Electricity

276

After the events of The Psychic, Starsky just can’t cope with a neighborhood wide power outage.

 

Dedicated, with thanks, to Flamingo

Originally published in the 2008 SHareCon zine.

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The long day was finally over. Hutch pulled into his parking place and switched off the ignition in the LTD, but didn’t move to climb out. He was so tired, and his body ached all over from being shot in the chest by a rifle and falling through a plate glass door. Even though he’d been wearing a bullet proof vest, the blow had hurt. His legs were tired too, from that crazy run from phone to phone the kidnappers had sent him on, then from rushing to find Joanna Haymes in the scrap yard. At least they’d found her in time.

But it had been close. Hutch shuddered, thinking what would have happened to that poor girl if the vehicle she’d been left in had been crushed. And he and Starsky would have had to tell her father. God….

Finally, he eased himself out of the driver’s seat, feeling he’d aged at least ten years in one day. Starsky had asked if he wanted to go back to his place after they’d had dinner at Joe’s cafe, but Hutch had declined, too exhausted to think about talking or even watching TV with his partner. And he knew if he drank even one beer, he’d end up asleep on Starsky’s couch. All he wanted to do was stand in the shower for a good half hour and let the hot water wash his fatigue and aches away, then go to bed.

He walked to the door and opened it, gazing up the long flight of stairs to his apartment unhappily. What had he been thinking when he rented a place on the second floor of a building that didn’t have an elevator?

Hutch trudged up the stairs and entered his apartment. His gaze fell upon his plants but he knew he didn’t have the energy to water them right now. Instead, he stripped off his clothes and headed for the shower.

When the water ran as hot as he could stand it, he climbed in. He put his head under the spray and stood with his eyes closed, just letting the water spill over him, hoping it would rinse away the day’s horrors as well as his grime and fatigue.

Behind his closed eyelids, events of the day replayed themselves…

First, there had been that ridiculous chase after Fireball. Starsky had ended up covered in tomato sauce and pasta but had retained his sense of humor, enough to quip at Hutch that he thought he looked good in, what had he said… oh yeah, “basic black and pearls.”

Hutch knew Starsky had said that in response to his telling Fireball that he wouldn’t be caught dead in the dress the bald guy had been wearing, but lately it seemed to him that Starsky didn’t miss many opportunities to tease that way, kidding about cross dressing or how Hutch looked. They’d always done that, but for some reason, it seemed like Starsky was doing it more lately.

Not that it bothered Hutch. He didn’t have an identity problem, was comfortable with himself and thought labels were meaningless. If his partner wanted to tease him about wearing a dress, that was okay with him. He wondered if Starsky thought it bugged him. He’d never objected to being kidded that way by Starsky but he didn’t exactly encourage him either.

Not for the first time, Hutch wondered if Starsky were trying to tell him something when he joked that way. Was it more than teasing? Was Starsky trying to find out if the idea of gayness was something that Hutch objected to?

Nah… it was just more of Starsky’s patented weirdness, like the bizarre trivia he knew or the crazy restaurants he knew about and insisted on dragging Hutch to.

A picture of himself dolled up in a black dress with pearls around his neck popped into Hutch’s tired brain. What would Starsky think if he ever actually saw him got up that way? Probably fall over laughing, Hutch guessed.

And he probably would look silly, a little string of pearls tight around his neck and his shoulders straining a black cocktail dress.

Gay guys didn’t always cross dress, Hutch knew. It was only a few who liked doing that, at least so he’d heard. Some cross dressers weren’t even gay, apparently. If he were gay, he probably would feel silly wearing women’s clothes. He’d look stupid that way, despite what Starsky had said that morning.

Another picture appeared before his closed eyes. Starsky standing before him, admiring how Hutch looked in the black dress. His partner’s hand came up to touch the pearl necklace lightly, then moved higher, fingers lightly caressing Hutch’s lips….

What the? Hutch’s eyes popped open in shock at the scene he’d mentally pictured. Shampoo ran into his eyes and it burned, causing him to close them again and fumble to find a wash cloth to wipe at them.

He finally got the soap out of his eyes. Sighing, he replaced the damp cloth on the bar, glancing down at his body as he did so.

