A Kiss is Just a Kiss

Table of Contents

Starsky and Hutch accept an undercover assignment to lure serial killers preying on gay couples at the same time that they’re dealing with their own repressed feelings about each other.

Author’s Note: I would like to thank Flamingo for her invaluable editing suggestions and generous encouragement. If anyone besides me enjoys reading this, it is because of her.

Chapter One

One Afternoon, 1980

Starsky and Hutch were talking quietly when suddenly Capt. Dobey’s door opened. “Hutchinson! Starsky! In my office,” he commanded when he saw them at their desks.

That wasn’t as rare a sight as it used to be, before Starsky’s shooting in the garage. They were no longer so eager to use any excuse to take them out on the streets now. This was partly due to an increased maturity that came with age and tragedy, and partly because Starsky wasn’t quite as agile as he used to be. His maturity showed in that he would admit that.

The two detectives went inside Dobey’s office and shut the door.

“What’s up, Cap’n?” asked Starsky, taking one chair while Hutch took the other.

“We seem to have a new serial killer on our hands, and I think you two might be the right men to handle this case,” Dobey said, holding out a file.

Hutch took it so Starsky wouldn’t have to stretch, which sometimes hurt his sides and back.

“Two pairs of two men killed together?” asked Hutch, studying the pictures. They were a grizzly sight; not just because of the blood, but also because the bodies had been mutilated after being badly beaten. He looked up quizzically, first at his partner, then at Dobey.

“Yes, two gay couples,” Dobey explained. “Each pair was found in the apartment they shared. Forced entry, late at night, when they were in bed together.”

“Some sicko that takes offense at gays, and thinks that makes it alright to kill them,” Starsky said in disgust.

“Sickos, I would guess,” commented Hutch. “I don’t think one man could have done that by himself, even if he surprised them while they were sleeping.”

“Right. That’s what the chief thinks, too,” Dobey said, seeming a little ill at ease. “Listen, we want a pair of male cops to go undercover in the gay community as bait for the killers. It’s a very dangerous assignment and we need two tough, experienced detectives who can take care of themselves in any situation, but who are willing to ‘act gay.’ … Well, what do you say? Will you take the assignment?”

Starsky and Hutch glanced from Dobey to each other, with identical disconcerted expressions.

“Just exactly what do you mean by ‘acting gay’?” asked Hutch, putting the same inflection on the phrase as Dobey had. His tone implied that he had visions of swishing around, lisping — all the awful stereotypes.

“How the hell should I know?” bellowed Dobey, appearing more uncomfortable with the whole topic by the minute. “You’ll have to do the gay bar scene, and we’ll set you up in an apartment you’ll share during the assignment. Look,” he said, his voice softening, “if you really don’t want to do it, I won’t force you. You can help in other ways, but you won’t be the bait. That’ll make it harder to catch these bastards, but not impossible. It’s up to you. I want you to discuss it today, and then let me know your joint decision in the morning. If both of you don’t feel comfortable doing this, then it won’t happen.”

Dobey peered intently at his detectives for a few seconds.

Returning the gaze, Starsky wondered if there was any insinuation to be read in choosing them. Some of their fellow detectives used to tease them about how close they were, but Dobey never did. Now Starsky wondered if their boss ever pondered their relationship, especially after John Blaine’s death. Did he think that they were hiding a secret life, too? Had he noticed how Hutch couldn’t seem to keep his hands off Starsky, always patting his back and squeezing his arm? Starsky loved that contact, but could it be giving others the wrong impression? He didn’t think that he touched Hutch as much as Hutch touched him, but he tried to think if he did anything similar that could also be misinterpreted. He couldn’t come up with anything, unaware of his tendency to stare at Hutch’s mouth while he spoke, even though he had no hearing problem.

Cutting short his speculation, Starsky got up, mumbling “Okay; tomorrow,” and led Hutch back to the squad room.

While Hutch took the file to his desk, Starsky stopped and poured them fresh cups of coffee, bringing them around to the empty desk next to Hutch’s and then sitting down next to his partner.

As they looked over the file together, Starsky grumbled disgustedly, “This pisses me off. Some poor excuse for a human attackin’ a stranger just because he’s a member of a group he hates — blacks, Jews, gays; take your pick — anyone he wants to bring down just so he can feel superior. Pathetic!”

