Do Policemen Dream of Eclectic Meets

Flamingo’s reinterpretation of Game of Thrones but starring Starsky and Hutch.

Originally published in the 2018 SHareCon Zine.

Author’s Note: Starsky and Hutch is my only fandom and has been for over 20 years. Because I’m so fixated on those boys, I see them everywhere and in everything. I had no trouble envisioning them in Game of Thrones, and fortunately, neither did Suzan. If you know nothing about the books or TV series, two specific scenes can help you visualize this story. Each is about four-plus minutes long. First, see https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8UONVo9JFYY, when Jon Snow first meets Daenerys and her dragon, Drogon, and then see https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Id3jN_TO_Lw, when Daenerys comes to save Jon and his band from the army of the undead. The moment when she reaches for his hand is at about the 1:08 mark. Be aware in the second clip there are many zombies and lots of fire-breathing dragon action.

See Suzan’s art for this fic here.

David “Jon Snow” Stark watched the gigantic dragon fly towards him with more than a little trepidation. The massive wings buffeted the sky as the animal—way bigger than a Torino, even bigger than a castle—backwinged to a smooth landing on the rocky promontory. Once on land, the creature lumbered forward on hind legs and wings until it was in snuffling range of the heavily garbed man awaiting this soon-to-be-legendary meeting between leaders.

As the huge scaly beast approached, Stark could finally get a good look at the human perched upon its back. Clad in all-white winter wear, with his long blond hair elaborately braided and flowing down his back, He-Who-Commanded-Dragons was a stunningly handsome man. Distracted by the fair man’s piercing blue eyes and tall, regal stature, Stark was overwhelmed with a rush of desire for the stunning man and a flush of terror of the fire-breathing dragon he rode.

Could he forge an alliance with this gorgeous creature—the man, not the dragon? Could he convince this apparition in white to trust him? Could he convince him to follow Stark into battle against the White Walkers and all of Westeros? More importantly, could Stark charm him into his fur-lined bed? Or the most important question—could he get through this meeting without being roasted like a marshmallow? Don’t even think it. Are dragons telepathic?

Before Stark could find his voice, the dragon came close enough to touch, snuffling him as a horse might. A horse with sulfurous breath! His eyes watered but he held his ground, gathering his Ikea-rug cloak around him like armor.

“So, we finally meet, David Jon Snow Stark,” said the dragon’s rider, shifting easily as his enormous mount sidled beneath him. “When I asked my counselors for your title they said you are called the First of Your Name, the Resurrected, the White Wolf, Protector of the Realm, the Former Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, Defender of the Wall, Slayer of White Walkers and the Army of the Dead, and Friend of the Free Folk.”

“Yeah, well…” Stark struggled to look modest. “You know how the media is. Always making stuff up.”

“You are also called the Prince that Was Promised, the King in the North—and the Bastard of Winterfell.”

“Hey watch the name callin’, will ya. I get enough of that from my own family. Let’s make it simple. You can call me Stark… And they call you—”

The dragon lurched, the scales along its considerable bulk rippling like water under a stormy sky. The rider had no trouble keeping his seat. “I am Kenetherys Stormborn of the House Hutchgaryen, the First of His Name, The Unburnt, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, King of Meereen, Khal of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Lord Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains, and Father of Dragons.”

“Uh-huh! I thought I was over-titled. I’m just gonna call you Hutch. And your oversized transport here? I’m guessing he’s not called Toothless—”

The dragon’s huge fangs were only one of his more disturbing features.

Hutch smiled and patted his mount’s neck. “My dragon’s name is—”

Stark held up a leather-clad hand. “Don’t tell me. Let me guess. Smaug!”

Hutch shook his head.

“Fafnir?” Stark continued. “Hydra?”

Hutch rolled his eyes. “Wrong universe.”

“Puff the Magic Dragon?

The creature snorted as if irritated. Stark took a step back.

“This is Drogon,” Hutch said, before Stark could go on. He pouted. He still had a few more guesses. “He’s the first born of my three dragons. Fortunately, he seems to like you. Or he did before the magic dragon crack. Normally, he turns men into ash.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve always had a way with animals.” Cautiously, Stark removed his glove and touched the dragon. Realizing he was holding his breath, he exhaled as the dragon tolerated his hand. “Has anyone ever told King Ghidorah here that he could use a super-sized breath mint?”

“It’s Drogon,” Hutch insisted.

“Whatever. This meeting is draggin’.” He gave Hutch a meaningful look. Hutch smiled. Maybe he was telepathic. “Your place or mine?”

“Definitely mine.” Hutch pointed to the cave mouth poised at the top of the highest mountain. “Not afraid of heights, are you?”

Stark swallowed. “Looks like a long hike—”

Hutch chuckled. “Ah, Jon Snow, you know nothing. It’s not a hike at all. Actually, it’s just a short flight.”

Flight? “Do you normally meet with all your heads of state and counselors all the way up there to discuss battle strategies?”

“Oh, no,” Hutch said, smiling slyly. “That’s not where we have our meetings. Those are my private rooms.”

Stark stopped looking at the mountaintop and turned to look at Hutch. The expression on his face was unmistakable. Private…?

“Will you join me in my rooms, Jon Snow?” Hutch extended his hand.

Stark glanced at the mountain, then at Drogon, then back at Hutch. Well, if it was the only way. Raising his hand, he met Hutch’s strong grip with his own.

As Hutch pulled Stark onto Drogon’s back, he yelled, “Hold on.” Drogon unfurled his wings, and launched himself into the air straight up toward the mountaintop.

Stark shut his eyes and clung to Hutch’s white jacket as Drogon shrieked.

“How can you sleep with all that racket?” Hutch asked.

Starsky jerked awake, nearly rolling off the dragon. He grabbed for Hutch’s white jacket or Drogon’s scales before realizing he was on Hutch’s couch. In Hutch’s living room.

On Hutch’s TV, King Ghidorah, the three-headed dragon, fought with Godzilla. The screeching was deafening. He rubbed his eyes. He felt like he knew nothing!

Hutch snapped off the TV. “Come on, we’ve been called in for an emergency meeting with the DA. He’s getting cold feet over the Denneris case. We’re meeting in City Hall.”

Starsky got to his feet cautiously. “Not on the top floor, I hope.”

Hutch looked at him oddly. “Well, it’s not like we have to fly, buddy. We can take the elevator.” Hutch stared at him. “Are you okay? You don’t look quite awake yet.”

“Uh, yeah… just…weird dreams.” Starsky felt himself reluctantly pulled back into his real world and wondered where the visions from the other world came from.

As if he picked up on Starsky’s longing, Hutch gripped his arm. “Let’s get through this meeting. Then we can have some private time. Just you and me.”

Starsky blinked and started to smile. “Your place or mine?”

Hutch smiled. “My tower is yours, m’lord.”

Starsky grinned and grabbed his keys. “Then, the sooner we get going, we sooner we get back. Let’s fly!”