knew what the repercussions could be for snatching and killing a cop. The big guy just wanted a shot at me.”

Hutch walked around the chair. “I worried about it a lot at first. But after a couple of days, I was too out of it to care. And when they took the stuff away…when they took it away from me — ” Starsky hadn’t moved, hadn’t budged, was listening with every part of his being, ” — when they cut me off, I’d have given him anything he wanted to get some more. I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Fortunately, the others were still there, so it never became an issue.”

He remembered crawling on the floor, begging them not to leave him alone, leave him with his need. Hutch realized suddenly that he was sweating, a cold, clammy sweat as he remembered all that.

You’re still in charge, aren’t you? Hutch thought resentfully. You ask a few questions and I jump through all the hoops. Cute.

Then Hutch remembered something else. “That was the only guy who wasn’t at the shootout in the alley. The uniforms nailed him at the place where they held me when they raided it for evidence. He was the one who ‘sang like a stuck canary,’ as you told Forrest.”

He didn’t imagine the uniforms were any kinder on him than they’d been on Mickey. He’d sold out Forrest quick enough. Monk and his sidekick were dead. Starsky had killed them both, clearly in self-defense, and just as clearly in a vengeful fury.

At the time, Hutch hadn’t felt anything about that. He’d been stuck on the top of a fence, where he’d run to save his own life. If Starsky hadn’t shown up when he did, he would’ve been the casualty in the alley.

He stared at the man in the chair. The man willing to give him anything, everything, if it would only help him. Would it? Would any of this?

You don’t look like much of a therapist, trussed up like that, Starsk. But you do look beautiful. Good enough to eat.

He moved quietly around the chair, making Starsky work to track him. Without warning, he leaned down, gently kissed the side of his partner’s throat. Starsky leaned into it, and made a soft purring sound. He sighed, “Hutch, wait — ”

“No,” Hutch said, reminding Starsky that they were still in the scene. “Your recovery rate is your problem, not mine.” He kissed the other side of his throat, nibbled the soft juncture of neck and shoulder.

“You made your point before,” Starsky protested a little breathlessly.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Hutch insisted. “Remember, this was your idea. You insisted. You wanted to understand…so let me help you understand.” He nosed his way under a shock of hair and ran his tongue around the rim of his partner’s ear. Starsky made a choked sound but leaned into the sensation, making Hutch smile. Yeah, he was ready.

He came around front and took hold of Starsky’s chin. He kissed him lightly at the corner of his mouth, and Starsky turned into the kiss, unable to stop himself. Hutch smiled. Yeah, you’ve got it bad. But he didn’t give Starsky the full kiss he wanted. He moved his head, kissed the other corner of his mouth, then his cheek, then his chin.

“Hutch, come on — ” Starsky whispered, wanting the kiss.

“No,” Hutch said just as softly. He pressed his lips against his partner’s collarbone, then his Adam’s apple. Starsky swallowed when he did that.

Hutch settled himself on his knees between Starsky’s legs, and that made Starsky go tense. Hutch rubbed his partner’s bare thighs and whispered, “Easy, it’s okay.” No one had comforted him during his ordeal, but the heroin had. It had been a tremendous comfort, taking away his pain, his worries, all his concerns. “You’ll like this,” he assured Starsky. Then he rubbed his face against Starsky’s furred chest, loving the sensation of that smooth, clean hair against his face. It was such a masculine thing, something he could never experience with a woman. Those differences defined their love affair to Hutch. They made it too real to deny.

Starsky sighed in delight at Hutch’s contact. His scent was intoxicating to Hutch, who couldn’t have imagined enjoying that before now. He’d always loved the different flowery smells of women. Starsky’s crisp sandalwood after-shave lingered on his body, a scent that marked his clothes, his car, everything that he spent any time in contact with. Hutch wondered if he’d begin to carry it, too. He wouldn’t mind that, it was a good scent. Honest and clean, like Starsky himself. He inhaled.

“I want to touch you,” Starsky whispered, testing his bonds, and Hutch could hear real hunger in his voice.

“What else do you want?” Hutch murmured back to him.

“I want to carry you to bed. I want to love you all night, sweet and gentle, like you deserve. I want to go down on you now.” He was nearly panting as he recited his short, dazzling list.

Hutch’s blood quickened. “There was only one thing I wanted.” He knew Starsky would know that he meant when he was in the chair. “I just wanted to go home. I wanted not to be there. I wanted to live — ”

“You did,” Starsky reminded him. “You won. You survived.”

He slid his arms around Starsky’s waist and hugged him tight, pressing his cheek against Starsky’s heart, counting the beats. He felt close to tears again.

“Hutch,” Starsky whispered, giving him comfort with that small word.

Needing to dispel the huge lump that had grown in his throat, Hutch nuzzled Starsky’s chest again, letting his mouth travel, letting it taste, inhale, absorb. He found a small nipple hidden in fur and tongued it gently. Starsky quivered in his grasp. Starsky’s cock, pressed against Hutch’s abdomen, began to nod and fill. It tickled his belly, and he rubbed against it, encouraging it to life. Starsky moaned softly.

He took the nipple into his mouth, working on it hard. Starsky grunted and leaned forward, as far as his bonds would let him. “‘S good!” he whispered, his voice harsh. Hutch used his teeth. “Damn!” Starsky gasped. “What are you doin’ to me?”

“Making you crazy,” Hutch reminded him. “Crazy from pleasure.” He moved to the other nipple and worked on it roughly, at the same time he took Starsky’s half-erect cock in his hand. He rolled it in his palm, pressed it against his smooth belly, rubbed against it, loving the way it grew against him.

“Oh, jeezus!” Starsky cried out, throwing his head back.

I remembered praying, Hutch thought. First I prayed for escape…then I prayed it would never end. He bent his head, breathed on the pulsing cock filling his hand.

Starsky went rigid all over, every muscle straining. “No, Hutch, don’t!”

That, again? Hutch marveled. Would Starsky ever give up his rigid notions of what made someone straight or not-straight? It was all just labels to Hutch, meaningless words. Starsky would give his life for him, nearly had a hundred times over. He imagined Starsky prowling the streets searching for him, growing more and more crazed by his partner’s disappearance. He would do anything for Hutch, step in front of a bullet for him, anything. Yet this small thing seemed so terrifying to Starsky, so earth-shattering.

Well, that was good. Starsky needed to experience something earth-shattering.

A bead of liquid formed at the tip of Starsky’s crown. Hutch was momentarily mesmerized by the way the dim light glinted off the fluid. It would be different here than in the shower. Starsky was clean, but not freshly scrubbed. Hutch could smell his male musk, something he couldn’t detect in the shower. He was surprised to find the smell as enticing as Starsky’s sandalwood. His mouth watered.

“Talk to me, Hutch,” Starsky ordered. “Tell me what you’re thinkin’, what you’re going through.”

That’s why we’re doing this, Hutch remembered. To help me. To make me get over this.

“I’m hungry,” Hutch said simply. “Hungry for you. I never thought I could feel like this. Want this. Want to do this for you. But I do.”

Starsky struggled in the chair, but couldn’t get away. “That’s not what I meant!” He sounded exasperated.

Hutch laughed softly. “I know what you meant. I’m just a little preoccupied right now. You’re beautiful to me, y’know that? Right here in my hand, so beautiful.”

“Hutch, cut it out,” Starsky protested. “Let me go. This isn’t why we’re doin’ this. I don’t want you to feel that way! I want you to deal with what’s happened to you — ”

“I am,” Hutch insisted, squeezing the rigid organ gently. “I’m dealing with it with you…through you….” He closed his eyes remembering more than he wanted to, remembering entirely too much. He tried to explain. “As soon as I lapsed into normal sleep, as soon as I stopped nodding, they could tell. They knew exactly when the high wore off. They never let me off that high. Just let me come down a little so I wouldn’t O.D. Constant pleasure. Mind-numbing, ecstatic pleasure. Like this.” He leaned down to capture the bead of moisture with the tip of his tongue.

Starsky jumped and bit his lip.

The taste was intense, different from anything Hutch could’ve imagined. Essence of Starsky. Strong. Pure. Beautiful. He swirled his tongue around the smooth, clean head and Starsky exhaled in a rush.

“I never wanted it to go this far,” Starsky insisted, his voice ragged. “I never wanted you to want this.”

“I know,” Hutch assured him. “But you can’t control everything, Starsk. Sometimes, you have to give up control. That might’ve been the hardest thing I learned in the chair. But I didn’t have any choice. Whatever control I managed to hang on to, the horse took away.” Even now the memory was bitter. As the drug had raced through him, as the rush had hit him hard, he’d realized what was happening. They weren’t going to kill him. He had known then they were going to string him out, addict him, and get the information they wanted that way. As he had felt his will dissolving under the power of the narcotic, the realization that they would undoubtedly win was incredibly bitter.

He was tired of talking. He leaned down, touched his tongue to Starsky’s erection and began to explore. His partner reacted violently, struggling against the bonds, trying to move the chair. Hutch rubbed Starsky’s thighs comfortingly as he slowly tasted every strong inch of his lover’s maleness. His tongue traced the ridge of the crown, traveled slowly down the shaft. Starsky’s musk teased his senses, tantalizing him with his special flavor. The texture of the velvet-like skin covering all that steel fascinated him. Starsky was dark where Hutch was fair, cut where he was not. The differences were wonderful and just intrigued him more.

Starsky’s pubic hair was dense, wiry, tightly curled where Hutch’s was thin, a pale ash blond and almost straight. They were beautiful together. He’d seen it in the mirror over Starsky’s bed. Dark and light intertwined. His tongue moved lower, tracing Starsky’s heavy testicles, which tightened up from the sensation. It thrilled him to produce that reaction, as it did to hear the low, throaty moans Starsky couldn’t contain.

He realized he was hesitating, and got impatient with himself. It was all still so new, he still felt a touch of reluctance. He wanted to give pleasure, but the words he’d taunted Starsky with in his withdrawal still tortured him. Refusing to yield to his own squeamishness, he moved back up, took firm hold of the hard shaft and fed it to his mouth.

Starsky cried out in helpless delight. Hutch glanced up and saw his head was thrown back in ecstasy. Did I look like that when the rush hit? he wondered, and suspected he did. He took the cock in deeper, moving his mouth, trying to imitate what Starsky had done to him.

“I want to see you,” Starsky gasped, moving his head as if to peer through the blindfold. “Let me watch you, Hutch.”

Hutch released him long enough to breathe, “No. Just feel it, feel everything. Nothing else, just the sensations.” He went back to the feast and Starsky hissed in pleasure. I’m doing that to you. Giving you that feeling. He moved his tongue, pressing it against the underside of the crown, that special spot most men loved. Starsky jumped, his hips bucking involuntarily. Hutch’s hand moved, captured the heavy sac, and gently rolled the full testicles in his palm. Starsky sounded desperate.

Hutch went down on him with a serious purpose now. Licking, rubbing the edges of his teeth gently against his hardness, kissing, tasting, taking him as deep as he could. Starsky couldn’t help himself, he was writhing in the seat, pumping up into Hutch’s mouth, needing the completion so badly.

“No more,” he demanded, sounding frantic. “Ah, God, Hutch, please, no more. Can’t handle it. Let me go. Let me go.”

Good, thought Hutch. You’re not supposed to handle it. You’re supposed to give in to it. Accept it. Let it handle you. He sucked harder, his mouth full of saliva and the taste of Starsky.

“Don’t!” Starsky shouted. “Don’t make me come, dammit! I’m too close! Why won’t you listen?”

‘Cause you still think you’re in charge, Hutch thought at him. And you’ve got to learn that you’re not. You’ve got to yield, lover, if you want to be where I was at.

Starsky’s body stiffened all over, his cock growing more rigid. It excited Hutch, the desperate tension in Starsky’s body that he was causing.

I love this, he realized with surprise. I love going down on you, making you feel like this, forcing your pleasure, pleasure you would’ve never taken from me on your own.

“Hutch, stop!” Starsky shouted. “Godammit! It’s too good!”

Give in, Hutch begged him as his mouth worked harder. Give me this. Give in to me. I want it.

Unable to resist any longer, Starsky suddenly yielded with a sigh. “Oh, jeezus, so good! Yes, Hutch, oh, please, yes….” He lurched suddenly, his cock flaring wide at the back of Hutch’s throat as it ejaculated.

Hutch gulped frantically, but the quantity wasn’t as great as the first time since Starsky had come so recently. But the searing bitter taste was the same as it burned its way down his throat. He was determined to keep it all this time, not lose a drop. He wasn’t surprised by its taste now or the suddenness of it. It was still totally alien in his mouth, as alien as the heroin had been in his veins, but it gave him almost as much pleasure.

I love swallowing you. What does that make me? The thought was like a slap, until he answered it himself. Your lover. The one thing you never wanted me to be.

“Stop, stop,” Starsky begged, as his shaft softened. Hutch let it slip from his mouth, wet and shining, as he stood.

“Kiss me?” Starsky implored, sounding like a child who knew he’d be denied the one thing he craved. Hutch didn’t have to be asked twice.

He took Starsky’s face in his hands, held it, and kissed him deeply, sharing his own essence with him, knowing how erotic that would be to his ravaged lover. Starsky was sagging in the chair, but he kissed Hutch back with all his love, all his passion, his tongue searching his mouth, wrestling wetly with its mate.

Finally, breathless, Hutch pulled away.

“You haven’t come,” Starsky said knowingly.

Hutch hadn’t even thought of his own insistent arousal until this moment, but it jutted from his body, angry at being ignored. “That’s right.”

“Oh, God,” Starsky gasped. He sounded worried. “Hutch, I’m done. I’m spent. There’s nothing left.”

I felt that way over and over, he remembered, but they always found another vein, and showed me just how much pleasure I could endure and survive.

“Sure there is,” Hutch promised him. “There’s plenty left.”

Starsky shook his head. He was heaving for breath, his heart beating frantically. Hutch could feel the pounding pulse under his fingers. “Let me go down on you. Let me ease you — ”

“No,” Hutch said. He reached behind Starsky and pulled the slipknot.

As soon as his hands were freed, Starsky nearly toppled from the chair, much as Hutch nearly did after the first big rush. He was prepared, and caught Starsky by the arm, supporting him. Slinging that arm around his neck, he steadied Starsky and lifted him to his feet. Their bathrobes flapped around them like limp wings.

Starsky, probably thinking the game was over, moved to pull the blindfold from his face. Hutch slapped at his hand. “I’m not done with you, yet.”

“I can’t, Hutch,” Starsky insisted. He sounded so much like Hutch had just a short while ago, it startled him. “I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” he asked, as he deposited him abruptly in the bed.

“You know damned well what. I’m drained, Hutch. I gotta sleep. They let you sleep some. Right now, I can’t do nothin’ else.”

Was it really sleep? Hutch wondered. Laced with disturbing dreams, it was hardly restful.

He lifted Starsky’s bare legs, placed them in the bed. Then he took the tie and loosely tied Starsky’s wrists, the way his had been, in front of him this time. It had been like a formality, the clothesline around his wrists. He wasn’t capable of much.

Starsky didn’t resist being tied. His body was boneless with satisfaction, sprawled in an ungainly tangle across the bed. He was still panting, seconds away from sleep.

Hutch stared at Starsky’s innocent beauty and the odd juxtaposition of blindfold and bound wrists. And in a harsh shock of remembrance he saw himself — beaten, bloodied, filthy, and just as sated, tossed carelessly across a strange bed. Struggling to cope, desperately trying to maintain his sense of self, he had finally been forced to yield as the hypnotic lure of the drug overwhelmed him.

Starsky whispered something in his near-sleep state.

Hutch touched his cheek, trying to rouse him. “What did you say?”

Starsky nestled his face against Hutch’s palm. “Sleep with me. Five minutes. Come on.”

Hutch’s cock was aching, his whole body thrumming with desire and need. He wanted to roll Starsky over and fuck him for hours. But — bound and blindfolded — the purity of Starsky’s total trust cut through everything. The tears he’d been choking back all day rose to the surface.

It’s still your show isn’t it, buddy? It always was. Make me jump through hoops, make me sit up and beg, you could take me through the paces in your sleep. God, I love you.

He trembled, memories of his ordeal mingling with new memories of passion and trust and a love that couldn’t be defined by conventional means. He lost the war of emotions as his tears finally broke. One of them splashed against Starsky’s exposed belly, and that roused him.

“C’mon, Hutch, five minutes. Sleep with me.”

Unable to resist Starsky’s weary plea, Hutch lay down and wrapping his arms around Starsky, nestling his head against Starsky’s abdomen. Hutch’s body shook as he cried softly.

Too drowsy to be totally aware, Starsky’s bound hands awkwardly stroked Hutch’s hair. “Shhh” he soothed sleepily. “‘S gonna be okay. We’re almost home.”

Hutch hugged him harder as Starsky’s hands moved slowly, comfortingly over his hair. He wondered if Starsky could console him even in his sleep.

“‘M gonna take care of you soon’s I wake up,” Starsky promised, rubbing his leg against Hutch’s persistent erection. “Good care of you….”

Starsky’s body sagged into sleep while Hutch held him. Finally, his crying jag abated. He glanced up at the overhead mirror to watch them lie together, half-clothed. Starsky had slipped his bound hands over Hutch’s head so that he could keep him in a loose embrace. Hutch stared at the picture they made, unable to get his fill. The prisoner imprisoning the captor with nothing but his open heart and endless willingness to give.

Hutch recalled the night Starsky held him in another bed as he writhed in the delirium of his withdrawal. The contrast of this scene with that wasn’t lost on him. With a sudden shock of déjà vu, he faced the mirror and relived the repetitive dream he’d been plagued with since his addiction.

Just like then, I’ve lost all sense of time and place, lost everything except this need. What’s happened to me? Who am I? An ex-junkie? A sex junkie? Starsky’s lover? How do I define myself? Is this all I’ll ever be?

Just like in the dream, he was in a new bed with fresh linen. He was clean, his hair soft, he even looked healthy, more like himself than he had in weeks.

Starsky was sleeping on his side, just as beautiful as he appeared in the dream, the lines of his body taut and powerful even in his sated sleep. Just watching Starsky sleep would be enough to make Hutch hard, if he hadn’t been already.

I’ve loved you for so long, but not because you were a man. I loved you because you loved me. Now, I’ve learned to love you as a creature of beauty, as something to desire. When I tried to use that desire against you, you wouldn’t let me. Now, I’m addicted to your body, your incredible passion, and you’re ready to give me everything just to help me. What did I do to deserve love like that? What can I ever do to be worthy of it?

Hutch suddenly remembered Jeannie’s hollow words as she left him in Forrest’s bedroom while he nodded off in a drug-induced haze. He’d repeated those words to Starsky at Huggy’s without realizing at the time where he’d last heard them.

Nuzzling Starsky’s chest, he used those same words now to make an entirely different promise.

I’ll be anything you want. You want me to be a cop. I’ll be one. If you can give me so much, I can be strong for you.

It was a promise Hutch wasn’t even sure he could live up to. But he’d do it or die trying. It was little enough to give back.

