Drought, aka The Butterfly and The Flower, Part 2

Prologue

“Begin at the end. Start where it stopped.”

-Simon Marcus

Starsky breathed deeply, feeling Hutch’s thudding heartbeat as he continued to slowly stroke Hutch’s chest and listen to his shallow, fast breathing. Gradually, he began to notice the distant chirping of crickets outside.

He continued caressing him gently, as he waited for Hutch’s heartbeat to slow and his breathing to become more even; until he knew that Hutch was asleep.

Then he snuggled closer and held him tight, listening to the soothing sounds of Hutch’s soft breathing and the crickets serenading their lovers. After a little while, Starsky drifted off to sleep, too.

That was over two months ago, the day that Gillian died. They had only kissed a few times that night but it was bliss.

When they woke the next morning, they kissed again and held each other, but that was all. The words were unspoken but there was implicit agreement that they shouldn’t take their newfound intimacy any farther. At least not yet.

Starsky knew that Hutch wasn’t in an emotionally-healthy place and Hutch would never have considered sleeping with anyone so soon after Gillian’s death, not even Starsky.

But they were content the way things were. In the weeks following, they had kissed a few more times and touched each other even more so than before, in more intimate places.

Things were different but the same. They had begun to understand that they were happiest when they were together, but neither was ready to take the next step. Starsky was afraid it was too soon, and Hutch was afraid they would fuck everything up.

They agreed to let things progress naturally over time, without rushing. Besides, they had all the time in the world to develop their newfound intimacy, didn’t they?

 

Part One – Hutch

Hutch lay in his bed the night before Marcus’ sentencing hearing and thought about that evening over two months ago. He remembered closing his eyes and feeling Starsky lift up his t-shirt, then move his hand beneath it until Starsky’s hand rested against his bare skin. He remembered how he sighed as Starsky caressed his chest. He had placed his hand over Starsky’s and felt his own heart beating.

Smiling, he remembered Starsky tenderly kissing the back of his neck. He had felt Starsky’s erection and became aware of his own. Starsky had continued to slowly stroke his chest, caressing him gently. Soon, Hutch had felt his heartbeat slow and he drifted off to sleep, dimly aware of Starsky snuggling closer.

Suddenly, the fearsome image of one Simon Marcus unwillingly presented itself to Hutch’s mind. Fuck, fuck, FUCK! he shouted to no one in particular. Certainly his plants could care less.

He and Starsky had talked about that night, and kissed a few more times, soft, gentle kisses. They were going to take it slow, to savor their new relationship. Then, when it seemed that maybe enough time had passed, they had gotten so caught up in pursuing Simon Marcus that there just hadn’t been time to further their newly intimate relationship.

And even after they caught Marcus, testified at his trial, and rejoiced as the jury foreman pronounced him guilty on all nine counts, the only thing Hutch could see in his mind was that terrible visage. He had been in no mood for romance.

Maybe after this goddamned hearing is over tomorrow, we can finally put this case behind us. And then see where things take us, he thought to himself as he drifted off to sleep.

He was so very wrong about where things would take them.

 

Part Two – Starsky

“What’s the matter? You run out of children to molest? You gotta pick on a cop?” Starsky shouted at them as he lay blindfolded on the dirt ground of the cave, the voices of the cult members circling around him, chanting menacingly, incessantly, over and over again.

Simon Simon Simon Simon

Simone Simone Simone Simone

It was maddening.

He had known Hutch would find him. But he didn’t know if it would be too late. When they finally triumphed over the cultists wielding all manner of sharp and blunt instruments, they clung to each other as a parent clinging to a child who has been lost and now was found, safe and sound. Their reunion complete, safe in each other’s arms, they simultaneously laughed and cried.

It had been a harrowing two days, being held captive by madmen who beat him, starved him, drugged him, laughed at him, taunted him. Assaulted him.

He knew they had molested children. Never thought they’d do the same to him.

He didn’t tell Hutch about that part.

They sent Gail to give him a bath so he could be clean for their…….for their ritual. Then they drugged him so he couldn’t resist. They had one last thing to do before they killed him.

