Brothers: Part III

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End.

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Starsky’s typing was interrupted by the phone. He sighed, rubbed his eyes, and picked up the receiver.

“Starsky,” he answered. “No, he’s not down here. I think he’s still in court. Yeah, I’ll take it.” He waited for the switchboard to give him the call.

“Sergeant Starsky,” he repeated. “No, I’m afraid he’s not here. I’m his partner. Can I help?”

“Sure,” Starsky sighed again. He scrounged for a message pad and pen. He filled in the date and time as he listened to the message. A frown creased his brow, and he stopped writing.

“Uh, could you say that again so I’m sure I have it right?” He began to jot down major points of the message, and then repeated them as a final check He felt numb as his notes were confirmed.

“No. He’ll call you back. Yeah. You’re welcome.” The line went dead, and he dropped the receiver into its cradle. His heart thudded against his chest. Slowly, he folded the message and slipped it into his shirt pocket. He would try to complete his report.

vvv

Starsky spied Hutch just as he slammed through the doors at the end of the hall and turned into the Men’s Room. Starsky set his coffee mug down, slid off the end of the table he’d perched on, and exited the squad room.

He followed Hutch into the bathroom and found him pacing in front of the mirrors. Hutch’s navy blue suit was wrinkled and limp, the shirt underneath bearing the sweat stains of a day spent in heat and anger. The tie hung crazily around Hutch’s neck and the top collar button was missing where Hutch had ripped at it.

Starsky stood just inside the door, watching Hutch and his reflections stomp across the room. On one of his circuits Hutch paused just long enough to look Starsky in the eye, then resume his pacing. Had he really looked at Starsky, he would have seen a face set in stone and a posture taut with unreleased energy.

Someone tried to push the door open, but Starsky forced it shut by planting his back against it. “Find another one!” he shouted to whomever was on the other side.

After a few more moments of furious pacing, Hutch stopped and stared at Starsky. He pointed a finger at him and started to speak, then dropped his hand and turned to face himself in the mirror.

“Where’ve you been?” Starsky finally asked. “Court was out hours ago.”

“I hate this tie.” Hutch stared at the reflection of the silky material, then pulled it off. He wadded it into a ball, spun around, and threw it into the toilet in front of him. He flushed, and watched as the bowl tried to choke down the strip of fabric.

“Feel better?” Starsky asked.

“Don’t patronize me,” Hutch threatened. “I’ve had more than I care to take today, and I don’t need any more from you.” He walked up to Starsky and grabbed the door handle. Starsky shoved it shut as soon as Hutch opened it, breaking his grip. Hutch backed away and glared at him.

“Are you going to let me leave?”

“Not until you calm down,” Starsky stated his terms. “Braverman’s lawyer called and told Dobey what happened as soon as the mistrial was declared.” There was an odd calm, belaying the set to his posture.

Hutch was too wrapped in his anger to notice. “He’s guilty!” he slammed a palm against one of the stall door, sending it flying.

“Fine. You’ll get another chance.”

“You know who’s fault this is?” Hutch snarled. He walked back to Starsky and stood less than six inches from him. “It’s Robert’s fault. He’s made such a mess of things lately nothing has gone right.”

Starsky looked Hutch in the eye. “Face it. It’s a wonder Braverman was even indicted at all. At least there’ll be another trial. I don’t like it any better than you do, but that’s the way it is.”

“You don’t like it?” Hutch mocked. “You don’t like it? Where the hell do you get off not liking the way one of my cases goes? Who told you that you could have a piece of my action? Who gave you partial ownership of my life?”

Starsky’s back stiffened. He started to reach into his shirt pocket, but instead his hand turned into a fist. He stood trembling, then turned and yanked open the door. He forced Hutch backwards as the door flung open, stomping off down the hall without looking back.

Starsky slammed into the double doors of the squad room and thudded to the end of the table. He sat down heavily on top of it and pulled a chair over to prop his feet on. He clasped his hands and let them hang between his knees.

Just at the edge of his vision Starsky could discern Hutch outside the doors. He refused to turn and look at him. Hutch entered the room and stood at the opposite end of the table.

“Everyone left for the evening?” It was an absurd question; the room was obviously empty. Hutch toyed with a paperclip abandoned on the table.

Starsky snorted in response. He looked down at his feet. Now or never? Now. He pulled a folded slip of paper from his pocket. “Message for you,” he said.

“What is it?” Hutch asked.

Starsky unfolded the paper. “It came while you were waiting to testify. To wit, the job is yours if you want it.” He held the paper out but made no further move toward Hutch.

Hutch walked around the table and snatched the paper away. He read it. His shoulders slumped. “How did you get this?”

“You were out, they transferred the call to me.” Starsky’s hands hung between his legs. “I guess that explains all those strange phone calls and dinners.”

Hutch laid the paper on the table and ran a shaky hand through his hair. “They had no business giving you my call.”

“Oh?” Starsky raised his head. “I was under the impression that was standard procedure with us. I take your calls, you take mine, share and share alike.” He paused. “Partners.”

Hutch turned away. “We’re not partners now, and we haven’t been for quite a while.” The words came out clipped and harsh. Hutch shut his eyes. “Starsky, I didn’t mean—“

“I know what you mean.” Starsky stepped down off the chair and faced Hutch. “It’s been obvious for some time. All this business about ‘my’ cases, wrapping yourself up in them and not letting me in. Not talking about them anymore. I know what you mean.”

“Dammit, Starsky!” Hutch turned away in frustration.

Starsky started to walk past him, but Hutch grabbed him and pulled him back. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right.”

Starsky pulled out of Hutch’s grasp and took a step back. “’Right’?” he echoed.

“Right.” Hutch folded his arms across his chest. “This is one of those ‘big things’ you wanted to discuss last night, but which for some reason we weren’t able to get around to.”

Starsky shifted uncomfortably but kept his eyes locked on Hutch. “I can’t believe you kept this from me!”

“You’ve been keeping this from yourself!” Hutch exploded. “I wanted to tell you about this, but you’ve been too busy with Robert to give me any time!”

“Don’t give me that crap,” Starsky warned. Fists clamped against his thighs and he took a step forward. “You’ve been hiding from me until you had an escape plan all worked out! You were going to call it quits, only you didn’t have the guts to tell me! You were just going to let me hang until it was too late and you were gone!”

“Bullshit!” Hutch yelled back.

Starsky glared at him. He raised his fists half-way, then dropped them and stomped around Hutch. Hutch grabbed his arm and swung him back. Starsky tried to pull away, but Hutch forced him up against a file cabinet, pinning him.

“You’re going to listen to me whether you want to or not.” Hutch’s breath was hot and moist on Starsky’s face.

Starsky pushed back, but Hutch merely threw more of his weight against him. A flicker of pain passed over Starsky’s face.

“Hurts, doesn’t it? The shoulder, I mean,” Hutch said between clenched teeth.

Starsky glowered at him in reply.

Hutch continued to press against him. “At best you’ve got 75% mobility in that arm. Not to mention the problem with spasms you can’t shake.”