He was half hard. He hadn’t even realized it, but he could clearly see that something was turning him on. And it wasn’t the shampoo in his eyes. But how could the idea of being in “basic black and pearls” make him get hard?

No, not so much wearing the silly outfit — it had to be the idea of Starsky looking at him in it, of being touched by Starsky while dressed that way….

Hutch figured he must be more exhausted than he thought to have such a crazy idea make him excited. He didn’t think he’d want to dress like that for Starsky, or even that seeing him that way would turn Starsk on, but still, that image of Starsky touching his lips… that part of it had been… intriguing.

Hutch closed his eyes again, this time focusing his fantasy image more closely, seeing just Starsky’s face close to his, his reaching fingertips, imagining how they’d feel as they carefully and gently explored his lips.

Oh, wow…. Now that, that did send a certain electric spark through him. Hutch felt it all the way down his spine, through the tips of his fingers and toes. And in his dick, which was now completely hard. Wow.

What had he just been telling himself about not having sexual identity problems?

Yeah, right.

Okay, Hutchinson, put your money where your mouth is… so to speak. Does the idea bother you?

His hand slid down his soapy body, encountering his erection. He wrapped a hand around it, pumping a few times, just enjoying the sensation

He concentrated, allowing Starsky’s face to hover before him, wondering if his partner looking at him really did turn him on.

It did. And no, it didn’t bother him. If it did, he figured he wouldn’t have stayed hard.

Still, it was a bit ridiculous, standing in the shower scientifically testing himself to see if picturing his partner looking at him in a dress and pearls was a turn on. Hutch shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the bizarre concepts. He must really be more tired than usual if his thinking was this odd.

Ignoring his erection for the time being, he worked at completing his shower, turning around to let the hot water sluice over his shoulders and back. He sighed in relief as some of the aches eased as the water cascaded over him.

What a rough day… He remembered giving the news to that woman, Charlie, that her former boyfriend was dead. It had been clear that she’d loved Julio by the way her face fell and tears sprang to her eyes when they told her. Hutch hated making people feel bad. At first, she’d seemed like someone he and Starsky might have kidded about a little, later on when the case was finished. The way she’d talked about getting her “doctorette” degree. The way they’d assumed “Charlie” would be a guy until she’d rolled out from under that car she’d been working on. She’d even said she was a basketball player in drag, “whatever turns you on,” she’d added to Starsky.

Damn, sexual ambiguity stuff again. Hutch couldn’t seem to get away from it, he thought ruefully. Unbidden, another picture came to mind, of the two guys he’d passed in the laundromat, the ones who’d shrieked and looked scared at the violence. Gay guys, the ones cops made fun of, ones that dressed strangely and acted effeminate.

He and Starsky never joked that way though. People were people, no matter how they dressed or acted. Both of them felt that way and they weren’t the kind of cops who looked down on other groups like that.

But why had he noticed them? Was it just because there had been so many other sexual identity things that had crossed their paths today?

What if he and Starsky were gay? Would they dress like those guys? Would one of them wear a dress at home? Or out to one of those clubs? Hutch didn’t think so.

If he and Starsky were gay… if they were lovers… his dick responded once more to the thought, not concerned about the direction of Hutch’s thoughts at all.

If he and Starsky were lovers… his body felt that spark of electricity again… and then his mind supplied another picture from the day’s events. Not of someone else, but of just him and Starsky.

They’d been about to start that run to get the money to the kidnappers… Starsky was checking the motorcycle he’d be riding and Hutch was holding the duffle of cash.

He’d felt it necessary to ask Starsky some inane questions…. did Starsky have enough gas in the bike? Had he checked the oil? The chain? The air pressure? His partner had shrugged every time, acting as though he didn’t give a damn about those safety matters. Then he’d asked Hutch if his shoes were tied.

Hutch had looked down to check, though he’d known they were. Then, he’d reached for Starsky, needing to touch him. And he’d said, “You be careful,” as though it was Starsky who in a moment would be running into danger and not himself. But he did want Starsky to be careful, even more than he would have wanted to be reminded to, himself.

That’s how they communicated, in their own special language. Starsky had known what Hutch meant — had felt his concern in his touch. And his eyes had said volumes to Hutch in that moment.

