Holiday Blues

Hutchinson stubbornness comes with consequences.

This story was written for the zine, Here With You, imagined and brought to life by the terrific Laura, and dedicated to KAM, someone who, for me, passed from fandom friend to family long ago.

In Hutch’s opinion, the end of the day was having a hard time actually ending. The longer the day–and this one had been ridiculous–meant the higher the stack of paperwork to complete. Starsky was sorting through their in-boxes, making neat piles, reading, and sighing loudly, while Hutch was trying to finish a report on a typewriter that was behaving like an antique.

“We’re not special, Hutch.” Starsky’s voice was thick with fatigue, but his seemingly endless supply of energy was evident in the foot-tapping sounds coming from his side of the desk.

Hutch was too busy trying to decide if he’d typed a “d” or a “b” on their arrest report to look up. He continued to squint at the form, but grunted to let his partner know he’d heard him.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Starsky asked in his pay-attention-to-me-or-suffer-the-consequences tone.

“Didn’t I grunt?”

“How am I supposed to know if that was an acknowledgement, or your stomach rebelling against the slimy crap you ate at lunch? Or maybe it was breakfast. Both your meals looked slimy today.”

“It was an acknowledgment. I was fully acknowledging you, and you know perfectly well that I ate yogurt for breakfast, since you bought it for me, and there’s nothing slimy about yogurt.” Hutch pulled the form out of the typewriter to stare at it from a closer angle. “Is this a ‘d’ or a ‘b,’ Starsk?”

Starsky came around behind him, close enough to remind Hutch that his aftershave smelled particularly spicy at the end of a long shift. “That’s a ‘d’ and you need glasses.”

“I do not need glasses. My eyes are just tired–along with the rest of me. We just worked a twelve-hour day.”

“Maybe so, but I can read the ‘d’ just fine and you can’t,” Starsky said with a chuff at Hutch’s head. “Why don’t you let an eye doctor decide and quit bein’ so stubborn?”

“Because I’m a Hutchinson.”

Starsky snorted hard enough for Hutch to feel it on the back of his neck. “Okay, you’ve got me with that one. I should know better than to question your stubborn genes after all these years. There’s no one on the planet who knows more about how deep Hutchinson stubbornness goes than me!” Starsky delivered one final chuff to Hutch’s head before returning to his chair.

“Oh, but you’re the soul of complacency, huh? Always willing to yield to someone else’s opinion?” Hutch took advantage of his aching eyes and narrowed them to slits to glare at his partner.

“I do plenty of yielding.” Starsky picked up a file, glanced at it briefly, then added it to a pile. “And before you start arguing with me about which of us is the most stubborn, I’d like to point out that I’d go to an eye doctor if I needed to before I had to get a big dog and a cane.”

“Hutchinson’s don’t need glasses until they’re forty at the earliest,” Hutch said in the haughtiest tone he could muster in his current level of exhaustion. “In fact, my father didn’t need them until he was pushing fifty.”

“Maybe you’re the special Hutchinson that needs them earlier, like now?”

Hutch pounced on the opportunity to change the subject from what had been a too-frequent argument between them lately. “I thought you just said we weren’t special at all, and what was that supposed to mean, exactly?”

Starsky took the bait. “It means that an official department memo, a memo from the top, declared both of us were unspecial people.”

“Unspecial? In an official memo? Where’s my copy? I never got one.” Hutch made a big show of rifling through his in-box. “Not only was I not informed that we’re unspecial, I didn’t even know unspecial was a word.”

“Not to worry, smart ass. Even if you found your copy, you couldn’t read it.”

“So, why don’t you tell me what exactly was in the memo,” Hutch said quickly, hoping to keep the conversation away from his aching eyes.

Starsky grabbed a piece of paper and cleared his throat. “January 3rd, 19–”

“You can skip the date,” Hutch interrupted.

“To all Personnel, Departmental–”

“You can skip the addresses, too.”

“You take all the fun out of reading an official memo, did ya know that?” Starsky asked loudly, ruffling his official memo with a vengeance.

“I do now, but just keep reading and I’ll laugh at all the appropriate places, I promise.”

“Okay, but no more interrupting me.” Starsky cleared his throat again before he started. “The Personnel Department has completed this year’s vacation and holiday calendar. Working in conjunction with all department heads, every effort was made to accommodate submitted requests for vacation and holidays off. Seniority was calculated appropriately and special…” Starsky stopped reading and reached across the desk to tap Hutch’s hand. “Here it comes, the special part.”