“I’m fit,” Starsky’s voice wavered in anger. “Wait until the report comes through and says so. Then I’ll be certified.”

Hutch’s eyes darkened “If the report says so, it will be because we pulled in every favor ever owed us.” He abruptly released Starsky. Starsky fell forward a step, then regained his balance.

Hutch lowered himself into a chair. He picked up the message and fingered it. He took a deep breath, and when he spoke his voice was soft and thick. “I was going to tell you about this last night. But you had to go off—“ he stopped, took another breath, and began again.

“This message,” he held up the paper, “is from Dan Taggart. We went to school together. He was in my fraternity.”

“I’ll bet,” Starsky snorted.

“Okay,” Hutch looked up at him. “Go. Get out of here. Believe what you want. I don’t care anymore.” He leaned forward and buried his face in his arms.

Starsky stood over Hutch, anger still racing inside him. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists. “No,” he said as calmly as possible. “I want to hear this. I want to know what goodbye sounds like.”

Hutch jumped up and whirled on Starsky. “Dan Taggart is VP at MasCom International here in L.A.” He stood face to face with Starsky, the message wadded inside a fist under Starsky’s nose. “I’m sure even you have heard of them. He called me because they’re looking for a new head of security, and he thought I just might be exactly the person they’re looking for.”

“And are you?”

The question hung between them.

Hutch appeared to wilt. His arm dropped to his side and the paper fell from his fingers. He turned to lean over the table as if he meant to vomit.

“It’s no good, Starsky.” The words were faint and had lost all their edge. “The report’s no good. We went too far this time.”

“No,” Starsky said. “You went to far this time.” He stepped forward and leaned around Hutch. “You had no right to make any decisions without me. I am perfectly capable of returning to active duty. I may be a little slower, but I’m just as strong as I was before. We can go back. You just don’t want to.”

Hutch looked up into Starsky’s face. “Strong?” He stood and captured Starsky’s wrist, squeezing tightly. Starsky looked to his hand, then into Hutch’s eyes. Hutch stared back at him, squeezing hard. A tremor started up Starsky’s arm, and his lips drew into a thin line. Starsky’s gaze returned to the grip in which Hutch held him. The tremor grew to a visible shake.

“Stop it,” Starsky hissed. Hutch released him. Starsky drew his wrist to his chest and massaged it.

“Do you see?” Hutch shook his head. “It’s no good. I can’t accept that you’re as strong as you were. I can’t believe in that. And neither can you.”

Starsky stepped away from Hutch.

“I’m tired,” Hutch continued. His head was bowed. “You don’t know how tired. I feel as if I’m carrying around a ten-ton block of cement inside me. There’s no joy anymore, no fire. There’s just a sick ache, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life carrying it inside me.”

Starsky ignored Hutch’s confession. He continued to rub his wrist. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” He was spent. “This is crazy. You’re crazy.”

“Starsky, I want to quit.”

Starsky ceased ministering to his wrist. “I’m going home.”

“We have to talk about his!” Hutch yelled. He slammed a hand on the table and shot up.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Starsky could feel things about to burst inside him. He tried to talk through it. “Why haven’t we talked about this before?”

“When?” Hutch countered. “When you were in the hospital? When you were home recuperating? You couldn’t have handled it then.”

“You don’t know that,” Starsky said.

“Yes, I do know that,” Hutch replied. “And then we found out Robert was alive, and coming home, and you were so preoccupied with that there was no time to talk about anything.”

Starsky advanced on Hutch. “Don’t try to pin the blame on me. I don’t want to hear excuses. You’ve put me up against a wall! All of a sudden, twelve years of partnership are on the line, no warning, no choices, no nothing!” The words tumbled out, one over the other. “This past year’s been one big lie. I thought we were working toward the same thing, but it turns out you were just leading me along. For all I know, you’ve got a dozen other secrets—“ Starsky stopped. “Is there something else you’re not telling me? Something about me?” he asked fearfully.

There was a hint of cruelty in Hutch’s voice when he spoke. “I could tell you you’re worse off physically than you think, you know,” he taunted. “Just to get you to quit.”

“Don’t threaten me,” Starsky growled. “Answer me.”

“You know the answer,” Hutch spat. “There’s nothing you don’t know. You’re just ignoring what you do know.”

Starsky glowered at Hutch. “You’re a coward, you know that?” His voice dipped to it’s lowest tones, those reserved for promises—and threats. “You run from everything. Whatever’s the easiest way out, whatever’s the line of least resistance, you take it. You can look tough, you can talk tough, but when it comes to making decisions, you haven’t got the balls to make them.”

Hutch returned the anger in Starsky’s eyes, but remained silent.

They glared at one another for a moment, then Starsky turned away. “You bastard. Of all the things you’ve ever done….” His shoulders slumped. Starsky jammed his hands into his pockets.

“Starsk,” Hutch pleaded. He reached out and put a hand on Starsky’s shoulder.

The doors to the squad room opened and a cleaning lady rumbled in with her cart. Starsky shrugged the hand off.

“Not here,” he muttered.

“Where?”

“Your place,” Starsky answered.

Hutch hesitated. “Robert’s at my place.”

Fire flashed in Starsky’s eyes. “My place, then.” He glared at Hutch, turned, and fled the room.

“I’ll follow you,” Hutch said.

Starsky kept walking.

vvv

Starsky pulled into his driveway and stopped the car. He watched in the rearview mirror as headlights appeared behind him. Starsky exited his car and marched up the steps to his apartment, aware of a body behind him. It stopped when he did. He separated the door key from the others, but as he attempted to insert it the door fell open an inch. Starsky pulled back the key and started to push the door open, only to be shouldered aside by Hutch.

“Pardon me,” Starsky muttered.

Hutch pushed the door open and peered inside cautiously. Satisfied things were in order, he strode inside.

“All clear?” Starsky asked facetiously. He followed Hutch inside and shut the door. Hutch turned on a light and slipped out of his jacket.

“Make yourself at home,” Starsky sneered.

“Stuff it.” Hutch stood in the middle of the room

Starsky tossed his jacket on a nearby chair. “Hold that pose,” he advised. “I’m just hitting the john.” Starsky walked toward the bathroom, then stopped. “I wouldn’t want you to think I’m running away.”

Starsky rounded the corner into the bedroom, only to be confronted by a figure spread-eagled on the bed. He flipped on the light. It was Robert.

Robert blinked in the light and struggled up on his elbows. “Hey, babe,” waved a hand at Starsky. “Where’ve you been?”

Hutch suddenly walked past Starsky into the bedroom. “I heard voices,” he said angrily. “I should have known he’d be here instead of at my place.” Hutch caught hold of Starsky’s arm. “Let’s go.”

Starsky looked down at the hand on his arm.

“Let him go.” Robert swung his legs off the bed and sat on the edge.

Hutch made no move to drop Starsky’s arm.

“I said, let him go.” Robert attempted to stand, but his legs buckled. He caught himself on the edge of the bed and pushed himself to an upright position.

