The Scent of His Skin

Companion story to “The Feel of his Voice”, retold from Hutch’s POV. Hutch falls into a fantasy and makes up his mind.

Author’s Notes: Inspired by the second piece of artwork, “Ghosting Part Two” by Nicoltyler.

The brain is connected to the rest of the body in ways that humans do not completely comprehend. Medical books, of course, provide great insights into how it controls speech, memory, touch, vision, breathing, temperature, and every other process that regulates the body. The central nervous system’s chief executive officer, so to speak. But medical books only go so far.

There is also the mind, a word sometimes used interchangeably with the brain but is, in fact, entirely separate. Reasoning, desire, emotion, motivation, and perception are all manifestations of the mind. The brain can be seen and touched, but the mind does not have a physical form. It is usually up to the individual to decide what part of their mind to expose to the world, what ideas and wishes are worthy of sharing, and which perceptions are true or imaginary.

The mind may be a scary and lonely place at times, holding regret and anguish from the past or anxiety about the future. At the same time, it can be the ultimate source of wonder, where endless possibilities exist, and a person can choose which path of beauty they wish to experience, whether real or fantasy or possibly both.

Hutch pondered these things from time to time, as he often wrestled with life’s great questions. Few people knew this about him; his blond hair, blue eyes, and pearly white teeth portrayed outward beauty to the world, a package that many people wrongly categorized as superficial, not bothering to explore what was genuinely beneath, and missing out on a complicated, vulnerable, devoted, sensitive human.

Starsky was one person who did bother to look beneath the surface. It didn’t seem like Starsky was even trying; he could just see Hutch for who he was, long ago having peeled back the outer layers of the onion, discarding them for good, leaving Hutch’s inner core perpetually and gratefully exposed to the man he loved beyond life.

But still, Hutch held onto many parts of his private mind, doling out just the right amount of happiness, anger, fear, and joy, as the situation called for, leaving residual emotion to battle alone, build up inside him, and deal with at a later time.

A lot of the time, those emotions were about Starsky. Hutch lived through the fear, guilt, and anguish of almost losing him after Gunther’s men put three bullets in his back. So Hutch learned to show only parts of those feelings, for Starsky’s sake.

Starsky had healed well enough to return to the streets a year after the incident, and Hutch’s painful memories remained buried deep, where he thought they belonged. As hard as he tried, Hutch couldn’t always control them, and they escaped at the worst possible times, provoked by new concerns or anxieties.

The day they chased two thieves who had snatched a couple of diamond necklaces from a local jewelry store was one of those days.

Starsky and Hutch were pursuing the thieves down an alley, Starsky going straight, while Hutch intercepted them at the other end. It seemed like it was going to be a clean bust until one of the criminals turned, gun raised, and ran toward Starsky.

Hutch barely remembered firing a warning shot in the air, then handcuffing one of the thieves, watching the other run toward his partner with a gun drawn. He heard Starsky fire a shot, but the thief kept going, gun pointed at Starsky.

Hutch’s heart was in his throat as he barreled down the alley in a controlled panic, only to find Starsky safe and sound and reading the thief his rights.

That was it. Neither of them was hurt, at least not physically. But Hutch’s mind was in freefall. His eyes raked over Starsky’s body, checking and rechecking him for injury.

“Are you okay? Good, let me check for myself,” Hutch said.

“I’m fine. The bullet missed me.” Starsky tried to reassure him, but Hutch needed to be sure.

So Hutch went over to Starsky’s apartment that evening, overpowered by the desire to be with him. It was as if all the feelings he had successfully suppressed had burst forth, unable to be contained anymore.

“I need to use the little boy’s room. I’ll be right back,” Hutch said as soon as they entered Starsky’s apartment.

Despite the brisk evening air, Hutch was feeling unusually warm. He walked into the living room, behind the rattan peacock-shaped chair, through the bedroom alcove, and into the bathroom. He turned on the faucet and let the cold water flow while pulling a fresh washcloth off the shelf to dab his perspiring brow.

Hutch rested both hands on the sink’s edge and looked at his reflection in the mirror. His face was clean-shaven, having removed his mustache a long time ago, but his hair was longer than usual, curling above the collar of his leather jacket. His eyes looked red, tired from the day, but he wasn’t complaining, happy that both he and Starsky survived another close call.

When he finished rubbing the damp cloth over his cheeks and forehead, he took a hand towel from the rack and pressed it against his face, pausing momentarily to let the cloth linger over his nostrils. He inhaled deeply, allowing the mix of sandalwood and soap and the unmistakable fragrance of Starsky to invade his senses.

The emotional levees that normally held back Hutch’s thoughts gave way to a rushing tidal wave containing his partner’s scent. His brain became foggy as he delicately released the towel and repositioned it on the rack, relishing in the knowledge that he had blended his aroma with Starsky’s.