 

I took my love, I took it down
Climbed a mountain and I turned around
I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills
Till the landslide brought me down
                        Landslide — Fleetwood Mac

 

Chapter 7

But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
And I’m getting older too
                        Landslide — Fleetwood Mac

 

Hutch held Starsky close as he slept. He spent the time watching him in the mirror. The red bandana blindfold made him think of scarlet poppies swaying in the breeze. But two hours later, he was forced to move or give up the use of the arm supporting Starsky’s weight. He shifted cautiously, not wanting to wake his partner.

Starsky took a deep breath and tried to stretch while still embracing Hutch. The stretch must’ve brought him awareness of his restricted movement and the still-present blindfold. His body tensed.

“Shhh,” Hutch murmured, “it’s okay. I’m right here.”

“I bet,” Starsky said, relaxing again. He sounded much more aware than Hutch expected him to be. He brought his leg up, sliding it between Hutch’s, rubbing his thigh gently against Hutch’s groin. Starsky frowned. “You’re not hard anymore.” He sounded disappointed.

“Good thing,” Hutch said, kissing Starsky’s sternum. “You’ve been out for a couple of hours. I’d have gangrene if I’d kept it up that long.”

“You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long. Not with you hurtin’ so bad.” His fingers trailed down Hutch’s spine. “‘M ‘wake now.”

“Barely.” Starsky’s sleepy lassitude was so reminiscent of Hutch’s condition whenever they forced another shot on him that it unnerved him.

“Mmm,” Starsky agreed. “So wake me up some more.”

Hutch shifted, rolled Starsky onto his back and rested halfway on his chest. “I need something from you.”

Starsky had the nerve to smile. “I know.”

Hutch shook his head before remembering Starsky couldn’t see him. “Besides that. I need something else.”

Now it was Starsky’s turn to look thoughtful. “Tell me.”

Hutch had to wet his mouth. “I-I spent so much of my time high, so confused — and every time I started to have some lucidity they’d start asking me questions — who was I? What was I? Where was Jeannie? Eventually…I told them everything. I told them….” Even now, the shame of that burned him. His voice dropped to a near whisper. “You would’ve never told them.”

“Hutch,” Starsky began, his whole body tensing in denial.

“You wouldn’t have. You would’ve never given me up.”

“You’re wrong, Hutch,” Starsky said, his voice strong. He was fully awake and aware now. “No one could’ve resisted what they did to you. I would’ve told them anything. I would’ve given you up, my mom, anyone.”

“You keep telling me that, but I can’t believe it.”

“Is that what you need from me?” Starsky asked. “If I am you in the scene — you need me to be you. You need me to give something up. You need me to tell you something — ”

“You would never admit to otherwise. Something I’d never be able to find out without your telling me.”

Starsky grew quiet for a moment, then finally said, “I don’t know if I can give you that.”

“I don’t think you can,” Hutch agreed. “That’s why I don’t believe you would’ve ever given me up to Monk. It’s part of your strength. You share so much with me, but when there’s something you don’t want to let out — you keep it tight to yourself. And nothing can get it from you.”

Starsky didn’t look happy with the way this was going. “That’s not what I meant. It’s too different. I don’t know anything critical, I’m not deliberately hiding anything from you, the way you were hiding Jeannie from Forrest.”

They lay entwined in an oddly strained silence. Finally, Starsky said, “Let me give you what I can, Hutch. It might be enough….” He sounded doubtful.

“You’ve given so much already,” Hutch acknowledged. “I’ve got no right to ask for more.”

“You always have that right,” Starsky insisted. “We’re gonna get past this. I swear we will.”

Hutch smiled. “You’re just going to keep giving me your strength until I can stand on my own, huh?”

Starsky shook his head. “You’ve got your own strength, Hutch. You don’t need mine, you just think you do. You had the strength to keep fighting when lesser men would’ve yielded. You don’t even know how strong you are.”

Hutch laughed. “That’s why your stomach’s wet from my tears.”

“Tears, spit, semen — what difference does it make?”

“Let’s see, huh?” Hutch slid his hand up underneath the bathrobe, stroking Starsky’s leg, his hip, his side. The sensuous touch affected Starsky; Hutch felt his partner’s organ nod. You’re such a sybarite. One touch and you’re ready to go.

As if to confirm that thought, Starsky murmured, “Still wanna go down on you. Let me do it now?”

“No,” Hutch said.

“Remember, you said sooner or later your problem is mine? You gotta have a mighty big problem on your hands now, long as you’ve been holding out. I can solve it real easy.”

“I said, no!” Would he have to put Starsky in irons before he’d remember that he was supposed to be held against his will? “When I’m ready…I’ll take what I want.”

Still, the suggestion was almost enough to do him in. Once suggested, it was almost impossible for him to think of anything else. Starsky’s mouth on me — Reaching up, he touched his thumb to Starsky’s lower lip. Starsky parted his lips, pulled the tip of Hutch’s thumb into his mouth, sucked it, tormenting it with his tongue. Hutch’s reaction was incendiary. His whole body flushed and his cock went rigid as if it had just remembered where they had left off before. Imprisoned by the tip of his lover’s tongue, Hutch couldn’t move as Starsky teased him with heat and wetness.

Finally, Starsky released him. “Do whatever you need to, Hutch. I’ll deal with it.”

“I bet you will,” he agreed breathlessly. He was fully aroused now, needing to touch, so he did. His hands roved the chiseled body, and Starsky responded to his touch like a cat. He raised his bound arms over his head so Hutch could have better access, and made a sound very much like a purr. Hutch smiled, and stroked him more languorously. His need for Starsky flared hot but he banked it, enjoying the unsatisfied desire, letting it heighten his senses, his awareness of everything they were doing.

He rose to his knees, looming over his partner. Starsky was beautiful, lying stretched out on the bed, half-aroused, the blue robe beneath him, his body exposed and reflected in the overhead mirror. Impulsively, Hutch ran his tongue from the hollow of Starsky’s throat to his navel, making Starsky hiss in pleasure.

“Quit playin’ around,” Starsky growled. “You need to fuck and we both know it. Come on!”

The words were like bullets, hitting him like a gut shot. He’s trying to distract me, Hutch realized, and grinned. “Tell me something.”

Starsky shook his head, frustrated. “Like what?”

“Tell me how this feels,” Hutch prompted, and licked him again, this time from his hip bone to his nipple, then settled there, sucking the sweet bud hard.

Starsky arched up into it, gasping. “Damn! Wha’d’ya think? It feels terrific! You know I’m not good with words, Hutch. Come on, do me, will ya?”

“Tell me more,” Hutch insisted, releasing the nipple just long enough to lay a series of sharp nips across Starsky’s muscled chest until he found the other nipple. He ended up with one of Starsky’s chest hairs in his mouth and had to stop to pull it out. But it only distracted him for a minute.

Starsky moaned. “Christ, Hutch, you’re killin’ me. Y’need to hear how good it is? Okay. I can barely breathe. I can’t think when you’re doin’ that. Jeez, Hutch…! You’re makin’ me so hard…!”

“Mmm,” Hutch agreed, reaching as he continued to tongue Starsky’s nipple. He found the stiffened erection easily and gripped it tight. Starsky lurched under the double assault and gasped inarticulate sounds of pleasure and need. Hutch smiled and stroked him to a fever while feasting on him.

Hutch released the sensitized nipple finally and shifted. “Hungry for you,” he whispered, and lowered his head to the prize he gripped.

“No…!” Starsky protested, but it was feeble, not like his previous complaints.

Hutch took the weeping crown in his mouth, and felt Starsky’s cock pulse against his tongue, grow harder. Starsky tossed beneath him, touching his hair with his tied hands.

“You’re stringin’ me out,” Starsky accused, as if he just realized it. “Makin’ me so crazy, I’ll say anything. Do anything. Okay, okay…I got it. Make your point.”

Hutch pulled his mouth off, and looked at Starsky critically. Starsky was sweating, trembling, gasping, mouth opened. Suddenly, Hutch thought of something he wanted to know.

“Tell me this,” he demanded, “we’ve been going at it like crazy all weekend. I haven’t been able to keep my hands off you, can’t stop myself from taking you every chance I get. And you’ve given me everything, held nothing back. But not once have you asked for reciprocation.”

Starsky looked like he was struggling to concentrate, and Hutch stroked him hard just to keep him confused. Starsky shook his head as if he didn’t understand, so Hutch made it simpler.

“Why haven’t you asked to fuck me?”

Starsky froze, and Hutch knew he’d just asked the right question.

“You’re all man, Starsky, the quintessence of ‘stud.’ Your rep at Parker is positively formidable. Yet, you’ve never even implied that you were interested in nailing me to the mattress. What’s the matter? Don’t you want me?”

Starsky’s jaw clenched, and Hutch could feel him thinking.

“Are you gonna lie and tell me you haven’t thought about it? You never fantasized about taking me? Or is that against the rules, too? Can’t even imagine me under you? I can. How could I not? You put that image in my head how many years ago, back in the Academy, when you wanted to shock and scare me. Remember? I do. You threw it right in my face because I’d pushed you on it. ‘I wanna fuck you, Hutch. I wanna hold you down so you can’t move and fuck you senseless.’ Hard to forget an image like that, buddy. It worked, too. Held me back a lotta times… when I thought… when I felt… confused about us. Nights when it went bad for us on the streets, and I felt… like I needed something more. It was a red light to me. But here we are, lovers. And you’ve never even hinted….”

“We were kids then, Hutch,” Starsky protested. “It’s different now. Just ’cause we broke the rules now doesn’t mean…. I don’t need that from you. What’s goin’ down with us, it’s okay with me the way it is.”

“You’re a liar,” Hutch insisted, getting angry now. “You don’t think I can handle it. You can cope with me banging you black and blue, but I’m too fragile for the same treatment, right?”

Starsky shook his head. “No, that’s not it at all. Makin’ love’s not about one-upmanship, Hutch. It’s about what feels right at the time. You needed me, so I gave you what you needed. I don’t need that from you.”

“Yeah,” Hutch agreed, “I needed you all right. Still do. But you never seem to need much, do you?”

Starsky shook his head. “It’s not about that, Hutch. You gotta be dyin’. Let me go down on you — ”

“You’re really starting to piss me off, Starsky,” Hutch said mildly. He got off the bed, went to the kitchen table and picked up the skin lotion, then strolled back to the bed. “I have to wonder if there’s ever been anything you’ve needed from someone else. Really needed.”

“I need lotsa stuff,” Starsky protested. “I need you to be my partner, that’s my biggest need. I need to know you’re gonna be on the street with me, in the car, by my side, watchin’ my back.”

Hutch smiled as he filled his hands with the lotion and warmed it. Now Starsky was trying to bribe his way out of this. He shook his head as he slid his lotion-slick hands over Starsky’s sculpted chest. Starsky sighed under the attention and quivered.

Hutch took his time bringing pleasure and relaxation to Starsky’s long, dark body, caressing every muscle, kneading, stroking, working at making him compliant. Compliance was critical, Hutch knew, thinking of his own compliance in the surrender of Jeannie.

Even as he massaged Starsky, using the lotion liberally, he imagined Starsky curled in a fetal ball, trembling, shaking, needing a hit like his next breath. Hutch imagined Forrest slapping Starsky, demanding to know where Hutch was, where Starsky had him hidden.

“Where’s your partner, huh? Where’s Hutchinson? Come on, punk, where’d you stash him?”

And he saw — as clearly as he saw the beautiful man in this bed — he saw Starsky wrap himself around the pain, weeping, needing, but refusing to yield.

Starsky was breathing more rapidly, moving under Hutch’s hands, enjoying the massage. Hutch began using just his fingertips, sensitizing Starsky’s whole body, heightening his nerve endings, increasing his awareness of just how much he could feel. The blindfold would allow him no distractions. There would just be feeling, pure sensation. Pure pleasure.

“Hutch, it’s good,” Starsky gasped.

Hutch smiled. I want you to love it. Love it so much you’ll confess….

Confess what, he had no idea. But that hardly mattered. It was the point of it. The one thing Hutch believed Starsky would never — could never — give.

He followed the only line of reasoning he had to go on. “Were you ever gonna ask me for it?” He knew he didn’t have to specify the “it.”

Starsky was too hot to evade the question, too vulnerable in his arousal. But even so, he could resist. “We’re not doin’ that.”

The rejection was strong, Starsky’s voice unwavering. But his dark cock pulsed at the refusal, as if it wanted its own vote.

“Why not?” Hutch pushed. “Don’t you want me?” His fingertips traced long paths over Starsky’s tight abs, down his lean flanks, then around, but not over, his groin, then down his strong thighs.

Starsky rocked in pleasure, shuddering. “Not important,” he gasped.

“Of course it is,” Hutch insisted. “I’ve taken you every chance I’ve had and you’ve let me. But I don’t believe that’s the way you saw things go down between us. Not for a minute. I know you, Starsky. I’ve seen you operate, seen you seduce. That’s not the way you saw it going down at all.” His voice dropped an octave. “What you saw was me, on my belly, legs spread, you between them. What you saw was you taking me, as deep and hard as — ”

“No!” Starsky protested, but it was a groan, not an argument.

“Why not?” Hutch wondered. “Why won’t you? This can’t be simply one of those straight-not-straight issues you get all hung up on. There’s something else going on. Pity? The knowledge that I couldn’t handle it — ”

“Shouldn’t handle it!” Starsky insisted, still resisting. Now his voice went low. “You can never take that back, Hutch. Once it happens. Once you do something like that. It changes you. You’ve been through enough changes for one lifetime.”

“But I can do it to you?” Hutch wondered aloud, not understanding the difference. “Doesn’t it change you?”

Starsky paused then finally confessed, “Yeah.”

“But — ”

“Jesus, Hutch, but what? You’re killin’ me here, makin’ me so hot. Come on, quit teasin’ and take what you need.” He was shaking, having trouble breathing.

“What do you need?” Hutch asked. “I bet I know.” He moved lower over Starsky’s body, and grasped the angry erection jutting from Starsky’s body. Starsky jerked and thrashed in surprise. Quickly, before his partner could think or protest, Hutch moved his mouth over Starsky’s flaring crown.

Starsky’s moan was low, musical, and needy. It thrilled Hutch down to his balls.

Just feel it, Hutch thought. Feel my mouth loving you, feel it giving you this. Feel my tongue tasting you, lapping up your secret self. Feel me loving you.

Starsky cried out in helpless desire.

“Tell me,” Hutch ordered, panting hard himself. “Tell me what you need.”

“Oh, dammit, I need to come, wha’d’ya think? You son-of-a-bitch, you’re killin’ me!”

Hutch kept a strong grip on Starsky’s erection as he loomed over him. You might be blindfolded, but you can feel my nearness, can’t you? “Okay, don’t tell me. Let me tell you something. When we were up at Huggy’s — ”

Starsky tried to roll away from him, but Hutch tightened his grip and Starsky froze in place. “Don’t, Hutch!”

” — When I woke up that time — ” he had a sudden shocking flashback of the dream. White room. Red poppies. Green couch. Starsky. ” — When I tried to seduce you, so you would bring me some horse — ”

“Hutch, don’t, don’t!” Starsky was rocking in denial, not wanting to rehash that issue.

Hutch stroked him, made him pay attention. “When I begged you to score for me, when I said I’d give you everything — the thought of you bringing it to me, helping me prepare it, and especially the thought of you injecting it into me — it was very erotic.”

Starsky looked like he was in pain. “Don’t tell me that!”

“But it’s true. And that’s where it started, this thing I’ve got for you, this need. Thinking about you scoring for me, shooting it for me, getting the hit from your hands. All your strength and caring, all of it focused on making me feel good. It was hot. That’s got to be it. Why after I got off the horse, all I could think about was you.” It was crazy, but it made an odd kind of sense when he strung all those thoughts together. “Maybe I won’t be able to get over this until that happens. Until you inject me….”

“Cut it out!” Starsky protested. “Don’t think like that! It — it’s totally different for me, Hutch. It wasn’t the first time for me.”

Hutch shook his head, forgetting Starsky couldn’t see him. “You said you hadn’t done it since the Army. That was so long ago.”

“Don’t matter. It wasn’t the same thing for me, Hutch, not at all.”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Hutch insisted, stroking the rigid cock slowly. “Tell me you didn’t see things between us going down differently.”

Starsky shook his head and remained silent.

“Tell me something,” Hutch insisted, “or we’re both gonna die of blue balls.”

“Okay, okay! Maybe I did think it would go down different, so what? It went down the way it had to. And I’m glad it did. I wanted to help you. If it had gone the other way — it woulda been wrong. Wrong for you.”

“How do you figure?” Hutch asked, not following.

Starsky swallowed, then wet his mouth. “What they did to you, Forrest and his goons, it — it was worse than rape. They took everything from you, your confidence, your strength, your heart. When I found you at the yellow cottage, talkin’ to your gun, I was so desperate to find some way to help you, I came to think lovin’ you might be like givin’ some of that back.”

Hutch was frozen in place, his hands stilling over Starsky’s body. He almost wanted to laugh, but was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop.

“But…if I’d’ve fucked you while you were so low, even if you were willing — I would’ve been taking — not giving — just like them. That’s not what you needed, and I figured that out pretty quick. You needed someone to give something to you — trust, strength, willingness — love….”

Tell me again, Starsk, how you’re not good with words.

Unable to see him, Starsky reacted to his stillness by filling in the continuing silence. His words were rushed, like he was afraid Hutch wouldn’t believe him. “Maybe it was a bad idea, but we can’t go back and change it now. It went down the way it did. And if it’s helped or hurt, I don’t know, and that scares me, that maybe I’ve made things worse. But you woke up smiling today for the first time since I lost you, and that’s gotta be worth something. And if it’s changed us, well, we’ll deal with it, I guess….”

Hutch remained perfectly still, as if he had just wandered upon some beautiful wild thing in the woods and was afraid a sudden movement would cause it to bolt.

“I’ll deal with it,” Starsky said, sounding as if he were talking to himself now, as if he’d forgotten Hutch were there.

Hutch suddenly became afraid of what Starsky might say next. He felt as if he’d uncorked a dangerous genie and all he wanted to do was stuff it back in the bottle. He reached out towards Starsky’s mouth, wanting to cover it and keep him from saying more.

Starsky was breathing hard, talking faster, like he had to get it all out before he lost his nerve. “I never expected — I mean, how could I? I haven’t had to deal with it in so long, it just hasn’t been any kind of issue in forever — and then it was just happening, it was right now, and you needed me, and what was I supposed to do, huh? Right or wrong, what could I do, but give you what you needed? And it was good for you; I could see that. I could please you that way. Don’t you think that made me feel good, too? But I didn’t expect, I mean, I couldn’t know — ”

“Shhh,” Hutch soothed, terrified of what Starsky might reveal. His hand hovered closer to his lover’s mouth. “Starsk, don’t. You don’t have to say anything more — ”

” — It never occurred to me that — that I could — that you could — that it would — !” He stopped stammering and took a second to collect himself.