There’d been electricity between them.

Electricity.

A spark of instant communication, of understanding. Sharing the danger, needing to succeed, being partners, united in saving a kidnapped girl. Each of them knew how the other felt. Each of them felt the electricity.

And then Hutch had started running.

He hadn’t been running from his partner, from that electricity, their relationship, had he? Hutch didn’t think so, but now that the analogy had popped into his thoughts, he figured maybe he had been, a little, for awhile now. Maybe that’s why Starsky kept kidding about black dresses and pearls. Maybe Starsky didn’t want Hutch to run anymore.

He’d known his partner was there behind him, following on the bike, keeping watch over him. That back up was the most important thing in Hutch’s life. Starsky was solid, real, fearless. He’d walk through fire for Hutch. Did Starsky know how much knowing that meant to Hutch?

Hutch knew how much he meant to Starsky. It had never been more apparent than moments later, at the end of his run, when one of the kidnappers had shot him and he’d fallen through the glass in that door.

Hutch had come out of the bar and grill, waving his badge frantically at the black and white cops who’d driven up, then, panting for breath, trying to catch sight of the guys who must have been waiting there in front of the building since they’d seen the cops show up. But Hutch hadn’t seen them, and the bullet had caught him in the center of his chest.

For a second, he’d forgotten about the vest he’d been wearing too. Just like Starsky had.

He’d been barely conscious, vaguely aware of the crowd pressing around him as he sprawled in the broken glass of the doorway, when he heard Starsky’s voice, yelling at the onlookers, telling them to get out of his way.

Starsky, like a mad man possessed, had flung the bystanders aside to get to Hutch, collapsing at his side, and grasping Hutch’s plaid shirt front.

“I thought you were dead,” he’d gasped.

And Hutch had stroked a trembling hand through his partner’s hair, reminding him of the bullet proof vest.

He’d been too dazed to feel it then, but it rippled through his whole body now.

Electricity.

Whatever it meant, whatever it was, it was real. And it wasn’t wrong. He and Starsky had electricity between them. Hutch knew it now, accepted it. He didn’t know if Starsky was really aware of it, or how he’d react if Hutch told him about it, but he figured that in time, things would get to that point.

As he stroked himself to completion, Hutch was very certain that soon, he would be talking about electricity with his partner.

He finished his shower, climbed out and toweled off. Feeling marginally better than when he’d started, he was nevertheless still tired; the orgasm he’d had while thinking of Starsky had left him feeling loose limbed and sleepy. He wrapped his towel around his waist and made his way to the bedroom. Throwing the damp towel over the foot of his bed, he climbed under the covers, falling asleep within moments.

***********

He and Starsky were sprawled together, naked, kissing and undulating against each other. Hutch kept his eyes closed most of the time, because for some reason bright lights overhead were bothering him. The surface they were lying on was hard too, and he kept bumping into things… He opened his eyes, realizing that they were in the squad room, on the desks, and the lights were the overhead lights of the room and the stuff he was bumping into were telephones and pencil cups and their piggy bank… how? What were they doing here, this way?

He looked at Starsky, as if to confirm his shock at their location — and found his partner didn’t seem bothered at all. He was intent on kissing Hutch’s shoulder as his hand wandered down his back, grasping and stroking Hutch’s bare flesh.

A sound cut into the moment. Hutch faltered, but Starsky didn’t seem to notice or care, he just kept kissing Hutch’s neck and shoulder. Hutch looked around, trying to identify the sound… what was it… it kept…

Ringing. The phone…

He opened his eyes, finding himself not on a desk at work with Starsky but alone in his own bed. The phone was his own. He rolled over, grabbing for the receiver.

“H’lo… ” he mumbled, feeling oddly embarrassed by what he’d been dreaming. He looked at his bedside clock. It was only nine-thirty. “Hello,” he repeated, after clearing his throat.

“H-Hutch,” was the muttered response. Starsky’s voice sounded slurred, anxious. “Huuutch… help… ”

“What? Starsk, what’s going on?” Hutch was wide awake now, clutching the phone and climbing out of bed as he talked.

