Bay City Five-O

250

Starsky is turning fifty and Hutch has some suggestions on ways to improve his health in his senior years. But Starsky has his own ideas, some of which might surprise his partner.

 

Originally published in the Starsky and Hutch slash zine, Barely Legal in 2006.

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March 31, 1992

“What’s the matter with you, Starsk? You’re moving like you’re a hundred and ten today.”

“It’s raining,” Starsky growled, glaring out of the window in disgust. “Don’t you know it never rains in Southern California?”

“You telling me that you’re blaming the rain for your mood?”

“No, Blintz. I’m telling you that it’s raining—raining!—and every joint and bone in my body is yelling at me like they were arrested on false charges.”

Hutch bit back a smile, but not quickly enough. They were getting older, but he didn’t think it was “every” joint and bone that ached in his partner. A few surely, but mostly it was the scars on his chest and back that gave him fits in weather like this.

“You laughin’ at me?” Those intense blue eyes dared him to lie.

“Nope. I—” he pointed to himself, eyes wide with innocence, “would never laugh at you.” Hutch wished he had his mustache back; it made it so much easier to hide the occasional twitch of his lips.

“Hutch…” Starsky warned.

Deciding to quash that line of argument, he began telling his partner what he’d been noticing for several months, but hadn’t mentioned before. Today might be a good time to discuss his thoughts.

“You’ve been tired lately, out of sorts. I know you get plenty of cardiovascular and strength workouts, but I think you might need something to calm and settle you, keep your body limber while expanding your mind.”

Starsky looked to be considering his suggestion, obviously not liking where this was going. “You mean like that yoga thing you do?” he asked cautiously.

Got him. This might work and he’d have someone to practice with. The best someone. “Yes, that would be perfect.”

Another glare was directed at him. “I’m not turning myself into a pretzel, even for you, Blintz.”

“It’s not for me, it’s for you. You need to meditate, get a handle on your life….” Hutch trailed off, realizing his partner didn’t need more words, but thinking time.

Starsky stared at him for long moments and he could almost see the wheels turning under the cap of dark hair. There were streaks of grey in it now and it was cut shorter than Hutch had ever seen it. Looked good, though, and it suited Starsky’s face.

“I live with you and you meditate enough for both of us. Besides, I can’t sit-still long enough to learn how. It’s not like you didn’t try to teach me after the shooting.”

God knew, that was the closest to still he’d ever seen his partner and he never wanted to see that unnaturally pale stillness again. Their lives were much less dangerous these days but there were always going to be risks since they both continued to work for the department. Usually their day began with a run together, then Starsky went to the gym and Hutch relaxed into his yoga for an hour before reporting to work. Starsky had never made it back to 100 percent after the shooting, so working the streets had been out. Instead, he’d been offered an opening as an instructor at the firing range and he’d accepted with reluctance. It had worked out well though and he was so good at his job that he’d recently been promoted to head honcho.

Hutch hadn’t wanted to be a street cop without Starsky at his back, so he’d returned to school to get his Masters. He was working as the department psychologist and felt he was doing a good job. With his background and experience, it was easy to relate to the situations faced by the police officers who were assigned to him for counseling. His insight into what they were going through wasn’t just a shrink spouting book learning. He didn’t have to fight to earn their trust, like someone who hadn’t been on the force would have.

The glare directed at him reminded Hutch he’d been reminiscing, instead of formulating a response. The aches and pains of aging were nagging at Starsky at lot harder than at him and many were probably related to the long, slow, never quite completed, recovery. Starsky’s forty-ninth birthday had been less than a week ago and he’d been in a pensive mood ever since. God knew how he’d react to fifty. Hutch wasn’t worried about his own transition, but Starsky? The man would drive him nuts.

“True. So if not yoga…”

“I got ideas.”

“You going to give me the list?”

“Nope.”

“Starsk…”

“I’m thinking. You’re probably right, I do need to do something that’s more relaxing than getting my ass kicked by cadets in the gym. Well, something other than passing out after we’re done fuckin’ each other into next week, though that’s relaxing.”