He was desperately thirsty, his lips parched like a man wandering the desert for days, seeing only endless dunes and the occasional mirage. They gave him the drug in a cup of water. Within seconds, he was crippled with agonizing abdominal pain. They laughed at him, all except for Gail, who shouted at the man, you poisoned him! Then he controlled her by starting up with the chanting again.

Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink.

 

Part Three – The Shower

When they were finally done being checked out by the paramedics and giving their statements to Dobey, Hutch drove them to Starsky’s apartment. Starsky immediately headed for the bathroom and shut the door.

He desperately wanted to take a shower. He thought that he never wanted to take a bath again, not that it was something he did normally anyway. He was grimy and sweaty and wanted to get every last remnant of cave dirt off his body. Wanted to get THEM off his body. Their hands, their goddamn filthy hands. But first, he ran the water in the sink and brushed his teeth and swished his mouth with mouthwash, over and over and over again.

Hutch sat on the couch and waited, leafed through a newspaper that was on the coffee table, and periodically looked over his shoulder at the closed bathroom door. He frowned at the sound of the running water.

He had just read an article about the drought which said that 1976 had been one of the driest years in California state history and that 1977 wasn’t looking any better.

Then the sink was turned off and he heard the sound of the shower running.

After what he thought was a reasonable amount of time, he began to wonder how long Starsky was going to take in there. A few more minutes, and Hutch began to grow concerned.

“Hey Starsk! You know we’re in the middle of a drought, right?”

No answer.

“Starsk, you OK in there?” Still nothing.

“Fuck me,” Hutch muttered under his breath and walked swiftly through Starsky’s bedroom, tripping over the goddamn wooden folding chair that stood between him and the bathroom door. Cursing, he knocked on the bathroom door and called out, but there was still no response from Starsky.

Suddenly Hutch panicked as an intrusive thought of Starsky lying lifeless at the bottom of the tub, drowned, surfaced viciously in his mind.

He went to open the bathroom door but it was locked. Even more panicked, he flung himself at the door and landed inside the bathroom, then quickly went over to the tub.

One last time, sharply, “Starsk?” Still no answer. What the fuck? Alarmed, Hutch violently swept back the shower curtain, afraid of what he would see. But he was not prepared for what was presented to him.

Starsky sat crouched on the floor in a corner of the tub, facing the wall, naked and sobbing under the relentlessly running water.

Jesus, Hutch muttered to himself. “Starsk, it’s okay, I’m here. I’m here.” He reached over to touch Starsky’s bare shoulder. “Fuck!” he shouted emphatically as his head and shirt became drenched, and quickly shut off the water.

If he hadn’t done that, he might have noticed Starsky flinch when he touched him.

Hutch suddenly realized he hadn’t showered since yesterday morning and was still in the same grimy clothes. He became aware of how the mixture of sweat, dirt from the ranch, and warm water had caused his pale pink dress shirt to cling unpleasantly against his body.

“It’s okay, I’m here, buddy.” One hand now caressing Starsky’s hair, the other remaining firm on his wet shoulder. Starsky still turned to the wall, sobbing even more now.

What the hell? What did those bastards do to you in that zoo, babe?

Hutch grabbed a bath towel and placed it around Starsky’s shoulders, put his hands under Starsky’s armpits and lifted him up gingerly. Starsky was completely naked and wet, save for the towel around his shoulders.

Together, they stumbled towards Starsky’s bed, leaving a trail of dripping water in their wake.

Hutch sat Starsky down, then sat next to him on the bed, which was now getting soaked. He put his arms around Starsky in a protective embrace and wondered what was going through his mind. Starsky leaned into Hutch, sobbing freely against his shoulder, but his arms were hugging his own body tightly.

Hutch thought about how he had never seen Starsky like this before, so vulnerable. He was always so brave and resolute. Not even that time when Starsky was injected with the fatal poison.

What did those sick fucks do to you, Starsk?

Hutch agonized, searching his mind for answers. Unable to find any that would make sense.

Unless……..

He suddenly remembered running up the hill, reaching the top, and hearing the chanting as the cult members closed in on Starsky:

Simone, Simone, Simone, Simone

Simon, Simon, Simon, Simon

Semen, Semen, Semen, Semen

Semen? It was fucking demented.

Then Hutch remembered that the cultists had been accused of molesting children, but they could never prove it.

Dear God. Starsky, what did they…..?