“Yeah, I know,” Hutch agreed. “There’ll always be prejudice in every society; we can’t change that. But we can at least show people that they can’t get away with acting on their worst impulses toward people they don’t like. I really want to see the scum that did this” — he pointed to the pictures in front of them — “have to answer for it.”

“Yeah, me, too…. But I don’t know about takin’ this case,” Starsky said quietly. “How do you feel about it?” Deep down, he hoped Hutch would say he didn’t want to take it, so the refusal couldn’t be blamed on him. A feeling close to fear crept over him when he thought of what this case would entail, but it wasn’t concern for his physical safety.

“I don’t know either,” Hutch agreed. “Dobey said if we don’t want to go undercover, we can still help out in other ways. Why don’t we go through all this stuff this afternoon then talk about the ‘bait’ part after dinner?”

“Good idea,” Starsky responded. “Let’s see the report.” He started sifting through the papers in the file. He wanted to act professionally about this now, and worry about his feelings later.

~~~

They worked diligently till around 6:30 p.m. when Starsky asked Hutch, “Gettin’ hungry?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” replied the blond, checking his watch. “We still have to talk about whether we wanna take the case, so maybe we should get takeout. That’d be faster.” He pulled on his jacket and headed for the door, followed by his always-hungry partner.

They picked up Chinese on the way to Starsky’s and ate without mentioning the case. Once they had finished cleaning up, they moved into the living room. After Starsky put on the TV with the Dodgers-Giants game, they sat on either end of the sofa, partially turned toward each other.

“Well, Starsk, should we take the case?” Hutch asked, obviously wanting to get the discussion going before his friend got too involved in watching the game.

“…And the Dodgers take the field on a beautiful night for a ballgame…” came from the TV speaker.

“I just dunno, Hutch,” Starsky said quietly, after lowering the volume so the play-by-play could barely be heard. “I wanna help, but I can’t say I’d feel comfortable actin’ like I’m gay. I don’t usually care what other people think about me, but I’d feel funny about that.”

Starsky knew that it wasn’t really what people would think of him that worried him, it was what he might find out about himself that was making him start to sweat. His feelings for his partner had intensified since the Gunther shooting. He had always loved Hutch as anyone would love his best friend. Maybe more so, since they had to trust each other with their lives every day in their line of work. Since the shooting, however, he’d become more emotional, and more appreciative of the things in life he had to be grateful for. Number one on that list would be having Hutch for a partner and best friend. Hutch had taken such good care of him when he was recovering; was at his beck and call twenty-four hours a day, since he stayed at Starsky’s apartment with him. He grew to depend on Hutch being there, and loved their increased intimacy. He loved having him near at all times, loved being able to reach out to touch him whenever he felt the need. When Hutch moved back to his own place right before Starsky returned to work, Starsky was devastated. He couldn’t believe he missed him so much. They saw each other at work every day, and still usually spent most of their evenings and weekends together, too. He couldn’t understand why he felt so possessive about his partner, why he wanted 100 percent of his time. He knew that wasn’t fair to Hutch, and he felt bad about it. He was hoping that time would make those feelings go away, that he would eventually accept things the way they used to be. But now this assignment would mean living with Hutch again. Not just living with him, but pretending that they were lovers.

That word “lovers” in the same thought with “Hutch” sent shivers down his spine. He was afraid he had begun to love his partner in the “wrong” way. He sneaked a glance at his friend and it hit him how attractive he found the blond to be.

“I understand how you feel,” Hutch said. “But I’d hate to think that these jerks could get away with murder just because we don’t like people thinking we’re ‘queers.’ There’s nothing wrong with that, anyway, so what if people do think it? What’s really important here — our macho images or innocent victims being tortured and killed?”

“Geez, do ya have to put it like that?” Starsky said with a little hurt and annoyance in his voice. “Ya make me feel guilty for even considerin’ refusin’ the assignment!” He had a lot of reasons to feel guilty, not the least of which was his sitting here admiring his partner’s good looks.

“So you don’t want to take it, then?” Hutch asked evenly, looking intently at Starsky.

“I don’t know!” Starsky snapped. “I’m sorry,” he immediately added in a repentant tone. “Do you want to take it?” He glanced at Hutch’s eyes, the first time during the conversation that he’d done that. His eyes had remained on the TV, though his mind was on what Hutch was saying.

