Burritos & Pizzas & Star Wars, Oh My!

Starsky stood in the middle of the room, looking at the burrito blanket that was folded and draped – in an elegant way – over the back of the sofa. Hutch was an artist through and through, he even made something like this look like a polished, designer piece. A small laugh escaped him. He touched the soft fabric, remembering the time Hutch had bought it for them and the many ways they had used it since then.

They had made love on it and under it. They had cuddled in it while making out, whispering tender, loving things to each other. They had wrapped in it to keep warm, resembling a human burrito. They had put it across their laps while watching their movies and shows. They had sat on it while playing board games or having picnics. They had curled under it while napping in each other’s arms. They had used it for comfort, together or separately, bundling themselves up while sick or when missing each other. They had even taken it with them on stakeouts.

Starsky smiled as he caressed the soft, fuzzy material and thought back on their shared life.

Hutch constantly told him he loved him but, more than that, he showed it. Ιt was in all his actions even when he mocked Starsky or pointed the Finger of Doom at him. The finger which Starsky never got tired of biting, licking, kissing and sucking. Which was pretty much the reason why Hutch kept sticking it in his face, even though he wouldn’t admit it.

That was how Hutch spoke his love languages. He nagged Starsky about not eating healthy enough, then when Starsky wasn’t looking he bought him burritos from that place up the beach he liked so much, made him pizza from scratch using all of Starsky’s favorite toppings and came home with a burrito blanket because, “I saw this and thought it’d go with your taste in food.”

Never mind that Starsky had seen him looking for a burrito blanket on the Internet. Or for the pizza blanket he gave Starsky a few months later because, “the burrito is lonely and in dire need of an equally ugly friend.”

When Starsky got ecstatic about a new Star Wars movie coming out, Hutch made fun of him and scrunched up his face in disgusted terror at the prospect of having to watch it in a theater. Yet when Starsky told him it was all right if he didn’t want to see it and he didn’t have to go with him, Hutch looked at him as if he were insane. He got dressed without saying anything, stood in the long line to get tickets without a word of complain and bought a humongous bucket of popcorn for both of them.

A couple of weeks later Christmas came and Starsky got a pair of Star Wars pajamas and a blue lightsaber. From Santa Hutch. There were a lot of happy Wookie noises from the bedroom that day. Although Hutch did draw the line at droid-speak.

Then there was the time when Starsky announced at breakfast he was going to see the new Godzilla movie that evening. Hutch grimaced in distaste and started grumbling about idiotic blockbusters full of CGI and no substance but when the evening came he was ready two hours before they had to leave the house. Starsky was glued to the screen during the film but even so, caught Hutch several times looking at him with a fond and tender expression, a lovestruck smile on his face.

A few days later Starsky found a Godzilla plushie sitting in the Torino’s driver’s seat with a note which read, “If I were a real boy, I’d step on this striped tomato and turn it into ketchup!”

Starsky’s next memory was of one of the rare times they had to be apart. He had to go back to New York for a family related issue and it had taken longer than expected. When everything had been settled he took the first available flight back, eager to surprise Hutch and show him how much he had missed him. He found him asleep, covered in both the burrito and pizza blankets, cuddling Zilla and wearing Starsky’s favorite Harry Potter shirt. The one he had said he wouldn’t wear if you paid him millions. Starsky’s heart had ached with so much love at the sight it blurred his vision and threatened to spill out his eyes. They made slow, sensual love to each other for hours that day.

The next day, Starsky discovered Hutch had also washed and even waxed the Torino and he had a very strong suspicion Hutch must have napped in it or else spent a considerable amount of time just sitting in it. Maybe listening to music. Maybe singing himself. The smell of Hutch’s cologne permeated the interior and he caught whiffs of Hutch’s grapefruit, lime and mint organic shampoo coming from the headrest. The same faint scent he detected on his Star Wars pj’s when he wore them that night.

All because Hutch loved Starsky and was missing him and wanted to feel close to him. Sometimes Starsky couldn’t believe how loved he was. How incredibly lucky he was to have Hutch.

He had this sudden vision of the two of them, old, grey and wrinkled, still bantering and bickering. Hutch still lecturing and grumbling and being his wonderful, amazing self. Complaining about stuff and then doing them anyway because Starsky wanted them. Bitching about pop culture and loving it nonetheless because Starsky loved it. Pointing the Finger of Doom and all the while doing everything in his power to make Starsky happy. Together in the far future, blanketed by impenetrable layers of a love so warm and fierce that nothing could touch them.

His heart swelled so much he feared his ribs would crack, his chest too narrow to contain it. He felt a powerful wave of longing and affection for Hutch, a wave that threatened to pull him under and drown him. And he would gladly let it. He wanted to give Hutch the whole universe in return and it still wouldn’t be nearly enough to show how he felt.

Just then, flashes of constellations in his eyes and sweet memories in his head, he heard the sound of keys. The door opened two seconds later and Hutch walked in. He saw Starsky and a dazzling smile appeared on his face. A smile Starsky was responsible for, a smile that was only for him. A smile like the summer sun. Starsky felt hot and dizzy.

He crossed what little distance there was between them and wrapped his arms around Hutch. He slid one hand up, letting his fingers run through the silky blond strands and before Hutch could utter a word, Starsky’s lips were on his, kissing him like his life depended on it, leaving him breathless.

“I am going to buy you a small country.”

Hutch nuzzled his nose.

“What do I need a small country for when I already have the whole world in my arms?”

Loved? No. He was, in the most complete and absolute way, worshipped.