Wanting to cry himself and not knowing what else to do, Hutch began to sing while stroking Starsky’s hair, an arm around Starsky’s shoulder holding him tight. Starsky’s wet body uncovered from the chest down, leaning against Hutch.

Hutch sang the words slowly, softly, as if they were a lullaby:

Don’t worry about a thing

Every little thing’s gonna be alright

Don’t worry about a thing

Every little thing’s gonna be alright

 

Rise up this morning

Smiled with the rising sun

Three little birds

Pitch by my doorstep

Singing sweet songs

Of melodies pure and true

Saying, this is my message to you

Then his voice began to crack. He took a deep breath to steady himself and continued in a whisper, still stroking Starsky’s hair:

Don’t worry about a thing

Every little thing’s gonna be alright

Don’t worry about a thing

Every little thing’s gonna be alright

But he knew it wouldn’t be.

 

Part Four – Fuck You, Pig

Hutch stopped singing but Starsky appeared not to notice. He was still sobbing into Hutch’s shoulder. Suddenly, there was a loud thud against the front door. Hutch ran to the living room and peered outside though the little window but could see nothing. “I’m going out!” he yelled to Starsky, then grabbed his gun and carefully opened the door. He peered around it but saw no one.

Starsky quickly pulled on a pair of pajama pants which clung awkwardly against his wet body. Just as he took his gun out of the holster, a loud crash came from the glass patio door. Someone had thrown a heavy deck chair against it.

“Sonofabitch!” Starsky yelled.

He quickly went out the front door and down the stairs. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hutch rounding the house to his left, then saw the intruder running on his right, from the back patio to the street. Starsky gave chase, caught him, and tackled him violently.

“Who are you? What are you doing here? Are there others?” Starsky’s face was a frightening blend of fear and fury.

The intruder spit in Starsky’s face and hissed “Fuck you, pig!” Starsky viciously turned him over and held him down hard while Hutch ran to get handcuffs from the Torino. He barely registered the fact that all four tires were flat and someone had dragged a key along the driver’s side of the car.

When Hutch returned with the handcuffs, he found Starsky sitting on top of the intruder, violently twisting his arms back. Hutch quickly cuffed him before Starsky could break the man’s arms and then ran back to the Torino.

“This is Zebra Three. We just cuffed an intruder outside 2480……” and gave the rest of Starsky’s address. “I need a black-and-white here now!” Then he asked the dispatcher to put him through to Captain Dobey.

“Dobey, here.”

“Captain, it’s Hutch. I think we got another cult member. He just vandalized Starsky’s house and car.”

“Another one? Okay, I’m on my way.”

A few minutes later, the black-and-white arrived to take the intruder away. Dobey followed a short time later. When he got there, Starsky and Hutch were waiting in the living room. Dobey noticed that Starsky’s hair was wet and his pajama pants clung to him, while Hutch’s pink dress shirt and hair were also wet. He tried very hard not to wonder why in the hell they looked like that. He was just glad they were okay.

Forty-five minutes later they were in Dobey’s office discussing the attack, Starsky dressed now, but Hutch still in his wet pink shirt.

“Turns out, the guy isn’t directly affiliated with Marcus’ family. He saw the hubbub on the news about Marcus’ sentencing and Starsky’s kidnapping and decided to be a cheerleader for the family. It seems he acted on his own. He had a history of vandalism and petty left, but he’s otherwise harmless.”

“Harmless? Tell that to my car, Cap’n!” Starsky protested.

Hutch put his hand on Starsky’s shoulder to calm him.

“I’ll have it towed to the police garage. Hutchinson, where’s your car at?”

“Being fixed, Cap’n. At a place called Merl the Earl.”

“Merl the what? Oh, never mind. You two go on down to Precinct Operations and get yourselves a loaner car. And then I would suggest changing out of those clothes, Hutchinson.”

They both said “Thanks, Captain” at the same time and headed out.

Hutch drove the blue Ford LTD out of the police garage. “Where to, cowboy?”

“I suppose we oughta go to your place so you can change out of those clothes.”

“So help me, if one more person comments on what I’m wearing, Starsk!”

“Well they are kind of uncouth at this point, ya know.”