Hutch opened the door and stepped out of the bathroom, coming to a halt as he noticed Starsky sitting in the peacock chair, his left leg bent at the knee with the foot resting on the chair, his right foot on the floor, and his left arm casually resting along the arm.

Hutch’s brain was hazy, and his legs moved on instinct as he walked slowly to the chair and took a step behind it. He stretched his arm over the back of the chair and rested his palm on Starsky’s right shoulder, then cupped his left hand under Starsky’s chin, tilting his head back to meet his gaze.

He was amazed that Starsky said nothing, no jokes, comments, or questions. Starsky just let it happen, allowing Hutch to touch him as their eyes converged.

Hutch felt the world shift, unable to break his gaze from the midnight blue eyes beneath him. It seemed like his brain had shut off, disabling his ability to control his speech and rendering his voice inactive. But his mind was alive, not thinking, but feeling for the first time in his life.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” Hutch’s mind said silently, willing itself to be heard by the recipient of his love.

He stared intently into Starsky’s eyes for another moment, then as quickly as he lost them, regained his motor skills, voice, and overthinking brain, withdrew his hands, and sat down on the couch.

Hutch took a long swallow of the cold beer, calming his tensions and overstimulated thoughts. He glanced at Starsky, who remained silent but seemed mesmerized by Hutch’s every move.

Hutch sprang into a discussion, happy that the details of the jewelry store robbery were not complicated and could be talked about with minimal effort. He spoke about the arrest, the fact that both thieves would not be making bail, and went on about the court system and the backlog and the amount of paperwork it would all cause.

Through it all, Starsky stayed silent, nodding occasionally to prove he was listening, but remaining speechless and transfixed.

When he couldn’t think of anything more to say, Hutch rose and prepared to leave, almost hoping to be told to stay. But Starsky seemed far away and worn out, and Hutch kicked himself for not noticing how fatigued he felt. He stopped at the door and turned to Starsky. “You sure you’re feeling alright? You’ve seemed a little distant all evening.”

Starsky assured him he was fine and was just tired. Hutch kicked himself a second time, guilt washing over him for pushing his partner’s stamina. He turned to leave and said, “Get some sleep, partner.”

Hutch returned to Venice Place, satisfied that Starsky was getting the rest he needed, and entered the dark apartment, choosing to let the streetlamp be the sole illumination in the room. He felt restless, unsure of what to think, emotions bubbling back to the surface, the sweat from earlier reappearing on his brow.

He shook off his jacket and hurled it at the sofa, missing and allowing it to tumble to the floor. He removed his shoes and socks, unbuckled his jeans, and pulled his T-shirt over his head, stripping down to his underwear. He remained there, unconcerned with his clothes sprawled on the floor, and added his underwear to the heap.

He remained in the living room fully naked, wanting to cool down, but the apartment still felt too warm. He considered opening a window, opting instead for a shower, hoping some of his internal heat would subside.

The shower was inviting, and as he closed the curtain, he switched on the water, not bothering to wait for it to warm up before plunging in. All he wanted to do was relax, calm his thoughts, unwind, and go to bed.

Hutch faced the shower head, letting the chilly water flow over his head and neck as it cleansed his senses and left his mind blank. Satisfied he had his thoughts under control, Hutch fiddled with the knobs to adjust the temperature until it was perfect.

He began to relax, leaning his left arm against the wall in front of him, taking pleasure in the warmth of the water running down his back. His body responded to the sensation, and his brain took a back seat, letting his mind wander to his partner, remembering how sexy he looked earlier as he sat in the peacock chair, allowing Hutch to touch his shoulder and neck as he stood behind it, trusting him fully.

The lingering scent of Starsky was still prevalent in the air. No amount of soap or water could eliminate it, filling Hutch’s nostrils and infiltrating all of his senses.

As Hutch turned his head, he could see Starsky behind him, his muscular body pressed against his back, his left leg bent and wrapped around him, holding him steady, his arms encircling Hutch’s pelvis. Hutch took another breath, the scent of Starsky’s skin so genuine, the sight of him so real, his voice so clear as he heard the vision whisper, “Tell me I didn’t get it wrong.”

Hutch shook his head, answering Starsky, assuring him he was where he belonged. Hutch gasped as he felt Starsky’s left hand grip his penis, looking down at his daydream in wonder while his own hand pumped his firm rod.

He could feel Starsky’s rigid shaft against his back, as though it belonged there, and found its home. There was no turning back as he pounded his erection, uncensored words of passion escaping his mouth as he came hard against the shower wall.

Hutch’s chest heaved, and he let go of his softening cock, placing both hands against the wall as the water began to run cold. He didn’t know how long he stood there, his whirling mind providing more than enough heat to his chilled body. He eventually turned off the spray, stepped out of the mist, and dried off before stumbling to the bedroom and falling into bed.

He lay there, unable to sleep, his thoughts opening up to an overwhelming realization. He rolled over and looked at the clock – eleven o’clock flashed back at him.