“Of which we’re not?”

“Of which we’re not.”

Hutch sighed and wished for an ice pack for his headache. “Keep going.”

“Special consideration was given to those with families wherever possible in assigning time off.” Starsky shook the paper under Hutch’s nose. “How d’ya like that!”

“How do I like what?” Hutch asked. “Just where did it say, ‘Starsky and Hutch are unspecial?'”

“Do you have kids you haven’t told me about?”

“None that I know of.”

“Do I have kids I haven’t told you about?”

“I’m gonna say no.”

“And that’s why we don’t get Easter off!” Starsky’s tone was triumphant, and Hutch knew he thought his point was made. “No kids equals unspecial, and unspecial people don’t get Easter off.”

“Did we want Easter off?” Hutch was poking around in his desk drawer looking for the aspirin bottle he knew was in there somewhere.

“Of course we wanted Easter off. We love Easter!”

“We do? How come we love it? And what happened to my–”

“You’re in the wrong drawer, they’re in the other one, and we love Easter because it happens on a Sunday.”

“Well, as long as we love it for a good reason…the left drawer?”

Starsky walked around to Hutch’s side of the desk, pulled open a drawer, and without even looking grabbed Hutch’s aspirin, slapping the bottle in his hand. “It’s a good reason, Sundays are good days, and Easter comes with candy.”

“Do all little Jewish boys get candy on Easter Sunday, or just you?” Hutch squinted further, trying to line up the arrow on the cap so he could actually open the bottle and take the aspirin.

“I had connections back then. Mrs. O’Rourke down the block loved me–way more than she loved Nicky, the little snot–so she’d save me a chocolate bunny from her kids’ stash every year.”

“I bet your mom loved that,” Hutch said, fruitlessly twisting the cap around and around. “Okay, I give up, it won’t open. I’ll just learn to love headaches as much as you love Easter.”

“Hand it over. I’ll open it while you decide what we should name your dog.”

“You’re such a scream, Starsk. I hope we get April Fool’s day off so you can share your routine with our whole district.”

Starsky opened the bottle with a flourish, shook three pills into Hutch’s waiting hand, and produced their individual schedule–still attached to the memo-again. “Let me just take a look and see…April 1st…nope, we’re working.”

“Now that’s a real shame,” Hutch said while dry-swallowing his aspirin. “So, just which holidays did we get off this year?”

“I told you, we’re unspecial.”

“Yeah, I got that part, but we’ve been doing this a long time now, and we always get at least a few holidays off each year.”

“We worked Christmas.”

Hutch knew that was still a sore topic for Starsky, even though Christmas had been over a week ago and Starsky didn’t usually hold a grudge for longer than a minute. Hutch dug through the cobwebs in his brain to come up with a nice memory of the day to distract Starsky. He glanced around the now empty squadroom and Dobey’s closed door, then lowered his voice to barely more than a whisper. “We had Christmas night off, remember? Candles, wine, presents, and…exercising right by the tree…practically under it, even.” Hutch caught Starsky’s eyes and made his tone of voice as nonchalant as possible. “Well, I thought it was a really good workout.”

“You used to be a lot more subtle than that, especially when you were fishing for compliments.”

“I can’t do my best work when I have a headache.”

Hutch got the slow smile he wanted to see and a sparkle in Starsky’s heavy-lidded eyes. “Well, you did real good work Christmas night, some of your best, and now that you’ve had your compliment would you mind if we went back to this stupid holiday schedule. I’d appreciate it if you could be at least a little pissed off about this whole unspecial thing.”

“Starsk, I’m not going to feel unspecial just ’cause we have to work April Fool’s day! I really don’t think this is some evil plot on the part of the Department to make single men feel badly about themselves.”

“I think it’s bigger than that,” Starsky said darkly. “I think it’s an evil plot from society!”

“There’s not a chance in hell I’m gonna talk to you about society at work.”

“Okay, how about talking about our boss at work?”

“The same boss that’s sitting in his office about ten feet from us?”

“His door’s closed, we’re not talkin’ loudly, and this is on my mind!”

Hutch sighed again, and began to wonder just how seriously he should be taking Starsky’s reaction to the holiday calendar. “Buddy, I think you’re really, really tired, and maybe just a little bit cranky.”

