Soporific

A day at the beach leaves Hutch with a nasty sunburn and Starsky figures out a temporary way to ease the pain.

“What can I get you folks?” The clerk dried his hands on a towel and waited for them to place their order.

“Large frozen lemonade?” Starsky offered the lady at his side, and she nodded. “Make it two,” he said to the clerk.

“You got it,” the clerk grabbed two large cups and lids and started filling one of them.

“What’s going on over there?” Starsky slung an arm around Janey’s shoulder and pointed to a small crowd milling around on the beach below the lifeguard’s station.

“They’re working on a guy. Happens every week or two. Some dude gets drunk and passes out. His buddies ignore him while they play, and when they wake him up to take him home, he has one helluva sunburn and pukes his guts out on his way to the car.” The clerk placed a frozen lemonade on the counter and started filling other one.

“I fail to see the attraction of watching some guy puke,” Janey said in mild disgust, but she didn’t turn away. She picked up the lemonade and took a delicate sip while Starsky dug out his wallet to pay for them.

“Actually, maybe it’s a guy who stopped here earlier. Wanted to buy a lemonade but left his wallet under his beach towel. He had a coughing fit and looked pretty out of it, so I offered him one on the house, but he refused. Said he’d had enough sun and needed to find his buddy and go home, then he kinda wandered away. He’s gonna be hurting bad tomorrow. With his blond hair and fair skin, the guy had the start of a vicious sunburn. First degree burns, ya know?”

“Blond and coughing? How long ago was that?” Starsky ignored Janey and focused on the group at the beach.

“Maybe an hour, hour and a half.”

“Shit!” Starsky tossed a ten on the counter. “Keep the change.” He took off for the gathered crowd, ignoring Janey’s plaintive outburst.

He got there as the lifeguard lifted the protective cover sheet he’d spread over the guy, so the medic could check out him out.

It was Hutch.

His sunburn was horrifying. They’d come to the beach because Hutch wanted to sit in the sun and soak up some vitamin D in the hope of easing the lingering cough he’d been struggling with after a bout of pneumonia. Starsky was willing to take him, but he had no intention of sunbathing alongside his dozing partner. Not when there were foxy ladies around to ogle.

Janey was one of these. Jet black hair pulled into a sexy pony tail, hazel eyes and a sweat-drenched body in a barely-there bikini, she flirted shamelessly with Starsky and he took off to play volleyball with her and her friends.

He’d only intended to be gone a little while. They hadn’t planned to be at the beach all day. But he hadn’t been out in weeks, catching up on paperwork, testifying in various court cases and dealing with an obtuse rookie detective while Hutch was sick. Hanging out with Janey and her friends, Starsky’d lost all track of time.

The medic couldn’t rouse Hutch. “Anybody know this guy?” he asked the thinning crowd.

Starsky crouched next to his partner. “Yeah. His name is Ken Hutchinson. We came here together. Our stuff is somewhere over there.” He pointed down the beach. “His ID is under his beach towel. Does he need an ambulance?”

“He needs to get out of the sun, but I can’t wake him. That’s one nasty sunburn.” The medic re-covered Hutch’s body.

“Let me try. Hutch? Hutch, can you hear me?” Starsky carefully touched Hutch’s face.

Hutch moaned.

“C’mon, babe. Wake up. It’s time to go.”

Hutch’s eyelids fluttered. “Starsk? Where ya been? I couldn’t find you…” He coughed. “I wanna go home.”

“Okay.” Starsky looked at the medic. “Will you stay with him while I go grab our stuff? I’ll be right back.”

The medic nodded and Starsky took off running. He was back less than ten minutes later with a sandy blanket, two beach towels, Hutch’s water bottle, sandals and his wallet. “Here’s his ID, to prove he’s who I said he is.”

The lifeguard verified it while Starsky shook out the blanket and rolled everything into it but Hutch’s sandals.

Hutch was awake and the medic had him leaning against the lifeguard’s station, sipping on some water. He looked completely disoriented and his sunburn was ghastly, the whole front of his body bright red, where he’d passed out face up in the sun.

“Should he go to the ER?” Starsky asked the medic.

“I wanna go home, Starsk.” Hutch interrupted, and he coughed softly. “Just take me home.”

Starsky looked at the medic, who shrugged. “Keep an eye on him. Cool showers, baths or cold compresses. Maybe over-the-counter cooling lotions if he can handle the touches to his skin. Definitely keep him hydrated. Plenty of fluids—water or juices are best. Skip the coffee.”

