Blame it on Love

Starsky knew he could seize the opportunity to blame the argument on the job. Hutch wouldn’t question it; he’d agree without hesitation. It would be that easy. Yet, nothing worthwhile is ever easy.

Starsky stormed into Venice Place right behind Hutch, slamming the door and flinging his jacket onto the sofa in frustration. This was going to take a while.

“Why did you do that?” Starsky demanded, his hands on his hips and his lips pursed into a tight line. “Why did you mess with my action like that?”

Hutch hung his jacket in the closet and quickly spun around.

“Excuse me?” Hutch’s forehead creased with fury. “How exactly did I do something wrong when that long-legged brunette came onto me? All I did was take her number when it was offered to me!”

“Come on, you knew I was talking to her!” Starsky shot back.

“Starsky, do you remember how crowded Huggy’s was tonight? I had no idea you were talking to her! The last I saw you, you were dancing with that redhead. Why did you think the brunette was off-limits? Would you explain that to me?”

Starsky had already paced from the sofa to the kitchen three times, his frustration boiling over. “She wasn’t my property or anything, but I was talking to her first, and you know it.”

“Is that so?” Hutch asked, crossing his arms. “You could have left with any number of women tonight, and you know it. But instead, you come back here to chew me out? Why?”

“That’s a good question. I could ask you the same thing. You had a swarm of ladies around you tonight and even got that brunette’s number. Why aren’t you calling her?”

Hutch ran his hands over the front of his shirt, his fingers searching the pockets as he flashed a sarcastic smile. “Must have lost it,” he said, moving to the front door and leaning his arm against it with a tired sigh.

Starsky stopped pacing, his chest heaving as he turned to face Hutch from across the room. “Hutch, look at me. Please.”

Hutch slowly turned around, his back against the door as he stared at his shoes.

Starsky knew Hutch was exhausted. They both were, but the vulnerable look on Hutch’s face said something more.

“We’ve been working on this latest drug case forever,” Starsky said, willing Hutch to look up and meet his gaze. “Do you think maybe the stress is getting to us?”

Hutch slowly lifted his eyes. “I don’t know, maybe,” he said as his expression softened. “It’s not like we haven’t had stress before.”

“True,” Starsky replied, “but something feels different. I don’t know what got into me tonight.”

“Blame it on burnout?” Hutch asked with a shrug as he pushed away from the door.

“Or blindness,” Starsky added, taking a small step towards Hutch.

“Or buffoonery?” Hutch offered with a pace forward.

Starsky took another two steps, stopping within inches of Hutch, his breath shallow and rapid as if he had just run a marathon.

“Blame it on me,” Starsky whispered, throwing caution to the wind. “I wanted you to myself.”

Starsky felt a surge of intense nervous energy crackle between them.

Hutch looked at him, his forehead glistening with sweat from the heated exchange, his lips slightly parted in surprise.

Starsky edged closer, grazing Hutch’s lips until they locked, his tongue probing, savoring the taste of Hutch while they kissed – their arms dangling at their sides, as though they both thought the added touch might overwhelm them and shatter the moment.

Minutes slipped by effortlessly until they finally drew apart.

“No,” Hutch smiled, his cheeks flushed with need. “Blame it on me. For burying my feelings for so long.”

Starsk ran his hands down Hutch’s arms. “I guess we’re a couple of brainless bastards.”

“I prefer the term bewildered blockheads.” Hutch chuckled, kissing Starsky’s forehead.

Starsky pressed his hand into Hutch’s chest. “You’re breathing hard,” he noted.

“Blame it on blood rushing to my brain,” Hutch replied, gently stroking Starsky’s curls.

“Blood’s rushing to other parts of my body too,” Starsky smirked.

Starsky palmed his hand through Hutch’s silky hair, down to his neck, and drew his face to his, taking it slow, just like a proper kiss deserved. Their mouths pushed together, intimacy flowing seamlessly until Starsky finally came up for air, his body quivering with pleasure.

“You’re trembling,” Hutch said, looking into Starsky’s eyes as he pulled him tight and calmed his shaking body.

“Blame it on my beating heart,” Starsky answered as he nestled into Hutch’s embrace.

“Me too,” Hutch laughed softly. “Blame it on the only brunet I truly have eyes for,” he said, pulling Starsky close.

“Or a beautiful blond blintz,” Starsky chuckled, taking Hutch’s hand and leading him to the bedroom.

“Are you planning on keeping this up all night?” Hutch asked, his eyes twinkling.

Starsky pulled Hutch into his arms as they fell onto the mattress. “Can’t help it,” he answered, rolling on top of Hutch with a grin. “Blame it on the big brass bed.”

Hutch shook his head and smiled, leaning in for a kiss.

“I’ve got one more,” Starsky mumbled against Hutch’s lips.

“This better be good,” Hutch said, withdrawing his kiss in mock frustration. “So tell me, what else can we blame tonight on?”

“Blame it on love,” Starsky whispered.

Hutch cradled Starsky’s face in his hands, his eyes gleaming with joy.

“I love you too,” Hutch murmured. “Now, would you please shut up and let me kiss you?”

Starsky’s heart pounded, and his mind went blank, sweeping away all coherent thought as Hutch descended on him, his soft lips covering Starsky’s in a fervent kiss.

Starsky didn’t argue. He wouldn’t have been able to say another word, even if he tried.