Dust in the Wind

388

After attending the funeral of a fallen brother cop, Starsky and Hutch ponder the future. Will anyone remember who they were and how they loved?

 

Originally published in Penal Code 1 in 1988, then reprinted in The Fix #18 in 1998.

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Hutch climbed out of the pool and sprawled on his towel at the edge of the shallow end, watching Starsky. Usually a swim in their landlady’s pool provided a refreshing lift. Today was different, however. Finishing his laps, Starsky eased over to the side of the pool, leaning against the edge, near Hutch. He didn’t say anything, but his heavy sigh spoke volumes.

Hutch reached out to touch a drop of water on the bronzed shoulder nearest him. “Feel any better?” he asked, keeping his voice soft.

Eyebrows rose, but Starsky didn’t answer.

Hutch sighed in his own turn. “Funerals are rough.”

“Really.”

Their eyes met and the subject they’d kept silent on in the days since Babcock’s death finally forced its way out in the open. “One of these days, it’s gonna be you or me.” Starsky said it, his voice a monotone.

Hutch felt the emotion behind the flat words. “We could quit… again.”

Starsky looked at him, attempting a smile. “Yeah. And do what?”

“I dunno. Get on each others’ nerves, bump into each other around the house all day…”

“Oh, you mean retire. I forgot we’re independently wealthy; thought we’d have to find gainful employment.”

Hutch laughed but he could see Starsky’s mood hadn’t lifted. “It’s the life we’ve chosen, babe.”

“I know.” He reached out, wet fingers sliding down Hutch’s arm. “And I don’t intend to unchoose it — the job, or you.”

“Risks and all,” Hutch added. “Babcock knew the risks, too, Starsky. Even careful cops lose sometimes.”

“I know. That’s not the only thing that’s bothering me, though.” He looked away, blue eyes distant as the horizon for a moment. Eventually, the eyes turned back to him. “How’d you feel — at the funeral, I mean?”

“Sad. Angry. All those cops, all those uniforms lined up. It helps some, but it hurts. It scares me.” It was difficult to say the next part. “I’ve visualized myself, you know. Being there with all of them… for you.”

There was a tenderness in Starsky’s eyes. “Maybe we’ll get lucky. Go out together.”

“Lucky, yeah.” It wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation, but that didn’t make it any easier.

“You know what else I was feeling today, though?” Starsky continued.

“Hmm?”

“Those kids of Babcock’s.” His Adam’s apple bobbed convulsively.

“They’ll have to grow up without their father.” Hutch had seen cops’ sons lose their dads too many times. And the man beside him had learned that pain first hand. He sat up, moving to dangle his legs in the water, wanting to be closer to his friend. He rested his hand on Starsky’s wet curls.

”Did you see the oldest one — how much like Jerry he looks?” Starsky mused.

The silence after his statement stretched out. Hutch watched his face, slowly beginning to realize the direction of his partner*s comments.

“I never had a son.” The small voice confirmed Hutch’s understanding.

“Me either,” he told him softly, mildly. ”That’s part of the life we’ve chosen, too.”

“I know.” The wet head leaned close, resting for a moment on his knee. “I’m not complainin’. I don’t usually think about it at all.” One finger traced a bead of water moving slowly down Hutch’s thigh. “I don’t miss not havin’ them. But today I got to thinking… somebody’s going to be around that remembers Babcock.”

“Not just his kids, Starsk. All those cops remember. That’s part of what the funeral was for. They turn out in force to show they won’t forget.”

“Yeah… ” Starsky’s voice trailed off. “But what does that mean? In the long run, unless you’ve left something behind, after you’re gone it’s all…”

“Don’t, babe.” Hutch stroked the bowed head. He hated to see Starsky get like this. Ever since the shooting, they had both become more aware of the frailty of life. It had affected Starsky in subtle ways. He was more philosophical, more prone to depression. He used to take each day as it came, and Hutch had envied him his ability to not worry over the problems tomorrow might bring. “Sometimes,” he said finally, almost to himself, “I think living with me is causing my hang-ups to rub off on you.”

Starsky looked up, the attempt of a smile curving his mouth. “In some ways, that ain’t so bad.”

“Name one.” Hutch smiled, too, hoping the banter would lighten Starsky’s mood. “No, scratch that. I’m afraid to hear.” He went on after a moment. “Life is good, babe. I don’t want to think about losing it, either. But you’ve gotta know we’ve made our mark. Look at the lives we’ve saved. Even if somebody doesn’t remember your name, it doesn’t lessen your impact on the world.”

“Guess you’re right.” Starsky’s eyes went back to the horizon and Hutch knew he didn’t fully agree. “But sometimes I wonder… have we made an impact? Has us being here made any difference at all? History has forgotten more men than it remembers. Even having kids… that doesn’t make you immortal.”

