A Place to Hide

The fancy ship’s clock on the desk showed 3:45. The gentle chime had sounded on the hour. Seven bells.

Starsky had been in Hutch’s office for forty-five minutes now. He’d made a blunt request of his ex-partner and expected to get what he wanted. The atmosphere was tense and awkward. He hadn’t seen Hutch face to face in over a year.

This was no friendly visit, no sweet reunion between two old buddies. This was business and not very nice business at that. Making it tougher were the old conflicts between him and Hutch, all the unburied hatchets neither of them wanted to deal with right now. Too much resentment had been allowed to fester over the past months and years.

Starsky hadn’t wanted things to get personal, but he was beginning to see how unavoidable that would be. Sitting there, fuming, waiting for Hutch to say something, he couldn’t help thinking of how their relationship had changed. Time had chipped away at it, blurring all the old features, skewing the clean edges out of place, until nothing fit anymore. In the four years since he had left the force, Hutch had worked first as an investigator for a prestigious Los Angeles law firm, at the same time studying for his law degree. He was a full-fledged lawyer now. Man, I was proud of him…Starsky mused, remembering the day Hutch had passed his bar exams, regretting the present anger.

Starsky himself had been kicked upstairs in the Department, promoted to captain. He tried to be, on the surface at least, satisfied with his forced change in job, but most of his time was spent sitting behind a desk, where he felt sometimes useful, most times wasted. He tried to find as much meat to sink his teeth into as he could. Maybe that was why he was here today, pressuring Hutch. Making a mountain out of a molehill.

Their lives had taken separate paths since they had left the street. Unavoidably–or maybe not so unavoidably–they had grown apart. Their well-meant efforts to get together had tailed off and phone calls had become sporadic. This was especially true of the last year. But it had started long before, Starsky knew. For one thing, he’d been married to Liz even before Hutch left the force. The kids had come along–Kenneth, who was four now; Sarabet had just turned three. Hutch had stayed single, but only in name. He was living and working with a beautiful lady lawyer, Jeri Eastman, the daughter of one of the law firm’s partners. The Eastmans of Smith, Diggs, & Eastman had Hutch pretty well sewn up. Maybe in more ways than one. Fancy lawyer now in this fancy office…forgetting himself, all we went through.

So today, their paths were colliding explosively. The echo of his own harsh words still hung in the air.

“That’s not fair, Starsky,” Hutch was trying to remain unruffled, beginning to fail. His color had risen.

“Clark Allen is a murderer, Hutch!”

“I’m not convinced of that,” Hutch said. “Not as convinced as you are. Besides, he’s not on trial for murder. He was indicted for tax evasion.”

“That’s a euphemism and you know it,” Starsky shot back. “And what do you mean, ‘not as convinced’? You mean you have an inkling of what Allen is, what he’s done, and you’re willing to let him waltz away with a slap on the wrist?”

“Like it or not, that’s my job, Starsky! He’s a client! I have to try and get the guy off one rap, not convict him for another. I’m a lawyer, remember? Not a cop.” He stared at his friend. “And I don’t know what he’s done. I know what the hearsay is. I’ve heard the same things you’ve heard. But no substantial evidence has come across this desk, and I don’t have a license to go looking for any.”

Shifting papers on his desk, Hutch was hating this, hating the distance between them even more. It was nobody’s fault but their own. Those dark eyes probed him in the same old way. If anything, they were more formidable now, like the man himself–making Hutch feel things he’d half-forgotten. Starsky could always up-end him, shatter all his assumptions and complacencies. Starsky was making him feel like a pimply teenager trying to justify cheating. In his own office yet.

Starsky saw Hutch’s discomfort and for some reason, that made him even angrier. Can’t even look me in the eye! “I knew we’d gotten away from each other,” he said, standing up, voice icy-hot, “these last couple of years, but…. When did you change? You’re not even the same guy! You’ve just been goin’ along, ‘doing your job’, only somewhere you mislaid your integrity! You said you called Gunther’s lawyer a prostitute. ‘Prostitute in a grey silk suit,’ wasn’t that it? ‘Course your suit’s not in that league yet.”

“This is a hell of a note,” Hutch grated. “You coming down here to chastise me. No, dammit, I’m not the same guy! I’m a few years older and a little bit wiser, and I’ve given up being a boy scout to the world! I do, however, still have some integrity! Not a lot, but some. I’m not a prostitute, and this is not murder we’re talking about here.” He blew his stack finally, irretrievably, standing up, coming around his desk. “Man! I tell you, you’ve got a lot of gall coming in here, buddy, pumping me for information. And then criticizing me for not giving it to you! What gives you the right to call my ethics into question? You’ve had no reason to even give me a phone call in the last year.”

“As if you’ve been just sittin’, waiting by the phone!” Starsky shouted, turning away. Turning back with more to say, he stopped and glanced at Hutch, seeing the stress in the dark-suited figure. His anger softened, the stupid case forgotten. He shrugged lamely. “Uh, I’ve been meaning to call you. Thought, one time maybe we could go fishin’ or something. You and me? If we could ever get it together. I don’t know.”

Hutch softened, too. “That sounds good. But we’ve got to promise each other one thing. Not to discuss our jobs.” He let out what seemed like a long-held breath.

“It was totally unfair of me to come down here to try and dig that information out of you, Hutch,” Starsky muttered, feeling guilty. “I….” A sigh. “I assumed you’d make an exception, for old time’s sake. Just plain laziness on m y part, that’s all it is. I’ll get the goods eventually–just have to work harder. We may not get your boy this time, but sooner or later, we will. I will. Meanwhile, I’m sorry.”

“Okay, okay,” Hutch said, gently. “Look, Starsky, it’s nothing personal; nothing to do with you and me. As one of Allen’s lawyers, I have an obligation to protect him, whether I like him or not. I’ll help you any other way I can, though, believe me.” He smiled, approached Starsky, grasped his arm. “I haven’t lost my integrity, Starsky. We’re still on the same side.”

The contact was good. Starsky looked at him, pinning him down to the moment, asking for something, anything, everything. He wasn’t sure himself. “Course we are,” he reassured himself, maybe more than Hutch. “Nothin’s forever, but–I always thought we were….” He edged the barest of millimeters closer to Hutch. “So, am I assuming again? Are we still friends?”

Hutch grabbed him in a hug. “Sure we are. Hey, it’s not how many phone calls we make to each other…it’s what we are to each other inside. You’re in my soul, buddy. Never doubt that. You always have been and you always will be, no matter what.”

Starsky returned the hug, with all his might. “I’m sorry I said what I said. Damn, we’re not strangers, but we’re sure actin’ like it!” After a moment, they drew apart, patting each other. “Alright,” Starsky said, smiling. “Alright. I gotta go. You know, maybe we should argue more often. Sure is nice makin’ up. Always was.” He drew back reluctantly. “I gotta go.”

Hutch retained his grasp on one of his shoulders. “Starsk. If you’re really serious about that fishing trip, I’ve got some vacation time coming up, after the Allen farce is all over with. If you’d like to, we could take off somewhere. It doesn’t matter where.” His hopeful expression was genuine, Starsky could tell.

“I am serious, Hutch,” he said. “I don’t want to lose you completely.”

“I guess it’s been feeling that way, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Starsky said, moving away. “There’s been, I dunno, something important missin’.” Something Liz and the kids aren’t giving me? he wondered, surprised. I thought that‘s most of what I wanted out of life. Home, family…those two beautiful children of mine, my wife…. They’re not enough? God, what do I want then?

“I’ll see ya,” he said aloud, almost wistfully, feeling sorry for himself.

“See ya, Starsk. Say hello to Liz for me. And my two little partners. And I’m rooting for you, whatever you decide to do about Allen.”

“Better not let Smith, Diggs, or Eastman hear you talkin’ like that,” Starsky teased. “Specially not Eastman.” He went through the door and was gone.

Looking after him, Hutch missed him more acutely in that instant than he had the whole last year.

~*~*~

Clark Allen was given an eighteen month suspended sentence on charges of tax evasion and conspiracy to defraud. There hadn’t been a nickel’s worth of hard evidence to tie him to the two, possibly more, local contract murders Starsky suspected him of being involved in. Nobody’s fault. Men like Allen just got away. They had money, and if they weren’t too smart themselves, they hired smart lawyers. Not Hutch’s fault if he fit into that category. He wasn’t responsible for the judicial system being screwed up.

Now that the case was over, Starsky wondered if he should call Hutch. This weekend seemed like a good opportunity. Liz had taken the kids up to Santa Barbara to see her parents. The house was too quiet; made him naggingly aware of that empty spot inside him.

It had been there a long time. He knew exactly from when. From the day he’d gone back to work for the first time without Hutch. Oh, he hadn’t let it affect him too much, or keep him from doing his best, but it was definitely there. From that day….

He hadn’t let himself depend on Hutch’s friendship after that; figured it was best for them. A change, growth, maturity…hell, he was forty now, after all. But the truth was that not a day had ever gone by since that he didn’t think of, miss, want to call and/or see Hutch. Even Liz didn’t realize the extent of his feelings. They were too private, and Hutch meant too much. But he’d stuck by his resolve.

Besides, Hutch had been apparently thriving with the change. He certainly didn’t appear to need Starsky the way Starsky needed him. On the surface, Starsky had encouraged the distance between them, wrapping himself up completely in his family. Of course, he loved Liz and Kenny and Sara with all his heart. But maybe…maybe not all his soul. Hutch had said it for both of them. The man was in his soul–before, still; above and beyond.

