An Ice Cream Tale

Summertime and the living is easy. Well, not for two detectives who have to work like dogs for two more weeks until their vacation time is due, Hutch muses while trying to make the most of the shade of the tree under which they’ve found refuge, sharing the glorious shelter with the cooling Torino. Music drifts from the Torino’s open windows; Mungo Jerry and the unstoppable, buoyant melody of “In The Summertime,” the ultimate feel-good anthem. A celebration of carefree summer days and nights.

They’re on a break, eating ice cream and enjoying the time-out. The one good thing is that crime seems to have gone on holiday too, making their job easier but also quieter and a little on the boring side.

Hutch looks at Starsky surreptitiously. It’s hot, the music is rousing, he’s head over heels in love with him, and the way Starsky eats his ice cream drives him crazy. Crazy enough to feel as bold as he has to be to throw caution to the wind and do what he’s been wanting to do for a very long time now. What he’s been dying to do, to be more accurate.

Why wait for our time off? The result, whatever it may be, won’t change. Either he’ll want me back or he won’t. Either his feelings for me are romantic or they’re not. Whatever happens, happens. Why drag it out?

His brain is in overdrive. It tells him it’s better to find out now instead of potentially wrecking their vacation. If things go sideways, let it happen here, now. At the very least, they will have plenty of time to work things out and regain their balance. If push comes to shove, they will go on vacation separately, do their alone thinking, make peace with what happened, and patch things up when they return.

The area is deserted. The combination of heat and time of day keeps everyone away from the streets. With his mind made up, he turns to Starsky and asks, “Can I try some of yours?”

Starsky turns to him with a wide, happy grin. There’s ice cream smeared on his lips. He looks both adorable and sexy. He holds his cone out to Hutch. “Sure you can, Blintz. It’s absolutely divine!”

Hutch steels himself and goes for the kill. Let the chips fall where they may. He takes hold of Starsky’s wrist, but instead of bringing the cone to his mouth, he pulls the arm slightly to the right to get it out of the way, and leans in. He licks the smeared ice cream from the corner of Starsky’s mouth, his tongue moving in slow, soft caresses. He kisses the rest of the ice cream off Starsky’s lips while his thumb draws tender circles on Starsky’s wrist.

It only lasts a few seconds, but it feels like forever. Hutch draws back, licks his lips, and without taking his eyes off Starsky, says, “Divine, indeed.”

Starsky looks frozen. Hutch can’t tell if the gears in his brain are turning or if everything has ground to a halt. He waits with anxiety coiling in the pit of his stomach. He waits, ready for the consequences, no matter what they are. At least he thinks he’s ready.

He’s still holding Starsky’s wrist, so he’s both surprised and shocked when Starsky’s other hand moves with the speed of a striking cobra, grips his ice cream cup and, moving it upwards, smooshes it into his mouth. Hutch yelps into his frozen dessert, a muffled wet sound. When he manages to dislodge his face from the cup, his nose, mouth, and chin are dripping with banana-mango frozen yogurt.

He looks at Starsky and all he can think is, Well, at least he didn’t punch me. He chose to do this instead, so our friendship is probably safe.

Before he can open his mouth to speak, though, not sure what he’s going to say, Starsky moves half a step closer.

“Don’t you think it’s only fair that I have some of yours, as well? After all, what’s yours is… mine.”

There’s a hunger in Starsky’s eyes, and his voice is low and guttural. He exudes danger. An apex predator assessing his prey.

In the second it takes for Hutch to catch up, Starsky pounces.