“I need help, Hutch,” he managed. His voice wasn’t so much slurred, Hutch now realized, as shaky.

“What’s the matter, partner?” Hutch asked, already pulling on clothes. His partner sounded hurt or sick, upset at the very least. Starsky needed him, and he would get to him as soon as possible. “I-I’ll be right there, babe,” he rushed to tell him. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

Starsky drew in a tremulous breath. “Electricity.”

Hutch stopped dead, one leg in his jeans, the other poised over them. Electricity? Did he hear Starsky correctly?

“What?” he asked, his voice sounding sharper than he intended.

“The electricity… ” Starsky repeated, his voice trailing off in a sigh.

Hutch had always known they were in tune with each other. They often finished each other’s sentences, often drew the same conclusions about a case, didn’t have to discuss how they’d handle a suspect or break down a door. But he hadn’t realized their connection went this far.

“Electricity?” he asked, his voice cracking a bit as he said it. A hot flush swept over his body, more like embarrassment than arousal.

“Yeah.” Starsky paused and cleared his throat. Hutch realized suddenly that he sounded embarrassed too. “It’s out.”

“Huh?” Hutch responded, feeling stupid. What on earth his partner was talking about was going over his head. “I was asleep,” he clarified. “You woke me up.”

“My electricity’s out,” Starsky said, louder and clearer this time. “It’s pitch black in here.”

His voice was a whine of complaint and concern. Hutch felt like some weird bubble had burst around him. Oh, that kind of electricity, he thought, nearly rolling his eyes. He finished stepping into his jeans and zipped them up, but urgency wasn’t necessary. Starsky’s lights were out. He wasn’t in danger, being shot at or sick. His electricity was off.

“Starsky,” he began patiently. “Why don’t you light some candles?”

“Candles?” Starsky sounded as if Hutch had asked him to set off dynamite. “I could hardly find the phone. How can I find candles to light, much less a match? I could start a fire here, Hutch.”

“Starsky, there are candles right on your coffee table,” Hutch pointed out.

“But the matches are in the kitchen — in my junk drawer!”

Hutch sighed, remembering how only that morning he’d told Starsky that his hostility and anger were caused by immaturity. He supposed it wouldn’t go over very well to remind him of that at this point.

“You can’t even feel your way out to the kitchen for matches?” he asked instead. “Surely there’s a little light coming in the window.”

“The whole block is out!” Starsky informed him indignantly. “I can’t see my hand in front of my face! I might as well be out in the freakin’ country, it’s so dark!”

Hutch understood. A simple black out didn’t bother him, but he wasn’t Starsky. Starsky hated the dark. He loved his creature comforts, loved his modern conveniences. He hated things like the country and not having lights to assure him everything was all right and he was safe. At any other time, Hutch might have teased him, telling him to grow up and wait for the lights to come back on. But after the day they’d had, Starsky was probably just as exhausted as Hutch was and didn’t feel up to dealing with being in the dark.

Actually, after what Hutch had been thinking and dreaming about, he didn’t want Starsky to have to.

“You want me to come get you?” he asked, his voice soft with compassion.

“Would ya, Hutch?” Starsky asked, as if he didn’t know Hutch knew that was the exact reason he’d called.

“I’ll be right there,” Hutch told him fondly. He hung up, shaking his head as he finished dressing. Only his big, strong partner, fearless against bad guys with big guns, was a puddle of misery without electricity.

It only took him fifteen minutes to drive over to Starsky’s neighborhood. Just as his partner had said, the whole area was in darkness, the streetlights, stoplights… everything. There was a little light from a full moon, but that was it. Only the fact that he’d been there hundreds of times allowed him to find Starsky’s building and park. As he hurried up the walk, Starsky threw his door open.

“Hutch!” he called out, as though his partner had arrived in the nick of time.

“I see the lights aren’t back on yet,” Hutch drawled, suppressing a grin Starsky wouldn’t have been able to see that well anyway. “Are you doing all right?”

“I’ll live,” Starsky muttered, as if he wasn’t quite sure. “It’s been an hour, Hutch!”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know… I heard a loud noise and bam! Everything went out. I’m worried about the food in my fridge! I wanted to watch that Paul Muni movie that’s supposed to be on later tonight!”

