A Place Together

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A continuation of Lynna Bright’s A Place to Hide and A Place in the Sun.

A Place Together picks up where Lynna’s story ended with Hutch noticing the tail. Starsky makes a decision, the consequences of which are deep and intense not only for him and Hutch, but also for his wife, children, career and Jeri. Can Starsky and Hutch ride out the storm that threatens to destroy them and finally find what it is they have been searching for?

 

In A Place to Hide, Hutch, who had left the police force and became a lawyer, now has a live-in relationship with the daughter of his boss, also a lawyer. Starsky remained on the force, was now a captain, and a husband and father of two. They meet again when Starsky comes to his ex-partner for some help. Heat flares between them and they become lovers.

In A Place in the Sun, even though Starsky and Hutch’s new relationship fills them with guilt, their commitment to each other grows deeper. Hutch leaves the woman he’s been living with but later learns she is pregnant. A wonderful trip to a mountain cabin with Starsky only makes their subsequent parting even more difficult. What can their future hold? And why is someone suddenly tailing Hutch?

A Place Together was originally published as a digest-sized zine in 2004.

 

AUTHORS NOTE:

When I first discovered Starsky and Hutch fandom some five years ago (as at time of writing), one of the first stories that I read was Lynna Bright’s haunting ‘A Place’ saga. When I discovered that Lynna, for reasons that I fully respect, had not, nor did she plan to, finish the story, I was devastated and resorted to doing something I would never consider doing: I wrote a sequel myself, for myself. I subsequently discovered that Lynna had very kindly and generously given permission for anyone to borrow her universe and write her own conclusion.

Due to one thing and another, mainly two major operations, I put the story away and, if not quite forgot about it, didn’t get around to doing anything with it. As my health improved, my devotion to Starsky and Hutch got diluted as a second fandom began to claim my time. However, as I and other people, have put a great deal of work into this story, I decided that I really did want it to be published.

I am in no way attempting to emulate Lynna’s style, her writing ability will always far outstrip my own, or indeed to second-guess any ideas she may have had about her ending for the story. This is my interpretation and my solution — I’ve just borrowed Lynna’s universe.

I don’t usually say a load of public ‘thank yous’, but on this occasion there are a few people whom I should like to thank. Firstly, Lynna for both creating the universe and for generously allowing it to be used by other people. Secondly, to Jane, Paladin, SHaron and Solo for their varying types of assistance in producing the final version of the story. This ranged from providing the parts of the story that never seemed to find their way to Britain, to reading it at various stages and giving me their comments, and for de-Britting it, a task that took a considerable time. I read and considered carefully every comment that was made and, where appropriate, I tried to incorporate them. It was only when I felt that changing something would make it someone else’s story, rather than my own, that I decided to stick with my version — thus if you don’t like anything, please don’t blame the aforementioned people; it’s all my fault. And thirdly, my thanks to Bast for being both a great friend and a super publisher.

WHAT HAPPENED BEFORE?

It is almost impossible to summarize the story Lynna wrote prior to my conclusion, however, I shall try to do so very briefly.

It began after the series had concluded. Hutch left the Police Force and became a lawyer and set up home with the daughter of his boss. Starsky remained, became a Captain, married and fathered two children. They meet again when Hutch comes to his ex-partner for some help. Fires flare between them and one thing leads to another and they become lovers. The guilt they both feel is intense, but their commitment to one another goes deeper as they both consider their own relationships. Hutch leaves Jeri, whom is subsequently discovered to be pregnant, and joins another firm. During one sad, lonely holiday he tells his new employer about Starsky. The employer and his lover give Hutch a gift: a trip to a mountain cabin for himself and Starsky. They go, have one of the most wonderful times they have ever experienced, either together or alone, struggling more than they have ever done when the time comes for them to part. Upon their return to the city, they go their separate ways and Hutch realizes that he is being tailed.

My story takes up where Lynna’s ended with Hutch noticing the tail. Starsky makes a decision, the consequences of which are deep and intense not only for him and Hutch, but also for his wife, children, career and Jeri. Can Starsky and Hutch ride out the storm that threatens to destroy them and finally find what it is they have been searching for?

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Chapter One

Hutch drove slowly through Venice. The familiar buildings, the well-known streets all brought the memories flooding back. How long had it been? Four, five years — or more? Hutch had almost forgotten the exact number, but it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that his memories of Venice were solid.

As he cruised around keeping an eye on the rear view mirror, he noted that the green Chrysler was still behind him and he let his thoughts return to those earlier years. It had all seemed so simple then, their partnership, their loyalties, the friendship they shared, the love that was between them. A love they demonstrated to each other and the world on a daily basis. Never afraid to reach out and touch, never afraid to hold, never worrying what anyone said or thought.

There had never been any concern over divisions of loyalty — they came first in each other’s affections and attention. In those days Hutch had been free to love Starsky, and Starsky to love Hutch in return, and that love had been pure and beautiful. In those days, there was no competition for their love — not really — not until Liz had come along. That had been when things had changed. Hutch had always feared, deep down, that it would happen one day, that Starsky would fall in love with someone and then things would change. But in the end it was he, Hutch, who had forced the change. It was Hutch who had left the force, Hutch who had really instigated the distance between them. Hutch who had known, without really knowing it, that he had been in love with Starsky for years. And now what?

He knew the love he felt for Starsky was deeper and truer than any love he’d ever known — but then it always had been. He knew that he wanted Starsky to be with him, for always, knew that he was tired of hiding, of playing games, or sharing Starsky when Hutch could fit between his work and family obligations — a family that had to come first. He knew then that was the main reason he’d gone to Jeri when he’d found out about their baby, he had wanted to be part of a family — even if only at a distance. Yes, he felt affection for the child he had fathered and yes, he’d like to know the child, to have a chance to love him. But if he was honest, he knew next to nothing about children, and even less about babies.

Deep down he knew that Jeri was right, and deep down he knew that when it came to it, she wouldn’t let their son hate his father. At the worst she’d be non-committal, at the best gentle. Suddenly Hutch knew Jeri better than he had ever known her, even when they had shared an apartment, shared a bed, shared a deep sexual relationship. Deep down he knew that one day Jeri would fall in love, that she would know what it was like to truly love another being. He knew that the child would be well cared for — Jeri was financially more secure than he was himself. He knew that he might never see his son, might never know about him and his life, but he knew that the child would be taken care of — and loved. Oddly enough, Hutch never once doubted that Jeri would love the child, even though in their last talk she had not give any indication of actually wanting the child. He recalled their last meeting, recalled her words, the pain, the anger, the hatred. The last was good — if she could get to hate, a stronger emotion than he had ever known her to show before, then she could love.

Jeri! The thought hit Hutch and almost made him swerve off the road. Forcing his concentration back, he knew with certain clarity that it was Jeri that had set up the tail. But why? Suddenly Hutch felt cold fear. There was only one reason for her doing it. It wouldn’t be to harm him, not directly, after all; Quentin knew about him and his feelings. No, it had to be because she intended to tell Liz. Suddenly all gentle thoughts about her faded, and Hutch was taken over by pure fury. He’d heard of the phrase, ‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,’ but somehow had never fully believed in it, not until now. He pulled the car around fast, intent on driving to Jeri’s and having it out with her immediately.

Halfway there, though, he calmed down and rational thought took over. If he drove to her apartment in the mood he was in, he’d say a lot of things he knew he’d regret. Regret, that was the main difference between himself and Starsky. Hutch often let himself regret things done and said, brooded on such things for days, weeks, months — sometimes even longer. Starsky rarely regretted anything he did or said. Not for the first time, Hutch wished that in this respect he could be more like his partner. He fought his instinct and instead once again turned his car and headed for his own apartment — aware that the green Chrysler and its occupant were still following him. As he drove along, he considered pulling over — the other car would stop — and forcing the occupant of the Chrysler to tell him exactly who had hired him. He dismissed this thought as well. After all, if the man was as much a professional as Hutch figured he had to be — and the fact that neither he nor Starsky had even been remotely aware that they were being tailed — said he was every inch the professional  — then he wouldn’t admit, easily, who had hired him. The only way he would reveal his employer’s name would be by force, and Hutch could hardly use force on a man more than 20 years his senior in the middle of a street. Instead he continued to drive, not going straight home, but driving mainly to ensure that he was still being followed.

As he drove he continued to curse their stupidity. How on earth had the man managed to follow them? Just where had he followed them to? What evidence did he have? They’d been so careful, not risking being together too often, not risking booking into places where one, or both, of them might be known. In spite of all their care, they had been followed. Someone — and Hutch was still convinced it was Jeri — knew all about them.

Once inside the apartment he poured himself a large whiskey, switched on the table lamp and sat, trying to decide what to do next. Tell Starsky? Naturally, he had no choice. But tell him what? Simply that he was being tailed? Leave out his suspicions about Jeri? Ironically the urge to protect took over, and somehow Hutch knew that he couldn’t immediately tell his lover that his ex-lover was having him tailed. What would they do? Should Hutch suggest that they agree not to see each other for a while — but how long a while? They’d discovered something new about their love during their weekend at Quentin’s cabin, and Hutch knew that he couldn’t be without it — and yet…

Again, his instincts took over. Once again, Starsky’s wellbeing was put before Hutch’s desires and wishes. Starsky had a wife and children to consider. He couldn’t let Liz find out this way. Hell, he’d argued enough for Starsky not to tell her. But for Starsky to tell Liz was surely better than her being told by a third party, maybe even with letters or photos. A chill settled over Hutch again and this time he realized that he was shaking. He poured himself another large whiskey and tried to think coherently.

He reached for the phone and swiftly dialed from memory. It rang once, twice, three times and then, “Hello?” Liz’s cool voice came across the line. Hutch swore gently and for a moment didn’t know what to say. “Hello?” Liz repeated. “Who’s there?” She sounded mildly annoyed now.

“Liz, it’s Hutch. May I talk to Starsky, please?” There was silence at the other end, and suddenly Hutch knew with total clarity that Liz did not like him, nor had she ever. She had always seen him as a rival for her husband’s affections. And if only you knew now. For a moment, he thought she was going to refuse or say Starsky was out. Then he heard the resignation in her voice as she passed the receiver across to Starsky, heard her clearly say one word:

“Hutch.” There was more, but he didn’t catch it.

Heard the contempt in her voice as she said it. Did Starsky hear it? Before he could think any further, Starsky’s voice cut through.

“Hey, Hutch. How you doing? Good to hear from you. What’s the matter? Did I leave something with you?” Starsky seemed to be talking for the sake of it, and Hutch wondered if the diversionary tactics were as obvious to Liz as they were to him.

“No, Starsk. It’s… I didn’t know Liz would be there. I thought she might be putting the kids to bed or something.” He tried not to give too much away in his voice, tried to keep it neutral. However, years of being partnered with him, not to mention the new level of intimacy, made Starsky totally attuned to every nuance in Hutch’s voice — even those he wasn’t aware of himself.

“No, she did that a while ago. What is it, Hutch — what’s up? You sick?”

Hutch paused, thinking fast. If he said yes, then Starsky would almost certainly insist on coming over, and he’d be able to tell him about the tail. But the danger there was two-fold. One: Liz’s anger would increase, only just having got her husband back and two: if the tail was still there, he’d see Starsky arrive and….

“Hutch…” Starsky’s voice interrupted him.

“No. No. I’m not sick, Starsky. Look, I’m sorry to have interrupted you — Liz must be really pissed off and rightly so — I’ll call you at the station tomorrow. You will be there, won’t you?” The urgency was evident in his voice.

Starsky was torn. He knew that Liz was getting angrier and angrier — even though she was trying hard to contain it — while he talked to Hutch. But he also knew that Hutch had to have a good reason, a very good reason, for calling him at home. Especially after they’d only left each other’s sides, and arms, hours before. “Yes, but…”

This time it was Hutch that broke in. “Honest, Starsk, it’s nothing. It’ll keep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Hey, wish Liz a Happy New Year for me, and kiss the kids. Take care. Bye.” Then as if he had no control over his vocal cords, he added in a rush, “I love you.”

“You too,” Starsky said in some confusion. But before he could say anything else, Hutch had hung up. Starsky replaced the receiver slowly and looked up to face Liz.

“That sounded cozy,” she said lightly, yet with an undertone Starsky hadn’t heard before.

“Huh?” His thoughts were still on Hutch and the odd conversation — in fact, the whole reason for his call.

“Your talk with Hutch,” Liz said. “What did he want? What could be so important that he had to call you only hours after he’d seen you? Hours after he’d had your undivided attention for two days; two days that just happened to fall over New Year?” Liz’s voice started to sound heated and Starsky hastened to diffuse the situation.

“Hey, Liz. Cut it out, huh? He’s lonely. It can’t have been easy going back to an empty apartment after having had my ‘undivided attention’, as you call it. You’re always telling me that I exhaust you sometimes. Guess I just overwhelmed him.” You certainly did that, Starsky, and yourself. Shit, mustn’t think of that, not now. Got to keep a cool head. “I think he’d had a drink or two, guess he got maudlin and-”

“So he rang you for a chat?”

“He found a pair of my socks and thought he’d tell me,” Starsky said lamely. To his surprise, Liz laughed and seemed to relax.

“God, he called you to tell you that? Oh yes, I guess he had been drinking — okay, he’s forgiven. Just tell him not to do it too often.” She clearly meant that, and Starsky made a mental note to ask Hutch not to call him at home. He wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been important. What could it have been, what could have happened in a few hours? Liz’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Dave, I know in your eyes he can do no wrong — I know he never could… No, don’t interrupt me. You say he’s lonely. Well, it’s his own fault. It is, Dave. We make our own choices.”

“You don’t like him, do you?” The question was out, before Starsky realized it.

Calmly Liz appraised him. “I don’t really know him, Dave. So I can’t say whether I like him or not. He’s your friend; I understand that. I can accept the loyalty of an old partner; accept that you’re fond of him. If you want to spend time with him, that’s up to you — only next time, not over a holiday, right? Holidays are times for family, not friends.”

“Hutch hasn’t got a family.” Damn it, Starsky, you’re still defending him, even when he’s not around.

“His parents are still alive, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, but –”

“But, nothing. He has a family, and that’s whom he should be with at holidays — not you. You have your own family, your own responsibilities. Hutch may have been your responsibility once, but he gave up that right when your partnership ended. And remember — he ended it. He was the one that walked away. He was the one that left the force. He was the one that left you. Think about it, Dave, the next time he calls and wants to see you. Just think about it. Now, let’s change the subject, let’s forget Hutch. Did you miss me while you were away?” Liz dropped her voice and moved across the couch until she was sitting close to Starsky.

Starsky groaned inwardly. He recognized all the signs, he knew that Liz wanted to make love — but with a frightening clarity he knew he couldn’t. Something had happened up at Quentin’s cabin, something fundamental had changed between him and Hutch. Something profound had happened, something that would finally change their lives forever. He knew he couldn’t lie, not any more. And yet… He forced himself to respond to Liz’s caresses. His lips closed over hers and his hands started to move. But as he closed his eyes, he saw instead a blond head and felt large, gentle hands touch him. He pulled away and sat up, breathing hard. This was unfair, unfair to Liz. It hadn’t happened before, not with Liz in his arms. Yes, he could see Hutch, and did, when he masturbated, but never had he found himself thinking of his blond lover while responding to his wife.

“Dave?” Liz’s voice was gentle, confused and questioning.

“Sorry, honey. I’m too tired, I guess. I wouldn’t stay awake. Hey, I’m sorry. I keep forgetting we aren’t as young as we were, keep forgetting sleep is more important.” He tried to keep it gentle and at the same time felt a wave of guilt. Guilt on Liz’s behalf for not being able to respond to her, and guilt on Hutch’s behalf for even trying. He groaned again — this time audibly. Before Liz could ask, he stood up and pulled her up with him. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t I go and run you a nice hot, aromatic bath — you can have a long, well-deserved soak and then I’ll give you a massage. Would you like that?”

For a long moment Liz looked at him, and Starsky could see her weighing up her thoughts, her options. Finally she said, with just a degree of resignation, “Okay, Dave. Okay — guess I’m pretty tired myself. You’re not the only one that didn’t get much sleep. Your idea sounds great.”

Starsky breathed a sigh of relief and moved quickly to the door to go and run her bath. His mind was working overtime. How long could he keep this up?

 

Chapter Two

Jeri lay awake, yet again, thinking and rethinking about Ken and the information she held. She had taken the pictures and documents from her office and brought them to her apartment. Now in the dead of the night she pulled out the pictures and looked at them. The two men together — day and night — so totally in love, so aware of each other. And yet there was more to the looks they shared than just carnal love, much more — it was frightening almost in its beauty and intensity. They were all to the other, that much and more was obvious even in the still photographs she held in her hand.

Again she thought back to the man she’d seen at the Parker Center, the man that was the center of Ken’s life — the only real meaning in Ken’s life. The only true love he’d ever known. To her sudden amazement she found that her bitterness had disappeared, and sadness was left in its place. She wasn’t quite sure who the sorrow was for — Ken, David, his wife, herself — or a combination of all four. She knew that someone, maybe several people were going to be hurt. It had started with her and for a while she was determined that Ken would also hurt, and his lover too. Until she saw them together in the pictures and then finally saw David. Until the day Ken had walked into her office, as she knew he would, and offered to help with the child.

She sighed. Why did you go, Ken, before I had a chance to tell you I cared? Before I finally admitted to myself — let alone you — that I was in love with you? Would it have kept you if I’d have told you that night, instead of hedging around talk of marriage? Would it ultimately have kept you if I had told you sooner? Suddenly she realized that it wouldn’t have mattered — not really. Because, Ken, even if I could have told you I loved you, I would never have been able to tell you I needed you, and you need that, you need to be needed. Nothing mattered once he and David had met up again.

She still didn’t understand the real reason why David had married, or why Ken had left Metro. They’d never talked, not really about the latter and the former was barely mentioned either. She understood now that she did love Ken, and she loved him enough to let him try and find happiness without her. At the same time though, she still hated him enough to keep his son from him. She smiled, ruefully, to herself. How could you love and hate a person at the same time?

For the first time in her life, she was aware of the powerful emotions, for the first time she felt things deeply. Maybe it was the hormonal effect of the pregnancy; maybe it was just that finally she had grown up, emotionally. Maybe…. She didn’t honestly know. All she did now realize was that she did both love and hate her ex-lover, with an intensity that frightened her. She wasn’t sure if he could ever find the happiness with David that he wanted, needed — needed to make him whole. But she was certain, that she wasn’t going to destroy his chance — she was aware that she couldn’t be responsible She still wanted to make him pay, pay for walking out — and she would do that by keeping his son from him. But even in this, she knew that she’d be as fair as she could be when it came to telling their son.

Even though the hour was late, she picked up the phone and dialed a number. “Mr. Haddon? Ms. Eastman. The case is closed. Your check will be in the mail tomorrow. You did a good job, thank you.” She hung up. It was over.

Without pausing she picked up the phone again and quickly dialed another number. She waited for two rings, “Dad? …No, I’m fine, yes really… Yes, I’m resting… No, I’m sure… Dad, listen to me, please. You know we’ve talked about setting up a new office in Atlanta? Well, I think now would be a good time… Yes, now. And Dad, I want it. You promised me, if we ever expanded, I’d get it. Dad — I need this. Please… No, I’m not being silly. I’m being serious. Dad, I know just who would make the perfect partner — Brian Parker…Yes, you do know him, he was at Law School with me… Yes, him…Look, it’s late — we’ll talk more tomorrow. But I’m serious. Now go to sleep and don’t worry. And Dad, I love you.” Quickly she hung up, but not before she heard the surprised gasp from her father. She lay back in her bed and ran her hands over her stomach. Suddenly she felt more at peace, more relaxed, and oddly enough more content than she ever had in her life.

 

Chapter Three

Hutch didn’t sleep well that night, in spite of several more whiskeys. He lay awake, tossing and turning, thinking of Starsky and what the dark-haired man meant to him. Hutch knew he how much he wanted to be with Starsky, but kept thinking how impossible it all seemed. When the morning dawned, he had an incipient headache and yet knew that it wasn’t totally the result of the drinking. He showered and dressed and made his way downstairs to the office, checking the time to see if he could call Starsky yet. He decided it was still too early; Starsky still wasn’t a morning person. He moved into his office, only faintly surprised not to find Quentin and Grace already at work. He’d toyed with the idea the night before of going and telling them about the tail, and asking their advice. In the end he’d decided that their seeing him drunk once was okay — after all it had been Christmas and he had been all alone — but twice in so short a time, wasn’t.

The time was going impossibly slowly and Hutch was now impatient. Finally he grabbed the phone and dialed the number he knew so well. He held his breath as he waited. The voice he loved above all answered.

“It’s me.”

“I guessed, who else would call me at this time in the morning? What’s up?”

“Can you talk?”

“Yes. What’s up, babe. What was with the call last night?”

“Was Liz really pissed?”

“Sort of. But forget that. What?”

Faced now with having to tell Starsky, Hutch found himself short of words and the silence dragged out.

“Hutch, babe. What is it? Come on — look, do you want to meet? I could -”

“No!” The word came out louder and sharper than Hutch intended and he heard the surprise in Starsky’s voice, could imagine the shock on his face.

“Hutch — what the fuck is going on?” Starsky sounded almost angry now, but Hutch knew it was because he felt helpless.

“Starsk, I’m being tailed.” There, it was out. In the end, it had taken three short, simple words.

“You’re what? Are you sure? How do you know?” The questions were thrown out bullet like, and for a moment Hutch struggled to find the answers.

“Yes. Yes. Starsk, I’m sure. I led a green Chrysler a merry dance last night. I went for a long drive through Venice and it stayed with me the whole time. I remember seeing the guy outside the precinct that night I waited for you.”

“Fuck. Who?”

Instinctively Hutch knew that Starsky was not asking who the tail was, but who had arranged it. For just about the first time in his life, he prepared to lie to his friend. “I’m not sure, Starsk.” Okay, so it wasn’t a lie, Hutch wasn’t totally sure, not completely certain — what he suspected would not stand up in a court of law.

“Liz?” The word part question, part disbelief.

“No.” Hutch refrained from adding that he didn’t believe that Liz was subtle enough, bright enough to do something like that. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t think it’s her style. Do you?”

“No. But, if it isn’t her, then who is it? I mean she’s the obvious one. She has sort of accused me of seeing someone else. Quentin?” Starsky was clutching at straws.

“Hardly. Why would he? He knows about you and me.”

“Well, unless you’ve got some other lover that I don’t know about…” Starsky was attempting, as usual, to lighten things. Then his voice changed and he said softly, “Jeri?”

Now that Starsky had voiced it, Hutch found that he could speak his feelings. “She’s the obvious suspect. I guess.” There was more than a hint of sadness and resentment in his voice.

Starsky wanted nothing more than to hang up and go to Hutch and hold him and make everything all right. Instead he said grimly, “How much do you think she knows? What sort of evidence do you think she has?” There wasn’t any hint that he was annoyed at Hutch’s evasive tactics earlier. He knew his lover too well — knew the split loyalties he’d be feeling. Damn you, Hutch, you still have some feelings for her. Especially now.

“I don’t know, Starsk, but she’s a very clever woman and she has the resources. Hell, I didn’t think this could ever happen to us. I thought we were being so careful.  I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, so cut the self-pity, Hutchinson, and listen. What are we going to do?”

“I think that maybe we should stop seeing each other for a while.” The words cut at Hutch’s heart, at his soul, at his very essence of being. As he spoke them, he knew he was destroying himself — but he knew that he had to say them.

“Fuck that.” Starsky’s vulgarity showed what he thought of Hutch’s idea. “No way, babe. No way. Do you hear me? Look, maybe it’s come at the right time. Gives me the chance to tell Liz — now. Before someone else does.”

“No.” Again, Hutch forced the denial out, the denial of his own happiness. He was totally unprepared for the outlash of fury from the other end of the phone.

“Fuck, Hutch. That’s it. I’ve had it. I’ve had enough. You keep on saying things like that. Saying, no, every time I want to tell Liz. Tell me, lover…” There was no gentleness in the endearment — just scorn. Scorn that Hutch had never believed could be directed at him. “What exactly do you want from me?”

“The same as you — as you said to me, when I asked you if you wanted us to split up…” He heard the catch of breath in Starsky’s throat. Yes, I can still hurt you, can’t I? God knows, I can love you and hurt you. “I want you to be happy.”

“My happiness is entwined with yours, Hutch. I know that. You know that.” There was almost a hint of resignation in Starsky’s voice, as though he’d finally admitted everything.

“Starsky, don’t do anything yet. Promise me? Let me try and talk to Jeri. See why she is doing this, what she plans to do with the information. Please.”

Starsky sighed. “Okay. And until then…?” He left the question unasked.

“Until then, my love… until then, we stay apart.” Hutch heard the catch in his voice and knew what it cost him to say it. Knew too that Starsky knew the cost, knew it and shared it.

“Okay.” Resignation. Reluctance. But once again, bowing to Hutch’s wishes. “We can still talk, can’t we? Hutch, I need you. Even if I can’t see you, I have to be able to talk to you.” There was more than a hint of a plea in Starsky’s voice.

“Oh, yes, babe. We can talk. Look, I’d better go. I need to find Quentin, and thank him for the gift.”

“Hey, say thanks from me too. It was the perfect gift. One of the nicest things anyone’s ever given me — and Hutch…” He broke off.

“I know. And me. I’ll pass on your thanks. Take care. Talk to you soon.” He paused and listened, not wanting to be the first to hang up, but unable to say anything else. After what seemed like a lifetime, he heard the faint click, as Starsky cradled his own phone. Hutch still held his for a few more moments and then quietly, as though not to disturb anyone, he hung up too.

 

Chapter Four

The phone call came as Hutch sat in Quentin’s office at the end of the day, having a quiet drink before going to his own apartment. He’d thanked Quentin and Grace for their wonderful gift, thanked them from him and Starsky. He found himself answering Quentin totally honestly when he had asked if it had resolved anything. He found himself telling his employer just how much in love he was with Starsky, and how much the weekend had brought these feelings to a head. He told Quentin about the tail and his suspicions as to who was behind it and his concerns that Jeri would tell Liz. It was at that moment the phone rang. Quentin’s face hardened when he answered it, then his tone changed to barely concealed anger and he held out the phone to Hutch.

With surprise, Hutch took it. The only person he could think of who might be calling him at this time of night was Starsky, and he wouldn’t have been the cause of Quentin’s look — surely not? “Hello, Hutchinson.”

“Ken. I have to see you. Will you please come over?” Jeri’s tone was clipped, and yet there was something almost vulnerable in it.

Hutch was in no mood to respond to the vulnerability, all he felt was cold fury. “Well, it saves me a phone call, Jeri. Yes, I’ll come and see you — and I can promise you, you’ll wish you’d never started this, you’ll wish you’d never met me, when I’ve finished.”

To his surprise she didn’t respond with anger. Instead she said simply. “Promise me you’ll hear me out, Ken.”

“I promise you that, Jeri — but you’d better make it good. When?”

“Tonight. Now.”

“I’m on my way.” Hutch hung up and started to move to the door.

Quentin’s question made him pause. “Do you think this is such a good idea, Kenneth?” The use of his first name caused Hutch to turn with surprise. Quentin had  obviously banked on that. “Sit down for a moment.” Hutch did. “Why don’t you let me come with you? Drive you at least.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re angry. Look, Hutch. I know what she’s done is wrong — I’d be the first to tell her that, but if you go over there in this mood — it isn’t going to accomplish anything. It might do more harm. Why don’t you call David — talk to him?”

“I can’t. He’ll be home now and -” Hutch broke off. Quentin nodded, with understanding and sadness. “Quentin, I appreciate your concern, but I promise I’ll be calm.”

“Will you come and tell me what she said, when you get back?”

“Yes. And, Quentin, thanks. For everything.”

Quentin nodded and this time didn’t stop Hutch as he strode to the door.

 

She was dressed in a simple pale blue dress when he arrived and she seemed far from sure of herself. “Come in, Ken. Drink?”

“No, thank you, Jeri. We both know why I’m here. So say what you have to say.” Hutch swallowed hard and tried not to lose his temper. Not yet, not so soon.

Jeri closed her eyes briefly and then said, “Ken, I have a confession to make. I think you know what it is, but I’ll tell you anyway. I’ve been having you tailed. I wanted to see who you were with, I wanted to see who I’d lost you to.”

“Why?”

“Does it matter? It’s over, Ken. I pulled him off the case last night. I have all the evidence he collected here; dates, times, places — photos. I have them all — including negatives — for you to take away with you.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I can’t be responsible for destroying something so beautiful, so perfect. I’ve only seen you together in the pictures, but they’re enough, Ken. Enough to make me realize that you have something very, very special, and I can’t hurt you. Not any more.”

Hutch was stunned. He’d been prepared for anything and everything — anything except this. He sat down heavily on the couch and said, “I think I’d like that drink after all, Jeri.” He waited while she poured him a neat whiskey and then asked again, “Why?” It seemed all he was capable of saying.

“Ken, I never told you that I loved you. I was never able to admit it. Because admitting it was to admit vulnerability, and that is something I could never do. I didn’t want to let anyone get close to me, even you. So I played with feelings, only in you I met my match. When you first told me that you were leaving me because you were gay, I was devastated. I was hurt, I was furious and I was determined to destroy and hurt you. Then I found out about the baby and I decided to have an abortion.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“Because I realized that the baby was mine. I know that you fathered it, but it was about me. I realized that I loved it — loved him. Not because he was yours, but because he was an individual and mine. Ken, I’m going away. Dad has often, as you know, talked about setting up in Atlanta — I’ve persuaded him that he should. He’d always promised it to me, and I’m keeping him to his promise. I’m going to set up there with an old law school friend.”

Hutch nodded. He’d given up any hope of seeing his baby, and somehow it hurt less each time he faced it.

“Ken, I promise you that I will tell the child about you, and I’ll try and be as fair as I can be. I’ll tell him that we shared time together; that we cared for each other, but that in the end it wasn’t to be. That we decided we were happier apart than together. I’ll be a good mother. Maybe one day, I’ll even let you see him — if he wants to. But, Ken, not with David. I may have decided not to destroy that, but I’m not open minded enough to want my son to see his father with his gay lover. I’m sorry if that still hurts, but that’s the deal, Ken. I’ve called off the tail and won’t do anything about David, but I’m going away, I’m going to have my child and bring him up, without you.”

Hutch was still wary; Jeri seemed like two different people. One, understanding and caring even, the other, angry and bitter. Deep down, he knew that he couldn’t blame her. He spoke carefully. “Jeri, forgive me for being suspicious, but less than a week ago you sat in your office and swore I’d never see the child — why the partial change of heart? Damn it, you had me tailed and now you tell me that a few pictures have made you realize you don’t want to hurt me. I’m sorry, but I find it a little hard to take in.”

“I can imagine that, Ken. I don’t think I can explain any more. I’m sorry. You’ll just have to believe me and trust me.”

“And money?” Hutch’s suspicions arose suddenly.

“I don’t need money, Ken. Not for the child or me. I’ve got more than you.”

“Jeri, all I want is what’s best for the child. I’d like him to know about me, and to know that if he ever needs me, then I’m here for him. I don’t think that being a part-time father — especially a part-time father so many miles away — is in his, or my, best interests. If he wants to see me later on, then it’ll be his choice — but I won’t force myself on him. A father is someone who is there for the child, who shares in the upbringing. I may be his biological father, but he’s yours. Love him, Jeri.”

“I will. Ken…” She broke off, not knowing what to say next. Then in a rush she asked, “Can you ever forgive me?”

“When I came here tonight, I was furious. I had no intention of ever forgiving you for what you did. I still can’t believe you did it but it’s over, Jeri. Yes, I forgive you. I hope that one day, you’ll find love too. I hope you’ll be happy.” He rose.

Jeri stood too and said quietly, “So do I, Ken.” Hutch held out his arms and she moved slowly towards him. For the last time they embraced, but for the first time the embrace was totally unguarded and more peaceful and honest than any they had known. Hutch dropped a kiss on her head and another on each cheek, then he finally covered her mouth with his own and kissed her gently, lovingly — but totally without passion. He felt her tears and lifted his hand to brush them away. He’d never seen her cry before and it touched him. He held her a while longer and then simultaneously they broke the embrace.

When he looked down at her, she was smiling, with her eyes as well as her lips, and although the former were still misty, she looked happy and relaxed.

“Go with love, Ken. I hope, I really do, that you and David will be given the chance to be together. No one should love like that and be apart. Take care, Ken — and be happy.”

“You too — and Jeri, I did love you. When you tell our son about our caring, remember that.”

“I know, Ken. I know, but just not enough. Not enough for either of us.” She held the door for him and watched as he walked down the stairs. He didn’t turn to look back. She didn’t expect him to. She waited while he drove off into the night and then closed the door and leant against it. Then decisively she moved to the phone and lifted it. “Brian…  It’s Jeri…”

As Hutch drove back to his apartment his mind was in turmoil. Part of him still didn’t dare to totally believe Jeri, and yet deep down knew that she had been totally honest, vulnerable and open. Something she had never been in their time together. But then, you weren’t either, Hutchinson. He instinctively knew that the danger had passed, that things would be all right. He was surprised to see the lights on in Quentin’s office when he got back and even more surprised to see Quentin standing at the door.