Needing Hutch, though, was a luxury he couldn’t allow himself. He’d known for a long time that it would never be possible for them to be as close as they once had been. He had to face it, and keep building his defenses up against even wanting it. Hutch was taking it all right. So could he. But God, sometimes it was like a million tons of rock falling down on him. He’d wake up in the middle of the night, missing Hutch so damn bad, wanting to talk to him…longing for the past, even for the danger. The closeness most of all….

Maybe Liz did have an inkling. Back in the beginning of their marriage, they’d be having a pretty hot argument and she’d ‘suggest’ that maybe he should’ve married Hutch, not her. What was her perennial line? ‘Call that precious damned beautiful partner of yours!’ His indulgent laughter had always ended the argument at that point. Liz had never understood his relationship with Hutch. She’d felt threatened by it, and her defense had been to trivialize it, make fun of it. She had never understood (any more than he did, actually) its depth and height and reach. The real longing that dragged him groaning out of his sleep sometimes was beyond his powers of analysis. Even after years apart, there Hutch still was, alive and strong inside him, like a never-born child. Wasn’t getting easier to live with as they both got older.

So maybe today he was doing something about it. Shit, I just wanna see him! Wonder if he would come up to the lake with me, like he said? Would we even be able to relax with each other anymore, talk to each other? We never really had a whole helluva lot in common, but we liked each other anyway. Was it just the job holding us together? Not for me. I loved the guy. Never loved anybody more….

“What the hell?” he said aloud, then dialed Hutch’s home phone number without any more delay, tired of thinking about it.

The raspy, familiar voice answered. “Hello.”

“Hutch.”

“Starsky! You must be reading my mind, buddy. I was just gonna call ya.”

“Oh yeah? Why?”

“Well, I’ve got a few days off, starting today. Think you could swing some time off, too? To do what we talked about? I was thinking, what’s the use of being a captain if you can’t order yourself some leave time?” He chuckled. “Whaddya say?”

“Sure, uh,” Starsky said, feeling shy now that he was actually talking to Hutch, after thinking about him so intently, on the verge of planning a vacation with him. In the old days it had been simpler; just throw some stuff into the Torino and take off. He drove a Volvo now, a whole different attitude. “Sure, Hutch,” he said. “No problem there, taking a few days. I’ve got leave time comin’. We have to think about provisions and stuff.”

“C’mon, let’s not worry about all that,” Hutch protested. “We can take what we need for a couple of days and then see. I kind of wanted just to toss some junk into the car and take off. You know, like we used to.”

“Yeah,” Starsky said, eyes absurdly moist. “That’s kind of what I had in mind, too.” He rubbed at his eyes roughly.

“Isn’t there a little town or something near your place?” Hutch asked.

“Yeah, Frazier. Cute little hole in the wall. General store and Mike’s Gas Station.”

“Well, we can get more supplies there, can’t we, if we need them?”

“Sure. So whose car we taking?”

Hutch sighed “Well, that’s a problem.”

Starsky was concerned. “What, babe?”

“My car died on me. The whole transmission’s shot and I don’t know when it’ll be out of the shop. And I can’t say I trust it even then! Damn thing’s gonna run me five hundred dollars at least.”

Starsky chuckled. “When you gonna get yourself a decent car? Back five years ago it was the LTD. Now, you’re driving some piece of Japanese crap!”

“A Corolla is not crap,” Hutch protested. “But I guess there’s bound to be a rotten apple in every barrel. So we’ll take the Starsky family buggy. Sure Liz won’t need it?“

“Nah, the station wagon’s her baby. It’s a date, then? Tomorrow morning?”

“Sure is,” Hutch said, sounding delighted by the whole prospect.

Starsky wondered why that should surprise him.

“I’m really looking forward to it, Starsk,” Hutch went on.

“So’m I. I–well, never mind.”

There was a pause. “C’mon, tell. What is it?”

“I guess I–I been missin’ you something terrible, lately. Y’know?”

“Yeah,” Hutch said quietly, over the wire. “Me, too. But, hey, we’re doing something about it now, aren’t we? Better late than never, huh buddy?”

“You said it. Look, uh, I know you must have somethin’ else to do today, besides bullshittin’ with me on the phone. I’ll let you go.” He felt the day yawning ahead of him.

“Starsk, no wait! Whoa! I’m not busy. Jeri’s out of town. My whole weekend’s my own. What about you?”

“Mine, too,” Starsky said, eagerly. “Liz is up in Santa Barbara with her parents. She took the kids. So I’m here, talking back to the mynah bird.”

“We better take advantage of this, Starsky,” Hutch said, enthusiastically.

“What do you mean?”

“Why don’t we just take off today? Head up to the lake.”

“Today?” Starsk asked. He shrugged. “Why not? Come over then, and pop a couple of Coors first, huh, while I pack my stuff?”

“I can’t,” Hutch said, alarming Starsky for a second. Then Hutch clarified, “My car, remember? You come here.”

Starsky felt the adrenalin hit him like a freight train at Hutch’s request “Be there in an hour.”

“Starsk–?”

“Yeah?” He was already halfway across the living room. Lucky the phone had a long cord.

“Bring the beer. I’m out.”

“I’ll bring a case!”

~*~*~

He rushed into the house, seven o’clock next morning, feeling high–and not from brew. Hutch was waiting in the car, while he picked up a couple of things–foremost the keys to the house at the lake, which he’d forgotten.

Liz was in the sunny kitchen. Surprised, he called out to her. “Hiya, sweetheart! When’d you get here?”

“Hi,” she said, eyeing him. “We got in this morning, found out you weren’t here.”

“Where’re the kids?” He took her in his arms and kissed her then drew back. God, she was beautiful. It never failed to hit him like this. Maybe things had cooled off, and they were sure having their troubles these days–and nights–but Liz was still beautiful to him. A fall of dark chestnut hair over one slate-green eye, an arching, cynical brow over the other, ripe lips compressed tightly with anger. In her way she was as hot-headed as he was.

“The kids are in bed, where else?” she said, tightly. She turned to him, hand on hip. “And where the hell were you, Dave? It’s pretty obvious you didn’t expect us back so soon.”

He smiled at her, too happy to take her seriously, figuring she was just in a bad mood. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

She looked at him incredulously. “If you’re trying to butter me up, it isn’t working. What the hell are you smiling about? I come in here and find you off somewhere, bed not even slept in…. You really didn’t expect me back this soon, did you?” She shook off his hand.

“You’re not upset with me, are you?” Starsky asked teasingly.

Liz was confused, looking him over, really seeing him. He didn’t look like a man who’d been unfaithful. She suspected he hadn’t been completely faithful to her over the last year, but this apparently wasn’t one of those times. “Well, yeah, I am upset,” she said. “Why aren’t you acting guilty?”

“What for?” Starsky said, confused himself now. He’d been riding so high on his reconciliation with Hutch, he hadn’t been paying close attention to her words. “What are you mad about?”

“You staying out all night, Dave!”

“Oh.” He was genuinely surprised. “I was gonna tell you. Don’t tell me you think I was out fooling around or something like that?”

“What was I supposed to think? You not here. Me, conveniently out of town? And the way things have been going….”

“Well, it was nothin’ like that,” Starsky said chidingly, half-laughing, reaching for a wedge of tomato off the cutting board, “exactly…. I was enjoying myself, though. Very much, in fact. Look, hon, I gotta go–”

“Where were you?” Liz Starsky turned back to her vegetables, chopped a carrot furiously. “I keep asking, and getting no answer. You’re going again, and I still don’t know where you were the first time!”

“Don’t be mad, honey. There’s no reason to be. I was with Hutch. He’s outside, waiting. Which is why I’m in a hurry. I didn’t expect you back so soon, so we were heading up to the lake for the weekend. We got too wasted to start out last night, and I forgot the keys, so–” She looked at him, actually startled. “Yeah,” he went on. “We–we kind of made up, Hutch and me. We’re friends again.” He grinned suddenly. “Honey, it was great! We drank beer, we talked all night. It was like gettin’ to know each other all over again.”

She was watching him. “I’m–really glad, honey.” The words didn’t match the expression on her face. Her eyes followed him as he rushed around, going in to kiss the kids, locating the keys; some other odds and ends.

“You don’t mind, do you, sweetheart?” he asked. “I’ll be back Monday afternoon at the latest. Do you wanna see Hutch? I’ll call him. He had no idea you’d be here.”

“No, no,” she said. “I, uh, I don’t want to see him. Not now. You two just have fun.” She sighed, tiredly. “Run along, and–be careful, huh?”

~*~*~

The Starsky family A-frame was built on a little spit of land that jutted out from the forested shoreline. It was nestled in a stand of pine trees that afforded complete privacy. A wide sundeck looked out over the tranquil lake and a jetty reached out into the water. There were only two other residences adjacent to the lake, Starsky said in answer to Hutch’s questions. Neither of them were immediately visible. The sun was shining and the birds were singing, both with an aching purity.

“I know you’ll love it, Hutch,” Starsky said, glancing at his ex-partner as they drove up the sun-dappled gravel road. “Every time I come up here, I can’t help thinkin’ about you.”

