Anything for a Friend

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Spinoff from episode “The Trap,” wherein Starsky and Hutch are lured to a barn, locked in, and taunted. I took a bit of a left turn and put Hutch in peril and Starsky forced to watch.

 

For Duluthgirl.
Secret Santa 2014 Exchange

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A true friend is someone who is there for you when he’d rather be anywhere else.
-~Len Wein

 

In the distance, a train’s lonely whistle cried out, mournful and dark. Starsky shivered, and Hutch squeezed his arm.

It had been a bare handful of hours since they’d been trapped inside the barn, and the young girl, Joey, had escaped while they distracted their captors. However, the pain in Starsky’s leg was getting worse, the belt tourniquet feeling too tight.  He could hear the men outside, muttering and shuffling around the building. They did not attempt to speak to the cops inside, opened no doors or shuttered windows, instead simply surrounding them in silence. He and Hutch had waited as well, whispering strategies and preparing as they could through Starsky’s pain and light-headedness. Then they lost what light they’d had through the barn walls’ slats when the sun disappeared for the night.

They pressed together, back to back. In the darkness, every shadow seemed  threatening. The voices outside had silenced, but the lack of any car engine rumble told them they had not been left alone. Hutch twitched as a bat flew from the rafters, hunting. Starsky closed his eyes. His leg throbbed and though the night drew a rapid chill, a drop of sweat rolled down his face.

An engine’s rumble broke the silence, rolling closer to the barn, then quiet. A car door shut.

More rustling outside the walls. A creaking shuffling against the building, but neither man could decipher what caused it. They both clutched their guns and peered harder into the darkness.

“Hutch. Whatever happens – if you can get out, go. I can’t run.” It took all his courage to say it, but he wouldn’t allow Hutch to die if he could be saved.

“Hell with that, Starsk. Hopefully Joey is sending help.” They fell back into silence, waiting, still waiting, for something, anything to happen.

Wind rushed past them all at once, ruffling their hair and chilling the sweat. A lone flashlight temporarily blinded their eyes before shutting off again, and then hands grabbed at their bodies, dragging them away from each other. Their guns were wrested from them in seconds; their arms twisted behind them. The cops, arrested by the criminals.

The flare of a match, and then a lantern glowed. The light looked menacing when reflected off flammable hay bales and threw deep, dark shadows into the far recesses of the barn.

“Which one?” a voice muttered.

The shadow holding the lantern moved, and it became clear that the figures were clothed completely in black, masks covering their faces. A second lantern was lit.

“Blond,” another answered.

 As Hutch was pulled roughly to his feet, Starsky uttered “Hey!” before being punched in the jaw by a gloved fist.

“Shut up. Maybe later, I’ll let you comment on how pretty your blond boyfriend looks. In fact, I might make you.”

Starsky counted four, maybe five men. Too hard to tell in the dim light and how much they were moving around. What he could see was Hutch being dragged to the barn wall and shoved up against it. The lanterns were brought closer, illuminating the scene.

A blade flashed. Though Hutch was maybe twelve feet away, it felt so much further when Starsky couldn’t get to him.

The shiny, sharp point hovered dangerously near Hutch’s throat, and poised on the top of the first button on his shirt. The blade whipped down all at once, and Starsky’s heart leapt in fear. He lunged forward, pain shooting through his leg at the movement, but strong, rough hands held him back.

Hutch’s voice reached him through the pounding blood in his ears. “Starsk. Stay there, buddy.”

Starsky blinked hard, staring at the trickle of blood tracking down Hutch’s chest. The knife point hadn’t spared his fair skin. A rage he didn’t know he was capable of kindled and burned.

“Yes, listen to your boyfriend, ‘Starsk.’ He knows best.”

Hutch nodded just once, and Starsky stopped resisting, but his gaze never faltered. He would be a cold, unforgiving witness to whatever they did.

“I wanted to kill you, Hutchinson. I’ve fantasized it, pictured you burning, choking in the smoke, just like Ernie did.”

Hutch’s eyes widened.

 Starsky realized Hutch definitely knew who their captors were – or at least this man.

“I wanted to kill you. But I decided that doing this would be better. A little fun for me and my boys, a little humiliation for you. Maybe some pain. Definitely some pain.”

Tortuously, with wicked glances in Starsky’s direction, they undid Hutch’s clothes and Starsky’s peace of mind, bit by bit. A striptease by force, lust in the form of steel weapons and anger.