“What’s the matter, buddy?” Hutch asked, moving to the center of the sofa and putting his arm lightly around Starsky’s shoulders. “Why is this bothering you so much? You know, I read this article once about sexuality. It said that sexuality is like a scale; it’s not an absolute thing. Like, if it’s a scale from one to ten and one is completely heterosexual and ten is completely homosexual, there are very few people who are ones or twos, or nines or tens. The majority of people fall somewhere in between. Like three or four, or seven or eight. And they’re not always at the same place on the scale; it can vary at different times of their lives. Like guys in prison having sex with other guys, but never doing that outside the joint. Anyway, my point is that we almost all have some tendency to swing both ways, so no one should have any problem with anyone else’s sexuality; it probably isn’t much different than their own. Not to mention that it’s nobody else’s business!”

“‘S’at true?” Starsky asked, again gazing into his partner’s eyes. “Ya really read that?” Maybe what he was feeling wasn’t so weird, after all. And how could you love someone in the “wrong” way? All love was good, as long as you didn’t act on it inappropriately, he thought.

“I swear,” said the blond.

After digesting that information, Starsky decided to feel out Hutch’s impression of the assignment. “What do you think we’d have to do? I mean, just hang out at the gay bars together, and then go home to ‘our’ apartment, hopin’ to be followed?”

“I think that’s pretty much it, at least at night,” Hutch answered. “We could still do research on it during the day.”

“What’ll we do in the bars?” Starsky asked, turning to the game again.

“Oh, just look like we’re in love.” Hutch smiled at his partner. “Drink. Dance with each other. Doesn’t sound too terrible, does it?” He squeezed Starsky’s shoulder.

“Dance together?” Starsky asked with a little smile, thinking he would really enjoy that.

“Yeah, Ramon. I’ll even let you dip me,” Hutch teased.

“Ooh, now you’re tempting me!” joked Starsky. “I think I could handle that.”

“And we’d have to make out,” Hutch added.

“What?!”

“Come on, Starsk, didn’t you read the files? What made these two couples stand out was the fact that they were so obviously couples. They danced only with each other and cuddled in a booth and kissed. That’s apparently what set off the murderers. These guys weren’t flamboyant queens they could just make fun of. These gay men had the nerve to look ‘normal’ and act like any heterosexual couple would. We’ll have to do the same thing to get the killers’ attention.”

“I dunno, Hutch. I dunno if I can do that.” Starsky gasped, his chest constricting. The thought of them kissing excited him too much. He suddenly had to face the truth: he was in love with Hutch. He would be taking advantage of the assignment to do things to his partner that he would otherwise never get to do. That would be deceptive, and he hated being anything but completely open with him. He didn’t know what to do.

“Whatsa matta? You don’t wanna kiss me?” Hutch joked, leering.

“It’s not funny!” Starsky said, really sweating now.

“Let’s talk about it, buddy.” Hutch put his hand on Starsky’s cheek and turned his friend’s head to face him. “There’s more to this. What is it? You know you can tell me anything, babe,” he said softly.

Starsky was silent a moment, then looked away. He could at least tell some of the truth. “I’m afraid it’ll change everything between us. Just like when you have sex with someone, you can never look at them the same after that. You can never take back what’s happened. Even though we won’t have sex, just havin’ to be this…” he struggled for the right word, “intimate with each other…it may make us uncomfortable with each other physically from now on. We’ll be afraid how any touch or hug will be interpreted. I don’t want that to happen.”

“Neither do I. What would I do without your hugs when I need them? It won’t happen, Starsk, I promise.”

Starsky looked doubtful.

“Look, buddy. I’ve always loved you more than anyone in my life and I think you’re an attractive guy. But that doesn’t mean I’ll try to jump your bones. Things won’t change. We’ll still chase women when this is done. But a kiss is just a kiss. It isn’t a sex act; it’s an act of love…. Do you love me?”

“You know I do,” Starsky replied, meeting Hutch’s gaze for a moment. But you don’t know how or how much.

“And I’m not repulsive to you, am I?” the blond asked, laughing a little.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Starsky answered, feeling uncomfortable. “You’re very appealing. Why do I have to tell you that?”

“You know, I’ve wanted to kiss you sometimes,” Hutch confessed to Starsky’s surprise. “Sometimes, like when I was so grateful you survived some close call, I was just so overwhelmed with love that I thought I’d burst. And I had no way to express it, except with a hug or squeeze. Those are fine, but sometimes they didn’t seem enough.”

“Why didn’t ya do it?” Starsky asked, both fascinated and terrified by his friend’s confession.

“Because I was afraid I’d upset or offend you, I guess.”

“You could never upset or offend me by showin’ your love, Hutch” Starsky said, beginning to wonder how his friend loved him. Could it be he feels the same? “Guess what?” he asked, wondering how much he should confess.

“What?” Hutch asked, sounding truly curious.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you, too. To comfort you, to thank you for so much you’ve done for me. But I guess I was afraid how you’d react. I thought you’d be embarrassed or annoyed.”

“…Two balls, no strikes,” came the sound of Vin Scully from the TV.