“It’s okay, Starsk,” Hutch said. “You don’t have to tell me — ”

“I never cared about it before. It was just something you gave somebody back, something you did to be fair. I thought I could give it to you easy, no big deal. I’d done it before for guys I didn’t even have much feelin’ for. But with you — it all changed with you, Hutch.”

Hutch shut his eyes, shuddering. No. Don’t tell me this.

“Maybe it was all your pent-up rage, or just the force of your passion, havin’ that turned on me so suddenly. You’ve always been so intense, always felt so much, I didn’t think — ” He paused for a beat, then said clearly, all in a rush, “How was I supposed to know you could make me feel this way about it? How could I know you’d make me love it?”

Hutch bowed low as Starsky revealed his secret, and touched his forehead to Starsky’s abdomen. Starsky was trembling, quaking, panting like a runner. Gently, as Hutch rested against him and tried to collect his incoherent thoughts, Starsky toyed with his hair. How is it that you’re the one who confessed, yet I’m the one who’s broken?

“See, Hutch?” Starsky whispered roughly. “I’d’a told ’em. I’d’a told ’em everything, just like you.”

“I’m sorry,” Hutch whispered. He sat back on his heels, and pulled the slipknot loose, freeing Starsky’s hands. He pulled the blindfold off Starsky’s face and watched him blink as his eyes adjusted. “I’m sorry, Starsk.”

Starsky was squinting at him, trying to focus. He latched onto Hutch’s upper arm, pulled him foreword, tugging on him till Hutch was laying half over him. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not. Not for any of it.” He traced Hutch’s features with his hand. “How ya feelin’?”

I just put you through the wringer, and all you can do is worry about me? He owed him an answer, an honest one. He had to think about it for a minute. How did he feel?

Lighter, he realized with surprise. Better. Did he feel like a cop? That he didn’t know. But he definitely felt more like himself. Some of the demons had been laid to rest. One thing at a time.

“I feel pretty good, partner,” he said.

Starsky smiled. “See, I told ya. Just like in the Academy. I knew we could turn this thing around.” He wet his mouth and the motion of his tongue against his lower lip was suddenly fascinating to Hutch. “Can you do something for me now?”

Hutch laughed. “Sure.”

Starsky grew serious, and his eyes darkened. He brushed his fingertips lightly over Hutch’s mouth. “Fuck me, babe. I’m achin’ for you.”

Hutch felt dizzy with need, and suddenly realized he was painfully hard. “You sure?” he whispered. This was crazy. He’d been taking Starsky all weekend like a beach that needed storming and the first time Starsky offered it willingly, Hutch was suddenly overwhelmed with hesitation.

Starsky smiled. “Oh, yeah. I’m sure. Can we use that lotion you were rubbin’ on me? Felt good. Smells good, too.”

Thank you, Jasmine, Hutch thought, amused. He reached across Starsky for the bottle, but as he brought it near, Starsky took it from him.

“Let me,” he said softly. The look in his eyes wouldn’t let Hutch deny him anything.

Starsky took the bottle, poured the creamy lotion in his hand, cupping it, warming it. He rubbed it on the back of Hutch’s neck, and on his shoulders, and used both hands to rub it in, massaging the tense muscles there. “Still wanna go down on you.”

Hutch shook his head. “I’d go off like a bomb the second you did.”

Starsky laughed lightly. “I bet. Okay.” He rubbed more lotion down Hutch’s spine, kneading his back, making him feel wonderful. After a few moments, Starsky gently pushed Hutch onto his back, and used the lotion on his chest and belly, and then his thighs, massaging him slowly, reverently, healing him with his loving touch.

As Hutch basked in Starsky’s careful attention, he suddenly realized something. They’d been making love for hours and Hutch had held back the whole time, not coming even once. But as hot as he was, as much as he needed completion, he realized he no longer had that insane need to plunge himself into Starsky’s body. He wanted to make love, yes, but how it happened was suddenly not so important. That terrible need was gone. If Starsky really wanted to fuck, then he would happily do it for Starsky. But he no longer had to do it for Hutch.

“You sure you want to do this?” Hutch asked. “We don’t have to.”

Starsky looked at him, and Hutch knew he realized what that meant. Starsky smiled. “I want to.”

“Okay,” Hutch said softly, brushing the back of his hand against Starsky’s cheek. “Whatever you want.”

“Careful, buddy,” Starsky warned playfully. “That could be a tall order.” He eyed Hutch’s angry cock meaningfully, as he massaged Hutch everywhere else. “I’m afraid to be nice to him. I’m afraid he’ll like it too much.”

Hutch nodded. “No kidding. Don’t even think about it. Let me handle him. Cool it down a little.”

Starsky took Hutch’s hand, pulled him back into a sitting position, and handed him the lotion. “Okay. It’s your party.” He lay back down, looking expectantly at his partner.

“Want to roll over?” Hutch asked. He felt surprisingly awkward. Before, they’d always done it in this blinding rush of passion. There’d been no planning, no concerns over positions or preferences. It’d just happened, like a tornado striking an unresisting structure.

“No,” Starsky said firmly. “Wanna watch you.” He glanced up at the mirror overhead. “In stereo.”

Hutch refrained from pointing out that Starsky was mixing his metaphors. He knelt between Starsky’s upraised knees, and filled his hand with lotion. He took slow, deep breaths, trying to calm his racing blood, needing the urgency to leave his erection. He didn’t want to come too fast. He hadn’t worried about that the other times, he’d been too crazed. Now, he needed to make it up to Starsky. He needed to make it good for him.

He’s already come a few times tonight, Hutch realized with some concern. He’ll be able to last. Hope I can. He hadn’t been this anxious about his performance in years!

Starsky’s handsome, dark cock lolled enticingly across his belly. Hutch slathered it with the warm lotion and stroked it slowly, capturing the big organ in his fist, rubbing it sensuously. Starsky’s eyes grew heavy-lidded, but he watched Hutch’s every move. Hutch rubbed more lotion over the tight testicles and Starsky squirmed beautifully. He looked like he might say something, then bit his lip to stop himself.

Holding out on me, Starsky? Hutch wondered. Well, that wouldn’t last. He filled his hand again, rubbed it on the soft skin of Starsky’s inner thighs, making him spread his legs wider, wantonly. He was starting to look a little glazed.

That’s right, babe. Just relax. I’m going to take real good care of you for a change.

He filled his hand again, then moved it below Starsky’s sac. He’d been awkward and timid about handling Starsky here. It seemed the most private of intimacies, the most personal of violations. Now, he was determined to get past his squeamishness and give Starsky as much pleasure as he could. However he could.

His fingers gently spread lotion up and down his lover’s dark crevice. Starsky gasped and closed his eyes automatically, then forced them open again. Hutch spread the lotion, using the lightest of touches. Starsky tightened his buttocks around the probing hand, encouraging Hutch to be bolder.

Cautiously, Hutch slid his slick fingertips up and down the crevice until he finally found Starsky’s small, tight anus. Tentatively, he stroked it, and was startled when Starsky reacted strongly, groaning. The taut orifice clenched, grabbing at Hutch’s finger. He probed more confidently, and his gentle play had an amazing effect on his lover. Starsky gripped the sheets and moaned as sweat broke out over his chest.

“Quit playin’ with me!” Starsky grumbled breathlessly.

“Why?” Hutch asked, grinning. “Playing with you is fun!” He collected more lotion and went back to the object of his fascination. Slowly, he eased a slick finger into the portal, amazed at his own boldness. As he eased it back and forth Starsky panted to endure it, his head thrashing on the pillow.

“‘S good!” he hissed, as if wanting to reassure Hutch that he was pleasing him, not hurting.

Hutch needed the reassurance, too. This was new territory to him, which, considering his age, made him feel odd enough. But he’d grown up in the Midwest, not an area known for its adventurous sexual experiences. Van had been a good bedmate, but there were some things that were off limits, and this was one of them. Hutch never minded, hardly missing what he’d never experienced. So now, in his thirties, he found himself cursing his own ineptitude.

Starsky seemed to be losing patience with him. “Come on, Hutch, I can’t hold out much longer. An’ you gotta be dyin’. Let’s go.”

Hutch felt as if he were waking from a dream. “You-you really want me to?”

“You gonna make me beg for it?” Starsky growled.

“No… I… just wanted to be sure.”

“Look at me!” Starsky demanded.

Hutch blinked. Starsky was the image of a man in need. In need for him. Hutch swallowed and gripped his own raging erection, trying to clamp down on its urgency. Go slow. Gotta go slow. Gotta last for him. He stroked himself roughly, trying to soothe, but it wasn’t helping. His attempts to quell the storm weren’t working.

He squeezed a liberal portion of the lotion on his hand, coated Starsky’s anus with it, and rubbed some up inside. Starsky shuddered and bit his lip. Then he coated himself and leaned over his partner.

Helpfully, Starsky slung one leg over his shoulder, startling Hutch.

“Want you deep,” Starsky gasped.

Hutch nodded, speechless, and gently lifted the other leg over the opposite shoulder. It all seemed so deliberate. Gripping his erection, he positioned himself carefully.

Starsky grabbed his arm as Hutch’s crown nestled against his anus. “Oh, yeah,” Starsky breathed. “Come on, babe. Come on.”

Hutch saw Starsky staring at him, watching as he prepared him for the moment. “Starsk,” he whispered, barely finding the breath for it, “I love you.” His desire flared anew at the admission, and he thrust forward, his legs driving his need.

Starsky let out a long, low moan as his body accepted Hutch’s intrusion, swallowing his hard-on effortlessly. Starsky’s leg and ass muscles gripped Hutch like a powerful, unrelenting mouth, and the sensation was so exquisite it nearly tipped him over the edge. He fought the release with everything he had and succeeded, suppressing the urge.

Beneath him, Starsky arched up, wanting more, needing more. Hutch moved forward strongly, wanting to accommodate that need, and in one steady plunge he was sheathed completely.

“Don’t move! Don’t move!” Starsky implored as his body tightened down.

Hutch froze and the pause helped his self-control. With some embarrassment, he realized how he’d rushed through the moment the other times they’d done this, never giving Starsky whatever time he needed to adjust. He’d wait forever this time, if that’s what Starsky needed.

“Easy, easy,” Starsky soothed, and Hutch could feel his body relaxing beneath him, feel the powerful grip on his organ ease up. The tight, slippery haven felt much more comfortable now, holding him snugly, not painfully gripping.

Hutch leaned over and kissed Starsky’s leg where it rested on his shoulder.

“That’s good,” Starsky sighed, rubbing his hand up and down Hutch’s arm. His gaze focused on Hutch’s face again, and it was hazy with lust. “Go on, now, you big, beautiful blond. Give it to me good. The way I need it.”

Hutch felt as if Starsky had gripped his heart. He slid his hands over Starsky’s hips and held him in place. Then he started to move. The sensations ripping through him were exquisite, far more powerful then they’d ever been. Their deliberate care had made this moment more intimate than before. They were both equally participating, both, for once, taking the same incredible pleasure. Starsky had given him this experience on purpose, wanting him to see how beautiful it could be when it wasn’t just a driving need but an act of love.

I love you, Hutch thought, unable to speak. I don’t care how you define it. I know how I feel. I love you. He pumped deeper, harder, into the lush, ripe body loving him back.

Starsky tightened around him, giving him as much pleasure as he could. Hutch felt his desire climbing, climbing. He leaned forward, carrying Starsky’s legs, bending him back over himself and drove in deeper.

“Yes! Yes!” Starsky gasped as he watched their action in the mirror overhead.

“It only looks like I’m fucking you,” Hutch rasped. “You’re taking me, and that’s the truth of it.”

Starsky reached, gripped the back of Hutch’s neck. “Good. Fine. Then I’m gonna make you come in me. So deep inside you’ll never find your way out.”

For an incredible second Hutch thought those words would tip him right over, but he held on and pumped harder. Starsky shouted his name and rode it out. Hutch managed to pull his senses together enough to remember Starsky’s hard-on riding roughly between them. He reached with a hand still slippery with lotion and stroked him with a heavy grip. Starsky thrashed wildly, so Hutch did it some more. And soon Hutch was stroking and pumping in unison, as Starsky’s moans became one long note of intense need. He felt Starsky frantically gripping his shoulders, clawing him, and his only response was to stroke harder, faster, and keep pumping.

And then it was there, surprising him with its flashpoint intensity. A second before it happened for him, Starsky’s cock pulsed in his hand, nearly making him lose his grip, then sprayed his belly and chest with warm seed, bathing him with Starsky’s very life. Starsky’s cry was beautiful, the keening of a wild thing finding joy.

Hutch gasped, unable to hold back any longer. Starsky was gazing at him, the blue eyes so dark they were almost black. “Kissing God,” Hutch insisted, and came so hard he almost fainted. He felt stunned as he fell across Starsky, boneless and sated.

Somehow Starsky managed to get his legs off their perch, and slid them down over the backs of Hutch’s legs. He kissed the top of Hutch’s head and rubbed his cheek against it. “Beautiful,” he whispered. “Simply beautiful.”

“Gotta get up,” Hutch mumbled into Starsky’s chest. “Too heavy. Gotta get up. Gotta wash. Bathroom.”

“Shhh,” Starsky soothed, rubbing Hutch’s back as if to comfort him. “Not yet. Not yet.”

Oh, good, thought Hutch.

Dimly, he was aware that the tie he’d used to bind Starsky had somehow gotten entangled around his own wrist. The blindfold lay splashed across the bed nearby their sprawled forms. The colorful pieces of fabric just seemed to be harmless material again, not dangerous, terrifying reminders of his ordeal. And for once, his orgasm had not given him a driving need to talk about it, either. He’d already said everything he’d needed to. He was done with it. Right now, he couldn’t even summon up the energy to pull the tie off as sleep overwhelmed him.

He burrowed into Starsky’s warm body as his lover’s comforting, gun-callused hands continued to pet him. Was Starsky still watching them in the mirror? How could he stay awake after what they’d just done? Remembering that Starsky had napped reassured him. Sagging into the security of his partner’s strong, loving arms, Hutch finally just let himself drift away on the pleasant, safe feelings.

 

Oh, mirror in the sky,
What is love?
Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?
Well, I’ve been afraid of changing
‘Cause I’ve built my life around you
                        Landslide — Fleetwood Mac

 

Chapter 8

Ain’t no church bells ringing
Ain’t no flags unfurled
Just me and you and the love we’re bringing
Into the real world
Into the real world
                        Real World — Bruce Springsteen

 

Starsky heard the phone ringing but couldn’t make himself care. He moved closer to Hutch’s back and burrowed deeper into the junction of pillow and long, warm Nordic neck. Let someone else worry about the phone. He was a dead man and dead men weren’t in any position to answer phones. Besides, it was Hutch’s fault he was dead so Hutch could very well answer the phone himself. It was closer to his side anyway.

Hutch must’ve agreed with that mental assessment, because Starsky felt him react on the third ring and reach for the phone. Starsky tightened the arm he’d slung around Hutch’s waist so he wouldn’t get the idea that answering the phone meant he could pull away. Starsky was warm. If Hutch moved too much, all that delicious blond body heat would be replaced with a gust of cold air and he wasn’t ready for that. He was dead, and dead men needed warmth.

“Mmm,” Hutch mumbled into the phone, clearly not awake enough to sound coherent.

Starsky was glad he wasn’t the only dead man in the bed.

Sometime in the night, Hutch had woken up and showered. He’d tried to get Starsky to join him, but dead men don’t shower either, so Hutch left him. When he had returned, he brought warm washcloths and dry towels and bathed Starsky with a solicitous care that surprised him. He’d barely been able to stay awake for it, especially as Hutch’s gentle, loving touch lulled him right back to sleep. As a result, he felt clean, not grungy, not sticky from lotion and ejaculate. It felt good, lying in bed clean, next to a clean, warm Hutch. Even if he was dead.

“Hmmm-mmm,” Hutch mumbled into the receiver. Then Starsky felt the body in his arms go tense. “What did you say, Hug?”

Starsky was suddenly — resentfully — awake. Why was Huggy calling anyway? They weren’t cops anymore, were they? He couldn’t remember, didn’t want to remember. He just wanted to lie here next to Hutch and be dead.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” Hutch said, sounding worried. He pulled away from Starsky abruptly and swung his legs off the bed to sit on the edge. Starsky squeezed his eyes shut as cold air rushed into the warm place Hutch had abandoned. “I got it. We’re on it. Don’t worry. Yeah. Yeah. Thanks!”

Starsky pulled the sheet over his head in a final defiant act of denial. Maybe if Hutch couldn’t see him, he wouldn’t remember the dead man lying beside him and —

“Starsky, get up! We’ve got to hurry!” Hutch sounded frantic as he began searching the room, nude, looking, no doubt, for his clothes. When had they last worn clothes? Starsky couldn’t remember. “Let’s go! Let’s go! We’ve got to move!”

The urgent tone finally forced Starsky out of his stupor and he left the bed before he had too much time to think about it or mourn the loss of the warm comforting shroud of his sheets. “What’s goin’ on?” he managed, but his voice was ragged.

Hutch flung a pair of jeans at him, smacking him in the face with them. Without even looking at the pants, or worrying about underwear, Starsky started climbing into them. Hutch next tossed a clean t-shirt at him, then tossed one out for himself. It seemed almost comical — Hutch half-buried in Starsky’s closet throwing clothes out wildly. But his long, nude form was too distracting, and Starsky decided to focus on pulling his zipper up before he committed an act of barbarism on himself. Might need you later for something, he thought at his organ as he adjusted it in the tight pants. Though he couldn’t imagine for what. It was dead, too, and that was almost a relief.

“Move faster!” Hutch barked as he dressed rapidly. “We don’t have much time! Where’s the key to the guns?”

That swept the remaining cobwebs from Starsky’s brain and brought him up to sharp consciousness. “What d’ya want that for?”

“To get our guns!” Hutch snapped irritably, as if Starsky had lost fifty I.Q. points in the night. “Where is it?”

He was right in Starsky’s face now, looming over him, all righteousness and fury. Starsky still had no idea what was happening. Some of Hutch’s impatience rubbed off on him and he grabbed Hutch’s upper arm. “What the fuck’s going on? Answer me!”

As if he just realized that Starsky wasn’t privy to the conversation with Huggy, Hutch closed his eyes and took a deep breath to collect himself. “Roxie called Huggy. She’s really strung out. Jake’s dealing with some big buyer from the Midwest, and Roxie’s included in the package. When Roxie told Jake she didn’t want to leave LA he beat the crap out of her, pulled all her stuff, and told her if she wasn’t there when he got back with the buyer, he’d find her and kill her. Jake’s on his way over to her apartment to hand her over now. Huggy tried to get her to leave, but she’s too scared. We’ve got fifteen minutes to get there if we have any hope of nailing these guys. But not if you don’t get your damned shoes on and give me that key!”

He tried to pull out of Starsky’s grip, but couldn’t. “Hold it, Hutch! We’ve gotta call Dobey. This ain’t our case anymore.”

“We’re losing time while you — ” he suddenly heard what Starsky had said. “What do you mean it’s not our case?”