The blue eyes shone with mischief, a look that got Hutch’s stomach muscles tightening with a stir of desire despite the fact that his ass was still aching from Starsky’s possession last night. Hutch rolled his eyes, his lips forming a small grin. “You’ll get no argument from me on that one and you know it.”

Dark eyelashes fluttered up and down at him in flirtatious manner, but the tone was serious. “Me and thee, partner.”

He went to his lover, his partner, one hand reaching out to caress the lean cheek, eyes caught and held by that deep blue gaze. “Me and thee, Starsk, me and thee.”

 

March 25, 1993

It was a beautiful southern California morning, full of an abundance of sunshine and blue skies. Their morning run had slowed into a cool-down walk. Bird song and the chatter and scolding of squirrels and chipmunks—far outweighed the muted traffic in the distance.

Breathing evening out, he looked at Starsky, amazed at how much his partner had changed in the last year. His partner had been doing something new, but wouldn’t tell him what. The only thing he was positively sure of was that it wasn’t yoga. Starsky continued to rant and rave about Hutch’s predilection to turn his body into a pretzel, spouting off his usual nonsense about how it couldn’t be good for a body to do that. Obviously, Starsky knew better, but admit it? Not in this lifetime. And Hutch wouldn’t change that for anything.

Reaching out, he captured Starsky’s hand, turning his body and pulling his partner into his arms. He staggered at the force of Starsky’s chest meeting his.

“Whuff.” Indignant blue eyes met his even as strong arms wrapped around him, molding their bodies together. “What the hell ya doing?”

“This,” he murmured, lowering his head the small distance that separated their lips, capturing the pliant mouth and loving it. Starsky groaned, opening to him, their tongues gently mating.

He adored this, the way they fit together, so easily intimate and caring.

Me and thee. Sometimes that said it all.

Starsky pulled back, and Hutch gasped at the delight and pleasure reflected in the eyes holding his. “I got a surprise for you,” his partner told him.

He blinked. “For me? Shouldn’t that be the other way around? It is your birthday today.”

The grin widened into a blinding smile, Starsky clearly anticipating what Hutch was planning for their evening. “You got a surprise for me too, lover?” Starsky inquired, pushing his groin against Hutch’s.

“Well, I might. If you behave.” Hutch was startled at how breathless he sounded after only one kiss. He should be used to this by now.

Starsky’s hands unerringly found his butt, fingers massaging as he pulled them tighter together, both their cocks beginning to react to the closer proximity and pressure. “I always behave.”

“You wish,” he challenged, meeting his partner’s lips halfway, devouring them with his own, wishing this could go on forever.

Again it was Starsky that pulled away first. “Come on, Blintz. I got somethin’ to show ya.” Intrigued, he allowed himself to be pulled along the path leading back to the small house they’d bought together only a couple of blocks from the park. It was a quiet suburban neighborhood full of small houses, their neighbors either elderly or beginning families, mostly with one or no children.

At the place they usually separated, where Hutch would normally head off alone to their tiny backyard to do his yoga, he instead found himself stuffed into Starsky’s car. The red Mustang’s engine roared to life and they took off down the street, reminiscent of the Torino in its glory days. He knew this was Starsky’s new baby, but Hutch had to admit he missed the Torino at times, though this car did have its advantages. It had more leg and headroom and at least this monster didn’t have a stripe.

Pulling into the park about six blocks from the precinct, Starsky parked and bounded out of the car before Hutch could untangle himself from the seat.

“Come on or we’ll be late.”

“Late for what?”

“You’ll see. Now, come on!” The tug on his hand wasn’t gentle, more like a hyperactive six-year-old intent on dragging his parent to the arcade. Smiling, he allowed himself to be dragged down the path, the exuberance of his partner lighting his heart with gladness.

He could hear some harmonic Asian music coming from up the path before them just as they broke out into a larger area of the park. Starsky stopped and they watched the group of people before them flow from one slow, measured movement into another, seemingly without thought, though they moved together as one body.