“Really?” Hutch said. “It’s funny we both felt the same and didn’t know it. I thought we always knew each other so well we could almost read each other’s minds. I guess maybe we weren’t comfortable enough with the idea ourselves to think of telling each other. But now that we know how we both feel, I’d say it’s time to do what we’ve been wanting to do.” Hutch’s voice was low, seductive. He turned toward his partner and slipped his hand into Starsky’s dark curls, supporting the back of his head, and leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips.

As he did, Starsky also turned and reached up to embrace him, but stopped suddenly and grunted.

“I’m sorry.” Starsky said through gritted teeth. “I got a pain in my side, twistin’ like that.” He’d been having problems like that since the shooting, but the anxiety he’d just been going through didn’t help his muscles, either.

“Oh God, I’m sorry! I wasn’t thinking,” Hutch exclaimed as he jumped up. “Here, lie down.” He lifted Starsky’s legs onto the cushions slowly as Starsky turned to lie down. Hutch took some pillows from the other end of the sofa and added them to the ones behind Starsky’s head, neck and upper back.

“Better?” Hutch asked, as he sat down next to Starsky’s knees. He unbuttoned Starsky’s shirt the rest of the way and, with one hand, started rubbing the side Starsky had been holding. With the other hand he smoothed Starsky’s hair back from his forehead. “You okay?”

“Yeah, the pain’s goin’ away.” Hutch’s touch seemed to have healing powers. “Now, where were we?” Starsky asked, as he put his hand into Hutch’s blond hair and pulled him down towards him. He was not going to let the opportunity of kissing his beloved slip by; he wanted to do it now, before Hutch changed his mind. He couldn’t believe his partner was willing, even eager to do this. He softly kissed the blond’s mouth.

Hutch quickly kissed his partner back, and they easily fell into a pattern of longer and longer kisses.

After a few minutes, Starsky felt Hutch’s tongue on his lips. Startled, he pulled his head back slightly, and his eyes opened wide. Blue eyes looked into his. He saw such love there, he thought, This was meant to be. He closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and let nature take its course.

After several minutes of their tongues exploring each other’s mouths, and more kisses, Hutch ducked down to kiss Starsky’s neck, then his chest.

“Oh, God, Hutch!” Starsky moaned breathlessly, putting his hands on the blond head.

“No. I’m sorry,” Hutch sighed, just kissing Starsky’s chest one more time before resting his head on the soft hair there. “You okay, buddy?” He sounded a little concerned.

“I’m more than okay, babe,” Starsky answered, stroking Hutch’s blond hair. “Don’t be sorry.”

“I was wrong,” Hutch murmured after a few moments.

“‘Bout what?”

“Remember after John Blaine died, when I said you weren’t even a good kisser? You’re not just good, you’re terrific!” He lifted his head to look up at Starsky’s face.

“Yeah? You ain’t so bad yourself.”

“Yeah?” Hutch chuckled, obviously pleased. He straightened up enough to lean across his partner, resting his head on his elbow near Starsky’s shoulder.

“Hutch?”

“Hmm?”

“Can we still do this after the case’s done?” Starsky asked. He still could not believe that his partner might feel the same as he did, but he hoped he could ensure himself a little bit of ecstasy in the future. Maybe that could be enough.

Hutch smiled back. “On special occasions, I guess.”

“Just on special occasions?” Starsky asked, the disappointment evident in his voice. “Like when?”

“Like any time we’re alone together,” Hutch laughed, his head darting forward quickly like a bird’s, planting a kiss on his partner’s lips, then smothering his face with little kisses.

“Whoa!” Starsky giggled, gently pushing him away, afraid that he would become too aroused. “I’m sure glad you shaved off that mustache you used to have. That would’ve felt really weird…. So, we’re telling Dobey we’re taking the case?”

“Right, Gordo,” Hutch answered.

“Well, I’m thinkin’…. It’s one thing for us to be doin’ this here, but can we do it in public?” Starsky really wasn’t sure he could handle that. Much as he loved his partner, he wasn’t sure he liked the idea of being seen kissing another man.

“Good point…. I think we won’t have a problem if we’ve practiced enough,” Hutch said, with a mischievous laugh. “Practice makes perfect, you know.”

“I like that idea!” Starsky exclaimed as he grabbed the back of Hutch’s head, pulled him close, and started sucking on the blond’s full lower lip.

Maybe he could get over his public embarrassment if they kept at it long enough. He certainly wasn’t going to pass up Hutch’s invitation. He couldn’t believe Hutch seemed to be enjoying this as much as he was.

Maybe he loves me more than I realized, and he’s not afraid to show it. Maybe this case will turn out to be just the kick we needed. I think this is goin’ to turn out fine, if we just take things slow. One step up that sex scale at a time. We’ll just go to six tonight. He laughed to himself.

“Ball four! And Garvey takes a walk to first base” came softly from the announcer.

Cuddling by the flickering light of the TV, to the low play-by-play of America’s pastime, they “practiced” America’s other favorite pastime the rest of the evening.

Later, after Hutch left, Starsky lay in bed thinking about how he hadn’t felt so happy in a long time. He was now looking forward to their new assignment, believing it would mean more evenings like tonight. He was glad that they hadn’t been too afraid to follow where love led, and wondered where it would lead them in the days ahead. He fell asleep longing to know what his partner was feeling.

