Retaliatory Strike

126

Hutch has a wet dream about Starsky, but is afraid to admit his feelings. When Starsky finally confronts Hutch,  he is stunned to learn his partner has loved him for years.

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He was burning from the kisses, more excited than he’d ever been and he was close. So close. It wouldn’t take much more.

“Touch me. God, please. Touch me, babe.”

“Hutch?”

He came, shuddering with ecstasy. Feeling so, so good.

“Did you say something?”

Hutch opened his eyes as Starsky came to the kitchen doorway, wiping his hands on a towel. He was sprawled on the sofa, where he’d fallen asleep, dreaming of his partner again. “No. I…no.” As he sat up, he realized he’d actually come and his jeans were wet. He had to get out before Starsky saw. “Starsk? Can I have another beer?”

“Yeah, just a minute. I’m almost done here.”

He could hear his partner finish wrapping up leftovers and he scrabbled to slip his loafers on and grab his car keys. He was gone before Starsky came out with his beer.

* * * *

“What the hell happened to you last night? You stuck me with an opened beer.” Starsky looked annoyed as he slid into the Torino after roll call the next morning.

“So I’ll buy you a six pack.” Hutch rolled down the window, leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. “In fact, I’ll buy you a whole damn case if you’ll just shut up and drive. I’m not in the mood for small talk.”

He could feel Starsky’s eyes looking him over, but nothing was said as the Torino started and pulled out of the precinct parking lot.

* * * *

Two days later, he was still embarrassed, still saying little to Starsky as they worked. That night, he had the first in a series of dates. All beautiful women. All eager for more after bestowing luscious kisses. All taken home early and denied a second date.

It was a month before he chanced spending an evening alone with Starsky again. Starsky pulled plates and bowls from the cupboard as he made a salad to go with the fried chicken he’d picked up on the way home from work.

“What kind of dressing do you want?” Starsky stood in front of the open fridge. “You have French and 1000 Islands.”

“French, I guess. Grab me a Coke while you’re at it.” Hutch finished tossing the salad and set it on the counter.

“You don’t want a beer?” Starsky looked at him quizzically.

“No, but help yourself if you want one.”

Starsky set a beer and a Coke on the counter next to the salad. “Want a glass and some ice?”

“No.” He started dishing up dinner.

Starsky opened his beer and leaned against the fridge. “So, you ready to talk about it yet?”

“What?” He looked up startled, like a deer in headlights. “What do you mean?”

“Whatever I did to upset you. The last time we got together, you asked me for a beer, then took off like a house afire without even saying goodbye. You’ve barely spoken to me since.” Starsky played with the bottle in his hands. “Whatever it was, I’m sorry.”

Hutch shook his head. “Don’t apologize. It wasn’t you.”

“No?”

“I-I dozed off while you were in the kitchen—”

“And let me guess. You had a bad dream.”

“I…yeah. A bad dream.” Hutch reached for the Coke, then changed his mind. “Maybe I’ll have a beer after all.”

Starsky stopped leaning and handed Hutch the bottle he held. “Here ya go. We’ll swap.” He picked up the Coke Hutch spurned, opened it and chugged half the can. He wiped his mouth, then muffled a quiet burp. “Wanna try that again?”

Hutch shrugged. “Let’s eat. It’s getting cold.”

“Fried chicken is good cold. What did I do in this bad dream of yours?”

“Starsk?”

“You called my name. That’s why I came out. Whatever I did in this dream made you leave.”

He sighed. “Let it go, Starsk. It wasn’t you. I woke up disoriented and couldn’t get my bearings, so I left. That’s all there is to it.”

Starsky finished the soda and set the empty can down. “Thanks for the Coke, Hutch. I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

“Where ya going? You haven’t eaten.”

“I’ll pick up a burger on my way home.” Starsky left without another word.

* * * *

They resumed work the next day like new partners spending their first shift together. Agreeing on procedure, but reluctant to share anything personal yet. After a long, mostly silent day, they went their separate ways.

* * * *

A few days later, Hutch reached out, offering to buy dinner. Starsky shut him down. The following week, he overheard Starsky mention his date the night before to one of the cops at roll call. Telling him they’d had fun and were having a bowling date the next weekend. Hutch thought he’d take a chance.

“I heard you have a new lady friend.”

Starsky glanced at him. “Yeah. So?”