“Something must have happened to the transformer,” Hutch answered. “The electric company is probably working on getting it fixed right now. Did you call them?”

Starsky shook his head, his curls swaying. To Hutch, the moonlight seemed to make them glimmer. He wanted to touch them, sink his fingers into them….

“No, I just called you,” Starsky admitted. “Guess I should have.”

“Somebody else probably has,” Hutch assured him. “If they get it fixed soon, your fridge will be all right. If you keep the door closed, things will stay cold in there for a good while. If it takes longer, we’ll go pick up some dry ice tomorrow morning.”

Starsky glanced back into his apartment, as if he could see anything in its dark recesses. He rubbed his hands together nervously. “Okay. I guess you’re right.”

Hutch did touch him then, not his hair, but his shoulder. “You want to come back to my place?”

Starsky nodded. “Yeah, that’d be great, Hutch.” Starsky put his hand on Hutch’s shoulder too, and once more, Hutch felt electricity arc between them. It was too bad he couldn’t see Starsky’s eyes well enough in the moonlight. If he could, Hutch would have been able to determine if it was just his imagination or not.

“Is there anything you want to grab to bring with you?” he asked Starsky instead. “Your jacket?”

Starsky shrugged. “No… I wouldn’t be able to find anything anyway.”

“Haven’t your eyes adjusted yet?” Hutch asked, smiling down at him.

Starsky looked back into the dark apartment again. He shook his head, shuddering a little as if spooked. “Huh-uh. You know I hate having the electricity off, Hutch.”

“I know, partner.” Hutch turned him toward the street and guided him to his car with a hand on his back.

When he started his car and the lights on the dash came on, Starsky heaved a sigh. “Light, thank goodness,” he murmured. “Can I turn on some music?” he asked Hutch. “That quiet was gettin’ to me.”

“Sure.” Hutch drove while Starsky fiddled with his radio dial, finally tuning in a Mexican station. He started humming along and sat back in the passenger seat, more relaxed now.

They arrived at Venice Place and Starsky climbed out, staring up at Hutch’s windows. “You left the lights on, Hutch.”

“Yeah, I know. I figured you’d appreciate that.” Hutch locked his LTD and came around to stand beside Starsky. He put a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Let’s go up.”

“Light,” Starsky enthused as they started up the stairs. “You don’t appreciate it ’til it’s gone.”

“I know, partner.” He felt Starsky gearing up to philosophize.

“All the things we rely on need electricity. Lights, refrigerators, air conditioning, the television… you have a gas stove, don’t you?”

“Yeah, my stove’s gas.”

“Well, that’s something. But all the other things we use… we can’t get along without electricity. What did people do in the old days without it?”

“They didn’t have it, Starsk, so they didn’t miss it.”

“I know and I’d rather be livin’ now… but at least they didn’t know what they were missin’. The world has come a long way with it but we can’t get along without it.”

“Starsky, it won’t kill you to be without it for a few hours,” Hutch said, opening his door. He pushed it open and Starsky strode inside, looking around happily at the well-lit apartment.

“Thanks, Hutch. For comin’ to get me. I didn’t wanta spend the whole night in the dark.”

“You sleep in the dark, don’t you?” Hutch asked, going to the fridge to get them some beers.

“Yeah, but I’m asleep. It was only nine o’clock when it went off. I was still up. It’d be hours ’til morning.”

“Weren’t you tired?” Hutch asked, joining his partner on the couch and handing him a beer.

“No. I was still wired from today.” Starsky opened the beer and took a long drink. “Cold. Electricity keeps it cold. That tastes good, Hutch.”

“Glad you like it, Starsk.” Hutch reached for the TV Guide. “What channel was that Paul Muni film on?”

Before Starsky could answer him, there was a loud bang, followed by a sizzling, zapping noise. In the same instant, everything went dark.

“Oh, no!” Starsky groaned.

“Damn!” Hutch said. He didn’t know whether to laugh or curse, then realized he’d already cursed so he left it at that. Starsky certainly wouldn’t think it was funny.