“Oh, will you look—“ Hutch dropped Starsky’s arm, disgusted. “He’s high. He’s stoned out of his gourd.” Hutch took a step toward Robert. “Look at the big soldier now,” his voice dripped with sarcasm. “Can’t even stand on his own two feet. But then he never could. He always had to have someone carry him. Mother, father—“ Hutch’s eyes suddenly lit up. “That’s why you came here, isn’t it! He turned to look at Starsky. “You came here to get Starsky to carry you!” Hutch turned back toward Robert. “You coward. You lying coward. You didn’t come here to see me. You came here to hide behind another man’s balls!”

“Coward?” Robert was trembling. His hands balled into fists and he took a shaky step toward Hutch.

Starsky moved between the two men and placed his hands on Robert’s shoulders. “It’s not worth it,” he said.

Hutch spun and walked from the bedroom. Robert glared over Starsky’s shoulder. “So I’m a coward?” he yelled at Hutch. “Then what do you call letting some bastard shoot up your partner while you stand there and watch?” He paused for effect. “I call it a set-up!”

Starsky lifted his hands and stepped backward. Hutch reappeared in the bedroom, pale and sweaty. Robert smiled.

“He didn’t mean that,” Starsky countered hastily.

“Yes, I did.” Robert stepped around Starsky and closed in on Hutch. “He thinks I’m a coward? I think he’s a coward. And I think he knows he is one, don’t you, Baby Brother?”

Hutch, ashen, turned and fled into the other room. Starsky rushed past Robert and followed him.

“That’s not what I told him,” Starsky stammered.

“Then what did you tell him?” Hutch had his back to Starsky.

“Listen,” Starsky walked up to Hutch. “Can’t we just sit down and talk all this out?”

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about.” Robert stood just behind both of them. “As a matter of fact, I think everything’s just been settled.” He walked over and gripped Starsky’s shoulders, squeezing tightly. “We’ve just seen the true face of Baby Brother here. He’s weak, he’s a coward, and he’s certainly no good for you.”

Starsky twisted furiously and pushed Robert away. “Stop it!” he demanded.

Hutch turned, the color back in his face.

“Don’t!” Starsky commanded before Hutch could speak. His head was pounding and it felt as though liquid fire were rushing through his veins. “If the two of you are trying to make me choose, then you’re both doing a terrific job of making me want neither of you!” Fire flashed in his eyes. “I will not be a pawn in this game! I will not be the prize in this ridiculous tug-of-war!”

Hutch brushed past him and picked up his jacket. “You don’t have to choose anything.” He put the jacket on. “You two can have each other for all I care.” No emotion showed in his face and nothing was betrayed in his voice. “Enjoy yourselves,” he said coolly. Hutch turned and left.

Starsky started after him.

“Let him go,” Robert ordered. He sat down in the wicker chair, hands folded in his lap.

“Damn you,” Starsky whirled on Robert. “Why did you say that?”

Robert shrugged. “Because it’s the truth. He betrayed you, babe. It’s his nature.” Robert stared past Starsky, focusing on nothing in particular. “I had to make you see that he’s walked out on you the same as he walked out on me. The same as he walked out on the family, the same as he walked out on Vanessa, the same as he’s walked out on everybody he’s ever known.”

Starsky shook his head, chest heaving. An hour ago he’d stood accusing Hutch of just that. He felt desperately confused. “You’re—“ he raised his face toward the ceiling, eyes moist. “What are you?” he pleaded. He lowered his head to stare at Robert, dislodging a tiny drop of moisture.

Robert’s eyes were still unfocused. “It’s just you and me now, babe. Just like it was.”

The two lumps in his gut fused into a single, huge boulder, blistering the insides of his belly. Prickles of adrenaline punctured his skin. Fever skimmed his body, abruptly replaced by icy cold. Starsky shivered, light-headed and bone-tired. The boulder exploded in a burst of knee-weakening nausea. Starsky looked at the opened, empty door. His gut was empty, too. And both lacked the same thing.

Hutch.

Starsky shook his head. “No. Not just like it was. It can never be like it was. That part of us is over.” An overwhelming sadness bore down on Starsky.

“Who says?” Robert asked. “His Highness?”

Starsky shut his eyes. “No.” He took a shaky breath, pushing damp curls off his forehead, He opened his eyes and looked at Robert. “Dammit, Bobby, it’s nearly twenty years later.” Starsky’s voice was soft but steady. “We are not living in a jungle halfway around the world. You are not my commanding officer. And we’ve both lived through so much in the time we’ve been apart that I’m not sure either of us are even the same person.”

Robert stared at Starsky. “What are you saying?”

Starsky shifted on his feet. “I wanted us to be the same. As soon as I saw you at the airport it all came back, all the old feelings. But they were old feelings. They’re connected to an old time and an oldplace. I’ve grown up. I don’t need teaching and protecting. I don’t need someone to tell me what to do and where to go and how to be. I need a partner, not a parent.”

Robert took a step forward. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying we can’t be what we once were to each other. I’m saying if we want to keep on being buddies, we’ve got to be different kinds of buddies to each other.” Starsky exhaled deeply. “I’m saying you have to accept that Hutch is my partner now.”

Robert’s eyes glittered. “You have lousy taste in partners.”

It was too easy. “Present company included?”

Robert walked up to Starsky. “You think I’m like him? You think I use people the way he does, take things from them, abuse and betray them?” Robert placed a hand on each of Starsky’s upper arms. “He’s got you brainwashed, man. He’s sucked you into his little world of ‘Kenny is King.’ Then he fucking drop-kicks you out of his life and you come panting after him like a lost little puppy.”

“Goddamn you two are exactly alike!” Starsky exploded. “Arrogant, egotistical, condescending, dictatorial—and jerks!”

Robert jerked Starsky closer. “Are you sure we’re exactly alike? Shall I give you a little reminder of where we differ?”

“Let go,” Starsky tightened his biceps under Robert’s grip. He attempted to step back.

Robert yanked downward and twisted outward on Starsky’s left arm. Starsky howled and fell to the floor.

Robert straddled the body curling into a fetal position below him. Starsky groaned behind clenched teeth, eyes tightly shut, his right hand clamped on his left arm.

‘We’ll see who’s different from whom,” Robert rasped. He bent down and unbuckled Starsky’s belt. “Remember this?” Robert unsnapped the top of Starsky’s jeans and jerked the flaps apart to force the zipper down. “Remember all those nights we sucked and fucked and blocked out the dirt and the pain and the stupidity of it all?”

“Stop,” Starsky grunted, immobilized.

Robert grabbed the back of Starsky’s waistband, lifting and flipping, then pushing down. Starsky was now in a prone position. His face lay flattened against the floor, his right arm—his functional arm—lay trapped under his body. Robert yanked Starsky’s jeans down to his ankles.

Starsky tried painfully to pull himself up.

Robert jabbed a fist into Starsky’s left shoulder. “You’ll remember.”

Hot, black-red pain. Starsky barely felt his ass cheeks grabbed and roughly separated. Pain kicked through his left side with each shallow breath. Willing his body to move was not enough. He had to make muscle ignore agony and hope he didn’t pass out—

He pushed his right arm against the floor and he managed to flip his body. Blurred vision revealed why.