He climbed quickly from the car, his heart going to his throat, his breath catching. Please, God, don’t let anything have happened to Starsky. “Quentin?”

“Hutch, I’m sorry. But I have to ask you to go back to San Francisco. The clients are asking for you. You made quite an impact. I did offer to go myself, but… no luck. It’s you they want.”

“When?”

“Tonight. I’m really sorry.”

“Hey, Quentin, don’t be sorry. It’s my job.”

“Yes, but…”

“It’s okay. It’s all okay.”

“Jeri?”

“She’s had a complete change of heart. She called the tail off and has given me all the evidence. She’s leaving LA, going to set up another branch of Smith, Diggs and Eastman in Atlanta, with an old law school friend. She’s changed, Quentin.”

“I’m glad, Hutch. I really am.” At that moment Grace bustled in with some papers.

“I’ve called the airline and booked you a flight. It’s leaves in two hours. I’ve packed all the papers you’ll need and made you some sandwiches.

“Grace, you are a darling. I just hope this man appreciates you,” Hutch said with a smile. “I’ll pack…” He crossed to the stairs and then stopped. “Damn. Starsky. Quentin, I…”

“I know. I’ll call him for you tomorrow at the station. I’ll tell him you’ll be in touch.”

“Tell him all is fine with Jeri. Tell him, he doesn’t have to worry. Tell him -”

“Go and pack, Hutch. I’ll tell him. I’ll drive you to the airport myself and you can tell me some more about Ms. Eastman’s change of heart.”

With a nod to Grace and a grateful smile to Quentin, Hutch crossed back to the stairs.

 

Chapter Five

Hutch pushed the door to his apartment shut, dropped his case and leaned against the door. It had been a long three weeks — a week longer than it should have been — but at least he’d accomplished what he’d gone to do, so that should please Quentin. Hutch sighed as he ran his hand through his hair. He was tired, bone tired. And he was depressed, deeply depressed. Coming back to an empty apartment was one thing, but coming back to one that seemed destined to remain empty, was quite another.

Well, he told himself. You only have yourself to blame, Hutchinson. Starsky was more than prepared to tell Liz, it was just your damned foolish pride that wouldn’t let him. The same pride that made you tell Jeri. His thoughts briefly turned to Jeri and he wondered if she’d left LA yet.

“Oh, fuck!” He swore as he threw his jacket across the back of the nearest chair. He didn’t want to be alone any more. His whole being ached for the man who had been his partner for so many years. For the man he’d held in his arms and loved so intensely, but so briefly, what now seemed like an age ago. He sank into the chair and put his head in his hands, hot tears threatening to push their way through his tightly squeezed eyelids. He wanted Starsky, wanted him so badly that it hurt. But it wasn’t just a physical want; he also wanted him emotionally and psychologically. He wanted to hold him in his arms, to tell him how much he loved him. Wanted to kiss him, caress him, lie by his side. Wanted to stroke him to fulfillment, to watch him sleep, to cook for him. Wanted to play with him, simply wanted to be with him — he wanted the past back. No, he wanted the past together with the new discovery of their love for each other. He wanted everything.

He wanted Starsky. Okay, he admitted to himself. Needed Starsky. Wanted him all to himself, no longer having to share him with Liz and the kids. No longer having to think about his dark-haired lover in bed with the woman he’d married, but claimed not to love in the same way any more.

He didn’t want to lay awake at night any longer wondering if they were making love. Wondering if Starsky was pleasing her — or if she was pleasing Starsky. Touching him, caressing him in the intimate way that Hutch wanted to. He didn’t want to fantasize about making love with Starsky. To have to stroke himself to orgasm, picturing Starsky touching him, loving him, making love to him — he wanted the real thing. And not just for a few hours whenever they could fit it in. He wanted it forever. At the same time, though, he didn’t want Liz to be hurt, didn’t want Starsky’s kids — whom he’d only recently met — to lose their father. He didn’t want Starsky to feel guilty about them.

He found himself fantasizing again about Liz dying, and Starsky coming to him with the children and together they’d raise them. The impracticalities of two men living together as lovers — one a police captain, the other a lawyer — raising two kids who were only five and three, were pushed to one side in Hutch’s fantasies. The impossibility of being allowed to keep them once the authorities and Liz’s parents found out what Starsky and Hutch were, didn’t feature — well, at least not often. Sometimes the fantasy took another turn, a much darker one that Hutch fought hard to keep away. It was the one where Liz and the children were killed. Oh, easily, painlessly, a simple car crash — instantaneous death. This particular fantasy usually came to Hutch as he slept, and it always woke him up with a start and — he was ashamed to admit — with an erection. He was beginning to wonder if something was wrong with him. It wasn’t ‘normal’ to get turned on by the thought of the death of a woman and her two children. But, he was honest enough to know that it wasn’t their death that turned him on, but what would happen as a result of it.

His final fantasy, the one he actually preferred, because being an honest man, Hutch had to admit that he didn’t want to share Starsky, even with his children, was of Liz meeting someone else and going off with him. Preferably out of the country, taking the children with her. On a good day, Hutch embellished this one: Starsky liked the man, Liz approved of his and Starsky’s relationship. The kids loved their new ‘father’ and yet would still see their ‘daddy’ several times a year — best of both worlds. They’d have a full-time mom and ‘dad’ who’d bring them up without wanting for anything — love, money, emotional support — in a firm, loving supportive way, maybe even adding another brother and/or sister. Then they’d also have a daddy and favorite Uncle who’d spoil them rotten during their time with them. The kids would be told about their daddy and Uncle Hutch as soon as they were old enough, and they’d grow up well-adjusted because of it. They’d be proud of their four parents! Hah! thought Hutch desolately. No chance. Still he clung to the first half of this favorite dream — Liz and another man going off with the children, leaving Starsky to Hutch’s tender loving care.

Thinking about the love he’d show his partner made Hutch grow warm, and he felt his cock starting to swell. He touched it lightly through his pants, and was surprised to note how close to climaxing he was. He found that since he’d gone back to San Francisco that he’d started masturbating every night, sometimes two or three times, and at least once before his morning shower, and sometimes in the shower as well. His thoughts were always of his dark partner, sometimes erotic, sometimes innocent, but always filled with love.

His self-fulfillment wasn’t fulfilling or satisfying; it was simply something that he had to do. He’d discovered that sex without love was nothing, and for a few weeks after their weekend at Quentin’s cabin, he hadn’t allowed himself to indulge, but somehow, being so far away from Starsky had made him seek relief in the only way he knew. Once, in Frisco, he’d gone out to a gay bar — gone with the intention of finding someone, anyone, to relieve him, to hold him. Just for a few hours he’d wanted to forget and simply engage in sex. Within minutes of walking into the bar he’d realized that it was a mistake, knew with total clarity that he couldn’t do this, knew that he wasn’t gay. What he and Starsky shared and felt had nothing to do with being gay. He’d hurried out of the bar and leaned against a wall, shaking in horror at what he’d almost done. A man had approached him, obviously had seen him enter the bar and leave. He’d made a play for Hutch, offered to give him the fuck of his life. It had been like a light bulb exploding in Hutch’s mind and it had taken all his self-control not to hit out at the man, because he knew that once he’d started he wouldn’t be able to stop until the man was beaten into silence. A fuck — that’s what it had all been before Starsky, that’s what it would be with anyone else. Somehow he’d dug into the depths of his consciousness and pulled himself together. He’d dismissed the man with a cursory, “Sorry, no,” and had all but run back to his hotel room — where he’d stripped quickly and brought himself to almost immediate physical fulfillment — it wasn’t enough, and he knew it. Sex without love was nothing.

He moaned as he rubbed himself, and then pulled his thoughts together.   He didn’t want to come here, not in his pants. He hastily crossed to the bathroom, stripping as he went and stood under a tepid shower. Thoughts of Starsky, and how desperately he wanted to be touched and caressed by him, filled his mind as he rubbed his fingers over his hardening cock. He closed his eyes as he leaned against the tiles and imagined plunging it into Starsky’s body. Feeling him open for him, and then tighten around him, swallowing him whole until…. Hutch’s climax was fierce and violent, sending stars shooting through his eyes. The cream liquid shot out, covering his hand and the force of the ejaculation made Hutch fall to his knees, gasping for breath and sobbing.

He suddenly became aware that the water was making him choke. He pushed himself to his feet and, forcing the thoughts of Starsky away, began to wash himself. There was always a danger after he’d climaxed, that it would happen again, because as he soaped his manhood, he found that it usually responded and he’d become hard again — or at least semi-erect — within seconds. This time was no different. Ignore it, Hutchinson, he fiercely told himself, pleased that he could. At that moment the phone started to ring. “Fuck!” He swore aloud, and considered ignoring it. But then it seemed to ring with a greater intensity than usual, and Hutch knew that he had to answer it. Knew who it was. Hastily, climbing out from under the water, he grabbed a towel and with quick even strides crossed the room and picked up the phone.

“Yeah?” he said, still fairly out of breath from his orgasm.

“You’re home,” a soft, sensual voice breathed in his ear. “God, I’ve waited so long to hear your voice. Have you any idea how much I need ya? You take off without a word. All I get is a damned phone call from someone I’ve never spoken to before, telling me that he’s sorry, but you’ve had to go back to ‘Frisco, but that everything was okay and you’d call me. You didn’t call me. I didn’t know what to think, what to do. I nearly called Quentin several times, but I thought that’d be too soppy. What do I get, one lousy, lawyer like letter — anyone ever tell you, babe, you write awful love letters — sent to me via Quentin. One letter telling me about your meeting with Jeri, and what you’d decided and how happy she seemed. How you held her, how she cried for the first time ever. Great, so Jeri’s happy. Good for her. She gets a hug. Me, I get a letter.” The tirade finally died down and Hutch’s heart soared.  It was Starsky, the man who held all the answers to his prayers and dreams, the same man who could shatter those dreams with a simple word. The man he loved and wanted to possess, although he knew no one ever could — or would — totally possess him.

“You there?” The voice came again, an edge of concern creeping into it. “You okay?” Still the same old Starsky, marveled Hutch. Captain or not, the verbal shorthand he used — often neglecting words that he considered unimportant — was still there. “Babe?” This time the concern was evident.

“I’m here, Starsk,” Hutch hurriedly reassured Starsky. “Where are you?” he asked, not really wanting one particular answer, but knowing that he had to ask.

“At work. Where else would I be at this time of day?” came the reply. “God, I’ve missed you, Blondie.” He spoke the words in a sensual, soft tone, so quiet that Hutch almost had to strain to hear him. He guessed that Starsky had shut his door and dialed the number himself on his private line. Even so, he’d spent enough years at the station to know that voices carried through walls. Then, “What took you so long to answer?”

Hutch paused for a second before answering. He was aware that his partial erection had become a full blown one, when he’d heard his lover’s voice. “I was in the shower,” he said. Unconsciously he dropped his own voice. He heard a sharp intake of breath from Starsky and then, “Shit!” and a sort of scrabbling sound. Hutch smiled to himself. He guessed, correctly, that Starsky had almost dropped the phone.

“You naked?” The voice was harsher now, but Hutch knew Starsky so well, knew the tone was harsh with desire, not anger.

“Yes,” he purred, knowing that he was being wicked, knowing that anyone could walk into Starsky’s office without a second’s notice. Knowing that if he wasn’t careful, he’d push his partner to the brink, and there would be a risk of discovery. He knew all of this, but he couldn’t help himself, his desire and love were too strong. “And wet,” he added sexily, deliberately confusing the Police Captain he wanted to hold in his arms.

“Fuck,” came the voice over the phone.

“Is that an offer?” murmured Hutch, enjoying the game more and more, knowing that he was on the edge himself.

“Wet?” Starsky’s question momentarily threw him.

“Yes. Well, I said I was in the shower…” he answered.

“Oh, I thought you meant…” Starsky broke off, his breath coming unevenly.

“That too,” added Hutch.

That was the final straw. “I’m coming over.” Starsky’s voice was clear, determined and forceful.

“Now?” Hutch breathed, not daring to really believe, or hope.

“Of course, now, you idiot. Do you think I’m going to get any work done, with the image of your naked, glistening, wet body swimming in front of my eyes? Besides… Come!” Hutch heard him yell and was thrown for a second, unsure whether that was an order directed at him. Then he heard Starsky’s tone become clipped and Captain-like.

“What do you want, Phillips?” Hutch couldn’t hear the reply; just a murmur and he held his breath hoping that it wasn’t anything important. “Benson? Oh, yeah, right. Nothing new there…” Again Hutch tried hard to hear what was being said. He tried — and succeeded — to imagine Starsky’s unease, and yet it wasn’t showing in his voice. He knew that Starsky hated to remain sitting behind his desk when someone came in. Equally, he knew — even though Starsky hadn’t said it — that his lover wouldn’t be able to get up.

“Right then, if that’s all, it can wait. I have to go out now… Yeah, now… Catch up with you later. Thanks.” The words were a dismissal. Hutch released the breath he’d been holding, as he heard Starsky say to him, “Now where were we? Oh yeah, you’re naked, wet, hard… Oh shit, I shouldn’t have thought about that…”

“I didn’t say that,” said Hutch laughingly

“Didn’t need to, babe, didn’t need to. This is me. Remember me? Your lover, the man that knows every inch of your body in a more intimate way than anyone has before. I knew it as a friend first, then as a lover…” Starsky broke off as though he suddenly remembered where he was, or was shocked to hear himself say those things. “Anyway,” he said, “just you stay exactly as you are, I’m coming now…” He broke off with a laugh. “Bad thing to say — I’d just calmed down enough to walk out of here and now… Tell me, Blondie, how the hell do you do this to me?” His voice was plaintive now. The tone Hutch had heard him use so many times over the years, the ‘little boy lost’ tone he’d honed to perfection that always melted Hutch’s heart, even when Starsky was being infuriating.

Hutch laughed softly, “Just natural skill, I guess.” Then seriously, he suddenly said, “I love you, Starsk. I really love you.” The tone was intense, so filled with naked honesty; it took Hutch’s breath away.

Starsky’s too seemingly, because he replied in the same voice, “I know, babe, me too.” Then, as though he knew that reply wasn’t enough, he threw caution to the wind and said, “I love you, Hutch. Forever. I can’t be without you any more.”

“Starsk…”

“Shhh, don’t say anything else. I’m on my way.”  Starsky hung, but Hutch stood for a long, long moment cradling his own receiver against his body.

 

Chapter Six

He was still standing by the phone, lost in his daydream of Liz leaving when… “Christ, Hutch, didn’t ya learn anything from the past?” He spun round to see Starsky standing inside the door, key in hand, a look of naked desire in his eyes, mixed with concern and just a degree of anger — all together producing pure, unadulterated love. “I mean, key still over the door lintel. I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.” The words belied his action as he strode across the room and gathered Hutch into his arms.

The kiss was intense, passionate and deep, causing a myriad of colors to explode in Hutch’s brain. After what seemed like hours, Starsky allowed Hutch to come up for breath. Pulling away slightly, his own breath coming in short, sharp bursts, Starsky ran his tongue over his mouth as he watched Hutch, then moaned and crushed him close again, this time murmuring into his ear all the love and pent up feelings he had for his partner. Hutch was so overwhelmed by the words he was hearing that his legs almost gave way, and he clutched onto Starsky like a drowning man, not daring to let go in case this miracle went away.

Finally Starsky pulled back again and this time he appraised Hutch. “I want you, Hutch. I want you so badly. It’s been so long, too long. How long has it been since we were together?” The question wasn’t meant to be answered, because Starsky went straight on. “It’s been since that weekend at Quentin’s. The weekend, Hutch, that was perfect, honest, open and answered all the questions. Almost too perfect, too honest. It’s left me wanting so much more, and you take off without a word. Did you stop to think what I was thinking? Wondering. Do you realize how much I need you? God, Hutch, I ached for you and now… Well, all I know, Hutch, is that it’s been too long — I’m desperate for you. Come to bed with me now.” He caught Hutch’s hand and they moved as one into the bedroom.

Although it was Starsky that had used the word desperate, once they reached the bedroom, it was Hutch who took control. Hutch who realized that his need and want was actually greater than his lover’s was. All the love, the passion, the intensity and the pure lust threatened to overwhelm him and, if the look on Starsky’s face was anything to go by, his partner was in the same state.

Aware that he was so desperate for his curly-haired lover that he’d hurt him if he penetrated him, Hutch decided to suck Starsky until he came. Swallowing him whole, swallowing the scalding ejaculation. He wanted more and more, until, without pausing, he brought Starsky off a second time. Reciprocation, at the time Hutch was loving him, was impossible. Starsky’s brain simply wasn’t functioning. He tried, he really tried to turn Hutch round so that he could get to him, but Hutch was using his height advantage to his own purpose and was much stronger now than Starsky. And I thought that he spent too much time behind his desk, Starsky thought for a second and then, I know I do, but… This thought was blocked as the orgasm seared through him, from his toes to the hair on his head. All he could do was to hold on to Hutch’s hand. The hand he’d managed to capture before Hutch began his frenzied assault on his throbbing cock.

Starsky wasn’t aware of the tears starting, until Hutch took him in his arms and tenderly rocked him, again murmuring silly, sweet nothings to him. When Starsky’s shaking stopped, both from this orgasm and from his emotions, Hutch held him away from him slightly, and stared at him as though he hadn’t seen him before. The love Starsky read in Hutch’s eyes and face was so evident. Naked, unashamed, total, utter, all-consuming love — all for him. For a moment Starsky thought that he’d drown in those blue eyes, and then his brain started to function again and he realized that though he was sated, his partner and lover was far from it.

Gentleness gone now, Starsky knew he had to bring Hutch off quickly, and he wanted to. He could see how much Hutch needed him. He hand was firm as he gripped Hutch’s cock, and he heard the desire in his lover’s voice as he said harshly, “Please, Starsk..” Frantic hands urged his head down. Starsky opened his mouth and took Hutch’s throbbing cock inside. Wanting it all, needing it, feeling as he did, his own organ starting to swell again. He’d hardly began to suck, when his hair was grabbed in tight clumps, and he heard Hutch cry the warning, “Starsk…” Hot liquid shot into his eagerly waiting mouth, and again and again Starsky swallowed. Hutch seemed to be pumping even more liquid into him. Fearing for one brief second that he’d choke, that he couldn’t take any more, Starsky closed his eyes and forced his passion to take over. Finally Hutch stopped coming, and Starsky remained where he was, aware of Hutch’s shaking. “God, Starsk, I’ve never got there that quickly before.” The words were simply said, in an unbelieving tone. And then in an almost shy tone he said, “Hold me.”

Starsky moved away from the not-totally-deflated-organ and up the bed to where Hutch was waiting and enfolded his blond lover in his arms.

Held in the tight, protective grip Hutch fell briefly asleep, only to dream of him and Starsky walking along an empty beach, hand in hand stopping to kiss, to pet and share a loving look, until finally, they turned and walked back to their house — their home.

When he awoke, he was aware of being scrutinized by Starsky, who seemed unable to believe what he saw — or maybe what he felt. Lust had gone. The intense driving desire had passed, and instead was replaced by the tenderness Hutch had often seen in Starsky’s eyes when he looked at his partner. It was a tenderness that was replicated later as they made love.

Some time later Hutch spoke, “Hey, hadn’t you better be going, lover?” He sat up, trying to keep the pain out of his voice, to keep things light.

“Had enough of me already, have you?” Starsky answered, trying, like Hutch, to keep things light — and failing. “Shit. Hutch, I can’t do this any more, can’t play games any more. You’re too important to me.” He sat up and raked his hands through his hair. Then, obviously needing the security of his lover, Starsky moved closer to Hutch and dropped his head onto Hutch’s shoulder. Instinctively, Hutch moved his arm around Starsky and held him tightly. Soothing and comforting.

A myriad of thoughts went through Hutch’s mind as he fought with himself. Finally, able only to speak the truth, he pulled away and tilted Starsky’s chin up, and said, “I’ll never have had enough of you, Starsk.”

Starsky nodded, almost sadly. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too. I’ve got to tell Liz, I -” He broke off as Hutch looked at him with anguish in his eyes. “Look, babe, you told Jeri. You gave up a good opportunity, your place to live, a cushy job, a partnership on the plate from ‘daddy’. You gave up a well deserved, well earned life. You gave up all rights to your child.” The last bit was said, quietly and soberly. “What have I given up? A few hours of my time. It ain’t equal, babe and that’s one thing we always were — fine-tuned and balanced. This isn’t, and I don’t like it. Hell, Hutch, I’m lying to everyone. Liz, the kids, you, the damned station — and to me.”

The final two words were said with so much sadness and raw pain, that Hutch would have willingly given it all up now, given Starsky up, send him back to his wife, if only it would take the pain away. He loved him that much. He never thought he’d feel this depth of love for someone, to love them enough to let them go. He shivered in spite of the heat they were still both generating.

Hutch tried one more time; forced himself to try and get a grip on reality. Forced what he really wanted into what could be, and spoke. “Look, Starsk, you don’t have to tell Liz, not yet. We can keep on like this, you don’t want to hurt her and the kids, do you?”

“Of course I don’t, but, sweetheart,” the word came so easily, drowning Hutch in its intensity, “I don’t want to hurt you either — and I am.” Starsky replied quietly.

“You could never hurt me, babe,” Hutch began.

“Bullshit — I’m probably the only person who could truly hurt you,” interjected Starsky, his dark blue eyes flashing as he looked at his lover. Suddenly he gripped Hutch tightly by the shoulders, forcing him to look at him. “Okay, babe, time for total honesty between us.” He paused and stared into Hutch’s eyes as if trying to judge the pain behind them, pain mixed up with love. Desire had gone for the moment. Instead truth lay there, truth and love. “We’ve never lied to each other about anything important, have we?”

Hutch shook his head, eyes downcast, steeling himself for the inevitable question.

“Say it,” Starsky demanded, shaking the shoulders he held in his vice like grip.

“No. No, Starsk. We haven’t and I won’t start now. I won’t lie to you.” Hutch sounded defeated, and it tore through Starsky’s heart and soul. Dammit, I’m hurting you now, babe. I know it, but this has to be said.

“Okay. So the time for games is over — right?” Again the pause, the intense look.

Hutch could no longer look away, instead he stared into the dark eyes, the eyes that usually told so much — at least to him — but now were deep, impenetrable pools. “Right,” he said softly.

Starsky took a breath. “So tell me, what do you want? Truth now, babe.”

Hutch closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, the tears were shining, but with a steady voice he spoke. “I want you, Starsk. I don’t want to ever have to share you with anyone. I want us to be together, always. I want to hold you, to love you, to be here for you, to share in everything you do, to be able to reach out and touch you whenever I want to. I want to go to sleep with you in my arms and wake up with you. I want to know that if I wake up in the night, that you’ll be here beside me. I want to dance with you, to kiss you, to caress you, to please you, to satisfy you…” Now he’d started, he found he couldn’t stop. All the longing and love he felt came pouring out in the total honesty he knew he had to share with his friend.

“I want to be one with you, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health — ’til death do us part.” Hutch spoke the liturgy he’d spoken once, a thousand years ago, in a different world, maybe even as a different man. “I want to hold you when you’re sick, or hurt, or upset. To laugh with you when you’re happy. I want to take the hurt of the world away; I want to wrap you up so that no one will ever hurt you in any way. I want to make things right for you — for us. I want to be able to walk down the street with you, hand in hand. I want to show the world our love; I don’t ever want to have to hide it. I want it to be accepted, not something that people think is squalid and dirty. I want to hold hands in restaurants, to be able to gaze into your eyes, drop my arm around you, kiss you even.” He paused, the intensity was overwhelming him, and he found that he was gripping Starsky’s arms as tightly as Starsky gripped his shoulders.

“You don’t want much, do you, babe?” The soft words cut into Hutch’s thoughts, and for a second he misread the tone and tensed.

“Shhh, sweetheart, don’t fret. I don’t mean it like that. You’ve got a way with words that I’ll never have. I haven’t had the college education you had; I can’t say all the right and fancy things. But, babe, you have to know that all that you’ve said is how I feel. All that you want, I want too. I can’t give you the last bit, the bit about being able to be public, much as I’d love it too, babe. But I can’t change society for you. If I could I would — I’d stop the stars for you if I could — but I can’t. I can, however, give you the rest. I can give you me. ‘Me and thee’, Hutch, as it always was, as it was always meant to be. Me and thee together, forever.” Starsky paused, then said, “Pretty poetic for me, isn’t it?” The half smile, the smile that only Starsky could produce, was on his lips — but more importantly in his eyes — as he watched Hutch.

“All of what I said, Starsk, is true. But above all, I don’t want you to hurt. All I care about is your happiness. If I thought for one moment you’d be happier without me, I’d get on a plane and go back to San Francisco, or somewhere, and I’d start a new life without you.” Hutch’s voice was quiet, but intense, and his eyes showed the naked honesty of his words.

“You love me that much?” The words were a question; the tone was not. Of course he does, because that’s how I feel. Always have; always will.

Answering nonetheless, Hutch merely said, “Yes. Always, sweetheart, always. You and only you.”

The kiss that followed was so gentle, yet so deep. Both men knew that they’d stepped over the final hurdle. Pretense had gone — maybe it had never been there. After all, there never had been any need for pretense between them.

For an age they lay kissing and caressing, almost uncertainly. Gently, as two people do when they discovering each other for the first time. And yet, at the same time, with the surety of two people who each know every inch of the other’s body, who know that there is so much more to love than just sex.

Finally Starsky, with reluctance, pulled away. Sitting up, he threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. “I have to go,” he said, the despair showing in his face and voice.

Hutch nodded. “When are you going to tell Liz? Tonight?” As he’d so often done in the past, he fell into the shorthand Starsky used, irrelevant words omitted. But then, so often all words were irrelevant between them.

“No. Not tonight. I don’t want to ruin this memory. Crazy I know, and also I want to tell her in the light of day. I’ll tell her this weekend.”

“What?”

Starsky shrugged. “It’s over, I’m leaving — don’t know exactly.”

“About us?”

“I guess so. Seems only fair that she should hear it from me, rather than someone else. Do you mind?” Permission sought and given, as easily as it always had been.

“Of course not. It won’t be easy for her. Or you.” Hutch moved from the bed and enfolded Starsky in his arms, gently brushing his lips against the dark curls. Then before either could get aroused again and be unable to break away, he gently pulled back. He turned Starsky towards the bathroom, and gave him a gentle swat on his ass to propel him. He stood for a few seconds alone until he knew he couldn’t bear to let his lover out of his sight even for a moment. Not until he had to walk out of the apartment. He silently crossed the distance between the bed and the bathroom, the door of which Starsky hadn’t bothered to shut, as if he’d known all along that Hutch would follow him.

Starsky was moving to the sink as Hutch entered. “Can I use your toothbrush?” he asked.

“This time you ask.” Hutch grinned at him then moved to find a towel. He watched while his partner brushed his teeth, swiftly showered and dried himself. Then he followed him as he moved back to the bedroom to dress, efficiently and quickly. At the same time, Hutch pulled on a robe. Hardly any words had passed between them for the last few minutes, but it didn’t matter, there was no need for words. Finally, picking up his discarded jacket from the floor, Starsky said, “I always knew there was a good reason for me not dressing too smart.”

Hutch smiled, and seemed to really notice his friend’s clothes for the first time. Starsky might now be a Captain, might be forced to wear a collar and tie all the time, but the basic dress was still the street-wise Starsky Hutch had known all those years ago. The trainers had been replaced by shoes, the jeans by barely respectable pants, and the leather jacket with the holes in it — Oh God, those holes  — with a new one, but it was still Starsky. Put him in a dinner jacket and bow tie and within minutes he’d be Starsky. But Hutch knew that he wouldn’t change him for the world.

Once Starsky had finished dressing, Hutch moved to take him in his arms. The kiss was once again gentle, but so filled with meaning, that Hutch found himself in danger of drowning in the love offered, taken and shared.

Breaking the embrace but not letting go of Hutch’s hand, Starsky moved to the door. Pausing to drop one more kiss on his lover’s head, he said simply, “See ya.”

“Starsk…” The harshness of the tone and edge of panic in Hutch’s voice cut through, and Starsky moved quickly to take Hutch in his arms once again.

“It’s okay, babe, everything’s okay. I love you. I’ll be home.” With that he pulled away, and this time opened the door and passed through it, shutting it gently behind him.

 

Chapter Seven

Across town Haddon sat in his darkened office, only the desk lamp and the glow from his cigarette breaking into the night. It had been a long three weeks since the phone call from Jeri Eastman. The call had surprised him. Jeri had not struck him as the kind of woman to give up easily — he’d also been relying on the money. He was everything Jeri had thought he was, a professional through and through, old-fashioned, an expert, scrupulous — in every way but one, and that one way looked like being, not only his, but several other people’s downfall. When Jeri had hired him to follow her ex-lover and find out whom he was involved with, he’d taken the work eagerly because he’d needed the money, again something neither Jeri nor anyone else would ever know. He’d always had one weakness in his life, the horses.

It was a secret he’d kept from the rest of the world, because somehow it did not fit in with the image he presented. For most of his life, he had balanced his winnings and losses easily, never really in financial difficulties. But over the last few years, ever since he’d turned 60, he’d found that the work hadn’t come so easily. Oh, the Jeris of this world still hired him, still relied on his old fashioned image, but other people didn’t want him, didn’t feel he was up to the physical grind of following someone, of investigating. Always self-employed, he’d never bothered with any kind of retirement plan, always sure that his savings and other investments would see him through and always certain that he’d be able to work for a long time. But then his losses on the horses became more and more, his wins fewer and fewer, the work tailed off and the final, most damning thing of all was when his eyesight started to fail him. He could still see well enough to drive, to tail someone, to write, but his problem was when it came to taking pictures, of lining up shots that would be clear and yet go unnoticed to the people he was photographing.

When Jeri had contacted him, through a third party, he knew that the job was going to be a long lasting one and vowed that he’d give up the horses then. Then came the news — Jeri wanted pictures, photos, good ones. Notes, times and places weren’t enough.  He knew a young photographer through his interest in the track, knew him to be the best in the business, knew that his scruples weren’t up to Haddon’s own, knew that he’d do pretty much anything for money — money that Haddon knew he needed. Haddon had weighed up asking Jack Elliott to take the photos against finding someone in the business that he knew — but if he did that, then word would get around that Haddon was finally getting too old. He opted for Elliott — the biggest mistake he’d ever made. He knew that Elliott’s morals weren’t that deep; what he wasn’t prepared for was that Elliott was totally amoral.

He’d phoned Elliott after Jeri had called him, but Elliott had been away. Hadn’t come back until last night. Upon his return, Haddon had telephoned him and told him that the case was over; the work was over. Thanked him for all he’d done, told him that he’d recommend him if he found someone else who needed photos, had even said that he’d use him again himself. Then came the bombshell, the quietly spoken words that had turned Haddon’s world upside down, that had almost made him feel that he was having a heart attack. Elliott had told him, simply and without any possibility of misunderstanding that it wasn’t over. He told Haddon that he hadn’t handed over the negatives; he’d only handed over a copy. He told Haddon that he’d counted on the work, that Haddon had promised him it would go on for months — Haddon hadn’t, but he was in no position to argue — that Haddon would have to keep paying him, or… There were two ors: one, Elliott would make sure that everyone knew of Haddon’s sight problem and his predilection for the horses and two, he’d blackmail the men he’d been following. Haddon had told him that he was stupid, you didn’t blackmail a cop and an ex-cop turned lawyer, that it was tantamount to professional suicide. Elliott had just laughed, not a nice laugh — more a sneer — and told Haddon once again, either he paid up or he’d better make sure that Starsky and Hutch — oh yes, Elliott had done some snooping of his own, he knew their names — did. He’d told Haddon in no uncertain terms the basics about the men he’d been paid to photograph. Knew about Starsky, his rank, his wife, his children. Knew about Hutch, his employer, and his ex-now-pregnant lover.

He gave Haddon a week to come up with a lump sum — $100,000 — or he’d mail four sets of prints: one to the Police Commissioner at the Parker Center; one to a certain Mrs. Elizabeth Starsky; one to Quentin Cohen and the last set would go to Jeri Eastman, along with details of how he came to have the negatives. On the other hand, if Haddon came up with the money, then he’d get the negatives and be assured that Elliott wouldn’t say anything about anything. Haddon didn’t trust him. Even if he came up with the money — an impossibility — he didn’t trust Elliot to hand over the negatives. He’d simply hung up the phone and sat for a long time in the darkness, trying to work out what to do.

Twenty-four hours later, he wasn’t any nearer, except he knew he had to tell someone. There were three possibilities. Jeri: he dismissed her almost as quickly as he thought of her. She might have had a change of heart and called him off the case, but then, he didn’t know that, it might have been that she had enough evidence. No, not Jeri, besides, going to Jeri would mean having to admit the problem with his eyesight and that he’d used another person. No, it was simple, either Starsky or Hutch. Neither prospect appealed to Haddon. Neither man would be easy to approach. As he sat in the darkness, lighting one cigarette from the butt of the other, he carefully weighed up the pros and cons of both men. Hutch would be easier to get to see; after all he worked for a private firm, so at least the interview would be likely to take place in private. On the other hand, he knew something about Hutch’s devotion to his partner, knew something of the temper he possessed when his lover was threatened, and Haddon didn’t want to be on the receiving end of it. Starsky would be harder to get to see, but he was the one with more to lose and somehow, Haddon felt, the more rational of the two. Decision made. Tomorrow he’d go down to the Parker Center and see Starsky.