Starsky looked him straight in the eye. “After you left the station the day you handed in your report, Dobey called me in. He wasn’t ready to let you get involved with a dope case. He pulled both of us off it, gave it to Simmons and Babcock. We gotta call this in, let them handle — ”

“Like hell!” Hutch was furious now, as angry as Starsky had ever seen him. He jabbed a finger in Starsky’s face. “Dobey had no right pulling us off this case without telling me. It’s ours. I told that woman we’d help her if she cooperated with us and she’s calling us on it. I gave her my word. Now, where is that key?”

Starsky let go of his arm. “It’s in the small drawer in the lower cabinet.” There was no point in reminding Hutch that a few hours ago he was convinced he couldn’t hack it as a cop. In fact, Starsky would’ve cut his own tongue out before he ever brought that up. Hutch was in full-blown cop mode, and Starsky couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen anything that made him happier.

As Starsky finished dressing and taking the fastest morning piss of his life, he could hear Hutch in the living room taking the guns out of the cabinet and checking them both. Coming back into the bedroom, he handed Starsky his loaded weapon and holster as he shrugged into his own. Starsky, who had wondered if he’d ever see his partner strap the big Python on again, couldn’t help but stare as Hutch adjusted the holster with his usual efficiency.

“Where are the keys to the Torino?” Hutch asked.

“Tray on the dresser,” Starsky said, buckling his holster and grabbing a jacket to cover the gun.

Hutch slipped into his own jacket, and then grabbed up the keys. “I’m driving. Let’s go.”

Starsky was so surprised all he could do was stare for a moment, then followed Hutch to the door. “Sure.”

“Put the light on,” Hutch ordered, as they got into the car. He started the ignition with an economy of motion, and flipped on the siren as he pulled away from the curb with a squeal of tires.

As soon as Starsky attached the Mars light to the roof of his vehicle, he said, “I’ll call us in.”

“Don’t,” Hutch said, his jaw tight. “Not yet. We’ll wait till we’re almost there. If we call it in too soon, Dobey’ll pull us off. We can’t afford to take that chance, or these guys will be out of there and we’ll have nothing.”

Starsky, trying to get used to the unaccustomed feel of being a passenger in his own car, was impressed with Hutch’s reasoning. In fact, he was impressed with Hutch. Driving like he was possessed, his partner seemed so much like the cop he’d been before Forrest that Starsky felt as if he’d woken up in a time fugue, that they had traveled back in time before Hutch’s abduction. That was the only way Hutch could be this sharp, this confident, this much like Hutch. It was such a radical transformation that Starsky felt uneasy, as if Hutch might suddenly wake up and realize what he was doing and panic. But in spite of his concern, Starsky couldn’t take his eyes off the man beside him. The cop beside him. He was too beautiful not to watch.

A block before the bar, Hutch flipped off the siren and Starsky pulled in the light. They weren’t talking now; they didn’t have to. Hutch pulled the red car into a space around the corner from the bar and called for back-up while Starsky jogged to the corner to see if he could find Jake’s flashy car. Spotting the immaculate gold El Dorado parked across the street, he ran back to where Hutch waited and nodded, indicating their suspect was on the scene. The two of them headed into the alley, going to the apartment building’s rear entrance. The bartender might be on their side or not, but they couldn’t risk his calling up to Roxie’s room to warn Jake of their arrival.

The rear door was unlocked, and they slipped in and moved up the stairs quietly, cautiously. Creeping up to Roxie’s room, they drew their weapons. Hutch positioned himself to the left of the doorjamb and Starsky moved around him to stand on the right. Then they froze into position, listening.

Roxie’s voice was a tremulous quaver ringing with need and fear. They had to strain to hear her. Starsky was convinced they both stopped breathing at the same time. “I-I still don’t understand why you need me in this deal.”

Jake’s voice came through much clearer. “An’ I don’t understand why you think I gotta tell you anything! You’re so strung out, it ain’t like you’re gonna understand me. You’re goin’ on a trip. You’re goin’ with Mr. Randolph here, who paid good hard money for your old sorry ass. You better be grateful. Why he thinks he needs an ol’ bitch like you to handle his young girls I don’t know, but for twenty large, he can make his own decisions.”

“It’ll be okay, Roxie,” another voice said. The voice sounded flat, white, maybe from Ohio, someplace like that.

Starsky focused harder. He saw Hutch’s eyes narrow dangerously, realized his grip on the Python was tense. Their eyes met over the expanse of door, and Starsky felt that thrum of togetherness he always got whenever they were working right. The connection went right to his groin and he got half-hard and had to consciously slow his breathing. Hutch was with him, really with him and with a sudden shock of clarity Starsky realized that moments like this between them were as intense, as sexual, as anything they did in bed. The cohesion between them fairly crackled. He was nearly overwhelmed by the moment — a moment he’d feared he and Hutch would never share again.

“You take care of my business, Roxie,” the Midwesterner was saying, “and I’ll take care of you. I need you to keep the young girls in line, help move the horse, keep everything going. I know you can do that for me. And if you do, I’ll make sure you’ve got everything you need. Money. Clothes. And really good horse.”

“I-I-I don’t know…” Roxie complained, sniffing. “I don’t know anyone out there. Don’t know how things work.”

“You know me and Lisa, Roxie,” a soft female voice said. “Please come with us.”

They stared at each other, stunned. Did they have some of the underage girls in the room with them? That would help the bust, but it was dangerous, too. Too many people could cause a free-for-all when they busted in. And if shots were fired, those kids could get hurt. Starsky didn’t like it. Hutch looked worried, too. But neither of them moved from their position.

“Look,” Jake said impatiently, “Roxie don’t know how to handle a man bein’ nice to her, Randolph.”

There was a scuffling sound and then Roxie gasped in pain. Hutch went tight as a bowstring, but Starsky caught his gaze and held it. They couldn’t afford to rush this.

“But she knows how to handle it hard, don’t you, Roxie?” They clearly heard a sharp slap and Roxie cried out. “You listen to me, girl. You’re takin’ a trip. Now, it can be to the morgue or with Randolph here, but you’re definitely goin’ somewhere.”

“I need a shot, Jake,” Roxie complained. Starsky could hear her crying. “I need it bad!”

“I got what you need, Roxie,” Randolph told her, trying to comfort and convince at the same time. Starsky heard the distinctive snap of briefcase locks being unfastened. “Let me cook it up for you.”

He met Hutch’s knowing gaze. Oh, please let that be a big bag stuffed full of dope!

“It’s my stuff, Roxie,” Jake said. “Same stuff you always get. I’m gonna be supplyin’ half the Midwest through Randolph here, so you’ll always be happy, ’cause you’ll still be getting your taste. These four kilos — that’s just the start.”

Four kilos? Oh, damn, this is gonna be sweet — if no one gets hurt.

Men carrying that much in drugs would be armed.

Hutch shifted impatiently, but Starsky held up a hand holding him back. Not yet. Not yet.

“Here you go, Roxie,” Randolph said quietly. “You, Jess, and Lisa can share this taste, how’s that? I’ve got it ready for you right here. And there’s plenty more where this came from.”

The timbre in Roxie’s voice changed. “Th-thank you, Mr. Randolph.”

Starsky nodded at his partner. Now!

Hutch hit the door high and it blew open with a bang. Starsky slid around the doorframe, moving low in front of Hutch as they filled the doorway, guns drawn and ready. Hutch shouted in that clear, beautiful tenor, “FREEZE! POLICE!”

But of course, no one did.

Roxie and the two girls screamed in shock and clung to each other as a white guy to the left of the bed reached into his jacket. Hutch kicked out high and his foot landed right in the guy’s sternum, knocking the wind out of him and throwing him onto the bed. Starsky leapt up from his crouch and grabbed the guy’s gun arm, pinning it.

At the same time, Hutch went after Jake. Jake must have carried his heat in the small of his back — the pimp wouldn’t want to ruin the lay of his expensive jacket with a shoulder holster. He was reaching for it when Hutch backhanded him hard across the mouth. Jake crashed onto the night table, sending works, lamp, and other paraphernalia flying.

As Starsky flipped the stunned buyer, Randolph, onto his face and disarmed him of his small Smith and Wesson he saw Jake come up with his gun as Hutch moved in for a punch.

“HUTCH!” Starsky shouted, as he slapped cuffs on his prisoner.

Hutch heard him and grabbed Jake’s wrist, twisting it brutally. The pimp shrieked and dropped the gun as Hutch hauled off and hit him full in the face, knocking him cold.

That was almost too easy, Starsky thought as he snatched up Jake’s fallen weapon. Hutch was cuffing the unconscious pimp with an economy of movement.

Randolph, still face down, started bargaining. “Hey, come on, this doesn’t have to go down this way, man. I’ve got some serious cash on me. We can work this out.”

Hutch, still pumped with adrenaline and needing someone to expend it on, grabbed Randolph roughly by the collar and hauled him into a sitting position. He got right in the guy’s face. “Oh, yeah, buddy? We can, huh? How’s that? Spell it out for me.”

Randolph tried to back off but couldn’t. He was sweating as Hutch glared at him. Every muscle in Hutch’s body was wound tight as a spring. When he got like this, Starsky knew to loosen the reins, let him run out the rage till it was gone. All Starsky had to do was hang back and make sure no one got really hurt. He knew he was wearing this little smirk he couldn’t repress, but he really didn’t care. Seeing Hutch like this was a major turn-on for him, and he didn’t care who noticed.

“Uh, well, let’s talk,” Randolph stammered as Hutch got nose-to-nose with him.

“You’ve got two seconds to offer me something worth my while, Randolph. Talk or walk. You’ve got a bus to catch.”

Randolph started babbling. “I’ve got fifty large and four kilos of uncut heroin. I’ll leave it all behind, the cash, the dope, the girls, all of it, if you just let me walk out of here.”

Hutch didn’t move his body, kept it looming menacingly over Randolph, but turned his head toward his partner. “Four kilos of horse. What’ll that go for in the street, Starsk?”

Starsky frowned. “Once it’s cut? Gee, I dunno…. Over a million, I think.”

Hutch turned back to the buyer. “Big buy-off, pal. Know what that tells me? It tells me you’re wanted for some serious stuff in the Heartland.” Hutch grinned wickedly. “Too bad you’re not from around here, or you’d know that me and Starsky, we don’t make deals. Guess what. You’re busted!”

He shoved Randolph back onto the bed, then stood up and turned to Starsky as he holstered his weapon. “Y’know, I’ve always wanted to say that.”

Starsky had to laugh at Hutch’s genuine enjoyment of the moment.

The two young prostitutes were still huddled together, hugging each other and crying, but Roxie had abandoned them and was climbing around the end of the bed, searching for something on the floor.

Hutch, perhaps worried that she was looking for a stashed weapon, grabbed her by the arm and towed her near him. “It’s okay, Roxie. It’s over.”

She yanked out of his grasp, distracted. “He dropped it. It’s gotta be under the bed. Lemme go.”

The fix, Starsky realized. She’s strung out. That’s all she can think about.

She suddenly found the syringe where it had fallen, and snatched it up. Like magic, she produced a tourniquet, wrapped it around her upper arm, slapped the crook of her elbow twice and took aim.

Hutch grabbed her wrist. “Wait! You don’t think I’m going to let you do that right in front of me, do you? Drop it, Roxie.”

She was shaking, falling apart. “Oh, please! Please! I need it, Ken, I need it bad. Please don’t stop me!”

Starsky almost moved forward to intervene then halted. This is his scene. Let him play it the way he needs to. What might happen now could very well portend how Hutch would be able to deal with this issue in the future.

Gently but firmly, he took the syringe from her hand. With incredible tenderness, he said, “I’m sorry. I can’t let you do that.”

She burst into uncontrollable tears. “Oh, no! Don’t do this to me. I did what you wanted! I helped you. You’ve gotta help me!”

Starsky had an all-too-clear memory of Hutch clutching him, begging desperately, “Help me. I need some help. You’ve got to get me some help.”

As if Hutch were sharing that memory, he flinched. With all the gentleness Starsky had seen him show frightened children, Hutch gathered the trembling junkie in his arms. “I’ll help you, Roxie. But not that way.” He held her close, stroking her hair.

Starsky went around the bed to offer some comfort to the two underage hookers. In the distance, he could finally hear sirens from the police cars Dobey was sending as back-up. He wondered what his bear of a captain would think of Hutch’s transformation. He wondered how angry Dobey would be over the way they handled the case.

He glanced at Hutch as he comforted Roxie much the way Starsky had comforted him while he was in withdrawal. Hutch met his gaze over Roxie’s head and gave him a small smile. He was Hutch again, all the way, and Starsky found incredible joy in that. No one else mattered.

~~~

Huggy had a friend who was able to place Roxie in a drug rehab program where she could get cleaned up and be safe while Jake was awaiting trial. Starsky wondered if they could manage to keep her there and keep her clean long enough. Hutch was convinced that this would be a new start for Roxie, that he’d help her find a job, begin a new life. Starsky didn’t bother correcting him. If it helped him to believe that, it was fine with Starsky. But he knew a hard-core loser when he saw one, and Roxie fit the bill.

With Jake’s long string of arrests for violent offenses, they were able to convince the judge he was a flight risk and a danger to the witnesses. He would be detained until his trial. The Midwestern buyer, Randolph, wasn’t just an average pimp. He had a record that was impressive even by L.A. standards and had connections in Mexico with some very questionable porn producers. The chances were excellent that what he’d really wanted Roxie for was to feature her in a homemade snuff film. Since the buyer had outstanding warrants in at least five other states, they didn’t have to worry about keeping him incarcerated before his trial, either. The underage hookers were turned over to Social Services who would get them into foster homes and find out who the girls’ parents were and try to reintegrate them into family life.

They were halfway through their extensive reports when Dobey finally showed up.

He stood in the squad room, eyeing his two men, both of them bent over matching typewriters, pounding away, and crooked an eyebrow skeptically. Hands on his hips, he announced, “Starsky! I want to see you in my office.”

Starsky was about to answer him when Hutch stopped typing. “Anything you have to say to Starsky about this case needs to be said to me, too, Captain. He’s neither my nurse, nor my interpreter.”

The rest of the squad room went still as all eyes moved between the detectives and their captain. Dobey hesitated just a beat. “All right then, I want to see both of you in my office. Now!”

Hutch was up and at the door before Starsky could collect himself. Thinking he’d be a lot more efficient if he’d had some breakfast, he followed his partner dutifully through the door.

Hutch took the offensive before the door was even closed. “If you had a problem with my abilities to handle this case,” he told Dobey, “then you should’ve discussed that with me! Not sent a message through Starsky. You had no right to pull me off a case without letting me know directly.”

Dobey glanced at Starsky, plainly confused. All Starsky could do was shrug as he seated himself, crossed his legs, and smirked. Your problem, Cap. Deal with it.

“Well, frankly, Hutchinson,” Dobey began hesitantly, “I wasn’t sure you could handle a discussion like that at the time. Obviously, I misjudged you. I apologize. According to the reports, you certainly managed a damn impressive arrest today.”

The look on Dobey’s face told Starsky that the captain was dying to get him alone and ask, “What the hell happened to Hutch?” Starsky wondered what he’d say.

Hutch simmered down after the apology. He glanced at Starsky and looked a little sheepish. “That’s okay, Cap. I, uh, I know after the problem with Forrest I was a little rocky for awhile, but… uh, well, my partner’s support has helped me a lot.”

“Well,” Dobey said knowingly, “that’s what partners are for.”

The two detectives glanced at each other and when Hutch grinned broadly at him, Starsky felt himself coloring to his hairline. He smiled back wanly.

“You’re right about that, Cap,” Hutch agreed.

“Good work, you two. I know you’re still on temporary leave and I appreciate your following up the case in spite of that. When you finish up your reports, go home and enjoy your weekend. I’ll see you on Monday.”

Hutch nodded as they both stood. “Thanks, Cap. We’ll be in on Monday, first thing.”

Starsky’s stomach chose that moment to let out a huge growl. The others stared at him in surprise. “I never got breakfast!”

“Come on, partner,” Hutch said, taking hold of his sleeve. “We’ll finish those reports and I’ll buy you a steak. You deserve it.”

~~~

It was over the promised steak that Hutch sprung another surprise on him.

“Listen, uh, Starsk? I’d like to spend the night in Venice tonight.”

Starsky stopped in mid-chew. Of course, he hadn’t had much time to think about their future, how things would stand once Hutch’s personal crisis was over, but he could’ve anticipated this turn of events.

He paused. “Sure. If that’s what you want.”

Hutch looked at him, suddenly shy. “Will, uh… will you stay with me there tonight?”

If Hutch had grabbed his heart in his bare fist and squeezed, Starsky couldn’t have been more affected. He smiled and tried to keep it from showing. “Sure. Anytime. You know that.”

His partner ducked his head, and they went on with their dinner. But suddenly, Starsky felt like he and Hutch were on a first date, and all he could think about was the end of the evening and how far he’d be allowed to go.

It was dusk when they entered the little yellow bungalow.

Hutch entered first as Starsky stayed behind, hanging in the doorway as his friend moved around the confines of his home. First, he took a tour of the place, checking on his plants, opening windows, letting a breeze in. He didn’t talk and Starsky didn’t either, just watched him move around the place. Hutch murmured soft things to his abandoned plants and Starsky suspected he was apologizing to them for leaving them in someone else’s care. Hutch touched the leaves, brushed his face against them, needing that tactile contact with living green things. It touched Starsky’s heart to see him working so hard to feel at home in this place again.

After looking through his closets, Hutch remarked, “I just realized none of my stuff is here, it’s all at your place. Clean underwear, shaving stuff, shirts….”

Starsky nodded, realizing they’d probably be bringing it back now. He tried not to be disappointed. It wasn’t like he thought he and Hutch could live together happily ever after.

Hutch suddenly turned to him, looking expectant. “I have another favor to ask.”

He’s decided to stay here alone tonight after all, Starsky thought, schooling his face into a passive mask. He’s strong again. He needs to put some distance between us. He’s trying to figure out how to let me down easy. Aloud, he only said, “Sure. What is it?”

Walking up to him, Hutch took his hands and held them. “Make love with me here. In my bed?” The words were whispered, almost timid.

It rattled Starsky to his core. “Here? You and me? Sure, babe. You don’t have to ask.” Did he think I’d say no?

Hutch hesitated. “This… thing between us… I’m not taking anything for granted.”

Starsky smiled. “Okay. Sure. I’m here for you.” He reached up, stroked Hutch’s cheek, and his handsome face turned into the caress, kissing Starsky’s palm.

“You’re always there for me,” Hutch said clearly.

“Always will be, too,” Starsky assured him.

Hutch took his hand, drew him over to the double bed that dominated the open space of Hutch’s bedroom. “It felt good today, being a cop again, being your partner. Working together.”

Starsky smiled. “It sure did. We should make a habit of it.”

Hutch laughed easily, and it was music to Starsky. While a part of him missed Hutch’s fierce, irrational need for him, this Hutch was so clearly the real one, Starsky could only rejoice in his return.

Climbing into the bed, Hutch towed Starsky after him. He lay back, tugging Starsky over his body until they were nestled together horizontally, Starsky on top. Hutch clung to him, hugging him, holding him close, but seemed oddly hesitant.