“So maybe we can double date.”

“With you and one of your one-and-dones? I don’t think so. Maddie deserves better. And frankly, so do I.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Hutch. Don’t get me wrong. You’re a good cop and a trustworthy partner on the job, but you used to be a better friend. I don’t want to introduce you or meet your lady-du-jour. It’s just that simple.” Starsky shrugged and headed for his car. “Are you ready to hit the streets?”

The wall between them became the new normal and Hutch was miserable.

* * * *

The dream was constant now, nearly every time he closed his eyes. He welcomed it. Hated it. In his dream, he loved Starsky openly. Kissed him, touched him, begged to be touched in return.

And Starsky did. He would come at Starsky’s bidding, moaning in pleasure, but craving more.

* * * *

“Starsk, I-”

“What is it now, Hutch? Make it quick. I’ve got plans and I’m already late.” Starsky shrugged his hand off, waiting impatiently after their shift.

Hutch flexed his hand as his courage failed and changed what he was going to say. “I-I just wanted to tell you I thought about what you said about letting you down as a friend. I wanted to say I’m sorry and that I’m putting in for a transfer. You’ll be getting a new partner soon. Maybe they’ll do better.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and turned away. “Bye, Starsky. Good luck.”

* * * *

Starsky showed up on his doorstep that evening.

“What are you doing here? I thought you had plans.” Hutch barred the doorway, eyeing him warily.

“I did. I took care of them. We need to talk.” He held up the six pack he was carrying. “I brought Coke. We don’t need beer. I don’t want us misunderstanding each other tonight.” He didn’t attempt to enter.

Hutch sighed and let him in. “Is it cold?”

“Yeah.” Starsky pulled off two cans and set them on the coffee table, then took the other four into the kitchen. “Do you want a glass?”

“No.” Hutch waited till Starsky returned before sitting down and reaching for a can. “Just say what you came to say.”

But Starsky looked at him silently for a long time. “What happened that night at my place, Hutch? When you left without warning, I felt like I was being punished. I still do. What did I–?”

“You didn’t do anything, Starsk.” He shrugged, telling himself to man up and tell his partner. “It was me. I fell asleep and…well…I had an erotic dream and embarrassed myself. I didn’t want you to know, so I left.”

“Then why did you call out my name?”

Hutch waited for Starsky to puzzle it out, still too embarrassed to say. It didn’t take long.

“Oh.”

He watched Starsky’s thoughts play across his face, waiting uneasily for his anger and disgust.

“It wasn’t a one-time-only dream, was it?”

His silence and averted eyes admitted it wasn’t.

“How long have you felt this way?” Starsky’s gaze pierced him, demanding the truth. “Hutch?”

He gave it. “For a while now. It was easy to put it aside at first. But since that night when I…I…”

“When you came for me…”

It shocked Hutch to hear Starsky bluntly say it, but in a pleased tone, without the disgust Hutch expected. “Yeah.”

“Tell me about it.”

“What?”

“The dream. Tell me about your dream, Hutch.”

He studied Starsky’s face, looking for signs of impending ridicule. Knowing he deserved it, but unwilling to spoil the love he hid.

Starsky leaned forward and put his hand on Hutch’s knee. “Tell me about your dream, Hutch.”

He stared at the hand on his knee. “I-I kiss you and you like it. You kiss me back.”

The hand rubbed his leg, drawing his words out. “And then?”

The touch excited him, made it impossible not to talk about the dream. “I’m so turned on, I can’t stop kissing you, touching you. I’m begging you to touch me.” He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. “And you do,” he whispered. “And I–”

“And you come for me.”

The voice interrupted his recitation and he opened his eyes before he did it again. He looked at the unopen can in his hand and set it on the table. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Now you know.”

He stood up and turned from Starsky, trying to hide his hard on. “You need to go, Starsk. I’m doing laundry and it’s time to switch loads.” He scooped up quarters on the kitchen counter and headed for the door.

Starsky beat him to it. Hutch found himself in Starsky’s arms, Starsky’s lips against his ear.

“Kiss me, Hutch. You know you want to. Make me want it, too.”

He didn’t look to see if Starsky was making fun. He closed his eyes and took Starsky’s mouth. Sweet heat and anxious moans rekindled his arousal. “God, touch me, babe.”

“No. Not here, Hutch.”