“I don’t get cranky. You get cranky.”

“I don’t get cranky,” Hutch said. “I get headaches!”

“And give them!”

“Are you actually getting mad at me? What the hell, Starsk?”

Dobey’s door opened, and their wilted-looking captain came out before Starsky could answer. “What’re you two still doing here?” Dobey asked in an uncharacteristically quiet tone, while looking at his watch. “Your shift ended hours ago and you’re due back here in the morning at–”

“Eight o’clock,” Starsky said, getting to his feet and not seeming to care that he’d interrupted their boss. “Eight o’clock sharp, ready for duty, with our arrest reports from today’s busts–and one was really hairy–waiting for you on your desk so you can review them, sign them, and turn them over to the ADA’s office early for a change.”

Hutch stared at Starsky before hurrying to cover his typewriter and sign the last form. It was definitely time to get them both out of here.

Dobey started to sputter, but Starsky interrupted him again before any of the sputters turned into words. “Cap’n. I’m just telling you what you told us when we hauled our whipped butts in here at six o’clock and watched all the special people go home!”

Hutch watched as Dobey’s mouth opened and closed and his cheeks puffed out dangerously. Instinct made him leave his chair and go stand by Starsky’s side.

“Hutchinson!” Dobey’s voice had found its usual volume again. “Is your partner getting insubordinate with me?”

“No, sir!” Hutch said, and put the toe of his boot on top of Starsky’s foot. “Starsky was just trying to explain how we felt our choices were…limited…in how much time we had to get our paperwork to you. We thought it was better to do it tonight rather than in the morning. Just so we could make things easier for you, Captain.”

“Stop kissing my ass!” Dobey didn’t appear to be appeased. “Does your partner know how much slack I already cut you two on your reports? Does your partner know that reports are to be turned in at the end of every shift, by every man, and just because you both stay out in the field later than most doesn’t make you an exception to those rules! Does your partner know that, Hutchinson?”

“I’m pretty sure he does, Cap’n. You do, right, Starsk?”

Hutch felt Starsky’s foot pull out from under his boot, and then land on top of it with more pressure than was needed to make his point. “Yes, Hutch, I do. I just wanted the captain to know we take our jobs seriously and listen closely to his orders.”

“Hutchinson! Is your partner getting sarcastic with me now?”

Hutch quickly decided that no good could come from furthering this discussion. “Probably, sir, but he’s tired and I’m going to get us both out of here now.”

“Don’t tell him that!” Starsky said loudly. “You make me sound like a wimp, and I might be a little bit insubordinate and a lot unspecial, but I’m sure as shit not a wimp!”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Hutchinson?” Dobey asked, apparently deciding Hutch was responsible for every word that came out of Starsky’s mouth tonight. “You better get him out of here before I lose my temper!”

“We’re on our way,” Hutch said quickly, grabbing Starsky’s arm and using his hip to dislodge his foot. “Say goodnight, Starsky.”

“Tell him to be in a better mood in the morning, too!” Dobey demanded.

Hutch handed Starsky his jacket and looked around for his own. “Be in a better mood in the morning, Starsk.”

“Fine, I will. But if we just could’a been special enough for Fourth of July I’d be in a better mood right now.”

Dobey looked as perplexed as Hutch felt by Starsky’s last comment. “That’s it, I’m going home. He’s your problem tonight, Hutch, not mine. Fourth of July is six months away and I have no idea what all this special crap is about, but I do know that my wife has been keeping my dinner warm for me and now I’m gonna go eat it!”

A couple of uniformed men walked in the squad room just as Dobey was slamming his way out of it. Some serious swearing occurred, and Hutch suddenly felt sorry for Edith Dobey who would soon be greeting a storm cloud home from work, thanks in part to his partner.

“And so ends another fine work day, Starsk.”

~*~*~

By the time they reached Venice Place, the aspirin had knocked Hutch’s headache down to a low throb, making him feel better equipped to deal with Starsky’s mood. He hoped a hot shower and a hot meal would go a long way toward fixing whatever was wrong. He ushered them both inside the chilly apartment and turned on a light.

“Kind of cold in here. I guess I better call someone about fixing my furnace if we’re actually going to have a form of winter this year.”