Hutch had Robert in a choke-hold, lifting Robert’s desperately flailing body upright.

Starsky’s vision cleared enough to recognize Robert was strangling.

“Hutch!” Starsky shouted hoarsely. “No!”

Suffocating seconds passed before Hutch threw Robert to the floor.

The only sounds were three men gasping for air.

Starsky lifted himself to a sitting position, just able to work around the ebbing pain without blacking out. Hutch stood trembling. Robert crawled forward, away from both men. Someone let loose a string of expletives.

Robert rose to all fours, rocking back and forth. “Chu hoi, chu hoi, chu hoi,” he chanted hoarsely.

Starsky leaned forward, held his breath against the pain that remained, and awkwardly inched his jeans up his legs. Hutch voiced another string of expletives.

Robert pushed off the floor and righted himself. Starsky got his jeans as far as his thighs. Hutch began walking toward Robert.

Starsky did the only thing he knew would stop Hutch. “Help,” he called.

Hutch stopped.

Starsky pulled his left forearm up against his waist and leaned over it protectively. “Need help,” he pleaded.

Hutch was immediately squatting behind him. Hutch grabbed Starsky around his waist and lifted him to his feet. He steadied Starsky with one arm while pulling Starsky’s pants the rest of the way up.

“Thanks,” Starsky said, managing to finish the job and zip his fly. He let his weight ease back against Hutch’s trembling body, glad for the support, but also knowing it would keep Hutch from Robert.

Robert’s back was to both of them. He shuddered, then stumbled toward the still-open door. He paused, clinging to the frame, then lurched down the stairs.

“Oh no you don’t,” Hutch hissed. He shoved Starsky off him and followed Robert.

“No more, please!” Starsky called, finding enough balance to pursue both Hutchinsons. He virtually tripped down the stairs, hanging onto the railing for support. Starsky stopped at the bottom. His chest heaved as he gasped for air.

Robert was leaning against the hood of Starsky’s car. Hutch stood a few feet behind.

“Well? You going to finish what you started? Or are you a pussy?” Robert’s head lifted, his taunts directed at Hutch.

Hutch took a step forward, his fists compulsively clenching and unclenching.

“Stop it,” Starsky pleaded.

“Here, pussy pussy,” Robert called.

Hutch took another step forward.

Starsky lifted himself off the railing and lurched to Hutch’s side. He put a hand on Hutch’s shoulder. “Enough,” he said. “Let’s go inside.”

“Inside?” Robert took a few steps backward, his arms spread wide. “What’s wrong with outside?” He gestured at the yard. “Outside used to be good enough for us to do everything! Everything!” he shouted. “Every-fucking-little-thing!

A window opened in a house across the street. A head peered out.

Starsky moved away from Hutch and toward Robert. Robert continued to back away from Starsky, toward the street.

“Goddamn it, Bobby, come inside!” Starsky said. Each step forward caused Robert to take a step back.

Robert slowly backed toward the street as Starsky came after him. “Make me!” he called. Robert seemed to enjoy the chase. He took a few more backward steps, then his foot caught the curb. Robert tumbled backwards into the street, landing with a grunt. He scrambled to his feet, and took a few more steps further into the road.

A car parked down the street started up, its headlights dark. It pulled away from the curb.

Robert was once again standing with arms wide and feet spread apart. “Come and get me!”

The car picked up speed.

Starsky was at the edge of the curb. The throbbing in his shoulder was making him nauseated. “No,” he finally decided. “Come or not. I don’t care anymore.” He turned back toward his apartment house.

The car roared up the street. It caught Robert in the hip, spinning him crazily. Robert rolled and bounced like a bag of trash tossed from the speeding car. He came to a crumpled halt in the gutter just as Hutch pounded up to him.

Instinct registered at least a partial description of the car and its direction as Starsky stood watching the calamity unfold.

“Ambulance!” Hutch yelled. “Get a black and white!” His hands skimmed Robert’s body, examining but not moving him.

A part of Starsky’s brain remained fogged even as he found himself inside the Torino, radio in his hand, dispatch crackling over the microphone.

 

Chapter Six

Starsky handed the receiver back to the nurse behind the desk and mouthed a “thank-you.” He allowed himself a moment to rest, closing his eyes and letting his mind drift. It drifted into a beautiful verdant jungle and he pulled it back.

He trudged back into the waiting room and sat down on the plastic couch next to Hutch. Hutch was hunched over, arms resting on thighs, hands clasped, head bowed.

“What did he say?” Hutch’s voice was barely audible.

“Dobey says they picked up Braverman junior as he was pulling into his old man’s car lot. The car he was driving matched the description we gave, not to mention it has a nice little dent on the left front fender. Looks like junior picked out one of his father’s cars, thinking he could hide it there after.” Starsky took a deep breath. Only an echo of pain remained. The miracle of Tylenol 3. “He’s not talking, of course, and his lawyer’s screaming bloody murder.” Starsky laughed tiredly and picked at a crusty blood stain on his jeans. “But my guess is he was following you, and thought Bobby was you.”

Hutch suddenly stood up.

“Where are you going?” Starsky asked.

“I want to interrogate Braverman,” Hutch answered.

“So do I. Sit down.” Starsky tugged on Hutch’s jacket. Hutch easily allowed himself to be pulled back down. He curled back into his hunch.

“I made a mess of everything, didn’t I,” Hutch stated. “Robert. Braverman. You.” He covered his face with his hands. “Us.”

Starsky sat forward and rubbed Hutch’s back. “If you just wouldn’t try and handle everything by yourself….”

Hutch stood up again.

“Now where are you going?”

Hutch looked around . “Out. Away.”

“That solves a lot,” Starsky muttered. He looked at his watch. “We should know something soon. We might even be able to see him.”

Hutch’s eyes darkened. “Why?” There was an edge to his voice which made Starsky straighten a little.

“Because you’re his brother,” Starsky answered in irritation. “I think the least you could do is be there for him when he needs you.” There was no energy to his fight but the words tumbled out anyway. His muscles ached with renewed tension.

“You’re here.” Hutch’s lip curled in disgust. “I’m sure he’d a lot rather see you than see me. You can reminisce about MASH units or whatever.”

Starsky took a deep breath and gripped the arms of his chair. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He was wired now.

“It means what it means. It means you should be with him. You’re the one he keeps going to. He obviously doesn’t want me around.”

Starsky closed his eyes. After all that had happened tonight and all Hutch could still see was Robert’s rejection….

Starsky found some will to relax his muscles. “I know what you’re trying to do. But you’re not going to get me to fight with you. Not now. I won’t fight.”

“So you won’t fight?” Hutch mocked him. “Then why did you go?”

Starsky’s eyes narrowed in anger. It had suddenly become all-important to have the last word. “I will not fight with you,” he snapped.

“Yes sir!” Hutch saluted him. “We will not fight, sir!”

Hutch held the salute, then lowered his arm to his side. All the fight fled his body. Hutch seemed to shrink.