It hurt when Starsky pulled away, but Starsky didn’t let go of his hand. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“Bedroom. This whole thing is turning me on. The kisses, the touching…I want to watch you when you come for me.”

Hutch stopped. “No.” He couldn’t believe he was refusing. “Go home, Starsk. Forget I ever said anything. It was a really bad joke, but the joke’s on me.” He jiggled the quarters in his other hand. “I’ve got laundry to finish. You can see yourself out.”

* * * *

He took his time swapping loads, holding himself together making small talk with one of his neighbours feeding quarters into one of the other machines. When he was calmer, he made his way back to his apartment and let himself in.

Starsky was gone.

Hutch set his keys on the counter and went to the bathroom to wash up. The face in the mirror looked drawn and tired. He wanted to go to bed, but couldn’t until the load finished drying. He stripped and took a quick shower, then went into the bedroom to get clean sweats.

Starsky was in his bed, half asleep.

“What the hell—” Anger warred with his extreme embarrassment at the joke Starsky was playing in retaliation for the dream he’d shared.

“Come here, Hutch. Come talk to me.” Starsky patted the bed and held out his hand.

“No, I…” Hutch watched as Starsky pulled back the covers to show he wasn’t naked.

“I’m not making fun, Hutch. Come talk to me.”

He sighed and slowly approached, desperately wanting to be in bed with Starsky. Knowing that whatever happened, the dream was gone forever now, ruined because he had no control. He dropped the towel and crawled into bed on the verge of tears.

Starsky left the covers pulled back and laid a hand on Hutch’s chest. “You’re in love with me, aren’t you?”

There was no point denying it, only apologies to make. “Yeah. I am. I’m sorry, Starsk.”

There was a long silence and he closed his eyes in shame for admitting feelings Starsky didn’t want to hear. The kiss to his chest, over his heart shocked him. So did the second. And the third.

He looked up into rueful blue eyes. “Starsk?”

“I-I love you, but I’m not in love with you, Hutch.” Starsky stroked his chest with soft caresses. “I didn’t know that was an option.”

“Why would you? Don’t worry. It’ll be all right. No one will ever know. I’ll be gone in a day or two and won’t accidently slip and embarrass you.” He put his hand over Starsky’s to stop the caresses. “You’d better go now.”

“No.” The whisper was almost too soft to hear, but the demand wasn’t. “Kiss me, Hutch.”

There was a hunger in the blue eyes now that matched his own. Hutch slid his fingers into tangled curls and pulled Starsky’s mouth to his. The kiss excited them both and he rolled to his side and kissed Starsky again.

Starsky moaned. “Touch me, Hutch.”

Hutch pulled back, but didn’t let go. “Starsk?”

“God, please, touch me…I’m so close…” Starsky took Hutch’s hand and guided it into his jeans.

His cock was hard in Hutch’s hand and Hutch squeezed it knowingly. “Come for me, babe.”

Starsky gasped and his back arched. “Yessss…oh god yessss…”

Wet heat covered Hutch’s hand. He pulled it out, insanely aroused and wrapped it around his own cock, squeezing it like he’d squeezed his lover’s and he came, gasping Starsky’s name.

He collapsed. As he lay there, heart pounding, he felt Starsky touch his cock to wet his own fingers with their mixed cum, then watched him deliberately bring then to his mouth and suck his fingers clean. He moaned as Starsky leaned down and kissed him again, sharing the taste of what they’d done to each other.

“Don’t leave, Hutch. Give me time.”

“Time?”

“Yes. Time to catch up. To be in love with you, too.” Starsky stroked Hutch’s cheek. “I don’t think it will take long. I’m already halfway there.”

Hutch kissed him, then reached for the towel he’d dropped when he climbed into bed and wiped his hands and cock. “We need to clean up.” He smiled mischievously at his love and murmured, “Your jeans are wet. Go shower. I’ll get the laundry and you can borrow a pair of mine.” He pulled on a pair of sweatpants and found his slippers.

Starsky chuckled. “I don’t need clothes to sleep with you. We do just fine without.”

He nodded, content for the first time in a long time. “I’ll be right back. Go start the shower. I’ll join you there.” But he turned as he got to the doorway. “Don’t leave your wet jeans on the floor. Hang them on the hook on the bathroom door so they’ll dry for now. I’m not doing another load tonight. I’ve got plans.” And he winked at Starsky as he walked out.