“We can survive an L.A. winter without you bankrupting yourself to fix a furnace we’d only use a couple of times at best,” Starsky said. “But, yeah, it’s cold. Maybe we should go to my place.”

“I’m out of clothes at your place, remember? That’s why we’re here tonight.”

“Is there some reason you can’t grab some clothes and then we could go to my place?”

“I haven’t been here in three days, Starsk. I need to go through my mail, water my plants, and it’s already nine…but if you want to go to your apartment you can go and I’ll come over later. Or, maybe you feel like–?”

“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence,” Starsky said softly. “We don’t spend our nights apart anymore if we can help it, and you’re not getting rid of me just because I’m pissed at Dobey and it’s cold in here.”

Hutch smiled at that and helped Starsky slip his jacket and holster off, leaning close enough to place a few soft kisses on Starsky’s neck.

“I’m going to be colder without my jacket on,” Starsky said, the graceful arch of his neck giving its own statement.

“No you’re not, because you’re about to take a nice hot shower.”

“Am I taking it alone?”

“I think I can trust you to wash behind your ears all by yourself.”

“If you take it with me, I’ll wash you behind your–”

“Stop! One of us has to feed us, and it’s my turn tonight. Go.”

“Stop, go, make up your mind, and don’t make anything slimy, okay?”

“Okay,” Hutch said, watching as Starsky made his way to the bathroom. “And, Starsk?”

“What?”

“I might want to kick your bad mood out, but you-never.”

Starsky turned around and flashed Hutch a smile. “Then you better find some extra blankets when you’re done cooking my dinner.”

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that. And you better be ready to tell me why you’re pissed at Dobey when you get out.”

The only response to that was a grunt and the closing of the bathroom door. Hutch shrugged, and went to the closet to hang up Starsky’s jacket and holster and remove his own. He shivered once the jacket was off and dug around the back of the closet until he found an old cardigan to put on in its place. Boots were toed off for comfort, but socks left on for warmth. Hutch stopped at the stereo and put on some Carole King to keep him company while he cooked.

It had been a while since he’d bought any groceries for his place, but Hutch knew he had plenty of pasta in the cupboard and cheese in the refrigerator. If he was missing the rest of the ingredients for the macaroni and cheese casserole he planned on making, he’d fake it.

A pan of water went on to boil while Hutch pulled out his old recipe book–a gift from his mother a million years ago–too tired to remember how much milk he was supposed to use. He found the recipe easily enough, but once on the page the words and symbols swam around and no amount of squinting would make them hold still. “Damn,” he swore softly to the empty kitchen. Hutch tried holding the book at arm’s length, then right up to his nose-back and forth, back and forth, and nothing. He couldn’t make out much more than “Classic Macaroni and Cheese” printed in big letters at the top of the page. Hutch tossed the book on the counter and plopped himself in a chair to contemplate the meaning of this while the water finished boiling.

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting when his partner came into the kitchen wrapped in the big blue robe he kept at Hutch’s as he walked past Hutch to the stove.

“Wow, Hutch, it smells delicious in here! I can practically taste that boiled water right now!”

“I’m glad the hot shower washed all your sarcasm away.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t reach it all with the scrub brush. Maybe if you’d joined me?” Starsky waved at the steam over the pot. “Okay, I think the water’s done, so tell me what else is going with it and I’ll give you a hand.”

“I was going to turn it into macaroni and cheese.”

“Going to? What changed your mind?”

“The recipe is all messed up, so how about toast instead?

“Toast? Yeah, that sounds good after a couple of easy hours at work. Are you sure it wouldn’t be too filling for us, though? Maybe we should just have some bread crumbs and see how we do with those before we stuff ourselves on toast.”

“There’s peanut butter–”

“Hutch, cut the crap and tell me why you’re sitting there looking like Dobey’s mad at you and not me. Are you trying to horn in on my bad mood?”

“No, my mood is fine, but like I said the recipe is messed up and I don’t think I should guess about milk.”

“Okay, that made no sense. You must be even more tired than I thought.”

“It made sense!”

“Why do we care about milk in macaroni and cheese? All you need for macaroni and cheese is…” Starsky went to the cupboard and grabbed the bag of macaroni. “Macaroni.” He emptied the bag into the pot and went to the refrigerator. “And cheese. Here’s the cheese. We chop this up, wait ten minutes for the macaroni to cook, drain it, add the cheese chunks and eat. Who needs milk?”