“Sit down, Mr. Haddon. You said you’ve got information that I’ll be interested in, but that it’s for my ears only. Well?” Starsky waved Haddon to a chair, waited until he’d sat down, glancing around him in obvious unease, and then sat himself.

“I’m not sure where to start Mr…. Captain Starsky.” Now that he was here, Haddon felt extremely nervous and was regretting not going to see Hutch instead.

“The beginning’s usually a good place. So?”

Did the man always get straight to the point? “You don’t know me, Captain, but I know you. At least I feel that I know you — you and your friend, Kenneth Hutchinson.” Before he could get any further, Starsky had leapt to his feet and moved swiftly around the desk. He stopped in front of Haddon and deliberately dropping his voice said, “You’re the bastard that’s been tailing Hutch and me. What are you doing here? Jeri, Ms Eastman, called you off — she told Hutch. So what…. I get it. Well, let me warn you, Mister Haddon, trying to blackmail a cop’s not a good idea. I’ll make you…” Starsky broke off, shocked to find he was shaking. He took a deep breath and moved back behind his desk. “Get out of here, and let’s forget this conversation ever happened. And think yourself lucky you came to me — if you’d have gone to Hutch…” Starsky deliberately didn’t finish the sentence.

“I’m not trying to blackmail you, Captain, but someone may.” Haddon spoke wearily.

“Explain, and make it good.” Starsky looked directly into the other man’s eyes.

“I have problems with my eyesight. Not enough to prevent me from doing the usual things — driving etcetera. Nor for following people, but I have problems taking photographs. So I hired someone to photograph you and Mr. Hutchinson. That person isn’t happy that the work is over. He says that unless I pay him $100,000 within a week, a set of photos goes to Hutchinson’s employer, a set to Jeri Eastman, a set to your Police Commissioner and….” Haddon paused, watching as Starsky’s eyes narrowed at the words. He took a deep breath and braced himself, “A set will go to your wife.” He watched Starsky carefully, surprised that he didn’t jump to his feet again.

Instead Starsky, somewhat wearily and resignedly, ran his hand through his hair. “Fuck.” He said it so softly that Haddon wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “I didn’t want it to happen this way. How bad are these photos?”

Haddon took a packet from his pocket and passed them to Starsky. As he flicked through them, Starsky was surprised to find his reactions operating on two levels. One thought they were damned good, showed off Hutch especially in all his beauty, photos to keep in the family album, well taken — great care and expertise had gone into the shots. Under any other circumstances, they’d be well-appreciated pictures. The other level knew just how damning they were, just how much they revealed. There were no sex shots, none of him and Hutch in bed, nothing as easy and simple as pictures showing two men fucking. Instead the love and intimacy between them screamed out at him. Anyone, whether they knew the truth or not could not fail to see it. There were pictures of the two of them playing pool, walking down a street, drinking, booking into an out of place hotel, walking on the beach, at the airport and several others. Even in the midst of other people, even when they were being ‘just friends’, no one could fail to see what was true between them. Starsky shivered, involuntarily. If these pictures gave that much away, what did he and Hutch give away when people actually saw them? It wasn’t even the pictures of the physical side that were the most revealing. Okay, there were a couple when they had their arms around one another or were mock fighting, but these were the mildest. The really telling ones were the looks, the closeness, the way they sat together, the slight touch, the hand on the sleeve — all the thousands of things that defined lovers.

He glanced up finally, shaking himself out of his thoughts, and found Haddon looking at him, a mixture of sympathy and jealousy on his face. At least Starsky thought he saw the latter, but it was quickly hidden. “They’re good,” he said, honestly. “He’s some photographer.” Then he added quietly, “And they’re a time bomb. How come you’ve got them? I thought you’d have to have given them to Jeri Eastman.”

“I told the photographer that I needed some evidence, told him that I was going to come and see you.” Haddon said. “He sent these over this morning.”

“It didn’t occur to you, Mister-Private-Detective, to get the negatives from this guy before you told him it was all off?” Starsky sounded weary more than anything else.

“He told me that he had given them to me. I bought them from him — or so I thought — and gave them to Ms. Eastman. I didn’t know that he’d kept a copy for himself. Captain Starsky, I’ve been good at my job over the years. I’ve had many opportunities to destroy numerous people and you may not believe this, but I’ve never even considered it, not even when I was in desperate need of money, not even when I couldn’t raise enough to pay the rent. I have morals, Captain. I have my standards, my etiquette, and my beliefs. That’s why Jeri Eastman used me. She knew she could trust me. Knew it was the sort of case I was used to.”

“Yeah, and you betrayed that trust, Haddon. You used someone else to take the photos. I take it Jeri doesn’t know?” Haddon dropped his head and shook it. “Figures, so that’s why one set of photos will go to her. It’ll finish you as a PI, won’t it?” Starsky’s perception cut into Haddon and he simply nodded, head still bowed. “What’s his name?” Starsky asked, quietly but in a tone that Haddon knew offered no choice but to answer.

He raised his head and looked directly at Starsky. “Jack Elliott. Here’s his address.” Haddon passed a folded piece of paper to Starsky and closed his eyes. Totally beaten now. Beaten and finished. No matter what Starsky did, he knew that it was over for him. Even if Starsky used all his influence as a cop to force Elliott to give up the blackmail, Haddon knew that somehow Elliott would make him pay. He’d never work again. It would be all out in the open, how he’d used an outsider. “What are you going to do?” he asked, more out of the need not to leave, than to know.

“Find him. Tell him what to expect from trying to blackmail a cop and a lawyer. Tell my wife and the Commissioner. Quentin Cohen won’t care — I think he’ll find them aesthetically pleasing. Tell Hutch. And I suggest you tell Jeri Eastman before he sends the photos. Tell her and try and salvage something.”

“You make it sound so easy.” Haddon couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice.

“I don’t mean to. But maybe when you’ve faced death as many times as I have, facing blackmail somehow doesn’t seem so important. I -” He broke off and ran his hand over his face. “Look, Haddon, there isn’t anything else you can do. Get out of here. Leave Elliott to me.” Starsky rose to his feet, indicating that the interview was over.

Haddon struggled to his own feet, somehow unsure what to say, what to think. Starsky seemed resigned, rather than afraid. “Captain Starsky. I -” He broke off, there wasn’t anything he could say. Starsky seemed to know though and simply nodded.

“Good luck to you, Haddon. Thanks for coming here today — it must have taken courage.” To Haddon’s amazement, Starsky held out his hand. Haddon briefly shook it and turned to the door.

“Haddon.” Starsky’s voice stopped him and he turned to see the Police Captain holding an envelope in his hand.

“Keep them. They belong to you,” Haddon said and simply let himself out of the office.

When he’d gone, Starsky sank back into his chair and once again pulled the photos out. For several moments he gazed at them, once again torn in his feelings, lost in the beauty of the pictures — until reality hit hard. He put the photos back into the packet and thought about his options. To tell Hutch or not to tell Hutch? He ought to really, but he knew his partner’s temper, knew how he would react. Not for himself, but react out of fear for Starsky. Starsky briefly feared for both Haddon’s and Elliott’s safety if he told Hutch. Haddon was a fool. A man who’d spent his life conforming to his own sense of propriety, a man who wouldn’t admit to growing older, a man who had basically committed professional suicide. Once it got out, and Starsky knew that it would somehow, no one decent would trust Haddon again. Somehow, in spite of everything, Starsky couldn’t be furious with Haddon, but he doubted Hutch would be as lenient. Elliott was a different matter. Starsky had always hated blackmailers, often more so than murderers. There was something basically evil in a blackmailer, something that went deeper than killing, something that destroyed totally. However, Starsky was not about to risk Hutch getting arrested for giving a blackmailer what he deserved. No, for the time being, Starsky would keep this from Hutch.

So what did he do next? He’d no intention of paying Elliott, even if he had the money. Once you paid a blackmailer, you were caught for a long time. He could call his bluff; let him do his worst. Let him mail the pictures. Quentin wouldn’t care, Jeri — well, Starsky wasn’t bothered. That left the Police Commissioner, who really couldn’t do anything, and Liz. Starsky shook his head. He couldn’t do that to Liz. He couldn’t let her see the photos. Couldn’t let her see the love between him and Hutch, couldn’t let her see what she had never had. He no longer loved Liz as a husband should love a wife — briefly he wondered if he ever truly had — but he still cared enough, loved enough even, not to want to destroy her totally. Words were one thing; evidence another. No, he had to do something. But what? Starsky realized that he was at a loss. Years on the force, years of dealing with scum like Elliott, had not prepared him for the moment when it was turned on him. Guns, yes, knives, being kidnapped, injected, drugged, locked up — all of those were tangible things. All of those he, or Hutch in most cases, could do something about. Even when he’d almost died by Gunther’s hand, there was something to cling on to, but this was different, this wasn’t tangible. It was the years on the force that made him know just how dangerous and powerful blackmailers were. Just how much they were often prepared to risk destroying someone. Haddon had said that Elliott had spoken to him by phone, so there was no evidence that Elliott was planning blackmail, none at all. It would never stand up in court and Starsky didn’t want to risk a court appearance anyway. He was out of ideas. For a moment, he reconsidered telling Hutch and even reached for the phone. All their years together, surely they could come up with a plan together, an idea. If nothing else, he’d be able to share it, share it with Hutch as he’d shared everything else.

He picked up the phone and dialed a number. It rang, several times, and then it was answered. “Huggy? Starsky. I need a favor. No, not over the phone. I’ll drop by at lunchtime. Early, before you open. Yeah… And, Hug, if Hutch should come over, don’t say anything to him.” He hung up. It had been a long time since he’d contacted Huggy for anything other than pleasure. Somehow with Hutch moving on, and Starsky moving up, that side of his relationship with Huggy had ceased. He was surprised to feel a sense of anticipation at seeing Huggy again for ‘business’.

 

Chapter Eight

Later that afternoon, Starsky once again sat in his office deep in thought. Part of his mind told him that he should be working, the rest of it was thinking back to his meeting with Huggy. Starsky had told Huggy a condensed version of everything. To his amazement, Huggy hadn’t been surprised. In fact he admitted that he’d always thought they were lovers. When Starsky had asked why he thought that, Huggy had said that he’d never seen anyone touch, pet, caress and simply gaze at each other in such an intimate way before, not unless they were lovers, often not then. He offered no comment when Starsky told him that he’d decided to leave Liz and the children. The one thing he didn’t tell Huggy about was the child Hutch had fathered, deciding that it was Hutch’s business. Huggy had asked to see the photos and Starsky had shown them to him. Huggy had been silent for a long time, during which Starsky played with a beer and watched his old friend, seeming totally intent on the photos, which he took his time over. Finally, when he’d looked at them to the point of almost making Starsky nervous, he’d looked up at his friend and said with awe in his voice, “Man, they’re some pictures. I thought I’d seen it all with you guys, but these are…” He’d broken off; unable it seemed, to find an adjective suitable, finally settling for, “Beautiful.” But that didn’t say all that he’d wanted to say. Then he’d said, “Well, Starsky, my man, ya want the good news or the bad news?” Without waiting for Starsky to answer, he’d shrugged and said, “Don’t matter, they’re the same really. There ain’t no doubt of your and Blondie’s relationship from these photos.”

“How’s that good and bad, Hug?” Starsky had asked.

“Good, because no two people should be that much in love and not together. Bad, because it is so obvious to anyone, even to someone that don’t know you well.”

Starsky had nodded, ruefully, at that point. Huggy had just confirmed what he’d thought when he first saw the pictures — but he’d been kidding himself that he was looking at them with a biased eye.

“Who’d you say took them?” Huggy had asked after a few more moment silent reflection by both men.

“John Haddon told me a Jack Elliott.” At that news Huggy had whistled softly and closed his eyes. Then he’d moved, still without speaking or looking at Starsky, and had returned to the table with a shot of whiskey and the phone.

Starsky had waved the drink away, telling Huggy he was on duty. Huggy had simply insisted, telling Starsky he’d need it. Then he’d handed the phone to Starsky and said, “You’d better ring your better half. You’ve gotta tell him about these.” Starsky had argued with Huggy, but in the end had given in. He’d phoned Hutch’s number and was waiting for Grace to connect him to Hutch. However, to his total amazement and momentary shock, it was Quentin’s voice that he heard at the other end of the phone.

“David? We haven’t met, but you’ve spoken to Grace and myself a few times. I was wondering whether to call you.”

A myriad of thoughts had chased their way through Starsky’s mind, until he’d said, “Hutch? What’s happened to him?”

“Nothing, David. However, a package was delivered to me today, and I thought I should talk to you, before showing its contents to Hutch.”

“I can guess exactly what was in the package.” Starsky had said in a somber voice. “Fuck.” He didn’t offer an apology for his words — he knew Quentin would understand.

“For what it’s worth, David, they are extremely good photos. Under any other circumstances…” Quentin had broken off at that point and Starsky had taken the opportunity to ask if any note had accompanied the photos. A few words on a piece of paper, “I thought you should know about your employee. A well-wisher.”

“David, as I’m sure you are aware, I know about Hutch and yourself, and so these photos don’t have the ‘well-wisher’s’ desired affect. However….” Again, the older man had broken off.

“Yeah, I know. Look, Mr. Cohen, may I ask one more favor? Don’t tell Hutch yet. Don’t show them to him. I’ll do it myself later. After I find out if any more little packages have been sent.” Quentin had agreed and Starsky had hung up. He’d looked up to find Huggy staring at him.

“Oh, man. I’m sorry. Elliott’s a real bastard. He has no scruples. I’ve heard of Haddon and he’s a good old-fashioned type. How the fuck did he get mixed up with scum like Elliott?” Huggy had been enraged. They’d talked for a few more minutes and then Starsky had stood up, straightened his shoulders and told Huggy he was returning to the precinct to see what other damage had been done. A simple, “See you around,” and he’d gone.

He’d spent the first hour back in his office waiting for the Commissioner or Liz to call him. When neither did, he’d almost decided to face things and phone Liz, when the phone rang — it was Liz. She said Pat had called and invited her over for the evening, as Jason was out of town. She said that she’d said she’d love to go and that she’d arranged for a sitter and would be later home. With a little laugh she’d told him not to wait up. She sounded more relaxed than Starsky had heard her sound for a long time. He wished her a good evening, told her to give his love to Pat and promised that he’d be home early the following evening and that they’d have a real family weekend.

He hung up, relief surging through him. Worries about the photos pushed to one side for the moment, he thought about Hutch and realized that they could spend the evening together. He suddenly knew that he had to see his lover, not to make love, but to simply see him, to be held in his comforting arms. To talk to him. To reassure him. As he reached for the phone, there was a knock at the door and Phillips told him that the Commissioner wished to see him.

As he walked back to his own office a couple of hours later — relieved that the Commissioner had said nothing about packages — he was lost in thought, still mulling over in his mind what to do about Elliott. When he reached his office he found a note that simply said: “Mr. Bear needs to see you urgently.” Starsky instinctively reached for the phone, but then replaced the receiver. If Huggy had wanted to talk to him, he’d have asked him to call, not go and see him. He glanced at his watch — 6.00 p.m. He’d call it a night, go to see Huggy and then call in on Hutch. He had no concerns that Hutch might not be at home: where else would his blond lover be than at home? Even if Hutch were still working, he’d be in the building where he lived. Living and working in the same building was not always convenient, but it was sometimes useful.

He pulled up outside Huggy’s twenty minutes later and knocked at the door. The place wasn’t open yet, but Huggy opened the door himself. He led the way into the bar and poured two generous shots of bourbon without speaking. Starsky noticed that his hands were shaking slightly and that it appeared this was not Huggy’s first drink. He waited — judging that Huggy wouldn’t be rushed. Finally Huggy reached behind the bar and threw a package down and nodded to Starsky to open it. Curious and with a touch of impatience, Starsky opened the package. Inside were three neatly done up packages — one addressed to Jeri Eastman; one to the Police Commissioner, Parker Center and one to Mrs. Elizabeth Starsky. Also there were two sets of negatives and a pile of notes containing dates, times and personal details pertaining to himself and Hutch. Starsky stared at the items for a long moment and then looked at Huggy.

“How?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

“Hug…”

“I said, you don’t wanna know.”

There was a long silence, during which Starsky stared at his friend, trying to work out what was going on in his mind. Finally, he asked, quietly, “Why?”

“You’re my friends. I care about my friends and I’ve lost too many of them.”

Starsky was at loss to know what to say. Carefully he asked, “Hug?”

He was shocked to see tears glistening in the black mans’ eyes when he finally met his own. “You remember that case a few weeks back, the suicide of the up and coming politician — Tom Kingston?”

Starsky frantically thought back in his mind and then recalled it. It had been a strange case. No suicide note, nothing. The man had a promising future and no one knew what would have driven him to take his own life. He nodded, watching Huggy all the time. “Yeah,” he said.

“He was a friend of mine. A good friend. A…” he broke off and stared at Starsky, just a hint of defiance in his stance, as if daring Starsky to say anything. Then without waiting he continued. “You and Hutch weren’t the only ones Elliott tried to blackmail.”

Starsky tried to speak, “Huggy, I’m… I’m sorry.” He thought his words inadequate — the sentiment wasn’t, but any words would be.

Huggy nodded though and visibly relaxed. “Some people owed me favors, I called them in. Elliott’ll never blackmail anyone again. A lot of people will rest easy now.”

For a moment Starsky went cold and then hot. “Huggy? He’s not…?” He didn’t know how to voice the words. To his amazement Huggy grinned and looked simultaneously indignant.

“No, Starsky. He’s not dead — couldn’t push our friendship that far. But he won’t do it again. Ever. Now get outta here and go and find your big blond. Go. Now.” He literally pushed Starsky to the door, before he had a chance to say anything else. At the door, he stopped and gripped Starsky’s arm, “Hang on to it, man. Don’t let no one take it away from you.”

“I will, Huggy. And… thanks.” Again, he felt the words were inadequate, but Huggy nodded, accepting Starsky’s meaning as he pushed him out into the night.

 

He drove on to Hutch’s place, thoughts going from Huggy and Tom Kingston, to himself and Hutch, to himself and Liz. He even found himself thinking of John Haddon. He’d call the man tomorrow and tell him he didn’t have to worry any more. As he pulled up outside Hutch’s home, he thought. Yeah, that’s it; this is a home. Hutch’s place is home. Always was, no matter where it was, as long as we were together it was home. Oh, God, babe, why didn’t we realize it all those years ago? We could have saved ourselves a hell of a lot of pain, heartache, and expense.

He forced the thoughts away and turned instead to thinking of his wife and children, and the house he lived in with them. A house, not a home. He’d made peace with himself — finally he’d been honest with himself. He’d told Hutch that the time for lies was over, and now, in spite of everything that had happened that day, he felt a surge of relief. He would tell Liz, he’d tell her during the weekend. He didn’t know how she’d react, what she would say, but almost anything was better than the lies he’d been living for the past weeks. He thought of his children and how much he loved them. How much they meant to him. How much he’d miss Kenny jumping on him, Sara wheedling her way around him. He thought of their innocence, their purity, thought of their faces when they were happy. He thought back to the day he’d married Liz — the happiest day of his life? And knew then that it hadn’t been. He had truly loved Liz. They had been good for each other. They’d given each other what they could. They’d shared many things, including two beautiful children. Yet Starsky had known from almost the beginning that something had been missing — it was that something he’d found again. He knew now what the missing link was — Hutch. Huggy had summed it up well many years ago, when he had spoken of missing halves. When he’d referred to them making a whole.

He realized that he’d been sitting in the car for a good five minutes and that he needed to feel his lover in his arms. He locked the car and climbed the stairs leading to Hutch’s apartment. He tapped on the door and waited for Hutch. When the door opened, he felt his heart start to race and for a long moment he just stood and stared at the man standing in front of him.

“Starsk?” Hutch’s voice was a mixture of surprise, pleasure and a hint of passion. Starsky felt a flood of desire, but he also knew that it wasn’t sex he wanted or needed. What he wanted was to be held, to hold. To pet and comfort. To sit with Hutch and talk, to share time together without the need to fall into bed and grab what pleasure they could while they could.

“Hi, Blondie.” He reached out and touched Hutch’s hair. “Can I come in?”

“You need to ask?” Hutch reached out and pulled Starsky inside the door and into his arms. Their lips met and their kiss offered everything each one wanted. All the pain of the day was swept away as Starsky clung to Hutch, their lips and tongues meeting together as in a synchronized dance, rather than a battle. Finally, just as he felt his breath would give out, Starsky found the strength to pull away.

Before he could speak, Hutch pulled him back into a fierce embrace. “Each time I kiss you, I think that I’ll get used to it, that it won’t be so perfect, so wonderful next time. Each time I think I’ll be used to the feeling — each time I’m wrong. Each time it’s like the first time. New and yet somehow so known. Oh, Starsk.” Starsky felt his knees start to give way as Hutch slipped his tongue beneath the curls and into an ear. His groin had swollen and he felt Hutch’s equaling hardness pressing against him. For a moment he was tempted to give in, to fall into bed with Hutch, to reach into his pants and pull out the long, hard cock and suck it until his blond lover screamed out. Screamed out in passion, need and fulfillment. But then he forced his mind back and he broke away from Hutch, panting as he held him at arm’s length, noting as he did, Hutch’s total surprise.

“Not yet, Hutch. Not now. We have to talk. There’s something I have to tell you, something I have to show you.”

He saw a look pass over Hutch’s face and he hastened to reassure him. “No, babe, it’s not what you think. Come on, sit down.”

An hour later Starsky sat with his head on Hutch’s shoulder, happy simply to be in the other’s presence. He’d told Hutch the bare details of Haddon’s visit, what Elliott had planned and about Huggy. He’d even told him about Quentin. Hutch had expressed a mixture of emotion, at one point jumping to his feet and launching into a five-minute tirade about what he’d do if he ever got his hands on Elliott. Starsky had simply sat on the couch, waiting for his lover to calm down. When Hutch did, he pulled out the photos and showed them to him. He watched Hutch look at the pictures and fell in love with him all over again at the reaction. He watched the rage leave his face and body and be replaced with softness, tenderness and just a degree of embarrassment.

“You’re beautiful,” he’d whispered, reaching out to run his hand through Hutch’s hair. Never could get enough of feeling his hair.

“Starsk.”

“It’s true — you are.”

“No, Starsk, we’re beautiful.” And Hutch had reached across the pictures and pulled Starsky into an embrace, and dropping his mouth, had kissed him. A long, lingering, almost passionless kiss. The lack of passion didn’t bother Starsky; in fact he almost welcomed it. It showed him — if he needed showing — that what they had went beyond lust, beyond pure bodily satisfaction.

They sat quietly for another hour or so, happy to be in each other’s company. Much like the old days. The days before things became so complicated. Before you left. Why did you leave, Hutch? Will I ever really know the truth? Do you really know the truth? Will you admit it to yourself? Occasionally they kissed and petted gently, talked a little — but basically they were just together.

Finally at around 11:00p.m. Starsky, with more than a degree of reluctance, pulled himself to his feet and said, “I’d better go. I’d like to be home before Liz.”

Hutch nodded and walked Starsky to the door. Once there, he pulled his lover into his arms and again they shared a long, loving kiss.

As he walked out the door, Starsky turned and said, “I’ll be home for good, soon, babe.” Hutch nodded and smiled gently and watched as Starsky trotted down the stairs.

 

Chapter Nine

It was getting late on Sunday evening as Starsky sat on the couch thinking, watching Liz from beneath partly closed eyes. They’d had a good weekend. Starsky had been determined to make it a real family weekend. After a morning of shopping and cutting the lawn, he’d played with the kids during Saturday afternoon while Liz went to the hairdresser’s. Then he’d taken her out for a meal and to see a movie — they even held hands during it, something they hadn’t done for years. That night Liz had looked at him while they undressed and Starsky knew exactly what she wanted. They hadn’t made love for over three weeks now, not since he’d come back from the weekend away with Hutch. He felt awful, but he couldn’t. Much as he wanted to — wanted to because it would make Liz happy and this weekend was for making Liz happy, before he dropped his bombshell on her — he knew he wouldn’t be able to. Not unless he thought of Hutch, and he wouldn’t do that.

“Liz, I…”

To his surprise she simply shrugged and said softly with just a faint hint of bitterness, “I know, Dave. Forget it, don’t let’s spoil the weekend.” Then with a degree of vulnerability, she added, “Hold me?”

He pulled her into his arms and held on to her, stroking her back and muttering meaningless words to her. For a long time after she fell asleep, he continued to hold her. Then finally he gently released her and got out of bed. He silently left the room and tiptoed in to first Sarabet’s and then Kenneth’s rooms. He stood for a long time in both, watching his children sleep. Silently wishing them well. Silently trying to convey all his love, his sorrow, and asking for their forgiveness.

After an equally fun-filled day on Sunday and a final frantic game, Starsky had put the children to bed. Now, an hour after they were settled, he knew he had to talk to Liz, he had to tell her. He shifted on the couch and said, “Liz. We have to talk.”

Liz put down the magazine she was reading and looked at him. “What about?”

“Us. Our marriage. The future. Liz, we’ve talked about splitting up, about getting a divorce for a long time now. We’ve always stayed together for the kids — or maybe because it was less hassle than parting. But we haven’t been happy for a while — not truly happy. Have we?” Starsky had sat upright and moved to the edge of the couch, trying to be gentle in his words, but trying to make Liz see that he meant them.

For a long moment she stared at him, not giving anything away in her gaze. Then she rose and crossed to the drinks cupboard and poured herself a large brandy. All the time Starsky watched her, carefully, warily. She’s too quiet, too self-controlled. Does she know anything? How could she? Is she merely playing with me? Has she got a lover? The final thought was like a jolt to him. Followed by another thought that gave him an almost equal jolt. I hope she has. It’d be easier. Then he realized that the chances of that were only likely to be real in the movies. Finally, he spoke. “Liz?”

Whatever response he was expecting, it wasn’t the one he got. She wheeled round on him and spat at him, “Who is she?”

He rose to his feet, hands out, in a gesture of peace. “Liz. I -”

“Well. There must be someone. Who is it?”

“Liz?” Momentarily at a loss, Starsky took refuge in repeating her name. Yes, he knew that she half suspected he was having an affair — damn it, she’d accused him of it. But somehow he hadn’t expected her to think that he was leaving because of that. He knew that she’d suspected him of having the odd woman over the years and yet she’d never been that bothered — almost as though she expected it of him. He had in fact been faithful to her, until Hutch; and Hutch was different. He didn’t consider that he was being unfaithful to Liz with Hutch. More like the other way round. The thought shocked him for a moment and then he realized the truth in it.

Her voice cut into his thoughts. “Well, you must be screwing someone, because you haven’t screwed me for a couple of weeks. Not since you came back from your boys’ weekend away with Hutch. Did you meet someone there — or was Hutch the cover and you really went with her?” Liz flung at him. “And the last time we did make love, well, your cock may have been in me, but it wasn’t me you were thinking of! And you’ve taken to jerking off. Oh, don’t deny it, I know — I’m your wife’ remember. But tell me, honey,” her tone dripped sarcasm,  “who are you thinking of when you do yourself? Who do you wish you were fucking?”

For a moment Starsky stared at her dispassionately. Usually fairly genteel, Liz always lost it when they argued, and became shrewish. Starsky finally admitted what he’d known since the beginning, he didn’t like it. He didn’t like to hear a woman using such words. It was okay in bed, at the height of passion, to have a woman cry, “Fuck me“, but not outside of that. Okay, it may be chauvinistic, but I don’t like it.

“Well?” Liz’s words cut into his thoughts.

“Liz, there isn’t any…” Starsky broke off, he was going to say anyone else but he couldn’t deny Hutch any more. It would be like breaking a trust. “There isn’t any other woman,” he finished lamely.

“You’re a lying bastard, as well as a cheating one.” Liz’s fury knew no bounds now. “I can see her in your eyes. Tell me who she is. Is she good in bed? Does she make you feel like a man, rather than a jerk? Does she do you well? Are her hands and mouth as good as mine? Can she bring you the pleasure I can? Well? Tell me!” She moved towards Starsky who, surprisingly, took a step back and held up his hands.

Anger gone, just cold, calculating fury there — she’d finally pushed him over the edge of his tolerance. He hadn’t wanted it to be like this. He’d wanted to talk to her, to try and explain, to get her to agree that their marriage was over — they’d knew it had been for quite some time — to try and be civilized about it. But he hadn’t bargained on Liz’s temper and pure fury taking over. “Liz, believe me if you want to, or not — I don’t care any more. But I’ll say it again; there isn’t any other woman. Now let me pass, I’m going to pack a bag, and I’m going.”

“To her place?” Liz spat at him.

“No. To Hutch’s.” Starsky’s words were quiet.

“Hutch’s — but…” Liz broke off and suddenly realization dawned on her face. “You mean. Oh my God. Oh my God.” She broke off again confused, but it was only momentary confusion. “You filthy creep. You and him — is that it? Is it? You’re fucking him. That blond cocksucking scum. My God, all the signs were there. So it was him you went away with. I bet that was nice.” Her anger was out of control now, and Starsky knew that he’d need to be wary.

“Don’t ever call him that, Liz, do you hear me? Call me what you want, but leave Hutch out of it. It ain’t his fault.” Defensive as ever of his friend, Starsky risked the fury of his wife.

“Not his fault — not his fault. That man is screwing my husband, and you tell me it’s not his fault. David, I always knew you two were close, but I never thought I’d see the day when you’d defend him over me. So how long has this little sordid thing been going on? Since you met up again? Or was it always there? Had a lover’s tiff, did you? Married me on the rebound?” Bitterness visibly swept through her as she shuddered.

“No, it wasn’t like that back then. It hasn’t been going on for long, Liz, at least not physically.” Even now, in spite of her fury, Starsky couldn’t lie to his wife. He’d told Hutch just a few days before that the time for lies was over, and it was.

Suddenly Liz’s rage appeared to vanish and she dropped her voice and her arms. “Dave, look, it’s okay, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you. I guess it’s partly my fault. Maybe it is just something you and Ken had to try. Maybe you should have tried it years ago. Men do. Did you know that a high proportion of men have one homosexual affair? Well, okay, this is it, but don’t confuse love with lust.” Her voice was soothing, dripping honey, rather than anger.

Oddly, Starsky found this more threatening than the fury, but he forced himself to match her tone. “Liz, it isn’t your fault and it isn’t just lust. I’m…” he paused, knowing that the hurt still had to come. “I’m in love with him. I love Hutch, Liz, and there isn’t anything you, or me, can do about it, even if we wanted to. But Liz, I don’t want to. I’m sorry I’m hurting you, but I don’t want to do anything about it — I love him.”

“How come you’ve never spoken like that to me?” Liz’s tone was getting bitter again. “Simple, I was always second best, wasn’t I? I never could compete with him.”

“Liz…” Starsky broke off, unable to give voice to the lie that might or might not placate his wife. Unable to say the words she wanted to hear.

“You bastard. You bastard. You bastard.” Liz was unable to say anything else for a moment.

Starsky moved hesitantly towards her, but the look in her eyes stopped him.

“Okay, Dave, I’ll give you one more chance. One final choice. You walk out of here tonight, you go back to him and I swear you’ll never see the kids again. Never. Do you hear me? Not me, not the kids. I’ll drag you, your blond and your sordid little affair through the courts. I’ll ruin you — or I’ll do my damnedest. I’ll tell everyone about it and why you’ve left. Our friends, your mother, my parents and the station — now how about that, Dave? Your career will be over. On the other hand, stay here, never get in touch with Ken again, and we’ll pretend that none of this happened. Your choice, you make it, now.”

Starsky stared at her. Deep down he’d known that this would happen. Make your choice. Make your choice. The words kept repeating over and over again. But there was no choice. He finally was able to admit with clarity that there never had been. Starsky weighed up his children, his career, his house, friends and Liz on the one hand, against Hutch on the other. Me and thee, babe. Finally, he knew that there was no meaning to anything without Hutch. He had long ago given his heart, love, soul and very being to Hutch. He may have put it away, like a trust deed, for the last few years with Liz and the kids — but it had never really gone. Hutch was his past, his present and his future — the only future he wanted.

He closed his eyes briefly, squeezing back the tears that he’d never shed in front of Liz. Never had, never would. The only person who’d ever seen him really cry, apart from his mother, was Hutch. Well, okay, Dobey and Huggy had seen the odd tear shed, but that had been over Hutch. Tears would have to wait until later, until he was home, in the safety and shelter of those long arms. He opened his eyes and looked at Liz.

“At least let me say goodbye,” he said. As he did, he realized that Liz misunderstood him because a look of triumph came over her face, and she smiled victoriously.

“I knew you’d make the right decision, Dave. I knew it really. Of course you can go and say goodbye to him, I’m not that heartless. Look, I’ll even come with you, to show there’s no hard feelings. I’ll get Betty to sit with the kids. Oh, darling, I’ll make it good between us again, better than good, I promise, I’ll be everything to you again. We’ll -” She broke off as Starsky held up his hand, shaking his head.

“No, Liz, it’s the kids I want to say goodbye to.” The words were quietly spoken, and were not without pain.

