As In Golden Days

A Christmas snippet. Ladders, mistletoe, mischief, older S&H. Starsky decks the balls, I mean, halls.

“Just what do you think you’re doing up on that ladder, old man? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

Starsky sighed. “Funny, you don’t look like my mother, although my Aunt Miriam did have a mustache. I’m hanging up the Christmas lights, Hutch. What does it look like I’m doing?”

“At least let me hold the ladder. I know how you hate heights, you should have let me do that.” Hutch grabbed hold of the bottom of the extension ladder. Starsky, staple gun in one hand, string of lights in another, continued to string colored lights below the gutters of the small house they shared.

Starsky snorted, “Since when do you do any hall decking, Mr. Grinch?”

“I would have done it,” Hutch muttered. He looked up and decided the view above him was having a positive effect on his mood in spite of himself. Not for the first time, he found himself thanking whatever genetics gave his partner glutes that seemingly defied gravity and the effects of time. Encased in a favorite, worn old pair of blue jeans that Starsky did chores in, Hutch found himself more than a little mesmerized by the familiar but never unappreciated sight.

“I’m almost done with this part anyway,” Starsky said, oblivious to the admiring gaze below him. He began to croon softly, “Chipmunks roasting by an open fire…”

Hutch winced. “That’s chestnuts, moron,” he said, and shook his head.

“‘This part’?” Hutch inquired suddenly, eyebrows on the rise. “You know how I feel about houses in the neighborhood that are lit up like the Vegas Strip! It’s so tacky! And it’s not very environmentally aware, either. What did you put up there, anyway?” He craned his neck back to take a look.

“Oh, just one more little touch, then I’ll be done.” Starsky grinned down at Hutch, flexing his brows, as he began to climb down.

“What, no life-sized light up plastic Santa and his reindeer on the roof?” asked Hutch, reaching up a hand to help Starsky as he reached the last few rungs. “No psychedelic snowmen, no flashing-in-sequence Three Wise Men?”

“Well, I thought about all that, but I decided to go with something a little more intimate in the decorating department this year.” The mischievous grin flashed, eyes twinkled, and Hutch impulsively reached out to ruffle Starsky’s still abundant hair. Sprinkled with silver, but just as marvelously thick as always. Hutch mentally shrugged, his own follicular deficiencies were obvious, but he enjoyed occasionally pointing out to his partner than the cause was an abundance of testosterone.

“Intimate?”

“Look down, Babe.”

Hutch looked. Hanging from Starsky’s belt buckle was a sprig of mistletoe.

“I figured we’d go inside and I’d show you my Yule log.” Starsky winked and wiggled his hips, bouncing the mistletoe.

“I’ll show you a Yule log,” Hutch growled, grabbing the wiggling hips and stilling them by pressing Starsky up against the side of the house. Hutch pushed his knee between the other man’s thighs and claimed a long, tongue-tangling kiss.

“Hey, you’re supposed to kiss me under the mistletoe, Dummy!” Starsky whispered when he could.

“Give me a little time, the Yule log doesn’t heat up as fast as it used to,” Hutch whispered back.

“I’ve got nothing but time, Blintz.”

The End