Aurora Ventus

Hutch has a hidden desire that even Starsky doesn’t know.

Hutch leaned against the window frame, eyes on the Pacific horizon. The sun was sinking into the vast expanse of ocean, fireball radiance dimming to fairy tale shades of pink, purple and finally indigo blue, heralding the coming night. Planting his shoulder on the wall, he turned to watch Starsky poke at the last of the nachos. Starsky pried cheese off the edge of the plate with his fingernail, topped it on an unadorned tortilla chip and tossed it into his mouth.

Starsky was naked as the day he came into the world. Completely and unashamedly nude, replete and relaxed after their post football game sex. Hutch loved watching his partner, the way his muscles rippled under his skin when he moved to stretch out on the couch, his long, black fringed lashes half covering his incredible blue eyes.

Made Hutch want to kiss Starsky and roll him over for a second round immediately.

Except, it was time for his confession–much of the reason they were staying in this house on a bluff overlooking the sea. Hutch had a private yearning that he’d kept from Starsky. Even after they became lovers, he’d held this particular longing back, knowing Starsky wouldn’t approve. There were certain days when the urge came over him and he’d find himself staring moodily into space, imaging what it could be like. How would reality compare with his fantasies? If he ever actually indulged, would that ruin the daydream, or enhance it?

What if acting out his secret actually made him crave it all the more? Or, like those special days that come only once in a blue moon, would he cherish the unique experience, a precious memory that brought an instant smile when recalled?

Only one way to find out. He had to tell Starsky. As much as he wanted to take the initiative alone, he knew that doing it on his own was not safe. He needed back-up, and Starsky was always and ever the person he trusted.

“Babe?” Starsky asked lazily. “You want to get dressed and drive over to that restaurant back near Pacific Coast Highway? Or–”

“Starsky. I want to tell you s-some–” Hutch cleared his throat, suddenly chilly and distinctly awkward. He pulled on the sweater he’d dropped on the floor during their hasty disrobing, acutely aware that now his cock was visible below the edge of the sweater. No matter. That wasn’t important. Getting his secret out was. As usual when he felt pressured, his throat went tight and he was tongue tied.

Starsky smiled, adoration shining in his eyes. “Spit it out. I’ll go along with just about anything, even if you do have some weird-ass ideas of fun.”

“Iwan’towalkintotheoceanatdawn,” Hutch blurted out in one breath.

Starsky’s eyebrows V’d together as he took a moment to interpret Hutch’s rushed sentence. He chuckled with a rueful shrug. “Okay. But I gotta ask why?”

That rocked Hutch back momentarily. He’d always suspected that Starsky wouldn’t find his particular fantasy alluring. “Haven’t you ever wanted to skinny dip?”

“Skinny dip, yeah. In the ocean, in January when the water’s practically freezing? No way in hell.” Starsky snorted. “Maybe in Hawaii, in the summer, where the water is a giant bathtub with fish.”

Unburdened at last, Hutch felt a lightness of being that buoyed his spirit. He would do this! “I’ve already checked, the water temperature in January is fifty-five degrees, considerably above freezing,” Hutch said with an inner frisson of happiness. “As to why–it’s a challenge, it’s a goal, and in some, yes, I’ll admit, weird way, a nod to my Grandfather who used to jump into the lake in Sweden when he was a boy on New Year’s Day.”

“Well, that explains everything.” Starsky rolled his eyes. “It’s genetic–somewhere in the Hutchinson family tree, the protective trait to keep the body warm and toasty was frozen right out of you.” He tucked his chin to his chest, staring straight at Hutch’s naked genitals, hanging loose below the hem of the sweater. “Your balls are going to shrivel up like teeny, tiny blue raisins.”

“I’ll bring a blanket for after and a thermos full of hot coffee,” Hutch insisted. “Tomorrow morning.”

Starsky heaved a huge sigh that made his pectorals spread and flex. “And I suppose you expect me to be sitting out there at dark o’clock in the a.m. keeping watch in case you drown.”

