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He didn’t remember that much, really. There were certain things that lingered, swatches of sensation: cold and hot, dry and wet, dark and bright…. And there was Starsky, full of light and assurance and gentle lies… Author’s Notes: Thanks to jat_sapphire and Paula Wilshe. Originally published in the zine, Venice Place Times I, produced by Venice Place Press. He didn’t remember that… -
A slur against the pair really gets to Starsky, and Hutch has a unique way of breaking through to him. I did consider the men’s room, but that would be a little weird, even for me. And Starsky might really flip out if I do it in there, maybe take a swing at me or something, which wouldn’t be good for either… -
Starsky’s having a hard time with his physical therapy after Gunther’s hit. Hutch steps in and takes control. “Detective Starsky–” “Shut up.” “We just–” “Shut up, I said.” “Starsk–” “You, too, Mr. The-Sun-Shines-Outta-My-Ass. Shut up, the both of you. I’m done.” “You are not done, Detective. You’ve barely even started. In fact, the only thing I’ve seen getting any exercise around here…