Liz’s face turned ashen, and she stepped forward and struck Starsky across the face, her nails ripping down his cheek as she did. “Bastard. Filthy bastard.” As she raised her hand to attack him again, Starsky simply caught the hand and held it, his strength far greater than hers, even in her fury.

For what seemed like an age, they stood there and then…”Mommy? Daddy?” The voice of their son cut through them. Starsky dropped Liz’s hand and turned to the child. He paused for a brief second, but knew; deep down, he had no regrets for his decision — not for his decision to leave. His only regret was hurting Liz.  He crossed the hall in long strides, picked Kenneth up in his arms and carried him upstairs.

He took him into Sarabet’s room and put him into bed with his sister, who was also awake and looking a little scared. “Why were you and Mommy shouting?” she asked.

Starsky took a breath as he looked at his children, wanting for one moment to feel regret, but unable to. That might come later with the tears, but then if he was honest, he rarely regretted his decisions — life was too short. Yet, somehow he thought that he would regret losing his children. But it only confirmed to him that his love for Hutch was so true, so real, even more so than the reality in front of him.

“Listen to me, darling,” he said gently, gathering both children into his arms, “and try to understand. You remember when you and Katie had an argument, a few months ago, over a doll? You shouted at each other and cried, and didn’t talk for a while?” This was hard, he realized. Realized also that, although he’d spent time with the kids, done his bit, he didn’t really know how to talk to them, not really. He loved them, devotedly. He had so much pleasure with them; they brought him joy. How could he contemplate giving them up? How could he walk out on them, leave them? For Hutch — was it enough? Was love enough? He stared at the two children who watched him, seeming to know that something was wrong. He again weighed everything up and knew that, even if he never saw the children again, he had to do this. Hutch had his heart and there was nothing he could do about it. The fight had gone. His resolve didn’t falter.

Sarabet nodded, keeping an eye on her father.

“Well, grown-ups have arguments too and they get mad at each other. Mommy and me, we’ve gotten mad at each other.” It sounded lame to him, but he didn’t know what else to say.

“Won’t you make up again? Katie and me did.” Sarabet’s voice sounded sober, and Kenneth was just staring at his father with big wide eyes.

“It’s a bit more serious than a broken doll, Sara. I don’t know if Mommy and me will make up. At the moment, I don’t think we will. I’m going away, but I’ll still think of you. I may not be able to see you for a while…” He stopped short of saying “never”, he couldn’t do that to them. “But even if I don’t, no matter what anyone — anyone — tells you, I still love you, both of you.”

With the uncanny knowledge of the 5-year-old, Sarabet said, “But you don’t love Mommy no more, do you? And she don’t love you.”

The quiet words, so innocently spoken, almost broke Starsky’s resolve. He gathered both children to him, hugged them hard for a moment and then, brushing his hand across his eyes, he stood up. “You both be good for Mommy now, take care of her and each other.”

He watched as Sarabet took her younger brother’s hand in hers, and with a solemnity beyond her years, she looked her father straight in the eyes, eyes that were the same blue as his and said, “We will, Daddy.” Then she said simply, “Try and be happy now, Daddy.”

Starsky, who had turned to the door, whirled round and looked at her, but her big blue eyes gave nothing away. Swallowing hard, he whispered, “And you, Baby, and you.” This time he turned hard on his heel and walked out of the bedroom — to encounter Liz.

He tensed, waiting for another verbal or physical attack, but none came. Instead Liz said dully, “Pack whatever you want, but remember, I meant what I said, you’ll never come back here again. So take what you want now — clothes, music, books, anything, everything. Anything you leave, I’ll burn or put out in the trash tomorrow. Your last chance, Dave.”

Starsky looked at her, heard in the final words, one last attempt to get him to stay, and yet her eyes were unreadable. He walked by her to their bedroom and started to swiftly pack. When he’d finished, he took the cases downstairs and found that Liz had put his books, records and some other stuff in a box that was sitting in the hall. Then he walked into the living room to say…. Say what? What do you say to the woman who you thought you loved once? The woman you’re leaving for a man? Starsky knew he’d never find the right words. He stopped just inside the door. Liz held out a photo to him, one taken of the children just 2 months before — both so happy, so innocent.

“Take it,” she said harshly, as he hesitated.

“Thanks,” he said, knowing as he did that it was inadequate. “Look, Liz, I’ll make sure you and the kids are okay, financially that is, I’ll arrange -” he broke off as she cut across him.

“Don’t bother. Dave, I don’t want anything from you, ever again. Do you hear me — nothing? Not for me, not for the kids. You made your choice.”

“Come on, Liz, I can accept that at the moment you hate me — and you have every right to. But be realistic. Let me provide for the children, even if not for you. Don’t make them suffer any more than they have to.”

“We don’t need your money.”

“Liz. They’re my children.”

“You should have thought of that before.”

Starsky thought frantically, then with a degree of asperity and sudden understanding he said, “It’s because it’s Hutch, isn’t it? If it were some woman — or even another man, you’d take me financially for whatever you could get and then some. But you really hate him that much, don’t you? And because of that you’ll make the kids pay, make them suffer, simply because it’s Hutch.”

“I don’t hate him, Dave. To hate him would mean that I’d be able to have some feeling for him — and I haven’t. You once asked me if I liked him. Well, no, no, I don’t. I never have and, god help me, I never will. Yes, Dave. Yes. You’re right. Damn you. I want nothing from you. Nothing. Do you hear me? Nothing for me or for the children. Now get out.”

Starsky held up his hands, for the moment prepared to accept defeat. Instead he said, “But how will you manage?”

“Oh, I’ll manage, don’t you worry. I’ll take the kids to my parents. They’ll let us live there for a while. Dave, I’m changing their name and mine, they can have my maiden name.” The anger had gone, just tiredness now. “Don’t try and find us. You’ll hear from my lawyer. At least you’ve got one of your own.” Bitterness for a moment. “But then he can hardly represent you as the co-respondent, can he?” The hatred dripped again. “Thought I’d forgotten, did you? Oh no, Dave, I’ll drag you both through the gutter if I can — I swear it. Just remember that. Remember what you’ve given up for your bit on the side. You’ll never see the kids again. The station will laugh behind your back — that’s if you aren’t out immediately — I don’t think they like queer cops, do they? I doubt if any of them will want to go near you in the men’s room or the showers. Think of the headlines, ‘Police Captain leaves his wife and children for his male, lawyer lover. David Starsky and Kenneth Hutchinson -‘” She broke off.

“Believe me, Dave, I’ll make you pay for this — not financially. No, that wouldn’t hurt you but…” She stopped again as realization dawned, and then quietly, with defeat in her voice she said, “What am I talking about? I won’t be able to hurt you, will I? You never really cared enough for me to hurt you. Get out, Dave, get out of my life. Let me try and forget you, try and forget this sham we called a marriage ever happened.”

Starsky didn’t know what to say. He had no answer. So much of what she said at the end was true. But I did love you once, in my own way! his mind shouted. But he knew the words would serve no purpose if he spoke them. Instead he said, “Liz, I’m sorry. You’ve got to believe me. I never wanted to hurt you. I -” He broke off now; there was nothing else to say.

Liz just turned away. As Starsky moved to the door for the final time, he heard her say softly, “I know.” He almost turned back at the words, but sensed it would do no good. Instead he dropped his house keys on the table and left his house for the final time.

He loaded the car, and without a backward look, drove off into the night. Off to Hutch. Off to his life with the only person he’d ever really loved, ever loved totally and utterly unconditionally. He knew then, with total clarity, that it would be okay. They’d make it together, side-by-side. They’d weather whatever was thrown at them. Liz was right; she couldn’t hurt him, not when he had Hutch to love him. He’d talk to the Commissioner himself, explain, offer his resignation if required. It didn’t matter as long as the two of them would be together. It may have taken them too many years to realize it, but they’d found what so few people ever find in their lives — true, unconditional love.

The kids would be okay. Liz was a good mother, and maybe one day, she’d relent, understand, even fall in love herself. Maybe one day, he’d see them again. If not, at least he’d given them five and three years of love and protection. He knew that you can’t always protect even those you love from the hurts of the world all the time. Leaving the children, his children, was hard, really hard. They were so young, so innocent. Was he wrong to do this? Deep down, he knew he wasn’t. Oh, Liz, why didn’t we divorce when we talked about it? Why did we go on, trying to patch things up? We told ourselves it was for the sake of the children, and maybe it was, but what we set out to protect, we’ve ended up hurting more.

Some words that Hutch had told him once came into his mind as he drove along:

“If you love something, set it free

If it comes back to you, it’s yours to keep forever,

If it doesn’t, it was never meant to be.”

He and Hutch had set each other free and they’d come back to each other, found each other again, maybe his kids would too. He knew that tomorrow, or maybe the next day, he’d feel the pain over the loss more than he could now, but also knew that he’d have someone with him to help him over the pain. Knew too that the pain would grow less over the months, until it had turned to a treasured memory. He’d never stop loving his children; he knew that. But above all of this, he knew that he had someone to share everything with. Someone who would be there to hold him, comfort him, not judge him — love him totally, as he loved Hutch.

He stopped his car outside of Hutch’s place. Temporary, he thought. We’ll find a place together. Hurrying up the stairs, he wasn’t in the least bit surprised to see the door open and his blond lover standing there, waiting for him. He said simply, “I’m home.” Hutch opened his mouth to speak, his hand moving at the same time to Starsky’s cheek. Without pulling away, Starsky turned his gaze on his partner and, without words, begged Hutch not to ask. There would be time enough later for the questions.

The dark blue eyes bore into Hutch’s, and he found himself drowning in his lover’s look. Hutch briefly closed his own eyes, and when he opened them again, he conveyed his acquiescence — for the time being. Instead of speaking or questioning, he simply pulled Starsky into his arms and held him closely, as if afraid he was a dream. His kisses were soft and gentle, his caresses light. His touch on the scratches soothing, his murmurings unintelligible, but all were enough.

Without words the two men moved to the bedroom, hand in hand. They turned to each other, and with an expertise that belied the fact that they hadn’t been doing it for years, undressed each other slowly. Still without words, they moved to the bathroom, again hand in hand, for the final bedtime routine — interrupted only by Hutch bathing and putting some soothing lotion on Starsky’s face.

Finally they moved back to the bed. Our bed, thought Starsky, aware as he did that the same thought had gone through Hutch’s mind. Still holding hands, they climbed into bed; they came together with joy, love, passion, innocence, respect and total trust. With an honesty, that neither had known with any one else.

With simple kisses and caresses, they made up for all the years they’d been apart. All the years they’d denied what they truly felt. Their lovemaking, unlike the frenzy of their earlier coupling, was gentle and slow. Their hands moved over each other, their tongues finding ways of satisfying they’d never experienced before. When finally they moved their hands to each other’s hard organs, it was with a desire to caress and hold. When they finally climaxed together, it was like the finale of a concert, and like the birth of spring — the end and the beginning. Just what they’d always been to each other. Unwilling to sleep, they held each other throughout the night, sharing whispered words, soft kisses, gentle caresses. Finally, in the early light of dawn, Starsky fell into a brief, light sleep, and this time it was Hutch who was remained awake, keeping a close hold on Starsky, as if he could protect him from anything bad.

When Starsky awoke, he found himself being watched by his partner with such intensity, longing and love, that he found himself flushing. He had never been loved and desired this much by anybody.

“Hi,” he said, thinking how innocuous it sounded.

“Hi, yourself,” replied Hutch, dropping a chaste kiss on Starsky’s lips.

“Is that all I get?” Starsky chided. “That’s the sort of kiss you give your favorite aunt.”

“You are incorrigible, David Starsky,” replied Hutch with a laugh, and dropping his head, he rectified Starsky’s complaint. Coming up for air, what seemed to both men like hours later, Hutch pulled away slightly from his lover and appraised him. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Are you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“Starsky! Stop playing twenty questions!”

“Sorry.”

“Oh hell. I’m sorry too, babe. I don’t mean to push — it’s just that… I love you so damn much that I’m scared. I want to know and yet…” Hutch’s voice trailed off. Then as the two men stared at each other, he brought up his hand, and once again caressed Starsky’s cheek. “I mean, these didn’t get here by themselves, did they?”

“Liz didn’t take too kindly to what I told her,” Starsky said. Then as Hutch started to speak, he pulled him closer to him in a fierce hug and said, somewhat desperately, “Look, Hutch, I know I have to tell you, I want to tell you — but please, babe, just hold me for now. Hold me close and love me. Please.” The final word was said so quietly, that Hutch struggled to hear, but the tone made him shiver. With a fierce moan, he tightened his own grip on Starsky and found the other’s mouth with his own.

They held each other tightly for quite some time, exchanging warm, gentle kisses and light caresses. At one point Hutch thought he felt moisture on his cheek, but when he tried to look at Starsky, he was simply pulled into another embrace. Finally Starsky broke the total closeness and asked, “What’s the time?”

Hutch smiled. Another thing that hadn’t changed: Starsky loved watches and all kinds of timepieces, and yet never looked at them if he could ask the time. With a shake of his head, he screwed round and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “6:00 a.m. Why? You in a hurry?”

“I have to see the Chief,” Starsky stated simply. “And you, lover, have got to see Quentin.”

“Nope, got the day off. I phoned him after you’d gone last night, and said something had come up.”

“Yeah, well — with you around me, something often comes up,” Starsky joked, amazed in a way that he could and yet in another way, not at all surprised. Hutch was everything he needed, everything he wanted, he felt safe, secure, protected. Never admit it to anyone, Blondie — maybe not even you — but that’s how you make me feel. Haven’t felt it since you left the force. I’m glad in that respect that they kicked me upstairs, wouldn’t have trusted anyone else to protect my back the way that you did. Then curiosity got the better of him and he asked, “What did you tell him? Did he ask for any more details?”

“I said that it was personal, and no, he didn’t question. I think he was just so pleased with my result in ‘Frisco, that he was quite happy for me to take the day off. And besides, as far as he’s concerned my personal life is my personal life — unless it starts to interfere with my work, and you don’t. Quentin’s a good man. You’ll like him.”

“If you like him, then I’m sure I will.” Starsky knew that they had to talk. He also knew that, as much as he wanted to, he wasn’t going to be able to prevent his lover from going off on a guilt-trip, once he told him what Liz had said.

Hutch asked with greater seriousness, “So what happened? Are you going to tell me?”

“Hutch, babe … look, I need a pee, a shave, a shower and to brush my teeth — not necessarily in that order. Then we’ll talk.” Starsky didn’t realize the devastating affect his words were having on Hutch, so he climbed out of bed and made for the bathroom.

He was suddenly stopped in his tracks when he heard Hutch say, “Just answer me one question. Are you here for good?”

The tone touched Starsky’s heart more than Liz’s desperate pleas had the night before. He spun on his heel, his need temporarily forgotten, as he crossed the room and took the other man in his arms. “Oh, Hutch, babe, sweetheart, my love…” Long forgotten, some never used, endearments seemed to fall from his mouth, as he rocked Hutch in his arms, smoothing his hair and petting his forehead. “Hutch, how can you ask that?”

“How? How? Starsk, you’ve been avoiding the issue ever since you got here last night. Your face was so pale and haunted, as though you wanted to say something, but didn’t know how to. Starsk, I thought… I thought…” he broke off, unable or unwilling to continue.

“That I’d come to say goodbye,” Starsky finished for him. A statement, not a question. He didn’t need to look at Hutch to know that he’d closed his eyes in agreement. “I was offered that choice.” He knew that the time had come. Knew that Hutch wouldn’t allow him any more time — and knew that it wasn’t fair to keep him waiting. But he also knew that Hutch would react badly to part of the news Starsky had to tell him.

“Look, babe, I have to pee, now. Come with me. I’ll explain.”

Hutch followed him into the bathroom, and sat on the edge of the bath, neither particularly watching nor ignoring Starsky.

“It isn’t exactly the place I’d thought to tell you — but what the heck, when has anything in our lives gone according to time and place?” Starsky said, alternating his glance between Hutch and the bowl.

“Keep your eyes on your business, partner, you know you need to.”

A touch of the old humor came back, and Starsky smiled ruefully. Then he said simply, “Liz offered me an ultimatum: agree never to see you again, or forget ever seeing the kids again.” He spoke without pain, without regret, saying it as it was. To his horror he heard a groan from Hutch and risked a glance at his lover. Hutch was doubled over on the edge of the bath as though he’d been hit in the stomach.

Shit, why didn’t I wait until I was done? Desperate to finish as quickly as he could, Starsky spoke again, “Hutch. Look at me. Listen to me. Hutchinson — look at me.” He threw the final words out in a clipped tone. Hutch reacted as he knew he would. His head snapped up, and he pulled himself to attention while sitting. Starsky groaned, the look of pain in the blue eyes that met his own, made him momentarily afraid. Finally he finished and without pausing, crossed the couple of feet to where Hutch sat, eyes locked on Starsky. He dropped to his knees in front of Hutch and pulled him into his arms. Finally, Hutch let his head drop on to his shoulder.

“Oh god, Starsk, I….” Hutch tried to coordinate his words.

Starsky was having none of it. “Shut up, Hutch, and listen to me. It was my decision, my choice, just as it was yours to tell Jeri and give up your comfortable home and future. Just as it was your choice to tell Quentin that you had a married lover who was a man. This was my choice. I made it. I don’t regret it. Do you hear me, Hutch? I don’t regret it.” Determined to stop the guilt trip before Hutch made it, Starsky’s words were somewhat harsher than he intended.

“But your kids, Starsk. I’m not worth it.” Hutch was clinging to Starsky so tightly, that Starsky knew with certainty that he’d be bruised.

“Crap. You’re more than worth it, Hutch. Look, babe, it was always an option — I knew it was always a possibility.” Did you? Yes. “Listen, Hutch, I made the biggest mistake in my life, when I let you get out of my life. I’m not going to repeat that. I’m not going to stop loving Sara and Kenny just because I can’t see them, and in time, maybe Liz will relent. But if she doesn’t,” Starsky paused, then went on determinedly, “I’ve got you, and that’s more than I deserve. We’re forever, babe — I don’t regret my decision. Do you hear me, Hutch, I don’t regret it.”

“Maybe you don’t today. Maybe you won’t tomorrow. Oh god, Starsk, what if I’d have acquiesced to your request on that day? What if I hadn’t have held out behind the lawyer’s suit, the right words, the….”

“Huh?” Genuinely confused, Starsky pushed Hutch slightly away from him and stared at him. “Be coherent, love.”

“When you asked for a favor, when you said I was hiding behind the silk suit. You questioned my integrity and it made me damned angry, but we hugged and made up. You said something about, maybe we should argue more because the making up was fun. What if I hadn’t have argued, we’d have had no reason to embrace, no reason to make up, no reason….”

Starsky could think of nothing to say. Hutch was on his guilt trip and there was little he could do except be there. So instead, he did the only thing he knew: he kissed Hutch. For a moment he thought that Hutch was going to resist. But then with a moan, Hutch allowed himself to lean into the kiss, and what had started out as a distraction turned into something more passionate, as Hutch clung to Starsky as though he might wake up and find it all a dream.

“Hey, babe, let me breathe,” Starsky finally said, trying to take in gulps of air. “It’s okay, Hutch, I’m not going anywhere. I promise you.”

“What else did she say?”

“Huh?”

“Liz, what else did she say?”

Oh babe, you really do intend to go all out here, don’t you? And if I know my Hutch, you aren’t going to let go until you get the whole, sorry story out of me. Why do you do it? Why do you have to blame yourself? Why, babe?

“Look, Hutch, this is a bit crazy. Let’s at least get showered and dressed, and then I promise I’ll tell you. But Hutch, it won’t do you any good knowing. And it won’t change my mind — you won’t change my mind. Do you hear me, love? No matter what you say, no matter how much you try and feel guilty, I’m here for good — got that? Well?” Starsky added when Hutch didn’t answer.

“Sure, Starsk, whatever you say.” Hutch’s reply was automatic and the tone was still one of not quite believing.

 

Chapter Ten

Starsky paused outside the office of Chief John Taylor. He was dressed somewhat more smartly than usual. Hutch’s influence or just the need to be more formal at times like this? You don’t have to tell him, he told himself. You could wait and see if Liz is as good as her word. After all, what business is it of his anyway? It ain’t illegal. There’s nothing he can do. You could keep it quiet. No, you can’t, he argued with himself. That’d be denying what Hutch means to you. You’ve lived a lie for long enough. He pulled himself up straighter, and knocked in his usual perfunctory fashion on the door.

Pausing just long enough to hear the, “Enter,” he went in.

“Starsky?” Chief Taylor looked up, the word a question.

“Sir,” Starsky replied, standing unconsciously to attention in front of his Chief.

“What is it, Starsky? Do you have a problem?” Taylor asked in exasperation. He was a man with a short temper and, not for the first time, Starsky rued the loss of Dobey.

Wish I could have been a Captain under you. But you and Edith deserve your retirement. Wonder what you’d think about me and Hutch… His thoughts were interrupted.

“Starsky — what is it?”

“Er… Sorry, Sir. I have something to tell you.” Now that he was faced with his Chief, Starsky wasn’t sure how to begin.

“How did Harold put up with you for all those years? Sit down, Starsky.” Resignedly Taylor waved Starsky to a chair. Something about the way he sat down, coupled with the smarter than usual outfit, sent a warning message to Taylor’s brain, and he watched the younger man closely. Starsky did not appear relaxed; in fact, he was sitting upright in the chair.

Finally Starsky realized that he had to say something and it might as well be straight to the point. “Liz and I have split up…” He paused but Taylor didn’t react. Almost as though he’s waiting for me to continue. Does he know? Has Liz already seen him? Does it matter? No. “I’m with someone else…” Again he paused. Still Taylor said nothing. Just watched him, waiting, knowing there was more. Come on, David Michael Starsky, it’s not as though it is just someone else. If you’re not going to be honest now, what does it say about the relationship? Do you feel that it’s wrong? Are you ashamed? NO! The forcefulness of the thought hit him hard. He rose to his feet and met his Chief’s eyes. “I’m living with Hutch.” And then, just in case Taylor needed any clarification he added, “Kenneth Hutchinson. He and I were partners here.” This time he made it clear that he’d finished.

For a moment, Taylor stared at Starsky, incredulity in his eyes. Then he too rose to his feet, and looked directly at the man who stood to attention in front of him. “I know who you mean, Starsky. I doubt if anyone in LAPD will forget you two. May I clarify something?”

“Yes.” Starsky’s tone was wary.

“I take it you aren’t telling me this simply because you are staying at Hutchinson’s place as you have nowhere else to go? I take it you are…” He broke off, unable to give voice to the word.

“Lovers,” Starsky supplied. “Yes. Yes, we are.” There it was out now and Starsky relaxed slightly, although his eyes were still wary as he watched Taylor.

“I don’t know what to say, Starsky. I know your background, your penchant for breaking rules. But I never thought I’d see the day when you you’d stand in front of me, and tell me that you were…” Again he paused, this time Starsky did not help him out. “Gay,” Taylor finally said.

“I’m not breaking any rules, Sir. It’s not against Police Department rules, any more,” Starsky said coldly.

“No. Different matter if it had been. I doubt if you’d be standing here today.” Starsky didn’t even blink. “So, why are you telling me?”

“Because as my superior officer, I thought you should know. I have to file a change of address and phone number. And because I’m not ashamed of it. And Liz said she’d tell you and I …” Starsky broke off with a shrug. He’d come back to attention again, and his eyes were colder than Taylor could ever remember seeing them before.

“You thought you’d get in first and tell me your ‘version’.” Taylor couldn’t keep the contempt out of his voice. He watched a myriad of emotions pass over the younger man’s face.

“There isn’t really any version to tell. I left Liz for Hutch — simple as that,” Starsky said.

“Sit down, Starsky.” Taylor said finally, waving his hand at the chair in front of his desk. He watched as Starsky lowered himself down, still watching, still wary. “Okay, Starsky I’ll say this once and once only. I can’t say I approve: I don’t. I don’t like queers, never have done and never will. However, your life is your own business, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your duties. Hutchinson isn’t a cop here any more. If he were, then it would be a completely different matter. I think what you’ve done is wrong and quite honestly I think you could do with talking to someone. To leave a wife and children for another man — is beyond my comprehension. Mind you, you always were rash where Hutchinson was concerned. It won’t be easy for you, you know that, don’t you?” Taylor didn’t wait for a reply, didn’t expect one. “You won’t be able to keep this quiet and you’ve seen how queers can be treated. It’s the end of any promotion hopes you may have had. Captain is as far as you’ll get now. You’ll have things said behind your back, or worse, to your face. You could be ridiculed; your men could lose respect for you, accuse you of things. And what about the children, have you thought about what will be said about them — a father who leaves them for another man?  Have you thought about them growing up like that?” Finally he finished, what had become his tirade by this time.

Starsky spoke somewhat wearily. “Liz is taking the children back to her parents. She said I’ll never see them again.”

“You knew that and still left?” Taylor was unbelieving.

“Yes.”

“Starsky. Look at me. Listen to me. What I’ve said is true and more — you know it. You’ve seen it. Damn it, man, you must remember the rumors about you and Hutchinson when you were partners. Lies… Unless…” He broke off momentarily.

“No, we weren’t lovers then.” Starsky spoke quietly. “It didn’t start until a few months ago.”

“A few months? Starsky, if you’d sat there and told me that you were lovers all those years ago, maybe, just maybe, I could begin to understand how you’d throw everything away. But if you’re saying that it’s recent, then…. Starsky… Dave, think. Think hard. Reconsider. Maybe it’s a phase. Pressure of work. Look, why don’t you and Liz take a holiday, talk. Make it up.”

“There’s no going back, Chief. I’ve made my choice. And it ain’t as though it’s recent.”

“You said…”

“I said that we weren’t lovers back then — we weren’t. Not how you mean. Not how everyone meant. But …” Starsky broke off, knowing that he’d never be able to make his Chief understand, not even sure if he wanted to. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. I simply came to tell you what has happened and I don’t need to justify it to you or anyone, Sir.”

The two men met each other’s eyes, and Taylor read the determination and assuredness in Starsky’s. Finally he spoke. “Just answer me one question, Starsky. Is he worth it? Worth your career? Your children? Your marriage? Worth the taunts and innuendoes? Worth — the pain?”

Starsky’s gaze never once wavered as he spoke. “Yes. Yes. He is. He’s worth all that and more.” Simple words, spoken honestly and openly, with more truth than Taylor had ever seen on anyone’s face before.

“Very well, Dave. If nothing else, I guess I have to respect your honesty. I’m not sure that many men — threat from their wife or not — would have had the courage to come here today and say what you did. You know my personal feelings, they aren’t going to change — but neither has my respect for you. One final question. Are you ‘coming out?’ I believe the phrase is. Are you being open about this?”

“Well, I’m not exactly planning on taking an ad out in the LA Times, but I’m not hiding it neither. If you mean am I planning on making a big announcement, no — it isn’t anyone’s business. And as you reminded me, I have the children to consider. I will be bringing Hutch with me to the party next week and any other thing where partners are welcome. People can make of it what they want.”

“If you’re asked directly?”

“I’ll tell directly. The truth. I’m not ashamed of it, Chief. I’m not ashamed of Hutch. And no one is gonna make me feel ashamed. No one,” he added forcefully.

“Very well, Starsky.” Taylor paused looking like he didn’t know how to end this interview.

Rising to his feet, Starsky saved him the trouble. “Sir,” he said with a nod and strode to the door, opened it and left.

 

Chapter Eleven

A week had passed since the night Starsky had walked out of his house, said goodbye to his children and driven off to be with Hutch. Now at the station, he sat at his desk wishing for the thing he wished for at least once a day — to be back on the streets again. In some ways it was easier now that Hutch and he were together at home, yet in other ways it was worse because Starsky resented every minute he spent away from his lover. Their physical love was still new enough for Starsky not to want to let Hutch out of his sight. Hell, I never wanted to let you out of my sight — lovers or not. Never should have let them kick me upstairs, but then I never trusted anyone but you to watch my back, babe, and if I’m honest I never did regain my full strength after Gunther. Anyway, it wouldn’t have been fair to Liz and the kids. At the thought of his children, Starsky sighed and ran his hand through his hair — a gesture he’d picked up from Hutch. I dunno, babe, back together for a few weeks and we’re already behaving like we’ve never been apart. Me, I pick up your gestures, you, my verbal shorthand — how did we ever get by for those years without each other?  Starsky’s capacity to change his thought pattern instantaneously when it suited him had always proved an asset. Now he pushed away the thought of his children and concentrated on thoughts of his blond lover. I can’t think about them yet, can’t let myself grieve for them. You still need me to help you get over your damned guilt trip. Wish you could have lost that aspect of your personality at least  — but do I? If you had, it wouldn’t have been you. No, I’ll take you every way you are — guilt trip and all.

The picture Liz had given him on the final evening was on his desk — the one indulgence he allowed himself — and without meaning to, he glanced at it. The bright eyes and innocent smiles of his children stared back at him, and unconsciously he was swept back into a memory of them…. It had been a hot day and he and Liz had taken them to the beach. Liz had just wanted to sleep, tired, she said of running around after the kids all day while he was at work. That was the day they finally decided that the kids would go to a day-care center. They’d had a blazing argument when they got home, but during their time on the beach, Liz had slept and Starsky had played in the sand with his children, building sandcastles, letting them bury him as best as they could, paddling with them and splashing water over them — much to the annoyance of Liz — enjoying them. Kenny had got so excited and engrossed in their play that he’d wet himself. Liz had been furious with Starsky, blaming him for not spending enough time with the kids to recognize the signs. Starsky hadn’t understood her anger. Kenny was dressed in swimming trunks and Starsky simply picked him up and put him in the sea. Both children would be changed into their clothes before going home — so what did it matter? But it wasn’t Liz’s anger that Starsky really remembered, it was the fun he and the children had shared. With a rush, the pain of leaving them swept over him, overwhelming him for a moment. His throat constricted and he brushed a hand angrily across his cheek — he couldn’t afford this, not yet, not here… He needed Hutch. He had to talk to him — had to — just to hear his voice, for no reason other than to know that he was there, to be reassured that his love would never go away. He grabbed the phone. As he did there was a knock on the door and as he pulled back his hand, he knocked the picture of Sara and Kenny over. “Fuck!” He swore violently, then in the same tone, called, “Come!”

The door opened tentatively, causing Starsky to snarl, “What is it? Come on in. Oh, it’s you, Phillips. What do you want?” For a fleeting moment, Starsky recalled that it had been Phillips who had interrupted his phone call to Hutch a few weeks ago — was this man going to plague him at inopportune moments for the rest of his life? He forced his thoughts back to the present. “Well?” he asked, slightly calmer now. Hell, it isn’t Phillips’ fault you’re about to go off on a guilt trip that could well rival Hutch’s.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir, but this just came in.” Phillips held out a file and his eyes flicked between his Captain’s face, his desk with the face down picture and the phone that Starsky hadn’t replaced.

“What is it?” Starsky asked, as he was already opening the folder. Suddenly he sat down heavily with a moan, “Oh, God. No it can’t be, it….” He broke up and dragged his eyes back to the younger man who stood in front of the desk. Forcing himself to get a grip, Starsky looked back at the picture of the young, dark-haired girl and let out a sigh of relief — which he instantly felt bad about. It wasn’t Sara — some other poor bastards would get their hearts broken, when they found out that their daughter had been brutally raped and murdered. His police mind cutting in, taking over from his emotions, Starsky took all the details in at a glance. Carrie Johnson, five years old… Fuck, same age as Sara, they could’ve been friends — or sisters, they’re so alike — could have gone to the same school… Had been abducted from outside the school gates… Not the same school as Sara. Where the hell were the parents? Mother and father divorced… Oh shit. Mix up over who was to pick Carrie up. Neither of you will ever pick her up again….

Suddenly Starsky could bear it no longer and it simply wasn’t enough to phone Hutch, he had to see him. Had to feel those strong arms around him, had to see his lover’s beautiful face, hear his voice soothing him, telling him it was all okay. Had to be held tightly, held until his fear vanished. He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and strode towards the door. As he reached it, he turned and encountered Phillips staring at him in open-mouth amazement. “I have to go out, Phillips — now. I’ll call in later.” And with that Starsky swept out of his office and through the squad room, not even stopping to answer the murmurs of, “‘Morning, Captain.”

Phillips stared after his boss for a few minutes and then moved to the desk. He picked up the file and then replaced the receiver and finally picked up the picture — then he realized the reason for his Captain’s behavior in his office, if not his exit from it. Slowly he walked back out into the squad room.

“Hey, Tony, what’s with the Captain?” his partner, Andrew Patterson asked, genuinely curious.

“I think it has something to do with this,” replied Phillips, holding up the file on the murder of Carrie Johnson. “He took one look at the kid’s picture and then went as white as a sheet and all but fell down into his chair. I really thought he was gonna pass out.”

“Not Starsky, he’s tough. Come on, Tony, he’s been involved in more brutal crimes in his time in this department, than you and I have had hot dinners. A picture of a kid — even one who’s been raped and murdered — isn’t going to upset him,” his partner responded.

Phillips was aware that all the other men in the squad room had stopped what they were doing and were listening to the exchange. It wasn’t idle curiosity: nearly all the men liked and respected their Captain. They knew that he had come from the ranks, knew that he too had sat in this squad room. They knew all the stories about him and his blond partner — Hutchinson — some of them (Phillips included) held a degree of hero worship for the legendary duo. “I think it could have something to do with his kid,” Phillips said, a little unwillingly.