“Perish the thought,” Hutch said loftily, knowing exactly how to reel Starsky in.

Grabbing Hutch’s hand, Starsky pulled him down on the couch. “Ain’t letting you out of my sight, slugger.” He flipped the sweater over Hutch’s head and tossed it over the back of the couch. “You’ll trip over your size twelves, fall into a tide pool and get swept out to sea on one of those huge January waves the Maverick Surfing Competition looks forward to.”

“You malign me.” Hutch caught Starsky with both hands, kissing him hard. “My feet aren’t that big.” The second kiss was even better, heating him from the inside out as if Starsky had lit his pilot light.

“Y’know what they say,” Starsky melted into Hutch’s body, his warm, furry chest like a big blanket, “about the length of feet and your cock…”

“The same thing they say about cold hands?” Hutch snickered, wrapping both of his around Starsky’s throbbing penis.

“Geeze, freezing!” Starsky gasped, bouncing as if he couldn’t decide whether to pull away or sink into the friction of Hutch’s grasp. “I knew your people had ice in your veins, but that’s ridiculous.” He panted, closing his eyes with a sudden inhalation when Hutch thrust his own cock alongside Starsky’s.

Sparking vibrations skittered up Hutch’s spine, threatening to blow his head off. Felt fantastic. Being with Starsky was the ultimate aphrodisiac.

He let Starsky set the pace, their twinned lengths sliding up and down through his fingers. Starsky clamped his hands around Hutch’s to keep them in place and increased his rocking, maneuvering his legs over Hutch’s thighs and locking his ankles behind Hutch’s back.

“That’s the way,” Hutch muttered, coaxing the welcome feeling of losing himself, combining with Starsky and transforming into something made of pure sensation.

Starsky jerked, his erection swelling and erupting. Hutch came moments later, pulling Starsky against him to keep the delicious friction of skin on skin as long as possible.

“You’re gonna have to set the alarm clock,” Starsky murmured into his ear, curling into Hutch’s embrace for a snooze.

~*~

Too keyed up to sleep soundly, Hutch woke into the dark bedroom, very aware of Starsky snoring next to him. They’d had dinner after their nap on the couch and played Monopoly for several hours before going to bed. He tugged the blankets more firmly around them both, glancing at the clock. Only six in the morning. On any other day, he’d jump up for a jog around his neighborhood, but they were on vacation–and he would be burning up quite a few calories in less than an hour with a sunrise plunge into the ocean.

He felt quite giddy, anticipating the culmination of his long held fantasy. He couldn’t wait, but the timing had to be just right. Exactly at the moment the sun burst into the day, the sky half minted gold with promise and half delicate gray from the retreating night.

He brushed his fingers tenderly against Starsky’s soft curls, resisting the indulgence of sinking his hand into the springy hair and grabbing a fistful. That would certainly wake Starsky in a bad mood. Hutch needed his partner cheerful–as it was, Starsky was sure to bitch at getting up early enough to punch in for a morning shift when they had the week off.

Might as well get up and get ready. Didn’t need to shower until after, and he didn’t have to worry about what he wore, which decreased his tasks. Tugging on a pair of worn sweat pants and Starsky’s Supertramp tee, Hutch padded into the kitchen. Coffee had to be brewed–that was essential.

He ground beans, measured water and switched on the coffee maker, the rich aroma exactly the right spice to enhance his mood. The moment the heady smell of fresh coffee hit the bedroom, Starsky would be up. Hutch put out fruit and defrosted some blueberry muffins, looking around the kitchen with satisfaction. It was tiny, but very functional, the vaguely Spanish style of the whole house reflected in brick red and ochre tiles.

His father owned–had owned the house, he amended with a slight pang. It was his now: a total surprise. The will had been read six months ago after his father’s lethal stroke. Hutch and his sister Karen had inherited the full estate divided right down the middle, an exorbitant sum of money, bonds and property to Hutch’s frugal sensibilities. His mother had gotten a very tidy nest egg that would keep her in comfort for the rest of her life.