“What I want to know is,” Hutch said, “how the hell Liz got you to build a house in the woods. I practically had to drag you kicking and screaming up to a place like this.” He looked over and smiled at Starsky, thinking back. “Aren’t you worried about bears? And snakes?”

“Let’s just say you taught me to appreciate it all,” Starsky said. “‘Course, it helps to have a TV and stereo, too.” He smiled, gave Hutch a wink. “Besides, it was fun listening to you tellin’ me why it was all so great. Just like poetry, sometimes. You didn’t realize how you sounded.”

“I guess you could talk a little poetry yourself nowadays, partner,” Hutch observed. “It’s beautiful up here.”

“Me? Poetry? Never. Here we are.” He eased the car into the carport.

They unpacked their gear and carried it into the house. Starsky showed Hutch around the place. The house was small, but spacious; airy, but warm in feeling, designed with alcoves for necessary privacy. There were Indian blankets on the walls, homespun rugs on the warm, wooden floors–comfortable furniture, lots of pillows. It was a place to relax in comfort, and had Starsky’s imprint all over it. It was undeniably lived in. There was a loft and an open staircase leading up.

“We put the kids up here,” Starsky said, showing it to Hutch, pointing out the twin beds to him. “Or Liz’ mom and dad, when they come down; Mama, when she was alive. Either you can sack out up here, or I can. There’s the bathroom.”

Hutch followed and watched fondly as his former partner explained how he’d supervised every step of the A-frame’s building, showing Hutch all its details down to the flagstone door step. Starsky was proud of his home away from home, but his joy in it reminded Hutch uncomfortably of how his own dream of having a place just like this had receded since he left the force. Maybe he didn’t feel the need to escape as acutely as he did then. Maybe. He and Jeri lived at the beach and he was satisfied to get in a little swimming and sailing now and then. That was his brand of escape, now. That and good Scotch. He’d given up the dream of a faraway place of perfect happiness.

Starsky was thinking along the same lines. Funny how things had turned out, how Hutch didn’t seem to need this anymore. Maybe it’s all okay with him, and the blond lady, and the condo in Santa Monica. Hell, what more could a guy want, after all? I’m the one who doesn’t know anymore.

They stowed their provisions in the kitchen. Lots of vegetables. Hutch cracked up to find that his ex-partner was almost as heavily into nutritional food as he’d once been himself. “Started when Liz was pregnant,” Starsky explained, crunching into a stalk of celery. “Second time. She always ate good, so I thought, finally, why not?” He broke off two cans from a six-pack of beer and handed one to Hutch. “Still drink beer, though.”

“I, uh, see,” Hutch said, looking pointedly at Starsky’s belly. On impulse he slapped it. It was as hard and ridged as a wooden barrel. Starsky tensed, startled for a minute, eyes wide on Hutch. Then he grinned and smacked it himself.

“Hey, solid as a rock! I put in some gym equipment back home about two years ago.”

“You’re in great shape for an old man. No denying that.” Hutch smiled, looking at his friend, really looking at him. They’d gotten too wasted too quickly last night to do much taking stock…mostly they’d laughed, drunkenly reminisced. Starsky hadn’t changed so much. He was sleeker, yes, with the years–his hair was short and softly styled. No more wild, lush curls. He’d grown thicker through the neck and shoulders and thighs, but it was muscle. Starsky never played halfway. Desk-bound he might be, but there was no doubt he could still handle the tough guys. He was the same. Same piercing eyes, ready to laugh; same mole under the right one. Same Starsky, same friend. “What about me?” Hutch asked cheerfully. “The old Blintz’s holding up pretty good, don’t you think?” He stood back, throwing out his T-shirted chest, patting down his still-lean frame with satisfaction. “I jog about two miles a day, you know.”

“That’s adequate,” Starsky teased, looking him over. Hutch hadn’t changed a bit; except little things like his hair being a shade thinner on top. That line was cut deeper into his forehead, but he still looked like a naughty choirboy…especially since he no longer sported a mustache. His big body was still wrapped tight with muscle. “Bet we could still take on the bad guys and win, buddy,” Starsky said to him.

“I dunno,” Hutch said. “I’m more or less just glad the bad guys left us alive.”

“Yeah. We had some close calls, didn’t we?” There was a reminiscent pause as both sank into their memories for a moment. “Listen, you wanna swim?” Starsky asked, perking up for Hutch’s sake. “Let’s take a swim. I’m hot.”

“Sounds great,” Hutch agreed. “Where, uh–where can I change? In the bedroom?”

Starsky was already in the process of ripping off his pale blue sweatshirt. He stopped, bare-chested, and stared at Hutch. “Change?!” He wore the same expression he might have worn if Hutch had asked him where he could go transform into a frog. “Hutch!? What the hell’s gotten into you? This is me, remember? Shit, I’ve seen your bare ass as many times as Jeri has! More, maybe. Get those duds off, ya lummox,” he roared playfully at the slow-moving Hutch, then, on a wicked inspiration, reached out and yanked his T-shirt off over his head.

“Alright, alright,” Hutch laughed, relinquishing the shirt, watching it fly across the room. “I better get my pants off, before you rip them off me, too!”

“And you don’t need any suit,” Starsky said contemptuously. “We bought this place because it’s P-R-I-V-A-T-E! And anyway, the neighbors are cool. If they happen to glance way across the lake and glimpse a little moonshine, they’re not gonna drop their teeth. Okay? Let’s go. Beat ya into the water.” He’d kicked off his sneakers, skinned out of his cut-offs and briefs, and now, moved out of the window-doors onto the deck.

Hutch watched him, divesting himself of the rest of his clothing–and his inhibitions. He strode out onto the sundeck. There were two levels of the rough-tempered wood. Starsky was already down the steps, poised puckishly on the lower deck before diving.

“Last one in,” he warned. An instant later his body was slicing the water. But Hutch was jumping in right behind him–off the upper deck. Foolhardy but fun.

They splashed and rough-housed in the water for a while, ended up lazing, talking. Starsky climbed out shivering, and fetched towels and cold beer from inside the house. Coming back, he watched the still-swimming Hutch. Goldfish…. Probably swim all night if I let him. What do you call a male mermaid? He tied a towel around his waist, draped one around his neck, then sat down on the lower deck with a beer, letting the sun pour over him, watching Hutch; feeling content–really content–for the first time in a long time. Too long. It was nice having Hutch here.

“Gotta beer waiting over here for ya,” he called. Hutch turned at once and swam to him, reaching up to rest his arms on the deck. He took the beer Starsky offered, tossing back his wet hair. Starsky flinched from the cold droplets. “Cut it out! Y’ gettin’ me wet.”

Hutch beamed up at him, squinting in the late afternoon sun. “Beer’s good. By the way, oh-host-who-walks, I’m starved. What’ll we have for dinner?”

“I’m way ahead of you,” Starsky said. “I just threw a couple of those steaks under the broiler. We got time to make a salad. Come on, marine-boy.” He stood and offered Hutch his hand, pulled him out of the water, and gave him a towel to dry off with.

Showered and dressed in a football jersey and running shorts, Hutch came out of the bedroom, drying his hair. He went to Starsky in the kitchen area. “Let a pro take over,” he ordered, draping the towel around his neck. “Go grab a quick shower, put some clothes on.”

“Okay. Flip the steaks, huh? They’re about well-done. That alright?” At Hutch’s affirmative, he went on. “Salad’s in the fridge. I won’t be a minute.” He turned the long cooking fork over to Hutch, smacked his partner’s shoulder and went out.

The table was set when he came back, the steaks on a platter. Hutch was tossing the salad like an expert, same old flair. Starsky smirked at him. “Gallopin’ Gourmet, huh?”

“Siddown,” Hutch scolded.

They ate ravenously, not really talking much, looking at each other, smiling with their eyes. Hutch thought when they’d planned this, that they’d be a little uncomfortable with each other. It wasn’t like that. Hadn’t been like that last night either. The vibes between them were as strong and unforced as they had ever been, and decidedly on the mellow side. They weren’t afraid of a silence. In a way, it was just as nice as talking.

“I brought you somethin’,” Starsky said, wiping his mouth with a napkin, eyes twinkling mischievously. He’d been holding this in reserve. “You didn’t even notice it in the car, did you? I picked it up yesterday, when I was comin’ to get you.”

“What is it?” Hutch asked, puzzled, and a little wary. “Starsk– You didn’t–”

“Aw, don’t worry,” Starsky chided. “I won’t embarrass you with anything soppy, okay? S’not that kind of present anyway. This is…this is for both of us.” He was on his way across the room. “Be right back.” He glanced over his shoulder.

“Starsky–” Hutch sat looking after him, already flushing a little. Starsky grinned, realizing that Hutch had no idea what to expect, that he’d always hated surprise presents and parties, and never knew what to say when somebody gave him something. He was probably expecting Starsky to come out with a sentimental trinket to make it even harder. Feeling smug, Starsky went out.

Nervously, Hutch got up, began clearing away the clutter. He was vigorously scraping off plates when Starsky came in behind him. There was no word and he turned finally.

Starsky stood behind the mosaic tiled counter that separated the kitchen from the living room space. His gift was on the counter, gleaming.

Hutch came forward, eyes riveted on the guitar. He touched it, neck and body, ran his hand along the frets, picked it up at last. “Damn you, Starsk,” he whispered, getting misty, trying for all he was worth not to.