“His kid?” one of the detectives asked.

“Oh, shit, yes. Starsky’s got a little girl — Sarabet, I think her name is — she must be about the same age as this one,” replied Patterson, nodding to the file Phillips still held. “And if she takes after her daddy in looks at all, she’ll have dark hair and blue eyes…” He broke off, not needing to explain further.

“She has,” said Phillips quietly, “there’s a picture of a little girl and a younger boy on Starsky’s desk, I saw it when he left.”

“Yeah, I remember them both and that wife of his from the last department picnic — she was pleasant and both kids were nice. Poor Captain,” Patterson said, thinking of his own wife and baby daughter.

“Okay, but where’s he gone?” another detective — an older, harder, embittered man — asked.

“Maybe he’s gone home to see his family?” Phillips ventured.

“Oh yeah,” the older detective said. “Well, you see, I’ve heard…” He broke off somewhat dramatically.

“What have you heard, Tompkins?” Patterson asked, somewhat wearily. He was a few years older than Phillips and had known Tompkins for a lot longer. Knew enough to be sure that the man would tell them, invited to or not, and at least this way it got it over with.

“I’ve heard that he’s left his wife and kids.”

“Where have you heard that from?” Patterson inquired, wishing now he’d never started.

“I’m not saying, but I have it on good authority.”

“Well, these things happen. I mean, you’re divorced, Tompkins.”

“Yeah, but at least I left my wife for another woman.”

“What the fuck are you implying, Tompkins? What lies are you inventing now about Starsky? Look, the whole department knows that you and he go way back, back to his days in this squad room. We all know that he got on and you never did, and that you resent him for that. But cut the crap and slander. If he hears you, I wouldn’t bet on your staying in this department for any longer than it takes for Starsky to tell you to get out.”

“I’m not implying anything, Patterson, but we all know that you and your partner hold our Captain as a kind of hero — him and his blond ex-partner, Hutchinson.”

“Why are you bringing Hutchinson into this? He left the force years ago, what has he to do with all of this, to do with your smears? If I remember correctly, Hutchinson left to go into law. He’s a lawyer now and if he and the Captain are still friends, Starsky’ll have himself a lawyer on hand to deal with your slanderous remarks, so I’d watch myself even more, Tompkins.” Patterson was getting angry now.

“Doubt if Hutchinson’ll be in any position to defend anyone soon.”

“Fuck you, Tompkins — either quit this bitching or come right out and say what you are implying, because I’m fed up with you. I’ve got work to do. In fact, I can’t believe I’m listening to this. Come on, Tony, let’s get out of here.” And with that Patterson picked up his holster from the back of the chair with one hand, and his jacket with the other and started to stride towards the door, Phillips following him.

“Our dear Captain left his wife for Hutchinson.” Tompkins words were quiet, but victorious.

Patterson swung round at the door, “What?”

“Starsky left…”

“I heard you, you bastard. But you can’t be serious. Come on, Starsky and Hutch were legends, not just for the number of arrests they made, or the number of criminals they killed. Not just for being the only cops to throw away their badges and get them back from the damned mayor. Not just for getting into more tight scrapes and eleventh hour rescues than I can remember — yeah, they were legendary for all of these, but don’t forget the number of women they dated either.”

“Covers,” sneered Tompkins. “There were always rumors about them, there was always talk that they were queer for each other -”

“Don’t talk like that.” Phillips spoke up suddenly, moving towards the older detective.

His partner laid a restraining hand on his arm and said softly, “Don’t, Tony, don’t rise to his bait.”

But Phillips was now too incensed not to respond. “The Captain is married and Hutchinson was married and lives with a lady lawyer…”

“You know an awful lot about them, don’t you, Phillips? But then I’d forgotten — they’re your heroes -some fucking heroes, goddamned faggots,” Tompkins said, facing the angry Phillips.

“You….” Phillips made for Tompkins, but was grabbed, not by Patterson, but by Tompkins own partner — Simpson.

“Calm down, Phillips. Calm down. The Captain can fight his own battles. You hit Tompkins and you’ll find yourself up in front of IA, and if you want to know what’s that like — ask the Captain. He and Hutchinson had their fair share of that too. Okay, Jeff, what’s your proof? I’ve had enough of your insinuations too, and I work with you all day, every day, so I’m used to you bad-mouthing Starsky, but this is different. You must know the danger you’re getting into.” Simpson still hadn’t released his hold on the young Phillips, but as Patterson crossed the room, he did so and turned to Tompkins, “Well?”

“I’m not saying where I heard it, but I did see them together myself. Couple nights ago I was having dinner with a lady friend, and who should be sitting at a corner table with his back to me but our Captain and his own blond escort — ex-detective Sergeant Kenneth Hutchinson,” he added dramatically.

“It’s got to a pretty bad state if two men, two old friends, two ex-partners can’t have dinner together without being accused of being lovers,” Patterson said quietly.

“I saw the way Starsky was staring into the blond’s eyes. It wasn’t like you look at a friend — well, not unless you intend to get that ‘friend’ into bed.” Tompkin’s voice dripped scorn.

“I think you’ve said enough, Jeff. I think you’ve made enough assumptions to last you a lifetime. And unless your source of information is either Starsky or Hutchinson themselves, then it’s all hearsay, and I for one don’t want to listen to any more.” He turned from his partner and addressed the room.  “And incidentally, I don’t give a damn anyway, even if it is true. It isn’t out business — it’s the Captain’s. Being gay isn’t a crime and being a gay cop isn’t a dismissible offence any more. I’ll have no less respect for the Captain if what Jeff says is true — maybe I’ll even have more. At least Starsky will have been honest with himself, at least he’ll have had the courage to say, “Fuck the rest of you, I’m doing what I want.” How many of us can say that we’re that brave?”

“You call it brave, leaving your wife and kid for another man?” Tompkins asked incredulously.

“Actually, Jeff, yes I do. I think, if that is what the Captain has done, then it took great courage, great soul-searching and that wasn’t something that he’d have done lightly. Starsky never does anything lightly — don’t forget, Jeff, I’ve known him almost as long as you have, him and Hutch, but unlike you, I never resented them. Never resented Starsky’s promotion — he earned it. I never regretted not going any further — but I will tell you one thing that I did, and do, regret and that is that I didn’t have such a good partner as Starsky had. Now, Jeff, let’s get the hell out of here. And I suggest the rest of you forget this conversation ever took place. Forget what was said in this room; forget it all. And if you find out from the Captain that it is true, then that’s the time to deal with it — to think about it — not now, not when you have only rumors, and half-truths.” Without pausing to see if Tompkins was following him, Simpson swept out of the squad room.

 

Chapter Twelve

Fortunately unaware of the battle that had been going on back at the precinct, Starsky drove on autopilot. His mind kept returning to the picture of young Carrie Johnson and how much she looked like Sarabet. He finally forced the image away as he pulled up outside the large house where Hutch worked, where he had an apartment, an apartment that Starsky now shared. As he turned off the engine, Starsky felt for the first time a wave of guilt — he should have phoned Hutch first, he shouldn’t just have dashed out of his office like that. Shit, what must Phillips have thought? He had rushed to his lover’s arms when Hutch might be — Hell, probably will be  — busy. Too busy to pamper to his lover’s needs. He’ll never be too busy for that, Starsky, and you know it. Still Starsky sat in the car, unwilling to get out and go in. What would he say anyway? Not to Hutch, that’d be easy — easier — but to Grace, whom he was sure to encounter when he rang the bell? Did he just ask to see Hutch, and let her assume that it was a lover’s meeting, assume that Starsky couldn’t keep his hands off his blond lover for the whole day? Starsky knew that Hutch had told Quentin and Grace that he was now living there. Knew that they were happy for them. You’ve spoken to the lady on the phone, so why should face to face be any different? She’s on your side. He vaguely considered turning the car around and heading back to the station, but then dismissed this thought, knowing that he’d never hear the end of it if Hutch got to hear, by some means or other, that he’d driven all that way, and he’ll find out, don’t know how, but he will. Always did, whenever I did anything sneaky or that I shouldn’t have, he always found out. Damn him! The curse-ridden thoughts didn’t carry through to Starsky’s face: instead a smile softened it, as he remembered the days they’d been together on the street. Sighing, he climbed out of the car, locked the door — did that start with your promotion as well — and made his way to the front door and rang the bell.

A woman answered the door. She had to be Grace. She looked at him questioningly. “May I help you?” she asked.

“I’d like to see Kenneth Hutchinson if possible, ma’am,” Starsky replied.

A faint smile touched Grace’s lips as she asked, “Is he expecting you?”

“Not exactly, I mean, that is… I’m David Starsky.” He started to fumble for his ID.

This time a smile lit up the woman’s face. “It’s good to meet you at last, David. I’m Grace Wesson, I’m Quentin’s — well, I’m not exactly sure what you’d call me. Do come in and we’ll go and find Hutch.”

Starsky found himself taking an instant liking to this woman who appeared not to judge him in any way.

She led the way along the corridor and round a corner. Stopping in front of a door, she knocked gently and hearing a response from inside, opened the door. “Hutch, you have a visitor,” she said, ushering Starsky in.

“Starsk.” Hutch rose to his feet, instant concern registering in his eyes. “What’s happened? What’s the matter? Are you okay?” He crossed the room in long, quick strides and reached out for Starsky’s arm, pulling him further into the room, mindless of the fact that Grace was still there. Starsky stared into the eyes of his lover, tipping his head back slightly so that he could see them in their full beauty — drank in the love that Hutch offered. He sighed. With that one look, that brief touch, he had all his fears allayed and all his questions answered. He moved his hand to cover Hutch’s and as flesh touched flesh, a flash of desire surged through him, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from gasping aloud. Both men jumped slightly as the door was shut quietly.

Hutch recovered first and led Starsky across the room and pushed him down into a chair in front of this desk. “So what’s the matter, sweetheart?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Aren’t you pleased to see me?” Now he was actually in Hutch’s presence, Starsky felt completely foolish, and didn’t want to tell Hutch the reason for his arrival, didn’t want to worry him, didn’t want to see the guilt come back into his eyes.

“I’m always pleased to see you, so stop fishing for compliments and answer the question.” Hutch smiled and sat on the edge of the desk, resting one hand on Starsky’s shoulder.

“Can’t I just visit my lover, without having to explain?” Starsky asked in turn.

“Starsk.” There was just a touch of asperity in Hutch’s voice.

“I was passing and I thought I’d drop in to see you and maybe even meet Quentin — well, you said he once said he’d maybe make an exception over a divorce. Maybe now is a good a time as any,” Starsky lied, convincingly. At least he would have convinced anyone else, anyone other than the man who knew him better than even his own mother and brother did.

For a moment it seemed as though Hutch might play along because he asked, “And where was a Police Captain going to, less than an hour after he went to work? Come on, babe, this is me, talk to me; tell me. Something’s up. You sick or something?” Hutch slipped off the desk and dropped down in front of Starsky, sitting on his heels as he took his lover’s hand in his own. He forced Starsky to look at him and his eyes held only concern.

“It’s nothing, babe, honest. It’s just… well… you see, there was this picture and -” Starsky broke off and his grip tightened briefly on Hutch’s hand. He stared down into the blue eyes that held his, and took a deep breath, “There was this little kid — a girl — she was only five, Hutch, and she’d been raped and murdered and… Oh, Hutch she had long, dark, wavy hair and blue eyes and… and…” He broke off as Hutch pulled him into a fierce hug, forcing the air temporarily from him.

Starsky wound his own arms around Hutch and held on to him tightly. Calmed by the simple presence of the man he would die for, he allowed himself to soak up the understanding and the love that Hutch offered. It was all so simple — he knew now more than ever what he’d been missing during the years they’d been apart. He’d missed Hutch’s compassion and concern — damn it, he’d even missed his mothering, and now he had it back, it was all his. He hung on tightly, not wanting to break the contact, not wanting to lose the spell that bound them together. His head was on Hutch’s shoulder and it fitted as though the place had been designed to hold it. Hutch’s hands were petting him up and down his back and he was murmuring words that were not really audible.

Finally Hutch broke the tableau and pulled back from the fierce embrace. Still holding Starsky’s hands, he turned his eyes on his lover. All at once Starsky read the guilt that was fast overtaking the concern. As Hutch opened his mouth to speak, Starsky rose in a swift motion to his feet, pulling Hutch with him.

“Stop it!” he demanded, turning the grip around so that he was holding Hutch at arm’s length. Hutch tried to drop his gaze, but Starsky let go with his left hand and grabbed Hutch by the chin, forcing him to look into his own eyes. Tilting his head back slightly, Starsky maintained eye contact. “Stop it,” he repeated. “Before you start, Hutch — forget it. It isn’t your fault.”

“But, Starsk, I…”

“Hutchinson, will you shut the fuck up and listen to me!” Starsky pulled away now and strode across the room, still watching his ex-partner closely. He raised his voice, “For once and for all — you are not to blame, do you hear me? I can’t handle your guilt trip at the moment, babe.” The endearment was added to soften his words. “I love you, Hutch, I want you and I need you. I’ve never loved or needed anyone more — hell, Hutch I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you. You do things to me, give me sensations that I’ve never experienced, or never thought I would. I’m yours, Hutch — mind, body and soul — always have been. I know that now. Somewhere along the line, we screwed up, somewhere the ‘me ‘n’ thee’ vanished, maybe we’d taken each other for granted for too long, I don’t know. I thought all I ever wanted was a wife and kids — well, I got ’em, and I discovered that it wasn’t all I wanted. Do you know why? Because all I ever wanted is standing here in front of me. Maybe I always knew it deep down — maybe not — I don’t know. I don’t analyze stuff like you do. But I do know that walking out of my kid’s lives, knowing that I may never see them again, is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life. Maybe the hardest. There’s only one thing that would be harder, Hutch, and that’d be walking out of your life, saying goodbye to you, losing you. The only way I could walk out on them was because I knew you’d be there for me. So please, Hutch, babe, don’t pile your guilt up, I need you — not your guilt. I need you, Hutch. I chose and I have no regrets there. I need to know that you’re here for me, that you’ll hold me and… Shit, and I’m the one that doesn’t like soppy scenes. Do you know what I’m trying to say?” Starsky finally broke off and dropped his head, fighting back the tears that were threatening.

Hutch crossed the short distance between them and enfolded the other man in his arms and rocked him gently. “It’s okay, Starsk, it’s all okay. I’m here for you. I love you so much, so much I -” He broke off as the door opened and Quentin came in.

“Hutch, Grace said that your partner was here. Hello, David. We’ve spoken on the phone and Hutch has told me about you. I’m Quentin Cohen, it is good to meet you at last.” If he was embarrassed about catching the two men in an embrace he didn’t show it. In fact he didn’t even apologize for bursting in unannounced, for which Hutch was grateful. He really doesn’t mind, it’s one thing saying it, but this has shown it. Starsky, trying to extract himself from the embrace to shake Quentin’s hand, pulled him from his thoughts.

“It’s good to meet you too, sir, Hutch has mentioned you and I love your house.” His eyes shone with enthusiasm and Hutch smiled. That was his Starsky — as instantly changeable as the weather. He watched the interchange between Starsky and Quentin and it was obvious to him that Starsky genuinely liked the man. Hutch could read Starsky like a book and always knew what he felt about someone. “Hutch here, said that you may make an exception about handling a divorce.” For a moment, that even threw Hutch. Come straight to the point, why don’t you, Starsk? he thought with mild amusement.

Quentin smiled, “I did indeed say that, David, but in retrospect I’m not sure if it would be a good idea for me to represent you under the circumstances.”

“Huh? Why?” Starsky’s endearing innocence showed through.

“He means that with me being his employee and your lover…” How easy it is to say… “and thus likely to be named by Liz as co-respondent, it probably wouldn’t be the best thing all round for your divorce to be handled here.” Hutch’s tone became clipped as he resorted to legalities.

Starsky’s face registered a mixture of amusement and annoyance. “She won’t name you. I’ll make sure of that, she ain’t gonna ruin your life,” he declared.

“I don’t think you’ll be able to stop her, Starsk. Besides, I don’t care. She can’t hurt me — she can’t hurt us,” Hutch added.

“But your career — she’ll…”

Quentin had stood silently watching this exchange. Finally, he spoke: “David, Hutch is right about my reasons for thinking it would be better if someone else represented you. I can recommend a good man. A man who -” Quentin broke off, for the first time at a loss for words.

“A man who won’t care that we’re queers?” Starsky asked bluntly.

“A man who doesn’t judge his clients, David, a man who believes in honesty and trust as much as you do.” Quentin was firm, and Hutch was amused to see that Starsky colored slightly.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Don’t be, David, I can imagine how difficult this must be for you. And as for any concerns you may have about Hutch’s career, let me allay them. As far as I, and most of the people in the circles he’ll move while working for me are concerned, it doesn’t matter — not at all — who his lover is — as long as his work is not interfered with. I would have thought things would not be as easy for you,” he added.

“Yeah, well, believe me, er…”

“Quentin will do nicely, David.”

“Quentin, believe me I didn’t think it’d be easy either. But I told the Police Chief myself, told him before Liz could tell her version. It isn’t a crime any more; you can’t get kicked off the force for being gay — not now. It was different when Hutch and me were on the streets. I’m not saying he welcomed me with open arms or anything, I’m not saying he wasn’t bothered, and that things are how they used to be between us, but he respected me for having the guts to tell him. At least that’s what he said.” Starsky spoke openly, if not totally truthfully.

Hutch frowned slightly; he’d heard the more honest version of the exchange. I bet even I don’t know the full truth though, do I?

Quentin saw the look and a faint smiled touched his lips, “I doubt if it was quite as easy as you suggest.”

“Yeah, well…” Starsky said ruefully. “Hey, look, I’m sorry to have taken up so much of your time, Quentin. I’m sorry that I dropped in on Hutch, unannounced like — I won’t make a habit of it, I promise. It was just that… well, I’m sorry. Babe, I’ve gotta go, I didn’t exactly tell anyone where I was going — if I don’t call in soon I’ll have half of L.A.’s finest out looking for their run-away Captain. See ya later, Blondie. Be good. Nice to have met you, Quentin, and thanks.” He offered his hand to Hutch’s boss who took it with a firm grip.

“And you, David. I’ll give Hutch the name of the lawyer I mentioned.”

“Thanks.”

“You’ll have to come and have a meal with Grace and myself one night. How about next Wednesday?”

“Thanks. We’d like that,” Starsky replied after a swift glance at Hutch.

Starsky, after dropping a very quick, almost chaste, kiss on the side of Hutch’s mouth, strode towards the door. Very shortly afterwards, Hutch and Quentin heard the sound of squealing tires as Starsky maneuvered the car out of the driveway. Quentin raised an eyebrow at Hutch, who simply smiled and shook his head. “Hasn’t changed,” he said indulgently and easily read Quentin’s, ‘And you wouldn’t want him to,’ look. Hutch blushed and grinned, nodded, then said simply, “Thank you.”

Quentin left Hutch alone with his thoughts — one kept going around and around in his mind. Starsky, we have to talk. Soon.

 

Chapter Thirteen

“Nice here.”

“Yes, very. Now drink your wine.”

“All I said was it’s nice.”

“Yes, but it was what you didn’t say.”

“Ah, Hutch, come on, babe, I meant it. It is nice here — but why are we here?”

“We have to talk.”

“Couldn’t we have done that at home?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. Our ‘talk’ would have ended up the way it always does — in bed.”

“I can’t help it if you’re so damned sexy. I can’t help it if just looking at you turns me on. And that don’t stop whether we’re at home or not.”

“Starsky!”

“Well, it doesn’t — feel!” And with a deft movement, Starsky reached under the table with his left hand and caught Hutch’s right in a vice like grip and pulled it to his groin. “See?” he said, triumphantly.

“Starsky!” Hutch tried hard to extract his hand. “Let go of me,” he added under his breath, the color rising in his cheeks.

Starsky merely leered at him then sighed resignedly, and let go of his lover’s hand. “Sorry, babe,” he said, somewhat more contritely than Hutch would have expected. “It’s just that I don’t seem able to get enough of you at the moment. Not just in bed, either. It’s just wanting to be with you all the time, like we used to be. Messing around, touching, hugging, sharing — just the two of us.”

“We are alone,” Hutch said, his voice and face softening as Starsky’s words hit home.

“Yeah, but it isn’t the same. I don’t feel comfortable here — all dressed up in a tie and everything. You look great. But then you look great in anything — or nothing,” he added, the leer coming back.

Hutch didn’t bother with another “Starsky”. Instead he reached out under the relative safety of the table and took his partner’s hand. Starsky gasped as the other’s hand closed over his and his eyes widened. “You, my love, are incorrigible,” Hutch said.

“But you love me for it,” Starsky said determinedly, returning the pressure of Hutch’s hand and moving a little closer to him, relaxing now.

“Yes, I do. And everything else about you,” Hutch said seriously. “Now Mr.-I-don’t-feel-comfortable-here, look around you and you’ll see that these booths are designed very much for couples to be alone. Not so obviously,” he added quickly, swiveling Starsky’s head back to look at him.

“First he tells me to look, then tells me not to!” Starsky bemoaned his fate to his glass of wine. “So why is it suddenly okay for you to hold my hand, but not for me to grab yours?” he asked in total seriousness.

“The difference is that I am holding your hand, but you wanted me to grope you.”

“Did not. Just wanted you to know what you did to me.”

“I know what I do to you, lover, because you do the same to me. Another good reason for being here and not at home — or anywhere else.”

“You telling me this is a gay place?” Starsky asked curiously, trying to look around more furtively this time.

“Not specifically, but let’s say the management don’t ask questions or pass judgment, as long as the patrons behave.”

“Oh. Does this mean that we can sit and openly hold hands then? Just as long as I don’t try and grope you?”

“Maybe bearing in mind just who you are, openly isn’t such a good thing. But there’s no reason why we shouldn’t hold hands under the table.” Hutch smiled into Starsky’s eyes.

“What about kissing?” As always, Starsky liked to know the rules up front. Know the boundaries. Not that you often keep to them.

“Couples do,” Hutch hedged.

“So can I kiss you?” Starsky demanded.

“I don’t think it’d be a good idea. Do you? Honestly?”

“I love you, Hutch. I don’t care who knows it.” Plain and simple. Pure Starsky.

“I know you do, and I love you too. But…”

“Yeah, yeah. I know, I know. But…” Swiftly before Hutch could object, Starsky leaned closer to him and quickly brushed his lips against him, a simple chaste kiss, much like the one they’d shared in Hutch’s office in front of Quentin. “There, that’ll do me for now. Okay, do we talk or eat first?”

Hutch just smiled. That was his David Starsky and he’d never want him to change.

Before Hutch had a chance to decide, Starsky took matters into his own hands and said determinedly, “Changed my mind — you don’t get the choice. We eat first. If we start to talk, I’ll starve.”

“We could do both together, you know. I can do two things at once.” Hutch smiled lightly.

“I know all about the sorts of two things you can do at once,” Starsky smirked.

“Starsky! Are you deliberately twisting everything I say? Can’t you think about anything other than sex?”

“Nope and nope — I just can’t help myself around you. You going to make love to me later?”

“I give up, why did I ever think that we could just sit and talk like any normal couple? Why didn’t we just stay at home, then at least I wouldn’t have to pay for the privilege of blushing every time you make one of your comments.” Hutch’s words were belied by the smile in his eyes, but as always Starsky read the truth and saw beyond words and smile.

“Sorry. I’ll behave. I promise. Let’s eat, then we’ll talk and then…”

An hour later the two men had shared an extremely good meal and were enjoying coffee and brandy. Hutch had draped one arm along the back of the seat and Starsky was resting his head on it. He’d rather have put his head on Hutch’s shoulder, but was aware that Hutch was concerned for his — Starsky’s — position in society. However, one hand now rested on his lover’s knee and Hutch hadn’t commented on it, so Starsky didn’t feel compelled to move it.

Finally, with a sigh, he gave Hutch’s knee a tight squeeze and sat up. Looking straight into Hutch’s eyes, he said, “So what do you want to talk about? What’s so important that we couldn’t talk about it at home?”

Hutch straightened too and lifting his brandy glass, drained the remaining liquid in one and said simply, “Us.”

Starsky signaled a passing waiter for some more brandy, ignoring the shake of Hutch’s head. “What about us?” he said carefully, once the brandy had appeared.

Faced with the question, Hutch now didn’t really know where to start; instead he stared into Starsky’s eyes, getting very distracted and knowing that he was in danger of losing himself in them.

Starsky spoke again. “What are you trying to say, babe?”

“I don’t know where to start now, Starsk,” Hutch admitted.

“At the beginning is a good place, I seem to remember you once telling me.”

“What are we going to do, Starsk?”

“Do? Do about what? Come on, Hutch, be coherent.”

“Starsk, we’ve never really spoken about your children and what Liz told you, we’ve never really discussed all the ramifications and implications.”

“Don’t get all legal on me, babe. All right, no, we ain’t discussed it — and do you know why? Simple, because every time the kids or Liz are mentioned, you get that guilty look on your face, and I don’t want to see it, because there’s no reason for it to be there. Look, Hutch, I’m not that good with words — always did leave it to you, guess I always will, but I’ll try. Liz gave me an ultimatum and I chose. Hell, Hutch, there wasn’t a choice. There never had been — I know that now. It wasn’t easy walking out of that house, but I did it.”

“You gave up your children for me, Starsk.”

“Yes, and I’d do it again. Hutch, I’d give up everything for you. I’d stop the sun for you if I could. I’d take on the whole world if that’s what you wanted me to do. You said that if you thought it’d make me happier you’d go away and stay away. Do you know how much love that shows? Hutch, we once took a protect and serve oath for this whole city. We once took an unspoken oath that we’d die for each other — and nearly did several times. And that hasn’t changed — no matter what else has. Hutch, my marriage to Liz was over, long before you came back into my life. I’ve told you that before and I meant it. We were together for the kids and nothing more — and that ain’t any way to bring up children.”

“You grew up without a father.” Hutch’s words were quiet and he forced Starsky to meet his eyes as he spoke them. Knowing as he did that he was hurting his lover, but having to make him see the facts for both of them.

“Yeah — I know. And maybe that should make me more determined not to let my kids go through it again. But Hutch, it’s different: Dad died, he was killed. He and Mom never stopped loving each other. If Liz and I’d stayed together, all we would have done is argue and bitch more than we were already doing. The kids would have begun to notice more and that isn’t the way for a child to grow up.”

“You’d still be with Liz if we hadn’t forgotten our responsibilities up in your cabin that day.” Hutch spoke again, quietly, bitterly, his words like an open wound.

Starsky stared at him, and then as always, he knew he couldn’t lie to Hutch. “Yes, we would be together — at least today. But for how long, Hutch? And at what cost?”

“Look what’s its cost you, though — and what’s still to come. Starsky, you’ve lost your children, lost them because of me.”

“Listen to me, Hutch, there’s one thing that kept coming into my mind on the way from my house to you that night. Something you once told me.”

“I’ve told you a lot of things over the years, Starsk.”

“Yeah, but this was important. You once said: If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it’s yours to keep. If it doesn’t, then it never was yours. Well, it’s right. I loved you and set you free and got you back — so you’re now mine to keep. I love my kids, but I have to let them go, maybe one day, they’ll come back to me, maybe not. Hutch, you can’t protect someone from life, no matter how much you want to. You can’t live their lives for them.”

“You’ve always protected me.” Hutch’s voice was quiet as he took in the truth of what Starsky was saying.

Starsky chose to ignore this. It was true and he couldn’t argue with it — but it made a lie of what he believed. So he just ignored it and said instead, “Hutch, I’m going to ask you two questions and I want honest answers — will I get them?”

Hutch was silent for a moment. Then he simply nodded.

“Do you love me?”

Whatever question Hutch had been expecting it wasn’t this. “Oh, Starsky, of course I love you. I -”

“How much?”

“What?”

“How much?” Simple. Demanding.

“More than life itself. Enough to live without you if I have to. Enough -”

Again Starsky interrupted, “Enough to live with me?”

Hutch took a sharp intake of breath.

“Well?” Starsky demanded.

Hutch nodded.

“Say it!” Again the voice demanded.

“Yes. Yes, David Michael Starsky, I love you enough to live with you. I can’t live without you,” Hutch added simply and honestly.

Starsky reached out and took Hutch’s hand again, this time not bothering to hide it under the cover of the table. At Hutch’s side to side eye flicker he said, “Hutch, you told me that you wanted to be able to hold hands in public, to kiss me and dance with me. Okay, well, maybe we can’t do all those things in public, but I’m going to  sit here and hold your hand, and I don’t care who sees. Right. Right?” he added forcefully.

Again Hutch simply nodded and let himself relax back against the seat, his fingers entwined with Starsky’s, a sense of peace sweeping over him.

Finally, the brandy and coffee finished, Starsky rose to his feet and said, “Let’s go home, babe.” The two men walked to the door, Hutch’s arm around Starsky’s shoulders.

The streets were almost deserted as the two friends walked along and Hutch didn’t bother to remove his arm until they reached the main intersection and then with a brief, regretful clasp on Starsky’s shoulder, he dropped his arm.

“I know, babe, me too.” Starsky’s voice was quiet as it cut through the night.

Hutch didn’t ask what Starsky was agreeing with — he didn’t need to. Instead he asked simply, “You want to walk or catch a cab?”

“Whatever.” Starsky’s voice was soft and unconcerned.

For a few minutes they walked along in companionable silence, arms brushing against each other. Within a few minutes they’d reached a deserted part of the city again and Hutch returned his arm to Starsky’s shoulder. Starsky leaned into his lover with a sigh of contentment. “This is nice, babe,” he said as they walked along.

“Yeah, it is, Starsk, it sure is,” Hutch replied, wishing that it could be like this forever.

They continued their walk, mostly in silence, until they reached their apartment.

The two made their way up the stairs and Hutch opened the door.

Once inside, Starsky grabbed Hutch and pulled him into his arms, his mouth instinctively finding the Hutch’s. For a long moment they kissed deeply and passionately, tongues fighting each other for possession. Starsky seemed barely in control and he pulled Hutch’s shirt out of his pants and started to run his hands up and down the smooth back. Hutch moaned in response and pushed against Starsky, moving his hips slightly. He dug one hand into the dark curls and twisted his fingers around, earning himself a fierce push from Starsky. Finally, Starsky pulled away just long enough, to mutter, “Let’s go to bed. I want you.”

Hutch fought back his desire and held Starsky by the arms. “Starsk, stop a minute. Listen to me.”

“Don’t want to listen, I want to make love. Come on, Blondie, don’t tease, I want you so bad. Feel me — I’m rock hard and it’s all for you.” He grabbed Hutch’s hand and forced it down to his groin — he was indeed hard and demanding.

Fighting with every inch of self-control he had, Hutch pulled back. “No!” The word came out harsher than he’d intended and Starsky stopped suddenly as though he’d been struck, and stared at Hutch in amazement. Hutch was immediately filled with remorse. “Starsk, I’m sorry. But I’ve got to say this. Please.”

“‘Kay.” Starsky shrugged, full of concern now. “What is it, babe? What’s bugging you?”

Hutch pulled away and walked around the room with long, fast strides, running his hand again and again through his hair. Starsky stood, simply watching him, knowing that he had to give him time. “It isn’t just sex, is it?” Hutch finally asked quietly, his back to Starsky.

Starsky thought his heart couldn’t love any deeper, but he was wrong. At this moment, he loved his big blond more than he ever had. Over the months they’d been together, both before he’d left Liz and since he’d been living with Hutch, he’d realized how virile Hutch was. How often he wanted, needed and was capable of physical love. It had never crossed his mind that Hutch was worrying that this was all they had together, that Starsky only wanted to be with him for sex. He crossed the room quickly and pulled Hutch into his arms, in a loving, reassuring embrace. “Ah, babe, what makes you ask?” he said gently, trying to calm the now shaking Hutch by running a hand through his hair.

“It’s just that as soon as we get in here, you grab me. All the time in the restaurant you kept making comments about wanting me, and as I said, we wouldn’t have talked if we’d have stayed here, we’d have ended up in bed. Starsk, we’ve spent more time in bed than out of it, ever since we… we… started this thing.” He tailed off and his head dropped in defeat to Starsky’s shoulder.

Starsky held him for a moment and then forced his head up. He tilted his own back to look straight into the blue eyes that were filled with fear. Then he shook his head and taking Hutch’s hand, led him to the couch. Once there, he pushed him down and sat next to him, keeping a firm grip on Hutch’s upper arms.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, you know. Listen to me, Hutch and listen good. Yeah, you turn me on. Hell, Hutch, I’ve never been in such a perpetual state of arousal as I am around you. I’ve had more women in my time than I care to remember — though not as many as you,” he added trying to lighten the mood a little. Hutch blushed slightly and Starsky went on, “But no one, and I mean no one, babe, has ever had the affect on me that you have. No one has ever moved me as much, no one has ever touched me — physically and emotionally — like you do. But…” he paused, licked his lips slightly and went on, “then no one ever did.” He held his hand up to stop the surprised Hutch from talking.