~~~

Chapter Two

As Hutch waited for Starsky to pick him up for work the next morning, he thought about the night before, about how they had spent the evening making out like a couple of teenagers.

He’d hated to leave Starsky’s apartment. He’d wanted to stay with his partner, just as he had when Starsky was recovering from the Gunther shooting. He loved being with him, even if it only meant sleeping on the sofa in the living room. Of course, there had been a few times when he slept in the same bed with his friend. Those occasions had always happened for the same reason. They always started with Starsky having a nightmare about the shooting. He would cry out in his sleep and Hutch would wake and run to his side. He’d sit on the bed and shake his friend awake, then hold him in his arms comforting him until he could sleep again.

The first time it had happened, he’d tried to ignore how good it felt to hold his best friend so close. After the second or third time, however, he couldn’t hide it from himself anymore. He realized that the nature of his love for his partner had somehow changed since the shooting. Not only had his love grown stronger and deeper, but now there was also an element of physical desire to it. He had always loved to hug and be hugged by Starsky, but the pleasure had been from the warmth and affirmation of friendship, nothing more. He didn’t use to long for those hugs; they just came naturally out of circumstances. After the shooting, he had started to need those hugs. Maybe, he told himself, he needed to feel the physical evidence that his best friend had really survived.

While he had helped Starsky with his rehabilitation exercises after he came home from the hospital, Hutch started admiring his partner’s body in a way he never had before. And he just wanted to touch it constantly. He loved giving his friend massages–they were therapeutic for Starsky, but pure pleasure for Hutch.

When he’d realized what was happening to him, he grew scared. He couldn’t be in love with his partner! How would Starsky react to that news? He might be disgusted and angry, might think that Hutch had taken advantage of their intimacy. Hutch couldn’t risk ruining their friendship — that was the most important thing in his life. When Starsky was fully recovered and was about to return to work, Hutch moved back to his own apartment. It was one of the most painful things he’d ever done. He almost cried himself to sleep the first night alone, he missed his beloved so much.

They soon settled back into a semblance of their old routine, and he’d learned to control himself, to not give any hint to his partner of how he felt. He’d hoped that the feelings would go away, but that didn’t happen since they still spent so much of their time together. It didn’t help that neither of them had had any “female companionship” since before the shooting. Yet neither of them seemed interested in that, which was such a change in attitude from before. Hutch was bewildered and confused by the change, but he didn’t regret it. In fact, he wasn’t sure how he would react if Starsky told him he was going on a date. He was glad that hadn’t happened yet.