“If you’re gonna cry, forget it,” Starsky grinned. “Can’t see the audience if you do that.” The grin faded as he watched his friend find a chord and strum gently. “Sort of like old times, huh?” he asked awkwardly.

“Oh yeah,” Hutch said absently, examining his present. “This is such a beautiful guitar. But I haven’t played in God-knows-when. Why’d you–” He cleared his throat. “Why’d you get it?”

“Just bought it, that’s all. Spur of the moment thing. No big deal.”

“Not especially for me, especially for this trip?” Hutch shook his head in disbelief, looking at Starsky, who shrugged eloquently.

“I wasn’t sure if you still had yours,” he said.

“Ah, Starsk. This wasn’t necessary. You’re nuts. I never even thought of getting you anything. Wish I had.”

“Forget it,” Starsky scoffed. “Take me out on the deck and serenade me.”

The sun was touching the tops of the pines across the lake. The moon was already up, three-quarters full, pale and high in a creamy blue sky. The frogs had started. Silvery blue water lapped almost musically against the lower deck and the jetty. They walked out and sat down, Starsky dangling his feet and legs in the water. Sitting cross-legged, Hutch looked up at the moon, listening to the guitar as he tuned it.

For some reason, the first song he played was the Everly Brothers’ “Dream.” Starsky began to hum along after the first chorus, leaning back on his propped arms. They sang it through again, Hutch finished with a clumsy blues run, and they looked at each other and laughed.

“What? Me, rusty?” Hutch asked, chuckling at himself.

“You were fine,” Starsky said, soothingly. “I dig that song, anyway. Takes me back to my misspent youth.”

“Ha, that’s funny,” Hutch commented. “I tried to teach it to you once, remember? You told me you never wanted to hear it again.”

“Well,” Starsky said, shrugging, splashing his feet in the water. “I said I’d never eat yogurt unless it was through one of those plastic pipes they stick in you in the hospital. I also said I’d never take a desk job. And looka me. Licking my spoon behind the biggest desk in town.”

“Why did you, Starsk?” Hutch asked suddenly, quietly.

“Why’d I what?”

“Take that desk. I mean, I remember how it all came down…what the shrinks told you after you had that little breakdown, that you couldn’t work on the street anymore and keep your sanity. We both know what you finally decided. But–you wouldn’t–you know–you wouldn’t talk to me, wouldn’t let me work it out with you, or help you, or anything….” An edge of resentment had crept into his voice.

“It was best,” Starsky said shortly, softly, pulling his knees up to his chest. “Best for you. Best for me.”

“But, maybe not best for us,” Hutch said “You and me. The team.”

“It was my decision, Hutch.” Starsky glanced at him, wondering why he was bringing all this up now, hearing the long-buried resentment. It hurt, just like the memories from that time.

“That’s what you said,” Hutch said. “And I agreed. But…. It was the end of something for us. For me. I don’t know…. In a way, I’m still hurting from it.”

Starsky stared at him, surprised “You–?” He hadn’t expected…. He looked down quickly. “I–I’m sorry, Hutch. I’m really sorry. But–I was hurting pretty bad then, myself. I was in pieces. What kind of partner would I have been to you? I was trying to protect you, buddy. Trying to protect myself even more, though! I couldn’t let myself hurt. It would’ve been too much to take. The Captaincy was like a life-preserver. It was just there, and I grabbed it! Lucky to get it, too. I still wanted to be a cop.”

“And I didn’t,” Hutch said quietly “Not enough to keep running the streets with a stranger.”

“You felt like I deserted you, didn’t you?” Starsky looked at him, then away, running his hand through his hair. “Even knowing why I couldn’t talk to you?”

“I knew why,” Hutch said, a little sharply. “And I didn’t push. As much as I wanted to. I didn’t hurt any less, though. I guess I still…needed you to tell me, talk it through, explain, I felt you–owed me that. I knew better, but–”

Starsky turned his body to lean closer to Hutch, wanting to explain. “Babe, I know I owed you. I know. But–if I’d really faced what was happening to us, I couldn’t have gone through with it. I was half-crazy, wasn’t that obvious? I’d had a breakdown! Remember me firing six rounds into my apartment wall? What did I know? I thought I was doing the best thing for everybody concerned. Makin’ a clean break…. It made some kind of sense, then.” He shook his head. “I know I pushed you away from me. And I’m sorry. I started us drifting apart. And then I kept us apart. I know–”

“Hey,” Hutch said, seeing him kicking himself. “I’m sorry I started this. Don’t sweat it. It’s all over and done.” He tried a smile. “Why waste our time talking about the past? It’s all water under the bridge.”

“You brought it up,” Starsky reminded him, unable to keep the hurt out of his voice. “Why did you? Alla that…it’s still a little–it’s still hard for me. I have a lot of unresolved guilt feelings….”

“I’m sorry, Starsk,” Hutch said gently. “It’s just ’cause this…” he gestured around, “us, here; it’s nice. That’s all. I couldn’t help wondering why we haven’t been together. How we could have let somethin’ this good slip away from us. I couldn’t help remembering, regretting a little bit. Only natural, I guess.”

They were silent for a time, feeling more than seeing the sun setting, the twilight coming down, moon brightening.

Starsky sighed and Hutch rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. “Stop kicking yourself.”

“Would it help anything, now, if I said I was sorry?” Starsky asked him.

“Starsky,” Hutch said, very quietly. “You haven’t got any damned thing to apologize to me for.” He sought Starsky’s eyes in the gathering dusk, laid the guitar down gently. “Okay? It’s over. We’re here, now. And we’ve grown, we haven’t just withered away. Splitting up could have destroyed us–but it didn’t. Now we’re making up for lost time. We’re getting that chance. So what, the past is all wrong, and we can’t fix it. Nobody can. But the future’s there. We’ve still got a chance, buddy. Huh?”

Starsky nodded, brows knit, looking at his folded hands. “I’m glad. I want a chance.” He looked at Hutch, eyes careful, then reached out and patted his arm in wordless thanks. “Why don’t’cha play some more, huh? Play that song you wrote.”

~*~*~

Hutch wasn’t sure what woke him. He looked up into the dim rafters above the loft, then lifted his wrist to peer at his watch. 3:45. He could get a couple more hours’ sleep before they’d have to be up and out fishing. He was about to settle back into the twin beds’ pillow when he realized he was thirsty and his bladder was too full for comfort. Rolling out of bed, he made his way to the bathroom, yanking open the pajama bottoms he was wearing. Coming back, he thought he heard something stir downstairs. Felt, actually, more than heard. He went to the wooden railing, looked over into the dark well of the house. Maybe Starsky was already up and around. Scratching his head, raking his hair back, Hutch went downstairs.

There were no lights on. The only illumination was from the moon, glinting palely, casting blue shadows. Hutch went to the sleeping alcove, opened the door and looked inside. The low, wide, white bed was rumpled, empty. No sign of life in the gloomy bathroom. “Starsky?” He looked around worriedly, went to the glass doors and peered out. He saw Starsky on the deck, dressed in a dark robe, standing there, looking out, hands grasping the top guardrail. There was no tension about the still, bare-legged figure; just a sense of loneliness and deep thought–the inscrutable kind only Starsky seemed capable of.

Hutch’s heart was pounding, and he’d been holding his breath since he’d first caught sight of his friend standing there in the moonlight. He took a deep breath. There was no question about going out. Starsky needed him. There was no doubt in his mind about it. He moved out onto the deck, making no sound until he was close enough to touch. Then he barely breathed, “Starsk,” reaching out at the same time to grasp the robed shoulders. “I’m right here.”

Starsky turned around and without a word, wrapped his arms around Hutch’s ribs, tightening them like a vise. He could barely speak. “I just–I just didn’t realize what I was throwin’ away, Hutch,” he rasped, coming out of the past, rubbing his cheek against Hutch’s without embarrassment. “By the time I was ready to think about it, it was too late! It was like losin’ an arm and a leg…half my self. Before I knew–” He gasped a breath. “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten over it. I don’t think I’ve been whole since!” It was the first time he’d admitted it out loud. “And something else.” He let Hutch go and looked at him, reflections off the water in his eyes. “Not even Liz could make it–the way it was sometimes with me and you. Not–”

Hutch held him at arm’s length, no doubt seeing the truth of that incredible statement in Starsky’s face, in his very stance. Hoarse-voiced with emotion, he could only whisper, “Then Starsk, why? Why didn’t you stop it? I begged you to talk to me. I’d have done anything you asked me to. Stayed on the force–anything! As long as we’d be together. But all these years, you let me think you really didn’t need me anymore. Why? Why?”

“You didn’t need me anymore!” Starsky protested loudly, his voice roughened by tension. “That’s why! You’ve been getting somewhere, Hutch–movin’ up in the world just like I always knew you could if you ever got the chance. You know, away from the force, and away from–”

“If you were going to say ‘me’,” Hutch warned, “don’t.” He gripped Starsky’s arms tighter. “That’s not true.” He cleared his throat. “You mean as much to me as–as you said I do to you. Maybe more. You always have. So damned much, Starsk. That’s part of what this is all about; all this pain we’ve caused each other.” He hugged Starsky against him a little. “Come on inside, huh? Let’s get some coffee or something.”

They turned and went inside, Hutch’s arm lightly across Starsky’s shoulders. Starsky was grateful. It felt good to be taken charge of…. He wouldn’t have allowed anyone else to do it.