They both looked at Hutch when he coughed again. “Burn like that, he’ll definitely peel, but if he blisters, don’t break them. You can’t risk infection. If he stays disoriented, call his doctor or take him to the ER.”

“Thanks. Can I ask one more favor? Stay with him while I bring the car around? I don’t want him to have to walk too far. I can pull up by the drinks stand over there.”

Hutch coughed again. The medic sighed and nodded. Starsky grabbed the rolled blanket and hurried to get the Torino.

* * * *

The ER was out of the question. Hutch was adamant. He couldn’t handle a shower, could barely manage lying down, so Starsky stripped him and carefully sponged him down with cool water, gently urging frequent drinks of ice water and juices to keep Hutch hydrated.

He mumbled if Starsky asked him a question, but mostly he fussed naked on a sheet, because the sunburn made him too uncomfortable to really rest.

A day later, as Starsky sponged him down, Hutch surprised him by showing signs of arousal, and Starsky remembered Hutch saying that sexual release caused a soporific effect when Starsky mentioned wanting to take a nap after a particularly active encounter with one of his lady friends. Where does Hutch read this stuff? Starsky wondered.

But Hutch moaned in pain again, and Starsky set the sponge and bowl of water aside. “Hutch?” he whispered, but when the only response he got was another moan, Starsky bravely reached out and touched Hutch’s cock, stroking it and encouraging his arousal.

It didn’t take long. Hutch arched and came in Starsky’s hand, then sighed and relaxed for the first time in hours, actually sleeping as Starsky cleaned up.

But it was a huge help. If Hutch fussed in pain, Starsky stroked him to orgasm and Hutch rested.

* * * *

“Hutch? Got you a strawberry shake from McDonalds. Think you can sit up and drink some of it? You must be tired of orange juice.” Starsky waved it at Hutch. “Then I can help you take a shower. Might feel better than the sponge baths you’ve been getting.”

Hutch responded tiredly, but more lucid than he’d been in days. “Just set it on the nightstand, Starsk, and go home. You must be sick to death of nursing me. I can manage a shower.”

“I am home, babe. You’ve been in my bed since we left the beach.’

“Why?” Hutch looked around, realized where he was, suddenly noticed he was naked on the bed. He grabbed a pillow to cover himself because he was lying on the sheets.

“You refused to go to the ER before you passed out. I had to get you to bed and I lived closer.” He handed Hutch one of the hand towels he used when he gave Hutch a sponge bath. “Use this if your nudity bothers you, but I’m used to it. You’ve been naked since you got here because even the sheet was too painful on your skin. That sunburn was hellacious.”

Hutch replaced the pillow with the hand towel for modesty, and reached for the shake. “The last few days are kind of a blur. I vaguely remember the beach, wanting to go home and wondering where you were. I remember pain and lots of cool water and then…and then…I didn’t hurt.” He held out an arm and showed it to Starsky. “I don’t know why. My skin is still raw.”

Starsky blanched. “Uh…yeah…”

Hutch looked at him oddly. “What did you do?”

“I found a way to stop the hurt for a little while.”

Hutch waited expectantly, saying nothing more.

Starsky sighed in faint embarrassment. “I-I stroked your cock and got you to rest with—what did you call them?—soporific orgasms.”

“I thought those were dreams,” Hutch whispered. He set the shake back on the nightstand and removed the hand towel. “Do it again, Starsk. I know you want to.”

“How do you know I—” Starsky’s embarrassment faded.

“Because you didn’t stop doing it.” Hutch took Starsky’s hand and guided it to his cock. “I hurt, Starsk,” he whispered and closed his eyes. “Make it stop.”

Starsky wrapped his hand around Hutch’s cock and stroked it knowingly. It grew in his hand as Hutch became aroused, but this time, Hutch was aware and panting, eager to come and Starsky slowed his touches to delay Hutch’s orgasm.

“Please, Starsk, please,” Hutch whispered, begging for release.

“Come for me, babe,” and Starsky sucked the head of Hutch’s cock.

Hutch choked on a scream as he poured his cum into Starsky’s mouth.

Starsky took his time swallowing the salty, slightly bitter liquid, savoring the taste of his partner, pleased when Hutch stroked his cheek in wonder and collapsed.

“Liked that, did ya? So did I,” he murmured. “I like making you feel better.” He watched Hutch sleep and smiled.