Starsky didn’t assume anything, and just lay over his long body, stroking Hutch’s cheek, petting his hair, waiting for him to decide what needed to happen.

“Starsk?” Hutch asked, staring at him intently.

“Mmm?”

“We still lovers?”

Starsky smiled openly, then made a display of looking around at them sprawled across the bed, clinging together as if they were on a narrow life raft. “Gee, I don’t know….”

“Be serious!” Hutch demanded, his gaze suddenly worried.

Starsky hated to see that after the wonderful day they’d had. He stroked his furrowed brow and said, “We can be whatever you want us to be, Hutch.”

“Why’s it up to me?”

Starsky remained silent on that one.

“Because I’m ‘the straight one’?” Hutch guessed.

Starsky didn’t answer that either; he didn’t have to.

“Well, since you’re the one all hung up on labels,” Hutch decided, “then I say we’re still lovers. Okay?”

“Sure,” Starsky said, amused that the title seemed so important. As if they needed that, as if the word partners didn’t encompass everything they were, everything they would be.

Hutch wet his mouth and Starsky found himself fascinated by his moistened lips. “For how long?”

Starsky had to backtrack a moment to follow the question. For how long…? How long will we be lovers? “Long as you want.” The answer was the only one he could come up with. After all they’d been through, he didn’t see how he could find the strength to end their affair. It frightened him that he couldn’t, but that was the simple truth.

“Why’s that up to me?” Hutch asked again, looking just as worried.

Starsky sighed. “Why’re you askin’ me all these damned questions? You’re back on the force one day and now you’re interrogating me? Practice on the bad guys, blondie. I got other things on my mind!” Brazenly, he slid his hand down Hutch’s chest, then his abdomen, until he found the simmering mound under his partner’s fly. He gripped it hard through the denim, felt it bloom under his touch. “You held me off all day yesterday. You’re not turnin’ me down now.”

Hutch said a little breathlessly, “I don’t have the strength to.”

“Mmm,” Starsky purred, as he took hold of the tab of Hutch’s zipper and drew it slowly down, making it growl. He unsnapped the fastener and reached into Hutch’s pants.

Gasping, Hutch arched to meet his touch and it thrilled him to know his partner — his lover — still wanted that so badly. As Hutch’s impressive living warmth filled his hand and continued to grow as he was freed from confinement, Starsky couldn’t hold back his hunger any longer. Keeping his eyes on Hutch’s face, he moved lower, then kissed the head of Hutch’s cock wetly.

His gasp turned into a soft moan as Starsky used his tongue, savoring the taste of the man he knew so well and loved so deeply on levels even he didn’t understand. Hutch’s eyes rolled up then shut in bliss even as his big hands buried themselves in Starsky’s hair.

That contact went right to Starsky’s groin, turning him on fiercely. As he slid his mouth down over the crown, then lower over the heavy shaft, Hutch bucked up, his whole body yearning towards Starsky’s mouth. Starsky took a deep breath, shut his own eyes and swallowed his big blond.

Hutch cried out, a low, trembling sound, his body rocking back and forth as Starsky’s throat worked him.

“God, yes! Starsky, yes! Please, Starsk… tonight… do it tonight.”

Starsky did as he was bid with joy. He went down on Hutch with all the pent-up passion of that day: the adrenaline rush of the arrest, the paperwork drudgery, the long work hours together, side by side, hip to hip, elbow jostling elbow, Hutch’s scent in his nose, Hutch’s hand on his elbow, his shoulder, his knee. Starsky had never noticed before how much body contact they shared, but he’d been hyper-sensitive to it today.

How long before all those moments became innocent touches again and not endless foreplay? Starsky didn’t know, didn’t want to think about it. Right now, all he wanted was to go down on Hutch, and keep going down until Hutch came, until he could absorb his essence and in that small way keep part of Hutch all the way inside him until he became part of Starsky’s cells.

Starsky rubbed his tongue against the underside of Hutch’s crown, that special place that made him insane, and which he hoped would make Hutch insane, too. It must have worked because Hutch bucked even harder and gripped his hair tighter.

Starsky towed Hutch’s pants lower over his hips and ass, and pushed them down his legs. He heard a thump and realized Hutch had kicked off his shoes. That seemed like a good idea so Starsky toed off his Adidas, letting them thud to the floor. Hutch kept moving and Starsky realized he was trying to free his ankles from his pants and underwear, but needed help. Reluctantly, Starsky pulled away from the heavy cock to release him. Hutch stripped his own shirt off then started tugging at Starsky’s. With a little mutual cooperation both of them were soon totally nude.

Ever focused, Starsky slid back into position between Hutch’s legs. Sliding his arms under the strong thighs, he hoisted them over his shoulders to get as close as he could to his partner’s groin. Hutch’s feet slid along his back, his long legs letting him nudge Starsky’s bare rear with his toes, encouraging him.

“Go on, Starsk, go on. I want you to…” Hutch insisted breathlessly, and Starsky obliged him, deep-throating Hutch ravenously. Hutch thrashed, crying out in helpless delight. It sounded like music to Starsky; it sounded like a love song.

His hands slid over Hutch’s thighs where they pressed on his shoulders, over his smooth hips, his broad, handsome ass. Hutch was arching, pumping into his mouth, his legs tight with tension.

“Come on!” Hutch implored, gasping. “Do it! I want you to. Come on, babe — fuck me!”

Starsky was so startled, he nearly gagged on the mass in his mouth and withdrew to cough. “Huh?” he managed once he caught his breath.

Hutch reached for him, cradling Starsky’s face in his big hands, stroking his cheeks. “I want it. I mean it. Let’s do it now, okay?”

Starsky suddenly felt trapped by the long legs draped over him. His brain was too fogged with lust to figure out an answer.

“There’s some lube in the nightstand. Get it, okay?” Hutch suggested.

He must’ve used it with Jeanne, Starsky thought. The image of Hutch and his woman on this same bed was suddenly more of a distraction than he could handle. He started backing up.

Hutch let him go, probably thinking Starsky was trying to reach the nightstand. But Starsky suddenly found himself out of the bed and partway across the room.

Hutch got to his knees and reached for him, but missed, and had to leave the bed to catch up to him. He surrounded Starsky’s bare form with his arms, holding him from behind. “Hey, where’re you going?”

He could feel Hutch’s breath on his ear, feel his wet erection pressing against his buttocks. He grasped the strong arms that surrounded his chest and shook his head. “We’re not doin’ that.”

Hutch snorted a short laugh and kissed his cheek. “Hey, that was yesterday’s song. This is a new day. Come back to bed, we’ve just gotten started.”

Starsky turned in his arms, rubbed his palms over Hutch’s shoulders. Their mouths touched briefly.

“Come back to bed,” Hutch said. “I’ve got something for you.”

Starsky shook his head, made himself smile. “You got a whole lotta somethin’ for me — but not that.”

Hutch took his chin, made Starsky look at him. “Why not?”

Starsky shrugged. “I told you why yesterday. It’s good the way we’ve been doin’ it. Let’s do that.”

Hutch pressed him. “Starsky — !”

He closed his eyes, suddenly unable to handle the intensity between them. He tried to pull away, but Hutch gripped his upper arms. Would he ever get used to making it with someone just as strong as he was?

“I want you to!” Hutch insisted.

“I know…I know…” Starsky muttered.

“But…?”

Starsky’s jaw tightened. “You said it yourself. It’s all wrapped up in your head with all of that need you had when you were hooked. It’s all twisted with gettin’ those injections, with being penetrated by strangers. I’m not playin’ into that with you. I’m not penetrating you.”

Hutch looked sad now. “You’re right, I did feel that way before, but that’s over now. It’s behind me. This isn’t about that, it’s about us. It’s important to me. I really want this.”

Starsky went rigid. “I said no!”

Now Hutch got mad, gripping him harder. “Hey! Maybe I was worried about the wrong term after all. Are we still partners?”

The question brought Starsky up short. He stared at Hutch in surprise.

Hutch frowned. “I know you, Starsky, you think I don’t? It might not matter to you now, the way it’s gone down with us, but it will. Sooner or later. Everything you’ve given me, everything you’ve let me do — it’ll come back to haunt us. Someday, someway…somehow. We used to be partners. Equals. Then it changed. It changed when I was coming off the horse. I wasn’t your partner then, I was a junkie. You think I’ll ever forget that? Even after I got clean, I still wasn’t your partner. I was just a basket case, holding on to my sanity with the tips of my fingernails. You kept pretending nothing had changed when everything had. So you gave me everything you could to try to pull me out of it — and it worked. I feel like myself again for the first time since Forrest grabbed me. I’m your partner again. I want us back on that even keel. It’s my turn. It’s only fair.”

He closed his eyes again, unwilling to recognize the wisdom of Hutch’s words. “I can’t. It’s been hangin’ between us too long. I couldn’t handle it. And it’s not something you should have ever been introduced to. It’s not part of your life, not part of who you are. It’s not right.”

Hutch started towing him backwards toward the bed. “It’s the rightest thing I’ve ever done, Starsk. The rightest thing we’ll ever do together, out of all the right things we’ve done.” He turned Starsky around, urged him to sit on the bed. “Don’t you know that anything we decide to do together is part of us, part of our life together.” He cupped Starsky’s face, leaned down, kissed him lightly then smiled. “And if you think I’m buying the line that you can’t handle me, think again. You can handle it all right.”

The hell I can, Starsky thought. A hundred images of past fantasies flooded his mind, which he struggled to ignore.

Hutch kept touching his hair, his face, his mouth, his throat, soft, intimate touches, a lover’s touch, gentle yet knowing, possessive, yet giving. His face was open, happy, radiant. So different from the broken man he’d been before. It was obvious he really wanted this, but Starsky knew that was only because he didn’t have a clue as to what he was committing himself to do.

He wet his mouth. “Listen, Hutch. You’re not really thinking this through. I know I made it look like it was no big thing, but really, the truth is — ”

“Shhh,” Hutch ordered, touching his fingertips to Starsky’s lips then tenderly stroked his cheek.

Starsky had a sudden memory of Hutch in the car right before he went up to Roxie’s room that first time. He’d touched him like this then, his hands so gentle, so loving. But he was totally different now. He wasn’t the same at all, not that shattered, fragile figure. He was full of himself, in his prime, wearing his arousal proudly, knowing he was beautiful to look at, beautiful to touch. Starsky suddenly realized that Hutch was determined to seduce him. And he realized, too, that there was no way he’d be able to keep saying no under the onslaught of all that raw sexuality.

“Stop fighting it, Starsk,” Hutch said, rubbing his thumb provocatively over his partner’s lower lip. “It’s gotta happen.” A moment of insecurity suddenly flickered over Hutch’s face, and he said softly, “I’ll try to make it good for you.”

That subtle hesitation nearly broke Starsky’s heart. He took hold of Hutch’s roaming hands, brought them to his mouth, kissed the palms one after the other. Somehow, he found his voice. “You and me, what else could it be but good?”

That made Hutch smile. He started to push Starsky back onto the bed, but still, he resisted.

“Hey, where were we before we got rudely interrupted?” Starsky asked as he took hold of Hutch’s erection.

Hutch hissed as Starsky fondled him, stroking him, rubbing his thumb over the glistening crown of his cock. “You always this hung up on foreplay?”

Starsky shook his head. “It’s not just foreplay, babe.” He looked at Hutch seriously. It was his idea. He might as well get Hutch thinking about what he’d committed to do. “You’ve gotta come before we can get serious about this. You need to be relaxed, and that’s the best way to ensure that.”

Hutch frowned. “I never worried about that with you — ”

Starsky sighed. “We’re different, you and me. Or haven’t you noticed?” And before Hutch could argue with him further, Starsky brought the heavy organ to his mouth and took it in.

Hutch shuddered all over and gripped Starsky’s shoulder. “Damn! Starsk…your mouth…!”

You like it, huh? Good. I’m glad. ‘Cause I love doin’ you all too much. You’re sweet in my mouth, sweet and strong. Tell me how good it is, Hutch. He reached up and pinched Hutch’s small brown nipples between his knuckles. Hutch’s knees buckled, and one of his hands buried itself in Starsky’s curls.

Starsky reached around him and deliberately stroked Hutch’s ass slowly, petting the smooth skin, loving the plush contour of his rear. Hutch made a strangled sound and pulled Starsky’s head onto him.

Yeah. You think about this offer you’re makin’ so easy. Think about me in you, taking you, making you mine in a way no woman will ever be able to. You think about that, blondie, think hard.

Starsky felt Hutch’s strong thighs tighten. He slid his hands under the swell of Hutch’s ass and cupped his rear suggestively, possessively. Hutch tensed even more. All the while Starsky’s mouth never let up the pressure, teasing, tantalizing, sliding up and down. Soon, Hutch was gasping, muttering things Starsky couldn’t understand.

Give it up, Hutch. Give it to me. That’s only step one.

Hutch’s whole body went rigid and he moaned softly, his back arching. Starsky glanced up and found Hutch staring at him, his eyes half-lidded but refusing to close, his face flushed with passion, with a need so intense it amazed Starsky.

Can’t get used to it, can you? Me, going down on you. That’s why you had to do me so much yesterday. A little get-even, huh?

He flicked his tongue all around Hutch’s heavy shaft, around his crown. A burst of strong flavor flooded the back of his mouth and then Hutch cried out loudly. Starsky dug his fingers into Hutch’s rear and pulled him hard against him, taking Hutch deep as Starsky’s mouth and throat were suddenly filled with fluid and Hutch’s pulsing cock seemed to swell even larger. Starsky moaned himself, his song a counterpoint to his partner’s.

Then Hutch was tugging at his hair, trying to pull him off, trying to make him stop, and all the rigidity seemed to leave his body all at once. Starsky released the shrinking organ as it slipped wetly from his mouth, and stood quickly, catching Hutch before he could fall. Carefully, Starsky eased his spent, panting lover back onto his bed.

Hutch rubbed a hand over his face. “Oh, damn, Starsk…!” He collapsed backward onto the bed, his legs dangling over the side.

Starsky couldn’t help but grin as Hutch went boneless with satisfaction. I did that to you.

But Hutch didn’t lose his sense of awareness, or his determination to finish what they’d started. “That was incredible,” he said as he edged backward onto the bed until his whole body lay across it. He reached over and took hold of Starsky’s bobbing, painful erection and gave it a soothing stroke.

Starsky hissed and grabbed his wrist. “That’s nice, Hutch. Too nice.” They both laughed.

“Yeah, we don’t want it to be too good,” Hutch agreed. “Not when we’ve got so much more to do.” He released Starsky’s hard-on and rolled over onto his stomach, never taking his gaze off Starsky’s face.

The stretch of the long, beautiful body before him was almost more than Starsky could handle. Hutch’s strong back was nearly flawless except for a penny mole low on his side. His ass was perfect, too, round and lush, broad and strong, entirely too inviting. Hutch’s powerful legs seemed to go on forever, and as they parted slightly, Starsky had to hold his breath. Countless images of endless fantasies played across his mind. His organ jerked so hard at the sight of Hutch’s bare ass that it slapped his stomach. Hutch grinned and Starsky felt himself go dark with a blush. How was it this he could seem so wanton and so virginal at the same time?

I’ll never be able to handle it like this, Starsky realized. He’s too beautiful, too vulnerable. I’ll lose it completely. He took Hutch’s arm, tugged him onto his side. “Not like that,” he said, his voice rough. “I wanna see you, watch your face. I need to know you’re okay. Roll over. On your back. We’re gonna go slow.”

Hutch hesitated, then did as Starsky asked. Starsky was surprised to see Hutch was half-erect already, in spite of his orgasm. And I thought I had good response time! Forcing himself to pull his gaze away from Hutch’s growing erection, Starsky reached for the nightstand. He found a jar of something feminine-looking. Like I thought. Something Jeannie must’ve used. The thought bothered him. Dipping his fingers into it, he tested its consistency. It smelled like flowers, like a woman. He frowned.

“What’s the matter?” Hutch asked, concerned.

Starsky shook his head, and closed the drawer. “Wait right there. Don’t go away,” Starsky warned, making Hutch laugh as he left the bed.

“I’m not really dressed for a quick escape, buddy,” Hutch reminded him as Starsky entered the small bathroom.

He rummaged around in Hutch’s medicine cabinet, looking past Jeannie’s cosmetics and perfumes. He suppressed an urge to toss all of the little odds and ends in the trash, and just focused on his search. Finally, he had to give up. No Vaseline. Thinking ahead, he grabbed a few clean towels, draped them over his shoulder. Then he went into the kitchen.

“Starsky, what the hell are you looking for?”

Something that’ll work, he thought, browsing Hutch’s open shelves. Finally he spotted it. Grabbing the can he returned to the bed.

Hutch looked dismayed. “Crisco?”

Starsky had to smile. “That other stuff’s too thin. This’ll work better.”

He could see Hutch’s mind working overtime.

“Stop worryin’ about the sheets,” he scolded, climbing back in bed. “I’ll wash ’em later.” He tossed the towels onto a corner of the bed where he could reach them when he needed them. “You’re sure you’re still up for this? We don’t have to — ”

Hutch scowled like he was getting ready to argue, but Starsky forestalled that.

“Okay, okay, just checkin’. But I mean that. We don’t have to do this. You can change your mind at any time. Any time. Understand?”

“I’m not going to change my mind, Starsky. Unless I die of old age first.”

“Oh, you’re in no danger of that,” Starsky told him. Leaning over, he kissed Hutch lightly, then slipped in his tongue when Hutch opened his lips invitingly. Kissing Hutch so openly still made him slightly dizzy, still gave him that wild, heady feeling, so he indulged the need now, knowing he wouldn’t dare later on, when he would need all the control he could muster.

“You taste like me,” Hutch murmured against his mouth.

“Mmm,” Starsky agreed, and moved his mouth down to Hutch’s jaw, then his throat, then the nearest nipple. He didn’t want to crank things up too high, didn’t want Hutch to get tense with excitement, but he definitely wanted him hot.

“You do have a thing about endless foreplay,” Hutch complained half-heartedly, even as he stroked Starsky’s hair gently.

Starsky kissed Hutch’s stomach, then nipped him lightly over his hips. “It’s the secret of my incredible popularity,” he confided with a grin.

Hutch rolled his eyes. “I’ll try and remember that.”

The banter felt so good both of them grinned at once, but the sense of normalcy seemed odd to Starsky as they played together, nude, on Hutch’s bed. Then he brought the situation into sharp focus by removing the top of the Crisco can. It was a small can, half used, no doubt, in one of Hutch’s endless baking experiments. But the contents were clean, uncontaminated by other ingredients. Careful not to brush his hand against the sharp sides of the can, Starsky took a small amount of the thick white shortening onto his finger.

To his surprise, the action caused Hutch to flush with arousal, and his heavy cock nodded as if in agreement. Starsky had expected him to tense, but he didn’t.

