A Little Less Conversation

A little less conversation, a little more action please
All this aggravation ain’t satisfactioning me
— Elvis Presley

 

“Hey, Hutch… What in hell are you doin’?”

Starsky couldn’t keep the shock from his voice as he walked into the bedroom. He stopped and stood very still, staring at Hutch’s stiff back, and then his gaze once again took in the open duffel and the piles of clothing laid out on the bed. It took him a few moments to find enough saliva in his mouth to speak.

“Hutch?” he asked, still stunned. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Nothing.”

Hutch’s tone made Starsky wince. With a single word, Hutch managed to convey anger mixed with a touch of sadness. And to make things even worse, Starsky had no idea why Hutch was feeling that way. Not after the past four months. Not after sharing almost everything- Nah, not quite true. It wasn’t almost; it was everything, right down to bathroom details. Something that still made Starsky smile. Fact of life: take whatever help you need and be grateful. He thought he’d been grateful.

Apparently not.

“Nothing, huh?” Starsky said bitingly. “Don’t look like nothing to me. What’s goin’ on?” he demanded, his own anger finding fuel in the obvious: Hutch was packing to leave. Starsky stepped forward, only to be met by a very irritated Hutch, who’d spun on his heels and got into Starsky’s personal space faster than he could say, “What the fuck?”

“Do not get into my face, Starsk!” Hutch growled, that irritating finger poking into Starsky’s shoulder.

Starsky looked into the angry blue eyes before he glanced down at the finger digging into his skin. Funny how even in anger, Hutch managed not to poke him in his scars. And they were scars now. After nearly six months of recovery, the skin had healed into thin, white puckered lines that were barely visible anymore. Thanks to Hutch, who had insisted on massaging the healing incisions with some smelly shit he’d brought at the local health food store. He swore that the miraculous properties would be helpful, and he’d applied the cream religiously every day.

Wasn’t so smelly, now that Starsky thought about it. And it did feel—nice. Very nice. So nice, in fact, that lately, whenever Hutch touched him, Starsky had to push those warm, gentle fingers away and leave the room. He had to. Before Hutch saw what his touch did to him. Saw the flush of arousal. Saw the growing erection. Saw the aching need that Starsky was sure leaked from every pore…

“Huh?” Starsky blurted out, realizing that Hutch had said something while his mind was wandering in Hutch-heaven.

“-isn’t a big deal. Not a big surprise or a secret, even. Time I left. That’s all,” Hutch said coolly.

“Left?” Starsky echoed.

“Yeah, left. Vamoosed. Ciao’d. Arrivederci’d.”

“Where you goin’?” Starsky asked numbly, suddenly realizing Hutch didn’t mean going back to Venice Place. He meant Going, with a capital “g.” As in far away. Not in Bay City. Somewhere—else, where there was no Starsky.

Hutch merely sighed and turned away. Starsky caught the look of sadness that flitted across his face.

“Answer me. Please, Hutch.”

“I need space.”

“Space?”

“Are you going to play the dummy and repeat everything I say?”

“Play the-” Starsky bit his tongue. “Sorry. I’m sorry! Whatever I’ve done, I’m sorry. Just-”

Hutch shoved another shirt into the bag, along with a pair of tan cords. “Just what?” he asked.

Starsky moved closer and reached out. He wanted to touch the taut shoulder. Stroke the soft hair. Run a finger over those lips… But at the last second, he pulled back. Hutch would bite his hand off, he realized. Funny, his Hutch of the last four months wouldn’t have bitten his hand. Wouldn’t have turned his fury on his best friend. Wouldn’t have been packing to leave…

“Let’s talk about this,” Starsky pleaded.

“Nothing to talk about.”

“Damn it, Hutch! Nothing to talk about? After what we’ve been though. All the hard work. The pain and the tears. Nothing? You’re fucking nuts.” Starsky’s anger flared, and he grabbed Hutch’s upper arm. “Turn around and look at me. You owe me.”

Hutch turned and stared him down. “I owe you. I owe you?” Then he laughed, harshly. “You are a piece of work, partner.”

Starsky felt like he’d been sucker-punched. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly and dared to put his hands on Hutch’s tense shoulders.

“Yeah, ya big lug. You owe me. After all, I let you live with me for the past four months.” Starsky forced a grin. “I let you cook for me and clean and do laundry. I let you give me baths and tuck me into bed. I let you rag on me to take my medication and do my damned exercises. Until I dropped from exhaustion, I might add.” Starsky shook Hutch lightly. “And I let you give me those massages. Every single night for the entire time you’ve been takin’ care of me.”

Hutch merely looked at Starsky for a long minute before he gave him a half smile. “You are such an asshole. I owe you?” Then he snickered before he said quietly, “I am going to miss you.”

“Hutch, you ain’t gonna to miss me because you’re not goin’ no place.”

“Yeah?” Hutch shrugged and moved back a step.

“Yeah.” Starsky’s hands gripped tightly.

“Who’s going to stop me?”

“You are.”

