Sealed With A Kiss

62

While drunk and sharing a bed with his partner, Starsky sees Hutch’s arousal and urges him to orgasm, but refuses to kiss him. As time goes on, Starsky wants more, but realizes it must be on Hutch’s terms—which includes love and not just sex.

---

It started with a break-up.

Before Terry, Starsky had been serious about one or two of his girlfriends, but had never really considered what a permanent relationship involved. Maybe marriage and a family, but definitely not all-encompassing, soul-binding, mutual love.

After Terry, his search was on and the pressure was too much for the ladies in his life, unwilling to be rushed from third dates to forever.

Hutch caught him each time. He would listen sympathetically to his partner’s ramblings over drinks, fully aware that Starsky was still grieving, even if Starsky wasn’t.

But eventually, the grieving stopped, though the ramblings and the drinking didn’t. At the end of the evening, they’d collapse on the bed wherever they were and sleep it off. Then weeks later, Starsky would start again.

This time, they were at Starsky’s place. He was bemoaning his latest breakup when Starsky realized, during their third six pack, that he honestly didn’t care. He was done looking for true love. It was a non-existent fantasy. Hutch shrugged in gentle exasperation and together, they staggered to bed.

Ninety minutes later, Starsky woke to Hutch moaning softly. Whatever he was dreaming had him deeply aroused, and Starsky watched in fascination as Hutch panted and dry-humped air in his sleep. But when he whispered, “Starsk…” Starsky moved. He rolled on top of Hutch and rocked hard against him. Moments later, Hutch froze in orgasm. His throbbing sent Starsky over the edge, and he came, too.

Hutch sighed in contentment, still lost in dreams. Starsky rolled to his back in an alcohol haze and passed out again before he could do more.

* * * *

It was still dark when Hutch woke with the expected hangover, but uncomfortable from a half-remembered wet dream. How much had happened, he wasn’t sure; his clothes were a mess, but to his disappointment, he was fully dressed and so was Starsky, sprawled on the other side of the bed.

He got up carefully, so he wouldn’t disturb Starsky, and left quietly, heading home to scrub clean and think about his dream.

* * * *

Days later, they hinted to each other they might have shared an orgasm, but they didn’t outright ask. They could just say they were drunk when they fell into bed to explain how it happened. To ease any lingering embarrassment and ensure it would never happen again.

But they’d been drunk in bed lots of times and never done anything erotic together, and truthfully, each fantasized it happening again.

They just didn’t know how to talk about it, much less admit it.

* * * *

Weeks passed. They did their jobs, but didn’t hang together afterwards. They each had a series of dates that went nowhere, and each wondered what the other was doing for intimacy.

Not knowing became intolerable for Starsky. He showed up unannounced at Hutch’s place with a pizza and a six pack, relieved when Hutch let him in.

“Talk to me, Hutch. Tell me about your dream. Watching you excited me. I can’t think about anything else.”

He said nothing for a long time. His desire for Starsky had been a private thing, grown intense since the wet dream Starsky had witnessed. Sharing the details could take it away.

“Hutch?”

“You were sprawled on the bed, looking so damn sexy, and I kissed you,” he said slowly, reaching out to play with a curl on Starsky’s neck. “You liked it, so I kissed you again and touched you. God, you were hard… You opened your jeans, I opened mine and rubbed against you. It was…sublime…”

“Didn’t you ever give a guy a hand job back in school? When you were drunk or on a dare? It happens.” Starsky shrugged off the words and took another swig of his beer. “But why the hell would you kiss a guy? I sure wouldn’t.”

“It was just a dream. A stupid one.” Hutch pulled his hand away and reached for the pizza box. “It’s getting late. Do you want any more of this? I’ll wrap it to go, if you want to take it with you. I don’t want it.”

“Late? It’s barely after eight, Hutch. What’s your hurry?”

Hutch stood and headed for the kitchen. “I need to run a load of laundry so I have something clean to wear to work.” He waved the pizza box at Starsky. “Do you want this or not?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Don’t bother wrapping it. I’ll eat it for breakfast.”

“Okay. You can take the rest of your beer, too.” They’d only drunk two of the six Starsky’d brought, and Hutch pulled the rest from the fridge. He handed the leftovers to Starsky and walked him to the door. “Thanks for dinner, Starsk. I’ll see ya at work.”

He didn’t watch Starsky head for the Torino. He didn’t bother with the load of laundry he really did need to do. Hutch collected and tossed the debris from dinner, turned off the lights and went to bed.

* * * *

Work went smoothly enough for a while. They resumed a limited social life, with no one-on-one get-togethers and no more binge drinking. Intimacy was not discussed.

But their communication waned. During their shifts, they sat side by side in the Torino making idiotic small talk about absolutely nothing. Close enough to touch, but keeping their hands to themselves. Their relationship began to suffer, and Starsky took it hard.

His dates were unsatisfactory, and as he leaned in to kiss his latest one goodnight, he finally realized what Terry had meant. A permanent relationship needed soul-binding, mutual love to flourish. She came close, and he’d loved her for it, but she’d understood that Hutch already owned his heart and she did her best to complement their relationship, but didn’t try to interfere.

He skipped the kiss, went home and had his own erotic dream of Hutch, the first of many. He quit dating.

He showed up unannounced at Hutch’s place late one night and let himself in.

Hutch was curled up naked on his bed, tangled sheet between his legs.

Starsky watched him sleep, remembering the erotic dream he’d witnessed and shared, wanting it to happen again. But it needed to happen on Hutch’s terms, starting with a kiss—and suddenly, he was okay with that. The admission excited him.

Starsky took everything off, gently crawled into bed and kissed Hutch. Hutch responded sleepily, kissing back before waking up to find Starsky stroking him. They were both aroused.

“Starsk?” Hutch whispered in confusion.

“Kiss me, Hutch. Make love to me.” Starsky whispered back, still stroking him.

“Kiss? Love? What are you talking about? Is this some kind of joke?”

“No joke. No dare, and I’m not drunk. I’ll do anything you want, Hutch. Just don’t send me away.”

“You don’t kiss guys, Starsk.”

“Kisses are for lovers, Hutch, and you mean everything to me.” He waited anxiously, needing Hutch to believe him.

Hutch studied him closely, then took his mouth in a kiss that deepened with need. Starsky moaned and urged Hutch atop him. Hutch mounted him and moved against him, never breaking the kiss. Starsky wanted more, spreading his legs and arching against Hutch.

Lost in arousal, it was more than Hutch could handle. He broke the kiss, ground his cock against Starsky and came hard, sobbing Starsky’s name.

He wanted more. He wanted Hutch in him, and knowing Hutch wanted it, too, was enough. Starsky arched, and added his cum to Hutch’s, binding them together in the heat of their passion. He held Hutch close and whispered, “We’ll get there, my love. I want you to own me, body and soul.”

And he kissed Hutch again.