Scent of a Man

He groaned.

Dwarves in his head dug for jewels with their pickaxes, but, finding nothing, moved on to other parts of his skull, leaving behind dark, painful holes.

He turned his face into the pillow, the remnants of someone’s perfume tickling his nose. A warning wave of nausea washed over him, and he rose clumsily, stumbling to the bathroom to fall hard on his knees before the throne.

The smell from the toilet made him wish for the stinking perfume again.

Rinsing out his mouth, he stared at his pale face in the mirror. Was she still there? In his bed? His naked body spoke volumes as to what happened there.

In the bed he’d last shared with…

He peered around the edge of the doorway and found the bed empty.

Relieved, he gently laid himself supine across its full expanse, trying to remember the night before.

Obviously he’d imbibed too much. Dancing, he remembered dancing…and Hutch, with some slight brunette – Samantha? No, that was whom Starsky had whirled onto the floor to extenuate the farce he and Hutch put on for the world, with a bit of jealousy tossed in.

He rolled over into her pillow and abruptly decided the scent was too strong – and not Hutch. He tossed the pillow to the floor, lay back again with his arm thrown across his eyes, and heard his front door open.

“Rough night, buddy?” Hutch asked softly. Starsky heard shoes thud to the floor and then the mattress tipped, rolling Starsky slightly towards his partner.

“I wanted you,” Starsky mumbled, grateful for the gentle fingers massaging his scalp.

“I know. I’m here now.”

Starsky pulled himself closer to his partner, to lay his head on his thigh, to allow Hutch’s musky scent to fill his nose and dispel Samantha’s.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“I forgive you.” He could hear the smile in Hutch’s voice.

“I’m tired of hiding.”

The back of Starsky’s head rocked forward with Hutch’s deep breath and sigh. “I know. But Starsk, think. Who can we tell?”

Starsky knew the truth. Make this love known and there went their jobs, likely their friends, possibly their families. He shivered, and reached for the blanket.

“Who can we trust, Starsk?”

“Same as always. Me and thee. But…”

“But. I know.” Hutch slid down beside him under the blanket, and they shared the pillow.

“Someday, huh, Hutch? We could move to San Francisco, maybe?”

Hutch’s eyes met his, and in them Starsky could see his honesty.

“Yeah, partner. Someday.” They kissed.

“We got some vacation coming, you know? We could go up there, have a look around.”

“Go to sleep, Starsk. It’s still real early. We’ll talk when you wake up, huh?”

~end
July 1, 2007