It surely wasn’t going to happen for a while longer, since now they would be undercover as gays. This assignment was like a dream come true and a nightmare all at the same time. He would get to kiss his friend, something he had wanted to do in the past, as he had told Starsky last night. He hadn’t told him the whole truth, of course. He hadn’t told him that now he wanted to kiss him whenever he looked at those inviting lips.

And he’d get to share a bed with his love every night. God, how will I be able to restrain myself? he wondered fearfully. Especially when we’re pretending we’re lovers? He had tried so hard to conceal his feelings last night while they were “practicing.” He’d tried to keep the tone light, like they were just kids having fun. But the longer it went on, the more aroused he’d become. It was all he could do to hide it from his partner. He’d had to take a bathroom break at one point just to cool himself down. If he hadn’t left when he had, he would have had to take another. Thank God the game ended when it did, he thought, giving him an excuse to leave at a good time.

Now here it was, the next morning, and he wondered how he should greet Starsky after last night’s events. Well, I guess I can’t get in the car and lean over and give him a big kiss right in front of my apartment building, can I?

As he mulled that over, the Torino pulled up to the curb.

“Good morning,” Hutch said cheerily, as he got in.

“Mornin’, partner.” Starsky returned the greeting with his trademark big, crooked grin.

God, I love him! Hutch thought, completely disarmed as always by that smile.

Their eyes locked for a moment. They looked at each other’s lips, and their heads started to incline toward each other, when suddenly a car horn blared behind them. They both giggled as Starsky pulled away from the curb.

“Guess this ain’t Lovers’ Lane,” Starsky snickered as the car merged into traffic.

“No, but I think I know where there’s one nearby,” Hutch suggested with a laugh.

“Well, I’d love to take ya up on the offer, ya big blond beauty, but I think Dobey’s expecting us to show up for work.”

“Yeah, leave it to him to always spoil our fun,” Hutch replied.

Just then the police radio crackled on. They listened to the call. It was too far away for them to help, but they started discussing another crime in that vicinity recently, and continued on that topic for the rest of the ride to work.

~~~

As they walked through the squad room doors, they saw Dobey standing outside his office looking for them. “You have something to tell me?” he asked.

“Good mornin’, Cap’n,” Starsky said, giving his boss a sweet smile as he went past him to his own desk.

“Yeah, mornin’, Cap’n,” Hutch nodded as he stopped to pour them cups of coffee.

“Well?” Dobey asked in an exasperated tone. Patience wasn’t one of his virtues, and they loved to have fun with that fact.

“Oh, Starsk, he must want to know if we’re going to go undercover on that new case,” Hutch said, pointing a finger at him.

“Oh…? Oh! Is that what you want to know?” Starsky asked Dobey innocently.

“Get in here!” Dobey said, shaking his head as he turned to go inside his office, evidently not even trying to figure out his detectives’ silly behavior or why they were in such good moods.

Starsky and Hutch, both grinning, followed him with their coffees and sat in their usual chairs.

“Are you going to do it?” There was an edge in Dobey’s voice now, and his expression was serious.

“Yeah, we will,” Hutch said softly, sensing it was time to stop fooling around.

Starsky nodded in agreement when Dobey looked over at him.

“Good,” Dobey said with obvious relief. “There was an attempted break-in at another gay couple’s apartment last night, but they had a security system and the alarm went off and apparently scared the intruder away. Of course,” he added, “we don’t know for sure it was the killers; it could have just been burglars. Still, you’ll want to check it out.” He handed Hutch the report from the beat cops that had taken the call.

“We’ll get right on it,” Hutch said, glancing at Starsky, who was starting to get up.

“I’m glad you two boys are doing this. I wasn’t sure you would,” Dobey said softly. “John Blaine would be proud of you.”

Hutch was surprised to see Starsky’s eyes tear up a little. Well, they were very close. But Starsky sure seems to be getting very emotional these days.

“Thanks,” Hutch said, rising from his chair and going to the door.

As he put his hand on the knob, he heard Dobey exclaim, “Oh, here. I almost forgot! This is the key to your apartment and here’s the address.” He held out the key and a piece of paper. “It’s furnished, but go see it and find out what you’ll need to live there awhile.”

Starsky, who was closer, took the items with an almost imperceptible shiver. Hutch noticed it because his body had the same reaction.