Initially, Hutch had let the estate lawyer sift through his inheritance, setting up investments and retirement accounts for the future, selling off what needed to be liquidated. When the lawyer had called to ask him about the house in California, by the beach, Hutch had been floored. His father had never come to the golden state as far as Hutch knew. Why had he bought the place?

The need to investigate his acquisition and a week of vacation had coincided–and at the same time, the strong desire to achieve a personal goal, plunging naked into the sea. Had Douglas R. Hutchinson’s death reawakened Hutch’s awareness of his own mortality? He doubted that–mostly because he saw the fragility of life every single day out on the streets of Bay City. Had felt the thin veil between existence and the beyond two years ago come May when Starsky had nearly bled out in his arms on the blacktop of the police parking lot.

He chose to believe that fulfilling his fantasy was simply an acknowledgement that life should to be lived in the moment. Carpe diem, discover joy, no time like the present: all the platitudes.

He had Starsky’s love. He had more happiness and sorrow than any person had a right to hold, so dammit–he was going to walk buck naked into the sea.

Because he wanted to.

“Still going through with this, huh?” Starsky observed wryly, leaning on the archway leading into the kitchen wearing a cable knit sweater and jeans. “Cause you have time to reconsider. Sun’s due up in…”

Hutch checked the cheerful clock shaped like a sunburst over the sink. It was 6:40. “Fifteen minutes,” he said, his belly suddenly tight with anticipation. “Can you get some towels and matches? I want to lay a fire in the pit down by the beach.”

“Sure thing, but I’ll tell you what.” Starsky shook his finger at Hutch. “A couple of blueberry muffins ain’t gonna cut it. We’re going into Santa Barbara to the biggest hotel for a brunch with all the trimmings, including mimosas.”

Pulling the red and black plaid thermos from the cupboard, Hutch chuckled. Just like Starsky. He didn’t approve of Hutch’s choice, but backed him to the hilt and then wanted payment in food. It occurred to him that in this case, Starsky was a mite more sensible than he was.

The air was icy when they stepped outside, and he tensed, shivering. He chided himself that the water would feel even colder, even if it actually wasn’t. A paradox, that.

The redwood shingles of the roof were dusted with sugar white and wisps of fog hugged the beach, swirling the whole world in chilly cotton batting.

Starsky looked around in wonder, puffs of cloud coming out of his mouth with each exhalation. “A warm bed versus seeing you in all your splendor rising out of the waves.” He hunched his shoulders inside his leather jacket with a grin. “Good thing I like your naked bod, Hutch.”

“You could join me.” Hutch snatched a kiss. Starsky’s lips were warm and inviting. “So I can admire your bare ass.”

“Nope. One of has got to be the brains.”

“When I was a life guard, we had to be up early, patrolling the pool and the lake that was just across the road,” Hutch said. He hadn’t thought of that in years, parading around in his trunks, sure he was in total control of his world. How little he knew at seventeen. “I didn’t even notice the cold.” He did now. He was only wearing flip-flops and his toes ached already.

“Wasn’t it summer then?” Starsky started down the wooden stairs to the sand with a snort of disbelief.

It took very little time to get to the private beach and tug the teak benches next to the brick circle that enclosed the fire pit. Hutch kept one eye on the sky past the house as he lay the kindling in place. The mountains in the distance looked like jagged triangles cut from black construction paper silhouetted starkly against a pale gray sky. There was a hint of the faintest yellow, with just a streak of rusty crimson highlighting the edges of the craggy peaks.

Starsky touched a match to yesterday’s newspaper, tucking it on all sides of the wood to get the fire going quickly while Hutch stripped. Even the tiny bit of heat from the flames felt incredibly hot on Hutch’s naked chest against the moist cold of his backside but it fueled something deep in his core. Maybe it was some lunatic holdover from his Viking ancestors, a berserker need to prove his masculinity.

Whatever the primitive urges, he still wanted to: was excited by the challenge.

Almost time.