“I don’t think uncouth means what you think it means, buddy.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence. There was much unspoken between them. Hutch thought about Starsky sobbing in the shower, then leaning against him, crying on his shoulder. He wondered what would have happened if the intruder hadn’t suddenly disturbed them.

He then realized he was very thirsty.

The first thing Hutch did when they got to Venice Place was pour two glasses of water. He handed Starsky one and downed the other.

“Think I need something stronger than water today, partner,” Starsky said solemnly.

“Drink up buddy. You need to stick to water for now. Alcohol is dehydrating.”

Starsky drank his water as instructed.

The second thing Hutch did when they got to Venice Place was water his plants, making sure to ration the water carefully and not use more than was necessary.

“Hey, I really need to take a shower and get these fucking clothes off. I think I’ve got leftover pizza in the fridge, help yourself.”

“Not hungry,” said Starsky, who sat dejectedly on the couch. Impulsively, Hutch walked over, leaned down, placed his hand against Starsky’s cheek and kissed him lightly on the lips. It was a miscalculation.

Starsky flinched as if in revulsion.

“I’m sorry, Starsk, I thought, I thought maybe….fuck, never mind.” He hung his head in shame.

“It’s okay,” said Starsky, looking up at Hutch. He then reached out and took Hutch’s hand. “You should just take that shower now.”

Hutch nodded in silent agreement and headed for the bathroom, but hesitated in the doorway, looking concernedly at Starsky on the couch.

Starsky looked over his shoulder and saw the expression on Hutch’s face. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me, partner.” He gave Hutch a tepid smile.

Hutch went into the bathroom and closed the door, but left it unlocked.  He turned on the water in the shower and let it run over his face, his shoulders, his back. He closed his eyes and willed himself to imagine it was a waterfall, cascading gently into a pool of glistening water, lavish tropical plants and flowers all around them. He and Starsky were together, happy, laughing.

Then he remembered the drought and quickly lathered up, rinsed, and turned off the water.

 

Part Five – The Tiny-Winged Butterfly

Hutch dried off, walked to his bedroom wearing his orange bathrobe, and quickly got dressed. He looked over at Starsky, leaning back against the couch with his eyes closed.

Then he walked over and sat next to him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He reached over to touch Starsky’s shoulder but then quickly withdrew his hand. He didn’t want Starsky to flinch away from him again.

“About what?” asked Starsky.

“About kissing you before, what do you think! I thought it would be okay. Jesus, Starsk, what did they do to you?” He also wanted to ask why he had cried, but thought better of it.

“I don’t wanna talk about it right now.” He looked at Hutch pleadingly.

“Oh, Starsk,” Hutch said pensively, and looked into Starsky’s eyes.

Then Starsky reached out, took Hutch’s hand, and held it. “You mind if I sleep here tonight?” asked Starsky.

Hutch was dumbfounded. Starsky had recoiled when Hutch kissed him earlier, but now he wanted to sleep with him. No wait, dummy, that’s not what he means, Hutch said to himself. He probably wants to sleep on the couch because he doesn’t want to be alone.

“Sure, buddy,” said Hutch. “I’ll get you a blanket.” With that, he let go of Starsky’s hand and started to get up.

“That’s not what I meant,” said Starsky, grasping Hutch’s hand again.

“Oh?” Hutch gave him a quizzical look and started to say something.

“I want to sleep next to you,” said Starsky, looking down sheepishly at the ground. “Like we did after Gillian died.”

“Oh, well yeah…..yeah, that sounds really….,” Hutch tried to think of the word, “really nice,” he finished. He meant it, too.

—————————————–

They climbed into the bed like an old married couple and lay there next to each other in the dark. Hutch wasn’t sure what to do next. He wanted desperately to touch Starsky, but was afraid of making the wrong move again.

Hutch lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling. Then Starsky snuggled close to him and leaned his head on Hutch’s chest. Hutch brought his arms up around Starsky and held him tightly, stroking his hair, his back. This IS really nice, thought Hutch.

Last time they had lain together in Hutch’s bed, they had shared their first kiss, and Starsky had lifted up Hutch’s t-shirt and caressed his bare chest. Now here they were once more, Hutch holding Starsky, caressing him. Only this time, his hands were over Starsky’s shirt and there was no kissing.