“Go see him,” Starsky urged. Fuck having the last word.

Hutch shook his head. “I can’t. He won’t want to see me anyway. He’d rather see you.”

Starsky took a deep breath. “You’re his brother. He needs you.”

Hutch continued shaking his head. “You’re the one he came out to see. You’re the one he keeps going to. You’re more of a brother to him than I am.”

Starsky sat back and closed his eyes. “Maybe once,” he said. “But things are different now. I don’t know what I am to him. I don’t think he knows. But I know now he’s not what he used to be to me.” Starsky opened his eyes and looked up at Hutch.

Hutch was looking down at him. Red-rimmed, watery eyes met his. “I’m sorry.”

Starsky smiled grimly. “You are the most apologetic person I have ever known. Not everything is this world is your fault. Only some of it is,” Starsky said.

Hutch turned away.

“Mr. Hutchinson?” A doctor appeared.

“How is he?” Hutch stiffened.

“He should recover,” the doctor said. “The worst of it is a fractured pelvis, which caused some internal bleeding. We’ve stopped the bleeding, removed some bone fragments, and he’s being put in a cast now. He’ll be in it for some time, though—“

“Can we see him?” Starsky stood up beside Hutch.

“Tomorrow. Or I guess later today,” the doctor glanced up at the wall clock. “You should go home and get some rest for now.”

At the word “rest” Starsky felt the last bit of his energy bleed from his body. ‘Yeah,” he agreed. He took Hutch’s upper arm and squeezed it. “Let’s go home. We need to call your family.”

Hutch nodded silently.

 

Chapter Seven

Starsky walked through the door Hutch had just opened—meaning unlocked—for him. Hutch was on the phone, the cord stretched into a funny wave of curls.

“No, mother, he’s going to be all right.” Hutch arched his back and rubbed the hollow.

Starsky wandered into the kitchen and found himself a mug for coffee.

“No, they didn’t remove anything, and they’re not going to,” Hutch continued. “All they did was stop the bleeding and set the bones.” Hutch paused. “I don’t know when he’ll be out of Intensive Care.”

“I do,” Starsky offered, looking down at his coffee. “Tomorrow. So would you if you ever visited him.”

Hutch ignored Starsky.

“He’s out on bail,” Hutch proceeded. “No, I don’t know.” Starsky could hear a high, shrill voice on the other end. “I didn’t do anything to him! I didn’t—Mother—I know he wasn’t well when he came out here. I know his doctors—Mother—“ Hutch shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You can’t transport him—you can’t—fine, then fly his doctors out here! Do whatever you want! I’ll stay out of it!” There was another shrill tirade from the earpiece.

“Yes. You’re right. It was all my fault. I’m to blame.” Hutch acquiesced. “Yes Mother.” Pause. “I will.” Pause. “Whatever you say.” Hutch hung up the phone.

“She thinks I shouldn’t have allowed Robert to come out here, I should have flown back there to see him.” Hutch paced the room. “Especially since I’m a cop and I have crazies after me all the time.” Hutch stopped. “And she’s right.”

Starsky took another swallow of coffee, then poured the remainder into the sink. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “Not like she wants to make it out to be.”

“Not all of it, anyway.” Hutch moved again, this time circling the couch. “But some of it.” He moved into the kitchen. “Some of it is always my fault. Always has been, always will be.”

Starsky rinsed his cup and set it on the drainboard. He stiffened his arms against the edge of the counter and let his weight fall on them. “Aren’t you exaggerating a bit?” He was immediately sorry he’d said that, for he really didn’t want to encourage this particular conversation. He looked at Hutch. “Bobby never talked about you that way.”

That seemed to startle Hutch. “He didn’t?”

Starsky shook his head. “No.” Maybe Hutch would listen this time.

Hutch began pacing again. “Of course he didn’t. He could afford to be magnanimous. He was Mr. Perfect. He was Mr. Flawless. I was the problem in the family,” he said sarcastically. “Since when have you ever had to live with being compared to an older brother who’s God’s gift to the world?”

Starsky shut his eyes and bowed his head. A similar argument, an older complaint rose from his memory. Hutch’s voice took on the echo of Nick’s.

“All my life I’ve had to live up to Robert’s image.” Hutch had stopped his pacing and was firmly planted in the entryway to the kitchen. “All through school every teacher we ever shared made sure I knew I was expected to be as outstanding as him. Grades came easy to him, but I had to work like a dog to keep up. And it was the same at home! Mother was always telling me what a wonderful son Robert was and how I should be just like him. And because he was so perfect he got away with murder! But could I? No sir! I was forever in trouble because I couldn’t be just like Robert!”

Starsky’s arm ached and he bent further to rest his weight on his forearms. “Can we cut the dramatics, please, Hutch?” He bowed his head until it touched the counter.

“Dramatics?” Hutch vented his spleen. “You think I’m being dramatic? Do you know that when Robert left to school to enlist, I was also requested to enlist because it would outstanding in the community for the Hutchinsons to have two sons fighting for truth, justice and the American way? And when I hesitated, my parents insisted instead that I drop my major and switch to engineering? You see, I was expected to hold up the name of Hutchinson in the world of academia while Robert was upholding the American Way in Vietnam! But no one ever cared that I was working my butt off to accomplish just that! All they ever cared about were the heroics Robert was performing ‘over there’!” Hutch paused to catch his breath.

Starsky was having a hard time concentrating on anything.

“I never had a life of my own,” Hutch continued his rant. “Every friend I had except one came from Robert, and of course that friend was worthless according to my parents! Even Vanessa was a ‘gift’ from Robert. She was his girl first. But I’m sure you know that, he carried her picture around everywhere and told everyone how he’d graciously stepped aside so that bashful baby brother could have his shot. And bashful baby brother did exactly what was expected of him and took her for his bride!”

Hutch’s voice seemed as if it were coming from miles away. Starsky shook his head, pushing himself upright. “I’m sorry, Hutch. I wish I could make it all go away. I can’t.” He walked over to the couch and fell into the cushions.

Hutch paid no heed. “Even you were a hand-me-down,” he accused.

A sob caught in Starsky’s throat. “Hutch—“

Hutch cut him off. “When you showed up on my doorstep that first time, saying you were a buddy of Robert’s and he’d told you to look me up, I felt as if I was being thrown another bone. And when you’d tell all those stories about him and his heroics, I wanted to throw up. I was so jeal—“ Hutch stopped abruptly. His eyes closed in pain. His face was chalky.

Finally, Starsky thought. We get to the heart of the matter. For both of us.

Hutch sank onto the piano bench.

“Tell me,” Starsky said.

Hutch rested an arm along the wood drawer covering the keys. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“You were jealous—“ Starsky persisted ,”—because I was closer to him than you had ever been. Right?”

Hutch nodded. Barely.

“And angry. And hurt. And all those things you go through when you find out someone else has taken your place with someone you love.” Starsky spoke from experience, but he knew Hutch wouldn’t see that right now.