The knife point traced just beneath Hutch’s left nipple, holding him still as they pulled down his jeans. Starsky gulped.

The gun pointed at Hutch’s crotch.

Hands took their turns. Fingertips painting invisible lines down Hutch’s body, his backside, beneath his balls, lifting his cock. Hutch stood passively, allowing the shirt to be pulled from his arms, stepping obediently out of his jeans, his underpants, until he stood bare in the chilly night air. Starsky’s brain decided he looked like a fucking angel in the lamplight even through the adrenaline rage made him shake.

“Look, Starsky. Isn’t he beautiful? Say he’s beautiful.”

Hutch stared at Starsky, lifting his chin.

Starsky swallowed, hard.

The knife tip scratched a new line up toward Hutch’s throat. The voice sing-songed out, “Say it, Starsky.”

“You’re beautiful, Hutch,” he said in a husky voice, speaking directly to his friend.

Hutch returned him the ghost of a smile, the barest lifting of the corners of his mouth. But Starsky could read his eyes.

I love you, too.

They’d never said it, not like that. Dancing around the forbidden idea, neither willing to take a real step towards any sort of truth.

The irony of it was, their captors didn’t know just how close to the truth their terror campaign came.

All they wanted was Hutch’s complete humiliation.

The knife’s edge caressed Hutch’s flaccid cock. Starsky glanced up at Hutch to see his eyes squeezed closed and jaw working, tense against the possibility of pain and the mutilation of his cock.

“Nice. Very nice. Isn’t it, Starsky?”

“It’s very nice, Hutch.”

“What’s very nice, Starsky? Say it.”

Starsky drew a breath, and fought to keep his voice from shaking. “Your cock is very nice, Hutch.”

Hutch’s tormentor chuckled. “I should make you suck it. You’d both like that, I bet.”

Hutch’s eyes opened slowly, and he gazed sadly at Starsky.

Starsky held that look, and gave the tiniest of nods. I will if I have to.

And so it went, for how long Starsky couldn’t tell for sure. A constant touching and stroking with the knife blade, along with a running commentary. Filthy words stating filthier ideas, as Starsky’s pain grew worse and Hutch’s composure began to flag.

At some point Hutch’s cock finally rose to half-mast, an unintended response to unwanted stimulation. Bagley drew the knife point harshly along the shaft, causing Hutch to flinch and cry out, Starsky to lunge but be held back with a kick to his injured leg, and the other captors laughing and wincing in tandem.

“Hurt yet, Hutchinson?” Bagley asked, pressing his chest against Hutch’s naked one, roughly holding Hutch’s bleeding cock in one hand. “Want some more?”

A hand clutched around Hutch’s throat, preventing him from moving.

“Answer me.”

“Yes, it hurts,” Hutch wheezed out.

“Good.” Bagley stepped back. In a flash, he whipped the knife down Hutch’s naked thigh. The gash brought Hutch down to his knees, where Bagley punched him in the face until he fell over. As a final humiliation, he spat on Hutch.

“I think we’re done here,” Bagley said. “You can hug him and kiss him and fuck him back to life, Starsky. If you can.”

The men threw Hutch’s clothes at him, shoving Starsky over and throwing a few final insults over their shoulders as they went out into the darkness. They left one lantern lit, kicking the other into a pile of hay where it began to smoke. They left the barn the door open.

Hutch curled up in pain on the floor as Starsky crawled to him, pulling himself along by hay bales.

“I’ll be all right, Starsk,” Hutch gasped. “Just need a minute. Get the lantern, can you?”

Starsky grabbed at it, standing it right side up and patting out the tiny flame in the hay. “Jesus, they could have burned the place down around our ears. Who was that, Hutch?” Starsky collapsed onto a bale near Hutch, panting. He reached out one shaking hand.

Hutch chuckled and took it, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Johnny Bagley. Coming back to me like a bad dream. Borderline psychotic. Pimping, pushing, and porno. I put him away about seven years ago. I heard he was up for parole.” Hutch stopped to gasp again as Starsky wound a tourniquet made of Hutch’s shirt around his bleeding thigh.

“Sorry,” Starsky muttered, tying it off. “Now you know how I feel. What’s he so mad at you about?”

Hutch rolled to his back and covered his eyes with one arm. “He was holed up in a warehouse with his kid brother Ernie. Johnny got it in the leg. Ernie never made it out.”

“So he’s blaming you for it.” Starsky tugged on Hutch’s arm, trying to pull him up into a sitting position. “How’d Ernie die?”