“You sit down,” Hutch said to him, turning on the kitchen light. Its fluorescence chased away the moon. “I’ll get coffee.” He smiled, trying to lighten things up. “I think I know where everything is.” Unsmiling, Starsky sat down heavily on the couch. Hutch brewed a pot of coffee, poured two mugs full–two sugars for Starsky, black for himself–set them on a tray and went back into the living area.

Starsky was sitting forward on the sofa, rubbing his closed eyes. Hutch sat down beside him, placing the tray on the low wicker table. “Hey, you okay?”

Starsky heaved a sigh indicative of his mood. “Sure.” He glanced at Hutch, picked up a spoon and stirred his coffee, thoughtfully. “Sure.”

Hutch sipped his own. “Starsky–” He paused, set the mug down, twined his fingers.

“Yeah, Hutch?”

“I’m curious…. What you said, a few minutes ago….”

“What?” Starsky asked worriedly, seeing Hutch’s uneasiness. “What’d I say?” He half-laughed. “What didn’t I say?”

“You said that–not even Liz could give you some of what we had. You meant that, didn’t you?”

Starsky watched him while he was speaking, seeing how the years had treated him, hit with a feeling of sadness and companionship, and a deep understanding of Hutch that was weirdly like looking in a mirror. “I love Liz, y’know,” he said. “She’s made my life full and happy up to now. We’ve had our ups and downs, sure, but there’s still a lot of love there. She’s my wife and I love her. But Hutch, with you, the time we were together, that was the only time in my life I was ever really….” He stopped, looking for a way to say this. “It was life and death for us. Me and thee, remember? There were times when we were really…one. Closer than love. Liz has never been–inside me, the way you have. Doesn’t mean I ever loved her any less–!” He broke off, completely frustrated. “I’m not explainin’ this too well. Sounds fruity, the way I’m sayin’ it.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Hutch said reassuringly. “It doesn’t. I know what you’re saying. I–I’ve often thought that’s why I haven’t gotten married. Looking for that special kind of–that completeness with somebody…. But it doesn’t just happen. Even with me and Jeri, much as I love her.” He shrugged, and they glanced at each other. Suddenly, they were both nervous, tense as they hadn’t been all day with each other.

“You’ll admit, it’s a problem,” Starsky said seriously. Hutch nodded, not looking at him. He seemed very uncomfortable. “We’ve been running away,” Starsky said. “But now…. What are we gonna do about it?”

“Nothing we can do,” Hutch said. “What’s there to do? It’s just something we have to live with, like memories from the war. Or not being twenty-years-old, anymore. You learn to live with it, that’s all.”

“And me needing you, you needing me–that’s somethin’ we have to live with? ‘Cause that’s what it is, you know. Need.”

Hutch didn’t know quite what to say. “Starsk, will you slow down please? Just slow down. Give us some time. It’s not that serious.”

Starsky exhaled harshly, making Hutch look up. “Even if it means me thinkin’ of you when I’m makin’ love to my wife?” His words were glinting, sharp, even to himself, like suddenly unsheathed knives. “You don’t call that serious?”

Immobilized, Hutch stared straight ahead, brow creased. “That happens to you?”

Starsky swallowed audibly, his eyes down. He sat painfully still, tight-muscled. “Yeah, it does,” he admitted, feeling his face flush hot. He looked up. “I have never–never–told anybody that! It’s another reason I was running away from you.” He sat forward , abruptly, unable to look at Hutch while he was saying this. “Wasn’t gonna tell you, either. Never! I mean, Hutch, I’m not some kind of– It’s not a case of me usin’ you to get off, nothin’ like that! Just–” He quieted, abashed, more uncomfortable than he’d ever been in his life.

“It’s happened to me, too,” Hutch blurted out, twirling his coffee mug in its moisture on the tray, aware of Starsky’s sudden, piercing gaze. “It’s like being homesick,” he went on. “Lonely in a room full of people. Or hungry, and having a craving for the one food that nothing else will satisfy.” There was a sudden, bottomless silence that seemed to go on for hours.

Finally Starsky spoke. He couldn’t take his eyes off Hutch. “What’s it mean?” His body shifted toward Hutch involuntarily. “Do we–do we want each other or somethin’? Is that it?” His voice shook with the question. “After all, this time?”

Hutch looked at him at last, apparently trying to answer that for himself, to his own satisfaction. “Right now, I think we need something from each other,” he whispered, defensively. “But, Starsk– Oh, God, I don’t know what would be best. We’re not kids anymore. We’ve got other responsibilities than to each other that we’ve got to think about. I shouldn’t have to tell you…. What you’re talking about, that may not be what we really want! Neither of us is–is gay, for crying out loud, are we? Sure, I need you. You. Understand? Not sleeping with you. I don’t–I don’t want you like that.” He shook his head. “We’ve known each other too long for that.” He sounded like a man whistling in the dark.

“I’ll tell you what I want,” Starsky said, unconvinced, fighting the fierceness of what he was feeling. “I want us to be–inside each other so deep, just once, we wouldn’t be hungry for each other anymore. Y’know? If that’s being gay, I’m all for it! If it’s sex, then that’s what I want.” He stopped, completely surprised at his own words, at the way his thoughts were going. “I do wanna be with you, Hutch. Lookin’ at you all I want, every day; talkin’ to you all I want.” His voice wavered and fell on its own. He couldn’t control it, so he stopped trying. “Touchin’…maybe? You know, sometimes I’ve even thought I’d like to kiss you, babe, to show you how I feel. It goes so deep, y’know?” He lifted a shoulder. “I know that sounds crazy…shit, I’m sorry, Hutch.”

His innocence and embarrassment about what amounted to a homosexual proposition–from him–were what drew Hutch physically closer to him. So desperate for some kind of closeness…. His need was irresistible to his friend.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Hutch said, gently. “I’ve already told you I’d do anything you wanted to do. That doesn’t mean just four years ago. What you’re talking about–it’d be even better, wouldn’t it, if we both wanted it?” He leaned a little closer, eyes fixed on Starsky’s mouth. It was vulnerable, wanting to be kissed and having no idea how to ask. Soundlessly it said, “Hutch,” tongue wetting the firm lips nervously. “Anything, Starsk,” Hutch offered, bending down to kiss him. “Okay?”

Hutch’s lips touched his gingerly at first. It was a familiar mouth to Starsky’s eyes, wide and strong, but to his lips it was as new and strange as creation. He’d never kissed Hutch, of course, not without waking up suddenly, half-amused, half-scared. He was awake now, felt like for the first time in years. Scared to death.

Then, Hutch brushed that mouth back and forth against his, and he couldn’t help but cry out. That made Hutch cry out, too. Starsky dissolved with love. Have we been waiting for this since the beginning? Starsky wondered, sliding his arms around his partner’s long, hard body. Hutch’s arms snaked around him, and they pulled each other close, tight, forever. No stopping now, Starsky thought, realizing it. Please….

Their gentle, quickening kisses held real passion. Starsky parted his lips wide, and instinctively, searchingly, Hutch’s tongue slid inside; startlingly strong and eager. Starsky welcomed it, pressing Hutch’s head closer, opening wide, letting Hutch in deeper. They ignited, heads moving, hands gripping like steel, foolishly trying to satisfy years of hunger and terrible longing with one kiss. It was absolutely terrifying that just a kiss–if this happening could be called ‘just’ a kiss–could plunge them into a firestorm; fire everywhere. Completely unaware of their surroundings, they slipped off the couch with a bump, and pulled back from each other, startled, out of breath, tasting each other still, feeling bruised.

“We better stop,” Starsky breathed, eyes wet. He felt about ten-years-old. “I want you,” he panted. “It’s just–” He tried to catch his breath. “It’s just too much to handle all at once. I’ll pass out if you keep kissin’ me. Burn up. Die. Dissolve…. Shit, I dunno. Somethin’ drastic!” He groaned, agonizingly, one hand stroking up Hutch’s side. “We better stop, Hutch!” Help me not want you like this!

“You want to stop?” a not much better off Hutch asked, looking at him–down his body, eyes saying he was seeing it as an object of love. He lifted his eyes to Starsky’s again. “Be kind of hard to turn back now, huh?” he asked.

Starsky whispered, “Impossible,” and waited. This was Hutch’s move.

Hutch slid his hand down, hesitating before pulling aside the material of Starsky’s robe. Suddenly exposed, Starsky saw himself slanting up across his own heavy, dark-downed thigh, and wondered how Hutch felt seeing him like this. Hutch sighed, trying to speak, not succeeding. He tried again.

“You’re–I never thought–Jesus, Starsk, you’re beautiful, so….” This was completely new to him, it was plain, looking at another man’s–at Starsky’s–aroused penis, wanting to touch, allowing himself to be affected by it.

Watching Hutch’s desire flower in reaction, Starsky wanted to shout for joy. He pushed himself up and embraced Hutch as tightly as he could, filling his senses with him. Feeling him, loving him. He was big, solid, warm; silky-sweet–a beautiful thing to hold. So familiar, like a brother, yet enticingly unknown. There was a lot to find out about this sudden stranger. Like how that hardness he felt against his own, looked. Starsky reached inside and pushed down the elasticized pajama bottoms Hutch was wearing. He feasted his eyes. “You’re beautiful, too.” Taking Hutch’s ass in urgently possessive hands, he caressed him close, finding his mouth at the same time. This kiss was more searing than the one they’d shared previously. They had to pull apart to cool off a little, lean against each other.