Hutch slipped into the water. It felt shockingly cold to his bare chest after the heat of the sun. He reached for Starsky, offering his warmth against the chill of death and emptiness. His partner’s arms went around him with all their strength. Hutch felt the need in his embrace and squeezed back. His lips found a curl-covered ear. “Maybe love does,” he whispered.

Starsky trembled. “Show me,” he whispered back.

***

The dark coolness of their apartment seemed soft and inviting after the glare of the sun. In the bedroom, Hutch peeled the wet, skimpy trunks down Starsky’s legs; they were tight, hard to get off, but the difficulty seemed to fuel his interest in the project. When Starsky finally kicked the impeding garment away, Hutch stayed on his knees, finding the hardening cock with his lips. Starsky gasped as his cool flesh was surrounded by the warmth Hutch’s mouth provided. Hutch’s hands settled on the curves of the damp ass, urging the movement of the hips, loving the intimacy of the act he performed. He looked up, found Starsky’s eyes watching. Warmth surrounded him, starting a process of meltdown.

Starsky moaned, shuddering, his fingers tightening in Hutch’s hair. “Hey, slow down. I wanna do you…”

Hutch pulled back. “Sure you want to wait?” He had the erection in his hand, now, pumping slowly. Starsky nodded.

While Starsky turned down the covers, Hutch stripped off his own trunks, leaving them in a wet heap. He couldn’t take his eyes off his lover, the tanned, trim body so inviting his hands reached for him again as soon as he climbed into bed.

They settled into a familiar position, on their sides. Hutch rested his head on Starsky’s muscled thigh, lips nuzzling the familiar flesh. He felt himself abruptly taken by Starsky’s mouth, knew himself desired, hungered for. The pleasure of being surrounded by dark, warm wetness closed in a crescendo around him. It rose and ebbed back and forth between the lovers in a sharing that was old as life itself. He continued melting, his bones turning to honey, insides dissolving.

Starsky was eager, swallowing as much of Hutch as he could take, sucking insistently in a manner that drove Hutch wild. Reciprocating, he bore down on Starsky, turned on by the feel of the other man’s cock reaching his throat. Starsky shivered in his arms. He drew back playfully, holding Hutch’s cock in his fist, wet tongue darting over the head, creating sweet torment. Hutch knew how to counteract the torture with some teasing of his own. His fingers explored the delicate sacs, searching behind, slipping finally into the dark heat within Starsky’s body. He eased off on the slick penis, sucking the glans, moving his fingers in and out, scissoring them, creating a random rhythm his partner couldn’t resist.

Starsky arched to him, crying out a single word, helpless command. “More!”

Hutch complied, adding a third finger, stroking his mouth up and down the stiff length of him. He pressed deep, going for the prostate, feeling shudders begin far inside the loved body. His own knees pulled back and Starsky knew he needed to feel the same penetration. Slender fingers entered him, a radiant, pulsating warmth sweeping from the depths of his body to the head of his cock. He was floating, all of him, flowing directly into Starsky. Rocked to his core, Hutch felt as if both of them were sucking and fucking at the same instant, giving and receiving in a kind of ultimate display of love. The sensual power rippling between them gained momentum, making thought impossible, creating ecstasy. Moments passed, as if the love they shared was infinite, timeless. The pleasure might last all night, forever, spinning through space, grounded only in the joining of their bodies.

Hutch varied his touches, licking the hard column up and down, loving its taste, the way he could make Starsky shiver with the slightest suction. His hand squeezed the warm mounds of his friend’s ass, gripping tightly as his own cock received a new torrent of sensation. He arched suddenly, thrusting deep in the willing mouth, gasping for breath. Then he took Starsky’s cock back, swallowing it deep, fingers plunging in and out, possessing the heated ass.

Starsky was shaking, ready to come. A hand swept up Hutch’s own convulsing body, pinching his nipples, and then it was happening, pleasure arcing back and forth between them, the explosion overtaking both of them at the same time. He drank all the love Starsky offered him, feeling his own seed pour down a welcoming throat, and within the rush of sensation an aura of desperation seemed to surround him, ambushing and yet born of his joy. He didn’t want to lose a drop of Starsky, didn’t want to forget for a moment that his love existed.

Someday, he’ll be gone. And so will I. Who’ll remember then? Starsky was right. We chose our path, but it did make us give up the chance to leave another living being created out of our own genes behind. That’s all anyone wants, after all. To know he’s made a difference in the world, to know it’s all been worthwhile.

The final shudders gradually ebbed away. Starsky fell over on his back, panting, thigh still pillowing Hutch’s head. Hutch drew his own shaky breath. He sat up, turning to take Starsky in his arms, to caress and kiss him, intending to find words, if any existed, to tell him how he felt.