“Sssh, I ain’t finished. Yeah, I want you — one hell of a lot. But, Hutch, if something was to happen tomorrow and we couldn’t make love any longer then it wouldn’t matter to me. As long as I still had you by my side, could reach out and touch you, kiss you, caress you, hold you — like we always used to do — that’d be enough for me. Hutch, I love to kiss you and hold you. All the really physical stuff is nice, but it’s just the icing on the cake for me, I don’t need it. I need you, babe, but I don’t need the sex. I want to be with you. Damn it, I want to be with you twenty-four hours of the day. I wish sometimes we were back together, back ten years or more. Those years when you’d gone — let’s just say I wasn’t complete. My life was missing the only thing that made it worthwhile. Hutch, it’s true what you once told me, you don’t know what you’ve got until you’ve lost it. I don’t mean to keep grabbing you, but my friend here…” he dropped his eyes and nodded in the direction of his erection — that still hadn’t subsided totally — “has a mind of his own. He sees you and up he pops, demanding attention. It’s not my fault you’re such a sexy man. Tell you something, I’m never taking you to a gay bar — or any singles bar come to think of it — I’d have to spend my whole night fighting them off. I love you, Hutch, love you for you, not for what physical satisfaction you can bring me — satisfying as it is,” he added with a leer. “Hell, why have I gotten so soppy in my old age? What is it in you that brings it out in me? You know I hate these sort of scenes.” His voice and his eyes and the smile that caressed his lips belied his words and Hutch knew it.

“Sorry, Starsk, ignore me. It’s just…”

“I know, babe, I know — but you’ve got to believe me, if it was just sex, I’d have stayed with Liz and the kids and gone on enjoying you. What we’ve got, Hutch, goes beyond sex — you know it and I know it. Trust me.”

“With my life.” Hutch stood and moved towards Starsky and their lips met once again. This time the kiss was gentle, inquiring, offering understanding and peace. For a long time they sat there, kissing and caressing gently, hands soothing each other’s bodies, arms wrapped around each other. Holding on as though they’d never let go.

Finally, Starsky broke the embrace with a curse. “Fuck. Forgotten how hard protracted loving is with this damned gun.” He moved away and started to remove his jacket.

Hutch’s hands stopped him. “Let me,” he whispered and started to take off Starsky’s jacket. Removing it, he threw it at a chair, earning himself an affectionate glare from Starsky. Then, with long practiced fingers, he removed the shoulder holster and threw that at the chair as well. Then he reached up and undid Starsky’s tie and top button.

“That’s much better,” murmured Starsky, scooting along the settee until he could lie down with his head in Hutch’s lap. “Did I ever tell you how much I liked having my head in your lap? How you’d always put it there when I was sick or upset over something. How you’d stroke my head and run your fingers through my curls, and murmur nonsense at me?”

“No, you never told me that, Starsk. But then it’s not exactly the sort of thing you say to your best friend, is it?” Hutch’s hand moved through Starsky’s curls. “Didn’t Liz let you put your head in her lap?” he asked with curiosity.

“Never tried, nor with any other lady. It’s not manly somehow, is it? Only did it with you. Always made me feel safe and loved and cared for. Don’t know why really. Just so nice. It’s like old times, isn’t it?”

“There’s one difference, Starsk.” Hutch’s voice was lower now, and his eyes dropped to Starsky who easily read the desire and longing.

“Oh yeah, Blondie, and what’s that?” Starsky’s tone took on the same husky nature and he ran a tongue over his lips, wanting Hutch, but waiting for him to make the first move.

“My cock used to behave itself in those days, which is more than I can say for it now,” replied Hutch, his voice even softer. His hands starting to move down the length of Starsky’s body — no longer just a gentle caress.

Starsky shifted slightly and as he did, he became totally aware of the truth in what Hutch said. He turned his head and his eyes widened when he saw the huge bulge in the front of Hutch’s pants. Hutch moved his hips forward very slightly, partially thrusting himself at Starsky. Starsky licked his lips. “That must hurt. You want some help?” he said.

“What sort of help did you have in mind?” Hutch couldn’t keep the desire out of his tone and Starsky could smell the male muskiness through Hutch’s pants. Smelled it even as he knew he was emitting the same pheromones, as Hutch’s hands worked their magic up and down his back and front — avoiding totally the swelling in his own pants.

Actions speak louder than words and Starsky moved his hand and deftly unzipped Hutch’s pants and slipped his hand inside, fumbling for a second to find his way inside the briefs that Hutch wore. “Ah, babe, you’re wet already,” Starsky commented as he maneuvered the throbbing, leaking cock out of the confines of Hutch’s pants. For a moment or two he looked it up and down, watching it swell even more before his eyes. Then he bent his mouth to it, forcing a groan from Hutch as his tongue flicked over the tip. He ran his tongue up and down the shaft, circling again and again around the tip. At the same time his hands caressed the heavy sac between Hutch’s legs. Hutch was leaking pre-come like nothing Starsky had experienced before, and he kept licking his lips in order not to lose the beautiful taste of his lover. He hadn’t even taken it into his mouth yet, and Hutch was so far gone that Starsky didn’t know how much longer he’d hold out. Hutch’s hands had ceased to rub over Starsky’s body and instead one was entangled in his hair, fingers twisting round and round, almost hurting Starsky with their intensity.

For a moment Starsky held back, wanting to make it last for Hutch, but Hutch was beyond that and when Starsky’s hands and mouth stopped working, he dropped his free hand and tried to touch himself. As much as Starsky wanted to see him do this, now was not the moment. He caught the hand with his own and muttered, “Naughty. It’s mine.” Then he dropped his mouth and surrounded Hutch’s cock with it, still massaging Hutch’s balls with his free hand. As he expected, Hutch couldn’t take it and within seconds of being taken into the hot, wet mouth, he came. With a cry, he shot his milky offering into Starsky’s waiting throat. Starsky swallowed again and again, amazed at how much Hutch had to offer him. Finally Hutch was spent, although still not totally soft and Starsky pulled his mouth carefully away, replacing it with a gentle, surrounding hand. He’d learned early on in their love-making that after Hutch had come, he still needed, and wanted, to be held and surrounded, even very gently caressed. It had surprised Starsky as he, like most men, felt too sensitive to be touched after ejaculation. But it had also filled him with tenderness and joy when Hutch has asked him, confessing with some embarrassment that he’d never asked anyone to do it before. Starsky had been so overwhelmed. Hutch had had more than his fair share of lovers so Starsky didn’t think there was anything that he could do that no one had done before — well, at least nothing outside of actual penetration. But he was fast discovering that there were many things that Hutch liked that women hadn’t done to him and Hutch hadn’t asked for. Having his cock held after release was, for Hutch, the total perfection to the whole act, the grand finale — and Starsky was more than happy to comply with it.

Still keeping a gentle hand on his lover’s penis, Starsky moved up in Hutch’s arms and brought his lips into contact with Hutch’s. Hutch sank into the kiss, tasting himself on Starsky and loving it — sharing this and so much more. Finally after quite a while, Hutch moved gently and said in a low voice, “That was perfect, sweetheart, never known as much love and fulfillment from anyone else before you.”

Starsky simply smiled at the man who was so vulnerable at times like this, so needing. He wondered, not for the first time, if the reason behind Hutch’s reticence with past lovers in asking for certain things, was to do with not wanting to appear vulnerable. Hutch had never shown his vulnerability in anything except to Starsky. Starsky knew that he was the only person that had ever seen Hutch cry, the only person who Hutch ever let on to when he was in pain. He knew that he was the only person with whom Hutch let down all his defenses, the wall he’d built around himself. He knew that the wall had gone back up again in the years they’d been apart, and knew that he hadn’t totally broken through yet — but that it would come in time.

Over the years, Hutch had trusted easily, far too easily in Starsky’s opinion, and he’d had that trust thrown back at him and had been let down by more people than Starsky could remember. As a result, he had become more cynical, less trusting and more reserved. Not letting people get close to him, until finally the only person he truly trusted was Starsky. Trusted with his life, his heart, his whole being. Starsky knew all of this without being told, knew how to take the vulnerability he was shown and rejoice in it. He was the protector now. Hutch had had his turn over the years, but now it was Starsky’s turn and he was going to look after his Hutch. He knew that where Hutch was concerned, he was possessive; knew deep down that he always had been — and knew too that it worked both ways. Why had either of them wasted time with other people?

Starsky also knew that he too had, over the years, built up his own walls, his own defenses — especially since the day Hutch had walked out of the precinct. For years, Starsky had pushed people away, hidden in his job, determined not to let other people get close to him. Hutch had hurt him, hurt him deeply when he turned and walked away. Liz and the children had filled a part of that hurt, but neither had ever seen the vulnerable side of Starsky that Hutch had known. Despite his silent vow that he would now take care of Hutch, Starsky knew that really each of them would take care of the other — as they always had.

Breaking away from his reminiscences, Starsky looked up at Hutch and said, “Hey, I’ve just remembered, it’s the departmental party next week — you’re coming with me.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement and Hutch knew better than to argue with him. Instead he smiled and said simply, “Love to, and talking of love, are you ready for bed?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” replied Starsky, pushing himself off the couch and reaching down to pull Hutch to his feet. The men exchanged another embrace and then with arms still around one another, they walked to the bedroom.

 

Chapter Fourteen

“Starsky, are you sure about this?” Hutch asked as he shaved. The days had passed swiftly, and the night of the departmental party had arrived.

“‘Bout what?” Starsky asked. He’d already showered and shaved and was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, fully dressed, watching Hutch. As Hutch observed Starsky in the mirror, he thought about his lover’s behavior this evening.

From the moment he had walked through the door, Starsky had barely let him out of his sight. Hutch had found himself pulled into a fierce embrace, while still holding his briefcase, given a — for Starsky when they were alone — extremely modest kiss, no surreptitious groping or lewd comments. In fact Starsky had behaved so unlike himself that Hutch had pulled out of the embrace and placed a hand on Starsky’s forehead and, after dropping his case, the other on Starsky’s wrist, seeking his pulse.

“Hey, what’s up?” Starsky had asked, trying to pull away. “What ya doing?”

“Just checking to see if you’re ill,” Hutch had said, with a grin.

“Huh?”

“Well, you haven’t attempted to get me into a long clinch, or grope me, or any of the things you usually do when I walk through the door. So either you’re ill, or you’ve gone off me.”

“Oh, very funny, Blondie. Very droll. It’s just that you’re late. Come on.” And with that he’d hustled  Hutch into the bathroom, pulling off his jacket as they went. “Now quick, pee, shower, shave, brush your teeth in that order — and I’ll find you something to wear. Hutch, come on. Move.” When Hutch hadn’t apparently moved quickly enough, Starsky had taken him by his hand and manhandled him to the john and started to unzip Hutch’s fly.

Hutch had slapped his hand away. “Hey, I’m not sick at the moment — I can manage on my own.”

“Well, do it then — come on, Hutch.”

Deciding it was safer to comply than argue, Hutch had proceeded to unzip his fly and relieve himself. Satisfied that Hutch was behaving himself, Starsky had trotted out of the bathroom to the bedroom, keeping up a running commentary all the time. “Honestly, Hutch, I thought you’d have made an effort to be home on time today. You knew we were going out. Anyone would think you didn’t want to see your old buddies.” He’d broken off at that point and suddenly, with a pair of Hutch’s clean briefs in his hands, he’d trotted back into the bathroom and crossed to look straight into Hutch’s eyes. “That’s not the case, is it?” he had demanded. “And look at me when you answer.”

Hutch had looked straight into his lover’s eyes and with the frank honesty that they’d always had between them, said gently, “I wasn’t deliberately late, Starsk, if that’s what you mean — not consciously, that is. Yes, I’ll admit there’s a little piece of me that’s a bit concerned about what people will say, or think, when we turn up there together.”

“Well, don’t be — I’m not. Anyway, just think how happy some of them will be — they’ll think they were right all those years. Haven’t you finished peeing yet?” he’d added with exasperation.

Hutch had just shaken his head and moved to the shower. Starsky, again satisfied, moved back to the bedroom, this time talking more loudly. “I’ll sort you out something to wear, blintz. Can’t have you letting me down on your first visit as a civilian, now.”

“In that case,” Hutch had yelled back, “you’d better let me decide on what I’m going to wear.”

“Funny. Funny. You saying I ain’t got taste?”

“I’m not saying anything, on the grounds I might incriminate myself.” Hutch laughed as he hastily washed his hair, loving the familiar banter.

“Anyone ever tell you you should’ve been a lawyer?” Starsky had returned again, this time holding a pair of dark gray slacks and a white shirt. “These do?”

Hutch had glanced around, still soaping himself. “I don’t recognize that shirt,” he said, turning again to swill his body.

“Yeah, well, it’s new. I’d forgotten I promised you a new one that day with my kids. I’d never got around to it, so I went without lunch today and bought it. You like it?” Starsky added, for the first time sounding a little uncertain. Hutch noticed that he’d mentioned his children without a hint of regret or sorrow. Time was healing and it was healing them both, because he’d heard the words without the guilt he usually felt.

“I can’t really see it at the moment, but I’m sure I’ll love it. Thanks.”

“Hmm — you done yet?”

“Just. Pass me a towel, will you?”

Starsky had thrown a towel at Hutch as he hurried back to the bedroom to put down the clothes. “Do you wanna wear a tie?” he’d called.

“Do you want me to?” Hutch asked back. It had been a few years since he’d last been a precinct function and times had changed. “Do I need to?” he added.

“Nah, don’t need to. Don’t mind one way or another. Up to you. I’ve put your black jacket and boots out,” Starsky had added. He’d hurried back into the bathroom. “Come on, you must be dry by now. Give me that and shave.” He’d taken the wet towel from Hutch and draped it over the rail to dry. Then happy that he’d gotten everything ready, he’d sat down on the edge of the bath to supervise the rest of Hutch’s ‘cleaning up.’

“‘Bout what?” Starsky repeated, drawing Hutch from his thoughts?

“Hmm?” Hutch asked, turning to Starsky.

“You asked me ‘Starsky, are you sure about this?’ I was wonder what ‘this’ was?”

“Oh,” said Hutch, now completely back in the present. “I was talking about tonight, you really think I should come with you?”

Starsky gave an exaggerated sigh and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. He looked back at Hutch, blue eyes twinkling and said, his voice bemused and loaded with fondness. “I see we’re back to that again? What is it with you, Hutch? You ashamed?”

“No. No. Sweetheart, of course I’m not. It’s just all so new to me, I guess, and… Forget it. I’m happy just to be with you, honest. Actually,” he added, splashing on some of the cologne he knew Starsky liked best, “I’m quite looking forward to it.” He glanced at himself in the mirror again and was surprised to see that his face was glowing and it wasn’t just from the shave. He suddenly felt younger, as though he could tackle the world — but then he always felt that way when Starsky was by his side. He felt a warm glow inside him that flowed through his veins and made his skin tingle.

Starsky was shaking his head again. “And I thought women were confusing. Obviously no one knew you when they said that. You done?”

“Two minutes, just need to brush my teeth and then I’ve done everything you told me to,” Hutch said with a hint of the old banter. He bent over the sink to swill his mouth and then turned to face Starsky, noting with a hint of amusement that Starsky’s eyes roved over his naked body. He moved perceptibly closer, knowing as he did that his cologne would have caught Starsky’s senses now. He ran his tongue over his lips and said in a husky voice, “Are you going to  supervise my dressing as well?”

Starsky growled in his throat, “Fuck you, Hutchinson, you know what you’re doing to me?”

Hutch blinked a few times. “Starsk, I’m not doing anything,” he said. Before he could say anything more, he was encased in a grip of steel and his mouth was plundered by Starsky’s. His erection was full-blown in seconds as he pushed himself against his lover. With effort he pulled away and held Starsky at arms’ length, noting with glee that his cock was bulging also.

Starsky stood, panting and his gaze flickered up and down Hutch’s body again. “If I didn’t know you better,” he said, “I’d say you were a cock tease.” There was a mixture of laughter and desire in his voice.

“Look who’s talking,” responded Hutch, aware with a combination of dismay and pleasure that he’d pushed it too far and his need wasn’t going to go away. He’d either have to finish himself off or let Starsky do it, or he’d be uncomfortable all evening. Starsky read it in his eyes and with a shake of his head and a smile in his voice, dropped to his knees in front of Hutch, saying just before he took the large organ into his mouth, “And I remember a certain blond asking me if I only wanted him for sex.”

Whatever Hutch’s response would have been was lost, as Starsky’s mouth brought him to a shattering climax in seconds. Hutch clutched the kneeling man’s shoulders as he fought to keep his balance, his breath coming hard and fast — he was totally satisfied and completely relaxed. Something at the back of his mind told him that it had all been part of Starsky’s plan to get him to relax before they went out — but he didn’t care. All he cared about was the sense of relief, fulfillment and love that emanated towards his soul mate. After a few minutes Starsky released him and lifted his head, his eyes seeking Hutch’s, questioning him. Hutch smiled his thanks and his love. With one final lick of Hutch’s penis, Starsky rose to his feet, briefly pulled Hutch to him and then released him with a swat to the butt and said, “Go get dressed while I brush my teeth — again.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine, babe, just fine. I’ll keep — but you’ll owe me later.” The smile was wide on Starsky’s face as he adjusted his erection and moved to the sink.

Starsky drove them in his Volvo. For most of the journey they were quiet — the quietness old friends share quite happily, not needing to talk. Then Hutch said, “You know, I never thought I’d say this, but I almost miss the Torino.”

Starsky swiveled his head to look at his companion and stared at him with open incredulity. “You sick?” he asked, reaching out to touch the other’s head.

“Starsky, watch the road,” Hutch said with a mixture of alarm and amusement. “I’m fine. It’s true, though,” he added, “strange as it sounds.”

Starsky was flicking his glance between Hutch and the road and said, “You didn’t slip in the shower when I left you alone, did you? Slip and bang your head?”

“Idiot,” Hutch said with affection, ruffling Starsky’s curls. Starsky caught the hand and pulled it down to his lips and gave it a quick kiss. Then he pulled it down and rested it on his knee, covering it with his own hand.

“You keep your hand right there, Blondie, so I know you’re safe.”

Hutch realized that he had no inclination to move his hand. Ever. They drove the rest of the way in silence again. As Starsky pulled into the police garage, Hutch removed his hand only to reach out seconds later and grab Starsky’s leg again in a grip that both men knew would cause bruises. Starsky hastily stopped the engine and turned to look at this companion, concern in his eyes. As Hutch raised his own eyes, Starsky read the memories that were there. You’ll never forget, will you, babe? Never, and you’ll never really forgive yourself — even if we live those 140 years you joked about. You’ll die, still partly blaming yourself for not being there quickly enough that day. Oh, Hutch, it’s the one thing I can’t do anything about, I can’t reach you, I can’t help you. I’m here, I’m alive — that should be enough… But you’d feel the same if it had been him instead of you, another voice said quietly in his mind. Yeah, I know. The difference being, I’d probably be behind bars now — I don’t think I’d have had Hutch’s restraint when I went after Gunther. At that thought, Starsky shivered and tightened his own grip.

“Come on, babe. It’s only a garage. It was over a long time ago. We survived it. We’re here together.” Words spoken to reassure himself as much as Hutch. Are they enough? They obviously were because Hutch reached up his other hand to ruffle Starsky’s curls again and smiled — a genuine smile.

“I know, Starsk. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Starsky said, taking comfort in the offered caress. Then with a quick glance around to ensure that they were unwatched, he leant towards Hutch and kissed him gently on the lips. The kiss was without passion but full of the partners’ everlasting love.

“Come on, blintz. Let’s go in,” Starsky said, before either man could get too involved. Hutch gave a rueful smile and with a final ruffle of Starsky’s curls, moved to the door of the car and climbed out.

“Hey, does my hair look mussed?” asked Starsky, hurrying to catch up with his blond lover, whose long stride had carried him part of the way across the garage.

“No more than usual. Why — do you want me to try harder?” Hutch asked, a familiar gleam in his eye, as he playfully reached out for Starsky.

“And you say I’m incorrigible. Come on, partner. Let’s go and say hi.” Starsky waved Hutch into the elevator and landed a swat on his ass as he did. Hutch reached out to grab Starsky and both ended up collapsing in each other’s arms in laughter. “Hey, Hutch, stop it — this is too much like old times. Remember I have a position to uphold now — I’m a Captain,” Starsky said with a smug grin.

“Yeah, always did think they must have been desperate,” Hutch retorted. Unfortunately, the effect was spoiled because he couldn’t keep the smile from his eyes.

“You’ll pay for that later — you’ll pay dearly — Blondie,” his partner shot back at him. The smile in his eyes was equally obvious.

“Oh, yeah, you and who else? I’ll take you on any day, Gordo.”

“It’s a date,” Starsky promised and swiftly reaching out, he ruffled Hutch’s hair, which, unlike Starsky’s, instantly looked messed up.

“Starsk,” hissed Hutch, trying to smooth his hair into place.

Starsky grinned evilly for a moment, saying, “If you can’t keep pace, don’t play with the big boys, pal.” And then swiftly smoothed Hutch’s hair into place for him, thinking as he did that he hadn’t had as much fun for years. Not since the day you walked out of here for the last time. The thought sobered Starsky briefly and glancing up into his lover’s eyes, he read the message that told him that Hutch not only knew what Starsky was thinking, but was thinking it himself.

The dynamic duo was back.

The party was in full swing when the pair entered the room. Hutch felt, rather than saw, Starsky’s slightly defensive stance as he opened the door for Hutch to precede him into the room. Whether it was coincidence or not, the room seemed to go completely silent for a brief second. Then there was a small scream and before Hutch knew what had happened, Minnie had run across the room and thrown herself into his arms. “Hutch baby, you’re back,” she said, kissing him several times. “I never thought we’d see your beautiful blond head in here again. Thought you’d left us for good. You know he’s been a real bear with a sore head since you went, don’t you?” Minnie’s voice had dropped during her last sentence, and as Hutch held her, he caught her eye and read the truth in her words. He gave her a tight squeeze and returned the kisses and then swept her off her feet and swung her round.

“Good to see you too, darling,” he said and placed her back on her feet. At that, she grabbed his hand and proceeded to pull him across the room with her. Hutch glanced back at this partner and, as expected, found him standing with a huge grin on his face. Then he slowly and deliberately winked at Hutch and sauntered across the room to where the men from his department stood, with their guests.

As he approached them, he noticed that Phillips was staring — open mouthed — in the direction of Hutch and Minnie and noted with a degree of amusement that when Hutch moved, Phillips’ gaze followed. Picking up a drink, Starsky crossed to him and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Hey, Phillips, you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” To his amazement, Phillips jumped so much, he splashed his drink over the floor.

“Cap’n. Sir. I… I… Er… Is that…I mean… Then…” He tailed off, aware that he was the center of attention of the group. He swallowed hard and unconsciously his eyes swiveled to Hutch again. He was aware that his own partner had crossed to him and was standing on the other side of him from Starsky, the same mild amusement showing in his eyes as was evident in his Captain’s.

“That, Tony, is indeed who you think it is,” Andrew Patterson said, holding out another drink for his younger partner. “Here, drink this.” He smiled fondly at his partner and for a moment, Starsky felt a flash of jealousy.

Then a voice said, “Yeah, Phillips, all your birthdays have come at once. That tall blond you can’t keep your eyes off is Ex-Detective First-Class Sergeant Kenneth Hutchinson. If you’re a good boy, I’m sure the Captain will be only too pleased to introduce you.”

Starsky swung around, intent on answering the taunt. But found himself confronted instead by the steady gaze of Charles Simpson, who had moved between Starsky and his own partner, Tompkins. Starsky frowned. “Tompkins?” he questioned.

“Ignore him, Starsky, he’s drunk. I’ll get him to the men’s room, try and sober him up a bit. I’m sorry, sir,” he added.

“It ain’t your place to babysit your partner out of hours,” Starsky responded. No, but you always did, didn’t you, Starsky? Damn, maybe Hutch was right, maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. At least if the Chief is here, he’ll be able to say ‘I told you so’. Although nothing had been said directly by Tompkins, Starsky knew that he was implying that he knew.

“No, leave that to you, Starsky. Always were good at babysitting a certain blond, weren’t you? Do it all the time now.” Tompkins had pushed past the restraining arm of his partner.

His back to the rest of the room, Starsky reached out and gripped Tompkins by the arm and said in a low, dangerous voice, “Okay, Tompkins, you’ve got something to say, say it! You want to ask me something, ask. But cut the asides, okay? This is a party, not some amateur performance of a comic opera.” He glared at the other man. “Well?” he said, waiting, staring. Suddenly he swung round. “Hutch,” he said, letting go of Tompkins’ arm. He hadn’t heard Hutch come up behind him and Hutch hadn’t spoken — he’d simply known that he was there. Like I always do, like I always did.

“Everything okay?” Hutch asked. His tone was easy, his eyes watchful.

“Yeah, babe, yeah. Everything’s fine.” His voice gave nothing away to the rest of the group, but Simpson saw Hutch frown slightly, and then shrug briefly as he accepted Starsky’s words.

“Come on, Jeff, come with me,” he growled and all but dragged his partner away. “Good to see you, Hutchinson,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll come back and talk to you, once I get this big brute sobered up.”

Hutch nodded and turned his glance back to Starsky. He noticed the too-controlled features, the slight frown between his eyes and the almost ball of the feet stance, but he said nothing. It wasn’t anything that wouldn’t keep. If Starsky wanted him to know he’d say, then or later. Instead he passed his lover a glass. “Here. Thought you’d like to get into the spirit of things.” He smiled, his eyes soft and caring. Hell, Hutchinson, you can’t lie, can you? Stop staring at him as though you’re totally dopey.

“Thanks,” Starsky said then. “Come on, Hutch, I want you to meet someone. Hey, Phillips, come here. Come and meet your other…” He broke off, not wanting to embarrass Phillips. “Er, the guy who used to keep me in control.” He smiled at Hutch, who simply shook his head. “Kenneth Hutchinson, Tony Phillips.” Starsky paused, knowing there was more to the convention of introductions than he’d performed but unsure what to add. He glanced at Hutch who was smiling at Phillips and holding his hand out in greeting. Phillips wasn’t quite open mouthed, but his reaction was enough to make Starsky groan inwardly.

“Hi, Phillips, nice to meet you. How are you?” Hutch’s greeting was simple, but sincere.

“Sergeant… er… Mr. Hutchinson. Er… Sir….” Phillips blushed furiously and glanced around looking for his own partner, seeking clarification as to what he should call his hero. It was easy with Starsky — he called him Captain or Sir. But this was his partner — ex-partner, he told himself — and if what Tompkins said was true, his lover! Whatever, he was a civilian — Phillips was confused. He saw Patterson move toward them and signaled with his eyes, his need for someone he knew.

However, before Patterson reached them, Hutch started to put the younger man at his ease. “Call me Hutch — everyone does. And you, do you prefer Tony or Phillips?” Hutch’s handshake was firm, his smile genuine and his tone sincere.

Phillips swallowed hard, “Tony’s fine, Sir… er… Hutch,” he amended swiftly. He was amazed when the blond man just smiled at him.

Then he heard his partner’s voice. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the blond half of the dynamic duo. Never thought I’d see your shiny locks back here, Hutchinson. What brings you here? Thought you were a hotshot lawyer now. Slumming it for the evening, are you?” Phillips swiveled his eyes between Hutch and his partner and then heard his partner add, “How you doing, Hutch? Good to see you.” With relief, Phillips noted that the words had merely been from one old friend to another. His eyes flicked back to Hutch whose smile was still there, even more so now.

Hutch reached out and took Patterson’s hand in both of his. “Patterson, good to see you. Hey, how’s my partner treating you?”

“Can’t complain. Can’t complain, Hutch. You’ve met my partner, Tony?”

Before Hutch could reply, Simpson came back into the room, a grim look on his face. Nodding at Hutch, he turned to Patterson and said in a resigned tone, “Come and give me a hand with Jeff, will you, Andrew? The stupid bastard’s thrown up all over the place and is close to passing out. Maria’ll take him home, but I need to get him to her car.”

“I’ll give you a hand,” Philips spoke up quickly.

“Nah, Tony, you stay and talk to Hutch. We’ll manage. Thanks.” Patterson briefly clasped Phillips on the shoulder and followed Simpson out of the room.

Seeing that Phillips did not appear at ease at all, Hutch put a friendly hand on his shoulder and said, “Hey, how about we get another drink?”

“Fine.” Phillips nodded and followed Hutch across the room. Starsky was involved in talking to other people from the department, but hadn’t failed to notice Simpson’s entrance and exit — nor had he failed to notice Hutch and Phillips move away. His lover was doing his caring act again. A few minutes passed and Simpson and Patterson re-appeared. Patterson detoured to where his partner and Hutch stood deep in conversation. The ex-detective had obviously put the young man at his ease because Phillips was talking animatedly.

Simpson crossed to Starsky. “Captain.” He spoke quietly.

Starsky turned. “Hey, Simpson, Starsky’ll do tonight. How’s Tompkins?”

“His girl’s taking him home. I’m sorry,” he added.

Starsky didn’t pretend not to understand. He shrugged. “He always did have a problem with Hutch and me and I guess that isn’t going to change. How about you?” Blunt and to the point.

Simpson ignored Starsky’s question and instead answered, “Maybe it won’t change things, but he shouldn’t bring personal feelings into it.”

For a moment the silence stretched between them and then Starsky said softly, “I meant what I said: if you want to know, just ask.”

“I don’t need to ask, Starsky.” Simpson was frank, calling on the years they’d spent in the same squad room, not particularly close friends — but then Starsky and Hutch had never needed anyone other than each other — but at least as colleagues.

“That obvious, is it?” Starsky asked, a little ruefully.

“Always was. Can I speak openly, Dave?”

Starsky started, it was the first time in as long as he’d known Simpson that he’d called him by his given name — and certainly since his rise to Captain, Simpson had been particularly careful not to cross the boundaries.

“Sure,” he replied, just a little warily.

“I wish I’d spoken out six years ago, but I didn’t. It wasn’t my place to. But someone should have. Not that you’d have listened.” Simpson seemed to be talking incoherently but Starsky simply listened. “What I’m trying to say, Starsky, is that I’m not surprised you and Liz have split up. You never should have married.” As Starsky started to speak, Simpson hurried on. “You’re supposed to love the person you marry more than anyone else — well, you didn’t. You never would have. That was obvious. I’m not saying that there was anything between you and Hutch back then — but you loved him more than you loved Liz. And he loved you more than he’d ever loved or ever would love anyone. Why he left the department, I’m not sure I’ll ever know, but I have my suspicions, ones probably he won’t even acknowledge. I can only begin to imagine what it cost you to walk out on your wife and kiddies, but then I can only begin to imagine what it cost you the day Hutchinson walked out of this building for the last time.” He paused.

“Hutch and me, we weren’t… Well, we weren’t lovers then, you know. No matter what the rumors said, we weren’t.” Starsky found his voice was shaking slightly and that his eyes sought out his lover. He found him still deep in conversation with Phillips and Patterson, all three totally relaxed.

“I know you weren’t. Maybe you should have been. But then — maybe it was the wrong time. I don’t know, Starsky. Love’s a strange thing — but I do know I’ve never seen the sort of love you and your blond partner had. Don’t think I ever will either. It must have taken you both a lot of courage to come here tonight. But then, together you never lacked courage.”

“Hutch more than me.” Starsky spoke quietly.

“Maybe.” Simpson didn’t sound totally convinced. “He always was the more sensitive of you two. The more sensitive and the more openly controlled, yet…. Hell, Starsky, do you know you’ve never seen the really frightening side of Hutchinson’s personality? But then you wouldn’t, because it only comes out when you’re close to death. No one’s going to forget him after Gunther — if you’d have died.”

“I did.”

“I know. But if you hadn’t decided to live. Not only wouldn’t you be here today but your blond friend over there wouldn’t have been either and I’m not just talking about the party. He’d have swallowed his gun — you know that, don’t you?”

Starsky was silent. Guess I do, deep down. Guess I’ve always known it. Oh, Hutch, I want you now. I need you here, by my side. I want to reach out and touch you, caress that blond hair of yours. Know that you’re mine. I need your support, babe, just like I always have. He pulled himself back to what Simpson was saying.

“That wasn’t the only time either — but then, he’s never seen David Michael Starsky in ‘let’s tear the city apart’ mode either, has he? Do you know, Starsky, you two used to scare the hell out of most of us.”

“Huh?”

“You were so close. Too close. Forget the lovers’ tag — that’s irrelevant. You were too close for your own good. You weren’t two separate people, not really. You were two parts of a whole. I admit that I was scared for you both on occasions. You were always a wild duo, always prepared to risk more than most — it paid off, but you were damned lucky, both of you. Neither of you would have survived without the other — and that’s what scared me, Dave. I’m not even that close to my wife.

“I envied your partnership in a way — wish that Jeff and I were half as close. I know he’s always there in a crunch. Know that he’ll always back me, but not with the instinct that you two had — you knew what the other was thinking without either of you having to speak. Do you know that if one of you got up to go to the john, the other was usually a heartbeat behind? I can hardly remember a time when you went alone. Oh, I know there must have been, but it sorts of fades into the times you went together. And not just the john, but coffee, lunch — you name it. Dobey’d come out and I swear that even on the odd occasion when he only wanted one of you, the words “Starsky, Hutch,” were out of his mouth before he thought. You weren’t individuals and that scared a lot of us. And that’s why I’m not surprised to see him here tonight — of course the fact that Tompkins spread it around the department the other day, didn’t hinder matters.” He spoke quietly and honestly. “I was expecting you tonight — but then, I guess I’ve been expecting him at almost every party. Hey, look, Dave, what I’m really trying to say is — I hope you’ll always be happy together. I….” Simpson finally broke off and smiled at his Captain. “I think I’ll go and find another drink. Find another drink and say hi to that blond partner of yours -he must think I’m avoiding him.” He briefly clasped Starsky’s shoulder and with a wink, wandered across the room to where the ex-detective and the current partners were still deep in conversation.

