The second Starsky made it home, Hutch jumped him. Went airborne, like Superman, minus cape and tights.
Originally published in the 2006 SHareCon zine.
The second Starsky made it home, Hutch jumped him. Went airborne, like Superman, minus cape and tights. Minus clothes of any kind. Streamlined thus, Hutch overcame the wind’s resistance. Starsky’s, too.
The unanticipated action (coupled with strategic placement of the couch) gave Hutch the upper hand. The upper everything, in fact — he shimmied till his shins pinned Starsky’s shoulders.
“I tend to overthink things… and sex has gotten too routine.” He said it sulkily, in paraphrase.
“Bet you’d like to eat those words,” he added, “Here’s your favorite appetizer,” and stoppered Starsky’s lips with just the tip of his cock.
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