“What’a ya think?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah. I thought so.”

Apparently, the routine came to an end and one man called out, “Dave, come join us.”

“Watch, okay?”

“Sure, partner. Whatever you want. It’s your birthday, you know.”

“Tease,” Starsky whispered before sliding away to take his place in the group waiting for him. Hutch settled back against a tree trunk, ready to see his partner in action. He’d seen a demonstration of this before at a street festival when he’d lived at Venice Place. It was called T’ai Chi. Hutch grinned. Trust his partner to say he couldn’t sit still to meditate, then find a martial art defined as “moving meditation.”

He heard the echo of a voice, but didn’t catch what was said, all his attention on the display before him as the participants began to move. He couldn’t take his eyes off his partner of over 20 years. The controlled, easy flow of muscles under the tight tee shirt reminded him of a much younger Starsky dancing around his apartment, radio blaring disco music while his partner gyrated his booty for Hutch’s enjoyment.

This was different though. The body wasn’t quite as sleek as it had been before middle age hit. Neither is mine for that matter. But the muscular frame remained, strong and sure, limbs flowing into patterns dictated by the body’s center. He loved that his partner had listened to what he’d said and found his own way of solving his issues. Still, he was surprised Starsky was able to keep anything so important a secret for this long. It must have meant a lot to him to have Hutch see this as something he’d accomplished, not something he was trying. If this was the reason Starsky seemed better able to handle his issues with age of late, then Hutch was all for it.

Holy shit. Starsky’s fifty today.

Half a fucking century.

That meant he’d be fifty in less than six months.

Where had the time gone? He woke up in the mornings knowing he was… what? Twenty-two, maybe? He didn’t feel any older, not in his head or his heart.

Wow, he suddenly had a better insight into Starsky’s trepidation last year after turning forty-nine. He wondered how long it would be before Starsky would have to pull him aside to tell him that “age didn’t matter”?

His breath caught at a swooping movement, Starsky’s raised hands separating, body dipping down low, while one hand slid behind his delectable ass and the other came up followed by the other foot. That was nice. It brought about a few delicious ideas, too. Limber, oh yeah, limber. Oh, yes, tonight would be a lot of fun.

The exhibition lasted an hour, but there were long sessions of practice on certain parts of the form either at the teacher’s request or at the behest of a student. Class participation was 100 percent. Hutch found himself lost in witnessing the beauty of the form, startled when everyone got into a double circle for their closing breathing exercises.

Starsky was beautiful, more at ease in his own body than Hutch had seen him in the last two years. Life was good and the sex was promising to be far above and beyond extraordinary. Any unintentional kid gloves he’d been wearing around his partner due to Starsky’s whining over his increasing aches and pain were definitely off.

Starsky came and joined him, grabbing his hand and pulling him forward to meet his instructor and the class. Several were shy, but handled Starsky’s puppy-like exuberance with grace and friendliness.

“And this is Master Lee. He’s a fifth generation t’ai chi master. His entire family does t’ai chi.”

Hutch followed protocol and bowed to Master Lee instead of shaking his hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Master Lee.”

“As I am pleased to meet the man who has made our Dave so happy.”

“He’s learned a great deal in the past year from what I see.”

“You are wise to notice. But that is as it should be. Our family should be aware of the times of distress as well as the times of joy.”

“Very true, Master Lee.”

The master waived them off and disappeared into the crowd who were all now making their way back to the street to catch buses, or to the parking lot. Starsky bounced along at Hutch’s side as excited as a puppy waiting to be praised for his initiative and perseverance.

Grabbing Starsky’s waving hand, he brought it to his lips and planted a big kiss on the palm. Starsky’s arm shivered under the caress. Definitely time to go home. Shit! And then to work. Why couldn’t today be Saturday, instead of Thursday?

Pulling Starsky along the trail, he flung an arm around the broad shoulders, happy when Starsky returned the favor. Matching steps, they sauntered slowly to the candy apple red Mustang.