And despite being awake for almost 48 hours, Hutch couldn’t sleep. He again thought about Starsky crying earlier. He thought that he had never seen Starsky so vulnerable before. What did those sick perverts do to you? Goddamn them!

Unexpectedly, Hutch suddenly remembered an incident from his childhood. One spring there was a butterfly habitat in his class in Duluth and little Ken and his classmates watched in fascination as the caterpillars turned into cocoons and then emerged as beautiful butterflies.

His teacher took them outside and they all watched as the butterflies took flight. All except one, which had a tiny wing, an unfortunate deformity. The poor creature could not fly away.

One child asked the teacher if the butterfly would walk away instead, and an instant feeling of sadness welled up in little Ken’s overly sensitive head. He knew the butterfly would not survive, and even though the butterfly life cycle was short in general, still he felt sad. He felt sad all that night and the next day.

Now all these years later, the memory of that poor tiny winged butterfly came quivering back to Hutch as he looked down at Starsky lying in his arms, and he had to fight back tears. Not for the butterfly, which had been dead a long while now, but for Starsky.

 

Part Six – Starsky’s Nightmare

Hutch awoke with a start and began to panic when he realized Starsky was no longer lying against him. Then he realized Starsky was having a nightmare as he lay beside him. He was mumbling and tossing in his sleep, “Shut up, just shut up, will ya. Leave me alone!”

Hutch wasn’t sure what to do. He wanted to shake Starsky from his reverie but was afraid to touch him. Oh fuck this! he said to himself and grabbed Starsky’s shoulder.

“Starsk, wake up, buddy! You’re having a nightmare.”

Starsky woke up and immediately flinched away from Hutch, then he came to his senses and grabbed Hutch’s arm.

“The chanting, Hutch, it won’t stop. They just keep chanting, over and over. They keep…..”

“It’s okay babe, I’m right here. There’s no chanting.” He turned on the light.

Starsky was sweating and shaking. “I need to sleep, Hutch. I just want to sleep, I’m so fucking tired.”

“I know, me too, partner. But I think you need to tell me what’s going on.”

 

Part Seven – Revelation

Starsky got up and walked over to the couch, while Hutch sat in the chair, facing him.

“Okay, tell me what those sick fucks did to you,” said Hutch ardently and looked into Starsky’s eyes. Hutch’s stare pleaded with him to tell him everything.

Starsky started to speak and then abruptly stopped. “I can’t, Hutch.” He looked back at Hutch, his expression equally pleading.

“Goddamn it, Starsk, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what happened.” Hutch was getting frustrated. “I already have a pretty good idea of what it was; you were crying in the shower for god sakes!” said Hutch, visibly angry now.

“What do you want me say, huh?” pleaded Starsky. “You want me to tell you how they beat me? How they drugged me with something that turned my stomach, and then they taunted me? You want me to tell you how they kept me blindfolded on the ground while they circled around me, chanting over and over? You want me to tell you all that?”

“Yeah, I want you to tell me all that. And I want you to tell me what else they did. I want you to tell me what made you cry in the shower. Come on, buddy, don’t hold back on me now. I need to know,” Hutch said firmly.

“Oh, for…….!,” said Starsky and stopped. “You really gonna make me say it? Huh?”

Hutch got up from the chair and sat on the coffee table. Hesitantly, he placed his hand on Starsky’s knee. Good, he thought, at least Starsky didn’t flinch this time.

He looked into Starsky’s eyes and waited. “Yes,” he said finally.

“Okay then. Jesus, fuck, this ain’t easy.” Starsky looked away, looked everywhere except into Hutch’s eyes. “You know how we suspected that they molested kids, but we could never prove it?”

“Yeah,” said Hutch, serious, nodding.

“Well,” said Starsky, “it never occurred to me that they would do the same thing to me,” Starsky continued, a tear now streaming down his face.

“Go on,” said Hutch gently, not letting go of Starsky’s knee.

“They uh, they uh, they gave me a bath; no I mean, they sent Gail to give me a bath, because they wanted me to be clean before they,” Starsky hesitated, “then they drugged me so I couldn’t resist.”

“Go on, I’m listening, buddy,” said Hutch, who had never looked more serious than he did now.