“I never thought of lubricant when I needed you the way I did,” Hutch said softly, his voice thick with regret. “If you hadn’t made me use it… I could’ve really hurt you — ”

“Shhh,” Starsky admonished, not wanting negative thoughts to intrude on this moment. “Told ya. It was different with me. I’d done it before. Your body remembers. It was okay, Hutch. Don’t worry about it now.”

“Okay,” Hutch agreed, and Starsky realized his partner was working hard to be as compliant as he could. It touched him deeply.

“I don’t want you doin’ any thinking right now,” Starsky said softly. “I just want you to relax, and feel what I’m gonna make you feel. That’s all you gotta do.”

Hutch nodded, his gaze full of trust. He smiled as openly as if they were about to embark on a wonderful adventure. His expression nearly did Starsky in.

He leaned over and very slowly took the head of Hutch’s cock into his mouth. He swirled his tongue over the hot crown as he heard Hutch gasp. As he teased the cockhead lightly, running his tongue under his foreskin, he slipped his left hand over Hutch’s groin and under his sac. Slowly, carefully, he slid his greased finger up and down the crevasse of Hutch’s buttocks.

Hutch made a soft sound and spread his legs, lifting his knees and arching into Starsky’s touch. Good, that’s my good boy.

Starsky took the cock a little deeper into his mouth, as his finger slid slickly along Hutch’s secret place. He used his mouth to excite, to entice, and to give Hutch something else to think about as he gently discovered this most intimate part of him.

Slowly, seductively, his hand teased the entrance to Hutch’s body. Hutch groaned low as he made that tentative contact and Starsky felt the blood rushing to his head as he touched Hutch’s anus for the first time. His hand began to shake. Hutch reached over, stroked his hair then rubbed his neck and spine, trying, no doubt, to assure Starsky that he was enjoying this. That he still wanted it.

Starsky closed his eyes and, with his pulse pounding in his ears, gently slipped the tip of his finger into Hutch’s body. He gasped in surprise, and then made soft sounds of delight as he squirmed against Starsky’s touch. Sweat broke out all over Starsky’s body. He used his tongue to excite Hutch as he used his finger to tease. With the utmost care, he moved into Hutch’s body, using his finger to bring a slow blossoming pleasure to this new act. And Hutch responded vocally as he relaxed into that pleasure, whispering for Starsky to take more, to go deeper, to show him how much he could take.

Soon, Starsky had to forcibly keep his mind on what he was doing and remember whom he was with. He used more lubricant, used it liberally, wanting to eliminate any chance of pain or roughness. What Hutch was offering him was the most precious gift and he intended to treat it that way.

Hutch was so open, so accepting of this pleasure, it humbled Starsky. As he used his hand, one finger at a time, to tease and torment Hutch, to relax him, to help him open his body, his lover responded as if he had been born for this. He thrust against Starsky’s hand, wanting more and more, rocking with the delight of it, tossing his head, his fingers threading into Starsky’s hair. All the while, Hutch’s cock kept growing in Starsky’s mouth as if to prove how excited he was.

“So good! So good!” Hutch panted, gulping air. “Come on. Don’t keep me waiting. Do it now!”

Starsky squeezed his eyes shut before drawing off the heavy organ, and allowing himself to really look at Hutch. His bare chest was flushed with arousal, his face and neck blushing as well. His broad mouth was open as he pulled air into his lungs to power his pounding heart.

Starsky froze in place, unable to go further. He felt like he was about to plunge off a precipice. Didn’t Hutch know he was afraid of heights?

His partner grinned at him, held his face in both hands. “It’s okay! Come on, partner. It’s just you and me here, that’s all. We can do this. Together. Don’t be afraid.”

And he was, he realized numbly. He was afraid. Afraid of hurting Hutch. Afraid of doing something so irrevocable. Afraid of changing everything between them. And mostly he was deathly afraid of how much he wanted it.

“I can’t!” he whispered. “Hutch — I can’t do this to you.” Somewhere inside him he realized he sounded much like Hutch did just yesterday, when he was convinced he could never do police work again. Frowning, he eased his hand out of Hutch’s willing body, and reached for a towel to clean it.

“Oh, Starsky!” Hutch chided him, smiling. “You can be so aggravating at times!”

Smoothly, Hutch sat up, took Starsky’s shoulders and urged him to lie down. Starsky knew he had no fight left in him, no arguments to give. His cock was as hard as a tree, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was for Hutch to give up this insane notion and just jerk him off so they could both go to sleep and forget this.

“What am I going to do with you?” Hutch admonished, as he leaned over Starsky’s reclining form. “Look at you. You’re rigid all over, tense as a board, and so hung up on all your little labels and platitudes you can’t even let yourself have something you’ve wanted for so long. You really are crazy, you know that?”

Starsky could barely follow what his lover was saying. He reached for Hutch, wanting to pull him down on top of him. They could rub off on each other; it wouldn’t take long —

But Hutch gently brushed his arms away, as he swung a leg over Starsky’s hips. “I’ve gotta admit though, Starsk, your magical way with foreplay certainly must be the key to your popularity. ‘Cause you surely are the most popular guy in this bed right now!”

Hutch settled his rear over Starsky’s groin, and finally Starsky began to realize what his friend was up to. “Hutch, wait — ”

Hutch shook his head as he reached for the Crisco can and took a healthy portion. “No more foreplay. No more stalling. You’ve got me so strung out I can’t believe it.”

It shook Starsky to hear Hutch say those words so casually, while smiling. You’ve got me so strung out — He had a sudden sharp memory of Hutch screaming that at him in Huggy’s upstairs room. Look at me! I’m strung out! Why won’t you help me? He shook off the memory, barely able to equate that man with the one sitting astride him. This man was so strong, so powerful, so totally in command.

Of me, Starsky realized with an unsettling insight.

Hutch scooted back along Starsky’s thighs to expose his erection. Handling it as carefully as a loaded gun, Hutch grasped it, took control of it, and coated it thoroughly with the shortening. The cool substance was a shock to Starsky’s heated flesh and he made a strangled sound.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Hutch soothed, as though it were Starsky’s first time, which in a way, it was. “In a minute, it’s just gonna be perfect.”

Hutch sat up on his knees, lifted his rear and positioned Starsky’s organ against himself.

“Wait!” Starsky begged, as if he were trapped, as if he couldn’t move, couldn’t scoot out from under Hutch, couldn’t escape. “Hutch, please — ”

Hutch stared at Starsky, his crystalline eyes as clear as Starsky had ever seen them. “Just hold still, babe.” And with that last warning Hutch very deliberately lowered himself onto Starsky’s erection.

Starsky froze at the command, his eyes widening as he felt the incredible sensation of his most sensitive flesh sliding into the body he loved. But Hutch’s anus, at first cooperative, seemed to have second thoughts the minute Starsky’s broad glans slipped completely inside the first ring of muscle. Hutch’s whole body locked down tight, and he grimaced in surprise and pain.

Starsky felt Hutch try to force himself down further, and he realized he had to participate or Hutch’s need to reciprocate would tear him apart. “Don’t move!” he ordered sharply, and automatically Hutch obeyed. Somehow he found enough breath to instruct. “Can’t rush this. You gotta give your body time to adjust. It will in a second. Just breathe real deep, two, three times — ”

Hutch nodded, really listening to him. Just like on the street. Partners. Like always.

Starsky reached up, stroked the strong arms supporting Hutch’s weight, petted his hair, rubbed his neck and shoulders. “You’re so tight, babe, so hot inside. Just go slow. Don’t move till you can.”

Hutch blinked and Starsky saw the hint of a tear glistening. Then suddenly, he let out a big sigh and Starsky could feel his body’s tension drain. He seemed surprised.

“Don’t go crazy!” Starsky warned. “Go slow. It can happen again. It’s your first time, so take it easy. Don’t rush.”

Hutch nodded and taking heavy draughts of air, eased back again, swallowing up more of Starsky.

The sensation was incredible, but so was the realization that Hutch wanted to do this so badly he’d endure anything. The intensity of the pleasure made his balls tighten, but Hutch’s determination to please him nearly broke his heart.

Slowly, little by little, Hutch rocked back and forth, letting himself adjust to the sensation of having someone else inside him.

“What’s it like?” Starsky whispered, needing to know.

Hutch gazed at him, his face suffused with love. He struggled to speak. “Incredible. Mind-blowing. Just knowing you’re really a part of me now — ”

“I’ve always been a part of you, ya big dope!” Starsky reminded him and they both laughed weakly.

Slowly, painstakingly, Hutch finally enveloped him entirely. Starsky couldn’t suppress a low groan. Hutch closed his eyes tightly, then blinked. “Not sure I can move.”

Feeling like Hutch’s body had a death grip on his erection, Starsky struggled with his self-control, found it, and took a deep breath. “Go slow. Whatever you can handle.”

Hutch nodded. Biting his lower lip, he moved forward carefully then eased back. He seemed puzzled then shuddered all over. He did it again and his face relaxed a little. He started moving a little more freely, his big, muscular frame towering over Starsky just as it had all the times Hutch had taken him. It was intensely erotic, watching Hutch discover this new sexuality.

“It’s good,” Hutch breathed suddenly. He sounded amazed. “Damn, it feels good, Starsk.”

Starsky was so overwhelmed by what was happening he had the sudden urge to burst into tears. Instead, he reached up, rubbed the back of his hand against Hutch’s cheek. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?”

Hutch gave a short laugh. “Bet you say that to all the boys.”

Starsky shook his head. “Never to anyone but you.”

Hutch looked at him intently then, all seriousness. “Really?”

Starsky remembered how important that always seemed to Hutch, that things were different between them than it had been between Starsky and his long-ago lovers. He took hold of Hutch’s face in both hands, stroked his cheeks with his thumbs. “You’re beautiful, Hutch, the most beautiful man I’ve ever known. You’re the only man I ever loved this way in my whole life. I mean that. And I swear to God there’ll never be another man for me, ever. Never. I swear it. Just you. My beautiful partner.”

Hutch closed his eyes for a moment, as if overwhelmed, then kissed both of Starsky’s palms. “I want to make it good for you, really, really good.”

Starsky grinned. “It gets any better and I swear I’m gonna die.”

Hutch shook his head. “I want it to be the way you said. In the Academy. I want it to be that good for you. Not like this. I want you to take me the way you always wanted to.”

Starsky trembled as Hutch rode him, remembering the words he wished he had never said, the words he’d used to slap Hutch with the fierce reality of his honest feelings. I want to fuck you, Hutch. I want to hold you down so you can’t move and fuck you senseless.

His brain wasn’t ready to process any more pleasure. “No, babe. I’m too close. This is so good. Just keep doin’ what you’re doin’!”

Clenching his jaw, Hutch got that determined look on his face. Starsky’ gut tightened. Would there ever come a time when Hutch would simply take what he said at face value? Probably not.

To Starsky’s dismay, Hutch pushed himself down as low on Starsky’s cock as he could then held perfectly still. He tightened his body deliberately, squeezing Starsky’s hyper-sensitive erection with his powerful muscles.

Starsky thrashed and cried out, his brain surging into a red haze of lust. He shouted Hutch’s name.

“I’m right here,” Hutch said. “You’re in me. I can’t go anywhere, even if I wanted to.” He squeezed again, then relaxed. “And we can sit here all day if you want. But my arms are like rubber bands and my legs have gone numb. You want more of this, pal, you’re gonna have to come after it.”

“Don’t! Don’t do this!” Starsky shouted as Hutch tormented him with his body, tightening then relaxing, exciting him to fever pitch, but not giving him the friction he so desperately needed. I’ll kill him. I swear I will. Right after I get off.

“Come on, then, take what you want! That’s the only way you’re gonna get it — ”

Without making a conscious decision about it, Starsky surged up, grabbing Hutch by the shoulders and shoving him roughly to the side. Hutch’s legs tightened around Starsky’s hips as he fell. Starsky went with him in one smooth move, riding his love, staying with him as he pushed him onto his back, never letting his cock slip but an inch or two from its pleasurable berth.

“You-son-of-a-bitch,” Starsky swore as Hutch chuckled low, then burst into genuine laughter. Starsky pushed up on his knees, driving deep into the willing body, making Hutch gasp. Damn, it was good, better than Starsky had ever imagined it. He stared down at Hutch, whose face was suffused with pleasure and delight.

“Come on, stud,” Hutch taunted. “Let it happen. Just like you always wanted it to.”

“Will you just shut up!” Starsky ordered, wondering just when Hutch had become so incredibly exasperating in bed.

Hutch wasn’t listening. “Do it! Come on, Starsky, just do it! Take it!”

Starsky growled, his need to take coming on him with the force of a hurricane, clouding his judgment. Hutch was beneath him, open, flaunting his erection, daring him — He closed his eyes, but felt his controls slip away like sand castles under a relentless tide. Hutch, don’t…don’t!

“I want you to,” Hutch hissed at him. He was pulling at him, tugging his arms, wrapping his long legs around Starsky’s back, pressing him closer. He tightened his ass around Starsky’s hardness over and over, squeezing, releasing, torturing him.

With a sound that was pure anguish, Starsky felt his judgment shatter. He surged forward, grabbed a fistful of Hutch’s fine hair and yanked his head toward him. Hutch met him halfway and their mouths slapped together in a fierce kiss, teeth clicking, tongues battling. Hutch’s nails raked Starsky’s back and he purred in pleasure, or at least that was the way it sounded to him. Blood was pounding in Starsky’s ears, and he felt like one giant heartbeat as he reared and plunged into the muscular body hard and fast. The sensation was incandescent, and he couldn’t escape the realization of who was beneath him, whose body was tightening around him. It was all he could think of.

Hutch. Hutch. Hutch….

Starsky released Hutch’s hair, but Hutch didn’t pull his mouth away. Starsky had to do that first, and he did when he needed more air. Hutch fell back against the pillow, his hair plastered against his skull with sweat, his eyes rolling up as Starsky battered him with his cock.

Unable to stop himself, he gripped Hutch’s arms in a punishing hold, pinning his arms to the bed as he reared up over him. He had to be sure Hutch didn’t try to leave, had to be sure he’d hold still, just for a bit longer, just a little bit —

“Go ‘head,” Hutch gasped. “It’s good, go ‘head.”

It didn’t make much sense to Starsky, but right now little did. There was only the tension and slickness around his cock and a need so bottomless he thought it would be impossible to fill. He moved faster into Hutch’s body, driving into him. He held him hard against the bed and thrust deeply, needing that tightness, that slick, sweet heat.

Hutch…. Hutch….

He was moaning Hutch’s name, he realized dimly, over and over, in time with his thrusts. Plunging into that sweetness, against that incredible friction again and again. Unbelievably good. The fantasy of a lifetime. It had to be a fantasy because nothing this phenomenal could ever be real.

“Yes!” Hutch cried out. “Oh, God, yes, yes!” Then he shouted in surprise.

Starsky felt something small and round riding under his crown and realized he’d managed to move Hutch into the right position to stimulate his prostate. He wasn’t sure how he’d accomplished it, since he was strictly on automatic pilot now, but it didn’t matter. He had the bastard now.

“Oh, jeezus, what the hell are you doing?” Hutch struggled beneath Starsky, but that only made Starsky tighten his grip.

You’re not gettin’ away now, baby blue, not now.

“What is that?” Hutch gasped, crying out as Starsky never slowed, never let up the pressure.

“That’s me in you,” Starsky hissed, his throat as taut as the rest of his overstrained body. “Don’t you ever forget it. What it’s like. Me in you.”

Hutch struggled, overwhelmed. “Starsk! It’s too much! Aw, dammit!”

Starsky had to agree. It was too much. Way more than he could handle. His cock swelled even larger till he thought it was going to burst. The pressure was painful, but even that felt good. Too good. As Hutch cried out again, Starsky felt a rush of adrenaline and slammed into him once, twice, then suddenly it was happening. He shouted Hutch’s name, and felt the vibrations of it rock the bed, as he poured himself into Hutch’s body. Instantaneously, there was a rush of liquid heat between them and he realized he’d been stimulating Hutch’s cock the whole time, rubbing his sweaty belly against it. Dimly, he wondered what that must’ve felt like to Hutch, having all that body hair stroking him off.

I penetrated you, Starsky thought wearily as he collapsed over Hutch. You wouldn’t quit ’til I did it. Penetrated you. Injected you with myself. So how come, if I gave you all my stuff, I’m the one who’s hooked?

Hutch wrapped his strong arms around Starsky, and held him tight. Hutch was shivering, trembling from head to foot — or was it Starsky who was doing that? He couldn’t be sure.

Hutch started kissing his face all over, stroking his hair, his spine, one foot rubbing up and down his calf. Starsky was nearly insensate. All he could do was lie still and gasp for air and feel the trembling aftershocks rippling through him.

“You’re part of me now,” Hutch whispered. “Forever and ever.”

“Uh-huh,” Starsky agreed, “and ever.” He tried to shift, faintly aware that he must be growing heavy as he used Hutch for a mattress.

“Don’t move!” Hutch insisted. “Not yet! Just hold still.”

That was the one thing Starsky actually felt like he could manage. Not moving. Holding perfectly still.

“I love you, Starsk,” Hutch whispered against his ear. “I swear I do.”

Starsky nodded. It sounded good to him.

“I mean it,” Hutch said, as if he had to prove something. “It’s real, the love I feel for you. The realest love I’ve ever felt for anyone.”

Sure. He knew that. Knew it from the Academy. It had always been there between them, this fierce, real love. The realest love Starsky had ever known, too.

“I’m glad, Hutch,” Starsky managed to say, as he cuddled down against Hutch’s warm, comfortable body. He felt his erection soften finally, and slowly ease out the most wonderful place it had ever known. Hutch hissed and tensed, but then relaxed again. “You okay?”

“More okay than I’ve been in a long, long time,” Hutch admitted.

That was nice. That made Starsky really glad. Unable to keep himself conscious a minute longer, Starsky pressed a kiss against Hutch’s sternum and let himself sleep.

 

Everybody’s got a hunger, a hunger they can’t resist,
There’s so much that you want, you deserve much more than this,
But if dreams came true, oh, wouldn’t that be nice,
But this ain’t no dream we’re living through tonight,
…You want it, you take it, you pay the price.
                        Prove It All Night — Bruce Springsteen

 

Chapter 9

You’re my drug, and I don’t know if I can give you up
Well you bring me color where once I had just black and white
Now I have rainbows appearing round here in the night
Our true love is growing, and passion is flowing
You’re my drug
Well you can slow me down or quick me up
You’re my drug
Well you can spill me down and lick me up
You’re my drug
And I don’t know if I can give you up
                        You’re My Drug — Chips

 

Hutch woke up an hour later, stiff, sore and aching. He was also having trouble breathing. Thanks to this dead weight on my chest! He was amazed that the two of them had crashed so hard they’d never moved from the last position they were in. No wonder everything hurts.

“Starsky, wake up,” Hutch said gently. There was no response. Maybe I should check for a pulse. Then again, that could be dangerous. He didn’t dare risk rousing or arousing his sleeping partner right now, not the way he felt. He gently rocked them until he managed to ease them onto their sides. Starsky never showed a single sign of life. Did I wear you out, big boy? Good. You had that coming. Tenderly, he kissed Starsky’s temple, pulled a sheet up over him, and eased out of the bed.

