Lefty

245

Missing scene from Survival.

 

A/N at end.

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The air was filled with that tangy, sea-salt, musk scent that only happened when he was in bed with Starsky, and Starsky was turning him inside out. All his senses went into orbit when his body reached its peak and release was just seconds away. “Oh, damn, damn,” Hutch moaned, making quick fists and releasing them several times. “Damn…that was really…spectacular.”  Hutch reached his hands up to either side of his head. “I’m kind of surprised this just didn’t blow right off.”

Starsky, perched on his knees between Hutch’s spread legs, and gloriously naked, grinned at him. “That would have defeated the purpose of what we got in this bed to do, don’t ya think? Remember, this was medicinal sex, to provide you with a headache cure from getting tossed around this morning.”

The memory of fists flying at him fast, screeching tires, and the sickening knowledge that he’d been had, came back quickly. “Yeah, I remember. I certainly enjoyed this unorthodox way of taking care of me. Some partners might’ve just given me an aspirin…and, hey, I tossed back, too, you know. I didn’t just stand there and let those goons pound me,” Hutch said, followed by a yawn. “At least at the beginning.”

“I’m sure you did, but you were outnumbered. Very outnumbered.” Starsky reached for the small towel he had brought into the bed with them and used the towel on Hutch’s belly first, before flipping it over and swiping at his own belly and thighs until they were both moderately cleaned up. “Don’t forget, the next undercover opportunity is mine.”

“You won’t hear an argument from me.” Hutch slowly sat up and scooted backwards until he was resting against the brass headboard. He slowly and cautiously started rotating his head.

“All better?” Starsky asked confidently, making Hutch want to both hug him and swat his rear. It was hard to be annoyed at Starsky’s well-earned swagger, though. Hutch’s head had stopped hurting. Starsky had been right. Again.

“Yes, better. How come you haven’t suggested that before when I’ve had a headache?”

“You mostly tell me you have a headache when we’re at work. We can’t do this at work,” Starsky said reasonably.

“You have a point there,” Hutch said, then he looked at Starsky’s naked groin and raised a hand in its direction. “However, you no longer have a point there. What happened, I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Starsky smiled knowingly and gave Hutch a wink. “I took care of things. I wanted you to focus on your cock pounding in a good way, instead of your head pounding in a bad way.”

“I didn’t see you take care of anything,” Hutch said. “And what did you take care of it with? Your hands were all over me.”

“Hand, Hutch, hand…it was mostly just my left hand on you, leaving my right hand to…be on me, so to speak.”

“I felt more than one hand, I swear I did,” Hutch insisted. “What about when your finger—”

“Oh, Hutch, when will you ever learn to stop underestimating the left-handed? We have skills you poor right-handed people could never master.”

“We’re not really going to talk about this again, are we?” Hutch asked. “You always want me to admit to something I’m never going to admit to—or give in on…even if you’re pretty damn good in bed…but so am I when you let me touch you!”

Starsky started laughing and got off the bed, reaching down to pull Hutch up, too. “You’re more than just good in bed, and you know it, but while your oh, so talented right hand does most of the work, I can rely on both of my hands to be…equally productive.” Starsky started looking around the sleeping area. “Where’re the robes? I don’t feel like getting all the way dressed right now, but I’m starvin’ and I also don’t feel like frying burgers in the nude.”

Hutch quickly found his comfortable orange robe and put it on, while handing Starsky his green spare robe. “We’re having burgers?”

“We are if you bought the hamburger meat like I asked you to when you went shopping on Sunday,” Starsky said, belting the robe and walking to the kitchen. “And the cheddar cheese and the pickles.”

“And the soft rolls and the potato chips,” Hutch said, following his partner. “I also bought a ton of stuff for tomorrow night.”

“What’s happening tomorrow night?” Starsky asked as he opened Hutch’s old-fashioned icebox. “Geez, this thing is stuffed!” Starsky pushed some items around until he found the hamburger meat. “I repeat, what’s happening tomorrow night?”

“I’m making dinner for Christine,” Hutch answered. “Chicken breasts with mushrooms and carrots, cooked in a white wine sauce and served over rice.”

Starsky wrinkled his nose. “I think the burgers we’ll be eating soon are more to my taste. Christine…is she the one you met last week at the library?”

“Bookstore.”

“Right, bookstore.” Starsky nodded while skillfully forming hamburger patties. “Isn’t it a little fast for a homecooked meal? Isn’t that more a fourth date thing?”

“Well, we were both buying books on landscaping, so naturally we chatted in the check-out line.”

“And naturally you asked her out,” Starsky said with a smile, as he transferred his patties to the pan that he had been pre-heating on the stove. The meat instantly began to sizzle. “I love that sound.”