***

Hutch had dinner prepared by the time Starsky got home, but it would wait until his partner had a quick shower. No matter the time, Starsky always showered the moment he got home from work, complaining that he never wanted their home to smell like cordite and gun oil.

By the time Hutch entered the bathroom to greet him properly after his shower, Starsky already had one arm in and one arm out of the splayed open robe. He met Hutch with a kiss to his cheek, his gratitude apparent. “Why’re you so good to me, Hutch?” Starsky murmured fumbling for the tie to the new robe. It had taken Hutch two weeks to find a robe that would match Starsky’s eyes.

“Because I love you more than my next breath.”

Starsky gasped at his words, tie forgotten, moving rapidly closer and framing Hutch’s cheeks with palms and spread fingers. Hutch could feel the fine tremors in those strong hands against his skin, lighting the fire of love and passion in his own soul and heart.

“You mean that?”

“You know I do. And you?” he whispered.

“Me and thee,” his lips twitched, “always and never parted.”

“Are you quoting Star Trek at me again?”

“Would I do that?” Starsky murmured against his lips before closing the final distance, fusing them together. Reply promptly forgotten, Hutch wrapped his arms around Starsky as his lover moved fully into his arms, his mostly nude body contrasting wonderfully with his fully clothed one. The tiles were cold under his bare feet, but that was the only place he was even remotely cool.

The kiss was sweet fire; gentle, loving and quickly turning into something so hot it would burn them alive. Starsky wound his arms around Hutch’s neck, taking his mouth with more force, pushing in to stake his claim. Hutch groaned, needing more and Starsky wriggled against him, the combination driving him crazy.

Starsky pushed him back against the wall and the robe draped around him, cocooning them together, making him feel enclosed in a world all their own. Ignoring the towel rack digging into his spine, he slid his hands inside the soft material, and around to the lean back, tracing over the faded scars. Starsky pressed closer, hardening cock riding next to Hutch’s, which was still trapped inside his jeans.

Lights were flashing behind his eyes due to oxygen deprivation before Starsky pulled back long enough to allow one gulp of air. Then firm lips captured his again, taking the little air he’d managed to catch right along with what was left of his mind.

He didn’t remember moving his hands to the muscled ass, his fingers digging in, massaging, caressing, spreading the cleft open to explore the tiny opening. Only it wasn’t quite as tiny as expected… and it was slick with lubricant.

“Do me, babe. Right here.”

Lightning flashed over his skin and he gasped, “Oh, yeah.”

Hands tore at his clothing and he tossed his shirt aside as nimble fingers worked at his fly. Shoving at the robe, he slid it off Starsky’s shoulders. It slithered to the floor and was kicked to the side, immediately followed by his jeans when he managed to step out of the clinging material.

Hutch grabbed at the towel bar when Starsky bumped him aside and they stumbled over each other in their haste to get into a position that would work, hampered as much by their escalating desire as their reluctance to stop kissing.

Only now the kisses were punctuated by curses and inane conversation.

“Get offa my foot, you oaf.”

“Turn around.”

“Can’t… ouch! That was my shin.”

“Better yours than mine.”

“Yeah, but it’s my birthday. You have to be nice to me.”

“Like hell.”  Catching his lover around the waist, he reinitiated the kisses, stealing the air from Starsky’s lungs, leaving him gasping when Hutch finally turned him loose.

“Okay, babe. Turn around,” Hutch demanded.

Complying, Starsky faced the towel rack and grabbed hold, spreading his legs and offering his ass up to Hutch’s possession.

“Hurry up, Blintz. I ain’t gettin’ any younger.”

Groaning at the delicacy being offered to him, Hutch growled, “Hold your horses, I’m getting there.”

“I don’t need talk, I need action.”

He swatted a ripe cheek, loving the sharp smack echoing in small room. “You’ll get it,” he quipped, coating his cock with oil from the bottle stored over the toilet. Moving closer, he settled the leaking head up against the tight hole and grasped at hips made to fit his palms.