Hutch looked momentarily surprised before he said, “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“‘Cause ya love me.”

Hutch blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You love me, blondie. And I love you.”

“Oh.”

Starsky almost laughed at the way Hutch’s face looked briefly expectant, then fell. He reached out and touched a single finger to Hutch’s chin. He tapped it. “I know exactly what you’re thinkin’. You’re thinkin’, we do love each other. Have for years. Best friends and partners, right? ‘Course we love each other.” Starsky waggled his eyebrows. “You got it wrong.”

“Huh?”

Starsky grinned. A befuddled Hutch was a thing of beauty. “Allow me to clarify,” he said in his most playfully upper-crust and arrogant tone. He cleared his throat. “I, David Starsky, am fully, totally and immensely in love with you, one Kenneth Hutchinson.” Confusion was still etched on Hutch’s face, so Starsky dropped his act and said plainly, “I’m in love with you, blintz.”

Then he pulled Hutch into his arms and planted a big one right on those warm lips. Hutch tensed for a few seconds before he finally relaxed and returned the kiss. While his arms didn’t move from his sides, his mouth said enough to Starsky. For now. Hutch did love him, and by God, he loved Hutch.

When Starsky finally released his partner, two anxious blue eyes gazed at him. “Did ya like that?” he asked.

“Starsk?” Hutch said, his fingers touching his own lips.

“I said I love you. Got somethin’ to say to me?”

“What about Marilyn?”

Starsky shook his head. “That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. What about her?” Hutch blushed, and Starsky suddenly realized what had started this whole mess today. “Did you eavesdrop?”

“Well… You were on the phone in the living room, and you didn’t seem to care if I overheard,” Hutch admitted.

“You’re such a schmuck. You know who Marilyn is.”

“Yeah, I do. That gorgeous physical therapist who’s had her hands on you three times a week for the past four months!”

Starsky’s mouth fell open. “You’re jealous!”

“Am not,” Hutch muttered. “Well, maybe just a bit.” He took a step back. “You have a date tonight with Marilyn, and you have the balls to tell me you love me?”

“Hutch, you need to get better with the fine art of communication. Marilyn was definitely my physical therapist. She is definitely gorgeous.” Starsky gave a toothy grin. “She’s got a great figure, that much I’ll give ya. And now that I’ve been officially released from her expert care, I can physically pursue such a relationship, if that was somethin’ I wanted. The thing is I have a feeling her husband would have a problem with any kind of “hot-n-heavy” action between her and me. Other than as a friend, who is grateful for her tender, lovin’ care and talented hands, which I was privileged to have been on the receiving end of.”

“Starsky?”

“In plain English, buddy, she’s hitched, and it’s you I want to screw. Got it?”

“She’s married? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t ya ask?” Starsky raised his brows.

Hutch rolled his eyes. “Point taken. But what about how you’ve pushed me away these past few weeks. Every time I touched you, you acted like a scalded cat! You got all shaky and practically ran from the room. I thought you were disgusted by me.”

“And so you figured you needed to leave. Guess I have to take some of the blame for that; I wasn’t very good at explaining what I was feelin’. Sorry, partner.”

“Some of the blame?”

“Some. I hadn’t had a hard-on for months and then suddenly, wham. Started on the 18th. Every single time you touched me, I got hard. You’d touch me and I’d feel this—jolt. All I wanted to do is have you touch me, but I thought you’d think I was taking advantage. Or being a dick. You know, fallin’ in love with the caregiver and all. I didn’t want you to think it was only gratitude.”

Hutch shook his head and laughed. “You knew I’d had a few guys in my life. Why all the coyness now?”

Starsky shrugged. “Scared, I guess. You haven’t dated guys in years. I don’t have much experience at all. Few hand-jobs here and there. But with you, I gotta admit it all sounds pretty damned inviting. So what do ya say?”

Hutch examined Starsky’s face intently and then slowly nodded. He smiled ruefully. “That was pretty stupid of me.”

“What? Throwing a tantrum and threatening to run away from home?” At Hutch’s shrug, Starsky chuckled. “It was pretty dumb, but I love ya anyway. So what do you say we don’t do this again? What do you say we have a nice, long talk about who’s living where and what we mean to each other, and then we’ll stop talking and get into the action. I’m definitely ready to jump back into the sack. With you, in case I haven’t made myself crystal clear.”

“Your idea of romance leaves me breathless.” It broke the tension; they both laughed, and after a few moments, Hutch asked, “Are you sure? I might get—jealous again one of these days. I might be an asshole to live with.”

“Might be?” Starsky asked teasingly.

Hutch slipped his fingers into Starsky’s hair. “I will be. Can you live with that?”

“We’ll see.”

Starsky moved closer and took Hutch’s mouth in a long, wet, deep kiss. When he finally released Hutch, they stared at each other and then grinned.

“Dobey’s going to faint when we tell him,” Hutch said.

“Might even kill his appetite.”

“Nah,” they said, in perfect sync.

Then they tumbled onto the bed and made love right on top of Hutch’s clean clothes.

End