“I know you do,” Hutch said, smiling back at his partner. “And, yes, naturally I asked her out. A pretty girl into gardening and landscaping. Had to.”

“She’s into gardening, too? You found out a lot in that check-out line.”

“It was a long line, but I took her out for coffee after—does that count as a first date?”

Starsky’s only answer was a shrug.

“I’m going to count it,” Hutch said. “So, during coffee I told her about my greenhouse, and she really wanted to see it—”

Starsky started to laugh so hard he sputtered. “Your greenhouse? I guess that’s a novel way to get a girl up here. She’s probably heard the old ‘wanna see my etchings’ line a time or two if she’s pretty. Can you get me the spatula?”

Hutch found the spatula in a drawer and handed it over. “Need a knife, too?”

“Uh-huh, a serrated one for the tomatoes. Hey, is your head still good?”

“Still good,” Hutch said, watching as Starsky flipped the burgers with his right hand. “And the putrid stink of Balford’s aftershave is finally out of my nose. That’s what made the headache worse, I think.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Starsky agreed. “It’s a toss-up for me, though, if the stink of the aftershave is worse that the assault on my eyes from that god-awful plaid suit.”

Hutch shook his head. “He looks more like a carnival barker in that thing than a lawyer—”

Starsky interrupted with a derisive snort. “He wouldn’t look like a lawyer even if he was in one of those tailored suits from…gimme the name of an expensive store?”

“Brooks Brothers,” Hutch said immediately.

“Yeah, even if it was from Brooks Brothers. Have we ever seen him wear anything else, either? Does he even change the tie?” Starsky started slicing tomatoes, holding the knife in his right hand.

“Nope, we’ve only seen him wear that monstrosity. I suppose I’ll have to look at it every day during the trial, too.” Hutch watched as Starsky flared the tomato slices onto a plate, still using his right hand. “You’re just showing off, now.”

“Sure am,” Starsky said. “You’re a lot of things, Hutch, and you’ll be a lot more in your life, but one of those things will never be ambidextrous like me.”

Hutch hated to lose at anything, even to Starsky. His competitive nature rose to the surface. “You don’t know that! I can practice—I’ve practiced a hell of a lot of things in my life to get good at them—and I can practice at this and be at your level in, say, six months.”

Starsky snorted again. “Give it up, partner, never gonna happen…and grab the buns, the burgers are ready. Oh, and the pickles.”

Hutch gathered the items and put everything on the table including plates and silverware. “I say I can do it.”

“And I say you’re dreaming,” Starsky said, bringing the burgers now enveloped in cheese to the table. “Look, it’s just something you gotta be born to. The world was built for right-handed people like you.”

“Your point being,” Hutch said, pulling out a chair before starting to add tomatoes and onions—onions, geez, when had Starsky cut the onions—to his bun.

Starsky sat down and started to dig in. “My point is, I was born a lefty in a righty world. No scissors that worked for me in school, or a desk with that table-thing on the left side. Can openers, or measuring sticks—upside down for me—more tools than I can name. All made for right-handed people, so we lefties learn to adapt at an early age. And we learn how to do things with our non-dominant hand that take way longer than six months to master.”

Hutch chewed thoughtfully. What Starsky was saying made sense, and he should give his partner more credit for functioning so well with equipment not made with him in mind. Not that he was anxious to give him the credit right now, but he’d start doling it out soon. Now he was forming a plan to practice a skill he was sure he could learn without letting Starsky know he was practicing hard and learning it. He’d surprise him with the skill as soon as he mastered it.

“Good burger, partner,” Hutch said, and went back to thinking. He could start tomorrow. There were a lot of things in the dinner he was going to make that needed to be sliced or chopped. He would do them all with his left hand. No one to see if he was awkward at first, and he could start gaining this rare and wonderful skill of being ambidextrous for himself. Plan formed, Hutch relaxed and took a big bite of his food. “Really good.”

“I agree,” Starsky said. “We earned a good meal after the workday we had.”

“Balford will be tied up with Humphries tomorrow, and trying to make some kind of plan to keep him out of prison for the next few decades,” Hutch said. “I doubt we’ll have to see either one of them, and that will make tomorrow better right off the bat.”

“And you have a special wine-soaked dinner to look forward to after work.”

“That I do, Starsk, that I do—and I’m looking forward to…cooking. The evening probably won’t be as—enjoyable—as this one has been though.” Starsky’s smile appeared instantly, and as always, was one of the things that Hutch most loved to see in this life. “Thanks again for the headache cure.”

Starsky’s sweet smile became a touch lecherous. “That was my pleasure, Hutch.”

 

The end.

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My answer to why in the world would Hutch use a knife with his left hand.