Starsky gave them a few minutes and then crossed the room to join them, noting, with just a touch of smugness, the look in Hutch’s eyes when he arrived. “Hey,” was all he said.

Hutch simply smiled and then said, “Hey, yourself.” Then he raised an eyebrow and Starsky read the unspoken question. “You okay?”

He nodded just enough for Hutch to see, and then smiled as he heard Simpson say, “God, they’re still at it. Phillips, take a long hard look at these two — because you’ll never see the likes again. And there’s probably a lot of us that’d say, ‘thank heaven!’ Read what they did: believe it, they did it! Then go ahead and stick to the book — because if you don’t, our Captain here will have you ass in a sling before you can draw your gun.”

Phillips looked a little shocked that Simpson was talking like this about his Captain and a civilian. He glanced back and forth from Starsky, to Hutch, to his own partner and finally back to Simpson. All four were laughing. He smiled faintly himself, not too sure if he should.

Hutch spoke. “He’s right, Andy — don’t do as we did. Don’t take the risks we took. You can’t take on the whole damned city — we learned that. Live for today, because wearing that gun, you’re as likely not to see tomorrow. Learn all you can about the job and your partner. And remember, Andy, when you’re on the streets, your partner is the most important person in your life. Forget your sweetheart, your wife, your mom and dad, your dog — he’s the one that matters. He’s the one that’ll save your life, back you up and be there for you. Never forget that, what ever else you forget. He’s the one. Care just enough…” Hutch’s words may have been directed at Andy, but his eyes were on Starsky. And for all intents and purposes they were alone in the room. Somehow Hutch was saying all the things that he’d never said in words during the years the duo were on the streets.

Starsky broke the silence. Punching his lover softly on the arm, he said, “Lighten up, Blondie. You’ll have the kid running scared. Ignore him, Philips, he gets carried away sometimes. That’s what happens when you leave the force for a nice comfortable office and no one pulling a gun on you every day. You get real soppy!”

“Sorry. Andy, your Captain’s right. Didn’t mean to get so heavy on you. Too little sleep, I guess.” Hutch spoke without thinking and as his words acknowledged in his brain, he closed his eyes with a mental groan — as a blush swept over his face — but not before he acknowledged the choked look on Starsky’s face and the attempt to smother a laugh from Simpson and Patterson. Desperately trying to rectify the situation, he hastily added, “But it’s true, Andy. On the streets, your partner is the most important person in your life. Right, gentlemen?” He stressed the last word and dared the three other men to say anything other than ‘yes’. They wouldn’t have — they all knew the truth of Hutch’s words.

All three nodded and Starsky, with a wink and a ruffle of Hutch’s hair, said, “Right, partner. Hey, how ’bout some food, Hutch? ‘M hungry.”

“So what’s new?” Hutch said with affection and a rueful grin. “You’re always hungry. Come on, let’s find you something to eat. Coming?” he added, including the others in the move.

The men all moved as one to the buffet table, and Hutch watched with barely concealed amusement as Starsky filled his plate — rivaled only by Phillips. “He’s a good kid,” Hutch said softly to Patterson.

“Yeah, he is. A bit headstrong at times — bit of the ‘let’s save the world’ about him. You couldn’t have said a truer word, Hutch, when you picked on that. Guess he reminds you of someone, doesn’t he?” Without waiting for a reply, Patterson went on. “I try and keep him on the straight, try and quell his enthusiasm a bit. He’ll go far, if he wants to. He’s a good partner. Reckon we make a good team.”

“Hang on to it, Patterson, hang on to it,” Hutch replied.

“Yeah, and you,” Patterson added softly. Hutch didn’t pretend not to understand.

“Hey, Blondie, look they’ve even got healthy stuff — you know, stuff you’ll like. See, look…” Hutch turned to find a plate laden with ‘healthy stuff’ pushed into his hands — he cringed inwardly, though, when he saw what Starsky’s plate was loaded down with.

“Some things have changed for the better, never used to have decent food at these functions,” Hutch said with a smile. “Are we going to sit down or stand and try and juggle food, drink and napkins?” he added, hastily grabbing one and putting it under Starsky’s chin. “You’re worse than a baby at times,” he chided gently. “Come on, let’s sit down. Now!” he added as Starsky seemed intent on trying to eat something that Hutch couldn’t identify. He turned for the tables and chairs, hustling Starsky in front of him.

“It’s been a long time — too long,” Simpson spoke.

Patterson nodded, in complete understanding, “Sure has. They haven’t really changed, though, you know.”

“Not fundamentally, no, not where it matters. Starsky always liked being looked after — he’d never admit it, but he did -and Hutch always liked being the carer. They can have a lifetime of it now. Come on, let’s go and join them.” Simpson led the other two men over to where Starsky and Hutch sat with Minnie.

The group ate together, enjoying a heated conversation about the benefits or otherwise of automatics over other revolvers — specifically Berettas over Magnums. One by one the others drifted away, until finally only Hutch and Starsky were left. Pulling his chair round so that he was closer to Starsky, Hutch leaned over and said in a low voice, “So have you shown me off enough? Can we go home now?”

“What do you mean?” The childlike innocence showed in Starsky’s eyes as he looked directly at the man he loved.

“Come on, Starsk.. Stop playing. Let’s go home. Now.” Hutch’s voice had taken on an urgent tone.

Starsky glanced at him. “You trying to tell me something, lover?”

“Starsky, I’m tired of fighting a hard-on and I’m now losing the battle. Come on home. I want you.”

Starsky glanced down at Hutch’s lap and his eyes widened. Hutch indeed had a bulge in the front of his pants. “How long you had that? And how come I didn’t notice until now?” Starsky’s tone was full of curiosity.

“Most of the evening,” admitted Hutch, ruefully. “You see, lover, it isn’t just you that gets turned on. I’ve had a partial erection ever since we arrived. But because I don’t wear such tight pants as you, I’ve been able to hide it — until now.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m so proud of you, babe, that’s why.”

“Proud — of me?” Starsky’s voice was stunned.

“Of course, I’m proud. I saw and heard what your men think of you. Hell, Phillips has so much ‘hero worship’, I was almost jealous.”

“Nah, wrong half, babe. It was you he couldn’t keep his eyes off — you and those blond locks of yours and your choirboy innocence.”

“I don’t feel much like a choirboy at the moment,” Hutch said with a grin.

“Yeah, what do you feel like then?” asked Starsky. Hutch glanced around swiftly and then leaned closer and whispered something into the curl-covered ear. To his glee, Starsky blushed furiously and hissed, “Hutch!” He pulled back and stared at the other man.

“Starsky, I swear that if you don’t stand up right now and start saying your goodbyes — there’ll be no need for any speculation about what I am to you.”

“You wouldn’t.” A mixture of fascination, horror, lust and just a degree of dare, flashed over Starsky’s face.

“Wouldn’t I?” Hutch’s breath was hot in Starsky’s ear as he leaned back towards the police captain. Then he pulled back just far enough to stare directly into Starsky’s eyes. “Want to risk it?”

For a second Starsky seemed to be weighing up the question and then he swiftly rose, buttoning his own jacket up as he did. And with a look at Hutch that promised revenge, he crossed the room and started on his good-byes.

Hutch sighed, and shifted in his seat slightly, then rose himself and moved to the opposite side of the room. Within ten minutes, the two met up at the doorway, promises to go to dinner with Minnie, Simpson, and the promise of a lunch for an exuberant Phillips, extracted. Hutch was delighted to see that Starsky was breathing hard and had kept his jacket closely buttoned. Hutch had himself once again under control, although he knew that the control wouldn’t last long, once Starsky was at his side.

“Come on then, blintz,” muttered Starsky, catching Hutch’s arm and dragging him out of the room with more force than Hutch thought advisable. He didn’t let go of Hutch all the way to the elevator and when it arrived, he pushed Hutch inside. Once there, he hit the button to take them to the garage and then swiftly pulled Hutch into his arms, his eager mouth seeking Hutch’s, his full erection pressing into Hutch’s leg. “Okay, Blondie, is this what you wanted?” he growled, pushing himself further into Hutch’s arms.

“Starsk…” Hutch’s words were lost beneath the plundering of Starsky’s tongue, the pushing of his body. With one final degree of coherent thought, Hutch reached behind him and slammed his hand on the stop button. The elevator slid to a halt between floors and for the next few minutes the lovers gave themselves up to each other. It was Starsky that pulled away first. Breathing as though he’d run up several flights of stairs in full combat gear, he rested one hand on his knee and the other on Hutch’s shoulder.

“Got to stop… Or else… fuck, Blondie. Do you know how turned on I am? Do you know what you do to me? I haven’t been this desperate since I was a kid and was rubbing off against someone for the first time. I messed my pants then, and if we don’t stop this now, I’m going to mess them again.” He raised his eyes to Hutch’s and read the desire in them — read Hutch’s wish. “You’d like me to, wouldn’t you?” He said, still staring, daring Hutch to lie. “That turn you on, does it? The thought of me with wet pants?”

Hutch groaned in answer — all coherent consideration of were, gone from his mind. Only one thought remained. He reached out and pulled Starsky back up and into his arms, forcing him back towards the rear of the elevator as he did. His mouth closed over Starsky’s in a passionate, wild kiss while his groin pushed against Starsky’s, demanding satisfaction. It was over in seconds and Starsky felt his semen pour from him. He slumped in Hutch’s arms, muttering incomprehensibly, while Hutch’s hands caressed his head and he murmured too.

Finally Starsky again pulled himself upright and stared into Hutch’s eyes. Running his tongue over his lips, eliciting a soft groan from his lover, he dropped his gaze to Hutch’s swollen lips. “Be careful of what you wish for, babe, it just might come true.” His eyes were deep with passion and the hunger was still totally evident. A hunger that had barely been appeased by the ejaculation. “Hutch, we’ve got to get home, or else…” He paused and then started to speak again more gently this time. “Come on, babe, one of us with wet pants is enough, and I want to be in comfort when I get inside you, or you get inside me. I don’t want to do it on a cold floor — come on, we’ve got a nice soft, warm bed just waiting for us. Let’s go, and if you’re a good baby, I’ll let you feel how wet you’ve made me, when we get in the car.” With a final swift kiss on Hutch’s lips, he pulled away with great reluctance. Then when he was sure that Hutch had gotten himself under bare control, he hit the start button again.

The elevator finished the journey to the garage and Hutch and Starsky, just a little shakily, made their way from it to the car. Despite it being Starsky’s orgasm, Hutch seemed the shakier of the two — the more out of it. With mild amusement, Starsky settled his partner into the Volvo and tenderly brushed a hand through Hutch’s hair. Then he trotted around the other side and climbed in, muttering something about, “Goddamned wet pants.” Then he gunned the engine and pulled out of the garage with squealing tires.

“Starsk, no one should be able to make a Volvo do that.” Hutch’s voice was close to normal again, and his eyes a mixture of amusement and heavy desire.

“Yeah, well, no one’s like me,” Starsky teased.

“You can say that again,” Hutch retorted, almost overawed at how the years just disappeared once they were together, marveling that all they used to have, used to share was still there — and that the added passion had only enhanced it, not interfered with it.

As though he had read Hutch’s mind again, Starsky reached out an arm and pulled Hutch a bit closer to him, saying, “You’re too far away, Blondie. I want to know where you are, ” and he captured Hutch’s hand and placed it on his thigh.

Hutch immediately moved his fingers until he could feel how wet Starsky was. Then with a deep sigh, Hutch relaxed back into the seat. They drove in silence toward their apartment.

 

Chapter Fifteen

Several days later, Starsky sat at his desk and looked at his watch. Three-thirty. He sighed. Why did the days go so slowly at the moment? Because you don’t want to be here, you want to be at home with your big blond in that big bed of his — running your hands over his golden body, caressing his hair, touching him, feeling his huge cock swell in your hand. Feeling his hands as they touch you, tease you, caress you, need you, love you. Feel that cock get harder and harder as he prepares himself to enter you and…. Stop it, Starsky! For heaven’s sake, keep your mind on your job — you’re acting like some love-struck teenage idiot who’s fallen in love and  who’s just discovered sex. It wouldn’t be far from the truth, apart from the teenage bit. I have fallen in love, helplessly and hopelessly in love — God how soppy can you get? As soppy as you want, as soppy as he’ll let you — and he will! And as for sex… Why is it so good? Because everything was always good between you, because neither of you have to pretend, because you know, instinctively every part of each other. Knew it before you first became lovers, you knew how to love before you physically joined, you were friends first and then love grew. Yeah, but I loved him from almost the first — and I fell in love….

Sighing, Starsky shifted in his seat. He’d have to try Hutch’s suggestion and wear looser pants — he hurt like hell most of the time in these tight pants — but  he liked the looks Hutch gave him when he wore them. Sighing again, he picked up the phone. Christ, you only talked to him this morning. Can’t you wait a few more hours? He put the phone down. No, I can’t. He picked the phone back up and dialed a number quickly, before he changed his mind.

A strange female voice answered. Fuck, he’d forgotten that Grace and Quentin had gone on a long-awaited, well-deserved vacation for a month, leaving the business safely in Hutch’s hands. It was the first long vacation Quentin had taken for years, a sign that he trusted Hutch implicitly, but it meant also that Hutch was working longer hours than ever, and that there was a temporary girl answering the phones.

“Hi, can I talk to Kenneth Hutchinson, please?” Starsky put on his friendliest voice.

“May I ask who’s calling?” she replied in a clipped and  efficient tone.

“David Starsky.”

“Just a moment, Mr. Starsky.” Silence. “We don’t appear to have you on our client list. Did I catch your name right — Starsky, was it?”

“Yes, I’m not exactly a client.”

“Mr. Hutchinson is busy. If you wish to talk to him, you’ll have to make an appointment.”

“Wait a minute,” Starsky almost shouted, then calmer, he tried his most persuading tone. “Look, ma’am…”

“Miss.”

“Sorry, Miss. I’m not selling anything, I just want to talk to Mr. Hutchinson. He’ll talk to me — just ask him.” Christ, babe, this is impossible. What am I meant to do — tell her I’m your lover?

“Mr. -”

Starsky had had enough, “Captain Starsky. Miss, I’m with the LAPD. Now may I speak with Mr. Hutchinson?”

“The police. Is there any trouble, Captain?”

There will be if you don’t give me Hutch in five seconds, kid. “No, Miss, I just need to talk to Mr. Hutchinson.” All friendliness had gone from Starsky’s tone — he was totally business-like.

There was a pause, then, “Starsk? You okay?”

Starsky let out his breath and sank back into his chair. A wave of desire flooded over him as he heard Hutch’s voice. God, you’re like a kid, Starsky, this isn’t someone you met last week, it’s the guy you’ve known for years. The person that’s closer to you than anyone else, the guy you love more than life itself — the man who is your life. Starsky was pulled out of his thoughts by two things — one, his erection getting harder and two, the man at the other end of the phone speaking again, urgently.

“Starsky. Talk to me. Are you there? Are you okay?”

Starsky pulled himself together and unthinkingly dropped one hand into his lap to try and quell his raging erection. As he did, he moaned, barely audibly. But obviously the other man had picked up on it.

“Starsky — what the hell are you doing? Why did you phone me?  Are you okay?” Hutch’s voice was getting louder and obviously vexed.

“Nothing. Sorry, babe. Yeah, I’m here and I’m fine.” So why did you ring him? Because you had to hear his voice. Because thinking about him isn’t enough, being with him at nights isn’t enough — you want him all the time. “Not just to touch.”

Starsky wasn’t aware that he’d spoken the last words out loud until he heard Hutch say in confusion. “Huh? Starsk. Babe. Are you sure you’re okay? You’re not ill, are you? You sound out of it. Where are you?”

“Sorry, Hutch. I’m fine — really. Stop worrying your blond little head. There’s nothing wrong, honest.”  Starsky now felt guilty. Hutch was obviously busy and he’d not only disturbed him, he’d worried him. Any second now Hutch was going to ask again why Starsky had phoned him.

“So, why did you phone me?” Hutch’s voice was calm.

Desperately Starsky tried to think of a plausible reason — tried and failed. Finally he resorted, as always when his partner pressed him, to the truth. Aware that he was blushing furiously, he said in a mumble, “Just wanted to hear your voice.” He paused and waited.

“Ah, babe, that’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me. I miss you too.” Hutch’s voice took on a soft, seductive tone, and to Starsky’s amazement, his erection started to calm, rather than fire up more. “I wish we had more time to spend together, love, I wish we were back working together.”

Starsky sat up straight and listened. It was the first time Hutch had spoken the words, the words that Starsky had thought about every day — even before they’d taken the one last step in their relationship — since Hutch walked out of the precinct for what Starsky had thought was the last time.  “Do you?” he ventured. “Do you really?”

“Yes, Starsk. I do — really. Maybe we should think about it.”

“What you coming back here or me training as a lawyer? Well, it can’t be the latter, college boy — they don’t take  -”

Hutch’s voice cut in, knowing that Starsky was about to run himself down. “You could be anything you wanted to be, my love. But no, I’m thinking maybe we should do something else — you know, something together.”

“Like what?” Starsky was skeptical. Much as he wanted it, the only thing he knew was how to be a cop. And deep down he knew that Hutch would never come back to the force.

“I don’t know, we’ll think, talk. But until then, we’ll have to make do with what we have. Our time together and phone calls — at least we’ve got that. At least we can always call — hell of a lot easier than when we were on the streets.”

“Yeah, if you can get past the Gestapo,” muttered Starsky.

“What?”

“Sorry, your stand-in receptionist gave me the third-degree before she’d let me talk to you. I all but had to show her my gun down the phone. Don’t know what she thought I wanted you for.”

“If she knew what you wanted me for, she definitely wouldn’t have put you through!” Hutch said with a laugh.

“What’s she like?”

“Jealous?”

“No. Interested. What’s she like. You and her alone all day in the big house. I want to know what’s she like — or should I come over there and find out for myself?”

“Now, I’d like that very much.” Hutch’s voice had dropped again.

“Would you?” Starsky asked, a little unsure if he was being teased.

“You know I would, Starsk.”

“Really?”

“Really. Stop fishing.”

“I’ll come then.”

“You do that.” Pure sensuality now.

“Hey, Blondie, we talking about the same thing here?” Starsky’s erection was throbbing again.

“That, lover, is up to you to decide.”

“Give me a half hour and I’ll show you what I’m talking about.”

“I bet.”

“Seriously, Hutch, what about it?” Starsky was back on track again, all sensuality gone from his tone.

“Seriously, Starsk. I’ve got a lot of work to do. You know that, with Quentin being away and all. I can’t play hooky — much as I’d love to.”

“I’m not talking about playing hooky. I’ve got paperwork to do, which I could just as easily do at home or at your office. You’ve got another desk there — how about I bring my work over there? I promise I’ll keep my hands off you.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Hutch!”

“Do you mean it?” Now Hutch sounded unsure.

Starsky sighed. “Of course I mean it. Look, Hutch, I’m also serious about wanting to work with you again. But if we can’t spend a couple of hours working in the same room without wanting to make out, then we may have to think again.”

“Oh, I’d want to make out.”

“Okay, me too. But without giving in to it, I meant. So shall I come over then?”

“I’m going to have to work late.”

“Fine, guessed that. So I’ll come over now. We can have coffee or tea and then we can get our heads down and work for a few hours, then I’ll go and cook dinner and I’ll call you when it’s ready and then…. Well, forget the, and then. Hey, Hutch, it’ll be like old times. Me and you working on paper stuff together.”

“You’ve got a deal, partner. Sure you can get away, though?”

“‘Course. I’m a Captain — there’s a few privileges. Hey, you gonna warn Miss What’s-her-name?”

“Duncan. Miss Ruth Duncan. Don’t know, might be more fun not to.”

“Whatever — but hey, you will tell her to put me through in future, won’t you, Blondie? I don’t like her questioning routine.”

“I’ll tell her — and Starsk,” Hutch’s voice dropped again, “hurry.” He hung up the phone then, leaving Starsky thrilled. As Starsky hung up, there was a knock on the door. Phillips, I’ll lay odds that it’s Phillips.

“Come!” he yelled. “Hello, Phillips, what do you have for me?” He spoke without glancing up and was greeted with silence. When he did look up, he found Phillips standing in front of him, open-mouthed. Oh great, what do you tell him, ‘Hey, Phillips, I knew it was you, because I was on the phone to that big blond you’re fascinated with, my big blond lover, and you have a habit of interrupting us.’ To cover, he said, “I’m psychic, Phillips. So?”

Phillips smiled faintly and held out an envelope. “This was delivered for you, sir. Says Personal.”

“Thanks.” Starsky took the envelope and stared at it. In Liz’s clear, precise handwriting, the words ‘Captain David Michael Starsky. LAPD. Personal,’ leaped out at him. He made a face and pushed the letter into his pocket. He wasn’t going to let anything spoil the rest of his day — the rest of the day with Hutch.

He stood up and started to pack up his papers. “I’m going to take this lot home and work on it, Phillips. Any problems I should know about before I go?”

“No. Captain. Er… Will you be… I mean…” Phillips broke off, blushing.

Starsky glanced at him. “Oh, yeah, I’ll be on this number if you need me. You’ll get an odd female who’ll ask you twenty questions, but just persevere and you’ll get me — probably,” he added under his breath as he scribbled Hutch’s office number on a piece of paper and gave it to Phillips.

Then with a final nod at Phillips, he left his office, briefcase in one hand, jacket slung over his shoulder.

He made good time on the drive to Hutch’s office and found himself smiling at the thought of seeing Hutch, even if they were only going to work. He swung his car into the drive and got out, pulling his briefcase with him. He rang the bell and it was answered almost immediately by a female, whom Starsky assumed to be Ruth. She was young and attractive with long blonde hair and a model like figure. Starsky appraised her and was mildly surprised to find that she did nothing for him. Even when he’d been at his height of love for Liz, he’d looked and enjoyed. You’ve really got it bad now. Guess it had to happen one day.

She raised a questioning eyebrow and her look spoke of a superiority Starsky had no time for. He decided that he didn’t like her.

He pulled out his badge and flashed it at her. “Captain David Starsky, we spoke earlier. I’m here to see Kenneth Hutchinson.” He paused briefly and then added, “He’s expecting me.”

She appraised him, then shrugged and turned. “You’d better come in.” She led the way down the hall to Hutch’s office. Starsky considered telling her that he knew the way, but decided against it. Once there, she tapped on the door once and then, after what Starsky assumed was an assent to enter, opened the door, ushered Starsky in and said simply, “Captain Starsky to see you, Mr. Hutchinson.” She pulled the door shut behind her and left the two men staring at each other.

Hutch rose from his desk and Starsky dropped his briefcase and crossed the room to where Hutch stood. In one swift movement Starsky had pulled Hutch into his arms and found his mouth for a light kiss. For a long moment the men stood locked in an embrace, warm and content, happy to just be together.

“Hutch, it’s good to see you. It seems so long since this morning,” Starsky said, finding Hutch’s mouth again.

Hutch returned the kiss and lightly caressed Starsky’s back. “You too, lover. Let me look at you.” He gently pushed Starsky away from him and then reached across to brush an errant curl from Starsky’s forehead. “I’ve missed you,” he said frankly. “Hell, Starsk, what’s it been, a few hours?”

“Eight hours, eight minutes and an odd number of seconds — but who’s counting?” Starsky replied.

“Idiot. Come here.” And Starsky found himself pulled back into a fierce embrace. He reached up and touched Hutch’s hair, reveling again in its softness. Then with a degree of reluctance and yet contentedness, he pulled away. He winked once at Hutch, briefly kissed him and then turned, walking back to where he’d dropped his briefcase, picked it up and went to the other desk in Hutch’s office. Pulling out his papers with one hand and loosening his tie with the other, he dropped to the seat, saying, “Hey, Blondie, you going to get that Ruth girl to bring us some tea? I’m parched.”

Hutch laughed — a true, relaxed laugh — and reached for the phone. Before picking it up, he said simply, “I love you, Starsk. I’m not sure you know just how much.”

“Sure I do, Blondie — because I love you too.” The partners’ gazes locked and unspoken love filled the air. “Tea?” reminded Starsky gently after a few seconds.

“Tea,” repeated Hutch, this time picking up the phone.

The men worked in companionable, virtual silence for nearly two hours. Of course, with Starsky in the room, silence took on a whole new, different meaning, and he did throw several questions at Hutch — questions that Hutch, after four years out of homicide, struggled to answer. But it didn’t matter to Starsky. He didn’t need Hutch to answer, what he needed was to know that Hutch was there, and willing to be interrupted. Oddly, it didn’t bother Hutch and he found it quite easy to work and answer Starsky at the same time. What he didn’t find quite so easy was to calm his raging desire to take the other man in his arms and ravish him across the desk. He fought his desire, although he had lost the battle with his erection almost from the moment his lover had walked in the door. And at least it had calmed down into a bearable throb. Hutch hadn’t felt this happy or relaxed for as long as he could remember. Ever since I walked out of the station, Starsk. Why did I do it? Was it really because I’d had enough of the force? Was it because I wanted something I couldn’t have? Will I ever really know? Does it matter?

His thoughts were interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. He half-started and then realized who’d touched him. He captured the hand with his own and smiled up into the guileless blue eyes that looked down at him. “Hey, Blondie, have you had enough yet? Are you hungry?” Only Starsky could make a perfectly innocent question take on so many different meanings. Hutch’s erection had flared again, no longer a mere throb. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself.

“In answer to your questions, Starsk. Yes I have had enough — but,” he added holding up the hand that wasn’t covering Starsky’s, “I have to work for at least another half an hour. Sorry, lover,” he added, squeezing the hand on his shoulder. “And yes, I am hungry. What are you offering?” He saw Starsky do a faint take and swallow hard. He smiled. See, I learn from the master. I can rattle you too.

He watched as Starsky battled with his emotions and won. “Okay, babe. I’ll give you an hour. Then supper’ll be on the table. I’ll feed you and then -” He was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Yes,” Hutch called, aware as he did that Starsky’s hand was still on his shoulder and that he could not stand up.

“I’m off now, Mr. Hutchinson. Unless you need me for anything else. I’ll be here in the morning.” Ruth stood in the doorway dressed for outdoors. Her eyes flickered from Hutch to Starsky, to Starsky’s hand and back to Hutch. She waited.

“Thank you, Ruth. No, I don’t need you again this evening. Lock the door on your way out, please.” Hutch was aware that he was slightly flushed, though whether it was because of his rising desire or because of the way Ruth had looked at him and Starsky, he didn’t know.

“Certainly. Good evening, Mr. Hutchinson. Captain,” she added barely nodding at Starsky, who in turn turned one of his famous Starsky charm smiles on her.

“Goodnight, Ms. Duncan,” Starsky said, still smiling at her. She paused in the doorway as if unsure whether to say or do anything else. Then she turned on her heel and left. The partners waited until they heard the door shut and then collapsed into laughter.

When they recovered. Starsky said simply. “An hour then, Blintz. What you do in that hour’s up to you. Work the whole time. Work a bit then come and clean up. Come up now. Whatever, but in one hour’s time — exactly — there’ll be food on the table, and you’d better be there.” He dropped a kiss on Hutch’s head, ruffled his hair, made an adjustment to his pants and crossed to the other desk. He picked up his briefcase after stuffing his papers into it, waved a cheery hand at Hutch and left the room whistling, leaving Hutch with a hard on and a smile on his lips.

 

Chapter Sixteen

Starsky whistled as he let himself into the apartment he now shared with Hutch. He dropped his briefcase, holster and gun and jacket on the bed and made his way to the bathroom. Within minutes he’d showered and shaved and moved back to the bedroom where he pulled on a pair of jeans and grabbed a pale blue shirt from the closet. It was only as he was buttoning it on the way to the kitchen that he realized it was Hutch’s. He shrugged and continued on his way, knowing that Hutch wouldn’t mind — he never did, never had in the past.

He’d already decided on his choice of supper — steak, salad and baked potatoes. He opened a bottle of wine and set the table. He hovered between getting candles out or not and then the romantic side of him — the side that he kept hidden most of the time, the side that Hutch or thoughts of Hutch managed to bring out into the open — won through and he opted for several candles. He glanced at his watch and decided that Hutch would be up in about fifteen minutes so that he could grab a quick shower and several kisses before he ate. He knew too, that in spite of Starsky threatening that supper would be on the table in exactly an hour, that he’d wait until Hutch appeared before cooking the steaks. Salad was ready on the table, steaks seasoned and waiting for Hutch to appear, potatoes baking in the oven, table set and candles lit. Starsky glanced around briefly and pulled a beer from the fridge.

He settled down on the couch, flipped on the TV and flicked through the paper, his mind drifting to the man in the office downstairs, the man he was waiting to walk through the door. Giving up on the paper as his thoughts turned more and more to Hutch, he picked up the remote control instead and idly flicked from channel to channel, not really paying attention to anything being shown. He finally stopped on the sports channel and occupied himself for the next ten minutes or so watching the ball game and sipping his beer. He was more engrossed than he’d realized because suddenly a hand appeared on his shoulder and he jumped, dropping his beer can — which was fortunately empty.

“Fuck, Hutch. What are you trying to do to me?” He tried and failed to sound cross.

“Sorry, I thought you’d heard me.” Hutch’s voice was full of amusement. “God, you look good. Come here.” With that Hutch pulled Starsky to his feet and crushed him in his arms, dropping his mouth to capture the other’s as he did so. “Taste good too,” he said licking his lips as he finally pulled away in order to catch his breath. “Almost as good as drinking it first hand,” he added, as he bent his head…

When they parted, both were breathing hard. Starsky looked down at himself and bemoaned, “Look what you’ve done to me.”

Hutch dropped his eyes to Starsky’s groin and saw the telltale bulge of a very aroused man. “You really should learn self-control, Starsk,” he said with a grin. Then in a gentle, provocative tone he added, “Want me to do something about it?”

“No, it’ll keep. I don’t want a quickie — but later, Blondie. Later…” Starsky winked audaciously at Hutch and dropped his own hand, stroking himself lightly enough to calm, and then openly adjusted the bulge until he was comfortable. “You going to shower before you eat or later?” he asked crossing to the fridge and pulling out another couple of beers. He threw one towards Hutch without even bothering to see if Hutch was looking, knowing instinctively where Hutch was and knowing that he’d catch the can.

“Have I got time now?” Hutch opened his beer and took a long swallow.

“Sure. I haven’t started the steaks, thought I’d wait for you to come up, and the potatoes are fine.”

“Okay, be about ten minutes.” Hutch moved to pick up his briefcase and dropped another kiss on Starsky’s head and then moved to the bedroom. Starsky followed him with his eyes and then deliberately forced himself to move to the kitchen to start on the steaks. He heard Hutch singing softly as he moved into the bathroom. He heard the flush of the toilet and heard the shower start up. As usual Hutch hadn’t bothered to close the door behind him, neither man ever did. In fact Starsky realized that since moving in with Hutch, he’d rarely been in the bathroom alone. They tended to work their morning and evening routines around one another — words rarely necessary, as to which of them would do whatever part of the routine first. It was odd. As turned on as they made each other, as desperate as each often was for the other, they seemed able to restrict themselves to appreciative looks, the odd touch or kiss when they had to. Starsky even found himself sometimes following Hutch if he went to the bathroom at other times of the evening or weekend. He was aware that it wasn’t even consciously done, just almost as though he was afraid to let the big blond out of his sight now that he had him. It wasn’t that he was the slightest bit interested in watching Hutch, but on the other hand there was no real disinterest either. It was just that often as soon as Hutch left the room, he’d think of something urgent to say to him and so he’d follow him and say it. In many ways it was like the old days. Simpson was right in that respect, they had nearly always gone everywhere together.

Starsky’s thoughts drifted back to the old days, the days when they’d been on the streets together, the days when they’d thought they could change the world, the days when they’d fought authority every inch of the way. His thoughts were interrupted by Hutch’s hand again settling on his shoulder and his quiet voice saying, “What’s this, love?” Hutch was holding out an envelope. Starsky didn’t need to see the name to know it was Liz’s letter. Damn, I’d forgotten about that. How’d he find it?

“I was hanging up your gun and jacket and it fell out of the pocket.” Hutch answered Starsky’s unvoiced thought. “It looks official,” he added.

“It’s from Liz,” Starsky said quietly, taking the letter and turning it over in his hands. He was reluctant to open it. He brought his eyes up to meet Hutch’s and said simply, “I’d forgotten it was there. Phillips handed it to me as I was leaving to come to you and I guess I just put it in my pocket. Sorry,” he added.

“For what?” Hutch’s tone was curious.

Starsky shrugged. “Don’t know really. Leaving it there so that you found it. Having it at all. I dunno.”

“Hey, Starsk, sweetheart, it’s okay. Have you opened it yet?”

Starsky shook his head, still reluctant to do so. “Told you, Phillips gave it to me as I was leaving.”

“Don’t you think you’d better open it now?” Hutch’s tone was gentle and he’d never once removed the hand from Starsky’s shoulder.