“But it wasn’t so bad when you thought Bobby was dead because there was no one to compete with anymore.”

The color drained from Hutch’s face.

“Then he comes back, and all the old stuff shows up with him. Am I right?”

Hutch hung his head.

“And maybe you’re not just jealous of me, but also of him.”

Starsky watched the vein in Hutch’s neck throb as his jaw line hardened.

“He and I—that was years ago,” Starsky spoke softly. “Another time, another place, worse than anything you can imagine. We needed each other, if only to keep from going psycho and walking out of a chopper or eating a pistol.”

Hutch remained silent.

“You do what you have to do in situations like that,” Starsky clasped his hands, rubbed a thumb over his forefinger. “Not always what you want to do,” he finished quietly.

The room was calm for a moment.

“Look. I’m not going to tell you Bobby and I weren’t close.” Starsky searched for words. “We were. But things are different now. It’s not the same anymore. He wants it to be, but it’s not. He doesn’t control me—“

“You could’ve fooled me.”

Starsky’s head snapped up. From some hidden reserve, adrenalin pumped into his veins. “I will not apologize for what we had before, or what’s going on now, which is nothing! No matter what you think you see, or what Bobby wants you to see, it’s not there! It’s gone! It’s over!” Starsky was now standing, breathing hard. “But he still deserves my respect, and my friendship! And he deserves yours, too!”

Hutch rubbed a slow circle on the wood with his thumb.

“Goddamit, Hutch! Do you honestly think I’ve lived my life according to Bobby’s instructions? That I picked you for a friend because he told me to?”

Hutch shut his eyes. “I don’t know. Did you?”

A transformer blew in Starsky’s brain, showering white sparks in front of his eyes. “Damn it to hell, Hutch, if you’ve felt this way about me all these years, then why in the hell did you keep me around?” His voice shook. “If you hated me so much that first time, then why did you even invite me back a second time?”

Hutch opened his eyes but didn’t look at Starsky. “I don’t know,” he mumbled.

“You’d better know,” Starsky pressed. His eyes were burning, the sparks causing tears. “For all I know, maybe you’ve just been using me all this time as some kind of sick brother-substitute! Maybe all these years I haven’t been anything to you except a brother you could finally feel superior to!”

No answer.

Starsky clutched at his stomach, where the sparks were now burning into his gut. He stumbled back to the bedroom and fell face down on the bed. Every muscle ached, and every bone felt as if it weighed a ton. He could have thrown up, he could have cried, but no amount of thought could have moved his body. He tried to sink deeper into the mattress, looking for comfort.

The mattress shifted as a weight lowered itself next to him.

“What do you want?” Hutch’s voice was soft, quiet—traumatized.

Starsky kept his face squashed into a pillow. “You could quit playing the martyr, for one.” It was mean; Starsky didn’t care. Might as well throw out the whole list. “You could quit acting like you’re the only injured party here. You could at least pretend to be nice to your brother.”

Hutch was laying face up next to Starsky. “You do it,” he sighed. “You’re better for him, and he obviously prefers you.”

“God, let’s not start that again.” Starsky turned his head, his cheek resting on the pillow, his eyes on Hutch. Hutch was staring at the ceiling.

“Okay. I’m not going to care anymore how you and Bobby treat each other. I’m tired of waiting—wishing you’d act like real brothers. It’s obviously not going to happen.” Starsky took a breath, held it, then exhaled as his heart beat a count of ten. Hutch didn’t respond.

“And I won’t be played like a pawn between you two. I won’t be wrenched back and forth while you argue over who I like better. I simply won’t be used like that anymore.”

Starsky rolled over, trying to figure out exactly which spot on the ceiling had Hutch mesmerized.

“There aren’t words to describe how it was over there.” Starsky spoke softly. “And you’ll never understand, no matter how many movies you see or books you read. Bobby kept me warm. He kept me clean. He kept me alive. He taught me how to walk point, how to stay silent, and how to live with the insanity of the whole place.” Starsky felt for Hutch’s hand, placed his own over it. Hutch didn’t resist.

“And in case the similarities escape you, those were things I taught you when we first hit the streets.”

Hutch’s face reddened, and he turned it away from Starsky.

“He was my best friend,” Starsky continued. “Back then, he was the only best friend I’d ever had. And I owe him my life. He taught me more than I can ever repay. And if I choose to pay him back by remaining his friend, then so be it.”

He squeezed Hutch’s hand.

“When I got back to the States, and then got my discharge, I was alone again. I was back to being nothing. No education, a family that had been ripped apart, and Bobby was KIA.”

“I was just wandering around L.A., trying to figure out what my part in the whole mess was. I came to you because I thought you could tell me, just like Bobby had always done.” Starsky paused.

“Maybe that wasn’t fair. Hell, I know it wasn’t fair. I don’t even remember what we talked about that first time. But I do remember I felt better than I had in months. I felt like I had a chance again. I was more than just a number, a faceless grunt.”

Starsky released Hutch’s hand and sat up. “Hutch, you made me feel that way! You gave me fire!” He looked down at Hutch. Starsky watched as bitterness bled from Hutch’s eyes, but his heart sank when he saw pain replace it.

“Don’t you see?” Starsky pushed. “If I hadn’t known Bobby first, if he hadn’t taught me all those things, I would never have had you. Like it or not, Bobby gave me you.”

Tears rimmed Hutch’s eyes, but he still refused to speak.

Starsky touched Hutch’s shoulder. “I’m going to tell you what you want to hear, even though you don’t deserve to hear it. You’re first in my life, not Bobby. But I still love him for what he did and what he was to me.”

Hutch curled up on his side, Starsky’s hand still on his shoulder.

“I’m not going to give up one of you for the other, though. You’ll have to either accept that, or—“ Starsky broke off, removed his hand, and slumped over.

“The least you could do is say something. Agree…disagree…apologize again.” He looked over at Hutch.

Hutch remained curled up. “I can’t,” he said, so softly Starsky barely heard him. “I can’t handle this anymore. I’ve been trying, but I can’t. I’m too tired, too scared, and I don’t want to end up crazy, or dead, or alone—“

Starsky lay back and curled his body around Hutch’s. “Dammit, Hutch, why do you keep all this inside you? Why don’t you tell me these things so we can work them out? You are going to end up crazy or alone if you keep acting like this.” The words hung in the air, and Starsky felt a touch of surprise at their finality. It wasn’t exactly what he’d meant to say. “I mean—“ he started to correct himself.

“Don’t.” Hutch shook his head. “I know. I shouldn’t have hidden things from you. I shouldn’t have kept secrets.” He curled into an even tighter ball. “I wanted to talk to you, needed to talk to you, I really did. But first we tried to quit, then you were shot, then Robert was released, then there was your therapy and Robert’s coming home and cases and trials….” Hutch’s voice trailed into nothingness.

Starsky held Hutch tighter. This had been going on even longer than Starsky had suspected. “God damn you,” Starsky breathed. “Part of me wants to forgive you and say it’s all right, but the other part of me wants to beat you to a pulp for what you’ve put us through.”

“I’m sorry,” Hutch murmured.