“So I was wearin’ that black robe they gave me, and, um, they had this ceremony, this ritual, and they uh, they opened the robe.” With this, Starsky squeezed his eyes tightly, trying to hold back the tears that kept threatening to spill at any moment.

Hutch squeezed Starsky’s knee in silent support.

“Then they uh,” Starsky’s voice started to break. “Hey maybe you could grab me a beer or something, huh? Actually, make that a brandy,” said Starsky.

Hutch nodded, brought Starsky a shot glass of brandy, and watched as he downed it. Then he put his hand back on Starsky’s knee.

“The sooner you finish telling me, the sooner we can get some sleep,” said Hutch.

“So then they, ah shit, fuck, they TOUCHED me, they touched me with their hands, they wanted to see if I would get an…..an erection, because they laughed when I started to. I couldn’t help it, it just happened, it just….”

“Yeah, that can happen, babe. Even men in comas have been known to get an erection if someone touches them. They can even ejaculate. It’s a physical reaction,” Hutch assured him. And then he added sternly, “It’s not your fault.”

Starsky continued to look everywhere except at Hutch’s eyes.

“Is there more?” asked Hutch.

“Yeah,” said Starsky, as more tears began to fall.

Hutch waited for the inevitable response.

“They made me…….they put…….” Starsky tried to continue but was unable to. Hutch got up and brought back another glassful of brandy which Starsky downed with shaking hands. Then he steadied himself to continue.

“They took turns. They put their……they put……they put their PENISES inside my mouth. They kept laughing while they did it, too. They kept laughing at me, until Gail finally had enough and caused enough of a commotion that they ended it. But not until they hit her hard enough to shut her up. Then they started chanting again, to control her, to bring her back into the fold. And then they finally left me alone.”

Starsky was sobbing freely now, no longer trying to suppress the tears, but Hutch was unsure what to do. At first, he just continued squeezing Starsky’s knee. But he knew that wasn’t enough. So he sat on the couch next to Starsky, who immediately turned his head away from Hutch.

“Fuck, Starsk, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry they did that to you,” said Hutch, understanding now why Starsky had recoiled from his kiss. Although Hutch was visibly shaken, and it was bad, it wasn’t as bad as he had feared. “But I don’t know what I should do, Starsk, I don’t want you to move away if I touch you. Tell me what to do.”

“Don’t tell Dobey, Hutch. Don’t tell anyone what I told you, not even Huggy. Okay?” asked Starsky.

“No, of course I won’t, it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay,” said Hutch, tears welling up in his eyes.

Resolutely, he took Starsky’s hand and held it tight, as they both cried together on the couch, Starsky squeezing his hand back.

—————————————–

They lay in bed together. Starsky was woozy from the combination of brandy, sobbing, and lack of sleep, and quickly fell asleep, his head lying limply against Hutch’s shoulder, Hutch’s arms enveloping him, holding him tight.

It took Hutch a much longer time to fall asleep, thinking about what Starsky had told him, sorting through what it meant. Wondering if Starsky would truly be okay.

 

Part Eight – Healing

The next morning, Hutch awoke first. After using the bathroom to relieve himself, he climbed quietly back into bed so as not to wake Starsky. He lay there on his side, thinking, watching Starsky who was lying on his back.

After a while, Starsky woke up and immediately turned to face Hutch.

“Morning,” said Hutch, trying on a smile.

Starsky said nothing, but reached his hand out and stroked Hutch’s hair. Hutch felt that same tingling sensation he had felt after Gillian died, when Starsky had first touched him. He half-expected Starsky to lean over and kiss him, but Starsky did not.

Instead, he got out of bed and walked into the bathroom.

After a few minutes, Starsky came out, walked back to the bedroom, and sat on the edge of the bed next to Hutch, who turned to face him. It was clear that Starsky didn’t want to get back into bed. Is he afraid I’ll kiss him? Is he afraid he’ll kiss me? Hutch wondered.

“Think I’ll make some coffee,” said Starsky, and ran his fingers through Hutch’s hair again. Well this is slightly maddening, thought Hutch, as puzzled as ever.

Hutch stayed in the bed, watching Starsky make the coffee, trying to think what to do next. Trying to figure out what it was that Starsky wanted from him. And not having much luck.