“Hutch… ”

“Don’t worry, I know where my candles and my matches are,” Hutch assured him. He leaned forward, running a hand over the coffee table and quickly locating the box of matches he kept handy for lighting candles. As his eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness, he struck one and held it to the wicks of the big candles decorating the table.

Soft golden light bathed the area. He looked at Starsky. “How’s that? Better?”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Starsky complained.

“Must be a brown out or something,” Hutch said, agreeing that he couldn’t believe the coincidence. “At least we got up the stairs before it happened.”

“Yeah.” Starsky got up and went to the window. “It looks like it’s the whole block.” He turned back to Hutch. “This is weird… How come Joe Collandra didn’t see this comin’ and warn us?”

“I’m sure he didn’t know. I don’t think he sees the future, Starsky. His visions are usually about something that has happened or is happening.”

“Still… this is the kind of thing a guy like him should sense coming on,” Starsky groused.

“You want to go out and sit in the green house? It’ll be cooler out there with the screens in the windows,” Hutch offered.

“Yeah. Guess so.” Starsky came back and picked up one of the candles.

Hutch gathered two more along with his beer and the partners made their way to the porch, where most of Hutch’s plants grew. On that side of the building, some moonlight also came through the windows, adding to the candle light. Hutch lit a few more that he had out there on the table and soon it was nicely illuminated out there. Not light enough to do much, but at least they could see more than at Starsky’s place.

“This is nice,” Starsky said, leaning back in one of the lawn chairs Hutch kept on the porch. “Kinda romantic.”

“We on a date, partner?” Hutch asked, feeling suddenly nervous to be alone with Starsky in the flickering candle light. “Maybe I should put on that basic black dress and pearls you mentioned this morning.” To his ears, the comment sounded lame.

Starsky chuckled softly. “S’not a formal date. I’d be under dressed.” He indicated his much washed t-shirt with a wave of his hand.

“Oh, good,” was all Hutch could think of to say.

“No need to dress up for me,” Starsky said, his voice even softer than the last time he’d spoken. He cleared his throat. “I mean, in the dark like this, I wouldn’t be able to see.”

“Come on,” Hutch said. “You can see a little bit, can’t you?”

Starsky looked at him, his eyes dark pools of mystery in the dimness. “I can see. Your hair catches the candle light.” His voice was down to a whisper. He reached out slowly, bringing his hand toward Hutch, fingers softly catching in his hair, lightly stroking it back from Hutch’s forehead.

The touch was nearly as nice as Hutch had imagined when he’d thought about Starsky’s fingers on his lips. He wished he could think of a way to ask him to touch them now.

Starsky shifted closer, his eyes locked with Hutch’s, his fingers smoothly slipping from his hair down his cheek. Hutch couldn’t breathe. Starsky caught his own lower lip with his teeth, then with extreme caution and gentleness, let his fingertips just barely glide over Hutch’s lips.

When Hutch didn’t say anything, Starsky paused, then touched him there again, more boldly this time. “Hutch?” he asked softly.

“I’m here,” Hutch said, his heart starting to pound like a doctor had just started it with paddles — given him an electric shock. His lips pursed, contacting Starsky’s fingertips on their own.

A spark passed between them. Electricity. Starsky blinked.

“Did you feel that?” he asked, his voice sounding pleased.

Hutch nodded, bringing his hand up to grasp Starsky’s wrist. “I felt it.” He kissed Starsky’s fingers.

“I was kidding about you wearing basic black and pearls,” Starsky told him. “I wouldn’t want that.”

“Or a basketball player in drag, like Charlie said?” Hutch asked.

“No.” Starsky sounded certain. “You’re a man. I’m a man. I think I like it that way.”

Hutch swallowed. “You’ve thought about… this… before?”

Starsky nodded. “I have, Hutch. You?”

So they were together in this, as with everything else. Hutch smiled. “Yeah. Just tonight, as a matter of fact.”

Starsky leaned closer. “Only tonight?” His eyes seemed to blaze in the candle light.

“More tonight,” Hutch said, closing the distance between them to cover Starsky’s lips with his own. The idea had flitted into his mind from time to time, yet tonight had been the first time he’d confronted it head on, accepting the thoughts he’d had about his partner.