Starsky delighted in the firm/pliant flesh under his fingers. “That’s really soft,” he whispered, a smile in his voice. “Hey, how come I never felt your ass before?” They laughed together. He leaned over to look. His hands were copper against Hutch’s cream. “Snowboy.” Pulling back to see a very red-cheeked Hutch, he leaned forward to plant affectionate kisses all over his face, to hold him close again. Their cocks crossed and rubbed.

“Gonna start a fire,” Hutch hissed against Starsky’s ear, swaying with him, playing with him. “This is incredible,” he breathed. “You’re incredible. Let’s–” Starsky didn’t give him time to finish.

Starsky rid himself of his robe and bore down on his partner, urging him back against the couch, beginning to thrust. Imposing his need on another man was a learning experience, totally unique. He checked to see how Hutch was taking it, watching his face, wondering if he was being too demanding. He was acting like a man who was starved half to death for sex. Yet that wasn’t it at all. He hoped Hutch understood. It was love, lonely in a crowded room. Until now….

Maybe Hutch knew. Surprisingly eager to please, he leaned back, yielding, non-verbally giving Starsky permission to continue the dominance, his hand on the nape of Starsky’s neck. Starsky bent, kissing Hutch’s throat, going adventurously lower to his nipples, sucking them by turn. Hutch mouthed his hair, appraisingly.

“I miss your curls,” he said. “Why’d you cut your hair, huh?” Starsky nipped one of his nipples–very gently–and he moaned with wordless pleasure. As if spurred on by the sound, Starsky heaved him by main force onto the couch, stroking down between his legs, along the tight cleft of his ass, probing confidently. Hutch kicked his pajama bottoms away to accommodate this exploration of him, being aroused in a way he could never have expected. In need, he called out, unsurely.

Looking into the blue eyes, Starsky slid the middle finger of his other hand into Hutch’s hungry mouth, asking, thrilling with the strong suction. He drew it out wet, reached under and pressed it into Hutch, using it gently, urgently, smiling at the feel of Hutch tightening around him.

Hutch lay back, knees wide, eyes closed–open to every new thing his oldest friend was giving him, one finger, then two–wanting more, something for both of them, something that would be theirs together. Then suddenly, Starsky left him. Sprawled gracelessly, breathing hard, Hutch heard him mutter, “Wonder what’s in the fridge?” and stumble toward the kitchen. The sound of cabinets being thrown open, the refrigerator door, and pots and bottles clanking, confused him. Something ceramic crashed heavily to the floor.

“Starsk!” His voice was shaking. He cleared his throat. “Hey!? You can’t possibly be looking for something to eat!” There were echoes of Starsky’s blunt touch between his legs. Amazing.

Starsky was back. “M’not,” he said. “Food’s the last thing on my mind.” Hutch looked at him. Starsky was tearing open a package of butter. He was every bit a man, penis thick, used, and unashamedly erect, muscles in his arms playing beautifully as he ripped open the innocuous box. All four sticks tumbled out, and he bent to retrieve them.

Hutch smiled. “Starsk?”

Starsky hurried back to the couch like a kid. “I’m sorry, babe,” he said, dropping to his knees, “I was tryin’ to find somethin’–you know, to– Couldn’t find anything but–”

“Starsk.” Hutch reached up, grasping his chin, catching his full attention.

Evening blue eyes searched his face, concerned. “Don’t you want to?”

“Yes, you know damned well I do,” Hutch said gently. “I need to tell you one thing first.”

“What? Is it about this? What’s wrong? If you don’t–”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Hutch chided. “Listen! I trust you. That’s all.” He pulled Starsky’s head down and kissed him, trying to communicate all he was feeling.

Their kisses had been nice up to now, but this was the best so far. Moments later, Starsky pulled away. He looked Hutch over, his warmest feelings showing in his eyes. They’d known each other such a long time, and now this. He bent slightly and kissed Hutch’s knee, rewarded with a sigh at the tender gesture. Starsky kissed the other knee, then moved slowly down along the inner thigh with little searching kisses. Hutch curled around him, breathy moans escaping. Then, brusquely, Starsky took him into his mouth and Hutch shook like a leaf trying to escape. Starsky wrapped both arms around him to hold him still on the couch, then proceeded to suck him, slowly and thoroughly, until he was taut, purring.

Hutch stroked his hair, urging hungrily. “I’m close,” he murmured in warning, and the powerful fingers held Starsky’s head motionless.

He drew off, straightening, breathless, taking the glistening rosy cock in one hand, his own in the other. “Guess we better do somethin’ about this, huh? Uh…. We could do it 69–I’m too horny to be patient, you know, penetratin’ you. I’d waste it.”Feeling insecure, he looked into Hutch’s eyes. “You, uh–you want to?” He’d never in his life asked another man to suck his cock.

“Come here,” Hutch ordered, smiling, helping him onto the couch, turning him–lowering his head.

The act was totally unfamiliar for both, foreign territory. But it was sweet.

Starsky quivered involuntarily for a moment, then breathed out and relaxed slightly. “That was close,” he sighed. He shook his head–Christ, he’d almost come. “Your mouth is superb,” he stated, emphatically, returning to Hutch’s sex like a man dying of thirst. And nothing else was clear after that, just moving and pleasuring and giving and taking in a stormy, completely satisfying union.

Starsky came to earth under Hutch, feeling moisture drying on himself, hot breath tickling the insides of his thighs, being held tightly and returning the embrace. It all felt too good to be true. He never wanted to move. After stumbling around all his life looking for it, he’d somehow found complete contentment right here, where it must have been all along. Hutch was right here, his.

They were each other’s. Somehow, Hutch’s heaviness on him proved that, and he didn’t mind at all.

He slid his hands lazily down Hutch’s back, cupping the sensuously stirring ass, massaging, inhaling the sharp tang of sex. Gentle lips and silken hair brushed across his thighs–Hutch, coming to life again. And, incredibly, getting hard again. That fact surprised even him, apparently. “Wow. That hasn’t happened in a while.” He pushed himself up off Starsky a little, to look down between their bodies.

“Yeah?” Starsky asked, moving his head to tongue Hutch’s tight, heavy testicles, probing behind them with his lips. Hutch gasped, arching toward the stimulation. Suddenly almost painfully excited, Starsky pressed his tongue into Hutch’s anus, making him go taut. His own penis came up solidly under Hutch’s chin, knocking against those soft lips as it surged. Laughing softly, Hutch licked up and down the shaft, slowly and inventively, until Starsky had to urge him off, rolling with him, changing their position, pulling Hutch’s willing body to himself. He fumbled for a stick of the errant butter, used it to lubricate himself, then began to penetrate, watching carefully as he went in. Hutch was open to him, showing no apprehension, though they were both shaking, excited.

He wants this, Starsky thought. Me…like this…. His cock sank slowly between the strong, rose-petal cheeks and he crouched over his lover–lover!–mind whirling, lost, helpless. He sighed a question. “Hutch?”

Hutch shook his head, throwing all his concentration into accommodating Starsky, wanting him, but not ready yet. “Wait….” The whisper was strangled. He stroked himself, trying to build a wall of pleasure. Starsky reached around him and helped, their hands jointly urging Hutch’s arousal. But Starsky waited for a sign that would tell him that Hutch was ready for him. It came–a deep, broken sigh–and Starsky slid in to the hilt.

He wished suddenly, irrationally, that he had more cock. Hutch was sheer pleasure around him, incredibly tight and seemingly endless; Starsky wanted to be deeper in him. He thrust, trying to make it deeper. Needing it deeper. Every thrust after that was an effort to explore Hutch further, wanting to reach his center, his heart. It was hopeless, and he knew that. He was doomed to failure, but the attempt was the only meaning in his life right now. That and the building pleasure. The perfection of sharing this with Hutch. “Wasn’t never like this before,” he murmured, voice thick.

Hutch moaned in answer and began to thrust back.

“You alright?” Starsky asked.

Hutch nodded, reaching back to reassure him. They found a rhythm and moved together, the slapping, unusual sound of the cock inflaming them both.

Starsky began to cry out, coming to an unbelievable conclusion. He felt like the first time, lifting his friend with wild impulsiveness, helping him enjoy. Groaning appreciatively, Hutch wound up straddling him on hands and knees, squirming down into his lap. Starsky’s hands were relentlessly demanding, deftly molding and squeezing Hutch around himself as he thrust, bringing them into perfect tune with each other. They were going to happen together, unbelievably–Starsky could tell. Hutch was frantic on him, dragging him headlong into the orgasm.

They defied the inevitable for one, two, three instants, then came together, for and with each other; shouting in soul-searching pleasure before sinking down awkwardly, joined.

Long, beating moments passed before they slid apart, shakily, falling back to look at each other. It took some time to reorient themselves and to begin to think about what had just happened to them.

“It hasn’t been that good for me in a long time,” Starsky said first, earnestly. “Maybe never. I mean that.” He paused for a minute, thinking. “Maybe I love you more than anybody ever–maybe that’s why. Hey…can you talk yet?”

Hutch shook his head, drowsily content, watching Starsky with twinkling eyes.