Finally, he swung his legs onto the floor and walked into the kitchen.

Starsky poured them both some coffee and they sat at the kitchen table.

“Starsk?” asked Hutch.

“Yeah?” asked Starsky.

Why not just ask him directly, dummy. “What is it you want from me, Starsk? What do you need me to do? You gotta help me out here, buddy.”

“What do you mean?” asked Starsky?

“Oh come on, Starsky! I feel like I’m one half of a…….,” Hutch started to yell, and then paused.

“One half of a what?” asked Starsky, starting to yell back.

“I don’t know what!” said Hutch, his voice rising with anger. “I’m afraid to touch you, but you keep touching me. I thought you were going to kiss me back there, but you didn’t. I’m afraid of doing the wrong thing.” Hutch paused. “I’m afraid of fucking things up!”

“There’s nothing you could do that would fuck things up, Hutch,” Starsky reassured him.

“Are you sure about that?” Hutch asked, challenging him. “You don’t consider recoiling from me to be me fucking things up?”

Starsky considered. Then said “I don’t know what I want you to do. I don’t know what I want ME to do.” He looked resigned.

“And what if I leaned over and kissed you right now? What would you do? Would you recoil from me again?” asked Hutch, his face turning red with both anger and shame.

“Honestly, Hutch? I don’t know. But yesterday, you caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting it. I don’t know what would happen if I knew you were gonna do it.”

Hutch seriously considered kissing Starsky right then and there. Then decided against it.

“No, I won’t kiss you now. Maybe later, but not now,” said Hutch.

“What if I kissed you?” asked Starsky.

“Is that what you need, then? To control things for a while?” asked Hutch.

Starsky thought about it. “I don’t know. Maybe?” answered Starsky honestly.

“Well then, go ahead and kiss me. Right here, right now,” Hutch insisted.

“Okay,” said Starsky, much to Hutch’s surprise, and then leaned over and kissed Hutch. Softly and quietly, like the first drop of morning rain on a new spring leaf.

Hutch resisted the urge to kiss Starsky back and reluctantly let Starsky pull away from him when Starsky suddenly looked at his watch. “Oh shit, we’re gonna be late.”

Hutch looked down at the floor and sighed. “Yeah,” he concurred.

———————————

Everything was fine at first. Starsky turned on the shower, waited until the water warmed up, and then stepped in. He started soaping up but after a few minutes, he began to feel weak and vulnerable. He leaned against the wall, standing this time, and let the water wash over him. Imagined it washing away everything that had happened to him in that cave. Willing it to wash everything away.

Hutch sat on the closed toilet seat, reading a magazine. He had been careful not to look at Starsky as he undressed. He was concerned about how much water Starsky was using, but held off saying something about it.

“You okay, Starsk?” he finally asked.

“No,” answered Starsky, to Hutch’s alarm. “But I’ll be okay,” Starsky quickly reassured him.

Hutch wasn’t sure he believed him; but he was, at least, temporarily relieved.

When Starsky finally emerged from the shower, he fastened the orange bath towel around him and walked towards the bedroom, while Hutch continued to sit on the toilet seat and read.

Then Hutch realized that Starsky had left the water running for him. He quickly got up, knocking the magazine to the floor, undressed, and got in the tub. He showered quickly and turned off the water, cognizant as always of the drought.

 

Part Nine – Interlude

They retrieved Hutch’s car from Merl’s, finding it covered under a black tarp, because Merl considered it garbage. Hutch regarded his car, growing incensed. It had been lined with fur in the pattern of leopards and zebras, like animals in a zoo. He had chased Starsky and Merl until he had them cornered on top of the car roof, like a lion catching its prey. Starsky seemed better, happy even. Anyone observing him would assume he was fully healed. But that was an illusion. For to be fully healed would take time.

Days passed. Then weeks. They returned to work and the daily grind, and that helped Starsky start to return to normal.

Most nights, they slept at each other’s apartments, holding each other in bed, kissing occasionally, but never progressing beyond that. Starsky wasn’t ready emotionally, and Hutch was again afraid of fucking things up, despite Starsky’s protests to the contrary.

 

Part Ten – A Tropical Waterfall

Hutch took a shower first. They were at Starsky’s apartment and had a rare day off. Hutch was trying to shower quickly, to conserve water, but just as he was about to turn off the faucet, the shower curtain was pulled back and Starsky stepped in.