A sizzling current passed between them. Starsky pulled Hutch into his arms, kissing with all the passion Hutch had always known he possessed. Any man who walked, who moved the way Starsky did would have to kiss this way, all rhythm and power, concentration and natural ease combined.

Hutch did his best to keep up with him, opening his mouth when Starsky’s tongue sought entrance, tasting his partner for the first time, reveling in the sweetness of his mouth, beer and burger and all the pure beauty that Starsky was.

Starsky groaned into his mouth, as though he was starving, as though Hutch’s taste made him desperate. Hutch sank his fingers deep in Starsky’s curls, pushing his tongue into his partner’s mouth, feeling Starsky pull it in, sucking hungrily.

The electricity was arcing between them, sparking from their joined lips, their grasping fingers, their pounding hearts. Behind Hutch’s closed eyes, it seemed like all the lights of a stadium were on, brightly illuminating them, showing them that what they were doing was right and beautiful.

The parted, breathing heavily. Starsky leaned his forehead against Hutch’s. Then he eased back a few inches, and touched his own lips, as if disbelieving they’d just been kissing Hutch’s.

“Hutch… ” he gasped, looking up to meet his partner’s eyes.

“You still worried about the lights bein’ off?” Hutch asked. Starsky’s lips looked slightly swollen to him and he smiled at the thought that he’d made them that way.

Starsky shook his head emphatically. “Who needs lights with fireworks like you set off, babe?”

“Not fireworks,” he answered. “Electricity. Gonna hook us up to a generator. We could light up the whole city.”

“Oh yeah,” Starsky grinned back at him. “I thought I felt somethin’ tingling.”

“Want to go into the bedroom?” Hutch asked, his euphoria making him bold. Still, once the words were out, he wasn’t sure what Starsky’s answer would be. Were they ready for more than kissing? He was hard, but did Starsky want him that much too?

Starsky’s grin was slow and seductive. “I thought you’d never ask.” He stood, drawing Hutch up with him. He pulled him close and Hutch could feel his partner’s erection pressing against his thigh.

They were on the same page, as together in this as in everything else. They were heading to the bedroom… In nervous excitement, Hutch wondered what they were going to do, who was going to do what… and remembered the coin they’d tossed as they left Haymes’ house earlier today, picking who would run with the money and who would ride shotgun without discussion, both of them knowing what the coin toss meant without even putting it into words.

As if reading his mind, Starsky said, “Don’t worry, partner. We’ll take turns.” The words were the hottest thing Hutch had ever had whispered into his ear, especially when Starsky followed them with a silky lick of his tongue.

Hutch wrapped his arms around him, stopping to kiss him deeply again, then started pulling him toward the bedroom.

“You know, this is the kind of thing a guy like Joe Collandra would see,” Starsky remarked teasingly as they stopped beside Hutch’s bed.

“Oh, no… he’s not ready for seeing something like this,” Hutch murmured, not really wanting to talk anymore. He reached for the hem of Starsky’s t-shirt and pulled the soft material up over his partner’s head, making his curls wild.

“You never know, Hutch,” Starsky chuckled, “He might be tellin’ Huggy about seein’ a white knight and a…a…”

Hutch kissed him, pressing him back toward the bed.

“An angel and a devil?” Starsky suggested, his eyes twinkling in the dim light from the candles on the coffee table.

Hutch pushed and Starsky fell onto the mattress. Hutch climbed on the bed, leaning over him. “Me kissing my way down a dark, furry rug?” he asked, daringly licking Starsky’s right nipple, then nuzzling his way through the hair on his chest.

“Huuutch… ” Starsky gasped in pleasure, his fingers tightening in Hutch’s hair. “How about me with a handfulla blond hair I yanked out of your head?” It wasn’t a threat, more a desperate plea as Hutch bit and kissed over his chest.

“Shut up, Starsky,” Hutch muttered against his left nipple. His hand found its way lower, popping the snap on Starsky’s jeans without even looking.

“Man, I’m glad the lights went out,” was the last thing Starsky said for a long, long time.

“Who needs electricity now?” Hutch asked, realizing his dream was coming true. They didn’t need Joe Collandra to tell them what was happening here. The two of them were on the same psychic wavelength, just as they always had been.

The End