“Goddamn right you’re sorry,” Starsky murmured back. “Now what are you going to do about it?”

“Quit.” Another mumble.

“Aw, Hutch!” Starsky rolled away from Hutch until he was sitting off the opposite side of the bed. “You can never commit to anything, and when you do commit, it’s to the wrong thing.”

Hutch remained silent.

“Stand up for something!” Starsky slashed at the air with his hand. “Stand up for someone! Stand up for yourself!” Starsky slued around until his left knee rested on the bed and he could look at Hutch. “Your parents treat you like second-class shit, you give them more shit instead of telling them where to get off. That’s the easy way out. Your marriage is falling apart? You walk away and let her take you for all she can because it’s easier than fighting.”

“Hold it,” Hutch pulled himself upright. “You have no business talking about something you know nothing of.”

“Oh?” Starsky cocked an eyebrow. “Upon whose couch did you take up residence back then? And need I remind you about the post-divorce pregnancy she conned you into believing was yours? And even when you found out it wasn’t yours, you were going to support the baby anyway?”

Hutch turned away from him.

“Don’t like your job?” Starsky continued. “Then toss your badge into the ocean instead of trying to deal with the problem. Tired of your brother? Give him away. Tired of your partner? Buy yourself a ticket to parts unknown, then casually mention to him he’s welcome to come along if he can be packed and ready to leave yesterday.” Starsky slumped, picking at the bedspread. “All those choices are the easy way out, babe. You wait until it’s too late for any options then cry over missed opportunities and lost alternatives.”

The room remained quiet as two bodies remained still.

“You called me ‘Hutch,’” Hutch murmured, breaking the silence, still hunched over and facing away from Starsky.

“What?”

“You called me ‘Hutch,’” Hutch said, a bit louder. “Not Ken, not Kenneth, and not Kenny. Hutch.”

Starsky scooted further onto the bed. “What?”

“When you first showed up at my door.”

Starsky remembered. Robert had told him how Hutch had begun refusing to answer to “Ken” or “Kenneth” in junior high, and insisted on being called “Hutch.” He’d picked it up from some movie. “Kenneth” was what his parents called him; that was out. “Ken” was his school name. And of course “Kenny” was verboten; a name for sissies. So “Hutch” it was. But Starsky didn’t say this out loud.

“And we talked about my record collection.” Hutch turned his body a bit toward Starsky, but still didn’t look at him. “We played records all afternoon and you interpreted all the lyrics for me.” He chuckled softly. “You had the most outrageous imagination back then.”

Starsky held his breath.

Hutch shook his head. “I don’t know what to do or say anymore.” He choked. “Sorry isn’t enough. I wish I could go back and change things, but I can’t. I just don’t—I don’t know—“

“Pick one thing,” Starsky scooted a little closer. “Just one thing you want. Don’t think about it, just pick from your gut.”

Hutch drew a shaky breath.

“No. Don’t think. What do you want?”

“You,” Hutch whispered.

“You got it.” Starsky put his hands on Hutch’s shoulders and pulled him back towards him.

“But I can’t—“

“Shut up,” Starsky tugged at Hutch, forcing him to move back onto the bed where he could lean into Starsky and Starsky could encircle him with his arms. Starsky rested his head on Hutch’s shoulder. “You got me. No strings, no terms. Just me.”

Hutch took a deep breath within the circle of Starsky’s arms.

“Now how hard was that?” Starsky murmured into Hutch’s shoulder.

Hutch managed a shrug within Starsky’s tight grasp.

“We’ll work on those other things you want later.”

Hutch started to protest.

Starsky separated himself from Hutch and put his fingers over Hutch’s lips. “Now it’s time for what I want.” He leaned in, and replaced his fingers with his lips.

Hutch didn’t recoil, but he didn’t respond, either. Starsky moved back and looked into the watery blue eyes of his partner. “I want to be with you. I want to feel like I’m a part of you again,” he said softly. “I don’t know exactly how’s that going to happen in the future—I don’t even want to think about jobs and brothers and plans right now.” Again Starsky’s fingers found Hutch’s lips, traced their softness. “Right now, what I want is you.”

Starsky slid forward and kissed Hutch again. This time the lips under his relented, accepted; returned the burgeoning fervor. Starsky shifted his body until he was sitting on his knees, his body higher than Hutch’s, his hands cupping now-upturned face. He planted kiss after spun out kiss, softly at first, then more demanding.

“Been too long,” Starsky murmured between Hutch’s lips. He used his tongue to trace Hutch’s lips, then push between them, exploring the wet and hot that was opened up to him. Their tongues met, engaged, jousted, until Starsky sucked the pliant flesh into his mouth along with a deep and satisfying moan.

Starsky’s hands slid down to Hutch’s shirt, fumbling with the buttons as he continued to kiss and tease and tantalize every nerve ending in Hutch’s mouth. Starsky pulled the shirt from Hutch’s waistband and pushed it off his shoulders and arms, still engaging the succulent mouth and swollen lips offered up to him.

A tiny cry of disappointment came from the beautiful mouth as Starsky separated from Hutch, and, placing his hands on Hutch’s shoulders, pushed him back into the mattress. Starsky moved to straddle Hutch, quickly freeing himself from his own shirt, then hovering over the body lying compliant under him. He ran his palms over the smooth chest and abdomen, enjoying how easily they slid over the hairless skin. Starsky pressed a little, kneading pectorals, then let his hands stroke over Hutch’s nipples, rubbing small circles over them.

Hutch’s breath stuttered. Starsky took a nipple between each thumb and forefinger, first rolling them gently, then squeezing, then pulling to increase their length and firmness. Hutch gasped, his back arching slightly off the bed, his fingers grabbing into the blanket. Starsky twisted the hardening nubs, then slid his hands down to Hutch’s waist even as he lowered his mouth to the right nipple, flicking it gently with his tongue, then taking it between his teeth and pulling again.

A soft “ahhh” escaped from Hutch’s mouth, and Starsky sucked the nipple into his mouth and used his tongue to toy with it. He held onto Hutch’s waist tightly, keeping him from moving too much, only allowing Hutch to arch into his wet mouth. Hutch’s body stayed where it was, but his knees were beginning to bend and his leg muscles tighten. Hutch slowly dropped back to the bed, and Starsky licked over to the left nipple, giving it the same nips and flicks the other had enjoyed.

Starsky loved the feel of the tiny nubbins of flesh in his mouth, but he needed more. Desire strained through his jeans, and he wanted to see the same desire in Hutch.

Starsky made a line of sucking kisses down Hutch’s chest along his sternum, making his way to the waist and below. Starsky slipped the buckle on Hutch’s belt, opened the fly on his jeans, and tugged the down material until it stopped mid-thigh. This had the effect of virtually binding Hutch’s legs together, but Hutch didn’t seem to care. Starsky pulled down the white briefs until they were stopped by the jeans, and focused his attention on Hutch’s erect cock.

He blew gently on it, watching with interest as it stirred and seemed to inch higher on Hutch’s thigh. Starsky lowered his lips to the hot flesh and kissed along its length, then took it in his hand to turn it so that its entire surface would know his lips.