Hutch turned to face him. They looked at each other but Starsky made no move to kiss Hutch. So Hutch resolved it was time he kissed Starsky. He would take his lumps if he was admonished.

He put his hand on Starsky’s cheek to warn Starsky of what was to come next, then slowly moved into him. When his mouth made contact with Starsky’s mouth, he half-expected Starsky to push him away, but he did not. Instead, Starsky placed his hand on Hutch’s cheek and kissed him back.

The warm water ran swiftly down their hair, their faces, their naked bodies. Neither wanted to end the kiss. But then Hutch remembered the drought.

“Fuck!” he said, “the water…..”

“It’s okay,” said Starsky, and turned the faucet so that only a small trickle came out.

Then he handed Hutch the soap. Hutch looked at him, perplexed, and began lathering up, even though he had already done that before Starsky came in.

“Not you, dummy,” Starsky said.

Hutch understood. He proceeded to run the soap over Starsky’s shoulders, his arms, his back. Then his chest and stomach. He hesitated before going further. The cultists had touched Starsky’s cock, had made him hard. He didn’t think he could do it. But then he saw that Starsky’s cock was already hard, and he felt his own cock begin to harden too.

Then Starsky took Hutch’s soapy hand in his own and guided it towards his cock. Hutch began to lather Starsky’s cock, his testicles, his groin, his upper thighs, his buttocks. Starsky stood still, watching him with his eyes wide open, breathing heavily through his nose.

Watching Hutch touch him. His Hutch. His best friend. His buddy, his pal, his partner. Now becoming his lover. Finally, after more than three months.

Then Hutch ran the soapy lather down Starsky’s legs and feet and in between his toes. That felt weird, Hutch thought, touching another man’s toes. Somehow it felt weirder than touching Starsky’s cock, which surprisingly felt rather right to Hutch.

When he stood back up to face Starsky, they kissed again, this time slipping their tongues into each other’s mouths and kissing deeply.

And during all this, Starsky had remained okay, watching Hutch the entire time, never closing his eyes.

Then Hutch rinsed the soap off his hands and placed both of them around Starsky’s cock, one hand at the base, the other gliding gently up and down the shaft, Starsky beginning to moan. Then Hutch leaned into Starsky as close as he could, pressed his head against Starsky’s head, the water continuing to trickle over their faces. He gripped Starsky’s shaft harder and moved his other hand up and down rhythmically. Starsky was moaning louder now, not concerned about the volume, for there was no one to hear them except Starsky’s plants scattered about the treehouse.

After a few minutes, Starsky closed his eyes. And it was still okay. In his mind, he pictured Hutch. His lover. His beautiful blond. Stroking his cock, bringing him towards orgasm. Hutch’s head leaning against his own, their wet bodies pressed tightly together.

Then Starsky suddenly remembered when he first saw Hutch at the top of the hill, where they were holding him in the enclosure, and thought about how lovely, pale and flaxen Hutch’s hair had looked that morning in the rising sun. He couldn’t remember it ever looking so light and golden before.

He opened his eyes. There was his blond beauty, still pressed against him, still stroking his cock, making him moan with pleasure. With his hair wet, it didn’t look so blond anymore. But that was okay. Hutch would always be his golden boy, his big blond blintz.

After Starsky came, he kneeled down in the tub and took Hutch’s cock in his mouth. For a few seconds, he looked up at Hutch’s serene face, his dark wet locks, his smooth chest. Then he looked down at his own hands, caressing Hutch’s strong legs and firm buttocks, and closed his eyes while he gently moved his head back and forth on Hutch’s hard cock, making his lover moan with pleasure, making him shudder. After a few minutes, Starsky opened his eyes, and watched the expression on Hutch’s face as he came.

Then he swallowed. His Hutch. His friend. Now his lover. Always his white knight.

He stood up, took Hutch’s face in his hands, kissed him deeply, and said “We made it, partner.”

 

Epilogue

When they came out of the bathroom, they got dressed and then walked towards the couch. Starsky glanced at the glass patio door, and pointed. “Look,” he said to Hutch.

Outside, it had begun to rain.

-The End-