Hutch had made up his mind. He wanted to say the words out loud that had been stuck in his throat when he stood behind Starsky’s peacock chair. He would say them to Starsky, even if it meant rejection or pity or laughter.

He jumped out of bed and got dressed, his brain and body yielding obediently to the wishes of his clear and focused mind.

—————-

Starsky opened the door in his bathrobe, and despite his claims of fatigue, Hutch was sure he saw a brightness in Starsky’s eyes.

“I couldn’t sleep,” said Hutch as Starsky stepped back so he could enter. “Did I wake you?”

Starsky shook his head and headed toward the couch. “Nope. I couldn’t sleep either.”

Hutch’s long legs made it in three strides to Starsky, stopping him before he could sit down. He faced him and placed his hands on Starsky’s shoulders, the words in his mind finding their way through a strong and steady voice, “Do you know how beautiful you are?”

Starsky’s face froze, his eyes narrowed in disbelief. “What did you say?” he asked.

“You heard me. It’s what I was thinking earlier when I touched you. I was too afraid to say it out loud,” Hutch answered.

It was the truth, he was too afraid to say it out loud, all this time, his brain holding him back, suppressing his voice like an autocratic ruler who claimed to be doing it for his own protection.

Starsky reached out and clasped Hutch’s hand. “But I heard you anyway, or maybe I simply felt your words. I was so afraid I got it wrong.”

Hutch smiled. There was no laughter or rejection in Starsky’s voice, only acceptance and love. Somehow, Starsky heard his voice anyway, and Hutch heard Starsky’s.

“I was afraid you might think it was too much,” Hutch admitted.

Starsky shook his head. “No, it wasn’t too much. It wasn’t enough.”

Hutch breathed easier than he had all day. Starsky was right. It wasn’t enough to just say the words. There was so much more to be said, to be experienced, to be lived.

Hutch lifted his hands and cupped Starsky’s cheeks, trailed his fingers down the back of his neck, and drew his face forward, reverently kissing his forehead and nose. He stopped and held his gaze, asking permission with his eyes to keep going. Starsky nodded, and Hutch’s anticipation grew, the scent of Starsky’s skin once more overtaking his senses.

“Wait,” Starsky said.

Hutch withdrew, his heart racing at the abrupt interruption. “What’s wrong?”

“Just want to be sure we’re both seeing this the same way,” Starsky whispered. “It’s going to change things between us, Hutch.”

Hutch sighed, knowing what Starsky meant, but also knowing in his heart it was going to be okay.

“No, it won’t change a thing,” Hutch replied. “The way I see it, things shifted between us a long time ago; I don’t think I can even pinpoint when. All we’re doing now is making it a reality, not a dream.”

“I like the sound of that,” Starsky said, smiling, and Hutch felt his insides tingle.

Hutch moved ahead, his body following his euphoric mind, and he felt a warm, inviting feeling enveloping his entire body. The long-awaited kiss, which only this morning would have been too risky, was now the only viable, compelling, sweet, and unstoppable option.

It didn’t take long for the heat to ramp up even higher, their tongues intertwined, their heavy breathing drowned out only by their moans of pleasure.

Hutch put his arms around Starsky’s waist and pushed him toward the peacock chair, their lips remaining linked as Starsky sat down. Hutch opened Starsky’s robe and took in the sight of his naked body, falling to his knees in awe.

Hutch moved instinctively toward the erection before him, holding one hand spread at the base, and engulfing the shaft with his mouth. It felt unforced and natural, like he imagined a baby bird would learn to fly, without hesitation, trusting in its wings, its mind’s only role to absorb the beauty and wonder of its new freedom. He felt his head move with the rhythm of Starsky’s heart, and he sang in his mind as Starsky’s cries of passion and ecstasy filled his soul.

Hutch lay his head on Starsky’s lap, stroking his thigh, reveling in the scent of Starsky’s muskiness, until he felt Starsky pull him up, unzipping his pants and clasping Hutch’s swollen erection. Hutch relived the feel of Starsky’s hand, only a few hours ago in his imagination as he showered, now real and strong, stimulating his climax for the second time that night, this time without fear of his love dissolving into the mist.

They both stood, and Hutch removed all of his clothes, Starsky’s robe already fallen onto the floor. “Is the room spinning?” Starsky asked, “Or is it just me?”

“It’s spinning,” Hutch answered, although it was deeper than that. It was as though his entire universe became aligned, his fears about following his heart forever erased. “I think my whole world just shifted into place.”

Starsky took Hutch’s hand, and they went to the bedroom, curling up under the covers as they held each other in the darkness.

“Hey Hutch, remind me never to get rid of that chair,” Starsky said. Hutch chuckled, agreeing silently that the chair would always have a place in their home.

Hutch’s eyes began to grow heavy, and he was lulled into a sound sleep, his dreams consigned to the night where they belonged, his mind choosing the path of love, toward a new reality of endless possibilities.