Starsky looked over at the predawn spectacle above the Santa Ynez Mountains. “I’ll keep the home fires burning, babe. Need help blowing up your water wings?”

“Smart alec,” Hutch said affectionately, already to be in the water. The sky was lightening significantly, he could almost feel the heat of the sun beating down on him, melting the early morning frost. Need to be going pulsed in his core. Adrenaline thrummed in his veins, bringing forth winning his first track meet in high school, graduating from the police academy, taking down Forest and then Gunther, incredible sex with Starsky.

Hutch felt powerful, sure of himself and ready. So in tune with the finite movements of the earth, he didn’t have to glance back at the sun to know that the fiery orb was rising above the mountain peaks to the east exactly as he stepped into the oncoming tide.

Instant cold paralyzed his muscles. His breath choked in his throat, sand sucking away from his toes as the wave receded for another advance on the shore.

You dumbshit, he thought, any lake in Minnesota would be colder than this in the winter. It’s fifty-five degrees, not icy. Still, it was damned cold, instantaneous goosebumps erupting on his arms and legs. Hutch did not let that deter him. He launched briskly into the waves, visions of his grandfather doing the same thing before World War Two enveloping him. He’d actually seen his grandfather emerge dripping from an almost frozen lake near the Hutchinson farm when he was six. This was his heritage, just as much as the expensive redwood house now basking in dawn’s light.

Ducking his head under the churning ocean, Hutch tasted salt, communing with mother earth. Over half of the human body was made of salt water, linking mankind with the waters of the globe. He lay back, feeling the sea receive him, letting him float. Above, the sun was a huge incandescent ball of orange brilliance balanced on the highest mountain, bringing light, bringing warmth, bringing life.

It wasn’t those northern warriors stirring his blood, but the ancients who revered the sun, worshipping that which banished the darkness. He wanted to bow down, grateful for the tranquility that he’d received.

His toes were almost numb and his teeth chattering, but he plunged further out, countless waves crashing over him, around him, nearly through him. The fantasy was real, and while he knew without a doubt that he would never have the desire to do this again, he was supremely glad he had done it this once.

Panting with exertion, Hutch turned toward the shore, his eyes stinging and nostrils full of water. It had been a long time since he’d swum in the sea: he’d forgotten how much more difficult it was than a few laps in a heated pool.

His muscles burned with fatigue, cold making it hard to walk, even with the waves pushing him into the shore. Even so, he had accomplished his goal, taken the initiative, and it felt incredible. He shouted, triumphant glee rising inside him, and shivered as near freezing wind hit. Falling to his knees in the bright chill of sunrise, Hutch raised his head to gaze at the glorious ball illuminating California.

Except a dark shadow obliterated the sun and a fond chuckle drowned out the roar of the waves. “Had enough, Aquaman?” Starsky unfurled a towel and enveloped Hutch in the folds.

It was wonderfully warm and Hutch suddenly felt the bone deep ache from the cold water. He shivered violently, trudging through the wet sand. “Does that make you my faithful dolphin sidekick?”

“You made a comic book reference!” Starsky hustled Hutch to the bench by the fire pit, pushing a mug of hot coffee into his hands.

The sides of the cup made Hutch’s icy finger burn with pain. His hands shook as he brought mug to his lips and sipped tentatively. What was the opposite of brain freeze? His whole mouth hurt, his tongue stinging before he felt the hot coffee sear down his throat into his stomach. “I c-couldn’t help but learn about the DC world through osmosis with you around, Aqualad.”

“Aquaman and Aqualad didn’t exist at the same time,” Starsky countered with the fervor of a true fanatic. He held his hands to the flickering flames. “How was it?” he asked, inclining his head to the sea, obviously quite content not to get wet.

“Life affirming, invigorating,” Hutch said, even though mere words were inadequate. How did he explain something which on the surface seemed irrational, but down deep had meaning? “Like loving you.”

Starsky’s crooked smile vanquished the last of the cold, warming him from the inside out.

“Going to be a gorgeous day,” Starsky said, the rays of the sun reflected in his eyes.

FIN