“That’s not real macaroni and cheese,” Hutch said. “Real macaroni and cheese needs milk and butter and you bake it.”

“Show me the recipe.”

“It’s messed up.”

“Show it to me anyway.”

Hutch sighed and got the book for Starsky, wondering how to fake this one. “You know, I have a headache.”

“Hand it over, pal.” Starsky took the book from Hutch and glanced at the page that was causing him to wish they’d stopped at a drive-in for a bag of burgers on the way home.

Starsky cleared his throat. “It says one cup of milk, and it says it on the third line. It doesn’t look messed up to me.”

“Yeah, well….”

“Uh-huh. It also says it takes an hour to bake and we’re not waiting an hour for it to bake so we’ll make it my way.”

“Okay,” Hutch said quickly, and went to the drawer he kept the knives in. “I’ll chop the cheese.”

“Fine. Oh, and you know what else we’re gonna make?”

“Peas?”

“An appointment for you to see an eye doctor this Tuesday, which is our next day off.”

“We already have plans for Tuesday.”

“We’re changing them. Come on, Hutch, this is getting stupid. Why won’t you admit you need glasses?”

Hutch put the knife down and turned to face Starsky. “Needing glasses could change things, and I don’t want anything to change.”

“You don’t think that glasses would make you any less cute, right?”

“I’m not that vain.”

“You don’t think that I’d think glasses made you any less cute, right?”

“Of course not. I know you love me for my mind, Starsk.”

“Right. So, what’s the problem?”

The sigh he released felt like it started at his toes. “Glasses could mean I’m off the street, and then who would be your partner? Watch your back? It makes me crazy thinking it could be anyone but me.”

“You’re crazy enough, so stop thinking like that. Lot’s of guys wear glasses on duty and you know it. Baker wears glasses, he was just talking about the new pair he got, and he’s been working the street longer than we have.”

“He works in Juvie. He probably hasn’t pulled his gun in a decade.”

“So, that’s it! You’re afraid you can’t shoot with glasses?”

Hutch studied his hands. “Yeah, maybe.”

Starsky pulled Hutch into a bear hug, and just held him for a moment before whispering in his ear, “It’s a good thing I love your ass, too, because your mind’s not working too well tonight.”

“Headache,” Hutch whispered back, feeling a sense of relief that he’d told Starsky what was bothering him, even if that didn’t make the problem go away.

“Well, your headache must be why you’re forgetting about passing-with a very high score-last month’s compulsories on the firing range.”

Hutch had forgotten about that. “That’s right, I did.”

“You did, and you scored almost as high as me.”

“You beat me by two points, Starsky!”

“Ah, look at that, your memory’s coming back!”

“And your macaroni is boiling over on the stove.”

“When did it become my macaroni?”

“When you said, and I quote, ‘We’re making this my way.'”

“Huh. Maybe your headache is making me bossy?”

“Sure, let’s go with that…and I could get contacts, too!”

Starsky released Hutch and swatted his ass. “Someone has been telling you that for weeks. I know that because I’m the someone. Find me something to drain this in.”

Hutch found a colander, and together they got the macaroni drained and in a bowl with lumps of cheese on top of it. “This might not be our best meal ever,” Hutch said.

“Better than toast, but why don’t you dump some milk in, see if that helps the cheese get soft and melty.”

“Cold milk won’t help melt the cheese. We need butter.”

“Then get the butter,” Starsky said, starting to stir vigorously.

Hutch added dollops of butter while Starsky stirred but it didn’t help the dish look any better. “Now should I make the toast?” he asked.

“Shut up, and get me two cereal bowls. It’s too cold to eat here in the kitchen so let’s eat in bed under the extra blankets,” Starsky said, fingering the cube of butter Hutch had left on the counter.

“Okay, but why are you playing with the butter?’

“I’m thinking about taking it with us.”

“You want to add more butter to the macaroni?”

“No, I think I might want to use a little butter on the inside of you, and you could put some on me–you know, after we eat.”

Hutch smiled appreciatively. “Not that I don’t love your kinkier side, babe, but I think that might be a little too ambitious for tonight.”

“Headache, still?” Starsky asked.

“Mostly just that we need to solve your problem now that we’ve solved mine.”

“I’d rather have sex if you don’t mind,” Starsky said, already on his way to the bedroom.