That didn’t make him feel any better. He was suddenly overwhelmed with an imperative need for the bathroom. Once that was taken care of, he reached for some aspirin and started to run a bath. That was when he remembered —

Everything’s at Starsky’s. Everything. All the medicinal aids he’d gotten from the health food store, the things he needed right this minute to help his protesting body through its new experience. Damn it. He decided to take a shower instead then remembered all his clean clothes were at Starsky’s as well. He hated putting on day-old underwear. He showered quickly and dried off hurriedly. He really didn’t want to, but there was nothing to be done but wake Starsky up and take them both back to his place. They could finish sleeping the night there and Hutch could take his bath, use some of his herbal remedies on his more tender parts, and have clean underwear in the morning.

Next time you decide to surprise your partner with a night of unforgettable passion, plan it a little better, will you, Hutchinson?

He was fully dressed before he was ready to tackle the prospect of dealing with his unconscious partner. He’d dumped the towels in the laundry, stowed the Crisco in the bathroom — it’s not like I could ever bake with it again after tonight — before he was ready to tackle this insurmountable task.

“Starsky.” He shook his shoulder gently. “Starsky, come on, get up. We’ve got to get going.”

To Hutch’s surprise, Starsky woke up with a jerk, as if something terrible were happening. “What? What now? Did Huggy call? Where are we?”

“Easy, buddy. We’re at my place in Venice. But nothing else is. Huggy called yesterday, but that’s over now. Everything’s okay. But we don’t have anything we need here. We’ve got to go back to your place — ”

Starsky moaned piteously and collapsed onto the bed, his face buried in a pillow. He mumbled something that sounded vaguely like, “Later, Mom.”

“No, now. Come on. I’ll drive, you can sleep. But you can’t go like that. I’ll help you get dressed. Come on.”

It was easier said than done as he pushed and prodded and cajoled Starsky into his jeans and shirt. He gave up on anything more complicated than that. Shoving Adidas, socks, underwear and holsters in a shopping bag, he managed to get Starsky into the passenger seat of the Torino.

“You’d think you were the one who got reamed by a telephone pole,” Hutch complained to his softly snoring partner as he gingerly eased himself onto the seat of the garishly painted car. He looked over at his barefoot, boneless friend who was propped against the locked door.

“You’re drooling on your upholstery,” Hutch said smugly, but Starsky just slept on. Hutch couldn’t help but feel proud of himself. There had been one point last night when he had thought Starsky’s fierce passion might be more than he could have handled. But he did handle it. And if they were to judge by the aftereffects, clearly, he was the survivor. Grinning, he ruffled Starsky’s crazily-canted curls, and started the noisy engine.

It wasn’t until he pulled away from the little yellow house that Hutch remembered how much he hated the suspension on this car.

~~~

Starsky could make fun of his organic, natural products all he wanted, Hutch thought as he woke up the next morning, but when something is naturally good for you, it’s just bound to work better. He blinked as he glanced at Starsky’s window. The new day looked beautiful. There was a cool breeze wafting under the shade, and bright light peeking around it. Another perfect California morning. Hutch sucked in a deep lung-full of air.

Beside him, his favorite corpse complained and burrowed against him. He hugged Starsky, who had never really woken up last night, even when Hutch had undressed him, then bathed him as he slept. You’d better not get used to that, Hutch warned his friend mentally. You’re becoming entirely too spoiled. Good thing we’re going back to work on Monday. Maybe life can finally get back to normal.

That gave him a moment’s pause. What was normal for them now? He honestly had no idea. And he didn’t plan to worry about it this morning, that was for sure. He felt better than he had since before Forrest snatched him — with the possible exception of certain specific body parts. More importantly, he felt like Hutch again, and that had been something he’d never thought to regain. Absently, he scratched at the crook of his elbow where the tracks still itched. He’d put more lotion on them later. Their presence didn’t bother him anymore. If anything, he could look at them now as scars of a war he’d survived, a war he’d won. They were no different from the half dozen other reminders he bore from his life as a cop.

He rolled out of bed and stretched languorously. After reaching for the ceiling, he then did a slow bend to the floor, laying his palms flat against it, enjoying the feel of his fit body. He reached for the shade and yanked it up, letting the sunlight pour in, unselfconscious of his nudity. He felt good.

There was a soft protest from the bed as Starsky rolled away from the light, curled into a fetal position, and pulled the covers over his head.

Hutch clambered back into bed with him, shaking him gently. “Starsk, wake up! It’s a beautiful day! The air is clean and fresh. The sun is out. It’s spectacular! Come jogging with me.”

Slowly, the covers were pulled down just enough so that one sleepy indigo-colored eye could peek out. A grumpy voice rumbled, “We live in LA. The air is fulla smog. The sun causes haze and pollution inversion. And normal people wanna stay in bed and have sex in the morning. Not run around in their underwear goin’ no place in a hurry and getting all sweaty for no reason.”

Hutch had to laugh. “Well, maybe if you’re a good boy, we can have sex when I come back from my jog. But first things first. I’ll make a pot of coffee before I go. I won’t be gone long.”

“Too bad,” Starsky groused, and pulled the covers back over his head.

Hutch couldn’t help himself. He had to slap Starsky’s beautifully rounded rump before he went hunting for his running shorts.

~~~

About five minutes after Hutch left the apartment, the phone beside Starsky’s bed rang rudely. If you really loved me, Starsky complained to his absent lover, you’d have stayed here and answered the phone.

He was totally destroyed and couldn’t muster the energy to care about anything but his own recovery, but by the fourth ring he knew whoever it was wouldn’t hang up. Moaning in protest, he flung his arm out to grab the receiver. That was when he looked up and saw himself reflected in the mirror over his bed. That baffled him. He’d thought they’d slept at Hutch’s place last night. Why had Hutch made them come back here? No wonder he felt like he’d gotten no sleep, if Hutchinson had been dragging him all over the city after giving him the ride of his life. Had they solved any crimes while he was sleeping? He’d have to ask Hutch. This might explain all the incredibly weird dreams he’d had that skittered just out of reach now.

Meanwhile, the phone kept clamoring. Unable to figure it all out, Starsky decided not to try.

After finally managing to put the correct part of the receiver against his ear, he mumbled into the mouthpiece, “This better not be you, Huggy.”

“Tough luck, ol’ man,” said the familiar voice. “It’s the one and only.”

Starsky groaned piteously. “All my friends hate me.”

“No doubt with good cause,” Huggy agreed amiably. “I’ve got two questions for you — ”

“Hold it. You got the wrong number. You want the guy who’s in charge of answering questions first thing in the morning. That ain’t me.”

“That’s my first question,” Huggy went on, blithely ignoring Starsky’s attempts to get him off the phone. “Is Hutch there with you?”

That rang a distant bell in Starsky’s sleep-fogged brain. Is Hutch here with me? How many times has Huggy asked me that over the years, or asked Hutch if I was with him? He suddenly became very conscious of just where he was. His bedroom. His bed. Where Hutch had been until a few moments ago.

“You just missed him. He’s out jogging.”

“Oh, yeah?” Huggy said, sounding interested. “When did he go back to jogging?”

“This morning,” Starsky said. “You wanna know what he’s gonna have for breakfast, too?” Hope it’s gonna be me, Starsky thought fuzzily.

“Not really,” Huggy said quietly. “I have a feeling the answer might be more detailed than I’d care to know.”

That woke Starsky up. He sat up in bed, pulled the phone into his lap. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ignoring him, Huggy continued, “Which brings us to the second question of the day, which is: Have you two completely lost your minds?”

Yeah…I guess we have, Starsky realized with a sense of dread. “What — ?”

“Look, we talked about this when we were helpin’ Hutch get clean. And you led me to believe that there was nothin’ goin’ down between you two.”

Starsky’s throat locked up; he found he had nothing to say in response to that.

“Now, it’s no never mind to me what you two might be up to. You know me, Starsky. Whatever floats your boat is my motto. But the last three-four days you two have gone completely underground, and it’s been noticed. ‘Specially when you emerged last night in that elegant restaurant to celebrate — whatever you were celebratin’.”

How did he know — ? How did Huggy know half of what he knew? Starsky couldn’t worry about that. “Hutch and I have been workin’ out a lot of stuff since he got hooked, you know that. Things have been kinda intense between us, but you know we get like that now and then. Well, we worked it out and last night we were celebrating. What’s your problem, Huggy?”

“It’s your problem, Starsky. Yours and Hutch’s. I’m callin’ to pull your coat, babe. You were spotted last night.”

“So? We were in a public place, havin’ a meal. Who cares?”

“Some dude named Simonetti. Name ring a bell with you?”

“Uh-uh. Never heard of him.”

“He’s new. Works over in Ramparts. With IA.”

Starsky went cold all over. “Yeah? So, what? That ain’t even our precinct. Two partners can’t have a steak in a public restaurant anymore?”

He could hear Huggy sigh. “Listen, man, let me be frank. You know my waitress, Inez?”

Starsky certainly did. She was a pert, buxom, dark-eyed beauty barely of legal age who had it real bad for Hutch.

“Well, last night she was waiting a certain table. This Simonetti was there, along with a dude name of Lieutenant Fargo, and two older guys who were instructors of yours from the Academy.”

Starsky flinched at Fargo’s name. The veteran cop was the head of IA at Metro. There wasn’t much love lost between IA and him and Hutch. Most of the precinct referred to IA as the “Headhunters” and Fargo as “The Hatchet Man.” While Starsky didn’t have much time for the politics of IA, he had a grudging respect for the Lieutenant who was known for having no tolerance for corruption.

“Seems this Fargo was old buddies with the Academy dudes,” Huggy said. “And Simonetti is his protégé, so he was bringing the rookie along to impart some veteran wisdom. Well, Inez is about to take their first order when she hears Simonetti drop Hutch’s name. So, she thickens her accent and pretends she’s not so good with English. I never knew she was so quick on her feet. She managed to overhear a lot of what these guys had to say in the course of the night, and it really made her mad.”

Starsky closed his eyes and his stomach tightened. He’d feared where this was going as soon as Huggy had mentioned the Academy instructors.

“Seems Simonetti wanted to know if any of the older guys were familiar with you two. Well, everyone at the table laughed and gave him a rundown of your wilder exploits. Then Simonetti asks in this vague roundabout way, just how close you and Hutch might be. The instructors hedged a little, but finally talked about some rumors that used to float around the Academy ’bout you two. How you’re rarely seen apart. Stay at each other’s pads. How Hutch makes dinner for you. Now, the Lieutenant got uncomfortable, and said it was well known Hutchinson had been married, and that you were the stud of the precinct. He even warned Simonetti not to bring his pretty wife to work, in case you were around that day. Everyone laughed. ‘Cept Simonetti.”

Starsky was listening so intently he almost forgot to breathe.

“Seems he was in that restaurant when you came in. He recognized you from that picture in the papers a coupla weeks ago. You know, from the story ’bout the shootout involving you two, that crazy sailor, and that used-car dealer whose wife was murdered?”

Starsky remembered it all too well. He and Hutch would never forget Zack Tyler’s act of vengeance that had brought about his own death. His status as a local celebrity had been milked by the media.

“Simonetti said that during dinner, the two of you only had eyes for each other, that whatever was goin’ on between you two was intense. He mentioned that you had this pretty little redheaded waitress and neither of you even noticed her. He said — ” Huggy paused and sighed. “He said the two of you found every chance to touch each other across the table that you could. Once Hutch even wiped the corner of your mouth when you had something on it. He said you — acted like two people in love.”

Starsky couldn’t talk, couldn’t even swallow. He remembered the moment when Hutch wiped his mouth. They both had laughed, neither of them thinking anything of it. But Starsky realized he couldn’t remember the waitress at all, and that wasn’t like him.

Two people in love?

Huggy went on quickly. “Well, there was this real uncomfortable pause, and Fargo said Hutch had been abducted recently and you’d gone nearly crazy turnin’ the streets over, lookin’ for him, and that Hutch was havin’ kind of a rocky time of it now that he was back. But he defended your records and said he’d spent enough time with both of you to know he wasn’t ready to assume anything that serious. Not without some proof. He even gave Simonetti some grief for jumpin’ to conclusions about two good cops who happened to be real tight partners. But Simonetti just looked at the two Academy guys and he could see they believed him.”

“Hug, I — ”

“You don’t have to say nothin’ to me, Starsky. I’m your friend. I had my hands full with Inez last night, she was ready to put ground glass in their Huggy Specials, like I don’t have enough trouble keepin’ customers now. But when I start askin’ ’round who’s seen you, it’s like nobody has, like you’ve both curled up somewhere, just the two of you.” Huggy sounded worried now, worried and anxious. “We’ve been friends a long time, Starsky. I’m not askin’ for a confession, you know that. I just wanna remind you of what you said to me upstairs. You said it. Hutch is straight.”

Starsky’s skin was suddenly electric with the memory of entering Hutch’s body, of taking him, of making him, for just that moment, his. His cock nodded, and he stroked it in sympathy.

“You remember that rap you gave me, Starsky? You said, ‘Hutch is straight, and I don’t play that game anymore.’ You’re exact words were, ‘It’s too risky.'”

“I hear you, Huggy. I hear you.”

“Okay, bro’, I’m gone,” Huggy said. “Just watch your back, you hear?”

“Yeah. And…thanks, Huggy.”

“Right,” Huggy said gloomily and hung up.

At least the feeling of dread had a name now.

Starsky got out of the bed, found his jeans, and slipped them on. He had to think. Had to figure out what to do. He’d be damned if he’d do all that he’d done to save Hutch’s life and sanity only to have some greenhorn IA mole screw them over on a hunch. He couldn’t shake the sense of anxiety he’d woken up with, the sense of something niggling behind his brain, something warning him, something taunting him.

What goes around, comes around, he decided. He had a sudden memory of Hutch bragging to the Midwestern drug dealer, “…Me and Starsky, we don’t make deals…”

That’s not really true anymore, Hutch. I’ve been making deals, only you don’t know about it. I made one with the Devil himself. He recalled negotiating with Forrest and how startled Hutch had been when nothing about his addiction had come up during the arraignment. Starsky ground his teeth. And now, I need to try to make one with God. He rubbed his face tiredly.