“Guess so.” Still Starsky didn’t move though.

“Come on, babe, open it, and I’ll cook the steaks.” Hutch started to move his hand with the intention of going further into the kitchen but Starsky’s grip tightened.

“You open it. I’ll cook.”

“But, Starsk…” Hutch started to speak.

“Please.” Starsky turned pleading eyes on Hutch and his tone spoke volumes.

“You sure? It might be personal,” Hutch said.

“I’m sure. And anything she has to say to me affects you too. So… Please, Hutch.”

“Okay.” Hutch gave the shoulder a tight squeeze and moved to find a knife to slit the envelope with. He paused and poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Starsky. “Here, all the best chefs have a glass of wine to help them cook.” He dropped a brief kiss on Starsky’s lips and moved away to lean against the wall. Then he opened the letter and read the contents, aware on the periphery of his attention that Starsky had moved to light the grill to cook the steaks, and that he was trying to avoid looking at Hutch.

Hutch scanned the letter once and then read it again in depth. Finally he folded it up and replaced it in the envelope and with a sigh, placed it on the table.  There was a long silence which Starsky finally broke.

“What did she say?” he asked quietly, his tone one of not wanting to know, but knowing that he had to ask.

Hutch crossed the room and took Starsky in his arms. “In essence, it confirms what she told you on the night you left, with one main difference. She doesn’t intend to drag you — us — through the courts. She wants an ‘irreconcilable differences’ divorce. Uncontested, simple and quick.”

“She say why she’s changed her mind?” Starsky was curious.

“She doesn’t want the embarrassment of everyone knowing she lost her husband to another man. Her lawyer apparently advised her it was the best thing all round. She agrees, she doesn’t want everyone knowing about your ‘sordid little affair.'” Hutch tried to keep the pain from his voice, tried and failed.

Starsky’s arms tightened around his lover, “Are those her words?”

“Yeah. Those and a few others. She really hates me, Starsk. Or rather she doesn’t, because hate is a strong emotion and what she has for me is pure contempt. Cold contempt,” he added simply. He wasn’t trying to hurt Starsky, but he had to tell him.

“Ah, babe, I’m sorry. I should’ve read it myself,” Starsky said, pressing closer.

“And then what. Not told me?” Hutch said simply. “Not shown it to me? As you said, what concerns you, concerns me.”

“At least she’s not planning on hurting your career or you.” Starsky spoke again, his head resting on Hutch’s shoulder.

“Believe me, love, if she could without losing face, she would. She’s very bitter — and I can understand it — she blames me totally. Somehow, and maybe it’s the only way she can handle it, she seems to have stopped blaming you, seems to think it was all my doing. That I enticed you away.”

“Oh, Hutch.” Starsky pulled even closer and this time Hutch moved back slightly.

“Hey, babe, let me breathe.”

“Sorry. What else did she say?” Starsky asked, barely loosening his grip on Hutch.

“She said she should have listened to Mary?” Hutch’s voice had a question in it.

“Her best friend. You know, she’s married to Tom Kipperson from the station. What did Mary say?”

“Oh yes. I’d forgotten. Apparently, Mary advised Liz not to marry you.”

“Huh? Why?” Starsky’s head had come up off of Hutch’s shoulder and he moved back enough to look up into Hutch’s eyes.

For a moment they held a touch of amusement. “Mary said that she shouldn’t marry someone who loved someone more. Mary warned her that you’d always love me more than you loved Liz. Liz ignored her, laughed at her. Now she says she wish she’d listened to her.”

“That’s the second person that seems to have known Liz and me shouldn’t have married. Simpson said pretty much the same at the party.”

“Simpson?”

“Yeah. Great, ain’t it? People seemed to know long before we did what we were to each other. Wish someone had said something all those years ago, saved us all a lot of pain and heartache.” Starsky sounded almost angry.

Hutch soothed him and gently stroked his back. “Would you — would we — have listened, buddy? There’d always been rumors about us. Besides, I can just imagine your reaction if someone had told you not to marry Liz because you loved me more. Come on, Starsk. You wouldn’t have listened.”

“I might have, if you’d have said it.” Starsky had dropped his head back to Hutch’s shoulder and his voice was slightly muffled.

Hutch tilted his head back and said softly, “But I was the one person who couldn’t say it.”

“Did you know?” Starsky’s voice was incredulous now and he pulled away to stare at Hutch.

Hutch shrugged. “It wasn’t as clear cut as that. I knew you loved me and I knew that I loved you. I knew I loved you more than anyone, I knew I loved you more than I’d loved Van, Gillian, Abbey or any of the countless other women I bedded. I knew that I was closer to you than to my family — although that isn’t exactly saying much,” Hutch added ruefully. “I knew that love was returned. You’d said once that you’d realized that you loved me more than Terry — I’m not sure if I really believed it at the time.”

Starsky interrupted quietly and seriously.  “I meant it, Hutch. I really meant it. I lived with her death, I’d never have lived with yours.”

Hutch nodded, accepting the words — and he did accept them. He’d accepted and believed them years ago.

“You have to believe me, Hutch, you have to know that I’ve always loved you more than…” He broke off. “Oh God,” he said quietly, eyes searching Hutch’s again. “People were right,” he said quietly, this time he dropped his head. Then he raised it and said very quietly, “Guess I always knew it — deep down. But…”

“But it didn’t matter,” Hutch finished and held up his hand to prevent the indignant interruption he knew would come. Hurriedly he went on. “It was never a competition, babe. I loved you, I wanted you to be happy. I told you I love you enough now to let you go — well, I loved you that much then. You were so happy with Liz. You seemed so right together. She was in love with you and you with her. Okay, so I knew that you loved me more — maybe not more exactly, but differently. But that wasn’t surprising, we’d shared so much, so many near death experiences, so many secrets, so many years. We’d never really needed anyone else — and maybe that was part of the problem. You never needed Liz. You loved her, were in love with her, wanted her. But you didn’t need her. I think you gave that to me many years ago and I never released it. Our love defied every convention, every usual meaning of the word. So you see, Starsk, I couldn’t say anything, because there really wasn’t anything to say.”

Starsky sighed from the place he’d resumed on Hutch’s shoulder. “I guess.” Then he added, “Anything else? You said she’d confirmed what she said on that night?” He looked up at Hutch, who sighed, not wanting to say the words and hurt his friend and lover, but knowing that he had to.

“She’s still adamant that you won’t see the children. Adamant that she doesn’t want anything from you. She’s told her lawyer who has tried to tell her that Californian law demands half and half, but she’s serious. All she wants is what she brought into the marriage and the car. Her parents will house her and help out, she’ll go on working and she’ll make sure the kids never want for anything. She does say, though, that if you want to do anything for them, then start a trust fund for when they got to college, because by then they’ll be old enough to choose whether to see you or not. She says she won’t run you down to them. She’s apparently told them that Mommy and Daddy can’t live together any more — and that Daddy won’t be in touch. They seem to have accepted it — she says they’re happy, Starsk.” He felt his lover nod, and he went on. “She gives the name of her lawyer and tells you to get yours to get in touch and to let them sort the paperwork out. She wants it as quickly as possible.”

“How long?”

“Six months at the most — well, that’s assuming you don’t contest,” Hutch added quietly.

Starsky raised his head. “I’m not going to do that, babe. Hey, if she’s not naming you, can’t you or Quentin handle it after all?”

“It’s probably still better you use the guy Quentin recommended. No matter how much she wants to keep it all quiet, these things have a habit of getting out — and we haven’t been exactly secretive about it — I think it would be better. Especially as she says she doesn’t want anything. If Quentin or I did handle it, it could get twisted and nasty. It’s going to be hard enough anyway to get the court to agree. In fact, you and Liz may have to go for an in-court agreement to split the house and everything else 50/50 and for you to pay maintenance, but then sign an out-of-Court agreement to say you both agree to your own terms.” Hutch’s voice had taken on a clipped legal tone and Starsky now smiled up at him.

“Hey, cut the lawyer act and bring back my lover. You’re right, I don’t want you to look after me — well, not in this anyway.” He reached up and pulled Hutch’s mouth down and kissed him long and hard. Then he pulled away and said, “Now it’s time to eat. The grill must be hot enough now.” Before he moved to cook the steaks, he picked up the letter. He held it as though he intended to rip it up and then he glanced around, saw some matches by the cooker and moved to them.

“Starsk.” Hutch’s voice stopped him.

“I don’t want to read it, babe. I don’t want to read what she says about you — I’d like to retain some respect for her.” He struck a match and held it under the corner of the envelope and watched it catch. Finally he dropped it into the sink and turned on the water. Hutch moved to him and put an arm around him and they watched the pieces disappear together.

“Right,” Starsky said, pushing the steaks under the flaming grill. “First we eat and drink — we’ve got something to celebrate. We have, babe. Us,” he said as Hutch’s face betrayed his emotions. “Then we’re going to snuggle on the couch for a bit and finish the wine. Then we’re going to take a nice long shower together and then…” He broke off as he ran his tongue around his lips.

“And then…?” Hutch asked.

“Let’s just say, I’m going to give you something else to think about when Ms. ‘you-can’t-talk-to-Mr.-Hutchinson-without-an-appointment,’ is trying to talk to you about work. In fact, you may find that you spend most of tomorrow standing up,” Starsky promised audaciously.

Hutch snaked his arms around Starsky’s waist and whispered in his ear, “We could forget about the food and move straight on to dessert.”

“No, we couldn’t, Blondie. I’m hungry. Now stop distracting me.”

“I’m hungry too,” murmured Hutch, licking Starsky’s earlobe. “See,” he said as he pushed his lower body against Starsky’s tight buttocks.

Starsky gave a groan, but refused to be distracted. Instead he pulled himself — somewhat reluctantly — out of Hutch’s arms and pushed his lover partly away. Hutch knew he was beaten and gave in gracefully. He picked up his barely touched glass of wine and leaned against the worktop watching Starsky as he deftly turned the steaks over.

“Hey,” Starsky said. “I know what we should do this weekend. Well, unless you’re planning on working, that is. Are you?” he added wistfully.

“I ought to, but I’m sure you could persuade me otherwise,” Hutch replied, still sipping his wine as he eyes roved appreciatively up and down Starsky’s body. “Go on then, lover, what should we do?”

“Go house-hunting,” replied Starsky as he took the steaks out from under the grill. “I mean now that we know, it’s time that we found a place together. This apartment of Quentin’s is very nice and I like —  I really like — Grace and Quentin, but…” He broke off as he added the potatoes to the plates and waved Hutch towards the table. He knew that he didn’t need to say anything more, Hutch knew what he was trying to say.

“You’re right, Starsk, it’s a great idea. We’ll start on Saturday. I’m sure we’ll find something that we can agree on — but one thing, sweetheart, no fixer-upper.” Hutch grinned and winked at Starsky. Then he lifted his glance and waited for Starsky to do the same. They clinked glasses and drank in silence; words were unnecessary.

 

Chapter Seventeen

Dusk had started to fall as Starsky maneuvered the car along the freeway.

“Where are we going, Starsk?” Hutch asked, more out of habit than with any real desire to know. He was at peace and happier than he’d ever been in his life. He and Starsky had finally completed the paperwork on their home — it was the final commitment — a home that would be filled with love, joy, laughter, friendship, caring, mutual respect — but above all, togetherness.

Just a week before this, Starsky’s divorce had become final.

It had been a long day. Hutch had spent it in the office, under the pretext of working. Starsky had spent part of it at the precinct and the rest of it in court. They had agreed that it would not be sensible for Hutch to accompany Starsky to court, even though Hutch wanted to go and Starsky desperately needed him there. In spite of Liz’s vindictiveness, neither man wanted to hurt her even more. To make matters worse, it was Kenny’s birthday. It was the first birthday that Starsky had not been with his son, the first birthday when he couldn’t hug him, spoil him with gifts — gifts that had often been more for Starsky than Kenny — and simply wish him a happy birthday. This year — and maybe for many more — he could do none of those things.

Hutch got home first. Unsure of whether to prepare dinner or not, he settled for uncorking a bottle of good red wine and putting some gentle music on to play softly in the background. He had picked up the mail that lay on the doormat when he first arrived home and had thrown it unopened and un-looked-at on the table. Now, after pacing around the apartment for several moments, checking his watch every few seconds, he decided that it might provide the distraction he needed.

He poured himself a glass of wine and picked up the larger of the letters — which was actually a small package. Turning it over, he instantly recognized Jeri’s handwriting. She’d written to him four months earlier to tell him that their son had been born — Christopher Brian Kenneth. Hutch had been stunned at the name, and secretly very touched. He opened this latest offering and out fell a pile of pictures of Christopher and a long letter. Putting aside the letter for a moment, Hutch carefully looked through the photos, smiling as he did so. Then he turned his attention to the letter. Jeri began by referring to the pictures and telling him that Christopher growing fast and that he even seemed to be smiling in one of the pictures. Hutch’s attention, momentarily, flicked back to the pictures and to his surprise, he saw that she was right.

He took another sip of wine and returned to the letter. Next Jeri asked about Starsky and wished he and Hutch well, she said that she was glad that they had finally found the courage to be together. Hutch shook his head, realizing that even if he lived those one hundred and forty years, he’d never understand women. After a few more lines about the area and the business, Jeri’s letter moved on to other things. She said that she and Brian were engaged to be married. She confessed that Brian had always loved her, had asked her several times to marry him, when they were at law school and for a few years after. She assured Hutch that she hadn’t said yes simply because of Christopher, but for herself, because finally she had found true love.

The next part of the letter surprised Hutch. Not because of what she had asked, but because she had asked rather than just simply told him. Given the reason he left her, he felt she would have been morally right to just inform him how it was going to be.  But she didn’t. Her words and the question she asked were cautious, shy almost. Not an easy thing to achieve in writing, but somehow Jeri had managed it, and they made Hutch feel at peace. She asked whether Hutch would mind if Brian formally adopted Christopher. She said that she’d understand if he said no — she’d already told him that he (Hutch) was named as father on the birth certificate. She said that it didn’t mean that Christopher wouldn’t know who his biological father was, but that Brian already loved him and wanted to do this.

Hutch smiled — a genuine, caring smile — and was just reaching for a pen to begin to answer Jeri’s letter, telling her that of course he didn’t mind and that he was in fact glad, when he heard the sound of Starsky’s key in the door. Hastily, he grabbed the package and looked around for somewhere to put it. He didn’t want Starsky to see the pictures of Christopher until he had a chance to see how his dark-haired lover was holding up. Settling for pushing them down behind the cushion on the couch, Hutch spun around to face the door.

For a moment neither man moved, content simply to stare at each other. Then Hutch opened his arms. In a swift movement Starsky crossed the room and Hutch felt, rather than heard, the sigh go through his lover as he settled in his arms. Resting his chin on Starsky’s hair, Hutch moved his hands gently up and down Starsky’s back. A few seconds later, Starsky lifted his head and claimed Hutch’s lips with his own. The kiss was without passion; instead love and tenderness was exchanged.

Pulling away, Starsky picked up Hutch’s wine glass and lifting it to his mouth — his lips finding the exact place that Hutch’s had been — he drained the contents. Putting the glass back down, he said, “Hi, Blondie. That tastes good.”

“Starsk?” Hutch said, his eyes asking the questions his lips couldn’t or wouldn’t form.

“I’m okay, Hutch. It’s okay. It’s over. God, I never wanna go through that again.”

“Was she…? Did she…? Did you…?” Hutch was incoherent and he knew it, but he still couldn’t quite read Starsky.

“Yeah, she was there. No, she didn’t say anything about you, about us. No, the kids weren’t there. The judge made the settlement — half each and maintenance for the kids — just as you said he would. Then she and I and our lawyers met, we signed the papers in accordance with what she wanted. And that was that. She’s still at her parents’; she’s changed the kids’ last name to her maiden name and intends to apply to the courts to make the name change legal. She also said she never expects to hear from me again.”

“Oh, babe.” Hutch reached out again and pulled Starsky back into his arms.

“I wish you had come with me today, Hutch. I could’ve done with a friendly face there. When I left the court, I just wanted to come here, to run to your arms — ”

“Why didn’t you?” Hutch questioned mildly.

“Dunno. Thought Quentin might object, I’ve been monopolizing your time a bit these days.”

“He wouldn’t have minded,” said Hutch, brushing his hand again through his lover’s curls.

“Guess not. Anyways, I decided to go and see a property retailer — I told him to sell the house. When he has, I’m gonna put half of it in a bank account for Kenny and Sarabet’s futures. Maybe one day… Oh, shit, Hutch. Why today? Why did it have to be today? Poor Kenny.”

“But he won’t know, Starsk,” Hutch said gently. “To him it’s just another day — another birthday. I’m sure that Liz -”

“I know, I know. I’m all right, Hutch, really I am. We’re all right. Come here and let me kiss you.” Pulling his lover into his arms, Starsky captured Hutch’s mouth and for a long moment their tongues vied for possession. Finally, Starsky pulled away and started to back towards the couch, pulling Hutch with him. He sank down on the soft cushions. As he leaned back, the sound of papers rustling seemed startlingly loud in the otherwise quiet apartment.

Cursing his foolhardiness, Hutch tried to grab the package, but Starsky was quicker. He ignored the letter and focused on the pictures. It seemed like forever, during which time Hutch held his breath, before Starsky spoke. “He’s got your eyes,” were the first words he said. Then, “So, why did ya hide them from me, Hutch?”

“I…I…I…” Hutch stuttered.

“Hutch, listen to me,” said Starsky, in a tone that he might use on a backward child. “I ain’t gonna fall apart at the sight of some pictures of your son, you know.”

“But I thought that…”

“I know exactly what you thought, Blondie. And I’m grateful. But Christopher is your son and if Jeri is prepared to share him with you, even in this way, then I want to share him with you too. Does that make sense?”

“But it seems unfair, Starsk.”

“I’ve got my own picture of my kids, Hutch. I keep it on my desk. I’ve got my memories of them, good memories. I never gonna forget them, Hutch, but life goes on. And today, Hutch, today I’ve finally started to live again.”

“You could have the picture here.”

“I know that, you big klutz. And maybe when we’ve got our own place, then I’ll bring it home — but for now, it’s okay where it is. Now come here and kiss me. Then you can tell me what Ms. Eastman has to say in her letter and then you can feed me and then…” The change in Starsky was quick, but not unusual. Hutch had often over the years, wished that he could react more like his friend did.

Hutch had kissed him; had told him all about Jeri and Brian and had been amused when Starsky had asked what they were going to buy two lawyers for a wedding gift; had fed him and then….

Hutch glanced over at his lover and watched as the hands that had caressed him so often, the hands that moved him to heights he’d never before experienced, now caressed the steering wheel. He sighed contentedly to himself. All was well.

He was doing a job he enjoyed and was good at — even if it meant that he and Starsky had to be apart during the day. Starsky made noises occasionally about trying for law or them thinking of doing something else, but deep down Hutch knew that Starsky was at heart a career cop. There was a greater chance that Starsky would move out of homicide and into some other department that meant he could work from home — well, Hutch’s office — more often. About once a week, Starsky would turn up at Hutch’s office with a load of paperwork and these were the happiest of all his hours at work. To begin with, Hutch had been unsure that Quentin would approve, but Quentin had quickly seen that they two of them being in the same room did not interfere with Hutch’s work at all, in fact if anything it helped. They worked well together, but then they always had.

Quentin had offered — and Starsky had accepted for them both — to act for them in the house purchase. The final papers had been signed in Quentin’s office, with Grace present. As Grace handed out the champagne, Quentin had handed Hutch an envelope. Thinking it was just the deeds to the property, Hutch started to put them in his inside pocket only to be stopped by a slight shake of Quentin’s head. “These you need to look at now,” he’d said. Hutch had handed his glass to Starsky and then opened the envelope. Inside was a partnership agreement, drawn up in Quentin’s and Hutch’s names. Hutch had stared at the papers, unable to speak — afraid to speak, if the truth be known, because he was afraid his voice would break.

Finally he swallowed hard and raised his eyes only to find three pairs on him. Quentin’s amused, Grace’s gentle and Starsky’s — his own dear Starsky’s — curious and just a little worried. “I don’t know what to say, Quentin,” Hutch said when he finally was able to speak.

“You don’t need to say anything, Ken. You just need to sign the form. Grace and David will witness it and we can drink to Cohen and Hutchinson Incorporated.” Quentin had held out his own pen. Hutch took it and, moving towards Quentin’s desk, had glanced at Starsky. He wasn’t actually seeking permission, and yet it seemed unnatural to do anything important without involving Starsky. Starsky had a huge smile on his face and such a proud look that Hutch fell in love with him all over again. As he reached Quentin’s desk, Starsky had simply, slowly and audaciously winked at him.

Their lovemaking that night was slow, gentle, loving and special.

 

Chapter Eighteen

“You’ll see where we’re going soon enough. Why? You in need of the john or something?” Ever to the point was Starsky. He glanced sideways at his lover, as if calculating where he could pull off should Hutch say yes.

“No, not really. Just curious,” Hutch replied, leaning back further in the seat. He didn’t really care if the journey went on all night, just as long as he was with Starsky.

“Won’t be long now. Just you relax, babe.” Starsky reached across and gently rested a hand on Hutch’s knee. He left it there for a long moment and then with a sigh, removed it as he started to maneuver the car across all the lanes and off the freeway.

He was aware that Hutch had almost drifted off into a light doze and this suited Starsky. Alternating his glance between the road and the man sitting next to him, he drove for a further 20 miles. Talk about the scenic route.

Finally he pulled the Volvo up outside a secluded property and turned off the headlights. Dusk had now turned to early darkness. Reaching across the seat, Starsky lightly brushed Hutch’s lips with his own and said softly, “We’re here, lover.”

Hutch opened his eyes and smiled at Starsky who was still leaning across him. “Where?” he asked automatically before looking around. Then he looked out of the window and to his surprise, found that they were parked in front of their new home. “Starsk?”

“Picked the keys up this morning. I told the agent something had come up at work and I had to move in today rather than Monday,” Starsky said, with just a touch of guilt in his voice.

“But why?” Hutch asked, curious as to why Starsky had thought the deception necessary. “Hey, you really went out of your way to drive here tonight, lover. Why?”

“You’ll see.” Starsky answered seemingly both questions in one. “Now are you going to sit in the car all evening, or are we going in?”

“Obviously, we’re going in. Just what are you up to?”

“Can’t we just visit our home, without me being up to anything?” The guileless look and voice that Hutch remembered from many years ago was present.

“I’m not going to answer that one -”

“I know, I know,” interrupted Starsky, “on the grounds that you might incriminate yourself. Did I ever tell you how infuriating it is sometimes living with a lawyer?”

“Frequently.” Hutch’s voice was amused and before Starsky could move, he pulled his head closer and kissed him.

“Come on, Blondie, let’s go in,” Starsky said, pulling away from the embrace with some effort.

They walked to the front door and Starsky pulled the keys out of his pocket. Once in the hall, he flicked the light switch and a subdued glow lit up the hall and stairs.

“Why don’t you go and check that everything’s all right upstairs and go to the bathroom or something?” Starsky said, maneuvering himself so that he was between the door leading to the living room and Hutch.

“Starsky, I don’t need to go to the bathroom and why shouldn’t everything be all right upstairs?”

“Just go, Hutch. And don’t come down for at least ten minutes. Please, babe. Do it?” Starsky looked so serious that Hutch leaned forward, ruffled his curls, dropped a light kiss on the side of his mouth and moved to the stairs compliantly.

Hutch obligingly used the bathroom and then spent the remaining time wandering around upstairs, moving from room to room, touching walls and doorways, imagining what the place would be like once it had furniture in it. The master bedroom was huge with a couple of walk in closets and a bathroom leading off it. Hutch could just envisage the love that this room would soon know. There were two other bedrooms on this floor and another two on the floor above. Downstairs there was a lounge and a dining room and another small room. Hutch didn’t know quite what they’d do with all the rooms, but he did know that both he and Starsky had fallen instantly in love with the house when they’d seen it for the first time. Its position helped: it was secluded and the front and back gardens were both surrounded by trees.

Finally, when he judged ten minutes had passed, Hutch made his way back downstairs, wondering as he went just what his lover had planned for him. He hesitated for a moment outside the living room door and found himself, absurdly enough, tapping on the door before entering. When he pushed open the door, he gasped in surprise. A fire was burning in the grate, casting shadows all around the room. In front of the fire was a pile of bed linen, topped by a thick quilt and several pillows. Hutch glanced around the room and saw that the two large windows had sheets covering them.

“Didn’t have time for curtains. I know that it’s secluded, but I thought you’d prefer it if we weren’t disturbed.” Starsky’s soft, seductive voice came out of the darkness and Hutch turned towards it. He saw that Starsky was standing almost in the far corner and was holding two champagne flutes in his hand. A glance to Starsky’s left brought the ice-chest that he knew Starsky used to use for picnics into focus, and peeking out of the top was a bottle of champagne. Before Hutch could speak, Starsky had crossed the room and handed a glass to Hutch.

“To us,” he said simply. “Us and our home.”

Hutch touched his glass to Starsky’s and they both drank, eyes holding each other intently. “To us,” he repeated. Then he reached out with his spare hand and caught Starsky’s free hand and pulled him closer to him. He dropped his mouth and captured Starsky’s lips with his own. Before either man could get too carried away, Starsky gently pulled out of the kiss. He tipped his glass and drained the liquid, indicating that Hutch should do the same. Then he broke away from Hutch’s grasp and crossed to the corner where the ice-chest stood. He pulled out the bottle and refilled his own glass. Before Hutch could move, Starsky crossed back to him and re-filled his glass. Then he moved back to other side of the room and returned the bottle to the chest.

Hutch watched his partner, curious as to what was coming next — sure something was, and that it was more than just making love in front of the fire. Hutch had no doubts that this would follow soon — after all, why else would Starsky have provided quilts and pillows? Hutch found that his cock had started to harden at the thought of Starsky’s naked body in the firelight. For the moment, however, he watched and waited, happy to play Starsky’s game — whatever it was.

Finally Starsky straightened and turned to face Hutch, his eyes staring straight into Hutch’s. Into my soul as always. He kept very still and quiet and tried to encourage Starsky with his eyes and his body language. He watched as Starsky licked his lips before speaking — aware as he watched that his cock was swelling more.

“There’s something else.” Starsky spoke, changing his glass from his left hand to his right. Then he dropped his hand into the pocket of this jacket and pulled something out. From where he stood, Hutch couldn’t make out what it was. “Something important I have to say.”  He seemed to freeze for a moment and then he clearly made a decision. With a swift move, he crossed the floor to where Hutch stood.

“I’m not all that good with words, I leave all that sort of thing to you. So I’m not going to make a hearts and flowers speech. What I want to know is simply this. Will you wear one of these?” As he spoke, Starsky flipped open the top of a small box he was holding and Hutch glanced down and saw two matching gold bands nestled on dark blue velvet. Before he could speak, Starsky went on. “I couldn’t ask you before, not when, not when… well as I once said, I couldn’t be married to two of you. It’s not as though we need anything to formalize what we have, but, well, I saw these a while ago and… Hell, Hutch, I don’t know what the words are. I can’t exactly say, ‘Will you marry me?’ or anything like that — but I guess I do want to make a formal commitment and rings will sort of do that….” He trailed off as if he didn’t know what else to say and Hutch was stunned to see a flush creeping up Starsky’s face.

He reached out and touched Starsky’s face. “No one, no one, sweetheart, has ever said or done anything as beautiful. Yes, yes, love, I’d be honored to wear your ring. And if we want to, there’s nothing to stop us from going through some sort of commitment ceremony with each other. Maybe just the two of us, maybe with Quentin and Grace. We can think of what we want to say to each other — but the words aren’t that important, what’s important is that we love one another and I want the world to know that I intend to spend my life with you. So yes. Yes, babe. Yes.”

Starsky’s face broke into a smile and he gently tugged Hutch towards the fireplace. Then he put down his own glass and took Hutch’s from him. Then solemnly he took out one ring and held it out. Hutch lifted his hand and Starsky slipped the gold band onto the third finger of his lover’s left hand. “I know I should think of some words to say now, babe, but I can’t, except I love you. You’re my whole life.” And with that he reached up and kissed Hutch deeply.

It was Hutch who broke the kiss this time and with a slight teasing tone in his voice, said, “Hey, kisses aren’t meant to happen until both rings are exchanged.” Then in a more formal tone, he took the remaining ring out of the box and lifted Starsky’s left hand. He kissed the third finger and then slipping the ring on, said, “David Michael Starsky, I love you. I love you with my whole being, my whole soul. I give my life back to you.” Then before Starsky could accuse him of getting too soppy, he took both glasses off the fireplace and handed one to Starsky. They toasted one another.

When both glasses had been drained, Starsky reached out and pulled his blond lover into his arms, pulling Hutch’s head down to meet his own mouth. The kiss was full of passion, want and desire. In the firelight the two men undressed each other, clothing dropping unnoticed onto the floor. It was Starsky that urged Hutch down onto the pile of quilts in front of the fire. Their bodies were both aflame and their hearts seemed to beat as one.

They kissed and caressed for several minutes until Starsky pulled back and stared at Hutch, seeing his body in the firelight. His golden hair was glowing and the flickering flames added to the soft look of his body, the lightness of his flesh in stark contrast with the relative darkness of his engorged cock which was waiting for Starsky to pleasure it. Starsky gave a gentle moan and dropping his head, began to worship Hutch’s body. He began to lick him all over, showering his body with hundreds of gentle kisses, all the time aware of the soft blondness and the sparkling beacon that Hutch’s head was presenting. The beacon that drew Starsky closer and closer to his lover.

Starsky found that he couldn’t get close enough to his lover, he wanted to be inside him, he wanted to engulf him too, to swallow him whole and yet to keep him there with him. He continued his kissing and licking, while gently caressing Hutch’s cock. He knew that his caresses weren’t firm enough to bring his lover to fulfillment, but he knew they were hard enough to bring Hutch to the edge. He wanted the moment to last forever, didn’t want to end it. He lapped at Hutch’s chest like a kitten lapping at milk and then he made a pounce on one swollen nipple — the only other part of Hutch’s body that was dark. Alternating between kissing, biting gently and sucking, he drove Hutch into a frenzy, but still he wouldn’t tighten his grip or quicken his pace on the now impossibly huge cock.

He finally finished his oral assault on the other’s chest and sat up briefly to once again look at Hutch. It was as if the pause was what Hutch had been waiting for because he suddenly took control and pushed Starsky back down on to the quilts. As he stared down at the mass of dark curls, he noticed that the firelight was making them sparkle like stars. He reached out to try and capture one of the lights, but it became ethereal and flittered away, shimmering and bouncing down Starsky’s body. Hutch’s hand followed it and finally it came to rest on Starsky’s deep red cock that seemed to rear up just waiting for him to take it, to smother it with love, to hold it, suck it, caress it, play with it. His hand enclosed around the swollen organ and Starsky moaned. Then Hutch looked down into his lover’s eyes and saw the flames reflected in the dark blue, lighting them so that he could see into Starsky’s soul. Blue eyes were reflecting blue, and for a long moment they just stared at each other, holding each other in their gaze, offering, promising and sharing so much in the look.

As one, they then reached out to take each other’s erection in their hands and started rubbing in the sure movement that they knew would bring fulfillment. Hutch dropped his mouth onto Starsky’s and his tongue worked its way inside, tasting the champagne still evident on Starsky’s breath. Tasting Starsky, the maleness of him, the taste that was his alone. Starsky pulled back and gasped, “Want to watch you.” Pulling his gaze from Hutch’s, he looked down at where he and Hutch were pleasuring each other and stared with such evident pleasure and intensity that Hutch almost found himself blushing — glad that it was lost in the rosy hue of the firelight. He’d never been watched so intently while making and giving love.

Hutch felt the build up of his climax, felt it start at the tips of his toes and the top of his head simultaneously. He gripped Starsky slightly tighter and instinctively knew that, as his own orgasm was careering through his body, so was Starsky’s. He made to move slightly back to kiss Starsky, but at the slight shake of the dark locks, he settled instead for twisting his fingers in the curls and returned his gaze to where the hands worked in sequence with each other. Finally, they climaxed together — warm liquid spraying them both — and they fell into each other’s arms, sated by their love. This time Starsky didn’t stop the kiss and as their organs softened and their hearts slowed, they continued to kiss each other deeply and lovingly.

Hutch was aware that he must have fallen asleep briefly, because when he awoke he found that covers had been pulled up around him and Starsky and he was lying securely in Starsky’s arms, his head resting on Starsky’s chest. He lifted his head and smiled down at his lover, knowing that he did not need to apologize for falling asleep. Instead he dropped a chaste kiss on Starsky’s mouth and then said gently, “Are we planning on staying here all night?”

“Anywhere else you’d like to go, Blondie?” Starsky’s tone was gentle, seductive and teasing.

“Don’t care where I am, as long as you’re there too,” Hutch said, then added, “Kiss me.”

Starsky didn’t need telling twice and he pulled Hutch’s head down and opened his mouth. They lay together for a long time, kissing, petting, caressing and touching. Happy to be alone, happy to be together.

Finally they both drifted off into a light sleep, at peace with the world and each other. The firelight had died down slightly, and left a rosy, hazy glow over the two lovers as they slept in each other’s arms. Slept in their own home.

They’d finally found it:

A Place Together.