“We’ll need to solve your problem before you get any sex.” Hutch switched off the kitchen light and turned the stereo off before joining Starsky.

There was a bowl of macaroni on the nightstands on each side of the bed, and Starsky had turned one lamp on, leaving the room looking warm, even if it didn’t feel that way. Starsky was in the closet tossing quilts and blankets on the bed.

“That should do it,” he said, closing the closet door. “I can’t find anymore, anyway.”

“I think you found all I own.” Hutch started smoothing the pile into order.

“Good thing you live in California with that puny blanket stash.”

Hutch watched as Starsky took his robe off and let it drop to the floor, standing before him just the way Hutch loved to see him best. He felt his cock twitch under the zipper of his jeans and he needed to swallow before he could speak. “You’re gonna get colder standing there like that. Get into bed.”

“Nah, I think I’ll just stand here for a minute. Maybe touch myself a little, like this.” Starsky twirled his index finger through the thick curls framing his cock beautifully, then cradled his balls. “Yeah, just stand here and play with myself while you explain that sexual blackmail shit you just tried to pull.”

“I did not!” Hutch tried to make himself look at anything other than Starsky’s hand and what it was doing.

“Uh, uh, uh…eyes front, buddy,” Starsky said. “You can watch and talk at the same time.”

“It’s not sexual blackmail to ask you to please tell me why you’re pissed at Dobey before we have sex. If we have sex first, we’ll fall asleep right after and then I won’t know and you’ll be in a bad mood again in the morning. And Dobey…oh, damn, stop pulling on it so hard!”

“It’s not that hard yet, Hutch. Got a ways to go to get there. Keep watching.”

“Will you at least tell me why you won’t tell me?”

Starsky stopped stroking himself, but before Hutch could catch his breath, Starsky’s hands were making patterns through his chest hair, pinching his nipples. “I’m warmin’ up, buddy, feeling kind of hot.”

“Do you want me to beg you?”

“You don’t have to beg me to get some of this,” Starsky said, his voice so low and husky that it made Hutch’s mouth go completely dry. “You can have all you want. It’s all for you, anyway. Just come over here and get it.”

“Oh, God, you’re a prick.”

“Hmmm, I love it when you say prick. Say it again.”

“Prick, prick, prick!”

“You can see my prick real good, right?” Starsky asked, going back to stroking. “Do you want me to turn on the other lamp?”

“Prick. Bastard. Prick.” Hutch wished he could remember junior high better so he could think up some other bad names.

“That’s my smooth talkin’ Hutch…maybe you could think of other names if you took your pants off?”

“Mean. You’re mean, and mean…and I can’t think of anything good to call you.” Hutch fumbled with his zipper.

“Pull it down carefully. Go slow.”

Hutch’s fingers felt huge, and the zipper didn’t want to budge. “Fuck!”

“There ya go, that’s another bad word.”

Hutch pulled some more, but the zipper still wouldn’t budge and there was Starsky with a glistening hard on attempting to torture him to death, all because Hutch wanted to help him solve his bad mood. Life was unfair and Hutch had had it. “I’m going to just sleep in my clothes. You can stand there and jack off in the cold. Goodnight.” It was hard to portray righteous indignation while wearing a cardigan with a boner trapped behind metal teeth, but Hutch did his best, throwing back the pile of blankets and getting inside.

“You’re actually gonna sleep in your Mr. Rogers outfit?”

“Mean, and mean….”

“Yeah, yeah, you said all’a that.” Starsky slid into bed next to him. “But I bet if I can get that zipper down, you won’t think I’m so mean. Roll over, baby, let me take care of you.”

Hutch wanted to ignore that special tone, the one reserved just for him, for making love to him, but his cock wouldn’t let him. Neither would his heart. He rolled over and pulled Starsky close. “You make me crazy, but I love you.”

“I know, that’s why I make you crazy. You drive me bat-shit, too. Now shut up and let me get some of these clothes off of you.”

“Zipper first, please, it’s killing me.”

Starsky slipped his right hand under the waistband of Hutch’s jeans and boxers, laying it flat on his bare, needy cock.

Hutch fought down a moan. “You’re making it worse.”

“I am not. I’m protecting you from possible zipper mutilation. Now hold still.” Starsky’s left hand eased the zipper down bit-by-bit.

Hutch wanted to moan again, this time in relief. “Oh, God, that feels incredible.”