“Ready?”

“Been ready all day.”

Gasping, he pushed in, grinding his teeth as the channel enveloped his shaft in exotic, heated pleasure. Sinking in further, he sighed, “love you, love you,” while Starsky writhed back against him, taking him deeper.

“Love you… more… yeah, like that….”

“Can’t be… more.”

Starsky shuttered, groaning as Hutch’s cock settled in balls deep, the head riding over the little nub hidden in the clinging tunnel. Sighing, he wrapped his arms around Starsky’s chest, just breathing, each exhalation causing the snub end to caress and massage, both of them gasping in shattering passion.

To have been together for so long, to still love and be loved, surviving the streets and all that came after. Awesome. Mind-blowing. Ecstasy.

Unable to hold still another second, Starsky began writhing, begging with his body for Hutch to do something. Reaching back with one hand, his partner’s long fingers entwined in Hutch’s hair, pulling his head in beside Starsky’s. Burying his face in Starsky’s shoulder, Hutch began to move; slow and gentle, just enough to drive his active partner insane with need.

“Please, Hutch… need more….”

“Soon, babe,” he murmured into sweaty skin, fragrant with the scents of soap and Starsky. Keeping the cadence of his movements slow and steady, Hutch bit and nipped at the clean skin of shoulder and throat. Starsky arched back, giving more skin up to Hutch’s mouth while rocking back into every roll of his hips. The slip and slide of flesh on flesh became the background music of love, Hutch’s muffled groans and sighs accompanied by Starsky’s louder moans and ragged pleas of “more,” “deeper,” and “please, Hutch, please.”

Need overwhelmed his desire to make this last forever, his slow rocking gradually becoming forceful thrusts. Sinking into the loosened channel again and again, their groans of pleasure rose, changing into grunts of need and gasps for air with each lengthening stroke.

Starsky cried out for more, fisting himself, humping himself from his own grip back onto Hutch’s shaft. Growling, Hutch pushed in harder, hitting the spot that had Starsky yelling as passion overwhelmed him. “Hutch!” he screamed, seed pulsing out to spatter on the wall tile while his ass tightened and spasmed around Hutch’s cock.

Hutch was seeing stars, ramming into Starsky, breath hissing out as his balls drew up. A scream ripped from his throat as orgasm raced up and out of his cock, shooting his come into his lover in quick, hot pulses.

Panting, he hung over Starsky for a moment, then pulled out gently before his knees gave way and he sank to the floor. Starsky went with him, landing on his stomach.

“Ooofff!”

Leaning back against the other wall, he gathered Starsky in close. “Shit, we’re too old for this.”

“Speak for yourself,” Starsky countered. “You’re as young as you feel.” The words were muttered into his chest, neither of them having the energy or incentive to move to a more comfortable location.

“Well, you’re obviously ready to sow some wild oats tonight,” he quipped, stealing a quick kiss.

Starsky turned his face upward, smiling a smile of enchanting wickedness. “I’m entitled. It’s my birthday.”

Smiling back, he muttered, “Happy Birthday, babe.”

***

Later that evening, Hutch lay in bed, a sleeping Starsky nestled in his arms. Dinner had been ruined, but the sex had been more than worth a pot roast or three. They’d ordered pizza and tipped the delivery boy well. It turned out to be more of a dinner to Starsky’s taste than any fancy meal Hutch could cook or buy.

The object of his musings stirred in his embrace. Glancing at the clock, Hutch could see it was only 11:45. Which meant he had time to give the birthday boy one more treat before he turned into a pumpkin.

Cupping one cheek, he rubbed his thumb over lips made for his kisses. A damp tongue tip snuck out, tasting his skin. One eye cracked open, revealing sleep-dazed blue.

“Hutch?”

“Rise and shine, sweetheart.”

Starsky blinked. “Why?”

“Cause it’s still your birthday for fifteen minutes.”

His partner brightened visibly. “It is?”

“Would I lie to you?”