His lips lingered gently over the mouth that had given him so much pleasure, his fingers sinking deep in the still-damp curls. His heart felt like it was beating too hard.

Strong arms tightened around him, the relaxed body under him rubbed languidly. Laughter bubbled up from Starsky, a contented sound. Hutch pulled back to look into his face.

“You were right,” the reddened lips whispered. “Damn if you didn’t make me feel immortal that time.” Starsky reached up to deliver a loving kiss. “That was like… doing it all at the same time… and having it done to me… like each of us was doing everything we could to each other all at once.” He smiled, kissing Hutch again. “That make any sense?”

Hutch nodded, not surprised that they had both shared the same perception about this time together. One of the first and best things they had discovered when the loving began between them was that the telepathy that had evolved out of friendship and partnership had seemed to deepen with the bond of physical love.

He looked into the sensitive eyes of his cherished friend, feeling words fail him. “I love you,” he said finally, knowing that was enough to tell his story.

Starsky nodded. “Yeah. I know. Me, too.”

***

After rising for a late supper, they went back to bed and made love again. Starsky hadn’t mentioned the funeral any more, but Hutch knew it was still on his mind. Now he lay awake beside the man he held, wishing there was a way to preserve the reality of their relationship, to leave something behind to tell a future generation that they had existed, that they had been lovers. He thought of Babcock’s casket at the cemetery, and the painful thought of Starsky being laid to rest in the cold ground hurt. What would anyone find there, years later? A silent marker that was really nothing more than a name carved on stone; it would fade over time and leave no clue to the person buried beneath it, who he was, what his life had stood for. It seemed so unjust.

Hutch couldn’t sleep. Toward dawn, he slipped out of bed, pulling on a pair of old running pants and a shapeless t-shirt. He headed for the basement of the building, thinking about the stuff boxed away in their storage locker.

***

Starsky woke, surprised to find himself alone in bed. After last night, he’d wanted to be loved awake, to find a fresh kiss on his lover’s mouth to start the morning. He sighed, stretching, wondering if Hutch had decided to go jogging. He didn’t usually, unless he got to feeling his age, or worrying about his ability to still hack it on the street. And he’d been affected by Babcock’s death, too. Starsky regretted their discussion in the pool. Hutch had once again done what he did so well; he’d gotten Starsky out of his low spirits, by taking the weight of them onto his own shoulders. Shaking his head, Starsky climbed out of the bed. He headed for a quick shower, wanting to have breakfast ready for Hutch when he got back.

A half hour later, Hutch still had not returned. Starsky pulled on his sneakers and went out looking for him.

After a brief search, he found his partner in back of the apartment building, near the group of trees flanking the pool area. Hutch was down on his knees, a shovel and pile of dirt beside him. He was settling something into the ground.

“Hey— what are you up to out there?”

The blond head raised and the expression looked chagrined, almost embarrassed. Hutch waved and Starsky walked over to him.

“Whatcha doin’?” he repeated, kneeling down at his side. He looked into the hole Hutch had dug.

It was fairly deep, and Starsky could see a metal box down there in the damp earth. He looked back to meet his friend’s eyes.

Hutch sighed. ”You may as well look. And tell me I’m crazy.”

“Huh?” Starsky bent over and pulled the box out of the hole. “What is this, buried treasure?”

“Not exactly.” There was a faint blush of color on Hutch’s cheeks, but he looked resolute. “It’s a time capsule, sorta.”

“What? Did you find it, or are you burying it?”

“I made it. For you. And me.” He grinned slightly. “Now I feel silly.”

Starsky sat the box down. “If you don’t want me to look, I won’t.”

Hutch leaned close to him, then kissed him good morning, letting Starsky feel all of his love. “No,” he told him, “go ahead. I didn’t really mean for it to be a secret.”

“You were just embarrassed for being… sentimental?” Starsky guessed. He picked up the steel box again, recognizing it as the one they had stored in the basement locker. It had held many of their important documents. He opened the catch.

There was no sheaf of papers in it now, just a small package wrapped in plastic. Starsky lifted it out, feeling Hutch’s eyes watching him. Carefully, he opened it, unwrapping layers of plastic and tissue.

When he revealed the picture of himself and Hutch, he felt a lump develop in his throat. “It’s you an’ me,” he whispered, looking up. “You did this because of what I said yesterday.”

Hutch nodded slowly. “Turn it over.”

Starsky did, and felt mist start in his eyes as he read the words penned in Hutch’s firm handwriting. He let the picture fall as he reached blindly to draw the man into his arms. They held each other close against the relentless march of time, hearts beating against each other, both of them oblivious to passing traffic or the needs of the rest of the world as they lived in the moment together.

What Hutch had written, and planned to bury to be found by a later generation, his partner knew he would never forget.

“David Michael Starsky was a cop in L.A. in the 1970’s. And Kenneth Hutchinson loved him.”