Hutch groaned, his hands still gripping the bedspread, his head tilting back into the mattress. Starsky let his tongue slip through his lips to lave the thick flesh, making it wet and shiny and responsive to his every lick. Hutch’s cock grew longer, larger; Starsky lifted it and lapped at the underside, making sure not to miss the tender scrotal sac. Then he drew his tongue along the underside, from the base to the head, long, luxurious strokes that once again caused Hutch to arch from the mattress. Starsky followed the line of the vein underneath, each long lick lifting Hutch higher off the bed.

Starsky’s tongue finally settled on circling the head of Hutch’s cock as his left hand gently squeezed the length and his right hand slid under an ass cheek.

Hutch was alternately moaning and groaning, his legs trapped under Starsky’s butt, his fingers keeping a tight grip on the bedspread, his head rolling back and forth on the mattress. Starsky circled his tongue a bit lower, then opened his mouth and took in the first inch of Hutch’s cock. He sucked on it, feeling it move and pulsate in his mouth, using his hand to keep it from slipping out and deserting him. Starsky lowered his head further, taking in more of the pulsing member, swirling his tongue around and around the treasure.

Starsky lifted up, not quite releasing Hutch’s cock, then lowered as far as he could, almost as if he were measuring it. Starsky moved his mouth up and down, alternately sucking on the flesh and blowing around it, making it shiver and quake at his bidding. His hand continued to clutch the base, pumping it, urging Hutch’s cock to take full advantage of Starsky’s hot mouth. The fingers of Starsky’s right hand slid into Hutch’s crack, stroking up and down, tickling the sensitive area.

Hutch was breathing heavily when he could breathe; he was either holding his breath or gasping out groans as Starsky began to move his head up and down more rapidly. Squeezing, sucking, stroking; the throbbing in Starsky’s mouth grew more insistent and Hutch’s hips began to bounce up and down on the bed. Starsky moved both hands around Hutch’s cock and held it firmly in his mouth, his tongue measuring its circumference, then pinning it against the roof of his mouth as Hutch cried out and bucked under Starsky’s weight.

Starsky sucked as if he could suck Hutch dry, then released the quivering flesh and began licking it again, gently, tenderly, lovingly. Hutch’s body remained rigid, then gradually relaxed as Starsky lifted up from Hutch.

Hutch’s eyes were closed and his head rolled heavily from one side to the other. Starsky took a deep, satisfied breath and stepped off the bed. As Hutch lay still, Starsky removed his boots, then his jeans and briefs, leaving Hutch tantalizingly naked. Starsky kicked off his own shoes and skimmed off his jeans and briefs, then disappeared into the bathroom and came back with a tube of K-Y.

He once again straddled Hutch. Starsky reached down and caressed Hutch’s cheek, causing Hutch to look up at him with happily glazed eyes. Holding on to Hutch’s gaze, Starsky squeezed a blob of jelly into his left palm, then reached down and began stroking his own stiffening cock. Starsky slid his hand over it slowly, then two hands, coating the turgid flesh evenly until it glistened. He sat erect, his own head falling back as he stroked and caressed his own cock, feeling it grow under his intense ministrations.

Starsky trailed a single finger over and along his cock, sending shivers up his spine. He momentarily stopped his attentions to his cock and trailed slippery fingers up to his nipples, circling them then sliding back down to his cock. Little electrical tingles connected his cock and his nipples.

Starsky looked down at Hutch, who was still staring at him rapturously. He shifted to slip a knee between Hutch’s thighs, and Hutch obligingly widened his legs to allow Starsky to kneel between them. Starsky squeezed another glob of jelly into his palms, then leaned over and slid the sides of his hands under Hutch’s balls and between his ass cheeks, spreading the cheeks apart and coating the crack. Hutch lifted his ass off the mattress, then drew up his legs and bent his knees to give him better lift off the bed.

Starsky’s palms slid over and around the globes of Hutch’s ass, kneading the firm flesh and squeezing it hard. Then his fingers dove between them, coating Hutch’s crack and even sliding up the perineum and over Hutch’s balls. A confident finger swirled over Hutch’s asshole, then dipped inside to coat the sensitive inner surface. It was hot and tight, and closed over Starsky’s finger.

Starsky pulled out his finger and sat back. He grabbed Hutch’s thighs and lifted them onto his shoulders, leaning forward to lift Hutch’s entire back off the bed. Hutch held his weight lightly even as Starsky watched Hutch’s cock become semi-erect with the stimuli. Starsky shifted his knees to balance himself and Hutch, then grabbed his own full erection and held it firmly as he guided himself into Hutch.

His cock stopped at the slippery entrance. Starsky pushed a little, and he moved into Hutch steadily. Hutch’s ass cheeks clenched, then relaxed, and Starsky pushed in a little further. The sensation was incredible: Hutch was imprisoning him with a white heat, holding him so tightly Starsky vaguely wondered if he could release anything. Starsky alternately pushed and waited, Hutch clenched and released, until Starsky’s balls pressed against Hutch’s ass and they were essentially one body.

Starsky began to rock back and forth on heels, holding onto Hutch’s ass and rocking them as one. Starsky’s cock throbbed almost painfully inside Hutch, his own balls tight and stretched. Starsky’s body was overtaken by primal motions, and he began to slide out and then back into Hutch.

Hutch responded with his own primal motions, pulling back as Starsky pulled back and pushing forward as Starsky pushed forward. Starsky gripped Hutch tightly for balance and intimacy, as Hutch gripped the bed for support. Starsky slid out as far as he could without slipping from Hutch, then back in as far as he could, first slowly, then more urgently. Passion fueled his rhythm, and Starsky pushed harder and pulled faster to increase the friction on his pulsing cock. The bed creaked under them and Starsky’s grunts were now joined by Hutch’s groans until a hot line of lava exploded from Starsky’s spasming cock and sent them both into a shuddering tangle of arms and legs.

Starsky had fallen from Hutch and lay panting, prone, next to him. Hutch lay supine, one arm under Starsky’s chest, the other gripping Starsky’s right arm. Their legs were still intertwined.

“I’d forgotten,” Hutch whispered.

“I hadn’t.” Starsky turned his face toward Hutch.

A darkness passed over Hutch’s face. “You didn’t tell him, did you? He doesn’t know, does he?”

Starsky shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them with calm in his gut and only one Hutchinson in his heart. Hutch. His lover, his partner, his friend. “It’s nobody’s business but ours.”

Hutch nodded. He ran a hand over his chest, as if trying to replicate Starsky’s attentions.

“What now?” asked Hutch.

Starsky shrugged, content to lay where he was. “Go again?”

Hutch snorted. “I think you’d get about as much as I got in court last week,” Hutch chuckled.

Starsky lifted his head. “You mean screwed?” he grinned crookedly.

“No satisfaction,” Hutch corrected.

“You finally got your man,” Starsky said, laying his head back down.

“That I did.” Hutch patted Starsky’s arm and snuggled closer.