“I can’t believe it, can you?” Starsky asked, alert for any negative reaction. “It was okay for you, wasn’t it? Really okay? I didn’t hurt you…. I guess it must’ve been okay, if–”

Hutch smiled at him, touched. “Hey, don’t worry,” he said gently. “Starsk, it wasn’t just ‘okay’ for me. This–was like knowing the truth for the first time, about myself; about everything. You inside me. It was a miracle. Felt like you belonged there, and–and I wanted you to be. Alright?” He reached out to squeeze Starsky’s arm. “Hey….”

Starsky had moved closer while Hutch was speaking to him, leaning up on one elbow. They were drawn together. Hutch’s whole body reacted to his; he grasped almost desperately. Maybe he couldn’t help himself. Starsky couldn’t help holding him, hugging him, planting a kiss on the fine-spun hair. “Okay,” he said soothingly. “Okay. It’s alright, then. I was worried–”

“About what?” Hutch tensed a little. There had to be repercussions.

Starsky felt that thought behind the tension. “That it wouldn’t work out after, y’know?” he said. “That we’d feel guilty about it, or feel that it was all a mistake, or–embarrassed or ashamed about it. But it’s okay. No regrets. I feel just perfect.”

“Me, too, Starsk. Babe. Seems too good to be true, doesn’t it?  Two old-timers like us.”

They held each other, falling asleep a little, drifting very pleasantly. The doors and windows lightened with false dawn. One or two birds pealed liquidly.

“It’s gettin’ cold,” Starsky whispered, burrowing against Hutch. “Let’s get in bed.”

Hutch nodded and they helped each other up, went hand in hand into the bedroom. Starsky lay down, moving over to let Hutch in, drawing him comfortably close, pulling the white sheets and blankets over them. They looked at each other and kissed, communicating silently and tenderly before snuggling together to sleep.

~*~*~

Supple, silky arms tightened around him. Starsky opened his eyes to reflected sunlight off water, sunny warmth beside him, under him. Hutch! He lifted his head, love and affection rushing into him. It was a new morning.

They kissed before saying a word to each other. Seconds later, they were engrossed in giving love, straining together until they shattered each other with orgasm. Afterwards, they slept again, sprawled lazily, still not having spoken. Not in words, anyway.

~*~*~

“‘I’m sorry ma’am, no fish today,'” Starsky said in his Clark Gable voice. Interchangeable with his Humphrey Bogart. Rich Little he wasn’t. He chuckled, looking at Hutch beside him. It was late afternoon, sun slanting in.

“Not unless we stick our rods out the bedroom windows,” Hutch answered, smiling from ear to ear with unrepentant dreaminess.

Starsky slid provocatively close. “My rod has a previous engagement,” he said, all mischief. “I dunno about yours!”

Hutch laughed. “The fish’ll understand,” he said, rubbing Starsky’s shoulder idly. “These fishermen are enjoying a long, lazy day off.” He yawned. “Together.”

Starsky snapped his fingers. “I forgot to put up the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign.” He leaned over and began breathing along Hutch’s unshaven jawline, brushing lips down his throat.

“I honestly don’t think fish can read,” Hutch sighed, moving restlessly.

Starsky reveled in the ability he seemed to have come by somewhere, to arouse Hutch to fever-pitch with the barest of touches. It was the same startling miracle it had been from the first; that the two of them could have such a fantastic time in bed. He couldn’t care that his lover was a man, as much a man as himself. He was suddenly, miraculously in love with someone, and that someone’s genitals didn’t make a difference–except that he treasured them, and the man they belonged to. This was Hutch, and the quality of the love they shared made him more desirable and beautiful to Starsky than anybody else. He couldn’t seem to get enough of his friend, but he did want, very much, to try. If all they had were these hours….

~*~*~

Hutch was tracing Starsky’s old battle scars with a delicate finger. He was doing it in the dark, but seemed to know unerringly where most of them were. Funny, Starsky mused, smiling at the light touch, Liz won’t even touch ’em. Guess they mean more to him–he knows how they all happened. He was there. Hutch bent and kissed the faded bullet scars on his chest, to the right of his suddenly thumping heart. Love overwhelmed Starsky, a love so pure and selfless, it was almost brotherly. Yes, the passion was theirs, too; they’d found that out. But the fundamental love–that had always been there. He cupped the blond head, letting silvery fine strands of Hutch’s hair spill through his fingers.

Hutch looked up, into his eyes. “I used to just about die myself, every minute I thought you might,” he said, his own eyes looking very shiny even in the dim light. A smile. “I spent a helluva lot of time waiting.”

“You were always there when I woke up,” Starsky said. “That mug of yours waitin’ for me. My family. Did I ever thank you?”

“Yeah, course you did,” Hutch said, “every time you opened your eyes and looked at me. That’s all the thanks I wanted. I loved you a lot, y’know that?”

Starsky understood. “It was different, but no less,” he said, softly. “You gave me a couple of scares too, you know.” He rubbed Hutch’s back comfortingly. “Couple of times I was the one waitin’. Not enjoyin’ it. I’m glad we’re here now, alive…close like this. Just a few scars to show. Much better this way.”

They weren’t really talking seriously. That would come sooner or later, and they both knew it. They weren’t trying to delude themselves, but for now, they were mutually determined to enjoy each other; trying to understand what was happening between them, to learn more. They made love in one way or another all night; played, showered; ate in bed. No thinking. Gentle laughter.

Starsky leaned up, knowing somehow that Hutch could sense him looking at him. The big blond kept his eyes closed but couldn’t help smiling. Starsky smiled too. Where’d this joy come from, all these years and all that denial later? It was so easy.

“Know somethin’?” Starsky said, finally.

“What?”

“You’re great-looking, that’s what.”

Hutch opened one eye, gave him a look.

“I mean it,” Starsky insisted. “Sure, I never told you, but it’s not like I never noticed you were a handsome man. Hell, I’m not blind!”

“Starsky–”

Starsky roughed his hair, grabbed a smooch. “Look at you,” he chided, pulling away just a little. “Blushin’. Can’t take a compliment. A heartfelt compliment! All I want to do is tell you you’re good-looking to me, and….”

“In that case,” Hutch said, opening his eyes to look at him. “You’re not just good-looking, you’re beautiful. So there, Mr. Sincerity. Your bod drives me wild, you’ve got gorgeous eyes, your profile takes my breath away….”

“Alright, alright.”

“Who’s blushing now?” Hutch teased. “Gorgeous George.”

Starsky bit his chin gently, then kissed him playfully hard in a vain attempt to shut him up. The kiss turned serious when Hutch’s arms came around him. It was long and deep, and they gazed at each other curiously when they parted.

“You know,” Hutch said, breathing in contentedly. “You’re not bad.” He paused. “I could get pretty used to you.” Another pause, more meaningful. Hutch reached up to cap Starsky’s soft short black locks with his hand. “I wouldn’t mind being kept on the side,” he said. It was spoken lightly, but there was a thread of gravity underlying it.

Starsky chose to take it seriously, preferring to face things squarely up front. “What makes you think that’s what I want to do?”

Hutch flushed deeply as he watched, then sat up away from him. “I was–I was just making a joke for Chrissake, Starsk. We both know this is just for this place…this time.”

Starsky stared up at him, momentarily confused. Then he understood, and sat up, too. “Hey, wait up,” he said, gently, caressing Hutch’s shoulder. “Hutch, I don’t want to keep you at all, especially not on the side. Babe? These two days, they’ve shown me that we belong together. That we’ve wasted too much previous time apart!” He paused, indecisively. “Things haven’t been so great between Liz and me for a long time. We’ve talked about divorce…. Only been workin’ at it for the kids.”

Hutch was shocked at this. He stared at his lover of surely no more than eighteen hours. “Starsky, no. No! You’re not talking about–”

“I’m talking about telling Liz how things stand.” Starsky’s voice was firm, though his insides felt like Haiphong Harbor on a rocky night.

“I have some say about that, don’t I?” Hutch asked, head down.

“I’m not running the show alone here,” Starsky said, sternly. “Of course you have a say!”

Hutch was at his most quietly intense. Except when he’s making love, Starsky thought, wishing they were doing that instead of this. “What I say is,” Hutch continued, holding his gaze, “don’t disrupt your life for me, Starsk. Please don’t. Know what I want? What I really want? I want Liz to have her husband. I want Kenny and Sara to have their Dad. It’s their security we’re talkin’ about, their lives. They have nothing to do with what’s happened here, so they shouldn’t have to suffer for it, should they?” He hesitated. “Just because we’ve found this, doesn’t give us a license to go around hurting people! I don’t want to be responsible for hurting your children. I know what it means to grow up in a broken home.”

“Hutch,” Starsky said, just as quietly. “I don’t want to stop being with you. I don’t want to stop making it with you. For me, that’s the bottom line. Just so you’ll know where I stand.”

“We have to learn to take what’s left over, I guess,” Hutch said with difficulty, his voice sounding tired and strained. “Your family’s your first responsibility, kid. You know that.”

“Yes, I know that!” Starsky agreed harshly. “Wish you’d ask me to forget it.”

“Would you? No.” Hutch closed his eyes. “Don’t answer that. I’m sorry.”

“You haven’t told me how you feel,” Starsky said. “Do you want to keep on—doing this with me? Or not?”