~~~

Later that day, after talking to the attempted-robbery victims and the officers who took the call, and taking care of some other business, they finally went to see their new apartment. Starsky parked the Torino around the corner and a couple of blocks away, and they walked over. It was on the second floor of a townhouse in the middle of the block. They climbed the stairs and Starsky opened the door.

It was sparsely furnished, but light and pleasant. They went in and looked around. A sofa, a chair, and a couple of end tables with lamps in the living room which opened into a dining area with a small table and two chairs, and a kitchen across from that.

“It’s not too bad, huh?” said Hutch.

“No,” answered Starsky as he led the way down a short hall, off of which were a few doors. The one on the right opened to a linen closet, the one to the left was to the bathroom, which they just gave a quick once-over. Finally, Starsky opened the one straight ahead, and stepped into the bedroom, with Hutch following right behind him.

“Jeez, it’s small!” Starsky exclaimed, staring at the full-size bed. They were fairly tall men and each had queen or king-size beds themselves.

“Not small — cozy,” Hutch said with a smile. Although he figured it would be a little uncomfortable for his long legs, he loved the idea of being crowded with his partner. Still, to cover up his delight, he made a joke of it, saying, “Don’t you know real estate talk?”

“Oh, right,” answered Starsky, smiling back.

“It’s getting late. If we’re going to move in today, we still have to go pick up our clothes and stuff from our apartments,” Hutch observed. “Or do you want to wait and do it tomorrow?”

He got the hoped-for response. “No, let’s do it today,” Starsky quickly answered with some urgency in his voice.