“Smoke. The place burned down and he didn’t get out.”

“Oh.” Starsky swallowed, and looked back at the lantern. No flame. He turned to Hutch, determined to help get them both out. He picked up Hutch’s underpants. “I don’t think we can get your underwear up over the tourniquet. Let’s try.”

They did succeed, pulling the leg hole wide and working the underwear up. Hutch gasped as he moved his injured leg. Starsky muttered words of encouragement and administered gentle pats to the other leg until they’d enclosed Hutch’s privates in white.

The cut on Hutch’s cock wasn’t deep, and was nothing compared to the gash in his leg. The cotton turned red where it rested against the injury, soaking up the blood, but the active bleeding had stopped.

Hutch pulled his jacket on and draped his jeans across his lap. “They really won’t go over my leg right now.”

Starsky sat next him, shoulder to shoulder. “Look at us. Both gimps. Hey, between us, we could do a three-legged race, maybe. Tie our injured legs together. Hobble out.”

It wasn’t an altogether bad idea, but Hutch insisted they wait before trying. “Let’s rest a bit, though. Wait for daylight, anyway. You’re exhausted, I’m exhausted, and it’s too dark to know where to go.”

They didn’t have to wait very long. A siren sounded. Dozing, Starsky lifted his head from Hutch’s shoulder and listened. Like the train the night before, it seemed far away, but it didn’t sound lonely.

It sounded like rescue.

*~*~*

Two days later and well past noon, Captain Dobey personally delivered them to Hutch’s place. Starsky insisted Hutch be home in his own place and felt pleased that no one argued, for once. Huggy was expected later with food. Starsky had required surgery to deal with the bullet in his leg, but Hutch only needed stitches and some careful cleaning of his personal bits. No bandage adorned his cock, though Starsky had gently teased about adding a red bow for a more festive touch. The side-eye glare from Hutch made Starsky snort once, but he shut up.

Once Dobey left, they leaned against each other, exhausted.

“Thanks, Starsk.”

Starsky turned his head to rest the back of it on Hutch’s shoulder, looking up at his best friend’s profile. “What for?”

“Being willing to…um…take one…for the team, as it were.”

“You mean sucking your cock?” he said it matter-of-factly.

Hutch sat up and looked at him. “Yeah. You really would?”

Starsky felt the electricity suddenly jump between them. Would he? He’d dreamed of it, literally dreamed of it, waking with a morning wood that took more than a few strokes to finish. It took a fantasy of Hutch moaning in the bed with him to push him over the cliff.

He’d dreamed of kneeling before Hutch on a sandy beach, taking the long slender cock in his mouth, with Hutch’s hands in his hair, massaging his scalp. It tasted good, so good. It had to be that good in real life.

Now or never.

“Yeah, I really would. And not just because some knife-wielding maniac forced me to.”

“Starsk?” Hutch said, after several seconds of silence. His face had gone through myriad expressions, all subtle, but all very clear to Starsky.

“Shut up, Hutch.” Starsky leaned in to kiss him and Hutch met him halfway, both tentative and gentle at first, then harder, opening mouths and touching tongues, hands grasping hands and hair and necks.

Hutch broke it finally, pressing his forehead to Starsky’s.

“Is this for real?”

“Yep. If you want it to be.” Starsky pulled back and gazed into Hutch’s eyes. “Do you?”

“For a long time.”

They both started a quiet chuckle, building up to loud guffaws, holding each other up as they de-stressed through laughter.

A few minutes later, after wiping tears and trying to stop the hiccups, they leaned against each other again.

“Um. I can’t do much right now, since I’m a little injured…”

“I could always kiss it and make it better.”

Hutch flushed, and smiled. “Yeah, I think we should wait a few days. But…once Huggy’s here and we’ve eaten something…join me in the bed? I’d like to at least hold you, know you’re in one piece.”

“Same here, partner. Sounds nice. Real nice.”

They kissed again. The doorbell sounded and Huggy let himself in.

“Showed up to a knife fight? Huggy Bear will set it right! Brought you some roast beef sandwiches and….” he trailed off, eyes widening as the men pulled apart. Starsky cleared his throat and winked at Hutch, who simply blushed. Adorable, Starsky thought.

“I’ll just leave these here. You two look busy. I’ll…talk to you later.” He set the bags on the coffee table and spun around quickly to head back to the door. “You two…I should have known.” He shook his head. “Man, I should have known!”

Starsky and Hutch just grinned and Huggy shut the door.

~the end