Hutch looked at him, resistance melting before it formed under Starsky’s probing scrutiny. “Still a heartbreaker, aren’t you?” he whispered. “Probably couldn’t stop if I tried,” he went on, ruefully. “You’ve got me hooked. Starsk, I’m so much in love with you right now, I almost wish I could ask you to forget your family obligations, for me. Wish I were just that selfish.” He sighed sharply, brows knit. “It sure wouldn’t be easy, how we might be planning to live. But–these past few days, I’ve discovered I really do need you. And I am willing to pay a price to keep you.”

“And Jeri?” Starsky asked, pleased and relieved, but trying not to show it, wanting to at least seem decent about that part of it. “What about her?”

“I’m going to tell her.”

“Hutch! That’s not fair–you wreckin’ your life so I won’t have to mess up mine! If you have to sacrifice something, so do I.”

“I don’t have kids,” Hutch said, bluntly. “You do. Besides, it’s up to Jeri. If she wants to leave, I won’t stop her.”

“And if she stays? She’s in love with you, right?” Though he’d never mention it, the whole idea of Hutch being with Jeri irritated him. I’m selfish, can’t help it…. I want to come first with him now. I have the right….

“If she stays,” Hutch repeated. “If she wants to, knowing how it is, she’ll have to realize that some of the time I’m gonna want to be with you. We’re adults. We’ll have to make ground rules.”

“Oh, shit, Hutch! That’s ludicrous! It’s musical beds. You’re talkin’ about living a double life, and I don’t wanna live like that! That’s why I say, let’s make a clean, honest break. I can support my wife and kids, whether I’m living with them or not. I won’t stop loving them or taking care of them. But I wanna be with you! I’m a grown man and I know what I want out of life, what I need. Now, I do.” He paused, looking at Hutch’s profile. “You’ve shown me. Look, it took us long enough to come to each other. We’ve wasted four years. Do you just want to throw it away?” He heard the plaintive note in his own voice.

Hutch flopped away from him on the bed, exasperated, “Starsky, you’re talking crazy! This doesn’t even sound like you, giving up on a commitment! The most important commitment of all? You came into my office two months ago accusing me of losing my integrity, telling me I’d changed out of all recognition. I could tell you the same thing right now! You, of all people, Starsk? Talkin’ about divorcing your wife just like that, to live with a man?! Your ex-partner for cryin’ out loud! Can you imagine how it’d be for you if it got around the Department? You’d be messed up for good, your whole career shot. You’d lose everything.”

I wouldn’t care if I had you, Starsky thought miserably, eyes lowered. It’s been empty without you.

Hutch went on. “And your wife, your kids, Starsk–what kinds of hell would they have to go through?” He paused. “You, too. Why would you want to do that to yourself?”

Starsky rested his forehead on his fist. “Stop it, Hutch,” he said softly. “How the hell can I sit here and argue against all of that? You know perfectly well I can’t. I still have an ounce or two of integrity, so you don’t have to go on with it. Okay, so I’m talkin’ through my hat about us, if that’s what you want to think. I just wish you could–realize–what you’re really worth to me. How you make me feel, like everything’s finally right! I don’t want to fight with you. Just the opposite. You and me, we got nothing to argue about, so why are we?” He stroked Hutch’s arm, then grasped it. “Listen, I’m gonna love you now, regardless of what anybody says or does. This is just me, nobody else talkin’. Not somebody’s husband, not somebody’s father–just me, Dave. I love you, Hutch. And the people in my life can do what they want, accept it or not. Whatever it is, they’re gonna have to make room for you. I’m not gonna let you settle for what’s left over. We’re too good for that.”

Hutch sighed with frustration. “Starsky, what else are we going to get? Would you mind telling me what you have in mind? Laying in bed with Liz on one side and me on the goddamned other? That’d be cozy.” He hesitated, looking miserable. “You’re up to it at least so that won’t be a problem.”

“Dammit, Hutch” Starsky shouted, reaching the end of his rope “You’re bustin’ my balls, here! I’m in love with you, and it’s tearing me in half! What the hell do you want me to do?”

There was a plunging silence. Immediately sorry, Starsky raked his fingers through his hair, preparing to apologize.

“Make love to me,” Hutch said then, softly “That’s what I want you to do.” He reached out apologetically. “Then hold me ’til we fall asleep.”

Completely disarmed, and very much in love, Starsky shook his head at his ever-unpredictable partner. “That’s easy,” he said, moving to him. “I was gonna do that anyway. Ask me a hard one.”

~*~*~

They actually got in some fishing the next day, Sunday. Hutch caught a couple of small bass which he released immediately. Starsky hooked a terrific trout that was slated by him for dinner–before Hutch protested and he let it go. When the sun was well up, they picked up their gear and went inside to spend the rest of the afternoon doing what both had been thinking about all morning.

They would be leaving tonight, and that colored their union, lending it a desperate quality it hadn’t had before. They made reckless love, trying everything they could think of in the scant seconds it took them to finish.

The immediate fever was cooled, the urgency eased, but there was so much more they wanted to do. This might be their last chance.

“Starsk–?”

“Say, Hutch–?”

They laughed at the simultaneous impulse.

“You first,” Hutch said.

“No, you,” Starsky disagreed, smiling, grasping his arm. “I’d rather listen to your voice.”

“No, it’s just,” Hutch began, “it’s just that I want to–you haven’t said anything about it–but I was wondering if you’d mind if I–” The blond’s voice trailed away as he cast about for words.

“Go on. What?” Starsky bent to peer into the suddenly shy, crocus-colored eyes.

“I want to–what I want to do is…. Jesus, why is this so damned hard to say? I’m a grown man for pete’s sake!”

“Spit it right out,” Starsky coaxed softly.

“I want to make love to you, Starsk. To you…. Like that first time. Only this time, me–in–you.” His right brow questioned.

“Ah, Hutch,” Starsky chided him. So that was it. “You have to ask?” He shook Hutch gently. “Think I’d say no? How long you been waitin’ to ask me?”

“I wasn’t waiting,” Hutch said. “I was happy with the way we were going, but now….” He sighed. “I need more.” He didn’t have to explain.

Starsky kissed him. “Let me do for you, then. I want to do everything for you; everything there is.” He laid his head down against Hutch’s. “I’ve been wondering why you haven’t asked me, you know? I was going to ask you, just then, if you’d let me again, but this is better.” He tried to swallow the butterflies in his stomach, his heart thudding in his throat. He’d never been this excited by the prospect of anything, was actually more curious than wary.

He reached down under the sheet and found Hutch. “You’re ready.” His own body responded instantly and he shared a smile with his friend. “Guess what?” he said lightly, and lay back under the kiss Hutch gave him, cherishing the sweetness. “I do want you,” he whispered, when their mouths separated. “So much.” Hutch drew the sheet down off him. He felt very much desired under that intense, sparkling gaze. And then he was being made love to, kissed from top to bottom, set on fire; turned, lifted. Taken. “Oh, damn, Hutch.” It hurt, a lot, but he knew he wanted it, no matter what. He wanted all of Hutch, nothing held back; wanted even this part of him possessed. He rode the blunt hammering of Hutch’s need, at last discovering his own ability to have pleasure this way. The sound and sensation of Hutch ejaculating inside him was devastating, and he came, too; completing them.

They couldn’t separate right away, so just rested, time suspended; breathing as one.

“Not bad for a couple of old-timers,” Starsky commented with satisfaction, as they lay together long afterward. He was pretty proud of them both, more in love with Hutch than before, something he would’ve thought impossible. Damn! I love this man! Why can’t I have him?

Hutch squeezed him companionably. “Remind me,” he said. “I’ve missed a couple of your birthdays,” he said, lips lightly brushing Starsky’s short curls. “I’m sorry.”

Starsky was all polite denial about the birthdays. “You’ve sent me birthday cards.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Hutch said. “I’d like to get you something really nice. Especially since you gave me the guitar. What do you want? Money’s no object! Within reason, of course.” He smiled.

“A place to hide,” Starsky said, unhesitatingly. “With you. That’s what I want.”

“You don’t mean that.” Hutch was surprised, growing serious.

“Course I mean it,” Starsky said. “I don’t think it’s too much to ask.” He rolled over. “Look, you won’t let me forget about my damned conscience, okay?” He laughed a little. “Only for you would I have ever considered forgettin’ about it. So, only for you will I consider….” He paused, shrugging, looking down at his folded arms. “Maybe the two of us, renting a little out-of-the-way place back in the city where we could be together. When we get the chance…. A nice place, mind you. Not some sordid deal. We could go there, y’know, give each other what we have left when my wife, and your girlfriend, and my children, and both our jobs, have what they need.” He caught Hutch’s eyes with his own, and wouldn’t let go. “Just like you said. Whaddya think?”

Hutch looked at him, transfixed by the plea. Hutch, want this as much as I do. I promise I’ll make it all right.

“I’ll do whatever you want,” Starsky went on. “However you want to work it. Anything’s better than not havin’ you at all. Or goin’ back to being just friends…. Nice as that was, it’s not enough anymore.”

“Starsk,” Hutch said, his voice so hesitant, Starsky knew it echoed his inner doubts. They were his doubts, too. We are all going to get hurt. No way to avoid it! “You know I–I never have minded hiding out,” Hutch went on, trying to smile. “If it was gonna be with you.”

Except…we can’t hide forever, can we? Starsky read in the troubled, fallen angel face. Payment’s eventually gonna come due.

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