“Good. Let’s go to my place first,” Hutch said, barely able to contain his excitement as he led the way to the door.

~~~

They went to their apartments and got what they needed. They left the Torino at Starsky’s and took Hutch’s car back to the new apartment; it was much less conspicuous.

Along the way they decided on the names they would use undercover — Gus Seagrove for Hutch, and Harvey Newman for Starsky.

After hanging up their clothes and putting their other stuff in the bureau and nightstands in the bedroom and in the medicine cabinet of the bathroom, they realized it was late and they hadn’t even eaten dinner yet.

“I think we should go to that diner a few blocks away. We could sort of ‘rehearse’ there for our performance at the clubs,” Hutch suggested. “The killers probably just check out the clubs, so we want to make sure we’re comfortable with our ‘act’ before we go there. The diner would be a good warm-up.”

“Sounds good to me,” Starsky responded, with a slight waver in his voice.

They walked over to the medium-sized neighborhood place, and were quickly seated. It wasn’t very crowded, since it was around nine by then.

After reading the menu, they started looking around at the other customers. “Looks like we have a few examples we can copy,” Hutch whispered, as he patted Starsky’s hand to get his attention, then nodded his head slightly in the direction of two other male couples at booths across the room. In one booth, the two men sat side by side on one banquette, having coffee and sharing a dessert. They were talking happily, engrossed in each other. In the other booth, the two men sat across from each other. One was feeding the other what looked like fried clams. Each time the brown-haired man would take the clam in his mouth, he would lick the redhead’s fingers or suck on them. Hutch was entranced staring at them, and wasn’t even aware that he had started to squeeze Starsky’s hand which he had patted and then held.

Starsky watched his partner watching them. “Hey, buddy,” he said, trying to extract his hand from Hutch’s grip, “I’m going to need to use that; don’t crush it, huh?”

“Sorry, Starsk,” Hutch quickly apologized, but instead of releasing the hand, brought it to his lips and kissed it.

Starsky drew back slightly, but Hutch didn’t let go. “What’s that for?” Starsky asked, looking bewildered, but not unhappy.

“Because we need to practice this stuff,” Hutch replied. “And because I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Starsky whispered. “But I wish the waitress would get here and take our order before I starve to death,” he added in a normal voice, pulling his hand free. As if to soften the action, the first thing he did with his liberated fingers was to stroke Hutch’s face once.

“Hi, fellas! Know what you want?” asked the waitress cheerily, as she appeared as if on cue. She was a middle-aged blonde with a sunny smile.

“I know what I want,” Hutch answered in a seductive voice, ogling his partner so blatantly that he actually made him blush.

“Easy, boys!” the waitress snickered. “I meant from our menu.” She obviously was used to raunchy banter with the mostly gay clientele.

Starsky quickly ordered a Reuben and an egg cream, taking advantage of the opportunity to get the food of his youth in New York. Hutch immediately wondered if that was a mild stress reaction, if Starsky wanted something to remind him of the uncomplicated times and feelings of his childhood.

Ah, too many psychology courses in college! he decided, as he ordered tomato juice and turkey on whole wheat.

As soon as the waitress took the menus and left, Hutch took hold of Starsky’s hands. He looked deep into his partner’s eyes for a few moments. “Does this make you uncomfortable?” he asked.

“Yeah, a little,” Starsky answered, “but I’m not pullin’ away. I know I have to get used to it.”

“Is it that hard?” Hutch asked, with a twinge of hurt in his voice.

“In my head,” Starsky replied, “I know it’s silly, that I shouldn’t care what people think. And last night….” He gulped. “Last night, when it was just us, I thought it wouldn’t matter anymore. But knowing other people seein’ us like this will think we’re gay, that does bother me. Even though I know it shouldn’t.”

“Why do you think it bothers you?” asked Hutch. “Do you think it’s wrong for one man to love another that way?” He desperately needed to hear the answer to this question.

“No, of course not. How could love between two consenting adults be wrong?” Starsky gave the answer Hutch was praying for. “I don’t know what my problem is. Maybe it’s that I figure everybody’s right away thinkin’ ’bout us havin’ sex together and that embarrasses me.”

“You? Embarrassed about sex?” Hutch asked incredulously. “Tell me, Starsk, if you thought people were picturing you having sex with a beautiful woman, instead of me, would you still be embarrassed?”

“I dunno. Sort of. That’s somethin’ private, ya know? I don’t want strangers imaginin’ me havin’ sex, period.” Starsky thought a minute. “I think maybe you’ve hit on the key. If people see a straight couple, even if they’re holdin’ hands or makin’ out, they don’t immediately start thinkin’ about them screwin’. But if they see a gay couple doin’ those things, their first thought is about sex. Maybe what bothers me is that I feel my privacy’s bein’ invaded. And…,” he paused, then continued as if he himself were surprised at what he was saying, “and I’d feel like I was bein’ judged and found guilty without ever gettin’ to defend myself. People would be thinkin’ I’m bad or immoral without knowin’ anythin’ about me except who I sleep with. That’s information a stranger shouldn’t even know, let alone pass judgment on. It burns me up!” he concluded, squeezing Hutch’s hands for emphasis.

A smile slowly spread across Hutch’s fair features. His eyes shone with love. “I found the key, all right, babe. The key is fair play. I’ve played dirty sometimes, but you never have. You hate it when anything’s unfair. Sticking a label on someone, and then hating him for having that label just goes against your grain, against everything that makes you, you. It offends your basic sense of decency.” He raised his right hand to cup Starsky’s chin and rubbed his thumb gently across his love’s lower lip. “It’s that core of decency and kindness that makes me love you so.” He wanted to kiss Starsky so much, but it would have been awkward across the expanse of the table, so instead, he warmed to his topic and continued. “What bothers you isn’t that you’d be ashamed to be thought gay; you know that’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re upset because people would be prejudiced against you, and prejudice always hurts.”

Starsky’s eyes widened in recognition of the truth. “You know me better than I know myself sometimes,” he said, and started to suck on Hutch’s thumb, making him gasp.

Just then the waitress appeared. “Here,” she said, giggling, as she put their food on the table, “eat this instead. You can have dessert later.” This time it was Hutch who blushed, feeling exposed by the look of naked desire that he knew must have been on his face.

Starsky laughed. “Thanks, darlin’.” He nodded to her, then turned his attention to his meal.

My god! Hutch thought as he picked at his food. He made me half-hard with that little move, and now he’s digging into his sandwich as if nothing happened. He must have seen the waitress coming, yet he sucked on my thumb anyway. Was it just to prove to me that he will be able to act the part undercover, or did he do it for his pleasure, too? He does have that glint in his eye. Wish I knew how he really feels.

To Be Continued

While the author intended to finish this story, she passed away before she could. If you are interested in picking it up where she left off, I’ll be happy to link the beginning chapters to your conclusion. Flamingo