“You’re really easy to please, you know that? I think I’m wasting my best moves on you.”

“Too bad. All your moves are mine now.”

Starsky was busy getting Hutch naked from the waist down, but he did grin at him. “Could you manage to get your sweater off by yourself? I still got socks to do.”

Hutch sat up a little to take off the cardigan and shirt, tossing them on the floor. His eye caught the mound of rapidly congealing macaroni and he let out a little shudder. “Guess we’re skipping dinner tonight.”

“You’d better plan on making me a lot of toast in the morning,” Starsky said from somewhere around the vicinity of Hutch’s hip. “I’m gonna be starving, and you know what that does to me.”

Hutch stretched and enjoyed the feel of Starsky’s teeth nibbling their way across his hip and belly, wishing for Starsky’s tongue to drill him hard in the navel like Starsky always did because Hutch loved it so much. He wanted to give himself a few minutes to enjoy it but the need to know was stronger. It took effort to say what he was about to say, though, realizing that he could be about to make his navel wait a long time. “Yeah, it makes you cranky. Like you were today.”

The nibbling stopped, and Hutch held himself still.

“You’re really not gonna drop this and let me get laid are you?”

“I want to. God knows my cock wants me to, to say nothing about my belly button. But, babe, until I know what’s wrong, why you’re mad at Dobey, and what I might be able to do to help, I don’t think I can relax enough to really get you laid…so, no, it’s not looking real good.”

Starsky’s head popped out from under the blankets with a sigh. “Okay, I guess since everything I planned is ruined anyway, thanks to Dobey, I might as well tell you. It’s not like we can go now, since only the special people with kids got Fourth of July off.”

“You wanted us to go somewhere on the Fourth?”

“I was going to take you somewhere on the Fourth, somewhere special, as an early thirty-fifth birthday present.”

Hutch felt his heart swell. “Ah, Starsk, that was really great of you to want to do that. Thank you, buddy.”

“What are you thankin’ me for? We don’t get to go.”

“In this case, for me, it really is the thought that counts. Move over so I can kiss you a whole lot.”

“Don’t you want to know where you don’t get to go first?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Hutch said, seeking out Starsky’s lips, but Starsky wasn’t done.

“It does matter, it was going to be incredible, and I planned it a long time!”

“Okay, Starsk, I’m sorry, tell me about it,” Hutch said, still feeling warm and loved and wanted, enough so he really couldn’t be concerned with their lost trip.

“I was takin’ you white water rafting on the Russian River, close to San Francisco, you know, with a day spent in Napa wine tasting, and then a day spent in the city doing all kinds of sightseeing. Then there was going to be a really romantic dinner at this restaurant that’s on Pier 39 and has views of both the bridges. It was gonna be amazing.”

The picture Starsky painted was amazing, and Hutch felt the stirrings of disappointment. “Are you sure we can’t go? Absolutely sure?”

“I checked the schedule five times while you were typing, Hutch. We’re working Fourth of July weekend. Dobey obviously ignored my request for us to have it off and gave it to someone with kids. Rogers and his idiot partner, probably.”

“Maybe we could talk to Rogers and his idiot, see if they’ll trade something with us?”

“We don’t even have Easter off; we got nothin’ to bargain with.”

“Nothing? We actually have no holidays off this year?”

“Labor Day. The rest we’re working. See why I said we were unspecial?”

“We could talk to Dobey,” Hutch offered at a loss, sincerely baffled at why they’d been snubbed so badly this year and beginning to agree with Starsky’s perspective. Maybe they were unspecial.

“We can try if you want, but I doubt it would do any good. I wrote a note with our request form, explaining how important it was to me to do something nice for your birthday after all you went through with me last year. It was a long note, too, since I didn’t want to talk to him and risk you overhearing. He ignored the request, and acted like he didn’t have a clue why I’d be pissed on the day the schedule came out.”

Hutch wanted to tell Starsky how special he was to him, how he was actually everything and anything that mattered in his life. He wanted to tell him that just the fact that he was healthy and breathing made every day special, but instead the word “schedule” seemed to stall everything in his brain, and then his stomach did a sickening flip-flop.

“Hey, what’s wrong? You look green all of a sudden,” Starsky asked, petting Hutch’s hair off his forehead.

“Starsk, um, did you fill out our schedule on the same day we were sending copies of the witness statements we took over to Robbery?”