“Maybe.”

“You want your surprise or not?”

“Course I do,” was the instant reply.

“Thought so.”

Hutch threw back the sheet and slipped out from under his partner. Sliding down the bed, he moved over onto his stomach between the quickly spreading thighs as Starsky sat upright, leaning against the headboard.

Hutch grinned at the shaft already rising in anticipation from its nest of dark curls.

“Eager beaver.”

“That’s a girl.” Starsky gestured at his rising member. “This is more like randy and ready.”

“I can see that,” Hutch stated, running one finger up the twitching rod just to hear Starsky gasp.

“Oh, yeah.”

Bracing his arms over the restless thighs, Hutch leaned in closer, tongue swiping experimentally at the tip. Looking up, he smiled at his partner, the dancing blue eyes watching him intently were lit up with a smile of their own.

“Love you,” he whispered before engulfing the turgid head in his mouth, slowly swirling his tongue around the spongy flesh. Starsky surged up and Hutch didn’t hold him back, swallowing the straining cock to the root before pulling off.

When they both got their breath back, he wrapped one hand around the base and began a twisting motion he knew Starsky loved. A series of happy groans rose upon the air as Hutch slurped at the head before taking it back inside his mouth, bobbing down to meet his own hand and back up. Their neighbor had some newfangled vacuum cleaner called a “Rainbow” which Starsky had immediately dubbed the “Rainblow.” Pretending to be the “rainblow” turned out to be fun. Sucking strongly, he moaned around the thick cock when Starsky’s hand tangled in his hair.

Glancing at the clock, he saw it was now ten to midnight. Still time for more fun.

Releasing his prize, Hutch moved lower, trapping the hard length against Starsky’s belly with one hand. Nuzzling in with his nose, he began mouthing and sucking the heavy balls, feeling them twitch as he teased and stroked with his teeth and tongue.

The hand in his hair tightened, but didn’t pull. “Jezuz, Hutch, you tryin’ to kill me?”

Too busy to answer vocally, he shook his head slightly, the motion rubbing his lips across sensitive skin, making Starsky gasp.

“Uggh.”

Smiling at the unconventional complement, he continued the teasing for long moments, raising his lover’s temperature to boiling. Starsky now had both hands in his hair, holding on lightly, gripping and relaxing his hold depending on the level of torture Hutch applied to his subject. A gentle rake of teeth made the grip tighten almost dangerously, but a quick laving of the abused area had it loosening again.

One last slow lick and he moved back up. The clock showed 11:57, only three minutes left.

Fisting the leaking shaft in both hands, he flicked his tongue out rapidly over the small fissure and Starsky heaved up, curling his body around Hutch’s head. Hands slid over his back while Starsky gasped for air, grinding out, “Damnit, finish me before I do grow old.”

It was impossible to swallow and laugh at the same time and he had to pull back. Sliding his hands under Starsky’s ass, he opened wide, letting his partner control the pace. Flopping back, Starsky’s hands gripped the sheets till his knuckles turned white, body heaving up. The erect shaft slid between Hutch’s lips, filling his mouth and throat. He swallowed, taking it all, riding out the shuddering strokes.

One last bucking thrust and Starsky grunted, the thick invader growing even bigger before shooting down his throat. He drank the bitter fluid, savoring the warmth filling his belly, filling his soul with his lover’s passion.

Starsky relaxed and the shrinking erection slipped from his mouth. Rising to his hands and knees, he crawled up the lax body and leaned in for a kiss. Sweet lips opened to him, flooding him with the flavor of Starsky.

Tiredly sprawling across Starsky, Hutch looked up into a satisfied, sated gaze. “Happy Birthday, Starsk,” he whispered. “Happy five-0.”

And when he looked over, the clock tick-tocked up to midnight.

“Jeezus, Hutch,” Starsky panted. “If I’d’a known turning fifty was going to be like this, I would have been running toward it full speed.”

“Yeah, well you just remember who turns fifty next.”

“Already planning it, babe. Already planning.”