I need some coffee, he decided, moving toward the kitchen. He’d let the caffeine clear his brain, then watch out the window for Hutch and try to figure out what to do.

~~~

Running in Starsky’s neighborhood was a lot different than running in his own, Hutch thought. His sneakered feet moved steadily along the suburban sidewalk, his long legs eating up the distance. He was almost home now and that made him smile. He was feeling so good, so strong — a feeling he’d once thought he’d never have again. He no longer troubled himself with anxious moments about his possible “addictive personality.” Normal things like beer, wine, and coffee were just that again, part of normal life. He was himself again — thanks to Starsky.

He should be slowing now, cooling down, but as he got closer to Starsky’s house he found himself moving faster, anticipating sharing this wonderful new morning with his partner. He could see the house now. He was almost home —

He never saw whatever he ran into, but he and the obstacle went down in a tangle, sprawled in an ungainly heap on the sidewalk. As if I didn’t hurt enough before, Hutch thought irritably as elbows, hips, and knees collided with the cement.

That was when he realized the obstacle was alive. “Ow!” hissed a female voice. Small hands started pushing against him.

He was prone, draped on top of a much smaller woman, and was so startled when he realized it that his clumsy attempts to get off her only complicated their entanglement. His leg shoved rudely between hers and one of his hands accidentally fumbled against her soft round breast.

“Hey! Wait!” she protested futilely, writhing to get out from under him.

“I’m sorry!” he blurted, finally getting organized enough to rise up off her and get to his feet. He gingerly took hold of her upper arm and helped her to rise. She kept her weight off one leg and there was blood trickling from that knee. He felt terrible. “I’m really sorry! It’s my fault. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

She was wearing short blue running shorts and a color-coordinated tank top, which enhanced her athletic figure. It took Hutch a moment to remember who she was.

“You’re Sharon, right? Gee, I’m really sorry. Are you hurt?”

She was still catching her breath, and plainly startled by their rude re-acquaintance. She brushed a mound of brown curls out of her face. “I-I think I’m all right.”

“Your knee is bleeding,” Hutch said, distressed. “Do you need to sit down?” He was still holding onto her arm, helping to support her.

She was staring at her scraped palms. “I — uh, I just had the wind knocked out of me. Guess I’m a little dazed. It was just as much my fault, too. I wasn’t watching where I was going either. My roommate had just called me, and I’d turned to see what she wanted, and the next thing I knew — ” She finally looked up at him then. “Oh, I didn’t even realize it was you, Ken.”

Hutch remembered when he’d seen Sharon last. He’d gone running in Starsky’s neighborhood right after he’d gotten clean, but he’d been in no way ready to deal with normal social interactions.

There was a smudge on her face near her eye. He brushed back a lock of hair to see it better, worried she’d have a bruise there. “You didn’t hurt your eye, did you? Anything in it?”

“No, no, my eye is fine,” she insisted, watching him as he fussed over her.

Her hair was clean and soft, and her large brown eyes stared at him curiously. Realizing his hand was lingering on her face, he pulled it away, suddenly self-conscious. She was a very pretty young woman.

“Sorry,” he apologized again and smiled, feeling foolish.

“It’s okay,” she assured him, her voice kindly. “Everyone likes to be fussed over when they’ve been hurt. What about you? Are you all right?” She did a cursory glance over him, and her scrutiny caused an instant biological reaction. Hutch flushed all over, and had to clamp down on his cock’s sudden urge to rise to the occasion.

“Your shoulder and hip look like they took the worst of it,” she said. Her fingers tentatively touched the scrape marks on his tee shirt, carefully probing for deeper bruises. Her touch was light yet warm, and Hutch found himself responding. It startled him.

It’s just the adrenaline! he told himself. The rush from the sudden impact was still buzzing in his bloodstream. But as she worried over him, the light sweet scent of her perfume hit his nostrils. She even smelled good. He tried to remember details of the last time he had seen her, but the incident was lost in the fog of recovery. He hadn’t really been himself then, and was still fighting the demands of his needs.

She tentatively touched the dirt marks on his hip, still worrying over him, then must’ve realized how intimate her touch must seem. She jerked her hand away self-consciously. “You sure you’re okay?” she asked solicitously, staring up at him. Her face was open and honest, her attractiveness more in her attitude and caring than her actual features.

Hutch’s ongoing battle with his masculine urges embarrassed him. He started stammering. “I-I-I, that is…yes, I’m fine. I think you took the worst of it. I’d better help you home. I think that knee needs attention.” He realized he was still holding onto her arm, but seemed unable to let go.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she said, dismissing it. “You know how these knee scrapes just bleed and bleed. I’m okay. I’ll clean it up and stick a Band-Aid on it and it’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” he asked, genuinely remorseful over the accident.

She laughed. “Oh, yeah. But maybe tomorrow morning I can get you to jog with me, instead of against me, huh?” She placed a hand on his arm, patting him in a gesture no doubt meant to be friendly. But the pressure of her soft, feminine hand was sending different signals to his brain.

Suddenly, a second woman ran up to them, nearly breathless. “Sharon, are you okay?”

She seemed embarrassed herself now. “I’m fine, Gloria, really. Ken, this is my roommate, Gloria.”

The taller blonde woman ignored the polite introduction. “You don’t look fine to me. You’re bleeding.”

Sharon rolled her eyes, and glanced at Hutch apologetically. “Gloria, you’re a nurse. Blood shouldn’t upset you that much.”

Gloria only scowled at her friend.

“I think she’s right to be worried,” Hutch insisted. “I wanted to help her home — ”

“It’s just a scrape,” Sharon insisted. “I’ll live, believe me.”

Gloria peered at the wound more closely. “Yeah, you’re right. Looks like you got away with just a flesh wound this time. Those surface capillaries sure like to bleed, though. Why don’t I get you home and dress that?”

“Sure,” Sharon said, yielding. “Fine. See you tomorrow, Ken?”

Hutch started to say something, but Gloria interrupted. “Seems to me the least a guy could do after involving a lady in a major hit-and-run was offer her dinner to make up for it.”

“Gloria!” Sharon scolded, clearly disapproving.

Hutch blinked, and felt himself go red all over. “Well, uh, excuse me, ma’am,” he said in his best police voice, “but I never left the scene of the accident.”

“That may be so,” Gloria agreed reluctantly, “but I figured it was worth a try. I thought I might be able to parlay this modern tragedy into a double date. You and Sharon, and me and your very cute partner?” Gloria grinned at him.

Hutch was so surprised, he had to laugh. Sharon was blushing furiously, clearly annoyed with her rambunctious roommate’s antics. That was when they were all startled by a voice overhead.

“I was wondering if anyone was gonna remember me in all these plans and schemes.”

Starsky was hanging out his window, chin propped in his hand, watching the tableau with a bemused expression. Hutch suddenly felt as if he’d gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but when Starsky’s eyes met his, there was nothing in them but good humor. Hutch felt confused.

Gloria had apparently been hoping for just this moment. “You’re a policeman, aren’t you, Dave?”

“Last time I checked,” he assured her, grinning.

“Isn’t there some kind of law about appropriate compensation for grievous injury?”

“I believe you’re right!” Starsky agreed all too readily. “And since this dangerous moving object happens to be my partner, it’s my duty to see that he follows through on said compensation. You ladies free tonight?”

Sharon glared at her manipulative roommate. “I don’t think — ”

“Sure we are,” the feisty nurse insisted. “Besides, Sharon’s wounded. I don’t think she’ll be able to get away that easily.”

“I’m going to kill you when we get home,” Sharon swore.

Gloria waggled her eyebrows, clearly unrepentant. “That’s okay. It’ll be worth it!” She grinned back up at Starsky.

“‘Bout six o’clock?” Starsky asked her.

Hutch and Sharon looked at each other in dismay as their respective partners manipulated them.

“Ken, I’m sorry,” Sharon apologized. “You don’t have to — ”

“It’s okay,” he said, smiling. “It’s fine.”

Gloria was about to say something else, when a dark sedan suddenly pulled up to the curb near them. Hutch blinked as he recognized the driver. But it was Starsky who responded before he could gather his wits.

“Lieutenant Fargo! I thought you were long past patrolling neighborhoods.”

The head of IA at Metro slid over to the passenger side and smiled up at Starsky, but it was Hutch he addressed. “Morning, Hutchinson. How are you doing?”

Everyone in the precinct knew you were abducted, Hutch recalled Starsky saying. He wondered how long it would be before his fellow officers stopped being solicitous of him.

“I’m doing fine, Lieutenant. Thanks for asking.”

Fargo glanced at the two woman then back at Hutch and he realized it was up to him to make introductions. “Uh…Sharon, Gloria, this is Lieutenant Fargo. He’s from our precinct. Lieutenant, this is Sharon and Gloria. They live one house over.” Hutch suddenly wondered about something. “I didn’t know you lived around here, Lieutenant.”

“I don’t,” he explained, “but my niece is looking at a rental nearby. I told her I’d check out the neighborhood — see if it was safe. But now that I know you and Starsky live here, I think I’d better tell her to try elsewhere.” He smiled amiably.

“Oh, I don’t live here,” Hutch said casually. “This is Starsky’s place. I’m just visiting. I live over in Venice.”

“Hey, Lieutenant, is your niece that nice-looking lady I saw with a real estate broker last week?” Starsky asked with a crooked smile. “‘Bout so high? Dark hair? High cheek bones?”

Fargo smiled back. “I’ll definitely have to tell her the neighborhood is unsafe.” He glanced back at Sharon. “Are you all right? Your knee is bleeding.”

“Which is why the emergency medical team is here to take over,” Gloria announced. “Come on, Sharon, let me get you home and cleaned up or we’ll both be late for work.” She grinned saucily at Hutch. “You can let go now, officer!” Sharon rolled her eyes.

Mortified, Hutch realized he was still clinging to Sharon’s arm and released it.

“But you’ll both be ready by six?” Starsky called after them.

“You can count on that,” Gloria called back with a wave.

“Gloria — !” Sharon grumbled, but her roommate just chuckled as she led her limping friend away.

Fargo watched the entire interplay with an amused expression. “Well, it’s good to see you back, Hutchinson, and looking well and healthy. You two take care. I’ll see you around the station.”

“Not if we see you first,” Starsky called, then laughed at his own joke.

Fargo laughed back good-naturedly.

“Sure, Lieutenant,” Hutch said. “Thanks for your concern.” The sedan pulled away.

Hutch turned back to Starsky’s window, but his partner had gone inside. He suddenly faced the long staircase to Starsky’s apartment with apprehension. He wasn’t sure what had just happened but he felt he’d done something incredibly wrong.

He trudged up the stairs with leaden feet. Just ten minutes ago he’d thought he could fly.

Entering the apartment, he felt unsure of his reception.

Starsky was bustling around the kitchen, not looking at him. “Have some coffee, Hutch. You’re probably ready for it after your near-fatal collision. Why don’t you grab a shower and I’ll see if I can rustle us up some breakfast. If you’re lucky, I just might have the makings for blueberry pancakes.”

Hutch strode over to the counter Starsky was fussing over. “Look, I’m sorry!”

His partner turned, genuinely perplexed. “What for?”

He handed Hutch a cup of coffee, but Hutch wouldn’t let himself be distracted and put it back on the counter. “It really was an accident. I wasn’t trying to pick that girl up. I was looking up at your window and I just kind of fell over her.”

Starsky shrugged, picked up the cup and handed it back to Hutch, who took it without thinking. “Seems to me it worked out just fine. I like Gloria. You and Sharon look cute together. We’ll have some fun tonight.”

Hutch had nearly brought the cup to his mouth when he realized Starsky was using it to distract him. He slammed the cup on the counter, sloshing coffee everywhere. Starsky grabbed a washcloth and started mopping it up.

Hutch’s nerves felt raw, his brain buzzing with confusion. He grabbed Starsky roughly by the upper arms and gave him a shake, forcing him to face him. “What the hell just happened here? I was only gone ten minutes! What happened to the guy who wanted to have sex for breakfast when I got back?”

Starsky winced and glanced at his open windows. “Will you lower your voice? It’s a small neighborhood.”

Hutch felt like he’d fallen down the rabbit hole into a whole new universe. “I said I was sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen out there. You think I would do that to you after all we’ve been through over the last weeks? I don’t care about that girl — ”

Starsky’s expression softened suddenly as if he couldn’t keep his current facade up anymore. “Sure, you do. You like her, Hutch. And why shouldn’t you? She’s really nice. Not as flashy as some, but maybe that’ll be better for you in the long run — ”

“The long run — ? What are you talking about?” Hutch was angry now, his confused emotions tumbling into something he could manage. “What happened while I was gone?”

Starsky’s finally met Hutch’s eyes. He sounded dismal. “Huggy called.”

“So?” Hutch couldn’t imagine what significance that could have with Starsky’s bizarre change of behavior.

“Fargo’s appearance on my doorstep was no accident. If we check the records I bet we’ll find he doesn’t have a niece. Some IA cop from Rampart — Ceasar, Seronni, somethin’-like-that — was in the restaurant yesterday, while we were celebrating. Before we went back to Venice — ”

Hutch tried to compute what all this meant. He couldn’t. He shook his head, not following.

“That place was full of people, Hutch, but for you and me there wasn’t anyone else around. We were wearin’ our hearts in plain view. We’d been through too much together, we were too close. The way we were feeling about each other — it was obvious. The Rampart cop picked up on it. Told Fargo about it. So Fargo showed up — to check up on us. What would have happened if my car wasn’t here and he’d gone over to Venice, huh? Your windows were open all night, Hutch! It would have been easy for him to come up on the porch and look right in. He could’ve caught us in bed if we’d stayed at your place! That would have been it, buddy. Our jobs, our careers, everything we’ve worked for, all over in five minutes. Thank God you took us out of there last night. Your little ‘accident’ with Sharon forestalled a lot of headaches for us.”

Hutch realized Starsky was in a full-blown paranoid frenzy, that the call from Huggy had awakened in him all his long-standing fears, the heightened worry of discovery he had always used to keep them apart. He let go of Starsky as he tried to figure out how to react, what he should feel. He was too confused. Too much had happened too quickly. When he’d left this apartment he was Starsky’s lover, and happy to be so. He wasn’t sure he was ready to give all that up.

Starsky moved away from him, but not before handing Hutch back his coffee. He gulped a mouthful gratefully.

“We gotta be realistic about this, Hutch,” Starsky was saying, as he finished mopping up the spilled coffee. He was struggling to use a falsely cheerful voice, the kind of thing he did when he was under a lot of stress. “What’s happened between us only happened because of your kidnapping. It was unusual circumstances. But you don’t need me anymore, not like you did. That’s over now. You’re well again. And we gotta go back to work, back to our real lives….”

Hutch rounded on him. “Are you telling me what we’ve been doing isn’t real? What we’ve been feeling isn’t real? Is that what you’re saying?”

Starsky sagged, all the fight gone out of him. “No. I’d never say that.”

“I told you I loved you last night,” Hutch protested. “You said we were lovers….” He could see by the bleak expression in Starsky’s eyes that he was fighting a losing battle.

“You think this is easy on me?” Starsky complained. “What do you wanna do, Hutch? You wanna quit the force? Spend the rest of our lives doin’ what? We won’t be partners anymore if we quit. We’ll get separated, end up doin’ different jobs, workin’ different places. Our lives together will unravel as we deal with all the things we lost because of…because of what’s gone down between us. Wanna move to San Francisco? Become part of the gay scene there? You ready for all of that?”

No, he knew he wasn’t. Being a cop was important to him. He’d turned his back on his family, lost his wife, all over his choice of career. His head started to hurt. He rubbed his forehead. “Starsky, I — ”

“They won’t leave us alone, Hutch,” Starsky said bleakly. “They’ll turn it sour on us, tear us apart over it. It could get us killed on the street.” Starsky approached Hutch, but stayed out of arms’ reach. “But there’s more to it than that. With everything that’s happened, I’ve — I guess I wanted to forget about this. But I can’t afford to. Hutch, you’re straight.”

The words cut into him, sounding like betrayal. He shook his head. “Starsky, don’t!”

“It’s real. We can’t pretend it’s not. You’re straight, and that’s a fact. You needed somethin’ from me these last few days, and I was more than happy to give it to you. But a week from now, a month —  There are a lot of pretty girls out there, Hutch. Sooner or later you’d start missing them. Missing what sex with them is like. Missing the way they feel, the way they make you feel, the way they smell.”

Hutch felt like Starsky was pelting him with words. His unexpected attraction to Sharon shamed him.

“And sooner or later, I’d be the one keepin’ you from that. I saw how you looked at Sharon. It brought it home to me real clear.”

Hutch squeezed his eyes shut, feeling like he might crumble. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to — ”

“What the hell are you apologizing for?” Starsky said to him, nearly shouting. Remembering his own admonition about the open windows, he lowered his voice. “You’re supposed to be attracted to women! That’s normal!” He sighed, sounding weary himself. “And that’s all I’ve ever wanted for us. To be normal. To have good careers. Families — ”

Hutch didn’t want to hear all that. Not now. Not while his body still ached from Starsky’s fierce loving. Not when it was so fresh and new and beautiful. He wasn’t sure he was ready to lose it so soon. But you knew you would lose it sooner or later. Didn’t you?

He tried one last argument. “Starsky, it doesn’t have to be like this. We can be careful. We’re good at that. We can play the game their way, but when we’re together — ”

“Listen to what you’re sayin’,” Starsky said tiredly. “You want to live that kind of life — a double life — is that what you’re tellin’ me? Maybe go out with some girls? Even go to bed with them? Just to throw everyone off the scent? But save the best for each other? Come on, Hutch! Does that even sound like us? Using people for our own benefit? It’s bad enough we gotta do that on the job, but it always makes us crazy when we do. We wouldn’t last a month playin’ those kinda games with people who never did us any harm. Could you use Sharon that way?”

Hutch felt like he was drowning. He stared at Starsky. “I love you. Do you finally believe that?”

Starsky looked surprised. “I’ve always believed that, Hutch. I never doubted it. But I’ve always said, the love we have for each other…it’s not quite the same.”

“You still think that?” Hutch whispered. “After last night?”

Starsky hesitated, suddenly unsure. He moved a step closer, his eyes a fathomless, liquid blue that tore at Hutch’s heart. He stroked the side of Hutch’s face as if permitting himself one last touch. “I’m not questioning our feelings for each other. It’s the only thing that got us through these last weeks. And it’s the only thing that’ll get us through the future. If we wanna have that future together.”

Hutch realized his hands were shaking and put down the coffee cup. “So… we can’t be lovers anymore….” He couldn’t keep the bleakness out of his voice

“Sure we can,” Starsky said softly, startling him.

He felt more confused than ever.

Starsky patted his arms, ran his palms over them, the same way he always did whenever Hutch needed comforting. It was the kind of familiar, non-sexual touching Starsky had always felt comfortable with. Hutch suddenly remembered lying in Huggy’s bed, shivering, when only Starsky’s loving touch could bring him any warmth.

“We’ve always been lovers,” Starsky insisted, still petting him. “I realized that yesterday, outside Roxie’s door. I looked at you standing there, gun drawn, ready for action, and there I was, the same way. Both of us ready to fight for each other, die for each other. Both of us ready to give everything to make a difference. And we did! To Roxie, to those young girls, and to all the people who would’ve died a little more with Jake’s poison runnin’ through ’em. We did that, together! We both became cops to help people, to make a difference, and we’re doing it. We’re damn good at it, Hutch! Better than most.

“Standing beside that door yesterday, I knew that the way we work together — it’s ’cause we are lovers that we’re so good. We’ve got a commitment to each other most cops never have. Our coordination, our timing, it’s because of our love, don’t you see? You had to feel it, too. I got hard standing there, looking at you, waiting for our moment — knowing that when it came we’d both take it at the same time. That’s our love affair, Hutch, that’s it happening right there, every day, in front of everyone, no hiding. Lovers — partners. Same thing. That’s what we are. What we were meant to be.”

Hutch couldn’t argue with that. Their partnership on the street was a perfectly coordinated dance, each of them knowing what the other was thinking, each of them able to zig in counterpoint to the other’s zag, no discussion needed. He thought of the way they finished each other’s sentences, how often they didn’t have to speak at all to share a thought. Starsky was right. They’d always been lovers. Right in front of everyone.

But the very real memory of Starsky’s hands, Starsky’s mouth still tingled on his skin. He stared at his partner for a long moment, then impulsively bent to kiss him.

Starsky turned his head so that Hutch’s lips grazed his cheek. Shutting his eyes, he whispered, “I can’t.”

Bitterly, Hutch heard his own words echoed in that plea. I can’t. I can’t be a cop anymore. I can’t do this anymore. But the truth was now he could again. Because his partner — his lover — had given him his strength back.

Hutch shook his head. He’d be damned if he’d let that negative plea be the last word on the topic. “I love you. I’ll always love you. And you better never forget it.”

Starsky’s eyes glittered wetly. “You think I could?” he whispered.

Hutch stepped away from Starsky. “I’m gonna take my shower.” Starsky nodded. Hutch walked away from him without daring to look back.

~~~

Starsky stood in the kitchen battling his emotions until he heard the shower come on. They’d have some breakfast when Hutch came out, then gather up his clothes and other stuff and bring everything back to Venice. Starsky rubbed his eyes feeling like something was ending that he might never get back again.

It’s gotta be this way. He doesn’t understand. But even so, he knows I’m right.

Hutch didn’t need him anymore, at least not sexually. Starsky knew that, had known it before last night. He hadn’t wanted to think about it, but he knew there was no rosy future for two cops screwing each other in LA. This was the only world they had to live in, so they were stuck with it. They’d go out with those nice girls tonight and start getting their lives back on track. Just like they were before Forrest fucked Hutch up so bad. Now if he could just keep Hutch from falling for high-class hookers like Jeannie, maybe his blond partner would eventually find the future Mrs. Hutchinson and life really would be back to normal.

Normal. If he wasn’t careful he would start to hate that word.

He needed to start breakfast, but found he couldn’t just yet.

He wandered towards the closed bathroom door, pulled to it like a lodestone to iron. You know I love you, too, Hutch. You know that, right? Like I never loved anyone or anything in my whole life. I love you enough to let you go. That’s how much I love you.

A normal life. Was that just a fairy tale? He wondered about that as he placed the flat of his hands on the bathroom door. His palms itched with the remembered feel of Hutch’s skin, the erotic power he’d felt as he’d held Hutch down in their shared bed and filled him with his body, his seed. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the pain of separation like an unexpected amputation, raw and bleeding, all nerve endings and shock.

He stood there listening to the running water coursing over Hutch’s beautiful nude body — a body he’d never allow himself to touch in passion again. As he did, Starsky had a sudden shocking recall of one of his chaotic nightmares from last night — dreams brought on by Hutch’s dragging him home while he slept.

It came back sharp and clear, as if he were dreaming it again right now, as he leaned against the closed door.

That big, weird room. All white with no colors. Except the colors in those huge pictures. The pictures that were everywhere around us. Pictures of giant flowers. Poppies, like in the Wizard of Oz, and other big flowers I didn’t recognize. Red and white flowers…. In that big white room. And I was layin’ on my stomach on a small bed. And all I could see was the flowers. And a long, low couch, in dark blue. Where Hutch was sleeping. Nude. Like he was waiting for me to wake him. Touch him. Take him.

The memory of the dream rattled him, and he knew it would return to plague him. A reminder of this time out of time. Of the love they shared for a brief moment. But mostly the dream would serve as a bitter reminder of what he would have to live with now. His own addiction. An addiction he could never admit to.

His addiction to Hutch.

Withdrawal — The First Hour

You make me hard when I’m all soft inside
I see the truth when I’m all stupid-eyed
The arrow goes straight through my heart
Without you everything just falls apart
My blood just wants to say hello to you
My fear is warm to get inside of you
And I want you
You are the perfect drug
                        You Are The Perfect Drug — Nine Inch Nails

The End