“The statements from the witnesses at the camera store, the one where the clerk took a slug?”

Hutch’s stomach did some more flip-flops. “Yeah, that was the one.”

“Could be,” Starsky said after a few seconds. “I know we were doin’ a lot of paperwork that day and I remember Brodey from Robbery called and asked us for copies…yeah, I think it was that day. Why?”

“I gave you the statements and you filled out the inter-office folder for Brodey,” Hutch said miserably.

“So?”

“Oh, geez, Starsk, you’re gonna want to hit me.”

“Huh? Are you feeling okay? Maybe you should try and eat some of that macaroni, even if it is cold. You might need something in your stomach.”

“I need something between my ears, like brains.”

“Hutch, what the hell are you rambling about?”

“Oh, God, I swear, I just remembered all of this right now.”

“Remembered what?”

“That I was the one who turned in our holiday request form.”

“What’re you talkin’ about? I did the form. You had nothing to do with it, which is what I’d planned so I could do the big surprise that isn’t gonna happen now. I filled it out with the note, and put it in an inter-office folder for Dobey to sign.”

“And then you gave it to me to turn in because you got that call from your doctor’s office changing your appointment and you had to leave.”

“And you never turned it in?”

“No, I’m pretty sure I turned it in.”

“Okay, I’m lost.”

“Starsk, you also gave me the file for Robbery at the same time you gave me the file for Dobey.”

Hutch didn’t have to wait long for Starsky to put it all together. “One file said deliver to Brodey and one file said deliver to Dobey and you can’t tell the difference between a ‘d’ and a ‘b’ anymore!”

“I’m thinking that Brodey probably didn’t care about our holiday request….”

“Hutch!”

“I’m sorry, Starsk, I’m really sorry, but–”

“Don’t try a ‘but’ with me, buddy. If you’d gotten your eyes fixed months ago when I was beggin’ you to, this wouldn’t have happened!”

Hutchinson stubbornness gave way to Hutchinson logic. Starsky was right, he’d screwed this up, and all because he’d been afraid of something he shouldn’t have been afraid of at all. There was only one thing he could think of to start to make amends.

“Starsk, we can go to the eye doctor anytime they can get me in on Tuesday. I promise I’ll make the appointment tomorrow.”

Starsky took a few loud breaths before he finally spoke. “Okay, then somethin’ good did come out of this.”

“You know I’m sorry, right?”

“Yeah, but do you know I have to go into work tomorrow and apologize to the captain for being pissed at him, when it was really you I should have been pissed at?”

Hutch tried a smile, but could feel how crooked it was. “That sounds about right, but I’m going to explain everything to Dobey, tell him how I mixed up the paperwork, and ask him to go to bat for us so we can still go.”

Starsky said nothing.

“He’s not mad at me. I bet I can sweet talk him into it. He probably thinks it’s funny that we didn’t put in our request form. He should really be mad at himself, if you think about it. After all, he’s our superior. He’s supposed to make sure all our paperwork gets turned in.” Hutch was pretty sure he was babbling, but still Starsky said nothing. He tried again.

“You should remember, Starsk, I’m the one lying here next to you, naked.” He found Starsky’s hand and rubbed it against his crotch. “Doesn’t that feel good? Do you really want to be mad at me?”

Starsky removed his hand from Hutch’s cock and shoved the covers down to his waist. He leaned up on an elbow, staring at Hutch hard enough to make him squirm.

“Starsk?”

“I’m thinkin’.”

Long seconds passed. “Starsk? Are you done thinking? ‘Cause if you’re done, I bet I could make it up to you.”

Starsky threw the covers all the way off and got out of bed, his gorgeous ass only making Hutch feel more regretful.

“You’re gonna stay mad at me and sleep on the couch when you know I’m really sorry?”

“No. I’m going to the kitchen to get the butter. Do you know what you should do?”

“Roll over?”

“You got it in one.”

Hutch felt a silly grin threaten to split his face, and a warm flush of anticipation crept up his chest as he got on his belly, adjusted the pillows where they needed to be, and opened his legs wide. Life with Starsky wasn’t always a holiday, but it was never boring, and the love they shared won every round and beat every obstacle. That was something to celebrate even if it took all night.

They could sleep on Tuesday.

The End

Chapter End Notes:

Many thanks to Flamingo and Laura for editing, support, and friendship.